As always, thank you everyone for your reviews. This is my first ever fan-fiction, so I'm very new to this! I'm having a blast playing around in this world and writing these chapters :).

That evening Belle reclined on a settee in her library, a journal propped up against her bent knees, writing about the day's events, occasionally leaning down awkwardly to replenish her quill with ink from the inkwell resting beside her on the floor. The rush of excitement and emotion that had coursed through her all day now flowed neatly, a river of black ink, over the pages of her journal. It was her nature to carefully study everything, even phenomena as inscrutable as magic and love, so that though her emotions poured powerfully from her quill her desire to understand and analyze these feelings ran equally as strong. She was so focused on capturing her exact thoughts and feelings regarding Adam's visit to her cottage and her acceptance of his proposal that she was quite startled when there was a knock on the library doors.

"Come in," she called, pressing her journal closed quickly, hoping the ink wouldn't smudge. The door creaked as it opened, and Adam leaned in.

"May I enter?" he asked.

"Of course," Belle responded.

Adam strode into the library and, unless Belle was very much mistaken, his gait was becoming more assured. He seated himself next to her, positioned quite straight-backed with excellent posture, and adjusted the cuffs peeking out from under his wine colored jacket. She felt a poignant pinch in her heart. Her happiness that he was finally feeling more at home in his true form snagged on the memories she had of him as her beast, and these two feelings seemed both beautiful yet incompatible, like silk catching on the thorns of a rose bush. She repositioned herself on the settee so that she could place her arm around him and rest her head on his shoulder.

"It's late," the prince commented, kissing her on the top of her head, "Aren't you tired?"

"Yes," Belle admitted, "But I wanted to sit with you a while before going to bed."

The prince put his arm around her and rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head, taking in the scent of her hair. Belle closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing. She felt a sweet vulnerability being in his arms, gently reassured by his strength and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

"It sounds different than before," she commented sleepily.

"What does mon ange?" the prince asked in a soft voice.

"Your heartbeat," she answered. Sighing contentedly she opened her eyes and tilted her head back to look up at him, "It was much louder and deeper when you were a beast."

"When did you hear my heartbeat when I was a beast?" the prince asked.

"When we were dancing and I rested my head on your chest," Belle answered. Belle reached up and touched the smoothness of Adam's face tenderly. The prince smiled both at the memory and at his lovely fiancée sitting before him. She had clearly been waiting up for him, her eyes and voice were softened by sleepiness and candlelight. Always protective of her and concerned with her comfort, he had the urge to scoop her up, carry her to her room, and tuck her into bed.

"Have you been writing?" Adam asked, noticing the journal Belle clutched in her lap.

"Yes," Belle said, "Have you?"

"Yes," Adam responded with a sigh, "Though I can only guess at what the response will be, or if there will even be one."

"Surely he'll at least answer you," Belle said.

"He left me here when I was a scared little boy, Belle," Adam said, a trace of bitterness detectable in the normally smooth contours of his voice, "I have no reason to hope that he will suddenly take an interest in me now."

Belle sat up straighter and looked into his eyes. The thought of Adam alone and scared as a little boy in the massive castle awakened her nurturing side, and she felt a flash of anger towards his selfish father. She knew what it was like to feel lonely, but at least she had always had the steadiness of her papa.

"What is he like?" she asked, wondering what kind of a man could abandon his child.

"I don't know, really. It's been so long. He changed a great deal after my mother died," the prince responded slowly, "When I was very young he was often gone, as most royal parents are, but when he was home he played with me, took me for rides on his shoulders, brought me presents from far away. But after . . . he became so cold and distant. I rarely saw him, and it wasn't long before he sent me here. Mrs. Potts once told me he was heartbroken and I reminded him too much of my mother, but how am I to know, really? He never gave me a reason."

"And your mother? What was she like?" Belle asked gently, afraid of upsetting him, but wanting very much to better understand her future husband.

Adam hadn't spoken about his mother in a long time, and judging by the sharpness that shot through him suddenly, her death was something that still caused him a great deal of pain. Had anyone else asked him about his mother his grief would have flared instantly into anger towards the asker, even now in his princely and substantially subdued form. Since, however, it was Belle asking, he had no choice but to take a slow breath and brace himself for the vortex of emotion and memory that swirled within him and answer her.

"She was . . .sweet, playful, loving. Everything a good mother should be. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and I remember thinking she looked like an angel. She liked to play hide-n-go-seek with me and chase me around the gardens. We would have contests to see who could go higher on the swings. She played piano and the harp beautifully, and would play for me sometimes when I asked. She was very kind, and was known for her fairness and generosity. She loved books, animals, and roses. Everyone loved her." The prince said, speaking slowly, tugging at the threads of his memories of her gently, feeling that the few remnants he had left of her were tenuous and had to be handled delicately.

"I wish I could have met her," Belle commented quietly.

"So do I," the prince said, "You would have liked each other. You are a bit alike, I think."

"What happened to her?" Belle asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Adam visibly winced, and Belle was immediately sorry that she had asked, frustrated at her insatiable curiosity that at times, such as when she had snuck off to the West Wing all those months ago, transgressed appropriateness.

"She was killed in a carriage accident. It was raining, something spooked the horses, and the driver lost control of the carriage. The horses came loose and the carriage overturned and rolled off the edge of a ravine." The prince answered. He thought for a moment, then added, "When you first came to the castle and I saw you crying because you didn't get to say goodbye to your father . . . it made me remember that I had felt the same thing when I had found out my mother had died. I didn't get to say goodbye. One day she was laughing and playing her harp, the next she was gone. I felt for you. It had been so long since I had felt anything for anyone, it astonished me."

"Oh, Adam," Belle whispered, pulling him close to her. He relaxed into her embrace and allowed himself to be comforted by her presence.

"Tell me about your mother," the prince said after a few moments. Belle pulled away from him and considered her memories of her mother for a moment.

"She was wonderful," Belle said with a soft smile, "She taught me how to read and write, how to sing and dance, how to tend to the animals and cook dinner. She was an artist. I used to watch her at her canvas for hours, mixing colors and making paintings. I remember missing her pictures when, later, she would sell them at the market. She was out-spoken, but also gentle and patient. She died of a fever when I was seven and I still miss her very much."

"Were your parents in love?" the prince asked.

"Yes," Belle said, smiling at the memories she had of a warm, cozy home with both of her parents, "Very much so. Yours?"

"Yes," the prince said, remembering the days when he had been a very young child and how his father's face had lit up each time his mother entered a room, how his parents had laughed and whispered to each other, held hands and sneaked kisses when they thought no one was watching, "Which is something very rare and special in royal circles."

Belle sat up a little on her knees and kissed him gently on the mouth, then rested her forehead against his. He held her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs lightly against her skin. They sat that way for a few moments, letting the heaviness of the emotions they had just exchanged settle around them, feeling the warmth of one another's understanding wrap around them and draw them closer as though they were sharing a cloak.

"Come, mon ange," the prince said finally, "Please allow me to escort you to your chambers. We should both get some rest. After all, we have a large party to plan for our villagers."