Astrid

Four hours before midnight, I sit on the alcove to watch the stars from beyond the grills. The window is cracked open to allow the night breeze to tickle against my braid.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” I announce routinely. Bayorn usually comes in three hours later than now to secure my windows and ensure the door will be locked. Perhaps he wants to make early preparations tonight before he can carry on with a business of his own.

Instead, a quieter voice sounds: “Lovely night.”

My head whips around. An electric jolt runs up my spine and forces me to stiffen – a defense mechanism.

The Prince steps out of the shadows and into the firelight.

It is the sight of his face which startles me most. It is not so much the fact that there is some aberrant, frightening contortion in his features than it is the fact that there isn’t anything. I do not know why I expected the shade of his hair to be any darker than the wooden brown painted in his family’s portrait, or for the mere sight of his face to send me fleeing into the forest again.

No; what astonishes me most is how innately human he looks.

How ordinary. Full facial hair surrounding his mouth and connecting to his shaggy, neck-length hair, and wild, startling blue eyes that seem to be the only unusual – almost animal – thing about his features. And yet he looks like just another one of the townsfolk back in Ainsfrel.

Around his torso is wrapped a funny, short little cotton robe that is held together by a thick length of cotton string.

An involuntary sound that is halfway between a suppressed chortle and a horrified gasp betrays me.

“What are you wearing?”

The grave emotion in his eyes lightens in the slightest. “Oh, this?” he gestures to his robe. “This is my transformation robe. You’ll find it’s quite easy to remove,” he winks mischievously.

As if on instinct, I wrinkle my nose and move to pick a pillow off the alcove to toss it at him. Fortunately, I stop myself in time and instead hug it close to my chest.

“May I join you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He sits down next to me, but a safe distance away. We watch the stars in silence for a minute before the air quickly becomes awkward.

“Lovely night,” he clears his throat, repeating himself.

I roll my eyes. “Are you not supposed to be locked away in the dungeons by now?”

He does not take offence in the venomous manner in which I phrased my words. Instead, he replies calmly, “I get myself ready an hour before. Bayorn comes to lock me up thirty minutes later.”

I look over at him again. At his incredibly human expression while he talks about not being human. He winces once and reaches up to rub at his side.

“Is it...painful?” I ask.

“Every bone in my body breaks and reforms itself. After I transform, though, I remember nothing, so the pain is temporary. It only aches in the morning. By then the only searing pain I have comes from the insatiable craving for eggs and bread.”

It is quickly becoming clear that despite his usually somber demeanor, when at ease, he experiments with what faintly resembles dry humor.

“You speak of all this so casually,” I note.

He shrugs and then winces. “How can I not? There is nothing I can do about this.”

What damning words, I think to myself. What a manner in which one has resigned oneself to live.

But I will not give in so easily.

I sit up straighter, angling my body so that I am facing him.

“What if…what if there is something we can do about this?”

One of his eyebrows arches, prompting me to proceed. I moisten my lips. “What if, by my touching the rose, something about the curse has changed? Perhaps my addition has won you the same amount of time you used to have to find true love. Quite like...like a restart, if you will.”

He stares out the window in deliberation. My thumbs fidget against my thighs while I wait for the gears to click in his mind. Finally, he leans closer, as if to tell me a secret. I, too, lean as far forward as I dare.

“Do you claim to be a specialist in magic, Astrid?”

I draw back. Irritation tickles at the base of my chest. “No, but we can certainly ask your witch, can we not?”

“I don’t know,” he rubs at his beard skeptically, but already I can see the wheels turning. He is swayed!

“Will it hurt anyone to make an inquiry? The quicker we take action, the quicker -”

“What?” he scoffs, slipping into that odd, casual tone again. “The quicker you can fall in love with me?”

“Please.” My response isn’t meant to come out with a derisive laugh, but it does. “With you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He doesn’t respond. There is a shift in his eyes before he turns away to look out the window again.

My smile falters. Even to my ears, the words sounded harsher than necessary. I immediately feel an itch to apologize.

“I… I am promised to another,” I say helplessly instead, hoping to soften the blow.

“Of course. Then I shall not deny you the slightest opportunity to return to your love.”

I nod, though he probably does not see me. We both watch the breeze shift the silhouettes of the trees in the distance again.

“You know,” I clear my throat, breaking the silence after some time. “All these weeks we’ve spoken to each other, and I do not even know your name.”

“Monsters do not need names.”

“Perhaps. But humans need names, do they not? How will I address you when we meet?”

Out of his side profile, he cracks the faintest ghost of a smile.

“You can just call me ‘Master’.”

“Or I can tell you to get out of the room.”

He tears his gaze away from beyond and settles it on me. I look right back at him, just to memorize the structure of his face – though not much can be seen through all that unkempt hair – just in case he decides to hide himself again tomorrow. There is something about the way he looks at me. It is far different from the hungry, awed or envious glares I am accustomed to receiving back home. He seems to be searching for something, some hint of a specific emotion from my face.

When he rises to his feet, I think he has found it.

“Tomorrow, we can ask Lady Selaena. If she deigns to grace us with her presence.”

“Then I shall be waiting tomorrow, with a plate of eggs and bread.”

I do not see his expression when he turns his back, but I can hear him chuckle. And when he leaves the room, a strange wave of satisfaction washes over me.

Kieran

Bayorn waits for me inside the dungeons. Routinely, I remove my robe, and routinely, he averts his eyes politely, as if he has not witnessed this entire process a million times.

I help myself into the heavy chains. I only need Bayorn’s help to ensure they are fastened tightly around my neck, wrists and ankles. They are bigger than my limbs in human form; but after midnight, they hold me quite securely.

“What is it, Captain?” I mutter as he eyeballs me while he locks the first chain securely.

He shakes his head, frowning thoughtfully. “Nothing. It’s just… You’re smiling, my liege.”

I wipe the humour off my face instantly.

“Has the pain eased tonight?”

“Of course not,” I say. Already, my joints are beginning to seize up. “Do you think Imogen and Astrid have become fast friends? It’s strange, considering how far from alike their personalities are.”

He scratches the back of his head. Though he shrugs nonchalantly, I detect the lightness in his tone: “She brings a new dynamic to this place, sire. That I cannot deny.”

As he fastens the last of the chains, I smirk. “You lot best be careful not to fall in love with her,” I say. “She’ll run a cheese knife right through your chests.”

“None of us can hardly blame her for her choice of knives, now, can we?”

This time, he really smiles. It is an expression I have not seen him wear in an eternity. I almost forget the fire beginning to consume my body from the inside out.

I nod at him, and he fastens the muzzle over my mouth.

No warning comes. An invisible force pulls my shoulders back into an unnatural bend. My spine is cracked inwards.

My screams are the last thing I hear.