Bound to the Cursed Castle

Three hundred gold pieces a month is not a salary. It is a bribe.

In the capital, three hundred gold pieces could buy you a modest bakery, clear a decade of back rent, or ensure you never had to live off watered-down cabbage broth again. I knew the math because I had spent the last three years doing it while scrubbing grease off tavern floors until my knuckles bled.

So when a silver-trimmed employment letter arrived at my cramped boarding house offering that exact sum to tend an estate in the magical kingdom of Elaris, I didn't care that the carriage ride took me deep into a forest where the trees visibly watched you pass. I packed my canvas suitcase, tied my boots tight, and went.

Now, standing at the iron gates of Dominic Castle, I was beginning to see the catch.

The gates didn't just swing open; they parted with a heavy, dramatic groan, clearing a path through the silver morning mist like an old man settling into a creaky armchair. I pulled the crisp piece of parchment from my cloak, re-reading the rules for the sixth time.

The ink was elegant, looping, and entirely unhinged.

Rule 1: Never open the western tower.

Rule 2: Never wake the portraits.

Rule 3: Don't argue with the fireplace.

Rule 4: Never enter the master's bedroom after midnight.

Rule 5: Never ask the castle why it chose you.

"Right," I muttered, smoothing down the front of my traveling dress. "For three hundred gold pieces, I can tolerate a moody hearth. I’ve dealt with angry tavern brawlers; a bit of stone and mortar won't break me."

As if responding directly to my voice, the massive oak front doors at the top of the stone steps unlatched themselves with a sharp click and drifted open. A warm draft spilled out onto the stone porch, smelling faintly of old paper, dried lavender, and vanilla.

I took a deep breath, stepped across the threshold, and instantly froze.

The floorboards didn't creak. Instead, a sudden, rhythmic pulse of warmth rippled through the stone beneath my boots, rising up through the soles of my feet like a welcoming heartbeat. High above, vaulted ceilings lost themselves in deep shadows, lit only by the faint, purple glow of floating candles. But it was the layer of dust that caught my eye—thick, lonely, and gray, coating every inch of the grand entryway. It looked as though the place hadn't seen a broom since the last century.

Suddenly, the heavy velvet drapes hanging by the grand windows gave an excited, violent flutter, throwing off a shower of glittery dust.

"Oh, look at her," a muffled, gossiping whisper echoed from the left wall. I snapped my head up, my eyes widening as I caught an oil portrait of a stern-faced duke leaning entirely out of his gilded frame to peer down at me. "She’s tiny. Absolutely minuscule. Do you think she’ll last a week? The last one fled within forty-eight hours because the guest parlor gave her the cold shoulder."

"Hush, Barnaby! You'll wake the countess!" another painting hissed from across the room—a landscape where a painted peasant woman was frantically waving her arms at the duke.

Never wake the portraits. The rulebook was already useless; the household art had handled the waking part entirely on their own. Deciding that good manners cost nothing, I cleared my throat and faced the wall.

"Good morning," I called out, offering a polite nod. "I'm Irene. The new housekeeper.

I promise to keep the dust off your frames if you keep the noise down during my shifting hours."

The portraits gasped collectively. The duke scrambled back into his formal, rigid pose, dropping his chin and staring blankly into space. The peasant woman turned her back, suddenly very interested in a painted river.

They froze, pretending to be ordinary art, though I could swear the duke’s eyes tracked me as I picked up my bag.

"You are speaking to the walls."

The low, smooth baritone cut through the silence like a blade. I spun around, my boot heel clicking sharply against the stone.

Standing at the top of the sweeping, twin stone staircases was Dom Dominic.

He was striking, though in a way that felt entirely untouchable. His dark hair fell perfectly across a sharp brow, casting shadows over eyes so piercingly blue they looked like shattered winter ice. He wore a tailored black coat that caught the purple candlelight, looking every bit the feared, wealthy magical lord the villagers spoke of in hushed whispers. He carried himself with absolute authority, yet there was a distinct stiffness to his posture—the silhouette of a man who had lived in total isolation for so long he had forgotten how to share a room with a living soul.

At his heels trotted a sleek black cat with large, amber eyes. The creature walked with a slow, deliberate majesty, observing me with an intelligence that felt entirely too human.

"I was merely being polite, My Lord," I said, refusing to let his intimidating aura shake me. I offered a neat, practiced curtsy. "I assume you are Lord Dominic?"

Dominic descended the stairs, his movements silent. He stopped a few paces away, his height forcing me to tilt my chin upward. He looked down at me, a faint, perplexed frown marring his features. "I am. You are late by seven minutes."

"The enchanted forest path decided to loop backward twice," I replied cheerfully, offering a bright smile. "I had to negotiate with a particularly stubborn glowing squirrel to find the correct clearing. It demanded two bits of my biscuit before it would point me toward the eastern ridge."

Dominic didn't blink. He didn't smile. He just stared at me as if I were speaking an ancient, dead language. "The rules left by the agency are absolute, Miss Irene. You are to maintain order, ensure my meals are placed in the dining hall at precisely six o'clock in the evening, and remain largely out of sight. I prefer silence. The castle prefers consistency."

"Understood," I said, though my eyes were already drifting past his shoulder, scanning the gloomy corners that practically begged for a soapy bucket and a stiff brush. "Though a little sunshine and some fresh yellow lilies might do this hall some wonders. It’s a bit like a mausoleum in here, if you don't mind me saying."

The moment the word lilies left my mouth, the velvet drapes near the door fluffed their fringes violently. They expanded their deep red fabric, casting a smug shadow toward the dusty rug below them, completely preening at the compliment.

Dominic glanced at the curtains, his frown deepening into a hard line. "The castle is perfectly fine as it is. Do not rearrange the furniture, do not open windows that are closed, and do not introduce... flora. I dislike changes."

He turned on his heel, his coat billowing behind him like captured night. The black cat lingered for a brief second, its amber eyes fixed on me. To my surprise, the creature leaned forward, rubbing its velvet cheek firmly against my ankle before letting out a soft purr and trotting after its master.

"Your quarters are through the eastern corridor, the third door on the left," Dominic called back, not turning around. "Do your work, keep to the schedule, and do not disturb me."

I watched his retreating back until he disappeared down the dark hallway. A small, stubborn smile tucked into the corner of my lips as I tied my white apron securely around my waist.

He was incredibly handsome, terrifyingly wealthy, and entirely hopeless. He lived in a magical fortress but looked as though he hadn't enjoyed a decent laugh in a decade. I looked up at the grand staircase, which suddenly, with a soft grind of stone, shifted three inches to the left, as if leaning in to hear me better.

"Alright," I whispered, picking up my suitcase. "Let's see what we're working with."