I hope that you enjoy this chapter for what it is! I'm trying to make use of the Enchantress's magic book in a way that would allow their bond to grow, I hope. Also, any fellow OUAT fans, I did sort of sneak a character in here. I couldn't help myself. The temptation was too great.
Magic book=magical portals and way of traveling, so I hope you enjoy this character's cameo, who may or may not be popping up again as a friend of Agathe's! :D
I had thought about listing this fic as a crossover, but I wanted to keep this character a surprise and I figure once the story is finished, I'll go back and fix the tags, but for now, I didn't want to spoil anything. I hope that you enjoy this chapter for what it is!
CHAPTER 23
THE Prince let himself gape in disbelief as he studied his hands once the shock and pain had worn off from their being transported into the Enchantress's magicked book. He stared. Human hands.
Though he had ventured into this book an exact total of two times now since he had woken the morning after his transformation to find the book on a small table, alongside that of the enchanted rose in its glass dome in his West Wing, it never failed to unnerve him, that the hag's book could temporarily revert him back to his natural human form.
Of course, this was another cruel trick of the witch's, and it had taken Belle off-guard, too, he witnessed, as he shakily rose to his feet, weakly so, gawking at his hands.
"I…" he stammered, though his tongue felt thick in his mouth as he summoned enough strength on his throat to dare to look his hearth keep in the eyes, hesitant to look. The Prince almost did not let himself look, not wanting to see the revulsion he was sure to find within Belle's dark glistening brown orbs.
Though he cursed himself for being a coward and knew that in the end, he would never forgive himself if he didn't look, and so, by the strength of God Himself, he lifted his gaze and stared.
As expected, he saw shock and awe there and…curiosity.
No doubt the girl was wondering what happened. She took a hesitant step forward towards him, studying his form in his simple black linen shirt and black leather breeches, a hand outstretched as though she intended to put it on his shoulder and offer some small form of comfort, but Belle was reluctant to. Adam supposed he could not fault her in that regard.
Were he in her shoes, he would be reluctant to approach as well.
"Is it… a trick?" she whispered, hands clamped over her mouth in shock and surprise at seeing him the way that he was, before.
Her voice sounded small and hoarse as she stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief, taking in the Prince's reverted form, studying the sharp angle of his jaw, his features that were almost decidedly Roman, the strong, discerning brow, the slight stubble that dusted his jaw, his piercing blue eyes, easily his best feature, golden blonde hair that fell to his shoulders.
He wished he had something in which to tie it back into its trademark ponytail to keep it out of the way.
"Aye," he said after a long pause, unsure how Belle would react to his revelation as he voiced what his hearth keep had already suspected. "Another cruel trick of the witch's, Belle, once we go back home, I'll be back to the monster you know me as, so I would take a good long look at the man that you see before you now, pretty belle, for you shan't see me this way again, were I betting man, I'd wager," Adam grunted, a muscle in his jaw twitching as the Prince turned away, not wishing to see the hurt brimming in her eyes. He let out a frustrated sigh.
Belle could hardly breathe, suddenly feeling a rush of guilt that flooded through her veins, realizing that, by suggesting he spend the day with her a whimsical, fantastical marketplace of the book's own creation, that she might very well have just shattered what pieces of the Prince's heart were left, forcing him to spend a few precious hours in his human form, knowing that this was another cruel trick of the witch's curse.
"I—my apologies, Your Highness," she breathed, amazed she could even find her voice at all as she ducked her head in shame. She could not find the words to express her remorse for what she had unintentionally done. She had humiliated the master. "I—I was a fool, I should not have suggested this, sir!"
Belle bit her lip and nervously cast her gaze downward, shaking her head with regret, and turned away from the changed Prince.
The Prince stiffened, not even realize his hands had clenched into fists as he stared at his Belle, but she did not notice.
With a great deal of effort as he gritted his teeth and as he breathed slowly through his nose, Adam let his fingers relax. His focus became finding Belle's remorseful dark brown eyes again.
Gently, as his legs moved of their own accord, though his brain was screaming at him to stop this, to turn around and leave his servant be, Adam found himself not listening to the voices inside of his head. Delicately, the Prince reached up to caress Belle's wounded cheek and found the trail of a tear glistening there.
For a moment, he almost felt his own heart cry out in answer. He looked at her with so much intensity burning in those fathomless pale blue eyes of his, that it stole her breath.
"No, Belle," Adam said in a rough voice that sounded strangely subdued and surprised even himself as he forced himself to bring his brimming eyes to hers. "I was the fool," he proclaimed, decidedly. "I should not have…" He let his voice trail off as he allowed the pads of one of his fingertips to ghost along the horrific jagged edges of Belle's scar that marred her face.
A hot wave of guilt washed over him, knowing that he would be forced to look at the marking every day that the young woman remained under his servitude, knowing he was the cause of it, that he'd had every hand in scarring Belle's visage.
He blew out a deep breath and continued.
"Nothing would make a man a bigger fool than to hurt you."
His deep penetrating and piercing gaze seemed to peer into her very soul. The Prince was overcome with the sudden instinctive urge to reach over and kiss her, but he was too much a coward.
Instead, all the turned Prince could do was stare down at Belle.
Belle, for her part, could scarcely breathe, much less speak. The rush of guilt that flooded through her veins lingered, rendering her feeling breathless, or perhaps that was from the way that the Prince was holding her chin in his hand so tenderly as if she were made of the finest glass or china. She was surprised to learn that, as she searched herself for the truth, that she harbored little resentment left for the man for what had happened. Now that she knew what made him, well, him, as she had said to him back in the corridor, it was more than enough.
She swallowed down hard and looked at him, feeling like she was swallowing knives as she licked her lips to moisten them.
"My—my face. H-he ruined it," she whispered, self-conscious and studying the ground in a far too engrossed manner. "Laurent, Your Highness, your guard, didn't he?"
The Prince flinched as he allowed himself to perhaps truly get a good look at his former guard's handiwork, at the single deep laceration that stretched from the beginning of her nose, near her right browbone, and traveled diagonally across her cheek, horrid, red, jagged, and entirely all his bloody fault.
He cursed himself as her gaze met his and she caught him staring.
A sob was fought back as her throat hallowed as she stiffened in response and ducked her head, allowing a lock of hair that had come loose from its plait to tumble in front of her face, effectively shielding her dismayed expression from Adam.
Seven hells, he thought to himself, as his own chest tightened, his guilt intensifying.
The image of the gruesomeness of her scar had permanently burned itself into his retinas forever.
The Prince wished he could think of something stronger to say in his mind that would express what he was feeling right now. But he was pulled from his dark swirling tempest of thoughts as Belle's voice reached his pounding eardrums, which were roaring with the sound of his own blood in his ears. Though somehow, Belle's shy voice managed to break through.
For an explicable moment, he wished one of his servants were here. Lumiere perhaps.
His Head of Household had always been something of a womanizer and had a way with words. Words were his specialty, not Adam's. This the Prince knew.
"I...I look…" Belle stammered, her breaths hitching in her throat as she kept her eyes tightly shut, tears running down her face in gentle tracts.
"Don't say it, pretty belle. Just…don't." The breath the Prince felt himself let out resembled just a hair short of an animalistic snarl as he noticed his hearth keep's eyes fill with tears, shimmering with the wretched little droplets of sadness. "H—he did not!" Adam angrily cut himself off and he exhaled a slow and shaking breath to calm the anger building behind his words, clenching his free hand not cupped around her chin in a fist.
He thought Belle was as bad as Cogsworth when it came to her confidence, or rather, the young woman's lack thereof, really.
It bothered him; the low opinion Belle reputed herself.
"Belle. Look at me. I…command you to look at me," the Prince ordered in a surprisingly rough and firm voice, though it was not enough to keep the note of desperation from seeping into his voice as he kept a firm hold on the woman's angular jaw.
Furrowing her brow, Belle conceded, and she looked.
"Nobody," the Prince began, feeling somewhat awkward as he voiced his opinion, hoping to place the appropriate amount of emphasis on his words so she would take him seriously. "Nobody could ever ruin your beauty, pretty belle, you hear me?"
Time seemed to calm to a halt at that exact moment. Belle's eyes widened and she thought she felt her heart skip a beat as her master's words washed over her, rocking her to her core, filling every single empty space and crevice of doubt that her facial scar had since created since she had received it.
The Prince, despite being the one to command Ser Laurent to do it, was the first man other than Gaston or her father who'd dared to call her beautiful, but now, the way the Prince's words seemed to roll so languidly off his tongue, was slowly convincing Belle.
A tiny smile tugged the edges of her lips. She tried her best not to flinch in discomfort as the tugging sensation caused a brief swell of pain in the damaged nerve muscles of her face, as she felt the fresh sting of warm liquid brimming in her eyes again. Though this time, at least, her tears were tears of relief.
Suddenly shy, Belle numbly nodded her head and downcast her gaze.
"Thank you, milord," she mumbled, suddenly wishing that a hole in the ground beneath her boots would open up and swallow her whole as he let go of her chin and took a few steps back from her, still seemingly in a daze at having been reverted back to his normal self, his beautiful self.
The Prince smiled. There was no kindness in his smile, but instead, it was sharp and knowing.
"I think I much preferred it, Belle, when you said my name," he replied, his voice was soft.
It carried a note that Belle did not recognize. To her, it sounded like hunger, but it felt like…like need. She blinked in alarm, liking the way, strangely enough, how it felt when she shivered, and the way his blue eyes were growing rather irate.
Despite herself, a tiny smile danced at the corner of her lips, and perhaps for the first time since coming under his servitude and receiving her scar, she did not notice the pain.
"My lord?" she said, feigning blissful ignorance, at this point, allowing herself to embrace a sense of truly impish glee.
Her master took her words as a challenge, a gate of her personality that needed unlocking if he was to convince her to stay as she had more or less pleaded with him to do earlier. He took a step forward, closing the space between them.
At this rate, the Prince was close enough to her that he could touch her again. Belle was stricken at that moment, thinking abruptly and inappropriately of what the man's hands would feel like on her skin, the warmth of skin-to-skin contact and colors.
Belle thought she understood the need in the master's voice now, and the equally alarming but reflecting need that was currently sending a fiery heat pulsing through her blood, alarming her.
Yet, despite the unfamiliarity of what was happening to her, Belle refused to submit or step back as the Prince advanced on her. She was not about to retreat from the master of the castle.
His sharp pale blue eyes traced the outline of Belle's full lips, and for an alarmingly worrying instant, Belle thought the Prince meant to kiss her. She thought the desire was plain to see plastered all over his face like oil paints to a blank canvas. But to her surprise, he resisted, instead, raising a rough and calloused, now furless hand to her face, and tucking a lock of her dark hair back behind her ear, smoothing his thumb over the slope of the arc of her cheekbone as the Prince withdrew his hand, delicately.
The touch was so light, it would have been considered unintentional, were it not for the intensity of Adam du Barreau's stare. Belle heard herself gasp beneath the man's hand, her skin on fire where his flesh tenderly brushed against hers so smoothly.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth, seductive.
"Your hair has come loose of its plait, Belle," he said, plainly. The deliberate use of her first name made her stiffen and it sent a shiver down her spine, though the gesture wasn't unwarranted. She couldn't be sure, but Belle believed her master to be goading her, daring her to return the familiar gesture, daring her silently without so many words to deny it to him. "You may wish to have one of the servants fix it for you before supper when we…return," he said, after a rather lengthy pause.
Belle had fully intended to rise to the Prince's challenge but found herself stricken and at a loss. Her cheek burned, tingling where the pads of the Prince's fingers rested, the sound of blood roaring in her eardrums, her pounding heart in her chest so audibly loud that she was afraid that her master could hear it.
"Ah. I…thank you, my lord," she murmured gratefully, stepping back, perhaps the first time in his company that she openly gave way to him. "I will have them do so," Belle said.
Belle sharply turned away from the Prince and clamped a hand over her mouth in the hopes of hiding the searing blush snaking its way onto the features of her face, hoping to hide her blush.
The Prince, for his part, was somewhat relieved that his prickly little hearth keep had pulled away. He knew that if he stood there any longer, holding Belle's beautiful, scarred face in his hand, fighting against the trembling that threatened to betray him, that he would have attempted to kiss his own servant.
It was not a new desire for him to be attracted to a woman like this, but never before had a meager servant affected him quite like this. He wanted to feel her soft lips pressed against his, to taste her.
The Prince was slowly becoming more and more certain he could make her love him if only she would give him a chance.
Adam silently watched as Belle turned her back to him and struggled to rein in her emotions over what had just happened.
He thought perhaps, as she turned back around to fully face him, perhaps he saw some small slight of feelings in the young mademoiselle's huge almond-shaped eyes that were ensnaring him.
There was a part of him that hoped it was not simply what he wished to see. The Prince reluctantly kept his distance, not wishing to take advantage of the rawness of her tender emotions. Adam coughed once to clear his throat and tried to think of something to say, wondering why she'd brought him here, to this fantastical, whimsical marketplace he didn't recognize.
Though it occurred to him, perhaps it did not exist.
"You brought me here for a reason, pretty Belle," Adam murmured, surprised to hear how hoarse and rough he sounded. His fingertips burned with an uncontrollable itch to touch her, but he somehow managed to resist the urge, keeping a respectful distance, mindful of her role as his hearth keep. "Which is?" he pressed, eager to get Belle to change the subject.
The Prince was pleased to see that his response inspired a response from his hearth keep as her dark eyes clouded with momentary confusion, and she searched his face, clearly trying to make sense of the words, and then, a fire ignited in her eyes.
Belle curiously looked at the master of the castle and then towards the fantastical marketplace and the bustling crowd of the people, just waiting to be explored. When she turned back around to face, him, his hearth keep was smiling.
"To break that castle wall."
THE last thing Prince Adam du Barreau, son of Duke Gervas du Barreau, had intended to do on this dull and grievous morn that threatened a thunderstorm, one of his favorite things, was to spend an entire day in the old hag's damned enchanted book and to go exploring.
Yes, the Prince was always a curious man by nature and preferred to learn, but everything he had wanted to see had always been within his grasp, at his fingertips, within the confines of his own majestical library, where thousands of ancient scrolls, tomes, and old maps, waited for his attentive eyes, that he could sink his attention into any one of them, and an afternoon in his library would almost—almost—make Adam forget.
To make him forget that he was cursed, was a blessing indeed. But Fate, that cruel bastard, had a way of toying with Adam, playing on the Prince and he did not like it, by throwing a sudden and swift surprise at him this morning when he wanted them the least. In this instance, that 'swift and sudden surprise' happened to be the appearance of his servant.
As much as he found himself beginning to contemplate his feelings towards his prickly little hearth keep and her outspoken ways, he had not wanted to be torn away from his morning plans, or the library, from the scrolls and dust and the relative peace and quiet of his archaic safe place—not even for Belle.
But then she had told him that they would be alone; and not alone, but disguised, even, even when Adam had told the girl there was no need of such a charade, as no one within this book knew his title, his face, or who he was, but it had not stopped his servant.
Lovers, she had said in such a casual, offhanded tone, as if it were nothing. Commoners. The Prince scowled, furrowing his brows.
He thought he could have done without playing this charade of hers as a peasant.
But to play at being her husband—at pretending that just once, even if it was just for an afternoon, they pretended to like each other—well, for that, Adam thought that he would do anything in the world if it meant his servant would remain by his side, that this curse would be ended.
It was this and only this that had drawn him forth from his plans to spend the entirety of his morning and afternoon sequestered within the walls of his library, preferring, and wishing to speak to no one at all.
This, however, was almost too much, out like this in the open and vulnerable in the blinding sun and the roar of this faux city's life, this fantasy world.
The overwhelming sensations had been a bit much for Adam at first. The sounds and sights of this charming place were so overwhelming to all of his senses that he had very nearly turned and ran to go back the way they had come, but with Belle's arm slipped firmly through his, Adam assented, feeling that he could do anything, could be anything he wanted.
For this day, at least, he was a man again, human again, and he vowed not to waste, this opportunity that Belle was giving him.
He had plaited his servant's hair himself, secretly delighting in getting to run his fingers through the long tresses he'd so longed to touch since the first moment he had laid eyes upon his hearth keep.
Belle's attire was simplistic in nature, a simple brown tunic and white chemise underneath that, plain brown boots.
Even so, there was something almost magical about the girl, ethereal even. Her face spoke of wild winds and longing, that insatiable itch to see other lands, big cities, mountains, oceans.
The Prince needed no such disguise and balked at wearing what Belle had managed to find for him. His black garb was quite common, thank you very much, and went relatively unquestioned as they wandered the streets together, eyeing the market stalls and trying to avoid the sharp gazes of the book's passing soldiers.
Belle had found for him a set of itchy-looking plain brown woolen robes he could slip over his clothes, though they were surprisingly comfortable, the Prince was secretly loathing to admit, thinking he'd never dare admit it.
She had smiled when he'd slipped it on, embarrassed. Shy.
"Brown is a good color for you, Your Highness," she'd said. "You should wear it more often instead of all of that black, sir."
At her quip, the Prince found it difficult not to scoff and roll his eyes a bit, though he was secretly more than a little bit pleased. He very much highly doubted that any color actually suited him, especially in his cursed monstrous form that he would revert to once the two of them managed to leave this place.
But he was pleased enough his hearth keep seemed to like it, and even more pleased still that the brown of her tunic seemed to complement the brown of the robes that she had found for him.
The simple fact that Belle had gone out of her way to make certain they matched delighted the Prince more than he cared to admit. So, here they were, having wandered about the cobblestone streets of the fantastical marketplace for the better part of an hour, on the fifth level of the city, arm in arm as easily as if the two of them walked like they did this every day as if this was typical behavior for them.
Adam tried his best in particular not to seem terribly unconcerned, but his heart was in his throat and his blood was roaring in his eardrums, deafening. If Belle noticed, she did her best to seem oblivious.
"It's massive—this place," Belle remarked in a breathless voice, tightening her grip on the Prince's arm, blissfully unaware of how the master of the castle stiffened in response and grew tense, suddenly barely able to move at all and looking suddenly tense. "I'd never imagined a place could be like this, it's beautiful," she breathed, turning her head this way and that, craning her neck and almost pulling a muscle, trying to take it in.
The Prince felt himself smiling fondly at her, touched by her enthusiasm, reaching over to rest his fingers on her bicep.
"It is indeed a marvel, my lady," he said. "This place has no equal," he murmured, casting a withering look as Belle's curious gaze turned to stare at a group of soldiers in shimmering, flashing armor that rode past on horseback. Adam tugged on Belle's arm, an irritable gesture, and he was sure she saw it.
Today, he was human again, and he had her to himself, and he was fully intending to keep it that way. Belle, thankfully, came back to the Prince's side, without any semblance of protest or hesitation, for which the man was grateful, and he felt himself relax, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away as she moved once more to stand alongside him, her arm around his.
"I don't think I've ever seen this many people in my entire life! Can you imagine living in as busy a place like this? Nothing would ever stay the same, things would constantly be different!"
And wouldn't that be a blessing? Adam thought sourly to himself, his dark brows knitting together to form a heavy scowl.
Paris, and the rest of France, for that matter, had been caught up in its ancient ideologies for entirely too long. Some progress might happen to do France a world of good, he mused.
Adam grunted, "You would miss your village," he said instead, knowing that his words would cut her. "And your father?" he questioned, wondering if he was overstepping just now by asking this of his hearth keep, but the man had to know.
Belle's face sagged, causing Prince Adam to immediately regret his choice of words, wishing he could take them back, but it was already too late. She sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone from her plait back behind her ear and looked away from him. "I would," she confessed in a small, subdued voice.
The Prince gritted his teeth and cursed himself for his carelessness, stopping by a fruit seller's stand, picking up a peach and examining it, ensuring that it was the ripest and best of the bunch.
"You would not leave your village. Not willingly, my lady," he murmured, voicing a truth he was sure that Belle already knew as he reached into the purse at his hip, tossing the vendor a coin and handed the peach to Belle with the beginnings of a sardonic smirk. "Eat," he commanded in a tone that left no room for her to argue. "Don't think I've not heard how hungry you've been the last half hour," he muttered, his smirk widening as Belle's stomach growled, reminding the young woman that she had skipped breakfast this morning, having been in entirely too much a hurry to find him.
Belle smiled back coyly as she plucked the fruit from his outstretched hand, lifting it to smell it as they continued onward.
"You would like it here, wouldn't you, Your Highness?" she asked, not looking at him as instead, she looked to her left and right. "With the library and the scholars here…" she let her voice trail off.
"Yes," Adam said without even having to think on his answer, wistfully thinking of the tower's library they had visited earlier, full of ancient scrolls and tomes describing places that did not even exist.
He had, upon seeing the young mademoiselle's delight, made it a point to show her his library when they returned to the real world, but for now, he was more than content to spend his time as a man, with the young woman wound around his arm, and there was no way in the seven hells below that Adam was giving Belle back.
Adam was pondering over this sudden shift in his countenance when Belle managed to pull the Prince from his reverie with a sudden slurping sound he had not expected to hear from her. He turned his head sharply to look and he almost smiled.
The peach was quite ripe, and the juices of the fruit were dripping down her chin and onto her hand. She let out a tiny, indignant cry and hurriedly wrenched her arm away, hoping to hide the mess she had made from the master of the castle, but it was too late for that.
The Prince had seen everything and found it endearing.
He laughed, reaching into the pocket of his robes, his disguise, and pulled free a handkerchief and wiped the juice from her chin. Belle blushed prettily and swiped the handkerchief from him, stubbornly finishing the job herself.
"Thank you," she murmured, ducking her head shyly.
"It's a messy fruit, pretty Belle," he said, biting back a smile, though the edges of his mouth twitched, threatening to break free. "A bit difficult to eat at times. But still delicious."
Belle nodded, absentmindedly dabbing at her lips as she took another bite, not knowing how just the simple act of watching her tongue flick out to lick her bottom lip to catch a stray bit of peach was sending a spiraling heat through Adam.
But she did not notice. The sights and sounds of the city around them seemed to have consumed her attention yet again.
"Papa would never let me go exploring without him. He didn't want me alone. Not even with him," Belle murmured after a moment in silence, rendering the Prince spellbound.
It took a great deal of his willpower not to tell his servant that his father often made that rule in the event he did not want his daughter witnessing such activity as say, carousing, or what his own father would have done, whoring, with no thought as to how the act constantly destroyed his poor mother's heart. He frowned, shoving away the painful memories of his childhood to the back of his mind, and tried to think of something to say.
Instead, he said, "I do not know your father, my lady, but I would guess he sees you still as his child, Belle."
Belle frowned at his remark, but nevertheless, found herself glancing keenly towards him to study the Prince out of the corner of her eye.
"And you, Your Highness?" she asked softly, curious to know, a light twinkling in her dark eyes. "Do you see me as my father does? A child?" she asked, boldly.
Adam swallowed down heavily past a lump in his throat that was rendering it difficult for him to breathe and licked his lips to moisten them, trying desperately to keep his wavering gaze upon his face, and not let them linger too long on her lips.
She had to be at least twenty, maybe eight and ten, it was hard for him to say but bugger that.
She was a woman. Face, hips, breasts, his Belle was hardly a child and said as much.
"Hardly, my lady," Adam managed to gasp out in a hoarse breath, his mouth dry, rendering him feeling like he was swallowing knives when he fought the lump in his throat.
Belle allowed a small smile to flit across her face and slipped her arm back through his, finishing the last remnants of the peach. She began to lick the juice from her fingers, delicately sucking it free of her fingers, not minding her manners, and an uncomfortable searing heat flared in Adam's veins, and a terrible hunger roared to life inside. The beast inside his chest and head began to roar its pleasure at seeing it.
Oh, God, oh dear lord, gods, not now…
He prayed a silent prayer to God or Gods or whatever these fictional people worshipped while he was here with her to still his thoughts.
Adam awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away, frantically attempting to clear his head of every filthy and lewd image of the young mademoiselle beside him from his head. He blew out a deep breath in the form of a long and slow exhale as he dared to glance back at Belle, firmly deciding that he would make her a constant gift of peaches when they went home.
Adam blinked himself out of his stupor as Belle sighed.
"I suppose it does not matter how Papa sees me," Belle said, resting her now peach-free hand on the Prince's arm and giving it a light squeeze that had the Prince's chest feeling tight. "He is free to do whatever he wishes without me, these days."
The Prince flinched at just the twinge of bitterness and maybe even a tiny bit of resentment seeping into her voice, though he had little to no time to dwell over it as she continued.
Belle smiled nervously up at her master, the beginnings of something flickering through those almond-shaped dark eyes of hers, though what that 'thing' might be, only she could know.
"Thank you for coming with me," she murmured, lowering her lashes as a moment of shyness overcame her. "I know you were hoping to spend the day alone, likely brooding."
He blinked, startled, at hearing the faint teasing lilt in her voice. It took Adam a moment to realize Belle was teasing him.
"It's nothing, pretty belle," the Prince swiftly replied in a languid voice, gently pulling his arm in closer, itching to close off the gap of space that now existed between them. A part of him was selfish, wanting to breathe in her scent of autumn for himself, to bask in his servant's nearness while he was still a man.
The skirts of her dress brushed up against Adam's leg as they walked, and he clenched his teeth, trying to control his urges as he felt the searing warmth of her against his skin, so close…
Just a little bit closer…. A little bit closer now, he thought.
"This is far more interesting and a better use of my time," he murmured, trying to break away from his lustful thoughts.
Adam frowned at the thought as his gaze wandered and his eyes soon came to idly rest at a jewelry stall not far from where they stood. His attention was drawn towards the vendor, an older but refined-looking gentlemen with short but neat salt and pepper hair, deep bags clung to the skin underneath his eyes that suggested the man was likely having trouble sleeping well.
He was pondering that perhaps things would be better for him if he were to wither away as a nameless, faceless nobody in this magical book of the hag's creation.
At least here he'd not be ridiculed for his reputation or the monstrous cursed form that awaited him once he and Belle were forced to return to the real world.
The jewelry seller snapped him from his thoughts with a shout that was more of a bark, eyeing the Prince and Belle interestedly with narrowed eyes.
"You can come closer, sir, if you want a better look. I don't bite," he announced, motioning to the glittering display that he had rested beneath his tent, to protect him from the weather's elements, though it was cloudy by now.
Belle curiously turned to look, her dark eyes widening in utter delight and intrigue at the sight of the intricate metalwork and glittering reflection of the jewels. "They are beautiful, monsieur," she murmured, tearing her gaze away from the man's display to look at him. "I—I'm terribly sorry, I didn't catch your name," she stammered, an apologetic blush pinking her cheeks.
The seller smiled at her and flitted his gaze back to the Prince as he clasped his hands together in front of his middle, the gloves around his hands worn and tattered, his set of brown tattered woolen robes looking like they admittedly needed darning, but the man seemed content enough.
"Call me Gold, milady. I think it fits, considering, don't you think?" the jewelry vendor asked, a slight high-pitched giggle escaping his lips before some small semblance of composure managed to come back to himself then.
His gaze turned a bit more somber as he looked at Adam.
"Buy something for your wife, sir?" he said. "Such a pretty bride as yours deserves a lovely trinket, don't you agree?" Gold asked him coyly as he kept his hands clasped interestedly in front of his middle.
Adam felt searing heat scorch his cheeks as the whole of his face flushed, and he opened his mouth to protest. Belle is not my wife, monsieur, she'll never be my wife, but oh, God, oh, lord, I wish she was.
But Belle spoke up before he could say a word to the man suspiciously named Gold.
"Trinkets have no value for me, sir," she said. "As my…husband well knows." Here she paused and eyed Prince Adam's expression dubiously with raised eyebrows, a smirk tugging the edges of her lips upward. She turned back to face Monsieur Gold. "Have you any other items? Daggers, perhaps? A lady needs protection in the absence of her husband, wouldn't you say? Such beautiful work as this," she paused and gestured towards the man's jewels with a flourish of her hand, "suggests familiarity with metal."
The Prince was too busy choking on his own tongue to even think about stopping Belle as his hearth keep pulled him over to Gold's stall, eager to examine the strange but endearing older man's wares.
She'd…she'd called him her husband.
Had Belle meant her words? Would she even truly consider him as a possibility one day?
Coming from his prickly little hearth keep, it had sounded so natural, rolling off her tongue like that. She'd not so much as batted an eyelash or stammered and tripped over her words. Or looked uncomfortable or hesitated even in the slightest. Did Adam dare to hope to think that Belle could ever have him?
Could ever…could want him, in that way?
"An interesting choice, my lady, color me intrigued," Monsieur Gold was saying, arching a greying brow the young brunette's way, studying her as though she were a rare and fascinating specimen behind a cage he'd caught. "Are you ah, quite certain you'd rather not leave the daggers for your husband? They would not serve you well in the house at all, you know," he murmured, a strangely pensive and thoughtful look flitting through his eyes as he continued his staring.
"I fail to see how a set of earrings, or a necklace will do me any world of good either, monsieur," Belle retorted back challengingly with a sniff of disdain, pulling a face as she looked at the odd assortment of baubles and trinkets he was hawking with a disdain.
The jewels that had only moments ago delighted her, had lost all their glamor at the seller's remarks. "A dagger will keep me safe, sir."
The seller hardly glanced at Belle, looking instead towards Adam.
"Is that not what you have him for, my lady?" Gold questioned, suddenly sounding suspicious, and certainly looking the part, too.
Prince Adam could no longer help himself. He laughed, a small burst of laughter that erupted from his chest, throat, and lips, that started both this Monsieur Gold character and his lovely hearth keep.
The Prince lifted his hand to his mouth and looked away, trying to stifle the laugh as well as hide his elated blush from him and his Belle.
"I think you will find my wife to be quite capable with a dagger, sir," he managed, mindful of his courtesies, though there was slight discomfort, a tightness welling within his chest at how the strange way this Gold character was regarding his hearth keep, with a glossy, distant look in his eyes, as though he knew more of her than he let on. He continued. "I can scarcely deny her anything she wishes. If you've anything worthy to show her, I would recommend that you do so, sir. She's ah, quite good with her fists if you need any further persuasion."
Monsieur Gold looked down at Belle's hands, bruised and bloodied from her attempts and still healing when she'd tried to fight off Ser Laurent's reanimated body brought back from the dead by the witch.
Belle flinched and stiffened, trying her best to look innocent, but couldn't quite bite back her smile as she sensed the Prince watching her.
Gold raised his hands in a show of surrender and turned away, not wishing for discourse to break out at his stall. "There is no need for that," he muttered, bending slightly to grab at an intricately carved box. "I carry the most exquisite daggers, a few made and acquired in shall we say, friendlier days. You're not apt to see their equal anywhere but with me."
He opened the box with a swift flourish. The gasp that left Belle's mouth, as well as her hands flying to her mouth, was involuntary.
Not that she'd have stopped it if she could at all.
The Prince could not recall seeing such an intense look of longing in his hearth keep's face as her face paled a shade lighter than it usually was. The Prince furrowed his brows and inspecting the daggers this Monsieur Gold had to offer with a calculating and trained eye. They were indeed exquisite, with beautiful sheaths littered with sparkling gems of all sizes and colors, red, gold, and green in the fading sun.
When Belle moved to unsheathe one with slightly shaking fingers, a dagger that was purple in color, sparkled under the light. She turned and examined it in the light of the sun.
"Wow," she breathed, running her finger along the blade. Adam let himself trace the path of her slender fingers with his eyes, occasionally glancing up to look at her awestruck face. She was so entranced; he was sure she'd forgotten him.
But then, his servant spoke, very softly, and very shyly.
"Adam," she murmured, momentarily forgetting herself. "I…" she whispered, letting her voice trail off. The man was at her side at an instant, his thoughts and heart surging wildly at the fact that she had slipped and used his first name.
She'd held his arm without fear or disgust, had called him husband, and was now referring to him by his God-given name while he was here with her, like this. God was good, yes.
Belle could have asked him for anything at that moment, and he would have moved Heaven and Earth to give it to her.
"It is beautiful," he agreed, reaching out and resting his hand on the small of her back, near the woman's spine.
A bold move for a Prince of noble blood to make such an uncouth gesture against a common woman, an inappropriate move. She probably would have said as much were they back at the castle, but here, in the witch's book, in this fantastical made-up country, with the dagger between them and this ridiculous outing Belle had in mind to 'break his heart's walls', she accepted his touching her without any comment.
"You want it," he said softly, his statement not really a question as his mouth almost pressed gently against her ear.
"Yes," she said, sheathing the weapon gently, staring at it in her hands as if she had already lost it. "But it must cost so much—it's—it's like it's…calling to me, it whispers things."
This alarmed him and almost gave him pause, but he quickly shook his head and brought himself back to the matter at present: pleasing his hearth keep and convincing her to willingly stay of her own volition. "You are my hearth keep, Belle," he murmured, switching from French to English so that the seller would not overhear their private conversation. "I told you once, I should want my hearth keep to be happy. I meant my words. I've not taken them in. I won't renege what I said. You can have whatever you want. The cost here is not an objection to me, or in the real world," he said.
Belle immediately narrowed her eyes and vehemently shook her head. Gods, but this woman was utterly infuriating.
She was…she was beautiful. It was unfounded and absurd, the way that his heart was leaping at every nuance, every little gesture his servant made. Never before had he been so affected by a woman before, let alone one of his own servants.
"No," Belle responded at last, also in English. "This isn't fair to you, monsieur. I—I just wanted to go exploring with you—I did not intend to buy anything. I'll just give it back…"
"No," Adam interjected, taking her hand, and stopping her before she could turn back to Gold and offer the weapon back. "Grant me this. At least let me ask him what it costs, Belle."
Belle hesitated, biting down on her lip, a look of longing igniting in her dark eyes as she looked down at the dagger.
"Ah…well… I—I suppose it can't hurt. Go on then," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders, and turning back to Gold.
The Prince felt himself smile victoriously, thinking that this was a battle the young mademoiselle would not win, as he turned back to the jewelry vendor with his best smile, with just a twinge of intimidation that Adam was sure would work.
"How much?" he asked, reverting back to his native French as he addressed the gentleman with a slight Scottish accent.
Monsieur Gold merely chuckled, a rather unpleasant sound that set both the Prince and Belle frowning as he held out his hand for the dagger, waggling his fingers. "More than you can afford, I'm sure. Only a king or a Duke could pay for a dagger as high quality like this."
The Prince bristled at the title his father had held, the title that he too, would hold, assuming that he married a woman of noble repute.
He glowered and stared unblinking at Monsieur Gold, blue eyes bright and dangerous as his lips curled upwards into a twisted sneer, the shadow of the Beast he knew himself to be, coming out right now.
"How. Much?" he repeated in a dangerously quiet, low voice.
The seller shifted uncomfortably, moving his weight from one foot to the other and picking at a loose thread coming undone on the sleeve of his robes, but did his best to laugh off his initial discomfort.
He withdrew his hand and ceased his fidgeting with his sleeve and kept his arms folded across his chest in a look of steadfast resolve.
"Five hundred guilders," he announced, no kindness in his tone. Monsieur Gold was fixing the Prince with a rather pointed stare.
Belle let out a tiny gasp at the mention of so much money. Inwardly the Prince flinched, but he dared not let Belle see it herself.
Such a hefty asking price for such a small, delicate blade. The purchase was going to cost him dearly, but then he had to remind himself that this was faux, none of this was real. He wasn't real, he wasn't really human again, and he was sure that the dagger would cease to exist once he and Belle were returned to the safety of the hall.
The Prince, however, stole another small glance at Belle and thought to himself, bugger that. His hearth keep was well worth this.
Belle, God bless her soul, did not seem quite so convinced.
"It's just a dagger, Prince, it—it's not possibly worth the—"
"My dear lady, I would have you know the dagger you hold now in your hand is one of rareness and special quality and as, you already picked up on by now, possesses a few…magicalproperties," Monsieur Gold barked, glowering at her. He held out his hand again a second time, this time much more demanding than the first. "If you cannot agree upon my asking price, then I would ask you to kindly return it. You know what they say, dearie. All magic comes with a price. This is mine," he announced, a flicker of intrigue darting inside of his eyes.
Belle hung her head in a sense of defeat, shoulders slumping forward, and stepped forward, holding the dagger out to the vendor.
The sight of her sad eyes and the rich darkness having lost their twinkling sheen set fierce a hot, burning rage boiling in Adam's blood, hotter than any dragon fire could ever flame. How dare this—this filthy seller be so bold as to make one of his own servants so—so upset?!
Adam made up his mind right then and there on the spot. He would have that dagger if she would but smile again, no matter the cost. He would see his Belle smiling again and smiling because of him.
The Prince caught Belle's wrist before the woman could so much as take another step forward and boldly held her back, never once taking his eyes off the seller as they narrowed in contempt for him.
"Perhaps, monsieur, if you would consider taking three hundred."
"Sir, no, this—this isn't necessary!" Belle squeaked in protest, stepping closer to him.
He stiffened as even through the thick scratchy woolen material of his robes, he could feel the girl's searing heat, right through to his bones. He wondered if Belle would remember this day, in the years to come—on the day that he would hope to one day plead his case to her and beg for her hand in marriage to break this curse?
What he was presenting to her was a kind gift, and one that he hoped would not soon be forgotten, no matter what protests she gave. The Prince gritted his teeth and hold onto Belle's arm tighter.
The seller merely offered a morose little chuckle as he ran a gloved hand through his thick salt and pepper hair, eyeing Adam quizzically.
"A lowly offer for such a delectable, special prize," Monsieur Gold remarked, though the older gentleman was stroking his chin in contemplative thought. "Four hundred and fifty, perhaps, but no lower."
"Reconsider. There are chips on the sheath, and a ruby missing at its hilt," the Prince shot back coolly. Yes, it was true there were a few small imperfections here and there, but nothing like the flaws that he was currently ticking off on his fingers, trying to play them up in this unexpected haggling negotiation of his. "Not to mention the steel used in the blade is of low grade at best, monsieur. Three twenty, monsieur."
"Three twen—" The seller bristled and straightened his gait, puffing himself up indignantly. "You insult me, sir. Do you take me for a fool? You're not the only one with a wife to feed. Four fifty perhaps but three twenty?"
Monsieur Gold was staring at the Prince as though Adam had lost his bloody mind, and for all he knew, perhaps he finally had, then.
But none of that seemed to matter. The only thing the Duke's son was focused on for the time being was that of Belle's happiness, the overwhelming ache to see the girl smile again almost a physical need.
Adam had not the time to marvel at the young woman's burst of strength as she managed to shake her wrist free of Adam's iron grip, stepping in front of her master and vehemently shaking her head no.
"Your Highness, don't," Belle pleaded, biting on her lip. "Not for me. I—it's so much money, please, I—I am not worth it, sir—I…"
God, this woman was a jewel, his feisty little servant. He wasn't even sure if there lived a woman who was as kind to a wretch as him. Emboldened by his hearth keep's tenderness and affection, against his better judgment, he reached up and cupped Belle's face in his hands, gently stroking her cheek, relishing the tiny gasp she gave off, and cherishing for eternity the coolness of her skin against his, knowing that once they left this place, he would be a Beast again, that monster, no longer human. And she'd want nothing to do with him.
Which made what he was about to do, that much more special.
"To see you smile like that again, pretty Belle, is worth all that I have," he murmured, chuckled at Belle's insistence that Adam refuses.
"I—I won't smile, Your Highness," she insisted, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. "I'll just feel guilty every time I use it, knowing what it cost you. Please reconsider, sir, don't do this for me."
"I know, pretty Belle," Adam murmured. And this he did know, truly. He knew that Belle, as humble as she was, would never expect such kindness from him. "But I want to," he reiterated softly, trying to make his woman understand his reason.
She swallowed hard, swiping a lock of hair that had come undone from her plait yet again back behind her ear.
"Sir. I cannot accept such a gift from you, there is no way that I could possibly ever accept it, it's not right, I—" she interjected, but he sighed, cutting her off and held up a hand to stop his hearth keep from protesting any further. It worked.
"You look me in the eye right now and tell me you don't want it, Belle," Prince Adam said to his servant, reaching up and tucking a lock of her hair into place. "Swear it to me, and I promise, I will walk away."
I…" Belle gaped in disbelief, staring up at her master, wide-eyed. "I—it's not that, I—I just…" He smirked, knowing he had her now. Her eyes narrowed, darkening, almost black in color, and cold. "Don't look at me like that, sir," she said, crossly, glaring at Adam with furrowed brows. "Of course, I want it. But it's not worth paying such a lump sum and a ridiculous price. And I don't want you to put your money towards something that only I will use. Imagine the books you could buy with that sort of money! Or—or you could give it to your other servants."
The Prince shrugged. The coin he did carry in this fictitious world would not go as far as she anticipated if he were to buy old books. Besides, he'd never actually done this before: spent this long in the Enchantress's book, like this. He wasn't even sure if the dagger he bought for Belle would materialize and make its way out alongside them.
He wasn't entirely sure on what the old hag's rules were in that regard. But in any case, he knew it was better to spend his money here. On her perfect, precious smile that the Prince knew he would likely never seen again.
"Consider it a gift, Belle. A token of appreciation," he said.
A simple phrase for a thousand of his feelings, that was, he knew, anything but simple.
Gods, but if only Belle knew…
"Sir, no," Belle pleaded, trying to placate him one last time, reaching up and taking his hand, which was still curved around her scarred cheek, albeit tenderly so, so as to not hurt her any further. "Please, Prince. I cannot ask you for something like this. I won't. I can't."
The Prince looked his servant over in a speculative fashion, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brows.
"I don't think I've seen you smile the way you did when you first held that man's dagger in your hand," he said. "Does it not please you? Would it not make you happier?"
With me… is what he itched to say, the words begging for release, burning on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained himself from saying it. He watched as his hearth keep blushed and lowered her lashes, studying the ground and her boots in a far too engrossed manner, suddenly quite shy.
"It would," she confessed in a shy whisper that was so faint, the Prince had to lean forward in order to hear her. "But that you would even offer to buy it for me is, is happiness in my eyes."
She squeezed onto his hand and bit down on her lip. "Please," she begged. "It's alright. Just…let me put it back and we'll go. I'm sure the other servants are wondering just where we are."
The Prince studied Belle in silence for a good long moment, trying to determine just how much she would be affected, how disappointed she'd be by relinquishing the dagger, but her stoic and placid expression gave away nothing of what she felt. It was maddening.
Finally, Adam let out a tired sigh and nodded.
"Very well," he conceded with a disgruntled sounding grunt. "Give it back to him then, pretty Belle, and we shall leave."
Belle smiled and in a bold move that neither one of them saw coming, popped up on her tiptoes to kiss the Prince on the cheek. His cheeks flamed at the feeling of her lips against his smooth, fur-less skin, and he flushed a deep red and watched her in awe as she seemed to float over towards Monsieur Gold and reluctantly handed back the dagger in its sheath, lowering her head in reverence.
"Thank you, sir, for allowing me to see it. It was a privilege just to be able to hold such a weapon, monsieur," she murmured.
Monsieur Gold snatched back the dagger from Belle with no small amount of surprise as he raised his eyebrows at the woman in surprise and awe. "Aye," he agreed. "It would be a privilege to own such a weapon, milady, wouldn't you say?" he asked, licking his lips to moisten them as he stared.
"It would be," Belle agreed, turning away from the vendor's stall with a wistful, forlorn look in her dark eyes that the Prince could hardly bear it. "But it is a privilege that will have to belong to someone else, I'm afraid."
The Prince hesitated as he was resigned to watch his servant walk away from the table, and by extension, from him. Belle looked so sad and morose as if she'd had one of her precious books or a favorite toy taken from her by a meaner, older person. But, his hearth keep was dead set on walking away, and Adam made no motion to move as she turned to face him, holding out her hand impatiently to him, motioning for the master to come along.
He heaved a haggard sigh once more and hurried up behind her, never looking back at the seller. The Prince was just about to make a move to take her hand, when Monsieur Gold blurted out behind him, "Three ten, sir."
The Prince paused, rendered frozen in his tracks as he turned on his heels, his brows arched, forcing an impassive look of neutrality on his face.
"Well, well, what an impressive price drop, monsieur. Three ten? Why not two-fifty?" he challenged, shooting the stall vendor a knowing look.
"Adam, sir, no, please don't, let's—let's just drop it," Belle murmured lowly, sounding exasperated. But even despite herself, Belle looked hopeful.
"You misinterpret my intentions. I am just being generous, monsieur," the seller remarked, nodding to Belle. "I hate to see such a beautiful woman left so sad. Believe it or not, I have got a Belle of my own at home, and a little one besides, and I suffer the same fate as you, monsieur. I cannot say no to her, nor to my son. Three ten. It's not such a tremendous amount is it, to see a smile brought to your wife's face?" Monsieur Gold challenged.
The Prince frowned, pretending to think it over and consider the strange Scottish man's offer, but as far as he was concerned, the deal was sealed.
"Done," he barked gruffly and approached the jewelry seller's table again.
"Sir!" Belle exclaimed in a breathless sounding squeak as she followed closely behind her master at his heels. "Don't do this! I—I said it was alright, I don't w—"
But the Prince made it a point to ignore his hearth keep's plea, deftly catching Belle around her waist as she ran up to him. He pulled her to him, so close that their shoulders touched, ignored her protests, as he fumbled with the purse at his hip and tossed it ungracefully to Monsieur Gold, heavy with coins.
"You'll find the proper amount within. The dagger, monsieur, if you would?"
But Gold waved off the Prince with a dismissive abrupt wave of his hand that would have had, in times past, earned him the privilege of losing that hand, glancing incredulously between the Prince's disguise, his poor commoner's garb, compared to the number of coins in his purse.
When the proper amount was counted, he handed the purse back to Adam, taking great care to remove the dagger from its casing and handing it to Belle with a sweeping bow and an odd little flourish.
"Your dagger, my lady," Gold murmured lowly, still wearing an odd expression in his eyes that neither was sure what to make of exactly. "May it keep you safe from that which would harm you."
Belle accepted the dagger from the man with the awe of a faithful worshipper receiving a gift from God Himself, her slender fingers almost shaking as she lifted the weapon from the man's rough and calloused hands and pulled it close to her chest, a giddy smile on her face, dark eyes twinkling.
"I…I thank you, monsieur," she whispered, inkling her head just so. She looked up towards her master, her eyes both pleased and reproachful at what he had done. "And thank you, sir," she added, reaching up on her toes to gingerly kiss his cheek once more. "You honor me with your gift, Adam."
This time, Adam did not bother to tamper down his smile.
"Just to accompany you here was an honor worth any time alone I could have spent, my lady," he replied in a smooth and languid voice. He glanced up at the sky, sensing that the sun was near to setting, as it was back in the castle, back home.
Time here in the book and in the real world were one and the same, which meant their presence would soon be required in the mess hall for dinner.
"Damn," he swore through gritted teeth, ignoring Belle's cry of surprise. "We've lingered too long. We'll be missed, my lady," he murmured. The Prince glanced sideways at Monsieur Gold out of the corner of his peripherals and offered the strange Scottish bloke a brief nod of his head. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, monsieur. Until we meet again sometime," Adam muttered, never one to forget proper etiquette now.
"You as well," Monsieur Gold agreed in a nonplussed voice, staring curiously at the pair of them. "Safe travels to both of you, wherever it is that you're going." Monsieur Gold mumbled something inaudibly under his breath and turned his back, though the seller's concerns were not Adam's business.
Adam kept his face neutral, gingerly pulling Belle down the cobblestone path, back in the general direction they had come, where they'd fallen and landed when the book brought them here upon Belle's bidding.
The Prince had fully intended to remove his arm that was still currently wound around her waist—he truly, honest to God had meant to—but Belle was still so enraptured by the dagger now clutched to her breast, that she slipped her arm around him and held onto him in kind, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked, letting out a strangely content little sigh.
It was a noise he cherished, and the feel of her head against the crook of his shoulder was a feeling that he wished he could commit to his memory.
"You shouldn't have, Your Highness," Belle said once they were alone and out of earshot of any wandering passersby. But her expression contradicted her scolding tone, the edges of her lips fighting against a smile.
The smile won out in the end, for which the Prince was glad, as the brightness, warmth, and radiance of the woman's smile were enough to out-shine the very sun itself. The Prince glanced sideways at Belle, her head still resting on his shoulder, and tried to calm his racing heart and force his heart back down into his throat and to his chest where it belonged.
"It was my pleasure, Belle," he said. He hesitated, chewing on the wall of his mouth. "If you would…like to spend the day together again tomorrow, I—we could—"
She smiled. "That would be lovely, Your Highness. If you don't mind coming here again? I'd like to know you. The real you," she muttered. "Not the Beast. The man behind that creature," Belle whispered, her voice husky. "Besides…" she added with a wry smile. "You're good at playing husband, sir."
Adam tightened his grip almost possessively so on his hearth keep's hip and gave the young woman a small enigmatic smile as he closed his eyes and told the book to take him and Belle back home, one thought permeating his mind for the rest of that afternoon and well into the night, leaving him sleepless.
One day, he thought to himself, excited, I won't be playing anymore.
As the Prince slept, he was not aware that just outside the West Wing on the balcony's terrace, shrouded in the shadows, stood none other than Monsieur Gold and the Enchantress, Agathe, the pair watching the Beast sleep.