Steel Roses

The Artist

A week later, Beldon stood in the hidden doorway to the portrait gallery armed with a hammer and chisel and candle light. He had forgotten his intention to pry the painted windows open, but when he'd been cleaning one of the room nearby and found the windows painted shut there, his memory had been jogged. 

Now, he marched into the gallery, straight to the first window, set his chisel into place and slammed the hammer down on it. The paint began to crack and he continued to work his way along the frame.

Since his talk with Vanessa, his mind had managed to calm down some. He had admitted to himself what he hadn't wanted to admit. But now he had faced it, there was nothing to be done about it so he returned his usual self. Dinners were normal again. The days before his confession, The Beast had asked if there was something troubling Beldon – so he had clearly been acting out of character – but after speaking with Vanessa, The Beast hadn't asked again, to Beldon's relief.

So Beldon continued to entertain himself and wait for The Beast to tell him whether or not Rosalia was Beauty.

The paint cracks crept higher and higher, loosening with each strike of the chisel until there was a loud creak and, with some force, Beldon was able to throw the window open, dusty sunlight pouring down on him.

He winced, the light reflecting off the ice and snow below blinding him for a moment before he turned to look at the paintings on the opposite wall.

Coated with dust he could still see them. Towering men and women looked down on him, their expression serious and severe – expressions he recognised from every official painting he'd ever seen of any courtier.

He moved to the next window, working it open, then the next and the next, wind and light bursting in as each window was freed.

He reached the spot he had reached last time and turned when he opened that window.

Light streamed across the floor and up the wall, illuminating the portrait for the four royals. He looked up at them and leant back against the windowsill as they looked down at him.

Now they were an attractive set. They're expressions weren't so serious; all of them had easy smiles and eyes filled with personality.

He stared up at the faces.

He blinked.

He recognised two of them. The Princess Briar and... he didn't know which prince it was, but the prince who stood next to her.

He frowned. Why did he know those two? The princess had curling black hair that was tied at the top of her head behind her tiara, locks falling down around her blazing green eyes. The prince beside her, tall and straight-backed with a proud smile, had the same black hair and green eyes.

The other two princes were blondes. One was a deep rich gold while the other was a much lighter blonde, his hair almost a mixture between gold and silver. They were obviously all siblings however; they all shared those vivid green eyes.

Beldon's brow creased as he stared at the prince with the pale hair, then his eyes widened and he looked back at the ebony prince and princess.

That art style. That's why he knew them. He recognised that style, like a writing style or a singer's voice; he knew who that art belonged to. The Beast had shown him a painting of those two siblings in a smaller portrait, and this huge portrait had the same style.

The Beast had painted the siblings. He straightened, staring, then looked to the next painting. A painting of some nobleman but the style of the same. The Beast had painted that one as well.

Grabbing the hammer and chisel, Beldon raced to the next window and forced it open, then the next and the next and the next until the entire gallery was ablaze with light and Beldon spun around.