THE following morning was wrought with tension as the Prince stormed out towards the Courtyard which was blanketed with a thick covering of fresh snowfall, the blizzard had not let up until last night. None of the servants dared to look the haggard-looking young Prince in the eye as the maids shyly met his gaze and hastily curtsied. The Prince, however, ignored them, as he was in a mood. He had already snapped at the triplets from Belle's village this morning who had been hired to take her place. He'd ventured to the kitchens to see what the cooks could do about sending Belle home with a provision of food.
The bread was stale and the cheese not much, but it was better than sending her away with nothing.
The kiss Belle had given him last night still burned and tingled on his lips. He hoped the sensation would linger and not dissipate. He sighed tiredly as he carried the wrapped parcels of bread loaves and two different types of cheese wheels to where he knew Belle would be waiting for him. The only consolation to assuage his guilt was Brutus would be escorting her home safely.
His stomach churned at the thought of sending Belle away now, especially after last night when she had kissed him, and she had refused to listen to reason. It was Monsieur Cogsworth who first turned to look at him as the two men and Mrs. Potts stood alongside Brutus, who was readying his mount. His expression was solemn, and if he was not mistaken, even angry with him.
"Belle won't speak to me," the Prince bemoaned mournfully towards his eldest Head of House, his cheeks flushing pink with color as he was all too aware of Lumiere and Mrs. Potts staring plainly at him. If his Heads of House were surprised to learn that he had been attracted to his maid right from the start, he was grateful that they hid it well.
He turned his head to watch Belle several feet away from where they stood. She was so caught up in conversing in low tones with Mrs. Potts' niece, Laure, who looked positively miserable at the thought of Belle being sent away.
The Prince tore his gaze back toward Cogsworth after a moment when Belle, sensing she was being watched, shot him a rueful glare out of the corner of her gaze, causing him to flinch. The Prince nearly had to stop himself from smiling to see Belle scoop up the kennel master's pup, the same puppy whose life she had saved. She seemed to smile sadly as the dog licked her cheek, sensing his owner's distress. The Prince could see her bottom lip quivering.
It was obvious to him and anyone else who cared to pay attention that Belle was struggling to maintain control of her emotions, not wanting to break down in front of the few here in the Courtyard who had come to see her through the gates.
"I cannot say I blame the young lady, could you, young master?" Cogsworth muttered darkly, a shadow flitting its way across his wizened and wrinkled features. His expression was thoughtful for a moment as he eyed the two ladies before he continued. "The poor child must come to terms with much, sir. I imagine the lady will question much of what has happened here, not just last night, er, whatever happened between the two of you is your business and yours alone," he stammered and was quick to correct himself. "But to be sent away the morning after an otherwise enjoyable evening spent in your company, sire, imagine how this must look."
The Prince's frown deepened as he shook his head remorsefully. He wished there was a way that Belle could stay, but as long as Father remained in the castle, she was not safe and for the moment, would be better served to return home.
"I have told her that I will send for her, once the Duke leaves," the Prince fretted, nearly snarling his words as he spoke his father's title, his thick brows knitting together in worry and concern.
"Master, if I may," Mrs. Potts chimed in with her opinion, "I do not believe that is what is troubling the poor dear. Belle is more hurt than angry, I expect. The pain of losing her father and having to return to her home where nothing waits for her except bad memories and a man she does not love is still too raw. She has only been away from her village for a few weeks, sire. Let her have a moment of weakness, and allow her to feel it," Mrs. Potts wisely advised. "If you do send for her again, you're going to need to prove to the child that your feelings for her are sincere and not just fleeting."
Mrs. Potts, in a rare mood of disappointment, shot the Prince a glare as she silently made sure the master of the castle understood the sentiment behind her words.
The Prince silently regarded the old woman and felt a surge of gratitude well within his chest at her words that were intended to comfort. The Prince nodded in understanding, grateful for Mrs. Potts' tolerance and her advice.
He turned towards Lumiere and was about to speak to his youngest Head of House when out of the corner of his gaze, the sight of Belle marching stiffly towards him caught his attention.
He was pulled out of his thoughts and what he was about to tell Lumiere next. The Prince could only stare as Belle approached, her posture stiff and her expression hardened as she all but glared at him frostily.
Even in her anger towards him, he still found the farm girl beautiful and hoped the memory of the kiss she had given him last night would not leave his lips. He longed for her lips again, but the look on her face told him that even that was too much to hope for. Belle practically pinned him with a look of dagger eyes as Mrs. Potts and Lumiere backed away to join Monsieur Cogsworth in seeing to Brutus's final preparations to escort her home.
Aware of Laure's curious gaze lingering on them, the Prince could only awkwardly stand there, hopeful and yet, terrified. Belle came to a halt only a few inches from him and stared.
"Belle," the Prince spoke her name hopefully. He inwardly cringed as she flinched the moment her name left his lips.
He swore he thought he saw her heart burst as she hesitantly lifted her gaze to his and he found nothing but a horrible sadness brimming as tears in the woman's almond-shaped dark brown eyes. The color drained from Belle's face as the Prince took a step forward with the wrapped parcels of bread and cheese in his hands.
But she did her best to hide it as she shyly accepted the food that he wordlessly offered her, pressing it firmly into her hand and refusing to take it back when Belle quietly protested in a small voice that this was not necessary to do.
"I…I don't want to deny how I feel anymore, Your Highness, but before I leave, I...I want the truth from you…did the time that I spent with you mean nothing?" Belle whispered.
The two horses behind them sniggered and Belle held her breath in anticipation of the Prince's response. A faint blush speckled along his cheeks, but he knew he needed to hide it.
Though the man was not present in the Courtyard, he sensed the disturbing prickling of his skin and could not shake the eerie feeling that the Duke was watching this play out.
Father is watching, he thought bitterly as an abrupt bitterness seeped into his stomach. He realized that everyone gathered in the Courtyard before dawn to see Belle escorted through the castle gates was listening to them. To the sound of his heart breaking, at least. The Prince remembered he owed Belle an answer.
He grimaced, hating himself for what he was about to say next.
"Yes," he murmured darkly, and his mouth stung at the lie he told. The Prince immediately lowered his gaze, unable to bring himself to look into Belle's eyes and see the shock the girl was nursing at the cold response he had given.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Potts' niece tensing as she kept a hand on the bridle of the horse that was to be Belle's that Brutus had removed from the nearby stables.
Unable to help himself and perhaps against his better judgment, the Prince looked and found Belle's eyes tearing up in immense betrayal and hurt feelings. The edges of her mouth twitched as her lip began to quiver.
She was trying to stop them from falling, but the more she tried to pretend that she could just brush off the answer he had given, the more Belle's resolve was failing her.
Belle glared while the Prince shuddered. It was not because he had to lie to her, but because he had no other choice but for the moment to keep Belle's grudge burning hot and bright against him. Though he knew it was wrong and cowardly, he wanted to hurt her so that she would not be tempted to try to return to the castle on her own and risk getting in Father's crosshairs.
That was the last thing he wanted. He knew that there was no hope for a life for the two of them as long as Father lived and breathed, but he would wait as long as it took for the man to grow bored of remaining here and return to Paris. Where hopefully, the man would stay there until old age finally claimed him and the wretch died.
The Prince thought he would not be missed. As an answer, the Prince hardened his gaze and looked at her squarely, forcing himself to hide the hurt that was breaking his heart.
The Prince sharply turned his head, afraid to look at her as he braced himself for Belle to lose her temper. To scream at him, yell at him, even hit him if she was of a mind to, and he would deserve it.
But the last thing he was admittedly prepared for was the feeling of her hands on his face, as she tried to force him to turn in her general direction.
However, the Prince could not bring himself to look into the woman's warm and pleading eyes. For he knew if he did, he would be powerless against his resolve, and Belle remaining here while Father lingered would do his maid no good.
When she spoke, Belle sounded angry, something that nearly made him open his eyes and look at her.
"This is the part where you apologize to me. I know you do not mean your words. Your father is putting you up to this," she boldly proclaimed. "You are not like your father, sir," she whispered in a trembling voice, yet Belle sounded so sure of herself. "You are not. You're better than the Duke is. You are a good man, with a good heart, deep down, gentle and pure, and I don't know what you hope to achieve by listening to him and sending me away, but you can't save your father," Belle pleaded shakily.
The Prince flicked his gaze away for a moment and flinched. Her words rang in his ears.
You're a good man.
God, Belle genuinely believed that he was too. That was the worst part about all of this, the Prince thought bitterly, that whatever good Belle seemed to have spotted buried deep within him was going to disappear in a mere matter of seconds once he coldly walked away and dismissed her. Belle truly believed that he was.
And perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to be worthy of the young woman's words, that someone else could find him honorable. He wanted that, no, needed it more than he needed air. The Prince forced himself to meet Belle's gaze again as his maid desperately continued to plead with him, trying to convince him to change his mind and let her stay here in the castle.
"You don't need to prove yourself to him. Please don't send me back to the village, Your Highness, back to Gaston. If I go back, then I'm dead," she whispered. "Please, sir, let me stay, I...I'm as good as dead if I go back, sir," she begged and fell silent.
She waited for the words the Prince knew Belle longed to hear from his lips. Her lip continued to quiver and her dark eyes glittered as though she were fighting back tears. The Prince did not think he could bear to see Belle cry, not because of him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and wrenched out of her grasp, almost violently, looking away. He heard her gasp as he turned his back on her and he desperately wished he could give Belle what she wanted the most, but he could not. Though he did not see him, he could feel Father's one good eye on him, watching him, spying on him to ensure that the prickly farm girl was sent away.
The Prince hesitantly lifted a trembling hand towards her face, longing to caress away the single tear that trailed down her cheekbone, to feel her, even though he knew he was approaching the point of no return. He was not even thinking when he subtly nodded his head, not realizing that by doing so, he might accidentally give Belle a shred of false hope that he would go against what he knew was best for her at the moment and assent to her plea to let her stay. The Prince squeezed his eyes shut and decided that there was no one else in the world who hated him as much as he hated himself. He knew what he had to do now to make sure that Belle stayed away from the castle as long as the Duke remained, however long that would be.
But that did not mean that it was not going to be painful for both of them. On the contrary, he suspected that to send Belle away after how close they had grown after she had wormed her way into his heart, this might be the hardest thing in his life that he would ever have to do. He prayed that it would be the only time he would have to do this.
"Belle, do you truly think that I am a good man? I was supposed to, and I thought, around you, that I could be," The Prince asked her in a flat voice as he finally summoned every ounce of courage within himself to look Belle square in the eyes.
Belle took a step back and hesitantly lowered her hand from around his face, which was becoming prickly from his days without shaving, and he had no choice but to let go of her.
She looked at him then, wide-eyed and seemingly terrified of whatever it was he was about to say.
The Prince swallowed down past a lump in his throat and felt a little sick as he braced himself to break the woman's heart.
"My father is a hateful man, Belle," the Prince growled through gritted teeth, no warmth in his voice as he spoke of the Duke.
He flicked his stricken gaze away from Belle for the briefest of moments, his nervous eyes making a quick scan of the Courtyard. He did not see his father anywhere, but he still sensed the Duke was watching.
He despised himself for still harboring even an ounce of love towards his wicked wretch of a father who had done nothing to him but insult him and ruins his life by attacking the Enchantress all those years ago. For being such a fool.
But deep down, he knew that the only one who was to blame was himself. The Prince let out a little breath and raised his eyes to look at Belle for what he prayed would not be the last time.
"And so am I. Always," the Prince growled, hating himself as he spoke the words. He turned away and almost the second he did, Belle lost what little shred of self-control she had over her emotions and began to sob.
He motioned with a curt wave of his arm for Mrs. Potts and the others to follow him back inside the castle.
The further he stormed away from Belle, the more he wanted to turn around and beg her to forgive him, to take her somewhere more befitting than this old haunt of a castle, without being under the prying eyes of his lord father.
But he could not comfort her. He could not even comfort himself. He could not tell her that he wanted nothing more than to strangle his father with his own bare hands. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could turn around and let her stay. How he longed to press his lips to hers again in a kiss but now was not that time.
He could not comfort her. He could not tell Belle that her life was in danger the longer she lingered around Father, for he could see it in the bastard's eyes, lowborn peasant or not, he wanted her. And as long as Father remained, she could not stay with him, not until the man's last breath was plucked from him and Death came to greet him like an old friend.
The Prince stormed back up to the castle, the sound of Belle's cries still ringing in his ears.
If only she could know how much it was killing him to do this to her, but honestly, he knew of no other way. Belle was everything that he did not know he wanted and indefinitely more than a Beast like him ever deserved.
But as he slipped inside the door and gingerly closed it shut behind him, the Prince held out to a small flicker of hope sparking to life in his chest that they would not be parted for very long, even if it meant Father's days were numbered.
One day, when Father was dead and gone from his life, only then would Belle be able to return to the castle and hopefully call the estate her home. Only then could he apologize to her and beg her forgiveness and dry her tears.
Only then, he thought, would he finally be worthy of the young woman's love.
He was almost to the West Wing where he was of a mind to seclude himself behind the doors of his chamber and not emerge for the rest of the night. Perhaps even the whole week.
The Prince had a hand on the doorknob about to twist the knob to open the door when a figure nudged beside him. He stiffened, recognizing the tall looming shadow that engulfed him, needing not even to turn around.
"Father." He turned and gave the Duke a waning look before turning back to the door and heading inside his loft.
He felt the burn of lord father's gaze at the back of his skull. The burning in his blood ran hot. He was not addressing or turning to look at his father now, but the man who would steal everything from him.
The man who had turned him into a monstrous Beast. The man who'd sent Belle away.
Father had never truly loved him, never looked upon him with any sort of admiration or praise.
And yet, the Prince cursed the minuscule part of his heart and soul that still craved Father's love and hated himself for it and hated this yielding to Father and was half of a mind to leave.
He has always hated me, the Prince thought bitterly as he strode towards the table in the darkened tomb-like West Wing to pour himself a chalice of wine from a tin flagon that someone—probably Cogsworth—had left for him.
He still hates me, even after all this time, and he will die hating me. Nothing I could ever do for him is good enough. The Prince was unaware that his eyes were beginning to tear up. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Father spoke.
"I hope your talk with the young mademoiselle turned out well this morning. I trust that she is gone, I take it?" the Duke asked softly, to which the Prince tensed.
"She's gone, Father, she will not be returning. We sorted it out, forget her," the Prince snapped, trying his best not to visibly cringe as the poisonous words were spat from his lips.
The Duke nodded, seemingly supplicated, for the moment, for which the Prince was grateful.
As he carefully studied his father's impassive expression over the rim of his wine goblet as he lifted it to his lips and drank, it occurred to him that he was not in the mood for company right now. Particularly not of that of his bastard wretch of a father.
The only person whose company he sought the most was now on her way home, back to her simple provincial village, back to him. The Prince fell silent as an owl. He could only watch as the Duke opened his mouth to speak, likely to make some cutting jab at his expense.
However, before he could so much as utter the first word, the door to the West Wing burst open and Mrs. Potts barreled into the room, her graying hair coming loose from its normally tight bun and her cheeks were red and windblown. Behind her trailed Monsieur Cogsworth and Lumiere, both men looking equally upset.
The Prince felt a tug at his heartstrings when Mrs. Potts looked around the room with wet and wild eyes and landed on the Prince's face, the dread and misery written all over her lined features. She seemed not to see the Duke at all or did not care that she had forsaken the custom of knocking first to announce her presence.
Instead, she went straight to the Prince. The Prince immediately felt his hand drift towards the sword hilt near his hips as Mrs. Potts strode towards him and seized on a fistful of his jerkin, her hands trembling as she struggled to keep her gait. He had never seen Mrs. Potts so dreadfully riled as she was right now. Something was wrong.
"Y-Your Highness, My Lord, please forgive the intrusion, b-but I need your help. Cogsworth and Lumiere and Laure and I have looked everywhere and we cannot find him at all! My—my son, Chip, my-my little boy, he's…he's gone."
BELLE was utterly relieved to finally reach her home, having dismissed the unpleasant Brutus once they had reached the edge of the village. The guard had done nothing but try to console her and ultimately fail. His harsh but true words rang in her ears and refused to leave her alone, despite her best efforts to try to clear her mind of his words.
You didn't think that whatever was happening between you two was forever, did you, lass? These people, these…noblemen, even the good ones like the Prince, they use us as they please, Belle. And when we're no longer of any use to them, they chew us up and spit us out, and find someone else they like better. Adapt to your circumstances, mademoiselle, and maybe things will work out for you, in the end, he'd told her, and not unkindly.
Hearing his words over and over again only caused her tears to come even harder, even when she thought she had no more tears in her left to cry out. With how cold it was, she was blinking nearly frozen tears.
She skittishly glanced over her shoulder as she fumbled trying to open the door of her home. It was early still and the sun was finally high in the sky, but Belle could not shake the feeling that she was being watched, somehow.
She felt eyes on her. It was an uneasy feeling and one that she had no one else to share it with, as the only people she felt who had ever understood her besides Papa were back at the castle. A place Belle was no longer welcome.
She felt fresh tears come to her eyes and it was as she was wiping them away with a flick of her finger and had another hand on the doorknob, prepared to twist it when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her and her name being called by a boy.
"Belle!"
"Wh-what on earth…?" Belle sniffed and hurriedly blinked away the last of her tears, not wanting whomever it was to see her in such a vulnerable state. She whirled around on her heels to find a small boy running towards her.
The boy was no older than maybe seven or so by the looks of his round face, his straw blond hair wild and disheveled and he came to a halt in front of the steps, heaving and clutching at a stitch in his side as he struggled to catch his breath.
Belle was flabbergasted.
"I…I'm very sorry, b-but…who are you?" she stammered, though she thought he looked a little familiar, having seen him back at the castle, playing with the puppy Prince from time to time or with various servants' other children.
She almost smiled as she caught sight of the little black pup trailing close behind him, barking happily to see Belle and his tail immediately wagged. Prince wasted no time in running to her as she knelt into a crouch at the top of the steps and scooped up the puppy into her arms. The dog licked her cheek but Belle ignored him, keeping her eyes on the boy.
"C-Chip, B-Belle, my mama is Mrs. Potts. She—she's always talking about you and the Prince, a-and I wanted to meet you, to see if you were as funny as the other children say you are," he stammered out, still wheezing as he hesitantly lifted his gaze to hers and shot her a nervous smile that told Belle he was trying his best. "I-I f-followed you and Brutus, h-hoping…that you would come back. The-the master is a lot nicer and not so scary whenever he's around you. He used to be a bully but...not anymore."
He straightened his gait and shot her a lopsided albeit toothy smile that Belle could not manage to bring herself to return. Instead, she could only stare at the boy, both touched but also worried.
"Oh, no, your—your mother doesn't know you followed me, Chip, does she?" Belle predicted, almost eerily.
Though she knew without a shadow of a doubt in her mind that this was the case judging by how the boy's cheeks suddenly flushed a deep cheery red and he glanced down at his scuffed shoes, seemingly too nervous to meet her gaze.
Belle immediately shook her head to herself, stunned at the little boy's carelessness, and darted down the steps, setting down Prince and moved to take one of Chip's hands in hers and squeeze it. It took her a moment to find her voice as she searched for the right words.
"Chip, I-I'm flattered that you want me to come back, but I can't," she told the boy truthfully, as the mask of calm she had quickly perfected when the boy had first called her name began to crumble. She swallowed the tears that swamped at the back of her throat and tried again. "This is where I belong. I know that now, and I am not wanted back at the castle," she told him, tearing her gaze away from the boy's stricken face. Belle paused to glance over her shoulder towards her home which would need a thorough cleaning and to be put back in order.
Chip shook his head, almost looking disappointed and hurt at Belle's words, sticking out his lower lip in a slight pout.
"That's not true, Belle. Mama wants you back, she says you were one of the best girls she's ever known, and that says a lot. Laure does, a-and so do I," he admitted shyly, his gaze nervous as he looked at her. "You know how to read. Mama says I need to do more of it, I-I was hoping you could teach me how?" he stammered, wringing his fingers together.
Belle was touched and had been about to reply, though before she could say anything, the sound of more footsteps coming from behind the boy reached her ears. She looked up, alarmed, and felt her mouth go slightly slack in surprise and her eyebrows rose so far up onto her forehead that they almost disappeared into her hairline.
She had been expecting Brutus or perhaps another servant from the castle to have found their way to her village, perhaps already noticing Mrs. Potts' young son had gone missing.
But what met her gaze was the furthest thing from one of the castle staff that could be right now.
Terror wormed its way into her heart as she saw Gaston approaching their home with an older Frenchman, a sallow-faced man and one she did not recognize, clad entirely in black.
The man's skin was yellowed in some places and he looked so old and frail that just one puff of strong wind would blow him over. Despite his thin frame, there was a dangerous glint in this new man's black eyes that Belle immediately did not like as his eyes locked with hers and he stared. All Belle could do was stare right back, in shock.
She turned questioning eyes towards Gaston, but spoke to Chip, never once taking her gaze from Gaston and the man.
"Chip, get behind me, right now," she commanded, trying to sound brave, though she hated hearing the crack in her voice.
She was relieved that the boy wasted no time in following her order and darted behind her skirts. Chip had started to tremble out of fear and was clutching at a fistful of her skirt with his hands. He nervously poked his head around her legs to see what was going on. Prince had started growling, his teeth bared and his hackles were raised. She nervously flicked her gaze towards the older gentleman, wondering why Gaston had brought him, who he was, and what he wanted with her if anything at all.
"Good morning, mademoiselle," the man spoke, his voice a low baritone and smooth and velvety.
Yet there was something about the mocking lilt to his voice that sent a chill down Belle's spine just then. Nevertheless, she forced herself to try to be brave. For Chip's sake.
"Bonjour, monsieur. I-I'm afraid you caught me in the middle of a conversation. May I help you?" she asked in a shaky voice as she lifted her chin and jutted it out slightly defiantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glaring at Gaston.
"There is, mademoiselle. Monsieur Gaston has informed me of a matter of utmost urgency that must be addressed. You have come into contact with a Changeling Beast, is that right?" he purred, flicking his eyes towards Chip and frowning at the boy's confusion.
Belle felt her cheeks burn and when she swallowed, it felt like she was swallowing knives.
"Chip, go inside. Do as I tell you, don't ask questions, and lock the door," she commanded, the steel in her voice not to be mistaken. She glanced down at Chip and nodded, trying to convey to the boy she'd be all right, but he did not seem convinced.
Only when she gave him a slight nudge towards her porch steps did he trudge up the stairs and shut the door of her home behind him, but not before he gave her one last worried look. Belle breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the lock slide into place, and cringed when she caught sight of him peering out one of the windows out of pure curiosity.
She returned her attention to Gaston and the old man in front of her and did her best to look haughty and offended, though she felt anything but. She was terrified and had no idea what to do about this urgent situation.
She wanted to lie to this man, but something within her felt wrong, even to this man who she suspected was no good, and Gaston had already encountered the Prince twice and likely would have told this man everything about the Prince.
"I—y-yes, I have, b-but he's not a monster like you think, his—his curse was not his fault, it was his father's, sir, you must believe me, the Beast, the-the Prince, he's gentle, and good, whatever you want with the Prince, don't, is-is it truly with risking your own lives?" Belle stammered, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. She could hardly believe what she was saying, and she was well aware that by confessing the truth, she was likely putting the Prince's life in danger.
And despite how coldly he had behaved towards her earlier, how badly he had hurt her, not even she would wish whatever these two men had planned in mind for him on him. She could not do it to him. She was ripped from her conflicting thoughts about the master of the castle whom she had startlingly fallen in love with by Gaston speaking.
"The monster has her under its spell, D'Arque, she's gone as mad as her father if she thinks a Beast like the one I encountered, Prince or not, could ever be kind to a lady," Gaston growled, his lips curling up to reveal his gums.
Belle shivered at the mention of D'Arque. She knew who he was now, the owner of the insane asylum not far from their very village. She thought she had recognized the man's coat. She'd seen him come through their village from time to time in years passed and pick up the stray beggars on the streets, most of who'd gone stark raving mad.
The widowed Jacqueline had been the last one to be collected in the infamous black carriage, and she had not been seen nor heard from ever since. Monsieur D'Arque seemed a menacing person and Belle never recalled him smiling.
To see him now up close and personal like this face-to-face made her freeze.
She then realized what it meant as she noticed the two men exchange a look.
Belle felt the blood drain from her face as she thought she understood what this would mean for her, but somehow, she managed to keep her tears at bay. She refused to let them fall and to let Gaston see her cry.
"You'd truly use me to….?" She demanded as it clicked in the brunette's mind just what it was Gaston had in mind for her.
The realization must have been clear on her face because Gaston took that as a sign and bounded forward to take her hands in his. He squeezed them tightly, nearly bruising her wrists, afraid to let go. She recoiled but did not squirm.
"I can still save you, Belle. The spell the wretch has placed on your heart can be lifted, if the monster is taken care of, the spell he has cast on your heart will surely be severed. I know this is not of your own free will, for you to have these thoughts. And if you marry me, I can see to it that you get the best care possible. You can still come back from this, Belle, darling. There is still time for your soul to be saved. Let me help you," he told her, almost begging her, as his grey eyes bore deep into hers.
"You monster, Gaston," Belle spat dangerously at the hunter who now held her hands in a vice. Her anger was almost ready to throw her into a temper tantrum worthy of the Beast-Prince's whenever he got in a mood. "The Prince is not the monster here, you are, do you hear yourself? What you are talking about doing? You're more of a Beast than he is, and I would never marry you, I won't consent, not in this lifetime or the next," she snarled. Her anger threatened to overcome her as with surprising strength, she wrenched free of his grip and shoved his chest, hard and strong, she was sure, but it did little to phase him.
Gaston suddenly lost his hopeful expression that Belle would say yes to his proposal of marriage and a cloud of anger passed over his angular features. When he spoke, the hostility and coldness in his voice chilled the blood which was boiling in her veins in her anger, to ice, freezing her insides.
"Then you leave me no choice, Belle. I'm sorry. But this is the only way." His lip curled up into a snarl and Belle watched in horrified amazement. Her lips parted and she had been about to speak with him, to plead with the man not to do this.
Before she could, however, Gaston closed off the gap of space between them, jerking his arm to the left, hard, smacking Belle hard just above her temple, and pain exploded in her head. Immediately, she saw black and was not awake as together, Monsieur D'Arque and Gaston lifted her unconscious form and carried her towards the waiting black carriage.
Neither man seemed to care that Chip watched from the window of Belle's house, horrified.