I rolled my eyes and pulled my skirt free from his gentle grip. “I’m going this way,” I insisted, gesturing to the unexplored wing. “You’re welcome to join me or wait here, but I’m exploring.”
For a moment, I thought he might physically block me, might use his superior size to force me downstairs. Instead, he huffed out a breath that ruffled my hair, his ears still flat against his skull in displeasure. Clearly, he disapproved of my plan but wasn’t going to stop me.
I seized the opportunity to dart past him, moving quickly down the corridor before he could change his mind. The floorstones slapped beneath my borrowed slippers, announcing my presence to whatever ghosts lingered in this abandoned wing.
Doors lined both sides of the hallway, most closed against curious eyes. I tried the first one, finding it unlocked but revealing only a small guest chamber, dusty and unremarkable. The second door opened to what might have been a study once, with an empty desk and bookshelves stripped of their contents.
Beast padded behind me, his claws clicking softly against the stone floor. He didn’t try to stop me anymore, but his nervous energy was palpable. Every few steps, he would pause to look over his shoulder, as if expecting some threat to emerge from the shadows.
The third door I tried was different. It didn’t yield to my first push, seeming stuck rather than locked. I leaned my shoulder against the weathered wood and pushed harder, feeling it give slightly under my weight.
“A little help?” I asked Beast, gesturing at the stubborn door.
He approached cautiously, sniffing at the gap between door and frame. Something about his hesitation made me wonder if he was familiar with what lay beyond. Had he been deliberately keeping me away from this room?
Before I could question him further, he set his massive shoulder against the door and pushed. The wood groaned in protest, then surrendered with a crack that echoed down the corridor. Dust billowed out, making me cough and wave my hand before my face.
When the air cleared, I gasped.
“Holy mother of...” The words died in my throat as I stepped into the most magnificent library I’d ever seen or imagined.
The room soared two stories high, with a wrought iron staircase spiraling up to a balcony that circled the entire chamber. But it was the books—dear lord, the books—that stole my breath away. Thousands upon thousands of them lined thewalls from floor to ceiling, their spines facing outward in a dazzling array of colors and sizes. More books than I could read in ten lifetimes. More knowledge than my village had ever possessed collectively.
“This is...” I turned to Beast, who lingered in the doorway as if reluctant to enter. “Why didn’t you show me this before?”
He huffed, ears twitching nervously as he eyed the towering shelves. Something about the library clearly made him uncomfortable. Was it memories of his human self? Or something darker?
I moved deeper into the room, my fingers trailing reverently across the spines. Many were bound in leather that had cracked with age, their titles stamped in gold that had long since dulled. Languages I recognized—French, Latin, Greek—and many I didn’t, symbols and scripts that belonged to worlds Papa had only described in his stories of far-off lands.
A treasure trove of knowledge, hidden away in this cursed castle. Somewhere in these thousands of volumes might be answers about the roses, about Beast’s transformation, about my own strange powers. The trick would be finding them before winter closed in completely, before Gaspard picked up my trail, before whatever tenuous truce existed between me and Beast’s dual nature collapsed under the weight of his curse.
“There must be something here,” I muttered, scanning the nearest shelf. “A history of the castle, perhaps? A record of its inhabitants? Anything about curses or transformations or blood-drinking roses?”
Beast paced at the edges of the room, growing more agitated with each minute that passed. His tail lashed from side to side, and his breathing had quickened, as if simply being inside this space caused him physical discomfort.
“It would be so much easier if you could just tell me,” I said, not unkindly. “If you could speak, write, anything to share what happened to you. To this place.”
He growled low in his throat, but there was no menace in it. Only frustration that matched my own. Whatever kept him in this form also kept him mute, unable to communicate beyond the most basic gestures and sounds. And this time of day, his comprehension was lower.
I turned my attention back to the shelves, trying to discern some organizational system. The books seemed arranged by subject rather than author, with entire sections devoted to natural philosophy, mathematics, theology, and literature. But without knowing exactly what I was looking for, the task felt overwhelming. Like trying to find a specific grain of sand on a beach.
Beast’s pacing intensified, his massive form creating a breeze that stirred the dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight streaming through tall windows. The morning was advancing, and with it, his agitation grew. It was as I’d suspected. He struggled most against his animal nature during daylight hours. Night seemed to bring clarity, humanity, connection. Day pushed him toward instinct, toward the beast that gave him his name.
“This isn’t working,” I admitted, turning away from the shelves. “I need a plan, a starting point. And you need...” I paused, watching him stalk the perimeter of the room like a caged wolf. In my years of watching the neighbor’s young ones, I recognized his need for distraction. “You need some calm.”
My eyes landed on a book lying open on a reading table near one of the windows. Someone had abandoned it mid-reading when whatever catastrophe befell the castle occurred. I approached it curiously, noting the colorful illustrations visibleon the exposed pages. Dragons and knights. A fairy tale or adventure story, not the historical account I was hoping to find.
Still, an idea formed. If Beast couldn’t leave because I wouldn’t, perhaps there was a way to make this library visit more bearable for him.
I picked up the book and moved to a large armchair that faced away from the windows, reducing the glare that seemed to bother Beast’s sensitive eyes. Settling into its dusty embrace, I patted the spot beside me.
“Come here,” I called softly. “Let me read to you.”
Beast paused his pacing, strained eyes fixing on me with evident surprise. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, might bolt from the room entirely. Instead, he approached cautiously, as if I were offering something both desired and feared.
I opened the book to its first page, brushing away dust that had settled in the creases. “Once upon a time,” I began, my voice filling the cavernous space with warmth it hadn’t known in years, “in a kingdom far from here, there lived a prince who longed for adventure.”
The words flowed easily, the familiar cadence of storytelling soothing something in my own chest even as I watched Beast’s rigid posture gradually relax. The tale unfolded—a prince in disguise having a daring sword fight before embarking on a quest to slay a dragon and save a captured princess. Standard fare for fairy tales, yet there was something compelling in its simplicity.
