When he came to, he was lying on a soft surface with his head propped against some sort of cushion. There was a dull throbbing in his right shoulder. He vaguely remembered that he'd been shot when he'd tried to escape from the castle. And why had he been trying to escape from the castle? To help Maurice find his daughter and flee from Gaston, who had somehow taken over his inheritance and become his adopted brother. They'd managed to find Belle, but after that, his mind was a blank. His eyes flew open.
He was in the small, cluttered bedroom of what he assumed to be some sort of cottage. Every corner of the room was occupied by cabinets, bookshelves, and desks—the latter of which was covered with empty flasks and piles of scrolls. His nose wrinkled as he detected a pungent smell in the air. It came from some dried-up herbs hanging from the window on his left. Outside the window was a bright overcast sky, indicating that it was sometime in the mid-afternoon. He now had a rough idea of what time it was, but he still had no idea where he was, or how long he'd been here.
His attention shifted from the room to his wound. Someone had removed his shirt while he was unconscious and wrapped a long strip of linen from his right shoulder to his waist. He sat up to test the pain, but surprisingly, felt nothing. Either he'd been healed by a very gifted physician, or he'd been lucky enough to sleep through the worst of his injury.
Suddenly, the door across from him opened. In walked a blonde-haired man carrying a tea set. It took a second for Adam to remember that this was the same blonde-haired man he'd seen on the porch before he'd collapsed. Judging from the noticeable creases on his face, the man was somewhere in his forties or fifties. But his eyes were filled with a wisdom that made him seem years older. Adam knew he'd seen someone with eyes like that before, but where?
"Ah, good. You're awake," the stranger said, shutting the door behind him with a friendly smile. "No need to worry about your shoulder by the way. The bullet was lodged in there pretty deep, but I was able to extract it and use some salve to seal up the wound. The whole thing took less than an hour which is a new record, even for my standards! You'll be sore for a few days, but you'll live."
He said everything so matter-of-factly, like he was talking about doing the laundry or completing a minor house repair. Adam creased his brows in confusion. He was no medical expert, but he doubted that anyone could mend a bullet wound as quickly as this man had claimed. But when he studied his injury again, he noticed there was no blood seeping through his bandages and that the pain in his shoulder was significantly less than it had been before he'd fainted. This man was more than a gifted physician. He was practically superhuman.
"Who are you?" he asked, looking back up at the stranger curiously.
"Name's Agathon. Villeneuve's local herbalist, à votre service," Agathon replied with a curt bow. "I've been looking after you and the Gagniers for the past couple of hours."
"Belle and Maurice are still here?" The thought brought Adam relief and a guilty sense of anticipation. "How are they?"
"Fine," the man answered as he put down the tea set on the table next to him. "Worried about you, but fine. You can go see them later if you like. But I believe you have some explaining to do first."
"Explaining?"
Agathon snorted. "First of all, you can stop with the clueless façade, 'My Lord.' You might have fooled everyone back at the Château de la Rose, but you can't fool me. The real Comte de Droitebrume would have never had the guts to stand up to his brother, much less save a peasant girl from an unhappy life of harlotry. Either you're an impostor, an extremely talented actor, or you've discovered the delightful horrors of time travel."
At the mention of "time travel," Adam's mouth dropped open in shock. "How did you know—?"
"That you're a time traveller?" Agathon finished with a knowing smile. "Let's just say that I've been keeping a close eye on you for the last fifteen years. It's given me plenty of time to dig up the dirt on your circumstances. Like how you're the reason this kingdom's in complete shambles. And it all started after you went back in time to kill my twin sister, Agathe."
"Your… twin sister?"
"Come on, man! You can't tell me you don't remember Agathe? Flowing blonde locks"—He tussled the ends of his hair exasperatingly—"magical shapeshifter? Instills fear into the hearts of men with one look of her piercing grey eyes? That Agathe?"
It took a few seconds for Adam to put the pieces together. He suddenly recalled the strange series of events that had occurred before he'd reached the glade: the disembodied voice, the trees twisting together to form a wall, even the unnatural speed in which his wound had healed itself. He looked at Agathon's grey eyes again and the truth dawned on him.
"You're... the Enchantress's brother."
"That's right." Agathon beamed. "We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen!"
"If that's the case, then I'm sorry for killing your sister," Adam apologized, lowering his eyes in shame. "If you're trying to draw a verbal confession out of me so you can turn me into a beast, then go right ahead. I take full responsibility for what happened. It's all I deserve, and I graciously accept my fate."
"As refreshingly sincere as that sounds, I'm not interested in turning you into a beast," said Agathon. "'Punishment by transfiguration' isn't really my style. Besides, I've already thought of a much better use for you."
"And what's that?" Adam inquired, unsure if by "better" the man secretly meant worse.
"I'll get to that later." He turned his attention to the tea. "We have lots to discuss first, and so much time to do so! In case you don't remember, King Gaston's sent half of his guards into the woods to look for you. Meaning that you're not going anywhere anytime soon."
Adam bit his lip as he considered the implications of this. It was one thing to be cursed and imprisoned in his own castle. And another to be a fugitive with no place to go entirely. "Does he really want to kill me that badly?" he asked with a nervous gulp.
"Well, when you're next in line for the throne and insult a king with an ego as fragile as a raw egg, then yes. Good job by the way."
Adam shook his head in disbelief. He would have never guessed that an obnoxious soldier in one lifetime could be a king with the mind of a petty child in the next. But then again, he hadn't counted on a lot of things to happen since he'd started meddling with the past. "So then, what do you want to talk to me about?" he asked him.
"For starters, some closure on a fifteen-year-old mystery would be nice," Agathon answered. "I saved your life, so it's only fair. You tell me everything you know about my sister's death, and in return, I'll tell you everything you need to know about this reality, to fill whatever gaps you have in your memory. Sound like a deal?"
Adam didn't think he had much of a choice. Maybe Agathon wasn't interested in turning him into a beast like his sister. But there could be many other unpleasant curses in his "magical repertoire" that he could try on him if he didn't comply. That wasn't a risk he was willing to take.
For the next quarter of an hour, Adam told Agathon everything. He started from the moment Agathe had turned him into a beast, to how he'd discovered the magic book's time-travelling powers and used them to find a reality where he could live a normal, curse-free existence with Belle. Agathon made a few disparaging comments—mostly directed at his sister—and asked Adam a few questions, but otherwise, he was genuinely interested in everything he had to say.
While Adam found it oddly refreshing to share his story with someone who already knew about his predicament, there were still some moments he hesitated to talk about because of the emotional weight they carried. The first was when he told Agathon about going back in time to stop his father from abusing his twelve-year-old self. As he described how he'd confronted Louis-Thomas alone in his bureau, his old feelings of anger and resentment resurfaced, causing his voice to falter and his body to shake.
Sensing his agitation, Agathon handed him one of the cups of tea on the table. "Don't worry, it's not poison," he said assuringly. "It's elderberry. It will calm your nerves."
Adam took a cautious sip of the concoction. After a minute, the pain of the memory faded, and he felt his strength return. He moved on from the point he'd left his father bleeding on the bureau floor, to finding himself in a new timeline where Maurice was dead, and Belle was a battered prostitute who'd eventually died of consumption. In a desperate attempt to bring her back to life, Adam had travelled back to the day he'd tried to kill his first doe in the woods, only to learn that the doe was really Agathe in disguise. He'd initially planned to kill her for cursing him, but after remembering how she'd brought him Belle, changed his mind. It was the sound of a gunshot that had startled him and made him release the arrow by accident.
"That foolish woman," Agathon said derisively once Adam had finished his story. "Giving you a magic book and a mirror? What on earth was she thinking?"
"I could be wrong, but you don't sound terribly upset about her death," Adam noted curiously.
"You wouldn't be either if you knew her as I did. Agathe was a talented enchantress without question, but she was also very meddlesome. She always had this crazy notion that she could 'fix' humanity with her powers when other enchanters would leave well enough alone." He made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue and shook his head. "I warned her that her actions would come back to bite her one day, but she never listened! Yes, I am sad that things ended for her the way they did, but at the same time, you can't always lead a horse to water."
"I think I understand." Adam nodded. It was awfully similar to when Belle had snuck into the West Wing, despite the repeated warnings she'd received from the servants not to do so. If there was one thing Adam had learned from his journey through time, it was that some people's wills could never be changed. "You mentioned earlier that you knew I killed your sister," he pointed out. "But how? The book brought me here as soon as I shot the arrow."
"I have my ways." Agathon smiled wryly. "All magic leaves a trace, and in your case, I just had to perform some tests on that bow, cravat and jacket you'd left in the woods to find out exactly where you'd come from and when you'd be back. I didn't know who you were yet though. I got that information from my sister's journals. She'd taken quite a bit of interest in you in the years leading up to her death, see."
"You don't say. Well, that would certainly explain why she was spying on me in the woods."
"Oh, she'd been doing that for years," Agathon said, waving his hand dismissively. "To cut to the chase, Your Highness, shortly after you were born, my sister had a vision of a future where France would be at war with itself. The working class would turn on the upper class, and hundreds of thousands of people would be arrested or die in the most horrific ways imaginable. My sister, being the 'virtuous enchantress' that she was, knew that she had to do whatever she could to stop it. She consulted every form of divination under the sun and they all told her the same thing: that her best chance of preventing the war was through you."
"Me?" Adam raised his brows in surprise. "But how? I would have only been a small child at the time. What would I know about starting a war?"
"It wasn't so much about your age or experience, as the impact you would have on those around you," Agathon explained. When Adam still looked confused, he continued, "Consider a bowl of rice. You couldn't remove one grain of it without altering the shape of the entire meal. To my sister, you were the grain of rice she needed to stop her vision from becoming a reality. She thought that if she could steer you away from your father's cruelty or make you… 'disappear' for a certain number of years, the people's desire to fight against the crown would diminish, and the war would never take place. It's a simple idea in theory, but difficult to perfect."
"I should say so," Adam agreed. "If Agathe thought I would be the cause of this… supposed war, then why didn't she try to warn me about it herself? Wouldn't that be far easier than turning me into a beast and making everyone forget I existed?"
Agathon laughed. "Do you really think you would trust the word of a filthy beggar woman? Or that your father would let you near someone who looked like that for that matter? No, Agathe knew that whatever she did, it had to leave a lasting impact. She liked to be… impressionable that way."
"Well, she did a splendid job there," Adam said sarcastically. "Thanks to her, I lost five years of my life that I'll never get back! It's a pity that I'm the reason all her work backfired. Now Gaston owns my castle, and I still have no idea how it happened."
"I'd be happy to show you," Agathon offered. "But I have to warn you… it's not a pretty picture."
"Please," Adam insisted. "I have to know the truth. If I'm the reason Gaston is king, then I at least want to understand why."
"As you wish." The Enchanter shrugged. "I'm just saying, it won't be pretty." He stepped away from the bed and opened one of the cabinets at the side of the room. Adam heard him mutter a few curse words as he rummaged through what appeared to be a substantial amount of clutter, before returning with an ornate, bronze mirror in hand.
"Recognize this?" he asked, holding out the mirror for Adam to see more closely.
"Yes." The Count stared at his reflection in amazement. "It looks just like the one your sister gave me."
"That's because it is. It was entrusted to me after she passed away. Now show us how King Gaston rose to power."
The face of the mirror swirled magically at Agathon's command. Within moments, Adam's reflection had been replaced by an image of a flock of geese flying high above a forest. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot disrupted the formation. The goose at the head of the skein squawked loudly, before flailing its wings and falling out of frame…
The glass grew foggy again. When it cleared, Adam saw two dark-haired village boys who looked no older than thirteen or fourteen, standing around the felled bird. The first boy was tall and lean, with a pointy chin and ears that protruded from his head like a mouse. He had a blunderbuss in his hands and a quiver of arrows over his back, likely indicating that he was the one who'd shot down the goose.
The second boy, in contrast to the first, was short and stout, with rosy cheeks that hadn't quite outgrown their baby fat. He stared bug-eyed at his companion and the goose for several seconds, before shouting, "Wow, you didn't miss a shot, Gaston! You're the greatest hunter in the whole village!"
"I know," the younger Gaston replied, beaming confidently and cocking his head.
"Even Richard Blanc hasn't killed that many geese in one day, and he's almost twice our age!"
"Exactly!" Gaston agreed. "Which is why I think it's high time that I take my marksmanship skills to the next level. Just picture it, LeFou. Next year, I'll finally be old enough to join the army and bring real honour to this country! Not spend all day in the woods, hunting for our next meal."
"You mean, we'll bring honour to the country. Right, Gaston?"
"Of course!" The lean boy nodded thoughtfully. "There's no way I'm going anywhere without my best friend. We're le duo! We'll come back as heroes of war and be admired by all of France for our good deeds. People will write our names on plaques, statues, in books and plays—they'll talk about us for years!"
"I can't wait," LeFou said with a dreamy look on his face.
"Le duo" bagged up their game before moving east towards the river and—Adam gulped nervously—the plateau where he had seen Agathe turn into her human self. As the boys reached the line of trees that divided the woods from the water, they stopped abruptly.
"What in the world?!" Gaston exclaimed.
The perspective of the scene changed, allowing Adam to see what the boys were seeing: a dead doe—Agathe, lying in the same place he'd killed her only moments earlier.
"Wh-where's the hunter?" LeFou asked nervously.
Gaston's eyes shifted warily across the woods, just as clueless as his friend was. They waited in tense silence for the mysterious archer to appear, but nobody showed up. Unbeknownst to them, they would not meet him for another fifteen years.
Suddenly, they heard the thundering of hooves coming towards them and jumped. The King's hunting troop had crossed the river, this time without the young Prince.
"You there!" King Louis-Thomas shouted, pulling his horse to a halt in front of the startled boys. "Which of you is responsible for killing this doe?"
"Uh… what?" LeFou replied, gazing at the King's fine clothes as though he'd never seen anything so exquisite in his entire life.
"His Majesty just asked you a question," a huntsman snapped impatiently from behind them. "Which of you killed the doe?"
The boys exchanged nervous glances. LeFou shook his head at Gaston, at a complete loss for an explanation. Using this as an opportunity to show off his bravery, or perhaps his stupidity, Gaston turned back to the King and said, "I did."
Louis-Thomas raised his brows and pursed his lips in suspicion. "You're quite bold to be hunting so close to our borders, boy. What is your name?"
"Gaston, sir. Gaston Légume of Villeneuve. And I know I was close to the border, but I didn't mean to go that far! I just saw an opportunity and I decided to make the best of it."
"You did make quite an impressive kill," the King admitted, looking down at the carcass. "Am I right in assuming that you shot her with only one arrow?"
"Just one," Gaston lied. "One's all you need when your aim's as good as mine! I'm the best hunter in my village, you know."
"I see. And how exactly do you plan to carry your prize all the way back to Villeneuve?"
"Well... my friend is going to help me, of course," he replied. "He's the one who bags all my game."
LeFou looked over at Gaston in alarm, and Adam could guess why. The boy was so diminutive in stature that he doubted that he could lift a keg of beer off the ground without toppling over.
The King seemed to think the same thing, for he asked, "Where is your horse?"
"Horse?" Gaston repeated. "What horse? I came here on foot!"
Louis-Thomas exchanged some amused glances with his hunter friends before turning back to the boys. "I'll tell you what, Monsieur Légume. I'll arrange for my men to bring your trophy down to the village. In return, I would kindly request the presence of you and your friend at my castle tonight for dinner."
Gaston and LeFou stared at each other in wide-eyed disbelief. For two undereducated villagers, dining with a king at his castle was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
"You want to have dinner… with us?" LeFou asked incredulously.
"Of course!" The King nodded. "It's not every day that I meet a hunter who's as young and talented as your friend is. Now, what say you?"
"We accept sir—I mean, um, Your Majesty!" Gaston agreed. "We'll be there for sure!"
Grey fog filled the mirror's glass once again. When it cleared, Adam saw Gaston and LeFou sitting in the castle's main dining room wearing slightly cleaner clothes, their faces washed and their hair neatly combed. Adam's younger self sat across from the boys, though he paid them no attention as he picked apart his roast venison. His mother and father sat on the opposite ends of the table.
"So, Monsieur Légume," Louis-Thomas began, setting down a glass of red wine. "Tell us about yourself. How long have you been a hunter?"
"Well… my father started taking me out when I was around six," Gaston replied proudly. "At first, he'd make me watch him while he hunted, and I'd help him build snares and carry his kills back to the village. Then, on my eighth birthday, he gave me my own rifle! It had to be one of the best days of my life."
"I'm sure it was." The King smiled. "He must be proud of how much you've accomplished since then. Imagine taking down a deer with only one arrow, at only fourteen years of age! My son could learn a thing or two from you, couldn't you Thomas?"
Eleven-year-old Prince Adam looked up and nodded, his face turning red in embarrassment.
"I appreciate the compliment, Your Majesty," Gaston replied. "But honestly, I wouldn't know what my Papa would think of me because he's been dead for two winters now. He fell through a frozen lake and drowned while he was trying to take down a pack of wolves with his friends. And my mother died giving birth to me, which makes me an orphan."
"Oh, you poor thing!" Henriette exclaimed, clasping a hand to her chest in pity.
"It's not that bad," Gaston went on with a shrug. "I still have my friend, LeFou. His parents took me in after my father passed away, and now we're as thick as thieves."
"LeFou? That's a bit of an unfortunate-sounding surname, isn't it?" asked the King.
"Actually, it's 'Leclerc-Fourtier'," LeFou corrected after swallowing a mouthful of potatoes. "My grandfather was making a sign for his tannery shop, and he didn't have enough space to paint out his full last name, so he shortened it to 'LeFou.' It worked, except everyone in our village thinks that's our real name now. But I don't mind. I barely know how to spell my first name anyway, so it makes things easier."
The King laughed, as though he found something amusing about the simple-mindedness of his citizens and their illiteracy. "Do you have any family outside of Villeneuve, Monsieur Légume?" he continued, turning back to Gaston. "Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?"
"I don't know," Gaston answered. "If I did, I've never met them, and my father never mentioned any to me."
Louis-Thomas and Henriette stared at each other across the table, seemingly contemplating the exact same thing.
More magical swirls filled the enchanted mirror. When they cleared, they showed scenes of Gaston engaging in the same activities that Adam used to take part in with his father. He watched Gaston accompany Louis-Thomas and his younger self on a morning hunting trip, followed by scenes of Gaston joining them in archery, horseback riding, and fencing lessons. It wasn't long before Adam noticed a clear progression to these meetings: Gaston and the King were getting closer while the Prince grew further away. In one image, Louis-Thomas was meticulously correcting Gaston's posture during an archery lesson, while the Prince watched enviously from the sides. When Gaston finally hit his target, the King gave him an approving pat on the back. Young Prince Adam followed up by hitting the center of his own target, but the King and Gaston were too busy glowing in the latter's success to notice. Adam's younger self tossed his bow to the ground in frustration. His father had never given him any pointers or praise during his archery lessons, so why was he suddenly showing so much attention to an orphaned peasant boy?
In the next scene, Gaston stood on a wooden podium in Villeneuve's town square with Adam and his parents. His plain village attire was gone, replaced by fine silver breeches, shiny black shoes and a red jacket embroidered with golden leaves. He had grown out his hair, so now long it was long enough to tie back into a queue. He looked every inch a prince, as Cogsworth announced to the waiting crowd a moment later.
"Be it resolved that Their Majesties, King Louis-Thomas Antoine de Bauffremont and Queen Catherine-Henriette de Bauffremont have decided to adopt citizen Gaston Légume as their ward," he read aloud from a scroll of parchment. "From this point henceforth, he is to be known as His Royal Highness, Prince Jean-Gaston de Bauffremont!"
The crowd cheered and bowed to the new Prince, who smirked in approval. Even though he was only fourteen or fifteen, Adam swore that he could already see something sinister and unkind hidden away in his dark, beady eyes.
Dense fog obscured the glass again. When it disappeared, Adam saw his twelve-year-old self pacing around his mother's bedchamber, while his sick, bedridden mother watched on in pity. This must have taken place a few months before her death.
"It's not fair!" his younger self cried out in frustration. "I never wanted a brother."
"Come now, my love," Henriette cooed softly. "You don't mean that. Remember how upset you used to be whenever Vincent and Léa had to return to Pré-sur-bois? Now you have a companion who will always be around to spend time with you."
"Yes, but he's not like them," Adam argued. "Gaston's mean, and he always plays tricks on me! Yesterday, he hid a snake in my writing desk, and it made me spill ink all over my jacket. Père was so angry! He thought I did it on purpose."
"I'll talk to Gaston about the snake," Henriette conceded. "I don't deny that his behaviour yesterday was inappropriate, but have you considered that that could be his own way of trying to get to know you better? You aren't exactly the most approachable little brother, especially when you spend all your free time cooped up in the library."
"That's because it's the only place Gaston doesn't like to be in!" Adam argued. "And I don't see why I should get to know him better when he's such a jerk. He's always flirting with the maids or sucking up to Père, and now he spends more time with him than he does with me! Whenever I do anything with them, it feels like I'm invisible."
"You aren't invisible, Adam," his mother said gently. "Your father's just… enthusiastic about spending time with someone who enjoys gentlemen pastimes as much as he does. That doesn't mean he loves you any less."
"It doesn't really feel that way."
"Well, I love you," she emphasized. "Is that enough?"
Adam looked back at his mother, and his eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Mère, what am I going to do if you leave? If I'm all alone with Père and Gaston… you have to get better, you have to!"
"I'm doing my best, love," Henriette replied sadly. "But death isn't something we can control. If the Lord says that it's my time to go, then it's my time. Will you promise me you'll give your brother a chance? You never know when you'll need him as your ally one day."
"I'll try." The Prince nodded reluctantly.
The scene changed again. Twelve-year-old Adam was standing in the castle chapel, watching his father introduce Gaston to a group of nobles by the main doors. Everyone was dressed in black, likely indicating that this had occurred sometime after the Queen's funeral.
"Master Adam?" Lumière said, suddenly appearing beside the Prince. "You shouldn't be alone after a funeral service! Why don't we find Cogsworth and take a stroll out in the grounds?"
"Thomas," Adam hissed, eyes still fixed on his brother and father.
"Begging your pardon?"
"I said, my name is Thomas," he repeated louder. "It's my father's name. He gave it to me because I'm his son."
Lumière considered this. He looked to where Adam was looking, and his face crumpled in sympathy. "Right. Master Thomas," he corrected without missing a beat. "My apologies. What do you say we find Cogsworth and go for a walk?"
This seemed to bring Adam—now "Thomas"—back to his senses. He nodded and followed the maître d' out of the chapel.
Next, the mirror showed Adam some snippets of the Princes as young adults. They were attending a ball where Gaston was enjoying the attention of some beautiful young debutants while Thomas stood by the refreshment table, downing several glasses of wine. Then they were competing in a fencing match organized by the King, and Thomas was losing miserably. But no matter how many times he fell over, or how many times Gaston bested him, his father kept forcing him to get up and try again. Thomas's moves grew sloppier and sloppier until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. As the servants rushed to help him, the King left the room, cold disappointment etched upon his face.
The image changed again, and now Thomas and Gaston were standing next to their father on his deathbed.
"Père," Thomas said sadly, his love for the King—or rather, his desperation to be loved—reflected in his green-blue eyes.
Louis-Thomas scoffed at his son in disgust. "You dare use that name on me, boy? I should have known that Henriette would be unfaithful to me. How else could she have brought such a weak-willed, disappointing child like you into the world? You are no son of mine!"
Prince Thomas shrunk backwards. "Père, I swear to you that—"
"Leave my sight!" the King interrupted. Even when dying, his voice had lost none of its authority.
Thomas walked out of the room with his shoulders slouched, trying his hardest to hold back his tears. Now Gaston and Louis-Thomas were alone.
"Come closer, my child," the King said, as Gaston solemnly took his hands in his own. "It has been such a privilege to have watched you grow from a boy into a man these past six years. You are not my son by blood, but you are everything I could have wanted in one and more. That is why I know you will do what is necessary to carry on my legacy. Here. Take my ring." He feebly held out his ring finger. "The throne belongs to you now."
Tears of grief, or possibly joy, trickled down Gaston's face. He carefully removed his father's royal insignia ring and placed it on his own finger. "Thank you, Père," he replied. "I won't disappoint you."
The images that followed were the most disturbing of all. After his father's funeral, Adam watched Gaston become king in a coronation ceremony that should have been meant for him. He saw Gaston evict his younger self from the castle, followed by a scene of the now ex-Prince exchanging mournful goodbyes with the servants on the castle steps.
He heard heralds from nearby towns make announcements about the King's decision to raise taxes and shut down schools and other unneeded businesses. Thriving cities became decrepit and full of beggars. Every day, the Marshalcy arrested citizens for not keeping up with their payments. Adam winced as he watched them pull a single mother away from her newborn child for being two days behind on her rent. She begged the men to give her one more day to produce the money, but they didn't listen. They threw her into a barred carriage with some other prisoners, her baby's cries echoing loudly in the street. And all the while, King Gaston sat on his throne, basking in this terrible new kingdom he'd created.
The picture of Gaston's greedy face faded away, and now all Adam could see was his horrified expression in the glass. He turned away from Agathon in shame. He knew he'd be in for a mess, but what he'd seen… it was even worse than he'd imagined.
"It's amazing what a single piece of rice can do, isn't it?" said Agathon. "Your father, unhappy with the son that couldn't live up to his expectations, saw an opportunity that day in the woods—an opportunity to mould Gaston in his own image. Gaston, who'd spent his whole life dreaming of greatness, relished at the idea of living that dream through your father. Every action big or small always comes with a consequence."
"I was just a tool to him," Adam muttered bitterly. Out of all the things he'd seen in the mirror, this was the hardest truth to bear. His father had never cared about him, had never seen him as anything more than a means to an end. And if he wasn't good enough, then he would find someone else.
Anguished tears seeped from his eyes into his pillow. He wished that he still had the Beast's strength so he could smash something. He would prefer that to lying here, weeping and feeling sorry for himself.
"I have to do something," he resolved at last. "I need to go back and stop all this from happening. But how? The book is gone. It burned to pieces after I killed Agathe."
"If the book was destroyed, then there'd be no sense in trying to recover it now," Agathon said morosely. "It's one thing to use its powers to see the world or explore the past. But once you use it to commit an unnatural act like murder, it self-destructs and takes you back to your original location. Something that my sister forgot to mention when she was giving you her big 'introduction to being a beast speech,' I'm sure."
Adam frowned. "So… there's no hope in getting it back?"
"Afraid not."
"But you're an enchanter." He looked back at Agathon. "Couldn't you use your magic to make a new one?"
"What do I look like, a genie?" Agathon snapped, putting his hands on his hips. "A book like that can only be crafted by a very gifted enchanter, and while I am good, I'm not that good! Even if I tried to get a new one, the elders in our community destroyed them all after Agathe passed away. They believed that they were too dangerous to keep around after what happened. But lucky for you, I've done a lot of research in the last fifteen years, and there is one alternative."
He picked up a leather-bound book from the shelf beside him and flipped through it earnestly. "The pages of my sister's book were crafted from a special tree that can transport you to any place and time." He turned the book around to show Adam an illustration of a tree with swirls and stars floating between its branches. "It's known as Acer Nexus or 'The Nexus Tree' in French. If you were to touch the trunk of this tree and wish to go to the past, it could transport you back to the moment before you killed Agathe. From there, you could use the book to travel through time and undo all your other realities, until you'd finally return to the night you let Belle go back to her father."
Adam ruffled his hair nervously. It sounded like quite the intricate plan. But if it was the only way to stop Gaston and Louis-Thomas from meeting, then what choice did he have? "Where is this tree?"
"You won't have to look far. It's here in France, in the enchanted Forest of Brocéliande."
"Brocéliande?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "I thought that place was a myth from Arthurian legends."
"Oh, it definitely exists," Agathon confirmed. "But it's well-hidden. See, after the death of Merlin some five-hundred years ago, the place became a wasteland for enchanters to perform all kinds of nasty experiments and hide dangerous cursed artifacts and bits of magic gone wrong. Eventually, it got so out of hand that the elders decided to seal the place off from the public. Now only a select few who own a magical amulet can enter the forest, and only if they've received approval from the council, first."
"So, if I want to go back in time, I'll need to find an amulet and a tree," Adam deduced.
"Nope. Just the tree. I was lucky enough to buy one of those amulets off the black market a few years ago—though it nearly cost me an arm and a leg. I'm willing to give it to you, but you must promise me that you will only use it to find the tree, and nothing else. There are lots of dodgy things hiding in that forest, and none of it is worth a second of your time."
"Of course," Adam agreed. Anything to stop Gaston from being king!
"That's what I like to hear." Agathon smiled. "Now, have some more tea, and then we'll see about getting you out of bed so you can talk with Belle and Maurice. They'll be delighted to see you're awake."
"Why are you helping me?" Adam questioned. "If anything, you should hate me for killing your sister, or want me dead. I know I would if I were you."
"Because, as shocking as it sounds, I'm just as responsible for killing Agathe as you are," Agathon replied. He lowered his eyes contritely. "See, shortly after my sister had her vision, she came to me, begging to help her stop it. But I refused. I thought that if a war between men was to happen, then we had no business in changing it. If I'd helped her or tried harder to stop her, then maybe she would still be alive.
"When Agathe died, I looked into all the possibilities, trying to see if there was any way that I could go back in time to save her life. But in every scenario I tried, the fates kept pointing me back to you. You are the best hope we have in ending Gaston's regime and bringing back my sister. Now all I can do is pass you the torch and hope that my years of research weren't in vain."
He looked up at Adam with the eyes of a man who had everything to lose and almost nothing to gain. Adam hoped he wouldn't fail him, but the odds weren't exactly stacked in his favour. He could barely trust himself, so how could Agathon so readily trust him?
Adam fiddled with the sleeves of his borrowed shirt as he exited Agathon's bedroom. Before him was a spacious dining area, complete with a stone fireplace and wooden crockery shelf. Several cooking utensils lined the walls, while a multitude of different herbs hung from the ceiling.
At the center of the room was a rectangular table where Belle and Maurice sat in deep conversation. Belle was smiling with a fist propped under her chin, while Maurice was making some animated gestures with his hands. Upon seeing the Count, the two of them rose to their feet.
"Your Highness! Thank goodness you're awake," Maurice exclaimed, shaking Adam's hand vigorously. "You scared us half to death when you fell off the horse. I'm glad to see you're all right."
"So am I," Adam replied. "I see you found your daughter in one piece."
"Thanks to you," Maurice smiled graciously. "Which reminds me. Belle, I'd like you to officially meet His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas-Alexandre, the man who helped me escape from the castle. Your Highness, this is my daughter, Belle."
Belle stepped forward and curtsied politely. "Thank you for bringing my father back to me, Your Highness. You've done us both a great kindness."
The Count opened his mouth, wanting to say something witty and chivalrous in turn. But the longer he looked at Belle's face, the more the memories of their last meeting resurfaced. Suddenly, she looked exactly as she did on her deathbed; unnaturally pale with blue-tinged lips, hollow cheekbones and eyes sunken in by disease...
Adam blinked rapidly, but the disturbing image of Belle's dead self didn't go away. He averted his gaze. "You're—you're welcome."
"Gather round, mademoiselle et messieurs," Agathon interrupted as he stepped out of the bedroom. "We have a mighty big puzzle to solve! Your Highness feel free to help yourself to the food on the table. The rest of us have already eaten, so whatever's left over is yours."
Adam drew his attention to the modest selection of fruit, bread rolls and sliced cheese sitting on the table. His stomach grumbled—he hadn't realized how hungry he was until now. Even though it was unconventional for an aristocrat to do so, he took an empty plate and began to fill it with food.
"You three are in a lot of trouble," Agathon began as he joined Belle and Maurice at the table. "King Gaston doesn't take kindly to traitors, especially those who are brave enough to escape his castle. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already sent his guards to wait at your homes for a chance to snuff you out. You should consider yourself wanted criminals now. The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
"I say that we fight the king while he's still smarting from his losses," Belle declared. "He's been pushing us around for far too long. Things will only get worse if he continues. He needs to pay for what he's done."
"You've got spirit, girl. I like that." Agathon grinned. "But it won't be enough to take down His Majesty, I'm afraid. In case you've forgotten, King Gaston has an entire army of trained soldiers at his command. Your prince friend was lucky enough to be shot in the shoulder—a few degrees more and it could have been the back of his head. Unless you've sketched out some blueprints for a trebuchet or read some instructional books on how to build explosives, you're fresh out of luck. We have to act with discretion here, not with passion."
"So then, what do you propose we do?" Belle asked impatiently. "Seeing as you know an awful lot about how to take down a king?"
"I don't," Agathon contended. "But I know someone who does. In the village of Corneille, there's a group of citizens recruiting people from all over the province to form a resistance against King Gaston. If you're interested in joining them, you'll need to travel to their tavern and tell the barman that you're looking for Monsieur Régnier, and Agathon sent you. Once you do, they'll escort you to their safe house, where you'll meet the resistance and learn everything you need to know about taking down His Majesty."
"That's the answer then," Belle declared. "We'll go to Corneille and join the resistance."
"What about you, Your Highness?" asked Maurice. "Will you come with us?"
Adam lowered his head, determined to focus on his food instead of the people sitting around him. "I can't," he said quietly. "I have… other things to take care of."
Belle shifted in her seat. Adam could practically picture the disbelieving look on her face as she said, "Things that are more important than helping your own kingdom?"
"Well, he's going to appeal to the other kings of France, of course," Agathon cut in tactfully. "If he can garner their sympathies, they can revoke his brother's position so he can earn back his title. No torches or pitchforks necessary."
Belle let out a frustrated "tut" noise. "How can he do that if he has no resources or connections? If Gaston has already put a bounty on his head, then he'll be lucky if he makes it out of this kingdom alive!"
"Then what do you suggest he do?" Agathon asked calmly, as though they were having a casual discussion over tea instead of an escalating debate.
Adam could feel Belle's eyes on him again. "He should come with us to Corneille, of course," she said. "It's always safer to travel in numbers. Then, once we meet the resistance, he can find some capable people to escort him through France. It will be a far better alternative to travelling alone."
"Interesting proposition. What do you think, Your Highness?"
Adam looked up from the table and wished that he hadn't, because Belle's dead face was looking straight back at him. He dropped his half-eaten piece of bread onto his plate and stood up from the chair. "I'm... going to check on the horse."
He exited the cottage through the door behind him without saying another word. His brown thoroughbred was tethered to a post at the side of the house, along with a white stallion he recognized as Philippe. He crossed the lawn and ran his hands through the former horse's mane, desperate to banish the images of Belle's death from his mind.
Suddenly, he heard the door open and shut, followed by fast-moving footsteps and a skirt rustling against the grass.
"Prince Thomas!" Belle shouted. "Wait!"
"My name is Adam," Adam grumbled under his breath.
Belle scoffed indignantly, as though addressing the Count by his preferred name was hardly something to worry about at a time like this. "What on earth is the matter with you?" she demanded. "You're King Louis-Thomas's son! You're the one person who can make a real difference in improving the welfare of this kingdom. And here you are, standing around, acting like you don't care at all!"
When Adam didn't respond, she continued, "Look, I understand if you're scared, especially after the awful way your father and brother treated you. But think about the hope you could bring to the resistance if you stopped by and showed them your face. You'd have more than enough supporters to overthrow King Gaston and reclaim your inheritance."
Adam bowed his head, wishing that he still had the magic book so he could transport himself as far away from Belle as possible. "I can't," he said softly.
"Why not?" She paused, as though considering something, then continued, "You're not planning to appeal to the kings at all, are you? You want to run."
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Belle beat him to it.
"Do you have any idea how much your people have suffered?" she thundered, completely raising her voice at him now. "I've seen good families lose their homes and businesses because they couldn't afford to pay the King's unreasonable taxes. My father was taken away from me because I refused to become His Majesty's next conquest—"
"And I brought him back to you," Adam interrupted. "Don't assume that I don't care about my people's suffering. I know quite a bit about being treated unfairly after the fifteen years I've lived in my brother's shadow. But I also know that there's much more at stake here than... appealing to a simple rebellion or dethroning a king."
"Like what?"
"It's none of your business!" he bellowed. "Look. You got your wish. You want to overthrow King Gaston, well lucky for you, there's a resistance out there that wants the exact same thing. I hope that you find them, and I hope that your plan to defeat my brother is a success. But I will not be joining you."
Belle took a step back and exhaled sharply. Adam could feel the anger radiating off her like the heat of the summer sun as she said, "Fine then."
She trudged across the grass—slower this time, and slammed the cottage door with a loud bang.
Seconds later, he heard her shrill voice drifting out from the window beside him. She was unleashing her fury on Maurice and Agathon, ranting about how unbelievable it was that King Gaston's brother—the one man who had some serious potential to turn this kingdom around—had no interest in joining the resistance.
Adam buried his face in his hands. He hated to fight with Belle like this, but it was the only way he could distance himself from her. The more she hated him, the better. The more she hated him, the safer she'd be. Whenever he looked at her, all he could see were the mistakes he'd made, mistakes he could have easily prevented if he hadn't been so obsessed with cheating fate. He'd thought that by changing the past he could make a better future for the two of them, but he'd only succeeded at ruining her life every single time. He would not take advantage of her like that. Not again.
Even if he never saw her face again, even if he spent the rest of his life as a beast in his original timeline, at least she'd be safe, and she'd be alive. That was all that mattered to him now.
He gave his horse one last rub under the neck before he went back inside to face the storm.