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216 pages, Paperback
First published May 18, 2015
"When everything was sold, and all we had left was a cottage so far away that nobody wanted it...I stopped feeling miserable. It was like I'd come out the other side. I remember this kind of crazy exhilaration as we left the city."
"Because we were finally leaving?" asked Holly, the teacup forgotten halfway to her mouth.
"A little. But more..." Bryony spread her arms. "If that could happen to us, if we could be rich and then suddenly have nothing—if life could change that much, overnight—then anything could happen. Birds could turn into fish. The sun could rise at midnight. I could learn to fly. The world was obviously wilder and stranger than anyone knew. And there was nothing left to lose. Nobody could take anything from us, because we didn't have anything left to take. I felt invincible."
"You might as well pour yourself one," she said wearily. "Ask the house for a bowl or something."
He stiffened. "It is—"
"Unsightly, I know. Beast, does it matter? You are what you are. I promise that I will not be horrified if you lap your wine instead of sipping it." She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Perhaps I should beg your pardon for sipping it. Who is to say which one of us is doing it correctly?"
"I never faint," she said aloud. "I consider it revolting. I have no patience for women who faint." She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
"On the contrary," rumbled the voice of the Beast, "I felt that your skull bounced most charmingly on the carpet...And the way in which you soiled yourself with terror was graceful in the extreme," added the Beast.
Bryony's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, ignoring the ringing in her ears and the immediate stabbing pain behind her eyes. "I did not!" she cried, and then the smell hit her, and she realized that she had.
"It is not right that I am going to be both dead and mortified," she told the Beast. "Either kill me now or give me a change of underwear."
He was kneeling down, which put his head on a level with Bryony's. His golden eyes were cool and sardonic and amused.
"I am not going to kill you. And I fear that I do not carry women's underwear about my person."
"You are not a gentleman!" cried Bryony. It was not that she was too furious to be afraid, it was that fury was sitting on top of the terror and riding it like a horse.
"No," he said. "I am a Beast."
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“They’ve been there a long time,” she said.In fairness, though, I doubt McKinley would have compared sleeping in an excessively pink bedroom to finding oneself in a uterus (“except with more flowers”) or directly considered the, ahem, practical difficulties of being married to a Beast.
“Yes,” said the Beast, “a long time.” The air made a little space around his words, in a way that was not entirely pleasant, and Bryony did not say anything more until they had left the courtyard.
Iris would have turned purple. Holly would have laughed and embarked on a very dirty-minded discussion of what those practical difficulties were likely to entail.Kingfisher does eventually more develop a distinct take on the Beauty and the Beast legend. It involves a fair amount of info-dumping in the final chapters, but I was relieved to actually get an explanation that made sense … unlike Rose Daughter. There’s also an unexpected element of horror that surfaces toward the end, brief but quite dark.
"I am afraid," said the Beast, turning back toward her, "that I plan to keep you here permanently." [...]
"Because of a rose?" she forced out.
"Yes," said the Beast, "though not quite the way you think."
She put her hands to her face and gave a strangled laugh. "Imagine if I'd nicked the silverware!"
"Would you like to nick the silverware? We have a great deal of it."

It was not that she was too furious to be afraid, it was that the fury was sitting on top of the terror and riding it like a horse.
Bryony had never before had occasion to contemplate what it would be like to find oneself inside a uterus, but she suspected that sleeping in the bed would be rather like that. Except with more flowers.