TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast (12 page)

“Brother, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Lucien greeted Severin at their next meeting.

“Your Highness,” Severin said bowing to his half brother.

“Father’s been a regular pain. He wants me to marry the Arcainia princess. I told him such an arrangement would be entirely unnecessary if we invaded the country and took it over. He disagreed. Violently,” Lucien complained as he draped himself in a chair.

“I find myself in the rare position of agreeing with His Majesty,” Severin said, unpacking a saddle pack.

“You would,” Lucien complained. “However, you don’t know the princess. Her seven brothers dote on her but she’s not even a real princess. The royal family
adopted
her. She’s a dreadful bore. I’m told she reads books, tours her lands, and is involved with Arcainia’s finance department.”

“Most would mark those as admirable traits in a monarch, Lucien,” Severin said, unrolling a map.

“But in a woman?” Lucien complained.

“If you only marry for beauty you are going to find yourself regretful in your old age,” Severin advised, growling when he opened the last of his saddle bags. He pulled out a long stemmed lily and glared at the orange blossom.

Lucien raised his eyebrows at the flower. “Is one of your servants trying to subtly let you know you need to bathe more?”

“Elle,” Severin growled.

“Ah, your injured guest,” Lucien recalled. “You haven’t kicked her out yet?”

Severin eyed the flower, able to pick out the flat spot where Elle had, no doubt, rubbed the petal between her fingers. “Duval claims she is too injured to move, although she is able to hobble around the chateau with crutches.”

“It’s a shame she’s not pretty. Can her looks be improved?”

“No. Her too big lips house a too big mouth that she opens all too much,” Severin grunted. “Although she no longer looks like a drown rat as she is not wearing cast off dresses from one of my female servants.”

“Fabulous,” Lucien dryly said, placing his feet on the edge of a dusty table.

Severin set the lily aside and uncorked an inkwell. “Have you established contact with Ranger Seventy Eight?”

“I have,” Lucien said, smiling at the manservant who poured him a glass of wine.

“And? What did he say?”

“There was an altercation, but it is under control. Seventy Eight is still on my mission and will not be available for some weeks. Ranger Ten returned from his long term assignment, though. I have his report right here,” Lucien said, setting his goblet down to reach into his royal blue waistcoat and pull out a handful of folded papers.

“Excellent,” Severin said, briefly reading the first few lines of the report. “He says the south borders are inactive.”

“As they should be,” Lucien said, finishing his wine.

Severin shook his head. “Our southern neighbors have more magic in their lands than the rest of our allies.”

“You distrust magic because of your situation?”

“No. I distrust magic because over the last few years it has become unstable,” Severin corrected. “Magic itself is nothing to fear. It is those who wield it that make me wary.”

Lucien shrugged. “I suppose it is that way with all things that are powerful. Do you have your supplies list?”

Severin wordlessly handed over several meticulously recorded sheets of paper. Lucien eagerly scanned them, but found nothing abnormal and handed them off to a servant. “The weather grows cold. We should relocate to a warmer location for our meetings during the winter months.”

“Or we will have the lodge stocked with firewood, as we have done in the previous years. Now, regarding Ranger Ten’s report.”

By the time Severin rode home after his meeting with his half brother, dusk painted the chateau with lavender blue shadows. There was a chill in the air—tonight would probably be the first frost of fall.

Severin dismounted his gelding—the only horse that didn’t turn wild with fear whenever he was near—and handed the animal off to Oliver to be groomed and cared for.

Burke opened the castle doors and drew Severin’s cloak off his hulking shoulders.

Dinner?
Burke wrote after passing the cloak off to a maid.

Severin rubbed his eyes. “Not tonight. I am not terribly hungry. I will have tea in my study instead.”

Burke smiled so big his cheeks made his mask bend oddly.

Severin eyed his personal valet before he stalked down the hallway. He rubbed his shoulders, which were stiff with immobility and the cold, and made his way to his study—Burke fluttering behind him like a showy bird.

When he reached his private study he opened it. A steaming cup of cider was arranged next to a bowl of soup. There was a crusty roll slathered in butter, a small bowl of turnips, and a cooked apple. There was a fire in the fireplace, and the room was warm and cozy.

Most surprising, though, was the girl. When Severin entered his study Elle—who stood in front of the window—turned to face him and nodded in greeting. “I thought you might like something warm to eat after your journey,” she said.

She smiled slyly when Severin suspiciously eyed her.

Burke bowed with a fancy flourish—Severin wasn’t sure exactly whom the valet was bowing to—and left.

Elle thumped her way across the room, and Severin was forced to grudgingly admit that she did move a great deal easier in her simple dresses than in Emele’s frills and layers.

The peasant girl sat down in an armchair and started paging through a book.

Severin walked to his desk and sat. He stirred his soup and sniffed the spiced cider before glancing at Elle.

She turned a page in her book and didn’t look up.

Severin took a sip of the warm cider and swallowed. His shoulders loosened and he relaxed in his chair as he took another sip before picking up the roll.

The room was quiet, except for the clinks of Severin’s silverware and the occasionally swish of Elle turning a page.

The following day Elle stood in front of a set of marble stairs, glaring at them. Emele was gone—she said she had work to do and couldn’t entertain Elle. Rather than giving Elle free rein of the floor Elle’s bedroom was on, Emele browbeat the footmen into carrying Elle to the main floor.

This was rather uncharitable, for the only room—besides the kitchen, and Elle was going to stay far away from Bernadine’s kingdom—on the main floor was the dining room. Elle could not go outside—for there were steps directly outside the doors, nor could she reach the upper floors because of the stairs. She was boxed in, thwarted by several dozen slabs of marble.

“Are you hoping to accomplish something by glaring at the stairs?”

Elle turned around at the sound of the familiar voice—the only voice in the castle besides her own. “I cannot climb or descend stairs, Your Highness,” Elle said, dipping her head to Prince Severin.

“And you hope to change that situation by glaring.”

“No. I was mentally stewing. Emele had me brought here and as a result has corralled me in with the experience of a shepherd.”

“I see,” Severin said, moving to go around Elle.

Elle flattened her lips in displeasure as Severin climbed the first step. She was going to be trapped on the first floor all day if she didn’t do something. It was that desperation that made Elle call out, “Your Highness?”

Severin stopped climbing the stairs.

“Your servants are unwilling to carry me to another part of the chateau lest they encounter Emele’s wrath,” Elle started.

Severin turned around and tilted his head. He looked past Elle as his cat ears flicked.

“Could you ask them to carry me upstairs? Please,” Elle said, swinging herself to the base of the staircase.

Severin narrowed his eyes and his nose twitched.

“…Your Highness?” Elle said, wondering if he had come down with another case of selective hearing.

“Quiet,” Severin said, his voice barely above a growl.

Elle turned around to see what the cursed prince was staring at, but no one was there. She could hear the faint tap of footsteps, but that was all.

Severin exhaled a hiss of air and his ears went flat. He dropped his golden gaze to Elle before glancing past her again. He descended the stairs and spoke in a guttural voice. “Hold on.”

“Pardon, wha—,” Elle almost shrieked when the prince abruptly picked her up.

“Quiet,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder as he tossed Elle across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Elle grimaced. “My leg.”

Severin growled but shifted Elle on his back. They scuffled until Elle was arranged in a position devoid of pain. Her arms were thrown around his massive shoulders, and her uninjured leg was pressed into his side. He held her good foot in one paw that was twisted behind his back, letting Elle stand up in a fashion. Her crutches were wedged under the arm that held her foot.

“Good?” Severin whispered as the footsteps grew louder.

“Yes,” Elle said, changing her grip on his shoulders. “Although even I must admit this is most scandal—,” Ell broke off when Severin bounded up the stairs, moving smoothly but with greater agility than he had previously displayed. He loped up the walkway that made a perimeter around the room—bending forward and pushing off the ground with his free hand to help balance himself as he ran. He darted behind a hanging tapestry.

“Do not speak a word,” Severin growled, his eyes glowing in the shadow of the tapestry.

Elle held her tongue and hauled herself further up his shoulders so she too could peer around the tapestry when the prince inched his head out from behind it.

Elle had just enough time to see plump Bernadine exit the long corridor that led to the kitchens before Severin heaved himself behind the tapestry.

The sudden motion jostled Elle, making her fall against Severin’s thick neck. The black fur on the prince’s neck tickled Elle’s nose, and she took in a squeak of air before clasping her hand over her nose and holding her breath to keep in a sneeze. Her lungs burned and time seemed to stretch on until there were footsteps again. This time the footsteps grew softer as they retreated.

Severin peered around the edge of the tapestry, Bernadine was gone.

Elle unclamped her nose and sneezed three times. “That was telling,” Elle said, blinking her watering eyes before she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“If you wipe your hand on me you will regret it,” Severin said.

Elle sneezed again. “Bernadine?”

“Only a fool would not fear her,” Severin said, emerging from behind the tapestry.

“I would have thought Heloise would be a bigger threat,” Elle said.

“Heloise is a bear when it comes to budgeting and household supplies, but it is Bernadine who leads my servants like they are her personal army,” Severin said. “She greatly influences their morale and thought process.”

“Who would have thought a plump cook could be so dangerous?” Elle said, planting her forearm on Severin’s broad shoulders before pushing herself up to rearrange her broken leg.

Severin started down the hallway, his gait rocking Elle back and forth like she was in a cradle. “I will take you to the Rose Salon, you can find your way to whatever room you desire from there,” Severin stated more then asked.

“Yes. Thank you, Your Highness,” Elle said as the prince walked up a corridor. He paused at a set of double doors and opened one, sliding inside.

The Rose Salon was built overlooking a rose garden. The far side of the room was lined with windows and two glass doors that opened up into the gardens. It was decorated in dusty hues of pink and orange. The furniture was exquisite and the ceiling was covered in a painted fresco. The room was warmed by the sun, although Elle suspected it was chilly in the winter and required a fire.

Severin removed Elle from his back, handing her crutches back to her. “If Emele has you carried back downstairs you are on your own,” he warned.

Elle smiled like a satiated cat. “Do not worry about me, Your Highness. I’ll be fine.”

Severin shrugged his shoulders and exited the Rose Salon. He was back a moment later. “You will tell no one I carried you?”

“You have my absolute discretion,” Elle said.

Severin exhaled a chuff of air that might have been a cat laugh before he left again.