The jostling of the carriage on the narrow cobblestone streets is enough to irritate both my stomach and my mood. More than once, I feared that I would bump my head on the carriage's wooden ceiling. The stuffy air only makes the experience worse. I slide open the carriage window and poke out my head to breathe in the cool air. I almost gag on the putrid mix of fish, smoke, and manure.

I always hated the market. It's noisy, crowded, and smells awful. Even worse, it's situated close to the eyesore that is the industrial district. Tall curved buildings of bronze and iron tower above the stands, filling the sky with hazy black smoke. Unfortunately, one must pass through the market and over a bridge to where the palace stands, far from the smoke of the factories and the ironworks. 

The marketplace has changed in the five years that I was away. Though I can hear the gulls cry above me, I can no longer see the harbor. The iron-plated walls that surround the market have been built higher, matching the city's fortified buildings. Guards armed with muskets and swords now linger at every corner. The extra precautions are no doubt to prevent a second tragedy.

I crane my neck to see the pillars of black smoke rising from the tall, almost intimidating, chimneys. Overhead, I can see one of the airships. The armored gondola hangs from the large white balloon. The sails on the side of the gondola are closed, and I see a cord fastened to the back, indicating that it is preparing to be docked. To think: I almost took a job working on one, but was soon rejected.

Ilysia's protectiveness of ladies can be an annoyance at times. Looking back, however,  it could have been a blessing in disguise. Not even a year ago, an airship crashed into the ocean- the very same one I attempted to apply for.

As we get close to the palace, the city becomes more pleasant to look at. I can see the white-painted homes of the wealthy barred from visitors by great iron gates that seem to stretch to the sky. I catch glimpses of their finely arranged gardens or the grand fountains proudly displayed near the entrances of the homes. If marriage fails me, perhaps I could take up a gardening profession at one of them. That would be tolerable, despite being in this wretched city.

A few merchant stalls are situated much closer to the palace gates. Judging by the bright decorations, that could also be attributed to the week's festivities. As we pass by, I can see their wares of fish, fruit, and fine fabrics. Ironworkers have stalls set up as well along with engineers showing off their mechanisms to the passerby. Curious children stand on their toes and reach their small hands out for the sweets and mechanical toys on display, and wary mothers pull them away.

"It's quite spectacular," Lord Moliner says. "I'm sure there will be many opportunities for the both of you here."

I push away from the window and lean back in my seat. I begin to twist one of my white gloves in my hands. I think of the nobles. I will have to be picked by one of them even if a part of me wants nothing more than to throw open the carriage doors and jump into the sea. I'm sure my pounding heart can be heard outside the carriage. 

My fingers won't stop trembling.

"You're going to want to put that back on, Carrots," Aiden whispers. "We're almost there."

I look down at my poor mangled glove and do as he asks. I'm here. I must commit to my decision. I doubt I could run if I wanted to; my legs feel like the jam I had for breakfast this morning.

The gates open with a haunting groan, letting us through.

The palace is nothing short of beautiful. It's long, almost rectangular in shape, supported by impressive marble columns and topped with gilded domes. The walls surrounding the carriage yard are comprised of archways, allowing me glimpses of the ocean and the lush gardens nearby. In the center stands a fountain grander than any I have seen. Water spouts at least three stories high from the top - almost matching the height of the palace - and pours down on the sculptures of wolves that surround it.  The wolves are in various poses from lapping up the water below to howling up to the spout above. I recall the princess commissioned it- she adores the beasts.

The wonders don't cease when we step inside. in awe of the high ceiling -expertly painted like the night sky. The stars are outlined in gold, matching the accents that line the white marble walls. The room's many pillars are wrapped in scarlet and violet fabrics which are tied together by golden cords. Even the flooring - pristine and amber- is beautiful. I almost hesitate to walk on it.

I turn my attention to a nearby arched window and peer outside at the beautiful blue sea, listening as the waves beat against the rocks below. I can hear the gulls. It's much different from the iron walls and tall smokey chimneys of the main part of town, that's for certain. In the distance, I can see black, imposing ships. 

"Lady Ciar!"

I turn and face a young maid who can be no older than sixteen. Her black hair is tied back and mostly covered by a white cloth. A matching apron is tied around her waist. Though she stands straight with her arms planted firmly at her side, I quickly notice the nervous look in her eye and the way she shifts her feet.

Poor girl.

"You can just call me Lorelei," I offer. "I'm...not exactly a lady. Not a noble one anyway. I have no real title. "

"N-nonsense!" I jump, taken aback by the sudden outburst. The girl's icy grey eyes suddenly become filled with fire. "You are the daughter of Roald Ciar - a hero!  He saved Princess Ilva herself! Being his daughter makes you every bit worthy of having a title as any one of those nobles! Why, I grew up hearing every tale there was to hear about him in the palace. And I must insist that-" She speaks quickly, not allowing me an opportunity to say a single word. I raise my hands in surrender.

"Fine!" I say. "Lady Ciar it is!" She smiles, satisfied.

 I clear my throat. "May I ask your name?"

"Lydia," she says. She curtsies flawlessly. "I will be your maid for the duration of your stay. It will be an honor."

I blink.

"No thank you," I say.  I glance over her head. Aiden and his father are being led away. I take a step to follow, but Lydia stands in front of me.

"This way please," she says sweetly. "The ladies' rooms are down this hall. And as I was saying, should you need anything, all you need do is pull the fabric by the bed to ring the bell. I'll show you when we get there."

"I work as a maid myself," I assure her, "so I know how to tidy a room. Why don't you use this opportunity for a break?" 

"And as a maid, you should know that if you don't work, you don't get paid. Please, let me do my job." She pauses. "And if the head maid finds out I'd be disgraced."

"I doubt it's that serious," I reply. She looks at me, pleading with her eyes. "But I suppose it's best for you to say safe. Very well then. You're hired, I suppose."

Lydia thanks me profusely and leads me down the beautifully decorated palace halls. They are lined with golden candles and well-crafted portraits of the royal family. I try to take it all in as we go, but the child simply moves too fast.

Much too fast.

The poor girl almost tramples over an absurdly tall man dressed almost entirely in black. The large white falcon on his fist flaps its wings, startling Lydia so that she nearly falls over in her hurry to back away.  He says nothing, only staring down at Lydia with his lips pressed into a frown. The room seems to grow colder in his presence. Lydia tries to stammer an apology, cowering.

In a flash, I'm at her side, yanking her behind me by her wrist. I take several steps back to put some distance between us and the man. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind. What sort of brute would frighten a vulnerable girl like that?

My courage dies the moment I raise my head to face him.

His skin is even paler than my own, and I can't decide if his hair is white or simply a very pale yellow. It's long and unkempt, brushing the collar of his cloak. He is lean, but I can see the faint hints of muscle through his sleeves. The upper portion of his face is concealed by a strange, visor-like mask that vaguely resembles the falcon that sits upon his fist, allowing me to only see his sharp, angular jawline.

"You," he says.

His voice comes as a surprise to me. He doesn't sound as old as his hair would suggest, yet somehow, his tone commands authority. 

"Me?" I say dumbly, my voice coming out like a squeak.

"Come closer." He gestures with his fingers as one would a dog.

I suck in a breath through my teeth and obey, leaving Lydia in her place. I deliberately only step forward a few steps, but the strange man closes the gap in an instant with his long spiderlike legs. His face is incredibly close to my own. He removes the visor, allowing me to see his pale grey eyes as they trail my form from head to toe. He's younger than expected; he can't be much older than I. His face is hauntingly familiar. My legs lock in place. My mouth goes dry.  I do my best to lean back to put some space -any space - between us.

I fight the urge to shut my eyes.

"Ciar," he finally says.  His lips curl into the faintest of smiles. "I've been looking for you, Lorelei." He reaches for my hand which I immediately hide behind my back.

"Yes, well," I say. "It is rude to not introduce yourself, you know. Especially to a lady."

"Do you not recognize me?" he asks. He leans closer. "I thought you would, surely."

"I-It's difficult to think in such close proximity," I stammer. I look to the side, looking for an escape.

"Terrorizing another guest?" a feminine voice calls out.

The clicking of heels against the marble flooring echoes through the hall. The man moves away swiftly in a single step, folding his arms behind his back. I can finally catch my breath.

"I hoped you would be more of a gentleman Lord Caelynn."

"Caelynn?" I say. I look back at the man. "Vael Caelynn?" I think back, recalling a scrawny, pale boy training with my father. We spent quite a bit of time together, though he rarely spoke a word. He really has grown. His lips are now pressed in a tight line, sullenly staring anywhere but my direction.

A regal-looking woman clothed almost entirely in deep red steps between us. Her eyes are a piercing amber. The upper part of her deep red dress is covered in gilded metal, resembling a breastplate. I would not be surprised if that was the intent. Her black hair is styled in an intricate bun with dark curls framing her face. A golden diadem set with rubies sits atop her head, matching her earrings and expensive-looking necklace. Her right index finger is covered by a well-polished iron piece of armor, fashioned in the shape of a claw.

Her expression is neutral as she looks me over. For a moment, I think I see her lips twitch, but it must be my imagination. This woman is perfectly stoic.

"Roald Ciar's daughter," she says slowly. She sounds positively bored. "I'm correct, aren't I?"

I shakily nod, and her face erupts into a grin. She strides over to me and almost aggressively shakes my hand. "It's been far too long! You recognize me, do you not?" All stoicism is gone from her face, but not her voice. There is no warmth to match her smile.

She is familiar, but no name comes to me. Perhaps we only met briefly. By her dress I know she has to be someone important. That has to be it. She's some noble, and somehow we crossed paths.  That doesn't explain her friendliness, however. I don't remember speaking to any of the noble girls. They were all too reserved.

Maybe she's just that sort of person.

"Apologies. I promise you do look familiar, but I-"

"Y-your Highness!" Lydia stammers. She dips into a low curtsy "Pardon us! I am escorting Lady Ciar to her chambers! I apologize if we got in the way."

My eyes widen, my jaw drops, and I'm sure at the moment I look like a fish. Quickly, I clumsily try to mimic Lydia's curtsy.

"Princess Ilva!" I exclaim. "Forgive me, Your Highness! If I had recognized you-"

She holds up her hand to silence me.

"Please, none of that," the princess says.  "You're dear Roald's daughter, practically a family friend.  Simply call me Ilva." She turns her head to Lydia. "I'll take it from here. There are some things I need to discuss with 'Lady' Ciar." Lydia nods and scurries away, nearly tripping on her skirts as she goes. 

Ilva smiles and gestures down the hallway with her open palm.

"Shall we?"

I look back at Vael. He stares at Ilva, his expression unreadable. I quickly face the princess once more.

"Of course," I say. "Lead the way."

"We will speak later, Lord Caelynn," Ilva says. "Wait for me in the study." With that said, the princess takes me by the arm and leads me down the opulent halls.