"I, Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont take thee, Princess Marie-Amandine Victoire de Lanzac to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to… to…"
"Love," Père Robert prompted.
"Love." Adam cleared his throat. "Thank you. To love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."
Amandine smiled. With her hand held in her fiancé's overly sweaty palm, she replied, "I, Princess Marie-Amandine Victoire de Lanzac take thee, Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."
"Bravo!" Henriette exclaimed, clapping loudly as she stood up from the front pew. "Much better."
François, who sat beside the Queen, imitated her applause. Taking advantage of their interruption, Adam released Amandine's hand and wiped the sweat from his hands. For the past three hours, he and his fiancée had been rehearsing their vows with Père Robert in the castle chapel while the King and Queen watched on attentively. It was a tedious procedure and truthfully, Adam would rather be doing anything else. All this ceremony was giving him a small headache and was making him even more anxious about his impending marriage, which was less than a day away.
Thankfully, the Prince was saved from yet another mind-numbing run down of the vow exchanges as the chapel doors opened to reveal Cadenza and his wife, Madame de Garderobe.
"Buongiorno, Your Majesties!" the Maestro said, approaching the King and Queen with a courteous bow.
"Bonjour Maestro Cadenza. Madame de Garderobe," Henriette replied. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"With your permission, Padrona, we would like to use the organ to practice the processional music for tomorrow's ceremony," said the Maestro. "But only if it is convenient for you, of course. If you still need the chapel for rehearsal, then we can always come back later."
"I believe I speak for everyone when I say we've been rehearsing long enough," François declared. "Besides, it's almost noon and I'm famished! I wouldn't object to having some of that delicious bouillabaisse for luncheon right about now."
"That can be arranged. Consider the chapel yours, Maestro," the Queen declared. She turned to the priest. "Père Robert, thank you for taking the time to rehearse with us today. Shall we see you back here tomorrow for the ceremony?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," Père Robert replied with a bow. "I would never miss out on the opportunity to preach at your son's wedding."
"Grazie, Padrona," Cadenza echoed as the priest closed his books and exited the chapel. "And believe me when I say you will be highly impressed by the restorative work Maestro Forte has done to the organ. Its new set of golden pipes sound absolutely magnifico! Your son should try it out himself some time."
"Thank you for the offer, Maestro," Adam replied in embarrassment. "But I will leave all the serenading to you and your wife."
"You play?" Amandine inquired, turning to her fiancé with interest.
"A little." He shrugged. "I took harpsichord lessons as a child, but I quit years ago."
"A pity too," said Henriette, putting an arm around him affectionately. "He had the makings of a fine prodigy. He may have even rivalled the likes of Mozart himself, had he applied himself."
"You exaggerate, Mère. I was… an adequate player at best." He grew silent as an unpleasant memory came to the forefront of his mind. But before he could fully dwell on it, François changed the subject, and the vision slipped away as quickly as it had come.
As Adam accompanied Henriette, Amandine and François to the dining room, he began to mull over the complexity of his current circumstances. He was getting married tomorrow, but all he could think about was the possibility of seeing Belle at his engagement ball. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd caught himself fantasizing over their hypothetical meeting in the past week; wondering if she would fall in love with him the same way Cinderella had with her Prince Charming, or Juliet with her Romeo. These imaginings came from the idealistic side of him—the side that Belle had inadvertently rekindled when he'd imprisoned her. The realistic part of him knew it was foolish and useless to indulge in things that would never be. Or else there would be hell to pay.
"My word!" Henriette said, startling Adam from his thoughts. She had stopped to stare at a painting on the wall; the family portrait that used to hang in the West Wing to be precise. "Well, here's a portrait I've not seen in a while! Adam, do you remember how old you were when we commissioned this? Ten, eleven years old?"
"I suppose," Adam replied dully. He'd noticed the family portrait was missing from the West Wing and had been happy not to be reminded of it until today.
"Oh, what a sweet-looking boy!" Amandine remarked as she took a closer look at the painting. "Much better than the portraits they used to make of me back home. They were beautiful of course, but they never looked quite like me."
"And I presume the dark-haired man on the left was your husband?" asked François.
"Yes," Henriette confirmed. "His name was Louis-Thomas Antoine de Bauffremont. He died of a fever when Adam was only seventeen. Unfortunately, I was still in Corsica at the time, so I couldn't pay my respects until I'd returned home."
Adam hesitantly approached the canvas, hands clenching into his fists as he studied his father's image. It was amazing how a simple portrait could show more soul in that man's eyes than he'd ever shown in life. If he still had claws, Adam knew he'd gladly slash his father's face apart all over again.
The hour of the engagement ball arrived all but too soon. Adam's stomach twisted into knots as he studied his reflection in the vanity mirror. He'd requested to wear something blue for the ball, and his tailors had certainly delivered. Adam was wearing a powder blue jacket with delicate stencils of leaves and silver-threaded fastenings on the lapels. A matching waistcoat and pair of grey silk breeches completed the ensemble. For cosmetics, he'd chosen not to wear a wig, instead letting Chapeau tie his hair into a simple queue and add a few curls to the top of his head. His face remained clear and shaven. The only makeup he wore was to hide the minor blemishes on his skin. He definitely looked impressive enough to host an engagement ball, but would it be enough to impress her?
"Are you well, Master?" Chapeau asked as the Prince continued to examine himself in the mirror. "I haven't seen you this flustered for quite some time."
"It's my first time inviting commoners to a royal function, Chapeau," Adam explained. "Under the circumstances I… well I suppose I'd like to know that I'm making a good impression."
"I'm sure they will be more than impressed by you," the valet said reassuringly as he stepped forward to adjust his bowtie. "You are their Prince, after all."
"A Prince who would be nothing without his servants. I don't know if I've said it before, Chapeau, but I truly and sincerely thank you for everything you've done for me."
"Master?" Cogsworth called from the doorway. "It's time!"
"That's your cue." Chapeau finished fixing Adam's bowtie and smiled. "Bon courage, Maître! Have fun tonight."
Taking a deep breath, Adam inspected his reflection one last time before he exited the room, ready to greet the masses.
"Mesdames et messieurs," the majordomo announced to the waiting crowd. "May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont and his fiancée, Her Royal Highness, Princess Marie-Amandine Victoire de Lanzac!"
With a smile plastered on his face, Adam took Amandine's hand and stepped into the ballroom. Many guests had arrived. Men and women of all ages dressed in a plethora of colours and designs filled the room. Years ago, Adam would have cringed at the lack of colour coordination among his invitees, but he had more important things to focus on now. He carefully examined his subjects as they bowed and curtsied, searching for the one guest he was most anxious to find. He saw Gaston dressed in a crimson jacket with brass buttons, and beside him, his portly companion dressed in a dark blue waistcoat and burgundy bowtie, but no Belle. The Prince's smile faded. Maybe she didn't like the book I sent her and chose to defer my invitation after all.
But remembering his commitment to keeping up appearances, the Prince bottled his disappointment, acknowledged his guests with a courteous nod, and turned to his fiancée. If anyone was to be the belle of the ball tonight, it was her. Amandine was dressed in a floral, cream-coloured gown with long, lacey back cuffs. She wore a string of pearls around her neck, and her hair was pinned up into an elegant, but not over-the-top updo. She looked radiant, dignified and regal in her appearance, but at the same time predictable. As much as Adam wanted to appreciate her beauty, a part of him couldn't stop thinking about how her outfit paled in comparison to the yellow gown Belle had worn to their first dance. It may have been simple and unconventional by court standards, but so uniquely Belle in its eccentricity. He would give anything for the chance to see her in that dress again.
From the corner of the ballroom, Maestro Cadenza cued the music for the night: a series of string quartet pieces by an Austrian composer named Haydn, which Amandine had selected herself.
"May I have this dance, Princess?" Adam asked of his bride-to-be.
"You may," Amandine replied politely.
Hand-in-hand, the Prince and Princess danced across the floor to prescribed steps they'd rehearsed the day before. Amandine moved like a cloud in her elegant dress, showing off her noble upbringing as though it had been tailored to her feet. With such poise and grace, Adam was starting to wonder if there was anything she could do wrong.
"Can you believe it?" she asked him as their guests partnered up to join in on the dancing. "Only one day left."
"One day left until what?"
Her eyes widened, as though he'd thrown her an insult. "Why, until we're married of course!"
"Oh." The Prince's face grew warm. "Of course. Forgive me. I was merely… thinking."
"About what?"
"Is there anything you've ever wanted to do? More than anything else in the world?"
"Well…" Amandine bit her lip. "I suppose I wouldn't say no to travelling to Hamburg to hear what a real German opera sounds like. And to wear my hair down and try riding astride every once in a while. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know." Adam shook his head. "Curiosity, I suppose. For a princess as talented and intelligent as yourself, you've come so far from home to marry me. It's quite a sacrifice, isn't it? Leaving your family and kingdom behind. Don't you think you'll… miss them?"
"It will be sad to no longer see my family in Claircomble," Amandine agreed. "But all princesses need to make sacrifices for their kingdom. We wouldn't be fulfilling our duty otherwise. True, it may not be the 'happily ever after' we read about in fairy tales, but we can take comfort in knowing we have the power to make a difference in our people's lives through our words and actions. What about you, Adam?" She fixed her eyes on him curiously. "Do I make you… happy?"
Adam opened his mouth, searching for words that wouldn't come. A part of him wanted to be honest with Amandine. To tell her that while he deeply admired and respected her, he couldn't be completely happy with her while his heart belonged to somebody else. It wasn't her fault—she'd simply shown up at the wrong place at the wrong time. But despite all the reasons why Belle stood out to him as his better match, Amandine still remained a perfectly good and decent person. And it was that good-natured aspect of her that made Adam afraid of hurting her feelings. It was a strange concept, he thought, to worry about upsetting someone when he couldn't have cared less about it before.
Thankfully, the Prince was saved from initiating that uncomfortable conversation as a newcomer entered the ballroom. Whoever she was, she was quite pretty, wearing a peacock blue dress with a cream-coloured petticoat. He turned around to get a closer look at her face, and all the air left his chest. It was Belle.
Belle wasn't the best dressed of his guests, but neither was she the worst. Aside from her petticoat, the only distinguishable features of her outfit were the lace on her sleeves and a silver locket which hung a few inches above her square neckline. Her caramel-brown hair was pinned sensibly behind her head and she wore no lipstick or rouge on her face. Her outfit would be acceptable for a commoner's Sunday best, Adam supposed, but its plain and cheap material would barely pass as casual wear for a woman of nobility. But none of that mattered. Belle was still beautiful, and always would be, no matter what she wore. As though in a trance, he moved closer to her, stopping only when he remembered that he was still holding on to Amandine.
"Excuse me," he said, breaking off his dance with her.
Belle looked into the ballroom in awe and amazement, as though she'd never seen anything so incredible in her entire life. Her expression reminded Adam of when he'd shown her the library over a lifetime ago. He'd considered it a token gift then, a small act of charity for a girl whose only knowledge of literature had been through those saccharine romances she borrowed from Père Robert. He certainly hadn't appreciated the delight on her face then the way he did now.
Stopping in front of her, Adam cleared his throat and said, "Good evening, Mademoiselle Gagnier."
Belle turned around with a start. Her expression brightened at the sight of the Prince's familiar face. "Your Highness!" She curtsied. "Thank you for inviting me to your engagement ball. It's an honour to be here."
"The honour is all mine, mademoiselle," Adam replied with a bow. "I'm glad you could come."
"Well, at the very least I had to come and thank you for sending me that book," she explained. "It was yours, wasn't it?"
"Yes." Then he added, a little overzealously, "Did you like it? How much have you read?"
"I've started the first act of A Midsummer Night's Dream. But I'm afraid I haven't had time to read the rest of it because I've been so busy packing. My father and I are moving to Diderot tomorrow, see."
Adam's expression fell. He felt as though the happy bubble growing inside him had suddenly received a puncture. "You're... leaving?"
"It is sudden, but yes," she confirmed excitedly. "See, my father managed to find a buyer for his music box in La Fontaine. And not only that, but he was able to get in touch with a proprietor there who owns some shops in Diderot. He's willing to lease one out to us, but we need to claim it before the end of the week, or it will be sold to somebody else."
It took every bit of Adam's willpower to hold his tongue. You knew this could happen, he told himself. A headstrong, independent woman like Belle had every right to choose how she wanted to live her life, even if that choice didn't involve him. Wasn't that why he'd changed time? To give her back the freedom he'd stolen from her when he was a beast? He should be happy for her, but instead, all he felt was bitter disappointment. Still, he forced himself to smile. "Well, congratulations. That's... wonderful news," he said with feigned enthusiasm. "I wish you and your father every success with your new music box venture."
Belle smiled back. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Gesturing to the crowd, the Prince continued, "Would you care to dance?"
"Me? Dance?" Belle laughed nervously. "Well, I'm not too sure about that. I've never danced to this kind of music before. I'm afraid I... may not be very good."
"Nonsense," he insisted. "Something tells me you're a wonderful dancer. It would give me great pleasure if you would join me."
He smiled again as he extended his hand to her. Belle hesitated, looked up at the Prince's trusting face, and reluctantly accepted his invitation.
Dancing with Belle as a human was similar, but at the same time different from when Adam had danced with her as the Beast. He was closer in height to her now, and that size difference allowed him to see several aspects of her that he hadn't noticed before. There were faint creases on her forehead and freckles on her cheeks. He no longer felt like his monstrous body was overwhelming hers—in fact, he quite enjoyed the ease in which her fingers entwined around his and how he didn't have to worry about stepping on her toes with his oversized feet. He was smiling again, and considering how long he'd been anticipating this moment, he supposed that it was inevitable.
"So, Mademoiselle Gagnier," he said, eager to start any sort of conversation with the girl he'd been waiting to see for over a week. "What do you like the most about Shakespeare's works?"
"Hmm. Well, I suppose it would be his tragedies," she replied after a moment's thought. "In Romeo and Juliet for example, I find it so endearing how two people can fall for each other in impossible circumstances, giving up their families and their lives for the sake of love. I wouldn't condone their actions in real life of course, but something about their story feels so…" She paused. "Heart-rending and poignant. Not like Villeneuve." She looked away in disdain. "Nothing interesting ever happens there, and when someone does get married it's always out of convenience rather than love. But I'm sure this must all sound quite mundane to you, coming from a simple farm girl."
"Not at all." Adam shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to marry for love. What I find most ironic about Romeo and Juliet is that both of them could have lived if one little event had played out differently. If Romeo hadn't been so reckless for example, or if Juliet had fled to Mantua to see Romeo herself, or if Friar John had delivered the letter to Romeo in time, they may have found a way to make their parents accept their union, and the play would have ended very differently."
"Why, that's exactly what I think!" said Belle, staring at the Prince in amazement. "What other books have you read aside from Shakespeare, Your Highness?"
"Several." He puffed up his chest proudly as he named them all. "The Odyssey, Don Quixote, Le Morte D'Arthur, The Divine Comedy... but there's not a lot of romance in them I'm afraid. They're more… the action and adventure type. You know; knights and men and swords and things. I'm not sure if you'd care for them much."
"Oh no, those all sound wonderful!" Belle replied with a wide smile. "I love reading adventure books as much as I love reading romances. You'll need to make a list for me so I can see if any of the bookshops in Diderot sell them."
"I could…" Adam paused. "Or you could look for them here."
Belle cocked her head in confusion.
"Belle—" he began nervously. "I mean, mademoiselle. I know we haven't known each other long, but believe me when I say that we have a lot more in common than you realize. If you stayed here at my castle, I would treat you and your father as my honoured guests. My whole library would be at your disposal. You'd be well looked after and have whatever your heart desired. On my word as a prince."
He expected this offer to surprise or touch Belle. Instead, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "And what exactly may I ask would you want in return for me staying here?"
"Well... nothing, of course," he replied, taken aback by the unexpected sharpness of her words. "Except for your company. And your promise that we make time to read together every once in a while."
Belle said nothing. She'd suddenly become very interested in examining something at the far side of the ballroom. She raised her eyebrows, and her face grew quite pale.
"Your Highness," she said loudly, turning back to him. "I am truly... flattered by your most generous offer. But I'm afraid that I can't accept it. I'm leaving Villeneuve tomorrow to start a new life with my father. And you're getting married to Princess Amandine. On my good faith, I cannot offer my time or 'company' to a man who will soon be lawfully married to somebody else."
It took a moment for Adam to realize what Belle was insinuating. Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Mademoiselle, you misunderstand me. I only wanted to..."
"Oh, I think you've explained yourself quite well, Your Highness," Belle interrupted. Although she sounded angry, her face was flustered and agitated looking. "And as much as I appreciate you taking an interest in my hobbies, I think it's best that we live our lives the way they were meant to be lived. Again, I thank you for inviting me to your ball tonight. I must be on my way home now. Goodbye."
Before Adam could utter so much as a syllable, Belle had flown from his grasp, rushing to the exit like Cinderella rushing to get back to her stepmother's house before midnight. And that wasn't the only thing he had to worry about.
When Adam turned around, he saw Amandine, Henriette and François standing at the far side of the ballroom; a mixture of shock and anger on their faces at the scandal they'd just witnessed.
"'He was a charming man,' she said. 'A charming man looking for a nice wife to settle down and produce an heir with.' I should have known it was all a ruse to cover up his disgusting, sacrilegious, womanizing… habits!"
Fifteen minutes had passed since the end of Adam and Amandine's engagement party. Adam was sitting on the sofa, watching François angrily pace the salon with a glass of wine in hand. Amandine was standing by the window; seemingly unsure if she should be sitting down herself. Her face was downcast, but she wasn't crying. Adam didn't know whether to interpret that as a good or bad sign.
"Adam?" Henriette said gently. She was standing across from the Prince, brows raised in deep concern. "Have you met this woman before?"
"Just once," he replied uncomfortably. "Back in Villeneuve, I—"
"Bah! Of course he's lying," François cut in. "Don't listen to a word he says, Amandine. It's obvious that the peasant girl he danced with tonight was one of many of the many sleazy whores he's been hiding behind our backs this entire time!"
"She's NOT a whore!" Adam snapped, rising to his feet.
"Adam!" Henriette shouted, stepping between the two men. "François! That's quite enough! I'd like a moment to speak to my son, uninterrupted please."
The King rolled his eyes, but compliantly waved his hand and turned around, leaving mother and son to talk in peace.
"Adam," Henriette began intently. "Have you been meeting with this woman in secret?"
"No," Adam replied.
"Have you been sending her letters or favours of any kind?"
"No."
"Have you engaged in any sexual relations with her?"
"Of course not!"
"Then what, may I ask, is your relationship to her?"
Adam took a deep breath. His gaze shifted from his mother, to François, to Amandine as he thought of an appropriate answer. Should he let the cat out of the bag and reveal the true nature of his relationship with Belle? Or lie and act like what they'd seen tonight was harmless?
He knew the former option wouldn't sit well with any of them. With no one to defend his story about curses and time travelling, they'd all think he'd gone mental, or created an elaborate fabrication to justify why he couldn't marry Amandine. Either way, it would get him into a heap more trouble than he already was in. And he would gain absolutely nothing from it. He bowed his head in defeat.
"Nothing," he lied. "She was an artisan's daughter I met in Villeneuve last week. She mentioned that she liked to read, so I sent her a book with her ball invitation to… encourage her passion. She came to the castle tonight to thank me and tell me that she and her father would be moving to Diderot tomorrow to start a new business. I asked her to dance with me to celebrate the good news. That's it."
The Queen raised her brows skeptically. "And I trust that whatever transpired between you and this... artisan's daughter won't interfere with the wedding ceremony tomorrow?"
"No." He shook his head. "Absolutely not. She's leaving tomorrow and she's not coming back."
"Well then"—she turned to address Amandine and François with a stilted smile—"I think there's nothing more to worry about here. It was all just a big mix-up. It won't happen again."
"It better not," François replied sharply. "As you know, I don't pick out husbands for my daughter lightly. If I hear or see another incident that involves your son cavorting with these wanton peasants, then consider us out of the arrangement."
Amandine met eyes with Adam but said nothing. He almost wished that she was the one yelling at him instead of her father. Any word from her was better than silence.
Henriette escorted Adam to the West Wing for the night, despite his insistence that he was perfectly capable of walking there by himself. She said nothing to him the entire way, which made him feel both guilty and uncomfortable. He tried repeatedly to voice an apology to her, but the words died in his throat each time.
It wasn't until they'd reached his bedroom that they finally spoke.
"Thierry. Defraine," the Queen said, addressing the guards standing by the West Wing doors. "Guard my son's room tonight and ensure that he doesn't leave."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Mère?"
Henriette turned to her son. Her face was tired and sorrowful now, a stark contrast to the composed demeanour she'd put on for their guests downstairs. "I'm very sorry about this, Adam. When your father sent me to Corsica all those years ago, I had no idea of the cruel and selfish person he'd twist you up to become. I swore when I returned that I'd do everything in my power to break you of his bad habits. But it seems I didn't try hard enough. Just… stay in your room until the wedding ceremony tomorrow. It will put my mind at ease."
The Prince opened his mouth in outrage. "But I'm your son! Why would I ever think of leaving you?"
"I don't know, Adam, I don't know." She shook her head. "All I know is that tonight, you were dancing with a… common girl when you should have been staying by Amandine's side and setting an example for your people. Think of how humiliated that poor girl must be right now! And imagine what those villagers from Villeneuve think of their Prince, now that they've seen him favouring the attention of some artisan's daughter over his future bride. All well-wishing aside, you knew it was wrong to be mingling with her so close to your wedding day! A reckless act like that can't go down without a punishment." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Stay here tonight and focus on getting your rest. We'll talk things over in the morning."
Once he was alone and confined to his room, Adam kicked the closest table in a fit of rage.
Well done Adam. You've really done it now. Why couldn't you control yourself? Why couldn't you keep your big fat mouth shut? Why did you even remotely believe that asking Belle to stay here would be a good idea?
In the deepest darkest recesses of his mind, he knew why: because he was desperate. Because despite all the freedom and opportunities open to him as a prince, none of it gave him any real satisfaction. But she did.
But what had it all amounted to? Nothing. Belle was leaving tomorrow—again—never to return. And Adam was going to spend the rest of his life waking up and falling asleep next to a woman he didn't love, trapped in an unhappy marriage, just like the one that had destroyed his parents. Then he'd eventually have to sire children to continue his legacy, and the same miserable cycle would start all over again. It wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to his future descendants, and it wasn't fair to Amandine.
If only I could make Belle trust me. If only I can convince my mother that I really do love Belle, and don't just see her as another conquest. It's Amandine who's the one who's wrong for me, not Belle!
But there wasn't enough time.
And the one thing that would give him more time was lying on a desk in the castle library. And the only way to that library was blocked by the guards standing outside his bedroom door.
Desperation growing, Adam hurried to the balcony, wondering if he could climb up the roof to reach the book that way. But one look at the closest turret and he knew it was impossible. It was one thing to scale walls and leap from rooftop to rooftop with a bear-like body and razor-sharp claws. But to do it as a human would not only be crazy, it would be suicide. Adam might have been desperate, but he wasn't stupid.
Options spent, the Prince returned to the West Wing and sat on his bed, wringing his hands in despair. He'd left his old world to escape one dead end, only to stumble straight into another one. All he could do now was dread the long, long night ahead of him.