Footsteps grew closer.
Beyond the door, fabric brushed softly against stone. A faint shadow spilled across the floor as a figure paused in the doorway. In the dim light, its edges were soft and indistinct.
Mina did not move—did not breathe—willing them to leave. After several moments, the shadow withdrew, the soft rustle of fabric marking their retreat down the hall.
Still, she waited, unsure of which direction the person had gone.
Doubt crept in. Mina could not recall ever seeing Sofia approach her chambers from this end of the castle—or depart by it.
After a few long breaths, the shadow passed by the doorway once again.
Somewhere down the corridor came a click, and the glow of light vanished.
When Mina stepped out from behind the door, she paused to take in the room, squinting through the darkness. The space was vast and largely empty, save for the faint outlines of objects resting on the floor, propped against the wall like photographs waiting to be hung.
Despite her curiosity, she retreated into the hallway, fear overtaking any earlier desire to find the Count or explore these halls. Now, all she wanted was to return to the safety of her chambers.
The darkness left her disoriented. She reached her hands out to either side, her fingers grazing the stone as she walked, careful to keep her balance. But as she neared the end of the corridor, she saw that the door into the wing stood ajar, glowing softly with the light she had left behind.
Alarm surged through her. She glanced over her shoulder into the shadows, half-expecting to find someone there, watching, waiting for her.
All she found was the empty corridor.
Mina slipped through the doorway and eased the door shut as quietly as she could. Whoever had been out here had not seemed to notice—if they had, surely they would have shut the door, closing her in.
But when she turned back to the candelabra on the windowsill, she froze.
There, placed just beneath the candle, lay a book.
When she read the words on its cover, her mouth went dry.
She lifted the candle and moved quickly down the hall, leaving the book behind. Her eyes searched frantically for the hairpins she had dropped along the way.
More than once, she failed to find them at first, panic flaring as she imagined herself lost—trapped here, waiting to be found by whoever had left the novel. But one by one, each pin revealed itself, glinting faintly in the shifting light.
Relief crashed through her as she reached the corridor leading back to her chambers. She ran now, the flame flickering wildly, and burst into her room, shutting the door swiftly behind her.
Pressing her back against the heavy wood, she slid down onto the cold stone floor, breath coming fast and shallow.
Fear still running through her veins, her thoughts returned to the book.
La Morte Amoureuse.
With what French she could recall from her schooling, she pieced together the meaning—the message this stranger had left her.
The Dead Woman in Love.
CHAPTER 16
Mina tossed and turned that night, her dreams filled with horrors—fingers reaching out from shadowed corridors, laughter closing in around her, fear coursing through her veins. She dreamt she was back in that wing of the castle, trying to find her way out. When she reached for a door, it was locked. She ran the other way, the laughter growing nearer in the darkness, but there was no escape—only turn after turn through endless stone corridors.
When she awoke the next morning, she felt drained of all life, exhaustion heavy in her limbs, though her mind continued to race. Someone had known she was there. And yet, if it had been the Count, or Sofia, or even the driver, surely they would have said something—would have acknowledged her presence. Her thoughts returned to that first night in the castle, to the sounds outside her door: not one voice, but two. How many others were within these walls? And why had she not been told? Why the secrecy?
Mina tried to carry on with her day as usual, but as Sofia arrived to escort her to breakfast, the question lingered at theedge of her thoughts.Who is in the opposite wing of the castle?Yet to ask it would mean revealing that she had broken the one rule both the Count and Sofia had impressed upon her from the start—that she was never to walk the castle alone.
As she ate, she turned over the possibilities. If it had been another servant—someone whose presence had never been mentioned—wouldn’t they have already spoken to Sofia about the encounter? She considered Father Petru, wondering if he might be staying in the other wing, but recalled Sofia’s assurance that he had returned to his home. A member of the Count’s family, perhaps? But if that were the case, why conceal it? The questions circled without answer, her unease deepening as she struggled to make sense of it all.
Later, when Mina returned to her chambers, she sat at her desk and resolved to write to Lucy again, despite still awaiting a reply. But as she lifted the quill, her mind went blank. What could she possibly say? She couldn’t very well burden her dearest friend with her concerns. It would only cause Lucy distress, and there was nothing she could do from so far away in London.
