He woke early the next morning to bright sunlight filtering in from the far windows of his bedroom. He groaned and pulled his blanket over his head, trying to block out the irritating light.

It was a dream, he told himself firmly. I dreamt I used the magic book to go back in time and convince myself to let the Enchantress into the castle so I could be human. When I open my eyes, I'll still be cursed, and Belle will be back home with her father.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the doors. And there's Cogsworth, about to give me today's "morning report," he thought with a sinking heart. Just the idea of facing his majordomo made him want to burrow his head deeper into his pillows. Maybe if he pretended he was dead, he would go away. He wasn't sure he could face his staff ever again, knowing he'd failed to free them all from the witch's curse.

But then, it struck him. If the curse was permanent now, no one should be capable of knocking on his door anymore. The Enchantress had made her conditions very clear. If the Beast failed to find someone to love him before the last petal fell, his servants would lose their sentience and become inanimate objects forever. The only way someone could be knocking on his door was if the spell had reversed itself. Or if Belle had returned...

He pulled his head out from his pillows and opened his eyes. The West Wing had changed again. It was cleaner and brighter, and his furnishings were arranged slightly differently than they were last evening. Out of old instinct, he looked towards the windows and was stunned to see that the enchanted rose was missing. His gaze shifted to the mattress, where the corner of the Enchantress's book was peeking out from his blankets, next to his very human hand.

His eyes grew wide with realization. Last night hadn't been a dream after all! He really had changed the past. Meaning he was still living here, as a human, in this altered timeline...

Another round of knocking broke the Prince from his reverie. Now that he knew last night wasn't a dream, he had another mystery to solve. Who was the person knocking so persistently at his chamber doors? He slid the book back under his blankets and sat up from the bed.

"Enter," he called out to his visitor.

The doors opened. Into the room stepped a woman in a regal white and yellow dress, her hair skillfully woven into an elegant updo. She turned to face the Prince, and his mouth dropped open in shock. For the face staring back at him was the face of someone who was no longer of this world; the face of someone undead. Except she carried none of the traits of the undead creatures the Prince had read about in mythology and folktales. In fact, the only physical qualities that separated her from his childhood memories of her were age-related. Her once blonde hair had dimmed to a golden brown, and there were faint wrinkles on her face that weren't there before. But even with these small imperfections, she was still very beautiful.

Seeing him lying there, the Prince's mother smirked. "Still in bed, are you? I should have known."

The Prince continued to gape at her, at a complete loss for words. "M-Mère?" he said at last.

"Yes, it's me, my love. Did you think I'd let you sleep in on such an important day?"

A part of the Prince wanted to ask exactly what was so important about today. But his dead mother's seemingly normal appearance had taken priority.

"I d-don't understand," he stammered. "You died of consumption thirteen years ago. I saw you on your deathbed. Everyone said you wouldn't wake up."

If this was a dream, which he was sure it was by now, he expected this to be the part where his mother revealed she was an evil spirit, or another enchantress come to test him. Instead, her expression softened in pity. As though it were normal for her son to deny her existence every morning, she stepped closer to him and said, "Oh, my poor dear. Of course I didn't die of consumption! I've been here for you this whole time. I've always been here. You must have been having another nightmare."

An uneasy chill ran down the Prince's spine. He opened his mouth to counter his mother's claim but found it impossible to speak. It was hard to tell someone they were supposed to be dead when they were standing there, looking very much alive and smiling at him so lovingly.

"Well… I don't know," he confessed instead. "I think I might still be dreaming."

The Queen let out a melodious laugh. She wrapped her arms around him, her body warm and smelling faintly of roses. "Oh, my love. I know you're nervous about today, but I'm sure you and the Princess will get along just fine. I wouldn't have picked her out for you if I didn't think you'd be a good match."

"Wait. Who are we talking about now?"

"Goodness me!" She pulled away from him in concern. "You really are a scatterbrain this morning, aren't you? I'm talking about your intended, Amandine de Lanzac, of course! The princess you're going to marry next week?"

I'm getting married? The Prince widened his eyes. Of course, he knew a marriage wasn't an entirely illogical route for him at this point in his life. As the sole child of his late father, he'd have to extend his family's lineage eventually. He just never imagined it happening so soon, especially when he was still recovering from the nightmare of being a beast for half a decade. He looked back at his mother, wanting to voice his thoughts, but seeing the concerned look on her face, changed his mind again.

"Oh, of course," he lied. "I was merely testing your memory, Mère. It would be a pity if you brought the wrong princess over for such an important meeting."

She tilted her head to the side. "That was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was!"

She laughed again. The Prince, feeling awkward, forced himself to join her. He had to admit that it was strange but oddly delightful to laugh with someone he was sure he'd never see again. But no amount of jesting could dispel his unease about his present circumstances. In the span of a few minutes, he'd learned that his mother was back from the dead, and he was arranged to be married. What else had he changed by avoiding the Enchantress's curse last night?

The doors opened again. In came Cogsworth, accompanied by a flock of the Prince's personal servants. He assumed they were his servants anyway, for he didn't recognize most of their faces.

"Ah, good morning, Your Majesties," Cogsworth said, acknowledging the Prince and his mother with a courteous bow.

"Good morning, Cogsworth," the Queen replied. "And how are the preparations coming along for our guests this morning?"

"Just peachy, Mistress. Tonight's dinner will be an unforgettable delight. Cuisinier is cooking up several regional dishes and adding his own personal flair to them so they'll really stand out to our guests. All that's left is to decide on which napkins to use for the dinner table."

"I can help you with that. Shall I leave my son in your staff's good hands while I review the selections?"

"Absolutely, Mistress. We'll get him ready straight away."

The Queen bent down and kissed her son on the cheek. "I'll see you downstairs shortly, my love. Remember to smile and have courage."

After she left the room, Chapeau served the Prince a breakfast tray of eggs and sausages, which he barely had time to finish before his servants whisked him out of bed to prepare him for his intended's meeting. They stripped him of his sleepwear and put him in a white shirt with frilly sleeves, a green silk jacket with metallic threads and dark, knee-length breeches.

I guess I'm still going through my "green phase" in this timeline, he concluded as he examined the finished ensemble in the mirror. Not that it was a bad outfit on him, but seeing it on him somehow made him miss the blue suit he'd worn when he danced with Belle last night. The one he'd left in the old timeline.

"Chapeau?" he asked his valet as he sat him in front of the vanity to fix his hair.

"Yes, Master?"

"Last night—I mean, five years ago, before I hosted that debutante ball in the castle—do you remember someone coming into the West Wing to see me? Somebody… unexpected I mean."

"Hmm. It depends on what you mean by 'unexpected.' I seem to recall that there were many young ladies who were dying to have a tête-à-tête with you; pardon the expression."

The Prince shook his head. "It's not a woman I'm talking about, but a man. A man with a bit of a… beast-like disposition if you know what I mean."

Chapeau looked as though the Prince had spoken to him in an entirely different language. "Erm… I'm afraid not, Master," he professed, tying his hair back with some black ribbon. "But then again, I can't say my memory of that day is the greatest. It was a busy day for everyone involved. You wanted nothing but perfection for your mother's celebration ball, welcoming her back to the kingdom after her eight-year retreat to Corsica. Why do you ask?"

"Uh… no reason." But internally, the wheels in the Prince's head were turning. If Chapeau's memories of the ball had been overwritten with a celebration of his mother's return from Corsica, that must have meant his memories of the Beast had been erased too. But who had erased them? The Enchantress? All the Prince knew was that something pivotal had occurred in the time he'd travelled back and forth in time, and now the only person who seemed to remember the Beast's visit and his mother's death was himself.

Cogsworth re-entered the West Wing and announced that it was time for the Prince to come to the salon to welcome his guests. Still disoriented but sensing it would be out of character for him to refuse, he followed the majordomo downstairs.

His mother was waiting for him outside the salon doors, eyes gleaming in excitement. She shot him an encouraging smile as Cogsworth stepped into the room to announce them to their visitors.

"May I present Her Majesty, Queen Catherine-Henriette de Bauffremont, and her son, His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont."

The Prince tried to hide his discomfort at hearing his old name as he followed his mother into the room. He hadn't gone by that title in nearly seven years—clearly not enough time for it to lose its cringe-factor. At the very least, he hoped his current self still preferred to use it as a formality instead of a casual name. He hadn't heard anyone call him by it directly yet, so he assumed that was the case.

In the salon stood a middle-aged man in a grey suit, and a much younger lady, whom the Prince assumed was the Princess. She was a very pretty girl. Not as pretty as Belle, and not to the same high standards of beauty as the women he used to invite to his private balls, but pretty, nonetheless. Her long mahogany-coloured hair was pinned neatly behind her head in a partial updo. Her almond-shaped eyes studied him with intense curiosity as he approached her. She wore a magenta dress that lacked the embellishments that were all the rage in the French court but looked flattering on her all the same.

Once they were close enough, the Princess smiled demurely at her fiancé and lowered herself into a perfect curtsy. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Even her voice was fitting for nobility; soft and carefully modulated.

"The pleasure is all mine, Princess Amélie," the Prince replied with a bow.

"Amandine, my dear, not Amélie!" Henriette hissed from behind him. Seeing how concerned the Princess's chaperone looked, she added, "Do forgive my son, Your Majesty. His memory this morning is a little shaky on account of his nerves."

"Ah." The nobleman nodded in understanding. "The same with my Amandine. She spent the better part of our trip deciding on the best way to present herself."

Amandine's cheeks turned a dull shade of pink.

"Why don't we sit down?" Henriette suggested. "You both must be exhausted from your journey."

Plumette laid out some tea and biscuits for the two families and left them alone to converse. The Prince tried to look engaged as his mother asked Amandine and her father, François, questions about their journey and life back in their home kingdom of Claircomble. She and François led the bulk of the conversation, so apart from the occasional head nod or grunt of sympathy, the Prince didn't have to talk much. At first, he found this to be a relief being that he'd been out of conversational practice for nearly five years. But as time passed, he started to grow restless. After years of being able to walk freely around his castle, he wasn't accustomed to sitting still for long periods of time.

He leaned his elbow against the armrest next to him, glad that everyone was too engrossed in the discussion to notice his impropriety. His eyes wandered around the room. Above the mantelpiece was a portrait of him and his mother that looked to have been painted recently. They were wearing matching purple outfits and looked very happy together. He drew his attention to the sofa across from him where Princess Amandine sat with a saucer and teacup in hand. Unlike her fiancé, she kept her back as straight as an arrow as she listened to Henriette and François's conversation. He tried to get a sense of her personality by studying her countenance, but it was difficult, for she seemed skilled in hiding herself behind a mask of quiet politeness. But he did notice that she raised her pinky finger whenever she drank from her teacup. Just like a typical princess would.

"I sense my son is getting bored," Henriette said, startling the Prince from his pondering.

"What?" He looked back at her in alarm. "No I'm not!"

"Oh please!" She waved her hand dismissively. "I know that face when I see it. You're not obligated to listen to us 'old people' ramble on about municipal taxes all morning you know! Why not take Princess Amandine outside and show her the gardens?"

The Prince turned back to his fiancée. "Would you like to see the gardens, Princess?"

Amandine set down her teacup and nodded. "I would like that very much, Your Highness."

"It's settled then." Henriette clapped her hands together. "My son will show Princess Amandine the grounds and we'll meet back here at noon for luncheon."

The warm summer breeze felt surreal to the Prince after living in eternal winter for five years. After stepping outside, he took a moment to soak it all in; the buzzing of insects, the smell of the fresh air, the rich greenery of the lawns and hedges, before turning to look back at the castle. It was white and intact now; a stark contrast to the shadowy ruin he'd lived in only a day ago. Just another reminder that he now lived in an uncursed world, where instead of finding true love, marrying a respectable princess was his top priority.

"Your Highness?" said Amandine, interrupting him from his revere.

"Huh?" He looked back at her in a daze.

"I was just saying, you have a lovely castle."

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed that he hadn't been listening. "Thank you, Princess. But um... I'm sure your estate in Claircomble is just as lovely."

"Well"—she lowered her head bashfully—"I wouldn't say that exactly."

"Oh?"

"A castle surrounded by a four-hundred-year-old moat doesn't offer the same benefits as a forest. The view doesn't look half as nice either. I imagine you must have an abundance of game to hunt in these parts as well."

He shrugged. "I suppose. We do have the wolves to worry about though."

"Wolves?" She regarded him with startled eyes.

"Yes. Wolves. Nasty things. They always travel in packs and won't hesitate to bite your head off if you're not careful. But, uh… they usually only come around here in the wintertime," he added tactfully, noticing how pale the Princess's face was turning. "They move further out West in the summer."

"Oh." She visibly relaxed at this reassurance. "Well, they certainly sound dangerous. Still, I wouldn't mind seeing a glimpse of such a creature myself—provided it was from a safe distance. Père has never let me go hunting with him, you see. He always said it was an improper pastime for a young lady." She fiddled with her brown hair self-consciously. "I'm not talking too much, am I? I know it's not becoming for a princess to be talkative. I can stop if you like."

"Of course not!" he objected. "It's a conversation. We're getting to know each other. You can talk as much as you like."

She blushed and smiled at him in relief. "Thank you, Your Highness. I greatly appreciate that."

The Prince continued to exchange pleasantries with his intended as he showed her around the castle hedge mazes. He could tell, based on her manner of speaking, that she had little to no experience courting members of the opposite sex. Her phrases, while eloquent enough, lacked the coquettishness and ambiguity that were so common with the ladies of the court. Instead, the subjects she spoke of were simple, juvenile but genuine in nature. Not that the Prince saw that as a bad thing—far from it! While he still was on the fence about marriage, he knew that given the choice, he would rather marry an honest princess than a two-faced one.

At last, they reached the colonnade at the edge of the castle grounds, which guarded the Prince's prized white rose bushes.

"My goodness!" Amandine said as she stepped inside to look around. "Are those roses up on those vines? I've never seen them so white before. They're beautiful."

The Prince said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the empty bench at the center of the colonnade, lost in a not-so-distant memory...

"I never thanked you for saving my life," Belle said, looking at the Beast with a sheepish grin.

"Well, I never thanked you for not leaving me to be eaten by wolves."

She giggled. Suddenly, they heard an echo; shouts of laughter coming from inside the castle. The servants, it seemed, were having a nice fête.

"They know how to have a good time," Belle noted.

"Yes," the Beast agreed. "When I enter the room, laughter dies."

"Me too. The villagers say I'm a 'funny girl.' I'm not sure they mean it as a compliment."

"I'm sorry." He bowed his head in sympathy. "Your village sounds terrible."

She snorted. "Almost as lonely as your castle."

"Your Highness?" Amandine called, bringing him to the present again. "Are you all right?"

"Call me Adam," he said absently.

"Adam? But I thought your name was—"

"I know what my name is!" he snapped, turning back to her.

Amandine jumped backwards, shrinking away from him in fright. He realized his mistake a second later.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that... my name is a bit of a delicate subject. My father gave me three names, but Adam was the only one I ever felt was my own. And it's the only one I'm comfortable going by, to be honest."

"I... understand," Amandine said softly. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have assumed..."

"You didn't assume. You just didn't know."

An uncomfortable silence passed between them. Then, the Princess tentatively inched closer to him and said, "Your High—I mean, Adam? If I may be so bold… before I came to your castle, I heard certain… rumours from my cousins about your past reputation. I was wondering if there was any truth to them or not."

"What were these rumours?" Adam asked.

"Well." She paused. "For one, they say you used to host a lot of parties. And you used to invite the most beautiful people from all over the world to attend them. Especially... women." She looked back at him with an uneasy expression. "Is that true?"

It was the Prince's turn to look uncomfortable. One of the rare benefits to his curse was that it had erased all his subject's memories of him, including their memories of the materialistic lothario he'd been in his old life. But in this universe, he still had to bear those old scars, playing a further impact on how his future spouse would think of him. Way to go, you dolt, he thought, sending a curse out to his younger, powder-faced self.

"It is true," he admitted. "I did host a lot of parties when I was younger. But after a while, I stopped."

She looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Because..." He paused, trying to invent a convincing story with what little information he knew about himself in this reality. "They never made me happy. The women, the fancy costumes, the music. It was all for show. What I was really wanted was a connection—someone I could truly be happy around. But it wasn't until Be—I mean, my mother returned from Corsica that I realized, maybe I didn't have to look outside to find that happiness, but inside, with my family.

"My mother has always meant the world to me. But I didn't know how much I missed her until she came back home. After that, I stopped throwing the parties, feeling it was better to spend that time connecting with someone who mattered than several people who didn't. I've been a happier man ever since."

The Princess smiled. "It sounds like you and your mother have a strong bond. She's lucky to have you."

"Thank you." He stared wistfully back at the bench before suggesting they return to the castle to join their parents for luncheon.

"So, Amandine," he said once they had left the gardens. "Tell me a bit about yourself. Do you have any hobbies? Singing? Dancing? Reading?" he added hopefully.

"Well, I do like to read... a little," Amandine replied with a polite smile. "But what I love the most is the arts. Painting and music. Especially opera." She looked back at him. "Do you like the opera, Your Hi—Adam?"

He thought back to a time he'd watched an opera by Grétry when he was seventeen and frowned. He remembered little of the performance since he'd been fixated on eating a delicious bowl of pastries for most of it. "Not terribly," he admitted. "No."

The Princess lowered her head in disappointment.

"But uh… our court composers, Maestro Cadenza and his wife, Madame de Garderobe are both exceptional musicians," he added tactfully. "I'm sure they'd be honoured to perform some of your favourite arias for you if you wish."

She smiled. "That would be lovely. I'd love to hear them."

Several hours later, Amandine and her father finally retired for the night, leaving Adam with some uninterrupted alone time at last. Once he'd retrieved the magic book from the West Wing, he made his way back to the library to do some late-night reading. His mind was buzzing with questions about his mother's inexplicable resurrection, the nature of the Enchantress's book and time travel itself. Had he really visited himself last night? If so, how could there be two of him, and where was the other version of him now? If time only moved in a forward direction, then how could he travel to the past and back to the present so fluidly? Who really was the Enchantress, and how was she able to bring back the dead and give away relics capable of controlling time itself?

Hungry to find the answers, the Prince took to the shelves, pulling out books by great minds like Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, Descartes, and Rousseau. Some of them talked about time being a strictly human concept, but none of them could offer insights into how humans could manipulate it, or what would happen if they did. The Prince sighed in frustration. If only Belle was still here to help him. She'd always had a knack for finding the most interesting books in this library, and he'd had years to browse through everything before her arrival.

Tired of reading over the same Socratic dialogues, Adam put the books aside and returned his attention to the Enchantress's gift. Driven by a sudden burst of curiosity, he flipped to the page of the map, placed his hand over the parchment and closed his eyes. I wish to go back to the night I danced with Belle, he thought. He let the images of last night fill his mind's eye: the ballroom scrubbed clean and lit with hundreds of candles, Belle's dress floating around her like a golden halo as he twirled her around the dance floor, Cadenza playing an uplifting waltz on his keyboard accompanied by various enchanted brass and string instruments carved into the walls...

But nothing happened. The Prince was still in the library.

He tried again, this time recalling a different memory: the night his mother had returned from Corsica. Once again, nothing happened. It seemed that the book could only take him to events that occurred in this timeline or events he had an emotional connection to. As he had no real memory of his mother's return, the book couldn't take him there.

With a discouraged frown, Adam set the book back on the table. As he did, he noticed a fragment of text on the page behind the map. That's strange. He'd known that the book had writing in it, but it was all in cryptic runes that were impossible for him to decipher. But now, clear French words filled the page. He turned over the map and read:

Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of France, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle. Although he had everything his heart desired the Prince was selfish and unkind. He taxed the village to fill his castle with the most beautiful objects and his parties with the most beautiful people.

Then one night, an old beggar woman arrived at his castle seeking shelter from the bitter storm. As a gift, she offered the Prince a single rose. Although the Prince was repulsed by the old woman's appearance, he took pity on her ugliness and offered her a room to stay in for the night. The stranger was pleased with the Prince's offer and let her outward appearance melt away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. She explained to the Prince that she had come to the castle to test him, as she had heard from many of his reputation as a cruel and avaricious tyrant. But seeing that he had shown sympathy for her plight instead of disgust, she would reward him by granting him his heart's deepest desire.

The Prince thought long and hard over the Enchantress's offer. He already had everything he wanted, so what more could he wish for? But then he recalled his dear mother who he'd lost to an illness many years ago and loved more than anyone else in the world. He asked that the Enchantress use her magic to bring her back to him.

The Enchantress smiled sadly at the Prince's request. "I'm afraid, Your Highness, that although I have many powers, recalling the dead is not one of them."

"Are you an enchantress or not?" was the Prince's scoffing reply. "I asked you to bring my mother back, and now I demand you grant me my wish!"

Once more, the Enchantress repeated her statement, but the Prince was adamant. Finally, she offered him a compromise. Instead of resurrecting his mother, she would use her magic to create a replica of the Queen, with all the same mannerisms, memories, and appearance that the Prince's mother had had in life. The only difference was that this Queen would have no memories of dying from an illness. Instead, the Enchantress would fill her mind with false memories of staying in the Southern colonies for eight years to recover from her sickness. To further solidify this story, the Enchantress promised to place a powerful spell over the whole kingdom, so all the Prince's subjects would believe in the same tale.

The Prince was greatly pleased with this arrangement. For with the Enchantress's magic and ability to alter his subject's memories, it would be as though his mother had never passed away.

But before the Enchantress completed her transaction, she left the Prince with a warning. Although her magic was indeed powerful, it was not eternal. Eventually, there would come a day when the magic would end, and the Prince would find himself mourning his mother's death a second time. While the Enchantress understood the Prince's pain, no replica of the Queen could replace the one he had lost. Sometimes it was best to accept grief as a normal part of the human condition.

Suddenly, Adam heard the door to the library open followed by footsteps. He hid the Enchantress's gift among the book pile as his mother, or rather, his imposter mother, appeared around the corner. Speak of the devil.

"I didn't expect to find you here," she said with a smile. "What are you reading?"

"Oh"—he shrugged—"just some books…"

She examined the cover closest to her. At the same time, the Prince studied her closely, trying to find a flaw in her appearance that coincided with the story he'd read, but there was nothing. If the Enchantress really had replicated his mother, then she had done so to a tee.

"Plato's Symposium?" She raised her brows inquisitively. "I didn't know you were into philosophy."

"Well, it's never too late to start a new hobby," he pointed out.

"I suppose not." Her blue eyes surveyed him pensively for a moment. "There's something... different about you today."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know." She shook her head. "You just seem... off, somehow. You talk and hold yourself differently. And I noticed you were very withdrawn all through dinner today too. Is there something on your mind? The Princess?"

"Oh no!" Adam insisted. "Princess Amandine's fine, Mère. She's a very polite and sweet girl. I'm sure she'll make a fine… wife."

"Something else then?" She sat in the chair across from him. "You know you can tell me anything, Adam."

For one drawn-out second, the Prince considered telling her the truth. He tried to compose an explanation in his head: "Actually 'Mère,' I wanted to tell you that I come from another universe where you died, and I got turned into a hideous Beast by an enchantress because I refused to let her into the castle. Obviously, that left me miserable and mentally scarred for several years until I discovered this magical transportation book she'd left me and used it to go back in time to change the past so I wouldn't be a beast anymore. Oh, and by the way, you're not really my mother, and I'm not your son. I'm just an alternate version of your son possessing his body since I used the book to escape from my original timeline."

Fine, so maybe that did sound a bit crazy. Thinking on it further, perhaps his mother-imposter would perceive his story as an excuse for him to back out of his marriage to Princess Amandine. Even though she wasn't his real mother, she still had her title and influence and could choose to institutionalize him or send him away if she believed his sanity was at risk. If Adam was sure of one thing, it was that he hadn't changed the past to become a prisoner again.

"How did you feel when you married Père?" he asked instead.

Imposter Henriette's whole demeanour changed at once. A wistful expression fell across her face. "Nervous, of course," she admitted. "I wondered if he would be handsome or as loving as the men in my fairy tales. He wasn't exactly the Prince Charming I imagined him to be, but we both respected one another which was important. And he gave me you. I know I wouldn't take that back for anything."

She looked back at him and smiled again. "Oh, mon fils. I know those years you had to live without me were… difficult, but I couldn't be prouder of the man you've grown up to be. Just as I couldn't be happier that I could live long enough to watch you settle down and get married."

She reached over the desk and pinched him on the cheek. Adam smiled awkwardly in turn.

He knew he had a good life here. He wasn't a cursed beast anymore, forever doomed to live in the shadows of a careless mistake he'd made. True, it was a bit unsettling to be living with a copy of his deceased mother, but the Enchantress had captured her likeness quite accurately, and she was useful to have around while Adam was still readjusting to being human. And while the Prince's relationship with Princess Amandine wasn't love at first sight, he hadn't exactly fallen head over heels in love with Belle the first time they'd met either. Who was to say, after he'd spent more time with the Princess, that he might come to care for her, too? True she didn't have Belle's strong-willed independence or outspokenness, but she was polite and cultured—hardly reasons for a suitor to find fault with her.

He'd left Belle to live her own life, and now he was free to live his. What more could he have wanted?