CHAPTER 16: In which the immortal Prince is informed of what he'll be doing with the rest of his life.

The Capets had returned from Paris, back to the peace and solitude of their empty, isolated castle. That said, with the place fully staffed once again, it wasn't quite so desolate as it had first seemed after the marriage. Servants bustled about. The children who should have been the Prince's playmates amused themselves in the gardens. The Capets, even if their experiences in Paris had been morbid, nevertheless came back with stories to tell.

For his part, the Prince was keeping himself very busy with a variety of projects.

One exceptionally important project called for some outside help. It was within days of their return that Maurice made a trip to the castle to visit Belle, having received her letters announcing that she was back from Paris. After a bit of catching up, in which she told her proud papa a reduced version of their adventure and how she had defeated the Bonapartes, she asked her father to have a word with her husband.

"With him!" protested Maurice. "Whatever for?"

"He'll tell you that himself. You don't need to be afraid of him, papa," she said, smilingly. "He thinks your inventions are amazing. That's why he wants to talk with you."

Maurice still shivered at the thought of seeing that frightening fellow alone.

When the two men were introduced into the sitting room together, the Prince smiled warmly and, knowing an embrace might be too much for the poor old man, presented a firm handshake and offered him a seat, drinks, and anything else that could make him more comfortable. Maurice was surprised to see that the fellow had changed his appearance yet again: he was now a very dapper looking Parisian, dressed to the latest fashion with short hair, long sideburns, high collar and, curiously, a lot of fringe and feathers on his boots.

"I really would prefer if we could to get to the point?" said Maurice, who could not conceive what purpose this demon-man would have for him irrespective of Belle.

The Prince was actually a little embarrassed over what he had to ask. "Um… I know you are an inventor. A great machinist. I need someone, with your skill, to help me with a project."

So far, so good. "What sort of a project?" asked Maurice.

The Prince, blushing with embarrassment, pulled a glove off, revealing the mutilated state of his hand. He held it out to Maurice. "Two fingers. Mobile enough that I can hold silverware. They mustn't be sharp, or cumbersome, or full of little pieces that will get tangled in Belle's hair. I don't expect miracles, but, the goal is to have something more comfortable than no fingers at all."

Maurice scratched his chin thoughtfully. That was a challenge.

During the various measurements, fittings and consultations, Maurice got to know his son-in-law a bit. He was surprised to discover a young man possessing the odd combination of being extremely self-conscious without being at all shy. And the fellow's face was like a well-polished picture-window — you could see everything that passed on the other side of it. Clearly, if he had any good qualities, it was that he could never deceive you because everything showed on his face; even if it was just the furrowed brow and deep concentration of struggling not to reveal himself. And while the kid was pretty bright, he wasn't above knocking over a carton of nuts and bolts so that the servants had to come rescue the two men slipping and rolling about on the floor.

A month later the first prototype was complete. It functioned well, but had trouble staying in place, and the screws were too large and tended to catch things. Two weeks later the second version was finished. This was an apparent success. With just a few more cosmetic improvements, the Prince had a tolerable approximation of a complete left hand, and moreover a much better relationship with his father-in-law. The old man was actually capable of visiting and sitting comfortably with the young couple now, his fear of the Prince greatly diminished. And this made Belle very, very happy.

After receiving Maurice for a lunchtime visit one day, the Prince intended to leave the father and daughter to visit together. In the meantime, he would work on his painting a few rooms over.

The picture was set up, tall and ominous. It needed a great deal of work, the Prince could see. It might even take years to finish to his standards. Might be one of those lifetime projects — and what a lifetime.

He had just mixed up a basin of mummy black when his butlers — three men who operated as one, each to compensate for some deficiency in the others — announced that there were visitors for him.

"It is the Marquise de Montsangue — " "— the Comte de Nancy — " "— and the Duc de Humongous," said the trio.

The Prince couldn't believe it. He hurried to wipe off his hands and greet them.

In the anteroom he found his three friends waiting. Murderella wore an eyepatch to conceal her injury, and her forehead had visible scars. Gutslasher was walking with a silver cane, from necessity not fashion. Humongous had lost his hand to infection and now had a hook in its place.

When the Prince came out with his silver prosthetic fingers, they all felt the swelling of unity once again. After the customary bises were out of the way, the friends began talking happily.

"What on earth has brought you all the way out here?" cried the Prince cheerfully. "If I had known you were coming, I'd have arranged a better reception."

"WE ARE HERE ON BUSINESS," said Humongous, smiling.

"What sort of business brings you this far out?" asked the baffled Prince, supposing that his home was only a convenient stop on their journey. "Are you on your way to Spain?"

Murderella answered. "We volunteered for the task because we were the only people who even know how to find this place. And your directions were not the best — we'd have been here a week ago, otherwise."

"We killed so many wolves," griped Gutslasher.

"Yes, if you want to kill wolves," said the Prince with a touch of irritation, "you won't find many places better. But… are you saying you're here to see me on business?"

Murderella looked to her companions. "I suppose we should get it over with," she murmured.

Gutslasher produced a scroll with a large wax seal from his coat pocket and presented it to the Prince.

The Prince took it, but before he could examine it, Humongous spoke rapidly:

"AFTER THE ABDICATION OF THE EMPEROR, THE SENATE HAS BEEN LEFT TO DECIDE WHAT TO DO FOR THE GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. THE DECISION HAS BEEN MADE THAT THE MONARCHY IS RESTORED. THAT DECISION NOW IN PLACE, IT IS OUR TASK TO WELCOME BACK TO THE THRONE HIS MAJESTY."

In a sudden and simultaneous movement, all three of the Prince's friends dropped to one knee before him.

"Long live the King!" they called together.

He needed a moment for everything to assemble in his head. His heart almost stopped when he realized what was happening.

He gasped. "No! They can't tell me for thirteen years there's no more monarchy and then suddenly declare me King!" His heart was now racing and he had to sit down. He took a place on the floor, practically fainting into it.

In unison, the three aristocrats offered up their bottles of smelling salts. He accepted from Humongous, who pried off the cork with the point of his hook-hand.

The King huffed the foul-smelling minerals, which really did have a way of settling the nerves. "Really? They did this now?" he moaned. His blue eyes were big as saucers.

Murderella was the first to adjust her legs from a kneeling into a sitting position upon the floor. "A few weeks ago. But as I said, you were a hard man to find."

"I don't know how to be a King!" he gasped, highly agitated. "I've barely figured out how to eat with a spoon!"

"You know just how to be a King," said Gutslasher, "for you do it right now."

The King was almost in tears, he was so overwhelmed. Absent any plan, he let out a scream.

"IF YOU REALLY CAN'T GO THROUGH WITH IT," said Humongous, "YOU CAN ALWAYS ABDICATE."

"But don't rush," said Murderella.

The sound of her husband's scream sent Belle running into the room, accompanied by her father.

"Beast! What's wrong?" she cried. She saw their three friends sitting on the floor with him.

"Long live the Queen!" said Gutslasher, waving hello to Belle.

"Good afternoon, Belle!" said Murderella. "The monarchy is reinstated. You're now the Queen of France. Congratulations."

The King groaned. At least when he'd been transformed into a beast he had been unconscious through the process. This new adoubement was happening so suddenly and so vividly. "I wasn't even the oldest son!" he whined. He had been planning a very different sort of life than what kinghood would entail. He had been envisioning the future of a private citizen and maybe a well-known artist — but to be in the public eye at this degree? Nightmare fuel.

Meanwhile, the new Queen was handling the news with more poise but no less disbelief. The Queen's father was simply puzzled by the whole thing.

"It's really not that difficult," Murderella tried to reassure Beast. "The King of England right now, George III — he is mad as a hot cup of laudanum. You think he makes any decisions? He just stands there and looks pretty while his ministers do whatever is needed."

"Where do I find ministers?" asked the King.

"You simply appoint whoever you would trust to handle important actions and decisions for you."

The King leaned back to look at his wife. "Belle? Do you want to run the country for me?" he asked hopelessly.

Belle was surprised by the request. "Oh! I don't know… that's an awfully big decision."

"See?" said the King stubbornly. "Even she doesn't want to do it."

"I didn't say no…" protested Belle, an amused smile overtaking her.

Gutslasher tried to provide some more encouragement. "You will have to breed heirs. We know you are way fond of that."

The King sat, head in his hands. Suddenly he began to laugh. Not a cheerful laugh. It was the laugh of someone who has lost his ability to cry.

"Ah," he said, finally calming down. "'Long live the King,' indeed! Do you have any idea how long it's going to be if they appoint me? I don't die! I'm not able to! Not even if I wanted!" In the heat of everything else, the declaration no longer stung.

"Well, let's reason this all out," said Murderella. "Do you have any brandy?"

"Brandy?" asked the King, surprised by the sudden request. "I'm sure."

"Call for some," said Murderella. "And maybe while we're at it, we should get some music playing."

"And I can fix a batch of the smoke mix," said Gutslasher.

The dazed King rose to his feet, realizing a party seemed to be forming itself whatever his opinion of it was. "I'll find the servants… we have a new staff. I can't remember anyones' names…"

"It's all Pream and Gargantua's people, isn't it?" asked Murderella. The King confirmed.

"Embryo-puppyo-crates!" called the three aristocrats together.

The three butlers appeared in an instant.

"Brandy!" called the aristocrats.

The three butlers scuttled off together.

As the new King, his Queen, his vassals and his father-in-law went away towards the ballroom, Belle chanced a glance at her wedding ring. It sparkled a bright and shiny silver. She searched out her husband's hand and seized it within her own.

She had not known she married a King, when she married the shivering, rain-soaked clod with the tired eyes, who had fallen so deeply in love with her for no good reason at all. The poor fellow who couldn't tell her his own name, because he didn't know it himself. There was so much they didn't know, but they would figure it out.

Bursting with emotion, she released his hand and instead threw her arms around him. She loved him so much that she couldn't contain it. His steps staggered as he tried to walk with her hanging onto him this way. He smiled at her.

"So what does this mean your name is now?" she asked her husband as they walked through the hallway.

He was silent for a while, trying to figure it out.

END.