Belle and Adam were, by nature, quite an introverted couple. They would have both found themselves very content to spend their days reading books to each other and going for long walks, traveling from time to time, enjoying one another's company and that of their loyal servants. Adam had never had a particularly extroverted personality even before he spent ten years within the confines of his castle as a beast. In fact, his lack of hospitality was what had landed him with the curse in the first place. As for Belle, she had always felt that she understood her books much better than the people around her, though that was changing at the castle.
It was there for somewhat anxiety producing for both of them to stage this celebration for the villagers. Their discomfort was hardly mitigated by the knowledge that, while the villagers hadn't openly stoned them in the town square, they were also still clearly extremely wary of both Belle and the prince. They both understood that it was critical the party go well and that they manage to endear themselves to the villagers, else they would have to live in perpetual fear of a second storming of the castle. Navigating the social expectations of the celebration would be both Belle and the prince's first introduction into practicing diplomacy, and the prince found himself yet again cursing himself for his inattentiveness during his lessons as a boy.
Belle and the prince stood in the ballroom overseeing the preparations for the ball. The servants bustled about, bickering with one another and fussing over every detail, also aware of the importance of the evening and of the prince and Belle making a good impression on the villagers.
Belle looked around herself and couldn't help but catch her breath at how stunning the ballroom was. The castle was magnificent without any further embellishments, but the servants had so outdone themselves in the decorations that the castle was, for lack of a better term, utterly enchanting. It was so resplendent as to seem ethereal, as though the flawlessly rendered statues of angels and saints that graced the walls of the prince's castle had assisted in the decorating. Above them were festoons of white and purple silk, fastened in place with decorations of gold and crystal that caught the sunlight and reflected rainbows on the sparkling marble of the floor and walls. Roses, arranged in garlands and bouquets along the walls, lent their beauty to the ballroom in bursts of color and fragrance. The great hall had been outfitted similarly, and in the gardens lanterns had been fixed to the trees, rose bushes, and along the walking paths, ready to light up the evening like hundreds of fireflies once the sun set.
"The menu, master," Lumiere said, approaching Belle and the prince with a bow, extending a large piece of parchment that contained the numerous dining options in impeccable curling script. The prince took it and held it between himself and Belle, and they both looked it over. He glanced at her questioningly.
"It looks wonderful," Belle said, "Just please be sure to prepare the venison more well-done than Adam typically takes it."
"Of course, mademoiselle," Lumiere responded with a smile, taking the menu and bowing again before hurrying back to the kitchens, no doubt to oversee that each julienned carrot and steamed potato was prepared and presented flawlessly.
Belle looked to her prince, who raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a crooked smile.
"You're lucky I eat my meat cooked at all," he whispered into her ear.
Belle laughed and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. Truthfully, she loved when the little traces of the years he had spent as the beast surfaced from time to time. She enjoyed that her handsome prince, now so soft-spoken and well-dressed, was still not completely tamed. As she observed the servants carrying in long tables for the feast, she entertained the fact that in a few hours the castle would welcome the same villagers who had so soundly rejected her most of her life. She frowned slightly.
"Do you think we're odd?" she asked the prince.
"Yes, without question," Adam responded with no hesitation, laughing.
"You do?" Belle asked, frowning further.
"Of course," he answered nonchalantly, his eyes sparkling as he kissed her forehead, "You are a beautiful young woman who could have had her pick of any eligible man, but you instead fell in love with someone who was covered in fur and walked on all fours. You can hardly expect us to be a normal couple."
"And—you don't mind that we aren't like everyone else, or anyone else for that matter?" Belle said, looking up at him with her lovely doe-shaped eyes, her full lips arranged into a pout.
Adam, after all, was a prince, and as such had been raised with the conviction that he was unusual since birth. As a prince he had also been inculcated with the belief that being different from everyone else meant that he was special, and that this was a very good way to be. Now that he was restored to his princely form, he didn't share Belle's aversion to being thought of as odd, so long as he was left to conduct his affairs in peace.
"Why should I? It doesn't bother me if we are strange if we are happy," the prince answered, "You are happy aren't you?"
"Yes," Belle replied, smiling.
"Then let others have their ordinariness. Being like everyone else is so common, and you, mon cherie, are a princess," the prince told her, running his hand gently through her hair. He hated how uncomfortable the villagers made Belle feel. In his mind they were simply too dense to appreciate how exceptional she was, and so it was for the best that Belle was going to leave them all behind and become a princess.
Madame de le Grande Bouche approached, clothed in a deep forest green silk dress, the bodice hugging her ample curves, her skirts trailing the floor so that when she walked her movements had the sound of leaves rustling.
"Please forgive the interruption," she said, "But I'm afraid we must spirit you away to begin dressing you for the ball."
"Already?" Belle asked, "But it won't begin for a few hours."
"But we have so much to do! Your gown needs fitted, your hair needs curled, your cheeks need rouged!" Madame de le Grande Bouche exclaimed.
"Very well," Belle responded, sighing. Looking to her prince, she said, "I hope you'll excuse me."
"I look forward to seeing you this evening," the prince told her, kissing her hand. She smiled at him, then allowed herself to be lead away by Madame de le Grande Bouche, who talked excitedly about Belle's gown for the evening and how they would style her hair. The prince watched her leave, fervently hoping that, for everyone's sake, the evening would be a success.
The villagers were still flummoxed by the prince's visit to town and his invitation to the castle. They had accepted the prince's invitation more out of curiosity and confusion than out of a genuine desire to put the nasty business of storming the castle behind them. It was with a substantial amount of wariness that they prepared for the ball, and gossip had flooded the town square in the weeks since the prince had made his visit about where he came from, what he wanted with Belle, and what had really happened the night Gaston died. While the women got ready for the evening, trying on wigs, embellishing their gowns, and powdering their faces, the men met in the tavern to discuss their thoughts about the party.
"It's very strange," commented the blacksmith, "That this prince suddenly appears out of nowhere and kills the beast."
"Not as strange," said the tanner, "As there being a monstrous beast in a castle in the first place. How did it get there? What was it doing there?"
"Better yet," added the baker, "What was Belle doing there? First she takes up with the beast and now this prince? What is it she's after?"
"As if you have to ask," grunted a burly fellow from the end of the bar, rolling his eyes and waving a gold coin, "She always did put on airs, thinking herself too good for the likes of any of us."
"So then we're agreed that there is a very good chance we could be walking into a trap?" Monsieur D'Arque asked, his oily voice oozing false camaraderie with the townsmen.
The townsmen all nodded and murmured in agreement. Monsieur D'Arque surveyed them with his cold eyes and considered their plan. It wasn't some misguided kinship he felt with Gaston that kept him suspicious of Belle and the prince. Rather, it was his ability for detecting deception and his desire to control people and situations that kept him on alert. He was a schemer himself, the reasons most of the 'lunatics' in his care were even in his asylum were dubious at best. There was something slippery about the entire situation involving the castle, something he couldn't quite get his fingers on. He was determined to root out what it was and, what is more, punish Belle and this prince for attempting to dupe them all in the first place.
"Are you sure the men we've recruited from the other villages will be able to stay concealed in the woods undetected? What if one of the coaches the prince is going to send for us sees them?" asked the carpenter.
"I assure you they will stay quite concealed, that is, unless someone sends the signal for them to attack," Monsieur D'Arque reassured the men.
"I still don't know that any of this is necessary," said the owner of the bookshop, a wiry old man who had always had fondness for Belle and could never understand the townspeople's derision of her.
"For all we know that prince has the beast tied up in his castle somewhere and is just waiting for the right moment to let him loose on all of us," the blacksmith retorted, to a chorus of agreement from the other men.
"I don't believe Belle would deliberately lead us all into such a trap," the bookshop owner replied, shaking his head and removing his glasses to clean them on his sleeve.
"She's obviously been bought off," the tanner responded.
"Gentlemen," Monsieur D'Arque interrupted, "The plan is fool proof. If there is, indeed, no beast in the castle and no trap at the party then the men we have waiting in the woods will have no reason to attack and we can enjoy the good favor of our young prince. If, however, there is any sign of an impending attack, then we send the signal and join with our brethren to fight off our captors."
"Then it's settled," the blacksmith said, finishing off his beer and raising his empty stein to the other men, "We go through with the plan. Now-let's get ready for this ball."
Despite the palpable anxiety in the castle, the preparations for the guests were laid flawlessly. The castle looked exquisite, the prince looked charming, and Belle, cascading down the wide steps of the ballroom in a shimmering rose colored ball gown just before the guests arrived, was stunning. The coaches went to the village to pick up the villagers, who dressed in their best attire, climbed in and attempted to have their suspicions trump their excitement.
Few of the townspeople, however, could suppress their 'oohhs' and 'aahhhs' as the coaches arrived at the castle and servants came to open the doors of the carriages and, with gorgeous manners, help the ladies out. The enormous double doors of the castle were flung wide open to reveal tantalizing glimpses of the castle's grand interior, the silk ribbons and flowers garnishing the entrance fluttered softly like a woman's skirt in the breeze, and the castle shone like ivory in the late spring sunshine. Slightly dazed by the spectacle of the castle, the townspeople filed into the great hall, wide-eyed and with their necks craning to take in the splendor all around them.
The prince and Belle greeted them warmly, thanked them for coming, and welcomed them into the castle. Dressed in fine attire for the celebration that evening, the prince and Belle were a dazzling couple, and even as the townspeople distrusted them they could scarcely take their eyes off of them. Lumiere and Cogsworth then took the townspeople for an extensive tour of the castle with the prince and Belle following behind the large group, smiling and answering questions as required. At first the townspeople entered each room with trepidation, eyes narrowed, but as the tour went on the group seemed to relax, and they openly admired the sumptuous architecture and artwork. It was difficult, for many of the women particularly, not to be charmed by the obvious affection the prince and Belle felt for one another. Their eyes glowed and their cheeks flushed each time they brushed against each other, and they seemed to be able to keep their eyes of one another only with great difficulty.
After the tour, during which, of course, no traces of the beast or the enchanted objects could be found, the villagers were lead to the ballroom, where the feast was served, the drinks were poured, and the music played in chorus with the sunset. The food was beautifully presented and delicious with endless courses of elaborate dishes parading across the plates of the villager. Belle was reminded of when she first came to the castle and Lumiere had presented her with his 'culinary cabaret'. She smiled to herself as she watched him chit-chatting and charming the guests, flirting with the women, joking with the men. He certainly had a gift for making people feel welcome at the castle.
Once during the evening when he approached her to see if there was anything she needed, she whispered to him, with a smile, "The grey stuff is delicious."
He laughed and winked at her before hurrying off to continue pampering their guests. Belle looked around herself at the servants who were trying so hard to ensure that the evening was a success and saw that the castle was filled with people who she genuinely liked and cared for. She looked to Adam, who sat across from her at the long head table. He caught her eye and smiled at her in the slightly shy way that he had that never failed to charm Belle. She felt a sense of contentment that she hadn't ever quite felt before and realized that, even in the midst of the villagers who had never accepted her, she felt at home.
Once the villagers had finally had their fill of the food, and they were becoming increasingly friendly and rowdy as the ale and the evening took effect, the servants cleared the tables and the orchestra switched from dinner music to dancing music. The prince asked Belle for her hand and, leading her to the dance floor, loudly encouraged the townspeople to join them in dancing. The townspeople hesitated, but then spilled onto the dance floor, some of the women laughing at the poor coordination and lack of gallantry of the men, many of whom appeared less than skilled at dancing.
Belle looked up at the prince, whose cheeks were flushed. It appeared to take more concentration than usual on his part to lead her across the dance floor.
"How much have you had to drink?" Belle asked, raising an eyebrow at her fiancée. In her effort to charm the villagers and engage them in conversation she had not been keeping too close of an eye on her prince.
"Not too—very much. Only four goblets." The prince answered.
"Have you ever drank before?" Belle asked.
"I've had sips of wine as a boy," the prince answered.
"Over ten years ago?" Belle asked.
"I'm fine," the prince responded, "You are looking . . . so beautiful tonight. You're always beautiful. Maybe I don't tell you enough. I don't want you to think that's all I appreciate about you. But I notice it, of course. I always have. But, of course, true beauty is found within. You have beauty without and within, which is very pleasant, I must say. Why don't you wear your hair down more?"
Belle smiled and rolled her eyes. She resolved to herself to refuse any further wine or ale, in order to keep her wits about her and ensure that the evening continued to go smoothly.
"You are intoxicated," Belle murmured into his ear.
"Is that what is this feeling is?" the prince asked, "It's so strange. I had such difficulty controlling myself when I was . . .before. It's a little like that now, but different. Nicer. I have such an urge to kiss you just now."
"Well, you may not," Belle responded, smiling and nodding politely to the villagers as they danced past, "You may, however, drink water instead of ale for the rest of the evening."
"But I'm having such a good time," the prince responded, "Soirees are a great deal of fun, more fun than I expected. It's been so long since I've been around people like this. As a boy I wasn't allowed to go, but I could watch, sometimes."
As they continued to dance, they noticed Maurice with his arm around Mrs. Potts' waist, leading her across the dance floor. Surprised, the prince and Belle both glanced at each other. They glided past the older couple, but Mrs. Potts and Maurice didn't seem to notice, and Belle could swear she noticed her father blushing in a way she hadn't seen in years, not since her mother died. The prince all but gaped at them as they danced passed, and then looked at Belle with his blue eyes wide.
"Are they—?" he asked, before he realized that he didn't know how to finish his question.
"I . . .don't know," Belle responded, watching them thoughtfully. Maurice leaned in to say something to Mrs. Potts, causing her to giggle.
"Belle," the prince said, suddenly very serious, "What exactly are your father's intentions towards Mrs. Potts?"
"I'm sure my father has only the purest of intentions," Belle replied, continuing to watch Maurice and Mrs. Potts.
"Where did Mrs. Potts learn to dance?" Adam muttered, just before he tripped over his own feet. Belle sighed and drew her attention back to her tipsy prince.
"I think we should take a break," Belle said.
The song ended, and Belle curtsied deeply as the prince bowed, wobbling as he stood back up. Belle frowned at him and led him off the dance floor, walking with such grace as her full skirts swished around her that she appeared to be gliding. Most of the villagers continued dancing, with a few drinking and watching on the outskirts of the dance floor.
"That is quite some library you have here," the owner of the bookshop said, approaching Belle with a kindly expression. Belle smiled warmly at the old man. She was very fond of him, as he was one of the few people who had been kind to her during her time in the village.
"Thank you very much," she replied, "It was a gift."
"My, that is quite a gift," the old man responded, laughing and looking to the prince, "It seems you are taking very good care of our Belle, your majesty."
"I can only hope to show her a fraction of the kindness she has shown me," the prince said with a smile.
"You are welcome to come here and borrow any book you like. In fact, maybe we could start a library in town with some of the books here at the castle," Belle told the man thoughtfully, she glanced at the prince and added, "That would be all right, wouldn't it?"
"It's your library," the prince told her, "Pardon me, mon ange."
The prince bowed slightly, then slipped off to speak with Maurice. Belle watched them talk, a little concerned that her intoxicated fiancée would say something inappropriate to her father regarding his relationship with Mrs. Potts, before turning her attention back to the bookshop owner and describing the variety of the volumes her library contained. She glanced back up to see the prince toasting her father as he laughed, and then taking a deep drink from his goblet, which she was relatively certain did not contain water. She was about to excuse herself when two women ran up to Belle, gushing about her gown and begging her to share her beauty secrets with them. In the interest of improving the castle's relationship with the town, Belle smiled graciously and obliged, sharing the recipe for the olive oil and egg white mask Madame de la Grande Bouche insisted Belle wear the night before special occasions. She continued watching Adam out of the corner of her eye. He was now among a group of male villagers, laughing at the somewhat tasteless limericks the men were singing. Babette sauntered by, gathering empty glasses, and a hush fell over the men as they openly ogled her, causing Adam to laugh even harder.
Belle continued to talk politely with the women, as more had gathered around her, and now they clamored for details on what it was like to be engaged to a handsome prince. Belle expertly walked the line between giving them details to satiate their curiosity, and protecting her and the prince's privacy. The Bimbettes squealed at every mention of romance while the other women seemed more interested in how many dresses Belle owned now and if she slept on satin sheets.
Adam banged a spoon against his goblet and managed to get the boisterous ballroom to settle into a hush.
"My fellow Frenchmen," the prince began, as Belle winced at his visible intoxication, "Thank you so much for gracing my halls with your liveliness and bringing so much merriment to this castle. I hope from this day forward we can be friends, and wish for you all to continue enjoying your evening."
The men cheered loudly and raised freshly filled goblets to the prince. The women laughed and smiled. The music resumed, and the din from chatter, clanging goblets, and swishing skirts increased in volume, filling the castle with sounds of liveliness it hadn't heard in years.
"He is so handsome," the baker's wife sighed.
"And charming," one of the Bimbettes added, looking as though she might swoon at any moment.
"How did you get so lucky?" the blacksmith's wife asked, with a mix of friendliness and envy.
"Well . . ." Belle began, but before she could fashion a believable response the doors to the ballroom burst open.
"What is the meaning of this?!" a voice thundered.
A man who appeared to have just been involved in some sort of fight lurched into the ballroom. The orchestra stopped playing, the guests stopped talking, and the servants stopped serving, the ballroom instantly falling into stunned silence. The man was a commanding figure even with his clothing torn and blood visible on his shoulder and face. He surveyed the inhabitants of the ballroom with rage. He was followed by a woman who was beautiful and who wore a distinctly shaken expression and a dress with an impossibly wide skirt, which was also torn. Behind them, at least 100 guards holding a number of men at sword point quickly filed into the ballroom, their purposeful footsteps echoing off the marble floors and vaulted ceilings. The silence in the ballroom then gave way to gasps and frantic whispering.
Belle turned quickly to the prince, who was standing as though frozen with a curious expression that appeared to register shock, anger, confusion, and recognition, all in relatively equal measure. For several moments no one moved, as the man who had first entered the ballroom glowered at everyone in a thoroughly intimidating manner. Then, moving very slowly, and with his eyebrows knitted, Adam warily stepped up to the man. They looked into one another's eyes, and there was a palpable tension between them that Belle didn't quite understand.
"Father," Adam said, in a way that was both questioning and definitive.
Belle blinked, now even more surprised, and looked quickly at the man. Looking at him more carefully, she saw the resemblance, particularly in the nose and jaw, and in the man's considerable height and broad shoulders. Unlike Adam, his eyes were gray, as was much of his hair, but there was still some red and brown visible. She could tell that in his youth he had been quite handsome and even now he remained so, certainly he looked distinguished, though there was a coldness and arrogance to him that Belle found off-putting.
"Who is responsible for this?!" the man demanded, glaring at the prince.
"For what?" Adam responded, in a tone the clearly registered irritation and disgust.
"We were ambushed!" the man roared, now looking around accusingly at the guests in the ballroom, as the guards tightened their grip on their prisoners and glared menacingly at the assembled guests.
Belle looked at the villagers and observed many guilty expressions on the part of the male townspeople. She looked back to the captured men, who from their dress and comportment, were clearly also from poor villages. She tilted her head to the side and remembered the letter the prince had told her about, the one that Cogsworth had intercepted.
"We thought it was a trap!" one of the men who had been captured cried out.
"You had so many guards with you, we assumed you were planning on attacking the townspeople while they were at the party," another tried to explain.
"Guards," the man said, "Escort these men to the towers."
"No," Adam said quickly. Adam looked angrily at the captured men, then back at his father, then over at the guests, "Explain yourselves. Now."
The guests all looked at each other, then at the guards, then down at the floor. Belle noted that Adam could still be very imposing when he wanted to be, his voice contained the commanding tone that only someone who had been giving orders his entire life could fully master. Though the villagers were clearly afraid and none of them wanted to speak, a few of the men begrudgingly stepped forward.
"We were afraid that the ball might be a trap," the blacksmith said, avoiding eye contact with both Adam and his father, "So we had men from the other villages wait in the forest . . .just in case."
"But they weren't supposed to do anything," the baker added, "Unless we gave a signal—which we didn't!"
Belle looked over at the villagers again and noticed Monsieur D'Arque coldly surveying the entire scene from a vantage point in a corner. Their eyes met and he held her gaze, his face emotionless. She narrowed her eyes at him and before slowly drawing her focus back to Adam.
"Then why did they attack?!" Adam yelled, his voiced resounding through the ballroom, visibly startling the guests. Even Belle's eyes widened—she hadn't heard him speak with such intensity since before the transformation.
"We—we saw all the guards and we panicked y-your majesty," one of the captured men stammered.
Adam glared at him for a moment but didn't seem to disbelieve him. He looked back to his father.
"Why do you have so many guards with you?" he asked.
"Because you asked me in your letter to bring them!" his father snapped, his voice also reverberating through the large room.
Adam sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Release them." Adam said.
The guards looked to his father, clearly confused.
"Don't release them!" his father countered, "Bring them to the towers as I commanded."
"Stop!" Adam said, holding his hand out towards the guards, who had begun shifting towards the door. He turned to his father and said, "I believe that this has been a misunderstanding."
"And I believe that anyone who attacks a member of the royal family needs to be made an example of," his father replied coldly, "Guards—to the towers."
"No!" Adam yelled, "These men must be released. I don't—I cannot keep prisoners in this castle."
"And I will not allow these criminals to go unpunished," his father responded coldly.
"This is my castle and I—" Adam began heatedly.
"Your castle?" his father interrupted, "I built this castle! I installed all of these servants here, I ensure your stipend from the king as a prince du sang! It is not your place you speak to me in this way. Not only am I your father, I am brother to the king, and a son of a king, a fils de France. You are a petit-fils de France, and a lost one at that. You would do well to remember your rank and your position."
"I should remember my position?" the prince retorted, anger and alcohol flushing his face, "What about your position as my father? How well have you done at remembering that?!"
Adam's father stepped back, his jaw setting.
"You are clearly not in a reasonable state right now. You will excuse yourself to your chambers," his father said, his voice low but threatening.
"I will not—" Adam said, but his father quickly interrupted him.
"You will go to your chambers or I will have the guards escort you there," his father growled.
"You come here after all these years and feel you have any right to give me orders?" Adam said, "You don't even have the right to speak to me! Where were you when I needed you? Where were you when I was under the—"
"Weather," Belle interrupted stepping forward and placing a hand on the prince's forearm, giving him a pointed look that she hoped, even in his inebriated state, he understood. It would be nothing short of disastrous if Adam, his reason eclipsed by his anger and how much he had drank, proclaimed in front of all of the villagers that he had been under a spell. Belle then sank into a deep curtsy in front of the prince's father, holding it for a moment, before rising slowly.
"Your majesty," Belle began, "Please forgive us. Adam struggled with his infirmity for so long and has dearly missed the comfort of your presence. However, this is a matter that can be discussed at a more appropriate time."
Adam's father beheld Belle, taken aback momentarily by her grace and beauty. He blinked as she raised her eyes demurely to his, making certain her expression remained reverent. He looked back to Adam who had also been looking at Belle, but who now met his father's gaze.
"Who is this?" his father asked, his anger giving way to confusion.
"This is Belle," Adam answered, taking her hand, "My fiancée and your future daughter-in-law."
"Your fiancée," his father repeated slowly, looking her over.
"Such a beauty," commented the woman with the large skirts, who had been standing behind the prince's father, quietly watching the scene. She gliding forward and slipped her arm through Adam's father's.
"Who is this?" Adam asked.
"My wife and your stepmother," the prince's father responded.
As both couples stood facing each other and regarding one another, an odd sort of tension hung in the air around them. Technically they were all family, or about to be. In reality, they were all strangers to one another and, more than that, they were strangers that so far were not taking much of a liking to each other.
"It would seem," Adam's stepmother said, "That the evening calls for a great deal of understanding."
"Would it?" Adam's father muttered gruffly.
"Mercy is an excellent quality in a prince," she continued, surveying Adam with a smile, "One that I hope runs in the family."
"Very well," Adam's father muttered begrudgingly, "We will release the prisoners—this time. Let it be a warning to everyone here, however, that the next time you attack a prince du sang you won't be answering to me but to the guillotine."
"Adam," Belle said gently, "You are looking tired. Don't you think it would be best to retire to your chambers, so that you are refreshed enough to give our guests a proper welcome tomorrow morning?"
Adam sighed and looked down into the beautiful face of his beloved fiancée. He knew that she was, in effect, telling him to go to bed. Born as both a prince and as someone with a stubborn, difficult temperament, he had never responded well to being told what to do. However, he had to acknowledge that Belle was more reasonable than he even when he hadn't been drinking, and she often knew what was best.
"Very well," he answered, adding more loudly he said, "Cogsworth, ready the coaches for our party guests. Mrs. Potts, please show our royal guests to their bedroom."
As the prince left the ballroom for the West Wing, Belle watched him go. She turned back to her future in-laws, who continued to look her over, and smiled. They smiled back, a little weakly, and Belle wondered if they knew she was a peasant yet. If they didn't then that would be another uncomfortable conversation and potential point of conflict. She then looked to the guests in the ballroom, feeling the weight of the suddenly somber mood, the frivolity having been thoroughly wrung out of the evening. The villagers were once again eyeing her with suspicion, and she feared that winning their favor, particularly after the unpleasant events of the evening, would be the prince's biggest challenge yet.