The Beast (13 page)

Belle’s dream from the night before flashed in her mind and she remembered the stone balcony in Prince Aleksander’s room. Was this the same one? Belle squinted, trying to see inside the room for a clue.

The large, glass balcony doors were open. The deep colored curtains fluttered in the light breeze. Beyond was only darkness. Then it shifted, or rather something in the archway moved, allowing her eyes to focus on the smallest of details. Steady, bright eyes stared back at her. The beholder was tall—nearly as tall as the archway itself.

“What has taken me is a terrible, truly evil thing”
, Aleksander had said. Belle stepped back, bumping into the wall. This was it. Those were the eyes of the thing that was holding the Prince captive. Staring into those eyes, there was no doubt that they belonged to something of true evil.

That must be why the West Wing was off limits. Not just because it was the royal family’s apartments, but because it’s where Prince Aleksander was being held. Imprisoned in his own room. Belle imagined him chained to the wall of some makeshift cell; starving, cold, and dying. If the last five years had been long for her, how much worse had they been for him? Was the rest of the royal family imprisoned too?

Belle jerked her eyes away, angrily gripping the lead rope in her hands. Here were innocents in need of protection—at its core, wasn’t that the very reason the Hunters existed? Belle had to do something. She had to kill whatever held the Prince captive and somehow free this kingdom.

But how? Here was an entire castle of soldiers and guards. If they weren’t able to kill the evil thing—then how could she? They had guns, swords, and training. They even had numbers. If it was possible to stop Prince Aleksander’s captor, then they would have done so already. It would be arrogant of Belle to assume that she could do it, when they had not.

And why hadn’t they? She saw no reason for their lack of action. No matter how hard she searched her thoughts, Belle could find no good cause for them not to take a stand. There had to be something she was missing; something she wasn’t thinking of.

The Prince had promised her answers when they last met. She’d just have to be patient until that night for them. If only her father was here to advise her—to tell her what to do or be wary of.

Worry shot through her chest at the thought of him. She wasn’t too concerned whether he had made it home or not. Henri was tough—the first to kill a hellhound when no one knew they existed. There was little doubt in her that he had survived. But she wanted to be sure, and she wanted him to know she was well. At the very least give him peace of mind that she wasn’t still locked in that awful dungeon tower.

Perhaps when she met Prince Aleksander in his moon dream, she’d ask him to send word to her father. After that, she would find out all she could about the Prince’s captor. Then there was simply the guards at her bedroom door and her lack of weaponry to contend with. One obstacle at a time, though.

“Mademoiselle?” Belle looked over. One of her guards stood a few feet away. He was big with a nose that had been punched a few too many. “I’m to escort you back to your rooms now.”

Belle nodded. A stable hand was already traipsing through the snow to return Charming to the barn. She absently rubbed the horse’s muzzle and looked back up at the open balcony. The eyes were gone. Whatever had been watching her had moved away.

Hopefully, the evil thing knew that it would look upon her again. Next time, she might just be there to kill it—kill it and save the Prince.

Belle glanced toward the office, but it was empty. She turned toward the cold, flowing air. Aleksander was out on his balcony, looking at the distant mountains. Deciding not to say anything, Belle just watched him.

He wore a loose, white shirt. It was tight over his broad back, accenting strong, defined shoulders. Black pants hugged his hips and Belle struggled not to gawk at the perfectly sculpted body beneath his casual clothing.

Aleksander was relaxed; just a man in his room and not a ruling prince. He rested his hands on the stone railing. His head tilted to the sun, lighting the straight lines of his jaw. Nothing held his hair back. Instead, light brown locks fell freely over his shoulders. Aleksander’s eyes were closed and he sighed. Even in his informal state, he exuded power and what Belle could only describe as pure masculinity.

With slow steps, Belle moved to stand next to him on the balcony. She was careful not to invade his space or disrupt his peace. It was an honor that he allowed her to see him this way.

Looking below, she confirmed that this was, in fact, the balcony from yesterday’s walk. Roses were everywhere. They wrapped around the thick railings and climbed up the archway. Some were buds, but most were full, red and in beautiful bloom. Their fragrance wafted in the air, causing Belle to breathe deeply.

Seeing the view beyond his room, Belle understood why Aleksander was so relaxed. Soft, blue skies stretched above the great mountain range beyond the castle walls. Gray clouds were approaching in the distance. A few snowflakes drifted past Belle’s cheek. A storm was coming.

“It’s beautiful.” She was nearly breathless.

Aleksander sighed again. He’d been looking in the distance with Belle, but now he turned to go back inside without a word. She was about to ask him if something was wrong, then a boom came from the mountains. It was loud and heavy. Like something smacked hard enough against the air, that it cracked. The Prince turned with her and they looked in the direction of the noise.

The snow beneath the tallest peak broke away like splitting ice. It fell in an avalanche for hundreds of feet. The rumble of it reached even them. By then a ripple had started. An invisible force spread and grew, as though the air itself was warping. It swept down the mountain and over the smaller peaks. It rushed through the forest, bending trees beneath its force. It rumbled over the ground and crashed into the outer wall—just as the Norwegian Sea crashed into the cliffs. Residual force barreled over the wall and smashed into the balcony.

Aleksander was thrown off his feet, into his room. He slammed against the floor. Belle was launched into the stone archway. Pain jarred through her shoulders and down her back. She crumbled to the balcony floor, gasping for air. As she fought to breathe, Belle looked back at the Prince, but her vision blurred. All she saw was his crumpled, unmoving form.

Belle closed her eyes, focusing on staying calm until her lungs were finally able to pull air back into them. What in Hell was that?

A hand carefully touched Belle’s shoulder. She glanced up and saw the Prince leaning down to help her stand. He had changed. His hair was neatly pulled back and he wore a suit more suitable for public. Aleksander seemed completely unharmed or shocked by the unexpected attack.

“My apologies.” He grasped her arm and brought Belle to her feet. His hands kept hold of each shoulder in gentle assurance. “I should have given you a warning of what this would be like.”

Already Belle was starting to feel steady as if she pulled from his strength. His eyes focused so fully on her and sent her nerves aflutter. But his close proximity made her only want to lean into him completely and be engulfed by his strong embrace.

“I’m all right. Thank you for your assistance.” Belle patted one of his arms, encouraging him to let go of her. He did and moved to give her some space. Part of her was disappointed by the separation, but another part of her was relieved by it. Normally she was not so affected by a man’s presence. “What exactly was that?”

“That was a memory. My memory, actually, of the day my kingdom was cursed.” He looked down and then out at the mountains like he was remembering it all over. “I wanted to give you the full effect of what it felt like and to do that I had to be completely focused, so I couldn’t be here with you at the same time.”

“The air rippled,” was all Belle could seem to say.

“That was the curse as it was cast.” He placed a hand on Belle’s lower back, guiding her off the cold balcony, through his room, and into his office. Aleksander stepped over to the map on his wall and ran his finger along Vakre Fjell. “The spell originated here, on Mount Gunnhild, and after speaking with you, we believe it expanded to the coasts and nearly to the Glace border. Anyone within the spell’s radius was cursed with a type of lycanthropy.”

Belle stared at him. There was so much in that statement that confused her. “Lycanthropy? Spell?”

Aleksander walked past, brushing her at the same time. The action sucked the air from her lungs. He pulled a red book from his shelf, flipped through the pages, and handed it to her. The language was English and the text was broken up by crude depictions of half-men, half-wolves.

“Lycanthropy is a curse that allows a man to become beast. My subjects can’t change back from their wolfish forms unless they die, and that makes them different from lycanthropes.” He tapped the old pages where her eyes skimmed. “But I think some form of that curse is what has befallen them.”

Not looking up from the text, Belle said, “According to this, to become a lycanthrope, you have to be bitten by one, be born to one, do one of these more absurd actions, or it can be a divine punishment. Only the last one seems possible for an entire kingdom, and it is consistent with what the priests have said.”

Aleksander shook his head. “What happened to my people was a divine act, yes, but not meant as a punishment. And it was not Satan who did it—at least not the Satan you know.”

He pulled another book from beneath a pile on his desk. It was already open to the place. It was not written in English, French, or Norwegian; the language was unfamiliar to her. It looked old, the pages already showing the signs of age. What caught her attention was the full-page drawing. It was a hellhound; wild and ferocious. The creature, mouth open, was about to rip a knight from his horse. A chill went through her.

“This is written in Old Norse. It tells of a god named Fenrir. It calls him a monstrous wolf.” Prince Aleksander pointed to the picture. “That’s a picture of him there. Look familiar?”

Belle nodded. “You can’t possibly believe that all of your subjects were turned into Norse wolf gods?”

“No, I do not.” Aleksander smirked delightfully down at her, his face so close that Belle could see the trace of his eyes and the way they seemed to ponder her. Blushing, she averted her gaze. He moved away to look over his books, pretending not to notice her bashful reaction. “Though, I do believe that Fenrir is the cause of what happened to them.”

Belle ignored the foolish insecurity and crossed her arms. “Let’s just say I believe it’s possible for there to be more than one god and I’m not saying that I do. But aside from this picture, tell me why this theory has any more credence than what my bishop has said.”

“Because I met the woman who created the curse.” He raised his chin. “And she mentioned Fenrir’s name.”

“What? A woman?” This was not the reply Belle had expected. “I think you need to start from the beginning.”

“Yes, mademoiselle.” Aleksander smiled and it reached up to his beautiful, blue eyes. “The moment that curse swept through my kingdom, my people became great wolves, and my castle became a prison to everyone within.”

“The whole castle? I thought only you were imprisoned?” Belle relaxed her arms, moving them to rest in front of her.

“My prison is different.” He paused, thinking, then tried to explain further. “If anyone from within the castle grounds tries to leave, they are immediately cursed like the others. We lost several good men in learning this.”

Finally, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Now Belle knew why there was a castle full of able people, but why none ever came for help. She also realized then that there would be no way to send word to her father. The only person that could leave this castle was, in fact, her. “Why was I not changed by the curse when I broached your lands?”

“Perhaps because you were not touched by it originally?” He held up defeated hands. “To be frank, mademoiselle, I do not have an answer for that.”

“What about why the castle was unaffected?”

He smiled at Belle again, causing her body to feel strangely light.

“That I do know. For two days we didn’t have answers. With telescopes we could see that the closest village and shipyard had been lost, but there was no reason for any of it. No sign of any human that had walked away untouched.” His gaze drifted off and Belle knew he was remembering. “Then
she
came. She was not human—she looked human, but there was no question that she was something else. This woman called herself a norn.”

“Norn?” The foreign word felt odd on her tongue.

“They are otherworldly beings sent by some universal power to change fate.” Aleksander turned toward her. “I can show her to you, if you would like to see her.”