White.

That's the first thing I notice when I wake up. White ceiling, white sheets, white light. I try to sort through the groggy memories racing through my mind—the last thing I remember is those tunnels, my vision covered, the musky stench, the aching cold.

I dart up, sheets falling to my waist as the room spins around me. Bracing my arms against the mattress, I take in the bedroom, back against the large, wooden headboard. It is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Larger than the floor plan of Casimir's entire cabin, it stretches around a corner, beyond where I can see.

The stone floor is clothed with a lush, patterned rug, intentionally frayed at the edges. Towering into arches, the ceilings stretch metres above me, giving way to an arched window that beckons sunlight inside. Various paintings hang strung along the walls, landscapes of mountains, rivers, seas. I feel dwarfed by the huge bed, unable to touch either side even when I stretch my arms and legs out.

I expected to wake up in a dungeon, my wrists and ankles chained. Not... this.

I crawl to the edge of the bed, heart hammering in my chest as my bare feet find the floor. My skin is tender and smooth, any remnants of blood and caked dirt scrubbed away and replaced by a silk nightgown. I tiptoe to the window, the brightness outside making me squint. But it's the only way to confirm my suspicions, fears, hope.

The glass is glazed, so I cannot see through, but it is not a window like I first suspect, two black latches in the centre. I fiddle with the latch, shoving the doors open. A blast of icy air rushes in, violently pulsing through the wind and glazing over my skin.

But the bitter cold is a secondary thought when I step out onto the balcony, taking in the view, my heart falling into my stomach. The ground is not visible, giving the illusion that this room floats above the clouds—clouds only pierced by a jagged mountaintop across from me.

The Elel Mountains. The Palace. Shifter territory.

"Get away from the balcony."

I leap backwards, spinning back to the room. The wooden door is open, a young girl–no older than me–standing in the doorframe. I press my back to the wall as I stare at her.

"Who are you?" I ask.

Her expression remains neutral as she steps further into the room, turning to roll a metal tray in after her. I take the moment her back is turned to examine her from head to toe. Her petite frame is dwarfed by her voluminous hair, contrasting against the pale blue of her dress.

Her movements are slow and delicate, gliding through the air like she barely takes any space. She doesn't look like a threat, but I know better than anyone how looks can be deceiving—especially where the shifters are concerned.

She turns to face me once again, lips pressed in a firm line. She gestures towards the wooden chair against the wall, facing a mirror larger than my old bed. "Sit," she says quietly.

"Why am I here?"

She blinks at me, as if confused by my question. "Please sit, Miss Raune."

"How do you know my name?" She looks away. "Please. I'm just trying to... to understand how I got here. Why."

"I do not have the answers you are seeking. I am just here to do my job."

I watch her curiously. When I was younger, my father would tell me bedtime stories about Kings and Queens in their castles, a perfect utopian setting where the sun always shone and anything you wanted could be arranged at a simple word. It always interested me, the idea of somebody's job being solely to serve another. In a place like Veymaw, servants are non-existent. Nobody is wealthy enough for such an indulgence.

But I size up the girl, taking in her tidy appearance and clothing which, while nicer than anything I've ever owned, do not live up to the extravagance expected of a royal living in this castle. Is she a servant? Does that mean she's human? Here against her own will, like me?

Instead of asking, I settle in the wooden chair, blinking at myself in the mirror. She moves behind me. Just like my skin, my hair has been washed, but it's a wild mess from sleep. The girl plucks her fingers through it, using a comb from her tray to pull it back.

My reflection stares back at me. I have the same eyes as my father, hooded, dark brown, round, slightly turned down at the ends. And with fingers combing through my hair, I can't help but think of her again. My mother. The colour of her eyes. If she were alive, would she have combed her fingers through my hair as I sat in front of a mirror?

I blink the thought away. I'm not here for her, and I can't afford any distractions. The shifters led me here, likely for the same reason they took Samu. Perhaps it should ease my anxieties that I've woken up in this lavish room, for I can assume Samu was met with the same treatment. But the thought of Samu waking up all alone in a place like this is enough to knock me. Besides, there's something about being poked and prodded and not spoken to that leaves me uneasy.

Like a doll.

"You can stand," the girl says eventually. "So you can dress." I nervously tug a strand of my hair. She's braided half of it back, leaving the rest to cascade down my back.

The white night gown I'm wearing is silky against my skin, but not the most modest. I rise to my feet, watching as the girl moves over to the twin doors on the other side of the room, disappearing inside them.

"What's your name?" I call.

She rummages around but doesn't answer. After a few minutes, she emerges with a clothing rack and a long-sleeved, blue gown. My eyes widen slightly as I take it in, thinking of Cadence. She would love it. The neckline is a square shape, curving around the bust and trimmed with white lace. The narrow sleeves give way to the same lace trim at the ends, and the skirt sways delicately from the rolling of the rack. Cadence would stop an entire country in this gown.

The girl puts her hands on my shoulder and forces me to turn around, fiddling with the ties at the back of the nightgown. Before I can say anything, she pulls it open, revealing my back. I leap away from her, clutching it around me.

"What're you doing?"

"Helping you change."

"Where I'm from, we dress ourselves."

She stares at me strangely. "You will not be able to fasten the gown yourself." She pauses. "If it is your modesty you are concerned about, I have to apologise that I bathed you when you arrived, Miss Raune."

I knew somebody did, and still, my cheeks warm. I never saw myself as overly concerned with modesty or tradition—the number of times I dressed in Casimir's clothes or swam with him in our night clothes is a testament to that, but something about baring myself to a stranger is... foreign.

"You must hurry as you are expected soon."

My stomach clenches. "Expected? Where?"

She doesn't answer.

"Okay," I say eventually, swallowing my discomfort and dropping the night gown. The girl doesn't even flinch as she reaches for the gown and instructs me to turn around.

Because if there's one thing more important than my modesty, it's finding out why I'm here, and finding Samu. Something tells me wherever I'm 'expected' will be a good place to start.

***

After I dress, the girl leaves without a word. I follow her to the door, but when she closes it behind her, there's a click. Locked.

I sit on the edge of the bed, tugging at the neckline of the gown. It's tight around the bodice, uncomfortably so, exposing the top of my breasts to the cold air. But despite the exposure, the gown is warm, thick material tight around my arms and flaring at the wrists.

For the first five minutes after she left, I couldn't stop staring at my reflection in the mirror wondering why in the world they were treating me so well. But now, sitting on the edge of the bed, my mind paces across the room. When I lost consciousness, it was night. Now, the sky outside is bright, but I still have no idea what time of day it is, how much time has passed, and that makes me anxious.

Did the deserters get in? Did Killian? Casimir? Are they here? I keep running my movements through my mind. How many times did I leave a mark, did I stain my hands enough for them to notice the marks, and if I didn't, are they still in those tunnels now, getting lost in a maze-like labyrinth?

The door creaks open.

I shove to my feet as a man appears in the door frame. Much like the girl, his expression is neutral as he stares at me.

"Miss Raune," he says eventually, "come with me."

I move towards him, rolling my shoulders back as we step into the hall. He doesn't say anything else as he turns his back to me, unthreatened by my presence. He's a whole two heads taller than me, but his dark clothing hangs off a wiry frame and his pointed chin turns the corners before he does. I eye him, taking in the belt strapped across his hips, sheathed daggers and on his right, a sword.

The sight makes my stomach tighten. Guard. Human or shifter, I can't tell.

A thick, navy rug lines the stone, narrow passageways. There are no windows in the hallway–only oil paintings, like those in the room I awoke, strung up along the way. I glance over my shoulder, almost expecting to see somebody following, watching, but there's nobody.

The corridor widens into a pallor of sorts, two large doors on the opposite wall. I stare at the man, who watches me as I examine the room.

"I'm to wait here?" I ask, my voice small.

He nods at the doors. "Through here."

He opens them. I don't know what I expect to see—shifters, more guards.

Certainly not the person who greets me on the other side.