Beast of Rosemead: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 4)

by Lucy Tempest

  Of all the ways I’d imagined a handsome hero would propose to me, this certainly wasn’t one of them. What did one say to something this blunt, this abrupt and unromantic?

  “But we just met!” I finally stuttered. “You don’t know anything about me, or I you.”

  He waved off that concern. “I am a minor lord, a hunter, from a good family with reasonable wealth, and am prepared to care for you forever, for very little in return. What more do you need to know?”

  When he put it that way, it seemed so reasonable, so—pragmatic. I wiped the tears that clung to my lashes as I mumbled, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “So you’ll marry me?”

  I shook my head, feeling as if I was sinking in quicksand. “I—I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’ve known you for barely a couple of hours. I just lost m-my father…”

  “Well, I don’t mean right this second.” He chuckled, tapping my cheek lightly as he straightened up. “Before you become my lady, you’ll first need to be shown the ropes of running the woman’s side of things around my estate. I’ll send you to my aunts and cousins a town away, where they’ll polish you up, and get everything ready for our marriage.” He faced the window beside us, glaring into the distance, drawing out and re-sheathing his cutlass by his hip. “In the meantime, I’ll avenge both our fathers.”

  It was only then that I noticed it. High in the deep distance, beyond the town spreading below us, above the treetops surrounding its craggy hill was a massive, bleak castle. That was where they’d taken my father. Where the Beast had received him as a sacrifice.

  I swallowed the jagged lump in my throat. “Do you…do you think there’s a chance he’s still alive?”

  Castor worked his jaw, still focused on the view. “He might be. The air here is quiet. I would have heard him scream if it already ate him. Unless it bit out his throat first.”

  A sob strangled me, a terrible mixture of horror or hope.

  My father could still be alive. I had to know if he was.

  “If there’s any chance we could save him, we must—please,” I begged, spastically gripping Castor’s arm.

  He covered my hand with his. “I told you, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

  “What does that have to do with saving my father?”

  Castor blinked at me as if he couldn’t fathom what I meant. “You won’t need him, or your cousin, if you have me.”

  All weepy drowsiness evaporated in a flare of affront. I pulled my hand from underneath his, stumbling out of his reach. “I don’t want him back because he provides for me, Castor.” He just frowned at me, as if my reaction bothered him, or as if he feared I was crazy. I tried again, “I want him back because he is my father, my family, and I love him. He’s a wonderful man that everyone loves and the last person who deserves an ending like this.”

  His frown deepened. “I get that, but you have to understand that he’s lost and move on. And I just said we’d have a new family—”

  “Do you think this means I should forget about my old one? That’s not how family works. And then relationships don’t magically form because you say they will.”

  Still looking confused, he stepped around me, heading towards the sitting room door. “You’re being very odd, but perhaps it’s grief. You will be more amenable after you have a chance to come to terms with it, I’m sure. So eat up and sleep some more.”

  Though it did nothing to slow him down, I latched onto his arm, staggering in his wake. “You can’t tell me you didn’t love your father when you want to avenge his death this badly.”

  “Of course, I did! But to me it isn’t about love but honor.” He scowled down at me as he dragged me behind him. “The Woodbine men have been great hunters for generations, and for my father to be struck down so easily is an affront to our family name. To be killed by your own prey is the greatest dishonor, and by killing that creature and hanging its head with my ancestors’ trophies, I will restore my pride, as well as my father’s.”

  He stopped at the threshold of the unsightly trophy room, with the massive antlers of the largest moose in my direct view. They reminded me of the unsightly statue of the Horned God at the end of my town, where it sat guarding the Hornswoods. It supposedly made sure no one went in and nothing came out. Ada had always had an irrational fear of it, calling it “nightmarish.” She’d once said it looked as if it might spring to life and chase her down. I’d laughed her fear away that day. I’d always believed such things only happened in my fiction books and the town’s folktales. I’d heard of fairies, gods, witches and monsters all my life, but I’d never seen any proof of their existence.

  But not only did these things exist, now Ada and my father were each the victim of such a supernatural being.

  To cling to what I could of my wits, I had to convince myself that Ada was in a far less dire situation than my father. She was so resourceful that I had to believe she could handle herself until we found her. But first “we” needed to survive then get out of here to go after her. And to do that, I needed Castor, and he was proving too dismissive and single-minded.

  No, not single-minded. Stubborn. Stupid.

  He had a premade plan, and nothing would dissuade him from it, no new developments would make him consider adjusting it. Though he’d already decided he’d attack the Beast, he wouldn’t do it now to save my father, having already given up on him.

  It seemed behind that beautiful face was the simplistic drive of a woodpecker. And I had a feeling it would one day lead him to blindly peck a beehive, unleashing a swarm of disasters.

  Apart from the terrible circumstances of our arrival here, this was yet another distressing disillusion. A sad departure from my stories, where along with good looks and a fortune, the hero was also in possession of a great mind and character, either on par with the heroine, or above her in life experience and hard-won wisdom. In all my readings and daydreaming, the hero was always able to eloquently debate with the heroine, to empathize with or at least understand her situation or dilemma and help elevate her from them.

  Castor had all the attributes of every classical hero, and he seemed to have the required instant interest in me, to the point that he wanted to make me his Lady Woodbine. But he couldn’t, or worse, wouldn’t listen to my concerns, or understand that what he offered wasn’t what I needed right now, or even what I wanted in life.

  But I’d never done anything on my own. Without my father and Ada, I was totally helpless. I needed his help, had to convince him to offer it. But to do that, I had to try a different approach with him. I hated to be manipulative, but I had no other option. I had to play on his pride, inflame it even more so he would do what I needed him to.

  I caught him back again. “Why wait? You can restore your and your father’s pride now! We can go up there, so I can save my father while you kill the Beast! You’ll be the hero who slayed the monster who’s been terrorizing your land and returned triumphant. You’ll be the toast of the town, and there will be renderings of your victory all over your kingdom.” He stared at me over his shoulder, unmoving and unmoved, and I rushed to add, tongue so rough with the lie I was about to utter, I felt it could sharpen his blades. “Everyone will admire you even more for saving your—your future father-in-law!”

  He continued to watch me, but he finally seemed to be mulling my suggestion over. Then he finally exhaled. “You’re right, that would be especially heroic. And I suppose I do need your father’s blessing. He would be a fool to refuse me, though.”

  “Yes, he would be!” I was so frantically relieved he’d relented I would have agreed to anything he said. I turned on my heel, pulling at his arm. “Now, let’s go!”

  He peeled my fingers off his sleeve and clasped my hand between his, chuckling amusedly. “Don’t be silly. I can’t go now. I won’t.”

  I gaped up at him. I hadn’t swayed him at all?

  I would have stomped my foot in frustration if I didn’t fear I’d crumple to
the floor. I still nearly yelled, “Why not?”

  “I’ll go at night, when it can’t see me coming.”

  “By then it could be too late. We have to go now!”

  “It’s adorable that you think you could join me, but you’re not going anywhere.” He smiled down indulgently as he steered me back towards the dining room. “You stay here, explore the house, try on the clothes, wash the dishes or pick apples from the backyard. You know, things you can handle.”

  “What makes you think I can’t handle going with you?” I didn’t know if I could, but why would he assume it so readily?

  His sigh was longsuffering as if he had better things to do than explain anything to me. “It is going to be dangerous, and I guarantee it will get ugly and gory and you’d faint at the least opportune moment and put my hunt at risk. Someone as sweet and delicate as you has no business being near such a situation. And as we said yesterday, when girls behave like men, it ends in the worst kind of outcomes.”

  “How is attempting to free my father behaving like men? Will it make me shoot up twelve inches and grow a beard? And then my cousin is a girl and she did everything you and your friends can do. She lived and traveled alone, worked in many establishments, climbed walls, helped around my father’s forge, and was tougher than most men in our town.”

  “And she, like Will’s sister, got snatched up by fairies. Don’t be stupid enough to do the same, or end up lost like both.” His rising anger ended in a shout that filled the entryway, its echo buzzing in my bones. “Girls who stay put, stay where their husbands and brothers can defend them, live longer, safer lives. Now, do as I say and finish your breakfast.”

  I twisted in his grip, irritated enough to be confrontational. “It’s not like I’ll be doing the hunting. I’ll leave that to you.”

  My exasperation became reflected in his eyes. With one swift move, he picked me up again, unaffected by my kicking and squirming, and planted me back down on my chair.

  “We’ll discuss this when I get back,” he said, gem-like eyes hard as stone. “Now I have to go search for a weapon worthy of that Beast’s neck.”

  And with that, he stomped to the back of the lodge.

  I stared after him, frustration almost boiling my blood.

  If my father, who could still be alive, died, it might be because I couldn’t change Castor’s mind. Because I couldn’t do anything. As Castor advised me to continue doing.

  He’d said that girls who ventured nothing would be safe from trouble. I’d been told that my whole life. But I’d also always known that there were never any guarantees. My mother had died in her own bed.

  All my father’s precautions and sheltering, if he’d treated her the same way he had me, hadn’t protected her, had probably only stopped her from living life to the full. She’d still died young, her life cut short in a backwater town. She’d never gotten to see my father grow grey hair, or see herself in me as I grew towards womanhood.

  But no one was letting me grow up. If I didn’t do it on my own, I never would.

  Before all this had happened, there’d been nothing I’d wanted more than new experiences and adventure. I’d dreamed I’d find both with Adelaide, then go back home to my father, laden with splendid tales and gifts. But they’d both been taken from me. And though I’d never done a thing on my own, I’d do anything to get them back.

  I knew Castor wouldn’t let me go. He might actually imprison me to make me “stay put.” Which meant one thing.

  I had to escape.

  The decision solidified between one breath and the next and I called out, “Castor?”

  I bated my breath as only the ruckus of his rummaging for a weapon carried back to me.

  I waited until I became certain he was too far away to come running back, spoiling my plan, the one I didn’t have yet. Then I bolted out of the main door.

  Chapter Four

  A plan started to form in my frantic mind as soon as I cleared the lodge. At least, the getaway part of one.

  I came across a wooden enclosure where a satiny, light brown mare was tied in front of a water basin. Heart racing, and dreading hearing Castor’s shout at any moment, I ran to one of the apple trees filling the yard. I plucked a couple of ripe ones and approached her, extending my offering. I was greeted by her snuffling snout, her warm breath blowing loose hairs off my face.

  After she was done checking me, she went straight for the apple. I gave it to her, and while she was busy munching, I untied her reins from the fence, which I used to boost myself onto her. Etched along the middle of her saddle was MAPLE.

  The one time I’d ridden a horse had been when my school had decided that riding lessons would be a useful addition to the curriculum. But after a few got bucked off and one lost a few teeth to a stallion’s kick, the idea had been scrapped. I’d thankfully been among those who’d remained on horseback without incident. Now I had to rely on faint memories of a six-years-ago, ten-minute trot to sit astride the mare, and remain there.

  “I hope you can take me up to that castle, Maple.” I steered her head towards the winding cobblestone path I saw in the distance, leading down through the town and seemingly back up to the castle.

  She began to trot away from the lodge, still munching. But the pace was too leisurely, and I was too agitated to wait for her to gain momentum.

  “Sorry, girl!” I kicked my heels against her sides, eliciting a startled whinny.

  I just had enough time to wrap the reins around my hands before Maple burst into a gallop that had me shooting up and slamming back down, over and over, expanding and compressing my insides like an accordion. Heart clattering in my chest, I pressed my knees against her sides with everything I had, threw myself forwards, almost lying flat over her back, and hung on for dear life.

  After feeling reasonably secure I wouldn’t go flying over her head, I turned my head and watched where we galloped. Maple seemed to know her way to the castle, must have taken it many times with her master, who was obsessed with the Beast.

  Soon we were speeding through Rosemead, blasting past whitewashed, two-floored houses with speckled, black-tiled roofs. Their terraces and gardens teemed with laden fruit trees and vegetable patches, twining vines that covered walls and archways, and sprawling bushes filled with bursts of glittering flowers of every hue.

  Though Aubenaire was rainy and green, and we planted many things, it had nothing to compare with Arbore’s exquisite flora. Apart from that, and the massive castle looming over the town, it seemed Rosemead wasn’t too different from my own. Cobblestone covered its roads, stone fountains seemed to hold more birds than the trees and children ran amok in alleys and in backyards.

  The streets where thankfully not busy yet, and those occupying them on horseback, in carriages or on foot were startled by my haste. Others emerged from houses and shops to investigate the racket of Maple’s clomping hooves. Though small towns were generally unused to urgent riders, everyone didn’t seem curious but alarmed at my passage. It seemed living under the Beast’s threat had made them wary of anything that would draw its attention or wrath.

  When no one tried to intercept me, I began noticing their details. The women were mostly in high-waist gowns with locks of hair artfully spilling from their updos, and the men wore loose shirts and tight pants, their hair ranging from close-cropped to flowing past their shoulders. Everyone’s complexion was almost the same as in Aubenaire, either fair or freckled, their hair in shades of browns, blonde and the rare redhead. One man I passed almost within an arm’s reach had eyes as grey as my father’s.

  It was more evidence that my ancestors had come from here. But my dream to discover my roots and maybe connect with distant relatives would have to remain on hold. This dream had turned into a nightmare anyway, and if I couldn’t save my father…

  Unable to complete that thought, my throat convulsed with those new, awful emotions that had been assaulting me since I’d woken up here. I now understood why so many books I’d read ende
d with the moral “be careful what you wish for.”

  We’d just breezed past the common part of town and were climbing up towards what looked like the elite one, formed in arcs at the foot of the hill with smoother paths and stranger trees with green trunks and unfamiliar fruit. The castle loomed larger above me by the minute, its closest tower a massive structure silhouetted ominously against the rising sun.

  Arms burning and legs shaking with the unbelievably strenuous effort or riding, I had to slow Maple down as we reached a town square, surrounded by large, luxurious buildings with cast-iron balconies—what could be official courthouses or homes of mayors, merchants or lords. But one thing caught my attention in the middle of the square. A ten-foot marble sculpture of a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a wreath of peach blossoms and clutching a solid gold cornucopia flowing with silver grapes, corn and strange fruits I had no name for.

  I knew her. The goddess of fertility and harvest we called the Field Queen in Ericura. She was among a pantheon whose names and tales had been lost to time, likely during the migration from Arboria to our island. Our depictions either had her holding a bundle of wheat or a horn-shaped wicker basket.

  Her podium declared her to be ROSMERTA. She had to be the patron goddess of Rosemead. Perhaps it was named after her, like Aubenaire was for Saint Alban, who’d led my ancestors out of Arboria and onto Ericura.

  Finding out the Field Queen’s true name ought to have been exciting. This was precisely the kind of discovery I’d longed for all my life. But now it only had me sinking past anxiety and spiraling into melancholy. This goddess wasn’t just a reminder of my people’s forgotten past, but of what I’d personally lost.

  My mother’s effigy above her grave had been based on her. All this landmark did was remind me that I’d already lost one parent.

  It hurt to look at her, and also away from her, but I had to turn from what I had lost and focus on what I still had. At least, I hoped I still did.