A Beast's Tale

Chapter 21

“Prince Chevalier?”

Ivetta’s nervous voice woke me from my restless sleep. I’d been tossing and turning all night, thinking about her when I was awake, dreaming about her when I was asleep. She had to have seen the blood, but she hadn’t run away. I’d hoped that would be enough. I’d known it wouldn’t be.

“Prince Chevalier, are you okay?”

“It’s too early,” I mumbled. As I’d expected, she was concerned about me.

“I’m sorry, Prince Chevalier, but the blood-” The bed shifted as she sat on the edge beside me. “Are you hurt?”

“Go away,” I muttered tersely.

“What?” she asked, surprised. She put a light hand on my shoulder. “Prince Chevalier-”

I sat up suddenly, shoving her hand away. “I said, go away,” I growled threateningly.

A flicker of fear passed through her green eyes, but she shook her head. “What’s wrong, Prince Chevalier?”

I couldn’t put it off anymore, and I couldn’t let myself think about it, either. It had to be done. I grabbed her arm and yanked her down, straddling her and holding her still with a hand pressed firmly on the center of her chest. Her heart was pounding under my hand, the fear growing in her eyes, but she didn’t move.

“I don’t want you here anymore,” I snapped, applying pressure to her chest. “Leave, or die.”

I knew it was hard for her to breathe, but she shook her head again. “You’re not going to kill me, Prince Chevalier,” she gasped.

“No?” I leaned over her, my other hand wrapping around her neck. “Have you forgotten who I am?” I asked, my voice low and threatening.

Her eyes were wide, her heart racing, but there was still a hint of concern in those eyes. “What’s going on, Prince Chevalier?” she asked in a small, trembling voice.

“I killed an assassin,” I said, frustrated by her response. My heart was pounding, bile rising in the back of my throat, but I knew what would scare her worse than anything. I smiled cruelly at her, removing the pressure from the hand on her chest, sliding it up across her exposed skin to her shoulder. All traces of concern vanished from her eyes as panic flooded them. I pulled her collar aside and leaned in even closer so I wouldn’t see the bruises, or her eyes, and I whispered in her ear, “I am the Brutal Beast, after all.” The hand I had around her neck slid up and turned her face away from mine. I couldn’t look at her anymore if I was to continue. And I had to. Until she shoved me off and bolted out the door. “But you’re right. It would be a waste to kill you.” She flinched as my fingers caressed her bare skin. “You may still be of some use to me.”

“Prince Chevalier,” she pleaded, her voice choked.

“You are in a dangerous position, little dove.” My hand slid down the back of her shoulder, eliciting a whimper from her. Why wasn’t she fighting me? A tear slipped down her cheek, and I laughed mockingly.

“Don’t tell me you want this?” My voice was cold and harsh, my finger lightly stroking her cheek. Her breath was coming in short bursts, like the day after the assault. I hated this. I hated everything about this. But she still wasn’t fighting me, so I slid my hand further down the back of her dress. She arched her back away from my hand, her body pressing up into mine. I hated myself even more for enjoying how that felt.

“No,” she squeaked, tears streaming down her face. I began rubbing circles on the small of her back. “Please stop,” she gasped.

“Say it,” I said, sharply, but I was losing my nerve. I withdrew my hand, redirecting it up to tangle in her hair. “Say who I am.”

This was tearing me apart. But it was for her own good. It was this, or have her risk her life to stay here. I couldn’t let her do that. But what else? She was already terrified. How could I make her fight back? She couldn’t still trust me, could she?

“Please-”

No. That single word was going to derail me completely. I lightly pressed my teeth into her skin just below her ear, grazing down her neck, not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to interrupt her, stop her before she could finish her plea. Her cry of terror shot straight through my heart.

“Say it,” I hissed in her ear.

“I can’t,” she whimpered.

I grabbed her chin and turned her to face me. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Look at me,” I demanded. “Look at me!”

She opened her eyes and looked up into mine. I saw my reflection there, the fierce visage of the Brutal Beast plainly displayed.

“What do you see?”

She just stared up at me, her green eyes full of anguish and fear, and something else. Betrayal.

“How far do I have to take this for you to understand?” I growled, frustrated. “I told you to leave. Why won’t you just leave? Why won’t you fight back?”

She didn’t speak, didn’t even try. Her eyes said it all. The tears streaming down her cheeks said it all. And I couldn’t do it anymore. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly to me.

“You’re not safe here. I’m not safe. You have to leave. Don’t you understand?”

Her heart was pounding against mine. Why wouldn’t she run away?

“I’m going to the bathroom, and I want you gone when I come out. Do you understand?”

“I…”

“Stop being so stubborn and just run away!” But I tightened my grip around her even more, crushing her against me. “I don’t ever want to see you again!” My voice was wavering, desperation creeping into it.

“Then let me go,” she finally gasped.

I stiffened and released her, climbing quickly out of the bed, away from her. She rolled onto her side, hiding her face in her hands as she sobbed. I stared down at her, my hands trembling, but I made another attempt with an exasperated sigh. “Are you really so weak and foolish that you won’t run away?” I asked, my voice sharp and mocking. She didn’t react. I could only look at her for a few more seconds, and then I sighed again and went into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

I put my hands over my face, shaking all over as the privacy of the enclosed room allowed me to drop my facade. That had been so much harder than I thought, and it still hadn’t worked. I hated myself. Hated myself for ever putting her through that, for touching her, for causing her so much fear and pain. My cheeks were wet, my breathing ragged. I stumbled over to the tub, starting the water so I couldn’t hear her. Cold water. Because, to add to my guilt, there was a tiny part of me that enjoyed her skin, enjoyed her body arching up into mine. I truly was the Brutal Beast. For the first time in my life, I hated that name.

I went to the sink, gripping the cold porcelain as I glared at my reflection. Messy blonde hair, narrow pale blue eyes, tears on my cheeks. Tears. When was the last time I cried? Infancy? I should have died then. I didn’t deserve the air I was breathing.

Glass shattered as my fist collided with my reflection. Blood trickled down the broken glass, dodging shards in the sink as it flowed down into the drain.

More injuries to hide under my gloves.

I rinsed the glass from the cuts and tore off my clothes, smearing them with blood as I dropped them onto the glass underfoot. It didn’t matter. The cold bathwater would be swirling with blood soon enough, too.

Surely, she would be gone when I finished here. She’d been frozen in terror, as in the hallway outside of my office that horrible day, but she’d snapped out of it after a few minutes and bolted for her life. Any time now, I’d hear that door slamming. Maybe Leon would catch her in the hall and come in here to kill me. I deserved nothing less. That look in her eyes - the complex mix of fear and betrayal - it haunted me. She’d never forgive me for this, nor should she. I’d never forgive myself, either.

I sat in that tub for over an hour, tearing myself apart the whole time, but I couldn’t hide there forever. Finally, I got up, carefully avoiding stepping on glass as I dried myself off and wrapped a towel around my waist. Unnecessary. She wouldn’t be out there. She couldn’t be.

But she was. She still lay there in my bed, her face buried in my pillow.

“What are you still doing here?” I asked condescendingly, summoning everything I had left for another desperate attempt.

She sat up, wiping her face with her apron. Her green eyes flashed as they met mine.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she said, her voice trembling with anger.

I stared at her in shock. She got up, shoving me out of the way and slamming the bathroom door shut behind her, and I heard her vomiting. The sound made me sick to my stomach. Why was she still here? Why wasn’t she leaving? I stood, frozen in place, staring at the crumpled bed sheets where she’d lain. The bathroom door opened again after only a few moments, and she brushed past me without so much as a glance as she left the room. She was going for my breakfast. My knees felt weak, my mind reeling. What was going on? What could possibly be keeping her here?

I got dressed and went to the window, tying the drapes back, and saw a pool of blood covering a large section of the pathway down below in the gardens. That should have been cleaned up yesterday when the body was removed. The sight reminded me why I had done that, why she had to leave. I still stood there, staring out the window, when the door opened again. Dishes clinked as she set my desk with breakfast. Sheets rustled as she began to make the bed. Finally, I spoke.

“You are a fool to return,” I said coldly, turning to face her.

“You’re making assumptions without all the information, Prince Chevalier,” she replied, matching my icy tone. “I have weighed my options, and unfortunately, this is the best one for me at the moment.”

“Come here.”

She froze at my sharp command, bent over the bed, but she lifted her head and met my eyes defiantly. “You’d better not touch me,” she warned.

“I won’t.”

She approached cautiously, and I nodded toward the window. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as she spotted the blood.

“Do you understand now?” I asked quietly.

“You could have just told me,” she said bitterly, turning from the window.

She’d figured it out. I hadn’t anticipated that. She knew why I’d done it, and even though she was furious with me, even though she knew the danger, she came back.

“What were your other options?”

She was silent for a moment, but she finally said, “Option one: Stay here, risk death by proxy. Option two: Leave here, pick up multiple jobs to maintain Mother’s care, not be able to spend any time with her. Option three: Leave here, find another brothel, earn potentially more money, but not be able to look Mother in the eye anymore. There is really only one choice.”

“Even if I make you clean the blood up?” This was my very last attempt.

“I’ll already be cleaning plenty of blood up,” she reminded me flatly.

She was right. The laundry, the bathroom - there was no avoiding it. I couldn’t even scare her away properly, and now I’d created a gruesome mess for her to clean up. If I opened my mouth again, I’d probably just make everything worse.

If that were possible.

But I needed to apologize, or make an attempt. Even though there weren’t adequate words.

“I’m sorry.”

She whirled to face me, her green eyes angrier than I’d ever seen them. “You should be,” she said firmly. “You knew exactly how much that would scare me, and you did it anyway. That was cruel and malicious. Why couldn’t you just tell me? You didn’t have to do that. You have no idea what it’s like to be so completely helpless and vulnerable, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to stop somebody else from hurting you. And when it’s someone you trusted - and I couldn’t even fight you. Even while you were doing it, I couldn’t believe it was happening. Do you know how much that hurts? That you would treat me like that - like a common w***e - when I thought you cared about me? And I don’t want to hear you throwing the Brutal Beast at me again. You’re just using that to justify mistreating people. If people don’t matter - if emotions don’t matter - then why do you even bother with me at all?”

Every venomous word pierced my heart, each one justified. I reached out toward her automatically, but she slapped my hand away.

“I said, don’t touch me!”

I pulled my hand back, silent in the face of her pain, so much greater than the sting of the wounds hidden by my gloves. Her green eyes were livid with anger. She was going to cry again.

“Don’t you ever touch me again. You’ve lost that privilege. I don’t care who you are, or who you think you are. I’m not a toy, or a tool, or your pet. I’m a person, and I have a name, and maybe you don’t have to use it, but you will not treat me like that ever again. I don’t want your charity, and I don’t want your sympathy, but I demand your respect. If you can’t give me that, then at least don’t pretend. Tell me flat out, so I know exactly where I stand. Or, better yet, just cut me down right here. What’s a little more blood, right? Since I don’t matter, anyway. Because it was all lies, wasn’t it? I’m nothing more than the dirt on your boot to you. Can I even believe a single word you said to me? Why did you have to make me think that I had any value, just to tear it all away and laugh in my face? Don’t lie to me anymore. Just say it to my face, so I can crawl back in the gutter where I belong.”

“Stop,” I said firmly, anger rising in me as she included herself in her verbal onslaught.

“No, I won’t stop. Because maybe, if I keep going like this, you’ll just put me out of my misery once and for all, and then you can go find yourself a new playmate. Maybe you can pick up one of Jack’s girls. Just tell Prince Leon you’re going to take care of her like you took care of me.”

“Stop!” I shouted.

“What, does it bother you? Does it hurt to hear the truth? Or maybe you’ve been lying to yourself, not me. Maybe you do have a heart, and maybe you do have emotions, and maybe you do care about me. It doesn’t make a difference to me, anyway. I’m only here until my mother dies. Once she’s gone, I’ll be out of your life, and you’ll just be a horrible memory that I wish I could forget.”

I stared at her in shock. She knew. She knew so much more than I thought, and she knew how to hurt me as much as I knew how to hurt her. I watched her, shaking all over, her cheeks wet with tears, and I realized that she didn’t like doing it any more than I had.

“Are you finished?” I asked coolly, my eyes narrowing again.

She shook her head, breathing hard. “Not yet. Not by a long shot. But there aren’t enough words to express how angry I am right now, how deeply you hurt me.” She took a deep, shaky breath, hugging herself as she looked away from me. “And the worst part is, you don’t know any better. Death and bloodshed are normal, everyday occurrences for you, and for once in your life, that bothers you. But you couldn’t just tell me. This was your idea of a solution. I want to be mad at you, but even now, I can’t help but feel sorry for you.” Her voice was gradually becoming more steady, and she looked back up at me, anger fading and melding with sadness. “So I’m just going to say it. I’m sorry,” she said, practically spitting the words like they burned in her mouth. “I said too much, and I went too far. And unlike you, I knew better.”

She collapsed on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. “And I am sorry for you, Prince Chevalier. You have everything, and you have nothing, all at the same time. And I know you don’t want my sympathy, but you still have it.” Another deep breath, and she nodded, opening her eyes again to look up at me. “Now I’m finished.”

I regarded her in silence for a moment. Even now, even after what I’d done, she couldn’t hold her anger for long. She was already concerned about me again. And I thought I knew how clever she was, but I didn’t know half of it. All along, she’d been reading me better than I’d been reading her. She knew me, inside and out. And she was staying. There was nothing childish or innocent about her. That was only an illusion to hide the complex woman who, once again, had nobody to trust. Thanks to me.

“Say what you like to me, but don’t ever talk about yourself like that again.”

She swallowed hard, dropping her hands to her sides and digging them into the sheets. “I won’t.”

I sighed. “You realize you’re the only one who can speak to me this way.”

“Well, that’s your own fault,” she said dryly.

“Would it help for you to slap me?” I asked.

Maybe it wouldn’t help her, but maybe it would help me. Although she couldn’t possibly inflict more damage than she already had. But a physical sting would be a welcome distraction to the throbbing in my chest.

She shook her head. “Sit down.”

My eyes widened, startled by her command, and she glared up at me.

“I said, sit down,” she repeated sharply. She patted the bed next to her. “I need to look at your hand.”

I shook my head, but she grabbed my left wrist and yanked me down beside her.

“You’re not-”

“Shut up,” she snapped, releasing my left wrist and reaching across me to grab my right wrist, holding it firmly with a small but surprisingly strong hand while she pulled the glove off with her other hand. “You’re not doing either of us any good by hurting yourself.”

I stared at her in disbelief as she examined the bloody cuts.

“At least you had the sense to clean the glass out. You’re lucky you didn’t break a finger,” she continued scolding me. “But you won’t need any stitches.” She sighed and looked back up at me, a tired resignation in her eyes. “What about your feet? Did you step on any glass?”

I shook my head, speechless.

She frowned. “You’d better not be lying to me.”

“I’m not,” I managed to say.

“No, I guess you’re not, or I’d have bloody footprints to clean up, too,” she said coolly. “I could get ointment and bandages and tend to this myself, but you’ve given me plenty of extra work to do already, so you'll have to go to a doctor about this.” She released my hand, but she took my glove and put it in an apron pocket. “And you can have this back after you see the doctor.” She stood up and straightened the drapes. “If you’ll excuse me - your highness,” she added bitingly, and then she left.

I stared at my hand for a moment longer, my mind reeling. The sound of glass scraping across the marble tiles of the bathroom floor brought me back to reality. I stood up and left. This had backfired badly. She wasn’t going anywhere, and I was in love with her.