MERCEDES LACKEY

Beauty and the Werewolf

Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author MERCEDES LACKEY

and her Tales of the Five Hundred Kingdoms

The Fairy Godmother

“Lackey’s satisfying fairy tale will captivate fantasy readers with its well-imagined world, and romance fans, who will relish the growing relationship and sexy scenes.”

—Booklist

One Good Knight

“Delivers the literary goods in a big way: nonstop action and intrigue, ill-fated romance, [and] jaw-dropping plot twists… Enjoy!”

—Explorations

Fortune’s Fool

“Fans of Lackey’s Valdemar series as well as general fantasy enthusiasts should enjoy this classic fairy tale with a pair of proactive, resourceful heroes.”

—Library Journal

The Snow Queen

“A delightful fairy tale revamp. Lackey ensures that familiar stories are turned on their ear with amusing results. Appealing characters faced with challenging circumstances keep the plot lively. You don’t want to mess with godmothers!”

—RT Book Reviews

The Sleeping Beauty

“[P]lenty of twists and laughs…most of the fun comes from finding all the fairy tale in-jokes peppering the pages.”

—Publishers Weekly

1

THE DOOR OPENED, SPILLING OUT LIGHT AND HEAT and laughter and a snatch of music into the darkened street. It closed again, and Isabella Beauchamps shivered with delighted anticipation.

“Come on!” she urged her twin stepsisters, as they hung back a little. “It sounds like the dancing has just started!”

“I still don’t think—” said Amber.

“It’s so…declasse—” said Pearl.

“Of course it is,” Bella replied, laughing. “That’s why it’s going to be fun! For once, you’re going to come to a dance and enjoy yourselves!” She seized each of them by the hand, and tugged them to the door of the Wool Guildhall.

“But what if someone—” said Amber.

“Recognizes us?” finished Pearl.

“You’re wearing your masks, for one thing,” Bella replied, logically. “And for another, those are last year’s gowns. Would anyone believe you’d wear last year’s gowns?”

“No!” they replied in chorus, and then giggled behind their free hands. “They’ll probably think I’m Jeanette,” said Amber. “And Pearl is Marguerite.”

“Very likely. Now come on!” Providentially, someone opened the door once more, and Bella pulled them through it before they could object again.

Last year’s fashions had included a vogue for “shepherdess gowns,” although these looked like no shepherdess that Bella was familiar with. She had successfully managed to get them to keep the gowns rather than giving them away as they usually did when the fashions changed, arguing that they would make good fancy-dress costumes.

Both gowns had short skirts that showed the girls’ feet in embroidered dancing slippers, trim little ankles in silk stockings and a hint of ruffled pantaloons. There were only three ruffled petticoats and no crinolines. The undergowns were of silk, embroidered with sprigs of flowers—though only in the front, where it showed. The draped overgowns were of silk-satin, trimmed on the hems with silk roses and three layers of ruffled lace. The bodices were tight-fitting, but not so tight that they wouldn’t be able to breathe—unlike several of the girls’ more fashionable outfits—and were made of the same satin, lace and silk roses as the skirt of the overgown. Pearl’s was pink, Amber’s was lilac. When she had first seen the gowns, Bella had thought privately that they looked less like shepherdesses and more like cakes with girls stuck in the middle. But then the vogue for all things bucolic had brought a set of porcelain shepherd and shepherdess figurines into the house, and she realized that this was how people who had never seen a living sheep thought their minders looked—and the fashion copied it.

Once inside she dropped their hands and paused, waiting for the impact of the room to fade. At the far end of the Hall was a raised platform, and the entire platform at the moment was covered in musicians. Not content with hiring just a few, the Guild had hired every decent musician for miles around, and even paid them to rehearse together. There were fiddlers, flute players, a drummer, three harpists, four lutenists, a trumpeter and players of instruments Bella couldn’t even name.

Just now they were playing for a Running Set dance—and both of Bella’s sisters made identical little Os with their mouths and clasped their hands together with delight. They’d never seen anything like this, of course. It wasn’t the sort of dance that their dancing master would teach or approve of.

It was at times like these that Bella really adored her silly little stepsisters. They might be frivolous, they might think far too much about fashion and far too little about virtually everything else, but they had good hearts. Where girls who put on airs would look at this gathering and turn up their noses and sniff with disdain, they looked at people having fun, thought it wonderful and wanted to join.

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