Adam awoke to find himself warmly nestled under the blankets of his bed in the West Wing. He was momentarily confused; having no memory of going back to sleep, before the day's earlier events came rushing back: travelling back in time to when he was twelve, confronting and punching his father in the face, saving his younger self from years of needless suffering…
As he recalled these things, an image of the King; bloody-nosed, mortified and muttering to himself on the floor appeared in his mind's eye. At first, the Prince had felt uncomfortable seeing his father so vulnerable after punching him. But now he was surprised and strangely, sad. Does that mean I pity him? He quickly banished the thought. He refused to feel any pity for the man who had single-handedly destroyed his childhood. The man deserved what he got, and Adam had no reason to dwell on the matter.
Putting his musings of his father aside, the Prince stretched his limbs and rolled to his side, content to spend a few more minutes enjoying the warmth of his bed before getting up and acclimatizing himself to this new reality. But as he peered over the mattress, he noticed something strange lying on the floor. It was a frilly black and white dress… and not far from that, an assortment of ladies' undergarments.
His eyes widened in shock. That isn't supposed to be there.
Now wide awake, Adam turned to the other side of the bed to see a tuft of frizzy black hair sticking out from the blankets. Is someone… in the bed with me? He pulled away the covers to find a woman with dark skin, thin brown eyebrows and full pink lips sleeping on the other side of the mattress. His heart skipped a beat. He knew this woman. She was...
"Oh!" he shouted in alarm. He jerked away from the sleeper so fast that he fell straight off the bed. If his bedmate hadn't been woken by his shout, then she would have definitely been woken by the loud "thud" he made as he hit the ground. Sure enough, as the Prince fought to free himself from his blankets, he heard the bed creaking, followed by a mellow voice asking, "Maître? Are you all right?"
After a moment's struggle, the Prince succeeded in pulling the blankets off his head. Peering down at him from the mattress, with an expression of utmost concern, was Plumette, the former castle feather duster and Lumière's long-time lady love.
"P-Plumette?" the Prince stammered as he gaped at her in disbelief.
"Plumette?" The maid scrunched up her face in confusion. "Why, no one's called me by that name since I was a little girl. My name is Babette, Your Highness."
"Oh. Well, then… Babette." It suddenly dawned on the Prince that he wasn't wearing any clothes. He hastily gathered up his blankets to cover up his nether regions, while hotly embarrassed that his maid had probably seen everything already. "What are you doing here?" In bed? With me?
Babette tilted her head in confusion. "You asked for me last night? After the dinner party?"
"I did?" He blinked. "I mean, of course I did! And Lumière agreed to such an arrangement?"
"Lumière?" She frowned. Then, her eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah oui, Lumière, the old maître d'hôtel! He stopped working here years ago. Why would he need to agree with me staying with you?"
"No reason," Adam replied. But internally, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong here. Lumière no longer worked at the castle, and from the sound of it, Plumette—who now called herself Babette—was the Prince's courtesan; a position he'd never forced on any of his servants before, even when he was at his most selfish.
"Perhaps you hurt your head when you fell," Babette said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Shall I send for the physician?"
"Oh no no no." He shook his head vigorously. "That won't be necessary. Just a bad dream, that's all. Where are my clothes?"
Babette gestured to a pile of crumpled garments lying in front of the bed. Among them was a lilac-coloured jacket. Adam grimaced, wondering why he would wear such a repulsive colour, before reminding himself that anything was better than wearing nothing right now. He crawled over to put on the clothes, Babette's curious gaze following him the entire way.
He had just finished getting dressed when he heard a knock on the door. Happy to distract himself, as Babette's staring was starting to make him feel very uncomfortable, he got up to answer it. On the other side of the doorway stood a portly man with a wide chin and dark hair pulled back into a queue. He was dressed as a servant, and although he seemed familiar to Adam, he couldn't recall where he'd seen him before.
"Good morning, Master!" the servant said with a loud and buoyant-sounding voice. "You're looking considerably bewildered and bedraggled on this fine Wednesday morning."
"You." Now Adam knew why this man was so familiar. "You were with that soldier when he proposed marriage to Belle back in Villeneuve. What on earth are you doing here?"
"Hmm... well I think someone had a bit too much Chardonnay to drink last night," the servant replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Allow me to introduce—or should I say, reintroduce myself. My name's Yannick LeFou and I'm your maître d', remember?" He emphasized every word slowly like he was speaking to a small child. "Can I get you anything? Some breakfast? Tea for you and Mademoiselle Babette?"
Utterly exasperated and unsure of how to respond, Adam shut and backed himself against the door. What the devil is going on? He'd expected to encounter a few differences from altering the past, but he hadn't expected things to change this much.
LeFou knocked on the door again. "Um… also, your uncle's waiting for you in your study," he added nervously. "He'd like a word with you… sometime today preferably."
Adam barely had time to process this new information before he sensed movement coming from the bed. He looked up and let out a startled shout. Babette had risen from the blankets, exposing more of her female anatomy to him than he'd ever cared to see before.
"Good lord!" he shouted, turning away and placing a hand next to the side of his face in sheer mortification. "Put some clothes on. Please."
"Bien sûr Maître!" Babette darted around the bed to retrieve her dress and underclothes without a moment's hesitation.
Adam didn't know what he wanted to do more: vomit into the closest chamber pot or summon Chapeau to draw him a bath. Most likely vomit first.
One very confusing half-hour later, Adam found himself sitting in his bureau, across from a now middle-aged Uncle Christophe, who was extremely unhappy with his only nephew. It was difficult for Adam to understand why, due to the fragmented nature of his uncle's rambling, but from what he gathered, he'd partaken in some reckless drinking the week before that had got him into serious trouble. Christophe had sent Adam to Germany to meet with the Queen of Eisenten, who owned a plot of uncleared land near the French-Germany border. Adam was supposed to explain to the Queen his reasons for needing her land and to negotiate the terms of its ownership. Instead, he'd gotten extremely drunk at dinnertime, spending the evening making inappropriate comments at his hosts and flirting with the Queen's daughter, well-aware that she was already engaged to someone else. Needless to say, the Queen was not impressed. The negotiations for her land never took place.
"It serves me right for letting you go to Germany unchaperoned," said Christophe, putting a hand over his face exasperatingly. "Here it was, a perfect opportunity for you to finally do something to benefit the kingdom, and you couldn't even do that right! When are you going to stop acting like a child and start taking your responsibilities seriously? You're a prince of France for goodness sake, not a silly drunkard!"
"You're right, Oncle."
The Duke looked up at his nephew in shock. "What did you say?"
Adam shrugged. "You've articulated your points loudly and clearly. I should focus on establishing a good rapport with our neighbouring kingdoms, not on superficial things like drinking and flirting with young women. The display I made back in Germany was disgraceful, uncouth and disrespectful of my hosts, whom I'm sure put a great deal of time and effort into welcoming me to their kingdom. In fact, I intend to write a letter to Queen Wilhelmine today, expressing my sincerest apologies and to ask her for a second chance to discuss an agreement for the ownership of her land."
Christophe's mouth hung open in shock. "Who are you, and what have you done with my nephew? You know what?" He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't bother answering that question. I don't want to know! As it happens, Queen Wilhelmine will be visiting Versailles next week for the Emperor's birthday celebration. You'll have one more chance to smooth things over with her then, provided she's willing to speak with you again first."
"Then I will ensure my next impression on her will be better than my first," Adam vowed.
"And I'll eat my hat when that happens," the Duke replied sarcastically. "LeFou!" He gestured to the maître d', who was standing diligently by the bureau door. "Summon my carriage for me, please. Pré-de-bois awaits."
"Your wish is my command, Your Grace," LeFou said with a bow.
"LeFou?" Adam added quickly. "Would you ready my horse for me as well?"
LeFou gave his master a quizzical look. "But what about your meeting with the Comte de Crevoisier? He'll be arriving at the castle in less than an hour."
"Tell him to wait," Adam commanded. "I have urgent business with an artisan in Villeneuve regarding… a new commission for the castle. I must get there with all possible haste."
"And since when have you had any interest in doing business with your subjects?" Christophe inquired, who now looked just as surprised as LeFou. "The last time we spoke, you said they reminded you of 'unintelligent pigs who roll in the muck all day, unaware of their own filth.'"
"I do partake in things outside of excessive drinking and complaining about the cleanliness of my subjects, you know," the Prince said dryly.
LeFou let out a loud guffaw, then silenced himself upon seeing Christophe's dumbstruck expression. After a moment, the Duke rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Keep an eye on my nephew, will you LeFou?" he requested as he rose to his feet.
"For you, Your Grace, I will keep two eyes open."
The Duke pat LeFou on the shoulder and exited the room.
Meanwhile, Adam leaned back in his seat and sighed in relief. There was obviously some history between him and his uncle in this timeline that he hadn't uncovered yet, but he'd investigate that later. Right now, finding Belle was his top priority.
The journey to Villeneuve seemed to take forever. Adam wondered if it would have been safer to go by carriage instead of horseback. But at the same time, he wasn't in the mood to be drawing unwanted attention to himself and riding alone would be quicker than riding with a driver.
Upon reaching the village square, the Prince realized that he had no idea where Belle's house was. He'd been so engrossed in their conversation the last time he'd been here; he hadn't thought of memorizing its location in case he needed to find her in the future. Too embarrassed and proud to ask the villagers for help, he decided to retrace his steps by leading his horse in the general area he last remembered walking with her.
Several wrong turns and backtracks later, he finally came across the tired-looking house at the edge of the town.
But it was different now. The doors and windows were boarded up by wooden planks. Shingles were missing from the roof. The front garden, which was previously filled with fresh green cabbages, was now barren and empty. All clear indicators that no one had lived there in a long time. Adam's stomach lurched unpleasantly. If Belle doesn't live here anymore, then where is she?
He heard a peal of laughter and turned to see Gaston walking with his arm draped over a dark-haired woman in a frilly pink dress and bonnet. For a second, Adam feared that she might be Belle, but then she lifted her head, and her powdered face, dark eyebrows and red lipstick told him that she wasn't. Thank God.
Adam fidgeted with his hands nervously. He couldn't say that he was terribly fond of Gaston since he'd seen him trying to kiss Belle back at the chapel. But at the same time, he was probably the only person in his vicinity to know anything about her whereabouts. Knowing this, he swallowed his pride and approached the party apprehensively.
"You there! Monsieur... Légume, was it?"
"Your Highness!" Upon seeing the Prince, Gaston stooped himself down into a low bow, forcing the woman to do the same. "It's such an honour to have you in our village. How do you know my name?"
"Well, you have to know these things when you're a prince, you know."
"What's my name, Your Highness?" said Gaston's partner, taking a step towards Adam and gazing at him with wide eyes.
"Umm…" Adam wrinkled his nose. "Marie?"
The woman gasped. "Gaston, he really does know everything!"
"Indeed. How may we be of service to you, Your Highness?" asked Gaston. "Is there a traitor running loose in the kingdom? Is our country on the brink of war with the British? I don't mean to brag, but I served as a legendary captain in the war against the Portuguese twelve years ago. I would be more than willing to serve and fight against any fiends who may be a threat to our kingdom's safety."
"While I greatly appreciate your past contributions to defending France, I'm afraid that war is not what I've come here to discuss," Adam replied. "I'm looking for information on the whereabouts of a Maurice and Belle Gagnier who used to live in the house behind me. Do you have any idea what happened to them?"
"Maurice?" Gaston raised an eyebrow. "He passed away over a year ago! He's buried in the cemetery behind our church. And as to his daughter Belle, well who knows what happened to her? She left town a few months after her father's funeral and no one's heard of her since. A pity, too." He frowned. "She was such a pretty thing. I proposed to her many times, telling her how our marriage would save her from a life of spinsterhood and homelessness, but the stubborn girl kept refusing me."
Marie cleared her throat.
"Um, but of course, her beauty could never compare to my darling Marie-Élise's," Gaston added, turning to his companion with a sheepish expression. "She is the true love of my life. The only one worthy of being my wife and bearing my future children."
"Oh, Gaston." Marie-Élise giggled. "You flatter me."
"Come here mon petit chou." Gaston grabbed Marie-Élise's hand and trailed several kisses down the side of her arm, eliciting more delighted giggles from the young woman.
Not wanting their flirtations to become more nauseating than they already were, Adam asked, "Do either of you happen to know where she went?"
"Ah, yes," Gaston replied, releasing Marie-Élise's arm. "I believe it was to—what was the name of that town again...? It started with an 'R.'"
"Rabelais?" Marie-Élise suggested.
"That's the one! Last I heard, Belle had gone there to work for a carpenter or someone of that nature. Never caught the name, unfortunately."
"Carpentry is a filthy occupation if you ask me," said Marie-Élise, crossing her arms distastefully. "But then again, that girl never seemed to act the way a proper lady should. She was always walking around town with her nose stuck in a book or building the most unsightly-looking machines. Villeneuve's been a much better place without her."
"Thank you both for your information," Adam said with a curt nod. "I'm afraid I must be on my way now."
"Wait, Your Highness?" Gaston called before he took off. "If you ever find yourself in need of a new captain of the guard for your castle, I would be more than happy to oblige you!"
It took every ounce of Adam's self-control to not roll his eyes. "Thank you," he replied. "I will send word if there's ever a need." Hopefully never!
After parting ways with Gaston and Marie-Élise, Adam walked his horse to the open field behind Belle's old house, reflecting on everything he'd just learned about. He felt a deep sense of pity for Belle, knowing that she had lost her father in this universe. While he knew little of the man himself, he did know that Belle thought the world of him. If losing Maurice to eternal imprisonment was painful enough, then losing him forever must have been utterly unbearable.
At the same time, he was glad that Belle hadn't let her father's death stop her from pursuing her passions. Perhaps she was in the middle of designing the world's next great invention or travelling the world to see all the places she'd read about in her books. He wished he could know for certain, but Rabelais was a big city with many different carpenters. Without knowing the exact name of the carpenter who had apprenticed Belle, it could be ages before he could track down her whereabouts.
If only I still had the mirror, he thought regretfully. If he did, all he'd have to do was ask it to show him Belle, and he could piece together enough clues from her reflection to find her current location.
But while he didn't have the mirror anymore, he did have the book. He looked pensively out at the green pasture in front of him.
He had never used the book to transport him to a person before. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember if the Enchantress had said he couldn't use it for that purpose. All he remembered her telling him was that the book could transport him to wherever his heart desired. What if that rule didn't only apply to times and places, but to living things too?
Curious to know if there was any truth to his speculating, Adam retrieved the magic book from his horse's saddlebags and turned to the page of the map (He'd moved the book there for safekeeping after finding it wrapped in his blankets that morning). Then, realizing that it would be unwise to leave an expensive horse in the middle of a field while he magicked himself to Belle's location, he turned to his steed and put a hand on his neck.
"Sorry, Magnifique," he apologized. "This might get a little... strange."
He conjured a mental picture of Belle as she'd looked at last night's ball, dressed in her blue Sunday dress with her hair pinned behind her head. Almost immediately, starlight bled from his fingertips onto the map, and then the world began to spin rapidly…
When the spinning stopped, and Adam could see clearly again, he and Magnifique were on the empty outskirts of a large city. Beside them was a dirt road that led to a cluster of tall buildings. Across from the road was a small, three-storey structure with the words "La Bouteille Bon Marché" painted in faded gold letters above the entrance.
Adam furrowed his brows in confusion. The book hadn't taken him to a carpenter's shop as he'd expected. It had taken him to a tavern.
Why would the book bring me here? Belle didn't strike him as the kind of person to engage in the rowdy activities that went on in these establishments. Maybe she was meeting someone inside? Or maybe she was travelling, and this tavern was a side stop to some bigger, more important destination?
There was only one way to find out. Adam left his bewildered horse in the stables beside the tavern and headed inside.
A strong smell of tobacco and ale reached his nose as he passed through the front doors. He was in a dimly lit room with a counter on one side and a staircase leading to the upper floors on the other. As it was still early in the day, there were only a handful of patrons sitting and conversing with each other at the tables. Their chatter immediately died down upon seeing the Prince, who stood out like a sore thumb in his overly expensive attire. He flashed them an awkward smile to break the tension. If Belle really was somewhere in this tavern, he hoped she wasn't intending to stay long.
"Why good morning Your Highness!" said a cheerful-sounding voice. A middle-aged woman with flyaway blonde hair and a tray of beer tankards approached him. "What a pleasure to see you in our tavern! My name is Madame Lefevre and I'm the co-owner of this fine establishment. How may I help you today? If it's a drink you're craving, may I recommend the Hefeweizen? It's a nice and refreshing beer imported straight from Germany."
"Thank you, Madame Lefevre," Adam replied courteously. "If it's not too much trouble, I'm seeking a private word with someone in this building. Her name is Belle Gagnier."
Madame Lefevre seemed to know exactly who Adam was talking about, because she turned to the back of the tavern and shouted, "Oi, Belle! Viens ici!"
A barmaid scrubbing a table at the far side of the room lifted her head curiously. It took a moment for Adam's eyes to adjust to the shadows so he could see her face clearly. His jaw dropped.
It was Belle.
Only she didn't look like Belle anymore. Her dull, greasy hair was tied up into a loose bun, and she was wearing a tightly fitted salmon pink dress that drew a great deal of attention to her bare shoulders and bosom. Her face was pale and gaunt and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked a lot thinner too, and not in a healthy way.
Upon seeing the Prince, Belle's eyes widened in shock. Then, her expression darkened into something that looked like revulsion.
"Well, I'm not paying you to spend all day gawking about," Madame Lefevre said, staring at her impatiently. "Get your derrière over here before I kick it for you!"
This remark was enough to bring Belle to her senses. She tucked her washcloth into her apron and walked rigidly to the front of the tavern, hands shaking from where they hung at her sides. This struck Adam as odd. It was not unusual for his subjects to gape at him whenever he made a public appearance. But Belle seemed to be more afraid of him than fascinated. Why is that?
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Gagnier," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sorry to pull you from your work."
Belle said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, as though she was waiting for it to swallow her whole.
"Belle!" Madame Lefevre snapped. "His Royal Highness just said something to you. Aren't you going to respond?"
"Not at all, Your Highness," Belle replied quietly. "It's a great… honour to be in your presence."
"Much better." The landlady smiled approvingly. "Belle, today is your lucky day. Prince Adam is in need of your services. He's requested a private appointment with you."
Belle looked up in alarm. "A what?"
"Are you deaf, girl? This is your job now, whether you like it or not! Now go upstairs and get yourself ready. And don't you worry about finishing the tables. I'll leave Corine and Marie-Justine to take care of them."
"Yes, Madame," said Belle, though her tightly pursed lips seemed to suggest she'd rather do anything else. Still, she curtsied and headed upstairs, letting out several hacking coughs along the way.
"Why do you speak to her so harshly?" Adam asked once she was out of earshot. "She's only a girl."
"A girl she may be, Your Highness, but she still needs to know the ways of our business," Madame Lefevre replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "Belle's new to our tavern, see. She's only worked here for a few months and still holds this high and mighty notion that she's better than everyone else. It's all those books she used to read I tell you. That, and not having a mother to raise her and teach her the mannerisms expected of a young lady. If not for her pretty looks bringing in extra customers, I would have sacked her ages ago. But enough with my blabbering." She looked to the stairs. "She's in room number six when you're ready. If she's any trouble at all, just let me know."
The way Madame Lefevre worded her last sentence made Adam wonder how much trouble Belle had had with customers in the past. It was only slightly less disconcerting than knowing that she was having private appointments with them, appointments that from the sound of it, went beyond the simple business of cleaning tables and serving them food.
Adam climbed the stairs and passed through a dingy hallway with a dusty red carpet. Room number six was on the right-hand side. He knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Belle.
Opening the door, Adam found himself in a bedchamber that was even smaller than the crumbling, dusty attic he had explored with Belle back in Paris. Even more shocking than the room's tiny size was the fact that it was devoid of any decorations that would give insight into its owner's personality. There were no books, no sketches, no prototypes of future inventions lying around, nothing that shouted out to him as distinctly "Belle." All there was was a vanity, a bed with unwashed bed sheets, a small window and an open wardrobe containing some battered-looking dresses. It was a room that could belong to any working girl, but not to her.
"Well, aren't you going to undress?" Belle asked impatiently.
She sat on the bed with her legs crossed. Now that they were alone, she seemed to have no qualms about looking angry again, for reasons Adam still didn't understand.
"I beg your pardon?" he replied.
"Undress?" She cocked an eyebrow. "That's how this works, right? You take your clothes off, you take my clothes off, we do our little 'horizontal dance' in bed until you get bored of me and toss me aside like a used handkerchief? Isn't that how you treat all your whores?"
"I'm not here to bed you," Adam said quietly.
"Really?" There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes, before her expression hardened again. "Then... why are you here?"
"Because…" He paused, searching for words and kicking himself for not preparing a good cover story. "I wanted to ask you a question. Which is… how would you like to work for me at my castle?"
Belle crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed with this idea. "Tired of laying with your concubines, so now you have to scour village taverns to find new girls to keep your bed warm? How embarrassing."
"This isn't for a job as a… courtesan," he hesitated. "It's for a job as a librarian. I'm looking for someone with a bright mind and a passion for literature to help me re-organize the books in my library. A… very reliable source told me that you would be perfect for the job."
"A reliable source?" Belle let out a laugh, followed by another series of coughs. "I'm sorry to say, Your Highness, but your sources are running on outdated information. I gave up on believing in fairy tales and that 'adventure in the great wide somewhere' rubbish ages ago, once I realized that it wasn't going to help me put bread on the table."
Adam frowned. He could feel that he was losing her and didn't want to after everything he'd gone through just to find her in this reality. "Mademoiselle Gagnier, I can assure you that I will double—no quadruple whatever wages Madame Lefevre pays you here," he persisted. "And not only that, but all your meals will be covered as part of your expenses. You'd work with a kind and supportive staff and have comfortable clothes and a proper room."
"It does sound convincing when you put it that way," Belle agreed. "But you've left out one key detail. I'd never serve, so much as live with the man who killed my father."
"What?"
"Oh, come off it!" she snapped. "Are you really that oblivious? Do the words 'horseback riding' and 'old man on the road' ring a bell to you at all?"
"You'll need to... enlighten me."
Belle stood up and paced the floor. "Last June, my father and I were travelling to La Fontaine. We were going there to sell a prototype for an invention we'd built together, one that would have made us a lot of money. But as we were passing through the woods near your castle, one of our trunks fell out of the wagon. My father walked onto the road to retrieve it. And who should have shown up but you." She looked back at him. "You and that... ruddy cousin of yours, Marquis something-or-other. You were both riding your horses at breakneck speeds, right into my father's path. He tried to get out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough. Your horse knocked him over as you rode past him." Her voice grew angry again. "You didn't stop, didn't even look back."
Adam listened in dumbstruck horror as Belle continued to outline the aftermath of his accident with Maurice. He assumed she either hadn't told anyone this story before or was looking to get a load off her chest, because her words were vivid and full of detail. The impact of his horse had thrown Belle's father off the road; quite hard it seemed because when she ran to him, he was bleeding badly and could no longer feel his legs. It took her hours to hoist him back into the wagon and rush him back to Villeneuve. By then, she was too late. The doctor took one look at Maurice and told Belle that his injuries were too severe to treat. If he did end up surviving, he would be crippled and in great pain for the rest of his life. Maurice tried to put up a good fight, but despite his efforts, died three days later. Naturally, Belle put all the blame on the Prince.
In the months after her father's death, Belle tried to make money from selling vegetables in her garden and doing odd jobs for her neighbours. But as summer turned to autumn, she realized that she wasn't making nearly enough money to sustain herself. She couldn't even rely on her prototype invention as a source of income anymore, as she had left it in the woods to lighten the wagon when she'd taken her father back to Villeneuve. Gaston had come calling for her many times in this period, trying to convince her to marry him, but she refused. Despite her financial difficulties, she was determined to find another way to provide for herself, one that didn't involve spending the rest of her life with a boorish, brainless man she didn't love.
One day, as Belle was going through a box of her father's possessions, she discovered a letter from his old friend, Alain Monteil, who worked as a carpenter in Rabelais. Belle remembered that Monsieur Monteil often took on apprentices to run his shop and wondered if he would be willing to take her, given his past relationship with Maurice. She sent him a letter, and some weeks later, received one back, saying he would be delighted to take her on as an apprentice. Belle was ecstatic. She packed up her house with what few possessions she still owned and moved to the city.
For the first few months of her apprenticeship, Belle was happy. Monsieur Monteil was a great mentor and was quick to defend her from the more bigoted apprentices at his shop, who believed that carpentry was no place for a young woman. Belle hadn't even worked at the shop for a full season, however, when Monsieur Monteil died from an unexpected heart condition. The shop passed on to his son, who, unlike his father, refused to take on a lady apprentice. Belle was curtly dismissed. Because she had no money to travel back to Villeneuve, she took on another job as a seamstress at a dress shop in town. Only the head seamstress was highly mistrustful of her, and after finding her reading some "unsavoury" literature (which was really just an innocent book of children's stories), declared her unfit to work at her business. Unemployed once more, Belle was left with one last option: working as a barmaid at a tavern on the outskirts of Rabelais.
At first, Belle's responsibilities at La Bouteille Bon Marché were limited to cleaning tables, serving drinks to customers and cooking meals. But once she noticed that she was running out of money to cover her apartment rent, she'd pleaded with Madame Lefevre to give her a raise. Instead, the landlady gave her a proposal. She would increase her wages and offer her a room at the tavern if she agreed to engage in sexual favours with customers during her work hours. Belle was horrified. She refused her offer, but as the weeks passed, and the price for her rent increased, admitted that she had no other option.
Belle did not go into the specifics of what her first sexual encounter was like, but Adam could guess from her facial expressions and body language that it was a horrible experience; one that she desperately wanted to forget. She'd been living and working here ever since; a lowly barmaid-prostitute, barely a shell of the person she used to be.
By the time she had finished her story, Belle was on the brink of tears. "Do you know why I had to give up my books and inventions?" she asked him. "Do you know why I have this disgusting job? It's all because of you. Because you didn't stop for my father in the woods."
"I'm sorry," Adam apologized. "I had no idea—"
"Of course you wouldn't!" she barked. "Have you ever cared about your subjects or seen them as anything more than personal objects? You may look like a prince, but I see right through that stupid façade of yours. All you are is a spoiled and selfish beast. And if my words make you angry, so be it. Drag me to your castle. Make me another one of your sex slaves. Sentence me to death for all I care. I've lost my father and my pride. It won't be much longer before I lose everything else too."
"I can fix this."
"Really?" She coughed. "How? Can you bring back the dead? Can you turn back time and stop your bloody horse from knocking over my father? I don't think so." She glared at him. "I hate you, Prince Adam. I hate you and I will never forgive you!" With that, she fell to the ground, sobbing loudly as she succumbed to her grief.
Adam slowly approached her, trying to hold in his own despair as he reached down to touch her on the shoulder. But Belle smacked his hand away before he could. "Leave me alone!" she shouted.
His lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle." He dropped a bag of coins on her vanity, the sound of her cries still ringing in his ears long after he'd left her room.