by Lelia Eye
“He couldn’t have fallen in love with someone because of their beauty,” Elle said. “You have to tell me more about her. Love is about more than looks.”
I gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. She was very beautiful, but she also had other wonderful qualities. She was loving and kind, and she grew all sorts of plants, though she especially loved roses. She tended to her plants gently, and they blossomed into the prettiest flowers you had ever seen. Everyone who knew her loved her.
“The young man was determined that she would be his, though he hated much of what she loved. And somehow, miraculously, she grew to love him.”
“But why?” Elle cut in once more. “If he was scornful of what she loved, why would she love him?”
“Love doesn’t always make sense. It causes people to act irrationally. And it was only after they were married that she realized how possessive her new husband was. Suddenly, he felt he had control over her, and he forbade her from doing many of the things she loved. But the one thing he did let her continue was growing roses, for there is something in their beauty that can touch even the hard-hearted.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t let you tell stories anymore,” Elle said, looking discontent, though I thought I had done a pretty good job considering all her interruptions. “But . . . what happened, Laurel?”
I grimaced. “Not Laurel. Well, the young woman escaped from the clutches of her evil captor, and now, wherever she goes, roses bloom.”
Elle studied me for a second. “The first part of your story was pretty bad, but I’d say you made up for it with that last part.”
“Made up for what? That’s how the story goes—I didn’t make it up.”
“Right,” Elle said, rolling her eyes. “The only way roses would grow wherever she went would be if she was a fairy, and you didn’t mention that. Anyone who could forget an important detail like that didn’t really read the story.”
I shook my head and resisted the urge to bare my fangs at her. “Well, you kind of put me on the spot there. I felt like I had to add in one of those girly details.”
Elle snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t add a swordfight in there.”
“I would have, but the young man was a lot more likely to get into a brawl than a duel, and I doubted you’d want to hear about how he punched someone to win his lady love.”
I could see she was hiding a smile. “I guess you’re right.” She got to her feet, having satisfied her belly, and gave a little stretch when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I started to move away from the dining table, and she followed me. We must have seemed an odd pair, a ghastly wolf and a beautiful girl going out for a morning walk. Our relationship was perhaps just as odd. We went back and forth between what you would expect—fear from Elle and anger from me—and a strange sort of camaraderie. And I did like to think that we were friends, even if I was somewhat of a volatile companion.
We walked in silence for a while, first among the roses, which Elle stopped to smell every now and then, and then among the trees in the orchards.
“So, we know that I like reading and hunting,” I said at last. “What do you like to do—besides pamper your horse, I mean?”
There was a long pause, which I found strange, and then Elle said hesitantly, “I like to look at dresses and different types of cloths to make dresses.”
I crinkled my nose. I appreciated a good greatcoat myself, but that was not exactly what I wanted to do for fun. “Why?”
There was another of those unusual silences. I half-expected her to reach up and grab an apple to give herself an excuse to think longer, but she resisted the urge. “I guess because Nettle and Poppy—my stepsisters—like it. That’s what they’ve always been interested in.”
“But I didn’t ask what they liked. I asked what you liked.”
“I’ll—I’ll think on it,” she said.
I nodded in acknowledgment, but I still thought it odd. Who didn’t know what they liked to do? And who genuinely liked just looking at clothes? Sometimes, girls were weird.
The rest of the morning passed slowly, and I felt antsy the whole time. I had a surprise planned, and I couldn’t wait to spring it. As the noon hour approached, I managed to convince Elle that she needed to check on Soleil, who was getting fatter by the day.
When we had spent an appropriate amount of time with the sheep, I pulled Elle away and took her to the orchards under the pretense of having her “pick an apple to go with her lunch.”
As we walked into the apple orchard, I saw a snowy white blanket spread out on the ground with an assortment of foods neatly arranged on it. I had planned the whole menu and given the Invis very detailed instructions, which they had carried out in full. I could see roast beef sandwiches, chicken sandwiches, beef and mushroom pie, salad, stewed fruit, apple turnovers, cheesecake, jam puffs, cream puffs, plum pudding, rolls, sponge cake, apples, strawberries, and grapes, to name a few of the more recognizable items. (All right, so maybe I went a little overboard.)
Elle took in the picnic before her and then turned to me with a delighted smile. “Did you plan this?”
My tongue might have started lolling out just then. “Yeah. Do you . . . do you like picnics?” I hadn’t thought of that. What if she hated eating meals outside? What if she had faced some sort of terrible life-changing experience at a picnic as a child?
But her smile got bigger. “I’ve never had a picnic before, but I think I’d love it.”
I hoped my tail hadn’t started wagging. “That’s good to hear.”
We sat down, and she exclaimed over the different foods as I had hoped she would, and then, after she had only taken one bite of a sandwich, she looked at me with a frown. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“This picnic is for you,” I said, caught off-guard.
“But a picnic is meant to be enjoyed with someone. No one wants to eat alone at a picnic.”
I gave a beastly grimace. The last thing I wanted was to spoil her picnic by slobbering all over the food. No matter what I did—whether I did or didn’t eat—it would make her unhappy. But I thought perhaps in this instance she would be more upset if I declined, so I reluctantly obliged, taking a strawberry in my mouth, stem and all, and chewing it with my mouth carefully closed.
She gave me a sideways glance. “It’s not killing you, you know. Why do you hate it?”
Because I used to be human! I wanted to shout. But I settled for: “It makes me feel like such a beast.”
“You are more than a beast,” she said, and I almost believed she meant it.
“Well, I’m a talking beast, but that’s about all I have going for me,” I said wryly.
“Would it help if I cut up your food for you?”
“It might make me feel like an invalid,” I admitted, “but I guess that’s better than feeling like a messy invalid.”
“It won’t make me feel like you’re an invalid,” she said. “It’ll make me feel better. I don’t like it when you stare at me as I eat.”
I tilted my head. “I didn’t know you hated it that much.”
“Well, I guess we’re both learning things about each other now, aren’t we?” she said with a smile.
As long as she was smiling, I would be fine. “Well, then would you mind cutting up a sandwich for me? I’ve never been a big fan of strawberries.” Even when I was human, they had always tasted more tart than sweet to me. My wolf tongue really did not help me appreciate their finer qualities.
“I would be glad to, Master François.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “No, not François, Mistress Elle.”
“It would be a lot easier if you would simply tell me your name,” she said.
“Yes, but it would spoil the fun of watching you guess.” I took a bite of the chicken sandwich slowly, taking care to chew rather than simply swallow it whole as would be my normal inclination.
“And I can’t even have a hint?”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t p
art of the deal.”
She picked up part of her sandwich and took a bite, and I noticed that, for some reason, she had cut it up in pieces like mine. “Well, you can alter the deal if you want.”
“Well, I don’t want to,” I said, giving her a grin. “So that’s that.”
She shook her head and continued to eat.
Until the sandwich, I had not had anything to eat since before Elle had eaten her breakfast, and I was ravenous. It was hard to wait for Elle to cut up everything, but it was better than the alternative, so I tried to be patient. And I discovered, to my surprise, that it was the best meal that I had eaten in a long time.
It was more than the picnic setting. There was something about eating with someone that was downright pleasurable. My mother used to take most of her meals with me, but once she had disappeared into that blizzard, I almost always had to eat alone. My father was usually too busy to take time out of his day to sit at a table.
Eating like this and talking with Elle made me feel more at home. Silverthorn—and this wretched body of mine—seemed less like a dungeon. At first, I feared Elle would think I was treating her like a servant by having her cut my food into more manageable sizes for me, but she did not look at it that way. She appeared genuinely pleased that I was eating with her rather than just staring at her. And the picnic felt more like an actual picnic as a result. My mother and I had gone on many picnics together, and in some ways, this felt like an echo of those pleasant experiences.
There were differences of course. For one thing, I kept looking at Elle’s face, hoping I would catch her smiling. Frequently, she did, especially after she sampled a few of my favorite foods at my urging. Before I had been sent away to be a shepherd, the cook and I had made a game of trying unusual food combinations. Though I had often found what was on my plate to be disgusting, there were many instances where I discovered the dish to be quite tasty. So while the bulk of the food before us consisted of items I knew Elle enjoyed, there were also a few of the hidden treasures that I had discovered during my culinary adventures as a child.
As we ate, Elle’s smiles did something to me. They made me think that maybe it was not so bad to be here instead of home. At home, I would not have thought twice about a merchant’s daughter, no matter how beautiful. I would have thought instead about the daughters of earls or lords, just as my father would have wanted me to. It was only when I was a shepherd that I was able to notice someone like her.
And now, suddenly, it wasn’t just her beauty that concerned me, but her happiness. It was important to me that she liked the food. Before, I hadn’t wanted to make a fool out of myself by eating in front of her. Now, it had become more about what made her happier. And if me sharing meals with her would make her happy, then that was what I would do.
As I gobbled down a powdered cream puff that made me desire a dozen more of them, Elle laughed at me. “You have powder on your nose,” she said, picking up a napkin with a questioning look.
I leaned forward and let her wipe the powder off my nose, though I could have just as easily licked it off with my long wolf’s tongue. She smiled, and it was almost like her eyes were sparkling. Her cheeks were rosy, and she had the slightest bit of powder on her lips herself. As I stared at her, I yearned to wipe it off with a finger that I just didn’t have.
“Will you marry me?”
The words had slipped out again. I wasn’t surprised—my soul seemed to be shouting the phrase—but my big mouth had made things difficult for me once more.
She looked very uncomfortable. “No, Beast, I cannot marry you.”
Though I had been the one to advocate the term “beast” to describe me, I hated to hear it. The word served to put me back in my place, to remind me that I was unmarriageable monster. It left such an ache in my heart . . . and that was only magnified by the fact that the joy I had brought to Elle was now gone.
But she appeared to want to bring back the previous air of enjoyment, as she said with a crooked smile, “I’m pretty sure what you’re proposing is illegal anyhow.”
I laughed despite myself. “I bet there’s a book out there where a girl marries a good-looking beast such as myself.”
She smiled. “Well, I could be wrong, but I think we might be reading different books.”
My thoughts flicked to the unspeakable—to the union that could never take place between us—and I found myself desperate to put our minds wholeheartedly on something else. And so I said something that surprised even me:
“Well, if you won’t marry me, then will you ride me?”
“What?” Elle asked, blinking in confusion.
“Get up on my back and ride me,” I said quickly. “You made me ride Luna, and turnabout is fair play. I’m a large wolf. I can take the weight of a puny girl like you.”
“I’m not certain that’s a good idea—”
“Why? Are you chicken?” I asked, grinning at her.
“It’s not that I’m scared—”
Something occurred to me, and I suddenly sobered. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I didn’t say that.” She looked stricken.
“It’s all right,” I said in a voice that was almost a whisper. It felt like something solid was pressing against my chest. “I understand. I am only a beast. Thank you for . . . for picnicking with me anyway.” I got to my feet, trying not to look at her, and I started to walk away, heavy-hearted, but her voice called me back.
“Almond, hold on. I’ll do it.”
I gave a slight shake of my head to indicate she had gotten my name wrong, and I turned to look at her warily as she approached me. She seemed sincere and determined, so with a strange surge of hope—and even exhilaration—I shrugged out of my cape and waited.
She came to stand beside me, staring at my back. I didn’t say anything; I simply watched as she slowly reached a hand out to touch my fur.
“It’s soft!” she exclaimed suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. “I didn’t know it would be like that.”
“Well, I’m sure it feels a lot better than your pet sheep’s wool,” I said, trying not to sound surly. I did take baths, after all, and those pixie-bit sheep didn’t. It wasn’t surprising that my fur was soft. She should have noticed that when I fell on top of her the other day.
I gave a sharp intake of breath as she suddenly ran her hand down my back in a few exploratory strokes.
“I’m not a dog,” I muttered, resisting the urge to lean into the back rub. I liked it a little too much. Upon coming to that realization, I shook my head to clear it and lowered myself to a prostrate position to give easier access to my back. “Are you going to get on?”
There was a rustle as she moved, and then I felt her dress rub against my back as she began to straddle me.
“All right,” she said at last. “You can stand.”
I raised myself a little too quickly, and she let out a gasp and threw her head down and her arms around my neck.
“I’m not going to run around at breakneck speeds,” I said wryly. “We won’t go faster than a walk if that’s all you’re comfortable with.” It was incredible to have her arms around me. She was warm and lithe and all that was wonderful.
“I know how a horse moves,” she said, “but I don’t know how a wolf moves. Until I know your cadence, I’m going to stay like this, thank you very much.”
I grinned to myself. I could live with that.
I considered lunging forward, but after remembering my experience with riding Luna, I thought better of it. Instead, I moved slowly, as if I were stalking prey rather than taking a girl for a ride. She was heavy, but it was a bearable heavy, like an overstuffed satchel.
After I had given her a minute to grow accustomed to my “cadence,” I began to move at a comfortable walk. Her arms tightened at first, which made me tense a little, though I forced myself to relax.
The activity was a strange mixture of discomfort and pleasure. If this was the only way I would be able to touch her, the
n I could deal with it. Her warmth and weight were things to be treasured, not spurned.
While she did eventually loosen her grip, she still seemed to fear me as a wild beast which might bolt at any moment, as she did not remove her arms from my neck. But that was all right—I didn’t want her to remove them. It felt like this was the closest connection I could have with another human being.
“Are you having fun?” I asked, somewhat facetiously.
There was a pause which worried me, but then she said: “I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would. You’re definitely not a horse, but you would be a useable form of transportation if necessary.”
I snorted. “Thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome.” She sounded amused, which was a good sign.
I walked around some more, and then, just as I was growing used to the feel of her arms around me, she said: “I think that’s enough to prove my courage, don’t you? I certainly rode you with more grace than you did Luna.”
“Do you want me to fling you off? Because I will.” I stopped and turned my head back to look at her.
It looked as if she was fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at me. “No, that’s not what I want. Now let me down.”
“Anything you say, Your Highness,” I said with a sense of irony. I got down low and let her off. I then struggled to get my cape on, and she reached out to help me.
She appeared much less frazzled than most girls would after riding a wolf, which must have said something for her courage. After the cape was properly fixed in place on my back and chest, I looked at her and said softly, “Thank you.”
She gave a nod and a curtsey, and then she said: “I’m going to visit the chickens. My thanks to the master of Silverthorn for a very lovely picnic.” And then she hurried off.
I spent most of the rest of the day in a happy haze, feeling as if I were flying on the clouds. But once it came to dinner-time, it was like there was a wall up between Elle and me again despite the fact that I was actually eating with her instead of just watching her. The servants had cut up my food, and I was sitting in a large chair and everything. Yet when I asked her if something was wrong, all she said was: “I’m fine. I think I’m just tired.”