Chapter 22- Nightmares and Dreams

Three days had passed since that horrible night. Three days since Beast had helplessly watched as Gaston abused his beloved, three days since Belle held her best friend dying in her arms, three days since Tobias shot a man to save those he cared about and failed to protect one of his men. It felt to all three of them that their world had changed irrevocably.

Tobias found solace and comfort in Kara's arms. She never turned him away or looked at him with the disgust he felt for himself. Instead, she poured out her gratitude for his bravery and willingness to do what needed to be done. She reminded him that Belle and Beast were safe and alive because of him. But it didn't ease the overwhelming responsibility he felt over Edmund's death, and shame for having failed to bring down the villain without sustaining any casualties.

Belle only slept when keeping her eyes open was no longer physically possible. Each time they closed, she saw Edmund, and the sobbing started up again. Her eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and sunken from the tears that never seemed to cease. He was the first person she'd lost that had been truly close to her. Despite growing up believing her mother died, she never felt sorrow over that loss, since she didn't remember her well enough to miss her. Her mother was always more of a concept than a real, tangible person.

This loss was very different. She had spent a part of almost every day with him for months, and his absence was felt in nearly every aspect of her life. Reading, teaching, riding; all reminded her of him, for they were things they had done together so often.

It was well past midnight, and Belle lay awake in her bed in the East Wing of the castle. One positive thing to have come from that traumatizing experience was that Beast insisted she return home with him. He didn't want her out of his sight ever again—night being the exception for propriety's sake. She knew he'd been scarred as deeply as she was, though he didn't speak of it, focusing solely on comforting her in her grief. In fact, he'd barely said anything to her beyond words of reassurance and sympathy. But she could see the worry and wariness in his eyes. He was still recovering from his illness, and now the wounds inflicted by Gaston added to that burden. The physical hurts paled in comparison to the emotional ones.

However, Gaston couldn't hurt them anymore. He'd been carted away that next morning, and given a quiet burial in the church graveyard with no pomp or circumstance, no military honors, and attended only by Paulette and LeFou. Everything Gaston owned was transferred to LeFou, which was the only reason for his presence at the burial, since the hunter had no family left to speak of. Still, it was a surprise to the small man when the town solicitor presented Gaston's will, and everything had been bequeathed to him.

LeFou apologized for his part in the events that followed his delivery of the message. He had believed just as much as everyone else, maybe more even, that Gaston had changed. Belle reassured him that nothing was his fault. That he'd been manipulated just like the rest of them.

Word about what happened at the hunting lodge traveled like wildfire throughout both villages. Any doubters were instantly silenced when a few people got a look at Belle's battered face.

Giving up all hope of getting any rest that night, Belle donned a dressing robe and slipped out of her room. Having no real direction in mind, she wandered the corridors using only the dim light of the waxing moon that was nearly half full.

The castle was very quiet at this late hour as the entire staff settled in for the night. Feeling a slight pang of hunger, Belle made her way down the main staircase, along the hall to the back of the palace, through the largest of the formal dining rooms, and into the kitchen beyond.

It was almost strange not to find a snoring stove or murmuring tea cups. The last time she had been in residence, it was still under the curse her mother had placed. She was surprised, however, that the room wasn't empty. Beast was perched on a stool around the large center island, kneading dough, a bowl full of peeled apples in the corner.

"What have we here?" she said from the doorway, leaning against the frame with one hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips.

In the light of the two candles that stood on either end of the island, she could see flour dusting the entire surface and smeared over her love's face. She giggled at the sight, then stepped in further.

Beast's head snapped up from concentrating on the dough coating his fingers. Embarrassment shone in his eyes as he took in the mess he'd made, then glancing back at Belle.

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked in a low grumble, returning to his work.

"Nope. What are you making? Can I help?" She grabbed a stool on the opposite side of the island and brought it around next to him. Looking down into the bowl of sliced apples, she observed the even cuts and well peeled surfaces. "Your knife work has greatly improved."

His eyebrows shot up, and he tossed his head, indicating to the large pot full of discarded, butchered apples. "Not really."

A soft chuckle escaped Belle's lips at the sight of the mangled mess.

He smiled over at her. The musical sound of her chuckle warmed his heart and filled him with a sense of ease he hadn't felt since returning home several months ago. "I'm making an apple tart. Would you mind getting the tin? I forgot to get one out before I started."

She nodded her head and crossed the room to the shelves on the far wall, searching for the one they'd used last time they cooked together. It felt like a lifetime ago. She remembered his impatience and frustration as she tried to teach him how to cook. And now here he was, tackling something as complicated as an apple tart, all on his own. She marveled at how undeniably human he seemed to her, and the inner longing that had lain dormant these past months came flooding back.

"Here you go." Belle set the tin down, and he plopped the rolled out dough into it, gently pressing the thin crust into each scalloped curve. Next, he took a bowl of egg wash and a pastry brush, and lightly brushed the surface before holding out his paw for her to pass him the prepared apples. She obliged and watched as he artfully fanned the apples, starting with the outer edge and spiraling in towards the center, creating an almost hypnotizing design. With the final addition of some melted butter, and a few shakes of cinnamon, he was ready to place it in the heated oven.

She smiled at him as he sat back down, finished with his task. "Looks like you didn't need my help at all."

"Perhaps not, but I am grateful for your company." He reached over and offered a cleaned up paw to her. Gazing down at it, unable to divert her eyes from the lacerations encircling his wrists, she grimaced at the sight of the damage.

He noticed where her eyes had traveled, and he scoffed, pulling his rolled sleeves down to cover the wounds. "They're not as bad as it looks. Certainly nothing compared to how purple your cheek is, ma belle." He brought his free paw up and hovered right above the deep purple bruise that adorned her left cheek, afraid to touch it.

His face was crestfallen, full of shame and remorse. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop him. Couldn't protect you."

Belle put her hand on his and very carefully leaned the injured cheek against his paw. The trust she had for him shone in her eyes, having not been diminished at all by his inability to rescue her. "You were chained to a wall, there was nothing you could do. And like you said, it looks a lot worse than it feels. My shoulder on the other hand…"

"You should still have that in the sling. Kara said you popped it out, and it needs to remain immobile while it heals." He looked around the kitchen for something to use as a makeshift sling, but beyond a pile of rags—none of them being large enough—there was nothing.

"She managed to get it back into place, and while that hurt almost more than when it first happened, it feels much better now. I've been rubbing Frau Gertrude's healing balm on it a few times a day, and I'm already beginning to get back my range of motion. I just wish the cream worked on the bruises." His hand slid from her cheek into her hair as he gently rubbed the back of her head in hesitant, slow circles. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

The only comfort she'd found these last few days was when he touched her, as if without him, she was adrift in a torrential sea of grief and misery that drowned her over and over again with each new wave that crashed down upon her. But so much still hadn't been said between them, and despite her desperately needing him, she couldn't make the words come out to ask what she wanted to ask.

Finding him here tonight felt like fate. Like an apology for how cruel it had been to them lately, and she was going to bask in its feeble attempt at making amends for as long as he'd stay.

"The tart has an hour to cook before it's ready. Would you like to read while we wait?" he offered, gazing in her eyes. There was a sadness there for a moment before it was replaced with a half smile, and she stood. Still holding his paw in her hand, she dragged him out the door.

He didn't need to ask where she was headed, just followed, never losing contact with her hand, and in no time they stood in front of the main doors to the library. Their library. So much of their relationship had played out beyond these doors, and right here, on this very spot. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he recalled the harsh words he'd said the last time they stood here together.

Belle felt him stiffen next to her, and she turned to look up into his azure blue eyes, seeing the despair in them. "Don't dwell on that, ma bête. I know that wasn't you, and I've already thrown the memory away. You should as well." Her hand caressed the side of his face as she pressed a kiss to the paw in her other hand. He smiled at her and pulled her into a hug. She melted into the embrace, feeling safe and secure.

An hour flew by as they sat together on the wide settee before the fireplace, Beast reading The Canterbury Tales aloud while Belle lounged, laying her head in his lap. Absentmindedly, he stroked her hair as he held the book in his other hand. Belle drifted to sleep somewhere between The Clerk's Tale and The Merchant's Tale, and now that it was time to get the apple tart out of the oven, Beast had a difficult decision to make. It was nearing three o'clock in the morning, and the entire castle was asleep except for him. If he didn't retrieve the pastry from the oven, it would burn and smoke would fill the kitchen, making a bigger mess than he'd already left, and no doubt raise the ire of Chef Bouche and Mrs. Potts. But on the other hand, Belle barely slept in the last three days, and she looked so peaceful and content curled up on the settee, an arm draped over his leg, with her head nestled on his thigh.

Slowly, he set the book down and moved her arm from his leg. Then, even more slowly, he eased himself off the settee, replacing his leg with a throw pillow under Belle's head. He smiled at his success as he looked down and saw her still fast asleep. Silently, he darted out of the library and to the kitchen where, with great care, he removed the tart from the oven. Next, he put out the fire within, opening the flue completely so it could vent properly and cool before morning.

He placed his creation down on a cooling rack, and set about cleaning up the flour he managed to get all over the kitchen, washed the bowls he'd used, and tidy the place back to the pristine condition he found it in.

It was a running joke between him and Mrs. Potts, these late night baking sessions. The first time he'd come down on his own and left a pie on the island, he'd also left the kitchen a mess. While the gesture was appreciated by her and Bouche, the mess hadn't been.

Ever since his return from the journey, he found baking relaxing on nights when sleep evaded him, and he was becoming quite skilled at tarts, pies, and even clafoutis. All used similar ingredients and allowed for less measuring and intricate handiwork. Mrs. Potts made sure the kitchen pantry was always well stocked with the ingredients he might need, and anything he made was left out for the staff to partake in when they awoke the next morning—occasionally missing a single slice.

Beast was just putting the last bowl away when he heard a scream echo down the hall. Dropping the bowl, he ran back to the library. He found Belle on the floor, curled into a tight ball, crying and shuddering. He approached cautiously, not knowing if she was still in the grip of a nightmare or if she was awake but shaken. Staying low to the ground, he crawled towards her, placing one paw on her calf that was poking out from under her dressing robe and nightgown.

With a hitched breath, Belle coiled even further into herself, weeping and still trembling, her eyes clamped shut while her face was marred by tear tracks.

Keeping his hands to himself, he thought it better to just talk to her. "Belle, it's me. I'm here. You're safe and everything's alright. Can you look at me, ma belle? Can you wake up, and open your eyes?"

His soothing voice pulled her out of the dream and she looked over at him, studying his face in confusion as to where she was and what he was doing there with her. The tears didn't stop flowing down her cheeks, but she did come up into a sitting position on the floor, welcoming his arms as he crawled the rest of the way to her, and settled down as close as he could get.

Wiping the tears from her face gently with his large paw, she rested her head against his chest, and allowed his warmth to comfort her. "I'm sorry I had to leave you here. I needed to get the tart out of the oven before it burned. Then I got caught up cleaning my mess. Oh, mon amour, I should have come right back."

"It's alright. I can't close my eyes for more than a few moments without reliving the whole terrifying ordeal. Sometimes the details change and I die, or you or Tobias. Other times, Edmund and Tobias never show up and Gaston…" She trailed off as the bile rose in her throat at the memory of him chaining her to that bed and touching her flashed before her eyes.

Beast's blue eyes looked down on her with sympathy and chagrin that Gaston was still tormenting her from beyond the grave. "It never would have come to that. If I had to chew my own wrists off, I never would have let him…"

Belle smiled up at him, the sound of determination so full in his voice, she didn't doubt he'd have done just that. "Then I suppose I need to be grateful it didn't come to that. I rather like your hands and wrists intact. Or at least, mostly."

She gently fingered the scars that were forming where the irons had sliced into his wrists, and he felt a shiver run down his spine at the sweet caress.

"Most dreams are saying goodbye to Edmund over and over again. I can't seem to grasp the fact that he's really gone. When school starts back up next week, his smiling face won't be there to welcome the children and me. The funeral is tomorrow, and I don't know how I'm going to make it through. It's my fault he's dead. That knife and bullet were meant for me." The tears continued to fall, and she choked on a sob that got caught in her throat.

He slowly stroked her hair, running his claws carefully through the tangled brown tresses, gently freeing each snarl from its knot. "He wanted to protect you. He loved you. And he wants you to be happy. He wouldn't want you torturing yourself with guilt or grief. He's at peace. You saw it just as I did. He's happy."

"I know, you're right. But I can't help feeling part of me died with him. I no longer have a desire to teach. It's too intertwined with memories of him. I wish there was someone else who could resume lessons at his school. At least, until I've worked through my grief. Oh, and then there's the fact that after the funeral I'll need to pack up his house. The solicitor came by yesterday to talk to me about Edmund's financial affairs. Apparently he left the school and everything to me. I suppose he knew I would be a good steward, since it's not actually stipulated I use the money to keep the school running. I spoke to the solicitor about creating a scholarship fund to send the brightest, most accomplished students, to Edmund's alma mater, The University of Paris. And I'm naming the school The St. James school. He wanted to call it something Plato, but I felt strongly it needed to don his name now." Her tears slowed as she spoke of the more technical aspects of her friend's departure from this world.

Beast listened intently as she continued describing all the work that lay ahead of her. She brightened slightly when he offered to help her with anything he could, including boxing up Edmund's house. It was going to be a grueling week to survive, but she knew that she'd find the strength to get through it, as long as he was never too far away.

Finally, when silence fell, and they both felt the exhaustion setting in, Belle sat up, lifting her head from its resting place on his chest, and looked up at him. "How did your tart turn out?" she asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Perfect, actually. We can share it in the morning. For now, we both should get back to bed. I'll walk you to your room." He stood up, offering a paw to her, which she gladly took.

Silently, they walked up the main staircase, her arm hooked loosely around his, both of them half asleep already. He turned to go up the East Wing flight, but she pulled on him slightly, causing him to stop and glance down at her with confusion.

A blush stained her cheeks, and she avoided his gaze. "I don't think I can go back to that empty room," she said, half muttering under her breath, grasping his arm tighter than before. The idea of losing his comforting warmth made her feel empty.

"Did you want to… join me?" he gulped as the words came out. Sharing a bed hadn't exactly gone well the first time they'd tried it. But he heard the fear in her voice, and if there was something he could do to alleviate that fear, he was determined to do it.

She nodded her head affirmatively, hugging his arm as they walked up the West Wing steps together.

Once settled into his massive bed, her dressing robe discarded and her body pressed up against his side with her head nestled in the crux of his shoulder, he felt her sigh of relief. He laid one paw on her hip, while the other found its way back to her hair, once again soothingly stroking it, and lulling her to sleep.

"You're doing it again," a familiar voice beckoned from the darkness that surrounded her.

"Doing what?" She peered into the abyss, unable to see the figure that spoke to her.

"You're thinking about me when you should be focusing on him," it replied with that dry tone he always used when he was sure he was right.

Belle sighed, giving up the search for the form that went along with the voice, just taking comfort in the sound of it filling her ears. "I hate it when you're right," she scoffed.

"Then I suppose it's good I rarely am," he said teasingly, and Belle recalled the last time they'd had this exact conversation.

"If only," she sighed, as the realization this was just a dream sank in. Before she could think, the words tumbled out of her mouth, "I miss you."

"I know," was his only reply.

"How do I do this without you?"

"By doing it with him."

It was nearing noon when Lumière finally cracked open the door to the Master's chambers to check and see if all was well. The staff had enjoyed his little late night gift, making sure to save him a slice so he could have a taste of what his hard work had accomplished. It still astonished and impressed the secretary that the Master was becoming such an astute baker.

Peering through the open door, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The Master was lying on his back, sprawled out in his typical fashion, but tucked into his shoulder Lumière observed a tuft of dark brown hair and a lump laying against his side. Their legs were intermingled under the thick covers, and Lumière could see her hand resting on the wide chest of Beast, peeking out from beneath the blanket.

He sighed with a smile as he silently crept back out of the room and turned the handle so as not to wake the peaceful couple. He knew Beast hadn't had much sleep since their return, and he was glad to see both of them finally receiving the needed rest they required to heal from their ordeal. Stepping away from the door, he saw Cogsworth strolling towards him with the typical stuffy look of urgent determination on his worn face.

Creating a blockade with his body, the thin man made the hallway impassable to the majordomo.

"Do you mind? I need to speak to the Master regarding some of the arrangements for the harvest ball, and it cannot wait."

Cogsworth tried using his larger girth to bounce his colleague to the side, but Lumière held his position. "Not now, Cogsworth. The Master is finally getting des sommeils. I do believe he was up very late again last night. Did you get a taste of le dessert he left for us?" Lumière hooked his arm through Cogsworth's and started leading him back down the hall.

"Why, yes, it was delicious… B—but you can't mean to allow him to sleep all day, do you? What about the preparations for the ball we're to host in three weeks? I need his approval on several pressing items and…" he trailed off, recognizing how insensitive he sounded. The Master had just faced yet another trauma so soon after the last one and needed to take time away to recover properly.

The two were just making their way down the main staircase when they came upon Babette, flying down the East Wing steps and carrying a black dress in her arms. Upon Belle's return, the newer staff member had hit it off with Belle, and become her ladies' maid.

"Have either of you seen mademoiselle? She's not in her room. Her bed doesn't even look like it's been slept in, and I can't find her anywhere." Her voice was only slightly panicked as she looked around frantically, missing the grin that Lumière failed to stifle.

"Have you checked the library?" Cogsworth offered, which earned him a scoff from the tall woman.

Her hands landed on her hips as she scoffed at the majordomo. "That's the first place I looked. I also checked the kitchen, both dining rooms, the Master's study, conservatory, and the main gardens." Now the concern rose in her voice, and her gaze shifted from one gentleman to the other and back again. "It's as if she isn't in the castle at all!"

"Freet not, mon chérie. I assure you, mademoiselle is safe and well, and not wanting to be disturbed." The taller man restrained the chuckle that threatened to spill over, but he couldn't hide the smirk.

Satisfied enough with the reassurance, although curious about her lover's suggestive grin, she conceded, "If you are certain, then I'll just leave this dress for her in her room." She gave a parting sideways glance to Lumière that told him he'd be explaining everything to her later, before turning back to the direction she'd just come from.

Once out of earshot, Cogsworth turned on his friend, poking him in the chest. "And pray tell, where is the young miss?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lumière rushed them along, taking two steps at a time. "Nowhere anyone needs to know about."

Cogsworth struggled to keep up with the much more spry and agile man in front of him. "Now see here, I am in charge of this household and I demand you tell me at once where Mistress Belle is!"

As Cogsworth followed Lumière down to the kitchen, Mrs. Potts couldn't help but overhear the arguing between her oldest friends, and she tsked at the sound. She'd just finished putting together a tray of tea and the final slice of apple tart to bring up to the Master when they entered the room.

Her face shone with concern and annoyance as she pushed passed them with the tray, forcing them to follow her back the way they'd come. "Will the two of you stop your grousing? What's this about Belle you're going on about? Is something the matter?"

"Non, non, nothing is wrong," Lumière assured. "She is precisely where she belongs. This stuffed-shirt simply wants information he is not entitled to."

"Well then, I suggest you both get back to your duties," Mrs. Potts resolved as the majordomo glared indignantly at Lumière. "Cogsworth, you have a meeting with the fabric merchant. He and Angélique have been waiting for five minutes already in the minor parlor. Lumière, I assume you need to clear the Master's schedule once more? He isn't still sleeping, is he?" She bustled up the steps carrying the tray.

Cogsworth turned heel, horrified he'd lost track of the time, and scurried to his appointment.

Lumière stayed close to Mrs. Potts, trying to formulate a way to keep her from opening the Master's door.

"He is still sleeping, and we shouldn't disturb him."

"I wasn't going to wake the poor dear. Just set the tray inside so when he wakes he won't need to seek it out." She was just cresting the steps to the West Wing hallway when Lumière stepped in front of her, grabbing hold of the tray. "Now, just a minute, what do you think you're doing?"

He grinned down at her, trying to give his most persuasive smile. "Allow me, madame. I am a wee bit lighter on my feet, am I not?"

She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I suppose. But this doesn't happen to have something to do with Belle's whereabouts does it?" The involuntary way Lumière's grin deepened and his piss poor attempt to feign innocence gave away the answer. "I see. You were right to keep this from Cogsworth, he'd never be understanding of the situation. And they're asleep?" A quick nod assuaged any concern she might have had. "Alright then. I'm glad to know they're both finally getting the rest they've been so sorely needing. I'll be sure to keep the maids busy elsewhere. We don't need nasty rumors flying about in the wake of all that's happened recently. But you will need to have a talk with him about what's proper."

"Me? Why do I have to be the one to do it?" Lumière whined, but already knew what the housekeeper's response would be.

Belle woke for the first time in what seemed like forever, feeling refreshed and restored. The sunlight poured in through the balcony, leaving tracks of light across the floor. From the sun's position, it was well past lunch, and yet she didn't feel hungry. The spot she occupied was warm, and she nuzzled her head into the soft plush beneath it, stroking her hand across the soft cotton of his shirt. Circles were being traced along her arm by the roughened pads of a few large fingers, and she felt safe and happy.

She grinned up at him, wiping the sleep from her eyes before returning her hand to its place on his chest. "Good morning. Or should I say, good afternoon?"

"Hi." He returned the grin, squeezing her into his side and kissing the top of her head. "Did you sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've had in months. Can we go back to doing this every night?" Her hazel eyes looked up into him, pleading for him to say yes.

With every fiber of his being he wanted to say the word she hoped for, but having gotten a good amount of sleep himself, he was too clear-headed to be foolish enough to say it. Instead, he just smiled at her again and held her tightly, enjoying the last few moments before they both needed to start their day.

He'd laid there, unmoving, for the past hour at least, just cherishing the feel of her body pressed so closely against his. The nightmares stayed away while she was in his arms, and it felt right for her to be there. He knew he wanted to give her a real, proper proposal, but the timing needed to be right. The funeral was tomorrow morning, and then they would start on clearing out Edmund's house. Perhaps when everything was done and settled, and her grief wasn't as potent as it was now, he could find a small moment to ask her again to be his bride.

They sat together, and shared the slice of apple tart he'd made, and a cup of tea that Mrs. Potts had clearly slipped into the room earlier. Belle felt the sting of embarrassment to have been found in the bed of a man she was unwed to, but hoped only the kind housekeeper had stumbled upon their indiscretion. Despite it being most innocent, many wouldn't see it as such.

It seemed unfair that only those under the approval of the Church could cohabitate in such a manner. And it wasn't like they could be intimate—being so different in size and physical form. What harm was there for them to take comfort and sanctuary in one another's arms? The only place that protected either of them from the nightmares that intruded when they were apart.

Begrudgingly, Belle wrapped herself back in the dressing gown and peered out the door to his chambers, glancing down the hall to see if any servants were about. She and Beast parted with the promise to meet in the smallest dining room for a brief lunch before he was swept away by Cogsworth and dogged with decisions regarding the harvest ball the castle was preparing for.

Making her way unnoticed to her apartment, she slipped into her room and dressed quickly in a lovely pink velvet gown with long sleeves and a cozy fur collar. It was perfect for the chilly day.

Her heart stalled for a moment when she turned to leave her room and saw the black dress she'd requested Ann make her for tomorrow's funeral. It hung on a hook on the front of her wardrobe. It was a very simple frock, with minimal dark green lace trimmed around the collar and base of the skirt. It wasn't full, like the gowns Ann preferred to make her, such as the one she currently had on. No, this was a simple peasant dress suited for a schoolmarm in mourning. She looked it over and wondered if Edmund would have appreciated her effort, or have teased her for going too far.

Probably the latter. As serious as he was, he never liked seeing her take herself too seriously, and had always been the first to try to cajole her out of any somber thoughts.

Running a finger across the dress, feeling its thick material that was certain to protect her against the autumn winds that often whipped outside the little church in Villeneuve, she felt an odd comfort that she was honoring him properly. Pushing away any lamentation that threatened to overcome her, she left the room and the symbol of what was on the horizon, choosing instead to focus on spending the day with her Beast, enjoying his company, and helping to plan the ball.

While Belle changed, Beast dressed quickly and ran down the stairs to find Mrs. Potts. While the thought was still fresh in his mind, he wanted to peruse the family jewels. He knew his mother's engagement ring was far too extravagant and flashy for Belle's more simplistic tastes, and he couldn't easily recall any of the other rings that filled the collection, but he was confident he'd find something that would be perfect for his love.

Having located Mrs. Potts, she led him up a forgotten staircase on the opposite side of the castle. It was narrow and curved around the rounded turret walls. Finally reaching the top, she paused at the door that held his family crest.

"They're beyond this door. But I was never given a key to unlock it, I'm afraid," she told him as he placed a paw over the forgotten crest that had vanished from all the vestiges it previously adorned throughout the castle when Rosalind cursed the palace. He'd expected it to return when the curse on the castle was lifted, but it didn't. Instead, a new crest appeared; one with roses and a beastly head that resembled his own.

Understanding the need for an outward sign that the kingdom was changed, and would forever be, he'd accepted the change with grace and chose not to mention it. But looking on his family crest now, in this forgotten tower, he recalled a lesson his father personally taught him. It was about the family tree, and how this crest was a symbol of their families divine right to rule, stretching back to before the crusades. They were a founding family of Europe's ruling class, and while their kingdom had always been small—and seen many wars—they remained steadfast in their lineage with the crown passing uninterrupted from father to son for hundreds of years. More than fifteen generations.

A pang of regret and the feeling he was disappointing all of his forefathers with his decision to remain a beast—a beast that could never beget an heir—washed over him. His large fingers traced the fleurs-de-lis, then the lion heads, and finally the sabers that looked as if they slashed behind a shield. In the middle of the shield was a glimmering ruby that looked to be at the center of a rose. He'd never noticed that part of the crest before and was certain it wasn't on any other iteration of it that had once decorated nearly every entry way in the castle. Gently, he thumbed at it, and the instinct to press it spurning him to try. It gave way and slid back until it was flush with the surrounding stone.

A loud crackling filled the landing Mrs. Potts had left him standing on, and it felt as if the turret was about to shake apart. But it remained steadfast, as the large stone door slid to the side, revealing a small room with velvet lined shelves and alcoves that displayed sparkling jewels of every gemstone, placed in intricate and ornate gold or silver settings. He saw his parents' crowns sitting side by side, each on its own blue velvet pillow. There were several necklaces he'd frequently seen his mother wear, with matching bracelets and rings, and to the left was a special pillow, with cuts placed into it that held over a dozen rings of various sized gems and diamonds. It was this that drew him in, and he looked over all the options.

He recalled being in this room only once as a young boy. He'd followed his mother from her room up the spiraling stairs. She'd found him at her feet, looking up with shining eyes at the splendor surrounding them. She ruffled his hair and told him that one day, everything in that room would belong to him, and he could choose to decorate his Queen with whatever he liked. She came that night for the emerald and gold set his father favored, for it made his mother's green eyes sparkle. It was never a favorite of hers, for she only ever wore it when his father specifically requested it. She gravitated towards the sapphires and diamonds when the choice was left to her, which it rarely was.

A feeling of guilt suddenly overtook him. He didn't want to simply choose for Belle as his father always did for his mother. His original plan was to pick a ring today and keep it in his pocket til the right moment presented itself. Now, he knew that plan had to be revised. When the time came, he'd ask, and if she said yes again, he'd bring her here and let her choose. Too many times her choices had been taken away, or made for her by others—including himself—that he didn't want to start their marriage that way. No, he needed her to have the choice, needed her to always have a choice.

Sorry for the slight delay. Was working on some home improvement projects and cleaning for Easter. I hope everyone had a happy and healthy holiday!