CHAPTER THREE
“Mortimer?” I say. When he doesn’t answer, I call his name again. Well…I less “call” and more “yell.”
The fairy does not return.
A breeze blows through the trees, and I hug myself, trying to stay warm. It’s even colder in the mountains than it was in Astoria. I eye the shadowed man and tell myself there’s no reason to fear him. It doesn’t matter that he’s a complete stranger, or that we’re alone in the dark, next to a castle that makes regular appearances in children’s nightmares.
He’s probably very nice.
True, it’s disconcerting that I can make out very little of his appearance in the dark, but there are a few details I file away. Henri is tall, and he has a nice enough voice. Judging from it alone, I assume he’s probably twenty-one, maybe as old as twenty-five.
“He gave me a ridiculous summoning poem,” Henri says after several long, tense moments. “But I don’t remember it.”
“Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer. I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic,” I recite. I’ve said it a hundred times; I know it by heart.
“That’s it.”
“I’ve already used it today. He never answers me twice in a twenty-four-hour period. Once, he ignored me an entire week.”
Henri lets out a single, throaty laugh, and I shiver, again remembering how alone we are. If I could only see him better…
“You’re cold,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“There’s no reason to stand outside.” He starts toward the castle. “We’ll find a solution to this in the morning. I apologize for Mortimer all but kidnapping you on my behalf.”
I watch him, aghast. His apology barely registers. “You live there. With him?”
The man stops, and his shoulders go rigid. “I live alone.”
It takes several moments for his words to sink in. Once they do, I let out a tiny peep and stumble back.
“I see you’ve heard of me,” he says, disdain—and something else—heavy in his voice. He bows, but it’s a mocking gesture.
“You’re Prince Henri?”
There’s a long pause before he finally answers. “I am.”
How can that be? The prince should be over forty years of age. The man before me is nowhere close to that.
“Mortimer said you were a knight,” I accuse, still walking backward in the dark.
“I was a knight—saved damsels in distress, slew dragons, all those sorts of things. But that was before my family…passed.”
My anxiety kicks up a notch. “That was twenty years ago.”
With a low growl, Henri continues toward the castle. “Time moves quickly when you’re cursed.”
I look over my shoulder, ready to run, but something stops me. Mortimer wouldn’t have brought me here if it were dangerous—would he? As much as he’d like to be rid of me, he surely wouldn’t risk the wrath of the council. And Henri, supposedly the cursed prince of legend, saved that little girl. Why would a monster do that?
“Wait,” I call. On impulse, hoping my intuition isn’t leading me to a terrible death, I run to catch up with him.
He glances down at me. “Did you decide the forest was a bigger threat than I am?”
“I’m not fond of animals.” Somewhere distant, a wolf cries, and I cringe. “Especially ones with large teeth.”
Henri stops dead in his tracks and stares at me. “What’s your name?”
Something in his tone makes me gulp. “Sophia.”
The prince bends close, but I still can’t make out his features in the dark. “Well, Sophia, you should have stayed home.”
His words are colder than the night air. They strike my core and make me wonder if it wouldn’t be safer to take my chances in the forest.
Then another wolf howls.
Henri continues toward the palace, leaving me to chase after him like a puppy.
“How can you be the prince?” I demand, careful to keep my eyes averted. My mind is playing horrible tricks on me, and I’m terrified what I’ll find if I look at him too closely in the dark. “His father died over two decades ago.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Henri’s voice no longer carries the gentle tone it did earlier, and I sorely miss it.
“How old were you when he passed?”
The prince stops again. “Do you always ask this many questions when you first make a person’s acquaintance?”
“Usually,” I admit.
We cross an arched, stone bridge and walk under the portcullis. I look up, half-expecting the iron spikes to come crashing down.
“If you won’t answer my first question, answer me my second,” I say, needing to fill the silence. “How old are you now?”
“It’s irrelevant. I stopped aging the day the curse was cast.”
His somber mention of the curse sets me on edge. “Who cursed you?”
There has been much speculation on the subject, but the general consensus is that the royal family doomed themselves—took into their possession an enchanted item that brought them far more harm than good. But I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t a troll. The monsters’ kingdom is so close to Briadell, and they are sneaky creatures.
Jealous of our way of life, they spell themselves to look human and occasionally travel into the lower kingdoms, causing turmoil. They always have a tell, however—a massive wart on their forehead or eyes that are too close together. Those sorts of things.
“It doesn’t matter,” the prince says, finished with the subject.
I follow him into the palace, grateful for the respite from the frigid night. Then I come to an abrupt stop.
“It’s colder in here than outside,” I murmur under my breath.
And darker.
I look around, searching for Henri in the pitch-black room. The door closes behind me, and I whirl around, looking for its outline. Nothing.
What have I done?
The darkness closes in on me, squeezing my lungs, forcing me to accept that I’ve walked into a nightmare of my own making. I knew the stories, and yet I followed the cursed prince into his palace like a lamb ready for slaughter.
Just as I’m ready to scream at Mortimer, demand he come back at once, a tiny flame flickers in the dark. I watch it, half-mesmerized as the fire grows. Light blooms in the room, spreading through the stone entry, illuminating the modest space.
“There are fireplaces in nearly every room,” Henri says from in front of the fire, kneeling at the hearth with his back facing me. “Our summers are cool, and our winters are brutal.”
I study him in the low light, aghast. Under the heavy cloak he wears, he appears to have a handsome build. His hair is so blond, it looks white in the firelight. He begins to turn, and I immediately avert my gaze.
His footsteps echo in the formal entry, growing louder as he walks my way. I don’t dare look at him, so I keep my eyes on my feet. I hug myself, trembling as much from fear as the chill.
Henri steps around my back, and I clench my clasped hands. Something heavy and warm settles around my shoulders, taking me by surprise. His cloak smells just like the forest, and it’s much too long. It pools around my feet, making me wonder just how tall the cursed prince is.
“I won’t hurt you.” Henri stops just in front of me. “If that’s why you’re suddenly as silent as a mouse.”
I study his boots, which are now in my line of sight. They’re scuffed from wear, and a dried layer of mud cakes the edges. They look nothing like the boots a prince would wear.
“Why won’t you look at me?” he asks, his voice oddly curious.
In answer, I only shake my head.
After several moments, he places the tips of his fingers on my chin and tilts my jaw up. I close my eyes, refusing to look.
“You’re terrified,” he murmurs, lowering his hand. “Why?”
“Because right now, at this very moment, I can imagine you are a normal man, with a normal face. Once I lay eyes on you, I won’t ever be able to pretend again.”
He’s silent for several seconds. “Sophia, open your eyes.”
His words are abrupt, and they are laced with irritation…and possibly a sliver of amusement.
Slowly, knowing I can’t keep them closed forever, I open one eye, taking the slightest peek, bracing myself for the worst.
Then I open them both, somehow let down. “You’re not a grotesque monster.”
Henri’s mouth tilts with what might be a smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
It’s still dim in the room, but his features are clear. He has a strong jaw that’s shadowed with heavy blond stubble. His nose is straight and perfectly proportioned, and his eyes are light and deeply set under full brows.
He looks like a warrior—a true knight, solid and muscular. And so very intimidating.
“You said you were cursed,” I say.
“I am.”
“You don’t look cursed.” I wrinkle my nose and let my eyes wander over him. He’s a bit of a disappointment, to tell you the truth.
Where are the horns and tusks? Where’s the fur or boils?
Henri crosses his large arms, studying me. “You are a very strange girl.”
“I’ve heard that before, though the adjective is usually different.” I can tell he wants to ask, so I put him out of his misery. “Infuriating, incorrigible, insolent—a lot of ‘I’ words. Mortimer prefers wicked, but he’s difficult like that.”
The prince gapes at me, and I clear my throat and turn away from him. “This is a nice…entry.”
I grimace at the gaudy tapestry hanging on the wall opposite the large entry doors. It depicts a woman in a low-cut gown, standing in a battlefield, sword in hand. Her enemies lie at her feet.
“Very…colorful,” I add.
Henri steps next to me and crosses his well-muscled arms. He scowls at the tapestry. “My stepmother.”
“You don’t have a stepmother,” I say, and then I bite my tongue. He would probably know better than I.
Arms still crossed, he gives me a wry look. “I did. Very briefly.” Then he frowns and returns his attention to the tapestry. “I still do, I suppose.”
“Did she escape the curse?” I ask, because I just can’t seem to help myself.
He looks at me again, wearing that same amusement-laced, slightly exasperated half-smile. “She cast the curse.”
One second goes by, then two.
Finally, I say, “She was a troll.”
The words come out as an excited whisper. Excited not because I’m happy his family was cursed…but because I was right.
Henri nods slowly. “She is.”
“Is?”
“She’s alive, somewhere.”
“How do you know?”
He lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “Because I’m still under her curse.”
Even though the room is growing warm, and Henri’s cloak is heavy and lined with fine, thick fleece, I shiver again.
I’m quiet for several moments, trying desperately to curb my questions.
“What was her tell?” I finally ask, deciding that’s a safe topic.
“She didn’t have one.”
I step around his front so he must face me. “They always have one.”
Henri leans down, meeting me at eye level. “Been around many trolls, have you?”
Startled by how close he is, I blink. For a cursed prince, he’s very handsome. Not in the same way as Peter, who is lean and almost lanky. Henri is a warrior, through and through. Strong. Tall. Imposing.
And I realize as I stare into his light eyes, I like that about him.
Very much.
“No,” I say, my voice the slightest bit breathy. “I have not.”
The prince’s eyes narrow momentarily, almost as if I’ve startled him. He watches me for half a heartbeat more, and then he pulls back abruptly. “You must be exhausted. It’s nearly dawn.”
Which reminds me. “Why were you walking in the woods in the middle of the night?”
Ignoring my question, he says, “I don’t have a guest suite prepared for visitors, but you may sleep in my chamber tonight.”
Under his cloak, I set my hands on my hips and stare at him.
Real humor lines his face, making him look even more rugged. “I’ll sleep elsewhere, of course.”
I nod.
He lights a candelabra, and then he motions for me to follow him. Away from the fire in the entry, the palace is freezing. I eye Henri’s lightweight muslin shirt and toy with the edge of his cloak. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Not particularly.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then think better of it.
He leads me into the chamber, and I hesitate by the door. His bed is massive, made of dark wood and covered in burgundy linens.
This feels very wrong.
Henri turns back, and the flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows on his face, making him look eerie. “Sophia.”
That’s all he says, just my name.
Nodding, I shuffle into the room.
Satisfied, he sets the candelabra on a side table and turns to the fireplace. Soon, a fledgling fire crackles in the hearth.
“I’ll be gone from morning until dusk.” He moves for the door, but before he goes, he turns back. “Tomorrow evening, we will discuss what must be done with you.”
“Done with me?” I ask, almost laughing.
Without answering, he walks out the door.
“Wait!” I call.
Reluctant, he turns.
“Don’t you want the candelabra?”
A ghost of a smile plays over his lips. “I have excellent night vision.”
And then he’s gone.
***
Light streams through the tall, dappled glass windows. I blink several times, burying my face in the covers as I turn from the bright sunshine.
Then I freeze.
The linens smell like fir needles and freshly-cut wood. The scent instantly wakes me, and I sit up. Gray, flaky coals lie silent in the hearth. I have no idea how long I slept, but judging from the height of the sun, it must be late. I swing my legs off the bed and attempt to straighten my sleep-wrinkled gown.
Mortimer.
“Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer. I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic,” I all but snarl.
Seven minutes pass, then eight.
He’s not coming. It hasn’t been long enough, and he’s still ignoring me.
“Fine.”
Cautious, I open the door and step into the hall. It’s obvious Henri’s stepmother put her unique touch on this part of the palace as well. Garish paintings line the walls; all of them depict the same woman in various poses. Her eyes seem to follow me, and I hurry through the hall, trying to remember my way.
I find myself hopelessly lost, wandering down stairs and up stairs, into towers and out of towers. The entire time, I don’t see a sign of life—human or otherwise. There are no cats or dogs, not even so much as a single mouse. In most of the rooms, furniture is covered in white sheets. The decor that’s unprotected is layered in dust.
By the time I find my way to the palace’s entry, I’m practically jogging. The silence is disturbing. What happened to all the servants? The maids and cooks and stewards? Has everyone truly left Henri?
The grand palace is a shell of a structure, haunted by the memory of something terrible in its past.
I don’t make a conscious decision to leave, but when I see the enormous double-door entry, I run for it.
Outside, late afternoon sunshine greets me. It kisses my face, wrapping me in familiar warmth. I step forward, walking out onto the huge courtyard balcony that overlooks the sparkling lake.
A duck family swims near the shore, carefree.
The forest scene is idyllic, and it’s teaming with life. Several squirrels chase each other in the brush, and tiny swallows dive for the water, snatching gnats from the surface.
Slowly, I turn to study the palace. It’s tall, with graceful spires and balconies, but no birds sun themselves on the turrets or railings.
Twenty-year-old flags flap in the summer breeze, their sapphire fabric sun-faded and torn. A once-handsome crest hangs in shreds over the massive entry, giving the palace an unsettling look.
The general feeling of abandonment hangs heavy in the air.
Spooked, I jog down the steps, eager to be away from the palace, at least for a while. I travel the overgrown peninsula trail, heading toward the forest. The towering trees don’t look as intimidating in the light of day. In fact, they’re breathtaking.
There are cobblestones underfoot, but the native vegetation has taken over, growing between the stones and pushing them apart. Years ago, this was likely a heavily traveled road, groomed for carriages and carts.
I pause halfway down the peninsula. A village sits in a nearby valley. A tiny wisp of smoke rises from a chimney, telling me there are people still living there. Hope blooms in my chest, and I hurry that way.
I run the whole way to the tiny town, and I’m exhausted once I pass the protective wall. A few villagers loiter about, and every eye falls on me as I walk the dusty streets.
“Have you come to gaze upon the palace?” a woman calls from a wooden porch.
Startled to have been addressed, I turn to her. “I’m sorry?”
Her hair is gray and streaked with a few lingering black strands. She wears it in a tidy bun at the back of her head, and tiny spectacles sit on her pert nose. She goes back to her embroidery. “Our village should have withered when the royals were cursed, but we survive on the travelers who dare gaze upon the forlorn palace.”
I bite my lip, glancing at the towers that are just visible over the trees. “Do you ever see the prince?”
The woman shakes her head. “Never, not since my children were young. The palace is empty. No one comes, no one goes. Poor Henri died with his father, I reckon.”
“Then why does it sit empty?”
She looks up, meeting my eyes. Her gaze is strangely knowing, and for a moment, I almost think she’s realized I’m no ordinary traveler amusing myself with the local legend. “Many gawk, but none dare enter.”
My lips twitch at her dire warning. “You must be very brave to linger in a village so near.”
“We have our protection.” She holds out her cloth, beckoning me forward.
“A bear?” I look up after studying the embroidered cloth.
“The bear is our guardian.” She begins to stitch again. “None in this village have been harmed by the curse since he arrived. We see him often, though he never leaves the trees.”
A cold chill passes through me. Just what is the bear protecting the villagers from?
“He’s white?” I ask, looking again at the design.
“As white as snow.”
“Why do you stitch him?”
“We do it to show our gratitude.”
“On a handkerchief?”
“On all our linens and clothing.” She smiles. “But the handkerchiefs we leave at the edge of the forest as a gift. In the morning, they’re always gone.”
It’s sweet, I suppose, but I find the idea of a giant bear prowling the woods more than a little disturbing.
“What are you thanking him for with this particular handkerchief?” I ask.
She knots the thread, apparently finished. “He saved my granddaughter when she fell down a nearby ravine—carried her safely home on his back.”