by A. B. Keuser
“That was a little too close for comfort.” The little lordling was back on his feet in a hop, and started moving through the darkened room.
“I hope it falls down the stairs and winds up a pile of unusable scrap.”
She heard him run into a table as he said, “They’re pretty indestructible. I’ve tried to blow up at least three. The most damage I managed was getting one’s arm off.”
The rattle and rustle of draperies being thrown open startled her almost as much as the sudden light flooding the room. She gasped, and then she choked on the enormous amount of dust that clouded the air.
By the time it settled, Isabelle was certain her lungs were coated, and her eyes would never recover.
The sunlight showed a large, circular room with a canopied bed, much like her own, and a marble fireplace disfiguring one part of the curved wall. That was, if something that massive and delicately carved could be considered a disfigurement.
Every bit of the room was tidy and organized—if covered with dust.
She ignored the now open window, even if it was her original reason for coming, and stepped to the mantle where a set of four miniatures sat among the dust. Wiping the covering away, she couldn’t miss the crowns placed neatly on the heads of the two adults. The castle’s king and queen, no doubt. The king had startling copper hair and dark eyes, while the queen’s hair matched those black eyes, but hers were a soft blue that seemed out of place in the miniature that sat next to her husband’s.
The two children looked too much alike to be anything other than siblings. A boy and a girl, both with copper hair. The boy had his father’s eyes, the girl her mother’s.
Lord Cat Chaser climbed on a chair beside her and let out a whistle. “Must be Hazel’s room. She’d be the princess. Arthur would never leave a room this tidy. He may be master of this castle, but he’s never cared about tidiness.”
Setting the miniatures back in their place she shoved away the implications of what her tour guide had just said. She needed to find a way out of this place, and she needed to do it before she got distracted.
Placing her hands on the window ledge she leaned out through the open glass pane and immediately pulled back inside. It wasn’t the height that startled her. It was the sheer size of the forest surrounding them.
Metallic leaves clattered in the breeze and a bird lazily floated on a stream of air in the distance. Leaning out again, she let her gaze travel over the tree line and got lost as she searched for any sign of Indigo Valley or the seaside market. Even a glimpse of the gray, crashing sea would be encouraging. There was nothing but the leafy tops of the trees, the far distant mountains, and sky.
That didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter until she figured out how to get out of the castle. A thought that was becoming objectionable too fast.
She had to leave. It didn’t matter that Lord Cat Chaser was close to convincing her that the boys were perfect angels. It didn’t matter that the castle had set her mind alight with possibilities that did not include Jaquel Gaston.
If nothing else she needed to make sure Heather was okay. No matter how fascinating the castle was, she couldn’t abandon her sister.
Her gaze swept over the castle grounds. She saw boys playing below; she could even see the Duke of Hasty Pudding swinging from the arm of one of the statues in the outer gardens. She smiled in spite of her determination. And continued to follow the wall. She saw the gate through which she’d entered this enchanted place, and then it was nothing but stone and hedges and….
She blinked as she leaned further out, even knowing it wouldn’t let her see it any better. There was a massive gate, hidden by a curved hedge and covered by ivy. But it was a possibility. Nearby, she saw a boy climbing over a white marble statue in the outer garden.
Her mind whirred as she pulled herself back inside.
“What do you say we go keep your friend from knocking his head in when he pulls one of those statues down on himself?”
Elbows on the edge of the window, he looked down, turned a little green and hastily agreed.
Isabelle let him out and waited for his all clear about their teakettle pursuer, then together they descended the stairs. She hoped she would find her answers and gather a plan before the boys caught on—or worse, Arthur found her out.
*
He’d seen Isabelle from his workshop window and known she was headed for trouble.
Even if she hated it, she was his responsibility now that the forest had forced her to his doorstep. He would do what he could for her, but there were some rules that could not be broken.
Maynard prowled the garden in front of Arthur as he limped along the meandering path that encircled the castle. To his left, the spires rose, dark and out of place against a cloudless blue sky, to his right, his prison wall.
Ahead of him, the curving line of the hedge separated this garden from the gravel drive that had once been the path by which so many visitors had come to his home. Now, the yellowed rocks were clogged with weeds and the entrance to the palace, once a gilded framework for his family crest, was covered over with ivy and had turned green as the copper oxidized.
He paused at the hedge a few steps away from the small opening that would allow him to sneak up on Isabelle.
She was quizzing Lord Cat Chaser and the Duke of Hasty Pudding on the lives they’d had before they came to the castle. They were stories he’d heard before, but unlike when they’d told him—unlike when the boys talked among themselves—there was a note of pride in their voices. As if simply being here, Isabelle had managed to remove some of the sadness that hung over their heads.
He didn’t want to take that away, but he knew it couldn’t last.
Stepping through the hedge, he realized there was no chance he could sneak up on her. Lord Cat Chaser stood up from where he’d sat in a grass patch beside the road and his face widened in an impish grin.
“Master Arthur! I thought for sure you had locked yourself away in one of your work rooms.”
The Duke of Hasty Pudding nodded in agreement before turning to Isabelle who had turned back to them and looked as innocent as could be. “He usually disappears for a while after She’s been here.”
Glancing between the two boys, he jerked his head back toward the castle. “Give us a moment alone, boys.”
They straightened and gave him a mock salute before running off down the drive.
“I don’t suppose I need to tell you that there’s no way to open that gate, and even if you could, you’d only find yourself in a forest that would kill you or herd you back to the other gate.”
“No, you don’t need to tell me that.” She looked thoroughly chastened, which convinced him she didn’t believe him. She simply didn’t want to argue.
His sister had employed a similar tactic when trying to get her way.
“I’ll remind you again, in case you’ve forgotten. The fairy that spelled this place is evil. A creature of hatred and malice… she will not permit us to leave and if you try to break out, I don’t know what will happen to you.”
She gave him a placid smile, touched his arm and said, “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Her hand lingered on his arm a moment too long, and an icy spark traveled through him. She glanced at it before snatching it away and hurrying in the same direction the boys had gone.
After last night’s imaginings and a dream that had felt all too real, he wasn’t ready to go after her just yet. But he knew she was planning something.
He’d seen the look in her eyes, the one his sister had when she was deciding what to do to him—frog in his bed or onions in his apple tart. It was easily recognizable when he was six. It was equally recognizable when he was six and thirty.
When Isabelle had left his workshop the night before, he’d decided she was not one of Agathina’s tricks. A trick, he decided would have fawned on him. She would have been more sympathetic, or at least more eager to gain his help in her plan. Instead Isabelle possibly blam
ed him for her imprisonment. She wasn’t exactly wrong.
With a pained sigh, he sat on the bench set among the hyacinths and stretched out his aching leg. The site of his newest metal addition, painful and raw, had finally stopped bleeding that morning.
Isabelle had been dawdling by a hedgerow overrun by bright orange poppies, but she disappeared back to the main grounds of the castle and for a moment, Arthur couldn’t help but feel horrible for finding her determination beautiful. Perhaps it was because he knew he’d have to stifle it. Determination, however appealing, held the potential for getting them killed.
At best, if Agathina found out about her, she’d torture Isabelle with clockwork. He knew she would never be as kind to a woman as she was to the children. If one could call their disfigurements kind. And at worst….
Leaping up to the empty seat beside him, Maynard licked his paw and then turned to appraise Arthur. “You’ll have to make her love you, you know.”
“What?” Arthur turned too quickly, his fresh cog tearing at his skin with the movement.
“You jump to conclusions more often than you catch mice.”
He had, after all, decided that all sparrows landing inside the castle’s wall were enemy agents seeking to procure the castle for another cat. He’d then demanded Arthur and the boys spend their waking hours on a defensive strategy to rid the world of the sparrow menace.
He was always cheerful about it, especially as his offered plan meant a supplemented meal source for him.
Studying a butterfly on a nearby bush, Maynard settled down into a hunch, and shifted his back legs, ready to pounce. “She wants to leave, that will only get us all in trouble. If she loved you… she wouldn’t want to leave you. Ergo, we would not find ourselves further in Agathina’s wrath.”
“That sort of logic is what reminds me you are and always have been a cat. It’s ridiculous.”
“She seems like what your kind find attractive. Honestly, the lack of fur on you is disgusting. What harm would it cause if you let her fall in love with you? It’s not as though she has any other options. We both know none of the kittens are growing older. Do you want to be alone in this crowded castle forever? Consider it.” Maynard said, growling out a purr as he jumped from the bench into the hyacinths and nearly caught his butterfly.
None of them, Arthur or the boys, had ever voiced the concern that the boys were not aging. Each full moon the fairy arrived with the midnight toll of the clock, but even Lord Cat Chaser looked the same as the day he’d arrived, five years ago. Only Arthur looked as though he’d aged the full six years of his imprisonment.
Trying not to think of the cat’s misguided judgments, Arthur pulled himself to his feet and, leaning heavily on his cane, made the painful walk to the opening in the hedgerow.
As usual, the yard was full of his charges playing their raucous games, most of which involved some form of violence. But for the first time in six years, a woman stood among them.
Isabelle stared up at the tall spire, a quizzical expression on her face as the kids flowed around her, like a stream around a rock.
He made his halting way to her. “Is something wrong?”
“Your clock,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think it’s stopped.”
He followed her gaze upward and allowed himself a sigh. “It is not wrong. It would be, if it were counting the minutes of the day.”
“What does it count to then?” Isabelle asked.
“Our next visit from the dark fairy. That is why it is not divided into twelve.”
She shivered as though a chill wind had just brushed past them. “She was just here.”
Before he could answer, a fracas erupted from the front hall.
Lord Cat Chaser and his friend the Duke of Hasty Pudding ran up to them then, shouting curses at each other. They skidded to a stop in front of her and Lord Cat Chaser smiled up at her widely.
“Good morning, Miss. My dear friend HP did not believe that you were staying with us.”
Isabelle glanced at him before turning her attention back to Lord Cat Chaser. “I suppose I am.”
“Good.” Cat Chaser ran toward the castle, leaping up on the terrace railing and put his fingers to his lips sending out a sharp whistle.
Around them, the boys turned and looked to the little lordling.
“All you chaps, this here is Miss Isabelle Marchant. Believe your eyes, there is a female among us. She’s not our mum, but I do expect you all to treat her right. If I hear tell any of you says a mean word to her or expects her to pick up after you, you’ll have me to deal with.” Turning on his stage, he swung back to face Isabelle. “We gearheads are at your service, miss.” He threw his hand out in a sweeping bow, leaned forward, and then tipped too far ahead, toppling off the rail and into the bushes below.
Arthur caught Isabelle’s arm before she could rush to his assistance. The boy popped out and met them all with a toothy grin. “No harm done.”
The Duke of Hasty Pudding grabbed Cat Chaser by the collar of his tattered coat and yanked him from the bushes. “Making a fool of yourself just because there’s a pretty lady living here now. What utter nonsense!”
Arthur had a feeling Cat Chaser would have made a fool of himself whether Isabelle was pretty or not.
“You think she’s pretty too, don’t you, Master Arthur?”
Startled, he looked to the two boys. “A person’s merits should not be judged on their appearance.” He bit his tongue against the pain as he stooped down to get eye to eye with the boys – though it sent a slice of white hot pain up his leg. “She is very pretty, but the fairy wanted to teach us the lesson that beauty is not the most important thing. Now, stop bothering her or you’ll have to give yourself what for.” He hated himself for the lie, and for the confusion written on the boy’s faces.
“I don’t mind,” Isabelle said sweetly.
Lord Cat Chaser took her by the hand, and the bracelet flashed in the morning light. For a brief moment, it held Arthur’s attention, and then he watched her disappear into the castle. He wished she’d never stepped off the path.
He wished he could help her go home.
“You’ll admit I’m right eventually.” Maynard slinked onto the steps in front of him and laid on the sun-warmed stone. “After all, you are a prince without a kingdom; you shouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life without a princess. It seems the enchantment has brought her to you. Perhaps there’s a reason for that? Six years is a long time for magic to hold sway. Maybe her strength is waning like the moon.”
Arthur grimaced. “My needs should not keep anyone trapped here.”
The cat shrugged as only a feline could and began licking his paw. “Then give Agathina what she wants, and end the enchantment.”
They both knew he couldn’t do that. Anything else he would do… but the fairy’s price was too high.
*
Isabelle sat by her door and listened as the castle slowly descended into silence. She had no idea what time it was, as even the tiny clock on her mantle showed only the countdown to the dark fairy’s next appearance.
Sneaking out wasn’t exactly dignified. Nor was taking the cloak she’d found in her room’s armoire. But she couldn’t let Arthur stop her and she wasn’t about to freeze in the dark of the forest.
She tiptoed down the stairs, remembering that Lord Cat Chaser liked to be out and about. How else would he have known that Arthur had stopped by her door in the middle of the night?
Pausing at the bottom step, she looked back up to the landing from which she’d just come. She couldn’t let her sympathy for any of them keep her here. Whatever enchantment it was, it hadn’t meant to bring her here and she wouldn’t stay.
It was a quick and quiet trip from the front entrance of the castle to the drive, and with the wide, level path laid over with such light stones, the newly waning moon illuminated the ground more than enough to see.
She’d found the lock that held the main gate closed when she’d been there
earlier in the day with the two little lordlings, and she hoped the skeleton key Arthur had given her would work on this lock, too. If it didn’t, she’d have to resort to the scissors.
Sliding the key into the lock, she let out a little sigh of relief that it fit, but no matter how she twisted, it would not tumble. Yanking it free, she cursed under her breath and threw it into the basket she’d set at her feet.
“That is no way for a lady to talk.”
With a squeak, Isabelle spun around. She moved too quickly and lost her balance, reaching out to steady herself and Arthur caught her, pulling her away from the scratchy foliage that covered the gate.
“What are you doing out here?” She demanded.
He gave her a look that made her want to hit him, but said, “I’m worrying about you, even though you’ve assured me I don’t have to.”
She froze in his arms. Of course he’d gotten suspicious when she’d pretended to be acquiescent. Shifting from the discomfort of being caught, her hand slipped and her fingers touched the warm skin at his neck, tingling at her fingertips.
Awareness shot through her, and she inhaled in a sharp gasp as his face changed, too. Whatever it was, the way his breath caught—the way his eyes dilated further—she knew he felt it as well.
Never one to shy away from curiosity, Isabelle moved again, this time, she smoothed the back of her finger across the line of his jaw. The skin there was puckered from the cogs that sprouted from his skin, but the contact sent a tingling jolt up her arm. She wanted to kiss him.
So she did.
His lips tasted of chocolate and fig, and she crushed herself against him, heedless of the sharp metal pressing against her through her dress. For a giddy moment, she thought he’d kiss her back. He pulled away.
Mouth open, he let out a shuddering breath, and she thought he was going to stare at her for the rest of her life. He didn’t.
His mouth snapped shut and then he said, “Isabelle.”
The word was a growl—for as much as someone could actually growl her name—and it was a warning.
