Chapter Text
Many Years Ago
Ilya Rozanov was not a good person. He knew this. He had accepted this about himself a long time ago. He wasn’t meant to be a good person. He didn’t deserve good in his life. Years spent at the hands of his father had taught him that. But now his father was dead, and he was left alone at only twenty-four. Well…not quite alone. He was constantly surrounded by people, as was the life of the king. But these people did not love him. They didn’t care about him. Not really. Even Svetlana, who he would consider to be his closest friend, hated who he had turned into. She tried to hide it from him, but he could see it on her face. She didn’t love him the way she used to. So, he did what he did best. He threw parties, and he fucked people, forever hoping that surrounding himself with the warmth of others would melt away the frost in his heart. But it never did.
He was standing on his balcony watching the carriages arrive in front of the palace, he always liked to be fashionably late, it gave him a sense of mystery, when Svetlana came up behind him.
“What is it?” he snapped in Russian, not even bothering to turn around. He was not in the mood to talk. She frowned, and he almost felt bad, but she knew he didn’t like to be interrupted before his parties.
“Ilyushen’ka,” she sighed. He hated it when she called him that. It reminded him of when they were kids, and he hadn’t been a kid in a long time.
“What is it, Svetlana? Out with it.” He was tired. He was always tired these days. There was once a time when one of these parties would have revitalized him, but that hadn’t been the case in some time. Now, they just made him more tired than ever. He wasn’t sure why he kept throwing them. Maybe part of him was searching for something he would never truly get to have again.
His mother had loved parties. She threw one every weekend when Ilya was a kid. She loved the music. She loved to dance. She loved to have fun, and she loved to watch other people have fun. She would be ashamed to see what Ilya had turned into. But even so, he missed her, and the parties probably only made it worse.
“Ilya, are you okay?” Svetlana snapped him out of his thoughts. He finally turned to look at her. He didn’t know why she cared. He didn’t know if she actually did care or just felt like she should.
“I am fine.” She didn’t look convinced. Ilya was over this.
“Are you done? I have a party to get to.”
He walked away before she could respond.
***
That night’s party was no different than the ones Ilya threw every weekend. It was loud, bright, beautiful. Ilya had little tolerance for ugly things. Only the most beautiful people in the kingdom were allowed to attend. Usually, with so much beauty surrounding him, he could find someone who would catch his eye. Have a little fun. But tonight, there was no one. He sat on his throne surveying the partygoers. The room was filled with joy. Everyone was laughing, smiling, dancing. Amid all of the noise, he found himself more alone than ever.
He surveyed the crowd content for now to admire his subjects. His eyes caught along the familiar servants and knights who worked in the palace. Most of them had grown up in the palace alongside him. At the end of the day, they were the closest thing he had to a family.
His eyes caught on Sir Pike and Sir Marleau. They were the highest members of his imperial guard and also Ilya’s favorites. They were talking to each other animatedly near the entrance to the ballroom. They were clearly good friends. Part of Ilya wanted to get up and join the conversation, but he knew the conversation would turn awkward if he tried. The knights respected him as their king, obviously, but he wouldn’t consider them friends.
His eyes kept surveying the room until they landed on tonight’s entertainer, Rose Landry. Rose was a newer addition to the palace. She had been hired six months ago after the previous palace entertainer had quit. Most people didn’t last long working for Ilya. Rose had a beautiful voice, and she was nice enough. Ilya could tell that she felt wary around him, though that wasn’t all that surprising. Most people were. Even Svetlana had become distant lately.
His eyes wandered, looking for the woman in question. He found Svetlana not far from Rose. She was clearly watching Rose perform in awe, but was trying not to make it obvious. Maybe to everyone else in the room it wasn’t, but Ilya knew her better than that. A better version of himself would probably go up to her and tease her about her little crush, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. She already looked at him like he had turned into a ghost, so he might as well become one.
He moved on from her, and his eyes landed on Zane Boodram and Luca Haas. Bood, as he liked to be called, was the palace's head butler, and Haas followed him like a shadow. Haas had arrived at the palace two years ago looking for work and had quickly been taken over Bood’s wing. He was young, only 18, but he was a hard worker and one of the few people in the castle that Ilya actually enjoyed being around.
As his eyes left Bood and Haas, he started to realize that people were staring at him, too. His eyes scanned the dance floor and found that many of the young nobles who occupied it kept stealing glances at him. They were waiting for him to choose.
Ilya had a bit of a reputation for sleeping with people at his parties. He wasn’t picky, man or woman, there was always someone decent enough for him to take up to his chambers and spend the night with. All of these nobles, staring back at him, hoped it would be them. Only Ilya knew that there wouldn’t be one tonight, so he might as well toy with them a little. Maybe that was all Ilya needed, a pretty little noble to flirt with until he got bored and went to bed. Plus, it kept up his image. Ilya didn’t care much for his reputation as a ruler–he didn’t really like the politics of it all–but he liked the idea of people knowing that he could have anyone he wanted. And he did.
Ilya got up from his throne and walked slowly over to the dance floor. He stalked the crowd, hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to seem intimidating enough. This was his least favorite part. He liked sex. He liked flirting. He liked the moment when he had them in his grasp, and all he needed to do was take them. He did not like choosing who he should take.
They were so pushy. All of them hoping to be the one. They bowed as he walked by, trying to catch his attention enough so that they could strike up a conversation with him.
The thing about this part that sucked was not the fact that everyone wanted him; it was why they wanted him. They wanted him because he was beautiful and rich and powerful, not because they actually liked him.
On only the darkest and loneliest of nights, Ilya would dream of a man who loved him because he was Ilya, not because he was King Ilya Rozanov. Ilya had been having the dreams for years, and they were always the same. It was winter, and he was standing in the snowy palace gardens with a man with dark hair and tan skin. The man was standing in front of him, and Ilya couldn’t see his face. The man would reach his hand back for Ilya to take it, and Ilya would walk forward, trying to get a look at his face. But before he could catch a glimpse, he would wake up, cold and alone.
At every party he hosted, Ilya would scan the crowd, hoping that the man from his dreams would be there. But of course, he never was, and tonight was no different. The man wasn’t real, and as much as Ilya tried, he could not wish someone into existence.
Ilya had had enough of pretending to be interested in the boring nobles who kept trying to throw themselves at him. There was nothing here for him tonight. He turned to go when all of a sudden there was a sharp knock on the closed ballroom doors. The room went silent. Ilya glanced at the door, then at Pike and Marleau, who had drawn their weapons, then back at the door. It slowly creaked open.
The intruder turned out to be an old beggar woman. Her hair was gray, her back hunched, her tan skin wrinkled and covered in warts. She had a small, brown satchel over her shoulder, and in her hand she held a knotted cane, which she used to hobble into the room. Pike and Marleau stopped her before she could get to Ilya.
“Ma’am, you can’t be here. You are not invited,” Sir Pike declared, trying to get her to leave. She ignored Pike and looked right at Ilya.
“Please, your majesty. You have to help me.”
Ilya laughed, and the nobles laughed with him.
“Let her approach,” he sneered. “I would love to know what this…hag…wants from me.”
Pike and Marleau slowly let go of her. She hobbled over to Ilya and slowly kneeled in front of him. From her bag, she pulled a single red rose and offered it to him. It was vibrantly beautiful and didn’t match the haggard woman in front of him.
“Please, your majesty, I’ve lost my home. I just need a place to stay until I can get back on my feet. I’d be happy to help with the work around the palace in exchange for your kindness and shelter. Please, take this rose as a token of my appreciation.”
Ilya couldn’t help it. He laughed again. He had no need for her or her rose. Why would he help her?
“I would never help an ugly, old hag like you.” Ilya wasn’t sure when he had turned so cruel. He thought, for the second time tonight, that his mother would be disappointed in him, but his mother had been gone a long time. And it felt good. He liked the power he held. He liked that no one ever doubted him. No one called him weak. No one saw what he was really thinking.
He turned to leave, but the hag’s hand that wasn’t holding the rose caught his ankle. He whipped around and yanked his leg from her grasp.
“How dare you touch me?!?” he boomed in anger. “Get out!”
“Please, sir!” she pleaded. “I urge you to see past my appearance. You must know that all true beauty is found within.”
He gave her a cruel smile. “Enough. Pike! Marleau! Get rid of her!”
Pike and Marleau rushed forward to drag her out of the palace, but before they could reach her, a bright white light enveloped the room, blinding all its occupants.
When Ilya’s vision returned, the ugly, old hag had transformed into a beautiful woman. Her gray hair turned long, brown, and shiny. Her hunched back straightened. Her skin cleared. She wore a deep red ball gown, similar to the red rose she was still holding. She was an enchantress.
Ilya fell to his knees. The nobles fled. Their king had just insulted a powerful enchantress.
“Madam, I’m sorry! I didn’t know–” she raised her hand to silence him.
“This was your test, King Ilya.” She shook her head at him, almost pitying. “I gave you two chances to prove your worth, and you have failed.”
“There must be something I can do,” Ilya pleaded with her, but even he knew there was no point.
The Enchantress shook her head at him. “I’m afraid it is too late. You have already proven there is no love in your heart. But, maybe all you need to learn love is a little push.”
The Enchantress waved her hand. Sharp needles of pain stabbed him all over his body. The pain was so strong that his vision blackened and the sounds quieted. He could vaguely hear someone screaming. Was that him screaming? He didn’t know. All he knew was the pain that kept stabbing until he couldn’t breathe.
When the pain finally stopped stabbing, and his vision returned, he was changed. He felt more alert than he had in years, but he felt different. When he looked down at his hands, they were covered in curly, golden fur, similar to Ilya’s own hair. He looked down at his legs and found they were covered in the same fur. His whole body was. He reached up to his face and found sharp teeth and horns. And he was taller and even more muscular than he had been before. He was an animal—a…beast.
“What have you done to me, witch?!?” He roared at her.
“I have changed your appearance to reflect what is in your heart. But don’t worry. You can still fix this.”
“How?” he begged. “I’ll do anything!”
She smiled down at him.
“It is simple. You must learn to love and be loved in return. Only then will you return to what you once were.” She waved her hand again, but this time at the rose she had offered him mere moments ago. If only he had taken it. The rose glowed and started floating ever so slightly above the ground.
“I have enchanted this rose. You will have twenty years to fall in love and earn their love in return. This rose will help you keep track of time.” She watched him, the pitying look returning. “This should be more than enough time. I am being very generous with you, Ilya.”
“What if it isn’t?” Ilya asked. He didn’t have as much confidence as she did, especially now that he looked like this.
“If you are unable to complete your task by the time the last petal falls, then you will die. This is your fate, Ilya.”
And with that, the enchantress was gone in another blinding burst of light. Ilya sat at the center of the dance floor, his head in his hands. This was his fate indeed…for who could ever learn to love a beast?