Adam's POV

Adam sat in his study trying to focus on the papers in front of him, but Belle was sitting not too far away and today her presence was wonderfully distracting. They didn't often work in the same room, usually both were accustomed to spreading out their work to better examine it, which only led to chaos if they were sharing space. Today it was nice to have her company.

Some time into their work, he heard Belle sigh and saw her stretch out of the corner of his eye, but he continued working. The king's taxes had risen again and Adam was trying to figure out how to pay them without putting too much pressure on the subjects of his province. But when Belle approached him and put her hand on his back to see what he was doing, it was very hard to keep focus.

"Oh dear," she said after a moment. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"What's that?" he asked, briefly concerned until he looked up to see her smiling.

"I think you're starting to go a bit grey," she said and ran her fingers through his hair at his temples.

"What do you expect?" he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, taking her hand. "With a teenage daughter and all of this nonsense to take care of. Don't you like it?"

"I think it makes you look dashing and wise," she said, her smile growing. "I just thought maybe you'd dislike the fact you're getting older."

"As long as I get to grow old with you, what else matters?" he answered honestly, but this answer caused Belle to blush and smile. "Come here," he bid, pulling gently on her hand to have her sit on his lap. "And anyway, you're as beautiful as they day I met you, why should I feel old?"

"Oh, is that all it takes, my beauty?" she said but he could tell she was only teasing him.

"Of course not," he chuckled and tucked a fallen strand of hair from her forehead. "Although I am three years older than you. Who knows what you'll look like after that time," he added with a grin, earning himself a playful slap on his shoulder and the adorable expression where she wrinkled her nose, signifying her mock annoyance at him.

"Belle," he said more seriously, taking her hand in his. "I think it's past time to tell Edmund about the enchantment."

"I think you just added another grey hair to your collection," she said, her teasing soft now, her tone thoughtful. "You're right though. He'll be ten in just a few months now. It's time we told him."

"Tomorrow after breakfast," he suggested. "That way we'll have the whole day to explain, as we did with Brigitte."

"Without the dreadful night of unpreparedness," Belle said with a small laugh. Adam nodded, acknowledging how Brigitte had surprised them with confused questions of overheard conversations. Cogsworth had felt terrible about that, and obviously he and the others had made a greater effort to keep the secret from Edmund. But even though they were doing this on their terms now, Adam felt little more prepared than he did the first time. He wasn't sure how Edmund might take this; the boy was an observer of the world, which made Adam think he might accept the tale they would tell. Then again Edmund's feet were a bit more firmly on the ground than his sister's, which might mean he wouldn't believe what he heard. The boy also had a gentle heart, which made Adam fearful he might be hurt at having been kept in the dark for so long. Especially when he learned his sister had already known for some time.

That part made him nervous; his children weren't competitive, but Edmund didn't like not knowing things. He was always learning, always discovering answers to his own questions. The boy wouldn't like that his parents and his sister had kept him from something like this.

Actually he was surprised Edmund hadn't discovered the room with the rose and mirror on his own, but perhaps they had Brigitte to thank for that. She understood the need for secrecy, knew the implications it had. Adam knew she wanted her brother to know, but she respected that they had waited.

"Maybe we should ask Brigitte about this," Adam suggested suddenly, making Belle jump as he broke the silence so abruptly. "I have a feeling she's been helping to keep this secret from Edmund more than by simply not telling him. She might have suggestions on how best to tell him."

"They are very close," Belle agreed. "It might be a good idea."


"You want my advice on how to tell him?" Brigitte said, obviously confused by this when they approached her alone a few hours later.

"Well, you have a bit of experience in being shocked by this secret," Belle said with a small laugh. She sat beside her daughter where she sat cross legged on her bed, her nightdress tangled around her legs. Brigitte didn't have much of a bedtime any more as she was nearly fifteen and responsible enough that Belle and Adam hadn't felt the need to enforce it. But Brigitte usually liked to turn in early, get comfortable under her bed sheets, and read for hours. Tonight was no different, except that her parents had interfered in that pattern.

"We thought you might have some advice," Adam added, leaning against the nearby wardrobe, trying to seem casual though his nerves at what was to come had his hands shaking. "Neither of us want him to think we were keeping this from him because we don't trust him."

"He likes to know things," Brigitte nodded, clearly understanding. "He won't like being the last to know this," she added with a somewhat sour laugh. Brigitte fell silent and looked at her hands clasped in her lap. Adam waited, nearly holding his breath and willing her to say something quickly.

"I like the way you told me," she said after a few moments. "The story. It made it seem familiar, because both of you are always telling stories. But you might show him the mirror first, let him hold it and examine it like one of his flowers. Explain what it does and let him experiment, then he'll probably ask where you got it. It might feel more real to him that way."

Adam liked that idea; Edmund had a critical eye, wanted to know details about whatever he could. Having something tangible to learn first might help with the news of the enchantment. But what of the inevitable anger at not have been told sooner?

"I don't think there's anything you can do about that," Brigitte said when he voiced these concerns. "I'd be angry if he knew and I didn't. You'll just have to explain as best you can. I'll explain, too, though I think you'll want to answer his questions like you did with me."

"When did you get so grown up?" Adam said, keeping his voice light, though he was thinking wistfully of the baby he had held in his arms, the giggling toddler clinging to his leg. Before him now was a nearly grown woman, and his heart suddenly began to hurt.

"Oh, Papa," Brigitte sighed, looking at him expressively. Adam chuckled and moved to kiss her forehead.

"Thank you for your help, mon ange," he said.

"When will you tell him?"

"After breakfast, I would think," Belle answered, looking to him for confirmation.

"I'll stay out of your way then," Brigitte said when Adam nodded in agreement to what Belle had said.

"At least for as long as his questions last for us," Adam said. "I'm sure he'll want to hear from you, too." Brigitte nodded, but seemed worried. "What is it?"

"I just don't know how he's going to take it, but I'm sure it'll be fine," she said with a smile. Adam only hoped his girl was right.


Belle's POV

Adam barely slept that night; she did her best to comfort him, but she knew the only thing that would allow him sleep would be do have this over with. It had been a long time since they had to even discuss the enchantment; it had steadily become less of a feature in their lives as the years passed, even as the need to tell their child loomed. Even Adam's nightmares had subsided, allowing him more peaceful nights than tormented ones. But that night was difficult for both of them.

Despite the long night, morning came much more quickly than either of them were ready for. They made ready for the day, each of them dress slowly, purposefully, hardly saying a word. Belle's mind was heavy with her thoughts and one look at her husband told her that he was the same. Needing to do something to ease his worries if not her own, she went up to him and put her hand on his cheek.

"It will be all right, Adam," she promised. He took her hand and kissed her fingers.

"I hope you're right. I'm so nervous about this. . .Brigitte's right, he's not going to take this well."

"Then we'll help him," she replied even as worry made her heart beat a little more quickly. "Come on, they'll be wondering where we are." She took his hand, their fingers linking and made their way down for breakfast.

"Was wondering if you two would show up," Papa said predictably as she and Adam took their seats at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Papa," Belle replied with a wry smile, quickly turned into a more sincere one as her father chuckled. Breakfast that morning was as it usually was: light chatter, questions about what everyone's plans were that day, discussions on what the children were studying at school. It was a calm before the chaos of the day started, a daily breath of air that Belle enjoyed. But today there was a tension over them that even Edmund seemed to sense. He fidgeted in his seat, glancing between them all as if looking for an explanation.

"Pass the jam, Edmund," Brigitte asked, her voice harsh enough to take his attention away from the tension.

"Do you wanna go to the library after this?" Edmund asked his sister.

"I was going to see if Cherine could teach me more stitches," Brigitte answered seamlessly, not even glancing up at her parents.

"Do you like what she's teaching you?" Belle asked, glad to have the distraction.

"It's all right," Brigitte shrugged. "I think it's good to know how to sew patches and things like that. Mrs. Potts has been needing more and more help, and not many of the maids can meet her standards."

"We really should find someone for her to apprentice," Adam said.

"Oh, Cherine should do it!" Brigitte exclaimed. "She's so good with that sort of stuff, and she's been helping Mrs. Potts since she came to the castle. And with Chip as head of the household someday, it would be perfect! They would help run the castle together!"

"We'll see, mon ange," Adam chuckled.

"Well I'm going to tell Maggie about all these plans of replacing her," Papa teased and rose from the table.

"I'll walk out with you, Grandpapa," Brigitte said quickly and jumped to hand her grandfather his cane. "I'll see you later," she added, looking pointedly at Belle and Adam. Belle nodded, acknowledging that Brigitte was giving them the space to do what needed to be done.

"I guess I'll go too," Edmund started to slide out of his seat.

"Actually," Adam said, freezing his son's movements. "I was hoping you might stay with your mother and I. We have something we want to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Edmund said, but neither she nor Adam gave him any further indication.

"Come with us," Belle said gently, moving to stand beside her son and run her fingers briefly through his dark hair. "There's something we should show you first."


Edmund's POV

His parents were being very cryptic and he was not enjoying it at all. If they had something to tell him, why didn't they just say what it was? He hadn't gotten into any trouble lately, Grandpapa was healthy, so it wasn't that, and if his parents were going away again surely they would tell both he and Brigitte together. So what in the world was going on?

He tried again and again to get his parents to say something as they led him through the castle, any hint as to what this was all about, but they refused. Maman was sweet and gentle, asking him to be patient, but his father was distracted and clearly nervous, which only made Edmund's stomach begin to twist in knots. Whatever they were going to tell him, his father didn't like it at all. Was he being sent away somewhere? If so, his mother surely wouldn't be so calm.

They stopped in front of a door in one of the lesser used passageways, halting Edmund's frantic worry and instead prompting his curiosity. He had seen this door many times, always going past it. His sister insisted it was a broom cupboard, but he had observed the way everyone seemed to avoid it which made it, for him, one of the curiosities of the castle. Still, he never opened it; it seemed whenever he had the urge, someone was around to call him away and he quickly forgot about it.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, looking up at his parents. He was coming close to his mother's height, growing more what seemed like nearly every day. His mother teased him that it was difficult to keep him in trousers because he would simply outgrow them the next day.

"Your father and I have something to show you," Maman said. Edmund noticed that she had waited for Papa to say something, but she had to fill the silence he left. "This might be a little difficult to understand at first, but we'd like you to keep an open mind, all right?"

"A—all right," Edmund said hesitantly, trying to let his mother's smile reassure him. Papa was the one to open the door, finally revealing what was inside. At first Edmund saw only a small, round table, carved with gargoyles that looked like they were holding up the table's smooth surface. But as Edmund followed the direction of the gargoyles, he saw the most impossible thing. A rose, looking simple enough, except for the fact that it was floating several inches above the surface of the table. A glass bell jar covered it, whether to protect it or keep it from floating away Edmund wasn't sure.

"What is it?" he asked, stepping into the small room to look more closely at it. There were no half-hidden threads keeping the flower aloft that he could see, no glass supporting the stem at the bottom. He had examined many roses in the castle gardens, and this was far too similar to be called a fake. The flower itself was real enough, but how was it staying in the middle of the air like that?

"It's a rose. A very important rose," his father answered, his voice oddly tight and strained.

"Important?" Edmund asked, still examining the strange flower.

"Did you see the mirror?" his mother prompted. Edmund looked a little to the left to see that there was indeed a small hand mirror on the table's surface. "What do you make of it?" Sensing there was something more to this suggestion, Edmund took it up carefully in his hands and examined it closely. It was, by all appearances, an ordinary mirror. Beautiful, yes, but nothing more than that. It was made of silver, with intricate designs at the base of the handle, where the handle met the frame, and all round the frame itself. More roses.

"It's nice," he said simply and went to put it back on the table, more interested in the floating rose.

"Wait, there's a secret to it," his mother said, picking it back up and showing him the mirror's surface.

"A secret?" he repeated. A hidden compartment, maybe?

"This mirror shows more than just your reflection, Edmund," his mother began, then looked up at his father. Papa knelt down beside him and bid him to take the mirror from his mother. Edmund did so, the smooth silver handle still warm from his mother's skin.

"This mirror will show you anything you wish to see," he said in way of explanation, but that was hardly helpful at all.

"What do you mean anything?" he asked.

"If you ask it to show you your sister, it will show you Brigitte sitting at her lessons right now. If you wanted to see the king, you'll be able to see him doing whatever he's doing at this same moment." Edmund would have laughed, but his father looked so serious, so earnest, the impulse disintegrated.

"Try it," Maman prompted. "I promise we're telling the truth." Skeptical, almost positive his parents were pulling one over on him for some reason, Edmund raised the mirror up so his face was reflected back at him. At a loss, he brought forward a request that his father had already mentioned.

"Show me my sister," he asked. Almost at once, the mirror glowed a bright green, shining almost as bright as lighting. He cried out, but his hands instinctually clamped down harder on the handle rather than let it drop. The sudden brightness dimmed and the mirror's surface cleared to show him not his own face, but his sister's. Brigitte was sitting in an armchair across from Cherine, a bed sheet in her lap and a needle in one hand. She was laughing at something Cherine had just said, but promptly pricked her finger because she wasn't paying attention to her work.

"I—I don't understand," he said. "What is this?"

"It's a magic mirror," Papa said, but that wasn't any help at all.

"A magic mirror? There's no such thing as magic. This isn't possible."

"Do you doubt what you hold in your hands?" Maman asked gently.

"I—I just don't understand," he said again, staring at the mirror. The image of his sister faded, giving him only his own confused reflection. "How is this a magic mirror?"

"How is it magic?" Papa asked, sounding confused himself.

"I mean, how did you get something like this? This belongs in a fairy tale."

"Well, we have a sort of fairy tale for you, if you would like to hear it," Maman said. "But I think you'll find that it's a very real sort of tale."

"All right, so tell me," he said. He had enough of this beating around the bush. He wanted his parents to tell him whatever they were going to tell him.

"It's long, would you like to go find somewhere to sit?" Papa asked, twisting his hands together.

"No, tell me," he said, perhaps a little too harshly, but he was confused and he hated being confused.

"All right," Papa sighed and sat to lean against the wall, hands dangling between his knees. Edmund remained standing beside his mother, clutching the mirror and wondering what could possibly explain it.

His father began a strange story about how a boy, a Prince, a little older than Edmund was now, was visited by an enchantress disguised as a beggar woman. For being spoiled, selfish, and unkind, the enchantress revealed herself and cursed the boy to become a Beast, turning his servants into living objects. When the last petal fell from the rose she had given him, the curse would become permanent. To set himself and the servants free, the Prince, now the Beast, had to learn to love and earn love in return. A young maiden happened upon the castle during the last year of the curse, and the Beast fell in love with her. Eventually, she learned to love him in return and the curse was broken. It was a lovely fairy tale, one that his sister definitely would have enjoyed reading, but what had that to do with any of this?

"Wait, you're not saying that this is the rose from the story," he said, motioning to the rose in the bell jar. "This isn't the mirror the beast used to see the world."

"The rose was restored after the curse was broken," his father said as if his was a good enough explanation. "The rose and the mirror are the same from the story."

"How do you know this?" Edmund demanded, more confused than when they had started. Papa looked at Edmund's mother and seemed as though he was lost. He didn't like that look from his father; Papa was strong, was the one people went to for help.

"I know this," Papa said after a moment. "I know this because I was that prince from the story. I was the one the enchantress turned into a Beast. Your mother was the one who broke the enchantment over me and my servants."

"What?" This couldn't be true. This was too much. Why was Papa lying to him?

"It's true, my darling," Maman said, kneeling beside him and taking his shoulders. "Your father endured such a terrible time. I met him, befriended him, and fell in love with him. I didn't know there was a spell over him, well not for certain anyway, until it had been broken."

"No," Edmund said, shaking his head. It was too much.

"I used that mirror to see a world I thought I'd never be part of again," Papa said, motioning to the mirror still in Edmund's hands.

"No." This was impossible. "Take it back," he insisted, thrusting the mirror towards his father but not daring to take a step towards him. Papa did not reach for it, so Maman instead took it from him.

"Edmund, we're telling you the truth," she said gently. "We wanted to wait until you were old enough to understand."

"But I don't understand," he all but wailed, feeling very much like a small child again, frightened by nightmares. "Does Brigitte know?"

"She does. We told her when she was your age," Papa answered, his voice almost a whisper.

"She's known all this time?" he demanded. "And she didn't say anything?" Betrayal hit him like a wave, drowning him. His parents and his sister had kept this from him all his life.

"We asked her to keep it a secret until you were old enough," Papa explained.

"How could you keep this from me?" he demanded, hot anger now overwhelming his confusion. "This doesn't make any sense! I don't believe you!" With that, he turned and bolted down the hall, away from his parents, away from those liars.