13. Elle

ELLE

T he feel of the beast's body against mine is a heady one. Being held in his arms is no less so, and I feel a wave of what is almost like dizziness but more powerful as he walks down the stairs. Lust blinds me. Not the blindfold. Without my vision, I take note of every sound and every feeling. The strength of his arms around my body is like nothing I have ever felt…

Save for once.

The beast is muscled in a corded way I would only expect from a fearsome animal, but he has the shape of a man. I suppose this is what happens when a prince is sacrificed to a beast.

And it is almost as if the form of a man has been perfected in the beast's body. I wonder if this was done by the magic of the curse and the sacrifice as well. There is so much magic all around that I cave to it. The magic always extended beyond the wall, but in this place there is far more of it, and it is far more palpable. It's gentle yet intoxicating, much like the beast.

There are some parts of it that I cannot seem to shake off, although I do not want to. Being surrounded by magic is better than being surrounded by fear. I will accept the fine furnishings and the feeling of safety even if it is coupled with an intense desire that I am not sure is entirely my own.

We reach the bottom of the stairs. The sound of the beast's footsteps change on the floor. Heavier, more foreboding even. We must now be in a larger hallway or a longer space. I try to listen harder, but my attention is divided between the solid, warm sensation of his body against mine and the sound of his footsteps. They mingle together in my mind until neither one is clear and both are hidden by the beat of his heart.

I do not know.

He turns, his hips shifting subtly under mine and his footsteps making a new sound on the floor. The air shifts once again. Whatever room we're in must be very large.

Then he bends to lower me to the floor, and instinctively I grip his muscular arms and then catch myself, releasing my hold on him and grateful he does not respond. My heart beats faster, and I swallow thickly at the change in position.

He holds me by the waist until I am balanced on the comfortable slippers once more. I still under his touch, understanding that he does not want me to remove the blindfold. It follows that he probably does not want me to move beyond his reach until he gives me some sign or command.

The beast held me gently on the way downstairs, and he does not touch me roughly now. His fingers trace a path up my spine to the nape of my neck and linger there for a few moments. Goosebumps gather in the wake of his touch. Once again, I'm trapped with the constant thoughts of lust.

To my surprise, he works at the tie of the blindfold, loosening it until it falls away from my eyes. The silky cloth drapes over my shoulder and hangs there for a few moments until I understand that he wants me to take it.

I do, twisting it between my hands. He could use it to tie me, I suppose, but he hasn't done so yet. Adrenaline rages inside of me. My breathing comes in short gasps.

His hands move to the sides of my face with a similar gentle pressure. The lightest press at my cheeks tells me that I am not to turn around, so I don't.

I only realize that I have kept my eyes closed all this time when his footsteps retreat, growing quieter as he moves to another part of the room.

Then there is a silence that lasts for several beats. My breathing is loud in this quiet space, but when I allow it to quiet, I can hear another sound. It is impossible for me to identify what it is without opening my eyes. As I am still in the darkness behind my shut eyes, I'm still attuned to his presence. He has not gone far, and a few moments of listening tells me he is somewhere behind me, his breathing only slightly labored by our long moments of closeness upstairs.

When it's quiet for far too long, I dare to open my eyes.

It takes a few blinks to adjust to the moonlight streaming in through large windows along one wall. I can see fairly well in that light, although the ballroom is lit by fires in large grates across from the windows.

Awe overwhelms me.

I have not seen windows this tall or fireplaces this wide in any other building, and I marvel at the pearly light mixing with the firelight. It's a large room and a grand one at that. Intricate paintings and gold spirals decorate the vaulted ceilings, though I will need more light to see all of their details. I imagine lying on my back on the ballroom floor in the afternoon light, staring at the paintings for hours until I'd memorized every inch of them. They're beautiful.

The large windows are not only impressive because of the amount of glass it takes to make panes of this size, they are also beautifully framed. Everything in the room is elegantly decorated with the kind of expensive moldings my father would never be able to afford. A raised stage extends into the opposite wall, the empty space looking as though it could hold an entire orchestra.

All at once the ballroom seems even larger because of its emptiness. A ballroom of this size could hold dozens of couples. Stories of royalty and what once was in this castle come to my mind. I can almost hear the music soaring off the ceiling. I can almost see women in fine dresses and men in well-made suits twirling around me. Even with twenty couples I would still be able to put my arms out to the sides without touching them.

I drink in the sight of the room, once again taken aback by the amount of wealth signified by such a ballroom. Even in the dark, it's obvious everything in this space has a sheen, like gold and riches. It is different from the comforting furnishings of the bedroom I slept in, more dedicated to hosting and not a private part of the beast's home. Ballrooms are meant to be seen and danced in by guests, and this one is certainly meant to be seen. Each intricate detail offers another place for my gaze to catch and rest for a moment.

Moonlight gleams on the polished floor, which looks to be miles of finely carved hardwood. My feet tingle in my house slippers. I have never danced in a room so large, and I would do it now if I had a partner.

I have only dreamed of such things. Fantasies that I'd hoped one day would come true when I was a little girl. Love and happiness is found in these spaces. Although in this moment, the room is dark, cold, and empty.

With a prick at the back of my neck, I'm brought back to the present and drift from the dreams of a young and naive version of myself.

I consider turning to search out the beast with my eyes, but he has moved away. It is obvious he doesn't want me to see him, so I do not look, though I want to know what it's like to be spun around the most beautiful ballroom I've ever seen, even by moonlight. It would be even more breathtaking at sunset or sunrise when the light was warm and ample.

It is the most meticulously clean ballroom, too. Nothing like what I've been told, and it dawns on me that perhaps what I think I know is false.

I lower my eyes from the ceiling. It is not a loud sound but a soft one, swishing and swishing.

There . A broom sweeps the floor in the far corner of the ballroom, moving back and forth in a column of moonlight coming in through one of the tall windows. Broom might be the wrong term. I take a few steps, drawn by the movement. The sound is so quiet that it can only be a duster. It's not the sturdy sort of broom I use to sweep the bakery, one that would scratch polished floors like this. Shock holds me still with wide eyes.

The duster is moving by itself.

It is moving by itself.

Disbelief wars with my own vision and I have to touch it. To feel that it is real.

Before I know it, I am nearly to the duster, staring down at it, moving my head at different angles, trying to see if there's a person sweeping the floor. I do not know how they would remain concealed like this, with me staring at them directly, but when I stretch my hand out above the duster, I touch only empty air.

Cautiously, I lower my fingertips to the handle of the duster. Can this be real? Can this really be a duster sweeping by itself?

At the first touch, the duster falls to the floor with a loud clatter.

I whirl around, forgetting that the beast wanted to stay out of sight. "Is it real?" I ask, my voice echoing in the empty ballroom. Amid all the curling decorations, I cannot see him. After a few seconds I find the shape of him in a deep shadow on the other side of the room. A bit of the moonlight catches his eyes. That's all of him I can see.

The silence drags on. Perhaps he will not answer me. Perhaps he will write me a note and slide it across the ballroom floor. Suddenly I feel desperate to hear his voice.

"Yes," he answers, his deep voice sliding smoothly over the walls and floors. His shadow does not change. I can't see sharp teeth. I can't see his mouth moving at all. Only the vaguest outline. A darker shadow within a shadow.

With my attention back on him, my questions about the duster don't seem important anymore. Being able to see the man—the beast—who's keeping me here is much more urgent.

"Can I see you?" I ask.

"No." His answer comes much more quickly and definitively this time.

I don't know where the courage comes from. Perhaps my disappointment, perhaps my hope, although my father used to tell me the two are related. "Why not?"

There is another short silence that gives me goosebumps. There is energy between us, even separated as we are by the expanse of the ballroom floor. I listen hard for any hint of a growl or the beast readying himself to leap out of the shadows, but none come.

"Questions I do not wish to answer will be given silence. Is that understood?"

I blink away the shock of his answer. I cannot deny that there is sadness in his tone, although it is hidden by the regal command. That sadness is what makes me want to ask more questions. If the story about the prince who traded himself for the safety of the village is true, has he come to regret it? Or was that not what happened at all? What lies have I been told?

"Answer me," he commands.

"Yes." I breathe, accepting his terms.

Facing him makes my heart pound, so I turn and walk about the room, feeling as though it's alive. When I walk toward the feather duster it leaps up and begins sweeping again. When I move toward one of the windows, one of its lower panes opens and a fresh breeze blows in to cool my face. The moment I think I have had enough of the wind in my face, the window closes. Refreshed by the cool air, I turn to face the shadow where the beast is nearly hidden. His eyes shine in the moonlight, disappearing whenever he blinks.

"Is there anyone else here?" I ask cautiously. Though I do not speak loudly or shout, I can sense that the ballroom is carrying my voice to him so I will be easily heard.

"No."

My heart twists. "You're all alone?"

"Yes."

"Are you the beast?" I know he is. There can be no mistaking it.

But the beast does not answer. The silence goes on long enough that I know it is purposeful. He is choosing not to answer this question.

My heart squeezes in my chest and I can't deny the fear that lingers. "Are you who I was with…before?" I dare to ask.

"Yes." His answer is breathy, quickly soothing the bout of fear.

I'm careful with my string of thoughts and questions. Eager for answers. Eager for more. "Do the people…the townsmen…when they refer to a beast here at the castle, is it you they speak of?"

"Yes."

If this beast was living here, he may not be what the townspeople said. He would not answer when I asked him if he was the beast. The people in the village refer to him that way, but…

Is he not a beast? Surely he must be. He is the one who bit me and marked me and brought me here in the night. There is no one else he could be.

"Put the blindfold back on."

I am so deep in thought that his voice startles me. I edge toward the wall, seeking any safety I can find, and press my back against it. The fear and desire and anticipation are only soothed a little by the magic. "Why?" I dare to question.

He moves in the shadows. "I want to feed you."