I Walked Into The Beast’s Cage To Save A Princess — Now The King Is Forcing Me To Marry Him
Part 2
The three days until the next trial passed in a blur of silk and strangeness.
Servants dressed me in combat leathers and escorted me to a carriage.
The Gauntlet was ancient, a stone archway leading into absolute, suffocating darkness.
The King and Brenda watched from a raised dais as I stepped through the threshold.
The world vanished, swallowed by torchlit labyrinth corridors.
I pressed my back against the rough rock, terrified.
“Stupid beast,” I whispered into the silence.
“I could be scrubbing floors right now.
Why did you push me to accept?”
A presence pressed against my mind.
Like someone reaching out to touch my shoulder in the dark.
I gasped.
“You’re here.”
The presence wrapped tighter around my thoughts, a wordless promise of protection.
With his instincts guiding me, I navigated the deadly traps.
When a pit yawned open before me, his urgency pulled my gaze upward to hidden handholds in the ceiling.
Inch by agonizing inch, I crossed the chasm.
“You did good,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed inside my skull.
My head snapped up.
“You can talk?”
“Trying,” he replied carefully.
He guided me to the center chamber, where a glowing white sword rested on a pedestal.
The moment my fingers closed around the angel’s blade, I was transported back to the courtyard.
The King stared at the sword, his expression faltering into genuine shock.
That evening, Greg summoned me for a private dinner.
“You’ve done something unprecedented,” the King said, his knuckles white around his wine glass.
“I’m prepared to grant you a favor.”
“I’d like to see the Beast,” I said quietly.
His entire body went rigid.
“That creature is dangerous,” he snarled.
“I need to understand why I survived,” I insisted.
Greg stared at me for a long moment before finally granting me ten minutes.
Guards escorted me to the dungeons, leaving me alone outside the heavy iron bars.
The monster was waiting in the shadows, his crimson eyes fixed on me.
“You came,” his deep voice whispered through my mind.
I gripped the bars and asked why he had spared me that first night.
“You killed so many others.”
He recoiled as if I’d struck him.
“I don’t remember,” he confessed, fear radiating through our bond.
“Only darkness, pain.”
I pressed further, asking why he wanted me to become Queen.
“You Queen can help me,” he pleaded.
I promised him I would try.
But two weeks later, the third trial was suddenly postponed, and I was confined to my quarters.
That night, a searing, white-hot agony lanced through my mind.
It wasn’t my pain.
It was his.
An inhuman, tortured scream echoed through our connection.
I bolted from my room and raced through the dark corridors toward the dungeons.
Guards blocked the heavy iron door, ignoring my desperate pleas.
Another physical scream of agony rattled the stone walls.
What were they doing to him in there?
Part 3
The heavy iron door to the dungeons stood impenetrable, its surface scarred by decades of rust and desperation.
Two armored men flanked the entrance, their faces carefully blank.
They refused to meet Megan’s eyes as she stood barefoot on the freezing stone floor.
Another scream tore through the damp walls.
But this one didn’t just echo in the corridor.
It ripped directly into Megan’s mind through the strange, telepathic bond she shared with the Beast.
She pressed her hands to her temples, dropping to her knees.
The cold stone bit into her skin, but it was nothing compared to the white-hot agony flooding her consciousness.
“Please,” Megan begged, her voice raw and breaking.
“He’s in pain.”
“I can hear him.”
“We have our orders,” the taller guard, Dan, said stiffly.
“You’re not permitted access tonight.”
“Just let me see him for five minutes,” she pleaded.
“I can calm him.”
“I did it before.”
“No one goes in,” the second guard said, his tone final.
Another wave of pure, unfiltered agony crashed over her mind.
And then, the Beast went utterly silent.
The connection remained, a faint, rhythmic pulse at the back of her thoughts.
But his voice, the deep, gravelly presence that had guided her through the Gauntlet, was gone.
It was like a heartbeat fading into the distance.
Megan stared at the iron door, tears tracking through the dust on her cheeks.
She was just a maid.
She had no power here, not yet.
She couldn’t order these guards to stand aside.
She couldn’t break down an iron door with her bare hands.
If she wanted to save him, she had to play King Greg’s twisted game.
She had to win the trials.
She hauled herself to her feet, her muscles trembling with exhaustion and suppressed rage.
She returned to her quarters and paced the floor until dawn broke over the castle walls.
The moment the sun crested the horizon, servants arrived.
They carried a fresh gown, a simple dress of dark, practical wool.
The third trial was suddenly back on schedule.
Megan allowed them to dress her, her mind entirely focused on the faint pulse in her head.
She reached out mentally, over and over, but the Beast remained silent.
The courtyard buzzed with nervous anticipation when the guards finally escorted her outside.
Nobles lined the balconies, their faces flushed with the thrill of impending violence.
King Greg sat rigid on his elevated throne.
His advisor, Brenda, stood tense and pale beside him.
Brenda stepped forward, her dark eyes completely unreadable.
She carried the glowing angel’s blade Megan had retrieved from the Gauntlet.
“The third trial tests cunning and bravery,” Brenda announced, her voice carrying over the murmuring crowd.
She extended the sword toward Megan.
Megan took it, the hilt warm against her cold palms.
“Step onto the platform and face the guardian,” Brenda commanded.
Megan turned toward the circular platform of white stone in the center of the courtyard.
Ancient symbols were carved deeply into its surface.
They seemed to shift and writhe when she looked at them too directly.
She gripped the sword tighter and stepped forward.
The moment her boots touched the white stone, the world exploded into blinding light.
When her vision cleared, she was no longer in the courtyard.
The cheering crowd was gone.
The King and his advisor were gone.
She stood in a vast, blank chamber composed entirely of seamless white marble.
Before her stood five massive mirrors, their frames ornate and ancient.
In each one, Megan saw a different version of herself staring back.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered aloud.
“What do you think they represent?” a voice answered from behind her.
Megan spun around, hope flaring in her chest for a fleeting second.
But the voice wasn’t his.
It was smooth, resonant, and entirely genderless.
In the center of the chamber stood a tall, ethereal figure.
Its face was smooth and featureless, except for two eyes that burned with silver light.
Megan asked what it was, raising the blade slightly.
“I am the guardian,” the figure intoned.
“The trial’s weight is measured by the mirrors.”
“Choose a reflection you know well, and the path is clear.”
“Choose a stranger wearing your face, and you may not survive what you learn.”
Megan stared at the five reflections in utter confusion.
“It’s saying the trial’s difficulty depends on which version of yourself you face.”
The deep voice echoed inside her mind, sudden and clear.
Megan gasped.
Relief flooded through her so powerfully her knees almost buckled.
“You’re here,” she thought desperately.
“Where were you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
“What did they do to you?”
“Later,” the Beast’s voice cut through, tight with strain.
“Your trial.”
“Focus.”
There was something heavy in his voice.
Pain, exhaustion, but also a fierce, unyielding determination to see her survive.
Megan took a shaking breath, forcing her panic down.
She turned back to the guardian and the five mirrors.
“Three you must face,” the guardian stated.
“Choose wisely.”
“You can only know the versions of yourself that are truest to you,” the Beast advised quietly.
Megan asked aloud what that meant.
“The mirrors show different parts of who you are.”
“Some you understand perfectly.”
“Some you hide from.”
“Pick the ones you know.”
Megan stepped closer to the arc of mirrors, studying them carefully.
The first mirror showed her in her maid’s apron, her hands raw and red from scrubbing stone floors.
The second showed her battered and bloody, clutching a knife, defiant.
“I know the first one,” Megan said aloud, stepping toward it.
“I’ll start with this.”
“Remember,” the guardian warned.
“A wrong answer will result in the ultimate punishment.”
“Death.”
A protective growl rumbled through Megan’s mind, fierce and immediate.
“It’s okay,” Megan murmured, soothing the Beast through their bond.
The reflection in the first mirror shifted.
It turned to face her fully, its eyes weary but sharp.
When it spoke, it used Megan’s own voice.
“I am never seen but always present.”
“I am given freely but rarely valued.”
“I make others shine while I fade into shadow.”
“What am I?”
Megan understood immediately.
She had lived this answer her entire life.
“Devotion,” she said clearly.
“The work no one notices.”
“The care that is expected but never rewarded.”
The reflection tilted its head.
“And does that make you lesser?”
Megan thought about the years spent cleaning fireplaces and serving arrogant nobles.
“It made me invisible,” she answered honestly.
“But it also taught me to see others.”
“To notice what they needed before they even asked.”
The reflection smiled faintly.
“Then strike the mirror.”
Megan raised the glowing sword and swung with all her might.
The blade connected with a clear, ringing note.
The mirror shattered, but the glass didn’t fall.
It dissolved into motes of shimmering light that sank effortlessly into the sword’s steel.
“Next,” the guardian demanded.
Megan turned to the second mirror.
The bloodied, defiant version of herself stared back with hard, unyielding eyes.
This reflection’s voice was rough, scraping like stone on stone.
“I cling to life when I should let go.”
“I endure when I should surrender.”
“Am I strength?”
“Or am I fear?”
Megan paused, lowering the sword slightly.
She thought about standing before the Beast on that first night, terrified but refusing to die.
“You are survival,” she decided.
The reflection’s hard eyes narrowed.
“And what am I surviving for?”
Megan thought of every trial she had endured since.
She thought of the Gauntlet, the darkness, and the constant, comforting presence in her mind.
“For someone who can’t survive on his own anymore,” she said quietly.
A deep sound rumbled through her mind, warm and profoundly affectionate.
The reflection’s hard edges softened.
“Then strike the mirror.”
Megan swung the sword again.
Silver light cascaded from the shattered frame, flowing into the angel’s blade until it pulsed with brilliant energy.
“Now,” the guardian said.
“The third.”
Megan moved down the line, bypassing the third and fourth mirrors entirely.
She found herself approaching the fifth mirror before she’d consciously made a choice.
“What are you doing?” the Beast’s voice asked, laced with sudden worry.
When the fifth reflection spoke, its voice was incredibly gentle.
Vulnerable.
“I am not chosen,” the reflection whispered.
“I am not logical.”
“I grow without permission and change everything I touch.”
“What am I?”
Megan’s mind went entirely blank.
Panic bubbled up in her throat.
“Concentrate,” the Beast’s voice wrapped around her, soothing the rising fear.
“But I don’t know the answer,” she admitted, her hands trembling.
“You’ll be all right.”
“You know this.”
Megan took a deep breath, forcing her eyes to meet the reflection’s gaze.
She stared at the softness in her own eyes, an expression she rarely allowed herself to show.
“You’re reaching for something,” Megan said slowly, working through the riddle.
“For someone.”
The Beast rumbled in her mind, a steady anchor in the terrifying white room.
Megan’s breath caught.
“Name it,” the reflection demanded softly.
“Name what I am.”
“Megan,” the Beast’s voice whispered.
It was incredibly quiet, gentle in a way she’d never heard from a monster.
“Reach into your heart.”
“The answer lies there.”
Megan closed her eyes.
She stopped trying to solve the riddle with logic.
She thought about the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever the Beast spoke to her.
She thought about how she had chosen to continue these deadly trials.
She hadn’t done it for the crown, or the glory, or the King’s favor.
She had done it for him.
She thought about the way hearing his screams last night had broken something fundamental inside her.
The way his silence this morning had terrified her more than death itself.
She opened her eyes.
“Love,” she whispered.
“You’re love.”
“Is that your final answer?” the guardian’s voice boomed, echoing off the white walls.
Megan nodded, her grip tightening on the sword.
“Yes.”
“Then strike the mirror.”
“Prove you accept this truth.”
Megan raised the sword, meeting her reflection’s soft, vulnerable eyes one last time.
She struck.
The mirror exploded.
White and gold light erupted outward, blinding her entirely.
“You have faced the servant, the survivor, and the lover,” the guardian’s voice echoed from everywhere at once.
“You have named what you are.”
The light began to fade, swirling into the glowing blade in her hand.
“The weapon embodies you.”
“The third trial is complete.”
The white chamber dissolved around her like mist in the morning sun.
Megan blinked rapidly as the courtyard swam back into focus.
The deafening roar of the crowd hit her like a physical blow.
King Greg rose from his throne, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“The third trial is complete,” Greg announced, though his voice sounded hollow.
“Megan advances to the final trial.”
That night, sleep evaded Megan entirely.
The final trial was scheduled for dawn, and she still didn’t understand the rules of this twisted game.
She paced her quarters, the enchanted sword propped against the wall.
Its blade still glowed with a faint, pulsing light in the darkness.
“Reach into your heart.
The answer lies there.”
The Beast had known what the fifth mirror represented long before she did.
Megan pressed her hands to her face, her mind racing.
It wasn’t just a beast trapped in those dungeons.
It couldn’t be.
There was something he wasn’t telling her about himself.
Or perhaps something he simply couldn’t remember.
She needed air.
Megan slipped out of her quarters, her bare feet silent on the cold stone.
The castle corridors were mostly empty at this hour, the wall torches burning low.
She wandered aimlessly, letting the quiet of the night calm her racing thoughts.
As she turned a corner near the King’s private study, muted voices made her stop.
Megan’s feet slowed to a halt.
She pressed herself into the shadows of a deep stone alcove.
The heavy oak door to the study was partially ajar, spilling warm yellow light into the corridor.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Brenda’s voice pleaded.
It wasn’t the composed, icy tone of the Royal Advisor Megan had come to know.
This voice was strained, breaking dangerously at the edges.
“She’s going to win tomorrow,” Brenda continued, her silhouette pacing across the sliver of light.
“You know she will.”
“She’s survived everything we’ve thrown at her.”
“I can do what I want,” King Greg snapped.
Through the crack in the door, Megan could see him standing by the window.
Moonlight cast his rigid posture in stark relief against the glass.
“I’ve waited six years,” Greg said fiercely.
“I can wait longer.”
“You sent princesses through these trials, daughters of kings and queens from across the realm,” Brenda argued.
“All for the promise of your hand in marriage.”
“If it looks like you were never going to honor that promise, the nobles will riot.”
“I could offer her something else,” Greg insisted stubbornly.
“Gold, land.”
“She doesn’t have to become Queen.”
“She’s a commoner, Greg,” Brenda snapped, taking a step toward him.
“Not a princess.”
“So am I,” Greg shot back.
The words hung heavily in the suffocating air of the study.
Greg finally turned away from the window.
In the flickering lamplight, Megan could see his face clearly.
He looked exhausted, haunted, entirely stripped of his royal mask.
He looked at Brenda as if she had physically struck him.
“You’re so much more than that,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.
“You’re the woman I love.”
“And without your magic, we’d never have survived.”
“My magic doesn’t matter,” Brenda’s composure was actively fracturing.
“It doesn’t change what happens next.”
“It matters to me,” Greg insisted, closing the distance between them.
“Enough,” Brenda held up a trembling hand.
“Soon, the girl will win.”
“You shall have your Queen, just as we planned.”
“It’s not what I wanted,” Greg murmured, reaching for her.
Brenda’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she challenged him.
“You’ve been suffering for too long, Greg.”
“This ends it.”
“It finally ends it.”
“You’ll be free of this guilt.”
“I want to be free,” Greg admitted, his voice cracking.
“You know I do.”
“Gods, I want to honor Craig’s memory.”
“I want to make this right.”
“But at the cost of losing you?”
Megan clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her sudden gasp.
Craig.
The King’s younger brother, who had ruled for only two years before he was supposedly murdered.
“You have a duty to your kingdom, to your brother’s memory,” Brenda insisted softly.
Brenda swept toward the door, and Megan pressed herself flat against the alcove wall.
The advisor rushed past, her entire body shaking with suppressed sobs.
Megan waited until Brenda’s footsteps faded completely down the corridor before she dared to breathe.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.
The King and his advisor were in love, but Greg refused to be with her.
And it had something to do with avenging his dead brother?
How did the trials fit into this bizarre tragedy?
And how did the Beast connect to Craig?
Megan returned to her room, her mind spinning with terrifying possibilities.
She didn’t sleep a wink.
The morning of the final trial arrived with a crisp, freezing wind.
Servants dressed Megan in ceremonial armor, strapping the angel’s blade to her hip.
When guards escorted her to the courtyard, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
The entire court had gathered, crowding the balconies and filling the stands.
The silence was absolute, thick with morbid anticipation.
Megan stood in the center of the white stone platform.
Heavy wooden wagon wheels groaned against the cobblestones.
Guards hauled a massive, reinforced iron cage into the sunlight.
Inside, the Beast paced furiously, slamming its massive shoulders against the bars.
Its crimson eyes darted across the crowd until they locked entirely onto Megan.
“I’m here,” his deep voice echoed in her mind.
King Greg descended the dais, his expression grim and rigidly set.
“The final trial,” the King announced, his voice carrying over the silent courtyard.
He gestured toward the iron cage.
“The beast before you has taken the lives of countless brave souls.”
“It cannot be killed by mortal steel.”
Greg turned his intense gaze to Megan.
“But the weapon you carry is infused with ancient, purifying magic.”
“To pass the final trial and become Queen, you must strike the beast down.”
“Free this kingdom from its terror.”
Megan stared at the King in absolute horror.
“You want me to kill him?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“It is the only way,” Greg said, his jaw locked tight.
“Prove your worth.”
Megan turned slowly to look at the cage.
The Beast stopped pacing.
He stepped up to the thick iron bars, pressing his massive, scarred chest against the metal.
He looked at her, his crimson eyes filled with an ocean of sorrow and desperate hope.
“Do it,” the Beast’s voice resonated in her mind.
“If it means you are safe.”
“If it means you become Queen.”
“I am ready.”
Megan’s hands shook uncontrollably as she drew the glowing blade.
The light from the sword washed over the courtyard, pure and blinding.
She looked from the deadly magical steel to the Beast’s terrifying face.
She thought of the agonizing pain she had felt radiating from him the night before.
She thought of the gentle, guiding presence he had offered in the darkest moments of the Gauntlet.
She thought of the quiet moments of connection they had shared through their bond.
He wasn’t a monster.
He was a prisoner, suffering endlessly in the dark.
“No,” Megan said softly.
The courtyard gasped collectively.
King Greg stepped forward, his eyes flashing with sudden panic.
“What did you say?” the King demanded.
“I won’t do it,” Megan said, her voice ringing clear and steady across the stone courtyard.
She lifted the glowing sword high in the air.
And then she threw it onto the ground.
The magical blade clattered loudly against the cobblestones, its light flickering wildly.
“I love him,” Megan declared, looking straight into the Beast’s eyes.
“I won’t kill him.”
Silence dropped over the courtyard like a heavy, suffocating blanket.
Inside the cage, the Beast threw its massive head back.
It let out a deafening, earth-shattering roar.
But it wasn’t a sound of rage, or pain, or terror.
It was the sound of an agonizing, violent transformation.
White light erupted from the iron bars, blinding the entire assembly.
Megan threw her arms up to shield her face as a magical shockwave knocked the guards off their feet.
The wind howled through the courtyard, smelling of ozone and burning magic.
When the blinding light finally began to fade, Megan lowered her arms.
The monstrous fur, the razor-sharp claws, the jagged teeth—they were all gone.
In the center of the iron cage, collapsed on his hands and knees, was a man.
He was shivering violently, gasping for air as if he had been drowning for years.
His dark hair fell over a face that was unmistakably royal.
He looked exactly like King Greg, only younger, his features softer despite the deep scars on his skin.
King Greg whispered his brother’s name, the color draining entirely from his face.
The King dropped to his knees on the cobblestones.
His hands trembled violently as he reached toward the cage bars.
“Craig… how is this possible?”
Brenda pushed violently through the stunned guards, her pristine robes dragging in the dirt.
She collapsed onto the cobblestones beside the King, sobbing hysterically.
“It was me,” Brenda cried, pressing her face to the cold stone.
“I did it.”
Greg stared down at her, horrified and entirely uncomprehending.
“What are you talking about?”
“Six years ago,” Brenda wept, her voice breaking on every word.
“I thought you were betraying me, Greg.”
“I thought you were meeting another woman in the southern chambers.”
“I cast a blood curse in a blind, jealous rage.”
She looked up, her eyes wide with terror and decades of festering guilt.
“But it wasn’t you in the chambers.”
“It was Craig.”
Craig pulled himself up to sit against the bars, asking if she had cursed him by accident.
His voice was hoarse, entirely human, but it carried the exact same gentle cadence Megan recognized from her mind.
“I tried to reverse it immediately,” Brenda sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
“But the magic had already taken root.”
“He was already becoming the Beast.”
“The only way to break a curse that strong was an impossible condition.”
Brenda looked up at Megan, tears streaming down her face.
“I had to find someone pure of heart who could see past the monster.”
“Someone who loved him enough to refuse to kill him, even when offered the crown.”
King Greg’s face contorted in sheer, unadulterated agony.
“For six years, you let me believe my brother was dead?”
Greg roared that he had tortured him in those dungeons.
Brenda screamed back that she had designed the trials to save him.
Megan ignored the royal drama unfolding beside her.
She ran straight to the cage, slipping her arms through the thick iron bars to reach him.
Craig looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers with absolute clarity.
“You remembered,” Craig whispered, reaching out to grasp her trembling hand.
“You refused to give up on me.”
“I told you I’d help you,” Megan said, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
She pressed her forehead against the cold iron bars, wishing she could pull him through the metal.
“I love you.”
Craig smiled, a weak but overwhelmingly radiant expression.
“I love you, too.”
Three months later, the castle library was bathed in warm, golden afternoon sunlight.
Megan sat curled up in the plush window seat, a heavy historical tome resting open on her lap.
Craig lay with his head resting comfortably in her lap.
He was staring out at the blooming royal gardens with that distant, thoughtful look she had come to recognize.
He was still searching for memories that wouldn’t easily come.
“You’re supposed to be reading,” Megan teased gently, running her fingers through his dark hair.
“I was,” Craig murmured lazily.
“Then I started wondering if I had read this book before the curse.”
“If I actually liked it.”
Megan smiled, gently taking the book from his hands and setting it aside.
“Stop trying to force it.”
“Let the memories come back on their own time.”
Craig turned his face to lean into her palm, asking softly what would happen if they didn’t.
“I don’t know how to be a Prince anymore.”
“I don’t even know if I want to be one.”
“You don’t have to decide today,” Megan murmured, tracing the faint scar on his cheek.
Craig was quiet for a long moment, simply breathing in the quiet peace of the room.
“Do you know what I do remember?” he asked finally.
Megan asked what he remembered.
“This,” he said, pressing his palm flat against her heart.
“You.”
“I may not remember being royalty, but I know exactly who I am now.”
“I’m yours.”
Megan’s chest tightened with overwhelming warmth.
She leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.
“Greg asked about you this morning,” she mentioned quietly.
“He seems lighter these days.”
“He actually called me sister twice last week.”
Craig smiled, a genuine expression of relief.
“You saved his brother.”
“You’re family now.”
“I don’t know what he plans to do about Brenda, though,” Megan said carefully.
Craig sighed, his eyes turning back to the gardens.
“I told him it’s his choice, not mine.”
“I barely remember being the Beast, and what I do remember led me straight to you.”
“She still cursed you,” Megan reminded him.
“For six whole years.”
“She also designed the impossible trials that brought you into my life,” Craig pointed out gently.
He reached up to cup her face in his hands.
“If Greg still loves her, and I think he does, then he needs to find a way forward.”
Megan leaned into his warm touch.
“You’re very wise for someone who doesn’t remember being a Prince.”
Craig laughed, a rich, wonderful sound.
“Read to me,” he asked, closing his eyes.
So Megan read, and Craig listened, his head resting against her knee.
The bond between them hummed with absolute contentment.
Outside, the kingdom waited patiently for its lost Prince to find himself again.
Down in the courtyard, King Greg was slowly learning how to forgive.
Brenda was working every single day to earn back the trust she had selfishly broken.
The kingdom was healing, piece by broken piece.
But up here, wrapped in the quiet warmth of the royal library, the trials were nothing more than a fading nightmare.
There was no rush to figure out the future.
They had all the time in the world.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
