
Welcome to Beauty’s Beast, book 3 in the Black Trans Fairy Tales series. This novella is releasing one chapter/week on the blog ahead of publication.
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Belle itched. She wore white from head to toe, a dress that tucked in at her waist and flowed into a short train behind her. White flowers braided into her hair. White paint on her nails. A white bouquet in her hands like enough white could cover up the fact that the town had never seen her as herself from the start.
She stood at the end of the petal-strewn path—white petals of course—her face thick with makeup and a headache rising out of the tight braids in her hair. She wore her ballet flats from the castle under her layers of skirting. Amanda had insisted she wear a pair of tall heels with a peaking toe but Belle had a feeling this day wouldn’t end in the celebration everyone was expecting and she had swapped the shoes when no one was looking. In the end, it wouldn’t be her shoes people remembered.
The only other deviation she’d insisted on left her standing alone with her bouquet. Her father was safe at the castle, so no one stood beside her ready to give her away to the groom. Sif had tried to rope one of Gaston’s men into the role but Belle put her foot down and glared until he left again. She’d learned a great deal about establishing her own boundaries while living at the castle and her glare was quite sharp, now. She was proud of it.
She tried to wipe it off her face and adopt more pleasant expression. She was supposed to be effused with love for Gaston. How did the ladies do it all the time? She couldn’t force herself to adopt a fawning expression and settled for neutral.
The music started.
Belle stepped forward, through a gauzy curtain of white rose petals and into a crowd of the entire town. Every single person had dressed up for the occasion, even tying their children into formal knots and sitting in perfectly neat little rows. And rows and rows. So many eyes on her all at once left her feeling naked.
Several disbelieving gasps made Belle wince. She’d been shaved and powdered and painted but it didn’t matter how feminine she looked. To most of these people she was just… not enough.
Belle held her head high, her. It didn’t matter what they thought, or even what Gaston thought. The only thing that mattered was protecting Quinn and the staff in the castle. She’d go through with this a thousand times if it meant they’d be safe.
Her steps were confident and firm. She marched through the judgmental stares without hesitation, only flicking her eyes to the side far enough to spot Lukas staged to her left just beyond the seating. His pony stood hitched to a small book-and-tea cart she recognized as the mobile stall he brought to the town square every week for the market.
He spotted her looking and signed across the distance, “I delivered your letter.” No one noticed his message, and if they saw him signing, they wouldn’t know what he said anyway.
Belle touched one hand to her chin and smiled, covering the thank you with her flowers. She needed to ask him all kinds of questions, but there simply hadn’t been time. Not with three ladies watching her every move these past few days.
Her shoulders relaxed a bit, the tension of Quinn and the others not knowing finally resolved. She took a deep breath and even managed to keep her smile in place. Let her audience think she was in love with Gaston. If only they knew the family she’d found in the castle. They’d choke on their drinks.
Gaston stood proudly at the end of the walk, dressed, as usual, in his red sporting jacket and brass buttons. He wore the sword on one hip and white gloves on his hands. His black hair shined with oil and someone had even trimmed up the edges. If he never opened his mouth he might be handsome.
But Belle knew better.
She’d always been the only one to know.
Three men flanked Gaston to match Belle’s three ladies, all lined up at the front of the crowd with a gap that waited for her. She stepped into place, handed her bouquet to Sif as planned, and turned to face Gaston. She felt Amanda straighten the train of her dress so it looked nice while they exchanged vows.
Belle took another deep breath and placed her hands delicately into Gaston’s waiting grip. He squeezed her fingers and smirked down at her.
Belle flashed him a dazzling smile. It was that or snarl and she had a role to play. The confused and alarmed expression that flickered into his eyes made her grin even more. Let him worry, it would keep him in line.
She squared her shoulders, prepared for this necessary and grim task. Her father taught her when she was young that he’d do anything in the world to protect her. It was time to return the favor.
The music came to a gentle pause and every person present held their breath.
Then a crash of noise and a familiar raised voice disrupted the back of the wedding. The delicate arch of white flowers Belle had walked through crashed to one side as Belle’s father shoved it to the ground and marched up the center isle. His eyes blazed with dark anger and he held his side with one hand as he approached, out of breath and full of fury. Like he’d run the entire way back from the castle the moment he’d received Belle’s letter.
Belle’s eyes went wide. She tried to pull her hands from Gaston’s grip, but he held her fast. His expression darkened as it fell on Maurice and when he spoke it was with a growl. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Belle’s father stood tall under Gaston’s stare and said, “I’m stopping this farce of a wedding. Belle doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even like you. And I agree with her. You’re a creep, Gaston. A prowling slime dressed in pretty clothing. You don’t deserve to marry my daughter and I should have put you off years ago.”
“How dare you!” Gaston pulled his sword with one hand, facing off against Maurice.
Belle broke free and grabbed her skirts, rushing to stand beside her father. The ladies behind her all shrieked in alarm. Belle projected her voice for the crowd. “It’s true, I’ve never wanted Gaston’s attention. He could have entertained any other woman in town, there were plenty who asked for his smile.”
There were titters in the crowd, ladies who had vied for Gaston’s eye suddenly banding together. Then Laurien, of all people, came to Belle’s rescue. She stood among the seats, her yellow hat matching her yellow dress, fluffed at the shoulders and her lips painted pink. “Gaston have you pursued Belle after she told you no?” Her voice, high pitched, fell like a warning across the listening crowd. Women began whispering.
And Gaston saw the tide turning against him.
He swiped his sword in the air and dropped the mask he’d been wearing for so long. His eyes hardened and he hissed, “I could have any one of you at the drop of a hat. You threw yourself at me. All of you but her.” He pointed at Belle with his sword.
From the side of the wedding party, Petrea crossed her arms and said flatly, “Theres a word for men who won’t take no for an answer.”
More women stood up in the seats, nodding their agreement, dragging their husbands and brothers to their feet. Words like monster and bastard rose up in hissing tones. Voices of encouragement sprang up around Belle and her heart lifted with hope. Perhaps Gaston would learn from the village itself that his behavior was unacceptable.
Gaston slid his sword back into its scabbard and took a step back as he assessed the crowd. Then his gaze landed heavily on Belle and he sneered. “I’ll kill your precious beast for this,” he spat. He grabbed two of his closest men and shouted for his horse.
Belle’s hope shattered like glass and she spun in place, looking for an answer. She was in the middle of a crowd now, people standing and pushing closer, shouting at Gaston, at each other. Women trying to gather around in support when what she really needed was a way out. She had to get back to the castle.
“Ladies!” she shouted. Heads swiveled to her instantly and Belle leveraged their desire to take action. “I need to get to the castle before Gaston! He’s going to kill my friend.”
A path pealed open through the crowd, bordered by women shoving their men aside, shouting at them to get their swords and horses. At the end of it stood Lukas with his pony. The animal had already been unhitched from the tea cart.
Lukas waved. “Belle!”
Belle gathered her skirts and ran, but the dress was unwieldy and awkward. She skidded to a stop beside Lukas and with both hands, ripped a hand-span of fabric right off the bottom of her skirt to shorten it up. She used the strip to tie up her cords of hair and girdled the rest of the fabric so she could mount the pony bareback.
“Maurice and I will meet you there,” Lukas said, “Go!”
Belle gathered the pony’s mane in her hands and kicked it into a gallop. Her heart thudded with the beat of the hooves, rattling in her throat with fear. If Gaston made it to the castle first…
She wouldn’t let him.
Belle bent over her pony and raced to Quinn.
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