As always, I must beg your forgiveness for my abominable tardiness in updating. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter. It's been pieced together over a rather long period of time, so I'm really not sure how well it's turned out. You'll have to let me know what you think!
MANY thanks to the reviewers of the previous chapter: Bellaroe, MysteryWriter14, WriterGirl1472, Hayden Avery, and Akora. There's no way I'd keep updating without your support, so I can't tell you how much I appreciate your comments!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 10:
The songbirds were belting out their most beautiful melodies, the delicate flowers of early spring were unveiling their petals to the world, yet Belle was oblivious. Her narrowed eyes were for the Beast alone. What was he playing at?
The Beast was nothing if not perceptive. He immediately noticed her suspicious gaze and hurried to address it. "Is something wrong?" he asked as he trotted nearer to her.
"I'm not quite sure," she replied, peering up at him from her seat on the castle steps.
"Lately, you've seemed very distrustful. Am I reading you incorrectly?"
"No, you're right." Belle paused and looked keenly into the Beast's red eyes. "You've been kinder to me lately." The Beast made no immediate reply, so she continued, "Take our present conversation as an example. Before, you would never have asked me if something was wrong. You would have said, 'Tell me your thoughts.' Then, when I told you, you would have mocked me."
"Not if your thoughts were intelligent."
"You never think my thoughts are intelligent."
"You portray me in a very harsh light."
"Because that's what you are. Harsh. At least, you used to be. Now you seem much less so, and the change confuses me."
The Beast looked at her very seriously and asked, "When did the change begin?"
Despite the small shiver that passed through her, Belle steadily returned the Beast's gaze. "Perhaps two weeks ago."
It had actually been three weeks ago, but Belle didn't want to allude too obviously to the terrible conversation that had exposed everything the Beast was trying to attain. Only a few days afterwards, the Beast's behavior had started to change. Knowing it was merely a ruse, Belle had ignored it. She thought the Beast would grow impatient and drop the façade soon enough. Yet he had not.
They were still looking at one another. Belle was beginning to quail under the intensity of the Beast's gaze, and at last she lowered her eyes. She picked up a twig near her feet and began to prod at the earth. If only she had the courage to tell the Beast that she knew exactly what he was trying to do. He certainly knew that she knew, so she didn't really need to tell him. Nevertheless, she felt that things would be much simpler if she could simply voice her knowledge.
However, it was not an easy thing to look the Beast in the eye and say, "I know you're trying to make me love you." He would most likely fly into a rage, which would be terrible. Alternatively, he might become earnest and vulnerable, as he had three weeks earlier. That would be far, far more terrible.
Lately, he had seemed always on the edge of a precipice of sincerity. Belle was unwilling to give him the push that would send him tumbling into the abyss.
After an overly long silence, the Beast huffed and turned away. Belle could hear his paws beat heavily against the ground as he strode to the rear of the castle. She knew she was extremely transparent, especially to the Beast's cunning eye, and she blushed at the possibility that he had divined every single one of her thoughts.
Blushing before a beast? Surely not.
Two days later, Belle and Vincent once again had their ears pressed to the door of the Beast's chambers as he and Francoise held their usual afternoon conference. Francoise sounded uncharacteristically agitated.
"Her bedchamber is perfectly fine. I would never allow a guest to be uncomfortable," the old woman declared. It sounded as though she was pacing back and forth. "Why do you ask? Has she complained?"
Vincent snickered at his aunt's distress.
"Quiet!" Belle hissed, waving a cautionary hand at him.
"He knows we're here. He can always smell us," Vincent pointed out.
"But we might as well pretend," she huffed before pressing her ear more firmly against the solid wood door.
"It was merely a thought," the Beast rumbled. It didn't sound as though he really wanted to appease his old servant. His voice was more amused than conciliatory. Yet it suddenly grew more serious. "I wish you wouldn't call her a guest."
Once again, Belle found herself shivering. She wished she wouldn't.
"Master, you do realize that she and Vincent are eavesdropping, don't you?" Francoise asked uncertainly.
"Yes. Never mind," the Beast growled. "You can leave with Vincent. Send her in."
"Caught again," Vincent murmured as Francoise tore the door open. He and Belle smiled guiltily at the cranky old woman.
"He wants you," Francoise said, jerking her head towards the doorway. Her usually pale face was rather pink; she must have been extremely annoyed.
Belle hated her mind for the way it translated those three innocuous words into a blush. Eyes on the ground, she slunk into the room. "Good afternoon," she muttered. It was really too warm for a fire, but one was blazing in the hearth nevertheless. Belle began to sweat almost as soon as she entered the room. No wonder Francoise had been flushed. Fortunately, the heat provided a splendid excuse for Belle's red face.
"Sit," the Beast said as the door swung shut. "Please."
His newfound politeness would never cease to startle her. "Thank you," she said, lowering herself onto her usual stool. She glanced shyly at the Beast and added, "I'm also grateful for your concern about my living quarters."
His thick black hairs rustled as he shifted uncomfortably. Apparently he was unaccustomed to his own kindness, as well. "As I told Francoise, it was only a thought." Another thought seemed to strike him, and he asked, "You're now seventeen, aren't you?"
Belle wiped a drop of sweat off her brow and said, "Yes. Why?"
"When was your birthday?"
"About a month and a half ago."
"Did you celebrate it?"
"Of course not."
That was clearly not the answer the Beast had hoped for. "Francoise didn't do anything for you?"
"I didn't tell Francoise it was birthday," Belle replied with a shrug. She hadn't expected any sort of celebration. Prisoners didn't celebrate. Of course, she could never say so to the Beast. He'd told Francoise not to call her a guest, and she didn't expect him to like the word "prisoner" any better. She wished he'd suggest a better term.
Belle once again mopped her forehead as the Beast stared thoughtfully into the hearth. His red eyes were gleaming in the firelight, but their glow no longer frightened Belle. His horns and claws were as sharp as they ever had been, yet Belle found them more impressive than terrifying. Yes, she decided, he was a fine animal.
And yet he was a man.
She had to see what sort of man he had been. Rising, she informed him, "I'm leaving."
"Surely not yet," he said, jerking his eyes from the fire and scowling up at her.
"You're not speaking, and I just thought of something I need to do." She took a few tentative steps towards the door.
"I want you to stay," he said in a tone that forbade dissent.
Once again, she hated herself for giving his words more meaning than they had. "Forgive me, but it's very hot, and I'm leaving," she declared.
"Very well," she heard him mutter as she slammed the door behind her. Odd. So odd. He should have railed against her and told her he owned her. But she couldn't worry too much about his strangeness at the moment, because she had a specific purpose in mind.
She bolted through the castle, intent upon her goal. Down to the lower floor she went, straight to the kitchen. "Vincent!" she shouted as she threw the door open.
"He's not here," Francoise flatly said, not even looking up from the vegetables she was chopping.
"Where is he?" Belle breathlessly asked.
"Cleaning."
"Where?"
"Probably the east wing."
"Perfect," Belle declared, slamming the kitchen shut and racing back to the main floor. She ran up the central staircase and turned into the east corridor, where, sure enough, she saw Vincent's strong back, stooped over as he mopped the stone floor. "I need you in the portrait room," she told him as she swept by. He wordlessly followed her.
Belle marched to the center of the Beast's portrait gallery, then turned to face Vincent, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Which portrait shows the master?" she asked. "As an adult, I mean."
Vincent's eyes lit up, and he beckoned for Belle to follow him out of the room. "I'll show you. It's not in here," he said. As they walked down the corridor, Belle heard him add in a low mutter, "Probably wouldn't want me to show it." She thought he sounded rather pleased. Maybe there was still a defiant streak in him.
He unlocked and opened one of the hallway's many nondescript wooden doors. Stepping inside, Belle saw that the room contained various damaged and decrepit pieces of furniture. Most were left uncovered, but several were protected with heavy sheets. Vincent knelt beside an old wardrobe and, reaching beneath it, pulled out what Belle assumed was a portrait, securely wrapped in dust-covered fabric.
"He wanted it destroyed," Vincent said as he carefully unwrapped the painting.
"How rebellious you are," Belle said with a smile.
Vincent grinned and nodded, offering her the painted contraband. She looked at it for some time. After a few silent minutes, she handed it back to Vincent with a quiet "Thank you" before turning to leave.
"Why did you need to see it?" the Beast's terrifying voice boomed from the doorway.
Belle and Vincent could only stand before the master with wide, frightened eyes. They had been caught.
"Why did you need to see it?" the Beast repeated, slowly articulating each and every word.
Perhaps if Belle chose her words carefully, she could fend off the Beast's wrath. "It was idle curiosity," she replied, hoping this was a good answer. How she hoped he would dismiss this transgression as a childish whim.
The Beast did not move. He merely stood, blocking the entire doorway with his bulk and regarding Belle with a thoughtful expression. After a while, he glanced towards Vincent and his gaze hardened. "You were to destroy that portrait," he snarled.
"If you punish Vincent for this, I'll never forgive you!" Belle suddenly cried out, thoroughly startling both Vincent and the Beast. They both stared mutely at her. She shifted uncomfortably under their gazes and finally said, "So that's that."
"I suppose it is," the Beast muttered. At last, he backed out of the doorway. "You both may go."
Vincent looked as though he couldn't believe his good fortune. He kept glancing between Belle and the Beast with a bewildered expression. "No punishment?" he breathlessly asked.
The Beast let out a long sigh. He seemed to be restraining himself from speaking. At last, glancing at Belle, he shook his head and silently shuffled out of the room.
Belle stared after him, stunned. He was most certainly not the handsome prince in the portrait. Yet he did not seem such a beast anymore, either. Almost against her will, her legs carried her into the hallway. "Please wait!" she called after him.
The Beast paused, though he did not look back at her. He waited in silence as she caught up to him.
"Thank you for forgiving Vincent," she said with a tentative smile.
"I never said I forgave him," the Beast immediately replied, a hint of his old snarl in his voice. He paused before adding, "You seem to care very much about his well-being."
"He's had a difficult life. As have you."
The Beast finally looked at her. "So that's how one earns your concern. Then you care about my well-being, too?"
Dear God. What a question. Belle felt that she ought to be extremely uncomfortable, but something in his tone suggested that he was not being completely serious. She was not sure how to respond. "I suppose I…I wouldn't want you to die. Or be unnecessarily harmed."
"But if I was to be necessarily harmed…?"
"Well, that would be alright," Belle said with a grin. This conversation was dangerous. But they had never before bantered in such a way, and Belle's smile widened as she realized how pleasant it was.
"What of the man in the portrait?" the Beast slowly asked. "Would you strive to preserve his well-being?" There was a mischievous light in his eyes that Belle had not seen before.
"I might strive to preserve his features. They were rather nice." Belle laughed as she uttered these words, though she wasn't sure if she should be saying such things.
"Particularly the hair. He was always rather fond of that," the Beast said with a derisive snort. How strange it was, to see him mock his former self.
"The eyes, too," Belle added. "Quite a lovely shade of green. And the chin. It seemed evocative of a sort of inner strength."
"'Evocative,' she says. Her lexicon expands with every passing day." It was something the Beast might have said when Belle first arrived at the castle. Now, however, there was no biting mockery in his words. This was not ridicule. This was gentle teasing.
"I'll leave you to reflect on those eyes," he added, continuing down the hallway.
"One more thing!" Belle called after him.
He turned around and fixed her with a quizzical gaze.
"It would be very nice…if you would continue being kind to Vincent."
Upon hearing this, Beast almost seemed to deflate. Still, he nodded. "If the lady so desires," he said in a low voice.
As he turned away, Belle found herself overcome by a sudden blush. What was that conversation about? What had just occurred? She no longer had any idea where she and the Beast stood in relation to one another. Surely they were not friends. But his final words to her made her doubt that she was still his slave.
And that's that. Please let me know what you think, especially if you see something that needs improving!