TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast

by K. M. Shea

  “Good?” Severin whispered as the footsteps grew louder.

  “Yes,” Elle said, changing her grip on his shoulders. “Although even I must admit this is most scandal—,” Ell broke off when Severin bounded up the stairs, moving smoothly but with greater agility than he had previously displayed. He loped up the walkway that made a perimeter around the room—bending forward and pushing off the ground with his free hand to help balance himself as he ran. He darted behind a hanging tapestry.

  “Do not speak a word,” Severin growled, his eyes glowing in the shadow of the tapestry.

  Elle held her tongue and hauled herself further up his shoulders so she too could peer around the tapestry when the prince inched his head out from behind it.

  Elle had just enough time to see plump Bernadine exit the long corridor that led to the kitchens before Severin heaved himself behind the tapestry.

  The sudden motion jostled Elle, making her fall against Severin’s thick neck. The black fur on the prince’s neck tickled Elle’s nose, and she took in a squeak of air before clasping her hand over her nose and holding her breath to keep in a sneeze. Her lungs burned and time seemed to stretch on until there were footsteps again. This time the footsteps grew softer as they retreated.

  Severin peered around the edge of the tapestry, Bernadine was gone.

  Elle unclamped her nose and sneezed three times. “That was telling,” Elle said, blinking her watering eyes before she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “If you wipe your hand on me you will regret it,” Severin said.

  Elle sneezed again. “Bernadine?”

  “Only a fool would not fear her,” Severin said, emerging from behind the tapestry.

  “I would have thought Heloise would be a bigger threat,” Elle said.

  “Heloise is a bear when it comes to budgeting and household supplies, but it is Bernadine who leads my servants like they are her personal army,” Severin said. “She greatly influences their morale and thought process.”

  “Who would have thought a plump cook could be so dangerous?” Elle said, planting her forearm on Severin’s broad shoulders before pushing herself up to rearrange her broken leg.

  Severin started down the hallway, his gait rocking Elle back and forth like she was in a cradle. “I will take you to the Rose Salon, you can find your way to whatever room you desire from there,” Severin stated more then asked.

  “Yes. Thank you, Your Highness,” Elle said as the prince walked up a corridor. He paused at a set of double doors and opened one, sliding inside.

  The Rose Salon was built overlooking a rose garden. The far side of the room was lined with windows and two glass doors that opened up into the gardens. It was decorated in dusty hues of pink and orange. The furniture was exquisite and the ceiling was covered in a painted fresco. The room was warmed by the sun, although Elle suspected it was chilly in the winter and required a fire.

  Severin removed Elle from his back, handing her crutches back to her. “If Emele has you carried back downstairs you are on your own,” he warned.

  Elle smiled like a satiated cat. “Do not worry about me, Your Highness. I’ll be fine.”

  Severin shrugged his shoulders and exited the Rose Salon. He was back a moment later. “You will tell no one I carried you?”

  “You have my absolute discretion,” Elle said.

  Severin exhaled a chuff of air that might have been a cat laugh before he left again.

  Elle listened to his claws click as he walked down the hallway before disappearing from her hearing range. “That was certainly educational. He is afraid of his cook, how unexpected.” Elle said, a bemused smiled on her lips. She glanced over her shoulder at the rose garden before following Severin’s example and quitting the room.

  Elle wasn’t exactly surprised when Emele dragged her out to the gardens. It was windy and cloudy, and to attest to the weather’s coldness the morning frost hadn’t melted yet. Both girls wore suede mitts and fur lined cloaks with the hoods pulled up.

  On such a biting day Emele would normally declare the outdoors off limits and force Elle to stay inside. However, everyone knew that snow would soon blanket the countryside. As such the gardeners were out in full force, covering rose bushes, pulling and removing dead greenery, raking leaves, and planting bulbs for the following year.

  It would be one of the last chances Emele had to visit Marc in the gardens, and she wasn’t going to waste it, but she couldn’t go see him alone either. Thus, on this particularly raw and cold day, Elle found herself outside.

  “Where is Marc?” Elle asked, pulling down on the fabric of her hood to make it snug against her face.

  Emele blinked innocently. I do not know. Why do you ask? Her handwriting was not quite as elegant as usual as she struggled to write with her gloved fingers.

  “Because as invigorating as this weather is, I would like to find him so you can carry out your tete-a-tete before we freeze,” Elle said, pausing to fix the position of the crutch under her right arm.

  I suspect he is in the rose garden, Emele wrote.

  “Excellent, then let us go to the rose garden,” Elle said, leaves crackled under her feet as she followed Emele down a walkway.

  They reached the garden in record time. Most of the beautiful flowers were gone, with the exception of a few hardier varieties of wild roses. Many of the bushes were wrapped in rough burlap, and the fountain in the center of the garden was drained and dry.

  The wind howled, making Elle yelp when it gusted up her cloak and pulled on her skirts. A bear popped out from behind a hedge—although on closer inspection Elle could see it was Marc dressed in a fur coat.

  The burly gardener bowed to Elle and Emele. “Good morning,” Elle said, looking around the garden. “Emele and I were coming to bid the roses farewell this year, although it looks like we are too late.”

  Marc bowed.

  Emele drew closer to Marc, writing on her slate. The preparations necessary to carry the garden through the winter are positively astounding. You know your trade well.

  The well bundled man bowed.

  “I agree with Emele,” Elle said, wriggling her nose to try and return some feeling to it. “I can’t imagine how must work it takes to prepare the rose garden.”

  Emele wrote again. How many more days do you think it will take?

  Marc was finally forced to dig out his slate and write out a reply. His handwriting was straight and boxy, but meticulous. As many days as we can fit before the first snow.

  Is there any work to be done in the kitchen gardens? Emele asked.

  I do not know, Marc simply wrote.

  The kitchen staff is responsible for those gardens?

  Yes.

  Elle watched the pair with an amused smile before she rubbed her red nose and started walking the perimeter of the garden to keep warm.

  Even if the flowers were gone the garden was surprisingly green. The walk was pleasant, despite the cold. Elle glanced over her shoulder—Emele and Marc were still exchanging slates—before she hobbled around a corner and almost slammed into Prince Severin.

  As freezing as it was, the prince wore only a waistcoat, and he was shoeless. He did not seem to notice the frosty temperature, although an eye twitch gave away his awareness of Elle’s arrival.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” Elle said in a sing song voice.

  Severin set his trowel aside long enough to give Elle a flat look before he went back to scraping compost on top of flowerbeds. “Is the chateau so boring that you are forced to seek out entertainment in the grounds on such a miserable day, Intruder?” he dryly asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it a miserable day. It may be cold, but one could call it refreshing,” Elle said.

  Severin snorted.

  “Besides, can you really say it is miserable when you only wear a waistcoat?” Elle asked.

  “I have no need for further coverage. My fur keeps me well insulated,” Severin said.

  “Really?” E
lle asked, a delighted smile, flashing across her face.

  “No, it is not at all like a cat,” Severin said, accurately able to guess her thoughts.

  Rather than deny the accusation in his voice, Elle leaned back to peer at Emele and Marc. The two servants had moved so they were huddled behind a hedge to block the wind. “They are adorable,” she said.

  Severin grunted. “Who?”

  “Emele and your head gardener,” Elle said.

  Severin briefly looked up. “What?”

  “Emele is quite smitten with him.”

  Severin stood and joined Elle in standing in the pathway. He exhaled a puff of silvery mist. “Oh,” he said before crouching down again and returning to his gardening.

  “That’s all you can say? ‘oh?’” Elle asked.

  “Yes,” Severin said, looking up briefly

  Elle shook her head in mock disappointment before she swung past Severin to investigate a bush.

  Severin arranged more compost. “Don’t.”

  Elle froze, her hand hovering inches from a bush branch. “Pardon?” she said, batting her eyes in the way of helpless wood animals.

  Severin eyed her over his shoulder. “You were about to accost the leaves of that bush.”

  “I would—,”

  “Always,” Severin emphatically said for her.

  Elle considered the statement. “True.”

  Severin finished his work and stood. “Do we need to send a courier to your family?”

  Elle sneezed and rubbed her red nose. “I’m sorry…what?”

  Severin inclined his head and shoulders in a slight bow of apology. “It has previously occurred to me that your family may fear you have died, or some other calamity has befallen you as you have not returned home for many weeks.”

  “Oh,” Elle said. “No, that will not be a problem.”

  Severin, who was in the middle of gathering up his tools, paused. His expression softened as he looked to Elle. “You have no family?”

  “I have a very lovely family,” Elle said. “I have my father and two sisters. But they will not think to miss me until come Christmas time as I work for the crown and spend my days away from home,” she truthfully said.

  “I see,” the prince rumbled. “But shouldn’t you send word?”

  Elle shook her head. “It would only worry them.”

  Severin’s white fangs jutted out of his lips when he frowned. “I would think it to be their right to worry for your well being.”

  Elle fluffed her cloak in hopes of taking the bite out of the chilly air. “You are correct, and they would worry, but…”

  Severin watched Elle out of the corner of his eyes. “If you change your mind inform Emele and she will make arrangements,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Severin shrugged his massive shoulders. “You should return indoors.”

  “It’s fine, I like the cold. Besides, Emele isn’t finished talking to Marc yet.”

  “It will make you ill,” Severin said.

  “An hour of the cold is hardly enough to make me sick.”

  “Your breathing is labored already.”

  “You can hear that well?” Elle asked, her gaze hinged on the prince.

  Severin shouldered his tools. “Yes.”

  Elle narrowed her eyes and stared at the transformed prince, wondering exactly how well he could hear, and what he knew as a result. When Severin eyed her she realized she was being too serious and let a smile slide across her lips. “Impressive. That’s just like a ca—,”

  “No,” Severin flatly interrupted before he turned to leave.

  Elle laughed at his exit before she called after him. “It was pleasant chatting with you, Your Highness.”

  Severin did nothing to acknowledge the comment and disappeared further into the gardens.

  Elle chuckled before she made her way back to the edge of the garden Emele was stationed in.

  Emele smiled as Marc bowed, but the ladies maid startled when Elle accidentally broke the moment by sneezing.

  “Excuse me,” Elle said, sheepishly wiping her nose when the gardener and ladies maid turned to face her.

  Emele clasped a hand over her heart before she quickly wrote. How thoughtless of me, you must be freezing! Let us go indoors.

  “I’m fine, it was just a sneeze,” Elle said.

  Emele shook her head with determination and pointed to the chateau.

  Elle sighed. “Very well. It was pleasant to see you again, Marc,” Elle called to the bear-man before Emele hauled her away.

  The gardener bowed and returned to his work as the girls made their way to the chateau.

  Chapter 7

  Sickness and Health

  Elle coughed and avoided looking at Emele, who was pacing in front of the roaring fireplace. “Emele, it is not your fault I caught a cold. Would you stop feeling guilty?” Elle said. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.

  Emele wrung her hands, stopping to check the percolating tea infusion of water and dried hoarhound leaves and flowers.

  Elle leaned back against the pillows fluffed around her when the ladies maid deemed the drink prepared.

  Emele carried a cup of the infusion to Elle, hovering as Elle experimentally sniffed it. It didn’t smell like much, nor did it have a strong flavor to it, but Elle suspected she couldn’t taste well with her head as stuffed at it was anyway. She sipped the drink, downing it at an acceptable pace in between the waffling sniffles of her drippy nose.

  When she finished the drink Emele took the dishes away and tenderly brushed Elle’s hair as Elle closed her eyes and relaxed in the warmth of her bed.

  Elle yawned, but opened an eye with interest when someone knocked on the door. A maid entered the room, pushing a cart that was topped with a tray.

  Unfit to leave her room as she was, Bernadine had made a feast to be brought to Elle. There were two kinds of soup, toasted breads, and a thin but sweet gruel.

  “Bernadine is an angel,” Elle said, taking a spoonful of soup. The flavor was strong enough that Elle could taste the tang of the sharp onion.

  Emele dutifully sat at Elle’s side, occasionally reaching out to pass Elle a piece of bread, a cloth napkin, or another cup of her hoarhound infusion.

  The simple foods were heavenly to Elle, soothing her stomach and warming her from the inside out. “Thank you, Emele,” Elle said, drifting off to sleep after she finished her food.

  She dozed, reveling in the warmth and comfort of her bed, but woke and opened her eyes to Prince Severin quietly placing a vase of daisies at her bedside.

  “Where in the blazes did you get those,” Elle said, startling Severin with her abrupt wakefulness.

  “There is a hothouse for vegetables and flowers,” Severin said, blending in with the shadows on the wall.

  Elle honked like a goose when she blew her nose. “A hothouse? How do you keep it warm enough? How did I not know about it?”

  “The design and location greatly aid in the process, and it is heated with a fire during nights. I would be surprised if you did know of it, as it is located in the kitchen gardens.”

  The pair was silent as Elle struggled to sit upright in the bed. When she was appropriately situated Elle ruefully smiled at Severin. “You were right, I caught a cold.”

  Severin acknowledged the comment by tipping his head forward.

  “It’s not so bad. Last time I was ill it was in the middle of a rainy season and I was stranded outside. That was a wretched time. Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many concoctions poured down my throat before,” Elle said, her head lolling to the side. “As much as it surprises me, I think some of them actually work.”

  “Duval wished for me to inform you that there is a ready supply of sugar and aqua vitae, should you need a way to stop coughing,” Severin said, gesturing to a tray that held a bowl of sugar, a spoon, and a glass bottle.

  “That’s how you found out? Duval told you?” Elle asked, squinting a
t the prince. It was hard to see him in the dimly lit room.

  “No. I inquired after you when you did not appear at dinner,” Severin said, uncomfortably shifting.

  “You missed me!” Elle crowed.

  “The wretched dog missed you,” Severin dryly said. “I don’t believe he let go of my waistcoat the entire meal.”

  “Poor Jock. Emele won’t let him come in my room while I’m sick,” Elle sighed.

  Severin shifted when silence blanketed the room. “Is there anything you need or want? Is there anything that would make your illness more pleasant?”

  “I don’t think so. Emele is doing her best to make me comfortable. She feels guilty, the poor thing. I am happy that you came to visit, though,” Elle said. “The flowers are beautiful.”

  Severin bowed slightly—Elle could tell only because the white cuffs of his dark waistcoat dipped lower. “You are welcome,” he paused. “I should take my leave.”

  Elle’s smile dimmed. “Of course. Have a pleasant evening.” She watched Severin’s dark shape slip to the door, and closed her eyes. She startled when there was a thump at her bedside.

  Severin placed an armchair a short distance from her bed and settled into it. “You will not require conversation,” he said, pulling a small book from inside his waistcoat.

  Elle mutely shook her head.

  Severin nodded. “Go to sleep,” he added as an afterthought before turning all of his attention to his book.

  Elle watched Severin read, occasionally sneezing and sniffling. The prince stirred only to add logs to the fireplace, and eventually Elle’s eyelids sank and she again drifted off to sleep.

  A week later Elle laughed as she hurried up a hallway. Jock scurried after her, barking in sheer joy—although he occasionally stopped to snap at a decorative suit of armor or painting.

  “Come on, Jock,” Elle called. The little dog was halfway down the hallway, panting heavily.

  A door creaked open and Severin exited his study. “You are making a great deal of noise considering you have just recovered from a cold.”