CHAPTER 31
LUMIERE was the first to reach the master's side as he heard the Prince's cries over the roaring of the wind as the winter storm threatened to pick up speed. A group of maids had heard the commotion at the gates and sent Cogsworth to fetch Lumiere, as he was the youngest of the Heads of Household and the fittest.
He skidded to a halt in front of his master, kicking up a pile of snow in the process, just in time to see the master hunched over the young mademoiselle's limp and unresponsive body.
His eyes grew wide with alarm at the gory carnage that surrounded them, the blood-stained snow that was seeped in crimson, and the huge, hulking wolf that sat but a few feet from them was cause for alarm.
Lumiere crinkled his nose as the unmistakable stench of blood and death flooded through his flaring nostrils.
"Oh my..." he breathed, hardly daring to believe his own eyesight. "What in God's name...?"
Lumiere felt what little color was left in his face drain off colors at the carnage that surrounded him, as well as when his ears perked up at the unmistakable growling sound emanating from the back of the wolf's throat.
Against his better judgment, he lifted his gaze to look in the general direction of the wolf. Almost immediately, he wished he hadn't. He was sure that he'd never seen a wolf so big in his entire life.
Its paws alone were as big as washbasins. It looked like it was ready to tear them in half as it snarled a lowly growl and bared its fangs. Even on all fours, it stood taller than Lumiere did.
He cursed himself for his carelessness at not thinking to bring anything which he could use to defend himself as he stood motionless, too afraid to even breathe. The wolf sniffed and pawed along the ground along which Lumiere was walking now and hastened its gait as it moved closer to the man.
Finally, the ferocious beast seemed to realize that Lumiere was standing directly in front of it. It looked up, sniffed the air, and stared at him, a strange peace wallowing in the wolf's icy blue eyes.
"Sir! Look out!" The youngest Head of Household had to shout to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the roaring wind as he wildly looked to the left and right for a rock—something, anything—that he could throw at the beast's snout in the hopes of driving the wolf away from the master and from Belle and scaring it off back into the Wolves' Woods.
Though before he could, Lumiere's attention was caught by the sound of a twig snapping behind him.
Urgently, Lumiere held in the gasp that threatened to betray his emotions and give away his shock. He whirled on the heels of his boots to face whomever it was that had managed to catch him unawares.
For a fraction of a second, he was grateful that he had volunteered to go, and not Mrs. Potts or heaven forbid, old Cogsworth. The elderly bloke would have surely had a heart attack at the surprise of some unknown person or persons watching. Defiantly, he stood in front of his master and the young mademoiselle, ready to defend them with his own life if need be. He had expected some strong-armed soldier bent on blood lust. But what met the man's questioning eyes was as far from that as a living human being could ever be.
"She will not hurt you. She is quite gentle, well, aside from that episode that your master just witnessed, she doesn't bite." The stranger almost chuckled darkly. "Begging your pardon, monsieur."
The cloaked stranger offered in an accented tone, the likes of which had not known its native language in many years.
She held up her hands as the woman with the strawberry blonde curls, the same woman whom Lumiere recognized as being at the front gates the first night of Belle's servitude to the master, took a cautious step forward and continued addressing him.
"I mean you no harm."
Her sharp green eyes smiled at Lumiere, almost comfortingly, as the beautiful woman turned her attention to where the Prince knelt in a crouch, motionless on the ground, continuing to cradle Belle's unconscious form in his arms. He seemed to have eyes only for his hearth keep.
Lumiere swallowed all the bile in his throat as he actively averted his gaze from the carnage around himself and the Prince.
He thanked God Belle was unconscious, so she did not have to bear witness to the grisly, godforsaken mess. His suspicions of the beautiful, cloaked woman remained at their height as he stared suspiciously at this she-stranger. Lumiere was certain that there had been no one else near the master and the young mademoiselle a few seconds ago, save, of course, for the corpses.
"Who are you?" Lumiere demanded, a note of distrust and suspicion seeping its way unbidden to the surface of his normally kind and confident tone, though right now, he felt anything but.
He did not know what in God's name had happened here, but he hoped Adam would tell him.
The woman's expression softened a bit as her gaze flitted towards where the Prince continued to kneel in the blood-soaked snow as she calmly strode without fear towards the wolf.
"Merely one who's seen Belle's distress and wishes to help," she answered with a kindness that, in Lumiere's mind, could only hint at a deeper reason.
Lost, he looked towards the master of the castle for any possible guidance.
Lumiere slowly nodded his head, seeing the woman's reasoning as he desperately searched her face for any hint or shred that she was lying and being dishonest with him.
"Where did you come from?" he continued.
Lumiere felt as though he were struggling, and failing to pull his gaze away from his master's crouched form, who had yet to respond to either one of them, or the huge white wolf the woman was now affectionately scratching on the ear as though it were a mere house pet.
"These woods behind me are my home, as are its inhabitants," the cloaked woman murmured as she brushed a golden curl out of her eyes, traveling up to the dead canopy of trees that would one day shade the Prince's land from above, once spring and summer came to France again.
It was at that exact moment that Lumiere could have sworn he thought he saw her irises flick from green to yellow, causing his breaths to catch in his throat at the sight.
Lumiere's stance stiffened. "These woods are the Prince's," he quietly corrected, unsure how this woman had come to take up residence within these royal lands.
But the cloaked woman merely offered the Prince's servant a morose chuckle and dismissed his claim with a wave of his hand.
"These trees and the shadows of the Wolves' Woods have sheltered me since long before the Barreau family came to rule this part of France." The woman smiled almost fondly, her green eyes becoming glossy as if she were lost in another memory in another time and place before she quickly came back to herself. "I take nothing from the monarchy, and I harm no one, monsieur. The King of France is aware of my presence and has not asked me to leave," Agathe pointed out, as she did her best to reassure Lumiere that her intentions were good.
Lumiere felt as though his lungs were burning as his brows furrowed together in confusion at first, but then it dawned on him as his gaze flicked from her to the wolf that stood patiently by her side, its huge tail whipping back and forth in the air like a whip. He flinched as he was sure the beast was almost…smiling at him. Lumiere swore he thought he saw the wolf preen a bit. He shuddered and pointedly looked away.
"You're a woods witch?" he asked, alarmed, looking to Adam for confirmation, but the young master's gaze was still fixated solely on Belle, who had not yet roused from her state of unconsciousness.
He'd have looked longer in hopes of assessing if the mademoiselle was injured, though the other woman's voice pulled him out of his staring at Belle, forcing Lumiere's attention back to her.
"I'm just a healer, monsieur, nothing more and nothing less than that, I am afraid," she affirmed, neither denying nor confirming the Prince's servant's assumption as to the true nature of her character. "And it would seem, monsieur, that you both are in need of my skills, yes, sir?"
Her words were finally enough to inspire a response from Adam, as the Prince's head whiplashed so sharply upward to regard the woods' witch where she stood towering over his crouched form as he remained kneeling on the ground, that Lumiere flinched, thinking he heard a neck muscle crack.
"A healer?" Adam's tongue felt thick in his mouth as his heart skipped a beat or two. He almost thought he felt it falter and stop right there on the spot as he looked upon the beautiful enchantress, wretched succubus, who'd cursed him and turned him into that monstrous, hideous wretch.
But now, as he forced himself to cast aside all wounded pride and thoughts of retaliation against her for what she had done, Adam could only hope that this woman, this witch did not notice the hope that flitted across his face or the way that his head turned reflexively down to Belle in his arms.
From the way that the witch's forest-green eyes traveled to where he still rested into a crouch on the ground, or at the carnage that surrounded them, she'd already deduced that Belle was in trouble, and after what he had seen, as far as he knew, this witch was a part of it.
"You need my assistance, Prince," the woman with the strawberry blonde locks stated in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone. There was a hint of steel throughout the woman's voice that suggested to the Prince this was not up for debate.
Considering what feats of magic he now knew this wench to be capable of, he was not about to contest her statement by attempting to argue with a woods' witch. Her experienced stare washed over Belle's limp form as she knelt into a crouch alongside Belle, poking her arm and gently prodding her, already trying to determine the extent of her injuries. Adam wordlessly nodded and swallowed down hard past a growing lump forming in his throat.
Suddenly, Adam thought that he needed a deeper connection with the enchantress who had cursed him, and who had caused Belle to temporarily possess the body of the enormous white wolf, the beast as big as a small pony, that was behaving as though it were her beloved pet.
She now, for better or worse, held Belle's life in her hands, though the murderous scene of glory and seeing the witch treat the wolf-like it was a dog, was more than a little unnerving.
"Your—your name?" he managed to gasp out in a hoarse croak.
He was positively furious with the witch for what she had done to him, and to allow Gaston to be murdered in cold blood right in front of Belle. But it was Belle he was concerned for at the moment, and he forced himself to remember his courtesies, knowing what the witch was capable of.
"What is your name, milady?" he asked. His voice was barely above a whisper and almost lost on the harsh winds of the winter blizzard starting to whip through the air, but somehow, the woods' witch heard him. Adam thought he saw her ears perk up at his question.
"I've been called many things, Your Highness," the beautiful woman chuckled, never once reverting her gaze from Belle's form, her brows furrowed in intense thought. "Some have sought me for healing, some for trading information." She smiled and lifted her gaze, finally tearing her attention briefly away from Belle and to look at Adam. "There are those who seek me out to hope to learn their future."
Adam couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the corners of the Woods' Witch's mouth turn up in a wry sardonic little smirk. It would have almost made him smile were circumstances not so dire but smiling was the last thing he felt like doing, not when Belle's life now hung in the balance.
"And some, like your servant there, as D'Arque did, have declared me to be a witch," she described direly, her expression twisting and contorting into a scowl.
Adam drew in a sharp breath of frigid cold air and held it until his lungs burned. He was beginning to regret allowing this woman anywhere near his hearth keep. But if she truly did possess talents in the art of healing and not just her witchcraft, then this woman was Belle's best hope at recovering from what ailed her. There was no possible way a doctor or a physician could make the journey to his estate on horseback in this coming blizzard. They'd not make it in time.
Almost as if able to read the Prince's distraught mind, sensing the conflicting torpid of emotions on the man's face that were pulling the skin of his brow tight across the bone, the witch of the Wolves' Woods smiled at Adam.
She paused in her initial examination of Belle's physical well-being and smiled almost innocently, sweetly even, towards both the Prince and Lumiere.
"You may call me Agathe, Your Highness," she offered with a smile and a twinkling sheen began to dance in the witch's green eyes that Adam did not know what to make of.
The Prince's eyes burned and grew damp at the thought of whatever was wrong with Belle. The man itched to beg the witch of the Wolves' Woods for her help but considering what she had forced upon Belle, and himself, Adam could not bring himself to trust her.
Although his hearth keep was on the brink, seeming to teeter between life and death, the Prince knew he could not risk the young woman's life to some unknown squatter who resided alone in the heart of the woods.
"I…I don't…" Adam hesitantly began, unsure of how much he could reveal to Agathe, what she already knew. "Belle, we…" His voice cracked as he trailed off as the woman bushed nonchalantly past the Prince and began to walk in long strides up towards his castle's front.
"Wait! Madam, please wait, a moment! Don't go!" Lumiere pleaded, shooting out an arm and groping for the sleeve of her robes as though he thought that was enough to prevent her from leaving.
Hearing the desperation in the young servant's voice gave her pause. It was enough to halt Agathe in her tracks.
The healer's posture grew stiff and rigid as she slowly swiveled her head to look the Prince squarely in the eye, and Lumiere as well, who'd silently moved to stand alongside his master and aid the Prince in whatever way he could.
"Her the body has become too taxed from the stress. Her heart is already failing her. She will die," Agathe determined in a professional tone that almost sounded quite cold to the men.
Upon hearing the witch's words, Adam quickly abandoned all of his attempts to control his demeanor, no longer giving a damn for the proper edict.
"No!" he cried, blurting out his plea and refusal to accept the witch's statement as fact through disgusting tears the Prince could no longer hold at bay. His desperation got the better of his plans to ask the witch for help. He would grovel and beg at the witch's feet if need be, if she would only help his hearth keep. "Please. Please, save Belle, save the woman that I love," the Prince heard himself beg, imploring the reluctant healer. "Do what you want with me, turn me into a beast a second time if it pleases you, but save her. I will do anything, whatever you ask of me, it's yours. Please." The Prince promised the witch, frantic.
Agathe stiffened, studying the young Prince's plaintiff expression for a long moment in silence. Her own expression remained impassive for a moment, but then the Woods' Witch looked relatively pleased.
Adam flinched, not sure if this was intended as a good thing or not. The witch looked deeply into the Prince's troubled blue eyes as if searching for something. The witch then reached out to rest her hand over the top of the Prince's, seemingly not caring that his palm was stained.
Adam stiffened, almost able to see a tendril of golden light emanate from her palm and snake its way up to his arm. Like a tiny golden thread, connecting the two of them for life, somehow. He wasn't sure what was happening here, but whatever it was caused his heart rate and pulse to quicken. He wondered if Belle could feel it too.
A charge of warmth passed between the beautiful enchantress's fingertips and his own skin.
"Hmm, yes," Agathe murmured in a low voice, seeming to be speaking more to herself than to the Prince or even to Lumiere. "Younger. Beautiful. The beauty within you, yes, yes, I see it now, I think." She whispered to herself quietly with a faraway, odd smile.
"What?" Adam exclaimed sourly, only faintly able to make out half the words the witch was mumbling to herself.
Any other time he'd have raged at her for taking her damned sweet time in escorting Belle back to the castle or to some other place nearby to get her help. However, now, he was far too consumed, locked in the throes of his own worry and grief over Belle to care what words the witch used to describe him and his personality, so the Prince chose to let her comment pass.
The witch patted Adam's hand. "Bring her, Your Highness. I will need to work quickly if I am to save your lovely maiden fair's life, and her heart," she commanded in a clipped tone.
Her tone under any other circumstances caused the Prince to balk, but he shoved aside his discomfort at not being used to taking orders and she stood back as the Prince lifted Belle effortlessly in her arms, ready to follow the stranger back up the path and into the warmth and relative comfort of the castle.
"We need to get her inside quickly, master, before the storm gets any worse!" Lumiere shouted, wildly motioning with a wave of his arm for the witch of the Wolves' Woods and his master to follow him as Lumiere chose to take the lead.
The men swallowed down hard and stepped through rivers of blood as they trudged their way through the coming snowstorm and tried not to look at the carnage around them, Lumiere especially, as he knew the likely outcome would be he and a few other servants would be dispatched to deal with the disgusting mess and the unpleasant task of disposing of the bodies left behind from Belle's little 'episode.'
Which he still wasn't entirely sure what his own eyes had witnessed. The last thing he saw was Belle dropping to her knees, her eyes the purest white as her eyes had rolled back into her head. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the same white wolf who was now trotting alone and dutifully following Agathe like a faithful hound had gone savage, attacking Monsieur D'Arque and his men, trying to save Gaston, though it was too late for their friend.
It was as if Belle's spirit had left her body and had...inhabited the wolf's, somehow. Adam shot a furtive, guilty look over his shoulder towards the corpse of his fallen former friend, tasting the bile that rose in his throat as hot shame washed over him like a tidal wave. His old friend had not deserved such a gruesome ending, but Gaston had died a hero.
Making a mental note to request that one of the servants bring his body inside for burial the moment he spotted one of them, Adam promised himself that Gaston Dupont would receive a proper burial and be honored and remembered like the hero that the man had always wanted to be.
Adam heaved a worried sigh and glanced down at the young woman in his arms, his fretting beginning again anew the longer he looked at her. Belle lay limp and unresponsive in Adam's arms, and the Prince trudged the seemingly endless distance as gently but as swiftly as he could manage.
It seemed to take them forever to reach the castle's front door. Ahead of him, the Prince could faintly hear Lumiere calling out orders as his youngest Head of Household forced their way past several gawking servants, all awaiting orders.
Some leaped back in fright at the sight of the enormous wolf that followed behind Agathe, though most remained rooted to their spots with horrified looks plastered on their faces, too terrified to even move a muscle, much less address their Prince with the proper respect he deserved.
Adam's tear-filled blue eyes searched the hallways frantically as Lumiere swiftly led the way through the servants' chambers, likely heading towards Belle's own room to prepare a comfortable space in which Agathe could work.
Finally, he found the capable man and woman that he sought.
"Cogsworth! Mrs. Potts!' he shouted, urgency seeping its way to the surface of his hoarse voice.
Monsieur Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts were huddled close together with their heads leaning in close, looking as though they were conspiring in hushed whispers against the Prince, but by now, Adam du Barreau knew better than to suspect.
The pair looked up, startled upon hearing the Prince's voice, expecting the master himself to be wounded and in need of immediate medical treatment.
The expression on the young Prince's face was direr than if he had been the one whose spirit had just been forced to inhabit a wolf's body and his heart was now failing as a result of the stress and taxation on the body.
Then, Cogsworth noticed their master carrying a pale, wounded, and bloodied Belle Piaget, and the gasps that left their mouths were utterly horrified.
Cogsworth scuttled down the hallway to meet them halfway as the Prince, Lumiere, and Agathe approached. The ghost of a brief split-second smile flitted across Adam's face at the hair-rising, almost girlish sounding, high-pitched scream that Cogsworth let out upon catching sight of the huge wolf that trotted alone that was as big as a child's small pony, which caused the elderly gentleman to curl his hand into a fist and claw wildly at his doublet for support.
Adam sincerely hoped his Head of Household wasn't about to suffer a complaint of the heart as enough lives had been lost tonight.
Mrs. Potts, Adam saw, had gone pale, as the briefest flickers of fear darted across her face at the sight of the huge wolf by Agathe's side. But something in her expression changed as its tail wagged and its ears perked up as Mrs. Potts strode forward and bravely patted the wolf on its head.
A look of shock darted through Mrs. Potts's kind eyes, and she allowed herself a moment or two to revel in the absurdity of it all before she shook her head to herself and came back to herself a bit. Mrs. Potts swayed on the spot for a moment, looking faint but seemed to recover some strength as she leaned heavily against Cogsworth for support until her equilibrium returned to normal. Cogsworth maintained a firm stance as the older gentleman gripped onto her arm for support and flagged down a passing frantic maid and barked an order at the young blonde.
"Collette, I will need you to fetch fresh clean rags, a wooden basin, some wine, needle, thread, anything you can think of that might help Belle," Mrs. Potts commanded in a hardened, curt tone.
"Yes, mum," the maid mumbled meekly and scrambled ahead and ducked into a nearby room to fetch the items that Mrs. Potts had asked her for.
"What's—that's Belle, Your Highness! Good Lord, Master, what happened?" Cogsworth squeaked in a breathless sounding voice, still clutching at a fistful of his jerkin, near his heart.
Though thank God the man had quickened his momentum as he motioned them inside Belle's private chambers, gesturing for the Prince to set her down upon the cold, hard-looking mattress.
"Aye, Cogsworth," Lumiere acknowledge. "She…well…I—I don't rightfully know what happened," he murmured, as the Prince darted ahead of his servant and carefully laid Belle on the bed, mindful of her injuries, handling the young brunette as though his hearth keep were made of glass. As if just one wrong touch and she'd shatter. "Her—her heart….is failing." His voice cracked and broke as he uttered the thought he was afraid to consider, but he shook his head to himself and forced himself to continue, sensing Cogsworth's confusion. "I—I don't know what happened. The wolf, Cogsworth, she…possessed it, somehow, I don't know what I saw," the Prince breathed out in a frantic sounding breath, as he looked to Agathe for confirmation.
Agathe flinched upon feeling his stare boring a hole in her, as she darted forward to tend to Belle.
As she moved, the same maid who had briefly disappeared to fetch the items Mrs. Potts had asked for ducked into the room to set the requested items on a small wooden side table, only to duck back out again with nary a word or as much as a second glance to her.
"Aye," Agathe confirmed in a casual-sounding voice, though a pang of worry wormed its way to the pit of her stomach.
Agathe knew that she could not lie to the Prince as to her part in trying to save his and Belle's life. She should not have put Maurice's daughter through such a physical ordeal, she had not exactly done this with a human before, and she certainly had not intended for Gaston to be one of D'Arque's casualties.
This was not how this was supposed to have gone at all... There had been no way to tell what the aftermath would be or of any lingering side effects. But it had been the only way to attempt to save their lives without drawing attention to herself. She stiffened and ground her teeth in annoyance at the thought of what her colleague and old friend who resided temporarily in the Wolves' Wood alongside her would say to this.
"What did you do to Belle, Agathe?" Adam growled, as Agathe slowly lifted her head and stared at her long and hard before she shook her head, desirous to keep her attention focused on the matter at hand: healing Maurice's daughter.
He had heard tales of deep-rooted magic within the Wolves' Woods, those haunted damned woods, a magic that was rooted from the creatures within the forest, protected by a guardian.
This guardian's name, Adam now knew, was Agathe.
He had heard stories of shapeshifters and wargs, but no, Belle could not possibly be one of them.
But she could, his mind tried to rationalize. He had never believed in the stories himself as a boy, though he did believe in the existence and the possibility of them and given the carnage that he had just witnessed with his own eyes, Adam was beginning to wonder if it was a real possibility.
Though before he could ponder it further, his concentration was broken. A maid spoke up, her curiosity getting the better of her as the young woman temporarily forget her place and broke the silence between the group.
"Belle must be one of 'em, Highness," the maid's innocent yapping shattered the tension in the air. "I knew it. That thing…the thing that the tales speak of, the people that have a connection to the animals, like when they put 'emselves in a raven or a crow to see high up in the mists, or—or in beasts like wolves to bite of a giant or a fish to scour—"
"Collete, kindly be a love and finish scouring the pots! If you would be so kind as to tell the head cook to prepare a meal for the Prince and Belle when she wakes, if she wakes, I would be much obliged! Tell Hilde to keep it simple, dearie, there's no telling if Belle will be feeling when she wakens. A good chicken broth should go a long way in aiding her recovery! Go on, off with you now, be sharp about it!" Mrs. Potts shot the babbling maid a look.
If the look were daggers, the maid would have been pinned within seconds.
Immediately, the maid clamped her mouth shut and swallowed as she shrugged her shoulders and quickly darted out of the cold, dark chambers. Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth quickly followed suit, sensing that the room was becoming crowded between themselves and the wolf.
The wolf had taken it upon herself to saunter towards the center of the room and curl up in front of the fireplace and curled up into a ball on top of the bear pelt rug, much like a dog would do.
"Her—her heart, Agathe? And her arm?" the Prince asked worriedly, furrowing his eyebrows in a frown as he tore his gaze away from the Woods' Witch as Agathe lowered the hood of her cloak, tossing her strawberry blonde curls away off her shoulders and out of her way. "What do we do?" he asked in a small, meek voice not like him at all, all traces of confidence and bravado had vanished.
Agathe slowly eyed the Prince out of the corner of her peripherals, able to see the worry and fear on his face as he took in the sight of the blood that drenched the sleeve of Belle's gown and near her ear. One of D'Arque's men had shot an arrow at her, hoping to sever the spiritual connection between her wolf, Layla, who was now curled up on the bear pelt rug, napping, exhausted from her efforts from earlier, and Belle.
It was obvious to her that Belle had become more to him over these last several weeks than just his servant. She had, after all, been the one to break the curse, as Agathe had fully suspected Belle would. Agathe drew in a sharp breath and began to examine the wound at Belle's arm.
She pressed around the outside of the puncture, having rolled up the bloodied sleeve of Belle's gown to see better, and peered closely at the edges, where the arrow had grazed her skin. It would need stitches, though the tip of the arrow was still embedded into her skin.
Quickly, she summoned several nearby maids to help assist her with the surgery. Her own magic was nearly spent from summoning Layla, and in maintaining the connection between the wolf and Belle, which meant that unfortunately, it would be a while before her magic came back to her fully restored.
Which boded ill for Belle as she could use the last vestiges of her magic to heal her fading heart, though her arm would have to be stitched the 'hard' way, the 'normal' way, and wouldn't be pretty. Agathe poked the puncture wound and just barely allowed her fingertips to graze the arrow shaft.
Belle, though her eyes were still closed, and she still seemed unconscious, shuddered, and groaned even in her state of semi-consciousness, as if just the simple touch caused her great pain. Mrs. Potts darted forward carrying a bottle and a clean rag that one of the maids had popped in the doorway to drop off for her. She quickly poured some of the clear liquid onto the cloth and held it for a few seconds over Belle's nose and mouth. The young woman's body convulsed once or twice, but then she relaxed and went limp, and seemed to merely be sleeping peacefully as Mrs. Potts carefully fluffed the pillows behind her head.
Adam appeared relieved for a moment and then he looked towards Agathe desperately, all traces of hostility towards the witch who had cursed him, gone. His only thoughts were of saving Belle's life.
"Save her. Please," he begged, his voice cracking.
For a moment, Agathe could not speak as her lips parted open in shock. She was finding it difficult to believe that this much-changed Prince standing in front of her was the same man who had ordered that horrendous guard of his to wound the lass's cheek.
Which, she thought, she could easily mend for Belle once her magic came back to her, though a part of Agathe was tempted to let her keep it, that that scar would serve Belle as a reminder to remember and to never forget that beauty was more than just skin deep and was found within.
All Agathe could do was manage to nod her head and pray to the old gods and the new God that she would be able to pull Maurice's daughter through.
There was no time to lose.
Agathe turned away from them as she discarded her heavy cloak and rolled up her sleeves, grabbing the necessary instruments which had suddenly appeared at her elbow, while Mrs. Potts bravely held the wooden bowl of supplies, ready to do whatever Agathe bid.
Adam steeled himself, his teeth clenching as he braced himself to remain dutifully right by Belle's side throughout the duration of this gruesome surgery, but Fate, that bastard, seemed to have other ideas in mind for the distraught prince.
Within moments, as maids scurried in and out of the room at Mrs. Potts's command, he and Lumiere were nudged out of the way by various servants hurrying to comply with their Head of Household's demands, who had relented to taking orders from Agathe, who seemed to know what she was doing and how best to help.
Suddenly, there was barely room for either man to stand flush against the cold stone wall of the desolate and barren chambers.
"Please," a shy, young maid requested at Mrs. Potts's urging. "Your Highness, Monsieur Lumiere, you will need to wait outside. We require the space to work, sire."
Adam bristled and scowled a warning at the young maid, thinking that he was not in a patient mood and damned anyone who tried to keep him from Belle's side. Before he could bark at her and threaten her position within the castle if she attempted to force him out, Lumiere, without a word, began to grab onto his arm and pulled his master from Belle's quarters, hurrying to comply with the young maid's request that they leave.
The Prince fought him the whole way, kicking and scratching, just shy of foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.
"I need to stay with her!" he bellowed, turning his wrath onto Lumiere, his voice rising in the otherwise desolate corridor.
Lumiere did his best to calm the young master.
"You need to let the women work, Your Highness. The two of us would only be in the way, and I do not think Belle would want you to see her like this," he answered in a blunt tone, clumsily.
"I—I want her to know I'm here," the Prince pleaded, his face twisting and contorting in grief.
"She knows, sire, of that, I'm sure." Lumiere tried his best to comfort the master and feeling like he was utterly failing in that regard rather miserably.
With no way to watch over Belle, his authority temporarily stripped from him and placed in the hands and power of a Woods' Witch, and no one upon which to unleash his anger at what D'Arque had done and how Gaston had died for nothing, considering the man had gotten away, the Prince wrenched away from Lumiere and let his rage loose upon the battered castle wall in a blind fury.
Clenching his left fist and letting out a long, furious blood yell that made the fine hairs on the back of Lumiere's neck stand upright on end, the Prince slammed his knuckles repeatedly into the unmoving grey stones of the castle's corridor wall. His skin began to shred against the rough masonry.
However, Adam felt no pain, his mind so focused on Belle and her ordeal, and Gaston had sacrificed his own life for nothing.
The Prince thought he was getting used to the dryness of his mouth and the swallowing of nothing, but now there was the slime of something thick and the unmistakable taste of iron between his tongue and palate. His jaw clenched and again his teeth dug on the wall of his mouth.
He smashed his fist over and over against the brick. Dust made a light parade around the shallow dent and he heard the soft clucking of debris against his boots and the stone floor beneath them. Lumiere stood back and allowed his master this release, looking utterly shellshocked and at a loss, watching his master fall to his knees, burying his face in his hands, and screaming a hoarse, ragged wail as if the sheer force of his will could fix this.
The Prince felt the exhausting rasping of his lungs as air finally failed him. The taste of blood surged in his mouth, caused by his raw, screaming throat.
He knelt on the floor, gasping for breath, his mind racing several steps ahead of his thoughts.
Adam almost swallowed his tongue, throttling his urge to roar like a cursed, enraged dragon, and a few hot wretched tears escaped the edges of his lids. His mind blazed with double-edged curses, a foul language he was glad Belle wasn't awake to hear, as if they were the first and only words he could ever utter.
But the worst part was that the stinging on his now-likely broken knuckles were not enough to swap with the anguish that stabbed at his heart: a broken heart. He breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, and then back out as he rested his forehead against the cold stone masonry.
His throat hallowed and threatened a sob but the Prince fought it back, thinking that he would rather die before he would ever hear himself sob.
When there was no more air left in his lungs to scream and no effort left in his knuckles' muscles to keep hitting the wall, only then did the Prince let himself collapse against the wall, exhausted and terrified, thinking that somehow, this was his fault.
Slowly, Lumiere let himself slide down the wall and sat alongside his master, chewing on the wall of his mouth as he thought of what to say that might supplicate his master. It was another moment or two before the Head of Household spoke.
"She's in good hands, master," was all Lumiere could think to say to the distraught Prince, who, by this point, was near hysterics.
The Prince eyed Lumiere ruefully, thinking it impossible that his own Head of House could not have forgotten the woman now tending to Belle's wounds was the one and the same who'd cursed him, cursed them all, and narrowed his hard gaze.
Lumiere's face flushed as he shrugged, conceding a little bit.
"Very well, master, I—I'll grant you that, but she is a woods' witch, no? If anyone could see the young mademoiselle through this, Agathe can."
The Prince stiffened and clenched his jaw at the mention of the Wolves' Woods witch, still not entirely sure what he thought of the sorceress.
That was exactly what he was afraid of. Adam could not shake the feeling of unease burgeoning within his broad chest that the witch's help would not come without a price, and there was a part of him that feared to hear what her price might be.
The men sat in silence for a long while as the world carried on around them. A word from a pair of scouts that Cogsworth had sent on ahead to comb the Wolves' Woods had come with the grim news that Monsieur D'Arque did indeed escape, and there was no sign of him or any of his men.
The Prince could not even allow himself to formulate a plan for going after D'Arque and seeing the man brought to justice for his horrific crimes against Gaston, Belle, and even the witch. Not with Belle still fighting for her life. The Prince ran his hand over his drawn, worried face.
Adam raised his cracked and red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes to the ceiling of the corridor, his mind flitting through every moment spent with his hearth keep, the good, the bad, all the moments in between, and the life he still hoped to share with her, if she would have him if she pulled through.
The Prince had stopped imagining anything but a life with Belle months ago. He knew that if this day ended without her, then he would follow her by his own hand, his own eternal soul be damned, for he was sure that, given his past transgressions, he was already damned, so he didn't worry much on that regard.
As the unpleasant thought left his mind, Mrs. Potts walked slowly through the doorway and out into the hallway to find them. His other Head of Household, she was deliberate in her motions as she walked slowly down the hall, and her lined face was careworn, showing the exhaustion that Mrs. Potts would not allow her body to feel for several hours as she approached.
Adam rose, unsteady on his feet, and would have staggered back had Lumiere not shot out an arm to wind his fingers around his bicep.
The Prince shot his servant a grateful look, silently trying to thank the man with his eyes before turning back to face Mrs. Potts. Adam was almost afraid to try to read the matronly older woman's facial expression.
"Belle, Mrs. Potts. H—how is she?" he asked, his voice cracking as fear had begun to shadow his hopes. He was, at this point, fearing the very worst.
Mrs. Potts looked at the Prince and Lumiere, her eyes heavily.
Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Potts continued to wipe her hands, which still had traces of red on them, on a rag, as she delivered the news.
"She made it through the surgery, monsieur's," she happily reported, a cautious smile snaking its way onto her exhausted features.
Mrs. Potts reached up to tuck a stray wisp of grey hair back underneath her headscarf as she stood back and watched as the master of the castle dissolved in relief. Lumiere temporarily forgot himself as he grabbed the Prince's shoulders and shook him. Adam didn't even notice as he flung himself forward and embraced Mrs. Potts and nearly drew the older woman off her feet, much to her surprise. Mrs. Potts smiled, happy she could deliver good news, she thought, as Adam set her back down on the solid ground after a split second.
However, Agathe was still cautious of declaring Belle fully mended, and Mrs. Potts said as much.
"Your Highness, she is not out of the woods yet," Mrs. Potts spoke up, her expression as grim as a grave, immediately tempering both Lumiere and Adam's happiness. "She has not yet awakened and there is still a risk of infection could form in her arm," Mrs. Potts gravely warned. "Belle's injuries were very serious. Agathe's efforts are spent and took much out of her. She is exhausted, but the witch had stated that Belle will be fine. Her wound at her arm was the most serious to treat. Her arm will take time to heal," Mrs. Potts murmured softly.
"How long?" Adam heard himself ask in a hoarse voice, trying to focus intently on the woman's words.
Belle needed rest and peace and quiet.
If he could not reign in control of his emotions, there was every chance Agathe would not let him in to see her. Her life was out of danger. She was well, or as well as Belle could be. She was going to survive.
"About a month," Mrs. Potts replied carefully, eyeing the master of the castle in a guarded manner with raised eyebrows as if she was of a mind her answer would send him into a panic. "And that is, of course, assuming no infections or gangrene of the sort develops in her right arm. However, Agathe says Belle is extremely healthy. She even harbors hope her wound would heal in less than a month, assuming we all are diligent in helping her to heal. Fresh bandages daily, no getting them wet, bland foods, at least for a few days, nothing that would cause her stomach any distress, and we cannot allow Belle to become delved into too much anxiety, master."
"I need to see her," Adam implored, his worry returning, though his heart swelled with hope.
Mrs. Potts smiled. "Very well," his elderly Head of House relented. "But you must remain calm, Your Highness. She cannot heal if she is constantly exposed to extreme stress. Belle will sense it and her body will naturally react to that."
His Head of Household stepped back and allowed the Prince to enter into Belle's private chambers.
Paying absolutely no attention to Agathe, who was resting on a stool in the furthermost corner of the room, looked like a harbinger of Death itself. The wolf had moved to sit alongside its mistress and was constantly nudging Agathe's hand, letting out a low whimper now and again for her attention.
The Wolves' Woods' witch was panting and gasping raggedly, her shoulders heaving, the color in her face drained, and tendrils of a soft golden light seemed to emanate and leak from her fingertips.
Dark circles appeared under her eyes and the sorceress looked utterly exhausted, but the Prince could hardly spare the witch as much as a glance. His sole attention was only for Belle.
Belle lay unconscious and motionless on the small, hard-looking cot that immediately made the Prince balk at how uncomfortable it looked for her. As soon as she was well enough to move, she would be moving beds, better quarters, close to his, where he could keep an eye on her, and then, once they were married, they would share a room, but not until then and not a moment before.
It was only proper, and he wanted to do right by Belle. Her form was covered with a thin, scratchy-looking grey blanket, her skin faded and pale from how much blood she'd lost. Her breaths were weak and shallow.
Belle looked more dead than alive.
When he saw her, the Prince felt the strength in his legs give out as they buckled and he barely made it to the edge of her bed. Lacking the strength or even the wish to stand, Adam felt justified in kneeling by Belle's motionless form. He took her hand that was not bandaged and held it tenderly to his lips and kissed her knuckles, not caring that her knuckles were bruised.
Unable to be strong any longer and keep up the façade, the Prince allowed the mask of calm stoic he wore for others to crumble as his face twisted and contorted with grief.
He stroked her hair back away from her shoulders and bent his face to hers, whispering his hearth keep's name with as much tenderness and a pleading lilt as he could muster up. His tears fell upon her skin. He'd not even realized that slick tears had started to pour from his eyes.
He raised his burning eyes to her face, letting his fingers trace the familiar lines of Belle's ashen cheeks. He did not like the sickly greyish tinge her skin now harbored. His mind began to flood with memories of the moments they had shared and visions of the life that he still hoped to enjoy with Belle when she was well again. Mrs. Potts and Lumiere stood at the foot of the low bed and respectfully gave the Prince the time that he needed.
Finally, the Prince managed to find his voice, his voice little more than a faint, broken rasp as he slowly lifted his gaze and turned to face Agathe, who was still and unmoved from her stool in the corner.
"When will she wake up?" he asked her, dryly.
It was Mrs. Potts who awkwardly cleared her throat and broke the silence in the room.
"That's…hard to say, Your Highness, there is no way to know that for sure, sire," she stammered, sounding uncomfortable. "Her body has been through a great, traumatic ordeal," she said slowly. "She has to heal. That may take time, as I stated outside, and…" she paused, suddenly looking hesitant.
"And?" the Prince questioned, turning slightly in his Head of Household's direction, yet he was not at all willing to take his eyes off of Belle, not for a fraction of a second. He was almost afraid to hear the reason that Mrs. Potts had not finished talking.
Mrs. Potts coughed once and continued, wringing her hands together and suddenly looking rather tense.
"Well, ah, there is always a chance of infection…." Mrs. Potts cringed as the unpleasant thought left her lips. It sounded so cold and impersonal coming from her. She looked to the corner where Agathe was resting for her help.
"She's strong, your Belle, she fought bravely outside, I don't think I've ever seen a soul as strong as hers," Agathe encouraged in a faint, weak-sounding voice.
With seemingly great effort and a pained groan, the witch rose to her feet and moved closer to Belle's bedside, resting her hand supportively on the Prince's shoulder and giving the appendage a light, firm squeeze.
"She has a reason to fight," she patiently reminded the Prince. "She's not going to give up that easily."
Adam nodded slightly and returned his attention to Belle. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask Agathe if there was anything he could do to repay this kindness when the door to Belle's chambers burst wide open and Monsieur Cogsworth stumbled in over the threshold of the entryway, looking red in the face, and gasping raggedly, clutching at a stitch in his side, heaving for breath.
The Prince felt his heart clench in terror at the look of dread that was passionate on Cogsworth's face as he staggered forward, clutching at his chest. The old man would have fallen if not for the support of Lumiere and Mrs. Potts, both of whom darted forward and flanked either side of the man.
"F—forgive the intrusion, milord, b—but, sir, your friend, Monsieur Gaston…" he stammered, a vein in his neck pulsing.
"Is dead, Cogsworth and there is no bringing him back," the Prince interjected, sounding almost angry with Cogsworth for bringing this up again when he was already under stress. His tone grew distant and cold, though his chest tightened in a sickening dread at the thought of telling Belle when she awoke the news that it was no dream, that Gaston Dupont had died a hero's death, grisly though it was. "That's not exactly news, Cogs, so why are you here?" he said in a flat voice that was meant to conceal his sadness at Gaston's gruesome death, returning his attention to Belle, or would have, had his old Head of House not protested.
"N—no, sir that—that's not it at all, I—I don't know how to tell you this, b-but…" Cogsworth's voice trailed off as the Prince's head whiplashed sharply in his direction as he turned at the waist to look at him once more, and he fell as silent as an owl.
Cogsworth faltered and swayed on the spot.
The man would have toppled to the floor in an ungainly heap had Lumiere not spotted a nearby chair and darted to grab it, kicking it underneath his colleague just as Cogsworth's strength gave out.
"What? What is it, Cogsworth? Go on, spit it out!" the Prince barked angrily, furious with him, his tone dark and pale blue eyes alight with rage. Adam was not in a patient mood, so Cogsworth had better speak quickly.
He did not need any further distractions keeping him from doing what he could for Belle to help her heal.
"My lord…M—Monsieur Gaston Dupont, sir, I—I don't know how to tell you this, b—but the servants and I went out to assess the damage and bring his body in to prepare it for burial, b—but his body…it's gone."