Page 1 of The Bull's Beauty
Chapter One
Beatrice
I wash the same damn pan for the third time, even though it’s already spotless. The metal is warped, blackened at the edges, and probably older than I am. Now it’s shining like a mirror, and still, I scrub it harder. My knuckles are aching and my shoulders are tight from bending over this stupid stone sink, but I can’t stop. If I do, I’ll startthinking, and if I start thinking, I’ll end up screaming at someone.
There is giggling outside the kitchen window and I know it’s Maeve before I even look up. She’s in the courtyard with Dakar, probably making cow eyes at him like a lovesick village girl, and he’s eating it up like she hung the stars. I don’t know why I evencare.
They’re all falling in love with them, like they didn’t rip us from our beds in the middle of the night! This is still a prison, just one with prettier captors.
Annie passes by, humming, a flower tucked behind one ear, and I want to pluck it out and stomp on it. I clench the sponge tighter.What is wrong with me?
I just miss home. I miss the way things used to be. I miss Havenmoor. I miss Aunt Hettie. She raised me. She was the closest thing to a mother that I ever had…I can’t imagine that she didn’t care about me, too, about all of us.
I never even got an explanation. I’m just supposed to trust the words of some Minotaur barbarians…
“Bea.”
I flinch. No one calls me that but Maeve. I turn, pan still in hand, wet and dripping. She’s hesitating in the doorway, her copper braid over one shoulder, with a smile too soft for how hard my heart feels right now.
“You’ve been working since dawn,” she says, like that’s a problem.
“Better thanyou, lying around ogling your warlord,” I snap, before I can stop myself.
Her smile falters. “I’m happy, Beatrice. I didn’t think that was a crime.”
“It’s not,” I say, slamming the pan onto the stone. Water splashes onto my apron. “But, forgetting what they did to us? What they did to Havenmoor? That’s damn near unforgivable.”
Her face falls completely. She carefully steps into the room, like she’s approaching a wild animal, and maybe I am one. Perhaps I’ve always been one.
“They didn’t hurt us,” she says softly. “They saved us.”
“Theykidnappedus. Don’t dress it up.” My voice cracks like a whip.
“You weren’t the only one who was afraid!” she snaps back, color rising in her cheeks. “You think I chose this? It happened, Beatrice. And I’m glad. Dakar treats me like I matter. Like I’m—”
“Oh, spare me the poetry,” I hiss. “You sound just like Annie. Happy little milkmaids acting as if this is some gods-damned fairy tale!”
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because, I remember! I remember what they did to our neighbors. To ourfriends.They burned their homes, ransacked our village! And now, you’re all just…lying down and spreading your legs like that’s all you’re good for.”
She gasps like I slapped her, her eyes well with tears, and I feel ugly, cruel, and venomous. She doesn’t say another word, just turns and walks out of the stone doorway.
Good,I tell myself.Go run back to your mate!
However, the silence that follows her departure makes me feel even worse.
I throw my apron on the counter and flee the kitchen. I need something to do, to fix, torageagainst, and the Gods must hear me because as I round the corner thereheis.
Silas is standing still as a statue in the corridor that leads to the armory. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with that silent, unreadable expression on his face. He’s always watching everything and sayingnothing. He’s Dakar’s second in command. He never speaks unless absolutely necessary, barely shows any emotion, and rarely even smiles.
He’s like a shadow, or a ghost, that creeps around, haunting the place. Iespeciallyhate how good he looks while doing it. It’s like the Gods decided to give him that face just to piss me off. That long black hair, that stupidly perfect mouth. He has no right to be looking at me like that!
“What?” I bark as I storm past him.
He doesn’t move or answer me, his eyes tracking me like I’m some sort of riddle he hasn’t figured out yet.
I whirl on him, hot and boiling. “Say it! Whatever smug little thought is bouncing around in that giant head of yours.”
