Beast of Rosemead: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 4)

by Lucy Tempest

  That was a concerning explanation. One the sender would need to elaborate on himself.

  Inside the box was a set of six gold bracelets, each set with square-cut gems of different colors, citrines, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pink diamonds and amethysts.

  They were heavy, no doubt priceless—and gaudy.

  Tucking the box under my arm, I made my way downstairs. Hazel hurried after me, hopping down the stairs with no fear of slipping to lead me to the dining room. We took the hall with the green Cahramani carpet, went past the room with the pegasus painting and turned left into a long and narrow room, holding a mahogany table with twenty-two matching chairs, ten on each side, and an armchair at each end. In the middle of the wall facing the door were three stained-glass windows, with cool light pouring through them and projecting their patterns and colors onto the floor and white tablecloth. It was the first time since I’d come here that the darkness enveloping the castle had parted enough to let sunlight in!

  Chairs scraped against the floor as the two men stood up at my entrance. Leander, in a drawstring shirt that ought to sag on any other man but strained against his frame with his hair for once neat and pulled off his face, and Clancy, with dark circles under his eyes and his auburn curls an uncharacteristic mess.

  Clancy clearly kicked Leander prompting a grumbling reply before Leander held out an awkward hand, signaling the armchair on the opposite end of the table.

  “Miss Fairborn, I am pleased that you could join us this morning.”

  They wanted me to sit that far away? Were they upset with me for running?

  Nevertheless, I sat across from him, with enough distance between us to plant a grove.

  Like they’d been waiting for me to pull my chair in, Hazel and three others rushed in—another rabbit-girl, a lizard-man with a tail sticking out from his coat, and a female deer—all carrying trays. They made a quick round, placing plates, baskets and bowls and filling up glasses with water, and swiftly exited.

  Peering at the variety of silverware on three sides of the porcelain plates before me, I forwent using them and reached for a bread roll. “Are they going to be joining us later?”

  “No, the servants eat in their own space, at their own time,” said Leander, arms bent to accommodate his awkward grip on his cutlery, his attempt to slice his sausages futile, as they kept rolling away from him. He continued trying, making frustrated noises that escalated when the wayward meat evaded him, prompting Clancy to chuckle into his fist.

  Giving up, Leander finally stabbed a sausage and stuffed it whole into his wide mouth.

  “It’s not funny, Lord Gestum” he hissed around his mouthful.

  Clancy just laughed harder, letting out a few snorts and wheezes. “Ouch. Back to the formal titles, are we?”

  Glaring at him, Leander resumed his attempt to use his utensils. “A true friend would offer a hand rather than mock me.”

  “Oh, grow up, you raging furball,” Clancy scoffed, reaching over to steady Leander’s wiggling plate.

  “I’d like to see you laugh the day your hands turn to hooves.”

  Clancy flinched, retreating into his seat, returning his gaze to his plate as he ate.

  Their mutual discomfort permeated to my end of the table, making me fidgety.

  “How about instead of bickering, you tell me what’s going on,” I said, recapturing their attention. “What’s happening to all of you exactly?” Annoyance further pinched Leander’s brow as he began to speak, but I quickly added, “Don’t say ‘a curse.’ You promised that if I came, you’d be honest.”

  Leander shot me an uncomfortable glance across the endless table. “This is hardly appropriate mealtime conversation.”

  Clancy rolled his eyes. “Because you’re such a paragon of appropriate behavior. If you’d attempted that attitude much earlier, none of us would be here.”

  “Not now, Clancy,” Leander growled warningly.

  “Then when, Leo?” Clancy hissed in frustration. “We just got attacked yesterday, I could very well be on all fours and bleating by the end of the week, so forgive me if I’m a bit bitter, and in a hurry.”

  I stood. “I’m going back to my room.”

  “Stay where you are!” Leander burst up, hand held out. Then he lowered his voice to a grudging, “Please.”

  Still standing, I glowered at him. “Start talking.”

  His face twisted in a snarl. “I’d watch my tone if I were you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  His aggression faltered. “No, of course not.”

  “Then watch your tone.”

  Swearing under his breath, Clancy got up, plate in hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on Miss Quill.”

  I strode towards him as he vacated his seat. “Can you tell her I wish her well?”

  Though frustrated, Clancy still gave me a warm smile. “You should tell her yourself, she’d appreciate the visit.”

  Embarrassed, I ducked my head. “I don’t know if she’d want to see me after the way I put her in danger.”

  “Miss Fairborn, if you’re under the impression anyone here blames you for the attack, we don’t.” He set a hand on my shoulder, urging me to take his seat. “Now, finish your breakfast. You two have a lot to talk about.” Clancy shot Leander a chastising look. “I’ll know if you leave anything out.”

  For the second time since I’d met him, Leander rolled his eyes. It was still a too-human reaction for his face, and now that I considered it, very un-princely.

  The moment Clancy closed the door behind him, I cleared my throat, reached for the butter and jam. “I assumed he was here on a formal visit when whatever happened to you hit and he got caught in it. But now I see you’re more friendly.”

  Relaxing somewhat, Leander returned to his fruitless attempts to cut up his food. “Before he inherited his title, Lord Gestum was my tutor.”

  I raised my brows. “I didn’t know nobility could take such jobs.”

  “Not officially, no. He had to come to live at my father’s court with his uncle, the previous Duke of Briarfell, as part of his training as his heir.” He dropped his knife and speared what had been sliced with his fork. “There was a shortage of lordlings at court, so I was encouraged to befriend him as he was closest to me in age, being only six years older. When I did, he astounded me.”

  “Why?”

  “Every time I saw him, he’d tell me some bizarre fact. Things even my scholar tutors either didn’t know themselves or didn’t see fit to teach me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I believe our first conversation went something like, ‘Good morning, Lord Clarence, do you fancy a carriage ride through the city today?’ To which he answered, ‘Did you know that the Emperor of Zargoun has a carriage pulled by striped horses? They have the coloring of the white tigers of Opona, despite not being native to a land that snows.’”

  His impression of Clancy was hilariously spot on, tone, accent and mannerisms. I couldn’t help chuckling. “Speaking of Opona, what is a mammoth?”

  “It is a shaggy elephant.”

  “I don’t know what that is either.”

  He made what I assumed was a wince. “It’s a—” He paused, standing. “You know what, let me show you.”

  Either I was about to meet someone who was part-elephant or be shown another painting. I didn’t waste a second tailing him out to the sitting room he’d taken me to earlier, his gift box under my arm and a roll leaking butter and jam in my mouth.

  He stopped over a table by the balcony window. It was spread in ornaments, the biggest of them a golden animal sculpture with a bronze saddle and silver tusks, a large, rounded mount of some sort, with big, floppy ears and thick tree-trunk-like legs, its boar-like tusks right beneath the hose-like nose it raised like a spout.

  I smiled down at it. “It’s kind of cute.”

  “Imagine that, but taller and with ruddy-brown hair, that’s a mammoth.” He set a large hand on the elephant’s back. “
In Zargoun and beyond, they’re big enough to demolish homes. Ancient kings would ride them into battle, but nowadays their use is ceremonial. Many grooms ride them through the streets to the temples that perform their wedding ceremonies.”

  “And the hairy ones?”

  “Much, much bigger. Shaped slightly different too, especially the heads, and I don’t think anyone has managed riding them.”

  “Have you ever been to Zargoun?”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’ve only seen illustrations of it in the books my mother brought with her to Arbore. Cahraman is a few countries to the north of Zargoun, but they have some cultural similarities. I wanted to visit both before…”

  His legs buckled like last night and he stumbled back into the armchair by the dormant fireplace.

  I rushed to his side, chest tight with concern. “Are you all right?”

  His head lolled back, followed by his eyes before he squeezed them shut. “The blood loss is taking its toll. I’ll feel weak for a few days.” He gestured to the armchair by him. “Sit.” He adjusted both his position and tone as he rushed to add, “Please.”

  I plopped down, folded my arms over the box. “You should be resting.”

  “I’m sitting, aren’t I?”

  “I mean sleeping.”

  “I can’t honor my promise to you if I’m sleeping this off, now can I?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “I’ve yet to see much promise honoring. Continue your story.”

  “Where were we? Right. Clancy’s random facts.” He shook his head, ironic but fond. “Needless to say, after his monologue on the fauna of distant lands, I stuck to him. I found that I learned more from him than I did from my appointed tutors, and insisted he teach me everything he knew, including the subjects we’ve both already studied.”

  “What did he add to those?”

  “It wasn’t adding as much as it was clarifying, and making me want to know more. Till I met him, I abhorred schooling hours at court. I had to learn so many things but retained almost none because of how tediously and convolutedly presented they were. Some days I wished I was illiterate so I wouldn’t have to write those endless mock-reports for my father to review.”

  For some reason, I took personal offense to that statement. I would rather suffer terrible sunburn than become illiterate. My life had been an endless stretch of mind-numbing boredom before I learned how to read. I couldn’t imagine an existence without an abundance of books now.

  Oblivious to me reaction, he went on blithely, “But Clancy always made any subject easier and far more interesting. The way he reintroduced the most difficult concepts to me, taught me ways to bridge my understanding of all topics, made me want to know more beyond what was deemed necessary. The first gift he gave me was this old book for my birthday, along with a dare to finish it by my next one.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Why would it take you a year to read a book?”

  “Because it was an epic poem.”

  I’d heard of epic tales dubbed ballads, but never epic poem. “What makes it epic?”

  “That it’s hundreds of pages long, all rhymed in an archaic dialect. It was an agonizing read, but I suppose the game was to pick out the story from all the flowery stanzas.”

  “So, it’s more like a play than a novel?”

  “It’s a precursor of the novel.” He managed to sit up, and in the light streaming from the balcony, I saw he was paler than before. “You said you found the willow tea in a book. Were you training to work as an apothecary or to become a nurse?”

  “No to both. I just read whatever I could get my hands on, even if it had no story.”

  “You read medicinal texts for fun?” he sounded baffled. “Why?”

  “There was a limited number of books in my town, so I read whatever anyone could lend me,” I said, a bit defensive. “Besides, medicinal texts are interesting.”

  “Yes, rambling chapters full of recipes and crude illustrations of roots and seeds and the corresponding organs they soothe,” he sneered. “How riveting.”

  “Can’t expect you to understand, since it seems you’d rather stare at the wall than read anything useful.”

  “Is it such a crime to want to enjoy your hobby?” He held the arm I’d bandaged to his chest. He seemed to be holding back the urge to tear the bandages off and lick it again. “I’ve had enough required reading of said ‘useful’ texts in my life. Now, to keep myself sane, I like to indulge in the most fantastical of tales. Those don’t chain me to reality and remind me of the world I am now cut off from.”

  To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I’d been prepared to make some caustic retort, and for him to lose his temper again. Instead, I felt ashamed of my sensitivity about my own hang-ups, and insensitivity towards his plight. And he was upset.

  Not angry, upset.

  Worst of all, I hadn’t noticed we weren’t that different in our situations until now. We both wanted to escape our reality—even if my dissatisfaction with mine couldn’t begin to compare to his.

  The least I could do was stop criticizing him, tell him that I understood his preference, and shared it.

  My throat tightened as I said, “Though I want to know as much as I can, about anything and any place, for my enjoyment and escape I’d read nothing but wondrous tales of magic and adventure if I could. There was nothing I wanted more than to leave my home, my town, to go explore, to find answers, but I was never allowed to go beyond my leash. I, too, was trapped, so the only way I could experience anything new was through a book.”

  His eyes locked with mine, intrigue evident in them, along with some new intensity. “I bet you were the type to pester your teachers for answers they didn’t have. Bet you asked ‘why?’ and ‘how?’ after every statement and never learned to leave well enough alone.”

  My jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

  His mouth twisted in mockery. “You’ve been doing that to me since I met you, saying the first thing that comes to your mind, persisting with your invasive questions, unshakeable like a dog with a bone. You must have been a nightmare to have in class.”

  I sniffed in annoyance—for he was so totally right. That was what every teacher I’d ever had had more or less called me. “The point of school is to teach us. What’s wrong with me wanting to know more?”

  “Tell me, Miss Fairborn, did you have any friends? Or did you put off other girls with the uncomfortable situations your tactless questions and comments created? Not to mention your knowledge flaunting and judgmental attitude?”

  “I am not judgmental,” I snapped.

  He made a humorless sound. “You behaved like my distaste for academic texts was a personal offense.”

  I blinked, stunned that he’d picked up on that. And though I hated to admit it, he was right about something else.

  Before Adelaide had moved to town, I’d struggled to befriend others. But it wasn’t my fault they weren’t interesting people or good company like she was. It wasn’t my fault they avoided both my questions and my company… Or was it?

  I knew I could come on too strong sometimes, and miss a social cue or two, and I might have embarrassed some with some poorly-timed questions, but the fact that I showed interest in someone’s life had to be flattering, right?

  I slumped back in my chair, groaning.

  Oh, dear. I was annoying.

  After a squirming moment of digesting this knew realization about myself, I shot up sitting straight, glaring at him. “If I’m annoying then you’re off-putting. You’re also putting off your explanations.”

  “Dog with a bone.” His lips curled in what must pass for a smile as he wagged a big finger at me. “How would you like me to present my story, Miss Fairborn? As dry and droning as your factual texts or with the dramatic embellishments of your fantastical stories? I can throw in acting interludes if you like, to keep you entertained.”

  I suddenly found myself spluttering senselessly at his teasing.

  “Just...�
�� I wheezed. “…just don’t leave anything out.”

  What I’d thought a smile died as he stared at me, until I too sobered.

  It was only then that he sat back with an almost bleak cast over his face. But he didn’t say anything until I thought he wouldn’t, that he’d decided this was all a big mistake.

  I was about to get up when he suddenly said, his voice a deep rasp, “Before my sister was born, Arbore celebrated only the birth of its royal heirs. But as the first princess born in seven generations, it was cause for a celebration like no other. People from all kingdoms were invited to the palace, including fairies.”

  I goggled at him. “Fairies?”

  “The civilized sort.” At my continued incredulity, he waved. “These do exist. And it was one of their queens who cursed us.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Fairies can curse?” I exclaimed. “And that’s the civilized sort?”

  He shrugged. “One of the other sorts almost drained me of blood last night.”

  I winced as the memories bombarded me. “So the more civilized fairies get, the more elaborate and prolonged a death sentence at their hands becomes?”

  His exhalation was the very sound of resignation. “We didn’t have a precedent like that with that sort before.” He looked out the window into the distance. “Anyway, it was custom in Arbore to invite fairies to be a princess’s godmothers, as a show of good faith and unity. My parents invited seven and each came to bestow a gift on my sister. Then the Queen of the Spring Court appeared in our palace unannounced just as the seventh fairy was about to bless my sister, and demanded to know why she wasn’t invited.”

  “And why wasn’t she?”

  His turned to me with a scowl. “I was getting to that part, but there you go again with the disruptive questions.”

  A hot flush of embarrassment engulfed my whole body. “What would you have me do? Go through life with no answers?”

  “I have no problem with you asking. But you’ll find that people will be more inclined to answer you if you let them finish talking first.” Tilting his head, he squinted at me. “Or if your questions were phrased more like inquiries and less like impatient attacks.”