It felt like Alicia had been wailing for a solid two hours, as if mourning at her own funeral.
Her cries were accompanied by dramatic howls, wild hand-wringing, and restless tossing on the bed.
Swollen-faced, disheveled, and utterly pitiful, her tear-soaked cheeks told a story of despair, defiance, and fury directed at her father—a decision she couldn’t yet come to terms with. Oh, she knew how to put on a show, and no one could outdo her in that department!
Aunt Lydia, Alicia’s mother, and I sat in patient silence, heads bowed. We didn’t try to console her with empty words or curse the day my uncle decided to marry off his only daughter to Count Orlam of Darkhill. To put it mildly, the choice of groom was absurd to anyone with even a shred of sense.
If you ask me, he should’ve given Alicia to old Lord Quinsley instead—a portly, good-natured fellow with a fondness for sweet pastries, buxom maids, and exotic cigars. The old man wouldn’t have lasted long anyway, and my cousin Alicia would’ve been left a desirable young widow.
...As it stands, I can’t fathom why my uncle doomed his daughter to such a fate. And to drag me into this mess on top of it! That spineless, bald fool!
Count Orlam was shrouded in mystery, with the darkest rumors swirling around him. People spoke of him in hushed tones, glancing over their shoulders for safety. Even the king himself seemed uneasy in his presence—not because they were kin, nor due to the count’s congenital limp, nor even because he never shed his black cloak, but for some unspoken reason that gave Count Orlam the power to hold the entire kingdom in fear. The tales people spun! Yet, as always, only a select few knew the truth. I’d heard whispers of a sorcerer with a beastly paw for a leg, a mad bastard who devoured living human flesh, and a criminal under the king’s protection. The sorcery stories were the most gripping—gossips let their imaginations run wild, sending chills down your spine. But there’s no smoke without fire: there had to be a grain of truth in these eerie tales. How else could you explain the mysterious deaths of the count’s three previous fiancées? One supposedly fell down the stairs, another died of a broken heart right in the garden, and the third, poor soul, hanged herself. So, I understood Alicia’s terror. Heaven forbid I faced such a fate—I’d run for the hills without a second thought. Yet, my deranged Uncle Clark, in an attempt to ease Alicia’s stay in that dreadful mountain castle, decided to send me, his penniless niece, along with her to this ancestral den of darkness. They say the castle is cursed, just like the count himself. And word has it that my uncle lost a fortune at cards, racking up debts he couldn’t pay, leaving him no choice but to accept the proposal of the wealthy, young Count Orlam.
It’s a pity no one could answer the swarm of questions buzzing in my head. Aunt Lydia, cold as ever, remained silent, her lips pressed tighter than usual, shooting Alicia a grim look. She wasn’t one to defy her husband—raised to obey—and frankly, she was fed up with us both: me, whom she’d always seen as a burden and a freeloader, and her spoiled daughter on the marriage market. Uncle Clark had been drunk on homemade brew since morning and was now snoring in the barn with the pigs. The servants knew even less than I did. My uncle’s solicitor had conveniently fled to town on “urgent business,” ordering the coachmen to ready our carriage as he left.
We were supposed to pack our things and set off for Gorlam Castle, where, according to him, they awaited us with bated breath. The wedding ceremony itself was to take place at the count’s estate. But first, we needed to snap Alicia out of her hysterics, which, at the moment, seemed nearly impossible. I also wanted to know how long I’d be exiled for and whether to pack winter clothes. And what exactly was my role in all this? If I had to keep playing nanny to Alicia, I’d lose my mind before she did. She dreaded the count and his cursed lands, terrified of journeying to the middle of nowhere, but honestly, they should be the ones fearing her. My cousin’s temperament could drive off any monster, real or imagined. So, tired of listening to Alicia’s sobs, I couldn’t help but wonder: “Maybe I should start feeling sorry for the count instead?”
And why on earth did he want her, I’d like to know?
Sure, she’s pretty, with flawless skin and stunning chestnut hair—thick and glossy, her pride and joy. I’m sick to death of her mane; sometimes I’m tempted to sneak in at night and chop it off, especially since she forces me to brush it three times a day while she sighs and brags endlessly. Alicia has striking brown eyes and full lips, a pampered girl who dreams of princes, lace, and grand balls. There are thousands like her! So why would a monster want such a bride?
“They’re disposable,” muttered Olaf, the blacksmith’s son, when I shared my thoughts with him last night. Olaf and I had been friends since childhood, ever since my uncle brought me to his estate. As the daughter of a disgraced, impoverished aristocrat who rotted away in a dungeon, no one bothered with my noble upbringing, so mingling with common folk was never forbidden. “But you going with her—that’s bad,” Olaf sighed, his face darkening as he furrowed his funny red brows.
“It’s only temporary, I think,” I smiled. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Olaf had been looking at me differently lately, though he hadn’t mustered the courage to say anything. “Either she’ll drive him mad, or, heaven help us, he’ll do her in. No, I don’t wish Alicia harm—I even love the silly girl, though she gets on my nerves sometimes.”
“I know,” Olaf said, setting down his tools and staring at me, arms crossed. “You’re kind, Yasmina, smart, and far prettier than that drama queen. I’m worried the count will notice that too and won’t let you out of his clutches.”
“My dear, loyal Olaf,” I smiled sadly, shaking my head. “I’m tainted. My father was branded a traitor. No man would marry me, not even one who doesn’t care about his reputation. So, I’m untouchable. Even your father grits his teeth just tolerating our friendship.”
“My old man’s grumbling isn’t about that,” Olaf said, drilling me with his gaze before letting out another heavy sigh.
I felt sad leaving him too. It was hard to believe this place had become home to me.
…Aunt Lydia’s patience finally ran out. She stood abruptly, ignoring Alicia’s moans, called for the maids, and flung open the trunks, tossing out clothes in a frenzy.
Not waiting for her usual grumbling, I slipped away to my tiny room, once a servant’s quarters. I didn’t have much to pack—just one small, worn leather bag and ten minutes were enough. I dreaded leaving, but I wasn’t one to cry like Alicia. They practically had to drag her into the carriage by force. So, there was no proper goodbye—just her ongoing hysterics, making it seem like they were simply relieved to be rid of us.
“Shut up already! Enough! For heaven’s sake!” I snapped at her as the horses started moving. “Do you hear me? As if tears will help! I’ve been exiled too, you know!”
“But you’re not the one marrying him,” Alicia sobbed.
“You don’t even know what he’s really like. Everything we’ve heard is just gossip. What if you end up liking him? One thing we do know—he’s rich and devastatingly handsome. Isn’t that the kind of man you’ve always dreamed of?”
“Are you mocking me?” my cousin wailed, bursting into fresh tears. “A limping, cruel recluse?”
“Oh, Lord above, give me strength… If it’s really that bad, we’ll just run away.”
“Really?” Alicia sniffled, wiping her red nose.
“Of course,” I nodded confidently. “We’ll swipe something valuable from the count’s jewels to tide us over until we reach Valia. We’ll invent a story for ourselves—maybe even marry merchants or, worst case, join a band of outlaws. But there’s always a way out, and it’s not just drowning in a river. So stop it. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”
“I hate Father! How could he? He’s gambled away his soul—and my honor with it!”
I stopped listening to Alicia’s laments after that. I knew her well enough—she’d keep this up all the way to Gorlam. Better to distract myself at the right moment, like staring out the window. I’d never traveled this far from home before. I was brought to my uncle’s estate as a toddler and don’t remember my real parents or the places I might’ve been with them. Alicia, at least, had attended a few local balls and mingled with high society, but for me, a trip beyond the village was a first. It was thrilling. Why does the future always stir such a knot in your throat and sweaty palms?
Late that evening, we stopped at a small roadside inn, tucked far from the main road. We spent the night in a single room, sharing one bed, which Alicia grumbled about, saying we were “like penniless wanderers.” But it crossed my mind that this might’ve been arranged by our unwanted noble suitor.
At dawn, after a hurried breakfast, we set off again, aiming to reach Count Orlam’s domain by evening.
The first thing that struck me, even in the twilight, was the castle itself! Its imposing, ancient architecture of dark, weathered stone, its sheer size, the towering spires, and the sculptures on the roof—even a bizarre stone guardian stood frozen by the entrance. I’d never seen a creature like that statue—a winged, fearsome human figure wielding a sword. Spot that thing at night without knowing what it is, and you’d die of fright on the spot.
The second thing—no one was there to greet us. We had to lug Alicia’s trunks up the stairs ourselves.
“Wonderful. Looks like no one’s home. Let’s turn back!” Alicia spun toward our departing carriage, but it was already too late. Poor thing, I thought she might actually chase after it.
“Or maybe that ‘handsome fellow’ by the entrance is your future husband? Just turned to stone waiting for you,” I quipped, shrugging it off as a joke.
“That’s not funny, Yasmina! I’m terrified!” my cousin whimpered, shrinking back.
“Alright,” I said as no one answered my knock. “Looks like it’s not locked. Let’s go in. Don’t be scared. We’re not sleeping outside.” I pushed open the door and stepped into a wide, dimly lit foyer, flickering with candlelight.
It was suspiciously quiet all around. That did unnerve me, but for Alicia’s sake, I didn’t let it show. Instead, I shouted loudly, listening to my own voice echo:
“Hey, is there a single living soul here?! It’s awfully rude to welcome the future lady of Gorlam like this, you clumsy oafs!!!”