Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

by Melissa Lemon

  Father stands and swoops me up again. "I'm taking her to her room. Stella, please bring some tonic."

  How can he think of forcing me to sleep after I've been gone for so many years? It is as if they do not know what to do with me, now that I am awake and have a voice. Or perhaps they think I'm mad, talking of the king of Fallund.

  "It's true, Father. And I need to write to him."

  Ignoring me, he heads for the door and up the small staircase that leads to the hallway where a set of tower stairs are. Soon I am sitting up in my bed, staring out my old window, the sea waving to me from below.

  "If you will not write him, I will." Mother and Aunt Cornelia have stayed downstairs. I'm sure Stella will be here shortly, but it is only Father and I now.

  As he paces across my floor, he watches me, and I am forced to see it, the concern written on his face.

  Stella comes in, holding a tray with a bottle of tonic. I can taste it in my mouth before she even gets close, remembering all those times I'd been given it against my will, all those times I'd met the witch in the forest. As she pours a spoonful I seal my lips shut, and when she holds the spoon out to me, I whack it away with my arm.

  "Eglantine, stop!" Father commands. "Stop this nonsense and take it." He turns to Stella. "What is happening? Is it the curse?"

  "I don't know, your majesty."

  "Try again."

  Then I realize that taking the tonic may force me to sleep where before it had been impossible. I could see Henry. I keep my lips sealed, pretending that I do not want it, and hold my chin up high.

  "There, there, Eglantine. You don't want it spilling all over your bed, do you?"

  I turn away from the spoon, but when she squeezes at my cheeks and shoves it in my mouth, I allow the bitter liquid to slide onto my tongue and down my throat. I swallow hard, glaring at them both, and then lie down, shifting my arms and my pillows until I am comfortable.

  Father pulls my sheet and blanket up to my neck. "Rest well, my love."

  "Goodnight, Father." I never could stay angry at him for long.

  Sleep enfolds me, so much so that I feel the blankets have me tied up. I open my eyes to darkness. I am in the woods. As I rise up from the floor, the blanket wrapped around me falls to the ground silently. Floating in the air, I turn this way and that, contemplating which way to go, hoping I choose the right direction, the one that leads me away from her.

  Spreading out my arms to fly, I move up above the trees, hovering over the landscape. The ocean is in the distance, and there, resting near the shore is my little house of glass, covered in vines that are all dried up, lifeless and brittle. It takes a moment to get moving, but I will myself toward it, longing to get away from the forest.

  When I reach it, I hover over it for a moment, and then sink down through the roof. Henry enters then, frantic and calling my name as one arm rests against the door.

  "Henry?" I call.

  He looks all around. I don't think he heard me.

  "Henry!"

  "Eglantine? Is that you?"

  "Henry, I'm up here."

  "Eglantine, I can barely hear you. Where are you?"

  "I'm in the castle. Sleeping." The words fall out of my mouth, losing their power it seems as soon as they reach the air.

  "I will find you," he says. "I will find you."

  The picture of him standing there at the door, the glass walls all around me, the dying plants, it all begins to fuzz out and fade away until I see only blackness.

  * * *

  The sound of a voice first catches my attention. I try to focus on it, try to figure out who is speaking. It is Stella, I think. No, Mother. She reads to me, a story that is almost familiar, and I wonder if I know it from my childhood, or perhaps she used to read it to me on her visits. Her voice grows more powerful as I wake more and more until it is clear as a cloudless sky. I keep my eyes closed for a time and just listen.

  It has been days since I first woke up.

  Days of fighting them.

  Pleading.

  It always ends in the tonic and trying to find Henry in a dream.

  He is lost to me; I have not been able to locate him since that first day I dreamed he came to find me in the glasshouse.

  "Her breathing has changed." That is Stella. She never misses a thing. "She may be waking up."

  "Eglantine, are you awake?" It is Aunt Cornelia, and I feel the pressure of her sitting beside me, followed by a warm hand covering my own. I open my eyes to see her face. Mother is close by also, leaning in, her eyes the color of the dark blue ocean. I smile at them, but do not speak, afraid they do not want to hear what I have to say.

  "Can I get you anything?" Stella asks. "Something to eat, or a drink of water?"

  Something to eat. I used to think all I wanted was to take a bite of a salty chunk of ham, or feel the duo of bread and butter on my tongue. I shake my head.

  "Stella, bring Bartholomew. He asked to be notified as soon as she woke."

  I do not want to see my father, not now.

  Stella leaves me with Mother and Aunt Cornelia. I enjoy their admiring stares, feeling loved and wanted, but still, I am filled with apprehension. I try to understand them, how long they've waited for this, how glad they are to have me back, how much they want me to stay, but it does not change the fact that I am married to Henry. That I want to be with him more than I want to stay with them. It is a disheartening truth, but a truth nonetheless.

  I am angry that they will not listen to me.

  Father saunters in, looking as thin and pale as ever, with his shirt tucked in tight and breeches shoved down into his tall, leather boots. His doublet matches the color of his hair. He also wears a crown, gold with a jewel in every crest. He must have been in a meeting, having never dressed so formally unless there was business afoot. "Redelia, Cornelia, may I have a moment with her please?"

  All the women step out of the room, and Mother closes the door behind them. I am fearful, with his heavy gaze staring down upon me. It is stifling for some reason, and I want to ask him to open the window, but I do not open my mouth.

  Pacing, he says, "There is something you should know."

  If he wants me to ask him what it is, he will have to wait. I am in no mood to talk.

  He stops, placing his hands on the footboard of my bed. "I will always love you, my child. And I hope you will visit us often."

  He speaks louder now, his face toward the door. "You may let him in."

  The door opens, and in steps Henry, not a vision in my dream, not an illusion of the mind, but the real, live king of Fallund. He does not smile, but I would not expect that, not from Henry, and especially not in front of my father, but I cannot contain my own joy.

  "May I have a moment with her?" he asks solemnly.

  "A brief moment," Father answers, retreating once again, but I think he leaves the door open a crack.

  Henry approaches the bed, standing near the far corner. "How are you?" He seems hesitant. Is he afraid I do not remember? That it was all in his dream and the real me had no part in it?

  "Awake. And infinitely happy to see you."

  He lets his teeth show, allowing the biggest smile I've seen on him yet to overpower his straight face. After rounding the bed, he sits beside me, hesitant once more.

  "Well, aren't you going to kiss me before Father comes back?"

  He leans forward, pressing his lips to mine, and the sensation is unlike anything I've ever experienced. His lips are not the flavor of mint leaves, and not quite so soft as rose petals, but they are inviting, and filled with firm emotion: joy; longing; passion; relief.

  A hot tear falls on my face. I open my eyes as he pulls away and see the clear tears falling down his cheeks. "I thought I had lost you forever," he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. "For days I tried to find you . . . figure out where you had gone. When I finally got word that you were awake, I sped across all of Fallund and Cray, all the while rehearsing what I would say to your father when
I got here."

  Father clears his throat from the door and Henry jerks away from me, promptly removing himself from the bed and standing beside me as if a soldier, legs together, arms clasped behind his back, chin out. I hadn't even heard the door open.

  "He has consented for us to marry," Henry says, his lips in a firm line again, although I'm pretty sure he winks at me after saying it.

  "Yes, but I could always change my mind." Father sends a threatening glare Henry's way before stepping inside further. "Dinner is being served downstairs. Would you like to join us, Eglantine?" His voice is full of hope.

  "Of course, Father. But only if I get to sit by you." Turning his nose up at Henry, Father spins around and leaves us alone once more, but the door is left open this time. I try to let go of the fact that he listened to Henry and not me, and it is easy when I focus on the thrill of having Henry here; it swallows all else.

  "Let me help you." Henry's strong arms help me to sit up.

  "I don't think I can walk." I am anxious to try, but doubtful.

  "Stella has been exercising your legs every day. I'm sure with a little help you will be fine. Allow me to put my arm around your waist." And he does, lifting me until I am standing beside him. Flying would be easier, but from now on, I will have to learn to walk.

  1

  Sleeping Beauty and the Beast

  18

  Beast

  Duncan leaned over the well, reaching down deep to catch the bucket before it got to the top.

  "You're not very patient, are you?" Ovinia asked him, her hands still on the rope she'd been pulling a moment earlier.

  "No." Smiling at her, Duncan marveled at how far she'd come over the last several months. The thing he loved the most, was how chatty she'd become, and not just to him. At first she'd been shy to meet the villagers and shop owners of Gilmuck. Duncan had secured them shelter, and found himself work as a scribe and messenger for several local professionals. Each morning Duncan made his rounds, asking if there was any work that day, and there always was. He'd never been so grateful for his castle education, having long ago mastered spelling and pristine handwriting. At first, Ovinia had stayed at home, walled in alone, but with time she'd asked to join him, and they often walked through the dusty streets together. It had been weeks since her last nightmare.

  "Look," she said, pointing to the south. "Someone's coming."

  Duncan scooped a ladle full of water and gulped it down. Looking in the direction of her pointed finger, Duncan squinted to see a man racing toward them on a determined horse.

  Ovinia looked at him. "Who could it be?"

  "I don't know." Duncan thought of the possibilities, but one seemed most likely. "Perhaps it's a message from the castle."

  "The castle?"

  His brother had given him total freedom, never having sent word at all since he'd left. And Duncan was grateful for that, knowing letters addressed to and from the castle would raise suspicion, intrigue, gossip and rumors among the locals. Grateful the people here knew so little of the royal family, Duncan wondered if his secret would be found out someday. How could he explain having the same face as the king of Fallund?

  The horse approached quickly, and when near, was pulled to a slower gallop, then a trot, then an abrupt halt. He jerked his head back, obeying his master.

  "Worston," Duncan whispered.

  "Hello, Prince Duncan."

  "Please don't call me that here. Or anywhere. I'm not a prince anymore."

  "Don't be so snippy. I've only come to deliver a message." He swung one leg to join the other and stepped off the animal.

  Stupid Henry. Why couldn't he have sent Karl? Perhaps he found him too old to make the journey. Or perhaps this was his way of punishing him from a distance.

  "You're looking well, your majesty."

  "Stop that or I'll disassemble your smile," Duncan warned.

  "Isn't this the man who tried to bribe you when we . . ." She stopped, as if afraid to say the word 'escaped.'

  "It's all right, love. You don't need to be afraid of him."

  "I'm not. He looks cowardly. I think I might bite off his ear." Not only could she be chatty, but she often said the most shockingly humorous things.

  Duncan let out a laugh as Worston took a step backward.

  "Why don't you go in for a moment, love." Holding onto her elbow, Duncan kissed her cheek. "I'll take care of him."

  "As you wish, but if you need any help just holler." She looked as though she did not believe Duncan could handle it alone.

  Amused, he answered, "I will."

  "She's . . . charming."

  "Yes, isn't she?" Duncan sat on the brick wall of the well and folded his arms across his chest. "So what's this all about? What is the reason I have the honor of a visit from Fallund Castle."

  "The king is getting married."

  Duncan thought about what this might mean. He couldn't tell Worston about the previous wedding. Was Henry marrying someone else? Poor Eglantine. "What do you mean?"

  "What do I mean? He's getting married. What else could that mean?"

  "Let me rephrase this then, since you're obviously too dull to catch on. Whom is the prince marrying?"

  "Eglantine. Of Cray. Ring a bell?"

  "But she's asleep."

  "Don't you get word of anything up here?"

  Duncan considered that, suddenly feeling isolated. "No, not much." It was true. The people from Gilumck traveled little, having everything they needed right here.

  Worston held out the invitation, and Duncan slipped it from his hands, carefully opening it.

  "Dear Brother," it began. "I would be honored if you and (I forget her name) would join me on my wedding day. I will be marrying Princess Eglantine of Cray, who has miraculously regained consciousness. Hoping to see you, Henry."

  Completely surprised, yet overjoyed for his brother, he asked, "When is it?"

  "Two weeks from tomorrow. And he also wanted me to tell you that he'd love it if you stayed in the castle."

  "Thank you, but we will stay at an inn along one of the rows."

  "So you're going then?" Duncan hated the smile on his face, as if he had some wicked plan, or perhaps it was that he was so smug he couldn't help it.

  "What? Why are you smiling like that?"

  "He told me he'd pay me double if you agreed."

  Ah, so he'd been gloating. He really was the worst sort of man, and Duncan was glad when he straddled the horse once more and turned to leave.

  "A wedding?" Ovinia asked after Duncan went inside and showed her the invitation. Proud at how well she was learning to read and write, Duncan watched her examine it herself . "At the castle?"

  "It will be all right. I'll be there with you." Duncan hung up his hat and vest and washed his hands in the little tub of water sitting on top of the wooden chest that held their firewood. He found himself preoccupied still with how it was all possible. The witch had told him she would sleep forever, that since the king and queen of Fallund had never produced a son, there would never be a brother to free Ovinia. And if there ever had been, it would have been too late.

  After finding a cloth to dry his hands with, Duncan looked at her. Still crestfallen, and suddenly silent, he watched her stare out the window, as if in a daze.

  "Or we could stay here. I would love to go, and love for you to come with me, but we don't have to."

  "It's not that." Snapping out of her trance, she looked to him once more.

  "What is it?"

  Bowing her head, as if ashamed, or perhaps hesitant to speak the thoughts in her head, she waited a moment before answering, and when she did, spoke softly. "I don't belong in a castle."

  Duncan wrapped his arms around her as she looked up at him and joined in on the embrace. "Well, not dressed like that, you don't. You'll need a fancy dress and flowers and ribbons in your hair."

  "We can't afford those things."

  He began shifting her in a slow, side stepping movement, back and forth, and sp
oke softly, reciting a poem they'd learned the night before. Poetry had been something they'd discovered together. Next to having her hair brushed, and perhaps even more soothing, it was on top of the list of things that she loved. "Remember nothing, only this, Before you fail, before you falter, With love's unbending tender kiss, you shall not change, you cannot alter."

  She stared up at him for a time, lips together in a serious line, eyes contemplative. "I'd be happy to go with you," she whispered, resting her head against his chest.

  * * *

  The journey to the castle had been pleasant, Duncan and Ovinia having slept most of the long ride. Thankfully, since Henry had sent a carriage, he'd sent it at night, and to their knowledge they had gone undetected by the nosy villagers of Gilmuck.

  Creaking to a stop in front of the inn along an Eastern Row, Worston yelled, "Last stop for Prince Duncan and . . . Lady Ovinia."

  Duncan's loathing for him would never cease increasing. He was sure of it.

  "Pipe down or I'll crack your jaw," Duncan muttered through a false smile once off the carriage as he glanced around to make sure nobody had heard the announcement.

  "And I'll rip your eyes out of your socket," Ovinia added, also sporting a large smile.

  Duncan burst into a brief laugh.

  Glowering at them, Worston asked if they would like a ride to the castle when the time came.

  "No, thank you, Worston. I'd rather vomit," Duncan said, still smiling.

  After watching the servant curse under his breath, the former prince deduced he must have been promised a fair sum if he'd convinced them to take a ride back to the castle. Hoping Henry would not be too ashamed of them arriving by foot, Duncan took hold of Ovinia's hand and led her into the Inn where they could drop off their belongings before heading to a dress shop.

  Once out on the street again, Duncan gripped Ovinia's hand and led her down Western Corridor, allowing her to stop and marvel at the tiny window displays or the tables set up outside. She refused every offer Duncan made to purchase something that had caught her eye. "I'm just looking at it," she would say. "Looking is enough."