CHAPTER 3
THE Prince stood silently watching Belle. In his black leather breeches and linen undershirt, he looked every bit the Prince that his title declared, yet his face was so sullen that it sent a chill down Belle's spine.
Behind him, the remnants of what remained of the man's magnificent castle lay in smoldering ruin, now little more than ashes and dust in the wind.
His deep blue eyes pierced her very soul. She swore the man mouthed her name, but she couldn't hear what was said to her at all.
Her heart pounded furiously within the confines of her chest, fear lacing through her blood and veins as the man standing in front of her restlessly paced, a gleaming red gaping wound in his side which was steadily staining his clothes crimson.
The weak, feeble muscle within her chest gave a violent quiver as her knees grew weak at the sight of what lay on her knees in front of the Prince.
"NO!" she screamed, fear mounting in her veins, though her plea for the Prince to let the hooded figure in front of her go as she recognized it did her no good.
The Prince merely cocked his head to the side and laughed in glee, exposing a set of once glistening snow-white teeth that were now decaying and rotting beyond her own recognition.
His teeth were stained in blood, and his watery-blue eyes had frozen over and gone cold, listless. The thick, unmistakable scent of burning hair and wood from the forest that bordered the edge of the castle filled her nostrils and Belle could feel her stomach lurch as nausea riled within herself and bile rose at the back of her throat. The heat surrounding them rose and her skin blistered.
"Let him go!" she pleaded, repressing a shiver as the Prince's twisted smirk widened even further, his blue eyes glistening with unshed moisture that was not tears, per se, but a look of utter madness.
"Oh, your wretched pathetic excuse for a father?" The Prince's once heavenly, god-like appearance had become twisted and warped. In his place was no longer a human, but a monster. She shivered.
Though his distorting and warped image was nothing compared to the sheer coldness of the Prince's hoarse voice.
"You seek your father? Then you shall have him! Take him if you so want him!"
And is if the very air itself obeyed the Prince's command, the heat around them retained physical form as flames erupted into explosions behind where the Prince stood, destroying what little of the castle's foundation was still standing.
The burning light was so harrowing that it very nearly blinded Belle as she raised her arms to her face to shield her vision, but it had very little effect at all.
It kissed her hands and nipped at her hair as if in jest, not caring that she could smell the horrible stench of strands of her hair starting to burn.
Somewhere in front of her, she could hear the Prince's mocking laughter reverberating in her eardrums as blood pounded in her ears, the sound echoing terribly.
Belle launched herself forward into the light as her eyes adjusted as the firelight slowly dimmed, and her gaze landed on a figure, little more than a crumpled heap on the ground.
She inched forward, slowly, hoping to get a better look, praying with all her might that it was not him.
No, oh please, no, not him, not him, not him…
As she neared the figure and nudged the unconscious person over onto their side with the edge of her boot, so they were lying flat on their back, their face turned up numbly to the skies, a cold chill wafted its way up and down her spine, rendering the very blood in her ice to veins, despite the incendiary heat of the world around her and her Papa in flames around them both.
"Papa!" she screamed, the abject horror in her voice shattering and cracking the very air itself, sending pieces of her heart into the darkness as she threw herself forward on her heels and dropped to her knees in the snow beside him.
Her father was cold in her grasp. So much so that her Papa's very skin burned her own wherever she touched him, trying to feel for a pulse or listen to his heartbeat to check to see if he were still alive.
Maurice's eyes, once so vibrant and full of life, now gazed upon his daughter with a horrible likeness to pale water, void, empty, and lifeless. Lifeless.
There was no strength whatsoever left in her father's ice-cold and bony white hands. His lips were tinged blue from the cold.
She screamed her father's name.
The corpse had no answer to give.
Again, Maurice's name was ripped from Belle's lips in a heartbreaking cry of agony as tears welled within the edges of her vision and spilled over.
And again, his corpse did not respond.
"Y—you killed him!" Belle screamed through her flood of tears that trailed down her face in tracts as she blinked a nearly frozen icicle with how cold it was.
A light snowfall had begun to blanket the ground, and she ignored the wetness seeping into the fabric of her dress and soaking the edges of her cloak.
"You killed him! WHY? You—you didn't even let me say goodbye to him!" she wept openly to the Prince.
A shrouded figure emerged from the darkness before her.
"You did that yourself, pretty belle."
Belle glanced sharply upward in alarm and anger at the Prince's words, straining to see through her blurred vision now filled with briny, salty tears, and the faded wisps of white hair that belonged to her Papa now cradled tenderly in both her hands.
She stilled as her father's warbling, weakened voice spoke up from where his head now rested gingerly in her lap.
"Why didn't you save me, Belle?" he asked quietly, raising a crippled hand, and gestured to his daughter's tear-stricken face. "You could have refused, found a way to keep me. Why did you not save your dying father's life?" Maurice pleaded.
And then, an unseen force seized her waist from behind and dragged her violently away, pulling her away from her father's limp form on the ground.
As his image began to fade from her view, the light snowfall that had started came down even harder than before, and it wasn't long before her father's body was completely covered in a blanket of white, and she could hear his voice, pleading for her life, and Belle was powerless to help her father.
"Belle!"
Belle bolted upright from her sleep, not realizing she had accidentally dozed off in her armchair in front of the fireplace. Her lungs, now starved for breath, gasped in oxygen, but it burned them with its purity.
Her forehead was throng with the sheen of sweat as she wearily wiped at her brow with the back of her hand.
Belle blinked with disbelief at the clarity that filled her mind upon realizing that her mind's eye's mental image of her father dying in front of her, and the monstrous Prince responsible for it, was nothing but a nightmare.
Dizzy and staring straight ahead into the darkness she felt half-awake, half still in the dream. She was horrified to discover slick tears had slipped from her lids during sleep and dried.
Her breathing slowly regulated back to something resembling normalcy as she swung her legs over the sides of her chair. Steadying herself, Belle stood deliberately slowly, and carefully.
The only light emanating in the room came from that of the dying fireplace.
Belle was glad of that.
It made her personal embarrassment somehow that much more bearable.
Though, there was an illogical part of her brain that couldn't help but imagine that, with as many servants as the Prince had working for him, the walls had eyes and ears, and with that just one look at her, the entire castle would know of Belle's innermost private thoughts, and that he would know what she really thought.
That he was nothing more than a monster. A beast.
"It was only a dream," Belle whispered to herself in the hopes of calming her racing heart. She shook her head to herself, trying to clear it.
Belle tried to tell herself that it was only natural she would dream of this place—this place that was not her home, no matter what the other servants here tried to tell her about how familial the other servants were with another and supportive.
She had high expectations for herself and knew she could not afford to displease the Prince.
Not with her father's very life hanging in the balance like this, hinging on her success. And as for the shocking appearance of her new master in her nightmares, Belle justified the Prince's appearance in her imagination as simply her mind playing tricks on her.
He'd been present in her thoughts an hour ago when he'd escorted her to her quarters, and then again when he'd asked her what she thought of him, and he had responded so coldly.
She was going to be working for him for months, perhaps even years—however long it took her for her debts to be paid off.
She had been wondering about that notion as she'd drifted off in the chair, and the man had remained conjured in her head.
Lost in her thoughts once more, Belle allowed herself a moment to stare at the dwindling embers of the fire in the hearth.
She'd calmed the worst of her shock, and thus it was that her racing heart within her chest was now allowed to relax a bit.
She'd created a story plausible enough for her own mind to accept the man's unwanted presence. Now comfortable with her mind's eye's unconscious storytelling, the fanciful young daydreamer let her mind wander back to the horrific scene that played out before her earlier.
Belle saw once more the smoldering ruins of this very castle. The gentle snowfall, seeing her father's lifeless body.
She forcefully shook her head. "Stop it!" she ordered herself, her embarrassment quickly giving way to her anger, as she was surprised to find herself breathing heavily, and biting down on her lower lip.
Her hand was clutching a portion of her ivory chemise and dark teal blue overdress until it was pulled tightly across her hips.
She turned wrathfully from the fireplace and began to dress in the new uniform that Mrs. Potts had set out for her on a hanger.
While perhaps a bit more revealing with this corset than she would have liked, it was comfortable, if nothing else, and wouldn't impede her while she worked.
She felt foolish, and powerless against her own thoughts of the Prince.
This would not happen again. It couldn't. She wouldn't let it. She would fill her mind with the task at hand.
Nothing and no one could be allowed to interfere with her service to the Prince.
She had promised her papa she would return home to him.
And return she must. In whatever way possible. Once she had fully dressed and tied her hair up into a simple loose ponytail with a blue headscarf, giving her appearance a quick once-over and a nod of approval in a mirror hung on the wall before leaving, she shoved her emotions to the pit of her stomach and strode proudly out of the room.
The dent in the armchair and the markings on the peeling leather from her fingernails where she'd scratched and clawed at the arms of the chair during sleep and the now quiet fire were left in the room as the only witness to her weakness: her fear for Papa.
She walked in a quickened pace towards what she could only assume were the kitchens, as evident by the sound of someone cursing under their breath and the clanging of pots and pans together, the clinking of plates and cutlery as the food was prepared.
She did not expect to find one of the gentlemen already lingering in the doorway, the golden-haired man from earlier, dressed in an immaculate gold coat, the likes of which she had never seen before.
"Milady Belle, bonjour, mademoiselle," the handsome gentleman greeted her with a cordial smile, delighting in the simple way that Belle automatically gathered the skirts of her new uniform and sank into a low curtsy out of respect for him.
Before Belle could process what was happening, the man latched out an arm and brought Belle's knuckles to his lips for a kiss, eliciting a fiery blush to creep its way onto her cheeks as he lowered her hand.
"My name is Lumiere, mademoiselle. The staff and I were just discussing your noble sacrifice."
Belle startled at the older man's statement. Did they…did they all know what she had done by now? The rude way she had spoken about the Prince's taxation and cruel methods back in her village?
Surely not. Her face flushed pink at the memory. She recovered quickly and gave the man a nervous acknowledgment, who seemed to be awaiting her answer.
"Th—thank you, monsieur," she said, perhaps a little too quickly than she'd have liked.
If it was at all possible, her blush intensified as Belle ducked her head to hide her mortification from the golden-haired man.
Had the entire castle heard of the exchange she'd offered to the Prince?
They must have, she rationalized, judging by the way Belle could feel the intensity and searing hot burning of everyone's stares in the room scorching her cheeks and currently setting them both ablaze.
Belle was jolted out of her thoughts when she heard Lumiere's voice and realized the gentleman had asked of her a question that she had missed.
"I—I beg your pardon?" she squeaked in a breathless sounding voice as she lifted her eyes to meet the man's gaze.
His light hazel eyes were twinkling, and a knowing smirk played on his lips.
She sincerely hoped she had not offended the man by spacing out for a moment but judging by the reassuring smile he was shooting her, she had not, for which Belle could only let out a sigh of relief.
"I was asking you if either old Cogsworth or Mrs. Potts had shown you the kitchens yet, where to pick up the Prince's meals. If they haven't. Let me know."
Belle shook her head, tucking a wisp of her dark hair that had fallen loose from her headscarf back behind her ear.
"The only thing I know from Mrs. Potts is that the Prince takes his meals at eight in the morning, noon, and eight again," she recited, ticking the times off on her fingers as she spoke. She shot Lumiere what she hoped was a kind smile. "I guess it's up to you to tell me the rest," she said, though she looked timid, as she was unsure of where exactly to begin.
"Very well, mademoiselle, allow me to fill you in, and let's take it from the top, shall we?" Lumiere said, hardly sparing her a second glance as he was in the midst of piling napkins onto a metal tray. "Here, mademoiselle, help me fold these, and we'll talk as we work. It's one less thing to do now before the Prince will demand his meal. The last thing we want is the man's temper to explode, especially not tonight while his fiancée visits."
Lumiere looked as though he had more that he wanted to say but thought better of it.
Though as he looked up in the middle of explaining where to pick up the Prince's food and drinks from the head chef, and where to put the dirty dishes when the Prince had finished his meal, he couldn't help but notice the girl's curiosity had triggered at his words.
Probably at the mention of Circe, he thought bitterly. Lumiere cursed himself, biting at his cheek.
By the time he had finished explaining how things were run in the kitchens, he could honestly claim with one hundred percent certainty he did not like the glistening look of intrigue in the girl's dark eyes.
Lumiere heard himself let out a sigh through his cracked lips as the pair stood in the doorway, the girl looking like she was struggling to balance the heavy tray in her hands.
He sincerely hoped she wouldn't drop it, as the Prince was already in something of a foul mood enough as it was.
Him getting off on the wrong foot with his new hearth keep was the last thing he and everyone else in the castle needed right now.
He could tell the girl had a question she wanted to ask and decided to coax her gently into saying whatever it was that was weighing her mind down.
"Is everything alright, young mademoiselle?" he asked.
Belle suddenly looked timid as she glanced down at the heavily laden supper tray in her arms, as another servant girl whisked past her carrying another.
She did not know how many guests the Prince was dining with tonight, though she confessed herself surprised that anyone would keep company with a man the likes of that boorish and arrogant Prince.
"I…" she began awkwardly, her voice cracking. "Why did he let my father go without letting me say goodbye?" Belle whispered hoarsely, a warbling note seeping its way unbidden to the surface of her tone. "Is your Prince really that much of a heartless—"
Though Lumiere did not let Belle complete her sentence as he kindly held up his hand to stop her.
"Mademoiselle, I would be utterly remiss if I allowed you to complete that sentence," Lumiere interjected, a dark shadow of an unidentifiable emotion flitting across his surface as his kind hazel eyes narrowed.
Belle stiffened, feeling her entire body tense up at the sudden shift in the otherwise kind man's countenance.
For a moment, she felt rather afraid.
She swallowed down hard past a lump in her throat as she looked into the man's increasingly growing stern hazel eyes, having lost their semblance of warmth as he looked into Belle's chocolate eyes.
Sensing that he had inadvertently made her feel uneasy, Lumiere quickly tried to rectify his error.
"The young master is…ah…quite temperamental, yes, that much is true," he admitted, a pained look flitting across his slightly tanned face as he looked at Belle, thinking over carefully how to phrase his words. "But I must caution you to take better care of what you say within these walls, mademoiselle. As you have learned back your village, such opinions, though we among the servants value them, are often looked down upon by our superiors," he sighed, exasperated. "Here, you have entered into the aristocratic world of the old and ancient noble Barreau family," Lumiere explained, motioning to the young woman to follow him with a wave of his arm as he graciously opened the kitchen door for her, considering her hands were full. "This is a world, young mademoiselle, where such words are not only looked down upon, but you could potentially instantly be marked as a traitor, and you've your father to think of, my dear, don't forget."
A pang of guilt washed over Belle as she felt what little color was left in her face drain as she looked at Monsieur Lumiere.
She parted her lips to speak, though nothing was coming out. She nodded instead.
"I—I understand," she stammered, eager to make sure that the Head of House knew she was listening.
He nodded. "It seems that my colleague, Mrs. Potts, from what she was telling me earlier of you has the utmost confidence in you, my belle," Lumiere announced, his eyes slowly regaining their twinkling sheen, almost proudly, as he puffed out his chest as they slowed their walk to a slow and leisurely pace.
Belle startled a bit at this revelation, though she quickly managed to compose herself at hearing Lumiere beside her let out a light-natured chuckle.
"It appears so, monsieur," she answered shyly. "I will do my best not to disappoint her, you, or anyone else here within these walls during my time here, sir."
"I am quite certain you will not," Lumiere praised, recollecting seeing the fiery spirit in the young woman's outside when she was dealing with the master.
He was glad she was here with them, for she was just as pretty, if not more so beautiful so, than the Prince's lovely belle of a fiancée, the princess Circe.
He paused, studying the young brunette woman's features as they neared closer to the dining room. How her posture tensed and stiffened almost instantly upon her hearing the boisterous laughter of the Prince and another of his male companions this eve.
Lumiere took note of how the girl's face paled as her thin brows knitted together in a quandary as one of the men said something. It almost gave him pause.
Almost as if she recognized one of the men inside as they paused just outside of the closed oak double doors of the dining room.
Lumiere recognized the master would be wanting his meal and soon, but in his mind, he wanted more time to linger with Belle.
Before Lumiere could think of stopping himself, the words tumbled unchecked and quick from his lips.
"He does care for those of us who work for him here in this castle, milady, you know, though His Majesty is ah…not so great at showcasing emotion. He will perhaps never show it or tell you. But he does. And don't you dare breathe a word of this or ever tell him that I told you this either. I will deny every word," Lumiere stammered as the man took on a pale look until his previously-tanned complexion matched the almost ivory tone of Belle's own skin. She gaped.
"How would you know?" she challenged. Belle could not help but scoff at the man's comment and found it difficult not to roll her eyes a bit at the man's words.
If this so-called noble Prince did care for her, even an ounce, servant or not, he'd have at least let her say goodbye to her father, but the man had not done that.
The shock must have been evident on her face and in her eyes, for Lumiere let out a good-natured laugh and shook his head to himself.
Lumiere spoke up, hoping to supplicate her. "I know the young master perhaps better than anyone, milady, aside from maybe Mrs. Potts, who practically raised him following the young master's mother's death. The more the Prince cares for someone, the further he pushes them away and acts more aggressive to them."
Belle blinked owlishly in disbelief at the man's words, hardly daring to believe her own ears.
"No offense, monsieur, but that's utterly childish and a bit ridiculous," she said with a frown as she pursed her lips together angrily.
"It is," Lumiere agreed with a shrug. "But in the Prince's aristocratic culture, emotional attachments are looked down upon and viewed as weaknesses. Something to be condemned instead of cherished."
"But how can caring for someone possibly be seen as a weakness?" Belle asked, her confusion growing.
"Well, in the Prince's social circle at least, a man can have a lot of enemies. The Lord certainly knows our Prince has his." Lumiere furrowed his brows in contemplative thought but quickly seemed to snap himself out of it and continued. He was eager to make her see. "If he keeps those who he cares about at arm's length, no one will possibly know of the emotional attachments he's managed to form. But know this, now that you are a member of the household, mademoiselle, you are protected here. The Prince, though he comes across as mean, is not his father," he said, lowering his voice just as a loud laugh could be heard emanating through the other side of the wood-paneled door.
He didn't want to risk being overheard, but he also wanted to get his point across.
"I understand," Belle said slowly, allowing herself a moment to take in the Head of Household's words. "I'll be more careful with what I say from now on."
He nodded. "See to it that you do," Lumiere said, looking quite serious. "I find that I like you, mademoiselle. I think that you have a good heart and a keen mind. I think that, in time, you could be happy here, or at least learn to tolerate living here. But you cannot let him know what I told you. The man would see what I've told you now as a personal betrayal, and he would surely have both our tongues as punishments, and perhaps even our heads."
He shuddered at the very thought and continued. He let his voice trail off for a moment as Lumiere cocked his head to the side and flinched as a loud call demanding Cogsworth to fetch Belle to bring his meal came from the other side.
Lumiere noticed the girl stiffen by way of response and turned to her, eager to wish her luck before that door opened in less than half a second.
"Good luck, mademoiselle. You're going to need it."
Belle swallowed nervously and nodded, trying not to think about how her hands felt clammy or that they were shaking so badly she was in danger of dropping his tray and its contents all over the floor at her boots.
But Belle could recognize and appreciate Lumiere's concern. She gave a grateful nod and answered him earnestly.
"I will," she whispered, her voice faltering, and she trailed off as she skittishly looked to the door.
She stood in front of the door, her lips pursed thoughtfully, gratitude swimming in her dark irises. In truth, she did not know why this man had spoken to her on the walk to the dining room just now, though she was grateful for the assistance and kind words.
Belle had not expected anyone within the castle to be so kind to her, considering how the Prince had behaved and spoken to her outside a little over an hour or so ago.
Finally, she tilted her head and peeked over her shoulder once more, watching as Monsieur Lumiere had turned on his heels to go back to the kitchens.
"Thank you, Lumiere," she said by way of farewell for now.
The overwhelmed inventor's daughter mumbled a quick prayer under her breath as she shifted the tray under one arm to balance it better.
Her unblinking eyes gazed at the door handle she knew she needed to grab.
On the other side of that door, was surely anything but good, as she had no idea who the Prince's dining companions were tonight, nor did Belle particularly care to know what fiendish brutes would align themselves with the likes of Prince Adam du Barreau. The man was abhorrent and she could not understand what redeeming qualities he might have to give.
Belle's hand had a mind of its own as it rose shakily to the door. Slender fingers curled around the chipped handle.
"Ugh. I really am a stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns her place or her manners," she whispered to herself angrily as she gritted her teeth together in anger, heartbreak, and annoyance at the predicament she had allowed her temper to get her in, and as a result was now perhaps permanently separated from her father.
Forever. The thought plastered as a quiet vibration under her skin and made it crawl.
Belle gave her head a vehement shake to clear it and steeled herself, blowing out a puff of air with her cheeks as with a firm twist and a push, the massive oak door creaked open.
Through the cracked door, delicate dark brown eyes peered nervously into the well-lit dining room.
Belle nervously breathed a heavy sigh as she slipped through the door and gingerly closed the door behind him, having to pull it closed with the edge of her boot's heel, all the while balancing the tray at once.
The flustered young hearth keep had barely managed to close the door behind her and turn to regard the long rectangular table, wherein sat the Prince at the center end, his two companions on the other side.
One of whom was perhaps the prettiest woman that Belle had ever dared to lay eyes upon.
Tall, statuesque, fair-skinned, and even fairer hair, a lovely golden blonde shade that cascaded in graceful curls down her back, not a ringlet out of place at all. Sharp piercing cat-like green eyes and angular features that looked as though she might have harbored from another country, perhaps Germany.
She did not look like any French woman Belle had ever seen before. Her cheeks flushed red as Belle quickly realized the young noblewoman had caught her staring and shot her a soft, shy smile, though thankfully, she did not seem to take any offense to it.
The Prince's disapproving, languid voice wafted through the otherwise deadly silence of the room.
"You certainly took your time in getting here, little dove. How kind of you to visit me. You're just in time to bring Circe and me our meals, delightful little belle."
"F—forgive me, Your Majesty, I was lost," Belle squeaked in a small-sounding voice as she strode towards the table and awkwardly set the tray down in front of the Prince, and the other plate in front of the young woman, who was still eyeing Belle quizzically.
Her skin prickled and her cheeks felt hot in indignation at the Prince's blatant quip, though she forced herself to swallow her retort and ducked her head, allowing a single dark curl to fall in front of her eyes and shield her expression from everyone here.
She could not—would not—let him see her riled. She had her Papa to think of, after all. Lumiere was right.
Belle surmised that the three of them had been talking and most probably about her since their conversation around the dining room table instantly went quiet the moment Belle walked inside the room.
Belle's dark brown eyes nervously swept the length of the room as she awkwardly took a cautious step backward to survey her surroundings and study the Prince's third distinguished guest for the evening.
And immediately, as her eyes landed upon the third individual seated to the Prince's right side and just across from the fair-haired beautiful blonde woman, Belle felt her heart stop and the color drained from her face in realization.
The Prince's distinguished guest sitting in the chair with his elbows propped up on the table and eyeing her interestedly was Gaston.