CHAPTER 9
Mina woke to the scent of fire and the sound of crackling wood. Before she’d even opened her eyes, a dull throb pulsed through her head, and she reached up, her fingertips brushing a lump that had already begun to form. She forced her eyes open and saw a hearth before her, the walls on either side rising high with bookshelves. For a moment, she only blinked, confused by the sight.
Then it all came rushing back.
The Count. The wedding. The marriage.
She was married now. She was a wife.
The thought made her stomach churn, and she closed her eyes again, drawing a slow breath to steady the nausea.
“Ah, our sleeping maiden wakes.”
The voice was familiar. When she opened her eyes once more, she found the Count standing nearby and recognized him not as her host, but as her husband. Jonathan stood on the other side of the room, and only then did she realize she was lying on a couch in what appeared to be a library or study.
“Are you feeling alright?” Jonathan asked, helping her ease into a seated position.
“I’m fine,” she said, wincing against the pounding in her head. “What happened?” All she could recall was the priest before them, the ceremony, the golden chalice pressed to her lips, and then . . . nothing.
“You fainted,” the Count said, standing before the mantle now. “Perfectly normal given all you’ve endured over these last few days. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Harker?”
“Certainly,” Jonathan agreed.
Mina’s cheeks warmed as she glanced between the two men. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.”
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said, his touch gentle as he examined the bump on her head.
The Count moved past them, stepping out of Mina’s line of sight. She wondered if he was displeased—if he regretted his decision already. She had scarcely been in the castle an hour before she had revealed her own frailty.
Mina glanced at Jonathan, catching the concern on his face as he leaned back. “That will be there for a few days, I’m afraid,” he said, gesturing to the bump beneath her hair. “Are you in pain?”
“Only a bit,” she lied.
A glass of amber liquid was held out to her, and she looked up to find the Count standing just behind the couch.
“Drink,” he said. “It will help you feel better.”
Mina took the glass, but her thoughts returned to the chalice, her stomach churning at the memory of acid and iron mingling on her tongue—though she could not be certain she had even tasted the drop of blood within. Had that been why she had fainted? The mere thought of blood on her tongue?
“It’s Transylvanian,” the Count said. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added, “No blood in this one.”
She offered a weak smile and lifted the glass to her lips, letting the liquid slide down her throat. She grimaced at the burn, then cradled the empty glass between her hands.
“Perhaps you are more Transylvanian than anticipated,” the Count said, his eyes alight with amusement.
“I really am sorry about the whole thing,” she said. “Please apologize to the priest on my behalf.”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” the Count replied. “After the journey you have had, it is perfectly understandable. You have a delicate constitution, my bride. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”
A quiet unease settled in her chest at his words. She had never thought of herself as delicate—and yet, if this evening were any measure, perhaps she was.
“Besides,” the Count went on, “Mr. Harker and I were able to get through some paperwork while you were asleep.”
Mina glanced at Jonathan. “For the Carfax property?”
“Yes. I need only return the documents to my office to make things official.”
Mina exhaled slowly, a small spark of hope stirring. If her husband had an English property, what was to stop her from visiting? The thought felt disloyal—she had come all this way to marry a stranger, a man who would now clothe and provide for her, and already she was imagining a way out.
