by Lindsay Mead
“Come now, Dear.” Edvina patted Belle’s leg through the covers. “That food had to be walked all the way up from the kitchens. Wait too long and it’ll be cold.”
With an accepting sigh, Belle pushed herself up from the bed. Edvina was there right away with a thick robe to wrap around her. Belle pulled it tight, rubbing her cheeks against the fabric, and sat at the table. As Edvina poured her a cup of the steaming coffee, Belle grabbed a croissant from a mounded pastry dish. She dipped it into her coffee and took a bite, enjoying the robust flavors.
“Have you had breakfast yet today, madame?” Belle asked while Edvina, set to making the bed.
“Please, Dear, call me Edvina. I can’t stand to be called madame.” She smacked a pillow several times with surprising force. “I’ll have my breakfast when my duties are done.”
Belle sipped her coffee, burning her mouth a bit. “Please, sit and eat with me then. There’s more food here than I can eat and I can’t stand to eat while someone else works.”
Edvina stood, placing a hand on her round hip and cocked an eyebrow. “You insist?”
“Absolutely. I’ll just die if I don’t get my way,” Belle lied with a half-grin.
“Well, we can’t have that.” She came over, taking the chair from the vanity to sit across from her. “Mm, everything smells wonderful. A terrible taunt for one’s stomach.”
“Too true.” Belle plopped the last of her pastry into her mouth. She rolled it around on her tongue, savoring the fluffy bread.
Conversation flowed easily between Belle and Edvina like they were old friends. Edvina did most of the talking but asked many questions about Belle’s life back home. The topics stayed light, never once drifting to grimmer things.
About halfway through their meal a troupe of maids came with hot water to fill Belle’s bathtub. It actually confused Belle at first, given that she was so used to a tub that filled itself. When she mentioned this to Edvina, the woman was fascinated and wanted to know all about Belle’s modern conveniences.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.” Laramie followed one of the maids, carrying a tray of bathing items, and stopped in the doorway. This time he appeared fully rested and his clothes were in impeccable order. “Pardonnez-moi. Edvina, a moment?”
Setting her coffee down, Edvina joined Laramie in the doorway. The two proceeded to talk in hushed whispers. Belle wiped her mouth on a napkin and watched the maid unload her tray onto a side table. It was an assortment of soaps for Belle to choose from.
“Excusez-moi, what is that?” Belle asked the maid, pointing to one tiny unmarked bottle.
“Rose oil, mademoiselle,” she said timidly, then finished emptying her tray and left as a different maid came in with yet another bucket of water.
“Rose oil?” Belle interrupted Laramie and Edvina. They both looked at her in confusion. “Why is there rose oil for my bathwater?”
Edvina smiled gleefully. “His Royal Highness said you smelled like roses and—” Laramie grabbed her arm, cutting off her words. She gave him the nastiest of glares as he spoke for her. “She means that I said you smelled like roses and the prince made the suggestion to send rose oil for your bath.”
Edvina’s eyes quickly widened, then she admitted sheepishly, “Yes, of course, that’s what I meant.”
“I see.” Ignoring the look passing between the two, Belle thought again of her dream. “I had a dream about his Royal Highness last night.”
“Hmph, no surprise there. A pretty thing like you, the Prince would visit you straightaway,” Edvina grumbled, walking over to the bed to finish the job she’d started earlier. “Just once I’d like to moon dream with him.”
Moon dream. Belle gasped. That’s what the Prince had called his visit in her dream. “You mean the dream actually was real?”
“Yes, mademoiselle, it was real.” There was no jest in Laramie’s eyes. As this new reality sunk in, he bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”
“Oh wait!” Belle stopped him. “I’d like to check on my horse if I could, and maybe take him for a walk.”
He frowned. “I’m afraid you’re restricted to your room for now, but I’ll see if I can get permission. I see no real harm in that.”
Belle was dismayed. She’d really thought that after her meeting with the Prince, she was no longer a prisoner. Then again, he’d have to be careful, wouldn’t he? First impressions can always be deceiving.
She smiled halfheartedly at Laramie. “Thank you, I’d much appreciate that.”
Even though Belle never left her room, the morning went by in a flurry. After her bath, Edvina brought a stylist for her hair and a seamstress to get her measurements. All the while, Edvina was her hostess and activity coordinator. She spoke freely about nearly anything that popped in her head, except when Belle pried about the curse or the Prince’s imprisonment. Then she was suddenly too busy commanding servants to answer.
The staff all had interesting reactions to Belle’s presence. Some were nervous, others were afraid, but many were eager to just be near her. No one spoke out of turn though and when any of them got to gawking, Edvina was quick to snap them back to work.
“Apologies, mademoiselle. It has been a long time since we’ve had anyone new in the castle. People are simply excited,” the Majordome whispered to Belle as the seamstress laid blue fabric over her shoulder and examined the effect in the mirror, then changed it for something gold.
Belle smiled softly in reply. It was all a bit overwhelming. Her normal morning routine was quiet; just Belle and Pixie as she readied. Her mechanical Governess did all that the castle needed a dozen royal servants to do. But then, Belle enjoyed the company and having someone to talk hair and clothes with. Her life had become so dominated by male presences that Belle had forgotten how wonderful female companionship could be.
Charming tugged against the rope, guiding them toward the outer wall. Stepping off the shoveled path and into the thick snow, Belle followed lazily. The cold air felt nice on her skin and the quiet was refreshing.
A figure followed in the distance. Belle ignored him. It was only a guard; one of two that accompanied her. The courtyard was entirely empty otherwise, which Belle figured might have been by design. Still, she was grateful they’d given her permission to walk Charming.
She was so relieved to find him well. Belle had examined him thoroughly, searching for some sign of mistreatment. Instead, she found that her stallion was in good temper and his coat shined, as though they’d brushed him all through the night. He’d nuzzled her affectionately when they reunited, nickering like a worried mare. Now he was more interested in the rose vines that clung to the outer wall.
Belle rapped his nose lightly with her knuckles, discouraging him from eating one of the blossoming flowers. They were everywhere, completely surrounding the castle grounds. The outer wall was too high for a person to climb, but not too high for these roses. The red and green was lovely against the gray stone and snowy terrain.
The roses didn’t just stake claim to the outer wall though. They worked their way up the castle walls too. Her eyes followed the vines up and up, till they wrapped around the archway and railings of a balcony many floors up.
Belle’s dream from the night before flashed in her mind and she remembered the stone balcony in Prince Aleksander’s room. Was this the same one? Belle squinted, trying to see inside the room for a clue.
The large, glass balcony doors were open. The deep colored curtains fluttered in the light breeze. Beyond was only darkness. Then it shifted, or rather something in the archway moved, allowing her eyes to focus on the smallest of details. Steady, bright eyes stared back at her. The beholder was tall—nearly as tall as the archway itself.
“What has taken me is a terrible, truly evil thing”, Aleksander had said. Belle stepped back, bumping into the wall. This was it. Those were the eyes of the thing that was holding the Prince captive. Staring into those eyes, there was no doubt that they belonged to something of true evil.
Belle jerked her eyes away, angrily gripping the lead rope in her hands. Here were innocents in need of protection—at its core, wasn’t that the very reason the Hunters existed? Belle had to do something. She had to kill whatever held the Prince captive and somehow free this kingdom.
But how? Here was an entire castle of soldiers and guards. If they weren’t able to kill the evil thing—then how could she? They had guns, swords, and training. They even had numbers. If it was possible to stop Prince Aleksander’s captor, then they would have done so already. It would be arrogant of Belle to assume that she could do it, when they had not.
And why hadn’t they? She saw no reason for their lack of action. No matter how hard she searched her thoughts, Belle could find no good cause for them not to take a stand. There had to be something she was missing; something she wasn’t thinking of.
The Prince had promised her answers when they last met. She’d just have to be patient until that night for them. If only her father was here to advise her—to tell her what to do or be wary of.
Worry shot through her chest at the thought of him. She wasn’t too concerned whether he had made it home or not. Henri was tough—the first to kill a hellhound when no one knew they existed. There was little doubt in her that he had survived. But she wanted to be sure, and she wanted him to know she was well. At the very least give him peace of mind that she wasn’t still locked in that awful dungeon tower.
Perhaps when she met Prince Aleksander in his moon dream, she’d ask him to send word to her father. After that, she would find out all she could about the Prince’s captor. Then there was simply the guards at her bedroom door and her lack of weaponry to contend with. One obstacle at a time, though.
“Mademoiselle?” Belle looked over. One of her guards stood a few feet away. He was big with a nose that had been punched a few too many. “I’m to escort you back to your rooms now.”
Belle nodded. A stable hand was already traipsing through the snow to return Charming to the barn. She absently rubbed the horse’s muzzle and looked back up at the open balcony. The eyes were gone. Whatever had been watching her had moved away.
Hopefully, the evil thing knew that it would look upon her again. Next time, she might just be there to kill it—kill it and save the Prince.
The hearth’s mouth was awash with fire. Heat mixed with the cold air that rushed against Belle’s back. She blinked several times, surprised at how awake she felt and she’d only just gone to sleep. Belle was back in the Prince’s room and this time she was standing, facing the door.
Belle glanced toward the office, but it was empty. She turned toward the cold, flowing air. Aleksander was out on his balcony, looking at the distant mountains. Deciding not to say anything, Belle just watched him.
He wore a loose, white shirt. It was tight over his broad back, accenting strong, defined shoulders. Black pants hugged his hips and Belle struggled not to gawk at the perfectly sculpted body beneath his casual clothing.
Aleksander was relaxed; just a man in his room and not a ruling prince. He rested his hands on the stone railing. His head tilted to the sun, lighting the straight lines of his jaw. Nothing held his hair back. Instead, light brown locks fell freely over his shoulders. Aleksander’s eyes were closed and he sighed. Even in his informal state, he exuded power and what Belle could only describe as pure masculinity.
With slow steps, Belle moved to stand next to him on the balcony. She was careful not to invade his space or disrupt his peace. It was an honor that he allowed her to see him this way.
Looking below, she confirmed that this was, in fact, the balcony from yesterday’s walk. Roses were everywhere. They wrapped around the thick railings and climbed up the archway. Some were buds, but most were full, red and in beautiful bloom. Their fragrance wafted in the air, causing Belle to breathe deeply.
Seeing the view beyond his room, Belle understood why Aleksander was so relaxed. Soft, blue skies stretched above the great mountain range beyond the castle walls. Gray clouds were approaching in the distance. A few snowflakes drifted past Belle’s cheek. A storm was coming.
“It’s beautiful.” She was nearly breathless.
Aleksander sighed again. He’d been looking in the distance with Belle, but now he turned to go back inside without a word. She was about to ask him if something was wrong, then a boom came from the mountains. It was loud and heavy. Like something smacked hard enough against the air, that it cracked. The Prince turned with her and they looked in the direction of the noise.
The snow beneath the tallest peak broke away like splitting ice. It fell in an avalanche for hundreds of feet. The rumble of it reached even them. By then a ripple had started. An invisible force spread and grew, as though the air itself was warping. It swept down the mountain and over the smaller peaks. It rushed through the forest, bending trees beneath its force. It rumbled over the ground and crashed into the outer wall—just as the Norwegian Sea crashed into the cliffs. Residual force barreled over the wall and smashed into the balcony.
Aleksander was thrown off his feet, into his room. He slammed against the floor. Belle was launched into the stone archway. Pain jarred through her shoulders and down her back. She crumbled to the balcony floor, gasping for air. As she fought to breathe, Belle looked back at the Prince, but her vision blurred. All she saw was his crumpled, unmoving form.
Belle closed her eyes, focusing on staying calm until her lungs were finally able to pull air back into them. What in Hell was that?
A hand carefully touched Belle’s shoulder. She glanced up and saw the Prince leaning down to help her stand. He had changed. His hair was neatly pulled back and he wore a suit more suitable for public. Aleksander seemed completely unharmed or shocked by the unexpected attack.
“My apologies.” He grasped her arm and brought Belle to her feet. His hands kept hold of each shoulder in gentle assurance. “I should have given you a warning of what this would be like.”
Already Belle was starting to feel steady as if she pulled from his strength. His eyes focused so fully on her and sent her nerves aflutter. But his close proximity made her only want to lean into him completely and be engulfed by his strong embrace.
“I’m all right. Thank you for your assistance.” Belle patted one of his arms, encouraging him to let go of her. He did and moved to give her some space. Part of her was disappointed by the separation, but another part of her was relieved by it. Normally she was not so affected by a man’s presence. “What exactly was that?”
“That was a memory. My memory, actually, of the day my kingdom was cursed.” He looked down and then out at the mountains like he was remembering it all over. “I wanted to give you the full effect of what it felt like and to do that I had to be completely focused, so I couldn’t be here with you at the same time.”
“The air rippled,” was all Belle could seem to say.
“That was the curse as it was cast.” He placed a hand on Belle’s lower back, guiding her off the cold balcony, through his room, and into his office. Aleksander stepped over to the map on his wall and ran his finger along Vakre Fjell. “The spell originated here, on Mount Gunnhild, and after speaking with you, we believe it expanded to the coasts and nearly to the Glace border. Anyone within the spell’s radius was cursed with a type of lycanthropy.”
Belle stared at him. There was so much in that statement that confused her. “Lycanthropy? Spell?”
Aleksander walked past, brushing her at the same time. The action sucked the air from her lungs. He pulled a red book from his shelf, flipped through the pages, and handed it to her. The language was English and
the text was broken up by crude depictions of half-men, half-wolves.
“Lycanthropy is a curse that allows a man to become beast. My subjects can’t change back from their wolfish forms unless they die, and that makes them different from lycanthropes.” He tapped the old pages where her eyes skimmed. “But I think some form of that curse is what has befallen them.”
Not looking up from the text, Belle said, “According to this, to become a lycanthrope, you have to be bitten by one, be born to one, do one of these more absurd actions, or it can be a divine punishment. Only the last one seems possible for an entire kingdom, and it is consistent with what the priests have said.”
Aleksander shook his head. “What happened to my people was a divine act, yes, but not meant as a punishment. And it was not Satan who did it—at least not the Satan you know.”
He pulled another book from beneath a pile on his desk. It was already open to the place. It was not written in English, French, or Norwegian; the language was unfamiliar to her. It looked old, the pages already showing the signs of age. What caught her attention was the full-page drawing. It was a hellhound; wild and ferocious. The creature, mouth open, was about to rip a knight from his horse. A chill went through her.
“This is written in Old Norse. It tells of a god named Fenrir. It calls him a monstrous wolf.” Prince Aleksander pointed to the picture. “That’s a picture of him there. Look familiar?”
Belle nodded. “You can’t possibly believe that all of your subjects were turned into Norse wolf gods?”
“No, I do not.” Aleksander smirked delightfully down at her, his face so close that Belle could see the trace of his eyes and the way they seemed to ponder her. Blushing, she averted her gaze. He moved away to look over his books, pretending not to notice her bashful reaction. “Though, I do believe that Fenrir is the cause of what happened to them.”
Belle ignored the foolish insecurity and crossed her arms. “Let’s just say I believe it’s possible for there to be more than one god and I’m not saying that I do. But aside from this picture, tell me why this theory has any more credence than what my bishop has said.”
