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 pr
etty 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.
A Kiss like Roses: Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1 Page 8
