Page 84 of The Beast King's Bride

“I don’t know, my lady Ash. The cook has left along with the kitchen maids. Some guards have defected. I’m afraid that the curse is gathering strength and I don’t think anyone knows how to stop it. Unless you—”

“Unless, what? Tell me. If you tell me what to do, I’ll do it.”

He only sighs.

“Well, there is one thing I know how to do, the only way I know how to help around here.” I get up from my seat, abandoning my books. “I can cook.”

Jassin is wide-eyed. “My lady… that’s below your station.”

“I’m not a princess, Jassin. I’m a cook’s helper. A kitchen maid. Let me do what I can to help.”

He glances at Sheedra and back at me. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Lead the way. Not all the maids have left, right?”

“Some remain.”

“Good. Then send them to the kitchens to help. We can’t let the palace starve.”

“Why are you helping us?” Sheedra asks as I gather my skirts and follow Jassin out the door. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“It’s not about owing. I like you. I want to help you.”

“I thought that you might not find me revolting, or disagreeable,” he’d said. “That you might like me enough to help me find a cure.”

And I do like him, may the Gods help me. I didn’t tell him that, not outright. With every day passing, I feel a bond growing between us, along with the need to see him, to make sure he’s all right.

He was right. I think too much, hide behind it so that I can control all those painful emotions—the hurt from my past, the fear of the future.

The way I feel about him.

A man who gave up on saving himself but wants to save his people. A man who has regretted his past and wants to be better, do better. A man so handsome he’d break any woman’s heart and yet feels he’s repugnant because he’s part-beast, his confidence tempered through pain and guilt.

I think about him as I direct the maids to scrub the kitchen clean, to set up the pots and start the fires once more, to select and peel and cut the vegetables, to check the underground cold cellars for cured meats and perishables. I make an inventory of what food there is, ask for a rough number of the remaining Fae at the palace. Then I decide the best way to use the available food starting with what will spoil first.

And through it all, I find myself still thinking of him—of his smile, his laughter, his eyes, his mouth, his body, his hair, his horns, his cheekbones. Everything about him.

Including his past, his mistakes, and his plight.

And I find that they all draw me to him, good and bad, wrong and right. He’s flawed but he’s fighting. He’s arrogant but he’s ready to step back, ready to recognize his errors.

I like spending time with him, too, and I’ve never even told him.

But what does it matter? I can’t stay here. I should return to my own world. The king said I am free to go—so why am I still here?

For the first time, I make myself think about the human world and why I want to go back. Sure, there is Pete. But Pete will be all right. He’s cute, funny, smart, has the girls fawning all over him. He won’t be alone. And he’s the only person I miss.

From the whole human world, there is nobody else I’d go back for. Nobody and nothing. And sure, this world here is dangerous, cursed, full of monsters, but I find myself looking forward to seeing Jassin, Auria, and Zylphia.

And the king.

What if I stayed and helped Talen, worked on the riddle until we found the answer? The thought of the Empress harming him sends a cold ball of fear swirling in my stomach. No, I don’t want to leave him. I want to fight with him.

For him.

In any way that I can.

This thought takes over my mind from side to side and it’s all I can do not to run to Jassin and beg him to take me to Talen so I can confess what I feel.

Wait, I tell myself. Don’t throw yourself at his feet. Not like this.

My pride, you see. I want him to come to me, seek me out. Why did he stop sending for me? It stings, it pokes me where it hurts. I’ll give him another day, I decide, and then to the hells with pride, I’ll seek him out myself.

Why did he withdraw so far from me? Am I not worth the fight?

But then Jassin enters the kitchen as evening falls and the dark expression on his face has me on my feet, the onions I was cutting forgotten on the board.

“Jassin. What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, mouth turned into an unhappy line. “It’s the king.”

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