4

Hunts and Offers

Maurice, ambassador of Avonlea, paced uneasily outside the king's presence chamber. George's palace was not like the one his own monarchs, Phillip and Aurora, inhabited. Their palace was formed of lovely white and blue striated marble and bore works of art and mosaic tiled floors and brilliantly colored tapestries on the walls. George's palace, in contrast, was stark and functional, a fortress rather than a place to entertain, it stone walls covered with a few tapestries, mostly of grisly battles and hunts, depicting the triumphs of his army over the enemies of Galatia, a few statues here and there, and in the great hall were the shields and banners of his nobles, plus crossed racks of weapons, suits of armor, and the heads of slain animals, such as a great golden boar, a chimera, a white hart, a snarling wolf, bear, and huge wildcat.

"The only thing missing," he heard George and Gaston, his chief noble who was also his Hunt Master, lament. "Is a dragon's head. We've not been able to trap or slay one yet, but I vow we shall . . . soon."

Privately, Maurice thought it rather crass to display trophies like that in the hall, as if they were barbarians. Such things belonged in the armory or a hunting lodge, not where ladies had to have dead animals watching them as they ate. Small wonder the ladies did not stay in the hall after dinner, but retired to the solar upstairs, which was more congenial to them.

Maurice was waiting to see George, the king had requested a private audience with him, the ambassador supposed it was to discuss the trade alliance between Avonlea and Galatia, and since there was no bench to sit upon to wait, the ambassador was walking back and forth between the small beveled windows, which were almost like arrow slits in the walls. Smoky torches burned in sconces upon the walls and two guards in armor with pikes stood before the doors.

The ambassador was dressed to impress in his finest plum doublet and black hose with his gold buckled shoes and half cloak with the gold chain attaching it to his doublet with the slashes sleeves through which his gold shirt showed through. He wore a small velvet plum cap with a peacock feather in it and his hair was combed neatly. He wore his wedding ring on his finger, the only jewelry he had besides his gold pocket watch, which had been a gift from Belle.

The doors swung open and George's herald beckoned to him. Then he turned and announced, "Amabassdor Maurice, Lord Fleur de Lis of Avonlea is here to see you, sire!"

"You may approach," George beckoned lazily from his throne.

Maurice bowed as he stood before the King of Galatia. "Your Majesty."

George smiled, a oily smile, and indicated the herald should leave and shut the doors. The king was wearing a red velvet robe trimmed with expensive ermine and had on sleek leather pants and thigh high boots of dragonhide. He wore a glimmering golden crown upon his head and around his neck was a ruby cabochon the size of a plover's egg. His fingers were covered with many jeweled rings and he wore several bracelets as well.

"Ah, Amabassador! I'm delighted you could make this meeting on such short notice," he began pleasantly.

Maurice hid a shudder. He was reminded of a snake oil salesman peddling his cure alls. "Of course, sire. I but awaited your summons."

"Good!" George said. "Now, I know you've come here to discuss our trade agreement with Avonlea, and we shall get to that business presently. However," he folded his hands together and leaned forward, his pig-like eyes suddenly intense in his face. "There is something more . . .personal I would like to discuss first."

"And what would that be, sire?" Maurice asked nervously. He didn't like the way the king was looking at him.

"Well, you are of course aware that my last two wives died in childbirth and so did the babies, and my only son in a tragic accident, so I have no heir save my nephew David."

"Yes, of course. It's a great tragedy. I lost my own wife in childbirth—"

"I know," George waved him to silence. "Therefore you understand what a vital thing it is to have an heir of one's own blood . . .and David is my half-brother Miles' son, and for now the only kin I have left to inherit since Miles was killed at tourney some years hence." He cleared his throat. "Where is your lovely daughter, Fleur de Lis?"

"Belle?" Maurice was startled. "She's—she's hunting, sire. With your noble Lord Gaston."

"Ahh . . . so she likes to be outdoors then? Is she robust then?" George probed. "In good health? Is she fruitful?"

"Err . . . Belle has always been healthy as a horse."

"And she is yet unpledged to anyone, am I right?"

"Yes, sire. I . . . err . . .have not made a match with anyone for her hand yet. We were in mourning for my wife and son . . ."

"Good. Then if she is unpledged she is free to form an alliance with my House, no?" George was almost rubbing his hands together. "And she is how old—twenty?"

"Yes. Just this past summer." Maurice feared he knew where this was leading.

"Just the right age for bearing sons, not too young and flighty and not too old. I would like to propose an alliance between us, Maurice." The king began, looking eager.

Maurice thought he knew what the proposal was going to be. "Between my daughter and your nephew David, sire?"

George scowled. "David? That milksop? No, between Belle and me, Ambassador. I need an heir of my body and your daughter is nubile and fertile, so I would like to propose a betrothal between her and me."

Maurice almost choked to death. Belle and King George! He had thought the king leaning in that direction with all his questions . . . but not for himself! George was over fifty, approaching fifty-six, and could have been Belle's father. He was a seasoned warrior, but with none of the qualities Maurice would have wanted for a son-in-law, despite his being king of Galatia. He was uncouth, disdained books, and was penny pinching and power hungry. And Belle would never be attracted to him, not for all the gold in Galatia.

"Sire . . .I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." he stammered. "It's a great honor . . .might I have time to . . .speak to my daughter about it?"

He had to stall for time . . .and he didn't know quite what to do about this unexpected—and unwelcome—proposal! He didn't dare refuse outright, because to do so would be to insult Galatia and ruin any hopes of a trade alliance and might even make George declare war on his country. But he also couldn't bear to bind his only daughter to this—this old lecher-whom it was rumored rutted with his wives so much that they died to escape his attentions.

"You may . . . but know I shall announce my intentions at the winter gala. I believe it the proper time to celebrate such a thing!" George guffawed.

"Yes, of course. I shall inform my daughter of your gracious offer . . ." Maurice said, and then prayed Belle didn't flee the country. "And now, sire, might I propose the following trade agreement . . .?"

He prayed he could wrangle an advantageous agreement out of the king before he broke the news to his poor daughter. I should have left her at home. This is what happens when you have a lecherous old king who sees a new pretty face. Oh, Belle, I'm so sorry . . .

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Meanwhile, the servants were scrubbing the ballroom of the palace until it gleamed. Rumple was on his hands and knees with a stiff brush and some lemon and lye soap scrubbing the floor, making the old wood shine like new. Later it would be waxed and buffed to a high gloss, but for now his job was to make it clean, a not so easy task as it had gotten scuffed and dirty from all the banquets the nobles held there.

Other servants were beating the drapes outside, as the ballroom featured large floor to ceiling windows and still others were polishing the candelabras and dusting the chandeliers which would be lit by mage lights especially for the occasion, because David had convinced the king that it would be cheaper to do so then spend money on candles. Still others were polishing the silverware and waxing the side board and tables with beeswax.

Rumple knew that the maids and so forth were busy cleaning the rooms and plumping the feather and beating the straw ticks and strewing the beds with fleabane powder and fresh herbs on the rushes on the floor in the great hall.

Everything must be perfect for the winter gala, he thought acidly, and scrubbed the wood as if he was possessed. He imagined the wood was Gaston's face and he was scrubbing the arrogant evil smirk from it. He didn't mind the manual labor, in Prytainia even the Mage Lords were not above learning an honest trade or doing work, and as a young boy, Rumple had chores to do the same as most common lads in Prytainia. What he did mind was that all his hard work was for these simpering arrogant Galatian fops and he detested everything they stood for.

And yet, for one night, he would have to prance among them, the mysterious guest at the feast, and dance with a lady. If he could pull off the deception.

He sighed, and imagined himself back in his humble cottage with the kettle on and singing silly songs with Bae and Aileen.

His hands ached from scrubbing and from the harsh lye soap, but he didn't stop his task. If he were caught slacking, as Gaston called it, he would feel the wrath of the noble through the collar.

As he scrubbed he thought about the rest of the work he had left to do on his outfit and wished he could use his magic to help him. Not using his magic when he wished was wearing on him emotionally, for as a Mage Lord he was accustomed to using it when and where he wished, and for a mage not using magic was like a bird not flying.

He thought again of Gaston and hoped whatever quarry he was hunting got away from him.

Page~*~*~*~Break

On her estate, Ella was complaining and pouting when Regina pulled the strings of her corset too tight. "You stupid cow!" she grouched. "I can barely draw breath!"

"Forgive me, milady," Regina apologized. "But I have to do this . . . otherwise your gown will not be able to be buttoned." If you didn't indulge yourself every night with parties and drinks and rich food, you wouldn't be putting on weight and need to be squeezed like a fat pig into this stupid cage! She thought coldly.

Her blond haired mistress was pretty, if you like the golden wheat haired blue eyed milkmaid type, she sneered. But no amount of face paint or hair styles could take away the fact that Ella was an insipid prig who giggled and couldn't hole a conversation about anything save gossiping about her peers and who was having and affair with such and such a lord.

It had taken Regina fifteen minutes to lay out her spoiled mistress's gowns for the ball and have her throw a fit when she couldn't fit into the blue velvet one. Finally she insisted Regina alter it with magic, a simple thing to do, and Regina wished she could make it transparent and have Ella parade herself naked into the ballroom like the whore she was.

But of course, she was forbidden to use her magic unless specifically commanded by her mistress.

Gritting her teeth, Regina tied the laces on the bone corset and helped Ella into her day gown, a frothy pink thing that made the woman look like a walking cupcake.

Regina just hoped that Henry was able to get the half day off and spend some time with her tonight. Her son was one of her only joys in her bleak new life . . . that and plotting rebellion with Rumple and the other Mage Lords she had contacted secretly, like Jefferson and Ruby.

Now if only there were a way to get these bloody collars off, she would show these pathetic Galatians what a true Mage Lord could do!

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Gaston drew his long bow, aiming his squid ink tipped arrow with its armor-piercing triangular head at his quarry. His legs were clamped like iron bands around Demons barrel, as the horse was skittish and sweating this close to the cave where their quarry resided.

Belle was a few feet back from him, soothing Delight, who was almost hysterical, as was any animal with sense this close to a dragon's lair.

The ambassador's daughter clutched her little bow in numb fingers and prayed to the gods and goddess of the hunt that they keep her safe. Had she known this was the quarry Gaston intended to hunt today she would have refused his offer. But it was too late now, and all she could do was try and control her mount.

Suddenly there was a soft hiss, like a teakettle boiling over, and then a small snout emerged from the cave.

It was followed by a wedge shaped head with gleaming gold scales and a long slender body with small wings pressed close to its back. It had four clawed feet and a long whip like tail.

Belle gasped. It was a baby gold dragon—a rare species and it had huge inquisitive violet eyes that looked curiously at her. She had read about such creatures in her books, but had never thought to see one. Gold dragons were quite magical, though shy and reclusive.

The little dragon made a soft meeping noise and another one, this one slightly larger and with crystal blue eyes and darker golden scales also came out of the cave.

"Oh! How beautiful!" Belle whispered. Then she saw what Gaston was about to do. "No!" she whimpered. She urged Delight forward, to try and stop what was about to happen.

Too late.

Gaston released the arrow.

It flew straight into the breast of the larger dragonet. The little golden creature screamed in agony before it died, and Belle found tears streaking her cheeks.

"Gaston! Stop!" she cried.

"Why?" he laughed. "This is what I came here for . . . to hunt these miserable creatures. They are a plague upon humankind and deserve death!" He nocked another arrow and shot it, and killed the second dragonet just as his had its siblings.

Belle felt ill. She could not comprehend how Gaston could do such a thing.

Worse, the tall noble was now dismounting and drawing a long hunting knife from his belt.

She watched in horror as he went and skinned the two dragonets, and cut off their heads as a trophy.

It was then that she turned and heeled Delight, running back down the trail towards the palace. Halfway there she pulled up as she lost her battle with her stomach and threw up. She was not a squeamish maiden, but the lovely violet eyes of the dragonet had looked at her before it had died, and in those eyes had been curiosity and intelligence, and now it was dead, snuffed out like a candle.

She retched until she threw up bile, then she rode back to the palace, pale and shaking.

She made it back to the stableyard and nearly fell off Delight. Normally she would have tended her horse herself, but she felt so ill she just wanted to lie down.

A sun browned hand took the reins from her and a voice, softly accented with a Prytani lilt, asked, "My lady, you look ill. Are you well?"

She looked up, to see Gaston's servant with the unkempt hair holding Delight's reins. His hair was still obscuring his eyes but she found the soft tone of his voice soothing. And all of a sudden she was crying.

Alarmed, Rumple asked, "Lady, are you in pain? If so, I can summon a physician." Gods, if she's hurt and I'm blamed for it . . . Gaston will flay the hide from me. "Lady, please . . ."

Belle sniffled. "No . . .I'm not hurt . . .I'm just upset . . .he . . . he killed them."

"Them? A deer?" Rumple guessed. "Birds? Milord usually kills something when he hunts." He wondered at the woman, weeping over game when she had willingly gone on a hunt.

But then Belle murmured, "No, nothing like that. I'm not a ninny. But he . . . he killed a gold dragon! Two of them! Babies!" She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "Maybe you think I'm being a frazzleheaded ninny, but . . . they were dragons . . . and one looked at me . . . before he killed it."

Rumple was appalled. "Gaston killed a gold dragonet? Two of them?"

"Yes, and I tried to stop him . . .but I couldn't!" Belle wept.

"I'm not surprised, lady. Only knocking him senseless has ever kept that one from killing," Rumple said bitterly. "But what he has done . . . is sacrilege! The gold dragons are the most magical of creatures and to kill one, especially a young one . . . we Prytani would never dream of such a thing."

"I don't understand why he even wanted to kill one . . . except . . . he said they were abominations and deserved death . . ."

"That's his reason for anything he does . . .but there will be a reckoning for this, lady. Mark my words . . . when the dragonets' mother finds out . . .she shall come hunting the one who killed her young . . ." Rumple declared darkly.

Belle shivered. "But that would mean . . ."

"Yes. We are all in danger," the Prytani nodded. "Shall I escort you to your room, lady?"

"No. I . . . I can find the way. But . . . thank you for your concern, sir." Belle said. "Would you see to my horse? I think . . . I need to lie down."

"Yes, you look rather pale. Perhaps you ought to drink some mulled wine, milady?" he suggested. "And I will take care of your mare."

Belle smiled at him. "Thank you."

"You needn't thank me. I'm just a slave," Rumple said, dipping his head.

"You may be a slave now, but you . .. are far kinder than your master," Belle said.

"My master has no manners," Rumple sneered. "And he holds nothing sacred save himself and his weapons. Good day, Lady Belle." He bowed to her and led Delight away, saying, "Come now, dearie, and I'll give you a nice bran mash and a rub down . . ."

Belle hurried across the yard, her heart cold within her. I must find my father. If he was right . . . we are all in grave peril . . . But even as she thought it, her mind was replaying her conversation with the man known as Rumplestiltskin in her head, and taking comfort from his mellifluous voice, like velvet honey, and it made her feel warm down to her toes, despite her fear that they would all be roasted alive once the mother dragon returned and found her offspring dead.

In the stable, Rumple untacked the mare and thought about the reaction of her mistress. If a woman could weep over the death of a gold dragonet, perhaps he had misjudged her . . .perhaps . . . of course all of that could be moot if the dragon attacked . . . and he cursed Gaston roundly in his head for a stupid scumsucking ass.

A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! The dance is coming up . . .will Belle recognize Rumple? And what will happen if the mother dragon attacks the city?

I also have two other stories I just started-Return to Neverland features a soldier Rumple suffering from PTSD and a Mind Healer Belle who is his therapist. And Unexpected Surprise features a Belle who is barren yet somehow manages to get pregnant and her husband Rumple, who also starts suffering sympathetic pregnancy symptoms due to his bond with her.