Page 3 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

“All right. Let me think.” She tapped her chin with a forefinger as though deep in concentration. “Ah. I have just the one.”

“What’s it about?” Excitement lit the girl’s eyes, a marked improvement over her earlier mood.

“Why, it’s about a beautiful young woman who can read magical languages. One day, she finds herself in an enchanted castle with a mysterious half man, half beast.”

The girl gasped. “Half beast? How?”

“He was cursed.”

Her mouth formed a wide O. “Cursed?”

“Yes. Once upon a time, there was a girl named Bella…”

Chapter 1

Colorfullightfromthestained-glass window splashed across the book’s yellowed pages, giving them a multi-hued illumination. The only sound was that of Bella’s quill as she dipped the tip in the inkwell and then scratched out her translations on the parchment. Silence and the musty smell of old books were her constant companions this late afternoon.

She was lost in the ancient manuscript with an extraordinary alphabet of roses and thorns that no one else was able to translate or read. She, however, had a gift for it. Her whole life, she could examine foreign writings and understand the concealed words within their secret scripts.

Father called it her magical gift.

She turned the page of the book, her gaze skimming across it. Her mind translated the climax of the story she’d been writing. It was the tale of a wicked enchantress and the prince who caused her heartbreak. She cursed him to exist in isolation within his castle’s dark and lonely confines. His eyes would never again behold the sun, for its light would be his ruin.

Bella sat a moment, staring at the words and thinking about the tale. It was a heartbreaking tale. Surely, it was fiction and not a tale of truth. She could not imagine being alone for all of her remaining days, locked away in a castle without the sunshine to warm her cheeks.

A faint tap at the library door interrupted her thoughts. She looked up as the door swung open and the butler stepped inside the library, his hand on the knob of the oversized door.

“Hello, Archie,” she greeted.

He winced only a little at the nickname she’d given him. “Miss Rinaldi, his lordship asked if you would like afternoon tea.”

She and Archie—Archibald was his proper name—were on a first name basis since coming to Lord Vincent’s extravagant manor in the seaside town during the past few weeks. Port Leclare was home to some of the richest, fattest nobles in the northern realm of Cassoné. And some of those rich nobles liked to collect ancient works that required translation.

That’s where she managed to help them—for a price, of course. She made a handsome sum for each book she translated and had garnered quite the reputation in the sleepy seaside village. Her father was a merchant and was often away on business, which left her to her own devices most of the time. She started translating for fun and then realized the nobles were happy to pay her for the services.

Sometimes it took her days to translate. Sometimes weeks. And always she spent the time in their extraordinary personal libraries in their mansions where she was pampered by their staff and treated as though she, herself, were royalty.

“I would love afternoon tea,” she said.

“Very good, my lady.” He nodded and closed the door.

She settled into the plush, oversized chair. Her fingers were ink stained. She didn’t mind. Her penmanship, she had been told, was some of the best ever seen. The Port Leclare General Library often requested she scribe for them when she had a free moment, but that was volunteer work. She much preferred her work as a paid scribe and translator.

It must be after midday since it was time for afternoon tea. Father would arrive in port later that evening, returning from a long voyage across the sea to another continent, Cappadocia, where he planned to sell his wares and buy textiles to bring back to their small sliver of land. Though her father, Enzo, was not a noble, he was treated as such. His shop on the wharf was among the most popular selling the latest fabrics to the local dressmaker for their fine gowns. Everyone in town knew the Rinaldi’s which made it quite easy for Bella to find work as a translator in the port.

The door creaked open again, and the soft scent of Earl Grey drifted into the room as Archie wheeled in the tea cart. The porcelain cups clinked and rattled with each tiny bump, a delicate, familiar sound that made her smile. Her eyes immediately locked onto her favorite finger sandwiches—fresh cucumber slices glistening on buttery bread—and next to them, the tiny lemon cakes, their golden tops shimmering under a light dusting of powdered sugar, sending the tangy sweetness wafting toward her.

Lord Vincent Blackwell entered next.

He was slender and tall, his dark hair streaked with white at the temples, giving him an air of wisdom and experience. He wore a fine three-piece suit, the kind that spoke of class and sophistication, and his black shoes gleamed as if polished for this moment. Time etched lines into his face, proving a long and full life. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of all he had seen and done in a life of luxury. His wife passed away several years ago from consumption. They never had children.

“That will be all, Archibald. Thank you.”

Archie bowed low and then left the room, closing the door behind him. Lord Vincent poured two cups of tea.

“How is the manuscript coming along?” he asked. He dropped in a lump of sugar in each cup.

Bella suspected his visit was to check on her progress and she was right. “I should be finished soon. Only a few more pages or so left to transcribe.”

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