His father is going to lose. Kyungsoo knows this with the certainty he knows that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. He knows because of the tremble in his father’s hands, a tremble that flutters up the cards and threatens to let them slip from between his fingers. He knows because the Beast’s claws are digging grooves into the teak table, destroying the delicately carved pattern that rings the table’s edge.

They were wealthy, once. They lived up north, across the sea, on mountains of black, loamy earth, under the waxy canopy of red pines, a place where the air was always crisp with cold. But it was that cold air that had claimed Kyungsoo’s mother when he was a child, and it is that cold air that now has settled in his father’s bones, a slow death that transforms each breath into a rattle, a wheeze, a gasp.

His father is desperate. So desperate that when he hears of a magical beast in the islands of the Southern Sea he sells their land for pennies and carts what little belongings they have left onto a ship that will take them to this mythical paradise. Pennies for magic that will cure his rheumy lungs. Pennies for misery. And his father justifies it by parroting the doctor’s words. “Warm air should soften the cold in your lungs, even if that magical beast won’t.”

But traveling south does not help him. The cold rattle becomes a wet cough, throat thick with phlegm each time he speaks. He’s also feverish, but it could be the drink, the golden slosh that smells sickly sweet. He’s never been much of a drinker, but he had not been expecting to gamble for the cure, and so in his agitation his father downed drink after sweet drink til he could hardly keep his eyes straight. He’s already lost their possessions — the carved pine boxes inlaid with mother of pearl, the ink stones made of green volcanic rock, the silks embroidered with gold. His father has nothing left, and the Beast knows it, but Kyungsoo has a feeling this game is not yet over, not with the flick of the Beast’s eyes towards him.

The Beast. Kyungsoo cannot see its face, for it hides behind a mask carved of jet, with curling designs of gold and blue jade, but above the mask are unmistakably feline ears, rimmed with orange and spotted with white. And the Beast’s eyes are molten, honeyed eyes, a sweetness and danger as thick as the heady southern heat. It had given Kyungsoo an orchid the color of a sunset when they arrived, thick-petalled and silken against Kyungsoo’s clammy hands, perhaps a gift to sweeten his disposition because it knew Kyungsoo’s father would lose. It swathes itself in the patterned woven cloth of the islands, which obscures the size of its bulk, but Kyungsoo can see tufts of striped orange and black fur crowning the mask.

“There is nothing more I can give,” his father weeps, cradling his cup close.

“The boy,” says the Beast.

And with that, Kyungsoo is left without breath. The air in the room is truly suffocating. Kyungsoo wants to believe his father will say no. He needs to believe his father will say no, but the sudden pause in his sobs, the bleary eye fixed on the Beast’s mask… his father is desperate.

“If you win, you will get health and riches for free. If you lose, you give me the boy as payment,” says the Beast.

Kyungsoo worries the orchid petals between his fingers. The flower has long since wilted, just as he has, stuffed into the corner of the room beneath candlenut lamps. Beauty, trapped in a cage of banana leaf wallpaper and bamboo lined windows. Yes, Beauty. It’s what the boys in the town would call him, because he is the spitting image of his deceased mother. Wide eyes, full lips, thick dark hair that shines under the cold northern moonlight.

But now that hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks rouged with heat, and the silks his father insisted he wore are translucent with sweat, the thin fabric buckling with humidity. How adamant his father had been about keeping away from other beastly men! Yet now, with the promise of good lungs and the glimmer of promised gold, his father was willing to serve him up, wrapped in the last of their silks, with a wilted orchid as a garnish.

His father looks down at the cards in his hand; Kyungsoo shifts in his seat, the wicker biting his forearms through the thin fabric, and sits back. In the blaze of the candlenut lamps he sees a queen, a king, and an ace. No wonder his father’s sobs had stopped in an instant. He thinks he can win. He thinks he will be all the richer for his drunkenness, that he will keep his little Beauty, the painful reminder of his dead wife. His father lays down the cards, a manic triumph shining in his eyes, but the Beast, oh the Beast, he sighs heavily, his breath a monsoon of perfumed oil, as he lays down three aces.

A commotion. The serving girls sweep in and collect the cups (and there were many), the empty bottle of sweet gold, the remnants of a cigar his father had been smoking and the Beast stands, head bowed against the low roof.

“Your riches will be brought to this inn. There will be a concoction to heal you among the wealth,” the Beast says.

His father looks at him with fogged eyes, though Kyungsoo doesn’t know if the tears are of joy or grief. Kyungsoo stands, chair hitting his calves, and stares down at his father. He is rage, he is shame, he is defeat, but none of this helps him speak or spit in his father’s face.

“You are my blood, my boy,” his father croaks.

The Beast roars. It is a roar that reverberates through the walls, that shakes Kyungsoo to the bone and sends him crashing back into his chair.

“Blood you were willing to lose in order to save your own hide,” the Beast growls.

His father averts his eyes, but the Beast has already decided the quavering old man is no longer worth its attention. It turns to Kyungsoo, eyes flicking to the destroyed flower in his hands, then back to Kyungsoo’s flushed face.

“I will have you picked up in the morning,” the Beast says, and with that it leaves.

The morning. The Beast thinks one last night with his father is a mercy, but Kyungsoo can’t bear to look at him. He forsakes dinner, unable to stomach the sight of his father’s face, torn between elation and grief. Instead he retreats to a corner of the inn, hidden by a fragrant potted white ginger, to watch the rain pour.

—

He doesn’t sleep. His father bids him good night, a trembling hand brushing sweaty strands off Kyungsoo’s forehead, but Kyungsoo doesn’t budge. Even when the candlenut lamps are reduced to smoldering embers, and the servants do not replace them, he stares out of the window into the roaring darkness, the sheet of rain that pummels the earth and cools the air. When dawn comes, it comes with the slow shuffle of the inn waking itself, apologetic hostesses and bleary eyed guests, the morning air fragrant with freshly watered earth. The rain stops with the sunrise.

After a bitterly silent breakfast with his father (this last meal he will allow, even if it means resentment sits with them like an obstinate guest determined to sour the food in their mouth), the carriage arrives, if it can be called that. It has a teak frame and bamboo walls, garnished with knots of ylang-ylang. The contraption is drawn by a strange animal, lush silken fur on its long, long neck. It fixes an indifferent eye on Kyungsoo, then goes back to chewing on sweet grass. His father, thankfully, makes no move to follow him; instead the man stays at the entrance of the inn, sniffling and sobbing and lamenting the loss of his Beauty, the one reminder of his dead wife. Kyungsoo clambers into the carriage without looking back.

Inside awaits a bouquet of royal poinciana in red and yellow, another attempt by the Beast to placate him. Kyungsoo almost throws it onto the floor, but the flowers are beautiful and his heart is raw, so he holds it to his chest instead, pressing himself into the corner, forehead to window frame.

He tries to memorize the path, but he’s used to twisting pines, to a forest porous enough for the cold northern breeze to pierce it. No matter how fiercely he stares out of the carriage window (and the stare is quite fierce given how much his eyesight ), he cannot make out anything except dense green. It’s vines upon moss upon lush leaves, a great tangled puzzle of foliage that he can’t even begin to comprehend. He tries counting the clusters of bamboo that break up the jungle, but it’s no use.

In the end he succumbs to his own growing lethargy, a combination of the sleepless night and the warmth of the day.

It’s not a peaceful slumber. He wakes often, but drifts off to sleep just as quickly as he woke. That is, until he spies between the trees the unmistakable silhouette of island houses. Three of them, evenly spaced out, and well cared for. Servant’s lodges, he assumes, though three cabanas seems meager given the deference the Beast was treated with. Kyungsoo expected a village-within-an-estate. Well, he had yet to see the palace, but he’s already a little miffed, his opinion sullied. With one last sniff, he curls into his corner again and falls asleep.

The contraption comes to a stop and Kyungsoo clambers out on wobbly legs. Despite the simmering bitterness in his chest, he can’t help the awe that washes over him. The palace is wedged in the juncture of the valley, a pearl pressed into the seam of a bivalve, and on either side the arms of the valley extend, the stone a pleated verdant sleeve. It gleams in the noon sun, polished andesite stone foundations upon which stand pillars and walls of rosewood, and a roof of glazed black tiles in the shape of palm leaves. The grounds around it are meticulously manicured, brilliant ti trees bunched near the entrance, hibiscus shrubs clustered around slender palms, orchids of blue and orange and pink in bright bursts, hanging from mango trees. A neat path snakes between the plants, which Kyungsoo follows.

It takes him longer than it should have to reach the entrance, but Kyungsoo is dragging his feet. He wants to savor the silence, the fresh breeze between the fronds, the sweet floral perfume. But he can only stall for so long until his feet bring him to the entrance.

The door is massive, an elaborate work of ironwood carvings, polished to a warm glow. Among the designs, Kyungsoo finds a feline’s face, poinciana flowers, bird of paradise, a mass of gardenia flowers, mussel shells and little feline paws. He leans closer to get a better look when the doors swing open. He blushes and steps inside.

The first thing he notices is the scent. The lamps are filled with sweet smelling oils, enough to linger after a strong breeze but not strong enough to be cloying. Then he notices the courtyards, gardens overflowing with uncurled ferns bigger than himself. Beyond the pillars, lush foliage and the sound of gurgling water, and to either side long hallways stretch to rooms Kyungsoo cannot see. He lingers here, unsure of where to go, feeling more vulnerable within these strong walls than he did out on the path.

A pygmy marmoset lands in front of him with a muffled plop. And Kyungsoo, on edge, lets out a scream he stops only by stuffing his fist in his mouth. The marmoset gives him an amused look, then waves a diminutive hand at Kyungsoo for him to follow. The hallways seem endless, flanked by lush courtyards or heavy stone arches, but at last the marmoset stops in front of a door, heavy rosewood with a menagerie of flowers carved on it. The marmoset waits for Kyungsoo to push the door open, tail curled apprehensively, so Kyungsoo does just that, but the sight of what lies beyond the door leaves him breathless.

His room is decadence. Mosaics of abalone shell and polished coral, delicately carved nephrite accents on the walls, and a ceiling of rosewood beams. By the bed, which is big enough for Kyungsoo to fit in it at least nine times over, sprigs of night-blooming jasmine, which are tightly curled up in the light of the noon sun. He and his father had been considered quite wealthy up north, but this is different. This is affluence of another kind, of the excessive kind; everything is steeped in opulence. Everything is carefully crafted to be beautiful, to be soft, to be pleasing, to fill Kyungsoo with a sense that he is just as precious as everything this room is crafted out of.

Still no sign of the Beast. The marmoset, clearly done waiting, tugs on Kyungsoo’s pinkie and hops off the bed; he runs to the thick stone door and waits with a twitching tail. Kyungsoo follows him.

The bath is fed by a short waterfall, the air thick with steam and perfumed soaps, and just breathing them in makes Kyungsoo feel cleaner. This room is mother of pearl and ammolite, an almost dizzying iridescence that forms a dazzling beach sunset from the glowing sky to the sun-tinged sea foam. The marmoset, apparently satisfied that Kyungsoo knows what to do, makes its way out of the room. Kyungsoo is finally alone. And just like that, exhaustion weighs on him so heavily he can hardly breathe. For a moment, he just takes in the steam, sinking to his knees and spreading his hands on the warm tile. Eventually, the desire to wash the cooling, sticky sweat wins over his fatigue, so he undresses and walks into the bath.

By the time he’s clean and clothed (in bamboo silk in a pattern of greenery, a fabric that is at once heavy and soft, but still cool), the marmoset is back, holding a plumeria. The diminutive monkey places the flower behind its ear, then holds it up for Kyungsoo to do the same. Kyungsoo tucks it behind his left ear, but the marmoset squeaks and chitters, gesturing for him to change it. He switches it to the right ear and the marmoset gives him an appraising nod, then hops along to the door of his room.

—

Dinner is a lavish affair. It is fish at least ten different ways (in coconut sauce, with pepper flakes that even from the other side of the table make Kyungsoo’s eyes water, delicately fried, steeped in garlic… he thinks it impolite to cut a piece from each but he does so anyway), and fried breadfruit, and blue crabs with a chive and chili sauce, and sweet puffed coconut fritters, and crispy cassava bread, and squid ink rice, and pork in mango sauce, and pork buried beneath golden, broiled slices of pineapple. At the head of the table, the Beast. It has removed its elaborate costume to reveal molten fur, rivers of gold and black, an eruption in its prime. It’s hard for Kyungsoo not to be fascinated; what he wants most is to be furious, but instead he’s entranced by the ripple of fur, the elegant heavy face framed by refined whiskers. The Beast’s ears twitch, and it gives Kyungsoo a curious look.

“I am not familiar with the customs up north, but you need not wait for my permission to begin eating, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” says the Beast.

Kyungsoo averts his eyes, cheeks flushed as he begins to pile food onto his plate. He picks indiscriminately, until he ends up with more than he certainly can fit in his stomach. A thoughtful bite of the garlic-steeped fish, which practically melts in his mouth, and Kyungsoo muffles a moan. The food looked delectable, but he, foolishly, hadn’t expected it to taste so heavenly. And so he eats, savoring each bite with reverence, until he’s eaten enough that he can form words again.

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks.

The Beast blinks and tilts its head, ears swiveling. “What do you mean?”

Kyungsoo looks down at his plate, then back at the Beast. “Why me? Why make that deal when you knew my father was going to lose?”

The Beast sighs. “I wanted to see what kind of person he was, if he was willing to give up his own flesh and blood to save his life. I had a feeling he would, given the ease with which he parted with everything else. It was as if you were not in the room with us. I knew I could not leave you with a man who did not value your life.”

“So you choose to take me instead,” Kyungsoo asks, voice sharp.

The Beast bows its head, shame weighing on its ears. “Ah, yes. I cannot claim to be virtuous; I desire company, and to gaze upon one as beautiful as you— well, I could not resist. I do not expect that you will forgive me for this, and I understand. I do not forgive myself either. Still, I cannot keep you against your will. If you truly wish to return to your father, then you may do so. I only ask that you visit. It gets unbearably lonely out here.”

Kyungsoo is quiet. He hadn’t been expecting the Beast to be so sincere; the pain of long years of isolation is thick in the Beast’s voice, so much so that Kyungsoo’s heart pangs in pity. Perhaps he has been too harsh, and the Beast has given him his freedom back. But where will Kyungsoo go? Back North? That’s not an option, not when he has no home to return to. To his father? But he knows he cannot face the man who jumped at the chance to pawn him off. To the town? He knows no one here, and he is not useful, in part because his soft imprudent father spoiled Kyungsoo so rotten that he knows nothing but the pampered life of a noble’s son.

And, well… the Beast’s palace is paradise. He might not stay here forever, because that seems rude (and lazy) on Kyungsoo’s behalf, but for now…

For now he eats.

—

This is his first leisurely morning since his father sold their home. For weeks, they had been on the road, miserably long days that began when the sun’s timid rays crested the horizon and ended when the nights grew too cold to do much else but sleep. The two weeks on the ship were tumultuous, and Kyungsoo spent more time emptying the contents of his stomach overboard, awash in salt spray, than he had resting. But today he wakes up long after the sun has risen and stretches until his muscles give out. The quality of his rest had been just as decadent as the room itself, and Kyungsoo finds himself loathing the idea of leaving the cool sheets.

But he does. Eventually. The marmoset seems a little aggravated at Kyungsoo’s pace, chittering under its breath as it guides him to the dining room once more, but once Kyungsoo offers him a mango the little creature is mollified.

After breakfast, Kyungsoo wanders into the inner garden. Well, one of many, as he soon discovers. This one has a view of a pond with crystalline water; it is fed by a gurgling brook, the ripples of which send the lilies pad on a gentle spin. A banyan tree provides shade, its massive trunk dressed with spider lilies and kahili ginger.

The Beast is stretched out by the pond, chin resting on the stone rim with closed eyes. Kyungsoo considers leaving, but as soon as he takes a step back the Beast opens its eyes.

“You stayed,” the Beast says. Its voice is even but Kyungsoo still hears relief beneath the veneer of nonchalance.

“I have nowhere to go,” Kyungsoo says; he sits on the largest stone he can find (and suspects the person-shaped dipped in it is not entirely natural) and looks at the Beast’s paw as it hangs over the lip, water lapping at its claws. “And this place is beautiful.”

The Beast snuffles, shifting its great head to fix an eye on Kyungsoo. “The Palace of a Thousand Flowers was famed for being paradise within paradise,” it says wistfully.

“Was?” Kyungsoo asks.

A pause, quiet but for the gurgle of the stream and the Beast’s melancholic sigh.

“The same greed that gripped your father led to this palace becoming what it is now, a lost gem, a place apart from the world,” the Beast says. “To covet that which does not belong to you as if it already belongs to you… that can ruin you from within.” A breathy chuckle. “Though I can no longer be so judgmental of those who act upon their desires, can I?”

“But you do not keep me here against my will,” Kyungsoo says.

“Ah, but that is the bare minimum, is it not?” the Beast says.

Kyungsoo muses for a moment. “I’m grateful nonetheless. You’re an excellent host.”

“Speaking of the palace,” the Beast says, “it is yours to explore and live in, but I ask only that you do not go into the Eastern Wing.”

Kyungsoo almost blurts out a “why?” but in a rare moment of restraint keeps the imprudent question from passing his lips.

“Of course,” he says instead.

Perhaps he would not have given it much thought if the Beast hadn’t mentioned it. But now that he stands in front of the imposing doors of the Eastern Wing, curiosity itches at him like an ill-placed mosquito bite. He wonders what those doors hold, what awful secrets might be hidden by thick rosewood. Perhaps the Beast is truly a Beast that delights in tearing al flesh from bone; perhaps the Beast likes to hunt the villagers at night and keeps their bones as trophies.

Kyungsoo decides his imagination is uncooperative. He shivers and walks on.

After dinner, he finds the Beast out on the balcony; from this point they can glimpse the glittering sea beyond the mountains, though the breeze still smells like the humid greenness of the jungle.

“Don’t you feel trapped here?” Kyungsoo asks.

One of the Beast’s ears twitch. “What do you mean?”

Kyungsoo sits on a bench and looks out at the blue-green jewel that is the lagoon, ringed by sharp black rock. Beyond that, the indigo silk of the ocean that stretches until it meets the northern continent, a mere smudge on the horizon. Kyungsoo’s home.

“I mean all this water,” Kyungsoo finally answers. “I feel like I’m going to drown.”

The Beast snorts. “I’m not fond of the water myself, you know, but there is beauty in it. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Kyungsoo swallows hard. “It scares me. On the voyage south I felt I was in a cage,” he says softly.

“Fear of something as vast and wild as the ocean is wise,” the Beast says.“But I suppose I do feel trapped, though it is not by the water.”

Again, Kyungsoo bites back an imprudent why, much as he wants to ask. He looks back out over the darkening sky, the ocean that absorbs the night until everything is velvet black. It reminds him of the earth back home, a darkness so dense it looks soft. A darkness that is equal parts comforting and terrifying, qualities it shares with the Beast. It is the same darkness that cloaked goblins searching for their next unsuspecting victims among the pine needles, and the same darkness of his mother’s hair as it cloaked Kyungsoo when he would sit on her lap.

“Thank you,” the Beast says.

“Hm?”

“For not asking why I feel trapped,” the Beast answers.

Kyungsoo looks at it; the sincerity in its molten eyes makes Kyungsoo feel guilty. He’d wanted to ask why, and he still wants to know, but there’s a weight to the Beast’s gaze, a mix of sorrow, despair, and even, to Kyungsoo’s surprise, desire.

“I bid you good night, Beauty,” the Beast says at last.

It presses its snout to the back of Kyungsoo’s hand, then walks off before Kyungsoo can respond. He’s left there, with his questions filling the darkness.

—

The next morning, after a breakfast of coconut pudding, guava jelly and cheese, and a thick cup of coffee, the Beast keeps his promise. They weave through the mountain rock until they reach the beach (on a path that loops and turns so often Kyungsoo finds himself dizzy and lost). The sun’s heat is already beginning to weigh in the air, but the ocean breeze is nearly constant, fresh brine to wash the lingering humidity that clings to him.

“You’ll find that dipping your paws in the water is wonderfully refreshing,” the Beast says, tail twitching.

It springs towards the waves, splashing the froth of the waves with its paws. That so great a Beast can have fun, and can look like a kitten doing so— it confuses Kyungsoo. He expects solemnity from the Beast, because, as far as he’s gathered, it’s a creature that is burdened so heavily with grief that it cannot conceive of much else. But this Beast, prancing along the waves and waiting for Kyungsoo with perked ears, this Beast makes Kyungsoo feel more at ease. So Kyungsoo offers him a smile and slips off his shoes, then wades into the water until it’s just above his ankles.

“Ah! What is that?” Kyungsoo squeaks.

“Oh, those are just fish, Beauty,” the Beast says, chuckling. “They’re trying to clean you.”

“They tickle,” Kyungsoo huffs, ears red as he looks down at the silvery creatures.

“Well, they won’t nip at you if you’re moving,” says the Beast. “Last one to the cove is a fermented fish.”

And without warning, the Beast takes off. Kyungsoo screams out a protest then begins to run, as best he can when the wet sand and water hamper him, which is not very well at all. Naturally, the Beast arrives before Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo collapses onto the sand in a heap. He’s completely drenched, but protests nonetheless when the Beast shakes itself.

“You’re already soaked,” the Beast chuckles.

“And you’re a cheat,” Kyungsoo hisses.

“Oh, Beauty, don’t be cross with me,” the Beast pleads.

“Why not?” Kyungsoo huffs.

The Beast droops, shuffling towards him and pressing its snout against Kyungsoo’s cheek.

“Come, I’ll show you where to get the best shells,” the Beast says.

“Winning me over with pretty baubles, eh?” Kyungsoo says, crossing his arms. “Fine, show me where they are.”

In truth, he’s quite curious. His home had been landlocked and mountainous, a place to find strange rocks and petrified wood; the only shells he’d seen had been smashed to pieces by the most unpleasant boys in town (the merchant who brought the