Page 45 of To Ride the Wind

Alma appeared to remove the dishes after each course, taking Gwen’s cup away and replacing it with another. She was protecting Gwen as she had on the night when the princess had attempted not to eat, and Gwen recognized it for the apology it was.

She didn’t know which course’s drink held the potion—maybe they all did—so she drank nothing. Her mouth was growing drier and drier, but she ignored the discomfort, intent on her purpose.

When her mother finally signaled the end of the meal, rising with her normal goodnight platitudes to her daughter, Gwen could hardly believe she had succeeded. Was she really about to experience the night hours?

Walking back to her room, she could already feel the difference. Her overly full stomach gave her a slow feeling that could be described as sleepy. But it was nothing like the irresistible pull to sleep that she usually felt. How had she mistaken that sensation for the ordinary response to a full stomach?

But she already knew the answer. Lack of experience. Gwen might have lived for more than twenty years, but she lacked experience in far too many things. Her life had been bound by walls of stone for far too long.

Waiting in her room felt impossible—at the lightest jump she might bounce off the walls or ceiling. But somehow she endured, even lying in her bed and feigning even breaths. She didn’t know if her jailer usually checked on her before turning the key.

But when the grating sound of a key turning in a lock finally sounded, it came without the sound of the door opening first. After so many years, no one doubted the effect of the drugs.

Gwen leaped out of bed and laced on her boots, fumbling with the ties thanks to her trembling fingers. It only took seconds to retrieve the master key from her dressing table, but she made herself wait longer, peeking out at the darkening sky. She preferred not to wait until full dark, but she didn’t want to risk running into whoever had just come by.

Finally she let herself turn the key in the lock, slipping out into the corridor before locking the door behind her. She doubted anyone rattled the handle in the night, but if they did, they would find it locked as it should be.

She had thought her heart was beating fast when she snuck through the corridors with the girl from the city, but it was nothing to how she felt now. While it only took her minutes to reach the outside, it felt like hours, and she was surprised to discover the last of the light lingering in the sky still. It felt as if enough hours had passed that it should have been midnight already.

Hurrying down the familiar paths of the garden, she considered the best place to conceal herself. Recent experience told her the palace grounds were actively patrolled, even at this hour, and she needed somewhere to conceal herself until the early hours.

Deciding on a place where tall hedges hid a bench seat from view, Gwen settled herself to wait. With the sun beneath the horizon, the last of the light was leaving the sky fast.

An itch made her scratch her leg, but it was immediately followed by one in her other leg. She scratched at that one, too, but it did little to reduce the strange ache which lingered just below her skin.

Her left arm took up the sensation, followed by her middle, and Gwen jumped to her feet. Almost dancing in her efforts to scratch herself all over, Gwen writhed and squirmed until a deep tearing made her freeze.

She was coming apart—she could feel it—tearing all the way up her body in a horrible sensation no person should ever feel. Why wasn’t it hurting? She should be in agony as her final moments passed too quickly.

But no blood appeared, and no pain either. Instead, she dropped to the ground, landing on all fours as her eyes involuntarily closed. Dizziness made the world around her grow distant, her ears ringing and skin tingling.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. All that was left was a strange feeling of being far too large for her own skin. She felt…enormous.

Her eyes snapped open. Sure enough, she was looking at the garden from an unfamiliar vantage point. She looked down at herself and would have screamed if shock hadn’t robbed her of all sound.

She was white. And covered in fur. And a bear.

CHARLOTTE

When Charlotte left her room, there was no white bear waiting in the corridor, and her heart contracted almost as painfully as it had the day before. On trembling legs, she ran to the library, but when she pushed open the door, he was waiting there, one of his unnaturally human smiles on his face.

“It feels an age since we were here together, Lottie,” he said, “instead of just a day. I hope your throat is feeling better for the rest. It must be tiring to read aloud so much.”

She blinked away tears, trying to find the words to reassure him that she didn’t mind the reading. But all she could focus on was the way her heart leaped and fluttered in her chest when he called her Lottie—the name that belonged only to him.

She had once responded warmly to her father’s affectionate nickname for her, but that had been a feeling of familiarity and the comfort of family. For weeks she had told herself she felt similarly for Henry, but now she had accepted the truth. When he spoke her name, it was an entirely different type of warmth that she felt—all fast heartbeats and a flush that made her turn her face away in case he saw the red in her cheeks.

He was in his bear form now, but all she could think about was the way it had felt to have his arms around her, and she longed for darkness to arrive so he could hold her again. But would he do so?

He had responded to her pain with comfort—something she could see he had done from the beginning. She would be foolish to read more into it than that. And she didn’t want to compel his affection through pity.

One thing was clear—if just hearing him speak her name could overset her so badly, she hadn’t yet gained the equanimity she needed before raising the topic of his past and what it meant for their future together.

“You’re still unhappy,” he said softly, making her startle.

“How could I be?” she asked. “You give me everything I ask for.” It was a non-answer, and they both knew it.

“My godmother object provides any physical item you desire,” he said, “but can possessions make a person happy? It has never seemed so to me. The bell cannot provide you with friends or family. You are lonely.”

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