Riven: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 3)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  * * * * *

  Rose was hungry and exhausted. The game had lost some of its exhilaration after the first couple hours, and now she was thoroughly chilled and ready to go home. As if to enhance her discomfort, it had begun to snow. She hoped the Beast would find her soon.

  Actually, she was the one who was supposed to be Seeking at the moment, but Rose had had been searching for quite some time now and had yet to see any sign of the Beast. The last time she had been the Seeker, the Beast had finally sought her out, declaring that if he had to wait until she found him, he would likely die of starvation. Piqued, Rose had insisted on receiving another try, but now she regretted her decision.

  The crackling of twigs underfoot drew her attention, and Rose moved with delight toward the sound, opening her mouth to call out to the Beast—then shut it quickly as she remembered a fact she had long taken for granted: the Beast made no sound when he walked.

  Rose froze. The rustling and snapping grew closer. Then through a break in the trees, Rose caught a glimpse of the last face she had expected to see.

  “Darren!” she exclaimed—or tried to, but her voice emerged as nothing more than a dry croak. She licked her lips to call again, when she senses a presence right behind her.

  Rose whirled around and found herself staring into the face of the Beast. For a moment, she thought she glimpsed fear in his eyes, but the next instant it was gone, and she could read nothing in his expression at all. Silently, he indicated she was to climb onto his back. With one last look toward Darren, Rose obeyed, wrapping her arms around his thick neck and burying her face in his fur. Soundlessly, they sprinted away.

  * * * * *

  Darren looked up. He had thought he heard the wind whisper his name, but that was foolish. He shook his head, certain that the cold was beginning affect his mind. Suddenly, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. He spun around, but saw nothing.

  “Hello?” Darren called, every sense on high alert.

  Nothing. The only sound was the creaking of trees as they swayed in the mild breeze, and the only sight was their gently flailing limbs slowly disappearing beneath a shroud of white. Yet he continued to listen until his muscles threatened to stiffen beyond motion from the cold.

  At last, Darren was forced to trudge on, eager to reach the village and the warm hearth that awaited him, unaware that only a few feet away, the faint prints of a woman’s boots were being swiftly buried beneath the falling snow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rose held extremely still as the robin hopped closer to where she was sitting. Closer. Closer. It cocked its head to one side as though studying her, trying to make sure she was the same person it remembered. Rose smiled slightly, and it seemed to decide that she was. Hopping forward, it pecked lightly at her skirt, chirping a little before finally taking wing for the trees.

  “Glad to see you again, too!” Rose called with a broad smile, stretching as she finally stood up. Though the weather had been warm for the last few weeks, it was only now that the birds had returned and the robin had found her again that Rose felt spring had truly arrived.

  She still remembered the first time the Beast had brought the robin to her—no more than a fledgling at the time—and had asked her to try to mend its broken wing. It had taken all her nerve to do so—half in part because she had feared she would hurt the fledgling more, half in part because most animals frightened her. Or at least, they had. Now with the Beast as her constant companion, it seemed absurd to panic over rabbits and birds. Rose doubted even her father’s old horse would intimidate her anymore.

  Cheerfully, she traipsed over to the garden where the Beast was working. “The robin has returned,” Rose announced.

  “So have the ladybugs,” he said, gesturing toward the calendula flowers blooming amongst the roses. “Hopefully, they will keep the aphids from doing the same.”

  The calendulas had been her idea. The bright orange flowers attracted ladybugs, which in turn ate the aphids that would otherwise destroy a rose garden. The Beast had been surprised when Rose had suggested it and pleased by the results—for all his experience tending roses, he was remarkable uninformed when it came to other plants.

  Rose crouched down near one calendula cluster, her eyes tracking the red-and-black ladybugs flittering among them. Abruptly, her hands shot out to snare one—but she missed. She tried again—the ladybugs simply darted away. The Beast watched, amused, as she tried again and again, with no success.

  “I caught one!” she exclaimed abruptly, standing and holding her clasped hands out toward the Beast. Gingerly, she opened them, but to her surprise, the ladybug inside did not fly away—instead, it began to crawl across her palm.

  Rose giggled. “You know what they say, ‘If across your hand a ladybug treads, then within the year, you shall be—” she broke off.

  “Yes?” the Beast asked.

  Rose shook her head, unable to stop a blush from burning her cheeks. “Never mind.” She parted her hands, causing the ladybug to fly away.

  The Beast was still looking at her curiously, and she could see him mouthing words to himself as he tried to complete her rhyme. Embarrassed, Rose brushed her hands against her skirt and bent over to examine the rose buds, allowing her long, blonde hair to fall forward and shield her flaming face from the Beast.

  ’Twas my own fault for remembering such a silly childhood verse. As if that could ever happen now, no matter how many ladybugs I might catch!

  The Beast tilted his head, and Rose blushed deeper, certain he had figured out the rhyme—but no, his gaze had turned toward the woods, and he was frowning.

  “Someone approaches,” the Beast announced, swiveling his ears and sniffing the air deeply. “Not from Gurion, and yet . . . I know that scent, I am certain—”

  Abruptly, he broke off as a look of incredulous delight crossed his face. “Liliath,” he gasped and sprinted for the trees.

  * * * * *

  The fairy let out a cry of delight as Ari careened to a halt in front of her.

  “Oh, my friend,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “It has been far, far too long!”

  “Where have you been?” he rumbled, pinning her wings against her back as he embraced her tightly with one paw.

  “Here, there and everywhere,” she said, brushing away the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. “I am so sorry I could not visit you till now.”

  “Nine years, Liliath,” Ari rebuked, drawing back slightly and looking at her with such vulnerable intensity that it made her blood start to race. “Nine years without word or sight of you—of anyone.”

  “Not even your parents?” she asked. He shook his head.

  “Oh, Ari.” Liliath hugged him fiercely. “Believe me when I say that everything I have done, I did for you. I have been—who is that?” she demanded fiercely, stepping back and staring over Ari’s shoulder at the woman hesitantly approaching. Liliath glanced at Ari. “I thought you said you were alone?”

  “I have been, except for—here, let me introduce you.” He beckoned eagerly to the woman behind him; she drew closer, clearly uncertain. Liliath could see that her features were strikingly beautiful, with skin that was smooth and unblemished in spite a deep tan that bespoke years in the sun. Her eyes were a clear, piercing blue, and her hair was like sunshine. Liliath narrowed her eyes slightly, and only Ari’s presence beside her kept her from glaring at this unpleasant turn of events.

  “Liliath, this is Rose. Rose, this is Liliath—my oldest and very dear friend.”

  The woman’s eyes widened as she took in Liliath completely. “You—you are a fairy!” she stammered.

  Well spotted, Liliath thought snidely, flaring her wings. The cloak she usually wore to hide them was bundled into her waist sack, its concealment unnecessary in the isolated forest. Or so she had thought.

  “Why are you here?” Liliath demanded bluntly. The woman stiffened and shot a quick glance at Ari.

  “Liliath!” he hissed, his ey
es wide as though trying to convey some unspoken message.

  “I am here because I chose to be,” the woman—Rose—suddenly announced, her expression closed. “Why are you here?”

  Now it was Liliath’s turn to stiffen. How dare that trollop question her? She almost refused to reply, but then changed her mind, stating proudly, “It is as Ari said. I am his friend—his dear friend. I need no other reason to come.”

  “Ari?” Rose repeated, clearly surprised. She turned to face him. “Is that your name?”

  He closed his eyes. “I am the Beast. I have no other title.”

  Liliath’s eyebrows shot upward—just what was going on here?—but she held her tongue. The woman glanced from Ari to Liliath, her gaze full of puzzled suspicion.

  “Perhaps you could leave us alone, Rose,” Liliath suggested, tilting her chin up slightly so that she was looking down her nose at the smaller woman. “I have not seen my friend for a long time, and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Of course,” Rose assented, her tone flat. Curtly, she turned on one heel and strode back toward the lodge without looking again at Ari. Liliath smiled to herself, feeling oddly as though she had won some minor battle . . . but her triumph vanished when she saw the longing expression on Ari’s face as he watched the woman go.

  “Come,” Liliath said, laying one hand on his shoulder and relishing the effect of her touch as it caused his muscle to flex. “I want to know everything that has happened.”

  * * * * *

  Rose watched from her bedroom window as the fairy and the Beast strolled together through the garden.

  Our garden, she thought with gritted teeth, glaring as the fairy bent down to smell the calendulas. Not yours.

  Just who was Liliath? A friend, she had said, but how? When? Rose had always known that magic surrounded the Beast, but she had thought he had been the one to cast it. A fairy made more sense, but how did a beast—even a talking one—come to have a fairy for a friend?

  The stranger had called him Ari. The Beast had a name, though he would not admit it. Why would he not admit it? It made no sense!

  Rose glanced out of the window again, but the pair had moved past her line of sight. She scowled, remembering the fairy’s cold dismissal of her, the tilt of her nose, her aloof gaze—as though Rose were the one intruding. Perhaps her attitude explained the instinctive animosity Rose felt toward the fairy—an animosity that bewildered her with its strength. She had often wished someone could visit the lodge, so why this sudden dislike? Was it the fairy’s demeanor? The shock of her presence? Her inhuman beauty?

  Rose scoffed. Why should her looks matter to me? There is no one except the Beast to appreciate them, and I am hardly vying with her for his attention . . . am I? No! Of course not. The thought disconcerted her.

  She crossed her arms and stared out the window, wondering just why the fairy had come.

  “I hope she leaves soon,” she muttered to herself.

  * * * * *

  Liliath fought to keep the dismay from her voice as she looked up from the bright calendula and asked, “She has been here five years?”

  Ari nodded. “Come this summer, yes.”

  “But she still refuses to marry you.”

  “Yes.”

  Liliath drew a deep, calming breath. Never in her wildest imaginings had she expected Ari to take the matter of his curse into his own paws, but as long as the woman kept rejecting his proposal . . . . “Never mind her, Ari. I promised you a long time ago that I would break your curse, and I have not been idle. Before the year is out, you will be free from your bindings.”

  “How—?” Ari asked, his emerald eyes clearly disbelieving.

  “I will tell you when it happens, not before,” Liliath teased. She had intended to explain everything to him, but now she would not risk his good opinion, not when Ari’s affections were leaning so dangerously toward another woman—a woman far too attractive for Liliath’s peace of mind, and one who had already spent five years as the sole focus of his attention.

  As if to add to her annoyance, a crawling sensation told Liliath that something had chosen that moment to alight on her arm. She looked down. A ladybug. How quaint.

  Glad for the chance to vent her vexation, she squashed it.

  Ari turned away from Liliath, leading the way toward the front of the lodge. “You know, I could almost believe you.”

  “Fairies do not lie,” she reminded him, skipping forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

  He laughed. “Well, try your methods, and I will try mine. Between us, there may yet come a day when I can return your embrace as a man, not a beast.”

  She smiled. “I can hardly wait.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rose picked at her supper. Tonight, she had no appetite.

  “You look lovely, Rose,” the Beast said, gazing at her with luminous eyes. “Have you done something different with your hair?”

  Coyly, she put one hand up to the side of her head. Her hair was piled in an abundance of curls, held in place with numerous pins that sparkled with rubies and diamonds—far more decoration than she usually wore. “Not really,” Rose demurred, “but it is nice of you to think so.”

  Across the table, Liliath gave her an icy smile. “It is nice. I have never cared to wear gems myself, but I suppose some girls need them to feel pretty.”

  Rose flushed. “How fortunate that neither of us falls into that category.”

  From his place by her feet, Pesk gave a muffled snort—whether in appreciation or rebuke, Rose did not know. She glanced down at him. Though he lay by her chair, the dog’s eyes were fixed on Liliath, and his tail wagged happily; he had not taken his attention off the fairy since he had first awoken from his nap.

  Liliath followed Rose’s gaze, and her expression softened. “I used to have a dog like that. Mine was only a puppy, but I imagine he would have looked like yours once he was grown.”

  “I remember that dog,” the Beast grinned. “He was nearly as big as you were!”

  “What happened to it?” Rose asked, curious.

  The fairy’s eyes hardened again. “I gave him to someone who did not deserve him.”

  The Beast cast a quick glance at Liliath, and Rose saw a look of mutual understanding pass between them. Their silent exchange irritated her.

  “Do you plan to stay long?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  Liliath shook her head, and Rose could read real regret as she looked at the Beast—regret, and something else. “No. Just tonight.”

  “What? No—not so soon! Please, you must stay longer . . . for me,” he implored.

  “Remember my promise to you? That is why I must go.”

  “But surely you could stay at least a few days? We could explore the rooms again—Liliath was the one who enchanted them, you know,” the Beast said to Rose.

  “You mean, you showed her—?” Liliath exclaimed in surprise, sparks flaring in her eyes as she looked at Rose. The fairy took a deep breath. “I suppose you had no choice—she does live here after all.”

  Rose lifted her chin. “Yes, I do. And the rooms you enchanted are most impressive . . . except for one. Tell me, why did you choose to create a chamber that is so manifestly evil?”

  The fairy glared at Rose and then deliberately turned away from her. “As I was saying, I have a promise to keep. I cannot stay.”

  “But I just got you back!” the Beast cried, a touch of desperation in his tone. “There has to be another way to fulfill your pledge.”

  “I wish there were. This is the only way.”

  “Wait—no, it is not! We still have my method to try!” The Beast declared. He fixed his green gaze on Rose, the intensity there making her breath catch; she sensed what was coming even before he spoke: “Rose, will you marry me?”

  Liliath let out an explosive cough, half-choking on her food. Rose felt a surge of satisfaction as the fairy sputtered; hatred blazed in Liliath’s eyes as she glared at Rose. For one heady
moment, Rose considered saying yes to the Beast, if only to further enjoy the fairy’s reaction . . . but the next moment, reality reasserted itself, and she sat back in her chair, stunned.

  What must Liliath think of me that the Beast would ask such a question? Rose wondered, feeling slightly ill. She had flattered herself that jealousy had made Liliath react so strongly—but no, surely it had been disgust. What other rational response was there?

  “As ever, my answer must be no,” Rose bit out, her cheeks aflame. “Do excuse me.”

  Standing, she set her plate onto the floor for Pesk to finish for her and strode toward the door.

  “Rose, wait!”

  For a creature his size, the Beast could move quickly when he wanted to. In a moment, he was standing right behind her. Rose turned to face him, glad that his bulk hid her tears of humiliation from the fairy’s view. The Beast’s eyes widened.

  “I have made you mad. Why?” he asked, clearly perplexed.

  Rose gave a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Why?” she demanded in a voice too low for the fairy to hear. Nose-to-nose with the Beast, she looked straight into his eyes as she answered in a harsh whisper, “I covered for you earlier—goodness knows why!—but you and I both know I am your captive. How can you still think I would ever marry you, let alone now when you just finished telling Liliath how much you wanted her to stay! Do you wish to marry her, too? Or am I just a substitute to satisfy you until she returns?”

  The Beast looked stunned. “No, of course not. I love you—”

  “Love?” she scoffed. “What do you know about love? You—are—a—beast!”

  He drew back, crestfallen. “I had thought . . . I had hoped you would learn to look beyond that.”

  “I can never look beyond that while you keep me here, Ari,” Rose rasped, her voice made hoarse from the effort not to cry. “All your pretty words cannot change what you do, and what you have done is not an act of love or friendship . . . just the act of a beast. You were right to call yourself by that name.”