Chapter 3
ROWAN
The castle hums before I’m even awake. A low, melodic vibration that ripples through the stone walls and settles right into my bones. It’s like snuggling with a cat the size of a mountain lion, if that cat was also possibly plotting my murder.
A knock—if you can call the deep thunk against stone a knock—draws my attention to the far wall. A section of it slides open with a whoosh, and a figure steps through. Not Malrik, thankfully.
This one’s shorter, dressed in plain gray robes that manage to look ominous. “You’ve been summoned,” they say, voice clipped and genderless. “For dinner.”
I blink, having no sense of day or night within these walls. “Dinner?”
They nod once, then hold up a folded bundle of fabric like it might bite. “You’re to wear this. The Lord requests you look…presentable.”
There’s a pause, long enough for me to fully absorb the insult. “Presentable,” I repeat flatly. “Is that a polite way of saying I look like I got into a fight with a wild animal?”
The robed figure, with their face concealed by shadows, doesn’t flinch or even make a sound.
They simply step closer and place the outfit on the bed beside me, then walk to a vanity that wasn’t in this room five seconds ago to lay out a neat array of accessories—hairbrush, small compact, a few glass pots filled with what looks suspiciously like makeup.
“Make your way to the Great Dining Hall when you’re ready,” they say, turning smoothly back toward the wall.
I snort. “And where exactly is that? Will I be given an escort? GPS coordinates? A trail of breadcrumbs to follow?”
The figure’s head tilts, and when they speak again, their tone is almost reverent. “The Keep will take you.”
That’s not creepy at all.
I open my mouth to ask for clarification, but they’re already retreating past the wall, which closes seamlessly behind them.
I stare at the blank stone for a long second.
“Cool,” I mutter. “I love that I’m now living in a sentient house run by a dude with stage-five control issues and his evil minions. ”
I look down at the dress. It’s black and made of satin, soft as shadow, with a swooping neckline that screams obedience required. I fold my arms. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”
I march toward where the door used to be and plant my hand against the wall. “Open.”
Nothing.
“Please?” I try, because manners might count.
Still nothing.
The air seems to tighten around me, almost smug.
“Oh, come on,” I groan. “You reacted yesterday when I was having a minor breakdown.” I pause, glaring at the stone. “What, you only take orders from men? Typical.”
The vibrations deepen, and I swear it sounds like the castle is laughing.
I glare harder, but the message is clear—the door won’t open until I comply. Fine. Whatever. I’ll play along.
I remove the pajamas, thankful to find my original underwear beneath them, then pull the dress over my head. It fits perfectly, because of course it does. When I turn back to the wall, though, it’s still stubbornly shut.
Which is fine because I have to pee anyway.
There’s a partition with a toilet and a sink behind it, both of which get put to immediate use. Once I come back out, I glare at the walls.
“Seriously? I’m dressed and have used the facilities. Can we move on with the creepy dinner demand part now?”
The hairbrush rattles against the glass top of the vanity.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Grumbling, I drag the brush through my hair, taming the waves that have turned feral since… Whenever it was that I left NightShade.
Thinking of the manor makes my throat tighten, but I force the regrets and fears out of my mind. What’s done is done. I need to focus on finding answers and a way out of here. Malrik said he’s an Ashmark. That has to mean something.
Maybe he’s not as terrible as he’s trying to pretend to be. He did hide that body and not tell anyone. Though he might have also been the reason the guy was in my room to begin with.
Damn it. I should have just told someone like Wolf said. If I’d told them how erratic that energy had felt, maybe they would have… I shake my head. I can’t do this right now. I can’t wallow in a past I can’t change.
I need an escape plan, and the only way to find that is to leave this room. Anyway that I’m able.
Then I can figure out if I’m ever going to be welcomed back with the family that I hope is all still alive.
The air in my room lightens a fraction as I finish brushing the tangles out, and I think maybe the house might finally have sympathy for me and let me out, but the door remains closed.
Next, the makeup jars quiver expectantly. I point at them. “Don’t even think about it.”
They clink louder.
“Ugh, fine. One swipe.” I dab on a hint of eyeshadow and mascara on myself, then look up at the ceiling. “Happy now?”
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 something sweeter—something I can’t quite name.
Power, maybe. Or memory. The castle pulsates, low and steady, and I swear I can feel it 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-house kind 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—literally blooms, 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 vaulted ceilings 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, resonant boom, the great doors swing open.
Light spills out—amber and gold, warm and utterly deceptive.