Ansell gently pressed his lips to Belle's forehead, hoping to not wake her. The early morning had her curled against him, dozing lightly, looking so serene. Carefully he pulled an arm out from under, wincing when she grimaced and let out a soft murmur of noise.
Before her eyes even opened, she clumsily nuzzled him, kissing his chest. Lazily snaking her arms up and around his neck.
He smiled, pulling her closer, kissing her gently. Moaning when she kissed him back harder in return.
"Good morning." She smiled half awake, waking up quickly.
"Mmn, good morning to you too." Feeling a hand drop and slip under his shirt, he rumbled and was the recipient of a much longer and more arousing lip lock. Ansell was always appreciative of the rare days where Belle decided she needed some early morning attention. Sated, she'd drift off afterward to wake up later and he'd get ready for the day far more relaxed and invigorated.
Belle smiled warmly, pressing her lips to his stubbled jaw, humming as she peeled his shirt off. Taking his shoulder she rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. Wanting to be reminded that despite the awful conversation the day before her prince wasn't a snarling brute, but rather attentive.
Ansell kissed her back deeply as he pushed up her gown and her fingers grasped his breeches, tugging them towards his knees so he could kick them off. Pressing his lips to her stomach, petting up and down her torso, listening to her breath hitch as he dropped the hand and began caressing her thigh. Ghosting his fingers inward. Grinning when she pulled him closer. Oh, he loved mornings like-
Everything stopped.
Belle frowned when the attention ceased. Taking his hand and pushing it to where she wanted. The fingers curled away and she let out a deep, vexed breath. "What-"
"We promised not to." He groaned in frustration, opening his eyes to his darling who looked at him stunned and frankly a touch angry.
"Really?" She growled incredulously, hooking her legs around his to keep him from escaping. Feeling uncomfortable and desperate to satisfy her aching needs. "You're really going to stop now?"
"Belle-" he heaved as she began to coat his neck in slow, thick kisses. "I'm trying…" her hand reached southward and his breath hitched. "I'm trying to make…" He began to pant, she gently bit his lip to silence him. Bon dieu. "Good.. impress-"
"We're sooo close." She purred mischievously, winding fingers through his hair, grabbing his jaw and kissing him longingly. "Mon beau, s'il vous plaît?" She whispered against the skin of his neck with a grin.
"Vorte beau? Votre bête." Letting out a low, husky laugh, he conceded and resumed his caressing much to his partner's delight. "And they think I'm the troublemaker."
Maurice was so used to being the first one up.
His daughter had always been a night owl. It had been an ordeal when she was a baby; howling late into the night, snoozing late into the day, wrecking his poor internal clock. So he was used to having the mornings to himself. Stoke the fire, make a small breakfast, read a bit, work on a sketch, putter around until Belle came down and took charge. She was so good at taking charge. He never asked her to do it, as she had shown an inclination for fixing and inventing, it just naturally occurred as she wasn't allowed to go to school and needed to focus her energy on something.
It was an adjustment though to have Ansell leave his daughter's bedroom the same time he was leaving his own. They looked at one another, awkwardly.
"Good morning, Sir." The boy finally nodded, blushing for some reason, sheepishly making a go for the stairs.
"You're up early." He noted. Maurice would never not be amused that the prince, the ruler of their province, heir to everything around him, addressed him as "Sir". Said in a tone that was often more associated with gawkish young school boys asking permission to take girls to dances than handsome nobleman.
"With the sun." Ansell sputtered.
"Belle's usually-"
"I like to let her sleep in, makes for a more harmonious day." Heading for the fireplace and rolling up his sleeves, he swallowed thickly. Had he heard them? Had he said too much? What was too much? Lord, he and Maurice had talked so little since the curse broke. It had mostly been reassurances that he was a good person and very worthy of his daughter. They might have had an exchange about the weather? But what if he had heard them? Oh hell, what if he had heard them.
Maurice paused, watching the prince start the day off. The lad as white as a sheet, as if he was looking into the face of his maker. He hoped he wasn't that scary to the boy. "Ansell, if you get the fireplace started and bring in the wood I'll start the stove and the kettle."
He paused, thinking it over. "I can go feed the animals and get water if you sweep? I'm not very good at it." Maybe he hadn't heard them?
"Deal."
Stepping outside, Ansell pressed his back to the closed door and exhaled to the bottom of his nervous, quaking lungs.
"One two three, one two three, and one two three! There you go, Master!" Cadenza chanted as he played the beat on his harpsichord. "Chapeau, now please and thank you."
Chapeau began playing his violin, somehow managing to be skilled and yet just as stuffy.
"I'm so sorry I stepped on your toes, Madame." Ansell murmured self-consciously as he stepped in and out with Gardenrobe, his dance partner. The ballroom was bright with sunlight, shimmering from the jewels hanging on the chandeliers.
"You're learning, my prince." She smiled warmly. "And improving every day! You'll be a gem at Versailles, just you wait."
"Thank you, your reassurances really are appreciated." He responded sincerely, carefully following her steps and gestures. "You know, I find myself wondering why you and the Maestro have yet to go tour now that the curse is broken." He mused carefully. "Not that I'm trying to get you to leave, you'll always have a home and employment here. But you used to travel so much, and I had only brought you on for the summer."
"We've been here so long, Your Highness, we find ourselves reluctant to leave our family." She bowed her head, smiling warmly. "But the Maestro and I do yearn for the crowds. We simply find ourselves hesitating to take the step."
"Master! Keep that arm up! Don't you dare get sloppy!" Cadenza chided.
Ansell quickly fixed his form, circling the Madame gracefully. "Would you perhaps like to come to Versailles as my personal artists in residence? Test the waters and all that?"
The Madame's eyes widened.
"Would you?" He asked, smiling hopefully. "There's some selfish motive on my part, I would love more familiar faces on this trip. But you could perform for the court and reintroduce yourselves to socie-"
"MEASTROOO!" She sang, grinning. Clutching her chest and looking ready to swoon from joy. Ansell stepping in and hooking an arm around her waist to support the Madame. "My Darling we're going to VERSAILLES!"
Maurice looked up as the door opened and shut. The roosters were just beginning to crow, a gentle stirring of life coming from the village outside.
"Weather's turning," Ansell told him, peeling off his coat as he came in with his satchel stretched full of greenery protruding from the top. Blowing on his chilled hands, he grimaced at the cold before taking off his hat.
"Thank you for starting the fire and tending to the outside chores before you left." He said, taking a sip as he worked in slow, careful strokes. Sketching out his next project, he glanced up from the tops of his glasses as Ansell went to the kitchen.
"Not a problem, I'm beginning to see them as my duties." Setting his bag on the counter in the kitchen, he unfastened the buckles. "I like being a part of the house. Contributing, as it were."
"And where did you take off to before sunrise?"
"The woods." He explained. "I managed to harvest some more plants. Then I went to the market and did a bit of bartering. Tried my hand at it, at least. But I also brought back some things to dry in the shed."
The artist got up, curious about this Ansell fellow who was a little different from the rest. Which, aligned with his daughter. "And no one was bothered the prince was in the market with a satchel full of herbs?" Walking over to the stove, he took a cup from a shelf.
Ansell smirked. "You know, the last time everyone saw me I was rather princely; silk suit and stockings, heels, clean shaven, hair curled. It seems running around in huntsman's clothing with my hair down, a two-week-old beard, and dirt under my nails is enough to fool some of them." He mused, taking out bundles of plants and carefully sorting them. "Not everyone, mind you. Pere Robert and I had a very nice conversation. I gave him a bundle of lavender and sage after he told me yesterday he was looking for some to dry because his garden was ruined this summer."
"That was kind of you."
Looking down, he saw a cup being held out to him. The coffee he had a hankering for, hot ropes of steam curling up from the dark liquid. "He's a good friend of Belle's, and we get along well. That and I like helping out if I can." Taking the cup, he smiled hopefully up at Maurice. "Thank you."
"And what did your trading net you?" Maurice asked. Craning his neck towards the bag, watching in amusement as the prince rather happily explained his morning haul. Bright, kind blue eyes. A good match to his daughter's soft, smart brown ones. He admired the effort and earnestness looking back at him.
Pressing down too hard, Ansell's quill exploded with ink onto the paper he had been diligently trying to turn into a page of neat, clean notes. Seeping all over the place, his fingers were covered and his words disappeared in a pool of black. Scowling, he lifted his hands up for a better examination, snorting to himself in frustration.
Belle chortled across the table.
Looking up at her, that mischievous, mocking smile, he narrowed his eyes. Taking a hand dripping in ink, he flicked a finger at her.
She recoiled as her face was smacked by the assaulting spatter.
Ansell laughed.
"MASTER." Cogsworth chided.
Rolling his eyes, he slumped in his chair.
As soon as their teacher's back was turned, she stuck her tongue out at him.
Ansell curled his lips and wagged his tongue as if he still had large fangs.
"BELLE. Of all people!" Cogsworth gasped as he caught her.
She sat up, immensely guilty.
Ansell smirked with pride.
Her gaze was full of daggers towards him as she pulled a towel from her belt and wiped the ink off, throwing it at his face when she was done so he could clean up.
Her prince snickered, tugging the cotton towel off the top of his head.
"Master Anselme, DO YOU MIND?"
Maurice limped down to the kitchen to see Ansell already up and in the kitchen.
"Good morning, Maurice."
"Good morning." Maurice, the boy was trying something new. "Oof." Wincing, he carefully shuffled towards the table.
Ansell turned, concerned. "Are you alright?"
"My back isn't as young as it used to be." He grimaced, sinking into a stiff chair. "Occasionally it likes to remind me."
"Hmn. You know, my father has a bad back." The prince's voice mused from the other room. "He's gone to every expensive doctor and charlatan he can throw money at. Then all that money disappears in a flash of smoke, and he's complaining about it again."
"You never speak of him." Rubbing his lower spine, he eyed his sketchbook and stick of graphite. Ever a man of morning rituals.
"Because he's a horrible, miserable man, who made me into a horrible, miserable prince." it was a rumble, anger welling up and gripping the young man's chest. Tilting his chin down, he wouldn't even make eye contact with Maurice as he stewed. "Never one for wisdom, or caring for others, or fostering any kind of affection. Just greed, self-indulgence, and duty to our long lineage of dreadful nobility." The voice said the last bit dryly. There was the clinking of pottery, the shuffle of dry herbs. "A true joy to behold."
"I'm sorry." The poor boy, no wonder he had been so angry.
"My mother? Now, she was a ray of light." The voice softened.
Maurice smiled wistfully, curious as to the sound of a mortar and pestle. "My wife was the same."
There was the rush of water pouring from a kettle and he returned with a heavy mug. "Belle doesn't talk about her much, but when she has it's always been in fondness." Setting the cup in front of Maurice, the aromatic brew sloshing and spilling a ring on the table, he met the confused old eyes with his own. "I've been doing some more reading. This little mixture helps with inflammation and pain. And it works, I had some this morning for my shoulder."
"Your shoulder?"
"I've had some pain ever since Gaston shot me." He reminded the artist as he slunk into his chair. "Everything healed when the curse was broken, however, occasionally I get this blasted ache. But that seems to do the trick-" Pointing a finger to the cup, he lifted his own and took a sip. "Mrs. Potts used to make it for me at the castle, but I managed to get the recipe out of her for those times she's not nearby to make it."
Maurice mused over the flavor before setting his cup down. Licking his lips, he sighed. "All that, you being shot and the curse breaking was only three months ago. Somehow it feels longer."
"It does, then some days it's just like it was yesterday." Ansell sighed, reaching around and rubbing his shoulder. "I go through the castle and see it completely repaired, yet I remember every little broken thing." Tilting his head to the side his lip twitched. "I destroyed an awful lot of artwork in my anger, I'm sure you don't like hearing that, but it's a relief they mended. Portraits are all I have of her- my mother."
"What was she like? If I may be so bold."
"Kind." Ansell gazed up at the rafters, pulling the bits and bobs of moments with her out of the recesses of his mind. "She wouldn't hurt a fly and wanted to give back to the people. She dreamed-" He smiled fondly, fingers running around the rim of the mug. "She spoke of school and hospitals, community centers, churches, orphanages, housing. If it had been up to her, there would be no famine. No poverty. Villeneuve was her town to rule because it was so close to her castle. And I've heard that when she was here it thrived." Face hot with emotion, Ansell fixated on the fragments of leaves swirling in his brown brew. "She was incredibly well educated; the library was her favorite room in the entire castle. Read to me for hours, or had me read to her when I was big enough to. Everything was so safe when we were in there together..." the room suddenly felt like it was closing in, his chest tightened. "She was full of so much goodness and love." He finished, trailing off.
The young man's face glowed with affection and Maurice could see where the prince's gentleness came from. "She sounds wonderful."
"She would've been disgusted with the man I became." He couldn't look up, he simply shook his head in shame. "So much like my father, who she was with out of obligation, not love."
"You mean the old you."
The brooding blue eyes looked up, so trapped in their shame. Maurice could see the demons in him; the regret wanting to swallow him whole.
Maurice took another sip. Floral? Earthy, perhaps. "I think it's safe to say that despite all your sins, you've found the path she wanted you to take." He said gently. "I mean, look at you. Talking to some old artist in a dusty cottage in a poor little provincial town. Far cry from your galas, opulence I hear you used to enjoy. And very far away from when you threw me in a dungeon for picking a flower."
"Which I can't express how sorry I-"
"You've been forgiven, Ansell." Maurice reeled the anxious lad back in. "But look at how far you've come in just a year. The strides you've made. You're still making mistakes, but we all do because we're human. And despite being a man who could have anything his heart desired, you're here." Pausing, he let the room breathe. Listening to a rooster across town crow, taking a slow sip of his herbal brew.
"Quit patronizing me!"
"Don't tell me you don't need help!" Mrs. Potts shouted back at her petulant pupil.
"I'm not a CHILD." Ansell barked, abruptly rising up from his seat at the dining table. "I know how to eat my food!" A full dinner setting was carefully laid out in front of him, along with small plates of food to practice on. A bowl of soup, a salad, a slice of steak, a bread roll with butter on the side, a small piece of cake. It was finished with the smallest teacup Mrs. Potts could find to challenge his dexterity.
The Englishwoman wagged a finger at him. "You may think you know, but you make a mess at EVERY MEAL."
"I DO NOT." He roared sourly at the accusation, the longest scowl on his face.
"YES YOU DO." She watched him grab the teacup angrily. Fumbling, hot liquid spilling everywhere, he tried to catch it in the air and burnt himself on a splash of tea. The cup shattered into a hundred delicate pieces on the marble floor.
He gazed up, cradling his scalded hand, blue eyes stunned for just a moment until they burned in frustration. "That was an accident." The prince snapped.
"Land sakes! What if that was CHIP?" She gestured forcefully to the poor cup.
"Well… Chip would have jumped." He grumbled, reaching.
"You need practice!"
"I DO NOT." Ansell began to pace, bristling and curling his lip. "This is REDICU-"
The door opened and Belle came in.
Whirling around to snap, he saw her and the anger was immediately wiped off his face as it registered how much trouble he could be in.
"He's being difficult." Mrs. Potts told her, watching Belle, all business, walk to the table.
"I was playing with the children, could hear him all the way on the lawn." She explained humorlessly.
His stubborn streak returned. "Well I don't need this JUVENILE and frankly INSULTING lesson on holding utensils."
Belle scoffed. "Yes, you do."
Ansell wiped a hand down his mouth. "I most certainly DO NOT."
Folding her arms, Belle looked pointedly at the broken teacup.
He pointed a sharp finger to the mess. "THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"
"Any opportunity you can you EAT WITH YOUR HANDS." She raised her voice.
"THAT'S A-"
Mrs. Potts, bolstered by Belle's presence, stepped in. "You sip your soup out of the bowl, stab your salad like you need to kill it, have ruined at least two shirts from spilling coffee and tea, try to request finger foods as much as possible, and don't think I didn't catch you eating the FILET MIGNON with your bare hands."
"THAT WAS ONE TIME." He snorted. "I'm sorry, right after the curse was broken I'm not allowed to adjust my habits?!"
"Last night at the house you used three pieces of bread to sop up the stew and shovel it in your mouth." Belle keep an even, firm tone with him. Half expecting him to start baring fangs. "You didn't even touch your spoon."
Looking at her he blustered. "SOME PEOPLE JUST EAT STEW THAT WAY."
"NOT PRINCES." She stormed over and got in his face. "What are you going to do, eat with your hands in front of the KING?!"
A loss for words, he let out a frustrated growl, searching for the right response. "WELL… MAYBE I WILL." Turning away, he pulled at his hair, mane tumbling out of its tie.
"Are you really going to fight me over table manners?!" She gawked.
"This is STUPID AND CHILDISH."
"And you're acting childish!"
"I. AM. NOT."
"You're throwing a fit because you don't like something?"
His jaw clenched.
"I'm sorry relearning all of this wounds your fragile ego, Ansell, but you have terrible hand-eye coordination when you handle small objects. You miss buttons, you drop cups, you break quills, somehow you bent a spoon-"
"All minor mistakes! You're all acting like I've never held a FORK in my life!" Ansell huffed. Pausing, narrowing his eyes "and my ego is NOT fragile."
Remembering she had been playing with the children, Belle fished a small ball out of a pocket. "Ansell, catch." She said, under-handedly lobbing it slowly, gently, over to him.
The ball arced lazily, and Ansell lunged with all the skill of a far-sighted cat going for a bird. However, instead of catching it in his hand, he batted by accident. It landed in the bowl of soup, splattering minestrone everywhere.
Mrs. Potts slowly made the sign of the cross.
Staring at the mess, the noble shoulders dropped. Screwing up his face, narrowing his eyes he huffed. "I wasn't ready."
Belle's brow raised and her hands went to her hips. "Do you want me to throw it again?"
He looked away, a silence passing. "No."
Belle heard boots coming out to the colonnade. She refused to look up, turning the page of her book as she read amongst the roses.
Ansell sat down next to her, but not touching. Leaning forward he laced his fingers together, bowing his head.
She still didn't look up.
"I apologized to Mrs. Potts." He sighed. "And I owe you one too."
Tucking a ribbon between the pages, closing her book, she turned to him.
A/N: So how does this sound; Part One on Tuesday, Part Two on Wednesday? Just so we can spread all this out a little. And if you were wondering, my guide for T for Teen is always things implied and steaminess are kosher, but eschew more specific terms and fade to black when things actually get sexy. Does that work? They're young and drunk on love (particularly our prince, ten years celibate is a long time) so these two crazy kids aren't going to be chaste. They'll start cooling their jets soon enough but expect a healthy amount of amorousness. The French are after all known for their passion.
Also, I posted a companion one-shot to this story called "Two Very Small Storms". Pure fluff, big time jump, let's you see what the future holds for them! Might be worth a read if you want some cuteness in your life.
Also Also: Kudos, bookmarks, all that jazz is wonderful and appreciated and fuels my very stupid writer's ego. Want to ask questions? Tell me this is too sexy for a T rating? Having something you liked in particular? Want to talk about Ansell's hissy fit (or how it would play out in the live action, which is really where the material for this is based on)? Anything and everything can go in the comments. I'm pretty fair game.
See you tomorrow.