Chapter 15
Castle Dracula, Transylvania
The day after their encounter on the walkway, Mina did not see the Count. She’d imagined he must be somewhere within the castle, occupied with his affairs, but when Sofia escorted her to supper that evening and only a single place had been set, her stomach dropped.
That night, she lay awake, turning over every moment of the evening before. What had she done to make him change so suddenly? He had said he wished to see her passion—her fire. Had that been a lie? A test meant to measure her modesty?
She tossed and turned, but sleep refused to come. Each distant sound drew her gaze to the door, a hopeful flutter rising in her chest—only to fall again when she realized it was nothing more than the wind whining through the stone corridors, or the distant howl of wolves beyond the walls.
The following day, she tried to occupy herself by writing to Lucy, then to Jonathan, though she knew neither letter would reach its recipient for some time.
But by evening, her unease had curdled into something sharper.
Shame had simmered in her belly for too long, her days too empty to distract her from the thought of him—her husband—who had drawn her close, only to reject her without explanation.
To Mina, his silence felt deliberate. A punishment.
She’d come all this way, left behind everything she’d held dear, only to sit alone in her chambers, replaying the evening again and again, turning it over from every angle, considering every possibility.
By the third evening, after Sofia brought her back to her chambers following supper, Mina went to the couch beside the hearth and waited.
She waited for the sky beyond her window to darken, for the winds to rise and howl as night took hold.
Despite the warmth of the fire and the steady crackle of its flames, she did not grow tired.
Instead, she felt only the restless thrum of anticipation moving through her.
And then, when she decided she had waited long enough—when Sofia must surely be settled in the servants’ quarters—Mina rose.
She pulled open one of the dresser drawers to find an assortment of hairpins and ribbons inside.
One by one, she gathered a small handful of brass pins before closing the drawer.
She lifted a candelabra that had been lit earlier, feeling its weight in her hand, and looked toward the closed door that led into the hall.
With a racing heart, Mina crossed the room and eased the door handle down. It clicked softly, and she paused, waiting. Waiting for Sofia to hear, to emerge from the shadows and ask what she needed.
She waited for what felt like ages. Then she pulled the door open carefully, so as not to draw a groan or creak from the hinges. Once it was open just wide enough for her to slip through, fear stirred within her at the sight of the pitch-black corridor beyond.
Foolish. It was foolish to be afraid of venturing beyond her chambers into the castle that was now her home.
She was the Countess—though she did not quite feel the truth of that title—and she could go anywhere she wished within these walls.
Besides, if the Count did not wish for her to wander these halls alone, then he should not have left her to her own devices for so long.
She stepped into the darkness and turned right, toward the part of the castle still unfamiliar to her.
Stone pressed in on all sides, and when she reached the end of the hallway, guided only by the glow of her candle, she let one of the hairpins slip from her fingers, dropping to the floor.
She could not risk becoming lost in these corridors.
She could only hope the flame of the candelabra would be enough for her to catch the glint of brass on her way back.
Mina passed several closed doors, occasionally stopping to listen for any sounds coming from within. When she tested the handles, she found them all locked. The corridor split in two, and she dropped another pin before choosing the passage on the left.
Her steps were slow, though her heart raced. She was not certain she would find the Count, but part of her knew she had not crossed that threshold solely to seek him out. She had felt a growing need to act of her own will, to step beyond the confines of her chambers—if only to prove that she could.
As she walked, the only sound her soft footsteps echoing back, the hall gave way to another corridor, this one lined with windows.
She looked out at the view, the moon high above and nearly lost to sight, the courtyard below dusted in a thin layer of white.
From her chambers, the moon had always spilled light across the stone rather than skirting it.
She must have reached the other side of the castle.
Continuing past the windows, she came upon a heavy wooden door framed by a stone arch, three shallow steps leading up to it, marking it as something more than an ordinary chamber.
Her heart raced as she wondered what lay beyond.
With her free hand, she reached for the latch.
It groaned, the sound cutting through the silence as the door eased open.
Mina climbed the steps and peered inside, finding two paths before her—one leading straight ahead into complete darkness, the other turning left, where a faint glow lingered somewhere in the distance.
She wondered if this was where the Count had withdrawn to, or if she had stumbled upon the servants’ quarters.
Not wishing to draw attention with the light of her own flame, she set the candelabra down on a nearby window ledge, steadying herself.
She could not explain it, but something deep within her warned her away from this wing of the castle. But it was too late to turn back now.
Drawing a slow breath, the remaining pins slipped into her pocket as she squared her shoulders. She would not be here if the Count had not been avoiding her these past days. It was hardly husbandly behavior, and surely he would understand her frustration.
Turning left, she moved toward the faint glow, her heartbeat loud in her ears. An open doorway brought her up short, the room beyond steeped in darkness. This was, perhaps, the first open door she’d encounter in this castle, aside from her own chambers.
But before she could investigate further, a noise reached her from up ahead. She could not be certain what it was at first. Then, after a few careful steps down the hallway, she saw the source of the light—a door on the left stood ajar, its faint glow cutting through the surrounding darkness.
Keeping light on her feet, she crept closer and peered through the narrow gap.
Inside, she glimpsed the edge of a couch and the flicker of firelight warming the room.
From this angle, she saw no one, but it had to be one of the Count’s studies.
Mina lifted her hand, debating whether to knock, when another sound came from within.
She stilled, listening.
It was a sigh—so brief she could not be certain it belonged to the Count. In fact, it had almost sounded feminine, making Mina wonder if Sofia was behind this door.
Then came the crumpling of fabric, the soft sound of something being set upon a table, followed by movement in her direction. Without thinking, Mina moved swiftly, slipping into the open doorway of the darkened room she had passed earlier.
Mina couldn’t say why she’d run, why she’d come all this way only to flee, but there was something deep in her stomach—an animal fear warning her that she should not be found.
She pressed herself behind the door, her back flat to the wall.
She stood there, easing her breath, careful not to make a sound.
Footsteps grew closer.
Beyond the door, fabric brushed softly against stone. A faint shadow spilled across the floor as a figure paused in the doorway. In the dim light, its edges were soft and indistinct.
Mina did not move—did not breathe—willing them to leave. After several moments, the shadow withdrew, the soft rustle of fabric marking their retreat down the hall.
Still, she waited, unsure of which direction the person had gone.
Doubt crept in. Mina could not recall ever seeing Sofia approach her chambers from this end of the castle—or depart by it.
After a few long breaths, the shadow passed by the doorway once again.
Somewhere down the corridor came a click, and the glow of light vanished.
When Mina stepped out from behind the door, she paused to take in the room, squinting through the darkness. The space was vast and largely empty, save for the faint outlines of objects resting on the floor, propped against the wall like photographs waiting to be hung.
Despite her curiosity, she retreated into the hallway, fear overtaking any earlier desire to find the Count or explore these halls. Now, all she wanted was to return to the safety of her chambers.
The darkness left her disoriented. She reached her hands out to either side, her fingers grazing the stone as she walked, careful to keep her balance. But as she neared the end of the corridor, she saw that the door into the wing stood ajar, glowing softly with the light she had left behind.
Alarm surged through her. She glanced over her shoulder into the shadows, half-expecting to find someone there, watching, waiting for her.
All she found was the empty corridor.
Mina slipped through the doorway and eased the door shut as quietly as she could. Whoever had been out here had not seemed to notice—if they had, surely they would have shut the door, closing her in.
But when she turned back to the candelabra on the windowsill, she froze.
There, placed just beneath the candle, lay a book.
When she read the words on its cover, her mouth went dry.
She lifted the candle and moved quickly down the hall, leaving the book behind. Her eyes searched frantically for the hairpins she had dropped along the way.
More than once, she failed to find them at first, panic flaring as she imagined herself lost—trapped here, waiting to be found by whoever had left the novel. But one by one, each pin revealed itself, glinting faintly in the shifting light.
Relief crashed through her as she reached the corridor leading back to her chambers. She ran now, the flame flickering wildly, and burst into her room, shutting the door swiftly behind her.
Pressing her back against the heavy wood, she slid down onto the cold stone floor, breath coming fast and shallow.
Fear still running through her veins, her thoughts returned to the book.
La Morte Amoureuse.
With what French she could recall from her schooling, she pieced together the meaning—the message this stranger had left her.
The Dead Woman in Love.