Page 56 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

And even in his weakened state, Leopold fit the space like a shadow fit the night.

Bella hesitated inside the door, still clutching the old, cursed book, desperate to rush to his side yet afraid to do just that.

“Go on, my lady,” Dickens said, his voice low and encouraging.

One glance over her shoulder to see the man giving her a nod of reassurance. She forced her feet to move to the side of the bed where she eased into the chair by his bedside and sat in silence, trying to figure out what to say, how to feel.

The bedchamber door closed with a soft click, sealing her inside with the man who had saved her from shadowy apparitions the night before. Apparitions that, no doubt, had a connection to the cursed book in her arms.

As time passed, she waited, finally relaxing enough to drop the book into her lap. She waited, watching him sleep, until his face twitched and he emitted a faint groan. His eyes, those pale brown eyes, blinked open. He focused at first on the ceiling above him then turned his head slightly to meet her gaze.

They stared at each other a long silent moment, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. She kept her gloved hands clasped together, resting on top of the book on her lap. A slow smile tugged up one corner of his mouth.

“Bella.” His voice was weak, rough, as though rusty from nonuse. “You came.”

Surprise flickered through her at his words. Had he not expected her to come? “Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

He turned his head back, as though it were an effort to move, and closed his eyes again. “Now that you know what I am, I thought you would not.”

He sounded melancholy when he said it, sending a pang of empathy through her. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, but she kept her hands firmly in place. He feared she would never return because he had shown her what he really was—that he was a terrifying beast.

She searched her mind for the right words. Words of comfort. Words of encouragement.

“Leopold,” she began, her voice soft in the room’s quiet. And still her hand twitched, desperate to reach for him and give him a touch of reassurance. “I had to come.”

“Because of the book,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“Because of you.”

She didn’t know why she said it, but she felt, deep down, it was true. His eyes blinked open once again. For a breath, she thought he hadn't heard her. But then his sharp, startling gaze found hers. And in that moment, something passed over his face. A flash of emotion so deep, so exposed, it made her breath hitch. Not pain. Not gratitude.

Longing.

Not the kind spoken aloud, but the kind that lived in suffering, lonely silence. Then it was gone. Buried beneath the usual calm. Replaced by that tired, guarded look he wore like a second skin.

But she’d seen it. And now she couldn’t forget it. She would never forget it.

She rushed on. “I-I worried about you after last night. That shadow thing, or man, or whatever it was…I saw what it did to you.”

Her eyes caught on the bandages first. White and stark against the bruised skin of his ribs and the broad span of his chest. Too much of him was exposed, too vulnerable. She told herself that’s all she saw. The injury. The damage.

But the firelight betrayed her.

It traced over him in soft gold, catching the faint sheen of his skin, the rise and fall of each careful breath. And suddenly she was too aware of the strength beneath the wound, the shape of him, the warmth radiating from where he lay.

She looked away. Forced herself to focus on the fire, the chair, anything else. But it was too late. The feeling had already curled low in her belly—quiet, unwanted, and far too dangerous.

Far too undisputable.

“You saved my life. Thank you,” she muttered.

Her gaze drifted before she stopped it over the broad line of his shoulders, the quiet strength still visible even in rest. Up to the sharp angle of his jaw, dusted in the beginnings of a beard. He looked rougher like this. Untamed. Real.

And then his eyes. Those eyes that always unraveled her. They caught the firelight just right, deep and fathomless, and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She told herself she was checking on him, that she was only worried. But that wasn’t the whole truth, was it?

A single lock of dark hair fell over his brow. Her fingers twitched.

She wanted—gods help her, she wanted—to reach out. To brush it back. To press a kiss to his forehead, to tell him without words that she was there. That he wasn’t alone. That she wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not ever.

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