I blushed furiously. “That’s... complicated.”
“I had a dream,” my father said suddenly, changing the subject with merciful timing. “While I was... wherever I was. I dreamed I was in water, pushing someone. A dark-haired man.” His eyes found Alain. “You. I was pushing you toward my daughter.”
Alain’s eyes widened. “The river,” he breathed. “When I was wounded and drowning. Something pushed me toward Isabeau. I thought it was the current, but...”
“It was you, Papa. I knew it,” I whispered, fresh tears welling. “Somehow, part of your consciousness was still active in the forest. You saved him. You saved us both.”
My father nodded slowly, as if confirming something to himself. “I felt... protective. Like I knew you needed him.” He looked between Alain and my other mates with clear assessment in his eyes. “All of them, perhaps.”
King Henri cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside. There’s much to discuss, and your father needs rest and proper care, Isabeau.”
I nodded, helping my father to his feet. He was unsteady but insisted on walking on his own, his inventor’s mind already taking in the restored castle with fascination. I stayed close, ready to catch him if he stumbled, my heart so full it felt like it might burst from my chest.
The grand entrance of the castle stood open, welcoming us home. Where once had been decay and darkness, now gleamed polished marble and crystal. The gargoyles that had perched menacingly on the ramparts had transformed into proud horses, their stone manes flowing as if caught in eternal wind.
Inside, the transformation was even more dramatic. The cobwebs and dust had vanished. Broken furniture had been restored. The shattered mirrors now reflected our procession without a single crack. Carpets that had been moldering on the floor now displayed vibrant patterns of forest scenes and celestial bodies, so lifelike they seemed to move under our feet.
“This was the west wing,” Marcel murmured beside me, his hand warm at the small of my back. “I hardly recognize it.”
“Everything is as it was before the curse,” Laurent observed, his eyes tracking every detail with quiet amazement. “Every painting, every tapestry restored.”
“Thank fuck,” Bastien added eloquently. “Those cobwebs were a bitch to walk through.”
I giggled at his crassness, then quickly composed myself when both kings turned to look at us. My father’s eyes crinkled with amusement. He’d always appreciated straightforward speech over courtly manners.
We passed through hallways I recognized from my time in the castle, but they were transformed from gloomy passages into bright galleries. Light poured through newly whole windows,casting rainbow patterns across walls adorned with paintings depicting scenes of the Enchanted Realm’s history.
“This was your room,” Marcel said as we passed a familiar door. “My room, actually, before... before everything. You were sleeping in my bed all that time.”
I blushed, remembering how I’d slept in that massive bed, unaware of its owner’s identity. “A place I felt safe,” I admitted softly.
His eyes darkened with emotion. “I’m glad,” he said simply.
“But there was a woman’s armoire?”
“My sister’s dresses overflowed in her room, so she took it upon herself to use mine for herself.” A sadness took over his face, so I reached for his hand. He nodded, telling me he was okay, but he missed her like I did my parents.
As we continued toward what I assumed was some sort of great hall or throne room, I saw my princes glancing around with increasing urgency.
“We need clothes,” Laurent finally stated, gesturing to the makeshift coverings they’d fashioned from cloaks and whatever had been available after their transformation. “Proper ones.”
King Henri nodded. “Your chambers should be as you left them. We’ll wait while you make yourselves presentable.”
The three brothers exchanged glances, then hurried off down a side corridor with a familiarity that spoke of coming home after a long absence. I watched them go, still marveling at their human forms. Marcel’s broad shoulders and dignified bearing. Laurent’s lean grace. Bastien’s coiled energy that made him seem perpetually ready to pounce even as a human.
“They’re quite a sight,” my father murmured beside me, having caught my staring. “In human form, I mean.”
I glanced at him sharply. “You remember them as beasts?”
He nodded slowly. “Parts of it are coming back. The biggest one, Marcel, is it? He carried me to the roses. Gently, like he wassorry for what was happening. The dark one growled the whole time, but never at me. At the situation, I think.”
“That sounds like Bastien,” I agreed with a small smile. “He’s perpetually angry at the universe.”
My father patted my hand. “He looks at you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had,” he observed. “They all do.”
Before I could respond to that astute observation, the three princes returned, now properly dressed in royal attire that transformed them even further from the beasts I’d first known. Marcel wore deep blue with silver accents, Laurent in forest green with gold threading, and Bastien wearing burgundy so dark it was nearly black. Lestat picked black attire, fitting his raven hair and animal half. He stayed back, finding things for his journey home tomorrow. My men and their friend looked every inch the royal princes they were, yet their eyes remained the same. Amber, intense, fixed on me with unwavering devotion.
Alain, who had remained with us, stood straighter in their presence, as if unconsciously responding to the competition. His hand found mine, replacing Marcel’s, fingers intertwining in a silent statement of claim.
