Astrid

I sneak to the room in the West Wing the moment the sun breaches through the dim sky. Kieran would still be recuperating in his chambers now; nobody would notice I’ve been gone for an hour.

“I want to see home,” I say to the mirror.

It shows me a humble, lonesome bed. My bed. On the wall behind it hangs one of my mother’s old paintings: a portrait of my father holding an infant.

Without a second thought, I rush into the mirror.

The scent of home fills my nostrils instantly. For a fleeting moment it all feels like a dream. The sunrise from outside the window wraps me in a warmth my chemise cannot give.

A loud clang in the distance snags my attention. I sprint out of the room and bound down the staircase two steps at a time.

My father sits at the kitchen all by himself. He looks like he has aged a thousand years; his hair is disheveled and unkempt. A tray and some tools lay scattered on the ground by his feet, but he simply stares blankly ahead.

My breath catches in my throat. Real. All this is real.

“Father?”

His head snaps up. He blinks several times in my general direction, but does not move. Does he even notice me?

I come closer. “Papa? It’s me. Astrid.”

He opens his mouth. Frowns. Then closes it. Then opens it again: “Astrid?”

I cannot reach him soon enough. My weight nearly barrels him over as I bend down to pull him into a tight embrace.

Papa presses his face into my hair and inhales. “Are you real?” he breathes.

“It is me, Papa. I’m really here.”

He finally wraps his arms around me. I cling to him and fight the terrible urge to cry, to laugh, to dance. He sobs into my shoulder and repeats, “My baby, my little girl, my baby girl…” over and over again until he finally pulls away to cradle my face in his hands.

“What…how did you escape?”

So I tell him everything. About the curse, about the man and the beast. About Bayorn and Eli and Imogen. He covers his mouth with one hand when I tell him about the mirror that brought me home.

“So only for an hour?” he says. “Before you must return to that wretched man?”

“Oh, Papa,” I sigh, pulling up a chair beside him. “Kieran is not as cruel as we thought. He is just a man, haunted and desperate and...and lonely. He never intended to keep me away from home for so long.”

“But now you can never come home.” My father’s gaze is forlorn.

His words are like a stab through the heart. I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

“Of course not,” I force optimism into my voice. “The curse can – and will – be broken. I will come home to you, I promise. I promise.”

My hands find his. They are so feeble; his fingers barely have the strength to grip mine.

“Please wait for me,” my plea comes out in a whisper.

He probably does not hear me. Or perhaps he pretends not to. Instead, he says, “I suppose now I shall have to accept the payment your employer sends me every month for your work.”

Kieran has sent him money over the past few months. Of course he has. Why am I even surprised? Time and time again, he has broken through every barrier of expectation in his capacity for kindness.

“Have you had something to eat yet?” my father says again. I snap out of my reverie and offer to make breakfast.

While I get on the task of cooking us a quick meal, I ask, “How is your health, Papa? Have you been taking your medication?”

“If I do not, Portia practically shoves it down my throat. She has been staying behind to pester me lately while Frederik has gone overseas to meet with a lord of some sort. He’s supposed to receive a medal of entrepreneurship or something.”

This piece of news comforts me more than any word that has been spoken to me since I left home. My mind makes a note to find a way to see her soon.

“Tell me more about the castle,” my father prompts.

I update him on Alfeir’s comfortable new home and his two new friends. I tell him about the myriad of rooms and the grand architecture. About the magic.

And then, as I bring the food to the table, I tell him about everything I have seen through the mirror.

He claps his hands in childlike delight.

“They can speak to one another from across the world, Papa. They can even see each other’s faces through these little boxes.”

“See each other!”

“And the inventions you tinker with – oh, they have so much promise. More than you know. And there is so much room for improvement. And…”

Beep, beep, beep! The timer on my watch goes off. Five more minutes.

My father’s eyes nearly roll out of their sockets at the sight of it. “Is that...is that one of the…”

“The miniature clocks. Yes.” Already the air is starting to grow thin, but I cannot bring myself to stand. “I will be back tomorrow. I promise, Papa.” I kiss his forehead. “Wait for me.”

“Wait for you,” his repetition is barely audible.

I am forced to tear away from his feeble grip. He turns around to watch me, and I do not turn my back on him until I have to open the back door and return to the castle.

Kieran

I cannot find Astrid anywhere.

She has not accompanied me during my excursions for the past six days. She does not appear for dinner, either. Today, just as I am about to leave, I make it a point to first scour the entire castle for her.

Imogen is found sitting by the hearth in one of the drawing rooms, folding clothes into a wicker basket.

“Good evening, Imogen,” I peek my head around the door to interrupt her work. “Have you seen Astrid anywhere?”

She barely looks up. That’s when I figure out she knows something I do not.

“She is busy, Master.”

I close the door behind me. “Busy doing what?”

“Visiting her father,” she says evenly.

“What?” my mouth hangs open in shock. Risk that kind of knowledge to be given to her father? Even if he can be trusted, what if the other townspeople catch wind of her mysterious appearances?

I almost turn around to race up to the West Wing when Imogen continues: “Would you like to help me with the laundry?”

I stare. How very uncharacteristic of her, a royal maid by birth, to ask her Prince to sit beside the fireplace to fold clothes. But then again, it has been long since I was actually a Prince. Now I have no kingdom; I have destroyed it with my own bare hands.

Consenting to her strange request, I walk over and sit with my legs crossed beside her. She rifles through the pile of clothes in a separate basket and hands me one of my own shirts.

“You lay it out like this,” she demonstrates with another shirt. “Then you fold it at the sleeves – one over the other – yes, that’s it. It is quite simple, is it not?”

While my hands move, I stare at her dumbly. She gives me another shirt to fold.

“Why are you asking me to fold clothes?” The enchanted wardrobes would be able to simply arrange our clothing in order if she would just chuck it all in there. But she never does it. She always insists on giving purpose to her hands.

“Because when the curse is broken, you will have to do all this by yourself,” she says.

This sounds very much like a tender of her resignation. I smirk.

“Why, so I can take care of my woman?”

“So you can take care of yourself.” Her eyes flick up to me and she smiles wisely. “But of course, you should always treat your love like royalty. So, yes – do take care of your woman as well.”

Odd, how merely folding my own clothes sends a creeping sense of triumph through me. Independence differs greatly from loneliness.

“Where will you and Eli go?” I say. “After the curse has been broken. Much has changed in the world outside.”

“We will manage. And I will inform you of where I will go, so that you may call upon me should you need any assistance.”

My hands freeze over the folded trousers. I watch the firelight flicker against her serene face.

“Imogen,” I start, voice thickening. “I -”

“I know you will break the enchantment, Kieran.” The pronunciation of my first name on her tongue makes me start. “Because the curse was not meant for you. It was meant for the boy who could not admit that he was drowning in the fears that plagued him.”

“Perhaps I am still that boy deep down.”

She shakes her head. Looks at me. Lifts a hand and runs her fingers through the hair on my temples, as if she’s done it a thousand times. I nearly bristle at the unexpected familiarity in her touch.

“You do not deserve this enchantment anymore. And one day I will see it broken. One day my son will remember you, not for the Prince you once were nor the beast you turn into each night – but for the man that you have become.”