THE BEAST WHO LOVED ME

The summons came at dusk.

Margot knew it was coming before the servant knocked on her door. She had felt it in her bones all day that strange, heavy stillness that preceded disaster.

She had been reading when the knock came. A worn volume of poetry, its spine cracked and pages yellowed with age.

She closed it slowly, marking her place with a ribbon she had saved from her sister's discarded gown.

Waste not, want not. That was what her nursemaid used to say. Before she was dismissed.

Before Margot learned that nothing and no one in this house stayed forever.

The servant's face was carefully blank. "Your father requests your presence in his study, my lady."

Not requests. Demands. Her father never requested anything. He commanded. He expected.

"Tell him I'll be there shortly."

The servant hesitated. "He said immediately, my lady."

Margot smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Then he can wait."

She rose from her window seat, smoothing the wrinkles from her gown. It was an old gown, faded at the seams, the color of dust and disappointment.

Her sisters wore silks and velvets in shades of emerald and sapphire. Margot wore the leftovers, the hand-me-downs, the dresses that no one else wanted.

She didn't mind. The gray made her invisible. And invisibility had its uses.

She walked through the halls of Ashford Manor, her footsteps silent on the worn carpets. The manor was old, sprawling, and magnificent. Tapestries hung on every wall, depicting heroic ancestors and glorious battles.

Chandeliers glittered with candles that cost more than most people earned in a year. The floors were polished marble, the windows stained glass, the furniture gilded and ornate.

It was the home of a powerful family. A wealthy family. A family that had produced generals and statesmen and diplomats.

And Margot.

The forgotten daughter.

She paused at the door to her father's study. She could hear voices inside her father's deep, commanding baritone, her mother's shrill protests, and another voice she didn't recognize.

She pressed her ear to the door.

"—can't send her! She's our daughter!" Her mother's voice, trembling with outrage.

"She's the only option." Her father's voice, cold and final. "The kingdom demands a sacrifice. It must be a member of a noble house.

"What about Isabella? She's of noble blood. She's unmarried."

"Isabella is betrothed to Lord Ashworth. The alliance is too valuable to risk."

"And Margot isn't valuable?"

There was a pause. A long, terrible pause.

"Margot is... Margot. She's never been useful. She's never been anything."

Margot felt the words like a knife in her chest. She had heard worse. She had heard far worse. But somehow, hearing her mother's silence—her failure to defend her—was worse than any cruelty.

She pushed open the door.

Her father looked up, startled. Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

The stranger—a soldier in the king's colors—bowed his head and stepped back.

"Margot," her father said, recovering quickly. "I didn't expect you so soon."

"You summoned me, Father. I came." She walked into the room, her chin held high, her eyes cold. "What is this about?"

Her father hesitated. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a face that had been handsome once but was now lined with ambition and cruelty.

He was not accustomed to being questioned. He was not accustomed to being challenged.

He was accustomed to being obeyed.

"Sit down," he said.

"I'll stand."

He glared at her. She glared back. She had never been good at submission. She had never been good at silence.

Her father sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "There is a beast in the northern tower. A creature of immense power and darkness. It has been terrorizing the borderlands for centuries. The kingdom has tried to fight it. We have lost thousands of men."

Margot said nothing. She knew about the beast. Everyone knew about the beast. It was the subject of every firelit tale, every whispered warning, every nightmare that kept children awake at night.

"The king has decided that a different approach is needed," her father continued. "A diplomatic approach. A peace offering."

Margot's blood went cold. She understood now. She understood everything.

"A gift," she said. "You're sending me as a gift."

Her father nodded, almost relieved that she had figured it out. "The beast has been alone for centuries.

"And if I fail?"

Silence.

"Then you will have sacrificed yourself for the good of the kingdom," her mother said, her voice high and brittle. "It's a noble cause. An honorable cause."

Margot laughed. A cold, hollow sound that echoed off the walls.

"Honorable," she repeated. "You're sending me to die in a monster's lair, and you're calling it honorable."

"We're sending you to serve your kingdom," her father snapped. "It is the duty of every noble to sacrifice for the greater good."

"Then why aren't you going?"

He recoiled as if she had struck him. "How dare you—"

"You heard me." Margot stepped forward, her voice rising. "If it's so noble, so honorable, why aren't you the one climbing that tower? Why isn't Mother going? Why isn't Isabella? Why is it always me? The forgotten one. The useless one. The one who never mattered."

Her father's face went red with rage. "You will not speak to me like that—"

"Or what?" Margot smiled again. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who had nothing left to lose. "You'll send me to the beast? You've already done that. What else can you take from me? What else do I have to lose?"