Across the Sea of Serenity a stretch of water that acted as a liquid shroud for the Isle lay the United States of Auradon. To the uninitiated, it was a paradise of white marble and perpetual spring. To those who looked closer, it was a kingdom of enforced order.
In the East, the Sultan's domes gleamed with a wealth that never trickled down. In the North, the "Honeymoon Cottage" of Aurora and Phillip stood as a forty-bedroom monument to a peace bought with the blood of Maleficent's defeat. To the South, the sea-palaces of Ariel and Eric hummed with a harmony that felt scripted.
At the center stood Castle Beast, a fortress of blue and gold. Inside, the library held every book ever written except, perhaps, the ones that told the villains' side of the story.
This was the seat of King Beast and Queen Belle. Twenty years ago, the Beast had not just "united" the kingdoms; he had consolidated power, stripped the "unworthy" of their magic, and established a work ethic that favored the strong and the silent. Belle was his anchor, the only one capable of soothing the tectonic fury that still simmered beneath his velvet suits.
Their son, Prince Ben, was fifteen a few months shy of sixteen, the age of legal ascension. He was a masterpiece of royal breeding: his father's jaw, honey brown hair and his mother's hazel green eyes, and a heart that felt far too much for a man destined to wear a crown of iron.
Ben was the ultimate symbol of the "Good" world. He was the captain of the Tourney team, a scholar of the state, and a boy who had never known a day of hunger. He was everything the children of the Isle were raised to hate.
But Ben was haunted.
That morning, he had woken from a dream that tasted like ash. He had seen a grey rock in a sea of soot. He had seen a girl with hair the color of a dying sunset and eyes like poisoned emeralds. In the dream, he had fallen, and she had pulled him up not with a "happily-ever-after" smile, but with a look of profound, agonizing recognition.
Ben sat in his study, staring at a petition from Sidekicks United. In this "perfect" world, the mice, the candles, and the dwarves did the labor while the royals held the galas. They were "disgruntled" a polite word for the first tremors of an uprising.
"Be careful about the sidekicks, son," a voice boomed.
King Beast stood in the doorway. He was smiling, but it was the smile of a predator who had learned to use a fork. His eyes were still a sharp blue despite his age and Behind him, the billboards of his own propaganda loomed through the window: GOOD JOB BEING GOOD!
"They're asking for compensation, Father," Ben said, his voice small against the vaulted ceiling. "They do the work. They have a point."
"Everyone has a point, Ben. But a King has a will," Beast replied, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl. He stepped forward and slammed a paw-like hand onto Ben's shoulder. "Don't let the noise drown out the order."
"If you keep shouting, you'll break the china again, and Mrs. Potts will have my head," Queen Belle said, gliding into the room. She was resplendent in gold, her beauty unchanged by time, though her hazel eyes were sharper but far kinder than his father's She saw the tension in Ben's frame the way he looked like a bird caught in a gilded cage.
"Lumiere and Cogsworth are just being fussy," Beast chuckled, dismissing the cries for equality with a wave of his massive hand. He grabbed Ben's hand and forced it into a fist, sliding his own beast-head ring over Ben's knuckles.
"Strong. Powerful. Kingly," Beast commanded.
Ben looked at his hand. It was swallowed by his father's grip. He felt the gold of the ring the symbol of the man who had built a prison for children press into his skin.
When his parents finally left, the silence of the room felt like a physical weight. Belle had told him to "be himself," but Ben knew that "himself" was someone who couldn't stop looking at the map of the Isle.
He looked at the ring on his finger. Strong. Powerful. Kingly.
He didn't want to be a king of walls. He wanted to be a king of bridges. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to draft a proclamation that would shatter twenty years of "perfection."
He would bring the children of the Isle here. He would face the monsters his father had created.
Ben clenched his fist. The gold felt cold.