Young Writers Society

Chapter One

Isabella was the daughter of a wealthy Marquis, once upon a time. As she scrubbed the floors of a Comte’s estate in rags, she let a tear fall. The memories of her parents were slipping away, becoming more and more faded with each passing day.

The house felt much larger than her childhood home, though she knew that probably wasn’t the case. It was all white marble and cold silver and high ceilings. The house that was now nothing but ashes had been warm and full of life.

“Ella, darling,” A woman’s voice drawled.

It was Fleora, the woman who had taken her in. Well, the wife of the man who had taken her in. Isabella had loved her, at first, before she had grown beautiful and Fleora had revealed her own true nature.

Fleora wasn’t ill-looking, by any means. She had medium brown hair and deep brown eyes, a flawlessly polite smile, and dimples in her cheeks. She was slim and graceful- everything Isabella had wanted to become when she was younger. Now, she just wanted to be ordinary and safe. Maybe, if she was more plain, Fleora wouldn’t hate her so much.

“Yes, Fleora?” She called breathlessly, her dirty blonde hair falling out of a loose braid and into her eyes.

Fleora smiled coldly. “You missed a spot.”

***

Prince Frederic glanced behind him once more. The exultant smile on his face, the rush of adrenaline pounding through his veins- nothing could compare to this. He still couldn’t believe he had left the palace, in the middle of his mother’s luncheon no less.

He gave it a week. A week before his guilt overwhelmed him and he went back. He had run away before, but he had always returned a few hours later- as soon as they noticed he was missing. This time, he needed more than half a day of solitude.

The reason for the sudden flight was the contract that his father had made him sign the night before. It was a marriage contract, stating that he would announce a choice of bride at his birthday celebration in three months.

He had been riding the fastest horse in the kingdom, Roan, for a little over two hours when he heard the cries for help.

***

Jacques Aurmont was hurrying home to his wife and daughters when the beast emerged from the forest. It was a wolf-like creature, but it was much larger than anything Jacques had ever encountered on his many travels.

Jacques was frozen in fear.

“Do you know what I am, little man? Or have you humans forgotten the stories?”

A look of complete horror marred Jacques’ normally kind face. “You’re the beast of Jean-Pierre. But that’s just a story, invented to keep children out of the woods.”

“Do I look like a story?”

Jacques squinted. “You do rather look like a drawing in ink, like one in a book of fables.”

The beast didn’t look at all amused, but it also didn’t advance. “I am an abomination, but I am not fiction.”

Jacques tried not to look obviously terrified, but failed miserably. “What do you want? I carry some coin, but not much.”

“I don’t want your money. I want you to kill me.”

***

As Frederic followed the cries, a sense of dread settled in his stomach. When the abandoned castle came into view, he knew exactly where he was. It was the palace of Jean-Pierre. There were stories about a beast who prowled these woods and inhabited the castle. The cries for help were coming from there.

He tied his horse to a wrought iron fence post and crept around the back. He found a small barred window where he could hear the gradually quieting shouts the best.

“Hello?” He called. “Can I be of assistance?”

The cries stopped, then a timid male voice replied. “Can you get me out of here?”

“It may be possible. How did you get in there?”

“The beast,” The man’s voice trembled. “He took me here.”

Frederic didn’t bother responding. The man was probably half-starved and dehydrated or something. Hallucinations wouldn’t be that far of a stretch, given the circumstances.

“Do you remember how to get from the doors to where you are now?”

“Yes.” He said with conviction. “I remember exactly.”

***

Ella leaned back, giving her spine a bit of rest. She was exhausted beyond measure, but the day was far from over. She still had endless chores to do, endless insults to endure, and endless anger to repress. At least Jacques would be returning soon. Then she would get to play dress up for a few weeks, before he left again and she went back to being a servant.

She heard footsteps, but they didn’t belong to the mistress of the house. They were much too fast. No, they belonged to Lisabeth, one of Fleora’s daughters. Lisabeth treated Ella like a sister, even if Fleora treated her like a slave.

Sure enough, Lisabeth entered the room the very next moment. Her dark hair fell down to her hips in wild curls and her huge brown eyes danced with amusement. In Ella’s opinion, she was much prettier than her mother, if only because she was much kinder.

“Ana has a suitor!” She twirled around the room. “A village boy, nonetheless.”

Anastasia, Fleora’s older daughter, quickly followed Lisabeth into the room. “No, I do not.”

Lisabeth grinned. “You can’t lie to me, Ana.”

Anastasia looked to Ella for support. She just shrugged.

Anastasia was… complicated. She didn’t hate Ella, but she didn’t directly oppose Fleora like Lisabeth did. Ella knew she had her reasons for staying silent. In fact, their situations were much too similar for Ella to hold Ana responsible for Fleora’s wrath.

Lisabeth hummed a wedding march as Anastasia frowned at her.

“Why exactly do you think she has a suitor?” Ella asked.

“Because, I saw him with her.”

Anastasia rolled her eyes. “He delivers apples from the Verrier farm. I don’t even know his name. You’re just delusional.”

“Or bored.” Ella added.

“Or both,” Anastasia giggled. “Probably both.”

***

The man was crazy, Frederic had decided. He had described the directions clearly, but after that he had started rambling about the beast again. Every time Frederic told him to be quiet, he would just make an ominous statement, like “You doubt now, but there will be no time for doubts when you face it yourself,”.

Finally, Frederic had enough.

“Okay, I’m going to go in and get you out.”

“No!” The man cried adamantly. “It will see you. You have to wait until it’s left.”

“If I do,” Frederic said cautiously. “Will you stop talking about the beast?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

There was a silence, then, “What is your name, good sir?”

Frederic was at a loss for words. He certainly couldn’t give his true name and reveal his identity. Suddenly, he remembered a childhood nickname given to him by his best friend.

“Ric.”

“Is that it?”

Frederic was puzzled by the man’s blatant curiosity. Most people about these parts kept to themselves.

“Uh, yes. That’s it.”

“Well, I’m Jacques Aurmont. And if we both miraculously survive, your are welcome at my estate anytime.”

Frederic strongly suspected that the man was going into shock, as he stopped talking and started breathing heavily.

“Stay awake,” Frederic said. “Keep talking about your estate. How far is it?”

“About half a mile. I’m returning home from a trading voyage.”

“What about your family? Do you have a wife?”

“Yes.” His voice was shaky, but it seemed he was no longer in imminent danger of losing consciousness. “And three daughters.”

“What are their names?”

“Fleora is my wife. My oldest daughter is Anastasia, then Lisabeth.”

“What about your other daughter?”

“Isabella. She’s not my daughter by blood.”

“Keep talking, Master Aurmont.”

“Her father was my cousin and best friend. There was a fire, and he perished along with his infant son.”

“Keep going.”

***

Isabella winced. The slashes across her back stung as Odette, one of the maids, cleaned them. Odette had dreamt of being a healer, before he father threw away their money and their reputation. Now, she was trapped in Ella’s personal hell.

So far, she’d done a great job. She was certainly better than Lisabeth had been when she used to have the pleasure of cleaning Ella’s wounds.

“Almost done, Lady Ella.” Odette said softly.

If Odette had a flaw, this was it. She insisted on calling Ella by a title, even after she’d seen her at her absolute weakest.

A tear slid down Ella’s cheek. “Please, don’t call me Lady. I am no more a lady than you. Less, in fact.”

Odette made a noise of protest, but didn’t say anything.

***

Frederic had been waiting for the alleged beast to depart from the place for hours. Jacques Aurmont seemed level-headed enough, but that wasn’t enough to convince the Prince.

Finally, halfway through the night, Frederic heard heavy, bounding footsteps.

His eyes widened. “What was that?”

A figure, shrouded in shadows, moved quickly to the forest. The clouds shifted, and the pale silver light of the moon broke through to reveal what the figure was. A wolf. But at the same time, it couldn’t have been. It was massive, larger than Frederic himself, with brown-black fur.

The top half of Jacques’ face could be seen through the barred window. “Do you believe me now?”