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The request is almost enough to make me laugh.

People don’t describe me as kind. Reclusive. Unapproachable. Cold. Those I’ve heard. The villagers have spent decades creating stories about the man hidden away inside this castle. Kindness has never been part of them.

I don’t make promises. I don’t offer comfort. I certainly don’t give assurances to strangers who wander onto my property.

Without answering, I take his arm and help him into the saddle.

He doesn’t fight me this time.

He settles onto Étoile’s back with the slow, careful movements of a man still recovering from sickness. He gathers the reins into his hands, then closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks at me one final time.

His son.

He doesn’t have to say it.

I slap the mare’s hindquarters.

She moves forward immediately.

I don’t stand there to watch them disappear through the trees. I refuse to look toward the tower rising above the rest of the castle because I already know exactly who is waiting for me several floors above.

Instead, I turn my attention to Boone’s horse.

He’s tied loosely to a low-hanging branch near the edge of the garden. I take hold of the reins and lead him toward the stable, where the other horses shift at our arrival. He looks exhausted, so I remove his tack before checking his legs and hooves for injuries. Once I’m satisfied he’s unharmed, I settle him into an empty stall with fresh straw, fill the manger with hay and make sure he has plenty of water.

Then I head inside.

The doors close behind me with a heavy thud. The sound echoes through the entrance hall before fading into the silence I’ve known for years.

Except it doesn’t feel the same.

For twelve years, this place has belonged to me alone. Every room. Every corridor. Every hour spent without another person intruding on it.

Now there is someone else here.

Someone with chocolate-colored eyes and snow still melting in his hair.

Someone who walked into my home and offered me his freedom.

I remove my gloves and set them on the table beside the entrance. My attention drifts toward the staircase.

Toward Boone.

I’ve wanted this castle to myself for twelve years. Now I’m not entirely certain I still do.

7

Boone

I make it to the entrance hall just as the heavy front doors swing shut.

“No! Please, wait!”

The words leave me in a rush. I dart past him and grab the iron handle, yanking the door open so hard that it strikes the stone wall behind it. Cold air floods the entryway. I barely notice as I search the courtyard.

My gaze moves across the gardens, over the winding stone pathways covered in snow, then toward the forest surrounding the castle. My father isn’t there.

Panic makes it difficult to think.