The King burst into Belle's room, red faced in regalia. He was unaccustomed to blatant disobedience, especially in full view of the court. He fully expected her to be on her knees in fear of his wrath, pleading forgiveness. Or even innocence, a late night causing her to sleep in. He eyed her made bed studiously, as if had been a part of this betrayal and deserved interrogation.
His hands clenched and unclenched of their own accord.
"Your Majesty!" Gaston rushed into the room, dressed in white militia. He was a proud man, full of vanity and spoils and not much else. He was the envy the world over. Yet Belle still managed to make him feel 2ft tall at any given moment. It was frustrating but he never managed to get completely cross with her. He felt chained to her. The chain may have been glided and hidden; but it was still there. Cold and eternal.
He pointed to the dresser; there was a letter and a single red rose. In Belle's neat scrawl upon the front of the envelope were the words "My King".
The King winced; Belle had not called him Father in some time. He had chosen to ignore it and thus do the same- "child" had sufficed. He grabbed the letter and tore it open, skimming through the letter. The colour drained from his face as quickly as it had spread. Belle's father wobbled and Gaston caught him as he fell.
Belle was in awe and had been since she had left in the early hours, fully expecting to return. Now she was rethinking that, watching the sun rise in the forest was better than anything she had read about. She felt the heat in her skin, the damp dew and the refreshing breeze. She smelled the deep pine and the light herbs. She felt the bark of the trees and the soft brush underfoot. Belle hadn't realised she was weeping until she shielded her eyes from the sun.
Belle kept the main path in sight but hid herself in the woodland. She decided against going into the first village she came across. Belle was worried she might be discovered and was unwilling to let her new found freedom go so easily. It was nearly midday when she stopped in a town and bought bread, cheese and fruit from a vendor in the street. Belle hid her face in her shawl and only spoke in nods and shakes of her head. She was thankful the vendor didn't notice anything too strange about this. She stole quick glances whenever she could and clutched her satchel to her. Belle felt fear and she relished in it. Fear is hard to come by when everyone is so careful around you. Belle decided she must feel everything she could before going back. Every emotion, every adventure engrained onto her memory; so she might persuade herself that she had lived before being enslaved to boredom.
Had Belle kept her wits about her she might have noticed a certain type of thug making eyes at her. Three of them followed her into the woods. Their bellies filled with ale and nothing good on their minds.