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The cub mews, and I put her down so she can do some of her own exploring. I make a mental note to keep track of any mess she might make.
I’m careful when I move the pages to place everything back just the way it was. Each of the leather-bound notebooks has extensive information on various herbs and the oils that can be derived from them.
The clinking of glass alerts me, and I barely have time to catch two glass vials as Khijhana’s tail knocks them from their home on the shelf.
I curse at her under my breath, and her ears lay flat, as if she understands me.
I place the glass bottles back on the shelf and take a moment to study it all. The number of vials and tomes on the dark oak shelf are puzzling. Each of the journals seem to be filled with the same subjects: flowers and shrubs, weeds and grasses, herbs and even some trees.
But nothing like the rose on the tower window I saw on my way into the castle.
Who knew he had such a passion for botany?
I snap my fingers gently to get Khijha’s attention before she gets too close to the fireplace. She reluctantly comes back and rubs against my legs as if she isn’t the annoying creature that her name implies. Fortunately, she follows me as I take in the rest of the room.
A few pictures line the walls. Judging by the azure gazes and the silver hair, it’s easy to tell these are paintings of his family.
His father’s skin is dark as midnight, while his mother’s pale complexion looks like a reflection of the pearlescent moon next to him. There is no in-between, no various shades of brown or peach or tan. Only these two magnificently contrasting colors.
No wonder I stand out so much here.
The traits that tie them together, though, are the piercing blue eyes and heads of silver-white hair that they all share. I study each of the faces in the paintings and try to imagine what it would’ve been like to grow up with a family related to me by blood.
There were six of them. And he is the only one left.
I don’t know what happened, exactly. Just that it was an accident, and they all died at once. It was sad to learn about, in a distant sort of way, but it’s a harder pill to swallow when you see their faces and stand in their home.
The mid-sized of the fair-skinned children, I decide, must be Einar. There is something in his countenance that makes me certain it’s the case, despite the lack of scowling and the notable absence of that wild animal he calls a beard.
In each painting, it’s clear to see the kindness, love, and adoration the family had for one another. The artists couldn’t have added that on their own; this is too genuine.
If only Einar possessed a fraction of those feelings now --
I cut the thought off with another. I know full well what losing family can do to you. How the pain can sever you from your very core, from every emotion, and how it can prevent you from forming new connections. It’s an agony that you never really recover from.
I am proof enough of that.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, allowing the sentimentality to pass. There isn’t room for that here, but it is a good reminder for moving forward.
Tearing my eyes away from the happy family memories, I study the other side of the large room. The entirety of it hosts one giant bed. It is as massive as mine, but the frame seems more regal, timeless, as if it was built for a king and queen centuries ago.
I run a hand across the plush white blankets, allowing my fingers to graze the furs at the foot of the bed.
Only one wrinkled pillow looks as if it has been slept on. The others are full and over-stuffed, as if they’ve never been used.
A quick peek inside each nightstand shows that only one is full, of course, with more books about plants. I roll my eyes. At least he has a hobby, though not one that will be particularly easy or fun to bond over.
The other stand is empty, and I can’t help but feel the smallest bit of satisfaction that he doesn’t seem to be secretly hoarding a mistress in here.
I glance through his closet anyway, just to be sure. Nothing indicates that there is another woman.
I linger for only a few moments longer, disappointment seeping through me. I may have some small bit of knowledge I lacked before, but I’m not much closer to understanding the man than I was before I came.
Khijha mews and sprints randomly across the room, pawing at a tapestry on the wall. I’m quick to scoop her up before her metallic claws can do any damage.
Just as I turn back to the passageway, a draft tickles the back of my neck. I glance back in time to see it moving ever so slightly, as if a breeze is coming from behind the art piece.
“Good girl,” I say, scratching the top of the cub’s head as she purrs in satisfaction.
