Beauty and the Beast: An Adult Fairytale Romance

by Vivienne Savage

  “I understand the princess is magically gifted,” Prince Edward began, never taking his eyes off her. “Is she as talented as her mother?”

  “More talented,” King Morgan said.

  “I don’t—”

  “Anastasia has developed an incredible sense of modesty,” her father interrupted, cutting her off.

  “Magic is highly prized in Dalborough. She would have access to the finest magical institutions and grandest libraries beyond her imagination.”

  “Please do not speak about me as if I’m not present,” Ana cut in. “I’ve already written my acceptance letter to the Collegium, and Father’s—”

  The king interrupted her. “Yes, excellent point, Edward. You have my word that if you succeed in killing this beast, you’ll have my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Anastasia whipped her head around to stare at her father. Her mouth opened and shut wordlessly. Betrayal stung, as intense as a lance driven through her heart.

  “Father, you promised!”

  Both men carried on as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Ah, but King Morgan, certainly we can agree upon a marriage to take place before I march with the army to the mountains. My men will fight with greater zeal knowing they fight for their new princess and with strong allies behind them.”

  King Morgan rubbed his chin to contemplate the offer. “A wise plan, young man. Very wise indeed. And the man I’ve already hired?”

  “We will gladly help pay the price for his assistance in the matter if he succeeds before our army arrives.”

  “Agreed.”

  How could he do it? It was the worst sort of betrayal, and the last thing she expected.

  “Has no one cared to ask what I want?” Ana twisted in her seat to stare at her suitor. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Prince Edward, but I have little desire to become wed. And I hardly know you. We have only just met!”

  “We once played together as children. Do you not remember?”

  Anastasia studied his face, her memories tugged by a faint recollection of a curly-haired boy who tossed mud at her dress and possibly tried to make her eat a bug. Neither memory endeared him to her. “Nothing pleasant,” she retorted before turning to face King Morgan. “Father, you can’t do this. How could you even entertain the thought of arranging a marriage to their family when you’ve promised I would be allowed to attend the Collegium?”

  He didn’t look at her when he replied, avoiding eye contact. That cut the deepest. “I know.”

  “They’ve accepted me. Please, you mustn’t do this,” she pleaded.

  In a weary voice, the king replied, “My daughter, the time has come to grow up and face reality. To take on some responsibilities.”

  With the prince sitting between them, she couldn’t take her father’s hands and make him look at her. Couldn’t appeal to his heart. Each time she leaned forward and tried, she saw only Edward’s smug face.

  “Why? Why do this to me?”

  “Because you’re my little princess, Ana, and I want nothing but the best for you. You deserve more than a half-life in your mother’s shadow. The time has come for you to leave Creag Morden behind to find a life of your own in a new home.”

  “This is my home! My entire life is here, Father. Here with you and my family.”

  “And soon, you will have another,” Edward said without losing his condescending smile. As a testament to her inner strength, Ana found the mental control over her emotions to practice self-restraint. Slapping the smirk from his face would only cause trouble.

  Her father nodded in agreement. “A protected life with no need of magic. So long as I draw breath, you will never share your mother’s fate.”

  “You are sorely mistaken if you believe I’ll meet you at the altar,” Ana said succinctly to the prince. She rose from the seat and strode from the veranda to keep her dignity intact.

  The betrothal was a beautiful success despite all efforts made by Anastasia to ruin her own impending nuptials. When flat out refusal failed to sway her father, he took away her spellbooks and barred her from the castle library. It didn’t break her. Instead, she grew more determined until he threatened to send her to a convent.

  She called his bluff until a nun arrived to speak about her devotion to the Creator.

  Invitations flew to every corner of the three civilized kingdoms, and Creag Morden’s best dressmaker created a golden vision for her to wear on her special day. Defeated, Anastasia went along with their plans to become the trophy wife of Prince Edward, future Queen of Dalborough.

  Three days of silence in the coach frayed her nerves. Victoria hadn’t been allowed to accompany her, and Ana refused to speak with her father. Struck by an unusual fit of silence, her mother spent the duration of their travel gazing out the window.

  At night when they stopped at a bed and breakfast, royal guards stood by Anastasia’s door.

  Did he expect her to flee on Sterling in the middle of the night?

  The very moment she reached Darkmoor Castle and saw the smug bastard awaiting her on the castle steps, she regretted the decision to decline the convent.

  She regretted it even more when her future in-laws spoke over her at their first family dinner.

  King Frederick terrified her, and his golden-haired wife gazed down her long and narrow, haughty nose. Each time she questioned them about enrolling in one of their fine magical institutions, the king changed the subject or his queen asked about her beauty regime. What she thought of her new bedroom. If she’d considered dyeing her hair before the ceremony; red was such an awful color.

  The king glowered from his seat at the head of the table, his face a mask of pink-scarred agony. During the Great War of the Beasts, he had slain the Witch Queen’s dragon mount, but at a great price. His looks and his left arm had been lost. Most of his features ran together, like a wax doll melted under the sunlight.

  She did her best not to stare, but her other options were limited and no better. Across the table, her future spouse gazed at her with bedroom eyes.

  Feigning illness, Anastasia begged their excuse from the table and retired to her bedchamber where she didn’t emerge until the following day for her dress fitting.

  Then the hunger strike resumed, and she retired early to bed with hours left until her wedding. At noon, she’d become another possession of Darkmoor Castle. The quality of her mind would be forgotten, and her worth would be measured by how many children she could bear her husband.

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted Ana as she removed the silver, emerald-dotted pins from her hair. At home, Lorissa or Vera would have taken down her hair, and she missed them dearly.

  “Princess Anastasia, may I enter?” Edward called.

  At this hour? Startled, she drew her dressing gown around her and cracked open the door. “Is it not inappropriate to be without a chaperone, my lord?”

  “We are to be married tomorrow. Such things are no longer a concern,” he assured her before a wide smile spread across his face.

  Anastasia leaned into the hall and glanced up both ends of the empty corridor. There wasn’t a person in sight.

  “I asked the guards to step aside and grant us some time to talk.”

  “So I see.”

  “Is the room to your liking?” Edward asked as he made his way inside.

  “It’s very—” She searched for a polite word. “—plain for a bride’s new bedchamber.”

  Her new home differed in multiple ways from the palace of her childhood, dark and ostentatious with few windows, a prison of cold, black stone. Even the stoic-faced castle guards reminded her of the wardens in Creag Morden’s jail.

  An impersonal bedroom surrounded her, lacking warmth in its bleak design. From the gray, silk sheets to the dreary curtains bordering the tiny windows, the cheerless atmosphere made her long for the comfort of home.

  “Arrangements could be made if you desire.”

  Anastasia exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”


  “It is no trouble.” His arm curled around her waist; then he drew her close, pressing her against the lean, hard frame of his body. She froze and wiggled free to back away.

  “My, my, you are a shy little thing. Don’t be afraid, little Ana, we’re to be married tomorrow.”

  “Exactly. Tomorrow,” she stressed.

  “No one would look down on us getting to know one another a little early.” He tugged on her again, drawing her back toward him. “No one will know, after all. The guards have been instructed to remain away for hours, my dear. Hours.”

  Gut instinct told her to demand him to leave or put his claims to the test by screaming.

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Oh? And in one day you shall be?”

  “I may not be ready tomorrow night either,” she admitted. “As I said before, we may have played as children, but I no longer know you. I’d like the time to adjust to these changes.”

  Edward was dangerously cute, but the attraction ended at his physical attributes. As far as she could see, he was just another hot prince with breathtaking eyes and a smarmy grin.

  “Do you truly believe we could end the night chaste after our wedding?” His brittle chuckle lacked humor, sounding darker and more foreboding by the passing second. “Kiss me.”

  “I will kiss you tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  “What harm is there in one little kiss from a bride-to-be to her future husband?” he challenged.

  Ana bit her lower lip thoughtfully and hung back a step.

  “One kiss, and then I would like to retire for an eve of rest before our wedding day, please.”

  Edward grinned back at her. “Agreed.”

  She reluctantly stepped forward and risked a look into his eyes. They were gorgeous, as her friends and maids often told her, the shade reminding her of a still lake beneath a cloudless sky. His jaw and chin were smooth shaven, but a few waves of his dark hair rested over his forehead. The boyish look conflicted with the muscles beneath his tunic.

  Kissing her roughly, the prince swept his tongue between her lips, and the sharp, sweet taste of white wine filled her mouth. His strong arms crushed her close, introducing her to chiseled, masculine angles defined by his talent with a sword. There was no doubt about it; he was a strong man, and most women would consider themselves lucky to have him for their betrothed.

  “Mm….” Edward moaned when she ended the kiss and turned her face into his cheek. “Was that so horrible?”

  To the contrary, she’d enjoyed it more than expected. It gave her hope of one day acquiring genuine feelings. Years later, she wanted to be laughing while telling her children how close she’d come to missing out on the love of her life.

  “No,” she admitted. “Goodnight, Edward. Shall we meet in the morning for breakfast before the ceremony?”

  “Breakfast?” he echoed, staring at her dumbfounded. He’d expected more.

  After spending a few heartbeats on the receiving end of a dirty stare, Anastasia dipped her head to look away. “Tomorrow is a new day. We’ll get to know one another, and once this is no longer terrifying, maybe….” She bit her lower lip and ignored the heavy feeling at the bottom of her belly. “I’m very sorry that this doesn’t feel right this evening, Edward.”

  Finished with giving apologies, she stepped away, only for Edward to yank her back by the wrist. The recoil threw her off balance and sent her crashing into his chest.

  “You must be daft if you believe I’ll accept a no after waiting weeks to be wed to you.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “No.” If anything, he squeezed a little tighter until the tips of her fingers tingled.

  “I haven’t asked for much. A few days to know you—”

  “Grow up,” he snarled at her. “You are so very far from home now. And you’re mine.”

  “I may be far from home, but I am still the daughter of a king,” Anastasia stated plainly, her observation seeming to incense Edward more than her refusal. “You have absolutely lost your mind if you believe me to be some possession you’ve attained through marriage. My father would never stand for this sort of behavior.”

  “Your father is no longer in the castle!” he crowed victoriously. “He left. He and your dimwitted mother.”

  Anastasia twisted out of his sweaty grip and rushed for the door, but Edward caught her before she made an escape into the hall.

  “Someone help! Please, hel—” She bounced off the door as he captured her by a handful of hair and crashed her head against it. An explosion of pain bloomed behind her brow, and she staggered backward toward the center of the room.

  Then she was face down on the bed with his weight on the back of her knees and the fluffy blankets muffling her cries. He had a hand around her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs until she could barely draw the breath to scream.

  The more she struggled, the more it hurt.

  “I knew you’d see things my way,” Edward muttered once Anastasia surrendered to his greater power, making little noise beyond thirsty gasps for air. He loosened his hold at her neck and flipped up her nightgown, leaning over her close enough to brush his lips against her cheek. “You belong to me now, little Ana.”

  Reduced to a state of numb shock, she lay with tears burning in her eyes, their shimmer blurring the tangle of her red hair stretched across the bed linens. During the tussle, the rest of her coif had come down, and several sterling silver hair sticks were strewn over the bed.

  The lantern light gleamed ominously over the sharp tip of one like an omen.

  Or maybe even a sign from the Creator.

  “I am not a possession!” she screamed while twisting her face to the side. After jerking the hair decoration free, Anastasia plunged it toward the offending part of her new husband.

  She expected it to be in vain. He should have swept her hand away and taught her a lesson, but the lucky stab landed. The end speared through the flesh at the crease of his thigh, withdrew, and sank into another more sensitive location. For a moment, they were both shocked. She’d not only stabbed him, but she’d done it a second time.

  Edward’s warm blood gushed over her fingers to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Spurt-spurt, spurt-spurt. Her belly lurched upward, and bile rose into her mouth.

  “You whore!”

  The prince backhanded her, snapping Ana’s head back. Pain exploded over the left side of her face, and her cheek bloomed with heat, but with one hand cupping his groin and the other flailing to catch her wrist, Edward remained at a disadvantage. His efforts to staunch his own blood flow made it difficult to fight her away effectively.

  Tears had half blinded Anastasia, reducing her strikes to a wild series of stabs toward his body without looking, seeing, or caring where she pierced him. None of it mattered as long as the hateful bastard was hurting too much to hit her again.

  She struck his chest, and the hairpin sank through the cloth. A crimson stain bloomed across the breast of his tunic. He wheezed and collapsed to the bed when she finally scurried away.

  The princess stared at Edward’s twitching body and knew she needed to escape before the guards returned to their posts. Away to where? She didn’t know, but she shuddered at the thought of what they would find once they realized her victim was missing.

  She’d be named a murderer.

  They’d hang her for this.

  No, such punishment was saved for the common rabble and military deserters. She’d be walled inside a tower to receive her meals through a tiny slot for the rest of her life. She’d never see the open blue skies again.

  While Prince Edward lay dying in her bed, she stripped away the blood-soaked night rail and dressing gown then hurried to the wardrobe. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she tore open the wooden door to find the spacious closet lined with frilly dresses and extravagant gowns.

  It took her less than a minute to stuff a few chemises and tunics into one of her favorite, oversized carpet bags, and even less time to squeeze into a pai
r of riding breeches. Time wasn’t on her side, but she couldn’t bear to leave empty-handed.

  While princesses weren’t traditionally trained in the art of combat, she armed herself with the only weapon she could confidently wield — a fully charged magic wand gifted at the time of her birth. She ran her fingers over the gift from a fairy grandmother she’d never met, the thin shaft of ivory sleek, polished, and perfect.

  Her father had allowed her to keep it for one reason, because she had truly promised to stop eating until he’d turned it over to her.

  In fresh, unbloodied clothes, Anastasia rushed from the bedroom and hurried down the servants’ staircase into their quarters.

  Once outside, she had one destination: the stables. Sterling had been among the many belongings moved from her former home. She tiptoed past a sleeping groom sitting on the ground beside the doors. The young man’s cap had been pulled over his face, a flagon of dark, foamy beer half-finished between his knees.

  Without disturbing him, she entered the barn and found curious faces watching her in passing. A golden palomino nickered in greeting, the animal a gift from royal relatives abroad. She didn’t want him.

  Of course, the black beauties owned by her parents weren’t among the equine faces peeking at her from the stalls.

  Edward hadn’t lied. Her father and mother had truly abandoned her with no plans of remaining for the wedding. Her brows furrowed. Had it been his intention all along to be rid of her? Had something happened to her mother?

  Tears blurred her vision, so she pushed the questions aside and focused on escape. If she fell apart now, they’d catch her and bring her back.

  She found Sterling pacing nervously within a spacious stall at the end of the row and spent the first few moments of their reunion with her arms around the mare’s neck. Sterling didn’t make any judgments. She nickered gently and pressed her furry cheek against Anastasia’s face.

  “I love you,” she whispered to her four-legged friend, breathing in the scent of fresh hay, grain, and the odors associated with livestock. After she saddled up and attached her small luggage bag, she led the mare outside past the sleeping stable boy, her heart began to slam in her chest anew. The kid’s hat had fallen off, but he remained dead to the world and unaware of his surroundings.