A Bear's Bride

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Why won’t you look at me?” he asks, his voice oddly curious.

  In answer, I only shake my head.

  After several moments, he places the tips of his fingers on my chin and tilts my jaw up. I close my eyes, refusing to look.

  “You’re terrified,” he murmurs, lowering his hand. “Why?”

  “Because right now, at this very moment, I can imagine you are a normal man, with a normal face. Once I lay eyes on you, I won’t ever be able to pretend again.”

  He’s silent for several seconds. “Sophia, open your eyes.”

  His words are abrupt, and they are laced with irritation…and possibly a sliver of amusement.

  Slowly, knowing I can’t keep them closed forever, I open one eye, taking the slightest peek, bracing myself for the worst.

  Then I open them both, somehow let down. “You’re not a grotesque monster.”

  Henri’s mouth tilts with what might be a smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  It’s still dim in the room, but his features are clear. He has a strong jaw that’s shadowed with heavy blond stubble. His nose is straight and perfectly proportioned, and his eyes are light and deeply set under full brows.

  He looks like a warrior—a true knight, solid and muscular. And so very intimidating.

  “You said you were cursed,” I say.

  “I am.”

  “You don’t look cursed.” I wrinkle my nose and let my eyes wander over him. He’s a bit of a disappointment, to tell you the truth.

  Where are the horns and tusks? Where’s the fur or boils?

  Henri crosses his large arms, studying me. “You are a very strange girl.”

  “I’ve heard that before, though the adjective is usually different.” I can tell he wants to ask, so I put him out of his misery. “Infuriating, incorrigible, insolent—a lot of ‘I’ words. Mortimer prefers wicked, but he’s difficult like that.”

  The prince gapes at me, and I clear my throat and turn away from him. “This is a nice…entry.”

  I grimace at the gaudy tapestry hanging on the wall opposite the large entry doors. It depicts a woman in a low-cut gown, standing in a battlefield, sword in hand. Her enemies lie at her feet.

  “Very…colorful,” I add.

  Henri steps next to me and crosses his well-muscled arms. He scowls at the tapestry. “My stepmother.”

  “You don’t have a stepmother,” I say, and then I bite my tongue. He would probably know better than I.

  Arms still crossed, he gives me a wry look. “I did. Very briefly.” Then he frowns and returns his attention to the tapestry. “I still do, I suppose.”

  “Did she escape the curse?” I ask, because I just can’t seem to help myself.

  He looks at me again, wearing that same amusement-laced, slightly exasperated half-smile. “She cast the curse.”

  One second goes by, then two.

  Finally, I say, “She was a troll.”

  The words come out as an excited whisper. Excited not because I’m happy his family was cursed…but because I was right.

  Henri nods slowly. “She is.”

  “Is?”

  “She’s alive, somewhere.”

  “How do you know?”

  He lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “Because I’m still under her curse.”

  Even though the room is growing warm, and Henri’s cloak is heavy and lined with fine, thick fleece, I shiver again.

  I’m quiet for several moments, trying desperately to curb my questions.

  “What was her tell?” I finally ask, deciding that’s a safe topic.

  “She didn’t have one.”

  I step around his front so he must face me. “They always have one.”

  Henri leans down, meeting me at eye level. “Been around many trolls, have you?”

  Startled by how close he is, I blink. For a cursed prince, he’s very handsome. Not in the same way as Peter, who is lean and almost lanky. Henri is a warrior, through and through. Strong. Tall. Imposing.

  And I realize as I stare into his light eyes, I like that about him.

  Very much.

  “No,” I say, my voice the slightest bit breathy. “I have not.”

  The prince’s eyes narrow momentarily, almost as if I’ve startled him. He watches me for half a heartbeat more, and then he pulls back abruptly. “You must be exhausted. It’s nearly dawn.”

  Which reminds me. “Why were you walking in the woods in the middle of the night?”

  Ignoring my question, he says, “I don’t have a guest suite prepared for visitors, but you may sleep in my chamber tonight.”

  Under his cloak, I set my hands on my hips and stare at him.

  Real humor lines his face, making him look even more rugged. “I’ll sleep elsewhere, of course.”

  I nod.

  He lights a candelabra, and then he motions for me to follow him. Away from the fire in the entry, the palace is freezing. I eye Henri’s lightweight muslin shirt and toy with the edge of his cloak. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Not particularly.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but then think better of it.

  He leads me into the chamber, and I hesitate by the door. His bed is massive, made of dark wood and covered in burgundy linens.

  This feels very wrong.

  Henri turns back, and the flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows on his face, making him look eerie. “Sophia.”

  That’s all he says, just my name.

  Nodding, I shuffle into the room.

  Satisfied, he sets the candelabra on a side table and turns to the fireplace. Soon, a fledgling fire crackles in the hearth.

  “I’ll be gone from morning until dusk.” He moves for the door, but before he goes, he turns back. “Tomorrow evening, we will discuss what must be done with you.”

  “Done with me?” I ask, almost laughing.

  Without answering, he walks out the door.

  “Wait!” I call.

  Reluctant, he turns.

  “Don’t you want the candelabra?”

  A ghost of a smile plays over his lips. “I have excellent night vision.”

  And then he’s gone.

  ***

  Light streams through the tall, dappled glass windows. I blink several times, burying my face in the covers as I turn from the bright sunshine.

  Then I freeze.

  The linens smell like fir needles and freshly-cut wood. The scent instantly wakes me, and I sit up. Gray, flaky coals lie silent in the hearth. I have no idea how long I slept, but judging from the height of the sun, it must be late. I swing my legs off the bed and attempt to straighten my sleep-wrinkled gown.

  Mortimer.

  “Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer. I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic,” I all but snarl.

  Seven minutes pass, then eight.

  He’s not coming. It hasn’t been long enough, and he’s still ignoring me.

  “Fine.”

  Cautious, I open the door and step into the hall. It’s obvious Henri’s stepmother put her unique touch on this part of the palace as well. Garish paintings line the walls; all of them depict the same woman in various poses. Her eyes seem to follow me, and I hurry through the hall, trying to remember my way.

  I find myself hopelessly lost, wandering down stairs and up stairs, into towers and out of towers. The entire time, I don’t see a sign of life—human or otherwise. There are no cats or dogs, not even so much as a single mouse. In most of the rooms, furniture is covered in white sheets. The decor that’s unprotected is layered in dust.

  By the time I find my way to the palace’s entry, I’m practically jogging. The silence is disturbing. What happened to all the servants? The maids and cooks and stewards? Has everyone truly left Henri?

  The grand palace is a shell of a structure, haunted by the memory of something terrible in its past.

  I don’t make a conscious decision to leave, but when I see the enormous double-door e
ntry, I run for it.

  Outside, late afternoon sunshine greets me. It kisses my face, wrapping me in familiar warmth. I step forward, walking out onto the huge courtyard balcony that overlooks the sparkling lake.

  A duck family swims near the shore, carefree.

  The forest scene is idyllic, and it’s teaming with life. Several squirrels chase each other in the brush, and tiny swallows dive for the water, snatching gnats from the surface.

  Slowly, I turn to study the palace. It’s tall, with graceful spires and balconies, but no birds sun themselves on the turrets or railings.

  Twenty-year-old flags flap in the summer breeze, their sapphire fabric sun-faded and torn. A once-handsome crest hangs in shreds over the massive entry, giving the palace an unsettling look.

  The general feeling of abandonment hangs heavy in the air.

  Spooked, I jog down the steps, eager to be away from the palace, at least for a while. I travel the overgrown peninsula trail, heading toward the forest. The towering trees don’t look as intimidating in the light of day. In fact, they’re breathtaking.

  There are cobblestones underfoot, but the native vegetation has taken over, growing between the stones and pushing them apart. Years ago, this was likely a heavily traveled road, groomed for carriages and carts.

  I pause halfway down the peninsula. A village sits in a nearby valley. A tiny wisp of smoke rises from a chimney, telling me there are people still living there. Hope blooms in my chest, and I hurry that way.

  I run the whole way to the tiny town, and I’m exhausted once I pass the protective wall. A few villagers loiter about, and every eye falls on me as I walk the dusty streets.

  “Have you come to gaze upon the palace?” a woman calls from a wooden porch.

  Startled to have been addressed, I turn to her. “I’m sorry?”

  Her hair is gray and streaked with a few lingering black strands. She wears it in a tidy bun at the back of her head, and tiny spectacles sit on her pert nose. She goes back to her embroidery. “Our village should have withered when the royals were cursed, but we survive on the travelers who dare gaze upon the forlorn palace.”

  I bite my lip, glancing at the towers that are just visible over the trees. “Do you ever see the prince?”

  The woman shakes her head. “Never, not since my children were young. The palace is empty. No one comes, no one goes. Poor Henri died with his father, I reckon.”

  “Then why does it sit empty?”

  She looks up, meeting my eyes. Her gaze is strangely knowing, and for a moment, I almost think she’s realized I’m no ordinary traveler amusing myself with the local legend. “Many gawk, but none dare enter.”

  My lips twitch at her dire warning. “You must be very brave to linger in a village so near.”

  “We have our protection.” She holds out her cloth, beckoning me forward.

  “A bear?” I look up after studying the embroidered cloth.

  “The bear is our guardian.” She begins to stitch again. “None in this village have been harmed by the curse since he arrived. We see him often, though he never leaves the trees.”

  A cold chill passes through me. Just what is the bear protecting the villagers from?

  “He’s white?” I ask, looking again at the design.

  “As white as snow.”

  “Why do you stitch him?”

  “We do it to show our gratitude.”

  “On a handkerchief?”

  “On all our linens and clothing.” She smiles. “But the handkerchiefs we leave at the edge of the forest as a gift. In the morning, they’re always gone.”

  It’s sweet, I suppose, but I find the idea of a giant bear prowling the woods more than a little disturbing.

  “What are you thanking him for with this particular handkerchief?” I ask.

  She knots the thread, apparently finished. “He saved my granddaughter when she fell down a nearby ravine—carried her safely home on his back.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’m still reeling when the woman hands me the handkerchief. “Perhaps you can take this for me?”

  “I…” I stammer, stepping back. “I don’t know how to find the bear.”

  Her sharp eyes spark with amusement. “I didn’t say you did. I was hoping you could leave it at the forest’s edge, save me an uphill walk.”

  Gulping, I accept the offered token. I’m sure she notices how my hand shakes. “All right.”

  She jerks her chin in the direction I came from. “Go on now, the sun will set soon. You don’t want to be in the forest after dark.”

  “Because of the bear?”

  She smiles. “Because the woods are treacherous to navigate.”

  Of course.

  I give her a nod, wondering what kind of mad place Mortimer abandoned me in, and turn back to the woods. The woman is right; I don’t want to walk through these trees after the sun sets. It’s already low in the sky, and the shadows are growing long.

  Smoke from cooking fires in the village wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of the evergreens. It’s a welcome, homey smell and a sharp contrast to the eerie stillness of the trail.

  Handkerchief in hand, I hurry for the palace, only because I have no other place to go. I refuse to look at the swatch of fabric. Several times, I swear I see a flash of white fur in the trees. But that might be my imagination playing tricks on me.

  As I walk, I repeat my plea to Mortimer. Again, he ignores me.

  I reach the peninsula just after the sun sinks below the horizon. Color leaches from the forest as dusk settles, turning the dusty green trees gray. I pull open the heavy door, but the entry is dark.

  Something about the lonely, dim palace seems infinitely more frightening than the balcony overlooking the lake. Instead of lighting a fire in a dust-riddled sitting room and huddling by it until Henri returns, I hurry out the doors, back into the fresh mountain air.

  As dusk turns to dark and the air goes from cool to cold, I whisper Mortimer’s summon a dozen times. Even if he were to simply wait with me, at least I wouldn’t be alone.

  For the first time, I miss the chaos of home. It’s never quiet, not with the nine of us and the livestock. Something or someone is always making noise, even in the dead of night.

  But here…nothing. Even the ducks have gone silent.

  I should have gone inside, waited by the fire, braved the empty shell of a palace.

  “Sophia?”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Henri walking up the steps. He’s so quiet, I didn’t hear him approaching.

  “What are you doing in the courtyard?” He opens the doors, and his shadowy, human form ushers me inside.

  “The palace is too quiet,” I whisper.

  Hugging myself, I wait for Henri to start a fire in the entry hearth, just as he did early this morning. Soon it’s crackling, bringing much-needed warmth to the room.

  “I went to the village today.” I clasp my hands, trapping the handkerchief between them.

  “That’s a long walk,” he says in a conversational tone. “Would you like to wait here by the fire or join me as I light the rest?”

  “I met a woman.”

  “I imagine you did. Roughly fifty percent of the villagers are women.” He holds up a stringer of fish. They’re good-sized, but they look small in comparison to his large frame. “You must be starving. I realize I left you with nothing to eat. As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a guest.”

  He’s avoiding the conversation, and I let out a flighty laugh that’s a product of frazzled nerves. “She gave me a handkerchief.”

  Henri finally drags his gaze to mine.

  “To give to you,” I say.

  “Sophia—”

  “That’s your curse.” I step forward. “You’re the white bear who looks after the villagers.”

  A mask falls over the prince’s face, but his eyes flicker with pain before he schools it. “The curse backfired.”

  I
step closer, irrationally wanting to comfort him. “What do you mean?”

  He shakes his head, obstinately mute.

  “It happened over twenty years ago,” I say. “Have you ever talked about it? To anyone?”

  Silence blankets the room. It’s so stifling, I wonder how it doesn’t suffocate the fire.

  Henri turns his back on me, and now I know I’ve done it. I’ve pushed too far, made the bear angry. He’s probably going to eat me.

  “The troll’s name is Amara, and she’s the queen of Elsland. She came shortly after my mother passed, worked her magic, enchanted my father. As soon as they were wed, she plotted to kill him so she could claim Briadell as her own.”

  I’m so shocked by his words, I can’t answer.

  “She cast her deadly curse, and I leapt in front of it, trying to save him.” He pauses. “As a baby, a fairy gifted me with protection. The fairy magic thwarted Amara’s curse, twisted it into something entirely different. Instead of a monster, I became the guardian bear. As long as I hold this form, my kingdom is safe from her. She cannot step foot in Briadell.”

  It’s beautiful in a way, and so very sad.

  “And your father?”

  “I couldn’t save him. He died that day.”

  Slowly, worried he’s going to shy away, I walk toward Henri. I place a soft hand on his back, hoping to offer comfort even though I know it’s not enough.

  I’ve lived for amusement. I’ve never experienced loss—I’ve never even wanted for anything. And Henri…his life has been full of so much pain.

  The prince tenses when I first touch him, but his muscles gradually relax under my palm.

  After several minutes of quiet companionship, I softly ask, “Why did Mortimer bring me?”

  Henri still has his back to me, making the conversation easier.

  “Because it’s a lonely life,” he says, and then he turns his head, meeting my eyes. “And the council knew my one desire.”

  My throat goes thick with emotion. No one has ever made me feel before. I blink quickly, hating the way my eyes sting. Softly, I say, “A maid?”

  He lets out a startled laugh, just as I desperately hoped he would, and it makes my world right. It’s a happy sound, loud and joyful. It warms me from the tips of my fingers, all the way to my toes.