I was glad that I had brought a bag of apples. At sunset on the first night, we stopped at an inn. The coachman paid for a room for me and a room that the footman and the coachman could share. I had a simple meal that filled me up. I knew that it was my last day outside of his castle. I was strangely numb. It wasn’t real to me that I had promised to sacrifice myself for my father and my sisters. It hadn’t really sunk in yet. Early the next morning, the coachman escorted me out to the carriage. I watched out the window and couldn’t sleep as I got slowly closer to the castle that would be my home and prison.
The French countryside was largely monotonous. I grew tired of looking at fields. I couldn’t read a book in a jolting carriage, because it made me sick. Instead, I spent that day imagining a dream world where the man whom my father had described as a “beast” loved me and gave me all the books I ever wanted. Then we had beautiful children whom he cherished and adored. And he loved me above all others.
It was a pretty lie, a nice dream, and I knew that it wasn’t possible. My imagination kept me occupied for the rest of the day, dreaming about the nice life I could have. Even if my body was imprisoned, he’d never cage or crush my spirit.
It was nearly sunset on the second day when we took a turn off of the major road and went onto a gravel track. I could see that there was a large castle on a foothill. We drew closer to it, although the track was several miles long. My heart was going crazy as we drew closer and closer. My life would be spent on the inside of that castle.
By the time we stopped in front of it, my heart was beating as fast as a rabbit’s. I wanted to turn back and run home, but I couldn’t. The footman opened the carriage door and gave me a hand out of the carriage. I held up my skirt as I looked at the castle.
It was just enormous. The stone was dark, and there weren’t many candles lit around the castle. A little frisson of fear made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had chosen this. I reminded myself that I had to be here.
“You’re here. You took long enough.”
I turned to see the largest man I’d ever seen. I understood in that moment why my father had called him a beast. His hair was long and unruly, going past his collar. He was the polar opposite of Earl Roul, who was a dandy and a wastrel. The man in front of me looked like he had never touched strong liquor in his life. The style of his coat was one that had been popular twenty years before, although it was clearly of good quality.
“You’re dismissed.” He waved a hand.
Wedding
Cateline
I jumped a little bit. I’d just arrived, and he was already putting me in the library? I took a step away from him, but his hand came to clamp down on my wrist almost hard enough to hurt.
“Not you. They are.” He nodded at the coachman and footman. “There’s a priest waiting in there for us.”
I swallowed really hard. There was a lump in my throat. Tears threatened to surface. I had chosen to marry this man, this beast. Dragging me into the castle, I gasped when I got inside of the enormous foyer with high ceilings. It looked beautiful, although everything was black inside. I realized that my soon-to-be husband was wearing all black. He pulled me into a small room, a chapel with stained glass windows. Inside was a priest and two attendants.
“You’re ready, Your Highness?”
My eyes widened as I watched the beast incline his head. Had my father mentioned that he was a prince?
“And you, miss?”
“Yes.”
I realized that the prince hadn’t let go of my wrist. The priest began the ri
tes, the ceremony that would tie me to this man forever. I didn’t even know his name.
“Do you, Prince Marceau du Bois, take the Honorable Cateline to wife, to honor, love, and cherish, this day and for the rest of your life, for richer and poorer?”
“I do.”
“Do you, the Honorable Cateline, take Prince Marceau de Bois to husband, to honor, love, and cherish, this day and for the rest of your life, for richer and poorer?”
I hesitated for a half second. If I agreed, I could never go home. “I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
An enormous hand was on my cheek. His face was getting very close to me. I felt like a field mouse who was being eaten by a hawk, but his hand kept me in place, and his other hand went to my waist. He drew me closer as his mouth touched mine.
I’d never been kissed before. I felt fire race through my body. I felt incredibly warm and was feeling something melt inside of me, a strange feeling rising between my legs.
I could hear the priest clear his throat. Too soon, the fiery kiss was over. When he stepped back from me. I saw him smile for the first time. That smile did something strange to my heart. I thought that I felt it skip a beat.
His heavy, hot hand was still on my waist. He turned to the priest and bowed. “Thank you for your services, Père Miquelon. I will be sure to send my steward with an appropriate donation within the next week.”
“A true pleasure,” the priest said. He bowed to us and motioned for his attendants, who had been the only witnesses to our wedding, to follow him. Then I was alone in the chapel with my new husband.