CHAPTER 34
PRINCE Adam watched tersely, the skin of his brow pulled taut as the raven disappeared behind darkening clouds that promised yet another bloody storm and soon, too. He turned towards Monsieur Cogsworth, who was already shirking away and shuddering at the crassness of his master's exhausted voice.
"We send another one tomorrow, Cogs."
He made to turn away, but he was halted by the look Cogsworth was giving him. He began to wipe the ink from his stained hands, his face devious and distraught with a sense of sleeplessness, the thickening bush of stubble had started to shadow along the Prince's angular jaw.
"B—but Your Highness, forgive my candor, young master, but I must respectfully protest this idea, sir!" squeaked Cogsworth in a wheeze, stuttering worse than Adam had ever heard before in his entire life, and he was sure Cogsworth had been alive longer than his family's entire bloodline, how ancient he was, "that was the fifth raven that we sent out, sire! I'm afraid we've very few ravens left, milord."
The Prince angrily cut him off, not in a patient mood.
"I will force pigs to grow wings if it means finding who took Gaston in this entire bloody country, Cogsworth! I want him found and brought back, regardless if he's alive or not, hear me!" Adam snarled, the last vestiges of his patience to be tested on the brink.
The bottle of ink he had been using to compose his request for help rolled on the floor after his fist crashed on the table's surface, leaving a waste of a black trail that would be hell for the servants to clean, but the Prince could not manage to even pretend to care.
Not when Belle remained asleep and his best friend's body had been stolen. There was every possibility, not that he knew of the existence of Woods' Witches and God only knew what else in this world, that Gaston was very much alive. He could only hope that it was in one piece.
A coil in his gut twisted at how he thought of his former friend had sacrificed his life for Belle, for him, and he had not been able to save the man's life.
Cogsworth had nothing to say to him thereafter. His eldest Head of Household offered the Prince a fearful nod and scurried out of the room in a flustered tizzy, already white-faced and vexed, as the Prince slacked back against his chair, raking his fingers across his sweaty scalp, in pain.
It should have been exciting news, the thought that Gaston might manage to be saved, he recalled Agathe telling him earlier this morning when he'd stopped in to demand a progress report on Belle's condition, but even she could not guarantee who might have him.
Most men would have been elated at the prospect of their friend alive, but Adam could feel nothing in his bones but a bone-laden chill that had nothing to do with the cold outside that would sometimes waft in through the draftier parts of the castle, but dread and terror.
Gaston was missing and Adam was not there to offer his friend protection if the man was even still alive. Seven hells, but he did not even really know where the man had gotten to!
Tomorrow marks two whole nights since Gaston's body was reported missing and every night, he paced back and forth the parapets, awaiting the ravens' arrival with word from any of his contacts. Any of his old associates who might have seen him. And none of them. No response whatsoever.
Adam blearily raised his head at the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching in his general direction. A head poked itself through the door.
Lumiere. "Milord? You asked me to send you word. She—she's awake, Your Highness. Belle's asking for you," was all his Head of House said.
But the Prince was already heading out the door before Lumiere could even finish his sentence, his hearing latched onto Belle's name like a hound's ears perking up and heading in the direction of her chambers.
She had been moved to the East Wing, in a much more lavish room more suited for his future princess than that of her old abode in the servants' quarters.
He faintly let himself smile at the idea that Belle would most likely balk upon the move without being consulted, but he'd ignore her.
He strode through the hallways, his heart pounding loudly in his chest at the fear of what he might find when he poked his head in through the door.
Adam cursed himself of the obscurity for even having to leave her side for a moment, wanting to send another plea for aid before the sun could dip over the horizon.
Tension met him upon entering Belle's new chamber.
The Prince stood in a daze in the doorway at the young woman sitting piled atop a mountain of fluffed pillows at the bed's headboard, looking pale and drowsy, but awake.
Her dark chocolate hair in such a striking contrast to such pale skin and even darker eyes that looked hollow, the Prince was almost—almost— reminded for a second of his mother.
His mother had been an independent woman, like Belle. Fierce yet noble.
His musings of the woman he loved were cut short by a whimper from Belle, forcing Adam to blink himself out of his dazed stupor of letting himself revel in this celestial-like creature's image a moment longer.
Adam came back to himself after a split second and found Belle weak and fatigued and trying to sit up and grunting through the pain in her bandaged arm, which was bound in a sling and apt to be for the next few weeks, Agathe had calmly reported.
She was not making the progress for which she had hoped. Attempting to push herself up towards the pillow, Belle winced in pain and pulled a face.
The Prince instantly rushed to Belle's bedside.
"What are you doing?" he admonished her, concerned, his tone rising slightly in his anger and worry at how stubborn his former hearth keep was being. He did not allow Belle enough time to answer but continued trying to comfort her instead. "You are not to move a muscle, Belle," he told her firmly. "That's what I am here for, love." He tried to smile, but it felt strained as he eased her back down onto the sheets, perching himself to sit beside her on the edge of her cot.
Belle regarded him woefully, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout and looking like a child.
"I'm not used to lying around. We—we have to find him, Adam, every moment we spend trapped in here is wasted effort," she entreated, revealing perhaps without realizing that she just had, that even in her unconsciousness, she had heard snippets of Adam's conversation with various members of staff over the last two days as they pertained to poor Gaston.
The Prince took hold of Belle's hand and held it gently as he dared.
"You need to rest and let yourself heal." He kissed her fingers and clung to her tighter, winding his arms around her. "It will only be a little while longer, Belle. I promise," he told her, desperately trying to make himself believe his own words of reassurance as much as Belle.
"Belle, love…" the Prince murmured. He watched Belle's dark eyes glisten with tears and there was a reluctance at first, but then something in his former hearth keep seemed to shift and give way as Belle allowed herself to wrap her arms around Adam's neck like the Prince was the only one she had left in the world to rely upon. It was all Adam could do but to hold her, her warmth spilling through the layers of his linen undershirt and black-colored doublet.
He patted her on her coarse dark mane of hair while Belle sniffled in his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving at the release of her pent-up emotions over the last few days. "Shh….it's alright now. You're safe….you'll be safe, Belle, I swear it."
But God, would there ever be a time when this woman would not cry? He gritted his teeth together.
The two remained intact a while longer until Belle's hesitant voice broke the silence.
"Where is he, Adam?"
The sound of Belle's sweet, shy, but worried voice was more than enough to cause the Prince to retract from the embrace. He looked at Belle, at the weak voice that belonged to the woman he loved and the grief-stricken face which still held a youthful beauty despite how exhausted she was.
"I…I don't know," Adam confessed, swallowing down hard thickly past the growing lump in his throat as it hollowed. His mouth had suddenly gone bone dry.
He had almost wanted to lie to Belle, to say that they had found him, but something about it felt wrong. Despite his best efforts to contain his honesty, he could not lie to the woman that he loved and would marry one day, though Belle did not yet know that for herself.
"But we're going to find him, Belle, whatever it takes, love."
The Prince paused, his breaths catching in his throat as he watched the sudden crumple of Belle's face at the mention of Gaston Dupont's name. The man did hold at least some small semblance of importance for her, he finally concluded.
He had always thought Gaston to have been of relatively low regard following his family's fall from grace, given the years that they were separated.
"H—he saved us…." Belle sharply inhaled as the pain was wroth on her chest. "The man saved our lives, Adam, and I have done nothing but always doubt Gaston, Your Highness."
"I know…" Adam swallowed as he tightened his hold on her hands, sensing a newfound bitterness settle in Belle's placid expression.
How could she not feel bitter over this?
"I—I should have done more, tried to stop D'Arque," he growled, a low wolfish growl forming within the confines of his chest as a shadow of anger darted across his face.
Belle vehemently shook her head in disagreement with his words. "It is not your fault, Adam. It could not be, and it never could be, Your Highness. He'd have killed you too," she declared, her words bubbling on a half-choked sob as she tried to remove any blame that the Prince felt.
Adam felt wholly unworthy of Belle's selfless encouragement, brightening a little as an idea began to take root in his mind and spread.
"If you are well enough by the morrow, we will leave at first light," he told her, the beginnings of a tentative plan already starting to form in his mind if night fell soon and he received no word of any ravens returning. "I will return you to your village, Belle, so that you may recuperate at home alongside your father. I need to find Gaston," the Prince swore, passion in his tone. "No matter what it takes and no matter the cost. He saved us. I owe him. And I would see you kept safe."
Belle again shook her head, almost afraid to hope. "But I want to come with you," she protested, fearing for him.
"No."
As if to emphasize his point, he leaned over and planted a firm kiss on her lips.
He pulled apart after letting his lips linger a moment, letting himself chuckle a little at seeing Belle's crestfallen expression and the way her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"I would see you kept safe," he argued, a note of finality bordering on biting in his tone as he shot Belle a look that suggested to his former hearth keep it'd be unwise of her to contest this. "D'Arque is a dangerous man, Belle, it is a known fact. I know you know that. You've seen it yourself. I don't want you or anyone else in my life I care for getting hurt. If it would make you feel better, I shall send for your father if you truly value this castle that much," he said, only slightly teasing Belle now, unable to resist and unable to stop the small smile from tugging the edges of his lips upward into a genuine smile as Belle's face paled.
Belle hitched in a breath, her pale skin almost turning purple upon hearing the Prince's words.
"I—no—wha—what?" she stammered. "I…my father…?" Belle breathed, thinking she'd misheard. Belle fell silent.
The Prince watched the sparkle of a single teardrop fall from her chin at the thought of being reunited with her father after all this time.
"If you let me bring your father here to keep you company, which shan't take but a few hours to send for him, then you must promise me you will not attempt to follow me. Where I need to go, Belle, you cannot follow me. It's too dangerous, love. I promise that I will try to return to you as quickly as I am able and do everything in my power to save and protect you both, Belle. Do you want that of me, Belle?" he asked, blowing out a breath to steady himself.
There was zero reluctance to the way that Belle nodded, almost to the point of pleading with him.
"I—oh, yes, thank you!" she murmured, tears finding her eyes once again as she reached for the Prince, pressing his hand to her heart and kissing his knuckles, letting her lips linger for a moment.
Feeling a brief surge of optimism flood through her veins, Belle gave Prince Adam a brave look and granted him a weak smile in spite of her tiredness, before worry once more held her expression hostage, and set the Prince worrying all over again.
She studied the Prince guardedly, wanting to believe him. "What if D'Arque's men under your command have been warned to expect you, Adam?"
Belle shuddered at the very implication of what that would mean for the Prince, not wanting to think it. Her face fell even further at the notion.
A shiver ran up her spine as she studied the Prince's solemn expression, grim as a graveyard.
"The guards have done well to enough me that not a single rider or scout has traveled this way," Adam tried to encourage Belle and give her hope where he could. "Surely, if D'Arque intended to take this castle, he would have to pry it from my cold, dead body in order to do so, but that isn't what he wants."
He scooted closer towards Belle, eager for Belle to believe the words that he himself yet could not summon his faith and believe in them. But God, he wished for it.
"Even if D'Arque or someone under his command has managed to take Gaston's body, I'm going to find a way to get our friend back, Belle, whether the man is alive or dead. I give you my word," he promised, holding her hand to his heart.
The Prince tried to reassure Belle that he would succeed, no matter what, but he could feel the hollow dark fear that had wound its cold tendrils around her heart and was threatening to squeeze the life out of her lungs, as Belle seemed unable to breathe.
She was stock-still for a moment, like a deer caught in the sights of a notched arrow. He was fighting the same terrible alarm with himself; Adam was quick to recognize. Only when Adam rested a reassuring grip onto Belle's uninjured arm and gave her shoulder a light but firm squeeze, did his former hearth keep blink herself out of her stupor and come back to herself.
Slowly, she looked at him. She turned her pained eyes to the Prince and swallowed down hard, afraid to voice her thought.
"But what if he's not with D'Arque?" Belle was choking on the already bitter tears that formed.
The Prince boldly raised his hand and cupped her chin, bringing Belle's eyes to meet his, letting his gaze linger upon the scar on her cheek before once more finding her eyes. Belle swallowed and stiffened, thinking she had never seen such ferocity, intensity, and determination darkening the master of the castle's eyes, turning them cerulean in color the angrier he got over the unknown whereabouts of their friend.
"Then I'll tear all of France to the ground, inch by inch until I find him," he swore.
THE soup was dull—hardly a pinch of black pepper and basil mixed in warm water. The Prince irately flung the spoon, his lips pursed in ire behind his desk as the utensil clattered to the floor, much to Mrs. Potts' disdain.
Mrs. Potts was left to linger in the doorway to inhale the air of the Prince's swelling anger that was brought on by the young master's sleeplessness…and the master's starvation.
The Prince's barns near the stables were filled to the brim of stacks of grain, kegs of salted fish, pork, venison, spices, and animal fat, and yet, the most the young Prince could manage to keep down at all was a barely passable broth over the next several hours.
The worry he felt at not knowing Gaston's whereabouts and receiving no word was driving the Prince to refuse to eat, insisting the best rations of food go towards Belle to let her regain her strength and the servants.
Nevertheless, the pangs of the Prince's empty stomach had begun festering and manifesting itself as the Prince's quick temper and talks of abandoning the castle in fits of pure rage.
And Mrs. Potts could only watch on in worry and concern for the master.
"Mrs. Potts, I…apologize for the outbursts. You know that I do not mean them. If I scared you, I apologize. Have the scouts found any sign of Gaston or D'Arque yet?" The Prince asked, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes wearily, already feeling the onset of a headache beginning to come on.
Mrs. Potts drew in a sharp breath before shaking her head.
The Prince grunted wordlessly in response. His grim Head of Household awkwardly brushed her palms on the skirts of her apron, the color in her rosy cheeks beginning to drain at the delivery of the message she had been tasked with bringing in addition to the master of the castle's supper.
"Ah…the scouts have returned from D'Arque's fortress, milord. No sign of Monsieur Dupont, but…" Mrs. Potts' breaths hitched in her throat.
The Prince looked up, inclining his head, thinking the old woman's silence to be almost deafening. "And?" he growled, already fearing for the worst.
"I meant to say that, ah….well…the—the scouts, only their heads returned, Highness," she shivered.
The Prince pounded on the table before he could not take any more of this and bolted from his chair, swiftly striding to the window so fast that he overturned the piece of furniture. He let out a sigh. Damn it.
"He knows," the Prince growled. "He knows I'm coming for him and he's sent us a message, Mrs. Potts, to stay away," the Prince snarled hoarsely. It was a mere matter of hours before the guards he had sent to collect Belle's father from Villeneuve would come, and he wanted to ensure her safety before he left.
Once, Prince Adam might have viewed himself as a manipulative and cunning tactician, like his father was, like Gaston was.
Is, his mind corrected himself, and he cursed himself for the mental slip up, giving his head a curt shake to clear it. But now, he was gawking on this possible loss. How could he not imagine that D'Arque wasn't aware he meant to come and see this through to the very end? How?!
The Prince clicked his tongue and let himself smile, if only for a moment, as he caught sight of his familiar black carriage approaching the stone path.
The dispatch he'd sent out had returned with the castle's newest guest.
Belle was certain to be pleased. He turned on his heels and left instructions to Mrs. Potts.
"Have Belle meet me in the courtyard please, Mrs. Potts, tell her that her father is here," he murmured and flared off the room, itching to vent out wrath by any means necessary against D'Arque for what he had done, but first, he would have to ensure Belle was safe.
BELLE closed her eyes as she stood at the windowsill of her prepared quarters, mumbling a fleeting prayer for Gaston and her father, wishing fervently for any news to come of either one of them. If there were any, she'd not been informed.
A strident rapping on her new chamber door snatched her mind from her moment of hopeful meditation and sent her quickly striding towards the door to see who was calling on her. She straightened her gown of dark forest green velvet and tucked a stray wisp of hair that had come undone from her plait, the view of none other than Mrs. Potts looming at the entrance.
Mrs. Potts was looking agitated and white-faced, almost cross, but Belle had no time to open her mouth to ask after the matronly Head of House's welfare, as Mrs. Potts opened her mouth to speak.
"The master of the castle seeks for you in the courtyard, milady," Mrs. Potts breathed, flushed.
Belle could only gape before she was mindful of her courtesies before opening the door wider to follow Mrs. Potts out, tightening her dark cape's fastener around her shoulders.
She moved as swiftly as she could. Her legs moved of their own accord as across the castle's portcullis, the Prince stood patiently with a few men behind him, two of the Prince's family household banners proudly sticking high in the air.
She deemed it yet again a familiar sight as the guards had escorted her and Papa to the Prince's castle all those months ago, only to be introduced back then as the man's hearth keep. How things had changed, and the tides had turned.
As she approached along the slightly muddied and frozen path, having to lift the hem of her gown to avoid her dress getting ruined, thankful she'd worn her leather boots with the heels, the Prince turned to her with a smile that almost made her heart melt.
"You came, love. Good. I thought you would not want to miss this arrival, Belle," he murmured, instinctively reaching for Belle's hand without giving her any time react. Belle's gaze was deprived of excitement and zeal, thinking that the act of holding her hand should have sent her stomach in butterflies, and while it did, it was for an entirely different reason.
What would Papa think? It did not take her long when the men on the gates started to rouse and announced an incoming. The portcullis of the Prince's castle rattled in chains and irons, and the familiar sight of the same black carriage that had escorted her father and herself to the Prince's estate came into view.
The horses halted in front of the courtyard, prancing, and whinnying to calm and the door of the carriage opened. A slightly stooped-over old man emerged and Belle's heart leaped to her throat as Maurice lifted his head and met his daughter's gaze, and Belle was almost catching her breath as her lungs gasped and burned for the biting taste of the cold winter air.
Immediately, her father opened his arms wide anticipating the same sweeping embrace she was about to receive.
"My darling girl," Maurice proclaimed as Belle ran to him, nearly barreling him over as she flung her arms around her neck.
He held Belle close as his daughter was more than exhilarated, rubbing her cheek against the ear of her beloved father, whom she thought she might never see again.
Her father's shoulders were heaving equally as hers, sobbing into her hair.
In his lips rasped the same name as many times as Maurice could utter it.
"Oh, Belle! My beloved pretty Belle!"
"Papa," Belle exclaimed with relief as her father relinquished his grip on his daughter and held her by the shoulders, furrowing his brows into a frown as his hardened gaze landed upon her scar. Though his expression softened somewhat as he noticed happy tears shimmering in her eyes.
The Prince was content to back away a few steps and allow the father and daughter their time. He understood their need for a reunion. If it had been his daughter who had nearly died, he would want his time with her, he liked to imagine it.
He stood quietly in the background, reveling in Belle's happiness, and aimed to make her happy the rest of his days, if Maurice would so kindly grant him that wondrous honor.
The Prince was not even aware that he wore a content smile, almost pleased with himself. The father and daughter clung to one another, looking as though they wanted nothing more than to make up for a lost time.
"Welcome to my home, monsieur," the Prince murmured, stepping forward at last, though his words were ignored, as Belle and Maurice were still lost in the throes of being reunited.
"H—How….?" Belle could not conceal the jovial smile forming on her face in addition to her rare loss for words. "How on earth did the carriage travel so fast through the snow? Oh, thank you, Your Highness, thank you, thank you!" Belle exclaimed, deciding she didn't care how he had gotten here so fast, only that her father was here now, and they could hopefully finally begin to make up for many moons lost.
Maurice slightly nodded his head at his daughter's gratitude, though the man was looking admittedly less than pleased, his lips puckered into a thin line as his eyes lingered on his beloved Belle's scarred cheek, seeing for himself the damage Gaston had described, and the ridiculous prattle from the guard on the ride over here that there was a possibility that Gaston was still alive.
"I—I got word, Belle, that you had been hurt," Maurice admitted, his face twisting and contorting with grief as he realized the truth and clung to Belle tighter, as though he would never hold his precious girl again. "You have no idea how out of my mind with worry I was. I thought I almost lost you, Belle," Maurice lamented painfully, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force away from the awful images.
"Oh, Papa, I had the best of care." Belle smiled as she peered over her shoulder at the Prince. She was more than eager to introduce the man that she loved to her father, certain that her papa would be instantly fond of the changed man that he was. "Papa, this is Prince Adam du Barreau, of these lands. He is…much changed since the last time you saw him, Papa."
Maurice followed his daughter's line of sight to the golden-haired Prince of these lands, with whom it did not escape his attention that his daughter had been holding hands with only moments before. He turned Belle around in his arms, still supporting her, and regarded the Prince, rather curiously.
"It seems…I am in your debt," Maurice said gratefully. "You have kept my little girl safely under your care, Your Highness," Maurice embraced Belle even tighter as he spoke.
The Prince respectfully bowed his head to Belle's father, mindful of showing the monsieur his utmost respect and courtesies. "It was all that I could do, monsieur," he confessed.
Maurice noticed how the Prince never took his eyes from Belle, and how she seemed to be breathless in the man's gaze.
For a moment, they stood in nervous silence. Then Belle's legs buckled.
She was still weak from her forced show of strength as a warg that Agathe had subjected her to without her knowledge and unused to standing for extended periods of time.
Maurice attempted to tighten his grip around her, but Belle reached out, searching instead for the Prince's strong arms. Observant to every change in his former hearth keep, the Prince was right by Belle's side in an instant.
Sensing Belle's need, Maurice reluctantly released her into Adam's urgent grasp. In a quick fluid motion faster than Maurice could blink, he lifted Belle into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder.
The quick joining of their foreheads pressed together did not escape the old painter and inventor's keen eyes, neither did the look of worry and concern on the young Prince's face.
"You are still weak," the Prince exclaimed. "We should get you inside, Belle, before you have a relapse."
Though before the Prince could begin to turn on his heels to escort Belle and her father inside the warmth and relative safety, there came a scuffling of a chaotic noise at the gate that sounded as though wood clanking against metal.
The Prince furrowed his brows into a frown, his mouth pinching downward as he turned his head towards the source of the noise, Belle, and Maurice's gazes following where he was looking to see what the disturbance of the noise was and if there was any cause for alarm.
The Prince's first thought was that he had had quite enough of intruders at his front gate to last the rest of his lifetime, though his heart leaped to his throat when he saw who was standing on the other side of the gates. A cloaked man was clanging what appeared to be a walking stick to serve as a makeshift cane of sorts against the bars of the gate for attention.
The Prince's blood curdled in his veins as his eyes caught sight of three figures, two hooded men and a young woman who looked strikingly like his Belle as his feet began to move of his own accord, no longer taking directions from his mind, Belle's father trailing close behind on his heels.
His breaths caught in his throat, feeling sure his mind was playing a sport of his vision the closer he got towards the gate and could peer underneath the man in the center's hood, which hid the details of his face until Prince Adam was merely inches away from him.
"I…what? Y…you're alive? But…how?! That's...not possible," he spluttered, his breaths catching in his throat as his eyes landed on a familiar red cloak and a thick tuft of shadow raven dark hair that had been recently shorn short, though was windswept and disheveled.
The man standing at the gates alongside the young woman and older cloaked gentleman was none other than Gaston.
Gaston merely chuckled morosely and curled his gloved fingers over the iron-wrought bars.
"Hello, old friend. It's good to see you too, Adam... Aren't you going to invite us inside?"
"I…" Adam's breaths stammered in his throat as he wracked his brain trying to think of something to say. He looked towards Belle's father for support, who was looking confused but more put together than Adam was.
Maurice awkwardly cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"Monsieur Gaston, won't you introduce myself and the Prince to your…friends?" he stammered, suddenly feeling nervous as he moved to help one of the guards open up the gates and allow Gaston and his two companions through them.
Gaston glanced affectionately towards his left. It did not escape either of their attention that he was holding the baker's daughter's hand.
Though Belle was still incredibly weak, she felt her heart soar at thinking the military captain might have found a good match in the baker's daughter. Claire was headstrong, like Gaston, but polite.
"Of course," he murmured courteously. "Milady Belle, I take it I don't need to introduce you to Claire as the two of you ladies know each other. Nor you, Maurice. Adam, my friend, this is Claire, my…." Gaston hesitated for a moment as his voice trailed off as he searched Claire's face for something.
It was a moment or two before he spoke.
"The woman that I love," he said, with a note of determination and resolve clear upon his handsome face. "And this is Gold. Man saved my life in the Wolves' Woods," he murmured, gesturing towards the man on his right side.
The other man swiftly lowered the hood of his cloak, further rendering the Prince and Belle were both taken aback as they recognized the older gentleman as the one and the same man who had been present in Agathe's book, the jewelry stall vendor.
"How?" they exclaimed together in unison, both taken aback by the synchronization of their shock as they gaped.
"A bit of a long story, one I am more than happy to share the details of, perhaps over a hot meal and in front of a fire. It's bloody freezing out here, Your Highness," Gold muttered, though a hint of a smile tugged his lips upward into a smirk. "Shall we?" he gestured with a sweeping flourish of his arm towards the Prince's castle. "Let us assume, Your Highness, that you have not forgotten your manners and proper edict and have invited my two colleagues and me inside so that we may warm up from this bitter cold, and allow your…pretty little princess here, to rest. She is still weak and needs to be resting and off of her feet, Prince," he murmured, his accent carrying a Scottish lilt to it as he spoke with furrowed brows.
He motioned for the Prince to follow him, as though the strange bloke had been to the estate a time or two, though Adam was sure he had only seen him the once before and proceeded to lead the way into the castle and towards the massive Great Hall.
When they got to the wide oak double doors, the Prince was halted in his movements by Belle, who lifted her head and gave the man she loved a brave smile.
The Prince felt a surge of courage flood through his veins, marveling at Belle's inner strength and steadfast determination.
Without giving it a second thought, he pushed open the doors to the Mess Hall and barked orders at a passing maid to bring them all meals at the head cook's earliest convenience.
As he entered into the Great Hall, following this strange Monsieur Gold and Gaston and his new love, Claire, the Prince was smart enough not to look back behind him as the door shut.
It was time to learn the truth.