Free Bastien by Alianne Donnelly

takes them a week to rack up their courage. They chase him out of the castle and into the snowy garden. He is more certain out of doors. In the middle of the garden he turns on them and roars at the top of his massive lungs. Those at the front of the mob fall back and one man impales himself on a spear.
    All of them stop in shock and horror. They watch the spear be pulled from the dying man, watch his blood soak the snow, and do nothing as he gasps for breath. Then he stops breathing all together.
    “You monster!” a woman screams at the Beast. She throws a rock at him. More follow, trying to chase him off. They throw anything they can get their hands on—his own people trying so hard to kill him without getting too close to his fangs.
    A large rock strikes his head, drawing blood. A pitchfork embeds itself in his hide, just deep enough to stick. He barely moves in time to avoid a spear aimed directly at his heart. The Beast roars again, hoping to frighten them away but the assault continues, edging him farther from the castle and he can do nothing without harming them.
    He’s about to run for the woods when one man shouts, “Wait!” It’s loud enough to make all of them stop. “Look!” He’s crouched next to the fallen servant. Before their very eyes, the dead man breathes a sigh and sits up, rubbing his chest. It’s miraculously whole and unharmed.
    Not a sound comes from the stunned mob that just moments ago nearly drove the Beast into the woods for good. Not one of them sees or cares when he pulls the pitchfork out of his hide and retreats into the castle.
    This is how the inhabitants of the Beast’s castle discover that one affected by the curse cannot break it. It means he can’t even kill himself to be free of it. Lilith said, “Find someone to love now, Beast, or stay this way forever.” Apparently, forever would be too short a time if one was allowed to die. The Faery princess gave the Beast and all his servants the one thing Louis coveted so much. Immortality.
    Now, as evening turns to night, Jacques is the one who brings the Beast supper. The others, though resigned to their fate, refuse to come near him.
    At least he doesn’t have to suffer the indignity of having them see his struggles to feed himself. It is difficult for the Beast to grasp utensils. He drinks his soup and eats meat and potatoes with his bare claws.
    The two speak little while the Beast eats. Then Jacques says, “The others will come around.”
    “You said that before. What will they bring next? Axes and bows? Hunting dogs?”
    “They’re scared. Rightly so. Because of your… because of the Lord’s carelessness they are trapped in here, quite possibly forever.”
    “As am I,” he growls irritably, but immediately ducks his head in shame. “I didn’t mean …”
    Jacques waves the comment aside. “It’s obvious that only love will break the spell. And you can’t be seen outside, so the solution is perfectly clear. We must help you.”
    The Beast laughs.
    “If we want to be free—”
    “What do you suggest? Will you be sending errand boys to Fauve to fetch me young maidens to terrify? There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t run screaming at the sight of me.”
    “You must have hope, Master.”

    “I told you not to call me that.”
    “As I recall, you said not to call you Lord. You are not Bastien and I will not call you Beast, Master.”
    The Beast scowls but can think of nothing to counter that. “Hope,” he says instead, thinking of the rose. There is something about it he’s forgetting. “Yes, just enough to torment me for the rest of ever.”
    Jacques clears the empty tray. “If that is what you wish to believe, Master. In my humble opinion, a monster’s visage over a good heart is always better than a pretty face with no heart at all.” By the door, he pauses. “The Lord wondered once why the servants were so cold. It’s not because of the man he was. It’s because we knew the man he could be. I