VI

Suspicion

Something was terribly wrong with his little dearie. It was almost as if the woman he'd brought to his castle so long ago, brave to a fault, persistent with her smiles, cheerful to the point where he was afraid he'd go mad … that woman was missing, and he wanted her back. His Belle was breaking apart piece by piece, her effervescent light dimming to steal away her warmth, her essence. Her avoidance of him hurt most of all. Whereas before she had always sought his company, now she went to great pains to hide from him. What had he done to dissuade her?

Rumpelstiltskin paced his tower workroom, unable to remain in the library without her there, and raked a frustrated hand through his hair. Countless times, he'd asked her to tell him what was wrong, and each time she refused. When her melancholy increased, he lightened her workload, and when that didn't help, he doubled it. Still, she never complained and went about her work as if it were no matter. It was driving him mad, and with the myriad voices living in his head, he really didn't need that final push over the precipice into true insanity.

He closed his eyes as the pull of a desperate soul, the call of a deal, washed over him, leaving him wanting. Yet, not so much as to tempt him away from his little maid and the puzzle she had become. It didn't matter that cabin fever was beginning to set in, his skin itching just below the surface, that undeniable sensation which urged him to flee. Surely, Belle must be feeling the same way. It had been over a month since he'd seen her so much as take a stroll in the garden. Perhaps a trip to the village would ease some of her melancholy, he thought, one long finger tapping idly against his chin.

Something had to give. Somehow, he had to find a way to win her back, to restore her light … before they both succumbed to madness.

The sorcerer pushed away the voices, the calls to make a deal, and that niggling bit of conscience he still possessed, and sent out a tendril of magic in hopes of locating her whereabouts in the castle. His brows rose, surprised to find her in the library. He was standing at her back before her name had fully left his lips, but he couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

Books littered the table – magic tomes he'd sworn were well out of her reach – parchment, quills, a cold cup of tea, all set before her, holding her rapt attention. But more disturbing than the thought of her coming to some accidental harm – which really wasn't an issue with the wards ingrained into the very structure of the castle to keep its residents safe – was her unkempt appearance. Never had his little maid presented herself less than immaculately dressed and groomed. Now her hair was falling from its pins, there was a bit of soot smudged on one cheek and a tea stain on her apron. What the hell was going on?!

She jumped nearly a foot and screamed the rafters down, whirling on him furiously when he reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Rumpelstiltskin!"

"Belle … dearie, what are you doing?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. He stepped forward, next to the table and banished the spell books, one by one, to his tower to put them away where she couldn't get to them again. "Why do you have these books? Don't you realize they're dangerous? I've warned you about –"

"Touching your things, I know. Please … forgive me," she finished for him, huffing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Master. I came in to dust, and then … I suppose I got carried away."

He arched a disbelieving brow. "That doesn't explain why you had these books. These particular books which are stored …" He pointed one lone finger up to the highest shelf in the corner next to the ladder she'd hauled over in order to reach them. "… way up there."

Belle's eyes were frantic as she cast them down at her feet. He couldn't know why she was poring over the ancient texts, couldn't discover her secret. There was no telling what Regina would do to her if Rumpelstiltskin confronted her. No, he was safest if she were to remain silent.

"Belle, this cannot continue, dearie. Look at yourself!" he sneered. "All you do is work –"

"Isn't that why you wanted me here?"

The mage opened his mouth to answer only to snap it closed once more "Did you just sass me?" he asked in a befuddled tone. "What have I told you about your sass, little maid?" He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his scrutinizing gaze. That was another thing which bothered him. She no longer challenged him, most times shrinking into herself when they met. Where was her spunk, her courage, her fire he loved so much? Where was his little dearie? He leaned in closer and gave a hesitant sniff, his nose wrinkling. "When was the last time you had a bath? Or slept, for that matter?"

She flushed crimson with mortification, her fingers clasped and fidgeting as she looked away.

"When, Belle?" he persisted.

She shrugged. "I don't remember."

His mouth dropped open to gape at her, his hands rising to grasp her upper arms in a firm grip. "What is happening to you? Talk to me. I am your master! I command it!" he roared.

Belle's lower lip wobbled tremulously, her eyes wide and filled with despair. "N-Nothing!"

"Don't lie to me!"

"Don't you think I would tell you if I could!?" she wailed, pushing away from him. He let her go easily, stunned by her outburst his heart sinking as she raced for the stairs.