Free Beauty and the Beast (Not Quite the Fairy Tale #3) by May Sage Page A

entire kingdom.
    However, she couldn’t deny that they seriously rocked.
    There was a reason why their sparring technique was called a dance, they were so light on their feet, so damn unpredictable, yet graceful – she wanted to take notes.
    The things the Beast did – like dropping and kicking his cane towards his adversary at the perfect level for it to bounce right back into his hands – were insane. And he also did it half naked, exposing the eight-pack under a layer of sweat. Seriously, eight. What the hell was wrong with six, dammit!
    Clocks managed to land a blow on the back of Beast’s neck after twenty minutes of trying and the Beast just laughed it off and gave him a thumb up.
    He’d beaten the shit out of them and thrown them all over the place, but apparently, they won by just touching him.
    The match was finished after that; the guys shook hands and separated; Lightwoods left, after ruffling Belle’s hair on his way out – Clocks gave her a little wink before stepping on a treadmill on the other side of the gym.
     
    Beast strolled her way in his damn low sweatpants showing off that V of his, carved on his slim waist. She was all but drooling; that body should be immortalized in a bronze sculpture.
    Then, as men tended to, from time to time, unfortunately, he opened his mouth.
    “You shouldn’t have come in here – it’s not safe for a lady.”
     
    ♦
     
    One minute, Sibelle was smiling up at him, absentmindedly stroking the dog begging for her attention, and the next, pissed off didn’t even begin to describe what her face was conveying.
    He thought back on his own words and smiled; she didn’t want to be seen as a hopeless damsel in distress.
    That was hilarious. She didn’t even reach his nipples – there was no way he’d ever see her as someone who should take care of herself. Oh, sure, she might very well be able to, but that wasn’t what his instincts were screaming at him while he looked down.
    He wanted to protect her, lock her up in an ivory tower to ensure no harm would ever come to her. Oh, and while he was at it, he wouldn’t have minded tying her up to a bedpost and screw her into next year.
    He shifted to ensure she wouldn’t see the physical manifestation of that scheme – although she would have had to be completely blind to miss his boner; sweat pants weren’t known for their restrictive attributes.
    “You can watch anytime,” he clarified, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just make your presence obvious, first. We’ve thrown each other into walls before.”
    When he’d noticed her, about fifteen minutes ago, she’d already been sitting down, and he didn’t know how long she’d been there.
    A fucking accomplishment – he and the guys were generally aware of their surroundings. She was silent as a huntsman, but that particular skill could be dangerous here.
    “So,” she said, an edge to her voice; he could already tell they were going to tread on thin ice. “You guys are the Prince’s Guards, right?”
    Aiden stared, completely taken aback.
    Shit. What was he supposed to say to that? From her expression, he could already tell she wasn’t a royalist.
    “I take it you’re not a fan.”
    “That’s one way of putting it,” she snorted.
    What was it with people? They didn’t know anything about him, and yet, they felt free to hate him. He’d never done anything to any of them; he’d fought and bled for them when the country had been under attack – and none of that seemed to matter.
    “Why?”
    Sibelle got up and turned on her hills, ready to bolt; he wasn’t about to let her, though. The least she could do was to give him a valid reason.
    “Sibelle Thornton, you’ve started this; don’t be a coward – finish it. What could you possibly have against a man you’ve never encountered?”
    Not until recently, in any case.
    “Do you know what purpose a monarch serves?” she asked, and it was his turn to snort.
    What did she know of it?
    “The