CHAPTER 2

BELLE tried to turn her head this way and that to take in the magnificence of the castle as the Prince, almost silently, led the way down the corridor once inside the castle to what she surmised was to be her chambers. She felt like she was hardly able to keep up with all of it.

Though she knew she had to. She'd not known her new master all of five minutes yet, at best, and already, this arrogant Prince was quickly proving himself to be a bit of a bastard. Spoiled. Selfish. Unkind. Egotistical.

Much could be said about this Prince who maintained a firm grip on her hand and led her down a dimly lit, darkened corridor, the only light coming from the lit torches in their sconces along the wall. But the fact that the Prince was proving to be power-hungry was just the tip of the iceberg, in Belle's mind.

Let alone that the fact that the man appeared to be aggressive, neglectful, and disloyal, from the rumors she had heard of this nobleman in front of her who did not seem a noble man at all. The Prince's grating, hoarse-sounding voice as the man spoke up startled Belle out of her thoughts, pulling the young mind's mind out of her fantasies at finding a way to escape and return home to her father for the minute.

"I know you're thinking of doing it, little dove," he spoke up in a smooth, languid voice that immediately set the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing upright.

Belle gritted her teeth in fear as she waited in anticipation for whatever scornful words the man wished her to receive as he escorted her personally to her room.

"I would highly advise against it. I wouldn't if I were you, you know. You might be able to scale the window of your room, but even if you happened to survive the fall, you'd not make it a half-mile into the Wolves' Woods before the wolves the forest is so aptly named for would find you and rip you apart, limb from limb, until there's nothing left…"

Belle's cheeks flushed and burned bright red with embarrassment as the master of the castle peeked over his shoulder to gauge his newest hearth's keep's reaction. She quickly turned her head away and steeled her jaw.

Had she really been that obvious? She shuddered, repressing a tremor of fear at the gruesome mental image in her mind's eye of a pack of wolves managing to circle her, and the thought of escape quickly fled her.

They paused outside an ancient-looking wooden door, its once-golden hinges not rotted with rust, the door suffering from holes that she suspected came from termites. Belle's heart sank to the pit of her stomach as he opened it and poked his head into the room.

Though he made no motion to step over the threshold of the door, Belle noticed, as she dutifully obeyed his silent command as the Prince jerked his head, motioning for her to enter. She could only comply at this moment.

Awkwardly, Belle moved to stand in the center of the small room, little more than a broom closet and barely big enough for her.

Though thanks to the one lit candle on the windowsill, she could make out a few of her new surroundings, she was pleased to see.

Shadows played hide and seek among the brick walls as a torch fire flickered on the wall. The cinders glowed on the hearth where what looked horribly like a bear pelt rug lay in front of. She was instantly reminded of Gaston and the hunter's love for the kill and her stomach revolted, forcing Belle to look away. A five-pronged candleholder was lit on a small writing desk, next to what appeared to be a slice of grain cake and an apple, along with a tin decanter of ice water, the beads of condensation on the tin flagon sliding down.

On the wall there hung a magnificent tapestry of galloping horses, their hooves crashing against the mud and water. And her eyes were drawn to what rested underneath it. The bed was staring back at her, little more than a narrow cot meant for a single person, a wide sea of scratchy woolen blankets, and a couple of pillows that looked surprisingly comfortable, despite the dreariness of her new room.

At this, her insides coiled, and she looked away, feeling beads of sweat start to shimmer on her temples.

"Do you like it?"

Belle let out a startled gasp and looked behind her. She hadn't realized the Prince was still present. She did not know how long the golden-haired man had been staring at her while she'd stared at her new bedroom, desolate and dank-smelling though it was. He was leaning against the doorpost, arms folded across his chest, half of his face bathed in the shadows.

There was no smile on the master's face. No amusement. No excitement. Nothing evil. And Belle was even more alarmed and taken aback at that. She looked around again and nodded.

"Good." His hoarse, deep voice echoed. "As my new hearth keep, I want for you to be happy. You may go anywhere in the castle you like when I do not require your services, save for the West Wing. It's forbidden," he added, a low, wolfish-sounding growl erupting from deep within the confines of his chest.

He must have noticed Belle's lips part open slightly in shock as she'd been about to ask why it was off-limits to her and had thought better of it upon seeing the shadow dart across the handsome man's angular jaw.

"You will see Monsieur's Lumiere or Cogsworth or Mrs. Potts, the three Heads of Household here, for anything you require. Cogsworth's solar is right across the hall from your room, three doors down and to your left. You should find him there if you need anything. They will show you the ropes and what I expect of you now that you have entered into my servitude, but allow me to give you a few tips, little dove. You look like you could use them, having never set foot inside a grandiose castle such as mine, where angels and gods reside. Do you find it impressive, Belle?"

The Prince's lips curled upward in a twisted smirk, as though he were enjoying some private joke with himself, which irked her.

The man's voice was a buttery purr and instantly set Belle on edge as she gritted her teeth together in anger, not sure how to react.

A dozen and one possible answers that she could offer up by way of a retort to him flitted through her mind, and she bit her lip at his cutting and taunting question, staying quiet as she struggled to collect her thoughts to think of what to say. Belle lied through her teeth, knowing it would supplicate the Prince some, and then perhaps the man would leave her be in peace for a while until he needed her services next.

"Yes," she answered, knowing that it was a half-truth.

This castle was beautiful, in its architecture and interior Gothic design, of that she could not deny.

However, the fact that a vile Prince lived within her walls with an even fouler repute and temperament was abhorrent to her. Not that she could admit that to him, lest she wanted to lose her tongue.

The Prince waved off her answer instead and finally crossed that boundary as he stepped over the threshold of the doorway and into her room, took a flagon, and filled half with ice water.

She could only watch as the Prince took it and strode past her towards the window and proceeded to stare out through her barred window with an almost melancholic expression etched on his face. Her new master finished his water in a single swallow, still choosing to face away from her.

"What do you think of me, Belle?" he asked, and she could detect no malice in his voice. Merely curiosity. A twinge of resentment, perhaps, though why it was, she did not know.

Belle shivered at the Prince's cruelty, and despite herself trying to contain her honesty in front of her new master, she couldn't do it.

"Cruel." It was all that Belle could offer up.

"Cruel." He repeated, sounding aghast at her honest confession. Belle saw the Prince unmoved.

And then he placed his empty flagon on her windowsill. After which he eased his hands out of the leather riding gloves he'd been wearing at the time of Belle's arrival.

"Then perhaps," he spoke in a low murmur, loosening the buckle on his collar and cracking his neck. "I could be crueler still."

Belle froze at the Prince's words. A wave of nausea as bile rose in her throat made her skin shiver and left a fatigued ringing in her ears, leaving the young man's last words inaudible. Her brows twitched and she looked at him. The Prince was already facing her, keeping his hands folded neatly behind his back, watching her, his glistening blue eyes teeming in wait.

"I…" she stammered, feeling at a loss for words, not sure what to say. "I—I don't…"

"What?" the Prince asked with a smirk as he cocked his head to the side and studied her, as though she were little more than a fascinating specimen at some exotic zoo he'd discovered.

But Belle was struck with another wave of queasiness that left almost half of her brain incapable of rational and logical thinking.

She could hear her anxious breaths, and her knees trembled so badly until she thought one of them gave out on her and she sat immediately down on the bed to prevent herself from fainting. The ringing in her ears was louder.

"Are you unwell, little dove?" he asked coldly.

She heard the Prince speaking to her again, but his voice was muffled as if the man were speaking to her underwater. She wasn't sure if it was tiredness that was bringing on this bought of sickness or if it was merely stress and her body's delayed reaction to her newfound predicament at being forcefully ripped away from her home and her Papa.

Belle shook her head, beads of sweat starting to glitter along the edge of her scalp. Gathering enough strength on her throat, Belle managed a weak answer. "I—I'm fine."

The Prince paused for a moment, seeming to think over his words. When he spoke to her next, his voice was cold. Flat. Dull. Listless.

He did not give a damn about her, that much Belle could discern for herself as her nausea worsened. He turned away from her and did not look at her as he made to head to the door.

"Yes, you will be. See our physician, also just down the hall, to the right, he'll prescribe you something for shock." The young handsome Prince's smirk widened again, which only succeeded in worsening Belle's nausea. "I expect you to attend my guests and me in the dining room at precisely eight o'clock sharp, and Heaven help a single strand of hair on your head if you're so much as a minute late. Have I made myself clear to you, lovely belle?"

She nodded. She did not see the Prince as the man excused himself, though the heavy thud of her door shutting and the lock clicking behind it sent her swallowing bile back down her throat as Belle stayed rooted to her spot on the bed.

She did not know how long she stayed doubled over on the edge of her mattress like this. Long enough for her head to stop spinning. Her cheeks felt clammy and hot as the wave of dizziness slowly but surely left her. Now that she was alone in her new room, she was admittedly surprised to find that, despite how dimly lit it was in here, her prepared quarters were somewhat comfortable. They offered a welcome respite from what was beyond that door. The Prince.

What she needed right now was quiet and solitude. Her thoughts were utterly reeling. What in God's name had she done? A part of her felt somehow blindsided by the offer earlier that had come out of her own mouth, acting out of her desperation to save her Papa.

Belle removed her heavy traveling cape and laid the dark navy blue cloak across her bed. Soon, in a fit of restless anxiousness, she found herself standing before the roaring fire that had been prepared for her by one of the other servants prior to her arrival. She wondered which one had done it for her and made a mental note in the back of her mind to try to find out so as to thank them properly.

She wondered what the coming weeks as the Prince's personal hearth keep would bring.

Not even a half-second ago, she could almost feel the irritating man's leering expression burning a hole in the side of her skull. It was the Prince's unguarded and volatile nature that she dreaded the most and the fact that she could harbor a guess as to his ill intentions, judging by the look in his blue eyes, the glistening, beastly hunger within.

The last time she had suffered through such a problem, she had humiliated Gaston to the point of publicly rejecting his third marriage proposal. The man could not take no for an answer, and Belle knew she had no interest in going through anything like that again at all.

Would she be constantly fending off unwanted advances from this so-called Prince?

Surely, that was a distraction Belle knew that she could not abide by, nor allow it to happen. She could not—would not—offer up that part of herself no matter his social status, or the fact that she was contractually obligated to do what he commanded of her.

She thought she would rather die than ever willingly lay with such a man if he were of a mind to attempt to try anything funny. Belle shivered. There was important work to be done, and she knew she needed her wits about her if she had any inkling of working hard enough to convince the Prince to set her free.

"Oh, he's a Prince," she told herself in a hushed whisper, wringing her hands together in front of her middle. "Of course, as a noble, he would treat the matter of me being here with the utmost respect, and tact, right?"

Why then, was she so nervous? Why then, could she not get his words, "I could be crueler to you still…" out of her mind right about now?

Why was she restlessly pacing the floor? Why was she finding it so difficult to draw in breath? Why could she not stop thinking about the Prince's cold, crystalline blue eyes?

Belle's racing and too-quick thoughts were finally halted by a knock coming at her door.

She looked timidly to the thick carved oak panels, dreading who might be on the other side. Surely, the Prince could not need her yet already. He would understand her stress and fatigue, and her need for solitude for a while.

With a deep exhale, Belle crossed the room and opened the door just enough for one eye to cautiously peek its way into the hallway.

A sigh of truly welcome surprise at seeing what she believed to be a friendly face left her throat when she saw an elderly woman standing in the door.

Short, stout, and slightly plump, with her greying hair swept up into a comb, she was carrying a heavily laden tea tray with a teacup, saucers, and a plate of pitiable-looking cookies that looked stale. Her face, though tired and heavily lined, was quite kind, and her blue eyes were twinkling as she lifted her head and her eyes met Belle's.

"Bonjour, dearie, I've brought you a nice cuppa tea and a spot of dinner, mademoiselle. I thought perhaps, a nice herbal tea, some Chamomile, might calm your nerves. T'was a brave thing you did, my child, sacrificing that of your own freedom and livelihood for your father. If I could come in? Just for a moment," the older woman announced in a quiet tone.

Belle smiled, touched by the older woman's kindness, suddenly feeling a bit foolish thinking that the Prince would have already stalked his way back down the hallway in search of her. She opened the door for the Prince's servant to enter.

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Th—thank you, Madame…?" she asked, her voice trailing off as she realized she did not know this grey-haired woman's name.

The older woman merely laughed and threw her head back as she shuffled slowly into the room, setting the tray of cookies and tea down upon a small wooden night table, turning to look at Belle. "Mrs. Potts, dear, Mrs. Potts. No madame am I. While you are here under the master's roof, we are all equals in this castle."

Belle nodded, taking in the older woman's words, and then she recollected the Prince saying that Mrs. Potts was one of the three Heads of Household that ensured everything within the castle's walls ran quite effectively.

"You are very kind," Belle murmured shyly, not sure what else to say as Mrs. Potts inched her way towards the lit fireplace to poke at it to ensure the flames stayed lit and roaring and pulled up a cushioned chair to create a cozy dining area for the Prince's new servant.

Mrs. Potts barely looked up as she set about pouring a spot of tea for Belle, though she chuckled to herself and shook her head slightly.

"I know what it is like to be so far away from home, dearie. I do. The first couple of weeks here are the hardest, so if there is anything that I can do for you, please don't hesitate to come to me or to my colleagues, Monsieur's Lumiere and Cogsworth, whom I'm sure you will meet later tonight at dinner. I am always available at any hour to talk, dear," Mrs. Potts offered Belle in a kind voice.

Belle slowly nodded her head at all of the information as her brain processed her words.

She briefly recollected two gentlemen who had been standing alongside the Prince outside in the courtyard at the time of her arrival and wondered if those men were this Cogsworth and Lumiere characters mentioned.

She had a dozen or so questions burning on the tip of her tongue, but only really one she needed an immediate answer to now that she had one of the Heads of House alone for a moment and could ask. "The Prince informed me that you and the other Heads of House would show me where everything was," she began, speaking slowly, careful to mind her choice of words, as she did not want to speak ill of the Prince or his ways.

She had done that already, and now look where her tongue and fiery temper had gotten her! Belle bit the wall of her cheek and waited.

Mrs. Potts sighed tiredly and brushed her palms on the skirt of her apron as she lifted her gaze and slowly nodded in Belle's direction.

"Of course, dear, of course. I will show you to the kitchens in a little while, where to pick up the Prince's food and drinks, and where to put the dirty dishes after the Prince has finished with his morning and evening meals. He takes breakfast at eight a.m. sharp, lunch at twelve, and supper again at eight, like clockwork, precise, and always at the same time, and he does not like to repeat himself, so do try to pay close attention, dearie," she added in a warning, polite tone.

Belle nodded numbly, not sure what to say. "I—I will," she stammered nervously, finally.

Mrs. Potts turned towards Belle and gave her appearance a quick once-over, and clucked her tongue at her attire, before striding over to a closed wardrobe and wrenching it open.

"The outfit you've arrived in, dearie, while quite lovely, is not what the Prince expects of his hearth keeps wearing. Considering you will be handling the Prince's meals and quite literally tending to the fires in his chambers, something a bit more appropriate will suffice."

As if to emphasize her point, she pulled from the closet a floor-length grey gathered skirt, a white peasant blouse with short, capped sleeves, and overtop of that a dark red crimson corset that would offset the gold and red undertones of her auburn-brown hair nicely, Mrs. Potts noticed, as her blue eyes made a quick, scrutinizing scan of the girl's initial appearance, nodding to herself in approval. She bent at the waist and retrieved a pair of clogs.

"This is the attire of His Majesty's hearth keeps. Do try to keep it clean, dearie. Laundry is done on Mondays and Fridays, and if you should happen to need another uniform, it comes out of your wages."

This was new and startled Belle. "Wages?" she breathed, her eyes widening in shock. "B—but I—I thought that—" Though before she could complete her sentence, Mrs. Potts kindly held up a hand and cut Belle off from whatever she'd been about to say to her next.

"The Prince has his reputation, mademoiselle, as I am sure you have no doubt heard," Mrs. Potts sighed, her face becoming crestfallen and she scrunched her nose in disapproval, as though she heartily did not believe the slander spread about the man. "Nevertheless, the man is not quite as heartless as people would have you believe. He pays his servants a livable wage well enough. Provides for us. Gives us shelter, food, clothing. We ask for very little here."

Belle hesitated, biting down on her lip. She wondered if it would be too much to request to Mrs. Potts that a portion of her wages be sent back home to her father in Villeneuve. He needed the money more than she did, as long as she remained under the Prince's roof.

Belle's unspoken request must have been evident on her face and in her eyes, for Mrs. Potts spoke up before Belle could even ask.

"I take it, dearie, judging by that look on your face, that you want your father to receive half or a least a small portion of your wages, Belle?" she asked, chuckling a little at Belles nonplussed expression at having read her mind. She wondered how Mrs. Potts knew her name already, considering she had not thought to offer it up by way of a greeting.

Perhaps she was just a good judge of character, though Belle's overactive imagination wondered for a moment if perhaps Mrs. Potts was somehow Gifted.

It was said that people who possessed magical abilities roamed the land of France, with the ability to predict the future. Seers. Though Belle did not allow herself a moment further to ponder this as she shook her head to herself to clear it, forcing her attention back to the present matter at hand.

"Yes, please, Mrs. Potts, I would greatly appreciate it. My father needs the funding more than I do. Our—our cottage…" she stammered, swallowing a lump in her throat.

She felt frustration bubble within her chest as she immediately could feel herself begin to blame the arrogant Prince and his increasing taxes on their village for how much Papa struggled to hawk his wares at the market.

To her relief, as Belle let out a relieved exhale, Mrs. Potts graciously nodded her consent. "It will be done. Our postman comes on Fridays to deliver and receive any outgoing correspondence. I will instruct Cogsworth, who handles the Prince's estate and finances, to see it to that your father receives a portion of your income weekly. It should hopefully be enough to at least keep bread on his table, child," Mrs. Potts replied.

"Th—that will be wonderful, thank you," Belle gasped as she nodded, preoccupied.

"Is there anything else you need, Belle?" she asked, as she turned on her heels to leave.

"No. N—nothing, Mrs. Potts, thank you," Belle answered, feeling somewhat awkward and still wrestling with her thoughts as she took a seat in front of the fireplace and wound her hands around the warm cup of herbal tea.

Mrs. Potts offered a brief curtsy and left the room quickly. Belle could already tell that she liked the matronly, older Head of House, and made a vow to get to know her better.

Perhaps Mrs. Potts could be something of a friend to her, maybe even a mother figure in her life, when Belle had otherwise had none in her life. Looking around the silent room, she was thankful to be left alone, and that the Prince for whatever reason had not come back again.

That would have been more than she could bear. She ate her meal slowly, her supper tray consisting of a few weak cookies that crumbled upon first bite, a wedge of Brie cheese, and a hard loaf of bread that wasn't quite stale yet but was almost on its way there.

She tried to relax. The longer she ate and sat in front of the fireplace in her chair, as her body slowly but surely calmed, so did her mind. Whatever the coming weeks would bring as she suffered through the unpleasant task of being the Prince's personal servant, at least there would be work for her to do, and it would scarcely give her time to miss her home and her father.

She knew she had to be strong, and work hard, hopefully, in the coming weeks, she could use her intelligence to get close enough to the Prince on a semi-personal level, just enough to convince him to release her. It wasn't the best plan, but it was a plan.

Belle knew she was going to have to rely on her keen wit and intelligence to make the best of her situation to return home to her father. She would stay busy, and her mind would not have time to dwell on what she had lost.

Belle did not intend after she had finished eating to fall asleep in front of the roaring fire in the hearth. However, she was warm, full, and she could feel her eyelids start to droop and go heavy.

Soon, the young woman fell into a deep, surprisingly quick but uneasy slumber. Belle enjoyed the first warm sleep she'd known in ages as she curled up into a ball in the armchair in front of the fire, though her sleep was not exactly restful.

For an hour, she did not dream of Gaston, as her nightmares had consistently been plagued with visions of the military captain and hunter these last several weeks since he'd taken more of an interest in her. His attempts to court her and propose to her were becoming more aggressive. To her surprise, she didn't dream of him.

Instead, Belle dreamed of Prince Adam du Barreau, her master of the house.