Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Twenty-Five || To Prod a Beast

I STILLED.

Lothiere—of the burned towers, wedder of the wicked enchantress. The sound of it irked some distant memory—some fragmented tale I had once memorized and kept close to my heart. I flattened my palms against his chest.

He set his own hand upon mine. "Ismae," he murmured.

I only shook my head.

The sound of his exhale was harsh in my ears—a cruel reminder of the knives that have yet to serve their purpose. Gravely, he rose and turned from me. I lowered my head, indebted to whoever took it upon themselves to draw the drapery and blow the candles. The darkness masked every twitch and shiver of my hands as I fiddled with the embroidery laced into the duvets.

He paced the length of the fireplace, seemingly oblivious to the shattered bits of glass scattered across the floor. I leaned against the bedpost, allowing myself to take solace in the darkness as I listened to him pouring a glass—he lifted it in my direction. I declined his offer and instead busied myself with knotting my fingers together.

He, too, kept silent, as if waiting for me to speak.

His back remained turned to me, for his gaze was fixated upon the flame. I pressed my lips together, saying nothing as he drained his cup and went on to pour another. I did not stop him. I allowed him to drunken himself in hopes that his tongue would loosen. The urge to prompt him, to implore him so that he would speak, to tempt him—my fingers curled around fistfuls of fabric.

After long, my lips finally parted. I said, "Once upon a time, in a faraway land..."

I slid my legs to the edge of the mattress and stood, noting the tilt in his head. He was listening. "There was a young duke who resided in a heavily guarded castle, concealed by the thicket of wilderness. The duke," I stated, carefully, "was a man of tactics and power. Though young, he conquered more armies and lands than any warlord before him. His wealth exceeded that of kings and his landing was regarded highly by all. However, he had a great weakness..." I paused, drawing on the memory of the tale. It was faint, a small scrap I retained from sparse minutes spent beneath flickering candlelight. "He had no heir."

It irked me, the tale and its circumstances. It would be wise to tread carefully. "Not a single son or daughter to carry his name. And despite his riches and the vastness of his landing, he could not bring himself to coerce a woman into his arms. He was far too occupied with his armies to arrange a marriage with some woman. In response, Lady Laverianne, a witch known to carry malice and wickedness in her heart, offered her hand to the duke. Should he wed her, his rulership would flourish and he would produce an heir within a few years of their marriage. In exchange, Laverianne would be allowed access to his lands and armies do what she willed." I dared a step toward the man shadowed by the flames.

Perhaps the tale was not so much a piece of fiction. I suspected it held more truth—suspected fragments of it had once been woven into songs sung by minstrels.

"But the years went on and the witch never bore him a child. Their marriage remained loveless and cold—Laverianne knew that it was only a matter of time before he discovered that she was barren and incapable of producing an heir." I neared him, dread slickening my throat as I continued. "Fearing the loss of his lands and riches before she had finished her purpose with them, she arranged for her sister to take her place and bear the duke a child. Laverianne's sister was known for her fierce loyalty and sweetness. Those who knew her could not help but fall for her charm. The duke was no exception."

An arms breadth of air stood between us and yet, he kept his gaze upon the burning hearth. "Soon, the duke visited Laverianne's bedchambers less and less, instead directing his attentions to his new bride. Both his heart and mind were ensnared by her and Laverianne became little more than a forgotten memory. And once his new bride birthed him a son, he cared of very little else. He called for his armies, demanding they watch over the castle night and day." I pressed my lips together. "They say that Laverianne was not happy with his decision."