Between A Rose And Its Thorns (ON HOLD)

Prologue

Long, long ago, in the hidden heart of France... There stood a castle, a vast and resplendent masterpiece of cold stone. Each hallway and room filled with the most beautiful objects, a mirror on almost every wall, with servants covered in jewels and the finest fabric. It was the prince's order, after all, that nothing ugly should ever be in his presence. And a servant dressed in filthy, disgusting rags... well, it simply wouldn't do. The young prince lived a life full of luxury and satisfaction, no one had ever said no to him. And why would they? He was royalty, after all! The grandson of a king! He was going to rule all of France, for you see, he was the king's chosen heir. And as the king's chosen heir, he was allowed to have whatever he wished. Money, jewels, women, it was all his!

But as marvelous as the life was, it was also rotten to the young mind of the prince. The prince had became spoiled after years of such luxury. And he turned cruel and unkind. His people were concerned for their future king and their kingdom. Many have tried to help him, to teach the prince about kindness and love; yet he would not listen and would only dismiss them. And if they were to try again, the prince would order their death. No man, woman, or child was safe from the young prince's wrath.

For everyone knew of his highness' anger. It was such a beastly thing, his anger. If he did not get his way, he would force it. The servants did not know what to do and his own people were miserable. But the prince didn't notice. He would only stare at his beautiful objects, his dozens of lovely women, and most importantly of all, he would stare at himself in each and every mirror he passed.

He was a very handsome young man, after all. Women practically fell at his feet. He was tall, broad, and muscular. Rumors had spread of the young prince's strength, from him being stronger than his grandfather's knights to him being able to take down a bear. However, he did not care for such rumors; no, what he cared about was his looks. His face and body perfectly sculpted as if by Michelangelo, himself. His constantly groomed hair was long, the color a light brown. Under the rays of the sun, it glowed, making it turn gold. But the thing he cherished the most was his blue, sea like eyes.

They were an almost exact replica of his mother's.

But he never told anyone that, as far as his people were aware, his highness' beauty was the most important thing to him. Well, that, and his pride.

And it was his pride that had pushed him to have a party on that dark and fateful night. The prince ordered that there would be decorations on every corner of the castle and that his master chef would prepare a feast, a meal fit for a king. The reason for the occasion? It was the prince's twenty-first birthday, meaning by next morning his highness would be the crowned King of France. It seemed to be a joyful time, the room full of music and dancing. Only, the room was empty of any laughter. The party was an illusion, the smiles on the beautiful people's faces forced and fake. The prince knew of this. He knew that his guests were unhappy. But he did not care. The only happiness that mattered to him was his own.

He smiled as he watched his guests dance. It was almost everything the prince could ever wish for. Not exactly what he wanted.... but close enough.

The prince sat on his thrown, a small looking glass in the palm of his hand. He smirked at his reflection, his greatest pride and jewel. He could stare at himself for hours.... that is if his second in command didn't disturbed him.

He glanced up and glared. It was his butler. "Uh, Master Theodred, you have a guest at the door who wishes to see you." The man spoke, his eyes stared at the floor. He was afraid of the prince, and why wouldn't he be? The prince was the reason why the poor servant had a large bruise on his left cheek. The bruise only non-visible thanks to the large amounts of make up he was forced to wear. To avoid getting another beating.