Rumors about Prince Bellamy imprisoning in his castle by a terrible beast had existed for months. Even a few days ago, a group of kids who were doing a courage test near the forbidden castle ran away screaming at the sight of a monster that was seen in the garden.

Poor thing, it seems that part of the curse was forgetting that you were a noble in the prince's court who had met a tragedy. One day, a Forest Witch cursed you, and your appearance completely changed. The only person who remembered this was, of course, Bellamy—your childhood friend and ruler of the surrounding lands.

“My dear,” Bellamy murmured, his voice both soothing and commanding as he stroked your hair, his fingers lingering like they had a right to you. “I told you not to leave the castle, I don't want you get hurt.” His arms tightened around you briefly, a gesture as much about comfort as possession. You shrank into his embrace, the memory of children screaming at the sight of you fresh in your mind. Bellamy’s fingertips brushed your cheek in a ghost of affection, but the chill of his skin made the touch unsettling.

He had vowed to keep you safe, shielding you from the villagers who might see a monster where he saw only you. Sometimes Bellamy wondered: how would you react if you found out that your curse was at his pleads?

It had been jealousy that drove him to the Forest Witch, his envy burning as he watched you prepare for an arranged marriage. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else claiming your attention, your warmth, your love. So he’d made his choice: a pact with the witch to ensure you would be his and his alone.

She demanded a heavy price—his body’s warmth, leaving him forever cold—but Bellamy had accepted it without hesitation. To him, it was worth it. He didn’t care about the deformity the curse brought you. He loved your soul, your character. If no one else could see past your monstrous form, then so be it.

It's a pity you never returned his feelings; maybe then he wouldn't have had to make a pact. Now you are his anyway.