CHAPTER 38: AT THE THRESHOLD OF DAY

The fire had burned out hours ago, leaving only the faint chill of stone. She had tried—closing her eyes, shifting onto her side, turning this way and that—but still, sleep refused to come. Instead, she lay in that quiet, staring at the ceiling until the light shifted across it, her heart aching with the weight of questions that had no answers.

At some point she rose, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and crossed to the tall windows. The grounds below the castle stretched silent in the morning mist. It should have been peaceful. Instead, it felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to step forward into it.

She lingered there until the first golden threads of sunlight brushed across the horizon, then turned away. The heaviness in her chest clung still, but she moved with quiet purpose, slipping through the chambers to the adjoining dressing section. Steam soon curled upward as she sank into the warm water, the heat easing the stiffness from her limbs. For a time, she let herself drift there, eyes closed, as though the water could wash away not only the sleepless night but the doubts that haunted her.

When she emerged, her skin was flushed and her hair damp, curling in loose waves down her back. She dressed slowly, pulling on a soft linen skirt and lacing the embroidered bodice tight around her frame. The floral weave, muted roses and ivy winding across it, grounding her in something simple, almost ordinary. She smoothed the sleeves at her wrists, adjusted the ties, and for the first time that day allowed herself a steadying breath.

Beyond the windows, the mist had lifted, unveiling the world in fragments of gold and gray. The fabric of her skirts whispered across the cold marble as she stepped toward the door. The day awaited, heavy with silence and shadows, as though holding secrets only she could unravel.

As she stepped past the threshold and turned toward the private wing, the hush of the corridor met her. Her skirts trailed over marble polished to a faint gleam. The passage stretched wide, lined on one side with a gilded railing that overlooked the great hall below, the other walled and studded with ornate sconces that held unlit candles. Sunlight streamed through high windows, gilding the rail and scattering shifting patterns across the floor.

She had never been here before, but she knew well enough whose chamber lay ahead. At the far end stood a single door. There were no others. The knowledge quickened her pulse, drawing her forward even as unease tugged her back.

Her steps softened as she neared, the echo of her tread fading into the vast silence. When she stopped, her hand hovered, hesitant, fingers brushing against the air as though she might knock—only to falter. It was early still, too early, and the thought of disturbing him sent her breath quickening. Yet she did not turn away. She lingered there, suspended in the stillness, her heart unsteady, the polished wood before her waiting.

The latch shifted before she could summon the courage to knock. The door swung inward, sudden enough that she drew back a step with a soft intake of breath.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the hush of morning light, gaze steady, as though he had known she was there all along.

Vincenzo had already heard her long before the knock that never came—the whisper of her steps across the marble, the faint tremor of her breathing as she lingered. The hesitation that bound her hand in silence.

The hush lingered a beat longer before Vincenzo shifted, stepping back just enough to leave the doorway open. A silent invitation.

Her pulse faltered, but she crossed the threshold, the quiet weight of his gaze following her as the door closed behind.

Sunlight streamed through the arched glass walls, washing the chamber in gold. It scattered across the polished black marble floor until it gleamed like water lit from within. The onyx bed bore the marks of sleep, sheets rumpled and uneven—a rare imperfection in a room otherwise bound by order. The vast space carried its wealth softly, its beauty edged with a faint chill.

The silence stretched a heartbeat longer before he stepped fully into the chamber, closing the distance between them with a slow, deliberate pace. His gaze lingered on her, steady and discerning. He noticed the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the worry she had carried through the sleepless hours, and for the briefest moment, his expression softened—an unspoken concern reserved only for her.

Holding her hand gently, he guided her to the far end of the chamber, where two leather seats flanked a low table. With a quiet pull of the golden chain, he said, "Breakfast will be brought here—for you, before we leave."

Anneliese sank into the chair, lost in her thoughts, barely noticing the exchange between Vincenzo and the butler. A few minutes later, the butler returned, carrying a tray in his hands. The aroma of warm bread, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and herbal tea filled the space with a faint metallic tang, rooting her in the present even as her mind churned with questions.

Vincenzo’s gaze followed her carefully as she reached for the tea, his expression attentive and measured. He did not speak, letting the quiet settle around them. She glanced at him briefly, noting the controlled precision in every movement as he lifted the glass filled with dark red liquid, the faint tension in his jaw—was it for her, or for the day ahead?

Anneliese lifted the cup of herbal tea, the warmth seeping into her palms, and took a slow sip, letting the familiar aroma anchor her amidst the swirl of thoughts. She nibbled at the bread and fruit with measured care, each bite grounding her in the quiet moment. Vincenzo watched her silently, lifting his glass to his lips occasionally, his gaze quiet and precise.

When the tray was cleared, he rose, the soft rustle of his movement echoing through the chamber. Without a word, he extended his hand toward her.

"Shall we?" he murmured.

She placed her hand in his, letting the warmth of his touch steady her before nodding.

The air around them thickened, folding in on itself. Light shimmered, shadows twisted, and the familiar contours of the chamber blurred into a swirl of color and sound.

Anneliese’s stomach tightened as a strange pull gripped her, the sensation of motion without movement. Her mind raced to catch up, but the world was already slipping past.

When it stilled, the faint morning mist of Haselburg curled around her ankles. The cobbled streets lay before them, quiet, yet carrying the faintest hint of unease—the town waiting, watching, as though it, too, had sensed their arrival. Vincenzo’s presence beside her was steady, a dark anchor in the shifting air, reminding her that she was not alone.