Thirty-Five
Zuleika's own reflection looked back. Nothing more. She sighed. "I only see myself, your Highness. There is nothing magical about your looking glass."
Vardan frowned. "That isn't possible." He breathed on the glass again. "Show me the crew of the Trinity," he commanded. "There! See?"
Zuleika inspected the mirror again. This time, the prince was right. The mirror showed a tiny boat, dwarfed by dark, wintry waves as the men huddled together for warmth. And there it was. Men, without a witch or woman among them. "I see the boat, but no witch."
Without warning, the prince's head was beside hers, so close their cheeks touched. "I believe you are right. Then where is she?"
Zuleika swallowed. I am here, she wanted to say, but she didn't want to spoil such a perfect evening. If anything, she wanted to return with him to the great hall, so that he might hold her in his arms while they danced the night away. Was it so wrong to want one more night?
He cupped her cheek, shifting so he could look into her eyes. "Lady Belle…"
She squeezed her eyes shut. If she stared into his soul any longer, she would be lost. "That is not my name." She wanted to tell him, if only to hear his say her name with the same adoration as he used for her nickname, but that would never happen. Her name on his lips. His lips…
"Then tell me," he whispered.
Zuleika seized his head in her hands and kissed him. Clumsily at first, for she had never kissed a man before, but then Vardan recovered from his surprise and kissed her back. Just as in the dance in the great hall, she followed his lead, until she was so breathless she had to stop.
"Lady…"
Zuleika shook her head. "My mother once told me to beware the man who could steal my breath with a kiss, for he would steal my heart, too, and I would be lost."
"You are not lost here. I have you, and this will be your home, if you wish it." Vardan's arms tightened around her. "It doesn't matter what your name is. Not to me. If you do not wish to tell me, you will be Lady Belle for as long as I live."
Madness had seized her. She could become Lady Belle in truth, as the prince kissed her breathless. "Yes," she murmured, lifting her lips for another kiss.
Another, and another, as their tongues twined in a couples' dance that was far more intimate than their last. Breathless, yet gasping, lost and also unmistakably found in the prince's arms, feeling none of winter's chill as his love warmed her from the inside in places she had never felt heat before. She kissed him harder, growing bolder as her hands slid over his shoulders to feel hard muscle under his tunic. "Oh, Vardan," she sighed, cuddling against his chest.
"So you will stay, my fearless lady?" he asked.
Zuleika lifted her gaze to his face. Her answer died on her lips as her eyes widened in horror. A scream ripped out of her throat as she tore away from him and ran.
Thirty-Six
Her lips were sweeter than spiced mead as she kissed him, and Vardan knew this was no dream. For a moment, he dared to let his mind wander from kissing her to wedding her to bedding her…
Then she looked at him and it all went to hell.
Her scream still rang in his ears, freezing him in place as she bolted. Vardan let her go, for he knew what she'd seen. The beast, not the man. Yet she'd still kissed him, fangs and all, so that for one blessed moment, he'd believed…
In an unattainable dream. No one could love a beast.
On the other side of his house, the merriment continued, but in the privacy of the library, invisible at last, the master wept.
Thirty-Seven
Eyes open or closed, Zuleika couldn't help but see his face. Vardan's face, exactly like his brother's. She hadn't cast a spell, drawn blood, broken the curse…none of it, and yet the illusion had shown him as the most beastly creature of all: the king.
"My lady!"
Zuleika heard Greta's voice, but didn't see the maid, and still she ran.
What kind of curse turned a man into a beast one moment, and a human monster the next?
One she could not break. Because if she did…the man she loved would look like the man she hated most. No matter how hideous he looked while cursed, she could still bear to look upon his face. But to look at Vardan and see Thorn…
No. That was why she must go.
Zuleika bit her lip, whispering a spell of invisibility to cloak her own form. Now she was just another reveller as she returned to the great hall, unknown and unseen. The doors were open and the gates, too, for men who had drunk too much to remember or even see a chamber pot were relieving themselves in the snow.
Ah, men were the same everywhere. Pissing contests would always occur as long as men had their manhoods.
Would Vardan boast to his brother that he had kissed the girl, only for Thorn to laugh and say he'd bedded her before she'd even met Vardan? Well, she'd curse them both for it. Thorn with childlessness, and Vardan by not removing his existing curse. She could do it, she was certain, if she understood the nature of it. But she would not.
Instead, she would leave.
Zuleika marched out the gate, wishing she had thought to bring a cloak against the biting cold. No matter. She would not be outside for long. Snow had not fallen today, so the road was clear, though the drifts lay deep on either side. She touched a finger to her bitten lip, pausing only long enough to see it stained red with blood, before she traced a portal in the air. A portal home.
Her hand arched up, then descended, letting the single drop of blood touch the cleared ground. The portal glowed purple-white before the enchantress stepped through and both vanished from Beacon Isle.
Thirty-Eight
What kind of curse turned a man into a beast one moment, and a human monster the next? A week Zuleika had been home, since her father welcomed both her and the news that his merchandise was safe, if inaccessible under the watchful eyes of the master of Beacon Isle, yet it was Vardan who had occupied her thoughts every waking moment, and some of her dreams, too.
She resisted the thought for a week before she finally capitulated and ventured into her mother's bower. Hers now.
Instead of pulling out books at random, Zuleika sat in the middle of the room, as she had been taught to do, and breathed deeply for focus. When she felt she had achieved this, she cast a spell for wisdom and asked for the knowledge she needed to break the spell, something she should have done long ago.
An enchantress was gifted shortly after her birth by a more senior enchantress with all the collective knowledge she would need to master her craft. Millennia of experience, passed down through countless generations, the wisdom of the ages. She could ask for answers and receive them from the vast repository of knowledge, mixed with her own memories, but it required focus. And the right questions.
What kind of curse turned a man into a monster?
A curse that revealed the darkest, most beastly aspects of his nature, her memories whispered. So that they will become visible to all those who look at him.
What kind of curse transformed not just a man, but his lands as well?
A curse that forbids his lands from offering welcome to anyone who approaches them.
What manner of curse could turn the population of an entire island invisible?
A curse that makes all those loyal to a man disappear, when he is the island's beloved leader.
Who would sentence a man to suffer such a curse?
No one. No one would willingly doom any man to such a fate.
Then how did Vardan come to be cursed?
The mirror. Her mother's mirror. Not one like it – the mirror itself. Far-seeing, irresistible…and cursed. Twice. By Zuleika's own hand.
How did he come to possess it?
He is the king's brother. The king made him a gift of the mirror.
Why?
Because the king sees him as an enemy. He sees everyone more powerful than he as an enemy. He is a treacherous snake who deserves his fate.
But Prince Vardan does not.
&n
bsp; No. The prince deserves to be loved and to have the curse lifted. His people deserve to see their loyalty rewarded by the breaking of their curse.
Is it true, then, that love can break the spell?
Only if it was cast with love, or a loophole allowing love to break it. If there is no loophole, then only two people can break the spell. Either a caster more powerful than the one who cast the curse; or the caster herself. But the price will be high, especially when the spell is recast by a cursed item so many times. Better to build a loophole when a spell is first cast.
Zuleika's mouth grew dry, though she hadn't spoken a single word aloud.
And what if there is no single caster more powerful than the original one?
Then it will take a group of casters to use their collective power to remove the spell, but if that happens, they will see the damage this curse has wrought, and once the curse is undone, they will come after the caster. Enslave her like the djinn, for such wickedness will not be tolerated.
They would enslave her to the mirror, wouldn’t they? So every day she could look upon the man she loved, knowing she had caused his suffering and that of all his people, when she could have prevented it, and see the hatred in his eyes.
Better to die than live as a slave.
Vardan and his people deserved to be free. No matter what the cost.
Thirty-Nine
Show me the girl. Show me Lady Belle. Show her to me.
The words echoed in Vardan's head all day and all night, tempting him to peer into the mirror to see her again, but he resisted. Why would he want to see the woman who was no different to anyone else? She couldn't stand the sight of him. So much so that she'd disappeared from the island not long after he'd made the mistake of kissing her.
Some of the villagers had admitted to seeing a flash of purple lightning that night, just as he had on the night of her arrival. Perhaps Thorn's witch had summoned Belle back against her will, but Vardan doubted it. The girl had run for a reason. And though he knew little of the lady, Vardan was certain Belle was no pawn in this game. Whoever she was.
Thorn's new queen, perhaps?
Jealousy burned him again at that thought, but there was little he could do to combat it. He wanted her in his arms, not his brother's, but if the lady did not want him…he would not waste his time pining after her, nor shed another tear. His moment of weakness had passed; he must be strong for his people, and continue to hunt pirates.
That's what he needed the mirror for. If he checked hourly instead of daily, what was the harm?
He breathed on the mirror, wishing to see the nearest pirate vessel, and the mirror flared with violet light as the image formed. Violet, just like Lady Belle's strange lightning. And her eyes. He'd never forget her eyes. Eyes that looked at him with what he'd thought was love, if only for a moment.
Vardan peered at the ship, trying to judge its location and how far it was from the island.
He did not feel the curse settling another layer of the spell over him and the rest of the island, as it had done every time he'd used the magic mirror. He had done this more than a thousand times – what was once more?
Forty
Zuleika opened a portal into the prince's library, hoping everyone would be asleep and not see her arrival. Sure enough, the room was empty, though the candles still burned. She knew what she had to do. Better to die than live as a slave, she reminded herself.
The chest was still there, and inside it was the bundle that contained the mirror. She unwrapped it carefully. Tears stung her eyes as she glimpsed the jewelled rose on the back, for it had been so long since she'd last seen it.
Zuleika lifted her mother's beautiful mirror, not daring to peer into it for fear she'd curse herself into revealing the frightened mouse she felt like right now. She wanted to know where Vardan was, so that she might see him one last time, but she also dreaded meeting him. If she did, she would have to confess everything, for he deserved to know the truth, and she couldn't bear to lie to him any longer, even if he would hate her, knowing what she'd done.
She balled her free hand into a fist, smashing it into the mirror. The glass shattered, sending shards into her hand and wrist. Blood trickled, beaded, then spurted as she pulled out the pieces. All the while, she held her bleeding hand over the broken mirror, telling it to break the curse, break the curse, break the curse, for every time it had been cast. Vardan might have looked into the mirror a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand times in the years it had remained in his possession, and if it took a drop of blood to dispel each time it had cursed him, she might drain her body of blood and it would not be enough. But still she let it flow, pooling on the frame and the few fragments of silvered glass that remained. This was her fault, and only she could free the island of its enchantment. If it took her lifeblood, then so be it. She should have known better than to cast such a curse in the first place. If she lived, she would never curse another object again.
Zuleika fell to her knees, then slowly toppled onto the floor, her attention only on the mirror and keeping her blood flowing over it. For Vardan. For his people. But mostly for him.
The room began to dim, and she knew she'd lost too much blood to stay conscious for long. If she knew the curse was broken, perhaps she could heal herself, but that would mean seeing Vardan, and if his eyes met hers, her heart would break at his hatred when her heart held only love for him.
"Lady Belle!" The one voice she both desired and dreaded spoke her name, or at least the name he'd given her. "You're hurt. Let me help you. How did this happen?" He raised his voice to bellow, "Someone help! Lady Belle is hurt! Fetch a physician. A surgeon. Someone who can help!"
"Do not…worry. I did this. It is my fault, and I must…repair the damage." Drawing breath was becoming difficult, but still Zuleika tried to speak. "My name is not Belle."
"You are my Lady Belle, and I love you," Vardan said, his eyes softening as he smiled. Like a man, and not a beast. A good man. Not a monster.
Running footsteps skidded to a halt. "Lady Belle has returned, and she's hurt. Send a rider to town for a physician!" Inga hurried to Zuleika's side, lifting the skirt of her pink gown a little so it wouldn't slow her down. A gown Zuleika could see.
The curse was broken. She had not failed him. Now it didn't matter that her vision had grown dim.
"Lady Belle, what happened?" Vardan asked urgently.
"My name is Zuleika, and I have broken your curse. I never met you before this winter, and if I had, I never would have cast it." She closed her eyes. Oblivion hovered close now. She could feel it.
"But…why?" he whispered.
"Because I love you," she said.
He gathered her up in his arms, pressing her close, but she did not feel a thing, for she had already succumbed to the darkness' embrace.
Forty-One
Vardan jolted awake, convinced someone had doused him in Greek fire and set him alight, but his chamber was dark. Merely a dream, he told himself, but his dreams were reserved for Lady Belle, the maiden who always danced just out of reach.
His heart constricted in his chest at the thought of her. Too long had he resisted the siren call of the magic mirror. If he saw her but once, and knew she was safe, he would be content never to think of her again. Or if he were to discover her scheming with his brother…what then?
Then he would know that she was truly lost to him, and he could mourn.
Resolved, he climbed from his bed and padded to the library. In his childhood, the monks had worked there day and night, and true to tradition, the candles burned still. A warm wash of light to drive away the sudden chill in his heart.
Something was amiss. He could feel it.
Three steps into the room, he stopped dead.
She lay in a pool of blood, stretching out her hand for the magic mirror as if it could somehow help her.
He wanted to demand how she'd come here, where she'd gone, and who had hurt her, but most of all, he didn’t want to lose her.
He bellowed for help as he dropped to his knees beside her, unsure what he could do. If he had a witch here now, he would trade his very soul for a spell that could save her life, but all he had were his two hands and a houseful of servants, none of whom knew magic or more than rudimentary healing.
He shouted for help again, and he saw her move, just the tiniest bit. Her face crumpled, as if in pain. She mumbled something that sounded like nonsense and he did his best to reassure her. Help would come. It had to.
A hand touched his shoulder. Fingers he could see.
Inga's voice roused the household, commanding them like an army in battle. Better she than him tonight. He couldn’t turn his attention away from Belle. Couldn't lose her again.
She mumbled more nonsense before her eyes closed.
No. What cruel fate had returned her to him, only to kill her before his eyes?
"Why?" he begged of the heavens, but he got no answer except a sigh as Belle's breath left her.
Forty-Two
Zuleika opened her eyes, expecting an afterlife, but she only saw the dowager queen's bedchamber. She still lived. Her hand was terribly painful, and shrouded in linen bandages.
"The lady wakes." Vardan rose from his corner chair, much as he had the first time they met. Today, though, he was merely a man, and no longer a cursed creature. As Zuleika's gaze caressed his features for what she was certain would be the last time, she found it hard to believe she had ever mistaken him for his brother. Sure, both men had similar features, but the expression on Vardan's face and the soul shining through his eyes showed him to be a very different man. A man of honour, integrity, compassion and…for at least a little while, love.
Enchant: Beauty and the Beast Retold (Romance a Medieval Fairytale Book 1) Page 10