A Kiss like Roses (Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1)
Author: Colton, Eliza
Date: 2019-08-27

A Kiss like Roses

Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1

Eliza Colton

Copyright © 2019 by Eliza Colton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by PandaFox

Created with Vellum

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Afterword

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

“B-Bea…” My father croaked from his bed. He wheezed as he tried to say the rest of my name—Beatrice—and I saw his fingers tremble as he tried in vain to reach out to me. Swallowing, I clasped my hand over his.

“I’m here,” I said, trying to keep myself still and my voice calm. Soothing. He was suffering enough without my adding to his grief. “Would you like anything? More water?”

My success at sounding peaceful was one I accepted with ironic chagrin. I sounded more like the hired healers we couldn’t afford than his own grieving daughter, and I wondered if perhaps he’d prefer me to weep and shriek as I had in the first months of his illness.

A proof that he was still loved and wept for. That we saw him as a beloved father and husband rather than a man who had long been grieved for, a shell of his past self.

I shook that thought away.

Squeezing my eyes shut as I heard my father try and fail to say a single word, his mind and energy languishing, I thought back to happier days. The ones before the illness stole my father from me.

It was through sheer bad luck he fell ill to the misfortune. That’s what it was called because no one knew what the illness was or what caused it, but its effects were devastating. Victims were fated to wither as their limbs and organs fossilized. The illness trapped them in their own bodies and minds until they passed away, their hearts and lungs frozen.

“At least it’s painless,” our neighbors had told me when they heard the news. None of them had any way of knowing, so their words had been little comfort. They’d also echoed this classic line: “It could be worse.”

They could only say that because they weren’t the ones suffering. Their fathers weren’t limp on their beds, praying their life would end.

They weren’t the ones hiding every trace of their father’s passion and talent—the easels, the paint, the brushes, the extra paintings he’d drawn of the nation’s most elite noble families when they’d hired him for his renowned skill—because the smallest reminders of his past tore sobs out of him.

Gritting my teeth, I opened my eyes and realized Father must have fallen asleep. Good. At least in dreams, he could paint and joke around with us as he used to, his face wrinkled to a dazzling, infectious smile.

In the few hours he spent awake every day, I fed him and nursed him and told stories to him, both from books and from our daily lives, but it had been three years. There were only so many things that could occur in our small village, and I’d repeated the same stories hundreds of times.

It was clear my father’s mind glazed over the now memorized tales, which were more a reminder of his changed health than a distraction.

“B-B-Beuf—” A haggard gasp for air broke me away from my thoughts. I touched Father’s forehead.

My hand burned.

“It’s alright, Father,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure he could hear me in his painful delirium. “We’ve overcome this thousands of times. You’ll feel better in just a bit. I promise.”

As I spoke, I snatched up the nearby small towel and dampened it with ice water before putting it to his head. It was little, but it was also one of the very few things I could do for him.

His body was frequently feverish, and we didn’t know if it was due to the misfortune making him more susceptible to other illnesses or from the curse itself.

Father gave a shuddering sigh of relief.

I sighed in exhaustion.

“I’ll find a way to save you, I swear,” I said, unable to watch him suffer like this.

I was lying.

The misfortune had only one cure, and it was guarded by the royal family. No one else knew what it was or where to get it, and rumors whispered even the monarchs had only a handful of cures at their disposal.

A cure could be purchased from them—at an exorbitant price that most nobles could not afford even if they sold all their property.

At the onset of my father’s illness, my mother, sister, and I had sold everything, sacrificed everything, worked hundred-hour weeks, and begged all the nobles in the nation to hire him before the loss of his limbs progressed.

All for one hope: that we could somehow miraculously afford a cure for him.

A pipe dream.

“I’m home.” A weak, exhausted voice spoke from our small living room.

After ensuring my father was asleep and didn’t need me, I headed out of his room to welcome my sister home. I forced a smile when I saw her.

Her cheeks were sunken from fatigue, and half her hair was falling out from her messy bun in sweaty clumps. Every inch of her was dusty, shading her hair and skin into the same jaundiced hue of her torn, wrinkled dress that resembled a potato sack.

“Beatrice,” she said, managing a weak nod.

“Constance! How was your day?” I asked, more out of etiquette than curiosity as I mustered energy that I lacked. She often went straight to bed when she came home, too exhausted even for small talk. “I made some porridge earlier if you’d like.”

She shook her head weakly.

“Are you sure?” I was used to her skipping dinner, but I’d never stopped worrying about her.

She nodded as she began creeping away to her room—then halted, turning her head.

“Oh, Beatrice. Have you heard the latest offer for the beast’s roses?” She said through her teeth. My eyes widened. It had been literal months since she last said anything to me other than a simple greeting.

“The beast we used to gossip about as children?” I asked, desperate to keep a conversation going. This felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bond with my sister.

Constance nodded. “Yeah.”

I waited with bated breath for her to say anything else. She didn’t.

Fidgeting with my dress, I thought back to the rumors.

A savage beast was said to live in the forest a day’s walk from here, and on his field grew golden roses that were found nowhere else in the world. He was fiercely protective of them, and no one who’d attempted to steal one had ever been seen again.

“The nobles are still bargaining for the roses?” I said with a shaky laugh. “Ridiculous. And don’t people have better things to talk about?”

Constance shrugged. “What is there to talk about? Life is always the same.”

I bit my lip. Seeing Constance eye her door, I quickly grasped at the topic she’d brought up to get her to stay. “Well, what did the nobles offer now? Wasn’t it a million coins per flower the last time they boasted about their wealth? Have they doubled it?”

Constance shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Fifty million coins.”

Fifty million?

A single cure cost fifty million coins.

The number shocked me, and I gripped my arms, afraid I’d grab the closest thing and throw it at the wall. Those very nobles had refused to pay a single more coin than they had to for my father’s paintings.

“They care more about a flower than a man’s life?” I snapped.

“It’s a show of power,” Constance croaked. “And our father was only a hired hand to them, as meaningful as any of their maids or cooks.”

I swallowed, grit my teeth, and tried not to cry. I understood, but even so. It was a flower. Just because it was beautiful and impossible to get didn’t make it any more special than the roses sold for pennies at stalls. How could it mean more than saving a life?

“Those nobles have always been rotten,” I seethed. “Every last one of them.”

Constance bowed her head before turning back to enter her room, and I belatedly noticed a slight limp to her gait. I narrowed my eyes.

“Constance—” I began, then shut my mouth.

“What?”

“No,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

Without a farewell, she stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

“Goodnight,” I whispered, although she could no longer hear me.

She wouldn’t have told me about her limp if I asked.

Although she was my fraternal twin, she was older than me by twelve whole minutes, and she took pride in it. In her eyes, with pride came responsibility. Over me.

And with responsibility came a necessity for deceit, for pretending everything was alright no matter how much she suffered or struggled.

When our father could no longer move, she’d fought with our mother and me, arguing that it was best that I stay at home to take care of him rather than continuing to work, despite knowing how much longer and harder she’d need to work to make up for my absence.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed. The words died in my throat. I’d apologized profusely and often in the beginning, but now any words to her just felt unnecessary. Uncomfortable.

The last few years had fractured our family. I hated it.

We’d lost our friends when we moved to the slums. We’d lost our passions—Constance and I had to drop out of our academy, since we had neither the tuition nor the time for it.

But, most devastatingly, we’d lost each other.

No.

I refused to accept this reality, although it continued with or without my consent.

My father was still young. He deserved to recover, or to at least be himself again. My sister deserved to study and excel as she always had. My father, my sister, and my mother all deserved freedom, whether from their own failing bodies or from endless, fruitless labor.

They deserved a future. A proper one.

The thought had never ceased to haunt me, but now, I felt a single, crucial difference.

Hope gnawed at me from the back of my mind, and I seized it.

The golden roses.

I took a deep breath. My mind was set.

I was going to steal a rose.

My skin itched with impatience as I devised a rudimentary plan that was destined to fail, since I knew almost nothing about my destination and mission.

At least I’d be doing something. I’d been useless too long, and that was in part a result of my complacency. I’d always believed that. And many days, I looked in the mirror and saw someone I could only hate. A coward.

If I died trying to save my father, it’d be better than dying after only contributing to my family’s misery.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into the darkness. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry.”

I couldn’t tell my family what I was doing. They’d stop me, and I’d lose my only opportunity to fix things.

Lifting a small book and a quill, I scribbled a quick, terse note to my mother about my destination, then set them back down as quietly as possible.

Pausing, I grabbed a small purse, taking enough money from the family coin jar for a carriage ride to the forest. Then I stepped into the kitchen and grabbed our best knife (which was meaningless, considering we had two, and one was a bread knife). For self-defense.

It was theft, but it was necessary. If I survived, I’d be paying it all back and then some.

If I didn’t, they’d have more to worry about than some stolen coins and a knife.

Fists clenched, I blew out the candles and tiptoed out.

Chapter 2

If I had to say one thing, it would be this: I severely overestimated the ease of finding a coach so late in the night.

The few that stopped for me laughed and left when they realized I wanted a ride all the way to the forest—and that I didn’t have the money to stop partway at an inn when the sky grew even darker. I chastised myself for my shortsightedness.

Realizing I’d find no success finding a ride, I began running towards the forest. It would take a long, long time, I knew, but I had to gain distance before my mother arrived home and began chasing after me. Might as well run until daylight, when I’d have better luck hiring a carriage for me to sleep in.

It wasn’t like me to turn back now.

I alternated between sprinting and walking, my body stiff and uncooperative from the years spent cooped up indoors. I panted against the frigid air as I forced myself to continue moving. It took every effort not to collapse onto my knees and heave until the world ended.

My surroundings seemed to whirl around me as it transitioned from the drab, ragged houses of straw and hay to the middle-class brick houses painted with flamboyant reds, blues, and purples.

With my surroundings, the sky shifted, too, from the evening’s dusky rose-gold to a pitch-black that contrasted the bright moon.

The moon and stars did little to illuminate Holika’s lands in the darkness, and everything remained obscured by shadows. I struggled not to trip or ram my face against hard surfaces.

“—ey!” I heard a muffled male voice in the distance accompanied by light thuds, but I continued running. Why would a stranger speak to me? More clearly, the voice continued. “Hey! Stop running!”

I froze. Had Mother already found me? Who was the man with her? Furrowing my brows, I turned around to see. Of course, I saw nothing but shadows, so I pivoted back to sprint away. I heard an irritated groan, which I ignored.

Only a minute later, I heard an obnoxious, loud series of thuds from right beside me. Shocked, I jumped away. My eyes widened.

When I turned my head, I came face to face with a carriage—and an old, red-haired man behind the horses who glowered at me.

“U-um. Hello?” I said. “Did I… Do something?”

“No, but I wouldn’t say it’s wise to travel alone in the dead of the night.”

I shrugged, wondering if I should be wary, but decided against it. There was a kindness in his voice that contradicted his gruff frown, and more importantly, since when could seniors be malicious? Never. That was when.

“I’m heading to the beast’s forest,” I said. Unoriginal, but that was what we called it. I’d never known another name.

The man sighed. “You, too?”

Frowning, I asked, “What do you mean?” A beat later, the realization hit me, making me feel like an idiot. The man echoed my thoughts.

“There have been countless attempts at stealing the roses since before the fools up North offered fifty million. Surely you don’t believe you’re the only one swept away by the recent rumors.” He shook his head. “You’re too young to risk your life. Go home. If no one else has succeeded, what makes you think you will?”

“I-I don’t care. I have to.” The words left my lips before I could stop them, and I bit my lip, wondering if I should continue. Would the man even believe me? Or would he think I was lying for sympathy? “My father. He has the misfortune—I have to save him.”

Narrowing his eyes, he turned his head back to me and began scrutinizing me.

“The artist?” He said. It wasn’t a question. “Which twin are you? The younger?” I took a step back with my mouth ajar, this time feeling justified in my confusion.

“You know him?”

“I know of him. Great painter with a loving family. A foolish family.” Seeing me bristle at the comment, he added, “I heard your family begged all the wealthiest people over and over again for help, refusing to take no for an answer, to the point you were almost imprisoned for disrespect. Is that wrong?”

Again. Not a question, though he added a halfhearted lift at the end of his sentence. I twisted my lips, uncomfortable. I’d pushed away those memories for a reason.

The only words I could manage were, “We weren’t as obnoxious about it as you make it sound.”

Which wasn’t very helpful.

I wrung my hands, fearful I sounded like an entitled brat. Granted, I probably was one, but it had been my father’s life at stake. If I could go back in time, I would have pestered those nobles all over again, since it wasn’t like they needed their mountains of coins.

“I’m sure you were,” he said. “Even so, couldn’t you have waited a day? Why are you out here so late?”

“I… erm…” I laughed awkwardly. “I might have left without bringing enough money for an inn.”

His expression became incredulous, almost pitying—of my intelligence, not my circumstances—and I swallowed. He sat in silence for a few moments, then sighed. “Come on in, then.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“I’m offering you a ride,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer to travel on foot.”

I rapidly shook my head. Though doubt fluttered in my stomach, it was this or falling asleep on the streets a few hours from now, so I opened the carriage door, entered, and sat down, my back glued against the seat.

“Did my unwavering determination convince you I’d find a way to steal a rose?” I asked, raising my voice so he could hear me from outside as he guided the horses. The carriage jolted to a start.

“No. But your shamelessness convinced me you’d come back alive.”

I winced, unsure how shamelessness would help me, but feeling insulted regardless. Then I shook my head. I was going to the forest to steal a treasure, and there was a good chance I would die—or be vanished, whatever that meant. Who cared about a stranger’s opinion?

Questions formed in my head—who was he, and what was he doing here?—but I drifted off before long, a small smile on my face as I dreamed about bringing home a bouquet of golden roses.

* * *

“-y, hey, wake up, we’re—”

A warm, fatherly voice tugged me back to consciousness, and I began to stretch, only for my arms to hit the low ceiling of the carriage. I grunted.

Rubbing my eyes, I grumbled, “Papa, no, let me sleep a little more—” as if I were a kid again, and my father was trying to wake me up to send me to school, threatening to pour a bucket of ice water on my face if I didn’t wake up.

The sound of a horse neighing and stomping at the ground brought me back to reality.

“I—sorry,” I said, tugging my hair back. When I opened my eyes, it was the driver’s sympathetic stare that greeted me, dark circles and bags pooled under his eyes. A thrum of guilt pierced me.

The man shook his head, then gestured outward. “No problem, but we’re here.”

Widening my eyes, I glanced out the carriage.

Endless knotted trees towered over us, their foliage forming thick clouds that blocked much of the sky. The little daylight that peered through the leaves spotlighted a small path leading deeper into the forest, enticing me to continue—and filling me with beads of optimism.

“We’re here already?” I frowned. “Why didn’t you take a break to sleep?”

“I’m late getting home,” he said. “If I take another day, my family will worry and cause a scene.”

I nodded, understanding. It was a pity, but people his age were expected to have weakened strength, joints, and vision; if something were to happen to him, he’d be in far more peril than those even five years younger than him. His children and grandchildren (and great-grandchildren) must be distraught.

And I’d made him overexert himself for me. I began to apologize, but he swatted at air.

“If you’re sorry, get out of the carriage,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right, I’m terribly sor—” The man glared at me from his seat. Without another peep, I hopped out of the carriage. He’d appreciate compliance over more meaningless words.

Eager to pay him, I dug through my purse and practically threw all my coins into his hands. “Thank you, thank you, you don’t understand how grateful I am—”

Spitting at the ground, the man handed my coins right back.

“I can’t accept money from someone I might’ve driven to her death,” he said.

“I thought you trusted me to survive.”

“No, I just don’t think your death is guaranteed. If you die, I’ll have murdered—”

“I won’t die,” I said, giving him a smile of reassurance that I wished I felt myself.

Pushing the coins back at him, I added, “I need to pay you somehow, and I won’t need the coins if I’m dead.” While the statement was morbid, both of us knew it was also the truth.

“Money’s the last thing I need,” he grumbled, but he accepted the coins. I said nothing, but I scoffed. If he didn’t need the money, why would he have strayed far from his home to chauffeur people until late at night when he met me on his way home?

Glancing back at the trees, I exhaled. The path was quick to split into several directions, each of them as dark and ominous as the last. Never mind the beast’s viciousness. I had a feeling I’d die long before I even found him.

“I don’t suppose you know how to find the beast?” I mumbled, desperate.

The man snorted. “What, do you already want me to take you back home?”

Bristling at his words, I replied, “I plan to die here, whether it’s by the beast’s hands or the fangs of a wild animal.” Wait a second. That wasn’t true. “Let me correct myself. I plan to steal a rose for my father, even if it takes me a decade of struggling to escape through the forest first.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Right… Well, we’re as close as we can get to the beast’s den by carriage, thanks to several detours. When you get closer to the paths, you’ll see several footsteps. Follow them until you get there. Good luck.”

I gaped at him. How did he know the directions? And if he knew where the beast lived, why wasn’t he filthy rich from stealing all the roses himself?

He smiled. “Someone has to bring the beast food.”

“Wait, what?” I cried. Had I misheard him?

Of all people to drive me here, how could it have been him?

I’d never even realized the beast had someone deliver food to him. It made sense, but it felt so… normal.

What did he even eat? When we were children, Constance I had joked that he was a demon who feasted on human flesh, and I’d never had a reason to think about it after.

He was the beast.

The feared monster who vanished people.

Why did he need someone to bring him food?

“What, did you think he hunted the forest’s creatures every day? He’s a beast, not a caveman.”

I chose not to respond, and the man sniffed.

He added with a dry, almost biting chuckle, “Try to bring up your father somehow. Maybe he’ll pity you.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” I asked.

This time, he chose not to respond. Tapping the sides of his horses, he ordered them to gallop away.

Their eager obedience created puffs of dust and dirt that buffeted my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and hacked out a cough.

When I opened my eyes again, he was gone.

A raven emerged from behind me, croaking out a distorted song as it swooped into the cloak of trees, almost as if it were following the man.

The vision filled me with foreboding, which I had no choice but to ignore.

Father’s life was at stake.

Chapter 3

I turned around and tentatively approached the path to the beast, staring at the ground.

Hundreds of footsteps were pressed into the dirt. Although they branched into different directions, the brunt of them was headed one way.

Inhaling the thick scent of moss and oakwood, I gave the forest one last thorough look.

The giant trees seemed to be fighting a brawl with their misshapen branches, every inch of them contorted and tangling into each other.

Inexplicable fear of the trees knotted in my stomach; perhaps they’d swallow me up and turn me into another of their coiled, mangled branches if I stayed too long.

Taking a deep breath, I followed the footprints—and murmured prayers.

Fortunately, the driver had done a stellar job; as promised, the silhouette of a mansion emerged from behind the trees within an hour or two at most.

Fearing the beast could hear me from inside his mansion, I stifled my groan, took my shoes off, and tiptoed closer and closer until, finally, I reached the large clearing where his home was erected.

Tall, metal fences shot up into the skies around his mansion, guarding the countless besotted roses that grew formed a golden lake amidst the endless green.

I gasped. They were beautiful, but they were right there in plain sight. Unguarded. How could that be? Why weren’t they harder to steal? Cooped up inside the beast’s mansion, perhaps, in expensive glass vases?

Another question nagged at me, too. Had there always been so many golden roses? Why couldn’t the beast spare just a few?

It didn’t matter. The beast’s greed benefitted me; had he been generous, the nobles wouldn’t have offered fifty million for them.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I gripped the fence’s metal rods, wheezing at the cold contact.

Misshapen holes of varying sizes decorated the fence. I attempted to reach for the closest rose through one, but of course, my arms were too big, and the roses were too far away. The only way to get them would be to climb over.

Anything for my family.

Knowing my knife would serve as a deterrent, I looked around for a hole in the gate large enough for me to push it through.

Aha.

Next, I rubbed my hands together, having heard somewhere a long time ago that the friction caused would strengthen my grip. I didn’t know how accurate that was, but it was the only tool I had.

Taking a deep breath, I began to climb. And climb. And climb.

It didn’t take long for me to get used to it. The decorative holes made it almost simple to scale, which was strange, but I was too grateful to question it.

I swept up like a monkey, trying not to worry about landing; the gate seemed to stretch up to the heavens, and it was one thing to climb it—and a completely different, far harder thing to descend.

Inwardly screaming at myself not to look down, I continued my ascent.

I wasn’t the first thief to come here. Others before me had jumped the fence, I was sure of it. If not, they would have turned to go home, and the beast would not have punished them. It was from those people that the rumors had spread to begin with.

They hadn’t died from jumping off the fence, either; there were neither corpses nor blood stains hidden in the surrounding glass.

Reaching the other side of the fence was possible. The fence wasn’t dangerous; it was only a deterrent. A test of determination—and that, I had in spades.

It felt like years had passed by the time I reached the top, though it had been half an hour at most. Who cared about the details? I felt accomplished.

I lifted my arms to cheer like a child before realizing that, oh, right, yes, I was kind of on top of a very, very, very tall fence. A single wrong movement and I’d plummet to my death. I barely bit back my scream.

The realization sobered me—and reminded me to force my head down to look back at the ground. Specks of golden roses flickered in a small area of the forest; the mansion seemed both tiny and gargantuan at once. I gulped.

Just how far up had I climbed? Just how had the people before me managed to climb down? Perhaps the rumors had been incredibly off the mark. In reality, the fools who dared to trespass for some roses fell to their deaths, and the beast was just a poor guy who had to clean up the mess.

I swallowed, then took deep breaths. I was lightheaded and unable to think straight. But I had to. Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts, trying to keep them grounded rather than a thousand miles up in the clouds.

Where I was.

Heavens help me.

I bit back bile and forced my gaze back up so I wouldn’t need to think about just how far I could fall.

It wasn’t like I had to jump down. All I needed was to climb down the same way I’d come up. I could do this.

As carefully as my life depended on it—because it did—I turned my gaze back to the fence and descended step by step, trying not to think too much about the fact that if jumping over a fence was all it took to grab a rose, they would not be so coveted.

Instead, I tried to be optimistic and think about how I’d soon have fifty million coins in my very own hands… and realized with snaking dread that I’d need to make the journey up and down the fence again. I grit my teeth. It was a simple and obvious tradeoff, but that did nothing to console me here and now.

Just as my foot thudded against the grass, my breath shivering—

“You’re here for a rose, too?”

A male voice. Deep and velvet smooth, though not without an edge.

It came from behind me.

I froze. Blood drained from my body. Was it the beast? Who else could it be? Too afraid to look and confirm my suspicions, I instead continued facing forward, clutching tighter to the fence’s bars.

“Did no one ever teach you manners? When someone talks to you, look at them.”

I had to fight every inch of my quivering body to respond, for fear had sapped my energy, and I wondered if it was worth answering him at all. Either way, if he was the beast, I would be punished.

“I—um—” My voice came out raspy and trembling, and as it turned out, I couldn’t form proper sentences anyway. Did I even have anything to say?

Could I lie to him and tell him I’d stumbled here by accident?

Of course not. I was on the wrong side of the gate.

There went my sole shred of an excuse.

“I-I’m here to save my father’s life,” I said, still not daring to look back at him. My heart went berserk. Imaginations of monstrous, half-human creatures bombarded me. In front of me was a man, and the conversation with the driver had only reinforced that fact, but he had the persuasion of a demon.

“You’re not the first with a sob story,” he barked, and my hairs rose at his trivialization of my father’s illness. No surprise that it meant nothing to him, but—but to call it a sob story in such a dismissive tone?

I’m sure I would have turned and retaliated in any other circumstance, but I still had one foot dangling on the fence, and I couldn’t even turn to look at the speaker. Shame filled me, but I did nothing.

“What did you do to the others?” I demanded. I could do that much, albeit only because I knew I’d share their fate no matter what I did.

“You’ll see,” he said, annoyance layering over his impatience. I paused. Why hadn’t he done anything to me yet? Almost as if he was waiting for something. He didn’t need to wait until I had both feet planted on the ground to physically attack me, and I hadn’t heard him move closer to me.

Then I remembered—he’d asked me to turn towards him.

Was that relevant?

I frowned. What was he, Medusa? Did he have snakes in his hair that would turn me into stone?

It sounded stupid even to me, but that was the only lead I had. As long as I didn’t see him, it was fine, huh?

Closing my eyes, I hopped off the fence. I could snatch the rose, climb the fence back, and run—

The moment the grass tickled my feet, the man seized me by my shoulders, turning me with enough force to make me sick. It took all I had not to snap open my eyes in shock.

I gulped. Well. I was kind of an idiot, wasn’t I? Only now did the sheer foolishness of my feigned bravery and optimism crash upon me. Magic or no, the beast could still use his hands and weapons to attack me.

Adrenaline and fear rumbled in my chest and throat, suffocating me.

The beast paused, his breath hitching, then spoke in an incredulous tone. “Are… you trying to die?”

“… No, I’m trying to steal a rose.”

“There are better ways to do that then to jump right into the reach of a beast,” he said, letting me go. Odd. Of course, I was to stay here until he dismissed me or disappeared me, since he could grab me again any time he wished with little effort.

“You call yourself that?” I managed through my teeth.

“No, but I know it’s what everyone else calls me.”

I tried to arch a brow, but considering I was still dead set on keeping my eyes shut, all I did was make an unattractive face. Hearing a small laugh, I relaxed fractionally. The beast could be reasoned with. Maybe.

“Remind me why you’re so dead set on keeping your eyes closed.” He paused before speaking again, and I could almost hear a smile in his voice.

No.

I was imagining it.

Any sweetness from him was an illusion borne of my desperation.

If he was so easy to speak to, why would they call him a beast? Why would they fear him as much as they coveted his possessions?

“The sunlight’s so bright, I just couldn’t help myself.” I pulled another face. Just how terrible could my excuses get? Although light illuminated the clearing thanks to the relative lack of trees, it was far from bright here. Before the beast could mock me, I corrected myself. “I’m a little scared of you.”

“A little?”

“I’m very scared of you. Is that better?”

He sighed. I heard something shuffle before he spoke again. “Well, at least you’re honest half the time. Why do you need a rose for your father?”

“I… He has the misfortune,” I said. Remembering the driver’s words, I wondered if the beast had the capacity for pity. “Why do you ask? I thought everyone had a sob story, and mine is nothing special.” Call me petty, even in the most dangerous of circumstances.

“It’s not,” he said. His voice wavered the tiniest bit as if he shrugged while talking. He clicked his tongue. “Fifty million coins, right? It’s obscene.”

Huh. We could agree on that much. Roused by this commonality, I spat, “Agreed. Why can’t the royal family share the secrets of the cure instead of hoarding it and artificially elevating the prices? It’s like people’s lives mean nothing to them.”

The beast scoffed. “I meant for the roses.”

Oh.

“W-well, don’t you agree the price of the cure is disgusting, too?” I asked, almost desperate. I wasn’t even sure what for. Sympathy, maybe. If he pitied me enough, he’d give me a rose for free. I knew better than to hope, but the beast had been so reasonable—so human—and I couldn’t help but dare.

“Perhaps,” he said, but his tone made it clear he didn’t much care either way. I clenched my fists. “You’re still not looking at me.”

“I’m still a bit scared.”

“How do I change that?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Humor me.”

I tilted my head, unsure where this conversation was going, but a curiosity about the beast blended with my wariness, and I felt… almost safe. I had for a while now.

Not that I’d open my eyes.

“Maybe if you gave me a rose?” I managed, my breath catching, my heartbeat racing. Stupid, stupid question. But what else could I say?

“What then?” He said, and I knitted my brows in confusion.

“What do you mean, what then?”

“What are you going to do with the rose?”

“I—” Now who was the idiot? “Sell it, of course. Fifty million coins. Enough to buy a cure.”

“You believe that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You believe any of those stingy nobles would spend fifty million on a rose?”

“It—It’s a symbol of power,” I said, although his words echoed my own doubts, which I’d subconsciously pushed away so I could dare dream.

There was a beat of silence. I was grateful I couldn’t see the probable derision on his face.

His voice even more mocking than it had been—a feat I wouldn’t have thought possible—he said, “Money is power. Prestige is just a tiebreaker for those of similar wealth and status. I assure you, not a single soul will pay fifty million for a rose.”

“Why would they lie?”

“Why wouldn’t they pretend they’re so wealthy they’d spend fifty million for a rose? None of them expect anyone to get one at this point. I doubt most of them even think it’s real. And, if by some miracle, someone showed up… They’ll take the rose, alright, but after that? The nobles may be the one group of people even better at disappearing people than I.”

He… He was right. Everything he said felt disgustingly convincing, and though my stubbornness urged me to ignore him and snatch a rose home, I knew it was futile. My throat ached from sudden dryness.

What had I come here for, then? Risked my life for? Hope was a mirage that had clouded me of my senses and logic. His words rang not only true, but so obvious I loathed myself for my foolishness.

What could I do? Would the beast even let me go home? He seemed reasonable enough, but perhaps he was a cat toying with its prey before feasting on it, delighting in my discomfort and dismay before murdering me or whatever it was he did.

“I—”

Ignoring my feeble attempt at interjection, he pushed on. “Especially when their victims are those poor and desperate enough to enter a supposed beast’s den with a kitchen knife as a weapon, and foolish enough to discard it.”

Hearing footsteps and a rustling movement, I gulped. In my panic, I’d all but forgotten about my sole means of defense, but of course it had been in the beast’s peripheral vision all this time.

No doubt the beast was picking it up. Seizing it from me.

I felt the beast grab me by my wrist, more gently than before. I jerked back, feeling the knife’s familiar wooden grip in my hand. Rubbing at it with my thumb, I felt the carved-in sigil of the knife-maker we’d bought it from, which confirmed my guess.

“I… I don’t… I don’t understand.” My voice came out as feeble as my grip. My mind yelled at me to grab harder at the knife, to form a proper defensive pose, but to no avail. I was limp. Useless. And all this time, it had been shaking like a leaf in winter.

“Well? What were you going to do with the knife? Show me.”

“Wh—”

Was this some test? If so, there was no doubt I was failing with flying colors. I didn’t understand what he wanted me to do. Attack him?

“Go on. Would you rather meet the fate of all the other thieves before you?”

“Are… you asking me to attack you?”

“So, you did mean to use the knife against me,” he said, his tone almost smug. I resisted the urge to facepalm. Or worse, slap him. What had he expected? Of course, that was my reason. Did he think I brought it here to cook with?

“No, sir, I meant to use it to cut the golden rose from the ground,” I muttered. Though I lowered my voice and tried to sound demure and sincere, the sarcasm oozed from every word I spoke. Apparently not having endangered myself enough, I added in an equally disgruntled tone, “You know. Magic roses and all. Maybe they’re… tougher than normal roses?”

A biting bark of laughter. Then, “Something tells me you wouldn’t be able to harm anyone. Even in self-defense.”

No, but it wasn’t like that mattered now, was it?

“I just felt obligated to bring something to defend myself with. Does it matter what I can or can’t do with it?”

“If you attacked me now, you could take as many roses as you want home.”

“After your tirade about the nobles?”

“There’s no reason for you to believe me, considering I’m the beast you’re trying to steal the roses from.”

I hesitated before speaking, because the only words I had to say felt like knives plunging into my heart. “… I wish I didn’t, but your words make too much sense. You’re no beast at all, are you? I don’t know why you’re here alone, and I don’t know anything about your roses, but one thing’s clear. You’re just… a man.”

My stomach somersaulted despite the consolations of my logical mind as I slowly, so slowly, opened my eyes. Before my eyes was—I gasped, seeing a striking white mask covering the upper half of his face—but, no matter the details, before me was a person.

A man, with golden hair tied back into a loose ponytail at his back. He wore a silky but ill-fitting outfit with long sleeves covering part of his hands. Nonetheless, his outfit showed off his toned figure, shaped by a lifetime of training beyond limits.

Made sense. Not much else to do out here.

My trembling continued—but eased.

I saw his eye lift as he raised a brow I couldn’t see. “What happened to thinking I’d mysteriously defeat you as soon as you looked at me?”

“You’ve single-handedly destroyed my childhood innocence,” I replied. “Be proud, I guess. Or remorseful.” I gestured towards his mask. “Although who even knows? Maybe your mask is hiding a magical curse after all.”

The man threw his head back to laugh. The sound felt strangely welcoming.

“I only wear my mask to cover a hideous scar that I’d rather not show,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be convenient, though, if the mere sight of my face could incapacitate everyone? No more needing to worry about opportunistic thieves…”

The way he accentuated his last word, and the way his eyes bore into me, roused anything but comfort. I swallowed.

“Well, what happened to everyone else?” With my question came another, albeit one I didn’t have the courage to voice: what will you do to me?

“It’s a large forest, and my mansion is well hidden,” he said, waving his arm in nonchalance. “I’ve only come across two dozen or so people, but the last thief said the missing numbered in the hundreds. Most people don’t find it here, I suppose, and they either die lost or fall prey to the wolves. Rumors grow by themselves, anyway. The missing number far fewer than whatever you’ve heard.”

I nodded. “That’s not what I’m asking, though.”

The man snorted. “I try to reason with anyone who shows up, like I’ve done with you, and send them back. They won’t speak about me, since they know others will brand them a coward. The ones who won’t leave…”

He shrugged, then averted his gaze. “I tie them up and carry them deeper into the forest. I’m not sure what happens to them, but I bet it involves wild animals and fangs. Haven’t you heard?”

Baring his teeth, he grinned almost maniacally, and I couldn’t tell if I was more terrified or mesmerized.

“The beast is cruel, monstrous, and fiercely protective of his roses.”

Chapter 4

“But why?” I asked, too complacent from the conversation despite the dread that began knotting in my stomach. Just because he was outsourcing his sin didn’t make him any less complicit—and what he was doing was murder.

All for some flowers.

“Surely you can afford to share just a few,” I pressed on, taking the man’s silence as an opportunity to speak. “They’re only roses, no matter how beautiful or unique they are. You could get the same effect by painting some red ones you can find anywhere—”

A snarl. Or I thought I heard one, although it’s possible I imagined it. My head snapped up, but the man’s eyes were unfathomable thanks to his mask, and his lips were sealed into a line.

He took a deep breath.

“If I gave out the roses to everyone who asked,” he said, each of his words punctuated, “I wouldn’t have any roses left at all.”

“Well—at the very least, you don’t have to lead people to their deaths just for seeking a better life.”

“The ones I send away are trying to steal from me, no matter how you dress up their actions with pretty poetry about their backgrounds. Why must I be gracious?”

“B-because it’s the right thing to do.”

“And stealing is, too?”

I balked at his words, my hackles rising. “That’s not what I’m saying. The two are incomparable. The whole eye for an eye thing doesn’t work in a society—”

“And that has nothing to do with me,” he snapped, “when I’ve been banished from society and live in this rotten forest with no company but my own thoughts.”

Feeling my chest tighten, I grimaced. “You… live here alone?”

But of course, he did. That was a stupid thing to realize, and a far stupider thing to ask. From the way his lips pursed even harder, I could tell he agreed.

What had been taken as common sense before I’d humanized him in my mind now felt like a dire strait the man must be rescued from.

Social isolation? For how many years? No wonder he’d gone mad. It doesn’t justify his… disdain towards others, of course, but it did help explain it, if only a little.

“I’ve been here for half my life,” he whispered, almost so softly I didn’t hear it.

My mind whirled, connecting the sparse dots I had. Were the golden roses perhaps the only company he’d ever had? And he personified them in his mind, giving them cute little names like they were pets to him?

That was the only guess I had so far.

Louder, he said, “It’s only in the past couple years that others have found me and approached me for my roses.”

“But why?” I asked. “A mild scar on the face is nothing to be ashamed over. People may be shocked, but they’ll come to understand, even fancy—”

The beast’s lips curved into a sneer, and his fingers tensed into a panther’s claws, poised for attack.

Breath hitching, I scrambled back and felt my back crash against the fence’s metal bars. I swore under my breath at the spreading pain—and my potential impending death at the beast’s monstrous whims.

His gaze wavered as he watched and heard me, and he made a noise that started like a sigh but twisted into a bitter laugh.

“You,” he said, “have no idea what you’re talking about.”

My certainty that I’d die here no matter what I did caused me to see stars—and roused in my stomach even more foolish stubbornness and bravery, which I’d no doubt regret when I was tortured for it.

“Why don’t you explain, then? Tell me your sob story.”

I cringed at the callousness of my own words, but it was too late to retract them.

Besides, I was just a little petty. Far from leading me to a magical cure for my father as I’d hoped, the beast had only strangled my dreams of a better future—a future with my father. A thought I hated to dwell on, for I was as useless, and the future was as bleak, as I’d always known.

At the very least, he could have sympathized about my father’s impending death. Instead, he’d mocked me. Why would he deserve only kindness and coddling?

Rather than yelling at me for my insolence or hurting me, the beast cupped his chin and tapped his sandaled shoe against the grass as if he were contemplating what I’d just said.

What the heck? Did he actually want to delve into his life story here of all places? Now of all times?

I’d heard that people liked talking about themselves, but even so…

This was so not the time or place for such things, particularly considering he was supposed to be some fearsome beast, not a pompous bum.

I wondered if he were isolated here for a disfigurement of the mind, rather than one of the body. Which was horrible for him, but such things were known to happen, and it made more sense than the story he’d offered.

“Give me five years,” he spoke, again in that soft voice that I had to strain my ears to hear.

I blinked in confusion. “Pardon me?”

“Stay with me for five years, and I’ll offer your father the cure.”

“Uh…”

I wish I’d said something elegant and poised, or at least grateful and curious, or… or shocked or something! But all I managed was that awkward, brainless noise.

And then another: “Erm…”

Gripping the metal bars behind me, I twisted around peer back through the gates; there had to be hundreds of people watching. This had to be some prank of sorts, although I had no idea for what cause.

But all I saw was an endless field of trees and grass, and all I heard was the occasional whooshing of the wind and the beast’s and my soft heartbeats and breathing.

I turned back to the beast.

“Haha, um, um, um…”

What had he just said?

His expression was unfathomable through his mask, and I couldn’t tell if he was amused, annoyed, disappointed… or all of the above.

It was his fault for being ridiculous.

I barked out a laugh. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Are you acting stupid because you’re shocked or because that’s just the way you are?”

“Excuse—” Oh, never mind, I didn’t care how much he insulted me. “A cure? How?”

The beast didn’t quite look the part of a hero who could sweep in and save my family from all our problems. If anything, I would have to find ways to save him, considering he was quite the mess himself.

“Where do you think this mansion came from? How do you think I’ve had the resources to survive?” He asked. “By birth, I… I was also a noble, although that was short lived.”

I frowned. If there was one thing I knew without a doubt in my mind, it was this: nobles could not be trusted.

If he hadn’t been raised by them, however, instead being abandoned here as a baby… Was he more victim than scoundrel?

I’d see for myself.

He spoke on. “My father told everyone I vanished mysteriously, and he prefers to treat me like I’m dead. But he must be salivating for a rose, too—and for me to continue keeping the family secret.”

I wrung my hands. Bit my lip. I didn’t understand. This was too good to be true, but my heart thudded in my chest from a sudden resurgence of hope.

“You’re willing to threaten your parents for me?” Please, strange man, utter more of your sweet, impossible lies.

“It’s not for you,” he barked. “You’re a convenient scapegoat. Heavens know how long I’ve been waiting for something to demand out of them, and it’s difficult to find an excuse to burn so much money at once. Five million coins will break their bank, but not their livelihood.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t listening. A smile was creeping up my face, and although I didn’t know how genuine he was or if his plan would work, it was more than I’d had mere moments ago.

“How soon can my father receive the cure?” I asked. My chest bubbled with joy.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And there’s no guarantee. But if he can get the cure, I reckon it’d be in the next half year.”

I sobered a bit at that, knowing we had no idea how much time my father had—and even a day longer of his misery was too painful to think about. A couple months was nothing compared to the time my father had already lain in misery, but it still seemed an eternity.

And yet… Any chance at his recovery was incredible. For a mere five years of my life? The deal was set. I didn’t even have to think about it.

“When do I start, and what do I need to do?”

“Again, I… don’t know,” he grumbled, ruffling his hair. “I haven’t a clue… It’s been so long…” Exhaling, he looked away.

It didn’t take a genius to fill in the words he’d left blank. The man had been socially isolated for an eternity. How could he know how to make small talk with another person, much less delegate chores to them?

“Housework?” I suggested, almost bouncing in place.

The man frowned. “Why do you seem so eager? I feel like I’ve just volunteered for an eternity in prison, and it was my idea.” He sighed. “I have a couple warn… no, rules. One: you may never try to take my mask off. And, two: until the five-year period is over, you may not return home.”

“What—” Clenching my fists, I glared up at him. “That’s ridiculous. How can I prove you’re fulfilling your end of the deal if—”

“You may send letters home, as long as you don’t reveal where you are and how you procured the treatment for your father.”

“Who are you to dictate what I can and can’t do?”

He gritted his teeth. “I am your new master, and that rule is for our safety. If word gets out about you traveling to and from the forest, along with rumors about your father recovering from the misfortune, they’ll either assume I died or realize I’m only human. Mortal. And through trailing you, they can find out where I am.”

I blanched. Unsure what to react to first, I opened my mouth to rebut everything at once, but he continued to speak, and I lacked the confidence in my own arguments to interrupt him.

“Far more people will seek my mansion with newfound determination and, worst of all, confidence. I can fend off a man with a weapon he doesn’t know how to use. I can’t fend off an entire town with burning pitchforks.”

Realizing he was right, I shook my head and sighed, sinking into my feet.

Could I escape as soon as I received word of my father’s recovery? The treatment was a one-time dose, so once my father was cured, he was cured.

No. He said he was getting it from nobles, and any noble with five million coin as discretionary income could crush us with a mountain of impossible debt that we’d be imprisoned for life by, fair or no.

And if I ran away from my part of the deal, I supposed it was fair.

Still, although I was grateful and five years was nothing for the sake of my father, it stung that I’d be kept from him and the rest of my family for so long. Father would finally be himself again, and I’d… be imprisoned here.

My eyes glazing over, I held out my hand. He looked at it incredulously. I dropped it.

“What, is this your first time shaking hands with someone?” I joked, but my voice came out a bit too acrid. I chastised myself for being so mopey and ungrateful. How spoiled could I get?

He didn’t need me.

I needed him.

I was giving him company—bad company.

He was giving my father life.

The man could rescind his offer at any time if I was anything but the perfect companion, and then what would I be left with? The memories of a once-in-a-lifetime chance I most definitely did not deserve, and one I’d squandered. That was what.

I plastered on a tense smile. “Thank you, though.”

Belatedly, I realized I still didn’t know the man’s name. Nor did he know mine. Great start to a new life together, wasn’t it?

“Beatrice Heather,” I said. “And you?”

The man didn’t respond for quite some time, and he sounded unsure of himself when he did, which made two of us.

“Shao.”

Chapter 5

To say Shao led me into the mansion would be generous. He strode across the field with a large, rough gait that seemed to echo in our silence. It seemed natural for him to walk like that, albeit inconsiderate, as I had to race to match his pace.

I stayed several yards behind him, feeling too self-conscious to stand beside him.

Though I tried to keep my eyes down, I couldn’t help but reveal my curiosity as I turned my head this way and that, scrutinizing every element of every part of the mansion from up close.

From outside, it looked weathered and slapdash, and although it was large—far, far too large for one lonely man—it lacked the beauty and care that I’d seen from other nobles’ houses. It was just enough to weather nature. It lacked any color or décor.

“Oh—” I skidded to a stop an inch from bumping into Shao’s wide back. He’d come to a stop in front of the large mahogany door, and I’d failed to notice.

The man didn’t acknowledge me.

He threw the door open, and I winced at its deafening creak. Another bad omen.

Oblivious to my thoughts, he dashed inside, leaving the door open for me. At least he hadn’t forgotten my existence. Or maybe he never closed the door. It would be easier to watch out for thieves that way.

As soon as I entered, I sneezed; the mansion’s interior was blanketed by a mountain of dust from years of disuse and neglect. Underneath it all, I could make out a wooden desk flanked by red cushioned loveseats. Perhaps this was the parlor.

Much of the wallpaper was beginning to peel off, revealing the hastily glued wooden walls. Covering them were rectangles of colored metal; I suspected they were framed paintings that had been turned around. I’d peek at them later.

Seeing the beast continue forward, I closed the door behind me and glanced down at his feet. I stifled a laugh. Narrow but clear streaks of footsteps were visible in the dusty floor, revealing the few consistent paths he used to travel through the parlor. None veered even remotely close to the couches or paintings.

Why had the beast bothered to install furniture if he lived alone and never planned to use anything? The mansion must have been inviting once, filled with nobles’ chatter and laughter. Had he purchased it from someone else? Or had he been social once?

Now, our only companion was a lingering atmosphere of regret and disrepair.

“Pick any room for yourself.” The man halted again, calling my attention to him. This time, I stopped a good distance away from his back.

“Any room?” I murmured, watching him from my peripheral vision.

“Yes,” he answered. Adamantly, he added, “And I doubt I have to say it, but you must never enter my room. If you need me, knock and wait.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I replied, wondering why that was even necessary for him to say, but he’d begun hurrying away.

I groaned. Was he going to leave me like this? Perhaps I should have been relieved, but it bothered me. “What, you’re not going to bother giving me a tour?”

“You have all the time in the world to look around alone.”

“It’s only polite,” I said, shaking my head. “What if I get lost or something?”

A snort. “This mansion is big, but not that big. If you manage to get lost, you deserve to starve to your death.”

“W-well, then, food,” I argued, seizing onto his nonchalant comment. “How am I supposed to prepare food for us if I can’t find it?”

“Us?” He crossed his arms, and I realized just how much of an unwelcome guest I was despite having been invited—almost coerced—to stay with him.

“I might as well do something as payment for the cure,” I retorted, my voice wavering. Why was I here? What was I doing here? “I thought I was supposed to do housework.” And keep the unsociable beast company.

The man didn’t reply, and I felt myself drown in my doubts. Could I even believe the beast when he said he could probably afford the cure for my father? What proof did I have?

Hearing him exhale after moments that felt like years, I felt my back tense as I tangibly felt the worst part: I lacked the privilege of doubt.

Even if it was almost certain my staying here—my faith in him—was groundless and certain to lead to my painful death in some ditch far away, I had no choice but to remain optimistic and stay.

Just for that less than one-percent chance that he was not lying, and that the outrageous, incomprehensible payment of my five years really was somehow meaningful enough to this man that he’d find my father a cure.

“Again, if you don’t want me here, you shouldn’t have asked me to stay,” I spat, bitterness and fear convulsing in my stomach.

My eyes widened. I gasped. Had I really just said that?

Stupid, stupid girl. Perhaps that was the real reason my sister had argued against my leaving the house to work: I’d always been the reckless one, the impulsive one. The one that spoke out at the most inconvenient of times, the one that couldn’t keep a normal job if she tried and would only end up shaming her family—

Don’t vilify your sister for an excuse to mope, I chided myself, stopping my marching train of thought. You know it was because she cared about you. Although that had been growing harder and harder to see, with endless labor snatching whatever was left of her from me.

Warily and wearily, I looked up towards the beast, meeting his intent gaze square on—

I averted my gaze.

“Well… you’re right,” he muttered, his tone acidic.

“I… I am?” That wasn’t good. An electrocuting shiver darted down my spine.

Clutching my elbows, I took a deep, quick breath, preparing myself to be kicked away—and, as a desperate last-minute fix, writing a begging speech in my mind to convince him to let me stay.

I began opening my mouth to recite it, my words stumbling over each other to the point that he’d only understand how feverishly desperate I was—

Which was rather the point. I didn’t have any solid arguments to make, so it would be detrimental if the beast realized that despite using so many words, I was saying nothing at all—

“I’d appreciate your company. And your help.” A gruff, reluctant tone—but a resigned one. “If you get hungry, there’s processed meat in the cellar. Shouldn’t be hard for you to find.”

Rather than clamping shut or staying open like a normal person’s, my lips flapped open and shut like that of a goldfish, making me wince but unable to stop myself.

“Y-you’re kidding?” No, no, no, just shut up and accept this amazing boon that I definitely do not deserve. You did just fine earlier.

“I wish I were, but alas, I’m not,” he replied.

“You don’t even want me here, so why—” I stammered.

“You don’t know that.”

“Um. You’re making it exceedingly obvious that I’m intruding on your beloved alone time.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Your reasons don’t make sense to me.”

“They’re not supposed to.”

I only stopped chewing my lip when I tasted blood. The beast was so unfathomable, and I hated that he refused to be even the littlest bit transparent with the person who’d be his sole companion for the next five eternities.

“Are you waiting for an organ harvester to come at some point and pay you for your troubles?” I joked. Or it was meant to be a joke, said in a joking way, but my voice shook near the end and sounded far too grave for the question to be anything but a genuine fear.

Because it probably was one.

The man sighed again. “That would be illegal.”

I was the one to scoff now. “Oh, because you care about that. I’m sure attempted murder is illegal, too, but you send men out to the woods just fine.”

His clothes rippled as he tensed. I glanced down towards his hands, which were turning white.

What, he was defensive over it? Shouldn’t have committed crimes, then.

“Will you stay, or will you argue my methods?”

That was a valid—and threatening—point. I realized just how generous the man had been at my outbursts, and just how fearless I’d become. The beast’s refusal to harm me so far had emboldened me far more than I’d realized.

I shut up again. Who knew how long my silence would last this time, but it would be a good try. I hoped.

The beast began walking again, this time towards me, although he passed me and stalked on without a word. I remained rooted to place, blinking.

When he reached the end of the parlor, he turned back around in a quick, impatient pivot and gestured me towards him.

“Did you want the tour or not?”

He could have said as much before he started moving, but it wasn’t like I could complain when he was giving me what I wanted.

I dashed to him, an almost-smile twitching to appear at the corner of my lips. I was once again hopeful. The beast could be tamed—and I’d be the one to do it.

Chapter 6

Seven days.

It had been exactly seven days since I began living in the mansion, switching between the numerous guest rooms every night to amuse myself and give myself a greater sense of agency.

The guest rooms were all filled with women’s clothes of varied sizes, which was convenient, since I hadn’t brought anything to change into. Some fit better than others. Most didn’t fit at all. I made do.

I’d spent all my time writing endless letters to my parents and my sister Constance about what had happened to me, pleading them to keep my stay at the beast’s mansion a secret and describing how much I missed them.

But the days here had been uneventful to the point I’d long run out of things to talk about.

The first two days, I’d wandered through the mansion. Constant coughing at the dust was a negligible price to pay for seeing the wide variety of beautiful rooms and furniture.

I glimpsed at the turned paintings, too, but they were disappointing. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected—anything scandalous, perhaps, to add some excitement to my new life—but they seemed… homemade. They were sloppy, many of them childish, and I felt I could have drawn better ones when I was a kid.

Most depicted four cute and happy children dancing and hugging and smiling with each other, although many of them only showed a couple of them together. A kind brunette woman occasionally stood by their side.

Was one of the children Shao?

Considering he’d hidden them from his view, I doubted he’d answer me, so I filed the question away.

The third day, I’d discovered the library that occupied the entirety of the basement—where I decided to spend most of my next five years.

In a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion, the library was surprisingly well-used and well-maintained, which I found odd. I never saw Shao there.

It sprawled with an ocean of metal bookshelves, which weren’t enough to carry the tens of thousands of books that were rammed into every nook and cranny. Many lined the walls, too, unable to find a home in the shelves; others were stuffed into organized piles on the tops of the shelves beyond my reach.

Most of the books were political or socio-economical, with most of the jargon going way over my head, but there were large collections of scientific journals, romances, and fairy tales, too, the latter always resolved by a true love’s kiss.

As I devoured them, I couldn’t help but compare the mythical creatures like fairies and werewolves that enchanted the tales to the mysterious creatures of my own world.

Fairies had no doubt been inspired by witches—who had been exiled a decade or two ago from my country of Perintas. As for werewolves, I guessed they’d been inspired by… wolves… but that seemed like too boring an answer, and I often daydreamed about the beastly creatures that were neither man nor wolf.

In any case, the books aroused in my heart a sudden respect and even fondness for the mansion, but that was hardly something I could enthuse to my family over after, say, the next thirty or so letters I wrote.

I’d resorted to reminiscing about my memories with them and assuring them—and myself—that we could return to those days.

Another reason the letters were hard to write: it felt increasingly as though I was talking to myself, since I hadn’t received any back. I was sure my family would write back mountains of letters, but I had no idea whether they’d received my letters in the first place.

I’d been sliding them under the ever-closed door to Shao’s bedroom, and he always reassured me that he was sending them, but how? No one had visited to hand the letters to, and Shao never left his room, much less his mansion.

Shao had been an utterly invisible presence in my life. He’d rejected all my bids for his attention, and when I took food up to his room and knocked, he told me to put it by the door and leave.

Somehow, he always knew when to come out to avoid me. I figured it was my footsteps, and mimicked leaving to prompt him to come out, but I didn’t hear him open the door until minutes later when I’d finally given up, left, and turned several corners. The door closed as soon as it opened, long before I could dash to see him and remind myself that he was an actual person, not some ghost or figment of my imagination.

Crossing my arms, I huffed, my feet tapping against the cold wooden floor. I finished my latest letter, and I pooled up all the papers I’d used into a small mountain (another small oddity—Shao seemed to have endless amounts of paper, quills, and ink) to collect in my arms.

Another batch for Shao that he’d neglect.

Or read.

The idea hit me like a carriage yanked by rabid horses, and I froze, my arms going limp and scattering my letters all over the place.

Is that what was happening to the letters? The reason Shao was even keeping up the ruse of sending them in the first place if that was impossible (or too bothersome for him)? So, he could infringe on my privacy through some sadistic, broken sense of amusement?

There was nothing confidential or scandalous in those letters, but still, they were my letters. To my family. For him to encourage me to write them for the sole purpose of amusing himself at my expense.

With the righteous fury of a mother (of my precious, fragile letters! They deserved protection and the utmost respect!) scorned, I stomped to Shao’s room and slammed the door open.

Beyond the persistent, absolute threshold between us that I’d been expended all my free will until now not to cross, was Shao, drowning in another of his ill-fitting outfits, and…

A raven was perched onto his finger, idly turning its gaze towards me with the smuggest expression on its face—could ravens even have facial expressions?—as if to brag that Shao was all his. (The bird could hog him for all I cared.)

Shao’s masked face whipped towards me, his eyes widening; his back straightened and tensed.

“Why. Are. You. Here?” He spoke through his teeth, his voice sharp and loud, and I had no doubt he’d have yelled it if not for the bird.

“I… My letters,” I said, the flame of my anger blown out by the sheer absurdity of the scene before me and Shao’s blatant subdued fury. My collected letters scattered all over the floor once more. “I thought… I just…”

“Perfect timing.” Shao twitched but settled back down. “The letters are on the table. Take yours and leave. I knew this was a terrible idea.”

“Um, alright, I’ll be back with your meal tonight…?” I mumbled, blinking. He’d received letters from my parents? How? Had he really sent mine then, as opposed to hoarding them for whatever twisted reason?

“No. Leave, as in leave the forest and never come back.”

“Wh-wha—”

His scowl rife with fury, Shao skulked to his bed and snatched some of the letters, revealing the dozens of thin, yellow paper strips lying beneath them.

Before I could question it, he blocked my view and practically threw the letters into my arms. I gasped.

“I’ve given you so few rules. Why did you come in my room without permission?”

“I don’t see how it’s a big deal,” I replied. “The matter was urgent—”

“I told you not to enter my room!” His voice, while not quite a shout, was loud enough in the small room to echo. The raven flittered its wings as it jumped.

Closing my eyes, I touched my forehead. Why was he so distraught? Why was my entering his room in the middle of the day so terrible that this, of all things, was what got him to kick me out?

I froze. I’d entered his room, hadn’t I? It was improper—and a huge infringement of his privacy. The very act I’d been so abhorred by. Though I still felt he was overreacting, I had to remind myself that Shao was as unsocialized as a human could get.

Meaning to apologize, I opened my mouth—

“You lot are all the same,” Shao muttered, taking a forceful, threatening step towards me as he straightened his back. I flinched away.

Oh, I’d heard that line so, so many times.

Always from jeering, taunting nobles—filthy, twisted nobles.

At that moment, Shao’s face layered under the sneers of all the bullies and wicked nobles I’d ever met, and I wanted to throw up.

“Oh, and you think you’re not?” I said because he’d just confirmed what I should have known all along.

He was just like all the other nobles, and he’d take every opportunity to mock me before abandoning his promise to save Father. I was here not for companionship, but for entertainment in the form of humiliation.

If the raven could carry letters back and forth, perhaps the real reason the beast had been cooped up in his room for so long and refusing to see me had been so he could devise some trap with his blueblood friends to best shame me. Or perhaps he was waiting until they arrived, so they could all mock me together.

(But then why was he letting me go?)

(A last-minute pang of guilt? I didn’t know, and I realized it didn’t matter.)

Shao crinkled his brows. “What are you—”

“Don’t you dare plead ignorance,” I seethed. “What’s the real reason you invited me here?”

“What does it matter when I’m kicking you out?” Pinching his forehead, he heaved a sigh. “Please. Just go.”

I huffed, and it took every cell in my body to keep myself from stomping my foot as I pivoted around.

Though I fought to contain my tears, I couldn’t keep my voice from wavering. “You’re the worst, and I don’t know why I bothered to try trusting you.”

I heard an offended grumble behind me, but I paid it no heed as I rushed out. The last few words I heard: “You dare insult me? I’m the one who—”

Whatever.

He could feign ignorance and offense however much he wished, but it was meaningless.

I’d been a stupid idiot for trusting him.

My gait accelerated to a sprint, as I couldn’t bear to spend even a second longer in this house with all the reminders of my idiocy, and I clutched my letters for dear life, only to be blocked by the gates.

For a moment, I gaped at the towering gates, fearful that I had to climb it again, and I grunted as I reached out to grip the bars with my free hand—so I could bang my head against it.

Instead, a strangled yelp tore out of me as the gates rushed open from my touch, causing me to almost lose my balance. My back arched painfully as I dangled from the hand attached to the bar, my feet dragging behind me like I were being pulled by horses for some unforgivable crime.

Finally managing to regain my balance, I coughed unceremoniously and pat the dirt from my dress. I swallowed, then glanced back towards the mansion’s door.

Okay. Good. Shao wasn’t anywhere behind me to laugh at that embarrassing situation.

I chastised myself for suspecting he would be. He may have wished to humiliate me, but he’d let me go, so why would he be chasing after me? It wasn’t like he could have expected I’d embarrass myself like this.

What, had I wanted him to chase after me or something?

Of course not.

My breath long and wavering, I took a final glance at the field of golden roses as I continued my run. Even if the nobles wouldn’t pay a handsome sum for them, I still wanted to risk it—and to spite Shao by stealing them.

Surely, he couldn’t jump down from his room, shattering his window, to chase after me if I snatched some and ran…

I didn’t know what stopped me.

The knowledge that such an action was futile? That Shao was likely right, and the nobles would likely disappear me rather than part with any of their treasured coins?

That had never stopped me before.

If anything, I’d never even get to the nobles. My family lived in a desperate, starving neighborhood, and any of the townsfolk who saw would have risked anything to reach the roses first if they found out, including attacking me to steal it for them.

But I could be secretive.

What was the reason, then?

The way Shao had seemed so genuinely destroyed over the thought of any golden roses being plucked?

Impossible! Why would I care about that?

There must have been another reason behind my guilt and my unwillingness to move forward three steps to snatch a cursed rose.

A reason I couldn’t think of… yet, but it had to be a good one.

My subconscious must have been warning me for a reason.

Suppressing a sigh, I began turning back to the forest—then had the misfortune of noticing a rust-dripped window on the second floor.

Where Shao stood close behind, his eyes crinkled and his lips shaking.

From laughter, no doubt.

How long had he been laughing at my unfortunate slip?!

Heat flushed up my cheeks and this time, I actually did stomp my foot in frustration, desperately wanting to tell him off but unsure how since he couldn’t hear me.

With a heavy swallow, I turned back and ran away far faster than I’d ever thought possible, unwilling to regale Shao any further with more stupid acts.

The forest enveloped me with its trees within seconds, and I suppressed a shiver when it grew dark, the trees’ foliage blocking much of the afternoon sunlight.

Taking note of the footsteps I’d followed to the mansion, I ran after them and soon reached the small clearing where the carriage had parked. It would be easy to return home; I only had to take care to follow the imprints in the ground of the horses’ hooves and the carriage’s wheels.

Alas, if it were that easy, who wouldn’t have made it to the beast’s mansion for his roses?

Whether from nature’s evil designs or the driver’s protective intentions—I strongly suspected the latter, considering his career depended on his master’s survival—the tracks had been brushed away. Shortly past the clearing, the signs of man and horse grew nonexistent.

The paths, however, were endless; I felt as though I were in a maze of trees, each of them as likely as the next to lead me to my doom and destruction and death.

Hugging myself, I felt goosebumps all over my skin, which I refused to acknowledge. My pace was slow and deliberate now as I ambled around, my back hunched so I could peer closer at the ground, trying to discern the best path.

But all my efforts were worthless, and I screamed at myself mentally about how I’d dared to fall asleep on the carriage ride rather than fighting to memorize every path taken.

It was too late now.

I considered returning to the mansion to demand Shao fetch me the driver, but my unfortunate, uncharacteristic surge of pride—particularly following my inconvenient tumble at the gates—kept me far, far away.

Having no choice but to continue, I consoled myself with the fact that people had lived to return from the forest to tell the tale of the golden roses.

With how popular the roses were with their disgustingly inflated price, I had a strong suspicion I’d come across numerous other hunters.

All I needed to do was make enough noise while trying to escape that one of them approached me, assuming I was the beast or something.

I’d convince them to help a poor, stranded girl home.

Chapter 7

My legs soon grew too tired for me to continue running, and since I didn't see a need to, I hummed as I trekked around the forest, looking and listening for evidence of anyone else.

Yet all I saw were the occasional footprints of wolves and small creatures, which scared me, although—whether by luck or divine interference—I hadn't yet come across any dangerous beasts.

I saw several rabbits, deer, and birds, however.

And heard them, too.

Every time I heard rustling in a bush, a rattling caw high in the sky, or heavy pelting against the ground, I'd clutched the nearest tree branch for support, my breaths freezing in my chest.

But they'd revealed only harmless creatures or nothing… for now.

I considered shutting up and hiding in a tree or something, in case my humming lured the ravenous wolves to me—their easy target.

But if I did that, I'd lose the single method I had to help lure any humans towards me, too, and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to get home.

As the time passed, my stomach dropped, and my heart plummeted with fear I'd never make it out.

I couldn't make it back to Shao's mansion either to humiliate myself by begging him to help me home. I'd been traveling too long. Grass carpeted most of the ground, and the few patches of dirt weren't damp enough for new footprints.

Fearful that if I stopped, I'd fall asleep and make myself even easier prey to wild beasts, I continued my worthless travel until I reached a strange patch of endless towering trees that I'd have to squeeze myself quite uncomfortably to make it through.

Curious, I forced myself through (and squealed when the rough bark scraped at my back and stomach), dropping to my hands as I made it in. When I realized I was now in a clearing the size of a small bed, I gasped.

I lifted my head and glanced around.

Intertwined trees encircled me, and the light shifted through the layers of flickering tree leaves in bright golden speckles.

Just how much time had passed since I left? The sunlight was far too bright for it to be anything other than early in the day.

Throughout most of the forest, the endless millennia-old trees had hogged all the sunlight for themselves, preventing any method of gauging time. As realization dawned on me that I must have walked through the entire night without food or rest, I felt my hunger and fatigue pummel into my gut.

Well, at least wolves wouldn't be able to attack me here, unless they wanted to defeat the thick, strong army of trees first.

Monkeys, on the other hand—well, a single monkey had never been sighted in all of Perintas Kingdom, so that was irrelevant.

Swallowing heavily, I leaned against the largest, most gnarly oak tree, and gasped when I felt my legs collapse from beneath me.

I crashed to the grass, my limbs tangled and worthless. My letters scattered all around me, and I remembered their existence. My mind had been too caught up by thoughts of escaping the forest.

Expression knit, I took several raspy breaths and readjusted my position before picking up the letters one by one.

As I tore through them to read my family's messages to me, I began humming weakly again, as some desperate, fervent, and twisted prayer.

“Bea, dear, you've always been gullible”, the first letter started in the loopy handwriting I recognized as Mother's. My fingers spasmed, causing the letter to crumple at the edges.

I forced myself to relax and read on.

“Please, abandon your silly quest and come home.”

I'd be doing that anyway. Her letter hadn't been necessary.

Read more, Beatrice, I chided myself.

“You're much more useful here than you are wherever you're being conned. You're so easily blinded by your whimsies; I've always feared for you…”

I couldn't.

I couldn't force myself to continue.

Not right now, when she'd been proved correct, and I'd been reminded just again of how stupid I was.

Frustrated, I flung the paper away, but it flittered down inches away from me like a feather, and I buried my face in my hands.

Perhaps a different letter would be better.

The next letter was Constance's, and I knew that in the way she still dotted her i's with hearts. Her handwriting had grown a lot sloppier over the years, though, which made sense considering how long we'd gone without having to scribe a single thing down.

“Remember the time you believed the noble toddler who said he’d make his parents give you a rose if you babysat their puppy for a day, and his parents freaked out, thinking she was stolen?”

While that had happened, he'd also been five at most. Who doesn't trust little kids with chubby, angelic faces?

I assuredly shouldn't have, considering what a wicked little child I'd been, but one look at his pouty puppy face, and I couldn't stop myself from believing him.

“Or when you went to the public bazaar and flapped your arms and quacked for hours because the foreign prince and nobles promised you a cure?”

Th-that had happened, but…

Wasn't it better to be swindled and humiliate yourself than to risk allowing your father to die unnecessarily for the sake of something as silly and worthless as your pride?

It wasn't that I was gullible. It was that pretending to fall for the filthy nobles' tricks was a small payment for the nagging chance that someone would eventually take pity on me and offer a cure.

(But I'd brought myself to believe Shao, hadn't I?)

(How could I not have, when the circumstances were so bizarre? Anyway, it didn't matter now. I'd been wrong.)

“There have been so many more of those instances, and I’d rather not dwell on them. Bea, really. You should know better by now. Stop being gullible and come home.”

I couldn't keep myself from tearing up the letter as heat rose in every part of my body and skin, then filled my gut with painful, knotted flames.

When the paper was half torn, I stopped myself with shaky hands, unable to destroy anything from my family.

I gave most of the other letters a cursory glance, but they were more of the same.

Constance and Mother did also write about how worried sick they were, which did console me the tiniest bit. While their care for me was a given, the reminder and reassurance was nice.

Each wrote the other had been hardly eating until they got my letters, which had appeared as if by magic on my father’s bed one day, and they wondered if I’d returned home only to leave again.

I'd have been vindicated by their shock enough to giggle if I weren't so lethargic and drained.

Regardless, their firm disregard for me—and, more importantly, the fact that they were as correct in their condescension and judgment as they always had been…

I didn't know how to feel about it, so instead of thinking about that, I just dipped my head up to prevent my hot tears from trailing down my cheeks.

Just as a sob tore out of me, I heard a sharp whistle—and an arrow wheezed a petal's distance from my ear, slicing into the tree with a loud thud.

I shrieked.

And yet… my heart pounded with not only fear, but also blossoming hope.

“I'm here!” I shouted as loudly as I could manage. Evidently, that wasn't very loud, thanks to my tiredness. “I'm human, and I'm lost! Please come save me!”

Hearing a masculine series of grumbles and curses rather than another arrow flying by, I heaved a sigh of relief. I would be okay.

I heard footsteps approach me, although in my adrenaline-addled state, I couldn't quite make out where from.

Not long after, a brown-haired man camouflaged in ragged brown attire approached from behind the shades of trees. He removed the arrow from his bow before lifting his arm to dip it back into the container at his back.

Moving his bow beneath his right arm, and he held out his free hand to me.

Glad for the friendly gesture, I smiled as I lifted my arm to shake it.

“Sorry,” he said, peering at me through his long bangs. He looked familiar, although I couldn't quite place him. “I didn't expect there to be anyone else here, and I expected you to be deer or something.”

I forced out a small laugh. “With my bright hair?”

He snorted. “I did say I wasn't paying attention.” As if noticing something, his eyes drew closer together. “Wait a minute. You're Connie's sister?”

I flinched at his use of my childhood nickname for her. It had grown out of favor after Father fell ill and our family became a distorted shadow of itself.

“You know her?” I gathered together my letters, and I rose to stand in front of him.

“You should be dead,” he said, ignoring me.

I laughed awkwardly. “Well, I'm here, aren't I? But if I stay here any longer, we might both die from beasts. Could you please help me home? I'm a bit lost, as you can see.”

He shook his head. “You should be dead.”

I took a step back. “You've already said as much.”

His gaze was sharp when he looked at me again, his expression shifting as if he was seeing me for the first time.

“Connie said you were delirious when you told her you met the beast,” he said. “But you were telling the truth, weren't you?”

“Umm…” I nibbled my lip, not liking the lead in his tone although I was grateful he believed me. “She told you that?” I'd written to her a million times not to tell anyone, and then underlined it a thousand times more for impact.

“We're close,” he said dismissively. “Where are your roses?”

Embarrassment flooded me again at the reminder that my stay with the beast had been utterly useless. I'd cost my family so much in caretaking fees, whether they outsourced the job or took time off work for it. I'd stolen money and a knife.

All I had to show for it was a week of reading fairy tales.

“I'm sorry,” I said, and I gestured towards myself. “As you can see, I have nothing—”

“You're lying,” the man barked, his jaw tensing. I gulped.

“No, you can see me fine, can't you? Where would I be hiding the roses?”

“Between some of your sheets of paper, maybe. I don't know. But I refuse to believe someone reckless enough to enter the beast’s forest would forget to take the very thing she needs.”

Ha.

Well unfortunately for him, not only had I fled without any roses, I'd intentionally left them, as opposed to forgetting them.

Sighing, the man raked a hand through his hair. “Well, lead me to the beast, won't you?”

I chewed my lip again at that. “Um, yeah, about that. I can try, but I don't know where it is…”

Although there was also the irony in leading a strange man to do something I'd been unable or unwilling to accomplish myself, there was also the fact that I really couldn't lead him to Shao's mansion if I tried.

Oops.

His expression twitched with irritation, and I forced an uncomfortable smile. I mouthed an apology, but he crossed his arms and huffed, unwilling to acknowledge it.

He grumbled some more to himself incoherently, and I waited, my hands gripping each other as I awaited his final decision.

I didn't think he'd leave me alone here to die, but it was possible I'd have to wait with him for days to weeks before he either found Shao's mansion or gave up on his search, and I wasn't even sure his carriage was anywhere near us, if he'd brought one at all.

Oblivious to my thoughts, the man inched closer to me, filling me with discomfort.

“Tell me where the beast lives,” he said, jabbing me in the shoulder. I winced.

“I told you,” I said. “I don't know where he lives. All I know is that there's a clearing somewhere in the forest, and from there, you just need to follow the footsteps for a couple hours.”

“Again. You expect me to believe you magically found your way to the beast's den, then left without any roses only to get lost?” He barked out a menacing shell of a laugh. “Spare me.”

“I know how illogical it sounds, but—”

He shoved me back with both hands, causing me to scream.

My back thudded into the tree's sharp, strong grooves, and I suspected it'd bruise later.

My vision shifted and blurred. “I—”

“Where are your roses?” The man screamed into my ear, drawing so close I could smell his rancid breath.

“I don't have—”

“You lie,” he said, louder this time.

“N-no, I'm—”

With a forceful sweep, he punched the tree an inch next to me, causing the bark to splinter and shower the surrounding air; one of the shards scraped at my chin, drawing blood.

I squeezed my eyes, my chest throbbing painfully.

He knew my sister. They were friends. We probably lived in the same town, or at least in adjacent neighborhoods.

He was supposed to be nice and take me home.

What was going on? What was wrong with him?

As the thousand questions whirled in my head, the man snatched his arrow from the tree and pointed it at my throat.

Perhaps to encourage him and celebrate my death, a dozen ravens swooped to the trees and began singing a morbid song of caws and rattles, encircling us as they danced in strange, messy patterns.

The man grunted, but he otherwise seemed to take little notice of them.

I couldn't help but laugh at this bizarre, impossible situation.

“Are you mocking me?” He lunged with the arrow; whether by a last-minute spark of self-control or because he’d only meant to threaten me from the start, he stopped its motion only an inch away from me.

His eyes bulged as he stared behind me.

He took a thudding step back, then another. His gaze wavered. Forgetting about me, he thrust his arrow at whatever he was looking at.

No longer risking death by arrow at the smallest movement, I turned my head to know what could possibly have terrified this large man—and looked in the eyes a slobbering golden wolf thrice my size. It bared its sharp fangs.

A terrible, salivating growl pierced my eardrums.

Deafening thumps and growls swallowed up my senses, and I saw but barely processed the man as he lifted his bow and took several proper shots at the creature before taking a slow, shaky gulp.

He looked at the trees surrounding us, and took several deep breaths, as if he were consoling himself that we would both be safe. The trees would protect us.

Until the wolf snarled once more and lunged for us.

The seemingly invincible trees crackled beneath his knife-like claws as they twisted down—then collapsed with an anticlimactic bam.

Squealing, the man shoved me at the wolf; I'd be sacrificed so he could flee.

I shrieked.

Chapter 8

As the man scurried away, the wolf looked languorously at me, then back at the man, then back at me.

It made its decision; snarling again, it opened its mouth wide as my head, preparing to chomp down.

I squeezed my eyes shut and began screaming crazily, endlessly, like a maddened harpy until my throat was sore and no more sound would escape my throat.

And I remained alive.

With a heaving breath, I fought every cell in my body to open my eyes and look in front of me, where swirls of silver and gold sparkles swirled away from the wolf's shape like pixie dust, revealing…

A man.

Shao.

His forehead and hair were slick with sweat, as though he'd been running.

His pants were stained with dirt and grass stains, particularly at the knees, as though he'd tripped several times.

One of the ravens that had been circling us perched onto his shoulder, jutting its chest out, and I realized it was the bird I'd seen in his room earlier.

My lips parted as I gaped up at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked in that wickedly familiar, devilishly beautiful voice. He gave the bird a little pat on its head, and it made a caw of pleasure. When I gave him a judgmental look, he said, “It’s only thanks to her and her friends that I found you in time. If she hadn’t helped, you’d be—”

He shuddered, and I did, too.

“You can communicate with her?” I asked.

“She’s enchanted,” he said. As if that explained anything. “She’s also the one who’s been carrying all the letters back and forth.”

A part of me wanted to question and doubt him, but after what I’d just seen, I decided I had no choice but to accept everything he said without question.

Before I could say anything else, he added, “I'm sorry. I was shortsighted—I forgot you wouldn't be able to return home, and if I'd realized, I'd had made you wait for someone to pick you up.”

I felt almost vindicated by his apology, although the feeling was overpowered by my confusion.

Had he rushed all the way over here just to apologize to me and fetch me a carriage?

That was… surprisingly decent of him.

It would have been a given from anyone else, but it sent a ticklish thrum up my spine that the beast had cared so much he was almost dripping with sweat from sprinting.

I should still have been furious at him for deceiving me, but… he'd saved me. And I was too exhausted right now to fight him.

“I’m surprised you weren’t attacked by wild beasts,” he said. I licked my lips, remembering how scared I’d been of just that scenario.

“Honestly, me too, especially considering how loud I was to attract hunters to help me home.”

His eyes widened, and he gave a noncommittal hum. “Perhaps that was why. The wolves around here will devour anyone who seems them in self-defense—but they try to avoid conflict at all cost and stay away from humans when they can.”

I snorted. “Of course, you’d know that. You're a werewolf, aren’t you? Is that the real reason you were exiled?”

I'd always thought they were the stuff of legends, but unless I were dreaming or delusional, they obviously weren't.

Shao chuckled. “No, but I understand why you'd think that. Unfortunately for you, werewolves don’t exist.”

I didn't think my expression could have gotten stupider, but… it did.

“You just transformed from a wolf, and you're telling me werewolves don't exist?”

I scoffed as I rose—then began to collapse back down, my body rendered unable to support itself by fatigue and shock.

Just in time, Shao held me by my waist, helping me up; I yelped, feeling oddly dizzy and hot, and jumped away as soon as I was standing, pushing my weight against a remaining tree instead.

“It's magic,” he said matter-of-factly. Like that explained anything. I harrumphed.

“Yeah, magic called shapeshifting.”

“Nope. That was an illusion. The tree’s destruction involved an illusion, too, to cover up the small magical explosion.” With another smile, he gestured towards his hand. I belatedly realized he was holding thin yellow strips of paper—the same ones I'd seen in his room. “Witch magic.”

I flinched back, only to stumble again, and Shao made a strangled noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh as he reached out his empty hand.

I took it gratefully, knowing I didn't have much of a choice, before I gave up and let myself down onto the grass with his support.

“You're a witch, then?” I asked, looking up at him. “Is that why you were exiled? I thought witches were exiled fifteen years ago.”

Realizing how well the timing lined up, I gasped.

The banishment of witches had been quite a controversial, unfathomable ruling by the king, especially—if not exclusively—in the upper classes, since the super-wealthy were the only people who could afford to hire witches in the first place.

Shao dropped into a squat to look at me level in the eyes.

“No, but Sol—my youngest brother—sent me some talismans bootlegged from abroad for protection,” he said. His brother’s name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “I laughed at his face, thinking I'd never need them, but…” He shrugged. “They came in handy today, so I ought to thank him.”

I cocked my head. “Talismans?”

“They're… ah.” Shao trailed off to think.

His eyes dimmed as he gave up on finding the words to explain, then brightened again, and with a sharp intake of breath, he turned back to me with his eyes sparkling.

I couldn't help but giggle at just how readable he was.

His confused eyes snapped up to mine, and I almost lost my breath—and myself in his gaze.

Considering he'd spent most of our time together cooped up indoors or being sullen, I hadn't had the chance to notice them before, but they were an electric blue that sent thrills of shock through my spine.

I tore my eyes away, and I was tempted to curse at how hard that was.

“Look here,” he said. My eyes widened; was he asking me to look back into his eyes? Why?

He'd cast a spell of charm on them, hadn't he? Nothing else could explain this.

Frustrated, I closed my eyes as if in rebellion, only to hear a soft crunch, followed by a pop and a crackle. My curiosity forced me to look.

There was a sizzling electric rainbow in front of me, and without thinking, I touched it to see if it was real.

It tickled my skin as it wrapped around into a ring that snaked through my fingers, and I giggled.

“What's this?” I asked.

“An illusion,” he said.

“There's no way—” I giggled again as the tickling grew stronger, and I had to speak the rest of my words in between fits of laughter. “I can feel it!”

“Illusion magic can affect all five senses,” he said. “Most of the cheaper spells only affect sight or sound, but my brother has always splurged when it comes to family.”

I suppressed my sigh of disappointment as the snaking rainbow dispersed into specks of light that faded away, and looked back at Shao's hands, which were still holding several “talismans”—and one torn one.

“Don't tell me you tear them up to release the spells,” I said.

“I've never seen anyone more observant,” he drawled, and I resisted the urge to smack his shoulder playfully.

No, it wouldn't be playful, I decided, remembering the reason we'd parted in the first place.

The memory sobered me, and Shao's eyes shifted with a mix of guilt and hurt when he saw my expression change.

“Did you invite me to live with you because you'd heard about me?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

No doubt he'd heard about me from letters to his nobles. The driver who'd led me here had suggested as much himself.

After hearing about all the ways I'd been eagerly pranked, Shao must have decided to try messing with me himself. See how far he could take things before I fled, the last vestiges of my already negligible pride in tatters.

So, it was odd he hadn't tried anything with me at all other than save me.

A beat of silence passed with Shao's eyes boring into mine, and I forced my gaze down, unwilling to torture myself with the strange torrent of emotions I'd experienced moments ago.

“Yes,” he said, and I felt myself sagging despite the obvious inevitability of his answer. “But I think I know what you're going on about now, and I'd like to correct it.”

I laughed bitterly. “If you're going to lie to save face, why don't you stop now? You ended up stopping yourself from whatever stupid things you planned to do to me—or make me do—so you have nothing to feel guilty over.”

He collected his talismans into a neat pile before setting them on the grass, and he sat down more comfortably. The raven on his shoulder croaked as it hopped several times for balance, and I almost smiled.

“Beatrice,” he said, his voice filled with so much weight that I couldn't help but want to trust him. “I've been stuck in a mansion for most of my life, and the only person who contacts me regularly is my reticent younger brother who detests most of the Perintan nobles. Do you really think I'd condone their idiotic schemes?”

“How am I supposed to know you're telling the truth?”

“You can't, but I'd like you to.” He shrugged. “I can't tell you to trust me, since…” Grimacing, he had to exhale before he finished his sentence. “Since I spent most of our time together locking you out, but do I seem like the type of person who'd harass others, or do I seem like a reclusive idiot who'd do anything to preserve his isolation?”

Had he just called himself an idiot?

“No one wants to be isolated—”

“I never said I wanted to be,” he said, and I pulled a face. Did he even realize he was contradicting himself? As if to answer my silent inquiries, he amended, “I've always hated being alone, but it's the only thing I've ever known. Barring my family miraculously deciding to accept me back, it's the only thing I ever thought I'd be comfortable with, considering how much time I've spent with my mind as my sole companion.”

I nibbled my lip as I lost myself in thought. “Then why did you offer a cure just to invite me to live with you?”

Shao licked his lips and tugged at the grass, which easily tore away from the ground. He winced as if he'd hoped they had more weight to them, and he played with his talismans instead.

“My family,” he began, then trailed off. I waited for him to resume, but he shook his head.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “My father was one of the nobles you sought help from when your father first caught the misfortune. Of course, I’ve heard about you. My family's comments were never flattering.”

My fingers reached for my elbows, giving them a tight squeeze.

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was—he had, after all, said his parents could afford to spend fifty million without crashing their lifestyle. Those noble families numbered in the twenties or thirties across Perintas, and I hadn’t missed any in my quest to save my father.

“You’re impulsive. Shameless and irresponsible. Childish and hopelessly optimistic. You have no regard for social mores and propriety, much less others’ opinion of you.”

My nostrils flared, while my back straightened and prickled with objection. “That’s not—”

“Your family was the center of gossip between us for months. The other nobles mocked you. Both to each other and to your face. Yet you continued harassing them for aid they refused to give—aid they had no reason to and would never give.”

“N-not for free,” I said weakly, but there was little strength in my voice. “Not always for free. Especially in the beginning, we offered to pay them back in the long run, with money or with paintings—”

“Your father is an incredible artist, I’ve heard, but there are dozens as good as him. No matter how many paintings he creates, he is not worth fifty million.”

“He’s the best artist in Perintas, which you’d know if you’d ever seen his works, and it’s disgusting to put a monetary sum on someone’s life like that.”

“I don’t disagree, but it’s reality. If his works merited fifty million, why isn’t he…” He trailed off, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.

I glowered at him, daring him to continue, but even he, the infamous deadly beast with dangerous magical artifacts, didn’t quite bring himself to cross that line.

Gnawing my lip, I looked away, then glared down at my feet with enough agitation to dig a hole through them.

He didn’t apologize, though. I didn’t expect him to.

With a gulp, he added, “And there was never a way for you to earn back even close to that money. Most nobles considered you an irritation, you know.”

He wasn’t wrong.

He was right, and I wrapped my arm against my stomach, feeling sick. “If you felt that way, you shouldn’t have—”

“I wished—I wished so desperately—that someone had fought for me like that, too,” said Shao, his voice shaking. “That someone had trusted me.”

My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat.

“I wondered about you a lot,” he said, his tone almost… wistful. “I knew nothing else about you, but I wanted to meet you. No. I wanted to have met you, befriended you, before I was cursed.”

Licking my lips, I reclined back against the tree behind me, then winced when it squeezed the skin of my bruised back, reminding me of the altercation with the man.

Never mind that. I didn’t want to remember it.

Was there anything I could say about Shao’s story?

My heart tore for him, for his years’ long pleas and tears, but swelled too in its fractured state at the realization that I, the worthless and shameful burden to the family, had brought this man some semblance of nostalgic hope.

“Since I was exiled as a child,” he continued, “I’ve fantasized about having someone defend me fervently rather than accepting my banishment, and the person varied a lot. My siblings, my parents, anyone… but they hadn’t, no matter how much I wished they had. At some point, the hero was replaced by you. The butt of nobles’ jokes. A faceless girl. Someone I never thought I’d meet.”

For a beat, I didn’t respond, unable to form proper words.

Me. Me.

A hero.

To the renowned beast. To this callous man. To the one noble who’d perhaps thought of me with respect rather than disgust and loathing.

Again, I… What could I have even said to something like that? Though he barely knew me, he was baring his secrets to me, and they involved… me. A glorified version of me, one he’d never have come up with had he ever met me.

An illusion only possible because he’d been sequestered here almost all his life.

It felt a bit invasive that a stranger thought of me so often, and yet I couldn’t blame him. Rather, I found myself… flattered. More than a little.

“I suppose you’re disappointed,” I joked. It wasn’t a joke.

“I am,” Shao said. Ouch. He exhaled. “I am, since I had no choice but to pedestalize you before I met you. Beatrice Heather was never a person, but rather an idea of one, and while I knew you’d have an unflattering personality, I airbrushed them away as I only could in dreams.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t even have it in me to defend myself anymore against his hopefully accidental jabs against my personality.

“I’m happy I got to meet you,” Shao said, and I wondered if this was the calm before the storm. He was buttering me up with compliments and kind words to prepare for sending me away, since I was nothing like his imagination.

I was useless.

Worse than useless, since I’d obliterated his fictional, ideal heroine by the simple act of appearing in his life.

“Will you please still stay with me for five years?” He asked instead, and my face twisted into a grimace. “I’ll give you the cure as soon as I can, of course.”

“Wh-what?” I stuttered. “I’m sorry, what?” Was I more surprised by the fact this man could be polite and talk all gentlemanly, or the fact that he’d just asked me to stay with such a pleading tone a day after yelling at me to leave? I had no idea. It didn’t matter either way.

Had he gone mad?

“Why are you so shocked? This was the agreement from the start.”

And I’d been stunned beyond words from the start, but our conversations had never been as arbitrary as they were now. I stared at him.

“Well, I’m sure you know my answer, but you can’t fault me for my confusion. You were so furious with me,” I said. I pointed at his chest. “You kicked me out.”

Or he’d been about to before I rushed out, which was basically the same thing.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he replied. “But please, do not enter my room ever again. Next time, I really must send you home, and your father will not receive the cure.”

I arched my brows but said nothing, instead mulling over something he’d said earlier that I’d been too addle-brained to acknowledge. “You said what happened to you was a curse? You weren’t born with it, then?”

He cocked his head, then shook it. “I was three when a jealous witch cursed me. I don’t like talking about it; I’m sure you understand.” His fists clenched and blanched, and I nodded.

“It doesn’t, but I… If I’m going to be here for five years, I’d like to learn more about you.”

“I’d like to learn more about you,” he echoed. Words I never dreamed I’d hear him say, spoken in a voice so warm my heart almost melted. “Come on, now. Let me take you back home.”

Home.

It was so strange and jarring to see the word refer to a mansion I’d been so certain I’d never see again.

We were returning to the beast’s forlorn mansion—but the beast wasn’t beastly, and the mansion was still my home for the next five years.

Nodding, I followed him out of the clearing through the endless maze of trees.

I watched his taut back as he strutted through with confident strides, as if he’d ventured through these woods a million times, and I realized he probably had.

An eternity of isolation, with only the trees and flowers for company.

How quickly could that break a man?

If I’d been in his shoes, how quickly would that have broken me?

The thought filled me with a sudden burst of determination. Shao had revealed to me the giant, gaping shoes of a hero, expecting a dull acceptance and understanding—but I’d offer more than that.

I’d fill those stupid shoes, no matter what it took.

From what little I’d seen of him so far, Shao was antisocial and callous, but he had a kind, caring heart underneath. I wanted to see more of it than the few glimpses I’d been allowed.

He didn’t deserve to be cursed into eternal isolation.

Before my five years ended, I’d find a way to save him.

Chapter 9

“Eek!”

A book had thudded onto the crown of my head. I yelped again as it thudded to the ground, its spine bending back as it crash-landed onto the wooden floors.

Had I accidentally knocked a bookshelf in my helter-skelter search to find a treatment for Shao’s disfigurement?

Well, yeah, probably. I had a faint pain tingling from my elbows through my shoulders from bumping into every nook and cranny of this library over the last couple weeks since the incident with Shao.

But could wooden shelves supported by hundreds of obscenely large tomes be so fragile?

I glanced back to the domino-like rows of books precariously dangling on the top of every bookshelf, and I realized the miracle wasn’t that a book had fallen onto my head. No. I was fortunate and blessed that an entire row of books hadn’t spontaneously decided to murder me.

Mumbling to myself about how it must be a sign from the heavens, I bent down to pick up the stray book, hoping it would contain secrets about healing methods that I was in dire need of.

I cringed when I saw some of the papers, which had folded at haphazard places from the fall.

Books didn’t deserve to be disrespected like this. I considered muttering an apology, and only stopped myself because I had a strange feeling Shao would arrive just in time to hear me. I’d embarrassed myself enough in front of him.

Narrowing my gaze, I flipped through the book with one hand, occasionally stopping to unfold and straighten out the yellowing pages. I thumbed the thick and textured velvet spine as I glanced over the words and pictures—which there were quite a lot of.

The history of Perintas…

Magnolia Wars… Oh, this ought to be interesting, even if it had nothing to do with the topic at hand.

I’d studied the two wars thoroughly in school; it was the international war waged by the once-enslaved witches seeking freedom from us humans. Hundreds of years had passed since then, and now witches were some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world.

How the wars effected today’s farming climate… Really? Of all things relating to the war to write about, farming climates had caught the writer’s interest? This had to be a joke.

How Queen Mulan restored her power by controlling the farms…

I wasn’t sure what to make of this headline. In a weird way, I guess it… was plausible that she had? Food was important, and if she threatened to destroy the lands with her witch magic, her kingdom would have had no choice to comply with her every whims and orders.

I’m not sure what I expected from the passage that followed, but it certainly wasn’t the long and unnecessarily drawn out essay that I got justifying Machiavellian tactics and preaching that the only valid way to rule was to know when to be cruel.

Honestly, I was impressed the author had somehow woven these annoying ramblings into a section about farms and something as intriguing and significant as the Magnolia Wars.

In between the self-absorbed ego trips by the author, there were glimpses of plausible albeit surprising and unexpected tactics… but I couldn’t bring myself to give one iota of a crap.

My eyes glazed over as I struggled to stifle a yawn.

Maybe the folded pages had been justified. As much as I adored reading and books, not all books were created equal.

I wasn’t one to advocate book burning, but this was one book that deserved to drown in the deepest of oceans just for how boring and rambling it was.

Lost in my irritation at the precious time I’d now wasted—the sooner I cured Shao and got in the good graces of his family, the sooner I could leave and save my own father—I didn’t notice a shadow slip behind me until it stole the book from my hands.

Suppressing a squeal, I turned around with my eyes as wide as an owl’s.

Shao stood before me, his brows arched and his lips twisted into a sardonic grin.

“Having fun?” He joked, his voice laced with gentle sarcasm, and I huffed.

“No, and you have horrible taste in books,” I said.

He shrugged. “I didn’t much like that book either, but it’s one of Father’s favorites. He practically worshiped it, saying it was crucial to his successes.”

“Is… that why you have it?” I asked, barely stopping myself from instead asking if that was why his father had given that to him.

Shao nodded and said, “Yeah. I hired someone to scribe all the pages by hand, since I think it’s long been out of print, and I couldn’t find any other copies than Father’s.”

Well, thank goodness I’d censored myself. I praised myself mentally for my rare moment of thought, then snorted.

“Not surprised,” I muttered. “I only read a couple pages, but the prose was dry and uninspiring, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the author’s the type of person who loved the sound of his own voice.”

Thumbing the spine of the book, Shao smiled softly—almost sadly?—as he fanned through the pages. “I don’t disagree, although I tried so hard to love it…” He shook his head, his blond curls framing the angles of his cheeks and jaw.

I licked my lips and swallowed, almost losing myself in the fleeting nostalgia in his eyes.

Finding my hand involuntarily reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes, I seized my wrist and chomped down on my tongue—hard, far harder than I intended—and jumped back, muttering made up profanities while shaking away half-formed tears.

Thus, I ruined whatever emerging moment between us.

Oops.

Shao pulled a face of both concern and confusion along with, dare I say it, judgment, before he erupted into a guffaw that bloomed heat in my cheeks.

He shrugged between his laughter, but the shrug was almost imperceptible because of how much his shoulders shook.

I wanted lightning to strike from the fluffy white cloud of the library chandelier’s pale, twinkling beads and strike me down so I didn’t have to suffer this moment.

Alas, the only source of magic within these walls was Shao’s talismans, and I had no idea where he even put them.

“Well, I guess every child wants to emulate their parent,” he said at last, then gestured to the distant desk I’d been working before I’d decided to seek more books for help. “Care to explain why there are a dozen bowls of disgusting pus all over my study desk and chairs?”

My eyes lit up with delight at the reminder of my few successes so far—or I hoped they were successes, anyway. They were mini successes, at least. Almost-successes. Whatever. I took pride in them.

“Oh, please, they’re not disgusting. They are beautiful, and they are your savior.”

Giggling deliriously, I snatched Shao’s hand without a second thought and pulled him to the desk. I heard a tiny puff of air from behind me, but Shao was quick to relent and follow me, to which, thank goodness because I probably couldn’t have dragged him anywhere without his cooperation.

“Care to explain what you mean by my savior?” He said, mirth in his voice although the effort with which he struggled to keep it level and serious was palpable.

“No, no, I won’t tell you,” I said. “Close your eyes. I’ll show you.” Hopefully.

“Show me… what?”

I dipped by hands in the closest tub of herbal mix, which looked suspiciously like a mixture of snot and vomit (but it smelled like cranberries, okay?), and snatched two large handfuls.

I gestured towards Shao with my chin. “C’mon, take that mask off. Let me rub some of this on you.”

Shao hid his flinch with another laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“No, no. Perfectly serious. This is going to cure you, you see? I used to study medicine. I swear this stuff won’t hurt you.”

Whatever he saw in my ideally-not-completely-rabid eyes scared the pants off him, since he took one shaky step back, then another, his shaking palms stretched in front of him in a plea for me to stop.

“I really don’t think you can treat my curse with that poison.”

Scoffing, I took a step closer to him, careful not to drop any of my super-secret but potent sauce (attempt number one) in the process. He took another step back.

“Well, we won’t know until we try, will we?” I asked. “You said I saved you, but that was a reach, since you saved yourself using your idea of me as a catalyst. If anything, you saved me from that strange man, and you’ve promised to save me again—to save my father. I might as well help you somehow.”

“I didn’t ask for this help,” he said through his teeth, his voice unsteady, his words slow as droplets of water falling from a barely tipped leaf.

“No, but if I were you, I’d seize any chance I had—no matter how small—to return home.” And I wasn’t lying. After all, hadn’t I done exactly that when I agreed to stay with Shao for five years in exchange for a cure?

“I’m not you,” he said.

“And you need my stellar positive influence,” I rebutted. “You were inspired by imaginary me. Why not real me?”

Choking on his own spit, his steps grew more rapid, and I sighed. This was never going to work, was it? It wasn’t like I could smear it all over his face, thanks to mis mask, without first spilling the goop all over the floor—which I’d have to clean after the fact.

Unless…

I twisted back and reached for the tub to empty my hands, then pat them for good measure, persevering to get all of it off my hands.

Fortunately, it more slimy than sticky… a description that made it sound a little more gross than it already sounded, looked, and smelled. But my hands soon looked clean enough, which was all that mattered.

When I looked back to Shao, he’d visibly relaxed, assuming I’d given up on my sudden shenanigans.

He was wrong. Very wrong.

I tiptoed up to him, racking my mind for ways to distract him. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”

“Positive,” he said, not caring to evade me now as I stepped closer to him.

“Don’t you see how many tubs there are? I worked my butt off trying out different blends of medicine.”

“The healers already tried most of the herbs and known ointments on my skin, and I doubt you’ve somehow found some rare, never-before-seen plant in this forest.”

“No, but maybe my combinations will somehow do the trick,” I said and sighed. “Come on, I know it’s deep and looks terrible, but in the end, you’re just scarred. Scars fade. Have you even looked at your face lately, or do you wear your mask to sleep and shower, so you never have to see it?”

Somehow, I had strong suspicions of the latter, considering he’d been fully masked while securely in his room, handling the raven. Since when did ravens care about scars? For all I knew, ravens thought all humans looked the same, the way I thought all ravens were identical.

I couldn’t even tell apart ravens and crows, for goodness’ sake.

Shao gulped, and I was mesmerized by the rise and dip of his prominent Adam’s apple.

Shaking my head, I opened my mouth again to talk—then reached up to snatch off the beast’s mask.

Just as my fingertips grasped against the cool white material, Shao wheezed as he broke away, his palm slapping his mask deeper into his skin.

“I—”

“What are you doing?” He cried, and this time, I was the one who recoiled back.

“I just—”

“I told you not to!”

“I just wanted to help!” I cried, because really, I had.

It was true I barely knew the guy, but his rescue of me—his flurry of passion in trying to save me before I was devoured by wolves—his confession to why he’d kept me around—all of it had coalesced into an arrow of emotion launched straight into my heart, tearing down my walls.

I’d been acting like he was a friend, although I hardly knew him.

I’d been pompous and thoughtless, assuming I’d torn through his boundaries with a few simple smiles and acts as he had mine.

I’d been stupid. Incredibly, incorrigibly stupid.

The acid laced in his voice was a stark, bitter reminder that no matter what, he was still a stranger I didn’t know.

Swallowing down bile, I asked, “Do you think I’d leave you because of a simple scar?” My voice shook with hurt and shock. Feelings I was perhaps undeserving of. “Even if I wanted to—even if I was that type of person—I couldn’t. You promised me a cure. I intend to receive it.”

Shao shook his head, then straightened his back, but the anger and—hurt?—still remained in his eyes and the taut line between his lips.

“That’s not what I—” I heard the grind of his teeth rather than saw it, as my head was bowed down to the ground, my eyes gazing straight down at my toes.

“You know what?” I said, lifting my arms in defeat. “I’m sorry.” I was more bitter than sorry, although in the back of my mind, I knew I’d unthinkingly breached his boundaries left and right again, which… I had no one to blame for but myself.

Gripping my arms, I added, “I’ll go make some food. You… can try some of these ointments without me looking at your scar. Or not. I’ll throw it out if they’re still here later.”

I pirouetted towards the door and began storming away, chastising myself for my decision to befriend and help the beast.

The silence stretched on, blanketing us with discomfort for the full minute it took for me to storm through the humongous distance of the library and reach the exit. From the lack of any sound, Shao seemed to be just standing in spot, watching me.

“Wait,” Shao said, just as I took my first step out the door.

Ignoring him, I marched on.

“Wait,” he said again, and I chuckled.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to wait for a carriage before you kicked me out again?”

“Who said I was kicking you out?” He said, his voice twisted with an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. I inhaled sharply, but I’d always been petty. I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of having me stop to listen to him, so I continued my exit.

The sound of footsteps rung heavily this time, and with his towering height and obscenely long legs to match, it didn’t take Shao long at all to catch up to me.

Seizing my wrist, Shao twisted me around to face him.

“Let go—”

“I will after you listen to me,” he said, taking a step closer to me than comfortable. My breath hitched in my throat, and I tried to take a step back, only for my back to thud against the wall.

“I-I’m sorry,” I repeated. “Is that what you want? Another apology? I know I crossed your boundaries, and I know you hate that—”

“No,” he whispered, his voice smooth and silky and almost causing me to melt into a puddle. What was wrong with me? “I want to apologize.”

I snorted. “For what? For disrespecting my days’ worth of hard work? Because, yeah, you should be sorry.”

He froze, then threw his head back in a chortle. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but you get more stubborn and presumptuous by the day. Somehow.”

“What does that even mean?” I scoffed, struggling in vain to tug my wrist out of Shao’s firm—although not painful—grasp.

“In just a few weeks, you’ve gone from at least trying to keep from offending me in case I kick you out to sauntering around and making scathing remarks like you own the place, not me.”

“I’ve been to more places in your mansion—and the entire forest, looking for herbs—than you’ve gone in the last ten years you’ve been here,” I said. “I reckon the mansion considers me its true master. Poor thing’s gone forgotten and unrecognized for far too long.”

“Oh, please, like the mansion’s sentient—”

“All living things are, and you were made of living trees, weren’t you, darling?” I asked, patting the wall at my back with my free hand like I was caressing the cheek of a loved one who’d snuck up behind me.

“Darl—? Oh, never mind that,” he said, trying to hide his smile. I could’ve sworn there was a slight red tint to his ears, although it was so subtle I couldn’t say for sure. He took a deep breath, and his face grew grim again. “I… don’t want you to misunderstand my actions from before.”

“What is there to misunderstand?” I asked, putting on the best innocent puppy-dog-face of the century. “I think you’re being melodramatic.”

“No,” he said, squeezing my hand, and I dimly realized he’d let go of my wrist however momentarily to take my hand in his instead. And I hadn’t even noticed. My fingers throbbed with heat that trickled up to my cheeks, and I tried not to overthink the contact between us. He was just trying to keep me in place.

Keep me in place…

Belatedly, I remembered that I’d been trying to leave; too absorbed by his voice and touch and the irritatingly pretty blue of his eyes that I wished mine had, I’d all but forgotten.

I tried to tug away again, but my force was weak and half-hearted, and even I could tell despite my layers of denial that I meant to stay.

Shao blinked, smiled, then released me, realizing the same thing, and I choked down a strange, bitter feeling.

“You can’t call me melodramatic when I’m only acting like this because of you,” he said, and I tilted my head.

“What—”

“I’m not sure if you’ve realized, but you’re incredibly transparent.”

I bristled at those words. “The transparent one is you—”

“At least I have the excuse of being isolated so long,” he rebutted. “I’ve had no one to practice hiding my feelings from. What about you?”

“How does any of this relate to your melodrama?” I interjected, unable to come up with a defense. Shao smirked. Audacious jerk.

“Because as soon as I pulled away from your gunky hands—”

“That you eagerly squeezed, by the way,” I said, smug as a cat, and he heaved an obnoxiously loud sigh. See? He was the melodramatic one, with or without me as a scapegoat.

“As soon as I pulled away,” he began, his voice conveying quite a bit of (hopefully) mock irritation, “you pulled a face that looked like it was the end of the world for you.”

“I did not—”

“Are you sure about that?” He snorted, and I harrumphed.

“So dramatic,” I said again, out of steam, and he chuckled.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for… wasting your effort,” he said, not with any sincerity or conviction. “But I can’t allow you to see me without a mask.”

“I promise I won’t think poorly of you, no matter how badly scarred you are—”

“No, Beatrice,” he said, scrubbing at his mask. “I can’t allow you to see my bare face because I’ve lied to you.”

I paused. Blinked.

“Huh?” I asked, my forehead wrinkling.

“Haven’t you wondered why not a single soul wished to defend me, all because of a mangled face that could be hidden? Why I was so terrified and furious when you entered my room, surprising me where I could’ve had my mask off? How I managed to defend myself against the hundreds of thieves, many armed and in groups? Why I’m so protective of mere flowers, as you put it?”

He… was right. None of it made any sense. I’d been unwilling to face what that would mean, since whatever explanations I could think of would make staying here that much harder. I’d refused to think about any of it at first. Eventually, I’d forgotten it all, too absorbed in both my wishes and my fears.

“I’m cursed,” he said, his voice breaking. I sunk back into the wall, both impatient with him and riveted by the promise of an explanation.

“Yes, you’ve said as much.”

“I’m cursed,” he repeated. “You were right, even if you were speaking deliriously from fear and were quick to doubt yourself. My face is mangled by a scar from a curse, but that’s not the entire truth. People who see the scar… turn into golden roses. The very roses you came to steal. Supposedly, if I’m ever cured, the roses will turn back to humans, but I’m still here and I’m nineteen. I doubt I’ll be fixed.”

I released a harsh laugh. Was this some joke? I wasn’t in on it, and it was more strange than funny.

It sure was convenient for his curse to be the same magic spell I’d guessed at. Rather low effort on his part if he meant to deceive me.

Did his magical curse make sense, though?

No, but then again, it was as believable as a fairy’s curse of disfigurement and ravens carrying mail to places they didn’t even have the address for.

The bluebloods of Perintas lived in a society of their own with its own rules and reality. The things that were ridiculous to us were part of their daily life. Shao may have been excommunicated, but he was no exception.

“Do you believe me?” He asked, his voice shaking, and I shrugged.

“What do you think?” My tone came out more incredulous than I intended. I’d always known magic existed, but of all curses… What fairy would make a man’s face cursed to turn people into roses? Clearing my throat, I added two words. “Prove it.”

“Maybe if another thief comes by,” he said. “That’s what happens to all the thieves who disappear, you see. They weren’t eaten by wolves. They were transformed into roses.”

Shao shook his head, his palm over his head. “Otherwise, I can’t prove anything. Not unless you want to die yourself. Fortunately, the curse also warns me when others approach my roses by making my entire body unbearably itchy. Otherwise, the roses would’ve been wiped out years ago.”

I tapped my feet against the floor, finding it impossible to keep myself still.

“So, supposing you’re not making a fool out of me…” It wasn’t even the first time he may have done that. Kind words aside, I still wasn’t sure this whole situation wasn’t some big unfunny joke at my expense.

“I’m not,” he reassured me. I shifted my balance. What did his words matter when it was his honesty that was in question?

“Did… you spare me because you recognized me?”

Shao shook his head. “I put my mask back on the moment before you told me who you were. I meant to transform you, but you refused to look at me; you won me over with your foolhardy stubbornness in the brief time we spoke.”

Rolling his neck, he added, “If you’d refused to stay at the end, I’d… have turned you into a rose, too, since I was sure you’d try to smuggle out a rose.”

He was right about that.

Shao quirked a broken smile. “I believe the people turned into roses are stuck that way forever, but just in case I find a way to return them to their true selves someday, I want to keep the flowers alive, you know?”

Slowly, I nodded.

I hated to admit it, but I believed him. Everything he’d said. If his updated curse was real, everything else clicked into place much better than it had before.

I believed him just as I’d believed all his sweet lies so far, along with his truths that were likely just as deceitful.

Bea, dear, you’ve always been gullible.

Mother’s words echoed in my head in her disappointed voice, the one I’d often heard before we’d moved to the small rural town far away from the city with nobles.

The letters I’d momentarily bubbled with excitement over were now daggers slicing away at my idealism.

I understood why Shao hadn’t told me when we met, and I was grateful that he was correcting himself as soon as we started getting to know each other. But he’d lied. A seed of doubt was planted in my chest.

How was I supposed to know what other lies he’d fabricated for whatever nefarious reason?

Realizing I was chewing at my nails, I squeezed my eyes shut and set my hands down on my lap. “Can I have some time alone?”

I was overreacting. I knew it. But… how could I not? My father’s life was at stake. I had a more pressing place to be—my home—if Shao was deceiving me and there was no cure as the carrot to my stay here.

I shook my head. I’d recover in a day, maybe two. And then I’d return to my cheerful, stupid self, devouring lies from the palm of his hand with gratitude. There was that same recurring, incessant question as always: what other option did I have?

But… not now. Not today. Even I needed a break sometimes.

“Are you scared of me?” Shao asked, and I laughed at the strangeness of the comment. Was that what he was worried about?

“Of course not,” I replied. If I feared anyone, it was myself, and my inability to discern truth from lies.

“Do you not believe me, then?” His voice was too level to not be hiding his own conflicted feelings.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I’d like to.”

Shao nodded curtly and stood up to leave. “Feel better.”

“Thank you,” I managed. “For everything today.”

This time, Shao didn’t stop me when I stormed away.

Chapter 10

The turbulence in my mind continued to whip around my sanity and sensibilities as I approached my door, no matter how much I willed it to dissipate.

I took a deep breath as I reached for my doorknob. I didn’t want my negative feelings to infest my latest bedroom and hamper my sleep.

Consoling myself that once I slept, I’d be calm again, I swept open the door and took a step in, cracking the knots in my neck.

A soft cry of a raven welcomed me inside, and I arched my brows as I closed the door behind me, glancing around the room for the sound’s source.

In the center of the room, there was an ornate, plush velvet bed that felt like silk—one of the main reasons I’d chosen this room consistently over the past week.

Above the bed, lining the walls on the farther edge of it, were three stuffed animals with lopsided eyes and awkwardly placed noses, as if a parent or nanny had painstakingly made them for the first time in their lives for a beloved child. I’d felt too awkward to hug them to sleep, since they weren’t mine. But I’d felt too bad to toss them aside, too, so I’d slept with them close by. There was nothing unexpected there.

I swept my eyes over the pastel mint walls lined by hundreds of candle sconces. Perhaps a remnant of a child afraid to sleep in the night from fear of monsters. To the right of the room, there was a small wardrobe and a drawer, from which there had been countless dresses of two very different sizes: one meant for tweens, the other meant for young ladies more my age.

From there, I’d stolen quite a few outfits. They fit me… well enough. The sleeves were too poofy and long, while the dress part was a bit too tight, but it didn’t look that bad. Or so I hoped.

Then, I turned my head left, and gasped at the sight of cocky bead-like eyes staring at me blankly from the top of a writing desk. Shao’s pet raven.

Despite their starkly different colors and texture, the raven blended in with the desk, and they felt more alike than different.

I mumbled a greeting. Although a part of me felt obligated to baby talk the bird as I’d often spoken to children and pets in the past, there was something about the creature that was somehow unsettling.

Perhaps it was because the bird was, you know, a raven. Not something friendly and cute like ducks or familiar like chickens. Or perhaps it was because it had been circling me while making ominous noises while I’d been with the strange man.

Regardless, the fact that the raven had decided to visit me personally today, as opposed to visiting Shao to pester him and regarding me only as a nuisance, felt almost ominous.

Hesitantly, I walked over to it, and blinked when I saw it hop around over two closed envelopes.

“Aww, did you bring me my family’s latest letters?” I grinned and reached out to give the bird a pet, only to yelp when it tried to bite the palm of my hand. “Bad raven. Go bite Shao if you want to pester someone.”

It made a crowing noise that sounded a little like a whine before it fluttered away with enough force from its wings that the letters scattered in our corner of the room, and I winced when an envelope zipped by my cheek, almost nicking me.

Before I could complain, the raven had disappeared out through my open window, and I grunted. Had the raven opened the windows herself? I wouldn’t have been surprised. I had no idea just how many enchantments had been cast on her, but she had no trouble carrying dozens to hundreds of letters from the other side of the country where the nobles lived to a little-roamed forest out here.

I returned my focus to the letters. My lips smiled; my eyes did not.

I was excited to read my family’s letters.

I was terrified to learn what they’d said.

The letters had been caustic enough the last several batches, and I had no doubt these would be more of the same.

And yet they were written from my family, all of whom I felt the absence of like a physical hole in my heart, and my heart pitter-pattered as I carefully tore the envelopes open at the ends, unwilling to tear or crumple them.

The first letter I picked up was Constance’s, written in pretty pink ink that I marveled at.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing, Beatrice? I heard about you from Gunnar. He said he saw you, and you actively tried to sabotage him from finding a rose for himself, rather than helping him? If you have ready access to the golden roses, why are you still there, anyway? Quit being stupid. Come home. We need you.”

I swallowed. So, was that the name of the man I’d met in the forest? He hadn’t told her he’d threatened me, had he?

She went on about Gunnar as if I should know him already, and I tasted bile rising at the continued reminder of the distance paved between us.

The way she spoke about him, it was clear he was her best friend—or more.

(I’d been her best friend, once.)

It was clear they’d known each other for a long time, and he’d become her pillar of support when I’d withered from her thoughts and reality.

(Someone like him? With someone like her? Why? She was too good for the likes of him… or she had been, once, and I refused to believe she had changed for the worse.)

Whatever he was, he was important to her. She valued him. She valued his opinions and words.

And yet… and yet, I’d never once heard of him. Before today, I’d never once even heard his name.

I shook my head and continued to read, but much of it was unsurprising. She continued speaking of the one-sided stories Gunnar had told her about me, not much of it flattering. To some extent, I understood… but he’d threatened me. He hadn’t been anything but a ridiculous threat maddened by the pursuit of gold, or rather, golden roses.

I scrawled up a letter telling Constance about Gunnar’s exaggerated reaction to me, arguing that while I was being ridiculous myself, she shouldn’t be associating with the likes of him. He was dangerous. Crazy. I didn’t like him one bit.

“Don’t you know Father is dying?” Constance’s last words were an implied threat, and I found myself crumpling up the letter and throwing it at the wall in frustration before I could stop myself.

Of course, I knew that.

I was trying my best, wasn’t I?

Doubt nagged at my chest and stomach, twisting my gut with the realization that no, I wasn’t.

My stay here had been… enjoyable, if anything, past the minor hiccups early on. I was doing nothing except forcibly pushing away my thoughts of my family, knowing it would cause me to break down, and acting like there was nothing wrong with the world.

Though rope-like guilt snaked around my neck when I thought it, taking care of my father without rest had sapped me of all my energy and identity.

I’d been broken over and over again by not only the pain of seeing him in such a state where I had to pour food down his throat and clean his bodily functions from him, but also the social isolation, my atrophied hope, and my keen awareness about how useless I was.

My time with Shao had been a much-needed reprieve… but at whose expense?

I realized just how much more I’d caused my family to sacrifice for me and my selfish whims.

My throat felt parched, and I reached around for a glass of water I couldn’t find. I lacked the emotional or physical strength to fetch it from the kitchen, and I collapsed to the bed instead to continue reading the letters and drown myself in my thoughts.

Although I’d tried to convince them to work far less, since we had a chance to receive a cure for free… neither had relented, and I couldn’t blame them.

There was no guarantee of a cure. I knew that.

But my family’s income potential was starkly lowered, and my family was now rotting inside-out.

And it was all. My. Fault.

I could have cried, but I hadn’t cried in a long, long time. Not since the first year of my father’s illness, when I’d become stupid in denial and mindlessly happy.

Because that was the only way I could continue. Survive.

That was my way of coping.

Exhaling, I lifted myself from the bed only long enough to pick up the next letter, which I recognized as Mother’s. Her paper was filled with scribbles over written-then-regretted words, and dotted with small, faint wrinkles from what seemed like teardrops.

My heart sunk, and my belly summersaulted with distaste and fear.

The first few words of Mother’s letters had been crossed out by three scratchy lines; they were several greetings, started and stopped and started and stopped.

True to her character, Mother soon gave up and jumped straight to the point rather than wasting her energy on meaningless words that wouldn’t change our situation.

“Has Constance told you? That she has fainted three times in the past week? Has she told you? That we can hardly afford food with our further fragmented budget?”

My eyes stung at those words, and I willed myself to cry, although the moisture only dried from my eyes, leaving them—and my chest—burning to ashes, to nothing.

No. She hadn’t told me.

Was it because her trust in me had shattered due to Gunnar’s lie?

I didn’t want to think about that.

At least, it seemed, Constance hadn’t told Mother of anything Gunnar had said. I wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse, since perhaps Mother deserved to know. To hate me even more than she already did.

Mother’s next words shook, and the letters were irregular and blotted with ink where she’d been unable to continue without taking a moment to compose herself first.

“Your father’s heartbeat has grown terrifyingly faint, Bea, although his breaths have grown more ragged. He can no longer open his eyes or even twitch.” A pause. Blots of ink. Clouds of ink to hide the words she’d tried and failed to write. “I don’t know how much longer he has. Don’t you… at least want to be here when”—

There was an abrupt halt to her words, and the next thing she wrote was several empty lines down. Her signature.

Nothing more.

I choked back my torrent of emotions.

My fists clenched into balls but were quick to loosen; I lacked the power to keep them clenched.

All I felt was defeat.

Self-loathing.

Taking one, two, three deep breaths, I stared up at the ceiling, forcing the bombarding mental images of Father’s impending death out of my mind, but to no avail.

I wanted to throw up.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to die.

Unable to do any of the above, I shook my head weakly, and I wondered if it was possible to die from hollow loathing.

No, Beatrice, I thought to myself. I can’t stop here. I must return home. To work. To help them, somehow.

To bid Father farewell.

Something I’d long convinced myself wouldn’t happen for another fifty-some years, no matter how much reality tried to knock me down a peg or five or a dozen.

But… I couldn’t bring myself to move.

Not even to stir.

My current state was much reminiscent of Father’s, only… his inaction was caused by his illness. It was a painful physical plight that he didn’t deserve to endure.

Mine was a fault of my own. A lethargy aroused by my incompetence and mistakes.

I wanted to move.

I wanted to escape my bed and yell at Shao and cry and scream. To return home and do something, no matter what that something was.

To say heck with Shao’s words about the nobles’ unwillingness to pay a fair price for the roses. To disregard Shao’s stupid obsession with his stupid roses and steal them by the armfuls.

But…

I couldn’t.

Couldn’t.

Move.

An.

Inch.

Chapter 11

Time crawled by in a haze of nothingness. All I saw was the darkness behind my eyelids and the dim, speckled gray of the ceiling. My sole companions were the soft whirring of the wind and rustling of leaves.

Numerous thoughts fought for purchase over my mind, all of which I pushed away. Soon, the absence of thought (or so it seemed) became second nature.

Sometimes, I thought I heard hesitant, slow footsteps linger in the hallways outside my door, but my mind was too blank—or rather, too cluttered by the deliberate absence of thought—for me to make sense of it.

I didn’t much care, anyway.

Minutes, hours, days could have passed. Weeks, even.

The passage of time felt both meaningless and crippling at the same time.

I had to go home. I had to.

But I couldn’t move a muscle, because movement—action—thought—all of it meant recognition of my past and present circumstances. And that meant I had to not only admit to my mistakes, but also face the shame of returning home after troubling my family in a way even I’d never done before… with nothing to show for it but my own despair and disappointment.

Light trespassed through the window, making the darkness beyond my closed eyes slightly brighter. Soft chirps greeted me a good morning from afar.

None of it had meaning.

And then—a deviation from my routine.

Soft knocks on the door, followed by a beat of silence.

Taps on the floor from the other side of the door, signaling impatience.

There was only one thing—one person—the sounds could be from, and yet my mind lingered, squirming at the pace of a snail, half dormant and uncaring and half wondering what it could be.

The knocks grew louder.

Even when a shout of garbled words ricocheted through the room, the knocks continued, growing only louder. I had to strain my ears and struggle to make sense of the words, and even then, they sounded like a meaningless cloud of noise.

The male voice only continued to shout, and slowly, so slowly, I began to understand.

“Beatrice, you haven’t been eating—”

I hadn’t been hungry. Nor had I found the energy to head all the way to the pantry or cellar.

“Open the door right now—or at least say something—or I’m going to enter your room with or without your permission.”

I would have laughed if I could. Hadn’t he grown enraged just a few weeks ago because I trespassed without his permission?

He was a hypocrite.

Which caused my chest to stir and swell fractionally before it calmed back down, unable to handle more false hope. Unable to handle any speck of happiness that I did not deserve.

Some more knocks that I could have called bangs. Then I heard a loud thud as the door slammed open, and a masculine gasp from uncomfortably close to me shattered the remnants of the silence I’d enjoyed.

“Beatrice, what the—”

Some more slow, heavy footsteps ensued and were followed by a chain of rapid sprint-like sounds as Shao fled my room.

He was running away from me. Was he disgusted by me? I knew I was a hot mess, and it was obvious in my every breath, my every pore.

I drifted in and out of consciousness; when I woke up for the umpteenth time, I realized it was because I tasted blood. Had I been biting my tongue? My lips?

Bad habit, either way.

Didn’t matter, either way.

The next time, it was no longer blood I tasted. It was warmth. It was heat. It was lava on my lips, then my forehead, hot molten liquid concentrated and heavy and dripping down to its surroundings.

As it cooled, I felt its light bristles when I inched to the side, and I realized it must be a towel.

I opened my eyes again, but the candles had been lit, and the light was bright and burning. I quickly shut them, finding strength to wince.

Once more, on my lips—an unbearable heat, causing a tiny yelp to escape my lips. There was a pause and a gentle, relaxing blowing noise before the next batch of fire flooded my mouth, and although still unpleasant and foreign, it was far cooler.

This continued for some time, for I was powerless to stop it, and the liquid oozed down my throat without my participation.

I drifted back asleep.

The first thing I saw upon waking up one last time was Shao, sweat slicking his arms and the visible bits of his face. I tried to reach up and stroke his face, but my attempt was in vain. I’d regained some strength, but not enough.

I managed to smile. The thought of sickly sweat clinging between his mask and skin, causing massive disgust and discomfort, amused me far more than it should have.

“You can take a break, you know?” I asked. My voice came out far hoarser and quieter than I intended, and it required a miracle for Shao to understand. My throat ached as if I’d been yelling for the past several hours. Cringing, I cocked my head to get a better look at Shao.

He lifted his eyes to look arrogant, but his attempt was ruined by the flowers of purple bruises lining his sallow skin and surrounding his eyes.

I puffed out a giggle that was part mocking, part grateful.

“Are you sure you should be taking care of me?” I asked again, then coughed.

“Someone has to,” he replied, his voice gentle yet strong. “And we’re the only two people here.”

I wanted to shrug, but again failed.

“Pretend I’m shrugging?” I said, grateful I at least had my voice back. Sort of. I could endure the pain, even revel in it. Shao’s companionship was a heavenly gift I couldn’t refuse, no matter how much I wanted to deprive myself.

Shao snorted, but all I saw in his blue eyes was worry rather than mirth.

“You look like a troll,” I said, trying to get back to him for his silent mockery. Even a troll was too generous a word for him.

Shao narrowed his eyes, and all I could see was purplish-gray. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or… if I should laugh, but also feel bad about it.

“Last time I checked, you thought of me as a beast,” he said. “I think I preferred it.”

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?” I retorted. “A beast would look far more gorgeous and majestic.”

“Are you saying I looked that way before?” That almost-smug expression again. If not for my current weak state, I had no doubt he’d be cocky as a bull, and I’d probably have wanted to peg his ego down a notch.

Right now, though?

“Maybe you did,” I said instead. “Although I’d have a far better idea of your looks if not for your—”

I halted. The conversation we’d had minutes before I’d stormed into my room and discovered my latest letters stormed back into my mind, and I twisted my gaze away, frowning.

Shao sighed.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me like that, you know,” he said.

“I’m not—”

“You are, and you know you are,” he muttered, and I swore I could hear him shake his head through the subtle variation in his tone. “Stop talking. It hurts you; I can tell.”

“I—”

“I’m going to stop responding to you. If you talk, you’ll only have yourself to reply.”

I released a grunt before trying to turn away. I managed to lift myself two inches before I dropped back down helplessly.

Silence droned as Shao replaced the towel and fed me some more. This time, it was some sort of porridge, rather than broth-like liquid.

“Meat?” I pleaded.

“You’ve gone four days without food. I’m scared you’ll throw it up if I feed you right away.”

I grunted again.

At least he’d responded to me, contrary to his declaration. I considered it a victory.

“And I won’t respond to you again,” he said, crushing my little moment of joy.

Jerk.

My mind wandered through a haze of smoke, mulling over his words, and I gasped when a realization struck me.

“Four days?” I cried. How had it been so long?

“I meant to give you a week alone,” Shao said with a heavy eyeroll, silently hinting that he was ignoring—rather than forgetting—his decision from moments ago. “Because that’s how long you gave me. But… I noticed that not only were you avoiding me, but that you were also not eating. Not ever leaving your room. And I got terrified—”

He exhaled; I inhaled, realizing something else.

I was positive Shao hadn’t been taking care of me for longer than a couple hours to half a day at most. Which meant his uncharacteristic dark circles were from something else.

He’d… worried about me?

After all, what else could have caused him so much stress and lack of sleep?

I felt presumptuous, but I felt right, too.

“Has anything bad happened?” I asked anyway, my hope thrumming. “You know. To cause your dark circles.”

He snorted, and his fingers lingered on towel on my forehead a second too long.

“Would you believe me if I told you I worried about you?”

“Why?”

“Because…” This time, I saw Shao shake his head. “I’m a sheltered little noble, you see. I may have seen a lot of death in my life, but all of it has been sanitized in the form of roses. I’m too pampered to look at corpses, much less handle them through their stench.”

“Ha. Right.” I snorted twice for emphasis, and I smiled when Shao rolled his eyes. “For whatever it’s worth, thank you.”

His eyes seemed to brighten as they looked at me, drank me in. I pretended heat was only pooling in my cheeks because I was getting sick from starving myself for so long.

I wanted to let his gaze and presence swallow me whole. To let him distract me from my circumstances once more.

But I couldn’t.

The letters returned to me all at once like an audible slap in the face, and I sucked at a tooth.

“Shao,” I said.

At the same time, Shao spoke my name in a tone that caught me unawares.

My heart skipped a beat; my gaze snapped to his.

The blue of his eyes seemed deeper than usual, and my lips parted involuntarily—

Heat flooding my cheeks, I tore my eyes away from him, and I saw Shao quirk his lips in my peripheral view. My pulse thudded.

He arched his brows in a silent demand for a reply.

“I have to go home,” I said, tearing my eyes away.

“Did something happen?” He asked, his voice so gentle and worried for me that it was as if he wanted me to break down before him.

“My father—”

The moment I said that dreaded, cursed, beloved word out loud—father—tears started pouring down my cheeks, and I made what must have been a tragically ugly face as I was wracked by sobs.

When I wiped them away, more spilled to take their place, and I gave up, grabbing my legs so tight they’d later bruise.

“I’m scared,” I managed in a gargled voice between tears. “I think he’s… dying.” I hated the vulnerability of crying, and I hated that of all people, it was Shao I was showing my worst fears to.

Shao’s voice was muffled.

He bent down and lifted me up into a hug, and I wailed into his shirt, leaving a trail of tears and snot.

I shook my head. “I’m not a crier.” Like that mattered.

I feared it was because Shao was here that I was crying so much. I couldn’t tear up back home. Everyone was already struggling themselves—I’d always had to stifle, stifle, stifle.

Now I no longer had to. Now I… had someone who, though I couldn’t quite believe it, had seemed and sounded genuinely concerned for me.

Not exasperated with me. Not too tired with troubles I was only compounding to deal with me. But worried.

That felt far more significant than it had any right to.

“It’s alright,” Shao said, his voice further muted by the weight of his body around my head and ears, but it seemed to echo. Resonate. “He’ll survive. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I hugged him tighter. As tight as I could.

“When—no, if—my father—” I gulped. “I want—”

“Of course,” Shao whispered, his tone almost… defeated. “You can go home as soon as you recover—I think there’s more than starvation hurting you. Perhaps you got sick from fasting in a weakened state. You’ve been feverish and you look like a corpse. You can’t very well leave now, especially when other thieves may roam the forests in search of potential victims to threaten for a chance at a rose.”

I saw him shudder, and it filled me with bliss that he feared for me.

“But—”

“If I’m able to receive the cure, I’ll have it sent to you. You’ve spent enough time with me.” He muttered something else under his breath, which sounded like “… don’t deserve your…”, but that didn’t make sense. Besides, I was too stunned by his previous declaration to care.

Though I hadn’t thought it possible, I began bawling far harder than I already had—far harder than even a newborn baby—at his words.

Such lies. So ridiculous and impossible.

And yet so beautiful, as lies often were.

I’d done nothing for him, and yet here he was, promising me the world.

I barely knew this man, and his opinion of me was already less than stellar… so why was he being so kind and selfless? Why did he consider me a hero when I was really the villain who coveted more than she deserved?

Perhaps that had been another reason I’d been so eager to stay here rather than return home.

I wanted him to think better of me. I wanted to save this man from his demons.

I wanted to be his champion, just as he’d claimed I’d once been.

That had failed catastrophically; if anything, he’d instead saved me—once physically, then emotionally.

I should have expected as much.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I-I…” As more tears trailed down my cheeks and chin, I shook my head, unable to continue. Shao pat my back gently.

“You have no reason to be,” he replied, and I gulped because he was wrong.

I’d wanted to be someone special. Someone respectable. Someone kind, admirable, and beloved by all.

The type of person who wouldn’t be a burden on her family, who wouldn’t be shamed and scorned by everyone around her—who would only have herself and her own actions to blame for it.

Someone who could save her father, and without relying on the humiliation of begging and the generosity of those around her.

I wanted to be someone who wasn’t… me.

“I’m grateful you’re the way you are,” Shao said, and I realized I must have voiced my thoughts out loud. Shame flooded every cell in my body. “You did save me. Without even realizing—without knowing of my existence—you rescued me from myself.”

“I don’t want him to die,” I blubbered, ignoring his words. My tears only poured faster.

Shao gave me a squeeze.

“It’s okay. He won’t.”

“But you can’t know—”

“We’ll find a way,” he said. I wheezed.

“Wh-what if we can’t? What if your parents refuse? What if they take too long?”

“If my parents are unable or unwilling to get the cure for you, or if they delay, we… we can storm the castle or something. Steal as many cures as we need.”

I managed the tiniest laugh at that. That sounded like something I’d do.

Mostly because I’d already tried sneaking into the castle once.

I’d believed I could convince them to help me if only I could talk to them face to face, but the royal family had rejected all my pleas to speak with them in person. How could I have not tried to sneak into the castle after that?

Of course, I hadn’t gotten far at all due to all the guards lining the premises. They’d let me off with a stern warning and nothing else, recognizing—and pitying—me from the time the nobles had arranged for my imprisonment.

“You’d do that with me?” I laughed. While I knew he was kidding, it was a comforting dream to think, and kind of him to say. I appreciated that he wished to reassure me so much he was reaching at the sky for things to say.

He smiled, but his expression was clouded, his eyes distant. “I want to save your father, too. Perhaps as much as you do.”

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the sentiment. Shao rubbed at his ear.

“No, Beatrice.” His breath stuttered, as did my heartbeat. “Thank you.”

“Wha—”

“Now sleep, won’t you?”

As if he’d cast a spell on me, a flurry of fog embraced me, and I lost consciousness shortly after.

Chapter 12

I pointed my index finger at Shao as soon as he entered my room, dressed in a characteristic long-sleeved red tunic and loose brown pants. In his hands was a tray filled with food I could smell from my bed, and although I could have slobbered over it, I refused to let it distract me yet.

“You’ve been casting a spell on me every night, haven’t you?” I asked.

He snorted. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, crossing my arms. “The fact that I always fall asleep after you tell me to? The fact that I’m getting far more sleep than usual?”

I wasn’t sure if the expression lighting up his eyes was amusement or exasperation, although either way, it was making him happy… and filling my soul with far too many more positive feelings than I deserved.

“Wouldn’t you have heard it if I had?” He asked as he stepped closer to my bed, and I inclined myself up, wincing momentarily at the burst of pain.

“Maybe you tear it most of the way before you come here, and you only tear a tiny, tiny speck of the remaining attached paper.”

“That sounds like inviting accidents to happen, and anyway, the magic would be seeping out as soon as the talisman’s been damaged the slightest bit.”

I grabbed the nearest stuffed animal exclusively so I’d have something to fidget with as I watched Shao set down the food on the writing desk he’d moved to the front of my bed.

The smell of the berries and other delectable fruits in my salad filled me with delight, and the scent of freshly cooked mountain lions made my mouth water—and almost drool. It tasted like pork, which I’d been surprised by… and I’d prayed for five hours straight at night, grateful for the magical treat that was mountain lions.

I’d frowned at the meat when Shao first prepared it for me a couple days ago, deciding I was ready for solid foods. It was foreign to me, and besides, I hadn’t eaten any proper meat in years.

My family hadn’t been able to afford luxurious food back at home, and we’d subsisted on bland porridges of rice and potatoes every day. Then, when I’d began living with Shao, he’d claimed our only options were bland lettuce harvested outside and years-old dried, processed meat that tasted like bland ashes and dirt.

I shuddered at the memory of asking Shao for some of the jerkies when he’d first entered my room. I hadn’t known just how low quality it was.

I’d been so deprived, and I intended to change that.

“Why do you even get your gross bits of meat delivered when you have all these delicacies?” I asked, throwing as much food as I could ram into my mouth.

Shao huffed in mock offense. “You think it’s easy to hunt down those mountain lions?”

“You have magic on your side,” I huffed.

“The magic costs over a million gold per talisman, although fire spells are far cheaper than illusion magic. Even the crown could go bankrupt at that rate.”

I shrugged. “Worth it for meat.”

He laughed. “We have all the dried meat we could ever need.”

“Yeah, but is it mountain lion meat?”

Shao shook his head. “Being sick has spoiled you far too much. I could destroy the natural ecology if I hunt down too many, and I hope you don’t expect to eat this for the rest of your stay here.”

His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, and he gave me a tight smile when he noticed me staring at him. I found myself marveling at the sharp angles of what little of his jaw I could see, and the brightness of his dazzling blue eyes captivated me. He looked back at me, almost daring me to drop my gaze, and his eyes seemed to dilate. Soften.

Stubbornness be darned, I tore my gaze up to look at the ceiling as I plopped back down onto my bed, yelping again as my head spun with a vertigo that felt like daggers to my brain.

I should’ve been used to that by now.

Shao chuckled, knowing it was harmless, and I glared at him in response before remembering to look up at the ceiling again.

“What about the fruit?” I asked, desperate to fill in the silence between us. “I never even knew you had any until you started bringing me some a couple days ago,” I said with a mouthful of food.

Who cared about manners? I was too sick to get out of bed, and it wasn’t like Shao would say anything about it.

Defending myself from a nonexistent opponent, I grabbed some more food from the table without looking and exhaled with happiness as more tart sweetness filled my mouth.

This was exceedingly uncomfortable and ridiculous, however, so I winced as I sat myself up one more time, grateful for Shao when he helped support me with his hands.

“The fruit plants are a good five miles away, and I can’t bother to make so much effort every day.”

“But you have been.” I gave him a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat’s. “For me.”

“Or maybe I just had a craving for some fruit and meat myself,” he said; the two of us laughed simultaneously at the blatant lie.

“For what it’s worth, thank you,” I said, twisting to look at him again. I winked. “Although, there’s a good chance I’m not even sick anymore. Maybe I’m just faking it, so I keep getting delicious food.”

“Oh, please.” Shao smiled at me as he helped me pick my fork back up, noticing my hands shaking far too much. The direct contact caused my stomach to flip-flop, although I tried to keep a straight face and pretend nothing was the matter. “Well, if you love the fruit so much, I’ll take you to the fruit trees and groves as soon as you recover.”

He gazed down at me with so much care in his eyes that I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying something humiliating and stupid out of reflex.

“Get well soon, okay?”

My response was to stuff more food in my mouth.

Another burst of silence passed between us, but it was comforting, rather than awkward, and a part of me wished I could bask in it for as long as I lived.

Which was stupid.

When I finished eating, I wiped my mouth on a small square of cloth he’d brought with the food and thanked him one more time.

“No problem,” he said, and when he lifted the tray of food to take it back, a sleeve of his shirt ruffled, revealing a scratch of red that I squinted to see better; but Shao had risen, leaving me wondering if I’d seen a trick of the light.

“Get back down,” I said, and he blinked in confusion.

I duly realized he’d always worn long-sleeved tops, no matter the weather. Was there meaning to that? I supposed I would see.

Reaching forward, I watched Shao for his reaction, but all I saw was mild confusion—until I caught his shirtsleeve, and he shuffled away his arm from my reach.

“What—” we said at the same time, and I almost laughed, except I was bursting with worry.

Shao had touched my hand plenty of times by now. Heavens, he’d even hugged me. It wasn’t contact with me bothering him… so what was?

“You got hurt, didn’t you?” I asked. “While hunting lions for me.”

Shao’s eyes dimmed, but he gave me a little smile of reassurance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How could I not? You got hurt for my sake—”

Shao shook his head. “No. It wasn’t for you.”

I looked up at him, uncomprehending.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shao repeated, and I pointed at him again in a challenge.

“What, do you think you’re less of a man because you got hurt or something? Listen, you were hunting mountain lions, I think it’s a miracle you even got out alive—”

“No,” Shao said, his posture sinking. I frowned as he let the tray back onto the desk, grabbed the nearby wooden seat to move it closer to my bed, then slumped down. “That’s… not quite it.”

Bothered by the tone of his voice, I snatched his hand before he could stop me and peeled back his sleeve.

My breath caught.

Layered over his pale skin were mangled bite marks, claw marks, and an array of other scars. Seeing the damage done to him, I wanted to weep. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull him into my arms and hug him until we died of sickness and old age.

The scars trailed up his arm, and I had a nagging feeling it spotted his shoulders and back and perhaps even more.

“I would have believed you if you said this was your scarification curse,” I joked, my voice faint. They were years old and puckered and scarred from healing, the faint red of blood replaced by the pinks and browns of old damage.

Shao’s arm shook as he tried to take it out of my grasp, but I held on tight, unable to look away.

“I’m…” Could an apology make up for this? What had happened to this man? How hadn’t he died?

“I was supposed to die,” he said in a nonchalant tone, but from the incessant tremble in his voice, it was clear it was a memory he wished to hide.

“Y-you don’t have to tell me if you can’t—”

“I want to,” he said, and I stopped myself from saying anything more. The only thing I could do was listen.

With his free hand, Shao fidgeted with the handle end of my fork, for lack of anything else. Nibbling my lips, I grabbed his free hand with my own, giving it a squeeze reminiscent of his reassuring touches from before.

“Have you heard anything about the Wicked Witch?” Asked Shao.

“Not much.” I cracked my knuckles to think. “I’ve heard rumors of her hiding out in the faraway Briar Forest and hunting anyone unfortunate enough to trespass her home. A myth, just like the beast in our forest—only you turned out to be real.”

I looked up at him expectantly. “Is she the witch who cursed you?”

I still couldn’t bring myself to believe his confession from before, but I wanted to. It couldn’t hurt to trust him this one time, especially when he’d agreed to let me return home and still give me the cure.

“She cursed both my sister and me,” he said, and I tipped my head. I’d never heard him refer to any of his siblings—or family members at all, other than his parents the day we met, when he’d talked about them exiling him.

I remembered the paintings in the hallways and parlor that were turned backwards. Momentarily, I wondered if it would offend him to ask… but he’d told me himself not to worry about stepping on his toes, and I was too curious to stop myself.

“Are the paintings of you and your family?”

Shao lifted his head in surprise. “So, you’ve looked at them. I guess I should have expected as much.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I forgot they existed at this point.”

I poked his arm proddingly. “Oh, please. If you had them all turned around, clearly they meant something to you.”

A slight smile emerged on his face. Not a happy one.

“Most of them were painted after my exile,” he said, then paused for five full beats. “Many of them were drawn by me. I… daydreamed about being reunited with my siblings often. My mother. I imagined it, and I drew it, because sloppy, untechnical paintings were the closest I’d ever get to seeing it in person.”

He rubbed a finger over the palm of my hand absentmindedly, his eyes distant and cast with a cloud of regret. Before I could pry more about his family, he buried his masked face in his hands.

“I don’t know where to start,” he griped. I gave his shoulder a whisker-like rub.

“Anywhere is fine,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”

“The Wicked Witch…” Watching Shao’s mouth open, close, open, close, I waited with bated breath for him to continue. “The most accurate rumor I’ve heard about her is that she resides in the Briar Forest with a pack of murderous creatures… but that’s a mockery of her.”

“What do you mean?”

Shao barked out a cold, cruel laugh. “She’s stolen almost the entire forest—the once national treasure, the giant land that takes up most of the country—for herself. All the creatures who live there, whether wolves or lions or peaceful deer, have been twisted into demonic, bloodthirsty creatures.”

“Did you not know that when you visited her?”

Shao laughed again. “Of course, I knew. It’s an open secret between upper bluebloods, although we’re careful not to let commoners know—that could upend our power over them. A revolt is the last thing we need.”

The way he spoke of us—commoners—in an othering manner caused me to bristle, and I almost spoke up about it… but his mind was elsewhere, and for good reason. Right now, I wanted to hear his story. I needed to.

“Then why did you go?” I asked, bending down for a better look at his downturned face.

“I lost my mother, and I went mad trying to find any way to save her,” Shao said. Hearing about Shao’s loss for the first time, I gasped. “I meant to threaten the witch with her own curse, but it didn’t even work on her beasts, much less her.”

Shao’s lips quirked up with bitterness. “There’s a reason I said I want your father to recover as much as you do. I’ve… gone through similar feelings of both grief and… guilt. I wouldn’t wish either on anyone.”

“Guilt?” I asked, a pang hitting my chest. An understanding filled me, along with a knot of dread. I prayed I was mistaken.

“It was a child’s mistake. I was excited for something stupid—I don’t even remember what anymore—and sprinted out my room without putting my mask on.” His fists clenched around mine. “I remembered just as I stepped out of my room, and I was about to turn back inside, but—”

Deep breaths.

Shao squeezed his fingers around mine so tight it almost hurt, but I bared him. For him. For the child in his past who’d suffered endlessly for a simple mistake.

“My mother was right outside the door.” I could hear him gnash his teeth against each other. “When I was a child, they’d both spoiled me rotten despite my curse, and I loved them both as infinitely as any child could.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and tears threatened to spring that I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how to help him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Shao bared his teeth as if to growl, and he stopped himself barely in time. “It was. The witch was more to blame than I, but… it was my fault, too. I should have known better. I should have remembered. I—”

“No. You were young! How old even were you?”

“Ten, which is plenty old to remember something so crucial.”

“How could you have known your mother was there?”

“I didn’t, which is why I should have been careful.”

“Shao—”

He shook his head, then took deep breaths to calm himself, his grasp around mine loosening. I peeked down and saw slight red on my skin where he’d squeezed a little too tight. They were quick to fade, of course.

“That’s why I was exiled,” Shao spoke through his teeth. “Father loved Mother far more than he loved all his children combined, and he… went mad after she transformed.”

I gripped my elbows, wary about hearing more, but I had to ask; this was a story Shao had to complete. For both his sake and mine. “Mad? How so?”

“He was so doting before—I couldn’t believe he was the same man after. None of us could. He raged for months, throwing and shattering everything in his path… Ha, he almost hit several servants with vases and sculptures, although he missed by a hair every time. I can only hope that was intentional.”

“Is he… better now?” I asked, and I regretted my words.

If he were better in any meaningful way, why would Shao have been stuck here alone?

“He started sobering up within a few months, but not around me. I triggered the worst in him; I reminded him of her loss, and I can’t blame him for that, since I caused Mother’s disappearance. In the beginning, he just avoided me, but… eventually, he realized he had to send me away. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t dangerous or that Mother was the last person I transformed. Father needed me gone.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” I repeated, then froze, wanting to slam something against the wall myself. If his words were true, how could I possibly console him after all this time? I couldn’t.

What was I even good for?

“I hated her,” Shao continued rambling, oblivious to my train of thought. Although a digression from the previous topic of his parents, it was clear whom he was referring to.

The Wicked Witch. Aptly nicknamed, albeit unoriginally.

“Past tense?”

“I hated her when she cursed my sister. Wanted her to die when I lost my mother.” Shao collapsed into the gates behind him, barely able to keep himself up. “When she saved me from being mauled by her demonic creatures—and spent weeks at my bedside trying to heal me back to life—I hated her even more.”

Shao looked back up, looking me straight in the eyes with an intensity that burned. My lungs threatened to gallop out my throat.

“Shao…”

“Perhaps I wanted to die,” he said matter-of-factly, and I shuddered. “If I couldn’t save Mother, why even live?”

“But—”

His thumb grazed against my cheek, and I felt dampness there; I realized I’d been crying.

For how long?

When had he even freed his hand from mine?

Everything was a blur except for Shao’s words… and the tragedy ingrained in them. In him.

“I’m glad she saved you,” I said.

“So am I,” Shao replied. “I’m glad I got to meet you.”

Gulping, I took handfuls of my blanket, rubbing the plush velvet against my fingers to calm myself. “… Did she say why she saved you? Why she cursed you to begin with?”

It seemed uncharacteristic for someone to have cursed a child with a murderous spell to have saved that very kid later.

“I already sort of knew why she’d cursed me,” he said. I lifted my brow. “What I don’t know is why my sister was cursed. Me? Oh, that was because I threatened to stab her to death with my crown.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Wait, what?”

This part of the story had been conveniently left out until now.

“My sister was cursed on the same date as me. Based on what I’ve heard, I was four, and our family was celebrating her birth.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “My family and celebrations. Always catastrophic.”

I rolled around the fork in my hand, staring down at it as I contemplated his words. “What happened? Does she suffer the same curse?” Why wasn’t she with him then?

“No, but… None of us understand what happened. We only know what people saw: the strongest magician in Perintas—now called the Wicked Witch—stormed into the castle and cursed my sister to fall asleep forever on her seventeenth birthday.”

I gasped. “Did she reveal how to cure it?”

Otherwise, wasn’t that a death sentence?

“No. Not even when I visited her.” Shao scowled. “She told me only that she was sorry, but there was nothing she could do about it anymore. Like I cared for apologies. As for the curse, I don’t remember any of this, but I ran to the witch and started kicking her and threatening her so she’d uncast it.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s what got the witch to notice me and curse me, too.”

Covering my mouth with my hands, I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s fine. I don’t regret it, and I’d like to say that if I could return to the past, I’d defend my sister all over again.” He shrugged. “Just hurts that I changed nothing.”

“You were four! How could you have?”

“I don’t know,” Shao said, “But I’ve thought about it a lot. If only I had magic coursing through my veins. If only I’d kicked the witch before she cursed my sister, distracting her from her goal and ensuring I was the only one cursed. If only, if only, if only…” His jaw tensed.

Reaching up, I gently tapped his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but I wonder—”

“Shao,” I stressed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He twitched. “I know. I… Thank you.” He covered his mouth with his hands, and I could see his veins pulse and throb and ache with my heart.

Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, Shao added, “The Wicked Witch is also the reason the cures are so expensive, you know.”

“What… What do you mean?”

“Those cures are processed from plants that only grow in the Briar Forest—they’ve been warped into monsters, like the animals. The kingdom only has half a dozen left, which they’re hoarding in case any of their relatives fall to the misfortune.”

Mulling between a hundred rising questions, I gnawed my lip before settling on the one that I felt confident Shao would answer.

“Then why even have a price tag for it? Hide it away.”

“People are more understanding of obscene prices than unattainability. Price tags give people hope—and keep the wealthiest, most powerful nobles from waging a civil war if they fall ill.”

Frustrated, I tore off a branch of the blueberry bush. The Wicked Witch had caused everything: Shao’s curse, my father’s enduring illness, our suffering. Though despair had become my regular companion, I’d never known true hatred until now.

“Can’t she be defeated?”

“Few witches are strong enough to survive against her—and they’re all too busy ruling their own empires to care.”

Disgusting.

It was all so disgusting.

“And you nobles hid that from us to keep your power?” I asked, because although my heart ached for Shao—although I’d grown to care for him, at least a little—I still cared about myself. About my family.

I felt as blindsided as I felt hopeless and furious at the witch. I couldn’t very well threaten the witch thousands of miles away, and the only nearby target to my wrath and sorrow was… Shao.

He lifted my head by my chin to get a better look at me, but not before wiping away more of my tears.

“Perintas is a kingdom of mortals, and it has seen peace for centuries, which makes for kind men—but also men who are ineffectual at combat.” Shao drawled. “Nothing can be done about the witch right now. Widespread knowledge about her and what she’s done to the forest would only cause national instability and dead men. They’d be foolish, thinking if enough of them gathered, they could defeat the creatures and the witch—but they’ve never seen a lick of conflict in their lives, much less magic. How could they combat it?”

His words deflated me because they were right.

“Trust me,” he said. “If the witch could be defeated… she would have been. A long, long time ago.”

There was an edge to his voice that could have been considered deranged. Broken.

Yet, to me… it was beautiful, and I wanted to snugly hug it with the rest of him.

I opened my arms, bracing myself for rejection.

Instead, Shao pulled me into a tight hug, readily accepting my cue. Feeling his heavy, exhausted, pained breaths against my shoulder, I pat his back and whispered empty consolations.

Words I wished I’d received from my family—my friends—anyone—when my father fell ill.

As if reading my mind, Shao echoed my words to me, and I bit my lips to keep down a desperate laugh.

“Will… you tell me more about your family?” I hesitantly asked. I wanted to know more about them—about Shao.

“There’s not much to say,” he said, and I shrugged.

“I still want to know,” I said. “Anything. Everything.”

I felt Shao inch sideways to think. “Well, I can’t very well refuse a chance to gush about Mother. I’ll tell you as much as I can.” Though he gave me a soft smile, his lips were pursed, and his eyes were distant. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me about your father, too. No, your whole family. Your life back home.” His pupils dilated so fractionally I only noticed because I was staring so intently at them.

Again.

Since when?

My cheeks burning, I lowered my gaze as I continued to listen.

“I’ve always wondered about you,” he said, “and now you’re here. I no longer have to fill in the blanks with my goldfish-tier creativity and my limited knowledge about anyone other than my family.”

“I’ll bore you to death with my incessant prattling.”

“If boredom could kill me, I’d have died within a month of being sent here.”

“You didn’t have me then.” I winked.

Granted, I’d been a lot more talkative before, to the point many classmates had pretended to run away from me teasingly whenever I so much as opened my mouth. I wasn’t like that anymore. I wasn’t sure where that part of me had gone, but I supposed it wasn’t missed.

“Try me.”

I would.

Oh, my heart and a half, I would.

After all, we were broken. Both of us.

And, until now, we’d had no one to share our troubles and innermost thoughts with.

It was possible we’d never heal, but we could find small threads of solace in each other—and we had no choice but to seize it.

Chapter 13

True to his word, Shao regaled me with numerous delightful stories from his childhood over the next few days, most of them involving his mother and adopted, red-headed youngest brother. I happily returned the favor.

“Oh, Constance and I also tried boiling a frog at some point,” I said with a guilty giggle to hide my anxiety as I dangled two reed baskets in the crook of my arms, waiting for Shao to grab the talismans from his room.

“You what?” Shao cried. “And I thought I was supposed to be the beast here.” He reemerged from his room. I gave him a small nod and a smile, which he promptly returned despite his concern with my past acts.

“I mean, we were seven, and we weren’t quite cold-hearted enough to go through with it,” I whined as I handed Shao his basket. We were about to go berry picking. Finally. “We wanted to see if frogs really wouldn’t notice the water getting hot, and, um. All’s fair in the name of science…?”

Shao shot me an incredulous look as he walked out through the dark hallways. His pace was slow and steady enough that I could follow him from behind without too much trouble, despite my slight remaining nausea.

“How far did you get?” He asked, stopping to let me catch up after I distracted myself with an ornate family crest drawn into the frames of one of his childhood paintings.

“So, we did put the cauldron filled with water—and the frog, of course—over a fireplace,” I said, then stopped as I awaited Shao’s flustered reaction, which I was certain I’d get. He’d been spoiling me like that. With validations—in the form of both shock and kindness.

“I thought you said you didn’t go through with it!”

I couldn’t help but grin at his expected reaction. Bingo.

“I mean, it was a part of a science experiment! We couldn’t let something as trivial as ethics get in our way; must I remind you we were seven?”

“Seven-year-olds are supposed to be pure and gentle, Beatrice.”

“Being stuffed in this mansion has kept you ignorant of reality,” I scoffed, trailing after Shao as he passed through a gilded archway of a ballroom decorated with polka-dotted and lime-green walls. “Anyway, we started waiting for the water to boil, but I suspect the frog knew what was happening to it.”

I looked around the ballroom with judgment. It could have doubled as a storage space, since it was devoid of any purpose or furniture other than a giant chandelier in the center of the room, but neither of us had much to store.

“So, you released it?” Shao asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

I waved my hands in the air. “Oh, no. We were going to the moment before the water got hot enough for it to croak—”

“That,” he said through his teeth, “is a horrible pun.”

“You need to appreciate my brilliance more.” I harrumphed. “It jumped out.”

Shao froze, then buried his face in his hands, a drawn-out groan escaping his throat.

“I thought you said you saved it because you guys were too kind for murder,” he grumbled.

“I mean, we didn’t put it back in the cauldron, did we? We took it back to the lake it came from and agreed never to experiment with living creatures again.”

“Remind me never to offend you,” said Shao after a horrified beat.

“Please. It’s not like I can stuff you into a scalding pot of water and expect you to not escape and retaliate.”

“Is that the issue here?” Shao cried. “Not the glaring breach of ethics?”

“Why does the ethics of it matter if it’s impossible?”

“Perhaps because, I don’t know, you’re talking about murdering a man without batting an eye?”

I crossed my arms, but my indignation faded when I came inches away from the dangling silver chandelier that was three times as tall as me and swept down to almost touch the floor. It was shaped like an upside-down birthday cake with layers of beaded crystal branches.

Impressed by how delicate and intricate it was despite its gigantic size, I placed my fingers on it, smiling in surprise at its coolness.

I looked back up and realized Shao had stopped and turned around. Our eyes met, and I fluttered my lashes at him playfully, asking, “Does that mean you’ll forgive me if I bat my eyes?”

He heaved a sigh. “Anyway, I wish I could tell you some impressive story about the chandelier, but I think it was just a reject built for a far taller ceiling back home.” He shrugged, ignoring my obvious irritation at the fact that he’d completely brushed me off.

“H-hey, did you not hear me or something?”

“I heard you fine,” Shao grumbled. “I was ignoring you for a reason.”

“Hey—”

Before I could say anything else, Shao whipped around and began walking back out to lead me to the fruit groves.

My chest surging with disappointment despite the promised mountains of fruit, I chased after him.

A moment later, he said, “I think it’s impossible for me to ever not forgive you,” and a beam erupted on my face, hurting my cheeks.

We remained silent as we passed through the rest of the hallways and rooms on our way outside, and the silence unnerved me, because it left me to my own thoughts.

My footsteps thudded against the ground with both eagerness and trepidation.

The fact that I could move around like this—and walk several miles comfortably to the fruit trees and bushes—was a sign of recovery.

A sign of impending farewells.

I was almost well enough to go home. A servant from Shao’s noble house was supposed to come pick me up in the next several days, although we didn’t know the exact date, since there were so many ways for travel to be delayed.

I could have returned home that day, but I’d postponed it by a couple more days than strictly necessary, citing the fact that I was still prone to headaches from too much movement, and my propensity for tripping over my own feet.

Excuses, all of them.

Each of them laced my soul with just a little more self-loathing whenever they were uttered, but that was a sacrifice I’d accepted.

Fortunately—and supporting my decision to stay just a couple days longer—the letters from my parents had been much the same, and it was clear Father would last a few weeks longer yet.

Although I was eager to return home and desperate to see my Father, I also knew that once I left this mansion, I’d likely never return. Too much danger in it—everyone would know I had survived the forest, for which there was only one reasonable explanation. The beast had taken me in.

I wanted to savor my moments with Shao for as long as I could, and I felt sick in the stomach for it.

I gasped at the sight of the golden roses when we finally stepped foot outside the mansion, the chilly wind tickling my skin.

While I’d seen these flowers many times before, it was the first time since I’d gotten well—since after Shao had told me his supposed truth about the roses—that we’d roamed outside his home.

There must have been dozens of them. It felt obscene for there to be so many. They speckled the green of the fields, their colors so vivid and stunning they made the surrounding grass look drab, pale, and lifeless—almost gray.

Now that I knew they were humans, I could see a pattern in their design against the grass, too. There were none in the parts of the ground that were frequently trampled on from Shao’s trips outside.

The golden roses layered the edges far away from the gate and the mansion that one would have to deliberately approach. They filled up my view like speckles on a cow.

Although there were occasional small clusters of roses, none were particularly close to each other. There was enough distance between every one of them for a person to emerge from, should their transformation curse ever fade, without them knocking into each other or struggling for room to breathe.

I had no doubt Shao had planned it this way, replanting the roses when he deemed them in danger.

This vision felt like a punch to the gut, and only in part because of the pity that pooled in my heart for all the people whose lives had been cut short.

Noticing my hesitation—or perhaps needing some support himself—Shao brushed his fingers against my free hand, and I greedily swallowed up his hand with mine.

“Is… your mother here?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking. My eyes traveled through the fields once more as I tried to determine where she could be. Was she the lone rose near the back of the mansion? Or was she surrounded by a group of other, trusted roses, so that she wouldn’t be lonely—if flowers could get lonely at all?

Shao shook his head, and his fingers trembled between mine.

“Father wouldn’t let me bring her,” he said. “She’s in a large tub of soil in his bedchamber that’s zealously taken care of by Father himself. He lost her because of me—he couldn’t lose her soul to me, too.”

Once more, the words were knocked out my lungs, for any stock phrases of reassurance would feel meaningless and even cruel.

So instead, I gave his hand another squeeze. Small acts of physical touch like this were the only way I could show my support, and I was grateful I at least had that.

“Is everyone here a thief, then?” I asked, taking a more thorough look at the flowers. The roses looked near identical to my untrained eye, but there were subtle differences in their hues and petal-shapes. I wondered if it was random or if it had something to do with the personalities of the captive souls.

Shao did not respond, and I glanced up at him. He averted his gaze.

“Shao—”

“Some of them are the nurses and nannies brought with me,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed this mansion was meant for far more than just one boy.”

I reached up to tip his head towards me so we could see each other’s eyes. From his, I wished to learn more about him. His emotions, his fears. And from my own eyes, I prayed Shao could read my worry for him.

I hoped he could see how much I cared.

“Again, it wasn’t your fault,” I said, assuming he’d accidentally turned them into roses as he’d done to his mother. “You were a child—”

He cut me off with a laugh that was deluged by grief and regrets.

“No,” he said curtly. “It was my fault, and not for the reason you think.”

“What—”

“I may have been a child, but I’d transformed my own mother. Lost her forever. Almost died to save her.” He shuddered at the memory. “Do you really think I’d have made the same mistake again?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, then furrowed my brows as I strove to understand why Shao’s servants would have become roses, then. Was there more to the curse I didn’t know about?

“A boy can’t be sent to a mansion alone,” said Shao. That much was obvious. I rubbed my elbow. I had to hear more. “The nurses and nannies and butlers chosen were closest to me. They were family to me.”

He stopped to take a deep breath before he could bring himself to continue.

“They’d been like second parents or grandparents to me, all of them… but it was their job to take care of me, and that was all I was to them. A job. They had true families back home, which I can’t fault them for.”

“Did they try to escape?” I asked, frowning. I was still devoid of guesses as to why they’d been transformed.

Shao’s chuckle was biting. “And be imprisoned or fined by my parents? No, of course not. They lasted three years. Three years of idleness without their families, any form of entertainment, or their friends. The isolation broke them. They couldn’t endure this life anymore. All but one of them—a nanny I’d had since I was born—snuck up on me when I was asleep and lifted my mask so they could be turned into roses. They didn’t even hint at it or explain their thoughts. One day, I woke up, and they were gone.”

I hugged myself tight. Rage and deep sorrow fought for dominion over my senses. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes, and I struggled not to sob, because it was his place to sob and be consoled, not mine. “How could they? You were only, what, thirteen? How could they have left you alone?”

The poor, poor man, and the boy he’d once been.

“Old enough that I didn’t need them,” he said. He shrugged and his voice was level, but I could tell the thorns of betrayal still pierced him. “I could prepare dried food for myself, and I could wash myself. What else did I need?”

“Shao…”

He shook his head and began walking again, this time headed deeper into the forest. “It’s fine, now. Let’s grab you some fruit.”

“Shao!” I cried, seizing his elbow with the hand without a basket in it, and I turned him around to me with all the force I had. “I…”

Wait.

He’d said his closest nanny had decided to stay.

So where was she now? Why wasn’t she with him?

I wanted to ask, but I saw the brokenness in his eyes, and the words died in my throat.

Shao must have seen the question burning in my expression. He had claimed I was as transparent as he was.

“She’s not a rose.” He answered the question I didn’t ask, his voice as fragile as glass. I exhaled a sigh of half-hearted relief. If she’d wished to risk death herself for the chance at escaping this mansion, I’d have shattered to a thousand pieces for the man before me. “I turned fifteen, and she began pleading me with tears to help her return home. So, I did.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I mailed my parents to allow her home, since I was old enough and she’d been of good service.” He continued as if it didn’t char him to a crisp to confess. “She cried when she left. Maybe she was lying out of courtesy or gratitude, but she told me she wished she could take me with her. That deceit was the best gift I’ve received in my life.”

I twisted himself closer to me—or I just twisted into his arms myself—and embraced him in a tight hug, our baskets clattering to the ground.

I sobbed into his taut chest. Felt his rapid heartbeats against my cheeks. My grief for his past coalesced with my guilt and fear of leaving him, becoming a sharpened knife that screwed itself into my gut.

I wanted to say something—anything—to console him, but what right did I have? I felt shameless even for crying so much when I’d soon be in his nanny’s shoes.

Soon, I’d leave him for my family. And our farewell would be final, just as his parting with his nanny had been.

“Come with me,” I pleaded him, clawing at his shirt with enough force I was almost surprised they didn’t tear.

I pitied him, and his existence crushed any complaints I’d once had about my own family and the suffocation I’d felt in their grasp.

They weren’t perfect, but they loved me—and I may have been isolated by circumstances, but they wanted me home. They missed me, and they’d have been desperate for my return even if we were multimillionaires without father’s illness or our growing debts to worry about.

If Father hadn’t been sick, he’d have barged into the forest himself, wandering weeks upon weeks and surviving on leaves and bark and worms if he had to until he could find me. Save me. Protect me.

Yes, I pitied Shao, the pariah who’d been rejected for circumstances out of his control… but I admired him, too. I admired the power and grace with which he’d matured despite his circumstances. The strength he’d needed to endure—to remain human and sane.

“Come with me,” I repeated, my voice shrill and anxious. “You can wear your mask. No one knows what the beast looks like. You can pass for any strange man—”

“Your neighbors must know you’ve been hiding away in the beast’s den,” said Shao, brushing the tears from my eyes once more. “They’ll know who I am. What I am.”

“All we know is that there’s a monstrous beast in the forest, and half the people think you’re a cannibal that grows furs all over your body. You’re not. You’re a man, and you’re a good man, Shao—”

“Who will protect the roses if I leave?” Shao said, and I clutched him tighter, knowing that was the real issue here—and it was one without a solution.

“I’ll be back for you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from sobbing so much. “I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but… In the future, when the news about the golden roses dies down and your identity returns to myth once more… I’ll be back.”

He smiled softly as he caressed my cheeks with his thumbs, and I was quick to copy his motions, realizing tears had been pattering down his cheeks, too.

What a battered man.

What a beautiful man.

In the few months we’d spent with each other, he’d crawled into my heart, burrowing a den for himself, and I wanted nothing more than to protect him…

But I was currently the biggest threat to his emotional health, and that fact palpable as it chomped at me from the inside-out.

Chapter 14

I’d assumed we’d return home and brew tea or something after our moment of unrestrained tears, but Shao had other plans.

Without a single word, he trudged out the gates of the mansion and tilted his head as if to wait for me, and I stifled a giggle, deciding we might as well get some sugar in our system to cheer us up.

Equally silent, I followed him, then stood as he locked the entrance to the gate. He shook the door back and forth to confirm it was locked, and the repeated clang was harsh against the quietude of the nature sounds around us.

We continued saying nothing for most of our travel to the forest. Shao led the way. I followed.

When he spoke up again, I leapt up in surprise.

“You’ve talked a lot about science and healing,” Shao said. I bit my lip, having a nagging idea I knew where this was going. “Did you ever consider attending a collegiate academy to pursue it?”

I shrugged, but it wasn’t like Shao was looking at me, as he was standing ahead of me and looking straight forward. I wished I could see his expression.

“Did I forget to mention it? Constance and I used to attend Hereditas—”

Shao gave a low whistle. “Hereditas?”

“Huh? Yeah, we took classes there for several years, until…” My voice trailed off.

Until my father fell ill.

Understanding dawned on Shao, and he turned to step closer to me and give my hands a squeeze. “I never knew they accepted people from the middle class.”

“Father pulled some strings,” I said with a sheepish smile. He may not have been wealthy, but he’d had ties to the elite thanks to his talents. “We also placed the top scores on the entrance exams, so it was hard for them to pretend we didn’t exist.”

Okay, it was possible that I arched my back and craned up my chin as I said that. Could anyone blame me?

(At least I stopped myself just in time from melodramatically covering up my mouth with the back of my hand as I cackled.)

Although I was never brilliant at memorization and mathematics like my sister Constance, I’d always been hard-working—and intuitive.

Shao chuckled. “I see. I’m sorry that…”

“It’s alright. Life happens.”

“After… all of this, would you like to return to your studies?” He asked, his tone gentle.

My throat felt dry. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“Beatrice—”

“I said it doesn’t matter,” I snapped, my voice curter than I intended. Then, I clenched my fists, remembering the moment of vulnerability from earlier. Shao had shared himself—some of the worst of his memories—with me, and this was how I repaid him?

His eyes flashed with uncertainty and sadness, and my heart panged for him, filling me with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I added, pinching the inside of my elbow. “I just… It’s impossible. I don’t want to think about it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“It’s impossible, Shao,” I repeated. “There’s no point in what-ifs.”

“You’re so determined when it comes to others. Why are you so closed off when it comes to your own wishes?” He paused as if considering his next words. “Why do you talk about your past, but never your future?”

I froze.

He was right.

“Because I have no future.” The words left my lips before I could consider them, and I realized they were true.

I could have retorted that Shao never talked about his future either, but that was cold and uncalled for; at least I had a future with my family, or the remnants of it once my Father… recovered… or didn’t. My passions and desires may have been lost to me, but I’d find small clouds of happiness in them, in my coworkers, and in my friends.

Perhaps even in a husband, if I managed to find one despite all my faults, and in the flock of far-too-many children that I knew I’d have with him.

For whatever reason, Shao’s image flashed in my mind, and I shook him away. I looked back up at him with mild irritation at ruining my daydreams, and I saw the kind gaze in his eyes.

Then, I continued to speak as if possessed. As if I’d been waiting all my life to tell my uninspiring tale, because I probably had, although I’d rebelled against my inner hopes from an ever-enduring fear of rejection.

“Father struggled to pay our tuition for us even when he was healthy, claiming we’d be able to pay him back without any trouble through the superior jobs the academy would allow us.” I shook my head. “Well, now we’re burdened with debt we won’t pay off in our entire lifetime.”

“Beatrice…”

I looked back up at him, my eyes filled with passion I thought I’d lost an eternity ago. “I want to keep studying the sciences. Medicine. Even after I graduate—if I ever can—I want to study it. I want to find new ways to heal people.”

“What made you choose that field?” Shao asked, and I had a feeling he already knew—not why I’d chosen it at first, but why I was so passionate about it now.

“I went in the field because it paid a lot, and because that’s the field Constance said she’d study,” I admitted. “I wanted to stay with her. Surprisingly, I fell in love with it. I loved science. I loved figuring out new methods, new combinations of technology, techniques, and herbs. I loved the elation that came with discovering something for the first time. My feelings are only stronger now, since…”

I hesitated, wondering if I’d spoken too long, if Shao’s eyes had glazed over with disgust or irritation or fatigue.

But instead, he looked warm and attentive and, goodness, even interested. I didn’t know what to make of it.

He brushed his fingers against mine. “Your father,” he suggested, and I nodded as I tried not to cry again.

“I want to help figure out cures to diseases like my Father’s. Diseases with only one known cure, which isn’t even accessible—and those without any remedies in the first place. I want to know why the cure works the way it does, and I want to replicate it without the Wicked Witch’s stolen herbs.”

I stopped to gasp for air. I’d been talking too long without stopping to breathe.

A strange feeling bubbled and popped in every cell of my being. I hadn’t spoken so endlessly and quickly and—yes, ardently—in a long, long time. Father’s illness and the resulting despairs had squashed my confidence out of me, knowing I no longer had anyone to listen to me at all, much less when I babbled.

But now I had Shao.

“I want to bring smiles to people who thought their lives were over or forever changed,” I said at last, gesturing with my hands to signal I was almost finished. For now. “I don’t want more men to fall ill as my father… and I don’t want more families fractured like mine. And I… I want to save you, Shao, from your curse.”

Shao stood in silence, his gaze distant. He whispered something under his breath, just quiet enough that I couldn’t quite make it out, and I frowned.

“What?” I pried, and he shook his head, turning around to lead the way deeper into the forest once more.

I pouted at him, but once again, he wasn’t looking at me.

“Thanks for telling me,” he said. “I… I love learning more about you.”

I hated how genuine he sounded, because it ruined the determination with which I pestered him for what he’d really said at first.

I sighed as I continued trailing after him.

As we walked on, I was piqued by a certain curiosity—one I’d often wondered before, but believed I’d never get answers to.

But he’d already confessed to me one of his greatest secrets, and I’d shared with him one of mine.

Could it hurt to ask?

Chapter 15

“Can I ask you about your siblings?” I asked, too curious to stop myself.

I narrowed my gaze when Shao veered through a tight clearing between the trees. There were no paths this deep in the forest, and the pathways we made ranged between uncomfortable and rage inducing; this was the latter.

I grunted as I made it through, the coarse, dirty bark scraping at my dress and smearing dirt and moss.

“You can ask anything,” he replied, and I fought between my desire to nag him for this unfortunate lack of a proper path and my desire to ask him about his family.

Of course, the latter wish won.

“Why do you only tell me stories about your adopted younger brother, when you have three siblings?” I asked. “Why don’t you name any of them, when you know I don’t care who you are at this point?”

Shao’s step stuttered. “That’s a long story.”

“We have all the time in the world, don’t we?” I asked, and he hesitated before heaving a sigh.

“I suppose you’re right.” He agreed. He continued walking, ducking past a canopy of branches and leaves, as he spoke.

I followed Shao, and I didn’t know whether to feel smug or attacked by my height when I didn’t have to duck past the same canopy. It was higher up than my head.

“I barely knew my other younger brother before he was cursed, too,” he said.

My eyes widened. “Did the Wicked Witch return?”

“No,” Shao replied. “He was cursed by the Frost Queen.”

I wrinkled my nose in surprise. “She exists, too?” I’d been surprised enough by the Wicked Witch. They were both considered a myth. Accordingly, both their names were unoriginal and lazy, but I figured that was by necessity. Few people could be bothered to remember anything fancy but complicated about women of legend who had no bearing on their lives.

The Frost Queen was supposedly one of the strongest magicians in the entire world, but she sequestered herself in her frozen kingdom of ice creatures rather than doing anything useful—or dangerous—with her magic. Much like the beast, she only existed in legends to scare children into obeying their parents and going to bed at night.

Unlike the beast or Wicked Witch, though, I hadn’t even believed she existed as a little girl. If someone was so powerful, why would they isolate themselves instead of wreaking havoc or trying to conquer the world?

“My parents didn’t believe she was real either until my brother was born,” Shao said, his voice grave.

He laid his palm against a tree for balance as he maneuvered himself over a raised gap in the trees to avoid a nature-made trap of sharp rocks and fly-eating plants, which… were probably harmless to us, but would be irritating and mildly painful.

I stared at the sight before me, unsure how the heck I was supposed to copy him.

I heard a faint snort, followed by three words. “Want some help?”

Nodding, I smiled awkwardly; then squealed like a pig (albeit a very, very flattered one) as Shao reached his arms through the gap and swept me up without warning to carry me through. Heat flooded my cheeks and forehead all the way down to my toes.

Shao let me down the moment I was through. His chuckle lingered in the air.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Perfectly fine,” I replied, pretending nothing was haywire about my heart or my inflamed skin or my haywire mind. “Keep leading the way.”

I patted my dress to calm myself down and cringed when the dirt that had collected on it rubbed onto my hands. I eyed a clean spot on one of the nearby rocks. The moment Shao turned back around, I bent down to wipe my hands on them, and I heard another laugh.

Jerk had turned around to watch me. Had he guessed my movements or something? Was I genuinely that predictable?

I shrugged as if I hadn’t been about to hide my act of desperation, and I couldn’t tell if the feeling ballooning inside of me was annoyance or… giddiness and flattery.

My pride ordered me to decide the first, and so I did.

“My brother, Kay…” Shao’s voice rose as he continued the story about his brother, which jolted me back to the present. With chagrin, I realized I’d momentarily forgotten he’d been in the middle of a story. “I said once that birthday balls in our family were ridden with misery. When my brother was born, the Frost Queen showed up during the celebration party of his birth, and declared she’d take him for her daughter when he turned eighteen.”

“How old is he now?” I asked, my voice light. This didn’t feel like a curse. This felt normal for upper bluebloods; didn’t all of them marry for politics or wealth rather than love?

The realization dug painful arrows through my heart, and once again, I thought of Shao, and I wondered why. It didn’t take long for me to realize.

Poor him. Even if he were ever freed by a miracle from above, he’d never find love. He’d have to marry for the convenience of his father, even after the torture his family had inflicted on him.

And I… I’d be irrevocably separated from him, wouldn’t I? We’d occupy separate spheres of life if he were saved, regardless of his marriage. Breathing grew just a little harder. Unnatural.

In the few months we’d known each other, Shao had become a closer… friend than I’d ever expected him to.

“Fifteen—the same age as my adopted brother,” Shao replied, and I grunted along to signal I was listening, but I was hardly paying attention to his words anymore. I eyed him as he gripped a tree branch for support. “We didn’t think too much of her declaration, but my brother… Like a stubborn fool, he decided he loved someone else.”

My mind snapped back to his words, although for a different reason than he could have intended.

What if Shao falls in love with someone else?

The question bombarded my mind, and I cracked my joints for reprieve I didn’t get. What had I even meant by the question?

What if he loved someone other than his betrothed, if he was ever rescued?

Or… What if he loved someone other than me?

But I had no reason to care about that.

To distract myself, I tried once more to focus on Shao’s words, ignoring the knot of despair etching itself into my bones.

“The Frost Queen began freezing his heart a few years ago, fearful she’d lose him,” he said, and I nodded with more eagerness than I felt. “Apparently it’ll take several years for him to completely lose his emotions because he could die if she hurries.”

I straightened my back, realizing it was stooped. “Why was he even chosen? Do… you know?”

“I’m not sure why he was chosen the first time,” Shao said, shrugging as he glided to a stop. “But his crush on a foreign girl sealed his fate. The queen returned a few years ago to ensure my brother was growing up to be a decent man. And he was decent, of course, and loyal—to another woman. Rather than giving up, the Frost Queen wanted his loyalty and devotion for her own daughter.”

Shao moved his head from side to side as if analyzing his surroundings. He was flanked by rows of oak trees with endless seas of branches and leaves covering my vision, and I tiptoed for a better view, with little success.

He turned back towards me with a soft smile, stepping out of the way and outstretching his arms to welcome me in.

I stepped closer to him, and I gasped. The scene before me was beautiful; everything positively sparkled, reflecting the sunlight in glittering waves that were as alluring as they were spectacular.

For a moment, I stood in place, admiring the lush, opulent, and pristine greeneries, which centered a small pool of water in the middle with rabbits hopping around as they grabbed a small sip.

Surrounding us was the promised clearing filled with trees and groves and bushes of a million different kinds of fruits, from apples and mulberries to blueberries and cherries.

“I never knew these could even grow in the same place,” I said, and Shao grinned as I ran off to smell the fruit from closer—and, of course, devour them madly and insatiably.

“It was a gift from my youngest brother,” he said. “He purchased several magical charms so I could plant seeds from any climate and location here, and they’d grow at an accelerated pace.”

My heart and a half, magic sure was convenient, and I wished it was more readily accessible. The witches were selective and demanded ridiculous sums—why couldn’t they be a bit more generous? I couldn’t even imagine how much this clearing had cost Shao’s family, and it acted as another reminder of the disparity in Shao and my families’ wealth and circumstances.

Well, no matter. The sight of a million fruit trees at my disposal wiped away any negative emotions I had, instead filling me with joy and hope and everything sweet.

I heard a beautiful male voice buzzing in the background that I paid no heed to. The fruits had absorbed me. They were the only things on my mind.

I flailed around the trees and bushes as if being tugged by an invisible string borne of my soul, and I grabbed handfuls of each type of fruit, gobbling them up and finding more in my hands before I was even done with the previous batch.

Meanwhile, I somehow found the ability to dump bushels of fruit into my reed bags, and it was soon overflowing with far more food than it was designed to handle.

Only once I’d satiated myself—and satisfied the initial burst of my excitement and gluttony—did I turn back to Shao, licking my lips and grinning at the residue of sugar and tartness.

Shao was leaning against a red tree that was twice as wide as him, his arms crossed and his gait loose and casual. He waved. His dazzling smile seemed enraptured, and I wondered if he was as impressed by the fruit as I was.

“Satisfied?” He asked.

“For now,” I said, taking another strawberry from my bag and plopping it into my mouth. “What about you?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with your… appetite,” he replied with mock judgment that I disregarded.

Because I was a horrible, horrible person with a wicked mind without a filter, the first retort on my mind was: I reckon you haven’t met many people at all… But I stopped myself from saying that. Shao may have told me not to worry about stepping on his toes, but there was a line, and I refused to cross it. Intentionally. I did so accidentally all the time.

Instead, I remembered our previous topic of conversation—Shao’s family—amidst my sobered state, and I decided to steer the topic back to that. It would dampen the mood, of course… but I wanted to know. I needed to know.

“About your sister…” I began, my voice coming out hesitant and slow with endless silence stretching between half the words. I watched Shao through my lashes for his reaction, but all he did was wince and scratch his arm. “Why don’t you talk about her much? Is it because she’s the reason you’re cursed, albeit indirectly?”

Shao grimaced. He scratched harder. “What? No, of course not. That’s…” His veins seemed to throb, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pull away—or pull myself closer and try to soothe him.

“My sister and I were the closest back when we were children,” he said. “I loved her.”

“Then why…?”

“I think that’s why her betrayal struck me hardest.”

My lips parted. “Her betrayal?”

“She… cared the least, I think, about my banishment.” He tried to swallow, but he struggled with the simple act. “Though I’m sure she spoke to Father about it a handful of times, my brothers at least made one or two half-hearted attempts at breaking the rules to defend me. She never did.”

Pity for the neglected young Shao swept me away once more. I set my jaw, suppressing my emotions. This was Shao’s moment. My role was to console him, not seek his consolation.

Taking a deep breath, he added, “In the nine years I’ve been here, she’s only visited me twice. And the first time—” His fists shook, and he grinded his teeth.

“She brought dozens of guards to stand between us so that she’d never risk seeing my face,” he seethed. “It was laughable; there was a literal wall of men between us. If I turned them into roses, she’d fall victim, too. What in the world was she trying to achieve? I missed her. I treasured her. What reason did she have to fear me?”

I wondered if his sister hadn’t wanted the guards there either—parents were prone to overprotectiveness.

However, that meant the king had made unnecessary, disgusting precautions against his own son, and perhaps that would hurt Shao even more.

I couldn’t say anything to help him.

The berries in my hands exploded as I squeezed them tight, staining my skin a splotchy blue.

“She… visited again, though, didn’t she?” I settled on saying. “I assume she didn’t bring her guards again. What happened?”

The sound of his laugh was distorted. Chilling. “She treated me like a plaything. A pet. There were no apologies and no explanations. She barged into my home and tried to play dress up with me.”

My heart tore for him.

Had he misunderstood her intentions?

Did it matter?

It wasn’t like any words from me, a housemate who’d never even met his family, could change his perspective after so long.

And if I somehow managed to give him hope, only for it to be wrong—only for his soul to be crushed again—wasn’t that the worst possibility of all?

Instead, I reached out for his hands as he’d done for me, giving them a tight squeeze.

It didn’t feel like enough—and I regretted the act when Shao tugged his hands free from mine. Trembling, I looked up.

Shao gave me a half-grimace, half-smile of consolation as he began scrubbing his nails roughly against the skin of his arms, his face, his ears, as if fire-red ants were devouring his entire body and he couldn’t figure out where to save himself first.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so itchy, I don’t know why—”

Our gaze snapped to each other’s eyes.

Shao had once said something off-handedly, and I’d forgotten it until now.

Fortunately, the curse also warns me when others approach my roses by making my entire body unbearably itchy.

Someone had found the mansion.

Chapter 16

My heart thudded in my chest as Shao and I sprinted back to the mansion, desperately crawling and jumping over nature’s obstacles as quickly as possible.

The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat, the thudding of our feet, and our endless, heavy pants as we ran longer and faster than we’d ever imagined possible—and yet we weren’t fast enough.

We won’t make it, I thought, fear welling in my soul. Shao and I both knew we couldn’t make it before the thief stole all the roses and escaped. He’d stopped scratching, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, but from his hastening pace and anxious face, I could tell it wasn’t good.

But we still must try.

Faster, faster, faster, our footsteps reached a crescendo against the grass and dirt beneath us.

A rock caught my foot, and I whammed against the ground, my face inches from the pebbles beneath before I caught myself with my palms. My reed basket clattered down to the ground again, its contents scattering everywhere.

I bit my tongue and tried not to cry.

“Here.” A melodious, masculine voice that I recognized all too well spoke up, and a big hand reached down to help me up. My gaze wavered. I looked up and saw Shao, his forehead slick with sweat, and I hesitated only a moment to hate myself for slowing him down before I snatched his hand and levered myself back up.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his breathing heavy with dread.

“Fine,” I said, my voice escaping in a haggard gasp for air. I gestured forward. “Let’s go.”

“The fruit?” Shao asked between pants, bending down to help pick them up. I took one hesitant, saddened look at the fruit before pulling him back up by his hands.

“It’s fine,” I said. “We can come back.” I said nothing else, because speaking more would only waste time.

Shao gave me a curt nod, giving me a thorough look to ensure I wasn’t hurt, before resuming his sprint. Worries filled me as I chased after him.

How could he have waited for me despite his fears? There was a great threat at the mansion, and here I was, being a burden for Shao… and he was letting me, rather than continuing without wasting precious seconds to help me back up and confirm I was unhurt.

Upon reaching a big, long log, he braced his hand against the top to hop over it. I tried to mimic him. Upon failure, however, I grumbled under my breath and sloppily crawled on top of it before hopping back down, and I noticed that Shao had slowed his pace.

He sped back up once I was on ground and running, too.

Tears threatened to spring into my eyes once more, albeit for a different reason.

This whole time, he’d been carefully listening to my steps to ensure I was right behind him. Whenever I slowed down, he slowed down with me. Whenever I quickened, he took it as permission to speed up to match my pace.

I appreciated his efforts, but I loathed it, too.

I was undeserving.

Flames of agony flickered at my lungs, throat, and stomach, but I endured it for him. Surely, he felt the same pain, and my heart rang with both hurt and appreciation. In a twisted way, I felt like I belonged through our shared fears and pain.

A million years must have passed by the time we reached the mansion’s clearing.

I wheezed for air as I skidded to a stop; I collapsed forward into the grass, my legs unable to endure any longer. My hands banged once more against the ground, and I winced when I felt a pain sear up through my fingers and wrist.

Shao continued running to his mansion, slamming open the unlocked gate, and collapsed to his knees as he looked around, his own fruit basket landing on his thighs—the lucky man.

“Sh-Shao—” I cried out, but my voice was too hoarse and weak to reach him.

Peering through the gates’ holes, I yelped in surprise—and despair.

The golden roses remained alive and unharmed, occupying the same spaces that I remembered them in last. Had the thief only taken one, or few enough that neither Shao nor I would notice?

It was the door to the mansion that shocked me… and terrified me to my core.

Spirals of smoke crept from the edges of the door—or the lack thereof—like squirming snakes crawling in the air. Soot covered the ground and formed filmy layers over the walls surrounding the doorway.

As for the door…

It was gone.

Where it had once stood strong and tall, there was now only a gaping hole rendering the mansion’s parlor visible from outside.

Before I could say anything, two strangers sauntered out through the missing door: a brunette girl with a hand to her hip—dressed in a long-sleeved chiffon dress—and a red-headed boy who seemed sick of her.

“Oh, darling, you’re home!” The brunette cried out with a twinkling laugh, but from the tilt of her lips and corners of her eyes, she almost looked… guilty.

Darling? I frowned at the term of endearment but said nothing. The adrenaline was evaporating from my flesh and bones. The woman was strange. From Shao’s expression—one like he’d stepped on a dog’s excrements—he didn’t like her.

But she wasn’t a threat, at least to the roses.

“We took some liberties with your house, since we assumed you were locking us out,” she explained with a toss of her hair. I stared at her incredulously, then at the red-headed man next to her, and I gasped when I understood who they were.

Shao’s trusted younger brother—the adopted, uncursed one—and the sister who’d betrayed him. The sister who’d trampled all over his heart like a broken toy she didn’t need anymore.

Well, speak of the forsaken devils. Of course, the sister would show up the moment Shao told me about her.

“Isa—” Shao cried. His voice sounded strangled, scared. He was as surprised as I was, and I wondered why his own family members hadn’t given notice of their impending arrival. “We thought thieves had come to steal the roses,” he snapped.

His sister grimaced and averted her gaze. “We assumed you’d be home, so it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

I saw Shao seethe as he stood himself back up.

Ignoring him, the girl’s eyes glimmered as she laid her eyes on me; I felt like a prey who’d been spotted by an apex hunter.

I stood up too and took hesitant steps towards them.

The girl laughed as she rushed over to me. As soon as she was a foot or two away, she took my hands into hers, almost bouncing with excitement.

“Oh, darling,” she said, “you must be Beatrice. I’m Isabella, his sister. How I’ve longed to meet you!”

Before I could react, the girl leaned forward and kissed me on both cheeks, causing me to yelp in shock and flinch back.

How did she know me? How much had Shao told her about me while requesting the cure? Everything about this situation was bizarre. Was this a dream? Was I mad for real?

“You can’t storm in and destroy my property after all this time, Isabella.” Shao’s heavy voice boomed from in front of me, and I gasped, surprised by how close he was.

She narrowed her eyes. “I used to send you letters daily for years, even though you ignored them all. I visit you as often as I can.”

“If twice in my entire life is as often as you can, I’m not much of a priority, am I? Sol spends three months a year with me, and he’s not even—” Glancing at the red-haired boy, he winced. “Sorry. That is, Sol is far busier than you, considering he’s…”

He looked at me now and pursed his lips, clearly hiding something. I’d press him about it later; right now, I had more to glean from their conversation. I’d been lost in their avalanche of a conversation, my head spinning.

“Sol is also not cursed,” the woman said, her voice almost rising to a yell. “He can spend his free time however he pleases instead of being dragged around this way and that in a desperate quest to stay alive past his seventeenth birthday.”

Her voice cracked as she continued. “I’d have visited more if I could. You know that. What am I supposed to do?”

Shao heaved a sigh. “Leave.”

“No. I’m not here for you, anyway.” The woman turned back down to me, and I saw Shao tense, his veins rippling. I reached out to hold his hand. He seized it, then relaxed the tiniest bit. “I’ve wondered so much about you. The mystery woman who somehow convinced beastly Asha darling to save her over and over again!”

What had she called him? I blinked, wondering if I’d misheard. And, wait, he’d saved me multiple times? What did she mean?

She paused, her head tilting. Then she clapped in delight. “Oh, my heart and a half. She doesn’t know?”

“Is this about the cure?” I asked.

“Oh, so you know that one,” Isabella said. “He saved you a few more times, you know. After your father fell ill, you were almost incarcerated for public indecency, attempt at burglary, and harassment of nobles, say… a total of thirty-two times?”

I furrowed my brows. “I was only under threat of imprisonment once, and the judges took pity on me last minute.”

“Yes, yes. Didn’t you ever wonder why they did? Why do you think you were never legally punished for anything you did after that, either?”

It took me a moment to connect the dots. Did she mean Shao had something to do with it? Was his family that well connected?

“Darling, he threatened us to free you, or else he’d find his way home and turn all of us into roses.” Isabella cackled. “He didn’t need to do that. We’d give him the moon if he asked.”

“The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to return,” Shao said quietly. Isabella folded her arms, her lips twisting.

“You know that’s impossible, darling,” she said. I lifted my chin at her repeated use of the endearment. What an interesting sixteen-year-old girl to call everyone that, including her older brother. Was this common among nobles these days? “We’ve tried often enough, but Father refuses to budge.”

Shao bit his lip, and the words he suppressed were clear as crystal to me. You didn’t try hard enough. What good are a few offhanded whispers of support?

She turned back to me. “When you somehow found yourself in trouble again, he realized how reckless you were, and he made us give you diplomatic immunity for anything you did related to your father in the next three years.”

I sucked in a breath.

Glancing down at her nails, she added, “You should know, he doesn’t keep in touch with anyone other than Sol anymore. Hasn’t in over five years. His only exceptions have been when he needed us to help you.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, not listening to her. My mind was blank. I looked up at Shao, but he was staring away at the wall, revealing nothing. “I thought he was excommunicated. Why does he have so much sway? How powerful is your family?”

And why had he done all of that for me? Just how high of a pedestal had he put me on, and how far had his opinion of me fallen as result?

Isabella’s eyes widened into saucers, her lips parting. “You don’t—”

“Isabella,” Shao said gravely, and her eyes darted to his.

They gazed at each other for an eternity, a silent conversation occurring between them that neither I nor Sol were privy to, before Isabella broke her gaze, biting her lip.

She shook her head, and with it, whatever conflicting emotion she felt; her expression returned to a jubilant smile a moment later as her eyes turned to mine.

“Dearest Beatrice,” she said, “Give me a tour of the mansion, will you? Where will we be staying?”

“Why do you need a tour?” Shao interjected with a scowl. “You’ve been here before. How long will you even stay?”

“Oh, not long,” Isabella replied, twirling her hair. “Only a day or two.” She winked. “Lead me to the bedchamber where you found that dress, won’t you?”

“I’d love to,” I replied, tilting my head. My eyes narrowed with suspicion—and fear. Isabella was smaller than me, and I was sure she’d been as tall as a bean sprout when she’d last visited years ago. She’d never have fit into this dress, so why was she acting like she knew it?

Could this be one of the dresses she’d brought to bully Shao with?

Had I been prancing around all this time while wearing such a visible reminder of his painful past?

She simpered but gave me no answers yet. I squeezed my elbows.

“Don’t follow us, Asha,” she said instead of any explanation. “Go discuss politics with your beloved Sol. I’d like some alone time with your esteemed guest.”

No doubt that was the true reason she’d requested a tour. Understandable, considering how much Shao had requested from them for my sake. I’d be burning with curiosity—and quite a lot of irritation—if I were her.

Well, I’d have questions for her, too. She seemed kind, but I didn’t trust her. Not after what Shao had told me. I wanted her to be kind and caring; to have a secret, guarded heart of gold. Nothing would have made me happier than for her to reconciliate with Shao, filling his own heart with happiness… but I didn’t have much hope for her.

The way she’d approached the roses without regard for her own brother, followed by the way she’d simply burned down his door… It all reeked of shallow entitlement, and I loathed it.

Shao deserved better.

Gesturing me to follow, Isabella glided to the hallway, her footsteps so light as to be inaudible despite her stilettos.

I shot Shao one last glance, and we exchanged nods of acknowledgment before I trailed after Isabella.

Chapter 17

“So,” Isabella said as soon as we were indoors and out of Shao’s earshot. “How has… your stay at the mansion been?”

I tried really, really hard not to glare at her, but I ended up glaring at her anyway, my dislike oozing out of every cell in my body. Isabella arched her brows but said nothing. She glanced at me expectantly.

“Rather alright,” I replied. Not wanting to waste time on small talk, I looked back around and saw no one. “Is this dress Shao’s?”

Isabella cleared her throat. Her smile wavered for the first time since she’d appeared, although it was soon replaced by an even broader smile and a loud, twinkling giggle.

“Has Shao told you that story?” She tossed her hair back, revealing two sparkly blue earrings dangling at her lobes with a large heart-shaped crystal as the centerpiece. The casualness with which she spoke scraped at my patience. It was as if the incident with the dress, which had torn the remains of Shao’s heart in two, had been just another day for her.

Taking a deep breath to ground myself before I lashed out at her, I mumbled in agreement.

We serpentined through the hallways to my latest bedchamber, where I’d found the dress. Although Isabella had requested my tour, she was the one leading me, marching with a confident gait. She knew the paths well despite the mansion’s spaciousness and took the exact path she needed without a single detour.

I felt like I was tied by an invisible leash.

“What has he told you?” Isabella asked, her voice level and poised. There was a grace and pompousness to her tone severely lacking in Shao’s, and every small movement of her arms and her tiptoe-like steps that had me thinking of a cat.

I wondered how best to respond to her. Was I supposed to lie to her, saying sweet nothings about how much fun he’d had thanks to her pranks? Or should I have been brutally honest?

“That he hated every second of it,” I replied, settling on the latter, because it felt like trampling over Shao’s shredded skin to lie about him. He had been anguished by his sister. Why did she deserve anything but the truth? “That his sister treated him like a plaything and never apologized—or even seemed to care—for the suffering he endured.”

Isabella laughed again. It was in this moment that I decided I hated her.

“Be that as it may seem,” she started, grazing one of the overturned frames of Shao’s art with her fingers, which had never seen a dent of damage and were bejeweled and colored with shiny pink paint.

I cut her off. “I don’t care. Shao cares, but he doesn’t deserve your excuses. He deserves your apologies.” I pointed my finger at her chest, not caring about dignity or politeness. “Why are you even here?”

She licked her lips, but her smile remained etched solid into her features. My fingers itched for purchase of anything—but particularly anything that could shatter—to slam at the ground, at the wall, at the ceiling.

“I’m actually here to take you home,” she said, and shrugged. Even her shrug glided across her shoulders, causing her to look as dignified as a swan. “We came earlier than planned because we wanted to meet you first.”

I scoffed. “Shao and I expected a proper chauffeur, not his family. Maybe his youngest brother has a right to wonder, but you? What’s the point of meeting me, when he hardly even knows you?”

Heat flashed across her dimpled, dainty features. I smirked in twisted satisfaction.

She began, “I—”

I gestured towards the painting she was still stroking, although her movements were the tiniest bit stiffer and more staggered.

“Yes, my lady,” I snarked. “Turn that painting over, why don’t you?”

She snatched her fingers away from the painting as if it had caught on fire. She glanced up at me, doe eyed. Although she didn’t know what was on the frontside of the overturned frame, she’d been curious—and her curiosity had been stomped by fear from my outburst.

I stretched my hand forward to flip it over myself, revealing a painting Shao had drawn later—after Isabella’s first visit, if I remembered correctly.

It was an oil painting. The oil strokes were feathery and untrained, but it was clear what they depicted. A parting sea of nobles’ guards stood on the edges of the paper. Between the two split tides, there stood a young blond boy and a brunette girl drowning in a lacy purple dress. They were tangled together in a tight hug, laughter in their eyes.

“This isn’t the only one,” I whispered to a silent Isabella. “I think a good half the paintings in the house depict the same thing.”

Although I’d been oblivious the first time I saw this painting, it was now clear to me what this scene was—an altered version of the reality of the first visit.

“This was an impossibility,” she murmured at last, her eyes widening.

“Then why didn’t you apologize in the second visit, instead of trying to bully him as if nothing happened?” I asked, and she hugged herself.

“That… wasn’t my intent—” She started, but I cut her off because her lips were still curved up into some sort of a smile. Because I couldn’t bear to look at the girl who seemed so complacent despite all the hurt she’d inflicted on her own brother.

“You broke him, Isabella,” I snapped. Mentally, I willed myself to calm down and lower my voice, but my mouth refused to listen. “Why did you come back, if not to apologize? Why didn’t you stop after your first visit, when you snatched his heart out? Why did you have to return and stomp all over it with your stiletto heels?”

She smiled harder, and I clenched my fists so I wouldn’t punch the wall and only hurt myself.

Perhaps this was a mistake—she had every grace and entitlement of an upper blueblood, and she had every right to use the full force of her privileges to punish me and my family. Her father held my own father’s life as hostage, and it was in my best interest to suck up to her, I duly realized.

But seeing her smug simper—and the disdain with which she handled everyone else—made me seethe and burn and seek nothing but the destruction of her ego. I wanted to tear her down, so she’d understand Shao’s pain. So that she’d empathize with him, apologize, and persevere to mend her tattered family rather than crushing it down even more.

“It wasn’t my intent to hurt him,” she began yet again, and I took a step backwards, my hand rushing to my forehead. “It’s true he may have been hurt, but it could not be helped, and I do intend to make it right—”

“How?” I cried, squeezing my fingers against my temples. “Did you have any plan when you came here, or did you expect to snap your cute fingers and tell him to forgive you?” I rolled my neck and crossed my arms. With a sigh, I added, “Because he would forgive you—and hate himself more in the process when you betray him yet again. Neither of you deserves that.”

It looked as though she was puffing air into her cheek, her lips forming a tight line. Was I finally getting somewhere, or was I simply hurting my own chances at happiness?

“I was thinking of requesting your help,” she explained, and I laughed.

I laughed because I couldn’t bring myself to cry.

“You think I’ll help you ruin him?” I snapped, and she sucked in her lips.

“That’s not—”

“Please explain, then, what you do mean,” I snarled. “Typical of a freaking noble—you expect everyone to do the dirty work for you while you giggle at your throne of riches and privilege. You spout meaningless words to achieve your whims while internally scoffing at everyone you deem beneath you. Which—” I paused to point at her once more, hitting her shoulder with my index finger. “That list includes your own brother, doesn’t it?”

She bounced away. A beat later, her chortle crashed against the silence of the air.

My arms drooped to my sides. I had nothing more to say, and I didn’t know how to comprehend her. Could anyone be so cold-hearted? So brutal in their conceit?

“Do you have any right to speak like that to me?” She cried, crossing her arms, and I bristled. “You, the commoner who only started living with him for a cure that costs more than your life could ever be worth. You, the girl who plans to leave him the moment he gives his heart to you.”

“I plan to come back—”

She laughed. “Oh, and how? Will you sacrifice his safety to assuage your guilt?” Her voice remained quiet and gentle, which I loathed her for. No trace of emotion pierced through her words.

“I want to be with him,” I snapped, “and I plan to try my best to do so, unlike someone—”

“That someone you speak of has far more responsibilities than a jobless common girl—”

“I was taking care of my dying father!” My scream was loud enough to echo against the distant walls, and I realized our voices had been escalating for quite some time. “What in heavens were you doing that was so important?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isabella finally, finally, yelled back. “Maybe I was trying to save myself first, so I’d have time to apologize to him. Did you ever think about that? Did you ever wonder about how reconciliating with him was meaningless without time to spend with him? What was I supposed to do, put my own short life on hold to spend the entire thing with one out of three of my beloved brothers while the rest of my family—my friends—were trapped back home?”

“I—” I gasped for air, an excuse to think, because she did have a point. One I’d been too blinded to see by Shao’s own tragedy and hurt. “You could have made yourself clear to him! You had every opportunity to apologize and at least clear up that he was loved. That he was still family—”

“Why in my heart and a half would you think I never tried?” Isabella shrieked—full on shrieked—and tears broke free through the barrier of her everlasting smile.

I yelped, because it was then—when I saw her tears, and when I saw the slight shadow of lingering blood on her lips and tongue and teeth, and I realized she’d been biting her tongue hard—that I understood.

I didn’t know how wealthy or powerful her family was, but she was an upper tier noble.

With that title came responsibilities. A designated way to act, no matter the circumstance.

Isabella wasn’t allowed to yell or to express any expression other than tranquility and happiness. She had to be the picture-perfect example of one of the country’s most powerful people, and she’d suffered for it.

Her brother—Shao—didn’t know how to restrain his emotions because he’d never had to. He couldn’t control it, and everything he felt showed transparently on every fiber of his being.

Isabella didn’t know how to express her feelings, because she’d never been allowed to.

She smiled harder when she wanted to scream, because she wasn’t allowed to cry.

If she was this restrained by the bounds of her breeding, did she know how to rebel against her parents? Could she have broken free of their orders if they’d tried?

My voice softened at the realization, as did my heart. She reminded me of myself after the onset of Father’s illness, albeit a much more restrained and successful one. “How did you try?”

Isabella’s eyes glazed over and she licked her lips, her smile weakening slightly.

“I sent a thousand letters after the second visit,” she said. “But he’d long stopped answering them. I don’t know if he even read them.” I doubted he had.

She twirled her hair in silence, and I opened my mouth to speak. She shook her head at me, and I stopped to let her think her words over and continue at her own pace.

“I looked up to Shao a lot as a child,” she said at last, her voice lowering as it shook. Our eyes met, and she gave me a weak titter that I returned with a genuine but small smile. I rubbed my palms together.

“We were separated when I was seven and he was ten, and while I don’t remember much, I know I loved him.” She sighed. “Father never allowed me to visit Asha, no matter how much I begged, until I turned thirteen. He forced a dozen guards to defend me against my own brother.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “He… thought that was your idea. He thought you’d have found any way to sneak away if it hadn’t been—but you never did.”

Isabella glanced down. “I know. I tried to convince him otherwise, but…”

Heaving a sigh, she added, “Well, you know the rest. I was so optimistic at first, too. After the first few moments, when he realized the guards wouldn’t budge, Shao became so, so closed off. I could have snuck out—I know that—but I feared getting caught. Scared of defying Father. Of hurting him. I love Shao, but… I love Father too, broken as he may be.”

I squeezed her hand, because I understood.

I didn’t want to understand, but I did.

“He stopped replying to my letters after that visit.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t realize how much the isolation had affected him, much less his hopes. How could I have known? I was so young. We were both so young.”

“I…” Despite everything, I felt desperate to help this woman feel better. Not only for her sake, but for mine—because, no matter how briefly, I’d seen myself in her—and for Shao’s sake, too. If she wasn’t as cruel as she’d seemed, she deserved to reunite with Shao. He deserved to know her feelings. To forgive her… and himself.”

Isabella gripped bunches of her dress and twisted them around. “I was so desperate to be his sister again, and I was so excited when I got another chance to visit him two years ago—this time with only a few guards, who’d stay hidden—but I was scared he’d reject me, just as he’d rejected all my daily letters.”

“I think… he was hoping for explanations that he didn’t get.”

“I overcompensated,” she said. “I was scared. Since I didn’t know how to deal with conflict, I didn’t. I wanted to return to the way we were as children, even though we were far too old for it now, and we’d been separated for far too long. I brought him dresses to bully him into, romance books to read to him, illegal magic charms to prank him with…”

Absentmindedly, I turned Shao’s painting back around as I rubbed my thumb over the frame as Isabella had.

“All you need to do is apologize in person,” I muttered without looking at her. “You know that, right? Explain yourself and tell him you’re sorry. Shao… is Shao, and he’s been looking for excuses to forgive you for his entire life.”

Isabella’s expression pinched. “It can’t be that easy—”

“You say that,” I interrupted, “but it’s not easy for you at all, is it? I don’t think you bluebloods know how to swallow up your pride. For all I know, the only thing you’re practiced in is the art of deflecting blame.”

Isabella covered her mouth as she laughed, and I marveled at the glittering sound.

Although both her present smile and laughter and the earlier forced ones seemed genuine, their difference was so stark I questioned how I’d fallen for her feigned nonchalance at all.

“You wound me with your accuracy,” she said with a wink, and she gave my cheek another peck with her lips. This time, I didn’t flinch back, although a part of me rebelled at any touch that wasn’t Shao’s. I’d grown too accustomed to seeing only him during our time together.

“Maybe if you smother his cheeks with grandmotherly kisses like you did to me, he’ll see the light,” I teased.

Grim amusement contorted Isabella’s lips. “You might just be right, although you could be kinder with your descriptions.”

“I’ve been stuck here for half a year with him,” I said with a half-hearted wink. “His prickly personality is rubbing off on—”

A man cleared his throat behind me, and I forced myself not to jump in shock as I twisted around.

In front of me was Shao, leaning back against a doorframe; by his side stood a redhead boy scratching at his chin, looking uncomfortable.

“H-how long have you been eavesdropping?” I cried.

“Since you started telling that girl to smother me with kisses,” Shao replied, pointing at Isabella. I winced at the way he referred to her, and I wasn’t sure whether to exhale in relief or disappointment at his admission.

If he’d heard Isabella’s apology, my mission to reunite them would have proven far easier… but I’d have embarrassed myself by yelling at his sister for my mistaken desire to defend him.

“We heard you guys having a screaming match all the way from the parlor,” Shao said, clearing his throat again, and I grimaced. “While we couldn’t make out your words—” this time, I did sigh in relief— “we got worried and rushed over here as quickly as we could.”

I quirked a small, awkward smile, lifting my palms up. “Well… surprise? Your sister and I made up, and you should too.”

Nodding to cement my statement, I marched gracelessly backwards before turning to hurry out the other door and give the family some space.

With rapid steps made possible by his unfairly long legs, Shao lumbered after me, and I squealed before speeding my pace into an almost run. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isabella’s disappointed gaze, and felt a pang of guilt.

“Go talk to your sister,” I mumbled as Shao cornered me into the wall of a hallway not far from the room we’d just escaped.

“What reason would I have to talk to her?” He snapped. “You’ve heard my story about her. I want to talk to you.”

“Y-you don’t have a reason to talk to me either, do you?” I asked, turning my head to the side and looking down at the tiled black-and-white floors. “I have a feeling your sister wants to apologize.”

“I don’t know if you forced her to apologize by yelling at her for so long, but I don’t care one ounce about something guaranteed to be fake—”

“It won’t be,” I interrupted, and I found myself stroked the hand crushed against the wall to comfort him. “I promise.”

“You have no way of knowing,” he said, but I saw a glimmer of broken hope in his eyes, and I heard it in his voice.

“She cares about you,” I said. “She’s your sister. She loves you.”

I looked back at Shao and saw him narrow his eyes. “I wish I could believe that.”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t even need me to convince you if you’d read her letters,” I said. “You haven’t, have you?”

He didn’t reply. His jaw set.

That was all the answer I needed. “You should.”

“I tossed them,” he said, readjusting his mask, which hadn’t moved an inch.

“No, you didn’t,” I said, feeling a confidence I couldn’t qualify. “Knowing you, you probably hoarded them somewhere safe, wanting to know what they said but being too terrified to open a single one of them.”

“You have the completely wrong idea of me.”

I took one hesitant step towards him until we were a breath apart.

“You’re masked, so I’m not in danger of being turned into a rose,” I said. “What if I run into your room and dug through your closet?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he replied, and I could feel the warmth of his words against my forehead.

“Under your bed, then.”

His hands tensed, but he kept up his stern, uncaring façade. “Good luck with that.”

“Between your mattress?”

He snatched his hands away—but whatever he saw in my face stopped him halfway, and he sheepishly hesitated them midair, allowing me to reach out for them again. I tried to keep myself from laughing—no, cackling as Isabella had—but found no success.

“Shao, they’re probably wrinkled to death now,” I said.

“Not like I was ever going to read them.”

“You wanted to.”

“No.”

“Let me read them, then,” I said, changing tactics.

“They’re private—”

“Why, when they’re meaningless to you?”

“They’re not—” His voice rose, and he caught himself, gritting his teeth. “They’re important as further proof of my family’s disregard for me.”

“Don’t you want to know for sure?” I asked, giving his hands a squeeze. “I know it’s hard. Terrifying. But from my talk with Isabella, however brief it was, I don’t think she feels ill of you. I’m sure you know that, too, deep inside.”

“I…”

“I’ll be by your side the whole time if you let me,” I said. “I know your family—particularly your father—hasn’t treated you with the respect and acceptance you deserve, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t love you. It doesn’t mean Isabella distrusts or fears you. I don’t think she ever has. The only thing she’s scared of is you never accepting her.”

It was impossible that I speak with complete confidence, but I was as sure as I could be, and my words were what Shao needed to hear. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bulging, and took a slow, deep breath.

“You’re not wrong,” he grumbled. I smiled.

“You keep saying that,” I said. “I take offense to it.” To Shao’s lifted eye, I added, “It’s not that I’m not wrong, Shao. It’s that I’m right.”

“I take offense to your unnecessary and trivial distinctions,” he said, snorting.

“Oh, hurry up, tell me I’m right,” I said, and he laughed. I felt pleased that despite his misgivings, he was still himself. Still Shao, able to laugh and tease me.

“You’re right,” he said. “You always are.”

I preened at his words, my back straightening, though I’d rather forced them out of him.

“I’ll go bring my letters,” he said.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, no, you must allow a man his secrets.” He viewed me with mock despair, but his ears pinkened, suggesting the emotion wasn’t fabricated. “I couldn’t live with myself if you found out some of Isabella’s letters really are under my mattress.”

I threw my head back, not caring to hide my roar of laughter this time.

Chapter 18

I waited in front of Shao’s room, the door closed between us, while he grabbed his letters. As I stood, my shoulder and hip against a cold white wall, I wondered when he’d come back out; it felt as though I’d been waiting for hours, although it had only been minutes.

Hearing the creak of the door, my face lit up and I turned to greet him.

When he reemerged with an entire mesh bag that closed with a drawstring and could have fit me inside, I choked out a strained laugh.

He couldn’t even lift it up, because it was too large and unwieldy, although it was probably light. Instead, he dragged it out behind him by the drawstrings.

“Really,” I managed, “how did you convince yourself not to read any of them when you had so many letters? I’d have died of too much curiosity not to at least peek at one.”

“That,” Shao replied as he tugged the bag out his room and began heading towards the library, “is where we differ. This is only a small portion of the letters, but even then, I was too paralyzed by fear to do anything but hide it away where I couldn’t see it. That’s what I still want to do, in fact.”

I arched a brow. “What changed your mind?” I asked smugly, knowing the answer full well.

“Do you think you can handle the truth?” He asked, and I scoffed and nodded at the same time. “I figure I’m more scared of you than anything Isabella could have written.”

I feigned a gasp. “What, me? What have I done to make you fear me? I’m the kindest person you’ve ever met—”

“That’s not a high bar,” he said with a snort, and I winked.

“That might have been what I was counting on when I spoke with so much confidence.”

Shao rolled his eyes. His derision had little effect on me, however, considering how silly he looked with his burlap sack of letters.

“Need some help with that?” I asked, and I lifted my arm and flexed, revealing a… pretty sad attempt at a bicep, but if you squinted, I was sure you could see a hint of something round. Maybe.

“I’m stronger than I look,” I added pitifully to Shao’s laughter.

It wasn’t long before the library emerged before us, its adorned doors seeming vaguely foreboding and welcoming at the same time. I took a deep breath after I thrust open the doors, keeping them open for Shao and his luggage.

He passed through the first couple desks and seats until he reached the spacious desk I’d once laid my unguents meant to heal Shao with on. The mahogany wood was still stained with sickly greens and yellows, although the pungent odor was gone, as was the stickiness.

Shao brushed his fingers at the top of the table, paying special attention to the discolored bits. A soft smile played at his lips.

“Really?” I asked. “Of all the desks, is there a reason you chose this one?”

“My opinion of you changed the day you tried to heal me,” Shao replied, and I rested a hand on my hip. “You went from an entity that I didn’t know how to speak with, to… you. A girl I wanted to know more. Someone who cared about me—or the cure, but it was easy to deceive myself—enough to try to heal me.”

He turned back towards me, and I gaped; his stare had never been softer, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in it forever.

“In you,” whispered Shao, “I found neither a savior nor an angel…” My heart dropped at that. “But I found the silly girl who would sacrifice her sleep and every second of her time to become my hero. I found the rambunctious girl I wanted not to restrain nor control, but to join.”

Time seemed to stall. My heartbeat stuttered, and my breathing slowed. I realized Shao was closer to me, and I wasn’t sure who’d approached whom.

I had a nagging suspicion I’d stepped closer to him, entranced by his words, rather than the vice versa.

“I found you, Beatrice,” Shao said, his thumb caressing my cheek, “and I’ve never been more grateful than I am for meeting you.”

“I-I—”

For a moment, we remained suspended in time. There was nothing in my sight except Shao, nothing in my mind except his touch and his voice.

Then, he stepped away, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He pivoted sideways, and his palms thudded against the table for support.

After a breath, he lifted the ugly potato sack from the floor, split it open at the top, and tossed the contents onto the table without another word.

I dug my nails against my palms, confused by the moment of stupefaction. What was up with me these days?

We made light, awkward small talk before Shao delved into his letters, curiosity and anxiety fighting for control over his expression and soul.

He tore through one letter then another, his fingers shaking, his breathing heavy.

I plopped down into the cushioned chair beside him, the seat giving way before rising back up. Since it didn’t feel right to breach the privacy of his sister’s heartfelt letters, I found myself scrutinizing Shao’s face for any trace of emotion.

At first, his stoic expression warped to look broken. Torn. Confused.

When Shao reached his fifth or tenth letter—I couldn’t be sure—tears started trickling, then pouring, from his eyes. I gasped; froze; I was unable to comprehend it.

He tried to hide it by blocking his face with his hand, but the tears pooled over and under his mask, dripping down onto the tabletop.

“Shao,” I breathed. “Are you—are you alright?”

Had I been wrong? Had Isabella played me for a fiddle, and her letters had actually been scathing and hateful? Or perhaps she’d gotten vindictive after Shao had refused to respond for so long, and lashed out—

“Fine,” he said curtly, but his voice hitched and gurgled from continued crying. He cleared his throat and turned his head.

“Shao.”

Abruptly, Shao stood up, and my jaw slackened. I gripped the edge of the table. How could I help this poor man?

He snatched me from my seat into a gentle hug mid-air; I could no longer feel the ground.

Shocked, I lifted my feet as I squeezed my arms around Shao’s broad shoulders. He spun me around as easily as if I were feathers.

“Shao?” I yelped. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this.

He felt feverishly hot—or perhaps that was me—and his quick, thudding heartbeats felt comforting yet strange. My own heartbeats surged to mirror his.

“Thank you,” he said, giving me a second spin. Heat enflamed my cheeks—no, every inch of my skin. I tried to convince myself it was due to all the spinning… but it wasn’t, and even I couldn’t believe such a blatant lie. “Thank you, Beatrice, thank you.”

“If you’re happy, what’s with all the tears?” I tried to smile but felt too light-headed.

“Because I’m stunned,” Shao replied. “I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m grateful, Beatrice, beyond my ability to express it. Thanks to you, I’ve read the letters—thanks to you, I’m starting to understand my sister. My family.”

“Shao…” My voice was a low whisper, because in my addle-brained state, feeling Shao’s strong arms against me, I couldn’t manage anything more. “Y-you flatter me too much. It was all you, you know. All you and your sister.”

“It’s not flattery if you deserve it,” Shao said, and lowered me the tiniest bit until our eyes were level with each other for the first time.

His gaze locked on my lips; as if entranced, he began leaning closer, dipping me backwards slightly by the bend of my back.

I found myself holding my breath; my lashes fluttered closed when he was a breath away from me. My attention wandered from the warmth of his embrace to our soaring heartbeats. I felt hot breaths against my lips that caused me to melt.

Only to be let back down.

His arms disappeared from my waist as quickly as they’d picked me up, and I glared up at him, the flush of my cheeks growing with distressed shock rather than excitement. My jaw dropped.

Had I misread him?

But I… I…

I couldn’t have, right?

Shame branded itself into my spine, and an ugly squawk tore out my throat.

Unable to endure any more of this humiliation, I swung away to sprint out to a bedroom; Shao seized my hand to stop me, and I snatched it away from his grip, desperately trying not to cry.

“Please, don’t misunderstand,” he pleaded.

“What’s there to misunderstand?” I snapped, all the hurt transparent in my tone. “Are you going to tell me it’s you, not me or something? Classic line. Worthless. Don’t bother. I’m sorry that I got caught up in the moment.”

“I—” He averted his eyes, and I knew I’d hit the bullseye. I wanted to throw up. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?” I cried. “I thought—I thought—” I refused to continue. I was already mortified enough.

What had I thought?

How could I have assumed he was going to kiss me?

I didn’t deserve that, and that was clear as day. I didn’t deserve him. I didn’t deserve anyone, much less anyone as kind or understanding as him.

I should have known that.

Should have remembered my worth—or lack thereof.

Shao’s kindness, and our brief moments of tenderness, had caused me to forget.

I’d never forget again.

“Beatrice!” Shao cried, and I realized he’d moved to the front of me again, blocking my path. “Do I have your attention? I’ve been calling out your name for so long—”

“What even do you have to say?” I forced myself to say. “I get it. I get it, okay? I’m leaving soon anyway, and then we can forget any of this ever happened.”

“Beatrice, no,” he said. “I mean, yes, but—”

I didn’t know how to respond to his confirmation, and I released a strangled noise that could have been a laugh or a sob.

“I don’t deserve you!” Shao snapped, and this time, I laughed without a shadow of a doubt.

“You’re kidding,” I said. “It’s not funny.”

“Beatrice,” he said, bending down to look me in my eyes again. I bit my lip. “What do you even know about me?”

Huffing, I replied, “You’re the one hiding secrets from me.”

“I am,” Shao replied, “and have you never wondered why?”

I stared back at him blankly, unsure what he wanted me to respond. I didn’t even know what I thought myself; my brain was too wrapped up in my rejection and heartbreak.

Shao shook his head. His grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

“I want to deserve you,” he said. “I do—but I never can.”

“Explain why, then!” I shouted despite myself. There was nothing I wanted to hear more than sweet lies. I hated his wishy-washy attitude, but it gave me much-needed hope that reeked of impending despair, and I wanted to blanket myself with it.

Of course, it had to be now that I realized the depth of my feelings for Shao.

Was it a crush? Or love?

I couldn’t tell, but I knew I wanted to bask in his company for the rest of my life. I knew I wanted to treasure him—and for him to treasure me.

I knew I wanted to have him all to myself. I knew it would break me to see him so much as glance longingly towards another woman.

The fact that he didn’t seem to feel the same way shattered me, and I was desperate to seize any chance, no matter how small, that he wasn’t completely apathetic towards me in that way.

Shao was silent, and I cried, “If you feel an ounce of anything towards me, why won’t you fight for me?”

He swallowed. “I’ve told you why. You deserve someone better.”

“I deserve someone I lo—” I stopped, unable to confess to the man who’d rejected me, then kept me here so he could tear me apart some more.

“I deserve someone who treasures me,” I said instead. “That’s all I need. Are you saying that’s too high a bar for you?”

“No,” Shao whispered. “No, but I’ve deceived you, and that’s a sin I can never overcome.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” I snapped. “Tell me the truth, then! Tell me what’s bothering you, and why you introduced yourself as Shao, when your name is really Asha.” I paused. “Who are you?”

Shao’s breathing grew unsteady as he buried his face in his palms.

“There’s so much to say,” he groaned. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with your name,” I ordered. I felt something ooze from my palms where my nails were still digging, and I wondered if it was blood.

I refused to check.

Shao tried to laugh, but it came out strange and strained. “That’s the easiest one. Shao was my childhood nickname, although my birth name is Asha. My mother and caretakers called me Shao… I think I wanted to return to the past when I introduced myself with that name.” He shrugged limply. “Plus, I figured it would help conceal my identity, although it doesn’t seem like you recognize my true name regardless.”

He snapped his gaze back up to mine, almost imploringly. Desperately.

“Please.” Shao collapsed to his knees. “Tell me you realized my identity, and that you feigned ignorance to let me tell you at my own time.”

I wished I could nod, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

Seeing the confusion in my eyes, Shao averted his gaze, his disappointment evident.

Was he disappointed at me or himself?

He tried to straighten his back, but his spine remained stooped, his shoulders scrunched down. “Four siblings, three of them cursed. The names Asha, Isabella, and Sol—short for Solien. A missing mother and son. Did none of that ring any bells?”

I froze.

Everything he mentioned sounded terrifyingly familiar when he listed them together. It was absurd how obvious the truth was. Was it a secret if I should’ve figured it out months ago?

Maybe there was a reason I’d never realized it.

I didn’t want it to be true.

Terrified of realizing the implications, I shut my mind down and struggled to keep myself oblivious.

But why? Shao’s identity shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t affect me in any way. He was a dear friend, and his father had disowned him. What would his identity change?

“You understand now, don’t you?” He said softly. I didn’t respond.

How could I have, when he was—

“I am Prince Asha Villeneuve, and I was the original Crown Prince of Perintas.”

Oh.

Oh.

I believed him, and that was the worst part.

“Before you were cursed,” I whispered. He nodded.

“One by one, my siblings and I were cursed, so my father adopted Sol to take over the throne in the future.”

“Why did you hide it from me?” I asked. My hand touched the skin protecting my heart, and I willed myself to calm down. Of all secrets, this wasn’t so bad… and I didn’t understand why he’d rejected me.

Was he saving all his kisses for some princess in the future he’d be engaged to if he were ever freed from his curse?

“At first, it was because it would bring shame to my family if anyone found out,” he said. “After I got to know you better, I wanted to tell you, but… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I kept hoping you’d figure it out yourself, especially after my siblings visited, so that I could casually acknowledge it as if it wasn’t a big deal. But you never did, and I never mustered the courage.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt.

“Is that why you can’t be with me?” I asked. “Because… that’s not that bad. I understand why you kept it from me, and you’re right. I should have figured it out.”

Shao exhaled. “I have one more secret—and this one’s far, far, worse,” he said, and I wanted to scream.

“I’m so, so sorry.” A muscle jumped in Shao’s jaw. “Over the months, I convinced myself you could never fall for me. I thought—”

“Spit it out,” I sobbed.

Shao opened his mouth to speak; a slam reverberated through the room as the doors thudded open behind me.

I twisted back, a scowl distorting my face, and came face-to-face with Shao’s two siblings.

Prince Solien and Princess Isabella.

Their demeanors and mannerisms made far more sense now that I knew who they were. Who had more eyes on them, and a tighter leash of expectations, than the princess and the new crown prince?

I dipped into a curtsy out of obligation. I knew my corrupted feelings towards Shao shouldn’t affect my opinion on them, but I saw Shao’s features in theirs, and I couldn’t help myself from feeling a knife edge of betrayal gliding across my skin.

“Beatrice!” Princess Isabella said. “You’re here, too?” Her eyes widened with delight and surprise, and I wished I felt the same way towards her. Noticing my pause, she narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “Prince Asha here was telling me about his identity.”

Prince Solien and Princess Isabella glanced at each other, nervousness hinted in the straight lines of their lips, and I sighed.

“You wanted to speak with Shao, didn’t you?” I asked. “Go ahead. It’s late, and I need some rest.”

“I wanted to speak with you, too,” Princess Isabella said, grabbing her elbow. “The cure… we’ve agreed to give one to your father. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Unless…”

She gestured towards Shao, and I had no doubt she was asking if I wanted to spend some more time with him first. Clear up any misunderstandings.

But what was there to misunderstand when the barbs in my heart were his truths?

I should have felt gleeful and proud beyond words… and yet the success ringing in my chest felt hollow and empty without Shao to cheer with.

If anything, the disparity in the accessibility to cures and magic between Shao’s family and mine strangled my gut more.

It was unfair.

The royals were the providers of grace and generosity as they saw fit, and they always would be.

I’d always be the desperate, greedy parasite, begging them for their leftovers and crumbs like it was gold—because it probably was.

The only reason for this disparity was our birthright, and I was as bitter as I was thankful.

Rather, I was bitter because of how thankful I felt.

“Thank you,” I said, but my words were as empty as my heart. “I… Thank you.”

I let my broken gratitude linger in the air as I retreated to the nearest bedroom.

Chapter 19

I woke up to the sound of muffled voices, which were sometimes loud, heated, and animated, and other times so subdued I could only hear the occasional whispers of hard consonants popping.

For few, precious moments, I remained in my bed, allowing the soft sounds to wash over me like a waterfall as I melted into the soft white blankets and mattress.

Shaking my head, I pushed myself up. Seconds of idleness to me were eons longer of endless, boundless torture for my father, and it’d be selfish to dally longer—because, really, why had I been waiting in bed so long, when I was typically quick to dash to the library to read while awaiting Shao’s warm greeting and conversations?

The answer was clear: I didn’t want to leave Shao, even though he had deceived me. I wanted to eavesdrop on their muffled voices for as long as I could, allowing myself to relax through his soft voice and pretend he was talking to me. Like nothing had happened last night, and we were still the same old friends—or acquaintances, or whatever we were—that we always had been.

I sighed and snatched a hair-tie from the drawer next to the bed, biting on it to keep it still as I twisted my hair up into the tightest, neatest braid I could manage. The tight soreness on my scalp would distract me from any potential negative thoughts—or from thinking at all, hopefully. And my parents would hopefully not be disappointed in how much I’d allowed myself to slack despite the cushy, privileged life I’d been enjoying if I at least looked somewhat presentable.

Over the last few months, I’d hardly bothered to do anything with my hair or skin, since Shao looked at me like I was some perfect little pixie no matter what kind of mess my hair was tangled into—

Stop thinking about Shao!

My own reprimand thudded against my head, causing a brief but searing pain that reverberated off my temples.

I took a deep breath. I popped my knuckles, back, and neck, then repeated the motions twice over, and I realized I was tarrying some more.

Exhaling for more seconds than necessary, I exit my room.

I couldn’t help but give one last glance back, knowing it would be the last time I ever stayed… but the barren room, which was almost clinical in its whiteness and lack of adornments, didn’t arouse anything but further disappointment. This wasn’t a room I’d stayed in for more than a few days.

The one room I would harbor some nostalgic feelings for later in my life would be Isabella’s room, which she’d taken back during her visit, and I didn’t feel comfortable heading there just to say goodbye and nothing else.

I had to sever all my ties to this place, and seeing the cute stuffed animals I’d slept with and squeezed during Shao’s healing visits would weaken my resolve to hate Shao… which was stupidly weak, like a frayed string begging to be torn apart.

No matter. I quickened my pace. My mind cooed farewells to every crack and peel in the wall I’d ever noticed, and the backs of Shao’s paintings.

In a moment of weakness, I lifted one to glance at the painting itself: it happened to depict a giggling blond toddler’s face scribbled over a stick figure body.

One of his hands was depicted by five lines connected to a circle, and it was jumbled into near indecipherability by another, larger group of lines. Another person’s hand. The person was offscreen, but I knew this must be his mother, and I averted my gaze at a reminder I hated: I hadn’t done anything for Shao and his curse, although his family would likely soon save mine.

My father’s possible recovery still felt surreal, somehow, and my faith in the cure’s potency plummeted with each passing second now that it was within my family’s grasp.

Perhaps because I’d gone so long believing Father would pass away myself, no matter how much I covered up that fear with lies to myself and my family.

I could admit that to myself now that there was some chance of hope.

Thanks to Shao.

As I plodded on, there was a part of me that screamed at me to finish the conversation with Shao. I had to ask him what his other secret was.

But I was scared. I couldn’t even guess as to what the secret could be, and he’d already rejected me once—I couldn’t bear another rejection.

I’d always known I was nothing. Invaluable. Worthless.

Shao’s words yesterday had been not only a confirmation; they’d also been thorns at my body and soul, digging into me like chains that only got tighter with every movement. When I rebelled against my thoughts, they’d only strengthen and ravage my wounds that much harder.

I wanted to trust him.

I wanted to lie to myself and convince myself that Shao had some sort of feelings to me, whether it was love or a measly crush. Even if he were simply desperate for anyone to keep him company, there was a part of me that would not only accept that, but also be grateful for it.

That part of myself terrified me.

Blinking away the couple droplets of moisture at my eyes I hadn’t realized I was shedding, I reached back to put the painting back on the wall, and I saw small black, blonde, and peach-colored stains on the walls.

Having been placed backwards for so long, the painting had wept residue onto the filmy, pale wallpapers.

As I laid the painting back down, right-side up, I huffed out a soft laugh at the realization.

I wondered if my stay here, although brief, would leave stains, too. On the floors of the house, which I’d meticulously cleaned. In the drawers of the kitchens and the library and the parlor, where I’d rearranged things in my search for lost items and reads.

I wondered if my stay here would leave any sort of residue on Shao’s heart.

Unwilling to think anymore, I pressed on, heading back towards the parlor with brisk, wide steps. Before I knew it, the voices had already died out; I couldn’t tell if the conversation had died through its natural course or if Shao and his siblings had heard me shuffle around.

When I turned a corner, I saw the parlor at last in its familiar, beautiful, clean glory.

Although it had once been blanketed by decades of dust and decay until nothing of itself could be seen, like the peaks of mountains in the wintertime were layered by snow, it now revealed a round, wooden coffee table accentuated by a glass top and crystal beads at its sides and speckling its legs. Surrounding the desk was a circle of plush, velvet couches I’d often lounged on while reading in Shao’s company.

The sight tugged at my heartstrings, and I swallowed as I focused my gaze on Shao, Solien, and Isabella, who were huddled together near one of the wall’s corners. Fatigue and tears had bagged, swollen up, and reddened their eyes.

Shao stood farthest from me, leaning back against one of the walls in his characteristic, cat-like sprawl, while Princess Isabella and Prince Solien stood between us like the guards who’d attempted to protect the princess from her own brother so many years ago.

Only, the two royals were protecting Shao from me.

Silence sparked and crackled between us like a jolt of lightning or fireworks.

“Did you sleep well?” Princess Isabella asked at last, flashing her characteristic grin, and I was… conflicted to know it looked at least somewhat genuine, although there was a caustic edge of chagrin to it as well.

I nodded.

I took a glance at Shao, and his lips parted slightly, signaling a desire for him to say something—but instead, I got reminded of the almost-kiss from last night, and zipped away my gaze.

When I found the courage to peek back at him, he’d clamped his lips back shut.

“Are we heading to my home?” I asked and cringed when my voice came out as quiet yet shrill as a mouse’s quip.

I swept my eyes around the walls of the parlor in one last attempt at memorizing everything I could, and my eyes lingered on each of the paintings, which had all been turned back around to display the neglected blond child’s doodled masterpieces.

There was a buzzing series of noises that I paid little attention to in my reveries, and I only realized the royals had been speaking to me when I felt them brush past me outside.

Shao stood at his corner of the room. He watched me like a hawk, his gaze sharp and attentive while he said nothing. I broke my stare again, feeling like he could sweep in and tear away my heart once more at his discretion.

It took every fiber of my being not to run back to him and ask him about his second secret. To plead him to disguise himself with magic as he’d done before and come with me.

Instead, I turned away and followed Prince Solien and Princess Isabella, who remained silent and left several yards of distance between each other as if in respect to the emotional turmoil in my heart and the silent warfare between Shao and me.

“I’m sorry,” a gruff, male voice said behind me. Echoes of a time we’d thrown away were embedded into his tone.

I didn’t turn back or respond.

Chapter 20

The moment we were out of Shao’s earshot, Princess Isabella heaved a huge sigh of relief. Surprised, I glanced up at her, and I gaped when I saw her quirk a genuine grin.

''My heart and a half, that was one of the most stressful situations I’ve ever been stuck in,” she whispered, stretching out her arms.

“I’m… Pardon me?” I asked, uncertainty lacing my brows. Isabella almost seemed to pout in a playful manner as she pointed at me.

“You and Shao are quite the duo,” she grumbled into the sleeve of her dress. “You guys were just dripping with teenage angst in the way you were looking at each other.”

I knit my brows, unsure how to feel about someone younger than me discussing my so-called teen angst.

“One of you, Sol and I can just barely handle, but both of you at once?” She feigned a shudder, only I wasn’t even sure if she was faking it.

I blinked, trying to make heads or tails of her reaction and casual demeanor. I rested my palm against the knotted, gnarly bark of a nearby tree to ground myself.

Although I could have asked a thousand questions, or no question at all, I settled on remarking, “You guys aren’t… mad at me?”

Because that was the best and only method I could come up with to gauge whether Shao was mad at me, too, which was… ridiculous. If anyone should have been angry, it was me—and I was fuming.

Princess Isabella’s eyes widened before she burst into laughter. “Mad at you? We’re grateful!”

I pressed my hand harder against the next tree we passed on our way to the clearing, and I brushed away a strand of hair from my face. “Grateful? Princess Isabella—”

“You were calling me Isabella just fine before, weren’t you?” The princess asked, putting a hand to her hip, and I was sure I blanched.

“Th-that was before I realized who you were—”

“What does my identity matter? I was born a princess through sheer luck.” Princess Isabella sighed, but her eyes twinkled with delight. I had a nagging suspicion that she not-so-secretly enjoyed putting people in their place by lifting them up.

Well, she, too, was only a teenager, I thought with false sympathy and understanding that made me feel smug.

Following a mini-speech on rising through one’s merits alone that I didn’t listen to, the princess pleaded, “Please, call me Isabella. Won’t you, darling?”

Belying her words, her voice was filled with authority and gravitas that compelled me to obey; at the same time, she was making a puppy dog face at me… and I only ended up feeling conflicted, concerned, and confused.

“S-sure, Is…abella,” I drawled. Uttering those words felt vaguely like pulling teeth—my own teeth. With moisturized hands.

Shortly after I spoke, we arrived at the clearing that doubled as a parking spot for the carriage. Before us stood firm a barrier of branches and leaves that hid the pathway, although they were weak to touch and quickly gave way to our presses.

I peered through the leaves and saw specks of a familiar brown and dusty rose.

Prince Solien stood at the corner, keeping the branches held up high to keep the pathway clear and easy to pass through.

Though I’d seen him move there, lift the branches, and stay in spot, my heart still gave a faint jolt when I saw his hand against the intertwined shades of green and brown. I’d forgotten his presence.

In a way, he reminded me of Shao. Both were quiet and wary, although Shao could fill a room with his silent presence and Sol used his as a cloak of invisibility.

Was this guy really the crown prince?

Then again, he was even younger than Isabella, and he had a lot of time to grow into the large shoes of the country’s ruler.

I nodded at him in thanks, but my mind remained on the thought of rulers.

It was clear Shao wished to be king. Throughout my entire visit, the only books he’d read—and he devoured them, although he’d already read them a thousand times over—had been books relating to politics and ruling. He’d often talked about wishing to emulate his father, too; this had taken on a completely new meaning now that I realized his father was the freaking king. And, finally, he’d reintroduced himself as the former crown prince of Perintas Kingdom…

Clearly, there were some lingering feelings of loss and regret there.

A part of me wished I could save him somehow, but I shoved that part of me into a corner and tried to box it up in the deepest recesses of my mind.

It was too late, and Shao… from the way he’d spoken, he was keeping something big from me. I knew in my heart of hearts that it would crush me into dust and ash if I learned his secret…

Because I had the worst suspicion that I knew what it was.

Look forward, Beatrice, I thought to myself, forcing my thoughts away from Shao and his deceit. Face reality, not the past or your stupid what-ifs.

A rather large, pumpkin-shaped carriage filled my view, and a wind bristled in my direction, coating my nose with a pungent scent that was the mixture of metals, rust, and horses in desperately need of cleaning. Familiarity tickled my nose.

Tilting my head, I took a closer look at it, then rubbed my hands against the ridged surface as I tried to fathom why everything about this moment reeked of déjà vu.

Nothing came to me until I hopped onto the coach after Isabella; the familiar hefty step that was too tall for normal, human legs caused me to gasp in familiarity and understanding.

This was the carriage I’d arrived at Shao’s mansion in.

I turned back towards Prince Solien, but he was missing; where he’d stood, there was a tall elderly man with a stooped back. He held two torn halves of a thin yellow strip of paper in his hands, and his gaze was almost taunting.

My lips parting, I turned back to the carriage and eyed Isabella. This time, I saw her rip the paper and heard a sharp tear.

With a pop, a puff of purple-and-pink cloud enveloped her from head to toe, and where it poofed away, she’d been replaced by a completely different, older woman with bushy brows and jet-black hair cropped to her shoulders. She still looked elegant and poised, but without the youth of her features and the wild curls of her blonde hair, the air she carried took on a completely different form than that of a young heiress with much room to mature.

Regal. Queenly. Majestic.

That was how I’d describe her, posing with her hands folded above her lap, even as she sat without anyone important watching.

She gave me a sheepish grin, but on her altered features, it looked almost coy and taunting.

“You don’t look very surprised,” she said with a Northern tang to her voice. Her voice was deeper yet more feminine.

“Shao gave me a demonstration already by transforming into a wolf,” I said with a snort. Or rather, he’d transformed back into himself from wolf form, but the distinction didn’t matter enough for me to correct myself. “I reckon that’s just a tiny bit more surprising.”

Princess Isabella pouted again, and it looked a lot less fitting in the body of a mature young lady. I stifled my laugh.

She bent down to lift a large black duffel bag from beneath her seat, and I marveled that something so big could fit in the carriage so well that I hadn’t even noticed it.

Without any regard for me, she ruffled through the bag, and I grew bored after a few moments and turned my gaze to Prince Solien. He was whispering something to his horses, and I heard the moist sound of them crunching on something hard as he patted their manes.

Once they were fed and gave a purr of pleasure, Prince Solien quit dawdling. He mounted his small seat in the outer compartment of the carriage and tugged on their leashes.

With a vibrating cacophony of neighs, they convulsed back for momentum, hopping around haphazardly in the process, before rushing forth through a path they knew well.

I flinched at the sudden motion. Beside me, Princess Isabella yelped, then yelped again with a different tone as she turned back to me.

I forced myself to turn back towards the princess; it was hard, as my eyes kept trying to roam back to the passage back to the mansion, which I could no longer even see. And yet… I wanted to see the sprawling mansion once more. I wanted to mull over my history with Shao before I left him for good.

When I finally managed to turn my entire head towards Isabella after fighting every muscle in my body, I saw something flicker in her eyes that seemed almost like understanding.

She simpered, and her hands were outstretched towards me, holding a small glass vial the height and width of a coin. Black tar-like liquid that almost looked like the protective ink of an octopus stuffed the entirety of it, and I could see the liquid shimmer as it vibrated with the carriage.

“This… is it?” I asked. My heartbeat thrummed; I was anxious and excited all at once, but I refused to hope just yet. Not until I saw my father recover before my own eyes… and I had a suspicion that I’d have my doubts about the authenticity of the inky cure even then.

Briefly, I wondered if it could be fake… but what would be the point of that kind of deceit? It wasn’t like I’d paid any of them, and if they were royalty, they couldn’t want for anything someone like me could offer.

Princess Isabella squeezed my hand. I noted that the sealed vial was already in my hand, and I was clenching onto it for dear life. When had I taken it from her?

“I’m surprised you kept it in the carriage,” I managed weakly, because I was wanting for so many things to say but could utter nothing. “What if someone stole—”

Princess Isabella chuckled. “Hardly anyone makes it this deep into the forest in the first place, and of course, the carriage was warded.”

Of course.

These royals and their infinite wealth. I didn’t even have it in me to grumble any more than I already had, though. My grip on the vial tightened. I refused to drop it or lose it.

Could Father really be saved?

Chapter 21

I soon drifted asleep, oblivious to my surroundings or the frequent lurching of the carriage. If anything, the sounds of the horses’ feet pelting the ground and the scraping metal wheels relaxed me and lulled me into comatose-like rest.

Tickles bloomed on my shoulders. Combined with the soft female voice that grew louder and more irritated, I woke up with a frustrated growl, and I realized Princess Isabella had been tapping my shoulder while speaking my name.

“G-good morning,” I grumbled, and rolled my eyes at my own indecipherable, mangled words that even the most generous souls wouldn’t call the Arithyan continental language. My words were gibberish, plain and simple.

“Have a good night’s rest?” The princess asked. She quirked a brow, and I flushed under her giggles. “We’re almost here.”

I gazed outside the windows, and I saw Prince Solien’s hesitant stare, his head turned so he could peer into the carriage from outside.

Behind him sprawled a series of small wood-and-brick houses, one of which I’d lived in for two years. The faint scent of incense, gruel-like porridge with too much salt to disguise the lack of a palatable taste, and ever-burning candles engulfed me.

Nostalgia filled my soul, and I took a deep breath in, knowing I was home.

“Wait a second,” I said, narrowing my gaze as the carriage drew closer to the red-bricked house. “How did you know where I lived?”

Isabella blinked. Her smile grew, and I couldn’t tell if it was girlish or taunting. “Asha may have requested it, but Sol and I weren’t about to hand someone a cure without doing a background search first. It was cursory, though, since we already did a thorough one many moons ago when you were almost imprisoned.”

I groaned. I should have known. Families didn’t remain on the throne unless they were discerning and protective of their powers, and the Villeneuve family had ruled Perintas for almost as long as the written record. It was a miracle they were handing me a cure at all—even at Shao’s behest.

Princess Isabella leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell the king we stole the cure from his vault.”

She had the audacity to wink at me, relaxing against the soft, plush back support of her seat, as I looked at her open-mouthed and terrified for my life.

Of course, I doubted the king would punish me when he found out, since this had technically been the act of his children. I wasn’t even sure if he knew I existed in that case. What was he going to do, torture his own children for information?

Shuddering at the memory that yes, in a way the king already had tortured a child, I licked my lips and squeezed my vial for dear life. By some miracle, it was firmly ensconced in my hands despite my deep sleep.

Father would have to lie low. Our entire family would. We had to keep him under house-arrest for the rest of his life, so no one found out he was cured.

Seeing the terror in my gaze, Princess Isabella giggled, and she gave my shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze that sent trembles down my spine that reminded me of red ants and spiders.

“Don’t worry, Beatrice,” she said with melodic casualness I could only pray I could feel within the next seventy years. “We’ll protect you.”

“You sure did a fine job protecting Shao,” I spat out in the addle-brained haze of my fear; I clamped my mouth shut, my hands flying to my lips.

Princess Isabella’s expression twisted into a deeper, faker smile, and I was terrified once more of her because she had the birthright and power to destroy my entire family.

Her facial muscles soon relaxed again, but her hands gave a squeak of a shiver as they gripped the top layer of her dress, and my heart almost popped out my chest.

“To Father, a cure matters infinitely less than Mother’s life,” she said at last, her voice distant but firm. “Sol and I will protect you, because heavens help me, I just made up with Shao and can’t have him hate me again.”

She looked back at me. Her eyes steadied. “Thank you, Beatrice, for helping us make up.”

I twisted away. “I did nothing. You know that. The two of you made up by yourselves.”

Isabella shook her head. “Without you, I wouldn’t have found the courage—your insults, believe it or not, reinforced in my heart that apologizing directly was the only course of action, and that I was a pampered, stupid little idiot for shying away from my responsibility.”

I bit my lip and didn’t respond. How could I? She was giving me far too much credit, and she should have known that, considering I was running away from Shao—forever.

If I were as brave as Princess Isabella, I’d run to give Father the cure before fleeing back to the forest to force Shao to tell me the truth.

As it turned out, the courage in my heart was nonexistent for anything other than my Father’s life—and even that had only been because I had nothing to lose.

Now?

I was a manic coward. There was only one thing I could lose—but even that had me as incompetent and inactive as a toad.

Because the thing I had to lose… was my memories with Shao, which I treasured almost as much as my own life.

If I heard what he had to say, the memories could be soiled, and I didn’t want to risk that because it’s what had spoon-fed me courage, hope, and delight over the necessary last few months.

The courage lurched to a final stop in front of my peeling blue door.

A small crowd gathered around us, although they maintained enough of a distance away from us and each other. It wasn’t often that our small, dingy, and poor town had any visitors, and the carriage I came in reeked of money, as did the black-haired lady sitting beside me.

No doubt some of the people had seen me through the windows, too. I’d been missing for months. I must have been the source of much gossip for a time before the townsfolk moved on to other topics—and people who offered more to discuss idly than someone who’d been missing and did nothing of entertainment value.

They gawked at us. I gave them a cursory glance and recognized most of them from my grocery shopping trips, but I’d never said anything but cursory greetings to them. I couldn’t leave Father alone longer than I had to.

We’d only moved here after Father’s illness dived for the worst, and the few friends I’d made at my hometown or the academy were still busy with schoolwork or work—and would never be caught dead in poverty-stricken cities like my new home.

Hesitantly, I slid the door open and hopped out of the carriage. I scrutinized the group once more, trying to decipher their pursed lips and crossed arms.

The group consisted of senior citizens who were dependent on canes, tired housewives, and curious children gripping at their mothers’ legs. The rest of the town must have been off working.

“Thank you,” I mumbled back to the royals as I rushed home. “Goodbye.”

“Wait.”

The two siblings spoke up simultaneously, and I inhaled sharply as I stalled in front of my door, my hand reaching for the doorknob as though I could escape them if I could escape into my home quickly enough.

Prince Solien hopped off his horse. Crumpling down and smacking at his back as he grabbed a cane from the carriage, he approached me.

I quirked my lip at his theatrics.

Whispers gathered and grew from the raindrops of people surrounding us, which I tried to ignore.

The townsfolk wanted to bombard me with questions, no doubt, but they were waiting until the strange old man and his mistress—the variables they couldn’t predict—left us alone.

Prince Solien reached into his pockets, taking out a couple wadded balls of yellow paper. The townsfolk surrounding us muttered to themselves about whether it was letters or some foreign currency, but I gasped because I recognized it.

Talismans.

“Why?” I asked as the prince handed them to me like they were candy.

“They’re from Shao.” He said. “He wanted to protect you. I’d explain more, but…” He shrugged towards the townsfolk, and I nodded in understanding.

While most of them were probably kind-hearted, any amount of money would improve the lives of them by a hundredfold, and at least one of them could go crazy for money—enough to attack me for a talisman or golden rose they could sell.

It was a blessing that the dress I wore today was of a soft, thin, and draping material that shimmered as it flowed down to my feet. It couldn’t have hidden anything like a rose without revealing its shape.

Otherwise, the only thing I was holding was the vial, which was too small for them to make out. People would think my hands were balled into fists out of stress or habit.

“I didn’t think we’d gather a crowd,” he said, and he glanced at the door. Was he wondering if we could talk inside?

“Our walls are paper thin,” I said under my breath. The people closest to us could make out what I said crystal-clear, but hopefully they wouldn’t gossip too much over such a harmless phrase.

Prince Solien sighed. He pushed forward his hand. I took the talismans from him, but crumpled them into my free hand, fisting them away. I could take a thorough glance at them later. I didn’t want anyone eyeing the drawn runes and getting suspicious.

Prince Solien took a deep breath before digging into a different pocket, grumbling to himself, then reaching back into his seat to dig through a fist-size purse sitting there.

He swiftly returned to me before handing me another slip of yellow paper. I blinked up at him.

“This one’s from me,” he said. He gritted his teeth. “For Shao.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, he turned back and mounted his horse again, giving them a pat before kicking their sides, ordering them to leave.

I took half a moment to watch them leave; Princess Isabella, the poor forgotten girl, screamed out, “He loves you! Remember that he loves you, he really does, even if he can’t express it—”

And my face turned red as a beet before I scrambled into my house, slamming the door behind me as I collapsed to the ground, my breath heaving and my heart slamming in my chest.

I could hear the crowd yelling questions at me from behind the walls—because the walls were thin—but I tried to pretend the slight dampening of their voices made them inaudible.

Preparing to stand back up, I glanced up at the wall in front of me, and came face-to-face with my mother, whose face was rife with fury and betrayal.

How long had she been standing there? The whole time?

Her eyes were hooded with fatigue and anger and sickness, and her hair was tied in a sloppy bun that looked like it had been slept in for weeks without adjustment.

She rubbed her eye-booger-caked eyes as though she couldn’t believe I was here.

Stomping over towards me, she lifted her hands, and I feared she’d slap me into submission for refusing to return home despite her and my sister’s struggles.

But they were moving too slowly for the momentum necessary to cause me pain, and I wondered if she was going to hug me.

Instead, her hands fled to her eyes as she began to bawl, and she too collapsed onto her knees. She was a wreck like I’d never seen her, and I began to weep, too, because I couldn’t handle the sight of her broken like this.

She was my mother, after all, and I’d once thought she was immortal. She wasn’t supposed to cry. She was supposed to rage at me. Yell at me. Beat me with her slippers or something. Not… Not this, whatever this was.

I tossed the talismans down on the ground next to the door, careful to put them close enough to the wall that no one would step on it by accident, but the vial remained in my hands.

I reached out to hug her, and she greedily embraced me back so tight I could hardly breathe.

She spoke to me in a garbled voice that I couldn’t decipher, but I pat her back as I tightened my hug, wanting to console her but unsure how to best do it. She gurgled out some more words, before she realized how incoherent she was.

“You could have died!” She shrieked, and my heart swelled up at her worry for me.

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” I whispered, giving her one last tight squeeze and a pat before lifting myself up to head to Father’s room. At some point, the crowd had gotten bored and dispersed, and I could no longer hear any of their questioning cries. “I have something for Father.”

She scoffed at me, but the effect of her disdain was tremendously weakened by her snot and tears.

Mother’s state of disrepair and her inability to keep herself at all composed while crying reminded me a little of… me, and I realized I must have picked it up from someone.

“Your Father is in no state to appreciate any kind of gift,” she said in a biting tone, in no way even hoping I could have brought the cure with me.

I considered telling her, but I hated to disappoint her—and myself—by giving her false hope only for the cure to be fake or expired or something.

Besides, knowing my mother’s high-strung personality and her constant doubt for me, I had nagging suspicions that she’d toss away the liquid or shatter it, suspecting it was poisonous. Not that something like that made sense; who would gain anything from murdering an already dying man?

Instead, I crept over to Father’s room, and dry heaved at the pungent reek of death attacking my nostrils. Mother stayed outside, perhaps wanting a break from having to face Father’s impending death—or perhaps she wished to give me time alone with him to bid my farewells.

Gulping, I stepped closer to Father. Before, I’d taken small solace in the tiny stutters of his chest as he struggled to breathe, and the wheezing in his throat reminding me that although he was pained, he was alive.

Right now, there was none of them, and fear skittered up my throat with bile.

He couldn’t be dead, right?

He had to be alive.

There were a thousand things I wanted to do, but instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to ten, and then opened Father’s jaw before spilling the inky liquid down his throat.

Mother yelped and she ran into the room, snatching the glass from my hands; it crashed into the fractured wooden floor, shattering into a thousand pieces as it sprayed droplets of darkness to its surrounding tiles, but she was too late.

The deed had been done; most of the liquid had poured right down his throat.

Mother seized me by my shoulders and wrenched me sideways to face her, and I grimaced in pain.

She screamed a series of obscenities that I promptly wiped from my mind before yelling, “What do you think you’re doing, Beatrice? Did you poison him?”

“Wh—” I sputtered before gagging on the taste of my own vomit, which rose from my throat from my infinite terror and anxiety. “What do you take me for? Of course not! I—”

“He may have been dying, but he was still alive!”

“Why do you think I poisoned him?” I shouted back, although I knew the answer—and I hated that I did.

I understood her suspicions because I’d thought the same thing as her.

Mother stuttered a thousand syllables, but she was unable to form a coherent sentence, because she hated to voice the screwed up question that had plagued our entire family since the day Father could no longer even speak, let alone move an inch out of bed or feed himself or clean himself.

The single question had wrecked me every night and idle second of my days back when I was Father’s caretaker, and the fact that I asked myself something so messed up had torn me apart with guilt.

Was Father better off not… suffering anymore?

That was the question that felt like poison in my mind, in my throat.

It had been obvious Father didn’t want to live. We’d been forcing him to stay alive even though he’d have far preferred starvation, considering we’d long lost hope for his recovery.

We were keeping him alive—if his state could even be called alive—for our own twisted unwillingness to let go… even as that meant the entire family suffered. My overworked mother and sister. My ailing father. And… me.

All of us.

Victims to our own decision. Our own inability to let go.

Selfish or self-destructive?

Evidently both.

We’d soon know whether our broken perseverance proved worth it or… if Father would perish, just as we always knew he would, after an eternity wasted in the prison of his own empty mind.

“The wait was worth it… for me,” a weak male voice wheezed from behind me, and I yelped in shock. Hope. Rage. Years’ worth of pent-up despair.

As I turned around, I saw Mother’s mouth open so wide it popped, and she was at Father’s side, cradling his hand and cheeks as though he were a baby, before I’d even turned towards him.

Mother was sobbing once more, this time into the crook of Father’s neck, and I felt hot trails of my own tears trickling down my cheeks as I froze.

Father reached out to me with the hand Mother wasn’t squeezing hard enough to pop, and I seized it with my mind blanking to the point I could hardly stand.

“I-I-I—”

Mother whispered prayers of gratitude, but it melded with her confessions of love and gratitude for me and my father, growing more aimless and rambling by the second.

Father’s thumb grazed against Mother’s as he whispered a thousand apologies through his hoarse throat. I almost wished to give them some space to make up after all those years, although I was greedy. I wanted Father’s company, too; I’d taken care of him. I deserved him first.

Not that I was going to say anything like that, lest my own mother decide to spank me with a ruler or something at daring to steal her from her husband.

My father’s eyes were open, albeit drooped and heavy. My soul sung and wept at once.

Memories flooded my mind, my heart.

Sitting on his lap as a toddler, his gigantic hand engulfing mine as he taught me how to write the very letters that I’d relied on to speak with Mother and Constance.

We’d filled countless pages until they were utterly black with accursedly beautiful words and phrases that Father deemed important.

Thank you.

Please.

I’m sorry.

Papa. Beatrice.

I love you.

Sneaking into Father’s workroom as a child. Being as impressed by the size of it as I was disgusted by how impossible it was to walk inside, since every inch of the floor and ceiling and walls were covered by his paintings of Constance and me.

Paintings of the first time we crawled. The first time we went to school. How we looked as newborns. My Annoyed face—and Constance’s excited one—as we studied.

Later, after my Father had been first diagnosed with the illness, he’d drawn countless more: some of our wedding, with faceless men by our side; others of Constance and me with excited, hyper children clinging to us like monkeys twirling on a branch.

I saw this scene disintegrate into ashes of memories that whipped around, reshaping and recoloring itself to my family’s new reality: Father lying on what we’d considered his death bed, struggling through his teeth and limp tongue to tell me he was sorry for me and Constance most—and that he loved me.

My father forced every cell he had to rise into a seat, without success. Mother held his back with his permission and helped him up before allowing his back to rest against the wall, since he didn’t have the energy to stay sitting without support.

But he was alive.

He could move.

I wanted to stop crying. I had to.

I couldn’t.

The moment mother left his side to grab tissues to blow her nose with, I swept in to give Father a hug tighter than my mom’s, not caring when he hacked a cough and grumbled that I was hurting him.

I couldn’t help but remember the man who’d made all this possible—Shao—and I wished he were here to share the moment with me, but I brushed the thought away, choosing to drown in happy memories of Father.

So, I basked in the way his heart beat, quiet yet steady and firm, and I smiled at the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He whispered a million apologies to me, which I brushed away. He had nothing to be sorry about.

I wished this moment could continue forever.

Chapter 22

“Connie needs to see this, too,” Mother whispered, rubbing at her damp eyes. “Where is she? When’s she returning? How did you even find the cure?”

I blinked in confusion. “I told you where I got the cure—the beast gave it to me. Why are you asking me about Constance? I’ve been in the beast’s mansion for months. Shouldn’t you know where she is?”

Mother tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she took a closer look at me. When she spoke up, her words came out slow and deliberate, as though she were trying to stop herself from crying yet again—but not out of joy this time.

“What do you mean the beast gave it to you? The beast doesn’t even exist—oh, never mind, that’s not what’s important right now. I thought Connie brought you home. She left a week ago to try to find you without my permission, and she still hasn’t returned. I sent you a letter through your raven. Didn’t you receive it?”

Furrowing my brows, I replied, “N-no… I’ve been sick, and I returned here as soon as I could. I never saw Constance on the way. Never got the letter.”

Could Shao have hidden it from me? No. That was unlikely, since he had nothing to gain from that—and so much to lose if I realized he’d hidden yet another thing after my own sister had been eaten by wolves.

The path between the mansion to my home took over twenty-four hours by carriage, and I wondered if Shao had received it too late. But why hadn’t he sent the raven to the carriage, then?

Mother shook her head as if she couldn’t believe my words. I saw her gait shrink and crumple again, and I wanted nothing more than to help her, but how could I?

I dug through my memories for any sign on the tracks of a strawberry blonde girl but found nothing. I’d been asleep for most of the carriage ride for heavens’ sake, and in the moments I’d been awake, my eyes had remained firmly on the vial, since I’d been too terrified I’d lose it… and too shocked that it was real and in my grip.

I took a heavy step back, then another.

“Beatrice—” Father croaked, but I knew he had nothing to offer me other than more inquiries and empty consolations; he’d mean them wholeheartedly, of course, but what did that matter if he had no idea what he was talking about?

“I-I’ll go look for her,” I managed, and mother glared at me.

“You’ll do no such thing!” She shrieked. “I already lost you once, I can’t lose you again—”

“I’ll go myself,” Father thundered. The veins of his hands and wrist, tensed over the small stand beside his bed, pulsed and throbbed as he put every raw strength in his bones into hoisting himself up.

Unsuccessfully.

Weak, tired, and helpless, he crumbled back to his seat, growling in pain when his head crashed against the back of the bed. Mother yelped, helping him back into a comfortable position, and Father snapped at her that he was fine—the first time I’d ever heard him raise his voice.

Mother’s jaw opened and tensed, and Father shook his head, murmuring apologies, but his grip on the stand tightened until his fists went white.

At this moment, I knew without a speck of doubt that Father would have risked everything to save me from the supposed threat of the beast if only he could have.

He looked up at me, and his gaze was broken. Furious. Determined. Disappointed—in himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice tattered with guilt. Something had changed in his tone from earlier, and I knew he wasn’t apologizing for the time I spent taking care of him anymore.

He was apologizing that he’d failed to save me from the deadly beast of legends—and he was apologizing that he’d allowed another daughter to fall to the beast, and he was once again powerless to save her.

He hadn’t given up on his life during his illness like we’d assumed. No, that wasn’t true. He had given up… until I left to save him.

Then, his resolve had returned. Solidified and strengthened, even as the disobedience of his limbs and organs struggled to crush him once again. He’d wanted nothing more than to storm into the forest himself to save me—and he’d wept invisible, silent tears at his inability to do so.

I grit my teeth, knowing what I had to do.

The beast wasn’t dangerous… but there were many monsters in the forest that were, including the brunette man who I suspected had led Connie to the part of the forest he’d found me.

I wasn’t sure if I could find her… but I had to.

Connie was my sister. My beloved, irreplaceable sister. And we had years’ worth of catching up to do.

Taking a deep breath, I gave myself one hug of reassurance; then hugged Father for support, realizing I wasn’t alone anymore. I had my family the way I’d had Shao. They were my pillars of power and energy and discipline, and there was nothing wrong with allowing them to share their strength and love.

“I’ll be back,” I cheered, hoping my forced smile was convincing. “Mother, don’t worry too much. I’ll be back in a few days at the most. Take care of Father; he needs you to help orient him back.”

With those words, I pivoted around and began heading out.

Unsurprisingly, Mother chased me to the living room, rendering my enthusiastic farewell a bit less significant and emotionally charged as it could have been.

Mother restrained my wrist with her hands, but she was weak with fatigue. I had spent months recovering. I whipped away my hand without an ounce of effort as I rushed away and snatched the talismans from the floor where I’d dropped them.

Mother tried to grab me again, and I ducked away. I was afraid to head out and escape for the forest; Mother would no doubt chase me around and try to drag me back, enlisting the townsfolk to help her. That was the best-case scenario, in fact.

The other possibility was that the townsfolk would convince her to let me leave and find Constance… and they’d chase after me as they forced me to find her, leading them straight to Shao’s mansion.

They’d pluck all the roses, and I refused to be complicit in any form of murder—which plucking the roses would be, even if no one would believe me.

They’d attack Shao, deeming him dangerous and evil, and I… I didn’t want him hurt. Not like that.

Circling around the room to dodge her, I took brief glances at the talismans. Although the runes were alien and indecipherable, they had tiny graphite doodles at the top right corners of the paper, and I huffed out a laugh, recognizing the drawing style.

Shao.

Shao had drawn these.

For me? Or for himself? I decided not to dawdle on such useless thoughts, instead focusing on understanding the doodles to see if there was anything that could help me as I continued to dodge Mother, shooting back desperate but sloppy remarks to her begging me to stay.

I paid as little attention to Mother’s words as I did my own, which she didn’t seem to realize thanks to her coalescing emotions of relief at Father’s recovery and fear.

Noticing several coins on a bookshelf, I made sure to head there on my next loop around our small living room, which was the size of one of the cramped half-bathrooms in Shao’s mansion, and snatched them for my carriage ride to the forest.

I had three talismans, one of which had no drawing on it—the one I’d received from Prince Solien. I looked it up and down. Turned it back over. Yet there was nothing to even hint at what the talisman did. Did the royals have the runes memorized? Is that why he didn’t need any sort of reminder?

Not that it mattered. I had a guess as to what his talisman would do, for there was only one spell that made sense for him to have given me.

I hated that the young prince thought I could ever want something like that.

I hated that he’d been right.

I looked back at the other talismans. One had a drawing of flames; the other had a drawing of chains around a wolf. The latter had a miniature clock next to it, hopefully signaling a time limit. No doubt both had been meant as defense against wild beasts—neither of which were here.

I took a deep breath and cringed as I poked out the talisman with chains, then tore it in half, unsure what it would even do. Would the paper itself turn into a snaking, deadly, and utterly worthless whip? Or would chains of electricity appear from the sky, allowing me to use it to block the door behind me as I left, locking Mother within our house?

Neither.

Mother’s gasp and shriek pierced my ears, and I looked at her in shock—but she wasn’t in pain, only bound by shining silver chains that kept her in place.

She began screaming at me about what the crap I’d done—what in the world I’d become—but I didn’t have time to answer her, because I had to save Connie before she was devoured by wolves…

And because a flying, semi-translucent stopwatch had appeared besides her, too, informing me that I had twenty minutes before she was freed.

Huh. I guess the clock doodle on the talisman had been quite literal.

Thank you, Shao’s doodles.

“S-sorry,” I said, wincing. “Um. I wish I could tell you how to at least get to Father, but…” I shrugged because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t even know how to disable the magic.

Furthermore, I’d already used up the only tool I had to stop her from chasing after me—if I waited until she was freed for the sole purpose of assuaging my guilt, I’d be screwed out of saving Constance.

Mother might complain about not wanting to lose me, but she’d far prefer moments of grief and fury followed by the safe return of both Constance and me to… losing one of us for good.

I shuddered at the thought.

Mother continued yelling at me, but I tuned her out. “Father’s ears will hurt if you keep yelling,” I said with a carefree wink. “Don’t you want to allow him to rest?”

“He’s rested enough!” She shrieked before screaming at me to release her at once.

Eighteen minutes left.

With a shrug and a half-bow of farewell, I burned the torn talisman into the nearby hearth to remove the evidence it had existed, then rushed out of the house to find Constance.

Chapter 23

Townsfolk were camped outside my house, perhaps predicting I’d leave to find Constance. There weren’t many of them, but the few remaining were enough to block my path.

They whistled, looking away, then feigned a shocked gasp when they noticed me in the doorway, sending me greetings and asking about my day.

Gritting my teeth, I swiftly shut the door behind me, whispered greetings, and told them I had somewhere to be. They made worthless small talk with me as an excuse to follow me around as though they were puppies seeking to be walked.

I hated them.

I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I’d do the same thing in their shoes, buried in debt with no way out. Heavens, I’d pestered so many accursed nobles in my desperation to save Father. I was the last person who could judge them.

But hypocrisy grew into thorns wriggling around my throat now that I felt the heavy pressure of saving Constance. My only hope in her survival lied with Gunnar’s survival through the forest and back, but what kind of hope was that?

The man had threatened me, only relenting thanks to Shao’s heroic deed, and I had no doubt he’d attack Constance, too, if he suspected it would benefit him.

I gulped. Heaved a long breath. I stopped in place with a soft albeit tired smile, beginning to answer their thundering storm of questions with as much patience as I could muster—

Halfway through a sentence, I turned and ran for it, sprinting as quickly as I could to the nearby town where I could hire a carriage.

I’d never been more grateful for the gift of pregnancy and aging, which I’d once feared because of the pains associated with it.

The mothers and seniors lacked the energy or strength to catch up to me or keep running for long, while the children who chased after me with glee had legs too short and stubby to catch up to me.

“I can catch her!” A toddler cried out proudly; he was wrong. Sweat licked his forehead. Blood rushed to his cheeks. The distance between us grew until even the kid could no longer dare hope or dream.

“Sh-she’s inhumanly fast, this is unfair!” He cried out. Tinkling, taunting laughter filled the air from the children who slowly caught up to him, then stopped, slapping their knees for support as they panted from the run.

I giggled despite myself as the child deflated, understanding dawning on me. He must have competed against most of the town’s adults, and they’d all slowed their pace during the races to allow him to win—or let him lose by a mere step.

Running felt like habit. Hard, yet familiar. Probably because I’d run this path before—months ago, when I’d first sprinted away from my mother in my search for a carriage to find the beast’s golden roses, then in a desperate hope to reach the forest on foot.

That had been stupid. I hadn’t realized just how deep in the forest the mansion would be.

I must have been blessed by the heavens that Prince Solien had found me right then, I decided. Or irredeemably cursed… but no. Father had been saved, and no amount of heartache over a broken crush could ever compare to the loss of a parent.

Though the heartbreak Shao had given me felt like the end of the world now that I no longer had my grief over Father poisoning my heart as an eternal target of comparison.

This time, I wandered my gaze around as I ran. The day was bright, and the sky was a clear blue with soft, fluffy clouds that I’d have stopped to admire and search for animal-shapes if circumstances were different.

The towns jutted with cheaply built and sloppily designed homes, infinite smoke pumping out the chimneys. There was little beauty in the overgrown roads or the houses, which were packed together like ants on an apple that had lingered on the ground for too long, but it felt like home all the same.

Perhaps half an hour passed. I hastened my pace despite my lungs screaming for a break, and I ran and ran and ran, looking between every nook and cranny of the buildings in fear that someone was following me. Watching me.

The houses grew wider apart and more ornate. Pavement appeared on the ground, its planes flattening and preventing accidental trips… but hurting my knees from the tough pressure shooting up my feet through my joints.

Enduring it, I ran even faster. I choked for air, but I’d suffered this before and survived. I’d survive this, too.

When I decided I was far enough away from my town and close enough to the carriages, which would thankfully be active at this hour.

My eyes darted around; there were people, of course, since this was a more active, populated, middle-class city. But most of them were focused on their own lives and friends, gossiping amongst themselves and smiling as they lived their daily lives.

I felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering the days when I’d lived in a place like this, too. A place of hope. Idle gossip. A place where everyone took things for granted because they could. I’d belonged here, once, and with Father’s recovery, I could belong here again.

But for whatever reason, I found that I didn’t want to. I sought the quiet, peaceful, idyllic life I’d lived with Shao, albeit without the cage of limitations on whom I could meet (no one) or where I could go (nowhere).

Pity that was out of my reach now.

Making sure a thousand times more that no one was looking at me, I crept between two tall buildings into a small, dimly lit alleyway. From there, I snuck into several more alleys, each more cramped than the last, until I was surrounded by darkness and shadow.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if this was the occasional hangout for the less reputable people of society, although there was no one here now. It was an easy and obvious place to find, of course. A place of hurried desperation rather than deliberate crimes.

A shiver of dread crept up my spine, even though the day was still bright enough that I doubted anyone dangerous would appear. I fumbled for my talismans, which I quickly found.

Spotting the charm Prince Solien had offered me, I tore it up into a thousand shreds before tossing it into the nearby meshed trash can. A thundering pop filled my ears, and I was covered up by cotton-candy clouds.

When they dissipated by themselves seconds later, I looked down at my hands, and they looked larger. Tanner. I reached up to touch my hair, and it only reached down to the nape of my neck. I had to strain myself to see the color, tugging a strand of my hair forward for a better view. Blonde. My curls were blonde.

As expected, the talisman had been an illusion spell—the very one the royals had used to conceal their identities.

Had Prince Solien expected me to visit Shao on my own terms when he handed it to me? I doubted he’d known about Constance, meaning that was the only plausible reason behind his generosity.

I grinded my teeth.

Glancing down, I noticed my dress had been replaced by a white top of rough, coarse material, and blue trousers. I blinked, then said the first random syllable that popped into my head to hear my voice.

“Ahh—”

I was a man. My voice was deep and husky, and I felt something large bob up and down my throat… an Adam’s apple? What the heck?

Unexpected, but not unwelcome. No one would recognize me now, which was exactly what I wanted if I was going to go find my sister.

I paced back out to greet the sunlight and frowned when I saw my legs move at a leisurely pace despite my rapid steps.

This made sense after some thought. Shao had said this was only an illusion, and the man’s legs were far longer and stronger than mine. It likely took the man I looked like one languorous step for every two paces I took, and the illusion was compensating for that.

I occasionally saw my arm move up by itself—I wasn’t even doing anything!—and toss a coin up in the air, catching it with the back of my hand. My back was straight, far straighter than it normally was, which guilted me to stop crouching my posture down and confused me at the same time.

I… guess the illusion takes some creative liberties to make my identity seem more plausible? I pondered, furrowing my brows… but if I looked in the mirror, I probably had some sort of placid sneer on my face at best.

My heart and a half, this was the weirdest thing I’d ever experienced, but I’d take it.

I caught the first carriage I could, and I could feel my illusion nod rather than wave at the driver who greeted us with a tip of his hat.

“The beast’s forest,” I said gruffly, the tone surprising me yet again. It felt so jarring, even though I expected it. “Hurry, please. I’m rather in a rush.”

The driver nodded, making little small talk that I answered curtly and half-heartedly as he drove us to the beast’s den.

I wasn’t sure how I’d find the forest, since I’d been asleep for most of my travels there and back, but I dared dream.

Constance and Gunnar would probably talk to each other for most of their walk, and they’d have left some sort of traces on their trek to the forest, whether in the form of footsteps, wheel tracks, or leftover food.

And although Shao and I hadn’t ventured too far away from his safe corner of the forest, I’d gone to quite a few nearby nooks and crannies in my attempt to find herbs for him, and I was positive I’d recognize it if I got within a mile or so of the mansion. I could stumble my way to the clearing I’d met Gunnar from there.

My search for Constance was already on a sour note, filled with fear, desperation, and dreams that were bound to shatter. I brushed away slick beads of sweat as I shook on my seat, jittery from fear and the uncertainty as to my sister’s safety.

The accursed illusionary man didn’t move an inch except to hold his hand in front of his mouth to yawn.

Chapter 24

Constance was beautiful; she’d always been the belle of the academy, having to swat away attention from men as though they were flies. She was a loyal sister, and she wanted to stick by my side whenever she could. Dating was out of the question unless I found someone, first… which I never did.

Constance was brilliant. While I’d laboriously studied the material from classes, sacrificing sleep to ensure I had everything perfectly memorized and understood, she glanced a few times over the textbooks, got bored, called it quits, and slept a full twelve hours before the test—only to score top of our classes with me.

Constance was fiercely loyal to those she trusted and loved, which could be seen in the way she worked so hard to protect me from hard labor. The way she’d fainted several times while trying to support our family.

Apparently, there was one thing Constance wasn’t… and that was careful. Or secretive.

It was almost anticlimactic how easy it was to follow her trails. Not only were there large, enduring, recent marks on the forest’s trail signaling the direction she’d led her carriage in, but there were also the occasional crumbs of lavender-colored, lavender-flavored bread. Her favorite.

Then again, it wasn’t like she had any reason to keep her path a secret. If anything, her trails had been deliberate; she wanted to be found in case something happened.

Why would she want to hide her passage?

Constance had no one in the forest to protect, and it would be a blessing for people to come help her find the roses and help defend her against the fearsome beast.

I grit my teeth, fearful for Shao despite myself. I hoped Constance had stumbled upon Shao so she could be protected… but would Shao have protected her if Gunnar were by her side? Gunnar was untrustworthy. Demonic. Shao knew it, too, since he’d protected me from the brown-haired man himself.

I was thinking about Shao again. The thoughts were causing me to tremble—again—and not out of fear, but out of some twisted nostalgia and longing. I grit my teeth and focused on Constance’s trail through the window of the carriage, listening to the soft, low, nonchalant hum of the driver.

“So. Remind me. Why are you following these tracks again?” The man asked, wriggling his nose as he took a quick glance back at me. Disdain and wariness seeped through his nostrils as he sniffed. “A jilted lover? Or something else?” The last two words in particular were laced with mistrust, as though he were wondering if I were stalking someone.

He wasn’t off the mark, but not in the way he thought.

“Focus on the road, please,” I replied, and he grunted in irritation, but he obeyed me for now.

“I won’t go much farther than this, sire,” he said. “It’s getting dark. I’ve heard rumors of beasts that will gobble you right up if you stray too far into the forest. N-not that I believe them, but I have a family to take care of.”

I laughed at the outrageousness of the comment, but I wasn’t about to tell him the beast was a harmless man.

“Take me as far as you can and drop me off there,” I said. Although the message I conveyed was exactly how I’d intended it, my voice came out grumpy rather than polite, and I cringed at my own subtle disregard for the driver. He sniffed again.

Minutes later, he dropped me off when the path grew too narrow and the ground too rocky and uneven for me to take me any deeper in.

I tossed all the coins I’d brought in gratitude, although I was paying him ten or twenty coins more than he deserved. He’d been prompt, albeit a bit too chatty—any amount of talking was too much when my teeth were chittering from fear—and his horses had been strong and fast.

He arched his brows and thanked me profusely, asking me if I wanted him to stay or come back. I shook my head. I wanted neither; I didn’t know when I’d be back, I didn’t have any more money, and… the way back home would take another full day or so, even if he were here immediately upon Constance and my return.

Maybe that was just an excuse for me to see Shao again.

Or maybe not. It was simply the only logical train of thought. Constance and Gunnar likely had their own carriages, although I had no idea where it had gone. It was nowhere in sight, but there were no reversed tracks signaling its return to the town. The trees were too narrow, and the tracks disappeared.

Wolves didn’t eat carriages, though… Right?

Shiver.

The man soon turned his carriage and disappeared behind the mass of trees, and I took a deep breath as I followed the emerging footprints in another sprint. I’d rested enough on the carriage. My body felt antsy, or so I told myself, although my calves still burned from my run to the nearby town.

Did minutes pass? Hours? Days?

I couldn’t tell the passage of time, for the sky was covered by layers upon layers of foliage and branches, casting the forest in enduring near darkness but for the occasional flickers of light that passed through a gap in the leaves. I had just enough brightness to see the footsteps and run without tripping over the roots and pebbles.

Then I heard a shriek.

I shrieked, too, because the voice was too familiar. It was Constance.

There was a rustling in the bushes that sounded like the powerful beats of a bird’s wings, and I prayed it was Shao as much as I prayed it was some innocent, unrelated animal that had nothing to do with him.

My heart hammered. Thundered.

Throat dry as a desert, I raced towards the sound.

I had to make it.

She was alive.

I had to get to her in time!

Hurry, hurry, hurry!

My surroundings flickered, leaving my sight as quickly as they appeared; branches and thorns flicked against the skin of my shoulders and cheeks, but I felt nothing. I ignored the wounds, failing to realize I had any in the first place until I felt the faint trickle of blood running down my skin.

Connie.

A clearing emerged in the distance, and it was the very place I’d met Gunnar. Had she been waiting here? How long? I breathed a sigh of relief as I continued blitzing through the woods. The clearing was safe. The wolves couldn’t get past the trees—

The trees, I remembered, had been bulldozed through by Shao himself using several magical talismans.

I suppressed a scream of despair as I approached, my last talisman firmly in both my hands; I was ready to tear it apart at any moment, even though I didn’t know exactly what it would do or how to control it.

A slobbery growl echoed off the trees. I gulped.

Another shriek—Constance!

Forgetting the wolf, or rather because of it, I hurried to her side, snatching her closer through a half-hug as I eyed the wolf, shaking in fear as I saw its size and bared fangs.

Saliva coated the wolf’s mouth and throat, and it pelted down to the grass in large, disgusting chunks.

It wasn’t Shao. It wasn’t a shifter. It was a large, monstrous wolf, plain and simple, and it was famished.

She turned towards me with tears lining her bloodshot eyes, which were wide with terror and confusion and—

She slammed into me, shaking like a leaf in a way I’d never seen her, as she hugged me tight and let out a wail.

“We’re dead,” she grumbled; the wolf snarled once more, teeter-tottering; it lunged towards us—

I tore the paper.

I smelled death, smelled burning ash and bitter dust, before I saw the flames. Devouring, flickering flames surrounded us in a circle of protection, and it danced and glowed as it spread outwards, threatening the wolf.

The wolf snarled, growled, as it wiggled and spazzed, darting away. From the enduring, albeit weakening, sounds of its feet thudding against the ground helter-skelter, it survived.

I should have been relieved I hadn’t killed a living creature, but the flames turned towards us instead. They grew and burned and destroyed as it devoured everything in its path; Constance and I were enveloped, caged in, by the hungry flames.

The air around us sizzled, even seemed to flicker, and seemed to grow pregnant with tension and unbearable heat.

I gulped as Constance shrieked, and I screamed as Constance wept.

I tore at the paper more, screeching, “stop! Stop! Stop!” Without success.

The fires only grew, burning mere feet away from us. Deadly heat pinched at us from all sides. Fingers of flames darted towards us, greedy for our skin and lives.

It had been denied life from the wolf; it wanted ours.

Furious wingbeats flew above us, cawing madly as the space between us and the flames shrunk and shrunk and shrunk.

There were some sounds from beyond the flames, but my own deafening heartbeat and the crackle of the fire drowned it out.

“Help!” I shrieked, and I screamed the word repeatedly like it was some sort of prayer. I felt helpless. Worthless. Lost. Defeated.

I felt hopeful, because the raven had appeared—and perhaps Shao had, too.

More muffled noises from beyond the impenetrable wall of flames, inches away from us.

I cried for help until my throat was sore and it felt impossible to yell any longer; then I continued to scream even though I felt as though I could burn if I so much as twitched.

And it did; a flicker of a flame grazed against the skin of my palm in a dance of death, and I shrieked until I cried at the unbearable pain.

A roar of pure agony—not ours.

It shredded through the flames, ripped through our hearts and the world around us.

Burning hands—covered by blue flames—blackening into ash where the life was being seeped out—pierced through the flames. Snatched the shredded pieces of my talisman from my limp, weak hands.

“Heart of Mulan!” A pained, desperate, dying groan. The flames zipped away to the sky, growing invisible and intangible.

I collapsed to my butt. Gaped up high at the hands; they still flickered with flames that dissipated, and residues of ash and fire remained on the human-like figure, rendering him unidentifiable, until those, too, vanished…

Revealing the man whom I’d grown to expect in moments of danger and fear and sorrow.

“Shao,” I breathed, and he bent down to lend me a hand, helping me up. Greedily, I accepted and hoisted myself up. I wanted to stay on the ground longer to gather my breath, but I wanted to feel the warmth of his hand more. “How did you—how are you alive?”

Despite our past, our hands lingered on each other a heartbeat too long before we let go, allowing me to pat my dress and avert my gaze.

“That was an illusion,” he said, but he still sounded pained.

The pain from the flames had faded for me, but the memory of it still lingered, leaving an acrid taste on my tongue and phantom agony shooting up my skin.

I looked up at him, my expression twisted with guilt and confusion and so many questions.

“What was—why did—how could—?”

Shao sighed. He stroked my cheek as if to test that I were real—as if to check for any signs of hurt—and I flinched away, remembering why I’d left.

“Sol didn’t tell you?” He asked, and I shook my head.

“He didn’t remember the talismans until we were home, and there were too many people there. I’d have been attacked for carrying magic spells.”

Shao cursed under his breath. “The only way to stop a curse before it extinguishes itself is to utter Heart of Mulan,” he explained. He shook his head as if to clear a mirage—as if to clear away my presence. “It’s a throwback to the hero of the witches during the Magnolia Wars. Hua Mulan. All the talismans are like that; the witches love and revere her.”

I nodded slowly, not caring. I didn’t care about what he’d uttered. I cared about why he’d endured the stabbing torture of the flames.

“Typically, only the caster can cancel a curse,” he said. “If anyone else wants to stop it, they need to hold the involved talisman in their hands.”

“But you—”

“I’d do anything to save you,” he said, and I hated that I blushed.

I glanced towards Constance, who was staring at me with a perplexed and… fearful expression.

“Wh-who are you two?” She cried out. “Is one of you the beast?” Her voice trembled, but it held a stubborn steel edge to it.

I realized I still looked like a man, and I glanced towards Shao, my forehead wrinkled with confusion. It was impossible he’d recognized me. Had I been transformed into a man he knew?

Chuckles bubbled out of Shao’s throat. “Flames out of nowhere was quite the giveaway, but I’d recognize you anywhere, Beatrice,” he said, and I had to bite my tongue and clench my fists to keep the protective barriers around my heart from withering like the flames.

“Heart of Mulan,” I whispered, unable to respond to Shao, and my body felt lighter as sweet smoke surrounded me once more, revealing my true self when it dissolved away.

Constance stared at me, slack-jawed, her entire body twitching. I licked my lips and gave her a small shrug. I’d explain later. Maybe.

“Let’s go home,” he said, turning around in a hurried, quick pivot. I was about to follow but stopped myself and pointed to Constance.

“Gunnar.” I managed. “Where is he?” I refused to take him with us.

Constance blinked at me, her palms up and facing forward. “Not here. He went back home. I’m surprised you knew he came with me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Somehow, I doubt he left. Why would he leave you here alone? If you find me, that means he’d find the roses, too.”

He may have returned home before, but that was only because of Shao. I had no idea how long he’d been ambling around the forest then, but I was certain he’d been in here longer than a week or so. Why wouldn’t he have stayed again?

“He only came here to help me find you,” Constance said, crossing her arms. “I told him to leave, since all I was doing was walking around and trying to find you. He gave up on the roses during the last visit, after he spent three weeks searching the forest without success.” Her eyes bored straight into mine, and they were firm in their resolve. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Bee.”

I melted at her use of the childhood nickname I thought we’d lost forever. I sighed. We may have grown apart, but she was still my sister. She was still precious to me, and I trusted her.

I turned back to Shao. “Let’s go.”

A cursed word—home—twisted at my tongue, desperately wanting to slip out and shift my words into something different. Something more.

But the mansion wasn’t my home.

It never could be.

Chapter 25

Our trip back was marked by Shao’s explanation of how he’d found us.

He’d received the letter from the raven the day after I’d left, and he’d considered sending the letter to me, only to realize I’d be home already. So, he’d instead sent the bird to his siblings; he hoped they were nearby and understood they had to come to help find Constance—and presumably me—and help drive us back home. Again.

After that, he’d been furiously running around with the help of the raven, and he had the disheveled appearance to match. His hair and forehead were slick with sweat, and it looked as though he hadn’t showered in a full day or so from looking for us without stopping to take a single break.

Shao was a lot of things, but he was protective, too. I tried not to dwell too much on that. The guilt from turning so many people into roses was eating him apart, preventing him from allowing anyone else to die if he could stop it. That was it.

Yet I couldn’t help but swallow, my lips pursed together, as I kept looking between Shao and Constance as they got to know each other.

Whenever their glances lasted longer than a split second, I worried sparks were flying between their gazes. When Constance almost tripped over a stray branch and Shao helped her regain her balance, I grit my teeth at their brief physical touch.

Shao lingered a heart-wrenching distance away from me. I knew it was either out of guilt or respect for me, but even so, I loathed that he wasn’t right beside my side.

I was grateful he wasn’t speaking too much to me after what had transpired. The air would be drenched by discomfort, awkwardness, and regret, and Constance didn’t need to see that. Feel that.

Constance’s cheeks were even more sallow and sunken than before from the lack of a proper diet and excruciating, endless work. Her once lustrous, silky, long hair was now cropped flat into a dry, split-haired bob that resembled a pile of hay.

Her new appearance polluted my mind with sorrow and guilt, and yet I felt a small, twisted spark of relief, too; she was still beautiful, but she wasn’t the irresistible siren she’d once been.

I hated myself.

“Don’t touch the roses,” I remembered to tell Constance at last, and she furrowed her brows as she turned back towards me, her expression marked with a flash of irritation and disbelief. She didn’t say anything because of Shao’s looming presence next to her, but her expression conveyed the words she wished to say.

I glanced at Shao, silently asking if I could explain to Constance everything, and he gave a curt shake of his head. Well, I didn’t need to reveal the secret of the roses, anyway. Not when…

“Father’s saved,” I blurted out, loud and clear and fast. Tears threatened to squeeze out my eyes again, and I tipped my head back to blink them back down. “Once he recovers enough to paint, he’ll be able to get us out of debt.”

Constance’s frown only grew. Her voice came out a slow, distrusting drawl. “That’s impossible.”

“Why do you think Shao didn’t appear with me?” I asked, and she shook her head. “I left to save Father, and I only returned because you were missing.”

Constance shook her head even faster, and she waved her palms forward at me. “No. No, Father can’t be—”

I squeezed her hands, looking into her eyes as she’d done for me. “I wouldn’t lie to you either, Connie,” I whispered, giving her a quick wink. “You’ve seen my conjured flames and my transformation. Magic. Illegal and inaccessible to the common folk. Can’t you trust me? It doesn’t even have to be for long. The moment we get home, Father will no doubt be waiting with his nose to the window, anxious for our return.”

Constance bit her lip in the way only she could—alluring, despite her mess of her hair and skin—and my mind flashed to all the times I bit my own lips and looked like a starving orangutan devouring my entire mouth.

“N-no, Father can’t…” Her words trembled. Her eyes were as wide as a puppy’s, and there was moisture dotting them. “That’s impossible.” Her voice came out as a breathy whisper. She turned to Shao, her expression altered into something like admiration and fear at once. “I thought Beatrice was… wrong about you,” she settled on saying, perhaps feeling too guilty to say she thought I was being stupid after I’d been proven right.

Weak laughter bubbled out of Shao. “I wasn’t sure if I could procure the cure for her either, but…” Shrug. “I’m glad he was saved, Beatrice,” he said, turning towards me with an expression that thawed my heart—before his breath caught in his throat. He snapped his gaze away. I gulped.

We arrived shortly afterwards, and I pounded in Constance’s head how dangerous it could be to collect the roses—the nobles wouldn’t pay us. They’d kill us. Theft hadn’t been worth the risks before, and it sure wasn’t worth it now, with Father safe. We had to stop taking risks and return home.

Even so, I saw the way her gaze lingered wistfully on the golden roses. Understandable. The flowers were breathtakingly beautiful, and I’d salivated over them when I first saw them.

The moment felt like eons ago, although it had only been several months. So many things had changed since then… and so much had remained the same.

I realized at some point that Constance and I had been holding hands, our arms swinging in sync between us like we were kids again. I was reluctant to let go even as I noticed.

Constance noticed me staring down at our interlocked fingers, and she shot me a girlish smile. For a moment, it felt as though we’d been transported to our childhood through a stroke of witch magic, and I was grateful beyond words.

“I’ll prepare some food,” Shao said, giving us a curt nod before he strayed deeper into the mansion. “Wait in the parlor.”

Promises, pleas, and intents enshrouded us for the moment Shao looked at me.

It wasn’t like Shao and I ate anything fancy, and Shao had eaten far less healthily when he lived alone. He was leaving to give Constance and me some time alone to ourselves.

I swallowed in gratitude although I didn’t respond to him.

Grinning at Constance, I plopped down on the far end of the couch closest to us, licking my lips at the familiar, soft bounce of the seat.

Constance, bless her, carefully lifted her dress so it wouldn’t fold before she gracefully sat back down onto the couch. I’d admired her grace, once. Now that I’d seen Princess Isabella, though, Constance felt almost like a mime. Painted over into a person who wasn’t her.

She was mimicking the actions of the upper-class, but the two of us were middle-class through and through, although we’d endured a rough patch. There was a subtle stiltedness to her movements, and sharp, jutting pauses of deliberation where she stopped to contemplate how to move next.

Harmless. But strange, too. Why did she feel the need to make herself seem poised? Was this her retaliation to the straits Father’s illness had buried us in?

Constance began to weep as her eyes darted around the parlor, and I gaped, unable to comprehend her reaction, much less console her. Would a hug help her calm down? Was I even allowed to hug her?

My arms shook with tentative fear as I ever-so-slowly reached them around Constance, waiting for her to reject me. She didn’t.

I hugged her loosely at first as she sobbed into my chest, murmuring prayers and words of gratitude towards Father’s recovery.

Gradually, my hug grew tighter and shakier as I began to cry, too. Thanks to Constance’s disappearance, I’d been robbed of the time I needed for Father’s recovery to settle in my heart. I’d been unable to truly relish in the rebirth of Father and everything it could mean.

Constance began to gnaw at her nails in the way I had done in the past, and I giggled between my tears as I held her hands away. Constance began to chortle, too, and we giggled even harder at our ridiculous, out-of-place, delirious laughter.

We grew silent, although we continued to cry, huddled together as though we were trying to stave off winter frost. It felt almost embarrassing, but it felt cathartic, too.

By the time our chests quit heaving with emotion and our eyes were no longer waterfalls, it felt like hours had passed… and it felt like we’d never drifted apart at all.

I supposed that was sisterhood. We would always belong to each other, no matter how much time passed or how much we fought. Although we’d iced each other apart for so long, we were sisters. We were family. Overcoming it was only a matter of want.

Remaining close together, we brushed away each other’s tears and began to speak to each other—as family, in the truest sense of the word.

She asked me about Shao, and I told her everything in hush-hush tones, looking around the room to ensure he was nowhere nearby to hear me.

“Do you love him?” Constance asked, and because I loved her more than I’d ever loved myself, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her the way I often did in my head.

“Yes,” I said, wiping away the tears that threatened to spring once more and laughing hollowly. “Yes, and that terrifies me like nothing else.”

She ruffled my hair as though I were a child or a pet. “Then you should ask him for the truth, and you should allow him to explain his point of view.”

“What if that breaks me?” I asked, and she quirked a devilish grin.

“Then I’ll murder him for you,” she said, baring her teeth as though they were fangs.

Throwing my head back, I laughed as though the world had ended; hopelessly, beautifully, and with all the anguish and fears from my past evaporating out of me.

Then, I had to ask her: “What about Gunnar? Do you love him? He tried to kill me!”

Her lips twisted with regret, wistfulness, and most of all, relief.

“I did,” she said after a beat. She tugged at her hair as though she were pulling it up into a tight bun, but she didn’t have any hair ties, and she repeated the motion several times. “I’d always thought he was a bit off, but… not like that. Not enough to hurt my baby sister.”

“I’m not your baby sister,” I said with a pout, but my words were weak and half-hearted, which was obvious to both of us. She reached out with her hand to squeeze my cheek like a grandmother with nothing to lose, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh or yell at her.

Instead, I frowned at her but remained in place as she played with my cheeks with both her hands, swirling around my pinched skin as though she were spelling the alphabet with them.

“He proposed to me,” she said at last, swallowing. I gaped at her in horror. “We always pretended we were friends, but we were basically dating,” she admitted. “We stole the occasional kisses, but nothing else, knowing neither of us had the time or energy for a proper relationship… but we both knew we were basically promised to each other for the rest of our lives.”

Constance shook her head and took a deep breath, her grip on my cheeks tightening. I winced, and she let go hurriedly, her smile rueful. “I rejected him and ended things for good. He was… kind about it, though. We remained friends, although I kept my distance after your letter, and he even led me here to find you.” She shook her head. “I wanted to save you, but I guess… you didn’t need me at all, did you?”

Unable to keep still as she spoke, Connie began drawing shapes with her index fingers on the palms of my hands, causing me to roll my eyes at the subtle tickling.

“Oh, please,” I replied. “Where would I be without my protective older sister?”

I couldn’t believe she’d harbored so much faith in me. I was undeserving. How much time had I dawdled in idle luxury while the rest of my family suffered? Connie noticed this, and disdain coated her features every time she glanced towards the decrepit opulence of the mansion, but she didn’t comment on it.

I reached out to give her another tight hug. I grumbled words of gratitude and love, and she returned the favor two-fold.

Soon, we were competing to one-up each other’s compliments—causing us to erupt in more boundless, breezy laughter.

I’d never felt more carefree and loved.

Chapter 26

Shao appeared an hour after he’d disappeared, holding platters of dried fruit and jerky elaborately placed to an ornate design.

Shao scratched his cheek, then rested the plates on the small coffee table in front of us.

“Sorry,” he said boyishly. “I’ve been looking all over for better food, which I swear we had, but I couldn’t find anything.” He lounged on the sofa opposite us and gestured for us to eat.

His transparency almost caused me to smile. Almost.

While I’d often complained about the bland taste of the preserved food, the familiar bitter-sweet tang of each bite caused me to gulp in wistful nostalgia.

We made more idle small talk as we ate, giggling at nothing and creating drama out of our most idle memories as we gossiped about everything and nothing at all.

Connie kicked me under the table to get me to open up more around Shao, but I stifled my cries and pretended she hadn’t done a thing. In solidarity, Shao remained cordial and kind—but distant, too, in his own way.

As soon as the meal was over, Connie excused herself, citing her fatigue after a long travel through the forest. I led her to the bedchamber with the cute stuffed animals, which she snorted when she saw.

“I suppose this is the bedroom you spent the most time in?” She asked, and I gave her a noncommittal shrug—but my sheepish, daredevil grin told all. We hugged once more. Connie mumbled something about wanting a bigger bed so she could sleep with me, and I flicked her on the head.

“In case you’ve forgotten after all these years,” I said, “we didn’t stop sleeping together because we grew too old. We stopped because someone kept kicking me off the bed with so much force that I was left with bruises every morning.”

Connie simpered. There wasn’t a trace of guilt across her smooth, doll-like features. Only a desire to hurt me more.

Scary.

We bid each other farewell, and I pirouetted around. I inhaled. Determined but fearful, I knew there was only one place for me to go—the rose garden.

The moment I stepped away from Connie’s room, I knew Shao would be waiting there. Today might be the last day we had with each other before his siblings returned to pick us up, parting us once more—and this time, I would have neither an excuse nor a talisman to return.

I had no plans to come back to him. But I had to know.

I had to know for sure why he’d pushed me away, even though I thought I already knew, and my hypothesis crushed my soul from inside out. Rather, perhaps I had to know because the pain would never cease until I had certainty. Closure.

As I approached the parlor, I saw Shao waiting there as I’d expected, sitting where the door to the mansion used to be with his side reclined against a doorframe.

“Shao,” I said; he began turning around a split second before my voice left me. He’d sensed my presence.

He gestured me closer to him, and I obliged.

I sat on the back of the couch closest to him.

I wanted to get closer to him—sit next to him, even, since the burned-down door had been big enough that there was room for two of us in its absence. But I couldn’t.

Even his stare struck me to my soul like thunder, freezing me to place from fear of lightning striking and destroying me.

His lips parted with wistfulness as I remained away from him, and he took a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You… want to talk?” He asked, and I thumbed my elbows, hugging myself tight.

“Why did you push me away?” I asked. That was the only thing I cared about. The moment he told me his reason, I’d leave for a bed, sleep, and then head back home forever.

My chest ached with longing and dread as Shao repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, snatching clumps of his hair as he forced himself to speak despite his own inhibitions and worries.

“Because I don’t deserve your kiss,” he said. “Because I don’t deserve you.”

“But why?” I asked, and his jaw twitched with fury—at himself.

“Why do you think I invited you to stay with me?” He asked. “You suggested once that I was selfless for trading five years of your life for a cure. You may not remember this, but I do. How could I not? I told you I had my reasons. You didn’t believe me.”

“I thought your reason was pity.” And I had, back then. Certainly, I’d been stupid. Maybe willfully so.

He gave me a wry smile, but his lips were pursed. “No one donates fifty million out of pity alone, Beatrice. Not even a prince. There are always ulterior motives.”

“What was yours?” I asked, but I didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t ridiculous—if it wouldn’t only make things worse—I’d have plugged my ears with my fingers and sung, refusing to hear his answer.

“I wanted you to fall in love with me,” he replied.

His words sucked the breath out of me, and I choked on my own knotted, crumpled feelings.

“Because of your curse?” I asked. Shao nodded, but his eyes widened fractionally; he hadn’t expected me to guess. My lips twisted as I watched his expression contort into fifty different shadows of itself, showing his confusion. “I guessed during the carriage ride home,” I explained, answering his silent inquiry.

Shao heaved a sigh and nodded.

“As I’ve told you, I’ve tried countless things to cure my curse,” he said. “So many things from legends and books. Potions from all over the world. A cure for the misfortune. Spells from dozens of fairies and witches. Saltwater. Lemons. Prayer. Bathing in holy water for two weeks, never leaving. Many other, more torturous things. The only potential cure I haven’t tried…”

“A true love’s kiss,” I whispered, finishing his sentence for him. His nod was almost imperceptible. I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t paid so much attention to his most minute movements over all the days that I’d spent with him. “Is that why you were so kind to me?”

He shook his head, but now that I knew the truth… I didn’t know how much of his actions and words I could trust. Was Shao actually transparent, or had he allowed me to feel that way, so I’d have more reason to trust him?

While I’d expected his truth ever since I’d fled, it burned just the same. I felt as though everything inside of me was scalding. Burning. Dying. I had to remember to breathe—and then I had to force myself to keep breathing.

I wished I could cry, but instead my eyes were barren as a desert, prickling with the pain of trapped, invisible grief.

“Did you ever… love me?” I asked, and he didn’t reply. “Did you? Were any of your actions genuine? Or was all of it a fabrication so I’d fall for you?”

His clutch on his hair tightened, and I wanted to stop him from tearing his hair out. But I didn’t. I remained rooted to my seat on the couch, hardly able to breathe and survive, let alone save someone else.

“I don’t think my feelings matter,” Shao said, and I bit my tongue until I tasted the metallic tang of blood. “I don’t deserve you. I can’t deserve you. What does it matter what I feel?”

“It matters to me,” I said before I realized I’d even opened my mouth to speak. Shao gaped up at me. Our eyes met and remained captive to each other, mired in a war of deception and discernment and, worst of all, hope.

“Why?” He breathed out, unable to raise his voice any higher.

Gulping, I gripped the couch so hard I thought my own fingers would fracture.

“I fell for your lies,” I said in an equally hushed tone.

Silence suffocated us. It snaked around our throats and bound our wrists together, and I could even feel something dreadful, almost painful, pounding in my chest and belly.

“I fell for your truths,” Shao returned, and he tried to rise, almost losing his strength and crumpling back down. He rested his arm against the doorframe for support. “May I say one more thing?”

My soul in tatters, I was unable to respond. I gestured for him to continue, which he understood and obeyed.

“The treatment for all curses in fairytales is told to be a true love’s kiss,” he said. “Unrequited love and limerence are both valid, but I… That’s not what I’ve ever believed the phrase referred to. There were many, many female thieves who came to steal the roses, and you’re the only person I requested to stay with me. Even then, you should remember this: I was sullen to you in the beginning. I avoided you.” Shao took a deep breath. “Despite my curiosity and desperation to save myself and the others, I have been genuine to you from the start. Nothing was feigned. The concealment was my only deception.”

“What… what’s your point?”

“I’d never have asked you to stay if I didn’t think I could fall in love with you. From the moment I met you—the moment I saw your kind yet determined eyes—I knew I would grow to love you. So much it hurt me.”

My heart stuttered. Stopped.

And resumed a century later, far more rapid and strong and painful than I’d ever thought possible.

Shao couldn’t say things like that. Not right now, and not like this. His words swept me away into toxic wisps of dreams, drowning me in saccharine hopes that would only betray me.

“Why did you hide this from me?” I asked. “Maybe if I’d known from the start—”

“At first, I told myself I was being stupid. I’d send you back home as soon as I could. Never see you again.” His hand left his hair, and he brushed something out of his eyes. “Then, I… began to treasure your company. You were what I’d missed—and longed for—my entire life.” My breath hitched at those words, and I struggled to rein in the bombardment of feelings that swept through my chest.

“But I started telling myself that my intent didn’t matter because you’d never return my feelings,” Shao continued. “I convinced myself that someone as bright and determined as you could never fall for a monster like me, who had been left unsocialized and broken. Soon, my lies had continued long enough that it was too late to tell you without shattering your trust in me.”

“I—” Realizing he was right—realizing that if he’d told me the truth at any moment before I’d understood my own feelings for him, I’d have left feeling only hatred and betrayal, I couldn’t continue speaking.

He’d hurt me.

He’d deceived me.

So why did I want nothing more than to console this shattered, hopeless man?

“In the end,” he said, burying his face in his palms, “I decided to let you go… because I truly had fallen in love with you, and I couldn’t bear to reveal the truth to you. Better to part from you forever—save your father and make you happy and have my memories with you to drown myself in for the rest of my life—than to lose your trust.”

“You’re selfish,” I choked out, and he nodded.

“I am.” He gritted his teeth. “I was terrified of the potential consequences of telling you the truth, so although it tore me apart whenever I saw your smiles and gratitude, I continued to lie to you—and myself. I am a coward, Beatrice. The worst of the worst. That’s why you… should leave. Forget about me.”

Instead of obeying him, I took a step closer to him. And another.

Shao’s eyes trembled as he looked back at me, and the air stilled around us. I could only see him, and he could only see me. We were the world. Everything else was a void, unmemorable hue of grays and invisible blacks.

Heartbeats later, we were a breath apart, and I tipped my head up towards him as if I were taunting him. My breath hammering in my throat, I cupped his chin with my fingers, lowering his head towards me.

We were mesmerized. Sinking. Drenched by the emotions that spiraled and thrummed around us.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

“Why?” Shao said, his voice haggard and so, so exquisitely damaged.

“You saved my father,” I said. “Let me save your family.”

Shao shook his head, taking a step back. I stepped forward twice, closing the distance. I took another deep, unsteady breath before I spoke, my index finger touching the sleeve of his arm as I pointed at him.

“If you love me—if you’ve ever felt anything for me at all—prove it. Show me. Kiss me.”

Shao’s eyes lingered on my lips, but he snapped them away to investigate the mansion instead. Shaking his head, he took heavy steps back.

Stubborn and proud, I continued to chase after him until his back crashed against the silver gates, trapping him between us.

“You’re a coward,” I said. “If you won’t even kiss me, why bother deceiving me in the first place?”

“I can’t kiss you because I deceived you,” he said. “I don’t deserve to be saved.”

“I’m allowing this,” I said, “so what does it matter? We’re using each other. I’m using you for peace of mind, and to assuage my guilt after you saved Father. So why won’t you use me back?”

Shao shook his head. “Because I care about you. Because—”

“Don’t make excuses,” I said. Sighing, I added, “This is your last chance. Do you love me? Do you not? Save yourself, or I’ll take this as a rejection—”

“Then do,” Shao said, unable to look me in the eyes. When I tried to twist his chin towards me again, albeit limply, he stayed firm and still.

All the tension left my shoulders and back, causing me to slump. My hope escaped my eyes and heart. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you.”

Swallowing, I turned away. I needed sleep. When I woke up, I’d be indifferent. I’d given him the opportunity to save himself; he’d refused. That was his fault—and likely proof he hadn’t fallen for me like I had for him, although I refused to keep thinking about that.

I felt betrayed. Torn apart.

Heat rushed to my cheeks in shame. I berated myself. What had I just done? And why? I’d been so stupid. So desperate. I hated myself and everything I’d done.

I should have known I was worthless. I should have known a prince would never turn his eyes to look at someone like me.

I barely heard the soft clang as Shao haphazardly thrust open the gates, his footsteps brisk and thudding as he escaped the mansion. He didn’t bother to lock it behind him as he fled, running as he darted away.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

I repeated the word in my head although I didn’t know who I was referring to. Shao? Myself? Did it matter?

Losing the strength to remain standing, I reached for the gates, gripping it tight as I watched his back disappear into the darkness.

Only—

Flames erupted in the distance; I heard Shao’s grunt of shock as blazing fires shot down from the sky, landing beside him in a crackling, blazing roar.

Chapter 27

Shao escaped the flames—barely.

Jumping to the side, he began sprinting back towards me—towards the mansion—in a mad dash inside to protect his flowers.

“I don’t have any more talism—” He shouted at me, then grunted as he rolled onto the ground, another flame flicking past his cheek.

Shouts in the distance cursed. “Get him next time!” A voice cried out. I recognized it. Gunnar.

My breath caught in my throat. I had no time to mull over my loss and thoughts of rejection.

I ran back towards the house; I had to grab him the talismans. Anything I could find.

Flames roared and flickered towards us from all sides. We were surrounded. By whom? Why?

“Don’t hit the roses!” Gunnar shrieked again from far away—yet too close. “We need them!”

Another arrow of flames pelted the ground, exploding the dirt and bush in a glorious explosion. I sucked a tooth. Shao was almost trapped in a wall of flames—and this time, they weren’t illusions.

They were real. They were dangerous.

They were intended to kill him.

Helpless and fearful, I darted my gaze up in the general direction. In the darkness—and his previous stillness—I’d seen nothing there. No one. Now, in the illumination of the endless, crackling, all-devouring flames, I could see silhouettes crawling down from the large oak trees they’d hidden in.

I glanced back into the mansion one last time—and realized that by the time I found any talismans, Shao would be dead.

Shrieks tearing out of me, I rushed out the gates and choked on the swirling ashes and smog as I rushed to Shao’s side. Mere yards away, I opened my mouth to speak—

A shadow seized my arm; pain jutted up my bones as I was forcibly twisted away. Gritting my teeth, I looked up and came face-to-face with Gunnar, a sneer on his face.

“Connie’s sister,” he said calmly like the entire world around us weren’t erupting into flames. “Do you think you’ll be able to save him? What are you going to do after reaching him? Develop latent magical powers and evaporate the flames?”

“I-I—” I trembled, unable to speak because he was right. There was nothing I could do. I was useless. Worthless. A burden.

I glanced at Shao, whose head was turning from left-to-right as he analyzed his surroundings. His eyes met mine; he saw Gunnar’s hand on me, and he roared, rushing towards me with the force of a thousand suns.

More flames crashed against the ground in front of his path, blocking him with hunger and force.

There was nothing we could do unless the fires at least ceased—

“Your mask!” I screamed. “Take it off! I’ll close my eyes—”

As I spoke, I closed my eyes; I saw Shao’s lips twist into a grim line as he nodded in acknowledgment, and his hand shot towards his mask—

Gunnar snatched me and turned me back around to face Shao, forcing my eyes back open painfully with his fingers. When he spoke, I could hear the delirious, manic laughter in his voice, although I was faced forward and couldn’t see him.

“What, is he finally going to shift into a wolf to save himself? Is he going to kill us? Eat us? Is that what he’s trying to shield from your eyes?” Mad, booming cackles consumed the air. “You’ll have to see all of it with me, little bee.” I bristled and shook at his use of the nickname. Had Connie told it to him? Where even was she?

She’d told me Gunnar was gone! Had she lied to me?

I saw Shao’s expression twist with fear and fury and—above all—hopelessness as he saw my captivity in Gunnar’s arms, and he licked his lips and heaved a sigh, collapsing to the ground a mere two feet from the dancing flames as though he’d surrendered.

To death.

No.

No!

I may not have been a witch, but I was human, and I had my legs—which I used to swivel back around, bracing through the flash of pain as my skin twisted in Gunnar’s tight, circulation-cutting grasp. I attacked him with my knee.

Shocked, he yelped; his grasp on me loosened. I jerked away, running towards Shao. I heard the whispering, scratchy sounds of wheels and horses in the distance, and my heart fell. Shao needed to take his mask off. Reinforcements were coming to help the thieves—the murderers—the monsters.

I reached him. I squeezed shut my eyes.

Before I understood what I was doing, my hands shot out to his mask, snatching it away; an explosion blasted at my side, causing me to scream; my eyes opened from shock and pain and anguish.

The last thing I saw was Shao’s face.

His beautiful face, which had a deep, mutilated scar in the shape of a rose, its thorny stem forming a sideways S over his right eye and under his left.

I screamed.

Not because of the flames. Not because I was burning.

I screamed and I screamed until my voice disappeared into the flames because my limbs had gone numb.

My eyes darted up and down, left to right. Ever so slowly, from the tips of my fingers, my toes, and my hair, I was disintegrating into fine gold dust, which swirled and swept all around me into a hurricane of sparkling ashes.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t feel myself.

Anything.

Nothing.

“Beatrice!” I heard.

A desperate plea, a prayer.

Familiar.

Who?

Beatrice?

Blank mind.

Dust, round and round.

There was the rushing sound of water and whispering leaves. They were everything. They were nothing. They were my world; I belonged in nature. I was nature.

I felt myself falling deeper, lower, to kiss the ground. Home. I felt myself twisting, compressing, becoming a shell of myself; it should have been agonizing, but pain was foreign to me. Impossible, intangible. Unreal.

There was a sudden warmth on my lips.

(What were lips?)

Wetness on my cheeks.

(What were cheeks?)

My mind snapped back into place, and I began hearing a series of grunts and thumps and screams—but that wasn’t important.

Dust spiraled back to my body, forming skin and hair and sinew and bone where there was only thorns, petals, and air.

This, too, was meaningless. There was something far more breathtaking in front of me. Happening to me.

Shao.

His lips gasped for breath against mine, allowing me to feel his desperation and horror. His hug felt tight, and I struggled to breathe.

Seeing me return to life, he pulled away, his expression swirling with grief and relief and fury and gratitude all at the same time. Tears spotted his face.

One thing was painfully clear from his broken gaze: he hadn’t kissed me to save himself.

The kiss had been to save me.

He’d locked his lips against mine on the off chance that what we felt for each other truly was the crazy, mad thing called love, and I could be brought back to life—as I had been.

I gaped, watching his face as the scar faded away. A second later, his skin was porcelain smooth, and it was impossible to believe he’d ever had a single blemish.

Shao… was beautiful.

He could have been the finest statue at the most expensive, exclusive auction, with his striking blue eyes and chiseled jaw providing a canvas for the pure symmetry of his features.

He’d been attractive enough with the mask on, but that had been nothing compared to how he looked now.

“Shao—”

“Shao!” A female voice screeched. A brunette woman darted towards us, her hair curly and wild. In my haze, it took me several seconds to recognize her. Princess Isabella.

She froze the moment she saw Shao. He quirked a rueful, hesitant smile, and her jaw tensed as it widened into an O-shape. Her eyes bulged out as she remained rooted to place for one, two, three seconds.

Then, she jumped into his arms, spinning around with tears and laughter, and a pathetic part of me wished I were her.

My mind slowly cleared, the clouds of my transformation splitting at the pace of snails, and I looked around, confused. The flames had evaporated, leaving only ashes, patches of blackness, and burnt plants in their absence.

The men and women from the trees had been gathered in several spots, shining, magical golden chairs wrapped around them and tightening to the point of suffocation every time they retaliated. There were so, so many of them, and I soon realized the group contained almost every denizen of my town who was of age…

And no doubt, the rest of the town had known, too. That was why the only people gathered around me at the town had been either children or grandparents.

I could have laughed if I weren’t so distraught.

Their irritated shouts soon died out as they realized they were captive, and no one would step up to help them. Unlike the spell I’d cast on Mother, none of the enchanted chains had floating clock faces next to them.

I glanced back to the mansion; the mansion’s garden was untouched, but for the missing roses. I gasped. In their place stood several boys and girls who looked around the age of Shao and me.

Most of them were dressed in ornate but pale and unassuming outfits, no doubt meant for servants. Although they’d been adults to Shao’s eyes, now that we were older, they were… only teens. Some younger than us, while others were hardly older. Shao and I shared a glance.

They must have remained frozen in time while they’d been turned into roses. Otherwise, it didn’t make sense for them to be so young…

But their ages were ridiculous, even if they hadn’t aged. I’d expected adults from Shao’s description of them, but he’d been a child back then. Of course, people our age would have seemed old, responsible, and wise when he was only a child.

I… could understand their irresponsibility. I understood why they’d chosen to escape the mansion rather than stay with Shao in the timeless prison in the forest.

They were young. They were fearful. The isolation and heavy responsibility would have been enough to break an adult; they’d been far from fit for their jobs.

There were others, too, dressed in a variety of different outfits. Girls, boys, men, women. They looked hardened and coarse, although there was a beauty to many of their features, too.

“Your weapons are gone, and so are the roses,” Shao said, and I realized who they were. The other thieves, who’d gone missing after trying to steal a rose. “Go home.”

Cacophonies of noises from both the garden and the trees around us pierced my eardrums.

I collapsed to the ground, and Shao released his sister to hold out his hand to me. I picked up the mask that had fallen during my transportation before I accepted his hand and pulled myself up.

“Um…”

“Thank you,” he said, brushing away my tears. “Thank you, Beatrice. Thank you.”

Rooted to place, I said nothing. What happened now?

“Are you… going home?” I asked, and he nodded, his gaze distant. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from yelling at him to stay with me.

“I have to go see my family—my mother,” he said, and I gulped.

He saved Father, I thought to myself, in desperate need of this reminder. This… was my repayment. Saving him. Shao will be King, and I will remain… myself. We will operate different spheres. Accept it, Beatrice, accept it!

I clawed at my palms to keep myself from bursting into more heavy, endless tears. I gave Shao a smile, although I hated every second, and my cheeks rebelled against me.

“I’ll miss you,” I said.

Shao began to reply, but a shriek from the mansion interrupted him. Turning around, I saw Constance, her skin pale and her eyes wide as saucers.

“Wh-what in the world?” She cried, looking around with a shocked grimace at the complete change in scenery and the singed ground until her eyes landed on Gunnar and the rest of the townsfolk. “H-how did you get here? I thought you left, Gunnar—”

Understanding dawned on her, and she dry heaved before rushing towards me so she could hug me protectively. Covering my ears with her hands, she began screaming a string of incoherent words that weren’t curses, but sure sounded like it from her tone. She was furious. I was grateful.

I breathed out a sigh of relief.

Connie hadn’t been involved.

Somehow, Gunnar had deceived her, too.

My energy seeped out of me once more, and I stumbled into her arms, plunging into a deep, dreamless, and feverish sleep.

Chapter 28

When I woke up again, I was rolled around into a burrito in my own bed, Shao’s white mask hugged tight in my arms. Shao himself was nowhere to be seen.

At my bedside sat Connie, who was snoring gracelessly with her head tipped back over the top of her wooden chair. I swore I could even see a bubble of snot rise and pop from her nose at some point, but I pretended like the good sister I was that I’d imagined it.

My parents were huddled together in the corner of the room reading the latest romance novel to each other. Mother was chastising Father about how he needed to persevere to win her back after such a long time… away.

“I’m popular, you know. I could leave you at any moment for a better, wealthier man, so you’d better step up to the challenge.” She said at some point, pretending she wasn’t still breaking down into tears every hour at the realization that her husband was truly next to her, sitting and speaking.

“Of course, Sophia,” replied Father, rubbing her back with a soft, caring expression on his face that I’d longed to see for years.

When they noticed I was up, they fed me bland mashed potatoes, then ordered me to wake up Connie. We had places to go, events to attend.

Father was back, and although he was weak, he could still paint—and once he’d become accustomed again to painting, he had a lot of work to do… but he’d need to find clients, first. That job was delegated to Connie and me.

When I struggled to wake up my poor sister, Father suggested with a twinkle in his eye that I pour a bucket of ice water on her, and I tipped my head back to laugh.

Home, sweet home. No matter how long it took, we’d return to the way we were years ago before Father fell ill… and I was patient. We all were.

I was home.

We’d be okay.

A small part of me felt grief and longing towards Shao, the missing, crucial piece in my life. I wondered if the time would pass at all, or if I’d be swallowed up by his absence.

Yet time ticked by, as consistent and painfully reliable as ever.

Aided by the flurry of hectic changes and activities that occupied my time, I stopped counting the seconds between every minute. I stopped willing time to simultaneously stop—so I could recover—and hurry up until my heart was mended.

Within two months, my family’s life returned to an echo of the old days, although my time with Shao was a sore topic that we never spoke of.

We moved back to our home. Our neighbor, who had purchased it at a steep discount when we’d been desperate for money, found a small kindling of guilt in his heart and sold it back to us for the same price. I was surprised he had a heart at all.

Meanwhile, Father became quite the talk of upper-class society. His misfortune (and my resulting desperate acts) had been often gossiped of before, and everyone was shocked that we had acquired a cure for him after so long.

Though the judgmental stares of the nobles were hard to stomach, Father also got significant more commissions because of it, so we decided it was fair.

Under normal circumstances, it’d have been hard for him to find jobs again, even with less wealthy nobles, because of how much time he’d taken off. He’d been long replaced.

But gossip was gossip, and artists who’d scoffed at my Father’s paintings four years ago now pestered him for dozens of paintings, seeking an excuse to bombard him with questions.

Had he robbed a bank? Stolen from the royal treasury? Discovered dormant magical powers?

A few suspected he was related to Shao’s return to the palace, since the timelines added up, but none of them could figure out how.

Father always replied with a sullen smile and a tangentially related pun of his choosing.

The nobles’ interest trickled down, but Father’s connections and portfolio had been rekindled by now. We were still in debt, but it was manageable.

Connie and I worked part time as maids to anyone who’d hire us. Our work was tedious but survivable. Thanks to Father’s recovery, no one had to work more than thirty to forty hours unless they wanted to.

I wanted to, and unsurprisingly, I was the only one who felt that way. My hours numbered in the sixties or seventies. I spent most of my free time either asleep or dying from exhaustion, but I didn’t mind it.

In fact, I preferred it. Constant work and fatigue distracted me from my thoughts.

There was another reason I preferred to work: it gave me an excuse not to follow Father to his workplace as I often had in the past. Though he no longer painted for the most powerful families, his clientele was still obscenely wealthy and lived close to the palace.

It would have killed me to see Shao again, and I didn’t think I’d survive seeing some dainty little princess dangling at his arm.

“Bea!” Connie barged into the mansion I was cleaning, surprising me out of my wandering thoughts. Her hands were tightly holding a mountain of sheets.

“The family may be away on vacation, but that doesn’t mean you can storm in here as you please when I’m supposed to be working,” I chided. She rolled her eyes and ignored me, a far cry from the mature older sister she’d taken the part of during the past three years.

I preferred her this way, but that was a given.

“Look at this!” She said, throwing her papers at my face. “It came in the mail this morning.” I winced as I grabbed them and straightened them out.

“Let’s see…” I scanned over the documents, mumbling key points to myself. “Hereditas Academy welcomes you back… Scholarship…”

My jaw dropped.

“What?”

Connie bounced with excitement, a huge grin on her face. “Didn’t Father paint for one of the descendants of the academy’s founder? Maybe he really, really, really liked Father’s work and pulled some strings—”

I shook my head, setting the papers down on the counter.

“None of the top three academies have ever offered scholarships,” I said. They didn’t need to, since ninety five percent of their students were the upper crest of society. Father had struggled to pay our tuition even before the misfortune, only barely making the payment deadlines.

“They’ve started as of a couple weeks ago,” Connie said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

It was, but my chest filled with hesitation and worry, not joy.

Sudden scholarships did not drop out of thin air, and two students who dropped out due to financial concerns meant nothing to wealthy, prestigious academies.

There was a reason behind the letters and forms.

Shao.

Impossible.

Shao hadn’t sent a single letter since he’d left. I was irrelevant. A pawn, necessary for his recovery—but worthless and forgettable now that he no longer needed me.

He’d already given me a cure worth fifty million, and a single kiss and a stolen heart were nothing compared to the life of my father.

Why would he do this for me?

My mind whirled.

It didn’t make sense for Shao to have been involved, but everything about this situation reeked of his interference. I couldn’t make sense of it.

I suppressed these thoughts. I was nothing to Shao, and I had to remember that. Hope was treacherous. It only led to shattered hearts.

If he thought of me with anything but pity and contempt, he’d at least have sent letters before spending however much money to help my family study again.

Connie was probably right. The scholarship and our readmittance had been either through a stroke of luck or thanks to one of Father’s customers’ whims.

“Um, yes, fantastic,” I mumbled at last. “I should return to work now. Talk later?”

Connie tapped her nails against the counter. “You’re overworking yourself.”

I quirked a half smile. “It’s not even close to how much you were working, Connie.”

“That was out of necessity,” she said. “We don’t need to kill ourselves with work anymore.”

“I won’t die from a few months of work as simple as cleaning,” I said as I dusted the top of the shelf next to me.

“Bee.”

“Besides, it’s kind of fun once you get used to it.”

“Bee.”

“Alright, I know what you’re thinking, but you can make music with dusters and broomsticks, see—” I rambled on, unwilling to hear whatever Connie wished to tell me, and I tapped the duster against the shelf to the rhythm of a nursery rhyme.

She sighed, but her lips were curved up into a smile.

“Beatrice, you should forget about him,” she said. I bat my lashes at her.

“Whom are you referring to?”

She flicked me on my forehead, and I jumped back with a theatric yelp, posing with my duster in a defensive posture as if it were a dagger. Connie giggled.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh when I’m trying to play the wise older sister role,” she said.

“Don’t bother,” I replied. “You’ve lost practice, and you’re quite bad at it now.”

Another flick—this one, I narrowly managed to evade, and I bumped her fingers with the handle of my duster.

“I don’t even know what you’re doing anymore,” Connie said with another giggle. “But you know what I’m talking about. Prince Asha. Forget about him.”

“Who’s Prince Asha?” I asked, and Connie feigned an exasperated huff. (To be fair, her exasperation was heartfelt.)

“Oh, I don’t know. The man you’ve been moping over since you returned, maybe.”

“I have not been moping—”

“Says the girl who mistakes me for him every time I wake her up.”

Ouch. That was cruel.

Playfully shoving her, I said, “It’s alright, Connie.” The nickname felt foreign in my mouth, but it was what I’d called her until three years ago, and we’d returned it to practice. “Don’t they say falling in love is the best cure for a heartache? Now that I’ll attend school again, I’m sure I’ll find someone new to fawn over.”

She snorted. “I wish that could work, but you were always so absorbed in your studies… Have you ever even crushed on anyone?”

Yeah. Shao.

“I liked that one neighbor we had when we were seven,” I said.

Connie lifted her brow. “Really. Seven.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, puffing my chest up. “What was his name? Sam? Dan? It was one of those single syllable names. Boy had the most beautiful blue eyes.”

“His name was Sean, and his eyes were black,” said Connie. “Aren’t you just thinking of Prince Asha again?”

Well, crap.

“Sorry, no, I was thinking of the other guy I had a crush on. For this crush, I was fourteen!”

“Right. I appreciate how proud you can be over a fourteen-year-old crush. Who was this lucky boy?”

I dug through my memories. Who at the academy had blue eyes?

“James,” I said. “Wait, no. Harper. Harper had blue eyes, right?”

Connie kneaded her brows with her fingertips, and it was clear she was using every effort she could muster not to seize the duster and swat some sense into me with it.

(Using the feathery part, hopefully.)

(With newly recovered Connie, I couldn’t be so sure.)

“When we start school again, the first thing I’m doing is finding you some bumbling blue eyed idiot,” she said. “Since clearly that’s all you care about.”

“That’s not—” I stopped myself just in time from admitting that what I cared about was Shao himself. Not just his eyes, his scent, his voice, or even his kindness.

I wanted everything about him, both good and bad.

I wanted to feel his warmth next to me. His lips against mine, softer this time and with love instead of fear.

None of this was possible.

“It’s definitely all I care about,” I settled on saying, adding a somber nod as a final touch to seal my seriousness. I adjusted my grip on my letters, moving sideways to straighten them out against the countertop.

Connie scoffed. “Beatrice—”

A thin, narrow piece of paper slipped out of the pile of mail. It had only been lifted by the force of the papers sandwiching it. It was so small and unnoticeable that it had shuffled around between the papers and out of my grip.

Connie quirked her brows, and I narrowed mine as I bent down to pick it up.

The black ink used to write on it was cheap and blotted, bleeding out to the other side illegibly. I turned it around, and the words knocked the air out of my throat.

I’m coming.

Beneath those simple words in a scrawled, hurried handwriting befitting of a healer, there was an even rougher and illegible signature. Shao.

I didn’t know how it had gotten into my stack of mail. I handed it to Connie, who looked at it with an indecipherable frown.

“Bee—”

“How dare he?” I cried. “He ignores my existence for two months, and the next thing he says is that he’s coming? Coming where? Why’s he even keeping tabs on where I live? Could the letter be any more effortless?”

I continued crying out in shame and disgust and, worst of all, hope and forgiveness. I struggled to squelch down those feelings, but it was stubborn.

Connie put her hand to my arm, giving me a chagrined smile. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in his words, although I know you want to.”

I shook my head, my eyes widening. “What are you talking about? I’m… I know he’s untrustworthy. Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m your sister,” Connie replied. “And, Bee, you’re incredibly obvious. You miss him. You’re happy to receive the letter. And I want this for you.” She paused and looked away, filling the silence with doubt and my sinking hopes.

“What’s the catch?” I asked because I knew there was one.

“He told me he’d return within the next week,” Connie replied. “When you were out.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t he—”

“I wanted to surprise you with his visit,” Connie said, licking her lips. “But he never came, and he never even sent a letter, so I…” Fidgeting with her hands and arms, she turned her gaze down towards the floor. She shuffled her feet.

“So, you thought he forgot about me,” I said, the words leaving my tongue in an acerbic, cold haze. She was right. I’d been hurt enough by his absence and silence without his empty promises. So why had he returned to my life? Why had he sent me such a sloppy, halfhearted piece of paper that would be shameful to call a letter?

Shaking my head, I smiled back up at Connie and steered the conversation away to happier, more casual talks of the academy and our future studies. Wariness marked her crinkling forehead as she replied, but we were soon gossiping as we always did, merry and hopeful.

Both of those emotions were feigned, but we strove to ignore that.

Chapter 29

Connie and I rushed through the dark streets, which were illuminated by the windows of the candle-lit houses. We were late going home. Caught up in our conversations until the sun started to set, I’d failed to complete my job. Connie had stayed behind with me to help.

We dashed to the table and plopped down into adjacent seats, smiling politely as we picked up our forks and pretended we weren’t panting or sweating from running half a mile.

“My daughters used to be obsessed with being punctual,” Father said. He feigned a glare at Mother. “What has happened in my absence? Clearly someone has failed to discipline them.”

She huffed, stealing a cut of steak from Father’s plate in retaliation. “Your illness has twisted your memories. Your children have always been this discourteous.”

Pointing a fork at him, she added, “Who could we possibly blame but their father, who dragged them with him to work every day because he feared they’d trip to death on a pebble if they spent a second away from him?”

“You make me sound like I was wrong for caring about our children,” he said.

Mother shrugged. “Are they our children? I never could have guessed. I thought I magically got pregnant from an affair you had with a secret mistress.”

Father heaved a sigh. “Don’t slander me in front of my daughters. They’ll get the wrong idea.”

“Your daughters?” Mother snorted. “Funny. You were just trying to argue they were mine too.”

“Dear—”

“You didn’t need to wait for us,” I said, interrupting their mock argument. I had a sneaking suspicion they’d start making out if this continued, and that was not something I wanted to think about, much less see.

If they wanted to make up for lost time, they could do that after my sister and I left for the academy. Or never. Preferably never.

Connie nodded at me in support, and it was clear she was thinking the same thing.

Father turned to me, and his eyes shook with a pitying expression I couldn’t decipher, his lips quivering at their corners.

“Father?”

“I… have news for us,” he declared, clearing his throat.

I blinked in confusion. Normally, he was enthusiastic and playful, although he still had moments of weakness remnant from his illness. Why did he sound so hesitant?

My parents glanced at each other, and I felt a tight knot in my stomach.

“Y-you see,” Father started, only to trail off again.

“Just tell her, dear,” Mother said. “Your silence is worrying her more.”

I was grateful that she understood my feelings, but why couldn’t she tell me herself instead of prodding Father to?

Piercing the same spot on his food repeatedly, Father took a deep breath, steadying himself to tell me, when he was interrupted by a knock.

“I’ll get it,” I grumbled, then pointed at Father with the spoon in my hand, the potato soup that I’d collected spilling back into the bowl. “When I’m back, you’d better have collected your thoughts and found the courage to tell me.”

I made a half-scowl, half-sneer that I hoped was menacing, but my parents only laughed, my Mother’s palm covering her mouth. I couldn’t tell if they were laughing at me for being stupid or if they thought I was being as adorably stupid as a child throwing a tantrum… Wait. That was both the same thing, wasn’t it?

Irritated by the interruption, I skulked over to the door as a thousand questions wandered in my head. Who could it be at this hour? It seemed a bit late for mail, and besides, Connie had already brought today’s batch to me earlier.

Who in the world would interrupt a family dinner after the sun had long set?

The banging on the door only grew more incessant and louder, and I heard my parents murmuring with increasingly heated, concerned voices as I reached the door and thrust it open, too impatient to peek out the window or peep hole first.

Standing in front of me was a gangly man only a few inches taller than me, and he looked down at me almost sheepishly as he brushed away a strand of his cropped, jet-black hair. He had classically handsome features, but he was too wiry and thin-boned and almost gawky looking.

Though, to be honest, the truth was that my eyes had become too spoiled by Shao’s sculpted jaw and sharp eyes for me to appreciate the looks of any other men.

“Who are you?” I snapped, and I realized my parents and Connie had joined me when I heard my sister give a low whistle from behind me. Was she checking this boy out?

“Bea—” Father began, and I wondered if this was the topic of conversation he’d danced around. I raised my brows.

“Your father’s new student,” the black-haired boy replied, sauntering into the house past me as if he owned the place.

Rather than joining Father, however, he stopped several feet away from me—a distance far enough that he wasn’t encroaching on my personal bubble, and yet it felt tantalizing. Taunting. He looked back at me with a sardonic stare that felt all too familiar and foreign at the same time.

Incredulous, I looked back towards Father, my jaw widening. “Since when do you take students? When I asked you to teach me how to paint as a kid, you told me teaching would never be in your future. You lacked the patience for it.”

Father looked almost chagrined. Mother flushed as she looked away.

“Bea…” She began. “He told you that because the only thing you could draw at fifteen was stick figures. He got sick of giving you suggestions only to have your skills worsen.”

Laughter bubbled out of the stranger, and I grimaced. I barely held myself back from snapping at him about his artistic talents, realizing that if he was requesting lessons from Father, he was probably pretty good.

Father shook his head as he approached the man, offering a firm handshake, which the man returned in stride. Father pat his back as though he were a long-lost friend before he turned back towards me.

“This man,” he said, “will be staying with us until his lessons are completed.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked. “Why can’t he host us? Our house is cramped enough already.” That wasn’t strictly true; although our house was the size of Shao’s parlor, it was still more than spacious enough for the three of us.

Yet I felt a glaring annoyance that some strange man would be infringing on my family’s haven, which was worsened by the fact that Father hadn’t seen it fit to tell me until the stranger had arrived, let alone consult it with me or Connie.

“Bea—” The man began, my name slipping out of him as smoothly as butter before he caught himself, and I gaped up at him. At the familiarity with which he spoke.

At the faint but strangely, deliciously nostalgic accent and gentleness that coated his words.

“Shao.” The name left my lips before I could catch them, and my eyes widened with wonder. “Impossible.”

Shao sighed as he brushed away a stray strand of his hair, then reached out to cup my cheek as though that was the most natural action in the world. “I wasn’t expecting you to catch me so fast,” he admitted.

My parents cleared their throat, their nasal tones stretching out for at least three seconds, and we glanced away from each other, faces flushed from embarrassment and shame. Twinkling filled our ears when they stopped from Connie’s giggles.

“I thought you were lying about returning,” Connie said, tossing her hair back, and Shao returned a rueful grin.

My eyes were captivated by him. I memorized every single feature of his face even though he was covered by an illusion. At the same time, I felt embarrassed by how enraptured I was. He hadn’t sent me a single letter, and I… I still didn’t know how he even felt about me.

His appearance, however, kindled some hope into me. If he’d made the effort to come here—and even offer to stay here for however long it took for him to take lessons from Father—did that… could that mean he cared about me, at least a little? At least as a friend?

My heart panged at the idea of being only a friend to him, and yet it was better than being irrelevant and forgotten.

“My parents put me on lockdown,” he explained. “Mother hired a witch to remove my raven’s enchantment, and she put me under close watch of guards in case I ran away to find Beatrice again. She wanted to invite you guys over, but Father opposed it, and…”

Shao shrugged and grimaced, but I could tell he felt a bit happy, too, at the attention his parents were belatedly giving him. I groaned.

“You should’ve sent me a letter explaining everything,” I said, and he squeezed my hand.

“I wanted to. I tried, I really did, but I was under constant surveillance, and I wasn’t allowed to send mail to anyone in case I got someone to help me escape.” Again, he looked chagrined and pleased at the same time, and I laughed.

“So how did you get here?” I asked. “Did your parents—”

Shao chuckled at that. The sound was melodious and hopeful and so, so sweet, although his next words… won’t. “Nah. I ran away.”

Confusion poisoned my features. “I’m… Um, I’m sorry?”

He smirked. “You heard me. I ran.”

“Um…” I quirked a brow but said nothing. I wanted to come up with some witty repartee, but… what the heck was I supposed to say to that?

“I missed you, Beatrice,” he said, and I wanted to sing in joy. “I had opportunity to flee—and I didn’t know when I’d get the chance again. Both the guards in watch over me that night were sympathetic, you see… although I have high suspicions they were bribed onto my side by Isabella. I scrawled my letters to you and your Father right then and escaped through the window for my life.”

A strangled laugh escaped my throat, although it ended abruptly at another sound of a clearing throat—this time, Connie’s.

Making a face, I turned to her. She schooled her expression into an angelic smile as she whistled innocently. A part of me wanted to smack her with the closest object, which happened to be a slipper, but… Shao was here.

Shao!

“Wait,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “So, are more guards going to come here and threaten to imprison me unless we return you?”

Shao laughed as if this weren’t a life-or-death matter for my family. “Of course not,” he said. “They don’t know who you are, and even if they did, they couldn’t lay a finger on you or anyone important to you. My siblings and I saw to that. All they know is that you exist—and that I’m madly in love with you.”

I choked out a sputtering cough and incoherent series of words at his confession, and he had the audacity to look casually pleased. As if he gave out confessions of love to women often, and today was just another day.

I wasn’t the only person to be shocked; my sister acted similarly, although my parents were suspiciously lacking in reaction. I twisted back to them, frowning.

“Why aren’t you guys surprised?” I asked, and Father rummaged through the pockets of his worn trousers, which were adorned by never-ending flecks of paint, for another slim slip of paper. He handed it to me.

“I received this in the mail today,” he explained. “It didn’t give me the option to refuse, but I couldn’t have, since…” He gestured towards the letter as if that’d explain everything, so I knit my brows as I glanced down to read it.

In the same inky, sloppy scrawls I’d read before, the letter said: want art lessons and boarding. Lump sum of 230,241 coins as payment. Love your daughter. Would like to speak with you when I can. Sorry for rushed letter. No time. Running away. Shao.

I gasped at the payment offer; it was… it was so much, and so specific. The value felt achingly familiar. It took me a moment to process why.

I burst into laughter that may as well have been sobs without tears, although I was happy. Unbelievably, undeservingly elated.

“That’s the exact amount left of our debt,” I said. Father nodded and chuckled.

“Listen, Beatrice,” he said. “You are my daughter, and I love you very, very much, but you’re nothing compared to over two hundred grand.”

I snarled at him, although I couldn’t remove the Cheshire-cat grin that stretched to my ears. Despite his words, Father had been both incredibly anxious for me… and hopeful.

Because he knew about my feelings for Shao, although I’d struggled to hide it.

I felt so silly. How could I be placated so easily? But I felt the warmth of Shao besides me, and I couldn’t restrain my feelings.

Glancing back at the peanut gallery, I saw expressions that ranged between sparkling eyes of amusement and feigned irritation. My mother even had her hands to her heart, and she looked like she was swooning. What was Shao and I to her, a romantic comedy play? I sighed.

“Come on, Shao,” I grit out through my teeth. “Could I steal you for a second? My family is the worst.” I drew out the last word for emphasis, but no one seemed to care. Curse the lot of them.

“Anything for you,” he said, and as cheesy as the line was, I couldn’t help but melt.

Chapter 30

Moonlight cast a soft glow to the streets. The faint echoes of hooting owls and rustling leaves accentuated our footsteps and voices as Shao and I walked away from my home, side by side.

The houses around us were small but ornate, quaint, and clean, and the scent of lavenders and tulips tickled our senses. My new townsfolk were big on aesthetics if nothing else, caring to make the designs of the plants and buildings impeccably beautiful even if it was otherwise unassuming.

We twisted past several paths made by chiseled pebble which had been painted over into an endless rainbow bridge. Although many years had passed since I’d last lived here, I knew all the pathways and shortcuts like the back of my hand.

“Where are we going?” Shao asked, and I laughed at a twinkling realization. For the first time since we’d met, I was leading Shao around, rather than the vice versa.

“You’ll see,” I replied, giving him a shy wink as I sped up my pace. Shao hastened so that he’d be beside me again. Our hands lingered near each other’s, and sparks flew at our almost-touch; I considered closing the distance and holding his hand, but something about it felt… so intimate, even more so than our kiss had been.

I took in a deep breath as we continued to walk, smiling as the scent of grass and trees waned and the flowery, fruity smells grew stronger. Fruit trees of various sizes and shapes surrounded us, draping over us as an archway of sugar, branches, and prismatic-colored leaves.

“We’re here,” I said, pointing forward as we twisted past a thick wall of leaves and flowers. Immediately, we were engulfed by its sweet, honeysuckle scent, and I closed my eyes as I took a big inhale.

Before us was a dome-shaped maple-wood pavilion, which had been painted over with golden hues with flecks of rose-red. Grapevines, honeysuckles, and hydrangeas crept up each of the supporting pillars, erupting into a pool of gardenias and roses that blossomed on the top and bottom of the roof.

I tugged Shao into the pavilion, wanting him to smell it from closer—and to see all the ornate decorations from within. The floor was a tiling wood of various types and colors, and the two benches overlooking the garden were also a patchwork of vines and various woods.

There was a stump of a tree in the center of the pavilion, ornate with several rings and the names of numerous visiting couples scratched into the sides.

When we were under the pavilion’s roof, I remembered my hesitation from earlier as to holding his hand, and I blushed furiously.

However, I did not let go.

I sat down onto one of the two benches overlooking the garden, not caring to brush my dress down first, and Shao sat with me with twinkling eyes.

“Is this the place you wanted to show me?” He asked, and I huffed.

“Do you even have to ask?” I replied, then pointed at him indignantly. “Don’t think I forgot you laughed at me when Father insulted my paintings. How hypocritical of you. I never laughed at your childhood paintings.”

“Because they were good, weren’t they?” Shao said. I rolled my eyes. “Considering how young I was when I drew them—”

“That’s no excuse,” I said. “It’s not like you’ve improved any since then. Really, speaking of excuses, couldn’t you have come up with a better one than learning how to paint? You’ve never shown any interest in it in the months we spent together, and I’ve never so much as seen a paintbrush around.”

Shao shrugged. He lips quirked into a grin that made me smile, too, despite myself—or perhaps I’d already been smiling to begin with. “I was desperate for any reason to spend time with you, logical or not.”

I licked my lips, heat crawling back up to my cheeks, and he gave a light chuckle as he reached forward ever so slowly, as though any rushed movement would break the spell between us. As if he’d blink and I wouldn’t be here anymore.

I felt the same way.

His hand landed softly, gently against my cheek into a caress that warmed me to my soul.

“I missed you,” he said. “Missing you was like losing my soul. You took a piece of me with you when you left.”

I shook my head. This entire situation was as saccharine as the best of dreams because… it was one. It would be fleeting and filled with blossoming regrets.

Taking Shao’s lifted hand in mine, I said, “Don’t you want to be a king?”

Shao averted his gaze, and I knew I was right. Although it was a mere confirmation of something I already knew, I felt a thousand pounds of lead weigh down on my heart at his silent affirmation.

“I swear, if you tell me you gave it up for my sake—” I started, and Shao’s jaw tensed as he laughed sadly.

“No, don’t worry. It had nothing to do with you,” he said, and I hated that I felt a pang of disappointment—truly, I felt crushed and humiliated—at those words. I was selfish and proud. Those traits were a part of me, although they were shameful, and perhaps they’d accompany me for the rest of my life.

“I’ve spent far too long in the mansion to rule Perintas,” he continued. “The nobles are wary of me. The commoners have forgotten me. I’ll be judged and undermined from both sides if I try to rule here.”

I tilted my head. My hand remained on Shao’s, pushing it against my cheek so he’d stay touching me. There was something about the way he’d said it that bothered me, although I couldn’t place it. With narrowing eyes, I looked at Shao, but he said nothing—out loud. There was something in the depths of his eyes that whispered: guilty.

“You can still rule another kingdom, can’t you?” I asked several beats later, and from the way his hand twitched against mine, I knew once again that I was correct. “You can be king consort, and in most countries nearby, that’s as good as being a king by birth.”

“I have you,” Shao said, his voice firm and husky.

“You know this is temporary,” I replied, and I could have wept at the finality of my own words. There was no doubt in my mind that I was right, and Shao knew it, too. “Your parents will find you. Your siblings will miss you. They’ll take you home, and they’ll expect you to stay.”

“By then,” he said, “I’ll have ensured my parents approve of you, whether they like it or not. I will spend the rest of my life with you, as long as you’ll have me, Beatrice. Will you?” His eyes snapped to mine, and my heart thundered in my chest. I licked my lips.

“I expect a little more effort for a proposal,” I replied with a shaky, forced laugh.

I wanted to cry because there was nothing I wanted more than to spend the rest of my life with him. Desperately, so desperately, I wanted to grow old with him. To monopolize him until the end of our days.

But I couldn’t.

I simply couldn’t, not with our difference in status and wealth and aspirations.

I wanted a small life in the countryside—or even here, at home, where my parents and Constance would be—healing others and making a comfortable but plain life for myself. Even if Shao didn’t become a king, he’d remain a prince, and he would shake my life upside down in a way I didn’t know if I could handle.

And, most of all… I wanted the best for Shao.

If he wanted to be a king, he had to become one. I couldn’t drag him down and make him suffer a life of obscurity and loneliness that would only remind him of his time at the mansion. Pleading and praying that one day, he could be free. That he could make a difference. Rule. Serve his people.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Shao replied with a wink that conveyed a carelessness I wished I felt. I didn’t think he felt it, either, from the way he was still shaking. He was faking it. Being brave for my sake. “Before I proposed officially, I wanted to make sure you would be alright with it. Alright with me. That you’d consider someone like me.”

“What are you talking about?” I laughed, unable to handle my fears and doubts. “If anything, I’m undeserving of you—”

“You can’t believe that,” Shao replied. “I’ve made you fear so much. I should have filled your heart with joy and blessings and hope, but instead, I’ve only made you doubt me and my feelings for you.”

Shao lifted my hand, then kissed its back. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long—and I’m sorry I made you fear that I’d used you. Truly, I am. But I’m here now—so will you allow me to prove that I love you by staying and courting you? I understand if you can’t forgive me right away, but now that my curse has been cured, I have nothing to gain other than you.”

“Th-there’s nothing to forgive,” I replied, because the wounds in my heart had been inflicted by me and my incessant thoughts more than by any of his actions. “And it’s not like I can kick you out when you’re paying so much, right?” I joked, then mulled over my own words.

“I’m scared, Shao,” I finally admitted. “I’m scared you’ll give up the crown only to realize that’s what you need for your life to feel fulfilled. I’m scared that one day after we’ve pledged ourselves to each other that you’ll regret it. Regret me.”

“That could never happen,” Shao said. “A kingdom is worthless if you aren’t my queen. Nothing matters without you.”

I gulped and it felt like metal balls were caught in my throat. Sucking at my teeth, I considered a thousand words, a million questions, but settled on changing the subject like the coward I was.

Scooting closer to him despite myself, I pointed up at the stars. “Mother used to be obsessed with constellations,” I said, and Shao arched a brow at my blatant avoidance of the previous topic. Saying nothing, he gestured me to continue. “For years, Constance and I sat here every night, listening to Mother name the constellations and tell their tales. We loved it.”

Exhaling, I moved my hand around, pointing at different constellations as I stopped to name them. “Atlia the great warrior. Lorenti and Tristechi, the bloodthirsty twins.”

My finger drifted to the largest, brightest constellation: a pair of lovebirds formed by a series of two sticks leaning on each other. There, it lingered.

“The Kairens,” I said, my voice slow to come out. “The lovebirds.”

“The Kairens?” He echoed, perhaps realizing they were different. Important. “What’s the story behind them?”

Glad I could tell him something he didn’t already know, I smiled. “I assume you know about the Magnolia Wars?”

Shao scoffed. “I may have been imprisoned in the mansion for most of my life, but I’m neither illiterate nor uncultured. I’ve had more time than most to study our nation’s history.”

I tittered. “Right. Well, if you’re so confident, why don’t you tell me the myth behind its resolution?”

“Are you trying to give me a history lesson?” Shao smirked. “And I here thought we were talking about stars. Well, the royal family turned on itself, and during the internal, bloody family warfare, the treacherous witch general—Queen Mulan—swept in and conquered the throne.”

Eh?

Furrowing my brows, I playfully shoved at Shao with my shoulders.

“Did you really not expect me to know?” Shao asked, peering at me in confusion.

“Do you not listen to me? I specified that I wanted to hear about the myth.”

“What does it matter? If we’re being technical, all distant history tales are myths, since we’re piecing together—”

Irritated, I gave him another shove. “Do you not have a romantic bone in your body? For all the love stories and fairy tales you hoarded in your library, you’re acting ridiculous.” Shaking my head and giving a generous series of tuts, I said, “Legends say that the witch Mulan and the nation’s prince fell in love with each other, as did many of the strongest, smartest generals on both sides.”

Shao arched his brow as if doubting my story, which was fair, since I didn’t believe any of the words myself. “It’s just a story,” I mumbled, because it was. “But it’s a good one, so keep listening. It was my favorite story as a kid, although I’ve forgotten most of the details.”

Shao chuckled and squeezed my hand. “Should you really be telling it to me if you’ve forgotten it?”

Shove.

“Will you keep interrupting me, or will you listen to me?” I asked. “I hope you know, every time you interrupt me is a year longer that I refuse your advances.”

Laughing, Shao shook his head, but he didn’t speak up again. I almost wished he had.

“They knew one of their sides would be completely decimated if the war continued,” I said. “Both sides were standing for so much in their side of the war, and they knew the support of their people, whom they’d pledged to die for would be lost if they wavered… but they did. And eventually—” I gave a sheepish grin, since the details as to the finale had been one of the things I’d long forgotten. “Eventually, the war came to a peaceful resolution, and the lovebirds who’d given up their identities, their people, their loves, and their purpose, found happiness in each other for eternity thereafter.”

Realizing something bitter, I paused to frown. In the story I’d told, the lovebird generals had sacrificed everything for love. To stay with their beloveds for the rest of their days. Even at the expense of their passions.

What was I doing? Pushing Shao away?

I shook my head. As strong as my feelings for him were, something as trivial as emotions were irrelevant in reality… only in myths and legends could they prevail over all else.

Shao froze, then threw his head back to guffaw. I glared at him as he spoke. “And that’s who the Kairens are supposed to represent? The generals who—in your very incorrect retelling, mind you—resolved a war through the power of love?”

“Listen,” I said. I harrumphed. “Like you said, history was written through the interpretations of modern men. We don’t know what happened, and for all we know, the war was resolved through the power of love.”

“You need to stop taking your parents’ bedtime stories seriously.”

“And you need to stop being so contrarian,” I retorted, pulling a face at the contradiction between my words and my heart. Shao stroked my hands with his thumb, seeming to understand, and I averted my gaze. “Well? What’s your thought on the stars?”

“It’s very… idealistic,” he said.

“They’re stars,” I grumbled. “We project our hopes and dreams to them. How could they not be?”

Shao’s eyes glazed, glued to the constellation. I considered talking about more collections of stars to fill the silence, but the quiet atmosphere felt strangely comforting, and Shao seemed too focused for me to interrupt him.

Minutes passed before he shifted.

“For the longest time, you were my hopes. You were my dreams.” His voice came out as a breathy whisper, and it reminded me of his past alone—and the time we’d spent at the mansion. I inhaled sharply, then shot him a rueful grin.

“Past tense, huh? I noticed,” I teased. His reaction was a throaty laugh.

“You still are, but in a completely different way,” he said. “Back then… Well. You’ve saved me from myself more times than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never was very clear about how you saved me, was I?” He gave me a weak smile. “It wasn’t just that you gave me hope I’d find someone to defend me or to break the curse. Several years ago, I was on the verge of madness. I decided I’d never be able to cure the curse, and I’d be stuck to live alone with the guilt of being a murderer for the rest of my life.”

“You weren’t a murderer—”

“I know that now,” he retorted. “Not then.”

“Shao.”

“When Sol wrote me about you, I wasn’t taking care of myself. I hardly ate. I stayed in bed all day, berating myself as I relived my memory of my mother’s transformation.”

I pressed my hands against the patchwork woods of the bench. “Did I give you hope you’d be able to remove the curse?”

“No, actually.” He tilted his head. “You helped me realize that no matter how hopeless it seemed—that even if dispelling the curse was impossible—it was foolish to give up. You taught me it was better to go mad with hope than squander my life with self-hatred.”

“Shao—”

He reached out for my hand again. I entwined my fingers with his before he could change his mind.

“I saw myself in you,” he said. “We faced similar circumstances; we faced them vastly differently. I strove to emulate you.”

I opened my mouth to tell him that what he faced was far worse but changed my mind. That was obvious. Both of us knew it. That wasn’t the point.

“When I met you, my opinion of you changed,” he said.

“I fell off your pedestal.”

He nodded. “You did. But the Beatrice I imagined was nothing compared to the real you that I got to know. You’re loving. Sensitive. Caring. You swept me off my feet with your determination and impulsiveness, and I can no longer imagine a life without you.”

My eyes felt damp, but I refused to cry again. I blinked away the wetness.

“I swear to the heavens, Shao, if you’re proposing twice in one day when I’ve just reminded you—” I began with a giggle, and Shao leaned in, his lips pausing an inch away from mine as if to taunt me.

“May I?” He breathed, and I waited one, two, three breaths before I closed the distance myself, feeling the heat of his lips against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pushing myself closer to him so I could hear our thudding, erratic heartbeats dance against each other.

I allowed myself to sink into his kiss. His feather-light touches brushed the arch of my back.

My misgivings melted away in Shao’s arms, replaced by hope and love and a desire for this moment for stretch for eternity.

These feelings, too, may be fleeting… but what harm could it do to revel in our sickly-sweet lies for one more day? Tomorrow, I’d shield my heart once more.

For now, I savored every whisper. Rolled his words around in my tongue, a silent echo, as I pulled away, breathless.

Shao called me his hero, but he’d helped me far more.

Keeping these thoughts close to my heart, I gave Shao a small smile. The hours slipped away as we whispered in the darkness.

Chapter 31

True to his word, Shao stayed and courted me over several weeks, dogged and stubborn and constant despite my half-hearted rejections. No doubt it was because he saw in my eyes and in my traitorous pulse that I was pushing him away out of fear, rather than because I didn’t love him.

My mornings and evenings were punctuated by kisses stolen in the parlor and the gardens when no one else was looking. It grew to where I depended on the kisses to energize me for the rest of the day.

Otherwise, I went to work as normal; during those hours, Shao remained at home to learn how to paint from Father. If Father was out painting for other clients or otherwise busy, Shao remained to do the housework, which he was exceptionally good at due to his discerning eye. This surprised me. Why had he kept his home a pigsty—and made me clean up after him—if he could make the house positively sparkle with mere minutes of work?

Likely because that had been my supposed payment for receiving the cure, but still.

Either way, he became the darling of the family thanks to the fact that he basically paid us for the privilege of cleaning our houses for us. It was obvious in the longing, loving glances my parents shot towards him that they were wondering when I would marry him.

They also wondered, it seemed, what in heavens Shao saw in me, but I pretended not to notice that.

Gradually, I almost began to feel at ease, accepting that Shao… perhaps loved me. His company began to feel like home, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever let him go.

A month and a half passed.

Shao and I were returning home from the farmer’s market, baskets filled with fruits, vegetables, and eggs in our hands. We were giggling and laughing like carefree children as we gossiped about the latest shenanigans we’d encountered at the city when we heard a small commotion nearby.

We glanced towards the crowd that was gathering, and I gasped, my basket collapsing to the ground. Among the curious crowd of people were five humongous but simple carriages. I could see through the windows of the closest carriage strands of black hair and flashing, dark eyes, and I knew it to be Isabella in her disguise.

Of course, they couldn’t have come here without their disguises or in their royal carriages. It would bring shame to the kingdom’s rulers if word got out the royal family had appeared themselves to kidnap village men—and it would only worsen their reputation further if the man turned out to be their own runaway prince. Although they were the most powerful people in the country, they were still bound by the rules of their blood when surrounded by commoners.

My eyes turned to Shao in shock. He gulped.

“Let’s turn past the corner over there,” he said. “They won’t see us if we take the eastern shortcut to the gardens. We can return in a couple hours when they’re gone.”

He grabbed my hand and began to tug me in his rush to leave, but I stood firm. First out of a petrifying shock and fear, then out of stubbornness.

All my anxieties that I’d left forgotten and dormant rushed back to me as a punch to my gut.

My worst fears were coming true. The royal family, accompanied by guards, were here to take their prince back. And if Shao somehow stayed with me, a hole in his heart would remain from the absence of his family—from the memory of kicking them out of his life repeatedly, even though he wanted to see them. Be with them.

Who was I to take that from him?

“No,” I said, and Shao quirked a brow as guards began to depart the carriage. They flanked the carriage and motioned for the townsfolk to make room, which the latter reluctantly did, although they remained close to gawk. The royals remained in the carriage. For now.

“What do you mean, no?” Shao asked, giving my hand another pull. I gulped.

“I mean no,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “You should go home. You miss your family, don’t you? You spent such a long time without them… you deserve to make up for that lost time, rather than spend your life hiding away with me.”

Shao’s jaw twitched. “But I…”

“I want to be with you, too,” I said. “But that’s just not reality.”

The guards were now spreading out, asking the villagers questions about whether they’d seen anyone strange. Anyone new. Although many of them played dumb, the loyal souls that they were, others blatantly stared in Shao’s direction—although they didn’t name him outright from fear of the townsfolk judging them.

Shao tried to run again, but I held him firm by the hand he’d offered first as the guards waded to us through the quicksand of townsfolk.

“You should go home,” I said. “Don’t you get it? I… You’ve been with us for a month and a half, and I still haven’t accepted your proposal. It’s because I knew—I knew this wouldn’t last.”

Shao’s knuckles blanched against his basket of groceries. “I’ve been telling you I’d stay no matter what!”

“And you knew that was impossible!” I cried back. I jabbed a finger into him. “You can’t live in denial forever. You can’t be a runaway forever.”

“I know that,” Shao said, pulling at his hair. “You think I haven’t been wondering how to gain my parents’ approval of you myself? I have, and I can’t think of anything. That’s why I’m staying! To ensure they do approve when they get sick of me disappearing on them! I—”

“You will never gain your parents’ approval,” I said, and from the way he broke at those words, I knew he believed the same. “And without their approval, you will never steal my heart.”

“We kiss several times a day—”

“You steal my lips, Shao,” I said tauntingly, mimicking a sassiness and calmness that I didn’t feel. “Not my heart. Not me. Never me.”

“Beatrice…”

Before he could say anything else, we were surrounded by guards dressed in metal armor. Ha. As if any of us would lay a hand on them.

“Are you—” A guard began, and I recognized him from his fluffy, almost cotton-candy-like brown curls.

“Amédée,” I said, raising my eyes. He glanced towards me, tilted his head, then gasped as he recognized me.

“Beatrice,” he breathed. Shao’s arm wrapped around my shoulder protectively, and I could have giggled if I weren’t already mourning his loss. Was he jealous despite my rejection of him? Pity that he’d misunderstood. “How’s Constance?” He asked, and I laughed.

We’d been classmates several years ago at the academy, and he’d fawned over Constance like a lost puppy after she’d saved him from an evil, dangerous, and—worst of all—furious teacher. While Constance had never returned his affections, she thought him amusing, and she spent time with him whenever I wasn’t with her.

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Busy. Pretty. Heartbroken after a breakup.” I arched my eyes at him as if to dare him, and he cleared his throat and averted his gaze, but I could see the pink flush blossoming on his cheeks.

The other guards stepped closer to us, all opening their mouths at once to speak with me, and I glanced back at Shao, who was gazing at me with a protective scowl that almost made me melt and tell him to stay.

But I couldn’t.

For his sake, he had to leave.

“Yes, this is Shao,” I whispered under my breath so only the guards could hear me. “Take him.” I turned to Shao. “Go home. Forget about me. Don’t come back here again.”

“Beatrice—”

“Please.”

Shao grit his teeth, and I knew the heat climbing up his skin wasn’t caused by any happy, flirtatious emotion. My eyes squeezed shut as I breathed hard through my mouth, trying to keep myself from crying.

This was the worst farewell; perhaps I should have let him sneak me away, if only so we could say our good-byes properly before he left forever.

“Goodbye, Shao,” I said as he allowed himself to be taken by the guards.

He said nothing back.

Chapter 32

“Breaking news! Breaking news!” A loud voice boomed from outside the window, punctuated by an even louder trumpet. Constance and I winced at the noise, and I glanced towards the window, wondering if I’d forgotten to shut it while cleaning my house with my family.

Nope. It was sealed tight. How could anyone be so inhumanly obnoxious?

I glared at the man who was marching along with his gigantic instrument in his arms. Noticing me from the corner of his eye, he turned and saluted towards me before returning to his job.

People like him weren’t uncommon—they were hired to spread propaganda and gossip (and, very rarely, news) for a pretty penny, but most people couldn’t have cared less about the nobles’ petty quarrels and actively avoided them. Their only way to spread their stories was to grate on everyone else’s nerves.

I couldn’t fault him for trying to make a living, but could he have been any less irritating?

“Breaking news! Breaking news!” More trumpet noises. “The returned Prince Asha is engaged!” My duster clattered to the floor, and I stared blankly at the messenger as I listened to him repeat those seven accursed words endlessly, each time louder than the last.

Constance reached out to hold my hand.

I appreciated the sentiment, but all I could think was that her hand was too small, too cold.

It wasn’t Shao’s hand.

The gesture was kind, but Constance lacked the ability to comfort me immediately as Shao—and only Shao—could.

Shao, who was engaged.

To whom?

I pressed my ear to the window.

“His betrothed is the beloved Crown Princess Gretel of Heloritas!”

Yet another sentence I had to hear infinitely again until I wanted to crawl into a hole and sleep forever.

Even I knew about Crown Princess Gretel, and I’d hardly ever paid attention to gossip about monarchs, particularly foreign ones.

Due to the king’s withdrawal from public affairs after the curse of his children, the Perintas monarchs were known of but hardly ever thought of—another reason they were so wary about bad press.

Instead, the few people who cared about politics or the lavish grandness of royalty turned to Princess Gretel for their obsessions. She was infamous for her kindness, generosity, gentleness, and wisdom even in Perintas.

In Heloritas, it was said she was in no shortage of rabid, overprotective, and overbearing fans who would give up their entire fortunes for the privilege of having her say their names.

If Shao’s marriage was one of convenience rather than love, meant to instill respect and admiration for him nationwide rather than distrust and confusion after his long disappearance, he couldn’t have chosen a better bride.

Meanwhile, if Shao’s marriage was one of love…

He still couldn’t have chosen a better bride.

“They shall host an engagement ball at the dawn of this week!” The messenger cried again, breaking me out of my reveries with his signature obnoxious series of trumpet flares that sounded like something dying. Repeat ad nauseam.

Only a month had passed since he’d left our home, and I felt his absence every day like a hole in my heart. Too bad the feeling hadn’t been reciprocated, I guess.

No, shut up, Beatrice, I chastised myself. After all, I was the one who’d kicked him out. I’d rejected him. It was too late to regret my own decisions, although the thought didn’t keep me from gnawing on my lip or clenching my fists.

Of course, he’d fallen for the princess’s charms like every other man on this planet. I couldn’t fault him. It was to his credit that of the countless men who desired her hand, the esteemed Princess Gretel had chosen him.

I suppose he’ll get to be King like this, even if he won’t rule Perintas, I realized. It didn’t surprise me, but it tugged at my heartstrings.

It was another reminder and proof of how far we’d grown apart.

I wished I could cry.

But—oddly enough—Shao had taken my ability to cry with him, and I’d been unable to shed a single tear to vent my sorrows and stresses, no matter how hard I tried.

What an irritating betrayal from my own body. I grit my teeth.

Constance gave my hand a tight squeeze, but I barely felt it. Crashing my teeth together, I twisted away to rush out of the living room. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to flee. Had to stop hearing the cursed voice and trumpet noises of the messenger.

I was stopped by my parents, who blocked the door out of the house as if they’d expected my movements. I glared daggers up at them instinctively, and it took me a beat to calm myself down, chastising myself mentally for my impoliteness. They didn’t seem fazed.

“Why are you stopping me?” I asked. Mother and Father glanced at each other warily. Mother’s hand was to her hip, while Father’s arms were crossed as if in consternation.

“You shouldn’t run away, Beatrice,” Mother chided, and I felt myself shake.

“Run away from what?” I asked. “I just… He’s getting married, and I—”

Mother sighed. “If I remember correctly, he’s getting married because you rejected him.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” I cried. “Tell him I want him to cancel the engagement for my fickle whims, just because even though I refuse to marry him myself, I’m not okay with him moving on?”

“I don’t know that he has moved on,” Mother said, straightening out my dress as if I were a toddler again. Father shook his head, his palm to his forehead, before walking away as if in resignation.

I couldn’t believe they were acting like this. What did it matter whether Shao returned to me or not?

I felt a pang in my heart, knowing it was for me. They hated to see me mope and worry as I had since Shao’s absence. And yet…

Sighing, I wrung my hands and elbows. What were they expecting? For me to storm into the castle and tell Shao to cancel his engagement after it had already been announced to the world?

“It’s been over a month, and he hasn’t sent me a single letter—”

“Have you sent him any?” Mother cocked her head and arched a brow. I flinched. “Typically, when someone rejects another person, they’re the one responsible for fighting to get them back.”

“But I—” I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I’d kicked Shao away of my own volition, because I hadn’t wanted him to lose his family because of me.

But…

I was a shell of myself without him. Now that I knew exactly what I could have had, I was poisoned by my memories with him—and by the what-ifs that bombarded me every night before I managed to fall asleep.

I missed Shao’s kisses. I missed his hugs.

More than anything else, I missed his company.

I missed him.

Yet I’d pushed him away, and now he had a fiancée.

It was too late for regrets.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. Pleaded. Because I knew I couldn’t decide on anything for myself. Because I wanted someone else to blame for my inaction or my action or whatever path I ended up travelling.

“I want you to look at this,” Father boomed from behind me, and I jolted in place. When had he returned? “I found it in Shao’s room while cleaning it out.”

In his hand was a large black sketchbook, and he tossed it to me. I accepted it with an awkward hop, frowning as I turned the pages.

The first couple pages were sloppy, almost childish paintings of landscapes and constellations. The garden where we’d first kissed for real, out of passion rather than fear, took up several different pages.

“I told him to paint landscapes for me,” Father explained. “Those drawings were my homework to him, although he chose the specific regions.” He gestured with his chin for me to keep flipping through the pages. I obeyed.

Soon, the greens of the leaves and the purples, pinks, and blues of the flowers were replaced by something altogether different.

Me.

Shao had painted me. Over and over again, until his hands must have cramped, and his paints must have run out. Occasionally, the paintings switched back to depicting the gardens or our parlors, and once a field of golden roses, but then he returned to painting me.

Me, asleep on a tabletop. Reading. Laughing. Holding out my hand to him. Brushing the tears from his face.

Pages after pages were centered on me—a much more beautiful, elegant version, but me, nonetheless.

“Those were for himself,” Father said. “I never saw them until he left.”

“I—”

“Do you really think he’s engaged to a princess after only a month and a half because he fell in love with her?” Father asked. “Because he’s—” for his next words, he even made little quotation marks with his fingers—“forgotten about you?”

“I-I—” I couldn’t say anything else, so instead I just looked down at my fidgeting toes.

“What do you want to do, Beatrice?” Father asked.

Silence coated us for several heartbeats before I finally decided what I should’ve predicted all along.

Shao had been mine first.

He belonged to me, and I with him.

He’d chosen me. I’d shunned his confessions.

Now, it was time for me to choose him.

“I want to chase after him,” I said because I did. “I want to do anything and everything I can to make him return to me.”

Mother practically cheered in her spot, while Father’s lips twitched into a hint of a proud smile.

Jumping forward to hug me tight, Mother said, “Oh, I knew you had it in you, you lovesick dolt. You get it from me.”

Father glared at her incredulously. “You? Lovesick? If I remember correctly, you were too focused on your books to even glance at boys; that’s what Beatrice takes after, not some imagined affectionate heart. I had to shower you with presents and confess my love hundreds of times before you showed a modicum of interest in me.”

Constance and I glanced each other from our opposite ends of the room and rolled our eyes.

Glaring daggers at Father, Mother replied, “You don’t appreciate a fraction of all the ridiculous things I did to win you over. Those books were guides on how to get a man to fall in love with you, and I doubt you would have noticed me if I hadn’t followed every single direction perfectly. Do you know how hard that was? I had to pierce together all the incredibly contradictory suggestions—”

“Maybe they were contradictory because they were crap written by lonely spinsters for other lonely spinsters—”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a spinster,” Constance grumbled, and Father shook his head in exasperation.

“And the tips clearly worked for me,” Mother said.

“The point is, dear, I’d have been interested in you regardless,” said Father. Under his breath, he mumbled, “Thank heavens Constance didn’t inherit your gullibility, even if Bea did.”

Pure, unadulterated rage passed through Mother’s eyes, and it was a miracle she didn’t slap him.

I had a sudden understanding (that I didn’t quite want) of just how many useless, stupid, and probably humiliating things Mother had done for Father’s affections, and I laughed.

Well, I must have gotten my stubbornness and audaciousness from somewhere, and these traits definitely hadn’t been from Father.

“I’ll go figure something out,” I said, wanting to give my parents some space.

“Wait, Beatrice.” Father called out.

“What is it, Father?”

Father rummaged through his pockets and revealed two thin, metallic-silver slips of paper that seemed to glint off the nearby candle lights. He handed one to me.

It was an invitation to the masquerade ball in honor of the royal engagement.

I gaped up at him. Had he really been hiding this the whole time?

“Where did you get this?” I said, gasping.

“We received two tickets in the mail,” he said with a shrug. “The sender was anonymous, but no doubt it was from the castle.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. Whether this was from Shao or one of his siblings… I doubted I’d been invited so Shao could gloat over his engagement. He wasn’t vindictive enough; that was something I’d do. Which left only one reason for the invitations.

From the start, I’d had no alternative but to fight for him. My parents had been generous in at least allowing me the illusion of choice.

“Thank you,” I grumbled, reaching out to hug him. “I’ll fight for my happily ever after, Father. You just watch.”

Chapter 33

The castle sparkled with opulence and grandeur. As we followed the guard leading us in, Father and I couldn’t help but gape. From the subtly engraved architecture to the themed posh furniture and paintings from centuries-gone renowned artists, everything stole our breath away.

“I never thought I’d step into the palace,” Father whispered, and I beamed.

“I always knew you would—although I expected you to paint for the royal family.” I shrugged. “Maybe the next time you visit.”

“Oh, please. It’s such a privilege, Beatrice. I… I never…”

The guard glanced back, and I swallowed, wondering if he wished to shush us. I had no idea what decorum was expected of me, and Father was too captivated to be helpful.

Instead, he was looking behind us. I frowned, but before I could say a word—

“Beatrice!” A female voice chimed. When I turned around, I came face to face with Princess Isabella, who quickly rushed in and kissed me on my cheeks. Inhaling, I took a step back.

“P-princess Isabella?”

“Good morning, your highness!” The guard boomed, dipping into a bow. My father mirrored his movements, awe clear on his face, and I curtsied.

“You know her, too?” Father hissed.

“Oh, you must be Beatrice’s Father,” Princess Isabella said, curtsying back. She lifted his wrist gingerly to kiss him by the back of his hand, and Father practically jumped in shock.

“Th-there’s no need—I—”

“Delighted to finally meet you,” the princess said. “I’ve wondered about you since years ago, but since Father was adamant that painters were a waste of money if Mother wasn’t with us, I’ve never had an excuse to see you.”

Father sputtered to himself, his eyes bulging, and I couldn’t help but giggle despite my own raging confusion.

“As for you, darling, how many times have I told you to call me Isabella?” The brunette princess turned to me. My mouth slackened.

“Why…?” Why was she being so friendly with me? I wondered if she was simply being a polite host for the hired artist and his daughter, but she’d specifically called for me first, and her gaze was focused on me. “Did you invite us?”

“Of course, I did.” The princess simpered. “It was a secret from Shao; I wished to speak with you in private.”

I glanced towards Father, who was still consumed by his shock. He did retain enough wits about him to give me a quick glance as if to ask if I were okay with it. I nodded, and he returned to his bumbling self.

“D-do whatever you wish! A princess. A princess!”

With a resigned puff of laughter, I swallowed and looked back up at Isabella.

She gave me her hand, and she led me through the maze-like palace, her smile turning proud when she saw how intently I admired every part of it.

I’d thought the mansion was impossibly huge, but that had been nothing compared to this.

She finally stopped at a pair of towering metal doors decorated by an engraving of kings, queens, and angels. She grabbed a pair of keys from inside her shoe, turned it in the lock, and pushed open the doors.

Bright sunlight caused my eyes to squint, but I sniffed whiffs of peonies, pansies, and—the most familiar, intoxicating, and sorely missed scent of all—roses.

Before me was an exquisitely tended garden that rivaled the mansion in size and scale. It felt more like a forest; my vision was blocked in every direction by countless trees, which were coiled by vines and speckled by moss.

“I-I didn’t know you had a garden like this,” I breathed.

“Of course not,” Princess Isabella replied with a twinkling laugh. “You can’t see it because of all the trees and plants, but this place is surrounded by walls. It’s an internal part of the palace.”

I shook my head. “Why did we come here?” Surely, she hadn’t dragged me for twenty minutes just to brag about how extravagant her home was. Princesses didn’t need to boast to commoners; they were superior by definition.

“It’s one of the few places we can get some privacy,” she replied. “Tons of nobles and foreign diplomats and royals are here for the engagement, and many of them will make a scandal out of someone drinking tea the wrong way.”

I gulped, the reality of the situation finally settling in. Could I really do anything to stop Shao’s engagement? Could I shatter the remains of his reputation for my own selfish whims?

She inspected me, her eyes suddenly serious. Fearing her chastisement, I gripped my elbows.

“I thought you loved him,” she said.

“I do.”

“Then why didn’t you give him a chance?”

I bit my lip, my eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I just… He wanted to be king, and I—”

“He wanted you, Beatrice,” Isabella said sharply, and I cowered. “What happened to the girl who yelled at me about protecting and treasuring him? He’s getting engaged to a stranger because you rejected him. Several times.”

“I—” I grabbed myself tighter, feeling nauseous. In the off chance I magically convinced Shao to choose me after all, breaking off his engagement and humiliating his family, how would they feel? “I know.”

“Why did you agree to come here?”

“I…” My words froze in my throat. Was I supposed to tell her the truth, allowing her to mock and stop me? Or must I lie to her?

Princess Isabella stood taller, leveling her eyes with mine.

“Was it to cry over my stupid brother?” She asked. “Or was it to stop him?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

She crossed her arms and shuffled her balance to her left leg. “Gretel is a wonderful girl, and I love her with all my heart, but she’s not you. She won’t make Shao happy.”

“And… you think I will?” I asked, hesitant. “You… want him to return to me, even though I rejected him?” I shook my head, unable to comprehend this. It was one thing to plan to whisk Shao away as if this were some fantasy fairy tale, and another to do so… under the approval of his sister.

“I want what’s best for him, which is you… and I know you love him,” she said frankly, arching a carefully drawn brow. “It’s been obvious since we first met. The way you look at him, the way you talk about him. The way you brighten up just a little whenever you hear his name. Heavens, Beatrice. If you aren’t going to steal him back, why did you even accept my invitation?”

At her frustrated, snappish tone and scowl, I gulped hard.

Then, I lifted my dress up to my knee, revealing the ornate white mask that was tied to my calf.

Her eyes widened. She beamed, understanding the intent behind the mask, even if she didn’t know my exact plan.

“I’m waiting for the ball,” I said hopelessly as I shrugged with my hands. “I figure I need to create a scandal if I want a chance of his parents accepting me, however grudgingly.”

Either that, or I’d end up being princess carried all the way to prison, where I’d rot until I died.

I shoved away that thought.

“I suppose I didn’t need to bother lecturing you, my darling future sister,” the princess said, giving me a reassuring grin. “But I’m glad I did.”

I took a deep breath, then smiled at her reassurance.

“I’m glad you did, too, Isabella,” I replied, then leaned in to kiss her on her cheeks before she could kiss mine.

She gasped, then giggled with me.

“Let me take you back to your Father. Could I give you a tour after?”

I snorted. “Do you even have to ask? I’d be grateful, and my Father may die on the spot when you tell him.”

Linking her arm with mine, Isabella led me out.

I tossed a final glance back in admiration of the castle forest.

Chapter 34

As soon as I entered the ballroom, the scent of gingerbreads and cakes overpowered my senses. Princess Gretel’s kingdom was known for their numerous exceptional patisseries, and her family had spared no expenses in hiring their best bakers to cater for the engagement celebrations.

Although I’d arrived right on time, it was already filled with nobles and foreign diplomats, who were eager to devour the famous desserts for themselves.

Above me, glittering chandeliers swayed down from the ceiling, and the faint multicolored lights highlighted the guests in their eye-catching, flamboyant masks.

I squeezed through the crowds of people, murmuring “Excuse me” whenever there was too large a group for me to simply pass by.

“I don’t recognize you,” said an unfamiliar male voice. I turned, unsure if they were talking to me. “It’s impolite to ignore someone.”

“I-I’m a guest from Perintas,” I replied, peering at the man through his red-and-green mask, which tapered off to a large bird beak. “Are you supposed to be a parrot?”

He nodded, and he tapped his chest in pride, puffing it out as if he really were a bird.

“Hans,” he said. He leaned into me conspiratorially, but he misjudged the size of his mask; his beak bumped into my cheek, and I gasped as I jumped back. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot about my darned mask.” He shook his head. “I’m the lucky lady’s brother. Nice to meet you.”

And I’m the girl who plans to steal your sister’s betrothed.

I laughed uncomfortably, unsure how I was supposed to respond to him.

“Oh, Prince Hansel,” a female voice sighed. “I understand you’re bored, but could you stop harassing every poor girl you come across?”

Prince Hansel lifted his arms, palms out, as he glanced at her. I took this as an opportunity to flee. “Now, now, I was simply making a new friend.”

“Does she feel the same way?”

They turned towards me, but I was already several feet away, making my way over to Shao. He was standing in the center of the room by the orchestra, his mask reminiscent of a lion. Beside him was a woman with thick blonde braids. Her warty green mask covered her entire face.

What was she supposed to be? A witch? I’d expected her to look elegant for this ball, since she was getting engaged, but I didn’t have the time or energy to wonder about it.

My heart hammered in my chest as I approached them, and I took deep breaths to ground myself.

A moment before I reached Shao, he glanced over in my direction, his eyes widening as they met mine—

And the orchestra began playing a soft, harmonious waltz, signaling everyone to begin dancing.

Princess Gretel expectantly held out her hand to Shao.

“Wait,” I said instinctively, my voice hoarse.

While I could have waited, I detested the idea of Shao touching anyone else. Of him getting close enough to another woman to feel her pulse.

My pace quickened as I approached them, and I turned towards Shao after giving the princess an apologetic smile. “May I have this dance, Prince Asha?”

I could feel the piercing gazes of all the bluebloods around me. Though they said nothing, they watched me intently, no doubt wondering who I was and how I dared to take the attention off the star of the ball.

A pair of nobles in front of me tittered with each other, excited as they waited for the prince to snub me.

Frankly, I expected to be escorted away.

My hands felt clammy, and I wished for a sinkhole to appear and suck me in.

Why did I even come here? I mentally screamed at myself. This was the worst thing I’d ever done. I was actively causing an unnecessary scandal and drama for my selfish whims—and the only thing I’d get out of it was lifelong incarceration for disrespect towards the royal family.

“I’d be honored,” Shao replied rather than berating or ignoring me. Instantly, the whispers began, and I took a heavy step back.

Taking a step closer to me, Shao gave me his hand; the nobles surrounding us drifted away as they tiptoed and spun, giving us space to join them.

“Who might you be?” Shao asked, one arm sliding behind my back—and halting mere inches away, awaiting my permission to hold me.

How was it that I felt a tingle of electricity spread through my back? Why was heat rushing through my neck, my cheeks, my ears?

Heavens, he wasn’t even touching me.

I gave a subtle nod, my heart aching with anticipation.

His hand brushed against the arch of my back; my breath hitched.

“I-I’m a beast,” I said, my voice unsteady as we circled each other. I tugged his other hand to gesture towards my mask, which Shao was grotesquely familiar with.

The mask of the vanquished beast.

“If you’re a beast, how were you invited to the ball?”

“Some people want me to steal you.”

“Oh?” Shao’s eyes sparkled with mirth, and I gulped. I wasn’t sure what response I’d been expecting, but this… wasn’t it. “Will you oblige them, my dear beast?”

His beast?

His dear beast?

I wanted to bask in those sweet words, but if I allowed myself to melt here, it was possible I’d never get a chance to so much as speak with my prince again.

“I would’ve regardless of them,” I replied, spinning out of his reach. “I came with the explicit intent to sweep you off your feet.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

My throat felt parched.

Could I do this?

I had to.

“Like this.” Twirling back into his reach, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Audible gasps filled the hall, and I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzied by the bright lights and dazzling costumes.

Shao brushed my cheek, then broke our contact. I swallowed. How would he react now? Would he yell at me? Banish me? Grow as cold as he had when I betrayed him, pushing me away with a frosty voice and visible disdain?

“I think the one being swept off their feet will be you,” he said instead.

I blinked, my lips parting. “What—”

Shao lifted me into his arms with one fell swoop, causing me to yelp.

“Sh-Shao?”

“You’ve really never given me any choices, have you?” He asked, but his kind voice contradicted his words, and he lifted me higher to give me a quick peck on the lips.

“Wh—let me down—”

“Soon, Beatrice,” he said, and I swallowed as he casually strode out of the ballroom, giving a curt salute to everyone around us.

As I was carried out, I glanced at Princess Gretel. I couldn’t make out her expression because her face was covered, but based on what little I saw, she… simply looked amused?

I shook my head.

“Sh-Shao? I can walk by myself!”

I lightly punched his shoulders in retaliation, but he refused to release me, and I remained in his arms.

My pulse raised, and my hand rose to my forehead. I didn’t understand. What was going on?

Surely Shao hadn’t decided that he wanted to give me false hope only to take me to a jail cell himself.

He only halted momentarily once we reached the heavy doors to the garden that I’d passed through with Isabella mere hours ago; he continued holding me up with one arm as he unlocked and thrust open the gates before stepping in.

At last, he gently let me down.

I felt a pang of disappointment; Shao saw it in my face and chuckled as the door shut behind us, clicking as it locked itself to outsiders.

“I missed you,” he said, cupping my cheeks.

“Um. Um.” I wanted to be coherent and romantic and grateful, but all I could express was confusion. “The engagement?”

“It was never real,” he said. “Neither of us wanted it, but we knew our parents wouldn’t allow us to break it unless we caused a public scandal. Gretel was supposed to reject me after the dance.”

“Wh-why would you…?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish. I didn’t have to.

“I’ve never been able to get you out of my head, Beatrice.” He stepped closer to me, and I struggled to stay in place, my heart on the brink of exploding. “You may have rejected me, but I knew could never forget you. Your beauty. Your strength. Your stubbornness.”

“You could have grown to love Princess Gretel,” I said. “You wanted to be King.”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” He growled, causing my belly to flip-flop. “Nothing matters if I don’t have you.” He caressed a strand of my hair, and I took a deep, shaky breath. “You love me.”

“I do.” I bit my lip. “Can… I assume you love me back? Even though I rejected you and continuously pushed you away?”

“You don’t have to assume,” Shao whispered into my ear. “I love you, and I’ll say it to you as often as you like. I love you, Beatrice. I love you. I love you.”

My breath hitched. “I…”

“Will you tell me you love me?”

“I-I already told you—”

“Again,” he whispered. “Using the word love.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. He brushed them away.

“I see you’re still a crybaby,” he said.

“And I see you’re still unreasonable.”

It should have been easy to tell him how much I loved him, but the words refused to leave my lips.

I felt far more vulnerable than I ever had before in my life, and the words felt like a beautiful poison.

“Well?” His voice was intoxicating, and it enveloped my mind with dreams and wishes and, most of all, love. “Do you love me, Beatrice?”

“I do,” I cried, burying my face in his chest. “Heavens help me, I do. I love you, Shao. I love you so much I can’t stand it. So much my heart feels like it bursts whenever you so much as look at me—and I live for every second of it.”

Affection filled Shao’s eyes as he leaned down to kiss me again. I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, allowing myself to drown in the tenderness of his lips against mine.

Chapter 35

A thundering crash reverberated through the forest as the doors were thrust open. My eyes widening, I turned and saw a well-dressed older man with a crown storm inside, flanked by several guards and a woman with gentle eyes.

The king and his queen had arrived.

Shao stepped forward and spread his arm in front of me defensively.

“Father—”

“What is the meaning of this?” The king boomed, and I flinched back. I had no doubt Shao would try his hardest to guard me, but what if his love and protection weren’t enough?

“Allow me to introduce you to the love of my life,” Shao said. “This is Beatrice Heather, the artist’s daughter.”

“I know who she is,” the king barked. “Her identity is irrelevant. How could you shame Princess Gretel in such a manner? Do you know how humiliating that is? Do you know how much the foreigners and our own nobles will scold and shame us?”

“Princess Gretel and I arranged in advance to break up the engagement during the ball. While Beatrice’s appearance was unexpected, it changed nothing.”

“Do you know who you’re speaking of? It’s Princess Gretel, the darling of the entire rotten continent! It doesn’t matter what she wants. The world will side with her—at our expense!”

“Everyone already scorns me,” Prince Shao said quietly. “Including you, Father.”

The king paled. “You ungrateful imbecile!”

“I respect you as a king, Father, but where were you when I begged you to see me after Mother was cursed? What was your response when I pleaded you to allow me to stay? Why did you never write back to my hundreds of letters?”

The king averted his gaze. “That has nothing to do with the matter at hand.”

“For the longest time, you were the greatest man I ever knew, and there was nothing more than to become a king as honorable and prodigious as you.”

“I gave you a chance to become king, which you’ve hereby crushed.”

“Because that is no longer my dream,” said Shao. “Now, all I see in my future is an idle life with my beloved besides me. Kingdoms, admiration, achievement… Nothing matters if I can’t have Beatrice with me.”

“She may have saved you from your curse,” said the king, and I blinked. So, he’d heard about that. “But she’s nothing but an impudent commoner who harassed countless nobles for her own selfish gains.”

“And although you were more a king than a father to me, I’d have done the same as her a thousand times over to save you,” Shao said.

“You—” The king sputtered. Although his back was square and his muscles rippled with anger, his eyes were shaking with fresh uncertainty.

“I was abandoned by everyone I loved and trusted when I was ten. The only person who ever showed me true love—the only person who showed she cared for me without any conditions or catches—was Beatrice.”

The king’s lower lip trembled, but he did not respond.

“I love her, Father,” Shao said. “I plan to marry her. While there’s nothing you can do to stop me, I’d appreciate your blessing.”

“What good is love when you’ve disgraced our family?” The king asked, but his voice shook.

“Didn’t you marry Mother for love?” Shao asked. “She was common-born, too, but you risked your crown for her hand in marriage after falling for her at some ball.”

“That’s not the same. My marriage to her solidified my popularity with the masses because it gave them hope and made the royal family seem more accessible.”

“You didn’t know that then, though, did you?” Shao clenched his jaw. “Father, we may be more alike than either of us want to admit.”

“Asha—”

The king’s veins rose, and the queen instantly clasped his arm in her hands, smiling gently at him. “Darling.”

Immediately, the king soothed, his tense muscles relaxing. “Dear—”

“Haven’t we heard enough to gauge how serious our darling Shao is?” She tiptoed to brush away a stray strand of hair from the king’s face. “I understand your feelings, but as we’ve… discussed…”

“As you’ve yelled at me over,” the king grumbled in a voice so quiet I barely heard him, and I almost snickered despite the serious situation. So even the terrifying, regal king was soft and powerless against his wife.

“Yes, well, as we’ve discussed very heatedly, what you did was wrong, and Shao has grown up without us.” She kissed her husband on the cheek, and he exhaled, the last of his energy and wrath seeping out with his breath. “We must allow him to make his own decisions, particularly after abandoning him to his own devices for so long.”

“I understand that, but…” The king shook his head, then turned to Shao. “No. I was in the wrong. I’m sorry, my son.”

I felt that such a simple apology was useless against the decade of suffering the king’s selfishness had caused Shao, but a thousand emotions passed through both their eyes as they watched each other.

Shao heaved a sigh, taking a step back.

“I’ll never forgive you,” he said. “But now that I have Beatrice, I… I think I finally understand your feelings, although I could never justify your actions. To lose her…” He shook his head.

The king set his jaw. “I’d say I shall never forgive your action today, but I suppose that’s quite meaningless. I could never atone for what I’ve made you endure.” He slumped in place, his hands rising to his eyes.

“Oh, so this is where everyone has gathered,” a female voice chimed, distracting us from our somber thoughts.

I looked up to see a braided woman with a shawl draped over her dainty nose and large, doe-like green eyes.

“Princess Gretel? Why—” The king began, and Princess Gretel simpered as she curtsied.

“You don’t have to worry, your highness,” she said. Even her voice was alluring, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life. How in the world had Shao chosen me over her again? Not that I was complaining. “I’ll speak with all the guests to ensure that no one wishes to speak ill of Prince Asha.”

“Why would you do that?” The king peered at her, his brows knit.

Princess Gretel winked. “Prince Asha has promised me two cures in return for this service.”

Shao shielded his face with his hands. The king’s rage returned to his eyes, and his muscles went taut—

“Darling,” the queen chided, her voice firm. Just like that, all the negativity dissipated from the king; this time, I couldn’t help but giggle. The king gave me a dirty glare, but with Shao—and the fearsome queen—by my side, he was defanged and declawed.

“This is ridiculous,” the king muttered.

“This is settled,” the queen corrected. “Let’s give these children some space, shall we? We’ve scared our poor future daughter enough.”

Shao widened his eyes. “Does that mean—”

“What does it matter?” The queen asked, beaming proudly at him. “You said you’d marry her regardless of our wishes, and frankly, I think that’s the only correct way of thinking.”

She ruffled Shao’s hair as though he were a child again, and while he inched back in discomfort, he didn’t seem displeased. No doubt he’d missed his parents’ touch, which had suddenly been stripped from him at a young age.

“Thank you, Mother,” he whispered.

“No, thank you, Shao,” she said. “If you hadn’t found love, I’d have stayed a rose forever, and I wouldn’t have reunited with my adorable little husband.” Grinning, she reached up to pinch her husband on the cheeks, and I covered my widening mouth.

“I’m not adorable, and I have a good two feet to you,” the king grumbled. Rolling her eyes, the queen grabbed his hand and began dragging him away.

“Let us talk some more later,” she said, waving towards us. “He’s just groveling because he’s missed me. Didn’t you, darling?”

“We need to get a divorce.”

“Oh, and shame the family? Weren’t you yelling at Shao because of that moments ago, you hypocrite?”

“That’s completely different—”

“Yes, yes, dear. Let’s go find Isabella. I wonder where she is; she normally hates to miss out on drama like this.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

Their voices faded as they wandered off, the guards trailing behind them with irritated but unsurprised expressions.

Dazed, I glimpsed at Shao, my eyes bulging from my head; he seemed equally stunned, his body tense.

“Have… they always been like this?” I managed.

“Sadly, but…” He shook his head. “I didn’t think even Mother could calm him down today.”

“I hope I find love as cute as theirs,” a female voice chirped from beside me, and I yelped.

“Princess Gretel!” I cried. I’d completely forgotten she was there. Why hadn’t she left with everyone else?

Clasping my hands in hers, she grinned. “Charmed to finally make your acquaintance!” She was practically bouncing in place.

“I’m sorry?” Shouldn’t she hate me? Wasn’t she supposed to be elegant and poised, not bubbly and chipper?

“You must be quite incredible if you protected Prince Asha from my charms,” she said. I nodded slowly. It felt odd for her to speak so confidently of herself, but I supposed it was justified by her popularity.

“I must have you know,” she said, “I’ve never once had a man reject me. Never. If anything, men are trailing after me, begging for scraps of my affection.”

“Um…” Was she just here to humblebrag?

No, scratch that, there wasn’t a drop of humbleness in her words and tone.

She shook her head. “But the moment Prince Asha met me, he positively snarled that he couldn’t marry me because his heart belonged to a common girl forever. How cruel is that?”

I glanced up at Shao, not sure if I should feel more surprised or thrilled. Though I also felt a pang of guilt towards Princess Gretel, she spoke about the situation lightly enough that I felt comfortable in my smugness.

Princess Gretel grinned. “You have a good man, Future Princess Beatrice. Don’t lose him.”

“Trust me, I know.” I wrapped my arm around Shao protectively. “He’s mine forever, whether he likes it or not.”

“There’s nothing I’d love more,” Shao whispered. Feeling his lips brush against the crown of my head, I smiled.

Chapter 36

“Thank heavens she’s finally gone,” Shao sighed as soon as Princess Gretel left the garden, the doors thudding as they closed. I giggled.

“I quite like her, and she was your fiancée for a time. Perhaps you should be kinder.”

“She was never my true fiancée,” said Shao. “Perhaps she should learn to take hints rather than staying for hours to gossip about her childhood.”

“Her stories were funny,” I said. Smirking diabolically, I added, “Particularly the stories she told about all the trouble you got into as a toddler.”

“None of those happened.”

“Then why are your ears red?”

Prince Shao glanced away, his skin getting brighter and redder. He buried his hands into his pockets.

“Hello? Prince Shao? Is there a reason you aren’t responding?”

I heard papers crinkle and tear; suddenly, darkness blanketed the air and sky, forcing me to squint to make out any shapes.

Biting my lip, I asked, “Was that one of your paper talismans? Why—”

Explosions fired around us with crackles and bangs; constellations shaped like dragons, roses, and ferocious lions sparkled in the sky. At the center of the tapestry was—of course—two lovebirds formed by a series of sticks leaning on each other, radiant in their glory and dignity.

Seconds later, they exploded into intangible prismatic crystals and rained down on us; several more flares and blasts filled the air as more constellations burst into appearance.

In front of me, Shao bent down on one knee; I gasped as understanding filled me.

“No,” I breathed.

Shao smirked, properly interpreting my shock. “No? Then I suppose I should get up now, rather than asking for your hand in marriage.”

I blinked, then laughed, covering my flushing face (and my characteristically damp eyes) with my hands. “I—no, I mean yes, I mean—I’m just so surprised, I can’t believe—”

Smiling, Shao reached into his pocket one last time, revealing an iridescent geode ring box. The rainbow colors shifted with the varied lights of the illusionary fireworks.

“I took it to heart when you said you wanted something flashy for your real proposal,” Shao said.

“I-I was kidding! That was just—I just—” I’d just been scrambling for any excuse to reject you, since I feared being left at the altar. I stopped myself from talking any more. I wanted to savior this moment, not ruin it.

Failing to hide his chuckles, Shao opened the ring box, revealing a dainty rose-gold ring accentuated by speckles of glittering white diamonds.

“I love you,” he said. “You complete me in a way no one else can, and without you, I am nothing. I promise that my heart will belong to you, and only you, for as long as I live. Will you marry me?”

I swallowed. “Do… you even need to ask?”

“Don’t I? I’m afraid my heart has been weakened from incessant rejection.” Shao’s eyes twinkled as he slid his ring onto my finger—but his hands were trembling. “I must warn you; I’ll never lose you again. Even if you loathe me, even if you doubt me… You’re mine forever, Beatrice Heather, and I will never let you go.”

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I whispered, leaning down to give him a tight hug; and, oh, I couldn’t help myself. I added a peck on his lips.

“You think that’s enough?” Asked Shao. I blinked.

“What do you mean?”

As easily as if I were air, Shao picked me up again, twirling me around as he locked his lips with mine. I laughed into his lips, then the crook of his neck, until he released me.

“How—and when—did you prepare all of this?” I asked. “There’s no way you could have predicted my actions.”

I briefly wondered if everything had originally been meant for Princess Gretel, but that was unlikely. From the rose ring to the constellation-themed fireworks, everything was flavored by our memories together.

He gave me an impish grin. “Can’t you tell? I meant to chase after you despite your rejection.”

“But—”

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Beatrice,” he said. “I could never have let you go, however briefly.”

I shook my head. “I should have trusted you the first time.”

Shao smiled. “It’s alright. You came here. For me. I didn’t expect you to—and I feel like I could fly now.”

“But we lost so much time.” I thought back to my weeks of despair and hopelessness, all of which had evidently been unnecessary. Instead, I could have been at the mansion with Shao, reveling in his love for me—and mine for him.

“What’s a couple months when we have the rest of our lives left to spend together?” He kissed the back of my hand. “I love you, my princess.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

Shao may never get to rule a country, but to me, he was still…

“I love you more, my prince—my king.”

Epilogue

I frowned down at the mountain of papers before me, my focus dissipating after the hours of reading scientific journals and studies.

“Beatrice.”

With a sigh, I stretched out my tight muscles and picked up the topmost stack of papers, which were looped together with yarn. Time to read some more and see if I’d have a magical breakthrough.

“Beatrice?”

I couldn’t help but wonder if the sciences even mattered in a world with magic that shattered every rule and theory. The scholars’ hypotheses and studies only mattered to the natural world, and magic didn’t abide by any of them.

“Beatrice!”

Well, witches were rare and few, and it was unlikely I’d ever meet one in person, much less need to worry about them interfering with my studies. Worrying about magic, which never even came close to making a dent in most people’s lives, was just another form of procrastination.

“Beatrice…”

If I were a witch, I’d have drawn illusionary flames in my irises to exactly how fired up I was.

(Which would have been a sign of my procrastinating some more.)

(I didn’t want to think about that.)

(I was in desperate need of some sugary desserts to help me focus again.)

Shaking my head, I glanced back down to the papers I’d grabbed, my eyes darting down the sheets as I gleaned the key information from them.

Hmm. I wondered whether I could—

My chair swiveled around; I shrieked.

In front of me—

“Shao?” I blinked, and he cornered me with his arms, grabbing the table with his hands on opposite sides of my chair. I clenched my fists to keep my blood from rushing to my cheeks.

“Beatrice, I understand you’re focused on your studies, but I’ve been calling your name for hours!”

“Hours must be a bit of an exaggeration,” I said.

“Alright, you’re right, but I’ve called your name at least a dozen times.” Shao shook his head. “I’m not sure if I’m more amazed or distraught by your focus.”

Oops.

I couldn’t tell him that although I may have been focused, my mind certainly wasn’t on my studies.

“Definitely both,” I said with a stern nod. “You’re amazed by my intelligence and tenacity, and distraught because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” He snorted. “I’m the top of my class at the academy, Mrs. Rank Three.”

“We take completely different classes,” I retorted. “Politics seems so simple. You may be ranked first in your studies, but I’m positive you’d be bottom of the barrel if you transferred to the sciences.”

“Would you like to test that theory?”

“I thought you wanted to be a diplomat,” I said rapidly. “Anyway, the ranking system isn’t fair. You’re a prince. How could anyone possibly mark you down for anything?”

Shao arched his brow. “You’re a princess, but they mark you down just fine.”

“I’m only a princess by marriage! Completely different.” I puffed up my cheeks, then remembered something tangentially related. “I meant to ask you a long time ago, but I completely forgot—did you get me the scholarship at the academy?”

Shao cocked his head, humming nonchalantly. I snatched up the feathery quill from my desk and smacked his shoulder with it.

(With the soft part, of course. I wasn’t some barbarian.)

“You can either admit it or lie,” I said. “You can’t just try to seem humble without actually being humble.”

“Of course, I was involved.” Shao smirked. “I can’t very well be humble about it when it took several bribes and weeks of pretentious, boring forms.”

“I’d thank you, but you’re distracting me from my studies.” I whirled my chair away from him.

“Wait a moment. Shouldn’t you be grateful?” Shao asked as he spun me back around.

I grunted. “While I appreciate your help, I hope you know I might just divorce you if you extend your princely influence again to find me a job.”

“I’m afraid I won’t even have to do anything,” Shao said with a shrug. “The fact that you’re married to me is enough to open doors.” His expression slightly more serious, he added, “If it makes you feel better, though, you are ranked third at the most prestigious academy in Perintas. You wouldn’t have any trouble finding a job regardless.”

“I appreciate your flattery, but I fear there’s an ulterior motive to it.”

Shao grinned devilishly. “Oh? And what could that be?”

“You’re the one who wants something. How would I know?” I bat my lashes innocently.

“I’m starting to suspect that you’re the one with ulterior motives, because I haven’t a clue.”

“Oh?” I shook my head. “I suppose I must return to my studies, then. Farewell.”

Shao’s grip tightened. “However, my love, I suspect what you desire starts with the letter k and ends in iss.”

I snickered. “Hmm… That’s quite vague. Could I have another hint?”

“It involves two people expressing their love?”

“Oh, you want to hold hands?” I clasped my hands together, delighted. “My, I’d love to hold hands with you, sweetheart.” I threw out my hands and waited for him to take them.

“You maddening woman, that’s not—”

I pouted. “Oh? Umm… What else could it be… Would you like me to scratch your chin?”

“Do you take me for a dog?”

“We’ve never tried it. Perhaps you’ll end up liking it.”

Shao heaved a sigh, then leaned down without another word to brush his lips against mine. When we were a mere inch apart—

“Oh, a kiss,” I said, tearing myself away. “You could have just told me that from the start.”

“If you understand, why did you twist away?”

“You haven’t won my love yet,” I said, putting my hands over his shoulders.

“I thought you started loving me long before our marriage.”

“Oh, I did, but humans are fickle. The feeling comes and goes.” I dramatically tapped my chin with my quill. “Hmm… Did you bring me anything to eat? Anything… sweet?”

“You could have called for a servant to bring you up dessert,” Shao grumbled.

“Of course, but that’s not as satisfying as making my darling husband do it.”

“Well, I reckon I’m the sweetest man you’ve ever met,” he said, pointing to his lips.

“No, no, you’re actually quite bitter. Always so negative and rude.” I hid behind my quill as though it were a fan.

Shao groaned. “Remind me why I married you.”

“That’s simple! It’s because you fell madly in love with me for my charms and intellect.”

“No, I suspect it’s because I wished to atone for my perceived past sins by being miserable for the rest of my life.”

Making the saddest puppy dog face possible, I asked, “You’re miserable with me?”

Shao’s mouth parted, and he grumbled incoherently to himself. “You can’t make a face like that.”

“Why?” I taunted. “Does it make you feel as guilty as you should?”

“No,” he said, his eyes intently focused on my lips. “It takes away my self-restraint.”

He leaned back in to kiss me, and this time, I let him, failing to suppress a smile.

I still wanted dessert, but that could wait for now.

Or forever.

Afterword

Thank you so much for giving my book a try!

To read my bonus short stories and exclusive deleted scenes, head to my website! https://elizacolton.com

On my website, you can also sign up for my newsletter for access to giveaways, release news, cover reveals, polls, and more.

I have quite a few books drafted in preparation for rapid release, so expect to see a lot more of me over the rest of the year! ;)

Acknowledgments

A Kiss like Roses is the first full-length novel I have ever written, and it was a tear-filled process filled with endless rewriting and regrets… but also love. It wouldn’t have been possible without the people closest to my heart.

First, I would like to thank my mom for supporting and encouraging me throughout the entire process. Thank you for editing this book throughout its countless iterations. You had the patience to reread this book over and over again to help make it as polished as possible, and without your many suggestions, A Kiss like Roses would be a tragically lacking shell of what it is now.

Next, I’d like to thank my dad. I’m so grateful for your encouragements. Thank you for believing in me when I said I wanted to dip into something as hard to succeed in as writing fiction. The feelings Beatrice harbors for her father, and her desperation to do anything for his sake, was inspired by my own.

Thirdly, I must thank Raehyun Jo and Greg le Roux at PandaFox for making this incredible cover on such short notice. It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, and Beatrice’s picture aligns with my vision of her perfectly. I was truly awed when I first saw the cover, and I likely owe any readers in large part to you.

Other than the cover, there is another crucial part of marketing a book: the blurb. For my eye-catching, incredible blurb, I must thank Daisy. While I doubt you’ll see this, thank you so much for turning my jumble of incoherent, boring words into something enticing and magical, and thank you again for teaching me how to write my own blurbs in the future. Your advice on all things self-publishing has also been invaluable, and I’m grateful we crossed paths.

I would also like to thank you—yes you, you amazing reader—for trying out a book from a new, indie author! There are so many incredible books out there that I am truly blessed that I was able to share my story with the world. With you. I hope you enjoyed this book!

Last but not least, thank you to my father in heaven. He has blessed me with the strength, opportunities, and support necessary for not only the the creation of this book, but also for every facet of my life and happiness. I am infinitely grateful for his unconditional love, and I strive to be my best self for my sake and His.

About the Author

Eliza Colton wishes she were a puppy so she can laze around a day and still be fed.

Then again, maybe not, since puppies can’t read (… or can they?). She’s had an unhealthy obsession with fairy tale and fantasy romances since she was a toddler, and she’d never sacrifice reading for anything.

She feels incredibly blessed to write, and she hopes you enjoy her stories as much as she loves creating them!