Page 25 of To Steal the Sun

The bear didn’t respond to her outburst, waiting patiently for her to exit the room. She did so cautiously, examining the bear for any sign of its human identity.

The only thing she could tell, however, was that it wasn’t Henry. His bear form was familiar to her, but she didn’t know how to distinguish anyone else. For all she knew, it could be Queen Celandine herself.

Charlotte doubted it, though. Something about the bear’s air didn’t match the queen’s commanding arrogance. Charlotte wasn’t going to risk making assumptions, however.

“Where’s Henry?” she asked, keeping her words to a minimum.

“Follow me,” the bear said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Charlotte nodded and waited for the bear to start down the corridor. Trailing behind, she felt the earlier anticipation sparkling through her veins again. It didn’t matter who was leading the way—she was going to Henry.

They crossed several corridors before the bear stopped in front of a wooden door. He remained silent, indicating it with his head.

Charlotte brushed past him, her breath catching as she saw the key sticking out of the keyhole. It was really happening. Her husband was waiting on the other side of that door.

Forgetting all about the bear, she turned the lock and slipped through into the luxurious bedchamber on the other side. She forced herself to shut the door behind her and lock it from the inside before turning to scan the room for Henry.

“Henry?” she called, her voice quavering.

There was no response. Frowning, she stepped further into the room, her eyes drawn to the large four-poster bed. It was strangely early for him to be asleep, but a human form was visible beneath the blankets, a riot of dark hair on the pillow catching her eye.

She ran to the bed, her steps faltering as she took in the features of her husband. Comfortable familiarity laced through with love washed over her. She had only seen his human face for a few brief minutes, but his appearance was burned into her mind.

“Henry,” she said again, tears escaping her eyes and tracking down her cheeks. “I came for you, just like I said I would.”

He didn’t stir, and the first tendrils of concern unfurled in her mind.

“Henry!” she said again, louder, but he still didn’t stir. Leaning forward, she shook him by the shoulder, her movement growing more and more rough as he didn’t respond.

It made no difference. Her husband lay in the bed like one dead.

CHARLOTTE

Fear rolled through Charlotte, hot and slow and then swift and overwhelming. Something was wrong with Henry.

She held her breath as she leaned over him, placing her cheek in front of his lips. When she felt his soft breath against her skin, her knees nearly collapsed. She grasped the bedcovers to keep herself upright, sucking in sharp gasps of relief. He was alive.

She cupped the warm skin of his face in her hands, calling him softly to wake. She shook his shoulders so hard that his body rolled from side to side in the bed. She even shouted, her fear and anger growing as she commanded him to wake up.

The more vigorous efforts made him groan and roll away from her, but nothing made his eyes open. Henry was deeply, impossibly asleep.

Charlotte dashed away the tears on her cheeks, her anger burning hot. The queen had betrayed their agreement. But even as she thought it, Charlotte was kicking herself. She had thought to demand the whole night and to specify they had to be alone, but she had made a mistake. It had never occurred to her to require him to be conscious. The queen had stolen her night with Henry, and now she had Gwen’s apple.

Charlotte squeezed her hands into fists, feeling her nails dig into her palms. She forced herself to relax her muscles, releasing her fingers and holding for a moment before squeezing them back into fists again. She completed the exercise over and over until her mind calmed.

It wasn’t a total disaster. Gwen had wanted the queen to have the apple, so at least Charlotte had delivered it in a way that allowed the queen to believe herself the victor.

The calm, rational thoughts were hard to maintain, though. It felt to Charlotte too like the queen was the victor, and defeat was a bitter taste in her mouth.

At least I’ve seen him, she told herself. At least I can see he’s physically unharmed—apart from the sleeping, that is.

The day before, she would have given much for a mere glimpse of him, but it no longer felt like enough. Perhaps there was still hope, though. Whatever enchantment the queen had used on him might run out before morning. He might wake up at any moment, and they still had hours before them. Charlotte would keep watch, ready for the first sign of his waking.

But sitting by the bed, so close and yet so far from him, was unbearable. She climbed in beside him, slipping beneath the covers and curling at his side where she could feel the reassuring warmth and solidity of him. She would still stay awake and keep watch, she would just do it from the bed.

But staying awake became harder and harder as the night hours wore on. The pillow was soft and the mattress comfortably firm, and more importantly, Henry’s breaths were steady and reassuring, setting the rhythm of Charlotte’s own breathing. She had lain beside him for so many nights, reassured by his presence, and her body remembered those nights despite her mind’s efforts to stay alert.

Eventually she couldn’t resist any longer, and she slipped into the welcoming embrace of sleep—the deepest since she had lost Henry.

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