by E. J. Powell
When I reach the landing, I glance to my left and see a dead end. I turn to the right and have to squint through my line of sight to find a simple door at the end of the hall. My heart begins to beat like a drum. The west wing.
I hesitate when I near the door. There’s a draft coming from behind the closed door, which leads me to believe that there must be a window open, and very few rooms have windows open in this weather. There was a fine layer of snow coating the grounds when I had last checked out the window. On the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, it was only merely summer. Now, inside the Forbidden Forest, in an estate ruled by a monster and a thief, it is winter. The Forbidden Forest has a different weather pattern, always the opposite from the outside world.
Reaching out, I touch the handle, and give it a hard yank. The wooden door creaks open on squeaky iron hinges, and it’s pitch black inside the room. I swallow back my fear and straighten my spine as I move into the room, the door shutting me in, keeping me from running away.
“Hello? Milord?” I asked softly, glancing around. I stumble into something and almost lose my balance. Reaching out my hands in the dark, I spy a few feet away what I assume is an opened up set of glass doors that leads outside to a balcony. Once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I turned around to see what I’d almost tripped over. A broken table?
I frown, shaking my head and look around. The dark curtains that are swaying in the breeze are ripped to shreds. The furniture in the room is broken into shards of wood and marble scattered across the floor, like a maze so that I have to deliberately watch where I step for fear of injuring my good foot. The bed, pushed up against the wall to my right, is empty, and I let out a low sigh of relief when I realize he’s not in the room.
Turning back towards the balcony, I sidestep a broken chair and maneuver myself near the balcony doors and see a flash of red on the side of his bed that I hadn't seen from the door I'd come through. I reach out to steady myself against the four-poster king-size bed, and squint when I see the color red encased in a glass dome.
Blinking in surprise, I reach out to touch the glass and hear loud footsteps behind me. Startled, I whirled around, wincing at the pain in my injured ankle briefly as the beast roars his protest at me. I gasp, as he shouts for me to get out. I turn, nearly galloping like a colt learning how to run for the first time, as I fly out of his room, and down the stairs.
I do not know how I managed to find my chamber before I barricade myself and move the heavy dresser near the bed to stand guard in front of the doors. I hear loud banging, and I flinch backwards, moving towards the only small window across the room. “Bella? Bella, come out this instant!” The beast pounds on the door.
“Go away!” I shout back, wondering where the bravery has come from. Now that I’ve figured out where he is keeping the rose, I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m just grateful that I managed to find it in a single day.
“You’d better come out or . . .” He stops.
I narrow my eyes at the dresser, wishing that it will protect me. “Or what?” I yell out. But his footsteps walking away are my only answer. I slump against the window, almost wishing I could climb out of it. I won’t be able to leave until my ankle heals, even with the rose.
7
“Lady Bella, will you please allow me to come in?” the female gargoyle shouts from the other side of the door.
Unable to sleep, unable to eat, I’ve become a lunatic in the room. Barricading the door with a dresser had taken all my strength, and now I’ve become limp sitting on the bed like an overgrown pine tree, desperate for sunlight, warmth, and food. For the past two days, I’ve allowed no one to enter, even if my stomach is gnawing at my insides to eat. I refuse to allow the door to open in case the beast decides to torment me.
“Lady Bella?” Marymagglyn knocks on the door softly. “Please m’lady, you must eat something.”
I wipe a shaky hand across my face, unable to sit still, unable to stop my body from trembling from the cold. Even the blankets have little warmth to offer, and I still refuse to light the hearth for fear of the flames. “I am well, please leave me be,” I croak out. I hear the female gargoyle sighed loudly, before the clicking of her claws against the stone floor goes away.
“This is ridiculous!” he snaps, though the female gargoyle just allows the beast to stave off his temper. “She is going to die if she doesn’t get food!” He growls loudly.
“You frightened her, milord. She wouldn’t be acting this way if you hadn't told her to get out,” Marymagglyn points out and the beast growled bitterly.
“I had no choice. She almost touched the rose. If anything happened to it . . .,” he trails off, clenching his teeth, and looks away from the gargoyle that resembles so much a mother that it causes his chest to ache.
“I know, milord. Perhaps talk to the girl; she’s afraid. Get to know her better, and for all that is good and holy, control your temper!” she snaps, and the Lord of the estate nods, before taking a deep breath and going up to the girl’s room.
He hesitates before knocking on the door. “Bella?” When she doesn’t answer, he knocks a little louder and says her name again. When she doesn’t answer again, he begins to worry, and after several more attempts, he pounds his fists against the wood doors until they give way and the dresser topples forward.
The beast saunters into the room and growls loudly, spying the girl curled up on the bed, pale as the snow on the ground. He strolls forward and picks her up, turns, and leaps out of the bedchamber, hurrying down the stairs to the servants’ quarters.
When he arrives, he places himself in a chair, still carrying Bella bridal style and is given some broth to help Bella regain her strength. Her body feels cold against his warm fur, and he gently spoons the broth into her mouth, with his clawed hands. She is unconsciously unaware that he is holding her and feeding her.
Eventually, after feeding the girl, he takes her to his room, no longer concerned about why she’d dared to walk into the west wing. He lays her on the torn bed and crouches near the edge, keeping a watchful eye on her. He doesn’t even bother to notice that the red rose that he was so protective of, had lost another petal.
8
Three days have come and gone, the lord of the estate always brings me my food, and spoon feeds me as if I am a child. Although I am too weak to lift up my arms and too weary to do much of anything else other than to barely sit up, I do not mind that he is tending to my needs, especially after the way he spooked me like a frightened doe.
“Do you need anything else?” His voice is soft, gentle even, as he holds the small pottery bowl that had been filled with some broth and vegetables.
I go to shake my head but then hesitate. “Um,” my cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I do have a small request.”
“Name it, and it is yours,” he answers quickly, blue eyes blinking rapidly. His bedchamber has been lit with candles and now it does not seem quite as dark as it had been before. The floors have been swept clean of debris, and the doors to the balcony have been closed shut. I stare at him, before biting my lower lip, thinking about what could possibly take the longest to get him out of the room long enough for me to take the rose.
“A book,” I blurted out.
He raises a bushy eyebrow, tilting his head. “You read?” He looks at me in surprise when I nod. “Anything in particular?”
“I will read anything,” I mumbled shyly. It is true that I love to read; my adventures never ceased to amaze me with where the books took me to far away lands. It was my only safe haven, until the village burned down, and I became a prisoner here in this estate without actually being considered a prisoner.
He nods before turning towards the door. “Oh, before I forget. I have prepared for us to ride later on this afternoon, if you feel up to it.”
“A ride?” I perk up, loving the idea of being able to ride a horse. I glance at my foot and try not to frown. “Will my ankle be well enough?”
“You won’t get bet
ter lying in my bed,” he says, and my cheeks flush crismon with the knowledge. I had been trying not to think too much about it, with my being in his bed. The thought alone was scandalous!
“I apologize, my lord. I will try to get well soon,” I mumbled meekly.
The beast chuckles as he moves closer to the door, but still allowing me to see his face. “I do not see why not. As prince of this fine castle it is my job to be sure that you heal properly.”
I straighten up against the pillows, my eyes widening in surprise. “You’re a prince?” When he gives me an odd look, my cheeks flush crimson again. “I mean. . . . .Uh . . . ,” I stop, ashamed of the fact that here I am lying in a prince’s bed, and I hadn’t even been made aware of it!
The beast nods, but doesn’t bother to comment on my odd behavior. “Yes, I suppose I was afraid you would hold it against me, were I someone less below than my social status.”
I bow my head, averting my gaze. “I meant no offense . . . Your highness.”
He scoffs, “Do not bother with formalities. I despise being what I am.”
“You do?” I lift up my head, my eyebrows pulling together into a frown. “Why?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head, ruffling his fur in the mix. “It does not matter. I cannot change the past.” He turns to head out the door, before adding, “I shall retrieve your book.” Then he closes the door behind him.
I lean against the pillows. Perhaps he feels guilty for taking the witch’s rose? If a prince has so much to offer, why did he take the rose from the witch, and why is he a beast?
9
As soon as the beast prince shuts the door to his chambers, I push the coverlet off of me, and throw my legs over the edge. I wince at the sharp pain when my feet touch the cool marble and I stand up, having to lean against the bedpost. The prince had moved the rose before I came to lie in his bed, and now I would have to begin my search all over again, it would seem.
Scowling at myself for being clumsy, I limp around the room. I check behind the new drapes, out on the balcony, and the two little boxes on either side of the bed, it only contained a private small book and a candle wick. Mumbling under my breath, I climb back into bed.
The beastly prince returns moments later, a book in his hand. I lean against the pillows as he strolls in and hands the book to me. “Thank you,” I say, accepting it with a smile, although on the inside, I am furious with him for hiding the rose.
“You’re welcome. I hope the book is to your liking?” he asks, tilting his head.
I glance down at the cover spine and read the title. Poetry by a Fair Lady. My gaze goes to the prince. “Poetry?”
He shuffles on his feet, clearly embarrassed. His blue eyes flash with a look that I am not expecting. “I hope you do not mind. It is my favorite.”
I pull the book to my chest, biting my lower lip. “It is mine as well.” The beastly prince beams. “I promise to care for the book.”
“Keep it, it is yours,” he says.
I blink in surprise. “Thank you, Your Highness!” I hug the book closer. After the fire started, I was unable to retrieve not just my family, but the few possessions I had. This particular book had been on my pillow after I had gone to clear my head about what to do with Grant and my betrothal.
“Augustine,” he says softly, though it sounds almost like a growl.
I look over at him, “What?” I furrow my eyebrows.
“My name is Augustine,” the beastly prince mumbles and turns to the door. “I will send Marymagglyn to help you prepare to ride.”
“Y-Yes, thank you . . . Augustine.” I blink in surprise as the door shuts. I lean against the pillows, still holding the book as if it could protect my heart. My heart thrums in my chest like a bird’s wings. “What is wrong with me?” I whisper and shake my head, opening up the book and began to read.
I want to forget about the rose and how evil Prince Augustine is supposedly to be.
“Ms. Bella?” a female gargoyle voice echoes out in the hallway.
I shut the book and shout for her to come in. Once Marymagglyn shuts the door, she turns to me, with a light blue riding dress. “Oh, the dress is lovely!” I exclaimed as she drapes the dress over the edge of the bed near my feet.
“I designed it especially for you, Ms. Bella.” Marymagglyn smiles, and her face crinkles up in happiness.
“It truly is lovely, but I cannot wear that while riding.” I say, even as she pulls the coverlet off me and has me stand. She pulls the nightgown over my head, and I stand there, naked, while she smooths out the wrinkles of the dress, then helps me put it on.
“Do not fret about such things.” Marymagglyn says as she moves behind me and laces up the back with her claws. “The dress is just the right fit!” Her claws clap together and create a little screeching noise of stone against stone. I wince, as she apologizes then moves in front of me. “Now, you are all ready to go riding! And once you return we shall wash you up and have you ready in no time.”
I furrow my eyebrows as she has me leaning on her for support as we make our way to the door. “In time for what, Marymagglyn?”
“I am not to utter a word! The Prince will tell you himself.” She smiles before escorting me down the stairs.
10
I have not felt this much freedom in such a long time. The wind whips against my face, and I close my eyes, tilting back my head. Sitting on my horse, letting him lead feels like heaven. Then my heart sinks when I realize that my family might never again feel such bliss. I somber and let my horse trot after Prince Augustine. It is hard to imagine that such an imposing creature had once been a prince, now forgotten among the stone walls and gargoyles belonging to his keep.
His shoulders are stiff beneath his heavy cloak that he has donned, and the hood is up, covering his horns, fur, and snout. Much as he had a week ago it seems like when he had rescued me from those hungry wolves that were going to devour me right outside his estate. I shudder to think if he had not gotten there in time, what could have become of me.
Snow dances on my eyelashes, as we urge the horses to a slow, steady trot. The heavy wet snow clinging to the skeletal tree branches high above our heads. My breath fogs whenever I part my lips, and I shiver in my thin cloak, wishing for the fur that is on the prince’s back. My cheeks flushed red, even as my poor ankle pounds. My body feels relieved that I do not have to move around as much as I am sitting on my mount, however, I know I will feel the pain of saddle bruises on my thighs once I climb off.
“My lord, where are we going?” I desperately want to ask him if we ought to turn back. We have urged the horses to climb up a small hill, and I fear that the horses might have a bit of trouble going back down the same way, even with all the extra snow that has seemed to never stop since I have arrived.
Prince Augustine turns his cloaked head towards me and says in a loud voice. “I want to show you something, do not fear, we shall not tarry long.” Then he turns back and urges his black stallion to move a bit faster, my horse keeping pace. I bite the inside of my cheek, even as he leads us to a small little outcropping field house just a few miles away.
I have to squint beneath my hood to even see the field house even as we approach closer. I am not sure as to why the prince has brought me here, but I will not show shame.
Prince Augustine helps me dismount, after being sure that the horses are tied up. The prince claims we will not tarry long at the field house, but that he has something he wants me to see. I am confused as to what he wants to show me, even as he helps escort me into the house, where the walls are comfortable and it is not freezing as it is outside. He leads me to a small wooden chair and helps me sit down, before going outside to check on the horses. When he returns, he shuts the door a little, and takes the empty space across from me.
“What did you wish for me to see?” I asked curiously.
Prince Augustine smiles, his snouting wrinkling and his teeth flashing in the dim lighting. “This.” He reaches underneath his
cloak and pulls out the most intricate piece of silver I have ever laid eyes on. He turns it over and hands it to me so that I might further inspect it.
“It is a looking glass!” I say, surprised. I brush my fingertips over the upraised vines and feel the rose on the back. My reflection looks haggard, awful even. Dark bruises underline my eyes, my dark-brown mousy hair is out of place even with the black hair net, and my brown eyes are wide.
“Yes. I received it when I was cursed,” Augustine says, and I lower the looking glass to study him.
“You were cursed,” I say the words slowly as if somehow it might cause him fear to talk about his past.
Augustine nods, his blue eyes are troubled, and I am not sure what he is thinking about. “Yes, I was cursed. I was at the prime of my youth, wanting nothing but the best. Even if my kingdom suffered for it.” He leans on his knees, staring at the wood floor. “I taxed the townspeople, so much so that they revolted against me, and sent a letter to neighboring kingdoms asking to rally against me, so that I might step down as their future king,” he says bitterly.
“How tragic,” I whisper. To know that his own people would try to forcefully have him step down was shocking. But how had he been cursed?
“The people won, and I stepped down from the throne. Running to the estate where I now live, I went into hiding. And then she came.” He sighs and shakes his head. Fur flying up into his eyes, but he does not seem to mind.
“She?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling together into a frown.
“Yes. ‘She’, more importantly named Sarabi. I thought her beautiful, until she cursed me.” Augustine looks sad and I wish to comfort him, but I do not know what I would say.