Chapter 9
Mina woke to the scent of fire and the sound of crackling wood.
Before she’d even opened her eyes, a dull throb pulsed through her head, and she reached up, her fingertips brushing a lump that had already begun to form.
She forced her eyes open and saw a hearth before her, the walls on either side rising high with bookshelves.
For a moment, she only blinked, confused by the sight.
Then it all came rushing back.
The Count. The wedding. The marriage.
She was married now. She was a wife.
The thought made her stomach churn, and she closed her eyes again, drawing a slow breath to steady the nausea.
“Ah, our sleeping maiden wakes.”
The voice was familiar. When she opened her eyes once more, she found the Count standing nearby and recognized him not as her host, but as her husband. Jonathan stood on the other side of the room, and only then did she realize she was lying on a couch in what appeared to be a library or study.
“Are you feeling alright?” Jonathan asked, helping her ease into a seated position.
“I’m fine,” she said, wincing against the pounding in her head. “What happened?” All she could recall was the priest before them, the ceremony, the golden chalice pressed to her lips, and then . . . nothing.
“You fainted,” the Count said, standing before the mantle now. “Perfectly normal given all you’ve endured over these last few days. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Harker?”
“Certainly,” Jonathan agreed.
Mina’s cheeks warmed as she glanced between the two men. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.”
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said, his touch gentle as he examined the bump on her head.
The Count moved past them, stepping out of Mina’s line of sight. She wondered if he was displeased—if he regretted his decision already. She had scarcely been in the castle an hour before she had revealed her own frailty.
Mina glanced at Jonathan, catching the concern on his face as he leaned back. “That will be there for a few days, I’m afraid,” he said, gesturing to the bump beneath her hair. “Are you in pain?”
“Only a bit,” she lied.
A glass of amber liquid was held out to her, and she looked up to find the Count standing just behind the couch.
“Drink,” he said. “It will help you feel better.”
Mina took the glass, but her thoughts returned to the chalice, her stomach churning at the memory of acid and iron mingling on her tongue—though she could not be certain she had even tasted the drop of blood within. Had that been why she had fainted? The mere thought of blood on her tongue?
“It’s Transylvanian,” the Count said. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added, “No blood in this one.”
She offered a weak smile and lifted the glass to her lips, letting the liquid slide down her throat. She grimaced at the burn, then cradled the empty glass between her hands.
“Perhaps you are more Transylvanian than anticipated,” the Count said, his eyes alight with amusement.
“I really am sorry about the whole thing,” she said. “Please apologize to the priest on my behalf.”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” the Count replied. “After the journey you have had, it is perfectly understandable. You have a delicate constitution, my bride. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”
A quiet unease settled in her chest at his words. She had never thought of herself as delicate—and yet, if this evening were any measure, perhaps she was.
“Besides,” the Count went on, “Mr. Harker and I were able to get through some paperwork while you were asleep.”
Mina glanced at Jonathan. “For the Carfax property?”
“Yes. I need only return the documents to my office to make things official.”
Mina exhaled slowly, a small spark of hope stirring. If her husband had an English property, what was to stop her from visiting? The thought felt disloyal—she had come all this way to marry a stranger, a man who would now clothe and provide for her, and already she was imagining a way out.
“Well,” she said, “I’m glad you were able to find a silver lining in the incident.”
The Count smiled faintly. “Come now, you must be exhausted. I will have Sofia take you to your chamber so you may rest.”
Fatigue weighed heavily in her limbs, and with the dull ache still pulsing through her head, sleep sounded like a mercy. Mina stood, wished Jonathan goodnight, and followed the Count out of the study and into the hall beyond.
He took her hand in his and met her gaze. “Goodnight, my wife.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her skin.
Mina swallowed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and . . . something else. Something she could not quite name. “Goodnight,” she said.
Sofia led her down the stone passageway, a candle in hand to light their path.
They walked in silence, the echo of their footsteps following them as they climbed a short flight of stairs and continued along another long corridor.
With each closed door they passed, Mina felt her curiosity grow.
What lay behind them? Had these rooms always stood empty, or had they once been filled with people—guests, servants, members of the Count’s family?
They turned down another hallway, and Mina caught sight of an open door ahead, soft light spilling out of the room.
“This chamber is yours, mistress,” Sofia said, gesturing toward it.
As Mina stepped inside, she was struck by its size.
The ceiling rose high above her, formed of the same stone as the walls and floor—even the arched windows had been carved from it, their details intricate.
Beside the windows stood a large four-poster bed piled high with duvets, blankets, and pillows.
To the left sat a small settee before the hearth, where a fierce fire crackled warmly.
On the far wall, a doorway appeared to lead to a private bathing chamber.
“I’ve prepared some tea,” Sofia said, indicating a small table between the settee and the hearth. “Would you care for some, mistress?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Mina said.
Sofia nodded once. “It will be there if you change your mind. I’ve placed a heated brick beneath the blankets—the bed should be warm.” Her gaze swept the room before returning to Mina. “Is there anything you need before I leave you, mistress?”
“No,” Mina said. “That is more than enough. Thank you, Sofia.”
The woman gave a slight curtsy, just as she had upon their first meeting earlier that evening. “I shall be back in the morning,” Sofia said, one hand resting on the iron latch of the door.
Before she left, however, she stilled.
Mina thought she must have done something wrong, but Sofia was looking over her shoulder, out into the darkened corridor beyond. Silence settled between them like a heavy blanket, broken only by the pop and hiss of the fire.
“Is everything alright?” Mina asked, a chill sliding over her skin. She crossed her arms and moved closer to the hearth.
Sofia turned her gaze back to Mina, a stiff smile on her face, as though it wasn’t an expression she made often. “Of course, mistress. Goodnight.”
She dipped her head and closed the door, leaving Mina alone.
The wind howled against the windowpanes. The fire crackled in the hearth, warming her where she stood.
She moved to the windows and peered down into the courtyard far below. Beyond it stretched snow-capped mountains and dense forests, dark and unbroken. Her heart clenched at the sight. How far would she have to go to find any sign of civilization beyond those trees?
The thought left her with a prickle of shame, and she pushed it aside.
Fatigue crept in as Mina crossed the room and found the armoire stocked with her own clothing—Sofia must have unpacked while they were occupied with the ceremony.
She freed herself from the confines of her day dress and slipped into a soft nightgown before climbing into the four-poster bed.
She drew the covers up around her, the fabric still warm from the heated brick nestled beneath the blankets at the foot of the bed.
As she took in the room once more, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, her thoughts drifted to the Count—her husband. Had her wifely duties truly been fulfilled for the night, or would he summon her?
The thought lingered only briefly before exhaustion claimed her.
***
Sleep came fitfully. The howling of wolves pierced her dreams, the sound the same as she’d heard at the inn, yet louder now as it echoed through the mountains.
And then there was something much closer. In that half-sleep, she could not be sure whether she was still dreaming, but there, on the other side of the chamber door, was a sound. A whisper. Then another.
Wilhelmina, it seemed to call, the voice like a wraith luring her into the darkness. But as Mina slowly returned to herself, blinking into the dark with confusion spilling through her, a soft laugh sounded from the hall.
She froze, listening.
The laugh was distinctly female—almost the giggle of a schoolgirl—and Mina could only think of Sofia. It seemed strange the woman would be capable of such a sound, given the tightness she’d worn all evening. Then came a sharp shh, followed by the soft shuffle of movement beyond her door.
Confusion gave way to alarm. Mina sat up, staring into the shadows of the room, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was.
After several long moments of silence, she slid from beneath the covers. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet as she walked over to the door and leaned in, pressing her ear to the wood. Her heart thrummed, the sound of it filling her ears, and she forced herself to breathe slowly, listening.
Then came the faintest whisper—not one voice, but two.
Wilhelmina.
Mina frowned, doubt rushing in. She had struck her head when she fainted earlier—was this the result of that injury? Was she imagining things? Surely there could not be two women standing outside her door in the middle of the night, whispering her name.
Was it the staff, trying to frighten her? Yet she had seen only Sofia and Vasile. Were there others in the castle? If so, she had seen no sign of them at all.
She listened, dread tightening in her chest as she slowly reached for the handle, the metal cold beneath her skin. It was silent now, and with a dull click as she eased the door open, she tried to be as quiet as possible.
Beyond the threshold was only darkness.
Mina stood with the door ajar for several moments. From outside the castle came the groan of the wind, its rustle moving through the trees far below, but within these stone walls, all was still.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she opened the door further, a traitorous creak betraying her presence.
She paused, waiting—though for what, she did not know.
Still, there was nothing. Not so much as a whisper.
Drawing her courage together, Mina stepped into the hall. Goosebumps prickled along her skin, and she could not shake the sense of someone there in the shadows, watching her, unmoving and unseen.
When she could resist the urge to flee no longer, she retreated to her room and searched for a candle.
She found one on the nightstand and carried it to the hearth, where the fire had dulled to a low amber glow. After several attempts, the wick finally caught, and the candle flared to life.
Mina returned to the doorway and held the light out into the corridor beyond, finding it empty.
She was completely and utterly alone.
Relief should have followed, but it did not. The entire incident had left her unsettled.
After shutting the door, she crossed the room and set the candle on her bedside table. As she climbed back into bed, her eyes remained fixed on the door, her mind replaying the earlier sounds.
She lay awake for a long while, listening.