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“Yes, love?”

“Promise me. I’m serious.”

“I promise, princess. Those four rooms only. I’ll stay on the path you drew.”

“Don’t take too long, please.”

She stepped back a ways and gave a slight nod. With a grunt, I heaved the door open. The musty scent of damp earth and decay filled my nostrils. It mingled with the sharp tang of old metal.

A narrow staircase greeted me. It disappeared into the darkness below. Isabella took several additional steps back, and I made an executive decision. I shifted the flashlight in my hand and pulled my phone out.

Marcel was on standby and had cleared his schedule just in case.

“Speak to me, Brother,” he said.

“I’m going inside the portion of the castle where the girls were held. Isabella is going to remain outside. I don’t want to leave her alone. She wants the paintings but—”

“Hand the phone to her, please.”

“Princess, it’s Marcel. I need you to talk to him while I go inside, okay?”

She looked like a small, frightened child and immediately scrambled over and snatched my phone. She put the phone to her ear and walked further away from the hatch door. I took one last breath, confident she’d be okay for the little bit of time I’d be gone, and stepped down.

The sound of my footsteps echoed hollowly in the confined space. The creaking of old wooden steps added another component to the creepy feeling. Goosebumps broke out across my arms, and clouds of dust swirled in the beam of my flashlight like ghosts.

Twenty-one steps. I counted each one. I reached the bottom, and the space opened into a small hallway. The walls were rough stone, and the air was thick and oppressive. The scent of decay was stronger here, sour and unpleasant. It made my stomach churn.

I flashed the light on the map Isabella had drawn and turned right. I explored the labyrinth of the underground passageways. The beam of my light had shadows shifting on the walls, and every creak of the ancient building seemed to whisper that I needed to get in and out.

Finally, I reached the area she’d drawn on the map. Four doors stood sentinel at the end of a dimly lit corridor. Two on each side. Plaques hung on each one, reading Spring, Autumn, Summer, and Winter.

The air grew colder somehow, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Which room to go into first? My hand reached for the door of the only girl we hadn’t met.

My heart raced as I was driven by a need to know her somehow, to see her as the girls did. It gnawed at me. With a steadying breath, mindful of Isabella waiting, I grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

Using the flashlight, I braced myself before hitting the switch on the wall. It was more habit than anything else. But unlike the one upstairs, this one immediately lit up the room. The first thing that struck me was the winter theme. Along one entire wall was a mural. A forest in winter, with bare trees and snow on the ground.

The focal point of the room was a large canopy bed with what was once stark white covers and blue pillows shaped like snowflakes. It had browned with age. All around the room were hanging paper made snowflakes in various sizes. Some of them had cobwebs interwoven between them.

Tiny lights framed the bed and canopy, but those were long burned out. My eyes found what I’d come in here for right above the bed. I had to climb on it to reach the frames. It felt somewhat sacrilegious to do so, but I couldn’t reach them any other way.

I brushed away the dust that had accumulated on the glass and gasped. The painting seemed to come alive, their colors dancing in the shadows. Winter—as a young girl with fiery red curls. They coiled around her shoulders.

She sat with a child-sized cello between her legs, her delicate fingers poised on the strings. With her bow drawn across, I expected to hear the melody she was playing. Her expression was one of intense concentration and incredibly sorrowful.

The second painting captured a different scene entirely. The same small girl sat on the carousel—the red fox. Except in this version, the animals were vivid and alive. The hues of the carousel blended seamlessly with a manicured lawn, and the lake could be seen, crystal clear and blue.

In this picture, her face was filled with joy and excitement. Her eyes sparkled as she reveled in the simple joy of the moment. I knew in an instance Isabella had drawn her as she was and how she longed for her to be.

I wanted to study them longer, to marvel at the talent and skill level. You could see the time that had gone into this creation. Isabella’s love for art was evident in every brushstroke. Like she did with everything she drew, it was done with care and precision.

No wonder she wanted them back. I had a feeling the other rooms would have similar style paintings. One showcasing the girl’s talents and the other one, them in a carefree moment on the carousel riding their respective animals.

And I wasn’t wrong.

Tori’s room was next to Winter’s, and I found hers. A tow-headed child, hair wildly hanging around her as she passionately poured her heart and soul into a song. The second was her riding on the seahorse with wonder in her eyes.

Mouse’s room was incredibly hard to see. Flashes of memories of attending her funeral and the years after consumed me. While I was moving on and trying to win competitions on my own, she was sitting in this room, afraid and alone.