Chapter 6 Mulberry Castle
The next morning, he took breakfast in one of the salons of the east wing. Outside, the same landscape lay blanketed in snow and mud. Had he been at the palace of Eau-Claire, he might have enjoyed his breakfast outdoors, but here the cold had seized him the moment he rose. Despite the thick jacket on his shoulders, he shivered, even as he tried to hide it. Perhaps he would tour the shops to acquire a wardrobe better suited to the climate.
Then again… upon reflection, his father had not provided him with limitless funds. As though he were merely on holiday—or as though Andreus considered himself no longer responsible for him now that he had arrived.
Nose buried in a cup of strong black coffee, he brooded.
A young servant stood rigidly in a corner of the salon. Silent, he was clearly waiting to attend to the young heir’s every need. The sight made Oscar uneasy. True, he was accustomed to it—things were much the same at the palace. But there, he knew every servant by name. Here… he was merely a guest, without even the lady of the house honouring him with her presence.
His wife.
That was right.
They were, after all, destined to marry. Should he offer her a refined hand kiss? A polite bow? Kissing her would obviously be too forward. How should he address her? Should he use her full title? Perhaps she saw him as nothing more than a penniless noble on the brink of ruin. Was that why she had stayed away?
Lost in thought, the coffee had grown lukewarm. He drained the cup in one gulp and rose. There was no point in wallowing in velvet chairs.
When Oscar found Henry again, he asked the lanky man to give him a tour of the estate. Naturally and without hesitation, the majordomo set about the task with diligence.
Mulberry Castle was smaller than Eau-Claire, more compact, and less airy. The grand reception hall was on the ground floor. The west wing housed a council room, some offices reserved for administrative purposes, and apartments reserved for visiting guests. At the far end of the west wing, a stone colonnade led to a finely sculpted chapel.
On the first floor of the west wing could be found the Salon of the Dawn, where Oscar had taken breakfast, several other guest apartments, and a secondary reception hall, far smaller than the main one. Though the architecture was lovely, each room felt empty—too large for visits too rare—despite immaculate upkeep. On the second floor lay Oscar’s chambers, the study Henry had promised, and an immense library where the silence weighed heavier than anywhere else in the manor.
The upper floors of the east wing were reserved for Brynn and strictly off-limits. Though stirred by a growing curiosity, Oscar never managed to persuade the steward to show him even the corridors.
The ground floor of the east wing was occupied by the servants. It contained the kitchens (although separated from the main building by a corridor), the laundry room and the infirmary.
From the east wing, they quickly crossed a colonnade similar to the one in the west wing and reached the soldiers’ quarters, where Oscar briefly reunited with Günther. They then visited the stables.
Glancing outside as fresh rain now spread across the castle grounds, Oscar pointed to two buildings set apart from the main structure.
“And over there? More servants’ quarters?”
“Oh no, sir. The building adjoining the gardens is the greenhouse. It is a peaceful place Madam will no doubt be delighted to show you. As for the one farther away, that is the old west wing. It is said that it was once fully connected to the main building, but a severe fire separated it. The place is abandoned and unsafe—the floors are unstable, so I strongly advise against venturing inside. Madam herself has restricted access.”
“It’s a shame not to consider rebuilding it. The framework still seems sound.”
“Your observations are quite astute, sir,” he replied simply, before turning on his heel.
Henry then explained the various gates of the castle grounds and their history: the Queen’s Gate, which served as the main entrance; the King’s Gate, used as an exit for the soldiers on the east side of the domain; and the Devil’s Gate, rarely opened, located directly opposite the Queen’s Gate.
“The Devil’s Gate?” Oscar asked as the steward began pointing out the gardens. “What a name… rather poor taste, I’d say.”
The butler regarded him for a moment, as if choosing his words.
“Well, sir… Unlike the refined lands of the capital, we in the North tend to… show a certain respect for legends and myths. Naming the gate as such perhaps ensured we would not offend any demons by omitting them entirely from our history.”
“Or perhaps it invites them into the house,” the young lord retorted.
Without a word, the steward merely pushed his thick glasses higher on his nose.