Midnight was a jaded beast.

Although the Hershel home was silent when Rosalind returned, she worried at least one of the men would be awake and would ask about her whereabouts. So she entered like a shadow.

Tiptoeing inside the sitting room, Rosalind saw the fading light of the embers from the fireplace indicating someone had left not too long ago. An opened bottle of wine and a used goblet sat on the elegant mahogany drinks table next to her father's favourite chair. Rosalind walked to it and grabbed the bottle by its neck. She did not bother rousing a maid for a fresh glass. She did not want either Esther or Rue to know she was back. Neither of the housekeepers was someone who could comfort her when her mind was full of hurricanes. They were not Clairie, her old maid and confidant. The one true friend she could turn to. But Clairie was gone. Her bones rested in Saint John's Cemetery.

Rosalind filled the used glass to the brim and sat in the chair. The lingering tendrils of warmth reached for her yet she turned away. Gulping the wine, she swallowed and said, "I do not need your warmth."

She placed the glass down on the table with a dull thud. Droplets of crimson escaped the side and trickled over her fingers yet were ignored.

Falling to her knees, Rosalind crawled inelegantly to the fireplace and grabbed the poker. "Damn this heat," she hissed as she upset the cinders with fury.

Ashes flew in all directions like burnt confetti. Specks landed on the hearth, on the rug before her, on Rosalind's dark hair.

She thought of Agnes and how the old maid would gently scold her like a mother. Rosalind wondered if her mother had not passed when she was a child, would she be scolding her now?

"I do not understand why a fine lady like you decided to curl up next to the fire like a cinder-girl."' She recalled Agnes saying once when she had fallen asleep on the rug next to the fireplace. She had not been in the lord's manor for long and feared every inch of the unloved place and beastly Lord Caspian himself.

"I am the queen of ashes," Rosalind upset the cinders one last time before dropping the poker with a clang.

Rising, she took hold of the glass and tipped it back until her throat was aching.

A buzz came for her like a slap. She dropped the glass by her feet and stepped toward the window. The room swayed as though she were lost in a dream world where the ground was made of marshmallows.

Rosalind staggered to the plumb curtains and pushed them aside.

The moonlight reflecting off the glass was legs of silvery-grey spider-walking towards her to cocoon her in the pale light.

She closed her eyes. "It was not the old manor in the Borgo that made me a prisoner. It was my heritage. Had I not been prophesied to kill Lord Caspian, he would still be at his home. Perhaps at his library composing another book of poetry that he would later gift to me."

He would still be here causing havoc; murdering innocent people and beating Troy within an inch of his life. A long-forgotten voice wafted from the walls and nagged in disgust. He wanted to kill your betrothed—his son—because he was a beast. Evil. And you. You dared to love him. A sneer shook the walls and brought the harassment to a momentary pause.

Terror bathed Rosalind when she realized who the phantom voice belonged to "No! You are not here." She spun in a full circle but saw no one in the room. "You are not here," she echoed in a plea.

But I am here. I am a part of you and you of me. How can you feel pain over the loss of him? Caspian was a monster, a beast. Showing mercy would have brought eternal suffering to this land. Silly, silly girl. You heard the Vorpal Blade sing to you. You had to give it the blood sought to claim.

"Get out of my head!" Rosalind brought her fists to the glass with an almighty thunk. But the pane was too strong for her to break through.

Your head is full of rocks and no logic, the voice continued to taunt. You fell in love with the devil. You let him seduce you. You begged him to fuck you.

"No. Stop talking." Rosalind clasped her hands over her ears. She turned on her heels and paced the room as the voice swelled around her. Guilt gnawed at her insides. 

Were you thinking of what your father would say were he to know you let the Borgo beast fuck you more than once? And on your command? Is it not worse than Caspian taking you by force? What would your dear, dear brothers feel knowing you gave yourself to the monster who threatened to gut them were they not to hand you over to him for a month? They would call you a whore, would they not? 

"A woman is not a whore when she lays with who she loves!" Rosalind thrust down her hands. Her fingers curled into fists. Her heart caused earthquakes inside her. Her brothers would die of shame if they knew she slept with Caspian and Troy. No. "My brothers will never know. Never."

The lord was volatile A brute. He could have destroyed you. 

"Caspian would never harm me. He could not," she uttered breathlessly.

Silly girl. He pulled your dignity away from the roots long before he took you and now here you are withering away like a dying blossom.

Rosalind's nails dug into her palm. She did not stop until she broke skin. The desire to grab the owner of the phantom voice overwhelmed her. 

"I am as much as a monster. I hurt him and now I am paying the price."

The moonlight seeped into the room and filled it with light. As the pale light swayed, it shifted into an opalescent black, as though whatever ashes were left from the fireplace settled upon it to darken it.

The figure resembling something not quite born hovered against the backdrop of velvet and stone and hissed at Rosalind. You live inside a tragedy. The shadow pulsed. Dwarf limbs twitched.

Rosalind's vision swam. The wine inside her was toxic. "You were never supposed to return," a quiver escaped her lips. "Never."

The shadow swirled around her. Its whispered words were a haunting refrain. "Neither was he. Neither was he."

The room spun mimicking the shadow in a dismal dance.

"What do you mean?" Rosalind demanded. "Tell me, damn you." She reached for the shadow only to have it slip through her bloody fingers and float towards the window.

Rosalind rushed towards it feverishly. "Come back and explain yourself."

But the shadow was gone.

"Where are you?" she asked but no one replied.

Staggering to the chair, she collapsed onto it and buried her face in the armrest. The scent of cinders meshed with spilled wine, blood, and her father's citrus and spice Blenheim Bouquet fragrance.

With a shaky sigh, Rosalind sat up. Her gaze fluttered to the window. Outside, the leaves of the trees quivered in the breeze and the moon ducked behind the wings of a cloud. "Perhaps I am going mad. My desire for Caspian has taken all logic. Here I go hearing things....seeing things again."

"He is gone. I killed him..." Gingerly she upturned her palms. Crimson crescents smiled. "I saved Transylvania. I broke the spell for Troy and Agnes." She drew in a deep breath. Her voice cracked as she added, "But I damned myself to a lifetime of sorrow." 

My third dedication is for BelitAm who wrote an amazing fan fiction piece for me called Julian (which you can find in my first reading list). BelitAM had mad talent and won a Watty in 2021!

You won't want to miss her story Serpent's Kiss || Kingdom at the End of the World - Book I

When a storm strands Ira Hale at the stately Beaufort Manor, she joins the household to work under the mysterious and reclusive Valeri Beaufort, but what secrets are lurking in the shadows?

***

Ira Hale joins the Beaufort household under the employ of Beaufort Manor's mysterious master, Sir Valeri Beaufort. She soon comes to care for the reclusive noble and his haunted home. When a series of gruesome murders in a nearby town expose Sir Beaufort as a vampire, both the town and Beaufort Manor fall under the scrutiny of a ruthless police force known as the Amith Capil. In a world where monsters walk among humans, the true killer hides in plain sight.

Fun Fact! Before Rosalind entered Lord Caspian's home, she had never tasted wine (or any alcohol or drug before).