The Eye of the Beholder
A retelling of the Beauty and the Beast tale
Elizabeth Darcy
(Nicole P. Ciacchella)
Chapter 1
The Bitter Past
My earliest remembrance was that of issuing my first order. I was a lad of perhaps four, and I had tossed my ball across the courtyard and decided that I did not wish to pursue it. I turned, looked at my nursemaid, and decided that I wished for her to get it so that I would not have to be troubled. Of course, this meant that my nursemaid was to be troubled, but that did not matter to me. What child of four ever worries about the troubles of others?
"Pick it up," I told her, frowning and pointing at the ball.
Without a moment's hesitation, she did as she was told. In that instant, I first recognized the full extent of my power. There was no need for me to trouble myself: I had simply to issue a command and others would obey. I relished the power.
My mother died in childbed and, although my father had held her in some regard, theirs had been a political and not a love match; thus, his grief did not run very deep. She had given him an heir, perhaps the worthiest thing a woman in her position could have done, and she was honored for her service to the kingdom. She had been a fair and kindly queen and was remembered fondly and often by the people. My father, however, was too busy with affairs of state to give much thought to her passing.
In point of fact, my father was so busy with affairs of state that he had little time for anything else, even for his son. As a king, he was delighted to have an heir; as a father, he took little interest in me. I existed solely to assure the continuity of his line, and he was not to be bothered about such trivial matters as my upbringing. He hired nursemaids and tutors and left me entirely to their care.
Unlike my mother, my father was not a kindly soul. He was demanding and expected unquestioning loyalty, obedience, and allegiance from his servants. Those who served him well were rewarded handsomely and those who did not were punished. In light of this, I suppose it is only natural that the servants into whose care I had been delivered were so eager to please me; keep the prince happy and quiet and the king will be satisfied. Keep the king satisfied and avoid the dungeon.
Except life was not tranquil for those servants. I never let them rest and, as I grew older, I grew more and more convinced that I was the only creature of any importance. I had no concern for the thoughts and feelings of my servants for, in my view, they existed solely to please me. By the time I was eight years of age, I was a petty tyrant.
During this period, my father's kingdom was large and prosperous. His castle was renowned for its beauty and his towns were clean and safe, the homes in good repair. I could never decide if he was truly a compassionate ruler, or if his acts of generosity were merely a means to an end. He believed that if he treated his people as well as possible, they would be loyal to him and far less inclined to civil unrest. Although he saw to it that they had proper sanitation and good housing, he was not merciful when they strayed across his clearly defined lines. The pettiest of criminals was subject to very harsh punishment.
As I approached manhood, I found myself longing for my father's notice. He had such power, such strength, that I could not help but idolize him. I wanted to be like him, and I wanted him to approve of my attempts to emulate him. I did many things in an attempt to capture his attention, but to little avail.
On those rare occasions when he did notice me, I felt a pleasure so powerful it was intoxicating. The less recognition he gave, the more I craved it, and I became increasingly aggressive in my pursuit of his attentions. This behavior was cyclical; I would vie so clamorously for his attention that he would become angry and rebuke me, causing me to turn tail and leave, like a wounded dog. I would brood for a while, then the fever would overcome me and I would begin my fruitless quest for his attentions once again.
Perhaps my father would have grown more aware of my need had he lived into old age and contemplation. As it was, he died in what seemed the prime of his life, and I was forevermore cheated of the attention I had so desperately sought. He had a weakness of the heart that his royal physicians had failed to diagnose. For this transgression, I banished them to the depths of the dungeons.
I shall never forget how I felt as I stared down at his lifeless body. I was seventeen years of age, full old enough to become king, but still a child in so many significant ways. I was angry with him, both because of his lack of attentiveness and because he had gone and left me forever, before I could know him.
As I stared down at him, the first of my black fits of anger overcame me, and in short order his chamber was a shambles. Enraged, I tore the curtains from his massive bed, broke his furnishing, and shattered his priceless ornaments. The servants hung back, afraid to stop me lest I turn my rage on them.
The black rages: the bane of my existence and the root of nearly all my problems. Anything or nothing could set them off. They were always sudden and terrifying and, for as much as they frightened my subjects, they frightened me even more. When I was held in thrall to one, I was incapable of rational thought, incapable of controlling myself. I sought only to cause as much destruction as possible.
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of these rages was that I had no memory of my actions when I was in the grip of one. When they finally ended, they left me exhausted, staring in bewilderment at the chaos around me, unable to remember how I had caused such destruction on my own. But no matter how terrible my rages, I always remembered that first rage as the worst.
I buried my father and was crowned king. The people were quick to learn that my reign would be nothing like my father's. Where he had been cold, I was pitiless. All those subject to me were expected to comply with my every order without the slightest voice of dissension or the slightest hesitation, and their fear of my rages ensured their compliance.
My reign of terror had lasted only a year when the event that was to change the course of my life came to pass: a peasant woman was brought before me. She had been charged with the theft of a loaf of bread. The sentencing for such crimes usually fell to my magistrates, but the guards had taken pity on the woman and had thought I might show some inkling of mercy if they brought her before me.
The woman shook as she was brought into the throne room where I sat imperiously, my nervous fool at my feet. As soon as my men loosened their grip, the woman fell to her knees before me. She was filthy and clothed in rags, and I eyed her with disgust.
"Your Majesty, I beg for your mercy," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation.
"You are a thief," I replied, in my coldest and most commanding voice. It struck fear in the hearts of hardened soldiers, and the peasant woman began to tremble in terror.
"Aye, Your Majesty, what I did was wrong. But I beg you, allow me to explain. I had two starving children and I was afraid they would die if I did not feed them soon! I tried to find work, I tried begging… I tried everything! I only stole the bread because I was desperate," she said, her voice trembling so badly it was difficult to understand her.
As I gazed around the chamber at my guards and the members of my court, I could read pity and compassion upon many of their faces. None of them dared look at me, but I had the distinct impression that they were all sympathetic to this woman's cause and that they were fervently hoping I might be as well.
"That is no excuse," I said, my voice low and deadly calm.
"I know I deserve to be punished, Your Majesty, but I beg you to think of my innocent children. If you lock me in the dungeon, they will have no one to watch over them and they will surely die," the woman said. Her voice was now devoid of all hope, and the sound brought a cold smile
to my face.
"Then you should have thought of that before you stole," I said. I waved a dismissive hand and commanded my guards to take her away to the dungeons.
Before anyone could lay hands on her, the woman rose, her back straight and her posture wrathful. I watched in amazement as she raised her arms above her head and brought them slowly back down, until her palms were parallel with the floor. As her arms passed over her body, the peasant woman's form faded away and was replaced by that of a dazzlingly beautiful enchantress. She wore a filmy gown of shimmery blue and her hair was long and silvery, flowing loosely about her bare shoulders. A diadem rested upon her head, and in its center was an glacial blue jewel that matched the glacial blue of her eyes. I half-rose to my feet as the courtiers gasped in astonishment.
"Edward, King of Organdy, I have heard of your cruelty, and I came here to test you. I see that the many reports I received were not exaggerated and that, though you are king of a great and prosperous land and a people who are willing and eager to serve you, you have no mercy. Therefore, you shall be punished."
I was frightened, but I would not let the enchantress see it. Subtly, I indicated that my guards should take her but the instant they stepped forward, she raised her left hand and waved it once sharply in the air. Instantly, the crowd disappeared from the chamber, leaving me alone with her. I felt a chill race up my spine.
"Foolish king, you are no match for me. I am a guardian enchantress, sent here to do my part to ensure the peace of this world, and one as insignificant as you cannot bar my path. My punishment to you is this: You are to live out your life with the outward appearance of the beastly creature that resides within you." She gestured with her hands once more, and I felt a jolt as the curse hit me.
There is no description for the sensation. It was not so much a pain as an ache that throbbed throughout my entire body. Before my unbelieving eyes, my limbs transformed into those of a beast, and thick hair sprouted across my body. My hands became great paws with long, lethal claws, and when I opened my mouth to cry out, I heard a beastly howl rather than the sound of my own voice.
"I did not conjure this form for you," the enchantress said, when it was finally over. "It was always inside of you. I merely called it forth." She conjured a mirror, holding it up so I could see what she had done to me.
I will not describe what I saw there. I cannot. The memory of it will haunt me forever. My chest swelled with rage and I tried to launch myself at her, but she stilled me with a slight motion of her hand.
"I will show you more pity than you have ever shown. You will remain in this castle with servants to attend you. The castle will be well hidden so that idle passersby will not stumble upon it. I will give you three hundred years to break the curse, but there is only one way, and it will not be simple," she said.
A deep growl came from my throat. I would do whatever was necessary to break the curse, and woe betide anyone who crossed me. I knew she would have a difficult task for me, but I did not doubt that I could fulfill it. How much I had to learn.
"The only manner in which you may break the curse is this: you must learn to love another and, in return, you must earn her love. You cannot force this love through threats or coercion; it must be given to you freely. If you tell anyone of the curse, you will be doomed to remain a beast forever. If you do manage to break it, you will return to your original form and you will only have aged one human year for every hundred you pass as a beast. If you fail to break the curse, you will perish and your kingdom will die with you." With these words, the enchantress faded away. As she disappeared, a riotous profusion of roses bloomed on the walls of the castle.
For many, many years, I remained alone in my prison, with only my silent servants to attend me. I did not know why the enchantress had left the roses, but the sight of them and the smell of their heady fragrance were my only comforts, for love was something I could now never hope to know.
Chapter 2
Alone
Massaging my sore lower back, I stood admiring my handiwork. A vigorous, hour-long scrubbing of the floor of the cottage's main room had left it practically gleaming. I was prouder of that rough wooden floor than I ever had been of the delicately veined marble floor of our manor. It made me smile and shake my head to think that I had begun to derive such satisfaction from menial household chores. When we had first moved to the cottage, my blistered, calloused hands had been unwelcome evidence of just how much we had lost. I carried the bucket to the door to empty it outside. Just as I was reaching for the latch, it turned, and Papa began to step inside.
"Stop right there!" I called out, holding up a hand. Papa froze, and the effect was quite comical indeed, though I tried to suppress my smile in favor of adopting a stern glare. "I have just finished scrubbing the floors. Do not even think of putting your filthy boots upon them!"
"May I at least put my foot down?" Papa asked, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face.
I cocked my head to the side and pretended to consider his request. Then I heaved an enormous sigh. "Oh, I suppose you may!"
"My Mira: generous to a fault!" Papa teased as he lowered his foot and bent to unlace his boots. I saw that he stood carefully on the mat placed just inside the door, keeping his soiled boots off my clean floor. Once, Papa would not have attended to such details.
"Have you finished cutting down the garden, then?" I looked at Papa out of the corner of my eye as I untied my apron and carefully washed my hands. I would need to begin preparing dinner soon, but this was the time of day I most cherished.
"What have we today?" he asked, emptying my dirty bucket outside, then crossing the floor on stockinged feed. Meticulously, he washed his hands before moving over to the larder, as I unhooked the kettle and poured water into the teapot.
"Biscuits left over from yesterday. I am sorry. I wanted to make some of your favorite apple cake, but…"
"Oh, hush," Papa scolded gently. "I am certain I can survive one more day without apple cake, but only just." He winked at me as he took down a clean tray and arranged biscuits on it.
I added the teapot and cups, and Papa carried the tray into the sitting area, setting it on the small pedestal table with its woodland motif. I sank into the neat, delicate chair across from his, and we both sat silently for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feel of a moment's respite after a long day of work. At the sound of Papa pouring the tea, I opened my eyes to see a slight frown on his face. He added a dab of honey and handed my cup to me, and I savored my first sip. The hive had been well worth the effort.
"I suppose your sisters did not help you today?" Papa asked.
Though there was suddenly a sour taste in my mouth, I tried to keep my expression light. "It seems they had already committed to visiting the Lancasters ." Papa's frown deepened as he took a large swallow of his tea.
Papa and I had accepted the necessity of this life as best we could, given our circumstances. With time, we had even found contentment. Thomasina and Rowena, however, were every bit as petulant and spiteful as they had been the day we had left our manor, our servants, our more refined life. It was a constant source of pain to Papa, and I knew he felt as if he had failed in his duty to provide for us.
Though Papa looked displeased, he said no more on the subject. He sat quietly for a moment, his face pensive, before his expression cleared and he looked at me rather slyly. "I have heard a most intriguing rumor." He took a casual sip of his tea, but I could see his eyes dancing over the rim of his cup.
"Have you indeed?" I asked, raising my own cup to hide my smile.
"But perhaps you will not be interested."
"Perhaps not." The corners of my mouth twitched and I attempted to cover it up with an exaggerated yawn, but a laugh escaped just as I raised my hand to cover my mouth.
"Aha! I am the victor today!" Papa said triumphantly.
"Indeed you are," I conceded with a smile. "Will you now prove yourself a gracious winner by satisfying my curiosity?"
"Curiosity about what?" He feigned a look of utter innocence, and I could not help but laugh again. He looked almost like a child as he set his cup aside, and I felt a wave of happiness. For so long, Papa had not laughed, had not even smiled, that I had nearly forgotten about his mirth, his zest for life.
"Come to think of it, I am not certain I shall have time to make apple cake tomorrow either…" I mused, tapping a finger against my chin.
"That is an underhanded technique indeed! Very well, I shall tell you. I had it from the blacksmith today that a trader has arrived in Swan Hollow, and he is reputed to have several books in his possession."
My mouth fell open, and Papa smiled broadly at the look on my face. We had taken but two volumes with us when we had moved to Everforest, and I longed sorely for the many leather-bound books that had once lined the bookshelves in our library.
"What does he have?" I asked eagerly, setting aside my cup. "Do you think he will come to Everforest next?" I had small hope of this; rarely did we see strangers in our tiny, isolated town. Even if the trader did come to Everforest, it was unlikely we could afford a book. These days, we had little money for things like books, but it would still be a pleasure to look at the volumes, to imagine the possibilities hidden within their spines.
"I am afraid I can tell you no more, but perhaps you may have the opportunity to see something of his wares." Papa took another sip of his tea, his eyes inviting me to question him further but, before I had the chance, my sisters arrived home.
"You did not wait for us for tea?" Thomasina asked indignantly.
"I did not know when you would return," I sighed.
"I shall get you both cups," Papa offered, but Rowena shook her regal head.
"We had the most marvelous cakes at the Lancasters' today. I could not possibly eat another bite," she announced. She cast a withering glance at the last herb biscuit.
"Nothing could be more marvelous than Mira's apple cake," Papa said, and I smiled at him.
The Eye of the Beholder (2012) Page 1