17. CHAPTER 17 #2
We glided through the air effortlessly. The air held a chill that had gooseflesh breaking out across my exposed arms. There were no landmarks beyond his face to mark how fast we were traveling. For that, I was thankful. He kept his eyes on mine as we soared south.
I wasn’t sure how he knew where we were going with his attention on me, but I was thankful for the distraction.
His midnight hair was perfectly windswept, his cheeks red beneath the exertion of both flying and carrying me simultaneously.
His dark gaze was narrowed on me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
His lips were slightly turned down in concentration.
I noted the small freckle that marked the skin beneath his left eye once more.
If I looked close enough, I could see a smattering of them across his cheeks, though so faint you had to study them.
His stubble ran over his top lip, traveled around his jaw and partway down his neck.
His nose had a bump just at the center, though it did not mar his perfect face.
He swallowed hard and I could see the tension in his throat and in the set of his shoulders. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed while we flew in silence, my own gaze studying and exploring him to distract me from the fact that we were likely several hundred stories in the air.
Before long, Sorin outstretched his leg and seamlessly walked forward, the ground suddenly rising to greet us.
I had expected a harsher landing, perhaps to jostle in his arms. But he simply stepped forward as if we had been walking the entire time, placing me gently against the smooth, solid stone of a courtyard.
With my focus on Sorin, I hadn’t seen Stormgaard as we approached. I pulled my gaze from his now, gathering my bearings for the first time since leaving Gothryn.
My breath caught in my chest, my dress pressing tightly against my bust as I drank in my surroundings in awe.
Stormgaard was not merely Sorin’s home.
It was a grand castle. Nestled among the natural black rocks that had surfaced here as a small island, jutting up from the earth at sharp angles.
A man-made sea wall surrounded us, covered in bright green moss.
It stood between us and the ocean, but the violent waves could be heard thrashing against the rocks below.
Each wave sent a white spray of ocean water climbing up the walls, coating my skin and hair in their briny mist.
Here, the sea never rested.
The wind ruled Stormgaard, whipping my hair about my face as the sound of it carried across the water—hollow and mournful.
The air wasn’t nearly as humid here as it was in Gothryn, despite the salt and ocean water permeating the air.
There was nothing but open water as far as the eye could see in every direction.
Southgate was somewhere over Sorin’s shoulder, but it wasn’t visible even on a clear day like today.
I turned back toward the castle. The structure was carved from obsidian stone that stretched up into the sky.
Both the spires and narrow, severe towers curved into the clouds.
The architecture was elaborate and Gothic, boasting curved archways and midnight windows that glimmered faintly, as though candlelight burned deep within Stormgaard.
Moss and vines crawled along the surface of the weather hewn stone, stretching under the windows and wrapping around the spires.
No banners flew, not even the dragon crest of Gothryn.
Stormgaard knew no allegiance but to Sorin himself.
I turned to Sorin, my brow raised in astonishment, amusement in my voice. “A humble home for the crown prince.”
The salt was savory against my tongue as I spoke. My hair curled against my face beneath the soft spray of the ocean. My unruly locks would certainly be difficult to tame here.
The atmosphere of the island reminded me of when Sorin’s skin had touched mine in Gothryn. It was both quiet and clamorous at the same time. Soothing and rhythmic, like the tide.
Sorin gave me a lopsided grin. “I never said anything about it being humble.”
I scoffed.
Stormgaard was breathtaking. Every detail was selected with great care. I could stand here all day and still have something new to examine as I studied its intricate construction.
Sorin gestured toward the arches that led from the courtyard into the main keep. “Allow me to show you to your quarters.”
I nodded, adjusting the bag at my shoulder and gathering my skirts to follow after him.
One thing I noticed in my perusal of the castle was that there was no bridge. No adjoining land to Stormgaard. There were only two ways in and out—by ship, or by flight.
Though I imagined a ship would wreck against the jagged rocks and the violent tides below before they were able to encroach close enough to disembark. One would need to anchor out at sea and risk taking a skiff into the thrashing waves.
Stormgaard was chosen with great care as a fortress.
My shoes clicked against the gray cobbled stone as I dashed to catch up with him.
The main keep was grand, a double staircase on both the left and the right curling up to meet a landing that was adorned with clusters of lit candles and lanterns.
A golden chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling—the stairs beneath dotted with growing ivy and even more flickering candlelight.
I hadn’t realized I had stopped again until Sorin turned, casting me an amused glance over his shoulder from where he stood halfway up the staircase.
The whole castle was so—romantic. Unexpected.
I scurried after him once more, ascending the stairs so quickly I was out of breath by the time I reached the landing.
A second flight of curving stairs hewn from pale stone and a long portrait-lined corridor brought us toward the bottom of the south tower.
We took the spiral staircase up, up, up, my chest heaving with breath as I tried to keep up.
From below, the towers and spires had appeared narrow. In truth, they were quite spacious. I had expected them to be cramped. Despite how it appeared from below, it could easily house two to three grand rooms per level.
We came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door outfitted with a metallic, red rose painted against the worn oak. Sorin nodded for me to enter, his hands folded at his back. I pressed the worn brass handle, and the door swung inward with a squeak, as if it hadn’t been opened in many years.