The Tour Part 1

Catherine -

Morning light crept across my bed like a gentle interrogation, warm fingers of sun that seemed determined to coax me back to consciousness despite my body's protests. I'd slept poorly—not because the bed wasn't comfortable, but because comfort felt like betrayal when my family was worried sick and I was trapped in a castle that operated by rules I didn't understand.

But you did sleep, my conscience reminded me. Eventually. In silk sheets and down pillows while your captivity was dressed in luxury.

The knock at my door came precisely as the clock tower chimed eight—punctuality that suggested this wasn't a casual social call but another choreographed element of whatever performance Lord MacAllister was staging.

"Come in," I called, sitting up and drawing the coverlet around myself with what dignity I could muster. Whatever was about to happen, I would meet it properly attired in composure if nothing else.

Two young men entered, so similar in appearance they could only be twins. Both had the kind of ageless faces that suggested they might be twenty or thirty or somewhere in between, with dark hair and the careful posture of servants who took pride in their work. Their livery was impeccable, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke of years working together.

"Miss Montgomery," said the one on the left, bowing with practiced precision. "I'm Louis, and this is my brother William. Lord MacAllister has asked us to provide you with an orientation to the castle and grounds."

Orientation. Such a civilized word for what was probably reconnaissance disguised as hospitality. Because I had no doubt that everything I said, every reaction I displayed, every question I asked would be reported back to my host with clinical precision.

"How thoughtful of him," I said, injecting just enough warmth into my voice to seem gracious while keeping my guard firmly in place. "I confess myself curious about this remarkable place."

Curious about how to escape it, mostly.

William stepped forward slightly, his manner suggesting he was the more talkative of the pair. "We've prepared a light breakfast for you first, if you're amenable. Then a tour of the public areas, the gardens, perhaps the library if you're so inclined."

Public areas. An interesting distinction that implied there were decidedly non-public areas I wouldn't be seeing. Areas that required different levels of access, different permissions, different... security clearances.

"That sounds delightful," I said, though my mind was already cataloguing questions. What makes an area public or private in this place? What determines who has access to what? And why do I suspect the most interesting parts of this castle are exactly the ones I won't be shown?

"Excellent," Louis said, moving toward the wardrobe with the easy familiarity of someone who'd been given explicit instructions about my care. "We've taken the liberty of selecting appropriate attire for the day's activities."

He produced a dress in deep green wool—well-made, fashionable, and perfectly sized for my measurements. The kind of garment that would have cost Father several months' income during our better days, now provided as casually as if clothing were as disposable as newspaper.

How long has this been planned? I wondered. How long ago did Lord MacAllister decide he wanted a captive, and how thoroughly has he prepared for my... residency?

"I'll dress and join you shortly," I said, accepting the gown with movements that I hoped appeared gracious rather than calculating.

And while I dress, I'll try to determine exactly how much freedom this tour is likely to provide.

The twins withdrew with the smooth efficiency of well-trained staff, leaving me alone to contemplate what I'd learned from our brief interaction. They were professionals, clearly, but young enough to potentially be less guarded than the older servants who'd delivered me to the dungeons. They seemed genuinely pleased to be showing off their employer's domain, which suggested either excellent acting or genuine pride in serving Lord MacAllister.

Either they don't know what he really is, I mused while fastening the intricate buttons of the green dress, or they know exactly what he is and approve.

Both possibilities were disturbing in their own ways.

The dress fit perfectly, of course. Not just approximately, not just close enough, but with the precision that suggested someone had taken very careful measurements indeed. The thought of being studied so thoroughly while unconscious—because when else could such detailed observations have been made?—sent an unpleasant chill down my spine.

How much does he know about me that I haven't told him?

I plaited my hair into a simple arrangement and pinched my cheeks to bring color to them—small acts of self-care that felt like rebellion against the assumption that I would simply accept whatever was done to me.

I may be trapped, I thought grimly, but I won't be passive about it.

When I emerged from the bedroom, I found Louis and William waiting with a breakfast tray that could have fed a small family. Fresh bread, butter that looked like it had been churned that morning, preserves in jewel-bright colors, tea that smelled of bergamot and distant mountains.

All of it designed to demonstrate wealth, comfort, the kind of life I could have if I simply accepted my circumstances gracefully.