Read The Eye of the Beholder Online
Authors: Elizabeth Darcy
The Eye of the Beholder
Chapter 4: The Fateful Journey
Chapter 5: An Unwelcome Visitor
Chapter 8: Into the Beast’s Lair
Chapter 13: A Dangerous Companion
Chapter 15: The Meaning Behind the Name
Chapter 16: A Sense of Purpose
Chapter 17: An Invitation Accepted
Chapter 18: Touring the Castle
Chapter 20: Another Battle Won
Chapter 24: A Frightful Illness
Chapter 40: Somewhere to Belong
The Eye of the Beholder
A retelling of the Beauty and the Beast tale
by
Elizabeth Darcy
Text copyright © 2012 Nicole P. Ciacchella
All Rights Reserved
For Jürgen, who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.
Chapter 1: The Bitter Past
My earliest remembrance was that of issuing my first order. I was a lad of perhaps four, and I had tossed my ball across the courtyard and decided that I did not wish to pursue it. I turned, looked at my nursemaid, and decided that I wished for her to get it so that I would not have to be troubled. Of course, this meant that my nursemaid was to be troubled, but that did not matter to me. What child of four ever worries about the troubles of others?
"Pick it up," I told her, frowning and pointing at the ball.
Without a moment's hesitation, she did as she was told. In that instant, I first recognized the full extent of my power. There was no need for me to trouble myself: I had simply to issue a command and others would obey. I relished the power.
My mother died in childbed and, although my father had held her in some regard, theirs had been a political and not a love match; thus, his grief did not run very deep. She had given him an heir, perhaps the worthiest thing a woman in her position could have done, and she was honored for her service to the kingdom. She had been a fair and kindly queen and was remembered fondly and often by the people. My father, however, was too busy with affairs of state to give much thought to her passing.
In point of fact, my father was so busy with affairs of state that he had little time for anything else, even for his son. As a king, he was delighted to have an heir; as a father, he took little interest in me. I existed solely to assure the continuity of his line, and he was not to be bothered about such trivial matters as my upbringing. He hired nursemaids and tutors and left me entirely to their care.
Unlike my mother, my father was not a kindly soul. He was demanding and expected unquestioning loyalty, obedience, and allegiance from his servants. Those who served him well were rewarded handsomely and those who did not were punished. In light of this, I suppose it is only natural that the servants into whose care I had been delivered were so eager to please me; keep the prince happy and quiet and the king will be satisfied. Keep the king satisfied and avoid the dungeon.
Except life was not tranquil for those servants. I never let them rest and, as I grew older, I grew more and more convinced that I was the only creature of any importance. I had no concern for the thoughts and feelings of my servants for, in my view, they existed solely to please me. By the time I was eight years of age, I was a petty tyrant.
During this period, my father's kingdom was large and prosperous. His castle was renowned for its beauty and his towns were clean and safe, the homes in good repair. I could never decide if he was truly a compassionate ruler, or if his acts of generosity were merely a means to an end. He believed that if he treated his people as well as possible, they would be loyal to him and far less inclined to civil unrest. Although he saw to it that they had proper sanitation and good housing, he was not merciful when they strayed across his clearly defined lines. The pettiest of criminals was subject to very harsh punishment.
As I approached manhood, I found myself longing for my father's notice. He had such power, such strength, that I could not help but idolize him. I wanted to be like him, and I wanted him to approve of my attempts to emulate him. I did many things in an attempt to capture his attention, but to little avail.
On those rare occasions when he did notice me, I felt a pleasure so powerful it was intoxicating. The less recognition he gave, the more I craved it, and I became increasingly aggressive in my pursuit of his attentions. This behavior was cyclical; I would vie so clamorously for his attention that he would become angry and rebuke me, causing me to turn tail and leave, like a wounded dog. I would brood for a while, then the fever would overcome me and I would begin my fruitless quest for his attentions once again.
Perhaps my father would have grown more aware of my need had he lived into old age and contemplation. As it was, he died in what seemed the prime of his life, and I was forevermore cheated of the attention I had so desperately sought. He had a weakness of the heart that his royal physicians had failed to diagnose. For this transgression, I banished them to the depths of the dungeons.
I shall never forget how I felt as I stared down at his lifeless body. I was seventeen years of age, full old enough to become king, but still a child in so many significant ways. I was angry with him, both because of his lack of attentiveness and because he had gone and left me forever, before I could know him.
As I stared down at him, the first of my black fits of anger overcame me, and in short order his chamber was a shambles. Enraged, I tore the curtains from his massive bed, broke his furnishing, and shattered his priceless ornaments. The servants hung back, afraid to stop me lest I turn my rage on them.
The black rages: the bane of my existence and the root of nearly all my problems. Anything or nothing could set them off. They were always sudden and terrifying and, for as much as they frightened my subjects, they frightened me even more. When I was held in thrall to one, I was incapable of rational thought, incapable of controlling myself. I sought only to cause as much destruction as possible.
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of these rages was that I had no memory of my actions when I was in the grip of one. When they finally ended, they left me exhausted, staring in bewilderment at the chaos around me, unable to remember how I had caused such destruction on my own. But no matter how terrible my rages, I always remembered that first rage as the worst.
I buried my father and was crowned king. The people were quick to learn that my reign would be nothing like my father's. Where he had been cold, I was pitiless. All those subject to me were expected to comply with my every order without the slightest voice of dissension or the slightest hesitation, and their fear of my rages ensured their compliance.
My reign of terror had lasted only a year when the event that was to change the course of my life came to pass: a peasant woman was brought before me. She had been charged with the theft of a loaf of bread. The sentencing for such crimes usually fell to my magistrates, but the guards had taken pity on the woman and had thought I might show some inkling of mercy if they brought her before me.
The woman shook as she was brought into the throne room where I sat imperiously, my nervous fool at my feet. As soon as my men loosened their grip, the woman fell to her knees before me. She was filthy and clothed in rags, and I eyed her with disgust.
"Your Majesty, I beg for your mercy," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation.
"You are a thief," I replied, in my coldest and most commanding voice. It struck fear in the hearts of hardened soldiers, and the peasant woman began to tremble in terror.
"Aye, Your Majesty, what I did was wrong. But I beg you, allow me to explain. I had two starving children and I was afraid they would die if I did not feed them soon! I tried to find work, I tried begging… I tried everything! I only stole the bread because I was desperate," she said, her voice trembling so badly it was difficult to understand her.
As I gazed around the chamber at my guards and the members of my court, I could read pity and compassion upon many of their faces. None of them dared look at me, but I had the distinct impression that they were all sympathetic to this woman's cause and that they were fervently hoping I might be as well.
"That is no excuse," I said, my voice low and deadly calm.
"I know I deserve to be punished, Your Majesty, but I beg you to think of my innocent children. If you lock me in the dungeon, they will have no one to watch over them and they will surely die," the woman said. Her voice was now devoid of all hope, and the sound brought a cold smile to my face.
"Then you should have thought of that before you stole," I said. I waved a dismissive hand and commanded my guards to take her away to the dungeons.
Before anyone could lay hands on her, the woman rose, her back straight and her posture wrathful. I watched in amazement as she raised her arms above her head and brought them slowly back down, until her palms were parallel with the floor. As her arms passed over her body, the peasant woman's form faded away and was replaced by that of a dazzlingly beautiful enchantress. She wore a filmy gown of shimmery blue and her hair was long and silvery, flowing loosely about her bare shoulders. A diadem rested upon her head, and in its center was an glacial blue jewel that matched the glacial blue of her eyes. I half-rose to my feet as the courtiers gasped in astonishment.
"Edward, King of Organdy, I have heard of your cruelty, and I came here to test you. I see that the many reports I received were not exaggerated and that, though you are king of a great and prosperous land and a people who are willing and eager to serve you, you have no mercy. Therefore, you shall be punished."
I was frightened, but I would not let the enchantress see it. Subtly, I indicated that my guards should take her but the instant they stepped forward, she raised her left hand and waved it once sharply in the air. Instantly, the crowd disappeared from the chamber, leaving me alone with her. I felt a chill race up my spine.
"Foolish king, you are no match for me. I am a guardian enchantress, sent here to do my part to ensure the peace of this world, and one as insignificant as you cannot bar my path. My punishment to you is this: You are to live out your life with the outward appearance of the beastly creature that resides within you." She gestured with her hands once more, and I felt a jolt as the curse hit me.
There is no description for the sensation. It was not so much a pain as an ache that throbbed throughout my entire body. Before my unbelieving eyes, my limbs transformed into those of a beast, and thick hair sprouted across my body. My hands became great paws with long, lethal claws, and when I opened my mouth to cry out, I heard a beastly howl rather than the sound of my own voice.
"I did not conjure this form for you," the enchantress said, when it was finally over. "It was always inside of you. I merely called it forth." She conjured a mirror, holding it up so I could see what she had done to me.
