Mirrors

by greensearcher

Everyone knows the Beast was selfish and unkind—which, of course, is exactly what a jealous enchantress would want the world to think. An AU in which young Adam was an innocent victim caught up in his father's past mistakes, and Belle a willing presence seeking to repay her own father's debt. And with a vengeful witch on the loose, Gaston is the least of their worries.

25. Chapter 24

A/N - Another strong T for parts of this chapter – if you have triggers, please see *** at the very bottom for rating details.

---

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Your Majesty?"

King Victor stood in the Hall of Arms, surveying the surroundings with thirsty eyes. The handsome beard of his youth now sat wiry and unkempt against his neck, itself now significantly less defined than it had been a decade before. Even the expensive clothes he wore couldn't hide the man's deterioration in health. Heavy bags sat beneath both eyes, skin greying and stomach hanging far over his belt from a decade of unrestrained food and drink—supported, or course, by the extortion of his people.

Ignoring Lumiere's question, Victor paused before a large painting in the shadows. A depiction of Judas Iscariot, frozen forever in the moment of his treacherous kiss. Christ's gaze was cast down, and he seemed almost to be staring at Victor amidst the betrayal.

The king glared at the painting, then looked away. "My brother's wretched wife was far too fond of such…pious scenery," he huffed, waving an irritated hand in the air. "Remove them all."

Lumiere's nostrils flared; luckily the king had his back to him at that moment. "Of course, my king," he said through gritted teeth. Lumiere had been chosen for such a task given his innate ability to put on a show—but groveling at Victor's feet for the past months was wearing even on his resilient nerves.

"The treasury next," Victor ordered. Lumiere nodded, moving deeper into the hall as the king and a troop of men followed behind.

In the heart of the castle, Lumiere stopped before a set of thick double doors. Pulling a set of keys from his belt, he unlocked the entrance and pulled it open with no small effort. Not one man offered to help.

Huffing, Lumiere eventually managed to crack it open wide enough for Victor to enter. The king brushed past him in earnest, leaving his men to guard the hall.

"Light," Victor ordered gruffly. Lumiere reached for the nearest candlestick. It shifted in his hand.

For he was not the only servant working from the inside.

Setting the living light on a desk, Lumiere took his keys once again and opened the heavy chests at Victor's request. The man buried his hands in each one, emptying the carefully organized pouches and examining the coins in the dim light.

"Satisfactory, I suppose," he muttered. "Though not as much as I was expecting."

"Taxes were lower under your brother's rule," Lumiere explained, with no little irritation. "And what coin came here did not stay long, for he put much of it back towards the aid of his people."

Victor narrowed his eyes, looking back at him. "And what do you think of that, servant?" he asked darkly.

Lumiere felt a bead of sweat drip down his back, immediately realizing his mistake. He sucked in a breath. "I think he was a fool," he lied, with all the conviction he could muster.

Victor watched him for a long moment. "Indeed," he said quietly. He moved across the room, sweeping aside a neat stack of financial records and emptying another pouch of coins on the cleared surface. He spread the gold on beneath his palm, picking up one piece and examining it with interest. "Remind me," he said, staring at the coin in his fingertips. "Why did you come to me?"

Lumiere swallowed. "It seems I'm not whole without a soul to wait upon, Your Majesty," he replied, voice hollow in the shadows.

Victor finally looked up, and smirked. "Ah, yes. Your kind were truly born into this world to serve."

Lumiere stared at the king's neck—thick, splotched, just asking for two hands to wrap around it and squeeze. He grit his teeth hard.

Victor raised a brow, looking around the room. "Is something burning?"

Lumiere sniffed. Yes, something was indeed burning. And in that moment, he realized his head felt… unusually warm. Reaching up quickly, he smothered the smoke, coughing nervously.

You've got to pull yourself together!

Victor was watching him with suspicion, but looked up when a loud thump rang out from the hall. It was soon followed by two more. Sweeping past Lumiere, the king stepped back into the corridor. Lumiere heard him move but two paces, then stop. All was still.

So soon? Lumiere thought in surprise. With caution, he stepped back outside himself.

A dozen bodies spotted the floor, amid twice as many roses. Each fallen soldier stared ahead, unblinking, eyes glazed over as they sat limply against the walls and lay motionless along the old carpet. Victor stood in the midst of them, his own eyes fixed in a trance on a figure in the shadows.

A creature stood there, hunched over and hooded, sucking in a shallow, raspy breath. It took a slow step towards them, exhaling slowly. The sound rang like death off the cold walls. With another breath the stranger straightened, hood falling back to reveal the most ghastly sight Lumiere had ever seen.

A corpse from the castle cemetery would have been a more welcome sight. With another rough breath, the monster began to change—slowly, painfully, new skin filling in the gaps in its cheeks, hair growing from bald patches across its head.

Is this really her? Lumiere thought in horror. She continued to change, a bit at a time with each heavy breath, finally reaching a state where she appeared more alive than dead.

"King Victor," Circe breathed at last. She ran her hands down her figure, changing the rags she wore into a deep, shimmering black gown. Sighing, she looked up with eyes of fire. "Thank you for such an abundant supply. You may step aside, now."

---

Fur brushed her fingertips, her forehead. "Adam?" Belle said groggily. Cracking one eye open, she quickly realized her error.

"Oh, Max," she blushed. It was an honest mistake, she supposed—for Adam in the form she'd long known him still filled her dreams, despite his new humanity.

Max was scratching at the tent door now, anxious to be let out. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Belle quickly dressed and threw on her boots before unfastening the canvas flap.

Max ran out quickly and took care of business as Belle slowly followed. It wasn't quite dawn, the eastern hills just barely showing the light of the sun and the landscape grey and covered with dew. It was a cold morning for June, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Though it was memories from the night before that warmed her the most.

They walked through the rows of tents, illuminated by nothing but quiet stars. Camp was still now, a happy kind of peace replacing the joyous celebration from earlier that evening.

When they reached Belle's tent they stopped, holding each other again, hearts still racing from their newfound intimacy.

"Goodnight," Adam whispered at last.

"Goodnight."

Despite the word, however, Adam didn't pull away. Instead he played with her long hair, loose and tangled, the ribbon long since lost somewhere along the shore. "Did I tell you I like your hair this way?" he asked.

"You're changing the subject," Belle smiled.

He sighed and leaned down, resting his cheek against her head. "It's just…I'm afraid if I go to bed, this is all going to end," he admitted. He'd said it in mirth, though Belle thought she caught a bit of lingering fear in his voice.

Belle wanted to assure him it wouldn't. But the truth was, she felt some of the same fear herself.

"Maybe…" she started. She pulled back, absently smoothing out the front of his shirt. "Maybe…you could sleep here tonight?" she asked. She smirked a little. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Adam's eyes grew wide, scanning the empty space around them. "Well, that…that was different…" he said nervously.

"Why?" Belle asked, feigning innocence.

He looked back at her, and raised a brow. "You know why." He glanced towards the tents further away, biting his lip. "It's just…your father likes me right now, but I'm fairly certain if he finds me here I'm a dead man."

"Well, all right," Belle shrugged. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before pulling away. "Goodnight!"

"Oh, um…goodnight," he said lamely, looking a little deflated as she ducked inside her tent.

Belle paused inside. She only had to wait a few short moments before hearing the canvas flap open behind her.

"Wait," Adam whispered, pocking his head inside. "I…I changed my mind."

Belle bit back a smile. "Give me a moment. I need to change into something dry."

He nodded quickly. "I—I do too," he said, before shutting the flap again. Belle heard his footfalls race off towards the other side of camp. Stifling a laugh, she pulled off her sea-soaked clothes and shimmied into a clean shift and night dress.

She had just dimmed her lantern when she heard a quiet tap at the entrance. Pulling it open, she found Adam's hand in the darkness and pulled him inside. Her cot was built for one, so instead they gathered together every blanket in the small space and buried themselves inside.

Adam hummed deeply, running his fingertips over her head and through the tips of her hair, brushing against her back. "Temptress," he whispered.

Belle grinned, relaxing against his warmth. "It's a special occasion."

He hummed again. "It is." His fingers found her shoulder then, tracing soft circles against her skin where her gown had slipped down. He breathed deeply, before reaching around and pulling her close.

"Goodnight, Belle," he breathed, planting a soft kiss to forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

A horse's nickering broke through the memory, bringing Belle back to the present. She looked towards their temporary corral just as a distant figure hopped over its fence. Smiling, she crossed the campsite on light feet.

Adam—finally donning his boots—stepped carefully towards a bright white mare, a saddle and stirrups under one arm and a heavy cloak over his shoulders. The horse barely acknowledged him as he approached.

"Olive," he said slowly, setting the saddle aside and stepping close. "Hey, girl…it's me."

Olive's ears perked up at his voice, finally turning her head and staring at him straight in the eyes.

"Hey," he said again, brushing his fingers through her mane. "It's me, Adam. I'm just…I'm different."

Olive leaned closer then, sniffing his collar as he rubbed a hand over her coat like he always did. Olive's ears perked up further, and suddenly she was nuzzling his neck, nearly knocking him over in her excitement. Adam laughed, wrapping both arms around her neck and hugging her tight.

Belle watched from a distance, smiling warmly and wishing she'd brought her sketchbook. Instead, she focused on creating a mental image of the scene for a later depiction.

"Want to go for a ride?" Adam asked Olive eagerly. She pressed a wet nose to his face and he laughed again, tugging off his cloak and throwing it over the gate before retrieving the equipment to saddle her up. A minute later, he stood motionless at her side, staring at the stirrup. Then, with some apprehension, he stepped into it and swung himself into the seat. He sat tall, sucking in a deep breath that filled his chest.

Belle now flushed for the hundredth time since his return. Goodness, how regal he looked!

The image was soon spoiled, however, for Adam immediately grabbed the reigns, squatted low, and urged Olive towards the nearest field. Ignoring the closed corral, they jumped the fence and took off like lightning through the tall grass. Halfway across the field, Adam's loud hoot of joy was carried back on the wind.

Belle herself laughed now. She'd never seen him like this, and how fun it was!

Approaching the corral, she retrieved his cloak and pulled it around herself. She pressed her nose to the fabric, breathing in his smell. Strange how it hadn't changed much from what it was before.

He must have caught sight of her, for just a few minutes passed before he guided Olive up behind the gate and was jumping out of the saddle.

"Belle!" he said excitedly, landing on clumsy feet and throwing his arms around her, pinning the wooden fence between them. His heart was racing with the thrill of the ride, breath warm against her cheeks. "Good morning," he mumbled, kissing her cheek quickly before attempting to climb the gate without fully releasing her.

Belle chuckled at him. "Good morning," she said happily, glad when he finally made it over and encased her in his full warmth. "When did you get up?"

"About an hour ago," he said. "Sorry, you looked so content that I didn't want to wake you."

Belle smiled. "You must have slept well. I noticed you don't snore anymore," she teased.

"You still do," he said, not missing a beat.

"What?!"

He chuckled. "Just a little. It's cute." He noticed his cloak around her then, and leaned close. "Always stealing my clothes," he breathed in her ear, one finger playing with the cloak's tassel and briefly brushing the skin of her throat in the process.

"Finders keepers," she whispered back, letting that pleasant, still-new feeling rush through her as he drew close.

"Well, Your Highness, I must say everything is going just swimmingly."

Adam froze right before their lips met, eyes growing wide. He looked quickly over her shoulder, and Belle followed his gaze. There stood Cogsworth, a small paper pad in one palm as he jotted several notes on its surface.

"We'll be starting for Preuseville just after breakfast, my lord."

"Cogsworth," Adam deadpanned.

"But Madame Agathe expressed a desire to check you over before we depart," Cogsworth went on. "So if you'd just come with me, I can escort you to—"

"Cogsworth," Adam said again, cutting him off.

The man finally looked up. "Yes, my prince?"

Adam sucked in a breath, barely concealing his annoyance. "Cogsworth. I've been waiting to kiss this woman for months—"

"Oh, Adam!" Belle whispered.

"—so do you think this could possibly wait five minutes?"

Cogsworth looked at them straight on, as if only now becoming aware of what he'd interrupted. "Oh, oh my," he said in concern. "How could I have neglected something so important?"

"Huh?" Adam said in confusion.

Cogsworth raised a finger. "You two need a chaperone."

"A…a what?"

"We don't want any new little princes—or princesses, of course—running around before their time, my lord," Cogsworth explained matter-of-factly.

"C-C-C—" Adam sputtered, flushing furiously. "Cogsworth!"

"Yes, yes…I must go make the arrangements. I'll be but a moment, Your Highness." The man headed off at that, unaware he'd said anything amiss.

Adam, still bright as a roaring furnace, stared pointedly at the ground. Then, slowly, he glanced back at Belle. They looked at each other for a long moment, then started into timid chuckles.

"That was embarrassing," Adam admitted.

Belle giggled again, hugging his waist. Adam's fingers traced absent circles over her back in return, though he was now staring out towards a group of trees at the base of the nearest hill. Belle followed his gaze, then looked up at him.

He watched the point for another long moment, then met her eyes. "What do you say we run away?" he whispered.

Belle grinned, recognizing the teasing gleam in his eyes. She nodded.

---

Gilles smiled to himself, hidden in the shadow of a large tent near the edge of camp. He was the first to chaperone the two, as Cogsworth put it, but what his old friend didn't know was that Gilles already had a constant tab on their location.

For he was not going to allow their young prince to be lost again.

He reached up, turning one of his small, golden earrings between two fingers. A nervous habit. Sucking in a breath, he tugged a spy glass from his belt and pulled it open. Through the glass he could just see Olive grazing at the tree line, a motion of two figures disappearing into the canopy's shadows. He chuckled, closing the tool again and sliding it into his belt. If the young people wanted to be alone, they would find a way. Young love was tender that way, and not even Cogsworth could do much to stop it.

Smiling a little wistfully, Gilles reached a hand into his shirt and pulled forth a locket, hanging on a silver chain. It was round, and old, its ornamentation long since faded. He glanced around and, finding himself alone, flicked it open.

A lock of bright red hair sat inside, encased in dim glass. And though he'd looked at it a thousand times, the sight still made his throat grow tight.

---

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Gilles stood tall and alert – knowing anything less would only anger the man more. Yet he couldn't quite find the courage to meet his father's eyes.

"We host the Barreau family for six weeks and you can't muster up the courage to ask for Lady Marianne's hand?!"

Gilles swallowed. "Father, I just…I didn't feel it a good match."

"It was a perfectly good match," his father snarled. "And so were the last four young women you've managed to offend through your indifference. What's it going to take, mm?" he huffed.

Gilles' heart was thundering in his chest. "I just…I'm not…" He clenched his fists to hide their trembling, and took a breath. "Father…I'm just not sure I want to get married."

As soon as the words came out, he flinched. An old habit. No blow had come for some years now, but he'd expected his father to at least yell at him, maybe throw something off the desk. But the man merely grew stone silent. Somehow, that was worse. Gilles just stared at the floor, too afraid to look up.

"You don't…want…to get married," his father finally said. His voice was low, anger boiling just beneath the surface. "And I suppose you don't 'want' to inherit this estate either, mm?"

"Let Cecile inherit."

"You know as well as I that's impossible," his father growled. He leaned back in his chair, and scoffed. "Damn shame she wasn't born a man. Girl's more of one than you've ever been."

Gilles grit his teeth, eyes burning, hating himself even more than normal.

"A man fulfills his duty," his father went on, eyes dark. "Does that word mean nothing to you?"

Gilles head shot up at that. "It means everything to me!" he cried.

Standing from his seat, the man stared at Gilles with cold, unloving eyes. "Then you will fulfill your duty to this family."

Gilles eyes grew wide, and he stepped back. He had been honest in his declaration, for duty had run through his veins since birth. Tending to a bedridden mother, quietly overseeing the care and payment of their staff, attending to the needs of the surrounding villages—all the things the aging count before him had neglected for drink and leisure.

But this kind of duty… He swallowed. I can't, he thought desperately. Not this.

His father scoffed at his silence, sitting again and looking away. "You're a fool, and a disgrace. Get out of my sight."

Gilles wanted to say something, do anything besides stand there like the coward he was. Instead, he just bowed his head in submission and stepped into the hall.

His feet took him to the courtyard, urging him towards the adjacent recreation building and armory. He often came here when he felt alone, for it was the only place that brought him relief.

Though it wasn't the place itself that offered the cure.

The room was wide and open, pleasant light cascading through the windows and glinting off a hundred silver swords. In the center of the room, two visiting nobles were decked in white garb from head to toe, heads shielded by mesh-faced helmets as they spared with vigor. In the corner stood a servant, two spare swords in hand and watching the match with interest.

It was this man who looked over upon Gilles' entry. He was young, like him, but in every other way his opposite. Shorter and broader in stature, with a head of fiery red hair that seemed a physical manifestation of his open, spirited nature—nothing like Gilles, who was prone to keeping each emotion carefully in check. Yes, quite his opposite.

And they were the best of friends.

"Gil—" the young man called out, but quickly stopped, coughing and looking towards the visiting nobles. They hadn't noticed his slip, too engaged in their increasingly violent spar. "Er, Lord Gilles," he corrected as Gilles drew near. Jean only used a title when others were around—it was always strange when he did, and they typically joked about it later.

"How's this one been?" Gilles asked, nodding towards the pair across the room.

Jean rolled his eyes. "They're awful," he droned, immediately losing the formality now that they could talk in confidence. He leaned into Gilles so he could whisper. "Though I'm certain each thinks himself as skilled as King Arthur himself."

Usually Gilles would have laughed, but at the moment he couldn't even muster a smile. In all truth, seeing the lingering visitors merely reminded him of his failure with Lady Marianne.

"Well…how about it?" Jean prodded, nudging him playfully in the side. "Would you like to go a round? Show these amateurs a thing or two?"

Finally, the smile came. "Yes. Let's."

The two young men were well matched in skill—it was only because Gilles had the advantage of height and light-footedness that he won nearly every match against his friend. And the exercise usually did him good, for it was easy to focus on his form and the way his body felt moving with speed and precision. But today, Gilles couldn't find that focus. Instead, his father's harsh words and his own shame crept back slowly, tangling themselves deeply in his chest and allowing Jean to assume the victory.

"First time I've bested you in six months," Jean panted, tugging off his helmet as they entered the dressing rooms. "You sure you weren't just going easy on me?"

Gilles didn't hear him. He leaned against the wall, sword hanging limply in one hand, face hidden beneath the mask he didn't bother to remove.

Jean paused halfway through unbuttoning his jacket, looking back at him in confusion. "Gilles? Are you all right?"

Gilles remained quiet. He wanted so badly to pretend he was fine, but it was taking everything he had just to keep back foolish tears.

"I can't imagine you're that sore of a loser," Jean teased, though it was clear he was straining to keep his voice upbeat as he moved over with caution.

"No," Gilles muttered. "It isn't that."

Jean was beside him then. He took the sword from Gilles' hand, set it aside, and placed a large, warm hand on his arm. He no longer hid his concern. "He got mad again, didn't he?"

Gilles just shrugged, ducking his head.

"Are you hurt?" he asked nervously. "Did he—"

"No. He knows I'm stronger than him now."

Jean sighed in relief, and let his hand fall away. "What happened?"

Sighing himself, Gilles turned his back to him, tearing off his own helmet and wrestling with the large buttons of his jacket. "I'm a failure," he said flatly. "A disgrace to him, and to my family."

"…What?" Jean breathed shock. "How could you think that? You're—you're incredible! You're the greatest swordsman in the province—no question—plus you see to this entire estate and the surrounding villages. I mean, you practically do your old man's job for him."

"None of that matters," Gilles replied hollowly. "None of it. Not if I can't produce…" He trailed off, staring at his feet. He sucked in a breath, and squeezed his eyes shut.

He heard Jean move a pace closer, but stop. "Gilles—"

"He's upset I didn't propose to Lady Marianne," he said at last, turning back. "That's why he was angry."

Jean was quiet for a long moment. "Oh," he whispered. Both looked away.

Dusk had begun to creep into the room, its long shadowy fingers bathing them in darkness. A carriage could be heard rolling down the nearest rode. The sound permeated the silent air, then vanished back into the night.

"She was a good woman," Gilles admitted at last. "A really good woman, actually. Perhaps…perhaps I should have married her."

"Why didn't you?"

He'd said it so suddenly, Gilles couldn't help but look up. Jean was watching him, eyes wide and anxious in the dim room, pulsing with a vulnerability he'd never seen in them before.

Gilles knew then—knew why he didn't marry Lady Marianne. Why he didn't marry any of them.

In truth, he'd known for a long time now, but had buried the truth in a place he hoped would never be discovered, even by himself. Buried the truth that each women his father placed in his path only filled him with dread. Buried the truth that when he lay in bed at night and closed his eyes, all he saw was that bright red hair and encouraging smile.

But the way Jean was watching him now…maybe he didn't need to hide it anymore. Maybe he wasn't so alone after all.

His feet pulled him forward, nearly closing the distance between them. Strange how the insecurity in Jean's eyes gave him courage. Gilles never been the brave one. In fact, a small part of his mind screamed in panic, but the rest ignored it as he leaned closer.

Their lips brushed. Barely a kiss, but it was all Gilles could muster before the nerves tumbled over him and he turned away. Yet Jean didn't let him go far, for warm hands found his face and pulled him back in.

The warmth seemed to flow from Jean's touch, from his lips, filling Gilles' heart like nothing ever had before. Filling the emptiness inside and washing away the senseless guilt he'd let settle there.

They pulled back. The room was growing darker by the minute, but not so dark Gilles couldn't see how Jean's cheeks were beginning to match the hue of his hair. "I thought it was just me," Jean whispered, a strange kind of awe in his voice.

"You were sorely mistaken."

Jean blinked once—then laughed, hugging him tightly. Gilles returned the embrace, smiling wide and forgetting all about his father and his shame and even, for the first time, that suffocating, every-present call to duty.

Gilles sighed roughly, closing the locket with a snap and tucking it back in his shirt. No use dwelling on the past. It was time to focus on those who needed him now—a young couple hidden in the trees, finally together but still so far from being truly safe.

He narrowed his eyes, heart burning. They would not be torn apart, not again, not in the way he knew all too well. He'd make sure of it.

---

It was such a simple gesture. Simple, and sweet. And Belle couldn't fathom how it was possibly making her feel the things she was feeling.

Adam kissed the tip of her thumb—the last of five fingers he'd done the very same to, pausing and looking at her from the shadows that fell from the canopy above. The palm of her free hand pressed against the thick oak trunk behind her, leaning into it, hoping with a silent stare he'd come even closer.

He did.

Belle should have expected it. Adam exuded an abundance of devotion in everything he did and enough love to cover a family, a household, and an entire kingdom. Yet for some reason, she hadn't anticipated just how the love he held for her alone could manifest itself as passion.

He was kissing the inside of her wrist now. Belle closed her eyes, simply enjoying the feeling, still thoroughly overcome by their new closeness. She recalled their ride to this small grove of trees—his arms reaching around her for the reigns, thighs squeezing hers as he gave Olive a kick. The way his fingers brushed her neck as he pulled her hair aside and kissed her cheek from behind.

It was new. So new to be able to be with him like this—to have a man, a human man so close to her. Her heart began to race at the thought.

Adam, she reminded herself. It's still Adam.

His lips brushed her ear. "I love you," he said softly. Still his voice, but now his words were followed by a tender kiss against her ear, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. Belle's own words wouldn't come, and she could manage nothing but a shallow breath before their lips met again.

She let the oak behind her steady her, his warm arms about her waist keep her upright, finally realizing the expression weak knees was much more literal than she'd once thought.

"A-Adam," she managed at last.

He pulled back immediately. "Yes?"

"Are you…" She stopped, looking away with unusual shyness before glancing back at him. "…Are you sure you haven't done this before?" she finally whispered.

Adam blinked, then—utterly destroying the mood—he snorted. "When in the world would I have done this before? When I was ten?"

"I don't know!" Belle laughed.

He was beaming, and Belle could see the pride in his eyes even through his amusement. Well, he deserved to be proud about it. He really was quite a good kisser.

"Perhaps you're just a natural," she smirked, deciding to feed that pride a bit more.

Against his will, the corner of Adam's mouth plucked up further at that. Leaning back down, he wrapped his arms tight around her waist and hummed deeply.

Except, this was no hum. It was a full-out, rasping growl—one which, to the shock of them both, vibrated from deep within his chest and off the surrounding trees.

Adam pulled back immediately, eyes growing wide. "I…that…th-that wasn't…" He stopped, coughed into his fist, then pressed two fingers up against his throat. "I-I don't know how…"

He trailed off again, finally catching her eye. "Wait a second," he said slowly, an amused but bewildered smile beginning to creep back over his face. "You…you liked that, didn't you?"

Belle reached up to feel her cheeks. Sure enough, they were hot beneath her fingers. She grimaced. "N-no I—no I didn't!"

"Yes you did!" he cried, now roaring with laughter.

"I—I didn't—oh!" Belle exclaimed in utter defeat, flushing and burying her face in her hands.

Adam still held her in warm arms, though his body continued to shake in amusement. It was a long minute before he could finally speak.

"First…first the beard…"

"Adam!"

He chuckled some more, then finally sighed. "Be honest—did you like me better the other way?"

"No—" she said in defiance, then stopped, growing somber. "I mean…It's just, well, sometimes there's moments when it's harder to reconcile that you're, you know…still you."

Adam hummed, pursing his lips as he thought. Then, to Belle's surprise, he grinned. "Perhaps I'm not," he said mischievously.

Belle frowned. "What?"

He leaned to whisper in her ear once again. "We best not let the Beast find out about this. He wouldn't be very happy."

"Oh Adam!" Belle cried. "That is not funny!"

He only snickered, growling again and hugging her tight. Belle tried in earnest to reprimand him, but it was difficult to do so through her own laughter.

"Well, one thing's for certain," she finally managed, pulling back and raising a brow. "It really is still you. I've never met a bigger tease in all my life."

"I'm telling you. You started it with all those awful nicknames."

"I thought they were clever."

Adam's expression finally softened. "Belle…I have to know. What were you…" He paused. "What were you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, about me," he said, looking away. "About…us, before you knew I could change back."

Belle, realizing just what he meant, looked away herself. "Well I…I knew we couldn't leave, since you were trapped there. A-and I supposed we'd have to, um, decide together what we'd want to… " She stopped, wringing her hands together in the fabric at her waist. "I mean, I thought perhaps if we ever…you know…if we wanted to, um… Th-there's an orphanage in Saint Amand, we could have…"

Adam watched her as she fell quiet again. He looked stunned. "You thought about that?"

Belle flushed, embarrassed, realizing the territory they'd crossed into with this conversation. Not just the topic of physicality, but the implication of marriage that lingered just beneath her words. Of course, they'd freed both him and a hundred others with their declaration of love—with a silver cord between their chests as proof—but their lives beyond the present was still a topic neither had breached.

No. He did, Belle remembered, thinking back to the words of a letter she'd read each day while he was gone.

"I admit I imagined spending a life with you…"

Belle looked up at him again, his eyes the same as the day she'd first made note of them. It really was him, the Adam she'd known. There was no need to hesitate, was there?

He spoke first. "Belle…I would never have let things go so far if I didn't think I would be human again. I couldn't resign you to a fate with a monster."

Belle's heart sank a little. "Don't say that," she whispered.

"It's true, though," he said seriously. "You deserve someone who can give you everything, not just…part." He looked at his feet. "I'm just really glad that, maybe…that someone can be me now."

Belle only stared at him. Did he still not understand? "Adam," she said quietly. "You were always going to be that someone."

He looked up, uncertain.

She swallowed, reaching around him and gathering the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. "I just wanted you back," she whispered. "I didn't care how."

Adam breathed shallowly for a moment, then hugged her back tight. "You're the best," he said happily.

"I am not," Belle said, pulling away and beginning to count on her fingers. "I'm stubborn, and impatient, and horribly defiant, and—"

"No. You have, by far, the most beautiful heart in the whole world," he insisted. "That makes you the best."

Belle shook her head at him, but smiled all the same.

"Besides, I like that you're defiant," he went on. He smirked. "Like when you insisted on helping me bind up all that wheat—and we both got drenched from the storm."

Belle bit her lip, and giggled. "I'd nearly forgotten about that."

"Or demanding you help me with the index…and then making me reorganize the romance novels—"

"Oh, you didn't mind."

"—or wandering around the palace alone even though we lost you about a dozen times—"

Belle nudged him playfully. "Come on," she said. "We should go back. I don't want the others to worry."

They ran back the way they'd come, emerging from the small grove's dark cover and finding Olive still munching happily on the grass. Helping Belle into the saddle, Adam paused with his hand on the leather horn. "So…what if I had been turned into something different?" he asked curiously. "Like a frog?"

Belle laughed. "Now that's just silly."

"No it isn't!" he insisted. He raised a finger. "There's a book about it in the library."

---

Adam huffed some of the hair from his face. Ironically, he felt more like a strange creature on display right now than when he was eight-feet tall and covered in fur.

Two old, wrinkled hands moved up his chest, the two he wished they were sat motionless in the lap beside him as Belle watched Agathe work with nervous eyes. The old woman was currently prodding Adam all over as he lay on a mat in one of the smaller tents, wearing nothing but his breeches rolled up past his knees while Docteur Mathius and both his parents sat close by. He stared at the ceiling, bashful to be in such a state of undress with so many prying eyes. But those caring for him seemed far too concerned with his health to pay much attention to his dignity at the moment.

Agathe's hand passed over his stomach, his heart, then paused at his throat. "Oh, ho ho! Well that's interesting."

"What?" Adam asked nervously.

"Looks as though your vocal chords aren't quite back to normal."

Adam and Belle exchanged a look. "Oh, um…that is interesting," he replied. Belle hid a knowing smile behind her hand.

Agathe continued down his arms next. "Ah. You know, you've actually gained a bit of an advantage from this whole business."

"I have? What?"

"Your bones," she explained, lifting his forearm and squinting at it curiously. "As you changed back, they broke, reformed, and broke again, reshaping into their present structure—"

Belle and his mother both gasped in unison. Adam only sighed. "That explains a lot," he muttered. In a way, he was almost grateful to Circe for sending him ahead in time—he couldn't imagine having to go through all that for months. Though of course, it would have been nice to avoid the curse in the first place.

Jacqueline was not so easily placated. "Oh, my poor baby," she said, looking near tears as she swept back the hair from his eyes.

"Maman, I'm fine!" Adam said in earnest. He glanced over at Belle, who was squeezing his hand tight amid a horrified expression of her own. "Belle—Belle, it's all right, really," he insisted. "I mean, when I got shot in the leg it hurt for a lot longer, so—"

"You were shot in the leg?!" Jacqueline cried.

Adam cringed, forgetting Maman hadn't heard that one yet. "No…okay yes, but—"

"Hush now, I haven't gotten to the best part!" Agathe demanded. They fell silent, looking back at her at once. She cleared her throat. "As the bones reformed, they also condensed," she explained. "Instead of reabsorbing the bone, it seems your body used most of it to create your new skeleton. Which means these bones are dense. Nearly unbreakable, in fact."

Docteur Mathius leaned in, holding a monocle up to one eye. "Remarkable," he observed.

His father moved closer as well, a hand to his chin. "Indeed. That could certainly come in handy, son."

Agathe nodded. "Yes, yes. In fact, he could probably take a pretty nasty fall and still survive."

"Well, let's not encourage that please," Jacqueline said in earnest.

His mother's concern was not unwarranted—for at this revelation, Adam had almost immediately wondered if he could still get away with jumping over the western balcony. Pondering the prospect, he held out one arm and flexed it in assessment.

"She said your bones, not your muscles," Belle whispered, poking him in the stomach and causing him to recoil. For some reason, though, she looked flushed.

"Well, everything seems fine for now, but I'd like to continue checking you over for the next few weeks," Agathe said, pulling away and washing her hands in a nearby basin. "Circe may be a talented sorceress, but she's inexperienced. It's uncertain if she performed the spell with full care."

Great, Adam thought to himself.

"Otherwise, do you have any concerns?" Agathe asked.

Adam started to shake his head, then stopped. "Actually...there is one thing." He sat up, glancing behind him. "I, um, still feel it."

"Hmm?" Agathe asked.

"My tail…" he said, scratching the back of his head a little sheepishly even as he went on. "I could swear it's still there, but every time I check, of course…it isn't."

"Ah, the phantom limb," Docteur Mathius observed, nodding to himself. "Quite common when men lose arms and legs in battle."

"It's just…it itches," Adam admitted, resisting the urge to reach back and scratch at the empty air.

"The sensation will go away with time," Agathe explained. "Nothing we can to do about it now."

Adam nodded. "Thank you, Agathe. For everything."

"It's Nai Nai, child!" she exclaimed. Then she smiled. "And you're welcome." She paused, looking like she wanted to say more, but simply sighed and pushed herself to her feet. Belle helped her up, walking her to the door.

Adam rolled his pants back down roughly before grabbing his shirt. Something crinkled in his fingers then, and he remembered. "Belle?" he called out.

She turned back, looking curious. Agathe patted her arm and moved through the entrance without her, followed by the others.

"Is everything all right?" Belle asked.

He quickly pulled on his shirt, head popping out the top before he tugged something from his pocket and moved beside her. "I need your help," he said. "My parents plan to do most of the big speeches everywhere we go, but, um…they wanted me to say something too." He stopped, handing her the parchment. "Could you make sure it's okay?"

"Oh, of course!" Belle said. She took the sheet willingly and began to read.

Ten seconds passed in silence, then another. Adam cringed. "It's awful, isn't it?" he asked.

Belle looked up, as if broken from a reverie. "What? Oh no, it's—"

"I probably went a little overboard on the ending," he said quickly.

"Adam—"

"And maybe I shouldn't have—"

"Adam," Belle said firmly, stopping him with a hand to his arm. "This is really wonderful. I've rarely read such a heartfelt speech!"

He blinked. "Really?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, looking back down. "Here, I think we just need to use simpler language in a few places, since your audience will be mostly uneducated. But other than that I say keep it just as it is."

Adam nodded. "Okay." He watched her move towards a nearby desk, grabbing a quill and making a couple revisions. He followed slowly. "Th-thank you," he said belatedly.

Belle chuckled. "Of course." She looked up then, and frowned. "Are you all right?"

He sighed, looking away. "I don't know. I'm really nervous all of a sudden," he admitted. "I haven't…I haven't been around people in so long. I mean, people I don't know...people my age, b-besides you. Even when I was a child I rarely left the castle." He looked up then. "What if I make a bad impression? Or do something wrong, or offend someone, or—oh God, what if because of me everyone hates us and won't help and—"

"Adam," Belle said in earnest, squeezing his arm again. "Stop worrying so much! You're going to be just fine. You're a very likable person, you know," she smiled.

He just shrugged.

"And," she added. "…Perhaps you'll make some new friends."

Adam perked up; he hadn't considered that. He smiled at the thought.

"Yeah…maybe I will."

---

Despite his nerves, the ride towards their first destination was a thrill. Adam—to his guards' dismay—frequently urged Olive into a sprint away from their party for a better view of the countryside, gallivanting up rocky cliffs and through shallow streams. Everything was so open! Apple orchards and rows of lavender and sunflowers stretched on for miles, the sky a wide open bowl of blues and whites.

He sucked in a breath of sweet air, and smiled. It really did feel good to be free.

"Preuseville is just ahead, Your Highness," Gilles noted, a subtle attempt to discourage him from breaking away from the group yet again.

Belle rode to Adam's right, grinning to herself. No doubt she caught Gilles' intention as well. She glanced at the approaching town, then over at him. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

His nerves were back now, though the excitement didn't fade completely. He just shrugged.

"I haven't been here in twenty years," Gilles said, humming to himself. "A beautiful town, from what I recall, and…" He trailed off, slowing his own horse as they approached the main road. Gilles stared at what was before them, eyes growing wide. "Oh, God in heaven," he rasped.

Adam followed his gaze, and suddenly his nervous excitement was gone. Gone, and replaced by horror.

Dilapidated homes, roofs sinking in. A stinking ditch through the street's center, overflowing with what Adam could only hope was mud. A few skinny children ran along its bank, one or two adults trudging close by. But the mass of them sat along the abandoned storefronts and alleyways, some coughing fiercely, others staring ahead as though on the precipice of death.

Their party had stopped, each slowly dismounting their rides and staring at the scene before them. Adam's heart seemed to still; his mouth growing dry. "How can we ask these people to fight?" he asked hollowly. "They're sick, and starving. Living in their own…" He couldn't continue, swallowing back the bile in his throat.

"Preuseville used to be quite prosperous," Cogsworth said, his own eyes wide in shock. "What happened?"

Adam's father moved beside them, narrowing his eyes. "Victor happened," he said darkly.

"Be careful, mademoiselle!"

Adam whipped his head back at the call. Across the road Belle sat crouched in the muddy street, unscrewing the cap of her water canteen with frantic fingers and lifting it to a woman's lips. The woman was propped against a wall, skin was pale and grey, barely responding to the offering. A child watched numbly, small fingers resting on the woman's arm.

"Mademoiselle," one of the guards said again, approaching Belle with caution. "Please, you could get sick…"

"Agathe!" Belle cried out, ignoring him. "Someone find her, please!"

Adam had taken but a step towards her when he felt a tugging on his jacket. Looking down, he saw a boy staring up at him with hollow, empty eyes. He seemed around Chip's age, yet couldn't have been half his weight.

"Spare a coin, m'lord?"

Throat growing tight, Adam turned around, dug into his saddle bag, and pulled out a handful of gold. The boy watched him place it in his outstretched hands with wide eyes. He stared at the gift for a long moment, then looked back up at him. "Who are you?" he asked in amazement.

"I'm…" Adam started. He swallowed. "I'm Prince Adam."

"A prince?"

Adam nodded slowly. "I was…locked away, for a long time. But we're going to make things better now."

The once dead look in the boy's eyes was gone, replaced by an eager brightness. And with it, a smile. Without another word, he raced away, soon surrounded by a dozen other children whom he willingly offered a part of his new fortune. Each stared at their new coin, crying out with excitement and turning to look back at their new prince. Not one looked like they'd eaten a full meal in months.

Adam sucked in a shaky breath, and turned around in desperation. "Cogsworth," he said in earnest. "We have to—they need—we need to feed them," he said frantically.

Cogsworth frowned, looking across the street. He seemed troubled. "We're here to recruit, Your Highness. I suggest we move on for now, see if we don't have better success elsewhere."

Adam stared at him. "How…how can you say that?" he asked in shock. "How can we just abandon them like this?"

"My lord, our provisions are not infinite," Cogsworth said carefully. "Circumstances being what they are, we really can't afford to—"

"Damn it, Cogsworth!" Adam cried. "We can skip a few dinners, just get them something to eat!"

Cogsworth fell silent. He sighed, bowed shallowly, and left to obey.

Adam felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to see his father looking at him with concern. "Don't be too hard on old Cogsworth," he told Adam quietly. "He's doing his best to keep this mission afloat. And in truth, we can't do much to help these people until we have control of this kingdom once again."

Adam's shoulders sagged, looking back where Cogsworth had left and feeling a sting of regret for his harshness. "I guess," he admitted. "I just…I can't bear to just leave here without doing anything to help."

"We'll do what we can today," Alexandre agreed. "And when this is all over, we'll be able to do much more."

Adam nodded, looking back at the people of Preuseville. All his regrets and fears, staring him in the face. All those years trapped at the palace, knowing he should be serving his people and fearing what was happening to them. And now he saw it with his own eyes, and it was worse than he'd imagined.

How many had starved, fallen to disease and death during his years away?

He looked back at Belle, at the hungry child at her side and the sick mother in her arms. And suddenly he saw Belle as she'd been on the first day they'd met, arms thin and cheeks hollow. He recalled the sight of her mother through Agathe's mirror, sick and dying. Gone, because this kingdom had fallen into ruin.

Gone, because Victor had abused his power and allowed his people to wallow in sickness and starvation.

Gone, because Circe had interfered and given him that power in the first place.

Adam was clenching his fists, finally making the connection. Circe killed Belle's mother. Circe killed them all. And suddenly, he was no longer nervous.

He was furious.

He looked down at his claws. No, fingers now, he remembered, frowning.

It seemed he'd need an upgrade.

---

At the edge of camp stood one of the largest tents. Within, pandemonium; pounding of metal on metal, shouts for another order, flames bursting into life from three separate pits.

A few days had passed since Preuseville. And while the other towns held their own share of struggles, a surprising number of citizens had already stepped up to King Alexandre's cause. Most of these volunteers, however, came without their own means to fight, necessitating the temporary smithy.

Adam now stepped inside with some apprehension, eyes searching the space bustling with men of all sizes, and even a few women, none of whom seemed to notice he was there. Finally, his eyes caught a familiar face. A boy, sitting in the corner, watching with wide, fascinated eyes as one of their blacksmiths pulled a flaming-red sword from the nearest furnace.

"Chip," Adam said, moving over. "Do you know where your Papa is?"

Chip tore his gaze from the scene. "Over there," he said happily, pointing in a rather vague direction. His eyes quickly returned to the man's work, who was now ramming a hammer against the hot blade.

Adam scanned the crowd again, finally catching sight of Henri surrounded by a dozen others on the opposite side of the tent. As Adam wove his way over, he saw that Henri was fitting each of these men to a weapon and, in some cases, a breastplate or other armor.

Henri glanced up then, sleeves rolled up well past his elbows, every inch of him coated in soot that made his usually-blond beard appear black. "Ah, yer Highness!" he said, waving him over.

Adam, dodging a man rushing past with a hot fire tong, managed to make it through the small crowd that had parted ways for him. "Hey Henri," he said, nodding towards barrel of swords close by. "I know you're really busy, but do you think I could get one of those?"

Henri grinned, and nodded, but instead of moving towards the barrel he dismissed the others and led Adam towards the far corner. Here lay dozens of carefully wrapped cases, and after looking through them for a minute Henri pulled one out. Unbinding the thick leather, he turned back, displaying the long sword in the palms of his hands.

"Here ya are, my lord."

The weapon had a smooth black, traditional handle reinforced with gold, and was contained in a case of red leather. The colors of his family crest.

Adam picked it up and slowly pulled the long blade free. Symbols of the royal coat of arms and a pattern of the sacred fleur-de-lis lilies were carved by a talented hand right into its silver surface, which shone bright even in the dim shop.

"Woah," he breathed, holding it up to the firelight and admiring it with awe. It felt sturdy, but not burdensome, somehow fitting perfectly in his grip.

"You didn't expect me to give just any ol' sword to my prince, did ya?" Henri chuckled.

Adam looked back at him. "But how did you know…?"

"The ol' commander told me you'd been wanting one," Henri shrugged.

"He did?"

A few minutes later, and Adam approached the temporary training area, nothing more than an open area of grass where some two dozen men had paired off to practice. Nearly twice as many who were practicing, however, had gathered to watch a single pair separated from the rest. When Adam moved over to investigate, they scattered.

"A-Apologies, yer Highness," one smaller fellow said, tipping his hat nervously. "It's just…not every day ya see a lady do such things."

Adam cocked his head. "Huh?"

"Watch your footing, my dear," someone was saying.

Adam looked over, mouth falling open in surprise. There stood Belle, feet apart, breathing hard, none other than a sword of her own in one hand. Gilles stood across from her, appearing much more relaxed as he gave her instructions.

Belle huffed, clearly frustrated with whatever mistake she'd made. She scrunched up her face as she repositioned her feet. Adam moved closer.

"Oh, Adam!" she flushed, catching sight of him and straightening quickly. She brought a hand to the back of her neck, looking away.

"This is new," he hummed warmly.

She shrugged. "Sorry I didn't mention it. It's just, I suppose it's a bit unladylike to learn such things…"

Adam didn't think so at all. In fact, he thought it was wildly attractive. It didn't help that wisps of her long, plaited hair were sticking against her neck, skin glistening in the sunlight. He shook his head. "No, I think...I mean, it's good," he said belatedly.

"I shouldn't really have to use it," Belle went on. "But Gilles thought it would be a good idea to learn anyhow."

"It is a good idea," Adam agreed. He motioned towards her weapon. "Can I see it?"

She nodded, and handed it over. "Henri made it for me," she explained.

"He made me one too." Adam pulled his new blade from his belt, letting her hold it. He noticed immediately the similarities between the two—for while Belle's sword was obviously shorter and lighter, they were both patterned using the same colors and materials. Belle's blade only missed the carvings of the royal emblems. For now, Adam thought to himself.

"You better start practicing if you want to catch up with me," Belle said then, eyes bright and teasing.

Adam only smiled at that. For he knew something Belle didn't.

"You already know how!" she cried a minute later.

Adam grinned, sword held aloft, having already parried off several of Gilles' attacks. An innate, probably immature part of him liked showing off for Belle, and so found her surprise all the more entertaining.

"Our prince took after his father as a boy," Gilles explained. "Watched the king and I spar but once and wouldn't leave me alone until I took him on as my student."

"I wanted to be an explorer," Adam shrugged, glancing back at Belle. "And everyone knows you can't be a good explorer without fighting off pirates and cannibals."

She laughed. "You probably never guessed it would be witches you'd be fighting off instead."

Adam grimaced. "True."

"Come, my prince," Gilles said from behind them. "You've maintained much muscle memory, but I'm afraid you're still quite rusty."

Adam nodded. He gave Belle a quick kiss—his new favorite thing to do—then resumed his stance as she wandered off towards her tent to bathe.

Gilles settled into his own relaxed position, lifting the old sword he'd once occupied. "Belle has done surprisingly well in so short a time," he observed.

"Of course she has," Adam said. "She's Belle."

Gilles chuckled at that, blocking several of Adam's attempts to disarm him.

Adam scrunched up his face in concentration, but went on. "The thing is…I know Belle's capable, and I promised we'd face everything together from now on, but…" He sighed, pulling back a bit. "I can't help but want to keep her as far away from all this until the danger is gone."

A look flashed across Gilles' face, one Adam didn't understand. He was still getting used to everyone's new expressions, after all.

"It's a natural wish, I think," Gilles agreed after a moment.

Given he seemed distracted, Adam bolted forward to take advantage of the opening. He swung with all his might, but the old commander stepped out of his way with ease. Adam yelped, crashing into the fence behind him.

Gilles simply looked amused. "Ah, my prince, remember," he noted. "Victory isn't determined by brute strength."

Feeling a little sheepish, Adam stood and brushed himself off before trying again. "Is that what you're teaching Belle?" he asked, starting up the spar once again.

"Indeed. As well as…" Batting Adam's strikes away, he then coughed into his free hand. "Well, men do have one particularly…weak spot that can be taken advantage of."

Adam, realizing what he meant, paused again in their fight. "Gilles…" he said slowly, starting to smile. "Did you teach Belle to fight dirty?"

"I taught her to protect herself," Gilles corrected, raising a finger.

Adam thought back to one freezing winter night, of bruises so deep in her skin not even the darkest shadows could hide them. He narrowed his eyes.

"Good."

---

"Oh Belle, he's ten times as handsome as Gaston," Laurette whispered excitedly.

Belle flushed. "That's not why I—"

"And tall," Paulette sighed, eyes distant and dreamy. "And so strong!"

"Oh, well, I suppose—"

"You were holding out on us," Laurette added, grabbing her arm and peeking around her shoulder for a better look.

Belle opened her mouth to explain, before realizing that was entirely impossible. Instead she just sighed, turning back to watch the match before them.

After two more weeks of recruiting across the countryside, they'd reached Molyneaux once again. Adam had overcome much of his social anxiety already, and now had few reservations when it came to mingling with anyone and everyone he met. As such he presently found himself in a friendly tournament with several of the other young men from town, and a large crowd had gathered to watch.

What a peculiar prince, Belle thought with warmth, remembering the first time she'd thought so all those months ago.

It was strange to be in her home town once again—to see the people who'd once scorned or, at best, ignored her, to be suddenly treated like a royal simply because she was courting one. No doubt that explained Laurette and Paulette's sudden familiarity with her.

Their new friendliness wasn't the only thing that was strange. By now, of course, Gaston's disappearance had long since been accepted by the villagers. Yet from what the old bookseller told Belle, few tears had been shed at his loss. And it was then that she realized what she'd perceived as respect for him had likely been nothing other than fear. Even the triplets seemed no worse for wear at his absence, though Belle didn't yet know why. Only that Claudette had gone to live with some distant relatives for a time.

The shouts in the square grew, and Belle watched as the man Adam had been matched with was disarmed. Adam quickly pulled back, tucking his own weapon into his belt and helping the man back to his feet. He said something she couldn't hear, but whatever it was it made his opponent smile wide, and laugh.

"Did you really find him, Belle?" Laurette asked, eager. "Save him from the palace, where Victor had imprisoned him?!"

It was an exaggerated story of what Adam and his father had conveyed to the people to explain Belle's involvement. Though in a way, it quite underestimated the truth. "I mean, I suppose…" Belle shrugged.

"To think someone so gorgeous was locked away all this time!" Paulette cried then, a hand over her chest. "How heartbreaking."

"Look!" Laurette said quickly. "Here he comes!"

Belle raised a brow. Adam's good looks were no secret, of course, but she'd hoped the girls would at least tone it down considering he was her beau.

At that thought, however, Belle stopped. This was a new kind of irritation she'd never felt before. Huh, she wondered, frowning.

Adam hurried towards Belle then, looking as though he meant to ask her something. However, upon noticing their company he stopped. "Oh, um…bonjour! I'm Adam," he said politely. He cleared his throat. "Prince Adam, I guess. And you?"

Laurette, all things considered, was actually a bit more sensible than her sisters. Yet to be in the presence of such rarely-bestowed masculine beauty was far too much even for her, and in response she simply gaped at him. Beside her, Paulette dissolved into nervous giggles. "Paulette, Your Highness," she managed after a moment, batting her eyes and lifting one hand—with a clear wish for her prince to bestow a kiss on its surface.

Belle pouted at that, feeling that twinge of annoyance grow tenfold. Really, Paulette?

Meanwhile, Adam stared at the offered hand, a dozen silent cogs swirling in his mind as he tried to recall the proper thing to do. Suddenly, he brightened, reached for Paulette's hand—and gave in a firm shake.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance!" he said in earnest. "It's—it's so good to meet Belle's friends." He smiled warmly then, and glanced back at Belle. Did I do okay? his look seemed to ask.

Oh goodness, he was so oblivious to what Paulette had really wanted, and so utterly without guile that Belle's annoyance vanished in an instant. In fact, it was all she could not to laugh on the spot. Her grin seemed to placate him, and Adam's shoulders relaxed.

"Prince Adam!" someone called out. "You're needed here, Your Highness."

Looking towards the sound of the voice, Adam gave a quick nod in its direction before turning back to them. He bowed to Paulette and her sister, then reached for Belle's hand. "Love you," he said happily, kissing her flat on the mouth before jogging off to where Cogsworth was waiting for him.

Meanwhile, the girls nearly fainted. "He's so bold!" Laurette cried.

Belle bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. In truth, Adam just hadn't a clue couples typically didn't show such affection in the middle of the street. Of course, how would he? And well…Belle wasn't about to tell him. He was so open with his joy and love right now, and she'd hate to spoil that.

"He's a little funny though, isn't he?" Paulette observed then. Laurette elbowed her in the side. "I mean, in a good way," she backtracked quickly. "Like you, Belle!"

Laurette shot her sister a look, clearly indicating that wasn't any better. Then she looked back at Belle, and grimaced. "Belle, we're…well, we're sorry. We should have been nicer to you all those years."

Belle paled in embarrassment. "Oh, um, it's all right," she said awkwardly, looking away. "I wasn't very sociable, and—"

"No," Laurette insisted, shaking her head. "It wasn't right, especially…" She paused, sucking in a shaky breath. "E-especially after what your mother did for us."

Belle blinked in surprise, looking back. "What do you mean?"

"I think…I think that's why she got sick," Laurette admitted, voice growing thick. "Maman had it too—the coughing—but after your mother cared for her all those weeks she started to…she started to get better again." She was crying now, rubbing her eyes furiously against her sleeve. "B-but I think…I think that's why your mother…"

Paulette herself now looked devastated, clearly not having put this together until now. It must have been the first time Laurette expressed it aloud.

Belle was quiet, heart thundering in her chest. She forced it to quiet, forced her throat to clear before she spoke. "We don't know that for certain," she said quietly, rationally. And suddenly, the aching in her heart dissolved into a strange kind of understanding. She looked up at the girls before her. "And even if that's why…I think Maman would have done it again."

Laurette looked up then, eyes wet and wide in awe. "You're really nice, Belle," she said, sniffling. "I think we could have been good friends, actually."

Paulette nodded slowly in agreement, biting her lip and looking at her feet.

Belle's mouth fell open in surprise—of all the strange things that had happened in the past year, this was one thing she would have never seen coming. Slowly, she smiled.

"We are good friends," she decided.

Laurette blinked, and the two sisters brightened at once. And before Belle could say anything more, they had wrapped her in a tight hug.

When they pulled back, a little girl was at their side. Her light brown hair fell in big brown ringlets, pulled away from her face with a small white bonnet. She had the same distinct, button nose like the triplets—their youngest sister, now tugging on their skirts.

"Who's he?" she asked eagerly, pointing towards the closest bench. Chip sat there, munching on a bowl of stew and watching the surrounding people with interest.

"He's with the king's party," Laurette explained. "Why don't you go say hello?"

Their sister nodded quickly, running off in Chip's direction. She paused at his side, placed her hands behind her back, and leaned towards him. "Bonjour!"

Chip started, turning quickly to see who'd surprised him.

She smiled. "I'm going to play with my friends. Want to come?"

Chip only stared at her. The tips of his ears were starting to go scarlet.

"Can't you talk?" she asked, frowning.

"Oh! Yeah, I can, I just…" he fumbled. He put his bowl down, and stared at his feet. "I can't, um…I can't run though."

"Why not?"

He nodded towards his crutches, leaning against the bench beside him. "My legs don't work well. I mean, not yet," he added quickly. "They will later. I just have to practice more."

"Oh, well, that's okay," she said, taking the seat beside him. Chip flushed further as she did. "We can play a sitting game—it's called Murder!" she went on, leaning close. "You all sit in a circle and pass out cards, and someone is the murderer, but you don't know who and have to guess."

"The…murderer?" Chip asked nervously.

"Not really. It's just pretend," she giggled. Then, with a coy turn of her head very much resembling that of her three older sisters, she went on. "And we all hold hands."

"Y-you do?" Chip asked, eyes growing wide.

"Uh huh. It's how you share a clue," she said matter-of-factly, standing again. "Want to play?"

Chip nodded earnestly, an excited smile now stretching over his face. He reached for his crutches and stood, following her across the road.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

"Nah, I got it," Chip said with confidence, moving into the street with more gusto than he'd ever moved before.

"I'm Nicolette," she said then, prancing happily beside him. "What's your name?"

"Ch—," he started, then stopped. "I mean, Jack. My name's Jack."

---

"Turning our people against Victor has been far easier than I thought," Alexandre observed, with no small amusement. "They're dying to get their hands on him!"

Adam grinned. While their travels across the countryside had revealed more poverty like that in Preuseville, other towns had escaped the worst of Victor's abuse and offered vast numbers of volunteers for the cause. And even the most desolate of villages seemed rejuvenated at the prospect of dethroning the king that had ruined them.

And now they were here in Molyneaux, not an hour hard ride from the palace. The palace, where his uncle was no doubt blindly indulging himself on the castle's comforts, and the enchantress weakening his army without any idea how close she was to defeat.

Adam reached unconsciously for the sword at his hip, gripping the handle and narrowing his eyes. He'd become accustomed to it being there, knowing what he'd need to do…but the weapon still felt heavy at his side.

Someone touched his arm, and he looked over. Belle stood there, and the sight of her lifted that heaviness away. He let go of the hilt and wrapped an arm around her. But before he could say anything, someone else approached.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," Cogsworth said to him and his father, bowing swiftly before pulling a sheet of parchment from his vest. "I've arranged a final meeting with the village officials, and a final address before…"

Adam tuned him out, biting back a groan. While he'd actually quite enjoyed all the new interactions, and the chance to finally do something this past fortnight, it had come at the sacrifice of spending time with Belle. Did Cogsworth really have to claim every hour of his day?

"We'll be there in a minute," Adam fibbed, reaching for Belle's hand and starting to inch away. "Belle's just going to, um…" He thought quickly, and raised a finger. "She's going to show me her old school."

Belle raised a brow at him as they scurried off, but didn't mention it until they were out of earshot.

"Adam," she said then. "…You know I didn't go to school."

"I do," he agreed. "But Cogsworth doesn't."

Belle blinked once, then grinned. "Well, then where are we going?"

He squeezed her hand. "Your house?" he asked hopefully. It was technically her old school, after all, so he hadn't lied to Cogsworth. Exactly.

Belle, however, just paused in her tracks. "But you've already seen it," she said, biting her lip. "In Agathe's mirror, remember?"

"Well, sure, but that doesn't count." He pouted a little. "Please?"

Belle took one look at him, and sighed. "All right," she smiled. Still, she seemed a bit uneasy, though Adam couldn't imagine why.

They walked hand in hand towards the edge of town, a few villagers heading in the opposite direction holding lanterns against the growing shadows. Most who caught sight of Adam bowed, though their children simply waved at them happily.

"Hi Belle!" a little girl cried. Beside her, her parents smiled.

Belle blinked in surprise, hesitated, then waved back at them tentatively. It was her home town, yet she seemed taken aback when greeted by her own neighbors.

Nearing a steep hill at the edge of town, Belle stopped, looking behind her. "They're only being nice to me because of you," she said under her breath.

Adam frowned. "No, they're being nice because you're a hero," he said adamantly. "And they realized how foolish they were not to see how great you were before."

Belle raised her brows at him, but her eyes seemed a little happier regardless.

Soon she was leading him up old stone steps sunk deep into the hillside, stopping before a small but sturdy house at the top. He'd seen it so many times in the mirror that it felt strange to be looking at it with his own eyes. In person, he could see the full expanse of twilight-tinted sky behind the small house, the trees spotting the larger hills to the south. The air was still warm, crickets chirping somewhere nearby as night inched across the distant fields. It was a bucolic scene, the air filled with smells of summer that made Adam feeling unusually calm.

Adam took Belle's lantern for her as they approached the covered porch, pressing his free hand to one sturdy oak beam as he waited for her to pull a key from her pocket. He could feel patterns carved in the wood beneath his fingers, worn by time and weather.

Beside him, Belle turned the lock and pushed open the door. Adam followed her inside, holding out the light and looking around the open space.

Open, and empty.

"My wife, she's very ill. I've sold everything I can trying to afford her care…"

Maurice's words echoed in his thoughts as Adam recalled that first, fated night he'd found him trying to steal from the castle. He cast his eyes around the empty room, truly understanding how desperate the man had really been.

"It wasn't always so bare," Belle whispered beside him.

Adam looked back down at her, suddenly understanding her embarrassment from before. "I know," he said softly. He reached for her hand. "Tell me what used to be here."

So she did. A table and chairs in the kitchen, a large cabinet with her grandmother's old dishes, a rocking chair beside the heart. A large, blue sofa she'd often fallen asleep on with a book.

Adam smiled at that last one. "Hey, what are these?" he asked, noticing several small shreds of parchment pinned along one wall of the narrow hallway they now walked through.

"Oh, Papa always refused to take those down," she explained. "It's a little embarrassing, actually. I couldn't have been more than four when I made that one."

Adam followed her gaze to a sketch of a very round, five-legged creature. He ran his fingers along its edge, careful not to smudge the old charcoal. "Philippe?" he read along the bottom, chuckling.

Belle grinned in amusement, her cheeks flushing in the dim light.

Adam's gazed drifted across the wall, noticing several careful lines carved into its surface that climbed up one supporting beam. A date was noted carefully beside each one, marking a child's height.

"Is this that summer you grew a lot?" he asked, pointing to the largest gap.

Belle laughed quietly. "Yes."

He ran his fingers over the grooves, heart warming at the sight. He wasn't sure why, but seeing these remnants of Belle's childhood made him love her even more. Made him wish he could have known her then.

"Come," Belle whispered. For some reason both spoke quietly, here in this dark and empty home. "I want to show you something."

Taking the lantern back, Belle guided him around a corner to the base of a narrow ladder, tucked into the darkness. She climbed up quickly, turning and holding the light so he could follow. Not two steps up and the ladder creaked under his weight.

He cursed, but Belle only smiled. "Don't worry," she said from above. "They've always done that, especially whenever Papa had to come up here."

Nodding, he finished the short climb and found himself in an attic with a ceiling low enough he had to duck. In fact, the walls and ceiling were one, meeting in the middle at a point. A single window sat in one slanted wall, staring out across the southern countryside, though it was almost completely covered in darkness now.

Adam looked over the rest of the space. A chest sat in one corner, a small pile of books at its side. Several bouquets of dried flowers hung from nails along the wall, the rest of the wooden surface covered with patterns of trees and landscapes drawn in fading white chalk. Scuffs along the floor indicated a small bedframe was once here, but all that was left now was a bedroll tucked against the wall.

Belle was unfastening the latter. She spread the thick bedding across the floor, and looked back at him. "My room," she explained a bit shyly. "It's not much, but it does have one thing the castle doesn't."

She beckoned him over, and Adam scanned the space curiously for any sign of what she meant as he moved to sit by her side on the thick quilt. Dimming the lantern, Belle laid on her back, pulling him down with her.

"Belle…?" Adam asked in confusion.

"Look," she said, pointing to ceiling above. Adam followed her gaze, but saw nothing but the dark wooden beams above. That is, until Belle reached back and pulled on a cord hidden in the shadows.

The sound of spinning hinges echoed in the small space, and suddenly a wide patch of the roof was opening above them. The sky was dark now, revealing the first signs of stars.

"Wow," Adam breathed, smiling. She'd been right—not even the palace had anything quite like this.

"Papa made it for me," Belle explained. "I think he was tired of finding me stargazing on the roof."

"On the roof?"

She grinned a bit, snuggling up closer to him and staring back at the nighttime sky. "It's nothing close to the view from the peak…but it was always nice to fall asleep beneath the stars."

His heart warmed again. He imagined a younger Belle, alone in this small attic, wondering about the world above. He remembered himself, staring out his balcony as a boy and wondering the same. He was glad they could wonder together, now.

Speaking of wondering. "Your friends, were they twins?" Adam suddenly asked, curious. He'd never seen two people look so much alike before; but then, he really hadn't seen that many people period in a long time. "I wasn't sure if it was rude to ask…"

Belle chuckled. "You could have asked. But actually, they're triplets. The third…" She stopped, growing serious. "This was told to me in confidence."

Adam nodded.

"She's with child," Belle said quietly. "She left to stay with a relative further south for her confinement."

"But…what about the father?"

"He abandoned her."

"What?" Adam said in shock. "How could he do that? If they…I mean, didn't he love her? Doesn't he want his child?"

Belle's eyes seemed to soften at his words, and Adam realized his own ignorance even before she explained. "A wife and child are expensive," she said. "Many men would rather escape the burden then take responsibility for such a mistake."

"But she still has to…" He trailed off, frowning deeply. "We should find him, make him provide for her!"

"Adam, it's not that easy," Belle said calmly. She looked away. "Besides, he's dead now."

"How do you…?" He stopped, noticing the dark look in Belle's eyes. His own grew wide. "Gaston," he realized, awfully. "Oh my God, that bastard…"

"He's gone. There's no reason to be angry anymore," Belle shrugged.

Perhaps so. But Adam couldn't help but feel that old anger again anyway. "The kingdom should help care for people in that position," he decided. "What's she supposed to do now? That's so unfair…"

"Most would blame her for it."

"What?"

Belle wrinkled her nose. "Men are never at fault in such things," she said sourly. "Women shoulder the responsibility, and the shame."

Adam felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach at her words. "That's…not right."

Belle was quiet, and his words died in the warm night air. Then, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment, she sighed. "Sorry," she whispered. "Talking about him makes me angry too, I guess." She swallowed, but went on. "This is so silly, but…but I wish it hadn't been him."

"What hadn't been him?" Adam asked.

"…My first kiss," she admitted, burying her face against his sleeve. "I wish it had been you. But he took that away from me."

Adam's heart sank in his chest. Even in death, Gaston was still hurting her. Hurting Belle, hurting her friend… How many others were suffering from his legacy?

Well, Belle wouldn't suffer from it. At least, as little as possible, if he had any say in the matter.

"Belle…what he did, that doesn't count," Adam said in earnest. "He—he forced you to do something you didn't want to do. So it doesn't count."

She looked up at him, eyes hopeful. "Really?"

"Of course!" He rolled onto his side and brushed the hair from her eyes. Then, softly, he kissed her himself. "…But that counts, right?" he asked, pulling back.

Belle nodded. "Mmhmm," she smiled.

"And this one?" he said, repeating the action.

Belle giggled against his mouth, hands reaching up and holding the sides of his face with tenderness. He pulled back, looking down at her in the shadows of early night, her eyes full of the new stars above.

He didn't know what it was. Perhaps it was something about seeing her here, in the place she came from. The place that made Belle Belle. Or maybe it was simply the fact that they were lying together on the soft bed of her childhood. Either way, something in him was stirring, a heat he'd barely managed to keep at bay these last weeks together.

And suddenly they were kissing again, in a deep, desperate way they hadn't kissed before. Belle's fingers ran over his head, raking through his hair and down his back as she pulled him closer.

Adam felt a groan in the back of his throat. There had always been a pleasant warmth between them, but this…this was a fire.

His body moved, hovering just over her, breaking the kiss and letting his lips trail away. Towards that soft place, just below her jaw. Towards that even softer place against the base of her neck—

Belle's fingers tightened in his shirt, gripping hard. "Oh…"

Adam froze. He pulled back quickly. "S-sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, I—"

Belle shook her head. "It's all right," she whispered. "Just, maybe stay above…" She let her words trail off, instead letting one finger trail from a point just below one shoulder to the other, barely grazing the tops of her breasts. Then down to draw another, a hand's width above her knee. "And below…here."

Adam watched, eyes growing wide. He hadn't expected to be allowed so much. "Oh…" he breathed shallowly. He looked back into her eyes. "Of course, my love."

Slowly, he pulled back to her side and found her ankle in the darkness. So soft beneath his fingers, he traced her skin lightly, stopping just beneath her knee. Cupping the gentle curve of her calf, he pulled her leg up and leaned back down, slipping his free arm beneath her shoulders. "You can change your mind," he said softly. "Or tell me to stop. Anytime, for anything."

"All right," she agreed. She trembled against him. "But don't stop now."

A deep, primal sound rumbled in his chest, but neither laughed this time. Instead he let his lips brush her neck again, working his way down her shoulders and around to that beautiful hollow beneath her collarbone. Time seemed to stand still as he explored her skin, enjoying the soft sounds she made in response.

When the lantern's oil ran low and left them in near darkness, however, Adam pulled back.

"Belle," he said hotly.

"Mmm?" she hummed.

"…I should probably sleep in my own tent tonight."

Belle opened her eyes, dark and throbbing. "Probably."

And so they left the little house on the hill. And later, as Adam lay alone in the quiet of night, he felt certain for the first time that nothing could destroy his new happiness.

---

"Mon ami, do not get your gears in a twist."

Cogsworth sputtered. "Gears! I no longer have—"

"All is well," Lumiere went on in earnest, cutting him off. "Nothing can destroy our plans now!"

Cogsworth sighed, staring back at him from a reflection in the palm of Lumiere's hand. A round mirror, small enough to fit snuggly in a hidden pocket in his jacket, the only reflective surface within the castle capable of communicating with the world outside. The rest had been spellbound by old Agathe to show a false world beyond the walls, ensuring Circe couldn't look and see the efforts of the others to free their prince and recruit the kingdom to their cause.

"We expect another report at ten o'clock sharp," Cogsworth said then, checking his pocket watch and frowning.

"Yes, yes," Lumiere whispered, looking around once again to ensure he was not overheard. He looked back at the mirror, and grinned. "Do not worry. I shall report then."

Cogsworth nodded solemnly, and Lumiere snapped the small mirror shut in its dull bronze case. Tucking it in his pocket, he stood quietly for a moment, listening for the sound of boot falls in the hall. Hearing nothing, he stepped quietly out of the unused office he'd found refuge in, shutting the door behind him and heading to make his rounds through the castle.

At one time, under the reign of the true king—and even in the service of their young master while under a curse—this task had been a fulfilling one. Mingling with those who worked here, ensuring the palace remained sparkling and bright…it had been a role he cherished. Now, however, it was nothing less than terrifying.

Halls were lined with soldiers, lying in a brain dead stupor. The sconces in these places had long since grown dim from neglect, for the servants King Victor brought with him avoided these places when they could. The enchantress seemed to leave them alone anyway, focusing her efforts on the soldiers. Her path through the palace was more than obvious, for she left these trails of lifeless men in her wake. Not to mention the bright, deadly roses that grew along the floors and walls in her path.

In fact, the palace now seemed but a strange, dark mirage of what it had once been. The stone, guardian angels along its outer walls seemed to scowl, to hunch over like demons. The walls throughout were filled with cracks, everything lifeless and grey, covered in shadows. Was it just an illusion? Or was his own fear simply playing tricks on him?

Lumiere's thoughts were interrupted by wheels, rolling near the gates. Frowning, he hurried to the front doors, just catching sight of a caged wagon rolling away through the mud before the guards shut the doors on him.

"Who was that?" Lumiere asked them.

"A shipment for the king," one of them said. His voice was low and rough, a hint of strange amusement in it.

"Shipment?"

The soldier only smirked at him. His companion snickered.

Lumiere frowned, turning on his heel and heading in search of the king himself.

"Think they'll let us have the leftovers?" he heard one ask the other from behind. The two men laughed darkly.

Lumiere wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't like the way they'd said it.

Back through the halls he went, climbing winding stairs, heart beating as he neared the West Wing. He was supposed to oversee all shipments, everything pertaining to the household. How had this escaped his notice?

Lumiere sighed. Cogsworth would be disappointed. Perhaps there was a method to the man's madness after all, to all his hundreds of notebooks and lists, for keeping such a large place in order.

Still, it seemed strange that Victor should be up to anything. He certainly didn't know Lumiere's true intentions. In fact, he'd done little more than mope since Circe's arrival. Of course her presence sent him into that strange, bewitched trance in which he obeyed her every bid—but given Circe was far too busy harvesting her powers from his men, the king was often left to his own devices. And once her spells wore off, he grew irritable and confused. Lumiere suspected that Victor knew something was off, just not exactly what.

He passed more remains of the enchantress's work in his path. A few unlucky fellows among these actually looked dead.

Is she growing so desperate? Lumiere wondered. He glanced back at the corpses, and grimaced. They'd have to do something about those soon. The thought made him shudder.

He reached the end of the West Wing, standing before the grand doors to Prince Adam's old rooms. He wrinkled his nose, thinking of the great injustice of letting Victor dwell there. Thinking how much darker the place looked now than it ever had before.

He sucked in a breath, trying to brighten his mood. Just a little longer, he told himself. You just have to make it a little longer! Then, pulling himself into his most elegant, exaggerated posture, he knocked brightly on the door and stepped inside.

"Your Majesty! I just came to inquire after—"

He stopped, staring across the dark bedchamber. And suddenly, terribly, he realized what that "shipment" had been.

Victor sat on the end of his bed, several of his highest ranking officers scattered across the room. Held by each, a woman—no, a girl, for they were far too young to be the former—each dressed fine gowns.

Each wearing a chain about her ankle.

Lumiere tried to form a question, a word even—but the sound died on his lips. "Wh-who…" he finally managed.

"Slaves," Victor answered lazily, licking his lips, eyes not leaving the girl beside him. Two more sat at his feet, trembling in fear. He brushed those large, swollen fingers over the child's cheek, watching in cruel amusement as she flinched away. "Beautiful ones, virgins even. Seems even a peasant can be made into something enjoyable."

Lumiere was now quite certain he was going to lose his mind. When had this kind of trade entered their kingdom? "Th-this…this is not how things are done here," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Victor turned. "I am the king," he said, looking at Lumiere straight on. His eyes were full of hunger, full of cruelty. "Everything I do is ordained of God, is it not?"

Lumiere's hands were shaking with rage. Rage, and fear. They had not anticipated this.

"Your dinner performances are growing tiresome," Victor drawled, turning back to the girl. "So I took the matters of…entertainment into my own hands. Now leave us, servant."

Lumiere stared at him. Their plan rested on his ability to keep Victor and the Enchantress unaware of Prince Adam's rescue and King Alexandre's preparations for attack. Should he abandon these innocents for the greater good? Could he?

He grit his teeth against a curse. Swallowing roughly, Lumiere bowed slowly and left the room.

He stepped into the hall. Pulling the small, unadorned mirror from his pocket, he flicked it open and stared at it for a moment. Stared at his only means for communicating with the outside.

Then he smashed it against the wall.

The candles nearby flickered nervously. Lumiere dropped the shattered case back into his pocket, and turned to them. "The plan has changed, mes amies," he said darkly. "We move now."

A half dozen voices spoke at once. "Release me."

The golden sticks morphed into the forms of men. His footmen, armed and ready. Given freedom to move between their old forms by Agathe herself. Lumiere nodded at them, and reentered the bedchamber.

And yet again, he stopped dead in his tracks. For every man inside was now on the floor, eyes lifeless, chests empty and oozing blood. Dead.

Every man, that is, but the king himself. He was in the clutches of a tall, emaciated woman, latched in a terrible kiss that seemed to drain the very life from his eyes with each passing second.

Circe released him then, letting Victor gasp for breath and fall to his knees. She licked her lips slowly, staring down at him in fury, greying hairs draping over her face. "If there wasn't a chance I'd need you later," she said softly, voice like ice in the air. "Then I'd kill you too."

She looked up then, eyes locking with Lumiere's. He watched, frozen in fear, his men just as motionless behind him. She took a step closer, cocking her head.

"Monsieur Lumiere," she said. She flashed a wicked smile, teeth red with blood. "You looked better as a candlestick, I think."

A bead of sweat ran down his neck. She knew. Oh God, she knew.

"I can sense those who've been touched by my magic," Circe went on. "You think I didn't notice you and your band of merry men earlier?" She laughed, a hoarse and terrible sound. "I have your prince. I have your king. I have three hundred other men in my prison, hundreds more here in this palace, all in my power. You really think you have what it takes to defeat me?"

She doesn't know it all, Lumiere realized in relief, thinking quickly. "Ah, Enchantress, you have it all wrong," he said with false flair, even as a current of sweat seemed to flow from every pore in his skin. "Your arrival was quite a surprise. I could never presume to defeat such a powerful being as yourself. Indeed, we were only here to remove him from power," he indicated, pointing at Victor's now-lifeless form, eyes glazed over where he lay on the floor.

Circe stared at Lumiere for a long moment, considering. "Well…on that we can agree," she said at last, looking back at the king.

Across the room, the girls now cowered in fear, though the enchantress had left them untouched. Lumiere swallowed his own fear, and motioned to his men. "Get them out of here," he told the eldest. The man nodded, before inching past the enchantress on the far side of the room with the other footmen. Victor's slaves cried quietly at the approach, but soon relaxed when the footmen spoke to them and worked apart their bonds, following them from the room.

Circe didn't pay them any heed, however, just looking back down at Victor's writhing form. Her voice grew low. "I hate men like him," she rasped. "They think because they have power they can do whatever they wish."

Lumiere blinked in surprise.

She looked back at him, as though sensing his thoughts. "Speak your mind, Monsieur."

She was perceptive. He would have to be somewhat honest if he were to keep her in the dark. "Forgive me, Enchantress, but…are you much different?" he asked seriously, though hiding the true anger behind his words. "Preying on the weak? On our prince, when he was but a helpless child?"

"Helpless?" Circe asked, wrinkling his nose and growing angry. "Helpless? A prince, with his every need and desire met? A prince, having never suffered a day in his life?!"

"He had no choice in that—"

"A prince, with a father too absorbed in his own importance to see those beneath him!" she shouted, with a strange and uncontrolled fury.

Lumiere watched her unravel, frowning at the irony. "You can't judge people by who their father is, now can you?" he stated seriously.

Circe froze, snapping her head around and staring him straight in the eyes. Lumiere's mouth grew dry, realizing his mistake too late. Realizing his knowledge of her father—of the poor gardener who'd abandoned her—was something he should certainly not have known. For it had been a tale told by Agathe, known only by Agathe.

Lumiere cleared his throat nervously. "I mean—my own father. Awful man, quite terrible," he fibbed, trying to undo the damage he'd done. "And I mean, I'm a spectacular fellow! Really, we r-really shouldn't judge—"

The enchantress was before him in an instant. The words died in his throat as she towered over him, twice as tall as before, her thin, wiry silver hair draping over her hollow cheeks and onto his shoulders.

Her hand fell onto his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine as she let it slide down his vest. She stopped at his pocket, reaching inside and pulling out the small, broken mirror. She looked at it, narrowing her bright, bleeding eyes in the dark room. "You put on a good show, sir, I admit," she rasped. "But not good enough."

Damn.

She dropped the mirror, gripping his throat in an instant with cold, scaly fingers. "You should have run when you had the chance," she whispered, breath like ice against his skin. "Now tell me—what do you know?"

"I know nothing."

She barred her teeth, moving closer. "You will tell me what you know, Monsieur, or I will make you suffer until you do."

"There is nothing to tell, Enchantress."

Circe snarled at that, and squeezed.

And Lumiere felt nothing.

She pulled her hand back, as though burned upon a hot stove. "What?" she breathed in shock, stepping back and staring at him with wide eyes. She'd shrunk in stature again, the small exertion enough to reduce her to a normal height.

Lumiere's heart thundered in relief. We really are protected from her then, he thought, breathing deeply. "Ah," he said, smirking and gaining confidence again. "You are not the first woman to gasp at my touch."

Hissing, she flung her hands forth, golden chains flying at him and wrapping him head to toe. The moment she let them tighten, however, they dissolved into black mist.

"You are too gentle," he went on, taunting. "You may be rough with me, ma gazelle."

"Shut up!" she cried, forming several shining spears from nothing and sending them towards him. The weapons sagged midair, however, falling to the floor in a heap of dust.

Lumiere laughed. Circe's frame quaked in response, her body shrinking further, back hunching and fingers growing thin and crooked. "Oh my," Lumiere observed. "You are not looking yourself." He stopped, growing serious and staring straight into those bloody eyes. "In fact, you are by far the greatest monster I've ever laid eyes on."

Those red eyes grew wide. And, backing away, she screamed.

---

He was back.

Back in these woods, under the cover of night. Back within the walls of his old prison.

Adam breathed out through his mouth, slowly, trying to calm to throbbing in his chest. It's not your prison anymore, he told himself.

A hand in his, another on his arm, squeezing. "Are you all right?" Belle whispered.

He nodded. Then, realizing she couldn't see well in the darkness, spoke. "Yeah."

She squeezed again, and they moved a few more paces, following Gilles as he led them and a small handful of others among the thick summer growth, nothing but a dim lantern to guide them.

Early sunlight soon broke over the mountaintops, casting faint shadows from the trees. With the new light, Adam caught sight of carvings in the bark—of claw marks, made by the beast who once roamed these woods.

He breathed out again, breath shaking. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a fool.

You're pathetic.

He frowned at the voice. No I'm not, he told it.

You're—

No. I'm not, he told it firmly. I'm human.

And the voice stopped.

They reached a familiar place, an opening in the trees, with a pile of debris placed naturally along the forest floor. The entrance to the bunker.

Adam looked over at Belle, confused, but she simply stared ahead and waited for Gilles to direct them forward.

"No guards should be so far from the castle," she said under her breath. "But just in case—the light breaking over the mountaintops will blind them for just long enough to allow us to get inside."

Though still puzzled at why they were even here, Adam simply nodded.

They waited for several minutes. Adam thought he felt early morning dew form along his arms, setting his hair on end, but didn't move. Then, just as the light broke over the mountaintops, Gilles tugged at something in the brush.

A quiet creak, and the trap door into the ground wound slowly open—much like the ceiling in Belle's room had opened the night before. Belle reached for Adam's hand, hurrying forward before releasing him and crawling inside.

Adam looked in. A small wooden ladder was there now, and Belle was already several rungs down. She looked up at him, and smiled.

"Come, my love. It's quite safe."

He nodded, curious now, and followed Belle down, landing on a sturdy wooden platform. The tunnel into the ground was enormous, the tiny dug-out space he could once just barely squeeze inside now replaced by a space reinforced by heavy beams and large enough to fit a dozen men.

"Are you surprised?" Belle asked, biting her lip excitedly as they waited for the others to join them from above.

Adam laughed quietly, looking around in awe. "Yeah," he said. "You just wanted to see the look on my face, then? That's why all the mystery this morning?"

She grinned. "Yes." She sucked in an excited breath. "Papa designed it, though I did help a little," she said proudly. Her smile faltered. "Well, I found the references to the elevator prototypes in the library, anyway."

"Elevator?"

Before she could explain, the floor beneath him began to move. He wobbled, grabbing the side of the platform to regain his balance. He looked up, eyes growing wide as the dirt walls around them began to move. He blinked, feeling the floor beneath him shift again. No; the walls weren't moving—they were.

"Agathe's magic," Adam gasped, watching the walls all around fly upwards.

Belle chuckled. "No, just a little engineering."

The others seemed unfazed by the device, standing and chatting to themselves as the elevator sped down. It only took a minute to reach the bottom, the contraption slowing and landing with a rough thud on the ground. Belle led Adam off, and he looked back at the device. Several large pulleys were secured into the earthen walls, thick ropes winding through them and the platform and up into the dark tunnel above. He heard a snort, turning to see a large horse hooked to a round device, like an enormous wheel of a ship turned on its side. The animal looked pleased with himself, munching on an apple he'd been rewarded with for his work.

"There's a horse…in the bunker?" Adam asked, bewildered.

"Mmhmm," Belle said, smiling. "A few, actually. They're how we get down here."

Adam looked back up into the darkness. "How do we get back up?"

"Same way," Belle explained. "The design of the pulley means it takes much less effort to lift the same weight. The animals can manage it easily."

Adam blinked, looking around. What had once been little more than a tiny crawl space was now the size of the grand ballroom, though the ceiling was much shorter. The room was filled with people—soldiers, mostly, wearing the uniform of his father's reign, some chatting in small groups while others ate at long tables. Torches lined the walls, secured into the dense earth.

Adam walked up to one of these walls, pressing a hand to its surface, expecting the earth to crumble away.

Yet it didn't budge. He gasped, heart in his throat, feeling that invisible brick-like surface there once again.

"Don't worry," Belle said quickly. "It's like that for all of us. Agathe placed a barrier across these walls to protect us from any cave ins." She reached for his hand, speaking softly. "You're not trapped anymore."

Adam nodded, feeling foolish yet again for how quickly he'd fallen into a panic. Calming himself, he looked back at the well-structured space. "Wow," he breathed. "You really have been busy."

"Well, this has been built for a while," she said. "We weren't sure how successful the recruitment would be, and wanted a means to sneak into the palace for a surprise attack, should we need to."

"Sneak in?"

She nodded, pointing across the room. Another tunnel was there, dark against the wall, a few guards standing on duty nearby. "It connects to the passage you showed me. The one leading from the West Wing."

"My prince," someone said. They turned, where Gilles stood. He nodded, looking at them seriously. "It is time we prepare."

They retreated to a small, dug-out room nearby, separated from the others by a drape across the opening. Adam, Belle, their parents, Agathe, Henri, and a dozen other high-ranking soldiers stood around a table with a piles of maps. These depicted the rooms and floors of the palace in detail, spread over several sheets. Other maps showed the full palace grounds, a winding route of the tunnels beneath the earth and the paths through the woods. Several figures were placed across the parchment, indicating where Victor's men were typically stationed—as provided to them by Lumiere's correspondence with Cogsworth. Adam recognized Belle's handwriting in many places. It seemed she'd helps create the maps herself.

"We've staged a three-fold attack," Gilles was saying, indicating the positions with the tip of his finger. "Henri will lead the recruits down the main path, staging a mob attack. Then, with Victor's remaining forces distracted, our generals will take the soldiers into the palace through the tunnels." He turned, facing Agathe. "I will follow with you, Sifu, plus an elite force. With the paths cleared, we should be able to corner Circe and let you put an end to her."

Adam hummed. "What about us?" he asked, puzzled.

Gilles stopped, and the room seemed to grow especially quiet. "Once we have your father's approval of the plans, you will escape to safety," he said, staring at the map. He looked up, scanning their faces, eyes meeting Adam's, then Belle's, then the king and queen's. "All of you."

"What's this?" Alexandre asked, frowning deeply.

"You've done enough, Your Majesty," Gilles said, standing tall and sucking in a breath. "Take leave of this place—let us fight, while you take refuge. Should victory be ours, we will send word for you."

"Gilles, this was not the plan," Alexandre said firmly.

"It would be no good if you were lost," Gilles said in earnest. "This way, if we fail, at least you have a chance to try again."

"But Gilles, if you meant for us to leave…why did you train us to fight?" Belle asked in confusion.

"So you can be safe in your escape," he explained. "Whatever happens, and wherever you go."

"Gilles, this is nonsense," Alexandre huffed. "Our plan is foolproof! There's no need to take such precautions."

"Circe can't harm us," Jacqueline said more calmly. "And Victor's men—from Lumiere's reports, they're nearly defeated as it is."

"No plan is foolproof," Gilles said, not budging. "And even in the best of attacks, there are always casualties."

"Gilles, I will not send my people in to fight my battles for me," Alexandre said roughly. "It's out of the question."

Gilles grit his teeth, a strange look crossing his face. He turned to Adam and Belle, eyes full of anxiety. Adam had never seen him look so desperate before.

"You two must go, at the very least," Gilles said. Begged, almost, as his hands gripped the table's edge. "Please, my prince. You have suffered enough. You have one another now—you mustn't risk being separated again."

"I…" Adam stopped. He looked down at Belle. "What if he's right?" he asked her quietly. "What if this is a mistake?"

She frowned. "You would abandon them?"

No, he wouldn't. Belle knew him well, knew he would never forgive himself for abandoning his people again, even if the first time wasn't his fault.

Adam pursed his lips, turning back to Gilles. "We're staying," he said firmly.

Gilles' face contorted. "You don't—you don't know what you're risking!" he cried, slamming a fist on the table.

Adam's eyes grew wide. He had never, ever seen the man so upset. He'd barely seen him grow irritable at times; certainly nothing like this. "Gilles," he started nervously. "I'm sorry, but—"

"My prince, you're—you're being a fool!" he shouted.

"Gilles," Alexandre said roughly. "Enough of this! What's gotten into you?"

Gilles quieted, staring at the floor, gripping table hard. Then, cursing under his breath, he turned and swept out of the room.

The others remained quiet, awkward. Adam didn't know what to do, feeling he was at fault for this somehow. Beside him, Belle chewed her lip nervously, looking back and forth between her feet and the door where Gilles had disappeared.

Eventually, Alexandre sighed. "I've put too much on him," he said, looking regretful. "Let him stew. He'll come around."

They soon dispersed, moving into the main hall for a late breakfast. Belle stopped, letting the others trail ahead, looking worried.

"I'm going to look for him," she said softly starting to move away.

Adam reached for her hand. "Me too."

There were other passages in this place, rooms dug out to make space for supplies and a few sleeping areas. They found Gilles in one of the latter, sitting on the edge of a dusty cot with his head in his hands. He gripped something in one palm, attached to a chain that trailed beneath his shirt.

Belle ran to his side, hesitating before sitting on beside him and touching his arm with a gentle hand.

Gilles looked up, surprised. He hadn't noticed them enter. "Mademoiselle," he said, voice rough. He turned to Adam. "My prince, forgive me. I acted out of turn."

Adam shook his head roughly, sitting on the cot across from them. "You're only worried. I'm…I'm sorry I've made you so upset."

Gilles sighed. "That is not your fault, Prince Adam. In truth, there…" He sucked in a breath, squeezing whatever it was he held in his hand. "Well, there is a reason I am so fearful for you both," he admitted.

"What reason?" Belle asked carefully.

Gilles continued to look at Adam, eyes quaking. He'd never seen the old commander look so vulnerable. "Your Highness, I..." He swallowed. "I fear that to hear it, you will think ill of me."

Adam frowned. "Gilles, you're one of the best men I know," he said in earnest. It was true; in fact, Gilles had sort of become a second father to him, especially all those years without his true one. "I could never think ill of you."

Gilles smiled, a little sadly, and nodded. "So be it."

---

Gilles finished folding the last shirt, placing it with care atop the others. His hands were shaking. He looked around his room once more, heart racing at the thought of never seeing it again.

A small painting sat on the dresser. A lovely woman, with his same black hair and green eyes, staring at him with warmth. His mother, gone but a year now.

I wish I could talk to you, Gilles thought, picking up the frame and swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. I wish I knew what you thought of me now.

Would she be ashamed of him, like Father? Or would she understand?

Running a finger over the frame, he sucked in a breath and tucked it between the folded clothes before shutting the traveling case and securing the clasps. Blowing out one final candle, he grabbed the case and headed into the dark halls.

Moving on silent feet, he paused before a door down the hall. His sister's room. Cecile would be fast asleep by now, and as much as he wished to tell her goodbye, he knew he couldn't risk it. For as much as he loved her, he knew her loyalties lie with their father. So instead, he pulled a letter from his pocket and slipped it silently beneath the door. By the time she awoke and retrieved it, he would be long gone.

Ten minutes later, and he was at the front gates, reigns in one hand as he guided a horse slowly across the path. He turned back, staring at the dark outline of his home for the final time. Then, with a burst of courage, he mounted and took off into the black night.

---

"You made it," Jean breathed in relief.

Gilles slid off his horse, gasping for breath. There'd really been no need to ride so quickly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong, or the need to look over his shoulder every few minutes.

Now, he looked back once again. The small, dirt road was empty and silent, the only sound the trickling of a nearby stream. He shook his head, sighing in relief.

Jean's hand found his in the darkness. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

They embraced. Jean's heart seemed to be beating just as fast as his, his broad frame quaking against him. So he was just as anxious, then.

"All right," Gilles said, pulling back and sucking in a breath. "Let's go."

They rode south, stopping when the sun crested the hills and the roads began to fill with early travelers. Jean's arms had grown loose around Gilles' waist in the last hour, cheek pressed against his back as he snored.

"Jean, wake up," Gilles chuckled, looking over his shoulder. "Let's find someplace to get some real sleep."

They stopped at the nearest inn, leaving the horse at the adjacent stable and securing a room for the day. For while it was unlikely Gilles' father could hunt them down at this point, both felt it safer to travel by night.

Later that evening, they sat waiting for supper in the inn's tavern, speaking quietly at a table in a shadowed corner of the room.

"Paris! Can you believe it?" Jean whispered.

Gilles smiled, the nerves from their escape finally settling into excitement. They planned to sell the horse upon arrival in Paris, and use the money to rent a room until they could find work. Ideally as city guards—both were more than qualified for it. And Paris was large; they could hide there indefinitely and never fear discovery.

It would be a humble life, far more so than Gilles had ever experienced. But for the first time, the future seemed full of hope instead of dread. Love, instead of shame.

His heart raced at the thought. He did love Jean—that much was certain. But for all their plans, those words had yet to be spoken.

Jean leaned close then. "What would you like to see first?" he asked eagerly. "Notre Dame? The Champs-lyses?"

Gilles barely heard him, however, for another conversation had caught his attention.

"From what I hear, they'll be overrun by week's end."

Gilles frowned, turning towards the voice. Three soldiers sat at a nearby table, speaking in hushed tones over their cheese and wine.

"Too touristy?" Jean went on, then frowned. "…Gilles?"

"That damn Prussian prince," another soldier observed. "Can't go six months without creating some new border conflict."

"Poor blokes," the third replied, taking a swig from his glass. "Glad we were assigned down south before all hell broke loose."

Gilles' heart seemed to stop. He looked back at Jean, who was now staring at him with wide eyes. "Our home…" Jean whispered.

"It's in danger," Gilles finished. Given his father was the governor of a bordering region of the province, it was his primary duty to defend his people against invaders. Yet knowing his father, he wouldn't take any risks that would put his own life in harm's way. Their people needed a true leader, and it was what Gilles had prepared himself for his entire life.

And now he'd abandoned them.

He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut. That overwhelming drive for duty was back, tearing at his heart, shaming him for daring to think he deserved to do something for himself.

"We better hurry back," Jean said softly.

Gilles looked up. Jean was watching him, eyes sadder than he'd ever seen them.

"Jean…"

"You'll never forgive yourself if you don't, will you?" he pressed. Sucking in a breath, he found Gilles' hand beneath the table. "It's all right," he went on bravely. He smiled, be it forced. "Really. We'll…we'll find another way."

Gilles heart sank even further in his chest. Yet after a long, aching moment, he nodded.

---

The ride back felt twice as long as before. They took a private road along the ocean side, high along the rocky cliffs. Distant waves crashed far below, floating over the empty night air. It wasn't far now.

Gilles slowed the horse near a place where the trees grew thick, coming to a stop.

"What is it?" Jean asked.

Gilles looked towards the distant moon, bright against the clouds overhead. "If we're really at war…" he whispered. "Everything is going to change."

"Everything was going to change today anyway," Jean said, a forced lightness in his voice.

"Not like this."

They dismounted in silence, leaving the horse in the trees and moving slowly towards the cliff side. They sat on the rocky ledge, legs hanging into the empty night air, a salty breeze brushing the hair from their eyes. It might be the last minutes of peace they would have together for a long time, and both knew it. Nothing was certain now.

The thought tugged at Gilles' chest. He dropped his face in his hands. What if this was a mistake?

A warm arm wrapped around him, squeezing his shoulder. "Hey, it's all right," Jean said in encouragement. "It was a stupid idea to leave anyway. I shouldn't have suggested it." He paused, sighing. "I guess I just…I wanted to make you happy."

"You do make me happy."

Jean held him tighter, pressing his face into Gilles' shoulder. Gilles looked over, and managed a smile. A sad one, but a smile all the same. If nothing else, he had this moment.

And suddenly, he realized he needed to take it.

"Jean," he said quietly. He reached over, touching Jean's cheek. Jean looked up with those light blue eyes from the darkness, waiting. But for all Gilles' determination to say so, the words didn't come.

Jean smiled then, and pulled away. He reached for the sword at his waist, sliding it out halfway and tugging the ribbon from his hair with his free hand. Gilles furrowed his brows, watching as Jean leaned down and wove a section of his hair beneath the blade. A small lock of hair was sliced free, and Jean tucked the sword away.

He reached for Gilles hand, placing the lock of hair in his palm. "So you'll always have a piece of me with you," he explained quietly. "No matter how long we have to wait."

Gilles curled his fingers over the lock of hair, holding it tight. Then he leaned down and kissed the man he loved.

It would be the last time.

"You filthy pig."

Gilles' heart grew cold. He turned, staring in the direction of that terrible voice. A familiar voice. Five lanterns emerged from the darkness, a large shadow emerging from their midst.

"Take them," the voice said.

Any other time, even five on two would have been nothing for them to handle. But now, these men had the advantage of surprise. Gilles quickly found his arms held tightly at each side, the two guards forcing him to his knees. Nearby, it took three others to hold Jean at bay. He was shouting at them.

"G'off me!" he cried. "Let us go!"

Heavy breathing sounded from the shadows. Their leader stepped into the light.

"Father," Gilles gasped, cold dread falling into his stomach though he'd already known who it was. Even Jean had grown silent at the sight of him. "Father," he said again. "I…I can explain—"

His words were cut off, a sharp force ramming into his jaw and whipping his head to the side.

"Sodomite!" his father shouted in rage.

The pain flowed over his skin, sinking deep into his skull. Gilles didn't have a moment to catch his breath before the second blow.

"Child of Lucifer!"

Gilles sucked in a breath, body quaking from shock. "F-Father…please—"

A knee to his stomach, and he gasped for breath.

The beating didn't last long—shorter than those of his youth, but filled with greater rage than any before. His father was holding nothing back.

One final fist to the head, and the guards released him. Gilles fell from his knees to the earth, tasting the blood that ran from his temple, coughing up more.

"Gilles!"

He could barely hear Jean, for all seemed to grow quiet, and bright. His head pulsed, and he stared at the dead grass beneath his fingertips that blurred in and out of his vision.

"GILLES!"

"Leave us," his father said darkly from somewhere close by. "And dispose of that scum."

Gilles' heart flew into his throat. "No," he rasped. Yet he barely made a sound.

"My lord?" one of the guards asked, clearly reluctant to fulfill such a task.

"You heard me."

Jean was pulled away by the soldiers, still screaming his name. "No…Jean…" Gilles choked out, reaching desperately with quaking fingers. "You can't…you can't—"

Another kick to his stomach. He found himself rolling towards the cliff side, the waves thrashing against the rocks far below. Gilles realized with bitterness that it was only after he'd been beaten to the point he couldn't stand did his father dare risk facing him alone.

"After Cecile showed me that letter, I just knew you'd come crawling back here," he snarled. "But I never imagined…"

His father's words trailed off, and a gun cocked. A gun far too close to be for Jean.

His father held a dark pistol now, aimed directly for his heart. Gilles eyes grew wide. "Father…"

"You are no son of mine," his father said. His voice grew low. "You are no man. You're nothing but a filthy creature that has no place in this world."

Gilles closed his eyes. Maybe there's a place for us there, he thought. A place on the other side.

He waited in dread. Yet instead of a gunshot, he heard only a wet gasp. Opening his eyes, Gilles looked up in shock. The tip of a thin sword emerged from his father's gut, dripping blood from its tip.

"You're wrong, my lord," a voice said quietly. "There's no place for you in this world."

The sword slid back out, more blood gushing from the wound. His father choked once, dropping the pistol. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he fell in a heap to the ground.

Behind him stood Jean. He held not one but two swords, the second already coated in blood along with the rest of his clothes. Gilles hoped that blood wasn't his own.

Funny he should worry about such when his own father lay dead in the grass. Yet at the sight of that, he felt nothing.

Strong arms reached beneath him. Jean knelt at his side, breathless, cradling Gilles in his arms as he shook. The blades sat abandoned at his sides.

"Gilles," he gasped, "Are you all right?"

"I've been better."

Jean only grimaced, wiping away the stream of blood from Gilles' head with a trembling hand and looking close to tears. He looked behind him then, towards the dead body in the grass. "Oh God. Will you ever forgive me? I…I killed him—"

"He was going to kill me, Jean."

"I know," he conceded. He stared back towards the dark trees, holding Gilles tighter. "I don't know if I killed the others or not…I just—just plowed through them so I could reach you, I was barely thinking." He looked back at Gilles, wiping more blood from his head with the cuff of his sleeve. "We've got to get you to a doctor, can you—"

"There he is!" someone shouted.

They looked towards the trees, more guards emerging from the shadows. They must have heard the earlier commotion. The new men stared at the scene, at Gilles' dead father on the ground and the blood soaking Jean's shirt.

"He killed the governor!" one of them cried. "And attacked Lord Gilles!"

Several lifted their guns, surrounding them slowly. Jean stood quickly, moving back, hands held high in the air. The sounds of cocking guns rang out regardless.

"No!" Gilles rasped. "Stop! He didn't—"

Too late. Three blasts in a row. The darkness sent the first two into empty air, but the third caught flesh. Jean's shoulder flew back, feet stumbling at the impact, body dipping dangerously close to the ledge behind him.

"Jean!"

Jean's eyes shot towards Gilles, wide and scared. And with one final, inevitable step back, his foot landed in the open air. He stretched an arm out, reaching towards Gilles in desperation. Then his body fell away into the darkness.

"JEAN!"

Gilles tugged himself towards the cliff, ignoring the way his body screamed at him, nearly slipping over the ledge himself. Rough hands grabbed him, holding him back.

"JEAN!" he screamed again, fighting them with the only strength he had left, staring into the sea. Yet he saw nothing, nothing but the bright reflection of the moon against the waters. No sound but the crashing of waves against the rocky cliffs below.

His body grew numb, mind in shock, fingers gripping the lock of hair still tight in one palm. It didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.

Yet it was. And it was all his fault.

---

"It was in my focus on duty that I sacrificed love," Gilles explained.

"But you couldn't have known," Belle said, voice thick. She was gripping his hand hard, eyes full of tears.

He patted her hand with his other, sighing. "It doesn't matter. The price was paid whether I wanted it so or not."

The prince sat in silence before them, staring at the ground with unblinking eyes. Gilles could tell that Adam hadn't quite understood at first—perhaps had never even heard of such a person as himself. Such things were not spoken of, after all, and the prince had been given little opportunity to experience the world beyond these woods.

However, after a moment the prince's face contorted, and to the boy's credit he reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Gilles, I…I'm so sorry," he said sincerely.

"It is all right, my prince. I only share this so you understand." He squeezed the locket once again, the surface cool against his palm. "I have lived a life alone for my choice. I could not bear the same for either of you."

The young couple was silent, thinking.

"Let's just ask Agathe," Adam said suddenly. "She can see the future, right?"

"Only when you're sure of your path, child," a voice spoke. They turned, spotting the old enchantress standing in the threshold, looking at them curiously. Adam opened his mouth to go on, but she stopped him with a hand. "Not that it matters. I've been trying to see the end of this battle for months now. Nothing," she said, frowning deeply. "There's nothing there, nothing at all. I should be able to see something, unless the whole lot of you are planning to do something completely unpredictable," she huffed.

Adam grew nervous at that. He looked at Belle, who stared back at him as though reading his thoughts. "What if it fails, because we weren't there?" she whispered. "Could we...could we ever truly be happy if they're not free?"

Adam knew the answer even before she finished asking it. No, he realized. We couldn't.

"I'm sorry Gilles," Adam said. "But we have to see this through, to the end."

Gilles closed his eyes. "I should have known. You are too good a lad to take the selfish way out. In which case…" He sucked in a breath and stood, gripping the blade at his belt. "I will go with you both, to the end."

"Sire Gilles!" someone called out.

He turned, frowning towards the door, where Cogsworth now appeared. He looked winded, leaning against the wall and sucking in a deep breath. "Gilles, it's Lumiere."

"What about him?" Gilles asked.

"He hasn't checked in," Cogsworth explained. "He's overdue by a full forty-seven minutes," he insisted, tapping furiously on the face of his pocket watch.

"He could simply be detained," Gilles said. "I admit this is quite late, but from his recent reports Victor has been proving more difficult than usual to manage."

"I don't know," Cogsworth said, uncertain. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket, a twin to the one Lumiere carried. "I can't even get the blasted thing to react anymore."

"Mmm," Agathe said, swiping the object from the man and taking a look. She pressed her fingers against it, then frowned deeply. "Oh, well, that's because his side has been destroyed."

She stopped, words catching up to her. They all froze, slowly looking to Gilles in unison.

He frowned deeply. "Well, then," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Tonight, we strike."

---

A/N - I'm not dead! Hopefully this BEAST of a chapter made up for the delay. I am really sorry for the wait though, but I've been going through one of the toughest things of my life over the past few months and it made writing near impossible. (If you're curious: I left the high-demand religion I was raised in. Pretty miserable and world-crushing experience, even knowing it was the right thing to do. It's going to take time to heal and deprogram myself from the manipulation, but I'm doing a lot better.) Anyway I know I say this a lot, but the comments really do mean so much – when life seems to lose a lot of its meaning, it's good to know I'm doing something to make the world a little bit better.

I also wanted to let you know I did write another thing over Christmas called "My Little Friend" for a secret santa exchange – it's got teenage Lumiere and baby Adam lol so yeah…if that sounds like your thing maybe give it a R&R? (It's in the canon 2017 universe instead of this crazy AU.)

And FYI, there's one more chapter plus the epilogue left! xoxoxo

*** Chapter rating: Strong T for domestic violence, homophobia, blood, and implied sex slavery.