IV

UNFORESEEN

Rumpelstiltskin trailed behind his new mistress, seething with rage at the little royal. His eyes narrowed on the hand she was quickly binding with a handkerchief as she led him through the corridors. He could easily heal the wound for her if he were in a charitable mood … he wasn't. He was still nursing his anger. It would have been better if she had never learned of his existence.

He could have just languished in the dungeon until his master died and he could gain his freedom … if he wasn't passed along to the next in the bloodline. No, now he was stuck with the little do-gooder. He wondered what selfish thing she would ask for with her first command. Jewels, riches, fine silks? From what he'd witnessed in the last twenty-four hours, she'd probably have him saving some war-torn little province and setting up a relief camp for those displaced. He repressed a shudder at the very thought.

He would never forget the moment she had gained possession of the dagger. Even as he'd remained far away from her in their chamber, he had been able to smell her blood as she'd caressed it into the blade, the touch of her fingertips on the dagger sending an erotic thrill through his body from neck to tailbone, shimmering along his spine. He was still hard from the sensation of her phantom touch. His eyes shifted to her twitching backside as she led him down another corridor, this one filled with members of her father's court and guards spaced out along the drafty hall at intervals, ready to be called to the service of the king. His gaze narrowed as her steps faltered and she began to sway unsteadily.

Belle dropped like a stone before he could reach her, her head smacking harshly against the stone floor. A startled cry of "Highness" rang through the corridor as the guard nearest her knelt at her side.

Rumpelstiltskin knelt on her other side and caught the guard's hand in his claw-like fist before he could touch her, the hood of his cloak falling back to reveal his features. "Touch my mistress and I'll have to break it off, whelp," he hissed furiously. She was his to protect, and while under that protection, he'd not let any other put their hands on her.

The guard shrank away from him in fear as the sorcerer lifted her in his arms and disappeared in a thick cloud of purple smoke. Hovarth made his way down the corridor in search of the king, passing the nobles who had also witnessed the scene. Who was the mysterious man who had made off with their princess? Maurice would have much explaining to do to the denizens of the kingdom to prevent a panic.

Belle whimpered as Rumpelstiltskin laid her none too gently upon her bed, but kept her eyes tightly closed to ward against the pain in her hand. It radiated from her palm and sent curls of fire licking up her arm. Her price, no doubt, to have the temerity to own the all-powerful sorcerer. All magic comes with a price, she thought with disdain. It would be too much to accomplish a good deed and come away unscathed. She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat and chanced a glance at him. What she saw there was no less than what she'd expected, hatred, anger and disdain.

She snatched her hand away from him before he could remove the handkerchief she'd wrapped around it to staunch the flow of blood. His lips curled back over his teeth in a snarl as he grabbed her wrist, giving her no choice but to comply. She knew she was no match for his strength, his power making him more than he seemed. Instead of fighting him, she curled her fingers into her palm and glared at him.

"Let. Me. See," he commanded, his tone clipped in his annoyance. "It won't take but a moment to heal you, mistress," he said, spitting the last word at her as though it were venom upon his ancient tongue.

Belle winced as she tightened her fist and hated herself for allowing her pain to show on her ashen features. "No. I don't want you to heal me," she protested, hating how weak she sounded. Blood loss and only tea for breakfast would do that to her.

He cast her a puzzled frown, having never met anyone who would pass on his willing offer to heal. Then again, he'd never offered his services to another. "Why? Why would you choose to suffer? Infection could set in. Have you ever seen what infection can do to a person, pet?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, his eyes narrowing, hoping he would be able to explain in detail, though he doubted she would be able to maintain the contents of her stomach if he did. Oh, to see my little mistress squirm with revulsion. The thought made him almost giddy.

"I-I'll be fine," she stammered, lowering her gaze to her hand as she removed the soiled cloth and looked closely at the gash on her palm.

He sat down on the bed next to her, his hip pressing into hers as he leaned forward to peer at her hand. He clucked his tongue with disgust. "Foolish girl," he hissed irritably. "You shouldn't have cut so deeply. Give me your hand and let me heal you before you lose any more of your precious royal blood," he warned, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

Belle glared at him, her eyes flashing hotly at his tone. She scooted awkwardly to the other side of the bed and swayed unsteadily to her feet, refusing to give in to the dizziness that nearly overwhelmed her. "It will heal in time," she whispered, more to reassure herself than to answer him. She moved to her dresser where a pitcher and basin awaited her, so she could cleanse the wound, giving him her back.

He sneered at her, rising from the bed to stand at her back. "It's going to leave a scar, dearie. Not very attractive for a royal to be prancing around with less than perfect skin," he sneered with a smirk, his voice taking on a shrill pitch.

She hissed as her hand came in contact with the cool water. "I deserve nothing less. A scar is little to pay for what I've done today. It will remind me of the injustice of holding another against his will and I will wear it as a monument to your suffering." She blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes, the weight of her actions crushing her lungs and making it hard for her to breathe. Opening a small wooden chest on her dresser, she removed a salve which would help with the pain and bandages to bind the injury. She had difficulty trying to wrap the wound and was startled when his hands brushed hers aside and quickly bandaged her hand with sure movements.

"There, that should do," he muttered brusquely. "Now, sit down before you fall down, pet." The power of the dagger made sure he felt a twinge of discomfort at his mistress's displeasure. He would gladly withstand it and felt a deep-seated satisfaction that he'd caused it. "It's your own fault you're feeling so bloody guilty. You didn't have to take the dagger as your own. You could have simply asked your father to appoint me as your protector. Surely, you could have persuaded him to make a deal."

Belle emitted an unladylike snort and smirked at him in the mirror. "I'm sure I could have. But my father is not what you would call the fairest man in the realm. I'm fairly certain I could have bent him to my will, but you would still be in the dungeon, living on scraps and treated worse than ogre fodder."

"And I suppose being here with your lovely personage is so much better," he fairly snarled at her.

She lifted her chin, her eyes daring him to rebuke her. "Yes," she insisted stubbornly. "You may not see it that way, but I'm confident, in time, you'll change your mind."

His lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. "Don't hold your breath, pet." He lifted a sardonic brow as she smiled timidly. "If you feel so guilty, why not just return the dagger to me and let me be on my way?"

Her smiled faded in an instant, leaving her teeth to worry at her bottom lip. "I can't do that. I have a duty to my people. If I were to free you, in your anger, you wouldn't hesitate to raze Avonlea from the realm along with every man, woman and child."

He searched her face for any sign of deception and began to feel uncomfortable when he found none. No one could be so good, so pure or heartfelt with her emotions. He'd been alive for three hundred and fifty years and couldn't ever recall meeting someone like her. It was faintly disturbing and her insight alarming. "Clever girl." He would have said more had her maid not entered carrying a tray containing their luncheon.

"Milady, how are you feeling?" Clara asked as she set the tray down on the table set before the sofa. "The castle is abuzz with gossip about your new guard," she said, eyeing Rumpelstiltskin warily. He wandered over to the overflowing bookshelf and pretended to peruse her collection, giving them his back and the illusion he wasn't listening intently to their conversation.

"Papa must be trying to assure the court the Dark One poses no threat to them. Provided no one seeks to do me harm," Belle remarked wearily as she accepted the cup from her maid.

Clara poured a second cup and looked askance at her charge. "How does our new friend take his tea, milady?"

Belle smiled warmly at the woman's acceptance of Rumpelstiltskin. "One sugar and a slice of lemon." Her smile brightened as Clara prepared the cup and brought it to him, dipping into a curtsey when he took the cup from her with a puzzled frown. "Thank you, Clara, that will be all."

He watched his mistress over the rim of the cup, but made no move to join her. She remembered how he took his tea. He would have to add observant to her list of attributes. So far, they were growing in number and the reasons he had for disliking her were dwindling. That thought was beginning to alarm him.

Belle patted the sofa cushion beside her, a blush rising to stain her cheeks. "Ru…" she hesitated, remembering his earlier anger and the desire for her to refrain from using his name. "Won't you join me? You haven't eaten anything substantial since before we left Milhorn. Pastries don't count," she added quickly when he opened his mouth to argue. "Surely, you must be hungry."

The mage wondered if she would make it an order if he refused her once again. He didn't want to think of having to force a meal down which was covered in those ghastly sauces from the night before. Food was supposed to be savored for each individual morsel, not drowned in thick goo which passed as delicacies in this realm.

Grudgingly he took a seat beside her and observed her from the corner of his eye as she fluttered about removing covers from the tray, revealing a simple fare of soup, crusty bread and an assortment of cheeses. He wanted to refuse the offering just to spite his mistress, but his mouth watered as the aroma of ham, navy beans and rosemary assailed his keen sense of smell. It was all he could do not to snatch the bowl from her hands. He raised the spoon to his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the flavors burst over his tongue. How long had anything as simple as soup brought him such joy? It grated that it was because of his new mistress he was experiencing such pleasure. He cut his eyes over at her to find her watching him intently, a small smile curving her lips.

He could tell she wanted to say something and then thought better of it, turning her attention to her own meal. They ate in companionable silence, each plotting against the other. Belle's heart broke for what Rumpelstiltskin must have suffered having her father as his master and she could have happily throttled the monarch. He finished off a half loaf of bread, two quarters of the cheese, his entire bowl of soup and half of hers when she'd insisted she was done. He needed it far more than she did. She would have indeed used the dagger's persuasion to make him eat if he'd refused, but she was glad he hadn't forced her to it. She didn't want to control him and would only do so as a last resort.

His belly full for the first time in ages, he let his gaze slide over to her. "I believe you wished to go over your list today, mistress," he said through clenched teeth.

Belle's eyes brightened, hoping he would be pleased with her simple demands. She drew her legs under her on the sofa and unfolded her arm across the back, turning to him fully. "It's not as bad as you might think, Ru …" She clamped her mouth shut on his name once again, her face flushing hotly. "I don't even know what to call you," she retorted, refusing to go about calling him 'hey you'.

His head dropped back against the sofa cushions, suddenly very tired of the whole situation. "You are my mistress now. You can call me whatever you like, and I can't do a damn thing about it," he spat bitterly.

"Well, I'm not going to call you slave or thrall. I'll use your name if that's acceptable to you?" she asked, wishing he would look at her, acknowledge her, yell at her; she cared not which. He simply nodded. "Good. There is … um … very little I … ah … require of you."

Rumpelstiltskin quirked a brow at her, bracing himself for her list of demands. Greedy little royals. He could well imagine what those demands would be.

She tilted her head to the right, studying him while she tried to collect her thoughts, her hands twisting nervously upon her lap. "There will be no killing, maiming, pillaging, terrorizing or other such vile acts against anyone in the kingdom … including my father. He may very well deserve a little maiming, but I can't let you do that."

He had to bite his tongue and school his features into a bland mask when all he wanted to do was chuckle at her boldness for saying such a thing about not only her father, but the king. "Very well, mistress." He'd been expecting that command from the dutiful little princess.

"I don't think we need to go over your accommodations since you've seemed to settle in well. The only other thing I ask is that you protect me to the best of your ability. Wherever I go, you go. I have no desire to be the victim of another kidnapping," she told him with a wry twist of her lips.

"What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"What else do you desire, mistress?" he asked, expecting her greed to make itself known anytime now.

She blinked several times until his meaning finally sunk in. "Oh … no … that is all."

His mouth gaped open and his brow drew inward with a puzzled frown. Beg pardon, pet? What. The. Fuck? "That's it? No wishes for jewels or gold or silks or … power?" he asked in astonishment.

"Well, there is one thing I would like to ask," she hedged timidly, worrying her lower lip. It was a habit of hers which was quite disconcerting as he found his eyes continually drawn to her mouth. He cast her a smug smile and waited, convinced he was right.

"Yes?"

"Is there anything from your home you would like to bring here to make you more comfortable? I know it has been a long time since you … nevermind," she said, ghosting away from what was surely a painful subject. "What I mean to say is that you may return home to collect anything you might like to bring here."

The Dark One gaped at her and stuck his finger in his ear, wiggling it around, fearful his hearing was failing. No, that wasn't it. He was on her in a flash, his gaze penetrating as it bore into hers. "Just what are you playing at, pet?" he asked, uncaring if the dagger brought on the worst pain he'd ever felt. But she didn't back down. She smiled at him. What the hell does she have to smile about with her trickery?

Belle reached out and brushed away a lock of hair which had fallen over his eyes and he jumped back as though scalded. She ignored his question. "Take the rest of the day if you like, Rumpelstiltskin. But I do expect you to join me for dinner." She pushed to her feet and moved to the door. "If you return early, I shall be in the library."

He called out to her before she could leave. "What of your protection? Shouldn't you come with me?" he asked, trying not to let his confusion over her intentions consume him.

She smiled gently. "Not this time." She didn't want him to take her to see his home out of a sense of duty, but because he desired it. Now was not that time. "Don't worry about my protection. I'll have Hovarth watch over me today." And with that, she left him there alone with his thoughts.

*.*.*

The sorcerer landed unsteadily before the tall iron gates which barred entry to the Dark Castle, his home, and breathed in the crisp mountain air. His hand, with its blackened nails, caressed the gate almost lovingly, the iron recognizing its master and swinging forward. His smile was smug as he moved onto the cobbled path leading into the stone fortress. His wards had held, leaving the castle in stasis, unchanged since his abrupt departure. Even the roses in the vase on the table in his foyer remained unchanged.

Not a thing was out of place, his collections stowed away in the immense glass cabinet or on their respective pedestals in the Great Hall. But it was his centuries-old spinning wheel sitting idle in the corner which caused the smile lighting his face, one of the only remnants from his human life. He closed his eyes as his hand traced across the smooth wood. It would be the first thing to make the trip to Avonlea by magic. There was a spot in the corner of Belle's chamber where he could sit and watch her every move while he sat at his wheel. For now, it would do. If he needed anything from his potions lab, he could always retrieve it later. But the wheel he needed now. Perhaps it could help rein in the violent temper which came part and parcel with his curse.

With a flourish of his hand, the wheel vanished. A snap of his fingers and a fire began to dance brightly in the great stone hearth which took up a good portion of the wall. He pulled out his favorite chair which sat at the dining table - that could easily seat twenty - and plopped down into it with a sigh. He summoned a tea service and propped his feet atop the table, leaning back and sipping contentedly from his cup. Home.

It didn't take long for his satisfaction to melt into disdain as his thoughts turned to his little mistress. She was a petite thing, really. Chestnut curls with hints of red, a lovely rosebud mouth, even when it was drawn in irritation, jewel-bright cerulean eyes which betrayed her every emotion and curves which would fit his hands as though made for him. His frown grew more aggrieved.

It wasn't her lovely outward charms which worried him, though it seemed he wasn't able to quell the lust which plagued him when in her presence. No, it was her sharp mind and droll wit which intrigued him. She was well-read and extremely smart. She cared more for the running of her kingdom than she did for the intrigues and petty squabbles of her father's court. She cared about people, from the highest nobles to the lowest serf and it showed in the way she treated her servants … in the way she treated him. She was trouble.

His fist came down hard on the arm of his chair, his mood blackening as he failed to come up with the solution to his current dilemma. There had to be a way to coax her into giving up the dagger to him of her own free will. Free will was probably the only thing which could break the spell of fairy magic.

Yes, it would have to be freely given. But how to get her to do it. Threats? No, that would never work on her. She wasn't afraid of him. And why the hell not? When they'd left the tower at Milhorn and he'd wrapped her so tightly in his embrace, she hadn't flinched or screamed or fainted. Any other maid would have. Why was she so different and brave and beautiful?

It was a dangerous and deadly combination. He could bring kingdoms to their knees using her as his secret weapon. And what the hell had possessed her to kiss him? Of course, there was no denying he'd provoked her. But that should only have worked if he'd been a normal man, courting her passions. Bah! He was going mad trying to figure her out.

Belle seemed to keep to herself more often than not, had told him this herself. Perhaps she was lonely. Could she be so lonely and isolated she would prefer the company of a monster to the nobles who flitted about the castle like locusts, devouring everything in their path? Smart girl. But could she? Perhaps that would be the key to what he wanted. His lips curved into an evil grin as an idea began to form in his mind. She wanted a friend, a confidante, someone to ease the loneliness of her royal existence. He would give her more than she'd bargained for.

He wasted not another moment, banking the fire and departing immediately for Avonlea … and his unsuspecting little pet … his mistress.

A/N: Well, guys, whatcha think? Have I piqued your interest? Just a little? Can't wait to hear your thoughts on Rumpel's plight. Belle still may have a trick or two up her sleeve. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favs. You guys are the best!