Belle felt a cold rush of wind blowing right through to her bones, and than through those, too, as if she were made of nothing, simply floating senses upon the breeze. When her self crashed back into her body, she was warm again, hot, burning up, as her self struggled to squeeze back inside her skin where it belonged. She opened her eyes, now that she could, and amidst the white dots that hovered along the edges of her vision, she could just make out the drawbridge of a strange castle, lowering of its own accord. When the iron-studded wood slammed down near her feet, she staggered back a few paces, shaking her head and hands to reassure herself that they were real.

Rumpelstiltskin gripped her forearm, kept her from toppling altogether. "The transportation can be a little jarring, if you aren't used to it."

She pulled her arm away, brushed her fingers along the hilt of her sword on instinct, for its metallic comfort-grateful she hadn't lost it along the way. "Oh, why thank you for the warning beforehand," she said sardonically. Now that her eyesight had cleared, Belle squinted through the darkness. The castle was gray stone, resplendent in its twisting towers that jutted into the sky and tall, black windows that reflected the moonlight in their glass panes. From the outside alone, Belle could see that it was far taller and more elaborate than the simple hall of her home.

Home. She missed it already, the word alone pulling at her limbs and urging her to fight, to murder the fiend on his own front lawn and flee. But no, she made a promise. I shall keep it, for more than five minutes, at the very least.

He bowed, and she glared. "Right this way, dearie." He did not touch her again, to Belle's relief, as he led her across the drawbridge. Belle hazarded a glance into the moat. Water, clear and pristine, no sign of anything foul or monstrous, to her surprise. Rumpelstiltskin followed her gaze. "Stay away from the water. It'll melt your skin at the very touch," he said.

The drawbridge snapped to a close behind them as they entered, and torches along the wall lit themselves with purple flame with every step they took forward. The antechamber was wide, but plain, and all of damp stone. There were doors here and there, and Belle wondered where they all led.

"Through here." He gestured theatrically to a set of wooden double doors at the very back of the chamber, carved with ornate patterns. Rumpelstiltskin allowed Belle ahead of him now, as she pushed one of the doors open. She felt nervous with him at her back, having been taught to always keep an enemy in her eyesight-then again, if he had wanted to attack her, he likely would have done it by now, she told herself.

The main hall was smaller, somehow more cozy, with walls painted a deep, royal red, that peeped out amongst dozens of painting and tapestries, the like of which Belle had never seen in Anglia. The floor were covered in thick, lush carpet that matched the walls, save for some curving designs of golden plant-life weaved into the fabric. An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling, made of thousands of shards of glass that lit the room. A table of ebony sat in the center of the room, not unlike her father's-now Gaston's-war table, save for the fine material. A few cabinets full of jumbled items were scattered about too, and a spinning wheel in the corner, with a mound of straw beside it. The whole place smelled of straw, really, she realized. Fresh straw and hot tea, too.

"So you really do spin straw into gold, then?"

"Didn't think the stories were true?"

Belle shrugged. "For someone supposed to be all-powerful, I assumed the task of spinning was likely a little foolish." She leaned against the table, hoped she was making a mess of it with her filthy gown. Then she remembered, I'll have to clean it, won't I? and she straightened abruptly. "So, what now?"

Rumpelstiltskin's dark eyes roamed over her, unreadable in intent. Finally, he wrinkled his nose and waved a hand at her. "A bath, maybe. And a change of clothes wouldn't kill you, either."

"Do I have a room? Or shall I find a suitable dungeon?" She felt herself challenging him, or at least attempting to; she couldn't help it, searching for a reason to fight, to despise the Dark One even more than she already did.

He simply raised his eyebrows. "You're an insolent little thing, aren't you?"

"As I recall, our deal required no stipulation about niceties."

He took a step closer to her, and though he was not a large man, he was taller than Belle. Even so, Belle had felled ogres nearly thrice his size before. There was that tongue again, red and reptilian as he moistened his lips. His breath was hot on her face as he hissed, "That goes both ways, dearie. Catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and all that, yes?"

Belle pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Can you...please...show me to my room?" But she could not entirely mask the hard edge of her voice.

Still, her attempt at some manner of politeness seemed to please him. He drew back. "Upstairs." He pointed to the circular staircase in the corner opposite the spinning wheel's. "And at the end of the corridor. You'll find everything you need in there."

Her curiosity overcame her hostility, and Belle asked, "Did you know I would come back with you? Plan ahead, did you?"

"I suppose I had a feeling." The mangle-toothed grin he gave her almost made Belle cringe.

...

Belle's own room was finer than any room of her father's modest castle-and far, far finer than the room she had lived in, up until this morning. The bed was large enough for at least five people-although Belle knew she wouldn't be sharing it-covered in a spread of green velvet edged in gold. There were at least a dozen pillows, too, of all shapes and sizes, that she found to be rather impractical. One window, or at least what Belle assumed to be a window, was blanketed by a long shroud that she could not pull open, despite how much she tugged. That will be something to tackle another day, she told herself. Through a door she found a smaller chamber, this one all gleaming white tile, in which sat a glittering marble tub, full of water. Steam rose from the surface, and it smelled of mint and lilac.

"A hot bath," she murmured. "What a luxury. Must be the magic."

She unstrapped her sword from her waist, leaned it against the door, wedged underneath the doorknob. There were no locks on either her bedroom door nor this one, and she did not like to take any chances. Once she felt more secure, she shed her boots and dress before she eased herself into the tub's depths.

Belle scrubbed away the dirt and blood of her homeland with a certain sadness, realizing she would never feel them against her skin again. The salt-tinged sweat of battle melted away, too. She longed already for the lukewarm baths of home, in her own cold, bare room, even with Gaston there, averting his eyes as he allowed her to order him about. No matter how much finery Rumpelstiltskin's castle was fraught with, it would never be truly comforting to her, she knew.

I can never find comfort in anything but a foe's blood on my sword, she thought, and briefly considered her new host. But that seems unlikely now.

...

She nearly tripped over the hem of her new gown as she descended the stairs, so Belle hiked it up high in her fists for the rest of the way, grumbling under her breath.

"Dress fits well then?" Rumpelstiltskin called from below.

"Is this truly the simplest attire you have to offer me?" Belle huffed, gesturing at the foolishly ostentatious garment. Yet, somehow, it managed to be less foolishly ostentatious than the other dresses in her new wardrobe. The gown was the color of sunshine, and left her shoulders bared for the world to see. Its full skirt, thick with tulle and silk, fell far below her feet once Belle released it from her grip. Her damp hair had already begun to dry in frizzy curls that danced along her back, and the expression on her face was absolutely indignant. "How am I supposed to clean your damn castle in this? Or move around, for that matter?"

Rumpelstiltskin sprawled in at his dining table, his dragonhide coat slung over the back of his chair. Amusement toyed at the corners of his mouth. "No use in having an ornament that isn't pretty to look at, dearie."

Belle bit back an angry retort.

"You're even nicer-looking underneath that grime than I had imagined. Not your father or mother's doing, I'm afraid. Perhaps the magic that helped you out of womb did the trick?" He giggled at his own joke, then peered closer at his prize. "Still wearing that sword?"

She had re-belted her sword and sheathe on the outside of the gown, even though she knew it made her look even sillier than the gown alone. "Of course."

"There's nothing to fear in the Dark Castle. No need for a sword."

"I don't carry my sword out of fear. It's for protection," she said.

Like a snake, Rumpelstiltskin rose from his chair and began to slither around Belle, circling her like some sort of prey. "Protection from what, dearie?"

If Belle had ever allowed herself to be prey, she would have cowered before this predator. But Belle was no mouse. "Protection from you," she said firmly, unwavering. "Should you force my hand. But, as you said earlier, you would like our dealings with one another to be as cordial as we can manage, did you not?"

He paused for a moment, exhaled. "Yes, I suppose I did," he said, with a hint of disappointment, and slumped back into his chair. "Tea things are in the cabinet behind you. If you wouldn't mind fetching me a cup."

Belle nodded. The cabinet opened at her approach, and she rummaged through the clutter of papers, candlesticks, and an assortment of colorful salt shakers until she spotted the porcelain tea set in the very back.. In spite of the dust, Belle could make out a simple pattern of a few blue flowers painted onto each individual item. The teapot, she found, as she retrieved it from the cobwebs, had filled itself with hot water merely at her touch. She wiped the dust from one of the cups on the edge of her skirt-which brought her a mild sense of self-satisfaction-and brought teapot and cup back to the table.

"Do you have any-" Belle began.

"Tea makes itself. Magic, and all that." He waved a hand dismissively.

"So everything here operates on magic then?" Belle asked, as she poured Rumpelstiltskin a cup of tea. "Not sure why you need me to clean then, if the magic should take care of it itself."

He cleared his throat. "There are other things you could do for me, if you so object to the cleaning." His voice was low and sly, and it took Belle only a few second to catch his meaning.

Her face flushed a bright shade of pink, and before she could stop-that warrior instinct-she found herself hurling the teacup-full of hot tea-straight at Rumpelstiltskin's smirking face.

He ducked, of course, with the grace of a feline, and the cup fell to the floor behind him as the tea bled into the carpet. When he raised his head, his smirk had grown wider. "That was merely a quip, dearie, although I appreciate your virulent response."

Belle blushed harder now, clenched her hands into fists at her side. "What a comedian you are, Rumpelstiltskin," she muttered.

He bared his teeth at her, only on the very edge of friendliness. "So glad to amuse you, princess. My tea, now, if you please."

She walked past him, careful to keep her distance, to retrieve the cup. The carpet was soft and had eased its fall, so rather than being broken into several pieces-as it would have been if it had reached its intended target-only a sliver had broken off, instead. Shrugging, Belle refilled the cup with tea, set it in front of her new master. "There's your tea," she said. "Happy?"

He picked it up. "It's chipped," he said, though he took a sip from it, anyway.

Belle rolled her eyes. This is my life now, forever. "It's just a cup."