Free Beauty by Sarah Pinborough Page A

ordinary wolf, like those who scavenged her grandmother’s goats. This was ethereal and earthy at once. It was twice the size and its fur shone so brightly that even in the dead light of dawn it seemed to glow. It flew through the air before her. Eyes that burned yellow and sharp teeth behind bared black lips. Claws extending from enormous paws. It was rage. It was fury.
    Just before it hit her, Petra thought it was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. And then the air was gone from her lungs and she was on the ground.
    T he ball had finished an hour or so before, but the prince and Beauty couldn’t bear to part company just yet. The prince was sure he should be tired, but the sheer elation of having found love kept him wide awake. Although they had kissed, many times now, there was an innocence about her that stopped him suggesting they go to her rooms despite the throbbing desire he felt for her. He’d wait for their wedding night and then he’d take her gently and sweetly and their love would not be sullied by haste. She was so pure. After all the serving girls and wenches he’d shared his time with he was now almost ashamed of his past earthy encounters. Perhaps he should have kept himself pure for her. But then princes were supposed to be men of the world, and it was right that he should have experience: she was queen, but he would be master of their bedroom.
    As night inched towards day they walked arm in arm, pausing here and there as she pointed out paintings she loved, or pieces of ornate sculpture she had commissioned, and slowly she showed him around her vast home; a castle equal to his father’s own in wealth and lavishness. They paused in the kitchens where the night bakers had made fresh bread for the morning, and Beauty’s kind words to them made the men blush as she praised them in their work.
    Nibbling on hot croissants they wandered back into the heart of the castle and through the ballroom that had so recently been full of music and dancing. He pulled her close and they spun, laughing like children, across the floor until they reached the far door and paused to kiss. She was so natural in his arms and he ran his fingers down her face, brushing them across the tops of her breasts and listening to her sigh and shudder slightly with pleasure. She wanted him too, he could see it in the slight parting of her perfect lips and the haze in her eyes.
    ‘I love you,’ she said softly and then smiled.
    ‘I love you too.’ And he did. She was perfect.
    From the ballroom, she led him into the library, all the walls lined with thousands of books which filled polished mahogany and oak shelves. As shafts of sunlight cut through the windows, Beauty ran from one shelf to another pointing out her favourite stories from childhood; princes who slayed dragons on the Far Mountain, pirate tales from the eastern seas and other tales of love, magic and adventure. As she giggled and promised him that they would read these stories together one day, to their own children, the prince spied a small door in the corner, virtually unnoticeable among the beauty and colour of the books around it. It was wooden, mahogany like the shelves, and as he opened it he was sure he heard the tinkling of distant bells. He looked up to see wires running from the hinges and up into the ceiling. A servants’ bell? But why here? This was an in-between place, nowhere you would stop and require refreshments or a fire lit. Why would you? It was simply a narrow corridor. Was the door left over from some conversion years ago? Had the corridor once been part of a different room? He stepped forward, curious.
    ‘Beauty,’ he called back to her. ‘What’s down here?’ The corridor was unadorned with any portraits and there was only a plain oak door at the other end. He walked towards it, not waiting for her, and lifted the heavy iron ring handle. He turned it and pushed, but nothing happened. The door was locked.
    ‘I never come down