The Beast

by Lindsay Mead

  “What is holding you captive, Aleksander. Is it Fenrir himself? Is it something else?” Belle forced out, daring to broach the forbidden topic. “If you would just tell me, I might be able to do something.” Aleksander’s arm dropped and he turned away. Grasping the banister, he stared at the mountains’ reflection in the moonlight. She went on. “My father has a friend in America who specializes in unusual creatures. He might know a way to kill whatever it is that has you, or he might even know of a cure for your people. I can go to him—”

  “And what if this man cannot help?” The Prince asked softly.

  “Then I’ll keep looking,” Belle answered without hesitation. “I’ll go anywhere, do whatever I have to, to help you. However long it takes.”

  “You’d give your life to lift this curse then?” He still didn’t look at her, his voice calm, but guarded.

  “Of course.” She reached out, gently touching his arm.

  “No.” Aleksander’s voice tensed. His muscles clenched beneath her finger. “Too many have lost their lives to this curse. I won’t allow you to do the same.”

  Belle withdrew her hand, uncertain of the ire she felt building in him.

  “I’ve been such a fool.” Aleksander sighed, covering his face with his hand. “I’ve sought out your affections and allowed myself to believe there was hope…”

  She waited for him to finish, but whatever thought had been on his tongue had faded back into him. Belle searched for something to say, something to bring him back out of this spiral—a spiral she feared was pulling him away from her. “But what about the laws of fatum? It tells us—”

  “It tells us nothing,” he cut in angrily. Aleksander inhaled, calming himself. “Only by her own power can a fate be destroyed. There’s nothing there, Belle.”

  “But there might be. That’s why I want to seek help.” It felt like she was pleading for her life. Any wrong word could end it all. “Someone might see something in it that we don’t. I’m willing to find them.”

  “The problem is”—he looked at her, sadness pouring from his blue eyes—“I’m not willing to let you.”

  “What are you saying?” It was too late. Dread seeped through her skin, icing her blood. “I can help you. I can free you, I know it.”

  Aleksander shook his hanging head. “No, Belle. I cannot be saved. Not—” He looked over and faltered at the sight of her. “Oh my Belle, my beauty. Do not cry.”

  He gently pulled her into his arms and wiped away the tears with his gloved fingers. Belle hadn’t even known she was crying. His arms remained comfortingly around her, but the gentle words that followed were not what she wanted. “You can’t help me, Belle. I know that you’ve killed hundreds of terrifying monsters, but even your skills won’t help me.”

  “Please, Aleksander. Just let me try.” She touched his cheek.

  He pursed his lips and ran his hand up to the nape of her neck. “No. I need you to let this go.” He sighed. “And I need to let you go.”

  The words hit Belle like a dagger through the heart. Coldness bled from her veins and into her skin as he stepped away from her. A wall was building up between them. She could see it in the growing hardness of Aleksander’s face.

  “You will leave tomorrow.” He turned away. “You are no longer my prisoner, mademoiselle.”

  Belle sucked in air as more tears streamed down her cheeks, and this time she felt them; hot and painful. Blackness fell around her and the Prince faded away.

  “Wake up, mademoiselle.” Belle felt a thumping on her shoulder. “You’re having a nightmare.”

  Belle opened her eyes, but she didn’t move. All over she felt numb. As though her entire body refused to accept the Prince’s refusal. How had that happened? The night had been going so well, then suddenly it changed. A few more tears tumbled down her cheeks onto the already wet pillow.

  “What is it, Child?” Edvina asked as she tied back the bed’s draperies. When Belle didn’t acknowledge her, she paused in her duties and frowned. “Come now, have some breakfast. That’ll help you feel better.”

  Forcing Belle out of bed, she guided her over to the table of steaming food. But Belle had no appetite. She felt sick and it was more than an aching heart. Her body felt weak. Nausea rolled through her stomach. No, she didn’t want food. Not even the coffee tempted her.

  Edvina tried to coax Belle into admitting what bothered her, but Belle wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell Edvina. It was more as though she didn’t have any words. They weren’t buried or hiding, they were just gone.

  Then Edvina theorized that maybe Belle just needed a good bath to warm her bones. As Belle stared into the hearth’s fire, not really seeing the flames, Edvina hurried the servants. Soon she had enlisted twice as many as usual and the tub was filled and steaming, in record time. Belle sank into the hot water, not hearing Edvina’s reassurances that this would sooth what ailed her, and laid her head upon the rim.

  “Oh, dear.” Edvina’s voice barely broke through Belle’s haze. “Are you sure this is the right dress?”

  Blinking, Belle realized that time had been lost to her and her bathwater had gone cold. She looked over to see Edvina standing in the doorway, gazing down at the garment brought up by one of the assistant seamstresses.

  “Yes, madame,” came the reply. “The request was clear.”

  Even from across the room, Belle recognized her gown. The same blue dress she’d arrived in. Spasms rocked her chest. She covered her face with watery hands as the sobs took her. Edvina was at her side in the breath of a second, pushing back her hair and cooing softly.

  The words came back to Belle then. Like a tidal wave, they purged from her. Edvina was quiet as she listened.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she said sadly when Belle finished. “It appears that the Crowned Prince is even more stubborn than I knew. I wouldn’t have encouraged you toward him if I had thought it would end this way.”

  Belle knew this was true and held no ill will toward the woman. In fact, she was grateful for Edvina’s care toward her. Soon she was out of the tub, dried, in her own dress, and standing before the mirror with her hair styled. All the while, Edvina acted as her crutch, encouraging strength and wiping away the occasional tear.

  It was strange looking at herself this way. After so many days of expensive gowns and jewelry, her own clothing never looked so plain. Red eyes, with large circles beneath them, only added to the dreary image.

  “Beautiful.” Edvina patted Belle’s arm softly, giving her a smile in the mirror.

  There was a knock at the door and Edvina left Belle looking at her reflection to go answer it. There was some whispering, then Edvina stepped aside to let Laramie in. He met Belle’s eyes through the mirror. The gloominess in the downturn of his mouth and eyes told her that he already knew everything.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He shifted the items in his hands. “I have some things for you.”

  Intrigued, she came over. But her stomach clenched at the sight of her weapons.

  “I’ve been instructed to return your weapons to you.” He handed over her revolvers and throwing knives. She looked down at them, running her fingers over the star shooting across the barrel. Monsieur Petit smiled softly. “I’m sure that comforts you some. I know how anxious you were without them.” Belle gave him a halfhearted smile and Laramie went on. “His Royal Highness also requests that you mail these letters upon returning to Contefées.” She accepted the small bundle as he spoke. “They are letters to various heads of state, updating them on our situation. As well as one of a more personal nature to his sister, the Empress of France.”

  “Mademoiselle,” Laramie said, causing Belle to look up from the sealed letters. “I’d just like to say—”

  “Pardonnez-moi.” A young servant popped his head in. “Monsieur Petit, you’re needed. Lord and Lady Dahling are causing quite the ruckus.”

  “Not now,” he grumbled.

  “But monsieur, Lord Dahling h
as fashioned her Ladyship’s undergarments into flags, which now hang from their windows.”

  Laramie rolled his eyes, then gave Belle an apologetic look. “Your horse is being readied. Servants will be up for your things. Remain here and I will return to escort you.”

  Belle nodded, following him to the door. Laramie pounded down the hall, bickering to the servant. She glanced over, expecting there to be a guard about to shoo her back into the room. But there wasn’t. The two soldiers who’d been by her door every second of every day, since she’d arrived, were now gone. Apparently, Belle was no longer a threat.

  Of course, she wasn’t the threat. Not in this castle. No, in this castle the only threat was a monster—a thing that held the Prince captive and was so terrifying that an entire castle of soldiers were too afraid to confront it, or even talk about it. Belle wasn’t afraid though; she’d faced her own fair share of monsters. In fact, if this kingdom was too afraid to save itself, then she was just what they needed.

  “What are you doing, Dear?” Edvina asked, holding the letters that Belle had shoved in her hands. “Belle?”

  But Belle didn’t answer. She walked down the hall, strapping on her weapons and feeling more like the Hunter she was with each step. Her stride was determined. Nothing would stop her from entering the Royal Apartments. One way or another, before leaving this castle, Belle was going to face Aleksander’s captor.

  At the end of the hallway were two large doors, designed in such an immense way that they stood as the focal point of the hall. Belle crept across the royal carpet, passing by lesser doors. Her eyes were fixated on the closed entrance.

  Stay out of the West Wing, Laramie had said, and now the very air seemed to whisper it.

  She passed no servants and, surprisingly, there were no guards in this portion of the castle. The only sounds came from Belle’s soft footsteps and the wind as it rushed past the great windows.

  Sweeping beneath the gazes of stone Valkyries, Belle reached the ominous doors at the end of the hall. Hand held just inches above the gold handles, she looked back. No one came. Not even the statues watched her.

  Resolute, Belle pushed. The door swung open with a groan. She stepped in quickly and shut it behind her. It closed so loudly, despite her efforts, Belle was certain that it echoed all through the West Wing. She cringed and then looked at the room beyond, and gasped.

  It was a bedchamber, as she expected, an all too familiar bedchamber. Prince Aleksander’s quarters. Except unlike when he met Belle in her dreams, this room was not in perfect condition. Something terrible had happened here.

  There were no candles and the hearth was without a warming fire. The only light came from the balcony where the doors were left partially open. Swirls of snowflakes fluttered in. Belle’s visible breath added emphasis to the room’s cold temperature.

  Her gaze roamed over the bedchamber, shocked further at its state. Tables and chairs were overturned. Glass glittered on the floor. Books and all sorts of smallish bits had been strewn about. Whoever destroyed this room left nothing untouched.

  Then Belle saw the claw marks. They were large, bigger than she’d seen before. They tore through carpet, draperies, and wood. She walked about the room, looking for any hints of where Aleksander had been taken. The room, aside from the destruction, appeared to be mostly untouched. There were no signs that anyone came through here on a regular basis. Belle went to the fireplace.

  The mammoth structure was made of stone with carvings of the rose vines that Vakre Fjell was famous for. She crouched into its mouth and raked her hands through the ash. Her fingers came out black, but with no hint of recent warmth. Belle would wager that this room hadn’t been heated in a long time. It was very strange.

  The wind picked up and swept into the room. It sent chills over her skin and rustled the pages of the books lying discarded on the floor. Out of habit, Belle went to the balcony to close the doors. First checking the weather, she leaned just outside. The sky had been swallowed up by gray. Snow came down with the wind, soaring at unimaginable speeds. It was going to be quite the storm.

  Belle looked down at the stone balcony outside. Flourishing roses spread over the entrance and encircled the small wrapping balcony. They bloomed with glorious red heads, so soft that she wanted to rub them against her cheeks. Their vines were thick and flexible, and dotted with menacing looking thorns. She touched one gently with her fingers, marveling at its beauty. So lovely; thriving in a place as cold and forgotten as this room. It amazed her.

  Something scraped on the floor behind her. Belle turned, expecting to find Edvina or Laramie come to retrieve her, but that wasn’t who was there. Belle lunged back in fear, slamming into the balcony archway.

  A beast towered over her, only feet away. He was twice the size of any hellhound and he stood; not on four legs, like the others, but on two. His physique was more masculine and human in shape than it was wolf. There was no mistaking the claws at the end of each finger, the fangs barely contained in his muzzle, and the predatory eyes that glared at her now.

  This was no ordinary hellhound; this was something else entirely. Something new; something worse. As fear grappled her heart, he studied her—instead of attacking, as he should have, with primal instinct.

  Belle’s mind raced, grasping at the truth that had come rushing to her. Aleksander had lied. It was Fenrir holding him prisoner—no manner of speaking about it. The creature before her was exactly what she’d seen in that old book not long ago. Now she knew, and now she understood that she couldn’t fight it—not a god.

  Belle had to warn the Hunters. She had to tell them what was hiding in Castle Vakre Fjell. They had to prepare. With well-trained reflexes, Belle drew a revolver. Being only feet away, there was little need to aim. She pulled the trigger.

  The beast was fast, leaping to the side, and the bullet struck the wall. He faced her in a crouch and roared. Her instincts erupted, screaming for her to run. Belle rushed for the door, firing with each step. The beast disengaged and took cover.

  Grabbing the door handle, Belle ripped it open and dashed out. She held up her skirts and sprinted down the corridor. Only once did she spare a glance behind her. Fenrir wasn’t following. She turned down the hall, unable to get enough distance between her and that thing fast enough. Belle whisked past servants, not bothering to apologize for her rudeness.

  “There you are, mademoiselle!” Laramie called as he ascended up from one staircase below. “I was just looking for you. Madame Gulbrandsen said you had rushed off.” Belle reached the second-floor landing and turned onto the grand staircase, not missing a step. Laramie looked at her curiously as she neared. “What’s wrong, Belle?”

  “You know exactly what’s wrong, I’d imagine,” she said in a rush of breath.

  The color drained from his face, making him look pastier than usual. “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “All this time you could have said something. You could have warned me,” Belle spat as she stopped two steps up from him. “But you were too afraid and now the world might pay for it.”

  Belle shook her head in disgust. She knew her anger was misplaced. They had their reasons for keeping silent, even if it was just fear. But she couldn’t help thinking about what that might have cost everyone else.

  Laramie raised his eyebrows, parted his lips just a little, then saw her drawn revolver. His eyes widened and he stepped toward her. “What did you—”

  Belle lifted her gun, aiming between his eyes. “I cannot stay here a moment longer.”

  There was a heartbeat’s hesitation where neither was sure what the other was planning to do. Then they separated. Laramie hurriedly climbed the steps, rushing the way she’d come. Wasting no time, Belle ran for the castle’s entrance.

  No guards tried to stop her. But Liv was there, waiting outside. Charming was saddled, with the few of Belle’s things strapped to the back. A stable hand held him, talking casually with the Lady. Both had their backs to the wind and looked up at
the sound of her appearance.

  “So it’s true. You’re really leaving?” Liv asked, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, more for warmth than anger.

  “Yes.” Belle stepped around the woman and shoved her boot into the saddle stirrup.

  “You can’t mean to leave so quickly.” Liv watched her closely, displaying confusion across her face. “You haven’t said au revoir and there’s a storm coming.”

  “I’m sorry, Liv, but I cannot stay.” Belle launched herself into the saddle and took up the reins.

  She cued Charming into a gallop.

  “But you’ll die out there!” Liv shouted. “Wait, Belle!”

  Belle dropped her head as tears started to fall. She hated leaving Liv, knowing they’d become friends. She wasn’t the only one; Laramie, Edvina, Ms. Tops, and others. But how could they not have told her what—who—was in that castle? Henri had tried to warn her, tried to tell her that there was something truly evil there. Belle hadn’t listened. She let herself be swept up in the kindness, the grandeur, and the curiosity. It had distracted her.

  A loud roar echoed into the air. It was otherworldly. The sound curled with anger but drew out with a keening that seemed somehow sorrowful. It matched Belle’s pain in a rather profound way.

  Two guards yanked open the gate, as she raced toward them across the perilous bridge. Charming flew by them and into Vakre Fjell Forest. The road was gone, hidden by snow, and this time there were no hoof prints to lead her. Belle gave Charming his head, allowing him to take her home. Horses always knew the way home. It was instinct.

  The storm whistled through the trees and groaned overhead. Already the snow was coming down steadily. Belle leaned into Charming, trying to block some of the wind. Her ears and cheeks starting to burn from the cold, her fingers becoming numb. It wasn’t long before Castle Vakre Fjell was well out of sight and they were in the thick of the forest.

  Charming pushed onward, finding a steady pace to carry her home as quickly as possible. The storm was determined though. Soon the falling snow was thick, like a continuous surge of endless white. It became difficult to see. Trees appeared out of nowhere. Branches jumped out, trying to rip her from the saddle.