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[Author's Note: The film Beauty and the Beast uses visual information in the painted backgrounds to suggest that Belle stays in the Beast's castle for several months. However, the actual scripted action and dialogue indicate she's only there for a few days (brief enough LeFou could wait outside her house the whole time while her father wanders sick in the woods and Gaston never notices she's gone missing). I am here taking it that Belle and the Beast's romance occurred in something under two weeks.

Although this fanfic makes many references to historical people and events, we are adhering to a Disneyfied version of history where Pocahontas and John Smith had a romance and looked like 20 year old supermodels, the Wedding March from Lohengrin predates Richard Wagner by centuries, and everyone in the 12th century was anthropomorphic animals with Richard the Lionheart an actual lion. We're going to play fast and loose with the facts here, kids. Don't try to write your history report off anything described.

This story also alludes to events I created in my fic The Appearance: A Series. I have tried to keep it so that one can enjoy this story without having read the first. Nevertheless there are several mentions of Grimhilde the Enchantress and such specifics which you can find elaborated upon in that story.]

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CHAPTER 1: In which Belle and the Capetian Prince are married after the end of the curse.

The forest-hid castle shimmered with joy for the first time in a decade. This despite the bloodied, shattered corpse currently bobbing about in its moat. Cheerful, wide-eyed gudgeon fish cutely splashed about the body, thrilled to feast their carnivorous little appetites upon its dead flesh.

Great events had lately transpired in the long-gloomy place. They'd been violent, they'd been intense, but they had all resolved for the best in the end. Amidst a magic flurry of scintillating lights and gilded beams, the long ruined castle had become restored to its old self, even all those items that were worn out or broken during the many mournful years of enchantment. Its cursed residents were transformed back to their old selves, depicting not a day of age despite ten years' passage.

Belle had changed out of her rain-soaked clothes into her ballgown. She was tremendously astonished by the transformation of the household of which she'd become so fond. In the course of so many happy days in the castle, she never knew that everyone around her had been regular humans under a curse. She had simply assumed they were supernatural creatures of some fashion: her Beast some forest spirit, some devil, some yeti or troll; his servants djinn or ghosts inhabiting the furniture. Now she observed them all in true form, all so delighted at release from their supernatural torment. There was no possible way she could be upset by something that brought them so much joy. Even her great, brooding Beast, after he had received some attention for his recent injuries, seemed so much less careworn, so much lighter, so much sunnier now that he was a tall young man of twenty-one. Standing in his blue and gold suit, he quite radiated with excitement. In a word, she had never, ever seen him so happy!

As for the Beast turned Prince, he knew something beyond happiness. It was giddiness; ecstasy. No longer piloting the lumbering figure of a beast, every movement of his was bursting with energy. For so many years, his only wish had been to become human again. His old Enchantress, Grimhilde, was always adamant that fulfilling her requirements would not break or reverse the curse, rather that the acquisition of true love would allow a new spell to be cast with an opposite effect to her original. The circumstances surrounding the change had been more of an ordeal than he could have imagined, but ultimately he had achieved it. The spell was a success; the Prince won Belle's love at last, and he never had doubt for how deeply he already loved her. Everything felt like a dream. His breaths were shallow. His heart was overbrimming with love for everyone. Love really fitted one with a type of goodness.

The newly human servants danced, sang and played in impromptu celebration. The atmosphere was like a festival. In the midst of it, Belle and the Prince clung to one another, hands trembling in a white-knuckled joy. Smiles never left their faces, yet they held each other like they truly feared the other would be lost if they let go for so much as a moment. The Prince only parted from her once: that was to embrace Maurice in welcome.

The old man almost fainted in fright at it.

For his part, the old village dotard Maurice could never in his life have anticipated the happenings of the past twenty-four hours. His beloved daughter, missing for days, had returned to him from her imprisonment safe and sound. Moreover, she now assured him that her captor was a gentle and decent creature, of whom she had only the fondest things to say. The old man couldn't conceive how the sinister entity who had terrorized and threatened him before shutting her away, could really be this same one that she now praised and exalted as the kindest of men. Beyond that, Maurice could not believe that the strong, strawberry blond youth who was being introduced to him now, was that same creature transformed. Maurice was the only person in the whole castle who did not seem to be swimming in good feeling. It seemed to him like if there were any spells going on in the place, one must have been cast to make Belle forget the cruel monster that had, at various times, imprisoned both her and himself. And yet, she seemed entirely certain of what that man he had become in only a few days' time; and this starry-eyed man gazed back at Belle with such a look of true bliss and adoration that it really did melt one's heart. Therefore, Maurice was willing to give this terrifying fellow a chance, even if it seemed so unreasonable.

"Belle speaks very highly of you," said Maurice, compelling a friendly smile. "She… says you took very good care of her during her, er, visit."

The Prince may as well have been floating five feet in the air. Either he didn't catch the disapproval in Maurice's tone or he just plain didn't care. "It's been so wonderful since I took her prisoner!" he answered like he was a million miles away. "And she talks of you all the time! Not just begging to see you, but how great an inventor you are!"

Maurice was a bit puzzled for how to converse with this young man, who at the moment was coming off as something between a ditz and a murderer. "So you are… the master of this castle? But how has it come that you were a monstrous creature when I met you before?"

The Prince was being pulled back down into reality. "A monster… yes. I was transformed by a queen, an Enchantress," he answered, trying to recall these details that so suddenly felt like they'd transpired in some other lifetime. "I had insulted her. She transformed me and the entire castle, as punishment for my insolence. But she returned, and offered that the spell could be broken if I would find true love. To succeed, it had to be done before I was twenty-one. That's today. I… I hadn't dreamed it would still be possible…" His expression changed as he spoke, the stars in his eyes fading. The mere talk of this recent past was recalling to him so many lost years of loneliness, pain, and truly absolute terror.

Belle's smile began to fade as well. "You were transformed into a beast?" There was a skepticism in her tone. "What… were you… before?"

The Prince seemed confused and lost in thought. "Human," he answered at length. "But… people call me by whatever name they like. I was the Duke of Normandy. I suppose, for a while, at least, I was the Dauphin."

Maurice almost fainted, and indeed would have collapsed had not the Prince still been hugging him all this time. Belle was merely astonished. The rank of Dauphin — heir apparent to the throne — was second only to the King of France. All this time, she'd had no idea.

"Everyone said the Dauphin had died!" proclaimed Maurice, finally wrestling away from his daughter's over-clingy paramour.

"I might as well have," the Prince muttered absently. "Does it matter? There's no more monarchy, right? Everyone's equal, and a Directory governs the country." This was the state of things when his parents had been executed on the guillotine, when the Revolution started.

"Well," answered Maurice haltingly, "No, the Directory were overthrown a few years ago. Napoleon Bonaparte is the Emperor now."

Napoleon Bonaparte was not a name the Prince knew. Ten years earlier, the man had simply been a general in the military.

Maurice was not very interested in politics, and he lived in a small village where the policies of Paris didn't make much impact. Yet, for the Prince's sake, he endeavored to explain to the best of his power how the Directory had been victim of a coup d'etat by General Bonaparte, who having already conquered most of western Europe on their behalf, then crowned himself Emperor of the lot of it.

The young Prince was surprised by this news, but overall he simply regarded it as but one more of the day's many weird surprises. To give it contemplation required too much from him. His hands gripped the charming hands of Belle, but his brow began to furrow with concern. The ecstasy was fading. The dark realities of life were intruding upon him once again. That was something he absolutely did not want — never, ever again was he going to abide that life of constant mental anguish and isolation. He'd sooner die than allow it again — yet he knew —

The Prince turned to Belle, and with his heart fluttering once more, chest swelling with affection, he asked abruptly: "Belle — will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?"

Belle's eyes went wide. She blushed. "Beast! I don't know what to say…"

Meanwhile Maurice sputtered with astonishment, trying to make up his mind whether or not to object to this. "…Do… you… not even know his name…?" he inquired weakly.

Belle did not hear him. Around her, the sounds of mirth persisted through the castle. The servants celebrated their newfound liberty and the end of their accursedness. Might it be time for her to make a change, as well? Her heart raced in her chest, her pulse muting out the sound of the room. For her — to marry the Beast? It seemed so sudden to marry him. They had only known one another for a few days. Then, her wide eyes darkened at the recollection of the scene she had known just hours before: her agony as her beloved Beast had died in her arms out on the rainy balcony, his bleeding to death, her return to him just moments too late to have saved him from this terrible end. She'd thought she would never see him again. She had wept for all the things that had gone unsaid between them, wept for all the time that they should have had together now that they were in love, hopes which had seemed to fade away along with the life in his eyes.

It was a miracle that he'd come back to her. Literally a miracle. Now hand in hand with him in the safety of the castle, she gazed up into his imploring blue eyes — so lively and brimming with intelligence and passion — and she said yes.

The ecstasy was back. Belle and her Prince crumpled upon one another with an intense kiss.

Maurice watched them helplessly. "Well! I suppose no daughter of mine would marry someone her father approved of," he sighed in defeat. All that he could do now was wish them well and pray for the best. A surge of emotion welled up inside him, and he managed to smile for his daughter despite his enormous misgivings. She was marrying a monster. But she was marrying.

When the vibrant young pair broke from their kiss, the Prince turned, and, still hermetically sealed to Belle, he began calling out for Cogsworth. The couple walked the halls together, eyes searching over the joyous celebrations for their friend and steward.

At last the Englishman was found downstairs with several others, enjoying wine and champagne from the cellars.

Long and lean Lumiere, as butler, had control over the distribution of the castle's alcohol; and under the present circumstances there was no way he was going to be stingy with any of it. Nevertheless, Lumiere and Cogsworth both felt an instinctive pang of concern when the master walked in and could witness what they were up to. There was a whole song and dance going on about wine, and exploded bottles everywhere. They expected that he would not like it; but to their relief he was in far too good of a humor to care who, what or why about much of anything beyond his immediate concern.

"Cogsworth!" the joyful Prince cried, entering with his arm tight around Belle. His eyes were bright, his complexion grown rosy with excitement; she clung to him as if she would collapse without his support, smiling absently all the while as dreams of the life ahead consumed her.

Cogsworth approached dutifully, though still holding a champagne glass in his hand and a bottle of wine in his pants, which he tried unsuccessfully to conceal. His expression of joy commingled with a restrained embarrassment was gradually shifted to one of shock, then to a brief consternation, followed by delight, as the master explained his wish to be married to Belle as soon as it was possible to do.

"Do you really want it to be done as soon as possible?" asked Cogsworth. Upon hearing confirmation, the steward explained that it could be done immediately: "Yes. Then, all that is required, then, is that the two of you will sign a paper declaring your intentions to wed one another, and that at least two reputable witnesses to this will sign as well."

Belle and the Prince looked at one another questioningly. Were they really ready to do this? They both turned back to Cogsworth together. They nodded in unison.

Cogsworth looked at Lumiere, a questioning glance in case he had any objection.

Lumiere smiled and shrugged. "Would there be any better time than this?" he asked. "We seem to have the celebration already underway! What's one more layer of party?"

Cogsworth hurried out to find paper, pens and ink, while Lumiere offered heartfelt congratulations to his master and the new bride, hugging the Prince so tightly that he knocked the wind out of him. Doing so, the butler began to feel an intense welling up of emotion. Just hours ago he had feared for the master's life and believed all hope was gone — his poor transformed master, whom he had scarcely ever seen to smile in the past ten years — his poor little master, the incredibly bright and talented young boy who had once seemed destined for such great things before it was all exploded by that wretched curse. Lumiere found himself embracing the master, now all grown up and getting married to the first girl he ever met! But say whatever you would about the master, he always had a fantastic eye — and this girl was beautiful in every way, whether the master had another point of reference or not.

Cogsworth returned with papers and supplies, followed close behind by an anxious Maurice who now had visible sweat stains on his clothing. They arrived to find Lumiere weeping screamingly with emotion, embracing the master he'd worried himself sick over so many times through the years. Belle and the Prince, though overbrimming with joy, felt tears of sympathy sting at their eyes, and they did their best to comfort and thank Lumiere for all of his help and care through their difficult days under the curse.

In the midst of this delay came Omphale, the woman who had once been a wardrobe. She was wearing a party hat and a lot of what looked like Mardi Gras type beads. "They say there's a wedding in the wine cellar!" she sang out cheerfully, "Is it true? Ohh, it is!" She saw the couple and their paperwork. "Congratulations, you two!" she said, rushing to embrace the happy pair, unable to withhold a remark about her old master as she pinched his cheek: "I forgot what a cutie he was! You lucked out, Belle."

The Prince blushed as his heart did a little happy dance. It was the first time anyone had ever suggested he might be better looking than Belle.

A moment later, Mrs. Potts, towing her son Chip by the hand, hurried in. "It's really happening!" she cried with so much sunshine that she was on the brink of supernova. "You're really getting married, well bless my soul!" She embraced the couple, and kissed Belle on the cheek in benediction.

"And I have a present for you!" declared Chip, happy and bubbly as ever he was, the poor thing. This tragic creature was in year ten of being eight years old. He should have been the same age as Belle by now. His body, and to a degree his mind, had been trapped all that time in the innocent whimsy of childhood. Nevertheless, he knew no better, and this kept his spirits up.

"Thank you very much," said Belle, smiling and kneeling to take the gift from this boy whom she had so often drank out of.

"Thank you," said the Prince, reminded to say it by Belle's prompt, but not feeling the struggle he once would have felt with the phrase.

Chip handed over a gift hastily wrapped in old rags and tied with an ugly, childish bow. Inside this mojo were two simple but not unattractive matched silver rings. They were ornate, with a little image of two clasped hands. Something about them betrayed that they were very old.

"They're wedding rings!" cried Chip.

Mrs. Potts felt obliged to explain. "He's been calling them 'wedding rings' for years. It's merely a set of rings he found, but he wanted to offer them for this occasion."

Chip began to object to his mother's account, but at that point Belle kindly stepped in to accept the gift.

The couple had no other rings for the ceremony, so Chip's heroic gesture as impromptu ring-bearer worked out very well. The Prince had to wrestle his on, but it did fit. Belle's was slid on without any trouble.

The happy couple admired their rings for a moment before the two pieces emitted a sudden burst of green-hued sparks in an electrical hum. The bride and groom were taken aback, now staring at the jewelry with some consternation.

"Where did you get these?" asked the Prince, wondering if he should take the ring off.

Chip replied, "I got 'em from the crazy German lady who used to live here!"

Grimhilde. The Enchantress. Ex-Queen of Würtemburg. Famed for an incident with her step-daughter Snow White. When she had been staying in the castle, during her endeavors to undo the curse she had placed upon it, she used to tip the servants because she knew it the custom when visiting another's house; but she was basically a homeless vagrant, and she used the oddest things to tip with.

"She said they're wedding rings," continued the ebullient young Chip. "But I can't use them because I won't get old enough."

While the other servants were concerned by this news, fearful that the rings might be cursed, the Prince was actually delighted at the discovery. He had formed a very good friendship with the immortal Grimhilde before she was hit by the one thing that could kill her. Even his magic mirror — now shattered in the moat after Gaston had stolen it — was originally a present from her. He was perfectly fine with using her rings.

"They look beautiful," said the Prince, smiling at Belle. Belle had been alarmed by the green sparks, but her fiancé's assurance put her immediately at ease.

A trembling Cogsworth set out the writing supplies on an empty shelf, in lieu of a desk. With quill and ink, he prepared the paper with a brief statement that the undersigned consented to a marriage, and below that a section naming the undersigned as witnesses.

The first to step up was Belle, breathless and heart pounding. She hesitated a moment, then with the quill signed her name to this document that controlled her entire future. She next passed the pen to her fiancé.

The Prince hesitated, and seemed to grow flustered. He looked to the servants. "Um, what was my name again?" No one ever called him by his name, which moreover had been altered a few times as rules of titles had changed. He couldn't blame Belle for not knowing what to call him; even he didn't know.

"Louis-Charles Capet," Lumiere replied helpfully.

"Capet. Capet, E-T?"

"Oui, monsieur."

The Prince, so unused to holding human-sized tools, fumbled with the quill, getting ink all over his hands, writing out this strange, stodgy name that was apparently his.

The signature was almost illegible with blots and his own unfamiliarity with writing it. Like a finger-painting by a four year old, except a four year old might have spelled his own name correctly. "Louie-Charle" indeed. Nevertheless, the witnesses would attest they had seen the Prince sign it.

While Cogsworth and Lumiere added their names to the sheet, the Prince's first instinct was to return to Belle — but with ink all over his hands, he didn't want to dirty her. Looking for something to wipe the ink on, he took up one of the spare sheets of paper Cogsworth had brought in, and blotted his fingers.

The look of the stained paper caught his attention, jarred some memory. If anything else on earth had been going on around him, he'd have ignored it to examine the impromptu artwork; but, as the ongoing happened to be his desperately desired wedding, the Prince quickly folded up the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his satin breeches. He returned to Belle, his heart throbbing with excitement. He clasped her ringed hand in his.

"Your name is Louis-Charles Capet?" Belle asked of him, smiling.

He shrugged in reply.

Belle leaned affectionately against him. So. She had married a man named Louis-Charles, the former Dauphin, son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. It seemed there was lots to learn about this man.

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