“I could never love the Beast, Frederick,” she said. “Never.”
Frederick sucked her nipple into his mouth and she gasped in delight. No one had ever done that to her before. The feeling was…otherworldly.
“That disappoints me,” Frederick said. His mood seemed to darken. “I should…I should go.”
“I can’t change my answer,” she said. “But will I see you again?”
“If I’m to survive, yes,” he said. “Please, Belle. Go to the Beast. Don’t be afraid.”
“He—” she blushed, unsure if she could reveal what had happened, even to a ghost. Or a dream-man. Or a prisoner in the castle intent on making her think she was insane. Whomever the handsome man with his mouth on her breast was.
“The Beast spanked me, Frederick. Like a naughty child. It was humiliating.”
Frederick grinned. “You’re looking at it the wrong way.”
Belle frowned. “Is there any other way to look at it?”
Frederick dropped his hand to her ass, caressing the tender skin through her nightdress. “I think he quite enjoyed the experience. Having that luscious bottom under his hand, watching it pink up with heat.”
Belle laughed. “I could imagine you enjoying yourself, then.”
“There are ways to enjoy submitting to the Beast. Don’t be so frightened of new experiences.” He gave her bottom a firm squeeze, and she gasped. “Perhaps when you’re healed, you’ll allow me to spank you. I’ll make you love it.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” she said, but it was a lie.
The desire in his eyes aroused her. Yes, perhaps she’d allow Frederick to spank her. It was just a dream, after all.
It was, wasn’t it?
***
The following morning, Belle couldn’t find the plain blue dress she’d arrived in. But the armoire was filled with glorious gowns, the sort of dress she’d never worn, out of modesty. It didn’t seem right to be bedecked in jewels and pearls and lace when she rode in her wagon past children begging on the streets.
Of course, that was in another life. Before Papa lost everything. Perhaps if she’d agreed to buy the dresses when she had the chance, she would have been able to sell them later. Instead, they moved to the country and she wore even plainer clothes than before.
Wearing something plain didn’t look like an option right now.
Belle picked a stunning pale pink dress from the armoire and dressed, calling on the fairies to help lace her up, and to pin her hair.
She had to find the other prisoner, Frederick. Last night had felt too real for him to be just a dream (in which case, she had behaved shockingly inappropriately). Or if it was a dream, surely that dream was meant to inspire her to find him.
She tip-toed down the hallway, pausing only to look at the handsome Prince’s portrait. Heat warmed her cheeks at the memory of his touch. Silly to blush from a dream.
(was it really a dream?)
Where was the Beast? Every corner she turned, she feared she’d run into him. That he’d ask her if she was ready to…begin.
I’ll never be ready. The Beast frightened her almost as much as the strange desire he aroused in her, whenever he looked at her from his towering height.
But Frederick had implored her to go to the Beast. If only she could find Frederick, she could figure out what was going on.
She knocked softly on every door she passed, praying at each one that it wouldn’t be the Beast’s room. The handsome young man couldn’t be in the dungeon, because she’d already been there, and had felt frightfully alone. So he must be living in the castle, somewhere.
“Fairies,” she whispered. “Show me the way to Frederick’s room.”
A candle on the wall lit, and she turned to it in surprise. With the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the castle, she certainly hadn’t been expecting candlelight.
To the right, another candle.
Belle followed their lead, walking in the direction of each newly flaming wick. The fairies had led her to a closed door at the end of wing.
Shivers of anticipation rushed through her. If Frederick was indeed beyond that door, would he know her? Or had her dream been a vision of which he played no part?
Carefully, Belle pushed open the large wooden door. It creaked on its hinges from years of disuse.
“Prince Frederick?” she whispered.
No reply.
The room was clearly a young man’s room, and well-appointed. Glass shards covered the floor. Belle skirted around them. A long, floor-length mirror stood in the center of the room, the looking-glass smashed to pieces. The violence of the act left a thrumming vibration in the room, it seemed.
“Frederick, are you here?” she asked again.