The Beast (11 page)

The idea to turn and dash to the front door crossed her mind, but she shoved it away. That would have been the most foolish action for her to take. If somehow Belle made it past the front guards, she’d then have to get Charming without the soldiers catching up to her. Not to mention that they still had her weapons, and she was
not
leaving without her revolvers. Gosh, Belle missed their weight at her side.

On the third floor, the layout was identical to the one below. It was quickly becoming clear how easily one could get lost in such a large castle. Laramie stopped at the intersecting hallway. There were guards stationed down one hall. Before Belle could ask what the guards were protecting, Laramie gave her the answer.

“This is the West Wing,” he said. “The Royal Apartments are down there. They are off limits.” He looked at Belle, forcing her to meet his eyes. The candlelight exaggerated the length of his nose. “I know that royalty holds a certain fascination to people, especially young women. Do not fall prey to such a thing. Stay out of the West Wing. Do you understand?”

Belle nodded with a gulp. It sounded to her like a death threat, which made sense. The Vakrein royal family wouldn’t want strangers wandering around in their rooms. The idea of risking the penalty of death just for a glimpse of them seemed absurd. But, no doubt, others hadn’t seen it her way.

Monsieur Petit then took her down an adjacent hall. They stopped at a large door, high and arched like the windows. It was identical to all of the others she’d seen that night.

Already unlocked, Laramie pushed the door open. “Your room.”

It was about the same size as Belle’s bedroom at home, save for the incredible ceilings. Ivory walls were accented with intricate gold molding. The furnishings were extravagant. There was a large canopy bed, draped in the finest silk materials. A vanity desk was topped with an extensive mirror; various beauty items sat upon it. Two tall glass doors, draped with sheer white curtains, opened onto a small stone balcony. Golden tassels pulled aside the soft fabric, centering twin peaks as her room’s main décor.

Directly across from the luxurious bed was a likewise massive hearth. It was elegantly designed to match the room perfectly. Somehow, despite the high ceilings and almost imposing view, it managed to make her feel safer. A fire roared in its mouth, exuding a warmth meant to chase away the chill of a previously unused room.

An older woman was bent over the fire, sending up sparks with a poker. She glanced up as they entered. A smile spread across her face. “Oh hello, my dear! I’m so happy to have someone new to look after.”

“This is Edvina Gulbrandsen.” Laramie cleared his throat. “She is the Majordome for this floor. It is her job to tend to our guests.”

Belle curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, no. The pleasure is all mine!” she beamed. Her light, graying hair was pulled back in a soft bun. It was perfectly suited to her rounded shape. She reached over and grabbed Belle’s hand, leading her over to the vanity and pushing her onto the seat. Belle was already warming to her. “I’ve been looking after the same people for the last five years, with no one new to shake things up. Trust me, I’m just happy to see a fresh face. Specially one as pretty as yours.” She started pulling the pins carefully from Belle’s hair, letting it fall down her back. “I hope you don’t mind, I figured you might be hungry and ordered the kitchen to bring you up something. My husband is one of the chefs, you know. He’ll make sure you’re fed well.”

“I am quite hungry, thank you.” Belle smiled.

As the woman worked her fingers through Belle’s hair, then grabbed a brush and gently started combing, the tension in her body melted away. The mechanical fingers of the Governess back home simply did not have these talents. This might not be so bad after all. A good night’s sleep, some answers, and Belle would be on her way by tomorrow night.

“Mademoiselle?” Laramie’s voice made her open her eyes. He’d come farther into the room and stood so that she saw him in the ornate mirror. “I’ll be leaving you now. Madame Gulbrandsen will get you anything you need. Otherwise, there will be guards posted outside your door. Goodnight.”

“Thank you and goodnight.” Just like that, dread seeped back in.

For just a moment, Belle had started to think she was a guest. First enthralled by the warm fire and lavish room, then lulled by the enchanting Edvina. But the guards outside were statement enough. Her surroundings may have changed, but this was still a prison.

Edvina chatted on, unaware of the worry spiraling inside Belle. She braided Belle’s hair for the night, had her soak in a hot bath, then let her eat until she was full—and truly the food was delicious. By the time Belle crawled into bed, with Edvina unrolling the thick canopy around her, it was much harder to stress over this new prison. The soft mattress relaxed her muscles even further and sleep swept in like a horse with wings to take her away.

Belle’s eyes shot open. In an instant, she was awake. Was it morning? There was no fogginess or sleep trying to pull her back in. When she stirred, there were no aches in her body. It all felt odd.

That’s when Belle noticed that two things weren’t right. First, she was back in her clothes from the day before. Like someone had removed her nightgown and put her in the dress while she slept. Second, this wasn’t the same bed or room she’d fallen asleep in…

…and she wasn’t alone.

She pushed herself up with the intent to sneak out, to perhaps get help. He glanced up at her, freezing her movements. They stared at each other. Belle hardly breathed for fear of his intentions.

“Please, do come in,” he said and turned back to his writing.

Confused, Belle climbed from the obscenely large bed, where she’d been lying atop the covers. She glanced, out of habit, at the fireplace. It was larger than the one in her room and carved to look like it was being overtaken by rose vines.

She stopped just outside the office. “Pardonne-Moi, but where am I and how did I get here?”

The man put down his pen and stood. Belle inhaled. His shoulder length, light brown hair was left loose and combed back behind his shoulders in thick, luxurious waves. Baby blue eyes sat beneath strong, authoritative eyebrows. Likewise a similar strength set in the straight lines of his jaw and perfect nose.

A deep blue coat draped his athletic frame. It was accented by a high collar, gold embroidery, and tasseled shoulders. An assortment of silver and gold, star-shaped medals were pinned to the front. A blue sash crossed from his shoulder to his hip, where a gleaming sabre rested.

Royalty
. She hastily curtsied and apologized for intruding.

“No need to apologize. I was the one who brought you here.” The man’s voice was smooth, reminding Belle of poured honey. She would bet a week’s wages that he had a beautiful singing voice.

“You brought me here, monsieur?” The idea of being carried in this man’s arms thrilled her.

“I did. Please, come in.” He gestured to the open floor before him.

To her left was another fireplace, but this one was smaller than the other in order to adapt to the smaller space. Across from it, the desk was piled with papers, books, and ink bottles. On the wall, between full bookcases, was a map of God’s Cup and the surrounding countries.

“I am Prince Aleksander the First, of House Haraldsson, Crowned Prince Regent of Vakre Fjell,” he said, snapping her attention from the interesting décor. Belle stared at him in shock, words lost entirely. He wasn’t just some far-removed cousin or uncle as Belle had assumed—he was
the prince
!

“I’m…sorry…I didn’t know,” she stammered and quickly dropped into a curtsy even lower than her first.

“Please, do not worry. Our situation is very unique. Traditional expectations must be alleviated for the circumstances,” was his diplomatic response. “Now, what is your name?”

Drawing herself up straight, she answered, “I am Belle LeClair of Glace.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Belle LeClair of Glace.” He was the epitome of regal, but his eyes were so open. They welcomed her in. “Where in Glace are you from?”

“Contefées, your Royal Highness.”

“Oh?” he said excitedly and came around his desk to stand closer to her. “My father loved Contefées. He said it was a charming town. I had always hoped to visit.”

“Did he visit often?” Belle shifted on her feet, feeling a little uncomfortable in his presence.

“Only a few times, long ago.” The corner of the Prince’s full lips turned up just slightly. The effect pulled her in. Belle couldn’t imagine how dazzling it would be to see his full smile.

“I love Contefées,” she added hastily, realizing that she’d been staring. “The world doesn’t know a stronger town.”

“I do not doubt that. After all, you and your father were able to brave your way here. That is no small feat.” He crossed his arms, the fabric pulling tight around his muscles. She gulped as he asked, “What does your father do?”

“He is an inventor by trade, but leader of the Hunters by profession.” Belle absently fingered the rosary at her hip.

“Hunters? What do you hunt?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Hellhounds, of course. We protect Contefées from them.”

Aleksander’s face fell. The openness that had been in his eyes dulled. “You call them hellhounds?”

Belle frowned at being asked this a second time. The repetitive question had the effect of sobering her. “Yes, and I’m told that you don’t.”

He paused before responding softly, “No, we call them something else.”

With her nerves finally adapting to the presence of royalty—attractive royalty—she searched his face. “‘Cursed’ is the term Monsieur Petit used.”

“Yes, we call them cursed, along with other things.” Aleksander moved away from her and stood before the window. His eyes were full of faraway thoughts.

“What other things do you call them?” she pressed, hoping to get more solid answers from him.

He breathed deeply and quickly turned back to her with renewed interest. “I’m more keen on knowing why you call them hellhounds.”

Sighing, she answered flippantly, “We call them hellhounds because they are demons of Hell.”

“Demons?” he asked with surprise. “And what makes you think this?”

Belle shrugged. “The Bishop recognized them. He said that it could happen to the truly sinful.”

“Bishop. The Catholic Church?”

“Of course.” Her eyes moved over the contents of the Prince’s desk, looking for a clue or something that might glean her some real answers. “They employ us to hunt the hellhounds, in order to save their souls.”

“How many have you killed?” he asked quickly, with the tilt of his head.

She turned her attention back to him, having found nothing obvious. “I am unsure of the exact number, your Royal Highness. But whole villages, at least.”

Sadness crossed Aleksander’s face. He tried to shield it from her, but his eyes betrayed him. He walked over to the hearth and stared into the fire. Immediately, Belle realized her mistake and regretted her honesty. Of course, this news would hurt him. To him they are not hellhounds, they are his people—his
cursed
people.

“Aside from Vakre Fjell, have any other countries suffered this same fate?” Unlike his eyes, his voice did not give away his emotions. By all means, he sounded fortified.

“No.” Ashamed and mentally berating herself, Belle kept her answer simple.

“No one in Contefées became one as well?” He still didn’t look at her.

“Not to the best of my knowledge, your Royal Highness.”

He placed a hand on the mantle, resting his weight. “So it is only Vakre Fjell then. That is good.”

A long silence followed where the Prince was so lost in his sad thoughts, he seemed to forget she was still there. Belle took half a step forward, wanting to remedy the pain she’d caused. “I’m so sorry for my candor, your Royal Highness. I should have been more delicate.”

He barely turned toward her, giving her only a glimpse of his blue irises. “No, I wanted honesty.”

“And honesty you deserve, but I was insensitive.” Belle looked down at her hands, rubbing them together. “I sometimes fear that I’ve grown too cold to what I do.” A plethora of corpses flew through her mind, each one accompanied by its own memory. “But when my bullet resides in the body of a child, indifference is my only defense. Otherwise, I think I would be undone.”

Aleksander looked at her fully now. “You’ve killed children before?”

The words stung, but there was no accusation or judgment in them.

“Yes, I have killed children…women, men, and elderly.” She inhaled a slow, shuttered breath. “All hellhounds are the same in size and desire to kill. If we didn’t stop them, they would come for us.”

“That’s a very difficult responsibility to bear.” By the look in his eyes, she knew he understood. He had to shoulder the suffering of his people and she had to carry the weight of protecting hers. Belle never thought she would find sympathy and understanding from the ruler of Vakre Fjell. He asked, “Your title is Huntress?”