The Beauty of Mist, the Beast of Dawn {INDEFINITE HOLD}

Chapter 3: The Prince

I all but ran to the royal suites. Once in my room, I launched myself onto my bed with an undignified grunt. I did not care. Nobody else did; they expected nothing less of the Beast.

I rolled over and allowed myself to consider my situation. Father did not believe that this competition had to end in love, but I knew better. If I was to ever break my curse, to ever be free of "the Beast," I had to love and be loved in return. That was what the witch said anyway. At least, that was what I thought she'd said. 

I searched my memory of the day I was cursed. Again. I did not often allow myself to think on that day, but when I did, it was to find a loophole. I never did find one. I searched anyway, sinking into my memory.

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I am eight again, in the village of Ilah. I wear commoners' clothes, though I don't know why. I am surrounded by commoners my age too. I am uncertain as to why that is as well. All I am sure of  is the fact that I am in the outskirts of the kingdom, buried in a small sandbox unfit for royalty, facing a boy who does not deserve to be in my presence, and who I would abandon if it weren't for the wooden horse in his hand. My wooden horse.

"Give me my toy!" I screech. "You cannot just take it from me!"

"Your toy?" The boy asks. "How can it be yours? Ye look like a peasant. You act like one too. How could ye have such a nice toy?"

"Nice?" I inquire. The horse is not nice. It was the cheapest from the variety provided in one of the shops in Beilie,  a town closer to the castle. My castle. Still, the boy stroked the toy as if it was the finest thing he's ever seen, much less held.

"Yes. Nice. This is the most beautiful piece of art I've ever seen. So, how did ye came by this magnificent mare?"

I know I cannot tell him the truth. It is not just that he will not believe that I am the crown prince of Valennia; it is that I can see Cassian, my personal guard, shaking his head from the corner of his eyes as he subtly nears the sandbox. I can see he's telling me not to reveal the truth, not to stir up trouble. And yet, whether I am the one stirring it or not, trouble always seems to surround me. "It does not matter," I reply in petulant tone. "And it's not a mare; it's a stallion. It is mine. Give it back."

"I don't know if I want to. I like this mare," he grins, a wicked glint in his eye. "I want it. Now it's mine."

"It is mine!" I scream. If I cannot use my title, then I might as well lower myself to his level. "I want my horse back. Give it!"

"Ye know," the he continues conversationally, "I was wrong. You don't act like a commoner. You speak differently too."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I bet you have twenty more toys like these back at your home. What is one less to ye? Can I at least play with it for a wee while?"

He is going to steal it. I know it, so does he. "No."

The boy pouts. "You're not nice. Your horse is; you're not."

I am going to punch him. I. AM. GOING. TO. PUNCH—

My thought is interrupted by a puff of purple smoke. A woman cloaked in purple mist and a black robe stands before me, and she gently pushes my fist, which is in mid-swing, back towards my side. She uncurls it.

I know she is here for me, but she addresses the other boy's mother who has run to his side and is desperately trying to pry the horse from his fingers. "Mrs. Blackwell, do not bother. Marcus is free to keep the toy. Please take your son and the toy and leave now before things turn ugly."