Beast by Abigail Barnette

of her clothing. She kept her chin up and her gaze as well. “Unhand me!”
    Philipe’s grip tightened. “I came to your bed last night because you were screaming. You were screaming and weeping and you called my name. You called out for me, Johanna. What would you have me do, then? Leave you?”
    “You did before.” She spat the words at him. Though he released her, and his eyes went wide with shock, his reaction did not satisfy her as she had hoped it might. She stepped back, feeling the oddest sense of remorse. She opened her mouth to take back the words, thinking herself the biggest fool for even considering an apology to him, when a loud, clear horn blast broke the morning silence.
    As if that noise had erased all that had just happened, Philipe turned from her and rushed to the window. The horn had obviously made him forget his sense of decency, as well, for he made no move to cover himself. It said something about him, that he was so comfortable with his nudity, and Johanna’s lip curled in disgust. He probably strutted about unclothed all the time, with a harem of women to pleasure him whenever he snapped his fingers. And he felt his father was an unfit king. Johanna had the sudden urge to push him out the window.
    “It’s Wilhelm,” Philipe said, but it was not the joyous exclamation it should have been. At the dismay in his voice, she ran to the window to join him.
    Below, Wilhelm, a streak of black upon his black horse, sped toward the castle, snow flying up in great clouds. Behind him, gaining ground, a group of twenty riders pursued him. Johanna’s stomach went suddenly sour.
    Philipe ran for the door, and Johanna turned her eyes away from the sight of death rampaging across the valley. Lightheaded, she used the wall as a guide to follow Philipe downstairs. By the time she reached the lower room, he had pulled on breeches and his ruined shirt. He sat to pull on his boots, every movement quick and purposeful.
    “What do you mean to do?” she asked, hoping she knew the answer, praying she did not.
    He looked up, his mouth a grim, pressed slash over his face. “What I have to do.”
     
    The damned woman displayed neither sense nor reason. He found Jessop’s horse in a battered, blackened stable stall. He set about saddling the gelding and ignoring the sound of the creaking steps from the balcony. Hadn’t he told her to stay hidden?
    “Go back inside,” he ordered, as she ran, slippers whispering on the ice, into the stable.
    “Go back and what, wait to be raped and murdered by soldiers?” She made a haughty noise of disapproval. “I think not. I shall ride out with you.”
    “And what? Freeze to death?” He would not have her death on his hands, not if he could help it.
    But her death is already on your hands, you idiot. It was you that brought this trouble upon the both of them, when you could have died with dignity outside of Lord Feuil’s door.
    Angrily, she went to where the tack hung and took down the bit and bridle. “That is my brother out there! I will not have him die alone!”
    “We all die alone, lady,” Philipe reminded her. “Would you rather he watch his beloved sister cut down before his very eyes?”
    “Would you rather he die hating himself for abandoning me?” She turned away angrily. “Fine. Go out and die for all I care. Leave me here to rot. You’ve proven quite adept at that, if nothing else.”
    “Damnit, will you shut your hateful mouth?” He snapped, then, taking a deep breath, calmed his temper. “I am trying to do right by you, and by your brother. Let me do it.”
    She threw her hands up as she walked away. “Go, make your grand show of dying, then.”
    He closed his eyes and took a breath. If he’d had time, he would have gone to her and tried to comfort her. But there was no comforting a woman like Johanna, even if he capitulated and stayed behind. That, he would not do. Besides, it was not his place to comfort her.
    His arm protested mightily when he