CHAPTER 17

THE sight of Gaston standing authoritatively tall and proud, ever the perfect vision of the conquering war hero, had the profound exact opposite effect on Belle as she stalked and stomped her way to the gates.

Her stomach churned the longer she looked upon him, though not necessarily out of a sense of revulsion. How could she, after everything that Gaston had gone through, risking his own life and limb for her?

No. Her stomach was spurning revulsion at the thought of what the master of the castle would do learning Gaston had come back.

She had to send him away before he was spotted. For his sake, and hers.

She could allow nothing and no one, especially not Gaston, to interfere with her mission in getting back home to her Papa, and this was on her terms.

She had made the prince a promise and, repulsive though it was, not desirous at all, she aimed to keep her word.

A frown furrowed her brow as she approached Gaston and came to a halt, inches in front of the man who stood on the other side of the iron-wrought gates. She wound her hands around the iron grille of the bar, fingers clenching.

Despite Gaston Dupont's initial insecurities, which Belle could see right through the man's arrogant posturing and bluffing, he was the first to break the awkward silence between them. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw his jaw clench in hatred as he briefly tore his gaze away from the scar on her cheek and to look up at the castle's parapets.

His own brows furrowed into a frown as he could have sworn he spotted movement from behind the curtains.

But whatever it was, it was gone the minute he locked eyes with it. Gaston barely resisted the urge to sneer ruefully at it. Whatever it was, if it was Adam, then the man was a right bloody coward for not daring to come out to face him.

"Belle," Gaston called out, his voice hoarse and nervous as he stood, waiting in silence, for Belle to say something.

Gaston could hardly force the cold winter air into his lungs. His entire body was hit with an overwhelming ache to rush to Belle and take the young mademoiselle into his arms. It was clear that she had been stunned into silence simply by his coming here, by him standing on the other side of the gates, less than a foot from her, but still parted.

The soldier did not wish to overwhelm the painter and tinkerer's daughter and would wait for Belle's reeling mind to comprehend his presence, that he had really come back for her, as he had promised. He was confident that her joy would match his upon seeing him alive and well and knowing that the moment he whisked her away from Prince Adam's estate, the two of them could start a new life together back in Villeneuve, a simple life, away from here.

Though his heart was crushed the moment her gasp split the awkward and heavy silence that lingered in the air between them, it was not exactly caused by her shock.

The sudden rush of the blood within her veins had caused the tender and sensitive scar tissue around her mending wound to react. A sharp shooting pain shot through the tender, damaged nerves in her cheek, and Belle doubled over in pain and let out a low guttural cry of pain, resisting the urge to clutch at her cheek and touch the scar.

Another low groan rose from somewhere within her throat as she sank to the ground, keeping her hands wound tightly around the iron grille of the gates like poison ivy would wind its way around a pillar to prevent herself from touching it, and she dared not move, fearing something was wrong.

Her concern registered upon her face, Gaston's arm shot through the bars and tried to catch Belle if the girl fell, fearing that she would likely pass out from pain and fatigue.

He had seen it times before on the battlefield and in the aftermath whenever a soldier was recovering from wounds, especially if their taxed their bodies too soon during healing.

Gaston's arm wound tightly around Belle's bicep, wanting to help the woman he loved through her spasms.

"Don't touch me! Don't come near me!" she yelled, wrenching her arm away and staggering backward, the heel of her boot almost catching on a gnarled old tree root.

Her face lined with worry, Belle's arms groped for and shot out for the iron grilles of the gate once more as she slowly straightened her gait and tried to regulate her pounding heartbeats within her chest back to normal again.

She breathed slowly through her nose and waited impatiently for the pain in her ruined facial muscles to subside. Belle frowned as she thought of this dinner the master of the castle wished her to attend to keep him company.

Belle briefly wondered if, the way that her face was hurting her, and how it hurt her just to talk, much less make any moves other than a twitch, if she could eat at all.

After a few agonizing moments, the white-hot flaring agony in her cheek and the surrounding scar tissue died down. Belle righted her posture and glowered at the soldier.

Her dark eyes narrowed as they made a quick scan of Gaston's majestic appearance in his gleaming red coat. She was grateful she had thought to swipe the knife from the kitchens, having hidden it in the skirts of her gown to accommodate the ruse of giving off the appearance of innocence and virtue.

She did not wish to resort to doing this, as she was a lady and not at all experienced in fighting, but if it meant defending herself from Gaston's unwanted advances, then she would do whatever means necessary to send him back to the village in order to look after her father.

That was the way that Gaston could help her best, she decided, if there was even an inkling of the man that truly loved her. She had no idea why Gaston Dupont was here.

Belle hoped he meant her no harm, but she could not take any chances, considering his own life was now at risk.

He was putting himself in danger's pathway just by being here. There was no telling what sort of volatile reaction the Beast was going to have once he got wind of his old friend's uninvited presence on the castle grounds, and talking to his hearth keep, no less. Or more importantly, a fact that Belle had almost forgotten to overlook, how Gaston was going to react when he saw his former childhood friend so…changed.

A violent shudder clawed its way down her back and Belle squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid her mind's eye of the phantasm images of such a confrontation. She did not even want to think of it at this point in time.

"You came back," Belle muttered to Gaston dryly through clenched teeth, the winds of winter whipping her hair off her shoulders as a cold chill wafted through the air.

Her mind struggled to understand why he'd come back.

Despite his growing discomfort, Gaston's desperation got the better of his plans, and he revealed his intentions to Belle even sooner rather than later. For a moment, a flash of anger flitted across his chiseled features as he rubbed at the two-day stubble growing along his jawline, thinking he would need to shave soon.

LeFou always used to do it for him, but he'd forgotten to ask the man before setting out to the prince's estate to get Belle.

A brief, ugly look contorted the handsome soldier's features into something deeply unsettling that caused a pit to form in Belle's stomach. It took her a moment to realize that the man was offended at the thought she harbored against him that he'd come back.

When he spoke, his tone was curt and clipped, almost bordering on biting as he addressed Belle in a subdued voice.

"Your father sent me to fetch you, Belle. I'd like to apologize—" Gaston started to say, but Belle cut him off.

"Don't!" Belle cried, her voice cracking and wavering in her resolve as she felt some of it start to chip away upon hearing even just the brief mention of her father back home.

Gaston flinched as he chewed on the wall of his mouth as Belle turned her head sharply away, knowing the girl was blinking back nearly a frozen tear that escaped from her eye. The solider quickly ascertained that he was not exactly making the impression on the young woman as he imagined he would. He had wanted to play the part of her dashing hero, to sweep her off her feet and whisk her away from this wretched accursed place, not make the girl even angrier.

"Of course," Gaston conceded with a nod of his head. "Forgive me, Belle. I did not intend to upset you, it was not my intention to offend you," he murmured, embarrassed.

"Don't," Belle repeated again as her dark eyes darted up to meet his. She was still frowning, and Gaston became confident that this was the look he had grown accustomed to seeing from the painter's daughter back home in the village. She was beginning to sound like her old self again, no longer impressed with how he'd risked himself to save her. "I don't want to hear how 'sorry' you are, Gaston. Stop."

She let her voice fall flat as the air around them grew thick, almost suffocating and so full of unspoken tension that Gaston thought he could remove his dagger from its sheath at his waist and cut a slice of the air with his blade, and that the silence between them would drive him insane. He tried to steal a glance at the pretty belle, but every time she sensed him looking, Belle purposefully reverted her gaze and made it a habit of looking away from the man.

Belle's facial muscles stiffened as she caught him looking at the scar on her cheek out of the corner of her peripherals.

A hot bubbling surge of anger welled within her chest, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Must you stare like that? This is entirely your fault!" Belle huffed, her dark eyes finally meeting Gaston's at last.

Gaston's cheeks burnt as they flushed high with color. "My apologies, milady. I had not realized I was staring…"

"What are you thinking?" Belle demanded, her breaths making visible puffs of cold vapor as she folded her arms across her breast and was regarding him as though Gaston were a wild animal she'd trapped and didn't know what to do with, whether or not she should kill it or release it now. "You can't change what happened, Gaston. None of us can do that. And even if we could, what good would it do either of us? I'd still know what kind of man you really are. I'd still know where your heart truly lies. It's always been with you. You're a cold man, monsieur, you think only of yourself."

Her words were cold and cut him through to his core. Gaston felt as though Belle had doused him with a bucket of ice-cold water as he staggered backward, away from the gate. He felt a whelming hollow ache deep within his chest.

There was so much he wished he could say candidly to Belle, so much that he wanted to explain, needed to explain, but he knew she was in no condition right now to listen to his explanation. She would barely let him get a word in edgewise, much less apologize for his treatment towards her, or allow him an offer of an explanation to his presence.

Gaston searched his brain for the right words, before eventually forsaking practiced and well-thought-out responses and deciding to throw caution to the winds and speak from his heart.

Whether or not she would accept his words, however, was a different matter entirely altogether.

"I'm not expecting you to forgive me, Belle," Gaston murmured, leaning in close to the gate, willing her closer. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not being fast enough. But please believe me. I speak the truth. Maurice, he did send me to fetch you, to check on you, Belle. He's asked after you. I promised I would bring you back. It was my hope that I could convince you to come away, Belle."

Belle squared her shoulders, her chin inching just that little bit higher as she looked at Gaston incredulously, as though Belle could not quite believe what she was hearing.

It took Belle several minutes to find her voice again, and when she did lift her gaze to his, there was almost such a look of resigned defeatism within those almond-shaped chocolate eyes he had come to know and love since knowing her, that Gaston thought that he could hardly stand it at all.

Her voice was soft and shy, keeping her lashes lowered. "Please return to the village, Gaston, and look after my father. I will try to write to Papa when I am able. I have no intention of shirking my duties to the prince. I gave the man my word, monsieur, I need you to understand and respect that. This, my servitude to him, is what's keeping Papa alive and off the gallows. I'm not going to go back on my word, regardless of how I do or don't feel about you, Gaston."

A flicker of anger darted through the soldier's eyes as he gritted his teeth, realizing that Belle was yet again, rejecting him, and doing the incredibly foolish thing by staying here.

"I know you're angry, Belle," Gaston began cautiously, desirous of ensuring his words had the appropriate effect. "You've every right to be furious with me, milady. I know that I deserve that much, at a minimum. But I made a promise to your father, Belle, and I intend to see you home. I think you and I should clear the air first between us before that happens. I think it would be better for both of us, yes?"

Belle rose her thin eyebrows at Gaston in impudence.

"You have no idea what is best for me, Gaston Dupont, don't presume to understand or know a thing about me. You obviously never took the time to know me at all, so don't start pretending now," Belle snapped, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not pretending, Belle. I know that I hurt you. Please understand that when I tell you I want to marry you, it comes from a place of love. I…I love you, Belle," he stammered, swallowing down past a lump in his throat as it hallowed and his broad chest constricted, rendering the soldier feeling lightheaded. Gaston almost swayed on the spot but managed to refrain from letting himself collapse.

The words of affirmation and affection felt awkward coming from him, but his words were all that he had left.

Belle's piercing dark eyes bored a hole straight through him, and Gaston could instantly tell his words hadn't had the effect that he had intended. Maurice's daughter was seething, furious with him, and the young woman was doing everything within her power to rein in her temper with him.

"You…you think by marrying me, you are protecting me," she repeated slowly, letting the words roll off her tongue. "Me? Belle Piaget, daughter of Maurice and Esme Piaget, the 'beauty but a funny girl,' need protecting? From what?"

Belle's voice cracked and broke on her last word, and Gaston could see just how much she was struggling with her emotions as she blinked back briny, salty liquid that had started to gather in the edges of her eyes in her ire.

It was obvious to Gaston that she was not over his betrayal, how he had not been fast enough to save her life, obvious that she still harbored bitter resentment towards him, even after everything that had transpired between them, whatever her feelings for him did happen to be.

He had only wanted to help Belle, not hurt her further, and Gaston was quick to realize he was doing an awful job of it.

Gaston slowly leant against the iron grille of the front gates, doing his best not to spook the painter's daughter.

They were at least finally talking and getting things out in the open, and he did not want to give Belle any excuse whatsoever to retreat, to withdraw into herself and not heed his words. Not when he had come all this way, to see Belle.

Gaston was desperate to explain, as best as he could, before he allowed Belle a single moment of more suffering.

"By asking you to marry me, I'm protecting you from Adam, from the man's wrath, and his insatiable jealousy."

Belle's face fell, crestfallen, as her dark eyes clouded over with confusion, and she searched the soldier's face, clearly and desperately trying to make sense of the man's words.

"I—I don't understand. What are you talking about?" she exclaimed sourly, shooting the young captain a rueful look.

"Adam," Gaston growled, flitting his gaze away from Belle for a moment to look back towards his former old friend's castle. He gritted his teeth and curled his hands around his hunting rifle, hoping he'd not need to use it now. "I'm confident by now that he knows how I feel about you. I'm not surprised he's turned his vengeance against you when he ordered his guard to—to do that," he stammered, fumbling over his words as he gestured towards Belle's cheek, trying not to notice how her cheeks flushed in hot shame and embarrassment as she actively averted his gaze. "The prince is not a kind man, Belle, nor is he a generous one. Do not be fooled by his languid words, Adam is selfish, territorial, and cruel. I don't want you to be his next target. Please. I beg of you," he beseeched, thinking he was just short of falling on his knees and groveling at Belle's feet, no matter how it looked to her at this moment, he was desperate to earn her trust and love. "Come away with me."

"No, I gave the prince a promise," Belle retorted immediately, giving her head a vehement shake, remaining steadfast and firm in her resolve. "I intend to keep my word, Gaston. I will return home to my father when the prince releases me from my debt. And I can assure you, that if think I'll behave differently towards you because you show up here at a place where you're no longer welcome, then you surely must think I'm a fool, monsieur. And I can assure you, Gaston Dupont, that I am no fool. Not now, not ever, and not for the likes of you. Not for anyone. Now I think you had better leave—"

Belle had been about to say more, though she was interrupted by the sound of a vicious snarl she'd come to recognize over the past several days in the changed prince's company. A snowflake landed on Belle's shoulder as she looked at it and both cast their gazes upward to meet the sight of more weeny little snowflakes descending on them.

Gaston was disturbed to have sensed the prickling on Belle's skin as if she knew something was watching him without even seeing him. Gaston's eyes widened as a large shadow was cast over Belle's slender figure and he froze at the ungodly, monstrous sight that met the man's wide eyes.

The largest, sturdiest beast, a demonic wretch of a creature unlike anything the soldier had ever seen in all his years, was stalking Belle's path, walking as if it were human. Its fur was as dark as the bark of the boughs of an oak tree.

It stood several feet taller than Gaston did, and its paws were as big around as a small washbasin, and the horns atop his head were gnarled, like twisted tree branches.

Gaston grabbed for his hunting rifle, almost fumbling it in his clammy palms, though he almost dropped the gun when the monstrous creature lifted its head as it moved to stand alongside Belle and regarded the military captain angrily.

Gaston felt his blood chill in his veins as the wretch was looking at him staidly and plainly with the most piercing pale blue eyes the hunter had ever seen, the likes of which he had only ever seen in Prince Adam du Barreau, and then, his mind feeling like it was reeling, worked to put the pieces together and realize that this creature, this beast, was Adam.

Somehow, the prince had been cursed by a witch's hex.

Gaston stumbled, staggering forward towards the gates and outstretched his hand through the iron-wrought bars, as though he thought just that act alone was enough to pry Belle away from the monstrous wretch that had been his friend.

The entire world rolled in and out in waves beneath his boots as his unsteady momentum propelled him forward, and he sank to his knees, his black leather breeches seeped with snow and grit, but he paid none of that any mind. His sole focus was on Belle, and of his former friend.

"Witchcraft," he sputtered through his gritted teeth, speaking through a mouth suddenly bone dry, his tongue rendered heavy and useless in his mouth as he only gaped.

His eyes were wild as he looked to Belle and clamored for understanding. By the look on the young woman's face, the soldier could tell he had not misunderstood his own sight.

"A—Adam?" Gaston whispered in a hoarse voice, hardly daring to believe it, that what he was seeing was surely his mind making a spot and mocking his vision now. "I—I don't…I never…how?!" he demanded, his voice trembling.

The Beast-Prince gave a nod in return, and when his piercing blue eyes, the only remnants left of his humanity, what little he had of it, to begin with, moved to Belle, his straight thin lips reformed to give her a tiny smile.

But it was all too obvious that it was strained. A fake. He walked underneath the snow, his dark navy blue cape billowing in the wind, his shoulders now studded in white.

"You shouldn't be out here, pretty belle," the Beast announced in a condescending tone laced with gravel. "You could catch a chill and get sick," he growled in a lowly snarl.

Gaston froze, temporarily paralyzed as he saw how the thing's gaze traveled from Belle's permanently scarred cheek, and then to her lips, and remained stuck on her lips.

He was sure the young prince, cursed now or not by means of a witch's curse, dark magic this had to be, that Adam was captivated, and he did not fault the man for that.

Who wouldn't be? Even ruined and in her hood and cape, Belle's face alone was more than enough to attract an army.

"F—forgive me, Your Highness. I needed…air," Belle stammered. Gaston observed how her voice was small again. The Beast strode his cold gaze back to the hunter.

"Gaston," he growled, not bothering to hide his disdain for the hunter as the edges of his lips curled upward to reveal his gums. Gaston visibly flinched at his sharp fangs.

Though what the former handsome Prince said next to his old childhood friend shocked Gaston, rendering his face pallid and this time it was he who was stripped off words.

"I thank you…for keeping my hearth keep company. She is quite lonely sometimes with no one else for company. My servant needs other people familiar with the castle's workings to help her get used to the strangeness of her home," he growled, his blue eyes darkening, almost cerulean in color as the monster never took his eyes off of Gaston, though the creature nudged to stand even closer to Belle.

It vexed Gaston and prickled his skin that Belle did not seem perturbed by the monstrous bastard's nearness. Gaston's mouth parted, his own eyes growing stupefied at how he had been too careless in his approach with Belle. He should have known, the creature that caused movement behind the curtains of the West Wing in the castle, that hadn't been one of the servants, it had been him.

"It's alright," Belle tried to interject quietly, shyly, in the hopes of diffusing the tension and rectifying the situation.

Gaston cast his gaze down to his boots, still unable to look at the lady, much less the monster that had once been his friend. The man was unable to melt away the shock at the turn of events that now dribbled on his mind. Such a shift in the prince and now Belle's life would require a drastic change of plans and his current plans going to require shifting around.

Belle, he noticed, from the fleeting glances he stole of Maurice's daughter, was flushing as well as the Beast moved to stand so close to her that their shoulders almost nudged.

She was embarrassed as well as to have placed him in an uncertain situation and would have wanted to apologize to the master of the castle, but she knew it would drag all three of them into a quarrel that much sooner, so she stayed quiet.

An awkward silence took over at the front gates, and Gaston could almost fathom the intensity and pressure of the monster's stare. If it were air, he would have suffocated.

He knew the cruelty of his old friend, from the way Adam used to enjoy taking a sick pleasure in torturing prisoners and enemies alike. He was almost half expecting the Beast-Prince to grow those horrible sharp fangs of his even longer and dig them into the skin of his throat out of disrespect to the crown by attempting to steal away his new hearth keep.

And then, he thought of his pretty belle, sweet, innocent, if not a little bit naïve, Belle. To have been forced into servitude, for now, a monster, in every literal sense of the word, this—this human now wrapped in an animal's skin.

It was like giving a lamb to a lion. Gaston gnashed his teeth and bit down on his tongue hard enough that the taste of his own blood filled his mouth, and he resisted the urge to spit as he saw how the Beast-Prince raised a sharpened claw to Belle's chin with his thumb and forefinger, almost tenderly so, as a lover would do, and it enraged Gaston.

"My hearth keep is merciful," he almost smiled at her, and just the act in his newly-transformed form sent a chill down Gaston's spine as he was forced to watch the scene unfold. "I'll take you back inside from here then. I don't want my hearth keep catching a cold, Belle." The Beast moved a claw from her chin to her injured cheek. "I have got an interesting thought, Belle. Would you want to hear of it?"

Belle silently nodded, looking back at her master.

"Perhaps we should dine tonight, don't you think?" The Beast strode his eyes back towards Gaston, blue against dark, half-smirking as if enjoying a private joke with himself. "Men are beginning to think you're free to be claimed when you aren't. As my hearth keep, you're mine."

Without even giving his hearth keep a chance to respond, he intertwined Belle's arm with his and began to escort her back. "Tonight, it is then. I do have a gift for you that I think you'll enjoy." The Beast waited for a numb nod from Belle.

When she did, the monster pulled her even closer and pressed his paw against her shoulder, all the while aiming a venomous look at Gaston from the other side of the gates. Perilous and dangerous, and close to hostility.

To the hunter, it was a warning as clear as daylight to stay away.

To stay away from Belle, or else…

Gaston was left speechless and pondering, his shaking fingers curled around the iron grilles of the iron-wrought gates, left alone to ponder his next move in springing Belle loose from him.

Stifling a low growl of anger, frustration, and disbelief, Gaston finally turned away from the front gates of the prince's castle to make a beeline for where he'd left his horse.

The beginnings of a tentative plan were already starting to form in his mind, but for this, he'd need D'Arque.