A Kiss like Roses: Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1

by Colton, Eliza

  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 com
plained 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.”