It was only when he saw the knife in Beauty’s hand and she folded his own over it and they both held the cold blade to the girl’s warm neck, that he realise it was all going to get much, much worse before it got better.
Too late he remembered what the first minister had said before sending him to his room.
The Beast is coming.
The prince’s mind had cracked a little by the time it was done and the first minister was leaning over him, his eyes wide with anger and hissing, ‘I told you to stay in your room! I tried to ensure you would, you stupid, stupid boy.’ The prince cried after that, rocking backwards and forwards as the old man put his arm awkwardly round him and tried to pull him to his feet. His feet slipped under him on the blood and he fell back down.
He couldn’t get rid of the taste. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get rid of the taste, or of the images that were burned into his mind. The things the Beast had done to the poor, dead girl.
‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘Why would she do that?’
Beauty and the knife. Watching as she . . . as they . . . and then her terrible dancing in the warm blood, smearing it over herself and him, filling wine glasses with it. Forcing him to drink. Being too weak and afraid to stop her doing any of the terrible things she did.
He groaned and, trying to preserve his sanity, he curled up in a small ball in the corner of his mind. He needed to forget. He had to forget.
‘Get up,’ the first minister hissed again. ‘Get back to your room. The bell will ring soon and then the castle will be busy again. You can’t be seen like this.’
‘The bell?’ the prince croaked.
‘The Beast will leave now.’ The minister forced him to his feet. ‘The blood precipitates the change. Our queen will return to herself and she can’t see you like this.’ He glanced at the blood-soaked woman who was starting to tremble. ‘She can’t see herself like this. Now go. Burn your clothes. Wash and sleep. Forget this ever happened.’
The prince didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ridiculousness of the suggestion that this could ever be forgotten. That he could ever be normal again. As if he’d heard the prince’s thoughts spoken aloud, the first minister gripped his wrist tightly, his thin fingers digging into his skin. ‘You will forget it. Or change it in your mind. It’s all you can do.’ He glared at the prince. ‘Now go.’
This time the broken prince did not hesitate.
10
‘A deal like that is worse than a witch’s curse . . .’
It was early evening when the skies cleared and the bell rang out again over the city. The group hidden in the hideaway beneath the tree had slept for a while and then eaten. Petra and Toby escaped to the surface to walk in the fresh air, leaving the huntsman and Rumplestiltskin to talk.
After the fierceness of the storm damp lingered on every surface and the trees glistened green as water dripped from their branches, but although there was a light breeze it was not cold.
‘Do you think Rumplestiltskin’s story of his daughter and the witch is true?’ Petra asked as they walked. ‘Or in his fragile state of mind did he just make it up?’
‘It’s the story he’s always told,’ Toby slid his arm around her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Petra believed that it might be. ‘I think it’s true. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, no reason. No reason that matters right now, anyway. Will you change again tonight?’ Petra asked, as Toby glanced up at the sinking sun.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There’s two more nights of the full moon.’ He smiled at her. ‘But I’ve got an hour or so before it’ll come on me.’
The city sparkled ahead of them, clean and bright, and Petra stared at it, still fascinated by a sight so different from any she’d experienced before. ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said quietly. ‘But it must have been so very lonely for you with only Rumplestiltskin for company.’
‘Yes, it was lonely,’ Toby said. ‘But it was good to be free. To not have to hide for several days a month and to not have to lie to people. They would have killed me, I’m sure of it, had the curse not come.’
‘I don’t understand how anyone who heard your howl could hunt you. I found it beautiful.’ Petra blushed slightly.
‘I’ll never forget the first time I heard you howl back to me. It was like seeing a light in the darkness.’ Toby said. ‘When you called to me from the castle, I knew I had to find you. And I knew when I saw the soldier with his knife at your throat that I had to save you.’ He stopped walking and looked at her. ‘I’d happily die to save you.’
She smiled at him, warmth rushing through her body. The howl beyond the forest wall had drawn her to it, and this was why. Toby leaned forward and kissed her and for a moment after his lips left hers she was breathless with the rightness of it all.
‘I thought the prince was a fool with his love for Beauty,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think this is what he feels?’ She slid her arms around Toby’s waist and rested her head on his chest as he held her. His laughter vibrated through his shirt.
‘No, you can’t blame the prince for his stupidity. He kissed her and that was his downfall. The water witches are famous for their allure. Their sisters, who live in the Eastern Seas, are called Sirens. They lure men to their deaths on the rocks because the sailors can’t resist getting closer to them. Your prince may be a fool in many ways – I can’t judge him on that – but where our queen is involved, it is hard to not love her. Her blood dictates that we do.’
He kissed her forehead and she liked the feel of his stubble against her skin. ‘This, however,’ he said. ‘This is a different kind of magic altogether.’
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She felt it inside her. They were made for each other and were destined to be together. Was that why the wolves had come to her grandmother’s house so often? Had her longing for him been what had drawn them?
‘You should go back,’ Toby said softly. ‘I can feel it coming and I would rather change alone.’
In his last sentence she could feel the weight of shame he felt about his curse, the loneliness and dread it brought with it, and as she headed back to the oak tree she vowed that, whatever it took, she would break that part of the curse – he would never be lonely again.
He joined them ten minutes later, padded over to Petra, curled up beside her on the floor and rested his heavy head in her lap, one ear cocked as the huntsman and Rumplestiltskin continued to talk.
‘I won’t do it again,’ the old man said. ‘Everyone I love is dead. My child is dead. Let the city live with the Beast until we’re all dead and rotting behind the forest wall.’
‘I don’t care about your curses or your Beast,’ the huntsman countered. ‘My responsibility is towards the prince. We cut our way in through the forest, and we can get out again the same way. We don’t belong here, it will let us pass. But I need to get to the castle and force him to come with me, and do it without the first minister seeing me. Once we’ve gone you can do what you like. Hide and die in here, or destroy the spindle and free the city.’
‘I will never release them while she lives.’
‘Then you should do what you promised your friend the king you would do,’ Petra said softly. ‘Prick her finger again.’
‘And wait another hundred years alone?’ Rumplestiltskin’s voice trembled with horror at the thought. ‘A hundred years, only for someone like you to come along and ruin it again?’ He shook his head. ‘I could not. I could not. No good comes from curses.’
Petra stroked the wolf’s head and thought that Toby should have been dead for decades before she was born. ‘Sometimes it can,’ she said.
‘Just tell me how I can get to the prince without being seen,’ the huntsman said. ‘I have no loyalty to your first minister and I have no desire to see you dead. But I do have to see the prince and if you can’t give me another way in then I’ll have no choice but to walk through the castle doors, and then he’ll want to know whether I foun
d you. If what you say about the dungeons is true then I will have no choice but to tell him.’
‘This isn’t my only hiding place,’ Rumplestiltskin said roughly, but the huntsman’s words had clearly caused him alarm. ‘But I will give you a way in. Our tunnels go everywhere.’ His untrusting eyes flashed darkly. ‘But I will go with you, to be sure you don’t betray me. And I will not bring the spindle.’
The network of tunnels that Rumplestiltskin had built was extraordinary, and even with his natural sense of direction and eye for remembering details of a path, the huntsman knew that he would never find his way back without the old man. They’d left Petra sleeping and the wolf had slunk out, no doubt to feed on nearby chickens or other domestic animals. He pitied the cursed man, wondering how terrible a thing it must be to spend part of your life trapped in an animal’s body with all the cravings that came with it. He made a quiet vow to himself never to cross a witch if he could avoid it.
They eventually came up into the dark castle through a fireplace in what appeared to be an empty set of apartments. Rumplestiltskin lowered the hatch back down and stretched as he straightened up.
‘How did you know it would be empty?’ the huntsman asked, his hand on the hilt of his knife.
‘These are my apartments. I doubt anyone is keen to take a traitor’s rooms just yet.’ It was the dead of night and the castle, the tension eased now that the Beast had left them for a while, slept soundly. They crept through it undisturbed. Under the prince’s door, however, a strip of light shone out.
He almost shrieked when he saw them, leaping from his bed and grabbing at an ornament to use it as a weapon. The huntsman rushed over to quieten him as Rumplestiltskin secured the door.
‘What did we do?’ the prince said, trembling. ‘We should never have woken her. We should never have touched her.’ He gripped the huntsman’s arm. ‘I can’t get rid of the taste of it.’
‘You’ve met the Beast then,’ Rumplestiltskin said and the prince shuddered again.
‘We need to put everything back as it was,’ he said quietly. ‘We need to put them all back to sleep.’
‘Forget about that,’ the huntsman said. ‘That’s not our business. We need to escape. Cut through the forest as we did before and return to your father.’
‘I can’t forget it. You didn’t see. You didn’t see what she did to that serving girl.’ The prince frowned slightly and his pale face turned to the huntsman. ‘I’ll never be able to forget. Not while she’s awake.’ He paused in his mutterings. ‘You knew her. That’s what he said. He brought her because she’d been talking to you. And then she . . . and then she . . .’
‘Nell?’ the huntsman’s blood cooled. ‘What did she do to Nell?’
The prince’s mouth opened as he worked to force out some words, and then he simply burst into tears.
‘Blood,’ Rumplestiltskin said, quietly. ‘She’d have taken her blood. The Beast has a blood lust and the orphaned servants feed it. When the lust is satisfied, the Beast often leaves. It’s a price the kingdom must pay.’
‘Beauty killed her?’ The huntsman was stunned. Even after hearing Rumplestiltskin’s tale he found it hard to equate the pretty, kind queen with cruelty. And Nell? She killed Nell?
‘She danced in her blood,’ the prince moaned. ‘She made me . . . she made me drink it with her. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t . . .’ He looked from one man to the other. ‘I was too scared. Can’t you see? Can’t you understand? I couldn’t do anything.’ He stared into space. ‘She was so beautiful when she was sleeping. How could we have known?’
The horror of his words hung in the air.
‘And you want to let her live?’ the huntsman rounded on Rumplestiltskin as he thought of poor Nell. The feel of her soft skin and the sound of her easy warm laugh were fresh to him. She had been a sweet girl who’d done nothing wrong and he loathed himself for falling prey to his nature and taking his pleasure with her – especially when he had inadvertently drawn her towards her death. His anger raged. ‘Then you let her live. But give me the spindle. You go with the others and cut through the forest. I’ll stay behind and curse her again.’ He gritted his teeth knowing what he was subjecting himself to. A hundred long years alone. But if it wasn’t for him Nell would still be alive. If they hadn’t woken Beauty then she would have been sleeping peacefully, her whole life waiting for her when the Beast was dead. He would do it. He had to do it.
‘No,’ Rumplestiltskin said. ‘Why should I? No one cares that my daughter spent her life trapped in that witch’s tower. No one cares that I will never look on her face again. So what do I care of the fate of the city?’
‘What if you could have another child?’ the prince blurted out. There was a mania in his eyes and the huntsman knew that if Beauty wasn’t returned to her long dying sleep then the prince would never feel free of her. His terror would drive him mad; if it hadn’t a little already. The young man had endured far more adventure than he’d bargained for.
‘My wife is dead,’ Rumplestiltskin spat bitterly. ‘I will not take another.’
‘I will give you my child. My first born.’ He grabbed the man’s arm, his whole body trembling.
‘What?’ The huntsman turned, his anger over Nell’s death sideswiped by shock. ‘You can’t make a deal like that!’
‘I can.’ The prince didn’t take his eyes from Rumplestiltskin. ‘My first child. I promise you. You shall have the first child from my marriage bed to raise as your own.’
‘A child?’ Rumplestiltskin sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the fireplace. ‘A child to raise as my own. Away from court. Away from the games of others. A child to love and never leave.’
‘Yes!’ the prince nodded, enthusiastically. ‘Yes! You have my word.’
‘Don’t do this,’ the huntsman growled. ‘This kind of deal is worse than a witch’s curse.’
‘I have your word?’ Rumplestiltskin reached out his hand to the fevered prince.
‘You do.’
The two men shook and the deal was done. Watching them, aghast, the huntsman wondered how much madness could be held in one kingdom. Suddenly a hundred years alone did not seem too terrible a fate to be waiting for him.
‘Let’s go,’ the prince said. ‘The huntsman can come back with the spindle while we’re cutting through the forest. We could be gone by morning.’
‘No,’ the huntsman gritted his teeth and tried his best to ignore the prince’s indifference to his sacrifice of a hundred years. ‘The castle will be waking soon and there won’t be enough time. If you’re not here then the first minister will know we’re escaping and the forest wall will have soldiers along every inch. You have to stay here and act normally. Plan the wedding. Lull them into thinking all is well. Tell them you want another party to celebrate your bride. Make sure all the ministers – and Beauty – drink heavily. Tell her she must sleep well before the wedding and make sure she’s in bed by midnight. We will meet you back here and you will leave. I’ll give you four hours from then. If you haven’t cut through the forest wall, then you will be trapped in slumber with the rest of the city until she is dead.’
‘But I can’t!’ The prince looked horrified. ‘How can I pretend everything is fine? With her? How? Surely the ministers will be suspicious?’
‘The mind is capable of many things,’ Rumplestiltskin said, ‘when exposed to true horror. It will protect itself. You should put the day’s events down to a dream. A nightmare. They will think you have chosen to forget.’
‘I don’t know—’
‘You have to,’ the huntsman snapped. He was tired of the prince’s weakness. He was tired of these royals who wrecked ordinary people’s lives. ‘It’s the only way.’
Finally, the prince nodded and straightened up. ‘I’ll do it.’
He made it sound like a noble sacrifice in the way that only a prince could when surrounded by the sacrifices of others on his behalf.
‘Good,’ the huntsman said, and nodded to Rum
plestiltskin. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I will hold you to your promise, young prince,’ the old man said. ‘First, I will go to the witch, and then I will come to you. Do not forget me.’
‘You have my word,’ the prince repeated.
When Petra woke, a small streak of light was cutting through the earthy ceiling. Rumplestiltskin was asleep in the chair and the huntsman had made a place for himself on the floor. There was no sign of the prince. Of Toby. Not wanting to wake them, she crept quietly along the narrow tunnel and up the ladder into the fresh air.
Toby was sitting under a tree in the morning sunshine and he smiled at her. ‘They still asleep?’
‘Like babies.’
‘What a beautiful day.’ She sat beside him, the grass dry even though it was only just past dawn. ‘Warm too.’ He was staring out at the slowly-waking city and Petra thought she’d never seen anyone more handsome in her whole life, and nor was she likely to. She reached up and turned his face to hers and slowly kissed him. Despite the stubble on his face his lips were soft as they met hers, his tongue and hers entwining until the heat inside her was too much and she fell backwards, pulling him with her. She slid her hands under his shirt and felt him quiver as she traced her fingers over his flat stomach, teasing the line of hair that ran down from his chest to beyond his belly button.
He groaned and wrapped one hand firmly in her hair as her own moved lower, her breath coming harder as he pushed up her dress. She reached for him through his trousers and he paused and gripped her wrist. His face was flushed and the yellow flecks in his green eyes had brightened with his lust.
‘Are you sure?’
She answered by smiling and wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him towards her.
Beauty Page 10
