Page 62 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

He chanced a peek at her. Across the room, shrouded in shadows, she was absorbed in her work, her head bent over the book. One hand rested on the aged page before her while she scribbled madly, then scratched out in frustration. He watched her from the haven of his bed, knowing all the while he was falling madly in love with her. Knowing all the while he would never have her.

Now, in the deafening silence, he laid there staring at the ornate ceiling. Dickens had arrived to usher her home. Dickens knew, like he did, what was to come when the sun dipped below the horizon. The brand on his arm already started to burn, to sear, to throb. Though the full moon waned and was nothing more than a crescent, he continued to change into that horrendous beast. His alteration had not stopped as the full moon diminished.

Returning footsteps signaled Dickens came back. The door pushed open. His valet remained in the entrance, not moving.

“Come in, Dickens.” His voice was raw, thick, and heavy with emotion. He had wallowed in his self-pity long enough.

Dickens appeared at his side, moving the vacant chair out of the way. Concern etched his pale features.

“Is she safely away?” he asked.

Dickens nodded. “In the carriage returning to Hawthorne. It’s time, my prince.”

He waved him away. “No, Dickens. The bonds do not help. I will only break through them again.”

He shoved off the blankets and swung his legs to the side of the bed, the hot pain from the slashes in his chest lancing through him. He winced and uttered a low groan.

“Are you certain, my prince?”

“Help me up. Take me to the gardens, Dickens,” he said, ignoring his question.

“But—”

“The time is near. I cannot stop it, even if I wanted to. Take me to the gardens where I will do the least amount of damage,” he insisted.

Dickens nodded, though it was clear he wanted to protest. He remained mute as he placed a hand under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. He wore nothing but the torn trousers and the bandage around his mid-section. When his bare feet hit the floor, he shuddered. He stayed upright, though, despite the agony spreading through him.

His valet wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him across the room, to the door. Leopold focused on every step as he made his way out. One more step and then another step and on and on until he reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He paused here, to take deep breaths and stave off the shear pain. Dickens did not speak. He waited patiently for him to begin again.

Down the stairs. One slow step at a time. He needed something to distract him, so he turned his thoughts back to Bella.

“Why did you allow her to remain in my room?”

“She did not want to spend the day, alone, in the library, my prince. I thought it would do no harm for her to watch over you.” He said this as though he were speaking of nothing more than the weather on a fine day.

He wanted to retort that it was quite harmful—to him. To his psyche. To his very existence. Could his valet not see how much she affected him? How much he wanted her?

“She’s quite taken with you,” he added, his voice soft as though whispering a secret.

Oh, gods, he didn’t need to know that about her. He wanted to forget her. He wanted to push her out of his mind forever. But he knew that was folly.

He would never be able to forget her. He would never be able to push her from his mind forever. He loved her.

It was impossible to think she loved him back, though. He was cursed to live as man and beast. And, if she didn’t find the way to break the curse, he would roam the world forever as that immortal beast. Never to feel her touch again. Never to see her beauty again. Never to hear her voice again.

He couldn’t bear the thought. The anguish was too raw, too real.

They were at the bottom of the stairs. He paused there to take another deep breath, to take a rest while he regained his strength once again for the remaining journey to the dark gardens.

“Is there any reason to hope?”

“She’s quite determined to succeed,” he said. “Do not give up yet, my prince.”

He glanced at his old companion to see the optimism and the hope glinting in his dark eyes. If Dickens continued to have faith, then he would, too.

Nodding, he said, “Let’s continue.”

After a laborious long walk to the castle gardens, where night flooded the area, he was relieved to perch on the edge of a bench. Dickens released him and stepped back, waiting no doubt for the inevitable.

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