Page 52 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

He didn’t want her pity. And she didn’t pity him. Instead, she had an intense need to help him pounding through her to find the answers in the book. Reading about the long-lost kingdom of Cassoné, though, helped her understand him more. It was once a glorious, thriving kingdom with a long line of kings who protected the realm.

She closed her eyes again, trying to push away the thoughts and quiet her mind. When sleep still eluded her, she huffed and sat up, staring at the book on her night table. It remained silent in the cool darkness.

The chill of the floor bit at her bare feet as she slipped from the bed. Sleep wasn’t coming and there was no point pretending anymore. She reached for her dressing gown, shrugging it over her shoulders with a shiver, then slid her feet into her slippers.

Her gaze landed on the book.

It waited on the bedside table where she’d left it, dark and silent, but somehow still watching. She picked it up, the familiar weight settling in her arms. If answers lived anywhere, they were buried in these pages. And if she couldn’t rest, then she might as well dig.

Perhaps if she made progress tonight, she’d have something to show Leopold by morning. Something real. Something that mattered. Something that gave him hope.

Her feet were silent as she descended the stairs. The household was quiet, still, sleeping. She moved to the library, her breath pooling in her throat and her heart racing. Determination edged through her as she entered the cold, dark room. The waning moon did little to illuminate the panes of glass of the window. She slipped around the room, lighting the candles.

At the desk, she placed the book down and lit more candles. Then she sat in the creaky old chair that was her father’s, pulled out a piece of parchment, and began.

Before long, ink stained her fingers. She ignored it as she continued to stare at the pages hoping something—anything—would become clear. She turned a page, her finger trailing down it. The runes were all the same twisty, thorny vines that had no meaning.

In a huff, she sat back, frustration edging through her. This was a futile attempt. It was as though the translation part of her mind decided to shut off.

She flipped the page once again and then something caught her eye. Leaning forward, the brambles rearranged themselves in an odd shape. Her fingers trembled as she placed them on the paper. She had seen this section dozens of times before. Nothing had ever been there. It was the same knot of impossible symbols and tangled meaning. But tonight, something shifted.

The ink shimmered. Faintly. Like moonlight on black water.

Leaning closer, her breath fogged against the suddenly cold page. The runes rose, bleeding up from the parchment like wounds reopening.

New symbols. New script.

Her heart stuttered. She didn’t blink. She held her breath. The translation came slowly, hesitantly, like the book wasn’t sure it wanted to give it to her. Her eyes followed the pattern, translating in pieces. Not a passage. Not a spell.

A warning.

A step onto the thorn willingly. Forever altering. A man by day transforms to beast in the moonlight. The sands stilled the moment the vow was spoken. Now they fall again. When the final grain is lost, so, too, is the man. Forever altered.

She stared, mouth dry. The air left her lungs in a cold rush.

She’d seen the hourglass on his desk. The way it gleamed in the candlelight—its sands too bright, too slow, too unnatural. She’d watched it shift, the sands dripping slow. It was as he said.

It wasn’t measuring time. It was measuringhim. Every grain that fell was a breath he’d borrowed. A heartbeat closer to the end. Closer to forever altered.

Her stomach twisted. The book didn’t say how many grains remained. Only that when the last one fell, Leopold, the man, would be gone. And she had no idea how to stop it.

A man by day transforms to beast in the moonlight.

What did it mean? He transformed into a beast under the light of the moon? Her heart thundered wildly as she thought of the howls she heard the previous nights. Was it him? Did he follow her in beast form? Would he come after her? Was she in danger?

A cold shiver snaked down her spin. He was far too kind to her. He would never hurt her. He would never hunt her. She rejected the idea of him as a beast. Despite that, she recalled the dark shadows under his eyes. When she queried him at breakfast, he seemed less than willing to give her answers.

A cold breeze shifted through the house, lifting the hair on the back of her neck and snuffing out the candles. She sucked in a breath and stiffened, sitting in the darkness, her hand on the book with oddly glowing crimson ink. Her heart beat hard and painfully fast.

Snatching the nearest candleholder, she shot to her feet. The chair scraped along the floor. Loud in the silence. In the darkness, it was difficult to find the matches. Her hand fumbled on the mantle until finally she found the matchbox. With shaking fingers, she got it open and struck a match, lighting the candle. The tiny glow from the one candle did not do much to push back the shadows and the gloom.

When she turned to face the library doorway, she froze. Standing there was a shape. Nothing more than a silhouette. An outline. With two red glowing eyes. She saw no other features.

The scream froze in her throat. She clutched the candle tight in her hand, her fingers cramping. The shadow thing was here, in her home, its red eyes fixed on her. Was this the shadow thing she saw in the port before their home burned down? Was thisthingresponsible for the fire and the destruction of her father’s ships? She dared not scream. She dared not move.

It floated toward her, reaching out with its long billowy arms and slender fingers ending in what looked like shadow claws. Terror gripped her as she watched it approach. It was so close now. It reached for her.

Without thinking, she threw the candle at it. The light flared bright when it touched it. A scream and a hiss and then it was no more than a fine black mist disappearing into the void. Snuffed out.

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