The train from the Cold Iron District to the capital was finer than Marise had expected.

She had braced herself for something cramped, something worn, something that would remind her exactly where she’d come from. Instead, the carriage was clean and well-lit, with cushioned seats and windows so clear she could see every detail of the countryside sliding past.

Her father, Aldric, had paid for first class.

When she’d asked him about it, he’d simply said, "If we’re going to the imperial ball, we’re going properly."

Her mother, Elara, sat beside her, fingers busy with embroidery that didn’t need doing, a sure sign of nerves. She had been against this trip at first, worried about the expense, the danger, the simple uncertainty of it all.

But her husband had insisted.

And her daughter had begged.

And somewhere beneath the worry, she was curious too.

"Stop fidgeting," Elara said without looking up from her needlework.

"I’m not fidgeting."

"You’ve shifted in that seat four times in the last minute."

Marise forced herself still.

Across from them, her brother, Finn, pressed his nose against the window, fogging the glass with his breath. He was too young to understand what this trip meant, too young to feel the weight of what they were about to do.

He just wanted to see the palace.

"How much longer?" Finn asked for the fourth time.

"Hours," Marise said.

"That’s what you said last time."

"Because it’s still hours."

Aldric, seated by the window with his scarred profile turned toward the light, let out a low sound that might have been a chuckle.

"We’ll arrive before nightfall," he said. "The hotel knows to expect us. Lady D’Arclight’s people arranged it."

Marise’s fingers tightened around the armrest.

Lady D’Arclight’s people. Even now, years later, the idea that they had people, that they could call on favors from someone like that, still felt strange.

Like wearing clothes that didn’t quite fit.

"What’s he like?" she asked. "Lord Arden, I mean. You’ve met him. You’ve spoken to him."

Aldric was quiet for a moment. The train click-clacked over a switch, and the light through the window shifted, throwing his scar into sharper relief.

"Well, your mother, your brother, and I only met him for a moment," he said finally. "Looking back, he seemed almost mad, like someone who didn’t care about lives at all, as if he’d already killed thousands."

"That’s not very comforting."

"He’s not a comforting person." Aldric’s gaze drifted back to the window. "But he’s fair, and he’s the one who saved us. In the Cold Iron District, that’s worth more than comfort."

Elara set down her embroidery, her dark eyes settling on her husband’s face.

"Mad..." she said quietly. "That’s one way to describe our lord."

"It doesn’t matter; what mattered was what he did, and the gifts he had given us."

"And now?"

Aldric was quiet for a moment.

"Now she wants to meet him. So she should know."

The train carried them through the afternoon and into the early evening, the light fading from gold to grey to the soft blue of approaching night.

Marise watched the cities pass, the towns, the villages, each one smaller than the last until the capital’s outskirts finally began to appear on the horizon.

Spires first.

Then walls.

Then the great gates, open wide, welcoming travelers from every corner of the continent.

Finn’s nose pressed against the glass again, fogging a fresh circle.

"It’s huge," he whispered.

"It’s the capital," Marise said. "What did you expect?"

"I don’t know. Something smaller, probably."

Aldric rose from his seat as the train began to slow, reaching for the bags stored above their heads. His movements were economical, precise, the same efficiency he brought to everything.

"Stay close," he said. "The station will be crowded."

The platform was a riot of noise and color.

Marise had never heard so many accents at once. Northern clipped syllables brushing against southern drawls, traders’ jargon mixing with nobles’ formal address.

The capital didn’t just welcome outsiders, it absorbed them, turned their differences into background music. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Marise stepped off the train and into a current of bodies, all of them moving in different directions, all of them seemingly knowing exactly where they needed to be.

Aldric’s broad back was a steady anchor ahead of her. Elara’s hand rested on her shoulder, a warm weight that kept her grounded.

Finn bounced at her side, too excited to stand still, his head swiveling in every direction at once.

"The hotel’s this way," Aldric said, not breaking stride.

They wove through the crowd, past families and merchants and nobles in fine clothes who didn’t bother to hide their disdain for the common travelers pressing close around them.

Marise kept her eyes forward and her shoulders back.

She had nothing to be ashamed of.

She was here. She had earned her place in this crowd, same as anyone.

The hotel was smaller than she’d expected, tucked between two larger buildings on a street that seemed too narrow for carriages. But when they stepped through the doors, the inside opened up, vaulted ceilings and polished floors and a chandelier that caught the lamplight and scattered it into rainbows.

"Welcome," said a woman at the desk, her smile professional and warm. "The premium suite that Lord Arden reserved is ready for you."

Marise blinked.

The premium suite. And it was reserved by no other.

Aldric’s expression didn’t change, but she saw his hand drift toward his chest, toward the shadow where the blade waited.

"Is there a problem, sir?" the woman asked.

"No problem." His hand dropped back to his side. "We’ll need three keys."

The suite was at the top of the hotel, reached by a lift that made Marise’s stomach drop and Finn squeal with delight.

When the doors opened, an unexpected sight awaited them: a man leaning by the window, with neatly kept hair and a crisp white shirt, looking more like a commoner than a prestigious noble.

"It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

It was Cael himself.