La Belle Fatale

The Belle stood proudly as they led her to the Beast’s chambers. She glanced around at the decrepit castle, with its mold-covered buttresses and draping spiderwebs. She wondered how long it had been since someone had been brought in to clean—and what kind of monster could live in these crumbling ruins.

She fingered the key that a guard had slipped her, a reminder of the mission that lay before her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

For Papa, she reminded herself.

They approached the once-ornate doors to the Beast’s chambers. One of the men rushed forward to unlock and open the doors. The other three shoved The Belle inside.

The doors closed behind her the moment that she was beyond the threshold. The clicking of the lock echoed through the chamber.

The Belle turned to take in the room. Though large, it was empty except for a large canopy bed and a single table standing in the middle of the room. Upon the table sat, in a glass case, the symbol of the Beast’s court: a single red rose.

Though intrigued by the presence of the mysterious flower, The Belle’s eyes were drawn to the shadows cast by the drapes hanging over the floor-to-ceiling window. In those shadows hid a figure chained to the nearby wall.

“I know why you are here,” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “You can unlock your chains now.”

Unsure of how this figure knew about her key, The Belle slowly unlocked the shackles around her wrists. Her eyes never left the figure in the shadows.

“Are you…the Beast?” she asked.

“I suppose that is what they call me.”

“And you know why I am here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“The Belle. They say you are the best.”

“They say you are a demon.” She hesitated. “So, why am I still alive?”

The figure stepped out of the shadows. The dim light of the moon revealed a tall, thin man with an unkempt beard, long, curly hair, and kind eyes. The Belle imagined that he might have been handsome at one point, before time and neglect had ravaged him. It pained her to see the shackles digging into the flesh around his ankles.

“You tell me,” he replied.

“You…you are human.”

“No.”

His eyes flashed gold. Wings sprang from his back, and claws descended from his hands. Horns curled up from his scalp, and a large tail swiped back and forth from his behind.

The Belle breathed out in wonder.

“You are a shapeshifter.”

The Beast nodded. In a flash, he transformed back into his human form.

“I know who sent you here,” he said. “He wants me dead. He wants you to do it.”

The Belle nodded, still dazed by what she had witnessed.

“Pull out your knife.”

She obeyed, taking the iron knife out of her boot.

The Beast raised his arms weakly to expose his chest and said, “Do it.”

“What?”

“Do it. Free me from my misery.”

The Belle looked down at her knife, then back at the Beast.

“I cannot—”

“You must. He has something on you, I know it. Do it.” He smiled gently. “I will be okay.”

She stared down at her hands. In one hand, she held the knife. In the other, she held the key. She sighed and walked towards the Beast.

* * *

The Belle walked into the Duke’s throne room, sneering at the gaudiness. In her hands, she carried a burlap sack drenched in blood.

Up on his marble throne, the Rubenesque Duke motioned for her to step forward.

“Do you have what we discussed?” he asked.

She threw the sack at the foot of his throne.

“The Beast’s heart. His palace is yours to take over,” she spat. “Now, where is he?”

The Duke lazily called over his shoulder, “Guards!”

Two guards dragged forward a feeble, bruised, elderly man and tossed him to the floor. The Belle ran to his side and helped him to his feet.

“Papa! Are you okay?”

“Yes, my love. I am fine.”

The Belle did not spare the Duke another glance as he celebrated the Beast’s death. She wrapped her father’s arm around her shoulders and led him out the door.

“To the demise of the dreaded King Adam!” the Duke declared. “Long live the King!”

The Belle smirked to herself.

Yes, long live King Adam, she thought. May he show you no mercy.