Damon wasn't exactly a model prince.
Well, then again, that would depend on your perspective. In terms of a traditional fairytale kingdom, full of princes and princesses and dragons and unicorns, where princesses are always in need of saving and princes are always charming, Damon was terrible. In terms of a group of scheming, conniving, cunning cutthroats who are always looking to get ahead so they can ascend the throne faster, Damon was *fantastic.* He hatched so many plots that his plots had plots. He was like a puppet master, barely tugging one string to make another thing happen, which made another thing happen, and another thing happen . . .
The point is, he was an expert.
When he drank the potion, his inner soul--his masterful conniving plotting nature--manifested itself. He instantly doubled over in pain, arms across his stomach. "Witch!" he screamed. "What have you done to me!" She said nothing, just laughed as he continued to writhe. It hurt so much that he ended up face down on the floor, where his legs were forced wide to either side around a burgeoning backside that ripped out of his lordly tights quickly enough, turning black and hard as it did so: an abdomen of some sort of non-mammal. Large and round it swelled, quickly dwarfing his newly shaping thorax, which shrunk just a bit and hardened as well.
His hair fell out in great clumps as he writhed, screaming in pain as his eyes segmented and new ones emerged across his head before his head shrunk a bit, his ears shriveling and falling from his scalp along with his nose as his skin there also became a hard black exoskeleton. His screams cut off mid-shriek and became a sort of clicking, high pitched whine when mandibles thrust from his reshaped mouth and two new fangs dripping with poison emerged.
His arms were soon forced wide as well, the skin on them seeming almost to melt away to reveal segmented limbs with fierce claws and small hairs, a third one on either side emerging from between his re-shaped legs and arms--and then a fourth. Eight legs. He squirmed and skittered as his organs shifted and melted, his internal anatomy changing and a spinneret forming along with a fierce stinger, equally full of poison, on the end of his abdomen. As he lay there, spent, one last final change occurred: a red hourglass appeared on his new abdomen, marking him as a black widow spider: a female black widow spider.
A man-sized female black widow spider. The ultimate puppet master. Feet skittering across the ground for just a moment, the new spider rose to her feet and surveyed the world with her new eyes. She focused on the witch.