Never again, I had told myself after Amalie. But had I not said this before? As Cacilie died in my arms, I swore I would not love again. But there were others, in time. One and all, they betrayed me and left me to live alone.

I'd been on my own for many years before her, but I had been sure about Amalie. I had known she would be the one to grow old with me. A placid little thing who never raised her voice. As beautiful as all the others, but more likely to be found curled by the fire in winter, head bent over some detailed embroidery work. Even in the summer, she rarely left sight of the castle.

And yet she, too, had failed me.

I should give up on this endeavor altogether, forsake ever finding love, someone whose life I wished to share. I all but had.

But then—Liesl and her sister Anne. Sitting in the meadow, the wind lifting their hair and tightening their linen dresses against their newly blossomed forms.

The thought struck me that I had not tried this avenue yet. No peasant girls were among my past loves, and perhaps that had been my mistake. A girl who sat in muddy fields and tended goats would be dazzled by my rich halls, would not ask the questions she should not dare. She would obey.

I approached on my horse—the white one, luckily, to cast me in the role of a gallant knight—and introduced myself to the girls. I saw my effect on them, and, also, that they were both worth seeing. The freckled girl was more young than beautiful, perhaps, but with the right dresses and accoutrements, she could look well on my arm. The elder sister, though, truly had something. Raven hair, a swan-like neck, a bashful pink blush across her creamy skin when I spoke to her.

Yes. She will do nicely.

One with an open heart like mine, and a castle so empty but for the ghosts, must do what is right and necessary.

It is time to love again.