Adam finished the last stroke of his father's signature. A poor forgery, but after so long it wouldn't matter. Dipping the quill back in the well, he held it out to the mantle clock beside him, who was currently ringing his golden hands together.
"My lord…please," the man said nervously. "Are you certain there is no other way?"
"I called you here as my witness, Cogsworth. Will you sign or not?"
Cogsworth sighed deeply, before taking the quill and gripping it as well as he could manage. He paused over the long scroll of parchment, then reluctantly penned in his name.
A small tapping came at the door then. "Enter," Adam said. His words felt hollow and empty, like they weren't even coming from his own lips. Ignoring that, he watched as the castle's commander rolled slowly into the large office.
"Gilles," Adam said. "What did you find?"
The swordsman propped himself upright at the foot of the small writing desk. "Nothing…recognizable, my lord," he said solemnly. "It seems the wolves found him long before we could."
So Gaston was dead. Strangely, Adam felt nothing at such news.
"My lord," Gilles went on. "I cannot let you stand by and do this—"
"I've already told you. What's done is done," Adam said roughly. "It was the only way to save Belle's life, the only way free everyone and keep you all safe."
"And what of yourself?" Gilles said. Emotion laced his voice, something rarely heard from the man who had maintained his poise amid dozens of battles and attacks over the last half century. "Please, my prince. Let us fight her," the commander went on. "With the spell broken, we will have our forms once again. We will stand a chance!"
"Gilles—"
"I have served this family since my youth," Gilles said fiercely. "I cannot abandon my allegiance to you now!"
Adam closed his eyes. "If that is true," he said quietly. "Then you will obey my order now. Protect these people, and protect Belle."
The sword seemed to tremble with frustration, remaining silent for a long moment. "As you wish, my lord," he finally rasped.
Nodding, Adam looked back down at the document in his hands. Under the guise of being signed by his father a decade earlier, it declared a large sum be distributed to each member of the household in the event of his death. Such a statement would justify more money than they could each carry when they escaped this place. Perhaps the document wasn't needed, but he wouldn't have the money confiscated due to lack of proof.
A separate document lay beneath this one, indicating the purchase of several of Maurice's inventions. A lie, of course, but no one could prove otherwise. It left Belle and her father enough to live off for the rest of their lives, enough to give Belle a real education…and enough for a handsome dowry, should she need it. Adam's throat grew tight at the thought, but he wouldn't leave her alone in this world without such protection.
"Gilles," he rasped, looking back up. "The enchantress promised me everyone's safety, but I doubt that extends to the threat of my uncle. As soon as you can, take everyone and leave the palace."
"…Yes, my lord," the man said quietly.
The sorrow, the dread of everything was overwhelming him once again. Adam clenched his fists as he stared at the old wooden desk. "Thank you for everything," he whispered to the two of them. "I'm sorry to leave you to relay this news to the others. But I don't think I can bear to tell them myself."
At his feet, Gilles cursed roughly, already rolling away. Cogsworth rested a cool, metal hand against his arm for a long moment, then hobbled slowly out of the room. Adam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting until the door shut and he was alone once again.
Then he pulled out a fresh parchment, picked up the quill, and started one one final page.
My dear Belle…
"Oi, Henri!"
Henri tugged back on the reins, slowing his horse to a stop and looking up. One of his neighbors was waving at him, motioning him towards a small stable. Hopping out of the old wagon, he hurried over.
The man rubbed the back of his head as he approached. He was a tall man, with dark black hair pulled into a tight ponytail and broad, thick shoulders. "Sorry to bother ya on your way out," he said, pulling open the barn door and leading Henri inside. "We just got a, um…bit of a conundrum."
Henri frowned, looking around. Before the man could explain, he caught sight of a large brown workhorse covered in a thick blanket.
"Hey," he said, moving over. "Phoenix, is it? No, no… Phineas?"
The horse only stared at the floor, and huffed.
"Philippe?" Henri tried, and at last the horse looked up at him. "Philippe! That's the one. What're you doing here, boy? Where's Belle?"
His neighbor moved over beside him. "Thank goodness. Been askin' everybody who passed, but no one seemed to know who he belonged to. Him and the other horse wandered into the yard while we was all sleepin' last night. Set the animals into a frenzy—thought a wolf had gotten into the shed."
Henri ran a hand over Philippe's neck. "The other horse?"
The man nodded towards the end of the stables. A dark black horse stood there, padding nervously against the ground. "Won't let me near it. Would only let the girls get close."
Henri hummed. He didn't recognize this horse. And he'd already replaced the shoes for each of the prince's horses, so it didn't come from the palace. "I don't know who that one belongs to," he admitted. "But if they came together, I can probably figure it out."
His neighbor hummed. "Good luck getting close enough to try. I'm glad this one would let us near, at least. Was half frozen when he showed up. Been keeping a kettle on all night to try and warm him up."
Henri looked back at Philippe's own trough, filled to the brim with warm, steaming water. "Thanks, Hu," he said sincerely. "I'll give it a try with the other one."
The man nodded, watching from a distance as Henri approached the strange horse. It neighed in alarm at the sight of him, shaking its head and rearing back against the barn wall.
Behind him, Hu sighed.
Henri looked back at his neighbor—a large man, like himself, but with thick, dark hair. Then he turned back to the horse, and wondered. Pulling off his hood, he tried again.
The horse stilled for a moment, neighs fading at the sight of Henri's blondish beard and locks. He moved over slowly, and it let him reach for its reins.
"There we are," Henri said gently. He ran a hand over the stallion's neck, and sensed it calm in an instant.
He looked the animal over then. Checked its shoes, felt over its back and side—
And that's when it cried out again. Henri pulled back quickly, then rested a hand back carefully against the animal's side. It was swollen, right where a rider would kick the horse into a gallop. When he checked the other side, it felt the same—there was even one spot that felt like an old wound where a sharp heel had broken through the skin.
His suspicions were right. With all the horses he'd had brought in for re-shoeing, he'd seen this on occasion in the past, and it always made him angry. This horse had been mistreated, and he had a feeling whoever owned it looked something like the man behind him.
"Poor fella," he said, running his hand back over the horse's neck and making up his mind. Whoever this horse belonged to was not getting him back.
"Sophie? Will he be okay?"
Sophie managed to tuck the last of the long bandage around Max's belly, her hands trembling with unexplained nerves. She looked back over at the little teacup beside her. "Yes. I think so."
Chip was already beside the large dog, cozying up against his neck. Max nudged him weakly with his wet nose before closing his eyes and resting his head against the rug beside the fire.
"And Belle," Chip asked anxiously. "Will she be okay too?"
Sophie glanced towards the stairs, imagining the dark halls of the West Wing some distance away.
"You will all be fine."
Shouldn't he have said we will all be fine? she thought nervously, recalling the prince's words. If that hadn't worried her already, the master's actions that morning would have. He'd left his room briefly at first light, and seemed to be doing his regular rounds of the castle—adjusting a picture frame here, repositioning a living chest there. Yet the way he'd held Chip's small sleeping form against his chest, the way he'd rested his giant paw against Mrs. Pott's lid for far longer than normal—the way he'd given Sophie herself a trembling hug. No…no something wasn't right at all.
"Sophie?"
She looked back at Chip, and tried to keep her voice even. "Yes, sweetie. Belle will be okay too."
Standing, she moved over towards the kitchen window, peeking out towards the gates. The sun had risen some time ago, and she'd been checking the path every few minutes in anticipation. But like it had been all morning, it remained still and empty.
Sighing nervously, she moved back to the hearth to keep an eye on the injured animal and the now-sleeping boy. She sat slowly on a hard bench nearby, ringing her hands together as she stared at her stiff, metal fingers.
At last, rolling wagon wheels pounded in the distance. She was on her feet in an instant, sprinting towards the gates at the sound.
"Henri," she breathed in relief, pulling open the heavy gates as he slowed to a stop. "You're back."
He smiled wide, hopping out of the wagon and reaching for her hand. He gave it a quick kiss, then nearly ran back behind the wagon in a boyish excitement. A moment later, he guided a large, ebony horse around the front, patting its neck fondly. "Have you seen Jack?" he asked eagerly. "I gotta gift for him."
Momentarily forgetting her worries, Sophie stared at the giant creature. "The…horse?" she asked in bewilderment.
"Yep!" he said proudly, placing both hands on his hips. "Oh! And Philippe was all the way out in Beaumont, too," he said, smile fading. "Gee, that's probably why you're out here, huh? Belle must've been real worried about him…"
"H-Henri," Sophie said, feeling her anxiety return in full. She couldn't cry, but in that moment she wished she could.
He stood still for a heartbeat, then dropped the reins and returned to her side. "Something's happened," he realized, hesitating for a moment before resting his hands on her arms.
Sophie only nodded, feeling suddenly and completely overwhelmed. Yesterday felt like a nightmare—after the prince had sent Belle away, she'd wandered the dark halls alone like she used to, unable to bear the quiet sobs of the others, trying to comprehend that her life would be over by spring. But even worse, thinking of how Henri would be left alone once again, how he'd lose his son a second time, and how there was no way to even explain it to him.
And it was then she realized how much she already cared for him, and how none of her hopes there could ever come true. And now, even though Belle was back, safe and sound with their young master…something still felt terribly wrong.
"I'm so sorry," Henri was saying, looking at his feet. "I didn't realize. Before, I…I shoulda noticed you were upset…"
"Well, it's kind of hard to tell how I'm feeling when I don't have a face," she choked out. She brought two hands to where her face would be, covering it in shame.
"Nah. It's my fault," he insisted, rubbing a thumb across her cold metal arm. He looked over her shoulder, frowning. "What happened?"
"Jack is safe. We all are," she assured him quickly. "But the enchantress…she must have been here…she must have done something that made the master send her away—"
"Send who away?"
"Belle…"
Henri furrowed his brows. "I saw a wagon on the path," he said seriously, even through his confusion. "Thought maybe someone'd just abandoned it there, since it wasn't too far from the trail. I was so excited to get here…I shoulda checked it first."
"It was so awful, Henri. We all thought we were going to—" die, she was going to say, but the words were cut off in her throat. She cringed, knowing she couldn't even explain that much to him.
Henri looked puzzled, but didn't pull away.
"I…I thought I was going to—" lose you! her mind cried out. She shook her head in frustration. "The curse," she said in regret. "It won't let me explain it."
He pulled her a little closer, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "It's all right. You don't have to explain—I believe you."
Sophie let her vision fade, overcome by his embrace. She hadn't been held like this in so long. Yet how could Henri bear it when she was so stiff and cold?
"You can feel this?" he asked quietly.
She nodded against him, embarrassed by what she was. "I'm sorry—"
Before she could finish, he pulled her closer, resting a hand against the back of her helmet.
"And this?"
She felt the warmth, could almost feel his fingers as though they were woven through the curls that once graced her neck. "Yes," she breathed.
He nodded, satisfied, and didn't let go for a long time.
Quiet breathing. The crackling of a fire. Something warm encasing her hand. Belle opened her eyes, blinking rapidly against the evening sun that broke through the curtains.
"You're safe, now."
She remembered the forest, the storm, the rope around her wrists. Adam calling for her against the wind. Her heart raced, and she looked around quickly. And there he was, holding her hand and half her arm in one paw, face resting heavily in the palm of his other. Pushing down the heavy covers with her free hand, Belle reached out weakly and brushed her fingers against his cheek.
He looked up in a heartbeat. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days. "Belle," he rasped, squeezing her hand. Then he looked down, suddenly aware of what he was doing, and pulled away.
Belle cocked her head, reaching out and bringing his hand back in hers. "Come," she said in her own lingering exhaustion, sitting up and moving over to make room. "Sleep…"
Adam looked uncertain. "You're not afraid of me?"
"Of course not," she said, tugging on his paw.
"But I…" he started, even as he gave in and climbed in beside her. "I was terrible."
"Because she threatened you."
Adam stared at her from where he knelt on the mattress, now inches away. Then he pulled her in a close embrace. "You knew," he breathed against her shoulder.
"I knew something was wrong," she shrugged, closing her eyes and drinking in the feeling of being held by him again. It had been but a day, but it was all she'd wanted in those freezing, lonesome woods.
"I'm so sorry, Belle," he said. His voice was thick, like he was holding back tears. "I-I didn't mean any of it..."
"I know."
"I didn't…I didn't want to send you away…"
"I know, Adam," she said gently. She ran her fingers in a circle against his back. He was still holding her—clinging to her, almost—so she continued the motion.
"I thought I was doing the right thing," he said. "But, God, I only made everything worse. You almost…" He sucked in another breath, fingers brushing up through her hair and pulling her closer. "I should have told you what had happened, but I was just so afraid if I did you might try to come back for me, and then she would…" He trailed off, and Belle could hear his heart beating madly in his chest.
"Hurt the others?" she asked sadly.
He pulled back at that, and blinked. "No," he said. "…Your father."
Belle gasped, and her eyes grew wide. She clung to Adam's shirt in fear.
"He's safe now," he assured her quickly. "But before, she said if you didn't leave, or if you tried to come back, she would…kill him." He looked away, pulling back and holding her arm in one trembling paw. "Sh-she almost did, right in front of me."
Belle reached for her heart. "…O-oh," she said breathlessly, staring at his chest and trying to quell the pounding in her own.
Adam pursed his lips, but went on. "I just…I couldn't bear to see you lose him too," he admitted quietly.
Belle's heart finally calmed. She looked back up at him, and realized what he had done for her. "Oh, Adam. Don't you understand?" she asked, touching his face once again. "I can't bear to lose you either."
Adam squeezed his eyes shut, and fell quiet for a long moment. Then he reached for her hand against his cheek, holding it tight. "…Don't say that," he whispered, finally opening his eyes.
"…Why not?" Belle asked nervously.
He returned her hand to her slowly, then pulled away, swinging his legs back over the side of the bed and staring absently into his lap. Heart racing once again, Belle slowly followed. Clenching her fists briefly, she reached out a hesitant hand.
Adam caught it quickly, pulling her hand into his lap. His paw was trembling. "She's coming for me, Belle," he said blankly.
"Coming for…" she repeated in confusion. She felt the panic well up in her chest, her heart flying into her throat. "What do you mean? We're together now. Everything—everything's going to be fine!"
Adam gripped her hand harder. "I had to agree to…" He trailed off, reaching for his throat and looking sick. Sick with fear. Sick with…shame.
Why? Belle wondered anxiously, leaning over and searching his eyes.
"It was the only way," he amended. He reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a letter and handing it to her. Belle frowned, holding two thick, folded pages between her fingers. Her name alone was inscribed on its surface, a wax seal on the back that still felt faintly warm.
"I-I've…I've explained what I can in there, but the curse won't let me relate it all," Adam went on. His voice was hoarse. "The others, though, they can explain everything once…" He trailed off again, and swallowed roughly.
Belle stared at the letter, then looked back up at him, heart thundering in her chest. "Once what?"
He stared at her, eyes sadder than she'd ever seen them. "Once I'm gone."
Belle's heart grew cold, and she finally realized what was happening. She knew he'd been threatened—yet here she was, safe in the castle, her father no longer in danger. And there was no way the enchantress would have allowed it without something else in exchange.
Something that would take Adam away from her.
Suddenly, Belle couldn't breathe. "No," she managed at last, before shaking her head madly. "No! You can't—"
"Belle…"
"Please," she gasped, dropping the letter and gripping his shirt in desperate hands. "Please don't leave me!"
She was sobbing, tears soaking into his shirt as she pressed her face against him. He wrapped his arms around her in silence. A terrible silence, a silence that meant he had no words of comfort to offer.
And so, in that moment, Belle calmed her cries and breathed the only words she could think of that would keep him with her. The words she couldn't bear to keep inside any longer.
"I love you…"
Adam gasped. She sensed him look up towards the ceiling, arms trembling around her for several heart-pounding moments. Then, leaning down, he brushed the tears from her cheek with a soft thumb and spoke.
"I love you too," he whispered. "…And I always will."
At once, the room grew dark. The sun had disappeared behind the distant horizon, yet not a moment later, Belle was blinded by a vibrant light, and deafened by a harsh crack.
Forcing her eyes open, she looked up. That rose in the corner—it was glowing brighter than ever before. Its cloth had fallen away, the glass case now shattered along the ground. Heart racing in fear, she looked back up at Adam. His eyes were squeezed shut, fingers gripping her tight as he struggled for breath.
"Adam?" Belle asked in fear. A violent tremble coursed through his body once, then twice. The second time, his arms lost their hold on her as a terrible groan flew into this throat. "Adam, what's wrong?!" she cried, trying to hold him up. It was useless, however, and he fell on heavy knees to the floor.
Looking around in desperation, Belle caught movement across the room. Beside the rose, two delicate fingers appeared in the shadows, reaching for its thin stem. Long arms, then a body appeared next, a colossal woman with flowing blond hair staring at the flower in her fingertips. In a second, it had dissolved into a hundred golden shards, raining down on the carpet. Smirking, the woman whipped her head around, staring back at Belle with crimson eyes.
"It's you," Belle rasped. Beneath her, Adam's massive form was shaking madly, his face contorted as if in terrible pain. She looked down at him in fear, then back up at the enchantress before her. "What are you doing to him?!" she cried.
The woman laughed. It was a terrifying sound, ringing in Belle's ears long after she'd stopped. "Why, I didn't do that to him, dearest," she simpered. "You did."
Belle breathed heavily, looking back down at Adam. He was facing the intruder, eyes quaking before staring back at Belle. He tried to return her embrace, but another tremor swept over him. He grimaced, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of groans, losing strength in his arms and nearly falling to the ground. Belle barely managed to catch him, pulling him against her and cradling his head in her lap. He clung to her waist with one arm, gasping for breath, his body burning with a stinging heat. Belle could do nothing but hold him as close as she could, running desperate fingers over his brow and watching in terror.
"Don't worry, he'll look much better when it's over," the witch said, brushing her hands together before casting one forth. "Though I don't plan on letting him stay long enough for you to see." Then more gold, this time from her fingertips, shot across the room and straight for Adam's heart.
Belle's eyes grew wide, frightened and confused. Yet impulse overrode all else, and she was flinging herself across Adam's body in an instant. She braced herself for the impact, but none came. Instead, long, winding chains crawled between her limbs and wrapped themselves around Adam until a thick, glowing band formed around his neck. Like the collar of an animal, tightening with each breath he took.
"No!" Belle screamed, reaching down and tugging against the terrible bond. She turned back towards the enchantress, sucking in a breath of terror. "No! Let him go!"
"Belle…" Adam managed at last, finally lifting one trembling hand up and resting it against her shoulder. His eyes looked sad and defeated, but not surprised—almost like he'd been expecting this.
"Adam, you…you have to fight back," Belle begged, tugging desperately with both hands against the cruel cuff around his throat. "Please!"
"He can't," the witch said. She was closer now, the end of a long chain tight in one red-nailed hand. "He's made an oath." She stopped beside them, her head skimming the ceiling above, lips curling into a vicious smirk as she leaned close. "A spell-binding oath, if you will."
Belle sucked in a breath of fear. The enchantress was even more terrifying than she'd imagined. Her eyes were larger and far more vibrant than they'd been in the old storyteller's form; her nails long, and sharp as claws; her lips so red they seemed to drip blood. And while she had a terrible beauty about her, her skin appeared to be sinking in upon closer inspection, so translucent in some places the bone was visible beneath.
Belle shook her head roughly. "No," she said, clinging to Adam's shoulders as he continued to tremble beneath her. Yes, she was frightened, but in that moment her fear paled against her determination. "I—I won't let you do this!" she shouted.
The enchantress scowled, amusement fading. "Shove off, girl," she said, reaching down and grabbing Belle's sleeve. "He's no longer your concern." Belle held to Adam as tightly as she could, but found herself torn from him in an instant and thrown aside like a ragdoll.
"Belle," Adam groaned, stretching out an arm in an attempt to reach her. Yet he jerked to a stop as he did, the chain holding him back. He growled, turning back towards the enchantress as he gasped for breath. "You promised…not…to hurt her…"
"And I didn't," the enchantress said, crossing her arms.
Belle rolled to a stop, but the witch was right. She felt no pain at the fall. Still, her lingering exhaustion from her previous state of hypothermia fell over her in that instant, and she fought against tired limbs back to her knees.
"I'm as bound by this as you, my dear prince," the enchantress was saying. "Just as bound to cause no harm to them as you are bound to do exactly as I say." She paused, narrowing her eyes as she stared down at him. "Now, get up."
Adam, heaving in several shallow breaths, rose slowly onto shaky feet. He looked different—thinner, somehow, skin sagging like he hadn't eaten well in weeks. He looked back at Belle then, breathing heavily, eyes longing to go back to her.
Belle crawled forward, reaching out to him—but something stopped her. She felt the strange force before her, and her heart sunk in her chest.
An invisible wall of bricks, exactly like Adam had described. Yet this time, it was a wall made for her.
Beyond the barrier between them, the enchantress sighed. "Pathetic," she huffed, turning back towards Adam. "Come, Beast."
"A-Adam," Belle begged, sobs building in her throat once again. "Please…"
"Leave her," the enchantress ordered him. He watched Belle in agony for a moment, then turned away, legs seeming to move on their own in reluctant obedience.
The enchantress pulled something from within her heavy robes, dropping it at their feet. In an instant, an enormous frame sprouted from the floor. And within it, a strange sheet of glass filled with a dark, swirling fog. Adam was still shaking, bracing himself against the frame.
No! Belle thought in desperation. There must be some way I can— "Wait!" she shouted.
The witch turned back in annoyance, cocking a head at her.
Belle clenched her fists, trying to quell her fear, barely thinking before she spoke. "Take…take me instead," she offered.
"Belle," Adam gasped, looking back in horror. "No!"
The enchantress only laughed. "I have no interest in you," she said, before turning to Adam. "Didn't tell her yet, did you dearest?"
Adam was staring at the ground now, eyes wide.
She tugged on the chain in her hands, forcing him to face her. "You see," she went on, tilting her head to the side and pulling him close before grinning back at Belle. "He agreed to marry me."
Belle's heart grew cold. Then disgust, and a sudden anger flooded over her as the reason for Adam's earlier shame became clear. "Agreed?" she said hollowly, trying and failing to breathe. "You've…you've forced him to—"
She stopped as Adam groaned again. He grabbed at his temple and lost hold of the heavy frame.
"Adam!" Belle cried, pushing with all her might against the wall between them, watching helplessly as he fell to his knees once more. And that's when she noticed it—the small clumps of fur along the ground at his feet, the empty patches against his ever-thinning limbs. She stared, wide-eyed and horrorstruck at the sight.
"Ugh, how disgusting," the witch said, wrinkling her nose. "Hmm…I wonder how long it will take you to change back." She paused, tapping a finger against her lips for a long moment before pressing the tips of all five against the tall mirror. The mirror glowed bright, before fading into a strange black glow that lined its edge. Looking back at Belle, the enchantress narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn't stay around here much longer, if I were you," she said. "I won't stay away forever." At that, she tossed the end of the chain into the mirror's swirling darkness.
"P-please…" Belle gasped, clawing desperately against the invisible bricks before her, vision blurring against fresh tears. "Why are you doing this?"
The enchantress frowned deeply. "I…" She stopped, furrowing her brows and staring into the mirror as something within its depths began pulling on the long chain. Then she scoffed, turning and glaring back at Belle. "I don't have to answer to you."
Then, without another word, she stepped into the mirror and vanished.
"Wait—" Belle gasped, watching the chain shorten with each passing second. It was nearly gone now, and Adam stared at it from where he knelt. Then he looked back at her, eyes wide, opening his mouth again as if to speak. But before he could, he was jerked backwards.
And, falling into the mirror's depths, he disappeared.
"NO!" Belle screamed, throwing herself against the wall. It was gone, and she tumbled forward, gasping for breath before racing to follow him. But she only reached another barrier—the mirror's glass that no longer showed that strange fog but her own dim reflection.
She pressed her hands against its surface, cold and smooth. "No," she choked out. "No, no please…come back," she begged.
Adam's room grew darker in response, the air now silent as death.
Belle stared at her own weak figure, fingers trembling against the glass. She dropped slowly to the floor, fingers brushing something soft where she sat. She looked down, and gasped, those bits of Adam's fur lingering beneath her fingertips. At her touch, however, they dissolved into a golden glow, much like the rose.
Terror flooded her heart. The man she loved was hurting, and gone—torn from her right when she'd gotten him back. Thrown into a strange, unreachable darkness, the same place that had taken the king, now lost for a decade. A place she didn't understand…a place no ordinary person could possibly reach alone.
Belle felt fresh sobs in her throat. "Please come back," she whispered, leaning against the mirror where she sat. She pressed weak fingers back against the glass, willing it to let her through while knowing full well it never would.
Somewhere in the distant parts of the castle, cries of joy had broken out, drowning out her own cries of heartache.
Sophie sat in the gardens, watching the sun settle against the horizon. She didn't feel it's warmth like she used to, but she somehow felt warmer than she had in a long time as she sat there and remembered that morning. Remembered the feeling of Henri's arms holding her close, and how much better it had made her feel. Perhaps things weren't as bad as she thought after all.
She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the sound of footsteps until they were upon her.
"Whew," Henri sighed, stopping and settling his hands on his knees where he stood. "I never realized how hard it was putting a kid to bed."
Sophie giggled a bit, scooting over where she sat to give him room. He smiled, joining her on the old stone bench.
"How many chapters did he make you read?" she asked.
He flushed a little. "Ah. Well, actually, he read to me from one a them 'venture books for a good hour," he admitted. "Never did learn my letters too well." He looked over the gardens, and smiled. "He's so bright, just like his mother—" He stopped, cringing and staring at his feet. "S-sorry."
Sophie cocked her head. "What for?"
He grimaced, looking over at her before staring back at his hands. "A couple years after Virginie passed I, uh…well, I got lonely, I guess," he shrugged. "Tried courtin' a few women. But…well, they'd all get pretty upset any time I mentioned her."
"…What?" Sophie asked in shock.
He shrugged again. "I get it. Nobody wants to hear an ol' widower's regrets. No woman wants to be worryin' he's still stuck in the past." He frowned deeply, wringing his hands together. "But she was a part a me. I can't just forget she existed. Couldn't just forget I'd lost her." He swallowed, closing his eyes. "I…I had a hard enough time as it was just courtin' again, without feeling like I was betraying her memory. To never speak of her again…I couldn't do that. I don't want to do that."
"Of course not," Sophie said gently. And she meant it. It was strange; she'd never felt this way for anyone before, and would have expected to feel some jealousy towards the woman who had first claimed Henri's heart. But instead, she felt nothing but concern, nothing but a desire that he find peace.
Something brushed her hand, breaking through her thoughts. Looking over, Sophie realized he'd covered her metal gauntlet with his warm fingers. "Still," he went on, finally looking back at her. "I…I would like to try again."
"H-Henri," she breathed, looking down at his hand over hers. "I'm made of metal."
"Wait, you are?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his beard.
She chuckled, even as her heart pounded in her chest. No…I don't have a heart, she recalled.
"Sophie," he went on seriously. "If the gal I fall for is metal then, well…I'm not gonna run away from that. Even if, ya know…it means giving some things up. Much rather have that than be with someone I don't love."
Sophie stared at him. Something was definitely pounding in her chest now.
He grimaced, scratching the back of his head. "S-sorry," he said quickly, looking away. "Maybe I'm being too—"
"You love me?" she asked in surprise.
He looked back, staring at her with those deep, brown eyes. "I think I'm starting to."
Before Sophie could answer, all went dark and cold. She gasped, looking around the now-dark grounds, the warmth of Henri's hand suddenly gone.
"I-I can't see," she gasped. Her voice sounded loud in her ears. "Henri, where are you?!"
That thumping in her chest returned tenfold. A heart, no doubt about it, pounding against her breast, sending pulses up into her neck and down into her gut.
"I'm right here, Soph," Henri said earnestly. While her own voice rang in her ears, his seemed strangely distant. Something shook around her, like a strange, metal encasement.
And then she realized it.
"Henri," she said. "Take off my helmet!"
"A-all right," he said, obviously confused. Something clicked just above her head, then the faint light of evening appeared before Henri's face appeared in the opening.
He gaped in shock. "Have…" He stopped, blinking twice before speaking again. "Have you been in there this whole time?!"
"No!" she cried, laughing with joy. She tried to pull her head through the opening, but she could barely move her stiff arms. No longer encased in the armor itself, she was far too small to move the stiff metal like she once could. "Henri," she gasped. "I can't move. Can you—"
He was already twisting off the gauntlets before she could finish, then proceeded to unhinge the sides of the breastplate. As soon as they fell away, the dim gardens returned, and so did Henri. He was staring at her now, eyes wide as saucers. Fingers trembling, Sophie reached up.
Hair between her fingers. Soft cheeks. Warm, full lips.
"Oh," she gasped. "Oh. Oh!" She pulled her hands away, staring down at herself in wonder. She still wore her old maid's uniform, and where cold metal gauntlets had once been were the golden brown arms and fingers she hadn't seen in ten years.
Dropping the armor in his hands, Henri continued to gape. "Whoa…" he breathed.
Sophie grew still, staring back down at her hands, so petite compared to the gauntlets he'd just removed. I must look a lot different than he was expect—
"You're beautiful," he blustered, breaking through her thoughts. Then his own pale cheeks turned a vibrant red that burned even through his thick beard. "I-I mean, uh…I like your hair."
Sophie reached up and pulled a single black curl forward. It was so long—had her hair continued to grow all these years?
"I can't believe it…" she said, a smile tugging at her lips. Real lips! A real smile! She felt her face again, and laughed once more. What had she been so worried about before? "Belle, the prince—they must have broken the spell after all!" she cried. She looked towards the West Wing, a strange, pinkish glow shining through its tall windows.
Meanwhile, Henri's mouth had fallen open, looking back in the direction of the castle. "So that's what nobody could tell me?"
"Uh-huh," Sophie said, barely containing her laughter. She felt she could laugh for hours and never stop.
She sobered quickly, however, as Henri looked back at her with soft eyes. Eyes full of meaning. Nervously, he inched closer, reaching forward and pushing back the mess of hair from the side of her face. The touch sent a wonderful flutter into her stomach.
"It's really you, then?" he asked quietly.
She stared at him, then nodded.
"Could…" He stopped, leaning down closer, warm breath against her lips. "Could I…"
"Yes," she breathed earnestly, closing her eyes.
Sophie waited but a moment before feeling his lips against hers. They were so warm, and their heat seemed to fill her head to toe in an instant. His hands were rough and callused from his work, but held her gently, brushing up and into her thick hair and pulling her deeper into the kiss. Goodness, the man knew what he was doing.
Sophie hummed against him. After all these years feeling constantly cold, and so alone…this felt like a dream.
Finally parting, he smiled down at her. Somehow, it was larger and even sweeter than any of the smiles she'd seen from him before.
"You know…" Sophie started, running a finger over her lips and looking up with a mischievous grin. "I may be starting to love you too."
He chuckled heartily at that, pulling her up in a tight embrace.
"Henri, wait!" she gasped, feeling a heavy strain against her lower half. "My legs!"
"Oh, right," he said, dropping quickly to his knees and unfastening the rest of her now-bulky armor. He pulled each piece off carefully, setting them aside with a strange reverence before looking back up at her. His smile hadn't faded, nor had the redness in his cheeks.
Muffled cries of alarm and joy started ringing out from the castle, and Henri's eyes went wide in a heartbeat.
"Jack," Sophie breathed.
He stared at her in shock for another long moment, then nodded and grabbed her hand before racing back towards the kitchens. Sophie found it surprisingly easy to keep up—for even though her legs were shorter now, it was much easier to control flesh than creaking metal joints.
"Papa!" a small voice cried out as they entered the kitchens. "Papa, help!"
They spotted him then; a small, blond-haired child near the top of the kitchen cupboards. While the others preferred one of the castle's soft beds, Chip had found great personal enjoyment in the time Mrs. Potts had allowed him to sleep in one of the top cupboards. He'd laid claim there ever since.
Now, however, the poor boy was wedged between the shelves where he slept. Henri ran over, bracing one foot against the counter and tearing off several of the cupboard's wooden panels. Throwing them aside, he then gently pulled the child free.
"Jack," he said, cradling him against his chest and pushing his long hair from his face. "Is it you, son?"
"Papa," the boy said, wide-eyed and frightened. He looked close to tears. "I can't move…I c-can't move…"
Henri looked his son over. The child's arms hung limp at his sides, head barely holding itself aloft.
He never learned to use his limbs, Sophie realized, heart falling into her stomach.
Henri pulled Chip's hands into his own, tucking him closer against himself. "You're all right," he said quietly. "I've got ya. Don't be scared."
Chip closed his eyes as two small tears escaped. "D-don't let go, Papa," he whispered. "I'll break."
"I won't let go," Henri promised. He looked up then, and caught Sophie's eyes. Despite his spoken assurances, the young father looked terrified.
Sophie moved over slowly. "Chip," she said carefully. "It's me, Sophie. Do you recognize my voice?"
He opened his eyes, staring at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, ever so slightly. But it was enough.
"There, see, you're moving your head!" she said. She reached for his fingers, and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Can you feel that, sweetie?"
"Yeah…" the boy said slowly. "It feels weird. What is it?"
"I'm holding your hand," she explained. "My fingers are warm now, huh?"
Henri started feeling Chip's arm as they spoke, then moved down to his leg. His breathing calmed a little as he did. "He's strong," he said seriously, looking back up and lowering his voice. "This…this is the body of a boy who runs."
Maybe there's still hope, then, Sophie thought. Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought it would burst from her chest. Or perhaps that's how hearts always felt—she couldn't remember. "We should get him to the doctor," she told Henri.
"Papa," Chip said, looking down at himself with wide eyes. "What's going on?"
"You're…you're…" Henri trailed off, now fighting back tears of his own. He sucked in a breath. "It's all right. You're you again, ya see? Got hands like yer Papa's," he explained, reaching for Chip's hand again and holding it up in his own.
Chip's eyes grew wide at the sight, but not in fear this time. "I'm not a teacup anymore?" he asked, as if suddenly putting the pieces together. His fingers flexed once, then twice, grabbing his father's thumb in a weak grip.
"Look at that!" Henri cried. "You're doing that, son!"
Chip stared at his hand for a long moment, then looked back up. "Does this mean I can hold a big sword like you, Papa?"
Henri laughed, kissing Chip's small fingers and pulling him close. "One step at a time, kiddo."
"Chip!"
A cacophony of cheers, chatter, and disjointed steps from the upper floors broke through the kitchen as the door above burst open.
"Where is my little boy?"
Sophie looked up, watching as a short, plump woman attempted to descend the tall steps. She gripped the wooden handrail like a lifeline, long white hair tumbling out of her bun and face beat red as though she'd been running for miles.
"Mrs. Potts!" Sophie cried, racing up the stairs to her side. She gripped the woman's arm tight, reaching around her shoulder to steady her.
"Oh, Sophie! Still so lovely," Mrs. Potts said with warmth, reaching up patting her cheek before gripping her arm with a tired hand. "Bless your heart, I haven't used these old legs in—oh!" she cried, catching sight of those that awaited them below. "Chip! Is that you?!"
Chip looked around as they hobbled down the old steps. "Mama? Where are you?"
"Here, love!" Mrs. Potts said, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs with Sophie. She stopped, staring at the child in Henri's arms. "Oh, look at you," she gasped, eyes filling quickly with tears.
Henri moved over carefully. "Mother, he's…not quite ready to move much, yet."
She nodded slowly, as though she wasn't surprised. "I see."
Chip stared at Mrs. Potts with wide eyes, watching as she reached up and cupped one of his cheeks.
"You're my Mama?" he asked, uncertain.
"Yes, dear. It's me."
He watched her carefully for several moments. "So...you got hands then, too?" he asked at last.
"Hands and arms to hug you," she whispered.
"You hear that?" Henri prodded. "You wanna give your Mama a hug?"
"…Yeah," Chip said, with unusual shyness. Sophie helped Mrs. Potts settled into the rocker by the fire, and Henri promptly settled the boy in her arms, staying nearby to steady him. But not before reaching out a hand and beckoning Sophie to his side.
Mrs. Potts pulled Chip close, resting her head against his. "You smell so good," she breathed, her tears now falling freely down her cheeks.
And, finally, the child let forth his first smile since the transformation—revealing one large chip in his front tooth.
Henri chuckled, wrapping an arm around Sophie and leaning close. "Looks like he's keeping that nickname."
"A few things should come back quickly," Docteur Mathius said. "Holding his head up, some uncoordinated movement of the arms, legs, and fingers—things he had already managed as an infant."
"I wondered…" Mrs. Potts replied, fingers curled into her apron. "I didn't even know at what age we'd be getting him back."
"Yes, it appears we all aged with time," Mathius said. "A full head of white hair on me now! But I'll take it."
Before them sat Henri with Chip in his lap. He held his son upright, large arms wrapped around him to keep him in place. The doctor continued to fumble through his office drawers with shaking hands, still trying to gain control of his own body after so long spent as an ear horn. The latter was now safely tucked into his belt.
Around them sat a crowd of servants, chatting happily and admiring their new limbs. More hobbled inside by the minute, dozens more waiting out in the hall. Some were stiffer than others, depending on their enchanted forms, and awaited their own examination. Most, however, only wished to see how the castle's youngest occupant would fair.
"Now," Mathius went on, "considering the condition of his body, I believe the nerve connections still exist. No child without them could have muscles such as he does. Ah, there we are," he said, finally pulling a small mallet from a cupboard and settling with some effort on a stool before Henri. "Let's take a look."
Without another word, he tapped lightly on Chip's knee. The servants all around grew still, watching with bated breath—then broke into cheers as the boy's leg gave a small but unmistakable kick.
Someone stood, running on clumsy legs into the hall. "He'll walk!" he called out to those outside.
"Thatta lad," Henri said, hugging the boy tight. Chip smiled wide as the doctor continued prodding several other sections of his limbs.
"Mama," he asked a moment later. "When do I get to try a cookie? There's still some left over from Christmas!"
At that, the room erupted in laughter.
"Now, now, I think we better start you on liquids," the doctor smiled, before growing serious and turning towards the others. "In fact, all of us would do best to begin with a simple diet. Chicken soup, perhaps some plain bread—"
At that, the door burst open. "I've got the rum!" Lumiere called out, a bottle in each hand. He half hopped, half hobbled inside, clearly not in full control of his legs yet and giving the impression he'd already had a good fill of the substance.
"Monsieur, I thought you would be with Fifi right now," one of the maids said, obviously insinuating something as several of her friends giggled without restraint.
"Oh," Lumiere said slyly, handing off the liquor to the group before looking up and flashing a cheeky smile. "Don't fret, ladies, ma cocotte and I already—" He stopped when Mrs. Potts cleared her throat loudly, and glanced towards Chip. The boy's eyes were wide and attentive.
"Ah," Lumiere said, coughing before turning around with flourish. "I mean—Chip, my boy! You look splendid!"
"Who are you?" Chip asked innocently.
Several chuckles crossed the room. Given Chip had been too young to remember anyone in their human forms, Lumiere wasn't the first to need a reintroduction.
"Give it a guess, lad. He shouldn't be hard," one of the men suggested, downing a giant gulp from one of the bottles before passing it down the line. Doctor Mathius sighed in defeat.
Lumiere, on demand, did a twirl and threw out his hands in a flashy show no other servant could possibly pull off.
"Mmm…" Chip hummed, furrowing his brows. "Cogsworth?"
Lumiere's mouth nearly fell to the floor. "Cogsworth?!"
Chip giggled. "Just kidding! I knew it was you, Lumiere," he said, flashing his own wide, half-toothed grin.
The others broke out in laughter once again, Henri most of all. "Look at that!" he cried, ruffling his son's hair. "A real Chip off the ol' block!"
The laughter only swelled in volume at that, along with few groans. Once they calmed again, Sophie looked back towards the hall. "Hold on," she said, frowning. "Has anyone seen Prince Adam?"
The others gasped, before breaking out in an excited chatter.
One man, standing in the corner and sucking on a pipe, blew out a long puff of smoke before clearing his throat. "No doubt he's still up there snoggin' his gal," he smirked. His wife, standing at his side, gave him a well-deserved smack.
"Oh, they've had long enough," one of the other woman said impatiently. "I want to see him!"
"Mama," Chip's voice said over the resulting chatter. "What's snogging?"
"…I'll tell you when you're older."
"Make way, make way."
The crowds around the door slowly split apart, a large man attempting to waddle his way through.
"Cogsworth!" Lumiere cried, spinning around to greet the man. "As rotund as ever, I see!"
Cogsworth frowned. "Lumiere, I really don't have time to—" He was cut off, eyes growing wide as saucers as Lumiere pressed two very wet kisses on each of the man's cheeks.
"Ack!" Cogsworth cried, shoving the man off—to the pure enjoyment of the rest of the household.
"Come, Cogsworth," Lumiere said, draping a lanky arm over his shoulder. "Even you can't be serious at a time like this!" he exclaimed, poking the older gentleman in the nose which had held two golden clock hands not an hour before.
"Lumiere, that was terrible," Cogsworth grumbled.
"Ah, it can't be true! For Fifi tells me my kisses are si magnifiques!" Lumiere cried, draping an arm across his forehead in false distress.
"Monsieur!" Cogsworth finally shouted, red-faced and angry. "This…this is no time for such show!"
All fell still at that.
"Cogsworth," Lumiere said quietly, sobering in a heartbeat and placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "My friend…what has happened?"
Cogsworth huffed out a frustrated breath, clenching one fist before pressing a palm to his face and staring at the floor.
Sophie stood at once, and Henri looked up at her in concern. "The prince," she gasped. "H-he's in trouble, isn't he?"
Cogsworth's shoulders sagged beneath Lumiere's hand. "But…" Lumiere started, growing nervous. "The spell is broken. Surely…surely all is well…"
"Yes. All is well," Cogsworth said at last, looking up slowly. "At our prince's expense."
A dead silence fell over the crowd.
"He has handed his freedom to the enchantress, in exchange for our safety and that of the mademoiselle," Cogsworth went on in solemnity. "Each of you each has been left with wages enough to survive a lifetime, and instructions to flee this kingdom."
All remained still for a long moment. Then, an old stable hand rose onto shaky feet. "Like hell I'll leave," he said gruffly, holding up the rake he'd once inhabited in defiance. "Does that damn boy really think we'd abandon him, after all this?!"
"Never!" the woman beside him cried, rising to her own feet.
"Aye!" shouted another.
"Aye!"
It wasn't long before everyone who could had risen to their feet, pledging their allegiance to their prince. Lumiere, filled with fresh energy from the others, pulled himself atop the closest table and spread his arms wide. All looked to him, eyes blazing with conviction.
"Screw your courage to the sticking place, my friends!" he cried. Then his voice grew low, eyes dark and fierce. "We've got a witch to catch."
My dear Belle,
I'm not sure how much longer we'll have together, but I must tell you what I can before it's too late. And I fear the words won't come when I want them to.
Belle held the page in a tight but shaky grip, still struggling for breath through her tears, still kneeling on the floor where she'd crawled back to retrieve the letter.
The next few lines explained in greater detail what she already knew. How the witch had appeared to Adam at Abel's Peak while they gazed upon the stars, how she'd brought him to the woods and threatened him with Maurice's life. Why he'd sent Belle away the next day, and why he now regretted it so much.
And then, worst of all, how he'd agreed to the witch's horrible arrangement in order to save Belle's life.
"This is all my fault," she wept, shaking her head in grief.
She should never have come here. If she had just listened to Papa all those months ago and stayed home, she wouldn't have angered the enchantress and led Adam to such a terrible choice.
Forcing her eyes open and wiping back tears, she continued to read.
Belle, don't for a moment believe this is your fault, it said. Belle gasped, realizing he'd known just where her thoughts might lead.
There's more going on here than I can explain, it went on, for the curse won't allow it. But know my fate was sealed long before you came. And when you find out the rest from the others, when you find out the truth about this curse, please know it didn't change anything. Not for me.
I'm not sure if you realized it, but when you came I was in utter despair. There was a darkness that had taken hold of my heart, and I was certain nothing could cast it away. But you did. You brought me back, you saw the person I thought I'd lost and helped me find him again. And even with what's to come, I'll try to hold onto him, Belle, if only for you.
I suppose by the time you read this you will already know, but the truth is this: I love you. I love you so much, more than I've ever loved anyone. You are everything to me—my greatest friend, my closest confidant, the person I admire most. I never dreamed I would find someone like you, and I never knew all that love could be until I did. I admit I imagined spending a life with you, though even that seemed too short a time together.
Strange. I was always so afraid to say it, but now I can't seem to stop the words from flowing onto this page.
"I love you too," Belle whispered, sucking in a breath before going on.
Belle, everything you are is beautiful, and you deserve a full and happy life. I hope you can find it. I hope you and your father can find peace and safety, somewhere far from here. I hope you can continue to study and paint and share all the goodness that you are with everyone you meet. I hope…
Here, the strokes of ink seemed to falter, as though written with a shaky hand.
I hope you find someone else who can make you happy. For while no man could ever love you as I have, I pray you find one who comes close. And if that means forgetting me, I'll understand.
Belle shook her head roughly, tears dripping onto the page. "I c-can't," she gasped. "Oh Adam, I can't…"
Please though, if you can, forgive me. Forgive me for leaving you, forgive me for failing to find a way we could be together. For I doubt I'll ever forgive myself.
Adieu, my love.
Adam
Reaching out with a shaky hand, Belle brushed her fingers over his name. Then she gasped, pressing the letter against her chest, trying to draw what little part of him out of it that she could.
"It's hopeless," she gasped, grabbing at her heart, trying to fight the horrible fist that had returned, twisting up her insides like it had at Maman's death. But this time, somehow, it felt even worse.
No, that small voice inside whispered, barely noticeable beneath her turmoil. You can't lose hope.
"It's never hopeless," another voice said, echoing her thoughts. Belle started, looking up as heavy footfalls stepped into the room. A tall, thin man stood there, dressed in a well-fitted military uniform, long grey hair swept back in a neat ponytail.
"Who are you?" Belle asked, heart racing in fear.
The man remained a safe distance away. "A friend, my dear," he said. His voice was soothing, and deep, but strangest of all…it felt familiar. With slow, deliberate movements, he gave a deep bow before standing tall once again and resting a hand on the sword at his hip.
Belle's eyes followed his gloved hand, and grew wide in response. "Sire…Sire Gilles?" she asked, recognizing the blade in an instant. "Are you all right? Why…" She stopped, looking back at the strange man in fear. "Why do you have him?" she demanded.
The man only smiled, taking another two steps closer before crouching down to her level. From this distance, Belle caught several specks of gold in each of his ears. In a way, the earrings reminded her of the golden carvings along the blade's hand guard now resting at his hip. Pulling the sabre slowly from his belt, the man displayed it upon his open palms.
"Mademoiselle," he said. "Do you not recognize me now?"
Belle stared at Gilles' cold, unmoving form, then back at the man who held him. The man whose voice had traveled with her through the woods outside a hundred times now. "Gilles," she breathed. "You're…you're human again."
He smiled, though there was sadness to it. "Yes. We have returned to ourselves once more."
Belle took a long moment to catch her breath. She looked back at the grand mirror that had taken Adam, remembering his trembling body, the way he'd clung to her through his pain. The way his body had started to shift before her very eyes.
Was he changing back too? Belle wondered in shock.
She looked back at Gilles' human form. She should be asking how the curse had broken, if everyone was really back to themselves once more. But she could only think of one thing. "G-Gilles," she choked out. "He's gone…"
Slowly, the man reached a gentle arm around her shoulder. Belle, having nothing left, buried her face against his coat.
"Oh, dear girl, forgive me," Gilles said, setting the sword aside and reaching another arm around her. "I could not stop him, nor protect him as I should have done."
Belle tried to speak, but only found herself crying again. Eventually, the old commander pulled her carefully to her feet and guided her back to bed. Setting her on the edge, he moved with careful steps across the room and dragged another chair to her side.
"He agreed so she would break the curse, didn't he?" Belle asked at last, dabbing her face against her sleeve. "Agreed to…to marry that monster," she whispered. Suddenly, she realized the fear she'd felt at such a prospect with Gaston must be nothing to what Adam was facing right now. Her throat grew tight once again, and she gripped the covers hard.
"In a way, that is true," Gilles replied. "Though it was more an agreement that the enchantress would allow the curse to be broken."
Belle frowned. "But if she didn't break it, then who…" She trailed off, staring at her feet.
"I didn't do that to him. You did." What had the enchantress meant by that?
Belle forced herself to think back. She remembered the witch's horrible tale told while in the storyteller's stolen form, remembered being led to the rose in the dead of night, remembered how Adam had been forced to send her away the day before. Belle had known the enchantress wanted her gone, but she'd always assumed it was simply because she was an outsider.
But wasn't Henri an outsider too? Why didn't the witch care that he was here?
Belle frowned deeply, recalling her last words to Adam that evening before their enemy appeared.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
"It was me," she whispered, looking up. "My…my love for Adam broke the spell."
"And his for you," Gilles nodded.
Belle's breath was hollow, and she pressed Adam's letter closer against her breast. She faintly recalled that early autumn day in the gardens, sitting together on an old stone bench, the way his throat had closed up before the words could come out. "He tried to tell me," she said quietly. "When I first came. He tried to explain the curse, but he couldn't."
"Yes, he did. But my dear," Gilles said seriously, resting a comforting hand on hers. "I have no doubt that, cursed or not, his feelings for you would not have changed."
Belle looked back down at the letter, still held tightly between her fingers. "Yes. Yes, I know."
Gilles pulled back, crossing his legs with some stiffness and frowning. "Prince Adam informed me it was the enchantress's intention to seduce him into breaking the spell with her all along." He stopped, huffing to himself. "She clearly doesn't know our prince at all."
Belle nodded. "And that's why she wanted me gone." She sucked in a breath, lifting her feet off the floor and pulling her knees to her chest. "And now she has just what she wanted. Oh, Gilles," she gasped, shaking her head. "How can I feel any hope? His father was taken just the same way, and no one's seen him since!"
"It is true," Gilles admitted. "King Alexandre has been lost all these years. However," he said, leaning forward and raising a finger. "We were but household objects, with a master who could not leave these grounds. We are not so ill-equipped now."
Leaning back again, he reached into his coat and pulled out a shining, silver object.
"The mirror," Belle breathed, taking in her hands.
"Your noble steed had it on him," Gilles explained. "Henri found it upon retrieving the old boy from Beaumont."
"Philippe," Belle gasped. "And Max—"
"—are both well," Gilles explained.
Nodding with some relief, Belle looked back at the mirror in her grasp. She stared at it hard, heart beginning to race. "Sh-show me—show me Adam," she asked quickly.
The mirror changed, but showed only that same strange, swirling mist that he'd fallen into. Heart sinking in her stomach, she tried again. "Show me the witch, please," she asked desperately. "Show me where they are!"
"That won't work," Gilles said. "Such questions haven't worked in the past, I'm afraid."
Belle nodded, still disappointed even though she should have known as much. Adam had told her himself, after all. He'd tried for years to see his father in the mirror, with no success. Of course the witch wouldn't let things be so simple.
Still…there was more to this mirror that they didn't know. She could feel it. "I still think it can help us," she told Gilles.
"As do I," he agreed. "Now, I must be honest with you. It was Prince Adam's wish that we escape this kingdom, for the enchantress has expressed a desire to seize control of it."
Belle looked up, eyes growing wide. She thought of the villagers in Molyneaux—she didn't feel particularly close to most of them, but being ruled by that terrible sorceress wasn't something she would wish upon anyone.
"However," Gilles went on. "The prince only ordered us to leave the palace, and to keep you safe."
A small smile had crept over his face, and Belle began to feel one of her own. "So…there's no reason you can't escort me on a witch hunt," she finished for him.
Gilles bowed his head slightly, though it couldn't hide the grin on his face. "I will follow your lead, mademoiselle."
A bit of hope crept into Belle's heart. "I know something that will make your job easier," she said quickly. "The enchantress—she can't harm me. It was part of her agreement with Adam."
"Ah," Gilles said, raising his brows. "That is good news indeed."
"All right," Belle said, heart swelling in her breast. "How long until we leave?"
"I assume we would wait for your father—" He stopped, a hundred voices leaking in from the hall, their footsteps ringing from the stone walls. Not a moment later, the door burst open.
A young woman flew inside, rushing to Belle's side and sweeping her into a tight hug.
"Oh, Belle," she said. The woman pulled back, looking up at her with a heart-shaped face and dark, teary eyes. "I'm so sorry. I just can't believe it."
Belle watched her for another long moment, then smiled a bit. There was only one woman that could have been this young. "Sophie?" she asked.
"Oh! Yes, sorry," Sophie said, tucking a thick curl behind her ear and smiling back. She reached for Belle's hand. "Come on, do you want to see everyone? They'll understand if you're not ready, what with…" She trailed off, gripping Belle's hand hard. "But they do so wish to see you."
Belle felt her throat closing up again, and she bit her lip hard against fresh tears. She nodded once, letting Sophie guide her into the hall as Gilles followed behind.
She knew it was the same number of people as before, but with their human forms again the servants were overflowing from the main landing and into the adjoining halls. Belle watched them, feeling like a stranger despite the fact that she knew every one of them.
Near the front stood an older woman, hands clasped together. Henri stood beside her, holding a child against his chest.
"He tried to stay up for ya," Henri whispered. "But it's pretty far past his bedtime."
Belle looked down at the sleeping boy in Henri's arms. Chip, she realized, heart warming at the sight. She turned back to the older woman at their side.
"Hello, love," the woman said, a distinct accent in her speech.
"Mrs. Potts," Belle breathed. The woman nodded, pulling her into a warm hug. Belle had to bend down a good ways to receive it, but she held on for a long time.
"Oh, my sweet girl," Mrs. Potts said as Belle finally pulled away. "You have saved us all."
Belle bit her lip hard, everything that had happened that night pouring over her again. "No. Adam did."
"You both did," a new voice spoke. Belle looked up, a man in a flashy orange jacket sweeping into a deep bow. Reaching for her hand, he planted a long kiss on it before looking up with warm eyes.
"Monsieur Lumiere," Belle said, managing a small smile.
"Oh! I made it too easy," he said with a wink. Then he sobered, gazing back at those behind him. Some of them were smiling; others were in tears; still others held looks of firm determination. And somehow, even though she couldn't tell who was who, Belle could feel that she knew each of them.
Suddenly, the crowds parted as a large woman shoved her way through. She towered over many of the others, finally hobbling out of the crowds and picking Belle up off her feet into a soft, albeit fierce, hug.
"Oh, mon petit chou!" she cried. Her voice was like a song, and resonated off the halls all around them.
"Madame…" Belle said, gasping for breath. "Madame de la Grand Bouche?" she managed. "Is that you?"
"Oui, dearest," the woman said, setting Belle back to her feet. She looked down at her, large tears falling freely from her bright eyes as she ran a hand over Belle's hair. "Oh, mademoiselle, to think he is not here with you!"
Belle only nodded, sucking in shaky breath and reaching out to embrace the once-wardrobe again.
As they parted, another hand brushed her arm. "Things will be all right in the end, love," Mrs. Potts said softly.
Belle reached up, feeling fresh wetness on her cheeks; she hadn't realized she'd started crying again. "I know," she replied, looking up at the others and feeling her heart swell with conviction despite her tears. "Because we're going to get Adam back."
At that, a quiet but strong cheer ran over the crowd. Belle moved towards them, walking through the thick crowds as warm hands and smiles greeted her.
"You can count on us, mademoiselle," Lumiere said earnestly as he followed. "For anything you may need."
Belle nodded. She gripped the mirror tight, staring down at it with hard eyes and picking up her pace. "Then the first place we're going is the library."
A/N – Maybe nobody cares, but just to cover my butt - I realize that "snogging" is a relatively modern and British term, but I wanted to use something you guys would recognize (cause I know you've all read Harry Potter lol). And considering they'd all be speaking French anyway, we can just assume any slang I use would be an equivalent French term from the actual time era.
Anyway, I honestly can't thank you guys enough for the reviews, and a big heyyy to Comical freaka and all the guests who joined the comment brigade last time! I actually struggled a lot with this update and rereading everyone's kind words helped so much. xoxo