CHAPTER 16

BELLE gingerly rubbed her wrist and looked up at the master of the castle from her spot on the floor.

"Th—thank you," she said softly, surprised she could even muster up the strength to speak at all considering what she had just narrowly escaped. He had…helped her.

She was having trouble wrapping her mind around it. Belle made sure to leave off the 'sir,' this time as she addressed the master of the castle in a quiet, shy voice. Belle blinked as she heard the Beast let out a grunt.

"Ser Laurent was always the type to do foul things to maidens since he was old enough. I can't imagine what he would do to you, pretty belle," the Beast replied in a listless, disinterested tone as he looked his hearth keep up and down slowly, studying her pale features, and trying not to stare at the gash on her cheek. "He'd use his sword on you, probably."

His tone was grating, and blunt.

Belle shivered, still rooted to her spot on the floor. "Well…thank you for—for making sure that didn't happen, Your Highness," Belle whispered in a faint voice and bit down on her bottom lip. When all the Beast managed to do was stare down back at her, she huffed, feeling a surge of fear and anger well within her. "It would typically be polite to say, "You're Welcome," Your Highness. It's the proper way of replying to a thank you," Belle retorted in a curt voice.

She thought she heard him scoff in disgust and disbelief. "I will offer you a proper welcome, pretty belle, when you give me a proper thank you, Belle," the Beast rasped in annoyance, and Belle colored angrily.

"B-but I already thanked you, Your Highness, politely and cordially, sir, and if that's not the proper way then I—" she started to say but was interrupted.

"Calm down, pretty little belle. I do not demand a kiss. I only wish to remind you what it is that I am. If you do not wish to thank me as a heroine would her hero, then I suggest you stop pretending I am one."

Belle clamped her lips shut, silent, unsure what to say by way of response. Her mouth was set into a hard, rigid line as she held eye contact with the tall monster. She felt a surge of defiant anger course through her as the Beast came closer towards her and extended a paw in order to help her stand.

She stared at the wretch's hairy claw for a while, unsure of whether or not her legs would even support her weight at this point, unwilling to touch him at the moment, especially not the same monster that had originally ordered her tongue be cut out, who had watched Ser Laurent harm her and had shown no mercy, had done nothing to try to stop it.

The Beast waited for a moment, and then after a moment or two of indecision, pointedly changed his approach, and lifted Belle to her feet on his own, his claws firmly underneath her arms as he helped her up.

She shuddered at the creature's touch, her master, though the monster was, she still almost opposed it.

"You're safe now," he barked in a rough voice, leading her towards a nearby chair in the hallway, that looked as though it had been positioned there for the servants to sit in wait whenever they were called on.

Belle swallowed down hard past a lump in her throat, unable to even articulate a coherent reply. She did not want this creature to touch her, let alone speak to her, much less share a room as this monstrous thing.

She did not want anything, except for the world to leave her alone, to let her be left alone, for once in her lifetime.

"Ser Laurent, the fool, did he hurt you, Belle?"

Belle felt what little color was left in her face drain as she looked up slowly towards him, briefly, before collapsing onto the chair, the question he had just posed to her sounding more ridiculous than anything.

She almost snapped at the Beast before some small semblance of reasoning came back to her mind then.

Get a grip, Belle scolded. Remember the plan.

It took her a moment or two to find her voice again.

"No," she said at last, though the Beast's brows rose up at the sight of the obvious finger-shaped markings that littered the skin of her wrist where Not-Ser-Laurent had almost violently grabbed onto her. "You were able to stop him in time, and… thank you, sir…"

The Beast continued to stare at Belle, almost blankly, keeping his arms clasped neatly behind his back, so as to not appear like he was lunging at Belle.

Belle shivered, trying her hardest to put on some mask of relief or gratitude towards the master of the castle, but she wasn't able to manage up the energy. Her body still shivered, the fresh horror of the sight of the guard's reanimated body to come back to life so vivid in her mind. Luckily, her eyes were dry now.

She didn't want the Beast to witness her crying in a moment of weakness. He already thought her delicate.

The Beast's blue eyes went down Belle's arm, lingering on her wrist. She thought she heard him sigh.

"You will get better protection, mademoiselle, I can assure you. You will be moved to new quarters immediately, here in the West Wing…closer to me…"

Belle's eyes widened as her brain took in her master's words. She was hardly aware of the vehement shaking of her head no as she tried to protest this change. She did not want her room anywhere near his.

However, the scathing, warning look her master was currently shooting her, and the lowly little growl from deep within the creature's broad chest he gave off, told Belle that she would be unwise to contest his decision.

Finally, she swallowed all the bile still in her throat and looked up towards the Beast, hoping that she was conv eying the right amount of relief, gratitude, and fear. In a way, Belle was able to recognize that she should be truly grateful he'd chosen to put a stop to it.

If he hadn't… she shuddered at the implication of the very thought and forced herself to try to be calm.

"Thank you." It was everything Belle could manage to utter at this moment, unsure of what else to say now.

The prince's motives were more likely egotistical in nature and nothing more than that, but regardless, she thought the Beast, for whatever reason, had saved her from a fate that was worse than even death, either way.

The Beast acknowledged it with a curt nod. "Ser Laurent will not be bothering you anymore, Belle," he stated calmly, observing her plainly with a hard glare.

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "What will you do to it? Can he…can he even be punished when he—he's like that?" Her voice was barely audible and almost quivering as she spoke.

Belle, much to her disgust and agitation, discovered that she still did not have much control over her body, as it continued to shake, prepared for another assault.

"I will talk to him," was all the answer that he gave, causing Belle to almost huff in indignation and anger.

"And…talking with him will be enough?" Belle softly challenged as she quirked an eyebrow at her master.

"Yes." His voice was curt, bordering on impatience.

She fought against the impudence to roll her eyes at the Beast Prince's vague one-word answer, but she quickly realized that was all she was going to get from the monster.

For a moment, there was perfect stillness between the master of the castle and his hearth keep.

"Your Highness," she blurted out suddenly, not sure where her words were coming from. "If I—if I mean anything to you—if you hold even an ounce of mercy in your heart, then you must help me. Please let me go."

She bit down on her bottom lip and fell silent.

The Beast lifted his chin, his blue eyes narrowing in distrust and growing contempt as she shakily rose to her feet, shaking her head no at the offer of his outstretched hand.

The Beast looked like he wanted to take offense to it but must have thought better of it.

"Must," he repeated slowly. "Such a strong word, pretty belle, a forceful word. How very…bold of you…"

Belle swallowed down past a lump in her throat, seemingly not of her own will. Her brain was practically screaming at her to turn around, but her limbs seemed to have other ideas in mind for her now.

"Life has not treated me gently, Your Highness," she said, choosing her words carefully, speaking slowly. "And I don't think my words, in turn, will never be gentle. I am terribly sorry if I have offended you—"

"Offend me?" The Beast threw back his head and let out a short bark that Belle guessed was supposed to be laughter as he stepped closer towards his hearth keep, closing off the gap of space between. "Oh, my pretty little belle, have you truly not been paying any attention? No, my lady, you rather delight me, I find, despite your force and your misguided idea of what you believe it means to call yourself ill-used, little dove."

The Beast stared down into Belle's face, and for a moment, Belle forgot that her master was several feet taller than her, or that he was barely even human. She was finding herself lost in the deep blue pools of his eyes, unable to tear her gaze away from them, and more importantly than that, she did not want to at all.

For a split moment, the prince loomed over her in his cursed form, swallowing her, overpowering Belle.

"I've no guards to escort you home, mademoiselle, especially not any that I would trust to see you safely returned home, Belle," the Beast growled, a dark shadow flitting across his face.

No doubt he was thinking of the encounter with Ser Laurent just now.

"Even if I was of a mind to show you an ounce of mercy, this request of yours is one that I cannot grant you," he said, his voice rougher but softer, somehow. The change in his voice and shift in countenance was not lost on his hearth keep as Belle gaped at him. "Do you know what it is that you ask for, truly? You barely survived an hour alone on your own in the Wolves' Woods, and were it not for me, that animal would have killed you. You'd be covered in blood and gore, and no one would remember you for your choice. Is that what you want, Belle? Is that what you would have me give you if I were to set you free? Hmm? The right to a grisly death, eaten alive by a pack of starving wolves, with your guts in your hands and the wolves tearing you to pieces to devour you while you feel it?"

Belle angrily clenched her jaw and didn't flinch back.

"I know that I cannot stay here as your prisoner and live," she spat back angrily. "Is that not enough?"

For a moment, there was a thick, uncomfortable stillness between the master of the castle and his hearth keep. Neither of them seemed to breathe or move at all. And then the Beast sighed, and the spell of stillness that lingered in the air around was broken. He turned away from her, speaking languidly to her.

"I expect that you will give me something in return for the kindness of saving your life, Belle. Twice," he added for emphasis, almost as an afterthought to her.

Belle swallowed hard, feeling little droplets of sweat start to glitter along the top of her scalp before they dripped down the sides of her temple, betraying her nervousness in front of him. She hated herself for it.

"Whatever you ask, Your Highness," she mumbled, fiery heat creeping to her cheeks as she gathered the skirts of her blue velvet dress and sank into a curtsy. She shivered as she heard him chuckle, and when she dared to look up, the Beast was…smiling at Belle.

"Whatever I ask, pretty Belle? A hefty promise indeed. I like it. I would have my thank you now, my dear."

Belle shivered, folding her arms across her chest, she did her absolute best to look haughty and angered.

"I am aware," she huffed. "What do you want, monsieur?" she asked, trying to give her voice quiet.

Her heart leaped and panic flooded her veins as he stepped closer towards her, eyeing her much like a vicious wild panther would that was stalking its prey. Belle felt her breaths catch in her throat as she saw the Beast's blue eyes, burning, glazed, and heavy in the torchlight that was closest to her on the sconce behind.

"A kiss," the Beast growled in a snarl, baring his fangs as he looked at her with no small amount of distrust in his eyes, as though he thought she would go back on her promise to repay her second debt to him.

Belle inhaled sharply as her eyes widened, hardly daring to believe the confession that came from him.

"A—a kiss?" she squeaked, utterly horrified. She barely resisted the urge to clamp a hand to her mouth.

"Did I stutter, pretty belle?" the Beast retorted, growing vexed, as she heard the beginnings of another low rumbling growl threaten to burst forth from him. "Just one. I don't expect it to lead anywhere or get me anything else from you except for perhaps a well-deserved slap in the face, but I would say one kiss from you is my thank-you enough for saving your life, dove. Now." He came even closer and looked hopefully at her. "Will you keep your word, Belle?" the Beast said.

Belle furrowed her brows and looked her master over in his changed form with a speculative frown.

The other villagers in Villeneuve, she remembered them speaking in hushed whispers about the prince, that Adam du Barreau was an incredibly dangerous man. A man not to be trifled with. This, Belle guessed, would certainly count as trifling; she supposed, no matter what she did or said to try to supplicate her master.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could not picture the Beast in that light.

Nothing about her master seemed dangerous at this exact moment. Not with his disheveled fur on top of the head, his linen shirt that sat askew across his broad chest, bunched, and wrinkled in strange places. It looked as though he'd attempted to change into something fresh and neatly pressed and had gotten frustrated and given up halfway through. Probably because the laces and buttons were too much effort with his new sharp claws.

Belle realized with a start the Beast's shirt was blue.

Previously, she'd almost never seen him wear any other color than black and gold, so this was very new.

Belle walked towards him slowly and boldly, her dark eyes locked on his icy-blue ones. Belle swore she thought she saw his entire body tense and go rigid as he straightened, his tongue running over his lips, almost as if the Beast were tasting the air for Belle's scent. But the Beast made no move to grab Belle, not even when Belle stood only inches away from him now.

"One kiss?" she asked softly, a pink blush speckling along her cheeks as she downcast her gaze to the floor, suddenly nervous to look the creature in its eyes.

"Just one," the Beast reiterated as he promised her. "And nothing more and nothing less than that, Belle. Nothing that you'd not give me of your own free will."

Belle nodded numbly, hardly daring to believe she was consenting to this. Her mouth was set in a straight line as she boldly maintained eye contact with him.

She felt a surge of hot, defiant anger course through her as she stepped forward, closing off the gap of space between them. The Beast's face and eyes gave absolutely no sign of what he was thinking at the moment.

But when Belle came before him and set her hands on his shoulders, the Beast tensed underneath her tender touch. She lifted herself up onto the tips of her toes and pulled the Beast down the rest of the way.

Belle placed her lips to the Beast's cheek gently in a chaste and gentle kiss. Her body trembled slightly, but she reminded herself that what he'd asked of her, could be worse. When Belle took her lips away from his cheek, she stared him right in the eyes, his face still hunched towards hers. She thought that he smiled.

"I would have my welcome from you now," Belle said firmly in a low and husky voice, and he offered her an odd little half-smile that was oddly suggestive now.

"You are welcome, mademoiselle," the Beast rasped, and Belle turned on her heels to leave. "But I think it's telling, don't you, that you chose the cheek, Belle?"

Belle's face blanched as she did not turn back on her heels to face her master, and instead went on her way, her cheeks burning and her face reddening in anger. Why the prince had to make things so incredibly difficult for her, Belle couldn't say, nor did she think she could begin to comprehend why. He was almost infuriatingly difficult. The monster made her feel guilty for not gracing him with a kiss when he had been the one to order her face marred in the very first place.

And for not choosing to kiss him on the lips? Such a move on her part would have been bold and improper.

She shook her head and got into the relative safety of her comfort, preparing to gather her meager belongings to move into one of the servants' chambers into the West Wing, per her master's new request to move her to better, and hopefully warmer and more comfortable lodgings to better keep an eye on Belle.

Belle gingerly shut the door behind her and sighed as she leant against the wooden doorpost, breathing slowly through her flaring nostrils, and forcing her racing heart to calm down. She felt like she was reeling.

The prince, even before some witch's curse had spelled him and transformed him into the monster that he was now, was a cruel man with so very little feeling. He'd forced the guard to cut her cheek, shamed her into giving him a kiss, though it was to his cheek and no more than was expected of a lady for her heroine. What good man, Changeling or otherwise, would keep her as a prisoner here against her will and not let her leave? She had no doubt the Beast wanted to keep her around for his own selfish purposes, perhaps in helping him find a way to end this ghastly witch's curse.

Her master's claim to keep her safe from harm was just a pretense.

He might wish to keep her safe from the likes of creatures like the Not-Dead-Ser-Laurent, but only for his own personal desires, Belle realized angrily. She threw herself down on her bed, pressed her face into her pillow, and screamed.

As Belle kept her face buried into the smothering fabric of her pillow and contemplated the misery of the days since she'd last seen her beloved father, a firm rapping of someone knocking came at the door, and with it, jovial Lumiere's tone.

"My lady Belle," came his voice, faint and muffled from the other side of the wooden door of her room. At this, Belle's heart pounded loudly in her chest.

Could it be that the Beast demanded to see her? Surely, he could understand her need for solitude. She could only hope not yet. Belle groaned inwardly as she slid off the mattress and padded towards the door.

Belle opened the door enough so that half of her face could be seen as she peered down at the floor to look Lumiere and Mrs. Potts in the eyes as they stood still. Without further curtsy nor introductions, the tiny little candelabra delivered a strange message that set her blood boiling within her veins and her stomach churning in nausea.

"The master requests that you dine with him tonight, and there's a man at the castle's gates, milady. Monsieur Gaston Dupont is requesting to speak to you."

THE skin on his cheek still tingled and burned, hot and uncomfortable, where his hearth keep had pressed her lips. The cold, soft brushing of the lady Belle's tender lips burned his newly-transformed skin, once so smooth and supple, now coarse, hairy, and grating.

It had his chest constricting and his stomach churning in an uncomfortable twisting bundle of nerves and desire.

When Belle had walked towards him a moment ago, he'd felt his heartbeat rise and when her delicate hands had gone to his broad shoulders and gently pulled him down, the prince felt his mind go utterly blank, calm.

His eyes were stuck on the woman's beautiful, perfect face, scarred now, though it was, and that was more than enough for a wave of crushing guilt to crash over the Beast and rock the young prince to his core.

His hearth keep's sparkling dark eyes and stunning chocolate hair, her very beauty rocked him and for the smallest of moments, the Beast forgot who he was, what he was, and the state of his newly transformed body.

But when the prince saw Belle's face tilt to the side, moving away from his transformed, deformed face, the Beast could not help but be reminded of it. Belle's lips were hot and cold at once, both freezing and burning him to the bone. His jaw tingled to the point of numbness, the hairs on the back of his neck rose up, and his stomach and chest tightened in desire.

Such beautiful innocence like what his hearth keep exhibited should have been disgusting to the prince, it normally was, and most of the simpering little ladies whenever he'd visited the court in Paris when he'd been human, never knew that he reviled them as much as they reviled him, but somehow, Belle was different.

The moment Belle had turned on her heels and quit the scene, leaving the Beast to his own devices, he had let out a dense and aggrieved breath, willing the worst of the tension in his shoulders and limbs to leave him.

He made up his decision then and thereafter he had made the decision to force the girl to come to dinner.

He would have her, one way or another. He would just need to be patient, be a good dog, and then he would have his bone, and the curse would be lifted, yes.

He told himself this as he watched the girl disappear from the West Wing's corridor and down the stairwell to head back towards her servants' quarters. His thighs and stomach burned with desire as he watched her go.

He assured himself that somehow, someday, Belle would be his and his alone.

The thought got him through the lonesome hours spent in the darkness and solitude of the West Wing with the enchanted rose, and when he'd had enough of staring out into the grounds perched on the balcony's terrace, he fell onto his bed the minute he set foot back inside his chamber, a flagon of wine clutched tightly in his fumbling claw.

As the Beast searched for the bottom of that flagon, he fell asleep, images of chocolate eyes and even darker hair swirling around in his fatigued mind.