Chapter 23 - Isabeau
twenty-three
Isabeau
The roses never stopped being beautiful, even as they drank my father’s blood.
I stood at the edge of their domain, careful to keep my distance from their reaching thorns, watching Papa’s suspended form with a mixture of love and despair that had become all too familiar.
He looked peaceful, at least. Eyes closed, face relaxed, as if he’d simply decided to take a nap inside this grotesque cradle of hungry vines.
The morning light cast everything in shades of red—the roses themselves, Papa’s skin where thorns pierced it, even the air between us seemed to shimmer with crimson and shadowy particles. Beauty and horror, intertwined like lovers who couldn’t bear to part.
“I miss thee, Papa,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around myself against the morning chill. “I know thou art keeping these roses alive with thy sacrifice, but I wish I could speak with thee. I have so many questions.”
My eyes scanned the garden’s edge, searching for any sign of the ghost girl from a few nights ago. That translucent form with eyes like windows to other places had haunted my sleep each night since. Someone knew where we were now. Someone had sent her to look.
The memory made me shiver more than the cold ever could.
“I’ve been reading Queen Charlotte’s journal,” I continued, pretending Papa could hear me. Maybe he could. “Her words stopped right when something terrible happened. The roses had gone dark, she wrote. And now look at them…redder than blood, drinking it like wine.”
A breeze stirred the garden, making the vines shift slightly around Papa’s body. I tensed, ready to retreat if they reached for me, but they seemed content with their current meal. My hand absently touched the healed cut on my palm where they’d sampled me a week earlier.
“I believe one of the princes of this castle is trapped in Beast’s form,” I said, voicing the theory I’d been turning over since reading about Charlotte’s sons with amber eyes identical to mine and Beast’s.
“A witch cursed this place. She hated them for taking her forest, for building their home in her territory. But I don’t understand how the curse works or how to break it. ”
My eyes searched the garden again, this time for something else entirely. Days ago, I’d glimpsed what looked like a corpse floating above my bed, its body twisted and decayed, its face locked in a silent scream. I’d only seen it against the fire’s light, but it hadn’t appeared again.
“There are too many pieces,” I told Papa, frustration creeping into my voice. “A curse. A witch. Blood-drinking roses. A prince transformed into Beast. A magical garden that survives while everything else dies. And somehow, somehow, I’m connected to it all.”
I paced along the edge of the garden, careful to keep my distance from the grasping thorns. The wind picked up, sending my borrowed skirts flapping against my legs.
“My eyes are the same as his, Papa. The same as Queen Charlotte wrote about her sons having. The same as the unicorn in the hidden grove. The same as Mama’s were.” I swallowed hard around the lump forming in my throat. “What does it mean? What am I?”
Papa remained silent, of course, his body feeding the unnatural roses that seemed to pulse with more vigor each day. I remembered how the vines had healed my cut, had sealed my skin as if they recognized something in my blood they didn’t want to waste.
“I don’t understand why I can do the things I can do,” I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper. “How did I throw Gaspard across the room? How did I survive the drowning cage? What is this power that comes when I need it most but don’t feel at all?”
Questions upon questions with no one to answer them. Beast couldn’t speak. Papa couldn’t respond. And Queen Charlotte’s journal had ended before revealing the nature of the curse. I was alone with my theories and fears and the growing certainty that time was running out.
“I have the right questions,” I said, my voice rising with frustration. “I know I do! But what good are questions without answers? What good is knowing there’s a curse without knowing how to break it? How can I save thee if I don’t understand what I’m fighting?”
The roses swayed slightly, as if listening. Above them, the sky had begun to take on the golden hue of approaching sunset. I’d been here longer than I realized, talking to a man who couldn’t respond, searching for a floating corpse that refused to appear.
“The ghost girl who appeared in our bedroom that night,” I said, dropping my voice as if someone might overhear.
“Someone sent her. Her eyes told stories of other places she’s visited.
Someone knows where we are, Papa. Someone who can see through walls and distance.
I fear it may be Gaspard. If he finds this place.
..” I couldn’t finish the thought, the fear too great.
Gaspard would never stop hunting me. Not after I’d escaped him, humiliated him. He’d see Beast as just another trophy for his wall, and me as property to be reclaimed. The thought of him here, in this sanctuary I’d begun to think of as home, made my blood run cold.
“I cannot let that happen,” I vowed. “I will not be taken from this place, from Beast, from thee. I will solve this puzzle, Papa. I will find a way to break the curse and free thee both.”
My frustration boiled over suddenly, days of questions without answers, fears without resolution, all bursting forth at once. I tilted my head back and screamed into the darkening sky, a raw, primal sound that carried all my anger and confusion and helplessness.
The sound echoed across the castle grounds, bouncing back from stone walls and twisted trees. Birds took flight from nearby branches, startled by my outburst. And something else responded. Something that made my blood freeze in my veins.
A howl. Low and hungry. Then another. And another.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding against my ribs.
They emerged from the corrupted forest like shadows gaining substance.
Wolves, but not like any I’d seen near our village.
These creatures were larger, their fur patched and mangy in places, revealing skin that seemed to rot even as they lived.
Their eyes glowed with unnatural yellow light, and their pointed teeth gleamed in the fading daylight.
“Oh no,” I breathed, backing away. “No, no, no.”
They spread out in a half-circle, cutting off my path back to the castle.
Six of them, moving with the coordinated purpose of a hunting pack.
The largest—the alpha—watched me with an intelligence that seemed wrong, calculated in a way wolves shouldn’t be.
These weren’t natural predators. They were something the curse had twisted, corrupted into monstrosities that only resembled wolves in the broadest sense.
I glanced toward the castle, measuring the distance. Could I outrun them? Unlikely. Could I circle around? They were already moving to block that path. My only hope was to make enough noise to draw Beast’s attention.
“Help!” I screamed, loud enough to tear at my throat. “Beast! HELP ME!”
The wolves charged at my cry. I turned and ran, not toward the castle but along the garden’s edge, hoping to circle back around. My borrowed slippers slipped on the damp ground, and I stumbled, arms pinwheeling wildly as I fought to keep my balance.
For a heartbeat, I thought I might make it.
Then my foot caught on an exposed root, and I went down hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh.
I rolled onto my back, scrambling backward as the first wolf closed the distance, jaws opened impossibly wide as it lunged for my throat.
A blur of brown fur intercepted it mid-leap.
Beast slammed into the wolf with such force that both creatures rolled several yards away in a tangle of limbs and fur and snarling teeth.
He’d come from the back of the castle, running faster than I’d ever seen him move, his massive body now positioned between me and the pack.
The roar he let loose wasn’t animal—it was something older, something that made even these corrupted wolves hesitate. He stood on his hind legs, rearing to his full height, claws extended and teeth bared in challenge.
For a moment, everything went still. Beast’s chest heaved with exertion, his nearly-glowing eyes burning with protective fury. The wolves circled warily, their previous confidence shaken by his sudden appearance.
Then the alpha gave a sharp bark, and they attacked as one.
Two wolves went for Beast’s legs, trying to hamstring him.
Another leapt for his throat. Beast caught that one with a swipe of his massive paw, sending it flying with a yelp of pain.
He dropped to all fours, spinning to snap at the ones targeting his legs, catching one by the scruff and shaking it violently before tossing it aside.
I scrambled to my feet, searching desperately for a weapon. There, near the edge of the garden was a fallen branch, thick as my arm and nearly as long. I lunged for it, fingers closing around the rough bark just as a wolf broke from the pack and came for me.
I swung wildly, catching it across the snout. It yelped and backed off, but only momentarily. Its eyes narrowed, jaws dripping with saliva as it circled me more carefully now.
Beast was fighting three wolves at once, his movements a blur of controlled violence. He was magnificent and terrifying, all coiled muscle and precise strikes. But even he couldn’t watch every direction at once. The sixth wolf had circled behind him and was preparing to leap onto his back.
“Behind you!” I screamed, already knowing he couldn’t turn in time.