"You cannot be serious!" Celeste exclaimed, ripping the letter from Elysium's hands. "We have a wedding to plan!"
She waved her hands frantically in front of her face.
Elysium didn't reply.
Instead, she walked into her dressing quarters, fastening her white corseted dress and slipping into her heeled boots. She tied a moss-green riding hood around her neck and pulled it over her head. Without acknowledging Celeste again, she hurried down the steps toward the stables.
She grabbed her bow and quiver from their hooks overhead, slinging them across her back before rushing to Vail.
He nickered softly as she led him from his stall. In one fluid motion, she mounted, gently pressing her heels to his flank. He whinnied and bolted forward, grass tearing from the earth beneath his hooves.
The cold air stung her face as she snapped the reins, urging him faster, through the fields, into the forest, down the rolling hills.
The deeper she rode, the colder the air became.
The sky darkened, as if a massive black cloud had draped itself across the land. Fog crept along the forest floor, thick and clinging. The trees here were thin and curved, skeletal; their branches twisting like grasping fingers.
Her chest tightened.
Twigs snapped somewhere beyond her vision. Shadows stretched long across the path. Ash drifted through the air, speckling the sky with ember-black flecks.
Elysium tightened her grip on the reins.
The forest parted gradually, revealing jagged ridgelines in the distance with black stone cliffs rising like crowns against a blood-stained sunset. Smoke curled lazily from unseen fissures in the earth.
Sheol.
Vail grew restless beneath her. She leaned forward, stroking his neck gently until he slowed to a cautious trot as they approached the territory line.
A hooded man stood before towering iron gates, a scythe resting in his grasp. When his gaze lifted to hers, he gave a single nod and stepped aside.
The gates groaned open.
Elysium bowed her head in silent gratitude and rode forward.
Obsidian towers loomed above her as she entered. The air hummed with distant cries echoing down the road; low, mournful, almost feral. She swallowed, steadying her breath.
By the time she reached the palace gates, Vail jolted at the sound of distant howls rising from deep within the structure.
Two hooded guards stood at either side. They examined her briefly before stepping aside, pushing the gates inward.
She dismounted at the tunnel entrance, biting the inside of her cheek as she tied Vail to a post. Water dripped steadily from the cavern ceiling, her hood shielding her from most of it as she navigated the slick stones.
Snarls echoed through the darkness.
Louder.
Closer.
She pressed her hand against the damp stone wall to steady herself.
When she reached the tunnel's end, she froze.
Three pairs of glowing red eyes burned from the shadows.
The hellhounds stepped into view, massive and muscular, lips curled around glistening fangs. Saliva dripped from their jaws as low growls rumbled from their chests. Their hackles rose. Their ears angled forward like sharpened blades.
Elysium swallowed.
Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees.
Gently, she extended her hand.
Oblivis. Vulkris. Tharok.
The hounds glanced at one another, confused. Tharok stepped forward first, pressing his wet nose against her palm. He inhaled deeply, then gave a small signal to the others.
One by one, they sniffed her.
Their posture shifted.
Tails wagged.
Suddenly, they pounced, knocking her onto her back and covering her face with eager licks. A laugh broke from her chest, light and breathless.
It was one of her gifts.
Animals understood her.
There had always been a quiet, unspoken companionship between them.
The hounds' heads jerked abruptly toward the darkness.
They stilled.
Footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Alastor.
He wore a heavy midnight-black leather jacket, the grain catching the dim light with an oily sheen. It hung open, brass snaps trailing down his chest like a line of spent casings. Beneath it, nothing but bare skin and a thin silver chain dipping into the hollow of his throat.
His trousers were slick and oversized, pooling around worn combat boots dusted in salt and ash.
His tousled hair fell over his brows as he looked down at her, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.
"I see you've met my hellhounds," he said, extending a hand.
She took it.
After brushing off her dress, she lifted her gaze to him.
"So," she asked quietly, "why did you want to speak to me?"
He motioned for her to follow.
Torch in hand, he led her up spiraling staircases carved from dark stone, through corridors that felt more cathedral than castle. They entered a vast chamber, his chapel.
A long table stretched across the room. Tall windows arched toward the ceiling. A wide stone mantle held a roaring fire, and above it hung a massive mirror reflecting flame in fractured light.
Alastor stood before the hearth, one arm resting on the mantle, the other tucked into his pocket. Firelight flickered in his dark eyes.
"Lupus is going to destroy Alaria," he said grimly.
Her throat went dry.
"What are you talking about?"
He turned to face her fully, his expression carved from stone.
"He plans to use your kingdom's resources to take control of the entire realm."
She stepped back, shaking her head.
"Where are you getting this from?"
"My general overheard Valkareth officers discussing it." He moved closer. "I confronted him at your engagement party."
The memory struck her; Lupus and Alastor speaking outside.
Her blood ran cold.
She began pacing, chewing at her fingernail. Alastor watched her, unreadable.
"To answer your question," he continued quietly, "I came back to protect Sheol from whatever we're about to be dragged into."
"I won't let it happen," she said quickly. "War, I mean. I want peace."
"He'll kill you first," Alastor snapped.
She recoiled.
"You're who we're at war with!" she shouted, pointing at him.
"I know," he replied, softer now. "But things are different."
"Sheol is powerful. You can protect yourself."
"With your kingdoms bonded?" His voice dropped. "No, we can't."
Silence stretched between them.
Her thoughts spiraled.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered. "Call off the wedding?"
The doors burst open.
Torren rushed in, his expression tight with urgency. His gaze flickered between them, confused.
Elysium turned back to Alastor, desperation in her eyes.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Alastor looked away first.
"The choice is yours, Princess."
She left without another word.
The ride back to Alaria was slower.
Heavier.