The sleek black vehicle glided over the gravel road as the castle loomed ahead, rising from the land like a majestic monolith.
"Don't take the main entrance," Thalos said without looking up.
Lycien glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Should I head to the back? Somewhere discreet?"
"Why should I hide?" Thalos said flatly, with his eyes still closed. "Just don't take the front."
As they approached, the castle came into full view—not a dazzling palace of marble and gold, but a fortress carved in dark, storm-washed stone. It stood proud and immense against the backdrop of clouds in the night sky, its architecture is defined by sleek spires, tall towers, and fortified walls, its many turrets crowned with cooler slate-grey roofs.
Surrounding the fortress was a vast expanse of lush, open grasslands, stretching out in every direction as far as the eye could see. Stone walkways and gravel roads branched like veins across the estate, connecting smaller buildings, pavilions, and training grounds to the central stronghold. Vintage-styled LED lanterns lit the paths, casting warm glows against the night.
The car veered left, bypassing the grand entrance and slipping onto a narrower path lined with ground lights. In the distance, silhouettes of guards shifted but didn't approach. They knew the vehicle, and more importantly, they knew who rode inside it.
They stopped near a discreet archway tucked between two looming towers. Thalos stepped out, carrying Sylva in his arms. Lycien quickly came around, holding the door for him without a word. The Hellhound followed silently at his heels, eyes glowing faintly as it padded beside them.
Inside, the vast halls of the castle opened before them—dark and quiet, yet warm and still. The interior contrasted with the exterior: the walls and high ceilings were adorned with elaborate moldings and reliefs, featuring floral and scroll motifs. Multiple chandeliers and candelabras provided the lighting, some of which were illuminated, enhancing the golden and cream tones of the decorations and the shadowed sconces lining the walls. Their footsteps echoed off the polished black tile.
A pair of servants rounded the corner—young, clad in dark uniforms with the castle crest embroidered in silver on the shoulder. Their eyes widened the moment they saw Thalos. They bowed so low their foreheads nearly brushed the ground, then darted away without a word. Another servant farther down the corridor nearly dropped her tray before disappearing through the nearest door.
The Alpha didn't spare them a glance.
They continued until they reached another section of the castle—a separate building entirely, connected by a high staircase built from stone and featuring marble balustrades. This was his domain—his side of the castle.
The elevator doors slid open, and Thalos stepped inside with Lycien close behind.
They descended.
The doors opened into a dark space. The space was vast, windowless, and silent. A faint hum vibrated beneath their feet as motion-sensor lights flicked on one by one.
They passed by several empty holding cells, the hellhound's ears twitching. Thalos walked steadily. Sylva's pale form remained cradled in his arms.
They crossed to the other side, entering another elevator. Lycien's hand was scanned, and the elevator began to rise. The silence inside was stifling.
When the doors opened again, they were met with another door. Lycien strode ahead and keyed in a password on a hidden panel. The door clicked open.
The room inside was spacious and thoughtfully designed: a warm fireplace crackling softly in the far wall, a deep grey sofa angled before it, and a center table of dark wood and glass. Against the opposite wall sat a king-sized bed, draped in black and white sheets, flanked by grey velvet curtains that offered privacy.
Thalos crossed the room and laid Sylva on the bed. The Hellhound jumped up without hesitation, circling once before settling beside her, standing guard.
Thalos adjusted the blanket over her, his eyes unreadable in the low light.
"Call the doctor," he said without turning. "And get one of my servants to clean her up."
"Yes, Your Grace," Lycien replied quietly.
Without another word, Thalos left the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
____
"Here," Lycien guided the old doctor into the room, holding the door open as the man stepped in with a young man carrying a leather case in hand. His gait was slow, and his sharp, discerning eyes swept over the figure lying on the bed.
The doctor paused, his brow furrowing. "She's not Velkareth."
Lycien shut the door behind him. "No."
"And she crossed the veil alive and safely into the Silva Metuenda?" he asked, approaching the bed, his assistant already opening the leather case and laying out instruments on a nearby table.
"It seems so," Lycien said, stepping aside to give them space. "His Majesty hasn't said anything except for what she is."
The doctor crouched by the bed, examining Sylva with steady hands and a thoughtful frown. He gently pulled back the blanket, revealing the wounds, the deep gashes, and the faint, glowing seal etched along her abdomen. The glow pulsed subtly, like a heartbeat.
His assistant inhaled sharply. "That mark…"
"I see it," the old man murmured, leaning in but careful not to touch. "It's no curse I know. No Velkareth branding either, but a seal." He glanced cryptically at Lycien. "So, what is she, Royal Advisor?"
"She's half-witch," Lycien offered quietly.
The doctor didn't look up. "Not just any witch. This seal was carved with ancient rites—druidic, perhaps. There's old blood in her veins."
His assistant hovered nearby, unsure whether to speak. The doctor finally waved a hand at him. "Begin treating the minor wounds. Use the green salve. Avoid the seal."
As the younger man moved to work, the doctor wore gloves and dipped two fingers into a small vial of golden liquid, then passed them lightly above Sylva's brow and chest—not touching, but sensing.
"She's in between," he murmured. "Not fully awake. Not quite dreaming either. Something's holding her tethered."
"She seems to have fought off something unnatural," the assistant said. "There are claw marks on her."
That made Lycien pause. He looked back at the old man. "Claw marks?"
The doctor gave a single nod. "Yes, claw marks belonging to a werewolf."
Lycien's eyes returned to the girl, his gaze deep. "Then His Majesty must know what happened. No one except His Majesty can step into the forest, which means she encountered the werewolf in the human realm."
The Hellhound shifted beside the bed, letting out a low rumble.
The old doctor nodded, injecting a sedative into the IV with practiced ease. Then he straightened, watching the subtle glow of the seal flicker with a hidden pulse.
"Even with her powers sealed and her being an ordinary human… she was able to come out alive. And she is just a half-witch," he said, his voice low, staring at Lycien as if challenging him to grasp the weight of what he'd just said.
Lycien didn't respond, but his silence said enough. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. He understood.
"She's under the Alpha's protection," Lycien said at last, his voice calm but final.
The doctor held his gaze for a beat longer. "And do you know what His Majesty's plan for her is?"
Lycien remained silent.
The doctor gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Then we will treat her accordingly. But know this—if that seal breaks without the right control, even the forest won't be able to contain what she becomes."
He stepped back and peeled off his gloves, folding them neatly before slipping them into his coat pocket. His assistant finished the last of the bandages and tucked the salve away, careful not to disturb the girl or the Hellhound, who still sat watchfully at her side.
"Keep the room warm," the doctor said as he adjusted his coat. "Let her rest undisturbed unless she wakes on her own. I've left instructions in case she stirs."
Lycien nodded silently, then turned and led them both out of the room.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Sylva in the quiet dark, her breathing steady, the seal on her abdomen pulsing faintly—like the calm before a storm.