Beauty And The Beast

"Thank you." She barely heard her own voice.

He placed his other hand over hers on his arm as they descended the stairs. "For what?"

"The food. The blankets. The dresses." She felt heat rise in her cheeks, remembering how he had moved her to the bed. It was better not to stoke his ego too much. She felt him shrug.

"You needed to eat. To stay warm. To be clothed."

Once they'd reached the Great Hall, he pulled out a chair for her. She sat, and he took a seat next to her at the head of the table. They were silent throughout the meal, only making gestures to pass a dish.

She kept her eyes on her own plate, but she felt the warmth of his gaze on her. It was the same feeling she'd felt last night. But when she looked up, he was staring at his food.

After the meal, she excused herself to return to the library. At the landing of the second floor, she glanced over her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him standing beside the table, his eyes on her back. They rose and met hers.

Kristiana lowered her chin and continued on her way, feeling slightly giddy, knowing he was still watching her.

###

For the next two weeks, they played the same game. Kristiana would wake each morning to a tray of food on her table, fresh water in the basin, and a stoked fire warming the chamber. She would spend the day reading in the library, joining him for the noon meal in silence, reading throughout the afternoon, and joining him again for a silent dinner.

The first couple of nights, she purposefully left the blankets folded at the foot of the bed. Each morning, she'd wake with them tucked in around her. Her heart quivered at the thought of him visiting her in the middle of the night, as strange as it may seem.

By the third week, they'd begun exchanging small bits of conversation over their shared meals. Usually, Prince Dalemond would ask her about the current book she was reading. She found herself rambling on and on, blushing when she would look up and catch his earnest gaze on her.

As winter set in, he joined her in the library, sitting in the shadows by the fire as she read or worked on the needlepoint she'd found in her chamber one day. Like the midnight voyeurisms, at first she felt uneasy, knowing he was watching her. But after a time, she tuned him out and focused on the story or the handiwork or watching the falling snow outside. And despite their routine and the freedom to move about the castle at will, Kristiana still felt like a prisoner.

When spring finally came, it thrilled her to be able to roam the castle grounds. Her favorite pastime was sitting under the large tree in the front yard by the rose garden. At times, she'd linger at the closed gates, staring out into the woods, daydreaming. Never did she attempt to leave and never did he speak to her about it, but on a few occasions she did notice him spying on her from a window. She would act as if she had not seen him and move on to daydream elsewhere.

###

Early one day, when the rosebuds were peeking their heads out, Prince Dalemond left a note on her breakfast tray that he had to leave to attend to some business. She glanced out her window to see him leading his horse across the courtyard...and stopping to secure a padlock once he'd closed the gate.

Anger bubbled up inside. Surely, by now he knew she wouldn't try to leave! Father had made a promise, and she maintained to keep it for him.

Racing downstairs, still clad in the nightdress she'd found in the wardrobe the first morning, she stormed out the front door and gripped the bars of the gate in her hands, shaking them.

"How dare you lock me up! I hate you!"

Kristiana was sure he'd heard her, as the morning was still, and he had not been too far away. But he did not respond, and he did not turn back. She clung to the gate, pressing her forehead against the cool bars.

Her anger turned to sadness, and tears spilled down her cheeks. He had not said how long he would be gone. Was she to feed herself? Tend to her own fire? Who would keep her company while she stitched? Or ask her about the stories she read? Who would check on her tonight while she slept?

Returning to her chamber, she flung herself on the bed and sobbed. She had never felt more alone.

###

It was late in the day when she finally rose from bed again. A glimpse out the window showed the padlock still on the gate. Her breakfast untouched, she managed a few bites, and then grabbed her cloak, throwing it over her nightdress.

The evening air was cool as she walked through the courtyard. She wondered where Prince Dalemond had gone. What he was doing. When he would return. She found she missed him, as much as she despised his controlling behavior.

She had not been paying attention to where she was going, and she stumbled on a raised root in the side courtyard, her slippered foot sliding beneath it. Sharp pains bit through her ankle, and she collapsed in the dirt, scuffing her palms on the small rocks at the base of the tree. When she tried to pull her foot free, she cried out when it remained caught.

Warm tears filled her eyes, and she whimpered. The sun was disappearing over the tops of the trees in the woods. Shivering, she pulled her cloak tighter around her, raising the hood over her tangled locks. She was glad she had at least thought of wearing the cloak, even if she'd been amiss at getting dressed properly today.

Not knowing what else to do, she lay down and curled up against the tree trunk. She hoped Prince Dalemond would still come home this evening...or that it did not rain as it had the past several nights if she had to sleep outdoors. Maybe she could free herself in the morning if she had some light.

The night grew darker around her, and for once, she was grateful for the looming walls surrounding the courtyard. While she always thought they were meant to keep her in, tonight they kept out all the wild animals. They kept her safe.

###

The sound of a man yelling roused Kristiana from her sleep; her back ached and her cheeks were stiff with dried tears. Her muscles tensed with fear, and then she remembered what had happened and where she was. It took another moment to realize that it was Prince Dalemond yelling. It sounded like her name. But when she tried to call back, her throat was raw and the only sound that came out was a raspy, "Help!"

She heard a loud whistle, and then the barking of dogs. By the light of the moon, she saw them running at her, and she screamed. They were not nice-looking dogs, but rather huge and mangy and snarling.

She tugged at her foot, but it would not budge. She cringed, preparing for the dogs to attack, and screamed once more for Prince Dalemond. He yelled again, closer this time, and a different whistle cut through the still air.

The dogs heeled, but they still growled at her. She could see their large shiny eyes and smell their fetid breath they were so close.

Prince Dalemond appeared and dragged the dogs back by their collars, disappearing into the night.

Her lungs didn't know how to work properly. Her heart thudded in her head, and she was too scared to even cry.

He'd sicked his dogs on her! He'd returned and couldn't find her, so he'd assumed she had fled!

She collapsed against the tree again, struggling to think, to breathe. Would he leave her out here all night as punishment for something she hadn't even tried to do? The night was silent again, and she stared up at the moon peering over the treetops. Father was on the other side of those trees. Trees that she could not reach because they were beyond the courtyard. Beyond the walls. Beyond her prison.

###

Kristiana was asleep, wrapped up in her cloak, when Prince Dalemond returned. He watched her for a moment, her forehead wrinkled from worry, from a dream, perhaps. His eyes grazed down her body and stopped at her left foot, how it was twisted at an odd angle, trapped under the tree root.

He pulled a small dagger from his belt and cut the root away, careful not to nick her skin. She moaned softly when her foot was free, her ankle falling to rest in its natural position. He sheathed the dagger and carefully gathered her in his arms. Her cloak fell away, and he groaned deeply when he saw what she was wearing beneath it.

The white gown had a low, square neckline. The front laced up with a satin ribbon that ended with a bow. It hung down over her breasts and moved in time with her breathing. He watched it, mesmerized. The thin material of the long skirt covered her legs, but he felt her shiver. She moaned again, turning into his body as he held her.

Once back inside, he removed the cloak and laid her on his bed. She sighed in her sleep, and the creases in her forehead disappeared. He ran a warm cloth over her cheeks, washing the dirt away. And then he turned to her foot.

A dark bruise circled her swollen ankle. He carefully ran his hand over her leg and foot, not feeling any broken bones. Certain it was only a bad sprain, he cleaned and wrapped her ankle loosely, and then propped it up on a pillow to reduce the swelling.

Before he pulled a blanket over her, he gazed down at her sleeping form. Her lips parted as she breathed evenly once again, her head tilted to the side, exposing the delicate lines of her neck. His eyes traveled downward, following the curves of her torso as the nightdress clung to her, and rested on the dark patch visible through the material at the apex of her legs.

His loins burned with fire, and he hardened immediately. Then he threw the blanket over her and forced himself to turn away. He turned the chair to face the fire, and he eased himself down into it, brooding over the day's events.

How could he have thought she'd run away? Did he not trust her? She had proven herself to him time and again. But he had jumped to conclusions. He'd almost lost her due to his stupid fears.

He made a swift decision: the dogs would be destroyed in the morning. He'd do it right now, but he couldn't bear to leave her side. What if she needed him while he was gone? But they had to go. They'd already caused at least one death. They were a weapon, triggered by his temper.

He dozed off eventually, but he woke throughout the night to check on her, adjusting her ankle, watching the swelling, making sure she appeared comfortable. And each time he forced himself to return to the chair when he wanted to sit and watch her sleep.

###

A dull throbbing in her ankle woke Kristiana. She opened her eyes to see Prince Dalemond wrapping a cool white cloth around her entire foot. He placed her foot on a pile of pillows and reached for the blanket. When he turned back toward her, he started.

"You're awake!"

"I am." She stared up at him. At his five o'clock shadow; at his messy mane of hair; at his wrinkled shirt, open at the neck; at the thick muscles in his arms where the sleeves had been rolled up. She swallowed and tried to sit up, propping her elbows behind her.

His eyes dropped down to her breasts.

She realized they were jutting out in this position and lay back down. But her nipples tightened, painfully. It had been almost a year. How much longer could she go on denying her attraction to him? He obviously felt some himself. Otherwise, he wouldn't be looking at her all the time.

"It is late. I did not mean to disturb you." His fingers grazed over her ankle. "How do you feel?"

"Sore." She licked her dry lips, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, she watched his hand on her foot. The heat of his skin was evident against hers even through the bandage.

"I'm sorry I overreacted earlier."

She flinched, her eyes leaping up to his. "I-I had only gone for an evening stroll. I did not disobey you. I never have. I never will."

"I'm sorry about the dogs. They won't bother you again."

"Thank you." It was hard to swallow. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"You're welcome."

Was it her imagination, or was he stroking her ankle? She didn't dare tear her eyes from his; it was a nice feeling. And she didn't want him to stop. She settled back into the pillow and tried to keep her breathing steady when his hand crept up to caress her shin.

"Did...did you have a good trip?"

He nodded, tilting his head to the side. His chocolate-brown eyes watched her. Watched when her lips parted as his hand moved behind her knee. Watched when she gasped as he slid his fingers up and down her calf. Watched when she moaned as he pushed the hem of her nightdress up her leg.

"I didn't mean to be so late. Things took longer than expected."

It was her turn to nod, and she licked her lips again when he massaged the top of her thigh. Then her breath hitched when his fingers brushed her inner thigh.

"Do you want me to stop, Kristiana?" His voice was a low whisper.

She shook her head, unsure of what she was feeling. She'd never been with a man before. It was exciting and scary at the same time. He seemed to know what he was doing. She told herself to relax...and for once be glad he was in control.

###

His hand stilled, feeling the tension in her muscles beneath the silkiness of her skin. Prince Dalemond had never seen such a timid woman before. Her soft gasp when he'd first touched her made his chest tighten with anticipation. He was sure this was a new experience for her. He intended to make it memorable.

He told himself to go slow. He knew this evening had been frightening for her. He wanted to ease her fears. Regain her trust. Nothing more.

He'd bedded many women before, but the inexperienced were the most interesting. He enjoyed their expressions, their sounds at the new sensations he brought alive in their bodies. And once they'd become accustomed to his ways, they were eager to please him again and again.

She would be no different. He was a man with needs...she was a beautiful woman. They would both benefit. When he'd tired of her, he would decide what to do at that time.

Until then...

Kristiana gasped again, and his eyes jumped up to her face. Her gaze was focused on where his thick fingers stroked the inside of her thigh. When he inched them upward, her eyes closed, and then she licked her bottom lip.

His breath caught at her reaction. The thin material of her skirt collected at his wrist as he drew closer to the source of heat he could feel against the back of his hand. And then his fingers grazed the bed of curls.

She let out a whimper. When he gently pressed his free hand to her other thigh, her legs parted.

"Do you want me to stop, now?"

For the briefest moment, she said nothing.

He prayed she would not resist him. He would not try again with her if she did.

There were always the day-trips to find a willing partner—like the one today, and others he'd taken without her knowledge, returning before she'd realized him gone. He would just rather use the opportunity under his own roof. That's why he'd formulated the plan on his return today...aghast with himself for not thinking of it sooner. He could have her whenever he pleased without worry that she would go to the arms of another man.

His anger had been renewed, though, when he'd returned to find her missing from the castle, the gates still securely locked. He had not thought it possible for her to escape over the wall, but she was a clever woman. He had underestimated her. And that only deepened his frustration.

"No." Her eventual response was the strangest sound, as if she was forcing herself to say it. But he gave it no heed. It was the answer he desired.

His index finger swept up through her curls. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when he felt the gathered slickness beyond. She moaned and her hips moved slightly against his hand. He flicked the tip of his finger at her hidden bud, and she cried out, her eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling.

"What a delightful sound from such a beauty as you."

He flicked again, receiving the same reaction. He stroked further down into the heat and more wetness. She was as needy of this as he was. The thin fabric of his trousers strained against his own arousal, and he groaned.

Several minutes passed as he slowly stroked one and then two fingers through her swollen lips. Her eyes had closed again, fluttering open whenever he moved against her bud. When he felt he'd teased her enough, he gently inserted his finger into the source of her womanhood.

Kristiana gripped the sheets beneath her. Her whimpering grew louder as he stroked in and out of the tight opening. And then her hips lifted off the bed with a gentle shudder.

Dalemond chuckled. He pressed his left hand against her right thigh, holding her down, and then inserted another finger. That earned him a strangled gasp and another arch of her hips, pushing his digits deeper. When he stroked faster, occasionally rubbing his thumb against her bud, the slickness grew thicker, producing a heady scent that he relished.

He kept his eyes on her face, but he couldn't help noticing how her ragged breathing made her now swollen breasts press against the fabric barely encasing them. He moved his left hand up and caressed one mound through her nightdress, mesmerized by the fullness of it and how it felt to finally touch her there after all these months of admiring her from a distance.

She moaned, rolling to press into his hand. His fingers continued a steady rhythm below. Above, he sought out and stroked her nipple, which hardened instantly. She felt so good, his hands aching from squeezing and flexing around and within her most intimate parts.

He was considering what her breast would feel like—taste like—without the barrier currently hiding it when her muscles tightened around the fingers of his right hand. Her breathing became shallower, and her moans turned into unintelligible mumbling.

His focus returned to what he was doing between her legs as he silently urged her on, the pain of his own restraint maddening. But he forgot about himself when she screamed his name, her back lifting off the bed completely. His fingers continued to stroke within as she climaxed, only ceasing when she relaxed again, shuddering.

"Shh...shh..." He eased his hand away, pulling the skirt down again.

She moaned, pressing her cheek into his touch when he caressed her there.

They were both silent except for her small whimpers as aftershocks rolled through her body. He couldn't stop watching her, her cheeks flush, her chest moving in time with the slow tempo of her breathing now.

When he realized she'd fallen asleep, he covered her with the heavy quilt, blew out the candlelight, and settled into the chair by the fire for the rest of the night.

###

Kristiana opened her eyes and blinked. Sunlight poured in the window...on the wrong side of the room. She sat up with a start, wincing at the dull ache in her left ankle. As she glanced around—noting the expensive tapestries, the oversized ornate furniture—she realized she must be in Prince Dalemond's chambers. But why was she in his bed?

Her cheeks burned as she remembered. And the more she thought of last night, the hotter she felt in other places. Had she really let him touch her like that?

"Good, you're awake."

She screamed and clutched a hand to her throat.

"My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you."

Prince Dalemond stepped toward her from where he stood in the doorway. She automatically pulled the quilt up, covering her chest. When his eyes darted down and lingered, her nipples hardened and she wondered what he was thinking. The memory of his hand on her breast made her moan softly.

One of his eyebrows shot up, but he only said, "I came to see if you were hungry."

She nodded and tried to swallow.

"I should check your ankle." And then he proceeded to pull the quilt back, exposing her bare legs where the skirt of her nightdress had ridden up during her sleep. He glanced there briefly but moved on down to remove the cloth bandage he'd applied in the middle of the night.