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

by Tessonja Odette

  “Have you any idea why His Majesty insists on staying outside all morning?” Gray asks, her brows weaving together. “He won’t speak to us or allow us to enter the courtyard.”

  “I do,” I say, “but I don’t think—”

  “If it’s about the curse,” Blackbeard says, “it involves us too. We deserve to know.”

  I sigh. Maybe he’s right. “Just after midnight, the king found five petals had fallen instead of just one. I…I think he’s watching to see how many fall today.”

  The two fae exchange a glance. “It’s coming to claim us,” Blackbeard whispers.

  Curiosity buzzes inside me, and I realize there are still a few things regarding the curse that haven’t been made clear. This might be my chance to understand the rest. “The residents in the palace chose to stay with the king when he was cursed, right?”

  They nod. “Most fled right away,” Gray explains in her old, creaky voice. “Especially the young and strong, and any wolves who didn’t consider themselves part of the king’s pack. The old and injured—those who aged from severe war or iron injuries, like me—had no choice but to stay.”

  “Some may not have had a choice,” Blackbeard says, “but others stayed out of loyalty to our king.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Gray waves a dismissive hand. “Would you like a medal for that?”

  Blackbeard ignores her. “Then there were those who had a choice, those who had been loyal to the king all their lives and still chose to leave him behind. A few mothers even left their pups, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

  My heart squeezes with the realization that Micah and the other children were abandoned. By their own mothers, no less.

  Gray must see the horror on my face. “Not all unseelie are fit parents,” she says.

  “Not all humans are, either,” I mutter, thinking of the man my father has become since Mother’s death. Returning to my original subject, I say, “The king told me that if the curse isn’t broken, it will claim his life. His age will catch up to the mortal body he’s left with and he will die within seconds. Will the same happen to everyone else?”

  “Most of us,” Blackbeard says, rubbing the dark scruff on his chin. “The only ones who will have years ahead of them will be the children. They are still pups in both human and fae years.”

  The consolation that brings is very small. Especially since they’ll be orphaned worse than they already are. With their caretakers dead, they’ll be left to fend for themselves. And everyone else will be…

  “Are you not upset at the king for refusing to break the curse himself?” I ask. “You’d all be free if he’d sacrifice his unseelie form.”

  Blackbeard shakes his head. “If he sacrifices his unseelie form, the same goes for the rest of us. We’d lose a vital piece of ourselves. The only true way to break the curse is to break it completely.”

  Gray nods in agreement. “We knew what we were getting into when we stayed. If the curse isn’t broken by a human, then it’s death we face and death we choose. We’ve made peace with that. Most of us, at least.” Her craggy face softens as she lowers her voice. “Will you keep a promise for me?”

  A chill of suspicion crawls up my back. I’ve heard how seriously fae take promises. “What would you have me promise?”

  “If this all goes wrong, if the curse isn’t broken, will you see to the children? I’m not asking you to take them in yourself, but will you see they are cared for? Given homes amongst your kind, perhaps?”

  Tears prick my eyes at the sincerity in her voice, the pleading in her gaze. “Gray, that’s not even up for debate. Nothing could stop me from caring for them if such a terrible thing were to come to pass.”

  Blackbeard gives a dark chuckle. “Be careful thinking too sweetly of them. Some of them bite.”

  A corner of my mouth quirks, but my mood is too somber to feel any true mirth. “I can handle a couple bites.”

  Elliot remains where I last saw him out my window, eyes trained on the rose. He must have returned indoors at least once since last night, for I see he’s traded his prosthetic for his staff. I enter the courtyard, the king not bothering to look up. Seeing him like this makes a part of me yearn to rush to his side and sit next to him, to take his hands in mine and offer comfort. But I don’t think that’s what he truly needs right now.

  Standing tall, I put my hands on my hips. “Get up, Mr. Rochester.”

  Slowly, he slides his eyes to mine. “Why?”

  “Why? What do you mean, why? Because sitting around here watching petals fall won’t help you. Action is all that can. So, come on. We’re advancing our scheme to the next level.”

  He sits a little straighter. “How so?”

  “It’s time for phase three,” I say. “We’ve snagged Imogen’s interest. She’s seen what you have to offer—your display of wealth and gentlemanly behavior. By now, you’re locked in her sights. Next, we need to encourage a deeper feeling. It’s time to tempt her from interest to love.”

  He scoffs. “How do you suggest we do that?”

  “Courtship.” I can’t say the word without a hint of disgust. “It’s time to do all the stupid little things that will encourage her attachment. Starting with an invitation to tea.”

  He quirks a brow. “Tea?”

  “Yes. I’ll send her a letter today and invite her to have tea with me.”

  “Why you? Shouldn’t I be the one to invite her?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “That would be highly improper. Normally, the expected response would be for you to call on her family at their townhouse and thank them for attending your dinner. Since you can’t stray too far from the manor, we need a creative alternative. You could invite her family over, but we’d have better luck advancing our timeline if we got Imogen alone. And that, Your Majesty, is why I am inviting her to tea.”

  “I still don’t see how that is supposed to make her fall in love with me.”

  “You’ll happen by, of course,” I say with a conspiratorial grin. “Just going about your business, you’ll see us, stop to pay your respects, and then I will suggest the three of us take a walk in the gardens together. You’ll escort Imogen, and I’ll remain nearby as a chaperone. I will, however, make myself scarce so Imogen feels she has your full attention.”

  His lips pull into a snarl. “She better not say a damn word—”

  “I don’t care what she says. Don’t you dare come to my defense, do you hear me? We don’t have time for that.”

  He glances back at the rose and gives a resigned nod. “Fine, but I won’t like it.”

  “I’d respect you less if you did. Now, are we in agreement? I will write the letter now, send it with Bertha this afternoon, and invite her to call tomorrow.”

  Elliot says nothing for a few moments, his shoulders suddenly tense. Finally, he quietly says, “What am I to do with her when we walk in the garden? Shouldn’t I…say something to, as you say, encourage her attachment?”

  I furrow my brow. “Well, yes, you must speak with her, have casual conversation. You needn’t be too forward in your intentions, but a compliment or two will suffice. A kiss on the back of her hand, perhaps.”

  He pales, a grimace forming on his lips.

  I sigh. “Fine. Let us practice. Come with me.” I wave at him to join me. To my relief, he obeys. My main objective in speaking with him had been getting him out of the courtyard anyway, just so he’d stop sulking in despair.

  When he reaches my side, he hesitates for a few moments. “I’d offer you my arm, but I’m walking with my staff. My free arm helps for balance.”

  “It’s fine. You already proved last night to be proficient at the art of escorting a lady by arm. Today, we’ll walk side by side.”

  The ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth.

  I avert my gaze, ignoring the flutter in my heart. Although, despite my efforts, I can’t seem to find my words. So instead, we start our walk in silence, making our way along the garden path. When we reach the place we s
tood during our conversation about the viscount, I can’t help but blush at the memory. The way he placed his hand on my arm. This, of course, only brings thoughts of what happened after, when he took me to the courtyard and we sat together on the bench. How embarrassed I was when I touched his fist, then how stricken I became when he laced his fingers with mine and leaned closer…

  I shake my head, realizing we’ve come to the end of the main path. “Let’s follow the trail to the front gardens. I’ve yet to walk in them.”

  Elliot nods, and we turn course, making our way along the side of the house.

  “We must practice your conversation skills,” I say. “I know you’re familiar with proper greetings, so let’s carry on with what should happen from there. Pretend I’m Imogen and offer me a compliment.”

  “A compliment?” He sneers. “What about that wretched human am I supposed to compliment?”

  I roll my eyes. Again, with the wretched humans. “It doesn’t have to be something true.”

  “It does,” he says. “I can’t lie, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Well, then you will have to look at her and find something true to say. Perhaps you can find beauty in the color of her dress, or the shade of blonde in her hair. Even something like you said to me last night, about liking my laugh, will suffice. Although, I don’t suggest you add anything about wolves. Now, come on. Try it with me. Make believe I’m Imogen.”

  He turns his face to me, and I try not to blush beneath his gaze. “Your shade of hair is quite nice,” he says, words stilted.

  “Good, that’s a start.”

  He’s quiet for a few moments, eyes still locked on the side of my face. “It’s like raven feathers or an obsidian night sky. Your eyes are nearly the same color, a stunning shade of the darkest umber.”

  My pulse begins to quicken as heat climbs up my cheeks. “Yes, you do seem to have a handle at compliments. She will like that very much indeed.”

  Finally, he averts his gaze, allowing me to gather a deep inhale to cool my rising temperature.

  “Now, I’ll go,” I say. “What nice weather we’re having today, don’t you think, Mr. Rochester?”

  He glances around, brow furrowed. “Nice? Why would you say it’s nice? It’s stopped snowing.”

  I chuckle. “For one, that is not how you should answer Imogen. For another…you truly like the snow that much?”

  “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?” When I narrow my eyes at him, he pulls his head back. “Are you telling me you don’t like the snow?”

  I’m about to affirm my answer, but a deeper truth reaches my lips. “I hated it when we first arrived in Vernon. Growing up in Isola, I was raised under a constant supply of sunshine. Then Bretton brought nothing but cloudy skies and rain. So, when I arrived in the Winter Court, snow was brand new and something I’d never had experience with. To be honest, I didn’t stop detesting it until…well, until I started living here at the manor.”

  His eyes take on a distant look. “I can’t imagine anyone disliking the snow. The smell of it, the feel of it. The almost imperceptible sound it makes as it falls. The feel of it crunching beneath my paws.” He looks down at our shoes, brow wrinkled. “Or feet, I suppose.”

  “I can admire snow’s finer qualities,” I say, pulling my cloak close to my body. “I’m even getting used to the cold a little. Sometimes it feels cozy to be so bundled outdoors.”

  He meets my gaze with trepidation in his eyes. “But you’ll never like this climate as much as a warmer one, will you? That’s why you want to move back to Isola.”

  I don’t know if I’m imagining the sadness in his tone, but I hate what it does to my heart. It hammers in response to the idea that Elliot could be unhappy with the thought of me moving. It can’t be that, I tell myself, forcing my heart to calm. He’s the King of the Winter Court. If he’s upset with my preference for Isola, it’s because he has a vested interest in this snowy land. He’d be upset if anyone found the Winter Court less favorable than anywhere else.

  Still, when I open my mouth, I don’t know what to say. I find that we’ve stopped near the front of the manor and are now facing each other. When did that happen?

  Elliot takes a step closer, shifting his stance with his staff. His brows knit together. “Do you think you could ever be happy here in Winter?”

  My heart causes a ruckus yet again, warring with my mind to form an answer. Our eyes lock, and I take in the deep ruby hue of his irises. I can almost see his question swimming in them, but am I imagining the significance attached to it?

  The sound of horse hooves saves me from delving further, and we turn to face the drive. At the far end is a black coach coming this way.

  Panic and realization strike me at once. “Get inside. Now! Hurry!” I rush to the front doors of the manor, hoping they aren’t locked, and Elliot follows quickly behind. Luckily, the doors open with ease and I slam them shut behind the king.

  “What’s going on, Gemma? Who do you think is in the coach?”

  I can’t know for certain, but it isn’t hard to guess. “We aren’t the only ones advancing our schemes. Now go get dressed at once.”

  26

  I only have a few seconds to spread word through the manor that a guest has arrived. The residents are quick to comprehend what this means and what’s expected of them. Just as the coach pulls in front of the manor, I catch my reflection in the hall mirror, finding my cheeks flushed and my hair in disarray. I tuck the errant strands beneath my hat and take a few deep breaths. Then, with all the composure I can gather, I step calmly out the front doors and down the stairs to the drive.

  A well-dressed footman opens the carriage door and offers its occupant his hand. Just like I’d suspected, Imogen steps out of the coach, all smiles and grace. Who I hadn’t expected to see, however, is Ember. Imogen strides toward me, and the bonnet-clad girl follows just behind.

  “Dearest Gemma,” Imogen says. “I do hope you aren’t too busy working today. I simply had to call upon you for a visit.”

  Seeing her false, smiling face sends waves of anger through me as her words from last night’s dinner echo through my mind. Mirroring her expression, I squint my eyes and stretch my lips into an exaggerated smile. “I can always make time for you, my dear Imogen. And Ember, it’s lovely to see you again.”

  Imogen doesn’t give Ember a chance to respond to my greeting. “Your employer doesn’t mind me calling on you here, does he?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “Since I take room and board here, he knows to expect visits and allows me plenty of leisure time.”

  “Oh, how good of him! But he’s not around, of course.” She does a poor job of pretending she isn’t looking over my head and around me before returning her eyes to mine with a look of disappointment. “Surely, he’s too important and busy to be present.”

  “No, he’s present,” I say, watching as her expression regains its glow. “We may even cross his path.”

  “How wonderful! Shall you invite us inside then?”

  I hesitate. While I asked several fae to tidy up the parlor and main hall, I’m not certain they’ve had enough time to do a thorough job. I haven’t seen the state of the parlor after last night’s dinner. “I had actually just come out for fresh air when you arrived. Why don’t we linger out here a few minutes more?”

  “Very well.” Her expression falters for a moment before she replaces her false smile. “Oh, dearest Gemma, I did want to apologize if I had you flustered last night. You must know I had no intention of doing so.”

  It takes all my restraint not to turn my smile into a snarl. “No, of course you didn’t.”

  She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. “I only wanted to help you, you know. As your dear friend, I want what’s best for you. I was simply drawing attention to something I felt needed a little more awareness on your part.”

  This time, I can’t stop my smile from melting from my lips. “How good of you.”

  Imogen doesn’t seem to notic
e. “I’m so glad you understand. You know I will always be an honest friend, even if it sometimes hurts.”

  My fingers curl into fists, jaw clenched. I know something I’d like to make hurt…

  The sound of the front doors opening distracts me from my violent thoughts, and the three of us turn to face the manor. Back in his prosthetic and dressed in one of his sharp suits, Elliot emerges from the doorway and pauses at the top of the steps. A look of uncertainty clouds his face before he says, “Good day.”

  “Oh, Mr. Rochester!” Imogen says with a gasp before dipping into a curtsy. “I had no idea I’d be graced with your presence today. I came to visit my dearest friend.”

  “Your dearest friend,” he echoes, a sarcastic bite in his tone.

  Thankfully, I must be the only one who catches it, for Imogen only smiles brighter as she links her arm through mine. “Yes, I do adore your steward.”

  I widen my eyes to keep from rolling them. It isn’t hard to grasp the truth of the situation. What I’m sure really transpired is she woke up this morning with the realization that I am her only direct link to Elliot. The thought gives me some semblance of vindictive pride, knowing I have such a power over her.

  Elliot grimaces and says nothing in reply, but when his eyes flash to me, I give him a warning look. With a subtle flick of my hand, I gesture him forward. Catching the hint, he releases a sigh and descends the front steps at a slow, leisurely pace. I must say, he’s getting quite adept at walking with his prosthetic. Imogen beams as he stops before us, but Elliot says not a word.

  Damn it, Elliot! I clear my throat. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”

  Elliot furrows his brow, eyes sliding to mine.

  “So nice, I imagine the back gardens are just lovely.” I enunciate each word for emphasis.

  He frowns, jaw clenched, then faces Imogen with a poorly developed smile. His motions are stiff as he extends his arm. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”