BELLE faced the next several days of her waking hours as if in a daze, doing whatever she could to assist Laure and the others with preparing for the Duke's arrival, all the while her mind felt as if it were reeling that she was perhaps the only other soul besides the Prince's father who knew the truth. That the Prince was a cursed man, a Changeling Beast, and that his father was the cause of his suffering.
Why the man wanted to visit his son when they did not get along, she had not the faintest idea, though, over the next several nights, her sleep was haunted by nightmares. Rest would not come for her, and her thoughts were filled with dread and terror for the Prince, for reasons that she could not explain.
Her mind told her that she should not let herself experience these emotions, that the man had done nothing as of yet throughout their acquaintance to deserve her pity, much less her solace. Yet, there was something of the way he had looked at her, the brokenness in his wintry blue eyes, that spoke volumes.
He was hurting and if there was a chance for her to make the most of the situation that LeFou had given her, she needed to act on it. Belle knew she needed to build trust with the Prince, albeit slowly, as much as was safe to do so with Princess Circe in the picture. Despite her unease towards the Princess, she nodded slowly to herself as she stood in front of the roaring fire in the hearth in her dark chambers.
Take care of him. Show him kindness. You are his maid, after all, dear, she heard Papa's voice chime in his soft tenor-like tone in the back of her mind that brought a sad little smile to her lips. She nodded.
"I will, Papa," she whispered, grateful no one was present to hear her talk to Papa as if her father still lived.
At the very least, Belle thought the beginnings of understanding were beginning to form slowly in her mind. She recalled their conversation from several days ago, alone in his private study.
He was a peculiar creature, her new master, this Prince. But despite his somewhat cold and hardened exterior, Belle thought she could detect a hidden tender aura just brimming underneath the surface.
His father was a man of many things if she was to believe the stories that were told of the Duke, and especially if she took the Prince at his word that his father's actions had caused the witch to cast her wretched spell upon him as a young boy.
Lost in thought and still unfamiliar with the layout of the Prince's sprawling shining castle, Belle did not even feel it as her feet turned on their heels, moving as if by memory out of her room and down the corridor. She was looking for the corridor near the Prince's throne room.
Belle had meant to scrub the rug near the entrance but had gotten distracted earlier today by Mrs. Potts asking to help her in the kitchen. Belle had purposefully avoided the Prince following their conversation, troubled by why the arrogant man had asked her if she believed in love.
Of course, she did, why wouldn't she? Her father had given her all the love that he could. She hated the idea of getting too close to the Prince's quarters, except the rug was one of the first things visitors saw when they came to meet the Prince.
Though his appointments were so few and far between these days, Laure had explained when her new friend had shown her the ropes. What people thought of the Prince's castle was perhaps one of the few things about her new home that Belle thought she could control, and perhaps make the burden of the Duke's visit less so upon her new master.
As the days passed her by, there was a part of her that had come to like the work, and she found herself taking pride in it…even on the more difficult days when her back began to ache from scrubbing the tiles or when her hands would grow calloused. She hoped when spring came, and warmer weather was upon them, she hoped to break up her days between indoor and outdoor activities to make her days not seem so dull. She could pick wildflowers from the woods to scatter in vases throughout various parts of the castle. She doubted the Prince would care, but at least the other servants' days would be brightened. She wondered if there was a winter flower that bloomed that she could perhaps search for.
Belle blinked herself out of her stupor and frowned as she realized she mistook which hallway she had entered while looking for the throne room and had accidentally opened the door to the most lavish and large library she had ever seen.
Belle's mouth went slightly slack in surprise as her eyes flicked to the left and right, and she turned her head in every direction she could, trying to take in the magnificence of it all. The room had a high roof and fretworked walls. With just a cursory glance, Belle spotted a large globe of the world, an ornately carved oak writing desk, oil paintings of the royal family members, and a few chairs on the ceramic floor.
There were thousands of cupboards and bookshelves filled with more books than she could ever hope to read in her lifetime. Belle moved deeper into the magnificent library in a daze. She felt as though she were sleepwalking, but this was one of the dreams that she did not want to wake from.
"I could stay here forever," she whispered, in awe, tears coming to her eyes at seeing how many books she was surrounded by. She could take the rest of her life to read, and she was sure to never finish the whole collection.
She walked towards the center of the room but froze in her tracks when she realized that she was not alone.
At that moment, Belle jumped as the blonde-tressed woman who could only be Princess Circe turned around with almost painstaking slowness to face her, a little smile on her lips.
"You are still here," the Princess purred in a honeyed voice that sounded simpering and too sweet to be truly genuine.
Belle stood rooted to her spot, unable to move, startled and shocked. Suddenly, she felt as if she were trespassing and as a servant, she suspected that unless she was tasked with cleaning this glorious library, she was not allowed to be there. She suddenly felt the need to flee and made to leave.
However, the Princess's frosty tone stopped her from doing so.
"Stop. I have not yet dismissed you, pretty Belle. I don't know what it is that they taught you in whatever dirt-filled hovel of a village you come from, but farm girl or not, no one turns their back on a member of the royal family. Now. Turn around and offer me a proper greeting, pretty Belle."
Belle stared, wondering what on earth the Princess was doing wandering the halls of the castle so late at night, and why it was that she had not seen the Prince's fiancée in the last several days.
She presumed the young woman had locked herself away in her chambers and only the Prince would care to pull her from her room if need be, but she quickly learned from other maids that whenever Circe's name was mentioned, the Prince's look was one of disgust. He despised this woman and yet he was marrying her.
To Belle, who had always sworn that she would only marry for love, not duty, it did not make any sense why he would put himself or the Princess through an unhappy marriage.
But it was not her place to voice such an opinion, and so, she favored silence as the only apt reply. She blinked and flushed as she quickly remembered her courtesies and gathered fistfuls of her skirts and sank into a brief curtsy.
"Princess," Belle murmured, hating how her voice cracked.
Belle winced as her eyes locked with the Princess's, momentarily alarmed by how strikingly like the strange old beggar woman's eyes they now looked.
"Please forgive me, Your Highness," Belle stammered. "I—I did not mean to intrude here, I—I was lost," she whispered, her chest tightening and now heaving with anxiety and fear.
Princess Circe inclined her head as she strode towards where Belle stood, paralyzed by embarrassment and fear that she was about to be turned out of the castle for yet again overstepping a boundary. Her smile seemed too bright.
"Stay. This place can be quite a maze if you do not know where to go." The Princess nodded as she looked around. "It truly is a pretty sight isn't it, if not a bit dusty, I suppose, but that's what he has you for, isn't it? I would temper your excitement, girl, if I know the Prince, this will merely be another room for you to clean, I wouldn't get it in your head about reading any of these books, they probably are not for the likes of a delicate little thing like you. I doubt you'd want to read such stories of betrayal and war and violent bloody beheadings anyways unless I'm wrong. Can a woman raised in the slums of some farm village even read?" Princess Circe mused, her green eyes dancing with mocking and jest.
Belle's cheeks flushed as she tried to ignore the jab at her expense and forced herself to stand as straight and tall as she possibly could. She willed her temper to cool a little before answering and tried to keep her voice as level-headed as possible as Princess Circe toyed with a golden curl and looked at her expectantly, waiting for Belle to answer her question.
"I can and I enjoy reading, Your Highness. My father was something of a learned man himself. He taught me at a young age. It is what my mother wanted for me," she answered in as steady of a voice as she could manage.
Princess Circe sighed and let go of the curl of her hair she had been playing with.
"Books will not help you in dealing with the likes of the Prince. Or me. You may see yourself as clever here, Belle, but if you are to survive the aristocracy, you will have to be clever in a different sort of way. I am beginning to think, after days of watching you, that you cannot do so. You are not clever. Merely stupid if you think you have a chance of surviving for long around the Prince. You will not survive here. You will wither and rot like a rose in winter," she added with a shrug of her shoulders, speaking of herself almost as if she were an afterthought. She flicked her gaze to Belle once more and then spoke after a moment's hesitation. "Do not despair. You still have your beauty, at least, though your mouth you seem so fond of running is apt to get you into more trouble, Belle. Considering my fiancé has not dismissed you yet, I can only assume he's taken quite a liking to you. You're going to have to get used to it if that is the case." She sniffed haughtily and crinkled her nose as she eyed Belle.
Belle frowned and furrowed her brows, confused and more than a little flustered by her words. "What?"
Princess Circe pursed her lips, and Belle was quick to pick up on the older woman's hesitations as if she never actually meant to say the final message. She was proven correct when she answered her in a flat voice.
"Nothing. It's nothing that you would comprehend. You are a farm girl who knows nothing of the way this world—his world—works. You are fooling yourself if you think that serving as his maid even remotely makes you a part of it," she snorted, almost sounding angry with Belle for reasons she did not comprehend.
"Get used to what?" Belle pressed again, this time, hearing the determination and slight note of impatience that was coated in her voice. She ignored Princess Circe's words in favor of her question.
"He will call you beautiful, Belle. It is, after all, what your name means, does it? Beauty." Princess Circe raised her thin blonde eyebrows that were barely there.
She looked as though she wanted to laugh at Belle but did not. Belle huffed, growing frustrated with the Prince's fiancée's antics, and looked away. It was then that a question came to her.
Belle hesitated and bit on the wall of her cheek as she pondered whether or not even to ask.
A memory of Gaston once ridiculing her for asking what he believed to be 'ridiculous' questions flitted through her mind just then. She had trouble shaking the memory away, but eventually, after a moment, she found her voice.
"Do you even want this wedding, Your Highness?" Belle heard herself asking in a flat voice.
"What?" The Princess crumpled her brows, and Belle had the brief secret satisfaction of seeing the unpleasant noblewoman's face go pale in shock. She had not anticipated a servant would ask such a question and be so bold. Belle had caught her off of her guard.
"Do you want this wedding?" she repeated, to which Princess Circe replied with silence and a venomous glower. The silence grew thick and uncomfortable between them and suddenly, Belle began to regret asking. She thought the Princess would not answer her, but she was proven wrong when she did.
Princess Circe parted her lips as if she meant to speak to Belle, however, it took the fair-haired woman a moment to find her voice, and when she did, the Princess chuckled with mocking.
Belle flinched. She did not like it whenever one of them did this, she had quickly learned. It was something Belle did not like and something the Prince did, the trait coming to him so naturally.
It was a characteristic of his personality she hoped would one day change, if not for her sake or his, then for the sake of the servants.
"So. You are clever, after all," she murmured, taking another blonde curl in between her thumb and forefinger to twirl as she studied Belle in far too engrossed a manner for her liking. "I think I am finally understanding why he likes you. Your Prince. You have found me out, it seems. I do not wish to be married to such a man, after seeing the way his eyes were draped all over you the other night even with your knowledge, and perhaps, without," she mocked cruelly but did not give Belle a chance to reply as she continued. "As it so happens, I will be leaving this estate and returning to my homeland. There is another back home who holds my heart, a kind man, a good man. His offer of marriage is far more enticing than your master's. It should come as no surprise to say that the Prince was not too distraught when I revealed my intents and has all but offered to escort me to the gates himself come the morning. I do not think it is necessary. Besides…"
She paused and stared at Belle, as though trying to determine whether or not to continue.
She must have decided her words were worth Belle hearing, for Princess Circe carried on, regardless of Belle's growing and obvious discomfort.
"He will do the same to you the moment that you walked through those castle gates, pretty Belle."
She paused and sniffed, making an odd noise of dissent through her nose as her eyes made a quick scan of Belle's much more modest appearance than hers.
"Not that I am sure that you are proud to take my place. Rest assured, he only desires you for your looks. Once he has what he wants from you, he will discard you and throw you to the wolves, Belle."
The Princess glared at Belle with a glint of a threat sparking behind the woman's piercing eyes.
Belle shivered and could only hope that the lady did not see the beads of sweat that were glittering along her scalp and her skin began to prickle with heat.
"Your place? I—I don't understand, forgive me, Your Highness, but I think that you are...confused," Belle stammered, the furrow of confusion between her brows deepening as she stared at the Princess.
But Princess Circe, it seemed, had her fill of the conversation for the golden-haired woman turned her back on Belle and began to saunter to the exit.
There must have been something about the innocence of Belle's voice as the younger woman's question seemed to float through the air towards the Princess that made Circe pause as she reached the door.
With painstaking slowness, she turned slightly at the waist and twisted her neck to regard Belle.
She clucked her tongue in mock disappointment.
"Oh, I don't think that I am, darling. I am sure you will see for yourself soon enough," she taunted.
Her piece said, the Princess opened one of the doors of the library and stepped through it, closing the door behind her, leaving Belle to stare after her retreating figure, stunned, to think about her words.
Belle waited for several more minutes listening intently for any sounds, any sign that someone else might enter the library. When she could detect no one else in the corridor, she let out a deep sigh.
Gaining back her solitude in this magnificent library to her almost felt like a battle had been won.
She knew that this job was going to require an enormous amount of patience and willpower if she wanted to hold onto the hope of never returning to her former village again, save for her promise to LeFou.
Belle frowned and tugged on a lock of her hair and bit down on her lip, looking towards one of the bookshelves littered with more books than she could even count, awe and longing in her eyes. All the while her mind pondered just how it was that she would slip away from the castle and her duties to the Prince just long enough to return to the village to be there for LeFou, as she had promised him. She would need a disguise. Her features were too distinguishable, Gaston would spot her.
Perhaps she could change her hair color, with Laure's help, if her new friend could be persuaded, there were ways women could do it. She knew what she would be asking of her friend would be a lot, that Laure and anyone else she might involve would be risking their jobs for her by asking for help. But like it or not, she honestly knew of no other way to go.
She sighed and forced her mind to let go of the notion of attending LeFou's wedding for the moment and forced her mind back to the present at hand. She wanted to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the library a moment longer before she needed to be heading back to her chambers.
Enchanted by the many books on the closest shelf nearest her, Belle did not even feel her feet moving as she gingerly crept toward the bookshelf for a closer look. Her hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it stretched for a book in particular that had caught her attention based on the book's title alone.
Nevermore.
As Belle slid the book out of its niche, she was charmed to see that the book itself was bound in a rich earth-brown leather binding and the title seemed to shimmer in bright golden letters.
It was a relatively small book, just the right size to stuff into a satchel for on-the-go reading, or to tuck into the pocket of her apron. She wondered if the Prince would mind if she borrowed it.
Intrigued, she cracked open the book and thumbed through the first through pages, finding a richly detailed map and lavish illustrations. This book seemed highly detailed and full of illustrations of various important plot points throughout the story.
Fascinated, Belle was so taken by the strange book, the title was one that she had never heard of, that she did not hear a man coming up behind her until it was too late.
"What are you doing out at this hour, wench?"
A cry of surprise was ripped from her lips as Belle turned around on her heels to see who it was that had managed to sneak into the library without her noticing, praying it was not the Prince.
Her heart sank as she recognized the sallow-faced guard with shoulder-length shadow raven black hair and strong, sharp features, save for the man's slightly hooked nose. One of the Prince's best swordsmen, Ser Brutus, stood a few feet from her with a warped little grin playing on his thin lips.
Belle felt her mouth go dry and all the blood drain from her face.
"I—the—the Princess Circe, she—she told me that I could," she stammered, well aware that she was lying to the man's face, and he probably would not believe her.
But before she could plead with the man to show mercy, the black-haired guard interrupted her with a harsh bark and held up a hand to stop her talking.
"It's the Prince's word that matters, wench, and he gave me no such order. We'll see what he wants to do with you," Ser Brutus growled, and the man was on her in an instant, his strong calloused hand winding around hers in a rather painful vice. She cried out in pain as she was dragged out of the library, struggling to get free of him.
As the two passed by Mrs. Potts and Lumiere's separate chambers, she called out, desperate for either one of the Heads of House's protection. But neither one of them came for her. They must not have heard her, and were perhaps fast asleep, which would only make sense given the lateness of the hour.
If it weren't for the vice grip Ser Brutus had on her left wrist as the man led her up the winding staircase and towards the West Wing, Belle would have likely fallen down the stairs and broken her leg or her neck.
When they arrived outside the chambers of the West Wing, the door was slightly cracked. Belle's stomach lurched as she realized the Prince would have transformed into a Beast by now as the sun had gone down hours ago. She wondered if the Beast-Prince would show himself to the unpleasant guard in his monstrous form or if he would merely speak to the man from the safety of his room. Belle was proven correct in her hunch when she heard the familiar growling rasp of the Prince's voice, and she knew that he would not be emerging from within until Ser Brutus had removed himself from the Wing.
"Go. Leave," she heard the Beast growl angrily, and Belle inexplicably felt some hope swell in her chest.
"Your Highness, forgive the intrusion, I know it is late, but I found your newest maid wandering around the castle," Ser Brutus called out in a voice that was almost as equally as hoarse as the Beast's.
The guard took it upon himself to bring up Belle's wrist as if he hoped to show the master of the castle if the man took it upon himself to emerge from behind the confines of his private rooms.
From behind the barely cracked door, Belle distinctly heard the Beast-Prince let out a hoarse bark of laughter that was laced to the bone with bitterness.
A quick look up at Ser Brutus's face was more than enough. He was incensed.
"You brought my maid to me in the middle of the night to tell me what I already know? That she is a troublesome farm girl who cannot seem to mind her place or the rules of the estate," the Beast-Prince asked Ser Brutus incredulously.
Though Belle could not see it, her mind's imagination painted a vivid picture of the Beast standing dangerously close to the door, enough to hear, and leering at the black-haired guard out of anger and rage.
"Let the girl go, Brutus, she is my maid, I am quite than capable of dolling out an appropriate punishment."
Even Belle did not mistake the steel in the Prince's voice. The Beast did not want any tricks from Ser Brutus or any acts of deceit.
She wondered if he was in any pain as his transformation could not have happened less than an hour or two ago. She shoved aside the notion at the sound of the guard's clipped and angry tone as he protested.
"The girl was caught in your library with a book!" Ser Brutus yelled. Belle immediately shook her head, trying to keep her voice quiet and her tears at bay so that no servants would wake and come out to see what was going on.
She had meant her words when she had given the Prince her word that she would keep his secret. He wished for none of the servants to know that a witch had cursed his nights to live as a hideous Beast. She would do her best to uphold her end of the bargain as long as he continued to allow her to remain within the safety and warmth of the castle.
"Your Highness, I—I give you my word that I was lost, I—I was searching for the throne room to scrub the rug near the entrance, and I did not know the library was there. Yes, I—I admit that I took a book, your collection has intrigued me, but I fully intend to return it to its proper place on the shelf when I am finished. Princess Circe, she, er, on her way out of the castle told me that I was free to stay. I am…sorry, Your Highness, for…for the breaking of your engagement."
She cringed as the words left her mouth. She was unsure where she had acquired the gall to tell such small white lies throughout her life and was quick to decide that she did not like it.
But in this case, Belle also recognized that the truth, the full truth, would not help her here.
She thought she heard the Beast-Prince bristle at the mention of his former fiancée's name and imagined his hackles rising at hearing her name being spoken, but she kept her gaze completely fixed on Ser Brutus.
"So you like to read…"
Belle thought she heard the Beast murmur in such a low tone of voice that she almost missed it completely. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and she perceived the Beast's words to be mistaken, based on an observation of relatively poor hearing on her part.
"Let the maid go, Ser Brutus. Return to your post," the Beast rasped and Belle could hear his heavy footsteps coming closer and a shadow cast over the crack in the door. Ser Brutus's face paled and the man blustered.
"But she—"
"Is my responsibility. Do I need to say it to you a second time? I hate saying things a second time, Brutus. Let her go. LEAVE!" the Beast-Prince roared, seeming to finally lose the last threads of his patience. Belle cringed as she swore the stones of the floor beneath her boots seemed to rattle with the sheer force of the Prince's furious blood yell at his servant who was blatantly being difficult to deal with.
Ser Brutus thankfully did not need to be told twice. The guard let go of her, fuming as he did so.
Belle gingerly rubbed her reddened wrist and immediately stepped away from the furious guard and stumbled back towards the doors of the Prince's private chambers without being aware she was doing so. She did not even hear the door open or feel the strange sensation of the Beast-Prince winding one of his paws tightly around her shoulder, steadying her and keeping her at arm's length. Belle's heart lurched at the feeling of him touching her and grew panicked when the first thing she thought of was how warm his paw was, but she did not dare turn to look at him for her gaze was fixated on Ser Brutus.
A good-looking man enough in his own right or he would have been, if Ser Brutus a bit kinder, but something of the guard seemed a bit unhinged. She wondered how on earth he managed to keep friends, let alone if there was a woman in his life who had wormed her way into his life.
She wondered what woman would want to be with him. Belle did not take her gaze away from Ser Brutus until the knight was out of sight. She listened as his angry footsteps receded with each step he took down the stairs, and only turned to face him once she could no longer hear or see the guard.
"I…thank you," Belle stammered, unable to form a coherent reply. She did not even realize that she had not addressed him by his proper title, but thankfully, the Prince did not seem to mind.
She thought it strange how even in his monstrous form and this was only her second time seeing the Prince of these lands this way, it was almost easier for her to look upon him in this form than when he was human again come the mornings. She wondered why that was but did not have a chance to ponder it as he spoke.
"Ser Brutus is one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen. I hope that I never have true need of the man's skills. I pity the fool who would go against him, for there would be nothing left by the time Brutus was with him. He and I were boys together and his father served under mine. Ever since his fool of a father married him off to some sow of a woman he claims not to love, he's been doing even fouler things to even prettier women. I cannot imagine what he would do to you, pretty Belle," the Beast-Prince replied, his tone flat as his icy blue eyes looked her up and down from head to toe on you. "He would have probably used his sword or knife on you if you spoke against him, knowing you."
Belle shivered.
"I…well…thank you for making sure that did not happen, Your Highness," she whispered shyly and bit down on her bottom lip. She glanced down at the strange book in her hands and flushed.
She had not even realized she had accidentally walked off with it. Belle glanced up in surprise, expecting the Beast to lash out at her, perhaps even lay a paw against her, to strike her for making off with his property. But when all the Beast-Prince did was stare back at her, she sighed in defeat and turned on her heels, and began walking away. She would return the book to the library before disappearing to the safety of her chambers and staying there for the rest of the night.
It seemed stumbling across the Prince's library had only brought more trouble to her life.
She got to the top of the stairs, just a few feet away, when, in a moment of boldness that surprised even herself, she paused and turned to look back at the Beast, to find the Prince still staring at her, but with a curious look in his eyes.
"It would be polite of you, Your Highness, to say 'You're Welcome.' Didn't you know it's the proper way of replying to a thank you, even to your maid?" Belle asked, shocked internally.
First, it was his Princess, and now with the Changeling-Prince himself.
Where on earth was this sudden burst of gall and courage coming from?
She blinked and was brought back to herself by the sound of the Beast barking at her.
"I will give you a proper welcome, pretty Belle, when you give me a proper thank you for saving you from what was likely going to be unspeakable horrors if Ser Brutus had his way with you," he rasped, and her cheeks colored. "How would the Princess in the book you stole from my library thank her handsome hero in the story? Hmm? Calm yourself, girl, I do not demand a kiss from you. You would give it to me willingly and of your own accord. But if you do not wish to thank me as a Princess would her Prince, then you will stop treating me like I'm some sort of a hero, because I'm not. I know what I am."
Belle was silent. She was not sure at all what to say. She frowned as her mouth set into a hard, rigid line as she boldly did not break eye contact with the Beast. She inexplicably felt a surge of defiant anger surge through her as she began to move towards the Beast. His wintry blue eyes gave no sign of what he was thinking, but the moment Belle came to stand in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders, she could feel the Beast tense under her touch.
She popped herself up onto her tiptoes and had to pull him down the rest of the way. She pressed her lips to his in a gentle and chaste kiss. Her body trembled slightly at the notion of what she was doing, but Belle tried to remind herself that if the Prince wanted to hurt her, he likely would have done it already. The fact that he had not, it gave her reason to hope that not all was lost. Perhaps, given enough time, there was hope for the Prince.
When she took her lips away from his cheek, she boldly stared the Beast-Prince right in the eye, her gaze unabashed and unswerving, his monstrous face still hunched towards her closely.
"I'll take my welcome now, Your Highness," she said firmly. He gave her an odd little half-smile she thought looked strange, but perhaps it was because this was the first time she had seen the Prince smile, and it was when he was as the Beast, and there was no malice or deceit or anything else wicked in his grin.
"You are welcome, Belle. Keep the book, though I warn you, it will not be the most pleasant of reads. It is of a boy who spends far too much time slaying dragons and saving the realm instead of attending to his studies as his father would have wished it," he rasped, and she turned to leave. "My father arrives tomorrow. I hope that you will take in my words from our last conversation and do what you can to stay out of his way unless you wish to find yourself the object of his...affection," he warned, his tone bone-chillingly cold.
Belle nodded but did not turn back around to face the Beast and instead went on her way, her face reddening with anger at the mention of the Duke.
At this point, she was beginning to think she was agreeing with the Changeling-Prince's statement. Perhaps it was best she kept herself hidden and out of sight for the duration of the Duke's visit, especially if he was as unpleasant as she'd heard. What sort of man abandoned his only son after a witch cursed him to a horrible fate, and because of his actions?
A wicked one, she thought but had the sense to keep it to herself. Why the Prince was having to make things so infuriatingly difficult for her while she was here, Belle could not say why.
Belle shook her head as she went into her bedroom.
She shut the door behind her and breathed out a little sigh of relief. The Prince she had been told stories of was a cruel man with little feeling. She had no doubt he wanted her as his maid for his purposes.
His claim to keep her safe was surely just a pretense, she tried to tell herself, but even as she tried to convince herself of the notion, she remained fixated on the Beast-Prince's icy blue eyes and how he had stuck up for her when that awful guard had accosted her. Belle made a mental note going forward to be kinder to him, no matter how difficult it would be.
She threw herself down onto her bed, pressed her face into her pillow, and screamed, wishing that someone would come and wake her from this cruel nightmare.
THE skin on his cheek tingled where Belle had kissed him. It burned, even. The cool brushing of her lips burned the skin beneath the fur on his cheek and it had his chest painfully constricting and his stomach was twisting in an uncomfortable bundle of knots and conflicting desire.
For a moment, he wondered if this was what Father felt when he set eyes upon the wretched Enchantress for the first time years ago. He frowned.
When Belle had walked towards him, his heart had begun to pound erratically against his ribs, and when her hands traveled to his shoulders and she gently pulled him down to reach him, his mind went numb.
He could not even think. His eyes remained fixated on his prickly maid's beautiful and perfect face, her sparkling dark chocolate eyes and stunning dark hair that was even darker than her eyes, so dark that it was almost black. Her beauty rocked him to his core and for the briefest of moments, he was in heaven.
The Prince could forget the Beast that he became at night, who he was, what he was, the fact that Father was coming tomorrow, and the horrific state of his body when the sun went down.
But when he saw her face tilted to the side and she took her lips away, he saw the brief kernel of fear flick through her eyes just then. The Prince could not help but be reminded of what he was. A monster. A Beast.
Even still, her lips had been both hot and cold, both freezing and burning him to the bone. He did not understand what was happening to him now, the way his jaw itched and burned, or the fiery heat that seeped warmth through his bones. Such beautiful innocence as that which Belle had should have normally been disgusting to him, and it normally was. Most of the simpering ladies at court never knew that he hated him, but somehow, this farm girl, his maid, his Belle, was different.
He made up his mind here and now. He would have her, somehow. He would win her heart. He was sure that he would just need to be patient. He told himself this as he watched her disappear down the staircase and towards the corridor that would take her to the servants' wing on the lower level of his castle. Someday, somehow, she would be his.
He vowed that if Belle were to ever love him, she would be treated differently than Father had treated Mother, and he would especially not behave so abhorrently as Father had towards the witch. The thought was enough to cause a swelling of hope within his broad chest and a sense of determination that Father would not dare to lay a hand on his maid.
Father would not even so much as look at Belle in a manner that displeased him if he valued keeping him in his life, much less his head. Father or not, he was not above doing what was necessary to protect what was his.
As he retreated into the West Wing, he fell into bed.
He expected to remain awake for the duration of the night as he had most nights, but he fell asleep soon enough, images of dark chocolate eyes and rich brown hair swirling in his head as he dreamt of Belle, his Belle.