Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

by Melissa Lemon

  "What is it Master Duncan?" Duke asked.

  "I need to speak with Marie."

  The plump woman stood obediently, her stout curls bouncing with the motion. "What is it, your majesty?" she asked.

  He led her out the back kitchen entrance, the one he'd used to escape for all these years, the one that had served as his doorway to freedom.

  Once outside, Duncan placed his hands on both her broad shoulders. "Marie," he began. "Thank you for taking a moment to speak with me. I'm sure this must seem so...untoward. I know that you are a mother, and that many of your children are now grown."

  Marie beamed at the mention of her offspring. "Yes, your majesty."

  "Well, Marie, to come right out and say it, there is a woman, a woman I would like very much to get to know better, only this woman is different."

  "Different?" Marie's scrunched up her nose and a vacant expression told Duncan he would need to be more clear.

  Duncan removed his hands and turned away from Marie as he spoke. "She's...quiet, and shy. I can't get her to talk to me."

  "Perhaps she does not esteem you the way you do her?"

  "No, it's not that. Well, it could be. It's not that I want to get to know her in that way, it's that I want to help her."

  "How is it you want to help her?"

  Turning to face her, Duncan thought carefully about what he wanted to say. Should he reveal where she was, what she had been accused of? Should he invite Marie to come and see for herself? Perhaps that would be best. Perhaps if she saw for herself she would be more able to determine how he could help her.

  "Marie, have any of your children ever been hurt? Any of your daughters?"

  "Why, yes, your majesty."

  "Well, I think this woman has been hurt. And I want to do something for her. Something to cheer her up."

  Marie thought a moment, looking confused. She glanced in both directions and behind her a few times before answering.

  "Master Duncan, is this the woman in prison? The woman all the other servants are talking about?"

  Duncan rubbed his brow. He hadn't even considered this. Here he'd been talking in code and trying to get a straight answer from her when Marie already knew.

  "Yes, I am referring to the woman in prison."

  Somberly, bowing her head, Marie said, "I think she needs more than cheering up, Master Duncan."

  "I know she does, Marie. But it is a good place to start. Will you come with me to see her?"

  "I will be serving at council meetings all day."

  "Couldn't someone fill in for a couple of hours? It would mean a lot to me." He would not stoop to bribing; Marie would never take a bribe anyway.

  Marie nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later with two sweet rolls, one of which she handed to the prince.

  "Thank you, Marie. You are a gem." She smiled at that.

  As they walked, Duncan asked her about her children. She had seven! Four boys and three girls. The prince saw on her face the pride she had and the joy she felt in her role.

  "Do you miss them?" he asked. "When you're at the castle?"

  She chuckled. "Only a little. I'm always so happy to see them when I get home. And they're happy to see me."

  "And your husband?" Duncan asked. "What does he do?"

  "He's a leather worker." She looked at the prince's shoes. "It's possible he made those shoes you're wearing." She had a happy little walk, her stout body and shoulders shifting from side to side.

  "Really? Well, if so he does marvelous work. I've had these shoes for years now." Duncan thought better than to mention he rarely wore shoes, but preferred to go barefoot, and that is most likely why his shoes lasted so long. It gladdened his heart to see her smile at the compliment.

  "Here we are," Duncan said as they rounded the corner of Northeast Alley. He stopped and faced his companion. "Thank you, Marie. I am immensely grateful you came with me today."

  As they walked in, the prison guard greeted them, standing promptly when he noticed the presence of royalty.

  "Prince Duncan," he said.

  "Hello, Thomas. Any change?" But Duncan didn't really need to ask. He could see for himself. She lay crumpled up in the same corner she'd settled into the first day.

  "Oh, she got all riled up yesterday."

  Duncan jerked his head to the man. "What happened?"

  "We tried to give her new clothes. We brought in a woman to do it, mind you, to give her privacy. We've been taking good care of her, just like you asked. But Phillip's wife now has a black eye and claw marks down her back. He refuses to come to work now. That's why I'm here alone."

  If this information frightened Marie, she did not show it. She approached the bars, but did not grasp them.

  "It's all right, child. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to come inside." She turned to Duncan and began to whisper. "Is there anything you would like to know about her?"

  "Her name," Duncan whispered back. "Let's start there."

  "Child, do you have a name? Something we might call you by? We want to know your name." Marie had been an excellent choice. She spoke with utter gentility, her voice soft, motherly and inviting. For a moment, Duncan thought of his own mother, then suppressed the emotions following close behind.

  Marie turned to the guard. "Has she spoken at all?"

  "No more than incoherent screeching and angry growls."

  "Do you know what happened to her?" Marie questioned further.

  "All we know is that she came from Tern. Killed a Fallund man, though, or so say two witnesses."

  "Two witnesses?" Duncan asked.

  "Yes, your majesty. Another has come forward. Took some questioning, but he admits he saw the whole thing. Wouldn't agree to testify without the promise of a fee, but he'll do it."

  "Is it still fourteen days until the court will bring her to trial?"

  "Yes. Well, more like eleven now. Maybe sooner if they are able."

  "Is anything else known of her?" Marie asked.

  "No," Thomas answered. "But we'll keep trying, for your sake, Master Duncan."

  "Thank you." Duncan wanted to go into the cell, but knew that choice would be dangerous, not to mention risky. He didn't want to come across as a threat. "What can I do, Marie?"

  "Let's go outside," Marie said, bowing her head and looking at the ground as she exited the prison and returned to the sunlit alley. She held a shawl over her forearm and faced the prince.

  "Prince Duncan, I need to ask you something." Was her tone inquisitive and curious, or somber and condemning. Duncan couldn't quite tell.

  "What is it, Marie?"

  "Why do you want to help this woman?"

  Duncan bowed his own head, searching his heart for the true answer. Why did he want to help her? He'd wondered before, but hadn't ever come up with something concrete. He would answer the best he could.

  "I can't explain it completely. When I look at her, I feel something, something deep inside me, stirring and quaking. It moves me to action. You tell me, Marie. What is it I'm feeling?"

  "It's compassion, Master Duncan. And it's a rare gift."

  "Will you help me help her?"

  "Yes. But you have to do everything I tell you to do."

  "Of course I will."

  "Everything." Duncan wondered why she would question him. He trusted her. Why did she feel she needed to emphasize that?

  "Yes, everything," Duncan reassured.

  "Okay, walk me back to the castle as I teach you the first step of getting into a heart cold as stone."

  They made their way along Eastern Corridor, the corridor that would lead back to the kitchen. Duncan thought little of eating lately, but Marie's gift had been sweet and filling. "Thank you, Marie."

  "Now, Master Duncan, I want you to think. Think of every possible way to get through to her. Think of all the things that a woman might like, or could like. You could try flowers, or dresses, or music. There must be something that she is fond of, even
if she doesn't know it. It could be animals or carriage rides. Whatever it is, you have to find it. When you have found it, you will know, because her eyes will light up, even if only a little, and then you will know that you're on to something."

  "That's it? Take her flowers?"

  "It may be flowers, but it may not be. Once you find it, she will begin to open up to you. She won't be able to help it. Whatever beast has taken over, the woman is still at the heart of her. It never leaves completely."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I am one."

  "A beast?" Duncan asked, lifting one eyebrow high above the other.

  Marie playfully whacked his arm, but it hurt more than he had expected. "You facetious prince. I meant a woman."

  Duncan tilted his head back in laughter. "I know what you meant, Marie. I just couldn't help myself."

  She smiled at him as they reached the castle and turned to him before going inside. "Even though you're the second born, you would make a wonderful king."

  Duncan let that slap him across the face, but he would not allow it to sink into his heart. Being with Marie had lightened him, gotten his mind off the worries of the kingdom, his brother, and the woman he wanted to help.

  A voice startled him from behind. "Ah, Prince Duncan, there you are."

  Duncan whirled around to see Worsten, his shadow and warden, biting into a plum and subsequently dribbling juice down his face.

  "Nice to see you," the prince greeted, attempting to be civil. "I hope you're up for a walk through the meadows. I'm in need of some flowers."

  "I couldn't think of a better way to spend my day." He tossed the plum pit behind him and stood at the ready, leaning forward with his hands behind his back. Duncan wanted to push him forward so he would fall on his face, but resisted the temptation.

  As they hiked down Southwest Alley, Duncan offered to allow Worston the day off, promising he would never tell. All the while Worston insisted how much he enjoyed babysitting the prince. Duncan could tolerate him for now, but at the first chance of losing him, he would take it.

  As they reached the meadow, Worston lay down insisting he needed a rest after the short hike from the end of Southwest Alley and across Sage Village. Hundreds of meadows could be found in Fallund, each brim with wildflowers most of the year. Even taking care to get those in full bloom, and not anything withering or dying, it didn't take long to have an armful.

  Worston sat up now. "Those will die by the time we get back."

  "Nonsense, you're going to go and get me a large vase filled with water and meet me back at the prison on Northeast Alley."

  "Sounds like an empty hope to me."

  "I command you, as your prince. Well, one of them." Duncan could barely see over all the blossoms.

  "You wouldn't," Worston mumbled, a hint of a threat rolling off his tongue.

  "I just did. Scurry along. I'm going to make a quick stop at a dress shop."

  Worston grumbled as he stood up and began walking back down to the village, and it pleased Duncan to annoy him.

  Though he'd sworn off disguises, Duncan was grateful for the flower cover when he entered one of the many dress shops along Western Corridor.

  "Good day, sir," a man's voice said. "My, that is a lot of flowers. Can I have them wrapped for you?"

  "That won't be necessary," Duncan answered. "I won't be long. I need you to select a dress for me, nothing too fancy, but something with color."

  All too pleased, the man asked, "Well, what size would you like?"

  "How am I supposed to know?"

  "A-hah." The man raised a finger to the ceiling and quickened away, his feet shuffling across the floor. "I have just the thing for you. Look at these drawings." He brought back two pages. The first one showed a drawing of four women, each a different shape and height, each wearing a simple tan dress with a blue sash. "Which most looks like the shape of the girl for whom you are purchasing?"

  "That one," Duncan said, nodding his head only to take in a bunch of pollen up his nose.

  "This one?" the man asked, pointing to the one in the upper left corner.

  "No, the one below."

  "This one?"

  "Yes." Not that it mattered that much. Duncan had never experienced more than a glance at her figure, which was always obscured by dim light or the position of her body.

  "Very well," he said, pulling another paper in front of it. "And for her size. Would you say she is small, medium, large, or plump?"

  "I don't know, medium I would guess." Prince Duncan thought of when they had lifted her into the prison cell. She was small, but strong, not tiny or scrawny at all.

  "Would you like something custom made or something to go?"

  "To go, please."

  The man disappeared behind a counter and returned a moment later with a straight dress the same color of purple-blue resting on some of the flowers in Duncan's hand.

  "Will this do?" the man asked.

  "Splendidly. Can you wrap it for me?"

  "Of course, sir. And who will be paying?"

  Duncan thought. He didn't usually carry coinage. "Um, charge it to the royal account."

  "Your name, sir?"

  "Prince Duncan." He had hoped to avoid this. Perhaps he still could. Only two other women browsed through the shop and neither had heard him. He leaned toward the man and whispered. "Let's just keep this between us. Please."

  Still looking baffled, the man nodded, then stood motionless for some time.

  "The wrappings, sir. Will you please wrap it for me?"

  "Oh, yes, of course." Again he disappeared. Duncan glanced around him, double checking that nobody noticed him. Having never been caught outside the castle by subjects other than those he chose to reveal his identity to, he wasn't sure what their reaction would be.

  His relief spilled over after leaving the dress shop. That was not the place for him. If Henry asked again, he would tell him that he did not want to be a dressmaker. Ever.

  Worston greeted him outside the prison. "Did you know your brother thinks you are mad?" he asked.

  "Yes, I did," Duncan answered, forcing a polite smile. "Help me get the flowers arranged. And yes, that's an order."

  Worston rolled his eyes but together they made a fine arrangement.

  "Does your new dress match your eyes?" Worston asked.

  Duncan ignored this comment and poked his head inside the stone archway leading down into the prison.

  "Any change, Thomas?" he asked the guard.

  Thomas looked up toward them from his chair, seemingly blinded by the light coming in. "None whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder if she's even breathing. But we only feed her raw meat now, and she eats some of what we give her."

  Duncan looked back at Worston in time to see the sour expression on his face. Duncan would not judge her. Obviously she'd been through something hellish. Perhaps even her whole life had been torture.

  Leery, Duncan walked down the stone steps and into the dim. He approached her cell, crouched down and spoke low, hoping Worston could not hear him.

  "I've brought you some flowers. And a dress. I thought perhaps you would like something other than rags to wear. But I won't mind if you don't like it."

  What else was there to say? Duncan desperately hoped for some indication that she heard, that she would take them, or even just look at them. He waited for a glance, a mumble, a sigh. At this point he may even take her screaming at him. And then she moved. Only then did Duncan realize that he hadn't really been expecting her to respond. Though he wished for nothing more, he'd already accepted that she probably wouldn't. She rolled slightly onto her back, turned her head so he could see only one eye, and then pulled away again.

  "That's it," he said, encouraging her to continue to acknowledge him. "I knew you could. But I won't keep you. I wish you well."

  Not really wanting to go, Duncan decided it was the most likely way to gain her trust. He exited the damp of the prison to see Worston's grin.

  "I
wish you well?"

  "Shut up, Worston," he said. "And yes, that's an order."

  Duncan looked away from him and there she was, hunched over a basket across the alley, the slender, cloaked woman from before, the woman who tormented his dreams.

  1

  Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

  7

  Beauty

  I wake in the glass dome and sit up, alarmed by a sense that something is not right. I am alone. No flowers or vines take up the space around me. Only my bed and me exist inside the glass walls, and only the rose garden outside.

  The roses!

  I slide off my bed and run to the door, flinging it open. It is dark with the shade of trees, but hot, and the air is dry, sucking the moisture from my lips and mouth.

  My bare feet pad across the cool, damp, packed-down dirt, stepping on a leaf or twig here and there. Everything appears fine as I run through the red roses and onto the pink. They are round and large and vibrant, holding their heads high to greet me in passing.

  I reach the light purple roses next, followed by the dark. Then the orange roses, the hybrid colors, the yellow. All look alive and well, happy and full. But in the distance I can already see the drooping leaves and heads of the white roses. They sag toward the ground, their petals limp and darkening around the edges. I stop in front of them.

  Why are they dying?

  I look to the ground and the dirt is not damp, but dry and cracked, more like stone than fertile soil. Sorrow swells inside me, and I cannot hold back the tears. The first tear falls from my eye and lands on the dirt next to my foot, leaving a wet mark. I move to stand directly over a rose bush, and the tears come stronger now, more forcefully. They move in a steady drip, then rush out like a stream. A dark storm cloud moves over me, casting a shadow over every bit of light. It begins to rain until it pours like the sheets Stella used to whip and wave before hanging out to dry.