Beautiful Beasts
Beautiful Beasts: Book One
N. Knight
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the property of the author’s imagination.
Beautiful Beasts Copyright © 2019 by D20Kaiju LLC.
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Acknowledgements
No story is told in a vacuum. Special thanks to Professor Nathan Ridings for his help in developing my story, Michella Ames for her spectacular editing, and Adechintya for her stunning art. I’d also like to also thank my wonderful bride for her continued love and support.
And finally, I’d like to thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book and reading it. I hope you enjoy my world, characters, and the story. Bringing them all to life was terrifying in a way that no other piece I’ve written before has been. Your enjoyment validates my efforts.
So, thank you.
Happy reading.
Chapter One
The Hunt
The noble hunting party charged through the clearing, the hooves of their horses creating a tempest of thunder and dust. The smell of horseflesh was almost enough to mask the invigorating fresh air of the forest. This close to proper civilization, without the threat of Rampant beasts, the forest was almost welcoming. The illusion was ruined only by the presence of the knight keeper’s harvested beasts sprinting alongside the hunting party in a defensive perimeter. Little more than animals with human shape, their presence was an offense that Loretta tolerated that she might prove her superiority over the peerage without making them feel too uncomfortable. Oh, what would those poor delicate flowers do without their knight keepers and their beasts to protect them?
Of course, it was not the knights or their disgusting creatures that occupied her thoughts now. Loretta Maradona, firstborn daughter of Duquesa Fiametta Maradona, future duquesa and head of the Maradona house, did not fail. Not even when her opposition shared her own blood.
Their quarry was an especially clever fox who had already avoided being shot twice, ducking around the roots and trunks of the nearby trees. Its cleverness would not avail it any longer. Loretta’s younger sister, Sirena, pulled away from the group, anticipating the way the fox would turn, her single shot rifle at the ready. She raised it up and fired as the fox executed a pivot.
The shot very nearly struck. The fox twisted at the last second to double back, something warning it of the impending assault. Loretta watched and learned.
When next the fox made to dart away, she changed course, as her sister had, to pull away from the group. To do so, she had to break free of the perimeter. Suddenly there was a rainbow haired beast between her and the path to victory, the creature having failed to note the change in her trajectory. Loretta ran the human-shaped animal down. She would not fail just because an obstacle got in her way.
She raised her own rifle, a six-shot custom design built after the fashion of a revolver, and fired two shots. As before, the fox twisted away—straight into the path of the second bullet.
Moments later, her chest swelled with pride as Loretta dismounted over her kill. Try as she might, she was unable to keep her triumph from her face. The early morning light filtered through the trees like golden curtains around her and her kill. Her horse, a bay mare with a white star on her forehead, stepped back and waited for her. The mare had remained calm even with the recent gun blasts and the pounding of nearby hooves, a testament to the training Loretta had personally overseen since the mare was a foal. Even the smell of blood did not bother the mare, though she was no warhorse. Loretta cared little for hunting or killing, but like her horse, she would not be put off by a little blood. Or a challenge.
Her father’s and the Maradona guests’ beasts circled them, as they had been trained to, quietly awaiting the orders of their keepers. Loretta would never admit it, but the things, so closely resembling true human women and yet so distinctly alien, had always made her uncomfortable. She ignored them, signaling for the one that had started to move forward to retrieve the kill for her to stop. Loretta thought she recognized her as one of her father’s, a tall specimen with curly violet hair that concealed her floppy ears and a shiny black nose. That nose had been broken too often for her face to be considered beautiful, or even cute, anymore. The beast backed away with a quick bow, as well trained as Loretta’s steed, and Loretta reached the fallen fox.
It had been a clean kill. Barely any blood sprinkled the russet fur, and she picked it up to hold aloft as her father and his guests rode up, their remaining beasts running alongside them. Words of frustration and congratulations filled the woods, but none of them came from her father. None were needed. Duque Delmar Maradona sat tall and regal upon his roan stallion, the look of pride on his face as he looked down upon her louder to her senses than any of their guests’ words.
He dismounted with the help of the violet-haired beast that Loretta had waved away earlier and came forward. Taking the wrist of her hand holding the fox, he lofted her prize high for all to see. His words fell away in the thunderous applause, but their meaning was clear. With a great deal of ceremony, he dipped his fingers into the bullet wound and marked each of her cheeks with a dab of blood.
He turned once more to address the crowd. “My daughter!”
More applause. Loretta fought back tears. She loved and obeyed her mother, the Duquesa Maradona, in all things, but her heart was for her father. She had honored both of her parents with this hunt, surpassing the expectations of the firstborn daughter, and let their guests know that theirs was a house to be reckoned with. Even the faces of their neighbors and long-time rivals, the Robles, showed grudging respect. Her eyes immediately sought out Adriano Robles, the eldest son of Duquesa Robles, and if all went well tonight, her fiancé.
It went unsaid, as it should, that he had only been allowed on this hunt that she might admire him. Or be distracted by him. A hunt was a place for diamond souled noblewomen, the rightful rulers of the world, not young, overeager men. Only older gentlemen, who had learned to master their eagerness and learn restraint, were usually allowed to ride with the hunt. Ride with them he had though, and he had ridden well, keeping pace without hindering any of the huntresses.
His admiration was not grudging like his sister’s and mother’s, but there was a smirking quality to it, as if she had done exactly as he had expected her to. That brought a quirk to her own lips—of course he should expect greatness from her. She was diamond souled, the eldest daughter of the Maradona family, and she had worked her ass off to be better than all that those innate blessings already made her. Everyone, especially the man she deigned to marry, should expect greatness from her.
Her smirk vanished as she caught sight of her sister Sirena, her face caught in a pout that should have made her look childish, but instead gave her beautifully rounded features an endearing quality. Loretta adored her younger sister even if she could be a brat at times. Sirena had made a wager with Loretta before the hunt, confident that she would be the one to down the fox. Should it be one of them that delivered the killing shot, then the other sister was to cut her hair short.
The hair of the Maradona women was their pride, a signature inky black, soft as silk, and worn long, almost to their knees. Loretta’s own locks were bound in an elaborate net of braids that hung from beneath her hunting cap to fall about her shoulders. Unconsciously, she reached
up to stroke them.
Her sister’s face flushed at this, and Sirena turned away. Loretta’s smile turned briefly sad. While her sister may have expected Loretta to honor her side of the wager had she won, Loretta had no intention of dishonoring her little sister. Sirena was always trying to surpass her. It was darling, really, but she took too many chances when she need not. Audacity was for the firstborn daughter, caution to the second. There was no need for Sirena to try so hard. Not that she would ever believe such words from Loretta.
The poor thing had almost won, too. Sirena would be especially sore that her trick had been stolen. Loretta would have to make it up to her later.
For now, there were guests to attend, and her father’s old war companion, Conde Valentin Rodriquez, was approaching. He might have been allowed to ride with the hunt proper, had he desired, but instead, he had volunteered to serve as one of the party’s knight keeper protectors. His weathered face had a smile upon it that did not reach his eyes. “An impressive shot, young lady.”
Loretta’s long hours of practice allowed her to keep the scowl off of her face, masking it behind a pleasant smile. The conde should have allowed one of her fellow huntresses to be the one to offer the first compliment.
Still, it was high praise coming from the most famous sniper of the Winter War. Loretta’s concerns about her sister vanished under the compliment. Just because she would never see combat did not mean that she was not proud of the skills she had honed.
Her father beamed at him. “You should see her dance. Her marksmanship is as nothing compared to her dancing.”
Rodriquez gave a grunt, simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing her father’s compliment. “A clean kill from horseback and with an untested weapon.” He reached up to stroke his snowy mustache. “If she can surpass that I truly will be impressed.”
Loretta gave a nod. He was her father’s friend and a respected veteran, but he was still of lower rank and, more importantly still, a man. Any further acknowledgement would have signaled that she considered him nearly an equal, something he could never aspire to. Despite the compliment, there was something in his tone she did not like.
“Thank you, sir, but the weapon is hardly untested. I’ve been practicing with this design for months.”
“Truly?” He gestured for the rifle sheathed in a holster affixed to Sunrise’s saddle. “I’ve never seen that particular design.”
“I commissioned it from the family gunsmith,” she said. “Sometimes, especially in unsteady circumstances, more than one shot is required.”
He nodded, considering the weapon. “Perhaps. I’ve never cared for moving parts. I find that every piece that moves is another chance for a weapon to go wrong.”
Conde Rodriquez was a stuffy old man, wasn’t he? Still, she refused to let her smile or manners falter. “Sometimes the reward is worth the risk.”
He nodded. “Yes, sometimes it is. Congratulations.”
Rodriquez returned to his horse, and several other well-wishers and lickspittles approached. Normally, she would have committed each of their conversations to memory. Even those whose congratulations were little more than an attempt to curry favor from the future Duquesa could prove potentially useful later. Still, she could not shake the feeling of disapproval she had felt beneath Rodriquez’s words.
“Did I somehow offer him offense?” she asked her father a few moments later when they were on their way back to the castle. They had broken away from the main group so that it was only the two of them riding side-by-side around the family’s vineyards. They were surrounded by her father’s beasts, of course, but they counted no more for company than the horses.
“I should think so,” her father said. “You ran over one of his favorite beasts in your hurry to tear away from the group. If he had not stopped to see to her needs, the poor creature might not have survived. It is being brought to the Maradona hot spring now to be healed.”
Loretta wrinkled her nose. She detested the idea of any beast in the family’s hot spring, the source of the Maradona castle’s power. “Truly?”
Her father nodded. “Oh yes, a man’s bond with his beasts is not one to be taken lightly. Most of his menagerie either fought alongside him during the Winter War or are the daughters of those that did. One, I forget which, even saved him from a wizard.”
Loretta very much doubted that. Wizards were rare and certainly did not involve themselves in wars. All wizards were made, by order of the rulers of every named empire, to swear the Oath of Stars and Circle, forbidding them from inflicting such wanton chaos. It was an oath safeguarded and enforced by the holy church, who were blessedly thorough in their protection of the people and extermination of any who dared to study magic and refuse to swear the sacred words. Not even the wizard’s guild could stand against the divine power of the church.
She scoffed. “Sentimentality from a sniper?”
“Truly,” her father replied in a grave tone.
She looked about them at her father’s beasts. There were four of them trotting alongside the horses, two on either side, far enough away to offer privacy, yet close enough to answer any command her father might give. They looked like flowers with their brightly colored, inhuman hair and eyes. One of them even had red skin the color of blood. Loretta could not help but be repulsed.
Each that ran with them in the hunt was coated in a layer of sweat that dotted their foreheads and soaked their clothing. The dust churned up from the horses clung to them in a layer of added grime. None showed any other sign of fatigue. So close to human, she thought, and yet decidedly not.
She suppressed a shudder and asked, “Do you share his sentimentality?”
“To some degree,” her father confessed. “But I am married to a true woman. The purity of a diamond soul changes one’s perspective on a great many things. And speaking of perspective, do not think I did not notice you and your sister’s little competition.”
Loretta laughed. “She tries so hard, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” her father admitted. “It would do her some good to see her efforts rewarded sometime.”
“Then she should cease her competition with me, Father.” Loretta smirked. “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but I do not lose.”
Duque Delmar Maradona stopped and placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You know that this is not why you are my favorite, don’t you? You do not have to be perfect.”
Her heart swelled and she pulled him into an embrace. When she spoke, her choked voice was little more than a whisper. “I know, Daddy.”
~ ~ ~
After her talk with her father, Loretta had almost not allowed the servant’s beasts to handle her dress or hair before the dance. That a man could be so attached to an inhuman facsimile of a true woman was disturbing. She’d sent a message to deny anyone access to the Maradona hot spring throughout the duration of the party. For security reasons, she’d stated, looking to the electric lights powered by the spring beneath the castle. It wouldn’t do to have the guests plunged into sudden darkness. Or to let a beast soak in their holy waters.
At least her father shared only a little of the old veteran’s sentimentality. Or very little of it. Still, Loretta couldn’t help but shiver with disgust as the familiar orange-haired beast, who had handled her hair for years, put her hair up in an elaborate and elegant style woven through with pearls and flowers grown from the gardens surrounding the Maradona vineyards.
Loretta’s gown was a shimmering midnight affair that sparkled as if someone had cut the cloth from the night sky itself. She looked every bit her mother’s daughter: wealthy, beautiful, and above all, radiant with power. Knowing that made it easy to dismiss her concerns about the beast who had helped her look her best. It was bound to a loyal servant, after all, and Loretta, like her mother and sister, possessed a soul of diamond. Flawless and pure. Adriano Robles would have no choice but to accept her proposal of marriage. What man could resist her this night, pure
blooded or otherwise? She would ensure that he had eyes only for her and that any beasts bound to him were put in their proper place.
The day’s victories had only continued to mount as the evening progressed and the banquet begun. Her father toasted her for the hunt, and even her mother, distant and regal at the head of the table, had deigned to raise her glass and smile at her. Loretta’s work with the local merchants was paying off as well. Baronesas and vizcondesas might allow merchants into their homes and council, but rare was the condesa or marquesa, let alone duquesa, who could set aside her pride and acknowledge the merchants’ growing power.
Her actions tonight would set a precedent for the relationship between this new class of tradesmen and the nobility, one that would see status bestowed upon the former, and control given to the latter. Had a lesser noble attempted this, they would have been laughed out of the peerage. The thought made her smirk into her wine glass. There was nothing lesser about Loretta Maradona. She would set the trend, and the merchants, eager for the opportunities and recognition, would come under control of the ruling families. With her own leading the way, of course.
One such merchant, Lorenz Gage, was bold enough to ask her for a dance after the feast. He was a young man, less than a decade her elder. She would have thought him a mere journeyman were it not for the quality of his clothes and the evident quality of his blood. Rare was the non-nobleman who betrayed no hint of bestial heritage, but there was nothing at all inhuman about his brown eyes or curly black hair and beard. And if his skin was a touch more swarthy than anyone noble at the table, it could only be from time spent on the road, not a flaw in his heritage.
Loretta was in such a good mood that rather than making him work for it, she agreed, and they took up positions as the troubadours readied their instruments, her to lead and him to follow. A pure blood he might be, but he was still a man, and therefore flawed. It was her place, not only as the heir apparent duquesa, but as a woman, to guide him.
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