Beauty and the Beast (Demon Tales 1) (13 page)

The maid who was measuring her continued to
prod and pull at her until Cally was sure that she would cry, but
it wasn’t until the young maiden who had laid the linen on the
floor came forward and motioned for Cally to follow that Cally
snapped out of her musings.

“When?” Cally asked when she was stood upon
the white linens. The young maiden looked up and frowned. Cally saw
the slight head shake, and she understood that the young girl could
not talk to her—she wasn’t allowed to. So Cally turned to the
older, surly maid. “When am I to be married?” she asked, trying to
sound strong and not like the whimpering ninny she clearly was.

The woman stalked to the table with the
coloured materials, her beady gaze running over the cloth with an
appraising eye. She didn’t seem to have heard, so Cally spoke
again, this time, louder.

“When am I to be married?”

“Tomorrow, princess.”

Shock hit like a bolt of lightening straight
to her heart. Cally legs nearly buckled but the young maid
discretely offered Cally a hand to steady her. Tomorrow, she was to
be married? Tomorrow? Pain lanced through her ribs and speared her
heart. Tears swarmed her vision, and Cally had to turn her eyes
heavenward to keep the tears from falling. The image of Brigg
filled her mind and her heart pulsed.

For many years she had known what her
destiny was, and she had always hated it. Running away had been her
last desperate attempt at fleeing a loveless marriage to a
human—but since she had met Brigg, the idea of being married to
someone who would not love her, or even respect her, horrified her.
Never to know gentleness again, never to know kindness and
consideration such as Brigg had shown to her, ever again—that fate
was cruel. And it was even worse now that she knew how good it was
to be cherished, desired and held as if she mattered.

When the tears wouldn’t disappear, Cally
raised her arm and swiped them away roughly. The young maid looked
up and offered Cally a sympathetic smile, still holding her hand,
and Cally felt a little comforting squeeze from the girl’s fingers.
The kindness only brought more tears to Cally’s eyes. She pulled
her hand from the maid’s hand and turned towards the older
woman.

“What time am I to be married?” She didn’t
know why she had to know—her life had been snatched from her
control—but it just seemed right that she should at least know when
her fate would be sealed.

The older maid sighed again. “Sunset,” she
replied, then stalked forward and gripped at Cally’s dress. She
began to undo the laces, and Cally reached up to hold the dress
together. The maid frowned and raised angry eyes to Cally. “If I am
to measure you right, I will have you naked,” she all but
growled.

Cally held on to her dress for a second
longer, but as the older woman stared at her, Cally felt her spine
wither. Was this how it was to be? To always be bossed, and
browbeaten by another? Cally felt another piece of her heart crack
away, the acute pain in her chest reaching a new height. She
dropped her hands, and the dress, and turned her stare toward the
window again.

Misery bore down on her shoulders as the
woman stripped the gown from her body. The blue material pooled on
the floor and Cally numbly stepped out of it. The maids bustled
around her for what seemed like hours. Cally’s legs ached as the
women built an elaborate dress upon her. Cally didn’t look away
from the window, her eyes felt dry and scratchy, her throat
tight.

Tomorrow she was to be wed to a human, a man
who would want her to obey and be dutiful. A man who would—no
doubt—reject her the moment he learned that she was not a human. A
man whom Cally did not love.

The sun had almost set when the women
bustled from Cally’s room. A tray with meagre food sat in the
doorway. Cally’s stomach lurched as she climbed onto her bed. She
wouldn’t eat tonight. She could think of nothing but closing her
eyes and falling into a deep sleep. Maybe she would be lucky enough
to fall into a sleep so deep she never woke again… No, she wouldn’t
be that lucky.

She had just settled onto her covers, her
head finding the soft pillow, when someone knocked on her door
again. Cally rolled onto her side and waited for that person to
come in.

Her heart stopped, her head spun as a tall,
cloaked man stepped into her room.

“I am here to rid you of those horns,
princess,” he said.

Brigg sat astride the big black horse Sam
had loaned to him. The animal fidgeted beneath him, clearly eager
to get moving. He surveyed the large and somewhat flashy castle
with growing confidence. The stupid humans might have high walls
and solid-looking buildings, but they clearly knew nothing about
defense. There was not one guard posted around the keep, and no one
guarded the many lookout towers.

Provided that he and the small team of men
he had assembled could get to the castle walls undetected, then
they would have no problem getting in.

Brigg turned his head and watched Torc and
Sam ride over the brow of the hill, their expressions stoic and all
business. The sun was setting on the horizon, the air beginning to
go hazy, and Brigg was impatient for darkness to fall so that he
and Sam’s men could rescue Cally.

When Brigg had allowed himself to sober up,
a plan had quickly formulated. Sam had offered his army and horses
without being asked, and Brigg had sagged with relief. There had
been a time he would have had no need of another kingdom’s army, he
had lived in a kingdom full-to-bursting with healthy, willing
warriors. …But he had never been back to his old village, never
even seen his castle since the day he’d left.

Brigg had decided that when he had Cally
back he would return to his village, ride up the steps of his
castle and claim his rightful place on the throne. Time was over
for regret. The time was ended for Brigg to hate his existence.
He’d believed for so long that no one could love him, or want him,
as he was. He’d believed that the curse had ended his chances at
love and being loved back—and how wrong he had been. Cally had
wanted him. She had trusted him.

He was finally ready to accept that his
curse hadn’t been his death.

“The stupid bastards. All this land, all
this wealth, and not one man guarding it,” Torc murmured as he
pulled his horse to a stop next to Brigg. Brigg nodded in
agreement. Sam pulled up on his other side and tugged a water
bottle from his belt. The back of his neck tingled, but he ignored
it.

“For too long the humans have lived on the
edge of our realm and grown fat off our lands. I say it’s about
time we take it back.” Sam drawled as he too surveyed the large
castle.

“Oh yeah,” Torc murmured.

Brigg turned to his brother and raised a
brow. “This castle intrigues you?” He and his brother had not
talked of owning land, or running estates, since before their
curse—but Brigg couldn’t deny the interest that flashed in his
brother’s keen gaze.

Torc took in a deep breath and ran a hand
through the fur on his head. “Maybe.”

Sam chuckled. “And how will you take this
castle with no army, Torc?”

Torc grinned wide. “I need no army, Sam.” He
puffed his chest out. “I am a man apart.”

The three shared a sober laugh, their eyes
never leaving the large castle. Brigg didn’t care about what his
brother had planned, just that he find Cally—and soon. Eagerness
was like a drumbeat in his mind. Something told him he should act
soon. As far as Brigg was concerned, the sun could not set any
quicker.

“Lookey what we have here…” Sam drawled,
drawing Torc’s and Brigg’s eyes over to the other hill on the left.
A fairly large contingent of riders thundered over the ground, the
three lead riders holding flagpoles high. The colours of red and
gold flew in the sky as the wind whipped at the bright material.
Brigg narrowed his gaze and watched as the large gates opened the
way to the castle. A loud trumpeting filtered over the distance as
the riders drew near. The tune played by the musicians brought
dread to Briggs chest and anger pounded at his mind.

“Do you hear what I hear?” Torc asked
whipping his shock-filled gaze around to Brigg.

“The Royal wedding fanfare?” Sam replied,
naming the tune the trumpeters played so loudly.

Anger thundered in Briggs head until all he
could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. There was no one in
that royal family that could possibly be getting married—no one
except Cally. Brigg heard the foul curses from Sam and Torc as he
spurred his horse on. He knew that the plan was to wait for
nightfall to collect Cally, but urgency beat inside his mind, until
all he could think was to get to her, take her from this place—and
make her his.

His steed galloped over the turf, clearing
the distance with speed. Brigg leant forward and focused on his
goal. The wall to the rear left of the castle was crumbling in
places, and he planned to climb over, drop into the grounds and
find Cally. His head throbbed wildly when he thought her name.
Guilt and urgency almost robbed him of breath, and Brigg felt a
twisting inside his gut.

What if he was too late? The idea forced him
to kick his horse on faster. He couldn’t be late—he wouldn’t be
late.

Nothing and no one would get in his way.

* * * *

Cally lay trembling on her bed. Her head
throbbed painfully where her beloved horns had been rasped until
all that remained were bloody open wounds hidden by her hair. The
pain had not quite gone from the raw nerve endings, but the
bleeding had finally stopped. Soon all sign of her horns would be
gone, and that was what hurt Cally the most. Now she looked just
like the human her mother wanted her to be. No signs of her demon
half remained.

Cally tugged her knees closer to her body
and buried her tear-dampened cheek into the pillow.
Hopeless.
Her heart hurt and her throat was raw from crying.
It had been more painful this time because she had allowed them to
grow longer than they ever had before. The farrier had been rough
and unyielding when Cally had cried.

Shame stung in Cally’s mind when she
remembered how loud she had cried. It had been so long since she
had shown any pain from her mother’s cruelty, but today had been
too much. Cally had loved her horns, and what they had
represented.

Brigg.

For a small time, she had felt that she was
on the right track, closer to knowing who—and what—she was. And
with every violent slide of the rasp, Cally had been robbed of her
freedom.

A loud, rib-cracking sob erupted from within
her. She sat up and screamed into the darkening room. Anger burned
within her chest and shook through her limbs. Cally looked at her
door and willed her mother to step through it. Images of Cally’s
hands wrapped like cords around her mother’s neck filled her mind.
Thoughts of violence surged into her brain until she had to pace
around her room. Her door was locked, and her room was too high up
for her to climb from a window.

But, by god, if Cally got a moment alone
with her mother, then she would teach the evil bitch what pain
was.

Her door was shoved open and Cally whirled
around. Temper still rode her mood when her mother and the
pinched-mouthed dressmaker strolled into her room. Her mother was
dressed to the nines, as usual, in a midnight-blue ballgown. She
fairly dripped with diamonds as she swirled arrogantly around the
room, but it wasn’t her mother Cally was watching. The dressmaker
held a large mass of cloth draped over her arms. The green and gold
gown looked massive—utterly too much. Cally resisted curling her
lip.

Her mother regarded Cally with open disgust.
She flicked her gaze all over Cally and shook her head in clear
distaste. “Have you even bathed since you were brought home?”

Cally just stared at her mother, not wanting
to talk to her.

Her mother just sighed and flicked her hand
at the maid. “We have your gown.” The dressmaker hurriedly hung the
dress and patted out any wrinkles. The gold of the thread shimmered
against the dark bottle-green. Cally regarded the dress with open
hatred.

“I don’t want it,” she replied, forcing
steel into her words.

Her mother gasped, the maid paused in her
work and turned a terrified gaze toward the queen. “She does not
like it, madam?”

“Of course she likes it—don’t you Cally?” A
clear threat sat heavily in her mother’s words. The cold malice of
that promise sent a sudden shiver across Cally’s skin, but she
ignored her natural reaction and merely stared back at the queen
with hate in her eyes.

“Not only do I not like it, I don’t want
it,” she repeated, proud that the tremor wracking her body was not
obvious in her words. “I want you both to leave my room, and take
that dress with you.” As her anger grew, so did the volume in her
words. Cally took a step closer to her mother and felt a surge of
pride when the evil bitch’s eyes flared wide. “I want to be allowed
to leave my room and the castle. And I want you to stop this farce
of a wedding—now!” Cally’s chest heaved with every word.

Her mother watched her for a moment,
confusion and uncertainty apparent in her gaze. When Cally’s words
died, the queen turned to the maid. “Leave us, Gretta.”

The dressmaker gave a quick dip of a curtsy,
and whirled out of the room. The door closed and Cally felt all
warmth leave the chamber when her mother turned her cold eyes back
to Cally.

“To whom do you speak with that tone,
daughter dear?” The sweet slide to her mother’s voice sent spiders
crawling throughout Cally’s blood. Her mother took a slow step in
Cally’s direction, and a smile tracked across her painted mouth.
“How dare you tell me what to do?”