Rainbow Tales

Once upon a time, in a small and far away kingdom, there was a young, spoilt prince; his name was Nathaniel. His parents doted on him, and though they were sweet and kind and regal, he was not. He was short-tempered with the staff, the servants, and his peers. He was blessed with good looks: pale skin, big blue eyes framed by dark lashes, thick, curly, auburn hair, full lips, a square jaw, height, and a muscular frame. He was swoon material, and he knew it. Young women were always interested in him, but he wasn’t particularly interested in them. No young woman he met caught his interest, and he often rebuffed them in the cruelest manner. No one dared to complain to the king and queen about their son’s behavior, so they were naïvely unaware. Nathaniel slowly came to realize that he was attracted to other young men. He lingered at training sessions and fighting practices. The muscular arms, shoulders, backs, and chests of boys and men excited and humiliated him. Homosexuality was unheard of; males liked females, and females liked males. There was not a male-likes-male or female-likes-female option. He, on the other hand, would get hard-ons looking at and thinking about certain young men. He even dreamed about them. He m*********d thinking about young men—particularly about Luke—his regular sparring partner. When Nathaniel was eighteen, he was particularly cruel to Isadora, the daughter of his parents’ envoy to the neighboring kingdom to the south. She paid a lot of attention to him, and he made fun of her clothes, her looks, and her attempts to flirt with him. He had the audacity to call her a cow at a court party, and, mortified, she ran out of the party and sought the solace of the gardens. A sobbing young woman in the royal gardens caught the attention of Fairy Kate. “Why do you cry, child?” Kate asked. “Prince Nathaniel was beastly to me. He ridiculed me in front of everyone. He called me a cow,” she sobbed. Fairies, especially fairy queens, did not tolerate extreme vanity in humans, and Fairy Kate was a fairy queen. “Beastly?” Fairy Kate repeated, grinning with a sudden satisfaction. “I like it. Beastly he will become. I’ll test him first, but I have heard about him before. A reckoning is in order.” And with that, Fairy Kate left the young woman and waited. On a stormy night, Fairy Kate sensed that activity in the castle was low. She sensed the young prince near the kitchens and knocked on the back door, transforming herself into the shape of a poor, old woman. A servant answered the door, and Kate asked to be let in from the storm and given a bite to eat. The servant led the old woman into the castle immediately and led her to the fire. The prince, seeing the old woman, was aghast. “What are you doing?” he asked the servant. “My prince, in this storm, we are obligated to give shelter and aid,” she answered. “To this Troll?” he answered. “She is odious. Get her out of here. I will not stand her presence.” The servant stared at him. “My prince, it is not done. You could hurt yourself. She could hurt you.” “That hag? How on earth could she hurt me? She is nothing, a beggar,” he scoffed. “Please my prince, the fairy folk test us. If you fail the test, I hate to think of what could happen,” stammered the servant. “The fairy folk—do you believe in such old wives’ tales? Out! Get her out!” he screamed. Mortified, the servant turned to Kate, “Oh, my lady, have mercy on me. I must obey my master.” “A blessing be upon you, my child. I am not dismayed by you. You tried to warn him,” and she turned and looked at the prince and transformed into her most radiant fairy queen self. Nathaniel was stunned, and he was suddenly afraid. He had revealed his most uncharitable nature to a fairy queen. He couldn’t imagine the punishment. “My lady,” he began. “Silence, it is too late for apologies. You were beastly to Isadora and to me, and so a beast you will be and remain forever more unless you convince a mortal to love you,” she smiled in sweet satisfaction as she spoke the words, because she couldn’t imagine his arrogant personality ever swaying a mortal’s heart beyond the monster she would make him appear to be. She raised her hand toward him, and he felt it rip through him: pain and transformation. His body twisted and grew and sprouted. He grew huge: seven-foot, hair sprouted all over him, his jaw extended with his teeth turning to fangs, his hands and feet transformed into paws with claws. He howled in rage. Rage—human reason in this form was difficult to attain and almost impossible to verbalize—he howled again. The fairy disappeared, and he raged against himself in the castle. He ripped through rooms, destroying everything in his reach. He refused to look at himself in a mirror. Finally, he took himself outside and simply ran on four legs through the forest. He had done this to himself. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. His mother had told him story after story about the dangers of vanity and false pride. Zeus and Hermes, the Ancient Greek gods, were notorious for disguising themselves as beggars and visiting humans to see if the unsuspecting humans showed the proper deference to a guest. One old couple, he remembered from the stories, had given the disguised Zeus and Hermes the best of everything they had and had been rewarded with a never-emptying stew pot and a never-emptying wine jug. Hubris, arrogance, human pride, had brought him to this, to being a beast. As he calmed down slightly, analyzing his situation, he realized that he could sense the other animals in the forest. What surprised him was that the other predators were wary and scared of him. Was he so monstrous that he frightened even wolves, bears, and beasts of the forest? Yes, apparently so. When he was absolutely exhausted, he returned to the castle, found his bed, and passed out. The light streaming through the windows woke him the next morning. Nathaniel lifted his head, and he saw himself in the mirror. He was like some kind of werewolf: huge, fury, fanged, clawed, hideous, an animal. He shattered the mirror. He wandered the castle and found that he was utterly alone. His life was horrid for a long time. He ran in the forest and through the grounds. He destroyed different parts of the castle, but he never touched his parents’ apartments. Their spaces were the only places he found holy, touched with the unconditional love they had always shown him and, therefore, worthy of a reverence he had not shown other castle spaces in his rage and anger. The castle provided for his wants and needs. A bath was provided for him at six in the evening, and the family dining room produced dinner for him at seven. Sometimes he ate there, but more often than not, his attempts at civilized eating infuriated him. He could not handle the cutlery with his paws and claws. Even handling the fine china plates and dishes reminded him of how different it had been when he was human. Thus, he often ate in the forest, taking down a deer, a beaver, or some other animal and eating it raw like the beast he was. He longed for company, any company. He had never realized how devastating it was to be isolated and alone. Even the taunting fairy would be better than this abandonment. In fairness, he knew the fairy had not taunted him; she had corrected and punished him for his inappropriate behavior. But this knowledge did not end his loneliness. He started to seek out people—the odd wood gatherer or traveler—but whenever he revealed himself, they screamed and ran off in terror. After several years of misery and isolation, he ran across an old woman who was preparing to camp in the woods for the night. Her grandson was out collecting firewood. She was sitting on log by the fire. She sensed him and called out to him. “Hello, Stranger. Come and warm yourself by our fire. Can I offer you some tea?” she said kindly. It had been so long that Nathaniel couldn’t resist. “I don’t want to frighten you or impose,” he said hesitantly. “Nonsense,” she said laughing at the thought. “Where are you from?” she asked. “Not far. There is a castle through the forest,” he began. He wondered when she would start screaming as he drew close to the fire and to her, but she just sat there contentedly. When he sat down on the ground near her, she reached out with a tin mug of steaming tea for him. He was sure that she could see his face, though he kept up the hood of his cloak, and she could see also his clawed paws, and yet, she did not seem phased. By the light of the fire, he could see that she had light brown skin, dark hair streaked with grey which was braided in a single plait, and dark eyes. He took the mug from her awkwardly and thanked her for it. “You’re welcome,” she answered. “A castle? There was the Brandenberg Castle, but there was a great tragedy there. I thought it was abandoned,” she said slowly. “What is your name?” “I am Nathaniel,” he answered quietly. He couldn’t look at her. “Nathaniel Brandenberg?” she whispered. He knew she knew then, by the way she whispered his name, and their chance encounter was about to be over. She would scream, and the grandson would come, and they would run away and never speak to him again. It was all too much. He started sobbing and choked out his response, “Yes…I am…he,” and he forced himself to look at her. For the first time, he noticed that her brown eyes were rimmed with a whitish blue. Her face searching his, did not fill with terror but with a dawning sadness, and he realized that she was blind. “You can’t see me, can you? What is your name?” he asked softly. “No, I can’t see you, Nathan.” He gasped. His mother called him that. “I am Gwyneth, and I know you beyond your name. Do you know me?” she asked, a smile forming on her lips. Gwyneth was the midwife who attended his mother through her miscarriages and then through his birth. There had been something she had said about his destiny after he was born. He had been told, but he couldn’t remember. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “You were my mother’s midwife. You birthed me,” he said overwhelmed by the emotions that crashed over him—memories of his parents, his mother, their life as it had once been. He started sobbing again. “I warned her,” Gwyneth whispered. “The night you were born, the stars, the portents were…ominous. The deaths of the others…they would worship you too much, your parents. You could become the kingdom’s undoing. And you have, haven’t you, my child,” she added solemnly. He choked out the words, “It…is…everything…you…say. I was spoilt. I insulted a fairy queen. I…am…a…beast,” he said. She got up then. She was a tiny, little woman, but she sat down next to him and hugged him. He was so stunned at the gesture, at the contact, at the forwardness, that he didn’t resist. He sobbed onto her shoulder, and he realized that she rocked him back and forth against her body. He sobbed harder; he was so lonely. This was the only contact with another human being he had had in so long. “Grandmother?” a voice called, the voice tinged with surprise and alarm. The old midwife released Nathaniel and turned her face to the voice, “Beau, do not be alarmed. We have a guest,” she said firmly. The firewood that had been in the young man’s arms crashed to the ground. Nathaniel saw the young man’s face change from alarmed surprise to full alarm and revulsion as he saw Nathaniel’s face and paws clearly. “Gran, that is not a guest; it is a beast. Get away from it,” and he drew a large knife from its sheath at his side. “Beau, I know what you see, but the beast you see is not all he is. He is a young man underneath, and that is the part you can’t see. Put the knife away and throw some new logs on the fire,” she said commandingly. She waited, but the young man was frozen, gaping at her as if she had lost her mind. “Beau!” Her shouting his name seemed to pull him back to himself. He hesitated, but then did as she asked, sheathing the knife and reaching for two of the logs he had dropped, throwing them on the fire. He kept his distance from Nathaniel and sat on the log near his grandmother. She patted his knee once he was seated. “Beau, this is Nathaniel Brandenberg. Nathan, this is my grandson, Beau.” The young man again was staring at his grandmother as if she had completely lost her mind. “That’s not possible, Gran,” he began, but she interrupted him. “Nathan, tell Beau your story, all of it,” she said demandingly. That two people were still sitting with him, even though they knew what he was, was a miracle in and of itself. He dared not hope for anything further. He sensed that only complete honesty and humility with them would be tolerated. As a midwife, Gwyneth would have heard and seen it all (heard every lie and seen every deviant thing a human could do), and he had nothing more to lose. So, he told them of his spoilt childhood and the vanity and arrogance and distain he felt for others, except his parents. He told them how he hid his behavior from his parents who had always tried to teach him to be kind, generous, and empathetic. He told them about his indifference toward young women. He told them about his attraction to certain young men. He told them about what he said to Isadora and then to the Fairy Kate. He told them about his transformation and his years isolated and lonely in the castle. Lastly, he told them about his attempts to see others and about his encounter with them. He had watched their faces intently as he told his story. Both the grandmother and Beau had suppressed their reactions at two points of his story: his indifference to young women and his attraction to young men. Were they shocked and revolted? Surely, the old woman had known of same s*x relationships; she was a midwife. He couldn’t be the only young man who got turned on by other young men, could he? The old woman had flashed a look at her grandson, and he had blushed and carefully avoided returning her look. Nathaniel knew that her eyes couldn’t see, but her other senses must react in such a way as to give her an accurate enough impression of what was going on. It was as if she could see through her blind eyes. What did that mean? He gasped suddenly. What if Beau also was indifferent to young women and liked young men? He couldn’t imagine the emotions flashing over his face, but he doubted that they could read them through the fur and beast’s muzzle. He forced his face into the most neutral expression he could manage. The old lady was watching him intently with her blind eyes. A smile played at the edges of her mouth, and Nathaniel could have sworn that she made the tiniest nod of her head as if she had read his thoughts and was confirming their accuracy. “How long?” Beau asked, a mix of emotions playing across his face, shock, sympathy, confusion, and curiosity. Nathaniel looked at Beau before he answered. Beau had the same dark looks as his grandmother: he had light brown skin; dark, glossy, curly, short hair; sparkling, and strangely tender-looking, dark eyes; and though he was modestly dressed, his muscular frame was pronounced through his clothing. He was very different looking than the fair haired and blue-eyed Luke, but Beau was strikingly attractive, at least to Nathaniel. Nathaniel answered hesitantly, “I am not sure. It has been years, but when everything was misery, I stopped paying attention. I just don’t know.” Nathaniel’s mind filled with the memories of the endless days of isolation and loneliness. Gwyneth’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “My prince, why don’t you allow us to accompany you to the castle?” That she could call him prince shocked him more than he could have possibly imagined. His animal rage flared. “Don’t call me that,” he said harshly. “I am a beast; there is nothing noble left.” Though he spoke harshly, she was unintimidated by his words. He guessed that women in the throes of childbirth had said unimaginable things to her (curses, threats, promises of vengeance). “But you are not a true beast. You are a human in a beastly form. Find your better nature and redeem yourself,” she said quietly. Nathaniel stared at her. Redemption, could it be possible for him? He shook his head softly. “We have brown bread and cheese, Nathan,” Beau said quietly. Nathaniel was surprised at being called by the endearment, but the young man’s grandmother had used the name, so he understood. Beau rummaged in a bag by the fire and doled out the bread and cheese. Gwyneth got them all more tea. Nathaniel pushed back the hood of his cloak. He looked at Gwyneth as he did so, but the woman’s expression only showed warmth, and perhaps, slight appreciation at being trusted with such a revelation. Nathaniel next sought Beau’s face, which seemed to hold curiosity more than anything. Once they had eaten their small meal, Gwyneth insisted on bed. Beau produced blankets from another bag, and they gathered themselves around the fire to sleep. Nathaniel, before sleep overtook him, felt profound relief. He was connected to people again. There was an irony to the fact that an old woman was that vehicle since an old woman (at least so he thought) had been the vehicle to his isolation. He felt hope for the first time in a long time. Even if neither of them came to love him, he would not be alone, and then sleep claimed him. When the old woman stirred in the early morning, Nathaniel’s beastly senses woke him, and he offered to get fresh water. By the time he returned, she had rekindled the coals from the fire and had the tea leaves in a pot waiting for the water. Beau still slept, so they spoke quietly to each other. “You do not have to come to the castle with me,” Nathaniel said, knowing that it was true and yet wanting it more desperately than he had ever wanted anything. “No, we don’t. But I am a midwife, and my primary task is to relieve suffering. You are suffering, and so is my grandson, though he will not speak of it to me,” she said quietly. Nathaniel knew only too well his own suffering and pushed it from his mind. He knew also that when the old woman spoke of her grandson’s suffering, she was speaking of Beau’s attraction to young men. “You are not repulsed?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Child, insecure and hypocritical men are repulsed or fake repulsion. Love and desire are what separate human beings from the animals. Animals reproduce by instinct, not love or desire. s****l attraction and pleasure, not reproduction, drive human relationships. As a midwife, I know this. Just because reproduction happens between a male and a female doesn’t mean that all males are sexually attracted to females or all females are sexually attracted to males. Neither does it mean that the s*x between a male and a female is pleasurable. It should be, mind you. However, if pleasure is the defining characteristic of s****l relations, which I believe it should be, take pleasure where you will, female-male, male-female, male-male, female-female, and any other coupling you can think of among consenting human beings.” Nathaniel stared her open mouthed. “How can you say those things?” he asked. She looked at him with all the compassion of her calling, “I bring life into the world, and I try to alleviate suffering. We are all God’s creatures. I refuse to believe in a punitive model of God’s relationship with human beings. A parent, a true parent, loves all his or her children, regardless of their idiosyncrasies and differences from their peers, their parents, or even their siblings. You are different for many reasons, Nathan. You are a prince, whether you acknowledge that or not. You are your parents’ child—a position I hope you reclaim. And you like other young men—a situation you are not alone in—and you being open about that could change the world for all those young men (and others) who have, like yourself, hidden for too long. You all should come out and be who you want to be and love who you want to love.” He could only stare at her. He had hoped with wild desperation that she might understand, but that she could articulate his barely self-acknowledged longings was incomprehensible to him. “Gwyneth…I am…just a beast,” he said. “No, Nathan, no beast of the forest could talk to me of such things. Be the human being that you can be.” She stood up, and for a tiny, old woman, her presence was powerful. Perhaps it was all the lives that she had brought into the world or saved from worms or whatever illness or broken bone. He quavered under her penetrating blind gaze. “I am…unworthy,” he choked out. “So, make yourself worthy,” she spat back at him in a challenge. Worthy? If he were worthy, he could be loved. “I will try,” he answered. “There are some who would answer that to try is not enough, but I will accept you trying,” she answered. Beau stirred, and Nathaniel and Gwyneth stopped talking and got a small breakfast together. With Beau up and about, they ate quietly and then packed up their things. The walk to the castle started well, but after a short time, the old woman was clearly struggling. Just as Nathaniel felt a tinge of annoyance at having to slow his pace, he realized that the logical thing to do was to carry the old woman. Beau could do it, but Nathaniel was much bigger and stronger. He stopped and turned to face them. “Nathan?” the old woman asked. He smiled, or tried to; he wasn’t sure he pulled it off too well. “Let me carry you,” he said softly, and he took off his cloak and knelt so that she could climb on his back. “No, my prince, it would be unfitting,” she said backing away from him, but he reached out and took her hand in his paw. “There is no kingdom, so there is no prince. You honor me with your company. The journey is hard for you, but it is nothing to me. Allow me to ease your passage.” He saw her face change from resistant to something softer and more accepting. He let go of her hand, and he turned to Beau who watched them both in surprise, “When she is in place, can you tie the cloak around us, to hold her better?” Beau took the cloak and nodded. The old woman climbed on Nathaniel’s back hesitantly. She was so tiny that her arms around his neck were almost uncomfortably tight, and her little legs barely reached around his waist. Beau wrapped the cloak around the two of them, his fingers fumbling awkwardly and his face flushing slightly as he tied the edges of the cloak across Nathaniel’s chest. Once the cloak was secured, the old woman was able to loosen her hold, and Nathaniel laughed. It was strange sounding to him. A kind of bark with a laugh in it. He realized that he had never laughed in his beastly form. The thought was like a kind of grief—for all that he had lost. “What is so funny?” she asked, a tinge of irritation in her voice. Her question and her tone jolted him back to himself. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “You’re just so light and tiny, like a child,” he answered. More quietly, he added, “It has been so long,” and he could hear the ache in his voice. He hadn’t been touched since he had been transformed, except when she had hugged him the night before. She seemed to read his thoughts. “Like a child, am I? Perhaps, then, it is fitting. It seems like yesterday when I held you, cleaned you up, and handed you back to your mother.” He couldn’t see her face, but her voice was gentle, and he felt her tiny hands patting his neck. He was touched more than he could say. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Don’t dwell on what you can’t change,” she said softly, and there was a sadness in her voice. Nathaniel wondered what was the cause of that sadness. “Why did you leave the castle?” he asked. “A blind midwife isn’t very useful,” she answered stiffly. “I chose to leave, to return to my family and life in the villages,” her voice was warmer. “Beau is studying with me; it is unusual for a male to train as a healer, but then Beau is an unusual young man,” her voice filled with pride. Beau’s head turned toward them at the mention of his name. “What are you two talking about?” he asked. “I was just talking about your training,” she answered raising her voice so that he could hear her clearly. “Tell us a story,” she commanded. Beau obeyed and launched into the story of “The Happy Prince.” Nathaniel listened, fascinated and charmed by the story. The prince and the male swallow clearly loved each other. It was a sad and sweet story. He wished it had a happy ending instead of the tragic one. The story had an author unlike traditional fairy tales, Oscar Wilde. Clearly, this man lived in a kingdom that did not condone male-male relationships—that had to be the cause of the tragic ending. They could love each other, but the people would reject them. Despite the intolerance of the people, God and the angel knew the love and sacrifices of the prince and the swallow were the worthiest things in the town. There was hope in that, Nathaniel thought. They passed the rest of the journey amicably. The castle came into view, and he heard Beau gasp. He smiled. He hadn’t felt pride at the sight of his home in a long time. Then he thought of the damage he had done, and he was filled with shame. His body stiffened with tension. “What is it?” the old woman asked. “After I was transformed, I was very, very angry,” he said quietly. “Much of the castle…” but he couldn’t finish. “You raged through the castle. I can imagine. It will give Beau and me something to do,” she said softly, patting his neck again for reassurance, and they both felt the tension leave his body. On the grounds, Nathaniel knelt, and Beau untied the cloak and helped his grandmother down from Nathaniel’s back. They entered the castle through the kitchens. Beau whistled at the destruction. “Is it like this everywhere?” he asked, more with curiosity than condescension. Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably. “Not my parents’ apartments. I will show you to those rooms. You must be tired.” “My prince, we could not,” the old woman said firmly. “You must stop calling me that,” he said more loudly than he intended. “Alright,” she said, “but then you must call me Gwyn.” Nathaniel reigned in his emotions, “Okay, Gwyn,” he said in a more measured tone. “My parents’ apartments are the only rooms in which it would not humiliate me to put you.” “Nathan, Beau and I will find a room or rooms that we can tidy up and be happy with. We are servants,” she began. “No!” he said so loudly than she and Beau both jumped. “You are my guests, and I am a beast,” he said lowering his voice in response to their reactions. Recognizing the pain in his voice, she smiled, a warm, grandmotherly smile, full of understanding and compassion, “Show us the way.” She was humoring him, Nathaniel knew. He led them through the halls and up the stairs. Beau took special care to lead his grandmother so that she wouldn’t trip. They passed room after room; most bore witness to previous violence. “Which ones are yours?” Beau asked, but he was amused. “They are coming up, Beau,” he said dryly. Turning a corner, Nathaniel waved toward a door on the right, “These are my apartments,” he said solemnly. Beau ducked his head in and saw the overturned bookcase in the study and saw past that to the bedroom with the smashed mirror. He whistled again. “You must have been really angry.” “You have no idea,” Nathaniel answered bitterly. “Being a beast didn’t help either. I lost it for days. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I would run through the grounds or through the forest. Anything to burn off the anger and rage.” “Well, you are not alone now,” Gwyn said gently. Nathaniel turned and looked at her, “No. Thank you for being here,” he said sincerely. “Whose rooms are these?” Beau asked. “They don’t look disturbed.” Nathaniel followed Beau into the rooms across from his rooms, taking a turn at leading Gwyn. Once inside the rooms, he stared around him wildly. He remembered slashing through these rooms almost as viciously as his own rooms, but they were in perfect order now. The bookcase, the chairs, the tables, the bed. There was a note on the bed. “What is it, Nathan?” Gwyn asked. She couldn’t see the rooms, but she could read the distress and tension in his body. “I destroyed these rooms,” Nathaniel answered. Beau had walked to the bed and picked up the note. “Um, these are apparently my rooms,” he said, holding out the note, with a surprised look on his face. “The castle is enchanted,” Nathaniel said hesitantly. “Perhaps…” “Perhaps it knew we were coming?” Gwyn finished for him. She sounded excited. “Do I have rooms?” She tugged at his paw, and he laughed his strange barky laugh. “Let’s find out,” he said, caught up with her excitement. “The castle has never fixed itself before,” he mused. “Perhaps it is not the only one changed,” and she squeezed his paw. He felt the tears prick in his eyes, “Perhaps,” he said in a strangled voice, and he felt her squeeze his paw again. Gently, he squeezed back. They crossed the hall again, and the rooms were again in order though he remembered trashing them. More interesting to him was that they were decorated in a more feminine manner than his or Beau’s. Different than his mother’s rooms but distinctly feminine. Additionally, there was a hand rail that ran at waist-level around the walls of the rooms. Nathaniel led Gwyn to the rail and put her hand on it. The rail was at her precise waist-level. Holding the railing, Gwyn navigated the first room. She was approaching a set of chairs and a table that obstructed her way, and Nathaniel was about to cry out, but she stopped suddenly, and successfully felt her way around the obstructions. “How did you do that?” he asked. “The rail told me the chairs and table were there,” she said in wonder. Then after a moment, she said, “Describe the rooms to me?” “The walls are painted a marigold yellow,” Nathaniel answered. “I so love yellows,” she said absently. “There are solid, golden-colored, velvet curtains at the windows,” he continued. “The bedding looks to be of the same golden velvet. There are flowers, roses, in vases, throughout the apartment. Your study has books and a desk.” He fell silent as he watched her cross into the other room to the bed and feel the coverlet. Though she was an old woman, her excitement made her seem like a small girl. “I feel like a princess,” she said, giddy with enthusiasm, making her giggle and laugh at herself. “Our rooms here are bigger than our cottage, Beau.” She flopped herself onto the bed. “It is so soft. It is like lying on feathers.” Nathaniel was both pleased and ashamed by Gwyn’s pleasure in her apartments. She had been a trusted member of the royal household, but only as a servant. These rooms were grand compared to the servant quarters but nothing like the grandeur of his parents’ apartments. What he took for granted was made splendid and special through Gwyn’s vision of it. “They will always be your rooms, Gwyn, for as long as you live, whether you visit often or only rarely,” he said with conviction. Gwyn sat up and looked at him, “Nathan, you can’t do that.” Yes, he could. Whether she understood it or not, she and Beau were his family now, his only tie to his humanity. They had not run from him screaming in the forest, and they had agreed to stay with him. He would owe them more than they could possibly imagine. Before he could get emotional on that point, he shifted his thoughts. “Dinner is at seven, usually, in the family dining room. The castle usually provides me with a bath at six, just in case it does it for you as well. We have a couple of hours until then, but you may like to rest and get to know your rooms, so I will take my leave and look forward to seeing you at dinner,” Nathaniel bowed to them and left. Nathaniel entered his own rooms a little bewildered. The castle had cleaned up Gwyn’s and Beau’s rooms but not his. Why? Perhaps it was not ready to accept that his rages were over. Could he really blame it? The first ones had lasted for days. A day of civilized behavior on his part was nothing compared to before. Instead of retiring to his room, he wandered the castle, following his paths of devastation and regretting them. Eventually, he retired to his rooms. He took the bath with more pleasure than he had ever remembered. Despite his fur and his claws and fangs, the water made him feel clean for the first time in a long time. After his bath, he found dress clothes in his closet, and dressed with anticipation. Dinner was lovely. Though Nathaniel had smashed dishes and thrown cutlery in the family dining room, it had escaped relatively unscathed, and whatever damage he had inflicted, the castle seemed to have mended, so that the room was as elegant and welcoming as it had been before Nathaniel’s transformation. Beau looked unbelievable cleaned up, in a smart suit, smiling from ear to ear. Gwyn was bursting with happiness; her dress of golden silk flattered her frame in all the right places. The table was set when they entered, the fire was comforting, and then the food just appeared on their plates—their favorite dishes. Beau helped his grandmother into her seat, and then he and Nathaniel seated themselves. Nathaniel was at the head of the table, with Gwyn at his right side and with Beau at his left. Nathaniel’s meal was fingerling potatoes, cut glazed carrots, and beef steak which had been cut into strips. Though he was relieved that the steak had been cut, he flushed with embarrassment, as he considered what a fool he would have made of himself trying to use the silverware. Gwyn, perhaps sensing his tension, turned her face toward him. He clenched his jaw and concentrated on trying to pick up his fork. It fell from his clumsy paw, and he resisted the urge to slam his fisted paw onto the table. Fury coursed through him, but Gwyn’s voice intruded on his dark thoughts. “I have always thought that the excesses of table manners were ridiculous,” she said softly, “and since the castle has gone to such trouble to give us all relatively bite sized portions and I can’t see where the food on my plate is, I hope you won’t mind if I use my fingers.” She then moved her hand over her plate and found a piece of roasted potato and popped it into her mouth. Nathaniel stared at her, his fury melted away, and he felt only gratitude and compassion. Gwyn could hold the cutlery in her human hands, but she was right. Without her vision, she would not be able to spear the food on her plate with her fork without hacking at it. His paws were still clumsy, but he could spear his food with his claws and eat it effectively. Beau, perhaps also sensing the tension in the room, breathed an audible sigh of relief, grabbed a piece of roasted duck with his fingers, and said, “Sounds great to me, Gran. I never know which damn fork you are supposed to use with what anyway.” Then he put the duck in his mouth and ate it. After that, they ate their meal contentedly and talked comfortably about what they might do the following day. It was decided that they would work at cleaning up the castle in the morning, and then in the afternoon, Nathaniel and Beau would go through the grounds and perhaps some of the forest to collect herbs and items that Gwyn always liked to have on hand as a midwife, and that Beau should have experience preparing. Then, if they had time, Nathaniel had promised to train Beau in fighting skills, his beastly form permitted. After dinner, Nathaniel led them across the hall to a small chamber he had not entered in years. Comfortable chairs and sofas were grouped together. There was a piano forte and several other kinds of musical instruments along the back wall. After Gwyn was seated in a comfortable chair, Beau picked up a fiddle and played folk songs, and so they spent a pleasant evening before retiring to their rooms for the night. When the sun streamed through his windows, Nathaniel woke. He lay quietly for a while, feeling content and almost happy. He was not alone anymore, and he felt comfortable in the company of Gwyn and Beau, even though he was a beast. He looked forward to the day, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like that. Sitting up, he gasped in surprise. His mirror was intact, completely mended, as were the other things he had broken in his rage. Tears pricked in his eyes; perhaps Gwyn was right, and the castle noticed that he was changed. He dashed the thoughts from his mind. It was dangerous to hope for too much. He rose and washed and dressed himself. He knocked lightly on Gwyn’s door, and she opened it almost immediately. They exchanged pleasantries, and he escorted her to the family dining room where a light breakfast was set out for them. Though the table was set for three, Beau was apparently sleeping in, as could be expected from a young man—who wasn’t a beast. While waiting Beau’s arrival, Gwyn suggested that Nathaniel read to her. He agreed, and he left her seated by the fire on a padded bench while he retrieved a book from the library. He braced himself at the door. The second day after his transformation, he had tried to read a book to distract himself, but he couldn’t turn the pages and had wrecked the place. To his amazement, the library was perfectly in order when he opened the door. All the books were in place and nothing was broken. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.” A book lay on the nearest table, John Milton’s Paradise Lost. It seemed fitting somehow, so he took the book and returned to Gwyn. He sat next to her on the bench and held out the book to her. She took it, opened it, and turned the pages until he told her where to stop. They read together like that: he reading the words and telling her when he finished a page, and she turning the pages for him and listening to the story. They hadn’t gotten very far when Beau joined them. He begged them not to stop, got himself a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and joined them near the fire to listen to the story. After Beau had eaten, they made their way to the kitchens to start cleaning at least one of them. To their surprise, one of the kitchens was already completely in order. Nathaniel quickly explained about his room and the library. Nathaniel led Gwyn to a table and chair, and he and Beau brought her jumbles of things that she could sort by shape and feel, like silverware and napkins and such. Nathaniel got out a broom and dustpan and set about sweeping up broken china and pottery. Beau picked up scattered pots and pans, washed them, dried them, and then put them away. After about an hour between the three of them, that kitchen was in order, so they moved on to the larger kitchen. This one took them two hours, but when it was done, Nathaniel felt so much pride and satisfaction that it surprised him. In his previous life, he had never really had to clean things. The servants had done all that, but completing the task from start to finish, seeing the transformation of the room from chaos to order, fixing a mess that he had made—all of these things gave him pleasure—and best of all, the work was much more pleasant in the company of others. Sometimes they talked, but other times they just worked in a companionable silence. When they were done, they returned to the family dining room and found lunch waiting for them. After they had eaten, both Nathaniel and Beau expressed concern about leaving Gwyn all alone for the afternoon, but she scoffed at them. She had found a knitting basket in her apartments and had started on a shawl for herself. She knit so well that she didn’t need to see what she did; she could feel what she did and needed to do. She had them escort her back to her rooms, showed them her newly started project, and sent them on their way. Beau brought his knife, a basket and a sack from the kitchens in which they could store their finds. The castle’s kitchen gardens were not in as bad a shape as Beau had assumed. They were full of weeds, of course, but a lot of the herbs were still alive, fighting for their space among the weeds. Beau cut swatches of lavender, rosemary, chamomile, tansy, peppermint, spearmint, and sage. He found rosehips in the formal gardens and collected those along with a range of different medicinal flowers like roses, foxgloves, dandelions, and pansies. Next, they set out for the forest. Beau was remarkably good at finding certain kinds of mushrooms, and he even found some truffles. Nathaniel watched Beau work with fascination. Some tasks Nathaniel could help with, but though he couldn’t help with the majority, it was still interesting and educational to watch Beau foraging. Beau tried to explain what each item was and how it could be used in various remedies, poultices and other healing means. He was kind and patient and very much like his grandmother, Nathaniel realized. When they returned after several hours, Nathaniel went to get Gwyn. Beau set out the different things on a big kitchen table in the smallest kitchen and got bowls for some things and string and scissors for tying up herbs to dry. Then the boys left Gwyn to work in the kitchen while they experimented in the training yard. By trial and error, they found that Nathaniel could wield a staff, while Beau tried to come at him with a sword. Nathaniel was over a foot taller than Beau and much stronger and faster. They were in fact quite evenly matched, despite Nathaniel’s extensive former training, which gave him an advantage. It was thrilling to do something more physical than just run. They spent several hours going after each other until they were both dripping with sweat, thoroughly sore, and nursing various bruises and abrasions. They walked back to the castle together to see to Gwyn. She was waiting for them. Bunches of herbs had been tied together, and she had lengths of string ready for them. She put them to work, hanging the herb bunches to ceiling beams where they would dry. After the herbs, came the flowers. The rosehips would dry in a colander, and she had placed the mushrooms and truffles near the stove in case the magical beings who created the castle’s enchantments, wanted to use them for the food. They retired to their rooms, badly in need of their waiting baths. Dinner was again delightful. They ate contentedly and shared the events of their separate activities. After dinner, instead of music, Beau read to them from Paradise Lost until it was time for bed. After retiring to his room, Nathaniel spent a lot of time thinking about his day, especially his time alone with Beau. He had not allowed himself to do so before, because he did not want any awkwardness between them, but now it was all he could think about. He thought about Beau’s quiet gentleness and grace, his kindness and patience, his beauty. He was beautiful, a dark Adonis, and they had touched while training. Nathaniel tried to empty his mind, but he couldn’t. He kept thinking about Beau, wanting to touch him more, and wanting Beau to touch him in return. The days fell into a happy rhythm, cleaning in the morning with Gwyn and then Nathaniel and Beau foraging or training until it was time for dinner. On the odd rainy day, they played games or read in the afternoon. Nathaniel and Gwyn usually paired off against Beau in games. He became her eyes, and she became his hands. As the days turned into weeks and months, they grew incredibly close. Nathaniel wasn’t sure exactly when it had first started, but Gwyn’s good morning and good night kisses seemed so natural to him that it was hard to imagine life without them. The one pattern that did change was that one morning, there wasn’t a room in the castle that needed cleaning. They had either cleaned those that were damaged or the castle had mended them. In the absence of that chore, they read or played games in the mornings until the young men went out on their own. A couple of other things changed as well. Nathaniel’s feelings for Beau only strengthened in intensity, and Beau began reciprocating those feelings. They held hands occasionally. In addition to training with the staff and the sword, they competed without weapons, which almost always disintegrated into a wrestling match. During one such bout, Nathaniel had Beau pinned beneath him, his weight and height making it easy for him to do. Beau had been struggling against him, but then suddenly stopped, and when Nathaniel looked down at him, Beau was staring at him, his lips parted, his breathing heavy, and a hunger in his eyes that made Nathaniel gasp. Nathaniel pulled away slightly. “Nathan?” he heard Beau ask him. “You can’t want me. I am a beast,” he said bitterly. “You’re not a beast. I do want you. Gran and I both love you; surely, you know that, don’t you?” Beau asked. “Love me?” the words were strangled. They were everything Nathaniel had ever hoped for, and yet he didn’t feel worthy of them. “Let me touch you,” Beau pleaded, and he reached out his hand to touch Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel felt as if he was melting, his fur, his size, his shape. The next thing he knew, he could feel Beau’s hand on his bare skin. Beau looked just as surprised as he felt. “Nathan, you’re human again,” Beau whispered. Nathaniel couldn’t believe it. He wept, and Beau wrapped his arms around him and let him cry. When the tears stopped, Beau kissed him. Nathaniel had wanted to do this for so long that he nearly started weeping again. The kisses slowly deepened, and they touched each other. In between touching and stroking, they made each other come, both feeling happy and content. Then they shrugged into their clothes to go and find Gwyn. Nathaniel struggled with his overly large clothes, but he didn’t mind. To their surprise, Gwyn was not alone in the kitchens. Fairy Kate was with her. Both women were seated and beaming at them. “Prince Nathaniel, I have never been so happy to have been wrong,” the fairy queen said with a radiant smile. Nathaniel knew not only that the curse was broken, but that he was forgiven, and he felt profoundly humbled. He inclined his head to the fairy queen, “I am not a prince, My Lady, but I am truly grateful to be human again. It was a tough lesson, but I am happier now than ever in my previous life,” he said quietly. “Your kingdom will be returned to you in a short while, and you will be a worthy prince. You and Beau may want to get cleaned up, so that you can greet your parents in proper style,” said the fairy. “My parents…what…do I tell them?” Nathaniel looked awkwardly at Gwyn and the fairy, but they understood that he was thinking about his love for Beau. Gwyn spoke first. “They love you, Nathan, as I love you. They will want your happiness more than anything else. Being different and bringing change is hard, but it is important.” “Plus, I have a gift for each of you,” and Fairy Kate moved forward and gave each young man and Gwyn a kiss on the forehead. “You are all marked with my kiss. It will protect you and bring you luck.” Gwyn gasped suddenly, jumped to her feet, and knelt at the feet of the fairy. “My Lady, how can I thank you?” she began. Fairy Kate held out her hand and pulled Gwyn to her feet. “You are skilled, my dear Gwyneth, and you have much more life to live. To make the most of your skill and aid your people, it is my pleasure to return to you your sight,” she said softly. “It is time for me to leave. Live well, all of you, and love each other,” and she disappeared in a flash of sparkling dust. Nathaniel, Beau and Gwyn hugged each other. They were all so happy and grateful for so many things. They talked excitedly until they retreated to their rooms to get ready. After his bath, Nathaniel stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes, turning and checking to see that no patch of fur lingered on him. He felt amused when he opened his closet and found a completely new wardrobe, designed to fit his human form. Nathaniel, Beau, and Gwyn walked hand-in-hand through the castle to the grand ballroom, and were not surprised to find the castle in a flurry of activity, with servants rushing about and guests milling around. Nathaniel led his friends into the ballroom and froze when he saw his parents. They looked the same as always, utterly unchanged and unharmed. “It’s okay, Nathan; you are the one who has changed, not they,” Gwyn said to him quietly. Nathaniel hugged his parents passionately, and they seemed bemused by his enthusiasm. He presented Gwyn as his permanent guest at the castle, and Beau as his boyfriend. The king and queen welcomed Gwyn and Beau warmly, and with a light and happy heart, Nathaniel and Beau left Gwyn to catch up with the queen while they went to dance the night away.