Page 3 of Ravished By the Revenant

But I’m pleasantly surprised when the door swings inward easily, the hinges well-oiled. Maybe someone is maintaining this place after all, and I will find blankets that aren’t covered in rat excrement.

Instead of a foyer or mudroom, or whatever big old castles have, I find an inner courtyard, well-lit by the moon above. Or is this an atrium? I’m not sure I know the difference. Nature has taken over here as well, wild roses crawling up columns and perfuming the air with sensual notes. It has an odd kind of beauty to it, one that I can appreciate. A bit lonely, a bit forlorn.

I skirt the edges of the inner garden, walking past unrecognizable statues, until I finally find another, smaller door. And this one seems to actually lead inside.

Though I’m relieved that I don’t smell any mildew or urine, there are definite signs of someone being here. Maybe not today, maybe not even this year, but if this castle were as abandoned as it appeared from the outside, I imagine there would’ve been cobwebs everywhere. And where there are cobwebs, there are spiders.

Shuddering, I reach for my phone to turn the flashlight back on. I blink at the screen. No signal? Am I so far away from civilization that there’s no cellphone tower coverage? Guess I won’t be Ubering out of here after breakfast.

The beam of my flashlight nearly blinds me, even though it’s pointed away from me. It’s just so dark here. And cold. And I can’t put the sensation of wet socks out of my mind either.

The flagstone floors are a bit uneven and worn but look clean enough. I turn in a circle, aiming the beam at the walls. More stone. Gorgeous faded tapestries. In fact, I’ve seen museums less fancy than this. It’s a miracle no one has pilfered everything, with everything just being unlocked and all.

I decide on a direction and carefully step forward. A part of me wants to call out, see if anyone’s here, and would respond. But the bigger part of me is chickenshit. This looks like the kind of place that has ghosts, and I have zero interest in waking them up.

The first worn wood door I find leads to a narrow staircase with small vertical openings in the stone—archery holes, right? This must be one of the turrets. I guess I could climb it and see if Marco and his security are still hot on my trail. I haven’t heard their shouts in a while now.

I head up, careful not to trip over any uneven steps. At the top, I’m stopped by a hatch door.

“Ugh. I really hope I’m not about to be showered by decades of dust and even more unsavory things,” I grumble.

Mercifully, I emerge at the top of the turret with my airways intact, relieved to find it in a palatable state. Are spiders allergic to this castle?

Muffled shouts snap me out of my train of thought, and I anxiously tap on my screen, shutting the flashlight off. As my heart tries to beat its way out of my ribcage, I peek out over the ledge, taking in the view.

The turret is—unsurprisingly—facing the Black Forest, the canopies gleaming like dark silver in the moonlight. But it’s also facing the meadow I found myself in not long ago, and that’s where I see my pursuers. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but they seem to be looking around, deciding where to go. And I wager that, like me, they’re going to find this castle the safest bet.

Except they’re not even looking this way. Are they blind or something? How can you miss this thing? It’s perched on a hill and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Sure enough, they turn their backs and head the other way, voices raised again. I let loose a hysterical giggle, covering my mouth with my hand to muffle it. I might just get away!

Feeling a million times lighter, I head back down the turret, determined to explore my new safe haven. Maybe my luck is finally turning?

2

ALDRIC

What the fuck?

3

CLARA

Downstairs again, I manage to open some shutters. The moonlight looks gorgeous spilling through the stained glass. If I weren’t so uncomfortable in my wet boots, I’d be looking forward to seeing the effect sunrise has.

I make my way to the kitchen, marveling at the size of it. It feels like my entire apartment could fit in here. The hearth is enormous too—easily large enough to roast a wild boar, or whatever it was medieval kitchens roasted. It looks like it was designed for a staff big enough to rival Downton Abbey, if Downton Abbey took decorating advice from Black Plague Weekly.

Copper pots hang from overhead hooks, but the preparation counters are coated in a very thin layer of dust. It doesn’t look like anyone’s cooked here for a while. I guess it would have been too much to ask to find a feast. It’s a good thing I’m not hungry yet.

The next room is a great hall straight out of Game of Thrones, with a long table surrounded by heavy carved chairs. Like the kitchen counters, the table has a thin layer of dust. I drag my finger over it, then pause when I get to the head of the table. Frowning, I examine my fingers. No dust here. How odd.

Massive tapestries decorate the walls. I let my flashlight illuminate them one after another. They’re all bloody battles depicting men in barbaric armor. Then there’s a massive banner, threadbare and faded, with a crowned wolf in the center. The animal’s eyes are an unnerving blue so bright that even time hadn’t managed to dull them.

I feel like the wolf’s gaze is following me. I take a step to the left. Then to the right.

“Creepy,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from the predator on the banner.

The other wall showcases an assortment of massive weapons. I played enough MMORPGs to recognize a great sword, a polearm, a tower shield, and a war hammer.