I do, too, mon ange. Tapping his chest, he nodded his agreement, and then he pointed at her and then at himself.
“But you don’t mind if I talk to you, is that what you mean?”
He bobbed his head and mouthed, Oui, and then smiled, careful to keep most of his fangs covered. Wanting her to be comfortable, he rose and held out his hands to her, careful to keep his claws from scraping her skin when she readily gave them to him. He drew her up and walked her to a chair near the fire and seated her then retrieved a padded stool from nearby and seated himself.
A curious rawness ached within his chest at the thought this might be all they ever had together.
“This is going to be interesting,” she said with a wry smile. “Can you tell me how you came to be like—”
He held up a hand and shook his head. Only the enchantress can show you.
“Oh. Okay. I was in the dreamscape alone, late last night. I looked for you both, and you never came.”
Charmeur shrugged. That had been Bestiale’s idea, the arse. He put his palms together and then tilted his cheek onto them and closed his eyes.
“Ah, you wanted me to rest?” At his eye roll and silent snort, she chuckled. “I get it. Bestiale wanted me to rest and made you go along with it?”
He shrugged again, but this time he also grinned. Oui. I would’ve made sweet love to you in your dreams all night long, mon amour.
Her smile quirked up on one side as she eased her slippers off and tucked her feet underneath her skirts and said, “You were a player, weren’t you?” At his arched brow and confused expression, she chuckled. “I saw in the stained glass window in the library. You were a ladies’ man.”
Heat creeped into his cheeks, but he had the grace to chuckle silently and then shrug and lift his hands. He hadn’t understood at first, but a “player” must be what he had been, bedding wenches and breaking hearts in the castle and the court until he’d developed quite a reputation.
“I’ve visited the stained glass window every day, and lately it hasn’t shown me anything. I don’t understand why. Do you?”
He shook his head, trying to convey that he didn’t and also didn’t know why.
“What happened to the girl in the window? She was hurt. Is she—”
Concerned that it might frustrate her to the point of anger, Charmeur had no choice but to hold up his hand and shake his head. He was sure that topic wasn’t open for discussion in the eyes of the enchantress. She’d be livid if he tried to explain and possibly vengeful if Angel accepted their proposal if it meant Fleur could return to her original form. Angel and Fleur were obviously attached to each other, and the fae were known for their fits of pique.
“I was on my way to the library when Fleur suddenly veered up the staircase leading to this room. Do you and Bestiale sleep here?”
With wide eyes, he shook his head. Without you? Not likely!
She giggled and patted Fleur when she hopped into her lap.
He answered her questions with nods and the shaking of his head or with facial expressions that often amused her, for, at one point, she said, “Even though you can’t speak, you still shrug with a French accent.” He didn’t know what that meant so he quirked his lips and shrugged again, sending her into a fit of laughter.
Eventually she rose from the chair and slipped her shoes back on. “I know you have other things you must do, and I’d like to visit the library. Maybe the stained glass will show me something today.”
He put his palms together, hoping the enchantress wouldn’t be offended if he agreed with Angel and prayed that she would learn something new today. Maybe she would share it with them that night at the evening meal.
He bowed and held out a hand to escort her from the suite and down the stairs. Before parting in the corridor outside the library, he bowed over her hand, and instead of kissing her knuckles, he gently turned her hand and kissed her palm while murmuring a silent entreaty to the enchantress to help them.
Her fingers wrapped gently around his cheek, and she said, “It’s a confusing thing, Charmeur. I want to see my friends and my uncle. I miss them and know they must be worried, but…I want…I want other things, too.”
He rose to his full height, glad to see she smiled up at him, not a shred of intimidation in her gaze because he towered over her so. Then we will find a way, mon ange. He watched as she went into the library, followed by Fleur, whose steps seemed to have gotten a little more jaunty after listening in to their exchanges.
He turned to go in search of Bestiale, having a feeling he’d find him in the glass house. He was now on board with Bestiale’s wishes, but this time it was because he’d felt the shift, heard the longing in her voice. Even without the heat of passion, she still desired the bond, the love, with them. Something in his chest stirred, easing the raw ache from earlier, a feeling deep in his gut that speeded his steps.
* * * *
Angel sat in her favorite chair, hoping the window might give her some answers today. She smoothed the luxurious green velvet over her lap.
Though she sometimes missed the more scanty dresses of the first days with her beasts, she marveled at how easily she’d gotten used to the sumptuous clothing.
Her job as a paralegal, in what she now referred to as her “old world,” required her to wear skirts and dresses, with panty hose, and high heels.
The superior design and craftsmanship of the dresses meant she didn’t have to be laced into stiff undergarments first. She didn’t miss the pinch of underwire bras or wrestling herself into Spanx and pantyhose…though she wondered what had become of that teaser G-string she’d worn her second night in the castle.
Fleur took the patting of her lap as an invitation—which it was—and they both looked up at the stained glass window. She quieted her thoughts, and a thrill of anticipation zipped up her spine as the intricate structure of the window panels began to flicker and reform. Fleur settled in her lap, her attention solely on the scene taking shape.
In the uppermost panel, chaos reigned in the audience chamber. The king shouted in horror and fury, calling for his guards. The queen wailed as she gathered her pale and unconscious daughter to her and cried out for mercy to the gods while the red stain on the front of the princess’s dress grew larger.
The crown prince, incensed and overcome with guilt, lashed out at the gardener with deadly intent. His hands wrapped around the gardener’s throat, intending to crush the life from the man who had killed his sister.
The gardener didn’t fight back, even as his frail mother screamed and wailed, begging for mercy from the prince. His own sweet half-sister had innocently tried to help him, and he believed he deserved no less. He waited for a different kind of deliverance from this tragedy—that of oblivion—as his brother’s grasp around his throat tightened.
Just as his spotty vision began to fade, a bright glow filled the audience chamber.
A fae enchantress threw off her disguise as a lady of the court. With light streaming from the crystal coronet hovering on her brow like stars, she emitted such a loud cry that it shook the foundations of the entire castle.
Fae were known for their quick tempers, and the assemblage froze in mortal fear as a shimmering iridescent staff appeared in her outstretched hand. The last thing any of the courtiers wanted was to draw her attention in a moment of such ire. There was no telling what she might do to them.
Her voice rang out as she pointed her staff at the king and queen, who were kneeling and hovering over their dying daughter, declaring them at fault for the tragedy.
Proud and arrogant to the last, they denied any responsibility, which only angered the enchantress further. She whispered words of magic, and as everyone watched, the pair faded from view as if made of smoke.
A second later, they reappeared as statues in the center of the garden maze near the treed avenue leading to the castle. In disgust, the fae flicked a hand, and thorny vines wrapped around them, obscuring them from her sight.
Fearing his parents were dead, the prince released his hold on his brother’s throat, horrified by his actions. He bowed before the enchantress, ready to take his punishment for his part in the death of his beloved sister and pleaded mercy for the harsh punishment of his parents.
She ignored him for the moment, as well as the gardener, who was gasping and coughing as he lay on the floor beside him.
The fae cast her gaze over the cringing courtiers, her disdain clear in her frown and the vengeful glitter in her eyes. Because the courtiers and guests had urged the prince on in his savage play, and shown no compassion for the aging mother of the gardener, the fae swiped her staff over their heads and cast them into statues lining the treed avenue leading into the garden. Still aware of the passage of time but unaware and blind. Truly fae were vengeful.
The enchantress, now calmed slightly, turned her attention to the gardener’s mother at her feet. She’d knelt on arthritic knees in fear before the enchantress and was unable to rise on her own. The enchantress helped her to rise and soothed her, her angry visage returning to its former placid loveliness.
She laid a hand upon the aged woman’s shoulder, and light glowed where she touched her, healing her arthritis and her other infirmities, and then she whispered in the elderly woman’s ear. The woman turned to her son, seeming content that he lived and breathed, and then looked back at the enchantress and nodded.
On a swirl of red rose petals, the gardener’s mother slowly changed from her present form into a lovely rose bush, full to bursting of red blooms, before disappearing into a mist, only to reappear in the haven of the depths of the glass house beyond the avenue of statues.
The servants clustered together in terror, fearing they were cursed, as well, until the enchantress spoke, proclaiming they would continue in their duties. Only from now on, in their new forms, they were to help their masters overcome their curse.
The servants shimmered briefly and then disappeared, their corporeal forms trapped within the tools of their trade, leaving the fae alone with the three of them.
The enchantress rounded on the prince, harshly reminding him that she had warned him about his lustful ways and that she wouldn’t have him creating bastards that he would never claim, like his father had done to his brother.
She touched the prince with the tip of her staff, and he suddenly lifted his hands to his throat, his face turning red and then going pale as he cried out but no sound came forth. He tried again to no avail.
She laughed and told him he spoke too often without thinking and frequently irritated her with his flirting. She thought he was over-confident in his outward beauty and flicked a finger at him, transforming him into a huge horrible creature with claws and the fangs of a predator and the face of a beast. He looked upon his clawed fingers and furry hands and screamed in silent horror.
The enchantress turned on the gardener, and he kneeled numbly before her, waiting to die. The tip of her staff touched his throat, and she said he would be his brother’s voice until his brother was no longer a beast on the inside.
He didn’t care that he felt the horrific transformation taking place within him as he gazed upon at his half-sister’s limp body. A gathering pool of blood stained the platinum blonde of her hair beneath her.
With a hint of compassion flickering in her eyes, the fae told him that his mother could hear him if he talked to her in the glass house and to not remove her from that safe enclosure or she might die. He understood moments later when snow began to fall outside the leaded glass windows, obliterating the gardens, the avenue of statues, the green grass, and the glass house beyond.
Rising, she curled her lip at the beastly prince and then looked back at the gardener. She told them only love could break the curse.
And if the enchantress ever blessed them with the opportunity to win a woman’s heart, they would be compelled to propose to her each night, knowing she would be horrified at the sight of them and most likely reject them, but propose they must. Until then, they were trapped in perpetual winter with only each other for company.
Furthermore, the gardener was the only one with a voice, and a wounded one at that, to speak on their behalf. Every time the gardener spoke, the prince would be reminded of what he’d done. The only way they could communicate was within a magical link she forged between their minds.
Finally, the enchantress turned her attention to the princess lying pale and lifeless on the floor. She sank to the floor and gathered her in her arms and crooned to her, calling her a precious poppet.
With one hand she removed the jeweled choker adorning her throat and laid it against the princess’s pale neck. Taking on a life of its own, the choker wrapped itself around the princess’s throat, and immediately pinkness and health returned to her cheeks. She startled and coughed then looked up in amazement at the enchantress.
With a wide smile and typical boldness, she reached up and caressed the enchantress’s cheek and pronounced her the loveliest thing the princess had ever seen.
Pleased at the princess’s remark, the enchantress giggled and then whispered in her ear. The princess blinked up at her as if struggling to understand and then nodded.
In that moment, she transformed from a teenaged girl, all long legs and arms and long pale hair into a large cat with pristine white fur, and around her neck rested the jeweled choker, now sized to fit her smaller form.
The enchantress turned to the beasts and said that, to motivate them, their sister would be trapped with them until such time as they could overcome their beastly natures and learn to love each other. When the time was right, they would meet the woman who could save them from the curse, if the fae saw fit. If they revealed the nature of the curse to the woman they loved, they would all be cursed to remain as they were for eternity.
They lived in perpetual winter for many long, cold years as the enchantress had decreed. After a time, they began to fear she’d forgotten them.
The panels in the stained glass window slowly began to reorganize themselves into the original rose garden images, and Angel looked down, realizing she was stroking the cat from the story that had just been revealed.
Fleur purred, and Angel said, “Well, duh. So what did the enchantress whisper in your ear?”
Fleur purred as she stood and placed her paws on Angel’s chest and rubbed her chin against Angel’s jaw, her affection clear in her movements. Adopting a sitting position, she hissed softly and held up both paws, with claws extended. She growled low and scrunched up her whiskers, as if trying to show a ferocious expression. Next, she flopped onto her back, exposing her soft white underbelly with paws and hind legs relaxed, and purred.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at kitty charades.” Angel laughed as she scratched under Fleur’s chin gently. “So what you’re telling me is that…” Fleur looked at her with an expression that was both expectant and cautious, as odd as that seemed, and Angel paused.
The enchantress. They couldn’t reveal the curse to Angel because of the possibility of retribution. Well, heck. “Okay, so…what you’re trying to say is that, although Bestiale and Charmeur may look like big scary beasts, and sometimes act like big scary beasts, they are actually great big pussy cats?”
Fleur scrambled to sit in her lap again. “Purr-kit!” Then she looked around as if making sure she wasn’t in trouble.
When nothing happened, no fae enchantresses appeared, no bright lights flashed, and the cat didn’t turn into a statue, Angel rose to her feet and set Fleur on hers. “This enchantress person can do pretty much anything, right?” Fleur looked up at her with wide eyes and then flicked her long tail side to side like a flag. Her little whisker eyebrows rose a fraction as if to imply, “Duh?”
“Smarty-pants. Will you take me to them?”
Fleur was off like a shot, and Angel had to run to keep up. Could she dare to make the bargain she contemplated? Or did she risk losing everything if the enchantress was displeased? Evidently one could never tell with a fae. Who knew?
Bestiale had only just caught his breath from running up the stairs with Charmeur when they looked in the mirror, thought of her, for she was their greatest desire, and saw her and Fleur coming up just moments behind them. She had a determined look in her eyes.
There was not even time to think it through.
Enchantress, be merciful.
Oui, Charmeur whispered in agreement through their connection.
She saw, she saw, she saw, Fleur chanted breathlessly through their link as she ran in just ahead of Angel. Do something!
Bestiale opened his mouth, about to cut her off before she could say anything, but Angel rushed ahead. “If you will let me return to my world, to check on my uncle and my friends, Caresse and Elaina, I would be willing—” She suddenly stopped, and a sadness creeped into her eyes, and she hesitated to say more.
“Do not say it, mon ange. It would not help us. You know now. You know the truth, yes?” At her nod, he continued. “Do not say the words out of pity.”
“I do not pity you, Bestiale.”
Standing on her other side now, Charmeur folded her hands together and placed them over his heart. Even though he couldn’t speak the words he was practically shouting in his head, he did his best to communicate them to her.
His blue eyes seemed to glow as he gazed her. He caressed her cheekbone with the back of one furred finger. She cupped his cheek, sniffling in empathy when she saw that tears shimmered in Charmeur’s eyes. He lowered his gaze and tipped his forehead down to hers, and a small sob escaped from her throat.
After a few more seconds in silent communion, Charmeur stood straight as if collecting himself. He glanced up at Bestiale. Translate for me?
At Bestiale’s nod, Charmeur continued, and he translated. “If you’ve seen the rest of the story in the stained glass window, then you know this”—Charmeur gestured toward his face and at Bestiale and Fleur and to the castle surrounding them—“all of this is my fault.”
Beasts in Winter Page 12
