The next few days passed quietly, with something like the tentativeness of someone afraid to wake a baby. For the time being, there was a feeling of delicate peace in the castle. Belle didn't mind the quiet. It gave her a chance to at last regain her bearings and recover from all of the upheaval her life had recently acquired. Her lip and cheek were swollen from where Gaston had struck her and her face discolored from a large bruise, but beyond this she was intact, at least physically.
Belle considered her current situation. She reviewed her options, none of which were ideal. She could again try to return to her village, she doubted the prince would do much to stop her at this point, but she would be a fool to return alone with Gaston still nursing a grudge against her and obviously dangerous. She could still ride for her aunt's home a few villages away, but she hated the thought of dragging yet another loved one into the mess she had created. Fiercely independent, it was against her nature to go running for help. She preferred to solve her own problems. If she remained at the castle, it may be possible for her to gain influence over the prince. With his support, perhaps she could yet salvage the situation and have her father return none the wiser. She had no idea if she could ingratiate herself to the prince, nor did she know how they could rectify the conflict with Gaston, but he was afterall a prince and currently her best option.
She had to admit, as she sat at her desk in her large and well-appointed room, that staying at the castle was not altogether unpleasant. She had requested some paper so that she could write and had immediately been provided with a large leather bound journal, filled with hundreds of smooth blank pages. In addition, she had been supplied with blue and black ink and a collection of quills wrought from colorful and exotic feathers. Her meals consisted of the best food she had ever eaten, and her clothing was of the finest materials. The servants doted on her, which made her a little uncomfortable, but they were so warm and friendly that she found herself enjoying their company.
A knock at her door announced the arrival of one of the servants. Belle placed her quill in its inkwell and smoothed back a stray lock of hair.
"Come in," she called. The door swung open to reveal Lumiere, who stepped into her room hesitantly.
"Pardon the intrusion Mademoiselle," he said, bowing deeply, "The master has requested I escort you to the library."
"Ah," Belle said, a little surprised that the prince had requested to see her, "Well, I suppose we never did get to the library during my tour, did we?"
Lumiere laughed and offered a hand to Belle. She took it and stood from her seat, her fine complexion blossoming from the forest green of her dress like a winter rose. Lumiere suppressed an urge to flirt with her, sensing the master would not be pleased, though it would serve him right after that scene with Babette in the west wing. Still, Lumiere was not a vindictive sort, and instead lead her with deference into the corridor outside her room and toward the library.
It was the sheer enormity of the castle that impressed Belle the most as she was lead through it to meet the prince. She had not often left her room these past few days, uncertain of which parts were acceptable for her to explore and which were strictly off limits. After the fiasco in the west wing, she had thought it best not to push her luck. But as she passed under soaring vaulted ceilings and past rooms that were far more spacious than her entire cottage, she marveled at the fact that such grandness had been conceived and constructed for but one man.
They arrived at a set of double doors that towered over Belle's petite frame. Lumiere raised his hand to knock, and Belle assumed that they had arrived at the library. The prince's voice, muffled by the barrier of the doors, bade them to enter. When Lumiere pushed the doors open, Belle was treated to to the most spectacular sight she had ever laid eyes on.
Belle entered the library like a supplicant granted access to the innermost chambers of the Vatican. Pure wonder settle across Belle's expression as she edged shyly into the room. Like everything else in the castle, the space was huge, books lined walls that soared so magnificently high it was as though they were trying to bring all Earthly knowledge to the realm of Heaven. Shelf upon shelf sprawled all around her, and though she was a small figure in the cavernous room, she felt safe, embraced by her favorite thing in all the word—her books. She wondered how many volumes the prince's collection contained as she scanned the shelves, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of pages surrounding her. Ladders and walkways zigzagged across the walls and shelves, providing access to the thousands of books that were out of reach.
"I've never seen anything like this in all my life!" Belle exclaimed, all but twirling in circles around the room in her zeal to take it all in, "This is wonderful!"
Belle eagerly ran to the nearest shelf to read the titles it contained, running her hand over the indentations the typeface left on the leather binding. Virgil, Ovid, Pliny the Younger…she guessed she had stumbled upon the bookcase that housed works from ancient Rome. Spying a volume with Marcus Aurelius as the author, she plucked it from its shelf and hurriedly flipped through the pages.
"Whatever happens at all happens as it should; you will find this true if you watch narrowly," Belle read aloud. She pressed the open book to her chest and closed her eyes, savoring the words. What better feeling was there than when a book acted as an umbilical cord to the past, providing needed sustenance from the wisdom of past ages? When she opened her eyes, she became aware of the prince and Lumiere watching her with amused expressions. Regaining her composure, Belle cleared her throat and reshelved the book. She strode to the desk where the prince was sitting and curtseyed.
"Please sit," the prince said, gesturing to a chair that sat across the desk. He looked her over, his blue eyes sparkling, "Though I am sorry to interrupt the communion you have with Marcus Aurelius."
"This is magnificent, your highness," Belle responded. The prince looked around the room, smiling as though seeing it with new eyes.
"I am used to it I suppose," he said, taken with Belle's excitement, how her doe eyes widened like a child's. He was also pleased to see that Belle was wearing one of the dresses his servant, Madame Armoire, had provided for her. He took it as a sign that she did not entirely despise staying with him at the castle, which was encouraging. However, as he looked her over the bruises Belle had sustained did not escape him. He was surprised he had not noticed them when she had tended to him, but then, it had been dark and his mind had been hazy. And also perhaps, though he was reluctant to admit it, he was self-absorbed. Still, now that he noticed, it troubled him to see her hurt.
"You are injured," he said to her softly.
"Oh, it's nothing," Belle responded quickly, eager as always to sweep her own troubles under the rug, "I honestly hardly feel it."
"Have the servants been looking after you?" Adam pressed, still concerned.
"Yes, they have been wonderful. I have everything I need and much more, your highness. I am sure I will heal quickly," Belle reassured him. She absentmindedly smoothed her skirts and blushed, embarrassed at the attention her injuries were receiving from the prince. She supposed she should wear more powder to cover her bruises until they were healed. Adam continued to watch her in silence for a moment, seeming lost in his own thoughts.
"It would seem we have some matters to discuss," Adam said at last, folding his hands on his desk in front of him in a way that conveyed a subdued authority.
"So it would seem," Belle responded, knowing he was referring to the recent series of events and what steps they should take in response.
"Do you wish to return to your home?" the prince asked. Belle was not expecting the prince to ask her so directly about her own preferences, and so was caught off guard. She looked up at him, and found that his expression was gentle. She thought for a moment of returning home, stoking the fireplace, feeding the animals. She thought of her father, and how dearly she missed him. But then, she thought of Gaston, of how closely he had come to raping her, of how he had nearly killed the prince. No, she could not return home, not yet anyway. All at once, she felt tears come to her eyes. She was startled at the homesickness that suddenly rushed over her like the tide. It was a strange sort of homesickness, a sort of homesickness for a place, a feeling, that no longer existed. Home. Did she even have one anymore? Was there anywhere she belonged, intrinsically and effortlessly?
"I…" Belle began, but she was interrupted by an unbidden quiver in her voice. She cleared her throat, attempting to smooth out her voice as casually as she would smooth her skirts, but found it difficult. She took a deep breath and continued simply, "I think perhaps I cannot."
"I think the same," the prince agreed softly, retrieving a handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and passing it over the desk to Belle. She took it and dabbed her eyes. Belle did not at all enjoy how often she had lost her composure in front of the prince, how she had assumed a sort of damsel-in-distress position in regard to him. She quickly composed herself, and straightened in her chair.
"I worry for my father," Belle told the prince.
"He is still away?" Adam asked.
"He is still at the fair with a recent invention of his," Belle explained. Adam nodded thoughtfully. He considered this, then rose from his seat to look out of a large window that afforded a view of the gardens.
"Were I better at diplomacy we would not have our current quandry," Adam commented, staring out of his window moodily, suddenly vulnerable.
"You must not blame yourself for Gaston's considerable personality defects," Belle responded, and Adam looked over his shoulder at her to give her a small appreciative smile.
"Still," Adam continued, returning to the desk, "I am hopeful that a charitable project will help soothe tensions and diffuse the situation."
"That would be ideal," Belle conceded, though knowing Gaston's stubbornness she doubted that such an overture would be effective in neutralizing that particular threat. However, given what the prince had been through and his moodiness, she though it best not to quell his optimism.
"I am also hopeful that you will help me," Adam added, a little shyly. Surprised at how disarming the prince could be, Belle felt her defenses lowering.
"I am afraid I have very little experience in planning public projects," Belle demurred.
"Then your experience in such endeavors matches my own," the prince replied, causing Belle to smile.
"I am happy to help you in anyway I can," Belle agreed.
"We're partners then?" Adam asked, tilting his head to the side, raising a thick eyebrow, and smiling at her in a way that Belle could only describe as dashing.
"Yes," Belle answered, laughing, "If your eminence decrees it as such."
"And do you wish to continue to reside at the castle until this matter with your town is straightened out?" Adam asked. Again unsettled at his concern, Belle reflected on her thoughts regarding her current living situation.
"It does seem best, for the time being, if your highness approves of course." Belle said.
"I'll have to check with Cogsworth to see if we have the space," the prince said. Belle looked up at him, surprised, having not considered the possibility that the prince would not allow her to stay. But then she saw it, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes that she had recognized in the portrait of him as a boy, and knew that he was teasing.
"I'd like to write my father, if I may," Belle said, thinking that since the prince was apparently sober and in a receptive mood that this would be the best time to make such a request, "He needs to be apprised of everything that has happened."
"Of course," the prince responded, "Give the letter to Cogsworth when you are finished and inform him that I want it sent with the best messenger on our fastest horse."
"Thank you, your highness," Belle said warmly. Prince Adam smiled at her, and though it lasted only an instant, it lit up his already handsome face, warming his aristocratic features like a candle in the golden branches of a chandelier. Belle felt a flutter ripple through her, as though a songbird were beating its wings against her ribcage. Unaccustomed to such a feeling, Belle suddenly felt the need to excuse herself from the prince's company.
"Forgive me your highness," Belle said, "I find myself quite tired."
"Of course," the prince said, rising from his own seat to offer his hand to Belle. Charmed by the gentlemanly gesture, Belle took it and stood from her chair. As soon as their hands met, Belle felt an electricity pass between them, as though he were lightening and she a key on a kite. Instinctively she pulled her hand away, and the prince, seeming suddenly uncomfortable, cleared his throat.
"If you'll excuse me," Belle told him, "I think I'll go rest."
"Yes," the prince agreed, "Rest. Think about what would best serve your town, and we'll meet again in a few days."
Belle curtsied and left. The prince watched her go, how he loved to watch her. How gracefully she stepped, as though she were a ballerina, the curve of her waist, the flare of her skirts, the chestnut curls that fell down her back. She looked over her shoulder at him as she passed through the doorway, and gave him a small shy smile. He smiled back at her, spellbound. He thought of how aptly she was named as the sound of her footsteps receded, as the scent of her rose perfume faded, as the warmth her hand had left on his cooled. He took a sip from a glass on his desk that contained, for once, water rather than whiskey or wine. Belle. Beauty. He smiled, in spite of himself, into his glass as though he were guarding a delightful secret.