CHAPTER 452: UNFAMILIAR MAN

Arabella immediately wiped away her tears. Away from Morpheus, her heart felt lighter, though an unease still tugged at her chest. The farther she was from him, the more incongruent her emotions became, twisting into a strange mix she couldn’t name. The ache in her heart no longer felt like love; it was something colder, sharper, more bitter. She had a power now— an unknown power— and maybe, just maybe, it could fix the unrest that gnawed at her from within.

This unknown sickness, this strange disorder of her emotions, had left her unsettled. She could no longer tell where her anger ended and her curiosity began. Where her hurt ended and the questions about Morpheus’s true nature began.

"Milady," Isaac’s voice broke through the silence, quiet and cautious. He tried to lift himself from the bed despite the bandages covering his stomach and hands. Arabella raised her hand to stop him before he could strain himself further. He froze, his body teetering slightly on the edge of collapse, the faintest groan escaping his lips as he tried to steady himself.

"Isaac," she called his name, her tone even but thoughtful. She didn’t look at him directly; her green eyes remained fixed on a point beyond the room as if the answers she sought were hidden in the shadows. "Do you trust Morpheus?"

"The Lord..." Isaac’s voice faltered. He twisted uncomfortably, unsure where to meet her gaze. He had heard the rumors of love between Arabella and Morpheus, yet he had never witnessed it himself. "After what Lily told me, I... I suppose I do. Or at least, I try to."

Arabella’s eyes, sharp and piercing even as she avoided him, studied the slight tremor in his hands. "But not fully," she said, her voice quiet but certain, as if the truth of it had already been proven to her.

Isaac blinked, startled by her bluntness. "I— I am, milady. If it displeases you—"

"No," she interrupted softly, her tone more reflective than reproachful. "It doesn’t. But answer me honestly. Tell me, Isaac... do you think it is possible for someone to control another’s heart using magic?"

Her question hung in the air. Isaac’s eyes widened, his mind racing to comprehend what she was asking. For a moment, silence stretched between them like a fragile thread, and she thought he hadn’t understood. Then, slowly, he nodded, his voice uncertain yet sincere. "I think it could be. Magic has patterns. If memories can be altered... why not feelings as well? If thoughts can be reshaped, emotions could perhaps be directed, forced, or twisted to someone else’s will."

Arabella’s chest tightened. Her fingers brushed her arm, restless, trying to steady her heartbeat. "I’ve never read of such magic," she murmured, almost to herself, as if admitting the possibility made it more real. "If it exists, it has been buried too deep for anyone to see. Perhaps even hidden away on purpose."

Isaac hesitated, weighing her words. "Lord Morpheus keeps forbidden tomes hidden," he said finally, his voice quieter. "Everyone in the castle has heard of it— though no one could ever find the passage for themselves. They speak of a secret room behind the throne, a hidden library of forbidden knowledge. None could enter on their own..." His eyes shifted to her, searching, as if gauging how she would react. "...but it exists. I know it does."

Her gaze sharpened, thoughtful and calculating. "Forbidden tomes," she repeated, her voice a low murmur that seemed to echo through the quiet room. "Even forbidden magic comes with a price, and even the strongest sorcerer cannot wield it without consequence. Morpheus may be powerful, but if he is using such magic, there must be a cost."

"You are correct," Isaac said softly, a small sigh escaping him. He had no words to defend the obvious. He could feel the reasoning behind her thoughts, the quiet intelligence that had always made Arabella seem more aware than anyone else in the castle.

Arabella drew a slow breath, a calm that masked the fire in her mind. "Then we will find it," she said with quiet resolve, her lips curving into a faint smile that did not reach her eyes. "We cannot ignore the signs. Someone is manipulating events in ways we have not yet seen. Tell me, Isaac... why do you think you were attacked?"

Isaac tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. "Because I was standing outside your room?" he offered hesitantly, as though the idea alone seemed too simple for what had occurred.

Arabella studied him, taking in the innocence in his posture, the untroubled curve of his lips despite the recent danger. He had not yet experienced what it meant to live under constant threat. "Perhaps," she murmured, her voice softer now, though her mind was sharp and calculating. "Or perhaps someone wanted to use you as a warning."

"A warning?"

"A warning for daring to not listen to Morpheus’s words. They could have killed me or hurt me after hurting you but seeing how they didn’t, I suspect that everything isn’t as simple as it seems and for now I do not want to destroy every possibility."

Isaac was about to open his mouth when he snapped to the door which she followed. From the door, a soft knock came and Lily walk inside the room, a smile on her face as she was holding a tray of food.

When Lily entered and saw Arabella and Isaac standing close, she blinked curiously, masking the flicker of suspicion in her eyes. "Milady, I have been searching everywhere for you," she said with her usual soft-spoken politeness. "I had the cooks prepare a meal, though I wasn’t sure what your appetite would favor tonight. Shall I have your supper brought here?"

"Now," Arabella replied after a pause. She wasn’t hungry in truth—her stomach had felt hollow for hours—but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten properly. "I’ll dine here."

"Certainly, milady." Lily gave a small curtsy, her smile never reaching her eyes. She set the first tray on the table, offering it to Isaac. The smell of roasted herbs filled the room faintly, grounding the heavy silence that lingered between the three of them.

"Or milady should eat first," Isaac said, his voice uncertain but polite, gesturing toward her.

"You’re the patient," Arabella replied with a small chuckle, unaware of the tension that flickered briefly like a candle in a draft. When she turned, Lily was already gone—quiet as a shadow. The air, heavy just a moment ago, lightened instantly. The silence no longer felt sharp or pressing, and Arabella frowned, wondering what that strange unease had been.

When night arrived, shadows stretched across the corridors like restless hands. Arabella and Isaac moved through the dim halls in silence, following the faint glow of their lanterns. They had agreed earlier to ask around for the location of the forbidden room, but Arabella had quickly realized how dangerous that would be. Any whisper, any hint of her curiosity, would reach Morpheus before the night was over. And if he knew what she was searching for... she did not want to imagine what would follow.

So instead, she turned to the castle’s library. The scent of dust and old parchment welcomed her as she stepped inside, the room so silent it felt almost sacred. She searched among the scrolls and records until her hand brushed over an older, thicker parchment tied with gold thread. When she unfurled it, a name caught her eye in the corner of the design:

"From Atlas. To Circe."

"Atlas?" she murmured to herself. The name rang faintly in her mind, familiar yet distant, like a half-remembered dream.

Unrolling the parchment further, she felt her breath catch. The scroll stretched wide, sprawling across the floor like a tapestry of secrets. Faded ink formed intricate lines and hidden chambers that seemed to twist endlessly within the castle’s walls.

"There are so many," she whispered. The markings revealed not one or two concealed rooms—but dozens, each more complex than the last. Corridors that looped into themselves, stairways that led nowhere, doors that opened into blank walls.

A castle of sorcerers, the map called it. The name felt fitting. But as she traced the dizzying paths with her finger, she thought maze might be a truer word. A single misstep inside this place, and someone could vanish forever.

"Do you think Morpheus remembers all these paths?" she asked quietly, studying the map as though it might whisper the truth back to her.

"I think so," Isaac answered, crouching beside her. He pointed toward one of the invisible lines, a faint curve leading toward the throne room. "Lord Morpheus has an excellent memory. He remembers every detail—every date, every name. All of our birthdays. As much as I fear him, I can’t deny that he’s... remarkable."

Arabella exhaled softly, her gaze distant. "Yes," she said, almost to herself. "I’ve noticed that too."

"Milady, look here," Isaac said suddenly, his finger tracing a particular route. "If we follow this passage, it might lead us directly to one of the invisible rooms!"

Arabella leaned closer, her eyes narrowing with determination. The map’s ink shimmered faintly in the lamplight, as though reacting to their discovery.

Neither of them noticed the soft creak of the door, or the eyes watching them from the shadows—a pair of wide green irises glinting through the narrow crack. Silent, unblinking. The gaze lingered, wide eyed as though it was torn between glaring or studying their behavior, fixed on every motion they made. It was as though the devil himself had been invited to witness their secret.