CHAPTER 8:
Belle examined the scene before her. The old and ugly Enchantress was nowhere to be found amongst the players. Perhaps the bride had not yet come? Belle knew she would have to hurry to complete her task before that woman made her appearance. The question was, what could she do now, to help Gaston without Gaston himself helping her? She certainly couldn't just jump out and drag him away unhindered; and now she didn't even have the magic ring to keep herself out of sight.
She needed a plan. She needed to think.
Creeping as close to the balcony's French doors as she dared, Belle looked and listened for cues and clues. She kept quiet as a mite on a mouse.
Then something in the room fell — knocked over. It bounced, and sent a whole dressing table full of toiletries crashing. Belle was not anywhere near it, but the noise drew the attention of the wedding guests to the windows, and thus, her.
There was no use hiding now. She opened the French doors and, without closing them, stepped to the balcony.
The appalling group of guests eyed her with curiosity. Belle gathered her courage in their midst.
"Gaston!" she called. "It's time to go. You have to come with me now." She examined him, trying to decipher what reactions he made. Did he know he could trust her? Did he remember her at all?
Gaston looked at her with surprise. Then slowly, it transfigured into that arrogant smile of his.
"Ah, Belle!" he scoffed. He seemed pleased with the situation. "Looks like you lost the upper hand. When you snooze, you lose. I told you: every girl wants me. You had your chance, and you blew it."
One of the guests called out, "What is the meaning of this? Is she some sort of rival?"
The beautiful blonde whose stunning gown went unnoticed turned her nose up haughtily. "She seems to only ever want what she can't have — and what I've got." Angrily, hands on hips, she stormed towards Belle. "Now I have had enough of you! If you want that snooty, idiot Prince, then feel free! But you are not taking this one from me too! I've had it with your meddling in my love life!"
Before Belle could even figure out how to react, she felt some invisible force seize her, as in a massive ocean wave, fling her into the wall.
The pain was only for a moment. Confused, adrenaline rushing, Belle tried to orient herself. She was laying on the marble floor. Blood was dripping from her nose, which seemed to have been broken. A similar pain ran through her right leg — the knee was fractured. She couldn't get up.
But at that moment Belle realized — the beautiful bride was the Enchantress.
She surged with renewed energy, and was able to stand up with her weight upon her good leg. "Gaston!" she cried urgently, "you're marrying the Enchantress! She's playing a trick on you — "
"Don't listen to her!" the Enchantress cried loudly, betraying a note of panic in her voice. "She's just jealous! In any case, the ceremony is almost complete." She took Gaston's large hands in her own and looked to the officiant. "Raum! Hurry it up!"
A demonic looking creature hurried through a few words in a deep, ghastly voice. It was not in French he spoke; he completed some kind of marriage rite in some kind of language that held some kind of meaning to the guests. One could tell when he had completed the ceremony by the sweeping gesture he made at the couple. A wave of silver light sparkled across the both of them, marking the binding of their souls.
Despite the disruption, Gaston and the Enchantress both appeared to be ecstatic. There was a certain tragedy to the fact that these two beautiful people had rarely if ever got to know the feeling of being adored by someone they were attracted to. The big green eyes of the Enchantress gazed adoringly at her handsome new spouse, the man she would know for the next hundred years or so as husband. Gaston's heart was racing with happiness. He felt tears of joy sting his eyes. At this he fast turned away and, in routine necessity, needed to do something macho to avoid appearing weak.
He decided to pick on Belle. She was the easiest mark.
Belle observed her pseudo-ex coming towards her. She was trembling in pain from her injuries, but she still felt for this man. She had wanted to save him from the Enchantress, but failed. She knew that he had no concept of what he was in for — she wasn't even sure if he was in his right mind. "I'm sorry, Gaston," she said. "I tried."
"And look where it got you. Not so pretty right now with that broken nose, eh?" He bent down and flicked her injured snout.
Gaston suddenly felt an odd pain in the gut, like he had been punched out of nowhere. He could only assume it was Belle who had done it. He retorted by slugging her in the eye. She screamed.
"Gaston!" cried the Enchantress. "Quit playing with that thing, we're leaving now for the party." She and the guests were gathering together, preparing to depart for the reception.
Gaston quickly flashed a smile her way. "Of course, dear," he said. His face dropped again as he turned back to Belle. "You've tangled with the wrong man, Belle. But there'll be no more stringing me along."
In a swift gesture, Gaston hit her again, closed fist. She lost her balance. The brutal blow sent her flying over the rail of the balcony.
Before her frightened eyes the moat appeared — so, so very far down. She screamed, plunging toward it. Then there was a pain like her arm was torn from the socket. She whipped horribly, almost passing out from the force. Her satchel fell from her shoulder and continued its descent to the waters below.
But she realized that she was no longer falling. Her arm had been caught on something.
She dangled helplessly for a moment in the pre-morning air, then looked up to see what she had become hooked on. To her shock — there was nothing there.
It was like her arm was grasped in some invisible pair of hands, seized at a point about three or four feet below the ledge of the balcony.
She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know what was happening. Had the Enchantress chosen to save her?
"Help!" Belle called, hoping the wedding party might hear and come to her aid. "Help me!"
There was no answer from the balcony: the wedding party were gone.
She could feel a sensation like something was attempting to pull her up. With nothing to grip, Belle wasn't sure how she could assist the entity that held her. She reached with her other hand and tried to feel out something to grab. After a minute of fumbling and writhing in this helpless position, she had the amazing and unexpected experience of seeing —
"…Prince?" she muttered, disbelieving.
The Prince all at once appeared before her. He was hanging from the balcony with his legs entangled in the balustrade, flushed and sweating from the physical exertion of hanging on to her. Belle's right hand was tightly gripped in his. The remnants of the paper ring of invisibility — now tattered and shredded in pieces — were about his finger. He had been screaming and yelling at her for longer than she realized, since the ring obscured any noises one made when invisible.
"Belle!" he shouted hoarsely. "Grab onto me and climb up!"
"But won't you fall —?"
"I won't! I won't!" the Prince cried in agony. His limbs were going numb. "Please, I can't hold you much longer."
Belle had so many more questions, but this wasn't the time for them. She clung to his shirt and tried to use it as leverage, but the fine material ripped when her weight was on it. Without thinking, she grabbed onto the gold chains around his neck. The Prince shrieked as she touched them, a crisp energy searing his skin. Belle felt nothing on her own side — nevertheless, she almost let go at the realization that she had hurt him. He, perceiving her release of the collar, scooped her hard in his arms so she wouldn't plummet to the moat below.
She could feel him spasm and shiver in pain, but somehow his legs held firm to the balustrade.
"Climb!" he demanded. "Climb up!"
Belle wasn't built for climbing, but her dainty body somehow found the muscle to creep over the Prince's body and reach the balcony ledge. With her only good leg she just barely made it to solid footing. At last she made it over the balustrade and securely onto the balcony. She collapsed in a heap upon the marble.
When she turned so that she could assist the Prince, she observed him swing back up onto the balcony with a bizarre nimbleness and ease. Still, she was less inclined to question this than she was to simply feel glad that he was safe.
Feeling like he had to explain, the Prince breathlessly declared, "I had a couple of — accidents — with the balcony. The Enchantress put a spell on it so I wouldn't be able to fall anymore." He knelt at her side. His skin was crimson with overwork. Sweat was dripping from his nose. "Belle? Are you alright?"
"I think so — " She answered. She attempted to stand. The answer was actually no. "My leg…" she lamented.
The Prince hesitated to touch her, knowing he'd risk another electrocution of himself. "Do you — I mean, I suppose I have to bring help. A bonesetter, maybe? Is there one in the village?"
"There is," said Belle. Suddenly her eyes widened. "You remember the village?"
The Prince leaned towards her, nodding. He wanted so desperately to hug her right now. "As soon as you put the ring on me, it took the Enchantress's spell off my memory. I was afraid to remove the ring, in case it would be recast…"
Belle carefully took him by the hand. "So when you leapt off the balcony for me, did you know that having the ring would nullify the spell that stopped you from falling?" she asked.
"I didn't think of that," he answered. "But I wasn't going to let you fall off."
She managed a smile for him through her pain. "And I see you didn't get that collar off."
"I didn't have the chance to try," said the Prince. "I just… followed you. I couldn't leave you alone, especially not with that woman roaming loose." He crumpled as if ashamed. "I wasn't much good, though. I think you'd have fared better if I hadn't tripped over that vanity table."
Belle was shivering in pain; yet she felt good, somehow. "But at least you're safe. And you didn't have to marry her. That was all I came out here to do."
The Prince looked at her for a moment, like he didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he spouted at last. Forgetting himself, he embraced her. At first he was alright, but then Belle reached out to return the hug. She touched the hole she'd torn in his shirt, her skin hitting the gold collar beneath. Green light flashed and the Prince was zapped again.
Belle withdrew immediately, apologizing while the Prince sucked the air and struggled to recover.
"It's only if it touches someone else's skin," he hissed, suffering. "The Enchantress knew not to trust me. She was — ugh! I tried, but she was so hideous!"
Belle would have gotten up immediately to search for tools that would cut through the torturous collar, but she was not in good shape. "Go to the village," she said at last. "Get my father. He'll have tools to cut through that thing, assuming it's like any other metal. If not, there's a book at my house that will reveal whatever you ask it for — you can tell it you want instructions to get that horrid thing off. And then, you can bring me the bonesetter."
The Prince smiled sheepishly. He unconsciously fingered the uncomfortable gold earrings he wore. "Will you be alright, for a few hours alone? There are no more servants here — the Enchantress just used her magic to handle the household."
"Well," said Belle. "I can't ride like this, so we don't have any choice."
The Prince scooped her in his arms and carried her to the bed in the West Wing, where he arranged her comfortably. After many solemn oaths and promises that he would be back soon, he departed to find her some help.
It was a few hours' walk to the village. The Prince found Belle's house, and there, after explaining all that he was willing to say of the situation, he endured the humiliation of having Maurice cut him out of the elaborate gold harness and piercings. Maurice himself was a bit traumatized when he saw how elaborate the device really was. On the plus side, the fine metal scrap it produced amply served to pay the bonesetter for the inconvenience of coming all the way to the castle.
Thus Belle's leg was set and bound into place with wooden planks. She was prescribed to stay off of it for the next six months. This effectively confined her to bed for the period, barring the occasional hop about the bedroom. The medic then bashed her nose back into place and gave it a shorter span of four weeks to keep in its bandage.
Maurice had accompanied the Prince back to the castle, and there he intended to stay to assist Belle in her recovery in the coming months. The Prince was glad for it. He needed all the help he could get in the empty palace. In subsequent weeks he succeeded in hiring new servants, and even in reacquiring some of the old ones; but for the first fortnight there was only himself and Maurice, puzzling out how to run a household of such magnitude. When they were not immersed in that, they were eternally fussing over Belle and how she was getting on.
She was trapped in the Prince's massive wooden bed. It was like she was a prisoner again — but at least now she did not have to pine after her father. Moreover, the West Wing was effectively hers.
And the fact was, the Prince liked it that way.
There was a time not far gone when, as a Beast, he had hoped he might entice her to stay with him at his castle. Currently, she didn't have a choice — she had to stay. The Prince took one of the guest rooms for himself, but frequently came back to the West Wing to visit Belle. She received his visits warmly. Sometimes she even granted him the honor of letting him nap on the couch by the window. In time, she started allowing him to sit up on the bed with her. The Prince did his utmost not to abuse the privilege. It was hard not to be tempted with her, however.
One day, as he sat, snuggled against her in an ostensible effort to better show her the book they read together, Belle made a surprising move of her own. She gently touched her fingers to his chin and tipped it towards her.
He looked at her, heart blazing, wondering if he only imagined her purpose. Yet without another thought he found his mouth melted against hers.
It wasn't his first kiss, but it was the first time he'd felt good being kissed. He held it for as long as possible. At the disconnect, the whole world became hearts and flowers. He could feel his cheeks flushing, his heart skipping.
"Belle?" he asked the piercing pair of hazel eyes before him. "Have you been happy here with me?"
"Yes," she answered. But she suddenly looked away, troubled.
The Prince's heart dropped. Was there still something wrong with him? "What is it?" he asked.
Belle colored with embarrassment. "It's just…" she trailed off.
"What?" the Prince insisted.
Belle was really quite ashamed, and reluctant to admit the problem. "I… just… have no idea what your name is."
The Prince was surprised, but relieved to hear it was something so trivial and easy to correct. Softening, he leaned in close to her and whispered his name into her ear.
She couldn't believe the name he gave. "You're joking!"
He smiled and shook his head.
"That's really your name?"
"Yes," he said. "And there was no way I was going to use it as a Beast."
Belle smiled. His name was the boy version of her own.
…
Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier, over park, over pale, in the house where Gaston lived, now too lived his wife, the Enchantress. She had done what she could to gussy up the place, but Gaston still seemed to retain a most ridiculous love of decorating with antlers. Her withered, one-eyed face frowned seeing how he'd stuck them all over her diamond chandelier.
Gaston emerged from the room where he worked on his taxidermy. All the trophy heads at the tavern were his own making, and he was as skilled at sewing the skins back together as he was at cutting them apart from the animals. He stepped into the livingroom, proud and smiling and maybe deliberately trying to keep his eyes shut.
"Alright, baby, I've got a solution for the next three-hundred-forty days till those planets line up again. You can just wear this, so I don't have to look at you."
He held up an elk's head he'd modified into a kind of mask, and plopped it over the Enchantress's head.
The Enchantress was outraged. "You really think I'm going to wear this for you? I could just strike you blind, instead!"
"You know, you can go right ahead and do that," said Gaston, calling her bluff. "I'm still the one who comes out ahead; and you can just wait on me hand and foot while I sit around getting fat from lack of exercise. You give good foot massages, right?"
The Enchantress grumbled angrily from within her mask. Gaston understood how to milk his situation better than her aristocrats ever did. Maybe she needed to rethink her habit of choosing men just for their looks.
…
After many months, Belle was freed from her leg splints. She and the Prince had grown very close in that time (they'd even discussed Bijoux Indiscrets!)
On the Prince's side, the bruises and scabs from his collar were healed; being touched felt good again. He often smiled, imbued with strength and empowerment despite a nervous energy that seemed to swarm him. He realized: this was the first time he had ever had the freedom to choose whether or not he wanted to be in a relationship, whether he wanted to fall in love. He wasn't under anymore obligation. It wasn't about saving the servants, or ending a curse, or fulfilling a promise. He simply wanted it.
He wanted it terribly.
He arranged a celebration in honor of the occasion of Belle's recovery. Neither she nor he had a lot of friends to invite, but the Prince sent invitations to some respectable families of neighboring duchies so that, maybe, they could both make some new friends.
A few old ones were nevertheless in attendance. Mrs. Potts and Chip had been persuaded to return, once they learned the Enchantress was no longer going to be at the castle. The old housekeeper had not felt that that would have been a healthy environment to raise her son in; but with Belle back in the picture, she was more than glad to return to her former situation. Rosine, keeper of the wardrobe, also was back. She fitted Belle with a brand new ballgown of pale pink with matching silk roses for the special event.
The Prince attended decked in silver and yellow. He danced with Belle as much as he could. He found it difficult to even remember that others were in attendance on such a night. Nevertheless, he was polite, and even dutifully danced with the rather unattractive daughters of the Duc d'Avalois whilst Belle was resting from overexertion. The girls spoke highly of him to their friends, and he began to receive some envious stares.
It was almost dawn when the ball cleared out. Belle and the Prince felt themselves in a giddy dwaal.
"I love you, Belle," he whispered to her.
He didn't know what she felt about him. In a way, he didn't care. He simply had to let her know what was in his heart.
Belle washed against him and locked him into a wonderful kiss. Thrilling with excitement, and maybe tipsy from negus, he led her out to the terrace of the castle. It was the autumn season, and the gardens below were adopting fiery shades. They looked fantastic against the white and crimson of the morning sky.
The couple admired the scene, and the Prince finally mustered the nerve that he needed to speak. "Belle? Tell me the truth. Are you really happy here?"
"Of course I am," said Belle, squeezing his large hands. "I've never been more happy than I've been here! The best days of my life have been at your castle."
"Even in the prison tower? Even in bed, with broken bones?"
"I've known more freedom here than I ever had in the village," answered Belle with a smile. "At least here, my life isn't completely planned out for me. Every day isn't identical to the disappointing one that came before."
It was ironic she had known freedom in a place where he had imprisoned her, and where he had so often felt trapped. Yet she was his freedom — the bloom of her life gave him something that made the darkness and sadness he knew worth enduring. It proffered to him a sense of choice.
His smile broadened and his chest puffed up like hot pâte feuilletée. "Then, would you like to stay here with me — " He had to catch his breath. " — as my wife? You would be a princess, and you would have servants, and fine meals, and outfits, and you would have opportunities to — "
Belle put a hand to his mouth and shushed him. His nerves were going to set him rambling. "Yes, Beau," she said, smiling, addressing him by his actual name. "I'll marry you."
The Prince's life was no longer governed by magic, but he felt more enchanted and bedazzled right now than he ever had felt before. He was so happy that his heart could have burst into fireworks. The Prince called Beau had his Princess Belle at last.
He vaguely recalled those sorrowful days of the past, that had eaten up so many of his years like some invisible worm on a rosebush — but he now found that he couldn't even remember what it felt like to be unhappy.
END.
