BEAUTY AND THE BEAST [RICKY HORROR]

Chapter 4: Sweet Discord

Dusk's POV

I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up. Of course I do, I'm shaking so hard I roll right over and hit my face on the carriage door. It's freezing cold, even with my hood and cloak.

"Fuck!" I curse, rubbing my sore cheekbone, and looking out the window. With a start, I realize I can see the outline of LeNoir growing ever closer as the coach jostles along the road. The prince probably won't be happy about the possible bruise on my cheekbone. I'll have to explain it to him.

We finally come to the set of huge wroght iron gates, which ominous looking guards open. The cross of the royals is inlaid into the gates, for some reason making me shiver. As we pass through, the ominous presence of LeNoir looms above us, chilling the coach more.

We roll to a stop at the enormous steps, with two enormous black stone gargoyles ornamenting the staircases. The hideous monsters leer down at me, claws and fangs on full display. The coachman opens the door and helps me out, a pitying look in his eyes, as if he truly feels bad for me. It must be worse than I thought. 

A tall man waring a pressed black suit, stark white shirt, black bowtie, and white gloves glides down the steps, hands folded primly in front of him. His pale skin is porcelain against the snow, hair so blonde it shines like platinum in the weak light. His eyes are cold blue, like ice in the dead of winter. Dead as fuck. 

"Lady Trueblood, I am Westing, the head of this Palace and assisstant to His Majesty. If you would be so kind as to follow me, your things will be brought to you later." He says, his voice like the whisper of arctic wind as it floats past his thin white lips. He turns and walks smoothly up the stairs, each step barely making a sound. Two guards in all black open the doors, the gigantic black doors wrought with the Koronian Royal crest.

The palace is ornately and elegantly decorated, lavish furnishings covering every inch of the place. Fine portraits in guilded black frames hang at periodic intervals along the hall, the royals in them posessing the same grace and unbelieveably good looks as Ricky. Westing is allowing me to take my time, as if I'll never see these again. The last two at the end of the hall catch my eye. These must be Ricky's parents. 

King Leon stands next to a huge black she-dog, which wears a finely made blood red collar with the crest. Leon could be a dead ringer for Ricky, if not for only two things. One: His expression is aloof and cold, completely unfeeling. It looks like his very soul is gone, the face he wears completely iced over. Two: Four jagged scars reach from his hairline to his jaw, marring his icily handsome features. One of his eyes is the same ice blue as Ricky's, and the other has gone blind and turned milky white. His left eyebrow has four bald patches, and on his finger gleams the King's ring. On his head sits the crown of Korona, which is black and decorated with blood rubies. A magnificent garnet sits in the center, the crown jewel.

His Royal Majesty King Leon III & His loyal hound Freija. 

The other portrait is more delicate and feminine, but no less powerful than Leon's; maybe more so. Queen Valkyerie stands tall and strong, looking over her shoulder with a sarcastic but elegant expression on her face. Her eyes are a startling poison green, black hair tumbling in inky waves to her waist. She wears a gown of fine brocade, the purple-black fabric shining. Her cloak is lovely, the black matching her skin, which glows like backlit alabaster. 

The best part, is that she hold the reins of a powerful and muscular black warhorse, the stallion's coal black eyes sparkling. His mane waves majestically, the fresian horse's black coat rippling with power. He radiates strength, each defined muscle group toned, fit, and in perfect working order. He has tilted his thick neck as to where he stares out of the painting, forming a protective but regal stance around his mistress.