A/N: I'm thankful for everyone who has reviewed/liked/favorited. Every one of you means the world to me!
Also, this story will involve a lot of time jumps, so I'll indicate at the beginning of the chapter any pertinent ages. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Beatrice: Age 1
Ben: Age 4
"Happy birthday, Princess Beatrice! Happy birthday to you!"
An extremely on-key chorus held out the last note, a plethora of vibratos echoing from each party-goer.
And, my, was it a party.
The royal family was notorious for throwing the most extravagant, yet at the same time comfortingly intimate gatherings kingdom-wide. Tables covered in pale yellow tablecloths were scattered around the lush lawn of the royal gardens, flanked by rose bushes in full bloom. Each table boasted an elegant centerpiece comprised of red roses and baby's breath. Yellow and navy balloons, anchored by wicker chairs, floated aimlessly above the party-goers, much to the amusement of the children in attendance. But the greatest feature of the royal family's extravagant parties was the bountiful feast. And for the princess's first birthday party, royal chef Cuisiner had outdone himself. Beef ragout, cheese soufflé, pie, and pudding en flambé were just some of the many dishes that graced the platters on the long tables. While the guests were distracted, Lumiere took the opportunity to replenish the ever-famed "gray stuff" (which he never did share the recipe for, unfortunately).
At the center of the extravaganza, Princess Bea, in a baby pink, tulle gown embroidered with rosettes gazed intently at her special birthday cake on the table portion of her high chair. The adults and children around her were urging her to do something with it, and she looked to her mother in confusion. Catching on to her mother's hand motions, Bea took a fistful of the chocolate cake and took a bite. Bea giggled in pleasure at the sweet taste but found more interest in smearing the frosting over her birthday gown.
(Somewhere in the distance, Madame de Garderobe nearly fainted at the sight).
Ben laughed, holding the camera close to his sister's face. "Say hi, Bea!"
But she stilled seemed more interested in decimating her custom gown to which Ben decided he'd rather film Chad, Lonnie, and Audrey playing games anyhow.
"I think she's had enough frosting for one day," Belle chuckled, removing her hand from her husband's arm. "You mingle with the guests, and I'll get her changed into something less chocolatey."
Adam nodded at his wife's request and ambled over to Eugene and Aladdin, probably arguing over which one of them was the better thief back in the day.
"Come here, sweetie," Belle murmured, carefully lifting up a very sticky baby.
At the tribulation of being separated from her new toy, Bea shrieked in protest. She continued to cry all the way to her nursery but was soothed at the prospect of a quick bubble bath.
Belle slipped the squeaky clean princess into a simpler mint green frock embossed with pink roses, and she hummed in satisfaction.
With Bea amusing herself with the pearls on her necklace, Belle made her way down the grand staircase, ready to rejoin the festivities. A stocky old man ambling into the foyer, however, stopped her in her tracks.
"Papa?" Belle called out curiously. "What are you doing away from the party?"
Maurice cast his only daughter a beaming grin, mustache lifting at the corners.
"Just wanted to see my granddaughter without all the ruckus," Maurice chuckled, leaning heavily on his cane. "You and Adam throw quite the shindigs."
"Let's sit in the parlor for a little," Belle said, tenderly taking her dear father's hand. "I'm sure our guests won't mind if we relax for a little bit."
The two strolled towards the parlor where two armchairs sat invitingly next to each other.
Maurice plopped heavily into his seat, breathing slightly labored, and Belle tried not to let her concern show too evidently. Though her father assured her that he was fine and not to worry, Belle couldn't help fret over her remaining parent. She and her father shared a close bond throughout her life. Ever since her mother died, Maurice became both parents to her; he was her confidant and her most cherished friend (other than her husband, of course). She had urged him for the past decade to take up residency in the castle. She promised him his own workshop for whatever tinkering or artistic endeavors he desired. But every time she brought up the subject he would chortle good-naturedly and tell her that his cottage in the suburb of Villeneuve was his home. Regardless of the distance, Maurice made several treks to the castle several times a month with a new gift for his grandchildren in tow every visit. But as he continued to age, the once sprightly man was finding trips to the castle more difficult.
Belle tucked it in her mind to send a more luxurious car to retrieve her father for his next trip.
"Do you want to hold her?" Belle questioned.
At the offer, Maurice took the baby into his arms. "Yes, she wants to see her Grandpa, doesn't she?" Maurice crooned in a sing-song voice strictly reserved for his grandchildren.
Bea gazed at Maurice with shining chocolate eyes, grasping his snowy mustache and pulling in the opposite direction. Belle moved to chide her daughter, but Maurice held up his hand in appeasement.
"She's got a strength to her," Maurice commented, pressing a finger to her button nose. "A beauty with strength. Reminds me of her mother." He sent her a warm smile, a smile so contagious Belle felt her own smile form.
Maurice placed his finger in his granddaughter's grasp. "Everyone seems to love her. This party had a good showing, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves at her coronation."
"They do, they do," Belle assured him, brushing a chestnut curl behind her ear. "Plenty of royals have adopted children themselves so her adoption wasn't too big of a stir. Besides, she's the little princess; the kingdom practically has swooned over her. Auradon hasn't had such a big event to gush over since Ben was born."
Although all she had to share with her father was good news, Belle's eyes flicked downwards in sadness and her shoulders sagged with the weight of a burden on her shoulders.
Maurice, although lauded as eccentric, was very perceptive concerning his daughter. He could read every facial expression and every movement like an open book.
"Does Adam still have trouble with her?"
Belle nodded her head in shame, placing her head in hands. "I thought it would only be a couple of months, but a year's passed, Papa! I suppose he's civil with her, and he attempts to be affectionate. But he doesn't love her; he doesn't consider her his daughter." Belle's lip quivered as she gazed up at her father in desperation, "I just don't know what else I can do."
Maurice pondered for a moment, thoughtfully, gazing at the innocent face of his youngest grandchild. "I don't think there's anything you can do. You remember how tense things were between Adam and me the first few months after the curse. But look at us now! We're thick as thieves, but that developed over time. Give him that, Belle, and you'll see, in time, we fathers can't help but want the best for our daughters."
At that, he gave Belle a warm wink and, with ease, handed Beatrice back to her mother.
"Now, never mind all that. Today's a day of celebration! And celebrations call for gifts."
At that, Maurice produced an intricate music box from his coat pocket.
"Papa!" Belle gasped. "It's beautiful."
The tiny music box was fashioned in the shape of a blooming flower, porcelain shards stemming from the base like opening petals. Each petal was intricately painted with a scene of a pond encompassed with snowy lilies and pink wildflowers. At the top of the box was a shimmering lily, encrusted with crystals. Deftly plucking up the cover, Maurice revealed a pink butterfly with gold trim. He cranked the wind up key, and a familiar melody began to play.
"How does a moment last forever. How can a story never die? It is love we must hold onto. Never easy but we try," Maurice sang, a nostalgic smile on his face.
"Sometimes our happiness is captured. Somehow, a time and place stand still," Belle crooned, watching in fascination as Bea cooed at the spinning butterfly.
"Love lives on inside our hearts and always will," the father and daughter finished together, chuckling in remembrance of another life and another place. A place without royalty and coronations and decrees.
Back to a workshop in which sat an inventor and his daughter.