Page 32 of The Beast & His Beauty

On the highest floor of the tower, I open the stained glass window near where the rose sits silently in its cloche and look down. There is little to see in the dark, but the beast’s senses can make out the grass below, the wall, and the forest.

I hold out the note and let it fall.

It tumbles through the air, and for a moment I think it will land on the grass. If it does, the rain and morning dew will turn it to mush and it will fade into the earth, never to be delivered or read by Elle’s father. The thought offers me peace. I imagine it’s what the magic will do.

At the last moment, just before I think it will hit the grass, the wind gusts, picking up the letter and carrying it away. It flies out over the wall and disappears.

It’s only then that I second-guess the decision. But what’s done is done. And one thing I know is that no one will take Elle away from me. Ever.

ELLE

There are moments when I feel completely at peace in the beast’s castle. I don’t have a single worry or care, and it seems like nothing could disturb me. At times I am so content that I almost feel as if I’ve lived here forever and never known another life. It happens many times when I’m reading, lost in a story, my body warmed by the fire, drinking perfectly brewed tea, and in the back of my mind I can imagine having done this as a little girl in this castle and being loved and provided for without struggle. I imagine my mother not suffering like she did. Her with me still, and my father’s heart never broken.

Of course, eventually I resurface from the story and that vision disappears, and it suddenly seems odd to feel like I belong here. There’s a great loss that I cannot avoid.

Although he fills it. The beast.

It shouldn’t have happened so fast, should it? I know it has been weeks since I first arrived at the beast’s castle, but that is not such a long time when you’re a captive. And I am a captive. I cannot walk out the doors of the castle and go to the village and talk to my father. I’m not allowed to leave, and that means I don’t belong. I wasn’t born to the castle, and I didn’t agree to marry the beast. I was stolen from my father’s house and brought here without warning.

And yet I can’t say that I’ve been hurt. I can’t say that I’ve been treated poorly. I’ve been given a life I didn’t know could exist in my wildest fantasies. And with that, comes guilt. And loneliness, apart from the fantasies I read throughout the day.

I look up from the book I’m reading, my eyes tired. I must’ve been reading for hours and hardly noticed the time passing. I’ve noticed the days have stretched easily like this. With peace and ease and entrenched in books. I would never have been able to lose myself in a story like this when I lived with my father. There was always work to do at the bakery or wood to gather for the fire or floors to scrub at the cottage. There was shopping to do and a tiny amount of money to count and stretch as far as it would go. There were meals to prepare, using as few ingredients as I could at a time to make it last a few more days. I could not have sat down and read until the only thing stopping me was that I needed a break for my eyes. Even if I had the light to read in bed, I would fall asleep, exhausted, before I could immerse myself in a book. But candles are hard to come by in the village and quite expensive. They’re a luxury. So this…all of this? I refuse to take it for granted.

Reading was something I did only as a girl when my mother was alive. Back then, it seemed there was more time in the day and more things to do for pleasure. I know part of that was simply being a child and not knowing how harsh the world could be.

Although part of it was that I could not imagine a life of luxury like the one I live in the beast’s castle. The beast stole me from a life of hunger and cold and uncertainty, and now I am reading in front of the fire in a dress finer than any my mother ever owned with slippers waiting on the rug to put my feet into that are likely more expensive than anything she owned, either. They’re exactly my size, and they haven’t been worn down by walking down the rough street in all kinds of weather.

This is the only time in my life when I have not wanted for anything. There aren’t even rough underclothes in my wardrobe, nothing that would irritate my skin. If I think about wanting a bite to eat, a tray floats through the door.

I try to focus on the book in my lap, but my thoughts wander to the beast.

He is here, because he does not leave the castle. But I’ve still yet to see him and I’ve barely gotten to know him. It doesn’t take much to feel his brokenness though. His need for love.

I frown down at the book. I have not gotten to spend as much time getting to know the beast as I would have liked, having lived in this castle for weeks. However, he does not seem like the kind of person—kind of beast?—who would kill for the love of killing.

If that’s what he was like, then I would likely not be alive right now.

My chest aches, thinking about the beast alone here in the castle, which reminds me that my father is alone in the cottage. The magic gathers close to me and tries to soothe me as it senses my thoughts lingering on my father. I wish I could shove it all away. I do not wish to be soothed, I wish for answers. I wish to send this luxury to others. It feels selfish to have it all to myself.

I hope the magic delivered my letter. I hope my father is not trying to look for me. Worried out of his mind for my wellbeing. I can only imagine how angry and betrayed the beast would feel if my father came to the gates of the castle and refused to leave.

No one can know you are here.

Would he truly hurt the only other person I love? Oh, the thought comes quickly, and I choose not to think much of it and instead focus on the beast’s command. I remember how the beast’s voice sounded when he said those words to me. No one can know you are here. I understood his seriousness down to the core of me. That is why I told him that I did not need to tell my father where I was.

But I still pray the magic delivered the letter as he said it would.

I let out a sigh. Should I have pushed the beast to tell me why my presence here needed to remain a secret?

The magic answers for me. No.

My thoughts stray back to my father, who had been so heartbroken when my mother died. I know he won’t fully recover from losing me as well.

For the first time, I’m beginning to think about what would happen if something were to happen to the beast.

It’s an unsettling thought and brings on a surge of strong emotions. Why would I wonder that? Would my heart be broken? I feel things for him, of course. I feel drawn to him and intrigued by him, and I find myself missing him when I have run out of things to do in the castle and want someone to talk to. I am lonely without him. I love what he does to me and how I crave him more than anything else within the confines of the castle.

Am I…falling for him?