Page 15 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

How did he manage to make that sound like a threat?

“Oh.” She placed her napkin on the table and drew herself out of her chair. “Yes, quite right.”

He glared at her expectantly, making no move to escort her, nor address her further. In a nobleman’s house, this would ordinarily be the time for tea in the drawing room. There wasn’t a person in the land who didn’t know of that custom.

Confused and disoriented at the abrupt dismissal, she took a few steps away from the table, then turned and exited the Great Hall without looking back.

The candles led her to her chambers, where she closed the door firmly behind her. After brief consideration, she dragged one of the baroque chairs, which was far heavier than it looked, over to the door.

With effort, she wedged the chair under the handle to prevent unwanted intrusion during the night. Or at least slow it, thought Amelie with dismay while she recalled Davron’s immense size.

As she disrobed, loosening the bodice and stepping out of the dress, the reality of her situation began to descend on her truly. According to the terms of the bargain he’d struck with her brothers, she was now betrothed to Davron. As scary as tonight had been, this was only the beginning.

He had not brought her here for fizzy wine and apple tart. Sooner or later, he would want from her what men typically wanted from women. She had known that when she set off from her home, yet was only now considering the physical prospect of it.

Davron was enormous and strange, and every bit as brutish as her brothers had suggested. How could she lie with a man like that? Feel his extra fingers on her? Have him growling in her ear? And that tongue. The thought of merging her body with his was discomfiting and surreal.

A delicate lacy nightgown had been laid out on her bed. The intimacy of the gesture, completely unasked for by Amelie, angered her. She cast the flimsy gown aside and fetched her satchel from the console, wanting to wear one of her own garments—a small piece of home. She opened the flap of her bag and tipped the contents onto the bedspread.

Amelie inhaled sharply. From among the jumble of items and garments rolled a rose-gold clamshell, which she picked up and held to her chest. Colette had slipped the shell into her bag as they hugged goodbye. Already feeling despondent, the sweetness of the gesture made Amelie’s homesickness exponentially worse.

She put on her nightgown, slid under the bed covers, and set the shell on her nightstand. The silver rose went next to her pillow.

With a click, she opened the shell. Shimmering pink light poured out and enveloped Amelie. Feeling very alone and far from home, her courage finally failed.

As quietly as she could manage, she wept.

CHAPTER 8

Ared-haired woman gazed at Amelie while snow drifted from the alabaster sky.

The woman’s form was translucent, like a ghost, and she radiated benevolence. Aware she was dreaming, Amelie tried to catch the snowflakes, only to find it wasn’t snow. It was ash.

The woman extended her hand to reveal fingertips as black as soot.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

Amelie awoke confused, her brow damp.

The shell on the nightstand was still open and emitting the peaceful pink light. She closed the shell before checking her rose was in place. The chair was wedged under the door handle where she’d left it last night. Davron had not come for her while she slept.

Satisfied she was alone, she sank back into the comfortable bedding. She frowned at the canopy of her bed, trying to decipher the dream, which she’d never had before. The woman was unfamiliar to her, but then, everything about the past couple of days was unfamiliar to her, and stressful. It was a small wonder she wasn’t having outright nightmares.

Amelie lifted her head to check the time. It was late morning. She’d slept an incredible number of hours and felt better for it, despite the peculiar dream.

What would the day have in store for her? Davron had not suggested they spend time together. Perhaps he had been disappointed with her and regretted striking the deal with her brothers. After all, he’d barely spoken to her during dinner and seemed eager to dispense with her company the instant they’d finished eating. Did he feel stuck with her?

Unbidden, she touched the top of her hand, where he’d kissed her last night. It was the only physical contact they’d had, which was a relief. As much as he had alarmed her during dinner, the night could have gone far worse.

A sumptuous breakfast lay on a table by one of the windows, the curtains closed. Amelie rubbed her eyes, positive the food hadn’t been there when she’d awoken a minute ago. Steam rose from the plates—she caught scents both savory and sweet.

Disentangling herself from the quilts, she slid out of bed and padded to the table. The curtains swung open, fastening themselves with tasseled tiebacks, sunlight pouring into the chambers. The brightness of the day helped to wake her up properly.

Wanting fresh air, she tried to open the window, only to find there was no handle or lever. It was sealed shut. They all were. Peering through the glass showed little, as the thickness of it warped her vision. Vague blues and greens and browns were all she could make out.

Amelie wondered if every window in the castle was sealed, or if the restriction only applied to her chambers. She chewed her lip, thinking of the caged canaries at the village markets. She resolved to check the other windows in the castle once she’d bathed and dressed.

And ate, she thought, looking down at the food with a rumbling stomach. Prisoner or not, there was nothing to be gained by starving herself. If she was to fend off a beast, she would need strength.

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