Page 11 of The Beauty and the Griffin

But Pukai deflated me with one question: “Now, how do you plan to keep tabs on Beatrice while training your little apprentice?”

Wincing at the direct hit, I shifted into my ugly-hag disguise. “I’ll manage. Since Beatrice doesn’t know I’m spying on her, and Ellie thinks I’m gathering herbs or treating sick peasants whenever I leave my cottage—which reminds me that I do need to collect a few weeds before I return—it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

At this point I must confess that during Beatrice’s boarding-school years, I’d spent much of my time at my old haunts in the mountains around Faraway Castle, resuming my fictitious identities as either Arabella the lowlyburva-level hedge witch (I prefer Wise Old Woman) or Arabella the fairy godmother. Partly because Pukai had needed me near, but also because of the terrified golden-haired child I’d found near my hedge-witch home. Of course, I’d taken her in, poor little waif. Ellie remembered her given name but little else. Her clothing, although shredded, revealed wealth, and when none of the guests at Faraway Castle reported a missing child, I suspected foul play.

I prefer to avoid attention, so I’d decided to keep Ellie safe, tell her she had a natural talent, and instruct her in some basic tenets of magic for a time. Why? Because a child packed with at least caroven-level power who has no idea how to use or restrain it is straight-up dangerous. To my great relief, royal or not, she also was, and is to this day, a sweet, honest, well-mannered young lady. She did her best to please me, excelled at her lessons, and was remarkably self-sufficient for her age. I figured that someday her memory would return, and her story would unfold.

And since Beatrice was unaware of my presence near Faraway Castle that summer, I could pop in and check on her by taking some unremarkable form—a guest, a brownie, a gardener, or even a bird.

“Trust me,” I assured Pukai, “without your help I’d be even crazier than I am now. Together, we stand a good chance of finding our way to a happy ending for all.”

“A happy ending,” Pukai echoed. “Unlikely. My family seems cursed.” She gazed toward the waterfall shielding the cave’s entrance, but I recognized her expression and winced. It was thoughtless of me to speak of happy endings in her presence, since she’d lost her beloved third husband a few years earlier, and her youngest daughter still mourned him. Pukai’s sister, too, had suffered heartbreak and remained trapped in human form, but I had more trouble pitying her. She had a truly sour personality.

It helped that all four of Pukai’s gorgeous daughters would be around most of the summer, although they frequently caused chaos, luring male guests with their siren voices. Pukai did her best to limit the girls’ fun, which got out of hand now and then. More than once, a male guest had wrecked an expensive ski boat while trying to reach the island. But such minor troubles gave Pukai something to occupy her mind.

And hopefully our endeavors to encourage a friendship between Beatrice and the Gamekeeper would also be a healthy distraction for my oldest and dearest frenemy.

5

BEATRICE

“Gamekeeper, I can’t dothis!” Each word escaped my mouth as an individual wheeze. I bent over, hands on my knees while I gasped for each breath, having run uphill from the stable to the gardens without stopping. The stitch in my side couldn’t compare to the pain of my shredded pride. At least the rose garden was blessedly deserted this morning. “Princess Eddi hates me,” I said, nearly choking on a sob, “and I think I hate her too! If you’re not here, I don’t—”

Before another word left my lips, his presence wrapped around me like a comforting hug. “I am here. Tell me, Beatrice.”

I blew out a sigh, and when I closed my eyes, tears overflowed. But my throat tightened, and my face scrunched, burning with shame. “It’s nothing really. Just . . . stupid!”

“If it hurts you, it’s important. I suspect you might burst if you don’t let out the pain.”

How did he know? His empathy was soothing. As soon as I could speak, I blurted, “Yesterday—” Suddenly feeling foolish, I let out a sob-laugh. “I’m supposed to be a nanny, and here I’m acting like a baby.”

“Howdidyou come to be a nanny? You’re very young for such a position.”

That was a question I could answer without shame, and relating the facts calmed me until I returned to my story. “Eddi and I are only six years apart. I think everyone thought I could be a friend to her, like a big sister. But shehatesme.” My voice cracked, and fresh tears burned my cheeks. “I make good money, but I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“What has she done to you?”

His tone invited me to unload. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but I did anyway. “I don’t know how she did it—she’s always with me—but . . . I still can’t find any of my . . . um, necessities.” I paused, remembering . . .

“You sure do lose things a lot,” the princess cooed from the doorway while I dug through the chest of drawers in what was purported to be my private room in our suite. “Good girls aren’t supposed to lose their lingerie.”

“I will send a discreet brownie to locate and return your possessions,” the Gamekeeper said. “Sira will tell no one, and this won’t happen again.”

Detecting the sharp edge to his quiet words, I trusted the Gamekeeper. Not that I had options. One thing for sure: I wasn’t about to mention that I currently wore my swimsuit under my clothes. “I’m sorry for complaining.”

“Sometimes pain must be expressed before forgiveness and a solution can follow. Now, what has she done to you this morning?”

My chin and lips quivering, I nearly burst into tears again.

“Where did it happen?” he asked, and his voice soothed my spirit until I found myself relating the whole story, almost as if I were living it over again . . .

At breakfast in the dining hall, I sat at a table packed with Eddi’s friends, doing my best to be invisible. The girls, most of them a few years older than Eddi but younger than me, giggled and squealed even more than usual because several older boys sat at the next table.

Then Crown Prince Maximilian of Petrovce, who was easily the handsomest young man I’d ever seen, turned in his chair to address me, “So, Miss de Callen, I’ve heard that Sir Iker, the vaunted diplomat from Biscarosse, is your father.”

Taken by surprise that he even knew my name, I could only nod.

His lips curled as he looked me over. “Rumor says you’re really the natural daughter of a count in Kablar. After he dumped your mother, Sir Iker married her, either from pity or for political connections. Then she died of a broken heart.”

---