dismissive hand. “That nag? I thought her lost to the blizzard, and good riddance too. I'm surprised a monster like him would bother.”
You people are the monsters.
At first, Amarantha had thought she said it out loud. But they went on as if she didn't exist. Only the Beast had really seen her. Only he had really loved her.
And she had walked away, a fool intent on her pride and false loyalty.
She spent another restless night fitfully dreaming of riding the big cat through the gnarled forest. Then the cat lay at her feet, rolling over to show its tawny belly.
Amarantha drove a jeweled dagger into its heart and stood laughing while the blood flowed out and stained the hem of her gown.
In the morning, she dressed herself in one of her old gowns, as Anastasia had helped herself to the one Amarantha had worn home. She giggled, thinking of the hidden charms of some of the other gowns the Beast had dressed her in and her sisters' shock were Amarantha to don one of those.
Her father had already sold the carriage with the matching team of horses to satisfy some of the debtors crowding his door, promising the irate Angelica another just as fine from the Beast's stables.
So Amarantha walked into the forest. She'd left at first light and hoped she could make it to the Beast's manse by nightfall. But the way wound long and the day chill, and her cloak was fine for riding in carriages, but not for walking in winter. The woods twisted deep and dark around her.
When it began to snow, the snow settled on her thinly clad shoulders, soon soaking in. The snow grew thicker, swirling around her in shivering gusts. The light grew dim. A shape loomed before her, a denser white shadow amid the flakes. And whuffed in greeting.
Amarantha gratefully climbed onto the old mare and rode her to the manse.
Finding the stables warm and cozy, Amarantha tucked the mare into her usual stall, feeling oddly at home. She trusted the ghosts would take care of the horse.
Perhaps the Beast would teach her how to care for them too.
76
Maybe how to grow roses.
She ran through the gardens, clambering through the deepening snow. At first the terrace doors to the gardens didn't give. Amarantha tugged on them, desperate to open them. Unlike the stables, the manse loomed entirely dark. Was he gone already?
“Please!” Amarantha called out. “It's me. It's the last night, not yet midnight.
There's still time.”
The locks gave with a click, the doors opening outward. A single candle lit, and the pink light appeared, bobbing urgently in front of her. She followed it through the dark and silent house to the atrium.
The Beast sat in his chair, staring at nothing.
“My Lord?”
He didn't move.
Amarantha laid a tentative hand on his arm. He felt cool but not cold. Not dead, then.
“My Lord Beast!” Amarantha shouted, and something in him flickered, then fell into dimness again.
“Candles!” she called out, and a few whispered into feeble life. “Look, my Lord Beast! It's me, Amarantha, your bride.”
Nothing.
Frantic, Amarantha flung off her cloak and gloves. With shaking fingers, she struggled with the laces of her dress. Impatiently she stripped, tearing the fragile fabric in her haste. Fortunately she'd dressed herself that morning and so wore no corset. She kicked the dress and her underthings aside. Naked, she pulled at her braided hair and combed her fingers through it until it tumbled around her the way he liked it.
Amarantha stood nude in front of him. She spread her legs and put her hands at the back of her neck, under her hair, thrusting out her breasts.
77
“Look! Look at me.”
He didn't move. One of the candles sputtered and winked out. Amarantha fell to his feet, weeping in wild despair. She clung to his knees, begging him to awake, promising him that she'd do anything, say anything that he needed, if only he'd return.
The clock struck midnight, and she felt him stir. Felt his hand move to stroke her hair. Amarantha
You people are the monsters.
At first, Amarantha had thought she said it out loud. But they went on as if she didn't exist. Only the Beast had really seen her. Only he had really loved her.
And she had walked away, a fool intent on her pride and false loyalty.
She spent another restless night fitfully dreaming of riding the big cat through the gnarled forest. Then the cat lay at her feet, rolling over to show its tawny belly.
Amarantha drove a jeweled dagger into its heart and stood laughing while the blood flowed out and stained the hem of her gown.
In the morning, she dressed herself in one of her old gowns, as Anastasia had helped herself to the one Amarantha had worn home. She giggled, thinking of the hidden charms of some of the other gowns the Beast had dressed her in and her sisters' shock were Amarantha to don one of those.
Her father had already sold the carriage with the matching team of horses to satisfy some of the debtors crowding his door, promising the irate Angelica another just as fine from the Beast's stables.
So Amarantha walked into the forest. She'd left at first light and hoped she could make it to the Beast's manse by nightfall. But the way wound long and the day chill, and her cloak was fine for riding in carriages, but not for walking in winter. The woods twisted deep and dark around her.
When it began to snow, the snow settled on her thinly clad shoulders, soon soaking in. The snow grew thicker, swirling around her in shivering gusts. The light grew dim. A shape loomed before her, a denser white shadow amid the flakes. And whuffed in greeting.
Amarantha gratefully climbed onto the old mare and rode her to the manse.
Finding the stables warm and cozy, Amarantha tucked the mare into her usual stall, feeling oddly at home. She trusted the ghosts would take care of the horse.
Perhaps the Beast would teach her how to care for them too.
76
Maybe how to grow roses.
She ran through the gardens, clambering through the deepening snow. At first the terrace doors to the gardens didn't give. Amarantha tugged on them, desperate to open them. Unlike the stables, the manse loomed entirely dark. Was he gone already?
“Please!” Amarantha called out. “It's me. It's the last night, not yet midnight.
There's still time.”
The locks gave with a click, the doors opening outward. A single candle lit, and the pink light appeared, bobbing urgently in front of her. She followed it through the dark and silent house to the atrium.
The Beast sat in his chair, staring at nothing.
“My Lord?”
He didn't move.
Amarantha laid a tentative hand on his arm. He felt cool but not cold. Not dead, then.
“My Lord Beast!” Amarantha shouted, and something in him flickered, then fell into dimness again.
“Candles!” she called out, and a few whispered into feeble life. “Look, my Lord Beast! It's me, Amarantha, your bride.”
Nothing.
Frantic, Amarantha flung off her cloak and gloves. With shaking fingers, she struggled with the laces of her dress. Impatiently she stripped, tearing the fragile fabric in her haste. Fortunately she'd dressed herself that morning and so wore no corset. She kicked the dress and her underthings aside. Naked, she pulled at her braided hair and combed her fingers through it until it tumbled around her the way he liked it.
Amarantha stood nude in front of him. She spread her legs and put her hands at the back of her neck, under her hair, thrusting out her breasts.
77
“Look! Look at me.”
He didn't move. One of the candles sputtered and winked out. Amarantha fell to his feet, weeping in wild despair. She clung to his knees, begging him to awake, promising him that she'd do anything, say anything that he needed, if only he'd return.
The clock struck midnight, and she felt him stir. Felt his hand move to stroke her hair. Amarantha
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