Author's note: Sorry for all these late updates, these chapters take a while to write up, but you guys are amazing with all of your continued support. It's incredible that this story has regular readers and still holds interest. Gosh, this was hard to write, trying to figure out how to follow up the ballroom scene… Don't worry, this story is still going strong, but as always, keep your hopes low as it's a slow burn! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and don't forget to like, follow and review as always :D Happy reading everyone! (P.S. just been edited a bit since some of it was a bit jumbly)

Chapter 10

Belle looked down at the book in her hands with unease. 'Shakespeare's Sonnets', a collection of poems which she'd found lying in the 'S' section of the library. She had been up and about organizing the room all through the afternoon.

At first, she had taken it out of pure interest, but after taking a break later and venturing up one of the spiral staircases that led to the second floor above, she discovered an entirely different section, the wooden panels above showing her that this extraordinary library even had its own 'poetry' section.

Thus, she now found herself in a bit of a dilemma.

Since there were works of Shakespeare in the poetry section, Belle came to the conclusion that either his work had been all jumbled up together for purely practical reasons, or the previous librarian had made a mistake.

Settling herself down into the chair by the fireplace on the far corner of the library, Belle let herself sigh in an unrestrained fashion as she popped the book of poetry on the side table.

This position was turning out to be a much more tiring ordeal than she had first anticipated.

She had forgotten to ask Mrs Potts earlier how one was supposed to organize a library, and so she had been left to her own devices to try and sort it out. So far, she had barely made it through the 'S' section of novels, which were located near the back end of the library.

After a little exploration, Belle soon discovered that the ground floor consisted mostly of novels, memoirs and, rather surprisingly, political analysis. The balconies held books of varying topics, such as travel literature, serious histories and, as mentioned, poetry.

All the books had their own categories, and clearly the previous librarian had been a rather lazy fellow because Belle had found several works, such as 'One Thousand and One Nights', randomly stuck next to works by Chaucer.

The problem Belle found, was that since a book like 'One Thousand and One Nights' had no single author, it was difficult to know where on earth to place it. True, it had been translated by a man named Antoine Galland, but he was not the original author, and 'G' was nowhere near 'C' in any case.

Belle let her head lean back as she stared at the copy of 'Romeo and Juliet' lying on her armchair, a beautifully bound copy of the work, a stark contrast to the unassuming, roughened up version she had frequently walked around with in the Villeneuve.

It might have seemed a little illogical to pick out a book she had already read a million times before, as opposed to the countless stories that lay before her, just waiting to be picked up and read.

But perhaps Belle had felt a little overwhelmed in this exciting and yet foreign place, and therefore wanted something more familiar, something that reminded her of home.

Picking up the play, Belle began to flick through its pages, but she could not seem to focus on the words. Usually she did not face this problem, as she found reading as easy as breathing, but clearly something was troubling her.

"No legacy is so rich as honesty," she muttered to herself, aware that the quote was not from 'Romeo and Juliet'. Shutting the book, she pursed her lips into a thin line.

Why had she not told Mrs Potts the truth?

Was it out of shame, or guilt?

True, she hadn't wanted to embarrass Mrs Potts, even though she was probably more than aware of what the Prince was like. Even so, Belle had not confessed to her about sneaking up to the balcony and watching the ball take place with Plumette. This was of course the primary reason why she had returned to the ballroom the night after. Without giving away that certain piece of information it was impossible to explain to her why she had ventured up there in the first place.

As Belle ruminated over this, she began to feel increasingly claustrophobic. She had told white lies before, like any other person, but this was the first time she felt like she'd told a significant lie, and to somebody who she was beginning to care a great deal for. She had done something she shouldn't have, because of her stubborn curiosity, and instead of being punished for it, she had been awarded with perhaps the best position she could have ever hoped for…

Actually, she doubted she could have ever dreamt of it, let alone hoped for it. Perhaps that was why she felt a certain amount of guilt coursing through her body, ever since Mrs Potts had left the room earlier that day.

Belle sat up in her chair and stared at the discarded copy of 'Romeo and Juliet' in her lap. She needed to focus and be strict with herself. No more wondering and dreaming. She had to concentrate on fulfilling her station from now on and reminded herself why she was here.

She had to set both her and papa free, and only then could she return to him and the simple life she had once scorned. Her father had given her so much, more than she had been aware of before. He'd given her freedom and security, both things she was beginning to discover were rare in this world.

Now it was her turn to give him something back in return.

Standing up spritely, Belle walked towards the 'S' section, 'Romeo and Juliet' in hand. As much as she craved to read, she had a job to do. She couldn't afford to remain distracted anymore.

Climbing up the wooden latter which leant against the bookcase, Belle kept her gaze on the rows of books in front of her, doing her best to avoid looking down towards the floor.

It wasn't that she had a fear of heights necessarily, but she didn't want to inadvertently shake the ladder.

As Belle leaned up to put 'Romeo and Juliet' back where she had taken it from, she heard a sudden squeak echo across the room. Turning her head in alarm towards the doorway on the otherwise of library, Belle squinted her eyes as she tried to make out whether anybody come in, but the room was, as far as she could tell, utterly deserted except for herself.

Shaking her head in response, she turned back towards the bookcase just as she felt the ladder begin to tip backwards. Hastily grabbing on to the frame of the bookcase, Belle scrambled to stop herself and the ladder from falling. Just as she was regaining her balance however, she felt a strong pair of hands take hold of the ladder and push it firmly back towards its original position, immediately putting an end to her struggle.

Swerving her gaze down towards the source of the movement, Belle felt her heart begin to sink.

It would have kept sinking, if not for the fact that she found herself locking eyes with the very last thing she had expected to see there.

"Hi," said a young boy with scruffy brown hair, beaming up at Belle with a toothy grin on his face.

"Hi,' breathed Belle, not knowing what else to say. He'd appeared seemingly out of thin air.

"That was a close one," he remarked, which began to set Belle at ease. "Are you the new librarian?"

"Yes, I am," replied Belle brightly as she quickly put away the, by now, long forgotten book and made her way down the ladder.

"I thought so," said the child, an unmistakably mischievous grin plastered on his face as Belle reached the bottom. "Mama told me all about you."

"All good things I hope?" replied Belle anxiously, wondering who the boy's mother was. He was dressed simply, so it was hard for Belle to tell whether he was staying in the castle or belonged to one of the staff.

"Of course," said Chip with excitement. "She's always talking about you! I think she finds you interesting."

Belle didn't know whether this was necessarily a good or bad thing, but she found herself smiling nonetheless, charmed by the boy's unfazed sense of honesty, a quality which many children seemed to have.

Perhaps sensing her unease, the boy spoke once more.

"You sounded nice," he said hesitantly as Belle moved the ladder back towards the end of the bookcase. "And I wanted to meet you since everyone seems to be talking about you all the time."

"I see," replied Belle slowly, guessing that he was referring to the staff. Turning to face the young boy, who was now looking towards her anxiously, she continued her response. "Well, I'm Belle. And you are?"

"Chip," said the boy as he accepted Belle's hand and they shook hands in a formal manner. He enjoyed the fact she was looking him in the eye and talking naturally, not the way that some adults did when speaking to him, dumbing down their voices and talking very slowly, as if he suffered from hearing problems.

"It's nice to meet you, Chip," replied Belle warmly, smiling in return to the boy's gleeful gaze. "Who is your mama?"

"Mrs Potts of course!" burst out Chip humorously, giggling at Belle's ignorance, but it was not condescending. "She says you like reading and that I should do more of it."

"Is that why you're here?" asked Belle, making her way towards the fireplace. "Your mother sent you to pick something from the library?"

"Erm," stammered Chip, looking suddenly a little sheepish as he pushed his shoes together and hid his hands behind his back.

Belle smiled in response to Chip's awkward stance.

"I see," she replied simply before turning to pick up Shakespeare's Sonnets off the table.

"Please don't tell her I came here on my own, she'll kill me!" exclaimed Chip, coming up to Belle, desperation in his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Belle reassuringly as she turned to face the dear boy. "I won't tell, but-"

The clock sitting on the marble mantelpiece chimed six o'clock, signalling supper time for the staff.

"My goodness," said Belle in response. "Is it that time already?"

"Chip looked up at Belle with a slightly worried look on his face.

"Your mother is probably looking for you around about now," said Belle, registering Chip's concern. "Let's go down together and we'll make some excuse. I'm afraid we'll have to leave picking a story for later."

Chip blinked at Belle, struggling to register what the strange young lady had just said. She was going to help him get away with sneaking around the castle?

"You really are as funny as they say you are," said chip, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Am I really that hilarious?" questioned Belle as she started to walk back towards the entrance of the library, deliberately attempting to look perplexed as she did. Chip snickered in response as he followed her.

"Thank you, Belle," said Chip, once his giggles had subsided. "Most people would just tell me off."

"Well, I will let you off the hook this time, but it is unfair on your mother. Next time, tell her you are coming and then at least she will feel a little safer in knowing where you are."

They had reached the doors by this point and Belle was about to place her hand on the handle.

"But Belle," began Chip, sounding strangely alarmed, "don't you know I'm not supposed to-"

The doors burst open, causing Belle to flinch and step several paces backwards, just as Chip hurried towards her side and grabbed hold of her apron.

At first the bright light from the windows behind in the hallway obscured her view, but once the doors closed, Belle found herself once again in the presence of the master of the castle, the Price.

His cool gaze was fixed upon her, completely unreadable. He looked just as finely dressed he had during the ball, but perhaps more relaxed and without all the make-up and wig, like the night they had first properly met.

Seeing him, face to face, in daylight, left yet another impression on Belle. He seemed a much more solid figure than before. All except the blue, cold eyes. Those never seemed to change.

They shifted soon, however, towards Chip, who was hiding behind Belle, trembling in fear.

Recognizing the young boy, the Prince's expression turned murderous as he began to stride towards the boy.

"What are you doing here?" said the Prince hoarsely, his deep voice painfully bitter as he towered over him.

"It's my fault, Your Highness," said Belle, spreading her arms protectively in front of Chip. "I invited him here."

"The question was not directed towards you," replied the Prince cuttingly, narrowing his eyes as he turned his discerning gaze towards her. "Don't trouble yourself to give him an excuse for his actions. Servants are not allowed to be in this library. You may not be aware of this, but the boy certainly is."

The Prince turned his scathing gaze back towards the boy, who, by now, looked positively traumatised. Belle could not blame him, but she would rather be damned than let the Prince hurt him, like she suspected he had done before.

"Please," spoke Belle boldly, just as the Prince was turning his attentions back towards the boy. "He meant no harm. He's just a boy. If you must punish anyone then punish me instead."

The Prince stilled his movements and slowly turned towards Belle. He took a moment to simply stare at her, his blue eyes peering at her as if she were some strange creature at a zoo. Belle held her ground, not blinking nor moving a single inch as he looked her up and down.

After a moment's silence, the Prince's expression turned almost languid, as if he had become bored at the situation at hand.

"Leave this room, at once," he muttered, his eyes still firmly concentrated on Belle.

Chip looked uneasily towards her before making his way quickly towards the double doors, just as Belle, too, began to follow him. Before she made more than one step in his direction however, the Prince spoke once more.

"Not you," he said flatly, his baritone voice echoing distinctly across the library. He had not shifted his eyes from the spot where Belle had stood mere moments before.

Retracing her steps, she saw her new young acquaintance making his way through the doors, looking hesitantly towards her, unsure of whether to leave her alone with the fearsome mon- master. The librarian simply smiled reassuringly in response however and tilted her head as a sign to show him that she was going to be alright.

Seeming at least a little satisfied, the young boy let the door quietly close behind him.

Realizing the Prince had not spoken, Belle turned her attentions back towards him, only to find that he was still staring at her, unblinking as if he were in the middle of some thought.

"My lord, please excuse the boy," began Belle as she gave him a dutiful bow, wanting to put a quick end to their conversation.

The Prince, however, was not having it.

Ignoring her as if he found her pleasantries a bore, he moved away from his place and passed by Belle, nearly brushing her shoulder as he made his way further into the library and began to speak.

"How do you find it?"

"What?" exclaimed Belle sourly, as she turned to look at him, unable to form a polite response as his pretentious voice got the better of her.

"The library," replied the Prince sarcastically, just as the early red of the sunset, which had been streaming through the windows, caught the gleam of his golden hair.

"It is beautiful," replied Belle, unfazed. She did not move however. She kept close to the doors.

"So, you admit there is at least something a little angelic and joyous about this place?"

Belle blinked.

Registering the perplexed expression on her face, the Prince reacted by smiling in an almost intimate manner, as if he were enjoying some private joke with himself. Glancing towards a random bookcase by his side, he noticed one of the more roughed up titles and slid it out of its place.

His lack of response irked Belle, and she began to feel a little nervous.

What did he want? Clearly it wasn't to read, for Mrs Potts had said the library was rarely frequented. Besides, the young Duke didn't seem like the type to enjoy reading. Was he just toying with her, because of what had happened the other night?

He had spoken of punishment, and she had assumed that meant her dismissal, but clearly, now she could see that that wasn't the case.

So what did he mean by that?

Noting his continued silence as she watched him beginning to flick through a book, Belle began to feel irritated.

If he wanted something of her, why didn't he just come right out and say it? Was he still pursuing her, was that it?

"Is there a particular title you are searching for my lord?" asked Belle as she moved towards him, unable to play along with his antics any longer.

"Oh," replied the Prince, raising his eyebrows in false surprise as he turned to face her, book still in hand. "Nothing in particular."

Letting out a concentrated breath, Belle levelled her eyes as she did her best not to raise her right eyebrow in a sarcastic manner.

The Prince seemed to enjoy this, for he proceeded to smirk.

"What you did, the other night, was inexcusable, and yet you find yourself here…"

He spoke softly, but his eyes darkened and began to fill with obvious scorn. It was a strange combination to behold and it succeeded in making Belle feel a little uneasy.

He had not forgotten.

Clearly though, he seemed a lot more collected than he had during their last encounter and had either justified his actions or simply blamed her for everything that had happened.

"I have Monsieur Cogsworth to thank for that," replied Belle curtly as the Prince moved slowly towards her. She would have moved back, but she didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

The Prince's response however, was not what she had expected. Instead of looking irritable or even angry, he seemed to stop still, his expression turning into that of mild surprise. After a moment, Belle could swear she saw suggestions of humour in his blue eyes, but it was so subtle she could not know for sure.

"I see," he responded quietly, his gaze still lingering on her, although he did not seem to advance any further towards her.

"I understand my errors, and I am well aware that I ought to be dismissed for my terrible actions. However, Monsieur Cogsworth was understanding, something he was under no obligation to be."

The Prince raised his eyebrows at this sudden outburst and looked only blankly towards Belle, which only perplexed her further.

Why on earth was he not angrier at her for getting away with what she did? Where was the punishment he had spoken of? Not that Belle was complaining but…. He seemed almost too detached from the way he was the night he caught her in the ballroom.

"Let me ask you a couple things," he murmured, gesturing towards the two armchairs, which just happened to be in the centre of the room.

"Of course," replied Belle a little defensively, but she did as she was told and took a seat in one of the crimson armchairs. Moving into the one opposite her, the Prince made himself comfortable before knitting his fingers neatly together. Belle noted the ring he wore on his right hand, a golden ring embossed with a coat of arms, no doubt that of his family's.

"Why do you think you are still here?" he asked calmly, yet there was a calculated look in his eyes.

"Because I was given this position, sir," replied Belle. It took all the courage she had not to avoid his gaze.

"A position Monsieur Cogsworth gave to you."

"That's correct," answered Belle briskly, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Who informed you of this?" asked the Prince, his voice light and breezy.

"Mrs Potts."

"I see," he replied, nodding his head slowly. He paused, as if he were trying to figure something out which was irritating him. After a moment, he looked up at her once more.

"And why do you think you were given this post?" he asked, his nonchalant glance now turning intense as he stared at her. She felt like she was being interrogated and yet at the same time she was aware that the Prince seemed to be really listening to her. He had remembered what she'd said the other night.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

"To keep out of people's way? I believe I was a nuisance in the kitchens."

There was a pause before the Prince continued. The intensity in his eyes seemed to lift, and it was replaced by something a little vague. In truth, Belle could not figure out his reaction to her words. She had expected for him to be pleased at the self-deprecation, but instead he looked curious.

"You have such a low opinion of yourself?"

"No, I do not," she replied impatiently. Why was he asking her all these questions? Why was he even speaking to her? She had assumed after their previous encounter that he would never wish to speak to her again, and she had been satisfied with that. Something about his presence however sent her on edge. She presumed it mostly came from the fact that she would never forget his appalling behaviour the night she met him.

"I am new and I have never worked as a maid before," she continued, her voice defensive. "It is simply a fact."

She had not realized it, but despite her determination to remain as stoic as possible, she had moved her gaze away from him. Realizing her mistake, she quickly looked up, only to find that the Prince was smirking, and he had relaxed his posture, leaning further back into his chair. His white cravat gleamed in the sunlight, a painful contrast to Belle's stained and dusty apron. The entire situation was completely ridiculous, and if she had met the Prince during her errands in Villeneuve, she had no doubt that she would have fallen to her knees and bowed numerous times. She would not have dared to have even uttered a word.

Something about the library however set her at ease, and perhaps because of that disastrous night at the ball, she knew she'd already done the worst by trespassing and insulting him.

"You're troublesome, in other words," concluded the Prince, his voice a little sharp but not angry. "Not exactly surprising, given your past behaviour."

Belle widened her eyes in response and could not help but retort with passion, "Your Highness, your behaviour was not entirely honourable either. I apologize for what happened that night, and I am aware that I should not have been there, but I was not the only party at fault. What you did, or- at least suggested to do was entirely dishonourable!"

Now the Prince did seem irritated. His previous flamboyant nature was replaced by something much darker, something Belle immediately recognized.

"You feel like you are being treated unfairly here, don't you?" spat the Prince, standing up to look down upon her, his eyes filled with scorn.

"Not by my peers perhaps," replied Belle calmly, standing up also. "But you, Your Highness-"

"You feel your life here has been unfair, don't you?" interrupted the young master, pacing slowly towards her.

Belle would have replied, but he sounded oddly hurt. As if she had found his weak spot. For the life of her however she could not figure out what it was. She opened her mouth to speak but the Prince took advantage of her moment of hesitancy.

"Well, let me tell you a useful truth so that you do not set yourself up for disappointment. You want more, I can tell as much, but life, mademoiselle, is unfair. The people of this world are no better than the monsters you encounter in the fictitious books you read. In fact, they are infinitely worse."

Belle blinked in response as the Prince looked down at her, his mouth twisted into a sneer. His voice was bitter, but though his speech was cutting like a sharp dagger aimed towards her heart, he did not sound as if he enjoyed saying the stinging words to her.

Belle frowned as she noticed him look away, down towards her lips. Feeling panic rise within, Belle began to speak rapidly in response, her eyes cast down towards the marble floor.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you an apt response because the conversation has strayed too far. The only thing I can do is apologize for what happened and assure you that it will never happen again."

She could not believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she simply wanted the conversation to end and for the Prince to leave her in peace. Give him what he wanted, and then he would leave. At least, she prayed that he did.

"I do not want to discuss in detail what happened," replied the Prince after a moment, stepping away and sounding at least a little more subdued than before. "I do not need to justify myself to you. It is clear that you think I am a merciless brute, which perhaps is what you are used to in the village where you came from. I am not as heartless as you think however. I merely supposed you were aware of the world you lived in, but perhaps I was mistaken. You are more naïve than I thought."

Belle felt fury rise again, and she let out a haggard breath and bit her bottom lip. The very nerve of the man! She could not stand him and his pretentious ways. He sounded once more like he had done when he first entered the room.

She wanted to offer some cutting remark but there were too many thoughts flitting through her brain, and besides, she wanted him to leave as quickly as possible. Let him think whatever he wished, it was no concern of hers.

"Belle," continued the young Duke, causing the young woman to flinch ever so slightly. It felt strange to hear him say her name. "I want to know why you placed that rose by my father's portrait. You can talk all you like of disliking the aristocracy, but you cannot deny that you were there out of curiosity."

"I did that because I had heard he had died," replied Belle hesitantly, still aware of his gaze on her but actively avoiding it. She placed her hands carefully in front of her skirt.

"You did it out of respect," repeated the Prince, his voice incredulous.

"Yes, sir."

"For a person you hardly knew."

"Well-" began Belle, looking up, wishing to explain herself but the Prince cut her off.

"He did not deserve it!" he said as he narrowed his eyes and turned away, gripping hold of the top of his armchair, his fingers slowly trying to tear the fabric. "People grieving over his passing, it's utterly despicable."

Belle frowned. She knew she ought not to, but she could not help but ask a question of her own.

"I take it you did not get along well with your father."

She saw him physically stiffen, and felt her stomach drop in response, resigning herself towards what was to come.

Turning slowly towards her, the Prince looked as if he were about to explode with all the rage boiling within himself, but as he lifted his gaze, he stopped.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, their eyes locked in each others gaze, neither of them saying a word.

After a moment, as if suddenly recognizing something beyond her, the Prince's anger strangely began to dissipate and his gaze turned into that of curiosity.

"I did not," he said quietly, his voice low and sombre.

Belle stared at him with wonder, and realized that it was he now, and not she, who looked uncomfortable. She hadn't expected him to answer her question...

He would not meet her gaze.

He seemed so different to the unreachable Prince masquerading about the ballroom. Yet, just as Belle felt speaking once more, he turned towards her with a thunderous look in his eyes.

"You defied my authority, and trespassed onto my property. You will be punished, make no mistake about that," he said through gritted teeth as he approached her once more.

"I defied you because I am under your servitude, but not your slave!" retorted Belle, her voice rising. Her father was right; the Prince really was as monstrous as people said she was. "I had every right to refuse you, and for you to suppose otherwise-"

"How dare you speak back to me in such a manner!" Do you have no sense of your position?"

"Of course, I do, I am perfectly aware but that does not make me a lesser being, a person lower than you with no free will of my own!"

Belle felt herself start to pant as she tried to control the anger swirling within her, her eyes glaring at the Prince with all the disgust she could muster.

The Prince, like a panther looking towards its prey, slowly paced towards her, his eyes dark and full of cynicism.

"Oh darling," he muttered quietly, "you are much mistaken if you have any sense of free will in this place. You described me as a monster. Fine, if that is what you think of me then so be it. You will join me for dinner."

Belle let her mouth drop in shock as the Prince towered over her.

"What on earth-"

"And that is not a request," he snarled as he leaned towards her to give her one last scathing look before swiftly turning around and exiting the library, letting the door slam harshly behind him.

Belle sank into her chair. Her father was wrong. The Prince was not a beast, he was out of his mind.