The Beast Queen

by Felicity Partington

  “Perhaps some of us are just more suited to being held captive than others?” She beamed with a shrug, as his eyes lingered at the smooth expanse of her cleavage, Isabelle playfully ducked her head down to nudge his eyes towards her own. He shifted uncomfortably at being caught looking, but Isabelle was still grinning. “So where are you from?” He certainly didn’t look like he fit in around here. He was tall, much taller than she. His arms were muscular from a labour-intensive lifestyle. Was he a farmer perhaps?

  There was something different about him, she had spent weeks here with the muted, insipid castle-dwellers, and Peter was like a sudden breath of fresh air. Something she hadn’t realised she had missed.

  “I’m from Killsbridge, it’s a city a few-”

  “I know Killsbridge." She cut across him. "My father used to attend conventions there. I’ve been a few times.”

  “You have?” His expression brightened.

  “I’m from Lomsen.”

  “I’ve been to Lomsen. I used to do markets there before we branched out. I just assumed you’d be from here.”

  “Do I truly look that boring?” Isabelle feigned offence, Charlotte rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchens.

  “You don’t look boring at all. You’re not quite like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Isabelle laughed, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth. This was her talent, where she was in her element; flirting and getting attention. Peter was an easy mark, he was older than her, perhaps around thirty. She imagined he had a dowdy housewife at home, some children. She’d have pitied them once, but considering her current predicament, being a wife suddenly didn’t seem so terrible a fate.

  “It is. You’re remarkably beautiful.” He confessed, Isabelle blushed and dropped her eyes, she couldn’t very well tell him she already knew, though her beauty had led her into nothing but trouble so far. After a few moments of silence, Peter smiled awkwardly, picked up a crate and disappeared back into the kitchen. Isabelle took another bite of the apple. Crate by crate she saw her chances of entertainment waning.

  “It’s getting very dark,” she commented as he loaded the empty crates back onto the van. “You don’t really travel all the way back to Killsbridge in the pitch black, do you?”

  “No, I stay in the city for the night, twice a month. I come for the market mid-month, and then my delivery here at the end. It’s a nice little break.”

  “You come here twice a month,” Isabelle asked, “willingly?” Her tone was filled with disbelief and Peter laughed, Isabelle grinned, she had missed actual conversation with somebody who understood sarcasm.

  “It pays very well. But what about you? What are you really doing here? Are you a maid or…?”

  “I’m not a maid,” Isabelle confessed, leaning against the wagon as Peter fastened the empty crates down with leather. “My father left me here, I was getting into too much trouble at home I suppose. I guess he thought I needed some time sequestered away.”

  “How long are you to stay here?”

  “Oh just…uhm” Isabelle shrugged her shoulders, “my life?”

  “You really are a prisoner?”

  “Hey, at least I don’t have shackles, right?” Isabelle’s voice was lacking the amusement it had before, she hadn’t really allowed herself to voice her true feelings about her fate yet. They wouldn’t change anything and spending her days moping like a lost little lamb wasn’t going to get her anywhere; instead, she focused on the challenge. She was going to find out the truth about this place. “It wouldn’t be so bad if everybody wasn’t so…”

  “Weird?” He finished; Isabelle’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

  “You’ve noticed too?”

  “Oh, Lord yes. Everybody here is so strait-laced, they don’t joke, don’t laugh. They don’t ask questions. They don’t care. They just tick along in their own little monotonous lives and they’re perfectly happy with it.”

  “I thought it was just me that noticed. Is the city the same? Here they spend all day cleaning and working for a master they’ve never even seen.” Isabelle turned to Peter now, the two huddled together excitedly.

  “It’s exactly the same down there. I’ve been coming here for a couple of years now and I thought that it was just small-town life. I mean they call it a city, but it’s smaller than Lomsen-”

  “Look, I’m from a small town and this is not a normal small town. They don’t ask or wonder anything. Ever. There’s no gossip, nobody does a single thing out of turn. The beast traded me from my father and just put me here, a prisoner and it was just accepted, nary a protest. I live here now. I don’t even think they genuinely believe their master is a monster.”

  “I’ve wondered for years whether he even exists,” Peter whispered.

  “Oh, he definitely exists. I’ve met him.”

  “Is he like them?”

  “No.” Isabelle shook her head, “he really isn’t.” Isabelle scowled a little then, something deep within her stilled her tongue. Whispering with Peter, sharing her concerns about her gaolers, was amazing. But she didn’t know him and confiding in him about the beast seemed wrong. Did she want to divulge her strange familiarity with the monster? Describe the blossoming obsession which bubbled within her? There was no way he’d understand. “He’s huge, like an animal but not. It’s so hard to explain, harder to believe. Like a strange cross between a bear, a wolf and…I don’t know. He’s not like anything else.”

  “I believe you.”

  “So easily?” Isabelle sounded sceptical suddenly, was all this false? If somebody had told her a monstrous beast existed before she arrived here, she would have thought them mad. Was Peter just toying with her?

  “It’s hard not to,” Peter justified, Isabelle stiffened, “whilst he’s watching us.” The brunette spun around, sure enough, in the distant darkness she made out the familiar yellow eyes. As her own eyes adjusted to the black she made out his hulking shape poised easily on the far wall, hunched over, eyes trained on them. “I’ve never seen him before,” he breathed, “he’s enormous.”

  “Why go to the city?” Isabelle asked suddenly, “you can stay here? Save you the trip.”

  “I think I’d rather the city if I’m being truly honest,” Peter confessed; eyes still fixed into the darkness. Isabelle pouted.

  “He’s not so bad, not really.” She made to touch him, and he flinched away, smiling apologetically when he realised what he had done.

  “He’s keeping you prisoner, you and everybody else in this castle.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid, he barely even comes inside.” Isabelle urged, seeing her only chance of conversation slipping away all because Erik decided that now would be the time to seek her out. All day she had been looking for him, hoping for some tiny glance, or conversation. Nothing. But now, now she had found some modicum of entertainment to stave away her desperate boredom, the beast showed up and managed to terrify him away. “You could stay for dinner?”

  “If it’s all the same-” he paused, she understood and hurriedly added in,

  “Isabelle. My name is Isabelle.”

  “Isabelle,” he said gently, finally looking away from the beast and back to her. Her dark eyes were wide, hopeful, “I’d better be getting back. I don’t want to upset your master.”

  “He isn’t my master.” Isabelle snapped, “and he doesn’t even care I exist most of the time.”

  “Having seen you, I find it very difficult to believe anybody could forget you exist.” His eyes drifted down her before returning to hers, embarrassment turning him red.

  “You’re scared of him.” Isabelle accused.

  “I am. And if you are not, then I fear your bravery puts mine to shame.”

  “It must if you’re prepared to leave a poor defenceless woman to the wrath of a monster, all alone.” Isabelle snapped. To her surprise, Peter chuckled.

  “I would offer to rescue you,” he started, scooping her hand up and pressing
his lips to it, “but in the short time I’ve known you I can already see you are far from defenceless.” Isabelle’s expression softened. His observation didn’t surprise her, what did was her aversion to his offer. Isabelle didn’t want to leave, even if Peter had genuinely offered, there were still too many unanswered questions here. She needed to know more about Erik.

  “I don’t want to leave.” She said honestly, “but I wouldn’t object to some company for a night.” Though the invitation was of a more intimate nature than before, Peter didn’t budge on his decision.

  “You are a remarkable woman.” He breathed softly.

  “Will you come back?” She asked, managing to keep the desperation out of her voice.

  “I will. Next month.” He put a hand on his horse's flank as it stirred, presumably from the beast's proximity.

  “Goodbye then Peter.”

  “Goodbye Lady Isabelle.” He bowed to her, bending at the waist extravagantly.

  “It’s just Isabelle, I’m certainly not much of a lady.” She stated, a wicked grin on her face.

  She watched as Peter climbed onto the back of his horse and spurred the wagon into movement, the wooden cart disappeared around the castle and into the darkness. Isabelle spared a glance to the wall, where Erik had been and was not at all surprised to find him gone. Cursing softly under her breath, she headed through the kitchen and into the castle. Ignoring the lamentations of Charlotte as she left muddy footprints all the way to the great hall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Getting up late had seriously derailed Isabelle’s sleep cycle. After laying in the dark for what felt like hours, she submitted to the inevitable; she just wasn’t tired. With thoughts of Peter and Erik flickering through her head, she knew she wasn’t going to be tired anytime soon. Peter was no different from the men at home. He was unremarkable. Yet here, locked away, he symbolised everything she found comfort in. Peter signified hope which surprised her. Isabelle felt more alone now than she had felt knowing her father was riding away forever. She had experienced a taste of normality, a rare pocket of air amidst the dark, bleak, suffocating ocean.

  It had done more than pique her interest, it had given her an outside perspective on her new life and companions. Alone she might be able to convince herself that she was analysing Charlotte’s behaviour too closely, perhaps she was just unfriendly by nature. There was always the possibility that isolation was making her crazy, how else could she explain her growing obsession with the monster who lurked upstairs?

  Peter had strengthened her resolve. Isabelle wasn’t crazy. There was something strange going on here, she was more certain than ever.

  But what was wrong with the others, what could they be hiding? Why were the people here so pliable? Why did they cling so desperately to their stories instead of seeking out the truth? She’d heard a lot of stories about tiny, isolated towns, most horror stories clung to them as settings. As the world was moving into an age of science, they were finding answers every day to all sorts of questions, people needed to find their monsters elsewhere. This was certainly where they lived, small towns, locked in the dark ages. The people in the stories hurried about their business, side-stepping the shadows and turning a blind eye to the evil that lurked lest it claim them.

  But the servants didn’t seem to be like that, they seemed content. Isabelle wondered what it would be like to just accept things. To not have questions upon questions invading her mind, never giving her a moment’s rest. But without answers, without striving to learn, what was the point to life?

  Pulling a cloak around her silken nightgown, Isabelle poked her head out of her room and glanced down the corridor. The torches had long burnt out, but it wasn’t as dark as she expected. The moon shone brightly over the courtyard, bathing the corridor in eerie, milky light. Stars twinkled from their safe distance, entire worlds away. The lack of clouds explained the bitter chill in the air, she drew her robe tightly around herself and padded down the corridor.

  The castle was deathly silent, as she left the stairs she picked her way around her muddy footprints. The main hall was darker than upstairs, but even in the dimmer light, she saw that something was amiss. Her footprints, though obvious, were small. There were much larger patches of mud. Erik. Isabelle’s hopes soared as she followed the tracks with her eyes.

  They stopped in front of a door which was open a crack and there was light flickering from behind it. Isabelle’s heart sped up as she all but ran to it.

  He was here.

  Isabelle opened the door without hesitation, the fire was burning in the hearth of the sitting room and the beast was sitting in a high back chair in front of it. His eyes were closed, and his head was resting against the back. The warm light cast eerie dancing shadows over the room and him. Isabelle knew, logically, she should be afraid. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end as they always did when he was close, her pulse was racing, the same as it had when she had been in his bedroom. Her body and instincts comprehended what her brain could not, here was a dangerous predator, and she was alone with him.

  Was he sleeping?

  Isabelle stood in the doorway, watching him, unsure exactly what to do next. She desperately wanted to wake him up, to talk to him, to question him more. But she didn’t want to make him angry, or worse, run away and leave her here alone, again.

  “You’ve made quite the mess in the hall.” Isabelle chastised, deciding she had to say something, if not just to discern whether he was awake. There was no immediate reply, and she was about to speak again when his head turned, yellow eyes focusing on her curiously.

  “I could say the same to you. You’re supposed to be a guest and on your best behaviour.”

  “I suppose that I’m simply following your example.” She answered superciliously. Isabelle stepped forward; the heat of the dying fire was still nice on her bare skin. Was she brave enough to sit down uninvited? “I’m not a guest though, am I? A guest would be able to leave.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He agreed. She saw him tense as she stepped closer, he was as on edge as she was. That made Isabelle infinitely more curious. What did he have to be nervous of? Why was he struggling to control himself? Was she truly so intimidating? Or was it purely her curiosity he didn’t like? That would make things difficult. She longed to spend more time with him, but she also wanted to know everything. He was the only one with any answers. So, if the questions were driving him away, well, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. “You scared Peter off.” She accused, though it was more to make conversation than anything else.

  “Who?” He turned his eyes from her and feigned disinterest.

  “You know very well who. You damn near scared him to death. You’ll be sorry when your servants die of hunger because he’s too afraid to come back.”

  “He’ll come back. I pay him too well not to.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be stealthy. Supposedly nobody has ever seen you, and now there’s three of us who can attest to your existence.”

  “I don’t intend to be stealthy” he frowned, “I have no interest in the servants.”

  “You’re interested in me?” She moved ever closer to him, her footsteps a whisper.

  “You intrigue me.” He answered slowly, his great head turning again to see her.

  “Why?” She had come to a point where moving closer would put her out of sight of him so instead of approaching she skirted around, the fire's heat falling on one side of her face, the heat of his eyes on the other.

  “You seem…” He began, shaking his head slightly. “You’re not afraid.”

  “I am most certainly afraid.” Isabelle corrected with indignation.

  “You were looking for me today." He stated, "Out in the woods.”

  “You saw me?” She halted now, his head, resting as it was to the side allowed him to lock her in place with the full power of his gaze.

  “Of course. I’m not just about to let my prisoner wander right out of my grasp, am I?” H
e looked like a king she realised, composed but at rest. His powerful frame perfectly held by the contours of the massive throne he had placed himself into.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” She blurted, realising she had been staring at him aghast for too long and berating herself silently.

  “I’m not much of a conversationalist.” He said with a toothy grin.

  “No, really?” Isabelle gasped, before rolling her eyes and dropping down into one of the other chairs. She curled her legs beneath her so she could envelop her cold feet with her robe. “You chased away one of the only people who might have wanted to talk to me for a night.”

  “You’re a prisoner. You don’t have the luxury of having company. This is not an Inn.”

  “It’s got enough rooms to be one.” She retorted, unsure why he cared if she had company. It was starting to bother her. Yes, she was locked here, but did that mean she had to forego all fun and entertainment for the rest of her life? “Provided I don’t leave, what’s the problem?” The beast didn’t answer. He turned his gaze back to the fire. Isabelle’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Unless you’re jealous.” He snorted at that. Isabelle’s eyes widened, it had been a long shot to get his attention, she hadn’t expected it to be true. Yet that snort, that realisation, it explained everything; Erik was jealous. That’s why he was here tonight, standing vigil lest she sneak Peter back to her rooms. She was right. Erik wanted the same thing from her that every other man wanted, the realisation was grounding, and powerful. “There’s no need you know,” she said after a long silence, “you’re far more interesting than he is.”

  “I did wonder why you so quickly consented to stay instead of going with him.” Did she detect the slightest hint of relief in his tone?