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Arms wrapped around myself, my fingers dig deep into the edges of the fur-lined cloak draped over me.
I cut my alert gaze away from the lake, keeping his warning close to me.
My eyes land on The Valley of the Royals in the distance.
It should be drenched in darkness given how little light actually comes from the hill and trees, but it’s the buildings dangerously perched on the other side of the split hill that illuminate all around it, and force it to be noticed from miles and miles away.
Castles, I think as I study them from afar, ten of them all up, dotted along the edges of the split hill.
Tall, looming, towering castles, each of them wider than my entire village and then some. Most of the castles looked to be eaten by age; mossy walls that gleam a dark green colour (the kind that I have to scrub off the farm shed every few weeks when the rains come), with crumbling towers that spear up from the rears.
Others look newer. There’s a faint washed-out pink one that dares to dance a smile on my lips. Looks more like a fantasy retreat than a home of a dark prince.
One stands out to me the most. It’s high, stone walls sparkle a deep shade of glittery blue, reminding me of a picture in a book I have hidden under the floorboard beneath my blanket at home, a picture of a night sky with stars freckled all over it. Few windows face us from the twilight castle, but framed doors open to balconies with marble-like parapets circling them—marble, like the statue of the dark king erected on the hill above the village, a constant reminder of who rules over us.
The reminder sinks a hollow sensation down my gut.
I want nothing more than to be home, tucked under my blanket, but it’s not possible. For three whole months, this will be my new home. The castle doesn’t matter, whether it’s the prettier or more magical ones, or the older decrepit ones, none of it matters. None of them are home.
A year will pass in my world before I can return.
What changes will happen in that time?
Will Jasper finally feel free to approach Milan without me and our past trysts getting in the way? My stomach twists at that thought.
And what happens if, when the prince returns me to the farmhouse, the bounty is not up to his standards again? Could my sentence be longer in this world? A terrifying thought that trembles through me and stings my eyes with tears.
My face twists into a grimace. Bowing my head, loose curls fall over my face and catch on my damp cheeks. I bring my shaking hands to my face and let the tears roll through me.
The prince is stiff behind me, entirely uncaring. Not that that’s surprising.
My weeps darken to sobs, the wretched kind that tear through your body like nails down fresh wood, and the prince is forever quiet behind me.
The steed, undeterred, takes us to The Valley of the Royals, down the path that lies between the split hill. Flowers bloom here, all glowing various shades of pinks and blues and purples. That’s all I notice as my sobs start to wind back and, as I sniffle, I start to use the skirt of my dress to wipe my face clean.
Then the skeletal steed finally cuts off to a winding ordinary stone pathway leading up to the twilight castle.
This is his home.
And for the next while, it is mine, too.
6
Warm hands grip my waist.
My heart jumps up into my throat as the dark prince lifts me from the steed and lowers me to the courtyard out front of the castle.
As my boots land on firm stone, the prince draws away, his hands slipping from my waist. I glance over my shoulder as he wanders behind me, an unreadable mask slipped over his face. He hands the reins of the steed to a stable boy who has rushed out from the courtyard’s shadows, as though awaiting his master’s return.
The beauty of the castle snares me quickly, and I have little interest in anything else for a long moment.
First, the courtyard envelopes me and steals all my attention.
Growing up in a muddy, wet village means that the most extravagant thing I’ve ever seen was the ring my grandmother used to wear under her glove, the one with the chipped diamond.
Now, extravagance takes on a new meaning. Now, it’s in every detail of the rectangular space around me, in the pale white flames of the candles dripping wax down their holders on the faint pearlescent walls. Reminding me of frozen teardrops, crystal chandeliers are bolted to the ceilings of the arcade that runs around the courtyard with only pale-stone archways to separate us from it.
In the middle of the court, there is a small pond hugged by an ivory bannister with glittering golden threads woven into the cracks. And ahead, the main archways are almost totally covered by gleaming blue leaves and ivies that climb up them, but the centre arch is covered only by a pale moss without any glow. That, I realise, must be the entrance to the castle.
