Chapter Fourteen: The Stolen Rose - Fifteen Nights with the Beast for the Ruby Rose
By Hasnainhr
When Isla returned home with the eighth rose, she knew at once that something had changed in the house. It was not her father. Grover was better than he had been before. He was still weak, and his illness had not left him completely, but the roses were helping him. Each morning, after he drank the pressed ruby essence, his breathing became easier. The colour in his face returned a little. His hands no longer shook as badly. He could sit up longer, speak longer, and sometimes even smile with a little of his old warmth.
The change was in her sisters. Lavinia watched her with jealousy. Beatrice watched her with suspicion. Cecily watched her with a strange mixture of fear and curiosity. At first, Isla tried to ignore them. She went straight to Grover’s room, removed her cloak, and began preparing the eighth rose as she had done each morning before. The rose was fresh and deep red, its petals soft and heavy with magic. As soon as she crushed them in the clean cloth, the rich scent filled the room.
Grover drank the ruby essence slowly. A few moments later, his breathing eased, and some of the tight pain left his face. Isla sat beside him and watched the small miracle happen again. Every rose gave him another day. Every morning proved that the bargain was working. Yet she could not feel simple relief anymore. The dream of the prince still lived in her mind. She had seen the beast as he once was, and the memory would not leave her.
Grover noticed her silence. “What troubles you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Isla said too quickly.
“Isla.”
She looked down at the empty glass in her hand. “I am only tired.”
“That is true,” he said. “But it is not the whole truth.”
She did not answer. She could not tell him about the dream. She could not tell him that she had seen the beast as a man, young and sorrowful, with a name that now felt dangerous even to think. She could not tell him that the manor no longer felt only like a prison. She could not tell him that leaving it each morning had become harder in a way she did not fully understand.
Grover’s voice softened. “Is it him?”
Isla’s hand tightened around the glass.
“Has he hurt you?” Grover asked.
“No,” she said at once.
“Has he frightened you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But not as before.”
Grover’s eyes darkened. “What does that mean?”
Isla sat beside him again. The room felt too small for the truth. “It means he is dangerous, but he is not cruel without reason. He is angry. He hides things. He frightens me sometimes. But there is more to him than that.”
Grover stared at her for a long moment. “That sounds like the beginning of a mistake.”
“I know,” Isla said quietly.
“No,” he replied. “I do not think you do.”
Before she could answer, the bedroom door opened. Lavinia stood there, pale and beautiful in a soft green gown, her eyes fixed on Isla. Beatrice stood behind her, calm but watchful. Cecily hovered near the doorway, twisting her fingers together.
“You speak of him as if he is a man,” Lavinia said.
Isla stood. “You were listening.”
“You are not careful anymore,” Beatrice said. “That is not the same as us spying.”
Grover looked angry. “Leave us.”
“No,” Lavinia said.
Everyone turned to her. Lavinia seemed surprised by her own boldness, but she did not step back. “No,” she repeated. “We are always sent away when the important things are discussed. Isla leaves every evening and returns every morning with a magic rose, and we are expected to say nothing. Father’s life depends on those roses, yet only she knows what truly happens there.”
“You did not want the truth when it required courage,” Isla said.
Lavinia’s cheeks flushed. “You enjoy saying that.”
“Because it is true.”
Cecily looked close to tears. “Please do not fight.”
Beatrice stepped farther into the room. “We need to know what is happening. What exactly is the beast asking from you?”
“I told you,” Isla said. “I stay at the manor each night. At dawn, he gives me a rose. I bring it home for Father.”
“That cannot be all,” Beatrice said.
“It is enough.”
“No, it is not. You are different when you return. At first, you looked terrified. Now you look confused, as if part of you does not wish to leave.”
Lavinia gave a bitter laugh. “That is a gentle way to say it.”
Isla turned to her. “Say what you mean.”
“You care for him,” Lavinia said.
The room went silent. Grover looked at Isla. Cecily covered her mouth. Beatrice did not look surprised; she looked worried.
Isla felt heat rise to her face. “You know nothing.”
“Then deny it,” Lavinia said.
Isla opened her mouth, but no words came. The silence was terrible because it answered more than she wanted it to. Grover looked away first, and that hurt more than any accusation.
“I must rest,” he said quietly.
It was a dismissal. Lavinia looked satisfied. Beatrice looked troubled. Cecily looked frightened. Isla picked up the bowl and the empty glass, but as she passed Lavinia, her sister leaned closer.
“You are not the only daughter who wants to save him,” Lavinia whispered.
Isla stopped. “What does that mean?”
Lavinia smiled, but there was anger behind it. “It means you should remember that.”
For the rest of the day, the house felt unsafe. Not because of the beast, but because of her sisters. Lavinia avoided Isla, but she did it loudly, slamming doors and speaking sharply to servants. Cecily followed Isla twice and then pretended she had only been passing by. Beatrice asked quiet questions whenever she found Isla alone.
“How many roses are left?” Beatrice asked near the back stairs.
“Seven after tonight,” Isla replied.
“What happens on the fifteenth morning?”
“I do not know.”
“You have not asked?”
“I have asked many things. He does not answer all of them.”
“Does he plan to let you go?”
Isla looked at her sister.
Beatrice held her gaze. “You do not know, do you?”
“I gave my word.”
“That was not my question.”
Isla turned away. “I will return before sunset.”
Beatrice caught her arm. “And if he keeps you?”
Isla pulled her arm free. “Then at least Father will live.”
Beatrice stared at her as if she had finally heard the truth she feared most. “You are willing to be lost for him.”
“For Father,” Isla said.
Beatrice shook her head. “That is what you tell yourself.”
By late afternoon, the sky had turned dark. Rain clouds gathered over Briar Hollow, and the air grew heavy. Isla went to her room and prepared to leave. She had learned to carry very little now. A cloak, gloves, and a handkerchief were enough. The manor provided everything else it wanted her to wear, eat, and use. That thought would have frightened her once. Now it felt like part of the bargain.
As she fastened her cloak, Isla noticed a folded paper on her dressing table. Her name was written on the outside. She opened it and read the short message inside.
If the roses can save Father, then one rose should belong to all of us.
There was no signature, but Isla knew the handwriting. Lavinia.
Her blood turned cold. She ran from the room and searched the hall, the drawing room, the parlour, the kitchen, and the back entrance. Lavinia was gone. So were Beatrice and Cecily. A maid finally told Isla that all three sisters had gone out not long before, heading toward the old road.
Blackwood Ridge.
Isla did not wait for anything else. She ran out of the house into the rising wind. The road was muddy, and rain began before she reached the edge of the village. Her cloak flew behind her. Her boots slipped twice, but she did not slow. Her sisters were foolish, proud, careless girls, and they had no idea what they were walking into. The beast’s garden was not an ordinary garden. The roses were not ordinary flowers. A rose freely given could heal, but Isla did not know what a stolen rose might do.
She remembered the beast’s rules. Do not enter forbidden places. Do not take what is not given. Do not break your word. Her sisters had already broken too many rules, and sunset was close.
By the time Isla reached Blackwood Ridge, the rain had grown heavier. The trees moved restlessly, their branches scraping together in the wind. The path was darker than it should have been. Isla called their names, but the forest swallowed her voice.
“Lavinia! Beatrice! Cecily!”
There was no answer. She moved deeper into the woods, her heart beating hard. The path twisted strangely, and more than once she thought she saw a pale dress between the trees, only to find mist instead. Then she heard Cecily scream.
Isla ran toward the sound. Branches scratched her arms. Mud splashed her skirts. Somewhere ahead, birds began to shriek. The white birds. She was close to the manor.
Cecily screamed again. “Isla!”
Isla burst from the trees into the clearing. The manor stood ahead, dark and enormous against the stormy sky. The garden gates were open, and that frightened her more than anything. They were never open for strangers.
She ran through them. Inside the garden, the roses were moving. They were not merely swaying in the wind. The vines curled along the paths, tightened over stone, and dragged their thorns across the ground like claws. White birds flew in wild circles overhead, crying so loudly that Isla could barely think.
Then she saw her sisters.
Cecily stood near the fountain, crying with both hands over her mouth. Beatrice was trying to pull Lavinia away from a wall of roses. Lavinia was trapped. A thick vine had wrapped around her wrist, another around her waist, and a third around her ankle. Blood ran down her hand from the thorn cuts.
In Lavinia’s trapped fist was a ruby rose.
It had been snapped from its stem. Its petals were still red, but the edges had begun turning black.
“Drop it!” Isla shouted.
“I can’t!” Lavinia cried.
Beatrice pulled at the vine around Lavinia’s waist, but the thorns cut her fingers.
“Stop touching it!” Isla shouted. “You will make it worse.”
Cecily sobbed. “We only wanted to help Father.”
“No,” Isla said, furious now. “You wanted to prove something.”
Lavinia’s face twisted with pain. “Help me first, scold me after!”
The birds suddenly went silent. That silence was worse than their screaming. Isla turned and saw the beast standing at the end of the path. He had come from the manor without a sound. He wore black, as always, but the storm made him look darker and larger than before. His hair was loose around his shoulders, and his amber eyes burned with anger.
No one moved. Even the roses seemed to wait.
His gaze went first to Isla, then to Lavinia, then to the stolen rose. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “Who took it?”
Lavinia began to cry harder.
Beatrice stepped partly in front of her. “She did not understand.”
The beast looked at her. “She understood enough to hide.”
Cecily whispered, “Please do not kill her.”
His eyes flashed, and Isla quickly stepped forward. “No one is dying tonight.”
The beast did not look at her. “You should not promise what you cannot control.”
“What will happen to her?” Isla asked.
He walked closer. The vines loosened slightly as he approached, but they did not release Lavinia.
“A rose given in bargain heals,” he said. “A rose stolen from this garden takes payment.”
“What payment?” Beatrice asked.
The beast looked at Lavinia. “Life.”
Cecily screamed. Lavinia shook her head wildly, tears running down her face. “No. No, I did not know.”
“You did not care to know,” the beast said.
Isla turned to him. “There must be a way to stop it.”
“There is.”
“Then do it.”
His eyes moved to her. “It is not gentle.”
“I do not care.”
“You might.”
The stolen rose in Lavinia’s hand darkened further. The black spread across the petals like ink. Lavinia gasped, and her face became pale.
The beast removed one glove.
Isla understood before he spoke. “No.”
He ignored her and reached for the vine around Lavinia’s wrist.
Isla caught his arm. “No. You are going to pay it yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened. “Because you asked me to save them.”
That silenced her, but only for a moment. “I asked you to help. Not to bleed for her.”
“The garden does not care what you asked.”
The rose in Lavinia’s hand began to crumble at the edges. The vine tightened around her wrist, and she cried out. The beast pulled free from Isla’s grip and seized the vine.
The garden reacted at once. Every rose around them opened. The thorns pushed into the beast’s hand, and blood ran down his wrist. He did not let go. The vines shook as if they were alive.
“Drop the rose!” the beast ordered.
“I can’t!” Lavinia cried.
The beast tightened his grip until the thorns sank deeper into his palm. His blood fell onto the roots. The garden went still.
Then Lavinia’s fingers opened. The stolen rose dropped to the ground. The moment it touched the path, it turned completely black.
The vine released her.
Beatrice pulled Lavinia back, and Cecily rushed to them. The beast let go of the vine and stepped away. His hand was bleeding badly, but he did not look at it.
Lavinia stared at him in horror. “You really are a monster,” she whispered.
The air changed. Isla felt it before she saw it. The roses turned toward Lavinia. The beast went completely still. At first, his face did not show anger. It showed hurt. Then the hurt became something colder. He took one step toward Lavinia.
Beatrice pushed Lavinia behind her. Cecily began to sob again.
Isla moved quickly and stood in front of him. “Stop.”
The beast’s eyes fixed on her. “Move.”
“No.”
“She stole from me.”
“Yes.”
“She insulted me after I saved her life.”
“Yes.”
“She would do it again if pride told her to.”
Lavinia did not deny it.
Isla kept her voice steady. “Maybe. But if you hurt her now, you will become what she called you.”
His face hardened. The words had struck deep. For a moment, Isla thought he might push past her. Instead, he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“Do not test me tonight.”
“I am not testing you.”
“You are standing between me and someone who deserves punishment.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Isla glanced back at her sisters. Lavinia was shaking. Cecily was crying. Beatrice looked frightened but still stood protectively in front of the others.
“They are selfish,” Isla said. “They are foolish. They have been cruel. But they are my sisters.”
The beast said nothing.
Isla looked back at him. “And you are better than this.”
His eyes changed. The garden became quiet. For a moment, there was only rain falling softly over the roses. Then the beast looked away.
“Take them home,” he said.
Isla breathed again.
The beast lifted his injured hand. Blood dripped from his fingers onto the path. A gate appeared in the western wall, though Isla had never seen it before. Beyond it was a narrow path through the woods.
“This path will take you to Briar Hollow,” he said to the sisters. “Do not leave it. Do not turn back. Do not speak until you reach your house. If you come here again without permission, the garden will not spare you.”
Cecily nodded quickly. Beatrice helped Lavinia stand. Lavinia did not look at the beast now. She looked at the ground.
Before they left, Beatrice turned to Isla. “You are staying?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice’s face tightened. “After this?”
Isla looked at the beast’s bleeding hand. “Because of this.”
Beatrice seemed to understand more than Isla wanted her to. She said nothing more. The sisters left through the gate, and it closed behind them.
The garden was quiet again. The blackened stolen rose lay on the path between Isla and the beast. After a moment, the beast bent down and picked it up. It broke into ash in his hand.
“You should go after them,” he said.
“No.”
“They will tell your father.”
“I know.”
“They may tell the village.”
“I know.”
“If men come here with weapons, I will not welcome them politely.”
“I know.”
He turned away. “Then you know very little, because you are still standing here.”
Isla moved closer. “Your hand needs care.”
“It will heal.”
“It is bleeding.”
“I have bled before.”
“That does not make it unimportant.”
He looked at her sharply. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Then he walked toward the manor, and Isla followed.
Inside, the servants were waiting. No one asked questions. They brought warm water, cloth, and bandages. The beast stood near the fire while Isla cleaned his wounds. The cuts were deep, and some thorns had broken beneath the skin. He did not flinch as she removed them, but she saw the muscles in his arm tighten.
“You should sit,” she said.
“No.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Yes.”
“That was not praise.”
“I did not mistake it for praise.”
She almost smiled, but the feeling did not last. His blood darkened the water, and she wrapped his hand carefully, trying not to hurt him more than necessary.
“Why did you save her?” Isla asked.
The beast stared into the fire. “You already know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“No.”
“Please.”
His jaw tightened. At last he said, “Because if I had let the garden take her, you would have looked at me differently.”
Isla paused. “That is not true.”
He looked at her. “It is.”
She could not answer, because part of her feared he was right.
He gave a small, bitter smile. “There. Honesty at last.”
“I would have understood.”
“Understanding is not the same as forgiveness.”
She finished tying the bandage. “You still saved her.”
“For you,” he said.
The words were simple, but they made Isla’s chest ache. The beast seemed to regret saying them at once. He pulled his hand away and turned toward the window. Rain streaked the glass. Outside, the garden had gone dark.
“You should eat,” he said.
“I am not hungry.”
“Nor am I.”
“Then why mention food?”
“Because it is easier than discussing what happened.”
That made her laugh softly despite everything. The sound surprised him, and for a moment, the heavy anger in the room eased.
Then Isla said, “My sisters will not understand.”
“No.”
“Father will be afraid.”
“Yes.”
“The village may hear something.”
“Yes.”
“You do not sound concerned.”
“I am concerned.”
“You hide it well.”
“I have had practice.”
The quiet answer made her look at him differently. He noticed and looked away.
“Do not pity me,” he said.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“No. I am angry with you.”
That made him turn back. “Angry?”
“Yes. You frighten people. You refuse to explain things. You make rules and expect obedience. You act like every question is an attack.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“Not always.”
“No,” he said after a pause. “Not always.”
“And I am angry because every time I think I understand you, you prove I know almost nothing.”
His eyes stayed on her. “Good.”
“That is not good.”
“It is safer.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
Isla shook her head. “You keep saying that. You say nothing and call it protection.”
“It is protection.”
“No. It is control.”
The beast went still, and the room became colder. Isla knew she had touched something dangerous, but she did not step back.
“You brought me here by bargain,” she said. “You gave me rules. You locked doors. You hide your name, your past, and what the curse wants. Then you become angry when I try to understand the danger I am living inside.”
His voice dropped. “Careful.”
“No. I have been careful for eight nights. Tonight my sisters nearly died because they did not understand this place. I nearly lost them. You nearly lost control. So do not tell me silence is safety.”
He looked furious, but he did not shout. That was worse.
“You want truth?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Very well. Here is one truth. This house does not only remember pain. It uses it. If you learn too much too quickly, it will use your pity against you. It will show you my past. It will show you the man I was. It will make you believe that if you say the right word, touch the right object, or open the right door, you can save me.”
Isla’s breath caught. The dream. The name. The face of the prince.
He stepped closer. “And then it will take something from you.”
“What?”
“I do not know.”
She stared at him. “You do not know?”
“No.”
“That is why you hide everything?”
“That is why I hide what I can.”
For the first time that night, Isla understood his fear clearly. It was not only fear of being seen. It was fear of what seeing him might cost her.
Her anger softened, but it did not disappear. “You should have told me this before.”
“Yes,” he said.
The admission surprised her.
He looked tired now, more tired than angry. “I should have told you many things before. But I have lived alone with this curse for too long. I have forgotten how to warn someone without commanding them.”
The words were plain and honest. Isla looked down at his bandaged hand.
“You remembered tonight,” she said.
He gave a rough breath that might have been a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Tonight I nearly killed your sister.”
“But you did not.”
“Because you stood in front of me.”
“Then perhaps you should be grateful I am disobedient.”
He looked at her. Slowly, unwillingly, the corner of his mouth moved.
“Perhaps.”
Dinner was brought to the smaller library instead of the great hall. Neither of them ate much. The storm grew stronger outside, and rain struck the windows in hard bursts. The fire kept the room warm, but Isla could not stop thinking about the path home. Her sisters would arrive shaken, muddy, and frightened. Lavinia would make herself the victim. Cecily would cry. Beatrice would tell enough truth to make everything worse.
“What will I find when I return home?” Isla asked.
“Fear,” the beast said.
“That is not helpful.”
“It is likely.”
“Will my sisters be safe?”
“Yes. The path will take them home.”
“Will the woods harm them?”
“No.”
“Will the woods frighten them?”
“Yes.”
Isla gave him a look.
He lifted his cup with his uninjured hand. “You asked.”
Despite herself, she smiled, but the smile faded quickly. “She called you a monster.”
His face closed. “I have been called worse.”
“That does not mean it did not hurt.”
“It means I survived it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
He did not answer for a while. The fire cracked softly between them.
Then he said, “When she said it, I wanted to prove her right.”
Isla looked at him.
His voice remained calm, but his eyes were fixed on the fire. “That is the worst part. Not the word. The temptation. The curse makes anger easy. It makes punishment feel natural. It tells me fear is simpler than trust. Sometimes I believe it.”
“But not tonight,” Isla said.
“Almost tonight.”
“Almost is not the same as yes.”
“To you.”
“To me.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You are very determined to find good in dangerous places.”
“No,” Isla replied. “I am determined to see clearly.”
“And what do you see?”
The question was too direct. She could have avoided it, but she remembered him bleeding for Lavinia. She remembered him standing in the garden with thorns in his hand. She remembered him saying, For you.
“I see someone fighting himself,” she said.
His eyes darkened.
“And I see someone tired of fighting alone.”
He looked away. That was answer enough.
Later, he walked her to her chamber. The corridor was quiet. The servants had vanished. The storm outside made the windows tremble.
At her door, he stopped. “Do not dream tonight.”
Isla frowned. “Can I choose that?”
“No.”
“Then that is a useless instruction.”
“I know.”
Again, that almost-smile touched his mouth. Then it faded.
“If you do dream,” he said, “and if anything asks you to say the name, do not speak.”
“I will not.”
“No matter what face it wears.”
She understood. Even if it wore his former face. Even if it begged. Even if it sounded human.
“I promise,” she said.
His expression changed when she said that. He believed promises deeply, perhaps because broken ones had wounded him before.
“Good night, Isla.”
“Good night.”
She entered her room, and the door closed behind her. For a while, nothing happened. The fire burned low. The rain struck the glass. Isla changed out of the dark gown the house had given her and put on the plain nightdress laid across the bed. She was exhausted, but she feared sleep.
She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think clearly. This was the ninth night. At dawn, if she survived it, the beast would give her the ninth rose. Then six nights would remain before the bargain ended. The thought should have comforted her, but it did not.
When sleep finally came, the dream began at once.
She stood in the manor garden, but the garden was wrong. There were no birds, no fountain, and no stars. Every rose was closed. A tall mirror stood in the middle of the path. Its silver frame was old, and the glass was cracked down the centre.
Isla knew she should not go near it, but in the dream her feet moved by themselves.
In the mirror, she saw the beast. Not as he was now, but as the prince from her earlier dream. Fitzherbert. He stood on the other side of the glass, pale and desperate, one hand pressed against the crack.
“Isla,” he said.
Her heart twisted. He looked trapped.
“Help me,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “No.”
His face filled with pain. “Please.”
“You are not him.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“Say my name,” he whispered. “Say it, and I will be free.”
The garden around her began to whisper.
Say it. Save him. Say it. Save him.
Isla covered her ears. The prince in the mirror struck the glass with his palm.
“I am still inside him,” he said. “Do you not care?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I care,” she said. “That is why I will not do it.”
The face in the mirror changed. Only slightly. The eyes became darker. The mouth smiled.
“Clever girl,” the thing said.
Isla stepped back. The mirror cracked wider. A black hand pressed against the glass from inside. Then another. The thing wearing Fitzherbert’s face leaned close.
“He will fall,” it whispered. “The beast will win. And when he does, he will remember that you could have saved him.”
“No,” Isla said.
“Say the name.”
“No.”
The glass burst outward.
Isla woke with a gasp.
She was in her chamber. The fire was almost out, and the room was freezing. At the foot of her bed stood the same mirror from the dream. It was real. Tall, silver-framed, cracked down the centre.
For one moment, Isla could not move. Then a voice whispered from the glass.
“Say it.”
Isla grabbed the nearest object, a candlestick from the bedside table, and threw it at the mirror. The glass shattered. A scream tore through the room, sharp and terrible.
The door flew open. The beast entered before the broken glass had stopped falling. He saw the mirror, and his face changed at once.
“Did you speak?” he asked.
“No.”
He crossed the room, seized the broken frame, and threw it into the fire. The flames turned blue. Something inside the hearth screamed again, then vanished. The room warmed at once.
Isla sat shaking on the bed.
The beast turned to her. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the fire again. His injured hand had started bleeding through the bandage.
“You should not have had to face that alone,” he said.
“You came,” Isla replied.
“Too late.”
“But you came.”
He did not answer. The door remained open behind him, and the corridor outside was dark. No servants came. Perhaps they were afraid. Perhaps the house had kept them away.
The beast looked at the broken glass burning in the fire. “It will try again.”
“The mirror?”
“The curse.”
“What does it want?”
His jaw tightened. “My name spoken by someone who has seen me as I was.”
Isla understood then. Her dream had not been only a memory. It had been bait.
“If I say it, what happens?”
“I do not know.”
“Tell me what you fear.”
He looked at her. For once, he answered.
“I fear it will not free me,” he said. “I fear it will free the worst part of me.”
The room went silent. The fire returned to its normal colour.
Isla stood slowly. “You should change the bandage.”
“That is what concerns you?”
“Yes.”
“A cursed mirror tried to use my old face to trick you, and you are concerned about a bandage?”
“You are bleeding on the floor.”
He looked down. Blood had dripped onto the rug. For some reason, that made him give a tired, almost helpless laugh. It was not a happy sound, but it was real.
Isla fetched a clean cloth from the washstand and wrapped his hand again. This time, he let her do it without argument.
When she finished, he said, “You kept your promise.”
“So did you.”
“I made no promise tonight.”
“You told me not to speak. I did not. You told me the danger was real. It was. And you came when it mattered.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Sleep now.”
“I do not think I can.”
“I will stay outside the door.”
“You do not have to.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
This time, Isla did not argue. He left the room but did not go far. Through the half-open door, she could see his shadow in the corridor. Once, that would have frightened her. Now it helped her breathe.
She slept near dawn, and no dreams came.
When she woke, pale morning light filled the room. The chair near the door was empty, but she knew he had stayed there for hours. The air felt different. Safer. At breakfast, the beast was waiting. His hand was freshly bandaged, and his face looked tired. He stood by the window, looking out at the wet garden.
“Good morning,” Isla said.
He looked almost surprised by the ordinary words. “Good morning.”
They ate quietly. No mirror appeared. No whispers came. Outside, the white birds sat along the garden wall. One of them sang once.
Isla looked up. The beast heard it too. His face changed.
“What does that mean?” Isla asked.
He looked toward the bird. “It has not sung in years.”
The bird sang again, then went silent. Neither of them spoke for a while.
At ten, the beast brought the ninth rose himself. No servant carried it. No silver tray held it. He held it carefully in his uninjured hand. The rose was perfect, deep ruby red, fresh with rain, darker at the centre and bright at the edges. It was the most beautiful rose Isla had seen yet.
He stopped before her and held it out.
“Day nine is complete,” he said.
The words settled clearly between them. Isla had survived the ninth night at the manor. Nine nights had now been completed, and six nights remained before the bargain would end.
Isla reached for the rose. Their fingers touched. This time, neither of them moved away quickly. It was only a small touch, but it felt important.
The beast released the flower first. “You will return tonight.”
It sounded less like an order now and more like a fear.
“Yes,” Isla said. “I will.”
He looked at her carefully. “Your sisters may have told your father everything.”
“I know.”
“They may have told the village.”
“I know.”
“If men come here with fire or weapons, I cannot promise they will leave unharmed.”
“I will try to stop them.”
“You cannot stop everyone.”
“No,” she said. “But I can start with my own house.”
The beast nodded once. Isla turned to leave, but he spoke again.
“Isla.”
She looked back.
“If they ask what I am, what will you say?”
She held the ninth rose close. “I will say you are dangerous.”
His face gave nothing away.
Then she added, “And I will say you saved my sister.”
For a moment, he looked unable to answer. Then he turned his face toward the window.
“Go,” he said quietly. “Your father needs the rose.”
Isla left the manor with the ninth ruby rose held carefully in both hands. The garden gates opened for her, and the white birds watched her pass. Blackwood Ridge waited beyond the walls, dark and wet after the storm. As she walked back toward Briar Hollow, she was no longer afraid only of what waited at the manor. She was afraid of what waited at home, because her sisters had seen the beast, they had seen the garden, and they had seen that Isla no longer feared him the way she once had.
By the time the village appeared through the mist, Isla knew the secret was no longer only hers. The ninth night at the manor was over. Nine nights had now been completed, and six nights remained before the bargain would end.