18. Robin
Robin
T wo days slip by like pages turning in a favorite book—each moment precious precisely because it feels so ordinary, so wonderfully normal.
Adrian has become a permanent fixture at Mira’s side, following her around the village and castle grounds with the devoted attention of a man utterly smitten.
I catch glimpses of them throughout the days—heads bent together over her dirt bike’s engine, sharing quiet conversations on garden benches, Mira teaching him to identify different bird calls in the forest.
The change in my brother is remarkable. Gone is the too-old-for-his-years young man who bore the weight of our family’s struggles on his shoulders.
In his place is someone who practically glows with happiness, who hums under his breath and grins at nothing, who looks like he’s discovered something magical about the world.
“You’re staring,” Eva observes as we watch Adrian help Mira carry supplies from the village market.
“I’m marveling,” I correct. “I haven’t seen him this happy since…well, maybe ever.”
Eva’s smile is soft, understanding. “First love has that effect.”
Meanwhile, Dimi claims he’s catching up on sleep now that Stefan isn’t here to harass him, but I see through his casual facade.
The truth is, he’s thoroughly enjoying the chaos and energy my siblings bring to the castle.
I find him in the library with Dane, spinning elaborate tales about underground tunnels that supposedly connect all the great castles of Europe.
In the gardens, he teaches Alicia card tricks that make her squeal with delight.
Even Maisie, sometimes shy around new adults, has taken to following him around, begging for “just one more story.”
There’s something unexpectedly genuine about Dimi when he’s with the kids—less of the theatrical charm, more authentic warmth.
It makes me wonder if he hides a better man beneath his playboy front, if all that flamboyance is just armor against a world that expects him to be nothing more than Stefan’s disappointing son.
The morning of our third day dawns bright and clear, perfect for the village school visit Petra suggested when I told her that Alicia and Maisie would love to sit in on some classes.
Alicia and Maisie are practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of spending the day with their new friends.
“I can’t believe you’re this enthusiastic about school,” I tell Alicia as we walk the path to the village.
“This is different,” she insists. “It’s not boring like home. Everything here is...I don’t know. More fun.”
Eva walks beside me, looking every inch the elegant lady despite our casual destination. She’s nervous, I can tell—the way she holds herself slightly too straight, the careful neutrality of her expression. Being around children in an educational setting is outside her comfort zone.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur to her. “Just being there is enough.”
“I want to help,” she replies quietly. “This matters to you, which makes it matter to me.”
The school looks even better than before in the morning light. Fresh flowers bloom in window boxes, the playground equipment gleams with new paint, and the sound of children’s laughter spills from open classroom windows.
Petra greets us warmly, immediately sweeping Alicia and Maisie into the excited crowd of local children. Within minutes, they’re chattering away in a mixture of English, gestures, and determined attempts at the local language.
“Would you mind reading to them?” Petra asks me. “The children are fascinated by English stories.”
“Actually,” I suggest, glancing at Eva, “what if Eva told them a story? She could translate each line back and forth.”
Eva’s eyes widen with something between panic and intrigue. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for children’s stories.”
“You’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Just...maybe keep it age-appropriate.”
“I’m sure the children would love to hear from the lady of the black lake!
” Petra says, and repeats the phrase in their local language.
It certainly has an effect. The children gather in a circle on colorful mats, their faces upturned with eager anticipation.
Eva settles in a chair before them, and takes a breath as she considers what to tell them.
“Long ago,” she begins, her voice carrying easily through the room, “in these very mountains, lived a woman named Erzsebet Novak. The people called her the Blood Rose.”
I feel my stomach drop as several children’s eyes widen with fascination. This is not going to be age-appropriate.
Eva continues, weaving the dark tale of her ancestor with dramatic flair—the missing girls, the villagers’ growing terror. The classroom grows eerily quiet, and I catch Petra’s increasingly horrified expression.
Just as I’m about to intervene, Eva notices the grimaces from both Petra and me. She pauses, seeming to reassess her audience, then smoothly pivots the narrative.
“But what the villagers didn’t know,” she continues, her voice taking on a lighter tone, “was that Erzsebet was actually a good witch. She had taken all those girls to teach them her own magic, to give them new lives in faraway kingdoms where they lived in beautiful castles.”
The children’s postures relax, their expressions shifting from fearful to intrigued.
“And when her work was done,” Eva concludes, “Erzsebet transformed herself into a great black raven. She still flies through these forests today, and over the lake, too, watching over all the children of the village. If you ever feel scared or lost in the woods, you can call to her, and she will guide you home.”
The children burst into excited chatter, several of them immediately planning expeditions to search for the magical raven. Alicia and Maisie look absolutely thrilled by this local legend they can participate in.
“Thank you, Miss Novak,” Petra says carefully, clearly unconvinced by the sanitized ending but too polite to object in front of the children.
I hide a smile.
“We’re going foraging in the forest today,” Petra announces to the group. To Eva and me, she adds, “Part of our learning involves understanding which wild foods are safe and which are dangerous. It’s important that the children know these things. Will you come with us?”
“Sure,” I say, before Eva can find an excuse.
“Do you think we’ll see the raven?” Maisie asks Eva hopefully.
“We might,” Eva replies. “If we’re quiet and respectful, we might catch a glimpse of her and her offspring.”
The forest welcomes us with dappled sunlight and the rich scents of earth and growing things. The children scatter under careful supervision, gathering berries and identifying edible plants while chattering excitedly about ravens and magic.
Eva and I walk together along a winding path, half guardians, half observers of this organized chaos.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching children learn through hands-on experience—the way their faces light up with discovery, their natural curiosity driving them to ask endless questions.
“You’re in your element,” Eva observes, watching me help a small boy pick wild strawberries.
“I miss it,” I admit. “Being useful in this way. Teaching, nurturing young minds. It feeds something in my soul that nothing else quite does.”
“You could have it,” Eva says quietly. “Here. Petra would welcome you with open arms.”
The possibility hangs between us like a bridge I’m not sure I’m brave enough to cross. Teaching here would mean staying here. Permanently.
And I still haven’t talked to the kids about it. They’re still under the impression that we’ll leave here in a few weeks. Homesickness hasn’t hit yet.
In the distance, I spot familiar figures—Adrian and Mira, walking together through a clearing bathed in golden light. As we watch, Adrian leans toward her, clearly working up the courage for what looks like their first kiss.
My heart clenches as Mira turns her head away, and I see Adrian’s face fall with crushing disappointment. Poor kid. I want to march over there and tell him that rejection isn’t the end of the world, that?—
But then Mira turns back to him with a laugh, grabs the front of his shirt, and kisses him with enough passion to make even me blush. Adrian’s arms come around her like he’s drowning and she’s his lifeline.
“Well,” Eva murmurs beside me, “that answers that question.”
“Mira likes to maintain control,” I observe. “Reminds me of someone else.”
Eva whacks my arm lightly, but she laughs. “If I know the Rivers family, then Adrian probably won’t mind that,” she replies drily.
“Definitely not. We should probably give them some privacy.”
We redirect our path away from the young couple, but I can’t stop smiling. Adrian deserves this kind of happiness—deserves to feel chosen, wanted, treasured by someone who sees his worth.
As we walk deeper into the forest, further from the children’s voices, I find myself gathering my courage.
“Eva,” I begin carefully, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About staying.”
She stops walking entirely, turning to face me with an expression of such hope and vulnerability that it takes my breath away.
“Robin—”
“I want to,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve. “Stay here. All of us. Make this our home. But I’ll have to run it by everyone else, first. You understand?”
For a moment, Eva looks like she might cry—actually cry, tears of joy running down her perfectly composed face. She struggles to maintain her composure, but I can see the emotion threatening to overwhelm her.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she says, her voice slightly hoarse. “Whatever they want, too. If they’d rather stay in Vegas, I could move there. Though I’m not sure Brie Colombo would be thrilled to have me as a permanent neighbor.”