12. Gwen
GWEN
W aiting for sunset in her room, wondering what was happening to Charlotte, was torturous. But she couldn’t go out with the sun so low on the horizon. Being seen around the palace in her bear form would not only enrage her mother but also damage the plans of the rebels.
Gwen had escaped the mountain kingdom and then ridden the wind back to save it, but both sides still wanted her to play a false role as the pure princess—someone whose apparent virtue seemed to involve sitting around waiting and doing nothing at all.
She paced up and down, her thoughts alternating between Charlotte—was she with Henry now?—and Easton—was he thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him? Every now and then she stopped and looked around her room in wonder. It should look different. After all the changes in her, it should look different.
But everything was exactly the same as she’d left it. This was the danger she had recognized earlier. Trapped in the same environment, the new Gwen wavered before the old one.
Walking slowly over to her bureau, Gwen stared down at the various jars, bottles, brushes, and handheld mirrors arranged on its top in an orderly fashion. Half in a dream, she reached out one arm and swept it all off with enough force to send some of the smaller items hurtling into the wall.
They fell with various crashes, bangs, and tinkles as glass smashed and liquid sloshed onto the carpet. The cacophony drove back the dreamlike feeling, and a burst of energy took its place.
She stared at herself in the mirror, a smile growing on her face as she reached up and tugged at the mirror’s edges. For a second it resisted before pulling sharply free and crashing against the surface of the bureau. Buzzing, Gwen moved to the wardrobe, ripping its doors open so violently that one of them pulled free of its lower hinge.
She seized the contents in large armfuls, tossing the garments over her shoulder and seizing more until the wardrobe was empty. But it wasn’t enough. Bracing one shoulder against the side of the robe, she shoved with all her strength. At first it resisted, but she gritted her teeth and shoved harder. It wobbled once and then crashed over with a muffled thud.
She swept on, upending the bedside cabinet and pulling out all its drawers, tipping over the table and chair where she had eaten countless meals. Gripping the curtains of the bed in both hands, she pulled, reveling in the feeling of them ripping free and collapsing to the ground around her.
As she looked around for something else to overturn, she felt the now familiar itchy tingling, followed by the tearing sensation. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the change to finish. When she opened them again, she looked down at enormous paws and sharp claws and her smile returned.
Turning on the bed, she unleashed her bear strength, ripping through the pillows until feathers floated through the room in all directions. She tore at the bedspread and even the mattress underneath, leaving them in ribbons.
The curtains on the windows came next, and the upholstery on the chairs. Then she turned her claws against the walls themselves, ripping long gouges down the wallpaper.
It felt good to be reckless and even better to use the full strength of this new form. In the days since she had stopped taking the drugged drink each night, she had been so careful and so restrained whenever she was a bear. But now she felt her muscles stretching and straining, and it felt good.
Part of her worried guiltily about destroying items that still had use in them. Some had even been beautiful. But at the same time, she knew she could never sleep in that bed again or sit in one of those chairs. She had been obediently doing so for twenty years, and now they represented nothing but captivity of both her body and mind.
She sat back on her haunches and surveyed the destroyed room with satisfaction. Princess Gwendolyn would never have dared do anything so dramatic and defiant. This was no longer Princess Gwendolyn’s room, and Gwen was no longer surrounded by a familiarity she didn’t want. Everything about this scene was sharp and uncomfortable and confronting.
She had been ready to endure an uncomfortable night amid the ruin of her room, but her bear self was as comfortable on the carpeted floor as she had been in the forest of Charlotte’s valley. She curled up, surrounded by feathers and torn material, and slept as easily as she had under the stars.
Gwen woke, sore and disoriented. It took her a moment to make sense of the ruin around her, memory returning slowly. Morning had arrived some time ago, and her human body was much less comfortable on the floor than her bear one.
She rose slowly, rubbing at the shoulder that ached from pushing against the wardrobe the evening before. She didn’t regret anything, though. It would have been much more terrible to wake in her bed, thinking for those first bleary moments that she was back in her old life as Princess Gwendolyn.
Looking at the window, she realized again that the first hours of the morning were already past. She needed to find out what had happened to Charlotte.
Choosing simple clothes from a bureau drawer that had survived the night’s rampage, she dressed and tried her bedroom door. To her relief, it opened. More than anything, that freedom confirmed her mother’s retreat into the past—an option Celandine apparently preferred to facing a reality that no longer conformed with her plans.
Gwen’s stomach rumbled as she hurried down the courtyard, and her steps turned instinctively for the kitchen. She didn’t correct them. If she needed information about any dramatic events in the palace, the captive servants were the best place to start.
Pausing on the threshold, Gwen breathed in the delicious smell of roasting food and baked treats. She admired the bustle of activity, wishing she didn’t have to disrupt it. She had always loved the kitchen as a child, going there often with Easton. But she had been restrained to only the most occasional visit in the past ten years—a rule enforced by Alma. Since Alma sought to protect the captives from the queen’s wrath, Gwen couldn’t argue with her strictures. It had been yet another loss, though.
Thinking of the risk if she was seen by a courtier, Gwen stepped all the way inside, out of clear sight from the corridor. The movement attracted attention, and a ripple spread through the servants as they looked in her direction and whispered among themselves.
Gwen cleared her throat. “I missed breakfast.”
A cook offered her a seat at the well-scrubbed wooden table that ran down the center of the room. As she sat, a young man slipped out the kitchen door, taking off at a run.
Sure enough, she had barely started on the food laid before her when Alma appeared, puffing slightly. Her brows rose when she saw the princess, but she took a moment to catch her breath before speaking, giving time for multiple other servants to slip in behind her, mingling with the crowd already in the kitchen.
“So you really are here,” Alma said at last. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
A rush of affection filled Gwen at sight of the older woman. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a friendly face. But she also didn’t want to forget the realization she had come to with Miriam.
She put down the piece of bread in her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble by coming here, I just—”
“No.” Alma said the word firmly. “Miriam told us everything. You came back for us, Your Highness, and we can brave more than this. This is our chance.” Her face darkened. “Some of us have been waiting a very long time for any sort of chance.”
Gwen hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt. So many people were relying on her, unaware that Gwen had very little idea what she was doing.
“I came to find out if there was any news of Charlotte,” she said.
Alma frowned and glanced around the kitchen. She was met only with blank stares and shrugs.
“Is that someone from the city?” she asked. “I don’t think there’s a courtier named—”
“No, she came with me from the valleys,” Gwen said. “She’s the lowlander prince’s wife.”
Another murmur swept through the room at that. The captives might not have heard of Charlotte, but they knew something about Henry.
“Have you been taking him food?” she guessed.
Alma hesitated. “We’ve been preparing it, but the queen delivers it herself.” She paused. “We’ve heard rumors that he’s cursed.”
It was clear from the captives’ faces that they didn’t know what to make of that suggestion. Gwen almost told them it was the opposite—he was the only one to have freed himself—when it hit her like a bolt.
The captives were as ignorant as she had once been. They knew something happened in the mountain kingdom at night but not what. They didn’t know about the transformations.
Gwen didn’t hesitate. If they were going to join the rebels, they had to know what they faced.
“Actually,” she said, “it’s not the prince who’s cursed, it’s me.” A gasp of surprise swept around the room. “Me, and my mother, and all the courtiers and guards. We are tied to these mountains because at night we turn into large, white bears.”
“You—what?” Alma asked in a dazed voice.
“At sundown I turn into a bear,” Gwen repeated calmly. “And at sunrise I turn back again. I’m still myself in my head the whole time, though. We don’t turn wild or anything.”
“I…” Alma collapsed into a nearby seat. “We’ve come up with lots of theories over the years, but I can’t say anyone came up with that. Every one of us was drugged for the journey across the mountains, so we never saw…”
“It does explain it, though,” the cook said. “We wondered how they made it across.”
“And some of the messes we’ve had to clean up make more sense too,” a younger woman muttered. “Remember those gouges high up on the wall of the green sitting room? None of us could work out what could have made them.”
Gwen thought guiltily of her room. “If any of you have the job of cleaning my room, please skip it today. And tomorrow. And—actually, you can forget about it all together.”
Alma raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what you’ve done?”
Gwen smiled. “I’m going with no.”
“I thought you were going to marry that prince.” The cook regarded Gwen skeptically. “We’ve all been worked off our feet preparing for it. So how can he have a wife?”
Gwen grimaced. “My mother isn’t used to having her plans foiled. She’s determined to go through with it, and for now at least, we’re playing along.” Her voice turned firm. “I will not be marrying Prince Henry, however.”
Yet another stir ran through the crowd.
“But please continue with your preparations in line with the queen’s commands,” she said hurriedly. “We’d rather not tip our hand yet.”
Facing only Miriam, it had seemed sensible to say nothing. But with the captives massed before her, she couldn’t bring herself to treat them with suspicion. They had been stolen from their homes and turned into slaves for the mountain queen—some for almost ten years. The queen had no allies in this room.
“So this Charlotte is part of your plans?” Alma asked shrewdly. “But she’s crossed the queen somehow?”
Gwen grimaced. It was a little more complicated than that, but the sentiment was close enough to the truth.
Alma exchanged a look with the cook, waiting for him to nod before turning back to Gwen. “We haven’t heard anything about an unknown girl,” she said briskly, “but the orders for the prince’s food changed late yesterday. We were instructed to deliver a drugged drink, just as we used to do for you.”
She gave Gwen an apologetic look as she said it, but Gwen had long forgiven the captives’ role in her previous life. They hadn’t done any of it by choice.
“He was drugged all night?” she asked, heart sinking. That must mean Charlotte had succeeded in bargaining for a night with Henry. And the queen had found a way around the bargain’s terms. Did that mean she’d also found a way around the terms intended to protect Charlotte?
“There definitely hasn’t been any talk of preparing food for another captive?” she asked.
The cook and Alma both shook their heads. Did that mean Charlotte had succeeded in getting out of the palace or just that she hadn’t been fed yet?
Sighing, Gwen rose. She was going to have to find her mother after all.
Before leaving, she faced Alma and the cook. “Miriam asked what you could do.”
They both tensed.
“Please let me know if the queen ever asks you to drug any food or drink again,” she finished, and they relaxed. It wasn’t a huge request, but it might prevent a future calamity like Charlotte’s attempted night with Henry.
Gwen left the room, heading for her mother’s study as she considered how to get access to Henry again. If he hadn’t spoken to Charlotte, then it was up to Gwen to give him further reassurance and stop him from doing anything foolish.
She arrived at the door of the study only to hear the tromp of boots behind her. Glancing back, she saw a weary-looking squad of guards heading in her direction. She stepped to the side, allowing the two in the lead to enter the study ahead of her. They were both rigid and tense, apparently too distracted to even notice her.
The rest of the guards remained behind in the corridor, at least half of them openly gawking at her. But they didn’t make any move to restrain her or question her presence.
“You what?” the queen cried from inside the room, and Gwen flinched instinctively.
The guards flinched even more, however, and Gwen made up her mind, slipping into the room. No one noticed her entrance.
“One girl,” the queen said in lower but equally threatening tones. “You only had to detain one girl. Exactly how many men did you take with you?”
Both guards shifted nervously.
“There was another girl waiting for her,” one said. “She helped—”
“A single other girl?” the queen demanded. “Is that supposed to be an excuse?”
“Without our bear senses,” the other one tried, “we couldn’t follow.”
“I see.” The queen’s voice was ice. “So you have allowed your nightly forms to become a crutch and an excuse. Clearly it is time for the royal guards to get in shape. I want every guard not on active duty to report to the training yards. Sunup to sundown. And you will train there every day until I deem you are no longer a disgrace to me.”
The men’s eyes widened, but neither protested.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The first one bowed low, and the other quickly followed.
Gwen kept her face impassive but inside she was crowing. Not only had Charlotte managed to escape—with Natalie’s help from the sound of it—but the queen’s reaction had played even further into their hands. An exhausted, distracted guard force could only help the rebel efforts.
The elation died as she finally noticed the man standing to one side and slightly behind her mother’s desk. He was half in shadow, barely noticeable beside the commanding presence of the queen. But he had noticed her.
Charlotte shivered at his gaze. What was Lord Rafferty doing here where she might once have expected to find Count Oswin? Before her escape, he had leveraged a moment of surveillance of Gwen into inclusion with her mother’s inner circle of courtiers. Apparently, in the weeks since he had made fast use of that opportunity.
The feel of his eyes made her want to flee. But her mother had finally spotted her.
“My daughter,” Celandine said smoothly, her manner changing completely.
Both the guards threw Gwen an alarmed look before bowing again toward the queen, a third time to Gwen, and hurrying out of the room.
“Where have you been?” Celandine asked, although she sounded distracted.
“In my room, of course,” Gwen replied. “Resting.”
The queen relaxed a little at her answer. “You should get all the rest you can now. After the wedding, matters will proceed quickly.”
“Matters?” Gwen asked, her eyes flicking to Lord Rafferty.
“The matters we spoke of previously,” the queen said in a voice that shut down any further conversation. “But that is not something you need to think of. I will manage the situation.”
“Yes, Mother,” Gwen said meekly, a little relieved her mother hadn’t expanded on her words. Did that mean Lord Rafferty wasn’t yet included in all her plans?
If the queen was edging out Count Oswin and replacing him with someone of Lord Rafferty’s ilk, then they couldn’t make their move fast enough. The queen had enough ambition of her own without listening to someone who obviously had just as much as her.