Beau & the Beast

Perrie tries to wake Louis cautiously, but the man sits up with a scream, shifting his gaze in confusion.

“Qui êtes-vous?” he mumbles and Perrie sits on the edge of his bed, the tray of food lying on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry, love,” Perrie giggles, “I don’t know any French.”

“Sorry,” he rubs his eyes, looking around the room again, “Forgot where I was for a moment. I asked who you were.”

“Oh!” She extends a hand, “I’m Perrie Edwards. I keep this place in order for the most part. Which means, I feed everyone and clean up after them. Bunch of slobs, they are.”

Louis grumbles, sitting back against the pillow, “I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

“I know,” she grins, reaching for the bowl of stew, “And I brought you some food, Louis. I’ll bet you’re starved.”

He thinks for a moment, but finally nods, “Mon dieu, I really am. Don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten.”

“Much too long, I’m sure,” Perrie smiles, waiting until he’s comfortably seated to hand him the bowl.

“Merci,” Louis murmurs, taking a sip of the soup and humming, “Très bien.”

“I actually got that part. You’re welcome, and thank you! It’s a favorite in the house. They send supplies from the castle every month, but it’s never enough to really enjoy food.”

Louis’ brows furrow in confusion, “Well, it’s very good either way.”

Perrie grins distantly, “Would you like anything else?”

Louis shakes his head, but pauses, “Maybe some information?”

Perrie leans onto her elbow, stretching half-way across the bed, “I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

Louis nods, “Fair enough.”

“What would you like to know?” Perrie runs her finger along the design in the familiar comforter. She’s made this bed a thousand times. Not for any good reason; usually just because one of the lads passed out in this room, typically drunk. She supposes she was always just hopeful that the room would be good for something at some point.

She hopes Louis can be that something.

“Well,” he considers the situation, “Why are you here?”

“Me personally?” Perrie inquires, unsure if she’s ready to get that personal. She quickly tries to think of a simple explanation.

“No, not necessarily,” Louis takes another sip, “Like everyone. Why are you all here? What is this place exactly?”

“Ah yes,” Perrie blushes, slightly relieved, “Well long story short, our master was banished to this castle for reasons he should tell you himself if the time comes, and we’ve all been banished here for different reasons in order to serve him during his sentence.”

Louis chuckles, “Banished to a château. Is he a spoilt prince or something?”

“Or summat,” Perrie mutters under her breath, “He’s a prince, but I’d say he’s more persecuted than spoilt.”

Louis tries not to laugh again. He supposes he can’t judge without actually knowing the story.

“Sorry for laughing,” he adds, “It’s just that when you’re degraded to doing terrible things for money, just so you can go to school, it’s hard to feel bad for someone who is handed everything on a silver platter.”

Louis takes another big sip of soup and glances up at Perrie through lidded eyes.

“Trust me, I understand,” she sighs, “But he isn’t like that.”

“What is this mystérieux master’s name anyway?” Louis asks between bites, bewildered by how the bowl is already nearly gone.

Perrie sits up, brushing strands of hair out of her face, “His name is Harry, but you must never call him that, okay?”

“And why not?” Louis wonders aloud.

“Because,” Perrie rolls her eyes and scoffs, “I said so. I’ve lived in this castle for years and I don’t even call him that. He’s Master Styles to us, or just Master. If anyone has the pleasure of calling him by his first name, it’s going to be Liam.”

Louis shrugs and finishes the soup, “Do I want to meet this Master?”

Perrie squints, mulling over the question, “You might not want to meet him, but you’ll like to know him. I promise, he’s an extraordinary man if you get past the tough exterior.”

“I don’t like the sound of this guy,” Louis kicks the covers down as Perrie stands up.

“Well,” she laughs, “You won’t have much of a choice. Once you’re here, you’re stuck here my friend. You’re best bet is to like him.”

Louis swallows thickly and shifts his legs so that they are draped over the side of the large mattress, “I don’t force myself to like people, ma cherie. I’ll give him a chance, though.”

Perrie notices his uneasy expression and rests her hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Louis doesn’t try to smile; he’s a bit too bitter to make other people feel better, “Thanks, for what it’s worth.”

Perrie pulls him into a crushing hug before he can even stand entirely. Louis gasps at the gesture, but easily falls into the feeling, appreciating the affection after such a traumatic day.

“I need the W.C.,” Louis mumbles, still being embraced by the unfamiliar girl he’s only just met.

She simply giggles, “Ah, yes the toilets. I’ll take you there. It’s the next door over.”

_________

Liam cautiously walks up the next flight of stairs, fully aware of where the Master is. He’s hidden away in his tower, probably moping around like he usually does.

Liam just doesn’t know what to tell him now. He thinks of the possibilities, “Sir, I’m sorry but we have a surprise visitor,” or, “Master, someone whom I will not name brought a guest into the palace.”

Nothing sounds right in his head, though, and his heart is racing much too quickly to think straight.

So, when he knocks on the door, he’s still not sure what he’ll say.

“Who goes there?” The Master’s voice booms, and Liam thinks to himself that he already sounds irritated.

“It’s Liam, sir,” he tells him softly.

The door swings open and the man behind the door is grumbling for him to enter.

“What do you want, Liam?” he mumbles, sitting back in his large plush chair, a nearly empty bottle of scotch next to him.

“Checking on you, sir,” Liam gulps, “Anything you need?”

“Cut the crap, mate,” The Master chuckles, pouring two glasses of scotch in small tumblers, “Just talk to me like old times.”

He leans over and hands Liam a glass, beckoning him to sit in a chair opposite him. Liam nods and sits down, waiting for his master to take a sip before he does.

Liam notices the glint in his master’s eyes before he hears the soft sobs that follow.

“Harry,” he whispers, resting his hands on the armrests, ready to stand.

“No!” Harry yells, “Stay there. I mean it, just talk about the good times, Li.”

Liam swallows thickly and stays seated, resting back in the chair, even though his muscles are tense.

“Wh- What do you want to talk about?” Liam stutters, nervous, having never seen Master Styles this way. He’s only getting worse.

“Talk about my sister’s wedding,” Harry sniffles, adding for good measure a quiet, “Please.”

“Alright,” Liam thinks back, finding it painful to remember the days of freedom, “Well, it was a warm day, middle of summer. Do you remember the date?”

“Yeah,” Harry wheezes, “The seventh of July. I remember they feared it would rain.”

“Yeah,” Liam forces a grin, “But, it didn’t. It rained the day before, so everything was lovely and green. I remember that you couldn’t sleep the night before. Remember me, you, and Gemma went for a walk after dark. We walked all the way down to the moors and laid in the damp field just like we did when we were kids.”

Harry chuckles dryly, “Yeah, and Gemma complained the whole way back about how her nightgown was soaked and how she’d need another bath.”

“Yeah,” Liam smiles, more genuinely this time, “But, we had a good long talk, the three of us. Then, the next day, you were difficult to wake up.”

“Always was,” Harry smirks, “Now, I just can’t stay asleep.”

Liam’s smile fades immediately, “Anyway, we got ready on time somehow, and even had tea. Gemma had a bit of a meltdown, but you went in and worked your magic-“

“Don’t-“ Harry scoffs, “Don’t use that word.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam flushes, “I meant it as a figure of speech-“

“I know,” Harry breathes deeply, “I just don’t want to hear about magic.”

Liam nods, deciding to change the subject, “But, you talked to her, and whatever you said fixed her right up. Do you remember what you said?”

Liam notices how Harry’s eyes glaze over, but his smile is ever-present, “Yeah, I told her that she’d never find another man to put up with her bullshit.”

Both men laugh before Harry continues, “But, then I told her how I loved her and how proud mum would have been of her. I told her that-“ he chokes back tears and takes a deep breath, “I told her that it was her best chance out of there. Away from our father.”

“Have you- um,” Liam glances to the mirror sitting atop his master’s desk, “Have you seen her recently?”

Harry nods slowly, “I try not to often, but yes. She’s pregnant, Liam. She’s going to have a baby. God, I just hope it’s a boy. He can take the throne in my place. I would let him in a heartbeat. Maybe the curse will be released if there is another heir. Maybe we can be free; Maybe I can be a normal lad. One who’s every move isn’t scrutinized.”

Liam wants to tell him not to get his hopes up, but that doesn’t seem like the best way to get him in a good mood. He opts for continuing their conversation about Gemma, starting off with the only thing left he could think to ask, “Do you miss her?”

While Liam knows the answer, he awaits Harry’s response.

“Of course I fucking miss her,” Harry shoots back, “I miss her almost as much as I miss Mum and him.”

Liam nods, but notices that Harry quickly cools off from his sudden outburst, “Do you want to talk about him yet?”

Harry takes a long sip of his scotch, draining the glass, “No use in speaking of the dead. It won’t bring him back. To this place, or that.”

“That doesn’t mean he never existed, Harry,” Liam presses, feeling more confident after the pleasant conversation so far. Pleasant, that is, compared to the usual conversations Harry has lately.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry spits, “I think about him every day. He’ll always be important to me, and I wouldn’t give up the memory of him, even if it meant I’d get out of this hell-hole.”

Liam nods slowly, feeling the hot tears reaching his eyes, “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” Harry reaches for the bottle of scotch, “I know I’m not the only one suffering here. You’re all stuck here because of me, and that’s why I’ll die a bitter old man. We’ll all die because I can’t love a woman. It’s pathetic.”

Liam stands now, approaching Harry quickly and kneeling at his side, “Not pathetic of you, though. Pathetic of your father. Harry, don’t ever blame yourself.”

“No matter how often you say that, Li,” Harry breathes shakily, “I’ll always blame myself.”

Liam closes his eyes, and wishes things were better. He almost forgets why he went to check on Harry in the first place.

“Sire,” Liam stays where he is, kneeling on the floor and unsure of what to say exactly.

“What?” Harry leans over, resting his elbows on his knees and noticing a change in Liam’s demeanor.

“You’re not going to want to hear this, but I feel that I must tell you-“ Liam pauses again, having never decided how to explain their conundrum.

“Tell me what?” Harry seethes, angry before he’s heard the undecided words.

“We- uh,” Liam clears his throat, not daring to stand, “We have a guest.”

__________

When the door of Louis’ new room swings open, he surely isn’t expecting what he sees.

A tall man with a mess of brown waves is stomping toward him, his screaming so loud that it’s impossible to understand. The man, Louis decides, reminds him of a bum on the streets of Paris, what with the ratty clothes and the tangled hair. Louis pushes the covers off of his body just in time for the man to lunge at him, his fingertips bruising his biceps as the stranger fumes from over him.

“Casse-toi!” Louis curses, pushing on the man’s chest as hard as he can, “Get off of me! Who are you?”

The taller man scoffs and refuses to break eye contact, “Who am I? Excuse me, but who are you and what are you doing in my castle?”

Liam rushes in a moment later, his face pale and stricken.

“Liam! Who is this mad-man?” Louis yells, still trying to release himself to no avail.

The man is much stronger than he looks, and appears much younger from so close up. In fact, Louis would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit mesmerized by his attacker’s dynamic green eyes.

“Har- Master, please,” Liam begs, afraid of the reaction he might get by trying to physically pull him away from Louis, “He’s not a harm to anyone.”

“How do you know?” The master grits his teeth, standing up and pulling Louis along with him. He pushes Louis against the nearest wall and tightens his grip on his arms, “He’s just a stranger. What if someone sent him here?”

“No one,” Louis gulps, more afraid than confident now as the man he now knows is the Master curls his fingers into his skin roughly, “No one sent me... Sir.”

Harry’s expression changes all at once, the soft voice coming from the small man he’s still holding onto calming his mind. It’s as if he’s only now realized how he’s acting.

He releases his grasp, but holds onto Louis’ shoulders lightly instead, staring him down with an intent expression, “Then how did you get here?”

Louis glances over to Liam for some help, but Harry’s hand is squeezing his face, turning his attention back to his pretty eyes, “Don’t tell me some bull-shit you were told to say. Tell me the truth.”

“I chose to come here, but I was pulled through a mirror at a club,” Louis pauses, his cheeks stinging from Harry’s fingers, “In Paris.”

Harry lets go of Louis’ jaw and massages his own temple instead, one arm still holding Louis against the wall, “What is your name?”

Louis smirks, his confidence back in full ever since Harry’s hands stopped digging into him, “Louis. What’s yours?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, confused, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I was just asking to be polite, Harry,” Louis laughs dryly, “Under any other circumstance, I’d ask you to be my Prince Charming.”

Liam almost butts in, sure that he warned Louis before not to test his boundaries. He went through hell to just tell his master about the visitor, and here is taking cheap flirty shots at him, disrespecting his authority.

“Yeah well,” Harry chuckles darkly and steps away from Louis, taking him and Liam both by surprise, “It’s too bad princes aren’t gay.”

“Ha!” Louis laughs dramatically as Harry walks toward the door, his shoulders pushed back in confidence, “History’s seen many gay princes; they’ve just been dishonest.”

Harry pauses in the doorway, but decides to keep walking, leaving without another word.

Once he’s out of earshot, Liam closes the door and groans, “Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”

Louis crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Liam grits his teeth and tries to breathe before he explodes, “I told you to cooperate.”

“Yeah,” Louis grins, “Well, he was asking for it.”

Liam’s jaw drops as he stares at Louis, dumbfounded, “I’m surprised he didn’t lock you away. Don’t push your luck, mate.”

“I’m not threatened by him,” Louis laughs, “Give him a bath and I’ll bet he looks like a lost puppy.”

“Cut the shit!” Liam yells in frustration, “You’re new here, but let me tell you what. When the master isn’t brooding and angry, then everyone is happier. Don’t push his buttons. That’s the first rule.”

“Well,” Louis sits back down on his bed, “I should have told you sooner: I don’t follow rules. Now, I’d like to get some more sleep in hopes that I’ll wake up and it was all a dream.”

Notes

1. you're all lovely
2. i hope you like this chapter
3. i can't keep my eyes open, i'm so tired omg