The Langrer estate came into view as the sun turned amber. The pale stone house stood beyond a wide stretch of water, its reflection disturbed by two swans drifting across the surface. Woods rose thickly behind it, surrounding the grounds on either side. From the road, René could see little beyond the house, the water, and more pines and firs than he could count.

March had not yet brought much colour to the grounds. The other trees remained largely bare, and only the first signs of spring had begun to appear along the road.

It was quieter than he had expected.

As the carriages approached, René saw that the servants had gathered to receive Mr. Meren and his new husband. The moment Leon opened the carriage door, Ms. Veller threw her hands into the air. 

“Mr. Meren. You might at least have permitted us to make a proper welcome.”

Leon stepped down from the carriage. The last warmth of evening caught against his olive skin, lingering along the high line of his cheek and the bridge of his nose. His brunette hair had been disturbed by the journey, and beneath the warm light it appeared almost startlingly amber bright.

“You appear to have managed one despite me,” he said, glancing at the assembled servants, smiling despite himself.

As the other servants opened René’s door and hurried to collect his belongings, Leon and Ms. Veller continued their quiet discussion. Whatever Leon said afterwards earned him a small chuckle and a nod from her.

“Ms. Veller, please show Mr. Meren to his room,” Leon instructed. 

He turned and disappeared through the front door, his butler and secretary following close behind. 

“I’m Ms. Veller,” she said, clasping her hands against her chest. “Please, Mr. Meren, follow me.”

Ms. Veller grabbed one of the suitcases herself and marched inside the house, glancing back every few steps to make sure René hadn’t fallen behind. 

She led him through a long hallway lined with tall windows overlooking the grounds. René followed quietly, watching the last of the sunlight stretch across the polished floor as they passed one door after another.

They reached the end of the hallway and turned. Ms. Veller kept walking. René glanced behind them. He had lost sight of the entrance some time ago.

“Is it much farther?” he asked.

Ms. Veller looked back at him. “Only a little.”

René nodded and continued after her. Ms. Veller eventually stopped before a door near the end of the eastern wing and set René’s suitcase down.

“Here we are,” she said cheerfully.

She opened the door and stepped aside, letting René enter slowly.

The bed caught his attention first. It stood against the far wall beneath a dark wooden canopy, its heavy curtains drawn back around pale covers. The rest of the room was considerably less imposing. Patterned green walls surrounded dark wooden furniture, softened by cream fabric and a large rug beneath his feet. A tall mirror stood above the dressing table, and late sunlight entered through the windows on the opposite side of the room.

René looked towards the door they had entered through, then at another near the dressing table.

“Where does that lead?” he murmured.

“Your dressing room,” Ms. Veller said. “There is a bathing room beyond it.”

René looked around once more. “These are all mine?”

Ms. Veller smiled. “Of course.”

He had expected Leon’s room. Or, at the very least, a room adjoining it. But perhaps Leon preferred not to have him nearby when he had no need of him.

René had only asked for a room of his own. Leon had been gracious enough to give him considerably more. 

“The rest of your belongings will be here shortly,” she said as she set the suitcase down. “Call the bell if you wish to dine. The trip must have been exhausting. Rest well, Mr. Meren.”

She smiled softly and closed the door behind her, leaving René in the quiet of his room.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms against his trousers. The sky had begun to turn dark blue by the time René lit a candle.

He expected Leon would come eventually. It was their wedding night, after all. René knew little of him, but what little he had seen had been agreeable enough.

He changed into his nightclothes and waited.

The candle burned lower. Once or twice, footsteps passed through the corridor, but none stopped outside his door. He could not smell Leon close at all.

Eventually, René lay down. He remained awake for some time, listening. When nobody came, confusion gradually replaced his nerves.

Perhaps Leon intended to wait until another night.

René pulled the duvet over himself and closed his eyes. There was little sense in questioning it.

René slowly opened his eyes. He recognized the strange room and immediately sprang out of bed. The sun had long since passed the middle of the sky and was already descending towards the western horizon. René dressed hurriedly. 

He looked at himself twice in the mirror before hesitating at the door. He had no idea where he was allowed to wander or how far he could walk without getting lost.

Leon had not summoned him yet, and the thought of the missed breakfast unsettled him enormously. After fiddling with his hands for some time, he rang the bell for Ms. Veller.

Footsteps approached minutes later, then stopped outside his door. A rhythmic knock broke the silence. René allowed her in.

“Good day, Mr. Meren.” Ms. Veller smiled brightly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Ms. Veller reached for another bell, presumably to summon more servants, when René interrupted her.

“Ms. Veller, does Mr. Meren… expect me?”

“Mr. Meren is in his study,” she answered as she picked up the clothes René had changed out of. “Would you like to eat?”

“Am I allowed… to eat here?”

Ms. Veller looked at him. “If you like.”

He nodded only once before Ms. Veller suddenly grew lighter on her feet and hurried out. The food would have been delightful were it not for his nerves. Nothing tasted right, and every bite sat uneasily. 

For the rest of the day, René simply organized his room and glanced out of the window into the garden, watching a flock of ravens hop through the grass and pick through the dirt.

When night approached again, René returned to bed, his nightclothes far too delicate for actual sleep. As he lay there, counting the dots on the canopy curtain, quiet footsteps approached his door. René took one shaky breath.

But the person knocked.

“Yes?” René’s voice barely reached beyond the curtains.

“Mr. Meren,” a young servant called, “tonight is rather cold. Would you like a warming pan for the bed?”

“N… no, thank you.”

“As you please.”

By the end of the week, René had learned most of his wing of the house.

He knew which staircase led downstairs and which corridor ended at the small sitting room overlooking the gardens. He had also found a window at the end of the eastern hall where the ravens sometimes gathered on the roof below.

He had not gone much farther.

Meals still came to his room. Each morning, he asked whether Mr. Meren expected him, and each morning, the answer was no. Nobody questioned where he spent his afternoons. Nobody summoned him in the evenings.

After a month, Leon had still not come to his room once.

At first, he asked Ms. Veller before leaving the eastern wing. Then he asked whether he might use the library. Ms. Veller answered every question with such ease that eventually René stopped asking about the gardens.