12. Eva
Eva
A s we approach Castle Blacklake from the village, I try to see it through the eyes of the Rivers family.
The towers rise from the mountainside like something torn from a fairytale—dark stone and soaring spires silhouetted against the pale morning sky.
I’ve seen this view a thousand times, but watching Robin’s family experience it for the first time makes my chest tight with something I can’t quite name.
“Holy shit,” Dane breathes, then claps a hand over his mouth when Robin shoots him a look.
“Language,” she chides, but she’s smiling, too.
Adrian lets out a low whistle. “It’s massive.”
“And it’s really yours?” Alicia asks, bouncing on her seat as the car continues toward my ancestral home.
“It really is,” I confirm, unable to keep the pride from my voice. This place is my legacy, my power made manifest in stone and mortar.
Maisie presses her face to the window as we wind up the approach road, leaving smudgy handprints on the glass. “It looks kind of scary,” she admits. “Like somewhere an evil queen might live.”
Ouch.
“A few evil countesses,” I tell her. “And a few queens have slept here. But I promise, it just looks scary to keep bad people away. Inside, it’s lovely and warm and comfortable.”
Maisie glances back at me. “Like you,” she says brightly.
Robin stifles a snort, but I have to smile at Maisie’s comment.
I thought I’d hate this—having children trampling through my sanctuary, disrupting the careful order I’ve built.
But I find myself delighted by their first reactions.
There’s something intoxicating about sharing this, about watching their faces light up as they take in the full scope of what I can offer.
I’m so eager to see them happy and safe.
That thought stops me cold. I care for them because I care for Robin. They are part of her, and so I love them just as I love Robin.
We haven’t said those words since we reconciled. Such a simple word, but it lodges in my throat every time I think about saying it aloud.
What if she doesn’t feel it the same way anymore? What if proximity to my world—to the reality of who I am—has changed things?
What if she only came here to see if she could spark that fire between us again?
“My housekeeper is going to meet us at the main entrance,” I say instead, forcing my voice to remain steady as we pull up the circular drive. “And the house staff will help with the luggage.”
The massive oak doors swing open as we pull into the large stone courtyard, and Mrs. Kovacs appears with her usual perfect timing, flanked by four younger staff members. She’s arranged herself and the others in a formal line, but I catch the curious glances they’re stealing at Robin’s family.
“Welcome to Castle Blacklake,” she says in English after we all pour out, offering a small bow.
Robin steps forward with that natural warmth that never fails to amaze me. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Kovacs. These are my siblings—Adrian, Alicia, Dane, and Maisie.”
Each of them mumbles hellos, suddenly shy in the face of such formality.
“Your rooms are prepared,” Mrs. Kovacs tells them. “If you would follow me?” She leads them into the foyer.
The grand staircase has never looked more imposing than it does with Robin’s family staring up at it in barely contained awe. Dane runs his hand along the carved banister, Adrian studies the oil paintings lining the walls, and Alicia’s head swivels constantly, trying to take in everything at once.
“This place is insane,” she whispers to Robin, who shushes her with a smile.
I’ve assigned them rooms in the east wing—close enough to Robin and me that they won’t feel isolated, far enough that we’ll still have privacy. And watching them discover their accommodations is better than any entertainment I’ve ever paid for.
Alicia squeals when she sees her four-poster bed, immediately diving onto the velvet coverlet and rolling around like a delighted cat. “This bed is bigger than our entire living room back home!”
“My bathroom has a tub you could swim in,” Dane calls from his adjacent room, voice echoing off marble walls.
Adrian attempts stoicism, but I catch him running appreciative fingers over the antique writing desk by his window. “Great view,” he says, nodding out at the black lake that gives the castle and the region its name.
But it’s Maisie’s reaction that undoes me completely. She stands in the center of her room—done in soft golds and creams—and simply spins in a slow circle, arms outstretched, face tilted up toward the painted ceiling.
“It’s like being inside a jewelry box,” she breathes.
Robin appears at my shoulder, and I feel the warmth of her body even before she speaks. “I’ve asked them to put my luggage in your room,” she murmurs.
I turn, worried. “I did have them make up your separate room, if you wanted some space?—”
“I know. But I want to share space with you ,” she says softly.
Once they’ve looked their fill, we take them all outside, and Robin and I watch from the terrace as they discover the gardens—formal hedgerows and wild meadows, fountains that throw diamonds of light into the air, winding paths that disappear into shadows.
They run like they’ve been caged their entire lives, whooping and calling to each other as they chase each other. Alicia climbs the rim of the central fountain until Adrian barks at her to get down. Dane tries to catch the ornamental fish in the reflecting pool with his bare hands.
I had a childhood here too, but it was nothing like this. Rigid tutoring sessions, formal meals eaten alone whenever Papa was away, walks through these same gardens with my back straight and my hands clasped behind me. No running. No shouting. No joy.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Robin says, joining me at the stone balustrade.
“They’re so free,” I murmur. “Watching them...it’s like seeing color for the first time.”
She studies my profile. “What was your childhood like here?”
“Lonely.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. “My father loved me, but he believed in discipline above all else. Fun was frivolous.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug, aiming for casual indifference and probably missing by miles. “It made me who I am.”
“Strong,” Robin says softly. “But maybe too hard on yourself.”
Before I can respond, Maisie comes tearing across the lawn toward us, hair flying, face flushed with exertion and delight.
“Eva! Eva! Come and play!”
She grabs my hand with both of hers, tugging with surprising strength. I let myself be dragged along, catching Robin’s amused smile as she follows. We play a game of hide and seek, and my memory of hiding away in the gardens as a child myself serves me well.
I didn’t always want to learn the lessons my father was determined to teach me. So sometimes…sometimes I hid away.
Soon enough it’s lunch time, and Robin insists on introducing the children to the kitchen staff as well.
The cook rules the kitchens with the efficiency of a general commanding troops.
But she softens when she sees Robin once more, and enjoys the children’s wide-eyed fascination at pots and pans of all sizes, the herb bundles hanging from the rafters, and the curing meats in the side pantry.
Maisie has planted herself at the pastry station, where one of the younger cooks is making dough for tonight’s bread. Maisie watches the process with the intensity of a scholar studying ancient texts.
“You like to try?” the cook asks in halting English.
Maisie nods eagerly, and soon her small hands are dusted with flour, kneading dough under careful supervision. The sight of her concentrating so seriously, tongue poking out slightly, makes me smile.
Robin catches my expression. “You’re going soft,” she teases quietly.
“Am I?” I keep my voice light, but inside, something warm unfurls.
I am going soft. These people—this family—have worked their way past my defenses without me even noticing.
“What about the village?” Alicia asks. “Can we visit?”
“Tomorrow,” I announce, “we’ll visit the village. There’s still much more to show you here, including the dungeons,” I tell Dane, who pumps the air with his fists, ecstatic. “Don’t worry,” I murmur to Robin, who looks a little alarmed. “They’ve been turned into a wine cellar.”
But not for the first time, I find my desires have to take a back seat to work, when Leon texts me that Markov, the Consortium’s chief financial officer, has arrived at the castle, summoned for the meeting that I commanded myself and promptly forgot about.
I haven’t prepared at all, but twenty minutes later, I find myself in my study with Leon and Markov, the kitchen’s warmth and laughter feeling suddenly distant.
Markov has always been a precise man—thin-framed glasses, perfectly pressed suits, the kind of meticulous attention to detail that makes him invaluable as our chief financial officer. But today he seems nervous.
“The reports, as requested,” Markov says, sliding a leather portfolio across my desk. “Revenue is up twelve percent, largely due to the new contracts in western Europe.”
I flip through the documents, noting the familiar columns of figures. Everything appears to be perfectly in order.
A little too perfectly in order, perhaps.
I ask my questions. He answers them. Then I close the portfolio slowly, keeping my movements deliberate. “Thank you for the reports.”
“You’re very welcome, of course. I wondered—why you wanted to see me face-to-face?” He’s definitely nervous.
“We are making some changes to the business model,” I tell him, and then I explain what I want to do. By the time I’m finished, he’s actually sweating.
“This will require a number of restructures,” he says. “I’ll…I’ll have to get some numbers together, make my evaluations, recommendations…”
“Of course,” I say. “I look forward to receiving those.”
After he leaves, Leon and I sit in silence for a long moment.
“Well?” I ask finally.
“He’s lying about something ,” Leon says bluntly. “That nervousness wasn’t about quarterly reports.”
“I agree.”