Of Beast and Beauty - Chanda Hahn Page 0,2

hallways, I saw the rustle of a pink skirt move as a young child peeked around the column. Wide, fear-filled blue eyes looked back at me and didn’t move. I waited for the child to decide if she would run or stay.

“They say you are a witch.” Her voice was filled with distrust as she stepped out from behind the column but didn’t come closer. “I think you’re a monster.” The tow-headed child stuck her tongue out and turned to run down the hall. Her retreating footsteps mirrored those of hundreds of other children from my village—although the ones from my village usually tossed rotten vegetables and dirt clods at me before scurrying off. There, I was a lowly orphan of Eville’s tower who was used to being desecrated by rotting refuse. But today, minutes after marrying one of the princes of the seven kingdoms and becoming a princess, I would again be pelted with rotting hate-filled words.

Pressing my lips together, I ignored the child, like I had ignored the others before her. I didn’t blame them for their hatred; they didn’t know better. I blamed the adults. Their minds were turned against the daughters of Eville since birth by their ill-informed parents. It was our mantle; their discord fueled us, taught us to ignore empathy and compassion and focus on our dark arts.

Holding my head high, I ignored the sounds of revelry and music coming from the ballroom, squelched the feelings of injustice and desire to dance, and headed toward my designated rooms. A servant had shown them to me a few hours earlier. I couldn’t recall the servant’s name, but I was impressed by the wide open room with the pale floral rugs and table by a fireplace. Two overstuffed sitting chairs surrounded a bookcase filled with books beside a window that overlooked the garden and woods beyond. I had my own private bathroom with marble bath and vanity. A king-sized four-poster bed covered with white down bedding sat next to a hidden door in the wall, disguised except for the silver handle.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked from the other side. “Where does this room lead to?”

“That is His Highness—uh, I mean your husband’s rooms,” the servant said.

“Oh?” I replied, unable to keep the blush from my cheeks.

Now that I was once again in my bedroom, I gazed at the locked door, knowing the prince was probably storming around on the other side. He made it clear that he would never grow to love me, his mind poisoned against my family, so he would never step foot into my rooms. I swallowed and bit back the taste of bitterness that crept into my mouth as I looked at my fancy prison.

Here, in these rooms, I would grow old and die unloved.

Chapter Two

He’s trying to starve me to death. My stomach growled noisily, and no matter the amount of tossing and turning I engaged in, I couldn’t make it stop. Once I stepped off the carriage with my mother, and after our meeting with the king, I was rushed into the side rooms and poked, pricked, and measured by the tailor as they quickly altered a white lace dress to fit me. Then I was banished from my own wedding feast, and no one even thought to bring me a plate of food. It didn’t take much to understand that this was probably based on the prince’s orders.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I pressed against it, trying to concentrate on getting through the night and making it till morning. A loud grumble of protest from my body was the answer.

“I can’t take it!” I snapped aloud and threw off the bedding. There was no way I could get back into my wedding dress by myself with how many buttons there were on the back—even though most of them had been ripped off, as I was left to undress myself. So that left me pulling out the same traveling dress I had worn here. Slipping the deep blue dress over my chemise, I dressed hurriedly. I wasn’t planning on being out of my room long, only as much time as it took to get a plate of food and then return to my prison.

Opening the door, I peeked into the hallway. There wasn’t anyone stationed outside guarding me; they were more than likely enjoying my own wedding feast. Tiptoeing down the hall, I listened at each turn and followed the sounds of music until