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But the way he looked now…He had no idea how to go about this with Belle. He pushed himself onto his feet, feeling the rough and tattered sheets with the pads of his paws. Perhaps he should let servants in to make the bed, dust the windows, and mop the floors. To have him live more like a human being than the monster he had become.
He stood on shaking legs, still dizzy from the rush of animal anger he’d felt when he heard Belle call him a monster. He moved to the mantel, where he kept the enchanted mirror the sisters had given him long before. He stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath before he looked at himself. It had been far too long since he had seen his own reflection. He had to see how his odious deeds had etched themselves upon his face.
His paw rested on the sheet that was draped over the frame. Then, in one movement, he tore the sheet away and tossed it aside, revealing the looking glass and the tarnished reflection that stared back at him.
Monster!
The only indication of what he had once been was his soulful blue eyes, which teemed with humanity. Those hadn’t changed. They were still his.
But in all other respects, he had become exactly what he had feared. And, indeed, it was worse than he ever could have fathomed.
His knees buckled as his world started to close in. His scope became narrower until he found himself in utter darkness, spiraling into a vision of his past—of himself as he’d once been, before he became a monster. Before he became the Beast.
Before the curse, life had been good to the Prince.
To hear the sisters tell the tale of the curse would be to hear a story filled with examples of what a terrible person he was, a list of his misdeeds, tallied one by one, each of them worse and nastier than the one before, until the sisters swooped down on him with their spell, deforming him into the pathetic beast now lying on his bedroom floor before his mirror.
Eventually, that is indeed how the story will go. But the sisters won’t be able to spew that part of the tale at first. Not until the Prince has had his say, a chance to tell you how much fun he had.
Because there was a time when things were good.
It was a time when the Prince was just an arrogant young man, full of pride and keenly aware of his station in life. What young prince hasn’t found himself in exactly the same place? What do you think other princes are like? Are they just charming men venturing off hither and thither in search of sleeping brides to awaken with love’s first kiss? Do you fancy them as dandy gentlemen while they slay dragons and vanquish foul, murderous stepmothers? Perhaps they do that sort of thing without the slightest bit of ego or aggression? One moment they’re hacking their way through enchanted killer thornbushes only to find a fire breathing dragon primed for murder on the other side, and the next they’re expected to waltz with their new brides in pastel suits and golden sashes.
And what is up with those sashes, anyway? Horrible!
Our prince didn’t want anything to do with that romantic poppycock. He wanted a different sort of life, and he learned early on he didn’t have to slay a fire breathing beast to get a fair maiden to kiss him. Though swaggering in with the corpse of a giant elk or a fearsome grizzly bear slung over his shoulder for Old Man Higgins to stuff and mount on the tavern wall did get him his fair share of smooches from the young ladies—and as dangerous as it might have been at times, it was a far cry from poison apples, stinky dwarfs, or being burnt alive by an evil fairy queen. He’d take hunting and philandering over that stuff any day.
Life was good; everyone loved and worshiped the Prince and he knew it.
As he sat in his favorite tavern, his clothes covered in earth, grime, and the blood from his latest kill, he couldn’t have been more handsome. Or at least that was what he thought. The tavern was his favorite haunt. It had most everything he loved in one place. The wood walls were so crowded with the forest beasts he’d slain that Old Man Higgins laughed and teased him as he poured him another beer.
“I’m going to have to build a larger tavern, Prince!”
And it was true.
The only person who killed almost as many animals as the Prince was his good friend Gaston, who slammed a handful of coins onto the bar, startling poor Higgins before he could finish pouring the new round of drinks. “Drinks are on me tonight, Higgins! In celebration of the Prince’s engagement!”
The men cheered and the barmaids wilted into tears, their bosoms heaving heavy sighs of disappointment. Gaston seemed to enjoy the spectacle as much as the Prince did.
“She is the most beautiful girl in the village! You’re a lucky man! I’d be jealous if you weren’t the very best of my friends!”
That he was. Gaston’s best friend.
They had always been alike, Gaston and the Prince, and the Prince supposed that was why they had enjoyed each other’s company so well. Or perhaps he had felt it was better to keep his competition close at hand. But then again, he wondered if that was how he’d actually seen it then.
The Prince couldn’t help laughing sometimes while listening to Gaston go on about himself, bragging about his cleft chin, showing off his hairy chest, and singing his own praises up and down the town’s main thoroughfares.
However, there was another side to the Prince’s old friend, a vindictive cruelty about him.
Yes, they were very much alike, Gaston and the Prince, and that is what brought them together.
Gaston was the first to let the Prince know his fiancée, Circe, was from a poor farming family, in an attempt to prevent the Prince from shaming himself by marrying someone so low. Of course he couldn’t marry her, no matter how beautiful she was. How could his subjects take the daughter of a pig farmer seriously as their queen? The servants wouldn’t respect her, and she wouldn’t know how to act in diplomatic situations. No, it would be a disaster. It would be unfair to his subjects and to her, and most of all to him. He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was a poor idea; he came to the conclusion himself the moment he discovered her station in life.
Then the decision was made.
He couldn’t marry the girl.
The Prince sent for his fiancée the next day. Circe looked beautiful when she stepped out of the carriage to meet him. Her light blond hair and shimmering silver dress glistened under the morning sun as she stood in his rose garden. It was hard to believe she was a pig farmer’s daughter. Perhaps Gaston was mistaken. Where would a girl on a pig farm get a dress like that? Ah. Gaston was playing his tricks again. Trying to put him off so he could have Circe for himself. That wicked butt-chinned brute. He would have words with him about this soon enough. But in the meantime he had to make amends with his beautiful Circe. Of course she had no idea he had intended to break things
