Charming the Beast
by Anna and Alyssa Skinner
prologue
There once was a beautiful princess, with wavy raven dark hair, periwinkle blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and bright ruby red lips, dark enough to rival even the reddest of lip rouge, and yet, it was as genuine as could be. All across the land, every man from the lowest slave to the richest king, noticed her, and stood in awe of her outrageous, yet natural beauty.
At least, until the day she turned 16.
And that, my friends, is where our story begins.
chapter 1
In the palace of King Phillip the twelfth and Queen Juliette Du Paris, servants scurried madly in preparation for Princess Cordelia the Lovely's 16th birthday. It was a bitterly cold day in the beginning of the month of December that year, and snow began to fall upon the shoulders and helmets of the unfortunate soldiers who stood guard near the palace gate. Princess Cordelia sat in her bedchamber, waiting very impatiently as her maids braided her hair.
"Princess Cordelia, please do not fidget so," a small maid pleaded as she tried to catch a lock of hair that had fallen. "We are trying so hard to make you look beautiful, only you fidget so, I fear that we will not be done with your hair this fortnight."
"If you can't work any faster, do not try to pin the blame on me." Princess Cordelia answered, purposely tossing her hair. "OW! Now you've pulled, and that hurts. I shall have you fired for your incompetence. You may go to my father and tell him to send for a new maid this instant."
Fighting back tears, the young maid fled from the bedchamber, wishing with all of her might that the wicked princess looked every bit as ugly on the outside as she truly was on the inside. It was not the first time that such a wish was made; in fact, I suspect it was made nearly every day.
The Queen came into the bedchamber, and smiled down at her very pretty daughter. The King and Queen barely knew their daughter; they saw her perhaps once a week, and they had no idea of her wicked, black heart, so they thought her to be the most cunning, precious child ever born. No one had the heart to tell them they were wrong, perhaps because everyone who had done so had been beheaded for their incompetence and falsehoods.
"Princess Cordelia, sweetheart, it is time for you to go down and meet your guests." The Queen said calmly, holding out her hand to her daughter. "Come, we will walk together."
The Princess took her mother's hand and walked sedately down the stairs, holding her head up proudly, because she knew that all eyes in the castle were on her, in her finest gown, bought only yesterday, and never worn previous to this day. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her shoes shone like gold, and well they might, for they were, indeed, made of gold thread, with golden tips on them. Truly, she looked every inch a princess.
The Queen and Princess Cordelia went to stand by the grand entrance, and as each Nobleman or Noblewoman stepped through, they smiled and bid them welcome, but all that Princess Cordelia had on her wicked mind was how many presents that she might receive, and how grand they might be. How she hoped that no one would bring her something that she did not care for, and how silly all the women looked as they tried in vain to copy her beauty, and how the men stammered as they introduced themselves to her, and then looked so pleased as she said hello, as though her very words were more important to them than air to breathe, or food to eat.
After a moment,the queen excused herself to powder her nose, and left Princess Cordelia to meet the guests herself. this made the princess very angry, as she was quite bored with meeting the guests, and she felt as though her mother were only making excuses, not really powdering her nose, that she might go and do something much more interesting and less polite. As time went on, she became angrier and angrier, and when a little old woman, with gnarled hands on a gnarled cane came near the door and lifted her gray head to reveal a wrinkled, ugly face, Princess Cordelia felt that she had really reached her absolute limit.
"Beggin' yer pardon, milady," the old woman began, "But could yer spare me a coin or two? Me belly's nigh empty, an' oi ain't got no' a penny t'buy a bit o' bread."
"Absolutely not." Princess Cordelia snapped, "I dare not give so much as a crumb to a hag such as yourself. If I did, I would be giving you leave to go on living, and causing other people to go on seeing your horrid, ugly face. I would not give so much as a clod of dirt to such a purpose."
"So, my face troubles you so much?" the old woman stood a bit straighter, then straighter still, her voice now stronger, the peasantly accent now gone. "You are a black-hearted, bitter young woman. You are wicked, cruel, rude, ill-mannered, and only poison drops from your tongue. You are a shame to your parents, and a shame to your country, although they do not know it." As she spoke, the woman's face, hands, and very form changed, gradually. When she paused, she stood great and tall and beautiful, even more beautiful than the vain little princess, and beautiful wings slowly unfolded behind her. She smiled, but her smile was not a happy one. "You did not know to whom you spoke, did you? Silly child. I am Ruby, the faery of the castle ten miles east of this one. I had heard such glowing reports of your beauty from several of my visitors, and I took it upon myself to come and see you, but, first, I spoke to many travelers on my way. Many were old servants of yours, and they told me that, underneath your lovely exterior, you held a heart blacker than any whom I have met. I understand that servants gossip, and particularly ones who have been recently fired, so I reserved my opinion until today, but now, I can see the truth for myself, and I must say that those servants were a great deal more honest than I ever gave them credit for. So, as you seem to be quite vain, I will take away the very thing that you value above all else in your life. I will take from you your beauty, and I will not return it until you can prove to me that you can cause another human being to see past your exterior, as you, yourself, were not able to see past mine. You can't fire me, Princess. Good day."
"But that's not fair!" Princess Cordelia whined, even as her hair became frizzy and unmanageable, her lips growing thinner and paler, and yellow pustules popped out onto her formerly perfect skin. "I am a princess! I am the most beautiful princess in the known world! you can't do this to me!" But, even as she complained, her shoulders became more stooped, her eyes began to cross, and her teeth began to stick out crookedly. Smiling, the faery waved her hand, and disappeared into the gently falling snow.
Chapter 2
Princess Cordelia turned to go back into the inner part of the castle, and the guard stopped her, a disgusted look on his face. "Sorry, Miss. No one allowed but guests of Princess Cordelia."
"But I am Princess Cordelia!" the princess raged, stomping her foot.
"Not hardly!" the guard answered, laughing deeply, his belly jiggling beneath his ill-fitting armor. "I've seen the princess, and no one would ever fall for that one, Miss. Now, why don't you go back to wherever it is you come from, afore I have to pitch you into the dungeon?"
Princess Cordelia looked down at herself, and realized that not only had she turned into a completely unattractive-looking person, but her royal finery had been replaced with filthy rags, and her fine slippers with bare, gnarled, hairy feet. She knew, as she stared at those horrible feet, that there was no purpose in trying to reason with this dullard of a guard. Letting out an angry growl, she turned on her heel and stormed out into the harsh, cruel streets.
As she walked, she began to grow colder and colder, and her heart became harder and harder, angrier and angrier, and then the tears started, slowly washing away all of the anger and frustration, until all that remained was a hopeless, hungry, cold, miserable, ugly 16-year-old girl with no family or home left to turn to.
Finally, exhausted, cold, and miserable, she crept onto a doorstep and huddled there, lost and
alone, and she slept.
Chapter 3
"What's this, then?" a woman's businesslike voice asked, startling Princess Cordelia awake. "I ought to get a dog, that's what I ought to do. You'd think that these beggars would learn."
"Oh, oh, oh, I beg your pardon!" Cordelia said, standing up, then stumbling and falling back down. "It's only that I was lost, and I was only looking for a place to sleep, out of the rain."
"Hmph." the woman said, arms crossed. "What were you doing, wandering around in this neighborhood, I'd like to know?"
"I- I came to see the princess." Cordelia said, keeping her head down. "I heard that she was beautiful, and I only wanted to. . . to look."
"Fat lot of waste that was, wasn't it?" the woman asked, a facetious look on her face.
"What do you mean?" Cordelia asked, because, although she wasn't nearly as wicked as she had been, she was still blinded to the fact that she had been wicked at all to begin with.
"Well, now, don't pretend with me. I've seen the princess myself, and I know what a witch she is. I used to work at the palace, I was her royal bather, had to prepare her bath every morning, and let me tell you, it was no picnic. Either the water was too hot, or too cold. Either there were too many suds or not enough, and no matter how hard I tried, that insufferable child was never satisfied. Oh, she's beautiful enough, that I'll grant you, but inside, she's as ugly as a piece of coal, and ten times as black. But enough of that, child. Be off with you, go home to your family and friends, I've not got time for you."
Princess Cordelia was not at all pleased with this view of her, but she was so completely overwhelmed as she thought again of how she had been thrown out of her own home, that instead of bursting into an angry tirade, she burst into tears.
"Look, now, there's no need for that! You're going to drive away all my customers." the woman scolded her, looking around in worry. "Go on, would you?!"
"I HAVEN'T GOT A HOME! I HAVEN'T GOT ANY PARENTS, I HAVEN'T GOT ANY MONEY, I HAVEN'T GOT ANYTHING AT ALL IN THIS WO-O-O-RRRRLD!" Cordelia sobbed, much of the spoiled princess attributes rearing their ugly heads as she verged on hysteria.
"What's your name, then?" the woman asked, in a resigned voice.
"Cor-Cor-Cor. . . nelia." Cordelia sobbed, deciding that it was best not to let on who she was. Better to simply begin again, as though she had never been a princess.
"All right, then. My name is Jane, and I own this establishment. Now, I need a person to do grunt work, and I suppose you'll do, so get yourself in here, and get to work, or else move your feet on down the street. I'm not one for patience."
Chapter 4. . . 4 years later
Cornelia looked down at the crate she had just piled onto the cart, and sighed. It had been four years, and, as her parents had done every year on the anniversary of her disappearance, they were going out to search for her yet again. Right after she had left the palace, they had searched night and day, until it became hopeless. Now, it was mostly just a ritual. No one really expected to find her, but they always ordered thousands of supplies from several shops in town, then took a search party of one thousand men to search as far as they could in one day, before coming home exhausted, and with absolutely nothing to show for it.
If only I could tell them that I'm right here. . . Cornelia thought, then brushed it off, resolving to focus on her work.
"Excuse me." A young man's voice spoke up from behind her. "Could you please direct me to the castle? It appears that I am more than a little bit lost."
Cornelia turned around, and her heart leapt into her throat. Immediately, she dropped to her knees, staring up at the prince on the stallion before her. Before her transformation, he would have been entirely too plain to even catch her attention, but now, in her current state of ugliness, he looked like the most attractive man on the entire planet. He was of an average height, with thick, brown, wavy hair, a slightly turned-up nose, and a broad, beaming smile that seemed to make everything seem a little easier to bear.
He laughed, surprised. "There's no reason for all of that. I'm only the Prince of Condor, so a slight nod is good enough for me. It's not like I'm the King of Spain, or anything."
Slowly, Cornelia made her way to her feet, her eyes still lowered. "I-I am supposed to take these goods to the palace today. . . you may come with me, if you like, good sir prince."
Shaking his head, he reached over and pulled up her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Please, I'm serious. You don't have to do any of that posturing for me, I don't want it or even like it. If you want to make me happy, please, just pretend that I'm any other person, alright?"
Nodding, Cornelia blinked rapidly. "Y-yes, Your Majesty."
"Call me Terrence." he reprimanded her, smiling. "Now, how about we get going, before you accidentally forget and call me something silly again."
Chapter 5
"My father never was very good at being a king." Prince Terrence said, as he rode beside Cornelia on the wagon seat, his fine stallion tied on behind. "Oh, don't get me wrong, he's very good at being a leader, taking care of his people, and so on, but he never really liked all of the people worshipping and groveling at his feet. And, what can I say? I'm my father's son."
"But isn't that what peasants are for?" Cornelia asked, wrinkling her nose. "To give homage?"
"Well, not the way that I see it." Prince Terrence answered, smiling. "In fact, I hope you're joking. Peasants have entirely too much time to spend working and caring for their families to be forever groveling at my feet. I would have to be an absolute cad to expect them to throw away everything in such a pursuit. No, peasants were made to live, and royals were made to serve them, not the other way around."
"But. . . if the peasants don't serve the royals. . . does that mean that the royals must bathe the peasants and clean their houses?" Cornelia asked, confused.
Prince Terrence gave a surprised bark of laughter. "Of course not! But the reason to have peasants work about the castle is so that they can have work, to provide for their families, and a king or queen is to treat them kindly and see that their needs are met."
"I've never heard anyone talk the way that you do." Cornelia said, shaking her head.
"I suppose I should have warned you that I was strange." Prince Terrence said, ruefully. "In most kingdoms, I'm referred to as Terrence the Foolish, or, simply, the Foolish Prince. But I do not think that my ideas are so unreasonable, only different than most of us have been taught to think. I suppose now you wish you hadn't agreed to take me along."
"No. . . oddly enough, I'm enjoying it." Cornelia said, which, much to her surprise, was the truth. "I find your views to be different, refreshing. Tell me. . . what do you think that this kingdom could do to improve its current royal/peasant relations?"
"Well, King Philip and Queen Juliette could pay their servants a little better, and stop firing on a whim. Servants rely on good, steady work, just as a king and queen rely on good, steady taxes. If I were king here. . . well, but that's of no consequence, because I'm not. I'm only here to advise them in finding their daughter, not that I'm holding out much hope for that. Most princesses these days would faint dead away once they've been kidnapped, and any princess I know would have been dead from the very first day. They tell me she was something of a tyrant, too, and those are usually the first ones to go."
Cornelia was silent for a moment, then she asked, tremulously, "What if she learned to adapt, though? What if she found a job of some kind, and survived?"
"She'd have to have changed an awful lot." He answered. "Well, I might as well tell you. We were betrothed, as children. I came to see her one day, with my father, only my father and I dressed as peasants, and pretended we were looking for work. I worked in the scullery, so I learned first-hand how much King Philip and Queen Juliette pay their servants, and believe me, it isn't nearly enough. I saw the princess, once, as I walked by her in the hall. She took one look at me, then spat on me, right here, on my forehead, then proceeded to call me a series o
f names, none of them pleasant. I told my father, and we gave notice that very day. When we returned to Condor, my father sent King Philip a personal message, telling him that the betrothal was dissolved. It was the best thing he ever did for me, as it showed me that my father considered me worth more than a very desirable alliance, and proved that he considered my personal feelings to be worth paying attention to. Did your father ever do that?"
Cornelia squirmed on the rough wooden seat. She didn't even remember spitting on him, because she had often treated the "help" in that way. "No. . . I don't suppose he did."
"That's a shame. But, then, my father was an eccentric, I suppose. Still, I think that everyone should feel as though they are worth something. . . but not worth so much that everyone else is beneath them. If Princess Cordelia is still alive, wherever she is, I hope that she has learned the balance."
Chapter 6
The castle was in complete and utter chaos when they arrived, with servants running around trying to get things done in time for the search party to leave, soldiers sharpening their weapons, and the queen shouting above everyone, trying to make sense of everything.
Cornelia sighed, wistfully. If only she looked like herself, all of this could be resolved in only moments, but, as things were, there was no way that anyone would ever believe her.
"There you are!" a harried-looking page said, catching Prince Terrence by the arm. "King Philip has been raging for the past half-hour. You have to talk to him, or he will start beheading everyone he sees , and I like my head where it is."
Prince Terrence caught Cornelia's elbow before she could leave, and she found herself being dragged along, down the corridor to the throne room.
When they arrived, breathlessly, in the throne room, the king was pacing the floor distractedly, his head bowed as though his crown weighed rather more than it ought, and his brow furrowed so deeply that one might conceivably plant corn or potatoes therein.
"Your Majesty?" Prince Terrence said, as King Philip was the sort of monarch who liked to hear such things, unlike some. "I am Prince Terrence, of Condor. I had understood that you asked for my help, and I have come to offer it."
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