Anouk spotted the trunk. She crawled over and fumbled with the rusted brass clasps. They didn’t want to open, so she slammed the broom handle against them until they broke and then threw the trunk open. It was filled with paper, stacks and stacks of it. From the hallway, the clocks chimed another hour, but she disregarded them. She leaned deeper into the trunk, pushing through the papers to get to the bottom, searching for the key—
But she didn’t find the key. She didn’t even find the bottom of the trunk.
There was no bottom.
The trunk wasn’t a trunk at all, but a passageway. A hole. She was pitched so far forward that she tumbled into the trunk. She reached for something to stop her but could grab only the broom, which fell with her. Papers sliced at her skin and muffled her screams as she fell down the tunnel. She kept falling through papers that had no end. The sensation of falling down changed to falling up. Being pulled upward by some enchanted force. And then she felt four wooden sides again. She was back in the trunk, only it was a different trunk, and she was tumbling up and out of it and landing on the soft rug of a small room. There was a fire crackling in a hearth. A wide oak desk, carefully organized with stacks of multicolored folios and parchment and squat black jars of ink and other writing implements and ingredients: onion skins, dried eel, lemons. The tools of a spell-scribe. And there was only one spell-scribe in Castle Ides, though he went by a more official title now.
A shadow fell over her.
Prince Rennar looked different as he crouched beside her. He’d removed his crown and his frost-gray jacket. His white shirt was rolled to his elbows, the button at his neck open.
“Little beastie,” he said. “It looks as though you’ve lost your way.”
And then she remembered, too late, that the floor plan changed at the chiming of the clocks. Wherever she was, it was far from her friends.
Just where he wanted her.
Chapter 27
Seven Hours and Thirty Minutes of Enchantment Remain
Anouk clutched the broom to her chest, protective of the spell tucked away inside. She could crack the handle over Rennar’s head. Shove the blunt end into his face. But his expression made it clear that he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. The Royals had underestimated Anouk and her friends, and that had given them the slightest advantage in the salon. But the element of surprise was gone now.
She scrambled backward and pushed herself to her feet.
“What do you want from us? You and Mada Zola conspired to get us here. The two of you are . . .” She was almost too embarrassed to say it. “Amants. Lovers.”
Until that moment, Rennar had worn the mask of confidence that came so naturally to the Royals, but now he gave her a surprised, curious look. “Lovers? Why would you say that?”
“Those . . . those clandestine communications,” she stuttered. “Meetings in secret. Talk of a queenship.”
A corner of his mouth tipped up, both boyish and arrogant at the same time. “Ah. I forget that you’ve been cooped up in a broom closet most of your life. You aren’t familiar with the ways of the Shadow Royalty. Mada Zola was more powerful than many handlers knew. Her abilities surpassed even Vittora’s. I didn’t banish her for insubordination—I knew that was a lie—but to keep her power in check. But our world is in danger, Anouk. Every day the Pretties develop new technologies. The ways of magic are fading. I decided that an alliance of her power and mine might be the only way forward. So I offered her a place at my side. A queenship. Though among Royals, marriages are not the romantic storybook things that Pretties tell their children. They are political unions of power.”
“A union designed to capture us. Those five cages I saw are for the five of us, aren’t they?”
He didn’t deny it. He straightened, dusting off his hands. The spell-scribe room was barely large enough for a desk and a chair, and with the two of them in it, the space felt too full. “And yet only four have come. Where is the fifth one, the gardener?”
She paused, surprised. All of her bravado disappeared and she sputtered, “You mean you don’t know either?”
“If I did, I would have come for you at Montélimar. We were waiting for you to lead us to him.”
“But I don’t know where he is,” she admitted. “I thought he’d be here. Or at Mada Zola’s estate. He’s been missing for over a week.”
Rennar considered this, and for a brief moment Anouk forgot he was her enemy; it felt as though they were simply two people caught in a mystery. Her dress felt itchy. The heavy curtain fabric, the stiff wires. Or was it something else? The feeling of fur or feathers or scales beneath her skin?
“I suppose at midnight,” she said bitterly, “it won’t matter anyway.”
“That would be true,” he said evenly, “if I wanted the five of you gone.”
“Don’t you?”
He shook his head slowly, coming toward her with those eyes that held that tapeta sheen. They caught the firelight like there was something beneath the iris, a stone beneath a stream. She took a step backward but bumped up against his desk. Pieces of parchment fluttered to the floor.
She held the broom across her body. It was all that separated them—a scrap of wood and straw.
“I went to the party at Mada Vittora’s home three nights ago to see if the rumors were true that she kept beasties as servants. Imagine my surprise to find that they were. That fool Vittora had no sense of the powerful magic she was toying with; to think she was using the most dangerous order of the Haute to clean her cobwebs! But perhaps I speak too harshly of the dead. Few magic handlers know the full dark history of the beasties. And perhaps I share a portion of the blame. I should have seen months ago, through the portaits, that you were more than a girl with a ribbon in her hair and a rag in her hand. But our empire is vast and our numbers are small. We cannot spy on everyone.” He turned to a gilded frame on the wall that held only a blank white space. Was this how he spied on his kingdom? “When I returned to Castle Ides after the dinner party, I sent orders to the lesser lords that the five of you needed to be dealt with immediately. They were to come to the house the following day to take all five of you from Mada Vittora, by force if necessary. I had no way of knowing, of course, that she would be murdered and the four of you would flee.”
Visions flashed in her mind again of blood blooming on her mistress’s blouse.
“Understand me,” Rennar continued. “Beasties have not historically been agreeable creatures. A fact that brings me much regret. They were fundamentally unstable—many innocent people died. As their creator, I was the one who had to destroy them and then shelve the beastie spell indefinitely. And so, despite my wishes, I thought I had no choice but to destroy you as well. Until my spies told me of a different story.”
The fire crackled softly.
He touched her hair. Her lace veil was long since gone, her hair once more in tangled knots. His long fingers threaded delicately through her hair, and she felt the brush of his cheek against the side of her face as he leaned close. He breathed in, smelling her hair, and her heart thumped in warning. She squeezed the broom tighter. When he straightened, he held something that had been tangled in her locks.
A thyme sprig.
It smelled woody and of Luc—of Mada Zola’s estate.
“They told me of this. Of magic.” He motioned to the thyme. His voice was as quiet as dawn, and it felt like magic too. “You have Petra to thank for your lives. She told me—taking the great risk of going behind her mistress’s back—what my crows could not see and what Mada Zola didn’t want me to know: That you could do magic. Not unharnessed, destructive conjuring like the original beasties. Higher magic. True enchantment. And you, Anouk, showed me that just now in the salon. You took Lord Metham’s life with the blue-fire spell, and yet you weren’t bound by the vitae echo. If a witch had done that, her eyes would have turned to oak.”
The thyme sprig spun in his fingers, the smell making her think of late summer.
“You
and your friends aren’t like the original beasties. Whatever alteration Mada Vittora mistakenly made to the spell, it was a lucky twist of fate. And so I intended to capture you, but not to kill you. To uphold the spell to keep you human.”
He was telling her that midnight didn’t have to mean the end for them, and yet she didn’t dare believe it. “If you trusted us, you wouldn’t need cages.”
“Ah, but you see, there are those among us who still wish to see you destroyed. Who don’t yet believe you are more stable than the originals. Who claim Mada Vittora must have died at a beastie’s violent hand. Hence the cages. As protection until we are certain you won’t slaughter the lot of us.”
He rubbed the thyme between his fingers, and it smelled alive, awake, reminding her that this wasn’t just a dream. “So tell me, little beastie, what am I to do with you?”
“Well, I haven’t killed you yet, so you could let me go.”
“You killed Lord Metham.”
“Not for the joy of it.”
He smiled. “The original beasties weren’t joyfully savage at first either. They grew unhinged as they aged. You have spent barely one year as a human, isn’t that right? You are nothing but virtue, devotion. What of the others, the older ones? Already they are disobedient. Thieving. Traitorous. Someone killed Mada Vittora after all.”
“It wasn’t any of us,” she argued. “And you can’t blame us for disobeying a mistress who treated us like slaves. And I’m not as innocent as you think.”
His eyes shimmered. “I fear that I believe you.”
He took a few steps backward. She felt a rush of space—she could breathe again. With a touch of powder to his lips, he whispered a spell and opened the door. Whatever had been behind it moments ago was gone. Now it led to the meeting room with its five cages.
Beau grabbed the bars. “Anouk?”
“Beau!”
Rennar blocked the doorway before she could run to him. “I will make you a promise, little beasties,” he said. “I’ll keep you from turning back into animals. I don’t need the spell hidden in that broom handle; the words are already carved into the flesh of my tongue. And I’ll do more than that. I’ll use every spy in the Haute to find your gardener friend before midnight, and I’ll keep him human too.”
Anouk glanced at Beau. “I’m afraid of the price of an offer like that.”
“There’s no catch,” the prince replied.
Beau said from his cage, “There’s always a catch.”
The prince smiled joylessly. “I’ve been alive a long time. I have amassed lifetimes of knowledge and experience, but that doesn’t come without a cost. I’ve lost perspective. We need new blood in the Haute. A new way of seeing.”
He was looking at Anouk.
The wind had died, and the stillness in the air made the moment feel caught in time, as though they had stepped into a pocket-world that was just large enough for the three of them. She could feel energy thrumming in the prince’s movements, but it was tightly contained. Everything about him whispered control. Maybe that was the problem, she thought. Too much control made for a rigid heart. Hearts were made to beat steadily, yes, but they were also meant to tremble. How long had it been since something had caused Prince Rennar’s heartbeat to falter?
“I went about this all wrong,” he continued. “I see now that you aren’t meant to be caged. But you must understand that I had no way of knowing you would be any different from the original beasties. Your magic is everything I ever wanted and more. You are powerful, Anouk. With the right training, you could help restore the balance. If you think I’m out of touch, show me. If you think I am cold, teach me. Make me remember what it feels like to see the world as you do, full of beauty and hope. In return, you will no longer need to fear midnight, not any of you.”
He looked as he had the first time she’d seen him, not the handsome prince in a portrait but the boy in a scarf standing on a Paris street. That boy was still there, somewhere, that spell-scribe who had written the beastie spell in hopes of creating a better world.
“As long as we agree to be your monsters,” she countered.
“Monsters? No. I want you to be something far more dangerous.” Somehow, in the space of a heartbeat, he was by her side, so close that she could feel the crackling energy in his body, not so tightly coiled now. Behind him, Beau was an angry, trapped shadow.
“And what is that?”
“Princess of the Haute.”
Chapter 28
Seven Hours of Enchantment Remain
Anouk stared at him as though she hadn’t heard correctly. Days ago, she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing biscuit crumbs from between kitchen tiles. Her dreams had felt big and impossible—walking in Paris arm in arm with someone, like the Pretties did, making a wish on the fountain. Dreams that felt childish now that the prince of the Shadow Royals was offering her an entire kingdom.
“A political arrangement,” he continued. “The same proposal I had discussed with Mada Zola, but of course, now I see how much more suitable a partner you would be. The ways of the Shadow Royals are ancient but effective; we will rule side by side, equals in all things. I’ll teach you to develop your magic. You’ll show me how not to misuse my own.”
For a second, he looked as though he wanted to take the beastie spell from her broom and fold it between their palms, the spell that would bind them forever. But he didn’t.
“Anouk, don’t listen to him!” Beau called from the other room. He was gripping the bars with white knuckles, but she couldn’t go to him while the prince blocked the doorway.
“No cages,” Prince Rennar said temptingly in a quiet voice meant only for her. “No banishments. No chains. Say the word, and the chauffeur is free.”
“And what of love?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s up to you.”
She didn’t trust him. Of course she didn’t. Even if he wasn’t intentionally lying to her, his mind was as twisted by the vitae echo as the witches’ had been. He might say he wanted equality and mean it, but like shifting winds, he might just as easily change his mind.
And of course, there was Beau. The few kisses they’d shared might mean little to the young Pretties who gave out kisses like corner-store candy, but what they had was more delicate, more complex, like a chocolate soufflé: it was just as sweet, but you had to take your time and pay attention to it or it would collapse in a spectacular mess.
And yet, if she refused the prince, would she—all of them—end up animals forever?
Rennar was offering her a chance to save herself and her friends. Like in one of Luc’s fairy tales, where a girl made a deal with Death but found that the deal was riddled with catches. I thought there was nothing worse than dying, the girl said. I was wrong.
“Don’t do it, Anouk,” Beau called again.
From somewhere, a clock was ticking. How many hours did they have left? Six? Five?
A spider crawled across the floor. She couldn’t stop staring at it, trying to remember what life felt like when the only things that mattered were fear and hunger. She’d led them here. She’d convinced them to risk everything, and now the decision rested in her hands once more. Did she resist and risk returning to that? Or obey and live?
Rennar had his back to Beau; he didn’t see Beau reach between the bars for the spider. Anouk felt a flash of danger. What crazy idea had gotten into his head? His fist closed around the spider and he shut his eyes and popped it into his mouth.
She squeaked a gasp of surprise.
Beau made a face as he choked down the spider. He drew in a breath and began to whisper; though he was trying to be quiet, quiet for Beau was like a shout for her. Too loud, she thought. Rennar will hear.
“No,” she spat out. “No, that’s my answer. I’ll never agree to be yours.”
“Dorma, dorma . . .” Beau whispered behind them.
Too late, Prince Rennar heard the whisper. His midnight eyes flashed. A counter-spell was already o
n his lips, and in a fraction of a breath he would have silenced Beau, but Beau finished his first. Prince Rennar stumbled as though he’d been hit over the head. Beau’s whisper had been murmured and unclear, as though he’d spoken with rocks in his mouth. Rennar doubled over and fell on all fours. He was fighting to keep his head up, his eyes open.
He lost the battle to stay conscious and collapsed to the floor.
Anouk stared, unable to believe what she’d seen. “Beau, you did magic!”
“Well, poorly.”
Anouk dug through Rennar’s pockets for the key and unlocked the door to Beau’s cage. As soon as Beau was free, she threw her arms around him. He felt alive. Warm. Almost too warm, as though some sickness was inside him. Something inside her burned in response—maybe not a sickness after all. Maybe their true natures.
“We can’t trust the Royals,” he said. “But Rennar had a point. If we leave, we’ll be running away from the only magic handlers who can cast the beastie spell.”
The words of the Selentium Vox conjured themselves behind her teeth, and again, she longed to gather the right ingredients, to try.
She grabbed his shirt collar. “I’d rather have one last night as ourselves than a lifetime in cages. Let’s get out of here.”
She grabbed her broom, and they ran through the labyrinth of Rennar’s apartments. His bedroom. A bath with a golden tub. A personal library, the walls lined with books, real books, unmagical stories from the Pretty World. A jacket flung over a chair. A volume with a teaspoon used as a bookmark. Rumpled sheets on the unmade bed told her two things: Rennar didn’t let maids into his private chambers (she’d guessed this, given the spider), and his sleep was too troubled for dreams.
They reached an empty antechamber with doors on all sides. Anouk threw open a random door—a linen closet. The next—an exterior garden. Beau started from the opposite side. He opened a door and found a rickety staircase plunging downward.
“Here!” Anouk called. At last, she’d found a sight she recognized: the artifact hallway. They ran into it and Anouk stopped short at the row of empty benches outside the spell-library doors. “Viggo’s supposed to be here.”
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