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L eopold pressed a hand to the small of her back. With his other hand he motioned toward the grand staircase. She didn’t hesitate as she turned toward them.

It was difficult not to touch her. With her standing so close, he scented her sweet, intoxicating fragrance. He was unable to resist touching her. She didn’t recoil from him, much to his delight.

Together, they ascended the stairs and walked in silence down the hall to his private sitting room. The room with the offensive hourglass that ticked away the days of his life. With every shift of the sand, his end grew closer. But now, there was hope. Hope that she was closing in on the answer, the way to break the curse.

When they entered the room, he immediately hurried to the desk and began tidying it to give her space. She stood inside the door, clutching the book, and watching him with those ocean-colored eyes. Eyes he felt it was impossible not to get lost in.

He stacked papers, neat and orderly. Closed books and removed them, placing them on the floor. Found fresh parchment for her writings, his favorite quill, and an inkwell. But the hourglass remained.

He hadn’t been able to move it. Not even touch it. It sat on the desk like a silent sentinel, its sand glowing faintly, unnatural, like starlight bleeding through a wound. Grain by grain, it marked the end, steady and unforgiving.

His end. Every time he looked at it, the urge to smash it warred with the knowledge that he couldn’t. That it would outlast him. That it was already winning.

Finally, he stood back and waved her toward the desk.

With tentative steps, she headed toward him, still wearing her bonnet and gloves. With careful motions, she placed the book on top of the desk. That’s when he noticed she carried another book as well. Something with a blue hardback cover and silver writing. When she tilted the book just so, he caught a glimpse of the title in silver. Celestial Events.

He stepped back to give her space. She removed her gloves and bonnet and dropped them on the desk next to the books. In one fluid motion, he scooped them up and removed them, placing them on one of the nearby side tables so they would be out of her way. Her lashes fluttered as she watched him do it, then granted him a smile.

“It’s all right if I sit here?” She pointed to the chair behind the desk.

“Yes, of course.”

Determined not to stare her down or fidget, he snatched up one of the books off the floor and flipped it open, pretending to be suddenly engrossed in the pages. Truthfully, the words were nothing more than dots on the page.

“Dickens will arrive soon with tea,” he said, as though he needed to explain about the delay.

“Last night, I was able to decipher a second line,” she said.

That caught his attention. “You did?”

“Yes. The final form shall take root. ”

Her gaze was fixed on the paper in front of her, as though she were afraid to look at him. A strange sensation shifted through him as the words played over and over in his mind.

“The final form…” he said slowly, carefully. Though he was afraid to ask, he said it anyway. “What final form?”

“I take it to mean your beast form,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up.

Whatever words he’d been holding onto scattered like leaves in the breeze.

Her eyes—gods, those eyes—held a depth that hit him like a blow. Raw dread. Grief. Something else he didn’t dare name. All of it crashing into him in a single, unguarded look.

It gutted him.

The force of it struck deep, sharp and unrelenting, like she’d reached inside and found the last fragile piece of him still left untouched.

He couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t. Because at that moment, she saw him. All of him. The beast, the curse, the man.

And she didn’t run.

“Well, then, we best unravel the rest of the riddle, then, eh?” He said it with bravado he didn’t quite feel.

Before she replied, Dickens charged in with the cart. The teacups rattled with every roll of the wheels as he pushed it into the room. The decadent smell of delicious food wafted from the tray. Warm, golden freshly baked scones rested in a linen-lined basket. Clotted cream and strawberry preserves were served in delicate porcelain dishes. Soft-boiled eggs, crusty toast, and fruit completed the ensemble.

The faint aroma of Darjeeling tea wafted from the teapot. Comfort disguised as civility. Next to it, cubes of sugar and creamer.

“Shall I serve, my prince?” he asked.

“No, that will be all for now, Dickens.”

He gave a nod of his head and departed.

Bella rose from the desk. “Oh, that smells wonderful.”

“I take it you missed breakfast.” He grinned at her as he poured her a cup of tea, then one for himself.

“Yes, I was in a bit of a rush to get out of the house.” She gratefully took the tea, sipped it, and closed her eyes to enjoy the fruity, muscatel notes.

He picked up a small plate and handed it to her. “Help yourself.”

Taking the plate from him, she filled it with reckless abandon. As though she hadn’t had a proper meal in ages. When he had his plate, they sat together in the small seating area with the low table in the center enjoying the light breakfast in silence.

He was so overcome with emotion at having her there with him in this quaint almost perfect moment, his stomach cramped. He placed the plate on the table and sat back in the cushions of the sofa. He didn’t want her to notice, but she noticed.

“Everything all right?” she asked. She stabbed half a soft-boiled egg with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

“Bella…” He pressed his lips together, unsure what he wanted to say.

No, that wasn’t right. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. The words pressed at the back of his throat. So many things and all of them wrong. Too much. Too personal. Too dangerous.

What were they to each other, really? Associates?

It began that way. Simple. Transactional. He told himself it would stay that way, that he needed it to. But somewhere between the silence and the shared glances, the hours spent unraveling curses and shadows, the lines blurred.

And now? He couldn’t name what they were anymore.

But he knew what he felt.

Undeniable. Irreversible. Hers .

And yet, how could she possibly feel the same?

Not when he was like this—broken, cursed, marked for ruin. He couldn’t even offer her a future, only the weight of a name stained by magic and loss.

So, he said nothing.

Because the truth of what he wanted wasn’t safe. And worse—it wasn’t fair.

“Yes?” she asked, her tone light as she spread a touch of clotted cream over the end of her scone.

He watched her hands instead of her eyes. It was easier to look there. Easier to pretend this was a morning like any other. Tea and scones and not the moment everything might change.

He swallowed. The words he almost said twisted inside his chest like a knife in the gut.

Don’t say it.

But she looked up then. A flick of her gaze. Not teasing. Not expectant. Just open. As if she already knew what he wanted to say and wasn’t going to stop him.

“Nothing,” he said finally, voice rough. He swallowed hard, forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

She raised a brow, but didn’t push as she took a bite of the scone. Somehow that felt like mercy. She set her plate aside with careful precision and rose to her feet.

“I should get back to work,” she said, her voice soft. Neutral.

Too neutral.

He didn’t move. He watched her, every part of him wanting to reach out—to say something, anything—but the words remained locked tight in his thoughts.

She headed back to the desk. Though she remained in the same room with him, there was distance. As though there was a vast ocean between them. The tension pressed against his chest like a weight. Still, he said nothing.

He was a coward.

He picked up his book and pretended to read. Looking but not really seeing the words. Because if he spoke, it would come out wrong and ruin what little time he had left with her.

For now, he was going to relish the time he had left with her.

Bella opened the book to the page she studied the night before. She sat back in the chair, acutely aware of his presence in the room. His back was to her as he remained on the sofa, stiff and on edge. The tension stretched between them, taut and thin.

Something shifted between them. He emitted a silent form of communication she did not know or understand.

She told herself she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to understand. She told herself there was no use in hoping for something more intimate between them. If she did not find the way to break the curse, he was doomed, and she would blame herself for that until she took her last breath.

The hourglass within arm’s reach ticked away the hours and minutes with every shift of sand. The top had nearly emptied into the bottom. Time—his time—was running out.

Her gaze drifted back to the book. In the flicker of light from the overhead candles, the thorny vines shifted. With a careful hand, she reached for the nearby quill. As though a quick movement would startle the book into stilled silence.

A rune appeared with the letter N. Nothing more. She held her breath and waited. This was how it began the night before. How the letters and words formed. With stealthy movements, she slid a piece of parchment toward her, watching and waiting.

The letters formed words. The words a phrase.

Not beast. Not man.

She hastily wrote down the words. The vines rearranged, and the words disappeared as it had the night before. Now, she waited again. The letter S appeared. She gripped the quill tight in her hand until her fingers cramped. Her eyes were dry and gritty as she stared hard at the page watching the transformation. The phrase appeared moments later.

Something in between.

Dipping the tip in ink, she wrote this down under the previous line. Shifting vines. Disappearing words. Roses blooming in their place. Again, she waited.

How much time passed? Leopold shifted on the sofa, his book snapping closed. The only movement. The only sound. She wanted to tell him what she discovered and opened her mouth to do so when the thorns and vines revealed more words. She waited, holding her breath, watching every letter appear and writing down each one. The moment she did, blooming roses replaced each letter, covering the words. When she finished, she sat back again and stared at the words she had written.

Bound by thorn. Named by none.

Then she put the phrases she had discovered all together, writing them down on a clean parchment in careful script. She started from the beginning.

Shadows stir. The sands of time slip away. Silence forever in the gloaming. In the darkest night, no name remembered. No light is welcome. The hourglass bleeds its last. When the sky is blind and the stars dare not shine. The final form shall take root. Not beast. Not man. Something in between. Bound by thorn. Named by none.

“I have something.” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet.

Leopold shot to his feet, moving around the edge of the sofa and coming to stand beside her at the desk. She looked up and watched as he stared down at her writing. His eyes flicked over every word, every line.

“When the sky is blind…you said that had something to do with the new moon?” he asked.

“Yes.” She reached for the celestial events book, flipping it open to the page she marked. She lifted it up to show him. “We have very little time before the new moon.”

He studied the phases of the moon as depicted in the drawing on the page. His brows pinched together.

“Tell me what you think it means?” he asked.

“I think no light is welcome means the darkest part of night, when there is a new moon and nothing to light the way. The hourglass bleeds its last must signify when the sands run out coinciding with this phase of the moon.”

His gaze cut to the hourglass. He gave it a good stare before his eyes flicked back to the phases of the moon.

She continued, “ The final form shall take root . That means you will become the beast and remain that way forever. I’m not sure what the last two lines mean.”

“I do.” His voice was rough, raw. “ Bound by thorn. Named by none . It means the brand will never go away and my name, my castle, my very essence will be forgotten forever.”

He straightened and stepped away from her. She sensed his unease, his distress, and shoved back from the desk. She got to her feet, the inkwell shivering on top of the desk by her sudden movement. Following her impulse, she stepped in front of him and took his hands in hers.

“This is not the last of the book. There are more pages yet. More runes to uncover.”

Leopold stilled, not moving. Perhaps not even breathing as he looked down at their entwined hands. He was warm to the touch. His hands smooth, yet not soft. His grip strong, yet not cruel. Her heart thudded once, hard. She started to pull away, but he tightened his hold in a way that said do not release me.

Her mouth turned to ash. Her stomach threatened to heave her breakfast. As their eyes met, she saw the shimmering tenderness deep in his gaze. She recalled the day she stood beside his bed, the way he touched her face, the way he looked at her. It was much the same now. Then she thought—hoped—he might kiss her. Then she was afraid of how that made her feel. Now, she was no longer afraid of those feelings.

She tilted her head back, her lips parted as she loosed a breath. He dipped his head closer to her. The surroundings disappeared. Fading to the background. There was no sound other than her heart pounding like a war drum, the whoosh of her pulse in her ears, and the warmth of his hands on hers.

“Shall I remove the breakfast dishes, my prince?”

Dickens’ voice made them jump apart, shattering the moment. She stumbled back toward the desk, her hands shaking as she reached for the chair to sit. Disappointment flooded her at the interruption. Leopold straightened and turned to his valet, as though nothing was amiss. As though they were not standing intimately close.

“Yes, thank you, Dickens.” He sounded normal, strong and sure.

Bella busied herself at the desk, fiddling with the quill and keeping her gaze downcast. Her cheeks were warm, her nerves ragged. She allowed herself to be caught in the moment, to hope there was something between them.

Dickens picked up the discarded dishes and loaded them on top of the tray. He wheeled it out of the room, disappearing through the door without even so much as casting a backward glance at the two of them.

“I’m afraid I’m a distraction. I’ll leave you to your work,” Leopold announced.

Before she was able to protest, he was gone.