Chapter 9
Aspen
S hielding my eyes from the blaring sun, I sit up in my bed. It’s peacefully quiet this morning.
What time is it?
When Vladmir escorted me back to this room, silk pajamas that were too smooth and expensive for a captive, were waiting on the edge of my made up bed and there was a new wardrobe in the walk in closet waiting for me.
I wasted no time taking a long hot as hell shower, hopping in the bed and taking a nap.
Judging by how I’m now waking up from said nap into a whole new day, it means recent events knocked me out completely.
Unlike yesterday morning, no one is barging in and roughing me up like we’re in some sort of frat house. It’s just me and the wood burning in the fireplace. I should be thankful, however, this makes me feel uneasy.
A knock raps at the door and I jump, startled by the sudden noise.
“Yes?” I call out with the covers pulled to my chest.
“I have your breakfast, Mrs. Volkov.” A soft woman’s voice rings out from the other side.
What did she call me?
“Uh, you have the wrong room.” I shout back from bed.
“I’ll leave it at the door for you, ma’am. ”
“How does she expect me to open a locked door,” I mumble.
Getting out of bed, I pad over to door. Turning the knob, I’m surprised when I’m met with no resistance.
When I open the door fully, there is a silver breakfast tray resting at my feet.
Reaching down to grab it, I notice there’s a note with the most delicate cursive handwriting on it, next to the plate.
Bringing the tray in, I sit it on the desk nearby.
Picking up the note, I read it.
Yesterday was an unexpected and horrific event, little one. To apologize, take today to explore your new home. No soldiers will be assigned. Take all the time you need. – V.V
With the card still in my hand, I go back to the door. Stepping into the hallway, there aren’t any soldiers lining the hall’s wall. Just a few servants.
He could have soldiers disguised themselves as servants.
I shake the thought away. None of these servants have the bulky builds of the soldiers I’ve seen so far.
But maybe…
I go back into my room and walk over to the desk.
Sitting in the chair, I pull back the lid over the plate.
Today’s breakfast is spinach, ham and cheese quiche, raspberry filled French toast and an egg benedict.
There’s a small glass of orange juice on the side.
It smells divine and judging by the way my stomach just growled, I would say it agrees with me.
Missing last night’s dinner left me ravenous.
I stuff my face with the voracity of a toddler on candy steroids.
The quiche is warm and the taste of the raspberry filling makes me moan, it’s so delicious.
It’s as if everything was made from scratch, every ingredient is rich and sprinkled with love only a grandma could manage.
If I wasn’t pledged to marry Nikolai, I would have thought they served me my last meal before I sat on the executioner’s block.
My chest starts to throb, causing me to rub it to soothe the slight twinge of pain. Most would think it’s indigestion from eating so fast. But I know my illness is getting worse.
I’ll figure out how to handle this later.
When I’m done, I look down to find a trashcan to discard my napkin.
Although it’s a cloth napkin, I don’t want anyone to see that it’s heavily stained with berry sauce.
It would be too devastatingly embarrassing for me to know one of the staff saw my table manners were that of a bear or some other kind of animal.
As I’m looking down, I notice this desk has drawers. I pull one open out of curiosity. There’s jewelry and… sketches of a young Nikolai. He has short hair and a boyish smile that makes his eyes look like stars.
Every picture is drawn with such detail.
They all seem to be of him in his late teenage years, maybe early twenties.
Most of the drawings are when he’s sleeping.
Some of them are of him riding a— freaking horse in some sort of sport.
At the bottom of one of the pages, the artist wrote Charger Championship, 1923 .
Whoever drew this must have been his lover. Every stroke exudes love and admiration.
Placing the sketches back, I move to another drawer. There are dozens of journals in this one. I pick one up and open it to a random page, the scent of old paper and the smell of roses fills the space .
The first entry says:
Nikolai,
Today, in the gardens, when you kissed me, I thought I was going to pass out. I was so nervous, but you weren’t. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you’ve kissed someone else before. I’ll be dreaming of this tonight.
Love, Helana.
Helana? I look around the room as if it could tell me who she is.
I sit here for about an hour, reading random pages of each journal until I come across an entry that piques my attention.
Nikolai,
Can you believe it? We are actually getting married. I can’t believe our fairytale is becoming real. We are so close to our happily ever after. Very soon, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.
Love, Helana.
Was he married before?
I drop the journal back into the second drawer then close it and rest my head on top of my clasped hands.
No, he couldn’t have been married. No one in their right mind would tie their life with a demon spawn. Or he could be a divorcee and that’s why he didn’t show much emotion about this contract marriage.
Yes, that makes more sense.
Did she leave him because he became insufferable?
Did he pretend to be sweet before he showed her his evil side?
And then when she realized he played her, she left him?
Judging by what I’ve seen of him and his father, I don’t blame her.
If he handled her like he has handled me, I hope she throat punched him on her way out.
Shit. His shadows probably blocked her blows. That damn asshole!
Maybe he killed her.
Did he kill her because she didn’t fall in line? Will he do the same to me? Hell no. His balls would be stuffed so far down his throat before he can even think to try it with me.
Pushing back from my chair, I decide that my brain needs a break and there’s some exploring to do.
Putting on a black long-sleeved tunic and black leggings, I walk into the hall. No one is here but the servants from earlier. As I walk down the hall no heads turn, just stillness and quietness.
I wander the hallways for bit, each turn revealing more ornate rooms I’ll never use.
I’ve discovered that my floor and wing is for guests and that my room is the one currently occupied and the third floor is the servants and soldier’s rooms. There’s a library on the second floor with books ranging from historical literature and books in languages I’ve never seen before.
Eventually, I find steps that lead to the greenhouse gardens I saw from the breakfast hall yesterday.
“The servants said they killed four of our best soldiers at breakfast yesterday. Why do I always have to be away when they do something like this?” I can almost hear the pout in the soft Russian woman’s voice below me. I slow down my pace to eavesdrop a little more.
“No one disrespects the family.” Another woman’s voice, this one is more mature, more refined.
“How did she become family?”
“When your father made it so.”
“Young, Mrs. Volkov,” a servant calls out when I reach the bottom step.
Who are they addressing? Can’t be me.
The garden looks like a sanctuary surrounded by nature. Silver iron framework is woven into the glass, and the panels above look cathedral. Exotic plants and trees stretch towards the light streaming from the ceiling. At the center of it all is a koi pond with lily pads dotting the surface.
Beautiful and extraordinary.
The warmth mixed with the smell of lavender and hyacinth with the sound of water trickling from the pond, I could find myself resting here from a long stressful day. This is the kind of place that would make you forget there is an entire world outside this place.
The younger one claps. “Ah. So, you’re the one that has our home turned upside down.”
She has short platinum curls, silver eyes with red specks.
She’s a Thraller.
“Men are dying over you. Literally!” She squeals.
“That’s enough, Viessa.” The older one chides, extending her arms. “You are gorgeous,” she says wrapping her arms around me. “I’m your dear mother in love , Sorcha. That ill-mannered girl is your sister, Viessa.”
Standing in her embrace freezes my muscles in place.
What is this?
Sorcha looks like Viessa, except her curls are black, thicker and they’re to her waist. And instead of silver eyes, hers are mint green with red flecks.
“Oh goodness, let me take a better look at you.” She stands back assessing me from head to toe. “You are quite the looker. My son must be fawning over you.”
I scoff.
She looks shocked.
She can’t be serious right now. That demon spawn, her son , would polarize me with his shadows if he could. Since I’ve been wandering around the floors, I haven’t spotted him once.
“Aspen.” She folds my arm around hers and leads me down the trail ahead. “Niko isn’t as bad as he seems. He’s just—” She waves her hand in front of her, searching for the words. “Mourning.”
I’m taken aback a bit. “Mourning?”
“Yes,” Viessa starts. I didn’t realize she was following us. “Poor Helana’s death broke us all. But he took it the hardest.”
“Were they married?”
“Of course, sweet child. They were childhood sweethearts. They were married for what?” Sorcha snaps her fingers.
“A little over ninety years.” Viessa answers for her.
‘They got married right at eighteen.” Sorcha stops to sigh. “Their future was tragically cut too short. ”
“Why?”
They both stop in place and I look between them.
“She was murdered. This year is her fifteenth death anniversary.” Sorcha says somberly.
There’s a lump in my throat. I can’t imagine that kind of heartbreak. Though I hate to feel it, I can sympathize with his grief.