A Rose for the Beast

Unbelievable Revelations

Half a bottle of whisky later and Rosalie decided the plan may have gone slightly astray. That's what she concluded as she wavered to stand, knocking her half-empty glass over and spilling the amber liquid.

The drunken servants laughed loudly, thoroughly entertained by her inebriated actions. Mr. Dubois fell over, clutching his stomach, unable to contain his chortling. Even Michel chuckled as he slouched back in his seat, the effect of alcohol evident in his sluggish movements and relaxed expression.

Rosalie abandoned her manners and polite attitude by giving them all her middle finger. It only served to further their amusement as they erupted in laughter again.

She staggered to the doorway, intending to traverse the blurry maze ahead of her and fall peacefully into bed; earlier plans forgotten. By the time she'd reached the grand staircase, Michel had caught up to her. She felt a slight pang of jealousy when she realized how steady he seemed. Her plans had definitely backfired.

"They're just having a bit of fun," he said, taking her hand when she wobbled.

Rosalie giggled, grasping his arm like an anchor holding her in place. Looking up at his chiseled face, she gave him a goofy grin.

"I know, bel homme. I jus need ta rest abit. It's soo crowded in herre," she paused and looked around, "I mean, there."

Michel smiled at her slurred speech and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I think perhaps you've had a bit too much to drink, belle Rose."

Beautiful Rose..., she repeated the phrase in her mind, more than a little giddy at the compliment. She blamed the alcohol.

Her head swam and she swayed. Michel swept her up and carried her upstairs. In her drunken state she almost didn't notice him turning left to head to the West Wing. Instead of going to his room, he stopped at a door midway down the hall. She'd been so enraptured by the chaos and mysterious light before that she hadn't perceived any other rooms in the hall.

Michel shifted her in his arms so he could open the door, then walked inside. The candlelit hall provided little light. She couldn't make out anything in the shadows.

He set her down gently on something soft, then moved away. Rosalie listened to him rummage for a little while. Then, she heard the sound of a flint striking against steel. Looking in his direction, she watched him aim the sparks into a basin filled with oil, igniting it instantly. The fire spread out from the basin through a U-shaped tube on the walls, rapidly chasing away the darkness.

As the room revealed itself within the orange glow of the fire, her eyes grew wide in awe. From wall to wall, shelves surrounded the room, but what had her almost drooling in shock were the thousands of books contained within.

She slowly rose to stand and spun awkwardly in place, taking in every inch of the heavenly sight. Gazing up, she saw the shelves reached the high ceiling. Rolling ladders were placed in several areas, leading to the second floor walkway. The categorized stories from around the world, some worn from age, completely stole her breath away.

Overwhelmed by the multitude of books and the overpowering effects of alcohol, she collapsed. Michel's arms seized her before she hit the marble floor. As she tried to stabilize herself, she looked up at him. He observed her, seemingly captivated.

"You like the library."

She smiled and nodded enthusiastically. She stopped when her mind started spinning again.

"Rose, I-"

Rosalie waited for him to finish, comfortable in the warmth of his embrace. He withdrew from her, taking the heat with him.

"I wish you could stay, but I can't put you in anymore danger."

She pouted and lowered her head. He was dismissing her from his home. Her mood slipped and Rosalie sighed softly.

"I could come back once in a while. Or you could come visit me?," she hated how hopeful she sounded.

"It is forbidden."

"By whom?"

Rosalie wondered if he would retreat behind his carefully constructed walls as he turned away from her. The Michel she knew would give her an ambiguous answer or none at all. Then, he left her completely speechless with his response.

"The so-called queen," he said, "...My betrothed."