little prince

"rene has been, and always will be, a prince of france." indie oc son of belle & adam of beauty and the beast affiliated with bcastmade and bcautymade

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ofxavalon.

            “You can’t just pop through time whenever you feel like it. There are consequences. And it is terribly rude.”

                  “YOU WILL HAVE to pardon my manners, then, Monsieur,” René grunted, groping around for SOMETHING with which to cover himself. He had been ASLEEP, sans shirt, and found himself WHENEVER HE WAS. SANS SHIRT. He paused, his mind finally working through what had been said. “You seem to think I could CONTROL this..”

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bcastmade.

“For the sake of my country I’d say the boring option, but for the sake of everything else considered I suppose I’m not unhappy with the cards we’ve been dealt.” How loving that was, he mocked himself. There were far worse things to happen to the son of a King, so this little hiccup seemed like nothing thanks to the health and well being of his son. 

“Though I’m sure you must hate so much travel.”

               “WELL,” HE SAID, leaning forward. “It does help that I always travel light.” Only the clothes on his back ever came with him no matter where he went, forward or backward. He was always deliriously out-of-date or hideously before-his-time, with very little room for anything else. He had learned –– and very quickly –– not to mind the whispers of the court, no matter what time he was in, just as he had taught himself not to interfere in the past or the future, as much as he could. It was why he didn’t tell his parents how he ended up with the particular skill –– or burden –– that he had. It was why he didn’t confide in his father just how excellent he would be, no matter the nerves he could see, every so often, as an echo in the eyes they shared. “I’m glad you’re not unhappy,” René said, meaning every word. Having a stamp of approval from his father BEFORE he was his father felt… VALIDATING. It felt real, without real pretense. “Our next family dinner would be rather awkward if you were, non?”

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bcastmade.

The laugh that leaves him allows his shoulders to relax. It would seem a curse hadn’t been enough to plague the castle, though he can’t say it was the worst thing to happen to him now. Perhaps this was preparation for what was to come, something he knew he would desperately need when the time came. 

“You saying that makes me believe you’re quite the troublemaker.”

                  “WHICH WOULD YOU rather?” René asked in lieu of answering his father’s question outright. It was a trick his father had taught him for DIPLOMACY, though he tended touse it far more often to avoid saying things he’d rather not. “A son who falls through time when the winds change? Or a rather boring heir to the throne?”

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bcautymade.

            ‘ i believe it will always be just a little bit awkward. ‘ still, she was smiling as she embraced him. she hadn’t been prepared for children, not in the least. and then she’d fallen in love with adam and perhaps children with him wouldn’t be so bad. and certainly it seemed that had done a halfway decent job raising him. part of her longed to hold him in her arms as a baby, to know him as more than the man standing in front of her. there were no longer doubts that he was their son, and yet she did not know him as a mother should. ‘ i wish you would tell us why it happens. ‘

                 AFTER THE PUZZLE pieces had fallen together despite his attempts in the contrary, René had not told his parents WHY he fell through time the way he did. There hadn’t been a way he could ind to explain that it had been the magic all around them even still which had wrapped itself around him… he couldn’t let them believe for a single moment that they were somehow at FAULT for the magic that had shaped their lives. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he said with a smile. “One which, as you can see, has a happy ending, but the middle is a bit… je ne sais pas. It’s something you’ll understand later, Maman.”

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bcastmade.

There were many words floating around in his mind, though they failed to pass his lips. Barely married a week and the two found themselves with an adult son running around. Had he done his best at hiding he wouldn’t have been noticed, but his reoccurring presence caused questions. He had been expecting a completely different answer than ‘I’m your son’. 

“There is a lot to say…” a hand is pressed against his mouth dragging it down a bit. “But I’m at a loss for words right now.”

                A TELL-TALE SMILE cracked, first twitching his lips upward before finally breaking into a smile his father would learn to know WELL. “Could you remember this loss-of-words sort of attitude when you find me in trouble?” he asked, feeling more at ease than he could see his father being. After all, he KNEW his pére. He had seen an older Adam with a crown on his head the moment before he had opened his eyes in a brightly-gilt castle. He’d seen his father’s eyes widen a fraction before he felt the now-familiar feeling of being pressed in on himself, breathless and boneless. He KNEW Adam. This wasn’t his PAPA –– this was PRINCE ADAM. And while René could see every inch of difference, he couldn’t stay the easy grin or constant edging toward trouble that had followed him his whole life.

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( @bcautymade ) « hi mom

                 “HAVE WE FINALLY reached the time when this isn’t awkward?” he asked, looking down to his mother’s height. He remembered ( through recollected laughter ) a time when he was very, very young and very, very frightened of growing as tall as his father. To his own chagrin, he had SURPASSED the king’s height by several centimeters, and his mére looked absolutely dwarfed in his presence. “You know, you and Papa knew when I was born that this would happen, because of right now. That’s nice, n’est-ce pas? To have forewarning?”

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( @bcastmade ) « hi dad

                 IT WAS FAR from the first time he’d seen his father on his sojourns –– unintentional, of course –– through time, but it was the first time his father had SEEN him and KNOWN. It was a new level of awkward he had tried to avoid as best he could as he prepared to take the throne his father was preparing to take right then. René glanced over to see his father looking at him, again, and sighed, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye. “You look like you’ve got something to say.”

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mcgicmade.

           a rare anger rose like a wave, magic following like an obedient pet too thirsty for pain. that was what magic was. it was not kindness, it not lend itself to mercy or good-intentions easily. it lit her skin, thought not like the brilliant star of the night her son and truly shown how he had taken after his father. this was a glow, could almost be described as a pretty thing if not for the near-snarl forming on her lips. ‘ do not LIE to me. i have waited far too long for any hope that he could be saved. if you are maurice’s grandchild and then you are his daughter’s son, and that girl does not have eyes that match my son’s. nor does anyone in that village have any trace of the magic i can feel from you. ‘ it was desperation that fueled her anger, the frantic hope that her son could find some sort of happiness. ‘ tell me the truth. ‘

                 HIS FATHER HAD never said anything about René’s grandmother being MAGIC, but the sparks that crackled over her skin proved there was SOMETHING there. He knew there was magic within him, or wrapped around him… but he couldn’t control it; not for a single minute. As his grand-mére looked at him, he took a step forward. “Your Majesty, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That part WAS true: he was failing to keep up with the turns of her thoughts and her insistence of who he was. “I wish I matched the prince’s eyes. Maybe it would mean a simpler life.” 

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mcgicmade.

           ‘ there is only one inventor in that village and he certainly does not have any– ‘ she stopped, thinking of the kindly inventor and his daughter that had moved to the village only weeks before. his daughter. her name, belle. by village standards she was odd, but she had a kindness that so closely matched that quality that lied buried in her son. ‘ is it belle, then? does she end all of this? ‘ her hand gestured vaguely to the ruined facade of the once beautiful castle, the crumbling statues and cold snow. would she usher in spring once more? ‘ does she save him? ‘ there was so little time left, the layers of petals beneath the glass growing thicker with each day. she had almost given up hope that he could be saved.

                  SHE CERTAINLY JUMPED to wild –– though truthful –– conclusions quickly. René schooled his face past the surprise and instead offered an inscrutably-confused glance her way. “Belle?” he repeated. “End all WHAT?” He looked around the castle, wondering if this had been the curse. The magic which had seeped into his bones… but his grand-mére hadn’t been living for THAT. She had died before his father had been cursed and magic had come to their castle. And though he often walked through time without much rhyme, he couldn’t believe that his grandmother did so as well. She had no REASON to. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I think it’s time I went.” He bowed, waiting as he had seen other villagers do, to be excused, wondering how STRANGE it was for the prince to ask his departed grandmother to take leave from his own castle. He had stopped thinking about his walks through time too seriously for that reason: he could feel the prickling of a headache work its way behind his eyes. 

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mcgicmade.

           your majesty. it had been so long since any had referred to her as such. after all, the last queen died decades earlier. yes, now she knew there was something dreadfully wrong here. he recognized her, to start with. and he still believed she was queen. this was not part of her curse. this was something altogether different. the enchantress looked him over once more and, ah, yes, there it was. his eyes. not just in color, but in shape. adam. it was like a reflection of her son. it couldn’t– could it. a ticking clock, a distorted reflection, a cloak of magic. ‘ you have never lived in that village. who are you? ‘

                 “I DO LIVE in the village,” he said with no small amount of force, his ( and his father’s ) temper flaring for one hot moment. “My mother’s father is an inventor there.” He wasn’t certain if Grand-Pére Maurice had moved to the quiet village yet, but he WOUD. He supposed that a half-truth was not too grievous of a sin when magic could twist his words into something far more sinister. He remembered who he was speaking to, and bit his lip before he ended up in his own father’s dungeon. He looked away, frowning in consternation. He had been PULLED FROM TIME before… it had happened since he was young. He had not, however, run into his own family prior. He had glimpsed a very young version of his father –– a sight to behold the likes of which portraits could not compare –– but had always managed to slip away, hiding until he finally returned. THIS WAS DIFFERENT. This was his grand-mére. He wanted to know her as he had never been allowed to, but claiming that magic had seeped into him and he could not CONTROL it had never been something he had learned to explain in any manner that made sense. 

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mcgicmade.

           there was something, there, in his eyes, something that was familiar even if she could not place exactly what it was. what sort of magic was he wrapped in? she could not identify it, and yet it left a sound echoing in her ears, as if a ticking clock was placed only just behind her. ‘ speak up boy. why have you come here? ‘ the curse on the castle was a strong one, enough to make husbands forget their wives. so how had the ticking boy come upon this place? what had brought him here?

                HE DEARLY HOPED that he had the time figured out almost right, and that his grand-mére had been married to his grand-pére by this time. She looked just around when the painting had been done–– the portrait which had been commissioned only a year prior to her death –– and so he bowed at the waist. “Your Majesty,” he said, looking up at the castle walls. It seemed darker than it had only moments ago. He hoped his mother wouldn’t worry too ardently… he hoped his father would understand if he returned after the meeting they were meant to have. “I live in the village down the hill. I was only looking.”

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mcgicmade.

           she was an enchantress now, beholder of powerful magic. and yet, above all magic in the world was a mother’s love for her son. she had cursed him, but it was her duty to protect him. and so this boy, cloaked in magic, appearing at the cursed castle, it put her on edge. ‘ you are not meant to be here. ‘

                 BEING PULLED FROM wherever –– whenever –– he was had never been pleasant or painless. He grunted, pulling in a greedy breath of air as the feeling of having everything constrict around him gave way. After a long moment, his eyes adjusted, and he looked into the eyes he had memorized from a painting in his childhood home. His Grand-Mére. “Merde,” he whispered, jaw slacking for half a moment before he cleared his throat. He bit his tongue, wanting to retort that he was the HEIR TO THE CASTLE and was meant to be there every bit as much as anyone, but he had to remind himself that if his grand-mére was living, then he was not yet heir. “Désolé…” he said, finding himself, for the first time, bereft of any explanation or words. DIEU, she was lovely.

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                  OUT. || But @bcastmade @bcautymade @ccndlemade does this look like a face of a boy who would tease his little sister?