"Well, well, well." I felt the entirety of my body stiffen. "Pray tell," the masculine voice murmured as his chin rested down onto my shoulder, "what has made them send such a fine lady such as yourself?"
A Beauty and the Beast Retelling in which Be...
IN THE DARKENED corners of her late husband's chambers, Lady Lothiere had only just dared to shuffle through his belongings. Her hands had been quick to go through all the wrinkled articles of clothing she had known him to favor, every portrait he had never hung, every book whose pages he had left feathered...She moved with a stiffness-until came across a drawer of crumpled papers.
The drawer was filled with torn and scrunched sheets, each of them a mess of scratched out words and crossed sentences. And all of them had been addressed to her-each a letter in his writing that attempted to express his fondness of her. He had failed dictating it to her repeatedly, given the mess that had been made of his drawer.
But among the rubble, she found one letter that had been pressed and sealed-one letter that had his approval. Lady Lothiere extended her hand and carefully took to unfolding the letter.
My dearest Ismae,
I fear that this letter comes to find you by means unfavorable to you. I had hoped that I would be able to tell you this myself, but alas, I suspect I will not.
You had once asked me to dictate to you exactly what sort I thought you to be. That request may be the only one I cannot satisfy. It would be difficult to do so-not due to a lack of flattering words but due to their incapability of doing you justice.
I realized that as I spent more time with you, I became aware of the extent of that truth. So, dearest Ismae allow me the honor of attempting to iterate to you what you mean to me-allow me to express what sorts you have been to me.
When I had first called on you, I cannot deny that I found your beauty to surpass my expectations. I thought I would be met with a ruthless assassin unwilling to dally in killing her unwanted husband. But you were willing to go through with your duties that night and I thought you somewhat mad because of it.
When I began to seek you, it became rather clear to me that you were a woman of motives and determination. If you set your mind on it, you would willingly take to breaking the curse. So I thought to befriend you, to slip past your guard and discover what you hid.
It proved to be difficult. You were so easy to rile-and you were so utterly aggravating, so eager to snap and lash. And my were you quick with your retorts. I found myself thoroughly entertained. Being at the receiving end of your threats never failed to amuse me.
Yet, beneath all that, you displayed a great amount of hesitation. Prudeness, if you will. And it is an honor to have been able to learn the cause of that prudeness and to have seen you come around it. Though you attempt to conceal it, I know you to be gentle. You are far kinder than you let on. At some point, you have allowed your guard to fall and beckoned me in.
It is a shame that I have not been able to fully study this gentleness. And I fear I may never be able to. But more than that, I apologize for I have never been able to meet the needs of that gentleness-nor do I think I will be able to meet them. Whatever it may be, I hope you are able to find what it is that would do well to please you.
I am ever grateful to you. You have charmed me, Ismae, with your smile and articulate speech, all of your genuine death threats and witty retorts. It had truly been a gift to spend my time in your company. You have bewildered me with the courage and beauty and wisdom and warmth and I truly believe that your attempts of seduction have long succeeded.
You have truly enamoured me-I am proud to have the honor to have been your husband. I have fallen for you Ismae, all of of you-and I fell hard.
I love you.
Tears streaked the lady Lothiere's cheeks and her knees had long given way. But her tears were not those of sadness but happiness. "Foolish man," she whispered softly, a small smile pulling the corners of her lips. "I've already found it."
Soon, the sound of sobs met her ears.
The lady of the castle wiped her face with the back of her hands and drew herself to her full height, soon trailing to the corner of the room, where a crib lay. Beneath the covers wailed an infant.
She held the babe and soothed him, gently rocking him in her arms until she was ready to subdue his hunger. Soon, his appetite was satisfied and he began to revert to his slumber. She held the infant firmly, her chest aching with the warmth her child brang her.
The lady of the castle soon set foot outside the confines of her late husband's chambers and stepped onto the balcony. She gazed upon the mountains around her and looked up into the sky, her palm pressed along the ashen, chipped banister she had once leaned against, that first night. "I miss you," she murmured softly. "I miss you very much, Raoul."
Her child spurred, likely at the sound of steps behind her.
"Have you named him yet?"
"No..." She needn't turn to face him. "I have yet to name him, Father."
"But?" he prompted.
Lady Lothiere smiled. "But I should like to call him Yoann."
The End
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