TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast

by K. M. Shea

  The mouse colored horse plunged into a drift to skirt around the fallen tree before Severin steered him back onto the road.

  Rosemerry followed, shaking once to making his fur poof up.

  When they were further down the road Elle twisted in the saddle to glance behind them. She could barely see the fallen tree—a sad, black figure spread across the road. “Severin, thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For fighting the hag for me.”

  Severin pulled Fidele into a halt and actually turned around to stare at Elle. “As long as you are in my care you are my responsibility. I will make sure no farther harm comes to you.”

  “Harm is one thing, but she threatened to curse you more than you already are.”

  “I was prepared for such an outcome.”

  “And you still did it?”

  “Of course.”

  Severin and Elle stared at each other for a few moments before Severin said, “I don’t understand what you are surprised about.”

  Elle stared down at Rosemerry’s fat, glossy neck. “No one has ever been willing to sacrifice themselves for me.”

  “Elle.”

  The tone of Severin’s voice dragged Elle eyes up so they met his.

  “I will always protect you,” he said before straightening in his saddle and cuing Fidele on.

  Elle stared at Severin’s back, her mind in an uproar. She wanted to believe Severin, but how could she when she was indentured because of him?

  Late that night Elle crept down the hallway that led to the kitchens. The castle was quiet, not just because the servants couldn’t talk, but because everyone was asleep. It was the dog watch of the night, and Elle had spent hours tossing and twisting in her bed. She was so restless Jock had abandoned her after the first hour.

  “If I can’t rest I may as well get a snack,” Elle said, following the corridor.

  When she entered the kitchens, Elle was shocked to find Bernadine, alert and working. The doughy woman was puttering around her domain, arranging gleaming pots and inspecting fresh produce, and she was not alone. Heloise sat on a stool at the table Bernadine bustled around, nursing a cup of steaming tea.

  “Bernadine, Heloise?” Elle said, alerting the women to her presence.

  Bernadine smiled and beckoned Elle in. When Elle stalled, somewhat embarrassed to be seen by the older women in her dressing gown, the cook waddled forward and grasped her hand, pulling her into the warmth of the kitchen.

  The air smelled like freshly baked bread, and two fireplaces blazed with cheerful flames. Jock slept on his back, his belly exposed to the world, cuddled next to a kitchen cat that was kept to keep the chateau clear of mice.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Elle said, sliding onto a stool next to Heloise.

  Bernadine smiled at Elle and wrote, You came to the right place, before she grabbed a fresh loaf of bread with a towel and started sawing at it with a formidable looking knife.

  Heloise retrieved another cup and saucer. She poured out a serving of tea and presented Elle with the cup.

  “Thank you,” Elle said, sipping the tea. It was chamomile, lightly sweetened with honey. It warmed Elle from the inside out, and took the stiffness out of her shoulders.

  Bernadine slathered butter on a steaming slice of honey oat bread before she placed it on a plate and slid it in front of Elle.

  Elle bit into the rich bread, sighing with satisfaction.

  Now, what has you upset? Bernadine asked.

  “I’m not upset, it is merely that I cannot sleep,” Elle firmly said before sipping her tea.

  That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told. Heloise wrote.

  You clearly have something on your mind. Tell us, you’ll feel better, Bernadine urged.

  You’ve raised Bernadine’s curiosity now. There will be no silencing her until you tell, Heloise wrote when Elle delayed replying by eating more warm bread.

  “I was thinking of the mountain hag,” Elle said.

  Heloise crossed herself, and Bernadine puffed up like Jock when he barked at Severin. Neither Bernadine nor Emele had taken the news of the mountain hag particularly well when Severin and Elle returned from their ride. Elle half expected the ladies maid to insist on sleeping in her room that evening.

  Bernadine tugged on her mask before writing, It is a good thing His Highness was able to protect you.

  Heloise nodded once and raised her tea cup in a silent toast.

  The memory is keeping you awake? Bernadine added to her slate.

  “In a way,” Elle said. “I don’t understand why Severin protected me.”

  It is the duty of a man to protect his companions, Heloise wrote.

  “To a certain extent, that is true. But the hag was threatening him, and I don’t believe it was a mere play. She would have harmed him.”

  His Highness is too good of a soldier to be taken down by a mountain hag, Bernadine wrote, her small lips twisted in disgust.

  “But why did he even take the chance?” Elle asked, cradling her tea cup.

  His Lordliness will make extravagant sacrifices for those he treasures, Heloise wrote with some wryness.

  “I cannot be important to him. I’m nothing but a rooftop prowler,” Elle said.

  But you are important to him, Bernadine wrote.

  “Why?”

  Only His Greatness can answer that question, Heloise said, spinning her slate for Elle to see.

  Bernadine eagerly scribbled away on her slate. How do you feel for His Highness? Is he important to you?

  Elle stared at Bernadine. “After staying here for so long one would think I would no longer be shocked by your boldness or match making ways.”

  Bernadine has the subtlety of an avalanche, Heloise wrote.

  Bernadine silently chuckled, nearly bowling Heloise over on accident with her plump backside when she walked around the table to check a pot boiling over the open fire.

  Heloise turned so her pronounced nose thrust in Elle’s direction. At minimum you feel friendship for His Worthiness. You laugh and enjoy your encounters with him.

  “Yes.”

  Bernadine eagerly waddled back to her slate on the table. If the roles were reversed and it was you facing the mountain hag for His Highness’s sake, would you do it?

  “Of course, but that’s different. He is a sovereign. The country needs him.”

  You would not try to save him for any other reason? Bernadine asked.

  “I don’t know,” Elle said, eating the last bite of her bread.

  Bernadine deflated in disappointment before she busied herself with sawing another slice of bread.

  Heloise, however, smacked her open hand on the table, making a loud crack. Let me tell you something, missy. You young maidens now days get misty eyed thinking about true love and the fathomless adoration you will share. It’s not like that. Real love is looking at someone and knowing that you wouldn’t mind waking up to their bad breath for the next century, and you are fine with them seeing you before you brush your hair and fix your face for the day.

  Elle blinked, surprised by the housekeeper’s sudden outburst, but Heloise wasn’t finished yet.

  Loving a person isn’t a magical, sparkly passion. It’s hard work. It’s putting the other person before yourself. It’s companionship and being able to trust and depend on each other. That loquacious true love everyone spouts about is really finding a partner who will go through the heartbreaks and joys of life with you.

  Heloise stopped writing only when Bernadine smacked her over the head with a wooden spoon. The housekeeper narrowed her eyes at the cook like a bird whose feathers had just been ruffled.

  Be gentle, Bernadine wrote to her friend.

  Heloise scoffed and finished her tea. If you will excuse me, good evening, she wrote before swirling from the room.

  Elle and Bernadine watched her leave before Bernadine continued. Heloise lost her husband when they were both dreadfully young. They had been married but five years. She still misses hi
m.

  “She is right, though,” Elle said. “I am terribly unromantic. The pretty stories about beautiful girls finding true love never caught my fancy. I thought love would be useless in the real world, where merchant’s shipments are delayed by muddy roads, countries are forever eyeing each other in thoughts of war, and one must work to live. Heloise’s explanation of love is perhaps the first definition I have ever felt to be true.”

  Most dwell on the feeling of love, rather than the relationship itself, Bernadine nodded.

  Elle rubbed the sides of her teacup in the following silence. “Thank you for the refreshments, and for the conversation,” she said, sliding off the stool when she finished her tea.

  Has it given you anything to think of?

  Elle considered the question for a moment. “It has. Good night, Bernadine.”

  Good night to you, Elle. Sleep well.

  “I shall certainly try.”

  Chapter 12

  Love and Squirrels

  “Do I have something on my face,” Severin said. He didn’t even look up from his book.

  Elle, who was leaning against a bookshelf and watching the prince, tilted her head. “What?”

  “You’ve been staring at me. Is something wrong with my face—besides the obvious?”

  “Oh, no. I apologize, I was merely thinking,” Elle said, clasping her hands behind her back before meandering to Severin’s table.

  Stacks of neatly piled books were posted at the corners like paper watchtowers. Maps of the border Loire shared with Arcainia were spread around the table.

  Elle peered over Severin’s shoulder to study his work. “So you’ve caved and have agreed to war on Arcainia?”

  Severin twisted to stare at Elle.

  Elle realized her mistake and tried to downplay her knowledge of the subject. “I’m just speculating. Your brother has been fairly vocal about the desire in the past year.”

  Severin massaged his forehead. “Even his servants know? It is no wonder Arcainia decided spy infiltration was a necessary measure.”

  “Only a minority know, if that’s any consolation,” Elle said.

  “Servants talk. As soon as one of them knows, all of them know,” Severin sourly said. “And I say that without meaning any offense to you.”

  “None taken,” Elle said, plunking down in a chair next to Severin.

  “And no, I have not given in. I’m looking for a way to talk my brother out of a war,” Severin said. “Loire cannot handle a war right now, not to mention there is no reason for one.”

  “He won’t accept that reasoning?”

  “No.”

  “And you won’t flat out reject the idea?”

  “He’s my brother. I would like to support him in everything he does.”

  “Even if he does something stupid?”

  Severin turned his cat head to give Elle another unnerving stare.

  “I am not saying His Highness is stupid, or has done something stupid. I’m merely wondering what you will do if he asks you for something truly asinine,” Elle asked.

  Severin sighed. “I do not know.”

  Elle planted her elbows on the table surface and propped up her chin with her hands. She watched Severin half heartedly nudge a map, again scrutinizing the cursed prince.

  Heloise’s passionate sermon had aroused an ill-fated curiosity in Elle. She surely was not in love with Severin, but she wondered what kind of woman would be attracted to the prince.

  To find the answer to this predicament, Elle keenly studied Severin. The results were rather unfortunate.

  Elle observed that Severin was surprisingly calm tempered. He was difficult to anger—excluding matters of rubbing leaves and Jock—and after one got past his rocky exterior he was thoughtful and gentle. Some might see his sense of humor as being ill mannered in its sourness, but Elle found his remarks not only diverting but true.

  His loyalty was bottomless, which surely meant he was trustworthy, and Elle was willing to admit that she admired the guardianship he seemed to extend over all he held dear. He was proud, yes, but not unduly so considering his social standing and intelligence. Perhaps his only real fault that Elle found aggravating was his tendency to dote on his brother and work at all hours of the day.

  If love was as Heloise said, and was about finding a partner to go through the tribulations and delights of life, whatever woman snared Prince Severin would be lucky indeed. In fact, Elle was likely to be jealous of her.

  Elle realized what she was thinking and paused. “Fantastic,” she said before glaring at Severin, mad at him for the nobility of his temperament.

  “What?” Severin asked, not looking up from his work.

  “Nothing,” Elle said, her voice was flat as she removed her eyes from the prince and stared across the library. Thanks to her regrettable curiosity, Elle was forced to admit that she was the kind of woman who would fall in love—real love—with Severin. And, even more regrettably, it seemed that she already had fallen for him.

  Elle glared at Severin again in a rare show of rage. She had been perfectly happy before her realization. Why did Severin have to be so likeable? Surely this was his fault.

  “What have I done?” Severin asked.

  Elle froze, afraid he had read her thoughts. “What?”

  “You are glaring at me like a gargoyle. What did I do to anger you?” Severin asked, making a notation on a map.

  Elle looked away. “Nothing.”

  Severin snorted in amusement and disbelief.

  Elle folded her arms across her belly and thought. Out of all people why would it be Prince Severin to catch her fancy where no one else had? The notion was ridiculous considering what he had done to her family. The situation was so ironic it made Elle laugh out loud.

  “Do you need something? Tea perhaps?” Severin asked, taking a book off the top of the tower of manuscripts at his elbow.

  “No,” Elle said.

  She was mistaken, that had to be it. She wasn’t in love with Severin. It was just because Heloise had put the mad notion in her head.

  “Elle.”

  Elle’s thoughts stopped when Severin slid a furry, thick finger under her chin, tilting it so she had to look at him. “Are you certain you are feeling well? Do you need to be aired out?” he asked, his deep voice colored with a faint tease.

  Nope. She wasn’t mistaken.

  “I’m fine, Severin, but thank you for your concern,” Elle said, giving the prince a small smile.

  Satisfied, Severin dropped Elle’s chin and returned to his work.

  Elle watched him for a few moments, her smile growing larger and softer. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but Elle couldn’t help but think she couldn’t have chosen a better man to fall for.

  Elle froze when she realized what her affection meant. Because she loved him she could break Severin’s curse! …But that would mean the end of this. Severin would never love a commoner, and as soon as the curse was broken he would return to the palace and to his brother. If he didn’t forget about her he would likely find out what she really was, and then there was no chance he would love her.

  Elle leaned over the table, sheltering her eyes with her hands.

  She was startled when she felt something on her back. It took her a moment to realize it was Severin, running a hand through her loose hair.

  He did so almost unconsciously. He glanced at Elle for a moment to gravely study her before he again looked back at his book, still running a hand through her hair.

  “I will have to do it,” Elle whispered.

  Severin’s ears flicked, but he said nothing.

  Elle knew in her heart that she couldn’t leave Severin cursed because of her selfishness. She loved him—and all of his servants—so much that she wanted them to be free. Even if it meant she would lose them.

  But she didn’t have to break it today, or even tomorrow. There was still time to enjoy her stay at Chanceux Chateau. She could treasure her moments with Severin and her friends among
his staff.

  Elle laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes as Severin continued to stroke her hair, lulling her off to sleep.

  Elle was pulled from her slumber by someone shaking her awake. It was early in the morning, the sun was only hinting at rising and the room was chilly as Elle had neglected to close the window after her colleague checked in with her in the late evening hours.

  “What is it, Emele?” Elle asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

  Emele pointed across the room with a shaking hand.

  Sitting in front of the fireplace was a ragged looking squirrel. Its eyes were bugged, and the fur on its tail was patchy, but it looked snug nestled into the fluff it had pulled from the now ruined rug.

  “It must have climbed in the open window. Sorry about that,” Elle said, wincing when Emele smacked her on the head with her slate.

  WHY did you leave the window open?

  “It was stuffy,” Elle said, making sure Jock was securely asleep. Elle knew the fat dog wouldn’t be able to catch the squirrel, but she didn’t want to invite chaos. “Open the balcony door and we can shoo the squirrel out.”

  Emele looked unconvinced. She hefted herself on Elle’s formidable bed and crawled across it—her skirts taking up nearly the entire surface—to reach the door on the other side of the room. She opened the door and retreated to Elle’s bed while Elle stood—shivering in the cold—and grabbed one of her long abandoned crutches.

  “Time for you to leave,” Elle said to the squirrel, thumping the crutch on the floor before edging towards the creature.

  The squirrel chattered at her but didn’t move.

  “Leave,” Elle said, nudging the intruder with her crutch.

  The squirrel moved about an inch when Elle grew more forceful with her prods. Elle got it to stray to the edge of the rug when the squirrel turned and launched itself on top of the crutch. It ran up the wooden length and latched onto Elle’s hand, biting one of her fingers.

  Elle yelped, dropped the crutch, and whipped her hand, sending the squirrel flying. As the squirrel hit the ground with a thump Elle jumped backwards. “That hurt,” she grimaced when her healed leg protested at the sudden movement.