The silence was so thick that the crackling of the logs in the fireplace sounded like cannon fire. You felt frozen, a chill that didn't come from the Carpathian winter, but from the fear of watching the glass castle you had built that morning shatter into pieces. Vlad approached slowly, each step heavy, as if he were walking through a minefield.
"Y/N," his voice came out dry.
You lifted your face. There were no tears, only a cutting lucidity that wounded him more than any dagger. The parchment trembled slightly between your fingers, the only sign that you were not a statue. Vlad clenched his jaw, the pulse visible in his neck.
"I can explain," he said, lowering his tone, trying to soften the authority he usually wore like armor.
"Then explain," you shot back, your voice dangerously calm. "I have all the time ten thousand gold coins can buy, don't I?"
Your sarcasm was a blow. Vlad took a deep breath, his shoulders tense. The contract between you was like a rope stretched to its limit, about to snap and lash both of you.
"The agreement with your father... was a necessary means to an end," he began, his hands gesturing vaguely before clenching into fists at his sides.
"What end?" you snapped, taking a step forward. "What glorious goal requires a woman to be sold like a packhorse at a provincial fair?"
Vlad hesitated. His eyes dropped to the contract that now seemed to mock his attempt at nobility.
"For the protection of Wallachia," he replied, his voice controlled, though his eyes betrayed an internal storm. "Your father sold an alliance. This was the only way to confirm the pact."
"Liar." Your cry was low but laced with venom. You took another step, invading his space. "Do you think I’m an illiterate fool? It says right here that you paid a fortune in gold and, in exchange, you gave up armies, lands, any aid! You paid for them to leave. You paid for nothing!"
Vlad’s eyes narrowed, a spark of irritation and hurt crossing his face. He wasn't used to being questioned, let alone having his motives exposed so rawly.
"It’s not that simple," he growled, his patience starting to fray. "The gold was the condition. But your father... he demanded something else."
"What?" you asked, your chest rising and falling rapidly, breath escaping you under the pressure of the corset and your own indignation.
"He handed you over. He wanted to be rid of the burden and I..." Vlad stopped, inches away from you. The heat from his body was oppressive.
"And you what?" you challenged him, your eyes locked onto his. "Why did you pay? What did you gain from this? You emptied your coffers in exchange for nothing!"
You felt your heart hammering against your ribs. He reached out slowly, taking the parchment from your fingers. His fingers brushed against yours, and the contact felt like it burned.
"Nothing?" he repeated, the word leaving him like a dark whisper. He looked at the document and then back at you. "Perhaps to the world, you have no political value. Perhaps to your father, you were just a debt to be settled."
He took a final step, cornering you against the oak table.
"But I didn't pay for an alliance, Y/N. I paid for you."
You let out an incredulous laugh, bringing your hand to your forehead and huffing. The absurdity of the situation made you want to laugh and scream at the same time.
"I don't have that kind of value!" you exclaimed, pulling away from him and falling heavily onto a velvet divan in the corner of the room. You sank into the upholstery, feeling the weight of your own insignificance. "You didn't even know me when you sealed this horror."
Vlad leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched you, the way you seemed small, yet simultaneously filled the entire room with your presence.
"Can I be honest with you?" he asked, approaching your armchair with slow, predatory steps.
"I’m counting on it. There have been enough lies to last a lifetime," you replied, your tongue as sharp as ever.
A flicker of a sad smile, yet admiring, crossed Vlad’s face. He sat in the chair across from you, leaning forward.
"When I made this deal, I had no interest in collecting princesses," his voice was now a deep, steady vibration. "Your father wanted the gold to cover his vices. But I saw something in the letters we exchanged, in the terms he used to describe you; I saw a value he was too blind to notice. I didn’t pay for a pawn, Y/N."
He paused, his eyes locked onto yours.
"I saw you. Even before I met you, I saw what they were trying to erase."
"You didn’t know who I was, Vlad," you shot back, your voice rising in disbelief. "I could have been an old crone, my face lined with wrinkles! I could have been the most hideous woman you’d ever seen, or a lazy brat with no manners!"
Vlad let out a short, husky laugh, a sound that vibrated in his chest before hitting the air.
"You yourself believed I had more than ten toes," he reminded you, the glint of humor in his eyes contrasting with the gravity of the moment.
"Oh, stop it!" You looked away, but he didn't allow the distance to grow.
"I didn't need to know every feature of your face to care, Y/N. I knew enough. I knew you were withering away in that house."
"I..." You stopped, your voice faltering. "I just feel guilty. I feel like you lost in this exchange. That your gold was wasted."
Your tone, heavy with an apology for your own existence, struck Vlad like a personal insult. Before you could pull away, he moved with a predator's speed and wrapped his fingers firmly around your wrist. It wasn't to hurt, but to anchor you there, before his truth.
"Lost?" He repeated the word as if it were poison on his tongue, forcing you to face him. "Who told you I lost anything?"
"You did, and badly!" you exclaimed, trying to pull your arm back, but he held you tighter, his blue eyes flashing with palpable irritation.
"How could I have lost anything if you are here?" His question was a strike of authority and possessiveness.
You froze. You didn't react, surprise locking your muscles as you dived into his fixed, relentless gaze. Vlad tilted his head to the side, observing you as if you were the most fascinating mystery in his kingdom.
"You defy me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerously intimate pitch. "And yet, you have no notion of the power you wield over this castle, and over me."
You managed to wrench your wrist free with a sudden movement, confusion clouding your senses. The air in the study seemed to have vanished.
"I understand that you are confused," he said, his voice returning to a controlled neutrality.
Without another word, you turned your back and left. You ran through the library corridors as if fleeing a fire, but the fire was inside you. The stone walls seemed to close in. All your life, you had imagined being a pawn on a board of kings, a sacrifice for an alliance. Now, discovering you had been bought as a rescue object left you without ground to stand on. What did he want from you? What did he expect you to be?
You burst outside, where the cold garden air hit your face. The scent of lavender and damp earth calmed you for a brief second. You walked across the lawn until you reached an ancient, solitary tree at the edge of the garden, leaning back against the rough trunk to keep from falling. Your legs were shaking. The weight of the ring on your finger now felt like the weight of ten thousand gold coins.
You closed your eyes, but the sound of boots crushing the grass warned you that you were not alone. Vlad had followed you. He would never let you escape this conversation.
He stopped a few meters away, his imposing silhouette framed against the pale sky. He didn't come any closer, respecting your space, but his presence was like a shadow that enveloped you completely.
"What do you seek in me, Vlad?" you asked, without opening your eyes, your voice carried by the wind. "Why buy a woman you don't even know if you can endure?"
He took a step forward, and the tone of his response was laced with a brutal honesty.
"I wasn't looking for a wife I could endure, Y/N. I was looking for an equal who had the fire necessary to burn the chains that bound her. And from what I saw today" he paused, his eyes fixed on your figure against the tree "I received far more than I paid for."
You felt the cold bark of the tree against your back, but it was the warmth of Vlad’s words that made you dizzy. I received far more than I paid for. It sounded like heresy in a mind accustomed to being depreciated.
You opened your eyes slowly and found him there, standing like a statue of shadows. He didn't try to touch you, nor did he demand that you return to the castle. He simply... waited.
"You speak as if I were a legend, Vlad, and not a woman of flesh and blood who hardly knows what to do with her own hands now that they have no shackles," you murmured, your voice almost vanishing with the wind.
Vlad took a step forward but stopped at a respectful distance. He noticed you were trembling, and it wasn't just from the shock of the discovery. The mountain wind was growing sharper.
Without a word, he undid the silver clasp of his cloak, a heavy piece of wool lined with wolf fur, and with unexpected tenderness, he draped it over your shoulders.
The weight of the cloak was comforting. It smelled of hearth fire, leather, and something you began to associate only with him: the scent of the earth after the rain.
"I do not seek a legend," Vlad said, his voice low and firm. "I seek the woman who had the audacity to ask me about the number of my toes while the rest of the world trembled at my feet. That woman is worth every gold coin those vultures took from me."
You pulled the edges of his cloak tighter, wrapping yourself in the heat that still emanated from Vlad’s body. You looked down at his boots, covered in the dust of the courtyard.
"What happens now?" you asked. "The contract says I am yours."
Vlad leaned in slightly, trying to catch your gaze.
"Now, Y/N, I will do what you could never do in that cage. You will discover who you are when no one is watching to punish you."
He held out his hand, not to pull you, but with his palm facing upward, a silent invitation.
"The day is still young. The fields beyond these walls are under my guard, and they are vast. We can walk."
You looked at his hand. It was the hand of a warrior, scarred, powerful, but offered with an almost imperceptible hesitation, as if he too were afraid you might refuse it.
Slowly, you placed your hand over his. His skin was warm and rough, and the touch sent a tingle through your entire arm. For the first time, it wasn't the hand of a father pushing you, nor a mother reprimanding you. It was a support.
"I would like to walk," you said, and for the first time, the smile you gave wasn't meant to impress, but was a small sprout of hope.
You began to walk side by side toward the gate that led to the open fields. Vlad adjusted his pace so you wouldn't have to rush to keep up, maintaining a gentlemanly distance but always close enough so you felt that if you stumbled, he would be there to catch you.
You left the walls behind, and the side gate opened with a metallic moan, revealing a trail that wound along the top of the hill. The air out there was more alive, heavy with the scent of pine resin and the freshness of snow that never melted on the peaks.
You walked wrapped in Vlad’s cloak. The fabric was heavy, an armor of wool that made you feel strangely safe. Vlad walked beside you, but kept a distance of two steps, enough to respect the space you sought, yet close enough for his shadow to protect you from the pale winter sun.
He was not the monster the stories spoke of. His movements were economical, the grace of a wolf who knows every stone of his territory. You smiled at the thought.
"They say you built this place with the blood of enemies," you broke the silence, your voice sounding small against the immensity of the valley below.
Vlad stopped for a second, his blue eyes getting lost in the horizon where the Argeș River shone like a silver ribbon.
"People like to turn pain into legend, Y/N. The truth is that this castle was built to be a cry of resistance. Every stone was placed by hands that preferred hard work to the slavery of a foreign empire." He turned to you, his expression softened by the late afternoon light. "Just like you, Poenari was rescued from abandonment to become a fortress."
You descended a gentler path leading to the grazing fields. In the distance, a group of peasants tended to the cattle and winter crops. When they noticed Vlad’s tall, imposing figure, the work stopped.
You expected to see panic. You expected them to flee or hide. Instead, the men removed their felt hats and the women made deep curtsies, with a dignity you had never seen in your father’s lands. An elderly man approached and offered Vlad a piece of dark bread and salt, the traditional gesture of loyalty.
Vlad accepted, broke off a piece, and ate it with solemnity, exchanging a few words in a dialect you could barely understand. There was a respect there that wasn't born of the whip, but of an austere justice.
"They aren't afraid of you," you observed as the walk resumed.
"Fear is for enemies and traitors," Vlad replied, his voice vibrating with deep conviction. "A sovereign who rules only through terror is a sovereign who sleeps with one eye open. I prefer to be the shield that allows them to sleep in peace."
You reached a natural lookout, a stone platform covered in dry moss that jutted out over the precipice. The view was breathtaking, miles of virgin forests that looked like a sea of dark emeralds under a sky beginning to turn shades of violet and gold.
The wind blew harder, making your cloak flutter. You faltered slightly at the edge of the rock, and Vlad, in a purely instinctive reflex, placed his hand firmly on your waist to steady you.
Time seemed to stand still. Through the layers of velvet and wool, his palm felt like a burning coal. You felt your breath hitch, not from the fear of heights, but from the intensity of that proximity. You looked up and found his face just inches from yours.
There, so close, you saw the profound loneliness that lived in the depths of his pupils. He didn't let go of you immediately. His fingers closed gently against your body, a gesture that was both a claim and a support.
"You asked what I saw in you," he said, his voice now so low it was almost a secret shared between the rock and the sky. "I saw a will to live that even your father’s ten thousand coins could not buy. I don't want a pawn, Y/N. I want someone who looks into this abyss with me and does not fear the fall."
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, but the trail of heat remained. You felt something shift inside yourself. The humiliation of the contract began to be replaced by an overwhelming realization: you hadn't been sold to a monster; you had been delivered to a man who was willing to wage war against the entire world just so you could walk freely in his garden.
"I’ve never seen the world from this height," you admitted, your voice firmer now as you gazed at the immensity.
"Then this is your world now," Vlad replied, stepping beside you, shoulders almost touching. "And I will be your guide, as long as you wish for my company."
The sky began to tint a deep purple as the sun dipped behind the snowy peaks. On that lookout, time seemed to have bent to your collective will. Vlad did not withdraw his presence, he remained there, a sentinel by your side, feeling the wind rustle the edges of the cloak that now enveloped you.
"It’s getting cold," he said, his voice vibrating like a cello in the frosty air. "The castle awaits us, and the hearth's flames are more welcoming than the abyss."
He offered his arm. It wasn't a command, but the gesture of a gentleman awaiting his lady’s permission. You hesitated for a moment before looping your arm through his. As you walked back, the silence was no longer heavy with poisonous secrets, but with a latent curiosity.
As you entered the Great Hall, the warmth of the torches embraced you. Vlad led you not to the cold, formal table of the morning, but to a smaller antechamber where a round table was set near the fire.
During dinner, Vlad’s movements were precise, almost ritualistic. He poured the wine for you, a dense red from the vineyards of Dealul Mare, before serving himself.
"You spoke of freedom of the mind," Vlad began, watching the reflection of the flames in your eyes. "I, too, know the weight of chains, Y/N. When I was young, I was sent as a hostage to the Ottoman Empire. I lived for years in a golden cage, surrounded by enemies who smiled while sharpening their blades."
You stopped with the chalice at your lips. You had never imagined that he had once been a prisoner.
"Is that why..." you began, but your voice trailed off.
"That is why I cannot stand to see anything caged," he finished, and for a moment, the mask of the sovereign fell, revealing the man who understood your pain because he felt it in his own skin. "I did not bring you here to be my prisoner. I brought you so that we might, perhaps, be free together."
That night, you lay in your bed and, for the first time, did not feel the castle was a stone tomb. You felt the warmth of his cloak, which had remained in your room, and the scent of Vlad, oak, wind, and an indomitable safety, accompanied you into sleep.
The next morning didn't bring the startle of the maid. You woke to the soft sound of something being placed at your door. Upon opening it, you found not just clothes, but a small bouquet of wildflowers that only grew on the highest slopes, still wet with dew, and an invitation written in a firm, elegant hand:
"The walls are high, but the view from the top of the towers is what keeps the mind sane. If your curiosity allows, join me after breakfast."
You met at the base of the spiral staircase. Vlad wasn't wearing his armor, only a dark linen tunic and riding breeches. He looked less like a warrior and more like a man in his own home.
You climbed the stone steps, and each time the path grew steeper, Vlad extended his hand. He didn't pull you, he was simply there, a firm support if you needed it. At the top of the highest tower, the world opened in 360 degrees.
"You said your father never let you ride," Vlad said, looking down at the stables below. "What do you think of changing that today?"
You felt a flutter in your stomach, a knot of nerves.
"I... I don’t know if I’m capable."
Vlad stepped closer, but this time he did not retreat. He stopped so near that you could feel the heat radiating from him, a force of nature contained in human form. He raised his hand and, with a deliberate slowness so as not to startle you, lightly brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek.
"You are capable of much more than they told you, Y/N. Fear is a lie that the weak use to control the strong." He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the air spark. "I will force you into nothing. But if you give me your hand, I will teach you to master the wind."
You looked at his extended hand and then at the vast horizon. For the first time, you felt as if you were being invited to truly participate in life. Slowly, you placed your hand in his, your fingers intertwining with his naturally.
"Teach me, then," you whispered.
A genuine smile, the first you had ever seen truly reach his eyes, lit up Vlad’s face. It was a moment of pure, dangerous beauty.
Vlad led you to a stallion with a deep, satiny brown coat and a black mane, waiting for him. The animal had intelligent eyes and a noble posture, snorting softly as it sensed the two of you approaching.
"I will teach you," Vlad promised, his voice sounding like a vow.
You stepped forward, hesitantly reaching out to stroke the animal's velvety muzzle. The hair was short and warm under your fingers.
"He is a good horse," Vlad added, coming up behind you and resting his palm on the mane, showing the animal who was there. "This one is clever, Y/N. He will read your soul before you even give a command." He paused, watching your profile. "Are you nervous?"
"Quite," you admitted, with a faint smile that tried to hide the trembling in your hands.
Vlad smiled at your honesty, a flicker of tenderness that he rarely allowed to escape his armor.
"It’s alright," he murmured. "He will move slowly. He knows he carries a treasure."
He motioned for you to continue stroking him. While you lost yourself in the texture of the mane, Vlad watched you in a heavy silence. The winter sun filtered through the cracks of the stable, illuminating the loose strands of your hair and creating a golden aura around your face. For a moment, the Prince of Wallachia forgot about wars and councils, he only felt the warmth of that stillness and the fragile trust you were placing in something so imposing.
He cleared his throat abruptly, brushing away thoughts that made him want to touch you in a different way.
"He likes you," he said, his voice raspier than he intended. "That is already half the battle."
He guided you outside, teaching you how to hold the reins firmly. His fingers brushed against yours, a brief touch that electrified the air.
"Hold on tight, do not be afraid to be in control," he instructed. "A horse respects strength, but it surrenders to trust."
With an agility that belied his size, Vlad helped you mount. He gripped you by the waist, feeling the delicacy of your form before boosting you upward. The horse huffed, feeling the new weight, but remained steady. Moments later, Vlad climbed up behind you, settling into the saddle with a regal naturalness.
The proximity was overwhelming. Vlad’s broad chest pressed against your back, and his arms surrounded you like walls of flesh and bone as he reached for the reins over your hands. You felt a shiver run down your spine, you could feel the thrumming beat of his heart.
"Relax," he whispered near your ear, his warm breath sending new chills over your skin. "Trust me."
You began to ride slowly along the edges of the Poenari hills. With every step the horse took, your body swayed in sync with Vlad’s. He passed the reins into your hands, allowing you to feel the weight of the direction, yet keeping his hands over yours like an invisible guide.
"You are learning fast," he commented, the softness in his voice now disarmed. "You have a natural affinity, Y/N. Just as you do with everything."
He leaned in a little closer, his face almost brushing against yours.
"The truth is, riding is not just technique... it is about connection. It is about allowing another being to guide your strength."
You gave a genuine smile, the wind tossing your hair as you felt, for the first time in your life, that you were not a passenger of fate, but its driver.
You reached the top of a small rise where the castle could be seen in all its solitary glory. Vlad pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. The silence of the mountain enveloped you.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You simply watched the world below, united by shared warmth and the rhythm of breath that was now calming. Vlad did not pull away, he maintained the implicit embrace, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.
When you finally returned to the stables and he helped you down, Vlad did not withdraw his hands from your waist immediately after your feet touched the ground. He kept you there, between him and the flank of the horse, his eyes searching yours for something that was not written in any contract.
You looked at him, and for the first time, you didn't see the dragon or the buyer. You saw the man who was conquering the territory that no amount of gold could ever buy: your heart.
Vlad nodded, releasing you with a reluctance that did not go unnoticed, and together you walked back toward the castle, where the shadows of the night no longer seemed so frightening.
"Do you feel that?" Vlad asked softly, his gaze fixed on the shadows stretching like black fingers across the stone floor of the courtyard.
The sun was beginning its final descent, staining the clouds with the blood of twilight in hues of amber and wine. Vlad did not move away from you as you walked back; on the contrary, his presence seemed to be the only point of warmth in a world that was cooling rapidly.
"The shadows... they always arise when someone dares to be too free," he murmured, an ironic and almost imperceptible smile dancing on his lips.
He stopped abruptly mid-way, forcing you to stop as well and face him. Vlad’s eyes sought yours, more serious now, heavy with a feeling they did not yet dare to name, but which pulsed between the two of you.
"But do you know something, Y/N?" He leaned his face closer, his voice becoming a magnetic whisper. "Shadows are afraid of those who dare to walk together."
He held your gaze for an eternal second before resuming the path. You crossed the threshold of the castle, where the scent of pine and wind was replaced by the welcoming aroma of burning wood and beeswax.
Vlad led you to the solar, a circular room with narrow windows and a monumental fireplace that took up half a wall. He helped you remove the heavy fur cloak he had lent you. As he did, his hands lingered a moment longer on your shoulders, a touch that was no longer that of a stranger, but of someone beginning to know the contours of your soul.
"Did the ride tire you?" he asked, gesturing toward a velvet armchair near the fire.
"It was... the best kind of exhaustion I’ve ever felt," you admitted, sitting down and letting the heat of the flames lick your face. "I never imagined the world could feel so vast and so small at the same time."
Vlad poured two chalices of a dense, dark wine. He handed one to you, and this time, when your fingers touched, you did not pull back. You sought the contact.
"The world is what we make of it," Vlad said, sitting in the opposite chair. "For a long time, to me, it was nothing but a battlefield. But today" he paused, watching the reflection of the flames in the wine "today it felt a little more silent."
You observed him. Under the light of the embers, the hard lines of Vlad’s face seemed to soften. He was a man who carried the weight of a crown and a loneliness that you were beginning to recognize.
"Why did you bring me here, Vlad?" you asked, your voice soft but direct. "Not because of the contract. Why did you bring me to this garden, to this horse, to this conversation?"
Vlad looked at you, his blue gaze now stripped of any irony.
"Because I wanted to see if the spark I saw in your eyes the day you arrived was merely a reflection of the sun, or if it was a fire of its own." He leaned forward, his voice heavy with brutal honesty. "And I discovered it is a blaze, Y/N. One that I have no intention of putting out."
The tension in the room shifted. It was no longer the fear of the unknown, but the recognition of a passion that was beginning to burn slowly, consuming the barriers you both had built.
Warnings: No major triggers for this chapter. However, please be advised that it contains mentions of past emotional and psychological abuse by the protagonist's
Summary: After the shock of discovering that her mysterious stranger from the wall is actually her new husband, it begins to navigate the complexities of a new life. Between a garden of freedom and a library of shadows, she finds a man who is far from the monster she expected.
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English is not my first language.
I’ve always seen chapters with over 5,000 words and felt I owed you something for how little I’ve written before, so here it is. Enjoy!
You open your mouth to speak, perhaps to scream, but your father gives a sharp nudge to your arm. Immediately, you perform a forced curtsy, your eyes fixed on the cold stone floor. When you lift your gaze, his is still fixed on you, his expression now devoid of a smile, but charged with a deep and predatory satisfaction.
Your father clears his throat, and you walk to the side of the stranger, who is no longer a stranger, he is your fiancé. The priest, in his embroidered robes, raises his hands and begins the solemn discourse, his words echoing throughout the chapel. You feel the gazes of all the nobility and clergy burning into you, knowing that in this game you are merely a pawn, and now, you are at the mercy of the dark gentleman from the wall.
You feel dizzy. You lift your face to look at the man beside you, your fiancé, the Prince of Wallachia. His long, slightly wavy hair, a shade of coppery red that looks like darkened fire, falls over the shoulders of his cloak. His features, which you had admired by the edge of the wall, are now hard, chiseled, and his thin lips barely move as the priest begins the liturgy.
The stranger from the wall. How is it possible that the man who had promised you secrecy, who had laughed at your foolishness, is the very same one you were trying to flee? That smile at the edge of the wall is now a threat, proof that he saw you at your most vulnerable, and he amused himself with your desperate insolence.
The priest continues to speak, but the words are like a distant hum to you. "He knew, and he knew from the very beginning." The thought hits you with the force of a punch. He had called you Princess, he hadn't been surprised by your atire, he had simply observed you as a hunter observes prey that, through its own foolishness, has fallen at its feet.
You feel fear, but beneath it, attraction and an intense rage simmer. He isn't the old, ugly, and lame man you believed he would be and feared, but a man of striking and dangerous beauty. You look at him seeking a reaction, a confession, and Vlad’s eyes meet yours for a split second. He doesn't smile, he just stares at you.
The Prince tilts his head, a movement almost imperceptible, as if he were thanking you for the amusement you had provided him earlier that day. The priest reaches the part about the union promise, speaking of duty to God and the realm.
"Do you, Prince Vlad, accept to receive Y/N Vraugh as your lawful wife, to honor her, protect her, and rule by her side?"
You can barely breathe. You expect to hear the deep voice that had both startled and amused you at the wall.
"I do." His voice, deep and resonant but brief, cuts through the silence of the church.
The priest turns to you. "And do you, Princess Y/N, accept to receive Vlad, Prince of Wallachia, as your lawful husband, to honor him, to be submissive and loyal?"
You open your mouth. The word submissive seems to choke you. The image of the wall, the feeling of the fall, it all blurs in your mind. You have the chance to scream No. You are on the verge of creating the scandal of your life. But Vlad’s gaze is upon you, and you remember the rumors and what might happen if you deny everything now."I... I do." The words came out almost inaudibly, yet they were carried by the chapel's acoustics.
The priest continued with the rite. The highlight of the ceremony, according to custom, was the symbolic coronation. Two pages approached, bringing metal crowns encrusted with stones. The priest placed them upon your heads, yours and Vlad’s, signifying the establishment of your new reign. After the final, solemn blessing, the priest gave the command that sealed your fate.
"Kiss the bride, Prince."
Vlad turned fully toward you. He was so close that your arms brushed. He raised his hands and, with a delicacy that contradicted his somber countenance, lifted the veil covering your face. The touch of his cold fingers sent a shiver down your spine.
Your eyes met one last time before he leaned in. The kiss was not tender, it was firm and possessive, a seal of ownership. There were no fireworks, but in that moment, you felt something... something inexplicable.
As he pulled away, Vlad kept his eyes on you for a moment before turning to the congregation, his expression imposing. The bells rang again, this time to mark the end of the wedding, the completed bond between your families. Looking at your father, you saw a look of happiness, knowing his daughter was fulfilling her duty and bringing more prosperity to his lands.
You gave your hand to Vlad and, looking at everyone present, you began to march toward the castle gates. As you left the cathedral, the light of the day's end was being swallowed by falling snow and a light storm that seemed to be gathering around. You saw a closed carriage approaching, pulled by four sturdy horses. It was made of dark, solid wood with heavy ironwork needed to traverse the region's notoriously dangerous roads.
The coachman, a man from Wallachia in a dark uniform, opened the door and bowed his head as you approached. The interior was a discreet luxury of wine-red velvet lining the wide, comfortable seats. You stepped in first, and your husband followed, sitting across from you. The coachman closed the door, isolating you from the world. You could hear the cheers of the crowd outside.
Silence stretched out, heavy with the shame of your earlier actions echoing in your head. Vlad decided to break the stillness, his gaze fixed on you.
“For your information, Princess," he said, his voice sharp and low. "I have five toes on each foot, and they are perfectly normal. Are you relieved?"
You put your hand to your face.
"Oh, are you going to judge me? I’m sure you know perfectly well the stories that circulate about you, even the most eccentric ones."
"And yet, you wanted to flee from me," he said, with a low and dry laugh.
"To be perfectly honest," you replied, lifting your chin. "I wasn't trying to flee from you. I was trying to reach my freedom."
The atmosphere grew tense and silence returned, broken only by the muffled sound of the carriage wheels and the horses' hooves in the thickening snow. Vlad studied you with an intensity that made you want to look away, but you refused to do so.
"How many hours will the journey take?" You asked, breaking the duel of gazes.
He looked at you a moment longer, then shifted his position in the seat, adjusting his cloak. "One hour remains," he said, turning his face toward the windows. Outside, the darkness was nearly total, and the snow was beginning to shroud the shadows of the road. He returned his attention to you. "You haven't asked anything, I imagined you would be curious about the man you married."
You stared back at him, expressionless. "I am, but I decided to wait. I am patient, and now we have an entire lifetime to talk."
A shadow of a smile, more cunning than humorous, crossed Vlad’s lips at your bold audacity. He shifted his weight again and leaned back against the seat, fixing his eyes on you.
"I wonder if you are in doubt about your chambers, or if your belongings will arrive safely." He watched you with calculated curiosity.
"You are my husband now, my lord. I know you will not make me sleep in the stable with the horses." You looked him directly in the eyes, your bravado returning. "And besides, any place in the castle would be a relief after the prison I was in."
He raised his eyebrows slightly, a simple gesture, but one that did not go unnoticed by you. He remained there, observing you with a serious expression. He seemed to sense there was more you wanted to say, but he didn't press, instead, he simply leaned back with a mocking smile.
"Brave," he murmured, his voice like distant thunder. "Most ladies would not carry themselves with such insolence toward their husband on their first night together."
You gasped. "I am not being insolent, my Lord," you replied, the formal correction almost instinctive. "Forgive me for my words."
The corner of his lips curled again in slight amusement. He raised his hands in a dismissive gesture. "Do not ask for forgiveness, I like it. And do not call me 'my lord', it is too formal, and I am your husband. You may call me whatever you wish."
"And how should I call you, then?"
His smile widened, revealing a savage beauty. He leaned forward, his intense blue gaze fixed on you, studying you. "You may call me Vlad." He spoke the name almost musically, a sound that seemed to roll off his native tongue.
"Very well, Vlad."
The way you said his name, low and hesitant, seemed to touch him unexpectedly. He watched you as if trying to decipher you, and for a moment, there seemed to be a storm of uncertainty reflected in those intense eyes.
"Allow me to ask you something?" he questioned.
"Of course."
His fingers seemed nervous against his leg, drumming lightly. His voice dropped even lower. "Do you truly believe that? That anywhere is better than where you were?" he finally asked, and this time there was no mockery in his tone, only genuine doubt about what you really meant.
"What kind of family forces their own daughter's marriage this way, without even introducing the groom?" You asked, looking him in the eyes with frankness. "Now, imagine how that kind of family treated their firstborn at home, when there were no witnesses. Yes, Vlad. Anywhere, as long as it is far from Castle Vraugh, is a relief."
It was your defiant gaze that made Vlad pause. He observed you in silence for a longer moment, seriousness dominating his features once again.
"A cruel one," Vlad murmured, quieting himself again. Time passed, and his fingers returned to drumming restlessly on his thigh. He looked at you, his expression clouded with a complexity you couldn't quite decipher. "Did they... did they ever harm your body?"
"It’s not that. But I was forced into my obligations and, consequently, deprived of everything that makes life worthy," you replied with a heavy sigh.
He narrowed his eyes, his lids closing slightly as he listened to you. Vlad understood that, although there were no marks on your skin, it was a cruelty of the spirit.
"What kind of deprivations?" he questioned, his tone one of concern. For a moment, he noticed how you clenched your own hands, avoiding his gaze.
"I had only one purpose," you said, finally facing those deep blue orbs of his. "To prepare myself for this contract. I was molded for marriage, my diet, my schedule, and even my thoughts were guarded. I couldn't walk through the gardens, I couldn't read, I couldn't see any figures other than my guards. I had to learn to be submissive."
A dark, almost imperceptible smile escaped Vlad. "Submissive," he repeated quietly, rolling the word on his tongue as if it were a poison he was tasting for the first time. "And yet, here you are, sharp enough to challenge what the priest uttered at the altar. That is admirable."
The carriage swayed sharply on a slope, and the shadows of the trees outside passed over your faces in the dim light of the oil lanterns. You dipped into a reflective silence, until Vlad broke the stillness with an unexpected question.
"What do you wish to read first?"
You stared at him, caught completely off guard by the weight of his question. Your eyes must have shimmered under the dim light of the carriage lanterns, reflecting a mix of disbelief and budding hope. A faint, almost inaudible "What?" escaped your lips, barely more than a breath of wind.
He arched a single eyebrow, his face a mask of feigned surprise that didn't quite hide the amusement dancing in his eyes. "You heard me perfectly well," he countered, the corner of his lips twitching upward in a subtle, fleeting smirk. His gaze remained anchored to yours, heavy and unwavering, as if he were intent on capturing and deciphering every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. "It is a simple question. Your father may have seen fit to bar you from the sanctuary of knowledge and the company of books, but your husband shall do no such thing. Therefore, I ask you once more, for I am truly curious, what does your soul long to read first?"
"I..." You stammered, your heart racing as your thoughts collided with one another. "I do not know... I have no idea what kind of works a man such as yourself would keep."
You had imagined, of course, that a man of his stature, possessing such sharp eloquence and a calculated, piercing intelligence, would surround himself with books. Yet, you had no inkling of the sheer vastness of the world that was about to open before you. Vlad simply nodded, looking satisfied, as if your burgeoning curiosity was exactly what he had hoped to find.
The carriage began to decelerate, the rhythmic jolting of the wheels on the uneven path gradually slowing until the conversation was physically interrupted. Vlad glanced through the small, frost-dusted window, noting that you had finally breached the inner gates. The coachman pulled the door open with a sharp, dry snap that echoed in the cold air. Vlad descended first, moving with the fluid, dangerous elegance of a predator that had been only partially tamed. He turned back and offered you his hand, a silent invitation to step into your new life.
The moment your feet touched the damp stone ground and you looked up at the structure looming before you, your breath caught in your throat. Your mouth parted in silent, reverent awe. Vlad’s castle was not just a home, it was a fortress of dark, jagged stone that looked as though it had been birthed from the very bowels of the mountain itself. It was worlds apart from your father’s castle, where that was a place of stifling tradition, this was a monument of imposing, severe power. The battlements, those jagged, tooth-like notches atop the walls, sliced through the ink-black night sky, while stone gargoyles perched like silent sentinels, their frozen eyes guarding every entrance. The air here was different, it tasted of ancient pine, fresh snow, and the bitter, comforting scent of woodsmoke.
"Come," Vlad murmured, his voice a low vibration in the night air as he guided you toward the interior.
As you crossed the massive oak portal, the biting chill of the Transylvanian night was instantly traded for the radiant warmth of torches held by iron sconces. The flames danced wildly, casting long, flickering shadows that licked the vaulted ceilings and the tattered war banners hanging from the heavy timber beams. The floor beneath your feet was softened by thick, heavy rugs, laid there specifically to swallow the sound of footsteps and preserve the castle’s ancient secrets.
You walked through the Great Hall, where the faint echo of your movement resonated against the millennial stone. Suddenly, he stopped. He turned to look at you, his rugged features softened by the amber glow of the fire.
"Are you hungry, Y/N?"
"No," you lied instantly, the word out of your mouth before you could think. But in that very second, your body betrayed you. A loud, undeniable growl erupted from your stomach, echoing through the hollow corridor with embarrassing clarity.
Vlad let out a short, muffled laugh, a genuine, deep sound that seemed to vibrate within his chest. It was a moment so startlingly human and vulnerable that it caught you by surprise.
"It appears your body is far more honest than your tongue, Princess," he noted, his voice laced with a newfound warmth. "You are hungry, indeed."
He continued to lead you deeper into the heart of the fortress. For a time, the only sound was the rhythmic thud of his heavy boots and the dramatic, heavy rustle of your silk gown dragging across the stone. He stopped before an immense oak door, the entrance to the dining hall. He swung it open and, with a tone of natural, effortless authority, asked you to wait there.
Vlad vanished through a side door, leaving you alone in the staggering immensity of the room. The Dining Hall was a haunting testament to both power and sobriety. The grey stone walls were draped in dark, intricate tapestries depicting ancient hunts and bloody, forgotten battles. In the center sat a wooden table, long enough to host thirty souls, stretching out under the flickering light of a massive wrought-iron chandelier. At either end, a high-backed chair adorned with silver details caught the candlelight, shimmering against the encroaching shadows. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic, comforting crackle of the hearth.
The silence of the vast dining hall was suddenly pierced by the sound of firm, rhythmic footsteps echoing against the ancient stone floor, drawing closer behind you. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up as the air seemed to thicken with his presence.
"Sit," Vlad said, his voice deep and resonant, vibrating through the empty expanse of the room like a low chord on a cello.
You felt a momentary flash of discomfort, a lingering instinct from years of being told exactly where and how to exist, but then, a sudden, inexplicable impulse of audacity surged within you. Instead of retreating to the opposite end of the long, intimidating table as protocol would dictate, you grabbed the heavy chair and dragged it across the floor, positioning it right next to his. The screech of wood against stone was loud. You saw a flicker of surprise cross his neutral expression, but beneath that mask, you sensed a spark of something new, respect, perhaps even a budding affection.
In ghostly silence, the servants filed in, carrying heavy silver platters that sent plumes of fragrant steam into the air. The banquet was a feast for the senses, far beyond the meager portions you were used to: roasted pheasant rubbed with wild mountain herbs, tender venison swimming in a rich, dark wine sauce, rye bread so fresh it still radiated the warmth of the oven, and aged local cheeses that smelled of earth and tradition.
Vlad gestured toward the abundance, his eyes locked onto yours.
"Eat," he said. He tried to soften the command, his voice carrying a rustic kind of gentleness you hadn't expected from a man so imposing.
You look down at the feast, but immediately, the cold, sharp voice of your mother echoes like a ghost in your mind. "Eat like a lady, Y/N. Only enough to keep from fainting, or you shall lose the elegance of your waist and the dignity of your station." Trapped by the chains of habit, you reach out with a trembling hand and serve yourself only a few measly grains and a sliver of bread so thin it is almost transparent.
Vlad watches you. He looks at your nearly empty plate and then at your somber, distant expression. He lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh as he piles his own plate with vigor, clearly disturbed by the sight of you eating with a delicacy that is indistinguishable from self-starvation.
"Tell me," he begins, forcing you to lift your gaze to meet his piercing blue eyes. "Do they haunt every single bite you take?"
He leans back into his chair, the shadows of the room dancing across his sharp features. He doesn't seem to want to be cruel, but there was a hard truth in his voice that needs to be heard.
"What?" You murmur, your voice small and clouded with confusion.
"You just served yourself like a frightened child who expects a sudden outburst of rage from her parents," he says, his gaze as sharp and perceptive as a dagger's edge. "Even now, sitting here with me, you are holding yourself back. It is not just your appetite you are restricting, Y/N, it is your very essence. Your soul."
He suddenly leans forward, closing the space between you until you can feel the heat radiating from him. The proximity is intoxicating, stealing the very breath from your lungs.
"Is this what they have turned you into? A mere shadow? Someone who accepts being less than her full potential for the pathetic fear of displeasing others? Do you truly intend to let that hollow existence continue under my roof?"
A volatile cocktail of emotions erupts within you, white-hot rage, stinging surprise, and then, a sudden, brilliant clarity. You look at the banquet again, not as a minefield of rules, but as a declaration of independence. You serve yourself properly, a succulent pheasant leg, a generous portion of venison, and a thick wedge of cheese.
"Eat," he repeats, and this time, you see a genuine gleam of approval, perhaps even pride, shining in his eyes. "There is no one here to calculate the portions on your plate, Y/N. No one to lash you with cruel words for what you choose to consume. Here, you are whole."
The meal proceeds, and for the first time in your life, you feel your guard truly begin to drop. You savor every spice, every texture, discovering a world of flavors that had been forbidden to you for years. The silence that stretches between you is no longer heavy or awkward, it is, for the first time, comfortable.
At one point, Vlad reaches for a succulent fig dripping with golden honey from a small ceramic bowl. "Try this one," he suggests, extending the fruit toward you. It isn't a command this time, it is an invitation into his world.
When your fingers brush against his as you take the fig, you feel a jolt of something electric, a hum of energy that seems to vibrate in your very bones. It is a brief touch, but it feels like a triumph.
"Hmm... it really is delicious," you admit, a genuine smile illuminating your face, chasing away the shadows of the day.
"Good," he whispers, almost to himself, a palpable sense of satisfaction coloring his deep voice.
When you finally finish, Vlad rises and gives you a silent signal to follow. You traverse wide, echoing corridors and climb a grand stone staircase, passing through doorways flanked by empty, silent suits of armor that look like frozen ghosts. Finally, you stop before a massive set of doors.
He pushes them open, revealing a vast, magnificent chamber. A fire crackles merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow over a grand canopy bed draped in heavy, luxurious velvet curtains.
"This is your room, Y/N."
The room is not merely a place to sleep, it is a sanctuary that exudes a reality you have never known. The high ceiling is supported by carved dark oak beams, and the scent of fresh lavender mingles with the comforting crackle of the logs in the fireplace, creating an atmosphere of warmth that contrasts with the mountain chill outside.
You take a few steps inside, your eyes scanning every detail with curiosity. The stone walls are adorned with rich tapestries depicting constellations and ancient maps in silver thread. There are oil paintings in gilded frames and a wooden vanity with a mirror that reflects the orange glow of the fire.
Vlad enters right behind you, maintaining a respectful distance, watching your reaction as you assess the accommodations.
"You may notice that your belongings have already been duly organized," he says, gesturing toward an immense carved wooden wardrobe.
Upon opening it, you let out a gasp of surprise. It isn't just the few dresses you brought from your homeland, the wardrobe is filled with fur cloaks, heavy velvet dresses, and fine silks, along with gold accessories and gemstones that shimmer under the candlelight.
Near the window, a small dark wood bookshelf houses a collection of leather-bound books, the immediate fulfillment of the promise he made in the carriage.
"I hope everything is to your liking, Princess."
You feel marveled. Your previous room in your father's castle now feels like a monk’s cell, it had been small, with a narrow single bed and only a rustic table for your duties. Here, you have room to breathe.
"It’s... it’s perfect. More than perfect," you confess, your voice faltering slightly with emotion.
Vlad's gaze softened, the hard lines of his face relaxing at your gratitude. He crossed the room with silent steps and pulled open the heavy velvet curtains. The full moon reigned absolute in the sky, pouring silvery light over the vastness of the Carpathian forest surrounding the castle, making the pine trees look like silver spears.
"Good," he replied after a long silence, the word carrying all the satisfaction of having pleased you.
He turned and saw you sitting on the edge of the canopy bed. Your fingers glided over the soft linen sheets, testing the reality of such comfort. With a suppressed sigh, he walked toward the door, but as he touched the iron handle, he stopped and looked at you one last time.
"Rest now, Y/N." He hesitated for a second before adding, "If by chance you need anything, or if the silence of the night disquiets you, simply knock twice on the wall behind the headboard. My quarters are next door, and I will hear you."
With that, he left, closing the door with a soft click, leaving you to your new reality.
You looked at the closed door, a mischievous and genuine smile lighting up your face. Disregarding the dignity of your dress or court etiquette, you threw yourself back onto the soft pillows, letting your body sink into the comfort of that giant bed. For the first time in your life, a locked door did not signify a prison, but rather that the world outside could no longer reach you.
You rose from the bed and walked slowly to the vanity. The piece of furniture was of an elegance you had only seen in quick glimpses in your younger sister's room, where you were never allowed to enter. For months during your adolescence, you had dreamed of owning something even remotely similar. When you dared to ask your parents, you received only insults in response, they said such vanity was unnecessary for your chores and that the rustic table in your old room was enough.
You felt a pang of sorrow in your chest but shook your head to return to the present. You ran your hand over the polished surfasse, it was enormous. Opening the drawers, you found items that looked like treasures, silver brushes with soft bristles, blown-glass vials containing scented oils of rose and lavender, carved hairpins and ivory combs, a small sandalwood box with fine powders and lip balms.
You looked at yourself in the polished silver mirror, and on the other side, a woman with a pale face and thin features stared back at you. You hardly recognized yourself in that reflection, the years of restricted diet and seclusion had left marks of a fragility that you detested.
For a moment, you felt like an unrecognizable wife, a stranger in your own skin.
Refusing to continue nourishing that sadness, you turned away and went to the wardrobe. You pulled out a nightgown made of the finest linen, white as snow, and changed right there. You felt the light fabric caress your skin, so different from the heavy, uncomfortable clothes of the day. You spotted a side door nearby, but you decided that the mystery of that door would have to wait for the following day.
Now dressed for sleep, you walked to the window. You observed the full moon, which bathed the distant mountains in a spectral light. You felt free. You looked at the gold ring on your finger, it felt heavy, but not in the negative way you had imagined.
The man you had married was nothing like the legends. You wondered if it was all a lie. On the way to your quarters, you had seen tapestries and coats of arms that spoke of wars and conquests, but the Vlad you had met today did not seem like an irrational monster.
"He is my husband, after all. He could have claimed his rights in a brutal manner, as so many others would, and yet he gave me a room of my own, made sure I ate, and treated me with a respect I never received from my own blood."
You sighed and closed the window to bar the cold wind. Finally, you approached the bookshelf, books were objects of extreme luxury. There were manuscripts and perhaps some of the first printed volumes, romantic poetry, translated texts by Aristotle and Plato, accounts of the Crusades and the Ottoman Empire.
Your parents had forced you to be literate only so that you could command and, secretly, spy for them. They wanted a tool, not an intellectual. But there, faced with so much information, you realized that Vlad was not afraid of your intelligence. Either he was very naive, or he was the most self-assured man you had ever met.
Exhaustion finally overtook you. You walked to the bed and, with a wide grin, jumped onto it again. You spread your arms and legs, marveled at the space that remained. The bed was soft, filled with goose feathers, and the wool quilt was heavy and warm. You buried your face in the pillows and, within minutes, a deep sleep took you, ending the most exhausting and surprising day of your life.
The click of the handle echoed in the silent corridor, sealing the space between them. Vlad remained motionless for a second, his hand still upon the cold wood of the door. Through the thickness of the oak, he heard a muffled sound. A soft thud, followed by the rustling of sheets and what seemed to be a suppressed laugh. She had jumped onto the bed. A shadow of a smile, genuine and rare, appeared on the face of the Prince of Wallachia.
"A child playing with freedom."
He moved away, his heavy footsteps echoing against the stones of the corridor. The torches on the walls flickered as he passed, as if the light itself bowed before the shadow he projected. Vlad did not head immediately to his quarters. Instead, he walked to the balcony of the Great Hall, where the freezing Transylvanian air whipped against his skin. He needed the cold to organize his thoughts.
Y/N Vraugh was unexpected.
He looked at the parchment. If his advisors or the neighboring princes knew what was written in those lines, they would call Vlad a madman, or worse, a weakling.
The world believed that this marriage was the cornerstone of a new and powerful alliance. They spoke of armies, trade routes, and the strengthening of borders against the Ottoman.
However, Vlad knew that if he were to open that contract now, he would find no promise of soldiers or additional lands.
"A high price for something that brings me no kingdom," he thought, his eyes fixed on the black wax.
There was a bitter satisfaction in knowing that the Vraughs were pleased with the terms. They had gotten what they wanted, and Vlad had gotten what he sought. In the end, the transaction held a secret he would guard under lock and key.
She was a creature of fire hidden beneath layers of ivory silk. "Two toes," he thought, and a short laugh escaped his chest, losing itself in the wind. Her audacity in the carriage, the way she had challenged him with her gaze while eating, and the way she had pulled her chair closer to his.
Vlad felt a pang of fury remembering what she had described about her upbringing. He knew her father and knew he was a man who ruled with the iron hand of vanity, not justice. To deprive a brilliant mind of books, to control her hunger to mold her body. Vlad gripped the stone parapet until his knuckles turned white. He was a man capable of atrocities on the battlefield, but he would never understand the petty cruelty of hurting one's own offspring for mere control.
He entered his own quarters, which were separated from Y/N’s by a wall, yet joined by an internal door hidden behind a tapestry, a secret he had decided not to reveal to her that night.
Vlad stripped off his cloak, revealing a body marked by scars from blades and arrows, maps of the battles he had survived. He washed with the freezing water from the basin, feeling the day's exhaustion weigh on his shoulders.
As he approached the wall dividing the rooms, he paused. He pressed his ear lightly against the stone. The silence from the other side was absolute now. She must have fallen asleep. He walked toward his bed, but his eyes were drawn to the wall behind the headboard.
"If you need me, you can knock twice, and I will hear you."
He knew she wouldn't knock. She was far too proud to ask for help on the first night. And yet, Vlad lay down and kept his eyes open in the gloom, watching the dying embers of his own fireplace.
For the first time in years, the Castle did not feel like just a military fortress or a marble mausoleum. With her presence in the room next door, the very air seemed alive. He closed his eyes, but his mind still traced Y/N’s face under the moonlight. She was not just his wife by contract. She was an enigma he intended to decipher, page by page.
Vlad fell asleep with a keen ear, waiting for a sound that never came, but with the strange satisfaction of knowing that, under his roof, she finally slept without hunger and without fear.
Insistent rays of sunlight pierced through the cracks in the window, illuminating the room and hitting your face directly. You woke with a start, sitting up quickly in bed. You were certain you had closed the curtains before lying down. Your alarm grew when you encountered a woman standing silently at the foot of the bed.
"Forgive me, Madame, it was not my intention to startle you. I merely came to bring the bathing clothes and prepare your water," the maid said with a short curtsy, pointing toward the door you had observed the night before.
You let out a long sigh of relief and rubbed your face, trying to shake off the sleep. So, the mystery was solved: that was, indeed, the bathing room.
“By the way," the handmaid continued, "Lord Vlad is already awaiting you for breakfast in the main hall."
At the mention of his name, you felt a jolt of energy. You thanked the maid and sprang from the bed. Upon opening the immense wardrobe, your eyes were drawn to a stunning gown in Burgundy velvet, a deep shade of red, almost like aged wine. The sleeves were long and fitted, with gold thread details at the cuffs.
"This one," you thought, "will be the attire to impress him."
As you crossed the side door, you were once again marveled. The space was ample, and in the center, a bathtub of noble wood, lined with linen so as not to chafe the skin, exhaled the steam of hot water infused with calendula petals and salts. There were painted ceramic pitchers with cold water and soft cotton towels, something that, in your old home, was reserved only for the most expensive banquets.
After bathing and dressing with the handmaid's help, you left the room. Since you did not yet know the castle's labyrinths, you followed the maid through the stone corridors to the dining hall.
There he was. Vlad had his back to the entrance, observing something through one of the high windows. He wore a dark tunic that accentuated his broad shoulders and the coppery tone of his hair.
Upon hearing the rustle of your velvet against the floor, he turned quickly, words of greeting already poised on his lips. However, the Prince of Wallachia stopped. He swallowed hard, opening and closing his mouth for a brief second of pure shock. You must have looked magnificente, the burgundy highlighted your skin and the determination in your eyes. You looked, for the first time, like the Queen that destiny demanded you be.
A smirk, laden with admiration, appeared on his face."You are truly beautiful, Princess," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating through the hall.
You smiled inwardly, for your goal had been achieved. Vlad gestured toward the table, and both of you sat. Breakfast was a sight to behold: there were white wheat breads, wild honey, fresh fruits, eggs, and smoked meats.
Remembering the challenge of the night before and the freedom you now possessed, you did not hesitate. You began to fill your plate with everything that interested you, without caring about etiquette or the slim waist your mother so fiercely preached about. You wanted to taste everything, you wanted the most.
Vlad stared at you in silence, his raised eyebrows a clear sign of surprise, but beneath that lay a genuine sense of contentment. To see his wife eating without the shackles of fear was, for him, the first true victory of this marriage.
The silence of the breakfast was not empty, but filled with a dense observation. Vlad hardly touched his own plate, the food had become an irrelevant detail compared to the spectacle of watching you. He saw you savor every morsel with a contained urgency, as if you were reclaiming years of deprivation in a single morning.
When you raised your eyes and your pupils met, Vlad felt a sudden tightening in his chest. It was a silent blow, a pang of something he couldn't quite name, but it made him lose his breath for a split second.
He leaned back in his carved wooden chair, his fingers tracing the embossed leather of the seat.
"Are you enjoying it, Y/N?" His voice came out softer than he had intended.
"Yes, everything is so flavorful. Thank you very much," you replied, and the spark in your gaze was the best thanks he could have received.
Vlad’s countenance relaxed, and the corner of his mouth gave way to a brief and rare smile of satisfaction.
"Good."
He watched as you lifted the cup to your lips. The wild berry juice contrasted sharply against your fair skin.
"You look different today," he noted, without breaking eye contact.
You paused with the cup mid-air, your eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. "Do I?"
Vlad set down his own pewter goblet, causing an almost inaudible clink against the table.
"Yes. You seem more... alive," he answered, lowering his voice as if confessing a secret.
The words hung suspended between you, mingling with the steam from the warm bread. Vlad leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the table.
"Something has changed," he stated quietly. It wasn't a question, it was the observation of a man who knew how to read the shadows within people.
"Well, I don't know what has changed," you deflected, though the flush on your cheeks suggested otherwise.
He merely nodded, finishing his meal alongside you. Vlad took his cloth and wiped the corner of his mouth with slow, precise movements. He stood up and, with a silent gesture, indicated for you to follow him.
This time, Vlad did not lead you toward the austere wings of bare stone. You walked to the opposite side of the fortress, an area where the castle seemed to breathe. The sound of distant voices and the aroma of fresh herbs and baking bread betrayed your proximity to the kitchens.
Hurried servants and ladies bowed their heads and made deep curtsies as the Prince passed by with his new wife. You noticed that this side of the castle was bathed in a different, warmer light.
The corridor began to widen, and the stone ceiling gave way to high, open arches. You reached a wrought-iron portico that opened into an inner courtyard. It was no ordinary garden. It was a walled garden, protected from the mountain gales by the very walls of the castle.
"You said you were not allowed to go to the park in your old home," Vlad said, stopping before the opening that revealed beds of winter roses, perfectly pruned boxwood shrubs, and the relaxing sound of a small stone fountain in the center. "Here, the sky is yours, and the ground as well."
The sunlight hit your burgundy dress, making the velvet shimmer like rubies, while the garden stretched out before you, a silent invitation to freedom.
The moment you stepped onto the lawn, the vastness of the garden enveloped you. Beyond the walls, the fields stretched out in a green carpet until they met the base of the mountains. Ancient vines climbed the stone walls of the castle like veins, and the scent of lavender was so thick it felt palpable in the cool morning breeze.
Vlad remained a few steps behind, hands folded behind his back in a sentinel's posture. His eyes, once so severe, now merely watched you as you ran your fingers over the petals. The winter sun illuminated your face, revealing a small, sincere smile that you seemed unable to contain.
The silence was broken by the trill of a bird on a nearby branch.
"My mother liked to come here to think," Vlad’s voice emerged, lower than usual.
You stopped, turning toward him with a soft expression. The wind toyed with the strands of your dark hair.
"I can understand her. It is so calm here, it almost feels as if time doesn't pass."
"She used to say that flowers do not judge," Vlad continued. He took a few steps, but his gaze was distant, fixed on some point in the past that you could not see. His voice trembled slightly, a sign of vulnerability that he tried to disguise by clearing his throat.
"It’s true," you stared at him, observing the shadows in his blue eyes. "Do you also come here to think?"
"Occasionally," he admitted with a slight nod. "But I prefer the library. It is less illuminated," he made a dramatic pause, "and has fewer bees."I let out a crystal-clear laugh. Vlad stopped, looking at me with genuine surprise, he hadn't expected his attempt at dry humor to work. The sound of my laughter seemed to echo against the castle stones, softening the tension between the two of us.
"I imagine so," you said, turning back to the landscape. "All of this... is yours?"
Vlad followed your gaze to the horizon.
"It is. It has belonged to my family for hundreds of years. More than the legends can tell." He stepped closer, and you felt his imposing presence like a fortress wall by your side. "My father never let me forget: everything the sun touches belongs to the name we now carry."
You looked at his face. You saw the confidence in his firm lips and the weight of the invisible crown he wore. There, you felt all the power he held, not just the army or the lands, but the strength he had built within himself to bear that burden. You cleared your throat, feeling small, but not intimidated.
"Is there something you wish to ask?" Vlad said, his gaze diving deep into yours, as if challenging you to touch his scars.
"Er..." You hesitated. A thousand questions about the contract, the rumors, and the future danced in your mind. But you chose the path he himself had opened. "The library. You mentioned it. I am curious to see it."
Vlad arched an eyebrow. The surprise on his face was undeniable. He had expected questions about gold, servants, or the laws of your new home. But you wanted the books.
"You were?" His tone remained neutral, but there was a spark of intrigue in his eyes. "Most women would ask to see the treasury or the ballroom. Why does the silence of books attract you so much?"
You held his gaze.
"Gold and balls are merely distractions for the eyes, Vlad. Books... books are the only freedom that was denied to me. And I would like to know what kind of thoughts inhabit the walls of this castle."
Vlad fell silent for a long moment, studying you as if you were a rare manuscript.
"Very well," he said, finally extending his arm in a formal invitation. "The library is a place of shadows, but it holds truths that the garden's sun cannot reveal."
He began to lead you back toward the stone structure, but now he walked more slowly, adapting his long stride to yours.
"What have you read?" Vlad broke the silence as you walked through the inner corridors, his voice echoing softly against the stone vaults.
"I have read some tomes on the history of the Crusades and quite a bit of philosophy," you replied, matching your pace to his. "Particularly the work of Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy. He wrote it while in prison, in a way, his words on how the mind can be free even when the body is captive were my only consolation for years."
Vlad stopped for a brief second, his footsteps faltering. The revelation that you sought strength in texts about prisoners hit him like a physical blow.
"And what did your mother think of such readings?"
"My mother did not even wish for me to know how to read," you confessed with a bitter sigh. "But my father insisted. He believed a literate wife would be a valuable asset for a husband, a useful tool for marriage."
You omitted the part about your father’s interest in you being a spy. There was no reason to stain that moment with your father’s poisonous intentions, especially when you had already decided you would never fulfill such a role.
Vlad clenched his fists hidden beneath his cloak. The idea that you had been molded as an investment to please a man sparked a cold fury within him against the Vraughs. However, he took a deep breath, containing his anger so as not to startle you.
"And despite their efforts to turn you into an object of exchange, you remained curious," he murmured, stopping before a double door of solid oak. "Here, Y/N, you shall find no restrictions."
He opened the doors, and the intoxicating scent of ancient parchment and leather enveloped you. The hall was vast, with shelves rising to the ceiling, filled with illuminated manuscripts and bound tomes. You entered in wonder, feeling as if you had discovered a treasure greater than all the gold in Wallachia.
Vlad leaned his shoulder against one of the shelves, crossing his arms. He watched you intently, almost fascinated by the way your eyes sparkled as they scanned the spines of the books.
"Feel free to look," he said quietly. "Nothing will stop you here."
You walked between the aisles until your fingers touched the cover of a richly decorated volume, a copy of the Roman de la Rose, a famous poem of courtly love and allegories. You pulled it from the shelf and looked for a place to settle. At the back of the library, there was a window seat, a stone bench carved into the window frame itself, lined with velvet cushions, where the winter sunlight streamed in softly.
You sat down and began to leaf through the pages, tracing the colorful illuminations. Vlad approached and sat beside you. He did not touch you, but the proximity was such that the heat from his body radiated through the layers of your velvet dress. The air between you grew thick, intimate.
"Interesting choice," he commented, his voice vibrating near your ear.
"I had seen this book before, in the hands of a tutor, but I was never permitted to read it."
Vlad arched an eyebrow, a brief smile passing over his austere face. He leaned in a little closer, and the fabric of his tunic brushed against the hem of your burgundy dress. You felt your heart quicken. The library, once a place of silence, now seemed to pulse with his presence beside you.
The moment of quiet was shattered when the doors swung open abruptly. A well-dressed man, wearing the robes of a high-ranking advisor, entered the room. His face was pale and grave. Noting the intimate proximity between the Prince and you, he hesitated, but urgency spoke louder.
"What is it?" Vlad asked, his tone suddenly harsh and impatient.
"Forgive me, my Lord," the man made a hurried bow. "There is a situation on the borders that requires your immediate attention. The messengers have just arrived."
Vlad’s face became a mask of tension. "Now?"
The advisor merely nodded silently. You sensed the conflict in Vlad's eyes. You closed the book gently and lightly touched his arm.
"You may go, Vlad. I will be fine here. I do not wish to be a burden."
Vlad looked at you, then at the intruder, with an air of suppressed revolt. He hated that the outside world was invading the small refuge you had barely begun to build. Reluctantly, he stood up.
"Very well. Let’s go," he ordered the advisor.
Before leaving, Vlad cast one last look at you. There was a silent promise in his eyes, a mixture of protection and reluctance to leave you alone in that labyrinth of shadows and knowledge.
The silence that followed Vlad’s departure was almost deafening. You remained motionless on the window seat, the book of poems still open on your lap, but the words now seemed meaningless. His energy, which had previously filled the room, had been replaced by a coldness of stone and dust.
Curiosity, that flame your parents tried to extinguish with punishments, burned brighter than ever. You stood up. If Vlad trusted you enough to leave you there, perhaps the castle had more to say than he did.
At the back of the library, on the other side, behind a heavy velvet curtain you had not noticed before, you found a dark wooden door, unadorned. Unlike the others, this one had no guards. As you pushed it, the creak of the hinges sounded like a whispered secret.
It was Vlad’s private study.
The air in there was different, smelling of metal, tanned leather, and the bitter aroma of fresh ink. It was not a place for guests. It was the command center of a man living in war. You walked cautiously, running your hands over the objects on the shelves.
A broken dagger, its hilt encrusted with rubies, rested on a border map. A small wooden sculpture, crude and worn by time, looking like a child's toy, a glimpse of the boy Vlad had been before becoming the Impaler. You saw manuscripts in languages you did not recognize, arranged with obsessive organization.
You smiled at the sight of a small wine stain on a corner of the desk and a neglected goose quill. They were marks of his humanity, but your smile vanished when your eyes landed on the center of the immense oak table.
There it was. The parchment you had briefly seen at the altar, but which was now open, as if Vlad had been studying it before being interrupted. The black wax seal lay broken beside it.
You felt a glacial chill run down your spine. You knew you shouldn't read it. You knew that if Vlad walked in now, the trust you were building would die there. But your traitorous eyes had already caught the first line.
Your hands trembled as you held the thick paper. You expected to find terms of a military alliance, land concessions, promises of armies your father would send to help Wallachia. But there was none of that.
The document was not an alliance treaty between two kingdoms. It was, in its barest and cruelest essence, a Bill of Sale.
“...for the sum of ten thousand gold coins and the full settlement of House Vraugh’s debts to the Southern Treasury, the possession of Y/N Vraugh is permanently transferred to Vlad II...”
You felt the air leave your lungs. You kept reading, your heart beating so hard it actually hurt.
“With the irrevocable clause that House Vraugh renounces any rights over the aforementioned, ceasing any and all contact, under penalty of death. No land shall be ceded, no soldier shall be sent. Payment is for the silence and the delivery of the woman.”
The letters began to dance before your eyes. Vlad had gained nothing. He received no armies to protect his borders, no castles, no political influence. He gained nothing.
He paid a fortune to take you from your parents, but not like a prince receiving a dowry,rather, like a man rescuing something with no commercial value to the rest of the world. To your father, you were worth ten thousand gold coins. To Vlad, you were worth the same price, but he paid it so that you would never have to look back again.
The tension in the room seemed to rise. You dropped the parchment, feeling a deep nausea. You had not been married for diplomacy. You had been sold to pay for your father’s gambling debts and luxury. And Vlad, the "monster" everyone feared, was the only one willing to pay so that you could be free from them.
Vlad strode through the corridors with wide steps, his black velvet cloak billowing behind him like a gathering storm. His advisor, Mircea, nearly stumbled as he struggled to keep pace with the Prince’s rhythm. Vlad’s fury was not directed at the man, but at the interruption. He could still feel the warmth of my presence clinging to his clothes, and my laughter still echoed in his ears.
"Speak at once, Mircea, and let this urgent matter be worthy of having pulled me away from my wife," Vlad growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"My Lord, the scouts from the southern border. We found three of them. Or what was left of them." The advisor hesitated, wiping sweat from his brow. "They were left as a warning. The Sultan is moving his pieces, Vlad. They want to know if the new alliance with the Vraughs has strengthened your ranks."
Vlad stopped abruptly before the double doors of the Council Chamber. He gave a dry laugh, devoid of any humor.
"Alliance?" he murmured to himself.
He thought of the gold that had left his coffers. Gold that could have bought swords, but which he had preferred to use to buy the silence of a greedy father. To the world, he had a new army in the shadows. To him, he had only a woman who barely knew the value of her own freedom.
He entered the room, where three military officers awaited him around a worn map. The atmosphere was heavy.
"If the Sultan expects to find a Northern army coming to our aid, he will be disappointed," one of the generals said, slamming the table. "We need the Vraughs to send the men promised in the marriage contract immediately."
Vlad sat at the head of the table, his expression becoming a mask of granite. He stared at the general until the man looked away.
"There will be no Northern army," Vlad sentenced.
"But the contract... the marriage..." Mircea began, confused.
"The contract was fulfilled on my terms," Vlad interrupted, his voice cutting like a blade. "The security of Wallachia depends on my steel, not on the crumbs of a drunken Northern Lord. Do not mention the Vraughs again. They received what they wanted. Y/N is under my protection, and that is all you need to know."
The Council fell silent. They feared Vlad’s gaze when he spoke that way, as if there were a bloody secret behind every word. He gave quick orders to reinforce patrols and authorized immediate retaliation against the Ottoman troops. Blood for blood. It was the only language the enemy understood.
The meeting lasted less time than the nobles would have liked, but Vlad was impatient. As soon as he dismissed the men, a sudden uneasiness struck him.
He remembered where he had left me. The library.
A strange chill, something he rarely felt, shot up his spine. He had left in a hurry. His study, the inner door, had he left it open?
The parchment. The image of the Bill of Sale left on the oak table flashed in his mind like a warning flare. If she saw it and discovered that it had not been an agreement of honor, but a transaction of merchandise, all the trust he had tried to plant that morning would be incinerated. He did not want her as a prisoner who knows the price of her cell, he wanted her as a woman who forgot she ever had a price.
He began to run. Not as a prince, but as a man who fears losing the only pure thing he has ever possessed.
His footsteps echoed down the stone corridor of the library. He shoved the double doors open. The main hall was empty. The book of poems lay fallen on the window seat.
"Y/N? " he called out, his voice laden with an urgency he could no longer hide.
He walked toward the velvet curtain at the back of the room. The door to his private study was ajar, and a beam of light revealed a silhouette inside.
Vlad stopped at the threshold. His heart, which he believed to be made of stone, hammered against his ribs when he saw me. I wasn't reading the poems. You were standing before the desk, your eyes fixed on the paper that revealed my family's greatest shame and Vlad’s darkest secret.
In 1462, the Princess attempts to flee an arranged marriage but ends up at the altar, marrying Prince Vlad of Wallachia. Trapped in matrimony, she embarks on a marriage of attraction, fear, and secrets in the somber Transylvania.
NEXT
English is not my first language.
Welcome to Vraugh Castle. May your journey be a brave one.
"What the devil! By what misfortune can I not cross this wall?"
You murmur, your voice heavy with fury and frustration. You stands at the edge of a tall wall, wearing a wedding gown as sumptuous as it is impractical, fit for a princess on her way to the altar, for today is the day of your arranged marriage.
Ass the heiress of the lands of Moldavia, you are condemned to a political union. Your sacred duty as a princess is to marry a prince to ensure the peace and prosperity of your lands and her people. However, Y/N Vraugh was made of fire and passion, and believed in a pure love, forged by choice, not by obligation. You would not bend to this imposed destiny, and for this very reason, there you are, wrapped in a rigid bodice and heavy silk skirts, full of petticoats and velvet, a burden that weighs more than your own body, desperately trying to scale the wall.
"I believe this is not the conventional entrance to the castle."
A voice, deep and cavernous, like the rolling of underground stones, echoes behind you. You spins on her heels, the heavy fabric of your skirts dragging on the beaten earth.
Before you stands a tall man with an austere countenance, chiseled like ancient stone, and eyes of a penetrating blue. He wears a heavy, dark wool cloak and rich clothes, yet devoid of ostentation. He exudes an air of ancient power and dangerous silence.
You let out a scoffing laugh, your audacity blooming beneath the fear.
"Oh, for God's sake? I had not perceived the obvious, my lord. My share of good sense truly has abandoned me."
You turn your back on the man and face the wall again. Pulling yourself up once more, you manage to rise a few spans, your nails clinging to the rough stone, but you slip on the slick moss and tumble backward, falling directly into the stranger's firm arms.
"Well, I tell you that chivalry was lost with men of your ilk, my lord! Will you merely stand and watch my misfortune without lifting a finger to aid a maiden in distress?"
The stranger supports you with care, his hand resting with icy precision on the curve of your waist as he prevents you from falling completely. A thin, almost imperceptible and somber smile appears on his lips.
"A girl in distress wearing the pomp of a queen about to marry a Prince. Tell me, my lady, why do you attempt to flee? Is the Prince so repulsive, then?"
You pull away from his touch, placing your hands on your hips. The stranger steps back, his expression impassive, but the slight, somber smile remains. His eyes scrutinize your form with an amused intensity.
"Aversion? Well, duty and discontent make longer-lasting couples than the spark of passion," he smiles, a slow movement that barely illuminates his face. "But I shall guard your reasons, since it is a secret, and discretion is a virtue few men possess."
You feel a pang of irritation and, at the same time, a strange warmth under his penetrating gaze. He is not reprimanding you, but merely pointing out reality cynically, which disarms you slightly.
"If discretion is your virtue, why are you still here?"
You turn back to the wall, determined to attempt the climb again, even though you know it is almost impossible in that attire.
"You are entirely right." The stranger approaches, his tone acquiring a slight, playful formality. "I beg a thousand pardons. I lost my chivalry in some thicket along the way, and it seems I must retrieve it."
He holds you by the shoulders, gently preventing you from hurting yourself on the rough stone.
"It would be a great stain upon my honor to allow such a beautiful and determined lady to crush her neck in my presence, merely for a juvenile whim of escape. I could not bear the shame."
You raise your gaze, no longer at the wall, but at him. And this time, you truly observe him. The man's beauty is unquestionable—not the gentle beauty of court poets, but something darker. There is a sculptural strength in his jawline, and a contained fire in the depth of his eyes that makes you stumble over your words.
He raises an eyebrow at you, a gesture of controlled impatience, but remains silent, waiting.
"Do not tell anyone about this, my lord," you murmur. "I admit I am trying to run away, but what fault is mine? I am being forced to marry a Prince I do not even know, and what if he has two little toes on the same foot?"
The stranger lets out a deep and unexpected laugh, the sound husky and dry, filling the heavy air.
"I believe the Prince in question possesses all his toes separated and in order," he replies, containing his laughter.
You shrug, a gesture of your natural rebellion. "Even so. Do you promise that this conversation of ours will not be passed on to any curious ear?"
"I promise, Princess," he affirms, his voice serious and firm.
You perform a quick curtsy, which the dress barely allows, and take your leave of him.
The Altar of the Impaler
You enter the castle and head to the bridal waiting room, your mind clouded. Your life has been a golden cage. Your father forbade you from the library to stop "subversive ideas," and your diet was controlled to maintain the "slender waist" that would guarantee a high-ranking husband.
You sit on a cushioned bench, waiting for the bell. You know the rumors about the man waiting for you. Prince Vlad is famous for his ferocity; the name "Tepes" is whispered with terror. They say he treats human life as a mere pawn. The prospect of marrying a man who raises forests of stakes makes your stomach churn.
The bells of Vraugh Castle burst into a solemn toll. It is time.
"Finally I found you, my daughter!" Your mother’s tense voice cuts through the silence. She hurries over, fixing your hair. "Have you been running? Your makeup is nearly compromised."
Your mother places the veil over your face. The lace feels as heavy as a shroud.
"Accept your destiny with grace. It is the duty that falls to us."
The heavy oak doors open. The scent of incense fills your nostrils. The interior of the chapel is somber, with long, ghostly shadows cast by flickering candles. You stand at the top of the steps, your heart beating like a war drum.
There, at the altar, he stands. He has his back to you, draped in a cloak of dark velvet. He is a tall man, but the veil makes your vision blurred.
You begin the slow walk. With every step, the certainty of your imprisonment increases. Upon reaching the last step, your father takes your arm. You lift your eyes from the floor and go into shock.
The man at the altar does not move at first, but slowly, he turns his head just enough for you to see his profile. He has a restrained smile curling one corner of his lips—a smile meant only for you.
