Time passed, as it is wont to do.
To the south of the barren Northern lands, there lay a land of prosperity and joy, the Middle Kingdom.
It was ruled over by a wise and beloved King and his son, the noble and handsome Prince. The lands were fertile and the river land's forest was teeming with life. From the poorest peasant to the King himself, the people of the Middle Kingdom wanted for nothing.
Happiness was abundant. The people had hope in their hearts and no fear of the darkness. They lived in blissful ignorance of the evils that lingered to the north of their home.
But they could not stop the end from coming no more than they could stem the tide.
And so one fateful morning, as the handsome Prince was riding along the main road, he noticed the smoke.
A once flourishing village lay burned and razed to the ground. Bones lay scattered in the ashes, buildings were torn down to their foundations and massive footprints dug deep into the ground. There were no survivors.
The Ogres had arrived in the Middle Kingdom.
Within weeks, the land was dying. Villagers fled to the great castle stronghold at the capital of the Kingdom for sanctuary. Braver souls fled to the Southern Isles where they hoped to be save from the destruction. And the King grew old and sick with fear as he saw his people suffer.
It was then, in their darkest hour that the old woman appeared. Grizzled and bent, she hobbled forward into the King's Halls to whisper the tales from her girlhood in the North.
She spoke of a powerful sorcerer who lived there. Their salvation if they were willing to pay the price.
The Prince scoffed at her, ordering her to be taken away and thrown into the dungeons for her dangerous words. But the King stilled his guards. His heart was ever darkening with the horror of the dead. He ordered the woman to speak the name of their would be savior.
Thus, she whispered the Dark One's name into the King's ears and fell down dead at his feet.
The story of the Dark One, the potential savior, spread. The people cried for their King to let him save them. The Prince railed against their fears, begging his father to ride into battle against the Ogres instead of playing with magic he could not control.
But the King was too paralyzed from fear. And he could do nothing but stare out the window at the dying land, watching as more and more of his people rode to his castle as fires burned in the distance.
The noble Prince could not stand his people's pain or his father's weakness. One fair morning, he kissed his Princess and young son goodbye. Then, he rode out of the castle gates- a massive host behind him of knights and noblemen all dressed in splendid armor with banners flying behind them.
The King watched his only son ride to battle.
And then a week later, he saw a lone horse amble to the gates of the stronghold. The rider lay half dead on his back- one arm torn clean off and legs shattered beneath him. The knight raved and screamed for a week as he lay dying. The only words anyone could understand though were simple.
Dead. They're all dead.
And that is when the King went to the highest room in the tallest tower and said the name of the Dark One three times into the wind.
And so the Deal was struck.
The next morning, the people of the Middle Kingdom awoke to find a large stonewall encircling the lands. All ogres had vanished from the Kingdom but they could see their fires burning on the horizon past the walls.
The people rejoiced, praising the Dark One for their salvation.
But all magic comes with a price.
That was the last lesson the people of the Middle Kingdom learned from the First Ogre War.
Life went on.
But the Ogres had infected the land with their evil. The land withered and the rains no longer came. The once large and diverse Kingdom was now a castle stronghold with a few outlying villages.
And at first in their relief, no one noticed the disappearance of the King's most trusted advisor's only daughter. Not until a year later when her body was found laying at the castle gate dressed in stained silks.
Trumpets blared and the few men left behind in the castle guard rushed to the gate only to find the Dark One himself- dark and terrible- watching all the commotion.
The King came to his balcony to see what he had reaped. And when he saw the dead girl with her dreadful husband laughing over her dead body, he knew his son had been right.
From that day on, the entire kingdom knew what their safety had been bought with. Young women were asked to volunteer. A few did. And every year, another body was returned to the King's door.
Soon, there were no more volunteers. On the yearly date, a woman was chosen at random by the people and carried to her doom.
No one was safe.
Sometimes it was a young woman, beautiful and fair. Other times it was an old hag, hated and despised. Mothers, daughters, crones- all were sacrificed to the Dark One's whim. And every year, a body was returned.
The King died a broken man. His people appointed him The Dealer King and spat at his name. For people are fickle things. They had already forgotten their pleas to be saved, content to hate their savior and protector instead of the threat looming over the wall.
When the King died, his young grandson took the throne. His first act as King was to demand an end to the sacrificial witch-hunts. All women who wished to volunteer themselves could sign their names after their eighteen birthdays. Their entire family would eat well for the year for their sacrifice.
He also vowed to honor the memory of his noble father who had warned the kingdom of the dangers of trusting magic to save them. The Boy King began the Second Ogre War- creating an army of volunteers to ride out the gates when the year's Bride disappeared to wage war against the true enemy.
And with the cunning Boy King at the helm, the host did great battle with the Ogres, pushing them back slightly and learning the things could indeed be killed. But for every Ogre that fell, ten men did as well.
And so, the Middle Kingdom withered and shrank. And two hundred years slowly passed.
But the walls grow weak.
And the Ogres are waiting.
"Oh, do stop sniveling. You're getting the floor wet."
Wiping her tears from her cheeks, Belle turned away from the voice. Her breath still came in jerking heaves through the tears but she wouldn't let him see.
She could hear him moving about behind her, the odd rustling of his leathers the only sound he seemed to make. She strained to listen, eyes fixed ahead of her as the tears continued to fall despite her best efforts to stem them.
They had arrived in a cloud of smoke into a room of stone. The floor was grey slabs smoothed under her feet and the walls were jagged and rugged- almost as if the room had been hewn out of solid rock. There were no tapestries or windows in her current sightline. She didn't dare turn around.
"Tick, tock," came the giggling reminder. "The night is getting on, dearie."
"Don't," Belle whispered.
"Mm," the thing drawled. "Did you say something, dearie? Didn't quite catch that."
"I said," Belle repeated as she turned, slightly louder. Her neck straightened and her head tilted back as she found some untapped strength in her anger. "Don't call me that."
"What?" He said in mock surprise. He raised his hands in a derisive shrug, wiggling them like worms at her. "Whatever am I to call you then?"
"My name is Lady Belle French of the Middle Kingdom, daughter of Lord Maurice, Stewart of the Throne."
He squinted his face in thought, finally muttering, "It's a bit of a mouthful."
"Belle, then," she acquiesced. Her anger was fading, leaving her exhausted and shaking.
"Belle," he said, tasting it. "Names are a powerful thing. Perhaps you should think twice before giving yours out so freely."
"But you are my husband," Belle corrected, careful to keep her voice steady. "All that I have is yours now."
His golden eyes flashed at her at this, something dark swimming beneath his jovial act. She tried not to blink, only breaking her gaze when something caught her attention beyond him.
"Is that a –"
Her voice dwindled away as she took a few steps to her left, careful not to go nearer to him but wanting a better angle.
A bed lay at the back of the room. A single wooden door, crisscrossed with blackened iron stood next to it.
The message was clear.
She turned her eyes back to him. But she found he was no longer standing where he had been.
"A bed?"
She jumped, spinning around to find the creature inches behind her. He was grinning, his rotten teeth crooked and stained.
"Yes it is, very astute. They did tell me you were clever."
Her eyes flickered from the bed back to her husband, heart thudding feebly in its cage.
Husband.
Certainty there had been no wedding. But somehow Belle knew that didn't matter here. Not in this forgotten place.
"Now," he whispered, taking a step towards her. "It is our wedding night. We mustn't waste too much time –"
He stalked forward and Belle took shaky steps backwards. He was no longer grinning. Now, his face was filled with intent. Belle felt a wave of panic at the idea of lying with a murderous reptilian sorcerer.
She knew the ways of men and women. She had found those books before she was sixteen… but- was this creature even a man in that way?
The pale face of the only Bride she had ever seen in person floated to her mind- a young woman with pale blonde hair and porcelain skin. She wondered if this was the same bed she had lain on-
As her knees unexpectedly hit the edge of the bed, she sat abruptly. Her day dress rustled around her.
Directly in front of her, he bent down so they were face to face. She could see her wide brown eyes reflected in his golden stare. He slowly lifted his hand, fingers poised to snap when Belle blurted out, "Wait!" grasping his hand within her own small ones.
The Dark One looked down at their hands, his clawed fingers lost under her palms. He was warm, Belle realized as the thin skin of her fingers scratched across his scales. Warmer than the cool room they were in should allow for a cold-blooded creature such as a snake.
She filed that thought away as he opened his mouth in a scathing retort. She cut him off, "But I haven't given you my wedding present yet, husband."
His mouth stilled, opening slightly before closing. His eyes were watching her, but the darkness she had seen moments ago lifted slightly. He cocked his head to the right, wisps of the long silver hair falling around his jaw as he regarded her in silence.
"I'll admit it surprising," he finally said, eyes searching hers. "I hadn't expected a Lady such as yourself to be so forthcoming in that regard. Most of the higher born are particularly squeamish when it comes to matters of the wedding bed."
"What?" Belle said in confusion, furrowing her brow. But then it lightened on her and she released his hand with a frown. "How dare you- I'm not – that's not what I meant at all!"
He quirked a brow at her. His amusement was evident in his smirk. "Some Brides have been most willing," he whispered, pressing closer to her. She willed herself not to shrink back, keeping her head raised high. He lowered his lips to her ear, his breath tickling her lobe, "They were eager to see what the Dark One could offer them that their peasant boys could not."
"And the others?" Belle snapped, pulling away and turning to face him. Their noses were inches apart. "The ones who cried and begged as they were dragged to the gates?"
"Oh those," he said, plopping down on the bed beside her. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Tedious cows. Cried for hours."
Belle closed her eyes at this. Hours. Not days. Or weeks. They only had hours.
"Tick, tock," he sang in her ear, hot breath tickling her neck. Belle shuddered despite her best intentions. He breathes like a man, she thought. Perhaps he is mortal after all.
His fingers were inching up her arm and she felt him pull down the sleeve off her shoulder, exposing her thin shift's straps.
"My gift," she reminded him, shrugging her shoulder out of his grasp and pulling her sleeve back up. He frowned at her, obviously displeased at her insistence.
"Fine," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Let's have the Lady's gift before we have our wedding night."
She opened her mouth to speak but he surprised her.
"Or shall I give you your wedding gift first, Belle?" He laughed at her surprised expression, a high-pitched giggle like a child who won at play. "Oh yes, I give all my Brides a gift on the night of our wedding."
"And what is your gift, husband?" Belle asked. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. She could still see him out of the corner of her eye. He was playing with something in his hands now, a gold glittering thing.
She turned to stare at it, a thin golden thread. A bracelet perhaps? But it was too long, it seemed to loop around his wrist a few times and still it hung slack in his grasp.
"A necklace?" She asked, confused.
"Ah," he said, wagging a finger at her. The gold dipped and shifted as he toyed with it, loops and circles, squares and triangles forming as he moved his wrists in a fluid movement. "A deal."
"A deal?" Belle repeated breathlessly, eyes watching the golden thread.
"Hmm," he agreed. "There's that cleverness again."
She flashed a look at him but he did not catch her eye. Belle had the oddest feeling he was joking with her but the moment passed.
'Indeed. The Deal is simple. The door beside you is unlocked. You are free to go at anytime. You can walk out that door and it will take you to where you most want to be in this world."
"But?" Belle asked, aware of the price he was not mentioning.
"But," he continued, dipping the gold into a spiral. "Unless you possess the love of your husband, you will die the instant you cross the threshold."
"Oh." It was the only thing Belle could manage.
He had made them kill themselves. Face a lifetime of this room with this beast or end it all with a single step.
"Do you like my present, wife?" He asked, silkily. He draped the chain around her neck, looping it twice so it hung in loops across her collarbone.
"You're a monster," Belle hissed. She didn't dare move, she felt his clawed fingers tracing the side of her neck. The gold chain chilled her skin in the chilly room. "You gave them a choice between slavery and suicide-"
"And some took the coward's way out," he continued, nodding with a gleeful smile. "Some even thought they had true love waiting for them at home. And we all know true love can break any curse.'
'Guess they were wrong," he sang in a high-pitched giggle.
"And the others?" Belle asked, fingers gripping her skirts.
"Why a few have lasted months with me," he shared, fingers burying in her hair. She felt him plucking out the pinning, curls spilling down over her back. "But eventually they all tried to leave. As if after months of their declarations of adoration and carnality equaled love," he scoffed. He leaned in and buried his nose in her hair, taking a deep breath. Belle closed her eyes against the feel of him, the urge to scream rising in her throat.
'Now," he whispered. "It is our wedding night, wife."
"But my present to you-" She interrupted, turning and placing a hand on his knee. He stilled his exploration, eyes glittering down on her pale hand across his black leather breeches.
"Well, get on with it," he grunted, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is it? A lock of your hair? A gold ring?"
For a brief second, Belle's confidence wavered. She had nothing to offer, nothing but-
A soft smile curved her lips and for the first time since she had stepped through Lord Maurice's door, Belle found her footing.
"No, husband," Belle said, smiling slightly at him in the darkness. "Tis a story."
"A story?" He echoed, his voice oddly lower than his usual trill. "What on earth do I want with a story?"
"You gave me your gift already," Belle pointed out. "We can't have our wedding night until I give you mine."
His golden eyes glared at her, suspicion and distrust reflected in his body language. She couldn't help but glory at his obvious disappointment. Serves him right, she thought triumphantly.
"Fine," he mumbled, waving a hand at her. "Quick then, tick tock."
Belle licked her lips. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Belle reached down deep into her well of stories. All the books she had devoured as a child, all the books she had researched in late nights when she couldn't sleep- this was the moment she had been preparing for her entire life without ever realizing it.
When she opened her eyes, he was sitting petulantly next to her. He looked like a child angry at being sent to bed without his dessert. She found the analogy so amusing she relaxed despite herself. This just caused him to frown harder.
And so, Belle begun.
"Once upon a Time…"
Author's Notes
I hope you all enjoyed the second installation! The stories began next time!
PS: I hope a few of you noticed the Crocodile reference I slipped in!
