“I don’t know,” I said, turning the page with finality. The memory of my instructor’s lessons reared, reminding me of truth beyond bias. I swallowed, and as the new page fell, my voice ground out from between my teeth. “If he was willing to surrender everything he’d gained, our reasonable conclusion must be that his regret was genuine.”
I thought that would be the end of the conversation, but the beast pressed on, surprising me.
“Suppose he later regretted the surrender.”
It might have been my instructor there with me, goading me to the next thought, the next exploration.
I smiled. “Excellent point, Beast. You never mentioned you were a student of philosophy.”
Something big shifted against my chair, tipping it forward a single degree, then settling. He must be sitting directly behind me, our spines separated only by leather and wood. If I reached over the chairback once more, would my fingers touch fur?
I cleared my throat. “Then comes the next question: If the woodcutter later regretted the surrender, was his initial regret therefore false? Perhaps motivated by a societal expectation? Or was this new regret false—born of wistful, temporary imaginings? Or were both regrets false together?”
The fireplace crackled, the only sound in the library. I realized the shadows in the room were slanting under the direct rays of a lowering sun. We would soon lose the light.
“Next story,” Beast said, almost a plea.
I laughed. “I didn’t mean to put you to the wringer, only to explore the debate.” But something warmed my chest.
Had I been at home, no one would have asked me to examine the woodcutter’s regret, much less kept up with a pursuit of such examination. Astra would have called it pointless, an invented speculation about an invented person. Callista would have taken the story at its word and only been frustrated at a cross-examination. Rob would have told me to believe what I wanted, that it made no difference to him. Father may have let me talk, but he would have made no contribution to the discussion.
“Thank you,” I said, “for indulging me.”
I felt Beast’s weight press against the chairback, the gathering, and then the burst of speech, breathless yet forceful enough it shook the chair.
But it was not the force which scared me.
“Will you marry me, Beauty?”
My eyes widened. The book dropped from my slack fingers, but everything else in me tightened. I could feel Stephan looming above me, leaning to grip the chair arms, trapping me in his embrace, tying me up in his walnut curls.Marry me, my Beauty.No matter how I pulled at his arms, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
I screamed.
“Marry me, my Beauty.”
It was his first proposal, and it pressed into my heart with all the weight of his fingers around mine.
“I’ll be the baron; you’ll be my baroness.” His eyes gleamed. “Imagine it—every untamable moment.”
I could imagine it, a lifetime of vivid colors and reckless charges with no one to hold us back. No one would dare call a baroness whimsical. I would have my heart’s desire in books, in education, in sharp conversation with Stephan’s insatiable mind. I opened my mouth to say yes.
And I thought of Rob.I don’t like who you are.
Astra had not spoken to me since she’d witnessed our kiss. Perhaps she would never speak to me again.
I didn’t care. Should Astra’s bitterness keep me from happiness?
I don’t like who you are.
It wasn’t Astra’s silence that bothered me. It was my reflection in a mirror. Even if Astra were the queen of perdition herself, I was no better to thrive in my spite.
“Stephan.” I gripped his hands, willed myself to say yes. But instead I said, “If I were to marry before my sisters did, society would ridicule them. It would damage their future prospects. They would never forgive me.”
“To hell with them and society both,” he said.
It was certainly tempting. But I’d indulged in harmful pleasures long enough.
“Regardless, I have no desire to marry so young.” A few more years at home, while I still fit on Papa’s lap. “There is plenty of life ahead for us both, and untamable moments to spare. And you have your training to complete.” He was under constant tutelage from the baron, preparing for all the duties that accompanied his inheritance. No one would recommend taking a wife in the middle of it.
