Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Thirteen || To Heed a Beast's Warning

A MAN EMERGED from the shadows of the hall, his palms meeting in claps filled with ridicule. He paused before me, baring his scarred face. "That was impressive," Yoann drawled.

I faced him, now making my way towards the foot of the dinner table. "How long were you standing there?" I asked slowly, unsure of whether I truly wanted to know the answer.

"From the very beginning," he said with curved, red lips. He gestured for me to sit, and when I did, he slid my chair towards the table.

To my surprise, he took a seat at the opposite end. "So you sit at the head of the table only when the lord of the castle is not present to punish you for your impudence?"

He waved his hand absentmindedly. "I will take my chances. But between the two of us, I do not think his lady bride will tell on me."

"She might, if it would buy her information."

"Or, alternatively, she may simply kiss him," he shot back, speaking of what had occurred only minutes ago.

I leaned back. "Or she might let him into her bed."

He paused, growing silent for a brief moment. "My apologies, Ismae, for my earlier accusations. I realize now how offensive they were to you."

I suppressed the arching of my brow—I had not expected him to give our earlier exchange further thought. I stabbed the venison with my fork, feeling the prongs scratch against the plate. "I do not care for apologies."

"You do not care for words," he corrected, his lips lifting at the corners.

"No," I agreed, "I do not." I led a forkful to my mouth. "But I do care about where, exactly, his lordship is heading."

Amusement flared in his gaze. "Are you not satisfied by the answer your kiss has earned you?"

I lifted my head, bracing my elbows on the table as I leaned forward. "I will kiss you if you can give me a better answer than he did."

"I am afraid that I cannot," he said, arched brows drawing close. He really was a handsome man, despite the scars. It made me wonder if I had kissed him that night for reasons beyond making a statement. "I can inform you that I will be accompanying him, but I do not suppose that is any better an answer."

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"Tonight." He rested his head on a closed fist, his sleeves shifting so they revealed that bracelet of marred skin around his wrist. "We will return in a few days." He stood, setting his glass down.

"Shame." I balanced my fork between two fingers.

"Try not to miss your lord husband and please, for the love of all that is holy, do not attempt foolish things." He gave me a pointed look, likely considering whether 'foolish' needed to be defined. "Things like, say, visiting the West Wings. I will not be here to rescue you."

I made a sound of disdain—that was the third reminder I received. "You seem to think very highly of me. Need I remind you that I am no damsel in need of saving?"

"If not a damsel, then what?" He stood up, as if to say that that statement could not be contradicted.

I could have tossed a plate his way for that—could have flung it towards his face as I should have with my husband. Instead, I shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I am this kingdoms sacrifice. Mind you, but I will be the one that does the rescuing."

"I hope you can keep that promise." He looked upon me, deep blue eyes revealing none of his thoughts. His face was expressionless. He turned away and stepped to the entryway, glancing over his shoulder briefly. "Try not to die while I am gone, Ismae. I have begun to take a liking to you."