The weight of my circumstance steals the breath from my lungs. An echo reverberates along the stone, sealing me in a tomb dressed as a palace, where hope suffocates and shadows press close. I shiver violently and fold my arms around myself, desperate to conjure warmth against the icy dread seeping from every corner. The villagers have always talked about the broken prince and his haunted castle, but I never believed them. But now that I am here, I see this place is not only haunted; it is alive, thrumming with sinister energy. And the prince, the Beast, is truly broken.
Iglancedown. The blood-red vine scorchedonto my wrist pulses with a heat that borders on agony, acruel reminder of the supernatural force tethered to my fate.The realityhits me for the first time,and I realize I will never see my father again.Whatever power dwells here, I am at its mercy, and theweight of that knowledge is crushingand suffocating.Tears well into my eyes.
I trail behind Erik through endlesscorridors,my footsteps swallowed by ancient tapestries and the hush of secrets too old for daylight. Flickering torchlight casts monstrous shadows on the walls.The portraits lining the halls stare down with hollow, blackenedeyes,their painted lips curled in mockery as if each canvasremembers the fall of every soul who dared cross this threshold.How many have passed through these halls?I know I am not the first. And then I realize,Butcould Ipossibly bethe last?
Doorscreak and slamoftheir own accord, barring routes of escape before I can even contemplate flight. The castle is a livinglabyrinth,itsvery bonesseeming toshift to thwart me. With every step, the mark on my wrist blazes brighter, pulsing in time with my racing heart.Is ita warning…orperhaps asummons?
Servants drift through the passages like wraiths,theirfaces blurred, bodies insubstantial. Their movementsareeerilysilent,save for the whispering chill they leave in their wake. Phantom courtiers cluster in balconies, their skeletal hands folded, their empty sockets locked onto me with chilling intent. Their silence is more terrifying than any shriek, anaccusationand a sentence all at once.Are they real, or am I already losing my grip on reality?
Somewhere in the depths of the darkness, I sense the prince’s gaze.Hispresenceisassuffocating and relentless as the midnight fog that clings to these cursed walls. I feel his breath on my skin, cold and possessive, testing for weakness. I force my spine straight, swallowing terror, and let my defiance blaze from my eyes. He may wish to break me, but I will not yield to him, nor will I yieldto the ancient evil saturatingthis place.
The corridor narrows as Erik leads me deeper into the heart of the South Wing, the air growing colder and heavier with every step. The tapestries here areold,their colors faded to ghostly hues.I envision they wereoncelavish scenes of revelry,butnowthey arechoked by dust and neglect.
At last, Erik pauses before a towering oak door carved with swirling roses and thorns that mirror the burning brandwithinmy skin. He gives a curt nod and pushes it open, revealing the rooms that will serve as my new prison—or sanctuary, if I dare imagine such a thing.
I step inside, hesitant. The first chamber is a sittingroom,its high windows veiled by thick velvet drapes the color of midnight. Moonlight manages to leak in through cracks, painting faint silver streaks across the polished floor. A massive fireplace dominates onewall,its mantle crowded with candlesticks and ornate clocks, all ticking in unsettling unison. An arrangement of armchairs and settees, upholstered in deep burgundy and gold, encircle a low table set withabone-whiteteapot andmatchingcups. Some level ofhospitalityisevident, though the setting feels untouched, as if awaiting a guest whowillnever arrive.Until now, that is.
Beyond the sitting room, double doors open to my bedchamber. The ceiling arches high overhead, supported by twisted beams that resemble the gnarled branches of a forest. A four-poster bed stands in the center, draped in crimsonsilkand piled high with feathered pillows. Long mirrors line one wall, reflecting theflicker of candlelight from matching sconces. The wardrobe is immense and carved with scenes of roses entwining around fleeing maidens,an unsettling echo of my own predicament. I approach, fingers trembling, and open its doors,revealingan array of gowns in every texture and shade—sapphire velvet, ivory lace, and emerald silk—more beautifulthan anything I have ever owned yet somehow menacing in their perfection.
Abathing chamberisattached,its marble tub sunken into the floor and surrounded by gilded fixtures. A tray of scented oils and lotions sits nearby; even here, luxury is tinged with unease. The windows,thoughbarred, framethe moonlit gardens below,a reminder that escape is as impossible here as anywhere else in the castle. Every detail whispers of wealth, but nothingtruly feelsmine. The silence presses in, broken only by the faint creak of settling beams and the distant echo of theBeast’s laughter somewhere in the labyrinth beyond.
I turn back towardErik, who lingers near the door, his facesofteningas he notices my uncertainty.“Your rooms are yours to command, mademoiselle. If yourequireanything, only ring.”He gestures towarda bellpull beside the bed, the cord sofine,it mightcrumbleunder my touch. With a shallow nod, he retreats toward the door but does not leave.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, letting my gaze travel the room’s every shadowed corner.For now, this is my world: agilded cage, once beautiful andnowterrifying. I resolve to explore every inch, searching for comfort, for clues, for a way through the darkness. The South Wing is no mere set of chambers. It is a threshold, and I must decide whether to cross it in fear or defiance.Ichoosedefiance.I know fear will only feed its evil and draw me deeper,to the point of no return.
Just as I finish surveying the room, Erik, still hovering near the door, clears his throat gently. I look up, trying to mask the tremor in my hands.
“You might want to change before dinner,”hestates, gesturing toward the wardrobe.
I shake my head as tearsI have been fightingwell in my eyes.
“You are not planning on joining the prince for dinner?” he asks quietly, his tone indicating concern.
I shake my head, struggling to keep my voice steady.“No. I could not bear it tonight. I have lost too much, Erik. I need a moment to breathe, away from his… scrutiny.”
Erik’s features soften, and he lowers his gaze respectfully.“I understand, mademoiselle. I willrelayyour regrets to the prince.He will not be happy, but I will try to reason with him.”He hesitates, thensays,“The prince is… not an easy man. Be patient with him.”I look at him curiously and he continues.“He wasonce...”He stops himself and thenturns toward the door,then looks back.“If you need anything,do not hesitate toask.”
“Erik!” I holler after him, “He was once what?”But hedoesn’trespond. Realizing he is not going to give me ananswer,I muster a faintnod.“Thank you, Erik,” I murmur, my voice barely rising above the hush of the room. Weariness and sorrow intertwine within me, and as he quietly closes the door, his brief kindness lingerslikea fragilewarmthI clutch to stave off the encroaching cold of the night.
Chapter five
The Banquet of Shadows
Annabel
The castle’s silence is suffocating. It is as if it were holding its breath for something to come. The uneasiness is unbearable.
Ican’ttake it any longer.Maybe itmight be betterifI did goto dinner.I’mnot hungry, but at least Iwon’tbe alone.Oddly enough,I am not convincedifthis is my decision alone or some supernatural force summoning me to his will.But whatever the case, I rise from the bed and walk to the wardrobe.Without even touchingahandle,the doors open.I search themanybeautiful dresses and land on thesimplestoneI find.Holding the dress up, I pause and glance downatmy humble clothes.Putting the dress back into the wardrobe, IdecideI will be more comfortablewithwhat I have on.He wants to see me inclotheshe has provided. That is why they are here.However,I refuse toacquiescetothewhimsI can control.It’sa bit comforting to know I do have some of my own free will left.AsI approach the large doors sealingme in this chamber, they openfor me,allowing me to exit my bedchamber.
I wander thewindowlesscorridors unable to mark my way with memory,as the houseissomehow rearrangingitself when I am notlooking. It is curious andfrightening at the same time.I know the castle is directing me toexactlywhere it wants me,and I have no say in the matter.
I can hear a faint echo of bells.Theytollin the distance, but from where,I do not know. They rattlethrough the castle,only adding to my confusion. The soundgrowslouder the farther I walkandvibrates up my spine.I continue through the corridors with purpose,a summons Ican’trefuse.Themarkon my wristsears, urging me forward even as dread drags at my steps. Suddenly the corridors are lit with candles,andthe darkness washes away.For the first time, Iseethe walls,and from what the light allows me to see, this castle is beautiful.
Something isdefinitelydifferent, something that Ican’tput my finger on to say exactly what, but the silence breaks.Music and laughterfloat down the hall.It sounds like a party, but Ican’timagine such a thing in aplace like this.And then, a voice pours from down the corridor.
“Come.” It’s his voice, and now I know who has been summoning me.
My bodystiffens, but the command was more thanjust a word. The mark on my wrist flares, and my steps carry me forward,despite myself. It isinthis moment thatI seeaneven clearer image of my situation. I look down at my wrist and know I am not only bound tohim,but I am bound to his will, his desires, and,what frightens me the most,his wrath.
