Fallon: Son of Beauty and the Beast (Kingdom of Fairytales Boxset Book 6)

by J. A. Armitage

  Closing my eyes, I searched my memory for the combination. The sing-song of one of the greatest weapons royalty had--an escape plan.

  Three Aborian maidens fair,

  with silvery voices and golden hair.

  Wandered into the wood one day,

  left the path and lost their way.

  They met a group of goblins five,

  then only two maidens came out alive.

  Perfect. Three shelves up, one book to the left, five books to the right, knock two times, then pull. I followed the directions and as the second knock died in the silence of the library, the bookshelf creaked open to the secret passageway hidden behind. I grabbed the lantern on the edge of my mother's mahogany desk and slipped through the opening, closing the door behind me. Ducking my head as the passageway narrowed, I followed the pathways down under the belly of the castle. So many times I'd snuck down here to avoid the lessons taught by my army of tutors—not one bold enough to tell my parents the truth about my lack of academic interest. Instead, I would head east, out to the edge of the forest and to my freedom. Except now I headed west, back into what disaster I didn't know. Besides, after a while, no one stopped me as I came and went from the castle anymore so secret passages lost their usefulness.

  I followed the turns as they led deeper into the darkness, the damp stone pathways worn and foreboding as I neared the west wing, the heavy weight bearing down on my ribs growing more heft with each step. Inhaling the musty air, I took one last deep breath before charging up the narrow stone steps to the top floor, the walls tighter than I remembered as a boy. A sliver of light cut through the break in the wall at the top of the stairs, marking a jagged lightening-shaped line across the floor. Almost there. One last chance to turn back and listen to Griswold and my mother for once. But since when did I ever do what I was told?

  Thick spider webs filled the single handhold to pull back the passageway door, but I slipped my hand into my sleeve first then yanked hard, the door groaning as it awoke from its slumber. I peeked out to find the hallway empty and emerged into the fourth-floor hall tucked behind a menacing stone lion statue, concealing the passage from anyone who might happen on it by accident. I set the lantern on the floor and started to slip the door back into place.

  Crash.

  I jumped and slammed the door shut. A loud boom echoed off the arched castle ceilings. I grabbed the lantern, concealing it with my body as I pressed behind the statue. Footsteps fell in the distance but disappeared until I wasn't certain I'd even heard them at all. I slipped out and the lion's side-eye glared down at me, the majestic stone creature likely disgusted by harboring such a coward.

  At the end of the hall, I creaked open the door to my father's chambers, the outside vestibule looked ready for war with all the furniture piled along the far wall. Delicate wooden tables from Elder and intricate metalwork from The Forge cast aside as if they were cheap toys instead of one of a kind antiques. Through the second door, my boots crunched on shards of glass and splinters of wood sprinkled across the floor. Paintings sat torn and tattered along the walls mixed with a pile of bedclothes and tapestries. All around broken tables and chairs littered this battlefield and I ran my hands along the thick black marks on the walls from where they must have been launched into like cannonballs, the grit from chipped stone catching in my fingernails.

  A deep sigh emanated from the far corner of the room, the sadness so thick I felt it cloud around me before the actual sound hit my ears. In the far corner, a large furry body cowered near the fireplace, motionless save its back slowly rising and falling with each haggard breath. It couldn't be. Could this be the beast my mother spoke of? Even though I heard her words, part of me didn't actually believe them to be true.

  "Dad?" I whispered, not sure what answer I hoped to hear back.

  The beast glanced over its broad shoulder, a flash of gnarled horns peeked out from underneath its sorrowful stare, but then it simply turned back pulling tighter into itself as if trying to hide or move into a cocoon-like a caterpillar in the spring.

  "Is that you?" I took a slow step in the direction of the beast, the sound of the shattered glass crumbling beneath my feet breaking the awkward silence between us. As I reached the side of my parent’s grand bed, the fear of what I might be walking towards started to sink into my bones. What if this wasn't really my father?

  "Go away, Fallon, I don't want to see anyone right now," the gruff voice said, but with a waver that fought against the postured aggressive tone.

  "Mom told me about the curse, that you needed help. I wanted to see for myself. See what I could do.”

  Another sigh, the same grim sadness, but ten shades darker.

  "I can't control it, Fallon. Not this time. It isn't safe for you to be here."

  "You don't look very dangerous to me. C'mon Dad, why don't you get up. I’ll have the kitchen staff make you a bowl of your favorite Aborian stew and you can tell me about it. Or maybe just get some rest. You must be exhausted from being up all night."

  My father's shoulders fell then he stood, finally exposing his new form and I jolted backward. Fur covered his entire body, and the horns I'd only glimpsed protruded from above his bushy forehead curled and twisted in horrific shapes like the shadows that spread across the room from his immense size. At least three feet taller than my human father, and nearly twice as wide. He'd be a beast from size alone, even without the deformities.

  I bit the inside of my cheek trying not to be afraid. To be the brave soldier that royalty needed to be in times of crisis. The quality I'd never managed to test and hoped I never would.

  "See. That's better. Why don't you come sit on the bed, it's more comfortable than the floor? Plus…well…you've run out of chairs."

  "You need to go," he repeated, the words coming out more brusque this time around.

  "Maybe tell me what's going on first. I deserve that."

  He stood stoic but didn't argue, although his silence shook me with the same level of terror.

  "You'd probably feel better if we cleaned up some of this mess."

  With slow movements, I inched over to the other side of the fireplace to the haphazard pile of books shredded on the floor. My mother's heart would break to see such disregard for her things, especially since they may have come from her private collection. I didn't share her love for literature, but at least I could respect it, even if the thought of reading more than necessary for survival built tension in my neck and shoulders.

  "I told you to go," my father bellowed again, accompanied with a growl straight from his gut, menacing and deadly.

  I froze, a book split clean through the spine dangled from my hand.

  "I just wanted to help."

  He shuddered, his feet lost control as he fell back a few steps, and he staggered in tight circles between the wall and the fireplace, his massive arms swinging out for anything to steady him or worse something to throw. He shook his head, his stare unfocused and his eyes flipped through shades of fear and anger like a kaleidoscope of his soul.

  I dropped the book and eased toward him, my hands held out in front of me. "Easy. It's going to be okay. What can I do?"

  His head snapped toward my voice. "Who are you?"

  "It's me, Dad, Fallon. Your son."

  "I don't..." His voice broke until his words came out in a series of growls and snarls, a stone mask slipping over his expression until the small part of him that I still recognized disappeared in the dusky light.

  "What do need me to do?"

  He growled again and buckled over, his face scrunched tight.

  "Run, Fallon. I need you to run."

  "I'm not just going to leave..."

  He reared his head back with a howl, brandishing lines of sharp pointed teeth. Fangs. Like ones you'd imagine dripping with blood on the monsters of horror stories. Crimson daggers ready to rip the flesh from your bones. A thing of nightmares.

  Blood pounded in my ears as my throat parched. "You don't want to do this."


  He stalked toward me, and I matched each step with one in reverse. His snarl morphed into a half-smile, but not the kind I'd ever hoped to see. No joy or happiness, just delicious evil curling across his lips like his body could no longer contain the feeling.

  "Just calm down, Dad. It's me. I'll go get Mom. It'll be okay."

  My pleas fell from my lips to the ground, completely missing their mark. The human inside was gone.

  I twisted toward the door and raced at my freedom, my stare still locked on the monster. Step after step landed on the uneasy ground, and my ankles tweaked left and right as the beast's hungry breath crept across my shoulders. Kidnapping, war, assassination, these were the worthy deaths for royalty, not at the hands of their own father--or whatever my father had become. Six feet to the door, maybe five. I pushed harder, forcing all the strength I had in to my legs to save me. Three feet. My knee slammed against the side of an armchair and I faltered. My stomach hollowed as weightlessness took over and I plummeted to the ground. Glass carved my palms as I held up my body. Shards dug through the fabric of my pants and ripped my knees. A claw ripped into my shoulder and flipped me over to face the devil that owned my father. A red rage pulsed through him, my legs pinned beneath his lion-like foot.

  Flailing my arm above my head, my fingers grazed a larger piece of glass and I grabbed on as a stream of wet blood from my hand threatened to make it slip. The beast reached back, his razor claws steadying for the death blow and I closed my eyes, poised to strike even if I didn't survive.

  "Please,” I begged as tears flooded my face. "Don't do this."

  The beast growled. My muscles tensed, the makeshift glass dagger cutting deeper into my flesh.

  “Ezra. Stop that right now!"

  The voice of an angel pierced through the terror. Light appeared in the doorway along with the swish of satin.

  "He's your son. You love him. Ezra. Just stay with me."

  The weight on my legs lifted and I gulped a fresh breath laced with the salt of my own fear. My mother rushed past my body on the floor. The beast staggered backward as if a sniper's arrow had pierced the window and sent him reeling. He raced back to the corner I had first found him, the savage beast transforming into a quivering pup before my eyes. She followed after him, the gold thread of her gown twinkling against his matted fur, her fingers gently stroking the back of his head as her lips whispered a calming hush.

  "It's going to be alright, my king. I'm here."

  I paced between my dresser and my bed, my head dizzy from the short laps or maybe still hazy from trying to process my near-death. The heat of his breath on me. The sharp claws swiping just past my face. I'd been warned to stay away, but I hadn't thought how bad it really could be. How dangerous. Was this really how it was the first time? What did that mean for me?

  I kept pacing, but a short flash of my reflection in the mirror stopped my feet, and I grabbed my head to keep from falling over from the abrupt halt. A face, worn and older stared back at me. I blinked. The face disappeared and my heart slowed again. I inched closer and pulled at the skin around my eyes. Just the same as always. Odd. I must've hit my head when I fell. Or now I was just seeing things.

  A low knock wrapped on the door and my mother crept in the room, her usual sunny smile trying to force its way through for me, even though her broken heart painted its hurt across her face. She gathered her hands in front of her and concentrated on his fingertips as they rolled against each other.

  "How's your hand?"

  I held out my gauzed palm, small splatters of red had already started to show through the layers of stark cotton. She cradled it in her fingers, gentle and easy as she turned my wrist from side to side to inspect the injury.

  "If it keeps bleeding make sure to replace the gauze and keep it clean. It'll heal faster."

  I nodded. She stared at the gauze, unable or simply choosing not to make eye contact.

  "How are you?" I asked, tugging my hand away and denying her the distraction.

  She turned her head toward the wall and glided over to the bed then flopped down so her skirt puffed out beside her across the plum duvet. She held her hand to the middle of her forehead and bowed for a moment as she took a slow deliberate breath. For the first time, a trident of wrinkles spread out from around her eyes, the enormity of this situation, or maybe years of dealing with my father that they'd kept from me, etching its anguish into her skin like an unwanted trophy for a sport no one wanted to play.

  "I'll be okay. Once we figure out what's caused this, we'll fix it and everything will be normal again. "

  "Was it like this the last time? When he, you know, turned?"

  "No. He had a temper, but he was still more man than anything. A sad, lonely man, but still human." She stood and grabbed the bedpost swinging herself around. "This...this thing he's becoming is something different. Something new. Besides, your father is a good man now. A strong and kind leader that the people of Aboria look up to for guidance. He's not the same person he was before the curse. And they wouldn't understand. When the curse broke the kingdom magically forgot about the king's curse and it was better that way. I'd hate to see what happens if they start to remember. It would be anarchy."

  She stopped trying to keep a positive tone for my sake, and instead fussed with the row of swords and daggers I had in cases near the door. My collection from around the world. Keepsakes from the many trips I'd taken with my father. Trips I didn't know if I would ever get to take again.

  "He would've killed me if you hadn't shown up, wouldn't he?"

  She stopped, her thumb resting on the blade of a particularly expensive stingray skinned short sword, her eyes closed tight.

  "I don't know for sure. But yes, it's possible. Promise me you won't go back up there until I tell you it's safe, okay?"

  I walked over and took her hands, the cuts in my palm burning from the pressure of her skin against mine. "I promise. But you need to be honest with me when things like this happen. I need to know the truth."

  She glanced up to the ceiling and paused, a cloud cast a shadow over her face as bad memories attacked her. "Of course."

  "But I think we have another problem."

  I pulled back the velvet drapes and sunlight beamed through the window. Down below a line of villagers stood outside the castle gates. Cameras flashed. People peeked through the bars and tried to maneuver around the guards, parchment in hand. Our own private hell might not remain private for long.

  3

  22nd May

  The photo spread across two full pages of the Aboria Weekly. A distant image, but unmistakable, my father in front of the open castle window his beast form visible to the entire world. The headline, "What Monsters These Royals Be" emblazoned in a bold font right under the familiar masthead. My family's secret shame now front-page news.

  I tossed the paper, picture down, on the table and slid my half-eaten eggs away from me. My appetite faded fast as my stomach churned and acid built in my throat. "Any word on my father this morning, Griswold?"

  “No, sir. The west wing has been strangely quiet since yesterday and the queen has not been seen since dusk. Would you like me to fetch her for you?"

  "Thank you, Griswold, but that won't be necessary." I swallowed my last gulp of tea, made of the best aromatics from Floris, but even they couldn’t comfort me this morning. "If my mother asks for me, I'll be out for the afternoon."

  I doubted she would ask as she probably wouldn’t resurface from my father's side until a cure had been found. But me, I needed to get as far away from both of them as I could. Clear my head, or better yet, hide until all of this nightmare ended. This whole thing would probably kill my reputation.

  Outside the front gate, nosy newspaper journalists swarmed like locusts before the end of the world. One even bore the royal crest from far off Arcadia on his sleeve. Great. We weren't just local news anymore; this scandal had gone national. I held my breath and kept my head down as the guards pulled the gates back to
let me through. The horde pushed forward, but the guards quickly drew their swords and they retreated.

  "Excuse me, Prince Fallon, could you answer a few questions?" a voice called from within the crowd.

  I dipped my head lower and charged forward, no one brave enough to touch me with guards standing within a safe distance.

  "What's going on in the castle, Prince?"

  "No one has seen the King in days. Is something wrong?"

  "Is it true that Aboria is being invaded by mountain monsters?"

  The voices intensified as people edged closer, but I marched on, my balled fists plunged deep in my pockets. No response would be just as awful as a bad one once it hit the morning papers. As much as a picture of my right hook landing in the face of one of these vulture reporters might look amazing, the negative publicity wouldn't do my father or the kingdom any good. Especially not in his current condition.

  The greedy flock of reporter sheep followed on my heels until I reached the golden bridge connecting the castle grounds to the city of Mosa. One by one, they finally dispersed as they realized that I wasn’t turning back and they'd gain no more information from me. Besides, they couldn’t risk being scooped by someone else sitting at attention back at the castle gate.

  I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and down over my eyes, then crossed the bridge and meandered through the quiet morning streets toward the market. Few people bothered to look at me, likely caught in their own thoughts about the potential threat they saw in this morning's news, or gazing up at the gathering of dark clouds swirling above our heads.

  The fragrance of cinnamon and chai wafted from the center of town. My mouth salivated knowing those smells would soon be overtaken by the sweet earthy scent of roasting pecans. I closed my eyes. The thought of their warmth already eased some of the tension building in my shoulders. My feet darted left toward the market stalls, instinct, desire, or maybe hunger from skimping on breakfast plotting my course, but I forced myself to stay to the right. I didn’t feel like taking the risk to be recognized today, even though it might just be worth it.