Author's note: A small de-tour as the past is catching up with the Prince… As for Belle and the Prince's development, it will be coming so please be patient! Love to you all as always, thanks for sticking with the story. Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 41

The next few days were, to put it lightly, trying for everyone. The household were confident the Prince would fight through the inevitable fever which proceeded quickly the next morning after his drunk spiel with Belle, but nevertheless, both Augustin and the young mademoiselle stayed close by, knowing that the Prince was not out of danger yet. There had been many a stronger person who had not survived a fever in the past and both of them understood that until it broke, they could not be certain of anything.

During the worst of it, through rare moments of consciousness, the cursing words coming out of the Duke's mouth did not fail to echo and stir those living within the castle walls. On one such occasion, Augustin nearly pulled Belle away from the West Wing, for such language was hardly acceptable in the presence of a young lady, but the steadfast woman swiftly, yet politely, explained to the architect that she had heard far worse coming from drunks in the local tavern during her time in Villeneuve. Nevertheless, this alarmed both Maurice and Mrs Potts to the extent that they both offered to tend to the Prince instead. It soon became apparent however, that no one but Belle could successfully subdue the young Duke and so, until he was well again, well, no one else would do.

When on the second day D'Arque finally returned to the castle and explained the situation concerning both the Marquis and Gaston, it was quickly agreed upon by the heads of household that there was very little they could do until the master's health recovered. The soldier and Bourbon remained incarcerated in the village nearby.

As to the other matter, concerning Belle and Maurice, well, both father and daughter had had hardly any time to speak to one another, understandably so. Yet D'Arque was clearly eager to bring up the subject as quickly as possible.

"I appreciate your concern sir," Belle had simply said, as the debt collector had waited outside the West Wing, waiting for her to appear. "But until the Prince is out of danger, my hands are tied. You must understand that the matter concerning my father must wait."

"Mademoiselle, this concerns you as well. Perhaps even more so than it does Maurice. It cannot be delayed much longer. Your future is at stake."

The foreboding words did not fail to leave Belle feeling apprehensive, but matters did not have to wait much longer, for it was on the third morning, with a collective sigh of relief that could be felt throughout the premises, that the exhausted physician rose from the master's bed and calmly pronounced that the fever had finally passed. Nevertheless, the Prince still remained abed, mostly asleep, though Belle continued to read him passages from a thousand and one nights, which seemed to soothe his tempestuous mind.

By the fourth day, he surprised the household waking early in the morning, and upon seeing Belle sleeping by his side, had immediately instructed the staff to take her a bed. He'd known she had stayed by his side, but through his fever he had failed to realize she had not taken proper rest away from him. It was with some relief that he heard at least the father had been given proper accommodation, and the young Duke set out swiftly to apologize, not for the first time, for putting strain upon Belle.

Of course, Maurice himself had been far from at ease and without matters to attend to. When D'Arque had appeared on the second day, words had been passed, however both agreed to say no more until Belle was present.

When the Duke demanded to know the whereabouts of his assailant and conspirators, the household wasted no time in asking D'Arque to bring both Gaston and the Marquis immediately to the castle.

Cogsworth and Lumiere were not in favour of the Duke facing the two men so soon after recovering from a gunshot wound, a wound that it goes without saying, was inflicted by the very same men he was willing to confront. But the Prince was adamant, and they knew not to refuse him anything, not when he addressed them with a certain expression on his face. The young master may have evolved in many ways since the last summer, but he still retained that unflinching cold stare which never failed to remind the servants of the late Duke.

Still, it was hard for anyone to read anything off the Prince's face as the first of two men were brought in by the marshalcy, who were separate from the castle guards. Word had spread by now of the incident, and judging by the handling of the prisoner, it was clear which of the two men was being brought forward first.

They were not in the West Wing but the ballroom, the Duke sitting up by the glass gallery, the open balcony behind him. It was a sunny day and actually would be uncomfortable to face the Prince's direction due to the blinding light streaming through the windows, but Gaston did not squint as he was brought forward, his feet dragging against the marble floor as the guards approached. His hands were chained, and judging by his dishevelled state, he had not been treated kindly.

He gave a loud grunt as the guards dropped him onto the floor and took a step back, their blue coats distinguishing them from everyone else. They did not speak a word however, as it was D'Arque who bowed toward the Duke.

"I have brought the soldier sir," said D'Arque. "He is to be put on trial within the coming weeks."

"What punishment is he to receive?" asked the Prince swiftly, leaning his elbow against the arm of his chair, barely a moment after the debt collector had finishing speaking.

"The trial has not yet begun sir," stammered D'Arque. "However as you are a witness, the jury has asked-"

"What punishment is he to receive?"

The Duke's words were slow and with a purpose. By now anyone would know he didn't suffer fools gladly.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Gaston, his voice sardonic, almost taunting. So far, he had said nothing, still kneeling down and staring at the floor.

"Monsieur D'Arque?" questioned the Prince, ignoring the soldier, leaving the debt collector to awkwardly reply it was more than likely to be a death sentence.

"Revoke it," replied the Duke simply with a wave of his hand. "Tell them to revoke it."

The air itself must have been sucked out of the ballroom, for no one spoke, no one breathed, no one did anything except to collectively stare at the Duke in astonishment.

"But sir-" stammered D'Arque but he was immediately cut off by the lifting of the Prince's hand.

"I said revoke it," said Adam flatly, simply repeating his words, sounding impatient. "If that is all, then send him back to-"

"What are you playing at?!"

Gaston's words cut through the conversation like a paper cut, the Prince so far having ignored him entirely.

"Rectifying the situation," said Adam bloodlessly, his eyes flat. "It is only fair."

The soldier looked affronted, his black eyes narrowing and his mouth curling into a sneer as he stared up at the Duke in his high chair.

"You think you can undo the past?" said Gaston hoarsely. "You can't, and I won't be treated with pity! I shot you! The crime was clear, there were even witnesses from Villeneuve, even if you refuse to testify-"

"We both know what, or rather, who this is actually about Gaston," replied Adam quietly, not reacting the slightest to the soldier's furious glare. "Now, I agree I didn't want to have to deal with my father's mistakes but I am taking over his title, his responsibilities and this land. That comes with ties. It's only right I deal with the past and rectify what I can."

"Rectify?" hollered Gaston, staggering to feet, alarming the guards beside him, who tried to subdue him but failed, managing only to hold him in place. "You took everything from my family, for the sake of a title and this abysmal pile of rocks and mortar!"

"You're right, my father did take advantage of the delicate balance your family was in," replied Adam, sitting up slightly. "But that and this are different. It is because I understand why you did what you did, that I am going to make sure you don't end up with a noose around your neck."

"The last thing I want is to be in debt to the Duke of Chartres like my father before me," said Gaston, his voice thick with hatred. "I would sooner die."

"I don't think death is a sensible option, even for you," said Adam, his voice growing weary as he looked away from Gaston.

"Sensible?" scoffed the soldier, incredibly, a laugh almost escaping from his mouth as he shook his head in disbelief. "Cold-hearted, emotionless, the whole pack of you. Yes, I see that cold gaze, lacking empathy, just like your father. You will make a suitable Duke I am sure, stuck in this empty, austere castle."

The Prince shifted only slightly, but it was enough for Gaston to smile in response. He might not have seen Adam in many years, but he knew him well enough to know when he had hit a nerve.

"It's no wonder she left in the end," continued the soldier smoothly, noticing a change in the tide of the conversation. "A warm, kind creature like that. She would suffocate here wouldn't she, just like your mother."

The Duke could not help but react to Gaston's incendiary words, glaring towards his former friend, who now looked upon him with satisfaction while the everyone else in the room held their breath for the second time, fearing the Prince's response.

"It is a good thing then, that your anger got the better of you, just as my lack of feeling, as you call it, got the better of me," replied the Prince, standing up swiftly and looking down at Gaston with certainty in his voice, aware that all eyes were on him.

"You will never see her ever again," replied Adam calmly. "Of that, I can be sure, and I could not ask for anything more satisfying. But that does not mean your actions warrant your death. You will serve your time and never again cause harm to anyone in this castle."

"You speak with such assurance," said Gaston, his eyes livid as the guards gripped hold of his arms tighter and lifted him up to face the Duke directly. "You made it clear neither of us would have her, but there are other wolves out there. You won't be able to protect her for long, besides, she isn't even yours to protect! She won't last a minute in your world!"

"Goodbye Gaston," said Adam quietly before signalling the guards to take him away.

"Head my words, Your Highness!" yelled the soldier as he was pulled away. "She will wilt and wither away like a rose in winter! And what will you do then, I wonder!"

Gaston's humourless laugh echoed across the ballroom and the Prince could not help but shake off a sudden chill that overcame his body. A moment of melancholy then rained upon him, a sense of failure in not being able to do better, a parting of ways with the past, which did not fail in bringing about a strange sense of sadness within himself.

A parting of ways with what he once was...

Yet when Augustin entered the room and announced he would bring in the Marquis, Adam was reminded starkly that he wasn't alone. He silently watched the architect give him a reassuring nod, a warmth to his green eyes and a smile almost appearing as he stepped out of the ballroom and then came back in, Bourbon walking behind him.

He was a Marquis and a part of the French Court after all. Unless the Duke ordered it as head of the county, he couldn't be sentenced, not officially at least. No guards were needed as the pompous aristocrat strolled into the room, however he did still look dishevelled, just like the soldier had been.

"I must say, I was hoping the next time I graced myself into this ballroom, it would be to dance," said Bourbon, still holding himself high as he approached Adam.

"Then you shouldn't have planned to have it burnt down," said the Duke, his voice quiet but not without a certain edge to it.

"I apologize," said the Marquis, giving a low bow, before turning to look at the present company around him.

"Is there no way we could conduct this all in private?" he continued, staring in disapproval at D'Arque, Augustin, Lumiere and Cogsworth.

"You will answer me honestly and nothing more," said Adam.

For whatever reason, the Prince was more disturbed by the Marquis than Gaston. There was a certain oiliness to him, and he realized that Bourbon, unlike the soldier, already knew what he was going to do.

"And let me go, I suppose," said the Marquis, finishing the Duke's sentence. "Yes, very well, ask away."

"I didn't say that," the Duke couldn't help but saying.

"Oh, but you will," said the Marquis, nodding his head with a forlorn expression on his face, obviously in order to patronize the Prince. "You may be higher in rank but I am far more popular. I did my work, running the social circles. Unlike you I have connections and I'm sure many in Versailles would turn in disapproval to see you locking me up and alleging that I did something when there were no witnesses to the event-"

"Why did you do it?" said Adam sharply, but his voice turning gruff. "I know the obvious one but surely there were easier ways to get money. Gaston mentioned something about a will."

"So, you are going to casually skip over how your family's gambling problem led to the destitution of my own?" replied the Marquis, raising his eyebrows. "Or did you forget all that while you were traipsing the fields with that peasant wench?"

For the second time that hour, Adam forced himself to swallow his enraged words, when what he wanted to do more than anything was to yell at the Marquis to take back every words and wring his neck till his beady little eyes popped. He saw it in his mind's eye and knew how easy it would be.

Instead, he took a deep breath before opening his eyes and looking down at the Marquis with a steady gaze.

"There is no will," said the Prince coldly. "Your efforts were fruitless."

"Concerning that?" said the Marquis, his voice languid. "Oh yes, on that point I heartily agree. I found nothing and believe me, I looked."

"Why did you even think there was one?"

"I'd heard rumours about some hidden inheritance from Versailles, separate from your Dukedom."

"This is the first I have heard of it," said the Duke, nonplussed. "Baseless rumours."

"Clearly, it appears that way," said the Marquis, for the first time sounding bitter as he roughly pulled something out of his side pocket. "All I found was this piece of rubbish."

A folded and insignificant looking piece of paper was flung at the Prince's feet, the envelope slightly open, the seal broken. It was clearly embossed with the Chartres coat of arms. The Prince had yet to use it. As far as he was concerned, right now he was still looking at his father's sigil.

"You opened it," muttered Adam as Lumiere hurriedly moved forwards and picked it up, handing it swiftly to the Duke to inspect.

"Well of course I did!" said the Marquis with a shake of his head. "But not to worry, all I found in there was jargon!"

The Duke's eyes shifted away from the piece of parchment Lumiere had passed to him and towards the Marquis, who looked almost worried.

He paused a moment.

"Why give this to me?" whispered Adam, his eyes narrowing. "You could have kept this to yourself."

"It was backup," muttered Marquis as he shifted his feet, his back stiffening. "In case things didn't work out."

"Weren't you just bragging a second ago that I wouldn't be able to lift a finger against you?" said Adam flatly, his eyebrows raised as he watched the once proud Marquis squirming before him.

"You are a Duke," said the Marquis with some reluctance, gritting his teeth. "I wasn't sure what you would do. I anticipated Gaston to blab his mouth at some point."

"So why did you think this would help?" said Adam as he lifted the parchment up for all to see.

"I thought it might bring some form of clarification for you," replied the Marquis, his voice full of resentment. "It is worthless to me, worthless to anyone, but everyone knows your opinion of the late Duke…"

The Prince opened his mouth to respond but then he seemed to think better of it, but carefully put the parchment into his inner pocket before returning his attentions back to the Marquis.

"My father never gave any compensation to your family for the debts," said Adam, his voice clear. "I will arrange things for you so this matter is put to bed. Cogsworth, you know what to do."

"Of-of course master!" stammered Cogsworth as both he and Lumiere looked toward the Duke wide-eyed.

"However, I ask only one thing in return," said the Duke, his voice hardening as the Marquis attempted to turn and walk away.

"You will promise to never return to this county or cause disruption of any kind to its residents."

"Oh," scoffed the Marquis, his mouth turning once more into a sly smile as he turned again to walk. "That is easy enough."

"And Belle."

The Marquis stopped walking, his back still facing the Duke.

"You will leave her alone. You will never speak to her. Ever."

Silence fell across the room but it was the Marquis who reacted first, letting a disappointed sigh as he turned to face Adam again.

"My dear old friend," he began, shaking his head. "No doubt you said similar words to Gaston, but I'm afraid I must repeat what he told you. Unless you make her your own, she cannot come under your protection. I know of her true heritage, and believe me, you cannot control what comes next."

"If you so much as speak a word towards her, I will stop at nothing. Those are my terms. I would think carefully about it if I were you."

"You speak as if she is your ward," replied the Marquis slowly, his eyes hinting at amusement. "But we both know she is anything but. You no longer have need to fear me, as long as you hold your side of this agreement, this business between us is done. I don't like exerting a lot of effort, and this took way too much out of me. We didn't factor in that you could possibly form an attachment to the girl you see. However, as we look toward the future, well, I cannot possibly speak for the rest of France. I only send you words of warning because she knows so little, poor thing…"

Adam felt his blood pressure rise as he watched a horrid smile appear on the Marquis' face.

"Besides, if you meddle too much in her affairs, it may tarnish her reputation," he continued. "I would be careful about that, if I were you."

The Marquis spoke his final words with certain grit, a hard contrast to usual airy demeanour.

"She is of no concern to you," replied the Prince swiftly. "That is all. Now leave."

The Duke spoke with such an austere air that the Marquis' smile widened.

"You will make a good Duke," he said as he turned, finally leaving it seemed. "You and your father are more similar than you think."

"Yes, well, Gaston said something similar," Adam couldn't help but say as he watched Bourbon leave. He was getting tired of same old commentary.

"Oh no, that is not what I meant," replied the Marquis, his expression turning genuinely sombre as he turned to look at the Prince one last time. Clearly, he'd been eavesdropping from the very beginning.

The Duke raised his eyebrows.

"Only I meant to say," continued Bourbon, "well, you both have the same Achilles heel. Your duty and honour get in the way of everything. To the point of hurting those around you but more than anything, wounding yourself. It's almost like this Dukedom, this place… It's steeped in it."

"In what?" questioned Adam, his voice turning curious despite himself.

The Marquis' eyes travelled across the ballroom till they landed once more on the Duke, sitting immobile upon his throne-like chair, separate from the world.

"Self-punishment," replied the Marquis plainly before he gave a swift bow and walked through the double doors, which closed with a soft thud.