“Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.”

Oscar Wilde

"Everyone is terribly afraid of your groom." the maid confides to me while helping me dress for dinner.

I grin. Managing to strike fear into the hearts of the whole household in just a couple of hours is so typical of Estley.

"Are you afraid of him?" inquires the maid.

This question makes me pause for a moment. Of course, I realize that Estley is a serious opponent, and in some situations, one should be wary of him. But be afraid of him... no, probably not.

"I'm not," I smile, standing with my back to the girl, as she puts the corset on me.

"I guess this is why he loves you," she says thoughtfully.

I chuckle again. He is certainly not my groom, and love is out of the question, but why does the maid need to know that?

"Are all the servants really afraid of Lord Estley?" I change the subject.

"Maybe not all, but definitely most of them. Although to tell you the truth, some are more afraid to come up here, to the second floor. They'd rather go through interrogation than go up to the second floor and the master’s bedroom."

"Why is that?" This surprises me.

"Because of the ghost," she says in tone that indicates it goes without saying. "They say it only appears in the master’s bedroom, which means this floor is cursed, and it's better to stay away from it."

"I have a feeling you don’t believe any of that?" I sit in front of the mirror and the maid begins to correct my morning hairdo.

"Nah," she shakes her head. "I don't. The ghost is in fact in the house, but it does not care whether it is the first or second floor — it's all the same to it. I heard it myself on the first floor."

"You heard the ghost on the first floor?"

I almost rise from the chair, but now hasten to sit down again to make sure I don’t lose a lock of hair.

"Yes," the maid says, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It seems that the existence of ghosts in the house doesn't bother her too much. "Once."

"How do you know that it was a ghost?" I decide to clarify.

"What else could it be? Strange sounds, scratching noises late at night, when everyone had gone to bed. Besides, I couldn't tell where it came from."

"Hmm. So where exactly did you hear these sounds?"

Oh, I think I'm getting as meticulous as Estley.

"Downstairs, right by the staircase – the one for servants. There's a corridor leading to the kitchen. That's where I heard it," explains the maid.

After finishing working on my hairdo, she heads in to be questioned by my "fiancé". There is still plenty of time before lunch and I decide to take a look at the place where she heard the ghost.

Stopping near the narrow spiral staircase, I patiently wait for two maids to pass by, looking around and whispering among themselves. Of course, usually guests like me do not stop by the servants' premises. Finally, they disappear behind the door of the kitchen, and I begin to explore the room. A staircase, just like any other, old, with uneven steps and shabby railings, leading to the second floor. I walk a little further down the hall, continuing to look. I still do not see anything out of the ordinary. I stand still and listen. Still nothing suspicious — just soft whispering that comes from behind the kitchen door, but there is nothing otherworldly about that.

I lean against the wall for a more comfortable position. Staring at the floor, I begin to think: what could the maid hear here? Maybe someone, just like now, was chatting in the kitchen? But no, she did not seem to me so impressionable as to mistake the usual chatter for the moaning of a ghost. What then?

As if in answer to my question, a narrow section of the wall moves to the side with a slight creak. Apparently by leaning against the wall I have unwittingly set some mechanism in motion.

I stand there staring into the dark corridor. I can see virtually nothing: just smooth walls on both sides stretching out. Trying to move silently, I cautiously step inside. If I cannot see anything from here either, I'll turn around and find Estley: let him deal with it.

I wait for a bit, hoping my eyes would get used to the darkness and allow me to see a little more. The corridor goes downhill, but other than that I cannot make out anything. Taking a couple of steps, I realize that at this rate I will get nowhere, and decide it is time to return. It is at that moment that I hear a faint creak behind me. A moment later the hall plunges into impenetrable darkness.

I hardly manage to stop myself from cursing out loud. It seems that while I was hesitating, the mechanism activated and closed the door. And I have not even brought a candle with me.

I rush back to what has become a solid wall. Frantically feeling over the stones to no effect. If it were at all possible to figure out which portion of the wall moved, it was not by touch. My heart jumps to my throat from nerves. Should I shout? It is a little scary. You never know who is hiding there at the end of the corridor. Most important, the wall is thick, and I can't hear anything from the outer side. So probably nobody would hear me either.

The silence of the corridor is just as impenetrable as the darkness, giving me hope that I am here alone. Even if the perpetrator uses this passage, it seems likely he doesn't hide here all the time. Exhilarated by that conclusion, I dare knock on the wall, and even call for help several times. It is futile, though. As I expect, no one answers from the other side. It means that I have to get out on my own. After all, this corridor must lead somewhere. Most likely the offender has used it to enter the mansion. So if I just keep going, sooner or later I will get out of the house. That's good. At the same time I will find out where this leads. It will take some nerve, but then eventually catching the perpetrator will be just a matter of technique.

So. The main thing is to be careful. I have to move quietly, taking tiny steps, while holding on to the wall the entire time. I'm in no hurry. Well, of course I am. I am in a hurry to get out of here as soon as possible. But I have to control myself. What if the offender suddenly decides to use the corridor right now? Besides, the darkness is so complete that my eyes cannot adjust to it.

I begin to move slowly. I do not take my hand off the wall for even a second. Gradually feeling bolder I start moving faster. The corridor's descent becomes steeper. Then there is a turn to the left and after another twenty steps one more left turn. I realize that this actually serves the same purpose as a staircase. Which, by the way, is very fortunate in my situation. If I had to go down stairs, my chances of falling down would increase several times.

Then in front of me a light glimmers. At first I am delighted, hoping that the long-awaited exit is close. But it soon becomes clear that it is not daylight. Instead, somewhere ahead of me a torch has been lit. So I stand still for a long time, leaning against the wall, ready to peek out from behind the next turn. I see no people: the corridor is still empty. But there is in fact a torch burning in the distance — far ahead. Meanwhile the descent stops. Rather than leaving the mansion, I have arrived at the underground floor. Strange: I can't remember even one staircase leading here.

As I approach the flame of the torch, inspecting my surroundings becomes easier. Gradually, I make out to the right a pair of barred doors. After all, there is a reason the house reminds me of a castle. Apparently, once prisoners were kept here. I go farther. At the point when I was ready to pick up the pace I hear a man's voice.

"Who is there?"

Startled, I stop. My heart jumps to my throat. Now I hear rustling and a soft clink, as if someone is shaking the bars. Then a voice cries out:

"Please do not go! Help! I beg you, help me!"

I freeze in indecision. His voice is hoarse, tired and desperate at the same time. I allow myself a couple of cautious steps, and finally see the person crying out for help. A man is standing in one of the cells, gripping the bars with both hands.

He is tall and very thin, his hanging clothes making it even more obvious. Young, but with gray hair. Haggard face, dark circles under his eyes.

"Who are you?" I ask, just in case, while continuing to stand a few steps away.

"My name is Norrey Grondezh."

I am so surprised, I probably would have sat down if there had been anything to sit on.

"But you're dead!" I exclaim, and immediately realize that I have blurted out complete nonsense.

"As you can see, not quite," the prisoner smiles sadly.

"How long have you been here?"

Judging from his appearance, I'd say a long time. Although the clothing seems quite new, even though it is too big for him. I simply don't have the heart to call these pants and shirt cast-offs. Besides, after I calm down a little, I begin to notice through the bars various items which are generally not placed in prison cells. For example, the torch's light allowed me to see a chair, a few books, a quill pen with an inkpot, and even a good-sized wooden chest. It looks like someone tried to make Norrey's imprisonment as comfortable as possible.

"It has been five years," is his reply.

So. From the moment when he allegedly died, running from persecution.

"Who did this to you?" I still cannot understand what happened five years ago.

Again, I receive a bitter smile.

"My father."

"Baron Grondezh?" I am surprised. It’s a pretty strange thing to do to his own son.

"The very same. Did you know him?"

"Not really," I answer evasively, not wanting to go into detail." I am visiting the house for the first time. Do you know that your father has died?"

"I know," sadly nods Norrey. "I guess it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry. He was a good man, though not without his quirks."

The last word is uttered with great bitterness. The young man makes it clear that his father's quirks have cost him quite a lot.

"Maybe you can tell me what happened?" I suggest.

"Of course," he easily agrees. "I have had so few opportunities to talk to anyone over the last few years. It's strange that I have not forgotten how to speak... I'm sorry; I cannot offer you a place to sit." He sheepishly shrugs his shoulders.

"It's okay, I can stand," I assure him, and for convenience I lean back against the wall. I am still in no hurry to come any closer to the cell.

"I understand that this is not the first time you have heard my name," states Norrey. "So you know something about my story?"

"Yes," I gently confirm "but, frankly, it was very difficult to determine what in those rumors was true and what was fiction."

"Oh, I'm willing to bet that there was much more fiction!" he laughs. "You know that I was accused of worshiping Orend?"

"Yes, I heard about that."

"This is the most ridiculous accusation anybody could come up with." The young man's face contorts, as if he felt a twinge. "Only lunatics worship Orend; there are practically none of them left. But the priests still stubbornly continue to hunt them. Not all the priests, of course. There are people among them who are quite sane. But the local priest appeared simply obsessed with this idea. I do not know for what reason he chose me as his target. Perhaps someone slandered me, and maybe it was just a whim. Anyway, this accusation was unexpected to me, and, of course, a shock. I was terrified. Besides, I was still very young. So I rushed to my father for help without hesitation, right away."

"What about your father?"

Even now, after so many years, in Norrey’s gaze I could see confusion.

"Father? He believed the Templers' charges. The closest person to me, who had known me all my life. Just like that! He was horrified. How come? In such a respectable family, with a father who adheres to such strict rules – such a child?" Norrey lowers his eyes and sighs. "At least he still had not forgotten that I was his son and did not throw me to the wolves. Thank gods for small favors. I don't know the details; somehow he managed to arrange everything as though I had fallen to my death trying to escape through the mountains. Passed off the mutilated corpse of some poor fellow who had a similar physique to mine as me."

"Then he locked you up here?"

"Yes. He could not leave the bloodthirsty killer on the loose, after all," Norrey notes with sad irony. "He ordered that all passages to this floor be blocked off, allegedly because it was not in use. Leaving only one secret entrance. Only one faithful servant knew about me."

"The cook?" Suddenly it dawns on me.

"Yes," Norrey nods, surprised. "The cook. She was very devoted to my father. Always made sure to cook for me all sorts of delicious dishes. Father made sure that I had everything necessary." Norrey sadly purses his lips. "Apart from sunlight, fresh air and the company of my own kind. Father and cook – the only people with whom I have had the opportunity to chat all this time."

"But the cook also died," I point out. "Who has been bringing you food since then?"

"Her daughter," Norrey says indifferently. "Before her death, the cook told her about me. Otherwise I would have just died here of hunger. Please," he again squeezes the iron bars with both hands: "help. Release me. The key lies not far from you."

He points to the right place, and I very quickly find two keys hidden in a small niche. Picking up a big ring, on which the cumbersome old-fashioned keys hang, I turn to the prisoner.

"Come on, hurry!" he cries impatiently.

"You know," I say, thoughtfully turning over the keys in my hands "I think you must consider me to be extremely stupid. I do not believe that your father would shut you here just because of a rumor and the suspicions of a mad Templar. He was not so heartless and not that stupid. As for the daughter of the cook, you probably told her the same story as the one you told me now. Why didn't she believe you? Not only did she not set you free, but she didn't tell your brother or sister. Why didn't she ask them what to do? It seems that she had completely different information regarding you."

In the dancing torchlight Norrey's smile seems predatory.

"You are quite perceptive," he drawls happily. "But still stupid. Do you know why?"

In a fraction of a second the cell's door swings open, and the prisoner jumps out, a blade that he pulled from his sleeve flashing in his hand. I scream and duck to the side. All this time, he was just playing with me, like a cat with a mouse. Norrey didn't need any key.

"You know how to draw conclusions well," Norrey smugly remarks, slowly approaching. "You only made one mistake. The cook's daughter did believe my story. And unlike you, she opened the door right off the bat."

"Still, you have not touched her;" I remind him, hastily retreating and not taking my eyes off the knife.

"Of course not," grins Norrey. "Why would I? I'm no longer as unable to hold back as I was five years ago. The years spent in confinement have made me wiser. Why kill a person too early if they can be of use to you later? Quite the opposite. I tamed her, coddled her. It was not difficult. She is not too beautiful, deprived of male attention, moreover, she recently lost her mother. Women like her you only need to beckon, and for the sake of some pretty words they are willing to do for you whatever you want."

"For example, kill your sister?" I suggest, continuing to retreat.

"Of course not," Norrey winces. "The girl is incapable of such a thing. I had to take action myself. But from her I learned everything that goes on in the house. That allowed me to come up with a plan. You have to agree, it's quite clever. Get rid of the older little sister, pile all the blame on the ghost of the deceased father and lay my hands on the entire family fortune. It is only fair, given what I have had to endure."

"But the Templar's charge still hangs over your head!"

"Nonsense." He shrugs casually, and I shiver when the knife blade flashes too closely "I do not know if that cleric is even still alive. Well, anyway, I'd like to see him try to lay a finger on Baron Grondezh himself. By the way, how do you like this basement? In my opinion it's the perfect place for rituals, don't you think?"

"You said that only a madman would worship Orend," I remind him.

"I say a lot of things," Norrey smiles. "Orend is a merry god. He likes it when you play with his sacrifices before killing them."

"What about the cook's daughter?" I remind him, trying to stall somehow. "Couldn't she understand what you were trying to do?"

"Of course. But I convinced her that it was the right thing to do. That Yolanda was a necessary sacrifice on the altar of justice. I can be very persuasive, though unfortunately I was unable to persuade either my father or the cook. Actually, I thought that for the first time I would have some fun with this girl specifically," he said, pointedly looking at the knife. I immediately regretted having switched his attention to the cook's daughter. "But it seems that things are working out even better than I had hoped."

It is really scary to turn my back on him. But I risk it anyway — and run, as fast as my legs can carry me, back where I just recently came from. Farther and farther away from the light of the torch. Norrey hurries after me, but so far I am able to keep some distance between us.

It soon becomes quite dark. I have to slow my pace. My saving grace is that he is also forced to do so. In addition, he trips, which he makes known by swearing loudly. But I should not deceive myself: he keeps running after me. It is obvious that sooner or later he will catch me. Besides, there is a dead end ahead of me, so for all intents and purposes I am running into a trap.

Pulling off a shoe as I run, I throw it into the darkness of the corridor, hoping to make as much noise as possible. Then I slink to the wall, trying not to breathe. Norrey's steps sound closer. He walks past, but soon stops. Ominous silence floods the corridor.

"Well, where are you?" The soft creaking of his shoes informs me that the stalker is slowly moving down the corridor, trying to find me. I lean even closer to the wall, as if trying to become completely flat. "Do you want to play? Let's play. Orend loves games."

There is a strange whistling sound. Very unpleasant. I feel goose bumps erupt on my skin even before the guess becomes a conscious idea: he's striking at random with his dagger, for now only cutting air.

Nevertheless, at first I am lucky. The trick with the shoe has worked and Norrey gradually moves farther away from me. I allow myself to breathe a little deeper. And relax a little the hand that still instinctively clutched the keys. Enough has happened that I have forgotten about them. Now the ring falls to the floor with a loud jingle. Without waiting until the stalker draws the right conclusions, I push him in the back as strongly as I can — catching him by surprise, he loses his balance — and run back. In any case I still have not a chance of beating Norrey in a fight. I rush back to the light, and soon hear the sound of him chasing me. Only one hope remains: that there is a hidden second exit beyond the cells.

My hope is in vain. The corridor does not lead out of the building. It just leads down to the prison cells. I run past the cell to the end, and run into the wall with my hands. In desperation I turn to face Norrey. He approaches slowly, striding cheekily, knowing that I have nowhere to go.

I shrink back against the wall. I prepare to at least attempt to seize and hold his hand, which he has already raised to strike me with the knife. Norrey has spent a long time in a prison, even if he was fed properly all the while. This way of life has to have weakened him. But just as I raise my hands, the young man staggers and collapses on the floor with a hoarse groan.

Estley abruptly pulls his sword out of the body.

"Are you hurt?" He returns the weapon to its sheath and grabs me by the shoulders.

I silently shake my head. My arms and legs are trembling, my heart is pounding, and I still cannot find my voice.

Convinced that I am — physically — really all right, Estley takes a step back, and suddenly starts yelling.

"What the hell are you doing in this tunnel?! Do you have nothing better to do? Want an adventure? Why, gods damn you, can't you stay in a house without attracting to yourself all the dangers that lurk within it?"

His shouting has me a little taken aback at first. But resentment against the unjust accusations quickly helps me regain my ability to speak.

"How could I know that the passage of the tunnel would close on me, and I'd be stuck inside?" I know that I am making excuses, which only angers me more. "I learned from the maid that she heard some strange sounds near the stairs, and wanted only to take a look at the place. Nothing else!"

"And, presumably, the power of vision transferred you here?"

My excuses clearly didn't make the slightest impression on the Count.

"Almost," I snap. "The passage opened accidentally. Then it closed on me in the wink of an eye, trapping me inside."

"And you found yourself inside by accident as well," Estley says so sarcastically, it stings. "When the maid confessed to me that she told you this story, I immediately knew how this would end! Why the hell did you even head to the staircase? Why didn't you come directly to me?"

"I'm telling you, I just wanted to look!" Offended, I also begin to shout. "I was going to call you afterwards!"

"You should have called me immediately!" he growls. "This is my investigation!"

"And mine too! Or have you forgotten why I was sent here?" Hang it all, this investigation! Never again will I give in to ghosts who are interested in their old friends! But not to stand up to Estley now, when he speaks to me in such a way, is unthinkable.

"I remember very well," the Count confirms in a slightly calmer voice. "You are here because you were asked to speak with the ghost of Baron. Did you do that? You did. So now you should be sitting in front of a mirror and getting ready for dinner!"

The last sentence he shouts so loudly that my eardrums almost burst.

Apparently they didn't. I hear the sound of running feet and soon see a few servants in the torchlight.

"Is something wrong?" The one that arrived with the Count asks while still on his way towards us.

"No. Not anymore," Estley says calmly.

The servant squats next to the dead body.

"Do you know who this is?" the Count asks me.

"I know. But I'm not going to tell you," I mutter in vengeance.

"Why?" He squints suspiciously.

"Well, as you said, it's your investigation! Figure it out yourself. Meanwhile, I will not bother you any longer or get in your way."

Estley rolls his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible, as though he himself was the maniac confined in a cell.

"This is Norrey Grondezh, Yolanda and Alexander's brother," I back down.

This fact definitely proves to be news to Estley.

Tell me everything," he says.

"Provided that you offer me your arm and finally lead me out of here," I demand. "Although, frankly, now that I think about it, it would be better if somebody else were to tell the whole story from the beginning."

* * *

"When I learned that Norrey was accused of worshiping Orend, I was terribly afraid for him."

The ghost's voice sounds sad. It seems that since our first conversation the Baron has aged ten years, if ghosts could age. His shoulders, the last time proudly straight, are now drooping, his eyes are melancholy, and it looks as though there are new wrinkles on his face.

I repeat the words of the Baron for everyone present. In the room, besides the ghost and myself, are Cameron Estley, Yolanda, Ricardo, Alexander and the deceased's cousin. Our hosts deemed inappropriate making the details of what happened known to others.

"I never for a moment doubted the sincerity of my son's words," says the ghost, staring at the wall. "Norrey claimed he was innocent, and I trusted him implicitly. I was very frightened. It quickly became clear that the Templers were going after him in earnest. So I hid Norrey on the prison level, which hadn't been used by anybody in a long time, and made sure everybody thought that he had been killed while trying to escape. At the time it did not even occur to me to lock him up. He was just hiding down there, and I provided him with everything he needed. I was going to wait until the storm passed, so to speak, and then smuggle him out of the country. I didn't want to involve my other children in this mess, therefore I didn't tell them anything. Only two of my most loyal servants knew about Norrey ."

"Two?" I ask in surprise.

"Two," grimly confirms the Baron." The cook and one manservant. But one day he did not come back. Then I found him on the floor of the prison. Dead. I do not know what happened. I never managed to get the truth out of Norrey. Whether the manservant knew something, or whether Norrie simply considered him a necessary sacrifice to his god..." The Baron pauses and looks quite pitiful now. I do not dare rush him. I wait for him to continue on his own.

"After the incident, I realized that the accusations weren't false. I still could not bear to hand my son over to the authorities. Perhaps this is the gravest sin in my life. The biggest blemish. Anyway ... The only thing that I had the mental strength to do was to isolate him from society, so that he could not continue hurting anyone else. For five years he remained locked up in the basement of my house. I made sure that no one could accidentally find it." He pauses again, and then moves on to the latest developments. "Before her death my faithful cook shared the secret with her daughter. It wasn't hard for Norrey to trick her. He played on the fact that she was lonely and homely. The foolish girl set him free. But he was smart enough not to take advantage of his freedom right away. When I realized what he had in mind, I used the only way still available to me to influence my family. I began to visit them at night, especially Yolanda. I hoped that they would leave the house out of fear. I figured that Norrey would not dare to follow them because of the death sentence still hanging over his head. Maybe I was wrong, but it seemed to me the only option at the time."

He looks me straight in the eye. "Tell my children that I am sorry."

I pass on his words. The room falls silent.

"We..." Yolanda first turns to me, but then realizes she can speak to her father directly. She stares at the Baron. She cannot see him, but she has some idea where he is, from the direction of my gaze. "We're not angry with you, Father. I'm sure I would have done the same as you, five years ago. I would not have given Norrey over to the Templers either."

"Thank you."

The Baron says that very quietly. I repeat, seeing that forgiveness from his daughter , whose death he could have caused indirectly, is extremely important to him.

"Is there anything else that my children would like to ask?" the Baron asks in a more cheerful voice.

Yolanda speaks again.

"Yes," she says firmly after I convey to the audience the ghost's question. "Father, as you probably already know, I have married." She squeezes Ricardo’s hand as she is sitting next to him. "So, albeit belatedly, I want to ask for your blessing."

"Please don't hold a grudge because of my deception," says Ricardo.

The lad obviously feels uneasy — not so much because he is speaking with his father-in-law, but because of the latter's ghostly nature, the existence of which he, in my opinion, still doubts to some degree.

"Tell this one to shut his mouth," irritably snaps the Baron. He apparently is still not happy with his son in law; on the other hand he does not seem too angry. «The Baron would prefer to speak with his daughter," I say, diplomatically translating.

"What the heck, I give you my blessing," the Baron sighs. "Be happy. And... may your children bring you only joy."

After the conversation is over, people slowly disperse. The Baron, however, is in no hurry to leave the room. When only Estley and I remain in the living room, I decide to once again turn to the ghost.

"Baron Grondezh!" I call. He turns and looks at me blankly. "I understand you couldn't speak with your children because they cannot hear ghosts. But I came to your house specifically for this purpose. Why you did not take advantage of my presence to warn Yolanda about Norrey? One word of yours and she would have been safe."

The Baron looks at me for a long time in silence, and it seems to me that he is not going to answer. But at last he, as if with great difficulty, parts his lips, and says slowly:

"Gods help you, lady, if you ever have to choose between your children."

Neither Estley nor I plan to linger at the mansion. The Count has a lot of cases waiting for him at the palace. I also have things to do, and the circumstances of the investigation conducted in the house don't exactly make me want to stay there any longer than necessary. Most important, neither of us is willing to allow the other to return to the palace first, as it gives the quicker one far too many potential advantages.

The servant just carries out the chest, and Estley, taking a final look around the room, too, steps to the door. But I stop him.

"Lord Cameron!"

I touch his sleeve. Estley, initially surprised, looks down at his arm, then looks at me.

"We didn't have time to talk down there" I say softly. "Meanwhile, after all you did save my life. How can I thank you for it?"

I'm willing to bet he did not expect such a question from me. Yet he replies almost instantly.

"How about a kiss?"

In his typical manner he does not even wait for my reaction to the proposal. He just takes me by the shoulders and gets down to business. And gods damn me, I do not even think to resist. As I close my eyes, I can only marvel at how gentle and persistent at the same time his lips can be. And how much I enjoy the closeness of his body. And how soft his hair turns out to be when I bury my fingers in it.

Then suddenly I feel uneasy. Because I very clearly realize that my whole world, carefully designed and solidly built during the last few years, is falling apart right before my eyes. The world in which I am my own master. In which I am free and depend on no one. While I have learnt the hard way what is dependence — even on those closest to you. In this world, when I face difficulties, I overcome them — and, again, by myself. But this man, whom I already want to call Cameron, is ready to conquer and destroy it without the slightest effort.

Coming to my senses, I suddenly realize that he has almost managed to lead me to the bed. The kiss has not stopped, but it is threatening to turn into something much more serious. Something that later would be too hard to forget. After that there will be no turning back. But, damn it to hell, why couldn't he behave a little more rudely? Throw me on the bed, instead of gently and at the same time firmly supporting my back? Leave a couple of bruises on my body instead of caressing it as if a careless touch could break me? Then it would have been much easier to push him away with an indignant exclamation. While now, freeing myself from his arms, I feel as though I am tearing out a piece of my soul.

I am angry with myself. In the end, we agreed only to a kiss, didn't we? Although, strictly speaking, we didn't agree on anything.

Quickly moving away from the bed and standing close to the door, as if seriously fearing that Estley would bring me back to the bed by force, I suppress the tremor in my voice and quickly mutter:

"I guess we're even now." Then I run out of the room.

We return to the palace separately, each in their own carriage. Estley also brings with him the cook's daughter, as she has to appear before the court. On that note the visit to the home of the ghost is over. The ducal palace, with its usual world of intrigue and rivalry, lies ahead once again.

End of Part Three

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Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno

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