A/N: I have been having problems with the Doc Manager on here erasing my words and messing up my paragraphs lately. I am trying to fix them and catch them all as I can, but for the moment, please excuse any typos or odd sentences.
THE Prince did not know how long he, alongside the others, scoured nearly every inch of the castle for Mrs. Potts' boy. As he helped his servants to aid in the search for the lad, Chip, he thought the boy's name was, he could not help but see the thin thread of stability onto which poor Mrs. Potts was desperately clinging.
Her whole world was falling apart. The Prince did not think that he could handle it. She had been as good as a mother figure to him when Mother had passed, consoling him during her funeral and speaking plainly to him when few else here in the castle would. She grounded him and kept him in line most of the time, and for that, he was very grateful.
The Prince did not want to imagine the dark chasm she would likely plummet into if something happened to her boy. There was no sign of Chip in the kitchens or the library. They were the two places the boy was most likely to be, according to Mrs. Potts. Oftentimes, Chip would try to coerce the cooks in the kitchens into letting him sneak away with a cup of pumpkin soup or a sweet treat like a tart when his mother wasn't looking.
Or when he was in a rare mood to try to learn how to read, he would browse the shelves in search of books with adventures in them, preferably ones about pirates and treasure and fights, despite servants not being allowed into the library unless it was to clean. But he was in neither of those places.
They had just finished searching the stables, thinking perhaps the boy had gone out to look at the horses when the Prince thought he saw the flicker of hope in Mrs. Potts' warm brown eyes beginning to die out.
He flinched. He knew better than most did that it wouldn't be long now before it died completely as his Head of House allowed herself to think the very worst.
The Prince did not hesitate to take Mrs. Potts' hand and led her out of the stables and towards the Courtyard.
"We should check the rose gardens," he offered, hopefully. "Perhaps he's playing a little game of hide-and-seek with us," he grunted, not amused in the slightest if this was proven to be the truth.
Mrs. Potts numbly nodded, almost too afraid to hope. Quickly, they made their way to the gardens, only to be disappointed when they arrived. There was no sign of the boy and no sound of the child's laughter as the Prince had hoped.
"Where is he, master?" Mrs. Potts begged the Prince in a trembling voice as if the Prince had any answers in which to give. She raised her terrified eyes to the Heavens above them, which were beginning to turn dark as a coming storm approached, and nearly screamed. "Where is my son?!" she sobbed.
The Prince did not even hesitate to take her hands in his and give them a reassuring squeeze, trying to offer what comfort he could, though he knew that it was not much at all.
"Chip is well, Mrs. Potts, he's a strong boy," the Prince awkwardly tried to encourage her. "You must believe he is well."
"But what if we do not find him?" Mrs. Potts stared at the Prince as if she were seeing the young man in front of her whom she had helped raise since he was but a babe for the first time since this ordeal had Prince squeezed her hand even tighter by way of response.
The Prince squeezed her hand even tighter by way of response.
"Listen to me, Mrs. Potts, please." He stared earnestly into the older woman's panic-filled eyes. "I will find your son, Chip. I will bring your son back to you if it is the last thing I ever do."
The Prince did not even realize that his entire body had started to shake with the seriousness of his pledge to the woman he'd always considered a mother.
Mrs. Potts nodded and managed to collect herself, telling the Prince she was ready to continue her began to make their way toward the back of the estate, wondering if the lad had managed to slip through the gates and disappear into the woods. He was certainly skinny enough to fit through those bars, the Prince thought bitterly. He was just about to call for the boy when the sound of a child's panicked shout could be heard coming from the Prince did not wait.
Bolting into a sprint, he made for the woods, wrenching open the back exit to the gates with ease, Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth, and Lumiere trailing close behind.
"I hear him!" The Prince confirmed in a calmer voice than he thought. "But where?" His sharp blue eyes scanned the spaces of the edge of the woods closest to him until finally, he saw Mrs. Potts' son sprinting towards them like the Devil himself was at his very heels. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were red and windblown.
Within moments, Mrs. Potts was embracing her winded son in her arms.
From what the Prince could see of the young boy, he did not appear to be hurt. Her relieved sobbing joined in with his whines of relief as the boy skidded to a halt in front of her, nearly sending a shower of dirt and pebbles in front of them. The Prince stood back and gave the mother and son their time, and when Mrs. Potts' hysterical sobs had tapered off to mere sniffles, and the boy looked like he was no longer in danger of passing out, he spoke, his tone clipped.
"Have you any idea how serious this is?" he snarled, his lip curling up. "Where were you? Why did you leave the castle?" he demanded, cringing as the words left his lips and he realized they sounded so cold and impersonal.
It took the Prince a moment for him to realize that he sounded just like the Duke whenever he spoke in this authoritative voice with just a hint of steel that told the little boy he would not put up with lies or any sort of tricks.
The Prince was only briefly aware of the Duke coming to stand beside him and observe the strange scene before Prince stiffened but he ignored his father's presence for now in favor of continuing to look at the young little boy as Chip squirmed under the scrutiny of his gaze. The Prince could feel himself beginning to grow impatient, and he snapped at the boy before he realized what he was saying.
"You will answer," he barked at him, to which Mrs. Potts turned on her heels, red-faced, and still holding her son by his shoulders.
"Of course, he will answer," she bit back and turned back to her son and looked at Chip.
The little boy's bottom lip began to quiver, and he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he knew he'd rightfully earned the master's anger and Mama's too.
His cheeks burned bright red and he hastily looked down at the ground at his shoes, for he could not bring himself to meet his mother's gaze. The boy parted his lips as if to speak, however, it took him a moment.
"I—I went after Belle, Your Highness, I thought...I could convince her to come back, she-she seemed nice, Mama, a-and I wanted to meet her. I-I was hoping she would teach me how to read," he whispered, shamefaced, his voice barely above a whisper.
He had thought he could handle it. But hearing Belle's name come from the boy's lips, the Prince froze in his tracks.
To his left, he could see the Duke shooting him a look and it was his father who stepped forward and spoke on his son's behalf.
"And the girl, she is well, I presume? You saw her, boy? Speak up now, and be sharp about it, lad," he drolled, though the man sounded bored as if he did not care one way or another.
The Prince knew for a fact that Belle could have died, and the Duke would not have so much as blinked his one eye.
It did not escape the Prince's attention that Mrs. Potts' boy was suddenly looking terrified, whether it was because he feared an adverse reaction from the Prince by speaking of Belle or it was something more, something he was not telling, he couldn't say, but the Prince was not having it.
"You know something," he coaxed, trying not to sound accusatory. "What is it? Tell us now," he demanded.
Chip had to crane his neck upward to look into the master's eyes and the icy glint he saw in the man's bright blue eyes made him decide not to play games or give a workaround answer.
He turned towards his mother instead and held her hands tightly, afraid to let go.
"The—the nice lady, Belle, Mama, she—she's gone, taken," he blurted out, his words clumsy and blunt. "A man in a black carriage, with another man w and he didn't look very n—" he started to say, but before he could say anything further, a loud guttural sound of anguish interrupted Chip's next sentence and cut him off whatever the boy had been about to say next.
"NO! NO! NO!" The Prince roared, making a move as if to lunge toward Chip, though it was Lumiere who kept the master at bay by placing a hand on his shoulder. Still, Lumiere's hand started to shake as the Prince ripped away from him violently. The Prince thought he had never been so angry as he was now.
Belle had been taken...by whom? His mind felt like it was reeling and then he recalled the boy's mention of the black carriage. His stomach churned and the dread passionate must have been all over his face, for no one, not even Father, dared to look directly at was only one such establishment in this part of France he knew of that used such a carriage.
Monsieur D'Arque, the owner of the nearest insane asylum for the mentally those who were truly touched in the head insane went there and were typically never heard from again. Most died in that wretched place, locked in their cages.
The Prince restlessly began to pace an agitated line, back and forth he went as he violently ripped apart from Lumiere and began to tug on locks of his hair. He looked quite livid and deranged.
"M-Master, please don't do anything stupid," Lumiere urged, a pleading lilt to his voice. "You are still injured and even if you could go after Belle, whoever has her, you have not swung a sword in months—"
"Then why did the boy tell me this if not for me to do something about it?" The Prince roared at the top of his lungs.
He flicked his gaze toward the sky and saw with dread that the sun was going down. His time was almost upon him, and he could not risk those here in the rose gardens seeing him as the monstrous Beast.
But his anger swept through him like a darkening thunderstorm, clouding his judgment as his mind was practically screaming at him to turn on his heels and flee the scene.
Instead, he almost threw himself toward Lumiere, who was doing nothing but trying to keep him calm. His blood was beginning to turn hot in his veins, and beads of sweat had started to glitter on his scalp.
Oh, God, no. Not now, he thought and bit down on his tongue hard enough to bleed.
He did not want to leave. But he had to. The pains that swept through him now nearly made him double over as a barely audible groan escaped his cracked lips from the back of his throat.
Thankfully, only Father noticed it, as the others around him were too preoccupied with the relief of having little Chip back safe and sound, while at the same time worried over Belle's unknown fate that she had been kidnapped and taken away. Nature, he knew, in the end, was going to win out, or should he say the witch's curse. It always did.
The skin at his knees and near his elbows started to burn and tingle, the familiar prickling itch that he always felt whenever his transformations came upon him. The Prince squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the painful sensations to stop, but they didn't. He was pulled from his concentration by the sound of the Duke speaking to him.
"I hope that you are not getting any foolish notions in your head about going after that farm girl. She is, in my opinion, where she belongs. You will do nothing more."
The Prince looked up at his father sharply and immediately wished he hadn't, as the sides of his temples had begun to throb. He felt his eyes change their shape and the color of his irises flick black for a moment, and the Prince could tell by the collective gasps of his servants that they'd seen it.
But at this point, he could not manage to pretend to care if his servants saw him as he truly was.
Let them see me as a cursed Changeling-Beast, a monster, let them see what the Duke has done to his son and is not sorry for, he thought bitterly, as the burning sensation began to spread down to his arms and legs.
A coil of rage in his gut twisted and lurched, and the Prince for a moment felt he was going to explode.
The itching that was worming its way up his entire body had solidified into a horrific burning sensation that made the Prince feel as if he were being burned alive. Soon. His skin began to stretch and wiry hairs on his arms, legs, and face started to sprout as he started what he liked to call his Turning like he did every night.
The sensation worsened and the Prince fought to block out the pain, though he knew it was futile.
There was no way to block out the sensation of feeling as though he were being flayed alive and tortured to death, while every bone in his body broke and shifted to a new place.
The hoarse, hair-raising screams left his lips before he could stop himself as he could feel the horns atop his head starting to split and break through his head. Even after years of suffering this, it was never easy.
Each night it happened he always thought it to be worse than the last. He dropped to his knees and doubled over, glancing at Mrs. Potts out of the corner of her eyes, who was utterly horrified and had covered her son's gaze with her hand. He could feel his legs beginning to convulse. The Prince gasped and tried to force his body to relax as he kept his head down and his back arched, hoping that would ease the pain but it didn't.
The next ten seconds were hell and caused a myriad of foul curse words to be ripped from him, words he wished the boy was not present for but it could not be helped. The pain always made him wish that he would rather just be killed and die than suffer this again every night. Then, it was over. Turned.
The Prince opened his eyes and exhaled a tired breath, stretching and blinking, to find Monsieur Cogsworth, Lumiere, Mrs. Potts, and even her boy Chip, all staring at him in abject horror and shock. All but the Duke looked terrified.
When he spoke, his voice was gravel and calloused with rage. He clenched his paws into fists, and it took everything within him not to launch into a screaming tirade at the Duke.
"Now you see me for what I truly am. I suspect you are all surprised, but fear not, the answers will come, and I'm staring right at them," he snarled, never once taking his gaze off his father. "Tell them, Father. Tell them how you were the one to do this to me. Tell them how you forced yourself on that poor priestess and left me alone to suffer this witch's curse when she pleaded with you to stop. Tell them how it happened," the Prince, who was no longer the Prince now, but the Beast growled. He bared his fangs at the stone-faced Duke.
"Oh, good heavens! M-Master, wh-what on earth? I don't…I…what…how is this possible…?" Cogsworth spluttered and clung to Lumiere for safety. The two men looked with wild and red eyes towards the Duke for confirmation, but it was Lumiere who managed to regain control of his voice first and spoke with a clipped tone as the furrow of confusion between his brows deepened.
"Your Highness, is this true?" Lumiere demanded, flicking his gaze between his now-monstrous Beast of a master and then back towards the Duke, desperately searching the Prince's father's one good eye for answers.
The Duke, however, remained silent for a long moment and merely proceeded to study the Changeling Prince with his one good eye. The grey of his iris seemed lifeless.
"You certainly are persistent, Adam, I will grant you that, but yes, Lumiere, it is true. I had hoped, that by coming home and abdicating my position as Duke of these lands, perhaps you could have become the son that I could one day be proud of," the Duke sneered as his monstrous son stalked towards him, stopping only a few inches from him.
His entire body still shook with what had just transpired a moment ago, but there was something else there, something the Prince did not know what it was at first. It took him a moment to realize it was rage.
"A strange way to make it up to me, Father. Nothing could make up for this," he snarled, gesturing toward the fur that now covered his face and the horns that twisted and protruded wildly on top of his head.
The Prince meant to shout it at the Duke, but his words were hoarse and caught in his throat, shattered.
The Prince tasted bile in his mouth. Clumsily, his equilibrium still off from his transformation and every joint in his body still aching profusely, he took a step towards the Duke, who did not back away.
"In your entire life, Father, even after this, after Mother, did you ever once love me?" he demanded, lowering his voice an octave.
He'd gone dangerously quiet and no one gathered around him dared to breathe while they waited for the Duke's response.
The Duke's face turned red as the older man's temper imploded upon hearing his son's words and seeing his bottom lip quiver.
"Saving your life that night was the worst mistake the doctor could have made. It should have been you that died that night, boy, not my wife!" The Duke shouted. "You were nothing but an accident. You should have been killed at birth!" the man bellowed, his face reddening.
The Beast stalked towards his father and raised a paw at him and struck his father as hard as he possibly could, a furious blood-yell escaping from the back of his throat as the pressure in his head finally exploded.
Over twenty years of anger, pent-up pain, and frustration behind that blow.
The Duke staggered backward and clutched at his now bleeding cheek in horror, appalled and disgusted at the gash that now marred the right side of his face.
"How dare you speak to me like that?" The Beast-Prince roared, letting his animalistic nature take over, and the Beast had no time to react as the Duke bolted to his feet in a vent of adrenaline that surged through his veins and lunged forward. The Duke made a visible show of drawing a knife that he kept around his belt.
The Beast was not even thinking as he raised his paw again, only seeing the glint of the sharp knife in his father's hand. He let his rage and horror take over, for his diplomacy and gentleness as a Prince would do him no good in this situation. The Beast raised a paw and struck at the man's chest, digging his claws into his heart.
He did not even feel the blood that pooled over his arm. He could only watch in a sickened satisfaction as the Duke's face drained of color until he'd gone as white as a ghost. The Duke staggered backward, and slowly, as the rage that had clouded his vision and his mind began to dissipate, the startled cries of his servants reached his ears.
He blinked as he began to come back to himself. Only when he could think clearly, as the shred of the man that still existed within this monstrous form, did the Prince turn to look to see what had just happened.
Blood now stained his father's crisp black doublet, and out of the corner of his gaze, he saw Monsieur Cogsworth and Lumiere staring at him in shock and horror at the literal Beast the young master has just made of himself, their expression was equally disturbed. Mrs. Potts' face had turned an interesting shade of green.
She looked as though she was going to be sick, but she still kept Chip's face covered, not letting him see, despite his quiet and curious protests that he wanted to see, that he'd be fine.
The Beast shot her a grateful look. He did not want the boy to have nightmares perhaps for years on end.
She shot him a curt nod of her head in return, yet her expression was as grim as a graveyard.
The Duke took an uncertain step backward and then fell to his knees as his blood-stained hands groped at the massive slash markings in his chest. The Prince's eyes widened in horror. Oh, God, no. He had done this. He hadn't meant to—
"No, no, no, no," the Prince moaned hysterically, understanding what was happening.
Just like Mother, he had now accidentally killed Father too in his beastly rage that he was beginning to think could never be tamed. He did not hesitate to run to the Duke's side. As horrible as the Duke had been to him, he was still his father. The Prince pulled his father close to his chest, not caring that the Duke's blood was seeping into his clothes or his fur, starting to smell.
"Please don't die." Now that this was all seemingly over, they might still have a chance. Belle had been right, God bless her kind and empathetic heart. There was always time for things to change. "Please," the Prince nearly wept as his voice broke. "Remember who you are, Father..." He was not even aware that slick tears had started to pour down his cheeks and onto the Duke's chest.
"Why does it matter, son?" The Duke's voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. The man's one good eye was turning glossy as his head lolled back into the crook of the Prince's arm.
Behind him, the Prince could feel Lumiere as the older man reached him. His father started to violently convulse.
For a moment, his still-handsome features twisted and distorted into the face of the man the Prince had always feared growing up following the Enchantress cursing him, vicious and bitter in his realized defeat.
Then, the image went away, leaving the Duke with a face the Prince barely remembered. His real father, from so long ago, back when the man had cared for him, at least somewhat. Back when Mother was still alive and happy and all had been well. The Duke's expression was almost soft and warm as he looked up into the tear-filled and pleading eyes of his only son, and the Prince knew then, that in his way, the Duke did love him, even if he could never say it out loud.
"Don't mourn me, Adam," the Duke murmured with what measly strength he still had left. It was a miracle the man could still even talk with the blood that was filling the back of his throat from his injuries. He bowed his head, and his next words were a whisper. "This is…for the best…your mother…that witch…I gave away my soul, Adam…to save your life, son..." he whispered.
The Prince stared, hardly daring to believe it. He did not know what he meant by that, but all he could concentrate on was his father's one good eye he still possessed was flickering open and shut repeatedly, barely perceptively. He was fading.
"No!" he roared, shaking his father slightly, trying to will some of his strength into his father, who was dying in his arms as they spoke. "I'm not going to give up on you! I'm not letting you go, Father, don't you dare die on me, damn you, not after everything!" he shouted, voice hoarse. But it was too late. The Duke died in his arms.
It was Mrs. Potts who gingerly knelt beside the Prince and gently eased his father's body out of the Prince's vice grip. By God, but Mrs. Potts looked to have aged five years within the last five minutes, he realized.
But without a word, Mrs. Potts pulled the Prince close and hugged him, her shock at seeing him transform into a Beast and anger at speaking so harshly to Chip completely forgotten. The Prince, in a rare moment of vulnerability and humanity, felt fresh tears well within his eyes and he let himself succumb to his grief and anger, letting his tears fall without restraint, leaving him bitterly quivering in Mrs. Potts' arms in utter defeat.
When Mrs. Potts pulled back to study the Prince's beastly face after the worst of the master's hysteria had passed and the Changeling man's tears were mostly spent, she looked towards the Duke's lifeless body on the ground and then returned her gaze to the Beast in her arms.
She stiffened as she recognized the creature's eyes, at first thinking the Prince's transformation into this hideous Beast to be a cruel trick, that she was finally going touched in the head and senile in her age. But no. She knew these eyes. She had seen them since the Prince was a small boy and thought that she would know the Prince's eyes anywhere, even now as the Beast that she knew him to be. There was great sadness in his eyes. And an even greater relief.
Mrs. Potts flinched as she sensed a shift within the young master as something came over the Changeling Prince then, and he was disturbed to have sensed a tingling in the air, and he turned just in time to see a woman walk towards him, but her steps were slow and sure and measured as if she had all the time in the world.
Mrs. Potts gaped in disbelief as she helped the Beast rise to his feet, at first unsure of what she was seeing.
The Prince's former fiancée, lady Circe, was coming towards them, and yet, she looked different.
Her golden curls that fell past her shoulders were a different color blonde, a softer yellowish hue and not white-blonde as they had been earlier, and her flowing green dress seemed to sparkle.
Mrs. Potts noticed with trepidation the lady's feet were bare and the woman did not so much as look at the Duke's body, yet she knelt in front of it and murmured something in a language Mrs. Potts did not recognize.
Mrs. Potts could only stare in disbelief as a floating white orb drifted out of the Duke's barely cracked lips.
The Princess seemed to stow whatever it was that had come out of the deceased Duke's mouth just now into a tiny marble, which she then caused to vanish with a wave of what looked like a wand fashioned out of the wood of the oak trees that lined the edge of this estate.
It did not take long for Mrs. Potts to look upon the celestial-like creature who almost seemed to glow for her to put two and two together. The way Circe refused to look at the Duke, and it was then that she remembered what he'd said.
"He…gave away his soul to protect the master, b-but…" Mrs. Potts hesitated as she still clung to the Prince's hand. Thankfully, he did not let go for which she was grateful, as this was almost too much to take in. Too much. And yet, it seemed neither of them had a choice. "Y-you are the Enchantress, Circe? What—what you just did to the Duke, was that…his soul, then? You now... own his soul?" she asked, hardly daring to believe the words that came out of her mouth as she stared at the apparent Enchantress in awe.
"I do." Her voice was soft as silk and almost soothing to listen to.
Mrs. Potts could not help but instantly feel charmed by the Enchantress's soft smile as the blonde lifted her gaze to hers.
"But Circe is not my real name, Mrs. Potts. Please. Call me Lenore. I apologize for the despicable way that I behaved toward you during my stay here, but I wanted to test your master, to see if he was on the path to becoming…like him." She crinkled her nose in disgust and nudged aside the Duke's lifeless body with her foot as she stepped over him, keeping her gaze fixed on the Prince.
The Prince, who had gone numb with grief and despair, could not even look at the witch.
Mrs. Potts grimaced as she realized the young master had entered into a trance-like petrified state, unable to look away at his father's body that was now quite literally without its soul, his soul denied entry to the heavens.
She looked towards the beautiful Enchantress, who now held the glowing marble that contained the Prince's father's soul curled tightly into her fist. The witch's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her hand was trembling. When she spoke, her voice was dull, lifeless.
"I have waited so long for this moment." Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open and she flicked her catlike green eyes down toward her palm and let out a shuddering breath. "And now that I'm here…."
She let her voice trail off as she turned her gaze toward the Prince and walked slowly toward the young master.
The Prince had not budged an inch and was eyeing his father's shell of a corpse with red and wild eyes, tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. He did not even seem to care that his greatest kept secret that he spent his nights as a Beast was now a secret no more. But her voice temporarily pulled him out of his stunned stupor as she continued.
"I don't need this…I don't need him, to make me whole again. The choice should be yours. I am not the one that he nearly killed," the Enchantress proclaimed through gritted teeth. Without waiting for an invitation, the Enchantress took one of the Beast's paws in her hands and pressed the glowing marble into his palm, and curled his fingers over it.
The Prince could only stare at it, shell-shocked, numb.
"His madness is stopped, f-for the moment, that should be all that matters, Your Highness, ah, Enchantress, b-but i-if I may ask...what comes next?" Monsieur Cogsworth blurted out, his words clumsy and the old man was clutching at a fistful of his velvet maroon coat and becoming redder in the face as the seconds passed.
Mrs. Potts very sincerely hoped her dear colleague was not about to suffer a complaint of the heart from the shock of witnessing the master's transformation.
She parted her lips as if to speak, though before she could say anything, she was barely aware of Lumiere darting forward with alarming speed and snatching the marble that now held the Duke's soul inside of it.
The man was quick to set it on the ground and proceeded to stomp on it repeatedly until the silvery wisps that were the man's soul once the marble was destroyed dissipated and vanished into thin air. Lumiere shot a withering glower towards his colleague, as though daring Cogsworth or Mrs. Potts to challenge what he'd just done for the young master.
"That is what happens next, Cogsworth, my old friend," Lumiere snapped bitterly, a bark to his voice that Mrs. Potts or the Prince had ever heard in him before. The shift in the man's voice was enough to cause the young Prince to snap out of his reverie as he sharply whiplashed his head up to look at Lumiere, stunned. But before the Prince could angrily interject, Lumiere boldly spoke and held up a hand to cut him off as the Beast rose to his feet shakily. "Master, we regret him having raised you, please know that, it is why I just did what I did. His wicked soul does not deserve the peace of an afterlife for the suffering he put you through," he apologized. "If we had known, we would have intervened much sooner, we would never have let you suffer this," he said, his face pained as he shot the Beast-Prince a look. "There will be time to grieve the man later, Your Highness, though you ask me, the Duke will not be missed by the rest of us here in the castle," spat Lumiere, and there was no warmth in his voice. "For the moment, the young mademoiselle, the lady Belle, her life is in danger if she has been taken away."
"Someone has to save Belle then," The Beast barked in a hoarse voice as he showed his fangs. Lumiere and the others flinched, but he continued. "Is that not a job for the handsome hero in one of the stories Belle loves so much?" he growled bitterly in defeat.
Tall handsome heroes like the man I could be, and the maiden fair that Belle is, if she would have me, but I doubt she would speak to me after the horrible things I said.
"But Belle does not have a knight in shining armor like the ones in the storybooks," the Beast snarled. "All she has is me. The hideous monstrous Beast."
The Enchantress laughed then, a delightful sound that sounded like the tinkling of bells before she could stop herself. The blonde witch fingered her wand as she lifted her gaze to him, and her expression shifted and grew more serious.
"If you choose it, young Prince. There would be others that could and will go to Belle's aid, but it should be you. You are her handsome hero if you let yourself be. The choice is yours, but I can tell you this." Her green eyes narrowed and lovely Lenore gave the Beast-Prince a fierce look. "I see you, Your Highness, and what I see is no monster. You are not a Beast. The true monster lies dead at your feet."
The Prince reeled back, feeling as though the witch herself had just doused him in ice water, and then he remembered his father's last words. He'd given his soul to save him. He did not understand.
"He…gave away his soul to save my life. Was I in danger?" he questioned angrily.
The Enchantress's expression clouded with remorse, and he could not be certain, but the Prince swore that for the briefest of moments, the witch who had cursed him all those years ago almost looked shamefaced and embarrassed.
"That night, when the worst of it was over, I was in such a mood I was of a mind to kill the Duke's entire family. I wanted revenge for what your father had taken from me, what I hoped to give to a young sorcerer my age. I nearly did and was halfway through uttering the incantation that would have killed both you and your mother, but it was the use of the word 'please' from your father's lips that made me reconsider. I made him a deal. The son would suffer the sins of the father in the hopes you would not turn out the monster as he had, and when the day came when he died, he was mine."
She turned towards Lumiere, who flinched at her gaze, though she did not seem to begrudge his youngest Head of House for the unusual course of action he had chosen to take with his life.
"I do not blame you for what you did. It is what I would have done. But for now, Your Highness, your maid is in danger. She is within Monsieur D'Arque's asylum, and that happy bastard is all too pleased with himself about it too," the witch added in disgust, pulling a face of revulsion.
"We have to go," the Beast growled, unable to ignore the tightening in his chest any longer. He realized what this strange feeling was that was ripping through him. He was alive again, for the first time in years, he had a new purpose.
Belle.
His new purpose was to love Belle, to save Belle, and win back her trust and love no matter if it took him months or years. The desire was sparking to life in his stomach, heating him several times over, burning him like fire, worse than his transformations ever could it. He hated this feeling and loved it just the same.
When he spoke, it was with the tone of a hardened Prince, yet the voice of a leader his servants knew one day the people could be proud of.
"Lumiere, my friend, to me, you and Brutus will accompany me to this D'Arque's asylum." Lumiere nodded, his expression as grim as a grave, as he turned to shoot Laure a reassuring look the expression on the auburn-haired maid's face was one of worry and alarm, a fear that the man she was beginning to love would not return. They said nothing, but Belle's friend merely nodded and lowered her head in contrition, moving to step beside her aunt.
"I will do what I can to gather any supplies I might need in case Belle is hurt when you return," Laure whispered, wide-eyed and terrified at the thought of any harm befalling the young maid whom Laure was quickly beginning to call her best friend.
Without another word, she, and Mrs. Potts turned on their heels to disappear back inside the castle, as did Monsieur Cogsworth, who barked orders at a few of the guards to bring the Duke's body inside and down into the basement to prepare him for burial.
The Beast was about to turn towards the woods when the sound of his name being called caused him to turn around and face whoever it was that was calling for him. The Prince stifled a growl from deep within his throat.
He was not in a patient mood, he would not leave Belle to rot in that wretched asylum in some cage trapped like a rat to die, and so whoever it was had better speak up quickly—
"Y-Your Highness, wait! Let me come with you, I know the way!" The Prince blinked as the short stout little man whose wedding he and Belle had attended came running down the path of the rose gardens, red-cheeked from the cold and winded.
It took him a moment to find his breath again as he heaved, struggling for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side.
"I won't…let…Gaston…destroy himself anymore, he has to be stopped, I can get you inside, Belle is my friend, sir, I won't let him do this to her, Belle has suffered long enough. Gaston has haunted my friend's shadow for too long," LeFou gasped, straightening his gait and looking at the Beast.
If he was at all shocked to see that the rumors of the Prince being cursed to live as a Beast were true, he hid it well. The Prince would give this man credit, LeFou seemed braver than any of his villagers had given him credit for.
"Come then, to me," the Beast growled, not wanting to waste any more precious time lingering than they already had. He looked back towards the Enchantress, who lowered her head and motioned for them to go with a wave of her arm, dismissing them.
"Go then as you wish," Lenore told them, her face apologetic and pained as she shot the Changeling Prince and the two men accompanying him a look. "Were that I could magic you there, I would, but I cannot interfere on your path, Prince. My magic does not work this way and for me to interfere now is a violation of my kin's laws. I can only set the two of you on the path to your happiness. May the lady Belle be your peace, your happiness, and may God and His graces guide you, Prince Adam, and good luck."
Her expression was as grim as a gravestone and her next words stuffed the chills down the Prince's throat.
"Where you're going and who you will be facing, you will be needing it soon."