TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast

by K. M. Shea

  “Emele?” Elle asked.

  The ladies maid didn’t reply, but she broke into a grin when what appeared to be a burly red bear trudged down the path, swinging an empty bucket.

  As the walker drew closer Elle realized it was not a bear, but a man. He was an impressive height and girth, and instead of following the tidy, clean-shaven look of fashion the man had a trimmed, wild red beard and short, curly red hair. The beard barely fit below his black mask, and Elle wondered how he kept himself groomed with the bothersome thing.

  Jock ran two circles around the bear man, barking and jumping, before he grew tired and had to lie down in the shade. Emele greeted the man with scarcely less enthusiasm. Elle, she wrote. This is Marc, chief gardener.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marc,” Elle said. “The gardens are lovely.”

  Marc bowed low.

  His Highness Prince Severin greatly esteems Marc for his talent with growing and tending to flowers, Emele wrote, her chest puffed with pride.

  Marc bowed low, again.

  “I see,” Elle said. “I imagine the royal palace does not have gardens half as well loved and tended to.”

  Emele nodded, and Marc bowed low, as expressionless as a stone statue.

  When we moved here there was almost nothing planted. Marc has worked diligently to amend that.

  “His efforts have been greatly rewarded,” Elle said.

  Marc, who was looking sideways at the pond, bowed low.

  Emele started to write on her slate again, but Elle—noting Marc’s study of the pond—said for his benefit, “I am honored to meet you Marc, but please do not let us keep you from your work.”

  Marc nodded once before he bowed low. He took his empty bucket and filled it with pond water. He plunged his hand in it and swirled the water before he turned to leave. He realized Elle and Emele were still present and bowed to them once each before he selected a different path and started down it.

  Emele placed her slate over her heart and sighed deeply as she watched him go.

  Elle smiled slyly. “You think he’s very handsome?” she teased.

  Emele flushed—even her neck turned pink—and she hastily turned away from Elle. She nearly trod on Jock in her haste to start down a different path.

  Elle laughed and followed her, enjoying the lightness of her dress and the warmth of the sun.

  Elle was sampling her final course of dinner—dessert, which was a delicious bread pudding—when Prince Severin shocked her.

  “Are you pleased with your new dresses?”

  Elle swallowed her pudding wrong and coughed. She pounded her chest before sipping her tea. When she recovered she cleared her throat and said, “I beg your pardon. What did you say, Your Highness?”

  “Are you pleased with your new dresses, Intruder?” the cursed prince repeated. Even though he spoke to Elle he was writing something in a book.

  “I am. Thank you. I enjoy the designs, which are more aligned to my personal taste, and their simplicity has greatly increased my mobility.”

  Prince Severin briefly looked up and nodded.

  Elle waited for a moment before adding. “While I greatly enjoy them, let me say at the risk of sounding ungrateful that I would have been happy to have the other gowns modified to suit my needs rather than a new wardrobe.”

  “Do not worry yourself. Heloise and Bernadine informed me new dresses were entirely necessary.”

  “Thank you,” Elle said, at a loss of what to say.

  Prince Severin grunted and shuffled papers.

  Movement behind Severin caught Elle’s attention. A footman and two serving maids stood behind the illegitimate prince. All three of them were beaming and nodding to Elle.

  Elle reluctantly returned her attention to her bread pudding, still surprised that the prince had deemed to ask her a question.

  “Where are we going?” Elle asked, following Emele down a familiar combination of hallways. A young boy—a groom named Oliver—was at Elle’s elbow. “Emele?”

  The ladies maid gave Elle a mischievous smile over her shoulder before opening a set of double doors.

  It was the library, but this time the curtains were open and the windows were cracked, letting sunlight and bird songs warm the room.

  “It’s beautiful,” Elle said, her eyes taking in the lightened room.

  Emele soundlessly laughed and, in spite of her full skirts, ran down one of the aisles.

  Amused, Elle thumped after her.

  Emele plucked a book from a shelf and held it open, paging through it to show Elle the beautiful illustrations of exotic animals. There was a lion, golden eyed with a black halo of hair. A painting of a black and white stripped horse was on the next page, and a pink necked ostrich on the page after that.

  Emele passed the book to Oliver and hurried on. They danced up another aisle. This time Emele selected a book that depicted beautiful fairies, pearly horned unicorns, and roaring dragons. A few aisles down was a book of dress styles and hair arrangements—which Emele naturally snatched. Oliver found a book about knights and snuck it into the pile of books that he carried.

  Emele was placing a Loire history book on the growing stack when Elle found a flower book. “Look, Emele, don’t you want to read this one?” Elle smirked.

  Emele’s lower face and neck blushed but she didn’t protest when Elle added her book to the pile.

  Emele pulled on Elle’s crutch and the two made their way to a massive table, where Oliver gratefully set the books down.

  Emele spread the books out on the table and selected the volume about dresses and fashions. She sat down in a wooden chair, growing engrossed as she turned pages.

  Oliver discreetly swiped his knight book. He started reading it as he leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor as he ripped through the book with the eagerness of a hooked reader.

  Elle paged through the book of exotic animals, pausing and reading whenever she found a depiction of a large cat. She was looking at an image of a spotted feline, wondering if any large cats were pure black, when one of the library doors clicked open.

  Prince Severin stalked inside, his black cat nose twitching before he turned to look at Elle and his servants. He narrowed his cat eyes until they were golden glints of light. He raised his upper lip in a sneer. His white, alarming teeth were a sharp contrast against the black of his fur. A growl leaked from him, making the hair on the back of Elle’s neck stand on end.

  Emele gracefully stood and curtsied, tipping the crown of her head to the prince. Oliver scrambled to his feet and rocked forward in a bow. When he popped upright he realized Emele hadn’t risen from her curtsey yet and hastily threw himself in an even deeper bow.

  Elle remained seated, and was glad she did so when Severin turned away and stalked into the bookshelves, disappearing from view.

  Oliver returned to his book, sitting cross legged on the floor and propping himself against the wall.

  Emele remained standing, her mouth on the brink of a frown as she stared at the sea of bookshelves.

  “Emele?” Elle said.

  Emele raised a finger to her lips and shook her head.

  Severin reappeared, holding a book in one large paw. He stalked to the doors in his rolling, animalistic gait, and did not spare Elle and Emele a glance when he left, pulling the door shut with more strength than necessary.

  Emele sighed and pulled out her slate. I may have made a miscalculation.

  “What do you mean?”

  Emele glanced at Oliver, but he was engrossed in his book. Emele adjusted her grip on her piece of chalk before writing again. I knew His Highness would be visiting the library this morning.

  “So you brought me here on purpose,” Elle said, folding her arms across her chest.

  Emele nodded.

  “Why?”

  Prince Severin needs companionship. He is so lonely he is too empty to acknowledge it.

  “With all due respect, Emele, you are utterly mad. The prince has no inter
est in me, and he has the friendliness of a viper.”

  You are mistaken. It is not that he is not friendly but that he has no friends. He sits in his study all day, fulfilling the desire’s of his brother’s heart. As members of his household we servants cannot fill the void of friendship.

  “No one forced him to leave the courts of nobility. He made the decision to closet himself in this chateau,” Elle said, turning a page in her book.

  Emele sat down. He did it to protect us.

  “Pardon?”

  The village boy you and I encountered was not the first person to insult me.

  Elle stared at Emele, who avoided her gaze. “How many?” she finally asked.

  More than I care to recall.

  “They are frightened of you?”

  Magic makes folk uncomfortable. No one dared harm His Highness, but Oliver was almost killed by a crowd, and Marc was turned out of his house. Emele hesitated, resting her chalk on her slate before she added. My family disowned me.

  “Emele, I’m sorry. They’re fools, they don’t see the truth,” Elle said, thumping her way around the table to sit next to her friend.

  Yes. So Prince Severin came to Chanceux Chateau to spare us more pain. In doing so he has utterly cut himself off. You could change that, Elle.

  “You are mistaken, Emele, I cannot. You saw the way he glared at us. His Highness Prince Severin has no wish to further know me, and I am not going to push the relationship.”

  It only appears that way because he has been hurt too many times.

  “Forgive me if my heart does not bleed for him,” Elle dryly said.

  Will you try? Please?

  Elle raised her gaze from the slate to look at Emele’s masked face. Her eyes, the only bit of upper facial features Elle could see, were painfully filled of hope. But, in spite of the pretty portrait Emele painted of Prince Severin, Elle doubted the maid was right. Prince Severin couldn’t be lonely. He was too ruthless and crafty to have any kind of haunting emotion like loneliness.

  Rather than outright lie to her, Elle changed the subject. “I would like to go for a walk again today in the gardens. I very much wish to see the pavilion on the pond. Could we take our tea there?”

  Emele’s shoulders fell as she took her slate from Elle.

  “Perhaps we will run into the dashing Marc. You should study this book so you can ask him questions,” Elle said, pulling the flower book across the table.

  Emele turned bright red and stopped writing. She hastily erased her message and started writing again. I already have.

  Elle laughed. “You’ve read it before? Emele, you fox!”

  A week later Oliver accompanied Elle and Jock through the sprawling gardens, carrying an open parasol. Elle glanced over her shoulder at the dutiful stable boy. “Oliver, you don’t have to stay. I didn’t really want a parasol to begin with, and I assure you I’m not going to leave the gardens.”

  Oliver pinned the frilled accessory against his shoulder as he wrote. Mademoiselle Emele instructed me to remain with you.

  “I see,” Elle said, impressed with the ladies maid’s ability to boss Elle around even in her absence. Emele was overseeing the final dress of Elle’s new wardrobe with Bernadine and Heloise. Elle didn’t understand what was so special about it, but she was grateful for the chance to escape to the gardens, unattended. Or so she thought.

  Jock bounced around Elle’s feet, breathing loudly and getting leaves stuck in the sweeping fringe of his tail. The dog growled and chased his tail, spinning in a circle before he ran out of air and had to sit down.

  “I understand completely,” Elle said to the fat dog before she raised her nose in the air and sniffed. The sweet scent of flowers thickened the air. “Oliver, where are the flowers? I can smell them, but we’ve only seen green things so far.”

  Oliver started down one of the garden paths, beckoning for Elle to follow. Elle thumped after her small guide, smiling up at the sun as Jock barked.

  Oliver led Elle to an open garden that overflowed with flowers. There were strands of pastel colored sweet peas, colonies of prideful narcissus, bushes of irises, peonies, daffodils, and more. Most of all, though, there were roses. Some were the size of Elle’s thumbnail. Others were as big as her hand stretched wide open. They came in pinks, reds, whites, yellows, even oranges and pink tinted purples.

  The garden was a wash of rainbow hues, and bees hummed in the air while tiny hummingbirds darted from flower to flower.

  Elle stared in shock, she had never seen so many flowers—so many types of flowers—in bloom at once. Everything was in bloom, even flowers that were supposed to bloom in spring and early summer. “Emele is right. Marc is incredible,” Elle exclaimed, breathing in the sweet, fragrant air. “Fall is due to arrive any day, but this garden looks like it is early spring.”

  Oliver cheekily grinned. Not all Marc.

  “Who else does this? It’s beautiful. I don’t think a fairy’s garden could look this gorgeous,” Elle said.

  Oliver raised his eyebrows but didn’t write out a reply as Elle explored. She made her way past a bed of snapdragons and admired the chrysanthemums before a rosebush caught her attention. The roses themselves were orange, but the petal edges were a striking red.

  Jock pulled Elle’s attention from the flowers by exploding in ferocious barks before running up and down the path twice.

  “Jock? What’s wrong?” Elle asked as the dog raced past her. He kept going this time, following a pathway out of the flower garden. “Jock!” Elle said, hurrying after him on her crutches.

  Oliver scurried at Elle’s side, trying to hold the parasol above her.

  “Forget about the parasol, Oliver. Can you run ahead and find Jock? Jock!” Elle called, turning a corner.

  The little dog hadn’t gone far. He was hopping around a set of gardening tools, barking and snarling at someone who was hidden behind a large rosebush.

  “I’m sorry—,” Elle stopped when was able to skirt around the rosebush and see who Jock was attacking.

  It was Prince Severin, but unlike Elle had ever seen him.

  To begin with, he was dirty. His fur was matted with dirt, and the clothes he wore were simple, faded, and ragged. The Prince’s sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and he was up to his forearms in dirt and mud. A pile of wilting weeds was mounded next to him, and he held a trowel in one hand. He stared at Elle, frozen in the middle of pulling a weed.

  Elle stared at Severin for a moment before shutting her eyes and pinching herself on the forearm. When she opened her eyes the prince was still there.

  Oliver looked away and took tiny steps backwards, edging away from the stunned pair. He made it all the way to the flower garden without being noticed.

  A bee buzzed between Elle and the prince, and Elle finally found her voice. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, her voice was flat and toneless.

  Severin looked down at the weed and growled, plucking it from the ground with ease.

  Elle kept staring as the prince weeded. He seemed different. Maybe it was seeing him covered in dirt, or maybe it was the simple fact that he was gardening. Elle thoughtfully scratched her scalp. “The gardens are exotic. I am interested in your garden management, for I cannot fathom how you manage to have all these flowers in bloom at once,” she said.

  Severin looked up and jabbed at Elle with the trowel. “Not one word,” he ordered.

  Elle blinked. “Pardon?”

  “I am not gardening. I am spiritually cleansing myself.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  The skin on the bridge of Severin’s cat nose wrinkled. “The act of weeding allows me to expel my thoughts so I may work more efficiently.”

  “Your Highness. Gardening is not something to be ashamed of.”

  “All good warriors must make time to focus their thoughts.”

  “It is a genteel and admirable hobby,” Elle said, reaching out to rub a rosebush leaf between her fingers.

  “The balance
of peace and work allows one to obtain an optimum performance level.”

  “Your Highness, allow me to say that you appear to have selective hearing.”

  “Stop rubbing the bush, you’re getting your finger oils on it,” Severin said before he went back to pulling weeds.

  Thoroughly chastised, Elle made her way to a stone bench not five feet from the prince.

  Severin did not acknowledge the movement and kept weeding.

  Elle watched and Jock growled twice more at Severin before he retired to the shade of the rosebush to snarl at the illegitimate royal in comfort. “Why does Jock dislike you so?” Elle asked.

  “Who?”

  “Jock, the dog.”

  Severin stopped digging and turned to stare at Elle.

  “It’s a perfectly nice name,” she said.

  Severin returned to his weeding task.

  “You have failed to answer my question, so I shall pose it to you again. Why does Jock dislike you?”

  “I find it unreasonable that you haven’t put this together on your own. Hasn’t it occurred to you that he may not like the way I look?” Severin said, ripping a deep rooted weed out of the ground before he moved over a foot.

  “Oh, it’s because you resemble a cat,” Elle said.

  “He hates me because I’m an unnatural beast, Intruder.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Your Highness,” Elle said.

  Severin briefly pinched the skin between his eyes. “Is there anything you need help with, Intruder?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you remain here?”

  “Because I don’t think I’m going to get another chance to see Loire’s commanding general weeding and gardening,” Elle said.

  Severin growled.

  “I’m curious about the roses. I haven’t seen roses in so many different colors and sizes before.”

  “I was not aware that Belvenes had many roses to begin with.”

  “It doesn’t, but I work at Noyers. I’ve seen the palace gardens, and they cannot compare to this.”

  “Thank you,” Severin grudgingly said, savagely ripping out another weed.

  Elle fell silent and watched the prince work, sunning herself in the light. After a few minutes Severin finished weeding. He stood, brushed himself off, and picked up his tools. He started to leave before he stopped, turned to Elle, and bowed. He left just as the sun hid behind a cloud.