The carriage drew to a halt. Adam nearly fell out of his seat as an unfamiliar man with a scruffy beard opened the door. His black tricorn hat and brown cape coat were damp from the rain. This struck Adam as significant, as it had been raining before he'd travelled back in time. Had the book transported him to the present again?
"Master?" the man said in alarm. "Is everything all right? I thought I heard screaming."
Adam blinked in confusion. "Who are you?" he asked.
The man frowned. "Why, I'm your coachman, Silvestre Boissel, of course."
"Right," Adam muttered, unsure of what he was supposed to do with this information. He looked around the carriage again. To his surprise, he was no longer dressed in his black funeral attire, but a brown jacket and white shirt with ruffled sleeves. He was also the only one in the coach. Vincent and Chapeau were no longer sitting across from him. But what shocked him the most was when he looked back at the floor and realized that the magic book was gone. Even its ashes hadn't managed to leave a trace on the carpet.
"My Lord?" Silvestre repeated. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes." Adam lied. "My apologies. I thought I saw a spider…" He looked back at Silvestre. "Did you just call me 'My Lord?'"
"Well of course," the coachman replied. "That is your title, after all. Thomas-Alexandre de Breil de Pontbriand, Comte de Droitebrume?"
No, it isn't, Adam thought. Why was his coachman addressing him as a count instead of a prince? And why was he going by his mother's surname instead of his father's?
"My Lord, would you like some air?" Silvestre said, brows furrowed in concern. "It's raining outside, but I can find somewhere to pull over if you need to—"
"No, that won't be necessary," Adam interrupted. "Just take me to… where are we going exactly?"
"The Château de la Rose, sire. To see your brother?"
Adam looked at the coachman with a dumbstruck expression. "I don't have a brother."
"Désolé, Mon Seigneur. A poor slip of the tongue I'm afraid. I meant your adopted brother."
Unfortunately, this didn't help Adam make sense of his new situation whatsoever. He needed more information, and fast. "Would you consider yourself loyal to me, Silvestre?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I'd like to think so, Master."
"Then would you kindly answer these questions for me?"
"I'll try my best."
"Who is my adopted brother?"
"He is Gaston, My Lord," the coachman replied diligently. "He reigns as king over this part of France."
Gaston? Isn't that the name of that soldier who was trying to court Belle? The Prince—technically "The Count" now—shook his head. Gaston wasn't that uncommon of a name. Silvestre was probably referring to a man who had the same name as Gaston. Probably...
"How long has Gaston been king of this region?" he continued.
"For eight years, sire. He took over the throne after your father transferred your title and inheritance to him on his deathbed. Erm... but I guess I shouldn't have mentioned that," he added awkwardly, "what with it being a sore subject for you and all."
Adam ignored Silvestre's comment. "What is the purpose of my visit to my brother?"
"Well, it's not my place to question the business of my betters, My Lord. But I believe you mentioned something about going there to request an allowance raise from His Majesty?"
Adam took a second to process this information. Based on what Silvestre was telling him, he'd been disinherited, demoted to a count, and now some adopted brother of his named Gaston was ruling the kingdom in his stead. He hadn't created a simple mishap by shooting down the Enchantress. He'd created a complete and utter catastrophe.
"Is there anything else you'd like to ask me, My Lord?" Silvestre asked through chattering teeth. "It's getting awfully cold out here."
"Oh no," Adam replied, suddenly aware of how drenched his coachman was becoming. "That's all I needed to know. In fact," he added, trying to make light of the situation, "the purpose of my questioning was to test how sharp your wits are under the elements! I can't have some simpleton driving me around everywhere you know. So, congratulations! You've successfully passed my test."
Silvestre looked as though his master had completely lost his mind. Still, he nodded thoughtfully and said, "Well, thank you, I suppose. Does this mean we can go to the castle now?"
"Of course we can!" Adam said with an exaggerated grin. He knew he was acting ridiculous, but there was no use in dropping the crazy façade now that he'd started it. "Take me there straight away. And then, once we return to Droitebrume, you will be rewarded handsomely for your time."
"As you wish, Master," Silvestre replied, shaking his head incredulously. He shut the door and returned to the front of the carriage.
Once they started moving again, Adam's cheerful expression turned to one of dread. He hadn't even been here for five minutes and desperately wanted to go back. But with the book gone, it was next to impossible. All he could do was face whatever mess he'd created and hope that things weren't as awful as they appeared to be.
Fifteen minutes later, the carriage arrived at the iron-wrought gates of Adam's castle. Former castle, he corrected himself. It looked the same on the outside; white and ornate, with pointed towers that stretched towards the heavens. But it was what was happening on the inside that really concerned him.
Silvestre stopped the carriage beside the castle's front steps, where LeFou was waiting to greet them. He was dressed in a yellow suit and brandishing an umbrella to keep out the rain. Adam relaxed a fraction upon seeing the portly man. He couldn't say that LeFou was his favourite servant, but his familiar face and overly cheerful disposition was exactly what he needed at a time like this.
"Good afternoon, My Lord," LeFou said as Adam exited the carriage. "How wonderful to see you again! The King is in the throne room. I'll take you to him straight away."
"Thank you, LeFou," Adam replied. He followed the bumbling man into the castle atrium, which also seemed unchanged from its previous reality. The floor was decorated with the same checkered tiles, the pillars engraved with the same oversized pieces of ivy that he'd come to despise during the enchantment. But what struck him as unusual was how silent and empty the place was. That's odd. He couldn't remember any point in his life, beast or human, when he hadn't seen the staff bustling about, cleaning up the castle or preparing for some pressing social event. The absence of them and their incessant chatter put him slightly on edge.
"I hope you had a nice trip?" LeFou asked as he escorted him to the throne room.
"It was… decent," Adam replied. "And how is His Majesty these days?"
"Oh, he's doing great, My Lord!" LeFou beamed. "His trading business in Africa is going swimmingly. Ships come sailing into the harbour every month overflowing with sugar, ivory, and tobacco. We're never without honey and cigarettes in this castle, that's for sure!"
"I'm… glad to hear it," Adam replied. Only he didn't exactly mean it. He'd never approved of the French-African trading business, not since his mother had told him about the harsh labour its slaves had to endure to produce such luxurious products. It was because of her that Adam had never invested in the trades or kept any slaves after his father's passing. It had made perfect sense to him at the time, but clearly, Gaston didn't share in this notion.
A few minutes later, LeFou and the Count arrived at the castle throne room. Unlike the atrium, this room looked very different from how Adam remembered it from his earlier realities. The walls were painted crimson and accented by golden chandeliers and picture frames hanging from the walls. The stuffed heads of wolves, bears, foxes and other wild animals covered the remaining wall space. There were so many of them that Adam wondered if someone had hunted down half the prey in the forest just to put them there.
Feeling uneasy, especially with the Enchantress's death still on his mind, the Count turned his attention to his host. He was sitting at the back of the room with the three dark-haired women that had attended Belle's funeral earlier. One of them was massaging the King's shoulders. Another was massaging his biceps. Marie-Élise was massaging his feet.
"Oh yes, that's it," King Gaston said with a satisfied moan. "That's the spot."
The three women exchanged disgusted expressions but continued to tend to their needy king like nothing was wrong. Adam assumed that they worked here as Gaston's servants or as his courtesans. Either way, he already felt sorry for them.
"Your Majesty?" LeFou cleared his throat as he and Adam approached the throne. "The Comte de Droitebrume has arrived."
King Gaston clapped his hands. The three girls stepped away from the throne, allowing Adam to see his host's face for the first time. His mouth dropped open in shock. It was impossible, but at the same time, that shiny black hair and smug expression were too distinct to belong to anyone else. The King really was Gaston—Belle's old suitor.
But how could he inherit the throne? Adam wondered. Last he'd checked, Gaston was a peasant who'd earned a name for himself after serving in the war for a few years. He didn't have a drop of royal blood in him.
"Thomas," the King said with an affectionate drawl. Adam wrinkled his nose. He'd always hated when his father called him that, but coming from Gaston's mouth, it sounded ten times worse. "How wonderful to see you again." He fanned out his arms to show off his crimson overcoat, which was lined with white fur on the sleeves and buttons. Adam had to resist the urge to cringe. This was truly a man who loved his animals. Only a narcissistic fool would wear that much fur in the middle of July.
"Good day, frère," he responded. "I've come to ask you for an… allowance raise."
"Again?" Gaston cocked an eyebrow. "But didn't you ask me for one last year?"
"Well, obviously whatever you gave me wasn't enough. Or else I wouldn't be here again, would I?"
"All right, all right." He frowned. "No need to be so snarky. Cogsworth!"
The majordomo appeared beside the King in an instant. "Yes, Master?"
"Fetch me a quill and some parchment, please."
"Of course, sire. Right away!"
Cogsworth scrambled out of the throne room and returned a moment later with the requested parchment and a quill made from a blue peacock feather. But rather than look pleased by his servant's promptness, the King raised his brows in horror. "Blue with red, Cogsworth? Are you trying to kill me? That doesn't go with my outfit at all!"
"O-Of course! Dreadfully sorry, Your Majesty," Cogsworth apologized. He ran out of the room again to replace the unsightly quill.
"Servants." Gaston sneered as he turned back to Adam. "Can't they do anything right?"
Adam wanted to tell his "brother" how petty he sounded, making a fuss about a quill that didn't match with his ridiculous outfit. But he knew he couldn't do that without sounding like a hypocrite. After all, how many times had he said similar things to his own staff, never giving a damn about whether he hurt their feelings? He hated to admit it, but in this situation, he and Gaston were one and the same.
A minute later, Cogsworth returned, this time with a quill with a white feather.
"Much better," Gaston said approvingly. He took the stationary and scribbled something on to the parchment. "So, Thomas, I'll raise your allowance to… two gold coins a year."
"Two gold coins?" Adam replied in disbelief. "I could barely hire a new servant with that kind of money!"
"Then perhaps you should fire some of your staff," Gaston coldly suggested. "Surely you don't need that many to run that puny estate of mine? Anyways, two gold coins. That's my final offer. Now take it or leave it."
Adam doubted that his present self would travel all this way for such a meagre allowance raise. He was about to voice this to the King when the doors opened behind him with a loud bang. He turned to see Chip—who looked at least a foot taller than he remembered—chasing Froufrou across the room, laughing at the top of his lungs.
"Come here boy, come here!"
The dog circled around a wooden pedestal supporting a china vase at the side of the room. As Chip hurried to follow him, he tripped and fell on the carpet, sending the ornament toppling from its stand. The vase might have fallen right on top of him if it weren't for Marie-Élise, who caught it just in time. Chip looked startled but otherwise unharmed by the incident.
Gaston, on the other hand, was red in the face with fury. "MRS. POTTS!" he bellowed.
The doors flew open again. Mrs. Potts sprinted into the room, eyes growing wide upon seeing her son lying on the carpet. "Oh my goodness! Chip! Are you all right?'
"I'm fine, Mama," Chip replied, standing up shakily. "I just had a bit of a slip, that's all."
"Mrs. Potts, what have I told you about letting your son run around the castle while I'm conducting business with my visitors?" Gaston demanded. "I almost lost a priceless vase because of him!"
"I'm so sorry, Master," Mrs. Potts stammered. "Chip's always been such a good boy. I thought I'd let him play with the Maestro's dog for a bit while I prepared your luncheon, but then I turned around and—"
"ENOUGH!" Gaston shouted again. "I've had it with your bumbling excuses, woman! I expect my servants to maintain a certain level of propriety in this castle, and when they don't, you'll find that I can get very very angry." He jeered at Mrs. Potts, making her jump back with a frightened squeal. "So, as punishment for your son's insolence, I'm cutting your wages in half. Your wages... and your husband's."
"Cut our wages?" Mrs. Potts's face grew as pale as a porcelain teapot. "But Your Majesty, it was only one mistake!"
"And it's a mistake that will cost you your job if it happens again," Gaston replied indifferently. "This is a castle I'm running, not a bloody nursery."
"But sir—"
"I'm sorry, Mama," Chip whimpered, eyes growing wet with tears.
"That's it," Adam interrupted, taking a step forward. "I've heard enough."
The King turned to his brother in surprise. "What's gotten into you, Thomas? You aren't actually trying to defend this old crone and her incompetent son now, are you?"
"Chip is just a boy," Adam countered, crossing his arms defensively. "Yes, he made a mistake, but there's no reason to dock his parents' wages because of that."
Gaston looked as though his brother had punched him in the face, he was so shocked. His dark brows drew together in rage. "How dare you," he said through gritted teeth. "You have the nerve—no, the audacity to tell me how to discipline my servants?"
"Not at all... Your Majesty. I'm simply saying that you can't hire a young boy to work in your castle and expect him to sit still all day. He's a child, not an adult. If you had an ounce of empathy in you, you would let Chip and Mrs. Potts off with a warning instead of a punishment."
Rather than consider his brother's point, Gaston only became more enraged. "I should have known," he said darkly. "You're making jabs at my leadership skills because you're jealous. You're upset because Père made me the heir instead of you."
"Of course not. I just said that—"
"GUARDS! Take this fool to the dungeon," Gaston commanded. "Let's show him what happens when he dares to challenge my authority."
"Um, begging your pardon, sire," Cogsworth cut in nervously, "but do you really think that's the wisest idea? The Count is your brother after all."
"Do you want to be next?" Gaston snarled. "Joseph in the Bible put too much trust in his brothers and look where he ended up. They dropped him down a well and sold him into slavery!"
Adam was about to point out that Joseph had then worked his way up from a slave to the Vizier of Egypt, but two guards came to apprehend him before he could. He wondered if he should fight them off, but then he saw the weapons strapped to their belts and thought better of it. He was unarmed and didn't have the advantage of brute strength on his side like he did when he was a beast.
Before the guards took him away, Adam looked back at Mrs. Potts and Chip in pity. "I'm very sorry for both of you," he muttered.
He'd mistreated his servants many times before the curse. Only now was he beginning to realize how ugly it looked in somebody else.
The cell doors closed behind Adam with a loud clang.
"By order of His Majesty the King, you will remain detained in this dungeon until further notice," the guard behind him said importantly.
"I don't suppose you know how long that will be, do you?" Adam replied snidely.
The guard shrugged. "Maybe a couple of days. Maybe a few weeks. It all depends on the King's mood. Still, you did make him awfully mad back there. I'd start saying your prayers now if I were you."
He marched down the stairs to begin his patrol for the day. Adam indignantly shoved at the barred doors before storming over to the man-sized window on the opposite side of his cell. Now that he was alone again, he had all the time in the world to reflect on his current circumstances. All he knew was that he'd shot the Enchantress with an arrow, most likely killing her in the process. And now he was trapped in an alternate reality where he was a prisoner in his own castle while Gaston was a king. Worst of all, there was no magic book to bail him out.
Growing increasingly distressed by this new disaster he'd created, Adam looked from the window to the great abyss that separated him from the bottom of the dungeon tower. His sadistic great-great-grandfather had constructed this place with windows that were large enough for its captives to escape—escape through a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop to their death. Even though there was a staircase visible from Adam's cell, the gap between them was too wide to cross safely. He knew this because no prisoner that had attempted the jump had lived to tell the tale.
The more Adam took in the weight of his mistake, the more he wondered if he'd be better off throwing himself off the tower to join the unfortunate prisoners. It doesn't matter what I do to fix my past. I just keep making things worse. I'm a fool to think I could make things better for myself. Just as I'm a fool to think that I ever had a chance at earning Belle's affections.
"Not much of a view, is it?"
Adam jumped backwards and turned to face the unexpected voice. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Belle's father—who was supposed to be dead and buried in the cemetery behind Villeneuve's church—was sitting against the cell wall with an attentive expression on his face. Despite his bloodshot eyes and dishevelled grey hair, he looked very much alive.
"Oh my! I'm sorry if I scared you," Maurice apologized, mistaking Adam's dumbstruck expression for fear. "I've been cooped up here for so long, I haven't had anyone to talk to in days. My name's Maurice by the way." He held out his hand for Adam to shake.
The Count found his voice and stepped forward. "Adam," he replied, shaking the hand of his former prisoner.
"Adam," Maurice repeated inquisitively. "Forgive me, but your accent and bearing are very... distinctive. Would I be correct in assuming that you are a member of the French aristocracy?"
Of course I'm a member of the French aristocracy, Adam thought. I'm only the Prince of this castle after all! But then he remembered himself. He wasn't a prince anymore. In fact, he had an uncanny feeling that in this universe, Maurice didn't know that he and Gaston were even related. "You have a sharp mind," he said simply. "I'm a count from Droitebrume."
"Curious," Maurice remarked. "I knew that Gaston had a habit of locking up his subjects. But I never knew that he could lock up counts, too."
"I'm a... special case," Adam explained. "I came to speak with His Majesty about a financial matter. But then he had me arrested after I accused him of mistreating my—his servants."
"Hmm. Well no surprises there. King Gaston's never been good at handling criticism I'm afraid. My daughter said something similar last week when she refused to become his courtesan. That's how I ended up in this prison cell."
Adam's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Not only was Maurice still alive, but so was Belle. Maybe I haven't ruined everything after all…
"You look surprised," Maurice noted curiously.
"Oh no. I'm just… confused," Adam clarified. "If your daughter refused to become the King's… courtesan, then why are you the one who's locked up instead of her?"
"Oh, I'm afraid that King Gaston can be very manipulative when he wants to be," Maurice said with a rueful shake of his head. "You're not from these parts, so I suppose you're unfamiliar with his way of blackmailing citizens… especially when they refuse to follow his ridiculous commands."
"Regretfully no," Adam replied, already not liking where this conversation was going.
"Well then, allow me to illuminate you. Every few months or so, our King comes to Villeneuve—that's the closest village from here—to find unmarried women to work for him at the castle. Last week, he came for my daughter. His proposal was decent enough—he complimented her appearance and then asked her to become his courtesan in exchange for a lifetime of wealth and happiness. But my daughter refused. And when he tried to convince her that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, she told him that he was a pig and that she'd rather be executed than be his 'pet' for the rest of her life." Maurice chuckled bitterly. "Well, you can imagine how well the King reacted to that. He became so angry, that he decided to lock me up and will only release me if Belle agrees to his proposal."
A sickening feeling rose in Adam's gut. It seemed Gaston's obsession for Belle remained constant, no matter what reality he travelled to. And now that he was a king, there was nothing to stop him from conducting such a vile and dishonourable act. "You don't think she'd agree to that arrangement... do you?" he asked Maurice nervously.
"I hope not." The old man frowned. "Belle is stubborn, but selfless too. In my heart, I hope she'll find the strength to go on without me. But truthfully, I have no idea what her decision will be."
Adam scratched his chin, thinking. He couldn't change the past again. But there was still one thing he could try to remedy Belle and Maurice's predicament.
"Don't worry, monsieur," he assured. "I'll get you back to your daughter before she agrees to the King's offer."
"You will?" Maurice stared at Adam in surprise. "But how? There's no way out of this prison cell. I've been trying for days."
"I'll think of something."
Adam would gladly spend the rest of his days as a beast than see Belle surrender herself to Gaston. And after wrongfully imprisoning Maurice and separating him from his only daughter, this was the best way that he could make it up to both of them.
The trouble was, getting out of the cell was next to impossible. There was nothing to pick the lock with and climbing out the window was far too dangerous. Adam and Maurice deduced that even if they made a rope out of their clothes, it wouldn't be long enough to lower them safely to the bottom of the tower or swing them to the staircase across the window. There was nothing they could attach the rope to either. Tying it to the door would make it too short while tying it to the chamber pot or the stool—the only two pieces of furniture in their cell—would not be able to support all their weight.
By noon, the rain had stopped, and the prisoners had exhausted all their options. Adam was beginning to grow desperate. Every minute he wasted in this cell was another minute Belle could be accepting Gaston's terms to release her father. There was no way he could let that happen.
But unbeknownst to him, help was already on the way. Less than three hours after Adam's imprisonment, two guards arrived at his cell again, bearing two bowls of lumpy grey porridge.
"Bon appetit," the first guard said mockingly as his partner unlocked and opened the door.
Before they could deliver the food however, two loud clanging sounds filled the air. The guards grew limp and fell face-first onto the ground, shattering the bowls and spilling their contents everywhere.
"And that, Lumière, is how you take down a guard," Cogsworth said proudly as he emerged from the shadows holding a sturdy-looking frying pan.
"All right, all right," Lumière grumbled beside him. "You win."
"Cogsworth. Lumière," Adam said incredulously. "What are you doing here?"
"Rescuing you, of course," Lumière replied. "We couldn't let you rot in here after the way you stood up for Chip and Mrs. Potts. We owe you nothing less than our gratitude."
"Master Thomas, you must leave here at once," Cogsworth interrupted urgently. "Your brother is plotting to murder you!"
"Murder me?" Adam raised his brows. "For what? Telling him the truth?"
"Well, to put it plainly, sire, the Master has not been of sound mind for quite some time," the majordomo explained, fidgeting with his hands nervously. "In these past few months, he's grown increasingly paranoid that someone or something is going to overthrow him. Your meeting with him today was the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak."
"C'est vrai." Lumière nodded. "Now that the Master has you under his boot, he's waiting for the perfect opportunity to squish you flat. Figuratively, of course. Not literally."
"Well, as of now, we can't be certain of that, can we?" Cogsworth pointed out.
"What? I was trying to be optimistic!" Lumière shot back.
"I'm thankful for your help—both of you," Adam cut in. "But there must be something I can do in return. I can't just leave the castle while you continue to serve that despicable man."
"Not to worry, Master Thomas," Lumière reassured him. "We have our own means of escaping when the time is right. Besides, what's the life of a servant compared to the life of the late King's son? Our main concern is for your safety. Let us escort you to the secret passage on the fifth floor. From there, head to the stables where you'll find our fastest horse saddled and ready for you. You need to get out of this region as quickly as possible. Leave the country if you can."
"Um, pardon me, messieurs," Maurice jumped in. "But did you just imply that this man is the son of the late King?"
"Well of course he is!" said Cogsworth, as though it would be an insult to think of him as anyone else. "His rightful name is Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont, the blood son of King Louis-Thomas and Queen Catherine-Henriette."
Maurice glanced at Adam with wide eyes, as though he were seeing him clearly for the first time. "Your Highness!" he exclaimed with a clumsy bow. "Forgive me. I had no idea."
"Thanks, Cogsworth," Adam said dryly. "But I'm not a prince. Not anymore."
"You still could be," argued Lumière. "If you looked for supporters, you could organize a coup against your brother and restore the throne."
"And what makes you think I'm fit to sit on the throne?" Adam argued, crossing his arms. "Clearly Père didn't think I was right for the job. Why else would he pick Gaston to rule instead of me?"
"Pour l'amour de Dieu, who cares what your father thought?" Lumière said, waving his arms exasperatingly. "It's certainly not the first time he's had a bad lapse in judgment."
Adam sighed. "Fine. I'll consider it. But first, I need to help this gentleman"—he gestured to Maurice—"reunite with his daughter. His reasons for being locked up here are just as unmerited as mine. It would be wrong to leave him behind."
"Understood, My Lord." Cogsworth nodded. "There should be room on the horse for both of you. But we all need to leave straight away."
Lumière and Cogsworth escorted Adam and Maurice from the dungeons to the secret passageway on the castle's fifth floor. Before he slipped through the hidden wall panel, Adam exchanged parting hugs with his servants and promises to stay safe. It felt oddly emotional to say goodbye to the two people that had looked after him for most of his life. He wondered if he would ever see them again, or what the consequences would be if Gaston discovered that they'd helped him escape. For their sakes, he hoped that their punishment would not be as severe as his own.
"I didn't know that King Louis-Thomas had another son," Maurice said as he followed the Count to the stables. "Of course, my daughter and I moved to Villeneuve after Gaston became king, so we would have missed out on any rumours about his coronation by then. Why did your father make him the heir anyway? Seems a strange thing to do if he already had you."
"I don't know," Adam admitted.
"You don't?" The old man looked at him in surprise. "Why not? Weren't you there when it happened?"
"I was," Adam fibbed. At least, I assume that I was. "But it's not an experience I care to remember or talk about." He knew it was a poor excuse. But it was the only one he could think of that would stop Belle's father from asking too many questions.
"I …understand," Maurice replied in sympathy. "Though in my opinion, bad experiences, as painful as they are, can make us stronger and wiser. But then again, I am only a simple music box maker. Not an aristocrat."
Adam had to resist the urge to laugh. If only the old man knew how many times he'd failed at being a prince already, he was sure he wouldn't be as quick to criticize him. The first time, he'd made one careless decision and became a beast as punishment. The second time, he'd turned down a marriage to a perfectly decent princess, all because his feelings for Belle got the better of him. The third time, he'd become an irresponsible womanizer and drunkard who had no interest in committing himself to the throne. Given how many times he'd neglected to fulfill his responsibilities, he half-wondered if losing his title in this reality was a blessing in disguise.
Once they exited the secret passage, Maurice and Adam made their way to an unguarded exit at the side of the castle. From there, they snuck around the perimeter to the stables. A brown thoroughbred horse was waiting for them by the entrance, groomed and saddled, exactly as Lumière had said he would be.
They had just enough time to mount the horse and exit the stables when the castle's front doors flew open. Out stepped Gaston accompanied by an entourage of rifle-bearing guards. Upon seeing his prisoners, the King flew into a murderous rage.
"I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew they would betray me! Guards, kill them! Kill those bloody bastards!"
"We need to get out of here," Adam urged Maurice, who was sitting at the front of the saddle. "Now!"
The old man obliged. He forced their horse into a gallop as the guards scrambled towards them. Together, they raced across the muddy courtyard, the sounds of gunshots echoing loudly behind them. Then, as they passed through the gates, Adam felt something hot pierce through his right shoulder. He slumped forward and grunted in pain.
"Your Highness!" Maurice shouted in alarm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Adam said through watering eyes. "Keep going."
They continued to ride into the woods with no destination in mind, other than to shake off Gaston's guards. The forest had better coverage than the castle grounds, but Adam could still hear shouts and hoofbeats behind them, indicating that their pursuers weren't far from their trail.
Finally, Maurice was forced to pull to a stop as they reached a fork in the road.
"Which way do I go?" he asked, turning to the Count frantically. "I've never been to this part of the woods before."
Adam tried to find his bearings, but the growing pain in his shoulder made it difficult to think clearly. Something warm and damp was sticking to the back of his shirt, and he was beginning to feel dizzy. I don't know how long I can last. What happens if I can't help Maurice find his daughter?
"This way! On your right!"
Adam snapped back to attention. "Did you hear that?" he asked Maurice.
"Hear what?"
Adam searched the woods for the strange man's voice but saw nothing. He shook his head. I must be going mad. Still, he felt inclined to tell Maurice to follow the unseen speaker's command.
They sped through the road's right fork until they reached a clearing. No sooner had they exited the woods, when, much to Adam's alarm, the trees behind them twisted together to form a sturdy wall. Seconds later, he heard hoofbeats again, followed by the whinnies of several startled horses pulling to a halt behind the barrier.
"Where did they go?" asked one of the guards. "This is a dead-end!"
"They must have slipped past us," another guard replied in frustration. "Come on, let's turn around. They can't have gotten far."
The sounds of the horses grew fainter as the guards returned to the path. Adam sighed in relief. Whether by magic or divine intervention, it seemed that he and Maurice were out of Gaston's grasp—for now.
"Belle," Maurice whispered earnestly.
Adam turned around. At the center of the clearing was a simple-looking cottage with a front porch. Standing on this porch was a man with shoulder-length blonde hair and a bushy goatee. He surveyed Adam with piercing grey eyes, eyes that were filled with a wisdom that seemed both familiar and unnatural.
Then, the Count saw the figure running towards them, and all his questions about the stranger were put on hold.
There was Belle, dressed in her blue pinafore dress, her eyes wide and her lips pursed into an expression of disbelief.
Adam smiled at her in relief. He might have accidentally killed the Enchantress and turned his kingdom upside down. But none of that mattered, because Belle was alive, she was safe, and she was beautiful.
It was his last coherent thought before the ground rose up to meet him and the world went black.