Page 12 of Beast’s Surrender, Beauty’s Revenge

CHAPTER TWELVE

ALMAS

Goodness, had I gotten in over my head.

It wasn’t that I thought—well, I wasn’t wrong. There was no life for me while Lord Uther haunted my steps. Even though he was not mine and I’d never be his, he’d shoved himself into my life, taking over every thought and doubt and fear until they all twisted around him, making him more monstrous than he was.

I missed the boy I’d been when this had all started, who’d dismissed the lord as some pathetic, slavering creature without the fortitude to commit to his depravity. Back then, Uther had seemed so small. Now, he’d taken over everything.

No, he’d taken everything. My work, my friends, my family, my whole life.

What had sent me in search of the Beast—in search of Percival, in fact, who was a hero and not a monster at all—was that Lord Uther loomed so large in my mind that he seemed the lesser evil.

Now that I knew Percival, that had only become more true. He’d been fighting for his family, driven to commit horrors by the sharp pain of loss. That wasn’t bestial—it was purely human.

But it wasn’t what he wanted now, and it was what I’d freed him to do. Guilt twisted in my chest as we walked toward the forest edge. The trees began to thin and we caught broader glimpses of the blue skies overhead.

The Black Forest behind us was thick and dense, but it wasn’t some lightening of the air that made them thinner here. We were merely getting closer to larger settlements that cut the trees at the edge of the woods for their homes, for boats and buildings and industry.

These trees were younger, their boughs lower, their trunks thinner. Underneath them, it was easier to breathe, like we were on cusp of shedding the dark magic that wove through the forest and had kept generations of people from delving too deep within.

Sure, there were small settlements of people, wanting to cloister themselves away from the world, who lived within the forest, but there was nothing like Bellara proper. Even Lord Uther’s holdings were tiny compared to the king’s farther south.

But even with the promise of slipping from beneath that weight, I hesitated to leave the edge of the trees and step onto the broad green meadow that cut toward my village. Another day’s travel, and we would be there, and I would—I would be responsible for pushing Percival further into darkness.

The thought of it gnawed at me. I could hardly choose him over my father, but my father’s words twisted in my head as if he were right beside me.

He would not want this. He would not want blood and pain and vengeance.

Nor would he want to be held against his will, or see me harassed, but... Gods, what I was asking of Percival compromised so much.

I stopped at the tree line, staring out at the meadow ahead of us, sprinkled with wildflowers. I’d—once, I’d loved picnicking out here, before Uther had taken over everything in my life, before I’d been afraid to wander too far and get caught out alone.

Taking a sharp breath, I turned to Percival, who was staring back at me, wide eyed, almost innocent in all this.

“I cannot leave my father,” I announced.

He shook his head. “I would not want you to.”

My head bobbed in a nod. That was... good. Nice. His acceptance and understanding made me feel at least a little less vile.

“I’m no fighter though,” I continued, “and I have nothing— nothing to bargain with but the... the one thing I cannot bear to surrender. I never would’ve thrown myself in there”—I waved a hand at the forest behind us—“with no plan and no supplies if there were anything or anyone out here that I could rely on for help. I need you.”

Percival made another of his strange, abortive gestures and I took the cue to lean in, pressing against his arm and dropping my forehead against the round of his shoulder. Yes, I was hiding, but this was a misery, and I did not want to face it.

The prospect of losing my father? No, I could not face that directly.

“But if you tell me that this is not a thing that you can do, I will not force your hand. I will not beg you to change your mind or press you to violence that would stain your soul. You’re our hero. You ended the war, no matter the method, and you deserve better than for me to use you against your will as Uther would use me.”

Percival flinched. He made a soft sound, almost like a protest. It was a lovely thought, that I wasn’t capable of the same evil that’d been used against me, but anyone desperate enough—for selfish reasons or otherwise—could be moved to act against their morality. Lord Uther had stripped me of the person I had been, who’d looked forward to the future and had enjoyed picnics in grassy meadows with Lara—someone who might’ve been able to look at a man like Percival and not flinch from him before even taking a moment to appreciate that the planes of his face were sharp and beautiful, that his arms were strong and I felt so safe within them.

I wanted to be something different than the man who’d tormented me, even if he’d stripped back parts of me that I hadn’t realized I was losing in the first place.

When I lifted my head, my smile trembled on my lips. “Still, I would ask for your help, and—and in return, I promise, I will do anything in my power to help you break this curse. Find another witch or—or find some place far beyond where Tingard ever was, where you can live without fear or madness. As I said, I have nothing, and it is not an even trade. I have no magic of my own and no clear path to salvation—yours or mine or anyone’s—but if it suits you, I would stay by your side and try.”

Percival’s brow was heavy, shadowing his eyes for a moment. Then, he nodded. He slipped his hand into mine, his calluses scraping roughly against my skin as I spread my fingers and let him link our hands together.

The next breath I took was deeper, easier, even before he nodded and said, “I will help you.”

And for the first time in years, I was sure that I had an ally who could.