A Beast's Tale

Chapter 15

I stopped by Sariel’s office at two o’clock. It sounded like Ivetta didn’t need my help with him, but I wanted to be sure.

“Prince Chevalier,” he greeted me unenthusiastically, barely sparing me a glance before he returned to whatever he was writing.

“I told you,” I said coolly.

“You did. But you neglected to tell me that you’ve been giving her lessons in beastly behavior,” he said dryly.

I allowed myself a small smile at that. “That was none of my doing.”

He finally looked up at me, setting his quill down as he straightened in his chair. “You’re not just here to gloat.”

“No. There will be a round table tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

He sucked in his breath. “Why so soon?”

“It can’t wait. But there is one other matter of importance.”

His lavender eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “And that would be?”

I put my hands flat on his desk and leaned in threateningly, watching him shrink back from my icy glare. My next words were probably unnecessary, but probably wasn’t good enough. I needed to eliminate any ideas he may have regarding Ivetta becoming Belle. Even if her mother died tonight, I didn’t want him bothering Ivetta again.

“Ivetta is off the table. Do you understand?”

He let out a sigh. “Perfectly.”

“Good.” I straightened up and turned to go, but his voice stopped me.

“Prince Chevalier, I hope you’re not getting too close to the hired help.”

“Close?” I scoffed, turning back to face him. “You forget who you’re talking to.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, resting his elbows on the desk and touching his fingertips in front of him. “I’ve received word from Benitoite of a princess for your consideration. It would be a smart match, especially if you become king. Of course, if you would like to keep your little maid on the side, that would be none of my concern, so long as it’s kept a secret.”

Years of practice allowed me to evidence nothing beyond a mild irritation at his suggestion, although my desire to cut him down suddenly reached an all-time high for the day.

“Send me what you have about her,” I said flatly, turning back to the door. “But don’t get your hopes up. I have no intention of marrying until I become king,” I reminded him as I opened the door.

“Of course. The information will be on your desk by morning.”

It was almost two thirty, and my feet automatically carried me to the library. My blood was boiling as Sariel’s words echoed through my mind. ‘Keep your little maid on the side.’ As if she was nothing more than a pretty little thing to warm my bed, a glorified prostitute. In a purely lustful sense, the idea had its appeal. But she deserved much better than to settle for a life as a secret mistress.

Is that really what he thought of her? Was that the impression I was giving?

I filtered through my words and actions, trying to find anything out of place, anything that could have cast a negative light on her. Nothing. Nothing more than me being uncharacteristically nice to her. In private, there were definitely moments of teasing that were evidence of my attraction, but not in public. So, the assumption was that I was only nice to her because she was servicing me. Disgusting.

I was still seething when I stormed through the library to the back room, and a sidelong glance at her didn’t help. Her posture was all wrong. Every inch of her was rigid, clearly stressed, and not by me. Sariel’s attempted manipulation had significantly upset her, enough for her to lose her temper with him, and that wasn’t normal behavior for her. That snake was vying with Clavis for first place on my list of useful people I wanted to kill. But I took my seat as usual, and I picked up my book as usual, and I forced myself to take several deep breaths. The matter was resolved. I needed to be calm when Ivetta returned with my tea, so she would believe my reassurances and allow me to set her mind at ease.

This was rich. How many times had I tested her limits, pushing her as far as I liked, just to get an interesting reaction from her? She wouldn’t believe me. She had no reason to trust me.

She brought me my tea and took a step back, awaiting my next command, as usual. Her inner chaos was even more evident up close, where I could clearly see her strained expression.

“You’re tense,” I commented, taking my first sip of tea.

“I have a lot on my mind, Prince Chevalier,” she said carefully.

She always had a lot on her mind. Most of it stayed hidden. And she had no reason to confide in me.

“Four-Eyes?”

She nodded.

I set the teacup down, forcing myself to smirk as I usually did. She had become accustomed to my teasing, and if I behaved normally now, that would make my words more believable. And there was something amusing about picturing her yelling at Sariel.

“You’re very bold to raise your voice at him.”

“He wouldn’t listen otherwise, your highness,” she said coolly. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, but her knuckles were white. The amusing image vanished. This was really bothering her. It felt wrong to keep up the facade.

“She hasn’t been moved,” I said quietly.

Ivetta exhaled slowly, her green eyes widening slightly as they stared intently into mine, hanging on my words. “Are you sure, Prince Chevalier?”

I nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded and left. I watched her go, more than a little surprised by her response to my honesty. It was true that I’d never lied to her, but I hadn’t expected her to trust me so easily. The way she’d reacted…she depended on me. The realization hit me hard. I remembered the incident at the festival when she instinctively stepped closer to me for protection. That wasn’t a fluke. Somehow, in the time she’d been here, she’d come to rely on me.

I still needed to ask her about that. It just never seemed to be the right time. Like now, when she was too worried about her mother.

I sighed and returned to my book, the poetry of Garnet. An inscription inside the front cover identified this as a gift from its last king to his queen. King Arvon, Queen Evelyn. Judging by the touching note, his affection for her was real. I was eleven years old when Garnet fell to Obsidian, when King Arvon was killed, when Queen Evelyn disappeared, when this book was stolen from the palace of lilacs. A tragic tale to preface a beautiful collection of poetry. Now that I had a handle on the language, I could reread the pages for pure enjoyment. Because that was my true reason for reading, as it was for Ivetta. An escape to another place, another time. A garden full of lilacs, not of roses.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, but Ivetta was still a bit tense when she presented herself just before five o’clock, and she left at a much more brisk pace than usual. She needed to see her mother safely at home before she could relax. Understandably so. She trusted me, but not Sariel. I had seen to it that she had nothing to worry about, but she didn’t know that.

She wasn’t such a mysterious puzzle after all. Every waking moment was dedicated to others, with her mother taking priority over all else. That’s just the kind of person she was. Simply compassionate. Simply, frustratingly, irritatingly, beautifully compassionate. I’d never had a use for such a trait before.

I put my book away and went out to the gardens, trying to clear my head, trying not to think about her walking home, straight through the red-light district. She was a clever woman, and very observant. She would be fine.

But she’d been so distracted all afternoon.

I shouldn’t be worrying about her right now, or at all, really. The round table tomorrow morning was far more important. Leon would look a bit more kindly at the purge once he knew more of the story. Not all of it, not yet. I couldn’t take the chance that somebody might tip the informant off. Whoever he was, he was good for Clavis not to have found him out yet. Nobody could put together an underhanded scheme like Clavis, and nobody was better at sniffing them out, either.

Accepting the proposal to the Benitoite princess may be the extra push needed to get Benitoite to join us in the war against Obsidian when the time came.

A Benitoite princess. That would be a smart match, politically speaking. Our countries were already friendly, and such a marriage would further solidify the relationship. That wasn’t my only option, of course. Regardless of my reputation, my status made me a target for many ambitious princesses and noblewomen. This was not the first proposal, and it wouldn’t be the last for me or my brothers. None of us would be able to dodge the subject of marriage forever, although the matter would become even more pressing for the new king - which would be me, of course. The production of an heir was paramount to secure the throne. Legally, the king could only have one queen, but he was allowed to marry multiple wives, and such a practice was even encouraged to ensure a varied assortment of princes for the next Belle’s selection. Not that I wanted multiple wives. One fertile woman would be enough, and once the family line was ensured, I would be done with her.

How ironic that the only woman to have ever attracted my interest was also one that could never be my wife.

I sighed, dropping onto the bench by the pond and glancing over at the spot where Ivetta had sat reading under the tree. War would be especially hard on someone like her. Rationing, rising prices, doctors being shipped to the front lines to treat wounded soldiers - none of that boded well for her or her mother. I would have to ensure her position in the palace before I left for battle.

“Chev,” called an unwanted voice.

“What do you want, Noisy?” I snapped.

“Oh, just checking on my older brother, as a kind younger brother would do. Where’s your book?”

“I know this is a foreign concept to you, but I’m thinking.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Chev.” He plopped down on the bench next to me. “Ready for the round table?”

“Of course.”

“It’s one of the servants.”

I looked over at him, his voice unusually serious. “And?”

He shook his head. “And that’s all that I’ve got right now. I’m still working on it.” He chuckled, signaling a return to what he considered a more lighthearted topic. “Heard you had an offer for a Benitoite princess.”

“Four-Eyes will have the information on my desk in the morning.”

“Nokto probably knows her,” Clavis continued, smirking. “He’ll be able to cover certain aspects that aren’t included in Sariel’s documents.”

“Her appearance is of no interest to me,” I said coolly.

“I know. If that mattered to you, Ivetta would be giving you as hard a time as the rest of us.” He sighed wistfully, staring at the tree.

“She’s just a maid. It’s incomprehensible to me that she would attract this much attention.” Though I was picturing her there myself, the sun shining on her silky black hair as she ran her slender fingers through it, her long black lashes hooding her green eyes as she read from the book open across her lap, the green spring grass brushing against her bare legs as she tucked her them up beside her.

“Beyond her looks, she’s got a great personality, she’s intelligent, she’s hardworking, she’s great with kids…pretty much the whole package. Too bad she’s not nobility,” Clavis was saying, echoing my thoughts with surprising accuracy. Maybe not so surprising. None of what he’d said regarding Ivetta was a secret. She was the same to everybody, changing her tone and her words to fit the person and the situation, but constant at the core of her being. The Benitoite princess couldn’t hope to be half as appealing.

“Will you be joining the rest of us for dinner, Chev?”

“No,” I said, his invitation waking me from my reverie. The tree stood still and silent, the grass beside it empty.

“That’s probably just as well. Ivetta’s little run-in with Sariel will be the big topic of discussion, I’m sure. You would only be bored.” Clavis glanced over at me, his golden eyes gleaming.

“Which is why I’m eating dinner in my room,” I said coolly, standing to go. “I prefer silence to inane chit-chat.”

Clavis laughed as he fell in step beside me. “Well, suit yourself. See you at the round table.”