Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae)

by Tessonja Odette

  This thought brings me to the two windows next. I throw open the curtains of both and gaze out the second. My first glance through the frosted glass tosses all ideas of escape straight into the refuse bin, for the distance from here to the ground is frightening indeed. I must be up three stories high. There are no ledges or trees to climb upon, and the ground below is solid snow-dusted stone that makes up part of a garden path.

  My heart sinks. No fairytale blanket rope escape for me, it seems.

  Next, I assess the daylight and try to glean what time it might be. I left my house shortly after nine this morning, but the bright, cloudy sky looks much the same as it did then. Without any outdoor navigational skill, I can only guess it’s late morning. Noon, perhaps. I feel a subtle relief at that. If it’s still early in the day, then maybe Father and Nina have yet to return home. There’s still a chance I can get free of this place before they find out anything is amiss. Before Father learns of my mistake and strips me of my allowance for good. Before he decides to marry me off and be rid of me. Before all hope of getting a job is lost to me forever, as well as earning my independence and freedom. Before—

  I shake the worries from my mind. There are more immediate concerns to deal with.

  I’m about to turn away from the window when my attention snags on the more distant view. Beneath the cloudy sky sprawl emerald mountains dusted with pure white snow. Closer in proximity, I see the tops of tall, elegant trees. On my walk here, I hadn’t realized just how high up Whitespruce Lane had taken me. While I certainly hadn’t crested a mountain, I had journeyed far deeper and higher than I realized, providing a startlingly beautiful view of the mountains that normally serve as nothing more than a dull backdrop to the town of Vernon.

  Here, it’s so much more than a backdrop. It’s an all-encompassing centerpiece.

  Just like when I first stepped into the quiet woods this morning, the same feeling of peace settles over me. I’m so used to looking out my window and feeling my stomach clench, my heart race, nausea churning my gut when I consider the conversations that are always humming through the streets of Vernon. But here…it’s nothing like that. No gossip. No carriage wheels or automobiles. Just vast empty silence. Calm, dense wilderness.

  Dangerous wilderness, I remind myself, forcing my wistful feeling away.

  I pull my investigation back to the garden, startled when I catch sight of movement. Squinting through the frost, I try to peer closer, then abandon this window for the other. There I’m given a better view, and I see a figure standing at the far end of the garden where overgrown brambles surround a small courtyard. A fleck of red hints at a rose hidden beneath the snow. Near this splotch of red, the figure takes a seat on a stone bench. I can’t tell for certain, but the broad-shouldered build and dark golden-brown head of hair make me wonder if it’s the alpha—this supposed king fellow. Whoever it is sits hunched over, head low, elbows propped on his thighs. Could that be…defeat in his posture?

  I narrow my eyes, squinting—

  His head swings to the side, toward me, and I quickly dart away from the window and behind the wall. My breaths quicken, pulse racing, although he couldn’t have been looking at me, could he? For several moments, all I can do is close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Once I’ve recovered my composure, I slowly creep back to the window, keeping most of my body out of sight. But when I return my gaze to the courtyard, there’s no one there. I release a sigh, but my relief is short lived. His absence is likely more condemning than if he’d still been there, for it suggests he truly had spotted me and is on his way to tie me back to the chair. Or worse.

  I bite my lip, eyes darting around the room. No escape. No weapon. I think of securing myself back in the chair and pretending I haven’t freed myself, but my change of clothing foils that guise. And there’s no way I’m putting my wet clothing back on.

  Sure enough, footsteps sound outside the door.

  My heart leaps into my throat.

  Left with my only defense, I give myself to the count of five to feel afraid.

  One.

  I inhale deeply and throw back my shoulders.

  Two.

  I stride to the center of the room and plant myself there, arms crossed.

  Three.

  I lift my chin and pull my lips into a haughty grin.

  Four.

  The door handle turns. I narrow my eyes and hide behind my false persona.

  Five.

  In storms the alpha, stomping with his foot and his staff, a snarl on his lips. The same two fae as before—the dark haired male and the elderly female—flank him, pulling up close behind.

  I march forward to meet him halfway. “You have some nerve locking me in here without a fire. I demand you remedy this at once.”

  He halts and retreats a step back, nearly stumbling as he eyes me from head to toe. “You dare make demands of me?”

  “If you’re planning on holding me for ransom, you should probably make sure you stay true to your word.”

  He blinks a few times as if I’ve grown a second head. “Excuse me?”

  “In the letter you were writing to my father, you stated I was unharmed. But you lied. I was left in a cold room in sodden clothing without a fire. If fae can’t lie, what do you call that?”

  His hand flies to his chest, and a grimace begins to twist his features. “You are fine,” he says through his teeth. “You found dry clothes.”

  I pop my hip to the side. “No thanks to you. I had to free myself to find them.”

  He closes his eyes as if overcome with excruciating pain. My confidence falters as I watch him, his face screwed tight as he grasps his chest. Is this what happens when fae lie? They’re punished with physical pain? But who punishes them? Some mysterious force…or themselves?

  “I didn’t send the letter,” he says in a rush. “I lied to no one. No one!” At that, his features begin to smooth, his ragged breathing growing even. When he opens his eyes, he burns me with a glare. His words come out like a growl. “You’re unharmed.”

  “Until I have a proper fire, I fail to agree with you. I’m in danger of hypothermia.”

  “Blackbeard,” he says, and the male fae takes a step forward. Keeping his eyes on me, the alpha says, “Do you still have the unfinished letter?”

  Blackbeard—a most uncreative name, if you ask me—removes a piece of paper from his trouser pockets.

  “Tear it up.”

  Blackbeard obeys, ripping the paper in half. Then again. And again.

  With every shred, the alpha seems to relax more and more, which in turn sets me further on edge. I feel my false persona slipping, the frightened girl in threat of being revealed. Once the letter is reduced to litter on the floor, the alpha’s lips pull into a smirk.

  I swallow my fear and keep my head held high as he closes the distance between us. I’m surprised to find I must crane my neck to meet his gaze; I’m used to being of equal height to most men, if not taller. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

  “Did you mean what you said about your father? That he won’t fall for my ruse?”

  “If you’re trying to trick him into making a sacrifice based on gratitude, there’s nothing in the world he’d sacrifice for me. In fact, I’m certain there’s nothing in this world he’d be willing to make even the smallest sacrifice for.” While I’m not sure how much truth lies in my last statement, my tone holds all the conviction I can muster.

  He sighs. “A shame. It would seem you’re of little use to me then. You’re expendable, really.”

  The blood leaves my face. “No, I—”

  His eyes burn into mine, flickering with danger. “Kill her.”

  10

  The two fae charge forth, and before I can react, they have my arms wrenched behind my back. Biting back a squeal, I struggle in their grasp, but they’re both so strong, even the elderly female. There’s no masking my fear anymore as all my feigned confidence has drained to nothing. “Let me go!”

&nbs
p; The alpha does nothing but stand there with his crooked grin, as if my plight amuses him. Behind him, shadows stir in the hall, and curious faces peek inside the door. I catch a glimpse of Micah, eyes wide as he clutches the side of the doorframe.

  “What should we do with her?” the gray-haired female asks from beside me.

  The alpha looks from me to the bedraggled group gathering outside the door. “Well, let’s see. Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Blackbeard says, and the other fae erupt with excited cheers.

  “No!” I shout. “You don’t want to do this. Please don’t do this.”

  Ignoring me, my two captors push me toward the crowd, which begins to spill inside the room. Only Micah hangs back, still clinging to the doorframe, his face pale. The hungry fae leer at me, exchanging bets on how my bones will splinter, how warm my flesh will taste.

  My head spins, my limbs going numb. The carousing whispers and jests are amplified in my mind, echoing another instance not long ago. That time, it wasn’t wild, vicious fae that surrounded me, but friends. Friends whose tongues had turned cruel, laced with venom as they circled me, leering, hurling insults like knives.

  No longer here nor there, my vision darkens at the edges and sweat beads at my brow. Every muscle convulses, and only the grip of my captors keeps me upright as the fae close in tighter.

  “Let’s not eat her!” comes a small, quavering voice. Using it as an anchor back to the present, I seek out the source—Micah. He pushes his way between two fae and stares up at the alpha, who still stands directly before me. “We do not need to. Our stores are full. We hunted yesterday!”

  Paying him no heed, the alpha gives him a gentle push back, and his small form is swallowed by the bodies of the larger fae.

  Micah’s outburst, however, has snapped me out of my stupor, and I’m able to find my voice again, my strength. “Please don’t do this. I’m not expendable! We can make a deal.”

  The crowd continues to cackle and jest, licking their hungry lips, but the alpha’s face turns steely and he holds up a hand. The room goes quiet. “I could show you mercy,” he says.

  I try to stand tall, but the angle of my arms wrenched behind my back makes it nearly impossible. “It’s illegal for the fae to attack humans.”

  He looks down his nose at me. “I’m the Unseelie King of Winter. I enforce the laws. And it looks to me like you’ve trespassed on private royal property. One would even think you were sent to infiltrate my home and harm me.”

  Hearing him affirm in his own words that he is, in fact, the king chills me to the bone. If fae can’t lie, then it’s either true or he and this pack of wild creatures are delusional. Whatever the case, this king believes he has every right to do whatever he wishes to me. Which means no fear of the law will stop him. But I’ve already discovered one weakness. “That’s a lie! It’s a lie and you know it.”

  I expect him to grimace, to writhe in pain at my accusation. But he does no such thing. “Not a lie,” he says in his low, gravelly voice. The fae around us snicker. “Only a matter of perspective. So don’t think for a moment I owe you mercy. It is mine freely to give, understood?”

  Gritting my teeth, I force myself to nod.

  “Good. Then you should understand that if I grant you freedom to return to your town unscathed, you will be in my debt.”

  I swallow hard, my chest heaving. “Please, just let me go. I’ll tell no one what happened.”

  “Yes, you would like freedom, wouldn’t you? Tell me how much you would like it.”

  “I would like it very much.” My words come out dry, bitter.

  “And how grateful would you be if I told my pack to stand down and release you right now so you can be safely on your way?”

  “I would be ever grateful.”

  A corner of his mouth quirks and he takes a step closer. “So grateful that you’d realize you owe me your life?”

  My rage and terror freeze, and in their place creeps a chilling suspicion.

  The king’s expression turns ponderous. “In fact, perhaps you’d suddenly want to bargain something away to demonstrate just how strong your gratitude is. Maybe…that which you most cherish? Of your own free will and volition, that is.”

  My eyes go wide, and I catch several fae stifling their laughter, while others watch with quiet anticipation. Hope, even. When my gaze returns to the king, my anger reignites like a blaze, boiling my blood. With all my strength, I launch forward, catching my captors off guard. Having loosened their grip during the king’s speech, they stumble back, allowing me to wrench my arms free. I use the momentum to shove my hands hard into the king’s chest. “You son of a…you tricked me! Again!”

  My attack has very little impact on the king, who simply absorbs my punch without falter. Not even his precarious stance between his single leg and staff is compromised. His expression clouds over and all previous amusement leaves his eyes.

  My captors regain their hold on me.

  “Tie her back up and leave her in darkness,” he growls. “We’ll draft a new ransom note. One that doesn’t claim she’s unharmed. And if her father fails to comply, then I’m sure we’ll find another way. Another family member perhaps.” His gaze slides to me, expression triumphant.

  Another family member. My mind goes to Nina. “Leave my family out of this!”

  The fae begin to funnel back into the hall, and my captors drag me toward the chair. Turning away, the king hobbles toward the door.

  “Wait!” I call at his back; he’s already halfway over the threshold. “We can talk this out.”

  He ignores me and disappears into the hall.

  My captors push me into the chair, forcing me to keep my seat as they gather the discarded ropes.

  I take a deep breath, steadying my resolve, then shout, “Tell me about the curse!”

  My captors halt their motions, and all sounds of footsteps cease. For a moment, time seems frozen, until the king stalks back into the room, his staff pounding on the flagstones. His lips are pulled into a snarl. “Who told you about the curse?”

  I hear a small gasp and catch sight of Micah peeking into the room, shaking his head vigorously. Averting my gaze to the king, I say, “It’s obvious there’s some kind of curse at play here. Why else would you be toying with me like this? Trying to trick me time and time again to make some silly sacrifice for you?”

  His chest heaves. “Some silly sacrifice?” The words come under his breath, so low they reverberate in my bones. “This silly sacrifice could mean my life.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’re going about it all wrong. The ransom plot, the feigned attacks, the trickery. What you’re doing will never work.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “Then tell me. Instead of using me as bait, make me an ally.” I keep my expression neutral to hide the truth. That I have no intention of allying with this fae. What I need are more facts. More figures. More to tally up and divide until I can find the right weakness to use against him.

  For several silent moments we just stare at each other, the king’s garnet eyes narrowed with intensity. It may not be the ruby stare of his wolf form, but there’s certainly something predatory about it.

  Finally, he speaks. “Out.” His voice comes out quiet, then magnifies into a roar. “Everyone out!”

  “Even us—” Blackbeard begins.

  “Out!” the king shouts again.

  Blackbeard and the female release me and hurry out the door.

  I catch a final glimpse of Micah’s wide eyes before Blackbeard closes the door and leaves me trembling and alone with the king.

  11

  The silence blanketing the room sends my heart hammering against my ribs. This isn’t the silence of peaceful mountains and quiet woods. This is the eerie quiet that comes before the storm.

  Eyes locked on me, the king takes a step closer, then another.

  I rise from the chair, shoulders thrown back. Everything in me screams that I should run, cowe
r, but I refuse to give in. If this is where I die, then I’ll go down with my eyes wide open and defiant. Counting to five, I steady my breathing and curl my fingers into fists to keep my arms from trembling. Then, voice as steady as I can manage, I break the silence. “Are you truly the Unseelie King of Winter?”

  He ignores my question, lips curling into a snarl, but his expression falters. He drops my gaze, shoulders drooping. Then with slow steps, he closes the distance between us. I hold my ground, pulse racing, but as he approaches, he waves a hand at me. “Move.”

  I step away and he takes my place in front of the chair and lowers into it. Slumping to the side, he leans on his elbow, propping his face with his fist. In the other arm, he cradles his staff. “So,” he says, his tone cold and distant, “you want to be my ally.”

  No, I think to myself. I want to measure your weakness. Strike where it hurts. Out loud, I say smoothly, “I think there’s a chance we could work something out.”

  “Fine,” he says with a dismissive flourish of his hand. “Pitch me this alliance of yours.”

  With slow, hesitant steps, I move a few paces away and face him. “I have questions first. To start, tell me if it’s true. Are you the king?”

  “I am,” he says with an irritated grumble.

  So, he’s affirmed it twice now. Can I believe him? Or is he a delusional fae who only thinks he’s a royal? “If you’re the king, then where is your wealth? Your luxury?”

  He lifts a brow as if he can’t comprehend my puzzlement. “I am wealthy.”

  “Then why aren’t you dressed like a king? Where is your crown?”

  He scoffs. “Why bother? It’s like that human saying…how does it go? You can put rouge on a pig, or some such?”

  This, I’m confused by, but I decide not to press further. “And this,” I extend my arms to indicate the room, “is your palace?”