A/N: New chapter! And a very short one, but expect the next chapter to be out quite soon. I felt that this, however, was the most effective way to end this. I want the confrontation and its results to be a chapter in itself, though we will take a break from Calix and Beast for a while and go to Johan, Freira, Johnal, and the outside world. 'Cause things are happenin' now…. :maniacal laughter:
Sorry, kinda hyperactive right now.
And, Druantia, I'm afraid I can't answer your question—it's a plot point. And yes, the Johan in the story is the same Johan throughout. Ooh, love triangle!
MoonlightEnchantments: Calix is around twenty-one right now. He'll be twenty-two in about a month, though.
Thank you all for your lovely, lovely reviews…I was really happy when I got home from my vacation at Amherst, Massachusetts to find so many great comments.
I only own the plot, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…
And this chapter is dedicated to Sakura Evil Twin of Sango, my fiftieth reviewer!
Curiosity
I wasn't
Prepared for this
Ahh...
--Eisley, "I Wasn't Prepared"
Beast awoke in her own bed, disoriented.
Hadn't she been in the rose passage just that night?
Don't ask, Regali said. The roses decided to confuse you.
Beast moaned at the cat and burrowed her head and shoulders under a black pillow. "They have a sense of humor?"
Pardon my bitterness, but isn't this part of their sense of humor?
"I thought you were the sorceress."
That's for me to know and you to find out.
"So you're not."
Don't assume things, Calista.
"Don't call me that!" Beast hissed, jumping off the bed and snarling at Regali.
Regali held her ground. I'll call you what I want. And there's nothing you can do about it. She stood, stretched, and vanished.
Beast circled herself, pacing angrily. "I hate you," she said softly to the empty air.
Regali's voice echoed back to her. No, you don't.
ش
Calix awoke long before Beast had—it was still dark out—and had found himself in the same predicament. After Regali informed him that the roses had moved him, and he had mused over this fact during a breakfast of chocolate cake, Calix decided it was time to see something.
He was tired of being curious, tired of just reading and sitting around, wondering why Beast was Beast and what Regali was. He stepped out into the entrance hall.
He took slow, deliberate steps to the Throne Room door. He reached out and placed his hands on the white-gold handles.
No one stopped him.
He pulled open the door, and then quickly stepped in, shutting the doors behind him.
ش
Beast walked down the steps of the entrance hall, looking sadly at the banister. She missed Adrena, oh, how she missed her and her antics. She missed Adrena pushing her down the banister, and then sliding down herself, she missed Adrena's smiles and her silly anger and even her tears.
She would give anything to see Adrena cry again, if it meant seeing her alive.
"Isn't that love?" she yelled to the enchantress. "I loved Adrena more than anything!"
You love her now. But she does not love you back.
"Of course not!" Beast yelled, her voice breaking. "She's dead!"
Exactly. She hates you, in this afterlife. Your entire family hates you now; you killed them.
"No!" Beast yelled. "No, I didn't!"
You killed them.
The voice echoed around her, and Beast tumbled down the steps, whimpering.
ش
Calix did not hear. The throne room was virtually soundproof, and he was fascinated.
It was the most beautiful room in the castle. Pure white marble, red carpet that felt like velvet on his bare feet, a huge stained glass window behind the throne. Portraits lined the walls.
He walked down the center, an aisle way as wide as he was tall, lined with ripped and torn red velvet cushions. Behind it were white pillars. His eyes followed one up. The ceiling had to five times taller than he.
He walked through the pillars and looked at some of the portraits. There was a beautiful, elegant woman about thirty years old in front of him. Her amber eyes glittered knowingly out at him. Calix backed away, unnerved.
He walked down the hall, looking at the pictures, which he had finally deemed pictured of former Kings and Queens.
Lost in his thoughts and the paintings, he was suddenly startled by a pair of brilliant emerald eyes.
King Jerrold, the plaque on the frame said. Son of Queen Martha and father of Queen Calista.
Calista. Beast.
He walked to the next picture, and there she was.
The first thing he noticed about the portrait was that a large rip went through the queen's face. It looked as though claws had ripped through the canvas.
He thought about the scabs on Beast's face and winced. It was clear that the two had a connection.
He carefully touched the rent in the canvas with gentle fingers, pushing up the loose fabric until the picture almost looked whole.
She was beautiful. Her face was pale, porcelain white. Her eyes were large and shining, her delicate mouth set. Half of her ebony hair was piled on top of her head, a few tendrils curled and hanging about her face. The rest hung down her back, as straight as could be.
The beautiful sculpture of her hair was topped by the Crown of Kings, Imperial Soneh's royal crown. Only the reigning monarch could wear it, and the Crown adjusted itself to each royal head. If a person who was not the predestined monarch tried to put on the Crown, they were killed instantly. Or so the legend went.
No one knew where the Crown had gone after the Queen vanished. Calix hadn't seen it in the castle. Perhaps, he mused, as he looked at the Queen, it had been destroyed. Perhaps we will all die and Imperial Soneh will fall into legend and history.
He shook his head. When had he become so bleak?
He looked back at the Queen. She was so fragile, delicate. If he had seen her when she was human, if he had touched her, would she break?
I am stunned. I have, of course, heard rumors from the servants; allegedly a butler overheard the Queen and the advisors making a deal--they wouldn't let her rule unless she had sexual intercourse with them.
He smiled bitterly as he remembered. Apparently not.
He turned away from the delicate Queen and looked at the rest of the room. Walking back into the center, he walked towards the throne, which was as ripped and torn and destroyed as the rest of the room. But he was stopped by the rose floating in his path.
It was like the dark roses outside—so deep a purple-red it was almost black.
Like a bruise, he thought. It was odd he'd never thought of it that way, but that was the color. Or like blood dried on a dirty rag. Only the rose glittered iridescently, even inside.
And surrounded by the rose were petals. There were at least a hundred of them. And, as he watched, another dropped.
He knelt and picked one up. It was as soft as velvet, smooth and perfect, even though it ought to be wilted.
He stood back up, and reached out to touch the rose.
"What the hell are you doing in here?"
He whirled; Beast stood at the door angrily.
"I was curious."
And this was where they stood: on the brink of something huge, yet neither was quite sure what.
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