The blade hits dark brown aromatic soil, loosening it, clearing the last batch of weeds.  Louis takes a deep breath, admiring the five foot lush green bush that sprouts red and white roses.

"Madame Bonnaire you were beside me when the Royal Surgeon spoke to the Court this morning.  The fever broke last night.  Robert, will make a full recovery, all France prays for him."

"May I remind you Sire, four of your older brothers and one sister died in unexplained circumstances?  Your younger brother is merely a pawn in an ongoing game of shadows.  Hedge your bets, protect your line of succession.  I can guarantee you a strong male heir."

The sixteen year old King's thoughts turn to the Queen mother.  She is regent until his eighteenth year.  If his mother was present, she would press her lips to touch worn rosary beads, cross herself saying, "I love you, son, as much as a mother can love her child.  But I rather see you dead at my feet than have you commit mortal sin with that woman."

Taking a deep breath, a smile cracks Louis' otherwise serious face as he shakes off rich soil from his spade.  His long athletic fingers trail delicate, scented petals of his favourite rose bush. Turning towards Madame Bonnaire, he squints against the Summer sunlight that hits his dark blue eyes.  The veined lined back of his muscular hand wipes perspiration from his brow, "Life has a quiet easy rhythm here in the country, away from the formality and politics of the Royal Court."

"No wonder you spend most weekends here," she uncomfortably dabs thickly applied foundation make-up before it runs down her face. Through her dark brown right eye and blue left eye, she closely observes five palace guards standing at attention several feet away. She waves a fan quickly in front of her face in an attempt to keep cool.

She's the only person he knows with the condition, heterochromia iridis. "A few days of simple living, nature and being among my people in the market," his hands gestures in a wide arc showing off the natural beauty around them, "rejuvenates me like nothing else."

"The first air you breathed into your lungs was country air, Sire," Madame Bonnaire cackles when the young King snatches his arm away from manicured fingers that curl around the muscular sinews of his bicep. "A marriage and child will secure your dynasty before there's another unexplained death."

Louis' jaw tightens setting a serious expression on his face. He plants the spade decisively into the ground and straightens to his full height of six feet. "The marriage of a member of the Royal family is contracted by my Ministers-," he suddenly stops. "Should have said our Ministers with our approval and the Dowager Queen until we no longer have need of a Regent. You know that."

"Royal protocol can be waived in a state of emergency. Another one of your brothers will die soon. Tell the Dowager Queen, you married the long term advisor the Court appointed for you. Her Royal Highness trusts me explicitly. She'll approve."

"If you were certain of that, instead of pronouncements, you'd be showing me written consent with royal seals of approval. That aside, when our enemies are not trying to seize border territories, its cloak and dagger disruption of trade routes that feed us, the national priority is a marriage that strengthens ties with neighbours who would rather see your sovereign dead." Unable to hide growing exasperation, Louis' callused hands tighten into fists.

"Madame Bonnaire, your proposal does not make peace. On the contrary, it'll fuel the violence of attacks against us. You've seen the lists of our injured and dead. If a marriage with another royal house is not contracted soon, France will fall."

He sips chilled water from the flask. "Living close to nature and the peasant class here in Avon has taught me that long life and marrying for love, the things poets speak of, are luxuries Royalty cannot afford. We could be poisoned, have our throat slit by an assassin. Our life no matter how long or short, is given in service to France. When our people are hurt or die fighting for us, I feel it right here." Louis' muscular right hand thumps his chest where his heart beats.

"My plans to improve the condition of soldiers, the lives of the poor is fought tooth and nail by nobles that do not work this earth nor pay taxes. I cannot have daily disagreements with my nobles, Advisors in Court and you, a personal Advisor at the royal retreat as well. I rely on your advice when public policy intersects with my personal life, what little there is of it," he sighs wearily.

"Has the peasant girl who's always sneaking in and out of here stolen your heart?"

He raises a hand to silence her. "What is a love match to a monarch whose foremost duty is putting out fires engulfing the nation? Your talents are better employed with the Dowager Queen at the front lines-"

She shakes her head. "Sire, my unquestioning loyalty is to you."

"If that were so, you would not recommend a plan that improves your personal circumstances yet does nothing to reconcile France, our people to our neighbours. I was born fifth in line to the throne but as you noted, the bitter hand of fate made me King four years ago," he suddenly smirks devoid of mirth, "The Dowager Queen will no doubt reward your long service and loyalty." He wonders how long it's taken Madame Bonnaire to feel comfortable enough to grasp an opportunity for self-advancement at the expense of the State.

"I warn you Sire, this is a national security emergency that requires extraordinary measures-"

"Extraordinary, hmmm, I concede that, yes," Louis decisively pulls off his shirt, using it to dab the sweat on his brow, muscular neck and six pack that defines his abdomen. "But to marry you, a woman twice my age when you did not give your first husband a child seems...what's the expression I'm looking for? Ill advised. I take more onerous military duties from our Dowager Queen later this year. You can then return to the luxurious lifestyle of Court."

Madame Bonnaire utters a guttural string of indecipherable words.

Almost instantly Louis' senses become alert, alive to the slightest breeze, scent and feeling. He's hungry, no ravenous, with an irrepressible urge to hunt, tear into warm raw flesh with his bare hands and for his teeth to gnaw then snap bone in his teeth. "What have you done," his dark blue eyes widen changing colour from blue to gold.

"I cast a spell on you, Sire.  You'll live by instinct, your morals and intelligence will erode. Henceforth, you'll be a Beast."

"Why did you do this?"

"You were an intelligent man Sire.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Louis turns his back on her cold hardened face.  His brow furrows, weighing up the options. "Can your spell be broken?"

"In a word, yes.  Make me your queen."

"No," he shakes his head emphatically. "That's never going to happen. Your sovereign marries for the betterment of France. Only France."

"I would have saved you from inbreeding with a royal bride who gives you sickly offspring that don't survive childhood." She laughs maniacally. "But then again, maybe, you'll meet some princess willing to leave a pampered palatial lifestyle to marry a beast of monstrous appearance and mannerisms. No princess, I've ever met, your sisters included, would agree to those terms."

Triumphant at his furrowed brow, she plucks the most beautiful rose from his precious rose bush and continues, "This rose, will be preserved for five years, until your twenty first birthday, after which time, it will wilt and die," she pauses meaningfully, "as will you Beast. Anyone who takes a flower from this bush shortens what's left of your miserable life."

Before Beast can react, Madame Bonnaire glares at him with her dark brown and blue eye. Beast's ears pick up the swish of her silk green gown before it transforms into the pure white fur of a wolf.

The palace guards morph into ferocious wolves.  They look to their Alpha for permission to hunt her down as a pack.  He nods and they silently disappear into the lush vegetation of the forêt de Fontainebleau.

The hair at the back of Beast's hand stands at the slightest breeze. The heat of the midday sun on his skin feels tangible. He sniffs the air sensing fear and rapid heartbeats of prey hiding in the distant woodland. That fear excites every fibre of his being. The need to mark the territory he calls home with his personal scent is overpowering but that is overridden by the anticipation of hunting down and feeding on his prey.

It'll be a blood full moon tonight...

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July, 18, 2016