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

Chapter Thirty-Five || To Stand with a Beast

I COILED MY fingers around Maverick's reins, clutching to them as if they would keep me grounded. My teeth remained clenched for I was determined not to allow even the whisper of a hiss to escape my lips.

I kept a wary eye on the shriveled briars latching onto the branches, somewhat certain that they would lunge if I so much blinked. But they did not—it seemed as if there were content with what blood they had reaped. And that concerned me. Gravely.

Gnarled twigs scratched as my legs, threatening to trip me should I become distracted. It would be best if I made haste for my path was merely lit by way of the setting sun and I did not want to learn what lurked in the shadows.

What irked me more than the twisted thicket was the silence. Only the sound of my breathing and the snapping of twigs lingered in the stale air... All else fell upon deaf ears.

"Maverick," I whispered if only to fill the void. I beckoned him betwixt the thorns. He was quick to abide and soon grew impatient and I found myself stumbling after him—it was as if he recognized the road and knew where to lead me.

After long, we emerged from the bristle and stood before gates of iron. I grew stiff. Thorned vines webbed across the entirety of the castle, branching out as to devour it whole. Painfully bright roses dotted the rubbled, dripping petals that willingly puddled along the ground.

Slopes of snow and sheets of ice glazed over the castle, held in place by twines of thorn and rose. Even from where I stood, I could see that tendrils of barbed vines had speared inside the castle, weaving through planes of glass. My stomach fell. Could he have already—

I dared not think on what that entailed.

Upon the whisper of touch from my finger, the iron gates slid open. I paused, eyeing the roses warily. Such a stark red—it was difficult to tear my gaze from it. My fingers clenched. I knew better than to attempt guiding the stallion through the clustered tendrils.

Nimbly, I freed my fingers from his reins and let them fall slack. It would be unwise to tie him—there was little need and if I were to do so, it would cripple him. And having done that...my gaze fixated along the grand steps, now uprooted by roses and thus disheveled.

Raoul would be within it. He had to be. I only hoped that I found him breathing.

I crept through the twisted gardens, hastily crawling beneath or leaping over fallen briars. Faster. My jaw clenched and for a moment I nearly yelled out in frustration. This bedamned maze of thorns!

I found myself tripping over sprawled roots and crumbled stairways, allowing them to lead me to the grand doors at the top of the stairs. There was no need for me to linger in hopes of the doors opening—they had been splintered apart against.

With little thought, my legs began carrying me to my old bedchamber—empty.

As was the library. And the dining hall. And the room with the mirror. And the ballroom.

Panic rose within my throat--threatening to choke me. Merde. Where was he?

I checked room after room, to no avail. It was as if he had vanished. No. No. He couldn't have. I clutched at my chest, gathering the fabric in my fist as if I wished to tear it. "Raoul?" I could not keep the fear and panic from my voice. "Where are you?"

Had Jacques already—No. No. He couldn't have.

"Raoul?" He was not in the kitchens—not the servant quarters nor the drawing room.

My feet slammed into the floor, fueled by the desperation to find him. I was not late, was I? So late as to warrant his...death? I curled my fingers around a door knob, sliding it open and sweeping my eyes across it.