Post by Rachy on Oct 29, 2009 10:08:17 GMT 10
Title: Beauty and the Beast
Ratings (and Warnings): PG, hints of slight squick at the start.
Fairytale/Nursery Rhyme Adapted: Beauty and the Beast
Word Count: 4058 words….
Summary: A very lengthy adaption of Beauty and the Beast, with Kalasin and Kaddar as Beauty and the Beast.
Notes: This is a mesh with a bit of tweaking of both the first version of Beauty and the Beast, the second version and Disney’s 1991 version (think of Kaddar as that Beast).
I know that (here, at least) it's no longer Nov. 7, so Part 2 isn't counted and that's why it's in a seperate post below. I still didn't finish it, and I couldn't post it yesterday, so when I do finish it I'll post all of it on King's Own. Thanks
..................
Prince Kaddar stared listlessly across the table. His guardian, and regent, Dearie, sat across from him, twirling her fingers through her grey hair and gazing wistfully across his strong shoulders and sharpened cheekbones. Kaddar called her the Hag, or the Crone on her good days. More often then not, it was Hag. The servants called her the Graveyard Hag, and Kaddar had never trusted her. She had been a trusted accomplice of his father’s before his death, and as his mother’s missions took her further and further away from the kingdom to fight threats that grew and multiplied yearly, Kaddar was placed in the Hag’s care. It was whispered that she was a fairy, a witch, a true hag, and sometimes Kaddar thought that she was the reason his mother had to go and fight to protect their kingdom – she was the one that started the threats.
“Kaddar.” The Hag’s voice sounded odd in the sickeningly patronising tone she always spoke to him with, and if it were any other woman he would have called it flirtatious.
“Yes, Hag?”
“You’re so sweet. Keeping old nicknames for your Dearie.” She cackled, twirling her hair around her fingers again, and fluttering her lashes.
“What’s the problem?” He asked, fighting the grimace on his face. He watched as the Hag hesitated, before steeling herself with his answer.
“You are.”
“I’m the problem?”
“Yes.” She sighed, before moving around the table and clutching at his shirt, kneeling at his feet.
“Dearie, why can’t you see it? You and I. We’re meant to be together. I’ll do everthing for you, service your every need, wait on you hand and foot. Kaddar, my love.” She pressed her lips into his shirt, burying her face in his stomach.
“What? You can’t be serious.” He stared at the head below his, at the wisps of grey hair and the patchy red skin in between. He stood up, and she remained clutching his shirt, staring up at him in a way that bordered on piously worshipful.
“To you, my love, nothing is ever, will ever, be more serious than the absolute depths of my devotion and undying love for you. Say yes, and our dreams will come true. Say yes, and I will be yours forever. ” She whispered passionately, reverently, clenching his shirt in wrinkled fingers.
“Hag, you know that I care for you, but listen. You’re old enough to be my mother. If I want a Queen, which I currently don’t, I want to marry for love. I want her to be beautiful, and kind, and loving and closer to my own age. I don’t see these things to the extent I would like to see in you, because in the way I see things, you treat people as if they are fireflies, not human beings.”
She pulled away from him, ripping his shirt violently from its seams. He stared at her as she picked up the remaining platters from their dinner, and threw them at his head, before grabbing chairs and smashing them into the stone floors.
“Do you dare deny me my greatest single wish, Kaddar Illiniat?” she screamed. “Do you wish your vanity to be your undoing?”
“Yes. ” Kaddar’s voice was quiet, and yet still clear from the wreckage that surrounded him. He knew that he would rather someone who wasn’t pretty and yet beautiful because of how they were on the inside, then someone like Hag who could make herself beautiful, and yet was not.
“Then I hope you enjoy your comeuppance.”
Her triumphant snarl was the last thing he saw before he felt agonising pain, and it faded to black.
.....
Kally’s smile sparkled as she stared out of the window. Her father’s carriage was approaching, returning from his diplomatic mission to search for the missing queen.
“Lianne, Vania! Roald, Jasson, Liam! Father’s home. Father’s home!” She yelled, running towards the stairs.
“Big deal, Kalasin. Father comes and goes, you know, quite often.” Liam leant in the doorway, sneering. She smiled at her youngest brother, shoving past him.
“ It’s such a pity you don’t know of this little thing called affection, Liam. But then again, you would only bestow it on yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t bestow such fancy words on anyone,” Liam yelled after her as she danced down the stairs. “Least of all you.”
Kally laughed as she floated down the remainder of the stairs. Roald lounged upon the setee, reading a thick volume, and only heaved a sigh as she clattered past, wooden pattens tied on her feet as she hopped outside. Lianne rolled her eyes as she sat, a pile of needlework in her lap, and Vania did not look away from the mirror, twirling her dark hair around warmed pieces of wood. Jasson poked at the fire, pulling sticks out and passing them to Vania. An icy wind caused all of the Conte children to look up, and the scent of Vania’s singeing hair dispersed throughout the room. Kally slammed the door shut, and they all returned to their tasks.
Kally ran through the snow, skirts wet and dragging, towards the stable. Icy wind, fresh from the Olorun River that wound through the estate, blew across long brown hair, lighter than Vania’s, restrained in a tight knot, and gave colour to her pale cheeks and a sparkle to her clear blue eyes. She grinned at the guardsmen as they walked towards the manor, but her eyes remained focused on the opening carriage door.
“Papa!” She cried. Jonathan Conte’s face lit at the sight of his eldest daughter, and she threw herself at him. He hugged her tightly.
“How was your trip? Was there any traces of the Queen? What about the Prince? What was the other side of the forest like?”
“I did only just get back, Kally. There wasn’t a trace of either, and the other side of the forest is the same as this side. How was here?”
“Usual. Vania’s fragrance has changed to singed hair, and Roald’s found an even thicker book to read, Lianne has more needlework then anyone would ever need, Jasson’s become part of the fire and Liam is as affectionate as ever.” She picked up her father’s bag as he laughed and swung it around her hands, her father’s arm tight around her shoulders. Her father’s laughter was contagious, and it was a laughing pair that made their way into the Conte manor.
…
“Prince Kaddar?”
“Your highness, oh, please wake up.”
“Your highness?”
Kaddar blearily opened his eyes to the sound of voices. His eyelashes fluttered, and he blinked several times. Voices that he could hear, and that he could not see.
“I think we’re invisible, your highness. We looked in the mirror and we couldn’t see anything but shambles. And we moved and they didn’t.”
“Who are you?” Kaddar pulled moisture into his dry mouth, and spoke with a scratchy, hoarse voice that was most unlike his own.
“It’s Varice and Zaimid and Sarai, your highness. We can’t find anyone else.”
“What happened?” Kaddar raised a hand to his face, in a reassuring gesture. His face felt like it had more stubble then normal. He pulled himself to his knees, before stumbling to his feet and walking to the mirror on the wall. His body felt uncomfortable. His legs were shakier, his arms more lumbersome and his head was heavier. He glanced in the mirror, prepared to see himself as he normally was: tall, dark haired, gentle brown eyes, slightly bearded and quite muscular with a dark tan. The sight in the mirror was completely unexpected. Thick brown hair, more like a pelt then hair, covered his entire body. The clothes he wore were the same ones as dinner, but stretched and malformed to look like a peasant’s, rather than a prince. His hair had grown thicker, longer and shaggier, hanging in his eyes and all over his face. His mouth was larger and more animalistic, his teeth were elongated and sharper, two canines protruding across his thinned upper lip. His nose appeared squashed, as though he had crushed it into a wall and it never had been healed, and it looked simply like a hairy snout. His eyes remained the same, gentle, deep and brown, although his desperation and anger had added a savagery to them.
“We believe the Hag is responsible. She couldn’t take your refusal, and so turned your words against you. She turned us invisible, ruined half the castle and changed your appearance.”
“And there are rosebushes in the West Garden, too. We don’t think Hag planted them, but I think they’re magical.”
“What am I? Who am I?”
“You are Prince Kaddar, Heir to the Throne of the Eastern and Southern Lands, your highness.” Zaimid’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m not a Prince. This isn’t what There is no Prince. Hag made sure of that.”
“But, your highness –“
“ Does this look like the face of a Prince to you? Prince Kaddar is no more. I am not Prince Kaddar. Just Kaddar. Just Kaddar the Beast.” He yelled furiously, slamming a fist into the mirror. It shattered, leaving broken pieces of his reflection behind, smeared with his blood.
…
The wine splashed into the glass, reflecting the dinner table. Kalasin held the wine bottle, and her father drank from his own glass. Roald sat on her father’s other side, opposite to her, while Liam sat between Jasson and Roald, as they argued about the limitations of longswords. Lianne and Vania gossiped on Kally’s other side, about yet another town boy who had smiled at them when they bought ribbons. Jonathan returned his wine glass to the table and smiled at Kally.
“Joren Mountain asked after you when we passed through Stone.” Kally scowled.
“Joren Mountain lives in the middle of nowhere, Papa. Stone is in the North of the Forest. We’re in the middle. Of course he’s going to ask after any acquaintance he pretends to have.”
“ ‘Cause he wouldn’t be asking for any other reason, hey, Kal?” Jasson grinned.
“Don’t be stupid, Jass. Why would he want Kalasin when he could have me or Vania? We’d be far more willing then Kalasin. No one would want to marry Kal compared to us.”
“Lianne. Kally is of a marriageable age. You and Vania are not, for at least another four years. Keep up your attitude, and it will certainitely be more, because all your suitors would want maidenly wives, not ones with attitude.” Jonathan said sternly.
“Yes Papa. Does that mean that Joren would be eligible if we were older, and he was still unmarried?” Lianne asked eagerly.
“ When you are older, he may be a possibility. Although for either of you two, I would prefer someone your own age, not Roald’s. Perhaps Alan Swoop, Zahir Albaz or Faleron Reach from Kings. You both need the grounding.”
“Zahir’s as old as Roald, Papa. And Alan has that awful twin of his, that keeps interfering whenever we talk to him. And Faleron is far too handsome to marry. You can’t marry someone that is more handsome then you are.” Vania scowled.
Jonathan chuckled, reflecting back on his own younger days. Life as a diplomat had been simple then, and a favoured man of court the most favourable thing. Life, children and the events of the past few years had changed that. Being the favoured man of Court now meant he led the desperate manhunt to find the Queen, and the Prince, to lead them out of the mess their country was in. He’d sacrificed the paternal care of his children, and his wife’s health to do that. Vania and Lianne were in position, as was Kalasin, to choose who they wanted to marry for love, or for their own vanity. He’d married Thayet for love, and her affection and love and beauty were added bonuses to an already fulfilled dream. Kally sometimes wondered if he was so passionate about the search for Queen Fazia, missing while on the frontlines of the Isles Battle, because he was looking just as furiously within for the remainder of the man he was, that he lost when Thayet had died and why he hadn’t known that something was wrong.
“I’ll tell them on Sunsday that you are both thinking of them, then.” He grinned, winking at Roald.
“Papa!”
“He was joking, Lianne.” Roald said.
“Sunsday? Why are you travelling to Corus on Sunsday?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m travelling to Corus on Sunday, and then down to Pearlmouth. I’ll be back by Wednesday, I promise.”
“You only just got back.” Kally stated, staring at her father, upset.
“You’ll miss the ball on Monday night, Papa.”
“I’m following a new lead on the Prince. And how will the ball be any different to all the others?” Jonathan smiled at his daughters. “Kally, I’ll be fine. I always am.”
The dinner progressed with the normal abundance of absurdity, insanity and chaos of a Conte dinner, and the small pout that Kally wore, as well as the sadness in Jonathan’s eyes, was missed by almost all.
…
Kalasin sat at the window of her bedroom, staring wistfully out over the snow-capped grounds. It was Thursday, and there was no sign of her father, or of his entourage of guards, fellow lords and servants. She’d travelled to Corus and to Pearlmouth herself to know that there was little along the route that would prolong her father’s absence. The only place she could think that Jonathan would go was to the palace, across the Inland Lake, deeply south of Pearlmouth, but she knew her father wasn’t that foolhardy. The palace had been abandoned only two months ago in a mysterious, cataslymatic occurance, with all of it’s occupants, including Crown Prince Kaddar, the heir to the throne, disappearing. Whispers over the campfires of travellers around the area had said that the castle was destroyed, obliterated, and others had whispered fearfully of the Beast that haunted the ruins, their tales wrapped with the voices of the missing and unseen. Her father had been a frequent visitor to the palace before the incident, as the Queen preferred to conduct her private life away from the prying eyes of her subjects and spies, as well as away from the unstated rumour of downfall and regicide muttered in the isolated towns. She didn’t think Jonathan thought that his mission for the Queen, or for the Prince, was worth sacrificing his life.
The hint of the sounds of horsemen, riding hard, drifted through the ajar window. Kalasin’s eyes darted quickly across the scope of the Royal Forest, and down to the main road to the Estate. She saw the riders galloping through the distance, and sunk her teeth hard into her quivering lip. She pulled the window closed, and pulled at the ties on her dress, yanking the silky material over her head and rummaging through her clothes chest for her riding gear. She pulled on her breeches, a thick shirt and a long, knee length tunic that was conservative enough to pass as a dress, before grabbing her boots, woollen socks and thickest cloak and running down the stairs and outside.
“Kal, what are you doing?” Roald stood outside, flushed and sweaty, carrying his practice sword.
“There’s riders coming.” She sat on the stone wall, and pulled her socks over her cold feet, before picking up her boots.
“I never thought you were such a gracious hostess that you would feel the need to go and meet them.”
“Roald. I think something’s happened to Father.” She swallowed and looked at her older brother, gathering her hair into a thick knot and tying it.
“He could be coming home now, only minutes away.” Her brother reassured, sounding unconvinced.
“You don’t think it either, though. He’s been there, over this past year, when we needed him. I’m not letting him down in his time of need.”
“I’m not letting you go alone. It’s my duty. I’m the heir.”
“And you need to do your duty and look after here. I’m indispensible unless it’s marriage.” She smiled, before leaning over and kissing his cheek.
“Don’t scowl, Roald. I’ll be fine.” She dropped to the snow covered ground, and walked to the stables. She saddled her horse, Belle, and with the reins caught in a loose hand, led her out to the courtyard. The riders had arrived, and she could see by the expression on Roald’s face that she was right.
“Lord Gareth.” Her father’s closest friend looked haunted and drawn, as though he had aged several years since his journey.
“Lady Kalasin. He’s at the palace. We were attacked by some sort of animal. Like a hyena, or a wolf. Then something came. In all my years, KAlly, I’ve never seen the like. We think it took him to the palace, and Lady Kalasin. He appeared to be gravely injured.”
Kally nodded, and pulled her cloak around her shoulders, fastening it.
“You did all you could, Lord Gareth. You couldn’t do anything else, and I’m sure Cythera and your family will only be too grateful to see you return to Naxen.”
A small hint of relief crossed his face, and Kally pulled her hood over her face, until only the briefest outline of her features could be seen. She mounted, and waved a hand in farewell, before signalling Belle out of the courtyard, galloping away from the estate towards Pearlmouth.
…
Kaddar had taken care of Jonathan Conte, with the instructions and limited help of Varice, Zaimid and Sarai for just over a week when they heard the sound of a rider approaching the palace ruins. He left the recovering duke and slunk through the ruined hallways until he reached the ruins of the dining room, site of his fateful dinner and subsequent transformation. He hesitated at the entrance of the room, and peered inside. The sight of a young woman met his eyes, and he instantly knew, by her strong resemblance, why she was here. She was the icily, beautiful, younger feminine image, of the injured duke in the kitchens. She looked to be his own age, which meant that she was the duke’s oldest daughter.
Kalasin.
He’d spent much time with court beauties. He’d been enamoured with Lady Daine, only four months ago, before her engagement to Count Numair was announced, and he had had many dalliances with young court beauties, taking them out on rides, exploring hidden sections of the palace, talking literature. None of them held a candle to Kalasin. He knew the Conte estate was two days ride away, across the lake and the expanse of the Royal Forest, and yet Kalasin looked as though she had merely stepped outside their estate for a breath of fresh air, not as though she had ridden through mud and rain and drought to arrive. He knew it was in her simplicity that her true beauty lay. Her cloak was of a pale green, hood thrown back to reveal wisps of hair escaping from the knot at the back of her head, and she wore no lip rogue or paint to disguise her imperfections. Her eyes appeared sharp and inquisitive, as sensible as the grey tunic and white shirt she wore, and her boots and dark breeches carried the same impeccable quality engrained into the rest of her. Her eyes spotted his form in the shadows, and she started.
“Father?” She called. He remained silent.
“Father?” She called, louder. “Jonathan?” She moved closer, reaching for the sword at her hip and unsheathing it, holding it aloft. She moved closer, eyes focused on his betraying shadow.
“ I’m not your father, Lady Kalasin.” He spoke, voice gravelly in the shadows. She jumped slightly, and kept a firm grip on her sword.
“Who are you? Where is my father?” She demanded, tightening her grip with both hands, and keeping steady on her feet.
“I can take you to him.”
“Not until I see your face, and that you are unarmed. And until my torch is lit.”
“I can light your torch. There is a fire in the kitchens.” He spoke softly. She nodded, and retreated to her saddlebags, soothing her horse, tied to a pillar. She lifted the branch of wood, and held it in front of her, sword firm in her other hand. He stretched out an arm, scaly and fur covered, and was glad that he could not see the look of revulsion he knew would be on her face, the same as on her father’s. He felt the press of wood into his hand, and grasped the branch firmly. He pulled away and it slid out of her grasp, and he knew she would quickly retreat, away from his lingering presence as he walked down the hall.
“My lord, my lord, what are you going to do?” Varice and Sarai’s voices fluttered like butterflies, hovering around him, as he left Kalasin’s earshot.
“She came for her father. That’s what she’ll get.”
“My lord, you know they could help you if you told them who you were and what happened.”
“Zaimid, did you ever consider that maybe I prefer to be like this? That maybe this is my penance for being a bad son and not proving my worth as heir, or making sure that this kingdom was secure and getting a heir so that my life was not the only one at stake, not waiting to meet the perfect lady? That maybe I wasted too much time with my weapons practice, and learning, and reading literature, and talking with the zoo keepers. The Gods were unhappy with me.”
“Your highness, it’s not your fault that you are what you are now. It’s not your penance, you did nothing wrong but to live your life. It is the Hag’s fault.” Sarai’s voice trailed to a whisper as they entered the kitchen, and he knew the three servants had left his side to check on Duke Jonathan. He stuck the unlit end of the torch into the fire, and watched as it began to burn. He lifted the torch and, brandishing it so it reflected across the shattered and crumbling stone of the upper hallways, as he walked back to Kalasin. She waited where he had left her, close enough so that she would be able to make out his form in the scarce shadows cast by the dim and flickering torchlight.
“I warn you, my lady, that my appearance is not that of what you would expect. Please do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”
“I am prepared.” He heard the scuffle o f her footsteps, scratching over stone as she retreated backwards. He stepped slowly into the light cast dimly from the holes gouged from the ceiling, holding her torch firm in his hand. Her eyes widenened slightly, the only perceptible notion she gave of surprise.
“Your torch, Lady Kalasin.” He held the torch out towards her.
“How do you know my name?” She looked more cautious now then what she had before.
“Your father spoke of you while he slept.” Kaddar calmed as her wariness faded, and he wished he hadn’t brought up the slightest consideration of his life prior. Kalasin took several steps closer, until she reached out and clasped her hand around the torch, scant inches separating their skin. She met his eyes without fear, only curiosity, and he quickly relinquished the torch to her grip and retreated closer to the safety of the shadows.
“Thankyou.” She smiled. “What is your name?”
“I am as worthy of my old name as an oxen that helps to plough the fields is worthy of a title. As such, you may call me, if you feel the need to call me anything, what I call myself. Beast.”
Kalasin swallowed visibly at his words, before lifting her head and gazing up to meet his dark eyes.
“Thank you for saving my father, my lord Beast. You have my heartfelt gratitiude, and I wish I could only repay you for your kindness and courage towards him. And please, it’s just Kalasin.” She smield briefly, and he could not help but manage a small, miniscule uplift of his mouth in return.
“I’ll take you to your father.”
..........
Ratings (and Warnings): PG, hints of slight squick at the start.
Fairytale/Nursery Rhyme Adapted: Beauty and the Beast
Word Count: 4058 words….
Summary: A very lengthy adaption of Beauty and the Beast, with Kalasin and Kaddar as Beauty and the Beast.
Notes: This is a mesh with a bit of tweaking of both the first version of Beauty and the Beast, the second version and Disney’s 1991 version (think of Kaddar as that Beast).
I know that (here, at least) it's no longer Nov. 7, so Part 2 isn't counted and that's why it's in a seperate post below. I still didn't finish it, and I couldn't post it yesterday, so when I do finish it I'll post all of it on King's Own. Thanks
..................
Prince Kaddar stared listlessly across the table. His guardian, and regent, Dearie, sat across from him, twirling her fingers through her grey hair and gazing wistfully across his strong shoulders and sharpened cheekbones. Kaddar called her the Hag, or the Crone on her good days. More often then not, it was Hag. The servants called her the Graveyard Hag, and Kaddar had never trusted her. She had been a trusted accomplice of his father’s before his death, and as his mother’s missions took her further and further away from the kingdom to fight threats that grew and multiplied yearly, Kaddar was placed in the Hag’s care. It was whispered that she was a fairy, a witch, a true hag, and sometimes Kaddar thought that she was the reason his mother had to go and fight to protect their kingdom – she was the one that started the threats.
“Kaddar.” The Hag’s voice sounded odd in the sickeningly patronising tone she always spoke to him with, and if it were any other woman he would have called it flirtatious.
“Yes, Hag?”
“You’re so sweet. Keeping old nicknames for your Dearie.” She cackled, twirling her hair around her fingers again, and fluttering her lashes.
“What’s the problem?” He asked, fighting the grimace on his face. He watched as the Hag hesitated, before steeling herself with his answer.
“You are.”
“I’m the problem?”
“Yes.” She sighed, before moving around the table and clutching at his shirt, kneeling at his feet.
“Dearie, why can’t you see it? You and I. We’re meant to be together. I’ll do everthing for you, service your every need, wait on you hand and foot. Kaddar, my love.” She pressed her lips into his shirt, burying her face in his stomach.
“What? You can’t be serious.” He stared at the head below his, at the wisps of grey hair and the patchy red skin in between. He stood up, and she remained clutching his shirt, staring up at him in a way that bordered on piously worshipful.
“To you, my love, nothing is ever, will ever, be more serious than the absolute depths of my devotion and undying love for you. Say yes, and our dreams will come true. Say yes, and I will be yours forever. ” She whispered passionately, reverently, clenching his shirt in wrinkled fingers.
“Hag, you know that I care for you, but listen. You’re old enough to be my mother. If I want a Queen, which I currently don’t, I want to marry for love. I want her to be beautiful, and kind, and loving and closer to my own age. I don’t see these things to the extent I would like to see in you, because in the way I see things, you treat people as if they are fireflies, not human beings.”
She pulled away from him, ripping his shirt violently from its seams. He stared at her as she picked up the remaining platters from their dinner, and threw them at his head, before grabbing chairs and smashing them into the stone floors.
“Do you dare deny me my greatest single wish, Kaddar Illiniat?” she screamed. “Do you wish your vanity to be your undoing?”
“Yes. ” Kaddar’s voice was quiet, and yet still clear from the wreckage that surrounded him. He knew that he would rather someone who wasn’t pretty and yet beautiful because of how they were on the inside, then someone like Hag who could make herself beautiful, and yet was not.
“Then I hope you enjoy your comeuppance.”
Her triumphant snarl was the last thing he saw before he felt agonising pain, and it faded to black.
.....
Kally’s smile sparkled as she stared out of the window. Her father’s carriage was approaching, returning from his diplomatic mission to search for the missing queen.
“Lianne, Vania! Roald, Jasson, Liam! Father’s home. Father’s home!” She yelled, running towards the stairs.
“Big deal, Kalasin. Father comes and goes, you know, quite often.” Liam leant in the doorway, sneering. She smiled at her youngest brother, shoving past him.
“ It’s such a pity you don’t know of this little thing called affection, Liam. But then again, you would only bestow it on yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t bestow such fancy words on anyone,” Liam yelled after her as she danced down the stairs. “Least of all you.”
Kally laughed as she floated down the remainder of the stairs. Roald lounged upon the setee, reading a thick volume, and only heaved a sigh as she clattered past, wooden pattens tied on her feet as she hopped outside. Lianne rolled her eyes as she sat, a pile of needlework in her lap, and Vania did not look away from the mirror, twirling her dark hair around warmed pieces of wood. Jasson poked at the fire, pulling sticks out and passing them to Vania. An icy wind caused all of the Conte children to look up, and the scent of Vania’s singeing hair dispersed throughout the room. Kally slammed the door shut, and they all returned to their tasks.
Kally ran through the snow, skirts wet and dragging, towards the stable. Icy wind, fresh from the Olorun River that wound through the estate, blew across long brown hair, lighter than Vania’s, restrained in a tight knot, and gave colour to her pale cheeks and a sparkle to her clear blue eyes. She grinned at the guardsmen as they walked towards the manor, but her eyes remained focused on the opening carriage door.
“Papa!” She cried. Jonathan Conte’s face lit at the sight of his eldest daughter, and she threw herself at him. He hugged her tightly.
“How was your trip? Was there any traces of the Queen? What about the Prince? What was the other side of the forest like?”
“I did only just get back, Kally. There wasn’t a trace of either, and the other side of the forest is the same as this side. How was here?”
“Usual. Vania’s fragrance has changed to singed hair, and Roald’s found an even thicker book to read, Lianne has more needlework then anyone would ever need, Jasson’s become part of the fire and Liam is as affectionate as ever.” She picked up her father’s bag as he laughed and swung it around her hands, her father’s arm tight around her shoulders. Her father’s laughter was contagious, and it was a laughing pair that made their way into the Conte manor.
…
“Prince Kaddar?”
“Your highness, oh, please wake up.”
“Your highness?”
Kaddar blearily opened his eyes to the sound of voices. His eyelashes fluttered, and he blinked several times. Voices that he could hear, and that he could not see.
“I think we’re invisible, your highness. We looked in the mirror and we couldn’t see anything but shambles. And we moved and they didn’t.”
“Who are you?” Kaddar pulled moisture into his dry mouth, and spoke with a scratchy, hoarse voice that was most unlike his own.
“It’s Varice and Zaimid and Sarai, your highness. We can’t find anyone else.”
“What happened?” Kaddar raised a hand to his face, in a reassuring gesture. His face felt like it had more stubble then normal. He pulled himself to his knees, before stumbling to his feet and walking to the mirror on the wall. His body felt uncomfortable. His legs were shakier, his arms more lumbersome and his head was heavier. He glanced in the mirror, prepared to see himself as he normally was: tall, dark haired, gentle brown eyes, slightly bearded and quite muscular with a dark tan. The sight in the mirror was completely unexpected. Thick brown hair, more like a pelt then hair, covered his entire body. The clothes he wore were the same ones as dinner, but stretched and malformed to look like a peasant’s, rather than a prince. His hair had grown thicker, longer and shaggier, hanging in his eyes and all over his face. His mouth was larger and more animalistic, his teeth were elongated and sharper, two canines protruding across his thinned upper lip. His nose appeared squashed, as though he had crushed it into a wall and it never had been healed, and it looked simply like a hairy snout. His eyes remained the same, gentle, deep and brown, although his desperation and anger had added a savagery to them.
“We believe the Hag is responsible. She couldn’t take your refusal, and so turned your words against you. She turned us invisible, ruined half the castle and changed your appearance.”
“And there are rosebushes in the West Garden, too. We don’t think Hag planted them, but I think they’re magical.”
“What am I? Who am I?”
“You are Prince Kaddar, Heir to the Throne of the Eastern and Southern Lands, your highness.” Zaimid’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m not a Prince. This isn’t what There is no Prince. Hag made sure of that.”
“But, your highness –“
“ Does this look like the face of a Prince to you? Prince Kaddar is no more. I am not Prince Kaddar. Just Kaddar. Just Kaddar the Beast.” He yelled furiously, slamming a fist into the mirror. It shattered, leaving broken pieces of his reflection behind, smeared with his blood.
…
The wine splashed into the glass, reflecting the dinner table. Kalasin held the wine bottle, and her father drank from his own glass. Roald sat on her father’s other side, opposite to her, while Liam sat between Jasson and Roald, as they argued about the limitations of longswords. Lianne and Vania gossiped on Kally’s other side, about yet another town boy who had smiled at them when they bought ribbons. Jonathan returned his wine glass to the table and smiled at Kally.
“Joren Mountain asked after you when we passed through Stone.” Kally scowled.
“Joren Mountain lives in the middle of nowhere, Papa. Stone is in the North of the Forest. We’re in the middle. Of course he’s going to ask after any acquaintance he pretends to have.”
“ ‘Cause he wouldn’t be asking for any other reason, hey, Kal?” Jasson grinned.
“Don’t be stupid, Jass. Why would he want Kalasin when he could have me or Vania? We’d be far more willing then Kalasin. No one would want to marry Kal compared to us.”
“Lianne. Kally is of a marriageable age. You and Vania are not, for at least another four years. Keep up your attitude, and it will certainitely be more, because all your suitors would want maidenly wives, not ones with attitude.” Jonathan said sternly.
“Yes Papa. Does that mean that Joren would be eligible if we were older, and he was still unmarried?” Lianne asked eagerly.
“ When you are older, he may be a possibility. Although for either of you two, I would prefer someone your own age, not Roald’s. Perhaps Alan Swoop, Zahir Albaz or Faleron Reach from Kings. You both need the grounding.”
“Zahir’s as old as Roald, Papa. And Alan has that awful twin of his, that keeps interfering whenever we talk to him. And Faleron is far too handsome to marry. You can’t marry someone that is more handsome then you are.” Vania scowled.
Jonathan chuckled, reflecting back on his own younger days. Life as a diplomat had been simple then, and a favoured man of court the most favourable thing. Life, children and the events of the past few years had changed that. Being the favoured man of Court now meant he led the desperate manhunt to find the Queen, and the Prince, to lead them out of the mess their country was in. He’d sacrificed the paternal care of his children, and his wife’s health to do that. Vania and Lianne were in position, as was Kalasin, to choose who they wanted to marry for love, or for their own vanity. He’d married Thayet for love, and her affection and love and beauty were added bonuses to an already fulfilled dream. Kally sometimes wondered if he was so passionate about the search for Queen Fazia, missing while on the frontlines of the Isles Battle, because he was looking just as furiously within for the remainder of the man he was, that he lost when Thayet had died and why he hadn’t known that something was wrong.
“I’ll tell them on Sunsday that you are both thinking of them, then.” He grinned, winking at Roald.
“Papa!”
“He was joking, Lianne.” Roald said.
“Sunsday? Why are you travelling to Corus on Sunsday?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m travelling to Corus on Sunday, and then down to Pearlmouth. I’ll be back by Wednesday, I promise.”
“You only just got back.” Kally stated, staring at her father, upset.
“You’ll miss the ball on Monday night, Papa.”
“I’m following a new lead on the Prince. And how will the ball be any different to all the others?” Jonathan smiled at his daughters. “Kally, I’ll be fine. I always am.”
The dinner progressed with the normal abundance of absurdity, insanity and chaos of a Conte dinner, and the small pout that Kally wore, as well as the sadness in Jonathan’s eyes, was missed by almost all.
…
Kalasin sat at the window of her bedroom, staring wistfully out over the snow-capped grounds. It was Thursday, and there was no sign of her father, or of his entourage of guards, fellow lords and servants. She’d travelled to Corus and to Pearlmouth herself to know that there was little along the route that would prolong her father’s absence. The only place she could think that Jonathan would go was to the palace, across the Inland Lake, deeply south of Pearlmouth, but she knew her father wasn’t that foolhardy. The palace had been abandoned only two months ago in a mysterious, cataslymatic occurance, with all of it’s occupants, including Crown Prince Kaddar, the heir to the throne, disappearing. Whispers over the campfires of travellers around the area had said that the castle was destroyed, obliterated, and others had whispered fearfully of the Beast that haunted the ruins, their tales wrapped with the voices of the missing and unseen. Her father had been a frequent visitor to the palace before the incident, as the Queen preferred to conduct her private life away from the prying eyes of her subjects and spies, as well as away from the unstated rumour of downfall and regicide muttered in the isolated towns. She didn’t think Jonathan thought that his mission for the Queen, or for the Prince, was worth sacrificing his life.
The hint of the sounds of horsemen, riding hard, drifted through the ajar window. Kalasin’s eyes darted quickly across the scope of the Royal Forest, and down to the main road to the Estate. She saw the riders galloping through the distance, and sunk her teeth hard into her quivering lip. She pulled the window closed, and pulled at the ties on her dress, yanking the silky material over her head and rummaging through her clothes chest for her riding gear. She pulled on her breeches, a thick shirt and a long, knee length tunic that was conservative enough to pass as a dress, before grabbing her boots, woollen socks and thickest cloak and running down the stairs and outside.
“Kal, what are you doing?” Roald stood outside, flushed and sweaty, carrying his practice sword.
“There’s riders coming.” She sat on the stone wall, and pulled her socks over her cold feet, before picking up her boots.
“I never thought you were such a gracious hostess that you would feel the need to go and meet them.”
“Roald. I think something’s happened to Father.” She swallowed and looked at her older brother, gathering her hair into a thick knot and tying it.
“He could be coming home now, only minutes away.” Her brother reassured, sounding unconvinced.
“You don’t think it either, though. He’s been there, over this past year, when we needed him. I’m not letting him down in his time of need.”
“I’m not letting you go alone. It’s my duty. I’m the heir.”
“And you need to do your duty and look after here. I’m indispensible unless it’s marriage.” She smiled, before leaning over and kissing his cheek.
“Don’t scowl, Roald. I’ll be fine.” She dropped to the snow covered ground, and walked to the stables. She saddled her horse, Belle, and with the reins caught in a loose hand, led her out to the courtyard. The riders had arrived, and she could see by the expression on Roald’s face that she was right.
“Lord Gareth.” Her father’s closest friend looked haunted and drawn, as though he had aged several years since his journey.
“Lady Kalasin. He’s at the palace. We were attacked by some sort of animal. Like a hyena, or a wolf. Then something came. In all my years, KAlly, I’ve never seen the like. We think it took him to the palace, and Lady Kalasin. He appeared to be gravely injured.”
Kally nodded, and pulled her cloak around her shoulders, fastening it.
“You did all you could, Lord Gareth. You couldn’t do anything else, and I’m sure Cythera and your family will only be too grateful to see you return to Naxen.”
A small hint of relief crossed his face, and Kally pulled her hood over her face, until only the briefest outline of her features could be seen. She mounted, and waved a hand in farewell, before signalling Belle out of the courtyard, galloping away from the estate towards Pearlmouth.
…
Kaddar had taken care of Jonathan Conte, with the instructions and limited help of Varice, Zaimid and Sarai for just over a week when they heard the sound of a rider approaching the palace ruins. He left the recovering duke and slunk through the ruined hallways until he reached the ruins of the dining room, site of his fateful dinner and subsequent transformation. He hesitated at the entrance of the room, and peered inside. The sight of a young woman met his eyes, and he instantly knew, by her strong resemblance, why she was here. She was the icily, beautiful, younger feminine image, of the injured duke in the kitchens. She looked to be his own age, which meant that she was the duke’s oldest daughter.
Kalasin.
He’d spent much time with court beauties. He’d been enamoured with Lady Daine, only four months ago, before her engagement to Count Numair was announced, and he had had many dalliances with young court beauties, taking them out on rides, exploring hidden sections of the palace, talking literature. None of them held a candle to Kalasin. He knew the Conte estate was two days ride away, across the lake and the expanse of the Royal Forest, and yet Kalasin looked as though she had merely stepped outside their estate for a breath of fresh air, not as though she had ridden through mud and rain and drought to arrive. He knew it was in her simplicity that her true beauty lay. Her cloak was of a pale green, hood thrown back to reveal wisps of hair escaping from the knot at the back of her head, and she wore no lip rogue or paint to disguise her imperfections. Her eyes appeared sharp and inquisitive, as sensible as the grey tunic and white shirt she wore, and her boots and dark breeches carried the same impeccable quality engrained into the rest of her. Her eyes spotted his form in the shadows, and she started.
“Father?” She called. He remained silent.
“Father?” She called, louder. “Jonathan?” She moved closer, reaching for the sword at her hip and unsheathing it, holding it aloft. She moved closer, eyes focused on his betraying shadow.
“ I’m not your father, Lady Kalasin.” He spoke, voice gravelly in the shadows. She jumped slightly, and kept a firm grip on her sword.
“Who are you? Where is my father?” She demanded, tightening her grip with both hands, and keeping steady on her feet.
“I can take you to him.”
“Not until I see your face, and that you are unarmed. And until my torch is lit.”
“I can light your torch. There is a fire in the kitchens.” He spoke softly. She nodded, and retreated to her saddlebags, soothing her horse, tied to a pillar. She lifted the branch of wood, and held it in front of her, sword firm in her other hand. He stretched out an arm, scaly and fur covered, and was glad that he could not see the look of revulsion he knew would be on her face, the same as on her father’s. He felt the press of wood into his hand, and grasped the branch firmly. He pulled away and it slid out of her grasp, and he knew she would quickly retreat, away from his lingering presence as he walked down the hall.
“My lord, my lord, what are you going to do?” Varice and Sarai’s voices fluttered like butterflies, hovering around him, as he left Kalasin’s earshot.
“She came for her father. That’s what she’ll get.”
“My lord, you know they could help you if you told them who you were and what happened.”
“Zaimid, did you ever consider that maybe I prefer to be like this? That maybe this is my penance for being a bad son and not proving my worth as heir, or making sure that this kingdom was secure and getting a heir so that my life was not the only one at stake, not waiting to meet the perfect lady? That maybe I wasted too much time with my weapons practice, and learning, and reading literature, and talking with the zoo keepers. The Gods were unhappy with me.”
“Your highness, it’s not your fault that you are what you are now. It’s not your penance, you did nothing wrong but to live your life. It is the Hag’s fault.” Sarai’s voice trailed to a whisper as they entered the kitchen, and he knew the three servants had left his side to check on Duke Jonathan. He stuck the unlit end of the torch into the fire, and watched as it began to burn. He lifted the torch and, brandishing it so it reflected across the shattered and crumbling stone of the upper hallways, as he walked back to Kalasin. She waited where he had left her, close enough so that she would be able to make out his form in the scarce shadows cast by the dim and flickering torchlight.
“I warn you, my lady, that my appearance is not that of what you would expect. Please do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”
“I am prepared.” He heard the scuffle o f her footsteps, scratching over stone as she retreated backwards. He stepped slowly into the light cast dimly from the holes gouged from the ceiling, holding her torch firm in his hand. Her eyes widenened slightly, the only perceptible notion she gave of surprise.
“Your torch, Lady Kalasin.” He held the torch out towards her.
“How do you know my name?” She looked more cautious now then what she had before.
“Your father spoke of you while he slept.” Kaddar calmed as her wariness faded, and he wished he hadn’t brought up the slightest consideration of his life prior. Kalasin took several steps closer, until she reached out and clasped her hand around the torch, scant inches separating their skin. She met his eyes without fear, only curiosity, and he quickly relinquished the torch to her grip and retreated closer to the safety of the shadows.
“Thankyou.” She smiled. “What is your name?”
“I am as worthy of my old name as an oxen that helps to plough the fields is worthy of a title. As such, you may call me, if you feel the need to call me anything, what I call myself. Beast.”
Kalasin swallowed visibly at his words, before lifting her head and gazing up to meet his dark eyes.
“Thank you for saving my father, my lord Beast. You have my heartfelt gratitiude, and I wish I could only repay you for your kindness and courage towards him. And please, it’s just Kalasin.” She smield briefly, and he could not help but manage a small, miniscule uplift of his mouth in return.
“I’ll take you to your father.”
..........