Episode 1: The Dark Prince & Maid

Story tags: 🏰Historical Fiction ⏳Time Travel 🔥dark romance 🔞18+ reading

Note: when the next episode is published, it will show at the bottom of this page.

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With every step toward the gates of Alderth Castle, my heart pounded harder. The stories about this place, especially those about Julian Montclair-the Dark Prince-sent a shiver through me.

The history books had talked about the famous prince more than any other royal. He was powerful, ruthless and incredibly handsome. His legend clung to every shadow of this place.

Clara nudged my shoulder and said, "Amelia, are you okay? You haven't said a word in ten minutes."

I pressed my hand to my chest, inhaling deeply . "It's just this place... it's so... magical."

The weathered stone walls, streaked with deep red gave the castle a bloodstained appearance. Arched windows caught the fading light, while crumbling spires reached toward the sky. Ivy snaked up the sides, adding a touch of wild charm to the ancient structure. The colors weren't just a coincidence-they reflected the prince himself. His favorite colors were red and brown, shades as bold and unyielding as he was.

Squinting at the sheer size of the castle, I slid my sunglasses up over my blonde hair. "Can you imagine living here?"

Clara laughed and said, "No way! We can't even keep our little apartment from looking like a disaster zone."

I let the ivy-covered walls sink into my hand like a painting. "With a place this gorgeous, I'd almost sign up to be the maid... almost."

A buzz from my pocket snapped me back to reality. I glanced at the screen and smiled.

"Hey, Dad!"

"Amelia! I'm just calling to check on you. I miss you, kiddo. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's great. I'm actually in Stonechard, right at the gates of Alderth Castle. I wish you were here, too. All the tales you used to tell me about this place... you always knew so much. It feels like I'm walking through a piece of your life."

There was a pause before he spoke, his voice tinged with a familiar warmth. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart. I wish I could be there with you, too. It's strange, you being so far away."

"I miss you, Dad," I said, the weight of distance settling in. "I'll take tons of pictures, I promise."

"Wonderful," he chuckled, his voice warm. "And, remember, you can always call me if you need anything, anytime."

Clara called me over as the tour guide walked toward us.

He was a short, pudgy man with sun-flushed cheeks and small glasses perched low on his nose. His weathered hands clutched a tattered English flag that fluttered lightly in the breeze.

As he cleared his throat, the hint of a smile crossed his face-one that spoke of countless tours and decades of familiarity with this place. "Hello, dear travelers, please gather around."

The group was small. There was an elderly couple, a young family, and a pair of bored teenagers. The air was thick with anticipation, making my skin tingle with the promise of adventure.

Clara leaned in, her voice low. "I bet this guy came with the castle. Do you think he dusts himself off every morning?"

"Don't be mean," I murmured, glancing around. "I want to listen."

"Welcome to Alderth Castle! Please follow me to the main hall," the tour guide continued.

We all walked behind him toward the massive front doors of the castle, which groaned open to reveal a grand, dimly lit entrance. Warm air carried the scent of aged wood, stone, and something rich and intoxicating, like aged wine that lingered in the shadows.

"Amelia, your yellow dress is practically glowing in this place," Clara joked.

I thought the dress was nice, but maybe it was too much.

"Right, maybe I should have worn something different."

Clara shook her head and waved dismissively. "I'm just teasing! You look amazing, trust me."

I chose a sundress for today's trip, though it felt tighter across the chest than I remembered. My hair, naturally highlighted, fell neatly over my shoulders, and golden eyeshadow accentuated my hazel eyes. At just over five feet tall, I'd paired the dress with matching heels for a little extra height.

Growing up, I had always been the awkward one-too short, too thin, with a face full of pimples and braces. I craved romance, but it was always out of reach. I'd never even had a single kiss.

Stories of princes, vikings, and faeries became my refuge-tales filled with beautiful connections between people. Falling in love felt like a distant dream, one I often imagined but never experienced.

The guide motioned us to follow him, snapping me out of my thoughts. We joined the tour group and began our exploration of the castle. The Grand Hall was adorned with old furniture and portraits of long-gone royals.

As we moved deeper into the castle, the guide stopped in front of a towering statue. The stone figure stood in the center of the grand hall, commanding attention. It was of a man clad in armor, a sword held in his right hand, and his stern face gazing out as if he were still guarding the castle. His carved features were sharp-strong jaw, high cheekbones-and his eyes, though mere stone, seemed alive with fierce determination.

"This is Julian Montclair," the guide said, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. "Also known as the Dark Prince. He was the last ruler of Alderth Castle, a key figure during the English Rebellion in 1645-a civil war that broke out between the monarchy and rebel forces..."

He trailed off, clearly struggling to remember the next part. I could see the tension in his face, and something stirred inside me. I couldn't just stand by and watch him flounder-he reminded me too much of my dad. Without thinking twice, I stepped forward to help.

"Julian Montclair fought to protect the castle and his family," I said, my voice shaky as I jumped in. "He refused to surrender, even during the final siege. He died right here, defending his home..."

The guide's shoulders sagged, and he shot me a grateful smile. "Thank you, dear. Exactly. This statue was created just over ten years after his death. He was twenty-six when he died."

A lump formed in my throat as I stared up at the statue. Something about the way the figure stood so resolute, even in death, sent a wave of sadness through me. Why did it feel like more than stone? Like a memory I couldn't quite reach.

"Are you seriously crying over a statue?" Clara raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. "You get too emotional over these stories."

I tried to laugh it off, but the sadness lingered. "It's just... he died protecting his home, fighting for his family. It's tragic."

Clara rolled her eyes affectionately. "I know it's sad, but he's been gone for centuries. You're too sweet for your own good."

We moved on to a different, more intimate part of the castle.

At the end of a long corridor, a red door was slightly open, with candlelight coming from within it. Unlike the worn and dusty surroundings, this door was pristine, making it seem completely out of place in the ancient space.

"Hey, Clara," I whispered, nudging her. "Look at that door. Doesn't it seem out of place?"

She acted like she didn't hear me. It was as if I hadn't spoken at all.

Nudging her again, harder this time, I repeated, "Clara?"

The sounds around me faded, swallowed by an unnatural stillness. The shuffle of footsteps, the murmur of voices-all vanished, leaving only the faint thrum of my own heartbeat echoing in the void. The untouched door seemed to call me, its pristine surface drawing me closer.

Taking a step forward, the floor creaked beneath my feet, the sound sharp in the stillness. A strange sensation washed over me-like unseen eyes tracking my every move, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Without warning, the corridor came alive.

A gust of wind slammed into me, and before I could scream, hundreds of people appeared-phantoms of the past, surging by in a blur. An old woman, hunched over her cane, brushed past, her ghostly figure translucent and flickering. Warriors on horseback charged through the walls, bloodied swords raised high, their cries of battle cutting through the air. A man stumbled forward, tears streaming down his pale face as he wailed in agony, his voice a haunting cry that pierced the silence.

Disoriented, heart hammering, I spun around, and that's when I saw her.

A child in a delicate gown, the kind worn by royalty, descended the stairs. Blood smeared her small face, and her hollow eyes locked onto mine. She seemed to float, her feet barely brushing the ground. Her gaze froze me in place, her sorrow as suffocating as the air.

"Help me," she whispered in a small voice.

I inched toward her, my hand trembling as I reached out to grab hers. Tears blurred my vision.

Out of nowhere, a second gust of wind-more violent than the first-roared through the hall.

The ghostly child crumpled to the floor in a heap, dissolving into dust as the force nearly knocked me off my feet.

"No!!"

Panic surged through me as I stumbled forward, my legs heavy, each step slower than the last. I ran, faster than I thought possible, but the door ahead of me began to close, inch by inch, as if something on the other side was pulling it shut.

If I didn't make it in time, the wind might consume me-drag me away, maybe even kill me.

"Stop... please," I whimpered, my voice drowned out by the howling wind.

The hallway stretched endlessly before me, twisting and bending like a nightmare without end. Desperation fueled my movements as I reached out, aching to grasp the door. Just as it was about to slip beyond my reach, my hand brushed against the wood.

But it wasn't enough.

Fingers like brittle ice curled around my wrist. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the ghostly arm yanked me forward, pulling me into the darkness. The door slammed shut behind me with a deafening thud, sealing me inside.

"What was that?" the faint words slipped from my lips.

The room felt like a tomb, the air still, as though no one had breathed here in centuries. A massive wooden bed dominated the space, its owner lost to time.

Stepping further into the room, my gaze locked onto a painting that seemed almost alive on the wall. The man in the portrait wore deep red royal clothing that clung to his powerful form. His dark hair, cut short and styled in soft waves, framed his chiseled face.

But it was his eyes, a stormy shade of blue, that truly held me. They were so vivid, so intense, that they seemed to follow my every move. His presence filled the air around me, thick and intoxicating, stirring something deep within-a desire I couldn't quite place.

It was Julian Montclair. I had read about him so much that I recognized him instantly.

Nearby, a polished wooden table held a shiny silver tray with a single letter, its wax seal still unbroken.

I stepped closer, the table and its contents drawing me in, the faint scent of parchment mingling with the dust in the air.

My fingers trembled as they brushed the parchment, the paper cool and smooth beneath my skin. Slowly, I unrolled it, breath catching in my throat as I read the words written in elegant, flowing script.

To my family, may you always remember yours. Queen Isabella.

"Who is Queen Isabella?" I whispered, tightening my grip on the fragile parchment, its worn edges crackling beneath my fingers.

Suddenly, the letter was ripped from my grasp, carried by an unseen force toward the open window. I watched in stunned silence as it disappeared into the darkening sky. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my head, and I staggered, clutching my temples as the room began to spin violently around me.

The walls blurred, the floor tilting beneath my feet. My vision darkened at the edges, and I collapsed to the ground, the world fading to black.

"Oh..." Pain radiated through every part of me.

The first sensation that crept in was the icy grip of stone beneath me, anchoring me as if I'd been pulled through time and left stranded.

A deep commanding voice called out to me, cutting through the haze in my mind.

"Maid..."

I pushed myself up from the floor slowly, my eyes still closed as every nerve tingled with the return of movement. A thin sheen of cold sweat clung to my brow.

The voice came again, closer this time, filled with impatience. "Maid. Why are you on the floor?"

Opening my eyes, I struggled to process what I was seeing.

Julian Montclair, the Dark Prince, stood before me - alive. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, freezing me in place. I couldn't breathe. This wasn't possible, but the power radiating from him was all too real.