Gilded Rose: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Celestials Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  The Dread had fed her. They had clothed her. Now, they were giving her a safe place to call her own, and she was ungratefully still frightened of them. And why? Because they were monsters out of the storybooks who killed her kind?

  But they hadn’t killed her.

  She blew out a long breath, nodded her head, and opened the door. She could stand in the hall and argue until she was blue in the face, but that was a waste of time for both of them. Bernard had more work to do, and this would free his time.

  The door swung open on rusty hinges, creaking like the gate to a haunted graveyard. But the room beyond was… pretty. Once upon a time.

  The floor was a lovely white marble like the rest of the chateau. The wallpaper had once been lavender, although it had faded to a pale gray. Tiny flowers climbed up the walls, some painted, others stretching from the floorboards and blooming on their vines.

  A fainting couch was covered by a white sheet in the corner, along with what she assumed was a dresser and vanity set. A large fourposter bed sat in the center, gauzy fabric blowing in a wind rushing through a broken window framed in gilded edges.

  She looked up at the ceiling and tried to keep her mouth closed as she marveled at the lovely paintings of women and angels lounging in a garden. Hand painted, the mural was the only thing in the entire room as pristine as the day it had been painted.

  This was the room of a noblewoman. Not a peasant who had entered the chateau without permission.

  “Why would he give this room to me?” she asked. “This is too nice for someone like me.”

  Bernard snorted. “It’s too nice for one of our kind. We’d destroy it in a heartbeat.”

  “Destroy it?” Apparently she’d turned into a parrot, but Amicia couldn’t stop repeating all the words he said.

  “The Dread are more comfortable in nests,” Bernard replied. “This is too… put together. We’d rather have all the furniture in pieces on the floor so we can arrange it better.”

  That explained why so much of the chateau was shattered pieces of what might have once been here. The Dread preferred nests? Like birds? She’d never seen one asleep, so she couldn’t imagine what that looked like.

  She knew so little about these creatures. They frightened her, yes, but there was an air of mystery and undiscovered knowledge about them she found so intriguing. If only she had the time to study their habits without them knowing. Then she could write all her findings down and put it in a library somewhere.

  Bernard gestured to the wardrobe hidden by the large sheet. “There should still be clothing in there. The master said some of it might fit you, and would be more appropriate than the clothing you’ve been wearing.”

  Amicia looked down at the pants and strips of bindings on her chest. The master was right, but there were no humans here. What did the Dread care about dressing appropriately? Almost all wore nothing more than loincloths.

  “I—um—” she stammered, trying to find her tongue and finding it tied in knots instead. Finally, Amicia cleared her throat. “I’m confused.”

  Bernard grumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “We all are,” but before she could clarify, he left the room and closed the door behind him with a sudden crack.

  She was left alone. For the first time since she had been running from the Dread.

  Amicia didn’t know what to do with the sudden silence. It loomed around her like a physical presence, a specter grinning from the shadows, waiting for when she would let her guard down so the nightmares could creep out from underneath the bed.

  Her father would have loved this adventure. Every bit would have called out to the inventor within him. He’d have wondered if there were hidden secrets in this room like the rest. And if there weren’t, then he would have made them just in case the Dread decided he wasn’t a valuable addition to the army.

  Tears pricked her eyes, turning her vision blurry until she couldn’t see anything but blurry shapes. She missed him. So much that it was hard to focus sometimes when his ghost appeared in her mind and whispered truths in her ear.

  “I’m trying to be brave, father,” she whispered. “Just like I know you would want me to be.”

  But it was hard here. Even harder when there were no distractions. Just herself, her thoughts, and the stinging nettles of memories.

  Sniffing hard, she clacked through the room to the wardrobe. Grasping the white sheet, she ripped it off and stared at the white and gold masterpiece beneath. Even a wardrobe in this chateau was covered in gold leaf and perfectly created with tiny vines carved into each shelf.

  She slid one drawer open. It had been sealed shut by moisture for a long time, and when the drawer wouldn’t give, she put her entire weight into yanking it open.

  The King of the Dread had been right. Silken dresses filled the drawer, although she was certain these hadn’t been worn in a few hundred years. She’d never seen this style in Little Marsh.

  Pulling one out, she shook it hard until the long skirt fell onto the ground. Real silk. The fabric shimmered in the dimming light like the moon on water.

  “This is too good to be on the likes of me,” she whispered. But it was lovely…

  One of the ladies, Miss Abernathy, who used to live next door to her had a nightgown like this. Or at least, similar. Amicia had only seen it once when she went over to borrow a bit of milk. Miss Abernathy hadn’t changed out of her nightgown yet for the day, and Amicia remembered thinking she had been so beautiful in it. Like an angel or a fairy who had drifted out of the garden.

  She wondered what had happened to her neighbors. She hadn’t thought of them at all, just the collective of Little Marsh as if all the people were one being. But had Miss Abernathy, the angelic pixie of a woman, been turned into one of the Dread? Or had she died in the fires Amicia had set ablaze?

  The breath in her lungs felt cold, sticking in her throat and sending shards of ice through her veins. She needed a distraction, or the guilt would come bubbling up again.

  She had done what her father bid, though perhaps he was aware her soul would be damned forever. No matter. The city would fall one way or another. They would have been turned into monsters who no longer knew who they were. Instead, they had burned.

  What a horrible way to die.

  Amicia snapped the silken gown once more, bringing her thoughts back to the present and forcing her attention away from such thoughts. She could try the gown on. That wouldn’t hurt. She could feel the silken fabric on her healing body and pretend to be a lady of the manor for a few moments.

  Anything to distract her. Anything to take her mind away from those terrifying moments.

  She leaned her crutches against the wardrobe and stripped. The pants were difficult to take off when her leg already screamed in pain, but she managed on her own. The bindings she left on her chest so her ribs might heal a little longer.

  Slowly, she put the nightgown on. Up and over her head, then sliding down her torso like water. The long skirt fell to the floor on one side, the other catching on the brace that held her leg together. She could only imagine what that looked like.

  “The lady of the manor with her skirts hiked up to the high heavens,” she said with a snort. “That is the lady this place deserves.”

  Amicia hobbled to the vanity, still covered by a white sheet. She had to see what sort of picture she made, even though she was certain it was a laughable sight.

  With a quick jerk, she yanked the sheet away from the mirror. The fabric snapped in her hand like a whip, falling away from the mirror to reveal her own image in the cracked glass. But Amicia didn’t look upon her own visage. Instead, she stared at a dark shadow the mirror revealed in fractured portions.

  A demon stood in her doorway.

  He held his wings close to his sides like a cape, like a noble gentleman who called upon a noblewoman. Yet, he was still shirtless with his broad chest too strong for a man with royal blood. He wore the same torn loincloth since the moment she’d first seen him.
His tail lashed behind him, perhaps a sign of discomfort, although she didn’t know why he would be.

  Amicia didn’t turn. She stared at him through the mirror, frozen in place. “You gave me a room.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  The claws at the bend of his wings shifted a little, as if he was trying hard not to open his wings. “You shouldn’t be in the servants’ quarters with Bernard.”

  “Why?” she asked again. The answer seemed far more important than any of the other questions burning in her chest. Why was he doing all this for her when there was no logical explanation? She had to know, or it would eat her alive.

  He shook his head, horns scraping the hallway ceiling. “I suspect you have many questions.”

  “More than I can count.”

  The King of the Dread stepped into her room. He had to duck low and tilt his shoulders just to fit, and once he was inside, he took up more space than he deserved. All the air disappeared in the wake of his aggressive size. Heat radiated from his body, even though it should have been cold since he appeared to be made of stone.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “What are you doing?”

  “Come with me, and I will answer all that I can.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Amicia didn’t want to be alone with him. He’d tried many times to end her life, and every broken bone screamed that he was…

  A monster? She asked herself if she believed the thought and realized she didn’t anymore. He wasn’t just a monster, he was a creature who had thoughts, feelings, a history she didn’t yet know, but wanted to know. A creature who made mistakes, who killed, but who always claimed he was saving his victims.

  She stared at his reflection in the mirror, a reflection he appeared to avoid. The King of the Dread stepped closer, reached forward, and hooked a claw on the fabric caught upon her leg brace. Carefully, he pulled the silk just enough for it to slip down over her hip and thigh.

  “Come,” he murmured, his voice deep and gravely. “There is much we must speak about.”

  The only words which came to mind fell from her lips like a river of sound. “I’m not appropriately dressed. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  His red eyes flared brighter for a moment before he turned away. “You’ll do.”

  Amicia followed him out of the room and deep into the heart of the chateau, chasing the answers to all her questions.

  Chapter 20

  She followed him far away from the side of the chateau she was most used to. Past the kitchens, the library, even the living quarters she had seen through the walls. Eventually, she lost track of where they were.

  With his guidance, the chateau seemed larger. Following the dark silhouette of the beast was little more than something out of a storybook. A devil leading her toward hell, or perhaps, redemption.

  Amicia tried to minimize the sound of clacking every time she moved with her crutches, but eventually that grew tiring. She couldn’t continue on the way she was, and he wasn’t slowing down. So she let the sound thud through the halls, echoing around them like a heartbeat.

  Was he going to answer all her questions? Why then did they need to travel somewhere else in the chateau?

  Doubt clawed through her mind, leaving trails of fear and horror. Maybe now was the time he would turn her into a beast like him. Maybe now he would finally do what his people were supposed to do. Turn her into one of their own, a Dread, a monster who came out of the night and stole the souls of humans.

  She wouldn’t blame him. It had been a long time coming. But that didn’t mean she was ready for it.

  Amicia tried to think about what her father would do, even though it stung her heart to think of him. He believed there was good in everyone, but that the good sometimes had to be teased out like he used to have to untangle the long snarls in her hair.

  “Amicia,” he would have said, disappointment staining the warm tones of his voice. “You haven’t given them a chance, not yet. It’s time to let the beast come clean and see what this is all about. Maybe, you can help.”

  His voice was so clear in her mind, it was almost as though he’d remained by her side, not burned to a crisp in the city she had destroyed.

  The King of the Dread paused in front of a stairwell leading up, higher than she thought the chateau had gone. They were already on the fourth story. Even outside she’d counted only three levels.

  He cast a severe look up and down her figure. “You can manage the stairs?”

  “I have been ever since you broke my leg.”

  He grunted. “Make your way on your own then.”

  As he started up the spiral stairwell, she wondered if that was his way of asking if she needed help. Did he want to assist her as she followed him? That was far too kind for someone like him. Monsters didn’t care if other people were comfortable… did they?

  Step by step, she followed him up the narrow stairwell. By the time she reached the top, her leg and arm were on fire. But Amicia was bound and determined to make it on her own, even if it was just to send a message to him. He might have broken her, but she was not dead.

  The stairwell led to the roof, not to another ghostly level of the chateau she couldn’t see. Flat and expansive across the entire chateau, it was covered in a thick layer of snow. Blank. Pristine. Amicia was almost disappointed there wasn’t yet another secret for her to learn.

  Perhaps it was better this way. Her own curiosity had gotten the better of her lately. Broken bones as proof.

  She hesitated to step out onto the same area where he had thrown her all that time ago. It felt like forever, and yet, just a heartbeat since she had been suspended above the snow.

  He turned toward her, horns outlined by stars. “This is not a night for death.”

  “The last time we were here, you threw me from the roof.”

  “And you survived.” The moonlight caught in his eyes, reflecting like that of an animal. Glowing in the darkness. “I was not myself, that night. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  The moon was out, but the stars shone brighter than the orb controlling the tides. Great swaths of stars spread across the sky, a river of pinprick lights setting the entire world aglow. Each one had a story. Her father used to tell her their tales before her bedtime, pointing out every constellation.

  Amicia was so engrossed with the stars she didn’t notice the strange chapel in the middle of the roof until the King of the Dread started toward it.

  The building was smaller than she would have expected, perhaps inspired by another country. Four twisted spires of marble rose to tangle with each other and create a roof. An artist had carved runes into each. The strange symbols seemed to glow, but then she’d turn her head just so, and the brilliance disappeared.

  The King of the Dread created a dark silhouette that blotted out the eerie light. None of it touched the darkened figure striding toward the chapel.

  Swallowing hard, she tried to spread moisture through her suddenly dry mouth.

  She reached the chapel long after he did. Amicia reached out and placed a hand on one spire to balance herself. “What is this place?”

  “It was once a house of worship,” he replied. The King of the Dread made his way to the center of the strange building where a single statue stood and knelt before her.

  The marble might have once been carved into the figure of a woman, but Amicia couldn’t know for certain. The face had been shattered long ago. Chunks of marble chipped away from the chest, hip, and feet. It was little more than a relic of a day long past.

  Strangely enough, it made Amicia very sad to stare at the statue. She licked her lips. What did one say when someone else grieved? The King of the Dread’s wings drooped around his shoulders, tucked into his sides. He lowered his head in reverence, holding up his hand and hovering it just before the statue.

  A few whispers of a prayer reached her ears. The language was one she didn’t understand, but the sentiment was one she’d heard before.


  He was begging for forgiveness.

  She remained silent, standing sentry for the King who had done all he could to destroy her. In this moment, they were not the captor and the woman who destroyed a kingdom. They were simply two people who knew what it meant to seek forgiveness from a higher power.

  When the whispers slowed, then stopped, Amicia clicked forward on her crutches. “You said you would answer my questions.”

  “I suspect you have many.”

  “More than I can count,” she replied. “But I think first I wish to know what you are and how you came to be.”

  The King lifted his head, staring beyond the statue and out into the night. He did not look at her when he replied. “I don’t remember that, sadly. I’m afraid many of your questions will remain unanswered because my memory is… lost. Sometimes I think I know something and other times I don’t even know who I am.”

  “When are the times when you know something?” Amicia’s pulse seemed to stop, her breath freezing in her lungs, everything hesitating as she waited for his reply. The moment felt important. Like a great secret was about to be released.

  The King turned his head, staring into her eyes with a red, cat-eyed gaze. “I only remember who I am when I look at you.”

  Amicia’s tongue tied itself into a knot, and her palms grew sweaty. She didn’t know if there were words in her language to respond. The few that slipped off her tongue were, “I don’t understand.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, his face wrinkled with disappointment before he rose from his kneeling position. The King of the Dread towered over her, horns stretching toward the sky, wings spread wide. “Neither do I. And yet, you are the only thing which has made me remember some memories I have lost.”

  So her thoughts were correct—none of the Dread remembered who they were, only what they had become.

  But if he could remember some things he had forgotten, then perhaps so, too, could the others.

  Immediately, tears burned in her eyes so hot she knew they would tumble down her cheeks before she could catch them. Twin droplets burned, gathering at her chin and searing her flesh.