Chapter Five
Beauty laughed happily, remembering
the time that Apple had thrown both her and her sisters off of his broad back
with one kick. They had landed in the
nearest, convenient mud puddle and gone home looking like they'd been playing
on a swamp.
"That was the first and last
time we ever tried to play western explorers with Apple." she giggled,
pleased to note that Rayven's eyes lit up with amusement, although his rough
chuckle was fairly quiet.
"Indeed, milady. This great steed of yours sounds like a
spirited creature, especially for a warrior's stallion." he commented.
"A war-horse? Is that what Apple is? I never found out his breed or
anything." she prompted, hoping he would keep talking. The more she heard his voice, the less she
noticed his beastly appearance. That
voice, so like the rough, deep voices of the seas, was capable of melting any
resolve of hers with the right words.
"I believe he's a Clydesdale of
sorts; they tend to be thick-furred and enormous... much like Apple. Although I don't believe I've ever seen a
horse of his color before." Rayven mused.
"I know, that's why I called
him Apple... he looks like mulled apple cider when he's clean." Beauty
smiled, girlishly pleased with her cleverness in naming her horse.
"Appropriate, I think,
milady." Rayven nodded.
It was amazing how easily they
talked after the first few moments of inevitable silence, during which they
sized each other up and clawed desperately at things to say. Rayven found Beauty to be intelligent,
quick-witted, resourceful, and beautiful all at once; a rare and tantalizing
combination. To Beauty, Rayven was the
quintessential prince or knight from her tales; polite, admiring, well read,
and that voice! She wanted to know more
about this mysterious man with the look of a beast, but the soul of a poet.
"Well, now." Beauty
announced as she set her wineglass down.
"We've spent the entire evening discussing my family and how I grew
up and such… dare I ask if you'll do me the honor of favoring me with an abridged
history?"
He paused in the act of sipping his
own glass, the only nourishment he'd partaken so far. With slight uneasiness, her carefully set the glass down, aware
that if he clenched too tightly, it would break within his grasp. "What do you want to know?"
"Try the obvious
question." she smirked at him.
"Why are you like… this?"
"It's a spell, milady. I should think that much was obvious by
now." he growled, annoyed by her curiosity.
"Spell?" she
repeated. "As in magic? Surely you jest, Rayven. There's no such thing as witches or wizards,
they only exist in stories."
"I can assure you that witches,
at the very least, exist well and truly." he rumbled low in his chest,
something that Beauty took to be a warning sign.
"Perhaps. 'There are more things in Heaven and earth
than can be dreamt of by your philosophies' after all." Beauty shrugged,
pulling one of her favorite lines out of thin air.
"Well put, milady. Shall we continue with your
inquisition?" he nodded, regretting his close outburst and thankful that
she hadn't noticed to much of an extent.
"How old are you?"
"Four-hundred and sixty-nine, I
believe."
It was Beauty's turn to nearly choke
on her wine. "You must be
joking!"
"Indeed, I'm not. It's a condition of the spell, I remain
ageless until either the spell is broken or my time runs out." he
whispered, clearly disturbed by the latter idea.
"Time runs out? You mean that you have a time limit for the
spell?" she asked gently, suddenly by his side without knowing how she got
there.
"Yes. I suppose I should explain both this and the reason I
over-reacted, in your opinion, to the theft of one of the roses." he
nodded, speaking in a hushed tone. "Do
you see the rose bushes outside, by the West Gate?"
"Oh yes… I was admiring them
earlier. But why are there no red roses
like the one Father brought me? I
thought red was everyone's favorite." she replied.
"The colors out there are not
by preference. Each color of rose
represents a different span of time, in this case, the amount of time I have
left to break the spell. There are no
black roses either, which were one-hundred years. White roses, which I have only one of left, are one year. All of the yellow roses mean one day."
he explained.
"What about red?" Beauty
asked, eager to know the extent of her father's transgression.
"I was counting on having
another ten years to break the spell… that red rose was the last one." he
whispered, his voice little more than a deep thunder in his chest.
"Ten years?" Beauty
repeated, horrified. "I'm so
sorry! He couldn't have known that it
could've meant so much to you!"
"I know that, milady. It is I who should apologize to you."
he assured her, looking at her wistfully.
Beauty was shocked by the emotion she could see there in his very human
eyes. For the first time, she was able
to see their color and was struck speechless.
Such a clear iridescent green, they were; like polished emeralds.
"With such odds at stake,
anyone would be angry." she reasoned faithfully. "But, tell me, what happens when your time runs out? You remain a… beast?"
"No." he shook his great
head. "If my time runs out before
the spell is broken… my life runs out with it.
I will die."
Beauty gasped, immediately on her
knees next to his chair, her hands laying on his velvet-clad arm. "Die?" she repeated in a single,
high-pitched breath. "Oh, Rayven…
you mean you have less than two years to break this spell… and you've already
been under it for four-hundred?"
"Precisely. So, your captivity should not be unbearably
long, milady. Once I'm dead, you're
free to go." he said softly, one of his fur-covered hands resting
tentatively on hers, savoring the brief feeling of skin against skin. Beauty didn't protest in the least, but
rather enjoyed the contact, surprised to find that his palms and fingertips
were hairless, like a human's.
"But…" she trailed, unsure
of what she wanted to say and biting her bottom lip in thought, her hands
moving in a mildly caressing motion under Rayven's hand, toying with the velvet
of his coat.
"It is late, milady, and you've
had what I'm sure was a very trying day.
Perhaps you should retire." Rayven prompted, rising from his chair
and pulling Beauty from her kneeling position with one hand. "I only ask that you remember what I
told your father; I will never harm you, you have nothing to fear from
me."
"I'll remember that. I trust you." Beauty nodded, astonished
to find that she meant it, despite the fact that she'd only met him a few hours
ago.
"Goodnight, milady." he
whispered, his lips briefly touching the back of her hand in a polite
kiss. He backed away almost
immediately, as though expecting to be slapped and yelled at for his
assumptions. Instead, she merely stood in a relaxed posture, a slight smile on
her lips.
"Goodnight, Rayven." she
took a step closer to close the distance between them. Without knowing what possessed her, she rose
up on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering a second
longer than necessary.
Before either could react to Beauty's impulse, she was gone, escaping to her room with furiously blushing cheeks and a barely repressed smile.