Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  “Thank you for the meal,” she addressed the room at large. “It was absolutely delicious!”

  The kitchen gave no sign of overt acknowledgement, but Rose fancied it was pleased.

  Night had fallen, and even though she had woken late in the day, she was still tired and made her way back up to her bedroom. When Rose opened the door, however, she thought she had entered the wrong chamber. Instead of crimson and bronze, a deep purple décor met her eyes. She stepped back out again and closed the door, then looked carefully up and down the corridor. This was the first chamber to the right. Puzzled, she opened the door again, and this time the purple décor had been replaced by furnishings of gold.

  More magic, she marveled, and quickly stepped into the bedroom before it could change again.

  A bathing basin was full and waiting, its water kept warm by several stones that were alternately heating themselves in the fire and then dipping themselves into the tub. As she neared, those still in the water lifted themselves out, and all returned to their place in a bucket by the fire.

  “Another bath?” she laughed lightly. “I have hardly had the opportunity to get dirty.” Still, the thought of a hot soak was welcome indeed, and if part of living here meant she got to have one each day, Rose was not going to complain.

  After she had refreshed herself and the comb had finished restoring her hair, Rose meandered around the room, examining its changed features with interest. The dressing table from that morning was gone, replaced by a window seat covered in an intricately embroidered cushion that depicted a knight on a hunt.

  On the wall near the door stretched an array of shelves bearing gold statues as long as her forearm. Rose tried to lift one for a closer look, but found she could not—it was too heavy. She leaned forward instead and let her gaze rove over the figures. There was a man in a regal crown and an elegant woman with a weary expression. There were fairies and youths, and one statue that was too horrible to look at for long. Rose knew it had to be a ghastly and wondered why such a beautiful room would possess such a repulsive figurine.

  Next to the ghastly was the statue of a young man who seemed at first glance to be particularly striking, but whose face was contorted with such emotion that Rose found it nearly as difficult to gaze upon as the ghastly. Averting her eyes, she looked instead at the final statue on the shelf. Her breath caught as she recognized the familiar eyes, the cascading hair, and the twin scars etched upon the statue’s cheeks.

  “Impossible!” she choked, even as her hand scrabbled urgently for the door. She found the door ring and pulled, stumbling ungracefully from the room. Slamming the door shut behind her, Rose slumped against it in relief.

  How can there be a statue of me? It has to be the magic. But why?

  Rose’s mind whirled with potential answers, each more frightening than the next. Did all those figures represent people who had suffered a fate similar to her own? Was she merely the latest in a long line of captives of the beast?

  A shudder ran through Rose as her mind flashed back to the contorted face of the young man. What must he have endured to make him look that way?

  Rose glanced toward the corridor window, wishing she dared to flee the Beast’s lodge and all that it contained. She had begun to hope that afternoon that life here might not be so bad, but the statue had reminded her sharply that this was not her home, nor was she the guest of some generous if unseen lord. A Beast ruled here, and who knew what terrors he might have in store?

  The rafters creaked overhead, and Rose suddenly knew that the Beast was watching her again. Panic seized her anew, and before he could say anything, she hastily threw open her bedroom door. To her relief, the golden interior was gone and its adornments were now varying shades of blue, with nary a shelf nor a statue to be seen.

  With a sigh that was almost a sob, Rose sealed the door shut behind her and without further delay, climbed into bed. Drawing the covers up over her head, she curled inside their soft cocoon as though the fragile sheets could somehow protect her from this strange place. Slowly, her breathing steadied and she gradually stopped shaking, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Rose deliberately slept late the next morning, and even after rising, she lingered in her room until a crystalline chime pealed through the lodge, announcing that dinner was ready. Knowing there was no point in further delaying the inevitable, Rose drew in a deep breath and tiptoed out into the corridor.

  She had just made it to the head of the stairs when the Beast’s voice boomed out, “Good morning.”

  Despite being on guard for his presence, the Beast’s sudden greeting—a harsh snarl, in spite of its gentility—made Rose jump.

  “G–Good morning,” she stuttered, the anxiety that had haunted her all night making her voice crack.

  “I am glad to see you up and well. I was concerned for you last night. Was everything all right?” the Beast inquired carefully.

  “Perfectly well, thank you,” Rose replied. As if she would dare answer otherwise!

  “That is good,” the Beast said. Rose nodded and began to descend the stairs, but the Beast persisted, “I would like to watch you dine, if that is agreeable with you. Just during dinner. I will not bother you any other time.”

  Rose froze. “I thought you said I would not ever see you?”

  “Nor will you now. I will watch you from the rafters, as I am doing here.”

  And that is disturbing enough, Rose thought, but she dared not refuse him. “As you wish. My life is at your command.”

  “No, Rose. It is mine which is at yours.”

  His response confused Rose, and she mentally shook her head, unable to fathom the Beast’s intent. How could a creature who demanded her captivity speak to her so civilly, even servilely? It made no sense—but then, nothing about this place did.

  Choosing not to reply, she finished stepping down the stairs. The groaning of the rafters overhead told her that the Beast was moving as well.

  “Do you not dress for dinner?” he inquired abruptly.

  To what purpose? Rose almost asked. Instead, she said, “I only own one other dress, and it is even less suitable than this.”

  The Beast gave a rumble that could have been either irritation or repressed laughter. “Then we must make you something more fitting.”

  They had arrived at the hall. Rose looked in and saw that the stone ceiling had been replaced by slats of wood, and understood now how the Beast would watch her eat without being seen. Did that mean he could change all the ceilings to fit his will—had he perhaps changed hers while she was sleeping, or worse, observed her while she bathed?

  “Are—can you change all the rooms?” she inquired timorously.

  “No, just this one. The others are their own masters,” the Beast replied.

  Rose breathed a little easier. She supposed he could be lying, but why would he? If he chose to spy on her, she could not stop him. There was no reason for him to tell her an untruth.

  Feeling slightly calmer, she sat down at the table. The meal this time was wild fowl, dumplings dusted with cinnamon, stuffed pastries, and a bowl of pine nut candy mixed with raisins. Rose’s eyes widened at the abundance of exotic foods, and she wondered for a brief instant whether the Beast was there to ensure she ate properly—if his pleasantry was just a cover while he fattened her up for the slaughter.

  Aware of his scrutiny through the slats of the ceiling, she served herself smaller portions than she might have done were she eating alone. Rose closed her eyes and bowed her head for a silent invocation, but was interrupted by a query from the Beast.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rose looked up in surprise. “Have you never seen someone give thanks before they dine?”

  The Beast’s reply was soft and seemed laced with sadness, “It has passed beyond memory if I have. Besides, it has been many years since I have had something to truly give thanks for.”

  Rose felt her heart soften slightly at his wo
rds, and some of the dread that had been haunting her all morning started to dissipate.

  “Then I will give thanks for us both.”

  The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, and Rose found it easy to pretend the Beast was not there at all. She was just taking a last sip of wine when suddenly he spoke up.

  “Do you think you could be happy here?”

  Rose nearly choked. Coughing, she set down her goblet and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her mind scrambling for a response. What could she say that would not offend her captor?

  “This place has many marvels, and I would be remiss indeed if I did not take pleasure from them,” she cautiously replied.

  “I am glad,” the Beast said, and the abrupt groaning of the rafters made Rose imagine he had risen to his feet. “I will leave you now. Until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow,” Rose replied, trying not to feel threatened by the promise.

  * * * * *

  Ari felt almost cheerful as he curled up in the rafters to wait out the day. She likes it here! She is pleased with the lodge. It is finer than anything she has ever known.

  These thoughts and more tumbled merrily through his head as Ari closed his eyes.

  He had decided.

  He would not give up his Rose.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hoping to forget her anxiety in the calming balm of melody, Rose made her way back up to the Music Room. When she opened the door, however, a colossal balcony with white stone columns and upholstered settees met her gaze. Faint strains of music drifted through the air, but not one instrument remained to be seen.

  Naturally, Rose thought with a tinge of bitterness, shutting the door again. She opened it once more, expecting the scene to have transformed, but to her surprise, the contents remained the same. She tried once more, but the balcony endured.

  I will have to ask the Beast about it tomorrow, she decided at last in disappointment. There must be a logic to the way these rooms change. Perhaps there is a way to get back the ones I like.

  Rose considered her other options. There were three more doors on this side of the staircase, and three in the corridor opposite, not counting her own bedroom. From the exterior, she could not tell what sort of chambers they might contain.

  “Only one way to find out,” Rose declared, seizing the next door ring and pushing it open.

  Magnificent stone ridges soared toward the sky, a maze of rusty reds, pale pinks, and tan stripes that seemed to curve and flow against the blue firmament like streams of water. Rose stepped toward one wall and gently touched it—the rough rock scraped against her fingertips, its gritty texture at odds with its silky appearance. Wind ruffled her hair as it wafted through the warren of rocks, whisking some strands from her bun to tickle against her neck.

  For a moment, Rose wondered whether she had somehow been magically transported to a distant place, and she quickly spun back around the way she had come. To her relief, the door stood open right behind her, the corridor clearly visible on the other side.

  With her eyes fixed on the door, Rose took a few cautious steps further into the room, one hand guiding her way as she rounded a bend in the rocks. The door seemed to follow her, and Rose breathed a little easier. As much as she might wish herself away from the lodge, she wished herself stranded in an unknown land even less.

  Checking over her shoulder occasionally to make sure the door was still visible, Rose wandered through the labyrinth of stone, marveling at its splendor. In some places, the rocks were curved into hollows, while in others they were weathered into great arches that soared overhead in breathtaking beauty. At times, the walls drew close together in thin passages whose winding colors made Rose feel like she was at the center of a marvelous flower.

  The splendor was overwhelming, and Rose found herself clasping her hands with the pleasure of it.

  Do you think you could be happy here? the Beast’s question echoed softly through her mind.

  All at once, she felt guilty, as though by appreciating the beauty of the place, she was somehow betraying her family. Yet surely that was foolish—surely they would not want her to spend her days here in misery. If they could see the grandeur of this rocky chasm, surely they would enjoy it as much as she did.

  But they would never see it—and she would never see her family—or Darren—again.

  It was as if the walls had suddenly closed in around her, suffocating her with the knowledge that she would never hear his loved ones’ voices or feel their arms around her again. She was completely and utterly alone.

  I would trade a lifetime of splendor if it meant I might spend even one more day at home, she wished silently, resting her head against the rough rock. For the first time since arriving at the Beast’s lodge, Rose let herself truly cry.

  After what seemed like hours—long after the gentle wind had dried her tears into nothingness and her eyes had ceased to sting—Rose finally returned through the door. It was strange and slightly disorienting to find herself suddenly back in the lodge, and she had to stand still for a moment to readjust to her surroundings. The golden rays streaming through the corridor window told her it was late afternoon. If she were at home, she would be helping to prepare the family’s supper, but here she had no tasks to do—nothing to divert her mind from her situation except exploration.

  “What wonders do you hold for me?” she asked softly as she opened the next chamber. A bright, sunlit room met her gaze. Large windows stretched across the far wall, allowing the daylight to enter and illuminate the room. Even so, there were still candles—actual candles, not just rushlights—burning in racks throughout the chamber. The floor was covered in cushions and rugs, but the walls were covered with shelves full of books.

  Rose picked one volume at random off a shelf, caressing the smooth hide of its cover in amazement. Very gently, she opened the book, causing the parchment to crackle beneath her fingertips. Curling symbols covered the pages, their lines neat and perfectly spaced. The borders were beautifully decorated in a bevy of colors, and some even seemed to have been painted with gold.

  Rose reverently placed the book back on the shelf and took down another. This time, there were ink pictures in addition to the symbols, and she flipped from page to page, examining the illustrations she found. The first image showed a young woman dancing with a suitor, though Rose could not fathom why the lady’s expression seemed so unhappy. Another picture showed the same woman in the process of cutting her hair, while a third drawing depicted a hooded figure clutching a bow. Rose wished she knew the story the book told, but the pictures were too infrequent for that, and Rose did not know how to read.

  Reluctantly, she lay the book on a low table that was nearly obscured by the piles of cushions around it. It had to be nearly time for supper, and there was still one more room in the corridor she had yet to see—she wanted to peek inside it before the bell could call her to eat.

  Though if the rooms keep changing, I suppose I will need to explore them again and again, she realized. At least my life here will not be boring.

  Rose grasped the door ring for the final room and then withdrew her hand with a gasp. The ring was like ice, biting and harsh. Rose cast an uneasy glance out the window, but the sun was still well above the horizon. There was no reason the handle should be so cold.

  “Perhaps, I imagined it,” she murmured out loud. Sure enough, when she gripped the door ring a second time, the metal was merely cool and no longer piercing to the touch.

  There, you see? Nothing odd at all, Rose comforted herself. You are letting this place get the better of you.

  Even so, she hesitated, finding herself oddly unwilling to open the door. Then the clear chime of a bell cut through her thoughts. Supper was ready.

  Just a quick glance, Rose decided, opening the door before she could think better of it.

  She gasped again, this time in delight. Clouds swirled around her as she stepped inside, their almost palpable wisps lit gold and pink and orange by the ray
s of an evening sun. Rose could see no floor beneath her feet, only amber mists and the occasional glimpse of blue sky. She felt as if she were flying!

  “Rose, Rose! Get out of there!” a distant voice called. Rose turned to look toward the door, and in that instant, the clouds darkened and all light vanished from the room. Even the corridor was no longer visible.

  “Beast!” she blamed, angry that he had destroyed such beauty. A high cackling filled the room, and Rose felt her anger shift into fear. That laugh was not the Beast’s.

  Wind whipped past her face so fast that it stole her air and left her dizzy. In the darkness, something struck her hard, and Rose cried out in pain. It struck her again and again like the buffet of a giant wing, and Rose tried to duck away, only to be jerked back as though something had her within its grasp.

  “Beast!” she cried again, this time in desperation. She had recognized the darkness—the terror—the hurt. This was her Dream made real. Sharp claws raked down her face, and Rose screamed as her cheeks erupted in an agony of fire. She pulled away, and then she was falling, falling.

  “Rose! Rose!” she thought she heard the Beast cry, but it was too late—there was no way he could save her now. She knew what was coming, and this was no Dream she could safely wake up from. This time when she hit the ground, she would die.

  * * * * *

  Rose opened her eyes. She was lying on her bed, one hand resting beneath her head. Had it only been a dream after all?

  No, it had been far, far too real. Her cheeks still ached with the memory of it, and as she sat up, she traced the path of the pain with her fingers, feeling anew the scars it trailed. Yet they bore no fresh injury, no new damage. When she took her hands away, no blood stained her fingertips. How could such hurt leave no physical trace unless it had been only in her head?

  The floorboards creaked, and Rose froze as she realized someone else was in the room with her, hidden from view by the lowered bed curtains.