Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) (7 page)

I wake with no sense of time or place. The edges of
my memory slip away, a dream I was unable to hold on to. I remember
the party. I remember running. I remember my magic. I remember the
caress that still burns my skin.

But after that I have nothing.

I'm blank.

My eyes open slowly, and I gasp as I'm
blinded by the bright light of day.

The sun.

Warmth seeps into my skin, and I relish in
the glow. I'd forgotten how glorious it was just to sit in that
radiance, to let the heat wash over me. I've lived in the dark for
so long, surrounded only by light that buzzes to life at the flick
of a switch. I sit up, basking in the yellow tint blanketing the
room.

My eyes go wide as sleep fully fades, and
I'm awake enough to take in my surroundings. I'm resting in the
center of a four-poster bed, underneath a gauzy canopy, surrounded
by gray. But it's not the lifeless color of concrete that I've come
to loathe. It's alive, grainy and laced with layers of various
shades, the color of rock. I marvel at the sturdy stone walls, the
likes of which I have not seen in a decade. A carved wooden armoire
fills up the wall to my left, and the other is decorated with a
marvelous tapestry, depicting a wolf howling into the moonlight. A
bright crackling fire catches my attention, drawing it to the
ornate marble fireplace. In those flickering flames, my imagination
begins to see something else.

Water springs to my eyes.

I blink it away, but the overwhelming
nostalgia remains.

For a moment, I wonder if my sister will run
through the door, if this past decade has been a terrible dream.
But I don't need to glance down at my mature body to know the
truth.

This room looks like home, but it isn't.

There is only one place it can be.

The castle of the beast.

Intrigued, I jump from the bed almost
instantly and race to the window, opening it. The world smells wet
with morning dew, fresh and vibrant. In the back of my mind, the
magic fizzles to life, but after the torrent I released yesterday,
there is no yearning pull associated with it. Instead, the magic is
there waiting, and I realize I could use it just for fun, just
because I want to. But the idea is forgotten as soon as my eyes
take in the sprawling town below.

Rows of stone cottages twist and turn in
haphazard lines, following winding streets. A crumbling wall
encircles the city. And beyond it, everything is white. The land is
covered in snow. Tall pine trees are encased in frost. Mountains
sweep into the sky. The town is nestled in a quiet valley, and
there is nothing but endless wilderness in the distance. I didn't
realize how crisp the air was, but now that I have, goose bumps
rise along my arms. For the first time, I notice the white cloud
forming just beyond my lips as I breathe.

With a shiver, I close the window and let
the heat emanating from the fireplace replace the cold I let in. My
eyes, however, are still focused outside. I don't realize what I'm
looking for until I see it.

Movement.

A furry animal walking on all fours.

A wolf.

And over there, a bear.

My eyes dance from spot to spot, roaming
from animal to animal, to the many predators living in peace with
one another. Gray wolves, black bears, russet foxes, and even an
ivory snow leopard.

I truly am in the realm of the beasts.

And they entrance me.

Is one of them the king? Is one of them my
savior from last night? Is one of them the man who touched my face
with such affection that my cheeks burn at the memory?

I have to know.

I have to find out.

The jeans and T-shirt I was wearing last
night are dirty and rumpled, but they'll do. My arms though are
still chilled, and the jacket I had on is nowhere to be seen in
this immaculate room. So I open the armoire, smiling when I notice
the gowns hanging inside. Velvet trims. Crystal buttons. Pearl
adornments. Lace sleeves. Jeweled overlays. I breathe in the beauty
filling the closet, too afraid to even touch the fabrics lest they
fall apart beneath my unworthy hands. I haven't seen dresses so
lovely since my mother was the one wearing them. I never thought I
would see anything so perfect again.

But it's too much right now.

A memory I thought I'd forgotten burns to
the surface. My mother watching me with her hair twisted and
twirled atop her head. Pins rest between her beautiful lips, and
her face holds a mix of concentration and love as she takes the
small crown from her head and places it atop mine, securing it into
place. And then we turn into the mirror, matching in our majesty.
My eyes sparkle just like the diamonds decorating the full skirts
of my very first big-girl dress.

My mother's face is clearer in that moment
than it's been in ten years.

My eyes burn, forcing me to blink the memory
away. No matter how hard I try to hold on, the image fades. I'm no
longer a little princess with her mother. I'm back to being a lost
young woman unsure of her place in the world.

I close the armoire, leaving the gowns
untouched.

Maybe another time, but not now. Not
yet.

There's a wool blanket resting over a chair
by the fireplace, and I take that instead, wrapping it around my
shoulders. Not as graceful as the cloak I was searching for, but
it’s soft and comforting and exactly what I need.

When I reach the door, the knob doesn't
turn. At first, I think it's jammed. But the more I twist, the more
obvious the truth becomes. It's locked.

A long time ago I loathed being proper.

Then the world changed, and I learned to
always follow the rules.

But being in a place that so reminds me of
the world I left behind has awakened a little voice I haven't heard
in ages.

Go!

My younger self whispers across my mind

Go!

And I want to. I so badly yearn to
explore.

So I glance around until I notice a little
flowerpot on top of the fireplace. Magic stirs beneath my palms.
For the first time, I give in to that light hunger. I use the magic
just because I can, not because I'll be ripped apart if I don’t.
The tingling along my fingertips feels like an old friend I haven't
seen in a while. A vine creeps over the edge of the pot, a vine
I've brought to life. I urge it on, lending a little piece of
myself as the ivy continues to grow and elongate. It twists down
the side of the fireplace, over the wall, closer and closer. I
focus my attention and push the stalk through the hole of the lock,
making it wider and wider until cracks appear in the wood from the
strain. An ounce of pain stings my chest, a tiny piece of time
being stripped away, but I hardly notice the ache. I'm not using
very much magic so the price is not high, and it's easily
endured.

When the metal crunches, warping, I pull
back on the vine. Listening to me as though alive, it recoils,
withdrawing from the lock and attaching to the wall with the rest
of the ivy I've just grown. In one quick motion, I halt the flow of
magic, controlling it easily, and reach for the knob.

It turns.

I push the door open, allowing a smile to
widen my lips, proud when I realize the curve of my lips holds a
confident edge. Glowing with life in a way I haven't for years, I
make my way down the hall, eager to explore.

I don't run into anyone as I wander. Indeed,
the enormous castle is silent. I meander from room to room, running
my hands over dusty tapestries, taking note of how many beds look
like they haven't been disturbed in years. Fireplaces are cold.
Windows are coated in a thin layer of grime. Even in the bright
light of day, the castle is dark. I open curtains as I walk,
breathing life back into the stale space, coughing as clouds of
dust steal my breath away.

Where is the beast?

Where are his servants?

Why does this place look barren and
forgotten?

Why would a king full of magic live in
ruin?

The answers don't come as I continue to
walk, just more questions.

Every so often, I pause as the ghost of a
sound makes its way to my ear, raising the hairs on the back of my
neck. The whisper of panting breath. The scuff of paws on stone.
The swish of a tail accidently rubbing against the side of a door.
Someone is watching me. But when I turn around, no one is there. No
animal. No man. Nothing.

The squeak of my sneakers on marble echoes
loudly as I make my way down the grand staircase leading to an
expansive ballroom. Cobwebs wrap around the chandelier hanging
overhead, leaving beautiful metalwork shrouded behind a network of
white. The candles look as though they haven't been lit in years.
But still, when I see them, another scene comes to mind—a dazzling
ballroom sparkling with the light from a hundred quivering candles
leaping from mirror to mirror, catching on diamond gowns as they
swirled in dance, and sinking into the golden molding decorating
every ounce of the room.

I was too young to attend the balls my
mother and father used to throw, but my nursemaid usually let me
sneak onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom. I would sit there
for as long as she would allow, watching the beautiful women in
their glittering gowns, wondering when I would get to join them.
But my favorite part, the part that now makes my heart ache with
longing, was watching my mother and father dance. The world outside
of them ceased to exist as the music swelled, and they moved in
perfect sync with one another. Their love was tangible, creating a
glow just as obvious as the candlelight. I remember smiling as I
looked down from my secret spot on the balcony, sitting with my
head pressed firmly against the banister, leaning as close as I
could, wanting so much to be a part of it.

Before I realize what I'm doing, my eyes are
closed, and the world is no longer silent. In my mind, I hear an
orchestra playing a hauntingly beautiful melody, a song from
somewhere deep inside my soul. My feet move. My body sways. My arms
curve. I spin on my toes, dancing, completely carried away by the
music and the memories playing on and on in my head.

Laughter shatters the illusion.

I stop abruptly, dropping my arms as my eyes
widen, and I turn toward the noise. Breath skipping, I spot a man
at the top of the stairs. A scream bubbles up my throat, but I
catch it, swallowing it back down as I fight the urge to run.

He is the definition of darkness.

A black cloak drapes over his shoulders,
sinking all the way to the floor, blanketing him in ebony. A hood
hangs low over his face, covering it in shadows. I can't see any of
his features. All I notice is the breadth of his wide shoulders,
the sheer size of him.

The beast.

And he is laughing.

At me.

I step back as shame burns my chest. He is a
king. And I am just a girl lost in daydreams, dancing with ghosts.
I suddenly feel stupid as I stand before him in sneakers and jeans,
clutching the wool coverlet around my shoulders as though it is a
lifeline, as though it is my shield. I must look like a mess. I
never even ran my fingers through my hair, never searched for water
to clean my face. I've come here to beg the help of another royal,
another magic user thrown into a new world. I came here to be his
equal. I should have put on a dress. I should have presented myself
in a way befitting my station in life. I should have taken the time
to turn myself into the princess I once was, instead of settling
for the pauper I've become.

And then I notice he is still laughing.

At me.

At my expense.

And that little girl I heard before comes
back.

How dare he mock me! How dare he!

My anger stirs. She's right. How dare he
laugh at me after bringing me to his castle and locking me away
with no food, no explanation, no greeting. How dare he sneak around
in the shadows, watching me secretly, waiting until my most
vulnerable moment to present himself. How dare he mock me when he
is the one hiding beneath a layer of fabric, too afraid to show his
face.

How dare he!

I brace my feet, straightening my shoulders,
standing taller as I face him.

"Princess Omorose Bouchene," I say,
surprised at the strength of my voice and how easily the language
of my old world rolls off my tongue. And then I curtsy, presenting
myself with far more confidence than I feel.

He remains silent, watching me from the
shadows of his hood.

The quiet drags.

I can't stand it.

"And you are?" I ask, words coming out
sharper than I'd intended. But I keep the annoyance burning in my
gut, embracing the newfound source of strength.

"I thought you knew," he murmurs, voice
rumbling like a storm in the distance, ominous and foreboding.