My appetite momentarily drained away. "Is that why I'm here?"
"To be eaten?" The Beast sounded genuinely horrified. "No!"
I let out a shaky breath. "I supposed not, or you'd have slain me in the gardens and hung me for dinner. Unless you were planning to fatten me up first, in which case…" I took a bite of pheasant and slid down as far into the chair as my dress would let me, groaning with delight. "In which case it may be worth it. That bacon this morning was stupendous, too."
"I'm glad." The Beast had not quite recovered, it seemed, from my presumption that I was there as a meal. He watched me eat, and after a while, when I had stuffed myself nearly silly, I realized that he had only watched me eat, and not eaten anything himself.
"I thought you said you ate a lot."
"I do. Not, however, in company."
I considered the Beast's strange muzzle, his thrusting jaw and the deadly tusks that framed his face, and thought of wolves and cats eating. That in itself was a tearing, violent action, but their lower jaws were at least wired for it, not overbiting the upper jaw to an ungainly degree. "I assume it's an unsightly process."
The Beast nodded, and so did I. "Does that mean you've been waiting here hungry all evening, afraid to eat because I might show up unexpectedly and interrupt?"
"Something like that."
I put my napkin aside. "Then I should go, so you can eat in peace."
He tilted his vast head. "Why would you be kind enough to care?"
"I don't know." I waited on myself, seeing if any other answer surfaced, but none did, so I said again, "I don't know," and rose. "Good night, Beast."
His enormous chuckle rolled through the room. "'Beast'?"
Heat shot through me. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think to ask if you had a name."
"'Beast' will do. It is what I am, after all." He chuckled again, and I fled toward the door, arrested there by the sound of my name and a question: "Amber, will you sleep with me?"
"Excuse me?" I looked back, too astonished to be insulted, and thinking, impossibly, that somehow the Beast had overheard Rafe's conversation with his friends, over a year ago. "Is that what you've kept me here for?"
"I most sincerely doubt it," the Beast replied, sounding, indeed, most sincere. "Answer freely; it will cost you nothing."
I snapped, "Then don't be ridiculous," and stalked out.
I slept better than I would have expected, under the circumstances, and awoke the next morning so warm and comfortable that for a few breaths it was as if the fire had never happened and we had never left the city. Then memory returned, crushing those happy thoughts, and I rolled over to bury my face in the pillows and cry. When that was over, I forced myself out of bed to find eggs and toast and more of that glorious bacon awaiting me, which made it harder to be miserable. Once fed, I dressed in the most sensible clothes available to me, put on my amber necklace, and went exploring.
The library lay where I'd expected ballrooms to be, but in the opposite rounded facade my expectations were fulfilled: a magnificent ballroom, with balconies and seating areas unlike the library's, all open to the high ceiling rather than shaping the room like an egg. I wondered when the last time a ball had been held there, then went away from that room in hopes of finding answers to that, and other, questions.
The halls were broad with floors of well-polished parquet, and lit with candles that roused themselves when I came close, then went dormant again behind me. I opened innumerable doors, finding nothing more extraordinary than bedrooms and sitting rooms. I spent half a day doing that, walking far enough inside the palace that by lunchtime I was wobbling with exhaustion. The Beast didn't join me for lunch, and to my embarrassment, I fell asleep in front of the dining room fire only to be awakened by his arrival near dinnertime. "I've been working hard every day for over a year," I mumbled in apology. "I don't know why a walk around a house, even a big one, put me to sleep."
"Did your older sister sleep a lot after you arrived at the lodge?"
"Pearl has always slept a lot." I frowned at the Beast, trying to order my thoughts. "But now that you mention it, yes, she did. A great deal. So did Maman. I thought they were just grieving for the life we'd lost."
"That's no doubt part of it, but it often happens when magic awakens, and your sister had only just become a witch, hadn't she?"
"How do you know that?" I wasn't quite awake enough to be scared or angry by his knowledge, only befuddled by it.
"You live in my forest, and now in my palace. I know a great deal about what goes on here."
"Do the little birds and mice come to tell you?" I mumbled, scrubbing my hands over my face. "All right, if you don't want to tell me, don't. Have you eaten? Because I think I'm going to have dinner and go back to bed."
"I will keep you company."
"All right." From the way he'd said it, I thought if I flapped a hand at him and told him to shoo, that he would, which made me more willing to have him stay. Dinner was no less extravagant than it had been the night before, and I found myself breathing, "Are you sure you're not fattening me up?" without expectation of being heard.
"Quite sure. Judging from how much of the house you explored today, I think you're in no danger even if I was trying to." The Beast's mouth was not well suited to a smile, but I thought I saw a glimpse of one at its corner as I looked up guiltily. "I have excellent hearing," he offered, as if it was an apology.
"And probably a keen sense of smell," I muttered, but that time I expected to be heard.
His face twitched with amusement again. "Yes."
"What are you?"
I hadn't meant to ask that. The Beast's entire form went fierce with surprise and I quailed, more shocked by the asking than the response. It took a few seconds for either of us to be able to speak, and when he did, he replied, "A Beast," without any of the humor from before.
I set my teeth together. "Yes, but you weren't always, were you. A Beast who had never been a man wouldn't care about clothes, or what he looked like when he ate, or ancient libraries restored in his own. Or spy on a family in a hunting lodge nearby, and you did spy. You knew all of our names. You gave them that wagonload of goods. The cloth, the books, the stones. Why?"
"Most of the stones carry protective charms. The rest was as much to disguise their importance as anything else."
A chill sluiced down my spine and over my arms. "Why do they need protection? And what do you mean, most of the stones?" I curled my fingers around the amber necklace I wore, wondering if it offered protection, and from whom. Or what, if it came to that.
The Beast, watching me, said, "It's woven with a protective charm as well. I wasn't sure if you'd wear it."
"It makes me feel closer to my family. Why are the stones all charmed?"