Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Four || To Dine with a Beast

"His lordship requests your presence at dinner later tonight," a male servant announced the door opened. "Shall I send orders to draw a bath?"

"That will not be necessary," I said, gazing through the open windows. I nearly snorted.

Dinner? Was he so daft to think I would fall for that? After the events that took place last night? That was not an invitation to dine with him. If anything, it was a request for me to be splayed out on the table, awaiting the bite of his knife. I glanced outside, studying the surroundings of the castle. The gardens were covered with snow, meaning that I would need sturdy boots and thick, wool clothing. I was finally reminded of the servant's silence when he cleared his throat. I realized he must have been examining the ruined drapery that crumpled on the floor—evidence I failed to conceal. I kept my gaze along the snow-tipped edges of the mountains.

"I will not dine with him."

I heard the shuffle of feet behind me, as well as the thud of the door closing.

"My, my, my, what a bride," a masculine, familiar voice drawled slowly. "One that has the audacity to decline my invitation and deny me the pleasure of dining with her." A pause followed as if he was studying the chamber. "You even took it upon yourself to turn your rooms into the remnants of a battlefield. Color me impressed."

Upon hearing his voice, memories of his touch, his mouth on my skin, the horrible sensation of his fingers around my wrists flashed through my mind. He must have been just outside the door when the servant had spoken. Clearly, he had done so to make sure that I would be present for his dinner. I clenched my fingers together, trying to distract myself from the sudden shaking within my chest.

Without bothering to turn to face him, I boldly—or rather very stupidly—said, "Given that I was audacious enough to pull three knives on my lord husband, I fail to comprehend your surprise."

"An act I have yet to address, dear."

I whipped around, tightening my hands around my makeshift knife which felt useless and pathetic under his scrutinizing gaze. I studied him, and to my relief, he did not seem to wield a blade of any sort. Or perhaps it may have been disadvantageous—that he came here without visible armaments.  It was likely that he concealed some weapon in the dark folds of his clothing, should he decide he would be the one to kill me.He was wearing the same cloak he had worn in the darkness of last night as if he had been outside and kept his cape on for warmth.

"I have known you were sent here to kill me."

My heart stopped, skipped one too many beats. "Y-you knew?"

He smiled, his lips visible due to the way the metal masked molded over his face. "It was quite entertaining to watch and play along with your act."

I crossed my arms and settled my weight on one leg, that shard of pottery still clutched betwixt my fingers. I was a dead woman. There was nothing I could do to worsen the verdict. So I held my chin high and asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

His head turned so that he was fixated on me. Slowly, he said, "It depends."

My brows lifted on their own accord. "On what?"

"Whether or not you can dine with me." He grasped my chin and I instinctively slapped his hand away as I jerked my head back. I felt the lurch of my stomach as it filled with regret. The corner of his mouth twitched.

I straightened and concealed my terror. "I am capable of doing that," I retorted, my voice softer than I had intended.

He grinned and took hold of my hand, raising it to his lips. I noted that his elegant sleeves were cuffed with white ruffles that extended halfway onto his palm. He did not kiss my hand, no, only held it a hairsbreadth away from his mouth. Then, slowly, so very tantalizingly slow, his tongue emerged from between his lips and he licked my knuckles. Licked them. "You and I at seven," he murmured, his voice skittering across my skin. "I will be waiting, dear."