Page 89 of Beau and the Beast

She opened the door and stepped into the study, Song and James crowding into the doorway to watch her go. Everything was fine in the study—no evidence of a struggle, no evidence of Beau having been in the room.

She reached the door to Wolfram’s bedroom and paused. She could hear Beau talking, couldn’t make out the words—but he sounded calm.

She knocked and the voice stopped. There was a long pause, the sound of quiet talking, and then Beau was there, opening the door.

“Morning Violet,” he said cheerfully.

The room behind him was a mess: the mattress pulled halfway off the bed and ripped across its center, one floor lamp upended, and Wolfram seated on the edge of the scene, cradling his head in his hands.

“Beau—are you alright? Are both of you ok?”

Beau nodded. “We’re good. Thank you for coming to check.”

“We heard a… noise, and—“

“I know,” Beau said patiently through a placid smile. “We had a misunderstanding. But it’s fine now.”

“It was my fault, Vi,” Wolfram said, not looking up at her. He looked and sounded miserable.

Beau hitched an eyebrow but nodded. “Itwashis fault. But it’s ok.”

There was something bizarre going on and Violet couldn’t decide if she ought to be concerned. Beau’s calm handling of the situation made her want to trust him, but the chaos steps away in the room meant that there was no way she was about to leave him there alone with Wolfram.

“What were youdoingin here, Beau?”

Beau’s cool and collected act fell away for a moment, leaving him stammering and blushing.

Her mouth fell open.

Oh my God are they—did they really—Jesus Christ Violet, how does that foot in your mouth taste?

“I had a nightmare last night,” Beau said finally, though the blush high on his cheeks begged to differ. “And I didn’t want to be alone. Wolfram was kind enough to let me stay in his suite.”

She wanted to ask more—wanted to know what the hell had happened after that—but Beau’s firm, diplomatic answers communicated clearly that he’d drawn a line and no, she wasn’t welcomed to ask.

“I’ll go tell the others that you’re ok,” she said, finally. “Sorry I barged in.”

“Not at all,” Beau said. “No harm done. I appreciate you checking on us.”

He shut the door and she turned to face James and Song across the study.

Violet’s mind reeled. He’d gone to Wolfram because he’d had anightmare?

She’d almost forgotten that Beau was so young and so goddamn naïve. He’d fled a bad dream to go share a room with a living, breathing nightmare.

* * *

Loathing washedover Wolfram in hot waves.

It was as if the entire morning had been designed to make him hate himself in the most intricate, novel new ways possible.

And it was made worse by howunderstandingBeau was—and howunafraid.

Because wouldn’t it have been easier, then, if Beau’s opinion of him had changed? He’d seen what Wolfram was capable of and he hadn’t faltered in the face of it. He was illogical and unmoving and loyal and that frightened Wolfram to his core.

When Violet was gone, he returned to Wolfram’s side.

“Are you alright? Your head?” Wolfram asked.

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