The Beauty of Mist, the Beast of Dawn {INDEFINITE HOLD}

Chapter 1: The Prince

The people call me a beast. That was the thought that I woke to every morning. It was a thought that should have made me feel awful or at least feel something. Instead, I felt nothing. When I was "The Cold-Hearted Beast" anyway.

This was what I was thinking as sat down to my father's right at the table. The aroma of fruitcakes and omelets overwhelmed me, and my stomach growled. I could not express any appreciation, though. The curse would not allow it. Even if it did, gratitude was not something I could feel.

My father greeted me with a nod, my step-mother with a small smile. Ashton greeted me with a barrage of words. "Morning Luka! Isn't it beautiful today?" (It truly was not. Valennia's skies were either gray or black. I had never seen the sun or a sky full of blue. Nevertheless, this was always Ashton's first comment.) "March is a lovely month. The weather is perfect for riding. Mother and I are going. Would you like to join us? Of course you would—you never leave this suffocating palace! Oh, whoops; sorry Father. This palace isn't actually suffocating. And castle, I meant castle."

Princess Ashton of Valennia was the daughter of King Richard and Queen Aria. Barely eleven years old, my half-sister often welcomed people with open arms and a stream of questions. Not a moment after she posed a question would she ask another, and she barely ever slowed down enough to breathe. Even so, Ashton was by far my favorite relative, not that I could show it. Affection was yet another thing my curse prevented from showing in my exterior, words, or actions.

As these distracting thoughts ran through my mind, my step-mother had apparently been reprimanding Ashton. It must have been briefer than usual because the next thing I knew my father was answering Ashton's queries for me. "No, Ashton. Your brother cannot go riding today. He has an important meeting to prepare for."

I gave my father the side-eye while shoveling half an omelet into my mouth. "Don't you remember Luka? It is of great importance." He gave me a side-eye of his own, adding a raised brow for effect.

I silently cursed him as my memory returned. That meeting. "Yes, of course I remember," I replied with an indifferent façade. In reality, I was howling inside. "The first of the girls will be arriving in three days. I am to attend meetings and sessions to prepare, the first in the ballroom at noon."

My father gave me an appreciative nod while Ashton said, "Oh. That meeting. I pity you Luka."

"Ashton!" my step-mother exclaimed.

"What?" Ashton asked defensively. "It seems dreadfully boring to be inside all day preparing to look at women. Well, unless you are Luka and enjoy looking at..." Her voice trailed away. I did not need her to complete the sentence to know what she was thinking.

I did not, in fact, enjoy looking at women. The way I saw it, women, or girls really, were fickle creatures that existed only for the convenience of men. But, I was not about to voice my opinion as there were two of them sitting near me.

I turned to my father. "I still do not understand why you think this to be a good idea. What is the purpose of a contest for my hand? Why must I prepare?"

"Son," he hissed. "You must prepare because you need to brush up on your etiquette. As for your other question, we have been through that before. It is customary."

"Yes, if we are trying to resurrect customs that died centuries before I was born." I could not keep the sarcasm from my tone. Of all the times for my father to begin being a father, and for this of all reasons!

"I will not have this conversation twice."

"It was not a conversation; you did not answer me. Why are we doing this? As Crown Prince of Valennia, I demand to know!" Anger engulfed me. It seemed to be one of the only emotions I was allowed to feel. Anger and rage.

"Prince Luka Christopher Ivan García of Valennia, you are my subordinate. As the king, I demand your silence!" Father must have been truly angry if he was using my full title. He knew how much I hated it and how much I would hate him in turn. He lowered his voice. "The custom may be ancient and close to dead, but now is a good a time as any to bring it back."

So there was something else going on. I was not surprised he was keeping it from me. My father never confided in me.

My father continued. "You are seventeen, nearly eighteen now. It has been two years since you've become a man, but you haven't yourself a wife. And you very well know that you will not be finding one in the eligible princesses. The other kingdoms still find Valennia to be a joke." 

It was true. Valennia would always be the small, less wealthy kingdom, no matter how far we expanded our boundaries or how much our treasury grew.

"Yes, but how am I to find true love through a competition?" I whispered.

"Nobody said you had to find love. You just need a pretty face with a respectable owner to rule beside you."

I stifled a sigh. My father was not aware of the curse. Nobody was aware of the curse, except for the witch who had cast it and the closest of my personal servants. My throat closed up at that the thought.

I hadn't realized Ashton was listening to our conversation until she asked, "True love? You believe in true love? Luka, no offense, but I don't think you will ever find it what with 'the Beast' business and all."

Though no one knew of the curse, they were all aware of what the people thought of me. I was certain they thought it themselves. If they did, they never voiced it.

Ashton's mother began scolding her again, which triggered the usual bickering. I stood up abruptly, catching my family off guard. I was done with this conversation. My head was beginning hurt. The fruitcakes and omelet in my stomach roiled. Although I could not feel emotional pain exactly, I felt a pang of something at her words. If my sister did not believe I could find love, there was absolutely no way I could break the curse. To accompany that thought, a stab of fear sliced through me. Fear, rage, pain, and nausea. My favorite things to feel. The only things I could feel. 

I addressed my father, hoping he would  grant me what I wanted. "Father, I do not feel well. May I please be excused?"

My father barely got out an "Of course, but remember to be in the ballroom by noon," before I was out the door.