The Maiden of Wellenberg

Chapters Two

THE EAST WING.

The carriage wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled over uneven cobblestones. Lilac sat stiffly on the worn leather seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

The landscape outside the window had changed dramatically over the past hours, the lush greenery of her familiar countryside giving way to barren fields and twisted, skeletal trees that loomed like silent sentinels.

The air felt colder here, heavier. It pressed against her chest like an invisible weight, and with every passing mile, her dread deepened.

Her uncle, Derek, sat across from her, his arms crossed, his face expressionless. He had spoken little since they left the cottage, and Lilac's attempts to pry information from him had been met with silence or curt dismissals.

"You'll see soon enough," he had said, his tone curt, when she asked about Lord Ashalt.

Her unease grew as the carriage approached Wellenberg Manor. The estate came into view gradually, first as a dark silhouette on the horizon and then as an imposing structure that loomed larger with each passing moment.

Tall iron gates adorned with intricate, thorn-like patterns stood at the edge of the estate, creaking open as the carriage approached.

Beyond them, the mansion rose like a jagged monolith against the gray sky.

The manor was ancient, its stone walls weathered and blackened as if scorched by time itself. Ivy clung to the façade like creeping fingers, and narrow windows glinted faintly in the dim light, giving the building an almost watchful quality.

Lilac swallowed hard, her throat dry as the carriage came to a stop in front of the massive oak doors.

Derek climbed out first, barely glancing back as he gestured for her to follow. "Come on, then," he said impatiently.

Lilac hesitated for a moment, her legs trembling as she stepped down from the carriage. The air here was colder than she had expected, biting through her thin cloak.

She clutched it tightly around herself, her gaze flickering to the mansion's towering spires and shadowed windows.

A butler waited at the top of the stone steps, his expression as severe as the building itself. He was tall and gaunt, with sharp features and hollowed eyes that seemed to study Lilac with clinical detachment.

"This is the girl?" he asked, his voice low and precise.

Derek nodded. "She's to see Lord Ashalt immediately."

The butler tilted his head, motioning for Lilac to follow him inside. She cast a desperate glance at her uncle, hoping for some reassurance, but Derek was already turning away, mounting his horse without so much as a farewell.

The doors groaned open, revealing the mansion's big interior. Lilac stepped inside, her breath catching as she took in her surroundings. The entrance hall was vast and shadowy, its high ceilings supported by carved wooden beams.

A grand staircase dominated the space, its bannisters adorned with curling ironwork that mimicked the thorny gates outside. The air smelled faintly of wax and damp stone.

"This way," the butler said, his voice echoing in the silence.

Lilac followed him through a series of dimly lit hallways, her footsteps muffled by the thick, ornate rugs beneath her feet. The mansion was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of the wind outside.

She noticed the servants they passed, their heads bowed and their eyes averted. They moved quickly and silently, as though afraid to linger for too long in one place.

"Is—is Lord Ashalt expecting me?" Lilac asked tentatively.

The butler glanced at her briefly but offered no response.

Finally, they arrived at a set of double doors at the end of a long corridor. The butler rapped sharply on the wood, then stepped aside as the doors swung inward.

The room beyond was a study, its walls lined with shelves crammed full of leather-bound books and ancient scrolls. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with papers, ink bottles, and a heavy silver candleholder.

Behind the desk sat Lord Ashalt Wellenberg.

Lilac's breath hitched as her gaze met his.

He was a striking man, though not in a way that inspired comfort. His features were sharp and angular, his dark hair swept back neatly from his pale face.

His eyes were a piercing gray, cold and unyielding as steel, and they seemed to examine her in an instant. He did not rise to greet her; instead, he remained seated, his long fingers steepled before him as he regarded her with quiet intensity.

"So," he said at last, his voice low and smooth but carrying an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. "You are Lilac Wren."

"Yes," she said softly, her voice trembling.

He gestured for her to step closer, and she obeyed, her legs feeling like lead as she approached the desk.

"You will find that life here is quite different from what you are accustomed to," Ashalt said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I expect obedience and discretion. You will not wander where you are not permitted. You will not question my orders."

Lilac nodded quickly, though her heart was thumping in her chest. "I understand," she murmured.

"Good." His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he leaned back in his chair. "You will be shown to your quarters. That will be all for now."

The dismissal was clear, and Lilac was grateful for it. She curtsied awkwardly before retreating from the study, her mind racing.

As the butler led her away, she couldn't shake the feeling of Ashalt's eyes on her, as though his gaze had followed her even after she left the room.

Lilac's quarters were modest but comfortable, located in a quieter wing of the mansion. The room was sparsely furnished, with a narrow bed, a small wardrobe, and a writing desk by the window.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

The servants who had brought her belongings spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely audible over the rustle of fabric and the clink of silver trays.

Lilac caught snippets of their conversation as they worked, her ears pricking at the mention of Lord Ashalt.

"They say he doesn't sleep," one of them whispered, her voice trembling.

"Because he can't," another replied. "Not after what happened in the east wing."

Lilac frowned, her curiosity piqued despite her fear. She wanted to ask what they meant, but the servants finished quickly and left without a word, closing the door softly behind them.

She spent the rest of the day exploring the areas of the mansion she was permitted to enter. The hallways seemed endless, twisting and turning like a labyrinth, and she quickly lost track of where she was.

The artwork that adorned the walls was unsettling—dark landscapes, stormy seas, and portraits of figures whose eyes seemed to follow her as she passed.

By the time night fell, Lilac was thoroughly irritated. She returned to her quarters, intending to stay there until morning, but as she lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above her, a strange restlessness took hold.

She couldn't stop thinking about what the servants had said. The east wing. What had happened there?

Against her better judgment, she rose from the bed and slipped out into the hallway. The mansion was eerily silent, the only sound the faint creak of the floorboards beneath her feet.

She wandered cautiously, her heart beating with every step. The corridors seemed darker now, the flickering candlelight casting strange shadows on the walls.

She didn't know where she was going, only that she felt compelled to keep moving.

Eventually, she found herself in a part of the mansion she didn't recognize. The air here was colder, and the stone walls were bare, devoid of the paintings and tapestries that adorned the rest of the house.

At the end of the hallway stood a door.

It was unlike any other door she had seen in the mansion. It was made of dark wood, almost black, and its surface was etched with strange markings that seemed to writhe in the dim light.

Lilac approached it cautiously, her breath hitching as she reached out to touch the carvings. The wood was cold beneath her fingertips, and the markings seemed to pulse faintly, as though alive.

"What are you doing here?"

Lilac spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. A figure stood at the other end of the hallway, shrouded in shadow.

"I—I got lost," she stammered, backing away from the door.

The figure stepped closer, and she recognized him as one of the servants—a young man with dark hair and a grave expression.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Go back to your room. Now."

Lilac hesitated, glancing back at the door. Something about it called to her, pulling at the edges of her mind.

"Go," the servant repeated, more forcefully this time.

Reluctantly, she turned and hurried back the way she had come, her heart pounding in her chest.

As she slipped back into her quarters, she couldn't shake the feeling that the door was more than it seemed. The strange markings, the cold air, the servant's reaction—it all pointed to something far darker than she could understand.

And she knew, deep down, that whatever lay beyond that door was not meant to be discovered.

But Lilac's curiosity burned like a flame, refusing to be put out.