“Oh, no, milady, no! Demons here aren’t what humans think. We’re simply the general population. Humanoid, but with magic.”
She winks, as if she’s in on some cosmic joke I’m too mortal to get.
“As for Nightfall, think of it as another realm. A parallel universe, if you will.”
“I see,” I mutter, though I really, really don’t.
Still, I follow her down a long corridor, my sandals whispering against the floor.
The walls are the color of pink sand, warm and soft-looking even though they’re stone.
Crown moldings ripple overhead, crafted from thousands of tiny multicolored shells and pearls, as if someone took the sea’s entire treasure chest and sculpted it into trim.
Every curve and pattern catches the light, shifting as I move, turning the hallway into a living kaleidoscope.
Castletide is enormous.
Not just in size, but in presence, the way every wall seems to hum faintly with the sea’s heartbeat, steady and eternal.
“This is the kitchen, Lady Phoebe,” Amber announces, ushering me through a wide arch.
And for the first time since I arrived here, I forget to be scared.
The scene is alive—at least a dozen workers bustling in rhythm.
Chefs stirring steaming pots, the air thick with the smell of bread baking, something creamy and clammy (chowder, maybe?), and a fish stew fragrant with herbs I don’t recognize.
Someone is dipping enormous squid rings into flour and sliding them into oil where they hiss and spit until golden.
My stomach growls like I haven’t eaten in weeks.
“Are you hungry, milady?” Amber asks, and it’s the first time I see her smile.
It’s small, quick, but it transforms her face.
“Yes, actually,” I admit, pressing a hand to my stomach.
“Right you are, let’s get you seated.” She begins to lead me through a doorway toward a long polished table at the center of another room, but I stop her with a shake of my head.
My eyes catch on a side table tucked in the corner where a boy no older than eight sits with a wooden bowl in one hand and a block of wood in the other.
He’s eating—and coloring, maybe?With some sort of charcoal stick, doodling messy lines across the pale grain.
“Can I sit here?” I point.
Amber blinks. “My lady?”
“Hi,” I say, moving before she can argue. I plop down across from the boy and smile. “I’m Phoebe.”
He grins, stew dripping from his chin. “I’m Corin!”
“Nice to meet you, Corin,” I reply, warmth uncoiling in my chest.
Kids are kids, no matter the world.
Amber is blushing now, the gray of her skin deepening to bronze.
“Corin, be a good lad and speak properly in front of our Lady Phoebe.”
