BY the time the guards of the asylum were alerted to the Changeling Prince's presence on the premises, it was too late to stop the storm that was coming. The Beast spent his fury at not knowing Belle's face vented in a throng of armored guards that approached him. In every one of their faces, he saw the Duke, his wretched father's face, and he raved a path through the men, as did Brutus the way that a dog would have torn through chicken limbs.
The skin underneath his fur was flushed and hot from both terror and excitement as he peered his way through each of the cells as he stalked his way down the dank and dark corridors, his feet crashing open the doors with the strength of ten men. He roared Belle's name like the savage Beast he knew himself to be at the top of his lungs.
"BELLE! Belle!" But the cell that he had entered was empty though that did not stop the Beast from trashing the small hard uncomfortable cot that barely passed as a bed and from overturning it in the hopes that maybe she could have hidden. He wanted nothing more than to imagine the shock reveling in her dark chocolate eyes once she saw him come back for her, though admittedly not in the way he would have liked, he was keeping his promise.
The Beast was only half aware of Lumiere trailing behind him and beside him, a sallow-faced man who walked with slow and measured steps, much like the hunter had.
For a moment, the Prince had the satisfaction of seeing the wilted old man pale in shock and fear. The man's face was white as if he had seen a ghost. He stammered over his words. The Prince glowered.
"You are D'Arque?" he barked in a hoarse voice, feeling certain he already knew the answer. The old man's lips parted, but no sound came forth. "Where is Belle? A young woman that was brought to your…institution? We've come for her, to bring her back home," he growled, his voice sounding low and dangerous as it rumbled angrily.
The Prince wished that the unpleasant owner of the insane asylum had not heard the edges of his voice breaking, or Lumiere for that matter, who briefly flinched but then had the good sense to look away and his Head of House pretended not to see.
"She is within these walls, monsieur, feel free to search, I cannot stop you, nor will I attempt to. Given your…current mood, I believe it would be unwise," Monsieur D'Arque commanded the Beast coarsely, his voice sounding strangely hoarse. "Kill me here in this cell if that suits you, oh Prince, but if you do, then you will be alone with nothing but these guards whom you so callously slaughtered and my corpse as evidence of your crimes. The king of France himself would have no conscience about ordering your execution. He would cross you off his conscience and not even bat an eyelid." His piece said, he turned on his heels before the Beast-Prince could respond and made to leave, though something about the look of utter defeatism in the man's deep blue eyes nagged at the man and made him pause. Monsieur D'Arque turned at the waist to regard the Beast and Lumiere, both of whom were waiting expectantly for him to speak up. "Maurice was a harmless old man, not in need of coming here, Prince. His daughter was of no trouble either. Despite what you think of me, what you may have heard of my reputation, I would not see his own flesh and blood locked away in here permanently. I would have released her upon learning the truth for myself the young mademoiselle was still sane, but only after speaking to her myself. If Gaston has hurt her, then it is indeed a terrible loss. You have my sympathies. I was watching from the window, hearing him spout off."
Monsieur D'Arque withdrew from the room and the Beast could only stare in horror.
The Prince somehow managed to move his way slowly, but with intent, towards the cell door. He needed to check the last one to the right at the end of the hall. That was the only cell left that neither of them had looked at yet.
Before he could make it two steps forward, he felt it. A sudden thrash of sharp shooting pain in his midsection had him clinging to the bricked walls of the corridor for support. A guttural groan of pain left his throat and the Prince blearily tried to focus his vision a few feet from himself, towards the nearest window. He could see the sun.
He was becoming human again. The wiry furs that now coated his body were beginning to recede, as were the monstrous horns that protruded from the top of his head. He could feel his breathing quickening as he forced himself to remain to stand, using the wall behind him as a support for his back as he took a step towards the last room in this corridor they had not checked, his mind made up.
Belle was returning to the castle with him, and he was not letting her go. He had already been through too much and lost too many people that he cared about in his lifetime. He was not about to lose one more. He would not lose Belle.
The Prince's ragged gasps became agonized screams as his body transformed back into its original human form, the Enchantress's magic tearing through his body with an excruciating force that at first, he thought he was ripping apart. His final torturous scream was replaced by that of his guard, Brutus, barking at the Prince to come into the cell at the end of the hall. Brutus had apparently found something he thought the Prince would want to see.
Lumiere trailed closely behind, his face flushed in both exhilaration and fear as the Prince moved away from the wall.
The Prince felt his feet move of their own accord towards the open door of the cell, his heart in his throat.
"Where is she, Brutus?" he shouted, ensuring his voice carried, and an answer was not about to be denied.
He wanted Belle. Lumiere and Brutus, and any other man here was going to turn over every brick of this building until she was found or so help him, then he—
"Your Highness."
The Prince looked up sharply, fully prepared to warn Lumiere who had just spoken to him that he was not about to be kind to anyone who would deter him from finding his maid, when he discovered what it was that Lumiere was looking at, horror the only spirit left in the younger man's hazel eyes, now tear-filled. Brutus held something in his arms and when the Prince blinked his lids rapidly, hoping that his mind was now playing a sport of his vision and when it did not clear when he realized that what he was seeing was very much real, he came back to himself.
The Prince felt his pupils shrink and disregarding any other care in the world other than the young woman in his guard's arms, he darted forward and removed his entire world which was now motionless in the arms of Brutus.
He quickly drew closer to them and when he moved to stand close enough to Brutus, he reached out and relieved Brutus of the burden of bearing Belle's dead weight in his arms and stared, his mind almost going numb with dread. How could this have happened? How could he have let this happen to Belle?
"Give her to me," he barked, an angry snap to his voice that made both Lumiere and Brutus look up at the Prince in surprise.
"Be careful, Master," Lumiere warned in as gentle a tone as he could manage as the Prince gingerly lifted Belle's limp form from Brutus. "Make sure to support her head."
The Prince angrily met his servant's eyes and shot a fierce look of daggers his way. "I would never harm Belle, Lumiere."
Lumiere pursed his lips, his own expression hardening in response to the Prince's aggression as he met his gaze, but somehow, this time, he did not shirk away.
"I am aware, Master, but we do not know how badly she's hurt. It could be much worse than it looks. If she…if she's still alive, then she needs a doctor immediately. I will find Monsieur D'Arque and see if the man will let us borrow his carriage to take us back to the castle."
Lumiere's voice cracked and broke as the man sharply looked away and motioned for Brutus to follow him outside, mumbling under his breath that they would give the Prince a moment alone with Belle. Only when Lumiere and Brutus were gone did the Prince allow himself to return attention to his maid in his arms.
He flinched, hating the feeling of how almost doll-like she felt in his arms. Far too loose, but it was the coldness of her skin that was terrifying him more than anything else. Belle was already so cold. The Prince let himself fall gently against the wall of the corridor and used the wall as a brace for his back in order to lower himself to the floor.
Once he was on the floor and settled, the Prince shifted Belle's lower body across his thighs and let her head fall back against the crook of his elbow. Lifting one of his hands he reached for one of her wrists to try to feel a pulse, for any signs of life. By God, but Belle looked like Death itself. Her skin had turned a deathly shade of pale, rendering her complexion ashen and almost emaciated, absent of any color at all. He could feel the warm water brimming in his eyes as his eyes made a quick scan of her form and saw the blood seeping through the fabric of her dress from a gaping wound at her side, near her ribs. His chest began to constrict and feel tight.
He tried to vent off the sob that he wanted nothing more than to swallow back down but he knew he could not.
The Prince swore under his breath as his chest heaved and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.
A frustrated and choked sob escaped past his lips. This was not supposed to have happened.
Belle should have never been sent away, if the Duke or that hunter outside had truly meant to kill him then so be it, but he should have stood his ground against Father and demanded that Belle stay.
She would be safe within his castle walls now. Safe and unharmed, not lying here in this wretched dark corridor in some godforsaken hallway, as cold as death and near death if not already dead. Though he was having trouble feeling any faint beating of Belle's pulse as he held onto her wrist, waiting with bated breath to feel it beat again.
A single wretched tear slid down his cheek from the edge of his eye as he raised a trembling hand and smoothed a stray strand of dark hair that had fallen over Belle's right eye. The Prince's mind raced with dread.
How could he have done this to her? Why could it have not been him instead that had been hurt by Gaston?
He thought he would bargain with God Himself and do penance for the rest of his life if it could be him bleeding out from a wound instead of Belle. It was as if he felt every inch of the hunter's knife that had ripped through Belle's body. If it had been his flesh that had been ruptured by the man's knife, then surely it would be far less agony and torture than to see the woman he now knew himself to be hopelessly and separately in love with, dying from it.
He grew desperate and gently, as though Belle were made of the finest of China, shifted her in his arms.
"Stay with me, Belle," the Prince begged her in a hoarse voice as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Don't go where I cannot follow you, Belle." He cradled Belle's face next to his, silently willing some of his strength into her body that he sensed was failing Belle. For one brief moment, the Prince felt a surge of hope flood through his veins as Belle's eyes fluttered open, barely perceptively. He thought she saw him through the haze that was beginning to cloud her vision. She let out a pain-filled whimper as she raised a crimson-stained hand to touch his face.
"Please," the Prince heard himself beg in a shaking voice. Belle's slender fingers lingered on the Prince's cheek and then fell to her stomach, leaving red streaks of her own blood to trickle down the left side of his jaw.
Belle's head fell back against the Prince's arm and her eyelids fluttered closed once more.
"No, Belle!" the Prince roared, his entire body beginning to shake with the force of his plea, as though he thought he could heal Belle that way.
Where's the damned bloody Enchantress when I need her? He thought wildly to himself as his eyes began to fill with fresh tears.
From outside the hall, having come back inside to fetch the master, Lumiere could hear the Prince's hoarse cry of agony over the haunting reverberating cries of the other patients, people who had gone mad, locked in their cages and left in here to spend out the rest of their days.
He arrived at the end of the hall to see the Prince cradling Belle's limp body. His eyes grew wide with shock and alarm and found himself praying that perhaps the Enchantress could heal the young mademoiselle if they could get her back to the castle in a timely manner.
Monsieur D'Arque had assented and allowed the use of his private carriage to take them back to the castle upon agreement of suitable compensation once his carriage was returned to him.
Lumiere knelt into a crouch by the Prince's side, fearing the young lady was already lost to them. Lumiere yelled the Prince's name urgently, the man's name sounding foreign on his tongue.
"Adam!" he called, an edge to his voice that he usually only reserved for young Chip whenever he caught Mrs. Potts' boy misbehaving on the rare occasions he did. He snapped his fingers in front of the Prince's face, but the Prince did not seem to see nor hear Lumiere, having eyes only for Belle, laying still in his arms.
Lumiere called the Prince's name three more times and still, the man did not answer him, his soul already lost and mourning the woman Lumiere now knew the man loved. But it was then that Belle inhaled a deep breath sharply, the mademoiselle's unconscious body beginning to take over and trying to find the strength to keep fighting.
She was still alive.
Feeling Belle's chest weakly rise through her dress and hearing the pitiful rasping gurgles in her throat, the Prince immediately came back to himself and forced himself to rouse from his stunned stupor. It was not over yet.
A half-choked sob tore from his chest as a wave of relief washed over him, renewed tears began to flow down his face, clearing a path in the blood of the Duke and the hunter that marred his face like war paint.
With painstaking slowness, as if in a dream, the Prince took his hand and pressed his palm to Belle's cheek. It was not as cold as it had felt a moment ago, there was some warmth returning to her skin.
Her eyes flickered open and shut, almost barely perceptively, and were misted over. A shuddering breath escaped past her barely cracked lips, and a wave of panic hit him at her reaction to his featherlight touch.
The Prince felt the blood in his veins turn ice cold as Belle's lids fluttered closed.
"Belle!" he shouted, carefully shifting her in his arms, bringing Belle's upper body towards him, not even caring that the blood from the gaping hole in her side stained his leather breeches. The Prince carefully settled Belle against his shoulder and let her lean against him for support while also trying to help her sit upright at least somewhat.
Gingerly, he gave her a firm shake, hopefully enough not to cause any pain, but enough to try to rouse her.
"Open your eyes, Belle, do not go to sleep. No sleeping, not yet, try to stay awake, Belle," he told her urgently.
From somewhere, the Prince could hear Lumiere and Brutus barking at him.
"We need to get her back to the castle, Your Highness, the physician there will know what can be done for her," the Prince heard Lumiere shout.
The Prince did not feel himself nod his head and he did not look up as he gathered Belle gingerly in his arms.
Brutus took the lead, wielding his sword in order to fend off any guards who would attempt to block their path, though they met none along the way.
The Prince could only quickly guess that Monsieur D'Arque had given them leave to let them pass unharmed.
They hurried through the darkened corridors of the asylum and out onto the grounds of the sprawling estate, all the while Belle lay limp and unresponsive in the Prince's arms as he trudged the seemingly endless distance as swiftly and yet as gently as he possibly could.
The sight of Monsieur D'Arque's personal black carriage waiting for them, the horses already tethered and a driver of Monsieur D'Arque's ready to escort them back was a welcome sight indeed. The Prince nodded his thanks as Brutus held the door open and with his and Lumiere's help, he was able to quickly get Belle inside.
However, before he could close the door, the Prince looked up upon hearing his name being called, as Monsieur LeFou scampered over and stated that a few of Monsieur D'Arque's guards were already escorting Gaston back to the castle, where he would be kept caged as a prisoner in a cell below the castle in the dungeons, as Monsieur D'Arque (correctly so) deduced that the Prince would wish to doll out a fitting punishment.
As the Prince held Belle once he was situated inside the carriage, he could not shake the waves of overwhelming guilt that crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He had made the gravest mistake of his entire life.
That much the Prince realized as Lumiere and Brutus settled themselves onto the seat across from him.
But it was Monsieur Lumiere's face that tipped the Prince off to the gravity of the situation and just how serious this all was. The way the older man's mouth twitched, and his normally kind hazel eyes narrowed at the bloodstain on her now-ruined dress. The way Lumiere was looking from the girl in his arms and then back up to the Prince's stricken face coated in blood and dried tear tracts with a mixture of shock and confusion in his eyes, that look spoke volumes about the party Lumiere believed to be responsible for Belle's injuries.
"You think that I did this, don't you, Lumiere, old friend?" the Prince snapped, a harsh bark to his hoarse voice.
Lumiere stiffened. He looked as though he wanted to retort but must have thought better of it upon seeing the stricken look behind the Prince's blue eyes. He vehemently shook his head.
"No, master, of course, I don't," he huffed, agitated. "You are not at fault to blame for this, the fault is with that hunter. For the moment, let's just get her back to the castle and hope the doctor can tend to Belle, Your Highness."
The Prince nodded, grateful for Lumiere's tolerance, and remained silent the rest of the way back to the castle.
It seemed to take them an eternity but the sight of the towering iron wrought gates was a welcome sight indeed when the driver barked orders at the two guards manning it to let them through.
The carriage came to a grinding halt and just the Courtyard itself was bustling as servants darted into the castle, a small handful of them clearly having been laying in wait outside, watching, hoping for any sign of their master's return with the young woman whom most in the castle had grown to consider a friend.
Lumiere barreled out of the carriage while the Prince emerged still carrying Belle in his arms, trailing closely behind.
The Prince's frantic blue eyes searched the Courtyard desperately until he found the only person he trusted more than his own private physician to tend to Belle's injury. It was sure to claim her life if she did not help.
"Witc—Lenore!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, urgency in his voice as he spotted the beautiful blonde Enchantress lingering at the topmost step alongside Mrs. Potts, her expression taut and looking quite worried.
The Enchantress looked up, startled to hear her name on the young Prince's lips, expecting that the Prince himself was wounded, but the expression on the Changeling Prince's face was direr than if he had been the one whom Gaston had hurt. But then, the witch flicked her gaze to the unconscious figure the Prince held in his arms and determination blazed to life behind her sky-blue eyes as she darted down the stone steps, Mrs. Potts behind her.
"Oh, my goodness! Your Highness, wh-what on earth happened?!" Mrs. Potts exclaimed, turning pale as she clamped a hand over her mouth upon seeing how badly the poor thing was injured.
She turned panicked and tear-filled eyes towards the Prince. It took him a moment to find his voice as Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth who came barreling down the steps with Laure, came to stand behind her, their expressions terrified.
"Someone stabbed her, Mrs. Potts, he hurt her, she…I…this...this is all my fault," the Prince bemoaned softly, unsure how much to say to the Enchantress, who was already kneeling at the waist slightly to inspect the wound within Belle's ribs. The Prince bristled and gnashed his teeth together as if it pained him himself to watch as the witch's slender fingertips poked and prodded the mess of her ribs. But the Enchantress's hands seemed skilled enough as she straightened her posture, and the Prince's heart was in his throat to see the beautiful witch was now frowning.
"It would seem, young Prince, you are in need of a healer's touch," the Enchantress murmured thoughtfully, a twinge of concern in her quiet voice. She turned her gaze towards the Prince. "She will die, Your Highness, her wound is already becoming infected," the Enchantress announced gravely, her expression as grim as a gravestone.
"No!" the Prince shouted through the tears he could no longer hold at bay as he lost all attempts to control his demeanor around the Enchantress, and any of his staff who might see him in a vulnerable moment of weakness. "Please, please, you have to help her," he begged, his voice trembling. "I will do anything you ask of me, anything that is within my ability to do or give you," the Prince promised frantically.
The Enchantress lifted her gaze and locked eyes with the Prince, studying the stricken man's pleading expression for a moment and taking special consideration to the tears now streaming down his ashen cheeks.
Then, she seemed almost pleased with her silent deduction. She looked deep into the Prince's troubled blue eyes and reached out to touch his left shoulder.
The Prince stiffened as he felt a sudden current of warmth pass between the witch's fingertips and into his own flesh. The Enchantress patted his arm.
"Bring her inside then, I will do what I can for her," she ordered and stood back while the Prince curtly nodded and swiftly carried Belle up the steps.
The Prince was grateful Mrs. Potts and Laure led the way, with Monsieur Cogsworth stopping a pair of passing frantic maids in the hall and ordering them to fetch pails of hot water, clean rags, anything else that might be needed to aid Belle in the mending of her wounds and the recovery process that was to follow. The Enchantress motioned the Prince to set her down on his own bed after the Prince instructed her to climb the steps of the Grand Staircase.
Belle would be staying in his own chambers within the West Wing from this moment henceforth.
The Enchantress wasted no time in rushing to Belle's side, waving her wand and causing a small wooden side table to appear magically at her side, alongside an assortment of what looked like medical instruments and jars and vials of various foul-smelling concoctions the Prince did not even want to know what they were. Bile rose in his throat as he had eyes only for Belle, who looked dead than alive. Her skin had faded from the loss of blood, her complexion now having taken on an ashen tinge that the Prince did not like, and her chest was barely rising and falling.
The Prince darted towards Belle's side and clung to her left hand, fresh tears welling in his eyes as he already was imagining how a gold wedding ring would look on her finger, and how now, thanks to this being his fault, he might not ever get that chance to one day make Belle his Princess and call her his wife.
She would have been a Princess the people of the realm could have been proud of, the Prince thought bitterly to himself, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Save her, Lenore, please," the Prince whispered desperately as he reached for Belle's hand and gave the delicate appendage a light squeeze.
All the Enchantress could do was nod her head, and pray that her magic coupled with her knowledge of healing, would pull the inventor's daughter through the worst of her injuries. The Prince steeled himself, planning to remain right by Belle's side through whatever surgery the Enchantress had in mind that would save her life, no matter how tortuous it would be for him to watch. But within moments, he was nudged out of the way by Mrs. Potts, the castle's own physician, and a few maids who were hurrying to comply with the witch's quiet requests for help.
Suddenly, there was barely any room for the Prince to stand even flush against the wall of his room, and Prince Adam could barely see Belle through the crowd now gathered at her bedside.
"Please, Prince Adam," the Enchantress requested, not once looking up from her work. "I understand that you worry for this girl, but for the moment, I would kindly ask that you wait outside the room. I need the space to work."
The Enchantress shot Mrs. Potts a look and the elderly Head of House scurried forward, taking hold of the Prince's upper arms and beginning to drag the master of the castle towards the wide open double oak doors of the Wing.
But the Prince fought Mrs. Potts the whole way.
"Let go of me, Mrs. Potts, I—I need to stay with her!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, terrified to leave Belle's side for even a second.
The Enchantress turned on her heels slightly to face him, a saddened look forming to life behind her eyes.
"Your Highness," she began gently, her catlike green eyes apologetic. "You cannot stay. I do not think the girl would want you to see her this way. And I do not have the time to argue. Out." She gestured with a curt wave of her wand towards the open door. "Now, Adam."
A cold chill washed over him as he knew that he did not want to leave Belle's side. Not like this. He had already sent her away once, and what if something else happened to her, something that not even the witch's magic could cure? What if Belle was not here when she had need of him the most? What if she…and he was not here to say goodbye?
No. No, he could not just leave her, not when Belle needed him most.
"Master!" Mrs. Potts' voice was uncharacteristically sharp and it was enough to pull the Prince out of his stunned stupor as he reluctantly tore his gaze away from Belle lying so close to the brink of death on the bed and towards his Head of House. Her expression was stern and both of her hands rested on her hips. "There is nothing you can do for the poor dear at this point, Your Highness. What you can do now is go downstairs and allow the lady Lenore to heal Belle. Why don't you go to the kitchens, Laure and I will see what we can do about getting you a spot of something to eat and get you in front of a fire, you're chilled to the bone." Her lips pursed in disappointment as she sighed.
The Prince hesitated, fretting in place and nibbling on the wall of his mouth as his nervous gaze flitted from the Enchantress to Belle and then back to the witch again. The indecision to go or to stay was gnawing at him like a starving rat and eating away at his very heart and soul.
"Please, Prince." The Enchantress tried again, this time in a much softer, more subdued tone. "Believe it or not, I understand what it is you are going through. But the best thing you can do for Belle now is to leave and try to let me help her."
"I…Very well," the Prince snapped, feeling his temper surge at the thought of being sent away. "I will wait outside. I do not care to witness whatever magic you intend to use," he snapped, his tone defeated and close to tears. In fact, he was not aware that tears were already streaming down his face the longer he let his gaze rest upon Belle's face.
The Prince nodded and darted towards the bed before either the Enchantress or Mrs. Potts could stop him, kneeling by her side and taking her hand in his and pressing her bruised knuckles to his lips in a gentle kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster. His breath felt thick in his lungs, and his heartbeats had slowed as though the feeble quivering muscle within his chest was now somehow connected to Belle's own.
He stared down at her motionless frame on the bed and thought of all the things he wished he had told her.
A single tear slipped from his chin onto the fingers he now held in his hand. Unable to bear the distance between them but knowing he would need to leave, the Prince raised his face to Belle's and placed a soft kiss on Belle's lips.
He reluctantly let her hand fall and draped it over her stomach, bending at the waist slightly to brush aside a few wisps and stray strands of her dark hair away from her face. He whispered lowly into the shell of Belle's ear words that were meant for Belle and Belle alone.
"I will be here when you wake up, Belle. I promise. I will not break my word to you ever again. You are home now."
The Prince forced himself to turn away and walk out of the room on shaky legs that felt as though they could barely support his own body weight. He gingerly closed the door behind him, but before he closed it all the way shut, he cast a nervous look back over his shoulder towards Belle lying on the cot. For a moment, time itself came to a grinding halt. Nothing else mattered but her. But it was now time that Belle had to fight against and fight it alone.
As he shut the door behind him and leaned against the oak panel, trying to sense Belle on the other side, the Prince found himself paralyzed and unable to move a muscle. Using the door's panel as a support brace for his back, the Prince let himself slide to the floor as he exhaled slowly, utterly exhausted.
As he sat there, huddled against the door, he wondered how in the hell it had come to this.
How, in such a short time span, the one person whom he cared for the very most was about to be ripped away from him if the Enchantress could not save her?
Belle did not deserve any of this. She was a good woman, a gentle soul who had suffered enough. She should never have been sent away and she should never have had to feel such pain from that hunter.
Belle deserved the finest things that this world could offer her.
She deserved a life of comfort and peace. Love and kindness.
And yet, all that she had known since she had come to his castle to escape the man who had very nearly killed her was even more pain and strife at his and Father's hand. By daring to harbor even an ounce of affection towards him and dare he even hope for her love, it had very nearly caused her death. He had done this to his maid.
This was his fault.
Because he had not been steadfast and strong in his determination that Belle not be sent away from his side, because he had been too much of a coward to stand up to the Duke initially, she had paid the price for his cowardice. He drew in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as he buried his head in his hands. His shallow breaths only worsened as time seemed to drag on in the desolate corridor. Pieces of his long blond locks were sticky every which way as they tangled in his fingers which still bore traces of the hunter's blood.
The thundering of his heart against his ribs numbed Prince Adam's chest, and the Prince was sure that slick tears would slip from the edges of his eyes at any given moment.
The poor man was nearly hysterical and ridden with guilt at what he'd done to the woman he loved.
He tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid. He kept his head remained pressed into his hands as his lungs were calming down slightly, the burning tightening feeling slowly subsiding. He truly was a monster, a Beast in every literal sense of the word. He had almost caused the woman he had come to be hopelessly and helplessly in love with over these last several weeks to meet a wretched fate that not even his worst enemy deserved.
That fate had been sealed by Lumiere when he'd stepped on the marble that had contained Father's soul within it.
She still may meet a similar fate, the Prince thought.
An abrupt bitterness wormed its way into the pit of his stomach just then. He hated himself and he knew that if this day ended with Belle ascending to the Heavens, then he would follow her there by the tip of his own hunting knife, he vowed. He thought these swirling tempests of thoughts as he leaned his head back against the door and tiredly closed his eyes. Bitter tears streamed down his face that he did not even make the effort to hide.
He had no strength left within anymore. He kept his eyes closed as he leaned against the door to the West Wing, arms folded across his chest, guarding it.
Monster. That's all you'll ever be, a vicious damned bloody Beast, and the woman within, Belle will never love you for what you've done to her. Monster. Beast.
He repeated the insult in his mind over and over again as if it were the only word that he knew, until an uneasy sleep claimed him, that one word ringing in his ears and permeating his thoughts in sleep.
Beast.
It was at least an hour before the Enchantress walked through the doors of the West Wing, finding him in front of the door. The witch's face showcased the exhaustion she would not let her body feel for several hours yet to come.
The Prince rose after she jostled him awake with a start, unsteady on his feet. He was almost afraid to try to read the witch's expression.
"Belle! H-How is she, Lenore?" he asked, fear shadowing his hopes that Belle would live.
The Enchantress looked at him, her green eyes shadowed and heavy with fatigue.
She took a deep breath and delivered the news.
"Belle is well. She made it through my surgery," she reported calmly, a cautious smile finding her cheeks as she watched the Prince dissolve in relief and moved forward to embrace her, and nearly swept the witch who had cursed him off her feet. Lenore smiled, happy that she could bring good news
However, she was still cautious of allowing Belle to be delved into too much anxiety while she healed, as her magic was only capable of so much.
"She is not out of the woods yet, Your Highness, though she is awake and has asked to speak to you, and there is a risk of infection if she becomes too delved in anxiety while her injury heals, sir," she warned. "It was a serious wound, your maid is lucky to be alive. It will take time to heal. At least a month, I would advise her to take it easy and not to walk about much."
The Prince nodded in understanding, his lips twitching as he fought back a soft smile.
While he was sure Belle would hate being confined to bed rest for such a lengthy amount of time, he suspected once he pointed out she could use that time to read as many books as she wanted while she healed, she would not care to be pulled from the West Wing save to eat her meals.
The Enchantress smiled. "You're free to go in. She's asking for you. I am headed down to the kitchens to check on the others and see if they need my help with anything. I will tell one of your servants to send up a tray of something hot for you, you need it, Prince," she nodded, stepped back and away from the door, and allowed him to step inside.
The Prince exhaled a shaky breath to steady himself, his handsome features twisting into a pained grimace as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He turned the handle and pushed the heavy oak door of his chambers open with a swift motion. Without looking back, he disappeared into the darkness of his room, to be by the side of the woman he now knew himself to be hopelessly and desperately in love with.
Belle, his Belle.