Chapter 40
As Belle approached the double doors which led into the West Wing, she noticed Augustin was holding them open for her, wearing a rather odd expression on his face.
"What is it?" she uttered cautiously as she came closer towards him.
"The Prince has gone through quite an operation," said the architect, but his kind eyes still looked upon Belle in a peculiar fashion. "He is therefore, not quite himself. There was more than a little of whiskey involved and he passed out half way through while the physician worked. Quite frankly mademoiselle, he is a bit incoherent, but given his rather arrogant nature, I fear ignoring his demands would lead to unnecessary injury toward himself. I thought I should warn you."
"I see," said Belle, for she did not know quite what else to say. "I will see if I can get him to calm down and hopefully get the rest he needs. After all, all of this was my fault in the first place."
"I cannot allow you to make such an unfair conclusion," replied Augustin immediately after letting her through the doors and making their way down the dark hallway toward the Prince's quarters.
"Gaston's intentions toward me were clear," said Belle flatly, "and I have long thought over this, but I am convinced he is wrapped up somehow in the blaze which took over the East Wing. Ever since I have come here, the Prince's misfortunes have escalated, and I can only think it has something to do with Gaston, and therefore me."
"My, my, you really are as bright as a button, aren't you?" exclaimed Augustin while giving Belle a wry grin. "Adam managed to tell me Gaston confessed all during their confrontation. It turns out the Marquis of Bourbon was in league with the Captain and they planned the fire, the Marquis executing it."
"What?" gasped Belle, her feet nearly stopping but Augustin only gave her a passing glance before continuing to walk at a leisurely pace.
"But you are only partially right," he continued, his tone turning serious. "There are other reasons behind these turn of events, one which I'm afraid I cannot reveal to you. You shall know it in due course, but right now is not the time. The second however, is easy to answer."
"And what is that?" asked Belle, curious, as they finally reached the edge of the West Wing.
"Both the Marquis and Gaston suffered by the hands of the late Duke," replied Augustin as he stopped in front of the door and turned towards Belle. "This you know already, but I do not think you realize the severity of it. The Duke stole not only from the pockets of the poor but from his own acquaintances too. The Marquis has very little inheritance due to the amount of lending involved between the two families, gambling is the culprit, and Gaston had to turn to the army with very little alternatives for similar reasons. The Prince, as you saw him when you first came here, did very little to make up for the destruction his father caused, in fact followed his example, but now with the Duke dead, vengeance has been allowed to rear its ugly head. You are as yet still unfamiliar with the world of the aristocracy mademoiselle, and people rarely forget when they have been wronged or brought low. And although everyone in this castle and indeed county would agree good changes have been brought about, it does not alter the fact that the Duke has made some grave mistakes in the past and has yet to fully confront the consequences."
"Nevertheless, he need not die because of them," said Belle quietly, but she felt something warmth spreading about her chest, which she quickly realized to be anger. "Where is Gaston and the Marquis right now?"
"I have been informed they are incarcerated for now in a nearby town. Once the Duke is well enough again, he will decide what to do with them."
Belle nodded before attempting to open the door, but Augustin stopped her, just one last time.
"The most important thing to know Belle," he said, his voice deep but full of patience, "is that this is not your fault. There are greater elements at play here, but none of those things matter because the Prince's only concern is your safety and happiness."
Belle felt frustration bubble within herself. She knew all this, knew he cared, she realized now, almost cared too much, pushing away from her because he thought it best, a phantom ghost, invisible but present, trying to protect her always without getting to close. She thought it had been fear before, fear of her, but now she was beginning to realize why the Prince had lived for so long in paranoia, afraid always, alone.
Always alone.
Belle wanted to feel the anger she had felt mere days ago, when she thought of the Prince's arrogance, how he seemed to think he understood what she wanted, what was her happiness and having the audaciousness to keep her safe by putting her in a glass case, like a delicate rose. That had been when she had been thinking only of her own feelings, but now Belle found she could not anymore. She understood his feeling, painfully so, and moreover realized he was right. His complicated, murky world was much more than she could possibly comprehend and by being near each other, it only brought conflict and destruction.
"I know," she said without looking at Augustin, unable to mask the melancholy in her voice. "That is why I must say goodbye to him, I understand now."
Belle did not wait to hear Augustin's reply, she simply led herself through the door, hearing it shut behind her with a soft thud before approaching the room, the bed where the Prince now lay, partially concealed by the scarlet canopy, the doctor in the process of opening the windows.
"Ah mademoiselle, yes, here you are, I asked Monsieur Mansart to bring you-"
"BELLE!"
The young girl and physician both jumped together simultaneously as they heard the loud booming sound of a voice coming out from behind the thick fabric of the canopy.
"My dear, try to see if you can calm him down, he needs to rest-"
"BELLE!"
"Yes, I'm here!" hollered Belle, giving the physician a quick look of apology before approaching the bed and opening the curtain of the canopy.
The source of commotion was a young man who had been stripped nearly bare to his under things, his dull hair dangling in front of his face, making him indistinguishable from any drunk man one would typically see in the early hours of the morning in front of a tavern. If it weren't for the obvious setting, Belle guessed any man or woman on the street would laugh if she bought this man to them and suggested he was the Duke of their county.
"Argh!" the Prince yelled, turning away immediately. "It's too bright, stop it, close the damn curtains!"
"It's practically dark, how could it possibly be bright!" exclaimed Belle, her words shocking the doctor who paused for a moment as he was clearing the desk. She knew she ought to be kind and patient with him, after all, he had just been shot, but her frustrations got the better of her.
"The candles!" the Prince continued to bellow, his neckline covered in sweat. "The damn candles!"
The Duke immediately lifted his left arm to cover his face. The covers had been pulled down, revealing the loose shirt he wore and the oddly coloured poultice which covered his right shoulder and arm. His face was tired and haggard but there was a strangely animated nature to his movements and it became clear to Belle that the whiskey Augustine had mentioned before had obviously been given a bit too generously.
"We can't have the room in complete darkness," said Belle flatly as the physician came towards them hesitantly.
"Mademoiselle, if you could keep him occupied, I will go down now for some supper and come back to supervise him later. Try to have some conversation, it will do him good I think. Once he calms down, he'll be able to sleep."
"Of course," said Belle quickly, realizing only now just how exhausted the poor man looked. "Take as long as you need!"
The Doctor bowed gratefully and quickly fled the scene while the young Duke continued to complain, his words half jumbled and incoherent.
"Okay, fine, I will close them but I will bring at least one candle," said Belle, taking the lone candelabra off the side table and drawing the curtains shut, leaning gingerly against the side of the bed, careful not to come into contact with the invalid.
"Where weere you, I called for yew!" said the Prince again, his voice not its usual silky-smooth timbre but rather something uncontrolled and skittish.
"The doctor needed the space to operate on you properly," said Belle, as calmly and methodically as she could, careful not to make any sudden movements. The Prince continued to stare at her with a sulky look on his face, his chin nearly resting on his shoulder.
"I needed you," he mumbled, his blue eyes not wavering, though not with their usual alertness or guardedness. Rather he seemed to be looking at her sincerely, his expression more sad than anything else. For Belle, who by now had thought she'd seen all there was to see concerning the Prince and knew quite confidently how to deal with him, found herself in new, unfounded territory.
"Well, I'm here now," she said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, though she heard to strain in her voice. She avoided looking at the man lying in front of her.
"Belle, you're not angry, are you? You're not mad at me?"
The words surprised Belle, but mostly it was the Prince's youthful, almost child-like voice which led her to nearly knock over the candelabra she'd placed carefully on her lap.
"What?" she stammered, looking away in embarrassment, finding herself losing grip of a rather bizarre situation. Who knew one person could create such different impressions. Where on earth had that terrifying phantom in the ballroom run off to?
"You sound angry," said the Prince, sitting up and grimacing through the process. His movements were so quick, Belle had no time to stop him. "You sound annoyed, like I've done something naughty."
His last words were said almost in jest it seemed, and the Duke wore an uncharacteristically boyish smile as he looked up at Belle.
"You should not have sent me away," she stammered, finding herself at a loss as to how to respond. "I could have dealt with Gaston."
"To hell you could've!" scoffed the Prince, leaning forwards but then quickly flopping backwards as he grimaced in pain. Belle felt sudden guilt and stood up to help the Duke, but he waved his elegantly smooth hand in refusal.
"Don't be stewpid woman," he uttered as he adjusted his golden head against the fine linen pillow. "He was armed, he had a gun!"
"He wouldn't have hurt me," said Belle swiftly, leaving the Prince to stare at her, the hazy mist of drink lifting momentarily.
"Aaaah yes, of course, I forgot who you are Belle," he said slowly, his voice without a hint of sarcasm. "The beauty impossible to hate. Everybody loves you."
"That is not true-"
"Yesss it is," slurred the Prince as he gave the flustered Belle another wry smile. "You are impossible to hate. Whilst I am impossible to love."
"That is nonsense and you know it," replied Belle curtly, unable to stop a hint of stern-like edginess from entering her voice.
"Belle," sighed the Prince, who flopped his head back again, his eyes soft and languid. "Belle, Belle, ringy Belle. My mother would have liked you, you're both so prickly."
"What?" stammered Belle again, becoming fearful of where the conversation was heading. The Duke was unpredictable anyway but now it seems at any moment he could turn into a ball of thunderous fire or a five-year-old school boy and either was equally a problem.
"Like a hedgehog!" exclaimed the Prince, lifting his hands and dropping them again on to the duvet. "You're Belle, the beautiful prickly, stubborn little hedgehog. And I'm the fox, who constantly pricks his poor little paws on you."
"What are you saying," muttered Belle as she stood up and pulled the drapes open again, sensing the Prince's good mood might mean he'd let her bring in some more light.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's all my fault," said the young Duke, making Belle halt her movements, just as she put the candelabra on the side table. "You just wanted to get on with life and stuff your cute little nose in the ground and hunt for worms. I had to come along and ruin everything."
"You're rambling now," replied Belle, beginning to half enjoy this side of the Prince. She'd never had imagined he'd ever associated himself with woodland animals, or that he was capable of actually being sort of….
Belle looked up to the Prince staring at her with a shocked expression on his face, like a child whose chocolate had been snatched away from him. His blue eyes sparkled with earnestness and for an odd moment, it almost looked….
Sweet. That was the word Belle had been searching for. Not in a million years was that a word she thought she'd ever use to describe the man before her.
"Hey!" he yelled, making Belle look toward the West Wing doors in fear someone would come in. "Your Highness! Since when have you stopped calling me Your Highness!"
Belle smiled. She couldn't help it.
"A while ago," she said warmly before sitting down by his bed again.
"I'm a Duke, you know!" he said, again in admonishment but Belle could not take the Prince seriously, not when he looked this way, his hair out of place, mouth clearly pulled down in displeasure but without a hint of coldness about him.
"Yes, you are," said Belle, lifting the corners of the duvet to pull it up above the Prince's chest, feeling oddly calm despite everything.
"You might as well just start calling me by my name," mumbled the Prince as he watched Belle fix his bed. "Adam."
"Oh no, I couldn't-"
"Go on, say it, Adam!"
"Sir I-"
"ADAM!"
Belle stared in indignation as the Prince looked up at her face with unmasked expectation. Even drunk and only half lucid, he remarkably still managed to remain stubborn.
Taking a few prepared breaths, Belle looked down towards the bed sheets, finding herself unwittingly filling up with embarrassment, despite being who was sober and therefore theoretically the one who ought to be in control.
"Adam," she found herself saying and it was odd, like the name belonged to someone else. And perhaps it would have been a more special moment than that, but then saw the Prince lift his head suddenly.
He had been nodding off.
If he weren't drunk, Belle would have let her anger get the better of her but there was no time because he seemed to have moved on to a more compelling topic.
"But who cares about all that," rambled the Prince, his eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. "I don't, I never did. You know, if I had been born as someone else, or if I could, even now, I could work and plough like any man."
"You'd want to be a farmer?" said Belle slowly, staring at the Duke quizzically, who seemed to be considering the matter seriously.
"Yeah, why not?" he said plainly, looking at her as if she were the one who had said something odd.
Belle looked away and tried, for his sake, to picture it but after a moment, she turned with raised eyebrows and an expression of clear doubt on her face.
"I think you'd be a terrible farmer," said Belle bluntly after a brief silence, giving her unbiased verdict but the Prince nevertheless looked thoroughly rejected. "You have no idea what hard labour is like."
"Why?" he expressed, sitting up slightly. "You think I can't do it?"
It was the irresistibly melancholy, remorseful sound of his voice which did it for Belle, the pitiful look in his eyes as he tried to search for recognition in his, his whole face lit up with youthful energy and mild panic.
Oh, never mind, thought Belle as she stared at him. He's not going to remember any of this come the morning anyway.
"Oh, no," sighed Belle softly, coming to sit a bit closer. "It would be waste… to damage those beautiful hands of yours."
The Prince immediately looked down at his hands and then swivelled his head to then stare at Belles.
"Yours, they're all rough," he said, his voice suddenly low and deep again, and before Belle who do anything, he reached out and grabbed one of hers and turned it over with his own warm hands, much to her chagrin.
Belle said nothing, for there was really nothing to say and besides, she couldn't say anything, not when he was, intentionally or unintentionally, either way, caressing her hands, letting his fingers trace her own, rough against smooth.
"Still pretty," he said as he continued to inspect them with curiosity but clearly with no intentions whatsoever as the Prince remained naively unaware of the expression on Belle's face.
"Belle," he uttered but no slowing his movements in anyway, no looking up at her.
"Yes?"
"Why do you put up with me?" he said, and for once, he sounded earnest and a little more sombre, like his usual self. "You could go home. Forget me. I thought you didn't want to see me again."
"I didn't," said Belle, expressionless as she continued to watch him and their entangled hands.
"I'll be ok, you know," said the Prince, his voice warm and relaxed. "I know you worry, you worry about everyone but yourself."
"What?" whispered Belle, pulling back slightly. He must have noticed because he finally looked up, his movements stilling.
"You should take care of yourself," he said, his words echoing that which he had told her just weeks before. "Don't worry about me. Take your father and go live a good life."
"Now you sound like you're on your deathbed," said Belle, trying to regain the upper hand, maybe because she saw the Prince was starting to lose consciousness again, a sleepy expression taking over the alertness which had only been there moments before.
The Prince smiled simply toward Belle before lying down deeper into the mattress and pillow, his eyes half-shutting.
"Maybe I am in a way…" he said, his voice deep and sly but becoming calmer.
"What do you mean?" uttered Belle, feeling safer as she leaned in closer.
"My heart. I've only got the one so. And it's not mine anymore. So that's it. That's it for life. Never again."
"What are you saying," said Belle, shaking her head, clearly amused and bemused as she prepared to turn away.
"Just let me have this…." came the Prince's voice again, but for the first time, truly pleading, so much so it pulled Belle's right back to see him with a frown on his face, even as his eyes were closed. "It's enough…"
"What's enough?" asked Belle, coming to sit near the Duke again, his voice so faint she had to bring her face closer to his.
"For you to have my heart."
Belle froze.
After a moment, she pulled back to see the Prince's face but he had fallen fast asleep, his face serene.
He had spoken the words so tenderly but like they were old, worn-out pages from a well-loved book, so matter of fact, that Belle believed finally, truly, his feelings were in earnest and that what everybody had been trying to convince her was true.
She did have his heart.
"But you have mine," said Belle quietly into the dark, before reaching forward and placing her palm against the Prince's cheek, taking his peaceful expression, a rare look she'd never seen on his face before. She hoped one day she could help him find peace.
Leaning down, Belle kissed the Prince silently on the mouth, a secret moment hidden away from the world, an acknowledgement of a bond. All thought of leaving the castle were dashed from her mind, but Belle did not know yet there were still other forces who wished tear them apart.
