THIS WAS SUCH a terrible, terrible idea.
I kept glancing at my knives, grasping them as if they would vanish at any moment. For the sake of a slick escape, I left the doors open a crack before turning to walk down the hall. The sudden silence had irked, it was as if my ears had gone deaf.
I looked over my shoulder and squinted into the shadows, worried that one of those wolf-beasts would creep up on me. My fingers clenched around one of the knives at my hip. When I raised my eyes, I found the crumbling hole in the brick wall. Light and frost poured in from the gaped opening, dead roses squeezing through the entrance.
Those roses shifted with each sway of the cold wind, making me flinch. I clenched my knives, anticipating the roses to squirm to life as they had the last time I had entered here. But no matter how long I waited, they acted as they appeared; dead and lifeless. The rose petals were withered and ashen, no longer the shade of scarlet I recalled them to be. It was as if someone wrung out the blood they had been soaked. Could their loss of color be due to his lordship's absence?
My steps were soft, leaving tracks in the dust. I could see my footprints from the last time I had been here, a thin layer of dust and frost beginning to sheathe the darkened spots. Only the tracks of my last adventure were visible, none of those from the wolf-beasts. Or my husband.
My brows drew together in confusion but before I could ponder it any longer, I had arrived at the empty frame of elm wood, just barely hanging on the wall. The canvas was left in wreathed ribbons on the floor, strips I had not had the chance to examine the last time I crept in here. Curiously, I picked a curled shred. With slow and calculated caution, I unfurled the stiff scrap as far as I dared.
It took me a while to realize the small bit of canvas I held was composed of a painted chin and jaw and lower lip. Initially, I had assumed it to be a portrait of my husband or a previous lord of the castle but as I examined the other scraps, I realized it was not so.
The man in the painting was clad in armor riddled with dents and slashes. Judging from the amount of the blemishes, I doubted the man in the painting was noble. If he was, he would have ordered for a newly shined and unused panoply. I went on and uncurled a scrap that portrayed angry blue eyes and narrowed brows filled with a murderous intent. My breath hung in a cloud, fingers shaking with the cold.
I found a bit that showcased the man's temple and jaw. A scar had been painted there, thick smears of paint and harsh textures daubed over the mar.
This was a painting of Yoann.
Indeed, the eyes had matched to an extent. So did the thickness and darkness of the brows. However, his right brow was not scared, leading me to think that this painting had been created before that injury. I scrambled to search the other shreds that I had discarded, wanting to confirm if it was in fact him.
Yes...yes, it had to be. The kempt black hair, the high cheekbones, the sharp lines of his nose, the curve of his mouth...all of it matched.
It was his expression that I did not recognize. A look of bloodthirst and rage. It was an expression unlike any he had worn before. There was no humor or friendliness in that face. His glare was filled with menace and promises of death. A knight, I decided. Or a commanding official.
Before I could ponder it any longer, I noticed the warm glow emerging from the hall on my left. I peered in the direction--stairs descended from where the light emanated. Slowly, I stood to my feet and crept towards the steps.
Stones lined the floors and walls, jagged and crumbled edges threatening to trip me. The stairway spiraled downwards, likely leading to a torch-lit room. The grime of the steps grated against my toes with each step I took.
I was met with a room lined with torches and wooden doors, the latter with an iron-barred window. Dungeon cells stood in the center of the room, facing those against the wall. One corner was left in the shadows, seeming to beckon to me with tendrils of malice. My chest went taut.
Last time I had been here, not a single candle burned. I held up a knife. It smelled of blood and sweat and urine, I realized as I took a breath. I determined that it was not mold but dried blood that clung to the grooves in the stone walls.
With my lips pressed, I made my way to the barred windows, standing on my toes so that I could discover what lay behind the dark dungeon doors. Empty. I shuffled to the next door and peered into the cell—
There was a body.
I flinched back and clapped a hand over my mouth, muffling the yelp that escaped me. Hesitantly, I stared back in. It was not a corpse, if the subtle rise and fall of his chest was to be trusted.
Nervously, I glanced into the neighboring cells. Another body. And another. Another.
They all appeared to be servants rather than prisoners, guessing by the linen wrapped around their wounds. Someone was tending to them, though I was certain that those injuries— limbs twisted at the wrong angles, bone protruding through flesh, dried blood caked over fountains of crimson—were old and not much could be done.
Yoann's words flashed in my mind. The former servants have been bewitched, transformed into those murderous beasts.
I stepped away from the bars, my toes tripping on the uneven stones. In those cells—those were not beasts but injured men. I gritted my teeth—could it be that they were one? How was it that I could see them? And why were they here?
I pulled a torch from the wall, careful not to burn my fingers on the hot flame. The fire was unbearably hot for I had been in the frosted section of the West Wing only minutes prior. I crept towards the cell in the shadowed corner, bracing myself for what could be hidden there. I raised the torch.
The door had been splintered open.
Whoever or whatever had been locked in forced its way out.
I crept closer, hesitantly holding the flame to the walls. Slowly, I let my toes press into the stone floors and pushed past the shattered door. My gaze followed the light the fire casted over the darkness.
Twisted manacles sat on the floor, their chains bloodied with a fierce shade of red. I reached out with my free hand, alarmed to discover that the blood was both wet and warm. Whatever had escaped had done so recently—it would be wise for me to do the same. My hand clenched around one of my knives.
"What are you doing here?"
I spun around with my dagger raised. An old woman stood before me, perhaps a maid-servant. She was dressed in a bloodied gown. My mind drew blank. I could see her—her clothing, her face, all of it. My heart went thumping.
"You should leave right now," she warned. She extended an arm, reaching for mine. "Before he finds you here. Leave," she urged me. "Return to your rooms and lock the door. Do not open it for anyone."
She began to usher me out of the room, grasping me by the elbows and tugging me into the hall.
"Wait a moment," I blurted. Her voice...this—this was Madame Dubois. "H-how is it that I can see you?"
"The Flux, foolish girl," she barked. "Run. Leave right this instant."
"Why?" Her brusqueness was off-putting.
"He will be furious if he finds you here. He is not himself right now—not the man you know," she hissed as she shoved me. "Move along!"
I complied, stumbling forward. I suspected she was referring to a man that was supposed to be elsewhere, far in his eastern lands. My fingers began to trail to my knife again.
"The Beast." She lowered her head and very quietly added, "Run."
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Needing no more encouragement, I turned left and circled my way back to the stairwell. When my foot lifted onto the first step, my ears caught on the sound of a livid growl.
"Where is she?"
"Where is who?"
I knew that she was attempting to buy me time and that was enough encouragement for me to quit my dallying. When the blood-chilling roar sounded from behind me, I decided I really did not want to be caught by him.
I ran, hastily climbing the staircase and twisting so that I was running out of the hall. Soon after, I had become aware of the slamming steps that chased after me, hot on my heels. The moment my body shot past the West Wing doors, I slammed them behind me as to close it on my pursuer.
Run.
The heavy thud that pressed into the door had me sprinting away. The balls of my bare feet thrashed into the floor and I sprinted with a fury that would make one think I was possessed. The walls folded around me, darkness contorting so quickly I barely had time to register it.
Run.
Acting purely on instinct, I stumbled past doors and tripped down a staircase so that I rolled and bruised myself on each step. Without a care, I scrambled to my feet and continued hastily even though I heard no indicator that I was still being chased.
Run.
In the corner of my eye, I could see a maid walking the other way. The sight only urged my legs to move faster. The balls of my feet slammed into the floor. I grasped at my skirts blindly, raising the fabric as to sprint faster. My throat parched with each forceful intake of air.
Run.
I burst through the doors of my rooms, stumbling on the hem of my skirts and my own legs. I crashed into the floor. Heat seared along my elbow and arms, burning as the carpet tore my flesh. My lungs burned with the effort and I felt the thundering of my heart as I took sharp, quick breaths.
The door.
I shot to my feet and fumbled for the entryway, hoping to lock it. My hand reached out just as the door flew open with a slam. I flinched, eyes flitting to the man that shadowed my doorway. His eyes flashed red and no more than a blink's worth of time, he had crossed the room and cornered me.
"What do you think you are doing?" he growled in a voice that undoubtedly belonged to the lord of the castle.
His fingers dug into my wrists—no, not fingers. Claws. They grazed my skin, threatening to pierce through my flesh. I gritted my teeth together, biting back the oath that nearly spilled from my mouth. He trapped my hands against the wall behind me, pressing so harshly into me that I could not move a finger's breadth.
"Locking my door," I spat. The Beast's face—it was bare. I turned my head, attempting to catch sight of it in the darkness of the room. He suddenly dipped his head into the crook of my neck and he flung an arm out to the candles that lit the back of his head.
"I smelled you," he growled, anger laced in his every word. "You entered the West Wing against my command."
I shoved at him with what give my hips had but to no avail. His hand clenched around my wrists. "You should have known," I snapped angrily as to hide the fear festering in the pits of my stomach. "I am not your little docile wife."
"You certainly are not," he hissed in agreement, his fingers curling further into my flesh.
"Release me," I gritted. "Right now."
He caught my jaw, allowing me to bring my gaze up to his livid eyes—they glowed a feint shade of blood. His face was unmasked, hidden with the shadows. My breath snagged and I was suddenly unable to inhale. I stared, attempting to discern his features between the rapid thumping of my heart.
"I had warned you so many damned times not to enter the West Wings." His eyes narrowed. "But seeing your continuous disobedience, it appears there is a great need that I do things differently."
I wrenched again, this time more violently. He only tightened his grasp.
"You have failed to heed to all of my warnings." His growl burned against me. "Did you think this would go unnoticed by me?"
I scowled. "Seeing that I have survived this long, I must be doing something correctly."
He roared, bellowing with rage and I felt myself shrink back on impulse. "Ismae," he snarled hoarsely, threat dripping off of every syllable. "Do you intend to continue your defiance?"
"I will not stop disregar—" The sentence had not left my lips when he suddenly dropped his head from my view, startling me enough that I fell silent. My heart flitted in anticipation, waiting for the retaliation that would follow.
"Do not lift your gaze," he hissed, head turned away. "I have yet to harm you. It'd be best if we keep it that way."
"I will let my gaze settle where I want it," I snapped. "Carry out your threat and I will do the same." It was a taunt, a rather foolish one. What could I do other than biting him if he were to get close enough to kiss me?
"Ismae, are you prepared to reap the consequences?" he snarled out.
When my eyes drifted, his grip tightened and his nose grazed my shoulder, as if to remind me. I ignored his warning and twisted again, to do exactly against his command. A growl tore through him and then—
"Merde," I gasped softly.
The entirety of my body loosened and my mouth fell slack—his teeth, teeth. Those teeth—they were of those that belonged to beasts. I shifted slightly, any further would result in my nose buried in his hair and my jaw nuzzled against his. I lost all will to fight him, the fire suddenly dampening from me.
I shivered, my heart throbbing as his teeth pressed against my shoulder. He held me in place like that, not biting me as to break the skin but to keep me still—to keep me from looking upon his face. I sagged against him and the wall, unable to think about anything but his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they brushed my skin. To my absolute horror, a moan left my throat.
I felt him tear my knives from their place, tossing them to the floor with a clang. Then he turned his attention back to me, keeping my hands pinned so that I could not use them to my advantage.
His teeth scraped along my skin as his mouth pressed against me, kissing and sucking on my throat in a manner that made my hands clench and unclench. I suppressed the sharp intakes of air, clamping my jaw shut in hopes of concealing the effect he had on me.
I would rather gouge my own eyes than moan for him again. He kissed my jaw, mouth hot and tempting as he swept past to my cheek and the corner of my mouth. I gritted my teeth together, pressing my lips as to seal the sounds longing to escape me. He pulled away slightly, briefly, just far enough so that he could study the expression I wore.
I glared at him.
He lowered himself to torment my lips just as a soft growl made its way to my ear. I knew that if he kissed me now, my resolution would crumble and I would surrender to his touch. My fingers clenched. I would let him have his way and relish in whatever pleasure he planned to indulge. To my relief, the bit of reason in my mind kept me for doing so.
A voice that was more pleading and timid than my own whimpered, "Do not take away any more of my dignity." I stiffened. "Please."
He loosened an agitated breath, pulling back. A thumb stroked my cheek as though he expected to wipe tears. I thought to tell him that I would plunge a knife into my own heart before I would ever shed tears before him but the ability to speak left me.
With an aggravated breath and a tone that hinted towards rage, he hissed, "Do you wish to guess how many years I have lived?"
Yes.
Yes, a thousand yesses if it means you would leave me alone. You have lived for far too long, growing colder by the passing minutes. You have lasted for an eternity and destroyed generations of your subjects. This must stop.
But I dropped my head. "No..."
He released my arms and stepped away, letting my trembling body slump down to the floor. I refused to meet his eyes, unable to control the jittering of my own hands. Harshly, he snapped, "Be glad you were not at the West Wing when I caught you." The red eyes flared. "Do not," he growled, "do that again."
With that said, he turned away and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Y-your lordship—"
A blood curling bellow unraveled, shaking the very wall I leaned against.
In that moment, I realized what I had forgotten that had made me so bold and courageous when I spoke and disregarded his warnings. It was now that I remembered a detail that should have been burned into my mind—constantly burning into every thought.
I was married to a monster.