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I step back and continue farther along the corridor, turning once to make certain he hasn’t appeared behind me when I wasn’t paying attention, but there’s no one there. At the end of the corridor, I turn right again, only to find myself staring down another passage that looks nearly identical to the one I just left.

So I keep walking because curiosity eventually gets the better of my fear, and I want to see the place where I live before he realizes what he’s done and locks me inside my room again. I’m also hungry, which is entirely my own doing considering I threw my food at his head and then we…

I cut the thought off before I can finish it.

I still don’t understand what happened tonight, why he was gentle with me or why he suddenly left without locking the door behind him. Now that I know he’s capable of not hurting me, I’m absolutely terrified of what happens when he reverts back to his former self. I rub my hands over my arms and keep walking, trying not to think about it.

I walk for what feels like hours, passing through corridors that somehow manage to look identical even though no two areas are quite the same. Eventually, I come across a narrow set of stone steps leading downward and decide to follow them, holding the candle ahead of me as I carefully make my way down each worn step. The farther I go, the warmer the air becomes.

At the bottom, I find a heavy wooden door. When I push it open, warm, damp air washes over my face, making the candle flame tremble in my hand. I set it down before the flame can go out and look through the doorway.

Beyond it stretches an enormous greenhouse enclosed by tall panes of glass, their surfaces fogged with condensation. I stop in the doorway and stare, completely unprepared for what I’ve found hidden inside this cold, empty castle.

The greenhouse stretches much farther than I initially realized, and as I step inside, I find neat rows of vegetables growing from long beds of dark, rich soil. Leafy greens crowd together beside carrots and onions. Vines climb wooden frames heavy with tomatoes, beans and squash, everything thriving despite the frozen world on the other side of the glass.

Farther in, small fruit trees grow from enormous stone planters, their branches carrying apples and pears. There’s strawberries spreading around their trunks in thick patches of green. Another section is devoted entirely to herbs, and when I brush my fingers over the leaves as I pass, the air fills with the sharp scents of rosemary, thyme, mint, and basil. There are flowers too, more varieties than I recognize, blooming between the practical rows and bringing bursts of color to all that green.

I keep wandering, following the narrow paths deeper into the warmth until the vegetables and herbs gradually give way to more flowers.

That’s when I see the roses.

They fill the entire back of the greenhouse, climbing wooden trellises and spilling from enormous stone planters, their vines twisting together while hundreds of blossoms crowd the greenery in every direction. Some are tightly closed buds while others have opened completely, their petals layered so perfectly that they hardly look real. I move deeper among them before leaning toward one and breathing in its fragrance.

After weeks surrounded by stone, locked doors and candlelit corridors, I’d almost forgotten something could be this beautiful.

I want desperately to pick one, but I’m unwilling to disturb something so beautiful when I have no idea who tends them or how much work goes into keeping them alive. Instead, I run my fingertips carefully over the soft petals of the nearest bloom before reluctantly heading back the way I came, stopping only when I pass one of the fruit trees and pluck an apple from a low branch.

The first bite is sweet and crisp, the skin breaking under my teeth with a crunch that seems way too loud in the quiet greenhouse. I stand there chewing slowly, surprised by how good something as simple as an apple can taste when I haven’t had one in years.

We haven’t had apples—any fruit—in years because it was always too expensive, and I was far more concerned with spending what little money we had on meat and vegetables because soups and stews could be stretched for days. Fruit was something I stopped even looking at after a while because there was no point wanting something we couldn’t afford.

I finish the apple in only a few bites and immediately grab another, holding it against my chest as I make my way back into the cold corridor and quietly close the greenhouse door behind me.

I retrieve the candle from where I left it and continue exploring, taking turns without any idea where they might lead until the unmistakable smell of roasting meat reaches me. I’m hungry enough that I follow the scent through another passage until an enormous kitchen opens before me, warmer than the corridor and filled with more food than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place in my entire life.

I set my apple carefully on a wooden table and stare at everything around me in complete awe. Links of dried sausage and strips of cured meat hang above the stove, wheels of cheese are stacked along one shelf, and loaves of bread sit under folded cloth alongside jars filled with dried beans, grains, flour, and things I don’t recognize. Baskets of potatoes and onions are tucked under the counters, with more vegetables filling wooden crates along the wall. There’s enough food here to feed my family for a year without anyone having to wonder what we’ll eat tomorrow.

I reach for a strip of dried meat hanging above the stove and tear off a piece, chewing while I continue looking around the kitchen. Then I cut myself a piece of cheese and eat that too, followed by another piece of meat and a thick slice of bread, barely giving myself enough time to swallow before reaching for something else.

I know I should stop, but there’s so much of it that I can’t seem to convince myself any of this is real. There was never enough at home, not really. Even when the cupboards weren’t completely empty, I was always thinking about what we would eat tomorrow or the day after that. Standing in a kitchen where I could eat until I was full and still barely make a dent in what’s here makes it almost impossible to stop.

“You’re going to make yourself ill.”

I freeze with a piece of bread halfway to my mouth and turn slowly.

He’s standing in the doorway.

The bread falls from my hand as I slam back against the wooden table, then quickly move behind it so there’s something solid between us. His dark eyes follow me before dropping to the apple sitting on the table. He draws in a deep breath, reaches down and plucks it from the wood.

“You were in my greenhouse?”

The question terrifies me, and my first instinct is to lie, to tell him no and insist I never stepped foot inside the greenhouse. But that’s stupid. The evidence is sitting right there in the palm of his hand. I glance toward the doorway behind him instead, wondering if I could somehow make it past him and disappear into one of the endless corridors before he catches me.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, keeping the table between us. “I only took the apples.”

“Apples?” He glances down at the fruit in his hand before looking back at me. “Where is the other?”