Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Twenty-Nine || To Dance with a Beast

TONIGHT WAS NOT for drunken whispers nor gentle caresses. Tonight was not for him nor I; nor the castle and the crumbling grounds. There was no room for heartfelt confessions. Tonight was for the darkness and the shadows swallowing the foot of the staircase.

Raoul was well aware of that—I could hear it in his somber steps and husked, drawn voice. "Beauty," he rumbled as I descended the stairs as to meet him, "behold the Beast."

I permitted my eyes to trail past the steps and up to his face. It was a mistake. The expression of hunger and desire took me by surprise. My foot caught on the last step and I stumbled forth—into his waiting arms.

Fingers curled around my elbows.

I slowly drew my eyes upward, my fingers creasing his lapels. Slowly, I gathered what courage was left in my bones and peered through my lashes, daring to meet his gaze.

My breath hitched.

The look on his face—merde. His eyes burrowed into mine, betraying not a thought beside the darkened motives and lustful intentions. He clenched his fingers slightly, raking his eyes down the elegant folds of my silken skirts and embroidered bodice, lingering along the swept hair framing my face. In turn, I assessed his shaven jaw and combed hair, noting the loosened cravat upon his throat.

"You clean up rather nicely," I managed to breathe.

"How charming you are when you make the effort," he returned just as quietly. And then he extended a clawed hand to me. "Ismae," he murmured, "would you indulge me?"

"Only for tonight." I slid my fingers into his. Only tonight, indeed.

His palm closed over mine, gently taking my arm in his as to lead me to the center of the hall. I followed, setting my jaw and keeping my gaze held high until he settled before me and bent at the waist. His figure was left shadowed by halls so grand and lights so dim. The vastness of the ballroom echoed every intake of breath, every whisper and stumble, every note on the piano until it was all I knew.

With an arm woven around my waist, he whispered, "You are the first bride to survive long enough to dance with me."

I felt his hand press into the small of my back. "To what do I owe the honor?" I asked.

"I believe you know," he murmured as he spun me, gaze never leaving me.

"That, and more," I mumbled as my fingers curled around his shoulder.

"What more?" He inquired as we danced to the music played by invisible servants.

"That you are tyrant that only derives pleasure from things he cannot take, only be given," I said boldly, my words drowning into the blue sea that was his eyes.

"So you see, dear Ismae, why I want you willing?" he inquired slowly.

"No, I do not see nor understand how it is of any difference to you." I felt my brows furrow as I studied his impassive expression. The candles dimmed from around us.

"Whether I steal a kiss from you or you give one to me in hopes of a promise means nothing to me," he said, his words leaving his mouth at an unhurried pace. "Those are meaningless."

"I do not want them to mean something," I whispered quietly, sensing his fingers along my back as he pulled me closer and held me nearer. There was no longer any space between us, only the breadth of our clothing. He spun me to the rhythm of the music.

His eyes flashed red—only for a second. "So if a man forced himself on you, it is all the same?" His voice was not nearly as stony as the expression he honed his face to bear.