TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast

by K. M. Shea

  “You still are,” Elle said.

  Emele shook her head. Only you would think that. Before the curse I was aware of my social standing. I scorned Marc and the servants below me. I thought that I was better than them, and I mocked Marc behind his back for his looks and mannerisms.

  Emele looked up at the sky and deeply inhaled the cold air before she wrote again. And then we were cursed. I lost my beauty, the beaus who had been pursuing me all removed their suits, and my family disowned me. They first came to the palace to see if it was true. When they saw me…

  “But it wasn’t your fault,” Elle objected. “The curse fell on you because you were a member of Severin’s household, and he didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

  My parents feared what having a cursed daughter would do to their social standing. When they came we fought. My father moved to strike me and Marc—whom I had mocked and looked down upon—heard my parents’ yells and stepped in on my behalf.

  Elle adjusted her crutches. “That was honorable of him.”

  Emele soundlessly laughed as she tried to brush a frozen tear from her eyelashes. Honorable, kind, compassionate, and chivalrous of him. I was a selfish girl who had done nothing but mock him, and he saved me. The ladies maid hesitated for a moment. I know Marc would not be considered handsome by most, but it is his heart I fell in love with. Beauty fades, but the heart remains the same. And how many men would protect a girl who openly scorned them?

  Elle found that she couldn’t speak. The sadness and sweetness of Emele’s story had rendered her speechless.

  Physical desire is a lie, Emele continued. It is not a bad thing, but it blinds a person and makes them unable to see truth. Falling in love is a matter of the heart, not of the exterior.

  Elle nodded, and Emele waited a long time before writing, What kind of heart do you think His Highness has?

  Elle removed her gaze from Emele and stared out at the snow covered gardens. “I’m not sure.”

  Emele smiled and cast a longing glance at Marc.

  “Why don’t you greet him?” Elle suggested.

  Emele clutched her broom and slate close before she nodded and set off down the cleared walkway, heading for the burly gardener.

  Elle watched her go, observing the awkward pair interact with new eyes. After a few moments she shifted to look at the chateau. “What kind of heart does Severin have?” Elle wondered. “Before my fall I wouldn’t have hesitated to say cold and uncaring but…,” Elle trailed off as she thought of her new pony, of Severin housing and feeding her even though she was nothing more than a prowler. She remembered the way he allowed Heloise to think her affection for Jock was secret, his obvious sorrow that his servants were doomed to be cursed with him, and that throughout her entire stay he had never expected anything from her and had never touched her with anything but gentleness.

  “I don’t know,” Elle repeated.

  Everyone at Chanceux Chateau took it for granted that Elle and Severin spent time together, even Elle and Severin.

  It was no longer just dinner, but all hours of the day. If Elle wanted to escape Emele and the other giggling maids, or if Severin wanted to work without being forced to read sermons inscribed by his personal valet, the two could be found together.

  Amazingly, Elle was able to drag Severin from his study. Servants would find them in the library—Severin would be doing his work at a table while Elle triumphantly walked up and down aisle ways, crutch-less and looking for books—in different salons—Burke once found them playing cards in the recreation salon—the stables were a regular spot—Fidele and Rosemerry had to be brushed after all—and, of course, in the evenings the pair was almost guaranteed to be found in Severin’s study.

  They were not together for the day in its entirety. Rather, they spent a few hours together in the morning or early afternoon before eating together and sequestering themselves in the study when it grew late.

  A week after Elle’s originally scheduled—and canceled—departure, Severin and Elle spent the morning in the Gold salon, which was used as a music room.

  “I always thought the library was the most expensive feature of the chateau. I’m no longer sure,” Elle said, thoughtfully studying a huge harp that was almost as tall as her. Fanned around it—like an arrangement of gold haired children—was an assortment of smaller lap harps.

  “What makes you think that?” Severin asked, briefly looking up from the map he was poring over.

  “Books are expensive to be sure, but each instrument here cost a fortune,” Elle said, her gaze moving from the harp family to the violins displayed on the wall and the harpsichord—an instrument that had just been perfected by the neighboring country of Torrens not five years ago.

  “Do you play?” Severin asked, setting his map aside entirely.

  Elle barked a chord of laughter. “No.”

  “Then how do you know they are costly?”

  “By the ornate beauty of each instrument. The harp has real gold molding, and that is an original Mishael painting on the underside of the harpsichord top, or a very good replica. Additionally none of the instruments have been recently played. They haven’t been moved—you can tell by the imprints in the rug—and none of them have been altered or repaired.”

  Severin eyed Elle. “Considering you do not play you know much about instruments.”

  “I don’t, I just know building materials.”

  “And you are observant. I’m not sure I would have picked up on the rug imprints,” Severin said, narrowing his eyes.

  Elle kept her face bland. “Or I’m an indentured servant of the crown—a job which keeps one on ones toes.”

  To Elle’s relief the explanation seemed to satisfy Severin. “Probably,” he agreed before rising with a growl deep in his throat. He walked to the windows and folded his paws behind his back as he looked out at the snow blanketed land. “I am surprised the snow has not melted yet. Usually our first snow lasts only a few days, leaving a muddy mess to wade through until it freezes again.”

  Elle joined Severin at the window. “Do you have a sleigh?”

  “Yes, but it is for the draft horses,” Severin said, studying the bright snowfall. “I’m not certain a single draft horse could take you as far as the capital, and the only sleigh in the chateau that is built for a team is for farm use.”

  “I see,” Elle said.

  “But…with all the drifting it may be possible to forge through on horseback,” Severin said, tilting his head in a very cat-like gesture.

  “You think Rosemerry could carry me?” Elle asked.

  “Perhaps, if he was following another horse to break the path. But only if the snow is not heavy, wet, and deep,” Severin said. He hesitated. “Maybe we could ride out to the roads tomorrow and inspect their condition. Regardless of the snow depth, if Rosemerry only needs to carry you for less than an hour he will manage, and all the chateau inroads have been cleared.

  “Excellent,” Elle said. “A short ride will allow me to test my leg as well. And if the wind isn’t howling like a wolf and the sun is out I expect the weather would be almost pleasant.” Elle finished her sentence with a satisfied nod

  Severin bowed his head before turning his back to the window. “That is so,” he agreed. “I will alert the head groom and make the arrangements. You will tell Emele?”

  “Certainly,” Elle said. “Severin, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For going through this trouble on my behalf.”

  Severin shrugged. “I would not do it if I did not want to,” he said.

  Elle thoughtfully watched the cursed prince, wondering what he meant by that. Severin didn’t look up again and immersed himself in his work for the remainder of the morning.

  Chapter 11

  To Protect

  There was barely a breeze and the sun pierced the clouds when Severin and Elle met in the courtyard for their ride the following day.

  The horses were already saddled, Oliver held Fidele
while Severin waited in front of Rosemerry with folded arms and narrowed eyes.

  “Emele, it’s nothing but a short ride. I’m going to be fine, would you stop fussing?” Elle asked as the maid tried to tie a second scarf around Elle’s neck. “What’s wrong?” Elle asked Severin when she reached the prince and pony.

  Severin nodded at the chateau entrance. “We have an audience.”

  Elle turned to see servants oozing out of the front hall like a flock of birds. Those who couldn’t bear the cold were pressed against windows, their black masks stark against the illuminated glass.

  Elle turned back to Rosemerry. “It’s better to ignore them, else we’ll give them more fodder.”

  “Agreed. Sit lightly,” was again Severin’s only warning before he picked her up and placed her on the side saddle. He steadied her with his huge, clawed hands around her waist as Elle tried to maneuver her various skirts and cape so she sat properly.

  “Does Emele fear I plan to lead you into a blizzard?” Severin inquired when Elle finally pushed her legs into place.

  “I think she fears the cold in general. She has placed so many coverlets on my bed I accused her of trying to suffocate me in my sleep,” Elle said, fumbling to grasp the reins with her thickly gloved fingers.

  Severin chuffed before he nodded to Oliver and smoothly mounted Fidele. The large gelding tossed his head before leading the way out of the courtyard and down the shoveled driveway.

  Behind them the servants—unable to call out—clapped their hands or waved white, lace handkerchiefs in the crisp air.

  Neither Severin nor Elle acknowledged the send off as they rode on.

  It took nearly five minutes to reach the edge of Chanceux Chateau grounds. The front gates were open, fastened to the walls of a brick bridge that extended over a small river, but the road running outside the chateau was untouched by travelers and snow shovelers alike.

  “We will ride east, it’s the route we will take when you finally are able to return to the palace,” Severin said, gesturing up the road.

  “Very well,” Elle said.

  They settled into a brisk walk, Severin going first on Fidele to break the path for the smaller Rosemerry.

  The snow was not terribly deep in most places on the road. It had drifted horribly on the far side of the road, gathering in piles nearly as tall as Rosemerry in some spots, but as a result the opposite edge was scant inches deep.

  “It certainly is beautiful,” Elle said. Snow covered the trees and bushes in a white glaze, and the sunshine made it sparkle.

  Severin glanced at the iced branches overhead. “It can be,” he said.

  “You’re a gardener, how can you not enjoy the beauty of nature?”

  “I also happen to be a general, and snow is miserable weather to camp or move an army in.”

  Elle thoughtfully studied the snowy forest. “How far do the chateau lands extend?” Elle asked.

  “Quite far. Chanceux Chateau is the only household in these woods. The village is the closest settlement, but the woods extend for miles until reaching Lord de Bertainmont’s land.”

  “His land borders the capital’s district, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it is quite rural in these parts.”

  “Yes.”

  The pair was quiet for a time until Severin asked, “You find it forlorn?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The small population and lack of industry.”

  “Goodness, no. I have spent my life penned up in the city, I heartily approve of the extra elbow room. I am dreadfully jealous of my sisters and their rustic lifestyle in the country,” Elle said.

  “It is rare for a person to feel that way,” Severin said.

  “How do you find the country life to be?” Elle asked.

  Severin shifted in the saddle. “I do not know. I enjoy the chateau and the privacy it brings, but my work is greatly hindered by the isolation. If I could ride to the palace to straighten out army affairs rather than meet with my brother in the lodge I believe I would enjoy it more.”

  “Why do you meet at the lodge then?” Elle asked.

  Severin didn’t respond.

  Elle shrugged and returned her attention to the scenery. “What is that?” Elle asked, pointing to a depilated looking bridge that was covered in snow.

  “I believe that is the entrance to one of the chateau’s many hunting trails. As I do not share the passion for hunting that Lucien has, it has not been used in some time. It leads into a back path to the gardens, though.”

  “How useful,” Elle said as they forged on. “How long do you think we should press on?”

  “I’m not certain,” Severin said. “Unfortunately I do not think you will be able to trudge home in this, unless more of it melts. Rosemerry is not capable off—,” Severin silenced himself and halted Fidele, making the big gelding restlessly paw at the snow covered ground.

  “What is it?” Elle asked.

  Severin held up a hand and stared into the forest, his ears were rigid as he listened. He narrowed his eyes and placed a hand on his rapier—which Elle hadn’t thought much of him bringing until that moment.

  Elle uneasily shifted in the saddle, making her boot that she stored her small dagger in easier to reach. Rosemerry snorted, and Elle finally heard it. Cackling.

  The dark laughter echoed up and down the road as the sun disappeared behind a cloud and bare tree branches rattled overhead. Elle closed her eyes when the wind kicked up with a howl, pulling on her clothes and stinging her cheeks with its icy breath.

  When it finally subsided Elle opened her eyes.

  An old woman, a hag wrapped in cloth that looked like cobwebs, stood in their way not twenty feet up the road. Her face was lined with wrinkles—not the ones that expressed joy or laughter, but lines etched by the permanent grimace she wore. What few teeth she had were black, but most unsettling were her white eyes. They were the sickly color of curdled milk.

  Rosemerry snorted and danced backwards, making Elle cling to him.

  Severin unsheathed his rapier and the hag chuckled.

  “Unnecessary, boy. It’s not you I’m interested in,” she said, looking past Severin so her milky eyes rested on Elle. “Girl, pretty girl, won’t you come stay with granny?” she cooed in a thin, reedy voice before breaking into shrieking laughter.

  “I will pass, thank you. If you’ll excuse us,” Elle said.

  The hag leaned on a massive walking stick, squinting at Elle. “You have fire, yes. Your heart will surely last me a decade, maybe longer.”

  Elle started to turn Rosemerry around. She glanced at Severin, he nodded.

  When Elle clucked to Rosemerry, urging him away from the hag, wind blasted her and a skeletal tree cracked and fell in the path, making both Rosemerry and Fidele shy.

  “Ah-ah-ah. I did not say you could leave, dearie. It’s been too long since I’ve supped on a maiden’s heart,” the woman said, rubbing her gnarled hands together as she lurched closer.

  Severin was off Fidele in one smooth movement, standing between Elle and the crone with his rapier thrust at the old woman.

  “Not a step forward,” he growled.

  The crone snarled. “I have no need for men. Leave, boy.”

  “No,” Severin said.

  The hag stopped shuffling and regarded Severin. The white color of her eyes seemed to swirl as she studied him. “A fighter are you? Won’t do you any good. Stand aside or I’ll curse you.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” Severin said, crouching in what Elle recognized as a sword stance.

  The hag chuckled, making the hair on Elle’s arms prickle. “Heroics will only see you dead,” she said, her voice growing darker until she sounded like the rumbling growls of starved wolves. “Your curse is nothing but child’s play; I can forge something a thousand times worse. A century of being picked at by crows—they’ll start with your eyeballs of course—or how about being buried alive? Maybe I’ll imprison your
spirit and you can serve me for eternity, but that wouldn’t be as satisfying as baking you whole. Oh, I do so love to be gruesome.”

  “Severin,” Elle said.

  “Be still,” Severin ordered.

  “But in the end, maybe I’ll gut you and tan your hide. You would make a fine decoration,” the hag said, bobbing her skinny neck.

  When Severin took another step towards the crone she raised her staff. Again the wind buffeted Severin and Elle, pelting them with shards of ice. The horses screamed. The hag laughed.

  The crone hugged herself while Severin and Elle recovered. Her laugh broke into a shriek when Severin nailed her shoulder with a hand axe Elle hadn’t seen him unearth.

  The hag screamed like an animal and whirled her walking stick in the air. “You shall pay for that, beast!” she spat, her staff starting to glow the same curdled color as her eyes.

  Severin struck like a snake, stabbing his sword in the woman’s chest before ripping it upwards.

  The woman howled and her body erupted into ash colored snow, sickly swirling for a moment before the wind carried it away. Her howls echoed in the woods long after the fight was over.

  Rosemerry shook, and Fidele tossed his head after Severin sheathed his sword and mounted up.

  “What was that?” Elle asked, gripping her saddle for support.

  “A mountain hag, I think,” Severin said. “They are twisted, evil magical entities. They mostly live in Verglas, our northern neighbor, but sometimes they wander south to us in the winter months if they are desperate enough. They prey on young women, killing them and devouring their hearts. Typically one does not see them in Loire but on the darkest days of the year. I find it worrisome that one is already this far south when it is but the first snow of the season.”

  Elle shivered and felt for the shape of her dagger pressed into the side of her boot.

  “We should return to the chateau. I wouldn’t think more than one mountain hag would wander into this wood, but I don’t wish to chance it. This way,” Severin said, taking Fidele off the path.