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

Chapter Thirty-Three || To Fret for a Beast

MY JAW GAPED. "Have you gone mad?"

"You are the mad one," he said bitterly. "Ismae, you speak as if you are infatuated with that monster. Anyone who hears you will think you deranged—clearly your time in that mad man's that man has bewitched you and made you his docile wife."

I scowled. "I am not deranged. What I speak is sound and true. You are the mad one, not I."

"He sent you back under a spell," he said slowly. "That is why he let you go. To fill our heads with lies. Ismae...what has he done to you?"

I smacked his hand away. "He has done nothing!" His palms clenched my shoulders—as if he feared I would try to run from him. I cleaved his hands off of me. "Do not touch me!" My arm lashed out impulsively.

His face dawned with horror. "I hate to do this to you, Ismae..." He glared something grim. "Géraude."

I refused to acknowledge Géraude lest it illicit the reaction he wished to draw from me. And though I did not turn to look at him, I could not contain the crawling of my skin as I heard him speak. "It appears you were right in your suspicions, Jacques." His steps came to fall behind me. "She has no place here."

"Shut your trap," I snapped. "Or I just may cut it from you."

"Idle threats," he tsked. "One would think that marriage had taught you better."

Jacques dared a step closer. "Indeed. I cannot imagine bedding you had been very pleasant or pleasurable for even a man such as him. It is no wonder that he chose to send you back, under a spell, no less."

"I. Am. Not. Bewitched," I gritted, rearing back as to prepare for things to come to blows.

Jacques only waved his hand. "There is no use in arguing with a woman clearly gone mad. It would be best if we were to remove her from our premises entirely—clearly she cannot be trusted. We must go on about planning without her aid."

A look of pain flashed over Emil's face and I nearly considered pleading reason and sense into his thick head. But once his lips pulled into a frown and he drew his shoulders back—a movement I was all too familiar with—I knew better than to attempt it.

He glanced at Jacques—and nodded.

I tightened my grasp on my knife. "No. You cannot do this to me. Emil—"

"Seize her. And take her to the stables."

Arms shot out and grasped me.

Betrayal had me frozen for but a moment.

"Put me down! Put me down right this instant you insipid idiot!" I slammed my knee into whatever flesh was available—readily whipped my knife across what skin I could reach until I was certain that I had drawn blood. "Géraude! Let me go! To hell with you, you foolish dolt! Put me down! Connard! Trou du cul!"

"Take those weapons from her!"

I yanked my arm back, jerking my elbow into Géraude's side—but to no avail for my fingers were yanked apart and my knife stolen from me. "Don't do this to me," I hissed. "I will never forgive you for it."

"You would be foolish to think that I care for your forgiveness."

"Géraude, I swear by all that is holy—I will make you pay for this," I bit through clenched teeth.

He snickered. "It will cost me nothing."