BELLE woke from Gaston striking her over the head with such a bad headache that she was forced to fight down nausea for the better part of two hours. She knew that someone, whether it be Gaston or that awful Monsieur D'Arque, was in whatever cell with her, wherever she had been brought.
But Belle could not bring herself to open her eyes and look up. Not only because she was afraid and ashamed that she had let her temper get the better of her and once again her mouth had run away from her and gotten her into a mess she wasn't sure she could get out of. But also, she knew if she did, she would be sick.
She moaned helplessly as she silently prayed to God and to Papa, if he was listening, to take away the pain in her head and keep her safe. She was so dizzy and disoriented and the pain in her head was overwhelming.
Belle did not even take the time to figure out where she might have been brought. No good would come to her from any sort of efforts to think until the pain had gone and her head was clear.
If it was Gaston in the room with her, she was even afraid to speak to him until she had her words very carefully planned out, knowing the man's temper. He'd looked like he'd wanted to kill her outside of her home for refusing his proposal yet again, and why he'd insisted the man take her away, she had no idea, but she knew one thing.
Gaston was unstable right now and had gone mad. He was not at all thinking anymore.
Belle's ears perked up as she heard whoever was in the room along with her moving. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were pacing, waiting for her to open her eyes. Heavy footsteps scraped against the hard stone floor, and sometimes, she thought she could hear the clinking of heavy iron chains.
When she started to shiver from the cold, she felt a blanket drape over her shoulders, thin and threadbare and musty-smelling, with holes that looked like they could have only come from rats, but it was better than nothing and she kept it draped over her shoulders like she would a shawl.
The pain in her head slowly began to fade away and after a time, Belle opened her eyes, and immediately wished she had not been so hasty. Belle blinked owlishly at the specter in front of her, his form merely nothing more than an apparition, a light in the darkness, shimmering and wavering, not at all solid in the slightest.
She was sure that she was dreaming, but if it was a dream, then it was one she did not wish to wake from.
"Papa," she breathed, her voice cracking as she felt tears prick and sting at the edges of her eyes.
Oh, Papa. You've come to save me after all.
Belle attempted to sit up straighter and was met with the clank of chains and it was only when she turned her head to the right that she saw her wrists were iron-bound and in front of her lap. Thank God she was not chained to the wall, but there was no getting out of these without the key, whichever person the ring of keys happened to be upon.
Belle slowly pulled herself upright to sit straighter, the chains of her manacles clinking loudly as she leaned back against the dank wall of the cell that smelled of mold. The apparition that was her father never moved.
She did not know why she had to let Papa ghost her like this, or why he had come, if he was truly here by her side, or if Papa's ghost was merely a figment of her imagination.
"What…what are you doing here, Papa?" she whispered hoarsely, feeling fresh tears beginning to prick at the edges of her eyes. She looked upon the ghost of Maurice in disbelief, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.
Her father's ghost smiled sadly. He looked years younger than Belle could ever remember. No longer was his hair thin and wispy and of purest white, but thick and luscious and dark again. The lines on his forehead and near his mouth were no more, and she could not remember the last time Papa had smiled as brightly as he was smiling now.
"I am here, this is real. I cannot stay long. Belle, I've already bent the rules by coming here and making my presence known to you. But I had to see you. Your mother is proud of you but she cannot bear to see you trapped in here and will come to call upon you at a different time. I could not be prouder of you, nor could your mother, my love. You are just like her, you know. I've tried to give you the freedom to follow your path in life, to open doors for you that otherwise would have been closed. I see now it was a mistake to offer Gaston your hand in marriage," his voice faltered as he fought against a lump in his throat.
Maurice looked shamefaced at ever having agreed to such a notion.
Belle shook her head and furiously blinked her tears away and tried to step forward away from the wall but lacked the strength to do much else other than lift her head.
"No, Papa, don't say that, you could not have known," she whispered as she stared in disbelief, still not sure if she was imagining seeing him or if he was really real. "It was not your fault. You were only doing what you thought was best for me, Papa. And…." She hesitated and trailed off, looking away for a moment as she contemplated Gaston's actions and what had led the man to ally himself with the likes of this wretched insane asylum owner. "It is not his fault, either. He does not know the Prince, Papa. As I do. He might be a cursed Changeling, Papa, but he's not at all how the stories have described him. He is a good man, kind, even if...he cannot see it in himself."
"Belle, how could you possibly defend that monster? This does not make any sense," Maurice questioned incredulously with a shake of his now transparent head. "He used you. He sent you away," he retorted as his previously affectionate and loving stare as he held his only child in his gaze grew cold and hardened, his tone laced to the brim with a horrible bitterness.
Belle sighed and once more fought back the beginnings of tears. She resisted the urge to raise her brow and roll her eyes at her father. Belle had nothing but time on the walk home back to the village alongside Brutus and had time to contemplate why he'd spoken so coldly to her when just last night he had been almost affectionate and loving.
She suspected that the Prince did care for her, but as long as the Duke remained an influence in his life, they simply could not be together. It took Belle a moment to find her voice and when she did speak to her father, she hated hearing the faltering crack and dip in her voice as she fought back tears.
"He sent me away to protect me, Papa." She was not aware that her voice was rising to such a perpetual level or that her breaths were coming to her so rapidly that Maurice's expression grew worried. It was obvious that even from whatever afterlife came next, Maurice still worried about his daughter's health.
He reached out a translucent hand and tried to rest it on her shoulder, but he grazed only the air.
Belle shivered as she watched his hand try to rest on her shoulder, and she felt as though she had been doused fully with a bucket of ice-cold water. She wished she could say something that would put her Papa's mind at ease.
"I've always been grateful to you and Mama, Papa, for giving me the life you thought I deserved. For teaching me to read. I know it was hard for you, the scorn and teasing from the other villagers you had to put up with. I've tried never to take that for granted. Even when you…even when you left me, I've felt your love and strength, inside of me, bolstering me and giving me courage even when it's hard," she declared, her tears starting to mirror his as this time, she let them flow freely down her cheeks.
"Even here, I think…I'll be alright," she told Maurice, almost sounding sure of herself.
"How can you be sure?" Maurice pressed, but not urgently. But he needed to know how.
Belle's dark eyes grew distant and dreamy, and the beginnings of a soft smile snaked their way onto her features that seemed to light up the dank and cold cell she now found herself trapped in, just like a cage.
"Because…the Prince is with me." She looked over her father's shoulder and thought she could see the handsome man's face so clearly in her mind, that she almost lifted a hand to try to reach out and take his hand.
Maurice's incredulous expression softened as he looked upon his daughter. Her happiness and to have the love of a good man were all he had ever wanted for his beloved Belle.
"You love him, then, this…Beast-Prince of yours?" Maurice confirmed.
"Yes," Belle whispered, her smile faltering as she began to ache for the Prince and wished he were here to save her from this precarious position she now found herself in. She looked up seriously at her father. "And he's not a Beast, Papa, he's not a monster, not to my eyes," she told Maurice, trying to sound firm. "I don't like people calling him such horrible names," she admitted.
"Forgive me," he apologized, his face pained. "I did not mean to offend you, Belle, it was not my intention to upset you, I just want to make sure that this Prince is the right man for you, and that he loves you," Maurice reassured Belle.
"What of marriage, Belle?" Maurice pushed, perhaps getting a little ahead of himself. "Would this Prince consider taking you as his wife?" He eyed his daughter uncomfortably.
Belle smiled shyly, feeling the hot blush coming to her cheeks. "I…maybe, Papa, we—we have not discussed that yet," she stammered hurriedly, eager to change the subject. Belle searched her father's ghostly face as Maurice spoke up softly.
"Belle, my love, you too trusting at times, but you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever had the pleasure of knowing besides your mother," he complimented. "All I want for you is your happiness, and if you have found it in this…Prince, then who am I to give you grief over it from beyond the grave?" He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Belle's forehead.
Belle shivered as another feeling of icy coldness washed over her but thankfully, Maurice did not seem to mind.
Maurice rose to his feet from where he had knelt into a crouch so he could look at his daughter at eye level where she sat hunkered on the floor. He lovingly regarded his daughter and wished he could be of help to her in getting her out of this miserable cell. Large tears fell from Belle's eyes as she watched him turn away, his form slowly beginning to fade.
"Thank you, Papa," she smiled, her voice hushed and barely above a whisper just then.
Maurice paused just before he vanished completely from her line of sight and turned at the waist to peer at her somewhat sadly over his shoulder. "Just remember, Belle, my love, your heart. It belonged to me first."
Belle sniffed through her tears and wiped at the edge of her reddening nose with the back of her hand and laughed, though thanks to her nerves and fear now welling in her chest that the comforting sight of her father was disappearing, it sounded more like a broken sob.
"Oh, Papa," she whispered, keeping her voice low as her ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. "It always will."
Her father vanished just as the silhouette of a man came around the corner of the darkened corridor outside the barred door of her cell. Belle shirked away and pressed her back as far against the wall as she possibly could as she heard the clanking of keys and the shrieking squeaking of the rusted door creaking open.
The blood drained from her face as she realized it was Gaston, and before she could say a word, Belle let a cry of surprise escape from her lips as without warning, Gaston bounded forward and wrenched Belle to her feet, tugging on a length of the manacled chains that kept her wrists bound.
"Quiet, Belle, first sign of true madness, you know, darling, talking to yourself. If you keep this up, then you may be left in this cage to wither away, like someone dying of starvation or thirst," he growled through gritted teeth, and he let go of Belle's chains after a moment.
Belle let out a little breath she did not realize she had been holding and felt her body sag in relief against the cold stone wall, grateful that Gaston seemingly had not come here to hurt her, but to talk to her. She felt some hope swell in her chest that maybe, there was a chance he could be reasoned with, that not all hope was lost just yet.
"You know where we are, Belle?" he asked, raising the torchlight he held in his hand and bringing the lit torch closer to Belle's face.
Belle scowled and sharply turned her head away, leaving Gaston to bask in her silence and interpreted that as her fear.
"Do you know where we are, Belle?" Gaston repeated, a twinge of impatience seeping to the surface of his voice now.
Belle bit down on the inner wall of her cheek as her nervous eyes scanned the cramped spaces of the cell. When she looked up and into Gaston's lifeless grey eyes, she nearly shivered at the triumphant smirk that was flitting across the handsome hunter's features.
"Of course, you do, pretty Belle, you are not a stupid girl."
He moved away to the closest pillar to free his hands of the torch by putting it on its sconce. Gaston folded his muscular arms across his broad chest and Belle could see the man had changed his clothes before coming here.
No longer dressed in red as he had been before, but now he was clad in the familiar black hunting leathers he wore for his hunts.
"Tell me that you will marry me, Belle, and I will let you out of this cell this instant and we will be free of this wretched asylum."
Belle dared to raise her brows at Gaston as she leaned back her head and pursed her lips, not at all buying the town's handsome hero's words for one second.
"You'd rather hunt the Prince than whisk me away and marry me," she snapped, her temper threatening to rear its ugly head and risk getting her into trouble again, but she could not help herself. This might be her only chance to tell Gaston what she truly thought of him. "You'd truly use me as bait to get the Prince to come?" she asked.
"Yes," Gaston frowned at hearing Belle's words. "Though make no mistake, pretty Belle, you are mine," he growled, and the listlessness in his voice coupled with the possessive way he spoke to her and looked at her, stuffed the chills down Belle's throat. "I will take you as my wife, once our…'furry little problem' is dealt with and his head is mounted on my wall in my tavern back home. And then, you will truly want for nothing, Belle, if that will be any comfort to you at all. You will be happy with me, you'll be with me no, no more fighting, no more of these silly cat-and-mouse games, no more running. I know, in time, however long it takes, that you will feel for me what I feel for you."
Belle's eyes widened as she stared up at the man in horror and abject disbelief. Now it was Belle's turn to stare at Gaston as though the man had lost his mind, and for all, she knew of Gaston, perhaps he had.
Her lips parted as she tried to speak, to tell him how ridiculous he sounded, yet nothing came out except a strangled attempt at speech, at first.
Finally, Belle found her voice and when she did speak, she could not control the trembling note of anger in her tone.
"You are the delusional one, Gaston, if you think I could feel anything for you other than pure disgust after what you've done. Trying to kill the Prince and kidnapping me?! I meant my words outside our house, I will never marry you, not in this lifetime or ever," she snapped, crinkling her nose and she looked away from Gaston. She was not about to be swayed by whatever promises he could make. She knew the man would never keep his word to her, ever.
A shadow of anger passed over Gaston's chiseled features. "Then, Belle, you leave me no choice, my little dove. I can see now, the monster has spelled you. I am beginning to think not even Monsieur D'Arque could treat you. I'm sorry it has to be this way for you, I am. The only consolation to assuage my guilt will be that...if I cannot have you...then neither will your disgusting Changeling Prince," he growled and pulled her forward using the length of chain he held in his hands with surprising speed and with no warning. He reached for his belt and retrieved his knife.
Belle's eyes widened as she saw the size of it and a less-than-dignified whimper escaped the back of her throat. Her body began to violently shake as she tried to take a step back, though Gaston yanked her roughly forward.
Belle swallowed thickly against the slime that was now coating her throat, her body trembling as hard-racking sobs overcame her. She tried to fight them back, but it was of no use. To her horror and fury, she saw Gaston tilt his head to the side and smirk at seeing her fear, and press his blade against the skin of her exposed throat.
A trickle of blood welled against the cold steel of his knife from the slight cut as he applied enough pressure to wound but not kill her. Belle whimpered and squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the pain, against the fathomless cold look in the handsome hunter's blank and menacing pale grey eyes.
"Let me go…ah…" Belle shoved Gaston, against his chest, hard and strong, but it was all for nothing as Gaston held the length of the chain firmly in one hand and his hunting knife in the other. Her breathing had become filled with panic. God, no, oh please no… But her tongue felt like heavy clay on her mouth when she tried to open her mouth to plead with him to have mercy. Black spots began to dance their way into her line of sight, blinding her.
Belle felt her heart sink to the pit of her churning stomach and she tasted bile as she realized that there was no escape. Tears left her eyes as Belle floundered in her horrific failure.
I'm sorry, Your Highness. I wish I…
But Belle could not even finish the thought that ran through her mind as a horrible agonizing pain shot through her side. A cloud of blinding white light erupted behind her closed eyelids, blinding her.
A harrowing scream left her lips and only when she felt something sticky and warm trickle down the sides of her dress did she look to see what Gaston had done.
Belle opened her eyes and glanced down and found Gaston's hunting knife buried in her ribs. She felt tears come to her eyes and she yelped, trying to fumble for the weapon with shaking fingers. Gaston's hand went to cover her mouth, but his hand covered her nose as well, cutting off any hope she might have had of obtaining oxygen.
Tears trailed down her cheeks and she closed her eyes so that Gaston's face would not be the last thing she saw before her soul left this world. She wished she could know what happened to the Prince. If he would be well if the Duke would ever show him an ounce of kindness. She wished she could have told him the truth before the Prince had sent her away. That she thought she could love him if the Prince would but give her a small chance.
But she had not done so, and now, both she and the Prince were as good as dead.
The last thing Belle felt before she slipped into darkness was a wave of unbearable hot shame.
THE path towards the local insane asylum took the three men the better part of the night to reach the outskirts of the lands. The Prince had never seen a more foolish group of guards. Fools, the lot of them, he realized, as the three of them barely had to stay back more than a few hundred feet and stick to the edge of the woods to stay undetected.
It was easy, given that they were under cover of darkness, though dawn would be approaching them in another few hours. The Prince could see movement along the perimeter of the establishment, but he knew when to crouch low.
The three made no noise. The Prince, after spending years in this monstrous Beastly form when the sun went down, knew how to control his height to his advantage. It wasn't uncomfortable for him, he realized, as he moved as swiftly and quietly as he could within the shadows.
Thankfully, Lumiere and the short little man, Monsieur LeFou, were quick to pick up on his movements and trailed closely behind, copying him and doing what they could to make no noise at all.
Brutus had gone ahead of them to scout the perimeter and search for a way into the asylum, preferably by means of a back door, and left the Prince with strict instructions to wait for him.
Monsieur LeFou, for his part, was so lost in thought by how Gaston was slowly losing his mind, that he did not even realize the Changeling Prince had stopped moving once they came to an opening at the edge of the woods.
LeFou ran straight into the Beast's back and nearly called the much taller Monsieur Lumiere to run into him. He jumped back and apologized and waited for the Prince to bark at him, but that moment never came. The Beast seemed too preoccupied. The Beast snorted in agitation and turned his attention back towards the asylum.
His heart pounded loudly in his ears, a loud drumming that drowned out all the other sounds. One look at the skies above his head was more than enough. Dawn was approaching.
He would be a human again once the sun was high in the sky.
The Prince knew he would need to hurry if he wanted to use his monstrous cursed form to his advantage for once in his life. He could hear the short little man and Lumiere speaking to him, but another man's voice coming from the outside of the asylum caught his attention and his ears flicked and perked up at the sound of the hunter's voice.
The Beast's blood burned hot as he slowly turned his head towards the bastard of a hunter who had haunted Belle's footsteps for too long and felt the blood drain from his face as he saw the man who had haunted Belle's footsteps for so long come forward, alone. His steps were calm and measured. He did not run or rush.
He looked as though he had all the time in the world.
Behind him, he heard the collective gasps of Monsieur LeFou and Lumiere.
"Mon Dieu…" Lumiere moaned, his voice cracking and breaking as his servant came to stand beside him, the color gone from his tanned complexion and rendering the handsome blond-haired man now as white as a ghost. "Sir, I—"
But he was immediately cut off by the sound of the hunter calling for the Beast, the man's clipped and curt tone could be heard even through the heavy snow that started coming down. He saw no sign of Brutus.
The Beast spoke gruffly but softly, speaking more towards Lumiere than to LeFou, as both men turned to face him with questioning eyes. It was obvious from the looks in their eyes that they knew the hunter wanted him and him alone. It was a trap. When he spoke, there was a rumble in his voice that he had usually reserved just for the Duke.
It took Lumiere a moment to realize that the rumble in his master's voice was not anger, but fear.
"I do not want you to worry about me, Lumiere, my old friend," the Beast told Lumiere quietly, speaking to him now as the Prince and not the monster. He did not turn to face the golden-haired man yet kept his gaze affixed on the hunter. Instantly, he could feel Lumiere's hazel eyes burning through him, but he did not look. "I will be fine. It is me he wants not you and Monsieur LeFou. The both of you will wait here until this man is dealt with. You will do nothing. Wait for Brutus to emerge. Stay," the Prince growled, his voice as the Beast's was gruff and calloused with ire.
Only when both Lumiere and LeFou nodded and he was sure neither man would attempt to follow, did he turn his gaze away from them and towards the hunter. The Prince angrily stalked forward, hoping that Lumiere and LeFou would do as he commanded and stay put. He had only taken a few steps towards the hunter when the Prince felt his heart stop and leap up into his throat. The Beast turned rage-filled and questioning eyes towards the hunter and vowed that he would suffer for this. He could not stand here and not know of his maid's fate.
She was gentle, a good woman who had suffered enough. He would kill this hunter here and now, and the only way this man would be able to stop him from taking Belle away with him was if he killed him. Blood was in his eyes and his only purpose was to do to this hunter what he had tried to do to Belle in the woods. The Beast felt nearly sick with anger as he lunged as he saw the hunter's little smile and for a moment, he almost forgot that the man had a knife held in his hand. By a miracle, he somehow managed to find his voice, though it was shaking with barely repelled fury as he looked upon Belle's village's handsome hero with no small amount of disgust and contempt.
"Where is Belle?" he snarled. He sniffed and could already feel a shining pressure building behind his eyes at just saying the woman's name. Gaston half-smiled and the man's smile was lecherous. The Prince was torn between the urge to stalk past this man and into the asylum without engaging him or vomit, he could not decide which.
"Dead, Beast. She knew you would come for her. She was past the point of even my help, Prince, or Monsieur D'Arque's. I did her a favor, putting her down and out of her misery, it was only a shame that I could not have helped her sooner before your wicked Changeling magic wormed its way into her heart and mind and corrupted Belle's very soul. She was good, and pure, before she encountered you, Beast, and you, you took my bride away from me, you spelled her," Gaston growled, the man's handsome features twisting and contorting into something truly monstrous as the edges of the man's thin mouth turned down in a frown. "It was my duty, Prince, though it gave me no pleasure, if it means that neither of us can have her, then so be it this way." The Beast's lips trembled.
The Prince heard himself let out a guttural roar, more a Beast than he had ever been before.
The pressure that was pounding against the Prince's head finally exploded, along with a fierce blood roar that nearly shook the tops of the trees itself as he dove at Gaston, tackling the hunter to the ground, much like he had done Father, and without thinking, raised his claw and prepared to strike.
The Beast-Prince had the brief satisfaction of seeing the hunter's grey and lifeless eyes widen in horror as he realized what he would do. Blood filled in the back of his throat as he heard the horrible ripping of his hunting leathers and the splitting of what was likely his ribs—all Gaston's own.
"Don't…please...mercy...have...mercy..." Was all Gaston managed as the Beast raised a paw through the air before the handsome hunter could force out another sound from his choking throat.
"'There is no mercy for this! Please' is not near enough excuse for what you TOOK from me!" he shouted, his bellow nearly causing the ground beneath them to shake. "This is for Belle!" he proclaimed, raising his voice, and drowning out the sound of the hunter's pleas, hoping that Belle, sweet Belle, hopefully, reunited with her parents in Heaven, heard her. The Beast seized a fistful of the man's doublet and tunic and planted a vicious blow to the hunter's jaw with another force to snap his neck. Then another one caught at his nose, another to the man's chest.
The furious Changeling Prince did not even feel a shaking hand on his shoulder, trying to rip him away from killing this hunter here and now. Only when the hand applied enough pressure and began to turn him around did he turn to look and see who was trying to stop it from happening. He looked up and saw Lumiere standing there, green in the face and on the verge of passing out at the devil his master was making of himself.
The master's face, even hidden underneath this thick matted fur, was the most expressive Lumiere had ever seen the Prince in his life. His brows knitted together, his lips parted as if he meant to speak, yet only savage snarls and growls were emitting from the back of his throat, and his blue eyes were a bit wide.
The Prince was looking at Lumiere like his Head of House was insane, and despite the realness of the situation they all found themselves in, it was the first time in Lumiere's mind that the Prince was almost looking….normal.
"Master, please, do not let his blood be on your hands, Belle would not want to see you this way, Your Highness. We need to go. We-we need to find her." Lumiere's voice cracked and broke as he sharply turned his head away.
The Prince yanked Lumiere's arm away and then shoved his servant back, but the gesture was not violent at all.
It was quite clear to Lumiere from the level of force the master had used on him now that he had no desire to harm him, but nor did he have any desire to listen to his advice.
The Prince reeled back and let out another roar as he landed another blow to Gaston's face. The man gurgled and begged for the Prince to show mercy, one bloody hand coming up around his face to feebly try to protect himself.
Lumiere gritted his teeth and leaped forward to try to catch the Prince's arm again, while Monsieur LeFou bounded forward and tried to take the other arm.
The Beast's elbow caught Lumiere in the center of his chest and the poor man staggered backward, the air rocking from his lungs as he was given no time to react. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as he fell backward onto the ground, gasping for air. The Prince stopped immediately. He turned around slightly to stare at Lumiere on the ground, struggling to get to his feet, clutching his chest and white in the face with the effort to stand up.
"M-Master, we need to go," he insisted. "Leave him. He is not worth it. The courts will deal with him, the king will decide his fate."
The Beast looked back towards Gaston bleeding on the ground and would likely die here from his wounds, and then back to Lumiere. Still gasping for air, Lumiere could only think how glad he was that the master had stopped beating this man within an inch of his life the moment he'd realized he'd hurt him. He hoped to use that fact to his advantage and was glad the young Prince had not turned out like the Duke after all and rose to his feet.
The Prince, sensing Lumiere struggling, crouched down immediately, his touch rough yet somehow tender at the same time, and the Changeling Prince stayed close to Lumiere once the man was back on his feet.
Summoning enough strength on his voice to speak in a calm voice that Lumiere did not feel was at all calm, he spoke to the Prince, choosing to ignore the bloody and gurgling mess of pulp that was on the ground by their feet.
The hunter was a bloodied and tangled mess of limbs, now struggling to get up, and seeming to try to speak to LeFou. But LeFou had gone pale and was looking at the hunter with such disgust and he turned away after a moment of staring at the man as though he no longer knew him.
When he spoke to Lumiere and the Prince, the short little man's voice trembled, as though fighting back tears.
"The guards have probably been alerted, Your Highness. We… probably have some time, b-but we need to go now. We—we need to find Belle, a-and…" But LeFou broke off and the Prince did not even flinch as he heard the man sniffle and bury his head in his hands, his shoulders wracking with quiet sobs as he mourned Belle's fate.
It was obvious by the look on the newly married man's face that the monsieur did not want to believe that his best friend could have been so cruel as to take Maurice's daughter's life, simply for the crime of not loving him as Gaston had loved Belle.
Lumiere shot a sympathetic look towards the shorter, stout man and darted forward and grabbed the Prince's hand.
He would have wanted to comfort the poor fellow, and yet, Lumiere could not shake the feeling that time was of the essence. The chill was setting deep into his bones. He did not know, but his intuition was telling him that the lady Belle was still alive, but only just. If they did not get to her soon, then she would die. They just had to get moving.
"Master. Come," Lumiere pleaded and quietly asked that Monsieur LeFou remain outside and guard Gaston. LeFou looked shocked but less so than he expected to be and glanced down at his boots, shamefaced and humiliated that he had ever considered Gaston a friend. He promised he would guard Gaston with his own life and not let him flee.
Satisfied for the moment that the hunter would be going nowhere with as many broken bones as the man probably had, Lumiere tugged on the Prince's furry paw and made to head toward the daunting structure of the asylum.
The Prince somehow managed to follow closely behind his old friend.
As they hurried closer and closer to the building, the pair listened intently for the sound of the guards, all the while praying that they would never come, and praying that they were not too late.
Prince Adam, who had never particularly considered himself a religious man, was surprised to hear himself mumbling an overwhelmed prayer under his breath. He was spurred to continued praying to whoever would listen to him by the small ember flame of hope that was now igniting in his chest. It was fragile and faint, and hardly there, little more than a flicker of hope, but to the Prince, it was more than enough.
He prayed to God and to Mother if she was watching that he was not too late to save her.
He prayed that Belle was not dead. He wanted the chance to tell her how sorry he was, and if she would have him, he would take her into his arms and never let her go. Because...because...
Because he loved her.