WHEN Belle next regained consciousness, she was standing upright against a rough surface she could not tell what it was at first. Though her first thought was that the harsh scratching through her shirt and skirt felt like the bark of a tree, and the scent of pine and fir flooded through her nose. Her surroundings were completely dark, but she was vaguely aware she was not in the dark, nor had Gaston gouged out her eyes, as there was no pain or blood.

She could feel the fabric of the strip of cloth that Gaston had tied tightly around her eyes. It took a few moments for the fog of confusion Belle now found herself in to dissipate, and it did not take her long to soak through the blindfold with her tears.

She was entirely too afraid at the moment to be disgusted with herself, but it could not be helped.

Her tears flowed freely down her cheeks, despite her best efforts not to let them fall as she yanked hard at the rope that bound her arms to the tree. She was blindfolded, utterly confused, growing colder by the second, and struck with a humiliating fear that she was to die out here, frozen and alone in the woods. The terror that struck her heart now was raw, cold, and lonely, rendering Belle unable to think clearly. She yanked desperately at the ropes that bound her wrists to the tree, but the frayed edges only cut into the skin of her wrists and more tears came to her eyes. Belle's first instinct was to call for the Prince, but she did not want Gaston to come back if the man had tied her up to this tree and left her here to freeze to death slowly.

Belle tensed when she heard the sound of a snapping twig underfoot from somewhere in front of her and to the left, and after a heavy pause, she began yanking on her bindings even harder than before. She pulled, cutting deep into her wrists.

If she pulled any harder, she would risk severely injuring herself, she realized. Heavy footsteps began thudding towards her, crunching loudly in the snow, and she began to cry. She yelped when she felt a pair of firm gloved hands around her wrists.

Gaston held her firmly and somehow, Belle managed to stop her struggling.

Still, she could not keep from trembling or her lips from quivering in fear.

"Where is it, Belle? The creature in the woods that was stalking you, the Beast. It's followed you here, I know it," Gaston whispered into the shell of her ear, his voice hoarse and full of hostility.

One of Gaston's gloved hands left her bleeding wrists so he could place a gloved finger on her lips. She felt the man lean forward and pull the blindfold off of her.

"I—I don't…it left, Gaston, you—you frightened it away in the woods when you hurt it, I-I'm telling you the truth," she blurted out, the lie leaving her lips easier than she thought it would, which surprised her.

"You lie," Gaston snarled, thrusting his face into hers so that the tips of their noses touched, she realized, as the giddiness in her eyes slowly danced away and her eyes adjusted to the darkness of whatever forest clearing he'd brought her to. "I detect when you lie, Belle. You never were a good liar, you're too good and honest. It's going to be your downfall one day. Where is it?" he demanded angrily. "I won't ask again, pretty Belle. And you of all people know I hate saying things a second time," he warned, his voice low.

"Why…why are you doing this?" she pleaded, fresh tears coming to her eyes.

She fought to keep her voice as calm and level-headed as possible, but she was too frightened. Never before in her life had she seen Gaston lose control quite like this before.

Gaston's gaze hardened as the man glowered at Belle, furious. "The villagers think that I'm going touched, as bad as your father, pretty Belle, that the creature I saw in the woods was a figment of my imagination. My reputation in Villeneuve is everything to me, as are you, and you are going to tell me where it is, what wretched cave it's hiding in, and then I'm going to mount the creature's head in my tavern as proof," he sneered softly.

Gaston let out a growl from deep within his chest as he brandished a large and thick hunting knife that he kept tucked around his belt. Her stomach lurched as he raised the knife towards her, pressing the point of the cold weapon against her cheekbone.

Belle let out a whimper as she waited to be stabbed through the stomach and killed out here alone in the forest in the middle of winter, but that moment for Belle never came. The knife left her cheek after a moment and her eyelids fluttered open in surprise as she looked up at him.

Given how dark it was outside now, even in the middle of the morning, it was difficult for her to read Gaston's expression.

But the moment his lips curved up into a mocking twisted smile, she knew then that Gaston was the Beast in this situation, not the Prince. He found amusement in her suffering and humiliating fear. He made a noise, a growl, deep, masculine, and it made her shiver.

"Please, Gaston, I—I'm telling you the truth, then—the creature in the woods is gone, I never…"

She had tried to speak her words to convince Gaston to stop this, to let her go before it was too late. But the moment she felt his knife pressed against the skin of her neck, she fell silent.

His intentions were clear. She did not see a way out of this without being seriously hurt or even killed if she said the wrong thing to provoke Gaston in a moment of rage. She tugged at her wrists again in a futile attempt to free herself but was stopped with a white-hot flare of pain that shot through the raw and reddened skin.

"Please, Gaston, I-I won't say anything to anyone about this in the village if you just let me go, please," she wept. "I—I'd tell everyone back at the castle that I got lost. You could leave me right here and I'd find my way back," Belle pleaded, hoping to supplicate Gaston's temper somewhat.

But she could already tell with a sinking feeling of defeat in her stomach that her plea was falling on deaf ears as Gaston's grey eyes narrowed in suspicion and anger as Gaston dismissed her words completely.

"You're mistaken, Belle, if you think I'm going to hurt you in any way. You're merely my bait. It's followed you here like the savage stalking Beast I know it to be, I know it will come for you. It's formed some sort of attachment to you, this Changeling Creature, I heard it speak your name in the woods, Belle," Gaston snarled, almost looking offended as his lips curled in disbelief, as though he could not believe that Belle would think such a thing. "It will come. I rather like you pretty, Belle, and as my wife, it would be a shame to ruin your beauty over something so trivial as you protecting this…creature. It has spelled you, I see it now," he breathed. His eyes widened in disgust as he thought he was beginning to understand the look behind Belle's eyes that he had always longed to see directed at him. The affection, the tenderness, even…dare he think it, the beginnings of love. That which should have always been his alone.

Whether or not Belle was aware of her growing feelings for the monstrous creature, that accursed wretch, he did not know, and nor could he pretend to care, but if Belle wanted to prove to him here and now that she wasn't stupid like Crazy Old Maurice had been, then she had better tell him where it was or else—

"MONSIEUR!"

Gaston blinked owlishly and was slow to turn around as he recognized the angry tone coming from a man's voice, one whom he did not recognize. He turned on his heels and felt the blood drain from his face to see the Prince of these lands walking swiftly towards them in the clearing with his icy blue eyes that could summon a blizzard.

For a fraction of a second, Gaston swore he saw the flickering of the Beast behind the handsome younger man's blue eyes, but surely, he tried to tell himself, it was merely a trick of the light. Even in his fury, the Prince was an intimidating sight to behold, and it temporarily pulled Gaston out of his fury of rage.

A couple of villagers, LeFou and his pig of a bride among them, as well as the blonde identical triplets who had always fawned over him. Their long blonde ponytails swished as they bounded forward. Claudette, Laurette, and Paulette, came scampering after the Prince. Obvious horror and fret flickered in their green eyes as they looked at Belle hogtied to the tree, shocked, and then to Gaston.

"Take her back to the castle, Monsieur LeFou, if you would be so kind. Stay on the path and don't stray far. Ladies, if you could follow them as well, I would appreciate it," the Prince growled, never taking his eyes off Gaston, though, with a curt wave of his arm, he motioned for LeFou and the triplets to run to Belle and relieve the frightened young woman of her bindings.

The beautiful young blonde wenches were red as beets as they worked with trembling hands to untie Belle, all the while shooting her withering looks of disgust for how Belle had behaved towards Gaston. Yet it was Paulette who seemed to harbor a flicker of sympathy towards Belle as the young blonde in the green dress and cape quickly tugged on Belle's arm.

She motioned for her to follow them, to come away with them if she was capable of walking to the castle.

LeFou scampered forward with his new bride to aid Belle in walking on the other side, and quickly left, leaving Gaston alone in the clearing with the Prince.

Only when Belle and the women and Monsieur LeFou were well out of the line of sight and heading down the woodland path back towards his home did the Prince turn to fully face Gaston and let out a vicious snarl between gritted teeth that Gaston thought he recognized.

"You, I know you, I know those eyes. You are the creature in the woods that nearly killed me," Gaston whispered, horrified, and disgusted as recognition flashed in his grey eyes.

If the Prince was at all affected by the hunter putting two and two together as his blank grey eyes flicked from his wintry blue eyes and down to his bandaged arm, he did not show it. His expression remained impassive and his voice was hollow, almost tinny-sounding as he thrust his head into Gaston's and spoke softly.

"You will not lay a hand against me," the Prince calmly predicted. "It would be known throughout your hovel of a village that you dared to harm the youngest member of the royal family, and what would come next for you monsieur, would be certain death. It is my word to the king against yours. What I want next, oaf, is for you to heed my warning and listen well, hunter, as you do not appear to be the cleverest of men. Speak to or go near Belle again, next time, I will kill you. It is a promise," the Prince threatened.

Gaston remained silent and seething, leaving him feeling more than a little uncertain as to how he would now have to treat matters with the Prince of these lands. He could hardly believe it. The stories and vicious rumors of the Prince being cursed to live out his life as a savage and bloodthirsty Beast were true. If Belle had developed feelings for this accursed wretch now standing in front of him, Prince or no Prince, then she's gone mad. Perhaps she was just as stupid and as crazy as Crazy Old Maurice had been, after all, he told himself at that moment, and he wanted desperately not to believe that of his bride.

As he was contemplating over his next course of action, Gaston was left mesmerized to see that the Prince had paraded his back to him and was now walking along the same path the girls and LeFou had whisked Belle away down, and he walked calmly and slowly, as if the scene he had just walked in on were of little importance to him.

"Your Highness, your very existence is an insult to our realm," Gaston seethed, hissing his words through gritted teeth. "How your kind is even allowed to exist and walk among the rest of us is beyond me. Were it up to me, your kind would be hunted down and kept in cages like the vicious animals I know you to be."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they had hit their mark, judging by the way the Prince halted in his tracks.

He turned his head to lock eyes with his, and Gaston absorbed the strange lightning bolt that radiated from within them. His first thought of this cursed man's eyes was that they were outrageously blue…and wintry. Dangerous, even, but then, he had always liked a challenge.

"It was my father that set this curse upon me, you speak of my affliction as though I have a choice in the matter, as though I enjoy what I am," the Prince growled, speaking in such low volumes and with a measured calmness that sent a chill under Gaston's skin just then. "I don't. If there were a way to break my curse so that I could live as the man I've always wanted to be, then I would find it, but since I know of no way, then I do what I can to control myself, but I will not abide harm coming to those who are under my protection. Belle is my maid, she is my responsibility, and under my protection and if you speak to or go near the young woman again, it's your head. Have I made myself clear?" the Prince angrily demanded.

"Crystal," Gaston snapped back with a bark to his voice that did not even make the Prince flinch.

The Prince nodded though his expression remained blank. However, he seemed pleased by his reply.

"Good," he grunted, quirking a brow at Gaston. "Then you and I have nothing more to say to one another, monsieur." With that, his piece said, he turned back to take his leave of Gaston.

He tightened his lips. A fatigued ringing began to fill his ears with sound, drowning out the Prince's footsteps as he walked away from him, leaving Gaston alone in the middle of the forest clearing, watching him go. He had underestimated the effect this disgusting creature was having on Belle.

Was it possible that she could have managed to dig up a sprig of affection from somewhere deep within her heart that no sane woman would ever consent to spend her life with? It was…almost impossible.

Some people would say that love makes the heart grow fonder. But in Gaston's case, his love for Maurice's daughter was an obsession, and it only made the man's black heart darker.

Gaston was left to watch the Prince disappear down the woodland path before turning on his heels and limping back towards the village, towards his tavern. He needed to walk away now and a drink of ale, but more than that, he needed time to think. His mind was reeling with far too many possibilities, but one thing he knew for certain. He would not lose his Belle to the Prince of these lands. He would be taking matters into his own hands soon enough, no matter the cost, no matter how great the price.

Belle would be his and his alone.

THE Prince clung to the nearest branch of a tree once he had completely left the hunter behind. He shook his head to himself and throttled his urge to roar like the enraged Beast within himself that he knew himself to be, trying to rid his mind of the anxiety that troubled him now. He could not deny the copious amounts of adrenaline that ran through him that had dried out his throat and made him wonder how he had found it within himself to speak to the despicable man that way.

Letting himself have a moment to regain control of his breaths, he moved to catch up with the blonde wenches who were thankfully quick to pull Belle away from the hunter's wrath. The girls and Belle's short little friend, Monsieur LeFou, kept watchful eyes on his maid, for which the Prince was immensely grateful. His feet moved as if by rote memory as he led the way back to his family's sprawling estate, the towering parapets of his family's castle soon came into his line of sight.

But then his thoughts warned him of something important, something he'd nearly forgotten.

What would Father say to him when he learned the wretched hunter had not been dealt with in the manner he would have deemed fit? People would talk, especially these three wenches whom he fully intended to hire as Belle's replacement. For he was not content merely keeping the girl as his maid. Not anymore. She was slowly but worming her way into his black heart.

Mrs. Potts and Laure could train the triplets well enough to take Belle's place, he was sure of that.

Though there was no telling how the rest of his staff would react to the news that Belle was not to remain in the castle anymore as his maid or even a prisoner, as his guest. Because he wanted her here.

As he was pondering his thoughts, he memorized the steps to the West Wing, flowing through the crowd of servants, and suddenly came to a grinding halt. Father was somehow removing Belle from the wenches' grasp, hovering over his maid like a vulture would swoop to its prey, whispering something into her ear. Though the whispers were too low for him to make out what was being said, a tiny shred of discomfort wormed its way into the Prince's heart and he rushed to catch up.

"Thank you, Father, I will take Belle from here, I can manage her," he managed a stiff greeting through tight lips. The Duke twisted his head and his one good eye hardened at the sight of his only son growing so protective over this farm girl, yet there was a kernel of shock in his lifeless grey eye that affected him.

The Prince shook his head to himself to rid his mind of the thoughts of jealousy at the way Father was eyeing Belle and forced himself to remain polite in the current company.

"Let me take her from here," he commanded, stretching his neck towards the door that was in front of them and calling loud enough to bring Mrs. Potts and her niece running. "Mrs. Potts! Laure! Down here, now!" He did his best to keep his voice calm and level-headed, but it was growing increasingly difficult.

It seemed to take Mrs. Potts and her niece mere seconds before the elderly Head of House and her fair-skinned auburn-haired niece appeared at his side, and the Prince quietly gave the command for his Head of House and Belle's fellow maid and friend to escort her inside his private chambers, carrying the shivering and half-conscious young woman into his bedroom.

If Mrs. Potts and Laure were at all shocked by the nature of his request that they then escort the triplets down to the kitchens to see about getting them hot bowls of soup and uniforms and to train them as Belle's replacement, they hid it well.

They nodded their heads and assured the Prince that his will would be done and they left.

The Prince waited until the women had left to turn towards his father, staring at the frustration that was beginning to well behind his one good eye. A thick silence settled between them and the Duke took it upon himself to speak first, smiling the familiar leering smile which only made the Prince want to anger Father further.

"I see that the two of you are becoming…close…" The Duke sniffed as he looked away, while the Prince could only look on.

"We are, Father," the Prince answered defiantly, raising his chin slightly and jutting it out, in defense of his position. He waited, silently challenging Father to contest that which he had been trying to deny for quite some time now.

That he was attracted to his beautiful but prickly little maid, this stubborn farm girl, in a new way that he was sure Father had never loved Mother, he was certain of that.

The Duke pressed his thin lips together to hide another fake smile. It was as if the older man could sense the agitation that his presence in his son's life was causing, and the man took delight in basking in it. He lowered his head in mock reverence towards his son.

"She is quite pretty for a simple farm girl, this Belle of yours. A rather strange beauty, isn't she, boy? I see now why you were so eager to keep her hidden."

The Prince's eyes narrowed as he glared at his father in suspicion. Even spoken so matter of factually, he was not sure of the meaning behind Lord Father's words. Could it be that Father was already harboring intents to take Belle from him, or even send her away? The Prince cursed under his breath and begrudgingly forced his lips into a smile at Father.

He could practically smell the jealousy emanating from Father in waves. He had not wanted to believe it.

But this was made clear when Father passed his son by to leave and shot a withering look to the door of the West Wing, behind which Belle was safely tucked away and there she would stay for the remainder of the night.

"Father," the Prince spoke in a confident voice that almost did not sound like himself. He heard the Duke's footsteps come to a halt and halfway turned his head to better hear his words. The Prince let out a little breath and opened his lips to continue. "That will be the last time that I would ever see you with Belle again," he snapped with a bark to his voice that he did not recognize. A voice of someone harder. Meaner.

Just like Father, the Prince realized, feeling his eyes widen and his heartbeats race as Father stared at him, and yet, he stared right back, unwilling to be the first one in this situation to avert his gaze first. Due to the dimness of the lighted torches in the sconces along the wall on either side of him, it was hard for the Prince to make out the Duke's expression.

"I must confess, boy, I do not know what's going on in that head of yours, but whatever it is, getting close to this girl inside your chamber will only bring you disappointment if you hope to have a simple life like hers. That is all I shall say on the matter tonight. I am too fatigued to speak any more of it. We will discuss this matter further tomorrow morning, boy."

The Prince blinked owlishly in response as the Duke began to walk away, his steps slow and methodical, never rushed. Noting that their conversation was terminated, the Prince was quick to turn back towards the door and waited until he could no longer hear Father's footsteps. He clenched his teeth and leaned his forehead against the carved oak panel of the door, hating how every single encounter with his father seemed to leave him close to experiencing a panic attack.

Yet it was the Duke's coldness and the control of his voice, how calm and calculating he spoke, and how he looked at Belle that concerned the Prince far more than any past violence and anger he had ever exhibited towards him as a small boy.

He dreaded to think about how their conversation in the morning was to go. And yet, as he shook his head to himself, he realized he had to wax and seal it off in his mind for now. There were more important matters to attend to now.

For the moment, he had to see Belle. The Prince kept his eyes closed and willed his temper to cool before opening them and staring down at the door handle he knew he needed to grab. He was angry with Belle, and not because he wanted to be, and certainly not because Belle deserved to suffer the worst of his temper.

No, he was upset because the Prince had felt so much fear for his prickly little maid and he had thought when she did not emerge from her home that there may have been a trap laid within for her. That he was perhaps too late to save her as he'd angrily marched up to the house and stormed through the disheveled cottage, calling her name and receiving no response.

The Prince did not think he would soon forget the horrible sick feeling at finding Belle tied to the tree.

That cold sinking feeling that perhaps Belle would never take in another breath, that her so-called handsome hero of a hunter of a husband had hurt her, had killed her.

It was a crushing feeling, wondering if Belle, one of the most innocent young women the Prince thought he had ever met, and also somehow, the most insufferable, could meet such a gruesome end by a man she despised.

The Prince was not angry with Belle for any other reason than the fact that Belle had scared him so much. That was a horrific fear he never wanted to face again. The Prince opened his eyes and his face contorted into a pained grimace as he turned the door handle to the West Wing tightly and pushed the heavy oak door open with a swift motion as a grunt left his lips.

Without bothering to look back, the Prince slipped inside the West Wing's door and shut the door behind him. He was only just beginning to realize for himself how much of an impression she had left on him.

That Belle was the only thing that was left to matter to him anymore.