Awakening Beauty (2 page)

“Do you feel all right? You’re not going to pass out again, are you?” Joel Thorne pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. “I need to get you to a doctor, but we’re miles from the nearest village.”

Aurora met his concerned gaze and found enough strength to respond with dignity. “Sir, much of what you say confounds me, and yet I trust you mean me no harm. From whence do you come and what brings you to the kingdom of Schlaushagen?”

“I’m from Linderwylde, here on vacation. I was hiking in the mountains when I came across these ruins…I mean, this castle. I was curious, so I came inside to explore. Sorry to destroy your illusions, miss, but there really is no one else here besides us. Whatever people you might have been traveling with have apparently left you behind.”

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Something was amiss here and she needed to find out what. She started to rise from the floor, gritting her teeth at the aching in her joints. Her body felt as if she’d lain on the cold, hard floor for a hundred years.

The man called Thorne offered her his arm again and she gratefully took it, allowing him to draw her upright. Her legs trembled and she grimaced as her head spun again. “Please escort me downstairs. I wish to find my father and mother.”

“All right.” He stopped trying to convince her that the castle was empty and slipped a presumptuous hand around her waist to support her as he led her toward the stairs. Aurora leaned into him more than was proper, but excused her behavior due to her dizziness. She certainly wasn’t leaning because his strength reassured her or made her feel safe.

They walked close together down the very narrow spiral staircase. By halfway down, Thorne was nearly carrying her. With every step, Aurora felt a growing sense of trepidation. She feared what she would find, for the stranger’s words disturbed her despite her protestation of disbelief. She kept remembering the silvery light around the spinning wheel, her overwhelming compulsion to touch the spindle and her mother’s dire warnings throughout the years. Aurora had been forbidden to spin or even do needlepoint, bizarre prohibitions she’d never understood. But what if there’d been a reason behind her mother’s apparent madness, a prophecy her parents had been trying to avoid? And what if by that one touch of her finger to the spindle, Aurora had brought down calamity upon herself and her family, a curse from which they would never recover?

She clung to Joel Thorne’s hand and drew a deep breath as he pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Chapter Two

It was like walking through a nightmare. If it weren’t for the pain every time she moved, she would have been sure she was still asleep. Perhaps she was dead. The alternative was unthinkable.

There was dirt everywhere, crumbling stone lying in the passages, ivy blocking the windows of the deserted, moldering rooms, growing up
inside
the walls. Grass and weeds pushed through cracks in the stone floors. Bushes sprouted in unlikely places. There was even a tree in the throne room. The whole castle crawled with cobwebs, dust, mold, the stench of damp and disrepair and neglect. And silence. Utter silence that she could never remember in her life before, except for the sound of their echoing footsteps crunching through rubble and dust.

Somewhere, with the part of her brain that could still think, she was aware she clutched the stranger’s hand too tightly. But she couldn’t make herself let go. It was as if he was the only other person in the world.

Oh please, no, please…

“How long has the palace been abandoned?” she whispered, blurting the words before she realized she couldn’t bear the answer.

“More than decades,” Joel Thorne answered. “The condition this place is in, I’d say several centuries. Which is a shame, leaving a beautiful building like this to rot.”

“But that’s impossible! Where is my mother? My father? What happened to everyone?” She stared out of the open door into the courtyard, so hopelessly overgrown that she could barely even see the fountain.

With a sudden movement more of fear than anger, she slammed the door on the impossible, unendurable sight.

“I don’t know, Aurora,” Thorne said as she swung toward him, looking for answers. There was helpless pity in his voice, in the butterfly touch of his fingers on her cheek.

She gasped. “I won’t have it! I won’t! It’s impossible.” She ran her fingers up his arm and clutched. Beneath his clothing was hard, relentless muscle. “What day is it?”

He blinked. “Saturday.”

“More!”

“Saturday, the twenty-third of May.”

“In the year…?”

He swallowed, as if he knew she wouldn’t like the answer. She didn’t even like the question. As long as she didn’t know, she could pretend that everything was all right, that it was a trick, that she’d wandered into the wrong house and forgotten they’d shut this one up for whatever reason…

He told her.

The blood sang in her ears; dizziness rushed up from her toes in a low whoosh that might have been her own cry of fear and loss. And then, blessedly, the nightmare was shut out by blackness.

She could smell wood smoke, could hear the faint sounds of someone rustling in the room. So she wasn’t alone. Someone had lit a fire. This was better. Beneath her still-aching body was softness, and she was conscious of warmth and comfort. Oh yes, this was much better.

Taking a risk, she opened her eyes.

The nightmare hadn’t gone. Despair settled over her heart.

The vegetation across the window acted now as a curtain on the night. Lit candles were scattered about the room and the rubble had mostly been swept to one side. She was in the lesser drawing room. Beneath the high, carved stone fireplace mantel, Joel Thorne poked the flames on the hearth with a stick.

At least he hadn’t abandoned her.

She’d never met him in her life before she’d awakened the last time and yet he seemed like her only hope, the only reality left for her to cling to. The flames danced across his clean-shaven, handsome face, shadowing the hollows of his jaw. It was a strong, intelligent face and, despite his odd dress, he gave an impression of solid reliability.

Unless he was tricking her. Unless all this was some kind of elaborate hoax, though with what aim…

He glanced up, interrupting her wild speculation, and gave a quick smile. A good smile, lightening the natural solemnity of his expression and making him look both younger and more approachable.

“You’re awake again.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position. “How long this time?”

He shrugged. “Just a few minutes. Long enough for me to carry you in here, beat some cushions and lay you on them in my sleeping bag. I loosened your dress, by the way, because it looked so uncomfortable, but I promise I didn’t gape or grope.”

She frowned. “Gape or grope? What does that mean?”

“Never mind,” he said hastily.

As the rest of his speech sank in, she began to blush with understanding. She wasn’t used to being handled by menservants, only by women, so this seemed wrong. And yet, oddly exciting. Of course, she was emotionally confused right now.

“Thank you,” she said faintly, examining the strange quilted cocoon in which she was wrapped.

He walked toward her and crouched down among the dustier cushions beside her. “How do you feel?”

She swallowed. “Sore. Confused.” She closed her eyes on the upsurge of tears. “Desolate,” she whispered.

“Aurora.” Her name on his lips soothed, as did his hand when he laid it on hers, warm and comforting. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out. It’s dark now, so we’ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the village and we can find a doctor who can help you.”

She stared at him. “Will he give me back lost time? Will he give me my mother and father? My friends and my betrothed?”

There was a pause while he searched her eyes. He wasn’t remotely intimidated by her anger. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I hope he’ll give you something that helps.”

He took his hand away and she felt curiously forlorn. But he only reached across her for his backpack. Clearly he had no concept of maintaining a respectful distance, for the hair on his arm, at once crisp and soft, actually tickled her chin. Even more strangely, she didn’t mind. She liked the smell of him, warm, a little faint sweat from exercise, something both elusive and alluring that reminded her of spice and orchards in summer.

He heaved the bag over her and dumped it between his long legs while he rummaged inside. “Hungry?”

Bemused as much by watching him as by his strange, curt speech, she had to think before she answered. “Um—yes, I think so…”

“Good.” He brought out some odd, light containers, pulling the lids off each with a mocking flourish. “Help yourself.”

Aurora closed her mouth. “What is it?”

“Bread, local cheese, salami and ham, some salad. Fruit, chocolate.” Misunderstanding her hesitation, he added, “There’s enough for two.”

It wasn’t what she was used to. Frankly, it was peasants’ food, but she’d been brought up never to be rude to her inferiors, and so she thanked him politely and reached into one box to pick up some cheese. He cut off a hunk of bread from the loaf, using a knife that unfolded from a short, rounded silver stick and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said again.

He took out a couple of bottles, one the clear water bottle she’d drunk from already, and the other a dark green color. He glanced at her. “There’s water and beer. I’d advise the former until you’ve seen the doctor.”

“I’ve never drunk beer in my life. Don’t you have any wine?”

“No.” He didn’t have to sound so pleased about it.

Sniffing, she took the water bottle, remembering to thank him once again. Her stomach rumbled and, as she bit into the bread and cheese together, she realized how good peasants’ food really was.

“So, Aurora, what’s the rest of your name?” he asked, placing two slices of salami and tomato slices onto one piece of bread.

“Alexandra Maria Helena, daughter of King Hubert Wilhelm George and Queen Elizabeth Annaliese.”

“I meant your surname.”

She frowned. “Do you jest? We are the royal family. Our lineage stretches back to the beginning of time.”

“The royal family, eh?” His tone still suggested that he doubted her word. “Schlaushagen is ruled by a democratically elected government these days.”

“Oh.” Aurora was at a loss to imagine a time in which her country did not have a monarch. How had such a thing come to pass? “Lauchevitzerstein is our family name.”

“My last name is Thorne,” he said and a quick smile flashed across his mouth. “No string of names and definitely no noble lineage. You can just call me Joel.”

He took a bite of his bread and Aurora found herself watching with fascination as his strong white teeth tore free a large chunk, taking it efficiently into his mouth and chewing close-mouthed. At least he didn’t have a peasant’s table manners.

When he’d swallowed, he picked up the green beer bottle and took a hefty swig. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. It was my birthday when I…” She broke off, swamped once more by the memory of the glowing spinning wheel and the sharp, unexpected prick when she’d touched it.

“When you what?” he prompted.

“It was my birthday,” she repeated more slowly. “My parents had invited our friends, all the most powerful nobles from our country and from Karl’s, because our betrothal was to be announced. I was dressed for the ball, but the maids were so busy fussing over the correct jewelry for me I got bored, and wandered off.”

She stared in front of her, picked up the water bottle as if it held the secret of this mess. “I wanted to go to the south tower. I don’t know why. My parents had always forbidden it. But I’d snuck up there once before when I was a child, following one of the maids. It was full of sharp things, the things I was never allowed to go near—scissors and needles, pins, spinning wheels. So many that they positively
glittered
. That time the maid turned and saw me and quickly slammed and locked the door again.

“The night of the ball, I was drawn to return. I was nineteen and soon to be married. I didn’t want to be a child, so over-protected that I couldn’t even look at a pin! And so I went up there, even knowing the door would be locked. It always was.”

She looked at Joel, almost wondering at the effort of memory that seemed like yesterday and yet was hazy and confused. She couldn’t properly explain the compulsion that had drawn her to the tower. He gazed back steadily, waiting.

“It wasn’t. That’s the funny thing. The door wasn’t locked at all. When I pushed, it opened immediately and now all that was there was one solitary spinning wheel. It glittered too. In fact, it shone so brightly I just had to touch it, to find out what it felt like. So I walked over to it. Despite what my parents had always said ever since I could remember, I knew I was an adult now and nothing as trivial as a spinning wheel could possibly damage me. I reached out and touched the spindle.”

“Then what?” Joel prompted when she fell silent.

“I pricked my finger on it.” She lifted the finger, examining it. “Look.”

He leaned over, taking her hand, and gazed down at the healed scab on her right forefinger. He smiled and lifted the finger to his lips, kissing it lightly, briefly.

“You look, Aurora. That’s not a thousand-year-old scab. And I have to say, none of you looks a thousand years old. I think you fell up there and hurt your head. It’s quite a vivid story you’ve concocted for yourself, but with a doctor’s help, I’m sure your true memories will come back.”

Stricken, she stared at him. “But I want these ones. They’re all I have. Joel, I want my mother…”

Joel said something beneath his breath and put his arms around her, drawing her close into his arms. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “We’ll find everyone you’ve lost, everyone you need.”

Stunned by his familiarity, she held herself rigid, but then, suddenly terrified he would let her go, she relaxed into his solid comfort and let the tears come. Suddenly she didn’t care if he was a peasant or some strange lord from a future time that terrified her. She clutched his arms, his shoulders, as if they were her one salvation, buried her face in his chest and wept.