CHAPTER THIRTY
The Ball
The season shifted to winter, but the snow at the castle continued to thaw. Beauty noticed it disappearing as she rode Champ each day. It was gradual, but eventually whole fields that had once been covered were clear and she no longer had to wear a cloak when she stepped outside.
Meanwhile, with Beast’s guidance, she was steadily working her way through sections of the library. After reading about the Western Realm, Beauty was anxious to learn more and she asked for book after book that described its hot, rocky landscape until she had almost exhausted the archives.
“See, I knew that he would die at the end—did I not tell you so?” she said, snapping a volume shut one evening.
They were in the dining room and Beauty had insisted on finishing the book that they had been reading that afternoon, as she could not bear to wait until tomorrow to know what would happen.
“You did, yes,” said Beast. “But it was a foregone conclusion.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He loved her. If he did not die saving her then his love would be fake.”
“I suppose.”
Beauty pointed at a dish of roasted potatoes and a selection jumped onto her plate.
“Soon I will have been here four whole seasons,” she said, keeping her voice light and her eyes down.
Beast was sitting before the fire and he shifted.
“Do you miss your family?”
“I miss my father.”
She had dreamt of Owaine recently. She had seen him walking about the village, rubbing his tired eyes and looking often to the forest over his shoulder.
“We should do something to mark the occasion,” said Beast.
“I do not think it necessary.”
There was silence.
“What was the best birthday that you ever had?” Beast tried again.
“I never had one, and besides, this is not a birthday. I do not know when my birthday is. I lost count of my age a long time ago.”
She remembered Eli’s ball at Sago and the dresses and the dancing.
“What is it?” asked Beast, seeing the change in her expression.
“Nothing, I . . . I just remembered a birthday party I went to a long time ago. It was a ball in Sago. It was beautiful.”
“Then we shall have a ball.”
“We cannot.”
“Why? We have a ballroom—”
“I know, I have seen it, but . . .”
“Yes?”
Beauty wanted to tell him that she did not wish to celebrate the anniversary of her imprisonment here. She wanted to tell him that every night she prayed that she would be free of this place. She wanted to tell him that she always hoped that one day she would leave. But she did not want to hurt him.
“All right,” she said at last. “We shall have a ball.”
Lately the outline in Beauty’s room had been taking more and more liberty with her wardrobe. At first Beauty had insisted on wearing plain dresses in plain colors, but she had gradually relaxed her ways, and now she spent most of her time in comfortable but ornate gowns. With the prospect of a ball, however, the outline became carried away.
“No!” Beauty cried the evening of the event as it presented her with a pink, frilly thing. “I am not wearing anything as ridiculous as that!”
The pink, frilly thing was replaced by a glittering blue gown of silk, with a wide hoop and a plunging neckline.
“Absolutely not!”
Beauty was not looking forward to the ball. She was going along with it for Beast’s sake, but she hoped that it would be over soon.
“Yes, I suppose that looks all right,” she muttered as a blush-colored gown edged to her. It was strapless and the skirts were wide, but not restricting, while the ruffles were pretty without making her feel silly.
“This will do,” she said as the outline fastened it in place.
For the next half hour she argued with the outline about various hairstyles and extravagant jewels until finally she was ready to leave. She was walking out of the door when she suddenly stopped short.
The red rose was lying on her dressing table where she kept it, as perfect as always. She liked to hold it sometimes and smell its sweet scent when she woke in the morning; for some reason it comforted her. She took it now and slid it into her white chignon. It nestled in the crook behind her ear. Then she left.
Her skirts swished as she walked down the long corridors and candles lit themselves at her approach. A set of double doors appeared and she braced herself, wishing that she could meet Beast in the library instead and they could forget that she had been trapped in this place for a year.
The double doors were thrown open to reveal a dazzling sight. The ballroom’s huge, domed chandelier was lit and hundreds of candles flickered in its holders. They cast dancing lights on the painted ceiling that was clouded with dark shadows and thunder. The walls were covered with gold filigree that laced its white hue and the floor was a mosaic of shimmering crystal.
Beauty stood at the top of a grand, sweeping staircase and Beast was below, watching her. She felt too exposed and she wriggled in her gown.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She tried to muster up as much enthusiasm as she could.
“When I was younger, I always wanted to walk down stairs like these,” she called.
She thought back to Eli’s ball at Rose Herm and she remembered all the girls traipsing down the stairs while they were announced—all except her. She did not envy them anymore.
“I am pleased,” he replied in a rumble, and he bared his sharp teeth in a grin.
Trying not to trip on the netting of her skirts, Beauty stepped awkwardly down the stairs in her soft slippers. When she reached the bottom she laughed, feeling silly, but Beast’s face was serious and he was trying to balance on his hind legs again. Occasionally he would have to steady himself with his front paw, and Beauty wanted to ask him to stop trying so hard, but she did not wish to offend him. She knew that he was only trying to please her.
“This is all very lovely, thank you,” she muttered.
Beast dipped his great, shaggy head.
“Come and eat,” he said.
There was a table of magnificent cakes and desserts set out in the far corner and Beast ushered her toward it.
“I chose your favorites,” he said.
“I believe it is taller than me,” she replied, looking at the various layers of a towering iced sponge cake. She cut a slice and held the plate out to him.
“No, it is for you, Beauty.”
“I cannot eat even a quarter of these lovely things. You should have some too.”
“It is better if you do not see me eat.”
“What if I insist?”
“Then you will regret it. It is not a pretty sight.”
She ate the dessert herself, but she was not very hungry.
“Should you like to dance?” asked Beast and an invisible orchestra began to play.
“No . . . no, thank you.”
“You do not have to dance with me, you can dance by yourself.”
“No.” Beauty looked longingly behind his head at the double doors. “Let’s go to the library,” she said.
“The library?”
“Yes. I want to know how that book ends.”
“But Beauty . . .”
She grabbed his paw, feeling the bristles of his fur, and tried to guide him to the exit, but he stood still, staring at her silver hand on his own as if he could scarcely believe it.
“Come on,” she said. “We can take some of the cake with us and—”
“You look very beautiful.”
Her violet eyes met his hazel gaze. She could feel the heat of his body under her palm and she could feel his gentle gusts of breath that tickled her cheeks.
“Beauty, I—”
Suddenly, she noticed a scar over his left eye and she frowned. She had never been so close to him before and it was hidden in the fur of his face, almost completely obscured. She pulled away from him, stumbling on her long skirts.
“You are him!” she gasped.
“What do you mean?”
“You are the man with the scar! The man that I have dreamed of and the man from the tapestry!”
“I am a beast.”
“Why must you keep things from me?”
“Please—”
“Why did you hide the chest of scripture from me?”
“What are you talking about?” He tried to step towards her, but she backed away.
“Do not come any closer!”
“Beauty, you know I will not hurt you.”
“You hurt me all the time by keeping me here!”
Tears of frustration were clogging her chest and she tore the red rose from her hair and threw it to the floor.
“How can you expect me to live with something that I do not understand?”
Beast bowed his head.
“I am sorry.”
“Yes, I am sorry too! I am sorry that I ever came to this evil place—I am sorry that I ever met you!”
She fled the ballroom.