Chapter 3 The Jealous Velvet and Forbidden Tour

The next morning, the castle was in a terrifyingly good mood.

When I walked into the kitchen at six o'clock sharp, Barnaby the stove didn't throw a single speck of soot at me. Instead, its iron grates hummed a low, vibrating melody that sounded suspiciously like a tavern sea shanty. The copper kettle had already boiled itself, sitting on a perfectly regulated ring of blue flame, while a loaf of bread sat neatly on the counter, perfectly sliced by a knife that was currently bowing to me.

"Oh, stop it," I laughed, shaking my head as I tied my white apron strings. "You're all trying to butter me up because of what happened last night."

My heart did a dangerous little flip against my ribs as the memory rushed back. Dom standing inches away from me in the dark. The smell of wild blackberries and ozone. You woke it up.

I rubbed my wrist, right over the star-shaped birthmark. It felt perfectly normal now, cool to the touch, but the golden glow from the antique journal yesterday hadn't been a hallucination. The castle knew me. It was reacting to me like a long-lost friend, and honestly? It was making my job incredibly easy, even if it was completely breaking the rules.

Speaking of rules, I had a massive estate to maintain, and Dom’s breakfast wasn't going to deliver itself.

I loaded a silver tray with a pot of fresh lavender tea, poached eggs on toast, and a small glass of fresh orange juice. Taking a deep breath, I marched out of the kitchens and back into the grand entrance hall.

The morning sunlight was streaming through the massive glass windows, throwing brilliant, dancing patterns across the floor. But the most alarming part? The deep red velvet curtains by the eastern door were currently violently shivering.

"Good morning, everyone," I called out to the walls.

The oil portrait of Duke Barnaby immediately sat up, leaning forward until his painted nose almost touched the edge of his frame. "Did you see it? Did you feel it last night? The west wing actually shifted two feet to the left! I haven't had my alignment changed since the Great Frost!"

"Barnaby, shut your painted mouth!" the landscape lady hissed, though she too was waving at me with a tiny silk handkerchief.

"You're going to get her fired!"

"The rules say don't wake you," I whispered loudly, throwing a quick glance toward the master’s stairs. "They don't say I can't talk to you if you're already shouting. Now, behave. I have to feed the beast."

I turned toward the library, but as I walked past the western corridor, a sudden, sharp snag caught the edge of my apron.

I gasped, stumbling backward as the silver tray wobbled in my hands. I caught my balance just in time to save the orange juice, spinning around to see what I’d tripped over.

It wasn't a loose floorboard. It was the heavy, deep red velvet drapes.

One of the thick, gold-tasseled ropes had literally wrapped itself around my waist, tugging me backward like a jealous boyfriend. The fabric was bunched up, vibrating with what looked like pure, unadulterated pouting.

"What in the world?" I muttered, trying to untangle myself. "Let go, you ridiculous piece of fabric!"

The curtains tightened their grip slightly, rustling toward a giant, dusty stone vase in the corner, then back toward the grand windows, as if aggressively demanding that I look at them.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," I realized, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. "Are you... are you jealous because I complimented the sunbeams and talked to the paintings first?"

The velvet gave a sudden, theatrical flop, releasing my waist and draping itself loosely over the floor like a dog waiting for a belly rub.

"Unbelievable," I laughed, leaning down to gently pat the heavy fabric. "You are very beautiful, you know. Deepest crimson in all of Elaris. But if you keep trying to trip me, I’m going to replace you with sheer linen."

The curtains instantly snapped back into place, perfectly straight, completely ignoring me as if they had never moved a muscle.

"That's what I thought," I smirked, picking up my tray and finally pushing open the heavy mahogany doors to the library.

The room was vast, dark, and smelled entirely of leather and ancient secrets. Thousands of books stretched up to a vaulted ceiling, accessible only by iron ladders that looked like they hadn't moved in a century. Dom was already there, standing near a high arched window, looking out over the misty lake. He had his black coat back on, his shoulders tense, the picture-perfect image of a cold, untouchable lord.

At his feet, the black cat let out a loud meow, sprinting across the room to immediately rub against my ankles.

"Your breakfast, My Lord," I said, setting the tray down on a small table near the hearth.

Dom didn't turn around immediately.

He kept his back to me, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a sharp frost.

"You broke Rule Number Four last night, Irene."

"Technically, it was your study, not your bedroom," I shot back, adjusting the tea cozy. "And technically, the door opened itself. I was just the delivery mechanism."

He turned slowly, his icy blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly very small. He didn't look angry; he looked intensely curious, his gaze dropping to my wrist before rising back to my face.

"The doors in this castle do not open for servants. They do not open for my advisors. They barely open for me."

"Well, maybe your castle has better manners than you do," I said, meeting his stare without flinching. "It recognized that a person needs to eat. Did you like the scones?"

Dom paused, his jaw twitching slightly. He walked over to the table, looking down at the poached eggs as if trying to decipher a complex spell. "They were... acceptable."

"Acceptable? I used the enchanted flour that floats, My Lord. That takes serious upper-body strength to knead."

A tiny, almost invisible twitch occurred at the corner of Dom’s lips. It was the closest thing to a smile I had ever seen on him, and it completely transformed his sharp, brooding face. My heart did that stupid flip again.

"You are incredibly repetitive, Irene," he murmured, sitting down and picking up his fork.

"And you are incredibly stubborn," I countered smoothly, turning to leave. "Call me when you're done. I have to go dust the armor in the gallery."

"Irene."

I stopped at the door, looking back over my shoulder.

Dom was looking at me, his expression suddenly grave, the playful banter vanishing in an instant. "The west wing shifted last night. A door opened on the third floor that has been sealed since before I was born. The castle is changing because of you."

I swallowed hard, the weight of the mystery pressing down on the cozy room. "I'm just a housekeeper, Dom. I needed a job."

"The castle doesn't care about your resume," he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, warm register that made my skin tingle. "Be careful. Magic that has been asleep for this long doesn't wake up without a reason."

I nodded, slipping out of the library before he could see the flush creeping up my neck. I walked back into the hall, my mind racing.

Why me?

I didn't have time to ponder it, because the moment I reached the center of the entrance hall, a loud, distinct thud echoed from high above. I looked up. At the very top of the western stairs, the massive, iron-reinforced door of the western tower the one from Rule Number One had just swung open by exactly three inches.

A soft, golden light spilled out onto the stone landing, and a tiny, glowing white lily petal drifted out of the gap, floating down through the air until it landed perfectly at my feet.

The castle wasn't just waking up. It was inviting me inside.