I was going to die.

The flames licked at my ankles, the skin around my feet already beginning to rot and peel from the force of the fire, red and amber and gold like claws. The hem of my white dress was charred and torn, the lace and satin already ruined.

I stared into the eyes of my betrothed, Crown Prince of Arrenspire and the man who had tied me to this very pyre. All around him, a spectacular crowd of onlookers peered over bobbing heads to catch a glimspe of the burning girl - a girl who had been incessantly accused of practicing witchcraft.

Gaston Aginkov grinned at me, his pearly teeth baring from across the immaculate lawn where he sat, a dainty crown of erroneous gold atop his head. It was hard to believe that almost a few minutes ago, I was going to be this heartless man's faithful little wife.

The blaze grew, slithering up the length of my legs like feathers. I didn't struggle, didn't even scream.

Most people would have already shriveled from the impact of the fire by now, or collapsed right there on the pyre from the shock. But I didn't feel the pain. I couldn't even if I tried.

The glow of the flames cast shadows about the faces of the spectators surrounding me, children and adults alike, some drawn in glorious horror, others twisting in flawless disgust. I knew those people once, but all that familiarity had vanished the second they realized Belle Vanestine was a witch.

And they were right. All of them.

I was a witch, an abnormality, and they had every right to be afraid.

I tilted my head back to the wooden stake I was strapped to, the chains buckled around my body red and searing. Tresses of my hair fell over my eyes as I watched the crown prince defiantly.

The moment I'd set foot into the royal palace of Arrenspire, I'd known something was frightfully wrong. But I had been too slow to respond, too foolish to have just simply agreed with my father to let the prince take my hand in marriage - I, a bastard princess with nothing but magic running through my blood.

The fire arched higher, taking with it the dust and soot and dry grass that littered the ground at my feet. It crackled like the snap of a whip, sparked like the splinter of bones.

But it would all be over soon.

I held on a little longer, listening to the sound of whispers journeying over the courtyard, the sound of distant hoofbeats pulsating against stone, and listened to the sound of screams that suddenly filled the air.

My eyes flickered to the wrought iron gates leading into the castle grounds, to the sentries that dropped to the cobble pavements one by one. Torches fell from their place, setting the entire courtyard aflame. Arrows whistled through the air, the singing of blades echoing in the restless night.

The prince leapt to his feet from his throne, fists clenched as his loyal guards rushed to him in a frenzy of shrieks and fire and fleeing townspeople. Arrowheads embedded themselves in throats, daggers that whizzed past my head finding their target in the bodies of guards that plunged to the grass. And from my spot there in the center of the chaotic lawn, I saw the silhouette of horses - dozens of them - galloping past the gates, hooded riders like wraiths against the lambence of the moon.

A cry made my gaze shoot to the empty throne Gaston Aginkov hade occupied not long ago, the coarse embossment of gold gleaming wickedly under the firelight. Then I felt hands on me, rough and hurried and wrong. Icy blue eyes met my own locks of midnight hair cascading down a face darkened in wrath.

My arms abruptly began to tug beyond the bonds of the shackles, trying to liberate themselves enough to push the crown prince away. I thrashed on the pyre, floundering helplessly as Gaston's hands tangled with my chains, his guards forming a shield around us, blocking us from the rest of the world.

"Let me go!" I hissed at him through my teeth, dark blue skies looming ahead like a storm. "Let me go, you damned bastard!"

He clenched his jaw, his burly, athletic build towering over me as I was ripped from the pyre and into his arms. "Keep your mouth shut, wretch" he seethed, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

I kicked and flailed, but he easily trapped me against his chest, and everything I could do in that instant was useless.

The sound of a blade dragging out of its sheathe cleaved the air, and I didn't feel the sting in my eyes until the weapon's jagged tip grazed along the base of my neck, making its way to the column of my throat. My heart was bursting from my ribcage, each beat resounding with a throb of agony.

I was really going to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the darkness to take me as Gaston's voice filled my ears, as the sword pressed against my neck.

Something cool brushed past my ear, a caress of shadows that was all too familiar.

My Beast was here.

Gaston, with a blood-curdling howl that resonated with the wind, shoved himself away from me, the spill of crimson staining the stalks of green beneath his polished boots. My limbs still immobilized, I rolled to the ground, the damp feel of grass tickling my bare back.

Strong arms heaved me up, a pair of lacquered emerald eyes finding mine amongst the constant blur of ash and fire. I was swung onto the back of the stallion, the rider's body caging me in as the mount tossed its enormous head and stamped back toward the gates. A scarred, beautiful face turned to me, dark and forlorn and dangerously transfixing.

"Princess," he murmured, spurring the horse forward with his large, calloused hands. Everything stopped - everything hushed.

I freed a hand from the loose chains, stroking the violent marks that ran down the side of his face, my skin so pale against his. "You came," I whispered to him, flattening myself against the broad span of his chest. He nodded, and everything melted away around us.

Tyr Silvestre pulled me into him, burying all the darkness away as we galloped out of the courtyard.