Buried In Thorns

Beauty of day and beauty of night, one a royal with cursed blood, the other born with enchanting looks.

What happens when a tale as old as time throws the rose petals away to make use of the thorns born from within? Sometimes a curse to one may be a blessing to another.

But not always.

* * * *

He watched. He waited. He knew the expression on her face well, recognized it on every other, but most of all it was the gleam that gave them all away. The gleam of promised luxurious strolls, fresh roses on silken sheets and sweet words. He was good at the last one, he had the sweetest of teeth.

"My Prince," She began, interrupting his thoughts. "I-I must confess to something. Something I have not said out loud for fear that I may not mean it but the truth seems to want to smother me for my silence."

"Oh." He stilled and gave her his full attention, watching her shoulders straighten and her head lift as determination filled her frame.

"I am in love with you, my Prince."

She held her breath, peering at him anxiously, awaiting his joyful words. Perhaps even in excitement to see the magic take place with her declaration of love now in the very air he breathed. Slowly he reached for the glass, being careful not to shatter the delicate frame. Glancing down at the red wine he moved it, watched it swirl and spin.

"You are to say you are in love with this beast?" He whispered softly, the velvet voice reaching her like a lovers touch.

"I am."

"I repeat myself, Belle. You are in love with this beast?" She blinked and with a perplexed look, nodded.

"I am."

With a slow shake of his head he sat the wine down, never looking away from it and then those words, as she had hoped to see, sparked magic.

Before her eyes he turned into something edged, beautiful, sinful and terrifyingly unexpected. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. His next words were snarled out in a scathing tone.

"Then you are not worthy of my monster."