Page 59 of Beast and Remedy
No. He didn’t kill Mama. You know he didn’t, Vi.
He would never do such a thing.Never.
Too many skilled warriors and hunters participated in the celebratory hunt on our name day. Kings, princes, princesses, and citizens all gathered and joined in.
It could have been anyone.
But Marian told me Beau was the one carrying Mama’s corpse, and it was all Papa could see—all he could think about. And no matter how hardeveryonetried to convince him otherwise, he only believed what he saw, believed it was evidence enough to cast out our closest allies and brand them as enemies.
Papa didn’t even try to listen to Beau or Beau’s advisors, too consumed with grief and pain and rage. He hardly listened to me, Marian, Jean, and Pierre. Rather, he became a shell of a person, his temper igniting anytime we brought up Mama and when we offered to look into finding her real killer.
He firmly believed and has stayed set in his ways all these years, refusing to budge, even consider a different possibility. The root cause of his stubbornness is too difficult to decipher now.
And no matter how hard we want him to heal, I’m afraid he refuses to let go of this because it is the last thing he truly has of her.
“Vi?” Marian pulls away, interrupting my thoughts. “You alright?”
“Yes,” I lie. “We better head down.”
I lose myself in nostalgia as we wander the familiar halls.
Memories of my younger years when Marian and I visited Torgem, enjoying the summers bunking with Jules or Christine. We’d play hide and seek and make-believe as children.
The boys, though older than us all, were happy to oblige and catered to all our wishes. The games evolved into reading sessions with Jules and Christine as my twin begged to go hunting with the men. Eventually, everyone went outdoors and ignored me, leaving me to spend most of my adolescence alone in a library full of books.
“Did the bath help?” Marian asks.
“Yes.” I sigh, the past still running through my thoughts.
I read every day when I visited Torgem, from morning until night. And only in my twenties did those late hours become a time when I wasn’t alone.
Beau would always find his way to me.
Keep him at a distance, Vi.
I can’t melt into his warmth—can’t show him how much he affects me.
I’ve been tight-lipped, thank Yeva. But if I’m not careful, I’m going to slip up. And I do not want anyone close by if that happens.
“Good. I was a little worried for you after so much riding,” Marian comments, and her conversation steers my thoughts to my sore legs.
I chuckle. “The heat soothed my thighs. But the chafing from riding, fuck, that stung.”
Marian bursts into a fit of laughter. “Chafing is the absolute worst.”
We snicker as we step down the grand marble staircase, following the staff carrying trays of food into the dining hall.
Attendants move around the area, silverware clanking against the porcelain plates they put down on the wide table stretching across the length of the room. Dozens of chairs line each side, and red roses reside in gilded vases, the soft fragrance of the blooms making my heart pang.
Candles light the surface in sets of three, blanketed by a long fabric runner for decoration. Lanterns hang on the walls, pairing with the crystal chandeliers, illuminating the area rather than the mural ceiling in the grand hall.
Marcel, Christine, and Jules sit close on the left side. Marcel arches back with a wide, toothy grin, while Jules and Christine hover over him, cheerful in conversation.
Beau and Leo discuss something private at the head of the table. Beau talks with his hands, whispering to Leo, closed off and scratching his jaw. Although younger, Leo still stands near his brother’s height, their bright blond hair cut and styled the same.
“Marian! Vi!”
Jules’s voice fills the room.
