“Come inside, mistress,” Sofia called from the doorway.
Mina did not turn. She watched as the gate lifted with a slow, protesting groan and the carriage disappeared from sight. When the iron slid back into place, sealing the entrance once more, she found herself locked within Castle Dracula—her only remaining tie to the world beyond these walls being the Count himself.
CHAPTER 12
The thought of returning to her chambers—to sit alone with nothing to occupy her mind—made Mina feel almost nauseous as she followed Sofia down the corridor.
When they reached the staircase, Mina paused. “I would love to see more of the castle grounds.”
Sofia stopped and looked back at her, a furrow forming between her brows. “I’m afraid that would not be possible, mistress.”
Mina frowned. “Oh.” Sofia seemed to take this as the end of the conversation, for she turned and continued up the stairs. Mina followed. “It’s just that, since I am to live here, I thought perhaps I should familiarize myself with the castle.”
Without turning back, Sofia sighed. “It is the Count’s rule, mistress. Much of the castle has fallen into decline,” Sofia went on. “It is not safe to wander. If you wish to see more of the estate, you must do so with the Count as your companion.”
Mina hesitated, glancing down the empty stairwell behind her. It seemed absurd that she was now the lady of the manor, and yet forbidden from exploring it on her own, or even withSofia. But the Count’s words from the night before returned to her—the same words that Sofia had uttered to her this morning:Transylvania is not England.
With no other choice, Mina followed Sofia back to her chambers.
Once inside, Sofia’s demeanor softened. “I will return to fetch you for supper, mistress. Perhaps it would serve you to rest. Travel is known to leave a lady feeling quite worn.”
Mina offered a tight smile. “Perhaps I will.”
When Sofia closed the door, Mina crossed the room, standing by the windows that overlooked the courtyard below and the mountainside beyond. From where she stood, she could no longer see Jonathan’s carriage, and somehow that absence made her heart clench.
She felt the sting of tears and turned away. She needed a distraction—something to pull her from her own self-pity. It would not do to give in to such emotion, like some fragile damsel. She was cared for—fed, clothed, protected by the castle and by the Count. She had nothing to fear.
And yet, she could not help but wish she were back in London—or that Lucy were here with her, some small piece of home.
Mina had always been the practical one between them—the rational, steady one—yet she could see now that without Lucy’s light, there was no balance within her. Steadiness held little value in a life devoid of joy. She cleared her throat against theemotion, drew a steady breath, and pushed the despondency aside, forcing her thoughts back toward reason.
She was unsettled only because she was in a place which was unfamiliar to her. In time, she told herself, she would find new things to bring her happiness. She needed only to allow herself the space to ease into this new life.
Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the fur blankets on the bed and the rug laid before the hearth, waiting for some idea to take hold. When her eyes settled on the dressing table against the far wall, resolve followed. If she could not bring Lucy to her, she would bring a piece of herself to Lucy. She would write to Lucy, and to Aunt Emily as well—though she suspected her aunt had already returned to the rhythms of her ordinary life.
Mina opened the drawers of the wooden table, searching for paper and a quill, but found nothing. Determined, she crossed the room and opened the door—only to startle at the figure standing just beyond it.
“Can I help you with something, mistress?” Sofia asked.
Mina pressed a hand to her chest. “Sofia, you frightened me.” The woman said nothing at first, watching her with quiet unease, as though waiting for an explanation. “I wanted to write a letter,” Mina offered. “Could you show me where I might find paper and a quill?”
“Not to worry, mistress. I will fetch them for you.”
Sofia turned away, but Mina stepped out after her.
“I’ll join you,” Mina said lightly. “If I am to live in this castle as more than a guest, I should learn where such things are kept.”
Sofia stared at her, seeming at a loss for how to counter the argument. With a restrained sigh, she said, “As you wish, mistress.”
Mina followed, trying to track their route—left from her bedroom, down the corridor, then right, another hallway, and right again. But soon, with no windows or wall décor to distinguish one passage from the next, confusion set in. She supposed she understood why the Count was so insistent on having either himself or Sofia guide her. Yet as they reached a staircase some time later, another possibility occurred to her—what if Sofia took a different route each time? What if she meant to prevent Mina from learning the paths on her own?
Almost as quickly as the thought surfaced, she dismissed it. What would Sofia gain by keeping her disoriented? Mina was simply unaccustomed to relying on anyone but herself to navigate the world. Perhaps it was that unfamiliar vulnerability that made the situation feel suspect.
“Just through here, mistress.”
Sofia led her into a room Mina recognized from her first night, and then through another door into the library where she had awakened after her fainting spell. Mina paused there, memories rising unbidden—of Jonathan, of the comfort of his presence, of the last moment she had not felt so utterly alone.
Emotion tightened her throat. She felt suddenly like a porcelain figure, kept safely tucked away—valued, perhaps, but never truly interacted with. She had hoped marriage might ease that feeling, that some bond might form between her and the Count, something that could grow with time. But was that reasonable to expect of a man so accustomed to command, to a life dictated by his own will?
