Page 31 of Rose's Untamed Bear

The King staggered, his face ashen, and collapsed back into his throne. His hands gripped the golden arms as though they were the only thing holding him upright. “Twenty years?” His voice cracked, and the echo bounced off vaulted ceilings. “I was stone for twenty years?”

His words rolled over the hall, silencing the whispers for a heartbeat. And then they began again, louder, bewildered, mournful.Twenty years…

I stood frozen, my hands clenched in my skirts. My heart was breaking for Derrick, for his father, for everyone who had been caught in that endless sleep. Twenty years gone—how could anyone bear it?

The King seemed to gather himself, straightening on the throne, though grief still shadowed his eyes. He fixed them on me once more, but this time they softened as they searched my features.

“Rose Red, is it?” His voice gentled, deep and resonant, no longer an accusation but a welcome. He lifted a hand. “Come here, child. Let me see the young woman who has captured my son’s heart.”

On trembling legs, I stepped closer, my heart hammering. When I reached him, he studied me long and slow, and then his face broke into something like wonder.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Now I can see it too. You have your mother’s lips. Gods, what a beauty she was.” His gaze softened further, almost wistful. “And you are too. Tell me, how is she?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I ducked my head, whispering, “She is well, sire. She lives in the forest, in a cottage; she's safe. Thanks to you.”

At that, something uncoiled in his shoulders. He let out a long breath and nodded. “Good. Good. There is much to talk over then, much to put right.” His eyes gleamed, and new strength returned to them as he straightened. “And much to celebrate.”

He clapped his hands, the sound ringing sharply through the vaulted chamber. “Tonight, we feast!” he declared, his voice filling the hall. “Not only for the breaking of our curse, but for all who yet live, and for my son returned. This day shall be marked for all eternity. From now until the end of days, it shall be calledThe Day of Waking!”

A cheer rose, ragged at first as stiff bodies remembered themselves, then swelling until the chamber shook with it.The Day of Waking!they cried, voices lifting like the first dawn after a long, dark night.

I turned to Derrick, and my hand found his. His fingers tightened around mine; his eyes burned with joy and relief. And for the first time since I had known him, I saw him not only as my bear, my love, but also as a prince, his father’s heir, standing tall in his rightful place.

The palace shuddered with the unsteady breath of waking. Within the great marble hall, chaos reigned, servants dashed from corridor to corridor with trays held high above their heads like shields, noblemen and women wept into silks that had not known touch or tears for two decades, and guards stumbled through the aisles, their swords clattering against ancient armor as if their limbs weren’t quite their own. My father’s voice soared above the cacophony, already calling for feasts, for banners, for all the trappings of celebration. It was as if the weight of that single lost hour, that first hour after twenty years of stone, should be filled to bursting with every joy the palace denied itself. But I knew better: the kingdom needed more than noise and revels. It needed time to remember how to live.

The man at the heart of the uproar was my father. He was untouched by the dust and the ruin, as though the curse hadpassed over him like water over glass. He stood in the center of the great hall, his spine straight, his gaze already set on the future, demanding plans, proclamations, and new laws. All the while, the newly-restored citizens of his court flickered with the pain of their own reanimation, as if waking from an endless winter of sleepwalking. The tension in the air vibrated around me, and I longed for the quiet, feral certainty of my other self, the part of me still shaped like a bear, who could walk away from this confusion into the silent, icy trees.

But I was a prince again. I was the son of a king, and the only one who could keep him from driving his newly-awakened people back into despair.

Later, when the initial madness ebbed and the castle’s pulse stilled, I found my father seated by a hearth in the royal solar, a room whose tapestries had faded but whose warmth still clung to the walls. He appeared as I remembered from childhood, his features sharp, his hair a riot of gold and iron, his hands moving, restless even when idle. For twenty years, I had held the memory of him like a talisman, but seeing him now, truly alive and moving, fractured something inside me.

He looked up when I entered, and his eyes cleared at my sight. “Derrick. Come here. Sit. There is much to be done, and you know these corridors better than anyone.” His voice was already the voice of a monarch, commanding, but weary.

I approached, careful to temper my stride so I would not seem to challenge him. The old courtly habits returned, even as part of me bristled against them. I set a hand on his arm, light but insistent. “Father. Please. The people are only just waking. They need time to recover.” I gestured toward the window, to the gardens still rimmed in frost. “Everything is unfamiliar to them.Their bodies are stiff, their minds clouded. You cannot expect them to leap from stone to celebration in a single hour.”

For a heartbeat, he frowned, just a flicker, almost hidden. But I saw the truth in his eyes. There was fear there, and relief, and the bruised humility unique to men who have survived the impossible.

He looked away, into the fire. “I forget myself,” he said, the words so soft I almost missed them. “I am too eager for command. I want to make everything right in a moment, as if it would erase the years we lost.”

I sat across from him, feeling the weight of every word. “We will set it right, together. But the people must come to grips with what’s happened. The servants need to see healers. The kitchens must be restocked; the cellars checked for rot. Wagons must go out for food, for firewood, for salt and flour and meat. If we are to feast, it should be a true celebration. If we are to rule, we must let the kingdom learn to trust us again.”

As I spoke, I saw a shift in his posture, the king yielding to the father, just for a moment. “You are wise, my son. Wiser than I, perhaps. Had I listened to you twenty years ago…” But he let the thought die there, unwilling to linger on the past. I had warned him that we needed to be better prepared for the wrath of the Bluebeard wizard, but he hadn't listened.

The silence that followed was punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the distant calls from the hall: the palace, as always, pulsed with its own life. I was about to excuse myself when I saw Rose, framed by the doorway, her hair a halo of red in the firelight. She was too polite to interrupt us, her hands folded delicately at her waist, but her eyes were bright with hope,and something like fear. She had always looked beautiful to me, but now, dressed in a courtly gown, she was simply dazzling.

My father followed my gaze, and his face softened. “The woman who woke the man within the bear,” he said, half to himself. “Does she know what she’s done to you?”

Rose startled, uncertain. “Your Majesty,” she managed, dipping into a curtsy made awkward by unfamiliarity.

He laughed heartily. “We have not used that title in decades, my dear. Come, sit with us. I am told you saved my son’s life, and the rest of ours, besides.”

She hesitated, but stepped into the room; her movements were graceful even when she was tentative. She kept her eyes on me, and my heart twisted. I wanted to run to her, to pull her into my arms, to tell her everything I had never allowed myself to say. But I waited, watched her navigate the space as carefully as I did.

She sat on the edge of the settee, small and alone. For a moment, I felt the old distance between us, the gulf of class and circumstance, and then I thought of what we had endured together: the wolves, the darkness, the long, silent winter. We had been alone in the world together. The court, the hierarchy, the rules—they meant nothing now.

A moment later, a footman entered with a tray of spiced wine, the first harvest from the cellar in two decades, and still good. We drank, the three of us, our first toast in a lifetime. My father raised his glass and said, “To the end of winter. To waking.”

"One more thing. We should send a carriage to fetch Serilda and Snow White. They should be here, too." I reminded him.