Warning: This chapter contains a description of an injury that is somewhat graphic in nature. Please read at your own discretion.

The guards wasted no time in detaining the Count once he'd submitted to them. They bound his hands behind his back with some roughly hewn rope and placed a burlap sack over his head to stop him from making a quick getaway. Then, with a pistol pressed to his head, they marched him through the forest like a criminal long overdue for his execution.

Adam's mind was a turmoil of emotions, fear and anger being the strongest of them all. He didn't know what the guards intended to do with him or where they were taking him. He was kicking himself for falling so easily into their trap. If only he hadn't been so distracted by his thoughts about Belle, he might have been sharp enough to notice that he wasn't as alone in the forest as he thought. Now he was Gaston's prisoner again, and soon to be dead if he was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough. Even crying out for help would be pointless. With miles of wilderness between him and the nearest village, he doubted that anyone could hear him.

Except for Belle, perhaps. But there was no way that Adam would call out to her. As long as he kept her presence a secret from the guards, there was still a chance that she could escape with the mirror and amulet unscathed. Those were two pieces of evidence that he definitely couldn't let fall into Gaston's hands. And Belle was a smart girl. Maybe she'd figure out how to get into Brocéliande by herself or use the mirror to contact Agathon and ask him for guidance. Whatever she did, Adam prayed that it involved getting herself as far away from here as possible.

He'd been walking with the guards for a good twenty minutes before he noticed a speck of light shining between the holes in his burlap sack. Quick-moving shadows flickered in and out of his vision, as though more people were moving around him. A fire crackled and men spoke to each other in urgent voices—had they taken him to a campsite, perhaps? Then, the sights and sounds grew fainter as the guards escorted him to a quieter section of the gathering point. They shoved him down into what felt like a hard-backed chair and secured his torso and legs with more rope to prevent him from standing up again. Adam considered struggling against his captors but given that he couldn't see and had no idea what he was up against, thought it best to stay put.

Once the guards were satisfied with their prisoner's entrapments, they removed the sack from his face.

Adam drew in a sharp breath and stared wide-eyed at his surroundings. He was sitting in a large tent which was cluttered with several tables, maps and official-looking documents. It all seemed quite superfluous for a simple meeting spot; but then again, this was Gaston he was dealing with. Clearly, the King had wasted no expense in making sure he had everything necessary to bring his brother to heel.

Adam looked down, and as he'd expected, he'd been bound so tightly to the chair that the only parts of his body he could move freely were his neck, head and toes. He tested his bindings, trying to see if he could loosen anything, but the ropes remained as taut as ever. He gritted his teeth in frustration. If only he still had the Beast's brute strength on his side. It could have easily helped him out in a situation like this.

He looked up again and noted the three imposing guards standing watch over him. He was wondering if he should engage them in small talk or not when a newcomer in a black cloak entered the tent. They lowered their hood to reveal a young woman with long raven hair and an unnaturally pale complexion. With her steeply arched eyebrows, narrow jawline and sharp facial features, Adam found her appearance to be more intimidating than attractive. But the feature that drew him to her the most was her eyes. They were emerald green, and like Agathon, had a wisdom to them that surpassed her physical age. But unlike Agathon, there was no warmth in her gaze. Just a promiscuous twinkle that suggested she had no fear of being around men who were twice her size.

"Well now," she said in a sonorous voice as she approached the Count. "What have we here?" She pinched him playfully in the cheek, causing him to wince in pain.

"Comte Thomas de Droitebrume, madame," a guard—the same marksman who'd taunted Adam in the woods—replied. He was a bulky man with a face like a bulldog and thinning brown hair. "He matches the King's description perfectly. Medium build, about five foot eight inches, late twenties, blue eyes, red hair..."

"It's blonde, not red," Adam grumbled. But nobody was listening.

"We found him skulking around in the woods all by his lonesome," the bulldog man continued, "along with this." He brandished Vincent's sword proudly.

"Hmm." The woman took the rapier, gave it a few hard swings and held it up in front of her. With a knowing look on her face, she turned back to Adam. "This is a fine sword, monsieur. Either you've stolen it from someone above your station, or you're not as 'common' as you appear to be. Well, we'll know the answer soon enough. Though I suppose that introductions are in order first. My name is Médée, and I'm—"

"I know who you are," Adam interrupted. "You're a crazy enchantress. You use your magic to torture humans for fun."

"Oh?" Médée raised her brows as she returned the rapier to the guard. "Agathon told you about me, did he? Good. Though I'd have to say that his description of me is rather passé. I'm quite over my 'torturing humans' phase. You can only listen to a man's agonizing screams for so long before it becomes a bore. And with that bloody council always watching over me…" She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Nowadays, you'll find that I have much bigger plans for myself. Your brother, King Gaston, is exactly the man to help me achieve them."

Adam stared at the Enchantress distrustfully. "Why would Gaston help you? That man only cares about himself. He's a pretentious rooster."

"That may be so," she acknowledged. "But you'll often find that the most conceited of individuals are the easiest to manipulate. It so happens that Gaston and I are both concerned that France's citizens are getting far too... restless for their own good. They're questioning their most basic morals and beliefs, even the authority of their leaders. It's a dangerous way of thinking that will lead the country into chaos if it isn't controlled. Eventually, the people will rise against their superiors and plunge France into anarchy. This is the world that Gaston fears to live in, and what I aim to prevent. With you in my grasp, I'm already halfway there."

"You want to kill me to send a message to those who oppose the King," Adam surmised. "I understand."

"Oh, not only that, lovely," Médée cooed, lowering herself to speak with him at eye level. "You see, shortly after you made your 'daring escape' from the Château de la Rose, I came to your brother with a proposal. I'd help him find you in exchange for his hand in marriage. I was very convincing, too." She grinned. "With my powers and his firm hand, we'll eradicate those spineless aristocrats who lack the fortitude to rule over their subjects. Gaston will become the Emperor of France, and I'll become his beautiful Empress. We'll create a new government system where every citizen will be under our thumb, knowing nothing but the love of their leaders and unquestioning obedience. No force in the world would dare oppose us. In fact, they'd all envy this perfect utopia we've created."

Adam gulped nervously. He'd once believed in ruling his subjects with an iron fist, too. But he was sure that even his past self would question if this was taking it a step too far. "You're mad," he said with a shake of his head. "Utopias don't exist. Especially if they're borne from the wrath of sadistic leaders like you."

"Perhaps," said Médée, hardly swayed by Adam's assertive tone. "But there's not much you can do about it now, is there? I've already sent a message to the King to meet me here. His troops were following a false trail in Vertecour, but they'll be back soon enough. By dawn, Gaston will carry out your sentence. And you'll be nothing more than a grisly warning to that pesky resistance of yours."

"I have no ties to the resistance," said Adam. He didn't care what Gaston planned to do to him. All he wanted was to wipe the stupid smirk off this woman's face.

Unfortunately, his words had little effect. Médée's smile grew bigger and more ominous. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" she taunted before rising to her feet. "To business, monsieur, the King has asked me to question you about your dealings with Agathon and the rebels. For all his eccentricity, the old bat is better at shielding himself from my magic than I anticipated. But a magic-less mortal like you will be much easier to break."

"That's what you think."

"So cocky." She laughed. "They always are at the beginning. Messieurs"—she turned to the guards—"bring the prisoner his medicine."

The men retrieved a vial of bright blue liquid from a chest at the corner of the tent. Panic flooded through Adam, causing him to squirm helplessly in his seat. He had no idea what was in that bottle, only that he wanted to be as far away from it as possible.

The bulldog man uncorked the vial and shoved it towards his lips. In retaliation, Adam clamped his mouth shut and turned his head away.

"Hold his nose to make him open his mouth," Médée said in a bored tone.

The guard did as she commanded. Adam tried to hold his breath and keep his mouth closed, but he couldn't do it forever. The tent was getting far too stuffy, and he was still winded from his impromptu walk through the woods. His lungs were screaming for air. He opened his mouth to sneak in a quick breath, and as he did, the guard forced the entire contents of the vial into his mouth. Adam couldn't even spit out the liquid before he felt another guard place a hand over his lips. There was no way to breathe now apart from swallowing, which he did with great trepidation.

Immediately, a burning sensation filled his throat, as though he'd ingested a potful of boiling water. The pain spread rapidly into his stomach, arms, legs, and all over his body. He writhed in place and tried to scream, but the guard's strong hand muffled the sound. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Adam ceased his struggling. The guards stepped back and released their hold on him.

"What—what did you do to me?" he gasped.

"You'll understand soon enough," Médée replied calmly. "Now tell me, monsieur. What is your name?"

"Prince Thomas-Alexandre Adam de Bauffremont. But I prefer Adam."

Adam's jaw dropped open in horror. It was indeed his voice that had answered the question. Only... he hadn't commanded the words. He could think of no clear way of describing it. It was as though there was another entity living inside of him, one that had full access to his mind and was feeding words to his mouth without his permission. The idea was terrifying—almost as terrifying as the night he'd learned he would be a beast for the rest of his life.

Médée flashed her prisoner another cruel smile. "Truth-telling potion," she explained. "One of my special concoctions. Just one little vial of this is enough to make even the most tight-lipped person spill his deepest secrets. It's a much easier way of interrogating a prisoner than beating him around with a stick all day, don't you think? Although"—she scratched her chin pensively—"I didn't expect you'd still think of yourself by your old title after all these years."

Adam shuddered. It was clear that his bad night with a crazy enchantress was quickly turning into a nightmare.

"No matter." Médée waved her hand dismissively. "Let's move on. King Gaston tells me that you came to visit him at his castle two days ago. Is that correct?"

The potion seized control of Adam's faculties once again. "Yes."

"And did you have any thoughts of ill-will towards your brother before this visit? Thoughts of overtaking his throne, perhaps?"

"No. I just wanted to ask him for an allowance raise."

"If an allowance raise was all you wanted, then why did Gaston imprison you?"

"You tell me. We were in the middle of negotiating when he told Mrs. Potts—his head cook—that he was going to half her and her husband's wages because she let her son run loose around the castle. I told him that that was a stupid reason to punish a servant, and he got angry and threw me in the dungeons for 'challenging his authority.' Only I wasn't. I was merely voicing my displeasure at his decision."

"You feel that he wrongly accused you," Médée surmised. "Is that right?"

"Yes."

"But if you truly felt you were innocent, why did you escape? You could have waited until the King put you on trial and pleaded your case to him. Instead, you broke out of your cell, attacked two guards and stole a horse—all crimes punishable by death." She stared at him intrusively. "Why?"

"Because the servants told me that there wasn't going to be a trial," Adam contended. "They said that Gaston was going to murder me if I stayed there any longer. Judging from the fact that one of his guards shot me in the shoulder, I'd wager that they were right."

"I see." Médée pressed her lips together, thinking. "These servants—did they have a hand in helping you escape?"

Adam swallowed nervously again. He realized where the witch was steering this conversation and didn't like it one bit. But under the potion's influence, he could only reply with a stilted "Yes."

"And what were their names?"

I must resist, Adam thought desperately. Clinging to what little control he still had over his body, he bit his lip to stop himself from speaking out. But that was a big mistake. A headache that was even worse than a hangover seared across his temples. He thrashed around wildly as he whimpered in pain.

"It hurts the more you hold back, dear," Médée said distantly. "What were their names?"

The pain in Adam's head intensified until he was sure that he would explode if he didn't respond. He opened his mouth and shouted unthinkingly, "Lumière and Cogsworth!"

As soon as he said it, the headache ceased. He could hear his heart drumming loudly in his ears and feel nausea building in his stomach. My God. What have I done?

"Odd names for servants," Médée remarked with a tilt of her head. "But we'll make sure they're punished, nonetheless. Perhaps they're the snitches who've been selling information about the King out to the resistance."

"No," Adam moaned, bowing his head in despair. He once thought that he'd never meet a crueller person in the world than his father. But that was before he'd met the heartless woman standing before him. Beast or man, he'd gladly rip her to shreds if he wasn't tied up right now.

"Now," Médée continued in the same unfazed tone, "let's skip ahead to when you fled the castle and met with Agathon at his cottage. You did speak with him, correct?"

"Yes."

"Were you in contact with him before you went to see your brother?"

"No."

"Interesting. So then, what did he talk to you about?"

"He told me about his past. About his twin sister, Agathe. He told me—agh!" Adam had thought about skirting around the truth again and was immediately punished with another excruciating headache. "He told me about a weapon I could use to remove Gaston from power," he finished quickly.

Médée's eyes grew wide with fascination. She leaned in closer to him. "What is the name of this weapon?"

"Argh." Adam recoiled in pain. He didn't want to tell her. He couldn't tell her! But at the same time, his temples were shrinking, and a hammer was pounding mercilessly against the top of his head. "It's called the… the…"

"Madame!" a man called from outside the tent flap. Médée turned to the speaker. All of a sudden, the throbbing in Adam's head subsided. It seemed that the potion had no effect on him when the person asking him questions was distracted. He held on to this convenient piece of information, hoping it might come in handy later.

"Sorry for the interruption," the man continued, "but we found someone who might be of interest to you. She was creeping around the camp all suspicious-like."

"Bring her in," Médée commanded.

Two more guards entered the tent holding a struggling Belle in their arms. She was wearing Adam's satchel and observing her surroundings like a frightened child. Adam felt another sickening sensation grow in the pit of his stomach. Until now, he'd held out to the hope that no matter what Médée did to him, Belle would be safe. Now that they'd captured her, it changed the rules of the game entirely.

"Why you're nothing but a simple farm girl, aren't you?" Médée said, examining her new captive with an unimpressed frown. "And what were you doing in the woods all by yourself?"

"None of your business," Belle replied firmly.

"It is, actually. Adam?" Médée turned back to her prisoner. "Do you know this girl?"

"Yes," Adam affirmed against his better wishes.

"What is your relation to her?"

"She came with me to... to help carry out Agathon's plan to overthrow Gaston."

Belle looked at Adam with an appalled expression. It was only after they met eyes that he saw her understanding click into place. Whatever was happening to him, she knew that he wasn't sharing this information willingly.

"Why, our little rebel has an accomplice working with him, does he?" Médée sneered. "This is quite a fun twist on our story! And it fits so perfectly into my plan." She turned back to Adam. "Once I'm done interrogating you, I'll move on to her next."

Adam felt as though someone had poured a bucket of icy water down his back. "NO!" he shouted, thrashing wildly in his chair. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare lay a hand on her!"

"Aw, what's the matter, Adam?" Médée smirked. "Feeling a little protective, are we? Tell me, does this farm girl mean something to you? Do you have feelings for her, perhaps?"

No. Adam bit his lip again. There was no way he could tell her the truth, no way! But the potion had other ideas. Already, he could feel his head burning up from the inside, as though someone had poured a vat of molten rock into his skull…

"Oh, come on," Médée urged. "It's a simple yes or no question, My Lord. Do you love her or not?"

Adam groaned in agony. He bit down harder until he could taste blood in his mouth, but it was no use. The fire burned hotter in his head, increasing his pain beyond all comprehension of the word until he would surely die if he didn't open his mouth…

"YES! YES!" he screamed. "I love her! Please! Please. Don't hurt her."

The tent fell away into dead silence. Tears of humiliation streamed down Adam's face. He'd just admitted a horrible truth. One that Belle was never supposed to know about. He couldn't even look her in the eyes now, afraid of seeing her reaction. He was sure that horror and disgust were all he would find there.

Médée, on the other hand, felt no such shame. She looked between her two prisoners and laughed gleefully. "Mortals. So pathetically predictable. Well, fear not, monsieur"—she laid a hand on Adam's shoulder—"I might ask Gaston to give your girl a gentler punishment... if you cooperate."

Adam lowered his head in defeat. "I'll answer whatever questions you have." Truth or no truth, he'd still be dead in a few hours. What did he have to gain from resisting, apart from more pain and suffering?

"Good boy." The Enchantress nodded approvingly. "Now, about this weapon—"

"Madame!" Yet another guard entered the tent. But unlike the others, he had a fearful look in his eyes, as though he'd seen a ghost. "There's an interloper in the campsite. A man! He wants to speak with you immediately."

Médée made a disapproving clucking sound with her tongue. "Isn't it your job to handle intruders, Rodrigue? Tie him up somewhere until I'm ready to speak with him."

"We tried that, madame," the guard explained nervously. "But he turned the captain into a goat before we could lay a hand on him. And he's threatening to do the same thing to one of us for every minute he's kept waiting."

Rodrigue had Médée's full attention now. She blinked at him incredulously. "Did this man give you a name?"

"Oui, madame. He said that his name is Agathon."

"Blast!" she cursed. "The fool must have escaped from the castle and followed us here." Médée paced the tent as she considered her options. "All of you, come with me," she finally decided, gesturing to her guards. "Agathon is a tricky bastard. We'll need as many hands as possible if we want to finish him off before the King arrives. Except you, Fernand." She looked to the man with the bulldog face. "You stay here and look after our prisoners."

"Of course, madame," Fernand replied with a bow.

Médée exited the tent, her team of guards following closely behind her. The two men who'd entered the tent with Belle handed her over to Fernand like she was little more than disposable livestock. This filled Adam with rage. He didn't know if Belle felt sorrier for herself or for him right now. Nor could he ask her about it. Something told him it would be unwise to engage her in conversation while the enemy was still watching them.

Fortunately for him, Belle already had a plan. Once Médée and her cronies left the tent, she stomped down hard on Fernand's foot. The action stunned him and made him loosen his hold on her, allowing her to elbow him straight in the gut. Fernand grunted in pain and released her.

"No, Belle, wait!" Adam shouted, afraid that her recklessness would put her in even more danger.

Ignoring him, Belle scurried across the tent. But she wasn't fast enough. Fernand recovered from his injury and bounded after her. "Not so fast, sweetheart!" he shouted as he grabbed her wrist. "Don't think I'll go easy on you because you're a—"

Belle spun around and kicked him squarely between his legs. Fernand immediately fell to the floor, doubling over in pain. As he lay there, Belle grabbed a dagger from his belt and ran over to Adam to cut open his ropes.

Meanwhile, Adam sat there, gaping and in total awe of the woman standing before him. "That was brilliant," he remarked, at a loss of what else to say.

"Thanks. I think," Belle replied with a tentative half-smile. "You've gotten me out of my share of scrapes, so it's only right I return the favour."

"How did you find me?"

"I used the mirror. You were gone for so long, I got worried." She searched his face, brows raised in concern. "Are you all right?"

"No," he admitted. He hated to say it, but he had no choice. Under the potion's influence, he couldn't even blunt the truth or smooth it over with his usual dry sense of humour. "But... I'll feel better once we're out of here," he added as a slight reassurance.

Belle nodded in understanding. "That woman back there. What did she do to you?"

"Her name is Médée and she's an enchantress who works for Gaston. She forced me to drink some kind of truth-telling potion so she could get information from me about Agathon and the resistance."

Belle contemplated this information with a conflicted expression. "So, if I were to ask you a question you could only answer with the truth?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip as she considered the implications of this. But instead of inquiring about his earlier confession like he expected her to, she asked, "Did you tell her about the tree?"

"No. She knows that Agathon wants me to find a weapon to use against Gaston, but you arrived before I could give her all the details."

She visibly relaxed at this news and finished cutting his ropes. "Let's get out of here."

"Not on my watch," Fernand interrupted. He rose unsteadily to his feet, eyes still watering from his injury. Yet his hard gaze and stiff posture told Adam that he wasn't ready to give up. For a man who'd just been kicked in the groin, he held himself up surprisingly well.

Belle moved forward to protect Adam from the unfriendly guard. But Adam put a hand out to stop her. He got to his feet and faced Fernand himself. "Look monsieur," he said irritably, "I'm not in the best of moods right now. It would be in your best interest to stand aside so we can continue on our business."

Fernand snorted. "What do you think I am, stupid? The Madame's instructions were clear. I'm supposed to watch over you while she deals with the trespasser in the camp. Meaning that you aren't going anywhere." He unsheathed his sword to make his point.

"Ooh, what a nice blade," Adam said sarcastically. "Can't imagine you could do much damage with it, though. Médée needs me and Belle for information, meaning you can't kill us. Really, the best you could do is tackle us, which would be quite cumbersome as there's two of us and only one of you."

"It's true. I can't kill you," Fernand agreed. "But that doesn't mean I can't break a few bones or injure you badly enough to stop you from taking off."

Adam stared at him disgruntledly. "Are we really going to do this?"

"Aye. Unless you sit down with your girl and cooperate."

If Adam was in a better mood, he may have actually gone along with Fernand's proposition—just until he and Belle found a safer escape plan. But after the mental and physical hell he'd endured tonight, he was full of rage and ready for a fight. So he retrieved his cousin's rapier from the nearby table and pointed it back at Fernand. "Then let's get this over with."

He motioned to Belle to move out of the way, which she did with a nervous look on her face.

The sword fight was rough and messy. Adam's movement in the tent was largely restricted due to the small space and surrounding furniture, which was easy to bump into if he wasn't careful. It didn't take long for him to realize that Fernand took his job very seriously. His moves were aggressive, brutish and lacked the finesse that Adam was used to in training. He was only grateful that he'd practiced his parries in an earlier timeline, or else he may not have been able to defend himself as easily.

At one point, there was a loud rumbling outside the tent like a thunderstorm. This made no sense to Adam, as the sky had been clear when he was in the forest. As he contemplated the source of this odd phenomenon, Fernand lunged for his shoulder. Adam noticed the attack and parried him away, though the effort threw him off balance. He stumbled backwards, collapsing against the table behind him.

Fernand chuckled and pressed his sword to his opponent's neck. "Do you yield?"

Adam opened his mouth to respond when he noticed a ball of light shining through the canvas flap across from him. The sight was bizarre and frightening; as though the sun itself had decided to come crashing to the earth's surface. The ball grew bigger and brighter until even Fernand had to turn around to see what was happening. He let out a startled gasp. "What the—?"

BANG! The ball struck the ground with the force of a tremendous tidal wave, sending everyone in the tent flying. Adam could see nothing but blinding whiteness, feel nothing but an intense wall of heat surrounding him. He remained airborne for what seemed like ages before he crashed soundlessly to the ground.

When he could think and see clearly again, he was back outside and could smell something burning. On his left was a wall of flames, slowly creeping closer.

Terrified, he sat up to move away from the fire and immediately felt a sharp pain rip into his lower abdomen. He screamed and fell on his side, lost behind a red wall of pain. Almost a minute passed before the feeling dissipated enough for him to examine himself. What he saw nearly made him vomit. There, lodged deep into the left side of his abdomen, was a long piece of splintered wood about the size of his fist in diameter.

A terrific shudder ran through his body. There was no time to think about the whys, hows, or even ask himself where Belle and Fernand were. When he hung in the balance of life and death, those questions seemed largely inconsequential. He placed his hands around the debris and pulled. A thousand tiny daggers scraped through his abdomen in protest, but he didn't care. He clenched his teeth and didn't stop tugging until the wood was fully dislodged and he could toss it safely to the ground. Now the source of his injury was gone, but his hands and clothes were covered in blood.

Can a monster like me really bleed that much? he wondered woozily. He tried to stand, but his limbs were too heavy. He was weak from the excessive blood loss, and now his body was firmly rebelling against his mind's will to move.

Maybe it's meant to be this way, he thought resignedly. No matter what reality he travelled to, or how hard he tried to escape his old life, something always went wrong. Either he ended up hurting Belle and his household, or he ended up alone and soon to be dead in some miserable, confining location. Perhaps this was God's way of telling him to lay down his arms and accept his fate. After all, not everyone was meant to be a hero. He'd done the best he could, but in the end, failure was all he'd ever be good for.

Accepting his defeat, Adam lay on his back again. It seemed to be the only position he could manage without feeling tremendous pain.

"Adam? Adam?!" he heard a voice call from the distance.

"Here I am!" he wanted to shout. But it was so much easier to sleep. His eyelids grew heavier as he blinked moisture out of his eyes. The stars above him were fuzzy and seemed to shift out of their own accord.

As the life slowly trickled from his wound, his last comforting thought was that if he died, he wouldn't have to suffer the aftermath of Belle knowing his true feelings for her. Nor would she have to choose between staying with him or going home. Instead, she'd find her father and fight alongside the resistance where she should have been all along. Adam's pathetic secret would die with him. It would be the best outcome for everyone.

A swarm of black dots obscured his vision, transporting him away into blissful nothingness. He welcomed the darkness with open arms.