“You are the better story teller by far.”
“Very well. But you remember the deal. It is my turn to request tonight’s dessert.”
“That is fair.”
She smiled and made her way to the now familiar window well, the blanket still snuggly around her despite the sunshine, and leaned back against the wall, her feet out in front of her. He curled up as usual, studying her toes with marked interest until she tucked them under her blanket with a scowl.
“Do you remember the prince from the other story?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think it’s time to tell more of his story.”
“Is it happy or sad?”
“Yes…well, I’m not sure it’s either.”
“And it ends?”
“….Yes.”
He raised his head. “You hesitated.”
“It seems there is always someone left with an unhappy story. I hope that person goes on to have their own happy ending too, but it doesn’t always work that way.”
He set his head back down, but didn’t comment.
“Once upon a time, there was a prince. I never told you what he looked like, did I? He was average height, I suppose, with a slender build. He had brown hair and brown eyes and was really quite ordinary looking until you realized who he was.
He was so upset about Rose and still confused when he thought of her, so he decided that he would find his own bride. He packed his saddlebags and readied his horse and brought his best friend, the celebrated Sir Paxton with him. His mother said he was going through a rebellious phase and thought he’d be back in a month. His father blustered and said he was to be back within three months at which time he would give a ball and choose a bride for him.
Meanwhile, the prince and his friend rode the countryside for many months slaying dragons and passing all manner of skills that determined bravery.”
“There haven’t been dragons for a millennia.”
She smirked. “And yet we still curse their poop.”
He coughed, “In my day only the very uneducated cursed dragon excrement.”
Helen grinned.
“You didn’t answer my question. How could he slay dragons if they don’t exist?”
“I meant it proverbially.”
“But if he was passing these tests that you don’t explain correctly, why didn’t he take any of the women to be his bride?”
“I’m getting there.”
“But…”
“I’ll get there faster the less I’m interrupted.”
“Why bother slaying these proverbial dragons if – “
“Luke, would you like to tell the story?”
“No.” He laid his head down once more with a huff and she smiled and continued.
“Each time the prince went to a new land, the ruler was always pleased with him and offered his choice of a daughter or half a kingdom. Each time he politely refused and the rulers, shocked, would turn to Sir Paxton and ask if he would care for the prize. Sir Paxton was never one to settle for hand me downs, no matter how much he helped the prince, and always refused as well. It wasn’t long before they heard of the sleeping princess lost in the Grey Mountains.”
Luke snorted.
“What? That’s their name.”
“I’ve never heard of the Grey Mountains.”
“Are you sure? They’re far to the east, near the fabled land of the jinn.”
“Those are known as the Trembling Peaks. Or were, many years ago.”
“Fine, but the prince knew them as the Grey Mountains, so that’s what they’ll be in the story.”
“What can the prince and Sir Paxton do?”
“What?”
“What are their knacks?”
“Oh, well, Sir Paxton could tell a few seconds in advance what a person will do. This made him an excellent knight, as he always beat any opponent. The prince…well, unfortunately, his knack was being able to find food no matter where he is. This had never come in handy at his castle, of course, but on this quest it did.”
“That is…”
“Yes, he was very embarrassed about it, and told most people that his knack was survival. Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.” Helen waited for Luke to ask another question, but he quietly put his head back down.
“The prince decided that this was the quest for him. Sir Paxton rolled his eyes at this latest vow, but stayed alongside the prince as promised. For months they rode until they came to the Grey Mountains. It took them weeks to find a pass, and when they did, they found it blocked by an old woman with an apple. She knew their quest and swore she hoped only to help them succeed where others had failed. This apple, she said, contained a potion, which when eaten would help the princess awaken when kissed.
Now, everyone knows that old women you encounter on a quest are there to help you, but everyone also knows that eating food from a stranger is questionable at best. So, the prince thanked the old woman and took the apple while Sir Paxton eyed it with suspicion. They followed the path and soon came upon a cottage. Inside lay the sleeping princess, her gold hair gleaming in the setting sun, her body still, but not in death.”
“Another gold-haired heroine?”
“Yes.”
He gave a short growl, but put his head down once more, so Helen continued.
“The prince took a bite of the apple, but before he could swallow it, collapsed on the ground. Horrified, Sir Paxton tried to revive him, cursing the old woman and her apple. He waited for some time, but the prince stayed asleep much like the princess. At last, Sir Paxton decided to take the prince home with the apple in hopes that a healer could discover how to wake him. He loaded the prince onto his horse and readied everything else, but turned back to look at the sleeping princess.
The valiant knight felt he could not honorably leave her there. As he went to pick her up, he realized how beautiful she was. There was no way to know that the prince was her true love and perhaps…perhaps it could be him. He gently met her lips with his own and waited. Within a moment she awoke and smiled at him, her eyes bright and full of life. She did not remember much about herself, only that she had been cursed by a witch so that she would not foil her evil plans.”
Luke’s tail stilled, and Helen stopped. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told a story about a witch.”
“No, it is…that other people can overcome their curse…it is heartening and maddening at the same time.”
There was a pause as she considered asking some of the questions that had been buzzing around in her head.
“Did they fall in love?” His question stopped her and she changed her mind in favor of finishing the story.
“Well, the attraction was immediate, or so they say, and since they had a very long way to go with a sleeping prince, they got to know each other very well. They were married shortly after the return home, and by all accounts were very much in love.”
“But wasn’t the prince upset that Sir Paxton got the princess?”
“Stories about the sleeping princess were exaggerated, for she wasn’t a princess, or at least she didn’t remember being one. Also, she most definitely did not have any money to bring to his kingdom. And of course, lastly, he was in no position to argue, as he was asleep.”
“Then the story isn’t finished yet.” He plopped his head back on his paws and she laughed.
“Are you pouting?”
“No.”
She laughed again, not convinced. “The next time I tell you a story, I shall make sure it is the prince’s turn to find true love.”
THE Curse
The man danced, giddy with the beauty he held in his arms. Her sunshine gold hair dazzled as her dark eyes sparkled at him, and as she was nearly of a height with him, he could relish them all the more. He held her much closer than was proper, but he didn’t care; she was his, and he didn’t care who knew it. Conversation wasn’t necessary, for they knew each other too well. Instead they twirled, oblivious to the other couples, th
e knowing looks, and the pinched lips of Lady Catherine Bromwell.
It wasn’t until the dance finished and they automatically applauded the orchestra, that he saw his mother coming toward him. “Lady Catherine looks rather upset. Perhaps you should dance with her, if only to mollify the embarrassment?”
He nodded, “Of course.” then turned to kiss the hand of his lady love. “I shall find you later, my dear.” She smiled in reply.
He made his way past the multitude of courtiers and nobles that clogged his home, his smile never flagging. “My lady.” He bowed, then rose as he looked at Lady Catherine, although he could not quite meet her eyes. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
There was a deafening silence as she twisted her lips and forced his eyes to hers. “Of course, my lord duke.” She held out a gloved hand that matched the midnight dress she wore which further complimented her dark hair and even blacker eyes. They danced stiffly and as the song ended, the duke gave a small sigh of relief, his duty finished.
Her smirk taunted him. “This is not over, between us, Your Grace. You think it is, but it is not.” She curtsied to his bow and left the floor. Shaken, he stared after her for a moment, wondering…but surely the rumors were not true?
His engagement to the Lady Genevieve was announced that night. The next day the wedding was scheduled for the following month, and all thoughts of Lady Catherine and her supposed abilities in dark magic were banished in the cloak of happiness he now wore.
The day of the wedding brought mountains of guests, wagons of flowers and tables of gifts. Everyone in the wedding party wore white, while all the guests wore springtime. As a result, the duke was disconcerted by the woman in funeral black that sat in the back, her face obscured by a large spray of lilies. He was so distracted, in fact, that he nearly missed the entrance of his bride. Banishing his frown, he smiled at her, heady at his love for her.
Lady Genevieve and the Duke of Cartwright were married, and as they kissed, he felt like shouting for joy. Grinning stupid grins at each other, they held hands, and hurried down the aisle, no longer noticing their guests. Outside, they stood in the bright sunshine smiling at everyone when all of a sudden, a cloud covered the sky. It was so immediate, that everyone raised their eyes in confusion. As they looked to each other for answers, there stood Lady Catherine, the culprit clothed in ebony, her arms at her side, her gaze firmly on the duke.
“You will be punished for your betrayal.” Her voice rang, pinching their ears.
The duke gripped Genevieve’s hand. “How can you say this? I explained that I love the Lady Genevieve. Surely you understand I could not marry you when my heart was not free?”
“You made as many promises to me as you did to her, Your Grace.” She bit off the last two words as she stepped forward. The crowd backed up, but neither the duke nor his bride moved. “You looked as lovingly into my eyes as you do in hers now. You held me close, pressed kisses on me, and swore an undying love.”
His step faltered as he pled. “Please, I regret my actions, but I did not know. Not then.”
“What, that you harbored some lust for this girl here?” She gestured in disgust at the Lady Genevieve.
“No, that true love was born of friendship, not of lust or passion. I learned this and felt much regret for the words and actions between us. I had hoped you would forgive me.” His tone was apologetic and humble, but his hand still firmly gripped Genevieve’s.
“Bah. You will betray her at the first test as you did me.” She stepped closer and Genevieve stopped breathing, her eyes wide. “Did you really think, my dear, that you had won? That his sudden change of devotion would truly mean an eternity of happiness?” She laughed, and the crowd cowered as her arms raised to the darkened sky. A stroke of lightning shot down and hit the duke, wrenching his hand from hers.
“No!” Genevieve’s screams were matched as guests scattered, their fear aiding their escape.
Lady Catherine continued to laugh as he grew, his body changing and molding into the stuff of nightmares, his snout lengthening, his tail lashing, his roar an echo that settled in the cloud of smoke.
Genevieve fainted, her father barely catching her as he watched this new beast lash about, his claws uncontained. The crowd now fled, screams and panic flooding the air.
“Enough!” The beast stilled as the Lady Catherine came forward. “Here is your miserable eternity, my dear Luke.” She turned and left, the sky doomed to remain the burning charcoal she’d created.
The anniversary
One morning after breakfast, Helen made her way to the kitchen gardens but found it was sprinkling rain. Confused at the change in Luke’s mood she went inside but could not find him anywhere. Ben found her in the middle of a hallway staring over the banister.
“Miss Helen, may I help you with something?” His tone was kind.
“I am looking for Luke. Do you know where he is?”
Ben frowned. “You can’t find him?”
“No, and it’s raining.”
“What?” There was no immediate window to confirm it, but he looked around anyway, seeming very distraught. “Is it September already?”
“I…it is, I think. But I don’t understand why his mood has changed. Is he alright?”
“I think…I think perhaps you should occupy yourself in some other fashion and he will find you when he can.”
“But…”
“I’m sorry miss, but I cannot say more. He is my master first.” With a frown he turned to go.
Frustrated, she continued down the dark hallway that now matched her own mood. She had reached the end of the corridor when she realized there was a door. Because it was plain and the same color as the paneling, she had not noticed it before. Turning the knob, she entered and found herself in a music room. It was very dark, but a piano’s shape was distinguishable. She moved towards the windows and pulled open the drapes letting in the little light available on such a somber day. Rain pounded down in great sheets that hit the window so loudly, she could not play if she wanted to. She had the irresistible urge to cry, and forced herself to turn away and look at the stacks of music neatly placed on top of the piano.
She sat on the piano bench, but with a poor recollection of any lessons she’d had, her hands stayed at her side. Slowly, memories reminded her, and she placed her hands to fit in a C major chord. Reaching up, she sifted through some of her selected music until she found something that she thought she could try. Time passed as she pushed her way through each measure and an hour went by before she recognized melody.
Dropping her hands, she began to hum, her voice getting stronger. She closed her eyes, remembering, and slowly the words came out, the sweet refrain of the song telling the story of starcrossed lovers who found unlikely happiness. Her voice pitched low but clear as she made her way to the window. In silence she looked out at the garden and realized she could see it; the rain had cleared, the clouds were banished, and everything looked dripping wet. She smiled, thinking Luke must be better now, and turning, found him lying in the doorway with his head on his paws looking entirely the lazy cat. He raised his head as she approached.
“Your song was beautiful.”
Helen blushed, flustered at being spied on.
“You are upset?” His eyes held hers.
“Your eyes look greener today.”
He tilted his head at her. “Don’t change the subject.”
She sighed and sat on the piano bench. “Yes, because you were. Why were you upset?”
“I am not upset.”
“But you were. The rain storm was fierce. I….and I couldn’t find you, and….”
“Today is the anniversary of the day I was cursed.”
“Oh.”
He laid his head down on his paws once more.
“At least you are feeling better now.”
He raised his head again. “Your song banished my dark thoughts. Helen….are you scared of me still?”
“What? No.”
<
br /> There was a soft snort.
Helen smiled. “Yes, I still find you ridiculously large and sometimes you startle me, but no, I am not scared of you. In fact, I think of you more as…” but she stopped as she bit her lip.
“As?” The word was more of a whisper and even his tail was still as he waited for her answer.
“Oh, a very large protective, well, dog, or whatever it is you’re supposed to be.”
His tail whapped at the floor. “A protective dog? I am mostly cat, as I have explained.”
“I know.” She stood, her smile growing. “Come on, Luke, I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
“But it isn’t raining anymore.”
“I know, but you’re still a little grumpy, and this will put you right again.”
He stood, and her hand went to his shoulder as they walked down to the kitchen. At the doorway, she entered and began to find the necessary items. She glanced back at Luke who had stopped, his head tilted as he watched her.
“Come in. You can watch me while I bake croissants.”
“I’m not allowed in the kitchen.”
Helen looked back at him. “What? Why not?”
“Cook says I shed too much.”
Helen laughed. “Well, then perhaps you should stay there. You can still keep me company and you won’t get in trouble with Cook.”
She mixed a dough, rolling it out, then taking it down to the cellar.
“Why does it need to be in the cellar?”
“It needs to be chilled. Now tell me what you would like in your croissant.”
“Are they pastries? The ones that puff up with tasty things inside?”
“Yes. And if Cook has almonds then I can make marzipan, but it will take a little time.”
He lowered himself down, his head on his paws to watch her. “I have time.”
For hours they sometimes spoke and sometimes didn’t while Helen made an almond paste and folded dough and finally when the pastries were set to rise, she came to sit next to him on the floor, feeling the happy sort of tired that comes with accomplishing a task.
The Unbreakable Curse: A Beauty & the Beast Retelling Page 8
