Riven: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 3)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  Mercer silently lifted out the cup as Rose pushed aside a third dress to reveal yet more treasure: ceramic bowls painted in masterful designs and cushioned in fine linen rags—jeweled daggers—rare spices—and much, much more. After five years of living with the Beast, Rose had grown accustomed to such extravagance. Now, she saw their worth anew through her family’s eyes.

  “The Beast gave you all this?” Aunt Tess asked, clearly stunned.

  Rose nodded, her reply made difficult by the lump in her throat. “He said it was his apology.”

  Mercer’s hand clenched around the goblet, and Rose saw the malleable gold dent slightly beneath the pressure of his fingertips.

  “Father—”

  “So, the Beast thinks he can buy us off?” Mercer’s voice was cold.

  “No!” Rose protested. “Of course not! He just wants to—oh, how can I put this so you understand?”

  Her family stared at her as Rose fought to find the right way to phrase what was in her heart, unconsciously twisting the ring on her finger while she did so. She did not want her family to think poorly of the Beast, but how could she defend him when they had all suffered from his choices?

  “Look, he is not evil, Father—he knows what he did was wrong. He is trying to make amends as best he can. I have accepted his apology. Please—for me—will you try to forgive him, too?”

  Mercer looked down at the cup in his hand. “I would be a fool to refuse his gift and the good it will do our family. That much of his apology I can accept. But forgiveness? Do not ask that of me, Rose. I doubt I can ever accomplish it.”

  * * * * *

  The rabbit poked a light pink nose out from under a bush, its muzzle quivering swiftly as it cautiously sniffed the air. It did not see Ari perched high in the tree, and the wind carried away his scent.

  Tentatively, the rabbit hopped a few paces away from its shelter, then a few paces more. Ari’s eyes narrowed—now was the moment to pounce!

  But he did not move, and the moment passed. The rabbit hopped out of sight beyond another bush, and with a sigh, Ari dropped to the ground.

  Ever since Rose had left, he had felt no desire to hunt—the only reason he did so anymore was for Pesk, who was too old and slow to catch his own food. Ari knew that he should eat, too—and he had tried, truly he had—but his meals just seemed to stick in his throat, and it was all he could do to manage a single swallow. Though his stomach growled its displeasure, he could not bring himself to sate it.

  Now, he found he could not even bring himself to make a kill at all. Lethargically, Ari padded back to the lodge. There ought to be some salted fish still left in the storeroom. Pesk would have to make do with that.

  The dog whined as Ari entered the lodge, nudging him with its head and thumping its tail against the ground, seeming to need the reassurance that Ari had indeed returned—that he had not abandoned him, too. In spite of Pesk’s great age, the dog had still tried to track after Rose once he had realized she was gone. Ari had been forced to keep Pesk shut inside to prevent him from trying to follow her—a journey he was certain the dog would not survive.

  “Surely she will come back for you,” Ari muttered, trying to stifle the panic that filled him each time he considered that she probably would not. After all, she was back with her family—with humans—again. Why would she want to return to a life of isolation? For an old dog that would soon sleep itself to death? For him?

  Ari flushed beneath his fur as he remembered the ring he had given her—his signet ring: the one true reminder of his humanity, his heritage, and his hopes. Of course, she had not known its significance to him, nor the way it had made his heart lurch to see it on her hand. If he had been a man, that ring would have been a promise—but he was not a man, just a beast, and as far as Rose was concerned, his ring was nothing more than a granite band. She had borne it away without a second thought, and in doing so had carried off not only the icon of his past, but his chance for a future as well.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “No, the table simply cannot face that way! How will the villagers be able to see Chase and Adara if they have the sun in their eyes? Honestly.”

  Rose bit back a groan as her aunt dropped her end of the heavy wooden bench she had insisted Rose help her move—for the third time—and stomped across the yard to redirect Mercer and Jon’s efforts instead. They had carted in furniture from town just that morning, and Aunt Tess had enlisted all their aid—save for Adara and Chase, who were inside modifying their gowns—to arrange it perfectly in the grassy space behind the house for the wedding feast the next day.

  Perfection was a long time coming.

  Living at the lodge has made me soft, Rose sighed, taking the opportunity to stretch her weary back. She ached more than she would have liked to admit—but then, it had been years since she had needed to lift anything heavier than a book. Still, she found herself wishing that the trestle tables and benches could just move themselves—that way, Aunt Tess could rearrange the setting to her heart’s content without everyone having to strain to accommodate her.

  Thinking of the lodge turned Rose’s thoughts—as they so often did these days—to the Beast. What was he doing at that very moment? Hunting? Reading? Working in the garden? Was he . . . did he . . . miss her company?

  “Nonsense, he has Pesk,” Rose told herself, feeling a small twinge of sorrow—for the dog, she mentally insisted. After all, she was happy to be back with her family. She had no desire to leave them anytime soon.

  As if to belie her conviction, however, Rose found herself twisting the ring on her left hand.

  She stared at it, the sunlight illuminating its rare design. The ring appeared to be made of granite, smoothed to a glossy perfection. Its top was flat and bore a crest—a crown engraved in gold on a black stone face. Once again, she wondered how the Beast had come by such a ring—or any of the items in his lodge, for that matter. Had that fairy Liliath enchanted them all into being? But if so, why would she have created a ring he could never wear, and dishes he did not use to eat, and material for clothes he would never don?

  I know the Beast better than anyone else—even better than my own family, Rose thought, looking across the yard to where her aunt was still dictating the placement of table, yet sometimes I wonder if I know him at all.

  “I am going to get something to drink. Do you three want anything?” Rose called, but Aunt Tess simply waved her hand in dismissal without looking back. With a shrug, Rose headed toward the house; she had rounded the corner and was halfway to the front door before she caught sight of the horse tied to the gatepost. Its rider was nowhere in sight.

  Rose froze. Another visitor come to gawk? she wondered uneasily. Before she could withdraw, however, the front door swung open and a man stepped out onto the porch.

  “—I will do that. Thank you,” he said, turning to close the door; it slammed harder than he had intended as he caught sight of her. “Rose!”

  Rose’s mouth had gone dry, and she could only stare as the man drew near, drinking in the shine of his sandy-blonde hair—the soft brown of his eyes—the gentle curve of his lips. How could she have forgotten just how dashing he was?

  He stopped in front of her. “Oh, Rose,” Darren murmured, and then swept her up into an embrace that seemed to encompass her whole world. She buried her face in his neck, breathing deeply of the woody scent he always seemed to possess, but which she had forgotten about until now.

  Yet even as she hugged her old beau back, Rose felt her stomach lurch with confusion. She had searched—so longingly!—for his face among the steady stream of visitors, but now that he was finally here, she was not nearly as excited as she had thought she would be. She was still pleased to see him, of course, but where was the thudding of her heart—the catch in her breath—the flush in her cheeks—the sheer contented delight that had marked every moment together they had once shared?

  Rose clung to Darren harder, trying to seize back the closeness that once had been theirs. Y
et the action only made her feel guilty, as though in trying to regain their connection, she was actually betraying someone else.

  * * * * *

  Ari made his way out of the Mirror Room, stumbling slightly and causing his shoulder to jar against the corridor railing so that the wood groaned with the effort to keep him from falling. He scarcely noticed. The sight of Rose locked in a passionate embrace with a man had shattered his last, fragile hope that she would ever return.

  How could I never think she might have a beau? he berated himself. A girl like her . . .

  Had the two been engaged? Rose had never mentioned the man, but why would she? Ari had never asked—had never wanted to know that aspect of her past. He shuddered now in self-loathing as he thought of his own frequent proposals—how repugnant they must have seemed to her! Once more, he saw in his mind’s eye the image the mirrors had shown him: Rose clinging to the man in intimate surrender, as she had never once clung to him. And why would she, when she had such a tall, strapping, and undeniably handsome suitor to compare Ari against? He snorted. There was no comparison! He had been lucky Rose had not laughed in his face all these years. He would have deserved her mockery.

  Ari remembered how she had curled against his side the time they had watched the stars from the roof, and the way her gentle hands had caressed his back the time she had bathed him in the pond. Moment upon moment of their time together flashed before his eyes, until Ari moaned and clutched at the railing, his eyes closed and his knees fighting the urge to collapse. It was all over. His Rose was gone, safe again in her lover’s arms, and she would never, ever, return.

  * * * * *

  Darren finally placed Rose back on the ground, and she gave him a quavering smile, trying to bury her unease beneath the joy she felt at seeing him again.

  “How come it took you so long to stop by?” she asked lightly, not quite meeting his eyes.

  He gave her a rueful grimace. “I was delivering orders in the next town. I only just got back today.”

  Rose’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “The next town? How wonderful! Your work must have become very popular, then.”

  “So it would seem.” Abruptly, Darren stepped closer and Rose had to fight the sudden urge to step back and reclaim her personal space. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from her face. The gesture—so familiar—nevertheless felt wrong. “We all did.”

  “No, I was not dead,” Rose replied, turning her head away. As she did so, she glimpsed Chase’s face in the window and scowled. “Maybe we could talk somewhere else?” she suggested.

  Darren’s eyes followed her gaze and his mouth quirked up in a small smile as he proffered her his arm. Rose took it, guiding him away from the house. Though she did not deliberately direct her feet toward the farm’s watering pond, they led her there nonetheless.

  What she found was disappointing. The pond was smaller than she had remembered it, and the water was cloudy; the lone willow tree on its bank was scrawny and grey. Yet it had not changed—not really—but suffered in comparison to the shimmering waters of the Beast’s pond and the long, swaying boughs of the blue-green willow that had so often shaded their rest. The memory stirred in Rose’s heart an aching desire to be there again . . . but that was absurd, she had just gotten home! She shook her head, trying to dispel such thoughts.

  The movement caught Darren’s attention, and he ducked his head slightly to look in her eyes. “Are you all right? Did that creature hurt you?” he demanded, his voice tight with concern.

  “No!” Rose gasped, aghast at the suggestion. “No, he treated me well. Beyond well, in fact.”

  “He did?”

  Rose felt herself bristle at the disbelief in his tone. “Surely my father told you what the Beast promised.”

  “Your father? Yes, he told me.”

  Darren’s tone turned bitter, and he moved away. Rose let her arm fall and watched as he picked up a rock, skimming it quickly across the water. It bounced three times and then sank below the surface. Darren waited until the last ripple had faded away before he spoke again, his back still to her:

  “I looked for you, you know. Your father—he convinced the steward not to allow a search—he did not want to antagonize the creature further. But I . . . I still went. I tried. Only, the forest is so huge, and I did not even know in which direction to look—”

  “Oh, Darren,” Rose said softly when he faltered, stepping over and turning his jaw so he had to look at her. “You are not to blame. If you had found me, I still could not have returned with you. I gave the Beast my word that I would stay.”

  “But why, Rose?” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “Why did you not tell me what you were planning? Together, we could have thought of a way to keep you safe. If you had trusted me, everything could be—would be—different now.”

  The hurt in his voice brought tears to Rose’s eyes as she acknowledged the agony her decision had caused him.

  “I do trust you. I have always trusted you. It was myself I did not trust. I knew I could not face you, loving you as I did, and still find the will to leave.”

  “Loving me . . . as you did? Not as you do?” he seized at her words.

  Rose blinked. “What? I love you. I will always love you. You know that.”

  “But not in the same way. Not like you used to,” Darren said with such a note of hope that it took Rose aback.

  “Darren, what is it?”

  He hesitated, and in that instance, she knew beyond doubt what it was he had not told her. She almost blurted it out, but refrained, wanting to hear the words from his own lips. Yet he was silent.

  “Tell me,” Rose insisted.

  He passed a hand over his face. “I am trying, but it feels so wrong to tell you here. The last time we stood on these banks, I was planning a future with you. A future I wanted more than anything. Part of me still wants . . . . If only I had known you were still alive! But how could I?” Darren sighed. “What I am trying to say is, I am married, Rose.”

  “Ah,” Rose said, her voice remarkably steady as she absorbed the news. “I see. Who did you marry?”

  Darren’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Clearly, he had expected a very different reaction. “Miri Baker. You remember her?”

  Rose did. She had not known Miri well, but Rose and her sisters had always stopped by the baker’s shop whenever they went into the village, and Miri had always been there, helping her father to run it.

  “Yes. She is a sweet girl,” Rose approved with a smile. When Darren continued to look uncertain, her tone turned teasing. “I expect you eat a lot better now than you would have if I had been your wife.”

  That startled a chuckle out of him. “True. You never were one for cooking.”

  They were silent for a long moment.

  “Are you happy?” Rose asked suddenly.

  He nodded, his eyes solemn. “Yes.”

  And you would never admit if you were not, she mused, peering at his face. Still, Rose hoped for his sake that his answer was true and that her presence in the village would not mar his happiness.

  “I am glad for you, then,” she replied with as much of a grin as she could manage.

  Darren touched the corner of her mouth. “Your smile makes me feel a lot better.”

  They talked for a while longer and then Darren took his leave, giving her a considering look as he did so.

  “You have changed, Rose. I am not sure exactly how, but you have changed.”

  “For the better, I hope,” she said lightly, wondering what exactly had spurred that observation.

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

  After he had gone, Rose stayed by the bank of the pond for a while longer, idly splashing her feet in its murky waters. It was strange to think that Darren was married now—stranger still to find that the news did not really upset her. Yes, a solitary tear did trickle down her cheek for what might have been had she never gone to stay with the Beast, b
ut as the sun began to sink in the sky, Rose watched it go down with a feeling much more like relief.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was a beautiful day for a wedding. The skies were clear and the temperature mild, with a warm breeze that teased the pollen from the flowers and tickled the guests with the promise of summer.

  Inside the house, Rose helped place rosemary and myrtle wreaths on her sisters’ heads—flowers for love and joy in marriage, and the making of happy memories. Their fresh scent was pleasing even from a distance, and the blue and white flowers added a festive touch to her sisters’ tresses.

  “You look like two princesses,” Rose said as she stepped back, surveying her work with approval.

  “We do!” Chase giggled, peering at her reflection in the small hand mirror they had found in the trunk. “Oh, Adara, did you ever think we would look so fine?”

  Adara shook her head, her eyes wide as she took her turn with the mirror.

  Just then, the front door edged opened and Aunt Tess stuck her head inside, her body blocking the room from the eyes of their guests. Though Rose could not see the villagers beyond her aunt, she could hear their gay chatter as they waited for the ceremony to start.

  “The grooms are coming,” Aunt Tess announced. “Be ready.”

  She took a step back and Mercer slipped into the house, shutting the door behind him.

  He stared at his daughters for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching with repressed emotion behind his beard.

  “Well, I never thought I would see a woman prettier than your mother,” he admitted gruffly, “but I should have known you two would prove me wrong. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Adara said, fighting back tears.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked, looking from one daughter to the next. “I have my sickle waiting nearby in case you change your minds and want me to chase off your fiancés instead.”