Chapter 1
Belle rushed to the throne room, finally deemed presentable by her maids. She had just changed out of her bloodied dress from her time spent helping in the infirmary. Catching her breath, she pushed open the heavy gilded door to the throne room and surveyed the scene. Her father was in the middle of a massive argument with most of the royal cabinet. She slipped behind her father's shouting advisors and found an empty space around the table. The map of Avonlea, carved intricately into the table, held nearly two dozen playing pieces. Some had been made particularly for this purpose, but some had been stolen from sets of Cyvasse, a strategy game. Belle examined the most recent developments. The placeholder for foot soldiers had been moved to the east, no doubt to protect the Marquise's land. The Marquise's castle was lavish and ornate, but it was built in a supremely poorly defendable area. The choice to build it in a valley was more for ostentation than practicality, as if to say that the Kingdom was so well off that they could afford to put a beautiful gem of a castle in a place where it could easily be destroyed. Moreover, only a small group of people could be housed in the castle walls. It was a poorly constructed building, just as the plan for its defense was poorly planned. More importantly, it was poorly chosen as top priority. Just then, the cacophony of voices quieted to allow for the Marquise and Gaston's argument to dominate the room.
"We do not need to sacrifice citizens to protect your overstated, glorified henhouse!" bellowed Gaston.
"The Palais is the symbol of Avonlea!" the Marquise insisted. "If the Palais falls, what hope will there be for the kingdom? We are the cultural center of the world…"
The contrast was very nearly comical. Gaston, whose machismo defined his outward appearance, standing toe to toe with the painted, bejeweled Marquise whose style even included platform shoes adorned with bows. The Marquise's painted lips spread into a simpering grin as he turned to King Maurice.
"Your Majesty," he began, sweetening his voice. "Do you not agree that upholding the morale of the kingdom is the most pressing priority?"
"Not if it means that hundreds of civilians will die." Belle interrupted. The Marquise's grin turned sour.
"They will become martyrs," he spat at her. "What's better for the war than a martyr?"
"Perhaps winning the war," grumbled the king.
"If we evacuate the Palais to my father's stronghold we could save hundreds of lives!" interjected Gaston. It was true, Belle thought. Gaston's father could certainly support the thousand-odd occupants. The conditions of the decision would be problematic. Maurice would be indebted to Duke Jacques, so much that Gaston's future bride could be none other than Belle, securing him the throne. Gaston had begun courting her in the last several months, with a chaperone. Their relationship unfortunately was completely platonic. The meals they had shared were full of engaging political discussion. They tended to agree on most issues, and thankfully Gaston was as dedicated to the good of the people as Belle was.
Gaston was winning the argument. "What good are symbols of the kingdom when its people are dead?"
King Maurice finally stood, having heard hours of argument on this singular topic. He imagined no other possible counterarguments other than the ones he had already heard, often more than once. Looking out at the crowd of his most trusted friends, he felt far older than a man of his age should.
"We will save the Palais," he stated grimly. "It is the home of my departed Anne, and the heart of the kingdom. There is no Avonlea without the Palais."
Belle was furious.
"Papa," she cried, "people will die." Maurice looked down, hiding his watery eyes. "You are sacrificing children for a pretty old building." Her anger was clear, disappointment shone through the tears welling in her eyes.
"Better listen to your father, Princess," offered the Marquise, false sympathy oozing from his words. Belle turned to leave, but stopped in front of the Marquise.
"I hope you watch them die for your luxury," Belle responded quietly, fury barely contained. She pushed past the advisors and left, her skirts rustling as she strode down the hall. Gaston caught up with her and pulled her into an unoccupied ballroom. Tears were falling down her face, a product of her anger and helplessness. Gaston grabbed her upper arms, as if to stabilize her. His thumbs rubbed circles on her skin soothingly.
"We will save them," he promised. He caught her eyes in his gaze. "We will."
Belle nodded. "We'll find a way," she agreed.
"I'll talk to the king, see if there's something we missed," he said, wiping a tear from her face. "We will find a way."