LeFou hadn't slept for days. Sir Henri had been outside the inn when he came galloping in. LeFou had told him only the bare bones—Gaston was dead, murdered. Henri had gone in to get the others. LeFou had been about to follow him when the stable boy came up to him to take his horse's reins.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked. "You like the Dark One himself was after you."

The Dark One himself.

This was the Dark One's village, built in the shadow of the mountains where he made his home and under his protection.

Madame Belle was the Dark One's creature. LeFou remembered her face, calm as death as she came up to Lord Gaston and slipped the dagger out of its sheathe and into Gaston's heart. He remembered the fire burning in her eyes as she stabbed Gaston's corpse again and again—and the surge of magic as she threw LeFou from her house.

This wasn't the court lady who had acquiesced to all Lord Gaston's desires for the better part of three years, smiling pleasantly. He thought of those dead eyes again. For all he knew, maybe the Dark One had killed her. Maybe the thing that had slaughtered his master was a demon the Dark One had dressed up in that gentle lady's corpse.

And LeFou was in that creature's lands. LeFou had trusted Gaston when he said that cursed fruit wouldn't kill the boy and that the Dark One would be bound by his bargain not to harm them. Till he'd seen the boy fall to the ground, dead. Till he'd seen Belle covered with Gaston's blood. Till she'd looked at him and tossed him aside with nothing more than the madness that burned in her eyes.

LeFou knew then he had to get of here. He had to get away from the mountains, away from the monster who lived in them. He had to warn Lord Maurice. Then, he could deal with the creature while LeFou kept running. . . .

He was able to change horses at way stations, leaving a clear trail if the Dark One came looking for him. LeFou looked for him in every passing shadow or sound of a cracking twig or branch. Sleep was impossible, even if he'd dared. By the time he stumbled into the Marchlands, he was half-dead. As he rode for Maurice's castle, he saw the banners lining the streets with their unfamiliar crests but paid no attention to them. When the castle itself came into sight, he saw the flags flying from the staffs, but they didn't matter. All that mattered was reaching Lord Maurice and letting him know how terribly wrong it had all gone. . . .

He tried to croak some answer when the guards stopped him, demanding to know his business. "Lord Gaston," he said. "Terrible danger—must warn Lord Maurice—must warn him—"

One of the guard's eyes grew large. "LeFou? Is that you? What happened to you?"

"Must warn his lordship," LeFou said. "Must—" He ran past them, and they let him go. LeFou ran to the feasting hall, where he could hear music playing. There were guards outside the doors. They started to bar his way, but someone shouted behind him—two of the guards from the gates had accompanied him, not that he'd noticed. The doors swung open and LeFou stumbled in.

"Terrible news, my lord!" he shouted to Lord Maurice. "Terrible news! Gaston is dead, murdered by the Dark One!" LeFou's knees gave way and he slumped to the floor, the last vestiges of strength deserting him. But, he had made it. The message had been delivered and warning given.

There was a high pitched giggle behind him.

"Oh, I wouldn't call that terrible news," a familiar, inhuman voice said. "And I wouldn't call it murder, either. Quite a legal execution, all things considered."

"And it was not the Dark One," Madame Belle said, grave and calm. "I was the one who killed him." She addressed the hall at large. "If I may beg leave to tell your majesties of it?"

The Dark One giggled again. In a voice only LeFou heard, he said, "Good of you to show, dearie. I was afraid you'd be late. But, you arrived right on time."