Chapter 2:
The days that followed passed in a hush of cold corridors and silent meals. Elira wandered the castle like a ghost, watched by invisible hands that opened doors before she touched them and whisked away plates the moment she stood. There were no servants, yet everything functioned. Fires lit themselves. Clothes appeared folded at the end of her bed. A cup of tea steamed on her table every morning, just how she liked it—though she'd never said how.
Caelen did not visit her chambers. He did not hover. But he was there, in the great hall at twilight, seated in a high-backed chair of carved ebony, cloaked in darkness. Elira learned his schedule without asking: he walked the eastern wing at dawn, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet; he played the organ in the west tower at dusk, somber notes drifting through stone like a prayer. Once, she glimpsed him in the library—half-hidden behind a bookshelf, his clawed fingers turning pages too gently for a beast.
But they did not speak—not again. Not until the third morning, when Elira stood at the castle's gate.
"I want to see the forest," she said aloud, not knowing if he would hear. The gates loomed before her, bound in curling black iron and thorned vines that looked like veins. The fog beyond was thick and unmoving, as if the woods themselves refused to release her. Even the wind hesitated at the threshold, as though the forest breathed differently on the other side.
"You may walk the gardens," Caelen's voice answered, sudden and near.
She turned. He stood some distance behind her, the morning light dimming around his towering form. His cloak dragged behind him like shadows made flesh.
"You said I belonged to you," she said. "Does that mean I am your prisoner?"
"No." His gold eyes held hers, steady. "But the forest is not kind. Nor is it empty."
"I'm not afraid of trees."
"You should be."
A pause passed between them, crackling with unspoken things.
Elira crossed her arms. "If I must stay here, then I won't be caged."
Caelen's eyes flickered, not with anger, but curiosity. He took a step closer. "Then walk. But do not cross the outer wall. That boundary is not mine to control."
She nodded. He nodded back, and then—without another word—turned and left, his cloak sweeping after him.
That day, Elira explored the castle grounds, discovering a world that seemed untouched by time. The gardens bloomed out of season, tangled with roses, lavender, and flowers she did not know the names of. A crumbling gazebo overlooked a frozen pond. Ivy climbed statues with hollow eyes. Every path seemed to curve inward, leading not out—but deeper.
And beneath it all, she felt something else. A hum. A presence.
It wasn't just the castle that was cursed. The land itself was caught in a kind of slumber, dreaming of a time before sorrow.
As the sun sank behind the trees, Elira returned to the great hall. Caelen was already there, seated in silence. She hesitated.
"Why me?" she asked.
He looked at her, long and quiet.
"Because you came," he said.
She didn't know whether that was an answer or another riddle.
But it was the first time he said you, instead of the girl.