Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

by Melissa Lemon

  "Eglantine, I want to tell you something."

  Still fearful he will ask me to leave, I feel the sweat forming on my forehead and under my arms. It is real, which causes more discomfort because I am worried he will notice.

  "I know that in reality you are sleeping, and that you are far away. But I also know that I have never been happier than I am with you here. I know that I never want you to leave."

  Stunned and flattered, I allow my spirit to rise a little, his words bringing a glowing confidence to my chest. But it is in vain, and the thought of my state crushes it back down, my pointless, helpless state.

  "Eglantine, there is something more I need to say. Something I wish to ask. If it is all right with you?"

  I nod, wanting sincerely to know what it is he would like to ask me.

  "If you were not sleeping, and you and I had met over the years in other circumstances, do you think we would be as good of friends as we are now?"

  "I suppose so."

  "And if the curse was broken—let's say today or tomorrow—would you be open to me . . ." He looks down, his hands resting on the bench as his body faces me.

  "What?" I ask, frustrated that he paused in the middle of his sentence. What was he struggling so much to ask me?

  His eyes find mine again, and with a deep breath, he finally finds the words. "Would you marry me? Under either of those circumstances, do you think you would agree to marry me?"

  I think about it for a moment, feeling secure in the imaginary. "Nothing would make me as happy."

  I begin examining my answer, searching my heart, wondering if it is the prospect of being free that is so enticing, or the idea of being married to Henry. A breeze sweeps through the garden, billowing the arms of his shirt and displacing the hair across his forehead. I can hear it, and see the effects, but no air moves with such force over my skin. I am immune to it. In that moment, I discover my own heart, what it would mean to be free, what it would mean to be with Henry permanently and actually, and what it would mean to have them both together.

  "Nothing would make me as happy."

  The intensity of his gaze after that sends a spark through my chest, an electric pulse that shocks my very soul, and then it settles into a warm sensation around my heart, constant and comforting, and I know by the expectant look on his face he isn't finished with his question.

  "Eglantine, if you would be happy to marry me under those circumstances, I wonder . . . would you be willing to take my hand as we are? To marry me as we both are now?"

  The door of the castle opens behind us, and Duke walks out onto the lawn. I wonder why he did not just step out of the hole in the wall.

  Henry looks at me rather than him, waiting for my answer.

  "We've had word of Master Duncan," Duke says.

  But Henry ignores him, still eager to receive my reply.

  A hot tear seeps from my eye and onto my cheek. I nod.

  Henry breathes out a sigh of relief, bowing his head toward me and taking a few more deep breaths before turning to Duke.

  "Where is he?"

  "He's in prison, sire."

  "In prison? What happened?"

  "He stays with her, your majesty. The girl in prison sentenced to die."

  "Find him. Tell him I need to see him. It's urgent."

  Duke leaves us and Henry looks into my lap where my hands are resting.

  "I would give anything to hold you in my arms right now."

  The tears continue, some of them joyful, and some of them full of sorrow, knowing he will never be able to hold me as he wishes.

  He reaches for my hands. "Don't cry, Eglantine. I will never regret my choice, no matter what happens. If you stay cursed forever, I will be happy always to have you near my side. I don't ever want to lose you."

  Standing up, he asks me to follow him. We enter the castle again and the first person he locates is Marie. Leaning in close to her ear, he whispers, "Marie, will you please prepare the ballroom? I would like it adorned with an array of flower arrangements, and please set out some refreshments."

  "Yes, your majesty. When would you like it to be ready?"

  "As soon as possible. Please let me know once it is finished."

  She nods and turns to leave.

  "Oh, Marie," Henry calls after her. "Will you also send for a magistrate?"

  I can tell it is a strange request by the look in her eye, the confusion furrowing her brow.

  "Please, Marie."

  "Very well, your majesty."

  We walk back out to the garden, I think because Henry needs the fresh air.

  "Are you worried?" I ask him.

  "Worried? About what?"

  "About what they will think of you."

  Our arms reach out a little, as if we are holding hands. He shakes his head. "No, Eglantine. I'm not. Are you?"

  "I'm not worried for my sake." I stop floating along side him and wait for him to face me. "I only worry for you. Will they think you're mad, or lose their respect for you?"

  "Eglantine, stop. We are getting married. I need you to be strong now. Forget about what they think. It will only be Duke and Duncan anyway, besides the magistrate. I don't want you to concern yourself with their opinions of me."

  I nod, but the discovery—or perhaps the realization of what I could not admit on my own—that I am to be his secret wife, as if he is ashamed of me, cuts deep. I know it is the best way, perhaps even the only way, but it still stings a little, still leaves me feeling . . . alone.

  Circling around the garden time and time again, we see servants come out and cut flowers. We even see Duncan return to the castle although he does not see us, not even Henry. And we see the magistrate's carriage arriving by the front gate.

  "Are you ready for this?" he asks.

  I nod, my head high, my mind sure.

  After entering the castle through the back door once more, Duncan is the first we see. Duke is close by him.

  "What is it?" Duncan asks. "What has happened?"

  "Nothing, yet. But I wanted you to be here when it does. Duke, will you please join the three of us in the ballroom?"

  Duke looks around for another, but does not question his master. As we walk through the entrance hall, Henry spots the magistrate and after thanking him for coming on such short notice, beckons him to follow also.

  The ballroom is bright, the rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows and making irregular rectangle shapes of light across the floor. I imagine the fragrance of the freshly cut flowers: roses and jasmine.

  "What's going on, Henry?" Duncan asks.

  Without a hint of a second thought, Henry answers. "I'm getting married."

  "Well, congratulations, Master Henry." Duke stretches out his hand to him and they shake. "Who is the lucky lady?"

  "It is Eglantine. From Cray. She is here with me now and we would like to be married right away. This very minute."

  "Have you gone mad?" Duncan's harsh tone slices through the air as the hopeful joy of a few moments before flees away. Or perhaps there had been more trepidation than I could confess even to myself. I feel it now, all the nerves and hesitation, wondering whether we are making the right choice.

  But Henry does not falter, and I feel unworthy of his constancy for all my vacillation.

  "No, Duncan." He is as cool and calm as still ocean water. "I know I am not mad. You have seen her for yourself. We wish to be married. It's done. Or will be shortly."

  "Master Duncan has seen her?" Duke asks.

  Turning a little pink, perhaps afraid to be seen as a lunatic like his brother, Duncan shifts his eyes between the three other men in the room. "Well, yes, I've seen her, but . . ."

  "That settles it. Magistrate, will you please take your place. You may stand over there, near the fire." The most complacent, he obeys Henry with no argument.

  "Good. And I'll stand on one side, and then . . . here, Eglantine." He gestures for me to stand across from him in front of the magistrate.

  "
And the two of you may stand wherever you'd like."

  Duncan and Duke exchange a look. I watch them, wondering if they will try to intervene, or come up with a plan to postpone the wedding and call for a doctor. After a moment, they both shrug and move a little closer to us.

  I smile, grateful they do not see any harm in it, or if they do, they are keeping it to themselves. Henry whispers to the magistrate my full name: Eglantine Cordelia Argall, princess of Cray.

  I watch Henry as they exchange a few words I do not hear, focusing on first his brow, and then his jaw, an overwhelming gratitude filling my soul that he is choosing me; that he even noticed me in the first place; that he asked me to stay with him; that he is vowing now to never send me away.

  The voice of the magistrate is quiet, as if he is afraid others will learn what he is doing. But other than this, there is no sign or hint of his disapproval. Dressed in a white shirt and black breeches with a black doublet and dark leather shoes, he looks dressed for court. I had seen a few of them in previous weeks, occasionally walking about the castle and attending a council meeting when invited.

  He proceeds to utter the ceremony, but I concentrate so completely on Henry that I do not hear every word. When he pauses, I realize he has been speaking to me and is waiting for an answer. "Yes," I say.

  "How will we know if she's said yes?" Duncan asks, a residual irritation creeping out with the tone of his voice. They hurt, those words he speaks, his continually questioning my existence even though I sang him to sleep all those days ago.

  "Pay him no mind," Henry whispers, staring straight at me, not giving any attention to Duncan's question. "She has answered yes, magistrate."

  Then the man speaks to Henry, and I hear the words this time, asking Henry if he will accept me, cherish me all my days, and keep me well and safe to the best of his ability. A resounding, "Yes," echoes through the room, and it chills me with excitement that he would proclaim such love and loyalty, that he is marrying me as I am, a mirage of sorts in his world.

  "Then by the power bestowed upon me by the former king of Fallund, I introduce you as husband and wife, bound together for your existence here in this mortal world."

  I think of the word 'existence,' let it sink deep into my mind. Maybe the magistrate can't see me, or Duke, or Duncan at this very moment, but I do in fact exist. Henry steps toward me, as close as he can get without going right through me, and bends down, his eyes closed. I press my lips to his, or try anyway, and it is over. Done. Finished. Henry and I are married.

  "I'm sorry there is no music," he whispers in my ear. "Or I would ask you to dance."

  "I remember well what happened last time, and I can honestly say I'm glad we're not going to try that again." I smile at him, giddy and carefree until Duncan invades our space.

  "You're insane. You know that, right?"

  Henry turns to his brother. "I'm not insane. Just in love. Tell me, Brother, why do you keep going back to that prison?"

  Duncan searches Henry's eyes. I watch him for a time, standing there, not willing to answer the question.

  "Is it because you have found something that makes you happy? Something that gives you a sense of purpose?" Not waiting for a response, Henry continues. "Well, that is all I have done. And rather than stand by helpless, I have taken matters into my own hands. Isn't that what we have to do sometimes? Take matters into our own hands?" They share a look, a secret look, as if communicating through only a stare, and I am left on the outside, never to understand what they are saying to one another. Somehow I don't mind. Duncan can go sit on a pin for all I care. A big, sharp one.

  Duke approaches next. "I think I am supposed to congratulate you, sire. Although, I'm not exactly sure what is happening here."

  "Don't fret, Duke. All is well." They shake hands again. Henry invites the men to help themselves to the small table of refreshments, but he does not partake. I think it is most likely because he knows I cannot eat it, and he does not want me to feel left out.

  Duncan leaves first, after asking Henry to congratulate me for him. I do not find I am less agitated with him even for the kind gesture, no matter how sincere.

  "I love you," Henry whispers to me as the magistrate and Duke are leaving. The door closes behind them, and a trace of lavender fills my senses, even though there isn't any in the room.

  1

  Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

  16

  Beast

  Dawn crept in slowly, and its appearance would be subtle because of the cloud cover. Even the inside air felt damp. Duncan had been awake for a time, dressing first in his old peasant disguise—thankfully it'd been laundered since he'd worn it last—and packing a small bag with a few changes of clothes and personal items, including a small painting of Henry and himself from when they were children, the only memorabilia he'd be taking from the castle.

  After grabbing the letter for Henry he'd penned the night before from off his writing desk, he made his way to Henry's room. Still baffled by the wedding scene of the day before, he mused for a moment over the possible ramifications of what he was about to do. Had Henry actually lost his mind? Or was he in the process? How would the kingdom fare? If Eglantine remained cursed forever, as the witch had said she would, where would that leave Henry?

  None of it was his concern anymore, though the prospect of his brother in trouble (including troubles of the heart) still caused him to worry, especially while he remained in the castle, the memories of the past and the uncertainty of the future all intermingling and straining the fibers of his brain. Those worries would lessen over time, he hoped.

  Duncan opened the door a fraction to see if Henry slept or if he'd already awoken. Only a smidgen of light came through the window, filtered by a thin white curtain, only a hint of the coming day, dampened by the darkness of the stormy sky. Henry slept. Quite alone, Duncan noted, wondering if Eglantine was somehow nearby and how often she came to him in the visions of her dreams.

  Determined, Duncan marched to his bedside and shook his shoulder.

  "Henry, wake up."

  After mumbling for a moment, Henry shot up. "What is it?"

  "Shhhhh. Calm down." Duncan had rehearsed this interaction several times already, but somehow, looking down at his brother, his heart grew heavy, a little unwilling to go through with his plan. "How are you?"

  Henry looked up at his brother. "Is that really why you woke me up? To ask me how I am?" He sounded in a bad mood, but waking him early was the only way.

  "I'm leaving."

  Henry rubbed his eyes now. "Is that all? You've never felt it necessary to let me know before. What makes today different?"

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Duncan continued, resolved to be straightforward. "I'm not coming back."

  Throwing his covers off, Henry swung his legs around so they dangled over the edge of his bed. Bracing himself by gripping the mattress with his hands on both sides, Henry opened his eyes, fully aware now, staring at his brother. "What do you mean?"

  "I thought about what you said yesterday. I'm taking matters into my own hands." Duncan held out the letter. "My renunciation."

  Henry took the letter, ran his fingers over the seal, and then ripped it open, pulling out the folded parchment and opening it. He read slowly, and when he was finished, let out a deep sigh. "You're leaving with her?"

  "Yes, Henry. I thought you might not understand, but I want you do know what I have learned. I heard her story once, what others knew of her and how she was abused and beaten. The man she was accused of murdering was her abuser. She did it out of fear. Fear of being imprisoned again. She did it to defend herself. She too has confirmed these stories down to every detail. I believe her, I love her."

  Henry began folding the letter back up and stuffing it in the envelop once more. "I will make sure they do not hunt you down."

  Duncan smiled at that. Despite his faults, Henry was loyal to the core. "Thank you, Brother."

  "Will I ever see you again?"

  "I
hope."

  "How will I get a hold of you?"

  "Not by sending Worston." Duncan smiled bigger now, and Henry smiled back. "I plan to take her north, into Cray or close to the seashore of Fallund. There is a little village near there. Gilmuck."

  "Will you write?"

  "I'll try." He smiled deviously. He'd never been good at sending correspondence.

  Henry stood now, facing his brother.

  "Can I offer you some advice?" Duncan asked.

  "Advice? I've been trying to get you to give me some advice for years now. It's been like pulling walrus teeth, and now you're giving it for free?"

  "I always was full of surprises."

  "That you were. Tell me. What is your advice?"

  "Let Duke take my place. Not as your brother. But as your closest adviser. He is wise, and loyal."

  "But Duke's a servant."

  "Yes. A wise and loyal servant. You can find another butler. Have Karl for all I care, though he's not as bright."

  Duncan could see Henry was contemplating the idea, and the weight of this goodbye pressed even more firmly upon him. "Goodbye, Brother." Not sure whether Henry would find an embrace awkward, he hesitated, trying to decide whether to lift a hand for a shake, or to raise both arms for a hug. But he didn't have to decide, for Henry grabbed him by the shoulder blades and pulled him into a crushing squeeze. Duncan hugged him back, then felt repeated slaps on his back as well.

  "I'll miss you too."

  Choking back the emotion, Duncan slipped away from his brother and toward the door.

  "Duncan," Henry called. "If you should ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

  Duncan nodded. "Thank you, Brother. It means a lot."

  "What happened to the woman? The witch who started the fire?"

  "I couldn't find her."

  Regretting only slightly that his last words to his brother were a lie, Duncan walked out of the room, down the tower steps, and out the front castle door.

  Still quiet from the lingering night, the corridors and alleys reminded Duncan of what castle life had been since the death of his parents, sparse and lonely. He thought of them, their mother greeting Henry and him in the morning when they were young and sipping tea with them in later years; their father taking a moment or two to play or talk in between his meetings; the family dinners at the royal dining table every single night. So much had changed, and just like there was no going back to the way things had been before, there was no going back on his decision. Duncan abandoned the sentiments as a nagging nervousness seeped into his gut. He could wallow in nostalgia later; now he needed to focus on getting her out unscathed.