by Lindsay Mead
“I’d do so proudly.” He smiled. “Laramie, have our horses readied. We must ride out to meet them.”
“Of course.” Monsieur Petit turned to act out his orders, but stopped and looked back. “It is good to see you again, your Highness.”
Aleksander inclined his head. “It is good to be seen.”
Edvina was ready to burst into tears, her smile so big that it crinkled around her eyes. Soon the doctors came. Several tended to the Prince, who insisted they do some quick patchwork—as he had some place to be. Others saw to Andre while Belle had her back stitches quickly fixed. Edvina was put to the task of making them presentable and she did a far better job than was expected. Though she was still smoothing hair and clothing till the moment Belle and Aleksander mounted their horses.
The militia beyond the gate was larger than Belle anticipated. The crowd yelled for blood, shouting over General Kogsworthe as he stalled for time. When Aleksander and Belle started down the long bridge, their horses at a casual pace, the angry militia grew quiet.
They peered over each other and squinted their eyes, trying to see who approached. Belle did some identifying of her own. Immediately she recognized her Hunters. They were stationed around the outskirts of the crowd, watching for hellhound trouble. At the front of the gates were the church clergymen, Henri, and Edgard Chevallier—the Count of Contefées, Gastone’s father.
On the bridge were several rows of Vakrein foot soldiers. They were calm and disciplined; just what Belle expected under the watch of Kogsworthe. As the Prince neared, the lines of men separated in perfect unison and the General left the gate to meet his Prince. Belle could see the astonishment in their eyes at the sight of Aleksander, but they did well to mask it.
A hand reached over to tug Belle’s wrists, halting her horse. Belle looked at Andre, askance.
“You mustn’t ride up there with him,” he said quietly.
“It would be bad, you openly siding against your people.” Jack rode up alongside her, looking sympathetic. “You do and no matter how this turns out, they’ll never forgive you. You don’t want that.”
An icky feeling sank into her stomach as Belle nodded her agreement. Aleksander reached his general and glanced at her. Surprise swept over his face when he realized that she wasn’t still next to him. Then she saw the moment he understood, and the almost concealed hurt that followed.
It made her feel wretched.
Aleksander dismounted, handing his white steed off to another and went to General Kogsworthe. They spoke for several seconds while everyone else looked on. By the end of their conversation, Kogsworthe seemed unhappy. Still, he nodded and stepped aside.
With the body of a man and the bearing of a ruler, Prince Aleksander walked up to meet the Contefées militia—alone. Belle’s heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t believe he was approaching the gate without protection. Good diplomacy or not, he was risking too much! Charming danced beneath her, sensing her anxiety. She reached down to calm the horse and inwardly prayed for the Prince’s safety.
“I am Prince Aleksander the First, of House Haraldsson, Crowned Prince Regent of Vakre Fjell,” Aleksander addressed the militia. His voice carried back to Belle by the cavern walls. He held out his arms, even pushing back his cloak to hide nothing. “I stand before you a man. Not a beast. Human flesh and human bone.”
Through the iron gates, he spoke as though they were his own subjects. Each person gave him their rapt attention.
“I stand before you the prince of a cursed kingdom, whose own mother became one of the monsters that stalk this very woods.” A murmur rustled through the crowd. Some looked into the trees behind them. No man would say such things about his own mother unless it was true. “Evil came here in the guise of a woman. It thought it could make Vakre Fjell its home. But I and my kingdom resisted.”
Prince Aleksander pointed to Henri and the Count. “Your Hunters resisted. Though evil would not be undone so easily. Threatened by a partnership between my castle and your Hunters, evil came to my quarters this very day. It wanted to kill me and your Hunter Captain.” He swung his arm around, pointing to Belle. There were gasps and vocalized outrage from the crowd. “But we stood against it. We fought back!” Several people nodded, one shouted a hear, hear. “And when evil is met with courage, it cannot stand!”
The militia cheered with approval.
“Do you doubt me?” Aleksander looked to the authority figures in the group. “All the proof you need to the truth of this tale can be found within.” He gestured for a soldier to open the gates. “I invite you all to see what evil looks like encased in stone.”
The cheering was twice as loud now. The Prince had won them over. It was clear he was no beast as they had been told. Now they wanted to see his proof and someone shouted of celebrating their victory against evil.
Glowering, Bishop Sauvage slunk back into the crowd. Men moved around him, wanting to be closer to the royalty before them. Belle watched the Bishop with unease.
“You mean to say,” Count Chevallier spoke up, quieting those nearest. “That you’ve captured the evil woman that you spoke of—and turned her to stone?”
“What are you doing, Belle?” whispered Andre as she dismounted.
“Stay here.” She tossed her reins over the saddle and left Charming with Andre and Jack.
Whatever Aleksander said in response to the Count delighted the crowd. Belle didn’t hear. Her attention was focused solely on Bishop Sauvage as she weaved her way in and out of the Vakrein soldiers.
She couldn’t say why, but her pace increased. Belle made eye contact with Gastone as the Bishop walked past. Gastone scrunched his eyebrows, noticing her growing distress. Sauvage moved to stand several paces up from him on a small upturn of hill. His face was red, his nostrils flaring. That’s when Belle saw the weapon.
She grabbed up her skirts and ran. In response, Gastone drew his sabre. Bishop Sauvage raised his revolver.
“Gastone, the Bishop!” Belle pointed behind him.
Gastone turned. Leaping, Belle splayed out her arms to shield Aleksander. The Bishop pulled back the gun’s hammer. Gastone’s sword went up.
“Belle, no!” Aleksander’s arms wrapped around Belle and he spun her away.
Bishop Sauvage fired. The boom pierced her eardrums, echoing off every hard surface. Aleksander sank to the ground, bringing Belle with him. She clung to him, agony ripping at her heart. Shouts and chaos filled the air.
“Aleksander?!” Belle twisted in his arms. He stared wide-eyed at her. She dragged her hands along his back, searching for blood. “Are you shot?”
“Belle! Belle, I’m fine.” He snatched up her hands to hold them firmly. “He missed.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, then glared at him. “You fool. You could have been killed!”
“I’m the fool?” He raised an eyebrow with disbelief, a faint smile tipping the corner of his mouth.
Belle looked away sheepishly. “It seems we’re both fools, then.”
“Your Royal Highness, pardonnez-moi.” Laramie appeared beside them, kneeling on the stone bridge. “Might I just point out that lingering down here together might draw inquiries?”
“Right.” Aleksander nodded. “Of course.”
With the assistance of more than enough people, Belle and Aleksander were brought to their feet and righted. Belle met the gaze of her father. His moving lips wanted to know if she was hurt, and she shook her head. He noticeably sighed.
On the hill, Bishop Sauvage was also being dragged to his feet. They’d tied his hands behind his back. Several guns stayed pointed in his direction.
“Well, it seems we were receiving guidance from someone rather unstable,” the Count said. Count Edgard Chevallier carried himself with an intimidating air of privilege and authority. His beard was perfectly trimmed and his attire was impeccable, but his sandy brown hair sported more gray than Belle remembered. He turned to Henri and Father Sinclair. “I say we see what proof the Prince has a
nd should it be satisfactory, as I trust it will, I’d like to begin talks of supplying whatever aid is needed here. What say you?”
“I agree,” answered Henri.
Father Sinclair nodded. He looked surprisingly pleased by these turn of events.
“You are all welcome.” Aleksander opened his arms and looked at his men. “Someone open this gate already!”
A young soldier rushed over to do just that. The crowd huddled around, eager to get in.
“Your Royal Highness,” came the voice of a different soldier. He and another struggled to keep Edvina at bay. “I’m not sure we can hold her much longer.”
“It’s all right.” Aleksander chuckled. “You can let her by.”
They happily released her. Edvina ran over as the militia started to stream in. She fussed about Belle and Aleksander, looking for wounds that might have been missed.
“Edvina, please.” Belle took the older woman’s hand. “We’re safe.”
“What a fit you two have caused in me!” Edvina inhaled a rather wobbly breath. “Shame on you both.”
“So sorry, madame.” Aleksander winked at Belle. “We’ll be more careful from now on.”
“See that you do.” She squeezed Belle’s hand, then tilted her head with curiosity. “What is Laramie doing?”
They both turned. Laramie stood at the edge of the open gateway to Vakre Fjell Forest. The crowd had already past, leaving him there alone. He was right on the border, one more inch and the curse would take him. He stared intently into the land beyond.
“Laramie, what is it?” Aleksander inquired.
“I am inspired, your Royal Highness.” Monsieur Petit faced them. He grasped his hands and squared his shoulders. “Now that the norn is dead and the curse on you lifted, I’d like to see if it’s safe to leave as well.”
Aleksander didn’t respond, his lips drew into a tight line.
“Laramie?” Belle spoke up, worry streaking back through her. “You can’t.”
“Mademoiselle, it is because of you that I wish to do this. You are a Frenchwoman.” The words came out steady with no hint of hesitation. “Yet you risk your life to save our prince. Witnessing this has compelled me to be more than just an adviser.”
Belle clenched her teeth, unsure of what to say. Water sat on her eyelids and she tried to blink it away. The crowd had paused, having noticed that something was occurring. They looked to Aleksander. It would have to be his decision. Aleksander gave one nod, the muscles in his cheeks flexing.
Taking a deep breath, Laramie slowly turned. He remained on the edge for several long seconds preparing himself. Belle felt the softest tracing of Aleksander’s fingers along her palm and a tear slipped past her defenses. If it wasn’t for propriety, she’d be crying in the Prince’s arms right then.
Finally, Monsieur Petit gave them one last glance. He took a deep breath and nodded to two soldiers. They raised their rifles, ready to shoot him should he turn.
Gripping his hands into fists, Laramie took a step. Then he took another. His head angled toward the sky. His eyes closed. Everyone waited with baited breath. After a moment, Monsieur Petit lowered his chin and turned back around.
He stared at the crowd of shocked onlookers. The silence was weighty. Then Laramie tossed up his arms and shouted, “We’re free!”
As joyous cheers filled their ears, Aleksander smiled down at Belle. A soft breeze lifted the locks of his light-brown hair. His blue eyes twinkled and she knew what he wanted to say, without him even saying it.
When the French militia returned home, their tales of the cursed kingdom moved like superheated aether. It was all anyone could seem to talk about. Suddenly Belle found herself to be a much sought after commodity. When in town, she could go nowhere without being asked to recount her time within the mysterious castle. At home, she was not even safe. Belle received at least a handful of calling cards each day, seeking a private audience. These occurrences only increased as travelers from outside of Contefées arrived for Aleksander’s coronation.
With Vakre Fjell being in need of a king, the event was held within a fortnight. Nobility and Heads of State from all over God’s Cup were in attendance—In spite of transport to the castle being limited due to its unsafe nature. Skuld’s death may have lifted the lingering curse from the land, but those previously affected remained as hellhounds.
Despite the threat of otherworldly, ravenous wolves, the great throne room was filled for the coronation. Belle understood everyone’s desire to be there. It was a grand affair, unlike anything she had hoped to witness in her life. As the crown was placed upon Aleksander’s head, she found herself entirely speechless.
Now, days later, Belle watched as several workers slid a massive stone slab onto the long stone box. Within laid the norn, Skuld, as though she were a corpse and not a solidified being. They had tried to destroy her, but her marble body proved to be unbreakable. So she was given a grave that was little more than a sepulcher perched among the mountains near Castle Vakre Fjell. Inscribed on the lid was a warning to any who might consider disturbing the crypt.
Father Sinclair spoke over the proceedings, talking of God and the power of his followers. It was agreed between various officials that someone from the Catholic Church should be involved, as a sign of good faith between the two lands. A holy man of the old gods, that were still worshiped by the Vakrein royal family, was also there. He and Sinclair took turns speaking.
Belle let their familiar words wash over her and glanced at Aleksander, or King Aleksander as he was now called. He sat proudly upon his royal horse, in full ceremonial garb. At his side was his father’s great sword and on his arm was the shield fashioned for his coronation. A wolf’s head, a replica of Aleksander in his lycanthrope form, and a blossomed rose emboldened its face. The gold trim and embellishments glinted in the sunlight.
Aleksander peered down at her, flashing her a wink. She was in love with a king. True to his word, Aleksander was taking steps to make their courtship official. Belle had no idea what that would bring. Would they be able to marry? Or would Aleksander be forced to pursue a proper political match? She had no way of knowing. So at that moment, all that mattered was that Aleksander was free and that he loved her.
A sense of lightness had descended upon the kingdom and much was changing fast. Though travel was now a possibility, not a single Vakrein citizen had agreed to be relocated out of Vakre Fjell. Talks of establishing a trade route between Castle Vakre Fjell and Glace had begun, and there were plans to extend the lamppost paths. Aleksander also sent out a reward for anyone able to release his subjects already befallen of the curse. Until a cure or curse-breaker was found, the Hunters would still be needed.
As the burial ceremony concluded, the norn’s crypt was sealed forever. Belle looked to Castle Vakre Fjell resting at the base of the mountains, half encircle by the great gorge. It stood as a beacon of strength and resistance, both impressive and intimidating. Their struggles were far from over, but for the first time—in a long time—Belle saw more than death in her future.
The End
Belle and Aleksander will return in
The Beauty.
Author Notes
I love this fairytale. I’ve seen many movies, TV shows, and read many versions of it. The day I came up with the idea of using hellhounds and steampunk inventions was one of the best days of my life. I tried to pay homage to all the versions I was familiar with; Some easter eggs will be obvious and others won’t be. However, this world was still its own. So much hardship and death has a way of changing characters. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know these altered versions of familiar souls. I can’t wait to see who they become…now that the fairytale is over.
In order to give this world rules, I drew from various mythologies. Particularly Norse Mythology. It seemed perfectly tailored for what this story needed. All of the poems that Aleksander read from belong to a real collection of Old Norse poems called, Poetic Edda. I know spots were hard to understand,
but I refused to alter the original words.
The same can be said for the Hunter’s Creed. The creed is a blend of old Catholic prayers and my own wording. If I could help it, I tried to keep the old prayers as close to the original wording as possible.
The thing that made this story particularly difficult, also a thing that I loved, was the cultural diversity. French, Norwegian (The basis for the Vakrein culture), American, British, and even some Irish. I imagined that throughout this story the characters switched almost seamlessly from speaking French, to Vakrein, to English, and back to French. I tried to represent this by slipping in little bits here and there. Such as Père (French for Father), Fille (French for Daughter), and so forth. Vakrein was the hardest to represent. I can type merci and most will recognize it. The Norwegian thank you (takk) is less recognizable. So instead I tried to represent it in the names, like Vakre Fjell or Mount Gunnhild.
It is my greatest hope that by doing all that I wrote above, God’s Cup might perhaps be mistaken for a real place. Or, at the very least, it felt real to you.
Au revoir…for now.
Acknowledgments
First, I’d like to thank my two writing mentors; Tom Nugent and Trisha Wolfe. I’ve said it many times, Tom taught me how to write and Trisha taught me how to tell a story. Whether they realize it or not, they helped shape me into the writer that I am. I will be forever grateful and indebted for that.
To my family…I love you all so very much. Thank you for never telling me that I couldn’t do it and for never encouraging me to have a backup plan. Thank you to my mom for always buying me books and never discouraging that desire. Thank you to my dad for always asking where your helicopter is. To Tom, thank you for all the inspiring gun talk. To the three of you, thank you for supporting me completely. To my brother, thank you for asking me how the book was coming along every time you saw me. To my lil sis, thank you for daydreaming with me about what it would be like if my book was ever turned into a movie. I have the best siblings ever—the best family ever.