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

by Lucy Tempest

  “Wise words from someone so reactionary,” I shot back. “You could do with a bit of that premeditation yourself.”

  “Well, we all have our weaknesses. Would you like to discuss my temperament or may I continue? Telling this story is hard enough, so do you think you can allow me to get it over with without interruptions?”

  I disguised my mortification in a dismissive wave. “Go on.”

  He waited a beat, as if doubting that was all I’d say. When I forced myself to add nothing more, he exhaled. “The fairy queen stormed into the throne room, accusing my parents of insulting her when they invited courtiers from Faerie rather than the heads of the courts themselves. My father assured her no slight was intended, that he only didn’t believe any royal, let alone herself, would accept an invitation, seeing as my sister was a second-born and not an heir.” He stopped to let out a longsuffering sigh. “Then my mother shot all his placating diplomacy in the knee.”

  A question about his mother almost shot out before I swallowed it back, as it squirmed for a way out.

  As he’d said earlier, his continuation answered it. “In Cahraman, my mother’s homeland, they don’t have any interaction with fairies. They live too far away from the Fair-Folk’s Shore, and the closest things they have to them are the peri, which rarely venture beyond their realm, and the djinn, which are just as wicked if not worse.” He absently traced one of his fangs. “My mother did not want any fey or other inhuman creatures near her or her newborn. But after much convincing, she allowed the tradition to be implemented, but only if Father invited lower-tier fairies to attend, the sort that can be intimidated by a few guards with iron weapons.”

  “And she told the fairy queen that?”

  I bit my tongue. What was wrong with me? Couldn’t I stop asking questions for one minute?

  Instead of berating me again as I’d expected, he turned to stare into nothing. “She did worse. Instead of letting my father handle the situation, she was so alarmed and offended by the fairy queen’s presence and presumption that she lashed out, told the queen what she thought of her kind, that she was a queen too and she was kicking her out of her palace. Then she threatened to have our guards spear her with iron if she took one more step towards my sister.”

  Half a dozen questions and comments ricocheted in my mind. I gripped the arms of the chair to hold them back.

  He ran big palms over his face before leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees. “Fairies, especially the civilized sort, are very proper. They don’t tolerate slights, no matter how small. My mother having the gall to insult one of their queens, in full view of the most important people in the kingdom and beyond, called for a severe punishment.”

  I inched to the edge of my seat. Though I already knew how this had ended, I still dreaded hearing the details of how the Spring Queen had retaliated.

  He got up and walked to the figurines on the mantelpiece, picked up his sister’s. “Six fairies had already given Fairuza gifts fit for a princess, health, beauty, grace, song, wit and such. The fairy queen topped it all off by saying that, yes, she will be all manners of lovely, but before she truly has the chance to bloom, she’ll be plucked. Dead before her time or her prime.” He put the figurine down with a trembling hand, gestured to his. “Then she turned her sights to me, saying that if my mother’s daughter would take all her hopes with her to an early grave, then I would be the embodiment of her inner ugliness behind the pretty face, the horrendous beast within that her titles make all turn blind eyes to.” Leander framed the air around his face. “Now that beast has manifested, and no matter my title, no one will tolerate my existence.”

  Torn between being aghast and furious, I couldn’t hold back my outburst. “That is—that can’t—this is not fair!”

  “Contrary to popular belief, the fair in fair-folk—with the meaning of just, not only beautiful—is purely euphemistic, a title given to avoid their ire.”

  “But you were a child, your sister a baby! How could—why would—argh!”

  The sheer injustice that had shaped his life had me speechless. Something I’d never been.

  But something didn’t make sense. “You were cursed as a child, but you’ve been like this only three years. How so?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been permanently like this for three years, yes. But my condition has ebbed and flowed since I was ten. The first time the curse hit, it covered me in hair and gave me claws.” He raised his hand to me. The nails that had been broken and torn in the woods had regrown, like nothing had happened. “No amount of trimming would fix them and the hair would sprout back no matter how it was cut or shaved for the week the curse lasted. Then I went back to normal and it was dormant for months.

  “But it flared up again and again, each time worse than the time before it. Parts of me began to distort around five years ago and I’d develop fangs, new bones in my jaw and back and claws in my feet. The changes would soon subside, and my family devised excuses for the times I had to hide, once a trip abroad, another a bout of illness. Then three years ago, the curse returned with a vengeance and I was sent here to wait it out. But it only got worse then somehow caught everyone here in its malignant grip.” He sat back down as if he couldn’t stand anymore. “It was one thing to ruin me. But to transform my staff? Blameless people who came to take care of me, or who, like Clancy, came to check on me?”

  My head spun with the new revelations. If anything, they proved what I’d heard all my life, that fairies were evil. It also turned my belief in his responsibility for this state on its head and…

  My thoughts screeched to a halt, crashing into one word he’d said. Blameless.

  I stared at his beastly profile. “Do I deduce you don’t count yourself as a ‘blameless’ victim? You did do something to deserve this?”

  He avoided my gaze. “After three years of thinking, I now suspect that my curse’s previous fluctuating state was a warning, that I might have avoided its permanence if I hadn’t done something to trigger it.”

  “So what did you do to turn permanently from man to beast?”

  “I remain a man!” His shout sent me flying back in my seat. He stiffened, hunching further, as if to make himself appear smaller, less threatening. He gazed at his clawed hands in disgust, his jaw working. “I—apologies. As you can see, I don’t know how to interact with females. At least ones who aren’t nobility. I’ve been trained to interact with those in the ways expected in court.” His eyes went to the box on my lap. “As for foreign or common women…”

  Unease gripped me when he trailed off. “What did you do?”

  He seemed far more uncomfortable as he faced me. “For a decade now, there’s been this trend of noble families sending their sons south to work on farms rather than squire for knights. To build endurance and character, they said. I accompanied a friend who was sent to The Granary, as a minor diplomatic mission. The leader’s daughter...she was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, as tall as I was, and probably as strong. I liked her. I acted on that instinct and just told her. But when she rejected me, I—persisted.”

  I didn’t understand why he seemed so dismayed and ashamed. The persistent pursuit of one’s love interest had always been shown as a good thing in my novels. The best heroes had been men who never gave up, and pursued their women until they accepted them. It had always come off as a strength, to not give up, to do your utmost to win your prized person.

  But—after meeting Adelaide, who had worked and lived in all manner of places, she’d explained that maids and serving girls were frequently subjected to unwanted and uninvited interest, and it was never good, mostly insulting and oppressive and sometimes scary. It was then that persistence became something unacceptable, sinister even, turning the hero into a villain. And I realized exactly what he’d done.

  “You harassed her!”

  At my accusation, he looked away as if unable to meet my gaze anymore. “I said terrible things to her in the hopes of damaging her confidence, s
o she’d accept me.”

  “What did she do?”

  He shuddered, hand reaching for his brow. “Slammed her hard head into mine. Knocked me to the ground, and threatened to disembowel me with a hayfork.”

  “Good,” I hissed. “You deserved it.”

  “I know that now. And I deeply regret it. Not that it matters. It seems that moment was the final straw for the curse to take hold permanently. After that, I became what you see now, slowly and painfully.”

  Back to feeling conflicted about him in a heartbeat, and not knowing how to respond for the first time in memory, I sagged back when Hazel chose that moment to enter with a tea tray.

  Fluffy ears turned forwards to catch whatever we said, she skittered towards us. “Hello, Master, Miss Fairborn. I believe it’s time for your morning tea, since you forgot to have some with your breakfast.”

  She set the tray before us, excitement shining in her eyes as they flitted from me to him. The tray had two cups, each with a matching teapot, a plate of cookies and a sugar bowl.

  “Here is the willow tea for your aches, Master.” Hazel pointed to the teapot with gold lining, then to the other painted with green roses. “And this is the brew you requested for Miss Fairborn.”

  She took her sweet time exiting the room, ears turned back. Hoping to hear what, I couldn’t begin to guess.

  He served us both and I frowned up at him as I took the teacup. “Everyone seems really excited that I’m here, anxious even. What is it exactly that they expect me to do?

  He remained quiet, making displeased expressions at his willow tea.

  “How do I help you all break this curse?” I pressed.

  Still no answer apart from tentative sipping sounds.

  I held out a cookie. “All this food you keep inviting me to and shoving at me. Do you need to fatten me up and sacrifice me to the fairy that cursed you? Or maybe to your flesh-eating rose tree?”

  Leander spluttered, spraying his mouthful everywhere. “Nothing is going to eat you! How many times do I have to say that?”

  So, outrageous claims were what it took to get an answer from him?

  Trying to smother my snickering into my teacup, I took a deep breath of the tea’s powerful scent. It was like hot pink-rose perfume. “Oh, this smells…” I took another deep whiff, closing my eyes to savor it. “This smells—”

  “It smells?”

  “Beautiful! That’s the word I was looking for. Don’t think I’ve ever thought of a smell as beautiful.”

  “That’s roses for you, the embodiment of beauty.” He gazed out the window, possibly in the direction of the tree, looking wistful.

  “Are you going to tell me about that tree? I’ve never heard of a rose tree before.”

  “That’s because they don’t exist.” He poured himself another cup. “It’s not a tree as much as it is a clock, counting down the time I have left to break this curse.”

  I choked on my tea, almost coughed my lungs out.

  He reached over and patted me on the back, but each gentle tap of his big hand almost aided in expelling my lungs.

  “Why—” I pulled away, gasping, tears springing from my eyes. “—didn’t you tell me that when I came for my father?”

  “You expected me to tell all of this to a complete stranger?”

  “Yes! Especially when I needed an answer why a rose was worth someone’s life…” And the terrible realization hit me. “Your life. That rose he plucked, the one I crushed—h-how much time did it represent?”

  “When your father plucked that rose for you, I felt the pain as if he’d stabbed me. From previous experience since that tree appeared, I know a rose represents a month. I hoped he only took that long off the life I—we have left. But since no one has ever plucked a rose, I feared the rest of the roses would die in consequence, and all of us with them. That was why I imprisoned him. I hadn’t really intended to do so forever—I don’t have that long anyway. Then I let him go, and the rest of the roses survived, so I placed it back, attempting to restore it, but the petals kept falling. Then you crushed what remained of it, and this time I—felt my time being cut short. And it has been. Now there are only three roses left.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I just sat there, gaping at him, feeling the slow creep of horror and guilt cover me like frost on glass. Their cold pressure spread insidious fractures that felt would shatter me if I as much as drew breath.

  After what felt like an age of muteness, I managed a whisper that scraped my throat raw. “H-how? The tree was full of roses when I last saw it. There was at least a dozen.”

  He dipped his huge head in melancholy defeat. “I can only speculate how it happened. When you crushed the rose in anger, another girl who hated me and wished me harm, the curse intensified. Now I—we don’t have as much time as we’d thought.”

  He believed this curse would end up killing him, and presumably all the others. And before I’d come, even after what my father had done, they’d had a year or more to live. Then I’d crushed the rose and had cut their time down to three months.

  What did I say to such a revelation? Certainly not “sorry.” It would be adding insult after such an unforgiveable injury.

  Now I could understand his rage and fright at the time. What I couldn’t understand was how he’d stopped from lashing out at me, and how he’d let me go. How he’d still come to save me.

  Maybe he had because he’d still believed I could fix what I’d done, could help save him and the others from the curse I’d accelerated?

  I didn’t care why he had. Before, I would have done all I could to help them. But now, I’d do anything to fix my mistake.

  “Tell me how to help you break this curse!”

  At my shrill outburst, he put down his teacup. “Not today.”

  “Why not? The sooner we start working on it the better.”

  “We are working on it, but that’s a story for another day.”

  I couldn’t find the words to object, to insist. Perhaps it was better for me to let it go for now. The least I could do after all I’d done was not pester him.

  His gaze moved to the box on my lap. “Why are you carrying that around?”

  I blinked at the change of subject. “I-I was hoping to return it personally this time?”

  Offense sparked in his eyes. “Why? I’ve given you every possible gift worthy of a young lady and you’ve rebuffed them every time. Now that your freedom isn’t an issue and you’re here of your own free will, what more could you want?”

  I handed him the box with a trembling hand. “I never had any use for jewelry, or go anywhere that calls for such extravagance. But if you insist on giving me something, though I can’t think why you would, maybe something personal?”

  Grudgingly, he took back the box. “Hard to be personal when I barely know you.”

  “Then let’s get to know each other!”

  My blurted out offer seemed to shock him.

  He finally shook his head, as if rousing himself. “Fine. Is there anything you want to ask that’s not about the curse?”

  I jumped at the offer to change the subject. “Robin. Who is he? I didn’t even get to properly see his face with that hood he keeps on all the time.”

  “I thought he’d been long gone from Rosemead, but it’s fortunate he remained.” He slumped back in his seat with a sigh. “He’s Robin Loxley, the son of the Earl of Sherwood, and an old friend of mine.”

  “The one whose father hosted you?”

  “The very same.”

  My accustomed curiosity rose from beneath the rubble of conflicting emotions. “What is an earl’s son doing running around with a bunch of hunters?”

  “Continuing to cause untold trouble for my uncle, I hope.” He snarled as he sat forwards, poured me a second cup of tea. I took it gratefully, hoping to savor it this time, needing something to calm my nerves. “Lord Loxley contested my uncle’s appointment as regent, wanted me to take ov
er no matter my condition. When this didn’t happen, the instant my father left for Avongart, our beloved regent stripped him of his title in retaliation.” He sat back with his own refilled cup, seeming to be enjoying the willow now. “Robin went to war, came back and made it his life’s goal to target Jon and his windbag, corrupt supporters. He robs their ill-gained fortunes, sabotages their exploitative projects and raids their embezzled trade convoys, redirecting them back to the towns they’d been extorted from or to those who’ve been taxed into poverty.”

  “He told me he’s a thief. So he’s a vigilante, too.” That was yet another perspective of the man I’d at first hated. He was doing what Adelaide had done, if on a much larger scale. Even if he hadn’t saved our lives, that alone would have made me partial to him. But I had to know something else. “How is your uncle getting away with such things?”

  “The same way I used to get away with whatever I did. It’s being called ‘prince.’” He rested his jaw on his palm with a deep sigh, a sharp nail barely missing his eye. “But if Rob manages to prove Jon’s major corruption by the time my father returns, things can go back to what they were, and Jon and his cohorts would meet the fate they inflicted on Lord Loxley or preferably worse.”

  All this made my head spin. I’d read so much to inflame my imagination about court intrigue and political webs in my storybooks, and here I was, sitting with someone who’d actually lived his life among them. I had a thousand questions.

  It was him who asked one as he suddenly scrutinized me with renewed curiosity. “My turn to ask a question. Where did you say you were from?”

  “You know I didn’t. But—I’m from Ericura. What you probably know as Hericeurra.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Very funny. Are you from Avongart? It’s fine if you are, I won’t hold the war against you.”

  “I’m serious. I’m from the lost island of Hericeurra, or whatever you call it these days.”