Beauty and the Beast: An Adult Fairytale Romance

by Vivienne Savage

  With each passing day, he reaffirmed their love with small tokens of affection. Although they weren’t always physical gifts, she reveled in experiencing a tender side of her new husband. She taught him to enjoy tea in the garden, where the reawakened servants brought them delicious brunches and midday meals. He led her on small adventures to different parts of the castle and their grounds, sometimes trekking down the mountain to find the flowers growing among the rocky crags covered in green.

  At night, he joined her in the observatory, his arms around her waist while she searched the skies and discovered new stars.

  Their lives were happy, and she couldn’t ask for anything more.

  Except the chance to visit home.

  “Something’s been weighing on your mind. What is it?” he asked during an evening stroll, days after their triumph over Dalborough.

  “I need to go home, Alistair.”

  “Home?” A wrinkle creased between his brows. “To take the flower to your mother.”

  “Yes, but I need to face my father and speak to him. I need to tell him… so many things. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to know what’s happened, but he’s my father. I love him.”

  Alistair slid his arms around her and set his chin on her shoulder. “You are a very wise woman, my queen.”

  “Would you come with me?”

  “Your father may take offense to you arriving on the back of a dragon,” he mused thoughtfully. His fingers ran down her spine, tracing the laces she couldn’t wait for him to loosen in their bedroom.

  “My father wouldn’t dare challenge or harm you now that you’re mine. If he doesn’t like it, then…” She swallowed and leaned back to search his face, reminded of how she’d felt the moment she learned her dragon and her prince were one and the same. “…then they will lose me forever. I choose you, Alistair. I choose you and our kingdom.”

  Their eyes met and held, then their lips came together in another sizzling kiss. Cinnamon and sweet, the flavor she’d come to associate with her dragon’s fond choice of whiskey, greeted the tip of her tongue when she claimed his mouth. “I love you, and nothing will ever keep me from coming back to you.”

  “Then perhaps I should come in this guise as a human.”

  “That may be for the best until you’ve worked your charming magic and taught him the error of his ways. You’ll be the lost king of Cairn Ocland.”

  “We’ll arrive with bags of gold.”

  “The treasure you gifted me to take,” Ana said.

  Alistair grinned. “It seems it was meant for some greater use after all. If only he had told me, if he had asked, I might have understood and given him what he needed.”

  “My father is a king, and such men are not in the habit of asking for anything,” she replied.

  “Perhaps not.” His chagrined expression remained.

  “And you were not in the habit of giving, my love.” She stroked his chest and smiled up at him. “You were a different person then, trapped in a body you had come to despise.”

  “It is good to stand as a man again,” he agreed. “I remain a dragon, but this freedom means everything to me.”

  “Alis—”

  “I am not finished,” he said in an impassioned voice. “I once thought I would give anything to have this body returned to me. And then I met you, Anastasia. You. Of all the things I would gladly have abandoned, you are the one thing I could never sacrifice. You’ve brought me hope and happiness beyond any measurement, lass.”

  The anxiety she had felt vanished, replaced by a warm, expanding sensation of hope. Blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of the moisture stinging them, she viewed her new husband through a haze of emotion.

  Would her father accept any act of kindness from his former adversary? Could he open his heart to the man who treated her with tenderness, love, and respect as a woman instead of a trophy or possession to be won?

  “My father should be honored to have you,” she whispered. “I certainly am.”

  As Anastasia leaned on her tiptoes and kissed him, she knew regardless of the outcome in Creag Morden, Alistair’s castle was where she belonged.

  Alistair and Anastasia rode some of the way to the kingdom by carriage, landing outside of a smaller village to the south then purchasing fare to the north in a luxury coach.

  Since Oclanders were no longer a common sight in any of the western kingdoms, his heathen appearance put them on the odd end of countless stares. Or maybe it was the state of their royal dress, and that he’d donned what he called his finest garments. His kilt was all green tartan and the protective, thick leather worn into battle. And he wore another leather tunic beneath his green plaid sash with polished gold buckles and fastenings.

  And when her so-called barbarian husband finished donning it all, she’d struggled against the desire to rip it off of him again. Together, it was finer than the most sophisticated noble garb in Creag Morden, better than silk frocks with gold buttons and velvet surcoats over fancy tunics.

  Would her father receive him well? Excluding a pair of brothers running one of the taverns, no one in Lorehaven had seen a man from Ocland in traditional garb in nearly two decades. Shivering, she drew her shawl around her shoulders. The green plaid pattern matched the knee-length garment around his hips, a gift given to all new brides of Ocland. She matched her new husband and wore it proudly.

  Three evenings of travel by carriage brought them to the kingdom’s capital bright and early. She saw the city through the windows and worried her lip with her teeth. The guards would no doubt recognize her at the city gate as their princess.

  But she was now a queen.

  “Halt,” a guard called in an authoritative, booming voice. “Who travels here?”

  “King and Queen TalDrach of Cairn Ocland.”

  One of the guards laughed. “Did you hear that, Walt? We’ve got royalty on this coach.”

  “Where’s their royal entourage? Their guards?”

  “I thought all of the Oclanders died a few years ago.”

  Had news from Dalborough not yet traveled to them? She imagined King Frederick and Brunhilda were in mourning, perhaps too inconsolable to share the news of their son’s defeat if news had reached them. But with a crippled army and no court magician, she wouldn’t be surprised if the survivors were still limping back to civilization.

  “Be gone with you,” the guard told the driver. “We don’t need any eastern beggars sucking what little’s left of our coffers dry.”

  Alistair stiffened. “Beggars?” He moved forward for the door, but Anastasia halted him with one hand on his chest.

  “I’ll handle this.” She threw open the carriage doors and hopped down.

  “Does my father know how poorly you treat guests of our kingdom?” she demanded. “Has so much changed in the time since I’ve left Creag Morden?”

  Four sets of eyes grew large and round. “Princess Anastasia?”

  “Queen Anastasia to you, and I haven’t come to beg anything from my father. I come with wealth—” She tossed a handful of gold coins from their pouch to the ground at their feet. “—and a desire to share my newfound prosperity.”

  “Your Majesty, I had—we had no idea.”

  “Forgive us, Your Highness.”

  “Be thankful it was I, and not my husband, who speaks to you now.” She heard Alistair chuckle from within the coach. “I wish to surprise my parents. Now move aside and grant us entry to the city at once.”

  “Yes, yes of course.”

  Her king offered his hand and pulled her into the coach when she returned alongside it. Two of the guards opened the immense gates, while the others hastily plucked the discarded coins from the soil.

  “You handled that like a true queen,” Alistair murmured against her ear. He nipped the sensitive shell, making her shiver.

  “They’ll show the next guests more respect, that’s for certain. Beggars. Hmph.”

  After another similar encounter at the castle gates, they were admitted onto
the grounds and escorted to the doors of the king’s receiving room where she hesitated with her fingers on the wood panel.

  “You’ve come so far, lass. There’s only one step left,” Alistair coaxed her.

  A gentle, feminine voice spoke up behind them. “Princess?”

  She turned to see a young housecleaner she remembered only faintly.

  “Beryl, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The maid wrung her hands together. “I must warn you, Princess Anastasia, the months have been unkind to our king. He no longer eats. We force him to accept broth and bread on occasion, but his appetite is spoilt.”

  “Then leave it to me,” Ana said. She strode forward into the audience chamber, determination putting steel into her spine. Alistair moved at her right, the dependable rock she counted on.

  “Anastasia?”

  Time had changed her father, but not for the better. He slumped in his throne, face haggard and hair streaked with more gray than she remembered. His ill-fitting clothing had seen better days, loose on a frame lacking his former sturdy bulk.

  She swallowed nervously, only to open her mouth and lose her voice. Alistair squeezed her hand, and his encouragement imparted all of the strength she’d needed. “Hello, Father.”

  “Anastasia!”

  He rose and stumbled forward, prompting Ana to rush to his aid.

  “I thought I would never see you again.”

  All of her resentment and hate melted away. She hugged him tight, aware of how thin he felt in her arms. Fragile. No longer the great warrior who had once carried her on his shoulders, but a frail old man worn sick from worry.

  “But the dragon…,” Morgan whispered. “Ana, I saw the dragon take you away. Did King Frederick keep his word then? Did they truly conquer that bloodthirsty beast and return you to me?”

  “No, Papa,” she murmured. “Beast is my friend. My dearest friend.”

  Her father’s grip on her tightened and his eyes went wild. “Friend? Ana, no dragon is a friend. What foul magic—”

  “Papa, stop and listen to me. I am under no spell. No coercion.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back to her father. “And I’ve brought someone I sorely wish for you to meet.”

  As Alistair stepped forward, she swept her arm toward him in a flourish and stepped back to place her hand on his upper arm. “King Alistair of Cairn Ocland.”

  “Cairn Ocland?” Her father’s brows rose high on his forehead. “That royal line was wiped out years ago.”

  “I am quite alive and well,” Alistair said. “Much to the disappointment of King Frederick, whose line is in true danger of ending.”

  “I….” Morgan blinked and looked between them in confusion. “I am not certain I understand. Prince Edward was on the mend and preparing to rescue you. I went to them after you were taken, Ana. I went to them and begged their aid to get you back.”

  “Prince Edward is dead, Papa. Dead at my hands. He tried to kill me when he led their army to Benthwaite Castle.” Her palms grew slick with sweat. “I finished what I began when he tried to rape me the night prior to our wedding.”

  What little color King Morgan had drained from his face, and beside her, Alistair clenched his jaw. She’d already told him the full story, but his rage renewed. “He said he only claimed a kiss.” Her admission aged him further, his features ashen, wrinkles more pronounced.

  “He lied to you. He was an awful man, and I defended myself. I didn’t think I could ever forgive you for giving me to those horrible people, but you’re my father, and you gave me years of devotion and love. And I missed you.”

  “I never… I thought they would love you no less than we do, Anastasia. You must believe me. I’ve wanted nothing more than to save you since the day that beast—”

  “Papa—”

  “When Sterling disappeared, I thought we had lost the last piece of you we had in this castle. I’ve lost the faith of the kingdom. Your mother loathes me. All has been lost since the day I betrothed you to Dalborough.” His shoulders shook.

  “Sterling is safely at home in Cairn Ocland. As for Mother….” She looked to her husband.

  Alistair bowed deeply, then removed a single package wrapped in linen from within his sash. “As a token of my appreciation to you, King Morgan, I have brought this gift from my personal garden.” He unfolded the square of fabric to reveal a dried twilight rose.

  “Is that…?”

  “The cure for Mother,” Ana whispered. “All we need to do is brew the dried petals into a tea.”

  “It’s… but the beast?”

  “I told you, Papa. He’s a friend.” She laced her fingers in Alistair’s hand and smiled up at him. “And we’ve brought other gifts as well.”

  Two guardsmen had carried in the trunk from the carriage. Anxious to share her surprise with him, she led her father over to the oversized chest. When she raised the lid, one of the castle guards gasped. Sunlight shone radiant over the surface of hundreds of gold coins. Jewels gleamed in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes, cut to a polished perfection.

  “There’s enough gold to get your kingdom on its feet again, King Morgan,” Alistair said.

  Her broken, once powerful father stared at them both with tears in his eyes. “Why? Why would you bring us such wealth?”

  “Because he is my husband, Papa.”

  Alistair raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before turning his bright eyes to Morgan. “We’re family now, and families help one another when in need. I love your daughter with all of my soul, and by proxy, I must also love you for creating such a magnificent, compassionate woman. In my eyes, she is void of any fault or flaw. She is perfection.”

  Her father stared at both of them, rendered mute by the magnitude of their gift.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then say nothing at all and help me prepare Mother’s tea. It’s time she joined us.”

  Her mother’s moods frequently shifted between a state of catatonia and hysteria. In the recent months, she’d grown increasingly quiet. The maids washed and dressed her each day, fed her, and moved her through the castle. At other times, she screamed and raged, crying out in pain, hurting herself and even others, burning with an excess of magic that she’d expend with violent spells.

  They began drugging her then, deciding her semi-comatose state was safer for everyone involved.

  “I’m home,” Anastasia whispered as she lowered to the edge of Queen Lorelei’s bed and took her mother’s cool hand.

  She sat with her mother throughout the night, dozing in a seat beside the bed after personally administering the sweet and fragrant tea. When his attempts to coax her into bed failed, Alistair joined her in the next chair.

  The morning dawned bright and clear, but it paled in comparison to her mother’s smiling face. Lorelei awoke a changed woman, as vibrant as Anastasia remembered. They hugged for what seemed like hours and lay together in the bed while Alistair hurried off to find a healer. Ana sobbed against her mother’s shoulder while recounting the events of the past two years. It turned out the queen could remember nothing of the time since her dementia reached its peak, save sporadic moments of coherent thoughts concerning her daughter.

  Her husband’s mistakes and his intention to bind Ana to Dalborough shone like a beacon among Lorelei’s foggy recollections. For her, the time had passed like a dream, never knowing what was real and what was a figment of her diminishing mind.

  “Mother, I missed you.”

  “I never meant for you to be tied to that terrible family,” Lorelei told her. “I tried… I know I tried to make him stop.”

  “That’s why you both left. Your fit,” Ana murmured. Her throat tightened, and she squeezed her mother’s hand, kissing the woman’s long fingers. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more about it later.”

  “I’ve spent enough time in bed,” Lorelei disagreed. “I want to enjoy tea in the garden with my daughter. Now help me dress. We won’t wait for the
maids.”

  “Oh, Mother, I have so many wonderful things to tell you.”

  Alistair joined Lorelei and Anastasia in the garden for tea where introductions were made. Lorelei instantly fell in love with him, charmed by his good manners and handsome qualities, above all else, she adored him for treating her daughter well. Suddenly, the unyielding and stern mother of her childhood memories was a figment of Ana’s imagination.

  A courier announced Victoria’s imminent arrival, prompting Ana to excuse herself to greet her cousin personally at the front doors.

  “When I heard you’d been returned, I couldn’t believe it,” Victoria cried. She hugged Ana tight. “And married! How did you ever escape that awful dragon and find yourself a husband all at the same time?”

  “The dragon wasn’t so awful,” she confided. “He was rightfully upset that we invaded his home trying to steal. As for the husband….”

  They chatted as they strolled through the halls. On their way through the castle to rejoin her parents and Alistair on the veranda, Anastasia glanced into the dining hall. Her father had scheduled an impromptu, celebratory feast to welcome Lorelei home to them and to honor their new alliance with Cairn Ocland.

  A pair of maids paused in the midst of setting the grand table with fine china for a multi-course meal. Her brothers were attending a preparatory school for young nobles halfway across the kingdom, and the table looked too massive for so few chairs and plates.

  Anastasia frowned.

  “Is there something wrong, Your Majesty?” one asked.

  “Yes. This banquet table is completely impersonal. I’ll have to shout down the length of the room to talk to anyone.”

  “Milady, this is how it’s always been,” the maid fretted.

  “I know, but not tonight. I want to be beside my family. To hell with proper seating arrangements,” Anastasia declared. She took charge of the maids and joined them in setting the table the way she desired to bring her family closer together. She shuffled the seating arrangements and moved the chairs closer together, shortening the traditional but formal distance between them.