Before Beauty (15 page)

Isa’s voice hitched with sudden
emotion on the last words, reminded suddenly of the last time she
had tried to wear slippers at home. Gathering her resolve, she said
more forcefully, “I told them that if I was to dance tonight, I
would do it in my boots. I am not about to go to bed completely
lame again.”

“
Oh.” Everard frowned in thought
for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. I will tell them to stop
bothering you about it. And…I am sorry they treated you that way.
They can be a bit overzealous to please sometimes.”

Isa nearly dropped her spoon as
the apology fell from the prince’s lips. It was the last thing she
had expected from the man. All she could utter was a hesitant,
“Thank you.”

Before long, the prince stood,
indicating that it was time for the dreaded dancing again. Isa was
more prepared this time, however. The boots made her feel more
confident. So did the friendly presence that followed her out onto
the balcony. Isa still shuddered a bit when the prince’s gloved
hand held her waist, and she did not find a single moment of the
awkward partnering enjoyable. But when the dancing was done, she
departed feeling more like herself, feeling victorious.

The despair she had felt the night
before was gone, and this time, she was more prepared to fight the
memories of Raoul’s dances as she left the dining hall. She still
had no idea as to why the prince insisted on such a strange ritual,
especially when it most likely made him sore as well, but she now
knew she was at least capable of meeting the task.

As she turned the corner of the
dining hall, however, curiosity flared up inside of Isa. There was
much that the prince wasn’t telling her, much she desperately
needed to know if she was ever to break this curse. A reckless idea
sprang to Isa’s mind, and she without pause, she decided to act
upon it. So Instead of returning to her room, she hid behind a
large column until Everard had gone up the steps of the southern
wing.

“
I am sure you want me to break
this curse just as much as he does,” Isa hissed at the shadows
around her. “So if you dare tell him what I’m about to do, know
that I will stop trying to break the curse, and you will be stuck
like this forever!” She felt the shadows’ disapproval, but sensed
them leaving her alone, one by one.

When the prince had been gone long
enough to get a head start, she followed him up the large winding
staircase as quietly as she could. As she ascended, she passed
numerous levels of halls. Down each hall were many doors that were
larger than the ones in her wing of the Fortress. Isa guessed these
doors led to Prince Everard’s personal chambers.

She had fallen behind purposefully
so he wouldn’t hear her foot when it dragged, and she hoped now
that he must be in his chambers, he would be asleep soon so she
could explore. Something told her that the library, or rather, the
Tower of Annals was up the dark flight of steps that led skyward
from the chambers.

After a long while of climbing the
steps to the tower, Isa wondered if her plan had been a good one.
Even in the boots, her ankle was beginning to ache from all the
stairs she’d taken, even before she was near the top.

By the time she had climbed the
last step, Isa had concluded that the tower she climbed must be the
one that made the Fortress visible for miles. In the sunlight, it
was easy to see the reflection of the glass that encircled the
entire chamber. As a child, this place had stirred her curiosity
and imagination. What kind of room would have only windows for
walls? And that curiosity was rekindled inside of her now.
Remembering the prince’s warning about the Tower of Annals,
however, Isa restrained herself from actually entering. Instead,
she knelt at the keyhole, and what she saw took her breath
away.

The circular tower room was larger
than she had anticipated, but it was indeed encased by windows on
every side. Shelves of books filled most of the space, with the
exception of the center, where there was built a large stone
fireplace. The fireplace was surrounded by various chairs, tables,
sofas, and even an oddly placed wardrobe.

Instead of the empty room she had
expected to see, however, Everard was sitting on a low sofa with
his hands stretched out before him. Shadows gently removed the long
gloves he always wore, revealing thin, gnarled fingers beneath.
They were so knotted that even when he flexed them they stayed
curled. Only a weak fire from a hearth and moonlight from the wall
of windows lit the space, but the pain on the prince’s face was
obvious, and she couldn’t help but pity him.

Her pity didn’t last long though.
Isa’s gasp was nearly audible as a blue fire, much like that in his
eyes, began to encircle his hands. It filled the room with a blue
glow, and Prince Everard put his head back, grimacing even harder,
a soft groan escaping him.

The scene lasted only a few
seconds before the fire went out. When it was done, the prince’s
fingers were just a bit straighter. After curling and flexing them
a few times, he slowly stood and pulled a sword from his belt, one
Isa hadn’t noticed beneath the cloak. Laying it down beside him, he
faced the windows and slowly stretched out on a thin pallet that
had been laid upon one of the low sofas. When she realized that he
meant to sleep there, she turned and began her trek back down the
stairs, not wanting to impose upon his privacy.

She struggled to sleep that night.
As much as she hated to admit it, Isa couldn’t be as angry with the
prince as she felt she deserved to be. He had seemed so proud when
he had first greeted her, and the hate in his eyes had been
real.

And yet, the pain in his face this
night had been real, too. Isa knew that kind of pain, what it felt
like to go to sleep in discomfort. In her family, however, she had
never gone to bed without a cup of tea from her mother, something
to ease the pain. And with the tea had always been a warm embrace
and smile.

But Prince Everard was all alone
in his pain without a human hand to bring him comfort. And from
what little she had seen of the late King Rodrigue and Queen
Monica, Isa doubted they had been the kind to spend time kissing
away the hurt that his childhood exploits had brought him.
Suddenly, it seemed to Isa, that for all his splendor and power,
the prince was far more impoverished than she had ever
suspected.

And then there was the soldier’s
pallet. What kind of prince went to sleep with his sword, watching
over his kingdom even though he could hardly walk?

Over and over again, Isa tried to
answer the riddles the night had brought her, but the only answer
that came was that perhaps, just perhaps, the prince wasn’t the man
she had hated for so long.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Arrows that
Burn

In the weeks that followed, Isa fell into a
routine that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. No snow had fallen since
the early autumn storm her father had gotten caught in, so Isa
continued her trips to the rose garden daily. And although her
ankle and wrist were broken beyond repair, as the town healer had
told her when she was a child, Isa felt her body growing stronger.
Each day, not only did she revel in the dance, but also in the new
roses that were slowly beginning to find their way back into the
garden, despite the growing cold.

Isa also found daily relief in
being away from the town gossip and sympathetic looks. Here, she
wasn’t the town cripple. She had a purpose, confusing as it may be.
And though she missed her family dearly, Isa felt for the first
time as though she might find a way to make them proud.

Her most earnest prayer of thanks,
however, was for having escaped Raoul’s wedding. The nuptials would
have been impossible to ignore, had Isa still lived in
Soudain.

The marriage of the chancellor’s
only son would be at its height by now, the talk of the city
circling around little else. Her neighbors’ outrage at his betrayal
of her hadn’t even lasted a week after he had broken it off with
Isa. By the time the wedding arrived, she would have been
completely forgotten, and everyone would be anxious to see the
beautiful bride who had so quickly captured Raoul’s heart. The
wedding would come and go, and Isa was immensely grateful not to
even need an excuse for her absence.

If she was honest with herself,
the nightly dances still bothered her. They were too close to the
moments that had been her most cherished until recently. Raoul’s
cruel words continued to mock her as well, when she let her guard
slip. Nevertheless, her heartache wasn’t any worse at the Fortress
than it had been at home. And at least here, she was free to remain
alone for the majority of the time, without family and friends
helping to “keep her busy,” as they put it. Well, the servants were
always nearby, but at least they never nagged her about being
social.

In order to escape the lonely
thoughts of her once beloved, Isa buried herself in reading the
books that the prince sent to her. They weren’t very interesting,
mostly names of monarchs and dry lists of their accomplishments,
but they were a distraction at least. And as Prince Everard
promised, his servants never made a move for her boots
again.

It wasn’t long before a sort of
truce formed between them, the prince learning how better to curb
his tongue, and Isa striving to keep her tone at least civil, and
sometimes kind. He even surprised her one evening by sending over a
salve with his servants when he noticed that her left wrist was
sore at dinner.

The invisible, ever-near presence
also continued to make Isa’s life at the Fortress more enjoyable.
She found herself talking to it when she was lonely, telling it how
much she missed her family, how the prince confused her, and on
hard days, even about Raoul. And though she no longer feared
mistrusted the prince to do something beastly during their suppers,
Isa was still afraid to tell him about her invisible friend,
fearing he might order it away. This made asking him questions
about the
strength
, as he called it, even more difficult, for she knew there
was some tie between the magic and her constant companion. But
whenever she tried to ask, the right words simply wouldn’t
come.

Isa could sense the prince was
struggling daily, not only with the physical pain she’d witnessed
in the tower, but with an even deeper despair. Not wanting to upset
him, the only way she could think to phrase her questions was based
on the dry stories of past kings and their feats that she read
about every afternoon, but she never learned very much that way. He
would answer her direct questions, but never supplied any more
information than was absolutely necessary. And though she was
actually enjoying parts of her new life, if she was honest with
herself, Isa wondered how, if ever, she was to break the curse if
she still had no idea as to what she was doing. It was a dark,
chilly evening, a time of true winter, however, when things finally
changed.

“
Isabelle.” the prince leaned back
from his supper and gave her a mischievous grin Isa had never seen
before. “Yours is a long name, and not terribly easy to say. Where
did you get it?”

He was being ridiculous, Isa knew.
The prince had the most elegant, sophisticated speech Isa had ever
heard. He was goading her. But this was a subject which Isa did not
wish to touch.

“
My mother named me after the
Isabelle flower,” she replied somewhat stiffly. Although she had
secretly never loved her full name either, speaking of her mother
was still difficult.

“
Isabelle flower? I’ve never heard
of such a thing.”

“
It’s a common miniature rose that
grows in the shade,” Isa explained. “I’m sure it has an official
name in your Tower of Annals somewhere, but in Soudain, it’s simply
called the Isabelle.”

The prince smiled again with that
boyish look and said, “I don’t think I will call you Isabelle
anymore. It takes too long to say. I think I shall call you
Belle
instead.”

Isa’s face flushed a hot red. “I
don’t–Please don’t call me that, Your Highness.”

“
Why not?” There was no distance
in his voice now as he leaned forward towards her, only genuine
curiosity, which made it all the worse.

“
I…” she stuttered, searching for
words as panic rose in her chest. After all this time, she had
thought she was stronger than this. “I beg your pardon, but I just
don’t want it!”

Everard sat back again and
scoffed. “I am not ordering you as the prince. I’m asking you as a
fellow human who might enjoy some
real
conversation sometimes.” Isa
didn’t answer, so he continued. “You’ve only been here for what,
eight weeks? I have lived here for eight months on my own. I can
sense that I am not your favorite person in the world, so believe
me when I say you were never my first choice in companion
either.”

For some reason, that stung more
than Isa would have expected.

But the prince continued with his
cruel tirade. “Still, I have tried to get to know you, to get you
to open up just a little! But for some reason, you think you’re
above common civilities–”

“Civilities?” Isa snapped, and for
a moment, she didn’t care if she was speaking to the prince. He had
crossed a line. “I didn’t think it was very
civil
when you forced me here
against my will, or when you made me dance with you, or when you
compelled me to accept a task I still do not understand!
What
civility
was
there when you ended my childhood before I was ten? And even less
civil was your warrant for my death last spring! You were the
reason I was abandoned on my wedding day! You took everything from
me! And yet, after all that
civility
, you have the audacity to
sit here and demand to know why I hate that name!”