The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(29)

“So why the Beastly moniker?” wondered Rhys aloud.

“Well…according to the kindly man who oversees the library, she is…ahem…considered a beautiful but funny girl…a bit of a peculiar one. She never quite fit into their small provincial life. Always with her nose in a book when she was younger. Only to grow up and essentially take over her father’s business. As it so happens, the men at the perfumery resent her masculine ways. They think she should be more concerned about finding a husband and having children.”

“So for that she is called Beastly?”

“Ahem…well…the moniker is not totally undeserved,” hemmed Gonsalvus.

“Go on,” urged Rhys.

“It seems your father’s spies did get something correct. Your intended…ahem…is known for having a…small…tiny…almost insignificant…”

“Out with it, Gonsalvus,” barked Rhys.

“Temper!” he burst out with a slightly petulant look at his own employer’s display of the same emotion.

Rhys brushed his knuckles over the scratches on his cheek. He was well aware of her temper. It was one of the things that drew him to her. A beautiful woman with spirit.

“If that will be all, your highness, I will return to my duties,” offered Gonsalvus with mock formal civility.

“By that I can only assume you mean the baker’s pretty daughter?” teased Rhys.

Gonsalvus gave an unapologetic shrug. “Ah, when duty calls, who am I to question the hows and whys? Plus she is very free with her tongue.”

“So she is your main source of information on Beatrice?”

“Ahem…sure, that too. Good evening, your highness,” said Gonsalvus with a bow before leaving the stable. The sound of Rhys’ laughter ringing about him.



Rhys strolled up the dark lane leading back to the estate. Even a swim in the chilly waters of the river which bordered the property could not quell his heated blood. The prince in him knew it would have been wrong to take his intended earlier that evening. She was his future queen. She deserved better than a fast rutting in a field. The man in him disagreed. The moment he saw the defiant fire in those large amber eyes. The arrogant twist to those full lips. The insolent way she gripped that riding crop as if she was just bold enough to try to use it on him. Something roared to life inside of him that just kept shouting…mine…take…claim. It was all he could do not to release his cock and bury it deep within her making sure she fully understood who her master was now. Keeping a tight rein on his urges, it had to be enough to discipline her for her risky actions. She would have to learn quickly he would not tolerate such dangerous behavior from this point forward. Granted that lesson would be far easier for her to accept from the prince her future husband as opposed to her servant stable master but he still had no intention of revealing his true identity just yet.

Gazing up at the large manor house, his eyes were drawn to the only light shining through a pair of large glass doors. The slim silhouette of a figure was visible against the candlelight. The gently sloping shoulders. The narrow, tucked in waist. The generous swell of hip. He would know that form from anywhere. His step faltered as she walked out onto the balcony. Dressed in a pale blue dressing gown so silky sheer it might as well have been gossamer. Her beautiful locks, brushed to a bright gold, fell in waves down her back. Staring out over the dark valley, she looked like a lioness surveying her domain. Proud. Beautiful.

Her head dipped as she shifted her gaze to the gardens directly below her balcony…where Rhys now stood. He found himself holding his breath. Could she sense his presence? Did she know her mate was near? The transfixing moment was broken by the sound of footfalls and low chatter coming from the workmen’s quarter. Rhys watched as Beatrice’s eyes flew to the sound before turning to flee to the safety of her rooms, leaving the glass doors open. The curtains billowing in the gentle night breeze.

The workmen continued to approach. No one noticed Rhys in the shadows.

“Quit your staring, Gaston. She’s gone in. Let’s get to the pub,” groused one workman.

“Like you’d ever have a prayer with the likes of her,” piped up another one.

“I heard her pa’s all but married her off to some fancy prince,” chimed in a third.

“Shut your traps,” ordered Gaston. “I don’t care what her pa’s plans are for the uppity chit. I plan to have my taste.”

“Well you better hurry it up. I heard that fancy prince will be here within a fortnight,” taunted the first workman.

“Oh, I’ll get into her honey trap soon. Won’t that be sweet? Some limp dick prince will be dipping his cock in my seconds,” said Gaston with a disturbing laugh.

There was a low growl from deep within the garden. All the men turned, uneasily staring into the darkness.

“Let’s get out of here. I got a beer and a barmaid waiting on me,” boasted Gaston.

Rhys watched them leave with clenched fists. He would take care of them later, especially the one called, Gaston. No one presumed to take what was his. The prince in him be damned. He was a man first. A man about to claim what was his.



Rhys dropped his boots, linen shirt and leather jerkin on the ground. Dressed only in breeches, he tested the weight of a trellis of rose vines leading up to her window. Ignoring the pricks and stings of the thorns, he determinedly made his way up the manor wall. Hand over hand, with only one goal in sight. Reaching the thick stone balustrade of the balcony, he swung one leg over, before silently landing on both feet.