Chapter 58: Seeing A City For The First Time.

Elian was someone who had spent the most of his life never traveling further than the bounds of his own family’s domain. The occasional functions did take him out of the Valcourt domain, yes, but it had never been to anywhere that was a fully developed city.

Definitely not one that was as vast as the literal capital of Selenoire.

The carriage crested a low hill perhaps an hour into the ride, and the trees that had been crowding the road on both sides finally broke apart on the left side, like a curtain being pulled back on purpose for effect.

Elian forgot, briefly, how to close his mouth.

The capital sprawled out below in the last of the evening light, more city than he’d ever seen in one place, more city than he’d known to imagine when he pictured the word at all.

Lucenhall’s grounds were large, certainly—training yards and lecture halls and dormitories enough to make a person feel small on a bad day—but it was nothing against this.

Rooftops stretched in every direction he looked, packed close and climbing gently uphill toward a pale stone palace crowning the whole skyline, its towers catching the last gold light like they’d been built specifically to hold onto it a little longer than everything else.

Lanterns were already being lit along the wider streets below, small warm points multiplying by the dozen even as he watched, threading gold through the blue creeping in from the east.

Somewhere down there a bell tolled the hour, soft and distant, and he could just make out the murmur of the city underneath it—voices, wheels on stone, the general hum of thousands of lives happening all at once, none of them aware or particularly concerned that a nervous second son from a relatively minor house was staring down at all of it with his heart doing something complicated in his chest.

"First time seeing it?" Ferran asked from the driver’s bench, turning slightly around to look through the small glass pane from the drivers bench, though something in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You’ve gone very quiet with quite the look on your eyes, that’s usually the tell."

The carriage started its descent, the road curving down toward the outer gates, the city rising up to meet them properly now instead of just sitting there being looked at.

"Most people do it the first time." Ferran said as they trotted forwards. "Even ones who try very hard to pretend they won’t."

Elian didn’t answer right away, still caught somewhere between the size of it and the strange, sudden awareness of his own smallness against it—not an unpleasant feeling, exactly, just an unfamiliar one, the kind that made his chest feel too full for a second.

The road leveled out as they passed through the outer gates, tall and iron-worked and manned by guards who barely glanced at the carriage before waving it through, clearly expected considering the royal crest embedded on the side of it.

The streets narrowed after that, cobblestone underfoot instead of packed dirt, buildings rising close on either side—timber and pale stone, window boxes still holding onto the last of the season’s flowers, shop signs swinging gently in a breeze Elian could no longer feel from inside the carriage.

People moved along the streets in the dimming light, unbothered, ordinary, entirely unaware that they were being watched with something close to wonder by a boy who’d never seen this many strangers exist in one place before.

A vendor called out, packing up a stall of dried flowers for the night. Two children chased each other around a fountain, shrieking with the specific delight only children seemed able to access this late in the day. Somewhere above, laundry lines crossed between buildings, catching the last of the wind.

It didn’t feel like the stories, exactly.

It felt bigger than the stories, and smaller too, somehow—less like a legend and more like a place where actual people lived actual lives, layered thick enough that Elian couldn’t begin to guess at all of them.

The palace kept climbing into view as the streets began their gradual incline, closer now, details resolving out of what had been a pale smudge on the horizon—carved stonework, banners hanging still in the windless evening, tall windows already lit gold from within.

Elian pressed his palm flat against the window glass without quite meaning to, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

"We’re nearly there," Ferran said, gentler. "You’ll want to compose yourself in the next few minutes, if you can manage it. First impression matters a lot when it come to meeting royalty."

Elian pulled his hand back from the glass, straightened the cardigan around his shoulders, and did his very best to look like someone who hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes staring out a carriage window like he’d never seen a city before.

He had, in fact, never seen a city before.

But he supposed that didn’t need to be quite so obvious.

The carriage rocked to a stop once they were in front of the palace gate, and a guards rough voice came from the outside.

"Master Ferran, we were expecting you."

Elian caught Ferran giving the guard a quiet nod through the window, in return getting a deep bow that was filled with respect.

"Please proceed to the main entrance." The guard said, stepping back.

The gate opened with the creak of old metal grinding against stone, the carriage once again rocking into motion once it was fully open.

The palace grounds opened up beyond the gate, and Elian pressed himself, just slightly, back against the seat.

The approach alone took longer than he expected—a wide drive lined with tall, ancient trees pruned into careful symmetry, lanterns hung at even intervals along low stone walls, everything arranged with the kind of precision that spoke of centuries of people whose entire job was making sure nothing here ever looked anything less than perfect. Somewhere off to the side, fountains caught the last of the light, water arcing silver against the deepening blue of the sky.

The palace itself came into full view slowly, the way something enormous tends to when you’re finally close enough that your neck has to tilt to take in all of it—pale stone climbing several stories, windows glowing gold from within, banners bearing the Selenoire crest, a crescent moon that looked like it was melting, hanging still and heavy in the evening air.

The main entrance sat at the top of a wide set of steps, flanked by columns and a pair of guards who stood so motionlessly they might have been carved from the same stone as everything else.

The carriage rocked to a gentle stop at the base of those steps.

Elian’s heart, which had spent the entire ride doing something complicated, picked that exact moment to do even even worse.

Ferran climbed down first, unhurried, circling around to open the door himself rather than leaving it to any of the palace staff already approaching.

He held out a hand, more formality than necessity, and Elian took it mostly on instinct, not failing to notice how rough the old man’s hand looked before using the half-second of contact to steady the sudden lightness in his own legs.

"Take your time," Ferran murmured, low enough that it wouldn’t carry past the two of them.

"You’ve survived worse than a staircase, I’d imagine."

"Not sure that’s true tonight."

"It’s true every night. You simply haven’t had the misfortune of comparing them yet."

A faint, brief press of his hand against Elian’s shoulder—not quite paternal, but close to it, the kind of small steadying gesture that asked nothing in return.

"Breathe. Then walk. In that order, ideally."

Elian breathed. Then he stepped down from the carriage, his heeled boots meeting stone, and made himself look up at the palace rather than down at his own feet.

The cool evening air caught at the loose strands of his hair, at the hem of the cardigan settled over his shoulders, and for one strange, suspended second, standing at the base of all that pale stone and gold light with the city spread out behind him and the palace rising ahead, Elian let himself simply exist inside the moment instead of dreading it.

Then he straightened his shoulders and started up the steps.