She stepped slowly from the carriage, careful not to trip on the dress that pooled around her feet. Dara followed behind her, steadying her descent. The cobbled stones beneath her feet were inlaid with runes and swirling patterns connecting all four kingdoms on the road to the Nexus Sanctum.
"Queen Layla," a voice called from ahead. The voice seemed to come from nowhere, pulsing all around her and even through her mind. It was silky yet commanding, carrying a depth she couldn't quite describe. Before her stood a figure in white and gold robes, a hood casting their face in shadow. She glimpsed pale skin along their jawline as they bowed in a fluid movement. This had to be one of the Septines—she had heard stories about the guardians of the sanctum, beings that held allegiance to no kingdom, held power over no kingdom, but whose power rivaled that of all the kingdoms combined. They were sworn to protect the balance, to be the gatekeepers of power, but never to wield it.
"Septine," Layla replied, returning the bow. They were Fae like her, yet as different as a river from an oak tree.
"We are pleased at your arrival. Please come. You must be tired from your journey," they said, turning in silence and walking down the decorative path toward the central colosseum. Layla glanced at Lord Vermillion, who stood beside her with a grim smile as he waved her ahead. Dara stayed at her back, a shadow that never left her side.
"We have been curious about the Queen of Auroris," they said as they walked, never turning back. "It was a tragic thing, the passing of your parents."
"Thank you," Layla said. "They are missed, Septine. Hopefully I can honor their memory during these coming days."
"We have no doubt you will. Auroris magic has always been a thing of beauty." The Septine moved down another path until they came upon a golden doorway with emerald patterns carved into the double doors that sprawled across the front of the building.
"Your chambers, Your Majesty," the Septine said, bowing again and extending a hand toward the doors. Layla reached for the handles, turned them, and pushed the doors open. Inside sat several large pillars that lined the grand open space. Emerald, blue, and purple tapestries adorned the walls, while pictures of Fae warriors were carved into the pillars—a reminder of how long this place had truly existed.
"Thank you, Septine, for guiding me and for your kind words," Layla said, keeping her voice low and steady.
"We shall see you as the sun rises. Rest well." The Septine turned and glided from the wing, the door closing behind them, leaving Dara, Lord Vermillion, and the rest of her kinsmen standing in the center of this vast room, looking in awe at their surroundings.
"Chop, chop," Lord Vermillion said to the staff they had brought from Auroris—maids, cooks, soldiers, and the two women who had prepared her that morning. They all scattered, taking trunks and luggage where they belonged and disappearing into every corner of the wing.
"If I may," Lord Vermillion said, waving his hand and bowing as he gestured for her and Dara to make their way up the large staircase to the left of the room, which spiraled to the next floor. At the top of the stairs stood intricate statues of past royalty, marble carvings of the ancient line of Auroris. She ran her fingers over the ancient depictions until she stopped at one she recognized—her mother's face, carved so silently in eternity. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye as she traced her finger down her mother's cheek. Memories began to surface: thoughts of her mother's gentle touch when she was sad, her father's stories of courage when she was scared, the way they stood united to protect her.
"Lay?" Dara said, noticing the sorrow in her eyes. "Lay, it's okay. Let's get you to your room. We can come back and visit later. You've had a long trip." Layla nodded, dropping her hand to her side, and followed Lord Vermillion into the room she would call home for the next seven days.
"This is where you will rest until the Long Night is over," Vermillion said, waving at the soldiers to store the luggage. "That will be all, gentlemen. The queen needs rest."
"They will be outside your door if you need anything, Your Majesty. Rotation is in a couple hours," he said, turning to leave her to rest. "Dara," he added, nodding at her friend, "keep her safe. You never know who's watching—or worse."
"I won't let her out of my sight," she said, giving a small bow to the thin lord as he disappeared through the doors, closing them behind him. As soon as the doors clicked shut, Dara jumped onto the large bed, its posts sprawling high into the room, patterns of ancient runes like those on the cobblestones outside detailed in the wooden spires. The bed itself was large enough for five or six people, with an emerald and gold bedspread lying flawlessly across it.
"Well, isn't this nice," Dara said, laying back and relaxing under the domed ceiling. The artwork above almost seemed to move as she lay there, while Layla walked slowly around the room, running her fingers over the paintings that lined the walls.
"How long do you think this place has been here?" Layla asked, mesmerized by the depictions of battles and constellations that seemed to cover everything.
"The sanctum?" Dara asked. "Since the beginning, I guess. Since the magic split." Dara sat up on the bed, finding Layla with her eyes. "You should rest, Lay. There's a lot to do tomorrow. The others will be here by then. I'm sure the Septines will arrive early, eager to start the ceremony." Layla's attention shifted to Dara, who was shuffling through one of the trunks and pulling out her favorite nightgown—the one her mother had given her before she died. "I'll have some water drawn for you. You'll feel better after a bath." She disappeared through the doorway, leaving Layla alone for a moment with her thoughts. Did her mother sleep here? In this bed? Was her mother scared during her first Long Night? The thoughts weighed heavy on her mind. Moments later, Dara returned, picking up the gown and waving Layla into the hallway where a small room sat across the hall—a steaming bath awaited her. She needed this. She needed to relax, if only for a moment.
"I'll leave you to it. Knock if you need anything," she said, closing the door behind her as Layla removed the dress, running her fingers over the birthmark again, feeling the raised flesh under her touch. She slipped into the water, warmth exploding across her skin as she sank deeper, submerging herself. Time stretched out in those brief moments, filling her with a sense of hope that maybe this would be okay, maybe she would be able to convince the others that she deserved her title even if her parents' magic had not passed to her after their death. She still had magic, but would it be enough? Would they see it as weakness and her kingdom as vulnerable? These thoughts continued to burrow deep into her mind until she finally closed her eyes and let the warmth coat every muscle, every part of her body. Then, before she knew it, there was a knock on the door and Dara was waiting at the doorway with the gown, ready for her to prepare for bed. The gown was soft and familiar, like her mother wrapping her in her arms. She lay down on the sprawling bed and let herself go, let her eyes close, and drifted off into the darkness, into dreams of what was to come.