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D isappear .

The word haunted her.

The thought of Leopold remaining a beast forever sliced pain deep within her. The thought of Dickens disappearing from this world forever distressed her. And she was the only one to save them from this abhorrent fate. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on her as she carried their desperate hope on her shoulders alone. Her hands broke into a cold sweat. Her mouth turned bone dry.

She never wanted this responsibility. She never asked for it. She did not know what she was agreeing to that day on the street outside the bookshop when Leopold—a prince—hired her to translate the book with no name. But she accepted it now and she would do her best to finish translating the book. She rose from the table, smoothing her damp palms down the length of her skirt.

“I will find the answer, Dickens.” She sounded far more confident than she felt.

A rush of relief flickered over his face as he gave her a rare, weak smile. Then it was gone in an instant, his expression returning to the passive one to which she was so accustomed.

Her attempts to read the thorny language were, at best, difficult. The runes were not willing to give up their secrets so easily. And though she had not figured out the remaining words in the book, her resolve remained strong. She experienced moments of breakthrough. And other moments when she simply stared at the page, the thorny lines swimming before her tired eyes.

The idea of going to that cavernous library alone, divided from Leopold, sent a cold pang of longing through her. She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t need the library’s endless shelves or ancient tomes to find the answers. She only needed her magical mind to work. And she needed to be close to him while she worked. Not only to be near him with nothing more than the small space separating them, but to ground her. To help her focus. To help remind her what was at stake and what she was fighting for.

Him . She fought for him . For his very existence as a man.

It would give her courage and motivation to untangle the thorns.

“I wonder if, perhaps, I would be able to remain with Leopold while I work?” she asked.

It was a long shot. Dickens may want her to stay far away from him while he was in his current state. But the old valet didn’t seem bothered by her request.

“There is a writing desk in his bedchamber you can make use of. You should be able to find parchment and a quill and inkwell there as well.”

She hadn’t seen it when she entered the room, but then, her sole focus was on Leopold lying ashen-faced in the bed.

“Thank you, Dickens.”

As she turned to go, his voice stopped her. “I do hope you find the answer, my lady.”

“So do I, Dickens. So do I.”

He didn’t offer to escort her back to his room. She was able to find her way alone. She headed back up the stairs, the blue-white candelabra following her the whole way. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, and then she pushed open his door and entered once again.

He continued to sleep. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in deep.

On silent feet, she walked into the room, closing the door and heading through the chamber. The heavy curtains on the window blocked out all the light, not that there was any to block. She headed for the writing desk Dickens mentioned. A pile of books were haphazardly stacked on the floor to the side of the desk. The top was cluttered with papers, scrolls, more books, unopened letters, invitations to long-ago balls that had gone unanswered. A navy coat hung over the back of the chair as if he had put it there only moments ago.

The unlit hearth was cold and dark. She peered at it a long moment as she recalled when he told her the tale of his cursing in his private sitting room. How he said one word, and it sprang to life. She clutched her elbows, warding off a shiver. The room was chilled. So, she approached the hearth, peering down at the gray and black ash that was under the grate.

“Fire, please,” she whispered.

And moments later, the hearth lit with a crackling, vibrant fire that immediately warmed the room.

She smiled, pleased. “Good. Now, keep it going.”

Turning back to the room, her gaze swept over it. The ornate wardrobe carved in a flowing elegance was to one side. The door was left ajar, as though someone reached for something in haste and forgot to close it. A pair of boots sat nearby, polished and perfect yet with a scuffed bottom, worn from pacing or walking halls he rarely let himself leave. Shoes and clothes of a man who kept himself together on the inside, even as he frayed on the outside.

There were no portraits here. No tapestries or family heirlooms here. No crown on display. No reminders of his distant past. Nothing to show he was once a prince.

But that wasn’t right, was it? Dickens called him prince, but Leopold was truly a king. When his father was killed, he had taken the crown of the kingdom—a kingdom that now only existed in books of myth and legend. The remnants of it swept away into the shards of the past.

This place, this room with its solemn quiet and palpable loneliness, was his throne room. Even the light moved differently here as it dragged across the rug-covered floor in long, sweeping lines. The way the shadows stalked him. He called himself a recluse. But she had met him in daylight. In a bookshop. Surrounded by stories. Was it coincidence? Or something more?

Fate, perhaps.

She wasn’t here by accident. She felt that now, deep in her essence. She was meant to be here, just as she was meant to find the rose among the thorns.

Bella shook herself out of her thoughts and tidied up the desk to give her enough space to work. When she had all the loose papers neatly stacked and put aside, she returned to the chair beside the bed to pick up the cursed book. As she approached, he emitted a faint moan, as though he were in pain.

She halted there, frozen mid-reach as her gaze landed on him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. He still breathed but his face was contorted in pain. Despite her better judgement, she moved to the side of the bed. A desperate need to touch him skipped through her.

Leaning down, she intended to whisper to him, to let him know she was there, to give him that comfort. As she did, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek, as though he sensed her nearness. His skin was cold, clammy and yet the moment he touched her, every part of her sang in elation.

His eyes fluttered open, meeting hers. Her breath halted, pooling deep in her chest as they locked eyes. Her pounding heart throbbed, and she was certain he heard it, too. As he looked at her, she saw there such deep, raw emotion it nearly ripped her in half. His features softened. His hand brushed over her cheek again, sliding to the back of her neck and resting there, tugging her closer with a gentle nudge.

She did not resist him.

Oh , he was going to kiss her. She sensed this deep within her and suddenly it was her dearest wish. To feel his lips brush against hers when she had only felt them on her hand. The breath she held shuddered out of her.

“Bella.” Her whispered name was on his lips as though it were a longing.

But he made no move to pull her closer.

“Yes?” she finally said, her voice trembling.

He didn’t answer. His eyes fluttered closed, and his hand dropped as though all strength left him in a rush. In moments, he was asleep once more. The absence of his hand on her cheek left her mourning the loss of his touch.

She straightened, trying to calm her ragged breathing and the wild beat of her heart. She pressed her hand there, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. It was stilly to think he was going to kiss her. She shoved away the thought, then snatched the book. She hurried to the desk and got to work.

Bella did not know how long she hunched over the desk, writing and scribbling and scratching out words. She was no closer to solving the strange language than she was that morning. Frustration edged through her. She tossed the quill on the desk in annoyance.

The longer she stared at the runes, the more discouraged she got. The letters simply were not forming for her. Why? What had changed? Was it because she was no longer in the library? Was it because she was so close to Leopold? Or perhaps it was because she was close to solving the riddle.

She didn’t know.

Her back ached. She had ink stains on her fingers. Her head throbbed and, she realized, her stomach rumbled from desperate hunger. She had not left the desk or the room since returning. The only thing she had earlier that day was a bit of tea. She didn’t recall if she actually ate the offered scones.

When she tired of sitting at the desk, she stood up, arched her back to stretch it, and then walked around the desk. Keeping distance between her and the bedridden Leopold, she made sure he was still breathing and all was well. The veil-shade that had attacked him must have taken much from him, for he hadn’t moved again. He hadn’t made a sound.

A light knock on the door sounded before it pushed open and there was Dickens on the others side.

“My lady, it’s nearing dusk.”

“Oh,” she said breathing the word in surprise. Had she really been here since nearly sunrise?

“The carriage is waiting for you.” He pushed the door wider and stepped aside in anticipation of her leaving.

Her gaze slipped from Dickens in the doorway to Leopold still sleeping in the bed to her discarded bonnet and gloves still in the chair.

“Do you think… what will happen to him tonight?” she asked. She cast her glance back to Dickens.

Worry lines creased his forehead. “He will likely shift again. It’s best you are not here when that happens.”

She wanted to question him why, but she remained mute. It occurred to her the beast inside Leopold knew who she was the night before when his pale brown gaze landed on her. He made no move to hurt her. Her gaze swiveled back to Leopold.

“Because he’s dangerous?” she asked.

“Because he does not want you to see him like that. Come, my lady. The day wanes.”

She understood then. Leopold was proud and there must be something deep inside him that despised knowing she saw him in his beast form.

“I’ll gather my things.”

She returned to the desk and gathered the book and the notes she made. Then, at the chair by the bed, she snatched up her gloves and bonnet but didn’t put them on. She cast one more longing look at Leopold, but he remained sleeping.

At the door, she looked up at Dickens. “Look after him for me.”

“As I always do, my lady.” He gave a low bow and a faint smile as he said it. Then he ushered her out the door.