Page 17 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

The moment they stepped into the town, Emmaline’s eyes were round and wide as she took in all the sights and sounds. The streets wound through the aged buildings with their slate roof covered in moss and their shutters painted in faded colors of blue, green, and ochre.

Horse-drawn carriages rumbled down the dusty road. The village was a bustle of activity. The smell of bread and roasted meats permeated the air. And somewhere in the distance, she heard the bellow of a deep voice hawking his wares.

A flower cart was bursting with colors—flowers in every color. A smiling young woman with eagerness burning in her eyes stood behind the white cart, hoping Bella would stop and make a purchase. Next to her, local farmers sold their fruits and vegetables, fresh eggs, and cheese. And beyond that, a weaver who made straw baskets.

A narrow stream cut through the southern edge, crossed by an old stone bridge arched just enough to let small boats pass beneath. Beyond it rose the chapel spire, a weathered bell at its peak. The source of Driftbell’s name, some said, was because the bell once drifted downriver before being claimed by the town.

“I have business in the bookshop,” she said. “If you want to explore—”

“Oh, can I? I mean, do you mind ever so much?” Excitement buzzed beneath her normally cool exterior.

Bella grinned. “I don’t mind at all. Meet me back here.”

She dipped a quick curtsy and then bounded off through the colorful crowd. Smiling over the girl’s enthusiasm, Bella turned toward the door of the shop and pushed it open. The bell chimed her arrival. The moment she stepped inside, a sense of ease calmed her. The smell of dusty tomes, aged parchment, and ink comforted her. It wasn’t a large shop. But even so, several patrons were already inside perusing the shelves.

Bookshelves lined the walls of the shop from floor to ceiling. A sliding ladder was in place to reach the uppermost shelves. The man who stood on the ladder shelving books. Another bespectacled man was behind the counter at the front of the store.

A tall man stood off to one side, his head titled slightly as he ran a gloved finger along the well-worn and new spines, as though he were looking for something in particular. The morning light filtered through the shop’s windows as he stood in the pool of light making several strands of his dark, unruly hair glisten.

He wasn’t dressed like most men in town—no stiff collar or polished arrogance. And yet his coat was of fine material, threaded with silver and hosting gold buttons. His cravat was a bit loose, as though he’d tugged it away from his throat from frustration or annoyance or perhaps even out of habit. There was a quiet confidence about him. As if he were used to slipping through the world without drawing attention to himself and yet impossible to notice.

He cast her a glance as she entered. His pale brown eyes seemed to glow within that circle of light as their eyes met, sending a shiver through her. For a moment, they shared an unexpected connection making it impossible for her to look away.

“How can I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter said.

It broke their connection, forcing her to look away and toward the counter. She plastered on her best smile.

“I was wondering if you buy used books?”

He smiled and gave a brief nod. “If they are unique and unusual, I do.”

She assumed this was the owner. She placed the basket on the counter and uncovered the book. “I have something that’s unique and unusual.”

He peered down through his spectacles at the book with ahmmm, then glanced back up at her with a gesture toward it. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He plucked it out of the basket and placed it on the counter, opening the antique cover. He paused at the first page, staring down at the thorny language. He flipped through the pages, the parchment fluttering and exuding that ancient paper odor. As he did, she watched the archaic writing shuffle by, still unable to read it. He flipped past the drawings of symbols, not pausing to give them a second look. But as the pages turned, she saw the drawings appear to move.

“I’ve never seen the likes,” he said. “Where did you get this?”

“My father brought it back from his travels. I’m not sure where he found it.”

“What language is this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” She flashed a winsome grin.

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Nor I.”

She started to lose hope at the way he questioned the book and the reluctance that emanated off him. He paused on a particular page with symbols that appeared to be ancient runes. From this angle, it looked like a blooming rose across the page, entangled with the peculiar-looking rune.

His finger ran down the yellowed page. As he did so, she heard the soft whisper that seemed to come from the parchment itself.

He heard it, too. He jerked his hand back, snapping his head up and looking at her with wide, wondrous eyes. She kept her face impassive, hoping not to give anything away and pretend as though she never heard the indistinct whispering. She heard the rustle of fabric behind her and was aware one of the shop patrons stepped closer to her. Her heart quickened, but she kept her breathing even.

The shopkeeper closed the book with a snap and slid it across the counter to her. “My apologies, miss, but I’m afraid I can’t buy this one.”

---