The Unbreakable Curse: A Beauty & the Beast Retelling

by Jenna Thatcher

  “I thought there was to be a ball.”

  “Luke….” She placed her hand between his ears, scratching until he laid his head down again with a rumble in his chest.

  “However, each morning, the prince was beaten in fisticuffs by his friend Walter. This was expected, but as his strength hadn’t entirely come back to him yet, he was beaten by quite a few of his father’s soldiers as well. And no ability with his bow could stop everyone’s interest in his beatings.

  Frustrated once more, he went to the mirror and this time asked politely if he could change what he was good at. The mirror said no, but that he could add another skill. The mirror warned this would only compound the consequences, and his heart’s desire would change even more, but by now the prince was angry. Everyone seemed to make fun of him, and of course they did so right after beating him in everything he attempted.

  This time he wished for strength to win at hand-to-hand combat. Once more he had to run, this time with his hands in fists out in front of him, until he fell. This time it was the Lady Elise Cartwell who laughed, her arms woven through the Princess Tara’s as they giggled over his ridiculous fall. Now he had lost his other shoe and had gained a new set of bruises. Frustrated by his audience, he grabbed his shoe, and limping from hurting in new places, walked back to the castle where he ran into Miss Quincy. She begged his pardon, but then asked if he was alright. In her quiet way, she led him down to the infirmary and treated his bruises and cuts which were minor, and secondly his pride, which healed quickly under her sweet friendly care.

  They talked some more and when it came out that his knack was to find food, he was embarrassed, but Miss Quincy thought it was delightful. Dragging him about the woods she made him find berries and nuts and roots and anything that was edible. He even found some tree bark that no one knew could be eaten. Angela pronounced it awful, and by the time they came back to the castle, he felt much better.

  The next morning, after once more making sure Selma was present, he made his way to the fighting ring and, soundly whipped everyone who dared challenge him. He was glowing with power until he overheard Selma say to her friend that it was a pity he had stopped short of killing them, but then you could never do that with a sword. He soon became known for his ability to win at any hand-to-hand combat regardless of his opponent, and many who had once scoffed at their weak prince did not do so now.”

  “What can they all do for their knacks?”

  Helen smiled. “Selma looks beautiful no matter what. She could have rolled in the mud just after waking up with a mouthful of morning breath and everyone would have said she was the most beautiful woman they’d ever seen.”

  Luke snorted.

  “Angela Quincy can talk to anyone. It didn’t matter if it was the king or a pauper, a cook or a blacksmith, she could always talk to them and they always enjoyed talking with her. I suppose that would be the gift of conversation, but rude people who didn’t like her because she was plain called it the gift of talking too much.

  Meanwhile, the prince was growing more and more frustrated with his inability to impress the beautiful Selma, and one day looking for an answer, made his way to the stables where he found Angela looking for him. She didn’t know he was the prince, because of course he was dressed as a groom once again. He was immediately cheered by his time with Miss Quincy, and together they spent the afternoon in each other’s company.

  That night, however, the prince went back to the castle and paced in front of the mirror, finally stopping to ask it to bring him prowess with the sword. Sir Paxton lived north with his new lady-love, but there were enough swordsmen here to impress the beautiful Selma. The mirror reminded him of the consequences which again he brushed aside, mostly because he didn’t understand them. Once more he was asked to run with his sword until he fell. He did so, once more falling flat on his face, his sword thrown to the side. This time, it was Selma’s laughter that greeted him when he got back up. Her mocking looks inspired all kinds of heated remarks, but these were halted by a gentle voice that said, ‘May I?’ He turned to see Miss Quincy holding out both of his shoes. She smiled at him and before he could respond, she helped him put them on, tying them for him and reaching out to straighten his hair. Then, she helped pull him up. He thanked her and looked over, but Selma was no longer there. Angela took him back to the stables where she helped him clean up and there they talked as their friendship grew even more.”

  “Surely by now the idiot understands that Miss Quincy is the obvious choice of bride.”

  “Would you have?”

  Her comment struck him, deeper than he’d like, and he gave her a little growl. “I would like to think so, but perhaps not.”

  “Don’t worry. This story ends well, I promise. As you can imagine, he spent the next morning sword fighting, and even Selma was impressed, although she pretended not to be, smirking and making rude comments about tripping when he was in earshot.

  The evening of the ball came, and he danced the first with Selma, who had the arrogant look of a winner about her. She was very sure of herself, and even the king had remarked that the prince was sure to choose her. Therefore, it was with some surprise that he danced the next with Miss Quincy, who was equally surprised to find out her sweet groom was the prince. She blushed and tripped the entire time until many of the company was giggling at their faltering dance. When it ended, she hurried to leave, thoroughly embarrassed, but the prince kept hold of her hand, leading her to a quiet balcony he had prearranged for his proposal to Selma. Instead, he proposed marriage to Miss Quincy, the least suitable of all the candidates. They were married a month later, and when his father blustered ‘why’ to his son, the prince merely said, ‘The shoe fit.’”

  There was a rumble from Luke and a sort of coughing, and Helen jumped. “Are you alright?”

  The rumbling continued for a moment until Luke turned, sniffing and harrumphing. “That was very funny.”

  Helen grinned. “I thought so too.”

  “You have a knack for stories, Helen.”

  “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “My whole life is a story, dear heart, I do not think that counts.”

  “Maybe I can write some of them down for you, a book of remembrance.” They stood to leave the library.

  He gave a short growl. “I remember plenty, I do not need a book.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand to his nose, which he leaned into.

  “I will forgive you if you will sing for me.”

  She huffed, swatting the back of his head. “What a sneaky bit of blackmail.”

  “Was that supposed to hurt? Your little tap on my head?”

  “Oh you –”

  Ben appeared at the end of the hallway. “Your Grace, Miss Helen, it’s time for lunch.”

  “Bring it to my den. Come Helen, it’s time you visited my lair.”

  “Your den?”

  “Come.” They made their way to the room at the back of the first floor with a set of thick double doors slashed by innumerable claw marks. Reaching out with his paw, he pushed them open.

  They entered, but Helen was looking at Luke, the humor in her face long disappeared.

  “Helen. What is it?”

  “I never noticed. Luke, I have seen claw marks nowhere else but here. Why…?” Not even knowing what to ask, she stopped and hoped he could understand what she meant to say.

  “When I am in a rage I go outside. On rare occasions I hide in here and when I’m upset I tend to be a little hard on my doors.”

  She attempted a smile. “At least they are still standing.”

  “That is the fourteenth set of doors, Helen.” He stopped in front of her and lowered his head to look her in the eyes. “You remember I would never hurt you?”

  Truth. “I know. I don’t even need my knack to tell me that anymore. I just…forget that there is a part of you that is…”

  “Beast.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, He
len. I am a beast, despite your efforts to remind me I was once human.”

  Truth. “No! You still are a man. I see it in your eyes and when you speak, and how you care for me and the others.”

  For the first time in months there was a silence that no one knew how to fill. With a great sigh, he touched his nose to her hair and then turned to sit back on his haunches.

  “I know you have been here before, but now I am inviting you to stay and explore. What do you think?”

  She gave a careful sniff. “It is comfortable.” She glanced at him. “And it smells like you. And…there is hair everywhere, despite my father’s broom.”

  He rumbled his deep laugh. “Yes, which is why it is appropriately named the den.” He tilted his head. “Come and sit wherever you like.” He walked towards a very large pillow but stopped short. “What do I smell like?”

  Helen smiled from her grey couch that was much deeper than expected and plumper than first thought. “I don’t know. Woodsy, I think, with a hint of spice.” She sniffed. “There is animal too, but not like a normal animal. More like…earth.”

  He curled up on his oversized pillow. “Then it is not too bad?”

  “Oh no, it is pleasant.”

  “At least I have that to recommend me.”

  They were interrupted by lunch and slowly, carefully, they veered back towards conversation, the harsh reality hanging just out of reach.

  Dear Helen,

  Pa continues to be sick, but it has not deterred him from his inventions. He is determined to find a way to make the mail delivery faster, and our postman is equal parts alarmed and delighted. He has requested that you come home for the Mid-winter Festival if possible, but if not to unabashedly invite ourselves there instead.

  Jack has been sick in the head too, but only because a certain young lady moved into our neighborhood and he says he cannot eat for thinking of her. Since last week there another angel that caught his eye, we are not too concerned as of yet.

  I wanted you to know that Susan and I have stopped corresponding. I thought it best before things became serious. The curse will continue and Susan will live for an eternity while I live a mortal existence. It seems doomed to a tragic ending which I hoped to avoid by ending our friendship before something could come of it. Please tell her what I have not been able to express in my letters. You always knew me best, dear Helen.

  This brings me to my last point. Pa and Jack are careful, but I know they feel the same as I – you need to come home to be with us. Luke is a good friend to you and we do appreciate all he has done for you and for our family, but your life cannot be lived cooped up in a castle with an unbreakable curse and no future.

  Come home to us, Helen. Please.

  Paul (and Jack and Pa)

  PS. I have compiled your stories into a book that our publisher friend says he will print. It is only a small book, but I thought if Susan was willing to paint some illustrations, it could be a beautiful addition to any library, even Luke’s.

  Time continued to pass as Paul continued to pester Helen to come home, while Jack began to focus on his studies, and her father worked a little less, his hours shortened by his illness. Helen began to feel worn down, her worry for her father pulling at her from all sides, while Luke haunted her footsteps, worried about the lines forming around her eyes.

  Dearest Paul and Jack and Pa,

  As it gets colder, I find myself bundled more often next to the fireplace rather than the windowsill. I know I am twenty now, but I’m not sure what day it was since time seems to pass without stopping to say hello. Don’t feel bad that there was no celebration – I have lived a lifetime in my few years, and instead work to make each day an effort of growth for me. I have tried painting lately, which I was always a failure at. Susan is a remarkable teacher, although we cannot seem to get anything from Luke except a great big paw print. We told him if that’s all he’s going to make, at least to use something besides red, but he didn’t understand what was so horrible about that.

  My piano playing has improved only a little, but my cooking improves daily since Luke requests croissants at least once a week, and Cook says she’s lived too long to have to whip butter so often.

  Paul – I think Susan understands, because she says she knew I would never break the curse. I think there is a spark of hope there still, though. I see it sometimes when she doesn’t know I’m looking. Stella holds out enough hope for all of us. Sometimes too much.

  Jack – I think you should find a new hobby, something that doesn’t have a thing to do with pretty girls. I have sent some ginger cookies I hope you will share with Pa. Tell Paul I’m sorry, I know he doesn’t like them and I’ll make the shortbread ones next.

  I was very worried when I heard your news about Pa being too sick to visit for Mid-winter. My garland will be full of memories just as we used to do, and I will send it to you to hang with the others over the fireplace. It never seems to change here, with the weather so lovely even when it’s cold, so I cannot always tell the passing of time, but regardless, I do think of you and worry and wish for your health and happiness.

  I know you wish I would come home, but I cannot. Each time I consider it (and lately that is more often), I feel an ache in my heart. I can only promise to come when I can.

  Your Helen

  PS. Susan began painting the illustrations immediately. I have enclosed her first two.

  Summer Festival

  Helen set down her letter, then turned, her eyes missing the worry lines that had haunted them since mid-winter. “Stella, what is today?”

  “Oh miss, you know I don’t have a clue, but I’m thinking it’s summer, what with the bird nest Ben found this morning.”

  “It’s the last day of spring, actually. Nate told me, since he’s been to Litmore recently on account of…” Susan pressed her lips together to end her comment.

  “And so tomorrow is the first day of summer! I thought it might be.” Helen looked at the pair of them. “I’m going to need some help with a project.” Her look was intriguing, and leaning their heads together, the threesome began to plan.

  Luke was banned from the library, turned away from the dining hall and shouted out of the kitchen. Smells of baking filled the castle, while Nate and Ben carried piles of fabric and paper to and fro. Luke finally cornered Helen outside his den carrying a basket of flowers and begged her to tell him what she was doing. Laughing, she scratched his head and told him to go hide in his den and be patient. Grumbling, he did so, but kept his head just outside the large doors, his nose sniffing at anything and everyone that came near.

  The clock had barely chimed seven o’clock when Nate appeared in his formal uniform and bowed.

  “Allow me to escort you to dinner, Your Grace.”

  “Your posture is ridiculous, Nathanial.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Luke huffed and stood, shaking himself before following Nate down the hall and out the doors, stopping at the scene before him. “What is going on?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of spoiling her surprise, Your Grace.” With a cheeky bow, Nate left him to stare at Helen’s creation.

  Garlands of paper and painted fabric hung above walkways and from the trees and about bushes. Candles of every shape and size were lit, creating a pathway, and as he began to move down it, he heard a rustle from his right. There stood Helen in her dark blue lace dress from her first night, the one that made her eyes so vivid and her hair sparkle with copper. He stared as she smiled and curtsied.

  “Your Grace, I hope you will escort me to this beautiful Summer Festival.” His eyes never moved as she placed her hand on his shoulder, and together they walked down the path, the slight breeze making the candles flicker.

  “I have not celebrated the Summer Festival in a very long time.” He still was unable to take his eyes off of her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she sat down.

  “Then it’s about time you did.” She hesitated. “I know I have had a shadow hanging over me
these past few months. Our mid-winter celebration was…depressing, and my father’s illness…” She shook her head. “He is better, though. I received word this morning, and…well, I thought it time we had a celebration of sorts.” This time her smile was wider. “Won’t you sit, Your Grace?” She smiled and gestured to the other side of the table, and he shook his head.

  “I am very pleased to hear about your father, Helen. But I will only celebrate with you if you will call me Luke and not ‘Your Grace’.”

  She grinned. “Very well, Luke.”

  Ben and Nate appeared with a chilled berry soup with cinnamon sprinkled on top. Fish was their main course, with a lemon sauce and mashed root vegetables sprinkled with salt.

  He ate carefully, sometimes only able to pour his food from a bowl into his mouth, and Nate was on hand with an oversized napkin for any mistakes. Dessert was served; hazelnut tarts with raspberries sitting in a perfect mound of whipped cream.

  “I am enjoying my ridiculously oversized tart very much, despite the fact that I have already enjoyed it three times this week for dessert.”

  She smiled. “I do love Cook’s hazelnut tarts.” She took a bite and swallowed before she added, “I would have asked your preference, but you weren’t allowed to know what we were up to.”

  “Of course not. Never mind it is my house and my Cook. And are those my paw prints hanging over your head?”