Chapter 11: Garçon
Misrak paced back and forth in the throne room, running a hand through his short hair. Bibi's entrance, loud and graceless as it was, was not enough to awaken him from his sleepless reverie.
"Misrak." the young girl said softly. She carried on a plate some bread and meat taken from supper in the Great Hall.
"It is all my doing. It is all my fault."
"Are you- are you still speaking of Belle?"
A month had passed since Belle had left the castle. In that time, Misrak had become more and more reclusive, causing Alitash, in turn, to become more volatile. The behavior of the two royals had become apparent to the rest of the court, and a shadow seemed to hang constantly above them all.
"I cannot forgive myself, Bibi."
Bibi put the plate on the floor and perched herself on a cushion.
"My lord, I must say I- I do not understand why you are so miserable. It was not as though…" she trailed off, hesitant to repeat what had become the suspicion of many in the castle.
"I am in love with her?" Misrak finished, smiling wryly. He had lost weight- the skin on his face stretched too tightly across his cheekbones when he smiled.
"No." he continued, sitting down on the cushion next to her, "I have no feelings of that sort for her."
If Bibi had been older and a bit more perceptive she would have seen the way he avoided her eyes slightly.
"Then what is it?"
"It is a sense of responsibility that makes me feel as I do. I was the one who was supposed to take care of her and I failed."
"Ah. I understand." Bibi said, not truly understanding at all. "Would you like me to stay Misrak?"
"No." he said, giving her another tight smile, "Go be with your mother and brothers."
She nodded and scampered off. Misrak stared at the food she had left for a moment, then looked away in distaste. What he had not said was that he was convinced that the reason Belle had left was the kiss he had given her. It was the last time he had seen her, and, he feared, the last time he ever would.
She managed, in her absence, to haunt his dreams; a sad, pale figure, more ghost than girl, she always appeared to him lost.
"I do not know why I kissed her." he said aloud. The whole thing had been an impulsive action, not thought through and with no ulterior motive when it took place. Now, however, he did not know.
What he did know was that his brooding would do him no good. Still, he could not face his father; smirking and knowing, he was acting irritatingly superior. He wiped his brow that glistened with unexplainable sweat.
"If she were back," he said aloud, "then I would-" He paused; he had no idea what he would do.
"I would…protect her." he said, "I would…apologize for the kiss and then…forget about it completely." He had no problem convincing himself that this would be simple. Taking into account the kisses he often gave to people of his court, he doubted it would stand out much in his memory.
"And what of Alitash?"
This voice came from behind him. He whirled around to find himself looking at a wiry boy with his knees drawn up to his chest and dirt smudging his face, making him appear almost completely black. He recognized it to be a servant named Wagaye who he very rarely saw.
"What would you know of it?" he asked defensively.
The boy laughed.
"How could I not? Your temperament and the whole situation with the pale girl has not gone unnoticed. We are silent, but not blind."
Misrak felt his face go hot.
"Perhaps they should be." he growled through his teeth.
"You sound like Alitash now."
"It is no concern of yours who I sound like."
"You really should eat, you know. There are many servants who would give their lives for a plate so large."
"Then take it." Misrak said helplessly, "It does not matter to me."
"But I care about your welfare, Your Highness. That, and I have come to tell you of something which not a soul in the royal family has been informed of."
"What are you talking about?"
"A prophecy, my prince."
Misrak straightened.
"A prophecy?" he asked sharply, "What do you mean? About what?"
"About you, Your Highness."
Misrak felt his hands tingle with nervousness as he stared at the boy.
"Who made the prophecy?"
"Your mother, Your Highness. Just before she died."
He could not speak.
"It has not been revealed to you because the others have feared that by knowing it, you will get in the way of your own destiny. But this is unwise, especially now. What is foretold is foretold, and if people could change it, then the gift of prophecy would not have been given."
"What- what does it say?"
"It says that it will be up to you to rid us of our curse."
"Me?" Misrak asked incredulously, "But-"
"Not only you, however. The prophecy says that true love in the face of adversity will break the spell that your mother laid upon our people."
"And she said that it was I who…"
"Yes. It is to be your love."
"That's ridiculous." Misrak said, laughing a little as he spoke, "Surely, you jest. I love no one."
"Not yet. That is why you must bring the girl back."
"No." he said sharply, "I will not bring her here against her will." he examined Wagaye closer, "I will certainly not force something like this on either of us. I believe you were mistaken in giving me this information, and in fact wonder what authority gave you the audacity to do so."
"My own authority." Wagaye said, suddenly sounding cold. "It is not your place to argue with a prophecy."
"It is not your place to speak as you do. Now get out."
The boy stood up and raised his chin.
"Either you shall be together, or all of us are doomed to this curse forever as your heart rots away as your sister's has."
"Get out." Misrak repeated bitterly.
"Remember what I said about prophecies, and how knowing of them does not make them less likely to come true." He grinned and slipped through the door, and Misrak was left to stare after him helplessly for what felt like a lifetime. Eventually, he picked up the plate that Bibi had brought to him and ate what was on it, the food tasting like sawdust.
Wagaye, after leaving the throne room, crept skillfully up several flights of stairs to reach a heavy wooden door. He tested the handle, and when he saw it was locked, he waved a hand before it. Instantly, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Stealing inside, Wagaye scanned the room. It was messy, with overturned chairs and loose sheets of parchment littering the floor. He snaked around them and continued to search the floor with his eyes until he alighted upon a particularly large pile of parchment. He then began to dig in an almost doglike fashion. After a moment, he withdrew a small oval looking glass.
"Where is she?" he whispered, grasping it tightly.
At once, the mirror clouded over. For a moment, it seemed only foggy, and Wagaye squinted into its depths. Then it cleared, showing him an image, and he smiled. He placed the mirror on the floor and buried it under the pieces of parchment so that it looked as it had before. He crept back out of the room and locked the door with another wave of a hand, and, glancing around once more, he disappeared down the dimly lit hallway.
"A prophecy?"
Amara's eyebrows were raised and she paused on the way to the transformation chamber.
"Yes." Misrak watched her reaction suspiciously, hoping to detect some recognition, "I have heard that my mother made a prophecy."
"Your mother made several prophecies, Misrak." Amara said, turning away from him, "They are not to be taken seriously."
"In our own history, we have had witchcraft and prophecies. Are you so quick to dismiss our history?"
Amara turned back to him, looking surprised at the sudden loss of his temper.
"I do not dismiss our history." she said carefully, "I listen when my king tells me what is forbidden to believe."
"So you would believe in a prophecy, were it not for my father?"
Amara twitched, and at the same time Misrak shuddered. Any moment the transformations would begin.
"Do not question things that are not, Misrak." Amara said, walking away quickly. Misrak would have run after her, but at the pain running up and down him, he dashed as best as he could to his own chamber.
"Belle."
The voice sounded so unfamiliar that Belle told herself that it was only in her mind. After wandering in the forest for so long, living off what little she could find, such things were beginning to happen with alarming frequency.
When Belle had first reached the Chateau, it had taken only a day due to clear directions and, as she was starting to suspect, a bit of magic. When she had gone back to her home, it had taken half a week. After she had stayed there a night in a church and returned Maurice home, knowing he would probably safer than wherever she would be going, she had ridden into the forest, not knowing but beginning to think that she would go back to the Chateau. However, she had ridden for a week with a dwindling supply of bread and water and found nothing familiar, though she was almost sure that she had followed the path she had taken the first time. After that week, the horse had bolted with her pack in tow, leaving her completely lost in an unfamiliar area of the forest. She had wandered aimlessly for a little over two weeks and, as it had several times since the day she had first left her cottage, death was becoming extremely likely.
"It is not as though I have anywhere to go, anyway." she said aloud, and instantly regretted it. Her mouth, which had already felt parched, now felt as dry as a desert from opening and moving it. She collapsed on the ground and leaned against a tree. More and more she was wishing that she had been killed by the lions.
"Belle." the voice was louder now, unmistakable.
Either I have finally gone mad she thought or there really is someone…
Not wanting to waste whatever moisture was left in her mouth, she pounded the tree with a stick lying nearby. It made a dull sound, but she was satisfied that it was loud enough to make her heard. She knew she was right when, a second later, a dark, lean boy about her age stood before her.
"There you are." the boy said with a smile.
"Who…" she didn't bother to finish the question, and she didn't need to.
"I am Wagaye. A servant in the chateau you left a month ago."
She quickly avoided his eyes, thoughts of the Chateau making her feel guilty.
"You look thinner."
In her head, she laughed humorlessly. That was certainly a way that she could attain her sisters' fine figures without wearing a corset, though it was not much less unpleasant…
"I've come to bring you home."
"No." she managed to croak. "Cannot."
The boy knew better than to ask. In an act of strength that seemed beyond his tiny frame, he lifted her easily and began to carry her, while moaned and tried to convey her protest without words or energy. When he stoically ignored her, she fell asleep in his arms, not knowing or caring where he was taking her.
Wagaye, instead of taking Belle either to the Chateau or back to her village, took her to a house in a small clearing not far from where she had been. After laying her on a mattress, he went to go pump water. She was clearly dehydrated and starving, and she would need to be nursed back to health before returning to the Chateau. He knew that she could not return there as a victim. If she did, Misrak would pity rather than admire her, and Alitash's resentment would continue to grow at the sight of weakness. He grinned at the thought of how well he knew them.
As he reached the pump, his grin grew wider at the thought that Belle had not yet noticed that he was not a lion or any other creature, though the sun had burned bright above them.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are the best. Sorry this chapter took so long; hopefully, with the summer being here, the chapters will start coming out quicker.
A few people asked me about the fairy tale that I based this story on. Just be aware that reading it will give away some major plot points, but if you guys don't mind that, I found an online version of it that I'll put in my profile.I can't put the address herebecause the formatting won't let me(urg) butI hope you guys enjoy it- it's really different than the traditional Beauty and the Beast!