CHAPTER FOUR
I’m still reeling when the woman hands me the handkerchief. “Perhaps you can take this for me?”
“I…” I stammer, stepping back. “I don’t know how to find the bear.”
Her sharp eyes spark with amusement. “I didn’t say you did. I was hoping you could leave it at the forest’s edge, save me an uphill walk.”
Gulping, I accept the offered token. I’m sure she notices how my hand shakes. “All right.”
She jerks her chin in the direction I came from. “Go on now, the sun will set soon. You don’t want to be in the forest after dark.”
“Because of the bear?”
She smiles. “Because the woods are treacherous to navigate.”
Of course.
I give her a nod, wondering what kind of mad place Mortimer abandoned me in, and turn back to the woods. The woman is right; I don’t want to walk through these trees after the sun sets. It’s already low in the sky, and the shadows are growing long.
Smoke from cooking fires in the village wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of the evergreens. It’s a welcome, homey smell and a sharp contrast to the eerie stillness of the trail.
Handkerchief in hand, I hurry for the palace, only because I have no other place to go. I refuse to look at the swatch of fabric. Several times, I swear I see a flash of white fur in the trees. But that might be my imagination playing tricks on me.
As I walk, I repeat my plea to Mortimer. Again, he ignores me.
I reach the peninsula just after the sun sinks below the horizon. Color leaches from the forest as dusk settles, turning the dusty green trees gray. I pull open the heavy door, but the entry is dark.
Something about the lonely, dim palace seems infinitely more frightening than the balcony overlooking the lake. Instead of lighting a fire in a dust-riddled sitting room and huddling by it until Henri returns, I hurry out the doors, back into the fresh mountain air.
As dusk turns to dark and the air goes from cool to cold, I whisper Mortimer’s summon a dozen times. Even if he were to simply wait with me, at least I wouldn’t be alone.
For the first time, I miss the chaos of home. It’s never quiet, not with the nine of us and the livestock. Something or someone is always making noise, even in the dead of night.
But here…nothing. Even the ducks have gone silent.
I should have gone inside, waited by the fire, braved the empty shell of a palace.
“Sophia?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Henri walking up the steps. He’s so quiet, I didn’t hear him approaching.
“What are you doing in the courtyard?” He opens the doors, and his shadowy, human form ushers me inside.
“The palace is too quiet,” I whisper.
Hugging myself, I wait for Henri to start a fire in the entry hearth, just as he did early this morning. Soon it’s crackling, bringing much-needed warmth to the room.
“I went to the village today.” I clasp my hands, trapping the handkerchief between them.
“That’s a long walk,” he says in a conversational tone. “Would you like to wait here by the fire or join me as I light the rest?”
“I met a woman.”
“I imagine you did. Roughly fifty percent of the villagers are women.” He holds up a stringer of fish. They’re good-sized, but they look small in comparison to his large frame. “You must be starving. I realize I left you with nothing to eat. As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a guest.”
He’s avoiding the conversation, and I let out a flighty laugh that’s a product of frazzled nerves. “She gave me a handkerchief.”
Henri finally drags his gaze to mine.
“To give to you,” I say.
“Sophia—”
“That’s your curse.” I step forward. “You’re the white bear who looks after the villagers.”
A mask falls over the prince’s face, but his eyes flicker with pain before he schools it. “The curse backfired.”
I step closer, irrationally wanting to comfort him. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, obstinately mute.
“It happened over twenty years ago,” I say. “Have you ever talked about it? To anyone?”
Silence blankets the room. It’s so stifling, I wonder how it doesn’t suffocate the fire.
Henri turns his back on me, and now I know I’ve done it. I’ve pushed too far, made the bear angry. He’s probably going to eat me.
“The troll’s name is Amara, and she’s the queen of Elsland. She came shortly after my mother passed, worked her magic, enchanted my father. As soon as they were wed, she plotted to kill him so she could claim Briadell as her own.”
I’m so shocked by his words, I can’t answer.
“She cast her deadly curse, and I leapt in front of it, trying to save him.” He pauses. “As a baby, a fairy gifted me with protection. The fairy magic thwarted Amara’s curse, twisted it into something entirely different. Instead of a monster, I became the guardian bear. As long as I hold this form, my kingdom is safe from her. She cannot step foot in Briadell.”
It’s beautiful in a way, and so very sad.
“And your father?”
“I couldn’t save him. He died that day.”
Slowly, worried he’s going to shy away, I walk toward Henri. I place a soft hand on his back, hoping to offer comfort even though I know it’s not enough.
I’ve lived for amusement. I’ve never experienced loss—I’ve never even wanted for anything. And Henri…his life has been full of so much pain.
The prince tenses when I first touch him, but his muscles gradually relax under my palm.
After several minutes of quiet companionship, I softly ask, “Why did Mortimer bring me?”
Henri still has his back to me, making the conversation easier.
“Because it’s a lonely life,” he says, and then he turns his head, meeting my eyes. “And the council knew my one desire.”
My throat goes thick with emotion. No one has ever made me feel before. I blink quickly, hating the way my eyes sting. Softly, I say, “A maid?”
He lets out a startled laugh, just as I desperately hoped he would, and it makes my world right. It’s a happy sound, loud and joyful. It warms me from the tips of my fingers, all the way to my toes.
Finally, he turns. I offer him the handkerchief. He takes it, running his hands along the embroidery as if it’s precious.
“How many tokens do you have?” I ask. Twenty years is a long time.
“Nearly a hundred.”
I drop my hand, feeling awkward now that he’s facing me. “Why then is this the first time the fairies have sent someone to help you?”
“It’s not.” His mouth tilts in a wry smile. “But it’s the first time I couldn’t convince them to leave it alone—though the first fairy was almost as belligerent as Mortimer.”
We share a smile, and my reaction scares me. This—this is how it’s supposed to be. My heart beats like a hummingbird in my chest, and my stomach flutters. I’m hot and cold, and I feel weightless—like I could float away.
Why, why, is it that when I’m finally feeling the pull of genuine attraction, the man ends up being a bear?
“The coach visits the village tomorrow,” Henri says, his eyes warm. “I’ll send you with a satchel of money—however much you think you’ll need to get to Astoria.”
Wait a moment.
What did he say? I was so busy cataloging my reaction, I must have missed something vital.
I blink at him. “Astoria?”
“To wherever you live. I assumed from your accent you are Astorian.”
“You’re sending me away?”
Didn’t we just share a moment? Even a tiny one? Something?
“You belong with your family, Sophia.” He almost looks reluctant, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part. “You have to go home.”
“Or I could stay.”
He studies me for several long moments. “You would marry me, knowing what I am?”
Gently, I pull the handkerchief from his hand and hold it between us, making a statement. “I will gladly marry the man who’s earned almost a hundred of these.”
“You’ll marry a bear?” he presses.
I gulp. A bear.
Marry a bear.
Can I marry…a bear?
No matter how I phrase it, it doesn’t get any better.
Mother will faint when she hears the news, and Father—oh, he’ll be livid. I can just see the way his face will turn red, how he’ll rant and rave because I chose this path—my own path—instead of playing the good daughter and becoming a farmer’s wife.
Then I think of Peter, how he’ll laugh when the news eventually reaches him.
Will I marry a bear?
“Yes, Henri. I will.”