CHAPTER 25: THE HIDDEN LIBRARY

The next morning, when Anneliese woke up, her eyes fell on a set of dresses laid neatly across the velvet bench. The fabric glowed faintly under the early light that filtered through the tall windows—simple, soft-textured, and light.

Vincenzo had done so much: healed her, given her shelter, and now... this quiet attention to her comfort. But waking up in a castle in a foreign land, so far from home and everything she once knew, tugged at the grief buried in her chest. Her family was still out there—somewhere—and the world she belonged to now seemed blurred by smoke and memory.

A strange weight pressed on her chest. She hadn’t asked about her family—not since the moment she was taken, not even after she was brought here. What if no one knew anything at all? Or worse—what if asking brought it all crashing down?

Pain, fight, flight, confusion... and now this: waking up in a castle, surrounded by unfamiliar walls, servants, and silences. It all felt too unreal. Too overwhelming.

She drew in a breath, steadying herself. This wasn’t the time to grow soft. No matter how foreign this place felt, no matter how complicated her thoughts toward its Lord... she had things to discover. People to find. Answers to claim.

Now able to stand without assistance, she decided to bathe herself and entered the adjoining dressing room. Afterward, she slipped into a dark blue dress laced with hints of black. It hugged her lightly, falling just above her ankles. She noticed immediately how easy it was to move in—and a small thought bloomed in her mind:

"Maybe... he’s not as intimidating as he seems."

She tied a braid into her hair before returning to the bedroom. As she stood near the window, brushing fingers against the glass, a knock came at the door.

"Please come in," she called.

The maid entered, bowing. "Good morning, Milady. The Lord has requested your company in the dining room for breakfast."

"Requested."

Anneliese almost smiled. She understood now—when Vincenzo requested, it wasn’t really a request. It was a directive in velvet.

Still, she said nothing, and followed the maid out. Each step sent a faint throb through the healing wounds on her legs. They moved through corridors gilded in gold and age, then descended a staircase until they stopped at an enormous door. The guards pulled it open, revealing a long dining hall lit by a ceiling of chandeliers.

At the head of the long table, Vincenzo sat, arms rested on the chair’s arms like a king in waiting. His crimson eyes found her the moment she stepped inside.

"Good morning, Milord," she said with a polite bow.

"Just Vincenzo," he replied. "Drop the title." Then softer: "Good morning, Anneliese."

She frowned faintly but made no comment. Her eyes swept the long table lined with chairs, unsure where to sit—until his voice cut through the silence.

"Here," he said, gesturing to the seat at his right.

She walked down the length of the table as a servant pulled the chair out for her. As she sat, she caught glimpses of polished silverware, crystal glasses, and a small feast laid before her. Eggs, fruit, bread, a steaming cup of herbal tea. A far cry from the foraged meals she’d grown used to.

She lived simply once—surrounded by laughter and love. But here, despite the elegance, everything felt distant and cold. Her eyes drifted to Vincenzo, and for a brief moment, she wondered—Did he ever know warmth?

As she began to eat, she became aware of his gaze. Sharp, steady, unreadable.

Her pulse picked up. She lowered her head, eating faster, eager to be done with this silent scrutiny. But her nerves got the better of her, and she choked on a bite of bread.

Vincenzo moved before the servants could react, placing a glass of water before her. She took it with a grateful nod and drank. When she finally dared to look up, his gaze hadn’t shifted.

"Neither the food is going anywhere," he said, "nor you. So eat slowly."

His voice was even, but she could sense the dry amusement buried beneath it.

Her instinct was to retort—to point out that his intense gazing made it hard to breathe, let alone chew—but she held her tongue. Instead, she obeyed, this time eating with smaller bites.

Still feeling the weight of his stare, she attempted to distract both of them with a question.

"Where are your family members?"

He looked her directly in the eyes. "My mother died when I was young. A few years later, I killed my father."

Anneliese froze. If she had food in her mouth, she might’ve choked again.

"But I do have a stepmother," he added casually, and her two good-for-nothing children. They’re attending a ball in Versimoil and should return in a day or two."

His tone was flat, as if discussing weather—not patricide.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why did you kill your own father?"

He noticed the flicker of fear in her eyes and answered it first: "I won’t harm you. You’re... special."

Then, after a pause: "I’ll tell you the story some other day. Finish your food. There’s something I need to show you."

Special, she? echoed in her mind. Maybe because I might help him stop the Dark Witches.

After breakfast, she followed him through the winding halls of the castle.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the castle library."

He stopped abruptly. She nearly collided with him but managed to halt just in time.

He turned slightly, studying her. "You need to read about ancient witchcraft—to understand the Book of Spells and use it wisely. That book won’t tolerate mistakes. It can destroy the one who misuses it... even by accident."

He resumed walking, his coat trailing like a shadow. "The Envoy—Lightwood—has the book I gave you earlier. So, we’ll need to find another text. Something older. Something harder to come by."

"But... aren’t those kinds of books forbidden?"

"All ancient books are forbidden," he replied. "Not just on witches—on every creature. But my father kept them before the prohibition. And I never turned them over to the Conclave."

She wanted to ask more. But something in his voice silenced her.

At last, they reached an intricate wooden door. He opened it.

"Servants aren’t allowed here. Only a few people have access to this library: myself, Adomas, Lucas the butler... my cat, Oscar." He glanced at her. "And now, you."

She followed him in. The room smelled of time—aged paper, old wood, ink and dust.

"Come with me," he said, stopping at a particular shelf.

Anneliese tilted her head, curious, but before she could ask, the bookshelf moved. A soft mechanical click sounded—and the entire panel slid aside, revealing a narrow corridor.

She gaped.

"A secret doorway?" she breathed.

Vincenzo gave a small smile. "It leads to a hidden library. One filled with knowledge even the Conclave pretends doesn’t exist."

The passage opened into a smaller, domed room bathed in gold-tinted light from a single stained-glass skylight. Shelves upon shelves of thick tomes lined the walls.

Anneliese’s breath caught at the beauty of it.

She stepped forward, enraptured. Vincenzo watched her—watched the way her eyes lit up, the smile tugging unknowingly at her lips. There was something pure in it. Something that reached a place in him that had long been walled off.

Without warning, he reached forward, his hand brushing her cheek. She flinched slightly at first, but didn’t pull away.

His fingers rested there—just for a moment.

The child in the fire. The girl in the forest. The woman before him now.

He had found her. After all this time. And he wouldn’t lose her again.

He let go slowly.

"The genre is labeled on each shelf," he said, stepping back. "You’ll find the witchcraft section easily. Just... try not to get into trouble while I’m gone."

"I won’t," she promised.

"Good girl," he said quietly, the edge of a memory in his voice.

He turned to leave.

But then her voice followed him.

"You too. Be safe."

He stopped in his tracks.

Not because of the words—but because of the weight they carried. No one had said that to him... not since his mother.

His gaze flicked back, just briefly. He didn’t answer.

But when he walked away, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest—small, quiet, and human.

And behind him, Anneliese stepped further into the hidden library, unaware that she had touched a place in him no one else dared to reach.