The Beast Queen

by Felicity Partington

  “Well, I think it’s cruel sending her away.” Margaret observed, “if she can’t be happy here, with us, then putting her with strangers isn’t going to help.”

  “You mark my words, Maggie. We’d all be better off if she was elsewhere.” There was a smash and Charlotte spun around to catch Margaret’s apologetic expression, she had jumped back but a plate had fallen from her wet hands and shattered on the tile floor. “For goodness sake, we’ll have no crockery left at this rate. Stand closer to the sink when you wash, for the hundredth time, but for god’s sake clean that mess up first. Thomas, run this tray up to Her Highness.” Her tone was not as scathing as her words might imply, “and see if she plans on working at all in the near future. She hasn’t left yet and she’s wasting an obscene amount of wood barricaded up in that room.”

  “Should I still take more up after?” He asked the confusion etched upon his face.

  “Of course. We can’t have her dying of chill. All I’m saying is that it would be far better if she would leave that room and join the rest of us in the land of the living.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Thomas was more than used to the walk up to Isabelle’s rooms now, they all were. He brought wood up every few days for the fire, though it was Margaret that usually took her food up and he was grateful for that. He’d never been particularly good at dealing with upset women and watching Isabelle’s distant and forlorn expression made him uncomfortable. There was something unsettling about Isabelle recently. It was like she wasn’t entirely there. Just an empty, beautiful, shell.

  He knocked on the door, there was no reply but that was normal. He opened the door tentatively, peering around, balancing the tray on one hand.

  “Isabelle?” He asked, but she wasn’t perched in her usual spot on the windowsill, gazing out into the distance for hours. He sighed and placed the tray down on the table in the middle of the room. There was nothing to take back, Margaret usually sat with her for an hour or so and took the untouched food back down to the kitchen. She’d barely eaten, and it showed, she was starting to look hollow and her usual curvaceous figure was beginning to drop away from her.

  There was silence in the room, unusual silence, and it concerned him. For a moment, he contemplated going downstairs to get somebody else, but his eyes caught on the open door to the bathroom. Frowning he stepped towards it and knocked gently, “Isabelle, are you okay? I’ve brought you breakfast.”

  No answer.

  He swallowed thickly and looked to the other door. She was silent most of the time lately. But he had an uneasy feeling which he couldn’t shake. “Isabelle, if you don’t say something I’m going to come in and check on you. Just let me know you’re okay.” More silence stretched and after a few more seconds of awkward deliberation he stepped into the smaller room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, perhaps to see her staring out of this window instead.

  He glanced around the room and his eyes fell immediately on the bath. She was fully submerged in the water, the bathwater trickled over the edge and onto the floor, a cascade of brunette locks floating at the surface. Thomas’ eyes widened, and he ran towards the tub, dipping his hands in and gripping her beneath the shoulders. The sudden hands made Isabelle’s eyes snap open and she inhaled in shock. When he pulled her out she leant over the edge of the tub spluttering.

  “What are you doing?” She accused, through splutters and coughs.

  “Me? I thought you’d drowned!” He explained, his adrenaline was pumping full force now, “are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She snapped curtly, brushing her hair back and away from her face. Thomas was staring at her and after a long minute she arched an eyebrow, “do you think you could, I don’t know, maybe pass me a towel?” Thomas blushed immediately and turned away, scanning the room for a towel. Grabbing one he passed it behind him, not turning.

  “I didn’t see anything.” He insisted, “just hair and bubbles.” He looked at the sleeves of his shirt which were dripping wet, he had wet patches on his trousers too from where he had leant against the bath.

  “I don’t care if you did.” Isabelle stood and wrapped the towel around her slender form, leaning down to pull the plug, “can you give me a hand?” She asked, “I’m decent now.” He gave her his hand and helped her step from the bath. The floor was slick with water which had spilt out, Isabelle didn’t seem to pay much attention as she sat on the edge of the tub. Thomas couldn’t help noticing how painfully gorgeous she was like her beauty was emphasised by the fractured shadows of her pain. She looked like a porcelain doll on a high shelf, delicate and beyond reach.

  For the first time, Thomas felt genuinely devastated for Isabelle, he tightened his hold on her hand, it was obvious that her grip on sanity was ebbing. Was this why they wanted to send her away? They’d stolen a girl, imprisoned her, had they finally broken her? Guilt swam within him. When she had first arrived he’d never imagine her being broken, she was wild, untamed. Once she had been intimidating. Now, she seemed human. “Your shirt is soaked,” she observed.

  “I know.” He replied, bemused,

  “You’re dripping everywhere. Take it off or you’ll get the carpets wet too.”

  “Oh, I…” he pulled at the sleeves before nodding and unbuttoning it.

  Thomas felt sheepish, he wasn’t used to undressing in front of anybody. Sliding the cotton shirt off his shoulders and balling it up he took a breath.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Isabelle was watching him, carefully. Thomas was an attractive man, on the verge of manhood, toned albeit pale, a little scrawny. He was everything that Erik was not. Why couldn’t she want him? Why couldn’t she be normal? She swallowed thickly, he was scrutinising her, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. Isabelle didn’t move when he perched on the bath next to her.

  “Are you okay? What were you doing? I thought you’d drowned.” His voice was filled with concern.

  “Oh, that.” Isabelle shook her head and looked at the floor, “I like it underwater. It’s like I’m away from everything. I can’t hear anything. I can’t see anything. If I hold my breath long enough then it starts to hurt, and it reminds me that I’m still alive.”

  “We could do that too you know, downstairs-”

  “Drown me?”

  “Prove you’re alive.” He finished with a frown. “You don’t have to hide away up here.”

  “I don’t belong here,” she sighed, “and I don’t want to see him. I can’t.”

  “Who?” But the look she gave him left little doubt and he sighed, “oh. The Master’s not been around.”

  “How would you know, you’re all blind, he hides in shadows, he’s always around. Nobody sees him, nobody wants to know he’s there. But I can feel him. Even now. It’s Hell.” Thomas tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Isabelle-”

  “I sound crazy,” she looked at him, impossible sadness in her eyes, “I think I am crazy. I don’t know. Do crazy people know they’re crazy? Others always said Papa was, I never thought so, he just saw the world differently. He saw connections nobody else could. Am I like him? Or have I just lost my mind?”

  “Isabelle,” he moved his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his skin was impossibly hot against her own. Isabelle softened against him, there was no fight left within her.

  “My Papa, after my mother died, people said he was different. He never left the house, didn’t want to see anybody. I get it now, he always said I looked like her, and I understand why he sent me away. I get it because I feel it. To him, I was her. Here everything reminds me of him, it makes me sick, and if I could destroy the world to stop this…I would.”

  “Your father?”

  “No.” Isabelle knew he was hoping that the last part of the sentiment was about her father. Whenever she tried to explain to them how she felt about the beast they looked uncomfortable, they pitied her and her wicked nature. “They couldn’t have children, Ma and Papa, they tried for years. Eventually,
they went to an old witch in the forest. Papa told me so many stories about her, about how much my mother wanted to believe in her. He didn’t. But they bought some teas and nine months later, I was born. The stories stopped, as I grew older. But once, when he was drunk and exhausted and I’d been horrid all day…He told me that she’d warned him about me…said that I would be evil. Is this what she meant? He’s run from it, my whole life, from town to town. Never stopped. I never really understood whether he was running from the witch, or whether he hoped one day I wouldn’t follow. But there I was, this dark shadow, haunting him. One who terrified him but that he loved too much to let go.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t think you were evil.” Thomas attempted uneasily; the confusion was evident on his face. Isabelle couldn’t even decide if she was making sense.

  “My mother died, he blamed me. If I wasn’t evil, my birth wouldn’t have killed the only woman he ever loved.”

  “Women die in childbirth; the child can’t be blamed.”

  “I’d hear him some nights, when he thought I was sleeping, he’d talk to her. Every year when the daffodils sprung, I’d catch him crying in the garden. And I’d just be excited because it meant my birthday would be coming soon.”

  “But he got you.”

  “And lost her,” Isabelle said with an agonising gravity. “How could I compare? How could anything ever console him again?”

  “You must believe he loves you, greatly.”

  “Loves me so much he abandoned me here. I don’t understand.”

  “People do crazy things when they’re afraid,”

  “I don’t understand why he didn’t want to die! Living, like this, is so much more painful.”

  “Isabelle” Thomas soothed, but she shook her head.

  “I don’t want to die. I’m not going to end my life. But if somebody else did, I don’t think I’d mind very much.” They were quiet for a long time, Thomas held her. Was he afraid to let her go in case she threw herself out of the window? Everybody was treating her with such delicate caution, it was driving her crazy.

  “It’s not that bad Isabelle, you just have to keep on living. Spend time with us. Forget that which hurts.”

  “Am I undesirable?”

  “What?” He pulled away and looked at her, hooking a finger under her chin and pulling her face to look at his, “you’re being absurd. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Not just me, those reporters who came were talking about it too, the people from the city when they came to the castle. You are far too beautiful to ever doubt it.”

  “I didn’t ask if I was pretty. I know people like how I look, but everything else?” She tried to shake her head free, but he cupped it in both hands, running his fingers over her damp cheeks. “I’m not a nice person, I’m not good, or kind. Did I deserve this?”

  “Nobody deserves to be a prisoner.” He insisted. He couldn’t know of Gauge or the others. He couldn’t know how much she truly did deserve to be imprisoned.

  What she did next, Isabelle didn’t think about. It wasn’t intentional. She leant forward and pressed her lips against his. He stayed still for a second, a horrible second in which Isabelle was terrified that he would just push her away too. Was it the evil inside her, did it mean that she would never be loved? Was everybody she got close to going to push her away? First her father, then Erik, now Thomas?

  She was sitting on the edge of the bath, entirely naked but for a towel, and he was frigid against her lips. Dread tugged at her. And then, just like that, he melted. Thomas’ lips moved against hers, his hands pulled her closer to him. Isabelle slid across his lap, straddling him as she deepened the kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kissing Thomas was a strange sensation. His lips, hot and insistent against hers, his hands, warm and smooth as they moved over the bare, damp skin of her shoulders. His chest was hot, hard and smooth against her own.

  But it was easier to focus on what was missing.

  Isabelle didn’t feel anything.

  It was all just physical sensations. There was no surge of passion, no receding in her desperation, no distraction from the hollow emptiness which encompassed her. She had hoped against hope that she would feel something, anything, that this might penetrate her numbness, but with each growing moment she felt more and more hopeless. What if this was it? Forever. Doomed to not feel anything ever again?

  Then there was the crash.

  Isabelle’s head tore around so fast her neck hurt and the surge of emotion she felt was overwhelming. It didn’t matter that the window shattered around him. It didn’t matter that he was furious. What mattered was that he was there.

  He had been watching her.

  Isabelle stood, Thomas’ eyes were huge, and he had fallen back into the tub in fright. He was fixed upon the enormous bulk of his master above him. Erik’s eyes were furious, his teeth bared in a snarl as he advanced on Thomas.

  “Erik don’t!” Isabelle shouted the anger which pulsed through her seemed to thaw out her entire being. It was red hot, powerful, it made her feel alive. “Don’t you dare!” She yelled. She hadn’t quite expected Erik to turn on her so viciously, she flinched as he did, but no pain came. Instead he lifted her with an almighty growl and threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

  Isabelle squirmed and fought, kicking and hitting uselessly against his form. They tore down the stairs, down more stairs than Isabelle had known were in the castle, in dizzying spirals. She was just about aware of the blur of faces as they ran. When he threw her down, she collided with a wall and hurt her leg, but there was so much anger in his face that she daren’t voice it. Instead, she glowered back at him angrily. Isabelle glanced around at the high dank walls, then to the cobwebs and the barred windows high above her. Was this the dungeon? “What do you think you’re doing?” She accused hotly, her hair in disarray.

  “Me?” Erik roared, his voice echoing off the castle and filling the dark emptiness with his fury.

  “Yes. Barging into my room-” She shouted back.

  “It’s not your room. Nothing is yours. You are in my castle. With my servants.” He advanced on her, sweeping an expansive arm around him.

  “I’m not yours!” She screamed back, “you don’t want me.” The two stood there for a long time, glaring at each other, before Erik shook his head, lips pulled back in disgust.

  “You want so desperately to be a whore. Then I’ll treat you like one.” Rough claws grabbed at her towel and grazed her skin, clutching the garment in his paw he turned and headed back to the narrow, winding stone stairs that led to freedom. Isabelle watched as he slammed the barred door to the cell he’d thrown her in. “Let them see exactly what you are, let them see everything.” There were already plenty of eyes on her. Some peered in from the high windows above, staring down into the gloom. Charlotte was standing further up the stairs with a panting Joseph who’d clearly run to catch the scene as it unfolded. “She doesn’t leave. She doesn’t get clothes. Or food.” He growled as he stormed past and Charlotte nodded quickly, her face pale.

  Isabelle’s eyes narrowed, if she had ever doubted that he was in charge here, those thoughts evaporated with seeing how quickly they all bowed to his whim. The short curtsey he received instinctively from Mrs Hands. The bow of the head by Mr Hands.

  She had been a fool.

  An utter fool.

  The door at the top of the stairs closed, but not before she saw Charlotte’s disappointed shake of her head, Isabelle was disgraced. She could still see the faces staring at her from the windows for a long time, locked down here, with nowhere to hide, covering herself seemed pointless. Isabelle was too angry to cry, she longed for the numbness she had felt before. But now all there was remaining to her was anger. Well, anger and absolute humiliation.

  She perched on the edge of the ancient wooden cot that stood in the corner, it had been a mild day, but the heat didn’t seem to have penetrated down here. The stone walls were damp and cold. Drawing h
er legs up and against her, she wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees.

  Erik had no right to be angry. No right to be jealous. She had thrown herself at him, lay her heart on the line and he had cast her aside. He couldn’t want her and not want her.

  As the light began to fade, the oppressive darkness engulfing her, the only sound was the scurry of rats around her feet. For the first time in days, she was ravenous. The anger bubbling inside her wouldn’t fade, the indignation with which he had dismissed her; he’d just walked away. He had humiliated her and just thrown her out like she was nothing. It would serve him right if she escaped. And she might have if he’d not locked her down here. Why would she want to stay after this?

  Because she wanted to show him that he wouldn’t win.

  How could she do that if she left?

  Erik was hateful, insufferable.

  And using his strength and station to win an argument, wasn’t winning at all in her eyes.

  Chapter Thirty

  Isabelle sat shivering all night. The next morning when the sunshine brought light, it did little to chase away the coldness. She wondered if Erik would really let her rot down here. The thought of the rats scurrying all over her, eating her, made her feel sick.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door at the top of the stairs cracked open and she heard footsteps. Isabelle watched as Margaret came into view, she was carrying a bowl and had something folded over her arm. Isabelle leapt up from the bed and moved towards the bars. Maggie looked at her for a moment before kneeling, passing the bowl beneath the door along with something else. It was a blanket. Isabelle shook it out and wrapped it around herself, but Maggie had already turned around.

  “Maggie.” Isabelle pleaded, amazed that the other woman had said nothing at all. Her friend hesitated, but then seemed to think better of it and kept walking until she shut the door behind her. Frowning, Isabelle ate the porridge greedily and wondered what they’d done to Margaret to make her so afraid to speak to her.