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She started on the eggs, smothered in creamy hollandaise sauce and paired with smoked salmon. Then she had lacy thin crepes with fresh lemon and powdered sugar. A tall glass of orange juice beaded on a tray, next to a pot of hot dark-brown liquid that Amelie had never seen before.
She poured herself a cup and sipped it curiously, finding the flavor strange and potent. It wasn’t sweet like she’d hoped, and it resembled mud. She put the cup down in distaste and poured a fragrant amber tea from the other pot to drink instead.
But as the meal went on, she found herself wanting the strange drink again. She took another sip, then a larger one, the flavor growing on her. Richer and fuller-bodied than tea, the drink also seemed to make her feel like she could run very fast and far. By the time she finished the cup she decided she liked it, and was glad she took the chance on something that, at first, she’d not found enticing.
After breakfast, Amelie put on one of her own rumpled dresses. As soon as she pulled it over her knees and stood straight, she was blasted with steam from all sides, out of nowhere. The sudden assault of the steam made her yelp with shock, although it did an undeniably good job of smoothing her dress.
The enchantments would take some getting used to. She was curious how they worked, and their origin. Did her thoughts conjure whatever she needed in the moment—meals, clothes, assistance? Or were the enchantments bending to the whims and wishes of the castle’s master, Davron?
Now that the wheels of Amelie’s curiosity had started turning, they would not stop. She decided she would explore the castle. Why not? If this was to be her home, she should know the place. She’d been given no other responsibilities or itinerary for the day. And Davron had not forbidden her from simply looking around.
At least, those would be her arguments, should she inadvertently go somewhere she oughtn’t. To be safe, she stowed her silver rose in the pocket of her dress. After shifting the baroque chair away from the door, she left her chambers.
The castle almost seemed to be holding its breath. No sounds penetrated the heavy stone walls from outside, nor was there any bustling in the corridors. Her suspicion that Davron lived alone—without even servants—was increasing. What need did he have for servants, when the enchantments provided everything he required? The only sound was the ubiquitous ticking of grandfather clocks.
The sconces directly outside her room were alight, as if waiting for her. Left and right, the hallways were dark. Which way should she go?
She went right, which was the opposite of the way back to the keep, hoping to go farther into the castle. The candles sped ahead, lighting a white marble staircase at the end of a corridor. A little bit excited now, she started to climb, the serene portraits hanging from the walls seeming to watch her.
The candles led her to a windowless, cramped tower in a southern wing of the castle, as dark as an underground bunker except for the sconces lighting her way. She only knew she’d reached the castle’s intended destination for her because the candles stopped moving. Instead, they glowed brightly on either side of a rickety wooden door with an iron ring handle.
Briefly, she paused, hearing Raphael’s voice in her head. He was always cautioning his siblings against being reckless, which wasn’t completely unwarranted. After all, Marcel’s misadventures with trespassing were the reason she was at Castle Grange in the first place.
But Raphael wasn’t here, was he? She didn’t need to listen to him. And she’d already been betrothed to a beast—how much worse could she be punished?
Having suitably justified her actions to herself, Amelie yanked the handle open and stepped into a cavernous dimly lit room. She stared around, awed. The room was full of mirrors of all shapes and sizes, and nothing else. They leaned against the walls, the mirrors stacked against each other. All of them, she realized as she stepped carefully over shards of glass, were smashed.
Her fractured reflection stared back at her as she considered what she’d found. Or rather, what the castle had shown her. Davron had done this, surely.
Her heart sank when she thought of the effort it must’ve taken, to rid the entire castle of anything that might have shown him his face. There were hundreds of mirrors—from framed mirrors large enough to fill an entire wall, to tiny personal mirrors that would fit in the palm of Amelie’s hand.
Had Davron not always looked the way he did now, for him to have once had mirrors? Or perhaps Castle Grange was not always his home, and he destroyed them when he moved in. Castles were usually passed down through the generations of noble families—perhaps he inherited it more recently. Although, plenty about Castle Grange was not usual, so Amelie was reluctant to assume anything.
Deep in thought, she backed quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her. She wandered the halls, peering up at the portraits with new interest, wishing they could speak and tell her everything she wanted to know. The candles on the walls didn’t seem to be leading her anywhere in particular now. They lit wherever she chose to walk.
Most doors were closed and she dared not open any, lest she stumble upon Davron. Just as she’d decided to return to the safety of her chambers, she saw one door sitting ajar. The heady mixture of herbal scents coming from the room drew her attention. Tentatively, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
What she found was an apothecary of incredible proportions.
“Gods,” she whispered, pulling the door mostly closed.
With great care, she walked through the aisles, her eyes wide.
Unlike the mirror graveyard, this room was well-maintained and dust-free, as if it was prized and used often. Tall wooden cabinets made a labyrinth, each shelf packed with glass vials and bottles. Every herb, plant, and flower Amelie had ever heard of seemed to be stocked, and many more she hadn’t.
She murmured the names as she traversed the aisles. “Vervain, wormwood, pennyroyal, rue.”
Scrolls of yellowed parchment were tucked into some of the shelves. Amelie unrolled one. It was a recipe for a cure for pigeon pox. The rest of the scrolls were similar, containing potion recipes and treatments for every imaginable malady.
All castles had such an apothecary, she supposed. Still, it was wonderful. She wished the healer in her village back home had stores a fraction as large.
Amelie was deep inside the maze of shelves, absorbed in the contents of a scroll, when the door creaked suddenly open. She froze, chastising herself for letting her curiosity run unchecked. How could she forget that she was in the home of a beast?
Her fear ballooned as footsteps entered the room and the door slammed closed.
CHAPTER 9
Amelie held her breath, listening.
