CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Belle blearily opened her eyes as her vision slowly but surely cleared, feeling her heavily-lidded eyes flutter open as she awoke to the frigid cold of their sleeping nook nestled in the corner of the north bell tower's loft on the upper level of the mezzanine.
She lay there quietly a moment, keeping her eyes closed, willing her breaths to slow down until the sudden onset wave of nausea passed her as she fought back the urge to vomit.
Given this was her first pregnancy, she had assumed, and rightfully so, that it would not be without its difficulties, but considering she was less than a full month along, this hardly seemed fair at all.
It's cruel, she thought, keeping her eyes clenched tightly shut as she could practically taste the bile coating the back of her throat. Cruel and unfair. Cruelly unfair.
The only indications of her heartbeat, her very existence, that she had…somehow not died last night, after spending such a wonderful night of love and passion in her husband's embrace, after falling asleep in the man's strong arms, was the steady rise and fall of her breast and hearing the sound of her own breath.
Her chest strangely felt numb. Curiosity slowly pried open her swollen eyes still heavy and slightly crusty around the edges from sleep, and though her eyes were open, she could not think of why. Her heart pounded, thrumming against its chest erratically, this damned stubborn feeble corded muscle in her chest.
Shock took over and painted confusion on her face passionately. Everything ached, no matter how little she twitched, and the pads of her fingertips traced a teeth mark on her shoulder blade, one that was bluish, showing abrasions there.
Belle couldn't remember it getting there. Did…did Quasi do this? What…?
Parts of her skin felt…sticky, especially on her neck and down her navel. Her lungs beckoned and pleaded with her for air, and she inhaled deep to comply with their wishes.
Her mind felt empty. Belle squinted, straining into the darkness, breathing rate slowly but surely beginning to steady and she forced herself to sit upright.
Off somewhere to her left, the egg-yolk sun poured through the cracks in the bell tower's rafters and awaited entrance into Belle's eyes the moment she stepped over the threshold that separated her and her husband's sleeping nook from the rest of Quasi's bell tower.
For a split second, Belle didn't know who she was or where she was. She made a small noise at the back of her throat that sounded muted as she shivered as a cold gust of wind traveled through their room. Then she remembered. She was in his—our—she had to correct herself—bedroom, and Belle felt her pupils dilate in the darkness as she propped herself against one of the pillows and collapsed back onto it, her dark hair splaying out on either side of her head like a fan, intertwining her fingers and resting them on her stomach, and burrowed further into the goose feather down blanket, wine in color, that Quasi had somehow found for her this morning, perhaps when he'd woken up to ring for the Lauds and hadn't wanted to disturb her, the only warmth against such frigid cold air, though the moment she nestled back under the blanket, she realized the bed felt surprisingly lighter without her husband's presence, and her dark eyes widened even further and she sat upright in their bed.
Her dark hair cascaded loosely to her shoulders, tousled and in a state of disarray as she desperately clutched the blanket to her nude form, her eyes darting to the left and right while she haphazardly searched for her clothes, still wondering if the experience the two of them had shared last night had simply been a dream.
Belle's sight still wished for the darkness of the night as she sleepily rubbed the dreams away, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand and sat up straighter, resting her head against her pillow as she propped it up against the extra pillows.
Had last night spend in his arms simply been a dream?
Belle furrowed her brows into a frown and made no move to get up at all. "Then…it's a good dream," she whispered as she felt the beginnings of a small smile creeping on her face as she remembered Quasi whispering sweet nothings into the shell of her ear, and though he had been nothing but kind to her, her body felt numb and pained.
His voice was low and soft. It had been dark in their sleeping nook and she couldn't really see him, but she could feel him squirm beneath her as he struggled to make their time spent together last longer. Every little movement, the sound of his breathing rate increasing and slowing down as he felt every twitch to her.
She pressed an elbow against the bedframe and forced herself to sit up straighter. Slowly but surely, Belle was able, and it felt as though a weight had lifted from her eyes and the hazy fog in her mind, and everything was clearer, except for a horrible pounding headache beginning near her frontal temples.
Belle felt her smile widen as she recollected words exchanged last night.
"Convince me to stay, Quasi," she remembered whispering. "Like you wish for me to stay," she begged, lips parted slightly as she leaned down to whisper it into his ear. "Plead for me to stay here with you as your wife. Tell me…that you want me…I want you to have me…and keep me," Belle had whispered to him.
"Please." It was the use of the word please that tumbled from her lips that had caused a sudden shift in her new husband last night, how at first, the growl that had erupted from deep within his chest had momentarily frightened her, though, in that groan, Belle could hear the hoarseness and desire in his tones, his free hand not gripping onto her waist for support had slipped underneath her.
"Trust me when I tell you that I…I won't…hurt you, Belle…" he urged, repressing another groan, closing his eyes as he felt Belle jerk her hips away with a muffled sound that might have been a noise of pleasure before she fell silent. "Show me." He'd encouraged, his fingers tightening on her thighs, raking down alongside her legs. "How—how you want it," he'd begged, hearing the desperation in his voice. "Together," Quasi whispered as her lips lowered and captured his gently. He'd groaned as he nestled in the crook of her neck, clenching his eyes tightly shut, and allowing the monster within him, this demonic entity branded Lust to take complete and utter control. If this was sin, to lay with his wife on their wedding night, in the eyes of God, then so be it.
In Quasi's mind, he was already damned, so to hell with what God wanted. Nothing could stop something so…exhilarating, so passionate, loving. Nothing.
When the goose feather down blanket that had covered her chest began to unravel as she let the cloth drop to the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed, throwing her legs over the edge, letting out a hiss as her bare feet touched the frigid wooden floorboards, the throbbing and numbness quickly dispersed then.
Belle stared, eyes widened, as she stared at an ugly bruise just above her left wrist, something that resembled a gripped hand, for these were his markings.
My husband doesn't seem to know his own strength, it would seem, she marveled, biting the inside wall of her cheek. Belle knew Quasi had not meant to hurt her on purpose. She knew last night it had been hard for him to resist.
She remembered feeling his strong hands come up to grip painfully tight on her waist with each push, each little movement she made. Belle hadn't stopped.
"This is what you've been missing," Belle had remembered whispering to her husband. "Feel me. Have me and keep me, husband. Every drop…every pulse…all of it. Love me…" She had heard her husband roar as he'd never had in her company at her words, pleasure waves surging through their bodies, searing them, branding them, hotter than the hot lead he used to fix the brass bells, breaking them and rocking them to their cores.
Her nostrils had flared, and Belle could smell the want emanating off her husband in waves, and she knew, either way, he wanted this. Wanted her. Belle hurled her head back, eyes closed, and let out a sweet moan, feeling his excitement seep and extend into her very soul.
Belle had not stopped, per her husband's pleading requests. She had done as Quasi had asked of her and she was patient with him and gentle with him as she had hoped that when she had been married to Gaston, he would have been with her. Though the walls of their sleeping nook were made of strong, durable stone slab, they still attempted to finish as quietly as they could, given how late it was.
Her mind felt as though it reeled, long after the experience the two of them shared within each other's arms had ended last night. "Love me, husband?"
She remembered asking, a soft smile forming as Belle nestled in his arms. And she could recall Quasi's response, for how could she not? "Always, Belle."
And following his answer, a gentle kiss, first on her lips and then her forehead, and they had fallen asleep. But Belle had expected, hoped was more accurate, that he would be here by her side when she woke up, and the fact that he was not right here by her side currently, greatly disturbed her, though she quickly shoved that thought out of her mind.
Your husband has Lauds, Masses to ring for, and other duties to perform. He stays busy, and as his wife and soon-to-be-mother of your child, you will be too. He cannot always be by your side every second of every day. Get used to it.
Belle furrowed her brows into a frown and glanced wildly about the room for her smallclothes and gown, which she had remembered, her wedding dress hadn't exactly survived the night when he'd practically ripped it to shreds in an effort to help her undo the lacings in back.
She sighed as she finally spotted a gown that she could not remember laying out last night, and briefly, she wondered who in the seven hells had laid it out.
Wrapping the blanket around her form to preserve her modesty, she rose, wincing at the soreness around her breasts and everywhere else as she padded barefoot and silent over towards the chair, where the dress was neatly draped over the back of the chair and picked up the garment with her thumbs and forefingers.
A simple dark blue velvet gown with long flared tow sleeves and a dark cape lined with what appeared to be wolf fur near the hood's lining. A thing of beauty, truly gorgeous, and not at all one she recognized. Was this a wedding gift, maybe?
But if it was, from whom? Belle's frown deepened as she dressed quickly and shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself as she set off in search of her husband or any of the other caretakers, Sister Alice, or Father Darius, who could tell her where Quasi was. Normally, given sound in both bell towers traveled, Belle surmised that she would have heard her husband high above, in the rafters.
However, this did not appear to be the case and she began to grow nervous, though thinking that a walk might do her some good to stretch her legs, get some fresh air, and as Belle started to head down the stairwell and out of the cathedral towards the marketplace, hoping to visit the apple vendor and bakery if there was time enough this morning before helping Alice. (she'd developed an unusual appetite for apples and lemon cakes over the last few weeks since learning she was going to be a mother. Alice had patiently informed her such cravings were normal.)
Though before she did, there was one place she had not yet looked. The balcony.
Belle felt a soft smile form at the edges of her lips as she found Quasi seated out on the balcony floor, though in actuality, she supposed she could call whatever position he had adopted more of a kneel, and her first impression of her husband was that she thought he looked as though someone about to swear allegiance, loyalty to a noble, to their King, for his right knee was bent as he knelt on the balcony's terrace cold stone floor, his gloved hands curled around the railing of the balcony.
He looked contemplative, lost in thought, more peaceful than she'd seen him since her first meeting the man all those months ago.
If she strained to listen, he was conversing in low murmuring whispers, in hushed tones, towards figures of stone, grotesque looking gargoyles. Belle scrunched her nose in disgust at the hideousness of the stone statues and let out a tired sigh.
"Your knees must be killing you, Quasi. Why do you sit like this? You ran off! Why did you leave? I thought that…maybe you had…run away from me," Belle confessed shyly before a light pink blush speckled along her cheeks and she glanced down at her hands, fidgeting with her pinkish-tipped fingers to keep her hands warm.
Her husband startled slightly at the sound of her soft voice wafting through the cold December air, but when he saw a smile threatening to escape her faux pout as she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout and was biting down on it in a slightly flirtatious manner, Quasi allowed himself to relax and returned her smile.
"I am sorry, Belle," he murmured lowly, reaching for her hand with one of his gloved ones and bringing her white-boned knuckles to his lips for a gentle but chaste kiss. "Matins and Lauds required me to get up, and I did not want to wake you. I can see now that I…might have failed in that regard, wife," he joked.
"It is all right," she responded immediately without even having to think of an apt response as one automatically came to her mind. "You were lucky that I did not hear the bells this morning because…I was very tired," she teased coyly.
Belle stifled her smile and bit the inside wall of her cheek, running her tongue along the wall of her upper teeth as she practically watched the heat growing in her husband's cheeks. All of his insecurities and doubts were writ large across his face and there was nowhere to hide, especially not from his new wife.
As his anxieties mounted on his face, they became a circle, though Belle thought it was rather cute, though after a minute of this, decided to put Quasi out of his misery by closing off the gap of space between the two of them and holding out her arms outstretched so she could help her husband to his feet.
The moment Belle leaned forward, Quasi felt his heart thrum against his chest and his pulse start to race.
That one damned stubborn lock of his coarse ginger hair tumbled in front of his one good eye, resting just in front of his cheek, but with one swift slide of Belle's thumb, his wife brushed it swiftly out of her way. Looking into Belle's darkened chocolate eyes, he saw nothing but deep umber brown, pools that displayed her soul. Her lips touched his cheek, tinged blue slightly from the cold, but to him, Belle felt warm, oh, so warm. On fire.
Time stopped. It felt as though his heart came to a halt. His breaths hitched and caught in his throat. She reached up a hand and interlocked her fingers with his and gave his left hand a gentle squeeze, lifting it slightly so she could study the elegant yellow gold wedding ring he wore proudly on his left hand in the rays of the sun.
As the soft skin of her mouth left the side of the bell ringer's face, the exact spot where they had come into contact burned and tingled like nothing he had ever felt before. A hot blazing fire pulsated through his veins, re-igniting the familiar feelings of passion and love he had been fortunate enough to experience last night, though he quickly tamped down the urge, as he had work to do this morn, though he supposed, later tonight, if they were both of the same moods…
Maybe. A small grin crept onto the bell ringer's face and his cheeks painted themselves rose red, and he knew it had nothing to do at all with the bitter cold.
She pulled away, but their eyes locked and met each other's gazes, intense, having a private conversation of their own.
All her kiss left as her lips pressed against the skin of his cheek was a little wet mark; a shallow pool of saliva on Quasi's cheek, but he didn't give a damn. He felt an incredible fiery warmth spread throughout his limbs, his new barrier along with his thick linen undershirt and green woolen tunic serving as a barrier against the bitter Parisian winds of winter, and his mind felt a pleasant buzz that he knew had nothing to do with the wine he'd drank last night to quell his nerves.
Every good thing seemed possible, as long as he was around Belle. Likely.
And then Quasi knew he'd found what he had been looking for all his life, for someone to show him what it meant to be happy from the inside out, so his smile could be true, genuine, and not a façade, not the mask he wore for others.
"I did not mean to make fun," Belle reassured Quasi softly. "It is just that…" Her voice trailed off as she struggled to formulate in her mind exactly what it was that she wanted to say to her new husband. "That all throughout my…first marriage," she began to explain cautiously, feeling the heat of her own creep to her cheeks, "I knew nothing but abuse. Rape at Gaston Dupont's hand every single night. How, when it was over, I wished for someone to just kill me and end my torment, to plunge a dagger straight into my chest so that it would pierce my heart and I would not have to lay with that boorish fiend ever again," she further elaborated, growling her confession almost through gritted teeth as she clenched her eyes tightly shut and purposefully ignored Quasimodo's pained and horrified gaze as his brows knitted together in confusion. "But last night, I…did not think myself ever capable of loving another, not after being married to him. And…"
Her resolve faltered a little, as did her voice at hearing Quasi's audible gasp of surprise, though she forced herself to continue.
Her new husband needed to hear her words so that he would be reassured of her love and affection for him.
"But last night…you proved to me that it was nottrue, what I thought. I did not think that I would ever find someone who I wanted to be with, in…that way," she continued, her own blush deepening, though she made no move to relinquish her surprisingly tight, ironclad grip on Quasi's gloved clad hand. "But I am glad that I…got to experience it with you, my love," she whispered softly.
Belle felt her scowl deepen as still, the bell ringer would not meet her gaze, though she decided she was not having it and cupped his chin in her hand and tilted his head upwards, forcing her husband to meet her piercing, hardened stare.
"I am...glad of it too. I did not think it would ever...happen to me," he whispered. Quasi furrowed his brows in a frown as he noticed how pale Belle was looking. "Here," he murmured quietly after spending a few moments in silence, turning away from her for a moment, and with his back to her, Belle could not see what it was that he was doing or procuring for her, though she did not bother to stifle her smile as she recognized her favorite tea mug, chipped but still beautiful, clutched into his hands. "You will freeze if you stay out here much longer. Winters up in our tower will get cold. Alice brought it up for you less than five minutes ago. It's still hot. Drink before it gets cold. All of it."
Belle nodded mutely, smiling a little at the sternness of her new husband's command and brought the rim of the mug to her lips and drank. It tasted strangely of mint as it dissolved in her mouth as she swallowed heavily.
She waited to finish what was on her mind until she had finished her drink, setting down the mug delicately on the tin tray that Sister Alice had brought up.
"Thank you. But do not try to change the subject, Quasi. I was talking about my…feelings for you. I would not have married you if I did not care for and love you. It is the truth. I'm glad that we married last night and I do not regret marrying you. My…our…baby," she corrected, inwardly cursing herself for still thinking of the unborn child growing within her belly as Gaston's, "could not be in better hands with you as its father, and I could not ask for a better husband to share in life's joys with by my side."
Her words seemed enough, as slowly Quasi lifted his gaze to meet hers, and though the faint blush never left his cheeks, her words had seemed to comfort him and give him some semblance of peace, however fleeting.
"I'm glad too, Belle," he said quietly, shifting slightly and taking both of her hands in his, kissing her knuckles once again, and did not protest as Belle leaned in and kissed his surprisingly warm lips, allowing the heat he gave off to send that familiar spiral of warmth that she missed this morning all throughout her system.
She could only hope that the next time he came to bed with her again was not too far off in the distant future, though almost at the exact moment her brain had that thought, a blast of nausea made her skin crawl and shiver beneath her gown and cloak, and left a horrible ringing on her eardrums as she broke it off.
Quasimodo said something to her, but his voice was muffled, faint, and her brows twitched in confusion as she looked at her husband. He must have sensed the sudden shift in Belle's physical condition, as beads of sweat glistened on her brow.
Something's wrong with her, Quasi, the gargoyles seemed to silently communicate with her. Or was that one of the saints? He couldn't tell anymore.
She shouldn't be this pale, should she? She looks…ill. Sick! What if it's the baby?
Belle's face was set in a grim and shocked expression, her lips a pursed straight line that was set in neither a smile nor a frown, her already pale skin turning a shade paler, making her dark chocolate curls and a light smattering of freckles along her nose stand out violently.
An icy cold chill ran down her spine for reasons she could not explain as she felt her blood pressure positively spike, though whether it was from her morning sickness surrounding her pregnancy incident or the bitterly cold wind, she didn't know.
She was breathing heavily, as though forcing gasps of air to return to her.
"Quasi," Belle breathed, still sounding very much out of breath. "I…" Realizing how awkward this all was and trying hard to ignore how it felt as though someone had just doused her in ice water as a cold chill traveled down her spine. She felt dizzy. So very dizzy…
Belle swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat and blinked owlishly as Quasi, who had given her a rough, but firm shake of her shoulders to attempt to bring her back to reality.
"Belle? Are you feeling unwell? Are you sick?" Her husband was saying to her, his voice fraught with worry. His brows were knitted together in concern. No doubt he'd seen how pale she was looking.
"I—I'm sorry," she offered quietly, lowering her voice, and dipping her head, shooting out an arm and felt her fingers curl over Quasi's bicep for support. "I—I did not mean to frighten you. I just…I didn't…I—I'm fine," she managed to gasp out, biting the inside wall of her cheek. But she wasn't.
Ah, but God, she wasn't fine! She felt as though she were burning up.
To see such torment and anguish ridden on her husband's mostly handsome face, over her well-being as he wondered why she couldn't breathe, the likes of which she'd thought and hoped she would never see, least of all not from a man like Quasi, who was always so calm and composed. So dignified.
It unnerved her. It frightened her, to see Quasi like this. The ground beneath her feet as Belle helped her to her feet felt unsteady, and she stumbled and would have fallen had Quasi not been clutching her arm.
His ironclad grip was sure to leave yet another bruise, more that she did not want, and it hurt, sending a swell of pain spiraling through her arm, but she ignored it and blearily had to force her clouded mind to remind herself that his strength sometimes manifested whenever he was anxious or nervous and that he did not mean to hurt her like this.
Belle raised a shaking hand to her brow, feeling the sheen of sweat that had gathered as beads on her browbone, beginning their descent down her temple.
Something was definitely wrong with her. Why did she feel so hot?!
"Belle—" Belle could see Quasimodo's lips move but couldn't hear his voice.
All she heard was a horrible, fatigued ringing on her ears, and black spots danced in the front of her vision. She furrowed her brows into a frown and clenched her eyes tightly shut, hating the wracking waves of nausea that surged into her system.
She let out a shuddering breath as she heard Quasimodo's voice, laced with concern, speaking her name.
"Belle?" His voice was tight and taut with worry.
The young woman saw his lips move but could not hear his succulent voice. The spots dancing in front of her vision currently threatened to blind her, and her knees crumpled beneath her and gave out before Belle could think of stopping her fall, and she would have fallen if the bell ringer didn't already have her arm draped over his shoulder and was helping support her weight by walking to the stairwell at the edge of his loft.
Her breathing came in fast and hard. But Good Heaven! God! She couldn't get a good breath in. Why couldn't she breathe?!
The last thing she focused on and her fading vision before the darkness consumed her sight completely was Quasi's mostly handsome face, snapping his gloved fingers in front of her face, speaking in low tones. Though what he was saying to her remained a mystery.
Then she fell into a deep sleep.
"Belle? Love?" Quasi watched in dawning horror as his love's gray eyes flickered and then close. Her breathing, which had been coming in such rapid gasps, slowed to an almost barely noticeable pace, and her ashen face paled even lighter, rendering her almost pallid, giving her the look of the walking dead, a corpse. "I—I don't know what's happening to you. No, no, stay awake. I need you to…I need you to stay awake, Belle. Do not go to sleep."
His voice cracked as the words tumbled from his lips in a steady stream of rushed, panicked thoughts. Quasi wanted nothing more than to speak comforts to ease…whatever was happening to her.
Why did she pass out? Was she sick? Was there something wrong with her baby?
Yet nothing but panicked breaths were coming to him as he struggled to cover the distance between the bell tower loft and the downstairs.
Quasi was careful to be gentle as he supported most of her weight, though compared to times past in helping Darius to his quarters when he'd indulged in too much wine and had to sleep his hangovers off, Belle weighed practically next to nothing, but the last thing he wanted was to further exacerbate whatever was happening to the woman that he loved. More suffering.
And then, as though a light had ignited in his eyes, something dawned upon him. Something that he had nearly forgotten and damned himself for this.
He could help her better here. Father Darius had, in the last few months during Belle's claim to sanctuary here, had become quite close with the young woman, and carried an extensive knowledge of medicines and ailments from his prior life as a soldier, helping tend the wounded and dead during the aftermath on the fields of battle. Quasi pushed a few locks of her hair to feel her forehead.
She's burning up, Quasimodo, one of the saints spoke to him. She needs Darius's care, or she might not make it. Leave her here. Go find him.
With a slightly shaking hand, he brushed back her hair over her shoulders and gingerly lifted her in his arms and carried her back to their sleeping nook and laid her as gently as he could on the makeshift mattress and covered her violently shivering, sweating form with the goose feather blanket.
He leaned down slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "I'm going to go fetch you help. Darius will know what to do for you. He'll…he'll save you, Belle. I—I won't let anything happen to you, I promise," he croaked.
His words were as wind as he kissed her again and darted out of their sleeping nook before Belle could so much as part her lips and plead with her husband not to leave her, and soon she was left alone in silence. Her vision blurred and everything in their bedroom seemed to revolve in a dizzying way.
Her forehead was sheening with the throng of perspiration from a developing fever. A shadow danced along the far right wall of the room, and Belle swore she could have seen a figure moved, though it remained shrouded in darkness.
Belle furrowed her brows as she could have sworn she made out a pair of cobalt blue pinpricks, a tall shadow resting against the right wall.
Eyes that burned as bright and hot as midnight torches, though with none of the warmth.
At first, she thought perhaps Quasi had come back in something of record time for the man, but now as she looked into the deep pools of blue in this Stranger's eyes, Belle began to grow nervous, given that the only emotion she could read in this man's eyes was that of disdain and dislike, a hatred, even.
A hatred for her, which Belle felt she was most undeserving of. She had done nothing wrong to this he-stranger who had somehow managed to find his way up into Quasi's bell tower and into their bedroom.
Or…had she offended this man? Had she wronged him in some way?
What little she could see of the Stranger's face; she was not able to discern any part that was recognizable. Belle swallowed nervously, knitting her brows together in confusion and felt one arch in the intruder's general direction as she bluntly refused to avert her gaze from his eyes, nor he, it would seem, from hers.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" she demanded, hating hearing the crack and dip in her tone. There was something in the man's blue eyes, now darkened to an almost cerulean hue, that Belle could not quite identify.
Something that in her mind strangely resembled hatred, and worse…a frustrated sort of tense desire. For her.
Belle gulped, blinking rapidly as the man continued to shroud himself in shadow. She did not know how to react, and she could not seem to find her voice.
"To talk, little dove. Nothing more and nothing less than that, Lady Belle. Alone," emphasized the man's voice, and Belle sharply inhaled a breath of warm spring air that wafted in through the open double doors of the terrace as a shaft of light momentarily illuminated the spot where the Stranger stood, and Belle felt her blood turn to ice and her bare feet felt rooted to the floor.
"You," she growled through gritted teeth, baring her canines. "What are you doing here? If you're here to punish me for the refusal of your arm last night…well."
She tasted the acidic bitter bile rising from the depths of her stomach, creeping its way up through her throat and settling on her tongue.
She thought she might vomit as horrible visions of whatever fate the Prince had planned for her dance in the forefront of her mind, refusing to part from her conscience, but she fought back the urge to be sick and swallowed past the swelling throat lump.
"Get out of our bedroom, Your Highness," Belle snarled, hearing her voice shake slightly as the strength was slowly sapped from her body as well as her voice as the fever consumed. "You seem lost. Perhaps I can help you find your way. The door is right there, show yourself out and I will not tell my husband that you were here," she snapped, jerking her head towards the front entrance, "were I you, I would leave while you still can, Highness. You want me to beg? I won't. But I will say that I…I am sorry if I…offended you. What do I have to do to prove it to you so that you will leave me alone…" Belle croaked hoarsely.
But her voice trailed off as the handsome blond-haired Prince stepped from off the wall and into the dim light of their sleeping nook, the only source of light emanating from a single lit candle on a nearby small wooden table that Quasi had lit after bringing her here. His lips curled upward into a twisted sneer.
"Die." It was all he answered, with arms folded across his burly chest.
"Oh, very clever, Prince. Eat any good books lately?" she snarled, baring her teeth. She felt a tremor of fear jolt down her spine as he neared her form.
For a moment, the Prince said nothing. And then he spoke. "What do you think of me, Belle?" Prince Adam asked, his cobalt orbs glowering at her, merely pinpricks in the dim light of her and Quasi's bedroom.
Belle shivered at his query, not wishing to answer the nobleman truthfully, and yet, despite her intentions to contain her honesty, she could not.
"A Beast, my Prince. A monster. Cruel." Belle drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she saw the Prince momentarily frozen to his spot, unmoving, and after which, he eased his hands out of his black riding gloves.
"Cruel." He repeated languidly. "Then perhaps, my little dove," the Prince spoke in a low graveling voice as he rolled his neck to crack it. "I could be crueler to you still, my princess."
Belle felt her insides curdle like sour milk as her mind processed the Prince's words and she felt her lips part open slightly to scream for help. For Quasi, Father Darius, Alice, any one of them to immediately come and save her.
No. Please. No… She felt the Prince's strong-arm circle almost possessively around her small waist and she felt herself being lifted off the mattress, her head resting against his chest. Belle, in her fevered state of mind, could not recall Prince Adam moving to stand from the edge of the wall towards her, and she abhorred the silence with which the nobleman moved. A snake in the night.
"G—get off of me. Let me go…. ngh, no, don't. Please. Don't." Belle weakly protested and shoved him backward in an attempt to get the man to relinquish his grip on her waist. She shoved his burly chest, she was sure, he was strong and stubborn, she was sure, and the Prince had not budged from his stance.
But her efforts were all for naught as Prince Adam's grip continued to tighten and she felt herself being jostled in his arms and carried down the stairs.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and stood on end. Her tongue felt thick and when she tried to plead with France's Prince to let her go, it was like there was a gag on her mouth and her tongue refused her words' release.
"Shush." Belle felt his hot, earing breath on her earlobe as he lifted her slightly in his arms to distribute her weight better evenly.
She did not understand.
"Have I…poisoned," Belle whispered weakly, recollecting the tea she'd drank only but ten minutes ago, and almost not immediately after, she started feeling ill.
She gave another feeble push against the man's chest, but the Prince was not having it as one hand closed around the back of her head and he pressed the side of her face into his left shoulder, and he was speaking in low murmurs.
It sounded like the other voice belonged to that of Father Darius or perhaps the Archdeacon, but in her groggy stupor, she could not be certain.
How he remained calm over this, it made Belle feel even sicker, and as she weakly opened her eyes, she could see the Archdeacon and her husband nodding. And if she strained her eardrums to listen, she could faintly make out some of what the Prince was saying.
"…needs better care. She's been poisoned. Your nuns and maester cannot care for her here. I will take her, Your Grace. I have some of the best healers and Maesters that Paris could ever ask for, sir. Her…husband may come too if he wishes, though he is not sitting in my carriage. He will walk behind Monsieur Lumiere and one of my personal guards, sir."
Oh, she knew it. Poison, poison, the Prince had poisoned her. The tea. That minty taste. But Alice, oh, sweet Alice could not have done this to her. Perhaps the Prince had found a way to slip poison into her tea. Belle crinkled her nose as she felt an awful hallowing on the bridge of her nose and a thick, sticky liquid that spilled at a snail's pace out of her right nostril.
She lacked the strength to reach up a hand and wipe it off with the sleeve of her new gone, but she need not see it to know that she was suffering from a vicious nosebleed.
Damn you. Curse you to the seven hells, Prince. Beast.
Belle was sure to die. The Prince had somehow found a way to enact revenge on her rejections, her spurning's of his 'feelings' towards her, and thought it sufficient to murder her. Prince Adam was moving her, rooting her away from her new home, her husband. Her safe sanctuary.
The church would not be able to protect her the moment she was forcefully removed from inside these precious stone walls. No.
He was killing her. Murdering her. She was dying. I—I'm dying… When it occurred to Belle that she was slowly passing out of this physical realm and into the next, it almost sent her mind insane and she felt tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She wished for Quasi to hold her, to tell her it was all right.
Belle felt a strong hand come down into a fist on the right side of her face. Pain erupted from the point of impact. Her eyesight blurred, and her only thoughts were of Quasi. What this damned vicious bastard of a Prince would do to her husband. And to you, if you survive. To your baby, her mind offered.
Everything became fuzzy, and the Prince and Archdeacon's voices intermingled with the sweet, succulent sound of her husband's soft tenor-like voice laced to the brim with worry sounded muffled and distorted to poor Belle.
And then Belle saw nothing at all and heard nothing at all, except for a strange, horrible unceasing ringing in her eardrums. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick, horrible static, a fuzziness.
Throughout the inky space of blackness, she felt her mind diving for that darkness, and the temporary sanctuary of sweet, sweet relief where she felt no nausea or pain. Her heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside fading whimpers, pleas for help.
Belle could have sworn she called Quasi's name a few times before she felt the strength in her head leave her completely as it lolled back against the crook of the Prince's elbow, and a cold gush of winter air engulfed her completely, and she felt a stab of terror prick at her heart.
She was outside. Not safe anymore. Notre Dame and her caretakers could no longer protect her.
Belle blinked, feebly trying to fight against the waves of darkness. Belle weakly raised a hand and shoved the vicious Prince again, hard, though it did her little good. Her breathing became laced with panic and coming to her in short spurts as her hazy vision caught the sight of a large black carriage.
No. Please, no. Not this… Belle struggled one last time to plead with Paris's Prince, her tongue still feeling as though it were gagged, thick, and something slimy coated the back of her throat, and when she attempted to plead with Prince Adam to say something—anything—to plead with the Prince if that was what the bastard wanted, to let her and her husband go, she was not able, and she cursed herself for this failure.
"Hush." The Prince's voice was flat and emotionless.
Belle shivered and would have screamed, but she felt something cold and hard that felt like the hilt of a sword strike at the back of her skull, and the feeling in her body slowly drained away until all was black.
I go now… A lone tear slipped from Belle's eye, peaceful and eerily somber. She had humiliated the Prince last night for refusing his arm, and this was the price she was forced to pay for her insubordination, her consequence.
She was almost…smiling.
The last thing she saw before she faded completely was the sweet vision of her husband's concerned face looking at her.
And Belle swore she saw Quasi smile.