TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast (23 page)

Something wrong, Elle?
Emele wrote.

Elle started unwinding the bandage Duval had swaddled her hand in. “Not particularly.”

Aggravated by His Highness?

“Yes,” Elle woodenly said, admiring her less than impressive wound from her battle with the squirrel. “For all that I bled you think this bite mark would be bigger.”

Emele placed her hand on top of Elle’s and pushed it down so Elle looked up at her.
If you wish to get back at His Highness I have the perfect thing.

“What is it?”

A dress.

“A dress? How is a dress going to silence him?”

Just wait and see. Come. We will dress you for war.

Elle doubted the success of Emele’s promise, but after she swept into the dining room she held the ladies maid in higher esteem.

Severin had his chin resting on a hand and was drumming the table with his free hand when Elle made her entrance. Severin saw her and froze. His hand slid out from under his chin and dropped to the table like a wet noodle. He stood, his amber eyes popping as Elle walked to her chair.

Emele’s selection was a dress made with the rose red brocade that had caused such a stir among the female servants at Elle’s dress fitting. It was an elegant creation that was fancier than any of her other dresses. It was adorned with cloth folded and bunched to resemble roses and the skirt was layered, giving it the appearance of flower petals. During the dress fitting Elle didn’t understand why everyone fawned over the material. Now, armed with the knowledge that Severin was smitten for all things green and growing and that his servants were cunning to the highest degree, Elle suspected Severin’s favorite flower was the classic rose.

Judging by his stunned expression, Elle was right.

For the triumphant occasion Emele had pinned Elle’s hair to the side of her head so her black hair hung over one shoulder. Several cloth roses were pinned into Elle’s hair, continuing the flower theme.

Elle sat down after a footman pulled out a chair for her, smiling when she saw that Severin still wore a shocked look.

Severin recovered, fixing his feline face in an unreadable expression. “You look lovely,” he said as he sat down.

“Thank you,” Elle smiled mischievously.

“I’m curious to know how Emele talked you into allowing such a formal dress.”

“She didn’t exactly give me a choice. The day they selected color swatches was the only day I interacted with your seamstress. I did not know they were making such a dress until one day it mysteriously appeared in my wardrobe.”

“It suits you,” Severin said, his eyes glittering. His voice was warm with affection, and serious in its every tone.

Elle’s smile slipped from her lips at Severin’s sincerity. “Thank you,” she said, holding his gaze.

The moment was broken when the servants placed platters on the table, unable to delay serving Severin and Elle any longer.

Elle started her dinner with a selection of pineapple—she had become fond of the tasty fruit. “I am surprised, I thought you would surely inquire after my battle scar,” Elle wryly said.

“Hm?” Severin said, blinking.

“My squirrel bite?”

“Normally I would not hesitate to discuss the particulars of your wound, but I was going to allow my illegitimate, if not good, breeding to prevail this once and let the topic remain untouched.”

“I find your sudden change in heart unlikely,” Elle said.

“Oh?”

“You spent the afternoon offering me nuts.”

“I was being considerate that you may have experienced a change in tastes after being bitten. Haven’t you heard of werewolves?”

“An angry squirrel is hardly a werewolf.”

“One never knows. Magic
is
growing unruly.”

“We did see a mountain hag just days after the first snowfall,” Elle said, some of the laughter and outrage draining from her voice.

Severin ate a slice of venison. “Yes. I am no wizard, but I have noticed a change in magic. It’s barely perceivable, but…”

“But that may change soon,” Elle said.

“Yes.”

The pair was silent for a few moments as Elle thoughtfully stared at Severin. Her heart squeezed painfully as she watched him nod in thanks to a servant who refilled his wine cup. Soon she would have to leave. Soon she would need to break Severin’s curse.

The prince looked up. “What?”

“Pardon?”

“You are staring at me.”

“Well… I was just thinking,” Elle said.

“Of?” Severin prodded.

Elle shook her head. She couldn’t speak her mind yet. “You look so much like a cat it occurred to me. Do you have a tail?”

Severin dropped his silverware and stared at Elle in horror.

“It’s a natural, scientific inquiry,” Elle said, nonchalantly nibbling on a piece of pineapple.

“No, I don’t,” Severin said, vigorously renewing his interest in his food.

“I was merely curious.”

“Allow me to recommend the candied nuts. I believe you will find them to your liking.”

“Touché.”

“Indeed.”

Severin shifted, careful not to jostle Elle’s head.

The girl was stretched out next to him, her head resting on Severin’s thigh. She was awake, but just barely. Severin suspected the soft plush of the carpet they were on and the warmth of the fireplace was going to change that shortly.

Severin glanced down at Elle when she deeply exhaled.

“This is nice,” Elle said.

“Yes,” Severin said after a few moments of silence. He placed a clawed hand on the crown of Elle’s head.

The girl didn’t even stir.

“Elle, why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Elle yawned. “What is there to be afraid of?”

“My claws, my fangs.”

Elle snorted. “I am more likely to turn into a were-squirrel than you are to use either of those weapons.”

“You’ve never screamed at me, not even when you first set eyes on me.”

“I would hope not. I would be a new breed of idiot if I went running around on your roof without any knowledge of what you looked like.”

“Elle, I’m asking. Why?”

Elle adjusted the placement of her head on Severin’s thigh. “You have never given me a reason to fear you.”

Severin felt her slip off to sleep when her breathing grew deeper and muscles relaxed. When he was certain she was asleep Severin dropped his eyes to her sleeping form.

Elle was the picture of peace as she slept. Her soft, flower petal lips were curled into a smile. Her glossy hair spilled over Severin’s leg like a waterfall of silk, and her skin—flawless and perfect—glowed in the firelight.

For the first time in years, the desire to be a man—to be
human
—sliced through Severin like a sword to the gut as he looked at Elle.

“I have done you a disservice, Elle,” Severin murmured. “I told my brother you were plain. I was wrong. Horribly wrong. You are more beautiful than even the most stunning rose.”

Severin gently touched Elle’s cheek. When she did not stir he continued. “The sparkle your eyes get when you hold a mischievous thought on your tongue, the gentleness of your touch, and the peace and elegance you have that comes with being comfortable with one’s own skin would take away any man’s breath.”

Elle’s breathing was easy and unburdened, unaware of Severin’s admiration of her beauty.

“Also, you smell like wild roses—which much offended me when you first arrived as I didn’t think you to be worthy of the scent. But now I half wonder if it is that wild roses smell like
you
, and not the reverse,” Severin said, thankful that he could praise the sleeping beauty without her knowledge. (If he admitted he had a better sense of smell than most humans, Elle was sure to imply it was because he resembled a cat.)

Severin sighed and brushed Elle’s jagged—but oddly perfect in Severin’s mind—bangs across her forehead with a heavy heart.

As much as he had grown to admire Elle, it was unlikely that she would be able to accomplish what countless other women had failed at. Elle would never be able to love Severin.

It was hard to forget the parade of women Lucien strung before Severin. Most of them were obvious in their lack of sincerity, but there were a few Severin had thought might be able to break his curse.

They were sweet, artless girls, and in the end they loved his possessions, his title, his inheritance, everything except himself—even though they had tried.

Now it hurt to hope. And Severin felt the increasing weight of his servants’ expectations every day.

Severin closed his eyes. “You are beautiful, Elle, and I am grateful for your companionship. But even you could not be so noble as to fall in love with a beast.”

Chapter 13

The Plot of Arcainia

When the courier arrived four days later Severin was on his way to the library.

“Your Highness!”

Severin turned around, shocked by the sound of another human voice besides Elle and his own in the normally quiet chateau.

Burke and a courier—dressed appropriately for the weather and dusted in a thin layer of snow—hustled down the hallway.

Burke ran straight up to Severin, but his companion dallied for a moment, shaking in fear.

“I am in my right mind. I will not harm you,” Severin dryly said after the courier took a step backwards.

The courier pushed his scarf down his face and bobbed forward in a quick bow. “I apologize, Your Highness. I have an important communication from your brother, Prince Lucien,” the courier said, trembling as he held out a sealed letter.

Severin took the letter and inspected the seal before ripping it open, glancing at the courier when he retreated several feet down the hallway before reading the letter.

My Dear Brother,

I fear I have bad news to share. Two of my Rangers captured another spy from Arcainia. This spy was in possession of a coded message addressed to the assassins’ guild of Verglas.

The guild has been hired to eliminate you. Of course the message does not say this outright—and when we confront Arcainia I have no doubt they will claim they intercepted the orders and would have informed us if we had not detained their spy.

We do not know the date or time the assassins will attack, but I expect it will be soon. I am sending an army squad to Chanceux Chateau. They will arrive a few hours after you receive this letter.

Severin crumpled the letter, unable to read the rest. Severin knew the communication should send him scurrying to work—checking the defenses of the chateau, warning the servants, preparing for the army—but all of Severin’s thoughts and concerns focused on one thing: Elle.

He had to get her out.

“Burke, take this thing to the kitchens, see that he is warmed and given nourishment,” Severin said, indicating the frightened courier. “Alert Emele that Elle will be leaving today and needs to be dressed for riding in this weather.
Now.
Send Marc to my study immediately, tell Heloise to bring me the treasury accounts, and have Oliver saddle Fidele and a fresh horse for the messenger,” Severin growled before he holed himself up in his study.

He worked quickly, recognizing that he may as well take care of Elle first so he could concentrate on the remaining tasks. He needed to see that everyone in his household would be safe. He had no doubts the assassins would leave his servants alone—if they did make an attempt it would be quick, trying to off Severin and disappear before anyone noticed. Severin knew his servants would support him, and he welcomed their help. But Elle… he would take no chances with Elle. Elle would have to leave.

Marc arrived immediately. Severin explained the situation to him, and the two men studied a detailed map of the chateau grounds, determining where to station the soldiers when they arrived.

Heloise entered and left after arguing via a slate with Severin for some minutes. She returned, carrying a leather pack and a sour expression, but Severin ignored it and took the pack before he swept off to the chateau main hall where Elle—wearing enough clothes to comfortably ride out a blizzard—stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of a gaggle of servants.