CHAPTER 22
THE Beast could feel his hearth keep's inquisitive eyes on him as she strode down the hallway just as he was exiting the West Wing. He wondered what Belle thought of him as he stalked his way down the hallway, fully prepared to snarl at her for daring to even set a single toe over the threshold of the one area in the entire castle where she was not permitted to go.
Was she looking at him now in awe or disgust? Was he a bully or a hero in her eyes? A disgusting bully no doubt, but it was becoming easier to trick himself into thinking he could see the awe or respect in those dark eyes.
"You are alone, pretty belle," the Beast commented flatly as she skidded to halt a few feet in front of him, the witch's cursed book he had loaned to her clutched tenderly to her chest. She was holding it as though she would be a prized possession.
He looked at her with his chin slightly raised, his eyes hooded from exhaustion and too much ale. Belle frowned and looked around herself in confusion before glancing back to the master of the castle with thin furrowed brows as she shot him a questioning look.
"Well, yes, Your Highness," she mumbled, remembering her courtesies enough to sink into a curtsy.
"The servants aren't with you?" She shook her head, though before Belle could open her mouth to elaborate, the Beast cut her off clucking his tongue as though disappointed. "A pity, Belle. You've no one to save you."
"Save me? From what?" Belle asked challengingly, though her voice trembled with emotion as she asked him.
"Me," the Beast answered simply and stood up straighter as he continued to stalk down the hallway with the intent of heading to the mess hall to break his fast.
Belle boldly followed behind, struggling to match the Beast Prince's lengthy strides. "I do not need protecting from you, Your Highness," she murmured lowly. He laughed but she went on anyway. "You protect me, sir."
"Protect you?" Her bold statement gave the master of the castle pause. "Am I protecting you right now, girl?" he asked and slammed a fist into the door by Belle's head.
She flinched but her master held it there, looming over her.
Belle cringed and fought the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust as she caught the unmistakable scent of ale and wine spirits on her master's breath, but she said nothing. Even so, it sent a shiver down her spine, and she abhorred it.
Her cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment and shame, thinking she had been mistaken.
The Beast's face was pulled taut and tight, and the way his narrowed gaze was currently making her feel told Belle that the master of the castle was vexed, spoken for something even. She swallowed down hard past a lump in her throat and quickly tried to correct her mistake of seeking him out when the master was in a right foul mood.
"You won't hurt me, sir," Belle whispered with more conviction than she felt, hoping her eyes did not betray just how skittish she was becoming as the Beast loomed over her. Inside, her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, and her stomach quivered, but she raised her chin and gazed at the master defiantly, hoping he'd ask her why she was here.
"No, pretty Belle, I won't hurt you," the Beast breathed. She flinched as the master of the castle brought up his hand, or paw, rather, that wasn't perched against the wall by her head and gingerly ran his fingertips over her cheekbone. When he spoke, his voice was soft, subdued. "Why have you sought me out, mademoiselle?" he asked.
Belle blew out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and nervously flitted her gaze to the Beast's book clutched in her hands. The Beast followed her gaze with narrowed, cold blue eyes as he waited patiently for Belle to collect her thoughts. Finally, Belle spoke up.
"I…I did not know," she confessed, pained, her voice so faint that it was barely above a whisper as she suddenly was having a difficult time looking him in the eyes. "Your…your father, sir." Belle swallowed hard.
The Beast gazed at his hearth keep intently, so close that he could breathe in her scent.
Despite the eternal winter outside that raged, a result of the witch's curse, she smelled of autumn, and he inhaled the young mademoiselle's scent selfishly, wishing he could bottle it in a little glass vial. She smelled of lavender and eucalyptus and pine fur needles.
It brought him back to a time when the young Prince was happiest. When Mother was still alive. He blinked, startled, realizing what he was doing to himself, and shook his head, barely stifling the low warning growl that almost escaped.
His hearth keep was not looking at him now and the Beast could scarcely tell if it was anger or just girlish embarrassment that she had made judgments of his character without knowing the truth of what—or who, rather, had made him this way. The Beast found himself bitterly thinking that it should likely be the latter with her.
The Beast furrowed his brows into a scowl, wondering if Belle was afraid of him, now that the book had shown her the truth. For reasons he could not yet explain, the thought of the young woman in front of him hating him tugged at his insides uncomfortably and made his stomach twist in painful knots. That was why he kept staring at her.
The master of the castle wanted his hearth keep to look at him so he could look into those bewitching almond-shaped dark eyes of hers he was growing quite ensnared by, so he could see the look in Belle's eyes as he looked at her.
That would be all he needed to know. But it would not make the feelings within himself any easier to deal with.
If she looked at him and the Beast could only see hatred, fear, or disgust, then he would distance himself without so much as a second thought of breaking the curse, deeming it hopeless and a lost cause, thinking himself doomed to spend the remainder of his natural days like this.
But if Belle hated him already, then refusing to grow even closer to her would hardly make him less of a scoundrel in the beautiful brunette's eyes then, wouldn't it. Keeping her with him, to talk to him, to sing to him, would not make him and what he was any less, well…beastly. But he knew he could not cause her pain.
And if the Beast were to see shyness, curiosity, or perhaps even the beginnings of affection glistening in her eyes? What then? He did not think he would know what he would do if he happened to see that.
He had been fully intending to head to his library and lose himself in whatever volume caught his fancy to rid his mind of these pestering thoughts that nagged at him like a fly he could not swat.
To say that he had been caught off guard by Belle appearing in the West Wing's corridor was…unsettling. But not, the Beast rationalized, unwanted. He huffed in frustration when the woman did not immediately answer.
"You see, little dove," he said when she appeared suddenly shy and unable to meet his gaze, instead casting her eyes at the floor, to the hem of her gown or out the window. At anywhere but him. "You cannot even bear the monstrous sight of me, can you? So, tell me. Why did you?"
Belle furrowed her brows, feeling oddly guilty. It made her angry that her master was questioning her seeking him out like this, and she frowned at the back of his head, her gaze hardened and lingering on the Beast's horns.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she trailed off as her master turned to look at her. She ducked her head in shame and embarrassment, a dark curl tumbling over her face that she swiped out of the way with one swift move of her thumb, tucking the long lock back behind her right ear.
The low warning grumbles he gave out at her statement from somewhere deep within his broad chest gave Belle pause and rendered her frozen.
"For the last bloody time, don't call me that, pretty Belle," he grumbled, though he sounded more annoyed.
"What…what should I call you?" she asked, startled as she witnessed the master of the castle give a wry smile.
"Whatever you wish, but not that. Beast, Monster, Bastard, Wretch, whatever name tickles your fancy, little dove. I have a name, you know, but…considering what I am, it seems highly inappropriate you call me by it, Belle."
Belle hesitated, biting down her bottom lip. "It would not feel right, sir, calling you by your God-given name," she admitted, struggling not to use terms like 'sir' or 'Your Highness.' "It would feel too…familiar, I think…"
She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard him snort as he looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at her quip.
"Have we not bridged the river of familiar, Belle?" he asked as he turned back around to face Belle fully.
"Very well, sir, I…Adam," she whispered, boldly daring to use the Prince's first name, and was not disappointed when she watched the Beast give a visible start upon hearing the syllables of his name from her lips. "Then you will call me Belle. If I'm to stay here with you, don't you think we ought to at least try to get along, sir? You have been ill-treated by me during my time here."
"Is that what you call it? Ill-treatment?" he snorted, and she watched the Beast's chest rise and fall as he uttered a single short bitter laugh that was more an animalistic bark.
She shuddered. "Nevertheless, I would prefer that my time here as your…hearth keep," she said, almost blurting out prisoner, but thought better of it, "would be spent in your company getting to try to know you better, if going forward, you promise to treat me with the respect I'm owed, that I deserve," Belle stated boldly, following his gaze to her lips.
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips to moisten them. His head dipped. She was sure he was about to refuse, but his head dipped back up again as he regarded Belle. It took her master a moment to find his voice again.
"You willingly want to stay with me?" he asked her incredulously, looking at Belle as though he could hardly believe it, as though Belle had sprouted a pair of antlers.
"I want nothing more," she told him. "I made you a promise, Prince, did I not? I keep my promises, Highness."
She saw him balk and stiffen at her slip up of using his title, but to her relief, the Beast did not bark at her for it.
"Then…just stay," the Beast heard himself answer in a rough voice laced with gravel, almost pouting as he spoke. "Has anyone told you, pretty Belle, that you have beautiful eyes?" he told his hearth keep. "Even bloodshot and glassy as yours are, they are still a sight to behold."
She blushed and looked over his transformed form, her eyes making a quick scan of the details of his new body.
The matted brown mangled fur that looked like it could use a good brushing through with a large brush, the huge twisting horns, his solid or two feet of growth, the monster that he was, his claws. She seemed to be trying to make up her mind on something, and the Beast's suspicions were confirmed when she spoke up, at last, chewing her lip.
"It isn't so bad, sir," she said, reaching up a hand to pluck a stray dust bunny that had settled on his shoulder.
"Mmm," he grunted, feeling a shudder run through him that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that felt like it was wafting its way through the West Wing corridor now.
It then occurred to him that she owed him an answer.
"You never answered me, little dove. You came here seeking my company. Why?" he asked, confused.
Belle's cheeks reddened and she looked away and down at the Beast's magical book clutched in her hands and held tightly to her chest in a far too engrossed manner now.
The Beast noticed his hearth keep's crestfallen and angry reaction and realized she'd mistaken his meaning.
"I'm not judging, pretty belle, considering the only two beings in this castle are you and me, I don't blame you for that, Belle," he tried to correct his error, still feeling flabbergasted that she wished to make amends and procure at least a temporary truce of peace. "But…my company is not the most enjoyable thing to suffer through. Even I know that, little dove."
The Beast offered up a strained smile that looked more like a pained grimace, though he tried to tell her without speaking that he was trying his very best here.
Something within Belle realized she had no reason anymore not to trust the master of the castle. He had saved her life, had not harmed her further since ordering Ser Laurent on her back when he had still been, well, human.
It was he who had given her the very book she now held in her hands, and she did not wish to seem ungrateful.
Belle swallowed down hard and gingerly held out the book with somewhat fumbling hands as she tapped it.
"I'm sorry that he did that to you," was all she could quietly manage to whisper, as though sounding ashamed.
Her eyes glistening with stifled tears, Belle lifted her face to his at long last and was surprised to find the same sorrow at his horrible mistreatment by his own father there.
Part of him was so overwhelmed at his servant's empathy for his upbringing that all the Beast wanted to do was to lose himself in the deep pools of rich chocolate that were the young woman's haunted eyes.
The part of him that won, however, was that which wanted to crawl away and hide, slink back into the shadows like the wretch he was. The Beast snapped himself back to his usual cold stoicism and hid his emotions as quickly as he allowed them to surface and turned away from his hearth keep.
"If there is nothing further you need of me," he announced uncomfortably, awkwardly clearing his throat, "then I would take my leave of you now." He pulled away from Belle as if the corridor around them were on fire.
The Beast turned on his heels to go, fully prepared to quit the scene, but before he could so much as take one step further, Belle's voice called out to him once more, shy and timid, floating through the air like a soft gentle breeze.
"I know of a way, sir! I—I mean, Adam," she quickly corrected as the Beast spun back on his heels to regard his pretty servant with incredulous icy blue eyes.
"To what?" he growled in a rather sour tone. "Wh—what are you thinking?" The Beast snapped out hoarsely, cursing himself and chewing on the wall of his cheek as he stammered and fumbled over his words, sounding the fool.
Belle paused as she toyed with a lock of her hair before answering, letting her hands clasp around the book.
"How long?" It was all Belle asked of him, causing the Beast to startle and almost jump right out of his cursed skin at her words like a rabbit. Before he could stop his servant, Belle made a sudden grab for his arm.
The one that, even with the matted and tangled fur that now covered his body, was littered in dozens—no, scratch that, make those hundreds—of angry little red scars, all given to him by Father.
His heart skipped a beat as Belle turned his arm over in her hands and calmly pushed up the sleeve of his robes.
She did not react. Did she know already? That these markings came from Father?
Belle was not a half-wit, she was an intelligent and inquisitive young woman, if not nosy. Surely, the memory the book showed her would have allowed Belle to form her own conclusions as to his father.
The Prince had to wonder how much of his past and his mistreatment at Father's hand the hag's book had shown her. He heard himself let out an agonized groan that was a part growl as he kept his eyes closed, turning his head away so he did not have to look into the woman's eyes and see the unbridled hurt and confusion brimming within them.
Belle did not press him for an answer, for which the Beast was grateful. Though considering how nosy she was, if not bossy, this shift in the girl's countenance surprised him a little bit, if the Beast was being honest with himself.
"I've heard it said that the heart's intentions show you where you're going, and the physical scars you bear on your body shows you where you've been," Belle murmured in a soft voice so faint that the Beast had to strain his hearing to hear her, as the pads of her fingertips ghosted along the dozens of jagged pink and white lines that for some reason, the Enchantress had left alone when his body had changed.
Another cruel and vicious reminder, no doubt, he thought bitterly to himself, though he forced himself to come back to himself as his hearth keep in a move that was bold for her continued to trace the knife markings, made by Father's favorite dagger, as well as a few burn marks too.
She paused, discontinuing the tender movement, and pulled away. When she did, every fiber of his being screamed in protest and he wanted to throw a tantrum and demand she keeps doing it. Strange. This gave him pause.
He usually had no interest in such affectionate gestures, but coming from his prickly hearth keep, it was…
Lovely. The Beast could think of no other word. Belle paused and turned away so that her profile was now facing his front. He could not see whatever expression Belle wore currently, as the Beast had closed his eyes.
"Despite…what you have done," Belle whispered, swallowing down hard past a lump in her throat, past her thoughts of anger and resentment at her now-ruined face as she shoved those unhelpful emotions to the pit of her stomach, "I do not think that you are a monster underneath. I think…given the right circumstances, there could be hope for you yet. That is why I stay with you, why I keep my word to you. You've my word that I won't run away, sir."
The Beast's eyes flung wide open as he regarded his hearth keep, turning to face Belle fully, and perhaps for the first time since forcing the young woman into his servitude took in all of Belle's appearance.
Her slender, willowy frame, her petite, if not somewhat short stature. Long thick and luscious dark hair, pale skin, flawless almost, alabaster, except for a light smattering of freckles that dusted along the bridge of her slender and cute nose.
These features in times past would not have made him look twice, much less revert his gaze from the blondes he usually tended to covet, those perfect French Roses, but in his hearth keep, the Prince saw an unprecedented beauty.
And there was a part of the Beast that despised it.
He hated and reviled Belle's beauty, but he craved it as well, wishing to guard and keep the woman safe for himself.
She was perhaps his only hope at breaking this wretched curse. That such a celestial-like creature could honor her word and remain loyal to him after everything, felt like a dream. A good dream, one he did not want to wake from. Belle was perhaps the only bit of good in his otherwise wretched and miserable desolate existence now.
It was at that moment that he was stricken. So overcome with a horrible feeling of sickening debilitating cold as he came to realize that if he did not start treating his servant with even a modicum of respect, even…kindness, then the young woman in front of him would attempt to flee.
And that…the Beast could not allow it, for she was his only hope at lifting the curse and freeing himself and the rest. He stood, open-mouthed and speechless, regarding the beautiful brunette with no small amount of wonder in his eyes. In her, he could see nothing else but the girl's beauty.
Her eyes, dark, rich, and decadent, stealing his breath away all the while he was looking straight at her.
"Belle…" The Beast murmured slowly, lowly, prolonging each letter of her name as if to savor them. "Would that I was kind, perhaps I might treat you better, but…" He hesitated and looked away, towards the window, where the onset of a horrible thunderstorm was starting.
They both looked up for a moment as the first clap of violent thunder rent the air and caused Belle to jump.
The master almost let himself smile at that and barely managed to repress it, though made a mental note for later to ask his hearth keep if Belle were afraid of thunder.
It still occurred to him she was waiting for a follow-up answer. He swallowed hard and turned his gaze back to hers.
"Why?" he asked. It was the only thing he could say.
The Beast reviled hearing the warbling crack and dip of his otherwise smooth baritone voice, but for reasons that were unclear to him, he just had to know her answer.
He did not need to elaborate on what he meant, and the master of the castle could tell by the dulling ember flame in her dark eyes as it seemed a light extinguished within that she understood what it was that he was asking.
Belle paused, seeming to think over her words for a moment, steadily lifting her gaze to meet his pleading eyes.
"Because…now that I know what made you, well, you…it's enough, sir," she whispered, her own gaze unabashed and unwavering. "I cannot let myself believe that your lord father would have stamped out all that was good within you, Prince."
There was a beat, a pause, as she took a moment to draw in a breath of air before pressing on.
"You have saved my life. Twice now, which is no small feat, and I have to believe that there is some small part of you that must care for me, in your own way, however selfish. But you will not allow yourself to truly feel it. So, naturally, as your hearth keep and a member of the castle staff, I would be remiss if I did not at least attempt to correct you, and make you realize when you are wrong."
Belle let out a tired sigh, continuing to clutch the Beast's magical book close to her chest, biting on her lip.
It was a moment before Belle addressed him again.
"I know that you hate me," Belle whispered shyly, and suddenly, Maurice's daughter looked and sounded small. "Do not try to deny it, Prince, but…like it or not, I think that I am your key to maintaining what little advantage you have in breaking this hex on you, sir. Lumiere, he told me that your family has a saying. 'Vileness is every Barreau's armor,' is what he said."
Her face as she addressed him, was serious, and her every word she uttered seemed to unarm and unhinge the Beast.
"I am your hearth keep, sir. You can take off that armor around me and break that castle wall around you."
His lips gaped, his heart feeling like it ceased its rhythmic beating right there and then. Whatever Belle was doing to him, it was leaving him feeling gaunt and spellbound, and the Beast almost wanted to worship her.
There was a softness beginning to break and burgeoning around and within the cursed Prince's veins. She was pushing an anchor through his hell down, down to the imprisoned, shackled feelings resting in his heart, and was trying to bait it and pull it up to the surface. He stared at Belle: a girl of twenty years, no twenty and one? Eight and ten?
Ah, gods, bugger that.
He was at least two or three summers ahead of the young woman, he was sure of that, and she was definitely a woman. Face, her hips, every orifice of his hearth keep, and he, a Prince, was beginning to shrink at her words and leaving him stunned.
"How?" he asked, the only thing he could utter as he gaped at Belle, utterly dumbstruck by the woman's boldness, thinking his normally timid hearth keep must have learned it from someone back in her pathetic village.
As it happened, there was not a hint of blushing that was brooding on her face and her scent of autumn flooded his nostrils. She closed the space between them, and he found his discomfort again as she was staring at his face.
The Beast towered over her in his monstrous form by several feet, but in front of her, he felt as small as an ant.
He felt so incredibly tiny and intimidated, and this feeling awakened a different want of his lovely servant.
"I want you to have me," she spoke in a distinct voice, lowly. She looked at him square in the eye before cupping his face, fur, and all, in her cold palms, unmoving.
The Beast swallowed and regarded Belle with wide eyes. This had to be a dream, he thought, as he clenched his teeth. His brows furrowed and heat spiraled through his veins like a wildfire, and he was left with an itch on his chest.
"Have me…like you mean to please me, Prince. Like you want me to stay with you, Your Highness," she whispered.
She was toying with him now and he did not like it. I do. I do, I do, pretty Belle, I want for you to stay.
"How?" he croaked, his voice leaving him as nothing more than a hoarse gasp, amazed he could speak at all. "Tell me," the Beast heard himself whisper hoarsely.
Belle wordlessly held up the magical book in her hands, biting down on her lips and wriggled her thin brows at him in an almost kind and flirtatious way that would have had him saying yes to whatever she had asked of him at this very moment if it meant that his hearth keep would stay.
If she would stay…
There was a strangely mischievous and playful glint in her eyes as Belle briefly tore her gaze away from his questioning stare as he struggled to comprehend what it was that Belle wanted of him, to look out the window at the now-raging storm that was deluging rain upon his property grounds at the moment.
When she turned back to face him and glanced down at the book in her hands, her meaning became clear.
When Belle spoke, her voice was soft but hopeful as her eyes were cast once more to the magic book in her hands, and it was then that he understood her intentions. What it was that she wanted to do, or rather, with him. This all felt like a dream.
"Spend the day with me?"