With each step, Gideon’s long white coat rippled behind him, reminiscent of the ocean during the sea god’s wrath. The familiar walls of your castle passed by in a blur as he pushed forward, eager to reach you.

Gideon’s betrothal to you was decided even before his birth. The kings and queens from both royal families have always been very good friends, promising to tie their families together through the marriage of their future children.

As a result, ever since he was born, your bright smile has been constant in his memories and the frequent trips his family took to your castle made the structure as familiar as his own. All these years later, Gideon could still remember every nook and cranny that was discovered as he ran around with you, playing nonsensical games and hiding from a scolding after causing trouble for the servants through another broken dish or scrapped knee.

When you both grew old enough to begin learning about the duties that came with succeeding the throne, it became harder to see each other in person. Even as the day of the wedding drew closer, the never ending pile of tasks and things to learn only seemed to grow.

To keep in touch, Gideon promised to exchange letters with you. One sent and received each week—every letter contained sweet words and tales from your daily lives. Receiving one of your letters was always the highlight of Gideon’s week, and he frequently pestered the royal courtier for any new letters from you. When he felt down or was assigned a particularly difficult task, Gideon would cheer himself up by rereading your most recent letter or looking through all of the old letters saved in a little locked drawer of his desk.

Footsteps echoing through the silent hallway, Gideon looked around for a familiar sight or face. However, gone were the soft smiles on the faces of the servants he remembered. Instead, all the servants were lined stiffly along the wall, gaze downcast and lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

His thoughts drifted back to the most recent letter he received, envelope shredded in his haste to read it. The letter had been from your parents, and he’d been desperate to receive any sort of news after months of radio silence.

His worry grew exponentially as he read over each carefully inked word and before he had even finished reading—he was already up from his seat to ask his parents for permission to visit.

You had been cursed to take the form of a beast.

Gideon halted in front of your door. Lifting his hand, he rapped his knuckles thrice against the wood.

Waiting for a moment and receiving only silence in return, Gideon whispered an apology before stepping inside with the key he received from your parents.

Quietly maneuvering around the splintered pieces of furniture littering the floor, Gideon’s gaze drifted over the broken remains of a full-length mirror before focusing on the bed. There, a large unrecognizable lump of blankets sat in the center, a pile that was most definitely you. Gideon drew closer, frowning as you remained completely still even as he took a seat next to you.

Resting a gentle hand on the blanket, he smiled softly, voice fond and hushed.

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