Chapter 27
With a vice-like grip, the Count dragged Mina down the empty halls of the castle, all signs of the husband who’d been so kind, so gentle, now vanished completely.
Tears streamed down Mina’s face as she replayed the image again and again in her mind—it had all happened so quickly.
Just moments ago, Sofia was still alive.
And yet, because of Mina, because of her incessant need for the truth, the woman was dead. Sofia was dead.
As they reached Mina’s chambers, the Count pushed her forward. She stumbled, nearly falling on the hard stone, but caught herself on the wall and stood.
“I will never forgive you,” Mina said, her voice a harsh whisper.
“Well I can assure you, Sofia will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” he responded.
Mina flinched, guilt and sadness washing through her. A sob escaped her lips before she caught it, placing her hand over her mouth to try to stifle the noise. The Count watched her, silent and still, as tears continued to streak her face, hot and forceful.
Sofia was dead. Sofia was dead.
The Count sighed, still staring at Mina, but his eyes softened. “Do you think I wanted to do that?” he asked. “You think I wanted to cull my already sparse staff?”
A scoff escaped her throat. “Sparse staff?” she repeated in disbelief. Then understanding sank in. “You don’t even care what you just did, do you? You only care how this will inconvenience you. You don’t care that a woman who has served you for years is dead.”
“You only have yourself to blame for that,” he said factually. And as he spoke the words, Mina could tell that he believed them. That he was so removed from the murder he’d just committed, that he’d already decided it wasn’t his fault. “You made me do this. You’ve defied me at every turn—”
“I’ve done everything you asked!” she shouted, the words flowing out of her with her tears.
“I’ve stayed in this castle, locked away and isolated from everything I’ve ever known, waiting here day and night until you decide you’re ready to be a husband again.
Until you decide that you want my affections again.
” She inhaled, swiping the wetness from her cheeks.
“Where are my letters?” she asked suddenly, recalling her earlier suspicions.
“You’ve been keeping them from me, haven’t you? ”
He tilted his head, amusement in his eyes now. “I wish I could save you the pain of disappointment, wife, but no. I do not have your letters. I suppose those you believed loved you, simply did not.”
Mina swallowed the thickness in her throat, sniffling.
She stared at him, trying to see through to the deception beneath, but she could not.
Was it true then? Had no one written her in all this time?
Not even Lucy? Pain twisted in her gut, and she eased back onto the bed nearby, leaning against the edge of it as she watched him.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked. “It’s clear you weren’t in need of a wife. Why bring me here just to keep me locked in my chambers like a prisoner? What do you want with me?”
“Darling,” he said, his voice taking on a softness she’d grown familiar with over these past weeks, “you’re not feeling well right now.
I told you, your constitution is not one that can handle such distress.
” There was pity in his eyes, and it made her stomach churn.
She knew the truth now, she knew the monster that lay beyond the mask.
“I want you to stay here and rest. Do not emerge until you are able to be rational.”
“Rational?” she choked out. “You just murdered a woman before me. You have three other wives you’ve kept hidden this entire time—this is not rational. This is selfishness greater than I’ve ever seen.”
“And yet, your father bid you to me.” His face was calm, his voice smooth. But the words landed like a knife to her heart.
“My father didn’t know what you—”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” the Count cut in.
“Your father didn’t care about you. Your father only cared about his next drop of liquor.
His next good hand of poker.” He took a step toward her.
“Even on his dying bed, he didn’t tell you the truth.
Because he knew you weren’t capable of handling it.
He knew you were weak. And here you are, proving him correct beyond the grave. ”
She knew he was only trying to hurt her, but deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to it.
How long had she felt something was wrong?
How long had she tried to ignore these feelings, not strong enough to face her reality?
And now that she knew the truth, she couldn’t keep her tears from falling.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, sniffling. “Perhaps I am weak. But I have not lied to you, and that’s all you’ve done from the first moment I met you.” She stepped nearer to him, anger boiling in her chest. “You are a coward.”
She didn’t see his hand raise, only felt the sting of the slap against her cheek, then the feel of his fingers digging into her shoulders, bruising her skin as he pushed her toward the bed. Through the shadows, he loomed over her, looking like the monster she now knew him to be.
“You will remain in here until you’ve worked past your hysteria,” he said. With that, he walked through the door and slammed it shut. Mina heard the twist of a key turning in the lock.
She ran to the door, grasping the handle desperately, but it did not budge.
“You can’t lock me in here!” she called, pounding on the door.
Down the hallway, she heard him respond, “I already have.”
Mina swallowed the nausea climbing up her throat.
What did he plan to do with her now that this pretense had crumbled?
What had he wanted to begin with? Why had he brought her here?
She took a deep breath, trying to ease her building panic at being trapped here now that she knew the truth of who the Count was.
She thought back to the raider, to his offer to help her.
Tears fell anew at the memory. She could have been free.
She could have gone with him and none of this would have happened—and Sofia would still be alive.
Perhaps it was Mina’s fault that the Count had thought so little of her, that he had believed he’d left her with no choice but to be a prisoner, to accept all that she’d seen. But she’d spent far too long ignoring the unease within her. She needed to escape.
She looked around the room, desperate for another choice, another way.
Mina walked over to the nearby chest of drawers, looking for a hairpin.
After finding one, she returned to the door, kneeling down and pushing it into the lock, just as she’d tried to do in the north wing.
But after several minutes, she realized she would not be successful.
She dropped the pin, frustration building in her throat.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear apart this room, tear apart the image she’d allowed herself to believe for so long.
Mina stood, her eyes searching every surface, waiting for an idea to come to her, some alternate way to reach freedom.
And then her gaze landed upon the windows overlooking the courtyard.
She swallowed, walking up to the window and unlatching it.
A gust of frigid air burst in, and as she leaned through the opening, she saw the long drop to the courtyard.
Her room was on the third floor. If she could get down to the courtyard, she could find some way out of the castle.
Either through the gate or . . . there had to be some other way—that raider had gotten in.
A wolf’s howl cut through the night, and a chill ran down her spine. She thought of the calèche that had been used to take her and Jonathan here—if she could just get to that, then she would be safe, moving too quickly for the wolves to attack. Or so she hoped.
She turned to the bed, pulling the sheets free and twisting them into a rope, then tied one end to the bedpost. She wrapped it many times, tying again and again, then looped sporadic knots down the fabric, praying this would be enough traction to keep her from dropping to the ground below.
Then she walked to the window and climbed onto the narrow ledge.
She turned, her upper body still on the window, her heart racing as she felt the cold of the wind against her skirts.
“God help me,” she whispered. Then she grasped onto the sheet, holding on desperately, and let go of the window ledge.
There was a loud groan from inside the room, and she dropped several feet, her scream cutting through the night before a heavy thud sounded from the window above.
She swung in the breeze, her eyes shut and her hands gripping onto the sheets with all her might while her feet dug into the fabric below.
It took a moment before she realized that the sound had been the bed dragging across the floor, stopping only when it hit the wall. She tried to force air into her lungs as fear tightened her chest.
Beyond the castle walls, the wolves began to howl once again, a reminder of what awaited her outside that front gate.
For a moment, Mina couldn’t get herself to move any farther. And then, she thought of the Count, of the life that awaited her here.
With shaking hands, she forced herself to let one go and reach farther down the sheet, looking for another knot.
She found it and grasped on, frozen between the two, one arm high above and one arm below, terrified to release the one above.
She swallowed down her nausea and eased her grip on the knot.
The sheet slid through her hand, burning her skin until she hit the knot below. She waited there for a moment, the ice-cold wind pushing her hair into her face. And for a moment, she considered what might happen if she just let go.
Maybe it was time to stop fighting. Then the pain would go away. The fear would cease to be.
But then she thought of Lucy. The sister of her heart.
She imagined Lucy’s face as she received the telegram detailing Mina’s death, the way it would shatter her, upending her life.
Mina knew that Aunt Emily cared for her, as did Jonathan, but Lucy loved her like a sister. And she couldn’t leave Lucy behind.
Tears spilled down her face as she carried on down the rope, inch by inch. Every muscle in her body ached with tension, until finally she looked down. She had no way of knowing how far the drop was, but the shadows below sent a pang of fear through her.
Then came an odd sound from up above.
Mina froze, listening intently. Then she slowly looked up toward the window and realized what caused the sound: the sheets were tearing.
Either she could fall or jump.
Her heart thrummed painfully in her chest. She exhaled forcefully, knowing it would hurt when she hit the ground below. As long as she could reach the calèche and the horse, it would be okay. She would be free.
Mina gripped the sheet above her tightly as she released her feet and prepared to drop. Her grip weakened, her hands sliding down the sheet uncomfortably.
She fell through the night air.
Before she’d even reached the ground, regret crashed through her.
And then she hit the cobblestone. A jolt tore through her ankle, raced up her knee, and slammed into her back.
She gasped, breath snagging in her chest. She tried to roll, but her ribs protested sharply, forcing a cry from her throat.
Tears welled as she lay still at last, knowing any movement would only make it worse.
And then came a sound nearby—the scuffing of shoes against cobblestone.
“No,” she whimpered. She rolled onto her stomach, pain searing through her body, and she gritted her teeth.
Panic crashed through her as she looked through the shadows for her exit. She needed to get up, needed to go.
Suddenly, she was flipped onto her back, her head thumping against the stone. She groaned at the agony of her body.
“Must you make everything so difficult?”
Through her tears, she stared up, her vision blurry. It was her husband, towering above her. She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly desperate for this to all be a bad dream. She couldn’t die here, not like this.
And then his voice came again, cold as the wind that washed over them. “You’ve left me no choice, wife.”