Free Of Beast and Beauty by Stacey Jay Page A

platform steps, weaving between the tables scattered throughout the hall.
     
    Conversations stop as I pass by, and I swear I can feel the nobles’
    eyes raking up and down my long body, clawing at my dress, hoping to catch a glimpse of the scaled skin they’ve heard rumors about, eager for me to do something wild and uncivilized.
     
    I hold my head higher and press the tip of my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I won’t cry. I won’t get angry. I won’t give them any reason to bring up the older stories, the ones about how I abused the women sent to care for me after my mother’s death, or the way I howled like a Monstrous from the balcony of my tower in the middle of the night, giving the city children nightmares.
     
    I can’t remember that time—I was only four years old, by the
    moons!—but Needle warned me that the stories live on. My people are waiting for a reason to believe I’m still that feral creature, that girl as tainted on the inside as on the outside.
     
    As soon as we’re out of sight of the banquet hall, Needle begins to sign.
     
    Are you all right?
     
    “I’m ready to leave.”
     
    You can’t leave. Not without—
    “I am queen. I can do what I wish,” I snap, pulling my arm away, only for her to reclaim it a second later. “Leave me!” I demand. “I can find my way from here.”
     
    But your guards. They’re still at the banquet. They will want to—
    “I am perfectly capable of getting back to my rooms without guards,”
    I say, voice rising as I pull away a second time. “Why do I need guards, anyway? Who would dare harm the sacrifice ?”
     
    Needle sighs her sad sigh but doesn’t try to retake my arm, and soon I hear her footsteps hurrying away toward the tower. She knows better than to argue with me. Arguing is pointless. I am stubborn and selfish, and once I’ve made up my mind, I will not be swayed.
     
    For a moment, I feel bad for taking my anger out on my only friend, but soon I’m too distracted by the pain in my toes to think of anything else.
     
    My slippers are too tight. I told Needle they were too tight, but she insisted they were the same size I’ve worn for a year, and shoved them onto my feet. Now they pinch so badly, I’m hobbling by the time I near the royal garden. I stop, bend down, and rip them from my feet with a growl that turns to a moan of relief as soon as my toes are allowed to spread on the cool stones.
     
    Ah . So much better. “Stupid things,” I mutter as I toss the slippers into the flowers lining the path.
     
    “Good choice,” comes a voice from high above, making me draw a surprised breath. “Who needs shoes in a soft world like this one?”
     
    “Gem?” I ask, though I know it’s him by the pronunciation of the word “shoes.” His accent is changing, but still, no one else under the dome sounds like him. “Where are you?”
     
    “In my new room,” he answers. “New rooms . There are two. One for sitting, one for sleeping.”
     
    “They gave you the apartment overlooking the gardens?” I ask, tilting
    my face in the direction of his voice.
     
    I gave the order for Gem to be transferred to the soldiers’ barracks a few days past. I requested that the apartment with the view of the royal garden be converted to a cell—Gem mentioned that he’d like to see the roses again—but there was some grumbling from Junjie about whether such a prime space could be spared.
     
    I told him to find a way to spare it and left it at that, but I wasn’t sure he’d take my order seriously. Junjie seems to treat my commands as suggestions he’ll take into consideration. If he remembers. If he approves. If it’s convenient.
     
    “They did,” Gem says. “Thank you.”
     
    “You like it, then?” I ask, craving approval in this night filled with condemnation.
     
    “I do. Very much.”
     
    “I know there are still bars on the windows, but …”
     
    “It doesn’t matter. The view is nice. And I like the books,” he