Can you hear these dreams? (Calling out your name, can you hear them?)

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"Harry, you can't take pictures!"

Harry immediately lowered his camera following his cousin's words. He grimaced, and it earned him a giggle from Ella.

"You're sure?"

Ella pursed her lips, trying to bite back another smile as she pointed to the wall. Sure enough, there was a small sign displayed, right by the door they had just come in from. Undeniably, two words were written: No photography , with an image of a black camera crossed out.

Harry pouted and turned his camera off, and, just in case, looked around him to see if a member of the castle staff had seen him. Once he deemed he was safe, he exhaled a relieved breath.

Ella went to stand beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. There was a playful grin on her face, her freckles even laughing at Harry. "You've got no excuse, it wasn't even written in French, H."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. It wasn't that he was bad at French, mind you, but his cousin Ella and her brothers were ahead of the curve. They'd been living in France for more than a decade now, while the only french Harry knew was from school. Perhaps visiting his family over summer for the last past years had helped him a little, but he still wasn't fluent. At least, he didn't think so.

Oh, how little, young Harry had cried when his aunt — his mother's sister and the mother of Ella, Ben, and Matthew — announced they were moving to a different country. He had cried for hours before his mother Anne managed to calm him down. She had promised seven-year-old Harry that they'd visit them and she had kept her promise. Every summer, Harry was lucky enough to be able to visit his family.

They lived in Indre-Et-Loire , a department in west-central France. Summers were warm, but what Harry loved most about la Loire was the architecture of the houses. They were so different from the ones back home. Oh, and les châteaux ... God, the castles were the best part. The department had, incontestably, the best castles in the country. And Harry? Well, he'd always loved castles.

When he was six years old, he had declared to his parents that he wanted to become a house cleaner. But, wait for it, a housekeeper in castles. Thirteen years later and he was now attending university. Of course, since then, his career choice had drastically changed, but castles were still something he really was interested in. He could watch an endless amount of documentaries without growing bored of it. At some point, he even started thinking he must have lived in a castle, or several, during his previous lives. Gemma had laughed at his dotty thoughts, snickering that, "Since you're obsessed with cooking, you probably were a cook instead or summat." And honestly, who knew? Maybe Harry had cooked for aristocratic families in the past.

"It is a shame though," Harry said, pouting once again for good measure. "This cabinet is really dope."

Ella hummed in response, and they both fell quiet as they observed Le Cabinet Orléans-Penthièvre. It was the first room you could access when you arrived in the Orléans apartments. And apparently, whoever was in charge of the decoration back then had loved using red.

The crimson stripped wallpaper covered all the walls, with matching darker red curtains over the single window of the room. The drapes were parted, allowing the cabinet to be basked in sunlight. The polished wooden desk was particularly shining as it was placed by the window. The same thing could be said about the polished floor. There was a thin carpet placed in the middle of the room, with two wooden armchairs and a small oval table between them. Even the golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling had a touch of red.

But what drew Harry's attention though, was the marble fireplace, surrounded by two paintings on each side, with a huge mirror above it. His cousin Ben joined him, leaning forward to squint at the placard under one of the paintings. "This painting on the left is Louis-Jean Marie de Bourbon , Duc de Penthièvre ," he read.

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