CHAPTER 18
BELLE was escorted back to her chambers by the Prince and given approximately fifteen minutes to change and freshen up before she was commanded to meet with him in the mess hall for dinner.
Just the thought caused a horrible spoil in her stomach which was beginning to rise to her throat the moment the door slammed shut behind.
She unlatched the sill as she felt lightheaded and could do with the biting cold of the crisp winter air, her eyes squinting at the diffused evening light, watching the snowy landscape, still swearing that she felt eyes on her. Belle could not quite explain it, and she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to, she realized.
She looked out far towards the grey horizon of the Prince's castle's property, hoping to spot the sight of the familiar red and black silhouette of Gaston on his horse, doing as she had commanded and leaving the estate to head back to Villeneuve.
The best way Gaston could prove that he cared for her, even remotely, was by looking after her father.
She hoped that he would honor his word and that the shock of seeing the Prince in this way wouldn't compel the military captain to do anything particularly stupid, Belle prayed that he would do as she'd asked, that Gaston would stay away.
There was, however, a tiny part of Belle that felt guilty as waves of hope spread across her chest as she felt a small inkling of hope that Gaston would return in some way shape, or form, perhaps with an army at his command, and escort her home.
Before she closed the window to prevent the soft trickles of snow that were starting to come in, one weeny snowflake had landed on her shoulder, she saw the open window across hers.
A dark figure was standing-austere and rustic, almost. She squinted, looking further only to identify just who it was.
The Beast was gazing stoically at her from his open window, dressed finely enough in a navy blue sport coat and jerkin, black leather breeches, or as well as you could dress when you'd been transformed by witch's curse into an accursed monstrous wretch of a Changeling, Belle supposed.
The Beast was staring straight at Belle, momentarily causing her breaths to hitch in her throat, and in the blur of snow and wind, it was difficult to make out the master of the castle's expression.
As the bile rose out of her lips, she finally locked the window when her stomach heaved a pressure so horrible, she could no longer keep down her breakfast or lunch. Shakily wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she turned away from the window quickly, though she still felt the Beast's eyes, leering at her backside as she drew the curtains closed.
Knowing that her master was expecting her, she dressed quickly, stifling a small smile that tugged the edges of her lips upward as she noticed a gown of the richest and finest red velvet she'd ever seen embroidered with gold, one she'd known the Beast must have ordered brought for her to her chambers, draped neatly over the back of a wooden chair.
Belle changed quickly, grateful for the dress's flared tow sleeves that would keep her warm, raking a hairbrush through her long dark tresses. She'd been about to reach for a ribbon that rested idly on the small wooden table but decided against it and just let her hair flow loose and free.
Once she was fully dressed and prepared, having washed out her mouth at the washbasin in her room to rid her mouth of the disgusting taste of the bile that still lingered in her throat and had given her appearance a final once-over, letting the pads of her fingers ghost over her new scar, she decided this was going to have to suffice as it was.
Belle swallowed down hard past the lump forming in her throat as she strode proudly out of the room, walking with authority down the halls as she allowed Monsieur's Cogsworth and Lumiere to escort her to the mess hall.
The mess hall was dimly lit, only the occasional flickering of the lit torches in their sconces provided enough light to see. She came in to find herself alone, as Lumiere and Cogsworth before leaving had left Belle with instructions to wait for the master.
A meal was set on the table: roasted chicken, potatoes, greens, along with a tin decanter of wine and sliced grain cake that made her think of her Papa.
Grain cakes had always been his favorite on Sunday afternoons, followed by a nice hot cup of tea. Belle felt a pang of sadness wash over her.
She hoped not to be parted from her father for too terribly long. The aroma of the meals on two prepared plates clung in the air around her, like a harlot's perfume, and did little to rouse Belle's appetite.
Belle's curiosity was intrigued by a book that rested on the corner of the table that was closest to her.
Her eyes briefly widened in shock and alarm and her legs began to move of their own accord towards where the book rested, slender fingers shaking slightly as she reached for the book.
The leatherbound book was a simple earthy hued cover, warming to the eyes, almost comforting.
It was soft to the touch, aged with time, slightly yellowed at the top of the pages as Belle's inquisitive dark eyes made a quick scan of the book, assessing its overall physical condition. The letters took their place as if by a composer's expert hand, one who was accustomed to the sweeter notes of beauty.
No sooner had Belle touched the edges of the dingy furniture that was the back of her chair that she surmised was meant to be hers than did the Beast appear in the doorway, his silhouette towering and engulfed in shadow.
His surprisingly smooth and languid voice reached her eardrums.
"I see that you have found my gift to you, Belle."
A startled gasp escaped her lips and without thinking, she fumbled the book she had been holding and accidentally dropped it, where it fell to the cold stone floor of the mess hall near her boots with a loud thump, louder than she would have liked, and she almost screamed at it.
Belle straightened her gait and awkwardly cleared her throat as she gathered fistfuls of her red velvet gown and sank into a brief but respectful-enough curtsy, locks of her loose dark hair falling in front of her face and effectively acting as a curtain, keeping her mortified expression safely hidden from her master. Though she was sure he saw it.
"Milord," she murmured, then remembered. "Y-Your Highness, please forgive me, I—I did not mean to intrude."
Belle mentally kicked herself for her grievous mistake, certain that now since she had touched one of the prince's beloved books without the Beast's express permission, that she was sure to be horribly punished for such a crime.
This was not like her, but he did not seem to notice.
"How fares the lady of the castle, pretty belle?" the Beast asked, his tone impassive, but she thought she saw something flicker in those glacier-cold blue of his eyes as Belle straightened her posture and turned to look at him.
"I…" she paused, trying to remember how words worked. "I'm alright, Your Highness," she confessed.
She'd wanted to lie to him, but something within her felt wrong to try to.
He only nodded in recognition to his hearth keep and strode past her to sit after serving himself a flagon of chilled and mulled wine without waiting for Belle to take the initiative and do it herself, as his personal hearth keep.
The Beast motioned for Belle to occupy the chair across from him and the meal. Belle could only comply.
She blinked owlishly at him as she took a moment to situate herself and get settled, gathering the skirts of her gown, and stared down at her plate of food, not hungry, but instead, her gaze was drawn towards the book, now resting in front of her place setting. She blinked again in astonishment.
"I—I did not see you pick it up, sir…"
It quickly occurred to Belle that she was not in place for company tonight, not after what had transpired outside by the castle's gates with Gaston, most importantly, with the master of the castle. She coughed once to clear her throat, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to wrack her brain for something to say that would supplicate him.
"Gaston, sir," Belle started to say, though the young woman quickly cut herself off when the Beast growled.
"—Won't be bothering you again, mademoiselle," the Beast reassured Belle in a calm but threatening tone. "If you should spot him attempting to enter the grounds again, you will inform me at once, is that understood?"
Belle nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yes, sir."
"I had been hearing of my hearth keep's seclusion," the Beast continued in his usual monotonous voice without giving a thought as to her attempts to apologize to him.
Belle could not quite put her finger just on how or why it was such a simple means of speaking and addressing someone could make the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Gaston made her cringe, yes, but this Prince, this Beast…
He was…well…different. And not necessarily in a good way.
Belle swallowed and reached for her goblet of wine, taking a sip, and cringing as the liquid burnt her throat going down, the bitter disgusting taste lingering on her tongue.
She tried her hardest not to pull a face at it. She couldn't be sure, as she set the goblet aside and dared to summon enough courage to look at the master of the castle, but she thought she saw the Beast smirk at her.
She remembered she owed the Beast Prince an answer.
"I…wasn't feeling well, Your Highness," Belle managed, and her answer did not bother the Prince one iota. He was almost looking at her like she was a disappointment.
Like he knew something of her that she did not know.
The Beast was quiet for several moments, seemingly content by the looks of him to study his hearth keep and the brunette's growing discomfort over the rim of his cup.
"It bothers me, Belle, the low opinion you repute yourself. Perhaps my gift might help make up for…prior mistakes," he said, almost tripping over his words and flushing. "I should want my hearth keep to be happy here with me."
Belle stiffened and gritted her teeth, trying her hardest not to shiver as she looked across the table at the master of the castle, and then back down to the mysterious book which had somehow magically appeared back in its place on the table, neither one of them having bent to pick it up.
"You knew I liked to read. How? The servants know little about me if anything at all other than my name and where I come from, Your Highness, so how have you come by this knowledge? How do you know this of me?" she asked coldly, not wanting to accept anything from the once-man-now-monster who had ordered her face to be permanently cut.
Yet the question spilled from her lips before she could stop it. Belle slowly lifted her gaze to meet the Beast's, her mind working on overdrive to reach the conclusion herself.
"I see," she said coldly, a muscle in her jaw twitching in anger as if she understood. Belle thought she did or was beginning to understand his methods. "Spying on me. Your men, your other soldiers, I'm sure," she sighed, scrunching her nose and looking at the book in disgust. "You think that a single book will make up for your actions? You allowed that soldier of yours to hurt me. Do you really think that I could ever possibly forgive such a thing?" she challenged, having the impudence to raise her eyebrows at him, flinching as the skin around the scar on her cheek stretched, sending a twinge of pain throughout her face.
"I did mean to hurt you," the Beast growled. Belle blinked in astonishment at the Prince's words, hardly daring to believe the truth that was spilling from his lips just now. "Because…" He paused, giving himself a moment to think.
He must not have been able to come up with an adequate response, because Belle took that as her sign to intervene.
"Because you did not know what to do with me, because I dared to speak out against you," she finished coldly. "You meant to hurt me, Your Highness, and were successful."
"Apparently," the Beast growled. "I was." He drew in a shaky breath and released it, seemingly desirous to move on from the topic of her scarred face. "This book is…not like any others. I think you will find that it calls out to you, Belle. I would think it might better serve your purposes during your mornings of isolation if you will not keep me company," the master of the castle addressed her coldly.
Belle meant to form the lie and spit it back in the monster's face, but the truth poured from her lips instead, hot, angry, and uncontrollable as a tingling warmth spread through her chest.
Her dark eyes widened in shock and alarm as she thought she saw a faint golden haze beginning to emanate from the pages of the book in front of her plate, the meal that had been prepared for her cold and untouched.
The truth tumbled from her in the form of another insult, and a weak one at that, Belle realized.
"You're a monster," she growled, her cheeks flushing, as she was unable to tear her gaze away from the book, seeming to seep this strange golden light from its pages. "Wh—what is this, sir? What is this book doing?" she demanded, trying her best to sound haughty and unafraid, and feeling like she was utterly failing in that regard now.
The Beast let out a bitter laugh to himself. "Has anyone ever told you, pretty belle, that you have quite a temper?"
He murmured something inaudible, and the book snapped open of its own accord, almost as if by magic.
Belle gaped, open-mouthed, and aghast as the lazy slow swirls of golden light began to be emanated from the book. The Beast rose from his chair and his paws came to clasp on the headrest of his chair as he regarded Belle languidly. He was a shadow in the room, eyes burning with cold fear which sent a chill down his hearth keep's spine.
"You are looking rather tense, my lady," the Beast said, with unnecessary emphasis on the possessive use of the phrase 'my lady.' "Perhaps I might be of help. You called me a few nights ago a monster and considering what I am now, I cannot say that I blame you, but I tire of the way you look at me as though you wish you could grow fangs and dig them into the skin of my neck, so please, allow this book to show you why I am this," the Beast-Prince snarled. "If you shan't heed my words, Belle, then let it show you."
"H—how?" Belle squeaked, her breaths catching in her throat.
She was far too shocked at the sudden movement of the leatherbound book's pages now flipping of their own accord, or the way the golden light seemed to fill the room.
The Beast merely chuckled morosely and shook his head to himself.
"It's an intriguing little trick, isn't it?" Her master said as he stepped towards her, coming around the table to stand just behind Belle, but far enough away to maintain a respectable enough distance from the girl.
The Prince's long cloak underneath his doublet swept behind him like a serpent's tail, hissing as it slid over the stones.
"The merest little touch of sorcery. Another aspect of this damned bloody curse meant to torment me," the Beast snarled meanly. "This book shows you what you do and do not wish to see. I learned it the hard way the first time I used it a few days ago. I confess myself curious as to what it will show you. Hence, this, pretty Belle, is now my gift to you. Take it."
"I want nothing from you!" Belle spat back as she flung venom at her master, pointing with a trembling finger to her cheek. "What I want, is for this to be fixed, Prince!"
He cocked his head and let out a frustrated growl. "You truly are in fine form tonight. Poor darling. I shan't leave you to your own devices again, I don't think, lest you run into men like Monsieur Dupont, men of…ill intentions."
She almost choked on her own tongue.
Ill intentions? How was forcing her to remain here a prisoner not one and the same? Belle regarded the Beast with a look of incredulous disbelief as her dark eyes widened in horror as she gaped.
Belle's breaths stuttered as a flicker of something unreadable darted through the Beast's cold blue eyes.
Whatever it was, the foreign emotion passed her by too quickly to try to ascertain just what it was. Nevertheless, Belle in all her suspicion, narrowed her eyes as she gingerly crept her way towards the table, to the book.
"That will depend upon your terms, Your Highness."
The Beast arched thin brows that were not there, buried underneath his thick brown fur as he scowled at her. "Terms?" he growled. "Have we reached this stage already, hearth keep? I was not aware you and I are at war, Belle."
Belle scoffed and found it difficult not to roll her eyes as once more the raw and honest truth slipped from her lips.
"We've been at war since the day that we met, sir."
The Beast conceded Belle's point with a begrudging but graceful incline of his head, his eyes never leaving Belle's.
"Then I daresay it is time we put this ridiculous little war to rest—don't you? You're to remain here by my side, Belle, but that does not mean I wish for my company to be sad."
Belle considered the master of the castle for a long moment before her hand shot out and snapped the book shut closed before anything else that was strange could happen to her. Was he really giving her a—a magic book?!
She drew in a shuddering breath as she carefully plucked the book from off the table, holding it close to her chest and fluttering her eyelids closed for a good long moment.
Well. Nothing was happening to her yet. No hole in the ground had opened up beneath her feet to swallow her whole, and she'd not yet been turned into anything unsavory, so perhaps she would have to take his word on it. That just this once. Perhaps this book would show her, but not here. Belle would wait until she was in private.
Belle had the impudence to raise her eyebrows at the Beast before glancing down to the book clutched close to her heart as she thought of his desire to reach and maintain a truce.
"You would grow bored, Your Highness," she said, at last, thinking she was becoming increasingly convinced that whatever magic this book she held was seeped in, convinced her to tell the truth.
Belle wasn't sure what came over her, but the mirthful young brunette allowed the briefest of sardonic smirks to flit across her face when she saw the master of the castle visibly flinch at her words.
"And…so would I," Belle confessed, glancing down shyly.
She blinked in astonishment as she watched her master struggle to control his facial expression, but the Beast could not quite conceal the upward twitch of his thin lips.
"As you wish, Belle," the Beast murmured after a moment. "Perhaps then, once the book has shown you the truth, you will consider a short reprieve," the Beast offered languidly.
"Again, sir, that will depend on your terms," Belle retorted, stepping towards the door all the while clutching the strange book that seemed to speak to her in timorous whispers, as though calling to her, close to her chest.
The Beast shrugged, as though the master of the castle thought of Belle's demands nothing more than a game to him. "They are simple enough, pretty belle," he remarked. His blue eyes were ablaze with silent but cold fury. "You, my hearth keep, will never insult me again. Nor will you keep the company of other men in my presence," he growled. "And I, in turn, will grant you better protection, Belle. You will have a comfortable life here in the castle. I promise. Have you and I reached an understanding? I would prefer if you and I would at least attempt to be cordial to one another, despite what you think of me…"
Belle tried not to shirk away from the Beast's glassy stare, which was slowly dissipating her inch by inch, going still as she hovered in front of the door to the mess hall, wanting nothing more than to take this strange book and see whatever it was that her master wished of her to see.
"And I would prefer it if I were back home in my village alongside my father, and our country free of dark sorcerers and witches and whatever has befallen you to give you this afflicted curse," Belle spat back, almost venomously at him. "And yet, here we are together, master. What say you?"
Something akin to guilt flashed across the Beast's face.
"I saved your life in the Wolves' Woods, Belle, or have you forgotten?" the Beast snarled, the edges of his lips curled upward to reveal his sharpened incisors and pink gums.
"Aye. That you did," Belle agreed, surprising even herself as she shrugged her shoulders and rested her hand on the chipped handle of the doorknob, fully prepared to flee. "I wish that you had been half so heroic on my behalf when Ser Laurent was hurting me, Your Highness," she hissed.
Belle's words seared the Beast like flaming arrows, making the changed Prince's fingertips go numb and his mouth went dry, his tongue rendered thick in his mouth.
And yet, Belle showed no hint of embarrassment at her own cold honesty, as shame reigned down on him like fire.
As the air around Belle clamped, she turned on the heels of her boots, the book still clutched tightly to her chest.
"Excuse me, Your Highness," Belle murmured shyly, downcasting her gaze to the book held tight in her hands. "I will return this to you within the next few days, sir—"
"Keep it," he interrupted before she could speak further. "I think you might find it suits your purpose better than mine. That book will show you anything, take you anywhere. But be careful that you don't get lost in it."
His ominous warning hung in the thick tension that existed between them and almost clung to her pores.
Belle left the room in such haste, clutching the book tightly to her, wrapped in fear of the way the Prince's icy-cold eyes followed her backside as Belle quit the scene abruptly, hardly daring to believe what had just happened.