Almost a week passed before Beau next saw the beast. He'd been taking meals in his room, waited on by the invisible servants he'd been told about in his dream. And in between meals, he explored. The castle had an inexhaustible excess of rooms: glittering ballrooms bathed in soft golden light; cosy studies with roaring fires; bedroom upon bedroom upon bedroom. They were beautiful, endless and empty.

It wasn't until he had explored almost every room in the castle's east wing that Beau came across the best one of them all.

The library.

Marble bookcases had been carved directly into the walls, filled with so many books Beau could barely see the polished stone that housed them. Books on poetry, history and travel. Fairytales, sword fights and never ending journeys. Romance, tragedy and classics that Beau could remember his tutor recommending to him in the years they had lived in town, when reading was as essential as drawing breath, rather than luxury confined to stolen moments as the day drew to an end.

Sunlight gleamed through wide windows that stretched up from the floor to a ceiling three levels above Beau's head. The ceiling was a piece of art in itself - sprawling patterns of intricate swirls gleaming in a shimmering gold that picked up the sunlight and bounced it around the room.

Beau took a deep breath, spinning slowly on the spot so he could take the room in from all sides. He'd never seen a place of such wonder before, never dreamed a world so perfect.

Perfect, that was, except the figure at the far end of the space. She'd been curled up in an armchair of crushed velvet when Beau had entered, absorbed in a leather-bound book of fragile, faded pages. When the door had clicked softly shut behind him, the beast had stirred, looking up from the world of her story to the boy before her. She gazed at his wonder, imagining what it would feel like to see this room for the first time. She had learnt to read among its stacks; had come to take for granted the ever present abundance of words. Stories were her escape; her salvation; her only remaining link to the world beyond the castle grounds. And she would not share her most sacred space. She rose to her feet.

"What are you doing here?"

Beau drew back, the horror of her appearance painted across his face like he was a work of art: a study in terror. His green eyes widened, his brow furrowing. He was handsome even when he was fearing for his life, she was frustrated to notice.

"I..." he trailed off. This was why she'd had that spell cast over the castle's other occupants; she'd grown accustomed to not witnessing the blood freezing in someone's veins whenever she rounded a corner. She growled her irritation, causing Beau to take a step backwards.

She expected him to turn and flee, but instead he steeled himself, swallowing down his fear before he spoke.

"I was exploring. I thought that was allowed? You never said that I had to stay in my room."

"You don't, but..." she trailed off, unable to think of a good enough reason why he shouldn't be in the library. 'Can you even read?" she snapped when she couldn't think of one. "I'm not having you pawing through my collection just for something to do. This is one of the finest libraries in the kingdom - it should only be used by those who can truly appreciate it."

Beau coloured, not with fear this time but anger. "Of course I can read! Just because I didn't grow up in a palace doesn't mean I don't know how to appreciate literature. Besides, books are for everyone - it's that sort of backwards thinking that prevents people from picking books up in the first place. You can't be elitist about books!"

She shook her ghostly head, the veil remaining oddly motionless as she moved, as if the illusion didn't quite know how to animate her clothing correctly. Not that she was actually wearing a veil, Beau realised with a start. He wondered what she actually was wearing. If anything at all - did she even need to bother with clothes if no one could see? His cheeks coloured at the thought.

"A pauper from the streets couldn't possibly hope to get as much from these novels as a well educated prince," the beast snapped, returning Beau's attention to their argument.

"Maybe the prince could learn more from a few days on the streets with the pauper than he could from any book if that's his attitude. Reading is a social equaliser."

"Reading is for those who have enough time to sit and properly consider what it is they're reading."

"Maybe if people like you spent less time sitting around considering and more time helping those who needed it, we could all get a bit more reading done."

"People like me?" She was roaring now and grew with her anger, until she towered above Beau.

But too enraged by her argument, he forgot his fear, refusing to be cowed by the trick. He stood firm, staring up into her vacant eyes.

"People like me?" she repeated when he didn't run from the room. "Monsters of the night? The nightmares that terrorise your dreams?"

"No," Beau replied, his voice rough at the edges. "Stuck up princesses who think they're better than everyone else because they grew up in a castle and are used to being waited on hand and foot."

"Get out of my library," she growled. It was a sound that could have made army veterans quake in fear, but Beau's feet remained planted to the ground as he reached for the nearest bookshelf and plucked off the closest volume, not caring what it was. With a challenging flash of his eyebrows he stalked over to a chair at the opposite end of the room and sat down, throwing his legs over the chair's arm.

The beast froze. No one, no one had weathered one of her rages before. No one had defied her so completely. She blinked, unsure what to do next. With a low growl, she turned and returned to her seat.

Beau was so angry he couldn't even take in the words in front of him. He blinked hard, taking a deep steadying breath in to calm his racing pulse. Had he really stood up to that thing? Where had that confidence come from? That rage? He tried his best to clear his mind and focus on the book in front of him; the one he had picked up in such a fit of blind fury that he hadn't even glanced at the title, with the result that he only now realised it had been written in a foreign script, the words indecipherable symbols to his untrained eyes.

He risked a glance towards the beast. She was watching him; or that was what he assumed she was doing, at least. It was hard to tell what was going on behind her expressionless face.

He couldn't risk exchanging the book for another, that much was clear. With exaggerated movements he sunk further into his chair, noisily turning the page and letting his eyes scan over the meaningless words. He wished there was a picture on the cover, like the books he borrowed from the library near the farm - something to tell him what kind of book it was and therefore what his response should be. He didn't want to risk laughing in case he'd picked up a tragedy, or frowning at something that he ought to find funny.

Losing patience in the charade, he glanced around the end of the room he was now seated in. He was in one of four opulent arm chairs, decorated with plush red velvet and gold edging. It had a musty, unused smell, although it was dust free, no doubt thanks to the invisible servants who haunted the castle. More books surrounded him. He was close enough to read their spines and was relieved to see that most were in a language he could actually read, so his next trip to the library ought to be more enjoyable. He let his eyes trail across the bookcases until he found a break in the shelves. Directly across from him, on one of the few spaces not occupied books, hung a portrait.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the beast stiffen as he stood. She couldn't see the portrait from her own chair, it had been positioned on one of the only walls in the library that she didn't have a clear view of. Perhaps that was on purpose, for she clearly knew what it was that had diverted Beau's attention. What he was moving forwards to look at.

Blue eyes the colour of the sky in spring time, clear and cloudless, alive with an intensity it must have taken the artist hours to perfect. High cheekbones. A stern, proud lip, turned neither up nor down. The pose was studied, regal - the subject all too aware of her own importance. But her gravity could not detract from her beauty. Could not detract from her ebony hair, pulled back into a tight, intricate bun peppered with braids. From the wisps that escaped, curling over her dark skin, framing those breathtaking eyes.

Breathtaking, yes - Beau felt himself exhale heavily, unaware that he had even been holding his breath. But she was cold too: there was no love in her features, no welcoming warmth or kindness.

On the top of her head perched a diadem of silver and amethest. Understated, but making her position inescapable: princess.

The sound of a chair scraping at the other end of the room broke the enchantment the picture had been holding over Beau. Still clutching the unreadable book in his hands, his cheeks flushed, Beau left the library with only the tiniest of acknowledging nods in the beast's direction.

Beau joined her for dinner that night, but they ate in silence, making eye contact only when the beast entered and left the room.

Later, when he returned to his bed, Beau dreamt of the princess from the picture.

No longer cold or distant, she appeared before him with tears glistening in her sky-bright eyes.

He opened his mouth to call to her, to ask her her name, what had happened to her, but nothing came out.

The princess spoke instead. Two words that would sear through his mind like burning coals, waking him from his sleep and leaving him pacing his room for the rest of the night:

"Help me."

{Didn't think I was going to be able to post this one in time! I haven't been able to edit quite as carefully as usual, so please let me know if there are any mistakes and I'll get them fixed. Hope you enjoy.}