The sheer absurdity of it—this massive creature breaking firewood with his teeth, then ordering me to take a seat like I was a dinner guest—startled a laugh from my throat. It felt foreign, that sound. How long had it been since I’d laughed? Since before Papa’s sacrifice, surely. Before Gaspard’s imprisonment and assaults. Before the water test and my flight through the forest.
Beast’s ears flattened slightly at my laughter, his massive head tilting in what could only be confusion. He gestured again toward the chair, more insistent this time, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the laughter dying as quickly as it had come. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...this.” I gestured vaguely at the incongruity of our situation. “You’re trying to be...hospitable?”
The word felt inadequate for whatever this was. He wasn’t keeping me prisoner. The unlocked door to my room proved that, but he clearly had expectations. Rules, perhaps. Social norms that made sense only to him after who knew how many years alone in this forgotten place.
I approached the indicated chair, noting how Beast’s posture relaxed as I complied with his silent demand. The high-backed monstrosity was draped in faded velvet, its stuffing visible through worn patches at the armrests. As I sank into its embrace, something caught my eye near Beast’s feet.
A pheasant. Dead, its neck broken cleanly, its feathers still glossy in death. Not yet plucked or dressed, but positioned carefully beside the wood pile as if awaiting its turn in some bizarre food preparation assembly line.
Understanding dawned like sunlight breaking through clouds. The firewood, the dead bird, the insistence that I sit by the hearth.
He was trying to provide for me.
To feed me.
To care for his...mate?
The word should have repulsed me, but after everything, Beast’s clumsy attempts at nurturing struck me as unutterably precious.
My vision blurred as tears welled unbidden. After days of terror and pain, this simple act of kindness—however alien in itsexecution—undid me completely. A sob escaped before I could trap it behind my teeth, and I pressed my palms against my eyes as if I could physically hold back the flood.
Beast made a sound I hadn’t heard before, something between a whine and a questioning growl. When I lowered my hands, I found him closer than before, his massive head level with mine as he crouched beside the chair. Those amber eyes studied my face with what could only be described as concern, his ears pricked forward attentively.
“No, no,” I said quickly, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “They’re happy tears. Well, not happy exactly, but... grateful.” I smiled at him, though it felt wobbly on my lips. “Thank you. For the fire. For the food. For not...” I swallowed hard. “For not being what I expected.”
Beast blinked slowly, his head tilting again as if trying to parse my meaning. Did he understand human speech? Or was he simply responding to my tone, my expressions?
He retreated after a moment, returning to his pile of branches. I watched as he selected another, gripping it between powerful jaws before snapping it with practiced efficiency. It was oddly soothing, this rhythmic destruction in service of creation. Snap. Splinter. Add to the pile. Select another. Begin again. Though, the silence made me live within my mind.
“I should tell you what happened,” I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could consider them. “About me. About how I ended up here.” Beast paused mid-snap, those intelligent eyes fixing on me again. “My father was taken as the sacrifice during the Harvest Moon ceremony. But it wasn’t fair, wasn’t random like it was supposed to be.” My hands twisted in the fabric of the nightgown, knuckles whitening with suppressed rage. “Gaspard—he’s the village hunter—he arranged it all. Killed, well is being killed, Papa because he wanted me. And Father Simon helped him.”
The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but there was relief in speaking them aloud. In naming the betrayal that had shattered my world.
“After Papa was gone, Gaspard took me in. Claimed he was being charitable because I could not inherit my father’s estate as a female.” A harsh laugh escaped me, nothing like the surprised sound from earlier. “He kept me chained, locked away. He...” I couldn’t say it, not yet, but Beast’s darkening expression suggested he understood regardless. “He was going to force me to marry him. To breed, as he called it.”
Beast’s growl vibrated through the floor beneath my feet, his lips pulling back to reveal rows of gleaming teeth. Not directed at me, I realized, but at the men who had hurt me. At Gaspard, mostly.
“When he tried to do it, some source of power emanated from me and thrust him across the room. That’s when he accused me of witchcraft because I...” I hesitated, unsure how to explain the strange power that had saved me from drowning. “Because of the power I don’t understand. But they tried to drown me in the river, and when that failed because of that surge of energy, they would have burned me had I not chosen the other side of the river.” My voice softened. “That’s when I ran into the forest. When I found the castle. When I found Papa…”
Beast’s ears flattened against his skull, his growl fading to something that sounded almost like a whimper.
“The roses have him,” I whispered, the image still raw in my mind. “He’s trapped there, feeding them somehow. And I don’t know if he’s truly alive or dead or somewhere in between.” I looked up, meeting those amber eyes that seemed to hold more understanding than should be possible in a beast. “Do you know what they are? The roses? Why they need blood to bloom?”
He made no sound this time, but his gaze dropped, unable or unwilling to hold mine. There was shame there, I realized. Guilt.As if he knew exactly what the roses were, what they did, and bore some responsibility for their gruesome appetites.
Before I could press further, he returned to his task, attacking the branches with renewed vigor. Each crack of wood between his teeth sounded like bones breaking, like my heart splintering with every unanswered question.
My chest hurt. It wasn’t the language barrier preventing him from telling me. He chose not to, or maybe his curse prevented him from telling me about it. From what I’ve read in the books Papa gathered for me while oft away on his journeys, curses held the tongue of the cursed.
So if he couldn’t tell me, I’d need to find a way to figure it all out. It wouldn’t happen right now, not with it being rude of me to leave my position in the room with him while he worked to feed me. So I would once breakfast was done, which meant we needed to get this process running smoother.
I stood suddenly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders as I moved toward the pheasant. Beast’s head snapped up, a warning growl rumbling from his chest.
“I’m not leaving,” I assured him, bending to retrieve the bird from where it lay. “But if we’re having pheasant, it needs plucking. And you’ve got quite enough to do with all this firewood.”
His growl deepened, clearly displeased with my presumption. I laughed again, the sound coming easier this time after all the tension.
