Page 13 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

CHAPTER 7

The Great Hall table was set for two, a place at either end.

Given the size of the beech table, which was long enough to accommodate at least twenty guests, she’d not have to sit close to her beastly host. This made her feel fractionally better, although the level of formality was beyond her expectations. The hall was fit for royalty.

Having arrived first, she took the chance to inspect the table more closely.

The two settings were very different. One was laid with a pressed linen serviette, silver cutlery, and an assortment of fine cuisines. The other setting included a very large plate, no serviette, a single two-pronged fork as cutlery, and meat and bread and coarsely chopped greens heaped on a platter.

Where was the beast? Her eyes swept the stone archways, but she seemed quite alone. Elegant string music floated through the room from an unseen source, and the only other sound was the crackling fire. The hearth was so big that Amelie would probably fit in it. The thought made her shiver, despite the pleasant temperature in the hall.

She dared not begin eating without her host, of course. However, she did move even closer to the table in what she hoped was a nonchalant fashion, drawn by the delectable scents. Her stomach ached with such hunger that she could barely stop herself from sampling the food.

“Good evening, Amelie.”

The rumble of his low, penetrating voice made Amelie turn around in fright.

The sight of the beast rendered her speechless, and she fought to keep her expression neutral. Unable to resist the urge, she took several steps backward. His frown deepened.

He was unlike any man Amelie had ever encountered. Her first thought was that she’d need to stand on a high stool to reach his eye level. He was so unnaturally tall—not to mention bulky and broad and wild-looking.

Everything about him looked somehow painful, his massive shoulders slightly crooked, and prominent veins bulging from his arms and hands. He wore navy trousers and a white shirt, which did little to hide the badly-healed scars and ghoulish tattoos covering his arms, hands, neck, and the visible part of his chest. The ink was everywhere except his face, which was heavily scarred on one side. The scarring pulled the corner of his mouth down, creating a permanent expression of dismay. His dark brown hair was thick and long and unruly.

Amelie swallowed hard. Was it ruder to look away, or to hold his gaze? Even his irises were the most unusual shade of garnet. She considered forcing herself to speak, but didn’t trust herself not to stammer. Her body trembled in the fine silk dress.

Her anxiety mounting, she suddenly became conscious of the exaggerated way the bodice pushed forth her breasts. Without thinking, she tried to yank the white chiffon farther across her prominent cleavage. Of course, she could not, because the sheer material was merely decorative. She immediately regretted trying. All she’d achieved was to draw more attention to her bust.

The beast’s wine-red eyes had remained on her face as she tugged on the chiffon. It could’ve just been the scarring, but she thought she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. She supposed she was here as some kind of plaything for him.

He extended a hand.

“You are to call me Davron,” he said with a hint of a growl. “Only the villagers call me Lord, or Beast. The latter seldom to my face.”

“P-pleasure to make your acquaintance, Davron.”

Amelie curtsied and put her hand in his, willing herself to behave with grace. If her father was alive, he would be displeased at her gawking and stuttering over the unusual appearance of a person. She felt a stab of guilt for having referred to Davron as a beast in her head.

He bent low to kiss her hand. As he did so, she noticed two things. First, it was Davron who smelled of the incense and fresh-cut pine she’d detected when she arrived that afternoon. And second, that he had six fingers on each hand. The extra digits only heightened her impression that he could easily seize and crush a human skull with a single tattooed hand.

His kiss was surprisingly precise, his lips gently but deliberately touching the top of her hand. An invisible warm imprint remained on her skin where he’d kissed her, even as he stood back, released her hand, and pulled out her chair. While he was undeniably singular, she had to admit that he did not yet seem to live up to the vicious image she’d had in her head.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat.

She had rightfully guessed that her setting was the one with fine silver cutlery and a serviette.

He nodded, and then went to the other end of the table. Despite his towering size, he did not stomp and lumber, the way large men often did. There was an animalistic, stalking quality to the way he moved. Maybe, even, a hint of self-consciousness.

Once seated, Davron took up his fork without ceremony and began piling food on the plate in front of him, hunched over like Amelie wasn’t there. In the absence of pleasantries, she decided she may as well eat, too, because she was famished.

Davron’s imposing appearance made her realize she’d been foolish to worry about him poisoning the food. If he wished to hurt her, he’d not need to go to such lengths. All he’d need to do is pluck her off the ground and do as he pleased.

As she examined the platters arranged around her setting, she frowned slightly in bemusement. The dishes, still steaming hot, were all of her favorites. In the center was a fragrant boeuf Bourguignon stew with tender chunks of meat. There was also crispy glazed Duck a l’Orange, a tureen containing creamy potato and leek soup, smoked trout, chicken liver pâté, fresh bread with truffle butter, a board of soft and hard cheeses, and for dessert, a tarte tatin—the spiced apple pie glistening in the candlelight and sided with a dish of whipped cream.

Her wine glass was full of a sparkling pink ferment, and carafes of wine, liqueurs, and water sat within her reach. In a nobleman’s house, a footman would usually serve dinner, she knew. Davron apparently did not follow this custom.

Amelie laid her serviette on her lap and transferred portions of the dishes to her plate. With a glance at Davron, who was still ignoring her and shoveling food into his mouth with the two-pronged fork, she began eating. She closed her eyes briefly with the first mouthful of the boeuf Bourguignon. The meat melted on her tongue, the flavors smoky and complex.

She sipped the wine, which was fruity and light, and spread truffle butter on the bread to enjoy alongside the soup. After polishing off the stew, she ate the tender duck, the combination of sweetness and savory saltiness delighting her. The cheese board included several she had never tried before, and she tasted each in turn.

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