Hello, readers!
Like many of you, I'm sure, I adore "Beauty and the Beast." Both the original Disney cartoon and the Broadway musical. I have mixed feelings about the remake. I pulled ideas from all three mediums, for this story. Honestly, I'm not sure exactly why this popped into my head. It took me longer than the others to finish, because I really didn't know how I wanted it to end. Even now, I wish I could have incorporated a "Choose Your Own Adventure"-style of narrative, so that I could see more than one storyline play out from the start.
Another "topsy-turvy" Disney story, coming soon… ;)
Happy reading!
Jenn
The enchantress sees into the heart of the prince and finds that he lacks both compassion and morality. It is not the fact that he tries to turn her away because of her appearance. Such a slight is easily disciplined: the ugliness melts away to reveal astounding beauty, the lesson is learned: beauty is found within.
The end.
Not in this story.
I should know, because I was there. A witness, unimportant and mostly unaccounted for.
The king and queen were primarily to blame, in my opinion, for crippling their son. The father was strict and usually absent. The mother was over-indulgent and refused to see her son's faults. It was no wonder they raised a little rebel. Our queen perished before her son's twelfth birthday, and the king's attitude toward his son swung swiftly in the opposite direction. He became overbearing. Relentless. Our prince had to be perfect at everything, before he ascended to the throne. Never mind that our king was far from the perfect monarch, himself.
When the king died, his subjects did our best to mourn his passing. And then we all looked with trepidation at our new sovereign. The prince was seventeen, at the time. Although he was eligible to rule, he looked to his council, his father's advisors, to oversee the kingdom and its needs…but only when the needs of the people didn't conflict with the desires of his selfish heart.
There was no official coronation. Our prince refused to accept the responsibility of leadership, because it conflicted with his interests. He refused to abdicate, as well, for the same reason. And so, he remained a prince regent, and our country was thrown into a kind of purgatory.
And what were his interests? Everything epicurean, it seemed. The prince was a lodestone for most of the seven cardinal sins. Pride, greed, lust, gluttony, and sloth, to be more specific. Envy did not plague him. What does a prince have to be envious about? And wrath was not an issue, as long as the council was agreeable to his demands. Those demands were pathetically simple-minded, if extravagant: wine, women, and song. He wished always to be entertained. And his standards were surprisingly low for a royal.
It went on like this for two years. Two years of almost constant celebration and festivities for our prince, while his council did their best to carry out the basic duties of the crown. There were shockingly few members of the court, due to most of them excusing themselves from the prince's sordid activities. Dukes and barons, lords and their ladies, all fled to their own estates, where decorum and propriety could be observed. These were the council members, as well, leaving the castle and agreeing to meet and correspond frequently. Anything, to be out of the prince's unruly presence.
I was fifteen, when it happened, working in the palace with my cousin as a groom for the royal stables. I saw the prince from time to time, when he could stumble from the castle to find a horse. He cared nothing for the animals; they were merely a pastime, a diversion to amuse him. We saw our healthy horses returned with angry red lashes cutting through their hides. The prince enjoyed their speed, but thought nothing of their effort.
And what could a servant say to a royal? Nothing. Not without being punished. There were dungeons, within the castle. None of us wanted to visit them. We heard that he threw his majordomo, an Englishman named Cogsworth, into the dungeons, once. It was only for a few days, but the man came out utterly changed. Skittish, like a frightened foal.
To the enchantress, we were partially to blame, for not doing more to put Prince Adam in his place. For not braving the punishment of the dungeon, or dismissal, or disgrace.
I like to think that, had I been older…no, that's not an excuse. I was fifteen, not a child. If I had worked in the kitchen, perhaps I would have concocted a poison to cripple our prince. Then again, I never said a word, when he brought back abused horses for me to care for in his stables. I never so much as gave him a knowing look.
I suppose the lot of us were more culpable than we realized.
I hardly think it was grounds for our share of the punishment.
When the transformation began, I was finishing my workday. I saw the glowing green light, bursting from the grand windows of the castle. Every window. To this day, I like to think that I was drawn to the enchantress like a moth to a flame. Her magic compelled me to seek her. Probably not, though. I only remember being too curious to stay away.
If I had stayed away, would I have ended up as a piece of furniture?
I ran to the castle, arriving in time to see the horrified faces of the prince and staff facing a woman who stood between us. I saw long, wavy, blonde hair that seemed to float unnaturally, as if the radiated magic blew it back. The dress she wore was the color of unripened limes. It looked to be a rich fabric, though I know little of fashion. I will say, that, even without seeing her face, she had a fine form. She was probably attractive. I do not wish to know for sure.
As I stared, I suddenly felt suspended. Not frozen, exactly, but as if I was in a vat of cooled molasses. Even my eyes moved slowly. They focused on the prince, who, it seemed, had angered this powerful being. He, alone, began to change.
The transformation was terrifying to behold. The prince floated in the air, unable to escape the enchantress' spell. His limbs sprawled, then grew larger and longer. His forearms became too big for his vestments, and they burst the clothing. When the skin was exposed, it wasn't pink flesh but brown fur. Thick, long…like that of a boar. In the next instant, the rest of his arms and chest burst out of the clothing as well. His legs stretched to the point that his shoes and stockings were thrown off. They were no longer legs of a man, but more like a wolf. The same brown fur covered them, as well. A bushy tail pushed through the seat of his breeches.
When I thought it was over, his face began to alter its shape. I had the best view of everyone present, aside from the woman responsible for this change. The fur appeared, first; then horns emerged. Large teeth and tusks grew from the muzzle that materialized, and, at the same time, his hands and feet became claws. The hair on his head grew to resemble a lion's mane.
Finally, there was nothing recognizable left of him. Torn breeches, no shirt, no shoes. He was dropped to the ground, and he took a moment to curl into himself and breathe. Slowly, he inspected his new limbs, feeling around his body. He let out a miserable, inhuman howl.
The glowing subsided; but then the enchantress threw her arms to the air and a more brilliant flash of light blinded all of us in the room.
That was the last thing I remember, as a human.
When I was brought back to this world, I felt…odd. Stiff. Hollow. I sat up and was shocked.
I was surrounded by things. Things. Not people. Not one living soul. The beast that I had witnessed the prince morph into was nowhere to be seen. Then, one of the things popped up. I tried to scream, but I had no voice. I put a hand to my throat, but it was not a hand that found its way into my view. It was…a wooden knob of some kind. Moving like an arm, but very much not so.
The woman…enchantress…witch that had magicked this chaos was gone. I couldn't see the beastly prince, either. Just…furniture…knick-knacks…tools…a roomful of objects. And now, they were all starting to move. A bookshelf that was flat on its back sat up. Bent at its center. A duster sprang to life and moved across the floor on its feathers. A mantle clock groaned and placed a brass decoration to its face.
We came together and slowly grappled with what we were.
A teapot, a wardrobe, a candelabrum, a broom, an ottoman… all in the places of Mrs. Potts, Madame de la Grande Bouche, Lumiere, Sergei, and even Chanceux, the chef's puppy. And the chef himself? Monsieur Sorel was now the stove. Trapped against the wall in his kitchen. Monsieur Lorraine, the groundskeeper, was a rake.
I was a coat stand. Or a hat rack. Un porte-chapeau, as I had heard it referred to. A thin, inconsequential piece of furniture that I had never used; yet, I had walked by it countless times. Now, I was trapped within the wood. I could see, which was odd because, when I looked at myself within a large mirror on the wall, I had no face. Just a large, wooden sphere. Four "arms" sprouted from the central beam where my neck should have been. And, to replace my feet, four curved, short pieces that were my only means for traversing the floor.
A castle full of objects, without a person in sight.
That made us all wonder. What would become of us, once a peasant or farmer stumbled across the seemingly abandoned castle?
Unbeknownst to us, at the time, our seclusion was ensured by the very man who had damned us to this new existence. We found out why, within the next few weeks.
Our master, the prince, ran from the palace after his transformation. Our transformation. As his servants lay on the cold marble floor, he'd attempted to pursue the enchantress. His first instinct was to kill her, followed by a more logical solution: reason with her. Offer her anything, everything, to take back her spell. But, as he ran into the darkness of night, there was not a single trace of her to track.
In the weeks that followed, he'd terrorized the surrounding villages. He preyed upon anyone foolish enough to leave the safety of the public square at night. Mangled bodies and horrified faces of corpses were found by search parties. There were a few sightings of a truly terrifying monster that darted between the trees and hid in the shadows. The beast did not eat the flesh of the human men it killed, as far as anyone could tell. Deer carcasses and skeletal remains of boar were littered across the countryside. And there were…other terrible occurrences, too. The beast stalked young women to satisfy a perverse sexual appetite.
Eventually, hunters were dispatched to kill the beast. They successfully tracked him back to the outskirts of the castle. No correspondence had been received from the royal household in months, and supply runs that regularly delivered goods never returned from their errands. With a bloodthirsty creature taking up domain within the royal palace, the worst was assumed. The beast had killed them all, too.
The hunters mounted wave after wave of attack, but none of them returned to their homes. Mothers lost their proud sons. Children lost their brave fathers.
The local villages offered meats and foods to what they could only assume was a demon. No one ventured out alone, at night, and no hunters stalked the impossible prey. And, with those changes in place, an odd truce was created between the humans and the monster in the woods. There was no more violence between the warring parties.
This all happened as we, the lowly servants of His Royal Highness, laid as forgotten trinkets on the castle grounds. We slept, gathering dust, while our former friends, families, and neighbors suffered at the unmerciful hands of our beastly prince.
Lumiere, the royal maître d', and Cogsworth stood to represent the lot of us. I was unable to speak, and I was not the only one who was now mute. No visible eyes, but I could see. No visible ears, but I could hear. No traditional arms or legs, but I could amble around the palatial estate and grounds.
I often found myself trying to disappear into the corners of rooms, where a hat rack would normally be found. Not every object in the castle entombed a human soul. Some things were as they always had been. The library was my favorite room to spend the seemingly endless days. My purpose was gone. The horses had vanished; rather… I hoped that they vanished. My prayer is that they found better homes. I try not to think of the dangers they'd have to pass. The wolves in the forests. The beast in the castle.
Even back when I was still a groom, I always enjoyed perusing the library's vast collection of titles. I'm fairly certain that, had my liege been more interested in the stories and information that the room had to offer, I would have been barred from borrowing books. But no one seemed to mind my wandering the grounds with a novel in my hand. I treated each one with great care and respect, as if they were living things like the horses I tended. And I never borrowed more than one at a time.
Now, with nothing else to do, I would spend hours upon hours in the corners of the library.
Our bodies, all of us that had been transformed into objects, were still dependent upon sleep. Without stomachs, none of us ever felt the torment of hunger or thirst. But we did need to sleep. Beds were unnecessary, and, as a twist in expectation, no one had actually transformed into a bed. We generally slept where we were. Eventually, we all found our favorite nooks of the castle to hide away and rest. The library was mine.
On one such occasion, while I read a swashbuckling tale, I heard clanging coming toward my location. I recognized the metallic sounds immediately, placed the book down on a nearby table that was unenchanted, and I froze in the shadows. Insignificant.
"Here?" I heard Lumiere whisper.
"Yes," Cogsworth replied in his thick English accent. "This should be fine. The master never comes to this part of the castle."
I could not see either of them. There were probably several large bookcases between us, if they were in the sitting area in the library's center.
"Should we check the room, just in case?"
"I don't care who else hears, at this point. I simply don't want to be overheard by the master."
"Very well," the Frenchman said in his usual blasé tone. "Ten years for the rose to bloom, yes? And any clue as to what happens to us, if the master cannot break the spell? Do we all remain like this forever?!"
"No one knows. I'm not sure it would be wise to wait it out. I'd rather put this unpleasant chapter of our lives behind us as soon as possible."
"It's already been two years. What's changed? The prince is as – " there was a short pause in which I strained to hear the muted word – "unyielding as ever. What can we do?"
"I think it's obvious," the Englishman stepped on his co-conspirator's words, "that we must bring a girl here. We can exert some influence, I think, if we can make our master understand the grave importance of wooing a young lady for the purposes of breaking the spell."
"Wooing? Come, Cogsworth! You can't be serious! Have you seen him? He terrifies me! And I remember him as a human! And how are we to bring some poor girl to the castle?"
"I don't know every detail, yet, Lumiere! What I'm asking is for you to help me with the master!" There was another pause, this one much longer. "When the opportunity presents itself, we need to be bold. We cannot stand by, as we once did. Can I count on you to give counsel to His Majesty?"
"Of course, of course."
The conversation ended as quickly as it began. Both the clock and the candelabrum left the space and left me in a befuddled state.
How on earth do they intend to coax a young woman to come to this fearful place?
Everything about the castle was dark. The rooms, the décor, the grounds, the forests that surrounded us all. The prince and his frivolous demands were only a very small part of our lives. Day in and day out, it was hardly a nightmare. The enchantress changed our home to a prison. We were ghosts haunting a magnificent castle.
No one could possibly see it differently.
I'm not sure what transpired in the weeks after Lumiere and Cogsworth's tête-à-tête, but I remember hearing screams coming from the foyer.
I was in the library, at the time, and I crept toward the bannister that overlooked the entry. Looking around myself, I saw others had a similar thought. None of us were prepared to witness the scene that unfolded below.
A beautiful maiden with golden locks and a lithe figure was being dragged by our prince. She pulled away, begging to be let go, screaming for help, scratching at the hand that held her in an unrelenting grip.
"Please! Please! I want to go back! My fiancé is expecting me! Phillipe will come for me! Please, just let me go! I want to go home!"
The beast stopped, then, and spun around to tower over the hysterical girl.
"THIS IS YOUR HOME, NOW!"
He continued to drag her away from our sight. Toward the dungeons.
"Phillipe, my love, will come for me!" Pitiful sobs.
"You'll learn to love me, instead," came a low growl.
I found out later, from Mrs. Potts, that her name was Aurelie. She was, indeed, waiting on her fiancé in a clearing outside the safety of her village's walls. It was only twilight, when the beast pounced upon her. Now, she was wailing in one of the dungeon cells, given some additional comforts like clothing and bedding. The master forbade anyone from seeing her. He, alone, visited her, brought her food, kept her company.
Aurelie remained in the castle for less than a month. She refused to eat, I heard. And then she was forced to eat by our cruel master. She was forced to…do other things, as well. He didn't love her. He didn't even try. And she certainly would never love him.
I'm not certain of what he did with her. But I know that she was never to be reunited with her Phillipe.
More days in the library. Stories galore to transport me away from the purgatory I found myself in. And, soon enough, my solitude was interrupted by yet another secretive meeting.
"Are we safe to talk in here? Are you sure of it?" That was Mrs. Potts' voice. Our cheery matron who was the head housekeeper. No other voices, yet. "What on earth happened to that poor girl?"
"Trust me, madam," Cogsworth spoke up to answer, "when I say that you are better off not knowing. Now, what do we do? That was a disaster!"
"YOU were the one who suggested the master bring a girl here!" Lumiere sounded especially angry. I remained in my corner, silent and listening. "He ran off completely unprepared, with no idea what to do with her!"
"DON'T BLAME ME, you…you…you shabby, philandering WAX HEAD! IT WAS YOUR JOB-"
"Quiet!" Mrs. Potts hissed. "This is no time to argue! We need to think of a way out of this mess!"
A long pause. I imagined the candelabrum and clock staring each other down. How odd.
"Alright, alright," conceded Lumiere. "The master did take some of what we said to heart. He acted impetuously, but there is some hope there."
"True," Cogsworth agreed. "We need him to act more…civilized. Like a gentleman. Where do we start?"
"Pfft," Lumiere scoffed, speaking even lower. "How about nine years ago? Back when he began to show his true colors!"
"The master could hardly help it, Lumiere," Mrs. Potts.
"SHHHHHHHHH! He might hear you!" That was Cogsworth, with a panicked hiss.
Silence. Waiting. Probably worrying.
"We need a plan," Lumiere spoke calmer than before. "We can't just give up, after one failed attempt."
"Failed attempt?" Mrs. Potts sounded incredulous. "A young woman died. We can't allow him to bring another girl here, knowing the danger she'd be in!"
"And we can't sacrifice the lives of everyone in this castle without doing everything in our power to help him break this curse!" Cogsworth was clearly ready to wage the moral battle with Mrs. Potts. I shuddered, in my corner. I didn't want to doom another girl to death, but I also feared what I had been told the sorceress said…right before my ill-timed reentry into the castle.
"You, O Prince, are a wretched, selfish soul. You hold no love in your heart, and you act as wanton and savage as an animal. And an animal you shall be - a hideous beast! - to mirror the ugliness within you. My rose is your hourglass. It shall mark the length of my spell. If you can win the love of another, humbling yourself to love her in return, by the time the last petal falls, the curse will be lifted. If not, you shall remain a beast for the rest of your wasted life!"
It was vague, really. His fate was clear enough: he would be a beast. But what about us? Would our punishment end with his death? Would we transform at the rose's demise? Or were we to be inextricably tied to our master's curse, long after the flower wilted?
"If we're truly intending to make some headway," Mrs. Potts' matronly voice broke through my thoughts, "the first thing we must do is work on his manners."
"Like asking a horse to walk on two legs," muttered the candelabrum.
"We'd better hope that it's simpler than that," Mrs. Potts snapped back. "And we need to start immediately, if we hope to be human, again."
"I agree." That was Cogsworth. "Time is of the essence! We're ready to work together, then? Providing support, when the master lashes out, so that we can help soften him?"
There were grunts and sounds of affirmation, and I reflected upon their conversation long after they had vacated the library.
How can they hope to change the prince's ways? His soul is probably rotting within his body.
There were other girls. Eloise, Lisette, Celeste, Marguerite… names that I had no faces for. Names that I forced myself to repeat, so that I would remember them. Whispers around the castle. Nothing overt enough to be found out by our monstrous master. Some of the ladies lasted weeks, some months. None returned home. None left the dungeons.
It was hopeless.
Everyone in the castle felt a new kind of sadness. A weight on our shoulders from the death of innocents and the inevitability of escaping our punishment. And the alteration in mood brought about new insight.
As time wore on, we noticed changes. Small, at first. I was actually one of the first to see it happen, although I didn't know it, in the moment. A rake, lying in the middle of the overgrown grass. I could see it outside one of the library's many windows.
Monsieur Lorraine…
The groundskeeper. But, no longer an animated rake. Now, just…normal? Lying there as if abandoned by his human self long ago.
And where was the man? Where was the soul trapped within wood and metal? Nowhere to be found.
It mystified everyone in the castle.
And, as unsolved mysteries often do, the mystery evolved into terror.
One by one, more were inexplicably just…gone. Our sommelier, a once-wiry middle-aged man named Charles, leaning against one of the walls in the pantry in his silver platter form. Unresponsive. One of the other groomsmen, Robert, ten years my senior, turned into a stool and then becoming one completely. A maid, a sweet redhead named Caroline, found in her room, but no longer a speaking vanity. The objects, once people, were dormant. As if someone had blown away the last shred of their humanity.
We felt the changes within ourselves. The stiffening of limbs, from thick flesh to coarse wood. The addition of details and artisan craftsmanship to our enchanted forms. Dust collecting from our lack of movement. Difficulty maneuvering around the castle as easily as we had been used to doing.
The horror sank in: as we lost our hope, we lost ourselves.
The master would remain a beast, and he would be surrounded by a mansion full of useless things.
It was depressing, but it gave us the final push we needed, coming from a place of pure desperation, to finally speak frankly to our prince. Those of us who could speak, anyway.
Somewhat surprisingly, he'd lost hope, too. He retreated further into the West Wing, his sanctuary that we were forbidden to venture into.
Years of nothingness. No kidnappings, no killings, no contact with anyone outside the boundaries of our curse. We assumed the world around us had left us for dead.
Hope found us, as luck would have it. It came in the form of a man. An older man. White hair surrounding a bald crown, a bushy mustache to match, kind eyes, a bulbous nose, and a stout frame.
His name was Maurice, and he came to our gate fleeing the hungry wolves in the woods.
I can't explain how it felt, to have someone in the castle that was human. We all clamored to be around him. For me, personally, he reminded me of my father. For all of us, he reminded us of what we'd lost. He was nervous, of course, to be surrounded by magically-moving objects, but he allowed himself to be waited upon. I placed a blanket over him, as he sat in the master's favorite chair, warming himself by the fire.
"What service!" he'd actually said to me.
We should've known the master of the castle would ruin everything. He stalked through the shadows, scaring the poor older man almost to death. One small request: to be granted refuge during the fierce snowstorm. And the beast punished our hospitality and Maurice's trespassing with life imprisonment in a cold, dank, dark dungeon.
Two days after that, our savior arrived.
A petite young woman, fair-skinned and doe-eyed. Appropriately named or perhaps given the pet name of "Belle."
I witnessed her enter the castle with nervous calls for her missing papa. She tiptoed at first, aware that her shoes would clack on the marble floor. But she became bolder with each step, creeping further into the darkness. I admired her bravery. Surely she knew the rumors of what guarded this forgotten palace. Carefully, she made her way through the foyer, taking longer strides, once she was on the thick red carpeting.
She passed by me, in her simple blue and white peasant dress and navy hooded cloak. I stood completely still, and, as I was of no use or consequence to her, she paid me no heed. I saw a light appear at the end of a corridor – it had to be Lumiere. She saw it, too, and followed the sign of life out of the grand entryway and toward the dungeons. Toward her father.
I didn't dare follow. She would find her father, and then the beast would find her. I shuddered, at the time, to think of what would happen to the innocent family.
Later, Lumiere shared the events that followed. Belle was reunited with her father, for only a few minutes. Worried for his health, the dutiful daughter refused to leave his side until she could figure out a way to free him from the cell. When the master appeared, he pretended to consider Belle's valiant offer to take her ailing father's place. She demanded to see who would be holding her prisoner, and she was properly frightened by the enormous monster that stepped into the moonlight. The agreement made, Maurice was promptly released and sent back to his hometown, screaming for his daughter the entire time. Belle collapsed into tears. Lumiere, in the meantime, convinced our prince to bring this girl to one of the many vacant rooms of the castle. And, realizing that this could be his last chance, His Majesty obeyed the counselor. Belle was escorted to what we referred to as La Chambre Rosé.
I saw her later in the evening. It was a bit odd, but, as I slept in the entryway, there was suddenly a great commotion nearby. Clattering objects moving from various locations in the castle toward the kitchen and grand dining room. Knowing that someone was coordinating the movement and curious to find out why I was not included in the plans, I crept toward the dining hall to investigate. Belle was waiting patiently at the head of the table. The master's former seat.
When she'd first arrived in the castle, the darkness and her cloak had mostly hidden her from view. I watched her smile and clap her hands, occasionally using dainty fingers to lift gourmet foods to her lips. Her hair shone like silky chocolate, in the candlelight. Lumiere spared nothing in entertaining the master's newest prisoner.
That very night, after a confrontation with the beast in the West Wing, Belle fled the castle, into the wolf-infested woods. Miraculously, the prince swooped in to rescue her at the last possible moment. I think her heart softened toward him, in that moment, as she assumed that he was risking his life for hers. She couldn't be more wrong.
He was easily the size of four or five of the largest wolves, and several times deadlier. Larger claws, teeth, stronger jaws, legs, thicker skin. Unless the pack exceeded a dozen of the wild animals, he was in no real danger. But, apparently, he had her fooled. She helped him limp through the door, then cleaned his one significant wound: a bite on his forearm.
Around the estate, more of us were clinging to our humanity. Struggling to remain aware and present within our enchanted world. We placed our hope in our selfish prince, even as we felt the magic bound to us begin to fade. There was no need to see the rose to know that our time was drawing to a close.
Henriette, a cook in the chef's kitchen, transformed into a brass bar cart, no longer responded to being called.
Maestro Cadenza, the royal composer, merged with the pianoforte he loved so dearly, now sat in the empty ballroom, losing himself in loneliness.
Babette, a perky maid, changed into a feathery duster, stiffening and unable to move as anything more than an object.
To the prince's credit, he was finally trying. Lumiere and Cogsworth whispered advice in his ear, and he eagerly complied with the suggestions. He gifted Belle his library…. my library… my safe haven within this storm. The home I'd made for myself now had to be shared.
I had no idea the girl was such an avid reader. I froze when she entered, every time, watching and staying out of her way. Admittedly, I noted her reads. She seemed to prefer books about adventure. Those stories were old friends of mine, as well, as I sought to imagine life beyond the reaches of this horrid spell. Perhaps we had that in common. Both prisoners.
Before long, the beast had to disrupt our solitude, as well. He needed to remind Belle of his presence. Perhaps he was nudged into doing so.
I wish there would have been others nearby to witness the absurdity of what I listened to.
He was pretending to be illiterate. Imagine, the prince of a country, raised with wealth in both coin and knowledge, never learning how to read! Absurd! And yet, again, Belle drew closer to the façade, believing the beast to be genuine. She worked with him slowly, sounding out words, and praising every effort.
I stopped returning to the library for a while.
And just as I felt myself, my warped body, begin to stiffen and my consciousness to dwindle, I was approached by Cogsworth.
"You, there!" he stormed up to me with his arrogant attitude. "Who are you? What did you do… you know… before?"
I cannot speak. I was close to a window, so I walked myself over to it and pointed toward the stables. I heard the wooden steps behind me.
"What are you pointing at? I can't see out the window! What, were you a gardener?"
I shake my head. Rather, I shake the huge wooden ball that is the closest thing I have to a head.
"A stable boy?"
I nod.
"Perfect! Even better!" He stops, then, and considers something. "Do you have experience grooming the horses?"
I nod, again. That was my favorite part of the job.
"Come with me!" he excitedly orders. And I obey.
The clock-man leads me to where our prince currently resides. He used to live within the West Wing, but after the sorceress damned him, he destroyed most of it in a fit of rage. Portraits he'd commissioned were shredded. Furniture he'd hand-picked for his salon, broken to bits. Torn curtains strewn around the room. I've heard the enchanted rose is in that part of the castle, somewhere, but I would never venture those halls to see it for myself.
I am surprised to find His Majesty in his quarters. He's sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of pants that were made for his wild body. He looks…nervous? Definitely impatient.
"Who's this?" he gruffly asks his majordomo.
"One of our grooms, sire," Cogsworth respectfully answers. He turns to me. "Are you… Jacques?"
No.
"Robert?"
No.
"Um… oh, let me think." I inwardly sigh, as he ponders. I doubt he's ever spoken more than a dozen words to me, when we were both human. "Um… hmm…"
"I DON'T CARE!" the beast shouts at us, and we both jump. "What is he doing here?!"
"Please, your majesty," Cogsworth pleads, trying to calm down our irrational monarch. "I brought him to you so that he could…clean you up a bit. For your dinner, tonight."
"A groom?" the beastly prince growls skeptically, eyeing my enchanted form.
"Yes, your majesty, a groom. Because…" he dwindles off, and I can tell he won't admit his reasons for calling me to the prince. I already know.
"Because I'm more of an animal than a man," the prince mutters, staring into unclaimed space within the room. He's more intelligent than I give him credit for, I suppose.
"On the outside, only, sir," Cogsworth gently placates him.
Both give me nods of assent, and I set about grooming the chimera before me. The problem is, I've only ever bathed and dressed horses. I know nothing of how to accomplish the daunting task before me. While I work, bathing the fur and brushing out the mane, Lumiere and Cogsworth are both present and encouraging the prince.
As the bath concludes, Cogsworth leaves to check on Belle and coordinate last-minute details for the magical evening ahead. Lumiere continues his onslaught of romantic advice.
"You must be bold! Daring!"
"Bold! DARING!" the beast repeats dutifully, shaking out the water from his fur. He steps out of the tub and obediently walks over to me, where I wait with a towel. I am amazing to finally hear our prince being so compliant with his advisors. He must truly be desperate to end this curse. Aren't we all?
"…and, when the moment is right," Lumiere orders, "you confess your love!"
"Yes," the prince barely whispers to himself. "I con-" I see, then, that he is staring into his own terrifying reflection. "I co-c… no…" he shakes his head and looks down. "I can't."
"You care for the girl, don't you?" Lumiere's voice drips with exasperation.
I continue my chore, trimming fur, taming the mane, and brushing out the matting all over his unnatural body. It is not my business, but I can't help but feel pity for Belle, as I hear the beast hesitate to answer.
"More than anything," he finally responds.
More than anything within this damned life, I scoff within myself.
"Well, then," the talking candelabrum says jovially. "You must tell her!"
I stand back and study my work. "Voila!" I hear the other servant in the room exclaim. "You look so…so…"
"Stupid," the beast finishes.
It's been almost a decade since I've brushed and styled a horse, you arrogant ass!
"Not quite the word I was looking for," Lumiere tactfully replies. "Perhaps a little more off the top?" he asks of me, punctuating the sentence with two quick claps to remind me of my place.
I sigh, inwardly, and I obey, brushing out all of the curls and merely grooming our prince into a cleaner-cut version of his regular, beastly self. I do manage to at least pull back the majority of his unruly mane into a simple blue ribbon. As I do so, Cogsworth enters the room with a loud clearing of his throat.
"Your lady…awaits," he smiles proudly and gestures with a bow to the door.
My work is done. The prince dresses in a newly-tailored suit that fits his monstrously-large body. He smirks into the mirror, half-hopeful and half-disbelieving that the romantic night will end favorably. I am glad, for once, that I have no facial features. Or a voice. I would use detestable language, if I was able, to command him to do his best to be a gentleman. The entire castle depends upon his success at being a decent human being, despite his appearance and manners to suggest otherwise.
I prepare to follow the prince out of the room, but our majordomo halts me.
"You're Stephan, aren't you?" he asks.
I nod the large wooden sphere that acts as my head. It feels strange to hear my name, again. I don't believe anyone's said it in years.
He squints his eyes, appropriately set within the clock face. Appraising me…again.
"You're the reader, the one who is always taking books and returning them." I freeze. "Oh, don't try to deny it, I know everything that happens in this castle, it's my job." I shrug the six wooden coat hooks that act as my arms. "You play an instrument, do you not? Aren't you the one that plays violin?"
I shrug, again.
"Oh, don't be so modest! I don't need Vivaldi, I just need someone who can play something pleasant during the master's dinner!"
I've been ignored for so long that I am unprepared to suddenly be needed for anything. And here I am, about to fulfill yet another request.
I nod and make my way to my violin. It's not a fancy instrument. I bought it third-hand from a neighbor of my mother's, before my mother passed away. Before the curse. I used to play in the barn, to ease and entertain the horses and the other grooms. I'm not a great talent, but I should be able to play "something pleasant," as was asked of me.
Retrieving it from where I stashed it in the library, I am reminded of one of my first memories after the curse befell us. I ran, as well as I could in my new form, to the stables, to check on the horses. When I arrived, there wasn't a trace of any animal. No blood, no hair… not even mouse droppings. I did find my violin, still untouched in its shabby case, in the empty stall where I'd left it.
Once back inside, I am hurried to the main dining room, where Belle and Adam are both seated. They wait for dinner to be served, and I quietly begin to play in my corner. Just warming up through my scales. I don't play loudly. Belle hears the strings and gives me a small smile of encouragement.
Halfway through their supper, I am feeling more like myself than I have in years. My limbs move with ease, holding my instrument and sliding the bow back and forth. My body is flexible and bends as if I am flesh and not wood. I play closer to the table, adding more dynamics and bowing to Belle, when she turns to watch me.
She is suddenly inspired and leaps from her seat in the weighty ballgown. Her sable curls bounce with her steps toward the beast.
"Dance with me!" She's smiling, and, for once, it appears she's caught our prince completely off his guard.
"Oh," he sputters out. "No, uh, I-"
"Dance with her!" both Lumiere and Cogsworth desperately order, speaking low enough to be overlooked and loud enough for His Majesty to hear.
The beast does stand, taking the beautiful woman's hand and escorting her to the adjoining ballroom.
In our human years, I heard and saw our prince's grand balls. Lavish, unnecessary, and a strain on the kingdom's resources. Only the most beautiful, young noblewomen were permitted to attend. At first, they flocked from the furthest reaches of the land, their fathers eager to encourage their entry to court. Perhaps to be mistresses of the prince who would, eventually, mature into the king he was meant to be. But each ball was a fruitless endeavor. The fathers withheld their daughters, until the numbers dwindled.
Balls for only a dozen people…or less.
I follow the mismatched couple onto the dance floor, still playing. But, when I reach the room, I receive a stern look from the pianoforte. Maestro Cadenza was rejuvenated by the activity, too, it seems. He huffs and plays a rich chord. It was rather effective at silencing me. And so, I fade into the background, watching as our lord and monster, the man who held our lives within his frightening paws, feigns inexperience with a simple waltz.
Again, Belle gently led the beast through the desired behavior. His animal hand to her waist, his other paw encasing hers. She didn't seem to notice how quickly he went from novice to professional, twirling her with ease across the gleaming floor.
When the two lovers walk toward the balcony, I bow out. I go to the library, trying to ignore how stiff I suddenly feel and finding a place to retire for the night.
I heard about the unhappy outcome the next morning.
The beast never did confess his love for her. For whatever reason, he fell back into a hopeless state, sure that Belle could never love him because of his appearance. As if his demonic exterior held a candle to the terror that lie within! She begged to leave the castle, in order to check on her ailing father. He acquiesced.
And, in the next hour, she'd ridden away on a horse that I had never seen before. Where it came from, I cannot say. Lumiere, Babette, Mrs. Potts, and Cogsworth all witnessed Belle abscond into the night.
Selfish. That was the only word that rang throughout my hollowing head. Selfish, ungrateful, damnable brat! His is not the only fate that rests on his shoulders! We are doomed because of our thoughtless prince!
There was little time to mull over the beast's despicable decision, as our home came under attack the very next night. It was impossible to not hear the growing chants and cries of outrage, as a swarm of village men invaded the grounds. One of them, clearly the self-appointed leader, a rather handsome man, shouted orders above the rest.
"THIS IS IT, MEN! FOR OUR MURDERED FATHERS, FOR OUR WIVES AND CHILDREN, FOR OUR VERY LIVELIHOODS, LET US CONQUER THIS BEAST ONCE AND FOR ALL!"
The large doors of the entryway shake from pressure hit against them from the outside. A battering ram. Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth report back from our master: we are not to resist.
Like hell, will we allow ourselves to fall victims to that final injustice.
Lumiere stands tall and begins to bark orders to make our last stand. To defend our home, while our "master" sulks within the West Wing.
I found myself thrust into the strangest battle this world has ever seen. Furniture assailing people armed with pitchforks and other farm tools. I saw Lumiere come to Babette's rescue, as one of the leader's henchmen pulled out her feathers. The candelabrum man used his flames to light the offender's trousers on fire. Later, Madame de la Grande Bouche actually crushed a man, falling from the floor above to land upon him. When Lumiere was cornered by a man with a torch, Cogsworth, with a frenzied yell, slid to his aid and stabbed the dope with a pair of shears. Fortunately for the poor fool, the scissors being thrust by a mantle clock did not create a fatal wound.
The leader of the mob was hardly fazed by the odd sights around him. He climbed over objects, furniture, even bodies, to make his way through the castle. I saw him ascend the grand staircase, and I wondered if our prince would really allow the black-haired hunter to end his torment.
I remain in the fight, using my six wooden arms to punch any villager that I can reach.
Before long, the battle ends. The villagers run from the castle…limping, howling, crying to get away from the demons that dwell within. A great celebratory shout resounds inside, and I join in the fun. We had prevailed.
Yet, even in our moment of triumph, an ominous mood began to settle among us. It was sly, like an invisible fog, seeping through our ranks. We felt little changes. No one leapt into the air; we stayed planted to the floor. Our pieces became inflexible, not allowing for us to move as freely as we'd been able to before.
It was similar to falling asleep, where your limbs become heavy…your mouth and brows twitch and then still…your eyelids are almost pulled shut by an other-worldly force.
Curiosity gives way to confusion. What is happening? Confusion gives way to panic. WHAT IS THIS? IS THIS OUR END?! And the panic finally subsides to horrific understanding. The rose…
There was no time for reflection or to ponder where our souls were headed. Those that had eyes looked upon one another with love and regret. Those who had mouths forced sad smiles. I had neither. My body stiffened, my senses failed, and I was enveloped in darkness.
And then, I was gone. I was a candle that had its flame extinguished, but, instead of my soul rising as the leftover smoke, there was nothing. One puff, and it was if I had never existed. No body to bury, no soul to pray over.
Just a hat rack. Or, a coat rack. Un porte-chapeau. Plain, wooden, and insignificant.
I am pulled once more, forcefully and saturated in magic. I feel slow, again, like I did ten years ago. Cooled molasses. My body hums and I feel like I am stretching like taffy. There's no pain, but the sensation is…strange. I watch as objects around me glow and then take on human bodies. It is eternity in an instant. Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, Cogsworth, Babette…they're all themselves, again. Which means…
My hands fly to my face, and I note that they are the hands of a person, as they feel around for my features. I run to the nearest mirror and I see myself. Somewhat. I am older. I was fifteen, at the time of the enchantment. I am older, taller, and, if I may boast, rather strapping. I admire my square jaw, shaded by dark brown hair that I could grow into a manly beard. My eyes are wizened, most likely from the horror of what I've experienced. I have to be at least a full hand taller than I was, and my body has filled out considerably. I like what I see and, most of all, I rejoice that I am human again.
The palace is no longer decorated with gloomy colors and dark gargoyles. The enchantments have melted away to reveal the beauty and luxury hidden beneath the witch's curse.
What I missed, what we all missed, was Belle returning to the castle to warn the beast. As the hunter pounced upon him, Belle called out to her love, desperate to stop the confrontation. The village leader was ultimately no match for the monster, and Prince Adam quickly threw him to his death. Belle must have only barely winced at the brutality, before declaring her love for the wounded prince.
I did not witness the enchantress' spell undone, but I assume it was a sight to behold. I only saw the prince, now human and smiling, escorting Belle, his beloved prisoner, down the steps of the main hall.
A happy ending, it would seem.
Maurice, Belle's father, was invited to live in the palace. When he arrived, he was a breath of fresh air. He jovially went around to every servant, asking us who we were and if he knew us in our enchanted states. I revealed that I was the hat rack that had given him a blanket for warmth. His eyes lit up with genuine appreciation and recollection.
"Of course I remember you!" he warmly addresses me. "You wore a top hat, and I complimented your service! Thank you, again, for helping an old man in need."
I wish he was my father. He coughs, then, and one of the maids rushes to bring him a glass of water. I let the moment go and return to the stables.
With the prince no longer under the weight of the curse, he immediately set about putting his servants and court to work restoring the castle to its original glory. I went with Robert, Claude, and my cousin, Jacques, to purchase a dozen horses for His Majesty's stables. Everywhere we went, we were made to feel uncomfortable. No one rejoiced at the return of the prince regent. As for the rest of the castle inhabitants…we were little more than ghosts. We'd been mourned. Ten years is a long time.
Back to being a handsome prince, His Majesty immediately set out to honor his savior, Belle, with a grand ball.
The celebration was well-received, enough. All of the court members traveled to be in attendance. Familiar nobility and their servants, along with younger, unknown faces. The next morning, the attitude changed drastically.
Prince Adam, convinced that his trials had matured and honed his skills as a ruler, insisted that the council relinquish its powers over the kingdom and grant him the kingship he had long avoided. For too long, the country had lived and prospered without us. The beast, while not being immediately connected with their sovereign, had plagued their lands, but they had moved on from those terrors. Once, however, it was leaked that the prince and the beast were one and the same, the stirrings of unrest began to grow at a rapid pace.
We heard mutterings. This and that, from wary and mistrusting villagers. They didn't trust us enough to include us in their conversations, but we saw the signs well in advance.
And, yet, things continued in the day-to-day dealings of the castle. We did our jobs. We did what we did best, unfortunately: we kept silent.
Belle was unhappy, now that Prince Adam was back to his selfish, self-indulgent ways. He wanted her with him, but he didn't care to woo or entertain her. Now back in his human body, he was the confident, educated, charming man he'd been ten years ago. He was a man that Belle didn't know. He transformed back into a man, but he still had the heart of a beast.
Maurice took a sudden turn for the worse. His innocent little coughs never subsided, but we couldn't have anticipated him becoming bedridden in the first few months of being in the castle. The royal physician, Dr. Guillotin, no longer a wooden stethoscope, did his best to treat the older man's condition, but the pneumonia eventually overtook poor Maurice. Belle mourned her father, of course, and promptly sank into even deeper desolation.
With the prince occupied with restoring himself to the throne, the stables were left in peace. I played for the horses. I spent day after happy day training, grooming, and cleaning. It was easy, then, to make my way back to another sanctuary of mine.
I never stayed in the library for more than the few minutes it took me to pick out a novel. Not when I was human, anyway. As a useless hat rack, I remained there for the majority of that miserable time, because I held no purpose. Now human again, I quietly returned to the room to find some reading material to read on one of the lawns.
As soon as I enter, I regret my decision.
Belle sits in the large, red, wingback chair, her legs curled underneath her simple lilac dress. She has a book in her hands, but she looks up as soon as I open the door. Her expression is one of fear, before seeing that I am not whom she'd been expecting. She sighs and smiles, at my entrance.
"Hello, there," she greets me warmly, and my plans to back away and leave her in peace would now be seen as rude. I don't want to be rude. She's been through enough.
I move further into the room, leaving the door open, so that there will be no improper accusations.
"Hello, miss," I nod politely. Then, I go about my business. I walk to my favorite section, determined to find something quickly. Anything will do, even a book I've read multiple times. I'll just grab one and leave.
Amadís de Gaula, Le Voyage des princes fortunes, Les Avantures de Floride…yes, that will do…
"You like adventure?" I hear a soft voice ask.
I grab the novel from its nook and turn to answer her with deference.
"I do, miss," I say, as I give a slight bow. How do I excuse myself without offending her?
"Are you one of the grooms?"
"I am, my lady," I nod. I wish I could use my job as an excuse, but I doubt I could convince her that I have somewhere pressing to be, when I am scanning books in the royal library.
"Please, call me by my name. I'm Belle. Mrs. Potts refuses to use anything more than pet names. 'Sweetheart', 'my dear', 'child'…it's like she pities me. And everyone else calls me 'miss' or 'lady' or something equally dreadful. I'm not the prince's wife. I'm no one," she finishes sadly.
"Miss…Belle," I obey reluctantly, "I am sorry to disturb you, here. With your permission, I'll take my selection and return to the stables."
"You don't need my permission," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "What is your name, then, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I'm Stephan." I give a light bow, but I refuse to use her proper name, again. I go to leave, and she doesn't stop me, thankfully, but something halts me at the door. I look over my shoulder. She's looking at me with such sad hopefulness. I bite the inside of my cheek. This is a terrible idea… "If you tire of reading and the indoors, you might take one of the horses out for a jaunt on the grounds."
I leave without waiting for a response. I planted a seed, terrible idea, and now there's nothing left to do but wait for the lady to make up her own mind.
The very next day, she is at the stables.
I am an imbecile. And I'm inviting trouble.
The beast…rather, Prince Adam, that is, is not particularly possessive of or interested in Belle. He allows her to remain in the palace, mostly because she has nowhere else to go. Her village home burned down on the night that she returned to the castle. I doubt that he cares enough for her to become jealous, but I don't wish to test that assumption.
Weeks pass. There's unrest outside the boundaries of the castle grounds and complacency for those residing within.
Prince Adam has levied heavy taxes on the population, in order to reconstruct the wing of the castle that he destroyed. He sends and receives correspondence frequently, although he never seems pleased with whatever his council members have to say. His moods swing dangerously. I am thankful that he's too busy for horseback riding. Occasionally, he takes a carriage to visit one of the nobles, but the coachman keeps the animals safe from His Majesty's foul tempers. When he's in the castle, every single thing is at the mercy of his whims. He takes meals at odd hours, berates the staff, receives concubines, and argues with his once-trusted advisors.
Belle is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever seen or heard of, but our prince ignores her. Either he tired of her, pursued her and failed, or despises her for reminding him of what he needed to accomplish to rid himself of the curse.
But he won't let her leave.
One day, she comes down to the stables, while I'm playing the violin. I have my back to the entrance, and I don't hear her approach. When I turn to face another stall, I see her out of the corner of my eye. I stop immediately, of course, and bow in her direction.
She has on a pale, yellow dress. It compliments her silky hair and her eyes that so perfectly match her curls.
"Would you like to take Phillipe out, Miss…Belle?" It's the horse she rode to the castle. The only thing left from her home and former life. He's a handsome, well-behaved Belgian.
"I think I'd like to take Alabaster out, today," she says. I turn to place my violin on a stool and prepare the younger white mare for a ride, and Belle continues to speak. "Are you - rather, were you - um, the hat rack who played violin?"
"I was," I flatly respond, without stopping or looking over at her.
"You're quite good," she compliments me.
I'm not, actually. I'm an amateur, at best. "Thank you," I quietly accept her compliment, to make our conversation end more quickly.
There's an uncomfortable pause that I can read too well. She is trying to think of something to say to extend our visit, and I am hoping that I can finish equipping Alabaster before she can prolong our talk.
"Do you think that I'm naïve?" she asks, out of nowhere.
I hesitate. "No," I finally answer. What else can I say?
"He fooled me, in every way," she shares, and there's no need to explain whom she speaks of. "A monstrous-looking beast with a tender heart, terrified that he would be alone forever. I taught him to read and to dance, and I showed him the beauty around him. He gifted me a library as grand as any in the world, and I opened my heart to him."
I'm done with my task, and I am nervous to face her.
"He transformed into a handsome prince," she continues, "just as I've read in fairy tales. But it was more than his appearance that changed. He lied to me about everything. How can a man be so wholly deceitful? Gaston was arrogant, but his character was consistent."
I don't know who Gaston is, nor do I care. I cringe, when I turn to see the young woman with tears in her eyes. She eyes the saddle and I move to help her into it.
"Will you ride with me?"
I cannot. I have been a party to her disparaging the prince's name. I cannot be seen riding around the grounds with her, too. Then, again…
"If you require an escort, a guide, to help you explore an area you've never ridden to, I would be happy to serve you," I heavily hint.
She just smiles and nods, and I help her onto the saddle.
I equip and mount Onyx, a trustworthy black stallion, and lead the way outside. We come upon my cousin and the other two stable hands; all three stop their work to stare at us.
"The lady wishes to traverse the western wood," I call out, as an explanation. It's a viable excuse. That particular wood is dense and more perilous than anywhere else on the grounds. The wolves often hunt there, although I doubt we'll be bothered by them in the daylight.
"I asked for Stephan to escort me," Belle chimes in, matter-of-factly. Her emotionless delivery is convincing, and I'm impressed.
Two of the men look away, but my cousin gives me a subtle smirk. Thankfully, he has the good sense to look down and hide it.
Our ride lasts until the sunset. We bring the horses back to the stable and there's no one inside. I dismount first, then move to help the lady. Onyx waits patiently in place, and, after Belle is safely on foot, I attend to Alabaster. I expect Belle to return to the castle. I don't pay her mind and focus, instead, on the horses. When I come out from the stalls and see her standing there, I cannot suppress my surprise.
"Thank you," she says with sincerity, "for that brief adventure."
"It was my pleasure, my la- um, Belle." I am embarrassed to use her given name.
Weeks pass, and I find myself in her presence more and more frequently. I do not seek her out. I don't necessarily discourage her, either. I see her in the library and at the stables. I'm not sure what gossip circulates around the castle, but I do notice that her mood is much improved. I can't be the only observer.
Cogsworth is waiting outside the library, after one of my visits. He clears his throat to make his presence known, and, when I look over, he gives me a look to display his harsh disapproval.
Another trek to the castle, and I see a pensive Mrs. Potts carrying a tea tray back to the kitchens. She stops, when she sees me. I freeze, anticipating…something from her. But she only frowns and continues her chore.
My cousin continues to give me sly looks, every time Belle comes to the stables.
It's not a fairy tale romance. I'm no prince. Then again, at least I'm not a beast.
Belle is not a princess, although she has every desirable trait that a royal should want to possess.
Another time, another place… perhaps we could have loved one another.
I do my best to be discreet, as does she. This is especially true within the castle. On one occasion, I have only just arrived to the library to see Belle's face light up at my mere entrance. I broadly smile back, but I am passed by a lanky figure.
"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle," Lumiere's smooth voice cuts into the silence of the room. "The master, er – that is, the prince desires your company in the den, s'il vous plaît."
I watch as Belle's expression fades in disappointment, and she slowly rises to follow the former candelabrum out. Lumiere follows, with a pointed look in my direction.
"As you were, garçon d'écurie," he mutters under his breath to me.
A week passes, and I see neither hide nor hair of Belle. She's not in the library. She doesn't visit the stables. Her absence tells me more than I have learned in the months we've spent together.
I'm in love with her.
When I hear whispers around the castle of Prince Adam and Belle's upcoming nuptials, I am in disbelief. I know she doesn't love that monster, but I also cannot plan for a way to confront her.
Again, the mood within the castle is drastically different from what is being gossiped about within the surrounding villages.
I am sent on many an errand, and I think I know why. Someone doesn't want me on the estate. So, I go. And I listen. I pay attention to the whispers in the streets.
Our prince has wrought his cruelty over everyone in the land. Taxes are crippling the towns, and anyone who dares to decry anything about our ruler is executed publicly. Hangings, death by boiling, dismemberment on the breaking wheel… brutality like France had never seen. Surprisingly, I found out that our own Dr. Guillotin had advocated for His Majesty to choose a more humane method to extinguish his foes.
It was widely assumed that the wedding of the prince and Belle was a goodwill gesture to calm the unrest. To balance out His Majesty's viciousness, he would wed the sweetheart of one of the local villages. The woman whom, with her love, had broken a wicked curse over the kingdom.
No one cared about a wedding. The prince's distraction wouldn't quell the bubblings of revolution that stirred.
I listened, I heard, and I knew.
I needed to find Belle.
Back at the stables, I shared what I experienced with my cousin and comrades. Our bond was unique, in a way. Four men that were relegated to living outside the boundaries of the castle's walls, but still held within the sprawling grounds. I knew that I could confide treasonous information, because they held no loyalty to the bratty prince that now strove to be a tyrant.
"There are times I wish the curse had never lifted," Robert, the oldest of us, randomly interjects. We give him curious looks, and he explains further. "I don't remember anything. I was a wooden stool, I stayed in the stables, and soon I was nothing. There was no pain, and no wondering what came next. I ceased to exist. Then, pulled out of the nothingness, I was once more myself. Older, though.
"The worst of it wasn't the curse. Look at the villages and towns around France. They thrived in our absence. They didn't need us!" He looks down at his feet. "The worst was when we came back. Look at His Majesty, now. He's worse as a man than he was as a beast, and that's sayin' something!"
None of us disagree.
"I've also heard chatter about changes on the horizon," Jacques, my older cousin, admits. "Didn't want to say anything to you, Stephan, until I knew you wouldn't rat me out." It's a light jab at how by-the-book I'm known to be. He smiles at me, as he teases. "You need to take your lass and find a new home," he says more solemnly.
"I can't get near her," I unhappily admit. "If I step foot in that castle, I'll have Lumiere or Cogsworth or someone else following my every move."
"How did you and Belle meet, before?"
"Usually we saw each other in the library. I haven't seen her in there since our last meeting. I'm not sure if she's been allowed to leave her quarters without a chaperone or escort, ever since the prince announced their engagement," I finish with a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn't thought about that, until now. She's his prisoner, yet again.
"Then we need a reason to bring her here," Claude pipes up. He's the quietest of our group. But when he speaks, we listen. His words are measured and always purposeful. "Tonight, I will make my way to her chambers. I'll go when most of the castle is fast asleep."
"How will you get her to come with you without suspicion?" I'm surprised that Claude has been concocting a plan this entire time we've spoken.
He looks over his shoulder and nods in the direction of Belle's horse. "Phillipe," he says as he turns his attention back to us. "Snake bite, strangles, fever…something that is a precursor to death. She'll want to say goodbye."
Yes, she would. This is more than I could've hoped for. I had no intention of dragging my friends into my problem, especially when any act would lead to charges of treason. But here they are, risking their lives for my pathetic soul.
"You'll have to leave this same night," Jacques orders. "Be ready, be packed, and flee as soon as you have her." The day is almost at a close. Night will quickly be upon us. "Hey," he calls softly to me, to snap me from my shock, "since the moment she set foot in the castle, she hasn't belonged here. I think she knew that, too. She never wanted a prince."
"No," I smile, "she wanted adventure."
"Then give the lady what she wants," he claps my shoulder. We look to Robert, instinctually, because he hadn't spoken up during this part of our conversation.
He shrugs back at us, "I was gone long before she showed up. Seems sweet enough, I guess. I'll be sleepin' through the night, so pay me a goodbye before I head to bed."
I spend the rest of the twilight hours and then the first hours of torchlight preparing Phillipe to ride. I know Belle would hate to part with him. He's a strong enough horse to carry two riders. We can use the dense forests to move slowly and steadily through and out of France. We'll head southeast, over the mountains and toward countries I've only heard of. We won't stop until I know the beastly prince is far behind us.
At our normal time, we put out the majority of the torches, save for the light we bring to our rooms. I bid farewell to Robert, who gives me a firm handshake and wishes me well. Claude, who normally shares a room with Robert, joins Jacques and I. We stay up as the hours pass, discussing my plan, weighing advice, and remembering our favorite times in the stables.
We know when it is time. The night changes. It becomes eerily quiet, as if nature is holding its breath and waiting for something sinister to disrupt the peace. We three are silent, too. Our torches are unlit, and our eyes gather the light from the half-moon to make out the shapes around us. I am relieved that there is a moon, tonight. Our path through the stables is not as treacherous.
Jacques embraces me and returns to our bedroom, ready to sleep through my transgressions. He and Robert will be able to claim ignorance of the whole ordeal, fast asleep as I crept away with our soon-to-be princess.
Claude nods and heads toward the castle. If he can somehow make it to Belle's chambers without being seen, there is a chance that I can take the blame for the entire plan. I doubt that will happen, but there is hope. For how much I've missed Belle, I am thankful I chose patience over reckless abandon. No one should be expecting this, now that I've been put in my place. If Claude is seen, he may be figuring out an excuse to avoid the gallows.
Phillipe is unusually restless. Horses are my favorite creatures. They know so much of their world. He is waiting for Belle, as am I. I open his stall and he makes his way out. The other horses are mostly asleep, as if they anticipate needing to be ridden in a search party in the morning. I hold Phillipe's reins and wait.
Claude's stealth takes longer than I'd like, but his care is more than worth it. Belle is alone with him, wearing a cloak that will keep her warm for our escape. She sees me and her eyes pull in the moonlight to beam straight at me. As she attempts to run, she is immediately halted by Claude, who clearly doesn't want to invite any more detection than is absolutely necessary.
When she does reach me, Claude releases her arm from his and heads immediately for his room. Alone with Belle, I take one of her hands with my free one, and I whisper.
"Do you understand what is happening, Belle?"
"You're taking me away?" she whispers back. She sounds excited, not fearful.
"Will you come with me?" I ask, and I hold my breath.
"Yes," she smiles.
There is no time for lengthy explanation. There is no time for romantic gestures or passionate kisses. If we can leave the grounds without raising alarm, there will be time for those things on our long journey.
I help her into the saddle, then mount behind her. We don't speak, and Phillipe's hooves make muted clops on the wooden floors of the stable. Outside, his hooves fall first on pebbles then grass. We couldn't be more silent, and I take a deep breath. Two scents fill my head: the crisp, night air and Belle. I don't think anything on earth could bring me more happiness.
Once we are mostly through the western wood, I begin to elucidate on the events leading up to this night. I tell her how much I admire her, and how I fell in love with her. I tell her of the pain I felt, when we were parted on the night of the prince's proposal. And how much I missed her. I recount my conversation with Robert, Claude, and Jacques. I explain our plan and where we are now heading.
She listens, as she sits in front of me. I wish she would speak, but I suppose that she assumes I won't be able to hear her unless she yells. Thankfully, her posture hasn't stiffened and she hasn't pulled forward or away from me in any way. I hope that means she is still comfortable, after all I have divulged.
We stop at the first sign of dawn. There is a little creek, and Phillipe should have some water. We're well off the castle lands, and I'm convinced we'll not be easily found. I dismount and help Belle off, as well. As she removes the hood of her cloak, I turn toward Phillipe, to find one of the small provisional bags hanging from the saddle. Before I do, she grabs hold of my forearm and pulls me back to her.
I've never seen her glow so brightly. I am reminded of the night in the ballroom, when she wore layers of gold and looked every bit the princess who had tamed the prince's heart. She was lovely, in that moment, but it cannot compare to how beautiful she is standing next to me. Heavenly.
I bend down slowly, intending to kiss her, but expecting her to pull away from such a forward gesture. She doesn't. She runs her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck and pulls me further into the kiss. I am helpless. I truly am her servant. When she releases me, we both pull away and stare in wonder at each other.
There's not much time for resting, and we are on our way all too soon. We are eager to begin our adventure.
Months later, as we are about to cross out of France completely, we find out that Prince Adam wasn't able to muster enough support to mount an effective search party for his missing fiancée. Our timing must have been divinely inspired, because the revolution began as we made our way through the countryside. The prince was beheaded, with a device known as a guillotine as the method of punishment. Belle and I ponder if there's a relation to the royal physician, as the name seems to be an odd coincidence.
We live simply, hunting, cooking, traveling, with the money I'd saved. Phillipe is happier, too, to be living life on the road. We stay at inns, when possible. I introduce Belle as my wife, and, every time, she gives me a proud smile.
And now, mere steps away from leaving our homeland, I ask Belle if she wishes to remain in France. There is no beast hunting us down, after all. We can make a home wherever we want. My only desire is to remain at her side.
She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye that tells me everything.
Off we go, then.
Let's find adventure in the great, wide…somewhere…
