TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast (22 page)

Severin twisted to stare at Elle.

Elle realized her mistake and tried to downplay her knowledge of the subject. “I’m just speculating. Your brother has been fairly vocal about the desire in the past year.”

Severin massaged his forehead. “Even his
servants
know? It is no wonder Arcainia decided spy infiltration was a necessary measure.”

“Only a minority know, if that’s any consolation,” Elle said.

“Servants talk. As soon as one of them knows, all of them know,” Severin sourly said. “And I say that without meaning any offense to you.”

“None taken,” Elle said, plunking down in a chair next to Severin.

“And no, I have not given in. I’m looking for a way to talk my brother out of a war,” Severin said. “Loire cannot handle a war right now, not to mention there is no reason for one.”

“He won’t accept that reasoning?”

“No.”

“And you won’t flat out reject the idea?”

“He’s my brother. I would like to support him in everything he does.”

“Even if he does something stupid?”

Severin turned his cat head to give Elle another unnerving stare.

“I am
not
saying His Highness is stupid, or has done something stupid. I’m merely wondering what you will do if he asks you for something truly asinine,” Elle asked.

Severin sighed. “I do not know.”

Elle planted her elbows on the table surface and propped up her chin with her hands. She watched Severin half heartedly nudge a map, again scrutinizing the cursed prince.

Heloise’s passionate sermon had aroused an ill-fated curiosity in Elle. She surely was not in love with Severin, but she wondered what kind of woman would be attracted to the prince.

To find the answer to this predicament, Elle keenly studied Severin. The results were rather unfortunate.

Elle observed that Severin was surprisingly calm tempered. He was difficult to anger—excluding matters of rubbing leaves and Jock—and after one got past his rocky exterior he was thoughtful and gentle. Some might see his sense of humor as being ill mannered in its sourness, but Elle found his remarks not only diverting but true.

His loyalty was bottomless, which surely meant he was trustworthy, and Elle was willing to admit that she admired the guardianship he seemed to extend over all he held dear. He was proud, yes, but not unduly so considering his social standing and intelligence. Perhaps his only real fault that Elle found aggravating was his tendency to dote on his brother and work at all hours of the day.

If love was as Heloise said, and was about finding a partner to go through the tribulations and delights of life, whatever woman snared Prince Severin would be lucky indeed. In fact, Elle was likely to be jealous of her.

Elle realized what she was thinking and paused. “Fantastic,” she said before glaring at Severin, mad at him for the nobility of his temperament.

“What?” Severin asked, not looking up from his work.

“Nothing,” Elle said, her voice was flat as she removed her eyes from the prince and stared across the library. Thanks to her regrettable curiosity, Elle was forced to admit that
she
was the kind of woman who would fall in love—real love—with Severin. And, even more regrettably, it seemed that she already had fallen for him.

Elle glared at Severin again in a rare show of rage. She had been perfectly happy before her realization. Why did Severin have to be so likeable? Surely this was his fault.

“What have I done?” Severin asked.

Elle froze, afraid he had read her thoughts. “What?”

“You are glaring at me like a gargoyle. What did I do to anger you?” Severin asked, making a notation on a map.

Elle looked away. “Nothing.”

Severin snorted in amusement and disbelief.

Elle folded her arms across her belly and thought. Out of all people why would it be
Prince Severin
to catch her fancy where no one else had? The notion was ridiculous considering what he had done to her family. The situation was so ironic it made Elle laugh out loud.

“Do you need something? Tea perhaps?” Severin asked, taking a book off the top of the tower of manuscripts at his elbow.

“No,” Elle said.

She was mistaken, that had to be it. She wasn’t in love with Severin. It was just because Heloise had put the mad notion in her head.

“Elle.”

Elle’s thoughts stopped when Severin slid a furry, thick finger under her chin, tilting it so she had to look at him. “Are you certain you are feeling well? Do you need to be aired out?” he asked, his deep voice colored with a faint tease.

Nope. She wasn’t mistaken.

“I’m fine, Severin, but thank you for your concern,” Elle said, giving the prince a small smile.

Satisfied, Severin dropped Elle’s chin and returned to his work.

Elle watched him for a few moments, her smile growing larger and softer. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but Elle couldn’t help but think she couldn’t have chosen a better man to fall for.

Elle froze when she realized what her affection meant. Because she loved him she could break Severin’s curse! …But that would mean the end of this. Severin would never love a commoner, and as soon as the curse was broken he would return to the palace and to his brother. If he didn’t forget about her he would likely find out what she really was, and then there was
no
chance he would love her.

Elle leaned over the table, sheltering her eyes with her hands.

She was startled when she felt something on her back. It took her a moment to realize it was Severin, running a hand through her loose hair.

He did so almost unconsciously. He glanced at Elle for a moment to gravely study her before he again looked back at his book, still running a hand through her hair.

“I will have to do it,” Elle whispered.

Severin’s ears flicked, but he said nothing.

Elle knew in her heart that she couldn’t leave Severin cursed because of her selfishness. She loved him—and all of his servants—so much that she wanted them to be free. Even if it meant she would lose them.

But she didn’t have to break it today, or even tomorrow. There was still time to enjoy her stay at Chanceux Chateau. She could treasure her moments with Severin and her friends among his staff.

Elle laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes as Severin continued to stroke her hair, lulling her off to sleep.

Elle was pulled from her slumber by someone shaking her awake. It was early in the morning, the sun was only hinting at rising and the room was chilly as Elle had neglected to close the window after her colleague checked in with her in the late evening hours.

“What is it, Emele?” Elle asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

Emele pointed across the room with a shaking hand.

Sitting in front of the fireplace was a ragged looking squirrel. Its eyes were bugged, and the fur on its tail was patchy, but it looked snug nestled into the fluff it had pulled from the now ruined rug.

“It must have climbed in the open window. Sorry about that,” Elle said, wincing when Emele smacked her on the head with her slate.

WHY did you leave the window open?

“It was stuffy,” Elle said, making sure Jock was securely asleep. Elle knew the fat dog wouldn’t be able to catch the squirrel, but she didn’t want to invite chaos. “Open the balcony door and we can shoo the squirrel out.”

Emele looked unconvinced. She hefted herself on Elle’s formidable bed and crawled across it—her skirts taking up nearly the entire surface—to reach the door on the other side of the room. She opened the door and retreated to Elle’s bed while Elle stood—shivering in the cold—and grabbed one of her long abandoned crutches.

“Time for you to leave,” Elle said to the squirrel, thumping the crutch on the floor before edging towards the creature.

The squirrel chattered at her but didn’t move.

“Leave,” Elle said, nudging the intruder with her crutch.

The squirrel moved about an inch when Elle grew more forceful with her prods. Elle got it to stray to the edge of the rug when the squirrel turned and launched itself on top of the crutch. It ran up the wooden length and latched onto Elle’s hand, biting one of her fingers.

Elle yelped, dropped the crutch, and whipped her hand, sending the squirrel flying. As the squirrel hit the ground with a thump Elle jumped backwards. “That hurt,” she grimaced when her healed leg protested at the sudden movement.

The squirrel made more angry sounds.

Elle retreated to her bed with Emele. “Wretched beast. New plan, get Severin. He can chase it out. Could you get me a bandage? I’m bleeding most impressively.”

Emele nodded and rolled off the bed, crushing half her skirts. She was almost to the door when Elle realized what she was wearing.

“Wait, don’t get Severin. Get the kitchen cat.”

Are you mad? A cat is not going to chase off a squirrel!

“Then get a footman, just don’t get Severin.”

Why? He is the only male with a voice in the whole household!

Elle briefly covered his eyes. “I don’t want to face him with a bit hand in my dressing gown.”

The squirrel angrily chattered and climbed a chair, perching on the back of it.

“Forget it, get Severin,” Elle said, wrapping herself in a coverlet.

Emele disappeared from the room, and Elle clutched a drowsy Jock to her chest as she stared the squirrel down. The squirrel hopped off the chair and returned to its nest of shredded rug. It moved with alarming swiftness, streaking forward like lightning.

Elle was standing on the bed, still cradling Jock—who was making her arms fall asleep—when Severin entered the room.

“Emele tells me you are under siege,” the cursed prince said, joining Elle at her bedside.

“It’s over there,” Elle said, nodding her head at the squirrel as she struggled to hold Jock. Jock squirmed and barked at Severin, wriggling in Elle’s arms.

“And why were you unable to convince it to make an exit?” Severin said.

“It bit me.”

“It
what
?”

“Have you ever been bitten by a squirrel?”

“No.”

“Don’t. It hurts more than one would expect.”

“I thought all maidens were supposed to have an almost magical way with animals,” Severin said, folding his arms across his chest.

“I do not know what sort of books you read as a child, but they must have been ridiculous if they made you believe that,” Elle said. “Now would you please remove the squirrel from my room?”

“I’m still amused you called for assistance. A squirrel may be a difficult foe, but I assume it can’t be much worse than the mountain hag.”

Elle rolled her eyes. “Severin.”

“Very well. And exactly how did you think I would be able to relieve you of this pest any better than one of the other servants?” Severin asked.

“The fact that you have the head of a cat,” Elle dryly said.

“True. I concede,” Severin said before striding across the room. He positioned himself in a straight line from both the squirrel and the open door.

Elle shivered as a few flakes of snow fluttered into her room, and Jock rocketed out of her arms when Severin roared. He sounded like a snarling lion. The noise was deafening and frightening.

Severin scared all occupants of the room, expect himself. The squirrel ran from the chateau like a cat being chased by a dog. Jock fell on Elle’s bed and struggled to his paws before he hopped off the bed and ran across the room to bark at Severin’s feet. Elle dropped her coverlet and leaped off the bed, slamming her balcony door shut.

“Your leg is doing quite well,” Severin said, fiddling with the cuffs of his waistcoat and ignoring Jock. “I will see you after you are… dressed.”

Elle seated herself on her bed with the presence of a queen. “Yes.”

Severin’s fangs flashed when he smiled. “Until then. I trust a squirrel will not attack you in my absence,” he said, escaping the room before Elle could reply.

“That man. Emele, where are you? I request aid with dressing,” Elle shouted.

After enduring a morning and afternoon of squirrel related mockery from Severin, Elle stared at her wardrobe with narrowed eyes.