Chapter 7
The iron gate creaked upward into the stone archway, allowing the carriage to ease into the shadowed passageway beyond.
The air inside was damp and tasted of rust, and Mina held her breath until the vast, empty courtyard came into view.
Mist clung to the grounds while the castle towered above them, its shadowed walls revealing no sign of life within.
There was no chatter of servants, nor was there anyone waiting to receive them—the only sound breaking the stillness was the echo of their own horse’s hoofbeats.
“Perhaps there’s a Transylvanian holiday we don’t know about,” Jonathan said quietly, his breath fogging the air before his face.
The carriage slowed as it neared the castle’s entrance: a thick iron door marked by a solitary lit lantern.
Snow fell in heavy flakes, dusting their hair and clinging to their clothing.
Jonathan stepped out first, then offered his hand to Mina.
She took it, stepping out onto the uneven flagstone and crossing her arms against the frigid air.
As the driver gathered their luggage, Mina turned slowly, taking in the grounds she would now call home.
Her gaze wandered up the stone fortress before her, the many windows seeming to look down in silent contemplation, not a flicker of candleflame within.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the entire castle was abandoned.
“This way, madame.” Vasile had their luggage in hand and was guiding them toward the door.
A sharp howl cut through the quiet, so sudden and forceful that Mina glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting the animal to be right there behind them. But the front gate had been lowered, and all she found were the empty grounds dusted with snow.
She startled at the sudden clang of the door knocker as Vasile struck it three times.
Silence answered from within—nothing but the wind whining in the pause between the wolf’s howls. Mina glanced at Jonathan, a sudden worry taking hold that no one was inside at all—that they had come all this way only to be stranded outside with no shelter for the night.
Then a creak sounded from the other side of the door. A lock squealed as it slid back, and the door slowly opened to reveal a petite woman standing in the shadowed entryway, a torch held off to one side.
“Mr. Harker and Miss Murray have arrived,” Vasile said, his voice holding no warmth for the woman. She looked beyond the driver, to where Jonathan and Mina stood, then gestured for all to step inside.
The woman’s face was plain, her dark hair pulled back neatly, but her eyes shone a vivid green even in the dim light. As they filed into the empty foyer—the bare stone walls rising high toward a vaulted ceiling—Mina noticed the woman seemed hesitant to meet her gaze.
“Miss Murray. Mr. Harker.”
She gave a slight curtsy, the gesture sending a ripple of discomfort through Mina and prompting her to study the woman more closely, trying to place her age. Her face seemed neither young nor aged, as though she might be only a few years out of finishing school—or already well into her thirties.
“Welcome,” she said. “We have been eagerly anticipating your arrival. I am Sofia.”
“Lovely to meet you, Sofia,” Mina said, offering a smile. “Please, call me Mina. This is Jonathan.”
“As you wish, mistress.” Sofia gave a nod, but her expression did not soften. “A meal and a fire have been prepared in the dining room. If you please come this way, the Count will be here shortly.”
They were led along a stone corridor with no windows, though torches burned at intervals along the walls.
At the far end, a staircase curved upward, and Mina lifted her skirts as she followed Sofia.
Her heart began to pound as she imagined her husband somewhere within the castle, awaiting them.
What would he be like? What would he look like?
The uncertainty made her feel almost lightheaded.
By the time they reached the second level, Mina realized the driver had vanished, leaving only the three of them to navigate the castle.
The passage opened into a long corridor lined with narrow windows overlooking the dark night beyond.
They were then led down a side hall that turned sharply inward, the air growing colder as the stone pressed close on either side.
The ceiling arched high above them, their footsteps echoing through the emptiness as though they were the only people in the castle.
“Do you ever get lost in these halls?” Jonathan asked with a smile.
Sofia slowed, as though only just remembering their presence. She looked at him, grave concern etched across her face. “No, Mr. Harker. But I have been here for many years. The castle is certainly dangerous for those unfamiliar with its ways.”
Mina swallowed, struggling to imagine that such a place could ever be a home.
“Certainly,” Jonathan said. “I spoke only in jest.”
Sofia nodded slowly, her expression unchanged as she turned and continued to lead them down the hall. Mina and Jonathan exchanged glances before following.
They turned down another corridor, the castle beginning to feel like a maze, but Mina’s heart clenched when she caught sight of the room ahead.
A carved stone fireplace dominated the far wall, its flames providing most of the room’s light despite a large, intricate chandelier hanging unlit in the center.
Beneath it stood a long wooden table that could have seated twenty guests comfortably, yet only four chairs were set out, one on each side.
As they stepped fully inside, Mina realized the ceilings were far taller than expected, nearly twice the height of the hall. Any lingering doubt about the castle’s grandeur vanished.
“The Count will join you shortly,” Sofia said, her eyes avoiding theirs.
“You may take your seats and help yourselves to supper.” She gestured to the table, laid with thick slices of brown bread, bowls of pickled vegetables, wedges of sharp cheese, and a platter of roasted chicken, its skin golden and crisp.
“Thank you, Sofia,” Jonathan said. She nodded, a pinched expression on her face as she moved to the perimeter of the room, standing rigidly while they waited for the Count.
Mina’s gaze drifted to the chairs, and she hesitated, unsure of which seat to take.
Her eyes flicked to the head of the table, nearest the entrance—surely that was where the Count would sit.
In the end, she chose a place near the middle, lingering just behind the chair as though waiting for permission she was not certain she needed.
A figure stepped into the room without a sound, the ease of their movement sending a shiver down her spine.
From a single glance, Mina knew this was the Count.
His hair was stark black, his eyes ice blue, and there was a symmetry to his face—his bone structure pleasing to behold—yet something about his presence was undeniably intimidating.
When his gaze met Mina’s, she looked away, a flush rising to her cheeks.
“Good evening,” the Count said, his voice low and smooth. His expression was calm, almost pleasant, and he seemed entirely at ease to find the two of them—utter strangers—in his home. “I am Dracula. I hope your journey has been pleasant.”
“Good evening,” Mina said. She inclined her head in a small bow, feeling suddenly aware of him in a way she could not quite explain.
She was not easily struck by most men, and yet her heart fluttered, absurdly, like a schoolgirl’s.
When she had been told she was to marry a Count from the Carpathians, she had never imagined someone like this.
He seemed older than her twenty-three years, but not by much.
“Count Dracula,” Jonathan said, crossing the room to shake his hand. “Good evening. Jonathan Harker.”
“Mr. Harker,” the Count said, “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” Mina thought back to what Jonathan had told her of the property just outside of London—the paperwork he’d brought along. It seemed strange that her husband should have had contact with Jonathan before she ever had.
“Certainly,” Jonathan said.
“Please, sit,” the Count said, gesturing to the table. He moved to Mina’s side and drew out her chair. “And you, my bride? How was your journey?”
She thanked him as she eased into the seat. “It was long but rather beautiful.”
“Ah, yes,” the Count said, taking his own chair. “I am glad to know you have both seen the beauty of our lands. I have travelled to many places, but none as breathtaking as Transylvania.”
Only once he had sat did Sofia step away from her place against the wall to take Mina’s empty plate, filling it with the food prepared for them.
“Oh, I can do that myself,” Mina said.
“Nonsense,” the Count said, offering her a soft smile. “Sofia has been with my family for many years. She enjoys serving the guests of the castle.”
He rose then, lifted a decanter of clear liquid from the table, and came to Mina’s side once more. Raising her glass, he poured less than a quarter full.
“Plum brandy,” he said, holding it out to her. “Have you ever tried it?” His voice had dropped now, as though meant for her alone.
She swallowed and shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, let’s see if you have a taste for the Transylvanian.” His eyes were magnetic, and she looked away as she took a sip.
“It’s good,” she said.
“I am glad you enjoy it, Wilhelmina.”
Her heart quickened at the sound of her full name on his lips. No one in England called her that—not even her parents had when they were alive. It made her feel, briefly, as though she were someone entirely new. As she met his gaze, a strange current seemed to pass between them.
Jonathan cleared his throat, and she looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“I hope you take no offense,” Jonathan began, “but I notice you have a limited staff. It is rare to have a host such as yourself pour the drinks. Is this also custom in Transylvania?”