“I will.” Belle’s cheeks were wet with tears, tears for the loss of her freedom, and for the pain she knew she was causing her Papa. But anything was better than having the Beast take him.
“So be it,” the Beast said. He turned to her father. “Get out and never return. If you do, or if you send anyone looking for me, I will eat her.”
Henry cried out in horror, not moving, reaching his hands toward Belle.
“I said LEAVE!” the Beast roared.
A gale-force wind blew down the stairs, wrapped around her Papa, and carried him out of the dungeon.
“What’s happening?” Belle gasped. “Where’s my Papa?”
“He has been escorted off the castle grounds,” the Beast said.
Belle sobbed, putting her face in her hands. She didn’t want to see the Beast, didn’t want to see the cold dark dungeon where she would surely die.
“Are you…are you going to eat me?” she asked.
The Beast bared all his fangs, and she trembled.
“No, Belle, I will not be eating you tonight. Get some rest.”
Belle worked up the courage to speak again. “Where will I sleep?”
Suddenly, the Beast loomed above her. The muscles across his fur-covered chest bulged, his shoulders so broad they blocked her view of anything but…him.
“There’s some hay in the cell. You’ll sleep there—unless you planned on sleeping in my bed. I assumed you were the virtuous maiden type. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
Belle looked at him in confusion. “No! I mean, I am. But…you’re an animal. You don’t see me like that, do you?”
Good heavens, where did that even come from? Why was she even entertaining the idea that a beast would want to ravish her?
But something about the way those cool green eyes of his stared at her made her think he wasn’t all animal after all. He did speak, and reason, after all. What sort of beast was this?
“I suppose I am an animal,” he said, his voice thick. “And yes, I see you.”
***
The Beast prowled the great hall above the dungeon. Just below his paws lay a beautiful girl—a girl who would rather die than give her Papa over to him.
Something tugged on his conscience, a nagging feeling of guilt. It wasn’t fair to keep her his prisoner. But this was his only chance. The one and only time he’d ever had a girl in his castle, a girl who might be his salvation.
He had to keep her, at least long enough to see if she could ever look past his hideous appearance and into his true soul.
What then? She’d only see the man who’d separated her from her father, the man who’d kept her prisoner. Even if she became accustomed to his beastly appearance, she could never love him.
Accustomed to his appearance…
Yes. That was a start, at least. He would see her often, often enough for her to get used to how he looked, so she wouldn’t cringe in fright every time he came by. Once she was able to see him without fear, she’d be able to talk with him.
He already knew they had one thing in common, at least.
They both loved roses.
Perhaps, for her, he could cut some of the deep red blooms. Their color and aroma would brighten the dreary castle up, at least, and might even make her feel more comfortable with her situation.
“Castle,” he said to the empty hall. “I want a bouquet of roses in the dungeon for the girl.”
Heaven knew she had earned her roses tonight.
***
Belle laid on a large pile of hay in the cell, staring out the barred window above her head. The window itself was only a foot tall, and seemed to look out onto the grass.
She closed her eyes, determined to imagine herself in a better place. In a beautiful garden filled with roses. She could almost smell them…
The scent of roses in the air became so heady and real that she opened her eyes to see if perhaps everything had been a bad dream. Stone walls surrounded her.
But…where did that bouquet of gorgeous red roses come from? They sat on the edge of her cot, freshly cut and bound together with a ribbon.
Belle reached over and picked the bouquet up, bringing it to her face. They were real, as real as her prison. Had she fallen asleep, had that horrible beast been there to drop them off?
Well, if he brought her roses, maybe he wasn’t so horrible.
No. He was horrible. He was keeping her prisoner! And he hadn’t even left her any food. Maybe he could run around hunting down deer with those fangs of his, but she needed something on a plate.
“The roses are lovely,” she murmured under her breath. “But I can’t eat them. I need supper.”
Immediately a tray piled high with bread, roasted chicken, and steamed carrots appeared before her. She gasped and jumped back, knocking a piece of bread off the tray in her haste.