Rose, Wilted: Book 1

Chapter 17 - Forgiveness

Weeks passed for both of us in the castle. As we waited for his shoulder to heal, the Beast and I fell into a rhythm. He would leave every mealtime to hunt, and I wouldn't comment when he missed some blood on his claws while cleaning up. Then, almost every day around noon, I would read. Sometimes he asked me quietly to stop, but not often. When he did, there was always pain in his eyes. I wanted so badly to ask him why, but I knew I shouldn’t. If he could have, I think he would have told me, but the curse would hurt him if he tried. If it wasn't reading, I'd play the harpsichord. Rowena brought it down for us once I requested it and found a few music books for me. He liked that. He told me that he hadn't heard music for three years. After that I tried to teach him to play, but his fingers were too big for the keys, and we decided he had better just stick to listening. Then there were the times we just spoke quietly. I did most of the talking and he seemed more than content to merely listen. I told him about home and my father, some of the books I’d read, and how we came to be in the village. Sometimes he’d ask me questions about what I did from day to day. Occasionally he told me about himself or the castle but never said much about it. And then at night I would read some more and afterward I would trek back to my room and he to his. Unless we were too tired. Then the Beast would find a soft spot on the floor and I would find a couch. But occasionally the story would dance its way into my head and lull me into a warm sleep. The next morning I would find myself back in bed with no recollection of walking there myself.

We had tried out a new book that day, one that had come from the top of the wardrobe in my bedroom. My voice, along with my energy, were beginning to quiet and I came to the end of the chapter just in time. I slipped the hair ribbon I was using for a bookmark between the pages and placed it on the floor. The Beast was curled up on the floor next to me, head resting on his paws and green eyes closed. I was about to accuse him of falling asleep when he mumbled,

“I hate cliffhangers.”

I chuckled.

“Me too, but this way we'll have something to look forward to tomorrow.”

The Beast gave a rumble of agreement from deep in his chest.

My thoughts wandered along wispy paths of towers and witches and a girl named Rapunzel, wondering what path the story would take. Whoever used to live in my bedroom had a good taste in books. I would have liked to meet them. Some noble lady I guessed. A shame they weren't here anymore. We could probably chat all day over Le Morte d’Arthur alone if the book was as well loved as it seemed.

"Beast?" I asked.

He opened one eye slowly, like an old guardian of some ancient treasure, awakening after a century of sleep.

"Yes?"

"Who did my room belong to?"

The Beast gave a grunt, like he didn't want to speak of it and closed his eyes again.

"The Princess Jayla."

My eyebrows pushed upward slightly.

"What happened to her?" I asked. I was a little afraid of the answer.

The Beast was quiet for a moment. Then, apparently deciding I wasn't just going to drop the matter, opened both eyes and yawned, pink tongue lolling out between his rows of ivory teeth.

“What have you heard?”

“Well I know she had magic. When the King and Queen died they were taking her to train with a Mage, weren’t they? There was an assassin who attacked their carriage and killed the King and Queen, but she managed to escape and got back to the castle. And then Ad- then the King was coronated but the Be- oh. Sorry I didn’t-,”