One long table made of cherry wood split the majestic room. A generous amount of candles, seated in candelabras, lined the table top presenting a plentiful meal with a set of plates and silverware placed on both ends. After Cyrah’s previous behavior, Nikolis moved straight to his seat. She recognized his lack of chivalry when he passed her chair without hesitation or an offer to slide it out for her. As she surveyed the spread of food, she slipped between the table and chair to take her place opposite the beast.
“You were famished before,” he remarked unkindly. “What are you waiting for?”
“I’m trying to decide where to start,” she admitted with a smile teasing the corners of her lips. Not only was her plate served with food but platters were placed around her to take a second helping when she finished the first. Cyrah lifted her eyes to her dining partner and suppressed a gasp. The beast’s features were made plain by the fire of the hearth off to her left. A short pig’s snout complete with protruding tusks, tall cheeks, jowls that disguised his neck, and curved horns that adorned his head. Her appetite faltered but she forced herself to eat. The beast’s thick fingers fumbled silverware with infantile skill, and was made more difficult by the long claws. Cyrah finally averted her eyes from his hideous face, turning her focus to her meal.
“Horrid, is it not?”
Cyrah cringed. “I meant no offense. I was only shocked.”
The clink of fork prongs tapping plates and the sporadic screech of silver knives scraping ceramic sang a melody atop the cracking and snapping of fire that filled the silence. Cyrah was plagued by a sense of guilt. Her cold treatment of Nikolis nibbled on the edges of her conscience. His brash nature could have only been a result of his crude appearance. Being aware of his ghastly features gave him the right to be miserable, but not to others. He was apparently alone and Cyrah allowed that to influence her when she advised, “It was arson.”
“Do not confess the truth now merely because you found a shred of sympathy for me,” he snorted.
“No. You deserve to know how I came to be in your dungeon. Do you desire the truth or not?”
“I do, but arson?” Incredulously, he asked, “Why would someone intentionally set your house on fire?”
“Because I declined the marriage proposal of a prestigious man,” Cyrah replied icily. “I suppose it was the idea that if I refuse to be with him I can never be with anyone. I escaped while my cottage burned but the men he hired chased me with the intent to kill me, all the way to your castle. They left me for dead!”
Nikolis watched her with eyes wide enough she learned they were bright red in color, like the skin of a ripe red apple. “It is obvious why you rejected him. He must not be much of a man at all if he did not have the decency to commit the crime himself.” Cyrah hid a laugh by taking another bite of food. “What was his name?”
She answered when she finished chewing and swallowed. “Leon. I must be the only one in town immune to his charm and handsome features. He lacks brain and his only goal in life is to find a beautiful woman that will serve him and bear his sons. Maybe I should be flattered, even grateful, but I’m far from it,” she explained.
“You have told your story and cleared your name. There is no doubt of your innocence. Since you have answered my question, I will enlighten you.” Nikolis waited for her acknowledgement before he continued. She paused for him to continue instead of taking the next bite of her meal. “Your mother died while you were still a child and you had no siblings. With nothing tethering you to your home of Tareeth, you and your father departed, moving to several villages in search of a new place to call home,” he flatly said. Cyrah stared at him with round, blue eyes. “I can tell by your reaction this is all true.”
Morbidly terrified, appetite shrinking, her words came out uncontrolled. “Who are you?”
“My father was King Jeralt of Tareeth. He passed away when I was a boy and my mother remarried the king of this land, uniting both land and people peacefully.”
“No. That’s impossible. I remember the prince. I once owned a doll that my mother gave me. I carried it everywhere. The other girls teased me about it, and one day they stole it from me.”
“Yes, I remember. I stood up for you to make them stop. You were upset and ran away crying but left the doll that was ripped in the fight. The castle seamstress fixed it and I brought it to your house that evening.”
Skeptical, she questioned, “That boy is you?”
“Believe it or not,” he replied gruffly.
Cyrah laughed lightly, setting her fork on the plate to indicate she was full. “Any one might have known that story. How am I expected to believe you?”
“I have no expectations, only demands,” the beast advised coldly. “That demand is that you will remain my prisoner until you choose to marry me.”
Her heart froze solid, petrified with shock. Breathlessly, countenance tightened and eyebrows knitted, she exclaimed, “What?”
“Only once we are wed will I free you from this castle,” he continued, ignoring her reaction. “Until then, you will service me and my castle.”
Stunned, but not lost for words, Cyrah stood abruptly from her chair and declined. “Absolutely not! Release me at once.” Her hand slammed down on the table, jarring the dinnerware.
He chuckled cruelly, smirking arrogantly. “I always obtain that which I desire, either by will or by force. You will be mine, Cyrah, as I’ve always imagined,” he explained with conceit. “What else awaits you out in this cruel world with no home and no family?”
“I can begin anew in another village, just like I have always done,” she protested.
“No, you cannot,” he said in rebuttal, eerily calm. He rested an elbow on the table, jaw perched on his hand with interest. “I understand men such as Leon. He will spread lies about your sanctity across the kingdom. Your reputation will be ruined.”
“A reputation must exist for it to be ruined, beast,” Cyrah shouted, sharpening her words. “If you knew me as well as you claimed, you would know I easily move from one place to the next because I am repeatedly rejected. A woman with her own feelings and opinions is apparently dangerous, especially when she wishes to share her knowledge with others. I only seek to find my place in the world. Now, thanks to you, I will never find it!”
The beast’s heart remained as firm as steel against her plea for acceptance. “I’ve made my decision. You’re dismissed, servant,” he commanded arrogantly, nonchalantly tossing his hand.
A fire boiled in Cyrah’s stomach, violently churning the fresh food resting inside. Horned servants entered from the corridor, as if magically summoned by their master. One took her by each wrist, tugging to lead her away. Her arms remained stiff, boots rooted.
Nikolis mocked, “Really Cyrah, why resist your fate?”
“Because it is not my choice,” she responded, defiant but cornered.
“Fate cares not for the choices of whom she torments.”
Minutes of silence passed after Cyrah was escorted away by Nikolis’s minions. Every muscle in his body tensed, beginning with his neck and through his shoulders, down to his legs. The tension forced him to stand. Hot, thick blood pulsed through his veins, from his heart to hands, curling his fingers to make fists. Rather than destroy the table that had been in his stepfather’s family for a century, he turned with fists raised overhead to his horns and thrust them forward with all his might into the stone wall to his left. The landscape paintings, torches, and chandeliers rattled from the force. Nikolis inhaled a deep breath that expanded his lungs to their fullest before unleashing a vicious roar.
“Anger is most becoming of you, master,” came George’s hoarse voice that disguised a layer of sarcasm.
“I am in no mood for your ridicule,” Nikolis barked.
“History shows that forcing a woman into marriage with a man will not make her love him. Did you believe it would work on Cyrah?”
“No, fool. It’s because of Leon,” he corrected.
“The hunter?”
“The same. He sees only prizes, like the animals he hunts in these woods. She is but one more trophy to add to his collection,” the king explained, exasperated. “This will protect her from him.”
“Meanwhile she will be absolutely miserable.”
“The arrangement is only temporary until I decide what to do about Leon. Or she decides to marry me,” he said, rotating his broad shoulders.
George moved around the table, helping the other servants coming and going to clean off the used dishes and douse the candles. “You best focus your attention on Leon.”
Nikolis scowled at his trusted butler. “An incident similar to this happened before Cyrah came to the village, while I was still human. He could never be convicted of the crime because he paid his henchmen to set the fire. She died. As long as I live that will not be Cyrah’s fate.”
“The man disfigured by a relic he obtained in his greedy quest for great power is humbly trying to be a hero.”
“I will kill you, George,” the beast snarled. “I can only tolerate your bad comedy for so long!”
“Hm. That brings me to an interesting thought,” George stated, walking to the door and gesturing for Nikolis to lead the way to his chamber. “Would you kill Leon if it meant saving Cyrah’s life? Murder for any reason is an immoral act.”
“Let us pray it will not come to that,” the king answered, passing his butler as he entered the corridor. “I’ll assign Cyrah duties in the morning.”
George chuckled. “It will be nice to have a lady’s touch around here.”
Kilena Shrelack 