Page 67 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

Heartbroken though she was about Davron, her sister’s good fortune filled Amelie with warmth. Colette deserved happiness and love. She deserved everything she wanted in the world.

“I am so looking forward to meeting Laughlin,” said Amelie. “What is he like? You must approve, or he wouldn’t have asked for her hand.”

“We had dinner with him and his parents,” said Raphael. “They are lovely people. Warm and generous of spirit. Most importantly, his father treats his mother like a queen.”

Amelie nodded, listening carefully. “And Laughlin himself?”

“He is a quiet type,” continued Raphael. “So, after dinner, Marcel and I took him to the tavern, then to Dead Man’s Bluff.”

She cackled, not needing to hear the rest. Dead Man’s Bluff was the waterfall on the outskirts of the forest near their cottage. The waterfall traveled over a sheer cliff so forcefully that a thick white mist concealed the rock pools below. Jumping from the top of the waterfall felt like leaping into a pale abyss.

Marcel cut in. “He did not even hesitate to leap. Of course, the copious ferment in his system likely helped.”

“You could’ve gotten him killed,” said Amelie, stifling a giggle. “Then what?”

“Look, if the man can not survive the Bluff, he can not survive Colette,” said Marcel. “So, we would have been doing him a favor.”

“Fine logic,” she replied. “You have quite a way with your sisters’ potential suitors. You truly are singular in that regard.”

Raphael and Marcel fell conspicuously quiet. Amelie’s shoulders slumped under her traveling cloak. She did not wish for Davron to be taboo. He had left too big of a mark for her to never speak about him again. She dreaded the prospect of the conversation grinding to an awkward halt whenever anyone alluded to him.

“It’s okay,” she said to her brothers. “I am not so delicate. The kindest thing you can do is treat me like you normally would. And besides, I think I would like to discuss Davron and the castle and everything that happened there.”

Well, not everything, she thought. Her brothers need not know precisely how close she and Davron had become.

“Of course,” said Raphael. “We did not wish to pressure you to speak. We are here for you though sister, whatever you want to talk about.”

“Unless you went so far as to kiss the beast,” said Marcel with a shudder. “We do not need to know about that.”

“I did not go so far as to kiss him,” said Amelie, biting back a smile. She went a lot farther than that. “And his name is Davron. His character is far more complex than you insinuate, and than I first supposed. He really is not a beast at all unless attacked.”

Or poisoned with henbane. The incident in the library was another thing she would keep from her brothers. They would probably turn their horses around and challenge Davron to some silly duel.

“Well, he was a beast the night we met him,” said Marcel.

Having seen what Davron did to bonafide invaders, Amelie now understood that he must’ve held back while fighting with her brothers. He would have killed them otherwise.

Raphael cleared his throat. “We take your point, sister, and apologize for characterizing him incorrectly. If you say we did not get the full measure of him, we believe you.”

She sighed, leaning forward to stroke Trésor’s silky golden neck. “I can hardly judge you for judging. I did too when I first arrived. I am ashamed to say I found him distasteful and did a poor job of hiding it.”

“Ah, do not be too tough on yourself,” said Raphael. “I think you can be forgiven, considering you weren’t there of your choosing.”

“Not at first, anyway,” murmured Amelie.

And what a darkly comic turn of events that it was Davron who rejected Amelie in the end. Whatever his reasons for the rejection, she had wanted to stay and he unequivocally denied her. If her heart hadn’t been so hurt, her pride certainly would’ve been.

“I am famished,” said Raphael. “We are nearly at Dumas Place and night will fall within the hour. What should our plans be? We can stop to feed ourselves and the horses, and ride on through the night. Or we can bunker down at the inn. The beds are straw, but the place is clean and friendly enough.”

The sun drifted low in the sky, turning the trees to bronze. Traffic on the road increased as travelers converged on Dumas Place from all directions. Tantalizing wafts of barbecued meat reached Amelie’s nostrils. She was struck by the joyous atmosphere on the roads. People were chatty and open, sharing tips with other travelers and showing off wares they’d acquired on their journey.

“Let us stay overnight if you like,” said Amelie. “But I have slept for three days. I could happily ride through the night, and would cherish the opportunity to greet Colette when she awakens in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” said Raphael with a shrug, and Marcel agreed.

The Dumas Place Inn sat back from the road beside a towering pine tree. The ancient tiled roof sagged in the middle, seeming to be held up not so much by the packed mud walls, but by the sheer spirit of the carousing patrons, all of whom had mugs of mead in their hands. Lanterns glowed yellow and orange over the communal tables.

The siblings dismounted and led the horses to the stables at the side of the inn, where fresh hay and water were plentiful.

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