A Nine-Century Crown: Piedmont’s Enchanted Castle of Whispering Hills

Perched like a sentinel above Turin’s rolling emerald hills, this medieval masterpiece has stood as a silent witness to nine centuries of nobility, faith, and grandeur. Built in 1080 with stones that still hum with the secrets of bishops and counts, it was later reborn in the 18th century as a villa of opulent grace—where Gothic arches embrace Baroque flourishes, and every corridor breathes the soul of Piedmont’s golden past.

Today, it reigns as one of Italy’s most spellbinding estates, a living tapestry where history and modern luxury intertwine. Step through its iron-bound doors, and the air itself seems to shimmer—cool and fragrant with the scent of ancient wood, sun-warmed limestone, and the distant whisper of forest pines. Here, 39 exquisitely appointed rooms unfold like chapters of a forgotten romance, each telling its own story. Twenty suites, swathed in silk and gilded light, frame panoramic vistas of the hills cradling Turin, where the Alps blush at dawn and the evening sun paints the vineyards in liquid gold.

Beyond the private chambers, the castle reveals its most intoxicating secret: a 3,000-square-meter wellness sanctuary, the largest of its kind in the region. Imagine sinking into steaming outdoor pools as mist curls over the hills, or surrendering to the embrace of a panoramic sauna where the glass walls dissolve into the sky. A wellness beach beckons with sun-dappled loungers, while chromotherapy showers cascade in jewel-toned light, and the Turkish bath’s marble heart glows like moonlight on water. This is indulgence not as excess, but as ritual—a return to the sacred art of being.

For those who command the world’s stage, two majestic event halls await, their vaulted ceilings and candlelit chandeliers hosting gatherings of up to 250 souls, while a sleek conference center, bathed in natural light, seats 200 with effortless elegance. The gardens, a labyrinth of manicured terraces and wild, fragrant thickets, spill down the hillside like an impressionist’s dream—roses tumbling over stone walls, cypress trees standing guard, and hidden pathways leading to secluded groves where the only sound is the wind through the leaves.

Marentino cradles this treasure, a village where time moves like honey, slow and sweet. Here, the castle is not merely a home but a legacy—a place where the past is not preserved in amber, but lived, breathed, and celebrated. It is for the visionary who seeks more than walls and towers, but a kingdom of the senses: the crackle of a fireplace in the great hall, the first sip of Barolo on the terrace as swallows dip over the valleys, the hush of the spa at twilight when the world outside fades to a murmur.

This is not just a property. It is a proclamation—of taste, of heritage, of a life lived in harmony with beauty. And it waits, its keys heavy with the weight of centuries, for the one who dare claim it.