marlowemuses | He leads me into the night, he drives away the light

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He leads me into the night, he drives away the light

The only sounds in the forest were the sounds of the horse's hooves, soft against the snow, and Laurent's breath, quick and ragged. It was well past nightfall, and he was exhausted, but there was no choice but to keep going. If he delayed, his father's men would catch him.

He'd left before dawn, riding hard, and had stopped twice to exchange horses. No message could outpace him, so his story was not questioned, and both his face and his gold were accepted everywhere he went.

His father's story had been richly detailed, never thinking that Laurent would use those details as a map. He had the rose, and he had the words that the beast had given his father, the magic enchantment that would lead him to the castle and his fate.

There was a certain clearing, with an ancient, tumbled-down ring of stones. Laurent stood there to speak the words, and the clouds parted, spearing moonlight down upon a nearly invisible path. Laurent put heels to his horse and followed it.

The path was clear, swept bare of snow, though drifts rose high on either side. Once, Laurent looked back to see the path lost behind him, clogged by deep drifts as though it had never been.

He emerged into a soft, warm autumn night.

The clock might have been drawn back by some months, with summer and the harvest still rich on the breeze, along with the heady scent of late-summer flowers, and, twined throughout the rest of it--roses.

The forest parted into a vast meadow of soft grasses, broken here and there by copses of wood and rising stone bridges that crossed deep chasms, and led to a soaring, overgrown castle. It was everything his father had described and more, a place of wild beauty. The castle was large enough that it could house a city, though it showed no signs of life.

Heart pounding, Laurent urged his horse forward, though there was no hurry now. He was within the spell, and thus had fulfilled his duty. His father's men would not be able to follow him here, even with the secret words. Or, if they did, it would be too late.

It was a beautiful place to die.

Laurent rode boldly up to the front door of the castle, dismounting and tying his horse at the bottom of the steps. Hungry and exhausted, he climbed to the massive doors of the castle and they opened before him as if by magic.

Laurent's heart thundered in the silent hall, beautiful and crumbling, of a fantastical construction such as he had never before seen. "Hello?" he called to the echoing corridors, but there was no answer. "I am Laurent of Vere. My father took one of your roses. I have come to fulfill his debt."

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The great hall simply echoed the prince's words back to him. There was nobody here, no beast as his father might have described, no sign of servants or occupants of the castle. There was only a small wind that brushed past him, swirling rose petals and dancing golden flickers in the air. A wildness hung in its perfumed breeze, something spicier and less safe than the sweetness of a rose. It whorled up the grand staircase overgrown with vines, curled a corner, and then seemed to...wait, expectantly, for Laurent.

It ushered him to a room that opened as if by invisible hands, down the open hall and in a separate little tower of the castle. The chamber looked like a rose-bower, sunlight streaming in from the many panes of cut-glass windows and the open balcony that spilled roses. Overhead, climbing vines wove so thick it was hard to see the ceiling. They seemed to be trying to overtake the bed, curling all around the canopy and hanging down over the plush mattress beneath.

A small pool glowed in the middle of the room, practically the only thing not overgrown with roses. Still, petals floated on the surface, and the scent of them was thick in the air. And from the other side of the mirrored glass, Damen watched his prisoner take in the verdant room, its strange air of magic, so overgrown as to seem abandoned perhaps, and yet there was a suit of white and gold in embroidered Veretian style laid out across the furs of the bed, with a card atop it simply saying, Dress and come down for dinner.

"My horse," Laurent began, when the sparkling wind tried to lead him, but when he looked back, the horse was gone. Servants or magic had whisked it away, and Laurent could only hope that it was to a stable and not to the horse's doom.

He touched nothing as he walked through the castle. This fate had been bought at the cost of a rose. Laurent didn't dare risk further such affront. His kingdom in ruins for the price of a broken branch or trampled leaf.

The magic led him to a spacious bedroom, draped with vines. It looked riotous and ruined with overgrowth, but the glass of the windows was all intact, and the roses only surrounded the bed, leaving the cloth clean and untouched.

He picked up the card, turning it over in his fingers as he considered. So he wasn't to be devoured outright. It would be a waste to provide such lavish clothing for a sacrifice. Unless the beast liked his dinner... well-dressed.

His own clothing was soiled with travel, which made the change of clothes appealing. Laurent stripped himself efficiently, leaving his discarded clothing in a pile as he went to the pool to bathe. The water was warm, and it tingled at his skin. Laurent scrubbed himself with the soap he found waiting, which left him smelling of roses and spice, and then dried off and dressed in the beautiful white and gold suit.

No time had been assigned, nor did Laurent see any timepieces, so he took his time drying and brushing his golden hair. A coronet of gold and diamonds completed the outfit, more ornament than indicative any kind of status. Laurent hesitated over that, as it was his custom to prefer plain clothing in dark colors that discouraged attention. But here there was no one's attention to draw, other than the mythical beast, and Laurent found that he liked the way it made him look: beautiful and wild as a rose, and certain to have thorns. If the beast tried to eat him, he would be pricked.

Satisfied with his appearance as something inhumanly beautiful, and therefore unreachable by any lustful mortal who might desire to claim him, Laurent descended from his room, led down the corridors by the same golden wind to a lavish feasting hall and a table laid with an exorbitant array of luxuries.

Damen paced.

The moon was an hour from rising; he was safe, thus far. Yet the prince was taking his sweet time coming down, and Damen was growing more and more agitated by the minute.

What good was it to brush his fur back, to put on his best suit, to make himself 'presentable', when everything about him was utterly unpresentable? He snarled at the very thought. He must meet this beautiful man in such a form as would only repulse and disgust. If only Damen could appear to him as his true self, Laurent might have been won - would have easily been won, surely. This way, what chance did he have?

The slightest of chances. And yet he had to try. Each month, part of the climbing vines in the rose-garden died, and a part of him became more beastly. Damen could feel it clawing inside him, roaring to consume him fully. His mother would soothe at him, assure him that he still had time, that though he could not appear to anyone in his human form, someday someone would come who could love him as he was in the day. He'd clung to her words, believed them for so long, but now?

He hardly dared raise any hopes that the godlike creature who came to his table that night would ever dream of loving him.

Damen had ordered that no lamps or candles be lit on the half of the room where he sat at one end of the table, a dark shadow in the arms of a dark chair, his suit and fur and the upholstery all the same color. Only his eyes gleamed from their midst, a warm amber-brown. "Welcome, Laurent of Vere. Have you enjoyed my hospitality? Please, sit. Eat. Whatever you wish, it will be brought for you."

The darkness at the end of the table drew the eye, and ancient instincts within Laurent trembled and woke at the sight of brown eyes gleaming from the darkness. Everything about the Beast proclaimed him to be a predator.

His father had made a hurried description of the beast, but he'd described a situation where he'd been surprised and scared. Everyone knew that a badger might be remade as a bear if a man was telling the story of being frightened by a shadow in the night. His father was disinclined to bragging, but as weak to self-delusion as any man.

In the shadows, Laurent could see nothing to confirm or dispel his father's story. The Beast's voice had a pleasant quality to it, but that pleasantness was strung over a rasp and a growl, and his every sound drew a nervous chill down Laurent's spine.

"Thank you." Laurent took a seat at his end of the table, making an effort not to stare. He served himself some choice pieces from one of the plates nearest him, not wanting to draw additional attention by being any more picky than that, but as soon as he had chosen, the plates on the table were swiftly rearranged by unseen hands, providing a new selection just within his reach. "Your castle is very beautiful."

He'd known just what sort of well-favored prince he was getting, yet face-to-face, Laurent's beauty was so much more vibrant in person, it threatened to steal Damen's breath away. He could not believe it was simply a result of his captivity; even in the world of men, Laurent must be stunning.

"My visitor is more," Damen said bluntly. In the shadows, the white of his fangs flashed when he spoke. "Anything you need, anything you wish for, ask and it shall be granted to you." Except your freedom. It lay unspoken between them. It was the one thing he could not give the prince.

"Anywhere on the grounds, you will be safe. Attempt to flee and that protection is forfeit." His voice was a low, continuous rumble in the darkness. "You will find your horse safely stabled, free to ride whenever you wish. The castle, too, is free for you to explore." Damen smiled, and more teeth gleamed. "Its library is one you may enjoy, I think."

Laurent's brows lifted at that comment about his beauty. So he wasn't to be eaten. The beast wanted him here for other purposes, then. His taste for pretty humans wasn't a hunger for their meat.

He was reassured by the information that his horse still lived, and he had freedom to explore the lands of the castle. The comment about the library was interesting, also. Laurent cut into his meat and lifted a bite to his lips, chewing as he turned the information over in his mind, careful about keeping his temper in check. "A library? Are you a literate beast, then?"

The question was met with silence for a moment. Damen curled his hand - paw, claw - around the stem of a golden flagon detailed with deer chasing each other's tails. He did not plan to eat or drink in front of Laurent. There was already enough about him to disgust the prince.

"I can read," he said at last, irony in his voice. "It's not my occupation of choice."

Laurent can make some assumptions about what sort of occupations the beast prefers.

"I'll remember the rules," he promises, taking a drink of his own wine and continuing to eat with fastidious bites. He's doing his best not to offer any unduly sharp comments. It's a strain. He's a prisoner here, and his jailer is a monster who seems to desire that Laurent bask in his captivity. "I appreciate your efforts to make this a comfortable prison."

Damen watched him eat - Laurent's manners were perfect, of course, as flawless as Damen's own were crude and maladroit in this form - and felt utterly at a loss as to how to woo a young, beautiful man who loves to read and could choose anybody in the world to be with.

And so Damen had to force him to be here.

"I don't need your thanks," he said gruffly. "It was this or your father's life. You have no reason to be grateful. We both know the reason you are here is because you must." Why bother to pretend otherwise? That was just one of the social niceties that a Beast had no use for. He clenched his fingers around the flagon, claws glittering wickedly in the candlelight.

There was no polite response to that, and no necessary retort for Laurent's pride. He drank and ate, and the goblet was always refilled as soon as it was half empty.

"Why keep me?" he asks, at length. He lays down his fork, and the plate is whisked away, replaced by a fresh plate and an array of delicate desserts. A cup of steaming liquid appears, also, with a tiny pitcher of cream and one of sugar. "If you would have killed him. Why let me live?"

Damen laughed, a harsh bitter sound in the echoing hall. "I thought that would be obvious. The monster seeks entertainment for his lair. A companion for his banishment from society. Not a resentful old man but someone young and beautiful, dazzling. As a meal, truly wasted."

There was a feral glow to the eyes that stared Laurent down from across the long table, the way a predator looks at its prey from many paces away. "I was rather hoping at least one of the princes would take their father's place. I wasn't disappointed."

"Oh, you might still be disappointed," Laurent assures him, honeyed voice laced with ice. "Or you should have specified. I'm the one they refer to as the cast-iron bitch, and I have no intention of being docile and entertaining for you. Not that you would have fared much better with my brother. He would have been more inclined to hunt the savage beast."

He added a lump of sugar to his coffee with the delicate tongs provided, and poured a swirl of cream, stirring delicately. "You ought to be a better bargainer. A small handful of these jewels would put a serving girl's family in luxury for a generation, and it would certainly buy you one who would be willing to play the harp and dance for your entertainment."

In the shadows of his chair, Damen lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug. "Even defiance is entertaining, of a sort. You can try it for a while, if you like. I was rather expecting it."

He picked up a jewel-encrusted bowl, in which a few bunches of grapes were heaped. "It gets old, paying frightened maidens for fleeting pleasures." Especially when he had to order them not to look at him so he wouldn't see the terror and loathing in their eyes. Snarling, Damen picked up the bowl and flung it away from the table. It came nowhere near Laurent, but clattered on the stone floor as grapes scattered. Invisible hands gathered up the fruit with as much discretion as they performed every other task in the castle.

"You were bought much more cheaply, your Highness."

"Ah," Laurent says, nose wrinkling in distaste. His heart is still pounding with fear, but he only allows himself to show disapproval. "I see you're not only a beast in form."

Appetite lost for the delicate desserts, Laurent set his fork down, sipping at his coffee instead. He didn't expect that he would receive permission to depart this little encounter, so he didn't ask.

Damen let his teeth bare intentionally this time. "Were you expecting a handsome prince? No? Then expect no pretty manners to go along with it. This is not Vere, and I am not one of your courtiers."

I am a Beast.

He sprung suddenly from his chair and stalked towards Laurent, hoping to fluster him out of that damned icy-calm resolve. The shape that moved towards Laurent was massive, made more so by the shadows that loomed over him and the flutter of the dark cloak that enveloped him. Damen said nothing as he prowled near, simply watching, never taking his eyes off the Prince of Vere

Laurent set down his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. Eyes low lidded, posture lazy, he looked as though he were the king here, and the Beast a mere suppliant before his throne. He rested his head on his hand, all ice and disdain.

"What happened to the frightened maidens?" Laurent asked, tracing a carved detail upon the arm of his chair as though bored. "Did you eat them, or did they simply... wear out from use?"

This prince had balls, Damen granted him that. Who else would dare such arrogance in the face of impending doom? He almost admired him for it, if it wasn't so infuriating.

Damen lurked closer. He passed Laurent's chair, towering over him, daring the Prince to flinch at the monster that now stood behind him, crouching down near his head. "They...faded," he rumbled. The implication was strong. The breeze rustled at Laurent's other side, clearing finished plates. "They will be seen no more."

What had really happened, of course, was that he'd sent them all away, unable to bear the farce of temporary distractions that only reminded him how bleak his fate was. Those first few years, he had tried to woo a few of the girls he'd paid to occupy the castle. Now, there was no amount of money that would make the looks in their eyes worth the sting.

He leaned closer, sniffing. "Your smells like roses."

"Yes, I bathed," Laurent drawled. His heart quickened, but his posture stayed relaxed and lazy. "So you're hoping that a young man won't fade so fast? Unlikely. Men would simply never survive childbirth--physically, they can endure less. So I'm an inefficient choice to not fade, by nature of my gender."

He reaches up over his shoulder toward the beast, intending to pat him on the head like an oversized dog.

Those princely balls, Damen had decided, were made of pure brass. Nobody had voluntarily touched him since he became a beast. Even if Laurent meant it as a show of bravado, it was still his choice.

Damen lowered his head, so that instead of that hand touching the top of his head, his mouth brushed the fine knuckles and bones. "You are not one to fade quietly," was the rumble over them. "Yours would be a shout...or a scream."

Laurent's lashes fluttered, heart skipping a beat in pure terror as the beast... kissed his hand?

"How reassuring you are," Laurent said, tone as idle as ever. He dropped his hand back to the arm of the chair. His skin crawled, every instinct telling him to bolt. "I'd like to think that I would endure quietly. Especially as it would be so much less entertaining for you, Beast."

Candlelight flickered off of Laurent's skin, where just above the collar of his jacket Damen could see the rapid flutter of his pulsepoint. He swore he could smell the fear in the Prince's body. Which made his outward poise and control all that much more impressive.

"I would like to see you try to do anything quietly," Damen observed sardonically. "The struggle would indeed be entertaining. Your legendary wit was a crowd-pleaser in Vere, I can only assume." With perfect control, he laid his hand on the arm of the chair next to Laurent's, the meaty paw dwarfing the pale hand he'd just kissed, and curled the extended claws over the back of Laurent's hand, trailing feather-light until two of them caught at the tight wrist of his clothing. I could tear you open with a single stroke, and you would not be quiet for me.

"Oh, is it that time already?" Laurent asked, as the Beast's claws caught in the delicate fabric of his sleeve, threatening to rend. His heart rabbited in his chest. "Not even the use of a bed? You're just going to toss me onto the table amidst the remnants of our meal and take me there? My. You do know what furniture is, that's evident enough."

He turned his head, chin lifting, in order to regard the beast. His muscles were tense and his head swimming with terror, but his eyes were icy lakes and his face was placid, revealing nothing.

"A fitting place to feast upon you, don't you think? I have not yet dined, and Prince is on the menu tonight." He snagged one claw on the laces up Laurent's wrist and delicately tugged. At what point would Laurent back down...or break down? Damen could almost feel sorry for the brave young man before him. He had no way of knowing the Beast had a few reins on his appetites left.

"Would a bed make you happy to spread, little princeling? That can still be arranged." The loop spilled free, the bound laces pulled apart by the slightest of motions. There was hardly any skin even revealed, but the curved edge of his claw caressed the barest sliver of wrist.

Face to face with the Beast, Laurent's mind had gone white with terror. He'd never been so afraid, and felt so sick he thought he was at risk of swooning.

And then the Beast caressed his wrist, while talking so casually about raping him, and something in Laurent snapped, reacting without thought. In one smooth, elegant motion, he grabbed the dinner knife from the table and stabbed it downward, intending to spear the Beast through his lecherous paw.

In the absence of hope, Damen pushed recklessly. There was not a chance in cold hell that Laurent would ever choose this fate; Damen just wanted the satisfaction of seeing the terror on his face that Damen knew must be in his heart at the sight of him.

The knife, he had not been expecting.

He pulled back, but too late: it drove through the flesh of his thumb and brought a wild burst of pain. Damen roared. It had been so long since he'd endured any wound, he felt almost in shock. None dared harm the Beast.

But what did Laurent have to lose?

The uninjured paw grabbed the knife in the Prince's hand and yanked it out of the flesh and then away from Laurent's grip by brute strength. "Never," he growled, face in Laurent's face, "do that again. Your life is worth less than nothing. I could take it from you this very second. Never forget that."

Edited 2017-06-12 02:11 (UTC)

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