There was a somber mood in the great hall. The Beast had taken another of the King’s warriors; only the old, the injured, and the cowardly remained. Not one was left who would challenge it.
“Are we then,” the King asked, “to wait here for it to take us at it’s leisure?”
“What else is there?” The Castellan murmured.
“Poison.” The Prince, too young to fight, said it calmly.
“How do we get the Beast to drink poison? Young fool…”
“He doesn’t. We do, all of us. He eats one of us. He dies. Those who remain take the antidote.”