Beast

"I desire, therefore I exist."

-Angela Carter, "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman."

***

It was agreed: Leona would stay with the Beast for 12 days, at the end of which she would decide whether or not to marry him.

Rupin and Leona's father brokered the deal at the Christmas banquet Rupin held for the entire town, at his castle in the countryside. Rupin seemed quite taken with her father, asking him all sorts of questions about his trading with the Indies and even inviting them to stay overnight after all the other guests had gone. Only later did Leona learn it was not her father who so fascinated Rupin, but herself.

The agreement was only that she would stay with him and then hear his marriage proposal. She was under no obligation to say yes, or do anything else except keep Rupin company. "Time enough for us to get to know one another," he told her, kissing her hand like the perfect gentleman. That had been the second day of Christmas, after the banquet, and those were the first words he ever spoke directly to her. She'd hated him ever since, and it was then she nicknamed him "Beast."

Apparently he'd had virtually every eligible woman in the countryside as his "guest" at one time or another, but he remained a bachelor. Judging from the quantity of gifts he plied her father with he must be nearing the point of desperation for a wife. "You could do much worse for a husband," her father reminded her as he climbed into the carriage (without her) that morning. He'd fixed a single winter rose from Rupin's garden in his buttonhole. "And all you have to do is stay here for the holidays, which is hardly what you'd call an ordeal."

Leona admitted: Rupin was charming. He was also handsome, and scholarly, well-spoken, well-dressed and well-groomed, with a pleasant voice and a habit of always saying just the right thing. His conversations were enlightening, and he made it clear that he prized her opinions. And he was fantastically rich and from a prestigious family. There was even an air of mystique about him, with his unidentifiable dark complexion and accent, and the oddly superstitious way that the townsfolk (particularly the women) treated him. She, a merchant's daughter of no particular lineage and no particular beauty, who had lived in the township for only three months, could never have dreamed of attracting such a suitor.

Nevertheless, she hated him.

Generally they saw little of each other, which was a relief. He attended to "business" most of the day, though what that consisted of in the darkened rooms of the drafty old castle she had no idea. She took most meals by herself and was content to prowl the grounds or spend hours in the library. Only at dinner and the hours immediately after did she have to tolerate Rupin's presence. Though she vowed never to say a word to him, he always somehow wheedled her into an engaging conversation. He was witty and incisive and sometimes close to brilliant, which of course was incredibly annoying. She was consistently rude and unpleasant in return, but he never seemed bothered. He was mild and amiable company at all times, never becoming angry no matter how hard she tried.

After dinner they would retire to the library. Rupin had an abominable fondness for fairy tales and he would usually read a selection to her. He seemed fluent in virtually every language known, and translated exotic volumes with ease. That evening, the fourth day of Christmas, he was in the midst of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," a particularly atrocious article, in Leona's eyes. She waited until the part when the Green Knight challenged Gawain to a contest, even though Gawain knew the knight was immortal and could never be killed. "And did he accept?" Leona broke in. Rupin's eyes flicked up from the book.

"Yes," he said.

Leona snorted. "Idiot. It would have been smarter of him not to show."

"But it would have been a mark against his honor." Rupin sat in an overstuffed chair, legs crossed, one slippered foot dangling. Leona, who could never bear sitting still in Rupin's presence, paced the room, occasionally stabbing the fire with a poker. There was a lion skin rug in front of the hearth and she took particular joy in trampling it.

"I'll take a live man over an honorable corpse any day," she said. "This Green Knight doesn't seem like the honorable type, anyway. He laid out the challenge knowing he couldn't be hurt, but didn't think to warn anyone about that; that's dishonorable. But at the end of the day it's the dishonorable man who walks away."

"Perhaps," Rupin said. "But, if you'll hear the rest of the tale—"

"I will not," said Leona. "I've already taken what lesson from it I care to. I say, let my husband, whoever he may be, be a dishonorable man. I don't care if he lies and cheats and whores every night of the week if the alternative is him lying in a ditch with his head cut off because he daren't impugn his honor to stop it."

She thought she detected a rare mark of dismay on Rupin's face, just for a fleeting second. This pleased her.

"Now my lord, I'm afraid your story has given me a terrible headache. I must retire."

"Of course. Nothing is more important than your wellbeing." Rupin the book aside. "However, if at any point tonight you find your strength returning, do consider going for a walk with me in the garden."

This was the offer he made every night after the conclusion of the evening's tale. The first time Leona was startled; they were in the midst of a never-ending snowstorm and Rupin meant to go out walking in it, in the middle of the night? She hadn't the first idea what he intended if she ever agreed, but naturally she never had, so it remained a mystery.

He kissed her hand again. "Until tomorrow night. You remain, as always, the highlight of my day," he said, and left.

"Beast," Leona said to the closed door.

She watched from the windows. This spot afforded a good view of the garden where Rupin took his otherworldly constitutional. Snow piled high outside. It had snowed every night since she came here. Frost tinted the petals of the roses in the garden. Yes, the roses blossomed even in the winter, and never wilted in the cold, and were fresh and red all the year around. Rupin's roses were quite famous for that, though he claimed he did not understand their special qualities at all and that they'd always grown here, long before he'd come to live in the castle. There were many strange things about the castle, such as that Rupin seemed to have no servants or staff but the rooms were always clean and tidy and food appeared for supper every night without fail. Again, Rupin credited this to the castle's nature and claimed no understanding of how it all worked. She was not sure if she believed him.

Now she watched him as he wandered back and forth through the maze formed by the rose hedges, until eventually he vanished. She was taken by a sudden urge to throw on her coat, run down, and follow him, if only to find out what it was he did out there all the time. But that would be surrender, in her eyes. Instead she went to bed. She didn't bother snuffing the lamps in the library or dousing the fire. It would take care of itself, like it always did. Rather than count sheep, she counted the way she'd be revenged on her father when this confinement was over. Each little torment made her smile. With that smirk of satisfaction on her face she drifted off to sleep...

And woke with a start. The room had become hotter than hell. She threw off the covers and ran to the window, throwing it open, heedless of the snow blowing in. She stripped off her night clothes and gasped as the icy air stung her naked, sweat-drenched flesh. It should have helped, but it didn't. The heat was not a principle of the room but something inside of her. She pushed her knees together, feeling self-conscious despite being alone. Her skin was so sensitive that the touch of a single snowflake landing on the erect point of her nipple made her quiver. Even the feeling of air rushing past her lips as she breathed made her want to writhe in excitement. Her hands crept down her body, gliding over the curve of her thighs and up to—

She saw something. Across the way, in a tower room she believed was Rupin's, a light shone on the balcony. Was something moving out there? Yes: The balcony door was open and a shape was silhouetted against it. It was not a human shape. She leaned out, unmindful of her nudity. The hot feeling was fading and the extremity of the weather touched her directly now, but she didn't want to close the window or move away. What was going on? Rupin's window (if it was Rupin's window) opened fully and the thing, whatever it was, climbed out. It was some kind of animal, as big as a horse but lithe and graceful. Its movements reminded her of a housecat. It paced the length of the balcony on all fours, its tail twitching behind it, perhaps waiting for something. And then, in one bound, it leapt the balcony railing and was gone.

Leona was so shocked she almost screamed, and she ran out onto her own balcony and looked down. She expected to see the broken body of the thing lying there, but instead the creature appeared to have landed on its feet. Visible only in the dim light reflected off the snow, it took off as quick as you please, running for the garden and vanishing behind the rose hedges. Leona waited for several minutes more, but it did not reappear. After a while, the light went off in Rupin's window.

Leona fastened the doors. Her feet ached from exposure to the snow. Somehow, a blaze had kindled in her fireplace. Wrapping herself in a robe, she sat and pondered the flames. What had that half-glimpsed creature been? Did Rupin have some kind of exotic pet? Was he planning an absurd holiday surprise for her, the enormous feline part of some circus show? No: One look had been enough for her to know that it was no tame animal. She recognized what it was doing when it paced: sniffing the air. It was a hunter. It was out after something right now.

And what, she wondered, was its prey?

***

The days of Christmas went by, and life went on. Rupin's treatment of her became even more lavish, the food at dinner even more decadent, and the gifts he gave all the more extravagant. Her dislike for him throbbed like an infection. She felt she might have left the castle altogether in spite of the terms of the agreement (Rupin was so callow she doubted he would seek reprisal against her father even if she welched), but the few times she gave serious consideration to it the mystery of the strange animal incited her to disregard the idea. Her thoughts turned to that shape in the snow more and more often of late. She wanted to know what it was. Every night now she awoke at midnight, her skin on fire and her mind racing with indecent thoughts. She was sure the two things were connected.

Naturally her first idea was to ask Rupin, but something made her stop. The animal, whatever it was, must be some secret of his, and it seemed to Leona that she could antagonize him more by finding it out on her own. Though she'd seen it only once more, two nights after the first sighting, again leaving via the balcony window across the way, she was certain that it stalked the grounds every night, and now that she knew what to look for she found signs of its coming and going every morning. Though its tracks rarely lasted long in the constant snowfall there were still always a few distinct prints in the morning (alarmingly, always near some entrance to the castle). It was, as she suspected, a hunting cat of some kind, though one large enough to leave paw prints the size of saucers. Once, excusing herself for a morning walk, she ranged as far afield as she dared and discovered signs of its hunting: blood frozen in the snow.

That the creature was dangerous she was certain. That its inexplicable but undeniable habitation in the castle put her in danger was certain as well. But she wasn't afraid. In fact, she enjoyed the idea. And she enjoyed the sure knowledge that Rupin did not suspect she knew anything about it. Indeed, she once or twice became almost pleasant with him, which he seemed to take as encouragement, though in reality she was only enjoying a private sense of superiority about having ferreted out some part of whatever it was he wanted to keep from her.

On the eighth day, Leona found an appointment card in the tray by her door. They sometimes appeared there, when Rupin was planning something special. She groaned; the Beast was calling. The card asked her to meet him at six o'clock, an hour earlier than usual, in a room in the east wing. She had explored the castle extensively her first days here and knew the chamber in question to be only an empty study almost completely free of furnishing. Rupin must have done something with it. A waste of time in the making.

When the hour approached she made certain to arrive inconveniently early (she had observed that this annoyed him more than being late, and so the extra few minutes in his presence were worth it) and was about to knock when she corrected herself. No reason to start being polite now. So she simply barged in, and when she did she stopped, wide-eyed, and then, careful not to make any noise, crept back out. She flushed and looked at the blank face of the closed door, uncertain. Had she really seen what she thought she'd seen? She bent down to peer through the keyhole.

The room, formerly empty, was now covered with oil paintings of singular and exquisite quality, but that was not what shocked her. Rather, it was Rupin: He was in the center of the room, with one hand on a table for support, and his other hand was...Leona squinted. There could be no doubt about it: Rupin was masturbating, fondling his long prick up and down.

Even through the heavy door she could hear the concerted effort of his grunting. He almost sounded as if he was in pain. What in the world was he doing here, in front of the paintings no less? And why? Surely he did not do this every time he planned to meet with her? The thought simultaneously sickened and amused her. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

She looked at his prick. She couldn't help it. The engorged head appeared shiny in the lamplight. Surrounded as it was by the blue velvet lining of his breeches and the gold-fringed hem of his coat, it put her in mind of a naval officer standing at attention. Still, there was something crassly appealing about the sight of him bent like a jackknife over himself, face knit with effort. She saw how taut the sinews of his arms were as he held himself up and how firmly he planted his slippers on the carpet. The scene seemed so uncharacteristic of him that she wondered if she was perhaps dreaming.

She realized that she had long regarded Rupin as if he were some sort of eunuch, and perhaps even literally thought it was so. The concept of Rupin and sex always seemed as far apart as any two things could be. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive, in a shallow way, but more that he was the sort of man who would be afraid to make love to you for fear that it might somehow offend you. But now Leona wondered, what kind of man was Rupin in bed, and how often does he take someone there? He employed no maids or kitchen girls to have his way with, but he had courted every woman in the township. Was that the reason he never married? Was he a secret Casanova, smuggling his would-be betrotheds off for long nights of furtive but passionate fucking in quiet corners of the castle and then growing bored of them? Or was this lonely, earnest masturbation his only outlet?

She wondered what would happen if she opened the door right now. Assuming Rupin didn't die of shame on the spot, how would he react? What if she were to go take his cock in her hands? What if she got on her knees and licked him up and down it, savoring the taste before popping him into her mouth? She assumed he would be utterly ashamed and melt into self-loathing, which was a pleasing thought. Then again, maybe he'd surprise her even more by throwing her down and having his way with her right there on the floor. That idea made her queasy, but might be just interesting enough to be worth it...

But she stayed where she was. She wanted to see him finish. Minutes passed though, and it became apparent that if she did not interrupt then he would just keep going on and on. So, straightening herself and hoping she was rid of her telltale blush, she knocked as firmly as she could. She imagined Rupin jumping up, and trying to cover himself in a panicked rush. She knocked a second time, then entered. He looked for all the world like his normal self. When he kissed her hand she noticed he was not wearing gloves, meaning that the bare hand that a second ago had been fondling his penis was now caressing her fingers.

"My dear lady," he said. "How are you?"

She did not make her usual rude reply. Tonight called for a different approach. "I'm exquisite, thank you so much for asking." And she gave him her most dazzling smile. Rupin let only a half second's surprise show before regaining his usual demeanor.

"Lovely," he said. "I'm so glad you've joined me. I wanted to show you the new addition to the household."

The old, empty gallery was no longer empty. Framed oil paintings hung on the walls, a series of artful nudes. Leona had little patience for art, but she feigned interest and made a point of standing very close to Rupin as he played tour guide for her. Each selection was even more explicitly erotic than the last, but Rupin never commented on this. Instead he lectured quite tiresomely about the technique of each. She watched him to see if his face would give away any hint of an ulterior motive, but he never flinched. Her curiosity aroused even more, she stopped him in the middle and said, "Do you mind if we retire to the study? I'm suddenly in the mood to hear your reading voice."

"Of course," Rupin said. If he was surprised again he was better at hiding it. "Your pleasure is always the most important thing." Leona put her arm through his as he escorted her down the hall, leaning into him just a little. She neglected the chairs in the study and instead reclined on a couch, crossing her legs in such a way as to ensure that a few inches of her pleasing, round calves were visible.

"Do you mind if I request something?"

"Whatever you like."

She indicated a volume on a nearby shelf: "The 1001 Nights." Rupin handled the book with the air of a dutiful retriever. Leona searched her memory for the perfect selection, finally requesting "Julnar the Mermaid and Her Son, Badar Basim." Though not so well-read as Rupin, she knew the material. She waited for the moment she knew was coming, when the sultan goes to spend the first night with his new virgin concubine (actually an enchanted mermaid, although he doesn't know it yet), then interrupted. "That's not how the story goes."

Rupin looked up. "Pardon?"

"You skipped a part. Let me see it." She snatched the book right out of his hands. The language on the pages was just gibberish to her, but she pretended to read it:

"The king discovered that the girl was a pure virgin, and he marveled that she should have remained unspoiled in the hands of the slavers for so long. She still did not speak to him, but neither did she object when he laid her on the bed and disrobed her with trembling hands. Her moon-white skin sent a hot flush all through his body as he examined her well-shaped legs, curved hips, flat stomach and round, generous breasts. She was like a perfect sculpture all in white marble, and yet her flesh was warm and alive."

She looked up. "See? You left this part out. What a slipshod scholar you must be." She "read" on:

"He tested the inviting, pliant smoothness of her maidenhead, expecting her to wince or cry out but instead finding that she was receptive. She watched him with her dark eyes and spoke not a word. What a wondrous creature, thought the king as he disrobed and prepared to rend the girl's maidenhead and claim her for his own. He nearly ripped his garments as he stripped down. She watched him with detached curiosity."