The Beast Within (Villains 2)

“Enough of this foolishness!” He gathered his courage, lifted the mirror, and looked into it unflinchingly, determined to face his fears. At first glance he didn’t seem much changed. His heart felt lighter and he indeed felt foolish for letting the sisters’ threats invade his thoughts.

“Look closer, Prince.” He dropped the mirror and was afraid he had broken it. Though it might have been a blessing if he had. He was sure it was Lucinda’s voice he’d heard taunting from the black ether, or wherever she deigned to dwell. It was Hell itself for all he knew. Picking up the mirror with a shaking hand, he took a second look. This time he did see deep lines around his eyes. Gaston was right: he looked a good five years older after just a few months! The lines made his face look cruel. Heartless. All the things Circe said he was.

Impossible.

His heart started to pound like thunder. It was pounding so violently that he felt as if it would burst within his chest.

Then came the laughter. It surrounded him, cacophonous. The wicked cackling seemed to come from lands unseen; their voices, their vindictive words entrapped him, causing his anxieties to overwhelm him. His vision became narrowed, and soon all he saw were the cat’s yellow eyes staring at him from the mantel. Then everything closed in on him and his world became black.

Nothingness.

He was alone in the darkness with only the sisters’ laughter and his own dread to keep him company.

He woke what seemed like some days later, feeling as if he’d been beaten by a gang of black guards.

His entire body ached and he could barely move. The sisters had ensured his misery and compounded it with their laughter and taunting, leaving him ill and suffering.

“You’re awake, sir!” said Cogsworth from the corner chair, where he had been sitting. “We were very worried about you, sir.”

“What happened?” The Prince’s head was still slightly befogged and he couldn’t quite get his bearings.

“Well, it seems, sir, you were very ill, suffering from a severe fever. When you hadn’t come down to breakfast, I came up to find you lying on the floor.”

“Where’s the mirror?”

“The mirror, sir? Oh yes, I put it in your dressing stand.”

The Prince’s panic subsided.

“Was it all a dream, then? All fancy brought on by worry or illness?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir. But you were rather ill. We’re all very much relieved to hear you are out of the woods, as they say.”

Cogsworth was putting on a brave face, as he always did, but the Prince could tell he had been worried. He looked tired, worn, and uncustomarily rumpled. He was usually fastidious. It was a credit to his loyalty that it seemed he had been at the Prince’s side during his entire illness.

“Thank you, Cogsworth. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you, sir. It was nothing.”

Before Cogsworth could be embarrassed any further, the porter poked in his head sheepishly to say, “Excuse me, sir, it’s just that Mrs. Potts wants Cogsworth down in the kitchens.”

“Here now, I won’t have Mrs. Potts telling me where I am needed!” grumbled Cogsworth.

“No, she’s right, you look like you could use a good cup of tea,” said the Prince. “I’m fine. Go to the kitchens before she waddles her way up here, getting angrier with each flight of stairs she has to take to reach us.”

Cogsworth laughed at the thought of it. “Perhaps you’re right, sir.” He left the room, taking the porter along with him.

The Prince felt incredibly foolish for thinking he had actually been cursed. As he looked out the window, the trees were violently swaying, dancing to a manic song only they were privy to. He longed to be out of doors, tracking elk and talking with his friend about anything other than the sisters, Circe, or curses—and as if by magic, there was a knock at the door. It was Gaston.

“My friend! I heard you were awake! That Cogsworth wouldn’t let anyone in your room except Dr. Hillsworth, who just came downstairs to let us know you were finally on your way to health.”

“Yes, Gaston, I’m feeling much better, thank you.” Looking at Gaston, the Prince noticed he hadn’t shaven in more than a few days, and the Prince wondered how long he had been ill.

“Have you been here all along, good friend?”

“I have. Cogsworth gave me a room in the East Wing, but I spent most of my time down in the kitchens with Mrs. Potts and the others.” Gaston seemed almost like the young boy the Prince had befriended so many years earlier, his face tensed with worry over his friend’s illness—and spending his time in the kitchen like the other servants’ children.

“Stay as long as you like. This was once your home, friend, and I want you to always feel it is such.” Gaston looked touched by the sentiment but didn’t say so.