Page 41 of To Ride the Wind

She stopped in the middle of a corridor, recognizing the sensation for what it was. Jealousy.

“He’s mine!” she growled at the empty air around her. “Henry is my husband, and I’m his wife.”

The words brought her little comfort, however. Henry had committed his life to her, but she admitted to herself that she wanted more. She loved him, and she wanted his love. She wanted a real marriage. But Henry had never promised her that. They had never so much as touched each other while he was in his human form.

Her queasiness grew as she realized what she had to do. If he had only married her because of the enchantment, then once it was broken, she would have no choice but to offer him an annulment. She couldn’t allow him to be tied to her for the rest of his life just because he had been trapped in an enchantment. She cared about him too much to do that to him.

She told herself she was overreacting and leaping to assumptions. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the thoughts free.

All the time she had been exploring, she had been listening with one ear for Henry’s return. But now she dreaded the sounds of the bear’s arrival. She needed time to settle her emotions, to find a way to mask the sickness that swirled in her stomach.

She wandered slowly back to more familiar parts of the castle, running her hand along the small pieces of furniture that lined the way. The backs of the chairs somehow always remained dust free, although she never cleaned them, and the small side tables that paired with some of them remained equally spotless.

Still listless, unable to marshal her thoughts into a proper course, she slid out the small drawer in one of the tables. It would be empty, of course, but she couldn’t keep her restless fingers still.

Except it wasn’t empty. Charlotte froze, her heartbeat speeding up in contrast to the stillness of her limbs. Inside the drawer was a small oval frame protecting an unfamiliar painting. But while Charlotte had never seen that particular artwork, she instantly recognized the face and shoulders depicted. The woman from the full-length portrait in the dining room.

Slamming the drawer closed, Charlotte staggered backward, stopping only when she collided with the opposite wall. She wanted to scrub her mind clean and forget she had ever seen it lurking in there on the route between her room and the library—the route she had walked so many times with Henry and that he must have walked so often alone, coming to wait for her.

The full portrait had been painful enough, but it was a relic of a time before she came to the castle. Henry did not sit there alone at night anymore. But this was different. The side table had only appeared after she had requested it with the bell. And yet, secreted inside it was a remembrance of this woman.

Unable to help herself, Charlotte hurried down the corridor, making for the next side table. Was it really possible that of all the drawers in the castle, she had happened to open the one containing the picture?

As soon as she pulled open the next drawer, her nebulous fears crystallized. In this one, too, sat a small portrait showing a woman’s head and shoulders. She slammed that drawer closed as well and hurried to the next one and the next. In every drawer she opened, she found the mystery woman’s eyes smiling kindly up at her.

The sickness in her stomach surged, and she sank to the floor against the corridor wall, tears running down her face. Earlier that day she had recognized the castle must be a copy of a real place—it made no sense otherwise. But she had only thought of Henry at the center of it. She had been wrong, though. It was this strange woman who lived at the heart of the castle Charlotte thought of as home. Even now, she had to be out there somewhere in the castle’s original.

Part of her wanted to confront her husband immediately and demand the truth of the woman’s identity. But the rest of her shrank from the idea. Even in her head, she sounded shrill and ungrateful. He hadn’t demanded she reveal her own painful past—he had merely provided a safe space and waited until she opened up of her own volition. She owed it to him to offer him the same courtesy. His past was his own until he chose to share it, and despite what her feelings shouted, there was no betrayal to confront him over. The fact he might once have had feelings for another woman—in the past before he ever even met Charlotte—indicated no act of disloyalty to his marriage. And how could she accuse him of loving someone else now, when he spent night and day by her side, doing everything possible for her comfort?

She would have to ask him eventually. She couldn’t live not knowing. But she couldn’t do it while her emotions were so out of control. If she did, she would say something she would later regret. She would hurt Henry and that thought was the most unbearable.

Even as a bear, he was kind, his gentleness only broken by the strength of his protective instinct toward her. He treated her with respect, valuing her taste and opinions, and seeking out her company. And despite the direness of his situation, he laughed and joked with her, making it easy to spend time in his presence. Of course she was in love with him. She’d been a little in love with him ever since that first night when she’d discovered he was a man.

In these past nights, when they had lain side by side and shared their hearts, she had secretly longed for more. If he had broached the expanse of bed that lay between them and reached for her, she would have reached back.

But he had not done so.

Charlotte had assumed it was his promises holding him back. She had taken comfort and joy in the camaraderie and understanding growing between them, assuming it would gradually lead to more. But now she faced the reality that her husband might have no desire for a true marriage between them.

Time passed although she didn’t track it. Eventually the growling of her stomach roused her, and she managed to get herself back to her room, even forcing herself to eat as the sun began to set. But as the last of the daylight faded, there was no sign of a white bear, and for the first time, Charlotte faced the possibility of a night on her own.

The prospect pulled her emotions into line more effectively than anything else. She couldn’t endure this life without Henry. Just the thought of it was horrifying. But if she was going to continue to spend her days and nights at his side, she had to talk to him about her discovery. And to do that, she had to first master her new emotions.

She crawled into the sheets with steely determination, but she felt her control tremble as she blew out the candle and solid darkness descended. Every part of her was tense, listening for the sound of her door opening.

And, sure enough, it came as expected, only minutes after she had extinguished the candle.

“I’m sorry I’m so late back,” Henry’s now-familiar voice said into the dark.

Despite Charlotte’s resolutions, her eyes immediately overflowed, silent tears tracking down her cheeks. The mattress moved slightly as Henry climbed into his side of the bed.

He said something else, but Charlotte didn’t hear it over the beating of her heart. Her tears increased, betraying her into a small sob.

Henry instantly froze.

“Lottie?” He sounded worried. “Did something happen while I was gone? Are you hurt?” He shifted slightly toward her and then away again. “Curse this darkness!” he muttered with violent emotion.

More sobs escaped, Charlotte’s emotions flowing out of control.

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