The room was spotless. It appeared that the housekeepers had been keeping it clean and organized. The room was quite similar to mine. A huge four-poster bed in the middle, neatly made, with silk curtains and more pillows than I could count. Two nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser to my left and a large window that overlooked the labyrinth. There was another full-length mirror on the other side of the window, the frame made out of thick wood and the carved flower design was… well, fancy and immaculate. There were two crystal chandeliers and there were hints of gold in the crown molding. The wallpaper was a golden flower design, giving it the final feminine touch.
The bedroom was every bit antique, just like my own – and just like the rest of the castle.
I stayed by the door while Mirai rummaged through the drawers, almost impatiently. She pressed against the walls, as if expecting them to open up and to show her a secret passage. When she didn’t find anything on one side of the room, she walked to the next drawers, opening and closing. Searching.
I walked over to the dresser, trying to find anything that would look out of the ordinary. For a brief moment, I felt a sense of… guilt. Like I was doing something wrong.
Well, snooping around was wrong.
But then again, Arabella died more than a century ago. Her stories had been told over and over again, each version different from the previous one. And this castle belonged to Killian and me, after all.
Every secret that came with it was mine to discover.
Maybe Mirai and I should leave the dead souls to rest, and let the secrets be buried with them. But damn it, my fingers itched to know everything.
I didn’t know why I was so curious about their story. But I felt it, deep inside my bones.
I wanted to know.
I needed to know.
I had been obsessing over it for a week.
A small squared jewelry box caught my attention. I reached for it, but the bottom of it was stuck to the surface.
Curious, I wrapped my fingers around it, struggling with the pretty box as if it had been glued to the dresser. With a flick of my wrist, it turned to the side and there was a clicking sound that made me pause and then… a drawer in the dresser opened, revealing stacks and stacks of books and… letters?
Not just any random letters. They were handwritten; some were sealed in envelopes while others were piled and tied together with several thin ropes.
“Holy shit, you found the letters!” Mirai practically squealed, coming to stand by my side. I guessed I did…
My heart slammed into my rib cage, like a thundering storm, and my legs grew weak.
Arabella’s secrets… and her love story were all right here. Written in these pages.
I took out the stack from the drawer and the musky scent of old books and papers prickled my nose. The letters were so old, some of them were wrinkled and torn apart. The black ink had run out, slightly fading on the brown paper, but I could still make out the words.
The papers had many creased lines, from so many times of being folded and unfolded.
There were some stains on the letter… tearstained?
“This is literally Arabella’s life in your hands,” Mirai said in awe.
My fingers brushed against the first letter, the one on top of the stack. I admired the penmanship of Marchioness Wingintam, my eyes caressing over every cursive word, the careful strokes of the pen made so many years ago.
Dear Husband,
My thoughts are filled with you.
Your hatred for me, for I have taken the one thing you did want the most.
Your handsome visage,
Your sturdy hands,
Your wicked smile,
And your soft eyes.
I want to believe you were made for me and our souls are one.
But how can I bethink so…
When you still envisage her while you bed me.
- A
And so, I got lost in a love story that wasn’t my own, yet it called me.
Lured me with the promise of tragedy.
Dragged me into the depths of despair.
And tempted me with its beautiful sorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
Julianna
Six months later
We are lost,
in the madness of love.
Like the morrow frost,
during the winter days.
Thy love is cold,
if only,
Our story could hast been foretold.
The pain would not hast been threefold.
- A
I folded the half-torn letter and placed it next to my hip, on the window seat. I spent a week reading through every single letter and poem written by Arabella, and with every faded word I read, they dragged me deeper into her life and her heartbreak.
I sifted through the brown papers, choosing the poems that I loved the most. Some days, because I was so gluttonous for pain, I’d reread her poems. Like today.
Marchioness of Wingintam lived a life of misery. She fell in love with the man who couldn’t bear her touch. She loved a man who mourned for another woman.
Arabella’s life was a lonely one and with every child she lost, she grew desperate for her husband’s affection, only to end up with his cold eyes and loveless hands. She offered him her body, day and night, because it was the only moment she felt close to her husband.
Yet, his passion was reserved for his lover and never for his wife.
Arabella died alone.
She took her last breath under the gazebo Elias had built for his lover.
How cruel fate could be, but I understood better than anyone else.
I looked out the window, where the stables were. Over the last four months, I had found myself in Arabella’s private library more than my own. The view here was beautiful as I watched the stableman work with the horses.
One horse in particular caught my eye last week – the white one. It was a newly arrived horse on the Isle.
She was so beautiful, my fingers itched to touch her. The wind wisped her long, white mane into the air as the mare galloped in circles. She was a playful one and I guessed she had to be young. I watched as the stableman groomed her, brushing through her beautiful pelt of hair.
The older man looked up and caught my eye through the window. I waved at him, as I always did. He smiled and his attention went back to the mare.
If only I had the courage to go down there…
With my cheek against the window, I watched the mare and stableman together. Emptiness clawed at my chest and the back of my eyes prickled.
A day passed by and I found myself here again, looking out from the window.
The day after that, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the white mare.
Another day went by.
A week…
Until…
I wanted a closer look at this gorgeous creature. I wanted it so badly that I felt it down to my bones, felt it in my veins, and so without any consideration, without thinking twice about it, my feet propelled me forward.
I left the letters on the window seat and walked out of Arabella’s private library. I found myself walking down the corridor and down the stairs. Blindly, I walked past Emily and followed the path to the stables.
To feel her soft skin under my fingertips.
To ride her.
To feel the wind against my face.
I wanted that.
I missed it…
I paused outside of the stable, watching the mare carefully. The stableman was currently running his fingers through her beautiful mane.