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My Beautiful Beast	By : praiseofblood Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Fables Views: 8216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, any resemblances to anyone is coincidental. This story is copywritten by praiseofblood. Do not copy

Chapter List
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Chapter 5: Be Our (Permanent) Guest
Adrian turned around in the pitch black, looking around for the beast.
“All right, Beast. You have me as your prisoner,” he announced into the darkness, but received no reply. Adrian frowned as he looked about the dark. “I said you have me! Now do your worst!”
Silence again.
Adrian was beginning to get a bit angered. What was the use of keeping him prisoner if he was just going to be allowed to roam the castle? Adrian paused at that thought. If he was free to roam, perhaps he could find the Prince, and the Beast’s nest (assuming that it nested), kill it in its sleep and rescue the Prince!
It’s foolproof! Adrian resisted the urge to grin at his brilliant plan.
“You know,” Adrian started at the sudden voice in the darkness. “You make the most interesting expressions.”
Adrian whirled about, looking for the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?!” he demanded. He could see nothing in the darkness—just the smooth marble floor occupied by a pillow that looked rather out of place.
“Funny thing…expressions. I don’t think I can remember quite what they feel like.”
“Who is that?! Show yourself!” Adrian ordered, spinning round and round.
“Sir, the Master has left express orders that we are to escort you to your room,” came that disembodied voice again. Adrian stared down and saw nothing but a single napkin laying desolate on the ground.
“Hello, I am Bouceaux, Head of the Master’s comfort. I was told to escort you to your room,” came the voice again. The napkin fluttered a bit, its golden tie bending the egg shaped lump downwards in a bow.
“You’re a napkin,” Adrian said rather stupidly. How came a napkin to speak?
“And you’re a peasant. You don’t see me staring,” came the napkin’s hot retort. “And I, am a handkerchief, thank you very much.” The napkin sniffed and Adrian restrained the urge to chuckle. A napkin sniffing, how odd.
“Actually, I don’t see you doing much of anything at all,” Adrian replied, staring down. “And you’re a napkin. That twisting tie round bout your…neck, says so.”
The napkin cleared its throat. “In any case, you will follow me.”
Adrian frowned and shrugged, he may just get to find out where the monster was keeping the Prince. Then he could figure out how to kill the bastard and return the Prince to his throne. The pretty, flame haired prince that he remembered. My, he wondered if he’d aged, if his beauty had diminished—if--

“Ouch!” came a yelp from under him. Adrian was snapped out of his reverie and he looked down to where the napkin’s tail end was crushed under a booted foot.
“Oh, sorry.” He said softly, bending to pick the soft thing up and dust him off. “Why don’t you tell me the way, hm?”
“Excuse me!” spouted the little thing. “I demand you put me down, peasant!”
Adrian blinked as the little napkin fluttered angrily. “Alright, alright already. I’ll put you down, little thing,” he knelt to let the thing flutter on.
Adrian was careful to follow the napkin and not to let his mind wander again. He paid attention to every wall and hall, searching for some barred door or guarded hall—but he saw nothing—nothing but tapestries and decorations—paintings of stern looking nobles and lords.
It was eerie. He felt a thousand eyes upon him, but there was no one there. Not a single soul—other than the walls. Maybe those were the eyes he felt. But that was ridiculous, right?
“Your room, peasant,” the little napkin pouted. Adrian didn’t know how he knew the thing was pouting, but it was.
“All right, all right, kerchief. Thank you.” He grinned, stepping inside the grand room. He blinked. It was covered in blues and gold, hues of sapphire and flame that he’d never seen before. There was an antechamber filled with a writing desk, comfortable couches, tapestries and other comforts.
Through a gilded archway, still shining like new, he could glimpse a grand four post bed, big enough to fit five of him comfortably. It was much too grand for a prisoner, it was much too grand for anyone of his rank.
“Is this right?” he looked back, but the napkin had fluttered off.
Adrian turned back into the room with a frown. “I…suppose it is. But what to do with room enough for a prince?”
Dominic paced in his dank, destroyed quarters. He frowned. He didn’t know why he’d given the boy his old chambers, but he had. There was something about the peasant—he amused him, sure, but Dominic wanted him to be comfortable. Perhaps he’d gotten lonely? Lonely enough to allow the boy to stay—to demand him to remain as a prisoner after he’d been threatened when he’d killed others for far less?
“He is rather beautiful, Your Grace. Rough, and…unkempt, and dirty. But he’s strong of body and heart, and he is beautiful. He could be the one.”
“Maré, please,” Dominic sighed at his wine decanter. “I’ve no patience for this chosen one business. Not today, not any day.”
“But he is different, isn’t he?” Maré insisted. She was always an insistent sort of prick, she was. She never quit until she got her way, and since Dominic found that he couldn’t break her and she’d do nothing but lecture him—he’d grown used to giving her what she wanted.
“Maré, if it’ll shut you up then he is the moon and the stars,” Dominic growled and he rolled his eyes at her delighted snort.
“You should ask him to dinner,” Maré grinned.
“Oh goddammit.”
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My Beautiful Beast