

### The Black Beast

by L.S. Christopher

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 L.S. Christopher

This story is a retelling of the classic and much-reimagined fairy tale _Beauty and the Beast_ – this particular version, however, is meant to be enjoyed by grownups rather than children. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form and the reader is not charged to access it. If you enjoyed this story, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

### Table of Contents

Foreward

The Black Beast

About the Author

Foreward

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved fairy tales. From that very first book, gifted to me by my grandparents and stuffed full of classic stories and rhymes, to the countless books and movies and sundry that followed, I loved them all and consumed them with enthusiasm wherever I found them. Eventually, though, I got older and started to become dissatisfied – a reimagining here that didn't quite hit the mark, an old version there that didn't quite hold the magic its descendants had shone with. And then one day, a positively blasphemous idea came to me:

I could tell those stories myself, if I wanted to.

For some reason, it had never occurred to me that the people who re-tell fairy tales were just people, just writers; somewhere in my mind I'd always had them in the same league as fairy godmothers and wizards and other magical creatures, inhabitants of an enchanted world that mere mortals were only privileged to see, but not touch. And especially not to move into uninvited and set up shop on their own.

I did it anyway. Written nearly a decade ago, _The Black Beast_ was my first attempt at re-telling a beloved favorite fairy tale. And to my amazement, people read it and liked it and wanted more. So I kept writing, kept reimagining, kept doing my best to weave the magic I'd grown up loving so much...and eventually, I came back to _The Black Beast_ and decided it could be better. I needed it to be better. And my readers deserved to have it be better.

For my long-time readers who fondly remember the older and very trope-specific version of this story, thank you for continuing to 'remind' me over the years that I needed to get this done and back into your hands. It's been through multiple revisions and a lot of obsessive editing, but it's finally finished now and I hope the end result meets with your approval. Enjoy!

L.S. Christopher

March 2017

The Black Beast

A long time ago, on the outskirts of a dark, enchanted wood, there lived a man with five sons. The man's name was Phillipe Legrand, and he had once been a merchant of some note. He was a handsome man, tall and fair-complexioned with oak-dark hair and deep blue eyes, and he had traveled the world both far and wide and had been lucky in all respects save one; for although he had done much good in his life and little harm, the gods had not seen fit that any woman he had taken to wife should live much past the birth of a single child of his. And his last wife had proved the curse beyond the shadow of a doubt, a widow with a son two years older than the one she had borne for him. Phillipe had adopted her child into his own family and foresworn female companionship from the day of her burial. His sons would be enough for him, he'd vowed, as he would never dare to love a woman again for fear of knowing himself an unrepentant murderer.

His vow had perhaps come one wife too late for some god or other, however, for within the next few years his luck dried up at every turn. He lost every ship in his small fleet, some to storms, some to piracy, and one which had simply disappeared and never been seen again. His investments vanished, his storehouses of merchandise caught fire and burned to the ground, and his carriage horses sickened and died. Even his fine large house had been damaged by a storm, rendering most of it unlivable without costly repairs which he could no longer afford.

Phillipe had been a generous man in his prosperous days, but once he had lost everything not one friend could be found who would come to his aid. So he had scraped together what little remained to him and taken his sons to his old family home in the country, a place he had not so much as set eyes on in many long years. It was a house of stone walls and thatch roof located on the outskirts of a small village, but it had a workshop – the family business had once been the working of wood – and a sturdy stable in which to house the two fine riding horses which had survived and the mule Phillipe had traded for to be used for heavy work. Other men in his situation might have used up the horses rather than obtaining another animal to spare them, but Phillipe could not bring himself to be so cruel. It was not, he said, the fault of dumb beasts that their master was cursed to return to a hard life, and they would have what ease he could provide for them.

It was difficult at first for Phillipe to adjust to this humble new life, as he had long been accustomed to the easier work of a prosperous merchant and had done the work of a wood-crafter only to amuse himself during all that time. But his fingers were quick to remember their former trade, and soon he had the family business running once again with his young sons to help him as much as they were able.

Children grow quickly, and soon his boys began one by one to become young men. Bertrand was his eldest, borne of Phillipe's first wife, the sturdy eldest daughter of a prosperous miller. Bertrand was tall and strong and full of merry laughter, much like his father and his beloved youngest brother Jules; but Bertrand's eyes bore a shadow in their deep blue depths which the younger boy's had never known, a shadow cast by the death of not one loving mother but four. And although his handsome oldest son was much sought after by the fairer sex, Phillipe had his doubts that Bertrand would ever overcome his fears enough to wed. For the time being, though, the young man seemed content enough to do the work of a woodsman without thought of starting his own family, and so the father made himself content as well.

Gerard came next and was the most steady of all his sons – and also the most unlike his blood brothers in appearance, for his mother had been the middle daughter of a merchant Phillipe had become acquainted with on one of his sea voyages, and she had gifted their son with the fair hair and ruddy complexion of her own lineage. Gerard was as tall and strong as Bertrand, but he was of a more studious bent and so Phillipe had given him into an apprenticeship at a monastery so soon as he was of age that he might learn the healing arts. The young man's skill when he returned, having declined the offer to take vows and join the brothers who had trained him, was a blessing to all who lived near. Phillipe often regretted the time his son had spent away from his guidance, however, for along with the knowledge of herbs and leechcraft Gerard had also learned to be stiff and self-righteous and breaking him of it was proving an impossible task.

Jaime, his middle son, had been born to the youngest daughter of a minor nobleman who had fallen on hard times, a gay, pretty creature of gentle birth and breeding whose bride-price had been to have Phillipe dower her sisters that they might marry well and so escape their family's ill-fortune. Jaime was not so large or strong as his elder brothers, but he was quick and clever and possessed of both his father's good sense and his mother's gentle nature. His coloring was as his father's and elder brother's, but his looks were so fine and aristocratic that he had caught the fancy of his mother's now well-to-do eldest sister and had been offered a place in her household. She whisked him away a year before Gerard was to return from his apprenticeship, and another two years beyond that went by before Phillipe saw him again. The finely dressed near-stranger who came limping up the road one night, leading a tired black horse, looked at the world through eyes that had lost their innocence and with it their laughter. Jaime had waited in the dooryard until Phillipe came out to him, and without a word had placed into his father's hands a long flat box containing two fine dueling pistols, one of which had obviously been fired. The message was clear, as was the silent waiting in the yard; Phillipe had forbidden his sons to ever take part in a duel on pain of being cast out of the house, and now this gentlest of his children had come to take his punishment...like a man, the good, honest man Phillipe had raised him to be. Phillipe had handed the box to Jules with instructions for it to be taken to his room unopened and had enfolded Jaime in his arms before leading him into the house and instructing Liam, his next-to-youngest son, to stable the horse beside his own. He did not know what had happened or how, but this was his son and all was forgiven...although he could not convince Jaime of that. In three years of upper-class life the young man had grown unused to the hard manual labor of their simple existence, but he applied himself to every chore he could tackle with a disturbingly reckless intensity as though trying to prove himself worthy of having even the least place within his family.

Phillipe was dismayed by the fact that Jaime seemed to consider himself more of a servant than a son...and it disturbed him even more that his second-born seemed to be in agreement with that attitude if not actively encouraging it. Gerard also seemed to have some of the same feelings regarding young Liam, the firstborn of his poor last wife, who was a quiet, thoughtful child with nut-brown hair and leaf-green eyes, and who seemed more at home in the woods than anywhere else. This did not seem strange to Phillipe in the slightest, as the boy's mother had been the widow of a woodcutter and had remained in their sturdy cottage deep in the woods following his untimely death. The superstitious young healer decried this simple explanation, however, and had petitioned their father more than once to put a stop to his adopted brother's woodland wanderings, citing that the boy had most likely already come in contact with whatever evil forces lurked in the verdant depths. Phillipe had each time sternly commanded him to leave his brother be, but he knew that even so Gerard watched Liam warily and was often harsh with him for little reason. And he sometimes had a similar attitude regarding Jules, his youngest brother, as well; Gerard objected to the little boy's cheerful, curious disposition and to the merry laughter that he sounded throughout the household, feeling Jules should be more staid and serious. Phillipe did not like this attitude either – Jules was very like Bertrand had been when he was small, with his sturdy frame and loud, bright laughter, and it did his father's heart good to see such come again. Again, however, Gerard would not be reasoned with on the subject, and Phillipe had finally given up wasting his breath. And as the father was seldom away from his sons for any reason, he had decided that it was a minor problem and one he could deal with over time.

It was in the thick of winter one year that a message, sadly tattered from its journey, was delivered to Phillipe by a group of sailors journeying between ports and forced by circumstance to go overland. The missive had been entrusted to him, their leader had said, by a man in a city some distance away to the north on the other side of the vast forest, and that man had given him gold to see that his message was delivered. Phillipe had thanked the honest sailor and instructed his boys to fetch a skin of mead for he and his companions, which the man accepted gladly. "This I will warn you, then, in thanks for your generosity," he said before leaving, and his face was as serious as a stone. "I know not what news this letter brings you, although he who sent it thought it of great importance; but even if it be so, I would tell you that it should be no less than a matter of life and death that sends you into the wild woods if you value your life. For while we were passing through the woods one day the mist lifted and a grand stone castle could be seen some little distance from where we stood, and being tired of the cold we thought to make a stop there to beg a little of the hearth fire's warmth for the night before continuing on. But as we drew into the vast estate we heard a noise as of some great beast at the hunt, and thinking that knowledge of such a creature might buy us the hospitality we desired we went to see what manner of beast it might be." There he shuddered slightly, although he was a man both bold and strong. "What we saw that day...it was a huge black beast with claws like knives, and it was savaging a deer there in the snow. It must have heard us or smelt us, though, for it suddenly turned a monstrous face our way and roared so ferociously as to set us all running back the way we'd come in fear of our lives. I know you are thinking that we should have gone on to the castle to warn the inhabitants of what we'd seen...but let me tell you that when this creature turned we saw that although he was a beast and savage he wore clothes like a man, fine clothes as any noble might wear although they were soaked with the blood of his kill and torn from the hunt."

"Could it have been Herne?" Jules piped up from where he stood listening with wide blue eyes; he had heard oft of Herne from Liam, who had heard the tales from their mother, and from their father as well on occasion. "Did you see the Hunter?"

The sailor smiled and patted the dark head. "I have no fear of Herne, boy, nor of the horn he winds. But this was no lord of the wild woods culling his herds before Spring, this had to be the product of some dark enchantment or cruel curse. It did not follow us," he told Phillipe. "But to reach the city from which your letter came you would have to travel through that same cursed spot where we saw the beast, and to think that it would continue to chase deer when there is softer meat to be had would be the worst kind of folly."

Phillipe nodded his head. "Thank you for your warning," he said. "But I doubt my letter is any sort of summons; any friend that I had in that city is long since gone, and none who remain would have reason to send for me."

"As you say it," the sailor replied with a shrug, but it was clear he thought more than he said. "I thank you for the drink, then, and now my promised errand is completed I must be on my way."

Once the sailor was well away Phillipe laughed and ruffled Jules's dark hair. "It was just a story, my son. No evil monster creeps in these woods seeking to devour travelers; more likely these sailors drank more wine than was good for them one night by the fire and conjured this 'beast' out of some prowling bear."

"But the bears are all asleep now," Liam piped up, his green eyes earnest. "The cold tires them, and they rest until the spring thaw in caves lined with leaves."

"Perhaps one awakened early, then, disturbed by the passage of the sailors," was Phillipe's reply. "Travelers always tell such tales, my sons, it means nothing. Now why don't you go help Jaime in the barn while I take my letter inside to see what caused all of this excitement, all right?"

Obediently the two little boys ran off to the barn where their older brother was mending a slat in one of the stalls. He too laughed off the sailor's tale, telling them while he worked of some of the tales he'd heard in the city about ravening beasts which were supposed to lurk in the woods few city dwellers had ever so much as seen, much less traveled through. After he was finished with his repairs they helped him muck out the stalls and mend some of the tack, and then the three of them went for a romp at the edge of the woods on the pretense of gathering firewood before heading back to the house to help their father get supper ready.

Bertrand and Gerard both arrived home in time to eat the simple evening meal with the rest of their family, and afterwards everyone waited eagerly to hear the contents of the mysterious letter. Phillipe settled himself into his chair and smiled to see them, pride rising up in him at the thought of what a fine family of sons he'd been blessed with. He had often wished for the means to spoil them, to indulge some of their little whims, and it made him happy that he now might once again be in a position to do so. "My sons, the letter that was brought to me today was sent by a man acting for an old acquaintance of mine, a man who had once been my agent aboard one of my ships. I thought him dead when the ship did not return, but he was not and had apparently been involved in some treachery which he later grew to regret. Upon his death a mention was found in his will that a certain sum should be paid to me from his estate – not the whole of what his treachery cost me, but an amount he had set aside as a token of apology. The letter states that if I will but come to the city to fetch it this gold will be there waiting for me, and as the woods are passable right now I believe I could be there and back within little more than a fortnight."

"I should go with you, Father," Bertrand said at once. "The woods may be passable, but you would not be the only one passing through them and on the way back you would be carrying something worth being waylaid for."

"I will look after things here while you're gone," Gerard added. "And perhaps while you're in the city you could bring back some instruments and medicines that I've found I need."

"That I could do," his father said. "Write down for me what you want and I will do my best to find it for you. And as your brother has brought it up, what shall I bring back for the rest of you, hmm?"

"I would like to find a new suit of clothes while we're there," Bertrand said laughingly. "Something fine I might wear to the next festival."

"Perhaps if it is fine enough it might catch you a wife," Phillipe chided him gently, and smiled to see his son's blush. "Liam, what would you like?"

"New boots?" the boy asked hopefully. "Do they have new boots in the city, the kind with a tassel on the side?"

"I should think they did," was his father's answer. "New boots it is. Jules?"

"I want a hat!" Jules piped up at once. "A hat like a musketeer, with a long white feather!"

That made them all laugh, and then everyone began to talk at once about all the fine things that might be found in the city and what might be most desirable to have as their own. But Phillipe noticed that one voice had remained silent, one pair of eyes downcast, and he could not let it go. "Jaime, what would you wish of me on my return?"

"I only wish you didn't have to go," was the whispered reply. "I...I have a bad feeling about this trip, Father."

"Nonsense!" Phillipe proclaimed heartily. "Son, I'll be back before you know it and everything will be better than fine. But you'll shame your brothers if you don't ask for something, so tell me what you'd like from the city."

Jaime blushed. "There is only one thing I can think of that I would really like to have, and that is some rose seeds." The blue eyes that lifted to meet Phillipe's were liquid with emotion. "There used to be roses at Els....at someplace very special to me, and I would like to try to grow some here if I could."

Phillipe felt his own eyes tear up. That had been part of it then, his boy had been in love and had apparently lost her, and he was glad all over again that he had allowed Jaime to come home. "A rose it is, son, and you have my word I won't come back without one." He patted the dark brown head and then stood up and stretched mightily. "Well, my journey must begin early tomorrow and so I'll be off to bed. Goodnight, my sons."

It wasn't until their father had closed his bedroom door behind him that Gerard gave in to his feelings; he had been the first one to ask for something to be brought back from the city, and it had stung that the brother he often accused of being selfish had thought first of their father's return and when pressed had asked only for a few flower seeds which might be begged for free from any goodwife with a well-kept garden. He thought it had to have been no more than a play to gain more of their father's favor and said as much, feeling rather pleased when he saw Jaime's eyes widen in shock at the accusation. "You just wanted to put yourself above the rest of us in Father's eyes, admit it."

"But I didn't...I don't want..." Jaime dropped his head and sighed. "I have everything I want," he said softly. "But if there were anything I would like to have here other than my family, it would be a trellis of roses that might climb up beside my bedroom window."

Gerard snorted, but Bertrand smiled and ruffled the dark head in affectionate understanding. "Come along, little brothers, all of you need to get to bed too," he told them. "With Father and I both gone you're going to have extra work to do, it wouldn't hurt to start off with a good night's rest. All of you now, off to bed."

They all dutifully did as he asked, and as none of them looked back no one saw the concerned frown which had settled on his normally jovial face. Someone had to go with their father, yes...but Bertrand was now wondering if he had perhaps been too quick with his offer, and thinking that it might have been for the better if Gerard had been the one to go instead.

Phillipe rose before dawn the next morning and poked up the fire, then quietly in stocking feet made his way upstairs. First he looked into Gerard's room, smiling slightly to see the son that could be so contentious awake looking so peaceful as he slept; he could only hope some of that calm would carry over into the waking world while he himself was gone and Gerard was in charge of the house. In Bertrand's room Jules's little cot was empty, as usual, and Phillipe's smile widened to see his youngest son curled up beside his eldest. He knew that Jules was going to miss them more than the others, young as he still was, and for that reason he and Bertrand would speed their journey as much as possible. The room Jaime and Liam shared was last, and Phillipe couldn't help but linger in their doorway, just looking at them. Liam's cot was by the window, and he lay facing it as though hearing the call of the woods even in his sleep, while Jaime on his slightly larger bed was curled up defensively. Seeing that hurt Phillipe; he could remember a time when his middle son had slept in a relaxed sprawl much like Jules was wont to do, but ever since returning from his aunt's care that innocent vulnerability had been missing from him, even in sleep. Whatever had happened....Phillipe pushed that train of thought aside, knowing that so long as he remained ignorant of the exact details of the duel Jaime had taken part in his forgiveness could be freely given. With a sigh he went back to Gerard's door and called out to wake the young man, then went to Bertrand's room and did the same; he did not bother to repeat the brisk summons for Jaime and Liam, however, as both boys were light sleepers and would already have begun to rouse when he had called their brothers.

Breakfast was a subdued affair, and all too soon it was time to say goodbye. Phillipe embraced each of his sons in turn before mounting his horse. "You boys be good now," he told them. "Bertrand and I will be back before you know it, and we'll bring presents for all of you. Look after each other!" And with that he turned and rode off into the woods, not daring to look back at the four sons he was leaving behind for fear of losing his will to leave them.

Their morning routine being well ingrained in all of the boys, once the breakfast dishes had been cleared away Jaime went to the barn to see to the needs of his horse and the sturdy mule who was the family's beast of all work, while Gerard went to chop more wood and Liam and Jules aired beds and swept floors inside the house. Jaime joined his two youngest brothers once he was finished with the animals, taking over some of the heavier chores which would normally have fallen to their father. He had just sent Liam to the well to draw a fresh bucket of water and was preparing to wash some clothing when the little boy came running back inside, startling him. "Liam, what is it? Is there something outside?"

"G-Gerard!" Liam panted. His leaf-green eyes were wide and worried. "Gerard's got the cart out...and he just brought Virgil out of the barn! I asked him why he didn't have Stump, and he said he didn't want to use him 'cause he was too much trouble..."

Jaime rushed out of the house to see for himself, then ran to his confused horse and caught hold of the heavy hauling harness before it could be fastened. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Gerard set himself even more firmly in place, glaring down at his younger brother. "I'm hitching this horse up to pull this wagon is what I'm doing. Get out of my way, Jaime."

The smaller brother hung on doggedly. "Virgil is a walking horse, just as Father's horses are; he is not a draft animal!" he exclaimed. "He is unsuited for this sort of work..."

"He's a horse!" Gerard snapped. "He'll do what I tell him or feel the whip, because it's time he started earning his keep. Which is a lesson his owner needs to learn as well."

Jaime flinched...but he didn't let go of his horse. "I won't allow you to hurt Virgil," he said determinedly. "If you're angry with me then take it out on me, not him."

Nimble fingers unbuckled the one fastened strap and Jaime quickly pulled the harness away from the horse's neck; Gerard caught his wrist in a bruising grip before he could cast the hard leather aside. "Either he pulls this wagon or you do, Jaime; I'm in charge while Father and Bertrand are gone, and I say either this beast's food gets earned by one of you or he won't be fed – or you can sell the useless creature to pay us back for his keep so far and yours as well. It's your decision."

"As you say it," Jaime replied. He released his hold on the harness and stepped up to Virgil's head, patting the horse's neck reassuringly and trying to lead it away from the wagon. Gerard, impatient, grabbed up the riding crop that lay on the wagon seat and flicked out with it to spur the nervous animal away from the trace...but with a sharp cry of, "NO!" Jaime jumped in front of the lash.

Gerard heard twin gasps and knew that Liam and Jules had seen the whip fall, but his eyes were glued to the red line curling around Jaime's ear and running down past the torn collar of his shirt. His brother had buried his face in the horse's neck and a visible tremor ran through the slender body, but then Jaime straightened and went back to tugging the horse away – keeping one wary eye on Gerard as he did so. Handing the animal over to Liam with a final caress, he stepped back to the trace and picked it up without a word.

And Gerard, feeling a sickening mix of shame and triumph wash over him, climbed onto the wagon seat. "We'll be back for supper," he told his two shocked youngest brothers, and with a small glare for good measure called out to Liam, "And all of the chores had best be done, you see that they are!"

And so began one of the longest fortnights Phillipe's three youngest sons had ever known. Gerard drove Jaime like a slave and treated Liam little better, and he was so stern with Jules that the normally happy little boy withdrew into himself like a turtle ducking into its shell. There was no laughter in the house anymore and little conversation, just an endless round of corrections, admonishments and lectures to which any response save humble agreement was seen as disobedience and quickly punished.

Gerard was certain that their father would be pleased when he returned; Phillipe had always rejected his suggestions when it came to raising the his younger brothers properly, but once he saw the results he would have to admit that Gerard had been right all along in his insistence that the stricter, better ways he had learned in his studies at the monastery should be applied to their own house. Jules' ceaseless chatter and wild laughter had stopped and now instead of running all over the place getting into things he silently followed Liam around and helped with the household chores. Liam could no longer run wild in the woods now that he had been strictly ordered on pain of a whipping to go no farther than the door-yard during the day and was being locked in at night, and in consequence the boy was also pulling more of his weight around the house, as well he should since he wasn't actually a member of the family. And Jaime...Gerard's erring younger brother was finally learning his place and earning his keep now that their overly-sentimental father wasn't around to coddle and spoil him, finally coming to understand that by his past actions he'd forfeited his own standing in the family and was now present only on sufferance.

And if Gerard dreamed each night about seeing the lash fall across Jaime's neck, he told no one save himself – and to himself he lied, and called it an accident which had done no harm.

A blustery storm howled in the night of the next new moon, whipping snow ahead of it like a team of fractious steeds, and it was a pitch black night in spite of the fresh snow and ice when a clatter of hooves and voices shouting for help crested over the din made by the wind. The commotion in the yard drew Jaime out of the barn, rubbing his eyes and brushing hay from his clothing; after that first day Gerard had banished him to the barn to sleep, declaring that if he was going to do the horse's work he should share its bed as well. He immediately hurried forward to take his father's mount's head, holding down on the bridle and speaking soothingly to the frightened, lathered animal. But it took the efforts of both he and his father and eldest brother to drag the horse into the stable and remove his tack, finally having to latch him into his stall unbrushed with only a blanket thrown over him as he would not stand still to allow himself to be cared for.

The storm that seemed to have blown in Phillipe and Bertrand was already blowing itself out when they left the barn, Jaime carrying his father's saddlebags and wondering at how heavy they felt. He dropped them just inside the door without further thought, however, in the interest of settling Phillipe by the fire Gerard had hastily poked back up and helping him out of his snow-soaked outer garments while Liam and Jules assisted Bertrand. It was some time before the two men had warmed enough to do more than shiver, but Jaime had noticed the look on his father's face and was alarmed by it. "Father, what is it? Were you being chased by robbers, or perhaps wolves? Should we keep a watch, are you being followed?"

Phillipe did not answer at once and Bertrand only shook his head when Jaime turned to him. "I don't know," he said through chattering teeth. "Father and I were separated by the storm that came up so suddenly yesterday, and when I finally found him again this past evening he was racing toward home as though a devil were after him. The only thing he said to me was that we must not linger in the woods. We rode hard all through the night and the storm, though I know not why."

"I had...to get home." Phillipe's voice was hoarse. He stuck his hand inside his shirt – not homespun, as he had worn to begin his journey, but fine linen embroidered with silk – and withdrew a rose in perfect bloom, apparently untouched by the cold. He handed the blossom to Jaime with a heavy sigh. "Your rose, my son. Would that you had asked me for anything else the world has to offer."

Jaime took the rose from him with wide eyes. The blossom was wide as his hand and perfect in every petal, and the color of it was like fresh blood. Gerard leaned forward to look and scowled, both at the flower and at the brother who pulled it away from him as though to protect it. "What magick is this?"

"Magick indeed," Phillipe said heavily, shaking his head. "But the folly was my own for not recognizing it before it had ensnared me. I must tell you of what has happened..."

"Tomorrow, Father," Bertrand began. "We are both tired..."

"No, it must be told now," his father insisted sharply, startling them all. "Tomorrow I must prepare to return, and I would rather spend what time remains to me with my sons without the burden of a tale to be told hanging over me." At their gasps he shook his head again. "Would that I had heeded that sailor's warning and not laughed like a fool at his tale, or this doom might not now be visited upon me." He sat back in his chair and stared into the fire as though hoping it could answer a question he could not ask. "Bertrand and I reached the city in good time and good spirits, and at once set to find the man who had sent my letter and claim the sum he had set aside for me. But when we finally came to him he was full of apologies for our journey and said that when he had written the gold had been there and waiting, but soon after that creditors had appeared unlooked-for and claimed their due from the estate and so very little was left. In the end we came away with little more than the cost of our journey and even that I suspect came from the man's own pocket and not the depleted coffers of the dead."

"But your saddlebags..." Jaime was looking at him in confusion. "They were so heavy, I thought your journey must have been even more successful than you had hoped. Liam, would you bring them here?"

The boy at once crossed to the door and caught hold of the worn leather bags, but although he tried he could not move them; Jules came to help him, and between the two of them they dragged the bags before the fire. Bertrand took them and lost no time in opening them up to check their contents...and his eyes widened in surprise when he pulled out a fine suit of clothes which proved to be just his size along with a wide leather belt and a new knife in a sheath to go with it. "But...but we never even looked at such things, much less had the gold to buy them..."

Jules squealed suddenly and darted forward, his small hands diving into the bag and pulling out a wide-brimmed hat crowned with a fat white plume. "My hat! You got my hat!"

Bertrand's eyes met his father's. "No, not I and you know it," Phillipe told him. "I think I know where these things came from, but go ahead and empty out the bags before I continue my tale."

Liam and Jules lost no time in doing as he asked, and the amount of goods that they took from the bags was such that there could be no way for it all to have fit without bursting the leather seams five times over. Sturdy boots with silver tassels there were for each of the younger boys, and a hunter's cap for Liam as well along with a generously filled bag of candies and sweetmeats. Packets of herbs both rare and common came next, and instruments such as any physician might be proud to use went with them and were place into Gerard's astonished hands. A dozen beeswax candles appeared, a heavy round cheese, a fragrant smoked ham and a parcel of fat sausages. And last of all came a leather pouch, small but heavy, containing a double handful of gold pieces that gleamed in the light of the fire.

They handed Phillipe the gold and were surprised when he took it with a look almost angry, murmuring, "So he thinks to buy what I will not give freely, as though I were more of a Beast than he." Putting the bag aside, he folded his hands in front of him and sighed. "I know not why this was done, but as these were the things I dreamed of giving to all of you were I able I am yet glad to see them no matter what enchantment got them here. And now I will finish my tale. We were on the last leg of our return journey when the storm blew up from nowhere, and the howling winds drove a veritable blanket of snow through the air and so separated us in spite of our efforts to stay together. We had agreed though, Bertrand and I, that were such a thing to happen we would each continue on toward home separately in hopes that we would still re-meet each other along the way, and so I pressed on as best I could through the storm in hopes of finding some place to stop. No such refuge presented itself for some time, however, and so when finally I saw a light ahead of me I was half frozen and could think of nothing but getting warm."

"When wide stone steps appeared in front of me leading up to an open door from which welcoming light spilled I at once tucked my horse into a corner somewhat sheltered from the wind and snow and ascended into the structure, and the door was closed behind me. A path of candlelight led me to a small room that might have been a study for some noble lord, but all I noticed of it at the time was the fire which burned brightly in the hearth and I lost no time in going to it to warm myself. How long I sat there on the rug just staring at the flames I do not know, but after a time I came back to myself and was embarrassed to have so invaded another's home without so much as calling a greeting at the door. I stood again and looked around me with the intention of rectifying my error, and it was then that I noticed my cloak had been removed and hung neatly nearby to dry in the fire's heat. A chair had been pulled up near the fire, and beside it on a small table had been laid out a platter of bread and cheese and smoked meat with a heavy silver goblet of mulled wine. In vain I called out but received not even a whisper in response, and so I took the place that had apparently been set for me while I knelt before the fire and made a meal of the food and wine...and quite without meaning to I fell asleep."

"When I finally awoke I found a plate of hot scones at my elbow and a teakettle hissing on the hearth, and I saw that while I slept my boots had been cleaned and fresh linen laid out for me, along with a bowl of clean warm water that I might refresh myself. Glad as I was for all of it, though, the silence of the place was beginning to unnerve me and I decided that it would probably be best if I did not linger there too long. The door opened for me with no hand to guide it when I made to leave the room and once again lit candles guided me back to the front door, through what I now saw was a hall of polished marble. This door also swung open of its own accord, but although I was frightened I still called out my thanks to whomever might hear me, be they ghosts or living men." Here he faltered, and when Jaime lay a concerned hand on his arm he smiled sadly down at him. "As I walked down those stone steps to my amazement I saw that they were flanked by two blooming rose bushes in defiance of both weather and reason, and I thought it a miracle meant just for me. We had been able to bring back not even the smallest trinket for any of you from the city, not even your rose seeds which should have been easiest of all to obtain, and seeing those fragrant blossoms my heart was gladdened that at least one of my sons might have his heart's desire granted by my journey. But no sooner had I snapped the stem of the rose you now hold then a mighty roar sounded behind me and I turned to see a fearsome Beast standing there with fire in his eyes."

"The...the same beast the sailor told us of?" Liam stammered, wide eyed.

Phillipe nodded. "There could be no two like him, of that I am certain. He was all black, even the clothing he wore which was fine as any king's, and when he roared again I almost lost my senses. He did not attack me, though; instead he pointed one ivory claw at the rose I still held and asked in a voice like thunder if it was the way of men where I was from to repay hospitality by stealing from one's host. I found my voice and answered him that it was not and I had not meant to do so, having never stolen from anyone in my life, but he made out that he did not believe me and in an attempt to pacify him I told the whole story of the letter and our disappointment in the city and of my desire to grant the request of at least one of my sons. He frowned at me then and asked how many sons I had and to know something of each of them, and once I had answered him he said I might keep the rose. He brushed aside my thanks, however, and told me that in exchange for his generosity I should send one of my sons to him, as I had enough to spare, and if none would come willingly then I must return myself. In vain I pleaded with him that I would not give up one of my children and that he should allow me to stay, but he growled at me and said he was the master there and I would follow his command. He further warned me that should I think to go home and forget about our bargain I should never know a moment's rest for fear of his vengeance. And then he allowed me to mount my horse and ride away, and to spur us on he let out one last fearsome roar and frightened the horse so that he is still terrified even though we ran for hours through the night and the storm to get here." Phillipe looked around at his other sons then, sadness in his eyes. "I will let my horse rest tomorrow, but the morning after I must keep my word and return to the Black Beast."

The chorus of denial was loud and immediate, and Phillipe let it run its course until Gerard commented that no one else should have to suffer for his brother's greed and Jaime answered at once that no one would except himself. Bertrand stepped in before his father could speak, however. "Stop this! Father, think you that this creature would truly come for you here? To demand a man's life for a single flower seems fantastic enough, but surely could this Black Beast leave his domain he would have long been terrorizing us all. Was he not just making threats to bend you to his will?"

"It matters little to me if he was," was Phillipe's reply. "I gave my word that I would return, and return I shall."

"Then let me return with you, perhaps even with some others," Bertrand persisted. "We can kill this Beast..."

"And in allowing you to do so I would also be breaking my word." Phillipe was firm. "I do not wish to leave either, my son, but I have little choice."

"But the word you gave was that you would tell us of the bargain and only if none of us would go in your place would you return," Jaime pointed out. He held the rose tightly against his chest, not even noticing the thorns piercing the flesh of his hands as he did so. "I will go, Father; this is all my doing to begin with."

"No, it is not," Phillipe disclaimed immediately. He patted his middle son's shoulder and shook his head. "What fault is it of yours that I forgot myself and took without asking what might have been freely given had I only remembered my manners? Is there blame to be laid because I love you and wanted to grant the only request you have made of me since you returned home from your aunt's care? No, I forbid you to even think of going in my place and I will not hear another word about it."

Jaime nodded, not speaking, and Gerard glared at his brother's bowed head before returning his attention to their father. "Father, it is as you say and your honor must be upheld at all costs, but I say that at the very least you should allow Bertrand to accompany you." He raised a hand to silence both his father's protest and his elder brother's swift agreement. "Not to try to kill this Black Beast and so break your sworn word, but merely that he might return and tell us what became of you and if you will ever be allowed to return. You yourself do not know exactly what it is that the creature wants, perhaps these gifts he sent were meant to provide for us until he allows you to leave him. Perhaps he might even allow Bertrand to stay for a time and help you or at least bear you company, you can only ask. And I will watch over the house and my brothers in your place until such time as the two of you can return, just as I have for this past fortnight."

Had Phillipe not been exhausted and heartsick he would doubtless have noticed Jaime's flinch or the way Liam and Jules cowered together at their brother's statement. "That is a good thought," he admitted tiredly. "I will think on it tomorrow; I would have to be afraid, though, that were I to do as you suggest the Beast might take it into his head to keep us both. I am not so sure as you what his intentions were for sending gold."

"Tomorrow will be time enough to think on it more," Bertrand agreed. He had made note of the subdued demeanors of his three youngest brothers and their reaction to Gerard's proposal, but in his own weariness and worry decided that the morrow was time enough to deal with whatever problems had arisen in their absence; he did, however, immediately and loudly veto Gerard's suggestion that Jules sleep with him instead of in his usual place so as not to disturb Bertrand when they got up early the next morning to do the chores, insisting and being backed up by their father that no one would be rising with the dawn the next morning and that this once the work could wait. "No one, Gerard," he'd insisted when his brother tried to protest that Jaime and Liam at least should rise early to get a start on the day's work. "Father and I are back now, at least for a time; you aren't in charge anymore."

"And it has been a long night for all of us," Phillipe agreed, affectionately ruffling Jaime's hair when the young man moved to steady him as he pushed himself upright. "You're all to sleep yourselves out tomorrow, the first one up can stir up the fire and start breakfast and then we will talk more about what has happened." He fixed his sorrowful blue eyes on each of his sons in turn, wishing that in a few days he wouldn't have to leave them forever. "Now off to bed with all of you and try not to worry; everything will be all right."

Obediently all five of the boys filed off to do their father's bidding, Gerard murmuring to Jaime in passing that he'd best see that he was the first one up and not forget his place as soon both their father and Bertrand would be gone again – which was entirely his fault, due to his selfishness. Jaime merely nodded and turned back to the fire, banking the burning embers that they might be rekindled the next morning and laying out what would be needed for a hearty breakfast. He already knew, however, that his preparations were not for his own benefit as he would not be in the house when the others awoke. And as he made his way up to his room and the bed he wouldn't be sleeping in, carrying with him the rose, he silently bade farewell to his father and brothers, praying the Lady would grant them all a sound sleep this night.

Liam's whisper from the shadows startled Jaime out of his thoughts. "You know I'd go if I could."

"I know." The elder brother lay the rose aside and crossed their small room, sitting down on the edge of the narrow cot to pull the little boy into a tight embrace. "But I am the one who should go serve this Black Beast's whim," he whispered back. "It was my folly that caused this, therefore it is only right that I be the one to pay the price. Promise me you will not venture out into the woods tonight after I leave, Liam; we have no way of knowing how far the monster's greedy magick can reach."

"I will stay in – tonight," Liam promised. "But after tonight I make you no promise, brother."

"Tonight is all I ask of you." Jaime hugged him again. "Now to sleep with you; Father will need you tomorrow, you must keep him from following me lest the Beast get more than his due. And tell him...tell him I am sorry, and I pray that he can someday forgive me."

Liam nodded once. "The Lady's blessing be on you, Jaime." And with that he lay down and pulled his blanket up to hide his face, not wanting his brother to see his tears.

Jaime slipped out the bedroom window in the dead of night with the blooming rose hidden beneath his cloak and a small bag with the few possessions he did not want to be parted from slung over his shoulder. Out to the stable he crept silent as a shadow and with quick efficiency in the darkness saddled his horse and led him out to the road. Mounting up, he took one last, long look over his shoulder at the home he was leaving behind and then resolutely headed into the woods.

Dawn came and went somewhere behind the heavy gray clouds that hung so low over the treetops as to almost touch the uppermost branches, and the dim light that filtered through turned the winter-bare forest into a mausoleum of cold ebony and marble, silent save for the steady clop and swish of the horse's hooves on the snow-shrouded frozen road. Jaime's breath as well as Virgil's hung in the chill air like lingering ghosts, mocking their journey soundlessly before fading into nothingness. The ride seemed endless, time in this dead place seeming to have frozen along with everything else, and the numbing cold that his worn cloak could not keep out settled into the young man's bones and seemed like to freeze his heart in time.

Jaime was beginning to despair of finding the castle of the Black Beast when a pair of heavy iron gates set into massive pillars of stone suddenly appeared before him. The road that led through them was clear and dry, and looking behind him he shuddered slightly to see the deep snow that lay in his wake unmarked by his horse's passage. But still he thought it good that no trail remained for anyone to follow him, though he doubted any save Liam would be inclined to and his adopted brother was too young to undertake any sort of foolish pursuit through the winter woods by himself. Urging Virgil onto the road he shuddered again when the wide black gates swung silently open before him; he was expected, then. Jaime kept the horse at a walk, using the slow pace to observe the land surrounding the castle that loomed up ahead. Wide meadows sleeping beneath a blanket of snow gave way to parks brightened here and there by holly and mistletoe and the early morning sun sparkled on the frozen surface of a lake in the distance. Then came the gardens, some open and others walled, brown remnants of vines still clinging fast to the gray stones and carved stone benches scattered here and there. From somewhere came the sound of a fountain splashing defiantly in the cold morning air, but aside from that the place was as silent as a tomb.

Into the open courtyard of the castle he rode, startled to see two blooming rose bushes flanking the broad stone steps leading up to the great doors, their spring leaves and delicate petals frosted silver by a dusting of morning snow. He put a cold hand beneath his thin shirt to touch the blossom that lay protected there and found it strangely warm, and he withdrew his fingers quickly. Dismounting, he looked at the empty steps and closed doors and then to his tired horse; a decision was made. "Let's go put you up in the stables, Virgil," he said in a voice that shook slightly. "I will not leave you standing outside in the cold and I don't believe there is anyone else here who could see to your comfort while I await the Black Beast's pleasure. Surely he will not begrudge me the time it takes to care for you if he cannot even be bothered to come out into the cold to greet his sacrifice." He patted the animal's neck soothingly. "Perhaps he has already eaten well and only wants me for his larder, I suppose we shall see soon enough. But first the stables if we can find them."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than off to his right he saw a wide path miraculously clear of snow that appeared to run around the side of the castle, and leading the horse along it they soon came to a large, well-kept stable the door of which was standing open invitingly. Jaime called out but no one answered, and entering the building he found his way lit by bright-burning lamps and a large loose box ready and lined with clean straw. Pegs waited to receive his saddle and tack, and an assortment of grooming tools lay ready on a convenient shelf along with a soft, clean blanket of the finest wool. He quickly saw to Virgil's comfort, and when he was finished he noticed with a chill that a bucket of clear, tepid water had been placed inside the box and the bin had been filled with oats. Carefully he looked around again and even called out, but the place was echoingly empty save for himself and his horse. "Very well then," he said aloud. "I thank you, whomever you are, and pray that you will look after Virgil if I am unable to return myself. And please don't give him any corn, he isn't used to it." And with one final pat to his mount's neck he exited the box and latched it shut and then walked out and headed back up the path to the castle.

The steps were still empty, but when Jaime's foot touched the first one the heavy doors swung open just as silently as the front gate had, welcoming him into a gaping black maw that he found not in the least inviting. A promise, however, was a promise, and he ascended the stairs and entered a dimly lit marble entrance hall. The doors swung shut behind him with a hollow, booming sound of finality, and as they did so a huge shadow detached itself from a doorway and stalked toward him. Jaime dropped to his knees and pulled out the rose, holding it before him like a talisman, and it seemed to him that the red petals glowed softly as he did. But he had eyes only for the Beast.

The creature towered over him, walking upright on paws like those of a lion while reaching to pluck the rose from his trembling hand with claws reminiscent of a bear. From the tusked face of a boar surmounted by a lion's mane glared down at him two astonishingly human eyes like polished emerald, hard and cold. Save for those eyes and the ivory tusks and claws everything about the Beast was ebon-black, not only the thick fur that covered him but also the clothing he was wearing, a rich but plain shirt and doublet and thick woolen breeches. The rough voice that rumbled from the massive chest was black as well and sounded as though it were made to say cruel things in terrible places, not in this polished hall of white marble. "Why are you here?"

Jaime bowed his head submissively and swallowed hard, wondering if his own words were about to be his death sentence. "M-my lord, if it pleases you, I am Jaime Legrand...and I have come to take my father's place."

"It may or may not please me," the Beast responded in his rough, cruel voice. "Stand up." Jaime obediently climbed back to his feet, forcing himself to meet the cold emerald eyes which seemed to be boring into his very soul. "Do you come to me willingly or were you chosen?"

"I chose m-myself, my lord." He swallowed again. "It was for me my father plucked your rose."

The Beast looked him up and down and snorted, then clapped his huge clawed paws together once in summons, the sound echoing off marble and stone like distant thunder. There was a soft rustling noise, and then the creature snarled at someone Jaime couldn't see, "Take him and see that he's cleaned up; I want to see what the old man sent me without a layer of travel dust and rags covering it. If it doesn't please me he can send another one."

Jaime felt hands grasp his arms and begin to tug him toward the stairs, and he fought a renewed sense of panic when he realized that the hands touching him were visible although nothing else was. A low growl from the Beast, however, convinced him that there might be worse fates than being at the mercy of partially invisible servants and he allowed himself to be led away.

After being led through a bewildering maze of stairs and corridors Jaime found himself being escorted through a door bearing a plaque of polished lapis in which was engraved in gold the words, "Jaime's Room." He barely had time to ponder how such a thing had come to be there before he was standing in the center of the large, luxuriously appointed chamber with one set of hands still holding each of his arms. A third set appeared here and there as their invisible owner plucked at his hair and clothes disapprovingly before reappearing permanently with a pair of sharp shears and much to his alarm proceeding to cut off his worn garments with quick efficiency. Once he had been stripped to the skin he was pulled across the room to a sunken marble tub filled with fragrant steaming water and his 'attendants' set about bathing him with a thoroughness that had him blushing from his head to his feet. That completed they made him sit on a ledge obviously designed to allow a bather to soak in comfort and began working on his hands, trimming and smoothing the broken nails and tending to the blisters and calluses he'd acquired. Their ministrations were quick but gentle and Jaime soon began to relax.

When the third set of hands once again reappeared, however, this time bearing a razor, he almost leapt out of the water in a panic, but his other two invisible attendants both held and soothed him and after a few moments of blind fear he realized that they only wanted to shave him. Forcing himself to relax again, he allowed the hands to tip his head back and position it as they would, and almost before he realized it the fearsome ordeal was over without him having suffered so much as a nick. And then the hands were gently urging him out of the water and attacking him with soft, thick towels before suddenly leaving him standing naked on the rug while the presence he was coming to think of as the one in charge subjected him to an intense scrutiny that had him blushing again. To his surprise he felt a definite air of approval wash over him, and then the hands began to assist him to don an assortment of fine green garments which fit him perfectly and a pair of new leather boots trimmed with golden buckles. The scissors reappeared and trimmed his hair, catching the clippings with a towel, and then an ivory comb stroked the dark locks into order.

And then the door to the room opened. Jaime stared at it for a full minute before forcing himself to cross the room and go out into the hall. It was time to face the Beast again.

This time instead of being tugged along he was led back downstairs by a hand holding a glass-protected candle, but instead of returning to the entrance hall they came down a different way and a set of large double doors swung silently open as Jaime approached them. Inside a long formal dining table lit by burning beeswax tapers in golden candelabra was set with a single place, and as he drew near hands appeared to pull out the chair so he could sit. He hesitated. "Will not my host be joining me?"

The tapers at the far end of the table winked out, leaving that seat in darkness. Jaime took that as his answer and seated himself, thanking the hands which held his chair. Already at his place was a bowl of steaming hot soup, the smell of which made his stomach rumble with embarrassing loudness in the quiet room, and he quickly applied himself to eating. After the soup came a roasted capon and winter vegetables accompanied by a basket of fresh rolls, but although he felt it would be rude not to finish the fine meal his stomach, shrunken by the meager rations which were all he'd been allowed by his brother for the past fortnight, soon became full. When Jaime felt he could not eat a single bite more without bursting he sat back in his chair and addressed the butler he guessed was there even though he couldn't see him. "I am sorry; the meal is wonderful but I simply can't eat another bite. Please tender my apologies to the cook."

Hands came and immediately removed the dishes from the table while more pulled out his chair. The hand with the candle was back, and he followed it through a different door and down a short hallway into a room very like the one his father had described. A comfortable chair had been drawn up near the merrily blazing fire, and beside it on a small table sat a fine silver goblet of spiced wine. Again Jaime asked if his host would be joining him, and this time the door to the room closed with a small bang that made him jump. With a sigh he allowed himself to sink into the chair and stared into the fire with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind while he slowly sipped the excellent wine. He had not intended to remain there long, planning to seek out the Black Beast and learn his fate, but being warm and comfortably sated on top of the long ride he'd just taken and the grueling previous weeks soon saw him falling into a deep, peaceful doze. The hand of an invisible servant caught the goblet before it could fall from his lax fingers and bore it away.

And then the shadows in one corner of the room shivered, swelled...and disgorged the Beast. Even more fearsome he looked in the flickering light of the fire as he padded silently across the room to stand over the sleeping young man. For several long moments the Beast observed him, broad nostrils flaring to take in his scent, oddly human eyes noting the slightly hollow look of the young man's cheeks and the way the firelight touched the dark hair with crimson and gold. This wasn't the one he'd expected, but then he supposed it didn't really matter. The young man hadn't panicked or fainted at the sight of the huge black beast and he was polite to the servants even though he couldn't see them, and that was probably more than the Beast had any right to hope for from a 'guest'. It was certainly more than he'd ever gotten from most of them, at that. With a low growl and a flick of his huge clawed paw he directed the servants to take the young man to bed and then vanished back into the shadows.

Jaime woke late the next morning and lay blinking at the ceiling in confusion, not knowing exactly where he was. Sitting up slowly, he recognized the room from the night before, the one that had been marked as his. The fine clothing he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nightshirt of finely woven white cotton and the bed he was lying in was soft and well supplied with fat pillows and warm bedding. He was about to climb out of the bed when hands appeared and rearranged his pillows before pushing him back against them and fussily smoothing and straightening the blankets. A tray was brought in and placed on his lap, and he was relieved to see that the breakfast he'd been provided with was light and no more than he could eat, fresh fruit and tea and a small bowl of creamy porridge sweetened with honey. Jaime took his time eating and when finished sent his sincere thanks to the cook, resulting in a distinct wave of surprise and approval from the presences he could sense but not see. After a quick wash which he insisted on performing unaided he allowed the hands to assist him in dressing and then asked, "Would it be all right if I went to check on my horse?"

The door swung open, and the guiding hand reappeared, this time bearing a blooming rose instead of a candle. The marble corridors were bright with winter sunlight made cheerful by colored glass windows, and Jaime did his best to note the way they took to reach the door that led out into the kitchen courtyard near the stables. A pair of hands was waiting at that door to wrap a warm crimson cloak around his shoulders before he went out, but once outside the invisible servants no longer accompanied him and he made his way to the stables on his own. Virgil snorted happily to see him and submitted to having his feet checked for stones with the air of a child humoring an over-cautious parent. Jaime found a lead rein near the door and took the horse for a short spate of exercise around the yard before putting him up again and seeing that he had everything he needed. It was with reluctance that he left the haven of the stables to return to the castle, wondering about the fine treatment both he and his horse were receiving and worrying what might be in store for them in the future.

He used the same door to reenter the castle that he'd used to leave it and was at once divested of his cloak and his muddy boots, being provided with a pair of soft shoes in exchange. A bowl of warm, scented water and a small soft towel appeared that he might clean his hands and face after his exercise and then were whisked away just as quickly once he was done. And that was when he noticed that the hand with the rose was also back, apparently waiting for him to finish. "Are you here to take me to the Beast?" Jaime asked.

The blossom swished from side to side, which he took to mean no. "Perhaps there is someplace else where my presence is required, then?"

Again, the negative swish.

Jaime sighed. "Must I return to my room, then, or is there something else I might do to pass the time until the Beast sees fit to decide my fate?"

This time the flower dipped forward in a nod and at once was borne back toward the stairs, Jaime following it with no little curiosity. Back up the stairs and into a different wing of the castle they went, then down a long corridor guarded by polished suits of old-fashioned armor to reach a set of heavy carved doors, one of which opened and allowed them to pass. Jaime couldn't help but gasp in wonder when he saw that he was standing in a massive library, far and away the largest he had ever seen in his life with hundreds if not thousands of books weighing down the polished wooden shelves, from massive tomes richly bound in leather and gold to slim volumes small enough to slip easily into his pocket. Plush chairs in red velvet embroidered with gold sat here and there awaiting a reader's comfort, and in the center of the room stood a heavy mahogany table for the convenience of one who would study several volumes at once. Crimson hangings concealed what small portions of the walls were not covered by books, flowing from ceiling to floor in simple, elegant cascades which provided a backdrop for high, pedestal-like tables which held curiosities of a thought-provoking nature rather than mere ornaments. The wax tapers in their holders of polished brass burned brightly, glass chimneys sheathing them to guard against the dangers of fire and dripping wax, and by their light the windowless room was warm and inviting.

Jaime was drawn to the books like a moth to a flame – there had been a fine library in his aunt's household which had once belonged to her husband's father – and he paused only to thank his guide before beginning to explore the room's bounty with the air of a parched man introduced to a fountain. A volume of epic poetry finally settled him in one of the padded chairs, and he was still pleasantly lost in the tale it told when the servant returned for him hours later. Reluctantly he put the book back on its shelf, wishing he dared set it aside for later, and followed the hand holding the rose back down the corridor and round more twists and turns until he was led into a small, cheerfully appointed room where his lunch had been laid out on a table, a hearty beef ragout accompanied by an assortment of cheeses and fresh breads. At this meal he was allowed to serve himself and so he ate slowly, savoring each bite, and as he did so he gazed idly though the large window that looked out over white-blanketed meadows to the darker fringe of the woods and beyond them to the distant shadows of the mountains.

Even with the laughing sparkle of sunlight on snow the view had a bleak emptiness to it that mirrored the desolation within Jaime's heart. His father would never forgive him this second disregard of his commands, and that thought pained him even though he knew he would never be leaving this place to face the consequences of his disobedience – Jaime seriously doubted he would even be alive that much longer, in spite of the hospitable treatment he was so far receiving. He pushed that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on the possible reasons for the Beast's generosity, especially as he suspected the creature might actually be trying to fatten him for eventual slaughter. He still did not regret his decision to come, though, far preferring the idea of his own death to that of his father.

He was shaken out of his dark musings by the rattle of the serving spoon against the side of the dish it rested in, and Jaime realized he was being asked if he was finished. "Might I have a few moments more?" he asked, and the spoon immediately settled back down. Quickly but neatly he finished his meal, then laid his spoon aside and stood up. "Please give the cook my compliments," he said. "I have not had ragout done so well in a long time." Another noticeable swell of approval, and then he saw that the hand with the rose had reappeared at the room's doorway. Again he followed his invisible guide, wondering if this time he were to be taken to the Beast, but instead found himself standing before a door which bore a plaque of carved ivory inlaid with lapis, sapphire, and mother-of-pearl which said, "Jaime's Amusements." Behind the door was a suite of rooms containing every possible diversion, one having fine instruments and music to play on them, the second with sketchbooks, paints and easels enough to delight the most avid artist, and the third being a large conservatory filled with growing things both mundane and exotic among which flitted many brightly colored birds. A small reflecting pool holding fat orange and white carp was at one side of the room, and Jaime sank down on a bench beside it and watched the fish drift lazily from one end to the other for a time, wondering what it all could mean. Why was such care being taken to assure his comfort? He had come here prepared to die, or at the very least to be made a prisoner or a servant of some sort, yet instead he was being catered to as though he were a prince. Was it maybe some twisted compassion on the part of his bestial host, to treat his prey so? Or was this a gilded trap, enchanted to keep a victim complacent and happy until it was time for him to satisfy the Beast's appetite? If Jaime's honor – by way of his father's – had not been holding him in this place those invisible golden bars would not have proved an obstacle to his leaving, but he knew from living with his aunt that there were many who would be bound by the richness of this cage more strongly than by chains of iron and steel. Idly he wondered, as he made his way through the conservatory and stopped here and there to admire something or to watch a nesting bird, how many 'guests' had come before him and what had become of them.

Eventually he tired of the conservatory and went back to the music room, amusing himself for a time trying the various instruments and browsing the music, wishing briefly that he was proficient enough to play some of the more complicated pieces. No sooner had he murmured his desire, thinking himself alone, than a small harp across the room chimed sweetly and looking to it he saw a hand resting lightly on the strings while another placed a sheet of music on a stand just before it. Jaime went to the harp to see and the hands at once began to play the simple melody with easy skill, after which one of them caught at his hand and drew it to the strings. Bemused, he realized that he was being offered a music lesson and gingerly seated himself before the harp, afraid he might accidentally sit on the instructor he was unable to see. Nothing impeded him, though, and the hands arranged his fingers in the proper position to play and then gestured to the music that he might begin.

In spite of not being able to speak, the invisible music-master had no problem showing Jaime what was wanted and the lesson stretched on for some time. Once it was over the hands ushered their student to a comfortable chair and played a few of the pieces that had caused him to regret his lack of skill with the instruments. The time passed quickly, and Jaime was surprised when his guide with the rose reappeared to collect him and led him back up to his room to be bathed and dressed for dinner. This time, to his relief, the hands of his personal attendants limited their attentions to his hair and further care of his hands, allowing him to complete the more personal portion of his bath by himself. They still insisted on shaving him, however, and on drying him off once the bath was complete. This time the garments they put on him were of pale blue and gold and the boots finest calfskin tanned to a pale golden color, and very princely Jaime looked once they were done although in the absence of a mirror he was unaware of it – nor might he have noticed it even if there had been, vanity never having been one of his faults.

The candle once again led him down to the dining room, and although he'd half expected it he still started slightly to see the Beast seated at the head of the table and obviously waiting for him. Nervously he sketched a small bow, ignoring the chair that had been pulled out for him. "M-my lord."

The Beast just stared at him, those oddly human eyes taking in every detail of his appearance, nostrils flaring as he sniffed. Finally he snorted and waved one clawed paw at the chair. "Sit down."

Jaime did. He saw that another bowl of soup was once again steaming invitingly at his place, but hesitated to pick up his spoon as he had noticed that the Beast had nothing before him. Jaime waited a moment, and when no servant appeared to bring the Beast anything he ventured, "Will you not be joining me, my lord?"

The Beast snorted again. "Obviously I will, as I am here; but I take my own meals elsewhere. Eat."

"Yes, my lord." Jaime picked up his spoon and applied himself to doing as he'd been told, although in truth he barely tasted the soup and was rather surprised when he found he'd finished it. The empty bowl was immediately whisked away and replaced with poached fish, new potatoes and peas in a buttery herbed sauce, and a plate of hot rolls. The portions were small, in keeping with the amount he had been able to eat the night before, and Jaime quietly requested the invisible butler to thank the cook for remembering.

A small rumble from the Beast made him start, and looking up he saw an expression that might have been a frown twist the tusked muzzle. "The food is not to your liking?"

Jaime swallowed. "It...it is, very much so, my lord. I just...I have a small appetite, and large portions are wasted on me." A grunt was the only response, and when no other comment was made Jaime slowly returned his attention to his food. The little dish of warm compote that appeared when he was almost finished was a surprise, but the amount was so very small that he had no problem finishing that as well and found it a perfect ending to his meal – which sentiment he also passed on to the unseen butler. The emerald eyes which had been watching his every move widened slightly at that courtesy, but the Beast's tusked features gave away none of what he might be thinking and so Jaime did not notice his surprise. He stood when his chair was pulled out and saw that his guide with the candle was waiting to escort him out of the room, but he faced his still-seated host before following. "My lord?"

"Go," was grunted at him, and Jaime went. The emerald gaze followed him out, puzzled and irritably thoughtful.

Outside in the paneled corridor, Jaime followed the candle a few steps and then stopped; to his relief, the candle stopped as well. "Would it...I mean, might I go back to my room instead of to the study?"

At once the candle was set in motion again, but this time it led him to the stairs and back up to the tower room marked as his in lapis and gold. His attendants were waiting when he entered and lost no time in replacing his clothing with a clean, warmed nightshirt before ushering him to the turned-down bed. And there on the table beside the bed lay the book he'd been reading earlier; picking it up gingerly, Jaime found that a ribbon of embroidered silk had been set to mark the page where he had left off. A smile lit up his face. "I thank you, whichever of you has done me this kindness," he said to the listening air as he settled back into the piled pillows to resume his reading. "Would that I knew your name that I might thank you properly for your thoughtfulness. I believe I will read for a little while before retiring, if that is all right."

The candle nearest him burned brighter in answer, and so Jaime lost himself in his poem again for a time until his eyelids grew heavy and then he carefully re-marked his place before laying the book aside. Ready hands removed his extra pillows and drew up the bedclothes, and Jaime smiled as he drifted off to sleep with the thought that despite his age and his situation being tucked in was a surprisingly agreeable experience.

The next few days were much the same, and Jaime found himself relaxing into the routine the invisible servants set for him in spite of his worries about the future. Breakfast in his room was followed by a visit to the stables to give Virgil his morning exercise, then he was led to the library until his lunch was served in the cheerful windowed room which faced the western mountains, and after that he would be taken back downstairs to amuse himself in the conservatory and either pursue more music lessons or listen to the talented hands play whatever took his fancy until it was time to return to his room to bathe and dress for dinner...with the Beast. He never saw the Beast except seated at the head of the table, nor did the creature ever speak to him save to order him to be seated and then to grant him permission to leave the room when his meal was finished.

It was on one of these days while eating his lunch that Jaime noticed the ground below his window appeared much drier than it had since his arrival, and the idea came to him that he might take Virgil out for a time and see a little more of the castle grounds; the lake he had seen riding in being something he wanted a closer look at, for one. He checked on some blooming flowers in the conservatory and worked at the harp for a short time, and then with no little trepidation he asked the listening air if he might take his horse to the lake for the remainder of the afternoon. His guide appeared at once, and after Jaime had equipped himself with some supplies for sketching from the art materials at hand the blooming rose led him back up to his room where the invisible servants quickly changed his indoor clothing for heavier garments and replaced his soft indoor shoes with sturdy, well-oiled leather boots. Virgil was already saddled and waiting for him in front of the stable when he arrived there and the saddlebags already packed with a few things for his outing, and so after tucking his sketchbook into one of the bags he mounted up and set out in the direction of the lake.

The ground was indeed less boggy than it had been when he arrived and Virgil was glad of the chance to stretch his legs, so Jaime waited until they reached the open meadows beyond the castle's park grounds and then allowed the horse to break into a gallop. He too found himself enjoying the run, but he did not see the feral black shadow that raced along behind them and to one side, tusked muzzle split in an angry growl of sharp ivory fangs. A slight shift in the wind, however, brought the scent of the pursuing predator to the more sensitive nostrils of the horse and Virgil faltered to a halt in fear.

The Beast stopped too and prepared to spring, but to his surprise instead of looking around Jaime leaned over his horse's neck and patted it gently. "Something bother you, my friend? Perhaps a serpent is about somewhere, or is the ground too soft for your liking here? We needn't run anymore if you don't wish to, a walk will take us to the lake just as well."

The lake? Stunned, the Beast watched as Jaime spoke soothingly to the nervous animal for a moment more and then dismounted and caught hold of the reins to lead the horse in the direction of the lake; it was then that the Beast noticed the sketchbook peeking out of the saddlebags. His 'guest' wasn't running away? He'd been so sure... The breeze shifted again and he scented the currents which washed over horse and rider: dry paper and leather, the stony metallic scent of sketching pencils, apples. He sat down in the crisp snow that blanketed the meadow and snorted softly to himself. Two apples, one for Jaime and one for the horse. No stolen gold, no clothing other than what the young man was wearing, no food supplies for escaping into the woods. Just an outing to the lake, that was all. The Beast would have laughed if he could, at his own expense. After a little longer of just sitting and enjoying the feel of the winter sun on his coat he got back up and began to lope back to the castle in no great hurry, hoping to run across a rabbit or two along the way.

That night at dinner the emerald eyes were even more intently fixed on the young man at the other end of the table and Jaime was startled almost into choking on the mouthful of soup he'd just taken when that seldom-heard rumbling voice asked, "And how did you enjoy the lake?"

He looked up, wondering if perhaps he'd done something wrong by leaving the castle even though the servants hadn't stopped him. "It...it is a lovely spot, my lord, and my horse was glad of the exercise."

The Beast grunted, but it wasn't an angry grunt nor did he look displeased and so Jaime went back to his soup. He was nearly finished when the Beast spoke again. "Did you attempt to sketch any of it?"

"Yes, my lord," Jaime answered, and felt compelled to add, "What little artistic ability I possess in no way did it justice, however."

"If you were to ask for instruction in the art room it would be given to you," was the immediate, although offhand, response. "Your music lessons seem to be progressing well."

That startled Jaime all over again. "You have heard me playing? I did not mean to disturb you..."

"Be assured that if you do disturb me I will not wait for the dinner hour to bring it to your attention," the Beast growled. He still didn't seem upset, though. "I can tell the library is to your liking, what have you been reading?"

Jaime named a few titles, doing his best not to stammer over them. "I have thought I might begin to use some of the texts there to improve my Latin, if that meets with your approval, my lord?"

The Beast snorted. "You may do whatever you wish, it is no concern of mine."

"Thank you, my lord." No more questions were forthcoming, and Jaime applied himself to the filet of beef and crisp potato and carrot croquettes which had replaced his empty soup bowl with the thought that he wasn't sure whether it was better if the Beast stayed silent through dinner or not.

So began the pattern which would continue basically unchanged for several months. Jaime rose at a moderate hour and was served breakfast in his room, after which he went out to the stables to visit Virgil and give him some exercise in the yard, then up to the library to read and study until it was time for lunch. And after lunch he would divide his time between the conservatory, the music room and his exploration of the grounds, sometimes walking about the immediate area and at others saddling up his horse for more distant excursions, usually carrying a sketchbook with him. He returned each evening in time to bathe and dress for dinner, which was always served in the formal dining room and always had the Beast in attendance at the other end of the table; the silent watching was now occasionally broken by a question about where Jaime had gone that day or what he had been reading or how his studies were progressing, and Jaime eventually got used to it and ceased to be disturbed by the emerald gaze that followed his every move.

The first time the Beast appeared in the library of a morning, however, he didn't know what to think. "My lord?" he questioned, starting to rise from his seat at the sturdy table in the center of the room.

The Beast gestured for him to stay where he was. "You said last night that you were having trouble with the Latin," he said in his gruff way. "I came to see why."

Jaime slowly lowered himself back down into his chair. "I was attempting to ascertain that myself," he said hesitantly. "I seem to have reached a point beyond which I am unable to progress, but I have no idea as to the cause."

"Let me see what you're doing." The Beast leaned over to look at the books spread across the polished wooden surface, reaching out one careful claw to tap the passage the young man indicated. A small, startled gasp made him redirect his attention, and he realized that he had unwittingly brushed the side of Jaime's cheek with his corded forearm. "Does it distress you to have contact with a Beast such as myself?" he demanded.

"N-no, my lord," Jaime answered quickly. "I am not bothered by it." A slight narrowing of the emerald eyes told him that more of an explanation was required if he were to be believed, and he silently cursed his fair skin as he felt himself start to blush. "I...I was simply surprised, my lord; I would have expected your...coat to be wiry and perhaps a bit stiff."

"And it isn't?"

Jaime swallowed. "No, my lord, the texture is very...fine."

He thought he saw a brief flicker of surprised emotion in those very human eyes, some odd mixture of amusement and...sadness? But just as quickly the look was gone again and the tusked head was turning back to the book. "I wouldn't know," the Beast grunted gruffly, flexing one leather-palmed paw before tapping the book with his claw again. "But I do know that this passage is wrong; it is the book that is at fault, not your translation." He straightened abruptly and stalked across the room to pull another book from one of the shelves, bringing it back to the table. He put it down on top of the flawed volume and flipped it open, pointing with his claw again. "There, that one is correct. Try it now."

Jaime did so, pushing back his shock, and found that he could now read the troublesome passage without difficulty. "T-thank you, my lord. I would never have thought..."

"It is a student's usual practice to trust his texts," the Beast interrupted. "Or is it rather than you would never have thought an animal such as myself could be conversant with the vagaries of Latin?"

The young man swallowed hard. "One would not assume so, my lord, but appearances can often be deceiving. My apologies if I have offended you."

This time the deep snort was definitely amused. "Honesty does not offend me, no matter how carefully worded it may be; I am well aware that I am a Beast."

He did not linger in the library much longer after that, nor was the visit repeated although Jaime found himself more than once wishing it would be. The servants were kind to him and the cook positively doted on him, but he could not converse with them and there was a hunger in him for simple conversation that he was unable to fill and which his brief and unequal exchanges with the Beast served only to whet almost unbearably. He still feared his host somewhat, but as time had passed he'd ceased to worry that the Beast was going to eat him. The reason why he was being kept so carefully, however, remained a riddle that Jaime was unable to decipher and was afraid to pursue lest he not like the answer.

The long cold winter finally gave way to a late spring, and Jaime's walks in the gardens became more frequent and lasted longer as the weather warmed and the fertile earth provided him with more to see and do. He still considered his sketches to be less than acceptable from an artistic point of view in spite of the tutoring obtained from a patient hand in the art room, but his lack of talent did not stop him from trying to capture the beauty around him with paper and pencil whenever he went out – nor did his apparent station in the castle keep him from occasionally working in the kitchen gardens and the orchard when a desire to be useful rather than merely ornamental overtook him or when memories of his old life suffused him with homesickness. He had taken to winding up those particular exercises perched on a stool at the broad worktable in the kitchen, soaking in the comfortingly homey sounds of the place while the motherly hand of the cook plied him with treats and occasionally even allowed him to shell a few peas or peel a potato. Jaime took this as the indulgence it was and was grateful for it, as it made his loneliness easier to bear.

It was on one of these days when he had been out in the farthest orchard attempting to graft a branch of a red pear tree onto one of yellow that a roar followed by a sharp animal scream startled the tools out of his hands. Had something happened to the Beast? It was Spring, could hunters have come to this place in search of a trophy to carry back with them in triumph? In spite of the fact that he was technically the Beast's prisoner and had some fear of him, the creature who was his host had yet to harm or threaten him in any way and Jaime could not in good conscience stand by and allow him to be attacked without attempting to come to his aid. He was already running as he thought this, and when another roar and scream pierced the air the sound of it guided him directly to the spot from whence it came. What he saw there brought him up short, however, and his mouth dropped open in a mixture of astonishment and horror.

The Beast had apparently been hunting, and now it was feeding. A deer lay on the ground still twitching in the throes of death while the same ivory claws that had pointed out a passage of Latin translation ripped and rent apart the warm flesh that the fanged and tusked snout might have better access to the steaming entrails contained within. There was no cruelty to what the Beast was doing, Jaime saw, only raw animal need and a giving-in to the hot siren song of fresh blood by a wild hunter; his shock stemmed from his sudden understanding of why his host did not take his meals in the dining room, from the revealing of the animal nature which had been muted by the trappings of human gentility within the castle walls.

It was that thought that reminded him of where he was: outside of those protecting walls, and standing only a short distance away from a hungry predator who might not remember in his current state of bloodlust that he had not planned on eating his pampered guest. Trying to move away, however, was Jaime's undoing. His booted foot came down on a patch of rattling pebbles and the soft sound brought the black-maned head around with a snap, blood dripping from the snarling muzzle and emerald eyes ablaze with feral rage. The Beast roared and leapt for him, and Jaime had no chance to dodge the huge clawed paw that hooked itself in the front of his shirt and snatched him up off the ground. "WHY ARE YOU SPYING ON ME?!"

"I...I wasn't!" Jaime gasped, pulling futilely at the corded arm that held him dangling in the air. "Didn't mean to...I heard the noise...thought you might be in danger..."

"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HELP ME?! _YOU_?!"

"Y-yes!" Jaime's head was starting to spin and his vision to dim, both from lack of air due to the tightness of the Beast's grasp and the hot, fetid breath in his face that accompanied the deafening, angry roar. "Heard...you roar, heard...a scream. Didn't realize...deer...didn't think..."

The Beast roared again when the young man went limp in his grasp, but when there was no response a puzzled look replaced the enraged snarl, and as the red killing haze faded from his emerald eyes puzzlement became horror and he dropped the limp body as though it had burned him. Jaime crumpled bonelessly to the ground, and after a second's hesitation the Beast followed him down, dropping to one knee and resting a shaking paw on the torn and bloodied shirt. Feeling shallow breathing and a fluttering heartbeat beneath his leathery palm his own heart beat a little easier, and he carefully, gently scooped Jaime up in his arms and carried him back to the castle, the remains of the deer's carcass lying forgotten in his wake.

He took his burden up to the tower room and then stood back and watched while the invisible servants' careful hands stripped the young man of his torn, bloodstained clothing and began fussily cleaning him up preparatory to tucking him into bed. A growl from their master froze them all in place before they could put on Jaime's nightshirt, however, and they all retreated invisibly into the shadows as the Beast padded over to the bed to stare down at the unconscious young man.

What he saw was a vision of beauty haloed in gold by the soft rays of the sun slanting through the nearest window. Jaime was slender but his smooth skin covered well-defined muscles that spoke of regular exercise. Mesmerized, the Beast reached out one massive paw and lightly traced the one scar he could see, a pale line that curled from behind one ear down the young man's neck and nearly to his collarbone, an obvious lash mark. He growled again, low in his throat; it was the sort of mark that would be seen on an animal, or a slave. Had he been cheated? He'd rather liked the old man he'd extracted the promise from, but still...leaning down, he sniffed at Jaime's scent and then, just to be sure, flicked out his tongue and licked at a patch of skin just over the young man's heart. The taste was pleasant and he gave in to the urge to lick again. He stopped himself from doing it a third time, though, certain now that this was the old man's blood son. Could he perhaps have sold this particular offspring as a pleasure slave somewhere and then bought or stolen him back to save one of the others? Thoughtfully he trailed one bloodstained claw lightly across the sculpted chest and over the flat, vulnerable abdomen down to the lax manhood nestled in soft dark curls. The sensitive organ responded to the tickle of cool, sharp ivory by hardening slightly, and the Beast felt a stirring of his own which he quickly slapped down, allowing himself to become angry instead. Not bothering to have his servants do it he rolled Jaime over and roughly parted his nether cheeks to check his entrance, feeling a sharp burst of satisfaction when he saw the unscarred and obviously virgin portal. A lustful desire to place a claim of his own on the sweet innocent flesh came over him, and he was thinking of how best to act on it when the memory of another young beauty much like this one lying torn and broken and dead flashed before him and he fell back as though he'd been shot. A glance over his shoulder as he fled the room showed the servants moving back in and resuming with putting Jaime to bed, but the Beast dashed from the castle and ran on all fours until he had reached the woods. And there he hid himself in the deep shadows beneath the sentinels of the trees, shaking in horror and disgust at how close he had come to returning to what he once had been.

Several days passed, and Jaime began to think that the Beast was never going to show himself again. He sat at his window, rubbing absently at the odd little patch of abraded skin just over his heart, and thought about the dream he'd had every night since he had so disgraced himself by fainting in front of his host.

In his dream he was lying in bed unable to move or speak when the Beast came at him from out of the surrounding darkness and ripped the clothes from his body, leaving Jaime naked and vulnerable before him. A rough tongue tasted his skin and sharp claws traced the lines of his quivering muscles all the way down to his most private parts, the light, dangerous touch unexpectedly arousing his limp member. Suddenly, though, the huge paws flipped him over onto his stomach and pried his nether cheeks apart, then one claw lightly poked at his nether hole and he awoke with a scream of fear threatening to break from his lips. Jaime had never been intimate with either man or woman, and the thought of being violated by the huge black beast left him shaking with terror. Could the Beast be doing this to him, somehow sending him this dream? Did he desire Jaime as a lover?

Mounting dread stole away his appetite, much to the dismay of the servants and especially the cook. He still walked his horse each day about the courtyard, the meadow being dangerously boggy from the heavy rains that marked the return of Spring, but the rest of the time he spent perched at his window overlooking the castle grounds, just staring at the distant dark fringe of the woods and wondering where his captor had gone and when he would come back...and what he would want when he did.

The Beast returned home early in the evening some five days later and at once let the servants know that he would dine with his guest, and after being cleaned up and dressed in fresh garments he made his way to the small dining hall to wait.

The room had a faint air of disuse about it which seemed to suggest that Jaime had been taking his meals in his room, and that bothered the Beast. He had taken the time he needed to regain control of himself and was looking forward to seeing Jaime again, and it was his hope that the incident in the park had not so terrified or enraged the young man that he would no longer want to share the Beast's company. He was therefore relieved when the hall's doors swung open and Jaime walked in...but relief turned to horror when the soft candlelight fell on deathly pale skin and dark-circled eyes. He stood slowly and took a breath. Jaime smelled of fear, yes, but not the fear the Beast had expected; this scent was cloying and sickly, not the clean, sharp scent of the hunted. A horrible suspicion dawned on him. Extending his awareness, he prodded at the web of enchantment that filled the castle, looking for something he hoped he would not find. And when he found it he threw back his head and roared in an agony of denial, damning the curse that had inflicted his bestial urges on this innocent young man in spite of his efforts to shield him. How could he possible explain or even apologize to Jaime for what had happened? He would have to try, though...

And that was when he realized Jaime had fainted and was being supported by the solicitous hands of the servants. He fought the urge to roar again, but this time his anger was at himself. Stalking forward, he lifted the limp body out of the servants' grasp and carried it back upstairs much as he had five days past, every step burning into his memory like a fiery brand. He would not forget again.

Jaime awoke to the sound of morning birdsong and at first thought the entire past week had been no more than a horrendous nightmare...until he saw the Beast sitting on a stool beside his bed. His breath caught in his throat and his body stiffened. Was it to happen now, then, or had it already happened while he was unconscious? And if it had, why wasn't he dead?

The return of the fear-smell brought the Beast's head up with a snap, and when Jaime flinched so did he; to his surprise, the smell diminished slightly at that inadvertent gesture and a small amount of hope rose up in him. "Jaime," he rumbled as softly as he could. "I am very glad to see you awake."

Jaime's mouth dropped open; the Beast had never called him by name before, not even once. With an effort he pushed his fear back a little further and saw that the tusked face was twisted with what appeared to be remorse. "M-my lord Beast?" he queried softly.

The B beast sighed and carefully scooped up his hand, and very small and white it looked cradled in the huge black paw. "Jaime, I am so sorry – for everything. I never meant to harm you."

Jaime grew a little bolder at the apology. "You...you didn't harm me, my lord."

"Yes, I did," the Beast contradicted firmly. "It should not have happened, but as it did I feel I should explain to you why the enchantments laid on this place caused it to occur at all. And I'll have you know," he said, a little of the gruffness returning to his deep voice, "that it is a tale I have told no one in more years than I can count."

"I would be honored to hear it, then," was the reply. "To understand all is to forgive all, as my father says."

The Beast emitted what from him passed for a chuckle. "Your father is wise, but this understanding may have the opposite effect. That is no matter, though; the very least you are entitled to is the truth, whatever the outcome once you know it." He shifted around a little on his seat but did not let go of Jaime's hand. "I was not always the Beast you see before you – at least, not on the outside. Once I was the master of this province, a man like any other and as happy with my lot in life as anyone could be. I had a lovely wife by my side and a splendid son...and when they were taken from me by a fire I allowed that fire to take root within me and burn away the man I had been, leaving only blackness behind. Rage at my loss filled me day and night, and in my anger I became cruel and harsh, a monster in a man's body. Years went by, and one day a young man came to the castle and had the misfortune to catch my fancy, dark as it had become. I took him as my lover, used him for the release I required but gave him little in return, and yet he still greeted me with a smile each day and never once sought to avoid my company."

He sighed heavily. "But this young man was from far away and knew little of the history of our province, far less than he should have as all the courtiers had been forbidden to speak of it, and one evening alone in my chambers he asked me in all innocence if we might rebuild the North Tower as the burned hulk of it rising above the walls was unpleasant to look at. The rage rose up like a demon inside me at the question, and I fell upon him..." the massive frame shuddered, "like a Beast. The lips that had once cried out my name in passion now screamed it in agony, and when I was finished so much hurt had been done as to have killed him five times over. And it was then that the Lady came to me as I stood covered in his cooling blood and cursed me to wear the form of the monster I had become, imprisoning me within my own castle grounds that I might not harm anyone else and altering the few servants who remained that they might be safe from me as well. And here I have been, alone, for how long I do not know. Had I any idea that my bestial urges would have set upon you in your dreams..."

"You did not act on them." The white hand turned and patted his leathery palm, and the Beast looked up into deep blue eyes filled with sympathy. "And a true beast does not feel regret for his actions, or remorse for his thoughts." Jaime sat up, realizing with relief that he was back in his nightshirt – which was comfortingly intact – and biting his lip against the little rush of dizziness that accompanied the change in latitude. "My Lord Beast, I am sorry I angered you..."

"It is I who needs to apologize," the Beast interrupted gravely, shaking his shaggy head. The servants had slipped in to pile up the pillows and he very gently pushed Jaime back against them. "I was...embarrassed that you saw me feeding, and I let myself become angry so that...so that I would not have to face your disgust."

"What is there to disgust me that a Beast must feed like the wild creatures he shares his outward appearance with?" Jaime asked gently. "I have never in my life heard of the true lord of this land save in sparse fireside tales that say he displeased the Lady and was given to the harsh mercies of the Hunter while the woods swallowed his castle like a serpent swallows a vole; even his name had long been forgotten. You have been in the form of a Beast a long time, my lord, and yet instead of becoming the animal whose skin you wear you retain your humanity, much to your credit. You dress as any man and accord a guest every courtesy as befits one of your station, and your home is kept as finely as that of a king."

The Beast hung his head, making another little sound that might have been a chuckle. "It is my servants who keep the castle as you see it; were it not for them this place would most likely be reduced to the condition of a swineherd's hovel. They perform their duties without interference or encouragement from me."

"They would not do so had you commanded them not to," Jaime insisted. Making a decision, he pushed at the blankets and prepared to climb out of his bed. "If you will allow me to dress, my lord, perhaps we might walk about your castle and you could tell me more of its history?"

But the Beast stopped him before he could move so much as an inch, and again he pushed the young man back into his pillows. "I would like that," he rumbled sincerely, tugging the blankets back up. "There was a time when this place was my pride and a monument to the bloodline I had hoped to pass on to my son. But you need food and rest before undertaking such an exploration, and that is what you shall have."

He clapped his paws together and Jaime's breakfast tray appeared, and after it had been settled on his lap one of the hands that had carried it brushed against his wan cheek as a mother might touch her child. Jaime caught at the plump hand and patted it with affection. "You needn't have brought it up yourself, Gloria."

In answer the hand stroked his cheek again before vanishing, leaving the Beast staring at him in astonishment. "How...how did you know her name?"

"I discovered it quite by accident," the young man disclaimed, stirring at his porridge. "I had ventured into the kitchen to thank her for the glorious pudding she had made for me one wet day, and when I said it her surprise and pleasure were such that I knew I must have unknowingly called her by name. It took very little imagination after that to hit upon the right one."

The Beast was still staring at him. "You can sense the servants? For how long?"

Jaime looked up at him then and cocked an eyebrow, puzzled. "Why, since my arrival here, my lord. I had thought it something to do with the enchantment on the castle."

"I suppose it could be," the Beast said slowly. "But no other has ever..." He shook himself. "It doesn't matter. Eat, then you should rest again for a time and then we will set about our explorations."

In the end the combination of the past few days' worries and the morning's surprises conspired to keep Jaime asleep until lunchtime, which meal was also served to him in bed despite his protests. It was the Beast's suggestion then that he would be the better for some fresh air and sunlight rather than musty stone corridors, and so once he was dressed Jaime accompanied him out into the gardens. "I will take you to my favorite place," the Beast said, pulling out a key which had hung around his thick neck on a golden chain and been concealed by both clothing and fur, and the lock it was fitted to proved to be the one securing the tall gate which barred access to the ever-splashing fountain that Jaime had heard on the day of his arrival at the castle.

Inside the walled courtyard Spring was also announcing her presence, timid shoots pushing their way up through the warming earth and creeping tendrils of vines spreading curious fingers of green across the sun-warmed stone. The fountain sat in the center of the space, a curved and twisted pillar of granite flecked with silver and gold, shapeless and yet somehow having meaning all its own, the sparkling waters which erupted from it at several points falling into a wide round pool bounded by polished black stone and inlaid with yet more pieces of granite to form a random mosaic. The benches which sat here and there were of the same design and placed so that in summer they would be shaded by the overreaching branches of flowering trees, cherry, apple and peach. Jaime had reached one hand out to test the splashing water when to his surprise the Beast moved like lightning to snatch the curious hand back before even the least drop could touch it. "This water is not so harmless as it seems," he said by way of apology, still holding the young man's hand protectively in his huge paw. "Surely you noticed that the fountain ran all winter long? It comes out of the ground hot enough to blister a man's skin; in my boyhood I once cooked a fish here by spearing it with a stick and holding it under the flow of water until it was done."

Jaime regarded the phenomenon with wide eyes. "I have heard of such hot springs but had never seen one." Then he grimaced, embarrassed. "As you say, though, I had noticed that the fountain never stopped its music on even the coldest days and should have had some thought as to the cause. Thank you for saving me from the consequences of my thoughtlessness, my lord."

The Beast snorted and released his hand. "You were not to know. Unlike most such springs, this one bears no smell of sulfur to warn the unwary of the danger it poses – which is one reason the courtyard is kept locked. I should have told you of its nature before we came here, but as I am wont to visit this place nearly every day I am afraid I have grown rather complacent about the threat of the water, which cannot hurt my leathery hide with its thick covering of fur." He looked up at the fountain thoughtfully. "I find I have missed my regular sojourn here over the past few days."

"You were gone so long..." Jaime dropped his head and studied the flagstones beneath his boots. "I feared I had driven you away with my presumption and my shameful display of weakness in the meadow..."

"No!" The Beast shook his shaggy head and snorted again. "You did nothing wrong, Jaime. I left because I was frightened when I thought I'd hurt you, and then when they were putting you to bed and I felt the lust I had thought long since buried in me stir to life at the sight of your beauty..." He raised one claw to touch the whip scar which marred the side of the white neck. "This mark, who did this to you?"

With a daring he didn't know he possessed, Jaime grasped the ivory claw and pushed it away. He studied the way his fingers wrapped around it, the cool hardness of it in his hand – anything to keep from meeting those deep emerald eyes. "I...it was an accident, he wasn't trying to hit me. It isn't important."

"It is." The Beast raised the captured claw, hand and all, and used it to push Jaime's chin up so he could see his eyes. There was shame there, and he was surprised at how much it hurt him to see it. "Tell me."

"It was while Father and my eldest brother Bertrand were away on their journey to the city. My brother Gerard, he...he wanted Virgil to pull the cart, to run his errands," Jaime whispered.

The Beast frowned and shook his head. "Your mount is a walking horse, not a draft animal."

"So I told him...but he said it was either Virgil or me. He has a bad temper..."

"You stepped in front of the horse." It wasn't a question. "You pulled the cart, too."

"For the entire fortnight while they were gone, every time he needed to go out." Jaime blinked up at him and took a deep breath that caught in his throat. "My aunt took me to live with her in the city several years ago, she convinced my father that it would be a wonderful opportunity. And it was...for her. She groomed me to be what she needed and then used me to further her own plans. But I didn't know the game that was being played, and I fell in love with a merchant's daughter, Elsbeth, and began to court her. Another suitor challenged me and I accepted...in spite of the fact that Father had forbidden my brothers and I ever to participate in a duel." He sniffed. "I came back home after...after she rejected me, after I _won_ , if you can call it that, and I brought the evidence of my dishonor with me; but Father did not banish me from his sight as I had expected nor did he ask a single question about what had occurred, he just welcomed me home. Gerard did not agree with his choice, however, and once our father was gone he lost no time in teaching me my true place as earned by my dishonor."

The Beast cocked his huge head. "Did you kill your opponent?"

Jaime shrugged. "No, but then it was not my intention to do so. I attempted to talk him out of the challenge altogether, but he would have none of it and I did not want him to pay for his love of Elsbeth with his life. I hurt him, though, and the sight of his blood staining my love's white gown as she ordered me away is one I shall never forget. My aunt claimed to be displeased by the situation and insisted that I remove myself from her house, and so I returned home in shame."

"The shame by rights was not your own, but belonged to the others involved," the Beast corrected. "You acted with honor as befitting the place you had been led to assume, you are a credit to your family."

"But the duel..."

"Some such conflicts cannot be avoided by a gentleman in all good conscience," the Beast told him gently but firmly. "I know little of your father's history, but I would guess he gave the command he did to prevent his sons from engaging in foolish posturing as some young men are wont to do, for fear of losing one of you to a duelist's pistol over some careless slight. Elsewise he would not have forgiven you for disobeying him, of that I am sure."

Jaime winced and moved away from him to sit heavily on one of the stone benches. "I was...not forgiven, My Lord Beast. My father never asked me for my story, nor would he allow me to tell it," he admitted quietly. " 'To know all is to forgive all,' as he says, but he did not trust me to have had an honorable reason for breaking my word to him and so kept himself ignorant lest he be forced to order me from his house. I did all I could to prove myself to him...but it was never enough."

_I'd think offering yourself to me in his place would have been_ , the Beast thought, but did not say it aloud; the enchantment on the castle compelled him to force such cruel choices on his 'guests', but he knew not the reason for it and had long since tired of trying to guess – and he especially did not want to discuss it with this young man before him. Instead he said, seating himself on the bench as well, "I trust you, Jaime."

The deep blue eyes that flew up to meet his were filled with astonishment. "M-my lord?"

The Beast's lips twitched away from his fangs in what on his face passed for a smile. "You may just call me Beast, if you like. Of course I trust you; you _stayed_ , when any other man would have run for the woods without looking back."

Jaime shook his head. "My father gave his word, my...Beast. And as I caused it to happen with my foolish request for rose seeds, the upholding of his pledge is my responsibility."

"You are an honorable man," the Beast countered gravely. "And well suited to the station you now occupy. Even the servants know it – few are those who remember to be courteous to those under them, even when those who serve them can be seen and heard. I say that any man would be proud to have such a son, be he king or commoner. And it is my pleasure to have such a guest."

The young man colored with embarrassment, but at the same time cocked a questioning eyebrow. "If I might ask, Beast, have you had many such 'guests'?"

"Such as you? None," was the reply. "Others have passed through this place, but in spite of the promises and oaths my curse forced me to extract from them none stayed more than a span of days, none even from one moon to the next." He anticipated the next, unspoken, question. "No, I did not devour them, although I did mark one or two who were especially crass and rude with my claws as they escaped. What becomes of them once they leave the grounds I do not know, although I suspect it is likely not pleasant; I may be unable to pass the boundaries set for me, but I fear the enchantment laid by our Lady on this place is not limited by either distance or time." The Beast suddenly looked slightly embarrassed himself. "Usually I find the game I must play tiresome, but I must admit...even of old I gave harsh treatment to any who plucked one of my roses, as I had planted the red bush over the ashes of my wife and the white over those of my son, and my anger at your father's action was genuine although his crime was committed in ignorance. I can only hope you do not hate me too much, for I find your presence in the castle has been more of a pleasure than I could have anticipated."

Daring again, Jaime laid his hand over the huge clawed paw which rested on the Beast's knee and patted reassuringly. "I do not hate you, Beast; you are as much a victim of circumstance in this as I am. Even Father said that had he only remembered his manners all would have been well."

"I wish that were true." The Beast shrugged and shuffled his clawed hind feet on the stones; he really had not wanted to have this conversation with Jaime. "But few come here, and although I do not know why the curse demands what it does of visitors I can tell you that none have ever escaped it unchallenged."

Jaime thought on that for a moment. "Will the enchantment bring any others to this place while I am here?"

The Beast shook his head. "It has never happened, so no, I don't think so."

"Good." Jaime smiled at him; it was a small smile, but it was genuine. "Then so long as I am here, your castle and your curse pose no threat to those who travel through the woods. And the two of us can bear each other company, if we care for it."

Emerald eyes warmed, although the features that surrounded them could not, and the Beast patted the daring hand that rested on his paw. "I believe I am starting to care for it already, Jaime."

It was finally decided that they would leave their exploration of the castle for the next day, as by the time they left the garden it was very nearly time for dinner – which the Beast decided Jaime should eat in his room rather than downstairs in the interest of making an early night of it. The young man capitulated to his host's wishes gracefully although with some little embarrassment, being forced to admit that he was rather more tired than he felt he should have been, but he was adamant that he would meet the Beast for his promised tour of the castle directly after breakfast the following morning.

The next day dawned gray with a soft drizzle of rain, making it a perfect day for indoor exploration, and the Beast was waiting in the entry hall when Jaime came down the stairs. He was relieved when the young man greeted him without the least hesitation. "Did you sleep well?" he rumbled.

"Very, thank you," was the cheerful answer. "Anticipation woke me early, I cannot wait to see the rest of this beautiful castle." Jaime had reached the foot of the stairs, and looking up into the tusked face of the Beast his smile suddenly faltered. "That is, if you still wish to accompany me, my lord?"

The Beast nodded, mentally cursing the fact that his animal features were so ill-suited to convey his feelings in the way a human face would. "I have been looking forward to it as well – it has been years since I walked some of my own halls, decades if not more since I last entered some of the rooms." He came as close as he could to a smile. "This journey of discovery may be as surprising for me as it is for you."

"In that case, let us begin at once." Jaime smiled up at him and the Beast's heart skipped a beat at the open, honest delight in that deep blue gaze. Then guilt crashed in on him; his 'guest' had been here months now, alone and friendless in the huge castle save for invisible servants who could not speak to him and a Beast who all but refused to do so, no doubt he was starved for companionship. His own countless years of enforced solitude had well prepared the Beast not to give much thought to loneliness, but he swore to himself that he would do better now for Jaime's sake if not his own. The young man had yesterday named him a courteous host, and of old he once had been; it was high time he began to act like the lord his birth had made him instead of simply a Beast masquerading in the lord's wardrobe.

With that thought in mind the Beast stood a little straighter and gestured expansively around the marble hall. "This part you are already familiar with, I believe. The small study just off this hall was originally kept for my convenience, that I might not have to return to my own rooms to refresh myself if I were only planning to go right back out again. There is a much larger version of it which was intended for company just off the main banquet hall." He led Jaime past the rooms he was familiar with and pushed open one half of a large carved double door; candles immediately lit themselves to reveal a massive chamber that could easily have accommodated a hundred guests if not more. A runner of scarlet and gold lay along the length of the long wooden trestle tables and scarlet cushions softened the benches that served them. Candelabra of gold worked to look like a stag's antlers sat at regular intervals. At the head of the room was a dais on which another table also so adorned sat crossways, this one being provided with heavy carved chairs for the comfort of the lord and his family and honored guests. Tapestries depicting the joys of the hunt and all manner of fantastic beasts decorated the stone walls along with the heraldry of the house, and the sideboards although richly carved were so sturdily built as to give the impression that a feast in this castle was a serious matter indeed.

Off to one side of the dais was a single door partially concealed by a heavy crimson drapery and it was through this door they went, Jaime's soft indoor shoes and the Beast's padded paws making only the faintest whisper of sound on the clean stones of the floor. The large room on the other side was plentifully provided with chairs and sofas of sturdy but comfortable design, and a massive stone fireplace topped with a heavy carved mantle dominated the far wall. The rugs and hangings here were all in crimson, brown and hunter green, a distinctly masculine room if Jaime had ever seen one. They did not linger, however, but went through the room and out onto a wide portico, then back inside through a set of doors inset with leaded glass into an echoingly empty ballroom whose gold and crystal chandeliers gleamed softly against a painted ceiling which arched over a smoothly tiled marble floor. The doors they exited through were inlaid with ivory and gold in a beautifully intricate pattern and opened out into another white marble hall much like that which graced the castle entrance.

More rooms followed, audience halls and meeting rooms, studies and sitting rooms, each every bit as fine as the last and all perfectly kept. The towers held mostly bedchambers and sitting rooms, the Beast told him, the South tower also being where his own quarters had once been. He hesitated, however, when Jaime expressed curiosity to see these rooms so near to his own. "It has been...long, very long, since I last so much as entered my old chambers," the Beast rumbled. "They are not so well-kept as the rest of the castle is."

Jaime cocked his head, frowning slightly. "That I find difficult to believe, my lord Beast; your servants are efficient beyond measure."

"Yes, they are," was the grunted reply. "Unless they are ordered not to be." He looked down into wondering eyes and sighed, shaking his head. "Very well, you have heard my story so it is only fitting you should see it as well. Bring a candle, the servants do not go where we are going."

Up another flight of stairs they went to the floor above Jaime's own rooms, but here no waxen tapers burned in the wall sconces and the windows were shuttered against intrusion by the sun. Dust had begrimed the carvings on the door they approached and time had blackened the handle, but Jaime hesitated only a moment before taking hold of it and pushing it open against the protest of long-neglected hinges.

Unlike the rest of the castle this chamber was dark and dank, the floor thick with dust and the furnishings decayed. Jaime held his candle high as he stepped across the threshold, and then froze in place as by its light he saw what the darkness had concealed. At first the Beast mistook this for the horrified reaction he'd expected the young man to have, but Jaime's next words surprised him. "You didn't allow them to clean it up, you made them leave it just as it was."

"I ordered the servants to stay out that very hour, yes," the Beast admitted. "Much as I could not bear to look on the place of my transformation myself, nor could I stand the thought of it being touched by anyone else."

Jaime took another step forward, the thick dust puffing away from his boots...and then he whirled on the Beast, who drew back from him, startled. "He must be buried, my lord."

The young man's voice was firm but not censuring, his dark blue gaze holding no reproach, but the Beast still cringed in the face of it. "I...it is not for the servants to do this task. And I cannot..." He held out his massive clawed paws in a helpless gesture. "I cannot."

"Then I shall." Jaime thrust the candle at him. "Come, you must hold the light for me, else I might leave something behind and then his shade will have no rest – and he has been without rest long enough." The Beast took the candle gingerly and allowed himself to be drawn further into the neglected room than he had been in scores of years, the hand on his arm looking very small and white against his ebony coat. The sight of it reminded him of what had happened in this very room so long ago, and Jaime stopped at once when he felt the corded muscles of the forearm under his hand tense and tremble. "My lord," he said gently. "The punishment for this death has already been meted out; you have nothing to fear from this young man's shade, nothing. Once I have gathered his bones in the coverlet for a winding sheet you may ask digging tools of the servants and we will lay him to rest once and for all."

The Beast took a deep breath, the smell of dust and death and darkness filling his nostrils, and lifted the candle higher. "As you say it."

"It is the right thing to do." The white hand patted his arm and then Jaime was stepping forward again, walking with measured tread right to the side of the large bed. He touched the smooth, grinning skull tenderly, as though in blessing, and then lifted one edge of the heavy rotted velvet coverlet and carefully folded it over the dusty white bones. Once the sad remains had been enfolded completely so that no pieces might be lost Jaime scooped the bundle up in his arms, turning his mind away from the stiffness of the fabric that he knew must have been lent by a long-ago soaking in the blood of the man who had died here. He turned back to the Beast. "If you would lead the way, my lord, we may put this poor soul to rest."

The Beast nodded and daringly put one hand on Jaime's shoulder, and feeling a well-concealed trembling there some of his own courage returned. They walked back through the thick dust to the door, and then through it and back down the corridor and the stairs.

And at the bottom of the stairs, the servants were waiting. Nothing could be seen, of course, but the sense of them all massed together and watching stopped both Jaime and the Beast in their tracks. Jaime swallowed. "My lord?"

The Beast cleared his throat. "We have need of tools," he told the invisible crowd. "Suitable for digging a grave. And we should have two gold coins for his eyes." A pair of hands that had the look of a gardener about them appeared bearing the requested tools, and beside them a second and much smoother pair held out gold. The Beast allowed these to be placed into his paw with a nod. "Thank you," he said. "And now if someone might..."

The huge carven double doors swung open smoothly to grant them exit, and the two of them with their burden left the castle and walked down the broad stone steps into the sunlight which had replaced the morning's rain. "Where do you think best?" Jaime wanted to know. The Beast in answer led him around the side of the castle and into one of the smaller gardens to a spot where wisteria vines had embraced a stone wall. Jaime smiled up at him and nodded. "Truly a lovely spot, my lord."

"His favorite to sit in, as I remember," the Beast rumbled unevenly. "He enjoyed the fragrant shade of the blooming vines."

"Then I am certain he will be pleased to rest here," Jaime replied. Carefully laying down his burden on a stone bench, he took the tools from the Beast's clawed paw and set to work, digging as deep as he felt such a grave need be while trying not to unnecessarily destroy the beauty of the garden. Once the hole was to his satisfaction he tucked the rattling velvet shroud into it and pulled back the covering enough to place the cost of the dead man's passage within, not quite managing not to flinch as the heavy coins fell through the vacant eye sockets and clattered into the bowl of the empty skull. Quickly he re-covered the remains and began to shovel the rich soil back in to blanket them, not stopping until all the dirt had been tamped down into the hole and rose up in a gentle mound above it. Taking up the tools again that he might return them to the castle, he bowed his head. "May your long delayed trip to the Summerland be on smooth waters."

Something shimmered in the air and Jaime took an involuntary step back, almost running into the Beast. The shade faded into view atop the new grave, bloody and tattered at first but solidifying into a comely young man dressed much as Jaime was and with a smile lighting his eyes. "My thanks to you," he said in a hollow voice, sketching a slight bow in Jaime's direction. "May the Hunter's horn not wind for you until old bones welcome its call." Then he turned his gaze on the Beast, and held out a hand to him. "My lord, all is forgiven; I had died all of five times over by your hand, but by the just hand of our Lady you have paid for your crime more than a hundred times that and the debt between us is settled. May you find happiness as I find rest." The Beast merely nodded, unable to speak, and the shade with a nod of his own drifted into nothingness like smoke on the wind.

The two of them stood there in silence for a time, and then the Beast shifted where he stood, his hind claws scratching slightly against the paving stones. "It is done, then, it is over."

"No, there is one more thing to be attended to," Jaime disagreed, shaking off his own lingering melancholy. He led the Beast back inside the castle again, giving over the digging tools to the gnarled hands which waited just inside the door, and then back upstairs and right back to the dark and dust-shrouded room. This time he did not take a candle, though, or stop at the bed; straight across the large chamber he strode, the dust kicking up like restless spirits in his wake, and reaching up high as he could he unlatched the heavy wooden shutters and flung them back.

An astounding rainbow of light flooded into the room around him, for a moment revealing the decay of countless decades before it's bright magick swept it all away. Like water rushing over a filth-encrusted stone in a stream, dust and rags and rot gave way before the relentless outpouring and left revealed in their wake clean stone, thick patterned rugs, richly carved wood and jewel-inlaid marble. Heavy velvet hangings of blue and green skillfully embroidered with silver flowed around the window casings and dripped down from the frame that surrounded the bed, which was newly covered with a matching down-stuffed coverlet and cream-colored sheets of finest silk. Candles ready for lighting sprouted from polished silver holders, and in the stone fireplace were stacked clean logs ready for burning should the weather's chill need to be driven from the room; a comfortable chair sat near it as well, and several fat cushions were piled near the hearth should the room's occupant desire to lay before the fire rather than sit.

For a moment the Beast had a fleeting hope that the transforming light might also wash away his animal form, but although the clean rush of it left him feeling lighter than he had in countless years the curse still remained when it was gone. Looking back, he saw with surprise that Jaime had yet to turn from the window and so had not yet noticed the changes opening it had wrought; instead the young man stood awestruck by the vision which had been concealed by the wooden shutters, a portrait of the Lady fashioned in colored glass by the obvious hand of a master craftsman. Her hands were outstretched in a gesture of both welcome and blessing, and in her ageless face and depthless eyes was reflected the joyful invitation of a lover, the care of a mother, and the kindly wisdom of an aged crone. The Beast bowed his head; well he remembered she who had commissioned that window, the lady who had been his mother, and regretfully he recalled slamming closed the shutters on the day his wife had died and forbidding them to be opened again. He moved forward quietly and lay a hand on Jaime's trembling shoulder. "Look, see what you have done."

Tear-filled blue eyes turned up to him in surprise, then slowly shifted their gaze to the room beyond. Jaime's mouth dropped open; he took a step forward, past the massive black bulk of the Beast, and then swayed and might have fallen had a powerful arm not been there to steady him. His hand of its own volition tightened on the ebony fur. "Beast, what..."

"Come, sit," the Beast rumbled. He led Jaime over to the chair by the stone hearth, gratified when the logs immediately burst into merry flame and blanketed the area with warmth. A servant appeared, hands bearing a silver tray that held a goblet of wine which the Beast pressed into the young man's cold hands and encouraged him to drink deeply from until some color came back into his face. "Better now?"

Even more color flooded in as Jaime lowered the goblet, a shamed blush. "My apologies, my lord, I am past understanding where these shameful displays of weakness come from – such has never happened to me before in my life."

"You have done much today and had much excitement," the Beast soothed him. "And if you are weak now it is from lack of food and rest, not from a dearth of manly fortitude – are you not the same man who rushed to my aid just a week ago with no weapon to hand save your own courage? Not to mention this," he waved his clawed paw at the transformed room, "would be enough to overset any man." He patted Jaime's arm gently. "It is long past midday, you shall have your meal here and enjoy the beauty you freed from the blight of my cowardice while you eat."

Deep blue eyes locked with his, and the fingers of Jaime's free hand tangled in the thick black fur that covered the Beast's forearm. "Beast, you are no coward. Rather I would say you simply could not face this, the starting point of your curse, the place where your sorrow and remorse began. A coward would not have shared his shame with me but would rather have banned me from this part of the castle on pain of death, wouldn't you say?"

The Beast snorted, amused. "I will not say, your words may stand by themselves and fare as they will. But do not think it did not occur to me, even though I did not act on it."

Jaime smiled to hear the echo of his own words from the previous day. "I am very glad you did not, my lord, else I might never have seen the wondrous things this day has brought. And I must admit that I would be very happy to break my morning's fast here, but I only wish you could break yours with me as well."

Another snort. "You would be wishing I hadn't were we to begin such an experiment, Jaime – and I would not befoul my bedroom in such a manner."

"I suppose not." Jaime looked around the transformed chamber again, sinking back into the comfortable chair when his eyes again fell on the portrait of the Lady formed in the window. "She is so beautiful, it is almost as though she were alive and watching us."

"I had often thought she might be – watching, that is," the Beast replied, looking again to the window as well. "It was my lady mother who commissioned that precious work before I was born, by an artist so finely skilled in the making of such things that he had worked for the king himself. I have not seen it since before I was transformed."

"Such a very long time for such beauty to be hidden," Jaime mused. He returned his attention to the Beast. "If I might ask, where is it you have slept all this time? It was obviously not in this room."

The Beast shrugged his massive shoulders. "Outside, mostly," he said. "Or before the fire in the small study, when the weather was wet or the snow deep...or I was feeling the need to remind myself that I was as much man as animal." He sighed then, heavily. "Often after a successful hunt I would sleep there, afraid to lose myself in my bestial nature by remaining in the wild."

Jaime smoothed the fur under his fingers soothingly. "You have not lost yourself, Beast. Rather I should say this curse has helped you find yourself again after your humanity was lost to grief."

"I should say thrown away, not lost," the Beast countered, but he smiled as much as he was able at the young man's generosity; he himself well knew just how much of an animal he had been for many long years after he was cursed, how lost to his human self he had allowed himself to become. The slender fingers stroking his fur were beginning to feel rather too good to him, though, so he patted the caressing hand and then gently removed it, standing up from his crouch so that Jaime would not feel rebuked and making a show of looking around the room again. "I doubt I shall take to sleeping in the bed again, my claws would be like to ruin its fine coverings no matter how carefully I lay down, but this space before the fire seems perfect for my needs and the cushions seem to be made of sturdier stuff."

"No doubt put there for your comfort," Jaime told him after taking his own look at the nearest heavy bolster. "This is your room, after all. It would seem to me that the enchantment on this place seeks to provide all that is needed."

The Beast saw an opportunity to change the conversation and took it. "And has all been provided for in your room as well?" he asked, examining a large square sitting pillow fashioned of sturdy brocade before making himself comfortable upon it. "It has been remiss of me as your host not to ask if there was aught you required which has not been supplied for you."

"I would not liken relying on such servants as yours with being neglectful of your responsibilities," Jaime assured him. "I doubt a king would have his needs seen to as thoroughly as mine have been, even in his own palace. And Gloria indulges me shamefully."

"So she once did me," the Beast admitted, although the fondness in his smile could not show on his tusked face. Gloria had been devoted to his lady mother and had taken it upon herself to care for him after her death – often as a young man he himself had sat as Jaime now sometimes did in her kitchen, 'helping' with mundane tasks that he might soak up the comfort her motherly presence provided. But it had been long since he had last set foot inside the kitchen, or called her by name, even though the castle's enchantment allowed him to sense his invisible servants almost as clearly as though he could see them. Perhaps Jaime was not the only one he owed more of his attention to, at that. "She stayed, when many others left for fear of me, and being included in my curse was her reward for her loyalty." He held up one massive clawed paw when Jaime made to protest. "No, do not excuse me from that; I could have sent her away, as I did many others whom I cared for less. But instead I kept her where she was, even though my temper had grown so foul and capricious that even she was not safe from it." He sighed. "Perhaps she felt pity for me, at that, for she was a widow of many years and well knew what it was to suffer such a loss as I had, although she bore hers with such grace as to put me to shame."

Jaime thought on that for a moment, and then ventured, "Perhaps it was the love she chose to bear the burden of, my lord, rather than only carrying the loss." When the Beast simply stared at him, he dropped his head. "Such was what my father often said, anyway."

The Beast shook his head. "I have said it before, your father is a wise man – blind, but wise. Thankfully you learned the wisdom he had to offer but failed to inherit his lack of sight."

The young man colored at the compliment, but before aught else could be said the servant once again appeared in the room bearing a much larger tray. A small round table was pulled up beside Jaime's chair by other hands and the tray's contents arranged upon it carefully; a small covered tureen containing fragrant bisque, a dish of chicken stewed with dates and almonds, and hot rolls wrapped in a napkin. The second set of hands took the tray as soon as it had been emptied and disappeared, but the first set lingered a moment to ruffle Jaime's hair affectionately before reappearing beside the Beast and ever so gently touching his thick black mane before winking out again. "It appears, my lord," Jaime told him, wiping away the tear his host was unable to shed, "that Gloria has forgiven you as well."

Days flowed on into weeks into months, and although the Beast followed through on his resolve to act more as a nobleman than a wild animal still his tusks and claws remained as sharp and his appetite as bloody as they had ever been before. He wore them more easily now, though, and had gained some measure of peace which had been sorely lacking from his life for all the long years of his enchantment. But through that peace he had gained something else not so pleasant, a different sort of regret than the one he had carried with him for so long. For his affection for his young guest had grown all through the height of summer and the depths of the winter, and as Spring once again drew near his bestial form caused him much sorrow for all that it could not do but which even the least sort of man might essay without a thought. Jaime professed not to mind the occasional contact with paws and fur, it was true, but those were touches of the most innocent sort and far from what the Beast would have liked to share with him had he been given any choice in the matter.

What Jaime's choice would be the Beast did not know and feared to ask, not knowing if what he saw in the young man's dark blue eyes was true feeling or simply a more shallow pleasure at having a companion to share his imprisonment with. And the two of them had become great companions as the seasons changed, sharing daily in each other's company and never finding it less than pleasant. But would Jaime still find it pleasant should he be able to leave and escape the curse? Given his freedom, would he ride away from the Beast without looking back?

A year had passed since the young man had arrived at the castle to take his father's place, and as the one problem had been consuming the Beast's thoughts so one opposite had been filling Jaime's. Watching the final light dusting of snow melt from the garden outside his window he thought about his family and called himself disloyal for not missing them more in his pleasure at the Beast's company. Homesickness he still had in plenty, but the feelings which had grown in him for his host defied any others he had ever experienced. He did not feel he could share them with the Beast, though, fearing his friend would mistake warmth for pity or even something worse – the touch of the thick black fur did not repulse him, but yet he did not feel comfortable with prolonging such contact or seeing it become more than innocent and he did not think the Beast would welcome such a thing either. Perhaps even this, he had mused on more than one occasion, was part of the curse; to be a man trapped in the body of an animal and have a man's wants and desires trapped by fur and claw as well. The horror of it often sat upon him late at night, and more than once he had made what pleas he dared to the Lady for her mercy and the power to bring it to his friend the Beast.

Jaime had made this same plea only the night before, one of many such nights, but he expected no response. His family had been much on his mind on awakening that morning, however, and as he looked out over the white-shrouded gardens he thought of them and sighed quietly to himself, "I wish I could know if they are all right."

The pane of the window nearest him shimmered and went dark, and suddenly it was as though he were looking through it into his old home. He shuddered in spite of himself to see Gerard standing over Liam and Jules before the hearth, scowling. "I want the chores done and supper cooked by the time I return tonight," he was ordering the two boys. "And Liam, you will see to Father in my absence; if he knows the least want or discomfort due to your inattention, you will be back to sleeping in the closet again. Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded but did not speak. Jules, however, looked distressed. "But Gerard, Liam is sick too..."

"He is fine, and you know better than to talk back to me," Gerard snapped. "He will earn his keep – and you will have no dinner tonight for your insolence. Now the pair of you have wasted enough of my time. The sickness runs rampant through the village, and though doubtless it is a plague visited on them as punishment for their sins I must still do what I can to help. Now mind what I told you and get to work!"

The two boys remained standing where they were until the door shut behind their brother, and then Jules was tugging Liam toward a chair. "I will do the work, you sit..."

"No." The hoarseness of his favorite brother's voice made Jaime wince, and the numb despair in the thin, flushed face brought tears to his eyes. "You...you can't do it all, Jules. And there is Father to tend to, if he tells Gerard you cared for him instead of me, I don't know what..." He pulled out of the younger boy's grasp and made unsteadily for the door. "I'll go draw water, you go upstairs and fix the rooms and then we'll both clean up down here."

Jaime little remembered running from his room and the vision of his home or all but flinging himself down the stairs, but when the Beast appeared in answer to his shouts Jaime clutched at his fine velvet waistcoat with desperate hands. "Beast, tell me, does the enchantment that fills this place tell things truly? Should a vision be asked for and granted, would things be shown as they really are?"

The Beast carefully covered the clutching hands with his paws. "You asked to see your home, your family?" At Jaime's nod the he nodded as well. "Yes, the enchantment would show things exactly as they are at this very moment. But what..."

"A sickness has fallen on the village, and my family as well. I must leave, I must return home at once!" A growl erupted from the Beast's throat, a savage denial, and Jaime let go his hold on velvet and fur and fell to his knees in supplication. "Please! Surely there is room in this enchantment that binds us for mercy. You know I will not run away, you know I will come back without a second thought. But I cannot let my brother die!"

The Beast's emerald eyes widened. This was not what he had expected. "Your brother..."

"Liam." The deep blue eyes were luminous with tears. "I saw...he is ill, and yet Gerard has him working about the house, and caring for our father, and has refused him all rest. If I do not go he will die!"

Slowly, the Beast nodded, feeling the power of the curse move within him. "I can deny you nothing, though it means my death," he rumbled. He pulled the young man back to his feet. "Seven days is all I may grant you, this one time and no other, and on the seventh you must return else you bring disaster on the both of us. But Jaime, though I do know that you will not hesitate to come back, your family will doubtless be opposed to losing you a second time." His grip tightened, not cruelly but possessively. "They will try to stop you coming back to me."

"I will not allow myself to be stopped," Jaime assured him. Gratitude choked him, and when the words would not come he threw his arms around the Beast. "I will return to you in seven days, you have my promise."

Clawed paws held him reassuringly a moment more before gently pushing him away. "Go, Jaime, before I hold you back in my own selfishness. Your horse awaits, and all you may need is with him. I will send with you a talisman that will allow you to return to me unhindered, and only with it may you find entry to this place again. I will be here when you return."

Those deep blue eyes looked into his own searchingly, a slender hand rose as though to touch his monstrous face...and then Jaime whirled and ran for the door. The Beast did not follow, but instead went to a window and watched as horse and rider galloped down the broad avenue and out of sight; his heart nearly stopped from joy and pain when Jaime turned at the last moment and waved a farewell, and although he knew that the young man could not see him the Beast returned the gesture with one of his own. After a time he left the window with its view of the empty road and went out into the garden, and he did not return to the castle until late that night.

Enchantment lent wings to Virgil's gold-shod hooves and the vague path through the forest seemed as a broad, smooth road, speeding Jaime's return to his former home. Emotions tore through him, tumbling over each other like a mountain cascade; fear of what was awaiting him at the end of his magicked road, joy at the thought of seeing his father and brothers again, sorrow because he was leaving the castle which had become his home, gratitude to the Beast for allowing him to go...and something else, something rich and wild that lay in his chest like a weight yet that he could put no name to, the same something that had risen up to choke him when the Beast had given his permission for Jaime to leave. It brought tears to his eyes, tears that were whisked away by the wind of his and Virgil's swift passage – tears that carried with them a magick he did not see or know but which laid a twinkling trail of enchantment in his wake.

Time had ceased to have meaning for Jaime, but far sooner than he expected he was pulling Virgil to a halt in his father's yard and looking at the position of the sun he saw that it was early afternoon. The front door of the house opened as he dismounted, and a very untidy Jules peered around it with huge blue eyes that flicked from the proud horse with its trappings of crimson, gold and green to the finely-dressed man who had been riding it. "Are you...are you a king?"

Jaime started at the question but still took a step forward. "Jules, it's me, Jaime. Don't you know me?"

The little boy squinted at him...and then with a glad cry all but flung himself into his brother's arms. "You came back! Father is sick and Liam too, and Gerard is away at the village and Bertrand is helping with the planting and I can't make Liam wake up and Gerard will be mad 'cause Liam's supposed to be taking care of Father..."

"I know," Jaime interrupted, his blue eyes hardening as he gently pried the small arms from around his neck and set his brother aside. "Magick showed me what was happening, Jules, and it allowed me to come back to help. If you can take care of Virgil for me, I will go inside and see what needs to be done."

"Virgil?" The blue eyes got even wider as they looked the horse over. Then Jules nodded. "I can do that."

"Come inside when you're done," his brother told him, and then winked. "I know _somebody_ who needs a bath, and then you and I will put things in order, all right?"

Jules made a face at the mention of a bath, but with a nod and a sigh he took the reins his brother pressed into his small grubby hands and led Virgil off to the barn. Jaime released a sigh of his own, then steeled himself and went into the house. His worst fears were realized when he saw Liam lying on a blanket in front of the hearth, his hollow cheeks flushed with fever. Jaime knelt by his brother's still form and passed a shaking hand over his tangled hair. "Liam, can you hear me?"

But there was no response. Jaime whispered a reassurance and then forced himself to stand, leaving Liam's side and going to the partially open door of their father's room. Phillipe stirred in his bed when the hinges squeaked but didn't open his eyes, the fever having made them painful in the light. "Son..."

"Father." The familiar, hesitant voice made Phillipe's eyes snap open, and he squinted at the figure in the doorway. What he saw there made him gasp; it was his missing son, the boy he'd thought never to lay eyes on again, and not only did he look very much alive but he was also dressed in garments that would have befitted a prince. The unlikely vision stepped closer, looking down at him worriedly. "Father, I've come to help."

Phillipe forced his aching body upright in the bed, and immediately his son – his son! – was at his side to assist him. He caught one silk-clad arm in what would have been a fierce grip had the fever not burned out so much of his strength. "Jaime, you...you escaped from the Beast?"

"No, he allowed me to come. I saw...magick showed me what was happening here, and I came as quickly as I could. I must return home in seven days, but until then I will do all that I can to help."

"By the Lady, just seeing you is a tonic to me," his father whispered, raising his shaking hand to touch Jaime's cheek. "Only seven days?"

"It will be enough," Jaime reassured him. "May I stay, Father? Will you accept my help?" Phillipe nodded, unable to speak, and Jaime nodded as well. "Thank you. Now, just you return to your rest while I see to Liam and then I will be back with something hot for you. I promise you, everything will be all right now."

He slipped back out of the room, and Phillipe settled back into his pillows still reeling from astonishment that his son had returned. Curiosity warred with his weakness, the desire to find out by what means Jaime had come back to them defeated only by the sleep that was even now tugging down his eyelids. An old fear lent its aid to the side of sleep and he succumbed with a sigh, his last thought that perhaps it was better he did not know.

Liam awakened when a pair of strong arms deposited him on the familiar softness of his cot, and he tensed with a sudden fear. The soothing voice that reassured him was only with difficulty able to penetrate his fever-addled mind, but once it did his leaf-green eyes flew open. A finger touched his lips, stopping his effort to croak his brother's name. "Shh, Liam," Jaime said softly. "It's all right."

The boy shook his head, the miracle of his brother's presence beside him overshadowed by the responsibility he'd been left with. "F-fa..."

"Father is fine, sleeping," Jaime reassured him. "And before you ask, Jules is fine as well; apparently the sickness has decided to leave him be, for which I am thankful. Now, since you are awake I have some warmed cider for you to drink and then you must sleep again."

The mention of cider made the green eyes light up and Jaime laughed and ruffled Liam's newly-washed hair; he had given his brother a much-needed bath before installing him in the cot he had brought downstairs to sit near the hearth. "You may thank the Beast for your treat, I found the jug in my saddlebags – among other things which will also be most useful while I am here to tend to you. And now, let us not waste any time enjoying what has been provided..."

Liam let his brother support him in his arms and help him drink, basking in the tender treatment. Once the mug was empty he snuggled closer still into the velvet doublet his brother was wearing and sighed contentedly. "Missed you, Jaime."

"And I missed you, Liam. You have never been far from my thoughts."

Small, shaking fingers crept up his chest to tap at the medallion that hung around his neck, over his heart. "M-magick..."

Jaime almost started in surprise. Although in his room at the castle there was a small chest of jeweled adornments put there for his use, he had never been tempted to wear any of it and he knew he had never seen the piece he was wearing now, a finely-worked medallion of gold and ebony which was set upon its edge with rubies and surmounted by a diamond the size of his thumb within which bloomed the image of a perfect blood-red rose. Wonderingly he raised his own hand to touch it...and to his astonishment found it warm under his fingers. The presence of the Beast echoed inside him, and Jaime with a smile recognized the medallion as not only his promised talisman of return but also as a gift meant to comfort him while he was away from his home. He patted Liam's hand gently. "Yes, there is enchantment on it; it was given to me by my friend, the Beast."

Liam nodded and smiled as well, letting his fingers fall away. "How long?"

"Seven days only," Jaime answered softly, knowing that his brother would soon be asleep again. "Long enough to see you on your way to recovery, Liam, and to get Father back on his feet so that he may look after you when I return home." He dropped a kiss atop the soft hair and whispered for Liam's ears only, "You need not fear Gerard's vagaries while I am here, I will protect you from him – it was for this that the Beast allowed me to come. Rest and heal knowing you are safe."

He waited until Liam fell asleep in his arms before tucking him back into his blankets and then returned his attention to Jules, who was sitting on the far corner of the hearth simply watching him. "How goes our stew?"

The little boy leaned over to peer into the iron pot that sat to one side of the hottest part of the fire; sniffing deeply, he turned a beaming face to his older brother. "It smells good!"

Jaime laughed – quietly, so as not to disturb Liam. "And it will taste good as well, I hope. Perhaps we shall get Father up and into his chair by the fire for supper once Bertrand comes home, and then we can change the linens on his bed and air the room a bit for him."

It was well past nightfall when Gerard returned home from the village, tired in mind and body and wanting only to eat his supper and fall asleep before the morrow came and his work began anew. He unhitched the cart in the yard, not wanting to shut it up inside the barn as he had more than once used it this week to carry the bodies of the dead, and turned Stump into his loose box. So tired was he that he failed to notice the new horse in the stall beyond Bertrand's; he only checked to see that there was water and hay for Stump and then slung his mostly-empty bag over his shoulder and trudged toward the house.

Laughter sounded as he approached the door and he scowled, remembering the way Jules had been disobedient that morning and thinking that perhaps his youngest brother had not remembered it as well as he should have. Or Bertrand may have interfered with his order that Jules have no supper, which would necessitate his handing out a more severe punishment the next morning after their eldest brother had left for the fields. With that thought in mind, and knowing that his stern expression would quell the unsuitable merriment he was hearing from within without him having to raise his voice and disturb his father's rest, Gerard threw open the door...and promptly froze in the doorway in shock; not only was his father out of bed and sitting in his chair sipping from a steaming mug, but a cot had been placed as near as was safe to the hearth and Liam was lying in it being tended by a man dressed far too finely for the humble surroundings. What stranger would come to their house on such a night? All the surrounding areas even to the city knew of the sickness that stalked the countryside, and any man with sense did not venture into the areas so afflicted. "What's going on here?!"

Phillipe smiled at him, ignoring the sharp tone that marked the question as more of a demand. "Your brother has come back to us, Gerard!"

The finely dressed man turned just enough to look at him, and Gerard saw that it was indeed his worthless black-sheep of a brother – who was giving him a look not friendly in the least. "There is some stew left for you from supper, if you care for it."

Gerard stepped the rest of the way in, closing and barring the door behind him before divesting himself of his jacket and hat. His deep blue eyes were narrow as he watched Jaime's every movement, took in every detail of his rich clothing. "Liam..."

"Took ill after you left," Phillipe told him in all innocence; neither Jaime nor Jules had explained the way of things to him, so he had explained things to himself in the way he thought best. "Had Jaime not returned when he did, the sickness might have claimed Liam before you returned and put him beyond the reach of all help."

"He can't be so sick as all that..."

"He is," Bertrand confirmed wearily, his own eyes narrowing as he observed the scowl still gracing his younger brother's face. He himself had been little home of late, trying along with all the other men left unstricken by sickness to ready the fields in time for early spring planting, and when he did return at night so exhausted was he that he had barely the strength to eat and crawl into his bed. But even still he had begun to notice that something was not right, and had more than once intervened when Gerard had become overly harsh with their youngest brothers in his presence. "Father is right, had Jaime not come back we likely would have returned home this night only to bury Liam come morning. He is fully as ill as anyone in the village, and likely has been so for some days."

"But he will be fine now," Jaime said before Gerard could express his denial of that. "He needs only rest and care, and I will see that he gets it while I am here."

Gerard's scowl only deepened. "So you're not staying?"

"I will be here seven days." Jaime stood from where he had been kneeling beside his brother's cot and straightened his clothing. Gold threads sewn into the embroidery on his silken shirt glimmered in the orange light of the hearth fire, matching the light picked up by strands in his hair as he bent over the covered pot hanging there. "Jules, help Gerard with his boots," he called over his shoulder. "I will get him some of our stew."

Gerard slowly moved to his own chair and sat down, too caught up in his anger at the situation to spare more than the slightest frown for Jules as the little boy nervously pulled off his dirty boots and carried them off to the mat by the door to be brushed. Gerard took the steaming bowl Jaime offered him and scowled at it as well, although he did manage a grudging thank-you before he began to eat. The stew was good, rich with venison and herbs and thick with winter vegetables, and once he had finished his bowl he rose and filled it again from the pot. He did not need to ask where the meat had come from; none in the village had had the time to hunt since the sickness had come. While he was dipping out his second portion he took the opportunity to look more closely at Liam and marked the signs of sickness in him as he lay there asleep on his cot. Jules had been telling him truly this morning, then – but their youngest brother would still merit some punishment for his disobedience lest he think that he had the right to question the orders his elders gave him. And Liam had earned some punishment as well for not having told Gerard he was ill. The two boys' chastisement would have to wait, however, until Bertrand was not there and their father was occupied elsewhere. And in the meantime, he would have to think about the problem of Jaime reappearing at the house, and whether it would be best to allow him to return to his undeserved life of luxury and thereby have him unable to interfere with the family or to keep him here and resume teaching the place his sins had bought him.

If Gerard remained mostly silent from that point until he went to his bed that night, his family only attributed it to his tiredness and the number of lives the sickness had claimed in the village, never guessing at the harsh thoughts he was keeping imprisoned behind his closed lips.

Jaime himself was too tired to worry about Gerard, although he had been secretly pleased to find himself no longer intimidated in the least by his much larger brother; daily contact with a massive black beast, it seemed, had rendered Gerard much less imposing to him. He crawled into his old bed, scarcely missing his plump down mattress although he did feel a pang for the lack of the loving hands which usually tucked him in each night at the castle. Six days, he thought to himself as he fell asleep clutching his medallion, six days and his father would be recovered enough to protect Liam and he himself would be able to return home to the Beast.

And that night, he dreamed. He dreamed that he stood beside the hot spring in the Beast's private garden, watching the deceptively innocent-looking water cascade down its pillar of natural rock. A click of claws on stone told him he was not alone, and when the cruelly-clawed paws of his host closed on his shoulders he did not start; he knew those claws were not for him. "I miss you, Beast," he said, and raised one hand to pat black fur and cool ivory...but to his startlement it was neither fur nor ivory his fingers encountered, but warm human flesh like to his own. When he would have turned to look, however, his dream ended and he awoke with the voice of the Beast whispering in his mind; _I miss you as well, Jaime. If you do not come back, I think I will die from being without you_.

Jaime's days were full with caring for Liam and his father and setting himself to every chore that needed to be done both in and out of the house. He did the work gladly, though, and with a light heart, despite once again having grown unused to such labors. Liam was recovering quickly, almost miraculously, and although Phillipe's strength was slower to come back he was showing marked improvement as well and Jaime knew he would feel safe in leaving when his time was up. For as much as he loved his family, his homesickness now was for what he had left in the castle in the woods, and had it not been for the comforting presence of the medallion he kept hidden beneath his shirt and the dreams that came to him each night he feared the pain might have been more than he could bear.

As his time grew shorter the dreams grew more vivid and real to him, and although each time he awoke before he could see all, with each dream he grew more and more puzzled by what he did encounter. At first it was always the Beast coming to him, in the monstrous cursed form by which Jaime knew him, but then something would change; first the hands he had felt under his own, then a glimpse of wavy black hair, a strong, silk-clad arm that slung itself around his shoulders, a man's tall form silhouetted by the sun at the garden gate, an embrace which became somehow smaller and more intimate when he buried his face in a velvet waistcoat...and then, on the fifth night, something wonderfully more.

At first, Jaime thought it to be the unexpected return of his long-ago nightmare. He was lying in his bed at the castle and the Beast appeared, moonlight creeping through the casement window silvering his black fur and gilding ivory claws and tusks. The monstrous vision padded silently to his side and as had happened before his nightshirt was torn away and one massive paw touched him lightly before settling over his heart. Emerald eyes widened at the steadiness of that heart's beating, though; Jaime, even in this setting, no longer had any fear of him. The paw moved to gently ruffle his hair, the monstrous snout essayed what on a man's face might have been a fond smile...and his unresponsive body was carefully turned to its side and a weight which could not have been the huge mass of the Beast settled in warmly behind Jaime on the bed. Skin touched his and arms came around him, hands caressing him. Jaime had never in his life felt so cherished, or known such pleasure.

And yet still he missed the Beast.

As the sixth day of his visit drew to a close, Jaime sat at his father's side much as he had a year before when Phillipe had told his family of his disastrous encounter with the Black Beast. "I must leave you tomorrow, Father," he said, looking into the fire. "My visit is at an end, it is time for me to go back."

Phillipe stiffened; so did Bertrand. "You've barely been home a week..." the older brother began.

"I told you when I arrived that I was only here to help in your hour of need and must return home on the seventh day," Jaime interrupted. "Today was the sixth, and if I break my word the Beast will die. Tomorrow morning..."

"I won't allow it," Phillipe said firmly. "It is good that he dies! He is a Beast, a monster who threatened my life and stole away my son from me. You aren't going anywhere, Jaime."

Jaime stood up. "You know nothing about him," he contradicted coldly. "He is not a monster and he did not steal me away; I went to him of my own free will. And I have given my word that I would return, would you have me break it?"

"That would mean nothing to you, you've done so time and again with no remorse," Gerard accused, and Jaime flinched. The older brother had made his decision as to what outcome he wished from this over the course of the week, though, and he was only beginning. "But this isn't about your word, is it? Look at you! Fancy clothes, servants to wait on you hand and foot, everything you want. Just how are you paying him back for it all, Jaime? I was in your room this morning, I saw the bed. Were you dreaming about him, or just remembering what he does to you and..."

"At least he doesn't make me pull the cart to run his errands," Jaime snapped back, his own temper igniting as he saw the dawning suspicion Gerard's words had raised in the eyes of his father and eldest brother. "He has never and would never do the disgusting thing you are implying; he may have the body of a Beast, but he has the heart and soul of a man and he would never knowingly harm me in any way. He has touched me exactly once, because of this." Jaime pulled open the collar of the shirt he was wearing and pushed aside his hair, turning his head so the whip scar was clearly visible to everyone and ignoring his father's gasp. "He saw this mark and suspected that Father might have cheated him by sending a slave instead of a son, so he took it upon himself to inspect me for other scars of a...telling nature. He took no advantage of his power over me at the time, and in fact his embarrassment over the incident was so great that he avoided me for days afterward." He drew himself up to his full height, eyes flashing and the medallion on its heavy gold chain now visible around his neck, the diamond with its embedded rose glowing blood-red in the firelight. "I care for him deeply and I won't deny it, but he is in body a Beast and there can be no intimacy between us. Now if you will all excuse me, I believe I will go to bed as I have a long ride ahead of me tomorrow."

The room stayed silent until he was well upstairs, and then Gerard snorted. "He's lying, I know he is."

"He could be bewitched," Bertrand disagreed. "That Beast of his has magic and to spare, he could have cast a spell on our brother."

"That he could have." Phillipe was troubled now by more than just the Beast, though. "What I'd like to know is where he got that lash mark, though. Can one of you boys tell me that?" He saw the looks that Liam and Jules traded after glancing at Gerard and considered himself answered. "Gerard," he said, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "Perhaps you left something out of your accounting of events during the time Bertrand and I were away last year?"

"It was an accident," Gerard grumbled. "He didn't want me to whip that precious horse of his and he stepped in front of the lash, that was all. I didn't set out to mark him."

Phillipe sucked in a deep breath, using it to hold down his anger. Once he was sure he could control himself he spoke again. "Your brother is beautiful, and I don't just say that as a fond father," he said slowly, measuring his words. "Such was the reason his aunt wished to take him into her household, for she was a vain, shallow soul and much concerned with appearances. So do you realize, Gerard, what _kind_ of slave this Beast must have thought Jaime was when he found that mark?"

"Or what kind of 'inspection' he must have given him to prove he wasn't?" Bertrand added angrily. He abruptly stood and scooped up a very wide-eyed Jules into his arms, then held out his hand to Liam. "Father, I'm taking the young ones to bed. They've heard too much already."

"I agree." Phillipe waited until his eldest and two youngest sons were well upstairs before continuing. "I believe him when he says the Beast has not tried to...to do what you implied; I have seen the creature as you have not, and had he attempted to violate your brother in that manner Jaime would now be dead. Nor do I believe he would stay with such a monster for the sake of fine clothes, and the servants you speak of so knowingly do not exist in that cursed castle. No, I would have to agree with Bertrand's supposition that enchantment is involved."

Gerard frowned, and then his face cleared. "The medallion," he said with certainty. "I've seen him touch it often through his shirt, he gets this faraway look in his eyes. If we take the medallion, hide it..."

"Then maybe whatever spell that is on him will be ended, or at least lessened enough that we might convince him not to go back," Phillipe said, hope rising in him at the thought that he might still save his son. "It will have to be done tonight."

In spite of being upset by the argument with his family Jaime fell asleep quickly, anticipating the return of his dream and wondering if tonight he would see the man who had become his dream lover face to face. Instead, though, he found himself standing before the castle at the base of the wide stone steps, but where the two rose bushes had once bloomed in an endless spring now remained only dead gray branches bare of leaves, here and there in their skeletal embrace holding the blackened corpse of a shriveled blossom. He stepped back from the horror of that sight and only then noticed the sheet of dingy snow which cloaked both steps and ground and the unnatural silence that filled the still air. What had happened to the fountain? He spun around, slipping on the dirty snow, and dashed in the direction of the garden that had become theirs, hoping that his ears were deceiving him.

They weren't, but the dry fountain lost his attention as the motionless black lump lying beside it filled his eyes. He dropped to his knees beside the Beast, his Beast, and almost sobbed with relief when the closed eyes opened and looked up at him...but then started back in alarm when the tusked snout split open in a snarl. "Broke your promise," the deep voice, painfully weak, accused him. "Broke your promise, killed me." The eyes fell closed again. " _Murderer_."

And then, the Beast died.

Jaime awoke with a scream fighting to break from his lips and instinctively grabbed for his medallion...only to find it missing. A glance out the window showed it to be still early night, the moon not yet having reached her peak or begun to descend toward dawn. He stumbled from the bed and frantically searched his room, and then again. Throwing on his clothes, he tore downstairs and almost ran into Gerard. Grabbing his brother's shirtfront he shook him angrily, fear and anger lending him strength. "Where is it? I know you took it, what have you done with it?!"

Strong arms came around him, pulling him away from his brother, and his father's voice boomed in his ear, "Jaime! Jaime, stop this at once!"

"He took it!" Jaime squirmed around in his father's hold. "I must find it, Father! I must leave at once, I gave the Beast my word of honor that I would return in seven days!"

"Then consider your word worth no more than it should be," Gerard snapped at him. "Your seventh day was this day, I saw to keeping you asleep through it that you might not trouble Father while I went about my work in the village." He reached out and flicked contemptuously at the fine shirt his brother had so hastily thrown on. "This fine, undeserved life you've been leading is over now, and now even your Beast knows your true worth."

Jaime turned white to his very lips and sagged in his father's grasp, but when Phillipe made to help him to a chair he pulled away and instead dropped to his knees beside the hearth, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. "What have I done," he moaned. "Oh my Lady, what have I done?"

Phillipe waved Gerard silent when the young man would have spoken again. "You have done nothing, my son," he soothed. "It is the enchantment that lies on you causing this pain, but once it is broken that will pass. We could not allow you to go back into such bondage, you must try to understand."

His son's bent head came up, blue eyes bleak and dull, and he nodded once. "I understand," Jaime said quietly. "I...I couldn't see it before, but I do understand now."

Phillipe patted the dark head, not realizing that it wasn't he Jaime was answering but a Beast, standing with worried eyes in a hall of marble seven days past. "I knew you would, son. Why don't you go back up to bed, get some rest? You're back home and safe now, and tomorrow will be a brand new day. Without that horrid Beast."

"I'll wake you up in the morning, I imagine you've gotten out of the habit of getting up with the sun." Gerard's tone was just short of a sneer, and Jaime curled in on himself again. The older son frowned. "Father, maybe we should lock him in tonight, just in case."

"The boy is not a prisoner, Gerard," Phillipe said quickly; there had been too much of a gleam in his second son's eyes when he'd made the suggestion, and it was a light he hadn't much liked. "And he won't be treated as one."

"But he might try to..."

"I can't go back without my medallion," Jaime said, still in that flat, dead voice. "And when I do not arrive, the Beast will die and his castle will most likely crumble into a ruin."

"That is for the good, Jaime," Phillipe reassured him. "I am glad he was kind to you during your captivity, but in time you'll come to see that it was all a part of his bewitchment."

Jaime shuddered, then pushed himself to his feet and all but staggered to the stairs. He avoided his father's reaching hand with a jerk. "Do not touch me, ever again," he said brokenly. "I am naught but a responsibility to you, a burden you out of _honor_ ," his voice broke on the word, "were forced to make the best of. And yet rather than let me return to one who truly cares for me, you have instead made me his murderer." Deep blue eyes full of betrayal lifted briefly to meet Phillipe's shocked ones, then fell away again as Jaime dragged himself up toward his room without another look back. A defeated whisper floated down in his wake to fall heavy and accusing into the silent room. "Whose good, Father, whose good?"

Hours later, in the very dead of night, a bootless shadow slipped down the stairs to stand shaking by the dully glowing embers in the hearth. Jaime's eyes flitted from his father's bedroom door to the stairs and back in an agony of dread. Liam had been waiting when he'd reached their room, just as he'd been waiting that night over a year ago; this time, however, it was the younger brother who came to the elder's bedside with words of comfort and reassurance...and trust. Jaime had still been sobbing helplessly in Liam's arms when Gerard had come into the room and taken his boots with the smugly murmured excuse that Jaime 'wouldn't be needing them' until morning. Liam's bright green glare, made almost incandescent by the pale light of the crescent moon, had unnerved the superstitious young man enough to speed him from the room without further comment, and once he was certain Gerard was in bed he'd begun to whisper in Jaime's ear. The heart-wrenching sobs had gradually stopped as hope was rekindled by the softly spoken words.

The medallion was in their father's room...just a few feet from where Jaime now stood.

He slipped in through the heavy door, careful not to make a noise that might rouse the vague, sleeping form of his father just a few feet away. The box was sitting where it had always sat, on top of the heavy chest, and nimble, trembling fingers cautiously loosed the catch and eased up the lid; Jaime released a nearly silent sigh of relief when he saw the gold and ebony medallion lying there atop the two dueling pistols, and he lost no time in snatching it up and securing the chain around his neck.

It felt cold. And within the diamond no longer bloomed a magickal rose, but only a dull red mass like to a drying drop of blood.

Not even bothering to close the box or the front door or even to grab his cloak or boots, he darted out of the house and into the barn to hastily saddle Virgil, and he was just tightening the cinch when he heard a raised voice which was quickly joined by several more. Jaime threw himself atop his horse and leaned low over the animal's neck to get out of the barn, then kicked Virgil's sides to speed him toward the safety of the woods. He did not look back, not even when the yelling voices were punctuated by the loud sound of a pistol being fired, the sharp noise spurring his mount forward with a leap that stole his breath away and jarred him enough to pain his back. But he didn't rein the horse in, instead using Virgil's panic to dash the remaining distance into the thick concealing trees and put himself beyond the reach of any possible pursuit.

Jaime rode hard, for the first time since Virgil had been gifted to him by his aunt's oft-away husband giving no thought whatsoever to the horse's well-being. It seemed to take forever, but finally the gates were before him, hanging open disconcertingly, and he urged Virgil through them and galloped across the parklands under a pre-dawn sky heavy with threatening clouds. Thunder rumbled menacingly, then rumbled again. He reined the horse in at the entrance to the garden he'd seen in his last vision – their garden, his and the Beast's – and almost threw himself off the gasping animal's back. His knees buckled and his head spun but he fought the weakness and staggered past the tall stone walls and into their private place.

Inside the sky seemed darker still and the graceful trees were skeletally bare. The grass under his feet was brown and brittle; a dry winter had come to this place and brought death and devastation with it. Jaime's heart echoed that devastation as he staggered toward the fountain, fear running like ice through his veins. No musical cascade poured from the granite monolith and what water remained was sullen and still and had an evil stench. But Jaime's eyes barely glanced at it, fixed with horror instead on the still black shape crumpled on the far side. "Beast!"

He was at the Beast's side in an instant, burying his hands in the black fur and finding it cold and lifeless. He frantically patted the still face trying to make the closed eyes open, and was rewarded with a weak flicker and then a glimpse of emerald green. "Broke your promise..." the deep voice whispered. "Didn't come back..."

The words stabbed Jaime like a knife. "I broke my promise...but I did come back," he whispered tearfully. "I couldn't leave you, Beast. Punish me however you like, but please don't die!"

An odd look crossed the tusked face. "Couldn't leave? But...why didn't you return?"

"I was stupid, I let them...I let them steal my medallion," Jaime confessed brokenly, dropping his eyes in shame. "They tried to stop me coming back and they nearly succeeded. I'm so sorry, I should have heeded your warning better." He sat back a little, one hand patting the black waistcoat but stopping dead as it encountered something wet and warm and sticky. "You...you're hurt!"

The Beast's eyes widened too. "But I'm not..."

"Bleeding..." Jaime murmured, not hearing him. His tears were flowing as freely as the fountain above them once had as he stared at the red stain on his shaking fingers. "Too late, I'm...too late." The clouds overhead rumbled again and he let himself fall forward over the wet spot, sobbing. "I'm so sorry. I'd...I'd take your place if I could. I care for you so much...I love you, Beast."

A huge crack of lightening shattered the brightening sky and the Beast's roar was louder than the thunder had been. The very ground seemed to shake from the power of it, but Jaime just let himself sink deeper into the black fur until it finally swallowed him up entirely.

Jaime heard the voice calling his name but he couldn't place it so it didn't concern him overmuch. Sunlight was warm on his face and the bed was soft under his back...had he overslept? Well, he had taken a long, hard ride...

Long ride? Ah yes, he'd been riding home, that was it. Images rolled through his waking mind of trees flashing past, the horse's hooves thundering along the path and through the open gate, the lowering sky and the silent fountain, and beside the fountain the reason he'd been hurrying back in the first place...lying cold and still and...

"BEAST!" The howl of loss tore itself out of his body and left a consuming empty agony in its wake. Someone's hands pushed him back down into the feather mattress and pillows but he ignored them, his mind only able to take in the fact that his beloved Beast was dead because he hadn't kept his promise. Another scream of pain and denial welled up inside him but the first had stolen his breath and his strength and it escaped as a hurt whimper. "Beast..."

"Jaime!" The unfamiliar voice was calling him again, and the desperation in it finally penetrated his consciousness. "Jaime, I'm right here! Please come back to me, don't leave me again."

Leave? The voice was wrong, but the words, the tone... "B-beast?"

"I was." A gentle hand caressed his cheek, a touch he vaguely remembered from his dreams. "Just a man again now, thanks to you. Why don't you open your eyes and see if you approve?"

There was more than a hint of trepidation in the request and Jaime's brow furrowed. His Beast was now a man? That didn't make sense...or could that be why his voice was so different? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He blinked, and blinked again...and found himself looking up into the familiar jewel-green eyes. Something that had been tight and empty inside his chest loosened and filled with warmth. "Not dead?"

"Not dead, my love." The strange new face that surrounded those familiar eyes had wavy black hair just beginning to be touched with silver frost, and sensuous lips quirked up in a relieved smile that revealed strong, even white teeth. "You broke the curse that kept me imprisoned in the form of a beast when you said you loved me." He picked up the hand lying nearest him and raised it to his lips. "I love you too, Jaime."

Jaime tried to sit up and was surprised by the pain that shot through his body at the movement. "What..."

"Someone hurt you," the man who had replaced his Beast said in a low voice, long-fingered hands pushing him down again, one of them trailing down his chest to pat gently at a white bandage low on his chest. "They tried to stop you coming back to me."

Memory returned and Jaime paled and nodded, swallowing. "Yes."

The handsome face twisted with remorse. "I am sorry I doubted you, my love. When you didn't return like you'd promised..."

"They took my medallion, hid it, and Gerard kept me in a drugged sleep all through the day I was to return to you," Jaime said, closing his eyes against the pain of that recollection. "I had a dream that night, I saw you, the dead garden...and you said I'd broken my promise and named me your murderer and then you d-died." A tear slipped out and trailed down his pale cheek. "I found the medallion in the box that held my dueling pistols and I just grabbed it and ran for the stable. I heard them yelling, my father and brothers, and then..."

"And then one of them shot you in the back with a pistol," the man who had been the Beast rumbled, a hint of the earlier thunder coming back into his voice. A gentle finger caught the next tear that fell from the surprise-widened blue eyes, stopping it before it could follow the first, and then an equally gentle hand patted his cheek. "And still you rode all the way back to the castle to save me, and almost lost your own life doing so. The depth of your devotion humbles me, my love, my Jaime."

Jaime covered that strong hand with his own, blinking to look up at the other man. "Nothing compared to yours, my Beast." He frowned suddenly. "No, you are not a Beast any longer; what...what shall I call you now, my lord?"

A smile. "My name of old was William, Lord Fitzmartin, and I'm afraid it has come again. You may call me Will, if you like, and I dare say the courtiers will all expect you to."

Deep blue eyes widened again. "C-courtiers?"

Will shook his head. "They're all visible now, unfortunately, and all hell-bent on doing their jobs to their irritating best now that the curse is broken. They have completely convinced themselves that you must be some noble's adventurous younger son, by the way, so I'm afraid you'll have to get used to being 'm'lorded' everywhere you go – telling them to stop doesn't do any good." He sighed. "I know, I've tried."

The despondent tone and little-boy look drew forth Jaime's own dimpled smile. "Then I suppose we will both have to suffer...Will."

Will lifted the hand he was holding to his lips again. "I like the way you say my name."

"Then I shall endeavor to say it as often as possible, Will," Jaime replied, and felt a thrill run through him at the way those emerald eyes darkened with something wild and full of promise, and at the memory of the dream-lover who was now before him in the waking world. He wanted to sit up, to put his arms around his love...but his body would not obey his wishes and he had to content himself with continuing to weakly grasp Will's hand in his own. "If only I did not feel so tired right now..."

A shadow clouded his love's eyes. "You nearly died, Jaime," Will told him, patting the bandage again gently. "I've been so afraid I was going to lose you...before I even really had you."

"You have had my heart for quite some time." Jaime smiled and blinked his sagging eyelids back open. "I just...allowed fear to freeze my tongue until it was almost too late."

The older man smiled back. "I think your timing was near to perfect," he corrected, his hand drifting up from the bandages to caress bare skin, reveling in the silken feel of it beneath his fingers in a way he'd never thought to experience again. "I think _you_ are near to perfect, as a matter of fact, and I do not ever want to be parted from you again. Would you...would you consent to become my consort, Jaime?"

"Your...consort?" Jaime was confused. "But I...I'm not...I can't..."

Will looked worried for a moment, and then understanding dawned and he laughed. "Oh no, I am not worried about providing my holdings with an heir at the moment." He leaned forward and very gently kissed the younger man's soft lips, drinking in his small gasp of surprise like a fine wine. "As my consort you will have rank and authority second only to mine, dearest Jaime, and I will be able to keep you by my side wherever I go," he murmured warmly. "Please say yes."

Jaime blinked up at him and mouthed the word soundlessly, then allowed his eyes to flutter shut in contentment when his lips were captured in another tender, loving kiss, the warmth of which followed him back down into the healing darkness.

Word soon spread throughout the land that their rightful lord had returned to oversee his holdings and a grand fête was to be held in his honor which all were invited to attend, and so when the appointed time came the newly-broad forest road was filled with people dressed in their finest clothes walking or riding to the castle few if any could remember having seen before. Not attending was not an option, of course, and so in spite of his grief over the loss of his son Phillipe and his remaining family set out with the others to see this new lord, Lord Fitzmartin, and accept his hospitality.

Phillipe was silent for most of the journey, as was Gerard who had been set to drive the wagon, but Jules and Liam were less subdued and deluged Bertrand with questions as he rode alongside the wagon on his horse. When his eldest son rode ahead to speak with some of the other travelers – some of whom had daughters with them, Phillipe noted out of habit – the father roused himself enough to take over the answering of the endless questions that came from the little boy in his lap. "What kind of flowers are those, the ones that line the road? The red and white ones?" Jules wanted to know. "I've never seen flowers like that, Father."

Phillipe looked over the side of the wagon to see and found himself puzzled. "I don't know, son," he said with a frown. He set his youngest off his lap and thumped the back of the wagon seat to get his older son's attention. "Gerard, slow down a moment." The wagon slowed, and Phillipe swung Liam over the side to retrieve some of the flowers; the boy paused over picking them, his head cocked as though listening to something, but he quickly returned to the wagon and clambered back up into it to hand his father the blossoms. Phillipe took them with a frown, turning them around in one hand while he thumped the seat again with the other to set the wagon back in pace. "I don't believe I've ever seen the like," he said slowly. The white petals were cool and fragile as a fly's wing and seemed to shimmer in the sunlight; the red held the same liquid shimmer, but they were heavier and smooth and held the sun's warmth. Both were already wilting in his hand, shriveling down into nothingness and at the same time leaving faint streaks of red and white to tingle on his fingers; bringing his fingers to his lips to taste the residue proved a mistake, however, as the streaks tasted eerily of salt and blood. He quickly discarded the shriveled blossoms over the side of the wagon. "No, they are no flower I have ever seen."

"They mark the new road only," Liam said quietly. "They are born of magick; love and sorrow put them there, and sacrifice."

Phillipe started to ask his adopted son how he knew such a thing but decided it might be better not to know. A more curious, less fearful part of him wondered what else Liam might know if he were only asked, but fear won and sealed his lips. "As good an explanation as any," he said instead. "Perhaps this new lord has a gardener who might know what manner of flowers they are. If I see such a person, I will be sure to ask him."

Liam shook his head but did not offer aught else, something for which Phillipe was at once grateful and shamed. His two youngest sons were often silent now where once they had been bursting with questions and laughter; indeed, Jules had spoken more on this trip than he had in a month, perhaps more. Guilt was heavy on Phillipe for that, among many other things. _The fault of a blind man is that he does not see_ , he thought to himself, and mused darkly on the cost of his own willful blindness to his beloved family.

The truth in all its ugliness had come out that night a month ago, after Bertrand had wrested the still-smoking pistol from Gerard's hand and Liam had run on bare feet to hide himself in the woods. Jules had been caught by Phillipe before he could follow but had refused to talk to his father, and it was not until Bertrand had secured Gerard – none too gently – in the barn by means of a stout rope and carried his youngest brother into the house that the little boy had sobbed out his tale. Bertrand had soothed him despite his own visible anger, then had ventured out again into the night and brought back Liam; Phillipe's offer to fetch the boy himself had been met with silent disdain. The eldest son would not speak what he was thinking aloud, but his eyes held a knowing in them now when he looked on his father that Phillipe wished he could cringe away from. Only once had Bertrand's thoughts found words on the subject, and that had been after all the able-bodied men in the village had been rousted from their beds to search the woods for Jaime. The eldest son's dark blue eyes had met his father's with a hardness Phillipe had thought foreign to Bertrand's jovial nature as he slumped before the hearth fire and all but spat, "We found a trail marked with blood, but it disappeared even as we tried to follow it. Perhaps the bewitchment that called to him is more merciful than we are, and Jaime has joined his Beast in death."

_Death_. His middle son was dead. A clump of the strange flowers caught his eye. Sacrifice, Liam had said. Had Jaime sacrificed himself, driven mad by the enchantment laid on him by the Beast? Or had he been driven to his death by Phillipe's blindness? What sort of father had he been, to sit silent while one son impugned the honor of another who had given himself up to satisfy a debt not his own? Who had begged mercy of his monstrous captor and been granted it to come to his family's aid on the strength only of his own promise to return to captivity? Phillipe had had a dream the night of Jaime's death, a dream wherein he stood in the shadows of a marble hall he only just remembered from one year past. And as he had stood there, wondering at finding himself in the castle again, a voice called out – his dead son's voice, calling out for the Beast. Jaime had come flying down the broad marble steps and the Black Beast had appeared in the hall, apparently in answer to the frantic summons; Phillipe's heart had all but stopped when Jaime had thrown himself into the monster's grasp, and then it had broken all but in two when his son had dropped to his knees begging to be allowed to save his brother's life. And the Beast had allowed it, and watched at the window as Jaime rode away...but then the monster had turned and looked right at Phillipe and a snarl had split the tusked muzzle to reveal sharp and deadly ivory. Thunder rumbled, and the bright hall fell into gloom and ruin around them. "Again you seek to steal from me, old man," the Beast had growled, and held forth one massive clawed paw on which lay a white rose, dripping with blood. "And see what your greed has wrought."

Phillipe had awoken from his dream cold, and though the dream had not returned the cold had yet to leave him. He thought perhaps it might be a curse, sent by the Beast in payment for Jaime's death, and such was the weight of guilt on him that he suffered it as such with the silence of one who knows his punishment to be full well deserved. Not that there remained any that he might tell, for Bertrand avoided speech with him save for the most mundane and necessary conversation and his neighbors maintained a distance born of uncertainty – from Gerard as well as himself.

A frown creased Phillipe's brow at that thought. The day after Jaime had fled into the woods, several men of the village who had been party to the fruitless search the night before came to their home to see the way of things with their own eyes. They had not entered the house to announce their business to Phillipe as would have been only right and proper, but instead had gone around to the barn where Gerard was still secured in the stall which had once housed his brother's horse – and for a time, it was now known, his brother as well. On emerging from the barn their faces had been grave and troubled, and they had spoken earnestly with Bertrand in the yard and received some unknown assurance from him before leaving – unknown because Phillipe had been too sunk in shame to demand an explanation. He himself had gone out to see Gerard the night before in hopes of finding out what had gone so wrong, suspecting that perhaps his second-eldest had even become afflicted with the sickness himself and as such had been t lost to reason for a time, but the harsh response he had received when Gerard had been presented with this theory had been sharp as a fine knife and had cut all the deeper because Phillipe had been so unexpecting of it.

In spite of this, though, they had let Gerard out of the barn after two days of captivity, after men had again come from the village and again entered in to speak with him. And whatever it was they had said to the young man on that occasion, the threat of it had obviously been enough to keep Gerard close to his home and in sullen obedience to his father and brother. Phillipe knew little of what had transpired, only what small details Bertrand had deigned to inform him of: Gerard was no longer welcome in the village, as healer or as visitor or on any but the most urgent of errands, and he had been advised that silence would suit him better than the airing of his opinions if he wished to keep his skin intact. And in fact the young man had hardly spoken at all over the past month unless it was demanded of him, although oftimes his face and posture betrayed his thoughts with disturbing plainness.

They were betraying him now, in the stiff line of his body as he watched the others on the road, in a twitch that meant disapproval when Jules laughed, as a tightening of his jaw when he dipped his head in response to Bertrand's warning frown. Phillipe could see the rebellion in him but did not know what to do about it, although he was all too aware that something should be done and the responsibility for such an action had to be his own. And the cold within him pierced him with a sharp pain even as he thought that taking no action seemed to be all he could yet do.

It was midday when they came to the wide-opened gates that allowed all and sundry entry into their new lord's park grounds, but it was not until they had rounded a bend of the road and come into full view of the castle that Phillipe thought he knew the place they had come to. "The palace of the Beast..." he murmured. "By all that's unholy, it can be none other than the lair of the monster himself."

It was a thought he could not let go of, and so soon as they had secured the wagon and settled the horses Phillipe led his family through the thronging people and away from the festivities, bringing them around the side of the castle to a set of broad stone steps which led up to the main doors. Bertrand moved to stop his father, however, when the older man gave every sign of preparing to ascend those stairs. "We should not be here," he said in a firm voice. "The fête..."

"This is the place," Phillipe interrupted, as though he had not even heard his son's objection. "See, these are the very steps beside which I sheltered my horse that stormy night, and there is the rose bush where my folly began. Do not touch them, as you value our lives," he warned, but his eyes were on the massive oaken doors at the top of the stairs. "The Beast...he may still be within."

Bertrand tried again to reason with him, pulling his father back as Phillipe made to approach the doors. "It is the new lord who is within, did you not hear the talk as we passed through the crowd? He addressed them just before we arrived, and promised good faith between himself and those of us who look to him. He had his servants about him, and the lordling who is said to be his consort at his side, but no black monster." He shook his father's arm. "You must be mistaken, Father; this cannot be the home of such a monster as the one who terrorized you, as if it were he should surely have shown himself by now in some violent manner with such a crowd arrived for him to prey upon. We must go back to the place allowed for us..."

Phillipe jerked his arm away. "I will _prove_ it to you," he insisted, mounting the clean-swept stairs and laying his hand to the polished handle of the one door that stood ajar. "Come with me, I will show you the room where I spent that cursed evening; even to the fire that warmed me I know in my bones that it is still there."

Gerard had already followed their father, and Bertrand with no little reluctance took his two younger brothers and followed along in their wake. Perhaps, he thought, when they were caught so blatantly trespassing by the lord's guards within he would be able to explain his father's actions as the result of madness...especially as the steps they ascended were flanked by two rose bushes, one white and one red, just as Phillipe had described to his family more than a year ago. And could it be madness that led his father's steps with such confidence through the wide marble hall, down a corridor just past the sweeping marble staircase and straight to a door which stood open as though in welcome? Could this truly be the castle of the magickal and hideous Black Beast which had cursed his father and bewitched his brother Jaime?

Phillipe had no doubt that it was as he led his family to the familiar room, and then he stopped. The room beyond was still as he recalled it, but it was not empty as he had hoped. A tall, finely dressed man who could only be Lord Fitzmartin was there, bending over someone ensconced in a chair who had a footstool under his booted feet, and a plump, white-haired woman was hovering nearby. "You will stay right here, then, if you won't go upstairs," the lord was saying sternly but not without warmth. "I appreciate you wanting to fulfill your duties and remain by my side, my love, but the physician has only released you from your bed these two days past and I won't allow you to overtax yourself."

"Will, I am fine..."

"You are healing, but you are _not_ fine," the lord overrode him with a small growl. "And you're staying right here by the fire to rest, end of discussion."

"I'll bring you something to eat, m'lord," the woman offered. "Maybe some of the blackberry ice that you like so much..."

A weak laugh came from the chair. "Gloria dear, if you keep trying to feed me up like this I'll soon be rolling down the halls instead of walking."

It was the laugh that did it, piercing the smothering fog of Phillipe's grief and guilt with unmistakable recognition. He made a strangled, startled noise and Lord Fitzmartin spun around with a scowl on his face. "Who dares...!" Then he recognized Phillipe and his scowl deepened. "Old man, I was wondering if you would come here today. If you were looking for the Black Beast then you have found him. What do you want?"

Phillipe's mouth opened but no sound came out. Jaime tugged at the tall lord from behind, moving him so he could see if it really was... "Father?"

"J-Jaime?" Phillipe took a staggering step forward. The son he had thought dead, killed by his elder brother's hand, was staring up at him from the depths of the well-padded chair, his blue eyes huge in his drawn white face. "You're alive..."

"No thanks to you, old man," Lord Fitzmartin snapped.

"Will," Jaime reprimanded gently. To the surprise of Phillipe and his other sons the angry lord at once turned his attention back to his still-seated companion. "Will, we have discussed this. They had no way of knowing you were not the monster you appeared to be..."

"That was still no reason to shoot you," the lord maintained, but he took the hand that was being held out to him and clasped it gently. "I cannot fault them for wanting to protect you, my love, but the careless chance they took with your life is something I will not forgive."

"We haven't been able to either, my lord," Bertrand ventured cautiously, seeing that his father was still dumbstruck and that silence would not serve. He took the tall lord's surprised look as permission to explain further. "We had not realized how deep my brother Gerard's jealousy and suspicion was, or how much madness it had spawned in him, until that night, when he ran outside with one of Jaime's dueling pistols in his hand screaming that it was better he die rather than escape back to a life of ease which was not his due." He looked to his younger brother in plain apology. "I am so sorry, Jaime. I had forgotten we even had such weapons within the house, and I didn't know what Gerard was about until the pistol had already been fired."

Lord Fitzmartin cocked an eyebrow at him. "You claim responsibility for what happened that night?"

Bertrand stiffened but did not deny it, nor did he avoid the lord's hard gaze. "I knew something was wrong in the house, my lord. I had suspected all was not as it should have been for some time, but I did nothing. And in doing nothing, I allowed the cruelties which had been inflicted on my youngest brothers and almost brought about Jaime's death."

Phillipe found his voice again when he saw the lord's face darken; he would not allow Bertrand to assume the consequences for what had happened, knowing that this man who had been the Black Beast was harsh in dealing out his justice. "The fault is mine, not his, my lord," he said heavily, and sought to explain. "Years ago I arranged for Gerard to serve an apprenticeship at a monastery of great reputation, that he might learn the healing arts as his trade. He was...different when he returned, and I thought it just an attitude he had picked up from being so long away, but now I know that the hardening of his once kind nature was due to the teaching he suffered at his master's hands; the man was stiff, arrogant, superstitious and cruel, and he taught my son to be as well." He hung his head. "It is to my shame that I never realized how deeply my son had taken those lessons to heart, or how deaf he had become to any other voice."

Lord Fitzmartin nodded once, sharply. "Shamed you should be, old man; you have two well-grown sons who prove that you know how to raise a man of honor, and yet to this one," he gestured toward Gerard, who stood silent and scowling beside his father, "you turn a blind eye and allow him to act in any manner he chooses, even though it goes against your teachings." He folded his arms across his chest. "By your own words you have condemned yourself and fixed the blame for all that has happened firmly on your own head. I would be well within my rights to send you away and command you never to return."

Phillipe merely hung his head, but Jules whimpered at the harsh threat and with a desperate wriggle freed himself from Bertrand's restraining hand to dart around the tall lord and fling himself at his brother; Jaime emitted a pained grunt at the impact of the small sturdy body but his smile belied the brief pain the enthusiastic hug had inflicted. "I missed you too, Jules," he said. He looked over the boy's dark head and held out his hand in his other little brother's direction. "Liam?"

Liam came to him at once to claim a hug of his own, but much more carefully than Jules had. "I knew you weren't dead, Jaime, but I couldn't tell anyone," he whispered. "I went into the woods to cry and they told me you weren't dead."

"Those who make their home in the forest would hardly lie to a son of Herne," Lord Fitzmartin said, reaching down to ruffle Liam's hair, feeling the small bumps which might someday sprout antlers such as the Horned God himself bore. He smiled at Jaime's startled look. "I guessed, from what your father told me when first he came here and described his sons to me; it is not unknown for the Hunter to settle down for a winter by a welcoming hearth and leave a gift of himself behind come Spring ere he returns to the woods. In truth it was this one I expected to come to me because of his parentage, but I did not realize at the time that he was yet a child. When he grows a bit more, my best woodsman would no doubt be honored to take him on as his apprentice."

"He should rather be given to the care of a priest, with no waiting for him to grow." Gerard spoke for the first time. "I always knew there was something not right about him but no one would heed me, and now you say he is the bastard son of a demon!"

Gasps of horror and outrage answered his exclamation, and Jaime pulled Liam to him protectively while Gloria moved to do the same on the boy's other side, drawing Jules into the embrace as well. Lord Fitzmartin's emerald eyes flashed, but the rumble that erupted came not from his throat but from the ground beneath them. "This house has always honored the Horned God," he said in a flat, angry voice. "Every lord of this land before me has been called to the Summerland by the sound of his horn, and the birth of every child of our blood was greeted by the appearance of one of the Eilid and an offering of its milk for the babe's first meal, conferring both the blessing of our Lady and her Lord." He stepped up to Gerard, who was held fast by the power of his gaze. "And even in my blackest hours, when I cursed the Lady for her curse on me and she ignored my rantings as though I were a child, I never once swore against he who had dominion over me as a Beast, nor did I break the least rule of his in my hunts. So in my house your disrespect may not go unanswered, be it born of madness or no."

Gerard swallowed hard. "I will not break my sworn word to my father by dueling, unlike my faithless younger brother."

Phillipe gasped in shock, but Lord Fitzmartin laughed unpleasantly. "You think I would challenge _you_? You are not worthy to match arms with a man of honor," he replied, but with his dismissal came a warning. "And I would advise you to hold your tongue on the subject of your brother as well, as he is held in high regard by all within this castle and your opinion may not be answered pleasantly if you voice it." He cast a glance at Phillipe. "I will not spill the blood of your son, old man, nor will I command it done by another although to do so would be within my right," he stated. "But he must be dealt with, and I have in my service one who I think would gladly undertake this task you have so far shirked."

He stepped to the door and called out, informing the man who came to his summons to fetch the physician at once, and when he returned to his consort's side Jaime shook his head at him. "You did not say what he was to be summoned for, he will most likely come at a run thinking something has happened."

"All to the good," the lord told him with a smile that faded quickly. "You are looking rather pale, my love, this shock can't have been good for you." He dropped to one knee and patted Jaime's leg before turning his attention to the two wide-eyed boys. "You have nothing to fear from me, I am not a monster any longer."

"Weren't you a big black beast, though?" Jules piped up. When the lord nodded solemnly the little boy cocked his head in thought. "Were you soft and furry?"

Phillipe and Bertrand both froze with fear at the childish question, but they relaxed when they saw that Jaime was holding back laughter and it appeared the servant Gloria was as well. Lord Fitzmartin answered, very solemnly, "Your brother once told me he was surprised by the softness of my fur, yes. But I would much rather wear my own skin and be a man, and he has promised me he does not mind that a bit."

"No, not a bit," Jaime agreed. "At the very least, I am happy that he is now able to share my meals with me instead of merely bearing me company while I eat."

"And very unpleasant company I was," the lord laughed, shaking his head. "Jealous of every bite you took because I could not share in it."

There was a commotion outside in the corridor and then a man with a bald head and a small, neat beard rushed into the room in a swirl of physician's robes and went at once to Jaime's side, pushing everyone out of his path, his wrinkled face stern and worried. "What has happened, my lord?" he threw at the man he had just displaced. "I warned you both..."

"It wasn't our doing," Fitzmartin disclaimed at once, holding up his hands. "And Jaime was not the reason I summoned you."

"From the look of him he should have been," the physician snorted, not looking up from his patient. "He has obviously suffered a severe shock in spite of the fact that he is trying to pretend he hasn't." He straightened all at once and frowned down at the pale young man. "You are going back to your bed until tomorrow and I expect no argument about it." Then he turned, glancing at the room's other occupants before returning his gaze to his lord. "I am assuming it was the appearance of these others that did this to him, the family resemblance is plain for me to see. Is the one who tried to kill him one of these?"

"That is the very reason I sent for you," Fitzmartin told him. "The deed was done by his brother, who is trained in your art, but it appears there is a madness in him said to be brought on by the one whom he was apprenticed to."

The physician's dark eyes narrowed in thought. "It is possible – there are those who, although great in knowledge, are small and mean in spirit. Some I have known that I would not have given a lowly cur into the care of, much less a human child." He walked up to Gerard and circled him, looking him up and down, then nodded. "Much makes sense to me now. I can retrain him, my lord, if that is what you are requesting of me. But he appears stubborn, it will take time."

"I have every faith in you," was the answer.

The physician laughed. "He has faith because he knows me to be more stubborn than you could ever be," he informed the shocked young man. "Very well then. I will leave you in my study until I am done seeing to my patient, and then I will decide how best to accomplish what has been requested of me. Come along, boy."

Gerard cast a frightened, almost pleading look to his father, who only shook his head. "I do not disclaim my own fault in this, son," Phillipe told him quietly. "But our lord spoke truly; you were raised to be a good man and the loss of that is your own failing. Jaime also was taken to live with a relation who in her own way was equally as cruel and cold as your master, but yet he retained his kind heart and you did not. Perhaps under this man's guidance you will someday find it again, and when you do I will be proud to welcome you home."

His son did not answer him, and in fact looked betrayed as the old physician removed him from the room. Lord Fitzmartin answered the question he could see in Bertrand's eyes, knowing the younger man would not presume to ask it of him. "Master Guillory will not be soft with your brother, but he is not a cruel man. And he is a fine physician, one any apprentice would be honored to serve under."

Bertrand bowed his thanks. "I am glad to hear it, my lord. Before all this, I should have said any master would have been proud to take Gerard as an apprentice."

"Master Guillory may yet still," Jaime told him. He held out his hand, and at a nod of assent from Will Bertrand moved to take it. "You should not blame yourself, Bertrand."

Bertrand went to one knee that he might look his younger brother in the eye, and his grip on the smooth hand that clasped his work-roughened one tightened. "He's right, you know; you look too white to be allowed out of bed, so I won't ask you if you're well. But...are you happy, Jaime? Tell me you're happy and I'll be happy too."

"I am very happy." Jaime's smile was tired, but genuine, and it soothed his elder brother's worried heart to see it – especially as he had never thought to see that smile again. "I am very much loved, and I love very much in return." A shadow crossed his pale face. "You know I would have found a way..."

"I know you would not have let us go on thinking you were dead," Bertrand assured him, patting the hand he held. "But to look at you, I can't believe but that even those who were here at your side feared your life would be lost."

"That we did, young man, that we did." Gloria brushed aside a wetness from her eyes and then shook out her apron fussily. "I must back to the kitchen." She looked down at Jules, whose small hand was still hanging on to her apron and whose eyes were still wide, and she smiled. "Shall I take you with me, young one? I believe there may be some cakes there that need to be tasted."

The blue eyes lit up and the small grip tightened. "Can Liam have some too?"

"Of course he can." She held out a plump hand to the older boy and her smile widened when he took it. "We'll just be off to the kitchen, then; I'd say your older brother would probably like to do some young-man things at the fête, and he'll do them easier if he doesn't have you two tagging at his heels. Your father can come to fetch you back at suppertime."

"I will come for them," Bertrand said quickly, before Phillipe could answer. He stood up from his brother's side and winked roguishly at the older woman, essaying a slight bow. "Perhaps there may be cakes left for me to taste as well when I come, my lady?"

Gloria laughed and waved a dismissing hand at him as she ushered Liam and Jules out of the study. "Go on with you, boy, and spend your pretty words on some girl who knows no better. I'll keep your brothers safe until you return – and if you return with a girl to wife and not just to dally with, I will see that she knows how to make the cakes herself."

The young man's jovial face grew grave as he bowed again, although he did not lose his smile. "I have decided I must needs find a wife, good lady, and sooner rather than later for my brothers' sakes if not my own. When I come for my brothers ere dark, perhaps we will see how my luck has run." He bowed again, this time to Fitzmartin. "With your leave, my lord?"

The man smiled at him. "I wish you luck, and our Lady's blessing," he replied. "Go now, before some other claims the wife you seek."

Bertrand bowed again, deeper this time, and left as Gloria and his younger brothers had done, and only half a moment afterwards the physician was back to see Jaime returned to his rooms and his bed. Phillipe was mostly forgotten in the excitement, having withdrawn to a corner of the room, and when all the rest had gone he left as well and went out of the castle.

Left to his own devices, alone, Phillipe wandered through the fête that crowded the meadow for a time, lost in his own thoughts. The merrymaking of his neighbors and sundry held no interest for him, nor did he feel like joining them even to celebrate his delight that his lost son still lived. In truth, he did not know how much of what he felt was delight and how much dismay; Jaime was alive, but he was bound still to the man who had been the cruel and terrible Beast. Was he bewitched still? And had this beast-lord bewitched Bertrand and his other two sons as well, that they had ceased to fear and loathe him so quickly?

Eventually Phillipe returned to the castle and continued his wandering there, even though he knew he really should not. Curiosity drew him, though. What vague memories he had of this place were of a dark ruin inhabited by a monster with ivory tusks and claws, save for the study he had been driven to find earlier. Now, however, he saw the wonder and pride of the place and was even more dismayed by the idea of such magickal powers as might be still residing here, casting a glimmering net over all who trod the marble halls.

Yet Jaime had appeared happy. And even more than that he was _alive_ to appear happy, although he had appeared far from well. Which was only to be expected, of course. But Phillipe had to admit to himself that a part of this new restlessness was fed by his desire to find his errant son and speak with him, to find out whether his pleasure in his situation was true or false.

A slight tingle seemed to invade his body, and a compulsion he could not name led him to a particular staircase and up it, then down yet another marble corridor to face a wooden door. He might have turned away, fearing the magick he knew had to be behind the leading, but the plaque on the door gave him pause: _Jaime's Room_. The polished lapis was the exact color of his son's eyes, and the letters had been worked in gold. The handle of the door was gold as well and turned easily in his hand, and he entered as silently as he was able.

Phillipe saw immediately that this wasn't just a bedroom; it was a setting crafted to house a precious jewel. It was all in greens and golds, here and there offset by a touch of white or the darker brown of richly carved and polished wood. The tall windows had been half-shuttered to keep out the disturbing brightness of the afternoon sun, but what determined rays crept in filled the room with a soft golden haze of fine light. And in that light the jewel that was his middle son all but glowed, lying fast asleep in the large bed which sat across the room with one slender hand being clasped ever so gently by the tall lord of the castle who sat on a chair by his side.

The love and tenderness in the man's face vanished under a cloud of irritation when he saw the intruder, and after pressing a kiss to the back of the hand he held Lord Fitzmartin gently placed it atop the velvet coverlet and silently stalked over to Phillipe. A scowl and a gesture warned the older man to be silent, and the lord moved him quickly back out of the room and shut the door behind them. "He is sleeping and I won't have him disturbed," the lord said firmly. "What did you want?"

"Only to see that my son was all right, my lord," Phillipe declared softly. "I did not know that you were with him."

"Where else would I be?" The gem-hard eyes did not soften at all. "But you and I need to have words, old man, and they are words I do not want my consort to hear even in his sleep. Follow me."

Phillipe did not think it would be wise to refuse and hearing his son named consort instead of companion had startled him, so he followed the angry lord into a bright sitting room some little distance down the hall; the room was supplied with comfortable chairs, but neither man made use of them. "What did you wish to speak to me about, my lord?"

Fitzmartin snorted. "Many things, old man, many things. I suppose that you feel some relief now that I have given the responsibility for your mad and violent son to another to bear?"

"In truth I did not know how to help Gerard," Phillipe admitted, fearing that if he were to lie the magick he suspected still lingered in this place might reveal it and make things the worse for him. "But it was no thought of mine to give him over to another's care."

"And yet you did, and it was only your eldest son who questioned my actions and your Gerard's fate at Master Guillory's hands, not yourself." Phillipe had no answer to that, and Will shook his head. "And as for your actions – or I should say lack thereof – toward Jaime, let me say that I find it surprising you dare to name yourself his father in my presence with the same lips that have failed again and again to defend him or even to give him proper greeting on finding him still alive."

That forced Phillipe to find an answer, not in the least because he knew the charge to be somewhat true. "It was shock and surprise that robbed me of speech on seeing him alive again, my lord, not a lack of care or concern. On my honor..."

"Do not talk to me about honor," Fitzmartin snapped, cutting him off. "It was not honor which made you silently reject the son you aloud professed to welcome home, it was pride; it was your own fear of embarrassment which you allowed to overshadow the love and trust which should have been his birthright. Jaime has ten times the honor you possess, because he knows how to apply it wisely."

A frown flickered across the older man's face. "I thought it best..."

"To let him know each day that you did not trust him?" the lord all but spat. "To leave he and his younger brothers in the power of one you knew wished at least two of them ill instead of good? Don't bother to deny it," he ordered with upraised hand, seeing that Phillipe was about to do just that. "By your own admission you knew something was amiss with your second son, and yet you put your trust in him rather than the one who had best earned it by his actions. Tell me, old man, how much damage was done in your absence during your fateful journey, hmm? Or did you avoid asking, turn blind eyes to what was in front of you as you had before? Did you beg your youngest sons' forgiveness for leaving them in the hands of this mad son of yours, did you ask them to tell you all that had happened?" He saw the look on Phillipe's face and shook his head. "I thought not – I have no doubt that all you know came from your eldest son's questions, not your own. You, old man, are a coward."

The accusation stung Phillipe to anger. "I will have you know I have never been so accused, Lord Fitzmartin."

"You have now." Fitzmartin made a face. "What spirit is it other than cowardice which stills a man's tongue when a simple question might lay the truth before him? Had you asked, you might have known that the day you left your 'trusted' second son gave his brother the ultimatum that either his fine walking horse would pull the family cart during your absence or his owner would if the animal were to be fed at all; Jaime incurred the scar that mars his neck while trying to protect the poor beast from his brother's wrath after he had chosen the latter. Had you asked, you might have been told that the son of Herne you adopted as your own was during that dark time being locked in a closet to sleep each night that he might not visit the woods, or that your youngest had been forbidden to laugh out loud, or that Jaime was being made to sleep in the barn with the animals and given only the meanest of rations in an attempt to teach him his 'place'." He waved an angry hand in the direction of his consort's chamber. "The enchantment that was on this castle prepared that room for him, I did not although I would have had it been my option; its appearance should amply prove our Lady's opinion of the 'place' she would have Jaime occupy in this world." He stamped back a little and ran a hand through his dark hair. "However angry I am with you, though, I cannot deny that your blind carelessness brought me the most precious treasure I could ever have hoped to possess...and for that I must thank you."

"I accept your gratitude with deep shame, my lord," the older man replied slowly. "Although it galls me to be taken to task in such a manner by any man, be he of noble birth or no. But at the same time it is a shame you share with me; the treasure you speak of was taken from me all unwilling by you and bound to you by unnatural enchantment."

Fitzmartin turned red. "The enchantment bound me also, old man, I did not use it in the fashion you imply – nor would I have, even had I been able to do so."

Phillipe shook his head and was about to reply when a breathless voice said, "Please, stop." Both men spun around. Jaime was standing in the doorway on shaky legs, barefoot and clad only in a fine white nightshirt. He looked very small and young standing there, his dark blue eyes wide and pleading. "Please, enough damage has been done to my family by me, do not compound that by arguing on my account..."

"No, Jaime," Phillipe interrupted. His anger drained away at the sight before him, and he suddenly knew what it was Fitzmartin had been trying to tell him – and what might be required to fix it. He did not at once notice that the chill within him lessened somewhat at that realization. "The damage that was done was not of your making but of mine, although the burden of it was allowed to fall heaviest on you through my own pride and fear. Can you ever forgive me, son?"

"Forgive you?" Jaime staggered and his lord quickly moved to his side. "Father, I...I don't understand. It was I who broke my word to you on two separate occasions and in so doing lost all honor in your eyes. I came to accept that your trust in me could never be regained...

"It was myself I did not trust," Phillipe corrected him, feeling the weight of his shame yet again and finding it almost too heavy to bear. "I feared the vagaries of my own judgment and so refused to allow the silence between us to be broken – and in doing so not only pushed you away from myself but also from your brothers as well." He took a tentative step forward, looking down into his son's pale face. "Jaime, I would very much like to know how you, the gentlest of my sons, came to be drawn into a duel he could not avoid."

Jaime's eyes grew impossibly wide...and then his legs gave way beneath him; had Lord Fitzmartin not been quick to catch him he would have collapsed to the floor. The tall lord at once swept his consort up into his strong arms and glared at Phillipe. "Old man..." The glare gave way to grudging resignation when he saw the concern etched on Phillipe's face, and he sighed. "Come with me."

Back down the corridor they went and into Jaime's room, where Fitzmartin lost no time putting his precious burden back into bed. Jaime was already stirring from his faint as he was gently settled back into his pillows, and when his eyes opened and saw his lord bending over him he smiled so sweetly as to bring tears to his father's eyes. "These embarrassing attacks of weakness have become far too frequent, my lord."

"You grow stronger every day," Will assured him, pressing the hand he still held to his lips. "But it was too soon for so much excitement as you have had today, and now you are paying the price."

Jaime laughed lightly. "I did not plan it, the excitement came to me and caught me unawares." His eyes shifted past the man by his bedside and landed on his father, and he a flush of color stained his pale cheeks. "But even so I regret that I so blatantly displayed what weakness still remains to me before...another."

Phillipe winced. "I think no less of you for it, my son," he said quietly, moving closer to the bed – but not too close as he was not sure the lord would allow it. "I am still full of amazement that you are alive."

"It was a near thing." Fitzmartin had sat back down on the chair he had been occupying earlier, although he did not release his consort's hand. "He rode back without stopping because he sought to save me, and in doing so killed his horse and almost himself along with it." His jewel-green eyes sparked tiredly. "It was not from any urging of mine that he did so, old man, but from the love in his heart. And his love and sacrifice broke the enchantment that had been on me and mine for more scores of years than I care to count."

"It is true, Father," Jaime ventured, although Phillipe saw that his hand more tightly clutched the tall lord's as he spoke, as though he feared he would not be believed. "I could not let him die, and most especially not by my hand."

"The blood would have been on my hand, not yours," Phillipe soothed. He could see ever more clearly now where he had gone wrong, and was surprised that the thought seemed to warm him instead of filling him with yet more cold pain. "I greatly wronged you, my son – not once, but many times. Had I only spoken my trust of you aloud, on any occasion since you returned to me from your aunt's care, your brother's madness where you were concerned might have lessened instead of growing."

To his surprise, Jaime shook his head against the pillow. "No, Father. Even as things stood Gerard believed you to be showing an excess of favor to me, and had it in his mind that could he but show you the error of your feelings then you would come to see me as he did." He sighed. "As for the question you put to me before I was...overcome by my weakness, I was challenged in my love for a rich merchant's daughter by another suitor and could not deny the duel lest I deny my love for her in the same breath. I won, although I was careful not to kill him, but despite that she chose him over me and ordered me from her presence forever."

Phillipe saw that his son was expecting his censure and shook his graying head. "She was a faithless woman, then, and not worthy of you," he said quietly, and wanted to weep at the look of shock on Jaime's face. "In truth, my son, it was my knowledge of such women that caused me to forbid duels to yourself and your brothers, knowing that to many it is a game they take no care in playing. In her youth, I was told, your aunt was such a one herself." He dared, then, to approach the bed on the opposite side from the lord and even to seat himself upon the side of it, reaching out one callused hand to touch his son's pale cheek. "All the fault here lies with me, Jaime. I cannot expect your forgiveness, but I would ask you to tell me this one thing truly: Are you happy, my son? Tell me only that the contentment I see in you is your own and not born of binding magicks, and I will give you my blessing to remain here."

He sensed more than saw Fitzmartin stiffen, but the second sigh that was released from his son's body was pure relief. "No enchantment binds me, Father," Jaime whispered, his eyes closing even as a smile played over his lips, and his slender fingers squeezing the lord's hand before falling still in his grasp. "None save love, at any rate."

"Then remain here and be happy in that," Phillipe told him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before standing up, and smiling when he realized his son had succumbed to peaceful sleep once again. He turned his deep blue eyes on Lord Fitzmartin. "I had to know, my lord."

"Yes, you did." The other man did not quite smile. "As I was once a father myself, so I do understand what a man will dare to protect his son – and I am much heartened that you have found your courage at last, old man, if only to question my own honor with it before my very face. And I say to you now, you will be welcome to come visit what members of your family remain in my care as you will; it may indeed be a help in your elder son's recovery to know his father still has a care for what becomes of him."

"I can only hope that may be true, my lord," was Phillipe's reply, and then recognizing dismissal in the lord's expression he bowed and went to the door. He hesitated, though, with his hand on the golden handle, turning back to he who had been the Black Beast with a frown. "About my own curse..."

Fitzmartin shook his head. "I saw the new burden on you when you first entered my presence and knew its origin at once; however, as I told you before, I have not such power nor did I ever have it," he told Phillipe quietly. "Look to your own conscience, old man, and I believe you will find the source of what has afflicted you. Whether yet more of it lifts than has already this day most likely depends on how much of your courage you find the strength to keep...and how much of your old silence you refuse to as well."

Phillipe bowed again, having no response to that, and left the room as quietly as he was able. He paused briefly to take in the golden letters which spelled out his son's name on the ebony and lapis plaque again before making his way back out of the castle and into the afternoon sunshine, stopping beside the stone steps to smell the blooming roses – although he was careful not to touch them. And then he wandered back around the side of the castle to rejoin his neighbors at the fête, celebrating the return of the long-absent lord of their land.

### The End

**About the Author**

L.S. Christopher, a.k.a. Goth Kitty Lady, is a somewhat eccentric cat owner as well as a blogger and the author of such diverse stories as _Honk_ and _Tales from the Crossing at Barracuda Flats_ , as well as the currently in-progress _A World Full of Monsters_. She is also an annual participant in the thirty days of horror that is National Novel Writing Month and a two-time contributor to the Collaborative Writing Challenge. When she's not writing or wrangling spoiled cats she enjoys cooking and crafting and has a disturbing fondness for B-movies and quirky YouTube videos. Visit her blog or follow her on social media for fiction, snark, and the occasional adorable cat picture.

Blog: <http://gothkittygazette.net/>

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/gothkittygazette/>

Twitter: <http://www.twitter.com/GothKittyLady>

Smashwords Author Page: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/lschristopher>

