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

Chapter Thirty-Four || To Return to a Beast

ICE HELD MY spine captive. This man—Dieu, I could not still the shuddering within my chest. Foolishly, I dared a step closer to the armed, old knight. "Yes..." My fingers sought the comfort of Maverick's coat and refused to part from it. "I...am."

I held my breath.

Softness graced his jagged gaze. And for a moment, I feared he would claim me as his child—not out of pride but of pity—and that he would consider me and treat me as his. I was certain that I could not bear that.

Be that as it may, I still eyed the old man carefully, waiting for some emotion to overcome me—some sign to declare the rightness of his being. But I sensed nothing...nothing as I noted the greying of his beard, nothing as lines creased his brows, nothing as I took yen another step closer to the man. It did not surprise me.

He drew near but made no move to touch me, only to examine. Naturally, I returned the courtesy. From what little glances I spared, I noticed that his hair clung together with the sweat and dirt of travel. His gaze was aged and weathered, not as if he were old or tired but as if he had seen too much—as if he longed to lay his eyes to rest.

"Is my dear daughter so hard-hearted that she cannot properly welcome her old man after so many years?" He smiled, as if he was not taken by surprise.

I stuck my hand out, with the intent to shake his—for the sake of politeness. But, when I did, he only laughed.

"You wound me, child," he mused, but nevertheless shook my hand. "But I understand that it is only natural for you to greet your father so formally."

My shoulders sagged. "I find it difficult to think of you in that manner, lord Ambroise." I winced at the stiffness in my voice. "Forgive me."

"There is not a fault for which you must be forgiven." He spoke with a softness that unnerved me. It felt...strange, especially in a man I could not recognize. "You had not the chance to be raised by me nor have you any memory of me—you were but an infant when I left you here."

When I failed to draw upon further words, he spoke in my stead.

"You know, Ismae, I pictured you to be soft-hearted and easily won over—taking after me." He paused a moment, as if contemplating some thought or other. "But it seems I am to be pleasantly surprised."

"Though you may have not raised me..." I lifted my gaze to his. "Is it not foolish for a knight to think his daughter uncalloused and eager to embrace any man whom she is led to think is her father?"

"Fair enough." The glint and smile in his eyes never wavered. "I am inclined to believe that I could speak to you for hours, child, and conclude with scarce answers. I am certain his lordship, your husband, can attest to that." Lordship—not a beast nor mad man but a lord. "If it will ease your mind..." He gestured to the letter in my hand. "Open it."

I did as he requested, briefly skimming through the first line. I recognized the writing as that of the previous letters I had received my father, and for a moment, I expected him to write something before me as to prove who he was.

"That letter should begin with something of..." He turned so that his back faced me. "My dearest child, my little Ismae...I write to you with the intention of notifying you of the dangers looming over you and your husband—or so, I do not quite recall exactly. I suspect this letter may never reach you, given that you are at his side, but I cannot help but—"

"You need not prove yourself," I whispered. "I do not doubt you as my father."

It was then that I allowed him to embrace me. When his arms first came around me, I was met with the sharp desire to shove him away. But that desire was quick to dissipate when he began to weep. And guilt flooded my soul.