Beautiful Beast

Chapter 8

KALISTA

It hurts to breathe.

This is my first thought as awareness slowly bleeds into me.

The second, it that I was naïve and foolish. I thought the best of Arawn, and he took advantage of my trust.

"Ah, there you are, my lady."

My lashes flutter open and I find a teapot hovering next to my bed.

"Here, you will feel better once you've had a spot of tea," Beedy says, and brown liquid flows from the spout of the teapot and into a teacup that is sitting on the bedside table.

Weakly I push myself up and Beedy hurriedly sets down the teapot so she can arrange the pillows behind me.

"Thank you, Beedy," I say, gingerly pulling up my chemise. It is stained with blood and sticks to my skin. Beneath it, there is an ugly wound. It should have been a fatal blow; I should be dead. But that would be too easy. No, my adversary removed the bindings of human mortality so that my death might be a slow and painful one.

"Should we put something on that?" Beedy asks tentatively. While the servants know much about running a palace, they know little about healing wounds.

I cover the mark again and rest my head against the backboard. "No, my body will heal itself."

"Tea, then?"

"Yes, thank you," I say and reach for the teacup, but my hands shake so badly that the liquid sloshes over the sides. Beedy takes the cup from my hand and helps me to drink. Once I have emptied the cup, I lie down again and close my eyes.

During the next two days, I spend much time huddled in a cocoon of downy blankets with my nose in a book. Reading distracts me from the man still living within my palace. I know I will have to face him eventually, but right now, while my wound and my pride still sting, I choose to ignore him.

Beedy fusses over me like a mother hen, constantly checking on me to make sure I am comfortable or to see if I want another book or another cup of tea. Her hovering is sometimes exhausting, but I would not in a hundred years ask her to leave because her actions are proof that she loves me.

On the third day, when my wound has healed enough to allow me to walk, Cedric comes to me with news of Arawn.

"He is extremely bored, and I worry that he will do something rash," he announces, pulling his watch out then tucking it away, then pulling it out again. The effect is that it blinks in and out of sight.

I pick up my book from where it had been lying on the settee next to me. "Bring him some more books if that makes you feel better. I don't care what he does as long as he stays out of the west wing and away from me."

The watch dips low, indicating a bow. "Yes, my lady." Then he leaves me alone again.

Perhaps that was a little cold; now Cedric and Pierre must babysit him. It just hurt so much—more the knife in my heart than the knife in my side. I had hoped so much and it all turned out to be made of lies.

That evening, I manage to hobble to my piano where I sit for a long while. The music seems to heal me emotionally and physically, and I leave feeling lighter. Perhaps tomorrow I might even manage a visit to Abraxas—as long as I do not encounter Arawn. Every time his name peeks into my thoughts, anger flares in response. He is a deceiver. He put a spell on me, and I was too blind to see it.

My breath catches as Beedy fastens the ties on my dress.

"Too tight?" She asks, pausing.

I shake my head. "No, it's alright but no tighter."