Before Beauty Read online

  And with those words, the king was gone. In a dirty tent with one candle to light the room, the great warrior king had admitted defeat and left his son to pick up the pieces.

  “Your Highness,” Acelet knelt at the doorway of the tent. “The grief of the kingdom is with you.” Ever swallowed hard and finally stood, still staring at his father’s body.

  “How are the survivors?”

  “Not well, Sire. I’m afraid I must ask you to go to them. Many have gone mad from the dreams. There’s nothing else I can do.”

  With a nod, Ever turned sharply and left his father’s body. He had work to do, and he was suddenly grateful for the princess’s poison. The work of healing would occupy his mind for now. Deep down, however, he knew he would have to mourn sooner or later. For all the monsters he could slay, for all the darkness he could pierce with his light, for all the unearthly strength that he possessed, he did not know how to mourn. And it terrified him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Eyes of the Girl

  The king was properly lamented by his subjects, but Ever had an uneasy feeling that it was more out of respect than true affection. Although the Fortress courtiers and servants wore black, and offered him all the right words in the wake of his father’s death, he often heard them speaking excitedly of his upcoming coronation when they thought he couldn’t hear. This irritated him more and more as the week drew to a close.

  “Shall I tell them you wish to be left alone until the midday meal?” Garin calmly gestured to the manservants present that they could leave. Ever put his head in his hands and took a deep breath before answering.

  Although his annoyance at one of his barons still lingered, he sought to control himself as the other servants stepped out. His father had taught him not to share too much with his servants, but Ever had never quite been able to sever the connection he had with the Fortress steward. During the early years when he was still too young to be of much use to his father, Garin had been there. And Ever needed him now more than ever before. The prince sighed.

  “I am supposed to meet with the Duke of Sud Colline in an hour.” The duke was prudish, and had been since they were boys. If Ever was too blunt, his distant cousin was just as likely to speak for an hour without actually getting to his point. Garin put his hand on Ever’s shoulder and spoke softly.

  “I don’t think it would be too much to ask that your subjects give you time to mourn. It’s only been five days, and the funeral is tonight.”

  Ever groaned, and Garin walked to the door. “I will speak to your cousin. If he is not satisfied with my words, then he shall simply have to remain unsatisfied.” At these words, Ever couldn’t help the small smile that rose within him. Garin smiled back and bowed before leaving the prince alone.

  Unfortunately, while the solitude allowed him to elude his courtiers, it made it even harder for him to avoid his own thoughts. The sensation of helplessness settled upon him quickly as he wandered over to the balcony that overlooked the mountain. Ever hated feeling helpless.

  He had heard others wonder at the terrace’s purpose, as it showed nothing of the kingdom or its boundaries, but it was one of his favorite spots in the Fortress. It faced the peak of the mountain, just higher than the slope the Fortress was built upon, rather than the valley and its city that spread out below. It gave him the illusion of solitude more than any of the other windows in the citadel. The lush green tree line abruptly ended below the bare summit. During the warm months the summit was covered in nothing but dirt, but in the winter it was covered in crisp, clean snow.

  He closed his eyes and imagined how the snow would feel now. He had hiked there once as a child. Though it was still considered part of the Fortress grounds, no one went that high. He’d been young, only nine, too young to venture out on his own, but old enough to know better. Still, he recalled how the snow had felt as he had buried his bare hands in it, how quickly they’d numbed. If only he could feel that numbness now. If only he could shove his heart in the snow and leave it there. His desires did not make a difference, however, as the guilt was going nowhere fast. The Maker no longer seemed to care about what he wanted these days.

  Rodrigue had always lectured him that guilt was pointless. “It forces you to look inward,” he’d growled once when he had caught Ever apologizing to a servant. “It leaves you open, susceptible to attack by others. When you are focused inward, you’re distracted. A distracted king is a king begging for enemies to try their strength on your borders.”

  And Ever had tried. He’d learned over the years how to ignore the feelings that welled up within him. It was hard, as it is for any child born with strong affections, as he had been. But he had trained himself to push those feelings away, to lock them up by focusing on what needed to be done. And yet, this was a guilt he couldn’t push away.

  It’s not fair, he thought to himself as he turned back to prepare for the funeral. He’d gone over every detail, every scenario in his head. He’d searched for any way he possibly could have saved his father. But each scenario he imagined still ended the same way. He had obeyed his father’s instructions down to the letter, and in the end, Ever knew he had made the right decision to wait. And yet, that did not erase the guilt that now coursed through his veins and made his face run hot and his eyes moisten at the corners.

  The funeral was perfect down to the last detail, thanks to Garin. The tapestries had been drawn, shutting out the light of the fainting sun. Candles lit the huge hall only enough to see the casket at the head of the room. The black coffin had been polished so well that Ever could see his dim reflection in its sides as he approached it. His father lay there in his military robes, a gold braid draped across his chest. In his hands he held a scepter carved out of chestnut wood with a small blue crystal at its tip. The royal holy man uttered words of tribute to King Rodrigue, describing to the kneeling mourners the king’s great feats and his daring victories, but all Ever could focus on was his father’s face. It was stern now, as it always had been, except for the night of his death. Then, it had been full of fright.

  Just like the girl’s had been.

  Ever nearly took a step backward when her face flashed before his eyes. He had tried his best to push her away, but her midnight blue eyes, wide with terror, had followed him in his dreams every night since his father’s death. It was all her fault.

  Ever had never had a reason to feel great guilt before she’d stumbled, literally, into his path. He felt his anger burn suddenly as he struggled to keep up with the holy man’s words. He was sure the guilt over his father’s death would have been easier to push aside if it hadn’t also been for the lingering guilt brought by the nameless peasant who haunted the dreams of her prince.

  Ever had been thirteen when it happened. The day had started out beautifully. It was the morning of the Spring Holy Day, and he was out exploring the Fortress’s lands, as usual, before it was time to watch the annual procession. He remembered it so well because he’d nearly fallen out of a tree from shock when his father had suddenly appeared in the clearing below him.

  “Everard,” Rodrigue had called. “I can feel that you’re near. I want to speak with you.”

  Ever knew what his father wanted to speak of must have been something of great importance. His father never fetched him personally. He always sent a servant instead. If it had been a servant calling him, Ever might have dropped out of the branches right in front of him for fun, but he knew pranking his father would end badly. He climbed down instead.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Ah. Garin said you’d be here. I want you to return to your chambers and prepare for the procession.”

  Ever had known better than to question his father, but he was confused. The procession was still two hours away. As if Ever had spoken his thoughts, his father answered them. “This year you will be riding in the procession with me.”

  As they began to walk back towards the Fortress, Ever had turned and looked up at his father in wonder. He’d never been allo
wed to hold a place in any of the capitol processions.

  “You are old enough,” King Rodrigue continued, “to be seen as a leader. When you take the throne one day, I want them to be confident in your strength and ability to protect them. If we begin showing them now that you are indeed serious about your duty, they will accept you readily, even hungrily when I am gone.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Before we leave, there are expectations you must know about, duties that if you neglect them today or any other time, could be disastrous to your future rule. Do you understand?” Rodrigue had turned his gray eyes and glared down at Ever through the blue rings of fire, and Ever had nodded ruefully. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like these rules.

  “First, you must remember that you are to be present with the people, but you are above them. And that includes the servants. You are not to speak with them unless giving an order. While I wish you would adopt these habits in court, the way I’ve been telling you to for years, you cannot forget them in public. You know our strength makes us responsible for these people. We must protect them from our enemies at all costs, but to be vigilant, we must be removed. You cannot be scanning the horizon for spies, so to speak, when you are giving your attention to one or two peasants in particular. Distraction makes us vulnerable.”

  “Will we be looking for spies during the procession, Father?”

  “We are always looking for spies. You are no longer a child, Everard, and today is the day I expect you to begin acting like a man. Now go to your chambers, and the tailor should have your clothes ready. You will meet your mother for the procession when you’re finished. I will be there soon after.”

  Ever had done as he was told. When he had arrived on the Fortress steps, his mother was already on her horse. He bowed to her, and she gave him a small smile and nod before turning to instruct one of her ladies-in-waiting about the smelling salts she needed to forget the stench of her mount.

  The procession was grander in person than Ever had imagined. He’d only ever seen it from balcony windows. His horse was stationed behind his father and mother’s horses. All around them, tall flags with the royal wolf seal were raised up high on green velvet squares edged with gold braided trim. The procession always began at the Fortress, moving down the mountainside and into Soudain. Once in the town, it snaked through prominent streets before returning back up the mountain in a giant loop.

  Since the monarchs were always at the end of the procession, the first performers would be returning to the Fortress before the royals even left. His father’s best soldiers were scattered in groups of six throughout the performers, and more were stationed along the procession path. They wore no bright colors. Gaudy men had never been of any use in battle, his father always said. They were too easy for the enemy to see. So instead of wearing the Fortress colors of blue, green, and white, his father’s men simply had the image of the wolf impressed upon their chest plates in black silver, burned into the metal by the finest artisan blacksmiths in all of Destin.

  Ever had to remind himself to look regal. He’d never been allowed to visit the capitol city before. Soudain was too full of distractions to be good for a prince, his father had always said. Until now. Now the streets glowed with the brilliant orange of the setting sun, and flames lit the tops of the lampposts that stood on every corner. Families crowded one another on the edge of the streets to wave to their rulers. They always bowed low before his father, and Ever couldn’t help but notice that their smiles nearly disappeared when he turned to glance in their directions. Fear, he decided, was the overarching emotion they wore. To Ever they remained bowed, but he noticed many of them dared a peek at their prince. A number of them, particularly the girls, gambled a smile. He would nod and turn back to the street, hoping his actions were as his father expected.

  As his horse rounded a corner, a movement in the crowd caught his eye. A few boys were pushing to get to a better spot in line. One of them shoved too hard, and a girl who was standing at the edge of the crowd was knocked right into the street. Without thinking, Ever hopped off his horse and bent down to help her up. She was lanky with auburn hair and large midnight eyes. Her dress was simple, but neat and tidy, which meant her family probably belonged to the skilled worker class.

  As soon as his hand touched hers, he felt his face redden with shame, and he could feel his father’s icy glare on his back. So much for staying removed from the crowd. Helping the girl stand, he nodded quickly at her and turned to get back on his horse. His father would have some choice words for him later. He didn’t dare look at the king. The procession had come to a halt as the people watched the actions of their young prince with a sudden pride, but none of their opinions mattered. He had failed his father.

  Eager to be on his way and ready to forget the whole ordeal, Ever was nearly on his horse when he felt a tug on his sleeve and a gasp from the crowd. Turning, he saw the girl had lost her bewildered expression of shock, and had followed him to his horse, and even dared to do what his servants did not.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she looked up at him with eager eyes. Anger pulsed through him. Why couldn’t she just let him alone? Impatient to be rid of her, he roughly pushed her hand off his arm. As he often did, however, Ever forgot the amount of strength that ebbed through him. What he’d meant as a simple brush shot blue fire from his arm to hers. She fell backward, right in front of a cart horse. The horse startled and reared, and with two sickening cracks, landed on the girl’s wrist and ankle. Ever watched in horror. She screamed as the villagers rushed to her side.

  “Everard!” His father’s voice was sharper than he’d ever heard it. Slowly, he tore his gaze away from the mess he’d made to look at the king. “On your horse!” The fury in his words was unmistakable, and Ever miserably nodded and did his best to finish the procession. But as he rode, he could hold his head high no longer, and every time he closed his eyes, the look of pain on the child’s face was there before him. To make things even worse, Ever’s father was not kind that evening after the celebration was over.

  “Not only did you deliberately disobey me, but you made the situation worse with that wretched temper of yours! Now we have one more cripple to live on the streets and beg, one more unproductive citizen to waste precious resources on!” Ever doubted she would live on the streets, judging by the clothes she was wearing, not that his father would ever notice that kind of thing. But his father was right. He’d added one more helpless, unproductive citizen to his kingdom, one more thread of weakness for the enemy to target. His mother said little about the incident, except to complain that the pause in the procession had been bad for her hair. Garin and Gigi were the only ones who seemed to understand how he felt.

  “And is the young prince wanting some hot cider tonight?” Garin had slipped in that evening, as he often did when his duties were done. Despite the enormous load of work that King Rodrigue placed on the steward, he always seemed to have time for Ever. That night, however, not even Garin could cheer him up. The boy had shaken his head as he stared sullenly into the fire.

  “Come now, Your Highness,” Gigi, the Fortress’s head kitchen matron slipped in from behind Garin. Despite his protests, she set a cup of steaming cider down beside his bed, and proceeded to adjust the pillows around the boy. “Tomorrow will be a better day.” She smiled gently at him from underneath her mop of silver curls. She patted his cheek affectionately with a soft hand before wishing him goodnight, leaving him alone with Garin. Garin walked around the room straightening chairs as Ever sipped his drink. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the scrape of furniture against the floor.

  “I did something bad today,” Ever finally spoke, his voice cracking twice. Instead of denying it, as all of the courtiers had done, however, Garin spoke with painful honesty.

  “I heard about that. How badly do you think she was injured?”

  “It looked pretty bad,” Ever admitted. Garin just nodded. He waited a few moments before speaking, and Ever
found himself strangely anxious to hear what the older man would say. Disappointing his father had been bad enough. He didn’t know if he could bear to have the steward disappointed in him as well.

  “We all make mistakes, Sire. Some, unfortunately, cannot be mended as easily as others. I have found, in my humble experience, that when we hold positions of power, our mistakes often hurt more than just ourselves. They hurt others. It is something we must live with.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “But the important thing is that we learn from our mistakes. What you did today was indeed unkind. But you will be no better off if you simply regret it. You must learn from it so that you never hurt another like that again. Everyone makes mistakes, Ever, but a true leader takes the knowledge he gains with him, and he applies it towards his future.

  “Now,” Garin gave Ever a smile, his eyes crinkling kindly in an expression very different from the one the king had worn when they’d parted. “It’s time for you to sleep. Like Gigi says, tomorrow will be a new day.” Ever had hoped their kind words would make sleep easier, but the moment he shut his eyes, he saw the look of hurt and betrayal in those dark eyes again.

  The incident took longer to forget than he’d hoped, but eventually, with the help of his father, he learned to shut it out, along with any other distractions that bothered him or might steal his attention from defense of the kingdom. For that was his duty, his father said.

  “Other kings live in soulless buildings, cold and austere, castles that provide little motivation for defense other than their own personal comforts. But this place, our Fortress,” he ran his hand lovingly over the marble walls as they walked. “This Fortress is the source of our strength. It is what sets us apart from others of our rank. It must be protected at all costs, and its kingdom as well. There is no other like it, and there never will be again. And it knows,” he had turned a sharp eye to his son, “when we lose our focus. Keep your eyes on the horizon, Everard. You never know who might be coming to steal that focus and this Fortress from you.”