After Belle had thanked the Beast for saving her life, a silence fell over the room as deep as the snow settled in the forest outside. She tended to his wounds in the firelight and reflected, with bitter humour, how idyllic this scene would appear – the pops and crackles of the fire, the smell of burning turf – to a visitor who didn't know the full story.
Eventually she got up. The fire wouldn't warm her any more than this – though her skin was hot and red, she still felt the cold deep within her. Her clothes were still damp from when she and Phillipe had fallen, briefly, through a sheet of ice into a shallow riverbank.
"May I be excused?" she asked.
The Beast looked at her. His face was half-covered in the darkness, but she still thought she could see an expression in those eyes – something soft, thoughtful.
"This... this is your home now," he said. He spoke quickly, as if he were eager to have these words yanked out of him. "You don't need permission to be excused."
"Thank you," she said.
"You must be hungry. I'll have my servants arrange a breakfast for you. Is there a time you'd like to be risen?"
She'd not given this much thought. "Normally I wake early – about six. But that was when I had chores to do. When I was at home."
The Beast turned towards the fire. He scratched at the back of his head. He understood the implication.
"But thank you for the breakfast," Belle added.
"A pleasure," he said. He was still looking at the fire, and he didn't seem to be taking any pleasure from this.
Belle was halfway through the door when a thought occurred – something she felt needed to be said. "Belle. My name is Belle."
He was still looking at the fire – in a way that made sense. She'd known dogs that could stare, utterly enchanted, at a fireplace for hour.
"That's a beautiful name," he said.
Belle was unsure whether or not to add this, but her curiosity overcame her sense of caution: "And you, Monsieur? Do you have a name?"
Now he turned to face her. She'd half-expected another tantrum, at least another show of growls and teeth, and indeed he seemed to be grappling with something – that soft look in his expression was gone now, replaced by something more animalistic – but he kept his temper controlled. "That's not important now," is what he said. Belle couldn't help feel there was something of the sulky child in his tone.