20. Elle

ELLE

T here are moments when I feel completely at peace in the beast's castle. I don't have a single worry or care, and it seems like nothing could disturb me. At times I am so content that I almost feel as if I've lived here forever and never known another life. It happens many times when I'm reading, lost in a story, my body warmed by the fire, drinking perfectly brewed tea, and in the back of my mind I can imagine having done this as a little girl in this castle and being loved and provided for without struggle. I imagine my mother not suffering like she did. Her with me still, and my father's heart never broken.

Of course, eventually I resurface from the story and that vision disappears, and it suddenly seems odd to feel like I belong here. There's a great loss that I cannot avoid.

Although he fills it. The beast.

It shouldn't have happened so fast, should it? I know it has been weeks since I first arrived at the beast's castle, but that is not such a long time when you're a captive. And I am a captive. I cannot walk out the doors of the castle and go to the village and talk to my father. I'm not allowed to leave, and that means I don't belong. I wasn't born to the castle, and I didn't agree to marry the beast. I was stolen from my father's house and brought here without warning.

And yet I can't say that I've been hurt. I can't say that I've been treated poorly. I've been given a life I didn't know could exist in my wildest fantasies. And with that, comes guilt. And loneliness, apart from the fantasies I read throughout the day.

I look up from the book I'm reading, my eyes tired. I must've been reading for hours and hardly noticed the time passing. I've noticed the days have stretched easily like this. With peace and ease and entrenched in books. I would never have been able to lose myself in a story like this when I lived with my father. There was always work to do at the bakery or wood to gather for the fire or floors to scrub at the cottage. There was shopping to do and a tiny amount of money to count and stretch as far as it would go. There were meals to prepare, using as few ingredients as I could at a time to make it last a few more days. I could not have sat down and read until the only thing stopping me was that I needed a break for my eyes. Even if I had the light to read in bed, I would fall asleep, exhausted, before I could immerse myself in a book. But candles are hard to come by in the village and quite expensive. They're a luxury. So this…all of this? I refuse to take it for granted.

Reading was something I did only as a girl when my mother was alive. Back then, it seemed there was more time in the day and more things to do for pleasure. I know part of that was simply being a child and not knowing how harsh the world could be.

Although part of it was that I could not imagine a life of luxury like the one I live in the beast's castle. The beast stole me from a life of hunger and cold and uncertainty, and now I am reading in front of the fire in a dress finer than any my mother ever owned with slippers waiting on the rug to put my feet into that are likely more expensive than anything she owned, either. They're exactly my size, and they haven't been worn down by walking down the rough street in all kinds of weather.

This is the only time in my life when I have not wanted for anything. There aren't even rough underclothes in my wardrobe, nothing that would irritate my skin. If I think about wanting a bite to eat, a tray floats through the door.

I try to focus on the book in my lap, but my thoughts wander to the beast.

He is here, because he does not leave the castle. But I've still yet to see him and I've barely gotten to know him. It doesn't take much to feel his brokenness though. His need for love.

I frown down at the book. I have not gotten to spend as much time getting to know the beast as I would have liked, having lived in this castle for weeks. However, he does not seem like the kind of person—kind of beast?—who would kill for the love of killing.

If that's what he was like, then I would likely not be alive right now.

My chest aches, thinking about the beast alone here in the castle, which reminds me that my father is alone in the cottage. The magic gathers close to me and tries to soothe me as it senses my thoughts lingering on my father. I wish I could shove it all away. I do not wish to be soothed, I wish for answers. I wish to send this luxury to others. It feels selfish to have it all to myself.

I hope the magic delivered my letter. I hope my father is not trying to look for me. Worried out of his mind for my wellbeing. I can only imagine how angry and betrayed the beast would feel if my father came to the gates of the castle and refused to leave.

No one can know you are here.

Would he truly hurt the only other person I love? Oh, the thought comes quickly, and I choose not to think much of it and instead focus on the beast's command. I remember how the beast's voice sounded when he said those words to me. No one can know you are here. I understood his seriousness down to the core of me. That is why I told him that I did not need to tell my father where I was.

But I still pray the magic delivered the letter as he said it would.

I let out a sigh. Should I have pushed the beast to tell me why my presence here needed to remain a secret?

The magic answers for me. No.

My thoughts stray back to my father, who had been so heartbroken when my mother died. I know he won't fully recover from losing me as well.

For the first time, I'm beginning to think about what would happen if something were to happen to the beast.

It's an unsettling thought and brings on a surge of strong emotions. Why would I wonder that? Would my heart be broken? I feel things for him, of course. I feel drawn to him and intrigued by him, and I find myself missing him when I have run out of things to do in the castle and want someone to talk to. I am lonely without him. I love what he does to me and how I crave him more than anything else within the confines of the castle.

Am I…falling for him?

"I want to make tea," I say quietly. "I'd like to make it myself."

The tray floats into the room a few minutes later and the tea things spread themselves out on the table next to my reading chair in the bedroom. There is enough room for the kettle and the pot, along with two cups. The first time I asked for this, the house brought me tea. I did not know what to do with the magic then. I don't know if this counts as doing magic.

What I know is that when I touch the kettle, the water inside begins to heat. It's not an instant process and it takes a few minutes before it whistles. By then I have prepared the leaves. I take the kettle and pour the water over them. I breathe deeply, clearing my head while the leaves steep, and then I touch the pot.

It pours a perfectly portioned cup of tea into one of the cups, then settles back on the table.

I add milk and sugar to the tea, then lift the cup from the table, imagining as I do that the cup and its matching saucer could talk.

If they could, I would talk to them.

I would talk to anyone or anything who would listen and converse at this point.

Emotions fill my chest again, but this time it's a sorrowful loneliness. I'm so lonely that I would talk to a teacup. All the fine things in the world can't replace a person who listens to you and tells you their ideas.

I laugh a little, though it sounds almost like crying. Have I gone mad? Is this what it's like to go mad? My loneliness twists at my heart, getting deeper as I sip at the tea. It is hot, but not so hot it burns my lips. The perfect temperature.

Can I complain about loneliness when I am lonely in such luxury?

I try not to think about it, returning to the peace of my book.

I have managed to sink into the story when there are footsteps at my bed chamber door.

It's him . My body heats instantly. I know it is. The moment he walks through the door, the room fills with his masculine presence.

I do not turn my head toward the door, but I put a finger in my book and close it, my breath coming faster. As I decide what to say, the silence isn't comfortable. It's not entirely uncomfortable either.

"How are you this morning?" I ask the beast, bracing myself to hear only silence. Maybe he will not want to tell me.

"I am well," he answers, a slight tension in his voice, but no outright unhappiness that I can hear. I want to ask him, are you happy? I want to say is this what you were hoping for when you took me? But the words refuse to leave my throat.

I open the book, make a mental note of the page number, and set it aside on the table.

"Will you ever let me see you?" I keep my voice soft, but my chest aches. I don't want to challenge him. I simply want to know.

This time, there is much more tension in the room and the silence before he speaks is longer.

"Do you have your blindfold with you?"

"Yes," I say, exhaling.

"Put it on."

I get it out of my pocket and tie it around my eyes with shaking fingers. Then I sit up straight and fold my hands in my lap. He has not said to get up, so I don't.

The beast's footsteps get closer. I listen intently for each one, my heart beating harder as he crosses the room to me. Then his large hands—they feel so human and strong—are on my face, tilting my head.

His mouth crashes against mine as if he spent all night thinking of this and couldn't wait another second. Was this the tension I heard in his voice? The kiss feels needy. The beast wanted someone, and the person he wanted was me.

The lust and headiness is as unexpected as it is divine.

I open my mouth and let him kiss me even deeper as he slips a hand under the hem of my dress and finds my warmth between my legs, pushing aside my underthings to stroke me, and I cannot resist the sounds of pleasure that slip from my lips. My core heats and desire spreads over every inch of my skin with a vengeance.

The beast kisses me until I'm dizzy with the sensation, and then he pulls me upright and turns me around, guiding me back to my knees onto the chair. Both his hands move to my hips, and he tugs down my underthings, pulling them all the way off over my ankles, and then he braces my hands on the tall back of the chair. I feel small in it, almost like prey caught by a predator, and then the beast kisses the side of my neck and lets out a low sound.

I love this. I love what he does to me.

"Yes." I breathe, not knowing what I'm answering. I fall into his presence even faster than I would fall into a story. He is hard behind me, and there is the sound of cloth as he undoes his trousers and takes himself out.

The beast turns my head to the side and kisses my mouth hungrily again, and I kiss him back. One of his hands moves to my hip and tugs them backward until I am in the position he wants.

"Please," I beg him. For more. I need more of him.

And then his length is pressing against my opening, hard and hot, as if he owns me. I accept with a moan. It is the utmost pleasure to be filled by him. My body melts around the beast as he begins to fuck me with deep strokes.

My hands grip the edge of the chair. Holding on for dear life.

I would let him fuck me forever if his mouth moved between my mouth and my neck the way he's doing now, growling against my skin and licking and sucking and tasting. He can take me whenever he desires.

If he would only keep doing that, I would ask him to stay in my bed through the night. I would keep the blindfold on all night, sleeping in it, if that's what he needed.

I do not realize I've said any of those thoughts out loud until the beast releases a growl that sounds as if he is pained by hearing me say it. I think it's a warning, too, so I hush, but my silence is quickly broken by another moan as he finds my clit with his fingers and rubs, working me to a fast, hot orgasm.

The aftershocks make my mind hazy, and as it finally begins to clear, he lifts me off the chair and puts me on my knees on the rug. It's very plush and warm from the fire. The beast's hands on my face are warm. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip and I open my mouth for him, not caring if I seem wanton or greedy. I've been alone too long and I want every bit of company I can get.

I want his company. I don't daydream about talking to anyone else.

His thumb is replaced by something else. A blush heats my cheeks as I realize. I take his cock in my mouth, tasting the two of us mixed together and relishing his muffled groans as I suck. The beast comes with a jerk of his hips and a groan. I swallow his release, salty and thick, and he comes down afterward slowly, one hand on my face and the other in my hair.

My heart races and with the blindfold on, all I can do is wait. All I can think in the silence after a moment is please don't leave me . It's not what I say though. I ask him for the one thing that makes me crazed with need.

"Will you ever let me see you?" I whisper. I'm falling for him. Madly and deeply and yet I still haven't seen him. I have no idea of what the beast looks like.

He strokes his fingers down my cheek, then takes his hands away.

I do not hear him leave the room, but the silence goes on for a long time.

When I finally gather my courage and lift the blindfold, he's gone. And my heart is shattered.