THE Prince stood rooted to his spot in the corridor. He did not know how long he had stood out here, frozen. He was unable to take his eyes off the spot on the wall where it seemed only moments ago, the pretty new maid who called herself Belle had been pressed against the wall, seemingly unafraid of him.
The fact that she had not looked upon his cursed monstrous form as this hideous Beast left him with a feeling of truly amazing conflict. It was almost a brand new injury, a brand new humiliation, a new curse. A part of him had shattered along with his sense of safety as he had watched her swiftly retreat.
He prayed to God if He would even listen to a wretch like him that he had not made a grave mistake in choosing to trust the girl at her word when he had commanded her to keep the knowledge of his curse a secret from the other servants here within the castle.
But at the same time, there was a strange feeling of satisfaction as he thought about what she had said to him.
How his family's castle had been the first place she had thought to come for shelter, for safety. Triumph. Smug glory. It was not something the Prince thought he could articulate, even if he wanted to.
His fingers curled into fists as his paws trembled with rage. He cursed the wretched Enchantress for doing this to him. He stiffened as he brought a shaking hand up to move along the bridge of his nose, feeling the fur that had not been there earlier today. The Prince grimaced as the pads of his fingertips ghosted delicately along the side of his face.
The stomach deformity had turned his handsome features into something truly monstrous. By some miracle, he finally managed to move out of the corridor and down the hall of the East Wing that would take him to the servants' quarters, to Collette's former room that was now lovely Belle's. The Prince came to step in front of the closed door and drew in a breath and held it as he gingerly opened the door.
He did not believe her yet when the girl had informed him that she would not leave, that her village no longer held any happy memories for her. Even if that were the case, surely, he thought she would prefer to return home than to remain cooped up here in the castle alongside him, effectively as his prisoner.
Especially now that the girl had seen him like this.
His breathing increased as he drew in a breath and held it. Surely, there was no way the girl would not be woken by how loudly the door had creaked on its hinges. The Prince waited as he slunk towards where she slept, sticking to the shadows. Electricity coursed through his limbs as he did.
To see her again, as if to convince himself that the girl had not gotten it in her mind to run away, was a need that he did not understand. There were no words the Prince could use to describe it.
The Prince's furry fingers twitched. His lips parted as he came to stop in front of her bed.
His heart pounded loudly against his ribs.
Just a little closer...
He wanted to be closer.
He could not explain this need, this urge to be near the girl who had looked upon him in his monstrous cursed form and had not turned on her heels and run away out of fear and disgust.
Her skin was so creamy and soft-looking. Perhaps inappropriately, he wondered what she felt like.
She shifted position and murmured something inaudible under her breath, but her voice was much too soft and timid for the Prince, even in his new heightened hearing in this monstrous form, to hear her.
He could tell that she moved in her sleep by the crumpled bed sheets as he peered at her as she slept.
In the dim flickering light, of which the only light in the room was from the blaze of the fire in the fireplace, he curiously observed the way his new maid lay across the bed, her sleep seemingly untroubled. The way her covers were twisted up looked suspicious. His icy blue eyes narrowed as he crept forward for a closer look, still not entirely trusting this girl not to run off the first chance she got.
Her small barefoot was so dainty, pale, and perfect, that it almost did not look real, peeked out from beneath the sheets. There was a strange red mark around her ankle that made him curious, and at that moment he wondered if someone had hurt her recently, perhaps this man she had been meant to marry. A fierce wave of anger ripped through him at the very notion that startled him so badly. The surge of this new emotion caused him to straighten so quickly that his wretched winding and twisting horns accidentally stuck on the low ceiling beam. They would surely be the death of him at this point and the one aspect of this curse he had never quite gotten used to, even after years of suffering it.
The Prince clenched his jaw to keep the few choice words from leaving his lips but a low curse passed his lips anyways, words that, were the maiden awake, she likely would have scolded him for saying.
But he could not manage to pretend to care. If he woke his new maid up, then so be it. He righted himself and looked at her, the edges of his mouth pinching and turning down into a frown.
It was eerie to the Prince to think of this girl, this maiden, calling his castle home, wandering about the halls during the witching hour when most were supposed to be asleep, seeing the things that made up his life. Invading the isolated world he'd created for himself when Father had taken Mother and had left.
Looking at him. Judging him, even. He scowled and nearly growled with the effort to restrain himself, though his urge to touch her again was very strong. What interest could this beauty, an odd girl though she was quickly proving to be, possibly have in a Beast like him? He was cursed, a Changeling man and the only way to undo the spell was to possess that which his father never owned, but he did not know what. And the witch, may God bless her soul not, never cared to impart on him that little bit of wisdom.
He wondered what she had been doing wandering the halls so late at night, anyways. Perhaps she had sleepwalked, roused from her sleep from a nightmare, dazed and confused, seeking the father she seemed to hold so close to her heart.
A horrible abrupt bitterness seeped its way into his stomach at the mention of her father.
A loving father, no less, he thought and sneered.
She had grown up in a house seemingly surrounded by the love her father had given her. She did not know of the trials and relentless misery he had endured at his Beast of a father. Yes, that was it. She surely would have no interest in the cursed Changeling Prince, no reason to further pry into his life.
As soon as she woke in the morning, he would fully expect to watch from his cold and lonely tower in the West Wing as she disappeared through the iron-wrought gates of his home, never to return.
She would go back to her village and some village man would likely be given the gift of her love.
As she should, he tried to tell himself. The Prince let himself linger a few moments longer. The room was nearly dark now as the fire in the hearth dwindled to a minuscule blaze.
He told himself that he should leave the girl be, but still, the Prince waited with bated breath, caught completely up in horrified fascination. Belle had spoken so matter-of-factly and almost coldly about her desire to stay, but was this simple farm girl so blind to not see just how extraordinary this was now?
Could she not see that he had to stop this from happening, to stop himself from knowing her? He was sure, now more than ever, that the delicate beauty of this odd girl, this funny girl, was a blatant taunt. A test.
She had been sent to him by the witch, he was sure of that much. To see if he was strong enough to resist a young woman with the face of an angel and a body that was ripe as the sweetest fruit off the vine.
"Why?" he whispered to the girl, his voice hoarse and hushed, though still, thankfully, she did not wake. "Why stay?" he growled, having to tamper down the low wolfish growl that threatened to erupt.
He found himself wishing that the girl were not so pretty. But the strange thing was, the Prince knew that it would not matter at all. If she had come to the castle with three arms or even short an eye, he would be intrigued by this girl no less.
He would still be ensnared by this maiden's mystery, and her loveliness, her beauty, only added that extra twist of cruel irony, that such a beauty would stay with a beast like him.
It was at that moment that Belle sighed in her sleep and turned over on her right side, her knees coming up and her arm sliding downward to hover protectively over the kennel master's pup she had been so bent on protecting from her earlier tonight. In her arms, as it was, the animal looked even smaller.
A long lock of dark hair fell over Belle's face, and the girl sniffed as it tickled her slender little nose.
The Prince stared, wide-eyed and transfixed at the single lock of her hair.
The fire from the hearth cast a faint orange glow upon her hair, and even with the light and shadows hitting her hair in the way that it was touching it now, her hair was still so dark, like the night sky without stars, yet it was not black. Hers was the color of dark bitter chocolate, and so very beautiful.
As the odd thought crossed the Prince's mind, he leaned down, and with a gentleness that he had not thought himself capable of, he lifted the lock away from her face. The softness and silky texture of it were so unexpected that he almost yelped out of surprise.
He quickly withdrew his paw into himself and retreated from the bed, horrified, and disgusted by his actions. He had touched her, this simple peasant girl, this farmer's daughter from the looks of the attire she'd worn earlier. This girl was beneath him in every single way, he had touched her, as though she were made of glass or the finest of China teacups.
She was a stranger in his castle despite him knowing her name and her quiet plea to stay. And he, a Beast, a monster. The Prince knew that he had no right to touch this girl.
The Prince fled from the girl's chamber before he could second guess himself, closing the door as quietly as he could yet leaving it open just a crack so that he would hear it if she got up again.
Then he made his way towards the Courtyard, towards his rose gardens, thinking that perhaps some air would do him some good. He needed a moment. The Prince, once outside in the brisk and cold air, growled, his lips curling back and upward into a feral snarl.
He had hoped that by coming outside onto the grounds of his estate, he would feel the familiar barrier erect its walls around his black and wicked heart. But the feeling of disinterest that he had always shown to any new girl who came to work in the castle either as a maid or in the kitchens was not there this time. Because this girl had seen him in his cursed form and had not shied away from him.
Even now, outside the castle walls, he felt this strange beauty's presence in his home.
She was the taunt of a treasure he could not have.
He did not know how long he stood there, frozen to his spot in the rose garden, the overwhelming scent that assaulted his nose of the flowers that bloomed even in winter making him feel slightly sick.
Yet he could not bring himself to move. His mind was filled with thoughts of the beautiful young woman currently fast asleep inside his home: Belle, a simple farm girl, yet brave and noble to look him dead in the eye and not recoil out of fear or disgust. Or if she was afraid of him, she was good at hiding it. But how she would treat him in the morning would perhaps be the real test.
When he was human again for the day until the sun went down.
He wondered how she would look upon him then.
If Belle would see him as nothing more than an arrogant and disgusting bully, or if she would see him as her handsome hero, her savior, for letting her remain when she had no one else to take her in.
Even now, he thought it strange that as he thought of her, of Belle, there came a strange peace that wallowed in his soul, and a sudden sharp thrash of shooting pain through his chest that for a moment, made him fear he was suffering a complaint of the heart. It spread as a strange seeping pressure in his chest that caused warmth throughout his whole body.
He was skeptical of it at first but he then came to understand that what he felt was a good feeling.
Something he selfishly wanted to experience again. Something he would hopefully feel again tomorrow when she came to him at breakfast. He wanted to bottle the warmth she exuded in a tiny glass vial and keep it close to his chest. Perhaps then he would not feel so ice-cold all the time. The Prince let out a haggard sigh, the Beast's breath making a visible puff of cold air as he let out the breath slowly as he looked towards the right of the garden, at the now-frozen lake, and thought how peaceful it was.
Since Father had left with Mother years ago, with the man only returning to the castle occasionally to visit without her in tow, out here in his rose gardens was the only small bit of tranquility he had been afforded since the witch cursed him.
He spent most of his nights out here when sleep would not come for him, of which there were many, as he struggled to avoid thinking of memories that he would rather not. He was careful as he looked not to catch sight of his monstrous reflection, though the image of his horrific visage was permanently burned in his retinas. He feared he would never be rid of it, and this was even after he had destroyed most of the mirrors in a blind rage as a young boy, scared of his reflection when the sun would go down, following the painful transformations that made him wish that he could just curl up into a ball and wither away like someone dying of thirst or starvation, to let his suffering just end.
Father's horrific deeds were engraved on this monstrous beastly face and that terrified the Prince, sending a hollow feeling deep in his stomach. He felt as though he were going to be sick.
Bile rose in his throat at the sound of footsteps that broke his concentration just then and he froze.
He felt the witch's presence as she moved to stand behind him, silent and swift like the phantom she was. Even now, she burned him. The witch made no move to speak and neither did he.
He kept his back paraded to her, his expression grim as he stood in silence, as he often did whenever the priestess, this Enchantress, took it upon herself to visit him. The Prince angrily clenched his jaws and waited for the witch to speak and be on her way. She appeared whenever she so pleased and always without warning and sometimes, even going as far as to change her appearance.
Never mind that it was his castle, his estate. The first week that she had come, he had long since given up on insisting that the witch appears at his beck and call. Even as a boy, he was smart enough to discover that what he wanted was of no consequence to her. He nearly flinched as she appeared in front of him, and her expression was cold, her catlike green eyes intrigued as the Enchantress tilted her head to the side and regarded him curiously. He drew in a sharp breath and held it, growing more impatient.
"It comes as no surprise to find you out here, Beast," she murmured, her voice as smooth as silk, a buttery purr that made the fur on the back of his neck rise.
He nearly growled at her but managed to refrain.
"No," the Prince answered flatly, quietly. "Why have you come tonight, of all nights? What is it you want?"
She looked up at the shift in his voice, at hearing his softness, her mouth slightly slack in surprise, causing the Prince to clench his teeth. Curse her, curse this witch, she was beautiful, perfect, and polite, no matter how angry he was with the witch for ruining his life when the fault of it was Father's. He had every reason to hate the woman and lash out, threaten to give her another bite, and yet, he knew the moment he let his anger take control over his emotions, the witch would make him pay dearly for it.
"I wanted to see your newest pretty little maid and to see if you've managed to scare her off yet. Because she has seen you like this, well…" The Enchantress clucked her tongue and quirked a brow at the Prince. "I am impressed. She is strong, for one so alone in the heart like you. This girl is not one of many, Beast. I have never met another so alone in the heart like you, Beast. Perhaps there is hope for you yet to possess that which your father does not. Though speaking of your father, how will you explain her to him, hmm? What's to keep her safe from your father?" the witch questioned innocently enough, fluttering her eyelids as she peered at him with those haunting eyes of hers. She toyed with a strawberry-blonde curl in her hand as she came to stand in front of him, so close that their noses almost touched. The Prince's first instinct was to recoil and turn away, but he dared not.
He knew how the act would be perceived by this priestess.
"What? What are you talking about, witch? Speak plainly," the Prince grunted hoarsely, looking at the witch sideways, wondering what fresh torment this Enchantress could have for him now.
His thoughts were permeated on the girl inside, and as such, he had not heard a single word that had come out of the witch's mouth. The Enchantress's mouth twitched in a smirk, much to his rage and fear, and she let out of the curl of her hair she had been playing with and turned away, her chin upturned.
"I suppose it does not matter, oh, Prince, if you cannot even bother to pay heed to my counsel when it so willingly offered," she sniffed haughtily, and she did not sound apologetic at all. The Prince bristled, but she continued. "Forgive me. I can see you are not in the mood for my company this evening. I seem to have chosen a terrible time to see you. I will go then," she muttered and made to leave.
Though the Enchantress halted in her tracks and turned around slightly to face him better when the Prince let a dangerous growl leave him as his temper erupted within him at that moment.
"Don't you dare, witch," he growled, glowering at her, his blue eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare do this to me? What are you keeping from me now? And don't think I will let go of the matter of you showing yourself to Belle. That was a low-down dirty trick you pulled earlier with the kennel master's pup. What on earth are you playing at, witch? What exactly are you hoping to achieve by showing yourself to her?"
She flinched at the use of the word witch and scowled at him, her thin blonde eyebrows furrowed.
Her expression hardened in response to the Prince's aggression and responded to his questions with a clipped tone as she snapped at him.
"I have a name, Highness, in case your memory is failing you, Prince. It would do you good to learn it and call me by my name if you wish me not to make this curse even worse for you. But I can see now that you cannot even be bothered with gracing me that much respect," she bit back, angry. "You are proving, Beast, how stupid I have been to ever think so kindly of you, boy. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you are turning out just like your wretched father after all. What a shame," she hissed coldly through gritted teeth, her words stuffing the chills down the Prince's throat. "I visit you at the moon's turn out of the kindness of my heart. Despite what you think of me, I do care what becomes of you. I would not see you live your life as this Changeling Beast forever. I am no monster. Your father holds that title, and who will be here within a fortnight, or have you forgotten that he visits you?" she sniffed.
The witch made a show of crinkling her nose in disgust.
For a moment, a shadow of anger flitted across the beautiful blonde witch's pretty features as her expression turned into one of feral grief. The look was frightening, and the Prince recoiled.
The Prince's heart was in his throat at the mention of a visit from Father. Having the man in his home was admittedly the last thing he was prepared to do, and yet, he could not turn the Duke away, and nor could he keep Belle a secret from his father. He started to step forward to leave, not wanting to hear this, but he stopped himself. He knew the Enchantress would see it, and he was not about to give her the satisfaction of her seeing how much he inwardly squirmed at the news she'd given.
"I do hope that nothing dreadful happens to your new pretty maid when dear old daddy comes to call upon his son. I need not even use my magic to see that your father has not changed a whit since that eve. He is just as vile and cruel as he ever was," the Enchantress finished, her voice purposefully lingering on the grimmer parts of her sentence as she turned to regard her Changeling Prince's face.
The Prince swallowed down hard and when he did, it felt as though he were swallowing knives. His ears twitched and he could feel the witch's green eyes burning a hole right through him, as he forced himself to breathe and try to relax. His jaw was cut like steel, and his paws were clenched into fists.
He throttled his urge to roar like the Beast that he was and risk waving the servants and bit down on his tongue hard enough that he thought he tasted the blood welling there.
The witch carried on.
"What will your pretty Belle do, I wonder, when she learns that the apple does not fall far from the tree, hmm? When she learns that you are just as bad as your father? Will she flee from you?"
Her voice rose now to match her growing angry mood, though she turned away and took several deep breaths, willing her temper to cool a bit before continuing. She turned back fully to face the Prince, the skirts of her gown of green moss silk rustling in the winter breeze. The Enchantress wore no cloak, though he suspected her heathen witchcraft protected her with some sort of spell that gave her warmth.
The Prince sharply turned his head away. He could not let this witch know that her words had reduced his heart to ashes in his chest. The only way he knew that the feeble quivering muscle was still even beating was the sound of his blood rushing in his eardrums.
He was thankful that the thick fur that covered his body in this monstrous form shielded the fact from the Enchantress that he had gone as pale as a ghost. His mind churned with fear, hatred, and questions.
For what purpose could Father have in visiting him now? His last visit was two years ago.
Given how their last conversation had ended which had nearly resulted in him having a broken nose when their argument turned physical, he would have been perfectly happy never to see his father again.
He wanted to yell a tirade at this witch, but he dared not. By a miracle, he found his voice.
"Go. Leave, witch. You know your exit. The new maid is under my protection," he blurted out, his tone defeated. He kept his profile turned to the side, but he thought he could see the Enchantress smile, though whether it was a smile of pity which he did not want, or a smile meant to mock him, he did not know, and he did not like it either way. He wanted nothing more than to be alone and to think of the girl.
"Is she, indeed? This is a first," the Enchantress purred, and the way the witch had a habit of clicking her tongue when curious both infuriated him and terrified him. She folded her arms over her chest and looked away for a moment. He got the impression the witch was doing some very quick thinking now.
Finally, the witch spoke, her tone quiet and much more soft and subdued than before, and less harsh.
"I suppose…you are changing, somewhat. Or are trying? Perhaps, in light of the circumstances, it would not be so terrible if I were to call upon you and this girl more often, at my leisure, Beast. I will be seeing you, this very spot, at midnight, Saturday next. You will be five minutes late and already bothered by a squabble." Her tone went flat as she predicted events that she already knew would come to pass.
The Enchantress moved past him, her shoulder jostling his on purpose as she did so, a slight nudge, a jab, a reminder that she was the one who quite literally had a hand in the turning of the tides of his fate.
The Prince bristled and bared his sharp fangs at the witch. But she was unfazed. If anything, she looked almost bored at the hostile look he shot, and returned his glare with dagger eyes that could have killed.
The Enchantress made to leave his gardens. The Prince stood rooted to his spot.
No one, save for her and Father, dared to speak to him boldly and candidly that the witch just had. It took him a moment to recover the use of his legs, and the Prince stalked after her, barking orders at her to turn and look at him. Eventually, the witch looked.
"You know something, I would have you tell me what it is. What do you know?" he hotly accused as he yelled at the hauntingly beautiful Enchantress across his castle's Courtyard.
The witch's stubborn refusal to help him by even sharing an ounce of information about future events yet to come that she was already aware of infuriated him.
She claimed to wish to help him, to not see him succumb to the wickedness and bitterness in his heart, as Father had, and yet, she would not interfere.
Even in her anger, she was a beautiful creature, this celestial-like goddess of a witch. The Prince could, albeit begrudgingly, admit why his father had been taken and smitten with this creature. The Enchantress whose name he knew but would never dare utter out of spite had fair skin and was pale, and her catlike green eyes displayed more anger than he had seen in her eyes in a very long time.
Not since the night that Father had hurt her, and he had done what he could to shake those horrible memories of that night away, though the sounds of her cries and pleas for mercy still rang in his ears.
Her pretty pink lips parted slightly as she noticed him staring, and yet the Prince did not avert his gaze. He turned away, thinking that silence was perhaps the best response in case she tried to goad him.
If there was but even a small chance he could somehow win this witch's favor after all this time, perhaps she could enact upon Father an even more fitting punishment than to watch his own son suffer this.
She could turn him into the pig or mad rabid dog that he had always known Father to be.
That brought a smile to the Prince's lips. His rude, sarcastic Father.
If he were turned into a dog, he could put him down himself with his own hunting bow, he thought.
He very nearly laughed but did not.
"Get back here and help me with this—this—" he started to say, though the witch turned to him just as she reached the edge of the Courtyard, pausing to look at him sadly.
"Woman is the word you want, Beast. A woman who, as you say, is under your protection, and if that is the case, then treat her well, for perhaps, she might give something back in exchange for your...kindness."
And then, without a word, she dissipated from thin air as though she were but mist, as though she had never been there in the first place.
The Prince was left alone with only his tortured thoughts for company. The sound of his pounding heart drowned out even the sound of the winds of winter. His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips.
He did not think he could get back inside soon enough and yet, that would not warm him. He felt his anger swell at the news that Father was coming. He cursed himself for not having received any sort of notice that the man who had ruined his life planned to visit him.
He waited a moment to compose himself before he was able to move towards the castle. If Father visited and he took an interest in the girl, then there was a chance she would not escape the castle alive.
The Prince felt a stab of anger in his heart. He only hoped that he could keep the girl a secret from him during his visit. It was the only way he could think of. Perhaps he could hide the girl in his basement.
It would be a risk, she would run the risk of perhaps getting hurt, scratched, or horribly bitten, during his transformations, but it could not be helped. Father did not venture down into the basement.
The Prince stood there, yet again frozen, though this time it was out of anger, not fear. He let out a dangerously low growl from the back of his throat, wondering what had happened to his isolated and quiet existence. Then, he dug his sharp claws into the sensitive skin of his palms until he nearly bled.
It did not help.
And in the second room to the left of the East Wing, the beautiful Belle slept on, oblivious to the Prince's torment.