by Kris Elaine
Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a powerful and cruel king, with his equally cruel children and grandchildren. Everyone in the land feared the royal family. Any enemies who could not be bought by the king’s gold would be killed by the king’s men. His children also abused their power, harming any who angered them or their children. The two fiercest warriors were the king’s cousins, the Beytill brothers. The elder, Duke Kenum Beytill, was called the Giant for his great size. The younger, Duke Tuarl Beytill, was called the Beast for the ferocity with which he fought. So long as the king’s harsh laws were followed, the land prospered.
One day, the Giant and the Beast rebelled, killing the royal family. The entire land fell into chaos. For ten years the Beytills ravaged the land with their men, razing villages, destroying crops, and killing indiscriminately. Reports traveled from village to village of the monstrous Giant raping wives, sisters, and daughters, and slaughtering any man who tried to stand against him. All this while his men drank the towns dry and feasted on stored food. The only protection was to hide and pray.
“We have hidden long enough,” Mayor Granen White declared to an assembly of his village’s men. He was dismayed to find so few had come. Most were mere boys, as green as his eldest son, a lad of only 20, and as eager for what they believed to be a glorious death. He only hoped a company of experienced fighters could band together before Bruden could. “For ten years, we as a village have barely scraped by. While we are but one village, there are others suffering just like we are. Winter is coming, we barely have the stores to last, and none in the kingdom will survive if we cannot protect our crops. The Beast has disappeared from our land, but the Giant still rides from his castle. If we can kill him, we will be free and our families safe.”
“What about the man who kills him?” a tall, hooded figure called from the back of the assembly. “What does your great hero get?”
Strangers were uncommon under the tyranny of Duke Kenum, but the Mayor was desperate. “I will personally give the man who kills the Giant anything he asks for, so long as it is in my power to give.”
The stranger disappeared after that. Granen’s heart fell when the group of fighters was decided on. Bruden, and his friends Theo and John were the chosen champions of the village. None of the three had more fighting experience than a few boyhood scuffles. All of the more experienced men call the mission a fool’s errand and refused to volunteer. Two days later, as they prepared to leave, word came that the Giant and his men had been killed.
A great celebration was held when the large stranger returned, Duke Kenum’s head in a sack as evidence of the deed. All the women and girls came out of hiding, with the last barrels of wine and ale. A pretty young woman, with wavy red hair and big blue eyes, tried to coax the stranger into dance after dance. At last, she managed to drag him into the circle and twirled and spun around him. By turn her hair changed from copper to gold to fire as the sun lit it, and her eyes glittered like a clear lake. Her skin was pale from hiding away for so long, a stark contrast to the leathery tan of the men. She smiled brilliantly up at him as she thanked him for the dance, for saving her village, for saving the kingdom. And then she was dragging him onto a dais with the musicians and Mayor, her long, slender hand engulfed by his thick fingers.
“Please, might we know who to thank?” Mayor White asked.
The stranger glanced at the gathered villagers, so eager to meet their savior, before returning his gaze to the woman as she stood beside White. Her eyes shone brightly and her hands clasped in front of her heart. She thinks she’s in love, he realized, with some handsome knight in shining armor. Reluctantly he pulled his hood away…
To reveal the scarred, mutilated face of the Beast, Tuarl Beytill, successor to his brother’s claim. The horrified gasps of the villagers were nothing to the pain the red-head’s face caused him. Her delighted expectance turned to surprise, then terror, before embarrassedly looking away, her pale face blushing almost as red as her hair. He immediately missed her smiles and regretted revealing himself.
“I did promise the man who killed the Giant anything in my power to give,” White was stammering. I want her to smile again Duke Tuarl thought. The Mayor must have mistaken Tuarl’s look towards the young woman because he started pleading. “Please, Your Grace, she’s my daughter. She’s only eighteen. Please, something else, Your Grace.”
The girl rested her hand on her father’s arm. “Papa, if the Beast desires it, I will go.” She tried to look up at Tuarl before fixing her eyes on the ground.
Tuarl was surprised she would give herself to him once she knew who he was, but there was little else the village could afford to offer him. With one less mouth to feed, her family might even make it through the winter. “What’s your name, girl?” he growled.
“Cedra White, s- Your Grace.” She stumbled through a curtsy.
“It will be forever, girl,” he warned. “You can’t leave.”
“I will go forever. I won’t leave.”
As if there would be a choice. He rolled his eyes. “Done.”
Taking her by the arm, Tuarl made his way through the crowd to his great, black horse waiting at the empty stables. He ignored her cries of “please, wait.” She already agreed. It was too late to change her mind. After they left the village, though, her cries turned to weeping. “I wanted to say goodbye. I’ll never see my family again and I couldn’t say goodbye.” For the first time in his memory, Tuarl felt regret. He tried to harden himself to her tears, to no avail. He had not gotten to say goodbye to his parents or sister, either. That was nearly as painful as their loss.
It was nearly sundown when Cedra blinked awake. She rocked gently from side to side, the dark head of the horse bobbed rhythmically before her. With a jolt, she realized she was leaning back against the Beast’s broad chest and quickly straightened herself to put some distance between them. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist, though, keeping her in the saddle, and his thighs pressed warm against hers.
“Welcome home,” he rumbled into her ear as they rode through the gates of a small castle. His voice so close to her was like distant thunder, a warning of a coming storm.
They rode through two gates, the between the two walls a dry moat threatened them with spikes and bodies in various states of decay. The inner walls housed a stable, smithy, armory, kennel, and gatehouse, with the far wall and flanking towers appearing to be the main living quarters. Half the encircled courtyard was occupied by a large garden enclosed in a glass house, and the other half was divided into individual training yards. There appeared to be no life in the castle, save for an old, stooped man approaching from the stables.
“Welcome home, m’Lord,” he said as he took the horse’s bridle. His keen eyes studied Cedra as his master dismounted from behind her. “Shall I tell Adira we have a guest and prepare another place for supper?”
The Beast pulled her from the saddle, his grip tight but movements gentle. “The girl will be living with us. Tell who you must. I’m taking her to the top of the east tower.”
She shuddered. What was at the top of the east tower? What did he mean to do there? Cedra wrapped her arms around herself as she followed him through the courtyard and into the great hall between the towers. Through a door behind the lord’s seat, she found herself in a sparsely lit corridor. While there were many sconces to hold lit torches, most were empty. More shadow than light was cast and she found herself tripping over cracks in the stone or old, moldy rushes that had been brushed into piles. After her fourth near-fall, the Beast wrapped his arm around her waist and held her upright.
“The castle is your home,” he said, not even glancing down at her. “You can go anywhere you wish within these walls, except the top of the west to
wer.”
“What’s at the top-?”
His movements were quick and Cedra let out a squeak of fright as he pressed her against the corridor wall.
“It’s forbidden,” he growled. Cedra shook in fear and cast her eyes to the floor. “LOOK AT ME!” he bellowed. He took her chin in an iron grip and silently dared her to disobey him as he leaned down to her eye level. “There’s a beastly sight for you. Take a good, long look and see what you promised to see every day.”
She couldn’t look away if she wanted to, his grip was so tight. His most prominent feature was his nose, large and crooked from many breaks. His small, close-set eyes watched her study him, his thick, bristly eyebrows drawn together. One ear looked as though a piece had been bitten out, while the other was missing entirely. There were healing cuts and cold, healed scars scattered across his face. But the worst was a long, crooked scar. It started well back in his hair and stretched down his face and under his chin. Where it crossed his lips, the skin had healed poorly, giving that side a frightening snarl. It was as if his head had been sliced in two but he had survived and healed by supernatural means.
Cedra whimpered in fear and he finally rose to his full height, releasing her chin. “How do you think it happened? A great battle? Maybe the king’s daughter tried defending herself as I raped her?” he asked. She shook her head, not knowing but uncertain how not to upset him further. “It was my brother,” he said bluntly. “As a boy, he loved to torment anyone smaller and weaker than himself. Squirrels were skinned alive, mother cats cut open and the kittens flattened under his foot, dogs’ legs broken like twigs. I was ten, big enough to fight back against an ordinary man, but too small for it to do any good against him. He loved to hear the screams. Or else it was the blood he liked. There were times the healers didn’t expect me to live. He killed the king. He raped the king’s daughter and granddaughter. Slaughtered the whole royal family. I didn’t. I wasn’t even there. I was in the east. The border lords were cheating the king his due.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stared at her, waiting for her to say something. “Duke Kenum was a monster,” she whispered.
The Beast grunted and started down the hall again without a word. At the base of the east tower, as he opened the door, he said, “Yes. Kenum was the monster.”
He said nothing else as they climbed the winding stair of the east tower until they reached the landing at the top. He opened the door and gestured for Cedra to enter first. The room took up the entire top level of the tower. By the door was a sitting area, with a table and chairs set up by a window and couches circling a cold brazier. On the far end of the room was a large canopied bed, the curtains drawn open. The windows facing the courtyard of the keep were large enough to let in light, if they hadn’t been shuttered. Those facing outside the castle were mere arrow slits. An open door between two slits showed a privy room.
She stood in the center of the room, hugging herself in fright again. Did he bring her to this room to rape her? Was that his intent in making her his price? For her to satisfy him?
“You will join me for dinner in an hour,” he ordered from out on the landing, then slammed the door between them.
Tears spilled from Cedra’s eyes and she flew to the bed and wept. Taken from her family and home, prisoner of a man who was more of a beast, not knowing what was to become of her. Everything overwhelmed her and she sobbed until her body hurt. As her tears slowed, a gentle knocking came at the chamber door.
“Who is it?” she sniffled.
“Adira, dear,” a kind woman’s voice answered.
When Cedra opened the door, an old woman shuffled in carrying a tray laden with teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits. A young boy cowered behind her carrying a few logs. The woman set the tray on the table and gestured for the boy towards the brazier. As he built and tried to light a fire, the boy kept darting glances at her but kept as much furniture between them as he could. The woman busily moved about the room, unshuttering windows, pouring a cup of tea, and laying out a few biscuits.
“Come, dear, you must be famished,” she coaxed. As Cedra approached, the woman gently sat her in a chair and pressed the cup into her hands. “Supper is nearly ready, but the master said you hadn’t eaten on the way here, so best to have a bite for now.” As soon as Cedra took a sip, the woman immediately moved away and bustled about the room, wiping the worst of the dust off the furniture, helping the boy bring a warm blaze from the tiny fire, setting lit candles into holders, and pulling some old clothes out of a chest near the bed. The way she spoke and moved reminded Cedra of the grandmothers of her home village. The pang of homesickness had her hands shaking and she set down her cup before the tea spilled.
The boy, who couldn’t have been much more than six or seven, cautiously approached her and gave a clumsy bow. “I’m Chip,” he said shyly.
Cedra tried to smile reassuringly. “Hello, Chip. My name is Cedra.”
“Are you really going to stay with us?”
She felt her eyes start to water again and she looked at her hands resting in her lap, not wanting to upset the boy. “That is what I promised, yes.”
His tiny hand rested on her shoulder in a display of comfort well beyond his years. “Gramma says Master Tuarl will be better than Master Kenum was. Gramma says Master Tuarl was a good boy and good boys always grow up to be good mans.”
“Men, sweet,” Adira corrected. “Not mans. But yes.” She sat at the table and held Cedra’s hand as she spoke. “Tuarl was a good little boy. Clarence and I remembered him as a child and were happy when he finally returned and took control of the castle. I’m sure you miss your family, but you will find family here as well. Things will turn out alright. You’ll see. Oh, look at me!” she exclaimed. “Sitting down for tea and a chat when there’s supper to get on the table. Off we go, Chip.”
“I’m coming, Gramma,” the boy said. With a final click of the door, Cedra was alone again.
She looked out the window, the sky changing colors and darkening as the sun set just out of view. The Beast said he was not the one to kill the royal family, Adira said she was glad to have the Beast as her master. But he had taken her away from her home and family, and ordered Cedra to dinner as if she was another of his servants. If she was allowed to wander the castle as she pleased, was she not also allowed to decide if she would eat dinner with her captor? Resolved, she sat back to finished the pot of tea and plate of biscuits.
An hour after she was taken to her prison, another knock came at the door. “M’lady Cedra,” called a familiar voice. Peeking through the door, she saw it was the old man from the courtyard. “It’s time for dinner. I’ve come to escort you downstairs.”
“No, thank you,” she said kindly. “I would rather not eat tonight.” The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not particularly hungry.”
She carefully closed the door, slid the bolt in place, and returned to her chair at the table, hoping no harm came to the man at her refusal to eat with his beastly master. A few minutes later, a bellowed “WHAT?” and slamming doors had her fearing for herself. The door rattled on the hinges as the Beast banged on it.
“I thought I told you go come down to dinner,” he roared.
Cedra took a deep breath. “I’m not hungry!” she yelled with more conviction than she felt.
“You come out or I’ll drag you out!” There were some murmurs outside before the Beast’s voice came again. “It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner.” The barely restrained, beast-like growl had Cedra thinking it would give him more pleasure to eat her for dinner. “Please,” he added after a pause.
“No, thank you!” she called back. Her heart kept pounding and her hands started to shake, but she refused to be cowed.
“You can’t hide in there forever!”
“Yes, I can!”
“Fine! Then starve!” he shouted. “If she doesn’t eat with me, she doesn’t eat at all,” she heard him say to whatever servants had jo
ined him.
Tuarl thundered down the stairs, fuming. She had volunteered to come, had all but begged for him to take her rather than giving him some other form of payment. He crossed the corridor behind the great hall, then climbed the stairs up the west tower. He told her he hadn’t been the one to kill the king, that Kenum was the monster. He gave her an entire castle and servants, more than she had grown up with, and peace for her family and village. Were meals with him too much to ask in return? The door to the top room of the west tower slammed against the wall as he threw it open.
Much of his parents’ furniture was broken and bloodstained from being in Kenum’s possession. He tried not to think of the victims who were present during the destruction. The family portrait that once hung over the hearth was torn and soot stained, the frame of the canvas nearly shattered. But five pairs of grey eyes still stared at him. Kenum was already taller than their father when it was painted and their sister was barely old enough to walk but already started to look like their mother, who held the child in her lap. The boy that had been Tuarl was to the side of the portrait, his face cast in shadow to make him appear whole and hide the redness of fresh scars.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked his mother. The canvas did not respond. “You were happy here, weren’t you? How did Father do it? Or did you hate him? Was he as much of a monster as Kenum? Did you hate and fear him as much as the girl?” Tuarl angrily rubbed his face, wiping away the hot dampness on his cheek. “I’m not Kenum. I wouldn’t hurt her. Why doesn’t she see that?”
With no answers forthcoming, he grabbed the back of a broken chair and hurled it across the room in frustration. He knew the truth. She thought he was as much of a beast as Kenum and would never want anything to do with him. Who was he to think he could make her happy?
Cedra’s stomach rumbled. Her plan to hide away from the Beast may not have been her best idea. The world was black as pitch out her windows and the castle had grown quiet. Hoping it was safe, Cedra slipped out her door and slowly made her way down the tower stairs. At the bottom, she stopped, faced with a pair of corridors at right angles. She knew if she continued down one, she would find the door to the Great Hall and, eventually, the forbidden west tower. The other she was uncertain about, but it was more brightly lit. As she made her way down the passage, voices and the clattering of pots and pans could be heard through a half-open door.