Beauty's Beast: Naughty Fairytales 2

by Sophie Starr

  I heaved and cried so hard I scared myself with the noise of it. As a sniffle left me, I wiped my face and wished I could have redone the entire day.

  All of it.

  The cruelty Gaston had treated me with was worse than anything I had ever felt and being alone without my father had made it all harder to bear.

  I stared blankly at the fire, seeing faces and shapes dancing in it. I whispered into the flames, my one wish, “Please help me.” If the gods granted wishes, I felt deserving of at least one small one. “Help me find him.”

  “Miss—er—can I help ya?” A woman’s voice startled me. I jumped and turned, flinching at the sight of the older woman in the doorway. She held a tray and looked about nervously. “Are ya lost?” She spoke like a grandmother might. Her voice was soothing, even if she seemed to be scared of me.

  At first glance I feared she was a ghost, but she seemed worried that I was there.

  “No. At least I don't think so.” I shook my head. “I am searching for my papa. His name is Maurice and he is lost. Our horse, Philip, brought me here.” I didn't even think about the fact what I was saying would make no sense to her.

  Because it did make sense.

  She nodded, looking down. “Aye, Maurice. He was here. But he’s gone now.” Her eyes darted to the left. She looked like she was lying and I didn't understand why. “He’s gone now. Ya best be on yer way. Ya have to be gone before dark.”

  I shook my head. “No. I need my father. He’s all I have left. Please.”

  She didn't relent. “Ya have to be gone before dark, miss.” She looked upset but she didn't budge on it.

  I stood, pleading with her. “I can’t go back. A man has done—done something horrible to me—I can’t go back. If I go back he will force me—please just let me have my father. I know he’s here. I know it.” My panicked eyes surveyed the room and caught my father’s cloak in the corner, thrown over a chair. “That's his cloak. Please.”

  She glanced at it and nodded. “I told ya he was here. But he’s gone now.”

  “It’s cold. He wouldn't have left without his cloak.”

  She looked about for a moment before turning back at me sharply, desperately. “RUN!”

  I jumped, not sure what to do or say. I turned and ran back the way I came, shouting frantically, “PAPA! PAPA!” But instead of finding the door, I ran up a flight of stairs, tripping and skinning my knees on the floor. I scrambled on my hands and knees as the lady shouted at me, begging me to leave the castle. “Miss, please! Don't do this!”

  I ignored her, screaming for my father, “PAPA! PAPA, ARE YOU HERE?”

  I ran up another flight of stairs, ignoring the dancing lights and the shadows around me. My belief my father was in this castle against his will, combined with the desperation I felt over everything else I’d been through, pushed me on.

  My feet scuffed as my fatigued legs refused to do any more running, but my heart urged them on.

  At the top of the stairs I shouted again, “PAPA!” My voice echoed off the walls and halls surrounding me.

  In the darkness I heard a voice followed by a cough, “Belle?” He sounded weak and sick but my heart leapt at the sound of him. I ran in the direction of his voice, pushing my way through a thick wooden door.

  Cold air and harsh wind blasted me as I got through.

  Light blinded me—a startling and stark light—the kind you find high in the sky.

  I stopped, looking at the cells there and realizing we were in the highest tower, a bird perch likely at one point.

  From a cell in the corner, my father’s filthy hand reached through the rusted bars. I hurried to him, skidding along the stone floor, gripping to him the moment our cold hands touched. “Papa!”

  “Belle, what have you done?” He coughed again.

  “I found you, Papa. It’s going to be okay!”

  His eyes widened as the stark light turned gray around us. “No! No, Belle! It won’t be!” His words were a hoarse whisper. His hands shook and his face paled. “RUN!”

  I flinched. “Not without you! You’re sick!”

  He coughed and started to weep. “Run, Belle! Run and never come back! I’m so sorry, my dear!” I pulled away from him, seeking a way to free him from the locked bars.

  As I stood he screamed past me, clawing at me and bartering, “She meant nothing by it! She’s just a girl! Let her go! Please!”

  A large shadow overtook the space surrounding me and the cell my father was in. I turned, seeing nothing but darkness. I lifted my gaze, stunned by the most frightening thing I had ever seen.

  In the shadows I thought I saw features I could not have.

  Hairy, thick, tall, and fanged.

  It changed every couple of seconds, making a different and more frightening vision.

  What I saw didn't make sense in my head.

  It was as if the thing before me was a beast that walked on his feet with crazed eyes and a drool-covered sneer. He roared, blowing back my hair.

  I blinked and fought the urge to scream and run or lose consciousness.

  As the sky darkened and the stark light faded all too quickly, the beast slunk away, back into the shadows and everything changed again. Instead of the vision of a beast, all I saw was the possibility of a hooded angry man.

  It had been a trick of the shadows or a hallucination caused by the fear and exhaustion.

  He roared at me, which was strange. I had never heard a man act like a beast before. He paused mid roar. “What are you doing here?” From the shadow I could not see his face. His voice was gruff.

  I whimpered but stood my ground. “I came to claim my father. He is sick. He needs a doctor.”

  “He is my prisoner. He killed one of my stags.” He leaned in growling, as if to intimidate me. He didn't need to bother; he was by far the most bizarre and frightening man I had ever met. His breath upon my face made me wince. “That is punishable by death.”

  “That is ridiculous. It’s just a stag. I will send you money for it.”

  “Belle, it’s no use! Run!” My father coughed and begged, “Please, let her go!”

  I looked into the dark where the man stood, and swallowed hard. “Take me instead, as your prisoner, and release my father so he might find some aid for his illness. I will do anything you ask.” My heart sank and my joy died.

  “Deal.” Everything went dark. I collapsed to my knees and lowered my head.

  The cell opened and closed and the doors slammed, and suddenly I was alone. The stark light had come back, but I could tell the day was ending. A scream caught my ear and I ran for the edge of the tower. I leaned over the railing and looked below as my father was pushed from the castle. He banged on the door.

  Tears started to stream my cheeks as I watched him drop to his knees and sob.

  I shouted, my voice cracking, “PAPA! PHILIP IS THERE JUST BEYOND THE GATES! GO, PAPA!”

  He glanced up at me, waving and shouting, but I could not make out the words he screamed. His voice was raw, but that was all I could make out.

  The door behind me opened, slamming against the wall and making me jump. The man in the shadows spoke gruffly, “Follow me to your room.” He turned and walked away, not waiting for me at all.

  I looked back at my father.

  “If you prefer the comfort of the raven’s nest, you are welcome to it,” the man snapped at me from the hall. I gripped to the stone wall for a moment before turning and following the frightening stranger into the dark.

  My stomach was tight with fear and worry, but at least my father was safe from this.

  Even Gaston was not the monster this man was.

  He led me through the corridors and down several flights of stairs. Warmth seeped up at me as we turned a corner. He stopped at a door and put a key into the lock, opening it.

  I paused and looked at him, mystified that in the dim light of the hallway I could not see any of his features. He was cloaked in the hood, but it seemed like it was more than a h
ood.

  But when he opened the door his hand was a man’s, not a beast’s. I knew the trick in the raven’s nest had been just that—a trick.

  “They will fetch you for dinner.” His voice was so harsh.

  I walked into the room, not sure what to expect.

  As I looked back at the door he stepped away. “You are to do everything I ask. That is the rule you have placed upon your servitude here. You still agree to this?”

  I nodded, completely defeated.

  He reached in and closed the door, locking me inside the lonely room.

  I didn't look at it. I turned and ran for the window that was the size of a wall in a normal house. My eyes strained, searching the grounds until I finally found him.

  He was limping, hunched over, and struggling. Philip was running toward him. My poor father struggled to get on the horse—our beloved horse—and slumped forward clinging to his neck as Philip hurried for the village.

  I laid my hand flat against the cold glass and watched as they left me there.

  I wanted so badly to feel brave, like a heroine in a tale. But I didn't. I felt defeated, frightened, and lost.

  It was the worst day I had ever lived.

  But I suspected it wouldn't be the worst I would live through.

  I suspected much darker moments were in store for me.

  5

  I blinked, not realizing I had fallen asleep on the floor with one hand in the air, still pressed against the glass window. My fingers had gone numb and tingly. I lowered my arm slowly, wincing as blood rushed back into the extremity.

  I blinked again, seeing a flowery garden depicted in a painting on the wall across from me. The wallpaper behind it was more like art with gilded roses making the lines for the striping of differing colors.

  There was a mahogany bed with four posts, covered in a lush down comforter. It too was branded by the gilded roses.

  The hardwood floors were covered in several areas with thick handwoven carpets. Across the massive room from the bed was a large bureau with a standing mirror next to it.

  I nearly jumped when I saw my reflection in it. I didn't know the girl looking back at me, but I was lost in her stare and the broken look upon her face. I shuddered but couldn't tear my gaze from myself.

  Not until I was startled by a knock at the door.

  I jumped and watched as a worse look crossed my face. The door opened before I could speak and in walked the very same woman who had warned me to run.

  She smiled softly, again in a grandmotherly fashion. “Good evening, Miss Belle.” I could see in her eyes the look of remorse and sadness.

  I sniffled and forced myself up from the floor.

  “I have come to fetch ya for dinner. I took the liberty of pouring ya a bath so ya might freshen up.”

  I shook my head, hardly able to speak. “I’m—I’m not hungry, thank you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ya will be. The master doesn’t like to be kept waiting so we best hurry.” She reached for me but I flinched, making her press her lips together in sorrow. “Please, miss. It’s not so horrible here.”

  I wanted so badly to shout at her for lying to me, but I could see that none of this was her doing. She was a sweet old lady, no doubt also a victim of this place and that monstrous man. I nodded and walked forward, remembering the deal I had struck.

  My feet ached from the running and my legs still burned, but I forced myself to limp to her, taking her arm and letting her lead me down the hall.

  “Ya accustomed to being dressed, miss?”

  I shook, staring at her blankly.

  My mother had been a lady, a gentleman’s daughter. Her marriage to my father had been one of love, not a commonplace thing in our world. Marriages better served one’s family if they were made for convenience and not for love.

  They had met in a shop, instantaneously knowing they were in love with just a look. Her family had forbidden her to marry him, as my father had been a gentleman before he left his family to work in a way that shamed their class, mending and inventing. He had left behind a fortune and a birthright, and her parents didn't think the match fit.

  But neither of them had cared.

  They had love and enough to sustain us. We never wanted, not until my mother died and his mental health took a turn.

  Then I lost every comfort I had been afforded. I learned to cook and clean.

  Being the daughter of gentry, I was accustomed to being bathed and dressed. But now, it had been a long time since I had been properly cared for.

  And so, following the old lady down the hall to the bath, I wasn't scared. I was ready to be pampered, even if just a little.

  I could smell the lavender in the steam the moment she opened the door. I stood, trying not to fall asleep as she peeled the caked dress from my chest and back. Sweat, Gaston’s seed, and tears had made my poor old dress a rag. The mud up the hem and the filth from under the bridge made it impossible to clean.

  She held my hand as I stepped into the water, sucking my breath sharply at the temperature of the water. I knew it wasn't scalding but that I was frigid from sleeping on the floor.

  I sat, sighing as the hot water covered my body, and leaned back, letting it envelop me, all of it—the steam, the scents, and the relaxing feeling of being weightless. As if I didn't exist.

  She ladled the water over my head gently, starting to massage oils and soap into my hair. “That's nice, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  I nodded, feeling even the cockles of my heart warming.

  “My name is Mrs. Potts. I am the cook and cleaning lady. Ya can call me Eve, if ya like.”

  I fought the urge to ask the questions I wished to ask and smiled, even with my eyes closed. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Potts.”

  She scrubbed and massaged until I was cleaner than any person had ever been. She didn't ask about any of the filth on me and she didn't talk and pretend we were old friends. She did her job with kindness.

  Afterward she led me back to the room, opening the massive bureau and laying lacey looking things on the bed.

  She walked to the wardrobe and pulled a silky slip dress from it. She placed it on the bed as well. Her eyes expressed her thoughts louder than anything she might have said when she spoke, “Do you need help getting dressed?”

  I looked at the items on the bed and nodded. I didn't recognize a single one, apart from the slip dress. I worried there was no proper dress and that thing was it.

  She held up a strange piece of lace and walked to me, holding it low to my feet as if I should step into it.

  My stomach twisted when I realized it was an undergarment though it covered nothing. She pulled it up, covering the patch of dark hair between my legs and that was all. The rest of it sat on my hips and between my butt cheeks.

  It was a strange form of knickers.

  She then held a band of silk for me to step into. It had straps on the bottom of it. I stepped in and she slid it up my body, stopping it at my hips, as if it joined the bizarre undergarments. She then held sheer pieces of material, similar to stockings but so sheer I didn't see the point of them. I stepped in, one at a time. She slid them up to my thighs and fastened them with the straps hanging from the band.

  The stockings added a bit of dark contour to my legs. It was odd.

  She then lifted an item I couldn't even fathom a purpose for, apart from the two breast-shaped cups in the front of it.

  I shied away as she slipped it over my arms and fastened it in the back. It held my breasts as if they were prisoners and the wire in the bottom of the cups dug into my ribs.

  She didn't speak until she had slipped the silk dress above my head and settled it over my now-lifted and firm breasts. “Ya look lovely. Babette says this is all the rage in all the cities. Women are dressed this way everywhere. Height of fashion and whatnot.” She smoothed it over my hips and stepped back. Her smile didn't fool me, nor did her words. I knew this outfit might as well have been on a whore. I knew what its
purpose was.

  She bent and offered my poor aching feet the least comfortable shoes I had ever worn. My ankles wobbled and my toes throbbed.

  I sighed and let her stand and start with brushing my hair. She got behind me and lifted the top half up into a twist, leaving the bottom half of my dark hair lying around my shoulders. She turned to me and let me see what I had become.

  “There is something about this mirror, Mrs. Potts. I never recognize the girl looking back at me.”

  She winced. “Ya are a vision, trust me.”

  My eyes met hers in the reflection. “What is he?”

  “I cannot speak of or for him. Ya must know, I will do anything I can for ya. Anything at all ya want. But I cannot speak of him.”

  I nodded, not understanding. My honey-brown eyes and pale skin stood out against the black silk dress and my chestnut hair. If I had been looking at another girl, I might have said she was pretty. A pretty whore, since I suspected I was about to become one.

  As much as I wanted to panic and run away, this fate was no worse than the one awaiting me. I knew my father had returned to town and Gaston would know I was here. Whether he rescued me or I ended up living out my life here, I was never going to have the fate I had wished so hard for.

  All I could wish for now was that my father got away and he managed to escape Gaston as well.

  I turned and walked for the door, even if the lush-looking bed was calling for me.

  She walked with me down the hall, again not filling the tense air with chatter. She was a wise woman, that much was clear.

  The hallway was dark and long, with dim light coming from strategically placed candles. A thin man with dark hair and a long nose was lighting the candles as we walked, only brightening up the space a minuscule amount. There were other candles and sconces in the hall; he just didn't light them.

  When we got close to him, he paused and bowed, no longer leading the way and lighting it for us.

  “Good evening, Lumier. This is Belle.” Mrs. Potts nodded at me.

  Lumier smiled but his gaze didn't meet mine. “Of course. Good evening, miss.”

  “Good evening.” I tried to cover myself the best I could, painfully aware of the dress I wore, though his eyes never graced it.