Chapter 10: Tale as Old as Time

The Beast wasn't sure how he had pulled it off. The other day, after Belle had asked him to sit with her in the library for a spell and read with her, he had plucked up the courage to ask her to dinner. At first, she had giggled and reminded him that they ate dinner together every night now, so he had rephrased his question by saying it was to be a formal dinner. He had watched Belle's eyes expand in almost pleasant surprise. It certainly sounded like a date. To his shock and delight, she had happily accepted and run off back to her rooms so that Madame De La Grand Bouche could help her pick out what to wear.

Cogsworth and Lumiere probably – no, definitely – didn't have as much expertise in fancy dress, but they were eager and sincere, and Mrs. Potts was immensely helpful in dissuading the boys from more… outlandish fashion choices. She and the Beast finally decided on a dashing, well-cut blue waistcoat from his days as a prince, as a…. human, that remarkably still fit his wide, buxom frame without tearing.

Lumiere and Cogsworth better served their Master as go-betweens for him and the lady who was to be on his arm. The Beast felt incredibly nervous about the formality of this dinner (and ballroom dance to follow), and he only hoped that he had made his intentions clear to Belle, if not exactly explicitly, then at least implicitly.

He didn't know if she had any experience in the realm of courtship. Belle had confided in him that in her hometown, many of the villagers clearly thought her beautiful, but also odd. Her beauty, he could easily see why: she had a heart-shaped, truly immaculate, exquisite face, but more than this she was intelligent, cultured, soft and well-spoken. The oddity, he couldn't quite fathom. If towering intellect was considered odd, well then, she must have been tragically brought up in a village full of dullards.

One name had come up, besides her Papa (the Beast still felt a twinge of shame for the way he had so badly treated Belle's father): Gaston. But the mentions had been few, brief, and also with an almost regrettable sadness to them. Had this Gaston been a former lover, a suitor? Perhaps. During one memorable conversation, Belle had mentioned in passing her 'husband.' Was it possible that she was married, and that her spouse and this Gaston were one and the same? If so, it would certainly explain a lot. Then again, Belle had always touched upon this aspect of her life as though it was in the past tense – could she be a widow? Maybe that's why she always sounded so sad when she thought of this husband. Or maybe she was still married, and she and her spouse were just estranged. The uncertainty surrounding the marital, romantic status of this beautiful young woman, whom he could admit he definitely had feelings for, was irksome to the Beast. Whatever had occurred in Belle's marriage, if estrangement was the explanation, then the Beast had to conclude that this Gaston character was a damn fool for letting her go.

The Beast and Belle were to meet from opposite ends at the top of the grand staircase leading down into the entrance hall. When he saw her emerge in a golden ball gown, her silky, brown hair down in a ponytail and her creamy shoulders bared, the Beast's heart stopped. Straightening his waistcoat, he strode down to meet her in the middle, and she beamed up at him radiantly. He couldn't help but smile back, his work in this area much improved from her first night in the castle. Bowing low to her, Belle elegantly curtsied, then happily took his arm. As they descended the stair, Sultan played and yipped at their feet, ducking around Belle's yellow skirts. They swept into the dining hall, Belle gazing up at the Beast with shining eyes. She was luminescent, effervescent, and the Beast would have been sorely tempted to kiss her if he had the courage.

Dinner was an elegant, private affair. Before long, Belle was brimming with energy, and she happily dashed for the Beast and tugged him to his feet before the meal was even through. They glided into the ballroom and paused in the center of the floor, Belle smiling softly as she guided the Beast in how to take her waist. Beaming up at him encouragingly, the pair swayed into a lyrical waltz. Before long, the dancing came almost easy, and the Beast could not remember anything but the loveliness of the woman in front of him. She seemed to be just as comfortable with him as he was with her, and when Belle at one point sleepily rested her head on his chest, a content smile on her face, the Beast was thrilled. Cogsworth and Lumiere were practically dancing and gloating, thrilled at how it had turned out.

As for Belle herself, she was having a wonderful time. The….. she supposed she could describe it as tension between her and the Beast was electric, though they both masked acknowledging it while swept up in the dance. Gazing up into his eyes, she found their brilliant blue smoldering in some moments, the way he held her impossibly gentle and also…. Sultry in a way. It…. excited. No – aroused her.

He really wasn't that bad to look at. He hadn't been even when she had first laid eyes on him in the tower dungeon and that had been in a moment of fear. With his fur neatly combed and looking truly dashing in his waistcoat, Belle felt herself grow hot as she admitted to herself that she found him very attractive. At one point, in a lull in the music, she had thought the Beast might even try and kiss her… and how, if he did, she wouldn't pull away.

The thought of her husband, Gaston, only brushed her consciousness barely enough to register. Belle tried to scold herself for having such… lustful thoughts about another man, for the Beast seemed to carry himself more like a man every day. Still, the fact remained: she was married. She had a husband. She shouldn't be imagining such…. romantic things for someone else. Should she? But, oh, how much it was like the fantastic tales she had read in her books. Especially her favorite, the one about a prince in disguise. At that moment, the torn image of the young man she had pondered in the West Wing came to mind. Could the Beast be a prince in disguise?

When the music faded, the Beast gallantly escorted Belle out onto the ballroom's balcony, under a moonlit, starry night sky. They sat on the railing slightly distanced from each other, both painfully shy and unsure what to say. The Beast finally took the initiative.

"Belle?" He managed to summon the guts to scooch closer and take her soft hands in his paws. "Are you… happy here with me?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, a little tremulously, smiling weakly. The light in her eyes quickly faded, however, and she turned her face away to stare off sadly, wistfully, into the night.

The Beast searched her eyes. "What is it?"

"…. If only I could see my father again. Just for a moment. I miss him so much."

The Beast worried his bottom fang, deep in thought. Then his strikingly handsome face brightened. "There is a way." And with Belle's face alighting hopefully, he took her hands and pulled her to her feet. He led her with purpose to the West Wing, allowing her in this time. Approaching the small side table, he presented Belle with the magic mirror.

"This mirror will show you anything. Anything you wish to see."

"I'd…. I'd like to see my father… please."

A green flash shone brightly and Belle shielded her eyes against the brief, sharp glare. When the image cleared, her brown eyes widened and her face fell, her pretty mouth dropping open in alarm. "Papa! Oh, no…. he's sick! He may be dying, and he's all alone!"

Hunched over the enchanted rose, the Beast stared into its glowing petals grimly, anguished. He hadn't had the best relationship with his own father, but even though he couldn't relate, he still knew how much Maurice meant to Belle. What ate at him was, if this husband of hers had let her go, he had been a fool. Except now he, the Beast, was the fool.

For there was only one thing he could do to make Belle happy… even if it meant forfeiting any and all chance to break the spell. Still, he forced himself to get the words out.

"Then…. you must go to him."

He heard Belle gasp behind him. "What did you say?"

"I release you," he hung his head, defeated. "You are no longer my prisoner."

"You mean…. I'm free?"

"Yes."

She actually embraced him. "Oh, thank you!" Turning back to the mirror, she called, "Hold on, Papa, I'm on my way!" Then, perhaps feeling gracious, Belle tried to give the mirror back to him.

"Take it with you," the Beast shook his head, daring to run a paw through her soft ponytail. "So you'll always have a way to look back…. And remember me."

He and Belle stared at each other for a moment. The beautiful woman's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for understanding how much he needs me."

She almost threw all caution to the wind and kiss him goodbye, but the Beast's head drooped. Belle tenderly cupped his cheek, smiling at him softly, before turning and fleeing with the mirror.

Not even half an hour later, the Beast watched from his West Wing balcony and let out an anguished roar as Belle thundered away on a stricken Philippe out of the courtyard, through the iron gates, across the stone bridge, and beyond his or the castle's reach forever.

The Beast knew, in his heart of hearts, that he had done the right thing. But that didn't mean his heart had to like it.