Beautiful Beast

Chapter 5

First, I show him the guest rooms, then I take him to the gallery and introduce him to the portraits of my ancestors. All the while he is silent, simply taking in my words. He also watches my every movement and it makes me tremendously uncomfortable. Although I pretend to ignore this tendency of his, I am always careful to keep some distance between us. I will not easily forget the incident with the dinner knives.

He spends a few seconds with each portrait, taking in the stern lines of the faces of the Lords and Ladies Vayliese. Each of them has a severe appearance as if they are made of marble, but I know differently. Great-aunt Veralisa had an expression that could turn anyone to a statue of ice and many suspected that she had an ice palace in the mountains where she kept the figurines of every person who crossed her. But I knew it was not true because at parties, I would hide in the alcoves and the ice queen would sneak me treats from the banquet table.

Moving on from the gallery, I take him through another series of guest rooms, including his own, then show him various drawing rooms. Next, I take him downstairs where we pass through the dining room which, with its twin chandeliers and elaborate wall panels, is much grander in the daylight, the largest drawing room, and finally, the ballroom.

He pauses in amazement as we enter the colossal room and he should. Across from us, a network of gold borders, windows, and glass doors sparkle in the sun. Beyond them is a grandiose terrace, and beyond that are the gardens. To our left is the wall of mirrors which reflects the cream and gold marble floor and above us rises the elaborate domed ceiling where a thousand tiny painted stars are arranged in a delicate constellation. It is a magnificent room and no doubt he has never seen anything like it. But I hate it. This is where everything ended, and everything began.

"Come, I will show you the gardens," I say curtly, turning on my heel and leaving the ballroom.

He hurries after me. "Wait. I first want to see my horse."

I pause in the atrium. "Very well."

A shawl and parasol approach. It is, of course, Cedric.

"Thank you," I say, accepting them from him. If he were not invisible, I know I would see him bow. I then step outside with Arawn a safe distance away—it makes me nervous to have him too near.

As we walk parallel to the palace, toward the stables, Arawn's gaze fixates first upon my face, then my torso, then my face again.

I roll my eyes and huff, "What? Have you never seen a woman before?"

He averts his eyes and clasps his hands together behind his back. "Women, yes. But this is my first encounter with a sorceress."

"So, is there a great difference in our appearances?"

He does not respond, but it is an answer in itself.

We arrive at the stables and the two footmen, Johnathan and Mathew, usher us in. With their voices, they lead Arawn past the rows of empty stalls to where his horse is being kept. The animal nickers in greeting and I catch a glimpse of a smile upon Arawn's lips.

"Hello, Hector." Arawn lets himself into the stall and Johnathan and Mathew, visible only by a floating curry comb and a rag stained with leather polish, chatter away about how perfectly the horse has behaved.

After a few moments, Arawn's reunion is interrupted by an impatient stomping in the neighbouring stall. I roll my eyes and am tempted to scold Abraxas for his childish behaviour, but I keep to my safe, shadowy corner by the entrance.

"Whose horse is this?" Arawn asks. He has left his horse's stall and now stands before Abraxas who hangs his head over the door with a clear desire for attention. Arawn acquiesces by rubbing Abraxas beneath the chin.