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

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  * * * * *

  Once the bird was finally full, the Beast excused himself to go hunting, and Rose took the opportunity to finish exploring the rooms upstairs. She had avoided new chambers ever since she had encountered the Dark Place, but today seemed a good day for facing her fears—especially now that she had Pesk by her side. Heart pounding, Rose opened the door to the room next to hers, but its contents proved anticlimactic—merely another sleeping solar. The chamber after was much the same. The third and last room in the corridor, however, was something else altogether.

  Mirrors greeted Rose on every side as she stepped through the door. Even the ceiling and the floor were mirrors, reflecting every angle of her aspect. Wavy blonde hair reached midway down her back, and Rose noticed that some streaks seemed to shine more golden than the rest, like rays of a noontide sun. Her skin was lightly tanned from years spent outside, yet somehow still free of freckles or coarseness. Her body was lithe but strong, its curves and hollows accentuated by the cut of her azure dress. Her posture was straight and unaffected a youth spent working on her family’s farm, and made Rose appear taller than she actually was.

  “If only Darren could see me now,” she murmured, thinking how his eyes would alight to see her so bedecked—blue was his favorite color.

  Rose crossed further into the room, and all of a sudden, her reflections vanished and she found herself back in her home. Pesk’s sharp yip echoed her surprise.

  “Father!” Rose cried in amazement. He was sitting at the table repairing the handle of a sickle. Aunt Tess stood nearby, stuffing pastries for a meal. Neither of them looked up at Rose’s exclamation. “Father?” Rose reached a hand to touch him, but encountered an invisible barrier before she could.

  Puzzled, Rose slid her hands along the hard surface, then crouched down and felt a sharp edge where it joined with the floor. A tear trickled down one cheek as she realized she was not in her house after all, but was merely witnessing a scene in the mirrors—so clear and lifelike, she had thought it was real.

  “She seems big for a newborn,” Aunt Tess spoke, startling Rose. Swiftly, she stood up and gazed at the image of her aunt, desperate to hear her speak again.

  “Rose was born late, and the journey here took some time,” Mercer commented blandly. Hearing her father’s voice seemed to shatter something within Rose, and a flood of misery and homesickness washed through her. Lost in a tide of emotion, Rose sought to devour every detail of her family, noticing for the first time that Mercer’s face was less lined than she remembered, and his hair had no grey. Her aunt, too, looked far younger than she recalled.

  “Tell me again how she got those scars on her face,” Aunt Tess demanded, fixing Mercer with a piercing gaze. Rose’s hands flew up to her cheeks.

  Her father replied in an offhand tone, “I told you already. On our journey here, I set her basket down so I could buy some provisions, and all of a sudden, she began to wail. I turned around to see a large crow standing on her face with its beak in her hair—you know how it shines in the sun, and crows like sparkly things. Anyway, I chased the bird away, but it gouged her cheeks when it took flight.”

  Aunt Tess snorted, her expression clearly skeptical. “She is lucky it did not gouge out an eye. Still, crows aside, her hair does shine quite brilliantly. It is strange that Rose has such golden locks when yours are so dark, and your wife’s hair was red.”

  “I seem to recall that Katara’s mother was blonde.”

  Before Aunt Tess could answer, the scene faded, and Rose was left staring at her own reflections once more.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “No!” she gasped, desperate to reclaim the vision of her family. Yet no matter how much she ordered the room to show them to her—no matter how many times she opened and closed the door—she could not get the mirrors to display anything other than her reflection.

  That night as she cuddled next to Pesk, Rose replayed the scene over and over in her mind, memorizing every detail of her family’s faces and pondering the questions her aunt had raised—questions that Rose had never thought to ask before.

  She awakened at first light and leaving Pesk slumbering on her bed, hastened to the Mirror Room. As before, her reflections surrounded her as she stepped into the room, but the instant her feet reached the middle of the chamber, her likenesses vanished and another scene took their place.

  Dense trees surrounded her on all sides, the afternoon sun scarcely able to seep through the thick foliage and reach the forest floor. Rose frowned—she wanted to see her family, not landscape!

  “How far should we go?” Chase’s voice spoke from behind her, and Rose whipped around to see her sisters traversing a thin forest path. They were walking close together and shooting quick, nervous glances at the trees. Rose drank in the sight of her sisters, noting with dismay their drawn faces and the dark shadows under their eyes.

  “I told Father we would be in town until evening. We can keep walking for a while longer,” Adara replied

  “You know we are not supposed to be here,” Chase said. “He will be furious if he finds out.”

  “Looking for Rose was your idea.”

  “I know,” Chase shrugged. “I just thought there might be some clue, some trail she may have left for us to find. It seems so hopeless now. I mean, Father and Darren have already scoured the woods—if they could not find her, how can we?”

  “We are her sisters. We cannot give up hope.”

  “You make it sound so easy, but our whole village thinks she is dead.”

  Adara rounded on Chase. “Never say that! Never believe that! Rose is alive. She has to be.”

  Chase shrank back, her eyes wide. “I want to believe you, you know I do! But sometimes . . . sometimes I cannot. What if she is dead and no one ever knows it—no one ever sings the song of mourning for her?” her voice broke.

  Adara drew her sister into her arms, and together they wept. Rose found herself crying, too, and wished with all her heart that she could reach through the mirror to comfort them. “I am alive! I am well! Do not worry for me,” she sobbed, but they could not hear her.

  The scene ended all too soon, leaving Rose feeling empty and alone. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she headed toward her bedroom, but pulled up short in surprise. The Beast was just leaving her chamber, holding the fledgling in one paw.

  His eyes widened at the sight of her tear-streaked face, but tactfully he ignored it, nodding instead toward the bird. “I heard it squalling and wanted to see if you needed help. Your door was open, but you were not there, so I figured I would try to feed it on my own,” he explained.

  Rose nodded. “I—I will join you in moment,” she said, sniffing.

  The Beast nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”

  * * * * *

  Ari forced himself not to look up as Rose and Pesk entered the kitchen. Instead, he concentrated on spearing a berry with one claw. Having succeeded, he held it out to the bird, who pulled the fruit off quickly and then begged for more. It pleased Ari to feed such a small, fragile creature and not have it cower away from him in fear.

  He sensed Rose squatting down beside him and risked a look at her out of the corner of his eye. Her nose was still red and her eyes were puffy, but otherwise she looked composed.

  “What did you see?” Ari asked, his gaze ostensibly fixed on the bird.

  Rose was silent for a long moment. “My sisters looking for me. They fear I am dead.”

  Ari swallowed and ducked his head. Her family’s misery was his fault. Was Rose regretting her offer of friendship now?

  “Is—is what I saw real?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Ari nodded. “The mirrors show what was and what is, and possibly what will be—usually choosing scenes that are somehow important to the viewer. In my experience, they have always been true.”

  Rose did not reply, just reached into the bowl and picked up a large raspberry, feeding it absently to the fledgling.

  “
Rose,” Ari said, reaching out one paw and carefully turning her face towards his own. It was the first time he had deliberately touched her, and in spite of Pesk’s warning growl, Ari could not help the thrill that rushed through him at the contact.

  Rose met his gaze without flinching, her blue eyes boring into his in a way that made his breath catch.

  “Rose,” he repeated, “the Mirror Room can be enticing, but you must be careful. It is not good to spend too much time dwelling on wants beyond your reach. Believe me, I know.”

  She cocked a curious brow. “Really? What sort of things do you want?”

  Ari drew back, afraid to answer. What did he want? His family . . . his throne . . . a chance to meet his younger brothers . . . to finally look human again . . . . The list went on and on.

  “A friend,” he said at last.

  Rose blinked at him, the expression in her eyes ranging from surprise to compassion. “Well, you have one now,” she said.

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon, Rose and Pesk were coming down to dinner when the Beast stopped them at the foot of the stairs.

  “I thought we might do things a little differently today,” he said, appearing oddly nervous as he shifted from side to side. “I have prepared something special for you.”

  His behavior intrigued Rose. “What is it?”

  “Come with me.”

  He led her to the hall and opened the door, then gestured her inside.

  Gone was the resplendent chamber with its long trestle table and roaring fireplace. Instead, Rose stepped onto rolling dunes of black sand. A white sun spread its warmth from high overhead, and a cobalt blue sky stretched in all directions, touching down upon the waves of an azure ocean.

  “The sea!” Rose gasped, running toward it and dunking her hands into the water. Pesk echoed her, prancing about the froth in delighted abandon. “It is so cold!” She brought one hand up to her mouth and tentatively licked a fingertip. “And salty!”

  Eagerly, she kicked off her shoes and gathered up her skirts, striding knee-deep into the waves.

  “My father used to tell me stories about the sea!” she called to the Beast, who was watching her from the doorway. “I never imagined it would look so vast. And the sound!” Rose listened in wonder to the crashing of waves upon the shore and the dull roaring of swells that never ceased, like the swift susurration of her heart.

  “It pleases you,” the Beast said with a happy growl.

  “Oh, yes!” Rose laughed. “Though I suppose I am not being very proper, am I?” she indicated her exposed knees with a grin.

  “I do not mind, and there is no one else here to care,” the Beast replied.

  Her smile faltered. “Yes, I know.”

  In her mind, Rose could almost hear Chase’s teasing comments and Adara’s scandalized rebukes at her wanton behavior, and she wished more than anything that they were there to share this experience with her. But the Beast was right, dwelling on what she could not have only made her sad. Better to enjoy this moment while it lasted.

  More somber now, she stepped back onto the beach. Pesk joined after a moment, spraying her with glistening droplets as he shook the ocean from his fur.

  The Beast was now no longer standing by the door, but had instead moved over to a scarlet sheet that was lying in sharp contrast upon the black sand. Steaming tureens, bowls of fruit, and dishes of meat announced the Beast’s intention. Rose smiled at his picturesque gesture.

  “Now this is a delight. Whatever gave you the idea?” she asked, settling down onto the cloth.

  “I read something similar once in a book, and I wanted to do it for you,” he replied, sitting down as well.

  Rose gaped at him. “You can read?”

  He nodded. “Of course. One of the rooms upstairs often becomes a library. It has many wonderful books. I will show you some of my favorites if you like.”

  Rose looked away. “I have seen it. But unlike you, I cannot read.”

  “Really?” the Beast sounded intrigued. “How come your tutor did not teach you?”

  Rose gave a derisive laugh. “Tutor? I am a peasant! Neither I nor my sisters can read. My father and aunt can—their parents ran a mercantile, and it was necessary to keep records. Now that they are farmers, though, there is no need. Besides, even if I could read, only nobles can afford to buy a book for pleasure!”

  The Beast listened to her expound, his expression unreadable. Beneath his weighty gaze, Rose felt herself unexpectedly flushing. She busied herself filling her plate so she would not have to look at him.

  “Would you like me to teach you?” the Beast offered after a long pause.

  Rose felt her pulse quicken at the invitation. “You would do that?” she breathed.

  He nodded, his green eyes shining. “It would be my pleasure.”

  The knowledge that he could read and was willing to teach her both excited and bewildered Rose. How was it that a Beast—however magical—could think and act so much like a human?

  “Beast, did you—were you—once a man?” she blurted out as an idea abruptly occurred to her.

  The Beast tensed, then slowly relaxed again. “I have never been a man,” he answered in flat tone.

  “Oh.” Rose was perplexed. “A fairy?”

  “No.”

  “Surely not a ghastly!”

  “Never!” the Beast snarled. “I am what you see.”

  “But you seem so human!”

  Now it was the Beast who looked away. “It is kind of you to say so. Few ever see me as anything but a beast.”

  Rose reached out and laid one hand upon his paw. “I am learning you are much more than that,” she said softly.

  The Beast gazed at her, and once again, Rose was struck by the emotion in his vivid green eyes.

  “Rose, I—I want to ask you something. Could you—would you . . . .”

  His voice abruptly faltered, and he ducked his head away.

  Rose gazed at the Beast, fascinated by his strange behavior. “Could I what?”

  His voice was the merest whisper, “Marry me?”

  Rose jerked back with a start, knocking into her plate with her hand and tipping its contents onto the sand.

  “Marry you?”

  The question confused and alarmed her. How could the Beast ask her that? Or had that, too, been in the book he had read—a picnic on the beach and then a proposal to follow? She hoped so—otherwise, his query was too disturbing even to contemplate. He had just admitted he was only an animal, after all!

  Rose’s mind flashed to Darren, who for all his talk about a life together, had never actually asked to marry him. He should have been the one to pose that question, not the Beast!

  Anger suffused her cheeks with a rosy bloom, but she battled it down, remembering afresh that for all the Beast’s kindness, he was still her captor. Though he had only ever been kind to her, there was much she did not know about him. She did not want to risk arousing his wrath.

  “No, Beast. I cannot,” she declined as evenly as she could. “What you ask is impossible.”

  He dropped his eyes and dipped his head in a curt nod. “Of course. You are quite right—forgive me for being so foolish.” Abruptly, he rose to his feet. I must go now. Enjoy your meal.”

  He turned away so fast that he almost stepped on Pesk, who was lounging nearby. Rose stared after the Beast as he vanished out the door, her heart twisting at the unhappiness she had heard in his voice.

  “In spite of everything, I pity him,” she murmured to her pet. “It is as if he wants to be more than he is—though of course, he can never be. How sad that one with the heart of a man should be bound to the form of a beast!”

  EPILOGUE

  “You certainly took your time,” Moraga rebuked, not bothering to turn around.

  Liliath frowned at her thankless welcome and carefully placed the parcel she was carrying on the large stone slab in the middle of the cave.

  “Well, what did you expect?” she retorted. “
I had to journey on foot after all.”

  Not getting to fly still vexed Liliath, but that was the price of their scheme—no one must see it was a fairy who was pilfering magical artifacts. Of course, if the ghastly would just allow her to use magic, she could make such trips almost instantly and with no one the wiser! But Liliath understood why Moraga insisted she conserve her power—even now, it blazed within Liliath stronger than ever, thanks to her three years’ dedicated preservation. By the time the ghastly’s spell on the princess came to fruition, Liliath would have enough magic stored to demolish any foe that attempted to interfere with their plan.

  “Spare me your excuses,” Moraga sneered, turning around. “You were late because you insisted on sparing that man’s life and nearly got caught as a consequence.”

  Liliath stiffened, and her eyes darted to the old maritime spy glass leaning against an outcropping of rock. As long as Moraga knew where to command its gaze, the glass let the ghastly see whatever was happening there. She had been watching her again!

  “I promised to serve you. I never promised to kill for you,” Liliath snapped.

  Moraga’s silver gaze was piercing. “What if I had asked that of you? Would you have kept your pledge and obeyed?”

  Liliath had wondered the same thing, but she knew better than to say so. “I am a fairy. Fairies do not break their word.”

  “Ah, but you are no mere fairy,” Moraga replied, her eyes boring into Liliath’s as though she could see through to her very soul. Liliath lifted her chin and held her gaze, and at last the ghastly gave a small smirk of satisfaction—apparently approving of whatever it was she had found there. Striding over to where the parcel lay, Moraga uncapped the leather case Liliath had brought and reverently removed the artifact inside.

  “The Luck of Ædenhill,” she breathed, holding the glass aloft so that the dim torchlight refracted through the transparent cup, illuminating the gilded scrollwork and tendrils of design decorating its length. In spite of having been fashioned centuries before, the ornate glass was completely unscathed, its ethereal beauty contrasting sharply with the ghastly’s gnarled hand.