“No, you don’t,” she said gently. “And anyway, Papa is getting old, Steph. He’s not going to be around forever. A year’s hard labor—we could lose him.”
Stephen sobered. “It’s not that I wish that on him,” he said quickly. “It’s only—I wish that you didn’t have to be the one to go.”
“And I, on the other hand, think that I am the perfect one to go,” Callista informed him. “I have no attachments here, no demands on my time, nothing that I shall have to reschedule as a result of this. Truly, I think it’s best that I be the one to go; and I, far better than either Millicent or Erin, can consider it a grand adventure and have no ill effects from the time away.”
“You’re so young, Cally,” Stephen murmured.
“Not so much younger than either of them, really,” she reminded him. “Especially not than Millie. She’s only a year older.”
“But sixteen—so young to have so much of your life lost.” He sighed. “I don’t even know if the prince will consider you a viable option. How old is he, Erin?”
“Twenty-one, I think,” she said softly. “Like Stasi.”
“He shouldn’t be in such a hurry to find a bride, then,” Stephen pointed out, frowning. “He has time yet.”
“We don’t know what pressures are resting on his shoulders—and anyway, it’s not as though I’m guaranteed to be his bride,” Callista reminded him. “He’ll propose if we suit, that’s all. He’s just giving both of us time to learn whether or not we do.”
“You won’t,” Erin said on a shiver.
“You thought he was kind enough before he revealed his face,” Callista pointed out. “And if it’s a curse—Erin, if it’s a curse, then it’s not his fault, is it?”
“I guess that depends on what he did to be cursed,” she snapped back. “Callista, I can’t believe you’re really thinking about this.How can it possibly be what you want?”
“Because we don’t really have a choice.” Theo rested his hands on Callista’s shoulders. She leaned back into that reassuring warmth, grateful that this brother, at least, understood—understood both that she had to go, that she was the best choice, and that part of her even yearned for it. She wouldn’t pretend that she wasn’t a little bit afraid. The chill that slid down her spine was proof enough of the fear, and she wasn’t going to try to convince her brothers and sisters that it wasn’t there at all. It was just that the fear was less important than other things.
She was the last one who could go without sacrificing too much; and because part of her did want to go, because she wanted to see the empty castle and meet the prince who hid behind a mask, she thought that she could make the year and a day bearable.
“I suppose,” Stephen said, scrubbing at his forehead with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, “we’ll just have to write to him and make sure he’s agreeable. It’ll take some time, Cally, so you’ll be able to think about it a little more, take your time deciding what you want to take with you—”
“Actually,” Erin whispered, “it won’t take that long.” She slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out a mirror. “He has the other one with him,” she admitted quietly. “All you have to do is reach through it, and this mirror will let you leave a message on the other side. It’s—it’s how I got home.”
Stephen frowned at it. “How did it let you get here?” he demanded.
“I brought that one home,” Millicent admitted. “When I came. He didn’t want Erin to use it to get there, but he gave it to me—said it would make it easier for us to talk, so maybe she would be less lonely.”
“That’s very kind,” Callista said softly.
“Why didn’t you tell us about it?” Theodore sounded more stung.
“I wasn’t supposed to,” Millicent admitted. “He said I could use it to talk to Erin when she wanted to talk, but that no one else should know about it.” She ducked her head. “I guess, um…I guess that’s not the case anymore.”
Erin was staring at the mirror without answering her sister. Slowly, she reached a hand inside and picked up a single sheet of paper, which she spread out for all of them to see.
They gathered around, staring down at it as though none of them had ever had a letter before—but then, it didn’t really qualify as a letter, Callista would admit cynically. The paper held only a single word written in a bold hand, black ink on parchment brighter white than any she had ever seen before.
Tomorrow.
The command was clear enough: there would be no waiting, not this time. They wouldn’t have weeks to sit and chat together as a family while they waited for letters to go back and forth, or time for them to plot and plan.
She was to go immediately.
Callista swallowed hard, but brought her chin up firmly. “That’s that settled, then,” she said firmly. “Stasi, why don’t you come help me pack?” She thought that her eldest sister, at least, might be less prone to giving into hysterics than the others. Erin and Millicent looked like they were both about to start sobbing again, and she was quite sure that she didn’t want to hear it.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll—” Stasi shook herself, pushed herself up from the chair as calmly as she was able. She didn’t quite pull it off, but Callista was convinced that she’d done well enough to make the others think that she was handling it all right.
At least Stasi didn’t cry all over her. She looked like her eyes were a little watery a few times as she helped Callista fold some of her gowns and pack her toiletries, but she didn’t give in to sobs, at least. Instead, she looked her little sister up and down, taking her in like she was trying to memorize her face. “I hate that you’re having to do this,” she said seriously.
“I know.” Callista gave her a faint smile. “But it’ll be all right. Really, it will, Stasi. I’m not afraid.”
“How can you not be? The way Erin described him—”
“She described him as being kind,” Callista reminded her. “A little bland, perhaps, but kind, and he’s been very generous. Who knows? We could wind up friends.”
“Friends? With a beast?” Stasi shook her head. “Only you would think so,” she informed her sister.
“Maybe,” Cally said pertly. “But that means that I’m the best choice this time, don’t you think?”
“I hope so.” Stasi stopped, put down the dress she’d been carefully folding, and hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Cally,” she said quietly. “I know you’re looking at this as a great adventure, and I’m so grateful that you can.”
Cally hugged her sister back just as tightly, holding on. Stasi was the closest thing to a mother that she’d had since she was seven years old. Stasi hadn’t been so much older herself at the time, but she’d stepped into the role the best way she could, always looking after her, taking care of her, making sure she had everything she needed. She was going to miss her older sister in ways that she couldn’t even explain to herself yet.
“Don’t fail, Cally,” Stasi whispered in her ear, so low that Callista could pretend later that she’d made the words up, if she wanted. “Don’t fail. You and I both know Papa isn’t strong enough for what would be asked of him, and that means you’re all that’s left.”
Callista pressed her face to her sister’s shoulder and just nodded, but she knew that Stasi would feel the promise: she wasn’t going to fail. She was going to find a way to make this work, one way or the other.
It was just a year and a day. She could survive anything for that long—even the beast that had so terrified her sisters.
She had to.
CHAPTER FOUR
A Desperate Prayer
Griffin stared out at the night sky, enjoying the feeling of the wind on his face for the first time in months. No, he hadn’t slept in the mask, as Erin seemed to think. He had, however, kept it on every time he’d left his suite of rooms; and toward the end, when he’d started to realize just how much she loathed it, he had begun wearing it even when he was inside the suite, taking it off only when he was in the safety o
f his own room with the door locked.
Not that it had done him any good. No, she had still ripped the thing away, staring into his face for a full minute before she’d started screaming fit to bring the roof down.
“Am I a fool?” he demanded.
Hemsworth—his staunchly supportive butler and the “servant” who had caught the Duke of Westhaven in a trap from which the only escape had been sending his daughters to the silent palace—studied him for a long moment. “You’re going to have to clarify the question,” he said at last.
Griffin silently held out the mask. “This charade,” he said flatly.
“You know the terms the wise man gave you, when you asked about the curse,” Hemsworth pointed out quietly. “Love has to have time to grow—and the only way for it to do that is for you to spend time with these girls, to truly get to know them. A year is the least either of you can ask.”
“I would have said it would take at least a year to find a bride under the best of circumstances,” Griffin growled. He hated the way his voice sounded at a growl now—so much deeper, more menacing, than it ever had before the curse, even though he wasn’t even trying to be frightening—just to express his frustration and irritation. “Now? Now, I’m having to lock girls in with me, and I still can’t get them to stay for a year!”
“Five years ago, you would have said that wasn’t such a bad thing,” Hemsworth pointed out.
Griffin growled again and grimaced. He was going to have to work on that—on the fact that he was starting to sound, starting to feel, more like the beast than usual—and he couldn’t afford that, not if he was to have any chance of finding the bride he needed. There was another girl coming—the youngest sister, he thought. Surely it was the youngest sister. If they sent the eldest—the one who was already engaged and quite in love with her intended, thankyouverymuch, he was going to give her a few weeks, then simply declare the debt paid and move on.
There was such a thing as repeating the same efforts to the point of insanity, and he was terribly afraid that he was already there. “I just want a lady who will get to know me—the real me—instead of basing her opinion of my character on my face!” That was the same argument he had been making since he’d turned sixteen and women started throwing themselves at him. Then, it had been his handsome face combined with the fact that he would someday be king. Now…
Frozen forever at twenty-one, trapped in the body of a monster, he just wanted one woman who could see past the physical appearance and care, just for a moment, about what he was like within. He had begun to wonder, over the long months since the curse had come over him, if such a thing was even possible.
“Master,” Hemsworth began cautiously.
“I know.” He sighed tiredly. It was a fool’s charade, and he knew it.
After all, what woman could ever fall in love with a beast like him?
“Do you?” Hemsworth wanted to know. “It’s been five years.” As though any of them could possibly have forgotten how long it had been since he’d been cursed. As though they didn’t bear the weight of it along with him: the empty rooms of a castle that should have been bustling, invisible servants who took care of his needs instead of a servant’s hall filled with willing hands who were eager to take on the responsibility and the glory of serving a prince of the realm. As though they could fail to realize that they had been forgotten by the world outside the castle, so that only a select few even remembered that he was there at all.
A prince of nowhere. On his twenty-fifth birthday, he should have become the king of the realm; but he hadn’t had a twenty-fifth birthday. Hadn’t had a birthday, or really any celebrations at all, since he had been transformed into something so hideous that his servants had to gamble in order to bring women to his side.
“It will get better,” Hemsworth promised him.
“Will it?” Griffin asked bleakly. “Or are we simply marking time, struggling to make the impossible reality and so to avoid accepting that this…” He gestured to himself, head to foot. “This is all we have now.” All I have now. His servants could leave at any time—not that many of them had stayed. Hemsworth. Mrs. Picard, who was in charge of the cleaning—she who had once commanded a small army of maids and now made soft requests of invisible servants who could be anything, given the terms of the curse. Mrs. Martel, the cook. There were a handful of servants in the stables, a couple more who took care of the gardens; but they didn’t have to be in the big house, and in fact made many excuses to avoid being there—or worse, forgot about him the moment they left the castle behind.
Who could blame them? He didn’t even want to be here anymore. He could only imagine how they, who hadn’t brought the curse down on their heads, must feel about it.
“Have hope, Griffin.” Hemsworth had started calling him by his first name when the curse took effect—perhaps because he understood that it was so rare for him to hear it, these days. “You never know. This girl could be the one to help you break the curse.”
“As though it’s just as easy as that.” He snorted softly. “I’m her captor, remember?” Erin had certainly never missed a chance to remind him of that fact, jabbing at him constantly as though it was his doing.
Wasn’t it? Ultimately, wasn’t he the reason why Hemsworth had chosen to target the man with four daughters, four potential opportunities for him to fall in love and have a chance at breaking the spell?
Griffin bowed his head low over the gardens, resisting the urge to let loose a tired roar. It would only frighten the gardeners, perhaps even frighten the people in the nearby town.
The town that, so far as Hemsworth could determine, had utterly forgotten them.
He wanted this girl to be the one to break the spell. He wanted it desperately—would have given anything to simply fall in love with her on sight, the way it always seemed to happen in the fairy tales. Just once, it would be nice if things would go his way for a change.
But no. No, they never went his way.
He was a beast.
“Perhaps,” Hemsworth said cautiously, “you should have given yourself a bit more time. We could send word back, have the girl come over land instead of stepping through the mirror.”
Griffin was silent for a long moment. It was tempting: to give the girl a few extra days to gird her loins, to prepare herself for the sight of the monstrous beast her sister had described. He wasn’t fool enough to pretend that it would be for her alone, either: a few extra days would give him a chance to walk the halls without having to wear his mask, to venture outside, to, perhaps, get his balance back. He could eat a few meals that didn’t have to be filtered through that cursed mask, feel the wind on his face, give himself room to breathe without wondering if she would hear a growl in his voice and turn and flee for the hills, insisting that, wager or no wager, she could not remain here for another moment.
A year and a day. It seemed so little, for young ladies who were at the very beginning of their lives. Surely they had little to lose, to give him that time.
Apparently, even staying in his presence for that long was too much to ask of any of them, and he would be better off if he just gave it up already…except that he couldn’t.
“Have you seen the rose recently?” he asked softly.
Hemsworth frowned—little wonder. Griffin’s rooms were cleaned almost entirely by the invisible servants, and even Hemsworth had no reason to get anywhere near the rose itself. “No,” he said slowly.
“It lost a petal yesterday.” When Erin had run from him.
Hemsworth’s frown deepened. “It lost another when Millicent left, didn’t it?” he wanted to know. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“I don’t have any idea.” Griffin sighed tiredly. “Is this one of those ‘when the last petal falls’ pieces of nonsense, or is it a sign that we’re nearing the day when my so-called true love will finally come?”
“It could be a good thing—a promise that you’re getting close.”
“Coul
d it?” Griffin’s laugh sounded more like the growl that he was trying so hard to keep at bay. “It could be anything. We don’t even understand enough about the curse to be sure of what’s causing it. All I know is that if I don’t break the curse, I lose everything.” His body. His kingdom. Everything—and his kingdom needed him. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind about that. He had watched things fall apart in the past five years as never before. The people liked to believe that they didn’t need a king, that their tithes were worthless. He would have loved for that to be the case—but they needed benevolent rule, needed a strong hand to protect them from all the things that had the potential to come their way. Having a regency in control meant that no one was making the key decisions that were so important for the kingdom—and as a result, so many of the programs he and his father had fought to implement were falling apart.
They needed him. His people needed him. And here he languished, trying desperately to break a curse that, so far as he could tell, had been cast iron-tight.
He was trapped outside of time; but outside the castle, time went on as ever.
Hemsworth sighed. “You’re in no mood to have this conversation tonight,” he said flatly. “And the girl will be arriving sometime tomorrow. Do try to make sure you have yourself back under control by then.”
Griffin made a soft sound that his butler and friend would, he hoped, take as assent. He would have it back under control.
He had to.
He forced his mind to turn to the positive—to examine the good possibilities, rather than the ones that terrified him. What would this sister be like? Would she be like Millicent, flighty and fearful? No, you’re not thinking about that. You’re going to be positive. Would she be like Erin: tentatively curious, willing at least see what the castle had to offer? This sister—the youngest—they said her name was Callista. Griffin snorted softly. It meant true beauty in Greek, which he had studied extensively when he’d still been in school and dealing with tutors. It was fitting, wasn’t it? The true beauty and he the great beast…there was an amusing contrast there.
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