A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the amazing reviews and follows and everything! It makes me so happy to hear people enjoy reading, and because people seemed so interested in what was going to happen in the stories, I wrote this chapter up today because I was inspired myself! So, thank you everyone for your gracious reviews, and if you are inclined to continue, please do! I hope you all enjoy this installment!
"The lady is first," Rumpelstiltskin trilled, pretending to bow from his seat with a flourish.
Belle giggled and nodded, accepting that she would have to start this little game, and was glad that she was not inclined to lie on the first pass. "What kind of story would you like to hear?"
"One in which you are a fool, dearie," he grinned, glints of deviousness, crossing his arms across his chest and looking down at her. She perched still, inclining her head to the side, trying to think of an instance n which she was a fool. She was about to open her mouth, but he cut off, "and it cannot be anything since you have been here."
So the teacup debacle was out.
Her mouth clamped shut for a moment and she frowned. "You desire to make my life difficult," she accused, and he raised his eyebrows at her – clearly challenging. Though, he did not deny. And she smirked, just slightly, "As I endeavor to do the same." His eyebrows lowered and expression neutralized. That was clearly what he had been looking for.
But, she let out a deep breath and mulled over in her mind once again, any semblance of a story she could think of. When it popped into her head, a memory so vivid she was surprised it did not just leap right out of her mind, Belle began to laugh. "I'm no mind reader, dearie," he was very clearly hiding a grin, and Belle shook her head.
"When I was fifteen years old – do not ask how long ago that was," his mouth shut, "my father and I traveled, for the first time. I had never left our humble little kingdom before, and there was a ball – morbid thing, really, a celebration for the lost princess with the golden hair…" she shrugged, pursing e rips in thought, "They started holding the ball every year on the anniversary of her disappearance, Father told me it was because they hoped beyond reason that their golden haired girl would show up at one – but it had been going on for nearly eighteen years at that point."
She looked up at him and he did not appear amused, "But, you are not here for a court history lesson," she smiled, "and I did not concern myself so much with the lost princess. I was still a princess, however provincial, and Father decided it would be good for me to go – he had been advised it was time I started to amass suitors," she made a face, scrunching her nose and Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "So, the maids packed my trunks and our guards accompanied us on the week's journey."
This was an impossibly long story, she realized as she was telling it- but he was smirking, generally indicating his amusement, and Belle could do nothing but continue. "When we arrived at the palace, I knew I was not in my element, so to speak. The day gowns of most of the other amassed royals were far more luxurious than even my most ornamented ball gown – and my hair… oh, if you could have seen the arrangements and decorations of theirs next to my simple curls," she shook her head, "I was a veritable tragedy in a dress." He nodded in agreement and she shot him a look that only increased the brilliance of his terrible smile.
"Whatever the case," she cut at him, pausing with her eyes locked on his before smoothing out her skirt and continuing, "I muddled through small talk and was horrid at parlor music – my harp skills are… devastating…"
"As is your singing," he pointed out, finally breaking in with a comment he seemed to be dying to make the whole time.
Belle frowned again and rolled her eyes, "Yes, that too," she huffed, "but a sweet, albeit it perhaps as wayward as I was girl, I believe Winifred was her name, took pity on me and at least had me dressed properly for the ball. I felt silly, of course, in what felt like miles of horrible, yellow silk with those ridiculous paniers, and all the powder, not to mention the ridiculous painted on mole – I looked like an iced cake and I couldn't even walk in the pinch-toed shoes she gave me, but Father looked so proud, even if he was humble looking compared to the others, and he accompanied me to be presented to the King and Queen – dreadfully sad looking pair, but they were pleasant enough."
"I won't bother you with many details over the course of the evening –merely that I was perhaps the worst dancing partner and by the middle of the evening, I was sneaking away to the garden to avoid anymore humiliation. So, as I was sitting on the edge of the garden maze –my shoes off my feet, but hidden under the millions of layers of skirts and whatever else," they both shared a laugh, "it turns out I was not alone!" She tried to hide her grin as she looked at him, leaning forward, intrigued by her tale.
She let the pause hang in the air, and he frowned, "Well, who was it?" he asked impatiently, his foot was tapping and he leaned in a little closer.
Belle looked up at him with a triumphant, but cryptic smile. "Do not rush me," she chided and lifted her chin, looking away. She pretended to have to think about what she was going to say next and he grumbled under his breath. Belle felt a surge of pride. "As I was saying," she cleared her throat, "outside there was a young man with dark hair and a deep green waistcoat – he had removed his overcoat – and he was staring intently into the fountain. Curiosity got the best of me, as it is wont to do," She wrinkled her nose at him and his lip quirked to the side, just a tad, "so I slipped the horrid shoes back on and started toward him, hoping to be in the company of someone as miserable as I was – well, as I called out, well, he tipped forward and splash!" her hands flew out as she excitedly got to the detail, making the sound of water to accompany the emphatic gesture with a laughter, "he fell face first into the fountain and – oh," she turned her head down and put her hand on her forehead, shaking her head with laughter – ridiculous story this was.
"He hit his head, flailing all over – all elbows and arms," she continued trying not to laugh, "so – there I was, silk gown and all, leaning over the edge of the fountain, trying to pull the thoroughly soaked and helpless duke or baron or whatever he might have been, and because the dress was so cumbersome and I wasn't used to the shoes, I lost my balance and," she threw out her arms again, repeating the splashing sound, dissolving into a fit of giggles at the thought, "dripping wet and smudged, I managed to sit up and the look on his face!"
Rumpelstiltskin shifted in his seat, "Who was it?" he asked, and Belle smiled.
"Who do you think it was?" she queried in response, hoping to make him guess or reveal that he knew something already. He seemed like the type that would not miss a ball. Plus, the way he looked at her, it was like he had heard it already – or had seen it, watched it himself. And he raised his eyebrows at her.
"Dearie, how would I know who you managed to scare into such a state he dove into a fountain?" he smirked, knowing he ruffled her feathers – he got the same smirk whenever he did and Belle scooted closer, turning her body so she could face him directly, looking up into his face, leaning up as he leaned down. She was suddenly made aware of how close they truly were. But she tilted her head, scrutinizing his eyes, she could not make it out.
"That is not the story I told," she corrected him, "I am hardly a scary individual, at least not at first glance," she added with a teasing smirk. He put his hand on his chest, as though he was shocked by her confession, though it was all in jest, and she smiled. "One guess, and then I'll tell you." They were still so close, she could practically feel the vibrations of his heat coming off his face. Her lips parted a little and she breathed just a little deeper.
He sat back and the vibrations stopped. Belle felt unsettled and her heart was beating so fast. She was glad for the break in the story for him to guess. She felt as though she would have been tongue tied. Even still, that sensation wasn't bad, and she inched just a little closer, hoping to get it back – but he was leaning back on the stool stroking his chin with thought. "Based on the inclination toward a fountain and the green," he licked his lips, "I'd place my bets on that silly – what was his name? Prince Nathan?" he shook his head, "No, no. Naveen was it?" he smirked. She could see in his expression – he already knew.
Belle swatted at his knee and she wrinkled her nose. "You were there, weren't you?" she asked accusingly. Her glare was only half-hearted and he finally betrayed himself fully with a grin.
"Dearie, I never miss a party," he informed her with a faux-haut glance, his voice trilling with the most ridiculous accent he had used to date. "And might I say, your description of yourself is lacking in one particular facet, I do recall a rather hideous shade of pink," he leaned forward, examining her face with scrutiny, his eyes flicked down to her lips, "paint on your lips. You were a fool, indeed." Neither of them laughed.
They sat still for a moment, and then Belle reacted. She reached up and with one finger pushed at the tip of his nose, pushing him back. He did not resist, not at all. And her expression softened, "Your turn."
"Now, now, that does not seem like the end of the story," Rumpelstiltskin wagged his finger at her.
"It is," she shrugged simply, not in the mood to tell her story anymore. Her stomach suddenly felt unsettled. She didn't know what was wrong, but she felt strange. "I want to hear about something no one knows about you – one of your secrets."
"If I told you," he immediately cut in, "it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" he didn't smile at this, and his tone was flat.
"Who am I going to tell?" she asked, a hint of innocence in his voice, though an underlying understanding of the fact she was living in isolation. "I want to know you, Rumpelstiltskin," she started to plee gently, lifting one hand to his knee, resting it there. She could feel her pulse in her temples.
He looked at her sharply. There was harshness in his dark eyes and his nostrils flared. "Secrets, m'dear," he drawled in a low rumble, "are kept for a reason. Ask something else." It was not a request and he would not relent, he never did.
Belle lifted her head high. "I get a secret, or you owe me." She licked her lips, she was not in the business of relenting either. They sat there in silence, that vibrating sensation was back, like a rope being pulled between the two of them. Either way, it would snap in her favor, she reasoned. And he stood abruptly, shattering the illusion.
"Those are not the term we agreed to," he said tersely. He took his deal making seriously, but Belle was not cowed by his growling or attempts at intimidation. It was not going to work on her.
She grabbed her book from the floor, desiring something to hold onto and ground her while she spoke the imp with a serious mood swing. "I set the terms, and you refuse to fulfill my request. I fulfilled yours," she accused, looking up at him. She did not feel the need to stand – and was certain her knees would quake and her voice would shake – at least from this position she could retain her tone.
He put his hands behind his back, but she could hear the wringing. He was frustrated. "I refuse."
"Omission is as damning as a lie," Belle countered, her face hurting from the strain of looking at him and feeling disappointed and frustrated at him as well. It was not as though she asked how she might kill him or something of the sort – she just wanted a glimpse into a facet of him no one else had explored. Her cheeks flushed and she could not recall a moment in their entire acquaintanceship (it seemed like more than that, but friendship did not encompass it either…) that was this tense.
"If that is the case," he sneered, "My secret is that you have been the most useless deal I have made in as long as I can remember." He lashed out like this before, and Belle sighed.
"As though that is a secret," she snorted at his assertion and looked up at him. "Besides, she looked into his angry face. "You're lying."
The words hung in the air between them and neither moved a muscle. "I am not," he retorted with a heavy tone of offense in his voice, his lip curled and eyes trained on her like she was some kind of hobgoblin. Well, she was no such thing and he was in denial.
"You are," she nodded, "Infuriating, perhaps. Maybe even troublesome, but useless? Certainly not." His face fell and she realized she had caught him. He was such a master of words, but when he was angry, he was swayed to less logical turns of phrase. He should have known by now that Belle, with all of her reading and court experience was also a wordsmith of sorts, and he had been outclassed because of his own temper.
"I am in debt then, it seems," he said with bitterness laced through every word, and turned on his heel to exit the hall. His boots clicked ominously, and the doors shut behind him with a resounding thud. It occurred so quickly that Belle's head spun.
Somehow, after the moment of pride that she had outwitted the Rumpelstiltskin, the victory seemed hollow.