Chapter 2
Chapter two
The Bargain
Lucien
The forest awakens me, pulling me from the thin grasp of sleep with a violence that unsettles even my monstrous heart.
Branches within shiver and sigh, leaves whispering as if warning me of what crawls beneath their cover.
Tonight, the ash falls heavier than ever, swirling in choking clouds that blanket every surface in a pall of decay.
My roses, ever vigilant, hiss their warning, petals quivering and thorns rattling like the bones of restless ghosts.
Something is wrong. The castle thrums with a dark, hungry pleasure, its stones vibrating beneath me, eager and impatient. I know the reason before I rise from my bed: someone has dared breach the boundary of my castle. Excitement and anticipation empowers me. We have an intruder.
I can sense him. I can smell him even before I see or hear him.
His scent is sharp, a discordant melody that cuts through the damp air.
I smell the burning lantern oil, the sour tang of sweat, and something desperate, frantic, like the coppery taste of fear.
I grin with anticipation as it bounces off the walls, winding through the corridors and worming its way into my lungs with every breath.
I feel his heartbeat echoing through the stones, each thud betraying his panic as he stumbles deeper into my domain.
He does not belong here, yet he advances, driven by some foolish hope or need that blinds him to the danger coiled around him.
As I stalk toward him through the twisting passages, suspense coils tightly within me.
He plucks a single rose, and I taste the arrogance of his trespass, the bitter thrill of his theft.
He tore my rose from the bed where it feasted on grief and silence, its roots steeped in centuries of sorrow.
I can almost hear its scream as the stem is ripped free, a cry that awakens my hunger and ignites my fury.
Why has he come? Is it for love, a promise, or simply greed?
Does he know what price such a theft demands?
The forest, sensing his trespass, grows hostile and tightens its grip.
Branches twist and entwine, and roots buckle the earth beneath his feet, threatening to swallow him whole.
The very air thickens with dread. The gates, ancient and merciless, rise from the ground like ribs wrenched from a dying beast. Black iron vines writhe and knot together, forming a cage that closes around him with finality.
He is trapped, a trembling animal caught in the jaws of my curse.
Suspense hangs heavy for him, for me, and especially for the roses that thirst for his blood.
At the core of it all, I linger, waiting patiently at the heart of the darkness he now can’t escape.
The man staggers forward, his grip white-knuckled around the rose as if its battered petals might shield him from damnation.
When my looming shadow drowns the moonlight, he buckles, his knees thudding against the cold, root-tangled earth.
Fear consumes his body, his breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, and his eyes flit desperately between the rose and the darkness swallowing him whole.
I crouch nearer to him, my horns scraping against the low-hanging branches. “Speak, trespasser. What drove you here, into the jaws of my curse?”
He swallows, and his voice is ragged. “My name is Henri, sir. My daughter’s name is Annabel.
” His voice shatters, spilling pleas for mercy and forgiveness, his words choked by sobs and terror.
“She is all I have left in this world. After her mother died, it was just us. We have nothing, not since debt swallowed our home and sickness took what little hope remained. Last night, she asked for a single rose, something beautiful to mark her birthday, a reminder that happiness is not dead.” He lowers his head, clutching the wilting bloom tighter.
“I stole it because I could not bear her sadness, couldn’t watch the light fade from her eyes.
I thought, foolishly, that one rose might bring her joy. ”
I lean closer, and the silence of the forest grows heavier. “So you risked everything for your child’s happiness?” There was once a time when I would have done the same. But I am a different man now.
He nods, shame etched in every deep line of his face.
“She deserves better than this life of hunger and sorrow, better than a father who can’t protect her from the world’s cruelty.
I have failed her in every way, save this…
this tiny, foolish act.” Tears streak his cheeks.
“I never meant to trespass, nor did I consider I was stealing from you. I only wanted to give my Annabel a moment of hope.”
My claws flex against the damp earth, rage simmering beneath my skin.
Mercy, sentiment… These are weaknesses I refuse to indulge.
The law of my curse is absolute, and theft, no matter its motive, demands retribution.
Henri’s pleas echo through the grounds of my castle, but they do nothing to sway me.
My heart, if it still exists, is forged in suffering and loss; pity is a luxury I abandoned long ago.
I prowl the edge of my domain, circling him like prey, my senses sharpened, letting the taste of his desperation fuel the darkness within me.
“Stealing is a crime,” I snarl, my voice reverberating through the bones of the castle.
“No love, no sorrow, no plea can absolve it. You entered knowing the risks, and now you must pay the price.” The roses shudder in wicked anticipation, their thorns glistening, eager for the reckoning that is owed.
There is no forgiveness for trespass, and no exception for those who act out of desperation. Henri will pay, as all must, for daring to defy the curse that governs this place. This is the only justice I offer, and I will not be persuaded otherwise.
“Have mercy, sir,” he says, stumbling. “I beg you.” He offers his life.
He offers his soul, if only this nightmare will pass him by.
Each trembling syllable betrays his horror, his heart thundering in his chest as if it hopes to flee.
The rose trembles in his grasp, a pitiful talisman against the monster that will not be bargained with.
Pathetic, I think in disgust. This is far too simple to satisfy the hunger gnawing inside me.
His submission holds no challenge, no spark of defiance.
The way he grovels and weeps is beneath even the monsters my legend conjures.
Revulsion coils in my chest, bitter and sharp, as I watch him tremble and beg.
How effortless it is to break those who trespass, how hollow the victory when they offer themselves up without a fight.
This is not what I had hoped for. I need a challenge.
I need someone who will try to fight against me and my curse.
“Tell me about Annabel,” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. I know I shouldn’t go there. I feel the danger prickle on my skin, but I can’t resist the temptation.
Henri’s shoulders tremble as he draws in a shuddering breath.
For a moment, he stares at the floor, as if summoning the strength to speak of the one bright light in his shadowed world.
“Annabel… She is unlike anyone I have ever known,” he says, his voice hoarse but steadying with every word.
“My other daughters, they left when times grew hard, found husbands and new lives. I don’t blame them.
But Annabel? She is different. She cares for others more than herself.
She has refused every offer, every suitor, because she would not abandon me, her aging, broken father. ”
He lifts his head, eyes haunted yet illuminated by fierce pride.
“Her strength isn’t like other girls’, sir.
She does not weep for her misfortune, nor does she curse the fates that left us with nothing.
Instead, she works beside me, never complaining yet caring for our barren house and tending what little remains.
She sells what she can at the market, and when there is not enough food, she tells me she is not hungry so that I will eat, though I know she lies for my sake. She puts everyone before herself.
“Annabel’s loyalty is unyielding. She promised her mother, as she lay dying, that she would never let me fall into despair or destitution.
She keeps that vow every day, facing hardship with grace and courage.
Her sisters call her stubborn, but I call it devotion.
She is selfless to her core, sacrificing her own happiness so that I will not be alone in my old age. ”
Henri’s hands tighten around the rose, petals bruising between his fingers.
“She is gentle with all who cross her path, kind even to those who have wronged us. The villagers respect her. They call her softhearted, but she is made of iron beneath her kindness. She is my strength, my hope. I do not deserve her, but she stays, nonetheless. She is…” He lets out a defeated breath. “Everything.”
“And I gather from your most endearing tribute, she is what you love most?” I ask, knowing the answer, but still my question gives him hope that she will be spared.
“Yes, she is.” He bows his head again, tears glinting in his lashes.
Realization dawns on his face, and he must know exactly why I am asking about her.
And then regret shadows his face for giving me more information about her than he should have.
His voice becomes laced with alarm. “If you must punish someone, punish me. Do not take her. She is goodness made flesh, and I can’t bear to see the light in her eyes extinguish. ”
“No.” My voice pours through the forest, deep and unyielding, a living thing that rattles the marrow in his bones and makes the castle tremble.
The roses drink in his terror, and their thorns rattle with pleasure.
I loom over him, my horns casting twisted shadows.
“Bring me the one you love the most. Bring her to my gate and leave her,” I command, my words firm and flat.
“If you do not, I will come and claim her myself.”
He hugs the ground, sobbing, his body wracked with despair.
The stolen rose shakes in his trembling grasp.
The petals are already wilting, their deep crimson deepening to black as shame and guilt seep into its bloom.
I know what drove him to pluck the rose.
It was not greed or even thoughtlessness.
It was desperation, a father’s desperate love for his daughter.
He longs to give her one small piece of beauty in a life of hardship he knows he has condemned her to.
But he has no idea what he has condemned her to now.
This rose was meant for her, his most beloved child.
She is the only light left in his shattered world.
I envy that love. I envy that light. And while I understand his motives—truly, I do—I do not care.
I have seen her through his eyes, and I want her, nothing but her, for she is the only payment I will accept.
She is the price he will have to pay. He has no other options.
As the iron gates groan and slowly uncoil, he clutches the dying flower as though it might save him. His eyes are wild, tears tracing muddy paths down his cheeks.
I feel nothing.
“Please,” he chokes out, his voice trembling, pleading again. “I beg you to take me, spare my child. Take anything, anything but her. She is pure and innocent.”
That is exactly why I must have her, I think to myself.
I step from the shadows, my horns silhouetted against the moonlight. My presence fills the night with dread. The roses hiss and twist, eager for blood.
“No,” I rumble, my voice rolling through the forest and rattling the iron. “Your pleas are wasted here. You know what I want. Bring her to me, or I swear on that dying rose in your hand, I will come and claim her myself.” I pause. “And trust me, you would not wish that on your worst enemy.”
Henri shudders, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You can’t mean it,” he whispers, still clutching the blackening rose in desperation. “She is all I have left.”
My gaze hardens, merciless. “Perhaps, but she is all I want. Do this, or watch everything you love rot away, including her.”
A sob wracks his frame, but the gates groan wider, and the forest closes behind him, swallowing his presence as he crawls away. I trail my gaze to follow him, anticipating her arrival. I stop for a moment and think how surreal it is to actually be looking forward to something.