Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Up to the months leading to the first day of snow, the temperature around the province was cold. The chimneys of Villeneuve burned all through the chilly days, and the castle's fireplaces were alight during the frozen nights. The trees in the forest had shed all their green leaves until they were bare, their crooked branches reaching up to heaven, and the horses and carriages trotting up to the Prince's residence crushed the hues of red, orange, and yellow on the forest floor.

The first snowfall was discovered on a crispy mid-November morning, when the castle staff awoke to sheets of white coating the hectares of gardens surrounding the Prince's estate. The winter season was a reminder to them of just how permanent the snowfall could have been, if a blessing from God by the name of Belle hadn't come and rescued them from inanimate servitude, potentially forever. And the moment they saw the snow, they felt nothing but relief that soon after it would be spring.

Adam looked outside his bedroom window, the weather blanketing the landscape outside, the glass of his windows freezing to the touch against the human skin of his fingers. The day had barely begun, so the sun was just a little bit over the horizon, bringing a little bit of warmth over the view. He remembered that not so long ago, in a winter much like this one—albeit it was one that came from a curse, he stood out there in the snow, his fur enough to keep the cold at bay, petting Philippe with a monstrous paw. Then as he looked up, the sharp but playful sting of a snowball hit him square in the jaw. And he gazed up to see her, laughing at him from the stairwell.

A knock resounded from the door to bring him out of his thoughts.

"Come in," he replied.

The door opened with a creak, and a cart rolled in, followed by a woman with greying hair but a maternal glint in her eyes. It was almost a relief to see her staring back at him with her arms pushing the cart instead of it moving on its own, and to see that the tea set had no faces or talking mouths.

"Good morning, Master," Mrs. Potts said, smiling at him. "It's quite the chilly day, isn't it?"

He nodded at her. "The snow's arrived, finally. I've been waiting for it to come."

Mrs. Potts stared at him as she poured a cup of tea. "Really? I thought that you would have grown tired of seeing the snow. After all, it's the only thing you saw out the windows for nearly ten years."

What she said was true, however. There had been a part of him that dreaded the first snow before it came, because he feared it would bring back memories of his beastly, monstrous self looking down from one of the spires, during one of many and many a lonely night. But luckily, some of those miserable times were flooded with joyful moments with a brown-haired, bright-eyed bibliophile of a funny girl. He was grateful that at least he wouldn't have to suffer a winter season with those events coming back to haunt him.

The silence that he gave Mrs. Potts was enough for her not to continue the conversation.

"I tried knocking on the dear thing's door," Mrs. Potts went on, going into a subject that she knew Adam would indulge in more. "She's fast asleep! Probably took one of those books from her library to her bedroom and read until she dropped."

Adam couldn't help but chuckle a little at that. Every morning, he visited the library and he could almost feel like some of its parts were missing and tucked away under her pillow in her bedroom. Sometimes there were mountains of books on the tables, open in some pages, bookmarked in many, and there was a number of them set to one side with notes and pieces of paper inserted into the leaves. It was growing messier and neater at the same time; every time he passed by the shelves she was done sorting, they were all neatly arranged: by author, title, and year published. It was almost incredible, how she managed to do it, when he used to have little to no patience for remembering where he placed a book in that behemoth of a library.

"Sometimes I feel like that library is no longer mine," he joked, smiling like an idiot. "But it would have been such a waste if it was never put to good use. I'm glad she's making the most out of it."

From the corner of her mouth, Mrs. Potts' mouth lifted up in a tiny grin as she put in two spoons of sugar. "It's been two months, Master."

And the joy immediately disappeared from his face as fast as it came, revealing an expression of discouragement. "I know."

"And you're running out of time."

He breathed a sigh of exasperation. "I know."

"Has Lumière harassed you about it this morning yet, or have I beaten him to it?"

"No, you were here first." He walked over to her as she handed him his hot tea, and he took it carefully, as if the teacup was still the young boy Chip, and drank a few sips from it. Then he stared at the beverage, drunken halfway, before putting it back on the tray. "Every morning, I say I'm going to do it. And every night, I go to bed, reprimanding the coward that I am."

Mrs. Potts' teasing face melted away to reveal a maternal one. "Don't say that. Being afraid of her reaction or denial is something normal. Courtship isn't a walk in the park, Master; it's strategy, and kind gestures done every moment of every day."

"And I have been doing those things, ever since…then," he gestured to the side instead of saying the dreaded word. "The library, the dance, even letting her go to see her father and all the things in between…those don't count?"

"Of course they do. And that's why she's still here, that's why she still loves you. But it takes a little bit more than that. Believe me, Master, it seems that there's always more to sacrifice."

He put a hand to his face and sighed into it, tired. The touch of flesh against his visage was something he was still getting used to, even two months after everything.

Mrs. Potts smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling like they always did. "The staff's pressuring you because we believe it's the right time. Besides, do you have anything to lose?"

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then lost it right as it reached the edge of his tongue. Like many mothers, Mrs. Potts was right about things he previously thought was wrong, and was even more right on things that he thought was more wrong.

"What makes you hesitate?" Mrs. Potts asked again.

"She's always been the adventurous type," Adam spat out without thinking twice. "What if she feels that it will chain her down? Or if she isn't ready for it?"

Mrs. Potts waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, posh tosh. You're too busy thinking about all these possibilities when you've never even tried."

He sighed as he thought about it, then stroked his beard; ever since she had teased him about growing stubble during that celebratory ball after the curse, he had never cut his facial hair, and it grew into a fuzz that ate at the skin of his face. There was silence in his room until he gave a defeated sigh.

"Alright, tonight…" he said finally. "I'll try again tonight."

"You've said that so many times, I'm wondering if you've gotten those exact words in memory," Mrs. Potts gave off a chuckle. "I just hope this attempt goes well on this round."

For a moment, his blue eyes shone with a little light of determination. "I hope so too."

The clock in the hallway chimed at nine in the evening, and Cogsworth jumped in shock at the first bell, still fearing that the sound might have come from inside him. Lumière couldn't help but chuckle a bit into the sleeve of his shirt for Cogsworth's antics, but the latter shot him a look and suddenly the maître d' was silent and rigid. Mrs. Potts shushed them both, and all three of them watched as Adam paced back and forth nervously in front of a bedroom door, wringing his hands and constantly tugging on the sleeves of his banyan. His eyes darted everywhere and he constantly licked his lips, mumbling to himself like a madman.

"Master, just relax!" Lumière smiled his debonair smile. "I'm sure the mademoiselle would not mind that you would want to talk to her."

"I rather thinks she enjoys your company, actually," Cogsworth added.

But Adam ignored them and simply exhaled nervously, still prowling around like an anxious wreck.

"Come, pull yourself together," Mrs. Potts encouraged him. "You said earlier this morning that you could do this."

"I said that earlier this morning," Adam snapped his head at them and said his part quickly before going back to his restless state.

Throughout the whole day, he found witty and funny things to say to her, and plotted in which way the conversation would go to get it to where he wanted it to be. But standing in front of the trial now made his knees tremble and the words slip out of his memory little by little. Only by murmuring them to himself repeatedly was he able to at least retain some of their coherence. Lumière, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts all exchanged concerned glances.

"Alright, here we go," Adam breathed quietly, stood in front of the door, and raised a knuckle, closing his eyes as if he was ready for a guillotine blade to come down upon his throat with a sickening chop.

But he heard two women's chatter come to a halt as he stood close to the door, and his acute hearing could pinpoint that one of them had already stood up in attention. His fingers began to shake and the three staff members behind him frantically shook in alarm.

"Go!" Cogsworth pushed Lumière down the hall so that they could all begin running. "Go, go, go!"

Lumière could barely get on his feet, but Cogsworth continued to shove him and Mrs. Potts picked up her skirts and ran down to follow them as fast as her legs could carry her, until all three of them vanished from sight. That should have been one burden lifted off his shoulders, but he heard a voice from inside the doors that made him freeze in place.

"I could have sworn I heard Cogsworth out there," a young lady's voice echoed through the doors. "Hold on, Madame, I'll see what's going on."

Adam's thoughts went immediately to running after Lumière, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts, away from the situation, as he heard the footsteps approach him, spared from shame and every other embarrassing emotion. But the moment the doors to the bedroom opened, his feet were anchored in place and he sighed as he clenched his fists, praying to the heavens that the already worst night of his life (apart from all those other nights as a hideous monster) wouldn't get even more disastrous.

Then a voice he was both relieved and terrified to hear spoke up clearly. "Cogsworth?"

A fair face came through the open door, followed by a swirl of a simple blue dress, up until the figure of what he had come to know was his entire life filled one half of the doorway. But upon seeing him stand there, her eyes perked up in surprise and her face went red. Then she smoothened out her shirt and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, smiling at him bashfully (as if she needed to look more beautiful than she already did). His heart melted and a sigh left his lips without his knowledge, and just like that, every single witty saying he embedded into his memory vanished, and he was suddenly a fool again.

"Oh! Adam," she greeted, bowing her head a bit. He could hear from the way that she said his name that she still wasn't quite used to it yet, as she had a habit of calling him titles such as 'Your Highness' in the past. "Good evening. I thought I heard Cogsworth out here; what a surprise that it's you."

"Hello, Belle, I…" he started, but if the way her lovely voice said his name didn't turn his mind to mush, then her beautiful eyes definitely did the trick. "I…I came here to…I mean, I had a plan and I…I just…I can't even…"

She laughed quaintly, and he swore to God that he was willing to pluck the stars down from heaven and they still couldn't compare to the brightness of her smile and the mirth in her giggle. The heat came back to his face and burned his cheeks; he could only chuckle with her to attempt to lessen his embarrassment.

"I'm guessing you want to try and form a complete sentence?" she finally said after she was done.

"I just…came here to…" and he began to bail, running a hand through his long hair; come on, think of something, think of something— "…to tell you how lovely your room is. It's gorgeous."

Her brows furrowed, but she smiled just the same. "Well, you should thank yourself; it's your castle, after all."

Oh. A worried laugh left him. "R-Right…a-and it's a lovely castle, isn't it?"

She crossed her arms; he was wrong to let her play the fool. "Adam, what are you really here for?"

"I…" with a sigh, he gave up, shaking violently. "Belle, I just…I wanted to…God, I-I can't even say it."

Her smile faded away and she took a hand, pressing a hand to Adam's cheek as she took a step forward. Her touch was always sent a pleasant feeling glowing through his body, and it felt newer and more magical every time she reached out to him. It was like the first time she held him, when she was clothed in gold and he was still a monster, dancing across the ballroom and looking into his eyes as intently as she did now.

"Then collect yourself and say what you have to, slowly," she said, enunciating every syllable with care.

He wet his lips and felt her soft skin trace through the makings of his beard, reaching up to stroke his nape. Her face was not too far from his own. "I just…" What should he even say? That he loved her? That seeing her so enthusiastic about the library made his spirits soar? That he was standing there, like a fool in front of her door, to say from the very bottom of his being: 'Belle, would you marry me?'

But that didn't come out.

"I wanted to see you."

Wow, that was extremely pathetic, you 'debonair' prince.

The moment the first word left his mouth, he knew he was going to regret it. He could practically hear Cogsworth hit his palm on his face and Lumière cringe in second-hand chagrin. The Prince shut his eyes for a long while and wished that the world would stop existing for a moment, or at least until the burning sensation of shame left his body.

To make it worse, she giggled. Then laughed. Then guffawed loud enough for the entire castle to hear, probably. He felt himself blush as she threw her head back; yes, the sound of her joy was alluring, but he couldn't help but feel she was gaining happiness from his mistakes. But then her bright eyes locked with his and, for the thousandth time, he fell in love with her, like he did all those lonely months ago. She took his face in her hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips; and though it was brief, the taste of her was something so familiar and yet something he craved for constantly, that feeling it back into his system reinvigorated him somehow.

"You are adorable, and you simply must know that," Belle hugged him tight and whispered into his shirt. "Do you know how grateful I am to have you in my life?"

He couldn't say anything to return the flowery nature of her words, to reply in a compliment that was just as lovely as her. But the first thing that came naturally to his mind as he wrapped his arms around her was: "I love you."

"And I love you," she replied, taking his hands in hers as they broke from each other. Her touch was soft, delicate and beautiful, almost like the roses that the gardeners maintained, and that would bloom devoutly in the spring.

"Well," he slipped his hands carefully from her touch and gave a short bow. "Since that's over, I think we should part ways for the night. I have other business to conduct."

She gave a wide smile. "Then goodnight, Adam."

And for a moment, the smile he returned to her was genuine as well. "Goodnight, my love."

Before any of them could say another word, she disappeared as the doors to her room closed behind her with a thud, a sound that reverberated through the empty hallway, leaving Adam standing there, alone, with nothing but the ghost of her lips on his. For once, he felt rather satisfied with himself, until the hard and painful truth hit him on the back like a frying pan to his cranium.

From around the corner of the hall, Lumière, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts emerged, looking frightful and anxiously eyeing the Prince as he stared out at Belle's door, motionless, while his staff swirled around him like excited children at a fair stall.

"Master, what happened?" Lumière inquired quickly. "Did she say yes? Did she say no? Did she tell you to wait?"

"Did she reject you?" Cogsworth asked. "Was she already engaged to another man?"

"I heard her laughing; was it good laughter?" Mrs. Potts followed. "Or did she laugh at you for something else?"

As they waited for their answers, Adam opened his mouth, and they held their breath in anticipation until the answer came down on them like a crashing wave on a dry shore.

"I am the most idiotic prince to ever walk the face of the earth."

Belle walked back into her room and sighed, spinning around before settling down on her bed to pick up her copy of The Canterbury Tales to tuck under her pillow as Madame de Garedobe watched her, sitting on a stool. The young lady flopped back on her bed in delight and sniffed at the sheets, smiling, blushing furiously as if in a euphoric daydream. Her radiant expression of joy and bliss was brightened by the many candles and chandelier that lit the room well.

"You're looking rather pleased with yourself," the Madame commented, a sly smile growing on her lips. "Was it Cogsworth at the door?"

"No, it was the Prince," Belle swooned, opening her eyes and gazing at her intricately detailed ceiling.

At the name of her master, the lady-in-waiting covered her mouth with her hands and gave off a delighted gasp, as if her husband had suddenly asked to marry her again. "Oh my, well isn't that a surprise? Whatever was he here for?"

"He just…" Belle got up and sat on her bed, running a hand through her hair as her face flushed. His stuttering words and nervous disposition was something that was more than lovable, and thinking about it made her stomach flutter and her head spin. "He wanted to see me."

Madame de Garderobe squealed in delight and stood up, dancing about the room. "What poise, what affections! What a man indeed! Oh, isn't he romantic?"

Belle gave off a little giggle as Madame de Garderobe went about and exaggerated her movements. Her theatrical personality really did make her one of the more entertaining castle staff to chat with.

"You know," and the singer sat down on her chair, "you're incredibly lucky that he's generous, benevolent, and caring now that he loves you." The Madame paused for a while and looked out the window, where the snow began to fall. "It was…different before."

Belle's smile faded a little as she followed her gaze to see flecks of white descend from the heavens. It was perhaps the only remnant of the weather the servants were all used to seeing for ten years. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, darling, I'm sure the other staff have told you stories. Of how the Master was like back before the curse transformed him, both inside and out."

Belle nodded solemnly. "They told me he was 'spoiled, selfish, and unkind.'" At those last words, she pitched her speech down as if to emulate the Beast's low voice, to which the Madame gave off a little laugh; it did sound silly when it wasn't her master's. "Though you all still seem so in shock that he's changed so much. I believe anyone can change if they put their heart to it. It may have been hard for him, but it isn't impossible."

"But to us, for a moment, it did seem impossible…" Madame de Garderobe thought awhile on how she was to say it. "He really was another person, my dear. He was—as Mrs. Potts used to put it—still a monster before he truly became one."

Now that was something that Belle herself had to pause to think of. The servants treated the Prince with respect, there was no denying it, and they would die if it meant his life would be spared. But to hear them speak about him like that of his past self was truly something that alarmed Belle.

"I want to ask him," she said, "but I feel like it'll be something too personal for him to talk about."

Madame de Garderobe looked uneasy.

"Can you…" Belle hesitated, "can you tell me a story about him? From before?"

The Madame pondered for a while, then fixed how she sat on the stool as she told her tale. "Well, I do have one. A romantic tale, if you will.

"A few years before the curse was cast," she began, "the Master was quite the sybarite, and I believe you're aware; overindulging in wine, women, and other worldly things. So it wasn't a surprise to us all at the castle to discover that he was the subject of gossip for all the young maidens in Villeneuve, especially since he was seeing a trio of young ladies girls there. How my memory fails me! I forgot what they were called…Dimbettes? Trimletts?"

"Ah," Belle recalled, "the Bimbettes."

Belle remembered those three brunettes she often saw gawking and swooning at Gaston every time he was at least a few feet within the area. How odd was it that the Prince had an encounter with them once? Belle tried to deny the jealousy that brewed in her stomach; after all, he was hers, and she was his. They lived in their own happily ever after, so why was she beginning to grow upset?

The Madame snapped both her fingers suddenly, making Belle jump a bit. "That's it, the Bimbettes! So anyway, he visited them every night, and he'd have them draped around his arms at a local tavern, as they sighed at his handsome good looks at roguish charm." The singer tapped Belle's nose lightly, with a bounce in her movements. "And you thought you were the only one who could love a beast!"

"If he was as handsome as you say he was," Belle argued, hiding a grin, "I think most women might have disregarded the fact that he was a pompous snob."

Madame de Garderobe threw her head back chortling. "Oh, dearest, how you make me laugh! But apparently, they used to be the fawners of a lad named Gaston—I believe he was the fellow that lead the mob up here? The dreadful man!"

Belle nodded. And here she thought that all memories of that brute of a human were in the past.

The Madame continued. "I think the Gaston lad was a young man then, no older than twenty, perhaps. And one night, he entered the tavern, and seeing the Master showered with his own women drove him furious! There was screaming and shoving and wine spilled, and I remember there was even a threat of a sword duel! Bless our lucky stars it never pushed through!"

Belle's eyes widened. She could only imagine in her wildest dreams her dear Adam picking up a sword and brandishing it carefully before an opponent. Of course, like he always said, he had an 'expensive education' and there was no doubt that combat was something he had to be prolific in, but her apprehension still lingered there. She never had to worry about him defending himself as a beast (with the exception of that fight with Gaston on the turrets of the castle), but he was much more vulnerable as a human.

"What the Master did, instead was something…" Madame de Garderobe tried to find a way to put it, but it all ended in vain, and she threw away with a shake of the head. "He wrote a letter to the military requesting that Gaston be stationed in the far south for the war. And he would be stationed there for years, could you believe, only going home when the war ended. That way, he would have stayed out of the Master's hair for enough time to enjoy the Bimbettes until he was tired of them."

Belle looked at her hands, hands that had held a once fiendish man close to her. How could the man she loved, the Beast and the Prince, do something that horrible in his old life? How could a human being be capable of doing something so cruel? True, Gaston should deserve the misfortunes coming to him, but to even provoke someone as bad as Gaston was…

"And, as we expected, he lost interest in those girls early on," Madame de Garderobe's tone had a tint of regret. "A few months later and he broke their hearts as quickly as he stole them. Luckily, when the curse was cast and everyone forgot us, that included Gaston and the Bimbettes. And when that Gaston returned from the war, he went back to…well, doing whatever he was doing before."

Belle rolled her eyes. "You mean courting me."

"Well, maybe he didn't forget this castle completely!" the Madame shrugged. "After all, he came with that mob to kill the Master." And the singer shivered with the thought.

Belle flopped down on her bed and tried to trace another pattern in her ceiling using her imagination. "But…I still can't believe Adam would do something like that. I know, Gaston can be quite irritable and could annoy someone to death, but I never thought that they knew each other before, and that Adam could…"

She couldn't finish that sentence and bit her lip instead, remembering that she kissed the very mouth that had probably challenged the man she hated to a duel, where either of them could have died. The taste of him was still there on her lips, and she could still feel the ghost of his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

And yet, she still loved him, Beast or no Beast, Prince or no Prince. Just learning how much he's changed—either for the curse or for her—really made her see him in a whole new light. Madame de Garderobe wasn't the only person she had inquired for stories of the Prince's past: she had asked Lumière, Cogswoth, Mrs. Potts, Plumette, even Cadenza about what he was like before the Enchantress altered his life forever. The servants revealed little, but they revealed enough for her to conclude that if she had met him before he had been cursed, then she would have detested him more than she used to detest Gaston. And it was incredible, how completely he had turned around. To love someone whom everyone thought was unlovable. It was a feat she had to be proud of, it was a feat that he loved her for doing.

"We felt that way before too," Madame de Garderobe soothed her troubled thoughts. "But he's a new man now, and it's all thanks to your love." She ran a hand through Belle's hair and gave her a motherly smile. "How lucky we are that the lady who grew to love our master wasn't a Bimbette: a lover of beauty and only beauty."

"You didn't have to worry at all, Madame," Belle's eyes brightened as she took the singer's other hand in hers. "I fell in love with him from the moment he said that he hated Romeo and Juliet."

As he expected, after that incident, Adam couldn't bear to face Belle again. The night after, he passed her room, only cringing at what he had done as he recalled her kiss, the reprimands of Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth, and the flamboyant but utterly useless advice from Lumière on how to be a gentleman. But he dismissed them all and went into bed screaming into his pillow and hitting it out of rage, so much so that he wasn't surprised to see feathers littered all over his mattress the next morning.

It was Lumière who had came to give him his morning soup to his bedroom, and they both kept quiet as he finished his bowl. Then when he handed the dish over to maître d', he would have expected that his chatty and debonair personality would have commented something about the events that had unfolded, but he left without a word. It was disturbing for the both of them, and that much Adam knew.

As a Prince, Adam knew everything there was to know about etiquette and how to approach an unmarried woman, but doing it without the assistance of his lavish lifestyle and good looks was a challenge. Most women swarmed to him before because of his riches, handsome face, title, or all three, and Belle was perhaps the only person in the world who was able to see past all of that, because she saw him at his most vulnerable, deprived from all the things he used to hold dear. And he was thankful that there was someone who loved him for who he really was: a human being in need of true affection.

That night, sitting in his room as he heard the clock from down the hall chime eleven times, he flipped through one of his favourite books, The Castle of Otranto, and began to read under the lighting of the candelabras around his room.

"Your behaviour is above your seeming," said Manfred, viewing him with surprise and admiration – "hereafter I will reward your bravery – but now," continued he with a sigh, "I am so circumstanced, that I dare trust no eyes but my own. However, I give you leave to accompany me."

Manfred, when he first followed Isabella from the gallery, had gone directly to the apartment of his wife, concluding the Princess had retired thither. Hippolita, who knew his step, rose with anxious fondness to meet her Lord, whom she had not seen since the death of their son. She would have flown in a transport mixed of joy and grief to his bosom, but he pushed her rudely off, and said –

"Where is Isabella?"

"Isabella! my Lord!" said the astonished Hippolita.

"Yes, Isabella," cried Manfred imperiously; "I want Isabella."

"My Lord," replied Matilda, who perceived how much his behaviour had shocked her mother, "she has not been with us since your Highness summoned her to your apartment."

"Tell me where she is," said the Prince; "I do not want to know where she has been."

"My good Lord," says Hippolita, "your daughter tells

He was interrupted by a knock on his door, and as he called "Come in," Chapeau poked his head through the doors to his bedroom and offered a gentle smile.

"Is it a visitor?" Adam asked.

At this, Chapeau nodded.

With a sigh, he put his book back down on the table and donned his banyan, then followed Chapeau through the doors and through the castle. He noticed that the path they were talking was one to the foyer, that most of the servants had vanished from the corridors, and the candles that lit the hallway dimly and eerily, almost reminding him of how dark his abode used to be. As he ran a hand through his long hair, from the adjoining hallway, another figure emerged and began to walk alongside him, and he was a little bit sleepy, because he was not able to recognise who it was immediately.

"Belle?" he yawned. "What are you doing up this late at night?"

"Chapeau told me there was someone at the door," Belle replied. "He asked you to come too? I wonder who the guest is; after all, he asked for both of us."

But they didn't have to wonder long, because the trip through the massive castle was faster through the winding passageways and stairwells. Waiting there in the foyer, by the door, was a cloaked figure, whose guise was hidden by a hood. As Chapeau went down the stairs ahead of them to greet the guest, Adam couldn't help but feel that the way the hooded guest moved was very eerie and familiar, like he encountered someone like this many nights before. Then it dawned on him; he froze in place, eyes wide, gripping the balustrade of the main stairwell until his knuckles whitened. Belle raced down ahead, but stopped and frowned at her Prince when he didn't move.

"Adam?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that he can't greet a returning guest properly," the hooded figure said, with the honeyed and calm voice of a wise lady.

Belle turned around as Chapeau led the guest forward, and a hand emerged from the black cloak to pull back the hood. Out emerged the lovely face of a woman, with beautiful blonde hair and stunning eyes, smiling vibrantly at the two who had come to greet her. A face he never expected he would see walk through those castle doors. It kept him in place and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. From the corner of his eye, he saw Chapeau exit through the left hall after a bow; if only he was given the privilege of an excuse to get out of this one too.

Meanwhile, Belle gasped with joy and ran over to hug the woman, while Adam stood there, paralysed. He didn't know if it was because of her presence that his legs began to shake, his jaw clenched and he didn't feel like moving a single inch. And why, of all things, was Belle so cordial with the woman who could have damned him to an eternity of loneliness and loathing?

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Agathe," Belle broke from the woman and held her hand. "I hope you're not too cold from the snow."

Her name was Agathe?

"I'm fine, my dear, I've had my fair share of staying outside castle doors." And at this statement she smiled at Adam, who only could grimace. Now wasn't the time to be reminded of his past misdeeds.

"Adam, why don't you come down here and greet her?" Belle asked.

He gave off an uncomfortable grin at Belle. "You do know who this woman is, don't you?"

Belle blinked curiously at the Prince, then it came to her that Agathe wasn't exactly a person he'd like seeing again. "Well…yes. She's told me plenty about your life before the curse. And I don't think that an old woman like her is capable of moving from one end to of the plaza to another in the blink of an eye without some tricks up her sleeve."

The Enchantress could only grin at the Prince. Belle knew about everything? He walked down a few steps, stupefied at how his love knew the truth of who this woman was, and yet was friendlier to her than she was to him in her first days of staying in the castle all those months ago.

"Agathe," Adam greeted indifferently once he descended down the stairs, avoiding her eyes and clasping his hands obediently in front of him. "What brings you back here?"

The woman gave off a genuine smile. "I just came to see how our Prince is doing." Then she turned to Belle. "Is he treating you well?"

"Oh, much more than well," Belle said earnestly. "He treats me like…well, a Princess."

Agathe's brows hiked, and she looked at Adam intently. It was almost as if her eyes could convey verbal messages to him without her having to say a word. And as she gazed at him, it was like he could hear her voice echoing in his mind. 'You haven't proposed to her yet?'

Adam shook his head and Agathe gave him a sly smile in return. Ah, there was the feeling of humiliation bubbling down in his stomach. How he hated it.

"That's good to hear," Agathe said aloud. "Don't worry, Your Highness, I'm not here to put a curse on this house again; it seems as if you've learned your lesson well."

He gave a sigh of relief, though he wasn't sure what to feel around her. True, she had condemned him to ten years of suffering and sorrow, but without the curse and without his ghastly appearance back then, he would have never met Belle, and he would have never learned to love her as he did now.

"Then…" Belle frowned a bit, "what are you here for?"

"I came here to simply inform you two," Agathe began, "that I will be departing from Villeneuve. Business calls me up to the north and I must attend to it. It will only be temporary, and I will return soon."

"You're leaving?" Belle frowned, and her voice was a clue that she was upset at her sudden words.

Agathe nodded. "Don't worry, my child. You won't even notice I'm gone. But, in the meantime…" she reached into her long black cloak and brought out a book, and at the sight of it, Belle's face brightened. "Here, a gift for you. After all, you did always ask about how magical spells worked."

Her hand went over the cover, a beautiful yellow book with the title bound in an iridescent like-colour: The Nature of Spells and Magicks.

"Oh, thank you, Agathe!" she squealed in delight, holding the tome close to her chest. "Thank you very much! I'll treasure this for as long as I live."

Adam gave a smile as well; seeing her happy was enough to make him happy too.

"Ah, and don't think I didn't bring anything for you, Your Highness," Agathe said suddenly, and Adam's brows arched. The Enchantress brought him something? Then when was the sky going to fall?

She reached into her cloak and brought out a basket, and how a basket managed to fit inside her invisible pockets was far beyond a question that Adam wanted to inquire about as he took it gently from her hands. It was a thing of wicker with a lid on top, and it wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be.

"They aren't enchanted, if that's what you're going to ask," Agathe said cautiously to him, with a tinge of mischief in her voice as she walked to the door. "Oh, and in your book, Theodore is Jerome's long lost son."

Adam's brows furrowed, trying to review the plot of Horace Walpole's work. "Theodore is…then that must mean…wait, what?"

Before he could ask her more questions on whether Manfred was to end up mad in The Castle of Otranto, the doors to the Prince's estate opened wide with a wave of Agathe's hand, and a gust of cold winter wind blasted into the foyer and extinguished some of the candles. The Enchantress smiled back at the couple, and as Belle waved goodbye, the doors slammed shut automatically. Adam and Belle stood there in silence for a while to soak in the conversation that had just happened.

"What did she get you?" Belle asked curiously, looking at the basket.

To answer both their questions, Adam lifted the lid off and once he saw what was inside, groaned in exasperation, as Belle threw her head back and laughed both at his reaction and the gift the Enchantress had given him. Inside the basket were about a dozen red, blooming, vibrant roses.

The morning sunlight wafted through the large windows of the library, and the fireplace was just enough to make the huge room a little bit warm. The snow from last night was still falling, and it dotted the windowpanes with curling frosty patterns, blanketing the landscape outside. A quarter of the shelves in the library were fixed neatly, with aligned spines arranged accordingly, but the rest of it was haphazardly disastrous, with books stacked on top of one another, some jammed in the spaces between, and others yet in the wrong place entirely.

Between the areas of order and disorder was the ladder where Belle stood, on one foot at the last tier, with a napkin tied around her head to keep the hair out of her face, while her skirts were hitched up to her belt in order to make hiking up the steps easier. She removed the pencil from her ear as she took out a piece of paper from one of her many pockets, scribbling down the titles of the authors she saw on the spines.

"Milton," she wrote and spoke, "Defoe, Swift, Bunyan, More, Rousseau, Shakespeare, Pascal…wait, Shakespeare?!" Again?

With annoyance, she took out a book wedged between Emile, or On Education and Pensées, and it turned out to be The Winter's Tale by the author that she thought she had finished sorting. With a tired expression, she slid the book down a ramp she had attached to the ladder, a contraption she had invented herself. It transported the book right down on a table below, where it landed with a thud on a pile of books already there. She heard Adam jump in his chair when another addition to the heap was delivered, but ignored him as she began to empty the bookshelf piles at a time.

"Just when I think that I've finished sorting Shakespeare, there's always a Twelfth Night or a Cymbeline hidden here." She huffed, and realised that as she adjusted her makeshift headband that her face and hands were covered in dust. "Next thing I'll discover is that you have twenty copies of King Lear!"

"I've lived here my whole life, and even I'm surprised with what I find in this giant of a room." Adam flipped a page noisily. "Besides, don't you find organising this place fun?"

"I do," Belle replied, genuinely. "It's one of the best things to occupy my mind, as of late."

"'One of' the best things?" Even in the tone of his voice, there was a mock frown. "Then what's the best thing that occupies your mind?"

She hung Memoirs of a Cavalier on the edge of the shelf and tried to hide a smile. The first thing she thought of saying was 'You, of course,' but then she couldn't say that.

"Well," she shrugged, "the Geoffrey Chaucer I'm reading at the moment is absolutely fascinating."

He scoffed. "So you managed to find my old copy of The Canterbury Tales. That one was rather boring."

"Oh?" she grinned, turning herself around as she walked down the ladder. She was more than ready to battle him out in another contest of who had the best taste in literature. "Then what do you consider not boring, Your Most Royal Eminence?"

"Ha ha," he gave off fake laughter as she jumped down to the floor and walked towards him, and watched as he looked up from his book to glance at the ceiling to think. "Let's see…Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther was a fun one…I also liked Robinson Crusoe…and some of Shakespeare's works are good too, disregarding Romeo and Juliet."

At this, she put her hands on the table and gave him a frown, while he looked up at her with a challenging look in his eyes as he went on, adjusting his sitting position on his comfortable reading chair. She noticed, suddenly, that he was dressed quite simply in the morning; only wearing a plain shirt, with a pair of breeches and a thick banyan as a coat. His long hair was tied up in a ponytail at his nape with a ribbon, keeping out any stray locks away from his gorgeous face. And she couldn't help but tilt her head and stare at him as his eyes narrowed in concentration, and how handsome and roguish he looked like with a thick and mangy stubble. It was no wonder that the Bimbettes—or perhaps every young woman in Villeneuve—found him exquisite.

"What's a good Shakespeare play?" he thought aloud. "I rather am fond of Macbeth, and Othello was fantastic…oh, this one's a play I enjoyed very much, actually." Here he raised the book he was reading: a lovely bound thing, with the title All's Well That Ends Well gilded on the cover in gold.

"Oh," was the only thing she could say. And she was about to comment on her opinions on the play, like how naïve and fluctuating Bertram was in the scenes he appeared in, until she noticed her bookmarks and papers peeking out from the pages…and that they've been moved. She felt the heat rise to her face as she took a step towards him.

"Did you touch any of my bookmarks?" she asked quickly.

When he only grinned in reply, her face flushed and she grew more impatient.

"Did you read my notes?"

"Not necessarily 'read' in that sense of the word," Adam teased with a playful smirk on his face; if he wasn't joking around, he could have been very attractive, with his teeth bared, like he was asking for a challenge. "I just happened to glance over them and catch some of the things you wrote; it wasn't necessarily on purpose. But did I ever mention how charming your handwriting is? It really is a fun little marvel to look at the way your p's curl at their tails."

She raced at the Prince. "Give that to me!"

Belle lunged herself at Adam, but he quickly stood and stretched his arm up, making sure the book was out of her reach. Jump as she might, he was simply too tall, seeing as how her forehead aligned perfectly with his nose. All she could do was try and scramble for the book while he held it up high, as he laughed at her futile efforts. Soon, she grew too tired of hopping and put her hands on her waists, huffing, exhausted as he chuckled.

Then he opened a book to a page where his fingers bookmarked it, much to her shocked face and dismay. She still reached for the book, but he put his hands away from her as he smiled.

"Adam, don't—!"

"Here, I like this note," and he read it aloud as he fought her off. "'Helena is not a character to renounce a cause easily, even though her affections remain unrequited; she is similar to Prince Adam, in a way. Does this mean I am Bertrand? I would not like to think of myself as that callow.'"

Belle blushed furiously as he gave off another laugh before putting the book down on the table. God, how humiliating was it that he found her notes, comparing her own love story to the countless other love stories hidden in the library? Not that her own adventure with the Prince was boring, but she wanted only to see if it could match some of the other moments she loved about romance in literature. It was such a relief that he didn't pick up Romeo and Juliet; now that book was full of things and little notes she didn't want him to see.

"Oh, Belle," his laughter died, but his smile remained, and a hand went over to hold her face so they could lock eyes. "You're anything but."

If there was one thing that she always fell for, every single time, it was his eyes. They were absolutely mesmerizing and beautiful, as blue as the ocean that the sea monster Charybdis from Homer's Odyssey dwelt in, and just as dangerous as she. Belle always got lost in them, identifying what shade of blue they were, examining every detail in them: the way they brightened up when he smiled or shone when he chuckled. They were calm, inviting, and kind, and all she could do in under the influence of their power was either to sigh in longing or to give in to him. His eyes had remained a recognisable trait, whether he was the Beast or the Prince, and she was only lucky that they were a defining attribute that stayed through the transformation, because it was one of the things she loved so dearly about him.

"What is it?" he asked, when she had been silent for too long.

But she was still looking for a reply, and how could she focus if he was staring at her that way?

The silence only multiplied his trepidation, and the smile crumbled away. "If this was because I read your notes without your permission, I ask for forgiveness; it wasn't my intention to hurt your feelings over them. Next time, I'll inform you when I—"

A shocked moan came out of him instead when Belle flung herself towards him, shutting her eyes and sealing his lips with a kiss. And as she gnawed at him, holding the collar of his shirt with her dusty hands and dragging him down towards him, she could taste him, the scent of his virile musk filling her head and making it spin wildly. She could feel him surrendering, his body loosen and uncoil from shock, letting a hand gently caress her face as the other snaked down at the small of her waist, holding her close. His touch was so warm, and the glowing feeling that his fingers left in their wake was unbearable. She moved closer to him until his legs hit the table as their kiss deepened, as his hands flew to her face and pulled towards her. She never really knew how much she needed him until she was given a taste of him, and oh, how she craved it. It was all too much, too much.

Every time she felt his tongue against hers, every time her lip was caught between his teeth, every time the skin of her cheeks were tickled by the texture of his beard, and every time she heard an animalistic growl welling from the bottom of her throat, it all made her dizzy with excitement. Then as she—

A knock on the library door broke them apart and made them shoot their gazes at the entrance, where Chapeau had his gloved hand over the door and a bashful look on his face. Belle immediately took a step away from Adam as they both blushed; the butler must have been there long enough for him to be as embarrassed as he looked. The Prince glanced her way and gave her a nervous laugh before attending to his servant.

"Y-Yes, Chapeau, sorry," Adam, startled at the sudden hoarseness of his voice, scratched his nape and jaw, the places her hands had been. "Sorry about that. Erhm…what is it?"

Chapeau paused for a while, thinking, then gestured down the hallway with a hesitant look. Adam was well-acquainted to his mute mannerisms to understand that there was another person in the castle.

"A guest?" Adam asked. "He's waiting for me?"

Chapeau nodded once.

"There's someone I have to attend to," Adam said back at Belle. "You're free to come with me, if you like."

"Of course," she said.

As Chapeau guided them to the front foyer, Adam walked briskly, with Belle following close behind. And, knowing that there was a guest, she untied the napkin used to pull her hair back and wiped off the dust from her face and hands, then untucked her skirts from her belt so that they fell evenly around her.

"You look lovely; don't try to impress them," Adam chastised, making her blush with the compliment. "Besides, it's morning. Who would try to look good at this hour?"

"You, I recall," she teased. "I think it was Cogsworth who told me that before the curse, you complained one morning that someone misplaced your brand new riding coat, and when they asked you why, you said that you were wearing it down for breakfast. A riding coat…for breakfast!"

The way his face contorted into an ashamed shade of red was very appealing to her. "You know, I'll tell the servants to stop telling you stories, for the sake of my dignity."

At this, Belle covered her mouth to supress a giggle. Even Chapeau tried to hide a smile.

However, their jovial mood would soon die when they reached the foyer, because the balconies and stairwells were populated with every single one of his servants, straight from cooking breakfast, cleaning the banisters in the East Wing, or sweeping snow off the pathways in the garden. They were looking down at the doors to the castle, where in front of them stood about a dozen men wearing red and white uniforms, with swords hanging at their sides and a couple of them holding banners with a coat of arms that Belle couldn't recognize. The most important-looking one of them wore an extravagant coat of the same colour, standing in the middle. He removed his cocked hat, and brought out the scroll that he kept under his arm.

Adam and Belle made their way down the crowded staircase, as his servants made way for him almost automatically. As she ignored Adam's confused expression, he hastily made his way down the stairs, and Belle struggled to catch up, frowning at the servants' whispering and worried behaviour. There were things that she caught in between their conversations.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"Did we forget so soon?"

"How did they remember all of a sudden?"

"I thought the curse wiped their memory!"

"Oh, if they learn about Belle…"

She turned to her Prince, who look extremely disturbed. His face had contorted into a concentrated blank look, but he was obviously trying to frown. As they reached the end of the stairs, Cogsworth ambushed him, shaking as he struggled to stop his master from advancing further. Behind him were Lumière and Mrs. Potts, both of whom looked with distraught faces at the men in uniform.

"Master, please," Cogsworth struggled to keep Adam from moving forward. "Be gentle."

"Gentle?" Adam reiterated through clenched teeth, and Belle could hear a growl form from the bottom of his throat. "I thought I'd never see them back here, and you're telling me to be—?"

"Master, decorum, just this once," Lumière interrupted him, in a panicked tone unlike himself. "Just this once, and we'll discuss it later."

Adam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned heel on them and walked calmly towards the uniformed men, with a worried Belle following his footsteps, knee-deep in dread.

"Adam…" she whispered, "what's going on?"

"I'll explain, Belle, I swear," he said quickly. "For now, just stay behind me."

She did as she was told, and once he stopped walking, Adam was a few strides in front of the uniformed men, with his entire castle staff and Belle watching as he stared at the 'guests' right in the eye. There was silence, and not a cough could be heard as the most important man in the group unrolled his scroll and gazed at Adam with an indifferent expression.

"Are you whom they call the Prince of this castle?" the uniformed man asked. He had the loud voice of a crier, so everyone in the entire foyer could hear him ask the question.

"Yes," Adam replied, and the crier tried to hide a disdainful look as he scanned him head to toe, probably wondering what a Prince without any manners whatsoever was doing greeting his guests in what should have been nightwear.

Belle watched Adam's face. There was no emotion in it.

The crier then cleared his throat as he read from the scroll, and the words began to sink into the servants, into Belle and Adam, who grew more petrified with every single syllable that came from his mouth.

"Addressed to His Royal Highness the Prince Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou, of the Region of Vendôme, France, from the Archduchy of Heilig, Austria:

"On this day, in the year of our Lord 17—, this formal statement is delivered to the Prince of Vendôme directly from the House of Fedovia. As stated during the agreement of which your parents, Prince Louis-Degarè Bourdillou and Countess Madeleine Giselle of Plamondon, signed, the only daughter of the Archduke and Archduchess of the House of Fedovia, Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia von Heilig, was to be united with you in matrimony upon the time when your age reaches five and twenty.

"Following the decade of which your mysterious disappearance took place, the Archduchy of Heilig will now assume you have reached the stated age and commence action into following this covenant. In coordination with this, Princess Hanneliese Fedovia von Heilig shall arrive in a fortnight. Your marriage shall culminate upon the planning that will occur. Many thanks to your senses and to your time to divulge within this statement's contents, and may the grace of God bless your marriage and your lives forthwith.

"Signed: Eldrich Niklaus Fedovia, Archduke of Heilig."

And after the statement was said, the doors opened, the gusty winter winds blew in, and the uniformed men got into a formation then marched out silently, with stern faces. The last one to exit was the crier, who tipped his cocked hat and walked out, the doors closing solemnly behind them.

There was silence.

Belle looked up to Adam's face, and yet, she was met with nothing. But within his eyes, there was a small amount of fear, ready to burst through the surface.

Chapter Text

Belle could easily conclude Adam was miserable. It was true that he had very turbulent moods, and that they could grow into an exaggerated mess if they weren't handled properly, but the last few days had to be something else entirely, if that was the case. Ever since the messengers from Heilig arrived, the days passed by and Belle hadn't seen the Prince once. He wasn't in the library early in the morning, and didn't come down for meals. Throughout the day, he had been absent from his usual duties, and Cogsworth was ready to faint from running around the castle, attending to everything in his master's absence. The Prince often stayed locked in his room, and Belle joined Mrs. Potts whenever she went upstairs to deliver her master's morning soup, as it was the only time she could truly see him without conflicting his isolation schedule.

Of course, Belle, being perhaps the most inquisitive soul in Villeneuve, was curious about the proclamation that was announced, since she didn't understand a word of it, or why everyone was so affected by what seemed to be a simple treatise.

And she didn't like not understanding.

But whatever the message contained, it led the castle to the brink of terrible unease. Whenever she looked at Adam in his room, sometimes bedridden, sometimes looking out the windows in his room, sometimes browsing through his copy of The Castle of Otranto, he looked pitiful. Dark-ringed eyes, messy hair, and feeble voice, he almost appeared like a beggar on the street, if it weren't for his clothes. He wouldn't say a word as he drank his soup in one gulp, then he would dismiss the company that came. He didn't recognise Belle standing there, and didn't even offer a smile. It was incredibly disturbing, but Belle respected him enough not to intrude when he had the disposition of a Macbeth, a ruler going mad.

However, what she remembered from the oral statement was that something or someone was coming, and it was going to happen in a fortnight. And since the entire castle wasted a week fearing what was to come, nothing happened. Even the stones that the walls were made of seemed to quiver with worry.

So on the evening of the second Sunday, with The Canterbury Tales behind her back, she walked up the West Wing to his bedroom after her dinner downstairs alone. Her knuckles hovered over the wood of his door as she closed her eyes. This was ridiculous…but she remembered that she wasn't do bring him to his senses, who else? She had to take the initiative; she had to be the one to save him, as he had always saved her.

And with that, she landed three solid knocks on his door that echoed through the hall.

There was silence.

"Mrs. Potts," he called through the door after, "it's late; you should go to sleep."

That was his voice, she was sure, but it was low and growled, and if it had been pitched lower, she could have thought that he transformed back into the Beast. Her eyebrows arched in shock and she blinked, remembering that he was still human…but far from tame.

"It's me," she called out.

Nobody responded for a while. Then the door to his room automatically opened as if nobody was there, and with reluctance, she stepped in.

It was true that his room looked much better than it did when it was wrecked; the bed actually stood on its posts, the paintings weren't ripped, and the furniture wasn't destroyed. However, the bed was undone, the shelves were rearranged haphazardly, and it was almost if every single thing in the room had shifted its position. The entire scene was dimly lit by the dying candelabras and embers of the fireplace. From the corner of her eye, though, she could see a vase of roses, on the table where the bell jar which sheltered the Enchanted Rose once stood; they were probably the ones the Enchantress gifted him with. Despite the gloomy and dark atmosphere, they brought a bit of vibrant air to the dull landscape.

Then the sudden sound of the door shutting brought her back into the darkness.

"Belle?"

She whirled around to see the silhouette of someone standing a few strides in front of her. The candles flickered constantly, lighting the figure of the Prince for split seconds. From what she was allowed to see, he was awful: ragged tresses, uncultivated beard, and gaunt face. He almost hovered there, like a wraith, distant and aloof, somewhat threatening and accusing in front of the door like a…beast.

"I'm sorry I've…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "God, Belle…I don't know what to say to you."

But she took a step towards him, then another, and another. As she approached, he didn't flinch, until she was standing directly in front of him.

"You still owe me an explanation," she said quietly. "You can start with that."

He finally responded once she spoke. Tracing a hand up her face, he leaned in forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. And she could only close her eyes and give in, humming as his hair went down to brush her forehead. He was still warm.

"I owe you an explanation," he drew back from her, using a hand to draw her face up to his, and she was once again caught off-guard by how beautiful his eyes were. "I owe you the truth."

So they positioned themselves by the dying fireplace, the flames weak but still burned bright enough that the title bound on The Canterbury Tales was still visible. They were on the floor, the hems of her skirts pooling on his carpet as he sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. His nose nuzzled her forehead, she could feel his breath on her eyelids, and, as if on instinct, there was a sigh that left her mouth. She leaned in towards him and inhaled the scent that clung to him, juniper and whiskey, the aroma of melancholy and sleepless nights.

"It all started with my father's desperation," he began, moving back to stare at the fire. "He needed our house to get royal connections again, since he knew that there was no chance any of my issue would get into royalty on the family name alone; after all, he was the seventh youngest child of a king and the fourth son. His elder brother, my uncle, was the heir apparent, the Dauphin of France. My father would be left with nothing.

"So he needed me to marry into a house with influence. And there was one family willing to take the deal, the Archduchy from Heilig, Austria. They were powerful; an entire province's resources and armies were under their jurisdiction. I was to be married to the heir at a set age. She was eight years my junior, a young thing by the name of Hanneliese Fedovia von Heilig; I called her Eliese, and ever since she first came to the castle, we became the best of friends."

Belle blinked furiously, trying to imagine the young Prince skip about the castle grounds, hand in hand with a bouncy child of a Princess. They were laughing, playing in the pond, watching as their parents talked over cigars and gambling tables. She saw them gorge on expensive chocolates and play tricks on the gardeners, chase each other through the hedge mazes, then their day would culminate with a grand fête in the ballroom, where he would watch as the Princess would play the harpsichord and sing a song just as beautiful as she was. It was a childhood Belle could never dream of having.

"As we grew up," he continued, "we became increasingly distant. But we both became obsessed with material possessions, and soon it became a game over who could splurge the most wealth. Like my past self, she was petty and hedonistic, thinking of nothing but the latest fashions from Paris or the grand parties she held. I couldn't say I wasn't any different, however…in fact, I'd say I was worse."

She frowned. "How were you worse?"

"She got her money through fair means, from her family wealth. Half of my riches were stolen from the hardworking people of Villeneuve."

The only proper response to that was silence.

"I was supposed to get married at five and twenty," he said regretfully, "but I ignored the reminders they sent me and replied in letters, lying to them, saying I was in another country completely, in England or Spain. I feared marriage, Belle; I was afraid that Eliese was going to tie me down to alliances and etiquette. Apparently, I was so young and restless a mind that I put a prodigal life above all else."

"How long did you bluff them?"

He paused to think again. "I believe two years."

Two years? "So you were seven and twenty when you stopped?"

"The curse came along then; it didn't give me a choice to stop."

She didn't know what to feel about that, and he only sighed and leaned towards her.

"I should have been lucky," he sighed, "that curse gave me a decade to think. I was so desperate for the love of another…and I knew that it was part of the Enchantress' curse that they forgot all about me. But now, they've discovered me, and I can't escape them again."

She was supposed to say something and opened her mouth to speak, but she heard his breathing heave and his voice crack, and suddenly her heart began to ache in the hollow of her chest as his arms began to go around her.

"I'm going to lose you, Belle," he shook his head in denial, fighting back tears. "If I push through with this, I'm going to lose you and I'll never get you back. Belle, I-I can't…"

She took one of his hands and pressed it to her mouth, his skin against her lips something more than familiar. He gave a pained cry, almost as if he was sobbing, but no tears flowed out as he was desperately trying to fight it, trying to be strong for her.

In the face of many things, Adam was a confident man. He knew what he was doing and when he was to do it, and was wise beyond his years after his experiences with magic and isolation. But to see him weak, feeble, vulnerable…it hurt beyond words to explain. Like all people, he didn't have a choice to be in this fate, and in the past, he had exploited it to the point where he should have been punished for it long ago. The curse had been the result of his consequences, and perhaps that had been the punishment, but did he really deserve an unhappy end to all of it? A nuptial for money and power and glory, nothing else? No love between a couple, no joy in their future? Their children born out of compliance and not the longing for family? The stories her father told her encouraged her older self to marry for love and nothing else, and to see that reality unfold before her eyes welled up strong feelings of empathy, which began to leak out of her in the form of tears.

But that wasn't what saddened her most of all. It was because loss was becoming less of a figment of her nightmares and more of a reality. The Enchantress, the curse, the magical objects, the Beast…it would all become some sort of fairy tale that no one would ever pick up in even the smallest of libraries. The moment the wedding vows would be said, he would no longer be hers; instead he would be bound to another woman, one who probably didn't care a damn about who he really was on the inside. There were times when she dreamed that she would be saying those vows, with him, Père Robert, and God as their witnesses. And nothing would separate them, not land, war, or death.

But those dreams were gone, now.

"I can't say that we'll find a way out of it," she closed her eyes. "I don't know what we're to do. But even if you're gone from my life, I'll still be here. You've done everything for me, and the least I can do is return that favour."

She could feel his body trembling. He was trying so hard to repress his sobs, and it pained her so much that she couldn't do anything to help him.

"If they figure out anything about the curse," he put his head on her shoulder, "then the Archduchy will do everything in their power to take you out of this affair. It's best not to disclose it to anyone who doesn't know about it already."

"I'd agree," she leaned back into his embrace, and, as they sat there in silence, a thought came to mind. "But I do really wonder if the Princess loved you back then, and if she'll still love you now."

"If only you hadn't broken the curse, then this wouldn't have happened," he teased, and she smiled.

"If only you weren't so kind to me when you were cursed, then maybe I wouldn't have fallen in love," she returned.

"Belle? Not in love with me?" His eyes lit up with a mischief, and at that moment, she swore that she would never let their love die. "Now that's something truly terrifying."

Cogsworth liked his job. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy telling people what to do, as the majordomo of a royal estate. But there were times where he wished he was a clock, just so he could chime loudly so that the chatter of the servants would be relinquished to nothing.

Walking fast along the hallways of the castle, he longed for quiet just so he can at least hear himself think. Flocks of castle staff were racing after him, just to catch his words as he rushed around the place. Lumière was to his right, Mrs. Potts to his left, while Plumette, Madame de Garderobe and her husband were not far behind. They all craned their necks just to listen to the majordomo's words, all while trying to keep up with his fast pace (and for an old man, he walked with a surprising speed for his age).

"Zut alors, Cogsworth, would you mind slowing down a little?" Lumière managed to say, struggling to stay by his side.

"Not while there's a whole itinerary for us to do before the Princess of Heilig arrives," Cogsworth checked his list. "I can't believe us: we knew that a royal guest was coming and we decided to clean up the place just days before she arrives! Not weeks, days."

"Can you blame us?" Mrs. Potts said. "The Master didn't given us anything to do."

"But if we work fast enough," Plumette added, "we could get this castle sparkling in no time."

Cogsworth flipped through his documents and read the list. "So it's settled. Let's see…here's the itinerary. First, we need a room cleared in the East Wing, and about three maids to attend to the Princess at all times."

Plumette raised a hand. "I will look to that."

"And there's schedules here for afternoon snacking and tea," Cogsworth pointed at the line with a pencil.

"That will be in my hands," Mrs. Potts nodded.

"She will be arriving in the afternoon," Cogsworth continued, "so dinner will be a welcoming banquet instead. I need twice as much meals prepared, since she's coming together with her own guards, staff, and ministers. It has to be grand; if you can pick some delicacies from her homeland, that would be even better."

"You can count on me, mon amie," Lumière said from the side.

"We also need the ballroom cleared, since there's a welcoming fête for her later that night. There should be music and entertainment. A dance waltz as well would be nice."

"That's what my wife and I are here for," Cadenza said from behind, his wife giving off a delighted squeal.

"Alright, next," Cogsworth flipped the page. "Let's start with the reminders. Now, Belle should…hold on a moment…"

Cogsworth stopped walking, making everyone halt in their tracks as well as he squinted at the document. After silently reading it thrice, he shook his head; all the while, the other castle staff looked at him, bewildered and curious.

"Whatever is the matter, Cogsworth?" Lumière asked.

Instead of answering him directly, he read from the reminders that Adam had given him. "'To protect her identity, Belle will pretend to work as one of the castle staff for the duration of time that the Princess will be here. She must evacuate her room and sleep in the servant's quarters as to throw off suspicion. To which department of the household is something you must dispute among yourselves.'" Then at the next sentence, Cogsworth raised his voice, because the text was underlined harshly in the Prince's elegant script. "'And under no circumstances whatsoever are you permitted to talk about the curse of the Enchantress or anything implying it, whether you are around the Princess, her staff, or alone.'"

"I do not seem to understand," Lumière scratched his chin.

Cogsworth stared at the document, looking through the other reminders. "I believe it's because the Princess will discover that the Master loves another if the girl is to be given special treatment. We must take her in as to play a charade, so she doesn't stand out and thus, won't be subjected to the Princess' jealousy."

"She can come stay with the maids," Plumette volunteered.

Lumière smacked himself in the head. "This is terrible! How could we have forgotten about the mademoiselle?"

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Potts shook her head. "If the Master is engaged to the Princess of Heilig, then what will happen to his proposal to the darling thing?"

They stayed silent. No one had an answer to that question.

All the necessary changes were made, and the room that had previously been Belle's in the East Wing was cleared to make room for the Princess. Belle moved instead to the servant's quarters, which was something she didn't mind at all, and was given a run through of her duties to the castle and what was she expected to do. Despite this, Mrs. Potts assured her that they would not put her through much hard work (even though Belle had told them that she was fine with it). After she had been given her uniform, a dress akin to what Plumette wore on her working days, the servants gushed at her quaint and adorable appearance. Much to Belle's surprise, the outfit was only comprised of a simple skirt and apron, which was barely restricting, giving her a lot of room to move around in, and it was comfortable enough that she wouldn't get tired from wearing it the whole day. It reminded her of the dresses her father had bought for her when she was a little girl.

The fortnight passed quickly.

Before they knew it, the day of the arrival came, and the castle was in the most pristine condition it could be in. By the beginning of dusk, Cogsworth was at the foot of the staircase, while dozens of maids flocked the banisters, of which included Belle and Plumette, standing next to each other. They patiently waited there awhile, as they had practiced.

But Belle, being someone who couldn't sit still in boredom for more than two seconds, looked around at the detailed columns of the foyer, at the statues that greeted the guests at the end of the balustrades and the pattern of the marble under her feet. Then there was the detailed spirals in the ceiling, the crystal chandelier that shone like a thousand stars over her head, and the sculptures on the columns that reached to grab the light. No matter how long she stayed in the castle, it was always so magnificent to look at.

But before Belle could get comfortable and observe the cleanliness of anything else, the doors to the castle swung open, and in spilled six or so guards dressed in the same colours of red and white, with swords strapped to their sides. The twilight wind blasted into the foyer as they took their positions throughout the area. Then an elderly man in an elegant suit of orange and other fiery colours stepped in and, after removing his cocked hat, looked to the door and announced:

"Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia, daughter of the Archduke of Heiling, Austria."

As he said these words, in stepped a young woman, who looked about the same age as Adam, with fair, powdered skin and beautiful gold hair that reached until her shoulders and curled gently. Her riding dress in hues of pink spread out, with layers and of petticoats to create a vibrant pattern of flowers and swirls on the hems and cloth. Her winter coat, which she had begun to take off with her lithe hands, had fur collars of white and was just as intricately deigned as the rest of her clothing. But her rich attire wasn't what made all the servants in the foyer stand in shock.

Belle had to take a moment to blink, as if she was seeing a mirage. What was completely unreal about her was her face. Slender jawline, with an elegantly-shaped nose, bright red lips, perfect eyebrows and stunning, magnificent eyes that could paralyse a man; they were full of a jaunty, charming character, shining with some sort of unique mirth. The men who were with them blushed furiously (save for Cogsworth, the only one who had an ounce of decorum), and the women were aghast in disbelief. Any description of her beauty would not do her justice.

"This castle is absolutely marvelous," she said, her voice honeyed and singing as she looked around. "It's nice to see that it never changed."

Belle couldn't help but quirk her eyebrow at the amount of irony that sentence had.

"Your Highness," Cogsworth gave an exaggerated bow, which was the cue for Belle and the other maids to bow as well. "Welcome to the abode of our dear Prince of Vendôme. We only wish that you enjoy your stay and that you will feel most at home."

"I rather think I feel at home already," the Princess smiled at Cogsworth.

As if it was scheduled, a figure descended down the stairwells, which turned out to be Lumière. The maître d' bowed elegantly to the guests standing below and smiled brightly.

"Princesse," he greeted. "We are humbled with your presence here today and for the days to come. And it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you our master and your future groom: His Royal Highness Prince Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou."

Lumière stepped to the side, and from the other end of the staircase, a man emerged, with his hair combed back and curled at his temples, tied in a low ponytail at his nape. He sported a beautiful suit of cerulean hues, with curling patterns at their edges and gold trimming lining the seams. Even from afar, the striking blue in his eyes was one of the most noticeable things about him. Belle couldn't help but give him a curious smile as he descended towards his future bride; he had shaved the stubble that he had been growing for two months, and with the blue coat he wore, he looked like such a distant memory. She could almost remember the celebratory ball which seemed an entire forever ago, where he had growled at her playfully when she teased him about growing a beard.

But Belle couldn't help but feel that as he took each step, he was figuratively and metaphorically walking away from her, from their future together. Of course, Adam was not as naïve as to suddenly forget about the curse, the Rose, the snow and the dancing. He only acted that way in compliance, and it's something that he always assured her about. And yet…

"My Prince," the Princess bowed low once he stood in front of her, then removed her glove to offer her hand; even Belle could see from where she was standing that Adam smile was fake. "It's good to see you, after all these years."

"How you've grown," and he took her hand and kissed it gently, "Eliese."

Dinner at the banquet table was mostly uneventful, and so was the night in the upper wings of the towers. Belle was exhausted from a whole day of running to and fro to comply with the requests of the Princess' staff. Luckily, they all retired to bed early, but that included Adam, whom Belle hadn't seen in private the whole day. By the time the clock chimed eleven times at night, all the guests were put to sleep, much to the entire staff's delight. When she reached her room in the servant's quarters, one she shared with Plumette, she groaned and flopped down on her bed, happy to have something comfortable against her skin. Plumette had removed her wig, and her real hair cascaded down her shoulders.

"Tired from your first day?" Plumette asked as she combed her tresses free of knots.

Belle huffed. "It's almost as if they can't take a step without someone helping them."

At that, Plumette gave a laugh. "I have dealt with the Master's spoiled and plentiful commands before, but mon Dieu! It isn't enough to even compare! They can be so trivial sometimes, but that's how some royals are." A short pause to blink at her reflection in the mirror. "If you need help, however, I am more than willing to take your responsibilities. I understand that you do get fatigued."

"Oh, no, Plumette; I'm perfectly fine. I know what it's like to work in a house, doing chores and cooking. Just…not one this big."

"And you are still wrong there, mon amie. This is barely a house."

A knock sounded at their bedroom door, and as Plumette called "Entrez!" in stepped the recognisable figure of Mrs. Potts and her tea set. At the clatter of china, Belle got up from her bed and smiled, convinced that a little spot of tea that could probably cure her bad day.

"My, my!" Mrs. Potts cooed, picking up her kettle and pouring its contents into a cup. "Look at the two of you! I bet you'd like a little bit of tea before you doze off, so you're well-rested for tomorrow."

Belle carefully took the hot cup from Mrs. Potts as it was handed over to her. "Thank you."

"I'd like two spoons of sugar," Plumette requested, and the woman put in two spoons of white sugar before handing it over to the maid.

"I'm sure the both of you are exhausted," Mrs. Potts said gingerly. "I hope they aren't working you too hard, Belle."

"It seems to be everyone's concern," Belle sat up and sipped. "But no, I'd like to think of myself as rather fine."

"Did you see the Princess?" Plumette asked.

"I never talked to her," Belle replied. She didn't want to say that she was also quite intimidated by her.

"Oh, she's a strange one, my dears," Mrs. Potts, the oldest among the three and thus the one in the best position to say anything at all, spoke up. "It really is quite an odd experience for me to see her back in the walls of this castle again."

"Why?" Belle frowned. "I heard from Adam that she's come here before, as a young girl."

"Ah, and what a lovely thing she was," Mrs. Potts sighed. "She was about five years of age…and the Master was thirteen. There were instances when they almost got lost in the woods, and times when the cooks complained to me that they were stealing the fresh fruit. Everyone who ever met her was charmed, and so many people catered to her needs just because she was so admirable. It was remarkable…like some kind of magic."

Belle looked at her tea, thinking that if she had that kind of talent, if Adam as a young boy would have been charmed by her too.

"She was a…weird girl as well, at times," Mrs. Potts shrugged. "It's funny that I don't remember much about her when I've known this castle for years."

"Do you think she's heard things?" Belle asked warily. "About the curse?"

The thought of the curse alone silenced everyone. Mrs. Potts was well-aware that they weren't supposed to talk about the curse at all, and even saying the word was enough to garnish shocked looks from Plumette. It wasn't as if Belle didn't want to worry, because there was, supposedly, nothing to worry about. The curse was supposed to wipe away the memory of those who knew about the castle and all who lived there during the time it was active, but was there really a possibility that someone told the Princess? Perhaps it was part of the curse that they regained their memories from the past? Or by some unnatural means of her omnipotence, she simply knew?

"I don't think so," Mrs. Potts reassured. "Either that, or the Enchantress' magic isn't as good as I remember it was; last time I checked, it was quite powerful indeed."

"Is that what worries you?" Plumette put her hand on Belle's shoulder gently. "You should fear nothing; I do not think the servants would be as tactless as to break an order straight from the Master. Besides, why should she be suspicious of a maid from this castle? You blend in well, mon amie."

Belle nodded and drank the rest of her tea as her companions watched. Staying with the servants was anything but dreadful; they were kind to her, helped her, cared for her in many ways, and in the faces of the staff, she saw her brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers. And yet, there was one, nagging doubt that ate at her.

"Do you think…" and she felt the tears prick her eyes, "do you think Adam still loves me?"

Plumette frowned at that while Mrs. Potts answered almost immediately.

"What kind of question is that, my dearest?" Mrs. Potts asked incredulously. "Of course he loves you. Has anything he's ever done said otherwise?"

Belle had a thousand reasons why Adam would otherwise hate her, but then they disappeared when the question returned to her. Each and every single one just ended up as another justification of why he loved her, and there were times when she scolded herself for even thinking that Adam would do anything but care for her.

"The Master knows what he's doing," Plumette added. "I'm sure he still admires you with all his heart."

Belle gave a weak smile and nodded, giving up a silent prayer, hoping that they were telling the truth. And through the whole night, long after Mrs. Potts departed and as Plumette fell asleep, the only thing she could think of was Adam: where their romance would lead, what their future would hold, the possibilities, the consequences, and everything that had unfolded during the curse and after it. She silently repeated it to herself until she knew it to be true.

'He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.'

Mornings were something Belle knew most people in Villeneuve were accustomed to, but it didn't go the same for royals, she was willing to bet. So when the sun rose up on that winter day, she ate her breakfast together with some of the maids albeit quickly, then fixed up her skirts, grabbed a bunch of pencils and papers, stuffed them into one of her many pockets before racing down the halls of the castle. She said various 'Bounjour!'s to the maids and waiters who passed her by in a blur, and she realised that it had been a while before she could actually feel the smile plastered on her face, the glee that kept her footsteps light and quick. The sadness that had overcome her heart yesterday evening had only been fictional in comparison to the reality of her beloved home.

Opening the doors to her library, she breathed in the beautiful smell of dust, pages, and the embers of yesterday's fireplace. The winter morning sunlight wafted through the frosty windows, and Belle grinned wide, spinning around and taking in the sight of her books. There was nothing in the world more dear to her than this room (well, other than the man who had gifted it to her).

She walked over to the papers next to the giant pile of books on the table, and glanced at the names she had listed for that day. Milton, Defoe, Swift, Bunyan, More, Rousseau, and Pascal. Grabbing the sheet and encircling the latest entry of names, she hopped onto the ladder and began to climb it, with a pencil in between her teeth and her other hand adjusting the makeshift headband over her forehead. Better get to work.

Rousseau belonged in the epistolary section, Milton in poetry, Defore and Swift in the same bundle, while the rest stayed. She cleared shelf after shelf, wiping the dust away with a rag tied loosely around her arm so that the books would have a much cleaner home when she put them back. Thus she arranged them according to date published, author, genre and title, aligning their spines when she finished. It might have been an insipid chore to most, but to Belle, it was both frustrating and fun to see her library return to its former glory. The more she worked, the more satisfied she became, and at the rate she was going, she assumed that she would finish by the time summer would roll around the next year.

Time must have passed slower in the library, because by the time she had organised only four shelves, she began to hear bustling and chatter in the hallways outside. The servants must have already been attending to the Princess' staff, meaning that they had already eaten their breakfasts. That must have also meant that Adam was awake.

Her heart almost skipped a beat. Adam.

It seemed like a lifetime since she had last seen him.

Shaking her head, she put back Book Two of A Treatise of Human Nature in the shelf where it belonged, between Books One and Three of the same series. She briefly checked the paper that was just about dangling out one of her dress pockets. Saint-Pierre had to be sorted, but she had forgotten to write the title. Sighing in frustration, she began looking through the shelf, trying to scan for Saint-Pierre's name until she found him towards the edge of the shelf, sitting next to Pierre Beaumarchais. Gingerly, she took the spine out and held the book gently in her hands. The title shone brightly: Paul et Virginie by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.

She flipped through the pages and the wonderful smell of aged leaves, the text was printed in beautiful serif, and she turned to the first page, looking at the title call to her. Certain that she wouldn't find a book this fascinating again, she snapped it shut and stuffed it into her sash so it would be held secure around her waist. Now she had something to read after The Canterbury Tales.

Brushing a lock of hair out of her face, she reached towards the end of the shelf, balancing herself on one tiptoed foot just to reach for that Pierre Beaumarchais—

With a huge boom, the doors to the library swung open, shocking Belle and throwing her off balance. As fast as she could, she gripped the stile and pulled herself upward, her heart beating fast in her chest. If it weren't for her quick reflexes, she would have fallen flat two dozen rungs down on the marble floor.

Two pairs of footsteps entered her precious room. "And this here is the library."

Belle froze. That voice could only belong to one man; and although it was one she never got tired of hearing, she shut her eyes and prayed.

Please don't let it be him, please don't let it be him, please don't—

"Wait a moment…is that…?"

Her eyes flew open and she turned to look at the floor, where she saw the figures of a man and a woman. The woman was the Princess, sporting a very simple but intricately patterned robe à la française, looking very startled at the fact that Belle was standing on a ladder many feet off the ground. The speaker was the man, Adam, standing in a simple beige-coloured shirt, breeches, and banyan, with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling at her. Then she came to her senses and suddenly realised that she was no longer a guest at the castle, but a maid under the staff.

"S-Sorry," she stammered, making her way down to the floor with a spring in her step, and bowing before Adam and the Princess rather hastily. "Good morning, Your Highnesses."

She looked up to lock eyes with him, with his head tilted to the left and the makings of a small smile on his face. At that moment, she fell in love with him again, and she loved the feeling that flowed through her whenever she fell in love; the agreeable nature of his words, the pleasant sound of his low voice, and—God on high—his beautiful eyes just took her. Her heart began to palpitate; maybe when she got Adam back, she would have learned to respect young women ogling her Prince, since she was now on the opposite side of the spectrum. She didn't care if the Princess could see her blush; he was considered a very attractive man for a plethora of reasons, and it wasn't his fault that he was utterly gorgeous.

"And to you as well," Adam returned, and she could hear the mirth in his words. "Rather up quite early, aren't we?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

His brows furrowed in a very adorable way. "Mrs. Potts hasn't fed you breakfast yet?"

At this, she shook her head vigorously. "Oh, she has! It was just…I ate it rather quickly, you see. I wanted to attend to this library as soon as I could."

"That's good, Belle," a bit of a chuckle resonated in his words.

The Princess' eyes widened suddenly, as if what he had said was blasphemy. "You know her name?"

Adam turned to his future bride, utterly bewildered by her sentence. "Well…yes, of course. I make it a habit to learn all of the servants' names."

For a moment, it seemed as if the Princess flashed a look of anger at Belle, or it must have been her imagination.

"Continuing on what I was saying," Adam spoke to the Princess, "this library is one of the largest rooms in the entire castle, and it's one of my favourites as well. It holds about twenty thousand books, collected in a span of about four generations."

The Princess put a hand on her chest. "Twenty thousand?"

Adam nodded. "My grandfather didn't have much of a place to put the books he had collated over the years, and my father volunteered to place most of them here in his library." Here he sighed, taking in the sight of its ginormous size. "It's a marvel…though, I feel I haven't appreciated it as much as I have now."

"Do you know every single book here?" the Princess asked.

Adam shot his eyes in Belle's general direction. "She does."

Both Adam and the Princess' eyes were on Belle now, and she could only blush.

Despite this, the Princess looked incredulous, as if what her future husband had told her was impossible. "Her?"

Adam frowned then nodded; it was obviously not the reaction he wanted to garner from her. "She's the one fixing all the books."

The Princess blinked curiously at Belle, observing her like she would a foreign specimen. "That's…odd. A girl like her…the tome keeper?"

Belle felt an awful knot form at the bottom of her stomach. Not only did the Princess take Adam's words with disbelief, but she made a horrible feeling fester at the bottom of Belle's mind. So what if she was the tome keeper? Did she need a Princess to add to the long list of people who already called her a 'funny girl'?

"I'm keeping track of all the authors and volumes here, Your Highness," Belle said, trying to muster up some pride over one of the only things she loved to do. "The Prince has assigned me to organise the books in an orderly manner."

The Princess stared at her a while, and Belle felt uncomfortable being looked at with those eyes of hers, like they were boring into her soul; unlike before, they had no more charm in them, only judgment. After construing Belle from head to toe, she burst into laughter, for the whole emptiness of the library to hear. Belle and Adam could only stay silent.

"Imagine that!" the Princess giggled. "A literate peasant girl! What a day and age to be alive!"

Belle could say nothing, and she didn't expect Adam to come to her defence either. Did the Princess just ridicule her, insult her for being passionate about books? Was it because of Belle's standing as the daughter of a painter from the poor provincial town of Villeneuve? True, the villagers did call her odd and different, but at least they didn't completely belittle as much as the Princess was able to in less than a few words.

"Indeed, Eliese," was the only thing Adam could say. The way he said it was bitter, almost angry, but the Princess couldn't hear it, because the joyful expression didn't vanish from her face.

The Princess' eyes lightened suddenly once she caught something in Belle's dress. "Oh, my, what's that?"

Here, the Princess pointed at the book that Belle had stuffed into her sash. Immediately, Belle covered the volume with her shirt and took a step back, while the Princess continued to advance on her, much to Adam's dismay.

"I-It's nothing," Belle stammered.

"Nothing?" the Princess retorted. "I command you to hand it over, you literate peasant girl. Come, now, it's rude to deny a command from your Princess."

Belle huffed in rage; hearing that ugly phrase of 'literate peasant girl' really sent her into an invisible fit. A feeling of ire gripped her chest, and she just wanted to scream into a pillow, punch a wall, but she had no excuse to argue with the Princess now. Defeated, she took out the book and handed it out to the Princess with erratic movements, upon which the Princess snatched it from her. She looked at the cover with a discerning expression, then gasped once she saw the title.

"Look at this, Adam dearest," and she rushed over to Adam to show him the book, shoving it in his face. "Look at what she's stealing from the library! Paul et Virginie! Now, don't tell me that you actually allow her to steal these books, let alone read them!"

Adam was aghast, and exchanged appalled glances with Belle, who was standing there, unmoving, feeling like on the brink of crying. What did she do to endure such humiliation? She wasn't even sure if Adam would play along with the charade just to satisfy his future bride, and even if he didn't, it couldn't get worse than having been implicated to steal from the only room in the castle she held so close to her heart.

"Eliese, it's a library," Adam pushed the book away from his face. "People go here because they want to read. And if any one of my servants want to take a book to bring home or keep for their leisure, I don't mind the slightest."

The Princess' delighted expression dropped back to boredom; she obviously didn't get the reaction she wanted from Adam. She only shrugged apathetically and tossed the book over her shoulder, and it landed with a sickening thud on the marble floor, collapsing right in the middle of a page. Belle's eyes widened in shock, and a feeling of dread shot up her spine, almost as she felt the pain the book would otherwise have felt.

"Let's continue your tour, love," the Princess looped her arm around Adam's, and she began to walk the both of them out the door to the library. "I find this room to be exuberantly boring."

Adam had no choice but to follow in her footsteps beside her. But before he vanished behind the doors to the library, he shot a look back at Belle. His blue eyes looked almost sad, pleading, like the look of a caged animal in need of saving; Belle felt powerless and longed to help him, and a terrible feeling of guilt ate her up, knowing she could do nothing to ease his situation. He shook his head subtly and mouthed 'I'm sorry' before the figure of him and the Princess disappeared with the sound of the doors closing.

Belle ran at the book, kneeling to gather the book and look at its spine to see if it had any damage whatsoever. And she clutched Paul et Virginie to her chest, feeling her library was going to crash down all around her any moment.

Belle had spent the whole day fixing her library it to rid her mind of the words the Princess spat at her, the inability of Adam to do anything, the anger that had accumulated in her chest. By the time many hours passed after lunch, Mrs. Potts burst into the library just after Belle finished ninth shelf, running towards her and reminding her about the fête that was to commence in half an hour. Realising that she didn't even have a dress yet, they rushed back to the servant's quarters, where everyone was already in white suits and dresses. Much to Belle's relief, the dress that Madame de Garderobe had made weeks ago for her was dropped off at her room, and Plumette, who was already dressed in a tall wig and beautiful white garments, helped Belle into the dress and did her hair quickly and efficiently.

The fête commenced not long after a dinner, where the grand ballroom was bursting with life, light, and colour. The guests were dressed in a vast array of hues: there were men dressed in orange and green, women dressed in yellow and red. But the most extravagantly dressed were the future groom and bride; Adam wore a detailed beige suit with flecks of gold on the collars and edges, while the Princess wore a glamorous dress of pink, with flowers made of satin and chiffon on a wide crinoline. Belle couldn't help but give a smile at the sight of the Prince: handsome, elegant, winsome.

The castle staff was dressed in white, but Belle was an exception, wearing a gown of cream with a voluminous petticoat. Her colour wasn't uniform with that of the other servants, as it was a little bit more yellow than the others, but Madame de Garedobe assured her that she looked perfect.

After the miscellaneous chatter and exchange of greetings, the waltzes began to play, performed by Cadenza and sung by Madame de Garderobe. Adam had always been seen dancing with his future wife, while Belle was surprised that many of the Princess' companions asked her to dance. By the time she truly felt the night was growing old, there must have been about a dozen dances, and that probably wasn't even very accurate an estimate. After bowing to her last partner, Madame de Garderobe sung a high note as her husband finished with a scale up the harpsichord. Applause came from the bystanders, and the couples departed as Belle returned to Mrs. Potts and Chip at the edge of the ballroom.

"You dance so well!" Chip raced at her, enveloping her in a tiny hug that only went as low as her waist.

Belle laughed, wrapping her arms around his body. "Thank you, Chip. Has anyone asked you to dance yet?"

The boy shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but that's alright! I can't dance anyway."

Belle took one of his hands in hers. "Really? I believe all gentlemen should know how to dance; I should teach you someday."

"Teach me?" Chip looked excitedly at Mrs. Potts. "Mother, can I?"

Mrs. Potts gave her signature maternal smile. "As long as you don't step on Belle's feet when you do."

He jumped excitedly, his coat flapping all around the place as he pranced about his Mrs. Potts and Belle. "Did you hear that, Mother? Belle's going to teach me how to dance! I'll be the greatest gentleman in France, just you wait!"

"Now, what's this talk about dancing and gentlemen?"

Belle whirled around to see Adam standing behind her, as if he had been there the whole time. She was watching him dance with the Princess the whole night, but it didn't occur to her that he would approach her throughout the entirety of the occasion. He appeared almost as he did at the celebratory ball, with his hair tied in a low ponytail and the rest curled at the side of his head. His coat, detailed with curls and intricate patterns, made the dresses of the maids look nearly plain in comparison. Belle took a step back and, together with Mrs. Potts and her son, bowed her head slightly, remembering her role in this whole farce of a visit was nothing more than a servant girl at a castle.

"Your Highness," she greeted with a smile. "Aren't you going to dance with your Princess?"

He looked behind his shoulder. "I'm afraid she's preoccupied with other businesses, at the moment."

Belle followed his gaze towards the edge of the room, where she saw the Princess surrounded by a number of her ministers, chortling with them joyously with a glass of wine in her gloved hand. She was enjoying herself too much to be asked to another dance, and no man even with the most tremendous amount of courage could go up to her to request for a few precious moments in a waltz now.

"That's a shame," Belle commented, as honest as she could be. "She's been your partner all night and she decided to break that streak only now."

"That's why it would be a little bit more refreshing to have you as one." He held his hand out in front of her. "May I have this dance, mademoiselle?"

Belle blinked and looked into his eyes, where a genuine kind of light shone in them, something she never thought she would miss. They seemed like the same colour of the waters of the river that ran across the countryside, and she would fall into their warmth without hesitation. A smile crept on her face as she put her hand gently on his, the touch of his skin sending a fire blazing through her.

The jaunt of another waltz began to play on the harpsichord, as more couples began to assemble and ask for partners. Adam and Belle moved to the centre of the ballroom, where they stood still, waiting for the music to move them naturally as they stared into each other's eyes. She hadn't been this close to him in what seemed like ages, and she saw an arm sneak around her waist, holding her body close to him. She tried to supress a gasp at his touch; it seemed so foreign, but so familiar at the same time.

Then Madame de Garderobe began to sing, and Adam began to move.

Forward, backward, forward, backward. Her body began to sway with the movement, following Adam as the lead. When he held balanced her wrist on his, she allowed her body to loosen and flow with the waltz; when he took her hand and twirled her around, she spun as the volume of her gown twirled with her. Their steps began to quicken and he drew her closer; his hand clasped her other as she felt his arm around her back, while she put her fingers on her shoulder. They spun as the music swelled, following each other though each turn, twist, and bend as Madame de Garderobe guided them with her voice and Cadenza with his music.

At times, they stood a distance apart from each other, their outstretched arms connecting them together as they circled the floor. Joining together, falling away, letting Belle whirl around him gracefully. There were times when she closed her eyes, letting the sound guide her movements as Adam led her through the ballroom. Soon, other couples began to flock to their sides, imitating their movements with a synchrony of ease. It had been a while since Belle was able to dance with him as freely as she did now; who cared if the Princess or the ministers were watching? The moment was hers.

She let herself descend back into the arms of memory; there was one where she smiled at him as he kissed her hand fervently, the celebration ball as warm and bright as a spring day. Then her mind transcended even further, remembering the ballroom when it was empty, alight with only chandeliers and an animate harpsichord playing music to keep them company, where, instead of a prince, she looked right into the blue eyes of a tall, well-dressed, hairy, and charming beast.

"What are you thinking about?" his attractive voice brought her back to reality, but she once again found herself lost in his eyes.

She smiled at him, attempting to remember just how he looked like before. "I'm just reliving old memories. Admittedly, it's much easier for me to dance with you when you're not seven feet tall."

"And covered in fur," he added, and they laughed.

As Madame de Garderobe sung her last line and Cadenza ended the waltz, Belle revolved away from him and bowed low; he returned the gesture, as did all the partners on the dance floor. The applause erupted again.

Belle shot her gaze up, met with the stunning eyes of the Prince. The words pressed against her mouth, waiting to be released, but before she could open her mouth to say anything, Adam's gaze shot over to the corner of the room and Belle followed his sight, where the Princess looked at the couple intently, drinking from her wine glass intently without breaking her eye contact.

"Belle would you…" he asked rather anxiously, "would you come outside with me for a moment?"

Belle was confused, but nodded slightly. "Alright…"

He took her hand in his and they briskly walked out of the ballroom through the door leading towards the veranda, the cold winter winds burst through them as they shut themselves out. Belle looked over the frozen gardens, reminiscing the moment when, after the first time they had danced together, just a woman and a beast, they watched as the cursed snow continued to fall over the untrimmed hedges and dead grass. But this was a different kind of snow, the one that wasn't brought about by magic.

"Thank you," he sighed, holding her hands. "I couldn't stand another minute in there."

Belle gave off a chuckle. "Neither could I."

He looked off into the distance, where the pale moonlight shone over the silvery landscape of snow. They sat on the bench and stared out, quiet, cherishing each other's company just well that silence was enough. But Belle recalled the Princess' steel gaze, her standoffish demeanour, her words in the library, and just like that, Belle's good mood was ruined by bad insults.

"I feel like an idiot," Adam said suddenly, interrupting the silence; she looked up at him, but his handsome face was blank.

"What for?" Belle asked.

"That incident earlier in the library. I didn't know what I was thinking when I let her set foot into the one place I know your heart truly belongs."

Belle shrugged. "It's alright…I could let it—"

"She insulted you, Belle," he interjected, locking eyes with her intently. "I don't care if she's going to be my wife; whether it was you she ridiculed or not, no kind of servant deserves to be treated that way."

He paused for a while, as if remembering something from long ago. Belle looked back out at the distance.

"I know you're not the most comfortable of people with this situation," he continued, "but I'm doing the best I can. The day of the wedding is approaching with each passing hour, and I find myself thinking about us…or if there even will be an 'us.'"

"I've been thinking about that too," she said from the heart. "But I can see your efforts. What you're going through is hard, and I don't expect myself to understand. As long as you remember me when you're finally out there with her…I would be glad."

He traced her jawline with his hand, and she melted almost instantly when she looked into his eyes. "I will always remember you."

One of her hands went up to press his palm to her face, and they stood there, motionless, grateful enough to be in each other's arms. Then he leaned forward and she met him halfway, sealing their kiss. A fire burned through her as he pressed her to him, his hands moving down to her neck to pull her close. The craving that she tried to supress overflowed as she grasped at him, hoping that they would stay like this forever. But time ticked on, and they only had so much time to express all their doubts and worries. When they broke, they stared at each other for a while, love in his eyes and longing in hers; the sound of Cadenza starting another waltz was heard faintly inside the ballroom was what broke them out of their trance.

"Do you remember what you asked me," Belle spoke, her lips still lingering with the taste of him, "when we first sat here together?"

"I don't much recall," he shook his head. "But what I do remember was that I was a ghastly inhuman…thing, while you were just as beautiful as you are tonight. As you always are."

The fluttering in her stomach blossomed into a giggle that escaped her. "You asked me if I was happy here."

"Ugh, I did, didn't I?" A grimace formed over his features, cringing at that memory, while she only laughed at his embarrassment.

She entwined her fingers with his. "I didn't get the chance to really say that I would always be happy here, as long as you're with me."

He didn't have to say a word. He didn't seem to care whether the Princess was watching or not, or if her ministers would gossip about him. He only took her face gently and kissed her, again and again and again, while the ballroom seemed even more alive in their absence.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure?" Belle furrowed her brows at Lumière as he handed her the tray of Adam's breakfast soup.

"Of course I am, mademoiselle," Lumière smiled.

As Belle and the maître d' stood in front of the kitchen doors, where breakfast was being prepared inside, the castle staff was already awake the morning after the fête, blessed with another sunny winter's day. Mrs. Potts barely had time to say 'Bonjour!' to Belle just as she put a teapot and a cup on Lumière's tray. Cogsworth stood in the middle of the commotion, directing all of the waiters and maids as they flitted around the dining room to ready it for the guests. They would be awake any moment, and they needed the place to shine as bright as the sunlight outside.

Belle and Lumière stood in the midst of the chaos, the former incredulous. Every day, Mrs. Potts and the maître d' took turns delivering Adam tea or morning breakfast soup to warm him up for the meal downstairs, but Lumière had stopped Belle before she was about to go off with Plumette. What he had asked from her was absurd.

"I'm not bringing this up to Adam's room," Belle protested, gesturing at the tray in Lumière's hands; she didn't want to expose herself further to the Princess (if she would be watching), because to risk company with Adam could almost be considered scandalous. To deliver soup to his bedroom was perhaps the worst offender.

"Oh, forgive me! I do understand," Lumière shook his head dramatically, but a debonair smile still remained on his playful face. "Though, I am offering you a chance to see the Master under a legitimate guise, so to speak. It may be perhaps the only time you will be allowed to converse with him in private, but, of course, it was a wrong chance for me to offer! I should have never asked for so much from—"

"I'll do it," Belle said, surprised that her own tongue betrayed her. She regretted those words immediately, because Lumière enthusiastically shoved the breakfast tray into her hands before she could take it back.

"Merci beaucoup, mon cher!" Lumière said hastily, gave her a quick bow, and ran off into the kitchen to perform more morning work, leaving Belle alone with the Prince's breakfast tray.

Since she had no other choice but to deliver it, she walked along the empty, morning corridors of the castle, reprimanding herself and her tongue for acting on impulse, and falling victim to Lumière's persuasive language. With each step, she called herself stupid, with each flight of stairs, an idiot, and each traverse across a hallway, a fool, until she reached the West Wing.

Though despite his trickery, Lumière did have a point. Belle wasn't even allowed to see Adam, let alone be within three feet of him. The one waltz she had danced with him became the talk of the night, and Belle was sure that it reached the Princess' ears. There was a nervous tempest inside her, brewing in preparation for the worst. If the Princess could destroy her emotions by simply tossing Paul et Virginie on the floor, how much more dancing with her future husband? How much more when she may discover that she had kissed him?

After several mind-based lectures, she found herself standing in front of Adam's large bedroom door. She could hear nothing inside, but lifted her knuckles to knock thrice on the wood. The hollow sound reverberated through the hallway.

"Come in," she heard his voice from inside.

She didn't know if she was shaking because she was terrified, or because she was going to see him again. Either way, she entered the room, closing the door behind her, only to take in the sights as the morning sun wafted through the windows and balcony. He must have just woken up, because the bed was undone; she scanned the whole room, only to find the back of his figure facing her, looking at the bouquet of roses he had received from the Enchantress. All she was permitted to see was his body was cloaked in a banyan, and his hair fell loosely, grazing his shoulders.

"Please don't pester me this time, Lumière; I am utterly exhausted." There was fatigue in his voice, but there was a smidge of gladness and confidence when he spoke Lumière's name.

"Pester you about what?" Belle asked innocently.

Adam turned his head in alarm, his eyes wide with surprise to see Belle standing by the doorway. An embarrassed blush graced his cheeks as she couldn't help but release a giggle; his being off-guard was a trait he rarely exhibited.

"Belle, you…uh…" he scratched his head, looking at her curiously. He couldn't seem to find something to say.

"Lumière was…busy," she said, putting the tray of soup and tea by his large bedside table. "He asked me to bring up your soup; Mrs. Potts also left her tea with me here."

"That's…" he walked over to her as she began to pour him a cup, and he took the hot beverage from her carefully. "That's nice of them to do. Thank you for bringing it up for me."

They stood in silence as Belle watched him take sips from his tea, and she took it as an opportunity to scan him head to foot. His nightwear was so much simpler than his normal attire that he could have been mistaken for a peasant outside the castle; a dull undershirt, loose pants, and barely any footwear. But his facial structure was sculpted to bear the face of an attractive man with heaven's voice, and his blue eyes were ever unchanging. It was almost refreshing to see him dressed so plainly; the flamboyancy of the fête, the Princess' clothes, her speech and hideous demeanour were already too much for Belle. And speaking of his future bride…

"How are you and the Princess?" she asked.

He nearly spat out his tea and coughed, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his banyan. "I'm sorry, what?"

Belle blushed. "I-I mean, how are you holding up with her?"

"Ugh, terribly," Adam rolled his sky blue eyes as he put down his cup. "I can't stand even a minute with her. All she talks about is her dresses, her classes, her parents, her lifestyle…her, her, her. It gets tedious to listen to her drone on and on conceitedly; I can't tell a story about myself without her having to relate it someway to one of her own experiences."

"Tell a story about you as the Beast," Belle commented. "I'm sure she'll have plenty to relate to there…except for the kindness and love."

Adam laughed at that. "I'm sure she will."

Belle hesitated for a moment as a dark question came into her mind. "But do you think…you'll be happy with her?"

The handsome smile vanished off Adam's face as he looked back at his rose vase, trying to find an answer within the red petals. His face moved between expressions of regret, disgust, anger, confusion, and denial as he constantly closed his mouth and opened it. It was as if his reply was on the tip of his tongue and he couldn't transform it into words.

"I…" he answered finally, "I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't have a choice; and even if I did have a choice, I'll be breaking a promise that was made decades ago. Maybe I can break that promise, but I don't know the consequences of such an act."

Belle looked at him, transfixed on his eyes. "But everyone has a choice to true love."

The Prince sighed. "I wish it were so for everyone, even royals. I mean, do you think the King married his wife because he loved her, and not because he needed allies or her kingdom's resources? Do you?"

Belle couldn't answer and avoided his gaze. It would have been advantageous to the King if he did love his wife and their children were born out of the want of a family, but Belle knew that the truth was much crueller than that.

"I'm sorry for…everything," he continued, taking her hands gently. "For dragging you into this mess, for Eliese's behaviour, for my inability to defend you."

"Her mannerisms don't matter to me one bit," Belle retorted. "What matters to me is how you feel with her. Do you…do you love her?"

He looked at their intertwined hands sadly. "I wish I did. Then this wouldn't be suffering for me."

Belle paused for a while, and, reviewing the situation and the topics they discussed, brought forth a question neither of them wanted to ask. "If you do get married to the Princess, then how will we…?"

He drew himself back and let go of her hands; the fact that he was quiet for a while meant that he was actually attempting to answer the question she didn't expect to be solved.

"The King has a wife, as you're most aware…" he began, "but he also has a maîtresse-en-titre, a chief mistress, one among many women. It was understandable to him that marriage and love couldn't be combined, so he split the two; his marriage was for connections and advantages, while his mistresses filled in the gap where love should have been. It was never frowned upon in court, and even his wife patronised the idea."

There was a hesitation, and Belle could feel a frown forming on her brow; she knew where this was leading on.

"Maybe," he turned around, speaking slowly, "if I do get married, you should—"

"No, Adam," she stressed. "If you have to marry, marry for love. Separating the two makes you miserable, but…having only one of those two makes…you miserable…and…" she faltered, shrugging, her eyes downcast; her prior happiness had dissipated into the reality around them.

There was a silence, but it was brief, broken by Adam only moments later.

"Have you ever read The Sorrows of Young Werther?" he turned towards her.

She shook her head. "But I recall that it was one of your favourites."

"And for good reason. I suggest you peruse it. Maybe your understanding of the text could help us with our predicament. Goethe has many things to say about it."

"But what's it about?"

He gave a gentle smile. "You'll understand when you read the whole thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Then I best start looking for it in your colossal library."

"You mean your colossal library."

She backed up towards the door, swinging it open as the mirth of a laugh shone through her eyes instead of through sound. "Enjoy your breakfast soup, Your Highness."

He nodded, looking at the bowl next to his bedside table. "I will. And tell Mrs. Potts the tea is wonderful."

The days were cold and passed by quicker than Belle thought. She expected them to go at a snail's pace, but by the first Saturday, she realised just how fast she had gotten to the week's end. However, the memories that the days brought with them were anything but gone from her mind; in fact, they were what plagued her sleep and kept her doubts about Adam alive, as much as she tried to drown them in thoughts of 'He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.'

There were many absurd requests the Princess asked of Adam, but there were only two of the worst things Belle could think of.

The first one was regarding the winter flowers, the white roses that bloomed on the northern side of the gardens. They magically remained alive despite the chilly season, and it probably had something to do with the Enchantress' magic. Either way, one snowy morning walk, the Princess had seen them, and, commenting to Adam just how abhorrently they blended in with the snow, asked him to uproot hem. Belle, who had stood nearby with Plumette cleaning the windows, exchanged dubious glances with her at that request. The disgust on Adam's face was obvious as well, but the Princess was oblivious to it, for some reason. Belle was most put off by that statement, mainly because she loved the roses growing there, and they held a special place in her and Adam's heart. It became something of a symbol of their relationship, as their meeting happened because of a rose that her father had stolen from those very same bushes.

The second one was much more disturbing, though Belle wasn't there to hear the request leave the Princess' lips. Plumette had rushed towards her when she was in the kitchen, with a worried face, saying that she had overheard the Princess and Adam talk in the grand ballroom; the Princess had said that having more rooms in the castle like this would do his reputation well, though Adam was much more inclined to disagree, saying one ballroom was enough. But the Princess pushed forth, asking Adam if he could convert some of the rooms in the castle to parlours or ballrooms, specifically 'that hideous library.' At that comment, Belle dropped the rags she was holding with shock, and there was a rage that bubbled in her heart only moments later. She wanted so badly to walk up to the Princess and list down the many reasons why that library was dearer to the people of Villeneuve than three hundred fêtes another ballroom could hold, but decorum and secrecy demanded she couldn't. Adam, thankfully, said no to that request, much to Belle's satisfaction and the Princess' discontent.

Despite Adam's unwavering decisions, Belle couldn't help but feel that his resolve could be swayed at any given moment, by some unseen force called political reason.

The snow was falling slowly and gently from the late morning sky, and the sun was not hot enough to warm the chilly environment. The gardens were coated in a cold lush white blanket, being layered on by the falling snowflakes, caressed gently by a winter breeze. The coat Adam wore was enough to keep out the shivers as he strolled through the icy garden, side by side with Belle, who was wrapped in a thick long jacket, her hood up to shelter her head from the weather.

He couldn't help but stare at her constantly; the way her head turned every time something caught her eye in the distance, the way she blinked off the snowflakes that fell on her lashes, the way the thin petticoats of her dress billowed in the winds, and the way her boots kicked up thick piles of snow in front of them. She was, in many ways, peculiar, and perhaps it added to the many reasons why he loved her.

Ah, yes. He loved her. That was a problem, apparently.

He never thought that his affections towards a painter's daughter from Villeneuve would cause such a disturbance in a strategic marriage, or the consequences it would bring once he would finally say his vows. But here he was, suffering the punishment that would come for loving another; an individual who was not to be affiliated to him anymore after his matrimony. It was agony, to say the least: realising that these tender moments with her were very fleeting, and only brief, fragile, easily broken by the slightest touch of longing.

"I've finished it, by the way," she spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Finished what?" he asked.

"The Sorrows of Young Werther," she said, looking up at him; those hazel eyes could do so much damage to his heart.

He frowned, his mouth quirking up to make a little smile. "I told you to read that book only a week ago."

She nodded. "It took a whole day to find, and I was so engrossed in it that I managed to finish it last night. What a wonderful masterpiece, and a tragic one too."

"And? What are your insights?"

Belle paused for a while, as if collecting her thoughts. "Well, I will appreciate Werther's resolve. The man's an artist and a romantic. So of course he falls for the lovely Charlotte, who, as expected, is already married to a man named Albert. But Werther and Charlotte seem like they're meant for each other: they dance, they smile at each other, and they write each other notes and she shows an appreciation in his work; he's madly in love with her, but sadly, she doesn't return those feelings. In despair, he ends up killing himself. And yet, despite distancing himself from her and trying every possible solution, the only way he could satisfy his affections was just even…to see her.

"It really is a tragedy. The last thing he thought of was Charlotte, and in the end, she still couldn't love him." Here she kicked a pile of snow ahead of her. "Now I know why you wanted me to read this. You think I'm in Werther's position as the unmarried one, pining for the affections of you—who plays Charlotte—already engaged in a nuptial relationship to Albert—in this case, the Princess."

He smirked in amusement. "You really are brilliant, do you know that?"

"Please," she blushed briefly, and he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from his flattery. "Anyone in my position could understand that. But the story isn't as common to our situation as you think."

"Oh?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"Werther's circumstances aren't the same as mine. First, I'm not on as good terms with the Princess as Werther is with Albert. Second, I also know for a fact that, unlike Charlotte, you reciprocate my feelings."

Adam let out a breath, and it materialised into a puff of frost at his lips. "So Goethe doesn't have some interesting things to say to you? Though our stories may be different, don't you think they share a similar plot?"

"They do, and I've learned something very interesting."

"Do tell."

"Goethe says that sometimes, to let go is the best thing to do, for the sake of your emotions and for the one you love. It's something that I can't agree with, but to an extent, he may be right. Emotions cause a barrier that prevents a wider view, and maybe, just maybe, we have to take a step back and see how this situation unfolds itself. If we involve ourselves too much into something we don't know the consequences of, then we'll end up just like young Werther: desperate and unstable."

Adam nodded. "So what do you think we should do?"

Belle shrugged. "Distance ourselves, for a time. Not only will it make us inconspicuous, but it will also give us time to observe the situation and take proper action."

"Very well."

There was a moment of quiet, for a while, and, once again, Adam found himself lost in her eyes, her face, her mannerisms, her voice, her fidgeting restlessly. He wanted to reach out to her and hold her hand, but he restrained himself; oh, how it itched to be caressed by her fingers. Not only that, but there was a thought in his mind that dared to be unleashed, a truth that he held in the deepest part of his heart, and something his words refused to let go whenever he stood in front of her door during those nights, when all he was reduced to was a babbling fool.

But now, there truly was nothing to lose.

"You know…" he said, looking out at the magnificence of his own castle, taking in its ginormous size and the amount of luxury in it; he was willing to trade all of it, if only he could have the love of his life together with him, happily, "all those months ago, when you freed me from the curse, up until now, I never said it because…I-I didn't have the courage to; I was scared, worried that your prejudiced statements would cause damage to me. And now, I've lost my chance perhaps forever, and…I…"

Belle stopped walking, and so he also stopped walking, as she stared at him in between the snowflakes.

'What do you mean?" she asked.

God, those eyes were killing him; he scratched his neck, since his cravat was suddenly itchy, and the warmth of his coat suddenly made him sweat despite the cold weather. "Belle…" take a deep breath, and just spit it out, you coward.

"Belle, I wanted to marry you."

There was a moment of quiet. Belle's eyes went wide and she averted her gaze. They stood there, letting those words sink into their skins. Adam immediately felt the consequences of regret flow through him, and he wished that the Enchantress had given him the power to turn back time and erase everything, if only he could. Then the words pushed against the roof of his mouth and he spilled, since their timing was the worst.

"I…I was afraid of anything you'd say about it," he continued. "Of you rejecting me, accepting me, laughing at me…but I couldn't just let what we had go nowhere. The staff had been pressuring me to propose to you, but every time I tried, I'd lose all courage and divert the topic elsewhere. I've delayed it for so long and now…look at what we've come to. I can't even hold you without me having to worry over who could be watching us."

Belle stood silently, and he was afraid of whatever words were going to wound him. To his surprise, however, her voice was kind.

"You do know that if you proposed to me, the Archduchy would still hear of you and send the Princess over? It wouldn't make our situation better; in fact, it would make it worse, since we would be engaged to each other while a marriage proposal between you and another woman still existed."

Adam grimaced at the thought of that reality, but then her phrase suddenly caught him and he was speechless for but a moment.

"Since we would be engaged to each other…?" he reiterated, enunciating it slowly as his brows furrowed. "What do you…mean?"

Belle blinked at him, as if the answer was obvious. "Well…if you proposed to me, of course I would say yes. I would say nothing but yes."

It took a while for all of the regret, gratefulness, and confusion to settle in. Then the questions came in a barrage: why didn't he ask her to marry him sooner? What would have happened if he did ask her to marry him sooner? Does Eliese know about his asking Belle to marry him? How will they even keep our relationship together with Eliese and political protocol in the way?

The pressure that everything placed upon him came crashing down in a storm, and he felt the anger of his inability to do anything come through. And yet, standing there, in the middle of a snowfall, being petered on by the bitter cold and gentle breeze, he managed to lock eyes with her, and he was once again entrapped by the lush hazel they were. He could have spent all day trying to identify what shade coloured her irises…honey, pure, or a shade of dark brown? They reminded him of the bark of summer trees and the smell of spring earth. No matter how hard he tried to tear his gaze away, he ended up getting lost in them, and he fought the urge to take her face in his hands and—

"Adam?" Her eyes narrowed a bit so her eyebrows could furrow. "What's wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?"

The filter blocking his thoughts to his mouth vanished, and his first impulse was to whisper his thoughts, softly and quickly. "Your eyes are alluring, you're absolutely beautiful, I love you. May I kiss you?"

The only proper response to that from her was a smile, a blush, as she went up to brush a lock of his golden hair behind his ear. "You may."

He couldn't control the grin on his face as his hands reached up to caress her cheek, pulling her hood down and guiding her chin to his. Her own hands began to move towards his nape, her warm touch making his heart explode. He could almost feel the sweet scent of her breath on his face as he tilted his head and—

"Adam! Darling!"

Adam snapped his head back and Belle did the same, only for his eyes to gravitate towards the veranda, where Eliese was waving at him in her garish gown and coat. He tried to hide his disappointment as he waved back. He knew by her delighted disposition that she didn't see them nearly kiss, but he was more than upset.

Great. I was this close to kissing the love of my life, you—

"Oh, how cold it is!" She went down the stairs carefully down to the gardens to meet them, and she did it slowly so that her dress wouldn't be stained by the snow at her feet. "Taking a winter walk, are we?"

Adam shrugged. "It's nice to breathe some fresh air. It's been a while since I've seen a winter this…natural."

He could see from the corner of his eye that his love tried to hide a smile. But nothing could go unnoticed by the harsh eyes of Eliese and she frowned at Belle, who had taken a step back to curtsey.

"I see that you're taking a walk with your…literate peasant girl," Eliese spat, keeping her nose high.

Ugh, that phrase just irked Adam to no end; he tried to hide his eye roll and gave a fake smile. "Eliese, this 'literate peasant girl' has a name, and it would do me a great pleasure if you would learn hers and all of my staff's. Try giving them a little ounce of respect, starting with this one."

She looked shocked and put a gloved hand to her rouge-lined lips. "That's too many names, darling! You can't expect me to—"

"If you can remember the names of two hundred guests who attended that one party you hosted at Vienna, then you can surely remember all of my castle staff." He gestured to Belle, who curtseyed low again. "Eliese, this is Belle, my bookkeeper and maid."

"A pleasure, Your Highness," Belle bowed.

He could see that Eliese was feigning a grin as she nodded her head once. "Nice to see you again…Belle."

She seemed to hiss the name; obviously, Adam wasn't satisfied, but to ask her to say that again would be like taunting a serpent: both foolish and dangerous. From the corner of his eye, Belle was trying her best to hide the furrow in her brow as her lips pressed into a thin line.

"So," Adam clasped his hands at his back, "what brings you out and about, Eliese?"

Eliese only batted her eyelashes coquettishly, and Adam could swear he could hear Belle's inaudible groan of disgust. "I was only looking for you to request an audience with you alone tonight, but it seems you have…" her striking eyes seemed to drift over to Belle, "other affairs at the moment."

Adam took a step in front of Belle, should Eliese do anything to harm his love, and answered his future bride straightforwardly. "If you want my audience tonight, then it shall be done. We could go for a night walk in the gardens after dinner. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"That sounds marvellous," Eliese shook off a frown as she continued. "Pardon me for intruding on your business, but don't you find it odd that you're in the presence of a peas—I mean, servant girl at this time of the day? Or any time of the day at all?"

At this, he blinked and tried to hide the dissatisfaction in his voice. "My castle staff aren't simply servants in my home; they live here. They're welcome to talk to me about any concerns they might have, about whatever they like."

Eliese tilted her head to the side curiously. "Oh? And what might your tome keeper here be concerned with?"

"It was the library, Your Highness," Belle replied quickly, and Adam gave off a silent sigh of relief. "I was just wondering if His Royal Highness could give me some extra time to finish sorting the books, since the shelves will be dustier when spring comes about."

Eliese looked unimpressed—or, in this case, her usual face. "Ah, that library. Well, carry on with your conversation; I dread how boring it is." And as she began to walk away, Adam was surprised he was holding in a breath that entire time. "Anyway, ta! I must have a good morning tea with my ministers, or they'll get cranky. I'll meet you later this evening, my dear Prince!"

Adam couldn't comment anything afterward as Eliese disappeared up the stairs into the warmth of the castle. A winter wind blew through the Prince and Belle, filling in the silence as the Princess disappeared from sight. From beside him, Belle closed her eyes and let the moment pass for a while before she spoke again.

"It's a miracle, how you manage to stand her," Belle shivered inwardly. "She's…she's such a spoiled, overindulgent, egotistical, uncharitable—argh!"

He watched with a blank expression as she stomped her foot on the snow in rage. Crossing her arms, she looked away; the annoyed look on her face was something that he only saw every time he teased her about her literature taste or when she couldn't find the proper shelf where Laurence Sterne belonged. He held his tongue; he didn't want to say that, so long ago, before the curse, before the Enchantress…

"You were like that too, weren't you?" Belle finished his train of thought, as if she could read his mind. "That's why you hate it whenever she treats people the way she does. Because you were like that before."

He sighed; he really couldn't keep anything away from his beloved anymore, because she would end up finding out one way or another, the clever girl. "I was like that and worse. So much worse."

There was another pause, but it was short-lived because Belle had taken his arm and draped it over her shoulder, snuggling herself into his embrace with a content hum. It took him only a few moments before he fully gave in and took her into his arms, content only to be in her warm hug in the freezing cold.

The hallways in the castle were always well-lit, and the words seemed to flicker by the dancing of the flames. The night was already quite old, so the servants were gone from the corridors, probably already in bed and dreaming about the spring, which due to come in a few months' time. Belle traversed the silent hallways, treading cautiously since her eyes weren't on the pathway; instead they were carefully construing the words of Goethe in The Sorrows of Young Werther for a second read. She made sure that there were no secret messages left unrevealed to her, and she looked at the words so carefully that she could almost imagine Werther at his table, writing amongst his poetry in a melancholy air about his beloved Charlotte.

How my heart beats when by accident I touch her finger, or my feet meet hers under the table! I draw back as if from a furnace; but a secret force impels me forward again, and my senses become disordered. Her innocent, unconscious heart never knows what agony these little familiarities inflict upon me. Sometimes when we are talking she lays her hand upon mine, and in the eagerness of conversation comes closer to me, and her balmy breath reaches my lips,—when I feel as if lightning had struck me, and that I could sink into the earth. And yet, Wilhelm, with all this heavenly confidence,—if I know myself, and should ever dare—you understand me. No, no! my heart is not so corrupt, it is weak, weak enough but is not that a

"Don't you talk to me that way!"

Belle jolted at the sound of a shrill, feminine voice snapping in anger, one she immediately recognised to be that of the Princess; it was rather nearby as well, though why the Princess would be in the servant's wing this late at night was something beyond her reasoning. Closing the book, Belle tiptoed quietly towards the adjoining hallway, keeping her footsteps silent as she peeked around the corner. The sight she was met with was so shocking, with the gasp that came out of her mouth was so loud, she was surprised no one would hear it.

A dozen maids were pressed into the wall, quivering in their night dresses and hugging each other tightly; Plumette, though, stood with her arms spread, protecting them from the Princess, who was pointing fingers at them and yelling repeatedly. Some of the servants within the hall looked out their room doors and went back to shut themselves in, too afraid to interfere. The maids were backing into a corner with each step the Princess took, and one of the younger ones, a girl not older than sixteen, looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"You and your brood of petty little liars," the Princess hissed, and Belle felt a rage going through her when that insult was spat in such a way that the maids cowered further. She was so close from going out of her hiding place, but Plumette spoke before she could take any step.

"Forgive us, Your Highness," Plumette stood defiant, apologising through gritted teeth, "but I know none of these girls would ever cause you harm."

The Princess scoffed and gave a sarcastic eye roll. "That's not what I meant, you uncouth brat. I meant that I want this castle in tip-top shape: no whining, no complaints."

Plumette looked aghast. "So how do you expect us to say anything to the Master if ever we have trouble?"

The Princess shrugged apathetically. "I don't care. Use that old majordomo to intercede on your behalf." Then the Princess suddenly pointed a perfectly manicured fingernail at Plumette, and even her terror was starting to leak out of the cracks. "Because if I see even one of you near my darling Adam, I swear I'll—"

"Mon Dieu! What is going on?"

Lumière stepped out one of the rooms and, seeing his Plumette in trouble, stepped in between her and the Princess, ready to defend her at the cost of his life.

"Please, Votre Altesse," Lumière persuaded, his debonair smile nervous. "There is no need for such harsh words against the maids! Whatever is the matter?"

The Princess' brows furrowed so deeply and her lips turned over into a scowl. "Whatever is the matter? The matter is that these girls are able to speak to Adam at any time of the day, about any concern at all!"

Lumière looked oblivious. "Oui…and this is a problem because…?"

The Princess stared at the maître d' like he was an idiot. "Are you blind, you foppish prance? I want none of them going near my Prince, and the reasons should be quite clear to you. That's an order from the future wife of your Master."

Lumière's eyes were wide, and Belle was gripping The Sorrows of Young Werther so hard that she was afraid she tore some of the leather covering off with her fingernails. She wanted so badly to intervene, but her mind told her that the Princess was like this because of that incident with Adam earlier that day in the snow. The Princess' heart knew nothing but spite, didn't it?

"I'll…be sure to take up the matter with him, Princesse," Lumière bowed, slightly shaken from the insult she had slapped him with. Plumette, by his side, looked like she was going to weep any moment. "For now, I ask politely that you return to your business while I talk with the maids. Rest assured the matters you are fretting about will be dealt with quickly."

"They better be," the Princess huffed, then she stormed the opposite side of the hallway, bumping into Plumette purposely in the process.

None of the figures in the hallway moved until she was out of sight, and the maids scurried back into their rooms like timid mice once they grew tired of the silence. When it was only them, Plumette struggled to embrace her Lumière, whimpering inaudible sobs into his shirt, and he could only press a tender kiss on her forehead, not knowing what to say. They were like that for a while, cracking and breaking, while Belle could do nothing but listen to the agony of her inability.

Belle retreated into her wall and pressed her back to it, shutting her eyes and sliding down until she was seated on the floor. Her heart grew heavy with tears she tried to keep in; she was tired of being pushed around, tired of worrying about her library, tired of longing for Adam, tired of the Princess and her cruelty. She wanted to reverse it all and go back to the times when it was only her and her Prince, sitting by the fire, exchanging opinions on why the dashing Lancelot was a much better match for Guinevere than King Arthur. It all now seemed like a distant dream.

The book she held in her hands seemed to grow heavier. This whole scenario was nothing like Werther's story, and no matter how much Adam would like to justify the commonalities, Goethe had no wisdom to offer now.

The snow was cold that night, but not in a pleasant way. Adam could almost think that Eliese wanted to take this certain path to reminisce how Belle had walked beside him earlier that day. But cloaked in three different coats that probably cost more than a poor merchant's house, Eliese was nothing like Belle; in fact, she was almost her complete opposite. Where Belle was kind-hearted and benevolent, Eliese was cold and greedy. Where Belle was passionate and empathetic, Eliese couldn't care less about books or anything that didn't concern her. If anything, being in the Princess' company made him more grateful to have Belle in his life. 

'Ah, Belle,' he thought to himself; pictures of her throwing snowballs and running about the winter grounds brought a grin to his face. 'What a mess I've gotten myself into now.'

And speaking of messes, it was about time Adam brought one up.

"Eliese," Adam started, "may I ask you something?"

"Why, of course," she replied.

"Lumière came into my room before I went down here," he began, curious as how she was to defend herself against this one. "He told me some interesting things about your behaviour. Apparently, he had to intervene at a scene in the servant's chambers earlier this evening because you were threatening the maids, accusing them of something. According to him, you even insulted Plumette."

She looked appalled, and he couldn't tell if she was purposely trying to feign shock, or she was a terrible actress. "Me? Threaten the maids? Insult them? I love all the staff at this castle! Why, that dandified maître d', lying about me!"

Adam tried to keep a scoff. "I've known Lumière ever since I was a child, and he isn't the type to lie."

Eliese stuck her nose high in the air. "Well, about time he broke that streak."

Now that was infuriating. Adam tried his best to supress his anger. "Eliese, tell me the truth."

She stopped. He stopped. She said nothing. The snowfall blew through them.

"You yelled at those maids, didn't you?" he pressed.

She shot him a side glance, pressing her annoyed lips into a thin line, but she remained silent.

"Mocked them?" he continued, his voice growing louder as his anger began to surface. All of the ire, the sadness, the annoyance and want over the past days, became the increasing volume of his voice. "Called Plumette, a kindly and diligent worker, an uncouth brat? Lumière, a loyal friend and employee, a foppish prance? Who next will you offend, hm? Cogsworth, one of my father's closest companions and my own dear confidant, or will it be Mrs. Potts and her dear—?"

"What was I to do?!" Eliese snapped as she drew back, her teeth bared like a wild animal protecting itself. "I couldn't let them near you, I couldn't risk it. No other woman should be near you except me. I am your future wife, for all it's worth!" She grabbed his arm deftly and dug her fingernails into it; all Adam could feel was the bite of a wolf, the talons of a bird, the fangs of a snake pulling him closer to death. Her deadly gaze only inches away from his only added to his fear.

His heart began to palpitate inside his hollow chest, and his legs began to quiver. And it wasn't out of excitement or infatuation. It was out of dread.

"I love you, Adam," she said through gritted teeth, using another hand to grab his collar and pull his face towards her until they were only a breath apart. "I long for you."

"Let go of me," he demanded, and yet her grip tightened.

"You can't escape the surly bonds of this," she taunted, dangerously close to his face. Her breath smelt of wine and her clothes reeked of copious doses of perfume, unlike the earthly scent which clung to Belle naturally: dust, soil, and bread.

"I said: let go of me." He pushed her away, staggering backwards, shuddering still from the foreign lingering of her touch. Since she had no sense to censor her affections, it was only normal that he would do the same.

"That's why you detest the maids," he snarled. "You're jealous of Belle."

"Her!" Eliese let out a cackle so shrill and unnerving that it disgusted Adam. "You're a fool to think that a literate peasant girl like her could ever make me je—"

"Call her that one more time," Adam threatened, and he could feel the makings of a growl brew at the bottom of his throat. His fists clenched to prevent him from shoving Eliese into the snow right there and then.

The Princess finally scoffed, looking at him with both disdain and satisfaction in her conniving expression. "So I was right. That gleam in your eyes whenever you look at her is something more than lust or silly feelings of an adolescent boy. I can't believe that you would pick a poor, uncultured, uncivilised commoner over me."

Adam took a step forward. "Well, that poor, uncultured, uncivilised commoner is more of a princess than you'll ever be. She's kind, compassionate, thoughtful, benevolent, everything you aren't and more."

The Princess gave a fake smile. "Then it's a good thing I'm rich. And beautiful. And have influence to my name."

What he'd give to throw a plate at her face! "You say another word, Eliese, and I'll—"

"You'll what?" she batted her long lashes innocently. "You'll cancel the marriage and run off with that plebeian in indiscretion? What a scandal! What dishonour you'll bring to your parents' name, to betray a decades' long promise to my own family!"

"My parents' promises were not mine to be made," he returned, and then it dawned on him as he turned her back on her, looking at the dim light of the ballroom chandeliers from the long glass windows.

"I'll revoke the marriage."

Eliese's eyes widened. "You'll what?"

"You heard me," he faced her, defiant in every syllable he uttered. "I'll revoke the marriage."

She shook her head, unbelieving. "T-That's impossible. You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can," he retorted. "My father signed that contract as Prince of Vendôme, a title I now have since his passing. I can cancel the nuptial under the grounds that I hold his authority and can rescind whatever choices he had made in the past."

He walked briskly past her, towards the castle door, but he could hear her following, her voluminous petticoat shovelling the snow aside as she ran towards him. But he didn't care anymore; their arguments and disagreements would all become nothing once again. In his mind, he was already making plans that would assure him that Eliese would be far gone from his life and maybe, just maybe, he could have a chance with Belle again.

"Stop!" Eliese yelled about ten strides behind him as she ran, though he was much faster than her since he wasn't being hindered by an extravagant dress. "Stop this! You don't know what you're doing!"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing, Eliese," Adam continued. "I'll leave for Heilig tomorrow morning. I'll ask Cogsworth to arrange a chaise or a horse, so I won't be long. There, I'll negotiate terms of nullifying the marriage with your father and give him some harvest in compensation for—"

Something yanked him back and he stopped dead in his tracks. When he turned to face whatever was behind him, he saw Eliese, clutching his arm. No matter how many times he'd flail or struggle, he couldn't escape from her hold. However, it wasn't her newfound strength that terrified him; it was how her appearance seemed to shift in blurs and mists of pale red, almost as if she was a mirage, fading in between existing and not. The coils of her gold hair seemed to float, a sort of rose-coloured mist seemed to emanate off her body, and her irises began to glow in a bright colour of pink. It was almost as if she grew more beautiful, but Adam knew at that moment just what he had awakened. Fear overtook his body, like it did all those years ago, when he knelt in front of another one, surrounded by his nervous party guests, at the mercy of an Enchantress who had cursed him to years and years of misery. The same odd glow coming from Eliese was something he never hoped to see again.

"No…" he whispered; his face seemed to be the only part of his body that wasn't petrified in trepidation. "No…no, no, no…it can't be…"

"Oh, yes…" she smiled, her voice almost echoing around him. Her hands went up to cradle his face, and he could feel himself shake in terror as her nose brushed his. "I'm not going to let you escape me, my darling Adam."

The heat of her skin was almost inhuman, and as much as he wanted to shut his eyes, the terrible sight before him was something indeed to behold. As Eliese moved her face closer to his, she seemed to shine brighter than any of the stars in the night sky.

"I love you…" she whispered, "and I'm never letting you go."

With that, she pressed a kiss to his lips, and Adam drowned in the sensation that enveloped him. He felt a kind of energy swirl around him as his senses began to die away, as he was tumbling deeper and deeper into a state in which he couldn't even move. It was almost as if someone else was operating his body and he was forced to be subjected to his unconscious actions. Then his sight began to ebb away, gradually at first, and, hopelessly, he thought that the sight of Eliese's pink, glowing eyes would be the only thing he would see in his mind's eye.

But then he thought of Belle, and how she would feel, and what she would do, and how she would love him. He saw her, standing on the edge of a cliff, hair dishevelled and eyes wide with worry, screaming his name as she reached out her hand in an attempt to save him from falling into an abyss of wakeful dreaminess. Try as he might to extend his fingers to even touch her, he was beyond saving, and he felt the air breeze past him as he fell deeper and deeper, until he could feel nothing.

Chapter Text

Belle had volunteered to bring up Adam's breakfast tray that morning, much to Lumière's content. Seeing her Prince through this farce gave her a chance to relief the morning encounter she had with him before. So even before the maître d' offered her the tray, she took it from his hands quickly and, giving him a quick thanks, ran with a skip in her step through the castle. The staircases seemed to help her get up on her feet, the hallways seemed shorter, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of Adam's bedroom door.

There was an attempt control the smile on her face as she tucked in a stray hair with her free hand, hoping she looked just fine; seeing Adam was so rare, it should be a privilege at this point. She couldn't even remember the last time they kissed. Maybe this morning, she should change that.

She raised a hand to knock on his door, and—

"Oh, dear! There you are!"

Belle turned her head to see Madame de Garderobe running towards her, looking frantic, like a wing in the castle was on fire.

"What's wrong, Madame?" Belle furrowed her brows.

"The Master…" she panted, "isn't in his room. I was to stop you in the kitchen before you came up, but…you're here! And…"

"What do you mean he isn't in his room?"

"It was a surprise even to Lumière, my dear. He's downstairs…having breakfast with the Princess."

Belle's heart plummeted into her boots, but then something in her mind reassured her that it was nothing but to comply with the Princess' odd requests. The sombre mood immediately left her. "Oh…well, we could just come down and see him…"

"Oh, we can't dear," Madame de Garderobe interrupted her. "The Master…told us to leave him alone."

Belle blinked. "Leave him alone?"

"Yes, he didn't want anyone disturbing his breakfast."

Belle stayed silent for a moment, looking at her bowl of soup, which now looked like a pathetic attempt to even get close to Adam. She sighed dejectedly and looked at the meal, feeling embarrassed that she even thought he would like to see her. Then again, maybe it was all just a ruse to throw off the Princess and keep Belle out of suspicion. That would be right.

There was still a sickening feeling, however, that screamed back…that maybe he didn't love Belle anymore. But that was impossible. What about those promises he made, the library he gave her, his undying support, the kisses that he showered her with in th—?

"My dear," Madame de Garderobe looked shocked, and placed a hand on Belle's shoulder. "Oh…oh no, I'm sorry, I never meant to make you…"

"No, it's alright, it's just…" Belle tried to look at the dish, "it's a pity, really; Cuisinier worked hard on this soup."

Belle finally saw Adam some time that midmorning. They were walking on a veranda overlooking the northern gardens, and Belle was just right at the doorway, cleaning the windows. Belle tried to ignore them, as she thought it would do her good, but there was something slightly…different about the way they stood together. Whenever the Princess would make a joke, he always seemed to force his laughter before, but even from this far, Belle could tell his smiles were genuine and his facial features seemed pleased in her presence rather than off-put. It was either he was a very good actor or…he was actually starting to gain interest in—

Don't think like that. He loves you, remember?

Belle sighed and continued to clean out the frosted windows, making sure that the snow beyond the landscape was still visible. Her face in her reflection was only faint, however, in contrast to Adam and the Princess standing outside; the latter of which was wearing a lurid dress of red so vibrant, that it hurt to look at.

They weren't far from the door, and they still spoke loudly enough to be heard by Belle.

"I must say, the landscaping in your gardens is amazing!" the Princess exclaimed.

"I owe that to my gardeners; they do an excellent job maintaining the flora," Adam replied. "Though you don't really see their full splendour this time of year. We should wait until spring."

"We'll be married by then," the Princess cooed. Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"That we will be."

At those words, Belle furrowed her brows and looked out at Adam, who had smiled at the Princess. Usually, those words would have sounded spat out, or hesitant, with his eyes dull and pained; but here, his voice sounded well-mannered, and his eyes twinkled with pure emotion…like what he was saying almost real. Belle tried to calm the aching in her chest.

"Although," the Princess went on, looking unsatisfied with the snow-covered gardens, "those roses don't look quite right."

Belle's heart skipped a beat. She didn't mean those roses…right?

"Which ones?" Adam asked. "Those white ones there?"

Belle stood up suddenly. She could see them pointing out at the garden.

"Yes, those," the Princess groaned. "Ugh, they look just hideous against the snow, don't they?"

Adam shrugged, allowing his future bride to continue.

"Well, I elect we remove them."

"You mean uproot them?" Adam asked.

"Yes," the Princess nodded. "Believe me, my darling, I know a thing or two about good taste, and I can say with authority that those horrid flowers are—"

"Precious to me!"

Adam and the Princess turned around to see Belle standing out in the bitter cold, her fists clenched. There was absolutely no way that this Princess was going to uproot those flowers she held dear to her. But what made Belle so frustrated and sad was the fact that she just knew Adam was so close to giving in to her request. There was something that changed within him, that was positive and true, and perhaps it may be his affections towards the Princess, affections that were taking less of a false shape and more of a tangible reality.

The royal couple stood there, bewildered. Though Adam only furrowed his brows, the Princess looked furious. But Belle didn't care one bit about the Princess' harsh words or the bitter cold. She only cared about Adam's eyes, who were now transfixed on her own. They were still a startling beautiful blue, but something was missing from them, a sort of light.

"What is it, Belle?" Adam asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

She could almost yell at him in frustration. "Adam, you were going to uproot those things! Don't you know how valuable they are t—?"

"Your Highness."

Belle blinked at his interjection. "I'm sorry?"

"You should refer to me as 'Your Highness'," Adam continued, looking very matter-of-factly. "It's impolite to call me by my first name; I'm your master, and you should respect me as such. Anyway, you were saying?"

Belle was incredulous. She looked in between the Princess and Adam, thinking she was in some sort of dream. Was Adam just trying to help her on with the charade, or did he actually forget that she was only pretending to be a maid? Either way, it made her head ache terribly, with all of the emotions brewing in her stomach and all her thoughts in her mind.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Belle tried again, "but you can't uproot those flowers."

Adam frowned. "Why not? Eliese was right when she said they looked terrible against the sn—"

"They don't look terrible," Belle interrupted him, which garnered shocked looks from him and his future wife. "Terrible is the last thing you would think of them. Don't you remember how precious they were to you? You don't even recall that I love those white roses, and that my father nearly took one…and—"

"That's enough, Belle," Adam's voice grew colder, and it frightened her. "I mean no offence when I say this, truly, but your opinion as a castle maid is irrelevant to my choices on how this estate should look like. You only work here, you don't own the place, so you don't have a say in what I'm supposed to do to remodel."

Belle's emotions were in a twist and she didn't know what to feel anymore. There was a mixture of anger, sadness, pain, frustration, and so much more in her, but she didn't know what to imagine in her first.

"Plus," he added, "don't you think what you did there was a little rude?"

She blinked back tears. "What did I do?"

"You interrupted him, literate peasant girl," the Princess said, looping her arm into Adam's. "I don't expect you to understand court etiquette, so thank me for teaching you."

Belle's mouth fell open, and she just stared at Adam, expecting him to do something about that insult both of them hated, but he stood there, clueless, as if the Princess provoking her was a normal everyday occurrence.

"I can't believe this…" Belle muttered to herself, walking backwards away from them. "I…Adam, you…"

And before Adam could correct her on her usage of style, she bolted back into the castle, running away from them as the bitter tears she held for so long were still being held back.

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean what he said," Plumette carried over a book and placed it neatly into the organised book stack she made on the table.

Belle let out a frustrated sigh as she placed Candide, ou l'Optimisme on the shelf where the rest of Voltaire's works belonged. The noon air wafted through the dusty library, and while Plumette stayed on the ground and sorted out through the table book piles, Belle stood a dozen rungs above the floor. The days were erratic, and so where Belle's feelings for Adam, but at least she could find solace in the one area of the castle she knew best and who knew her best: her library.

She was only lucky that Plumette volunteered to help her; she barely had any friends in Villeneuve, let alone someone she could talk to. All of the castle staff had been nothing but kind to her, and she didn't know how to repay them for all the hard work they did for her. Usually, it would be Adam helping her sort through her library, and he would somehow manage to disarrange her ground pile looking for The Mysteries of Udolpho to read, then she would scold him for messing up her notes, then he would tease her, after which they would end up laughing and they would exchange a ki—

"He seemed pretty clear when he said that 'my opinion as a castle maid was irrelevant'," Belle frowned, trying not to reminisce on the sweet memories.

"Maybe he's…" Plumette said, but then she began to trail off.

"Don't, Plumette…he's different now," Belle shoved in Hérode et Mariamne next to Candide.

"What did he do to you?"

"He…" and she faltered, holding L'Orphelin de la Chine in her hands as she looked out into the distance; how should she even describe what yesterday's conversation was? "It was like he almost forgot that he…he loved me."

"Nonsense," Plumette scoffed, putting one volume over the other. "Madame Potts and I keep telling you that he loves you, and we know the Master better than anyone. Maybe he is like this for your own good, to continue to throw suspicion off you."

"I've thought that too," Belle licked her lips. "But it still hurt me. He allowed the Princess to insult me."

Plumette shuddered. "That is all she does to everybody, other than her future husband: belittle them and call them names. She called me an 'uncouth brat'."

Belle had to laugh at the way Plumette faked the Princess' high-pitched German accent. "She calls me a literate peasant girl."

"Vraiment?" Plumette raised an eyebrow. "I think that is perhaps the best compliment she has ever given anyone."

At that, the two laughed for a happy while.

"Alright, alright," Belle smiled, "is there any Voltaire left on the tables?"

"I believe none…" Plumette went around, trying to scan for his name. "Ah, attendez un moment, here!"

Belle reached down to get Micromégas from Plumette's hands and stuffed it next to Sept Discours en Vers sur l'Homme. "Is that all, or are th—?"

The doors to her library boomed open, and in rushed about half a dozen men in fancy uniformed suits, looking around the library, chatting with each other too fast for Belle to catch, and all exchanging notes. As Plumette recovered from her shock, Belle descended down the ladder and frowned at them. They obviously weren't castle staff, as they were complete strangers to her, and seemed to ignore the two of them as they continued to construe the library as if it was a piece of art in a museum.

"Excuse me," Belle tried to talk to them, but they only glanced at her briefly before going back to jotting down notes. "Excuse me!"

"Ah, about time that this filthy place got cleared away."

Belle turned to the door, where the Princess walked in, Adam standing not far behind her. He seemed to observe the way that the uniformed men went around the place as the Princess chirped on excitedly beside him, smiling with pure and utter joy. Belle was more confused than irritated at this point, and she approached the couple with Plumette as they bowed.

"Your Highnesses," Belle kept her head low.

"Good that you know your place, literate peasant girl," the Princess replied without even looking at her.

Belle exchanged nervous glances with Plumette, and tried to look towards Adam for help, but he was busy looking at the ceilings of the library to even answer. Feelings of melancholy washed over Belle again, and there they were: horrid thoughts.

He doesn't love you anymore, can't you see? He's obviously fallen in love with the Princess now.

"Pardon, Your Highness," Belle said to either of them, "but may I ask why there are strange…personnel in my library?"

"Your library?" Adam laughed, and it sent shivers down Belle's spine, but not in the pleasurable way. "Belle, since when has this been your library?"

Belle prayed this entire conversation wasn't real. "Y-You gave it to me…remember?"

Adam scoffed. "I don't recall ever giving this you. And why would I?"

Belle felt on the verge of crying, and Plumette could feel it. The maid wrapped Belle in her arms, and the latter was trying her very best to cage her tears. Now Adam forgot that this was her library? The very place she held close to her? And even in the tone of his voice, she was nothing but a peasant to him. This charade was getting too far into his head.

"Then, may we ask why you are here, Master?" Plumette asked.

"We're here," Adam replied, "to renovate this place."

Belle uncoiled herself from Plumette's arms. "Renovate?"

"Yes," the Princess said excitedly. "We're going to turn this place into a ballroom!"

Belle's heart shattered. "W-What…?"

"Eliese asked that we use more rooms in the castle as ballrooms," Adam clasped his hands around his back. "And she suggested that we use this place. These designers are going to see what they can do, then talk to the architects to remove the bookshelves."

"Remove the bookshelves…" Belle reiterated, clasping her hand over her mouth as Plumette massaged her shoulders gently. "You…you can't do this…"

This wasn't happening. No…no, no, no, no…

"Why not?" Adam looked around. "It's big, spacious, and besides, nobody in this castle uses this room anyway."

Belle blinked furiously, fighting back her tears and the terrible feeling she had at the back of her throat, and walked briskly over to where Adam was so she could stand directly in front him. He tilted his head curiously, as if he didn't notice the tears already pricking at her eyes.

"Adam, don't," she shook her head, staring into his blue eyes, trying to find a sense of belonging, of love; but the rush of joy she felt whenever she looked at him was now gone, only replaced by fear. "Please—"

"I said yesterday that you should refer to me as 'Your Highness,' remember?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "It's not like you to forget easily, Belle."

"And it's not like you to do any of this!" Belle gestured at the whole library, and she yelled so loud that the designers stopped whatever they were doing and looked at the argument. "It isn't like you to turn this place—the only place I love in this whole cruel world—into something so…so…" Belle struggled to find the words, "…so unlike you! I thought you were more than that!"

"I don't understand, Belle," he frowned, "and I don't like the tone you're using with me."

Belle sighed dejectedly and wiped her face constantly; the tears were there, but she didn't let them spill. "Adam, what is wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong with me?!" Adam shouted back and took a step closer to her; he was just a stride away, and she could feel nothing but sorrow and pain echoing in her hollow chest. "Why don't we talk about what's wrong with you?! You have no right to concern yourself in my matters. Thinking you run this place, under the impression you have authority over me, calling me by my name so casually, interrupting me and arguing with me…you obviously don't know where you lie."

Belle stared defiantly at him, while Plumette was too busy drowning in her own shock while the Princess looked on, curious.

"I may not know where I lie," Belle replied, "but you're taking this whole charade too seriously."

"What charade?" Adam's eyes narrowed. "Is this is some sort of game to you?"

Belle swallowed nervously, and she was gripped by a terrible sense of trepidation that he may have forgotten everything. Standing before her was more than exaggerated actor; he was a completely different person.

"Watch me," he said through gritted teeth as he pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I'll tear this library apart shelf by shelf, book by book, before your very eyes. And I'm going to make you watch me."

Belle was overcome with a swelling sense of rage and misery. She swatted away his hand, and suddenly he took a step back, his brows furrowed, but his anger seemed to melt away and turn into confusion. She didn't care at all, though, what his emotions were at this point. A single tear slid down her cheek and he could only stare at her with wide eyes.

The cracks of sorrow began to emerge on Belle's face as she shook her head. "You're not Adam."

He blinked at his hands, frowning as he wiped his face constantly. Then his eyes gravitated towards her, and, in them, there was that light that she thought was lost. A little relief flooded through her, but his mockery, his naiveté, his exaggerations, they all tore what remained of that relief to shreds. For a moment, she considered forgiving him, but her heart was in shambles; there was no forgiveness left to be granted.

"Wait…wait," he stared at Belle, then himself, then Princess, then Plumette, then the designers, then at the whole library, then back to Belle.

The Princess' shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath. Plumette gasped a little, as if she knew what happened.

"Wait, Belle…" he took a step towards her. "Belle, I—"

"Don't…" she whimpered, taking a step back. "Please, don't."

And with that, she ran out of the library, crying into her hands. Adam tried to reach out to her, but she bolted as fast as she could through the doors, never mind that the Princess was frowning at her. The designers didn't even go back to scribbling down on their papers, and everyone had their eyes on Adam.

"What…just happened?" Adam asked, looking at the entire room.

Plumette walked up to him and folded her hands neatly in front of her, looking at Adam with an unreadable expression. "I know that you have authority over me, Master, but what you did to Belle was unforgivable."

And with that, Plumette went out of the library, running after Belle down the hall.

Adam looked at the designers, who seemed to have taken their cue, bowed at the couple, and then left quietly, until it was just him and his future wife in the library. He blinked at Eliese, who stared back at him with the same amount of confusion.

His Royal Highness Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou:

Sir:

Salutations.

It has occurred to me and most of your castle staff that you intend to remove the library in the East Wing of your castle and replace it with a ballroom instead. I am well-informed of your intentions and what you plan the room to be, and, despite my standing as a maid, I feel the need to assert my position in the matter, even though you have mentioned before that my opinion is irrelevant.

I stand strongly with the notion that the library must not be dismantled. I believe that the library is a good source of learning, and not just for the enjoyment of myself. I have been making sketches and conceptualising the existence of such, but I have thought of establishing a small school for the sake of the young girls at Villeneuve, the venue of which will be the library. It will do them well to be able to learn how to read and to discover the world of literature, and it would also put them on equal educational footing with the men in the village.

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter and understand my stand on this matter. Your efforts to construe my intentions are well-appreciated, and though I will assume that you will disregard my opinions, you still have my gratitude.

I have the honour to be, Sir, Your Highness' humble and obedient servant:

Belle Beaumont

Belle reread the letter for the third time, wondering if there were still any grammatical errors or anything that seem to insult him. The night was cold outside, even though the snowfall stopped earlier that morning, and the only thing that was giving her light to read was a girandole on her table. Putting down her quill, she sighed and stared out at the snowy landscape out of her window. Plumette wasn't sleeping in their room for that evening, and the ambience of their apartment seemed to be a whole lot quieter. She was left alone with only her thoughts, and she was plagued with the memories of earlier that day.

The person she met in that library was somebody else. That wasn't the soul who she nursed back to health, who gave her the collection of books, who she danced with, who she fell in love with. The Adam she knew would have never done that; he would have never taken away the one thing she held so dearly to her heart. Over the past few days, he seemed to forget what she meant to him, or what he meant to her. It was almost as if her feelings were unimportant…and from the way he acted, spoke, handed out his arguments, it was eerily close to the descriptions of his former self that the castle staff told her about. Who was he to take away her library? It was more than his taking the charade seriously. It was like he remembered her name, and nothing more: like he had forgotten the curse altogether.

If so, what caused it? Was it just truly because he fell in love with the Princess?

Belle buried her face in her hands. The thought of him marrying the Princess was too much for her to take. Standing in front of a large crowd, dressed in the sun's splendour, with the whole of Villeneuve watching, Adam would say his vows, the Princess would say hers, and they would swear before God to love each other and seal it with a kiss. To see the man she loved taken away from her like that…

Did she even love him still?

Despite his rudeness, his irreverence, his complete disregard for her feelings, did she still feel anything?

A loud knock resounded on her door before she could enumerate anything. Getting up, leaving her letter on the table, she went to the door and opened swung it open.

It was a face she didn't want to see.

"Hello, Belle," Adam smiled awkwardly.

She gave him a blank expression and closed the door.

"Wait—" Adam stopped it with a hand and pried it open, and she sighed.

Opening the door, she leaned against the sill, crossing her arms. She had no intention of being taken for nothing again.

But then she scanned him head to foot, the frown on her face slowly disappearing the longer she stared at him. His blonde hair was untied and fell with a gentle curl, with no locks falling in front of his visage. The lines of his face were hard against the candlelight of the hallway chandeliers; a strong thin elegant nose, chiselled jawline, the makings of a thin stubble, and lean neck, with his chest muscles disappearing between the folds of a half-open shirt. A banyan was draped over his thin shoulders, only exposing his slender hands, coupled with a simple pair of pants and shoes. But what caught her attention, as they always did, were his bright blue eyes, with a complex set of emotions, feelings, but an overall feeling of calmness and serenity, imbedded into their hue.

She may have hated him for as many reasons as she wanted, but there was one defining attribute that made him almost universally agreeable, despite his unpleasant demeanour: he was incredibly handsome.

Belle found herself at a loss for words, trying to channel back the horrid memories of earlier that day to prevent her from forgiving him right there and then just because his shirt was exposing…a little too much.

"What are you here for, Your Highness?" she said without emotion.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it firmly and stayed silent for a moment. She knew Adam too well that he was to ask her not to call him 'Your Highness', but he hesitated still.

"I…I talked to Plumette before coming here," he started. "She told me everything."

She raised an eyebrow; the low timbre of his voice still shook her heavy heart. "Everything?"

"Everything," he reiterated, and from the way he spoke, she knew it was from the bottom of his soul. "But…there's something you need to know."

She stood upright by her doorway; he avoided her eyes at all times, and it almost seemed like such a shame. She loved being pulled in by them, no matter how disappointed he made her feel.

"There have been…gaps in my memory," he explained. "It's almost like the last thing I remember was Eliese…and she…she did something to me that I can't explain…and maybe it's the cause of all of this."

"You mean that your being rude to me is the Princess' fault?"

"Yes! Or no…I don't know…" Adam sighed dejectedly. "I don't know anything anymore."

Belle hesitated to put a hand on his shoulder and comfort him, but a darker part of her soul told her that he deserved this torment, and she listened.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then all of a sudden, I have Plumette telling me that I nearly uprooted the rose garden that you love so much, and I was so close to dismantling your library in place of a ballroom. But why, in the name of God, would I ever destroy the library you so love?"

Belle was more puzzled than empathetic. "That wasn't what you said earlier."

"I know it wasn't what I said earlier, because I don't even remember saying it. Everything Plumette told me was apparently something vile I did, but I have no memory of ever doing it."

Belle's brows furrowed. "So you don't remember how you belittled me? Called my opinions irrelevant?"

"I don't even…wait, I did?" the shock that contorted his features was something that elicited a sort of emotional response from Belle, and she suddenly felt like he was genuinely telling the truth. His eyes seemed to dim with a light of worry and his face looked horrified. "Oh God…Belle, I…"

"…Would never do that?" Belle finished.

Adam gave off a frustrated groan and wiped his face. She hadn't seen him this miserable since…he was a beast. "Do you know why you're disappointed in me now?"

Belle could think of so many reasons, but they were only in a language understood by her thoughts, something that couldn't be translated into words. They were jumbled up in all of the frustration, anger, and dismay she felt in her dismal self, and she closed her mouth, unable to speak.

"Why?" was the only thing she could say.

"Because you know those are things I would never do."

She had an entire list of arguments prepared, but they all disapated into thin air once he said those ten words. Sighing in defeat, trying her best not to say anything, she hung her head and refused to lock eyes with him. He was right, in so many ways. The soul she fell in love with thought of others before himself, thought of the things she loved and the welfare of his servants, was proud of his 'expensive education' and had the library as a testament to that, and, most importantly, loved her more than anything. That was not the man she saw making plans to deracinate his white rose garden, nor was it the man who was about to replace her wholesome library with another garish ballroom.

"You can hate me as much as you want," he said finally. "I won't discourage you from feeling such. What was done towards you was terrible. But at least give me the chance to justify the fact that whoever did that to you was not me."

"Then who?" Belle retorted, feeling the sadness well up in her again. "The deep dark part of yourself that loathes me?"

To her surprise, he looked at her tenderly, and she was lost in his eyes, as much as she didn't want to be. "Belle, I don't loathe you."

That seemed to strike some sort of invisible chord in her, because the feelings she thought she no longer held for him were revived, somehow, and they made her broken heart melt. Simultaneously, there was vexation and swoon that impossibly coexisted in her, but what she was fighting against were tears.

"Then what's happening to you, Adam?" she let his name slip out, but he didn't stir, as much as she expected him to interject her at that and correct her.

He covered his face and shook his head, shutting his eyes, as if trying to bring back a moment in time, but his voice was trying to hide panic. "There are broken pieces in my memory, as if something's supposed to be there, but there isn't anything, just an black horrifying darkness…and I don't know if I'm in reality, or in a dream…but sometimes, I see you falling down…and I can't save you…"

Belle could only stay silent. His breathing quickened, but his eyes remained shut, and there were parts of his syllables that began to crack. "Oh, God…oh, God, Belle, I can't save you…Belle, I can't…!"

And he let out a pained cry as he staggered backward, digging his fingers into his hair. He slammed against the opposite wall and his breathing became exaggerated pants. Belle's heart was gripped with worry and she rushed over to him; brushing stray locks of hair away from his gorgeous eyes, she could see that they were sorrowful, pained, with the emergence of tears at their corners. His breathing came in laboured gasps, as if he had been shot in the chest or pierced by a dagger. She drew his hands away from his head and held them together in her own, feeling his skin against hers, and she was glad that at least he was beginning to collect himself again.

"It's alright, it's alright," she said mildly. "Calm down, I'm here."

"Belle…" he groaned achingly, shaking his head a little as he shut his eyes. "I just saw you…you were standing on top of the castle…and you were falling…you were too far away…I couldn't save you…I couldn't…"

"That's just an illusion, come back to me," she pressed, holding his face in her hands, his growing stubble against her fingertips. "You're here with me, right now, in the servant's quarters, it's midnight. Come back to me, come back to me."

He gave a shaky exhale and there was a sound he made, almost as if he was sobbing. Belle's rage melted away; even if it meant anything at all later, it meant nothing now. Maybe he was telling the truth about those gaps in his memory…maybe the Princess was manipulating him, playing tricks on his consciousness. Adam wasn't one to scare Belle (unless, of course, he roared in her ear as she was sitting by the fireplace), and her heart was already beating in her chest with a tremor that vibrated in fear. Thankfully, his eyes opened gradually, and their hue of blue was still there, shining bright in the dying candlelight. But there was no tender emotion in them, only a petrifying, frightening image of dread.

"Am I going mad?" he asked, the agony in his voice evident in those syllables.

"I don't know," she whispered back to him. "But are you better now?"

He gave a weak nod. "Thank you."

There was a silence. As Belle stood there, holding Adam's face in her hands and as he warmly looked into her eyes, he took her face in his own, and they stood like that for what might have been forever. Then, without any of them thinking, they leaned forward towards each other and caught a kiss; Belle didn't know what moved her to him, or why she should even feel anything—resentment, worry, love, fear—for him at this point, but all she could remember from that kiss was how badly she longed for him, how far away he was from her. A fire inflamed her chest as she clawed at his nape, dragging him down to her as he moaned in between breaths and pants, and the distantly familiar taste of him was being reinvigorated into her memory. But if anything, he was more aggressive, pulling her towards him, refusing to let her go, pushing his tongue into her mouth as she let out sounds that seemed to make him want more.

They broke after what seemed like a century, breathless, pressing their foreheads together. Belle could still smell his virile musk, his arms still wrapped around her waist as her own fingers were tracing figures on the skin on back of his neck. The heat of his body was radiating into her own, making her chest tighten and ache.

"I miss you," he murmured, catching her lips quickly before drawing back again. "I miss you."

She smiled a little, thinking about what had happened those past few days, but the most prominent of her emotions, whatever they were, pushed tears against her eyes. "What are you doing to my heart, Adam?"

"I think the question is, what are you doing to mine?" he returned, then laid another kiss on her eyelid.

They held each other there, in the candlelit hall of the servant's wing, for what was almost decades to the both of them. His chin rested on her head as their arms were wrapped around each other.

"I swear, in some way, somehow," he said, "Eliese is involved in this. She's making me go insane…like she erases my thoughts…makes me…something else…"

She closed her eyes, and if she listened close enough, against the rising and falling of his chest, she could hear a constant heartbeat. "I don't understand."

"I don't either," he drew back and cupped her jaw carefully, and she drowned herself in the ocean of his eyes. "But please, remember this: if I ever do anything at all to spite you, anger you, hurt you, that isn't me. That was never me, nor will it ever be me."

She nodded gently. "But…about earlier…I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you for what you did."

"I didn't expect you to. It's only normal you would detest whatever I'd done."

"Thank you. Though, I'll keep watch for your old self, that's for sure."

He didn't have to say anything to that, and gave her another tender kiss on her forehead.

Adam walked along the corridors silently, holding a candelabra in one hand as he trudged back up to his room in the West Wing from his excursion to the servant's quarters to see Belle. His lips still craved for another taste of her, his fingers trembled to touch her skin, and what he'd give to feel her hands running through his hair as she moaned his name. It made him ache. He tried to push her out of his mind, but he couldn't; he would only see her smile, hear her laughter, smell the library dust on her fair—

"Adam…"

Belle clutched at her stomach and limped at him, blood staining her dress, tainting her porcelain skin red as she hobbled towards him on the highest parapet of the castle, rain pouring down all over them. He ran as fast as he could, catching her just before she hit the ground, and cradled her in his arms as he held her close.

"Belle, no…please…"

"You left me, Adam…" she said weakly, "you left me to die…"

"No…no, no I—"

Adam stopped and blinked at the darkness that surrounded the West Wing hallway, looking at where he stood on the carpets and at the statues by the hallways, trying to return to where he was. Once he was able to quell the erratic beating of his heart, he sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. It was just another one of those damn visions. As he made his way up the final staircase, he was wary, blinking for longer intervals, ready for another vision to come at him when he least expected them.

He still had to find out the answers to this mystery, but there were too many questions swimming around. What was going on in his mind? What did these visions mean? Why were there gaps in his memories? Was there a reason as to why he was reverting to his old self during these gaps? And who had made him this way? Was it Eliese?

He stopped at his door and put the candelabra on the table from across his room. How could it be Eliese? She was only a spoiled and petulant child who lusted after him in ways even his former self would have found disgusting. He only remembered that snowy night vaguely, where he looked into her eyes…and they glowed…or something of the like…then they…touched? Kissed?

Why was he so afraid of her?

He groaned into his hand, trying to retrieve the pieces of his missing mind.

"Adam?"

From the other side of the hallway, he saw a figure emerge into the candlelight, and as the flames illuminated the perfect voluptuous shape of a woman in a nightgown, Adam could only shake in panic as he rushed towards his door.

"Now, now," Eliese swished her hand, and the doors bolted with as a swirl of pink pressed down on the locks. "Where do you think you're going?"

Adam pounded against the doors to his bedroom and frantically tried to open them, but it was no use. With his back to Eliese, he could only see her shadow cast by the candelabra, which offered him no solace as the flames were snuffed out almost instantly like some magical wind. A cold sweat came over him, and when he thought it couldn't get worse, a hand reached up and massaged his shoulder. It was anything but comfortable.

"Adam…" Eliese cooed. "Trying to run away from me?"

"Who wouldn't?" Adam said through gritted teeth.

But before he could add another insult, she spun him around and shoved him against the doors with her body, forcing a kiss onto his lips in the dark. Her fingers dug through his scalp, his nape, under the folds of his shirt, sending awful chills through his muscles. As much as he tried to fight the urge, his hands automatically went and traced her jaw, her hair, her neck and shoulders and the thin outline of her body through the nightgown; his hands roamed her body like a blind man trying to trace his surroundings through touch. As they gasped, moaned, panted, Adam slowly begun to lose his consciousness, like he was drowning in a body of water and couldn't resurface. His head throbbed, his body ached, but at that very moment, with his last sliver of consciousness, he only thought of Belle.

Then he was plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

The night was dark, and there was no fall that day, only the white blanket that covered the province in glass and snow. The girandoles held dim candles, lighting the hallways with an eerie, faint light, almost as if the corridors held the ambiance of their former cursed selves. The clock chimed in the hallway somewhere on the upper floor, and Belle counted the chimes with each step she took towards the designated door in the servant's quarters, clutching The Sorrows of Young Werther to her chest.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

She reached the door, where a strong light bled underneath the sill. The quiet that reverberated through the whole castle was being combated by the whispering of various individuals from beyond the door. With a knuckle, she knocked on the wood, and she was pulled in so quickly that she didn't even notice a hand grab her wrist and yank her in.

Once the door closed behind her, Belle's eyes adjusted, and she was in a servant's apartment with half a dozen people or so with her, all faces of whom she recognised, even in their nightwear. Lumière sat on the bed, running a hand through his coarse hair, while Plumette was holding his hand and leaning against him. Cogsworth stood with his back against the wall, his moustache twitching in annoyance, as Mrs. Potts was in the process of seating herself next to Garderobe and her husband.

"Am I late?" Belle smoothened her skirts. "I'm sorry."

"You are right on time, mon chérie," Lumière smiled weakly.

"We haven't discussed much yet," Mrs. Potts added, then shrugged. "Well, nothing of importance."

"Then while the girl is here, let's start off with the complaints," Cogsworth stroked his chin as Belle sat down next to Plumette. "I'm sure you have a lot to say about the Master's…recent behaviour."

At that word, everyone seemed to groan silently. It had been an awful week for anyone who was not the Prince or the Princess. Every interaction with any person who was not his bride sent the master of the castle in a fit of plain discourtesy. He yelled at his staff for no reason other than the fact that they spoke while he was concerned with something else, laughed every time one of his butlers or maids committed a mistake, and took solace in wearing fancy clothes and other flamboyant and extravagant coats and shirts. He almost looked as garish as the Princess, and they could have been mistaken for the King and Queen whenever they walked along the halls, as everyone parted and bowed to make way for them. None of the servants were even permitted to make eye contact with him, save for Cogsworth, who was the only member of the staff given the privilege of being able to speak to the Prince at any time and about anything…unless that 'anything' was the maltreatment of his employees.

Throughout those seven days, Belle had mailed the letter she composed to the Prince about her library. He might have had a smidge of kindness in his heart, however small, because he had given to her a reply not two days later, in a wax-sealed envelope bearing his family crest and motto. The letter, in his smooth script, read thus follows:

Addressed to Belle Beaumont:

Mademoiselle,

I have read the issue of which ails you and understand the purpose of your wanting to protect the library. Though I am heavily against it, and discourage your ultimately offensive nature of this form of contact with me, I will permit you to keep the library for the pursuit of a greater cause of education. This will be the only gesture I will grant you, a servant. All else that you will ask me regarding that library or any other mundane matter will be ignored.

To clarify—that is not, nor has it ever been, your library.

Regards,

His Royal Highness Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou, Prince of France

Though his attitude was disgusting and standoffish, Belle had learned enough to know that this was only some sort of farce or trance he was under, and, like the Beast, his true personality was hidden somewhere underneath an ugly exterior. She had promised to remember that none of the things he did to spite everyone were him, and that it was never to be him. Most of her days, she spent her time in his library, just to stay out of sight from the royal couple, as she had no desire to cooperate with either of them. But the other servants with her weren't as lucky, as they had to interact with the Prince on a daily basis.

"His attitude is absolutely appalling!" Mrs. Potts started with a wave of her hand. "It's almost like his personality reverted to how he was before the curse!"

If anything, Mrs. Potts was the one most qualified to talk because, like Cogsworth, she was one of the oldest members of the staff who had watched the Prince grow up. Everyone was silent as she continued.

"Yesterday, I think…" she reminisced. "During lunch, I made him soup de jour; not his favourite, I know, I must have forgotten. But I walked into the dining room and presented the tray to him, and he gave me this frown and some kind of awful chuckle, mocking me. And he suddenly yelled at me, calling me…names, and well…he stood up, flung the tray in my face, and told me to…" Mrs. Potts clutched her bonnet and pressed it to her lips as Garderobe wrapped her arms around her, "he told me to…oh, God…I always knew he was a nice boy, deep down inside, but…"

There was a silence that descended upon them all.

"He shoves maids in the hallways, sometimes," Plumette added her own ingredient to the pot of complaints. "We do make way for him, like always tells us to do, but whenever he walks along those corridors, it's almost like he purposely saunters in our way just to shove us. Sometimes, he is worse than the Princess."

"Don't get me started on that irritable young lady," Garderobe groaned in exasperation. "What she asks me to do is…simply absurd! Her taste is the gaudiest thing I have ever set my eyes upon. Fix her bed three times every morning to her satisfaction, four layers of power and rouge for her cosmetics, design her hair with hundreds of ribbons and flowers until she's content—and she's not content until the seventh time I've curled those locks, by God!"

"And her music, love, don't forget about her music," Cadenza said to his wife, and she nodded solemnly. "True, I've heard her play the harpsichord, and she can sing like an angel, but the way she tosses my compositions aside like it's pure and utter garbage…she doesn't hold an ounce of respect for me, that I'm certain! At least the Master knows where true talent lies."

"But the Master…he is also very…erratic," Lumière frowned, "whenever he is not around the Princesse. Whenever I go to his room to attend to him, he is often moody and easily angered. The only time I ever see him smile is if he is with her."

"He doesn't even smile at anyone anymore," Cogsworth added. "He's become…a bit more like his old self. Not that it's a good thing, obviously."

"Well, I'd very much like to say he's become entirely like his old self," Mrs. Potts replied firmly.

"But what caused it?" Plumette asked. "When did he start acting this way?"

Everyone thought for a moment as Belle stayed quiet; the silence was interrupted by Cogsworth, who clapped his hands.

"That's it!" Cogsworth discovered. "He started acting like this only when the Princess came."

It dawned on all their faces.

"Mon Dieu!" Lumière exclaimed as he gaped back in shock. "Tu as raison!"

"If that's indeed the case," Cadenza thought further, "then why would the Princess' arrival ever trigger such terrible attitude in the Master?"

No one had an answer to that, except Belle, who raised her hand a little so everyone in the room could listen to her.

"There's something you should know," she said. "All of you."

The staff who were with her leaned in close to listen She cast her eyes down, not wanting to look at them and only focus on that last tender moment with the soul she loved.

"It happened last week. Adam came to my room to apologise for the library incident. I didn't want to talk to him, at first, but it was almost like…he returned to normal, like he was kind again. So I gave him a chance to explain himself. He told me that there were gaps in his mind, he doesn't remember doing bad things to people, and that he's been having these visions, like terrible nightmares. He seems to blame the Princess for them. Like…the reason for his being selfish and unkind again is because of the Princess."

She stared back at the castle staff, who, except for Plumette, gave her sceptical faces.

"I'm not crazy!" she protested, putting her hands to her chest. "He really did say those things to me. I felt like that was the last time…he was ever compassionate to me."

"She is telling the truth," Plumette added. "That same night, the Master came to talk to me; he was very kind to me and apologised for all he had done. He asked me to explain what happened, and I did, but he did not own up to those mistakes, saying he had no intent or recollection of doing so."

"But when did this happen?" Lumière inquired. "How is it possible that he revert back to his normal self when he is like this now?"

"Do you remember when the exact moment when he changed?" Mrs. Potts asked Belle.

Belle stood silent for a while, trying to run through the memories of that last week. There was that time when he was about to uproot the rose garden, and he didn't transform there. Days later, she confronted him in the library, then he went to her apartment to explain himself later that night. By night, he was back to normal (well, mostly, considering his troubled consciousness), so it must have happened in between the library and his going up to her. What had been done during those hours? When had his eyes changed from dark and daunting to warm and comforting? Did he suddenly regain his former personality without any due explanation? Did he negotiate with the Princess to regain his memories? Was it that morning, when he was absent from his room as she tried to give him his breakfast soup? Was it on the veranda facing the white flowers? Was it in the library where—?

Wait…

The memory came back to her vividly; he was pointing his finger at her, scolding her, his words as clear as day, cutting as cleanly as a knife.

"Watch me," he had said angrily. "I'll tear this library apart shelf by shelf, book by book, before your very eyes. And I'm going to make you watch me."

Filled with resentment and melancholy, not wanting to be accused any longer by the man who she loved to blame for stealing her heart, she swatted his hand away and—

His eyes had changed, the light she admired in them was slowly beginning to shine through again. He was blinking curiously and looking around, confused by where he was standing, what he was wearing, and who he was accompanied with, as if he was waking up from a fever dream. He was staring at his hands, frowning in confusion, trying his best to grapple the situation around him, because it was almost as if he had only recently been revived from a long sleep.

"I touched him," Belle concluded to the servants. "I slapped his hand away from mine in the library, and he was different. I was too dejected to see it but…I touched him."

The servants exchanged impressed glances. Belle felt some sort of sense-fulfilment, a little victory, knowing it was the brush of her fingers against his own that would bring back the soul she had so admired. If that was what it took, why didn't she approach him and confront him sooner? She hadn't touched him that whole week—let alone seen him—so it was no wonder he was still behaving as he did now.

"So that's it then!" Lumière exclaimed. "We know now how to cure the Master!"

"But it doesn't answer how he came to be this way," Garderobe pressed.

"Alright, let's say that it was the Princess who caused the Master to act like his former self," Cogsworth pondered. "How in the world would she be able to alter his personality?"

"Maybe she's that bad an influence," Cadenza suggested.

"But that does not explain how his memories of his misdeeds vanish," Plumette countered.

Everyone paused, trying to think of the most logical thing that could have happened to the Prince. Belle, however, thought of something incredibly absurd, but voiced out her own opinion anyway.

"What if it's magic?" she suggested. "What if he's under a curse?"

That induced curious looks from the staff.

"Peut-être," Lumière thought for a while, stroking his chin. "Then is it possible that the Princesse could be…?"

"That's absurd!" Cogsworth scoffed. "Are you really accusing the Princess of Heilig of being an Enchantress of sorts?"

"It seems like a plausible option," Garderobe nodded along.

"It's not like magic and curses are foreign concepts to you, Cogsworth," Mrs. Potts said to him, to which Cogsworth crossed his arms to.

"Oui," Lumière teased, "you oversized mantle clock."

"I mean…anyone could be an Enchantress at this rate, if that's the case," Cogsworth huffed. "But I'm not implying that she isn't one; it's just very rude to assume our guest—who is the only heir of the Archduchy of Heilig, no less—is the one cause of disturbance in our household."

"Adam blames the Princess as well for making him like this," Belle added, "so maybe it makes sense."

Cogsworth waved his arms about with an air of disbelief. "Astonishing! Next thing you know, we'll have three or four cooks who are secretly witches and brew their death pot in the bisque."

"Well, what other options do we have to explain this?" Garderobe shrugged.

"If he is cursed," Plumette hung her head sadly, "then what a pity that he is cursed to hate the one he loves."

Belle gave a sad smile. She was unhappy about it, sure, but from previous experience, she knew that all curses could be broken, even the most powerful ones. It was the only sliver of hope that she had in that troubling time.

"Why don't we look for proof that the Princess is an Enchantress before coming to conclusions?" Mrs. Potts suggested.

"So what do we do then?" Plumette asked excitedly; she was always one looking for adventure. "Whatever it is, count me in!"

"What if…" Lumière's smile grew to become a mischievous smirk, "what if we sneak into the Princess' room…and find some sort of proof that she's—?"

"No," Cogsworth interjected, "no, no, no, a million times no!"

"Then do you have any better ideas about finding out what her intentions are?" Lumière put his arms on his waist.

Cogsworth opened his mouth as if he had a plethora of answers, but then quickly shut it with discontent as his moustache twitched. It was the face he made whenever someone other than him was right.

"If he really is under a curse," Belle suggested, "maybe there's a book in the library that can tell us something about it. That library has the answer to everything."

"Then it is settled!" Lumière exclaimed. "When Belle looks for answers to the curse, we will go to Princesse Hanneliese's room to find proof she is an Enchantress."

"It sounds stupider when you say it," Cogsworth rolled his eyes.

Despite Cogsworth's pessimism, everyone in the room knew that the plan Lumière had suggested was perhaps the only plan they had, regardless of the talk of curses and magic. Despite their differences, the servants and Belle had one thing in common: they only wished for the Prince to be returned back to normal, even if it would cost them everything they held dear.

Belle knew her job as a maid was something close to a farce or a charade than an actual job, but she really enjoyed thinking about how she contributed to the cleanliness and order of the castle. She loved to ponder about the simple yet busy lifestyles of the servants, and how each room in the humongous château was filled with more curious wonders. Living there for nearly six months and she would have thought that she saw it all, but it seemed that there were almost more guest rooms to be fixed, and another floor to be swept. Not that she minded, of course, since doing household chores had becoming something to help her take the Prince and his horrid to-be bride from her thoughts.

Due to the huge size of the Prince's estate, she never managed to run in with him or even see the Princess. But there was one occasion one cold afternoon, when Mrs. Potts poked in her head through the library doors as Belle was just finished organising an entire shelf of Defoe. The Prince had requested for an afternoon tea with his betrothed in one of the larger parlours of the castle, and had requested that it be Mrs. Potts and Belle would attend to him.

"Why would he want me?" she had asked as Mrs. Potts prepared tea in a pot and about two china cups, as they both stood in the middle of the kitchen.

"Your guess as good as mine, dearest," Mrs. Potts put biscuits on a tray and pastries on another, sliding them into another compartment in the cart.

"Ugh," Belle groaned as she fixed her hair and smoothened out her apron. "The last thing I would want to see in this castle would be him."

As they strolled into the parlour, Belle and Mrs. Potts bowed at the couple already seated on one of the many lavishly decorated sofas. The Prince and his betrothed paid them no attention as they continued to laugh about some story the Princess was telling, and they were too deep into context that Belle couldn't understand a word they were saying as she set down the platters of quiches and other delicacies.

"…And I told Emilia, poor thing," the Princess finished her tale, "that she was never to set foot in that dreadful place again!"

Apparently, that was funny, because it made the Prince laugh. Only upon calming down and seeing the pastries on the table in front of him did he look up to Belle and Mrs. Potts, the latter pouring their tea.

"Ah," the Prince sighed, giving a fake smile. "At least you have half the decency to show up tardy, of all things."

Mrs. Potts tried to hide her disgust and put the first cup down. "At least we arrived."

"Albeit tardy," the Princess mocked, making a pouting face.

"We're sorry," Belle apologised, "we came as soon as we could."

She stepped back and so did Mrs. Potts, waiting for any further instructions from the royal couple.

Belle found it hard to believe that she was staring at the both of them, because they both were so intricately dressed and so lavishly clothed, they almost looked like an exaggerated illustration of the gentility from one of her older storybooks. Sure, the Princess was the more believable of the two, since she dressed in magnificent gowns and exaggerated hairstyles all the time, but this was perhaps the first time Belle had seen Adam so flamboyantly and excessively dressed.

A long, white, coiffed wig sat on his head, with numerous amount of curls tied together by a black ribbon. His face was covered in too much powder, accented with thin traces of rouge on his lips and cheeks. His coat, breeches and shoes were all a startlingly velvet shade of purple, lined with embroidered gold patterns trimmed on their edges that seemed to glow whenever the light hit them a certain way. He looked like those evil minister characters she often read about it court stories, and even the way his cosmetics outlined his eyes in dark shades of black, violet, and dark blue dulled the beauty of his eyes. That or there was no beauty to be found in them anymore.

"Well!" he spoke up to both Mrs. Potts and Belle, but he kept his eyes on the latter, tilting his head towards her with a cruel smile; Belle felt her legs quiver in fear as she cast her eyes downward, afraid to look at him. "Look at you! Aren't you a pretty bird?"

His voice was cold and harsh, unforgiving and mischievous, that Belle quirked up at the sound of it. "Your Highness?"

"Yes, you," he waved his hand over. "Come here."

Belle exchanged a nervous glance at Mrs. Potts and walked over meekly to stand next to the sofa on which the Prince reclined. He sat comfortably, construing her from head to toe, and she could feel nothing except the hard light of judgment emanating from his gaze. Then, with the Princess watching, he stood up carefully and stroked his chin; she refused to look at his face.

"I haven't seen you around the castle," she could hear the sickening grin in his voice. "Cogsworth's starting to develop a liking for young women? At least we have one thing in common now."

That gained nothing but a laugh from the Princess and a repulsive feeling in Belle. He even forgot she existed.

"Whatever is your name?" he asked.

"Belle," she replied, eyes still downcast. "Belle Beaumont."

"Ah…" he mused, a sneer in his words. "So you were the girl that sent me that letter about the library."

"Yes," Belle replied. "I'd like to thank His Highness for the kind gesture."

At this, the Prince laughed. "She called it a kind gesture! You're right that it's so; you must only think of your Prince as nothing but kind."

Belle bit her tongue; that sentence was so erroneous on so many points, but she kept her mouth shut, otherwise it would begin to spew insults and arguments again. The Princess was grinning maliciously behind her future groom.

"Yes, Your Highness," Belle said dismally.

He frowned with a smirk quirking up his red lips. "What's with that tone of voice? Come now, mon amour, look at me."

Belle refused to and kept her eyes shut, looking down at the marble floor. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I—"

His hand suddenly took her jaw and titled it up sharply, with such a speed that she was afraid her neck was going to snap off. Her eyes locked with his, and the fascination that she often felt when she looked at them was now gone, replaced with anguish. His eyes were still blue, but dark, frightening, wicked, like they had some evil intent hidden behind their hue. Like the Princess' eyes, they were still beautiful, if one could excuse their malevolent light.

Belle struggled to get out of his grip, but his fingers tightened around her chin, like thorns vines wrapping greedily around a parapet.

"My, my…" the Prince mused, smiling naughtily, observing the way her breath began to quicken with fright, her eyes darting away from him then back. "Your name fits, Belle; you're absolutely attractive. Women would kill to get eyes and facial features as fine as yours. I've been with plenty of maidens in the past, but none of them have your…teasing charm."

Belle was fighting the urge to slap him. "Your Highness, please—"

"Are you a virgin?"

That question had her fed up and she drew back, peeling his hand from her face carefully as not to offend him. But unlike that incident in the library, when she touched him, his eyes didn't seem to melt away to reveal warmth and light. They were still cold and dark, and he even looked insulted that someone of the social status as Belle would touch his hand without any permission. Fear struck a chord in her soul, her heart was palpitating nervously.

She touched him…it should have worked, so why didn't it?

From the corner of Belle's eye, she saw the Princess smile sweetly, waving her hand as if to say hello. There was a mocking look in her eyes, as if she knew Belle was going to do that, and made the necessary precautions to make sure Adam wouldn't fall back to himself again.

Maybe she really did curse him.

"Answer my question, amour," the Prince pressed.

And what kind of decorum did he lack that would make him blatantly ask something as private as her sexual life? She wasn't ashamed to be called as such, as she had never been in an erotic relationship with anyone, but replying to that question made her feel like she was making a fool of herself.

"Yes, Your Highness," she answered, bashfully.

He raised an eyebrow curiously as he sat back down, his Princess sprawling her lithe hands over his chest. "So you're unmarried."

"Yes, Your Highness."

He gave her a sceptical look as he reclined at the couch. "I find that rather odd. I mean, have you even looked at a mirror? With a face like that, you could charm any man. If I wasn't engaged to the most beautiful woman in all of Europe," and here he placed a kiss on Eliese's forehead, "then I would be marrying you."

The fact that one upon a time, he could have married her, and she would be his wife, and he was tossing off like some kind of joke, made her heart break. She knew that this wasn't Adam, but to hear whoever this imposter was say these things…in his voice…in his body…it hurt her still.

Belle took a step back as the Prince stooped down to pick up his cup of tea and take a sip. But when his lips touched the rim of the cup, his brows furrowed.

"Mrs. Potts?" he asked.

"Yes, Master?" she returned.

He looked at the teacup, displeased. "I asked for black tea."

"And it is, Master. I brewed it myself—"

His head shake interrupted her, his lips pressed into a thin line. "No…this is green. I can taste the bitterness in it. And it's disgusting."

"Now, Master, I know black tea when I make it—"

"But this isn't black tea, as you see," the Prince observed the cup in his hand. "It's a sickly, revolting green."

Mrs. Potts was disturbed at his choice of wording. "Master! I'm as sure as this castle stands that the tea I brewed was—"

His arm lashed out, throwing the cup with a sickening crash against the wall as the tea splattered all over the floor in a drippy, sticky mess. Mrs. Potts gaped in fear as Belle jumped, all while the Princess remained unfeigned.

"Shut up!" the Prince yelled at the top of his voice. "Will you shut up, you wretched old crone?!"

Belle was afraid to move. She looked back at Mrs. Potts, who had tears streaming down her face. She pressed her hands to her mouth, as if to speak a word was to condemn herself to death, and Belle felt a terrible ache well up in her again.

"Leave me," the Prince said finally, covering his face with his hands. "Don't even take your nauseating tea with you. Get out of my sight."

Mrs. Potts stood there for a while, waist-deep in sorrow, before leaving the parlour quietly. There wasn't even a trace of remorse or pity on Adam's cruel face, and the Princess gave off a chuckle of fulfillment. Belle rushed out after Mrs. Potts only to find her in the hallway, sobbing hard into her apron, as the former wrapped her arms around the old woman, trying to cradle her into a hug.

The night was soft and cold, with the windows to his bedroom in the West Wing frosting over to prevent the angels from peeping in. Stripping herself of her layered garments, revealing the thin outline of her bloomers and corset against the cold candlelight coming from his beside candelabras, he smirked, sitting by the edge of his bed. She prowled towards him and pushed him onto his gigantic mattress, his head landing with a soft thud on his pillows as she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. God, her skin, and the way her hair curled down her perfectly sculpted shoulders, the shape of her collarbones, the litheness of her arms and the shape of her legs on either side of him…they all had him sweating, his breathing heavy, his heart throbbing, his member twitching. It had been a while since he felt this good. Oh, he'd do anything to free himself of his breeches.

Brushing the hair out of her face, she leaned in towards him and kissed him hard. He consumed her lips greedily, angrily, forcefully, like he was a hungry beggar and she was an endless cornucopia from the gods. Her body moved in a constant rhythm, beating like a soundless wave against a frozen shore, as one of her hands began to undo the laces of his white shirt; the smack that their wet lips made as they glided over each other made him want more, their pants and little breaths, and the moans that left her as she forced her tongue into his mouth had his head spinning. She tasted of wine and cigar smoke. He wanted to taste more of her.

She got up to undo the stays of her corset, giving him enough time to catch his breath, his chest heaving as his body began to tighten. Oh, to feel this…to trace his tongue around her—

"Wait," Adam said with a hoarse voice, "I don't like this."

The gentle candlelight flickered, lighting up Eliese's frown. "What do you mean, darling?"

Adam licked his lips, tasting the faint salt of her rouge on his lips and the strong sting of wine. "This is wrong."

Eliese batted her long lashes curiously. "Well…I don't really think that you'll enjoy this anyway."

He gave a wicked grin. "Who said I wasn't enjoying this?"

Adam looped a hand around her waist and yanked her off him, then immediately mounted himself on top of her as she yelped excitedly. Lascivious giggles erupted through her lips as he smirked wickedly down at her, holding down her thin wrists with his dextrous hands as he watched her writhe helplessly under him. A low growl bubbled at his throat as she gasped eagerly at the severity of his movements; how many years had it been since he got the chance to feel the touch of a woman, to hear the licentious moans of euphoria and smell perfume making his head see stars, to play with his prey before finally devouring it, to feel like a…beast again?

"Isn't this better?" he whispered huskily into her jaw, to which she bucked her body upwards with a moan, which probably meant yes.

Wasting no time peeling off his shirt, he pushed himself toward her and consumed her lips, feeling the blood rush through him and make him tighten down there. It was getting to be too much…oh, he needed her fingers tracing patterns on the muscles on his back, going through his hair, massaging his shoulders and touching him gently, to stroke him and caress him, scratch him…he needed that kind of touch…he craved the—

Three knocks sounded on his door, breaking him out of his thoughts. It took a while until he grounded himself back to earth, staring out at the light that bled from the hallway. A seething rage replaced the lust in his chest and he sighed dejectedly, got up from Eliese, and stormed towards his bedroom entrance. As his libido began to fade away, he muttered miscellaneous expletives and curses, trying his best not to break the doors as he swung them open.

"What?!"

The servant girl from the tea earlier that afternoon, the pretty bird…Belle, her name, blinked at him curiously as she let the shock settle in. She was holding a tray of Scotch whiskey, with two glasses next to the bottle.

"You…You asked for this, Your Highness," she handed it over to him carefully.

Her eyes were blinking furiously as the fair skin of her cheeks grew red; obviously she was embarrassed by something, and Adam couldn't tell what it was until a cold draft from the hallway made him shiver a little.

Ah…right, he didn't have a shirt on.

"Thank you," he said, taking the whiskey from her as he tried his best to hide a frown.

It was not the first time a young maiden had stumbled upon him half-naked, and he was already more than aware of how good-looking he was. He knew just how much manual work he had done to keep his muscles defined, and how it would often make girls blush. But there was some sort of adorable quality in the way that the servant girl tried to hide the fact that she was staring at him. It almost made him smirk.

Almost.

"I-Is that all, Your Highness?" she asked, looking at the floor.

"Yes," he waved his hand dismissively. "And don't let anyone disturb me tonight, no matter how urgent they think the matter is."

"Adam, darling?" Eliese called from his bed. "What's taking you so long?"

The servant girl's eyes seemed to widen as her face grew even redder when she heard his betrothed's voice.

"It's the whiskey; I'll just be a while," he called out to his future bride, before turning back to the servant. "Now, get out of my sight."

The servant bowed hastily and ran down the hallway, almost as if she was eager to get out of that situation. Returning his attention to more important matters, he set aside the drinks on a table in his room, closing his door as he poured himself a glass and downed it fast. The sting was bitter and sweet in his mouth and throat, and he put the glass down with a loud clink.

But the candlelight seemed even stronger in his room now, illuminating the figure of Eliese, sitting on his bed. A sensual smile graced her lips, the light carving the curves of her neck, collarbones, over the edge of her corset that pushed up teases of her breasts, her waist and hips, then across the outline of her spread legs. One of her hands was undoing the stays of her corset slowly, while the other one beckoned to him with a finger.

"Aren't you going to help me with this?" she asked him, a playful tone to her voice.

He chuckled, combing his hair back as he locked the door shut, striding toward her.

The snowfall was gradual and light the next morning, with the sun barely piercing any of the clouds, giving the landscape a bleak outlook, with its icy trees and white bushes. Chapeau, Cogsworth, and Belle stood in winter wraps, watching as their master and his betrothed fixed their horses for their daybreak ride at the stables; both of them were clothed in winter riding attires of blue, but the Prince's clothing could have been arguably more flamboyant, with its detailed swirls and loose quality to give his arms and legs more mobility. His cocked hat was decorated with an ample amount of bright feathers, making his colours stand out against the white countryside. The couple's horses stood, bridled by luxurious saddles and standing gallantly amidst the flurry.

"What time will you be back, Master?" Cogsworth asked as the Prince assisted his engaged onto her horse.

"About a few hours before the noon bell," the Prince replied standoffishly. "Have the chefs prepare a warm lunch for us."

"Yes, Master," Cogsworth bowed.

Chapeau went over to adjust the saddle of the Princess, while Belle went over to her master's own horse to tighten the stirrups around his riding boots. When both of the servants were done, however, Belle lingered a while, looking up at the eyes of the Prince she thought she knew. Though he was watching her with a good amount of disdain in his stare, there was a flicker of something bright hidden in his blue eyes, as if there was still a sort of hidden goodness there, something that longed to be freed. She just knew that was her Prince, her Adam.

And she was going to let him go, one way or another.

With a crack of his reins and a lurch, the Prince followed his future bride as his horse began to trot away. Their walking became trots, which became gallops as fast as the season wind, and they rode off into the cold forest, disappearing from the view of the three servants who stood there. When they vanished behind the brambles of the wintertime trees, Belle bolted up the stairs to run back to the castle doors.

"Where are you off to?" Cogsworth yelled the question at her.

"The library!" Belle answered quickly, still running. "I'm going to find a cure to this curse, one way or another!"

Plumette touched the doorknob and looked anxiously at the entrance, the design on front of the large opening made her heart beat wildly. The Princess was out with the Master, and this was their only chance to find proof that she was really something supernatural, fated again to curse the household. But still, the maid hesitated, pausing her deft hand over the golden brass knob as the maître d' looked on behind her shoulder.

"Is there something wrong, mon amour?" Lumière asked his lover curiously.

"Nothing, mon cher," she replied shakily, "though I must admit, I am a little terrified."

"There is nothing to be terrified about, Plumette," Lumière reassured her. "But we must hurry; the Master and the Princesse could return any moment."

Plumette gave a sigh and finally opened the door, closing it behind her and her inamorato as she locked it. Only when they were sure that no one was to enter, they stared at the sleeping quarters of their 'guest,' taking in the dazzling colour and bright hue explosion.

The entire room had changed its colour scheme from the gold that it was to a bright, obnoxious, eye-straining pink. The bureau was painted a faint rose-colour, while the swirls on the ceiling were covered in pink drapery. All the cosmetics at the vanity table were every shade of pink, while the lacy dresses that were littered everywhere, from the floor to the bedframe to the top of the drawers, were in every shade known to man: chartreuse, beige, lilac, amaranth. Assorted ribbons, bows, flowers, and other accessories like braces and diamond necklaces were scattered everywhere that the two servants were confident that every nook and cranny in the room held a semi-precious gem. Busts supporting large, curly wigs were propped up on one table, as a disordered bookshelf nearly lopsided along the far wall.

Plumette cringed at the sight; as a maid, filthiness was something that she was trained to detest, and this was perhaps the most unpleasing filthiness to look at.

"She's never called a maid?" Lumière said to her.

"No," she replied, still trying to remain calm at the sight. "And I do not think that one maid is capable of taking care of this alone."

Lumière put a hand on her shoulder. "We could sit here thinking of how clean this could look in the future, or we could begin finding proof."

"Ah, oui, mon coeur," Plumette returned back to the messy room and went over to the vanity desk to look through the various cupboards. Lumière began to peruse her unmade bed, trying to find traces of anything that could help them.

Belle sat on a ladder, looking quickly through the titles that had anything to do with enchantments, witchcraft, spells, and potions. Her library was often kind to her, offering solace from her troubled mind and cruel world, but now it seemed to act as her enemy, as if it was hiding all of the books she needed in plain sight. She had never listed any spell books or magical items on the directory, except for the magical book that Agathe had given the Prince while he was still under the curse, which sat on a bookstand in the middle of the library.

That didn't count.

It was her fourth shelf, and she found nothing. Using the ladder, she wheeled herself off to the next set of books, starting from those closest to the ceiling moving downward to the floor. Belle prayed that there would be a blizzard, a terrible hailstorm, anything to hamper the arrival of the Prince and his betrothed. It would take hours before she would scan the whole library before she would even find one book.

Agathe, during their morning talks whenever Belle would accompany her to the marketplace in Villeneuve, often told her of glossaries called grimoires, codes and textbooks of magic and spells. They were only one of thousands of sets of magical texts. If Belle was lucky, maybe the Prince had at least one of them in his leviathan of a library. But then again, he was extremely wary when it came to items and other objects that would bring back memories from the curse, so perhaps it would have been understandable if he had none. Either way, Belle prayed she would find something helpful.

She moved down to the fifth shelf, trying to read all the titles with the utmost focus. But then a memory last night returned to her head just as she read the first spine on the shelf: Pamela by Samuel Richardson. It came to her vividly, almost as if she was reliving the moment again: standing in front of the Prince's door, presenting a bottle of strong alcoholic drink while a half-nude Princess was sitting on his bed in the far darkness. The fact that she probably interrupted their lovemaking session didn't disturb her (as much) compared to his figure standing before her, naked except for his breeches. God, the way the low candlelight lit his chest muscles, the fine definition of his collarbones and—

"Stop that," she said aloud, shutting her eyes and hitting herself on the head with a fist, "stop that, you stupid…argh! Focus, focus."

She sat there on the rung of the ladder, burying her face in her hands as if it would help her remove the heat from her face.

"Careful, mon chèrie…careful!"

Plumette cautioned Lumière as he took the wigs down and set them on the table warily. He gave a nervous smile to his lover before he peeked around the furniture, trying to see if she hid something anywhere between the tables and chairs. Plumette shivered as she opened the wardrobe, blinking at the dazzling hues and chiffons and various satins.

"What if she finds out something's misplaced?" Lumière asked nervously as he checked the back of the desk.

"Maybe she'll never notice, with how this room looks," Plumette began to rummage through the attires. "Ugh, look at all of this. It would take me a miracle for me to even find a shred of proof. What I would give to sweep up this mess."

"But you cannot, mon coeur," Lumière sighed. "If she finds out any of this was moved, she'll know that we snooped through."

"Oh, please," Plumette pushed out a number of dresses out of the way of her sight. "This place is so chaotic, it's a wonder she'll know anything was misplaced."

"What are we even looking for?" Lumière asked. "A magical floating dress? Fairy dust? A wand?"

Plumette frowned. "Did the Enchantress who cursed the Master even have a wand?"

Lumière tried to ransack his memory for the night the curse was cast, but he was too busy worrying about the arrival of the Princess to dawdle.

"Belle!"

She whipped her head around at the library doors to see Chip race in. A smile bloomed on her face as she went down the ladder, welcoming him into an embrace and spinning him around as the young boy giggled. Once she set him down, she brushed away the stray locks of hair that fell in front of his face as she fixed the collar of his little suit.

"What are you up to today, Chip?" she asked him.

"Mama said that you were looking for some books in the library," Chip replied. "I wanted to help you!"

"Alright," Belle gave a little giggle, climbing back up the ladder as she glanced up her list. "Well, you can start by trying to look for some spell books. I need them so I can figure out what's wrong with the Pr…I mean, Adam."

From the foot of the ladder, Chip gave a military salute. "Alright!"

Then he sprinted in the opposite direction, starting by the bookshelf closest to the fireplace. But as Belle picked up Macbeth off the Shakespeare shelf and browsed through it, she couldn't help but wonder if Chip knew what was really going on inside the castle, if he knew about the new attitude of his master, of the Princess' impolite behaviour, and the solemnity and submission of the entire staff to the cruel will of the couple. Did he even know that the Prince was under some sort of spell?

"Be careful when climbing the ladder, Chip!" Belle yelled as she flipped towards Act IV, where the King Macbeth meets the witches who talked of prophecies.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake.
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and

"Belle!"

She turned her head around and raced down the ladder to meet Chip, who was holding up a book in his tiny arms, an ancient, black-bound leathery tome with crinkled yellowing pages.

"Look what I found!" Chip said excitedly as Belle took the book from him. "I don't know if it's a spell book, but it sure looks like one!"

She gasped at the cover, a gilded title in serif font: Grimorium Verum.

"This!" Belle exclaimed, looking at Chip happily, embracing the young boy. "This is what I'm looking for! Oh, thank you! Where did you find it?"

"Over there," Chip pointed to the shelf he was running toward earlier. "It's full of books like those, and I can't pronounce some of the titles. I just picked the one that looked the nicest."

Plumette put her hands on her hips. "Where haven't we looked?"

Lumière shrugged, his arms tired from moving chairs and tables back and forth to their original positions. "I am just unsure as you, mon amour."

Plumette scanned the room one last time with her sharp sight, and blinked in alarm when her eyes had rested on a corner they had not checked thus far. "Oh, of course! Comment pouvons-nous oublier? The bookshelf!"

Lumière's eyes brightened as he laughed. "Bright as always, Plumette; and that is why I love you."

Plumette rushed over to him to give him a quick peck on his cheek before going back to the bookshelf. Lumière couldn't help but blush as he held his face, rubbing it as he grinned like an idiot, a warm fluttering feeling at the bottom of his stomach. It was always moments like these when if he felt extreme emotion, his wig would catch on fire. He wondered why it didn't.

"Tell me if you find anything," Lumière waved his hand as he went back to check the other drawer near the door.

He was barely opening the first drawer, which was full of ribbons and various other colours of satin when he heard Plumette yelp from the other side of the room. The maître d' snapped his head up in alarm and ran over to his lover, who was holding a pink-bound leather book, gazing at it with an expression of surprise.

"Mon amour, mon amour, I'm here, what's wrong?" Lumière gripped her shoulders and she nearly jumped at his touch.

"Look…" Plumette showed him the book, and a small smile graced her immaculate lips.

Lumière took the book carefully in his hands, and let out a loud victorious laugh together with her, clutching the book tight. There, on the cover, was the title bound in an iridescent-like hue: The Nature of Spells and Magicks.

Eliese stopped behind him, and it took a while until he stopped his own horse and turned him around to look at his future wife. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression, a tilted head, with her wide beautiful eyes, as if there was a pack of wolves standing behind him. (He even turned his head around only to check, and nothing was there, only a vast landscape of snow.)

"What is it?" Adam asked, their horses a stride apart from each other as the snow blew past. When she didn't respond immediately, he reached up to touch his chin with his gloved hand. "Is it my beard? Do you want me to shave again?"

"We have to go back," she barely whispered against the blizzard. "Something's terribly wrong, we have to go back."

He frowned at her, concerned. "What's wrong?"

She looked at her hands, at their snowy surroundings, then back at his eyes, as if she had woken up suddenly from some sort of trance. Her face was broken by an expression of pain, like a part of her heart had suddenly been struck dead.

"My love?" he asked again.

"No time to waste," she muttered quickly, "no time to waste, no time to waste."

She spun her horse around and galloped back to the castle, standing like a faded cloud against the snowstorm winds. Adam, as confused as he was, shook his reins and followed his betrothed back to his estate.

Bell grimaced at the title of the pages as she browsed through the Grimorium Verum, seeing odder and stranger things as she passed. There were drawings of runes, odd texts, codes, and spells of the strange. There were chants, glossaries of demons, weird figures and drawings, spells to make people appear, see spirits, pacts, and other bizarre things she thought she would never see in any book. And they were only a few of the peculiar she saw in the grimoire books that Chip was piling up on the reading desk. The young boy was happily running back and forth from the shelf, stacking grimoire after grimoire next to Belle.

The titles all sounded the same and blurred in her head: La Poule Noire, Grimorium Verum, The Grimoire of Pope Leo, Petit Albert, and so much more. There had to be something of a love curse or spell, or something to undo it.

She went through the glossary of names and incantations, trying to find anything that would sound familiar to her. But there was nothing, and she slammed the book in defeat and stacked it to her left, moving towards the next one. To her astonishment, her hands were met with something unlike the heavy tomes she had opened that were hundreds of pages thick. This one was light and smooth.

She frowned, but her eyes lit in relief once she read the title. It was the yellow book Agathe had given her: The Nature of Spells and Magicks.

She flipped it open to the table of contents and found exactly what she was looking for in the blink of an eye. Chapter XII: Love Spells and Infatuation Incantations, page two-hundred and seven.

Thank all her lucky stars that the text was printed in simple language and not a different kind of highfalutin dialect. It even came with lovely intricate drawings of a woman in beautiful dresses, magic spiraling out of her fingertips to form the shape of a man and a woman locked in a kiss.

There are various type of love spells and enchantments to bewitch a human individual into infatuation or love. This can mainly be used to fool people into thinking they are in love with another, and, with a prolonged usage and strong willpower, the spell can gradually wear off in replacement of genuine feelings of adoration. This can only be done if the spell on the enchantment is made for a period exceeding two months or more.

Belle retraced the entirety of the events that passed by ever since the Princess arrived. Though she was unsure of when the infatuation curse was cast, three weeks had passed. She only had a month and a week left.

Love spells are normally cast to arouse jealousy in other human beings and to elicit the emergence of true affection. An instance: Duchess L—, whose relationship with Count B— is failing, has been bewitched by an Enchantress to fall in love with Marquis R—. In this instance, Count B— is put through a tribulation to see if his feelings for Duchess L— are strong enough to overcome the curse. Most love spells are lifted by what many storybooks term a 'true love's kiss', which is an exchange of

"Belle!"

She and Chip spun around as the doors to the library burst open, and in ran Plumette and Lumière, the latter of which was holding a pink book. They both looked incredibly jovial, as if both of them had suddenly got engaged within the hour and wanted everyone in the castle to know of the news.

"Oh, you're back from the Princess' room?" Belle's eyebrows hiked.

Plumette nodded. "And look what we found!"

Lumière handed the pink book over to Belle, and once she read the title, a huge smile sprung on her face and she couldn't help but feel that the weight on her shoulders was lifted off. A kind spirit danced upon the strings of her heart and its loud palpitations ceased. Though the situation was far from solved, at least they were one step closer.

"We could be wrong," Plumette shrugged. "It may be proof she's only interested in the paranormal."

"No, this is it," Belle picked up Agathe's gift and held them side by side; they looked almost identical to each other, with the only difference being that Agathe's was yellow, while the Princess' was pink. "Don't you see? We finally have proof!"

Plumette and her lover gave a triumphant hoorah, while Chip frowned in confusion.

Adam dismounted his horse after his betrothed, and they walked briskly through the large lawn into the castle, where he ignored all of the servant's greetings, even Cogsworth's own. While the majordomo stuck by his side, he followed his Princess across the winding halls of his castle, trying his best to keep up with her wide strides.

"Eliese, wait," he struggled to climb up the stairs after her, taking off his cocked hat as she reached the top landing dozens of steps away. "Eliese!"

But she ignored him and walked away even faster.

"Master, what is the matter?" Cosgworth asked.

"Not now, Cogsworth," Adam dismissed, annoyed.

Cogsworth wasn't dissuaded by his master, and they traced the Princess' footsteps only to arrive at the East Wing, where her apartment was. He constantly called her name until a sickening scream came from the adjoining hallway; fear clawed its way into Adam's heart and it began to beat faster as he raced towards where the voice was.

"Eliese!" he yelled as he got there, only to see her room was open. "Eliese!"

He got to the doorframe, only to see her scrambling all over her messy bed, shelves, wardrobes, as if she was looking for something. She was muttering as she disassembled her furniture, tossed aside her busts of wigs, dug through her cabinets of chiffon, removed all of her dresses and went through her bookshelves. Tears were streaming down her face as she frantically darted around the place.

"Eliese, love, what's going on?" he asked, and her head turned to him. Her breathing was laboured with terrible cries, and even Cogsworth couldn't help but let his eyes widen at the sight.

"Adam…" she sobbed, rushing towards him and crying into his shirt. "Someone's stolen something from my room! There's a thief in the castle! A thief!"

"Stolen something?" Adam gripped her shoulders and looked her gently in the eye. "Eliese, what was it?"

"It's a book…" she sniffed. "It's very precious to me…" her brows furrowed into a frown, "it was…was probably that literate peasant girl again…doesn't know when to stop collecting for her library…"

Adam let go of her and sighed out, trying to calm himself. There was already an unstoppable rage that balled his fists and made him tremble with ire. To make his love cry would be a crime punishable by only the worst thing imaginable.

"Cogsworth?" he said.

"Yes, Master?" Good, he was still behind him.

"Call that girl, the new maid," Adam tried to rack his angry memory for her name.

"Belle…?" Cogsworth suggested. By the sound of his voice, he sounded quite hesitant.

"Yes, that's her. Call her to my room. I need to give her a…little talk."

The majordomo didn't reply. That was terribly unlike him.

Adam turned around to frown at him. "Cogsworth?"

"Yes, Master," he answered quickly and bowed rather dejectedly, then walked away towards the library.

"What is that?" Chip barked curiously. "Let me see!"

"It's a spell book," Belle knelt over to show the contents to him. "It'll tell us what's wrong with Adam, and how to help him go back to himself."

Chip pounded his fist into his hand. "So that's why he's being mean to everyone." He turned to Belle, a kind of inspired light in his eyes. "Are you going to make him kind again?"

Belle's smile faded a little at that question. She didn't know how to answer it, even if she so badly wanted it to be that way. All she could to was pet Chip's hair as she gave him another hug.

"Imagine!" Plumette rubbed her hands together. "We could tell the staff…we could come up with solutions to solving this."

"Oh, mon amour," and Lumière cooed, the lovers embracing. "I cannot believe this…we could go back to the way things were."

Belle couldn't help but smile as Lumière and Plumette wrapped themselves each other's arms. She tried to feel happy for how beautiful and magical their relationship was, and how devoted they stayed towards each other, how loyal. It almost hurt her, how she could have had that with Adam, in what seemed to be such a long time ago.

"Belle!" a new voice boomed into the library as the doors blasted open. "Belle, where are you?"

Belle stood up and was met with the sight of a much frazzled Cogsworth. He looked worried, which was something to be frightful about, because the moment the majordomo was anxious meant that something that violated the laws of nature had just occurred.

"What's wrong, Cogsworth?" she asked, standing up.

But Cogsworth didn't answer her directly and looked at the pink book that was on the table. Then he fumed, pointing a finger at Lumière, who raised his hands in innocence as he backed up into a table.

"What have you done?!" Cogsworth yelled. "I told you not to go into the Princess' room! You stole something, didn't you?"

"We only got one book, nothing more!" Lumière retorted as Plumette rushed to his side, panicked.

"What's going on?" Chip yelled, uneasy.

"Well, that one book was a prized possession of the Princess!" Cogsworth continued to yell at the maître d'. "And now, Belle's being blamed for robbing it!" He turned towards her and sighed, pinching his nose, his voice a little calmer but still shaking. "The Master…the Master requested to see you in his room. I don't like to think about what he's going to say to you."

Plumette covered her mouth to silence a gasp, while Lumière's face dropped. Chip took a step back, wringing his hands nervously.

"Oh…oh no…" Lumière muttered, his face shocked. "Mon dieu, we never thought that…Belle, we are sorry, we are so sorry—"

"Belle…" Plumette covered her face, trying to suppress her sobs. "We never meant this to happen…and now…"

Belle didn't know what to feel as she wrung her hands, and only turned when she felt a little tug on her dress.

"Belle?" Chip asked, tears brimming at his eyes. "Is the Master going to…to yell at you? Like he did to Mama?"

The questions that Chip asked were questions she still wanted the answers to, and she was angry at herself for not being able to answer them, for her sake and for Chip's. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and looked at all the servants, trying to keep her panic at bay. She shouldn't be afraid…not now, not while everyone depended on her.

"It's alright," she said to Lumière and Plumette. "I'll go handle him." Then she turned to Cogsworth, and uttered a quick thanks.

She walked out of the library, much to everyone's shock, towards the staircase that led to the Prince's room to the West Wing. It was almost as if she was taking her last steps towards a guillotine, towards her death. And she could help it as her legs shook, the sadness pushing a terrible feeling out of her throat. The brightly lit halls that used to inspire wonder in her now terrified her with their gold statues and ornate brambles. It was a world she didn't know anymore. And she was on her way to face a man she used to love, and who didn't even remember loved her.

Chapter Text

Belle closed the door gingerly behind her, trying to make no sound as she took timid steps into the Prince's room. What used to be her morning's excursion or solace only brought out a sensation of horror as she wrung her hands nervously, feeling her sweating skin against her palms. The room seemed foreign now, the bed like nothing she had ever seen before, and even the furniture, walls, ceilings, and floors were something out of an unfamiliar memory. Maybe even she was forgetting her own memories with him.

Then she spotted the figure of the Prince, pacing in front of his enormous fireplace. He had forgone his cocked hat and winter coat, but his expensive clothes were still as bright as ever and painful to look at. His face was contorted into a blank expression of disdain; but even with his neat hair tied back, stubble growing ever visible and slender deft hands clasped behind his waist, he still had the demeanour of a very different man. She had to remember that the figure standing there wasn't the Adam she fell in love with; he was an entirely different person, a stranger she didn't want to know. But it still hurt her knowing that whoever this person was, he spoke with the timbre of Adam's voice, held her with his warm touch, cursed at her with his words.

"Your Highness," her voice shook as she curtseyed clumsily, eyes downcast. A nervous sweat began to form at her brow and her hands were shaking.

"You revolting, disgusting, low-life…" he spat each word as if he wanted to break her with each syllable, striding in her direction with the air of an enraged bull as he jabbed a finger at her. "Don't think you can get away with politeness and etiquette this time. You're a petty thief, thinking you can steal from my Eliese."

She looked up at him and furrowed her brows. If she was to fall, at least she would fall fighting. "And where's the proof that I stole from your Eliese?"

"Proof!" the Prince faked a smile, and he probably wasn't even taking her arguments even a little bit seriously. "I don't need proof! Eliese's word is enough for me to conclude that your greedy little hands couldn't get enough of her riches."

Belle was too appalled with anger, sadness, and frustration to even reply.

"Ugh," the Prince groaned in antipathy. "I was wrong to ever entrust that library to anyone, let alone utilise it. Especially to you. Eliese was right that I should have torn it down; it's obviously gotten to your head."

Belle's eyes flew open and she stared daggers at him; to talk against her library was to talk against her very being. "You said you wouldn't tear it down! You allowed me to keep it under the grounds of maintaining it w—!"

"The grounds of education!" the Prince corrected her, sneering. "You told me in your letter that you were to put up a school, and because of that, I allowed you. Do I see a school in that library? No, I don't."

Belle blinked incredulously; it was true that her efforts for setting up the library school were dampened by her research in breaking Adam's curse, but his time frame was beyond unbelievable. "I sent that letter weeks ago! Do you really think that I alone can put up a school in less than a month?"

The Prince scoffed. "Please, your overflowing confidence in yourself encouraged me that you could do it in three days. Be thankful that I give any high regard like that to anyone; you obviously let your pride get to your head."

"Don't you talk to me about pride!" Belle could feel the tears pricking at her eyes; Adam or not Adam, she was going to straighten this imposter out. "Look at you! Belittling people, viewing them with disdain, mistreating your servants, who do you think you a—?"

"I am Prince, you insolent brat!" he yelled, spitting out the words like harsh fire.

She couldn't reply to that, only noticing that his mouth only inches away from hers. His breath smelt foreign, of wine and cigars (God, she didn't even know he smoked cigars), and she could nearly grimace at how much he had changed. True, his voice still had a husky vibration to it, his hair still looked immaculate, and his beard had begun to grow again, but when she looked into his eyes, something inside her snapped. She immediately knew that he was under a spell, even if every single servant was against that theory, from the look of his eyes.

Instead of a calming blue hue, his irises were a vibrant, tempestuous pink.

Belle felt her legs quiver and she nearly collapsed. She prayed that somewhere, in the mirror of his gaze looking back at her, Adam was there, chained, crying out for her to save him. And she wanted so desperately to set him free…to release him from this curse and to bring back everything to the way they once were. Then the text from The Nature of Spells and Magicks revealed itself to her, almost like a long-forgotten incantation, in her mind's eye:

Most love spells are lifted by what many storybooks term a 'true love's kiss'.

Belle was doubtful of many things: the welfare of her poor father, her feelings about her long-deceased mother, the intentions of the illusive Agathe, the plans of the cruel Princess, and even her impossible future together with the Prince she so adored, who she wasn't even sure existed anymore.

But she was certain of one thing: she loved Adam; narcissism, impoliteness, greediness and all.

She didn't even think twice and shut her eyes, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her fingertips went over to trace his jawline and hold his nape down, and as she brushed past his skin, he stiffened under her touch, his muscles tightening as he tried to draw back. But she didn't let him and held him there, pulling him toward her, trying to keep him close; slowly but surely, he was giving in. There were no fluttering feelings in her stomach, no gold that set her veins aglow, no miscellaneous whisperings of various phrases of 'I love you', not even a muttering of her name that happened every time they kissed before. The texture of his lips, the pants that left him when they broke for seconds, the tickling sensation his whiskers felt against the skin of her cheeks, they were all as she remembered them, only much gloomier. She drank him in: whiskey, cigars, winter-cold skin, itchy clothing, vanity, pride, and cruelty, all of the terrible things she didn't want him to be. It tasted awful in her mouth, but she prayed fervently that this would free the Adam she loved, kept captive somewhere in this malevolent husk of a selfish man.

To her surprise, however, he began to take back with an equal amount of avidity, just as she was beginning to pull back. Warm hands reached up to caress her face and pulled her towards him as she moaned, tasting the smidges of his luxury through his tongue. Their bodies collided as they held each other close, his fingers snaking down to her waist and pushing her upwards to him; her own limbs were entangling themselves with his own. The fire she thought was lost blossomed in her chest again, setting her heart aglow, mending the broken shards of it littered across her ribcage. She could cry out in joy. melt in his arms in pure happiness.

But when she drew back, panting, wanting more, as her face was cradled in his dextrous fingers, he tilted her head up to meet his eyes, expecting a warm sky of blue; instead, she was still met with a disappointing, alarming, colour of rose.

Her heart cracked right down the middle.

"Mmm…" he hummed, his voice hushed, hoarse, seething bits of wrath, "you like that, don't you, you dirty minx?"

Belle began to palpitate in fear of the anger beginning to boil up inside him. Before she could react, however, a sharp pain went across her cheek and made her stagger backward, using a nearby table to support herself; her face was burning from the slap as the Prince drew back his hand, looking awfully pleased with himself. She felt like she could break down into sobs any moment, and she had never felt more pathetic in her life that she had now.

This isn't Adam, this isn't Adam, this isn't the man you love—

"You filthy whore!" he yelled; suddenly an object flew towards her, and she shielded herself with an arm as it throbbed upon being hit with the spine of a book. "You vulgar little slut! How dare you touch me with your unclean, sordid hands!"

"Adam, please!" she cried out, the tears flowing; every fear, every dream, every thought of resentment, pity, regret, and sorrow she had built up over the weeks flowed down her cheeks. "Adam, I—"

Another book bruised her hands as she gave out a sob of distress. "Call me that one more time, you ungrateful bitch!"

"Please!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands as he moved toward her.

Before another word left her, his cold hand wrapped itself around her neck and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. Then she was thrown to the floor, her aching limbs trying to support her as her tears began to stain the carpet. The Prince's shadow loomed over her before he bent down to kneel next to her; with a sharp yank, he had turned her head to face his, and she was so afraid of him now, even though she knew with every fibre in her body that she shouldn't be. Was this the man she still loved?

"Now I know why Eliese hates you so much," he mused aloud, observing her eyes with the intensity of a scientist; the pink glare that they had sent frightful shivers down her spine. "It's because you lust for me, don't you?"

She nearly sobbed out the answer. "I don't lust for you."

"Then what the fuck did you just do?" he retorted, almost hissing the expletive.

His grip around her jaw tightened, and his fingers dug so painfully into her skin that she left out a cry as she grasped weakly at his wrist.

"I tried to break you out of a spell," she whimpered, "I tried…to break you out. You're only in love with the Princess because…because she's cursed you…"

"Cursed me!" the Prince let out a loud laugh before throwing her face to the floor again. "What kind of nonsense have you been reading in that library? Not only are you a miserable wench, but you're also a lunatic!"

Belle grasped at her neck, trying to force the words out. "I am not a lunatic!"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" the Prince began to walk away from her towards a nearby table, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, which he downed in one gulp.

Belle couldn't help but let out a few sobs as she melted into her hands. This was it…it was all over. All those memories she had of him: late night readings in the library, dances in the ballroom, his bright laughter, Cadenza's music, walks in the garden surrounded by the lush spring or cold winter, and all those moments when he was degraded into nothing more than a monster in need of redemption…it was all gone. All her efforts, her feelings, they meant nothing now.

"You loved me," she murmured into her palms, "once, in another lifetime, you loved me…and we were so happy together…oh, God…you loved me…"

Apparently, that caught his attention, because she heard his footsteps hesitate. His answer, however, was cold and unforgiving. And it destroyed whatever had remained of her.

"Loved you?" his cold voice echoed. "Not in a million lifetimes would I ever love you."

A sigh left her as she shut her eyes. Nothing was left inside her: no emotion, no joy, no sadness, no anger or love or fear. It was gone. She had no heart left, only a cavity which beat a rhythmic sound of dread that echoed through her hollow body.

He set down his glass with a loud clink. "You're dismissed."

Her eyes fluttered open as she gazed up at his daunting figure. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, looking back at his fireplace. "You're dismissed. You will no longer serve me as a maid. You've been relinquished of all your duties as a member of my staff. If you ever set foot within this castle again, I'll see to it that you and your family will be promptly humiliated and punished beyond belief." And he turned abruptly to her, no flicker of Adam left in his pink eyes. "Now get out of my sight."

Belle stood up as fast as she could and, looking at him with her tear-stained cheeks, wiped her face harshly before picking up the books he had thrown at her as she storming out of his room. The sound the doors made as she shut them reverberated throughout the castle. The Prince could only shrug apathetically, pouring himself another drink.

Mrs. Potts had been one of the last people to ever see Belle before the latter fled. According to the housekeeper, she had found Belle crying in the stables, hitching up Philippe's saddle, carrying nothing but a bag full of books and her travel cloak around her shoulders. She only thanked Mrs. Potts before explaining that she would never return to the castle ever again, only to live the rest of her life helping her father in Villeneuve if ever any of the servants wanted to visit her. Although Mrs. Potts pushed for an explanation as to why she was leaving for good, Belle had always pointed to the Prince, saying that he knew the whole story. Then the old woman watched with sad eyes as Belle mounted her horse, gave a simple thank you for everything the servants had done for her, before riding off into the afternoon snow, towards the direction of her poor provincial town.

Lumière was holding Mrs. Potts in his embrace as she sobbed into his shirt. They were standing next to Cogsworth, who was holding a candelabra in one hand with the other poised to knock on the Master's door. The clock in the hallway chimed ten times, with the cold night air frosting the windows in the corridors.

"God help her…" Mrs. Potts whimpered. "Oh, God help us all…she didn't deserve to be dismissed like that. What did the Master do to the poor thing's heart?"

"His behaviour will pass," Lumière comforted, patting the old woman's head. "Like all of us keep saying, he is under a curse."

"He is not under a curse," Cogsworth retorted, tired. "He's only…undergoing emotional stress."

"Emotional stress!" Mrs. Potts reiterated, incredulous. "Whatever happened to poor Belle was never the result of whatever 'emotional stress' you keep going on about. I've heard rumours from the maids, and do you know what dreadful things he called her? He called her a…he called her a dirty minx, a—"

"I don't want to hear it," Cogsworth shut out; it was obvious that he didn't like to hear any of the Prince's misdeeds, probably because it would make his heart ache as well.

"That is not the Master," Mrs. Potts frowned, wrapping herself in Lumière's arms. "That will never be the Master."

Cogsworth gave a sigh, letting the silence take them for a while before turning to the two other servants. "Are you ready to see him?"

They didn't reply; not even one of them made a shake of the head or a nod. But Cosgworth knocked thrice on his door, the sound echoing throughout the empty hallway; it was barely a minute before a sombre voice beckoned them to enter. The majordomo opened the door and he stepped in timidly, followed by Lumière and Mrs. Potts. They were greeted by the sight of the Prince's bedroom, with nothing out of the ordinary except for the melancholy picture of the Master standing over a table, where he was in the process of emptying what looked like his seventh whiskey glass in less than four gulps.

"What is it now?" he said when he set the glass down, looking at the servants with more than enough scorn.

"Master," Cogsworth cleared his throat, "I'm here to inquire you about a few things, more specifically with the discharge of your staff."

He spread his arms; he was a tad bit too lax, which made all of the servants incredibly uncomfortable. "Go ahead, Cogsworth."

The majordomo took a deep breath and said his piece as quickly and detached as he could. "What were the reasons of which you dismissed one of the maids, Belle Beaumont?"

"Oh, her," the Prince blinked, running a hand through his long hair as he looked at the servants like they were complete and naïve idiots. "You mean…other than the fact that she attempted to seduce me and forced me to bed her?"

Mrs. Potts raised her nose high. "From what I heard, she only kissed you, never forced you to bed her."

He shrugged with such exaggerated motion that the servants could only conclude one of two things: either he wanted to prove that he was correct by any means necessary, or he was drunk. Or both.

"Does it look like I care, Mrs. Potts?" he tilted his head, giving her a terrifying smile.

She only shook her head timidly and retreated back into Lumière's arms.

"You haven't answered the question yet, Master," Cogsworth said again, almost impatiently.

"Well, what can I say?" he emptied out the whiskey bottle, pouring the last drops of the drink into another cup greedily. "She's a seductress, that's for sure; I know she's fully aware with my engagement to Eliese and yet continued to advance her salacious intentions upon me anyway. She's absolutely useless, as I've never even seen her clean the castle or sweep a floor, and I bet she doesn't even know what a broom does. All she does and all I hear her do is stay in that stupid library. About time I got that place cleared out." He downed the glass in one gulp and let out a drunken sigh. "And I don't want to hear any of you convince me to take her back; she was nothing but a thorn in all our sides, and you either can admit that or follow her example and resign from your services to me."

Mrs. Potts sadness melted away into pity, and she cast her eyes down, wringing her apron in her hands. "You have no idea, Master, what she's done for you, for all of us."

He licked his lips as his eyebrows hiked. "Pray tell."

"She's saved us all, Master," Lumière prompted, his voice shaking. "Don't you remember anything?"

The Prince slumped in his chair, tracing the rim of his empty glass with his finger. "No, I don't remember anything, because you sure as hell aren't telling me just what makes her so special. She's obviously done something for all of you to earn your admiration and respect, but I'm not one of those people."

Mrs. Potts tried to deny everything he was saying; he couldn't have forgotten about the curse that had transformed him forever, from a man to a beast and the other way around. "Master, I can't believe that y—!"

"In my eyes, she's nothing but a repulsive maid," he jeered. "Your judgments about her are all biased, and I don't have the time and interest to listen to them all. If this is all you've disturbed me for, you've wasted my time." He turned the glass in his hand and barely batted an eye. "Now leave me be."

The servants stood there, silent, pathetic, crushed. They didn't even have the willpower to bid him goodnight as they closed the door behind themselves, leaving the Prince to stare at his empty bottle to ponder on mistakes he didn't know he made. The three of them stared at each other in the emptiness of the hallway, exchanging glances of pity, uncertainty, and defeat for what could have been forever.

"Do you believe us now, Cogsworth?" Lumière sighed into his hand, trying to wipe the anguish from his face.

"I…" Cosgworth stuttered, looking back at the Prince's door. "I don't know what to believe in anymore."

"He called me names, Papa," Belle stirred her half-finished soup du jour in circles. "Dreadful things that not even Gaston would call anyone. He threw books at me like I was nothing to him…I don't think he even remembers that I…" Belle faltered, blinking back sobs.

"You don't have to tell me everything, Belle," Maurice coaxed, not wanting to force her into a worse situation. "Just breathe."

She did what her father told her to do: letting a big breath of air inside her lungs, she exhaled it, feeling a little bit calmer. "Then he dismissed me from the castle, telling me never to go back. So I left, and…well, here I am."

Belle sat in the dining room of her little cottage by the edge of Villeneuve, staring at her breakfast dejectedly. As she told the entire story, from the arrival of the Princess to her recent release from being a fake maid, Maurice was listening intently by her side, holding her other hand as he nodded with understanding at each sentence she uttered, pushing the glasses that slid off his nose back up on occasion. She had only arrived back to the village yesterday afternoon, and from her cloudy demeanour, he knew to keep his distance until when she opened up; his patience and kindness was one of the things she so loved about her father.

"I still can't believe everything," Belle muttered, looking at their intertwined fingers.

"It's terrible what they did to you, all of it," Maurice shivered inwardly. "If I was in your position, I would have fled after the first day that dreadful Princess arrived. Ugh…with that terrible temper and spoiled attitude, it's a wonder she has an entire province loyal to her."

Belle gave a pitiful smile. "That's true…but she's wealthy and beautiful…even if those are her only positive attributes."

Maurice chuckled kindly at the tone of sarcasm in his daughter's words. "Wealth and beauty aren't the only things that matter in this world. You above all should know that."

Belle's smile faded away, replaced with more serious thoughts: thoughts of sentient furniture and cold hearths, of roses and eternal snow, of an enchanted castle and a horrific yet caring beast. They were all lost thoughts that he couldn't remember anymore. The only kind memories that she had with Adam and that were gone now, together with the future she had naively foreseen with him, when there was no Princess to worry about or nervous engagements to be made. It was just his lips against hers, by the hearth of her library, an open book of King Arthur on her lap as they read to each other by the dying light of the stars.

"It's just…" Belle muttered, trying her best not to cry on those lost moments, "I'll miss him so much."

"Well, the real world can be crueller than any storybook villain," Maurice looked at a blank spot on their table, trying to wrap Belle into a hug. "But if it's any solace, I'm here for you."

"Oh, Papa," she sighed into his shirt, missing his smell of oil and cabbages and the beat of his benevolent heart against her ear. "Thank you for listening to me."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rubbed her back tenderly. "It's the least I can do for you. You're resilient to bear all of those hits that they've been landing on you. It's good to know you're built with a strong heart."

Belle so badly wanted to believe that, but all she could do was smile as Maurice drew back to drum his fingers next to the newest music box he was working on. It was a thing of gold and ceramic, designed to look like a regular cottage house. However, upon opening it, she couldn't help but smile a little at the figures that housed themselves in their quaint little abode: a mother cradling her child in what appeared to be his nursery, as her arms rocked the baby to sleep whenever her father turned the crank.

"There's no music yet?" Belle leaned over and watched the mother in silence.

Maurice gave off a grin as he held up the metal drum, the little metal knobs visible in the morning light. "I still have to fix up a few things before I attach it to the comb."

"Oh," Belle sat herself back down; if she was to be at least happy about one thing in the world, it was her father's simple joy in making things he loved. "What's the song it plays?"

Maurice hummed the answer: a few notes that went up and down in a major key that sent Belle giggling when she recognised it.

"The song's name is Au Claire La Lune," he explained."Your mother used to sing it whenever she rocked you to sleep."

"So that's its title," Belle mused, jovial in the knowledge that she gained a little bit more information that day about her mother. "Who's this one for?"

"The Duval family in town," Maurice tightened one of the screws that held the box together, his eyes focusing on the little knob that stuck out. "I think they plan to give it as a Christmas gift to their son."

Belle's eyes perked up at the sound of the holiday. "Christmas! I've been too busy worrying about the Princess that I forgot all about Christmas!"

"It's not too late to prepare for the holiday, it's only a few days away," Maurice laughed before frowning dejectedly at one of the pins of the tiny cottage. "Can you get the uh…that one screw for those…?"

"I'm already on it," Belle got up, eager to help her father create another one of his miniature musical masterpieces; she already knew what he was looking for: it was that one screwdriver with the tip that unwound box-shaped bolts. "Where did you last leave it?"

"I think…in my workshop, yes…" Maurice said absentmindedly as Belle made her way to that room. "Check on the desk."

Belle stepped into the workshop, an old room in the house where Maurice spent most of his time eating, working, and sleeping. She could never get the place cleaned up, no matter how hard she tried; the tools were all in the wrong places, a shirt was there that probably smelt worse than it looked, and dozens of paintbrushes were littered all over the shelves and table tops that hadn't been cleaned of their very many colours. The only clear spot in the room was the easel by the window, where Maurice worked on large canvases and lifelike sketches of lead and pigments. It was always so fun to enter the room and marvel at the latest picture that he was bringing to life.

As Belle took the screwdriver on his table, exactly where he said it was, her head turned over to the easel, where his newest painting sat, waiting to be completed. But her inspiration and wonder turned quickly to sadness as she caught sight of it.

Placed on his stand, with an initial sketch of black pencil and white charcoal shading, was an unfinished portrait painting of two figures, a man and a woman, with the woman's fingers curled gently around the arm of the man. The artist had been filling up the colours around the background first, which was a beautiful curtained ballroom filled with tiny chandeliers in the background and a lavish marble floor, with the intricate details left incomplete. Maurice was finished painting the woman, with her brown hair catching the daylight from the windows, and her beautiful white dress shimmering with lace and pink floral patterns. However, he was still in the process of painting the man, with only parts of his golden hair left uncoloured while his lavish suit of blue and silver were still being attached with thin strokes of detail. The outlines on his face were masterfully added, with streaks of brown lining the strong structure of his nose, jaw and cheeks. There was a kind look in his alluring smile, but his eyes were the first thing to ever be noticed, painted with the loveliest shade of blue, shining with an air of comfort and adoration.

It was a portrait of her and Adam.

Belle's trembling hand let go of the screwdriver, and it fell to the floor with a raucous clatter.

"Belle?" Maurice had called, but his voice was like a distant echo.

She remembered this painting, long ago. It was a week after the transformation, and to commemorate his newfound love, he had thrown a grand party for everyone to attend. After a few dances, he had pulled her over, asked her father if he could commission a portrait of the two of them, and Maurice immediately procured a sketchbook from his pocket to take down his first draft of the illustration. That first draft had been torn from his notes and placed beside the easel, labelled with different slashes of colours and other miscellaneous writing.

But every aspect of the portrait, ever line, every colour and hue, despite being incomplete, was exactly as she remembered it. The painting was now an immortal piece of evidence from a past she could never dream of having again. Their arms intertwined, their smiles, and most importantly, that elegant, soulful blue in his affectionate gaze.

It all didn't exist anymore. It was a picture of what she lost.

Belle felt her heart crumble in her chest as she put her hand to her mouth, stepping backward with her trembling legs. And once she hit the wall, the tears spilled as an ugly cry escaped her mouth, her shoulders shaking with an unbearable pain. As much as she tried to tear her gaze away from the painting, she couldn't bear to leave it for a second. The sobs kept coming and coming and didn't seem to stop.

"Belle, oh God!"

She felt two strong arms envelop her in a hug, and she poured out her feelings of ache and fear of unbearable loss into her father's shirt. She wrapped her arms around him as he stood there comforting her, his embrace warm and soothing, all she needed. After what seemed like forever, she broke from her father, still holding his hands, wiping away what remained of her tears vigorously as Maurice looked at her with an undying concern in his eyes.

"I forgot about the painting, I'm so sorry," he apologised to his daughter, holding her forlorn face carefully. "I-I never should have even put it there…"

"It's alright, Papa," Belle smiled despite her tears, finding bliss in his loving concern. "It's just…me, being a funny girl."

"Oh, don't you belittle yourself for crying over those things," he reprimanded gently. "You're reminiscing old memories, and they hurt you; that's not wrong. You're only human, Belle, and you feel human emotions." He let her hands go and stormed towards his easel, as if he was ready to tear it to pieces for making his daughter cry. "I'll move it to the kitchen so you don't have to see it, then have one of the men dispose of it completely."

"No, don't!" she protested, shocked by the words that left her.

Maurice turned to her incredulously. "You want me to keep it? It's alright, I'm perfectly fine with throwing it away—"

"But I don't want you to throw it away," Belle clasped her shaking hands together, realising that her words were coming from the bottom of her heart.

Maurice looked at his daughter in disbelief.

"Please, Papa," Belle pleaded. "I want you to finish it for me."

Maurice couldn't help but bend to the request of his daughter, sighing as he ran a hand through his greying hair. "Alright, I'll finish it. But I don't know what you'd want to do with it, knowing it brings back sad memories you don't like talking about."

Belle gave a kind grin, despite feeling the sorrow well up in her chest again. "But those aren't sad memories, they're happy ones. And I'd like to keep many of them as much as possible. Consider it my early Christmas gift."

Maurice's lips turned upward into a smile as he hugged his daughter again, tight. The entire house seemed to sigh in relief as the painting itself stood like a monument of joy, alone in a cold and deadly landscape of melancholy.

Christmas was mostly an affair Villeneuve was used to spending in isolation and in the spirit of togetherness; and to their luck, when the very-much awaited December day arrived, it was greeted by the blessing of a beautiful snowfall. Wives visited each other carrying different kinds of delicacies to share, men laughed at stories over good ale at the tavern, while the children, dressed in warm caps and shawls, played games in the snow. The townspeople were satisfied with modest lights and a good tale by the fire, meeting with relatives and sharing love with one another in the simplest ways that a provincial life had to offer. Even Belle and her father went around the streets, giving gifts to various townsfolk as Belle gathered the children in the middle of the square to read a story from Lancelot and Guinevere, watching as the girls' eyes shone in swoon while the boys mocked faces of disgust, much to Belle's content. The Christmas night was a magical one, as households of different shapes and sizes went to each other to exchange their Yuletide greetings over friendship and love.

But the Prince's estate just a few miles off from Villeneuve was the very essence of opposites from the tiny village. It was luxuriously decorated, lavishly well-kept, and all the guests, who were noblemen and women from different royal families of France who were related to the master of the house, however far, were expensively fed with delicacies and sweets from around the world. It was, though, unhappy for most of its inhabitants.

The gentility and affluent were dancing in the grand ballroom to the songs of Cadenza and Garderobe, who were trying their best to keep their show faces as joyous as the Prince wanted them to be. Only the guests seemed to be the ones enjoying themselves, laughing drunkenly over glasses of wine as they skipped along to the waltzes. However miserable they were, the entire staff of servants were also in attendance (as they were forced to), still sombre from the dismissal of Belle to even think about grabbing a holiday hors d'oeuvre. How they dare be happy when Belle obviously was not, they thought.

Princess Hanneliese, dressed in a stunning gown of red, mingled with most of the party guests and acted coquettish at their commentary over her future groom, Adam. It disgusted the staff—the maids, especially—how utterly shallow she could be, how obsessed she was with her own sycophants and fanatics. She continued the night as she always did at any fête: drinking away her sanity as she danced with any stranger she found to be as handsome as she was.

The Prince, in his apartment in the West Wing, was spending as much time as needed to pamper himself for the ball. Numerous coats of power concealed his face, with lines of rouge around his cheeks and lips, making them redder against the fairness of his visage. The skin around his eyes was coloured with various shades of gold, shining whenever the light hit them at a certain angle. As he looked into the long mirrors of his room, twirling his extravagant wig and spinning around to show off his newest yellow suit, he smiled at his attractive self and dismissed his cosmetic staff. He only needed a few more minutes to find his coat, a coat he deemed 'too precious' that no one but himself touch it. It had cost him more than half of the houses in Villeneuve combined, seeing as it was made with dazzling jewels at its hems and semiprecious stones at its collars. But as he emptied out the drawers of his closets, unearthed multiple piles of coats and dug through bureaus of silk, he found something hidden behind a shelf in his room, an item he never thought he'd see again, ruined by some cruel trick.

A rage bubbled in his throat as he took the object and rich coat, storming downstairs to the party, not even wanting to look anyone in the eye. Someone was going to pay every inch of their life for this.

A loud clatter on the marble floor stopped the music as the guests parted to make way. The Prince stood by the ballroom entrance, and while everyone was too busy gawking at his expensive coat, his face was contorted into a terrible frown, his arm poised mid-air so that everyone knew that he had thrown whatever he was holding onto the centre of the room.

"Who's done this?!" he yelled angrily, silencing everyone, pointing at the object in front of the crowd.

On the floor was an old frame, encasing the portrait of a man in layers of thick and luxurious clothing against a dark backdrop. His fair face was painted with harsh visible strokes, making an expression of prominence and nobility, creating a very dignified sort of air that demanded respect from whoever gazed upon it. Accompanied by well-sculpted facial features, golden wavy hair that brushed his thin shoulders, fine eyebrows and cheeks, lean neck, and startling blue eyes, the man in the image was obviously a person who believed that his appearance and status was superior than all of France (and at least the former of the two was true). But what made the painting so bewildering were the slash marks over the face of the man, as if an animal had planned to rip it to shreds and thought that one pass of its claws through the canvas was enough to ruin it.

The guests looked puzzled and frowned at each other, while even the Princess blinked in confusion at her betrothed in the frame. The servants, however, shivered in at the very sight of it; they recognised that picture anywhere.

"Who's done this to my portrait?!" the Prince yelled again when nobody responded.

"Master," Cogsworth stepped forward, his hands shaking, "if we tell you the truth, you won't like what we'd have to say."

The Prince's anger grew even larger at that, and he scoffed at his majordomo. "And why would you care over what I like and don't like? Are you afraid of what I'll do to you, Cogsworth? Afraid of what I'll do to your sorry old face?"

The servants glanced at each other with fear, with Plumette hugging her maids as Mrs. Potts kept her son close, Chip blocking his ears and shutting his eyes. Madame de Garderobe was covering her face as her dog, Froufrou, whimpered on his cushion, her husband stretching his fingers with anxiety. Even Lumière looked in terror and awe at the majordomo as he took the hit for all of them. Cogsworth, it seemed, had enough of it and stood up straight, keeping his gaze distant as he clasped his shaking palms behind his back.

"If you want the answer so badly, Master," Cogsworth said, "you did this to your own portrait. Those claw marks were your doing. These words are nothing but truth."

The Prince looked around at his guests, then at Cogsworth, then back at his guests, as if he was looking for their approval, to which his invitees only replied with sceptical and confused faces. Cogsworth let out a breath as Lumière stood at his side, rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

Then suddenly, the Prince burst out into laughter. The entirety of the ballroom was devoid of smiles and sound as he finished, dramatically wiping away his fake tears.

"That truly is a funny joke, jester," the Prince chuckled. "May I call you a jester? Or perhaps I should demote you from majordomo to a court fool, since you love making jokes so much?"

Cogsworth balled his fists. "Master, please, that was not a joke nor did I intend it as such. You made those marks. You scratched that painting and left it there in your room to rot away."

The Prince blinked at his voice and feigned amusement. "Well, so I was the culprit! Oh, what a silly prince I am, slashing away at my own, beautiful, stunning portraits, like a…like a beast!" He began to laugh again, holding his head as his visitors watched in terror, his servants growing both concerned and afraid at the same time. "Please, dear guests, listen to Cogsworth like your pathetic lives depend on it, because he demands he tells the truth! The stupid, poor man!"

Cogsworth felt like he could break apart into pieces any moment. "Master, please, I beg you to—"

"To stop?" the Prince chortled while his entire ballroom listened. "Oh, court jester, but this is too much fun! I thought you would enjoy making fun of yourself; I'm simply helping you!"

"Master," Lumière approached him carefully, putting his hand on the Prince's shoulder, "please, calm down, we can—"

"Don't you touch my coat, you idiot!" the Prince snapped indignantly.

Grabbing Lumière's wrist, the Prince flung the poor maître d' across the room, sending him soaring through the air until he collided back-first onto the long hors d'oeuvre table, making the plates, food, glassware and flower arrangements roll down onto the polished floors with sickening crashes. The servants gawked in panic as they rushed to help Lumière stand up, as Plumette cried in horror at the sight of her lover injured on the table top. Cogsworth struggled to stay standing and fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands while Chip sobbed into Mrs. Potts' dress; Cadenza and Garderobe had looked away, with the singer trying her best to suppress her sobs as her dog barked angrily at the scene. The guests—the Princess included—gasped in bafflement as their eyes darted to the Prince, astonished at his unnatural strength and the act of cruelty directed at his servant.

The Prince, his eyes wide, looked at his hands then back to his court, settling into the shock of what he had done. Then without further warning, he bolted out of the room and back up into his quarters, with the servants to busy attending to Lumière for anyone to follow him back.

"Lumière!" Plumette sobbed as she lifted his head off the tablecloth, the maître d' struggling to get back up; with a bit of blood running down his temple, his dishevelled suit and lopsided wig, he looked like he had gotten out of a brawl. "Lumière, please…are you alright?"

"Plumette…" he muttered, and as he looked around as the servants gathered around him, impressed and terrified at his resiliency and injuries, he broke down into a fit of sobs, his tears running down his powdered face and staining his cravat. "Mon Dieu, Plumette, how can I be alright? How can any of us be alright?"

And he sat there, on the banquet table, crying into his hands as Plumette embraced his head, with the servants around him, in their own way, mourning everything that had happened to them. The rich invitees looked on at the terrible sight, with everyone muttering through fans and whispers on the behaviour of their host. The Princess, meanwhile, only stared at the painting on the floor that had caused the whole skirmish, the ruined portrait of her beloved, with no emotion present on her beautiful face.

Chapter Text

Belle wiped away the frost from her windows and saw her father through it, waving goodbye at him as he trudged through the snowy path of the village, layered with many coats and a sack slung behind his back, off to give his music boxes to those who had asked for them. As he disappeared into Villeneuve, Belle sat back down, warming herself by their little fireplace as she sighed, content and filled with her hearty breakfast. She heard the distant clock tower of their little town chime seven times, muffled by its distance and the snowfall that had come that morning; it was quite surreal that the new year's in Villeneuve was treated like some miscellaneous post-Christmas celebrating, but Belle was grateful for the quiet.

She gazed at the pile of books by the table, remembering that they had been from the Prince's library. Some of them had been her favourites, others had been picked up by chance, and a few of them were the books that he had thrown at her when she was dismissed from the castle forever. Picking up the book closest to her, she looked at the title emblazed in gold and smiled; it had been one of Adam's favourites, as much as he always said that he didn't fancy reading romances.

Guinevere and Lancelot: Compilations of Arthurian Legend.

Flipping to a random page, she quickly recognised a good part of the text to start reading and began.

Though the window is not low, Lancelot gets through it quickly and easily. First he finds Kay asleep in his bed, then he comes to the bed of the Queen, whom he adores and before whom he kneels, holding her more dear than the relic of any saint. And the Queen extends her arms to him and, embracing him, presses him tightly against her bosom, drawing him into the bed beside her and showing him every possible satisfaction; her love and her heart go out to him. It is love that prompts her to treat him so; and if she feels great love for him, he feels a hundred thousand times as much for her. For there is no love at all in other hearts compared with what there is in his; in his heart love was so completely embodied that it was niggardly toward all other hearts.

De Troyes was brilliant, Belle thought, holding the book in her hands. To describe love in such a beautiful passionate way, to put those intangible feelings into words that any fingertip could brush past…it was a work of art.

Now Lancelot possesses all he wants, when the Queen voluntarily seeks his company and love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she holds him in hers. Their sport is so agreeable and sweet, as they kiss and fondle each other, that in truth such a marvellous joy comes over them as was never heard or known. But their joy will not be revealed by me, for in a story, it has no place. Yet, the most choice and delightful satisfaction was precisely that of which our story must not speak. That night Lancelot's joy and pleasure were very great. But, to his sorrow, day comes when he must leave his mistress' side. It cost him such pain to leave her that he suffered a real martyr's agony. His heart now stays where the Queen remains; he has not the power to lead it away, for it finds such pleasure in the Queen that it has no desire to leave her: so his body goes, and his heart remains. But enough of his body stays behind to spot and stain the sheets with the blood which has fallen from his fingers.

Full of sighs and tears, Lancelot leaves in great distress. He grieves that no time is fixed for another meeting, but it cannot be. Regretfully he leaves by the window through which he had entered so happily. He was so badly

Three solid knocks landed on her door. Quickly, she got up, went over to the entrance of her home, and she could only smile at the figure standing there, covered in thick layers of winter coats and holding what appeared to be a wrapped gift in his gloved hands.

"Cogsworth!" Belle enveloped him in a hug, and he seemed so startled by the action that he nearly dropped what he was holding. "Oh, it's so good to see you."

"It isn't just me, you know," Cogsworth leaned over to the side, only to give Belle a view of Lumière and Chapeau by the road in front of her house, who were already dismounting their horses.

The former of the two was rushing towards her, smiling through his many jackets as he gave her a tight embrace. "Joyeux Noël, mon chérie! Ah, it's so good to see you; it really gave us quite the scare when you ran off like that."

Belle smiled weakly as she opened the door for them. "That can be explained over tea."

As she invited them inside, she brewed them a warm kettle and they sat down by the living room, peeling off their large coats and chatting amongst themselves. She couldn't help but smile in their presence, feeling her soul warm up a bit at the prospect of even talking to them again. She was jovial that at least the happy parts of the castle, despite most of them being with Adam, were also due in part to the servants' presence; she was away from the château only for a week, and she was already beginning to miss most of it: Chip running down the kitchens in the morning, chatting with Plumette during the lunch hours, reorganising her library in the afternoons, then being joined shortly in the evening with Adam as they would read together by the—

Belle set her spoon tenderly as she shook her head.

No, there was no more of that.

She set the tea set down and all poured the cups, expecting at least a laugh or a smile from any of them, especially the debonair personality of Lumière; but she was only met with the seriousness of their stares and the gloomy nature of their voices. So when she asked if anything had happened to them in the following weeks of her absence, she didn't expect that what they had to say would completely shatter her gladness. The ensuing conversation quickly turned her bright mood to a dark one upon hearing about what had unfolded that Christmas ball in the Prince's estate. As Cogsworth told the story and Chapeau and Lumière could only nod on, Belle slumped in her couch, looking at her sad teacup as she tried to fight back tears. This melancholy was going to follow her everywhere, no matter how far she ran away to escape it.

"And he just…" Belle made a motion with her arm, as if throwing a disc, "flung you across the ballroom? Like you were nothing? How's your back?"

Lumière offered a weak smile and rubbed his waist. "It could be better."

Belle's heart dropped; it was a relief knowing that she would never have to face that hideous monster in the place of Adam, but now the servants had to suffer the misfortune of still being with him.

Chapeau shrugged.

Cogsworth stirred his hot tea. "At least he requested that no one bother him that evening."

Belle's face contorted into a frown. "Why don't you leave? That's obviously not Adam anymore, so why do you still stay?"

All three of the servants looked at each other, as if considering that option, but Cogsworth's shake of the head convinced them back into servitude to the Prince, as resolute as they were to him in any day.

"We have been through worse curses," Lumière said absent-mindedly. "And we've stuck by him, even then."

"But in this curse," Belle's brows knitted together, "none of it was your fault. It's unfair that you had to be punished."

"And none of it was the Master's fault too, in this case," Cogsworth replied.

Belle's confidence dropped, realising those words were right.

"We know that the curse can be broken," Lumière clenched his fist as Chapeau nodded. "We just do. And that is why we are here, chèrie."

Belle blinked at hearing those words, feeling her heart skip in her throat. "Y-You're here…for me?"

"We knew at that moment that we could not accomlish this feat alone," Lumière spoke, so much hope in his voice that it broke Belle's heart. "Because we know that if anyone can break the curse, it's you."

As she looked around at the servants who observed her with so much conviction, she couldn't help but feel only an ache in her chest where her heart used to be, knowing that setting them down easily wouldn't be one of the kinder things to do. Frankly, she was tired of having her feelings tossed around like it was a pawn in some wicked game of chess, and that she was nothing but some toy for a creature who used to be the man she loved; not to mention the horrible Princess—the cause of their problems—who never wasted a chance to ruin her life and the lives of the servants that she so cared about.

"I…" Belle started, sighing in defeat when the gentle words couldn't make their way to her tongue, "I'm so sorry, all of you, but…but I'm tired of this. Of all of this. I just…I don't want to feel this kind of pain anymore…I'm sorry."

Lumière, much to Belle's alarm, continued to push. "Come now, chèrie! The Belle I knew before wouldn't give up now."

Belle gave a sad smile, but just as she was about to open her mouth to explain that the Belle Lumière knew before was long gone, Cogsworth procured something from his lap, the rectangular wrapped box that he had been holding when she greeted them at the door.

"Here," Cogsworth said as Belle took it from him. "Maybe this will help you think."

"Thank you," Belle stared at it in wonder, beginning to open it.

"We took a great deal of precautions taking it out of the castle," Cogsworth shot a glare at Lumière and Chapeau, who only snickered in response. "If the Master finds out that someone's taken it, then I'll see to it that I resign before he degrades me in front of the whole village."

Belle looked at the box and opened its lids, only to see her reflection staring back at her. Picking up the object in her hands, she stared at her face in a handheld mirror with beautiful gildings of gold and an intricately detailed frame and handle. She knew what it was the moment her fingertips touched it.

"The magic mirror," Belle gasped in amazement. "It's been forever since I've seen it."

Cogsworth groaned. "God, if the Master discovers that we've—"

"He will not, mon amie, rest assured," Lumière said confidently. "Trust me: at this point, he won't care if it's a magic mirror or not, only that he sees his reflection in something."

"Eugh," the majordomo shivered. "He's become as narcissistic as the Princess."

Belle looked into the mirror, and a thought passed like a flicker of a flame: she was tempted to command it to show her Adam. But she was sure that it would only make her case of sadness worse, or it would just upset her to a degree that she didn't want to know about. He could be having tea with his betrothed, walking along the gardens with her, or even worse: taking her to his bedroom and—

"Why did you bring it here to me?" Belle interrupted her thoughts, making sure they went to further.

Chapeau gave an encouraging glance at Lumière, who looked eager to explain the situation.

"Chapeau here has been telling us of your relationship with an old woman here in town who may not be who she seems," the maître d' said. "She visited the castle a few weeks before the Princesse came. You call her Agathe."

"Ah, yes, Agathe," the gears in Belle's mind began to turn, and her face began to beam with the brilliance of their idea.

"Well," Lumière shrugged, "we've heard that she's the woman who…well, who brought you into our lives—yes, that is a better way of putting it. And we thought that since she is more knowledgeable in the magical arts…"

"Of course…" Belle's eyes began to brighten. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? Agathe can help us!" But then the old woman's words returned to her and her mood went back to being sombre. "But there's a problem."

"Which is?" Cogsworth asked.

"Agathe's…not in town at the moment," Belle remembered what the old woman told her when she quickly dropped by the castle in what seemed to be a lifetime ago. "She told me…she had business up north, or something of the like."

"Aha! We perfectly anticipated this moment," Lumière gestured to the mirror like he was serving out a dish. "And that is why we brought this to you."

Belle swore that the mirror had grown heavier in her hands somehow.

"Please," Cogsworth wrung his hands together. "If there's anyone in the whole world who can get the Master out of the state he's in, it's you."

"You have conquered one powerful curse," Lumière encouraged, "so what is one more?"

Belle picked up the mirror tenderly, looking into her own eyes, trying to imagine what could be on the other side of the glass. Maybe her future with Adam wasn't such a dream or a distant fantasy after all, maybe it was closer than she realised, just a few words away. All her questions, all her doubts and mysterious, could be solved with the help of an ally she had forgotten in plain sight.

"Show me Agathe," she commanded the mirror.

In a swirl of bright light, Belle's image faded away from the reflection and was slowly replaced with a snowy landscape. There was no sight of the old lady, only a strong blizzard that had conquered most of the forests and mountains in the background, with a dead tree and a lump of snow at its foot conquering most of the frame. It was odd enough that the mirror didn't show an image of a person, as it should have; maybe it had to do with the fact that Agathe was a magical being that could warp as much enchanted rules as she saw fit. That or…

Belle stood up immediately and grabbed her coat by the fireplace, stuffing the mirror in her belt. "Let's do it. Mount your horses; I'll get Philippe."

All three servants stood up in sudden surprise.

"Attendes quoi?" Lumière exchanged confused glances with his companions. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to find Agathe," Belle pulled the hood over her face, determination flashing in her eyes, "and we're going to save Adam."

"Ack!" the Prince yelped in pain, sneering as Madame de Garderobe whirled around him. "Careful with that!"

"Sorry…" the singer whimpered, circling him one more time with one hand trembling in terror and the other holding a pincushion.

In one of Prince's more lavish parlours, Garderobe observed the Prince's outfit with sharp eyes, trying to find any lose ends or misshapen cufflinks and pinning them so she could repair their broken state later during the day. He was standing in front of a folding screen of mirrors, admiring his handsome appearance through the many powdered and rouged faces that stared back at him smugly, not at all fascinated. His suit was lavishly designed, with sparkling stones dotting the outermost jacket and laces of gold and silver lining the inside's edges. Even his buckled shoes gleamed radiantly with a bright glare, and it would have taken forever for any poor man to count how many curls adorned his profligate wig. The suit itself was multiple shades of blue, growing brighter in spots and dimmer in others, creating some sort of illusion of shifting light whenever the Prince moved.

It had taken Madame de Gardedobe months to craft it with the fabric she had at hand. Though she was finally relieved when she presented it to the Prince, proud of her handiwork, he hardly seemed impressed.

"These sleeves are terrible," he remarked with a groan of disgust, much to Garderobe's embarrassment. "They hardly fit me, they're too lose, and by God, they're incredibly itchy and irritating to my smooth skin. Do you know how long it takes me to bathe in the morning to keep my skin this flawless?"

Garderobe was being pushed to the limits of her patience with each word that escaped his reddened mouth, but she feigned an act, for now. "The insides are lined with silk, Master. Cotton was too soft a fabric to support the coat—"

"I don't care what cloth you use or what method you prefer to sew with," he interjected. "If I'm uncomfortable in this, then it's garbage."

Garerobe's heart shattered at that insult of what she considered her finest work being dismissed as garbage. She spotted another loose fold and pinned it properly, careful not to injure the Prince in the process.

"Ugh," he groaned again, trying different kind of poses in his mirror. "Some wedding day suit this is."

Garedobe was fed up and let some seething words go from her tongue. "Well, Master, I consider it one of my finest works, if that should comfort you at all."

"It doesn't," he sneered, only inciting more annoyance from the singer.

"Have you looked at your wardrobe?" she tried to say as kindly as possible. "Perhaps there's something there that you like me to improve or to combine to make a suit better for your tastes." Her mind ran through all of the attires she had made over the Prince in the past years. "The one with studded stones on the outer coat?"

His displeased scowl even grew at the sound of it. "No, God. That one was too garish for my liking."

At this point, the castle should be too garish for your liking. "Then what about the dark blue one, the colour of the night sky? You know…the one you wore as a…" She gestured with her hands, as if not wanting to continue the sentence, but he raised a perfectly manicured brow in confusion.

"I don't have the slightest idea about what you're saying," he said with a monotone voice.

Madame de Garderobe froze. He couldn't have forgotten that suit; that night had been one of the more memorable nights in his life. "The one with the gold lining and velvety texture…when you danced with…"

"Danced with who?" the Prince frowned, his annoyance growing by the second. "Madame, you are not making the least bit of sense."

That shut Garderobe up. She closed her mouth and licked her lips, not wanting to continue to the conversation if she knew very well where it went. And it definitely wasn't in her favour. It was written there, in his frightening, pink eyes: he remembered nothing about his time as the Beast, or the enchanted objects, or Belle, most importantly. Garderobe knew that the curse that the Princess had cast was real, yes, but she never imagined it to damage him this much.

"Oh, then forget whatever I said," Garderobe dismissed, giving a nervous smile. "It's just me and my absurd thoughts."

"Absurd thoughts," the Prince reiterated. "Those should be the least of my worries; my wedding day is in less than a week and all of you procrastinated my nuptial preparations." And he gestured to the tail of his coat. "Make this a little shorter, would you?"

The snowstorm beat on them hard, and they moved like tiny pebbles fighting off an ocean wave. The path going north of Villeneuve had long vanished under the heaps of snow, and the tall bare trees bent to the will of the breezes that compelled them to. They had been travelling for what seemed to be hours, so that meant Villeneuve was going to be a steady and terrible trip back, but it wasn't that distant to be considered a day's journey. Belle took the lead, with Philippe galloping valiantly against the strong wind and bitter cold that pelted on them in the form of icy gusts. Lumière followed close behind Belle while Cogsworth struggled to even keep them in sight. Meanwhile, Chapeau seemed to be the one battling the weather with ease, going around obstacles and riding through the snow as if the season was spring.

Belle, with one gloved hand on Philippe's reigns and the magic mirror in the other, constantly looked between their fierce landscape and the image the mirror constantly showed her. However, the mirror showed the same image of a lump of snow against a tall dead tree, with the mountains standing as a background; it lasted no more than a few minutes, because after what seemed a short while, the picture would dissipate back into nothingness.

"Show me Agathe!" Belle yelled at the mirror for the umpteenth time, and the swirl of magic revealed the very same picture of that very same lump of snow.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Cogsworth yelled amidst the flurry. "How can we even deduce where she is?"

"I don't know!" Belle yelled back, trying to construe the image then referring to the landscape, trying to find something similar to it. "I don't even know what we're looking for!"

"Maybe that image is not what it appears to be!" Lumière suggested, stopping his horse. "Perhaps she's hiding!"

"From what?" Belle asked.

And from the corner of her eye, she saw Lumière gasp and point at something in the distance. "Chèrie, look ou—!"

Belle turned just in time to scream and steer Philippe out of the way, as the horse bucked and neighed in alarm as a wolf attempted to pounce on him. As the wolf's jaws were met with nothing but snow, the horses of everyone whinnied in fear as they galloped into a random direction.

"Run!" Belle yelled, clutching the mirror as tightly as she could.

Lumière, Cogsworth and Chapeau followed her quickly into the winter forest, their destination the last thing on their minds as the wolf growled and began his pursuit. From either side of them, more wolf eyes appeared from the trees and ran with equal speed of the horses. No matter how fast Belle begged Philippe to go, he could only gallop so well in the thick snow, snow that the padded paws of their enemies were quick to traverse.

Once they reached a clearing next in which a tall dead tree stood in the middle, the horses all formed a circle, back to back, as the wolves prowled around them from all sides. Belle was frightened, with those terrible eyes and sharp teeth looking back and placing fear into the eyes of her companions and their horses, but her resolve was stronger. Quick to dismount her horse, she stood in front of the servants, her arms spread, and ready to defend them as the storm howled around her.

"I won't let you hurt them!" she yelled to the wolves.

But as the wolves were stalking towards her, ready to pounce, a warm yellow light appeared from behind the tree and shone so brightly that the wolves backed away in fear, whimpering as they regrouped. As much as they tried to snarl, the light would only shine brighter, until they slinked back to the forest in fear, away from Belle and her companions. As Belle was trying to fathom the situation, the light began to dim, and she and the servants looked behind her, only to see a cloaked woman reaching out with a hand from a pile of snow at the foot of the tree, the dying light emanating from her fingertips.

Belle gasped as she ran towards the woman, helping her out of the pile of snow (which she had seen in the mirror, she now understood). Lumière and Chapeau were quick to assist her as Cogsworth was doing his best to calm the horses down. Belle grabbed one of the woman's arms, Lumière helped her up the other as Chapeau pulled her to her feet. As much as they helped her try to stand, it seemed as if her legs were too weak and she collapsed onto the snow.

"Agathe!" Belle shouted her name, quick to help her to her feet again. "Agathe, it's me!"

"B…Belle?" the old woman answered weakly, staring into her eyes for only a split second through her hood. "W…Why are you here..?"

"We can explain everything later," Belle carried her onto Philippe with the maître d' and the butler. "But for now, you have to stay with me."

"I…" Agathe managed as Belle mounted her horse, holding the old woman close to her. She couldn't finish her sentence, as her cold eyes fluttered shut and she fell into unconsciousness.

"It really is her?" Cogsworth asked as Lumière and Chapeau got up on their steeds.

Belle nodded quickly, stuffing the mirror into her robe. "We have to get her to Villeneuve, now!"

The servants wasted no time dawdling and sped their horses off into the direction of the village as the snow continued as best as it could to hinder their voyage.

Chapter Text

The blizzard had begun to dwindle over the course of a day, until it had become nothing but a gentle snowfall during the late afternoon. Belle watched from the shelter of her cottage roof as Chapeau mounted his horse and waved to her. She couldn't help but muster a charming wave back as Cogsworth exited the door, donning his coat and fixing his wig; bringing the majordomo into an embrace, she could only sigh into his shoulder as they broke from each other. Never had she felt the reserved and prudent Cogsworth this tense.

"I hope Lumière won't be much of a trouble to you," the majordomo sighed. "I know he only wants to stay to help you, but please send him back if you feel like he's causing too much trouble." A huff left him. "That means I'll expect him tonight, at the latest."

That garnered a laugh from Belle. "Oh, I'm sure he won't be a problem." She stayed silent for a while as Cogsworth fixed the collars of his jacket. "I'm sorry too, by the way."

Cogsworth blinked. "About what?"

"About…not giving you a Christmas gift; I'm so sorry, it's just that I didn't expect you to come at all. If only I'd known that you were going to show up at my door…"

Cogsworth, unusually, gave her a warm smile and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're back in the fight to win over the Master from the curse. That's more than enough to repay the whole castle staff."

Belle felt her heart glow as she said her final goodbyes to both Cogsworth and Chapeau, waving until they disappeared into the path leading out of the village towards the Prince's castle, where they were sure to encounter more than a dastardly curse. She just hoped that she had gifted them with enough courage and confidence to brave the trials that awaited them.

As Maurice was busy cooking up another warm bowl of soup in the kitchen and Lumière was reading up on The Nature of Spells and Magicks that she had taken from the Prince's estate, Belle was seated on the bed, watching as the old woman drank the last of her soup du jour, covered by blankets and sweaters as the fireplace roared on beside her.

"Feeling better?" Belle asked tenderly.

"Yes, very much," Agathe replied, setting the bowl down on the bedside table and giving her a smile. "I can't thank you enough for saving me like that."

Belle wanted to say you're welcome, but then she had too much queries pushing against her tongue to get the words out. It had taken two days for Agathe to recover to the state she was in right now, but she was still bedridden and had to depend on multiple bowls of soup and hot cups of tea to keep herself warm. In that span of time, Belle was trying to put together the mystery of the Princess and Adam's new curse by herself, but she knew that she had to implore Agathe's help. But where to start?

"I know you have questions," Agathe said, looking at the fire. "I'll try to answer them as best as I can."

Belle didn't know what to begin with, but the first thing that came to her mind was enough. "What…is the Princess?"

"Ah, Hanneliese," Agathe gave a sad smile, as if recalling a sad memory. "You call her as you call me: an Enchantress."

"So we were right," Belle felt a little victory well up in her chest for her and the servant's efforts for pinpointing that correctly. "But there's…more of you?"

Agathe nodded. "There are only seven of us that can exist at a given time, and Hanneliese and I are two of those seven. See, dear Belle, we're not exactly immortal, nor are we human beings."

Belle's brows knitted in confusion, trying to take it all in. "So…what are you?"

Agathe opened her palms, and tiny yellow sparks emerged from her fingertips as she cast little images into the air, forming outlines of creatures from those tiny lights. With a wave of her hand, the beams aligned themselves to form seven women standing in a straight line. Belle could only gasp in amazement.

"Your kind used to call my ancestors angels, some demons, others witches," Agathe explained, a kind light in her gold eyes. "But I prefer Enchantress, it has a much more magical tone to it. We are celestial beings sent to humanity to purge it of the seven sins that are destined to plague it, each Enchantress corresponding to one sin."

As the seven women descended onto a group of sparks made to look like a crowd, Belle blinked, astonished. "So what's the sin assigned to you?"

A flick of her wrist, and the sparks changed to make themselves into the picture of a lavish castle, and inside the castle, a bumptious and extravagant prince danced with hundreds of women in profligate gowns inside a sparkling ballroom. Then an old woman entered the doors, offering a rose in her withered hand in front of the disgruntled prince. Then as he denied her, the old woman's cloak faded away to give birth to the shining image of an Enchantress, who, with little lights billowing from her mouth, turned the frightened prince into a hideous and horned beast.

"Pride," Agathe said as Belle watched the story of Adam unfold before her. "That Prince was too haughty, self-indulgent, vain and unkind, so I made him humble. I cast that spell upon him to right his wrongs and purge the sin from his life."

Then the sparks whirled around the beast and he was suddenly a human, happy and content. Belle couldn't help but giggle as the prince spun around jovial in his newfound state.

"That's my job," Agathe continued as the prince was joined with a young maiden, and they danced together through the air, her deft fingers guiding them. "I find people who are too arrogant, too peremptory, and I strip them down so they may find modesty and meekness."

Belle was slowly beginning to understand. "So what's the Princess' sin?"

"Lust," Agathe replied, and the sparks formed the shape of a heart. "But, sadly, she is still young and prone to abuse her powers."

"Young?" Belle was once again confused. "But I thought that you were celestial creatures."

"But I did say that we weren't immortal," Agathe explained, and her index finger spun around as the sparks formed the image of an old woman, who began to wither away on a deathbed. "We Enchantresses live very long—as I am nearly a century old—but we are still afflicted by age. At the very moment we die, our duties pass on to the next human being that is born at that exact moment."

Then, in the spark image, the tiny lights flew around the old woman, and as she died, they immediately went flying across the space to surround a couple whose baby was crying in the mother's arms, the flashes making the baby glow as it giggled.

"Hanneliese is still learning," Agathe said sombrely. "She has discovered what her powers can do and abuses them to satisfy her needs, not to help those afflicted by things like lovesickness."

"I think it's safe to say she's infected with lovesickness herself," Belle cracked a smile, and the Enchantress laughed.

"I had learned she was coming to France," Agathe closed her palms and the sparks faded away into nothingness, "so I was called to the north to seek her out before she could do any damage. But she knew I was coming, somehow, and trapped me in a snowstorm for days. I was just lucky that I was able to survive; without you, I don't know if I could have gotten out of there."

Belle looked to the fire and wanted to get lost in the way it danced. They stayed silent for a while as Agathe closed her eyes, and seemed to meditate on the crackling of the fireplace.

"You…" Belle began, knowing that Agathe was in a better position to talk about all the events that had unfolded. "You know about Adam already, right?"

"Your father told me everything," Agathe said, eyes still closed.

Belle tried to form the sentence in her head, but Agathe seemed to read her mind.

"You think Adam has a curse," she went on, "cursed by Hanneliese to fall in love with him, losing his memories of my curse and making him back to the way he was before."

Belle could only nod, amazed by the accuracy of which Agathe's words cut. "I don't…understand why. Why she would do all of this, why she would curse him to hate the servants, go back to how he used to."

"It's very simple, my dear. I'm surprised you didn't get the answer yet." Agathe's eyes opened slowly and she looked at Belle with her piercing yellow eyes, as human as they could be and as ethereal as the sun. "She loves the Prince, and they are genuine feelings, just as genuine as yours. But he loves you, and…well, she couldn't have you ruining their wedding portrait, now could she?"

Belle stayed silent, trying to look at it from the Princess' perspective. It had never really occurred to her that the Princess could also love Adam genuinely; if anything, it was reasonable for her to fall for the Prince. He was kind, sweet, generous, extremely handsome…at least, after coming out of his curse a changed man. She couldn't condemn the Princess for her feelings, because they were also feelings Belle had in her heart. They both loved Adam, and there was nothing wrong with feeling love. Belle had never really thought about it that way, only living to antagonise the Princess and all of her misdeeds; perhaps they were done out of a mad, possessive love for him, and that's what set her apart from Belle. However, down to her core, she wanted to marry him out of love, something Belle would have done as well if not for the complicated circumstances around her.

"Do you know how to break the curse?" Belle asked, praying Agathe knew.

But Agathe's eyes dropped onto her palms and she gave a melancholy sigh. "I'm sorry, Belle, but…I only know how to undo curses I myself cast. I don't know how. I'm walking into this just as blind as you."

Belle's hopes fell from heaven and landed with a sickening crash in her stomach.

"Although…" Agathe mused, her beautiful face contorted into a frown in thought. "You don't have to do this alone. I do know a basic bit about love spells; maybe we can try to find a cure together."

Belle's once-broken heart began to thump with an excited vigour and she rushed to hug the old woman. "Oh, thank you, Agathe!"

"You're welcome, my dear," Agathe broke from her and gave her a kiss on her forehead. "Now, let's try to break Hanneliese's curse apart and see if there's anything we can do to undo it. Begin by telling me what he does when he's in it. How does he act? What does he say? Was there any stage of progression?"

The memories of the entire affair flew by Belle's mind quickly, and she was swift to form them into sentences. "I think it started when he threatened to uproot the white roses and take apart the library. Then I touched his hand, and suddenly, it seemed that he was back to normal, only he didn't remember that the Princess cursed him…and he also had visions of…me falling and dying, and things like that."

Agathe nodded in understanding. "Was this the first time you noticed a change in him?"

"Yes," Belle answered. "Then during the days after, he was noticeably rude to me and the servants, calling them names, wearing flashy and expensive clothing; even Mrs. Potts said he had reverted to his old self again."

"Have you tried touching him then?"

"Yes, but it didn't work. He continued to be a terrible man. It had gotten to a point where he seemed to forget about his turning into a beast. The night he dismissed me from the castle, I tried to…" and she faltered, remembering the very distant taste of his lips and the feeling of his warm arms around hers; the tears began to prick through her eyelids, and Agathe put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"True love's kiss," Agathe finished. "It didn't work."

Belle wiped away the tears furiously and regained her composure. "I also noticed his eyes had changed colour."

"His eyes changed colour?" Agathe reiterated, curious. "What colour were they?"

"Pink," Belle replied straightforwardly.

"Hmm…" Agathe leaned on the bed's headboard, trying to ponder the situation. "I think I'm beginning to understand what Hanneliese did, the clever lady."

"What?" Belle asked, eager to understand. "Do you know how to break the curse now?"

"In a way," Agathe answered. "See, Hanneliese cursed the Prince to love her, erasing his affections for you in his mind and replacing them with affections for her. Maybe his feelings for you were connected to his memories as the Beast, and that's why he began to forget all of those things when under the curse. She seemed to have strengthened her enchantment in the process, so that's why between you touching him, the latter instance didn't seem to work."

Belle nodded in understanding. "But that doesn't explain the visions of me…perishing."

Agathe's face fell at the prospect of that sentence. "That's…where the curse gets complicated, my dear. The Prince's mind has already been through one curse, so he's vigilant enough to detect another one when it's been cast on him. Visions like those only seem to come subconsciously, like hints as to how to break it."

Belle's heart jumped to her throat in fear. "So that means that…the only way for me to break the curse is to die…?"

Agathe shook her head. "I don't know, my dear…I don't know."

Belle looked to a table in the corner of the room, hopeless and dejected, until her keen eyes spotted The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare peeking out from the bookshelf.

"Qu'elle?!" Lumière gasped in shock as Belle finished. "That's a terrible idea!"

"And it's rather dangerous," Agathe added.

As the winter morning snow subsided and the Villeneuve marketplace grew as hectic as ever, Belle had just finished telling Lumière and Agathe her plans on how to revive Adam from the curse. It didn't seem as appealing to any of the two as they strolled down the vegetable and flower aisle, as the Enchantress was exchanging seeds, leaves, roots, and flora for coin. Lumière had to hold on to her basket as she stuffed them in, while Belle had to constantly watch and support her if ever her still weak legs gave in. Villagers buzzed around them, complaining about the quality of the fish they were given or exchanging gossip about the visiting theatre troupe.

"Well, we don't know what else to do," Belle protested. "If what Agathe said about the curse breaking is true, then it just might work!"

"And kill you," Lumière stressed.

Agathe simply listened on and turned to the vegetable salesperson. "Yarrow root please…yes, thank you."

"I've been reading up on something called animal magnetism," Belle explained, bringing out a book from her sash and turning to the page, "and it's like putting someone into a trance. Maybe that's something that Adam's under…and it says here that to break someone out of the mesmerism, you have to trigger them out of the trance through a memory of equal trauma."

"You are not putting your life at risk for a man who doesn't even remember you," Lumière reprimanded, as Agathe stuffed henbane flowers she had asked from the florist into the basket and paid her back in coin.

"And yet he put his life on the line for me," Belle retorted, much to her surprise. "And besides, my plan coincides with his visions about breaking the curse."

Lumière sighed. "I'm telling you now, ma chèrie, doing this is perilous. And besides, even if it did work and you break the Master out of the curse, don't you think it would break his heart when he's back to normal?"

Belle opened her mouth to say something, but then the words died at her lips and she straightened them into a thin line.

"May I have those aniseed?" Agathe pointed to the box of flower-shaped fruit, where the seller picked up a handful of them and gave her a pouch of it.

"But it won't kill me, like you all think," Belle pleaded again as Agathe stuffed her seed into the basket Lumière held. "I can…I can go down to the apothecary and get some of the—"

"No, you are not getting your tonics from some doctor down the street," Agathe interjected, turning at Belle sharply, her hood nearly falling off her head. The Enchantress sighed in defeat, and looked one more time at the green she had accumulated in her basket. "I think I have enough ingredients to make you something that will easily lessen the chance of your fatality. But to make it work, the potion I will make for you needs two crucial ingredients that will be difficult for you to get."

Belle nodded, her heart quivering in her chest. "Name them and we'll get them, even if we have to travel all the way to England or the New World."

Agathe smiled in amusement at Belle's resolve. "Not that far, but hard for your heart to do. I need a rose from the Prince's garden, and a lock of his hair."

Belle could feel her throat close up and her fists tighten; the very idea of being sent back to the castle triggered in her a fear that threatened to shut off all of her determination. But then she thought of her Prince, her Adam, who she knew, somehow and somewhere, was fighting to be freed from the curse. And she had given up once, she couldn't afford to give up a second time. She had to meet him halfway, whatever the cost.

"I'll do it," Belle's firmness shone in her hazel eyes. "We can leave tonight."

Philippe nearly bucked off in fear at the sight of the castle gates as Lumière, not far behind her, tried to calm down his steed, who was neighing in alarm. The tall spires of the château pierced the cold evening clouds as the moon shone in full view dauntingly behind it, casting long shadows over the gardens, which were blanketed in snow. The cold stone of the pillars, marble of the balustrades, and the welcome air of the verandas seemed to have lost their charm, only dimmed by the winter atmosphere that surrounded it. All the windows in the castle were dark, except for one faint candlelight that shone in a few giant windows of the castle; Belle knew the entire place well enough to determine that it was her library.

"So…" Lumière pondered as Belle pulled her hood over her head. "Do you want to…go get the rose and I'll get his hair?"

"No," Belle said, her eyes transfixed on the library window. "I'll be the one to get his hair."

Lumière seemed disturbed by her words. "C-Chèrie, I understand if you're uncomfortable with…"

"I'll get his hair," Belle said with conviction, looking back at the maître d' with a smile. "It's alright, Lumière, I can do this."

Eliese sat next to her lover in the library as he slept on a pile of books, his warm breath turning a few open pages as he used them as pillows. A dying fireplace roared somewhere in the corner of the room, below the portrait of his father, as the many girandoles hanging from the walls sheltered the room in a dim light. The table her Prince rested on was filled with pages of tomes of miscellaneous names; it seemed that he had fallen asleep reading in this massive heap of a wasted room. Oh, it could have been a ballroom so long ago, but that hideous literate peasant girl had to go and ruin her beautiful plan.

"My dear sweet Adam," Eliese cooed, running her fingers through his untied hair. "Meine Geliebter…oh, how I adore you. We'll be married in a few days, can you believe it? I know you love me as much as I love you, and someday, those feelings will become real."

He muttered something in his sleep as her hand went to caress his chin, his fast-growing stubble rough against her fingertips as he flinched at her touch.

"They have to be…" she whispered, her smile vanishing, replaced by worry and determination. "They have to be."

And she pressed a kiss to his forehead as she walked away, eager to sleep and get to bed. The night was still very young and she had much resting to catch up on; she couldn't afford to look like a risen corpse on her wedding day. Getting her night coat from the chair, she put it on her shoulders deftly and proceeded to walk out of the room, her footsteps quiet against the door. But then a sudden sense dawned upon her and she stopped just as she came under the doorframe, smiling slyly and looking in both directions down the dark hallways. She crossed her arms and put her nose up in the air, defiant and confident.

"Who's there?" she called out into the darkness. "Come on, I know you're hiding."

Silence responded to her, cold and distant.

"Very well," she huffed, satisfied no one truly was there as she made her way to her room. It must have been her enchanted senses working against her again; they did often fluctuate when she was nervous about something.

As the Princess walked down the dark hallway, however, Belle emerged from the shadow of the humongous door of her library and, quickly bolted into the room before the doors shut with a huge thud that she feared would wake up the whole castle staff. But Belle breathed a huge sigh of relief as she leaned against the doors, pulling off her hood as her eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the library she once called hers.

The bookshelves were still there, thank God, and it looked almost like it used to. But, like the rest of the castle as she made her way there, it seemed dead, empty, broken, like it used to during Agathe's curse. The fireplace that lit the room well-enough to be seen from the outside crackled there, as the bookshelves seemed untouched, as did the piles of tomes on the desks. Her lists were still there, so were her pencils, and her piles of Shakespeare, Voltaire, and Rousseau. But what truly caught her attention was that right on a desk in the middle of her library, slept a human being who she never thought she would see again. Her eyes blinked back tears at the very sight of him as she approached, brandishing a pair of small scissors from her belt.

She thought that all feelings of him were gone, but the moment she was standing above him as his eyelids fluttered in a dream, his breath steady as his arms were tucked under his head, her heart melted and she let a sad sigh leave her. He was dressed in nightwear: a thin shirt, simple pants and a pair of dull boots, all cloaked underneath an earth-coloured banyan…he almost looked like he did the day the messengers from Heilig arrived, when he kissed her in the library for what seemed like the last time he did. Without the cosmetics, his face still retained its beautiful shape, its hard lines and chiseled features, with his soft lips parted to let out his breaths and his eyes hidden beneath their lids.

"Adam…" his name left her lips almost like he drew them out.

But then he stirred a little, almost as if she woke him, and she flinched in shock, but sighed in relief as he went back to sleep.

Staying silent to make sure that she would hear footsteps, she leaned in closer to him, and took a small lock of his hair in her shaking fingers. With a quick snip of her scissors, she drew back and stuffed the lock of his silken hair into one of the many pockets of her skirts, going back to reach down and brush the stray hair back around his ear.

She thought that all of the memories had been buried within her, stuck somewhere deep in the past she knew that she would never have again, together with her determination to ever fight for him. But the servants and Agathe renewed that spirit within her, and the feelings she thought she had forgotten blossomed in her chest as she traced her fingers across his stubble and face, captivated by the visage she once loved and began to love again. The sight of him like this only continued to fuel in her a fire of resolve, resolve that saw she would once again get her happily ever after with him.

"I'll make this right, Adam," she whispered to him, retracting her hand from his warm skin. "I'll make this right."

And as quickly and quietly as she came, she left the library, the embers of the fireplace beginning to dim.

The snow fell around Villeneuve and the surrounding areas gracefully; this was the day of the marriage.

Belle stuffed The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet into the satchel attached to Philippe's saddle, her heart thumping in her chest, her skin shivering despite the coat that kept her warm. Lumière, who seemed even more worried than her, mounted his horse and watched her with an anxious expression. Maurice looked on as his daughter, the light of his life and his only joy, was adjusting Philippe's stirrups, fixing the hood of her coat as it fell when she often moved. Once she was satisfied, she walked over to her father, her breath laden with apprehension but her eyes shining with firmness.

"Belle," he said, his voice starting to shake as he handed over an envelope to her. "This is it, today's the day."

She smiled sadly as she took the envelope from him and opened it, only to see a handwriting in flamboyant script decorating its pungent parchment.

Monsieur or Madame:

As a settler in the nearby village of Villeneuve, Vendôme of the region of France, you are hereby invited to the matrimonial celebration of Prince Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou and Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia von Heilig, which will be held on the —^th of January, in the new year of our Lord 17—. The ceremony will begin at noontime at the chapel of the Château Bourdillou, and the reception ball will be held immediately after. Please present this invitation as a token of your entrance to the reception ball.

Thank you and God bless you and your family.

"He had sent these letters out weeks ago," Maurice explained as Belle folded it and stuffed it into her pocket. "A messenger came riding into town and he gave one to every single family in the village."

Her lips quirked up in a smile, giving him a large embrace. "Thank you, Papa."

"Oh, Belle," he sighed, holding her close. "I know what you're going to do is dangerous, and if you don't recover from it…I'll…oh, God…"

Belle's eyes flew open when his voice began to crack. She quickly drew back, and seeing that Maurice was trying his best to fight the tears that sprung at the edges of his lids just crushed her. He was more than her father; he was a friend, a companion, perhaps the only one in Villeneuve (other than Agathe) who accepted her for who she was and nurtured her as best as he could in the absence of her mother. He had been through so much, suffered too much, and was rewarded too little, and if she was to break his heart, she would never forgive herself.

"I won't go that easily, Papa," Belle reassured him. "I won't go without saying goodbye. I'll survive and come back from you. I swear I will."

That elicited a comforting smile from her father and they embraced each other tight, one last time, as the door to their little cottage opened. Out stepped Agathe, cloaked in her hood as she walked over slowly towards Belle, holding a small corked vial.

"Here it is," the Enchantress gave the bottle to Belle, and the glass felt cold in her hands. "I tried the best I could to remove its fatal properties. Hopefully it works more like a sleeping potion instead…a very potent sleeping potion."

Belle held up the bottle to her eye level, sloshing the liquid inside. It was not as viscous as she thought it would be; it was almost like water, but its colour was gold, and it almost shone like it whenever it bubbled and moved. As she pocketed the vial carefully, she felt herself gulp nervously; this was the game-changer, the balancing factor, the thing that would—if it worked according to plan—win back her Prince.

The strong winds of the winter seemed to be assisting her, pushing Philippe and Lumière's horse closer and closer through the snow-covered pathways and towards the silhouette of the castle. It began to emerge out of the clouds, like a wraith from the light, and loomed over her like it did all those months ago, when she came galloping towards it, looking to save her father. But now, she was going towards it for a different purpose…she was going to save Adam. She could hear bells toll in the distance, calling one and all to witness a union of two souls, to be bound together until death. The vial was cold against the skin of her dress, despite being layered with multiple cloaks, and she shivered, her heart pounding in anticipation and fear. She was throwing her life into a cruel gamble for a man who didn't even recognise her as a human being.

"We're almost there, chèrie!" Lumière yelled at her through the snow. "If you have to do it, do it now!"

Belle's hands shook as she took the vial from her pocket, the gold potion growing brighter in her hands as she neared the castle. As she popped the cork, she swallowed her nervousness as her entire being began to tremble in fear of the unknown.

"And chèrie," Lumière said from beside her, marooning his horse to meet beside Philippe as he looked into her eyes. "Thank you for this valiant sacrifice. You have no idea what it means to me and the servants. You are braver than all of us, than all the world, for true love."

That at least comforted Belle as she raised the vial to her lips. "I'll see you, Lumière. Until we meet again."

And she raised her head as she drank down the potion in one gulp. But just as she swallowed it, her vision began to spin, and her senses began to die off, one by one. Despite all of numbness gripping her body, it was painless and felt like nothing, as if she was descending slowly into a lake of peacefulness. A large throbbing in her head took over her and she collapsed from her horse as Lumière yelled her name, and the last thing she ever saw was the maître d' dismounting his horse and shouting as her vision faded away.

Chapter Text

The wedding bells were loud in his ears as he waited, hands clasped in anticipation as he waited at the altar, watching as the entire chapel, decorated in white and pink ribbons and flowers, was swarmed with the murmurings and whispers of people.

On the right pew, his Princess' side, were all of her subjects, sans her parents, who only sent their regards through their letters the other day; all of them looked like they typical sycophant or snob, pompous and arrogant, and the Prince could almost scoff in disdain. On the left pew, his side, were most of the villagers from Villeneuve, with some faces he could remember from his parties, pretty maids and daughters of old blacksmiths and hatters. At the far back, the entirety of the servants were dressed in bland colours, exchanging nervous and defeated glances with each other; Mrs. Potts was cradling her son to her lap as Chip was trying his best not to cry, Plumette clutched her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyelids whenever she felt the slightest bit of tears, and Chapeau only hugged himself and bowed in loss. Cogsworth, being one of the masters of the ceremony, was sitting in front in a fancy suit, his disposition nervous, as he tried to shake his head whenever Madame de Garderobe and Cadenza, near the organ by the side of the chapel, locked eyes with him. In front of the Prince, the parish chaplain Père Robert held a copy of the Bible in his hands, donned in an intricately detailed stole that looked much unseemly for the simple friar. Lumière was nowhere to be found.

Normally the ceremony would have started the moment that the Prince entered the chapel, hand in arm with his mother, the late Madeleine Giselle of Plamondon, and she would dismiss him at the end, letting go of him with a kind and maternal smile. But there was none of that now…since her presence usually came with condolences and the word 'late' before her name.

But that mattered little to the Prince. This was his wedding day; he wasn't going to let emotions get in the way now.

Then the bells tolled even louder as the front doors to the chapel opened, hushing silence all over the place as the guests stood up. About a dozen young ladies clothed in white entered the sanctum, bouquets of pink or white flowers bundled up in their hands, as they surrounded a woman with a thick and opaque veil obscuring her face. Her long white train of a gown was being hoisted by more girls, her head crowned with a garland of lilies and roses, as she held a wad of thick allium in her gloved fingers. The bride's procession was accompanied by Cadenza's loud wedding march that blasted over the pipes of the organ, allowing the sound to echo over the massive ceilings of the church.

Adam let go a sigh that he didn't know he was holding. This was it, the day that he had finally been waiting for his whole life…

Wait, but what came before he met Eliese…? Was there a memory gap of some sort? If so, how come he couldn't remember any of the—?

He quickly feigned a smile when he felt his face contort into a frown. Now wasn't the time for reminiscing, it was for celebrating.

Once the bride reached the altar, the organ music stopped to a deafening halt as did the wedding bells. Adam gently took her gloved hand and they knelt together in front of the large crucifix, before Père Robert to forever bind them, in both the eyes of the law and of their God.

"Brothers and sisters through God," Père Robert began, reading from his book as he raised his hand. "We are gathered together in the sight of God to witness and bless the joining together of His Royal Highness Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou of Vendôme and Her Imperial Highness Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia of Heilig, in marriage. Prince Adam Bourdillou of Vendôme and Princess Hanneliese Fedovia of Heilig come before us today to give themselves to one another in this holy and blessed covenant.

"I implore you now, in the presence of God and all of these people, to declare your intention to enter into union with one another through the grace of Jesus Christ, who calls you into union with himself as acknowledged in your baptism."

Père Robert turned to the bride, and spoke loudly. "Princess Hanneliese Fedovia of Heilig, will you have Prince Adam Bourdillou of Vendôme to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honour him, and keep him, in sickness and in heath, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

The bride made the smallest bows of her head, and despite how soft her voice sounded, the entire chapel of people could hear her. "I will."

And here, Père Robert turned to the groom. "Prince Adam Bourdillou of Vendôme, will you have Princess Hanneliese Fedovia of Heilig to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honour her, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

Adam mustered all of the conviction his heart could hold and pushed it to his mouth. "I will."

The friar stood straight and gestured to the audience, flipping his Bible to a latter page and clearing his throat for him to read. "Now, for the scripture passage. A reading from the Song of Solomon:

"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned."

As he read, Adam couldn't help but look to the side, where the face of his to-be wife was concealed by the most solid of cloth that he couldn't see her shimmering eyes or see any of the contours of her face. But he was convinced beyond belief that hidden behind that veil was the love of his life, his future. She seemed to have the same idea as well, because her head lifted up, as if she would have wanted to lock eyes with him.

"Now, let us pray," and Père Robert gestured for the couple to stand.

Adam assisted the bride in doing so, as her magnificent gown allowed her little room for her legs to help her stand. Only when she was upright did the pastor allow them to hold hands, facing each other.

"May the groom repeat after me," the friar said, and he cleared his throat. "In the name of God, I, state your name…"

"In the name of God," Adam repeated, solemn, "I, Adam Sauvageon Bourdillou…"

"Take you, Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia, to be my wife."

"Take you," Adam smiled, "Princess Hanneliese Katharina Fedovia, to be my wife."

Père Robert adjusted the way he held his book. "To have and to hold from this day forward."

"To have and to hold from this day forward."

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer."

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer." Adam seemed to hiss the last word as if it was something that he was disgusted to say.

"In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish."

"In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish."

"Until we are parted by death, this is my solemn vow."

"Until we are parted by death, th—"

Suddenly, the doors to the chapel burst open, and a figure stood there, covered by winter coats and specks of snow as he ran on his thin legs towards the altar. Spectators gasped and people began to murmur, while the eyes of the servants looked upon the newcomer in fear and anticipation. Père Robert dropped his book in shock, while the bride simply growled in frustration; Adam himself frowned and let the rage boil up inside him. No one was going to ruin his wedding day, and simply not in a scandalous scenario such as this.

As the figure approached the altar, Adam recognised him as his pathetic maître d'. He looked like he had been out in the cold for too long, and by the time he reached the foot of the stairs, his legs gave in and he collapsed, gasping for air. As he heaved, his breaths were pained, and his eyes were red as though he had been crying. But Adam couldn't care less; he was so tempted to slap him back into a pew for interruption is marriage in this fashion.

"Master…" Lumière panted, "Master…there's an…there's an emergen—"

But a yelp replaced the word as Adam grabbed him angrily by his collar and lifted him up into the hair with an amount of strength that should have been possessed by a beast and not a human. The townspeople and the Princess' subjects gasped back in horror, while the servants cowered in fear. He could feel Lumière shaking in his suit as the poor maître d' held up his hands in surrender.

"You better have a good reason for this, Lumière," Adam hissed through clenched teeth, "or so help me I will make your life a living hell."

"M-Master," Lumière stammered, his voice choked by supressed sobs. "I-It's…it's just that a girl from the village tried to attend your wedding and was unable to make it. Belle…you remember her, no? Well, she—"

"And why should I care?!" Adam yelled, forcing Père Robert to take a few steps back as his bride watched from the side. "You interrupted my wedding just to make an embarrassment of me in front of everyo—?!"

"Master, she's dying."

And at those words, the Prince's grip faltered and Lumière fell to the ground and began to adjust his collar, coughing as it wound around his neck. Though he couldn't see his master's face, he was sure that his voice had changed, in a small little way; it was less steely, not aloof, and a little bit gentler.

"She's…" Adam began, sombrely, "she's dying? Belle's dying?"

As Lumière got up, he offered a weak nod, directing his eyes away from the Prince.

But then Adam suddenly grabbed his arm, forcing Lumière to look into his master's eyes. And for a while, the maître d' could feel only relief and not worry, because the Prince's eyes were no longer that ghastly colour of pink that they had always been.

They were now blue again.

"Take me to her," Adam urged, as if he was going to faint. "Take me to her now, Lumière."

"Bien sûr, Mâchoire," Lumière said quickly, and, bowing before the altar, he quickly led his master away from the clamouring crowds and cheering servants, leaving the bride and the pastor by the foot of the Cross shocked, all the more the Princess.

"Wait!" Eliese threw back her veil as she picked up the many layers of her dress, struggling to keep up with Adam's wide strides. "This is unacceptable! You can't just leave me here and—"

"Eliese," and Adam turned around sharply, not missing a beat in his syllables, "I have no idea what's going on and surely, it must be important to you, but right now, the life of a human being is at stake and you simply must not delay me."

He simply couldn't wait anymore and began to make his way out of the chapel, and even as Eliese ran after him and tried to reach out to touch him, the train of her dress slipped under her heels and she fell flat on her face, right in the middle of the aisle. The first thing that she felt, however, wasn't the pain the corset made around her waist or the sting of her joints carrying her magnificent clothing, but the fear of humiliation she made after chasing her nearly-husband, who just had abandoned her at the altar like the ending of some tragic novel. She quickly raised her hand to weave a spell to stop time, but as she got up, she realised to her horror that the faces of the guests on either side of her were already frozen. The entire world stood still without her having to move a finger.

That could only mean one thing.

"No…" she muttered, getting to her knees, "no, no…"

"Hanneliese," someone called from the doors of the church.

"No!" Eliese whimpered as her eyes darted to the entrance, where a hooded figure stood, solemn.

"I warned you not to abuse your magic, Hanneliese," the hooded figure approached, maternal and reprimanding, with each slow step.

"Get away from me!" Eliese scooted backwards on her behind, and with one hand, she channelled pink energy to surround her fingertips as she flung it at the figure. But the figure was prepared; with one movement of her palm, she redirected the magical blast elsewhere, and continued to move forward.

Eliese's eyes widened.

"Y-You can't…" Eliese blinked, hands shaking. "You can't be here! I trapped you in a winter spell!"

"And I escaped," thin hands went up and removed the hood, revealing fair skin, blond locks and golden eyes. "Clearly, you still have to work on weather enchantments."

Eliese let out a scream as the Enchantress closed the gap between them.

Ten strides, a blast of pink magic, deflect. Seven strides, a blast of pink magic, deflect. Five strides, a blast of pink magic, deflect.

Only one stride separated the two magical beings. At Agathe's feet, Eliese could only tremble; the older of the two touched the bride's face, and the latter had little resistance when her head was turned to lock eyes.

"You could have been so much more, Hanneliese," Agathe sighed, disappointed and unhappy. "You had so much potential to do good in this world."

"Who's to say what's good in the world?" Eliese hissed back, the tears streaming down her powdered face. "We're the only ones that shape humanity's perception of it, and what if we want otherwise? Wasn't there ever a time when you felt that you powers could benefit you? They were given to you for a reason, why not reap the rewards from all the hard work you do?"

"I do benefit from my powers," Agathe's head tilted. "I gain my reward from the newfound happiness from those who escape my curses; their joy is enough for me."

"Because your sin is different," Eliese retorted. "We aren't gods; a part of us is human too, and isn't it normal for us to long for someone? To love? Do you think pining for another human being who I know is destined to love another is easy? It hurts me, Agathe. What I did to Adam, I did it because I love him."

"What you did to the Prince can barely be called an act of love," Agathe's tone became steely. "What you did was selfish and cruel. You left him no choice but to succumb to your will even though it was obvious he was resisting it. You will end up causing him even more suffering."

"But he could have loved me. In time, he could have."

"And yet his heart belongs to another. Even under a curse, it still does, and it still shows in whatever way it can. That's what true love is; don't you see that?"

Eliese wailed and sobbed into the paused walls of the church, and Agathe could only watch as the broken child before her shattered into pieces. And despite the misery that consumed her, the older of the two could only carry out the duty assigned to her.

"I must do what must be done, Hanneliese," Agathe stood up straight and put a palm over the bride's forehead. "Our sisters have asked me to seek you out, and here I am to accomplish retribution. I'm sorry, but you must suffer the consequences of your actions and atone for your misdeeds."

Eliese's wide eyes were losing their pink hue. "No! No, Agathe, please don't do this! No!"

But as much as Eliese struggled, she couldn't escape Agathe's solid grasp as the latter chanted ancient words under her breath. Then a vast pink light escaped Eliese's lips, and all was lost.

The only thing Adam could feel as he raced up the stairs to the infirmary of the castle, Lumière leading him, was his heartbeat. Growing faster and more violent with each quick step, threating to burst through his ribcage and run up the stairs itself. He cursed himself for not being able to catch up the fast sprints of the maître d', and he didn't know for how long he had been running up the tower, but the only comforting though in his troubled mind was that each and every step was taking him closer to the infirmary.

To Belle.

A nervous crack shattered his soul right in half.

The name struck something in him, and all of his memories flooded back. The Enchantress, the castle, the thief, the Rose, the bibliophile, the snow, the dance, the hunter, the celebratory ball. Her face, her smile, her walk and mannerisms, her everything. And in an instant, he was drowned in feelings of utter longing and want, and his soul burst with so much emotion he couldn't comprehend that he could sob right then and there if someone's life wasn't at stake. It was almost as if so much pent-up feelings had been corked inside him over the course of several weeks, and they had suddenly exploded inside his chest.

But something was missing.

Why were his memories of her after the curse gone?

"Master, this way, quickly!" Lumière ushered Adam forward into the hallway as they reached the end of the stairwell.

Adam's whole body was aching; whether it was because he had climbed a whole flight of stairs without pause or he was wearing a tight and heavy suit laden with useless ornaments, he didn't care. All that mattered now was each clumsy and rushed stagger towards the infirmary door, and once he reached it, his heart shattered into tiny pieces.

On the bed, being attended to by his physician and surrounded by a number of maids and Mrs. Potts, was Belle.

Or what was supposed to be her.

"No…" Adam muttered as he rushed over to her bedside, kneeling by the edge as one of his hands went up to touch her face. "No, no, no, no…no, this can't be, this can't be…oh, God, Belle…no…"

Her skin was wan, pale, devoid of any colour that she could have been mistaken for a corpse. Her skin was cold, her breathing shallow, her beautiful brunette hair lacking shine whenever the light hit it. At his touch, her brown eyes opened, deep and full of feeling, and when the tips of her weak lips turned up in a small smile, he could stand it no longer broke down in tears as he sobbed into the sheets.

"Your Majesty…" she barely spoke, hoarse and pained, and yet the smallest timbres of joy were found in her coughs as she stroked his hair, "you came."

"Of…of course I came, Belle," he breathed, removing her hand gently from his head and clutching her cold fingers tenderly. "How could I not?"

"Oh, it's been broken," she gave off a content sigh and sunk her head into the pillow. "Thank God."

"What's happened to her?" Adam asked the people in the room with him.

"She was riding down the pathway from Villeneuve, Master, together with Lumière," Mrs. Potts answered first, wiping away the tears in her puffy eyes. "But we only noticed something was wrong when we saw that she had been unconscious on her horse."

"We rushed her here to the infirmary as fast as we could," Plumette, rubbing Mrs. Potts shoulders, finished.

The castle physician, Docteur Guillaume, shook his head sadly as he read through his notes. "The basic procedures and observations have been conducted, and there's a conclusion to her diagnosis." A pause, and a chew of the lip, as the doctor looked away. "It's…very bad, Your Majesty. Heavy poisoning of a toxic substance unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's infected half of her bloodstreams, and at this rate, it will reach her cranium in minutes. Even the best of tonics we could give won't be able to save her. I've done the best I could, Your Majesty."

Mrs. Potts couldn't bear it anymore and began to mourn into her handkerchief, and the maids left the room with her.

Adam blinked. "How long does she have left?"

Docteur Guillaume adjusted his glasses and sighed apprehensively. "Less than an hour."

Silence and dread permeated the room.

"I suggest you take this time to…say your goodbyes," Guillaume made his way to the door. "All of the servants have already."

And with a click, Adam was left alone in the room.

Less than an hour. He had less than an hour.

"You Majesty…" Belle muttered, "I don't have much time, do I?"

Adam was silent as he sat on her bed, caressing her face. These were her last moments, and even though there were gaps in his memory with regards to her, he knew enough that he loved her, and that even in these moments where she would begin to slip away, he would make it as comforting for her as possible.

"Your Majesty," he said.

Belle opened her eyes slightly.

"You called me 'Your Majesty,'" he said, and strangely, a small dose of happiness flooded him, and he gave a soft laugh. "How many times have I told you that you don't have to call me by my name, Belle?"

Belle didn't respond immediately and simply wrapped her fingers tighter around his own.

"You really don't remember," she murmured, "do you?"

So she knows. "Y-Yes, I've been losing my memories, and it's almost as if something's supposed to be there…but there isn't anything. Do the servants know what's happened?"

Belle nodded. "They know everything. What…what you'd done."

Adam didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a strong sense of apprehension grip him by the neck.

"But you must promise me something," Belle whispered.

At that moment, Adam was ready to do just about anything—travel around the world or sacrifice all of his riches and power—for her. "Yes?"

"That when you learn the truth, you must…you must forgive yourself. No matter what."

So he had done something bad. But it wasn't going to stop him from fulfilling any request of hers. "I will. I promise you."

They were silent for a while, but it had been enough. Simply being in her company, even though her essence was ebbing away little by little, was enough to keep him at peace, even though an air of trepidation hung about the room, and death was so close that he was waiting outside her room door.

"Adam?"

"Hm?"

"Can you…can you hold me?" A pause as he looked at her. "Please?"

He could only but indulge her. Picking up her body slowly from the bed, he adjusted his sitting position so that her fragile torso would rest next to his chest, her slowing heartbeat right beside his own, with his chin upon her head as his arms held her close. A sigh tickled the skin underneath his chin, and he could almost sob in relief. Her warmth was waning, but it was there. He felt pathetic, cradling her like a feeble child, but at least he was with her again, in the last dark time of her life. He only hoped that his presence the alleviated some of the sorrows she felt, and he prayed that she would see that he felt as much for her as she did for him.

"Oh, Belle," he murmured absent-mindedly into her hair. "I love you."

She didn't respond. She must have fallen asleep.

A chuckle left him as he pulled her away gently. "Belle, you ought to—"

But one look at her pale face, closed eyes, limp limbs, and cold skin, and it suddenly hit him like a bell. Fear's icy fingers clawed themselves around his heart and crushed it.

"No…" he pleaded, clutching her unresponsive body close, refusing to look at her face, now gone, "no, no, no, no, please…please, this can't…I can't do this…without you…no, no, no…"

But the tears of anguish began to run down his face, hisses escaped his clenched teeth, and his hands began to tremble as they tried not to rip apart the world he now loathed to shreds.

A pained cry of a broken man who had lost everything echoed through the hallways of the castle.

Chapter Text

A soft rap on the door came, and it was so inaudible that he could barely hear it though the piles of tear-stained bed sheets and pillows he was buried under. He didn't have to mention a word to let whoever was outside in, because the door automatically opened on its own without his permission (and not like he cared anymore). The footsteps by the entrance were unrecognisable until their owner spoke up. Even then it was hard to identify who it was.

"Master?" Lumière spoke timidly; he was probably still apprehensive being around him, but he couldn't be blamed for his fearful behaviour. "I was asked to check on you."

"I'm…fine," he lied, and his tone didn't help either; not that he was concerned. "How's your back?"

There was a sound of a nervous chuckle. "So Madame Potts has told you everything…?"

He winced internally; the terrible deeds flashing through his mind like as a sudden burst of guilt shot up his spine. "Everything."

There was an awkward pause. Adam didn't want to come out from behind his blankets, unwilling to see the face of the servant that he threw into the buffet table during that Christmas dinner, who he had badmouthed and humiliated in front of a hundred esteemed guests in front of his own wedding just a day ago.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked. "Has Cogsworth told the staff of the announcement I instructed him to make?"

There was silence on Lumière's end for a while. "Yes, Master."

Adam grimaced on the inside and felt the tears begin to well up again at the corners of his eyes. Earlier within the day, he had asked Cogsworth to relay a message to all of the castle staff, apologising for his misconduct against them and their feelings, and that should anyone wish to resign from his services, no judgment should fall upon them and they were free to leave at any time.

"How many have left?" Adam asked, bracing himself for the large number that was to leave Lumière's mouth (and, truth be told, he wouldn't be surprised if Lumière was part of that number either).

He heard the maître d' sigh. "No one, Master."

That surely made him blink his tears away in disbelief more than anything. Getting up from his bed, he pushed the covers away, and the blinding light of the midmorning hit his tired eyes through his windowpanes, shining upon the new reality that was now his life. Despite all that had happened, the servants' faith in him still stood as strong?

"No…one?" the words came out of him hushed and quiet.

"No one."

It was this that gave him enough courage to sit and stare at his jar of roses in the corner of the room, a gift from the Enchantress before this entire disaster, whose vibrancy had never faded even for a day. The fact that the staff of his castle decided to stay with him even during those hard times, endure the torture that he inflicted upon them, the names that he called them, the insults and the impossible tasks he handed them with just to see them writhe, all while they had to suffer the terrible cruelty that had gripped him without his control…

"We have stayed with you through one curse, Master," he heard the mirth of Lumière's smile through his speech, closer now. "We will stay with you through a thousand more."

Standing up on his shaky legs, he faced Lumière, the tears already rolling down his cheeks as his hands shook uncontrollably. Seeing him there in a simple suit with his coiffed lopsided wig and pencil moustache, with the smile on his face, made him want to collapse onto the floor and punish himself for even laying his eyes upon the maître d'. But Lumière—the ever-patient, ever-loving Lumière—threw out his arms as he began to stride towards the Prince, and all Adam could do was throw himself at his servant, hugging him close and sobbing into his arms. He cried hard, bitter tears of anguish, and despite thinking that he had exhausted all of his negative feelings and emotions, he was wrong, for he had never felt this much melancholy pour out of him in his life—not when his mother died, not when the curse was first put upon him, not even when Belle left him that night they danced. He held onto Lumière tight, like he was still a naïve boy, fearing the day he and all the other servants were to let him go.

He didn't deserve their kindness. He knew he had been the most petty and flamboyant of hedonists, and he knew how badly he had hurt them or hated them back when he was a young man, back when pleasure was the only true goal in life. And to put them through those terrible experiences again, to an even worse extent…it couldn't have been easier for them. And yet they still had that heart of compassion, of pure and utter love for him, something he always wish he had.

"Oh, Lumière, I…I'm so sorry…" he sobbed as the maître d' sat him down gently on the bed and he placed himself next to his Prince.

Lumière held his shoulder tenderly and gave a smile that was just as pleasant as his touch. "We will never leave you, Master. Even after all that you have done and all you will do, we will always remain by your side. Just as she did for y—"

Lumière interrupted himself by clamping his hands around his mouth, shocked at the words that left him. Of course, Adam's expression only worsened, and he closed his eyes and tightened his lips into a thin line, trying to prevent the horrible feeling to wash over him again.

"Master…" Lumière's disposition fell, and he bowed his head. "My apologies, I—"

He was stopped as Adam took a deep breath of air and tried to calm himself down. After a long moment of silence, he shut his eyes as if in meditation, clenching his own hands so tight that the maître d' was afraid he was going to draw blood if ever he pressed his fingernails too hard into his palm.

"No, don't, Lumière, it's—" and Adam stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's fine, you…you didn't mean to bring it up."

He could already tell from Lumière's voice that he could recognise that he was anything but fine. "As you say."

There was a very uncomfortable silence. He could feel the tension of Lumière's side of the conversation, and he had to alleviate it, one way or another. He had to be honest with his servant; sure, Lumière more than trusted him at this point, but he felt inadequate, as if their word of loyalty wasn't enough. He had to feel that he gained their respect and gratitude back. It was about time that the gap between them should close, and if not now, then when? Besides, Lumière had seen him at his weakest moments, as did most of the servants: the death of his mother, the reprimands of his father, those lonely nights when he was waist-deep in alcohol and women's lingerie and would wake up in the morning asking himself what he was to do with his temporary existence.

He had to hear himself say it. He had to face the fears and sorrows he was running away from head-on, in the company of someone he cared about.

"If…If only I knew…" he muttered, sure that Lumière could hear him. "If only I knew that I was under a curse…I could have broken it myself…and Belle wouldn't have…she wouldn't have…oh, God…"

And he covered his mouth with a hand, allowing the tears to fall down his face instead of him fighting them back, as he was more accustomed to doing. He felt Lumière rub his shoulder comfortingly, and the fact that a man he was mistreating for the past days was still by his side made him cry even more.

"Please, Master, it's alright," he cooed very paternally. "Let it out, come now."

"I…I loved her, oh God…" he sobbed, his chest aching with such aggressive pining that the more he sobbed, the more it hurt. "And I was such an offensive idiot to her, an indecorous fool. She must have hated me for all that I did…I broke her heart…"

"But Master," Lumière leaned forward, a sad smile in his words, "if she didn't love you, she wouldn't have done what she did."

He wiped away his tears, his eyes red from sobbing too hard. "I promised her that when I learned the truth, I had to forgive myself, but…forgiving myself was never this hard…"

"That wasn't you," Lumière frowned. "The man who shattered a tea cup at Madame Potts' face, that wasn't you. The man who threw me across the dining table, that wasn't you. The man who abused the mademoiselle, who called her names and evicted her from this place, that was never you."

Adam sniffed back his tears, so Lumière continued.

"You love her, do you not? You may consider yourself many things, Master, good or bad, but I know one thing for sure—you love her. And whoever that imposter was, whoever that…beast was, it was not you."

"Then who else would it have been?" Adam hissed, getting increasingly angry at himself.

"Whoever it was, it was not your fault, Master," Lumière consoled. "Even if you had broken the curse by yourself, you did not chose to inflict it as your own punishment."

There was a pause from Adam's end again. But it lasted much longer than normal to cause the maître d' to worry. It was almost as if he had been comforting a porcelain wall, unmoving and silent.

"Master?" Lumière asked and tried to lock eyes with him, but his head was bowed.

"You know, Lumière," Adam said, his voice suddenly colder. "You're right."

Lumière piqued up nervously. "About what?"

"About it not being my fault." He straightened up his posture, wiping away the last of the tears on his face, which now wore such an unreadable expression that bordered on emotionlessness, so much so that Lumière was afraid he had said something wrong. "Is Eliese still there?"

So he was moping about that. "Yes, Master. She's still in the upper tower."

There was a silence, then a sigh. "Please take me to her, Lumière."

Lumière grew apprehensive from that. "A-Are you sure, Master? Because we can totally understand it if—"

"Don't worry, Lumière, I'll be altight," Adam replied, and it didn't seem to matter if Lumière thought he was lying or not. "Just…take me to her. I've been thinking of what to say to her for quite a while and I may have just now found the words."

Lumière bit his lip, but there was nothing he could do anymore to prevent the Prince from feeling more dejected any further; he was plunging himself into his own hell, and as much as he'd want him out of it, he wouldn't want to disappoint him further. "Yes, Master."

He remembered the pathway up the dungeons clear, and remembered Belle's cell as being the first place he had ever laid eyes upon her. Now, it was no more than another terrible place in the palace, haunted by memories of what had been. So, with the timid Lumière following behind him, imagine his surprise to clamber up the stairs, tired, fatigued, wanting to punch the world in the face and rip it apart with his fingernails, only to find a hooded figure slouched over the cell that he intended to visit.

"You…" he whispered, and the figure immediately turned around, revealing the face of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and sorrow-filled golden eyes.

"Yes, me," she replied, not even stopping to pull down her hood, standing upright. She continued to walk past him until she was facing down the staircase, her shoulder brushing his, her touch warm and yet terrifying. "It's because of me she's like this now."

He froze in place, looking beyond the bars of the cell to find Eliese, dressed in simple white clothing now stained with the soot of the dungeon and strands of hay, her magnificent blonde hair now matted and knotted, shaking and covering her face as she pushed herself into the corner. She looked like one of those lunatics at the Asylum D'Loons, no more like a Princess of a foreign country.

"What have you done to her?" Adam asked, afraid to lock eyes with the hooded figure.

"I stripped her of her powers," the hood replied. "She's of no threat to you now, unless you make her one."

He stayed silent, wondering if it was still possible for him to find an ounce of compassion in his heart. But then there was that voice of a stern royal, saying that since she showed none to his heart, to the servants, to Belle, then it would be normal that he would do the same. The world was cruel, and without Belle now, what was the point of happiness?

"I'll be in the landing," the hooded figure continued. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would talk to me once you're finished with her."

And before he could say another word, she continued down the staircase, making Lumière bow at her as she passed by and disappeared behind the cold stone columns. With her gone, he focused his attention on the cell, and walked carefully towards the cold bars and made sure his footsteps made no sound on the wet floors. The door wasn't even locked, and he swung it open with ease, but even as he was soundless, he still ended up stirring the poor captive inside. She looked up with her inquisitive eyes, which, being drained of their magical properties, were now a dull hazel in comparison to the vibrant pink that haunted his dreams.

"So you've come," her words sounded like a relieved sigh rather than a full sentence, almost as if he was her rescuer and she was in this cell for decades. "Thank God…I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."

"You're still right about that," he said, a blank expression on her face, and seemed to wipe the smile right off her.

She got up a little from her sitting position, her back upright against the cold stone walls as she looked downcast at the floors. "What else is there to say, meine Geliebter? I have nothing more to admit to you. You know the truth now, don't you?"

He nodded. "I know. I know everything…what I'd done, what you'd done, what she'd done for me."

At the mention of the feminine pronoun, Eliese seemed to shrink. She pulled her knees up to her face and curled herself into a ball, try as she might to hide from his gaze. The rage was already bubbling in his throat, and he was fighting every urge not to grab a rapier and plunge it through her sternum.

"Why?" he said. It was a simple syllable that left him, but it was enough to elicit the feeling of grief again.

"Why?" she echoed back, almost incredulously, if not for her position. "Because I love you."

He could almost laugh, and a thousand screams pushed their way to his tongue. He was quick not to let his temper get the best of him, however. "Whatever you did, whatever you inflicted upon this place, upon myself and the people who live here…that wasn't an act of love. That was an act of the highest form of selfishness and greed."

"How could that possibly be selfishness and greed?" she spat back, suddenly retaliating. "I loved you and I sacrificed so much for it. To violate the code that my kind followed, to defy all of the rules that defined my conduct."

"And yet you wanted me," he retorted. "You wanted me, and so much people suffered for it. Me, my staff…Belle." Je seemed to have difficulty even saying the name.

"Oh, her," Eliese sneered.

"It was part of the curse that she would pass, wasn't it?" he gritted his teeth; the anger was starting to seethe through his calm. "It was part of your convoluted plan, or whatever you chose to call it."

She stared him straight in the eye, and he still felt the smallest grips of fear take him once her irises narrowed. "I knew that if I can't have you, then no one else will."

"I cannot believe you!" he screamed; he was falling into incredulous thoughts, probably to mask his denial. "Someone who I loved so dearly died…died for me to talk to you like this—as myself—and I can't believe that you would go to those lengths for your own selfish wants!"

"But I love you!" she shouted, all of her energy going into those four words that she knelt on the floor, and the sounds of her sorrow echoed throughout the whole tower.

Adam couldn't help but stay silent at that as she sobbed. In some eerily common way, Belle and Eliese weren't that far from the same mind. They both fought for the things they loved, even if it would cost them everything: their power, their influence, and their lives. Perhaps he simply reciprocated Belle's feelings, or he loved her too much for words, maybe that her intentions were pure and for the greater good, and that's why he leaned more towards her definition of love, whereas that of Eliese was one twisted into sick madness and obsession in his eyes.

"Whatever you feel for me," he recited carefully, "it isn't love. I've known love, however brief, and I'm blessed to know what it feels like. And this…this isn't it."

She curled up, spilling her tears onto the cold floors. The welling feeling in his chest wasn't pity, he was sure, but there was something in him that ate at his already broken heart. Maybe it was because his thoughts were still hung up on Belle, and that he was willing to live the rest of his life respecting her memory, but he turned his back, exited the cell, and left the door open.

"You're free to go," he said with his back turned to her.

"Wh…What?" she said weakly from behind him.

"You heard me," he repeated, turning a little to see her crouching figure, her ruined blonde hair, simple clothing, and sad eyes—a far cry from the confident and beautiful figure that walked through his doors how many weeks ago. "You're free to go. I won't keep you prisoner, and I have no reason to either. I only have one condition: that you don't come back to this estate, or even to the village of Villeneuve, and to not interfere with the lives of any soul and cause any harm to them on your leave."

There was a sound of shuffling. "Why? Why show mercy?"

He paused, not wanting to say the reason, but he did so anyway. "Because I know that it's what Belle would have wanted me to do."

They both stayed silent for a while, until he heard a pained wail come from where she stood.

"Leave," he said finally. "Leave and learn to do some good in the world."

He was out of words to say to her, and didn't want to see her face anymore. With that, he left her alone in the cell to do whatever she wanted to do, whether she wanted to leave or live the rest of her life there. He had run out of rage and sorrow to feel, and even looking at her only drained him of any other emotion even further. To cut Eliese off from his life…yes, that would be the first step to recovering from all of this. He had to, eventually, unless he wanted to be stuck in this rut for the rest of his life.

As he walked down the stairs, he passed by Lumière, and he didn't even bat an eye and let out his command without missing a beat. "Lumière, I've told her that she could leave on her own volition. Whatever she chooses to do, do not interfere or even speak to her. Relay this to the others as well."

"Yes, Master," Lumière bowed quickly and ran up the stairs, and Adam was too tired to even watch him go.

But further down the stairs, on the landing, he caught the shape of a hooded figure, against the wall, her well-shaped hands clasped in front of her as she turned to look at him. What was is that she was called…Agathe? Either way, he must admit: no matter what type of sorrow that she would inflict upon his life, unlike Eliese, she was an Enchantress that held good intentions. Her spells and incantations had a better purpose, to make a person a kinder and more compassionate version of themselves. He didn't know what to feel, looking at those golden eyes that inflicted the first curse he experienced in his life; should he be angry that she caused that suffering, or should he be indebted to her for something else?

"I told you I'd wait," she greeted him on the landing as he stepped onto it. "How do you feel now?"

"I feel…" he stopped himself; what did he even feel? "Empty, or something of the like. Even seeing her makes me feel awful."

The Enchantress sighed. "It's such a shame. Hanneliese had so much potential to do good in the world, but she was too young and prone to so much…mistakes. It was hard for me to do what I had to do; she was like a sister to me."

He didn't really understand the relationship between the more experienced Enchantress and Eliese, but he was assured that it must have been painful for her to see her there in that cell, rotting away. "I'm sorry…it was probably difficult for you to visit her."

She shook her head slowly. "It was, but never mind that now. She suffers the consequences of her actions, and I am only here to accomplish reckoning."

Neither of them said anything for a while, and he was too fatigued to be able to take into consideration the rift the silence was causing for them.

"I'm sorry as well," she said finally.

"For what?" he asked absentmindedly.

"For Belle," she bowed her head. "She didn't have to go like that. It's such a tragedy, what happened to her. If only I could do more for you and for her, but sadly, even I have my limits. I apologise greatly, Your Highness."

He felt the tears well up in his eyes again. "I know, it's alright. You took care of Eliese, and though it must have been excruciating, your sacrifice matters and that's enough for me."

"That's true," she muttered and gave off a sad smile. "Thank you."

"If anything," Adam suddenly let the words spill; it wasn't that he cared, but he wanted her to know the truth, "I should be thanking you."

She tilted her head curiously. "Whatever for?"

"It may sound ridiculous, but for cursing me," he admitted. "For turning me into a beast. It may have caused me hardship and so much ache, but without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today. And I wouldn't have met…her. For that, I feel like I should owe anything to you, for bringing her into my life. For a while, I felt what true love was, and it's all because of you."

Her smile lit up a little and she gave a small bow. "Those words greatly humble me, Your Highness. But you chose to love her, you chose to let her into your life and change you, and I feel that's what matters." She lifted her head and put a warm hand on his shoulder; it was a touch that he didn't expect he needed. "I know you're a good man, and if anything, you are right to feel thankful for her presence in her life, even if she's no longer with us. You truly have changed; I feel I've done right by you."

"You have," he smiled, and it was the first time he had smiled in a long time. "By God, I'm grateful."

And he approached her, embracing her tight as she wrapped her arms around him. He never knew that he needed her kindness, but here he was, already crying in her arms as she leaned into their hug, tender and warm. He felt the compassion of a mother within her, the gentle intentions and caring sympathy that he had longed for ever since, and he felt like a child as she patted his back, held him close. It was a touch that already begun the process of mending his broken heart.