A quiet click answers me. The door has returned.
I grab the edge of the vanity to steady myself, muttering, “If this place starts rating my outfit choices next, I’m burning it down.”
The hum in the walls sounds suspiciously like amusement. I guess that’s better than constant doom and gloom.
I take a step forward in preparation, and the door melts open soundlessly. Cold air brushes against my skin, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. The opening smells faintly of steel and rain, threaded with somethingsweeter—something I can’t quite name. Power, maybe. Or memory. The castle pulsates, low and steady, and I swear I canfeelit breathing around me.
Beyond the threshold, a corridor stretches into darkness, long and elegant yet completely wrong. The walls are carved from obsidian, shot through with veins of pale silver that thump faintly, just like in my room. Every few feet, a torch flares to life on its own, casting molten light that dances across the smooth black surface.
The floors gleam. I don’t even know what they’re made of—more stone, maybe, or something pretending to be—but the reflections ripple like liquid shadows beneath my bare feet. The silence is absolute except for the soft pad of my steps, making me only now realize that I wasn’t given shoes. Maybe that was so I can’t use one to bludgeon my way out of this place.
Smart thinking on someone’s behalf. Just not mine.
I swear the faint whisper of the castle’s heartbeat thrums around me. Not in a metaphorical,magical-housekind of way. I mean alive in the way that my stomach knots and my instincts scream that if I stop moving, it’ll notice I’m not where I’m supposed to be. And that won’t be good for me.
“Okay,” I murmur under my breath. “Great dining hall. Easy enough. How big can one creepy vampire-chic castle be?”
A low vibration travels through the floor, almost like a dare to find out.
“I’m not talking to you,” I snap automatically.
The wall nearest to me ripples, small waves spreading through black stone like someone tossed a pebble into a pond. When it settles again, a faint shimmer appears in the shape of an arrow. It points left.
“Of course,” I mutter, following the direction because it’s not like I have options. “Haunted GPS, lead the way.”
The air shifts as I move. It’s warmer now, faintly perfumed with something floral and metallic, like lilies and lightning. The ceiling arches high above me, disappearing into shadow. Here and there, I catch glints of carvings along the stone: wolves and serpents, vines and constellations, figures half-human and half-mythic. Their eyes glimmer faintly when I pass, like they’re following me.
My pulse kicks faster. “Nope. Not freaky at all,” I whisper, brushing a hand against my arm to ground myself. The stone wall closest to me is smooth as glass, but heat radiates from it, as if something enormous and unseen lives just beneath the surface.
A soft wind stirs, and a door blooms out of the wall ahead—literallyblooms,petals of black stone curling open like a flower before solidifying into another archway. The corridor beyond it slopes downward, filled with a silver mist that catches the torchlight in tiny, shimmering flecks.
I hesitate, every nerve in my body buzzing. “You could just teleport me, you know. Save us both the awkward walk.”
The Keep doesn’t answer. But the torches along the hall flare brighter, one by one, illuminating the way forward like a line of silent, impatient ushers. All the while, behind me, darkness has descended again, taking away any thoughts of running back to my room.
Just a couple of weeks ago, my biggest problem was the cobwebs I couldn’t reach in the skylights of the vaultedceilings back home. I should have been more grateful for pesky insects.
The air grows thicker the further I go, heavy with the scent of burning cedar and cold iron. The vibration beneath my feet increases, turning into a rhythmic thrum that matches my heartbeat. My skin tingles, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end.
Just when I think I can’t handle anymore, the corridor widens into a vast chamber. Massive pillars of dark stone rise from floor to ceiling, threaded with veins that glow like moonlight. The temperature drops as I step inside, and my breath fogs faintly in front of me.
Ahead, enormous double doors wait, carved with intricate spirals that twist and shift if I look too long. They’re beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, and the closer I get, I hear music.
Soft, haunting. Strings, maybe. Something that sounds like starlight and sorrow.
“Well,” I whisper, squaring my shoulders. “Guess this is it. Dinner with the dark and mysterious Malrik Vane. What could possibly go wrong?”
The torches along the hall flare once more, as if amused by my optimism. Then, with a low, resonantboom, the great doors swing open.
Light spills out—amber and gold, warm and utterly deceptive.
The doors ease shut behind me with a sound that feels final. The dining hall is nothing like the cold corridors outside. It’s breathtaking, in that “I probably shouldn’t trust anything this beautiful” kind of way.
The ceiling arches impossibly high, its dark vaultpainted with constellations that shimmer faintly, like the night sky has been trapped indoors. Chandeliers of crystal and silver hang from invisible chains, filling the room with a warm light that flickers against gold-trimmed pillars. The air smells of spiced wine and wood smoke.
A long obsidian table runs nearly the length of the hall, yet it’s only set for two. I guess I can appreciate his confidence that I’d show.
Malrik sits at the far end, draped in shadows and civility. His dark suit is cut sharply, his posture perfect, and his expression unreadable. He doesn’t look up immediately, just swirls the deep red liquid in his glass like a man who already knows he owns the room.
