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He was a monster.
A real one.
And Belle learned that too late.
They had a son.
Rhys.
My hand goes completely still against Soleil’s back as pieces of a story I haven’t thought about in years begin falling into place. I look around the enormous bedroom, then toward the corridor beyond the open door, thinking of the endless stone halls, the ancient portraits, the greenhouse hidden deep within the castle and the beautiful dark-haired woman whose painted face I touched earlier.
Belle.
That was his mother.
I look at Rhys again, studying him more carefully now while I try to make his face fit the story I grew up hearing. He’s older than me, yes, but not by much. I’ll be twenty-three next month, and he can’t possibly be more than ten years older.
Then I remember the scars covering his chest.
He can’t be the Beast.
But he can be his son.
“Rhys Villeneuve,” I say quietly.
He pauses with one hand wrapped around a candle as I slowly get to my feet. He becomes so still that I know before asking that I’m right.
“Is that who you are?”
He continues staring at me without answering.
I glance toward the doorway and the castle beyond it before looking at him again. “Your mother was Belle.”
His jaw tightens.
“And your father…” I swallow, remembering how my father always lowered his voice at that part of the story, afraid speaking of the Beast too loudly might somehow summon him. “Your father was the Beast.”
Still, Rhys says nothing.
“I thought you were a fairy tale,” I whisper.
The candle in his hand snaps cleanly in half.
“A fairy tale,” he repeats darkly.
I step backward, careful to avoid Soleil’s tail as she winds around my feet. Rhys looks down at the faded carpet, one of the countless things in this castle that time has worn without completely erasing how beautiful it must once have been.
“Is that what the village says of my family?” he asks.
I’m not sure there is a right answer.
“There are many versions,” I say quietly.
His shoulders go rigid. “Tell me them.”
I glance toward the open door before I can stop myself, measuring the distance even though I know I wouldn’t make it more than a few steps.
“Do not run from me, Boone,” he growls.
