Chapter 2 The North Wing

The moment Peach stepped into the castle, the warmth of the sun vanished entirely.

Duskfall loomed around her like a mausoleum made of secrets-its halls carved in black stone, its windows tinted with blood-red glass that allowed no true light to pass through. The very air felt thick, like she was walking through the memories of a house that never forgot pain.

Alex, Demetrius's second-in-command, led her silently through the maze of corridors. He didn't speak. She didn't ask questions.

Each turn revealed something unsettling: a portrait missing a face, candles that never melted, doorways that led to bricked-off walls. The silence felt alive.

And then they reached it.

The North Wing.

Alex stopped in front of a tall, rusted door. "Your chambers are through here."

Peach arched a brow. "Isn't this the abandoned wing?"

Alex met her eyes with no trace of humor. "It's the only one that still locks from the outside."

He turned and left her there, the iron hinges groaning as the door creaked open on its own.

Inside, dust danced like ash in slanted light. The room was massive, but hollow-half-furnished, half-forgotten. Velvet curtains hung in tatters. A grand four-poster bed sat beneath a cracked ceiling where some long-dead artist had painted constellations no one remembered.

Peach stepped forward slowly.

A fireplace stood cold and empty. The air held a smell of something ancient and sharp-like wilted roses soaked in iron.

And then her eyes landed on the mirror.

It was the only part of the room untouched by time. Tall and silver-framed, it shimmered faintly even in the dark. She caught her reflection-sharp-eyed, tense, regal despite the road dust on her dress.

But something in it was... wrong.

She turned away before she could place it.

---

A soft knock stirred the silence.

She turned as the door opened-and there he was.

Demetrius Nightborne stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the candlelight behind him. He was still dressed in black, still unreadable. But here, alone with her, he looked less like a legend and more like a shadow wearing a man's skin.

"No guards?" Peach asked, feigning calm.

"You don't need them," he replied. "Not yet."

She folded her arms. "And you decided to visit my chambers personally. How charming."

He stepped inside without invitation, his gaze sweeping across the disrepair of the North Wing as if it offended him. "This wing was once reserved for favored guests."

"Let me guess," Peach said. "Before they stopped surviving the stay?"

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're bold."

"No. I'm trapped. There's a difference."

He met her eyes then, and for the first time, Peach saw a flicker of something behind his cold gaze-fatigue. Not the kind born from physical labor, but from centuries of playing a game he could never win.

"You're here because your father signed you away," he said flatly. "Not because I wanted you."

"And yet," she said, stepping toward him, "here you are."

They were close now-too close.

Demetrius's expression didn't change, but the room felt tighter, the shadows longer.

"This marriage is for peace," he murmured.

"Then why does your castle feel like a war already happened here?"

His silence told her everything.

After a beat, he turned away. "You'll dine in the Great Hall tomorrow. I expect you to wear something appropriate."

"Define appropriate," she called after him.

He paused in the doorway. "Something that won't burn."

And with that, he vanished down the hall, leaving the scent of cold air and old secrets in his wake.

---

Peach sat on the edge of the bed long after he left, fingers curled into the crimson coverlet.

Something about the North Wing didn't just feel forgotten.

It felt angry.

And when she finally looked back at the mirror... her reflection was smiling.

But she wasn't.