Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae)

by Tessonja Odette

  Mrs. Coleman’s face whips toward me. “Pardon? Who do you mean?”

  “Miss Amelie,” I say. “She’s currently in Vernon.”

  She pales, then wordlessly sips her wine as if I hadn’t spoken.

  Ember lets out a quiet giggle. “I guarantee they are not dear friends,” she whispers to me.

  Mrs. Coleman turns back to Elliot. “Speaking of important fae, my daughter says you are of noble fae blood. Might you oblige us with insight into your lineage?”

  Imogen burns her mother with a scowl, but the older woman pays her no heed and simply grins at Elliot over her dinner plate.

  Elliot is silent for a few moments, eyes unfocused before he calmly states, “No, I will not share that information.”

  Not getting the hint, Mrs. Coleman places a hand on Elliot’s forearm. “Oh, come, Mr. Rochester. I hope you can trust us to keep whatever secrets you may carry. Remember, I am much acquainted with the ways of fae.”

  Elliot snatches his arm from her touch, eyes going steely.

  Saints, this is what I was afraid of. “Mr. Rochester is here on private matters and intends to keep them that way.”

  Imogen swivels toward me, eyes narrowed to slits. “Why is it you keep answering for him, Miss Bellefleur?”

  “As his steward, I have his best interests at heart.”

  “At heart, you say?” Lifting her wine glass to her lips, she takes a dainty sip. “If you aren’t careful, one might get the impression you know him better than you ought.”

  I open my mouth, but Elliot speaks first. “And how ought she know me?”

  Imogen’s lips curl into cruel grin as her eyes lock on mine. “Far less intimately than she’d know a viscount.”

  Silence and sound crash over me at once, the word viscount echoing in my head.

  “Viscount?” Mrs. Aston says, turning to look from me to Imogen. “Does Miss Bellefleur know a viscount?”

  Imogen’s gaze continues to burn into me. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s known many.”

  The eyes of the dinner guests slowly turn toward me, and in them I feel the eyes of others, those not present but in my mind.

  The leers. The jests.

  I grip the arms of my chair to steady myself, but already my breaths are growing ragged, the room beginning to tilt. This is here. This is now, I try to remind myself, but the here and now is far too unpleasant to provide much comfort.

  Elliot’s low rumbling voice is all that anchors me and clears a portion of the chaos from my head. “Miss Coleman.”

  I slowly turn to find him slouched to the side, leaning away from Imogen, his eyes as sharp as daggers. She meets his gaze, and her grin melts from her lips.

  His next words come out slow, cold. “Am I to understand your comment was made at my steward’s expense?”

  She blinks a few times, her cheeks flushing pink. Then her gaze turns to scorn, her lips pressed into a tight line as she stabs her fork at her plate.

  Silence falls over the table like a shroud, the tension more chilling than ice.

  Oh no. This isn’t good. But as much as I want to remedy it, I can’t fully shake what Imogen has conjured within me. The eyes from my past continue to glare at me from inside my head, lips hurling insults as sharp as broken glass.

  Rising from my seat with all the grace I can manage, I address the table with a weak smile. “I apologize, but I must take my leave of you early. I am not feeling well.”

  Gavin rises from his seat. “May I—”

  “No,” I bark, then soften my tone. “I will disrupt this dinner no more. Please proceed without me.”

  As I rush to the other side of the room, Elliot’s eyes follow me, brow furrowed. “Gem—Miss Bellefleur,” he whispers, then shifts in his chair as if he’s about to stand.

  I pause in time to catch Imogen shooting her mother a knowing look.

  “Mr. Rochester,” I whisper back. “I’m fine.”

  He opens his mouth, but I give him a subtle shake of my head.

  “Don’t. Please.” With that, I flee, feeling a thousand eyes burning into my back long after I close my bedroom door.

  23

  I lay in bed reading The Governess and the Earl, but despite having done so for at least an hour, I don’t think I’ve made it past a single chapter. Every paragraph or so, my mind returns to the dining hall, to Imogen’s cruel smile and Elliot’s cold response to her teasing. And every time I read about the brooding earl in my book, I can’t help replacing his imagined description with the countenance of a certain fae king.

  It’s been two hours since I fled the dining room. Now that I’ve regained my composure, all I can think about is whether I’ve doomed Elliot’s dinner by leaving him alone with his guests like that. Then again, I think it took such a poor turn because of me. Or Elliot’s defense of me. While I appreciate the king standing up for me, he shouldn’t have. He should have done everything in his power to please Imogen. Now I can only hope he managed the rest of the meal without getting trapped in any uncomfortable truths.

  I try reading for another hour with very little progress and then push back my blankets with a groan. Rubbing my hands up and down my chilly arms, I go to my window and lean my shoulder into the frame. Below, the gardens are quiet with no movement but the swirl of falling snow, the dainty snowflakes blanketing the night in silence. All at once, my mind goes still and my pulse evens out. The peace of the mountains traps me in its spell. Yearning creeps into my soul, a desire to breathe that forest air.

  I glance at the clock on my dressing table, its hands telling me it’s almost midnight. Surely, our guests have departed by now. I return my attention to the window and that yearning returns, calling to me.

  Without a second thought, I pull on my hose and boots, then drape my warm cloak over my nightgown. A hat comes last, then I rush out the door before I can stop myself.

  The halls of the manor are quiet, empty, as I creep across the floors. Downstairs, there’s no sign of guests, none of our hired servants, no residents. I release a sigh of relief and continue toward the back of the manor to the doors that lead out to the gardens. Once outside, the cool night air greets me. Never before has this sensation felt so welcome. It was always warmth and sunshine I’ve craved before, but the peace of a snowy night brings such a similar feeling that for once, I don’t mind the cold.

  I walk down the garden path, emptying my mind as I focus on nothing but the pitter patter of falling flakes, the crunch of my boots in the snow. After a time, a new sound falls upon my ears, footsteps that are not my own.

  I whirl around, finding Elliot on the path behind me. His breath comes out in puffs of white while snow falls over his hair. No longer combed and styled like it was at dinner, it falls around his face in disarray—yet, somehow, still makes him look somewhat handsome in a rugged, roguish way. His hands are tucked into the pockets of a long wool overcoat in a deep green. Beneath it, I see the hint of trousers and an untucked linen shirt but no waistcoat, no cravat. I wonder if he too got out of bed to come here.

  Without a word, he slowly crosses the distance between us, and I realize he’s still wearing his prosthetic. Stopping a few paces away, he offers me a tight-lipped smile. His expression flickers with something I can’t quite place. Is it worry? Fatigue?

  Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

  His words shatter my peace, reminding me of that awful dinner. I release a sigh. “It wasn’t your fault. It…it’s just how Imogen is.”

  “Not about that,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He shifts his stance as trepidation clouds his face. “About…before. About the money and my vault.”

  Guilt sinks my stomach, making it churn. My words come out with a tremor. “Please don’t apologize for that.”

  He averts his gaze from me, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he speaks again. “I shouldn’t have been hurtful about it. I meant what I said, that I must protect myself in case—”

  “Please don’t, Your Majesty. I
don’t want to talk about that.”

  His eyes return to mine, and his expression softens. A corner of his mouth quirks into a halfhearted grin. “First of all, enough with that Your Majesty nonsense. Call me Elliot. I learned today that first names are considered quite an honor.” A smile tugs my lips at the jest in his voice. “Second of all, do you mind if we talk about something else?”

  I furrow my brow. “Like what?”

  “Anything,” he says with a shrug. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Neither could I.”

  “Well, then.” He straightens his posture with a hint of lighthearted mockery and offers me his arm. “This is another thing I learned tonight, thanks to your comprehensive list of dinner etiquette.”

  I place my hand at the crook of his elbow, and we begin to walk, our steps slow and leisurely. “I’m pleased to discover you read it. Speaking of, how did the rest of the dinner go?”

  His lips twist with a scowl. “It was the most unenjoyable thing I’ve ever been forced to endure.”

  “But you endured it? Everyone made it out alive?”

  “Barely. I followed your list. Finished dinner, adjourned to the parlor. I took my place by the fire, and most of the talking was done at me, more than with me, which I suppose I should be grateful for.”

  “And Imogen?” I can’t say her name without another churn of my stomach. “Were you able to regain her favor?”

  “She seemed to light up as soon as you left the dining hall. Hardly a moment passed before she recommenced with batting her lashes at me. I could barely stand to look at her after how vile she acted before you left.”

  I shrug. “Well, now you see why I chose her for our scheme. I wouldn’t select just anyone to trick into sacrificing their greatest treasure.”

  “No, I can certainly see why she is the one. All the guests were despicable, of course, but she more than the rest, followed by her mother. How many times must one touch another’s forearm when speaking?” He grimaces.

  I let out a laugh but sober from it quickly. “You shouldn’t have defended me with Imogen, Elliot. You mustn’t come to my defense next time it happens.”

  “Are you telling me I should expect more disrespect from her?”

  “Not to you, which is all that matters. You must woo her, remember?”

  He scoffs and looks away. “Woo her. Ha! Shouldn’t she be trying to impress me? Not…mocking my staff?”

  “She probably thinks her cruelty is impressive. There are many stories about fae who value such a trait.”

  “Cruelty is only admirable when it’s either humorous or deserved.”

  “Is that so? And how do you know I don’t deserve her cruelty?” I mean it to come out cajoling, but he must sense the way my heart clenches hard in my chest.

  He stops and faces me, tone firm. “You don’t.” Then, after a pause, he asks, “What did she mean, anyway? About the viscount?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. Clearly, it’s something. If you want my promise that I won’t confront Imogen next time she says something vile, then you damn well better let me in on what exactly she lords over you. Perhaps I can steer the conversation better with that knowledge in mind.”

  I study his face for a few moments, surprised at the sincerity I find there. Perhaps if he knew the truth, he’d understand. Just like everyone else who’s heard about it—my father, my former friends in Bretton, my older sister Marnie—he’ll deem me at fault for the mess. Then maybe he’ll be more amiable with Imogen.

  I lift my chin. “If I tell you, promise you won’t scold me or school me in the importance of feminine virtue. I’ve had enough of those conversations to last a lifetime.”

  “Why the freezing hell would I give a snow troll’s ass about feminine virtue?”

  “Fine,” I grumble, then begin walking again. Elliot keeps pace at my side, our shoulders brushing now and then. With a deep breath, I begin. “As you know, I was raised in Isola. But after my mother died, Father moved us from there to the capital city in Bretton. There we lived for five years, and my sisters and I entered society as each of us came of age. After my eldest sister was married, it was my turn to secure a husband. So began the games of courtship, culminating in my meeting with the viscount.” My voice trembles on the last word.

  I sense Elliot’s eyes on me but can’t bring myself to meet them.

  Steeling my nerves, I try to imagine I’m simply narrating a story, something not about me but one of the fictional governesses in my books. This helps me continue with far less attachment to my words. “The Viscount of Brekshire—Oswald—pursued me more than any other man, and it didn’t take long for me to return his affections. We were in love, and he promised marriage would follow. There was just one complication.”

  “What’s that?”

  I meet his gaze for just a second. “Oswald was already engaged to the Princess of Bretton.”

  I expect a judgmental hiss, a gasp, a halt in his steps. But he remains steady, not faltering for a single beat.

  So I proceed. “It was an arranged marriage for political reasons, something orchestrated by Oswald’s father and the king years before. My beloved promised me that he had every intention of breaking off the engagement. He only needed some time to convince his father to allow him to marry someone like me. You see, Oswald knew the truth, that my family was on the verge of poverty, hiding our dire situation behind my expert management of our assets. Even so, he loved me anyway. He assured me his father would understand and give us his blessing when the time was right. Until then, we would need to continue our courtship in secret. As soon as his betrothal was broken, we’d go public with our love. Everything he said to me, the way he treated me, had me convinced it was the truth. I knew it as deeply as my own skin. But months went on and still, he needed more time. More time. More time. I waited. And then I stopped waiting.”

  I clench my fingers into fists to distract myself from the heat that rises to my cheeks. It takes all my will to voice the next part. “I wasn’t chaste with him, and I’ll make no excuses for that. I’d never felt more beautiful or loved in my life. But the euphoria of our coupling made us reckless. Or it made me that way, at least. We stopped being as careful to conceal our courtship, dancing together far more than is considered proper at balls, dining together, walking together, stealing kisses in public. Then more than kisses.”

  My throat closes up, nausea wrenching my gut. “We drew enough suspicion to attract the attention of a reporter running the city’s gossip column. She…followed us one day and caught us in the middle of…”

  I swallow hard.

  Elliot stops and places a hand on my arm, gently turning me to face him. “You don’t have to explain more than that,” he says. The steadying warmth of his palm makes me realize how badly I’m shaking, and it isn’t from the cold.

  “Everyone found out,” I whisper. “All my friends, my family, Oswald’s father. Oswald promised to fight for me. But…he didn’t.”

  The king’s brows knit together, and I realize his hand is still on my arm. It keeps me rooted to the moment while memories of the past rush through my mind. I can still see the words I found in the gossip column a week after it had already revealed my tryst with the viscount. Just when I thought rumors couldn’t hurt me more, this one made the killing blow, for every letter spelled out a vicious lie.

  “The viscount decided to save his reputation instead,” I say, anger heating my core. “He spread word that I had tempted and seduced him. That our dalliance meant nothing and his heart belonged to the princess. He married her at the end of the month and his sins were quickly forgotten. Mine, however, lasted long after. My reputation was ruined, my family scorned, and suitors stopped courting my little sister. Friends verbally attacked me, publicly humiliating me one day when I was walking through town.” I seize up for a moment, remembering the way the girls circled me, shouting insults that anyone passing by could hear. There was no fight in me then,
just frozen terror. The eyes of those girls are the ones I see when I’m dragged back to my memories. Their voices are the ones that resound in my head.

  Breathing deep, I focus all my awareness on Elliot’s hand, letting the past disappear into the recesses of my mind. “That’s why we moved here as soon as Father got the chance.”

  Elliot is quiet for a few tense moments. “I’m glad you were able to get away from that.”

  “But I didn’t, did I?” Tears well in my eyes at the words. “Imogen knows. Her mother knows. My father knows. Nina is kind about it, but everyone else makes sure to remind me of my follies time and time again.”

  He clenches his jaw and I wonder if he’s fighting the urge to do the same, to tell me I’ve brought ruination upon myself. That I should have known better than to lift my skirts. Just like Marnie said. Just like Father said. Just like all my so-called friends said. “How badly do you wish to scold me?”

  His grip grows firmer, his shoulders rigid. “Scold you?” He retracts his hand and turns away from me, running his fingers through his hair with a growl. There he stands for a few silent moments, hands on his hips. When he whirls back to face me, his eyes are wide, cheeks blazing crimson. “Scold you? Why the freezing hell would I scold you? I’m…furious at those…those stupid humans. You’re a woman in your own right. No one else has any say in judging you, least of all what you do with your passions or your body.”

  I’m taken aback. No one has responded to my story this way, no matter how much I cried genuine tears or expressed the depth of my heartache. Not even Nina reacted like this. She showed pity, yes, but not anger on my behalf.

  As my eyes lock on his, taking in all their fury and indignation, I feel seen in a way I never have before. “You really believe that?”

  “Of course I do.” He pulls his gaze from mine and begins pacing back and forth, his gait uneven from his frantic movements. “Humans and their pathetic ways, always trying to lord over everyone else’s private business with inane rules of propriety. It’s mating, for ice’s sake. Mating! That involves two. Well, several, for some fae, but it certainly doesn’t involve an entire town nor require anyone else’s permission or approval. I’ll never understand your kind.”