A Kiss like Roses: Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1

by Colton, Eliza

  “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 rathe
r 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—”