Ever since the curse took effect. She forced a smile to her lips. “All right,” she said quietly. “Thank you for your time.”
Arabella and Juliette followed her out the door, frowning.
“What was that about?” Juliette wanted to know.
“It doesn’t matter.” Callista walked steadily to the cart, took up her horse’s reins. There was nothing for it. She would have to go back alone; and at the moment, she was just grateful that she knew how to drive the cart and wouldn’t have to send someone else down after it.
“Callista!” Arabella protested. “You look—” She hesitated.
“Really sad,” Juliette filled in.
“It’s not important.” Callista tried to manage a smile for them, but she was sure it wasn’t quite there. “I’ll see you all in a few days, all right? Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Juliette said quietly. Arabella’s, “Merry Christmas!” sounded forced, but as cheery as she could make it, as though she knew Callista needed that boost today.
The drive back to the castle was a long one. How was she going to tell him? He’d relied on those three—on Mrs. Martel, Mrs. Picard, and Hemsworth—for so long, it didn’t seem fair that one of them could be ripped away from him now. Didn’t he deserve to keep at least those few who loved him?
It’s not fair, God. None of this is fair. But she couldn’t stop it, either.
Griffin took one look at her and knew. “She didn’t come back with you, did she?” he asked quietly.
Callista stared at the floor, unwilling to look up at him.
He wished that he could get out of the bed, take her chin in his furred hand, and convince her to just look at him—to look into his eyes and see that he didn’t blame her.
He was sad—of course he was sad—but he wasn’t really surprised. For nearly five years, since they’d first realized that people who left the castle weren’t able to remember him well enough to come back, Mrs. Martel had refused to go any further than the stables. Even going down to the town had been refused for the last couple of years—and that meant that she must have gone down deliberately today.
He sighed softly. “It’s not your fault, you know,” he pointed out.
“I know. I just keep thinking I should have guessed—should have seen it.” Callista sighed. “She hasn’t been down there at all since the curse, has she?”
“No,” Griffin agreed quietly. “And I wondered, when she decided to go with you—but I thought—” His lips pressed tightly together. It didn’t matter what he’d thought. Obviously, he had been wrong.
“She has grandchildren—twins,” Callista said quietly.
His eyes jerked back to her face, and at least now she was looking at him, even if it was with sadness so deep that it made his own heart ache. “Twins?” he wanted to know.
She nodded. “I think…I think the letter came yesterday.”
Griffin closed his eyes, absorbing it. He knew all about Mrs. Martel’s daughter, Lindsey, of course. He and Lindsey had played together as children. She was just a couple of years older than he was—young enough that they had been friends before either of them had understood about class distinctions and that it probably wasn’t “proper” for the crown prince to play with a servant’s son.
He hadn’t cared—though he hadn’t been surprised, a few years later, when she’d moved away, either. She’d fallen in love, married young. He would have thought she and her husband would have a houseful by now, but—
She got it yesterday. He sighed, slowly feeling it all come together. His cook had always hated that her daughter had moved away. She’d tried to conceal it, but he’d known for years that if she and her husband had been able to find equally good jobs in the town where Lindsey and her husband had settled, they would have been gone the next day.
And then there was the curse—and she had to have felt as though she was being torn in two. Stay with the one who had been cursed, who had so few; or go to the daughter who needed her?
She’d let the curse decide for her, accompanying Callista into town. If she’d remembered him, duty would have brought her back to his side. Since she couldn’t, there was no guilt, no grief. He wondered if she would even feel a sense of something missing.
He would.
He felt a hand slide carefully into his—Callista, tentatively offering him at least that much support.
Griffin offered her a cautious smile, though he knew it wasn’t nearly his best. “I’ll be all right,” he promised her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” The first time in a long time, though. He had to admit that.
“I know. It’s still hard.” She sighed. “I’m going to miss her. And oh!” She looked suddenly horrified. “What are we going to do about food? I can’t cook—I never learned how!”
Griffin chuckled, then grimaced as it jarred his aching side. “It’ll be all right,” he promised her. “I don’t think she’s been doing most of the cooking on her own anyway. The invisible servants, remember?”
“Oh.” Callista sighed. “I almost forgot—I mean, not forgot, forgot, but—”
“I know what you mean.” He sighed. “Did you have any luck with the crutches?”
“Oh—yes!” Now, at least, her face lit up again, showcasing her natural joy instead of letting sorrow sink down over her. Good. He didn’t want her to be sad, too, especially not this close to Christmas; and anyway, there wasn’t anything to be done for it.
Maybe by this time next year, the castle would be full again—filled with people, and servants, and the Court.
Or maybe not. He would have said that Mrs. Martel loved him nearly as much as she did Lindsey. Surely if anyone was going to love him—remember him—it would have been her.
Callista squeezed his hand. “I asked Hemsworth to bring up the crutches,” she told him, softening her voice in understanding. She could clearly see the quiet sorrow flashing through his eyes. He would feel the need to work on that, except he had the feeling that she understood. “They’re a bit bulky for me—well, crutches for a man who’s seven feet tall would be.” She sighed. “Anyway, he’s on his way. I asked him to give me a minute—I think he might have gone to tell Mrs. Picard.”
Griffin winced. He could only imagine how well that was going to go. The two women were the kind of friends who had been together all their lives and planned to stay friends until they retired to a home together, where they would continue to cause mischief until neither of them had so much as a spark left in her.
Mrs. Picard was not going to take this well.
“Griffin?” Callista asked softly.
“Yes—oh, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Thank you for going down there for me, and for bringing back those crutches—they really are going to make my life easier until this knee heals.” He made a face.
“I hope so,” she whispered. “I just—I want you to know I’m sorry. I didn’t guess, even a little, that this was what she had in mind.”
“Torn between two loves.” He sighed. “And who can blame her for wanting to be with Lindsey right now more than she wants to be with me? I would have made the same choice, in her shoes.”
“Would you?” Callista murmured.
He made a face at her. She knew him too well: chances were, he would have chosen honor over his heart. Still… “I wish I could wave a wand and just break the curse for her—but I suppose it won’t matter now. I wonder if she’ll remember me at all, once it’s broken.”
“I think she’ll be back,” Callista encouraged him. “She said that Lindsey and the twins were going to move here to stay with her—that’s something, right?”
“Are they?” He sighed. He could have helped them a great deal more if he’d been able to have them all living here. Then again, Lindsey had never cared for living in a castle. She’d always said that she hated the way noblemen and women looked down their noses at her.
He thought sometimes that she’d been warning him that he’d
better never fall into that category, though he was sure he had never once looked down on her, not even when, around eight or nine, he’d started to really learn about the difference between their classes.
“Come on.” Callista sat down in the chair beside his bed. “Why don’t you let me read to you for a little while?” she suggested softly.
He smiled, appreciating the effort at a distraction. She was such a blessing, his Callista—trying to bring a little more light wherever she went.
My Callista? The thought settled inside him; and somehow, Griffin wasn’t surprised when it felt…right.
He couldn’t tell her, of course. He would never put that pressure on her. Still…
Oh, yes, he was falling in love.
They spent a quiet Christmas together: the two of them, Hemsworth, and Mrs. Picard. After a couple of days of allowing themselves to miss Mrs. Martel, they all pasted on bright smiles and decided that they were going to make the best of the holiday season, no matter what it might bring.
Their “best” included several long nights around the fire downstairs, quiet evenings in the library—not a lot of activity, given the fact that Griffin’s body was slow to heal, but quiet nights in good company. His slowly healing body restricted him more than he liked.
“Not slow,” Callista kept insisting. “It’s just going to take time, that’s all.”
He made a face at her every time she said it. At least she was there with him, keeping him from climbing the walls and being bored out of his mind.
If he hadn’t had her, the injury would have seemed far worse than it did already—but with her there, he felt as though he could manage anything, even a long confinement that had him stuck on the couch throughout most of the long winter months.
His knee healed. His side healed. It did, as Callista had pointed out, take time; but by the time spring began to touch the air, he was back to himself once more and able to enjoy a few long, slow walks with the young woman who so captivated his heart.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Wedding
“Callista, are you certain you’re all right?” Griffin was sure that he hadn’t felt nearly this cautious with her in a very long time. Their friendship had been building—in fact, he’d been sure that they were on the verge of making something incredible out of their relationship, growing it into the more that he had been looking for even before he’d been cursed. He cared about her more with every day that passed, and the truth was, he wasn’t even thinking about the day when her time here would come to an end—because he wasn’t going to let it end.
“I’m all right.” But she was still playing with her food instead of eating it—something that was very unusual for Callista.
“If you aren’t feeling well,” he pressed.
“I’m fine, Griffin. Just leave it!” She shoved back from the table so harshly that it knocked their plates all about, dumping food onto the tablecloth. Callista stared down at it—were those tears in her eyes? Surely not. Surely she couldn’t actually be crying over anything—could she?
Griffin was left staring after her as she swept away from the table.
“Griffin?” Hemsworth cleared his throat softly from behind him a few moments later, shaking him from his stunned silence. “Ah…Callista seems to have gone out into the gardens.” He didn’t have to ask which gardens. She always chose the ones below his balcony, the ones where he could see her, if he wished. It had started in an effort to let him know that she wasn’t afraid of him; over their months together, however, it had grown into her favorite place, and he thought that, if something had upset her, it was a reasonable enough place for her to have taken refuge.
“The gardens.” He turned the words over in his mouth. Did she even want his company? If he went after her, would she end up yelling at him again?
“Ah…she seemed upset.” Hemsworth cleared his throat cautiously, as though he was trying to make a point and just couldn’t spit the words out.
Griffin wished he would just come out and say it. What did he know about what to do with hysterical young ladies? Anything he said to her right now was bound to be wrong, and it would probably cause even more problems that he couldn’t possibly work his way around, so—
“Your Highness?” Hemsworth prompted. “Would you like to go after her yourself?”
“That would probably be the wise thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Griffin sighed, pushing back away from the table. “Please—keep the food for later,” he requested of the invisible servants. “If Callista is hungry, even if I’m not about, see to it that she has plenty to eat.”
There was no indication that they’d heard him, but as he hurried out of the dining hall and into the gardens, Griffin had no doubt that his orders were being obeyed. Convenient things, invisible servants. He was fairly certain that they were the one part of the curse he was going to miss, if he ever happened to manage to get it broken.
The way things were going tonight, he was fairly sure he was going to live out the entirety of his life as this beastly creature; and chances were excellent that, somewhere along the way, he’d done something to deserve it. He supposed that meant he ought to just learn to live with it. Perhaps there was a way to work around the amnesia factor—something that would convince people to actually remember him for more than half a second after they set foot out of the castle.
Then again, probably not.
Callista was sitting on one of the low garden walls, her feet tucked up beneath her, her skirts spread around her. She looked lovely—but it took no more than a glance at her to realize that she was desperately sad.
Griffin sat down next to her, but didn’t reach out to touch her. “I thought we were friends,” he said quietly.
“We are.” Callista’s voice was slightly husky, as though she was hiding emotion, but it no longer seemed to be full of the fury she’d felt before. He thought that might be a step in the right direction—not to mention a slightly smaller likelihood that he was about to get his head handed to him for trying to talk to her.
“Then won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
Her smile was deeply sad. “It’s nothing you can do anything about.”
He cast his mind back over her day, frowning. “Is it your friends in the village? Something going on with the young man—what was his name?” He should have listened more carefully, but somehow, the names hadn’t seemed half so important as her delight in them. “Barrett. He’s been asking after your sister, hasn’t he?”
“No, it’s not them.” She smiled faintly. “Although I do think he and Erin are going to end up deciding to visit each other again, maybe even do more than that. That will be interesting.” She sighed softly.
“Are you starting to regret being here?” Fear nearly paralyzed him at that thought. If she had tired of him—if she was ready to leave, when they had made it so far, when, for the first time, he was starting to feel something—
“No!” There was more genuine emotion behind that quiet protest.
Griffin breathed a faint sigh of relief that he hoped she wouldn’t hear. “Then will you tell me what it is?” he asked quietly. “If it’s within my power to do something about it, you must know that I will.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” She darted a look up at him, then returned her gaze to the flowers. He wondered if she found solace in their beauty as he had before she’d come—before he had learned to see the beauty within her. “Not without—I mean, the terms of the curse won’t let you.”
He was fairly sure that his heart was going to shatter if she didn’t come out with it. “Callista,” he began.
“It’s just—” She sighed. “Anastasia is getting married tomorrow,” she said quietly. “She’s been planning the wedding for years, it seems like; and, I don’t know.” She shrugged a little bit, very sadly. “I always thought I’d be there, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Griffin studied her for a long moment, thinking it through—thinking through the way the c
urse worked, and the restrictions on it, and what it would mean for her to go to her sister’s wedding—but more, what it would mean that she couldn’t. He took a deep breath. “What if you could go?”
“Griffin, don’t,” Callista told him seriously. She reached out, resting her hand on top of his. “You know how I feel about you,” she pointed out quietly. “You’ve become such a dear friend to me, and I want—no, I need to see how this plays out. If what’s between us is enough to break the curse—if it keeps growing the way we both have come to expect—”
“Then it won’t be a problem.” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. She couldn’t know what he was risking. He would never lie to her—wouldn’t dream of it—but in this, he would at least hide it.
If it failed—if he lost her—then it wouldn’t really matter anyway. If she passed this test…
“You could go to your sister’s wedding,” he told her carefully.
Hope flared in her eyes, quickly squashed. “I won’t risk not being able to break the curse just because I couldn’t see it through!” she protested.
“All you have to do is return before the curse takes effect and you forget me,” Griffin told her seriously. “You couldn’t be gone for more than three days, but I think if it were just that long, you’d be all right.”
Callista frowned. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, see her trying to work through it so that she could figure out whether or not he was being honest with her. “How can you be sure?” she wanted to know.
“Three days seems to be the trigger,” he said slowly. “Any longer than that, and even those who care for me tend to forget, to not be able to make their way back here even if they try.”
“Three days.” She thought about it. “I would only need a day,” she told him at last. “Just long enough to see my sister be married. I just—I want to be there to wish her well, to tell her that I love her, so much, but Griffin—”
“Make it a day, then, if it’s only Stasi you want to see,” he told her. “But if you need more time than that—if you need the three days—then take it! Enjoy the time with your sister.” He pressed her hand gently before returning his paw to his lap. “I don’t want you to look back, years from now, and feel that this year with me has deprived you of something precious.”
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