hand I had touching the rose. I held back a gasp as she continued to speak, “Aren’t you going to pester me with questions? You seem to like doing that.”
I had a hundred questions to ask. I couldn’t figure out which to throw her way first, but at least the insufferable veil of silence had been lifted. I settled on the easiest one to ask.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was yours?” I asked, referring to the manuscript. It was obviously close to her—probably indicative of her own personal situation.
“You never asked,” she said, tossing me a wayward glance.
I groaned. The oldest, most evasive answer in the book.
“Fine,” I said, deciding not to push the matter. “Then tell me this. Why didn’t you tell me your name before?” I said, and before she could open her mouth, quickly added, “And don’t say it’s because I didn’t ask.”
She gave a tiny laugh, shaking her head, short wisps of hair dancing over her delicate features. For a moment, I was mesmerized by them, but I quickly shook it off and forced myself to pay attention. This could be my last chance to get any straightforward answers out of her.
“I didn’t think you cared,” she admitted softly. “I’m your captor, your warden. Does a prisoner truly care to know their imprisoner?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “At least… I do.”
She gave me another one of her sideways glances, letting it linger. I felt as if she were scrutinizing me. As if she were trying to figure me out.
“You’re an odd man,” she finally said after a moment of silent contemplation. I could hear her German accent a bit more distinctly in those words, and it enchanted me further.
“Says the wolf to the lion,” I retorted, trying to keep my cool.
She grinned, laughing softly. “To me, you’re more of a lamb.”
“Does that imply you’re going to eat me?”
“I haven’t decided on that yet,” she said, grinning at me. “You have no clue what I’m capable of.”
“Maybe,” I said, leaning toward her. She seemed shocked by this, her eyes widening slightly at my actions. “But I do know one thing about you.”
Her broadened stare narrowed at this, her interest piqued. “And that is?”
“Underneath all that fur, claws, growls, and anger… there’s a beautiful mind.”
She didn’t respond. She just stared at me, shock written all over her face. I took this as incentive to keep speaking.
“You make comments like you’re nothing more than a wild beast—the monster in every fairy tale. But you’re not, Karoline. You have a soul, a beautiful soul, and I know you do because I saw a piece of it in that manuscript, as well as in all these roses scattered about. Monsters don’t have souls, so there’s no way that you can be one. So stop with the act, because I’ve seen through it. You’re a person, not a beast. You might have the appearance of one, but I know that, deep in your heart, you aren’t.”
She sat in her chair, staring in stunned silence as I finished my speech. In honesty, I didn’t know where it came from. I just started speaking. Even I was slightly stunned by it, but I didn’t regret saying a single word.
“You…” She cleared her throat, an angry mask covering her true features. “You don’t mean that.”
I didn’t hesitate when I said, “I meant every word.”
She turned away, staring into the fire once more to digest my words, obviously not used to receiving such compliments. I turned to the fire as well, giving her the time she needed and to collect my own thoughts as well.
We sat like that, both of us staring into the lambent tongues of the fire, thinking. The flames felt warm against my skin, yet I couldn’t help but shiver as I thought of the changes that were happening. She was beginning to really open up to me, show me a bit of herself. It was almost as if I could see her as more of a friend than a captor.
What was it called again? Stockholm syndrome?
A large sigh left my lips, and it was
I had a hundred questions to ask. I couldn’t figure out which to throw her way first, but at least the insufferable veil of silence had been lifted. I settled on the easiest one to ask.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was yours?” I asked, referring to the manuscript. It was obviously close to her—probably indicative of her own personal situation.
“You never asked,” she said, tossing me a wayward glance.
I groaned. The oldest, most evasive answer in the book.
“Fine,” I said, deciding not to push the matter. “Then tell me this. Why didn’t you tell me your name before?” I said, and before she could open her mouth, quickly added, “And don’t say it’s because I didn’t ask.”
She gave a tiny laugh, shaking her head, short wisps of hair dancing over her delicate features. For a moment, I was mesmerized by them, but I quickly shook it off and forced myself to pay attention. This could be my last chance to get any straightforward answers out of her.
“I didn’t think you cared,” she admitted softly. “I’m your captor, your warden. Does a prisoner truly care to know their imprisoner?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “At least… I do.”
She gave me another one of her sideways glances, letting it linger. I felt as if she were scrutinizing me. As if she were trying to figure me out.
“You’re an odd man,” she finally said after a moment of silent contemplation. I could hear her German accent a bit more distinctly in those words, and it enchanted me further.
“Says the wolf to the lion,” I retorted, trying to keep my cool.
She grinned, laughing softly. “To me, you’re more of a lamb.”
“Does that imply you’re going to eat me?”
“I haven’t decided on that yet,” she said, grinning at me. “You have no clue what I’m capable of.”
“Maybe,” I said, leaning toward her. She seemed shocked by this, her eyes widening slightly at my actions. “But I do know one thing about you.”
Her broadened stare narrowed at this, her interest piqued. “And that is?”
“Underneath all that fur, claws, growls, and anger… there’s a beautiful mind.”
She didn’t respond. She just stared at me, shock written all over her face. I took this as incentive to keep speaking.
“You make comments like you’re nothing more than a wild beast—the monster in every fairy tale. But you’re not, Karoline. You have a soul, a beautiful soul, and I know you do because I saw a piece of it in that manuscript, as well as in all these roses scattered about. Monsters don’t have souls, so there’s no way that you can be one. So stop with the act, because I’ve seen through it. You’re a person, not a beast. You might have the appearance of one, but I know that, deep in your heart, you aren’t.”
She sat in her chair, staring in stunned silence as I finished my speech. In honesty, I didn’t know where it came from. I just started speaking. Even I was slightly stunned by it, but I didn’t regret saying a single word.
“You…” She cleared her throat, an angry mask covering her true features. “You don’t mean that.”
I didn’t hesitate when I said, “I meant every word.”
She turned away, staring into the fire once more to digest my words, obviously not used to receiving such compliments. I turned to the fire as well, giving her the time she needed and to collect my own thoughts as well.
We sat like that, both of us staring into the lambent tongues of the fire, thinking. The flames felt warm against my skin, yet I couldn’t help but shiver as I thought of the changes that were happening. She was beginning to really open up to me, show me a bit of herself. It was almost as if I could see her as more of a friend than a captor.
What was it called again? Stockholm syndrome?
A large sigh left my lips, and it was
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