Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining) Page 11

  The Beast smiled at her, and laid down in the bed next to her. His weight made the mattress sink a bit, and she rolled next to his body, cuddling up to him.

  “I never doubted you were a virgin, Belle,” he said, “but that doesn’t matter to me. I care about who you are now, not what you might have done in the past.”

  “I care about who you are, too,” she whispered. “And not about what you might have done in the past.”

  Images of him coming back to the castle late at night, fresh from a kill, haunted her, but she pushed them back. He was changed.

  “Beauty, I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find you. But I’m a monster for how I’ve kept you against your will. I know you miss your father, and that you want to see him.”

  Belle froze, uncertain what to say, or what to do. Of course she wanted to see her father, but she also didn’t want to leave the Beast (or Frederick).

  The two wants conflicted horribly.

  “I have a way for you to see your Papa, Belle,” the Beast said softly. “Would you like that?”

  Belle hesitated. Was this a trick? But no, her Beast had never tricked her, never lied to her. So she nodded.

  “I need the looking glass,” Beast said, to the fairies, she presumed.

  In his hand appeared an ornate, hand-held looking glass. It was beautiful. Belle smiled wistfully. Yes, she knew she looked a bit like her Papa, but viewing her reflection in a mirror was not quite the same as seeing her father. Still, the Beast was attempting to show her kindness, so she was willing to cooperate, if only to please him.

  “Here, Beauty,” he said, lying next to her, cuddled on the bed. He handed her the mirror (which was surprisingly heavy) and she held it up, gazing into it. “Tell the looking glass what you want to see, and it will show you.”

  “I want… I want to see my Papa,” she whispered.

  The looking glass hazed over, as if she’d breathed on it while outside on a winter day, and then as if the summer sun hit the glass, it cleared, and she saw… her Papa!

  “Oh Lord in Heaven,” she gasped. “Papa, Papa can you hear me?”

  “He can’t hear you, nor see you,” the Beast said. “It is just a way for you to view him. If you listen carefully, you might be able to hear him if he speaks, as well.”

  “He looks terrible,” she said sadly.

  Her Papa was lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, vacant eyes. One of his wrists, she saw now, was chained to the bedrail at his side.

  “Oh, Papa, what have they done to you?” she wailed. “He must have gone insane with worry for me.”

  Then one of Constable’s men walked into the room her Papa was being kept in, and unlocked the chain. Her Papa stood, unsteady on his feet, and bowed his head.

  “I didn’t kill my daughter,” he said to the floor. The officer took no notice.

  “The people will decide your fate, Mr. Castelle,” the man said. “You don’t need to try and convince me. Belle is missing, and feared dead. Who else but you, with your crazy stories of a Beast, would have committed such a terrible, unnatural crime?”

  Belle touched the glass, wishing she could transcend through it and into the room with them, to show them that she was here, she was alive!

  “Beast,” she said turning to him, frantic. “I need to get my Papa out of there! If the Constable can just see that I am well, not murdered, then he will have no choice but to free my father.”

  The Beast took the mirror from her hands and set it down, his anguished expression nearly matching her own.

  “I don’t know what to say, Belle. I thought seeing your Papa would bring you joy… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “But it did,” she whispered. “It happened.”

  “I didn’t realize that they would charge him with crimes he didn’t commit.” He paused, for a long moment, as if turning the options over in his head.

  “If you let me go make this right, I will return within a week, I swear on my life.”

  The Beast winced as if he’d been slapped. “No, Belle. No. You mustn’t say that.”

  “But I do swear, Beast, I do!”

  When something like that is spoken inside an enchanted castle, the castle listens. The castle would make it happen.

  “No!” he roared, for Belle did not realize the power of her promise. “Swear on my life, Beauty. Swear on my life instead.” The Beast’s words were seeped in desperation.

  “Please, Beast, Sir, please,” she begged. “Let me go to him. Give me your blessing.”

  But the Beast grabbed hold of her hand, as if to keep her there forever.

  “Beast,” she whispered gravely. “I swear on…” she hesitated. “…On your life, Sir, that I will return within the week. I swear to it.”

  He exhaled and let her hand go.

  “I need… I need a moment to think, Belle.” He stood. “I’m going for a walk to clear my head. You will have your answer when I return.” The Beast took her hand in his, caressed it, and let it go. “Will you be waiting for me when I come back? Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, Beast. I will be here.”

  She couldn’t help the tears that flowed down her cheeks. If she didn’t stay, if she chose to escape without his blessing, he would never trust her again. And their relationship had grown to the point where losing his trust would break her very heart.

  “I will be here, Beast. Go for your walk.” Belle rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, and sobbed.

  She heard her bedroom door shut quietly behind the Beast.

  ***

  The Beast ran out of the castle, bounding across the castle grounds on all fours, sweeping past the trees on the edge of the forest, and kept running through the woods until he was nearly out of breath.

  He stopped, stood, and leaned against a tree, allowing it to support his massive weight.

  Making love with Beauty had been the most intense, wonderful experience of his life. Not just in his life as the Beast, but in his entire life, including when he was still a Prince. Nothing else even came close.

  He thought he’d loved Nadine, back then, and maybe he did. But sex with her was mere fucking. Sex with Belle was love. Pure love.

  I’m in love with Belle, my little Beauty!

  The thought struck the breath from him, and he gazed heavenward, wondering at the goodness of it all, and how wonderful life could be.

  It was clear, though, that she didn’t love him back. Not yet. If she did, her kiss would have broken the curse, and he would be back in human form once more already. But he was still a Beast.

  How could he love her, but keep her all to himself, away from her Papa in his time of need? If her father was convicted for her murder, while all the time the Beast was keeping her secreted away in his castle, she would be heartbroken. Miserable. And most likely, unable to ever see the Beast as anything but pure evil.

  A delicate fawn crossed his path, ambling by so close he could almost touch her. She was so tiny, so fragile, so beautiful. The Beast could destroy that fawn immediately if he so desired. Mere months ago, he would have thought nothing of doing just that.

  But now, he knelt on the forest floor, and waited patiently for the fawn to come closer. She looked at him with her big brown eyes and skitted forward, as though unsure whether or not to trust a Beast who wasn’t on the hunt.

  “It’s all right, baby, you’re safe near me,” the Beast whispered.

  The fawn came closer, and nudged his big hand with her warm, soft nose. The Beast smiled and ran his hand over her silky head, rubbing her ears. The fawn closed her eyes and nuzzled into his touch. Even though he was bigger, stronger, and dangerous, the fawn trusted him with her life, and took comfort from him.

  Dear God… He had to let Belle go.

  The Beast gave the fawn a final pat in the head, and headed back to the castle. Back up the stairs into Belle’s suite, back into her bedchamber.

  She lay on her bed, her cheeks wet with tears, her eyes
swollen from crying. Even in this state, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Belle,” he whispered, and she looked up at him. “You may go see your Papa, with my blessing. Clear his name. But…if you don’t return in a week, I will die.”

  “I promise, Beast, I will return. You have my word.”

  With a heavy sigh, the Beast helped Belle up from the bed, and wiped away her tears. “Bring the looking glass with you, so you can see me, and not forget me.” He opened his palm and said to the castle air, “I need the ring.”

  A thick, golden ring with a ruby the size of a grape glistening in its setting, as beautiful and crimson as a rose, appeared magically in his large hand. The air shimmered for a moment between them, then all was normal again.

  “Take this ring with you, Beauty.” He pressed it into her small palm, and she wrapped her fingers around it to keep it safe. “When you are ready to return, simply put the ring on, and twist it around fully three times. You will be transported instantly back to the castle. Back to me.”

  Belle nodded, clearly desperate to go save her father.

  He took the ring from her hand and put it on her finger. Staring deep into her eyes, he turned the ring. Once, twice.

  “Go now, Beauty, and Godspeed.”

  Three times, and she was gone.

  10: Home and Hearth

  Belle felt the air around her get warm, no… hot, burning hot, and suddenly, the Beast was gone, the castle gone. The air around her shimmered brightly, and then any hint of magic disappeared around her. All was normal.

  She stood now in her Papa’s little cottage, standing in the middle of the cozy kitchen.

  “Oh, my word,” she gasped. How quickly the magic had worked! To be transported through space like that, how strange, how wonderful. She was home.

  Belle ran into her father’s bedroom, hoping upon hope that he was already safe and free. But the room was empty, the fire out, the ashes unswept.

  She took off the golden ruby ring and set it on the center of her father’s dresser top. God forbid if she wore it outside and a thief stole it from her, she might have a hard time getting back through the long, winding way in the dark forest to the castle. Would she even know the way? And if she did, would wolves tear her to shreds before she could make it back to her beloved Beast?

  In her bedroom, she set the looking glass down on her bed. Belle dressed quickly in one of her old, worn dresses, and put on sturdy shoes. She had missed the smell of the house, the smell of old wood and burnt embers and Papa and home. But there was no time to reminisce. Her father was in danger, and she was his only hope.

  With no time to spare, she left the cottage, running to the Constable as fast as she could.

  When she finally reached the Constable’s office, she burst through the door. The man was sitting at his desk, going through paperwork. Both of the tiny holding cells were empty. Where was her father?

  “Constable,” she nearly shouted. “It has come to my attention that you have charged my father with my murder. As you can see, I am alive and well. My father is innocent and I demand he be set free at once.”

  The Constable stood so quickly that his chair fell over, the noise clattering through the room like a shot.

  “Good God, girl!” he exclaimed. “We all thought you dead! Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been staying with a dear friend, a friend with…” she paused, unsure how to continue. “He has a deformity, and my father, with his weak eyesight, mistook him for a beast in his, um, fur coat. As you can see, I am unharmed.”

  “I can’t believe this,” he said, coming over to her. He touched her arm, as if to ascertain that she was, indeed, alive and real.

  It reminded Belle of how she felt when she first saw Frederick. The uncertainty of it all, the confusion.

  “Take me to my Papa,” she said. “Please, Constable. I need to see him.”

  “Very well.” He looked at her again, shaking his head in amazement. “My goodness, of course. Right away.”

  The Constable led her to his carriage, and they sat together, side by side, as the horse clopped along the hard-packed dirt road to the Institution for Lunatics.

  “Mrs. Sharone is the one who needs to decide whether or not he is well enough to go home,” he warned. “I can drop the criminal charges, naturally—I must, it seems. Of course, I must. Can’t charge a man for murder when his victim is not dead.”

  “No, you cannot,” Belle said, unable to hide her anger.

  “But, well, Mr. Castelle is still being treated for his hallucinations and delusions.”

  “There are no hallucinations or delusions,” Belle said firmly. “Only a misunderstanding. I will bring my Papa home with me, and I can guarantee he won’t be a nuisance to anyone at all.”

  The Constable nodded, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

  At the Institution, Mrs. Sharone greeted her husband at the door, but gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, when she saw Belle step out from his carriage.

  “Good Heavens!” she cried. “Belle Castelle! We all feared the worst, my poor dear, are you all right?”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” Belle said calmly, though inside she raged, and was quite desperate to see her Papa. “Where is he? Take me to him at once, I beg you!”

  “Certainly, my dear, come with me.”

  As they navigated the maze of corridors and sterile white walls, the locked doors with tiny barred viewing windows in each, Mrs. Sharone finally stopped in front of one.

  “Oh dear,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What is it?” Belle asked. What have they done with my Papa?

  “Mr. Ashley already took him to prepare for the courthouse. I forgot the time, I’ve been so busy…” Mrs. Sharone’s voice trailed off.

  “How could you not know your own patient’s whereabouts?” Belle fumed. “And you, Constable, how could you not know he was going to court today?”

  “Now, now, Belle,” he said, as if to calm her (which only infuriated her more). “My job is to protect our village. It is up to the lawyers and the judge to see to the other side of things.”

  “Bring me to my father!” Belle struggled to keep her voice even, to not scream, lest they lock her up herself for hysteria.

  “At once, of course, don’t you worry,” the Constable said. To his wife, he said, “Belle has informed me that it seems Mr. Castelle’s delusions are based on a misunderstanding.”

  “His poor vision made him see a beast,” Belle said, the lies falling easily off her tongue, “when it was merely a man in a fur coat, a man with a horrible deformity. I’ve been staying with this man outside of town to assist him.” She had no intention of telling them that there really was a Beast. “So we must get my Papa home with me at once. I need your help, Mrs. Sharone, and Constable, sir. I need you to testify that Henry Castelle is neither criminal nor insane.”

  Mrs. Sharone looked at her husband, frowning, but the Constable nodded to her, and she sighed heavily.

  “I was so sure,” Mrs. Sharone muttered. “Well. We must make this right, then,” she said finally. “Let’s not tarry.”

  The three went back outside to the carriage and retraced their path, back to town, and stopped outside of the courthouse. A crowd was beginning to form.

  The Constable tossed a coin to one of the men to water and stable his horse while he was gone.

  Belle didn’t wait, she ran past them into the small courthouse. Her father stood, in chains, before the judge.

  “Your honor!” she called, pushing past the crowd. “Please, your honor, I am not murdered. There has been a mistake.”

  Her father’s face lit up. “Am I dreaming? Belle, is that really you?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she cried. “It’s me.”

  She ran up to him, ignoring the shouting in the courtroom, and wrapped her arms around him. He couldn’t return the embrace with his wrists chained in front of him, but he kissed her face, overjoyed to see his
daughter had not been eaten by the Beast.

  The Constable and his wife stepped forward, and gave their amended testimony to the judge.

  The judge nodded to the officer, who stood near her father, and he took his keys out of his pocket and immediately freed him.

  “You are free to go, Mr. Castelle,” the judge said, “with the court’s apologies. We sought justice for your daughter, but it is clear as day that she has not been murdered, nor eaten by a beast. Court is adjourned.”

  He banged his gavel, the sharp knock echoing through the courthouse. It sounded like freedom.

  Henry Castelle hugged Belle tightly. “Thank goodness you’re all right,” he sobbed. “Did the Beast harm you?”

  “Shhh,” she said. She gripped his shoulder and spoke into her father’s ear, her voice low and desperate. “Never speak of him. I’m fine. Let’s go home, Papa.”

  ***

  At home, after her Papa had a long hot bath and a good rest, they sat together and she tried to explain about the Beast. But her father would have none of it.

  “Please, Belle, do not speak of that monster—it breaks my heart. I just want to be with you, to make up for the time we have lost.”

  It had been a long, exhausting day, and here at home, there was no Beast to seek out for relaxing conversation.

  She longed for Frederick, as well. The sooner she lay her head on her pillow, the sooner she might see him. At least with Frederick, she could talk about the Beast to her heart’s content.

  After supper and reading aloud to her father for a while, they bid each other goodnight with a long, tearful embrace, and she went to her room to sleep in her own bed for the first time since she became the Beast’s prisoner.

  It felt good to be home, it did. But she already missed the Beast, and missed Frederick. The events of the day swirled in her mind, over and over, repeating itself endlessly, affording her no rest.

  …Confronting the Constable, watching as he knocked his chair to the floor in surprise…

  …The maze of doors at the mental asylum, finding her father’s room vacant, not knowing where her Papa was…

  …Running into the courthouse to find him in chains, embracing him, calling out for mercy on his head…