She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His skin was cool against her palm. Without another word, he led her into the darkened corridor, leaving her chambers behind.
The castle lay hushed around them, the stillness so complete it felt as though no one else existed within its walls. A distant thought of Sofia surfaced—whether the woman had already retired for the night or if she was somewhere attending to her endless tasks.
The Count guided them through the shadows with the confidence of someone who knew every step by heart. When they reached the staircase, he led her upward—not down.
“Where are we—”
“Shhh,” he murmured, turning and placing a finger to her lips. Her heart thrummed at his nearness, his gaze holding hers through the darkness. “Come on.”
They climbed higher and higher, the stairs winding upward until they reached what must have been the sixth or seventh story. As they went, she wondered how he could see through the blackness at all, one hand clasped in his and the other grazingthe wall for balance. At last, they reached the top level, where a heavy wooden door loomed before them.
“Put this on,” he instructed, revealing the fabric over his arm to be her cloak. He settled it around her shoulders, then stepped closer to fasten it at her throat.
“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, grasping for distraction from how close he was to her.
“Transylvanians don’t get cold,” he replied simply.
He turned away, drew a key from his pocket, and slipped it into the lock. A sharpclickcut through the quiet.
The Count pushed the door open, and an icy wind greeted them. Mina followed him onto a narrow walkway, the night sky stretching above, with a crescent moon peering through a break in the clouds. Stone parapets lined either side, and when she peered over the edge, she saw nothing but fog and shadow below.
“Forgive me for the cold,” the Count said, leaning against the parapet despite the dusting of snow that coated the stone. “I was on my way here and thought you might like to see it as well.”
Mina brushed snow from the low wall before resting her forearms atop it to see the courtyard from his vantage point. All was buried beneath a thick blanket of white, snowflakes drifting lazily from the darkened sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, surprised by the honesty of her words.
It was not the gentle beauty of the English countryside on a warm spring day—there was a bleakness to the view, an untamed grandeur. The valley stretched out beneath them, shrouded in fog, treetops breaking through the gloom. Yet the wildness of it stole her breath all the same.
“It is, isn’t it?” he said. “I like to come here to think sometimes. Late, when no one else is awake.”
“And what do you think about?” she asked, turning toward him.
He smiled faintly, his gaze still fixed on the land beyond the parapet. “A great many things,” he said. Then his eyes found hers. “But I am far more interested in hearing about you, Wilhelmina.”
She laughed lightly. “Me?”
“Does that surprise you?” he asked. “You are my wife, after all.”
She folded her arms against the cold, tilting her head as she considered. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid.”
“I find that highly unlikely.” In the darkness, she caught a glint in his gaze, like kindling waiting for a spark. “What excites you?” he asked softly. “What sends fire through your core? What makes you feel truly alive? Indulge me, Countess.”
A shiver traced her spine—whether from the cold or the title, she couldn’t be sure. Even after months of knowing she would come here to marry a nobleman, hearing him say the word aloud was both terrifying and thrilling.
She drew in a breath of frigid air and turned her gaze toward the night. Her heart thrummed, and she had the feeling of being utterly exposed before him. She looked down into the shadows of the castle grounds, gathering her courage. But she had no answer for him—no answer even for herself. She shifted, pulling her arms more tightly around her.
“I suppose I don’t know,” she admitted, heat rising to her cheeks. “I am whoever is needed. For my family. My friends. My students. I want whatever is best for them.”
She did not look at him, afraid of what she might find in his eyes. Then she felt his hand rest lightly against her arm.
“And what ofyou?” he asked, slowly stepping closer. “There is a strength within you. I can sense it. Yet you smother it, like a candle starved of air.”
She lifted her gaze despite herself. He reached for her other arm, turning her gently until she faced him fully. His hand rose to her cheek, his skin cool against hers. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost tender.
“Do not be afraid to name your desires.”
She swallowed.
