Mina pushed away from the desk, her eyes scanning each corner of the room for something—anything—to occupy her mind. She was dreadfully bored, but more than that, she was lonely. Melancholy and unease clung to her. The castle still did not feel like home, and these people—the few she had encountered—didnot feel like family.
She swallowed the tightness in her throat and wandered to the window. The day beyond was bright and clear, the sky a sharp blue despite the chill in the air. Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, to the book that had been so deliberately left for her to find. What had it meant? Had it been a threat? A warning? Or merely an acknowledgement of their presence—proof that someone else moved through those halls unseen?
Part of her regretted her cowardice—the way she had hidden behind the door. Had she pushed past her fear, she might have answers by now. But then again, if she had, what if something far worse had happened?
She could not explain it, only that she had known, instinctively, not to reveal herself. Whether that knowledge came from intuition or from the fear instilled in her by Sofia and the Count, she could not say.
***
That evening, she’d expected to dine alone, as was becoming tradition. When Sofia brought her to the dining room, Mina found herself without appetite, an ache in her chest that no food or drink could ease. Still, unwilling to seem ungrateful, she sat and tried to eat.
Her thoughts drifted to Lucy. What was she doing back in London? Dining with her mother in their townhouse, just afew doors down from Mina’s old home? Or perhaps out in the city with Arthur, falling in love, feeling a happiness she deserved more than anyone Mina had ever known. And Jonathan—he was likely in his office, poring over some dense tome or buried in paperwork, content as could be. Despite her loneliness, the thought warmed her.
“It appears I’m late.”
Mina looked up, and there, in the doorway of the dining room, was the Count.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears. She stared at him, struck by the tangle of emotions rising within her—anger at his unexplained absence, and relief at seeing someone other than Sofia.
“I am,” he said, walking over to the table and pouring himself a glass of wine. Mina glanced toward the doorway and noticed Sofia had withdrawn, lingering just beyond. “Did you miss me, wife?” A hint of a smirk played at his lips, and Mina frowned. Was this a game to him?
She straightened, irritation flaring. “I hardly noticed your absence.” She reached for her wine, intending indifference, but her mood bled into her tone, the words as cold as the air beyond the castle walls.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked, tilting his head with apparent curiosity. The question did not seem to trouble him, which only stoked her irritation.
“Of course not. You’re practically a stranger to me. How can I be angry with someone I do not know?” she asked, aware she was testing his patience—and finding she didn’t care. He had pressed her to reveal her passion, then vanished without explanation. If he thought she had been waiting for him, she would not give him the satisfaction.
His mouth quirked, as though suppressing a smile. “I see.” He moved toward her at an unhurried pace, and with each step her pulse quickened. “Where are my manners?”
He circled her chair and knelt before her, one hand drawing it slightly away from the table so that her knees faced him. The movement sent a flutter through her stomach. Taking her hand in his, he lifted his gaze to hers.
“Forgive my tardiness,” he said. “We’ve only just married, and already I have disappointed you. Can you forgive me?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes—whether at his own theatrics or at the heat coloring her cheeks, she did not know.
Mina cleared her throat and looked away from the intensity of his gaze. “I suppose I’ll consider it.”
“Would it help if I told you I brought you a gift?”
She met his eyes then, one brow lifting. “You think I can be so easily bought?”
“No,” he said, a faint smile touching his mouth. “I do not.”
He rose and stepped behind her, the soft rustle of movement close at her back. A moment later, she felt the cool weight ofjewelry settle at her throat, layered over the crucifix she wore. Mina lifted the pendant to inspect it—an emerald set in silver.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. Reaching behind her neck, she slipped the crucifix free and laid it gently on the table, then raised the deep green pendant again for a closer look.
The Count leaned down, his breath warm beside her ear as he said, “It made me think of you.” The movement sent a chill down her spine. He circled the chair and held out his hand. “Come. I have something to show you.”
She paused, tempted to mention Sofia’s remark—that the Count had not left the castle, only withdrawn within it. But to what end? What right had she, after all, to press him for answers?
Mina took his hand, allowing him to draw her to her feet. They reached the doorway before she stopped short. “Wait. My necklace.”
“Sofia will return it to your chambers,” he said, already moving on.
Only then did Mina realize that Sofia was nowhere to be seen. Had the woman already known where they were going? Would she be displeased by their sudden disappearance?
As the Count led her down the hall, Mina reminded herself that she did not need permission to walk the castle with her own husband. The word itself made her glance at him anew—how strange it was to reconcile the idea she had always held of what a husband should be with the man beside her. He was handsome,certainly, and outwardly courteous, despite his poor communication—but he was still a stranger. Somewhere deep down, she had always believed she would marry for love, but all of that had changed.
He led her into a room she recognized at once—shelves lined with books from floor to ceiling. A fire already burned in the hearth, the warmth filling the space, and she wondered if he had been here before coming to her. Her chest constricted at the thought, disappointment stirring despite herself.
