The Beast Queen

by Felicity Partington

  “And did you?” Charlotte looked passed Maggie to meet her eyes inquiringly.

  “No,” Isabelle answered. It wasn’t a lie, not really, she hadn’t found out the true reason. It didn’t matter anymore, she had her own purpose now. It was to seduce the beast who had deemed her not good enough and take her rightful place as mistress of the castle. Or Beast’s personal sex-slave, at that moment in time, both seemed equally appealing.

  “Well, there’s always work to be done. When you’re quite finished being Miss High and Mighty, we’re more than happy to have you come back to work.”

  “So that’s what I must look forward to for the rest of my life?” Isabelle sighed, “working every day until I die, trapped here.” She would be damned if that was how she was spending her days, but Charlotte didn’t need to know that.

  “Chin up dear,” Charlotte offered warmly, “it’s not as bad as all that. You have a roof over your head and plenty of food.” She paused to catch her breath, stretching her back. “Might I recommend you give the Master a wide berth in future? He’s not a man, and your unique disposition might prove too much for his temper.” Isabelle’s brow furrowed in confusion, ‘unique disposition’?

  “Why am I in the wrong? Why can’t he be the one to learn to control his temper?”

  “There’s happiness to be found in knowing one’s place Isabelle, you’ll find as you accept it, our lives here aren’t so bad.”

  Because the beast was their master, he could do whatever he liked? Was that truly the lesson she was supposed to learn from this? Isabelle had thought the days of blind servitude long behind them, yet here she was, staring into a future where she was considered less than human.

  On the bright side, she’d gotten more conversation out of Charlotte this evening than she had in her entire time here so far. If she was going to learn anything, this was the demeanour she needed to adopt.

  Could Isabelle pull off demure and obedient?

  She supposed that it depended on just how much she wanted answers.

  “Enough of that.” Charlotte chided gently. They finished the journey to the kitchen in silence. Together they sat Maggie on a stool and Charlotte made them a warm drink.

  Isabelle was worried about Margaret, she had thought it was an overreaction at first, but the girl was nearly catatonic. She was trembling and no matter how Isabelle tried to urge a reaction from her, words, a look, she just stared off into space with glassy eyes.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Isabelle asked as Charlotte shuffled back to them, she pressed a hot cup into Isabelle’s waiting hands.

  “She’s in shock. She’s young, impressionable. I’ve seen this before when the maids have run into the master, but never this severe. Then I suppose he wasn’t just passing by. She might well have saved your life. I’ll give her some brandy to help her sleep, hopefully, come morning she’ll be okay.”

  “And if she isn’t?” Isabelle asked tentatively, she sipped at her drink, it was warm and welcoming. Now that adrenaline and desire had left her, she was feeling the chill in the castle more than ever.

  “There is a hospital in the city, we can send her there for a few weeks, see if she comes around.”

  “If she’s not immediately okay with coming face to face with a monster she barely believed existed, she’s going to be thrown into an asylum?” Isabelle was aghast, her pledge to feign obedience momentarily forgotten.

  “She’s no use nor ornament like this.” Charlotte countered, helplessly. There was contrition however, Isabelle could see that Charlotte genuinely cared about Maggie. “I have told all of my girls, countless times, not to wander around the castle at night.”

  “I have something that might work better than brandy,” Isabelle confessed, she slid from the chair and padded across the kitchen. She reached up and opened a high cupboard, rifling through some small bottles which sat there before she retrieved two and carried them back. “This one will help with sleeping, and this one is a hallucinogenic. She’ll have frightful dreams, but when she wakes up, she will probably attribute the last few hours to her nightmares.”

  Charlotte picked up the bottles and regarded them cautiously.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “I made them, there are plenty of herbs and plants in the forest. Natalie has trouble sleeping some nights, so I made a couple of tonics for her. It’s not just these, I’ve made a few up to help ease pain. I know Mr Hands suffers with his rheumatism, especially in the cold, I thought that perhaps-”

  “Where I am from,” Charlotte interrupted coldly, “we attribute potion-making with witchcraft.” Isabelle met her eyes and was surprised to find fear.

  “Well, over in the real world, we call it medicine.” Isabelle threw back hotly. “Are you really going to stop me helping Margaret because of ignorance? You who lives under the care of a monster?”

  “I was merely making an observation.” Charlotte relented, “you are certainly full of surprises.”

  The two of them slipped the potions into a drink for Maggie. They pressed it to her lips and with some encouragement, she drank it. They knew they wouldn’t be able to carry her all the way upstairs, so Charlotte left to go and rouse Thomas. Once alone, Isabelle prodded at the gashes on her legs, they were red and angry. It hurt, but the pain reminded her of Erik, it caused the abating desire to blossom once more.

  Stranger yet was her deep desire to be in her room. She still didn’t feel tired, but she wanted sleep… She shook her head, blinking.

  She wondered if he was looking for her now.

  Was he watching her room from the dark shadows of the mountain?

  Thomas arrived, eyes the barest of half slits as he made his way to them. They opened a little wider when he caught sight of Isabelle. Him seeing her like this made her uncomfortable, almost as if she were betraying Erik, which was ridiculous. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and offered him an apologetic half-smile.

  “If you could just carry Maggie up to bed, try not to wake the other girls up, I’ll come and sit with her once I have seen to Isabelle,” Charlotte instructed.

  “Do you want me to wait with her, upstairs? I could come back down and-” his eyes lingered on Isabelle shyly. At any other time, Isabelle would enjoy playing with his obvious interest in her, but tonight she was too weary for games. Erik had laid her vulnerabilities bare; she was in no position to toy with anybody else’s.

  Charlotte wasn’t as innocent as the others and Isabelle recognised the brief concern which crossed her features as she ushered Thomas away. She had seen it before, too many times to count.

  “There will be no need for that, take Maggie upstairs and get yourself back to bed. I will need your help tomorrow, to cover Maggie’s jobs. I’m going to let her have the morning off, she’s had a difficult night.”

  Isabelle wasn’t fooled; Charlotte wanted Thomas as far away from her as possible.

  “Will she be okay?” Isabelle asked, watching Thomas and Maggie stumble from the room.

  “I should imagine so, I used half of your dreaming potion.” Isabelle eyed her tea suspiciously, “no, I didn’t slip any into yours. I fear that if you did forget it, it would be a mistake you’d repeat again and again. Let this serve as your lesson. Stay away from the Master.”

  “He has a name you know.” Isabelle divulged as she scooted back onto the countertop. Charlotte guided her foot onto a stool and tipped some alcohol onto a pad of cotton. It was cold as she pressed it against the scratch and stung enough that it made Isabelle hiss. She watched in silence as Charlotte followed the cut up the inside of her leg, higher and higher, half expecting her to reprimand the impropriety of it all.

  Isabelle was waiting for the older woman to connect the dots, but the reprimand never came. Once the wound was clean, she dropped the bloody cotton into a bowl next to them and proceeded to clean it with another. “It’s Erik.”

  “How by the Lord did you find that out?” Charlotte’s eyes snapped to her; Isabelle shifted gui
ltily for a moment under the accusation of the gaze.

  “I talked to him. He told me.”

  “You need to stay away from that beast” she snapped; Isabelle’s eyes widened. Nobody but her ever called him a beast, “I’m serious Isabelle. No good will come of it. This time you got off lightly. He is not a tame creature, he’s dangerous.”

  “So everybody keeps saying.”

  “Most people would take this as a lesson.”

  “And what if I’m not most people?” Isabelle asked quietly.

  “There’s a reason I keep the younger girls away from him Isabelle,” Charlotte confessed with a reluctant sigh; Isabelle’s eyes widened. It was jealousy that gripped at her insides, not fear. So there had been others? She had been so sure that he was as innocent and confused by this desire as she was. Was she wrong? Isabelle felt stupid for feeling special, was this just something he did with every girl that arrived here? Were they all the same?

  “Why?” She didn’t want to know, but she had to.

  “There was a girl, many years ago, about your age. She was wilful, like you, inquisitive. She crept upstairs one afternoon, eager to see the Great Bedrooms on the balcony. What she didn’t expect was to run into the Master, he values his privacy. She startled him, and he killed her for it. Brutally. We found her body in the middle of the hall the next morning.”

  “Did he do anything else?” Isabelle asked, too quickly.

  “Anything else?” Charlotte looked confused, “such as what?” She was searching Isabelle’s face for her meaning, but Isabelle couldn’t voice it, it was too obscene. She couldn’t bear the thought that Erik had taken other girls, been with them as he had almost been with Isabelle tonight.

  “Like…eat her?” Isabelle suggested lamely. Charlotte shook her head, revulsion spread across her features.

  “Of course he didn’t eat her. Goodness, what kind of stories have you heard to twist your mind so? Is it not enough that he killed her? I had to explain to her family. Mr Hands gave her parents a farm and some extra income to try to compensate for the accident, but it wasn’t much comfort, as I am sure you can imagine.”

  “Not really, but my father left me here because I was too much of a burden, so I’m probably not the best person to ask.” Isabelle countered with a shrug.

  Killing was okay.

  She could deal with Erik being a murderer.

  Who hadn’t killed the odd person?

  What she couldn’t deal with was Erik having felt this way about anybody else, not when she hadn’t. Whatever was going on between them, it felt so far beyond anything she had ever experienced before. They were special, meant for each other, she’d felt it the very first time she’d seen him.

  “Why did he kill her?” Her question was an afterthought, driven more because she felt she needed to deflect from her last statement than out of any desire to know. She needed to at least pretend like she cared.

  “He’s an animal, Isabelle.” Charlotte groaned, seemingly at the end of her patience. “I’m sorry but you do seem so determined not to listen. He is not a man, he doesn’t have the reasoning capabilities of a man, nor the conscience. You must stay away from him. Maggie is the only thing that saved you tonight. Even so,” she pressed some cotton against the grazes on her neck, Isabelle grimaced in pain, “I’d say it was a close call. You must satisfy your need for company here with us, the Master is not an option for you.”

  “Ok.” Isabelle nodded softly, arguing was getting her nowhere.

  “Good girl. Now go upstairs, get some sleep. Start tomorrow rested, ready to work and we will say no more about today. Everybody is entitled to one day of madness.” She offered generously, Isabelle nodded and slid off the counter.

  “Thank you.” The honesty in her tone wasn’t entirely contrived, she was thankful, if not for the reasons Charlotte likely envisioned.

  “Silly child, go to bed.” Charlotte was smiling. Isabelle nodded and left the kitchen. “And Isabelle?” She called, the girl paused, “lock your door. Just to be safe.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabelle sat cross-legged on her bed in the dark, lost in her thoughts. Blankets pulled around her, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She hadn’t locked the door, but she knew there was no danger in the castle for her tonight. Erik was outside, running off his lust and probably his own confusion. She watched the black horizon through the thin glass, transfixed entirely in her own muddled mind.

  What was going on?

  She longed to talk to Erik, to figure out what he was thinking. Would it mean he would avoid her less, now that he knew she wanted him too? Or would he avoid her more? Isabelle couldn’t make sense of why he had fled the castle at all. His servants had seen him murder before, still, they accepted him and his absolute authority.

  Was being caught with Isabelle worse than murder?

  You know it’s worse than murder, her mind chided, it’s bestiality. It’s obscene.

  But it wasn’t, not really, he looked like an animal, but his mind was as keen as hers. He was brutal, feral, but he was clever and cunning. Animals weren’t arrogant, they didn’t preside over kingdoms or lounge in ornate thrones.

  He had been human once.

  But he wasn’t human now.

  And yet she couldn’t stop wanting him, couldn’t stop staring into the darkness hoping for any hint of familiar yellow eyes.

  Why had Maggie even come into the room? Had she known Isabelle was there? Isabelle hadn’t screamed, not even when Erik had roared. Realisation dawned upon her slowly, Margaret had been following Isabelle’s example. She’d heard the roar and tried to be brave; she’d wanted to glimpse the beast.

  This was her own fault.

  With one mystery worked out, the other seemed determined to elude her. Was Erik that afraid of what was happening between them? Was he feeling anything of the bubbling passion that was driving her, the overpowering need to be close to him? Was he instead disgusted by how he felt about her? Maybe he was disgusted by how she felt, drawn in by her insistence, but ultimately horrified that she was urging him across the line of civility.

  How great a sense of decency could a monster possess?

  Isabelle wanted to see exactly how far down the rabbit hole they could fall, which she might have been able to do if he hadn’t fled. He’d left her exposed and abandoned, to face the scorn of his servants alone.

  This had gone beyond finding answers; she wanted him. It was impossible to pretend otherwise.

  Was this what she was, deep down? Could she really be so depraved that she only longed for a monster? All her life, playing amongst men, using them to get what she wanted, and the one she had fallen for had fur. Is this why she had never wanted to marry any of the men from town? Was this the evil her father had warned her of? Was there something wrong with her?

  Would she want Erik this badly if he were a mere man and not a beast?

  Her thoughts were overwhelming her.

  She pressed her fingers against the scratch on the inside of her leg and took a deep breath. Pain was good, pain stopped her losing herself in her own mind, in her loneliness. Instead, she sat, igniting the pain over and over again as a form of distraction.

  Maybe it was all magic? She desperately hoped it was. She still couldn’t bring herself to believe in it. She wanted there to be magic because it absolved her. Because then, it wouldn’t be her fault she wanted Erik.

  She prayed silently for sleep.

  Prayed for the dreams she half-remembered when the sun came up, dreams of familiarity, warmth, acceptance and enchanting blue eyes.

  Prayed she would see him watching her through the window.

  Prayed he might just arrive in her room, slamming open the doors and taking her right there and then.

  It was funny, she’d never believed in a higher power before. Never wasted time praying. Isabelle had spent her life singularly fixated on the tangible. She adored science, she wanted to know everything, understand everything. Wasting time and energy worry
ing about fate and gods seemed pointless, the mysteries which they had once attributed to a benevolent ruler in the sky were slowly being unravelled by science. Yet here and now, lost on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, questioning everything about herself, there was something comforting about pretending somebody was watching over her.

  Would her mother understand what her father would call wanton behaviour? Would the witch he had warned her of, the one he had told her to never seek out?

  Could anybody truly understand Isabelle's disturbing desires?

  Would he?

  By the time the sun rose, Isabelle was glad to relinquish her lonely cocoon. She dressed in one of the plainer gowns that Erik had afforded her because it had a high neckline which covered the bruises around her throat. It had a simple leather corset and an intricate patchwork skirt. It was the first dress she’d put on that didn’t fit flawlessly, the hem was too long, and she kept treading on it and stumbling. The first time she’d looked in the mirror, she winced, sleep had smudged the kohl she used on her eyes. Instead of making her look sultry, she looked exhausted and it merely accentuated the bruised bags beneath. She scrubbed her face clean but didn’t bother to apply more makeup. She doubted it would help, she looked ill.

  After almost falling down the stairs twice, Isabelle entered the kitchen in a worse mood than she had been in when she left her bedroom. She looked and felt exhausted, both psychically and emotionally.

  “What happened to you?” Maggie gasped upon seeing her. For a fraction of a second, Isabelle had forgotten the medication they gave to Maggie. Luckily Charlotte rescued her from her bemusement before she undid all of their work to keep Margaret clueless.

  “She had a long night, even I heard the Master stomping around the place, sleeping beneath his rooms I imagine was impossible.”

  “Funny,” Maggie frowned a little, “I didn’t hear anything. I did have dreams about it.”

  “It must have been your subconscious,” Isabelle reasoned quickly, “you heard the noises and your mind turned them into dreams.” She attempted a smile, Maggie returned it warmly.