Free Beast by Abigail Barnette

clenched teeth as she pressed a fresh, hot cloth to the wound. “You were the only person to refuse me.”
    “I was waiting for our wedding night.” She sniffed with derision, so he would not suspect her tears. “And lucky was I that never happened.”
    Philipe’s eyes widened. “Lucky, were you? I thought you loved me, then.”
    “I thought you loved me , then,” she countered. “You must not have cared overmuch, if I could be tossed aside so easily.”
    “I apologized!” Philipe brushed her hand away and sat up, then reeled to the side before throwing a hand to the wall to steady himself. With effort, he bit out, “I apologized. I treated you badly, I know that, now.”
    “Lie down, I don’t feel like washing vomit out of my clothes,” she snapped, pushing his good shoulder back to the cot. He did not complain, but stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. She mopped at the weeping wound, and lightly bound it. “Besides, hasn’t it worked out better for me? My life here isn’t the excitement and comfort of the palace, I’ll grant that. But your exploits at court are well documented. As much as tales of orgies and legendary numbers of women rotating in and out of your bedchamber hurt me these fifteen years past, I can only imagine how they would have wounded me if I were some put-aside princess. It would be too embarrassing to bear. At least here, my pride has survived.”
    “Do you really think I would have done that to you?” He laughed softly, grimacing as if the taste sickened him. “I’m an unmarried man, with wealth and privilege. Being with women, the way I do? That’s almost expected. I’d not have done it if I’d had a loving wife waiting for me.”
    She shook her head, resolute in her anger. “You were the bane of the serving girls when you stayed here, as well. I’m stupid.”
    “I was seventeen!” He sat up again, pushing her hand away. “I was seventeen years old, spending long, unfulfilled hours with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, who was content to sit in my lap and kiss me from sunrise to sundown. Do you really expect fidelity from a stupid young boy?”
    “Boy enough to tumble with every girl who’d let him get under her skirts, but man enough to promise eternal love? Oh, but boy again, when the beauty of his beloved is snatched away! I lost everything, everyone I loved. I needed you, and you abandoned me!”
    “I was wrong!” His temper finally broke, and he shouted at her. It felt strangely satisfying, to see his rage and affront at her accusations. Far better than his unconcerned half-apologies over the past. “If I could go back and change what happened, I would, but I can’t. I should have taken you away from here when we fled. I have done so every night since. If I comforted myself over my past choices by finding some girl to distract me, it was not out of preference, believe me. I was lonely and heartsick. And it never mattered who was in my bed, because it was you. She was always you!”
    If he had struck her, shaken her, if he’d slammed her bodily into the wall, all of those would have been easier. Though she’d never been in physical combat in her life, she was certain she could fight off those types of blows. What was she to do with this admission? If it was meant to comfort her, it did not. If anything, it proved that he had been in love with her beauty, not her self, as she’d always suspected. While it was nice to be right, it wasn’t as nice to be right at the expense of her feelings. She bound his wound, the heel of bread pressed against the freshly opened tear. She had expected some complaint from him, but it never came. “There. It should be fine until morning. Be careful of it. There shouldn’t be any bleeding now, but we must let it heal from the inside.”
    She rose with the little dignity she still felt and went to her bed.
    * * * *
    Johanna screamed. Her gown was aflame, her head wreathed in fire. She ran to him, and he pushed her away.