Cursed

13. Daurien's Frustration

13. Daurien's Frustration

Candleholder came into the room looking especially sheepish.
“Sir,” he began and I jumped up from my seat expecting him to present her, “she won't come.”
“What?”
“She–she won't leave her room.”
“Then convince her to.”
“I tried, sir, but she refuses.” I collapsed back into my chair dejectedly. I hadn't expected this. I thought maybe she would sit as far away from me as possible in disgust or look away in horror, but not that she wouldn't come out at all. Well, this couldn't last forever, she would get hungry eventually. I decided to expect her to come at lunch. I ordered candleholder to bring me my enchanted mirror.
“Show me Belle.” She appeared in the glass and it seemed that she was hiding underneath the covers of her bed. She just lay there with the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. I gave the mirror back to candleholder and ate my breakfast in disappointed silence. When I was done, I stood and left the kitchen to spend the rest of my morning grouchily in the library.

…

When the next meal was ready, I was called to the dining room as usual. She didn't come. I wasn't happy. What if she refused to come out forever? What if she decided that I was so terrible she would rather die of starvation in her room than come out and eat with me? What if she never even gave me a chance?

…

“My lord,” came Candleholder, “dinner is served.”

“Has she opened the door?” I asked eagerly.

“No, my lord.” I growled in frustration, “I will go try again,” he scuttled off, sensing a possible break in my temper. He had good instincts. I stormed after him loudly.

Candleholder knocked on the door and again more forcefully when he saw that I had followed him.

“The master demands that you join him for dinner,” he called. There was no answer. I let out a frustrated growl and approached the door.

“Open the door!” I roared and not a word crept through from the other side, “I said open the DOOR!”
“No!” she screamed but the sound was muffled as if by a pillow or blanket.
“You can't stay in there forever!” I bellowed back.
“Watch me!” There was a soft thump as something light hit the wall.
“I'll break down the door!” I threatened and for a moment, I wasn't sure whether I was bluffing or not.
“I hate you!” I let out another growl as I tried to mask the effects of what felt like something hard and heavy dropping to the pit of my stomach.
“Fine! Don't come out. You can go ahead and starve yourself for all I care!” I spun on my heals and headed straight for my chambers.

I was sitting in my comfy chair brooding when Candleholder walked in with a bow.

“I've lost my appetite,” I grumbled in his direction. I just wanted to be left alone. He understood and backed out of the room with another low bow.

…

I was startled awake by the sound of bustling cutlery in the kitchen. What could possible be so important at this hour? As I crept out of my chambers and peaked into the kitchen, I found my answer. Belle.

She was seated at the end of the long dinning room table with a large pile of toast before her.

“What is your name, dear?” Candleholder asked her with another one of his signature bows.
“Belle.” Her voice was soft and melodic as it left her lips.
“What a lovely name,” sang the teapot, “almost as lovely as yourself.” Belle blushed deeply and looked down at her hands. She looked sad, almost regretful. I could not fathom why.
“Thank you,” she smiled. It was a sad, embarrassed smile.
“You know, the master is not so terrible.” I strained to hear her reply eagerly, almost greedily, but all I got from her was a terrible shocked look of disbelief. That heavy feeling at the pit of my stomach returned.
“Oh, don't look so surprised, he does have a bit if a temper but also a good heart.”
“I'm his prisoner,” was her blunt reply. The feeling grew worse.
“I'm not saying you haven't a reason to be angry, just that you should give him a chance, get to know him.”
“I don't want to get to know him, I want to go home.” she hid her face in her hands and I couldn't help but do the same.
“Why don't you come out for breakfast tomorrow.”
“No, I don't want to see him,” and the word ever came to mind and seemed to ring out loudly in the room as the unspoken curse it was.
“Do it for us,” pleaded the candleholder. She shook her head roughly and stood from her chair. I took it as my cue to leave and made my way back to my chambers as lightfootedly as I could so as not to alarm her.