Beauty's Beast Read online

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Title Page

  Free Fiction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  If You Liked…

  Copyright Page

  Book Description

  Belle is transgender. She's known since she was young; being a woman just fit better. She enjoys wearing her late mother’s dresses and her father helps braid her hair into any style she can think of. She loves nothing more than to curl up in the courtyard of the abandoned castle in the woods with a mug of hot tea and a new book from her favorite store in town. Her life would be perfect except for one beastly, horrible Gaston. He’s a brute of a man, arrogant, tactless, and he won’t leave Belle alone.

  Relief comes from an unexpected place. The castle in the woods isn’t so abandoned, and while the Guardian who lives there can’t speak, Belle learns to communicate with sign language. She discovers a heartbreaking tale and a whole castle full of friends who quickly become extended family. Until Gaston senses Belle slipping from his grasp.

  Belle knew ignoring the problem wouldn’t make him go away, and now Gaston threatens more than just Belle’s happiness. He has a sword, an ax, and an entire village of scared people storming the castle to kill the Guardian. He means to steal Belle from the first real community she’s ever found. But Belle has learned a thing or two about the magic of love, and a small man like Gaston can’t destroy that.

  Free Fiction

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  Chapter One

  The village sang with birdsong and early light cresting the distant mountains. Belle bathed in the golden glow as she walked into town, humming a song to herself. She skipped joyfully down the cobblestones, kicking her skirt out and spinning. The basket on her arm bounced on her hip.

  As she had done every morning since she was young, Belle had carefully shaved her face smooth with her father’s straight razor. Yesterday’s beard stubble rinsed into the basin along with that quiet discomfort that looked back at her in the mirror. After that, a bit of blush and some color on her eyes was all the transformation she needed. Last night, her father had tightened up her braids, pulling the loose hair by her scalp into neat and orderly rows with deft fingers and a bit of moisturizer. She could do it herself now—her hair fell down to her waist—but she loved the time curled up on the floor in front of her father’s chair reading her latest book while his familiar fingers tugged and twisted.

  She wore an old favorite dress, one of her late mother’s that Belle kept in good repair despite a general dislike for hemming and sewing. It was a sunny yellow, dyed and sun-faded over the years, with a line of white daisies embroidered by hand along the hem. Her mother sewed the flowers and wore the dress for her wedding. Belle wore it to remember her mother, a woman of soft smiles and gentle hands. Belle only had faded memories from infancy before the consumption took her.

  Belle carried a book in the basket, last night’s book in fact. By the time her father had finished her hair, it had swept Belle into the story, unable to put the book down until she reached the end in the dying candlelight far past bed time. One of her errands today included a stop at the bookshop.

  She made this walk most mornings. Her father used to come into town for produce and woodworking supplies, but he had set down his craft some years ago when his eyes and strength began to fail. Now Belle made the walk alone, supporting her father the way he had supported her for so long.

  Belle’s hum rose into a song as she traveled, harmonizing with the birds. The trees—a loose mix of valley oak, white pine, blending into birch up the mountainside—littered the path with dappling shade. Birch were her favorite, with their stark white bark, dark eyes on the trunks, and flaming color as the seasons turned. She’d never been one to paint, but an entire mountainside of birch trees changing for autumn occasionally made her consider it.

  A stream passed through the thin forest between Belle’s home and the village square. The bridge that arched across always gave her the best view of the town in the morning. From here, one hand on the wooden rail, she could see the tops of a dozen thatched roofs; bakery, inn, and shops snaking through the valley along the river edge. A thin line of smoke marked the blacksmith already at work. Beyond the village, the forest thinned even further, dissolving into a stretch of grassland that crept to the horizon.

  Belle’s home sat in the hills behind her, among the birch and the deer. A sheer mountain range ringed the back of the valley, standing tall like sentinels against the rest of the world. Tucked into the cliffs, hiding in the birch, an old castle still stood against time. No one in the village knew its history, but Belle found the ruin a beautiful place to be alone with her books.

  From the bridge, Belle saw Rionen pulling fresh water from the well in the center. The baker’s apprentice had powerful arms from kneading and lifting trays of just-baked rolls and she distributed water to a waiting line of villagers. The fresh smell of baking bread wafted by, colored with bright rosemary. Belle suddenly had a powerful craving for Rionen’s thin, crispy bread sticks. She always sprinkled a bit of salt on them and they snapped so delightfully in Belle’s teeth. Oh, and with a mug of tea, she could sit out by the bookshop and start reading her next book. Yes, this was a grand plan.

  Belle skipped into town. She waved at Rionen and Eden beside her, the candle maker. Isra at the bakery happily traded Belle a bouquet of fresh rosemary bread sticks and a mug of tea for the book Belle finished last night. The book would probably pass around the town six or seven times before finally being returned to the shop for a few pennies. Anything Belle enjoyed reading often became quite popular. Several people stopped to wish her and her father well, which Belle accepted graciously. Her father couldn’t come into town frequently, but he was still well loved and it warmed Belle to see it every day.

  Belle wasn’t on such good terms with everyone in town. A small selection of women in glorious day dresses scowled at her from across the square. Their leader, Laurien, a tall blonde with a new dress every week. Belle tried her best to steer clear of the group entirely. Quarreling this early in the morning would just ruin the day.

  The bookstore sat like a thin and gangly teenager between two much more stout buildings. It was two stories tall, but the upper half was an apartment for the shop keeper, while they dedicated the entire bottom floor to shelves of books.

  Lukas waved her into the bookshop eagerly, his curling gray hair a halo around his dark face. He stood tall and thin like his shop, mostly bones and joints under an always-pressed vest and hat. He was as old as her father, maybe older. Belle had only ever known him as the bookshop owner, but he gave her the impression that a bigger story lived in his past. Some kind of adventure, like the ones she read about in the books she loved.

  “You enjoyed it?” He asked immediately, his hands clasped and his eyes glittering. “You just bought it yesterday!”

  Belle laughed. “It was amazing, Lukas. You were right. I already gave it to Isra and told her to set aside several hours.” She put her hands on Lukas’ and squeezed. “Please tell me you have the next one. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to wait for you to order it.”

  Lukas pulled her deeper into the shop. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I know better than to tease you with the first book. I learned my lesson when you were young and nearly tore up the shop when I gave you an adventure without having the others.” He shot a sly look over his shoulder at you. “I had no idea how quickly you would devour it. I thought I had time to order the rest!”

  Belle hid her face with one hand at the teasing. She considered herself a kind and patient person, a soft voice, like her mother. She wanted to be the person who other people could rely on for a steady hand and reasonable advice.

  But she simply couldn’t contain herself when it came to new books. She became a monster. It was so embarrassing.

  Thankfully, she’d found a kindred spirit in Lukas, who was happy to provide her with all manner of exciting tales at her request.

  He led her to his desk in the back room, a pristinely organized space of books, boxes, paperwork, and planning. He swiped a book off the corner of the desk and handed it to Belle with a smile. “Here you are. Books two. And I have the complete trilogy so you won’t have to wait to finish it.”

  Belle inspected the book with excitement, delighting in hand-painted covers and the neat hand-written script inside. She couldn’t wait to read. She set the book in her basket and paid Lukas his usual fee.

  “When you’re done, I have something unusual for you to try next. It’s about a woman who tames a wild beast of the forest and together they overthrow a corrupt king. Very exciting.”

  Belle covered her ears. “No, don’t tell me more!” she said, laughing. “I’ve already spent my book budget for the week, and you know it.”

  “Next week, then,” Lukas promised. “But only if you finish that series.”

  “That will not be a problem,” Belle said. “I saw my table is open out front. I’ll get started right away.”

  Lukas waved as she l
eft.

  The bookshop’s bell jingled as she opened and closed the door, and Belle paused in the morning sun to bask in the light for a moment. How could a day, starting with bread sticks, tea, and a good book, ever go wrong?

  Lukas’ shop sat a good yard and a half deeper than the two buildings next to it, giving the space a bit of an alcove feel right at the entrance. Lukas had built a bench seat into the front wall under the bay window and padded it with a rainbow of pillows to sit on. A collection of tiny tables lined the bench, found here and there around town, repaired, and painted white, so they seemed to match even though their designs varied. Overhead, a series of hanging planters cradled ivy vines that wound up their chains and spread across the face of the building in every direction.

  Belle’s favorite table sat in the corner, where she could lean against the building on the right and prop her feet up on the bench without being in anyone’s way. She had a clear view of the well and its dwindling line, and the main cobblestone road through town. And as the sun rose, the ivy overhead would shade her. The table in the corner was tiny, just enough for her hot tea and a napkin full of slim bread sticks. She nestled her basket under the table and got comfortable with her next book.

  ***

  A hideous and arrogant voice startled Belle out of her book. She jumped in her corner, knocking the table beside her where her tea mug perched—thankfully empty. The sun had risen and, as expected, the hanging ivy shaded her corner from the heat and light. Judging from the rumble in her stomach and the busy market, it was nearly noon.

  The man bothering her stood just an inch outside of her personal space. He loomed like a vulture, one meaty hand leaning on the bookstore’s bay window.

  Gaston.

  Hero of the town: tall, strong, handsome. Slayer of monsters. Protector of damsels.

  Creep.

  His blond hair fell in a wave over one shoulder and he wore a flashy red and leather outfit suitable for hunting in the woods. Judging by the shine on the brass buckles, he had never been hunting through the woods. It was just a look. Belle suspected Gaston hadn’t killed a single one of the trophies he kept in his lodge. She’d been subjected to his outrageous stories often enough. They never matched from one day to the next.

  He could ride a horse and his sword was real, but the rest of him was a show for attention and Belle had never been interested. There were many women in town who wanted his affection. Why couldn’t he harass them instead? Laurien seemed to hate Belle over Gaston’s attention, but Belle had never wanted it to begin with.

  Belle couldn’t help recoiling, trying to give herself a little more space. Gaston’s sinister smile widened.

  He seemed to take her disgust as a challenge. Every time she slipped away, he laughed as if she were playing hard-to-get and he enjoyed the game. The sound of his voice was a thousand spiders crawling up her back. She shivered.

  Gaston laughed loudly, projecting into the street as if she’d said something witty. It was all an act, meant to get the attention of everyone passing by. He thought if he drew enough attention, she wouldn’t be rude and turn her back on him. She would have to be polite. She couldn’t make a scene in public. Belle couldn’t stop the sneer from crawling over her lips. She tucked her book into her basket, collected her mug, and swept the crumbs from the table for the birds.

  “Belle, darling, you’re not happy to see me?” Gaston slid down onto the bench to sit far too close.

  Belle stood up immediately, sliding the little table into Gaston’s way so she had room to flee.

  She didn’t want to run from him, but she left the bookstore at a brisk walk, secretly pleased when she heard him cursing the table quietly and knocking it out of the way. Half a second head start. She’d worked with less.

  Belle took a fork in the road toward the street market. At lunch it would be bustling with people, and with a little luck, Gaston would draw attention to himself without her help. Her heart surged in her chest and she took a deliberate deep breath. For all his posturing, Gaston had never manhandled her, and he was far more sensitive about his public appearance than she was. Belle just needed to keep a cool head and get into a crowd. She kept a tight hand on her basket.

  The market swelled just ahead. The heavy scent of roast meat and grilling vegetables reached her first. Belle’s stomach growled, reminding her it was time to eat.

  She’d pick something up after ditching Gaston.

  “Belle! I have something to show you!” he called.

  Belle dove into the crowd of the market. She didn’t want to see anything Gaston had to show off. And thanks to his shout, an entire group of women—and a few men—gasped and ran to meet him. In seconds, socialites mobbed him in enormous dresses and the act he played wouldn’t allow him to brush them aside.

  Belle spotted Laurien in the crowd, her hair done up for market day, flanked by two women who held her shopping for her. The woman’s dress flared at the base, giving her a bubble of personal space Belle didn’t want to intersect. She had turned at Gaston’s shout, her shrewd eyes canvasing the crowd for Belle. Instead, Belle ducked away between two stalls and cut through to another path full of people doing their weekly shopping, disappearing easily.

  Belle circled the market with a secret smile. She hated Gaston, but his false face made it easy to use against him and slip away. As long as people were busy in town, she could always find a way out.

  The group that surrounded Gaston fawned over his hunting leathers and demanded his presence at the next party and insisted on private dinner meetings. The men wanted to hear his hunting stories while the women competed to marry him. Why on earth Gaston insisted on harassing Belle when he had two dozen people at his feet ready to do his bidding, she’d never understand.

  With the beast occupied, Belle tracked down a roasted skewer of vegetables and a fresh loaf of bread for lunch. That settled, she went through her mental list of errands. She had to pick up some groceries, return this tea mug, and slip out of town without Gaston spotting her.

  Today wasn’t the first time he’d cornered her at the bookstore, but he’d never tried to sit with her before. He was getting more aggressive, and Belle had no idea what to do about it. Some days, she wanted to punch him in his perfect nose, just to see his shocked face. She’d probably break her hand, but it would be worth it.

  Belle shook her head and focused. Gaston and his poor behavior didn’t get to live in her head. She had more important things to do.

  It was time she got to them.

  Chapter Two

  The quince tree bloomed pink and red, a thick curtain of flowers that crawled up one wall of the crumbling castle courtyard where Belle loved to pass the day reading in the sun. There were several quince here along the perimeter. Once upon a time someone had espaliered them along the wall in neat, organized rows, covering the stone from one end to the other. Since the castle was abandoned, though, their branches grew in every direction, tangling with each other and creating a half-canopy simply overrun by blooms.

  The remains of two long stone benches held up in one corner, where Belle liked to sit, and there was a tangled, thorny pile of roses in the center of the courtyard that could have been a fountain once. She liked to imagine the queen of the castle sitting among her garden, sipping tea in the early afternoon sun. Perhaps gossiping with the Ladies for hours.

  There wasn’t much left intact outside the castle. It had been abandoned before Belle was born and when she was younger, she mapped the entire perimeter—where out-of-control thorn bushes allowed. Iron barred the front gates, and the two side doors she found were likewise secure. She’d never been inside. The forest had overgrown most of the stonework when she discovered the place, and every year, the greenery inched a little higher on the walls. Belle kept only a single path clear to the courtyard under an arched wall still intact. And the stone bench, of course, where she loved to sit and read.

  Rumors in town said the castle was haunted by the royal family or cursed by some witch and everyone inside died on a single night. Belle didn’t believe a word of it. She’d enjoyed this place for years without a single hint of a hunting.

  Birds made their nests in the quince trees, and chickarees ran along their branches, chattering at each other to negotiate for food. Roses budded in red, yellow, and pink, each bush a rogue plant bursting up through the stones. Rarely, the deer passed by, their dark shapes stepping through the trees just beyond the arch in the wall with careful precision. Their dark eyes spotted her in the courtyard, watching warily before they moved on. Belle liked to leave a handful of nuts for the squirrels when she arrived and watch them hop across the courtyard to collect them while she read, their tails waving like flags.