Belle took a deep breath. She had stood unnoticed in the crowd since the royal guests arrived. Queen Snow was dressed in white silk. Pearls and diamonds twined her neck and were set in her hair. Beside her was Prince-Consort James (or Charming, or David, according to Rumple). His clothes had a military cut. His jacket was red velvet with gold braid.
Belle frowned, noticing something about the gold braid, its color and twisted shape. She gave Rumple a pointed, suspicious look. He saw it and just smiled, extremely self-satisfied.
James had the sure walk of a military man. Belle thought of Gaston and Jones and felt stomach turn.
Rumplestiltskin had told her James was a just man. He had also been raised by his widowed mother, who had been killed by the king, his foster-father. That same foster-father had nearly executed James' wife. Snow White had also, like Belle, once been fed a poison to render her barren. James understood the special cruelties a woman could suffer, Rumple told her. He wasn't like Gaston.
He wasn't like Maurice.
And Snow White wasn't like Rosamonde. Belle believed her aunt had been a strong woman in her time. She was too much like Belle's mother for her to believe otherwise. Her last act had been to save the Marchlands. She had died to buy their safety and survival. But, the power she'd had had always been overshadowed by her husband, who had the final say in all decisions in the Marchlands. That power had shrunk as illness ate away at her. She had roused herself three times from her sickbed during Belle's time here: to greet Belle and learn the fate of her sister; to make Maurice swear to give Belle and Bae a place at court—and never let Jones near her; the third and final time, she had summoned her to say goodbye.
She would have raised Belle as her own daughter, given the chance.
Behind Queen Snow and Prince-Consort Charming James-David came Prince Eric and Princess Ariel. The Prince's coat was more like a tunic and heavily embroidered. Belle could appreciate the time and work it took to make a garment like that. It was clearly formal and the red sash cutting across it suggested something military, but . . . not like the ones Belle knew.
The princess wore a gown of sea green, her wide skirt built up in gauzy layers that made it look as though she were rising from the ocean. Her red hair was woven through with strings of pearls and paua shell.
Rumplestiltskin had described the prince annoyingly trusting most of the time—but not when it came to making deals. "His kingdom survives on their ports and trade," he'd told Belle. "I sometimes thought his father understood fine print better than I do. Eric's not that good, yet, but he's getting there."
After the Ogre Wars, the remains of Avonlea had been absorbed by neighboring lands. The lion's share of what had once been that kingdom was now ruled by Snow and Charming. However, Eric's family, while they only held a small piece, had inherited several ports and some of the coastal lands.
"The Marchlands could recognize either royal family as their rulers," Rumple said. "Or neither. It might be in Maurice's interests to stay independent. Or it might be in his interest to have allies with a navy and a flag foreign ships will recognize. The current visit is just an everybody-getting-to-know-each-other-and-let's-all-be-friends sort of party."
The important thing was that Maurice was no longer the final authority in this room.
She wondered what the crowd made of her and Rumplestiltskin. He had used some spell to keep people from noticing them, but it had been wiped away when they spoke. Rumplestiltskin was dressed almost blindingly in a suit of cloth of gold with a lacy cravat that cascaded down from his throat like a waterfall turned to snow. The gold-and-diamond buttons on his suit alone would have bought their entire village.
As for Belle, her dress was (impossible as it seemed) even grander. Her husband had wanted no one to doubt who outranked who. The gown was cloth of gold embroidered with even more gold and pearls and diamonds. Its lace trim was just as white as Rumplestiltskin's cravat, made even more blinding with the winking lights of diamonds worked into them. In contrast, she had kept her hair simple. It was bound low to the side of her head with a small circle of white and yellow roses, falling across her shoulder and down her chest in small fall of curls. She wore small earrings of pearl and two rings, the one her mother had left her and a simple band of gold around the ring finger of her left hand.
When LeFou, half-mad and wild-eyed, burst into the room and announced Gaston's murder, Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand and stepped forward. No, not murder, he told everyone cheerfully, legal execution at worst.
Then, Belle stepped forward. Rumplestiltskin gave her an exaggerated bow as he stepped aside for her. It was theatrical, but it was also a clear announcement that he was at least pretending (or so she suspected the royals thought) she outranked him. Then, Belle confessed what she had done and requested to speak to their majesties.
But, before any of the royals could answer, Maurice stood up. He was looking at her in horror. "Belle, what have you done?" He looked at the Dark One. "What have you done to her?"
"Speak to me. Father," Belle said, surprised at the coldness in her voice. "He's done nothing. Gaston poisoned my son. Ask LeFou. He was there. He brought the poison into my home as a gift." Belle turned to the quivering, exhausted mass lying on the feasting room floor. "Isn't that so, LeFou? The only thing Gaston was upset about was that it didn't look like an accident."
"I—I—Gaston said—We couldn't let the Dark One use the boy. When he didn't kill him, Gaston knew he had some other use for him—We couldn't—"
"I believe that's a 'yes,'" Rumplestiltskin said. He looked at the four royals. "I don't know what you have heard about recent events here, but I bargained with Maurice for, er, guardianship of a young boy. Baelfire. He seems to have had the nastiest ideas about what I wanted the child for. I am horrified at the way his mind works—which, I'm sure some of you will appreciate, isn't something I get to say very often, not and sound convincing."
"Well, Father?" Belle said. "Gaston came to murder my son. He had a cursed apple that was part of the trove Lady Rosamonde had the duty to guard. Who besides you could have given it to him?"
Maurice looked ashen. For a moment, Belle hoped he was about to deny everything, to explain how Gaston had stolen the apple or tricked him into handing it over—something—anything—that meant he hadn't tried to kill Baelfire.
Instead, very deliberately, he looked away from her. "I have no daughter," he said. "I see a woman I gave refuge to. Out of mercy. And I gave her place in my court for the same reason. In return, she makes false claims and says she murdered my heir. Get her out of my sight."
Rumplestiltskin gave his madman's giggle. "Anyone want to obey that order? Anyone? We already have a funeral to plan, but we can squeeze in a few more." He waited, looking over the guards. None of them came tried to lay hands on Belle. Satisfied, Rumplestiltskin went on, "Actually, Maurice, you may not remember this—you were a bit drunk at the time—but you already told me Belle was your daughter. But, more importantly, Lady Elise left a letter, explaining all. She also included a little note someone else had written her. Were you feeling a bit guilty, Maurice? You made some rather extravagant promises to the poor girl. I take it you didn't mean to keep them?"
"You didn't offer me a refuge for mercy, Father," Belle said, not sure if it was true. Smee had brought him the ring and told him the woman it belonged to begged for his help. Maurice had sent his guards down to the docks at once and rescued her and Bae. Surely, that meant something? "You made me promise never to ask my father's name, never to speak it if it was spoken to me, never even to admit that I suspected who my father was." She swallowed down tears. "We had a deal. And, in return, you promised safety to me and my son." Safety. Not protection. Gaston might still have cast her off if he'd married. Maurice might have sent her away. He didn't even owe her a refuge. So long as he didn't openly attack her or Bae, his side of the bargain would be kept.
"You didn't keep it," Belle said. "You sold my son to what you thought was a monster—and you only became worried when you found out he hadn't hurt him. You gave Gaston the poison to use against him. Didn't you?" Gods, she was crying again. This was no time for tears. This was no time to be weak. But, she couldn't help it. "Please," she begged him. "Tell me you didn't. Tell me Gaston tricked you, he lied to you. Tell me you didn't know what he was going to do, and I'll believe you."
Maurice was silent. He still didn't look at her. "This is not the time or the place to discuss the fate of a bastard boy," Maurice said. "Dark One, you made a deal with me. And you broke it."
"And, as I'm a better man than you are, you expected me to keep it. Is that it? Well, I have." Rumplestiltskin gave him a smile that showed far too many teeth. "You're probably going to say something about how the deal said no hurting any heirs. I think there might have even been some obligation to protect the little inheritors." He coughed delicately. "So, as you see, Lord Maurice, you violated the terms."
"What? I never—!"
"Ah, I might not have made this point completely clear at the time, but I looked on young Baelfire as my own son from the moment I took him. An heir. If you check the contract you signed, you may notice that it doesn't say your heirs. If you knowingly aided Gaston to kill my heir, the deal is void." He looked at the four royals. "That is why my lady wife and I have come when your majesties and royal highnesses were present. We wish you to hear the evidence and decide the matter."
"Wait," the prince-consort said, looking like he'd been kicked in the head by a larger than average mule. "Did you say your wife?"
"No, I said my lady wife. You need to learn to listen closely." Smiling, he reached out and took Belle's hand. She turned towards him as he took it. They had discussed this. Rumplestiltskin had developed a theatrical streak over the years. Belle knew part of this was play-acting. But, part of it wasn't. She saw the way his eyes warmed as he looked at her and the way he smiled as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. She smiled back.
And there were gasps from the high table as the guests saw her scars. The dress had a scooped neck. Hardly the display of flesh Gaston had always insisted on, but Belle knew enough of her scars were visible to make quite a show. She had made sure her hair was hiding none of it.
"What happened?" Prince-Consort Charming-David-James gasped. "Did the Dark One do that to you?"
These are the wounds I received in the house of my friends, Belle thought, remembering the old song. "No," she forced herself to stay calm. "This was done to me by—by one my father will tell you was an honorable man, a ship's captain, Killian Jones." And what did the prince-consort think of scars like this? He was a military man. Would he agree with Maurice, that order needed to be maintained.
Rumplestiltskin squeezed her hand. She saw the silent message in his eyes. You can do this. "But, you can ask my father. After all, he thought I should marry him. Even after he put these scars on my back."
"But, getting back to the 'my lady wife' part of the conversation," Rumplestiltskin said, "I suppose Maurice is expecting me to explain how I married Belle after taking her away from all this. He may even be putting an argument together in his head about how I needed his permission, wonderful guardian that he is. So, let me reassure you. Belle of the Frontlands, daughter of Lady Elise of Avonlea, has been my legal and wedded wife for three hundred years. When a matter of a small war involving some Ogres had managed to draw me away from home, an enemy of mine managed to steal Belle away from our home. He convinced her I was dead—he made a surprisingly persuasive case for it, better than I would have expected—then sold her. To Jones." Rumplestiltskin had told her there were parts of this story he wouldn't share with the people here, not unless he had to. There was no reason, as far as he was concerned, to let them know how he had become what he was. How the Dark One could be killed and how another could take his powers was something he saw no reason to advertise.
"When I returned home—I admit, I don't like to think I'm an idiot, but you wouldn't know it from this—my enemy managed to convince me Belle had chosen to leave. I . . . accepted that. I didn't go after her.
"You see, the business with the Ogres had kept me away from home for some time. I didn't know Belle was with child when I left. By the time I knew I had to rescue my son, the curse had already fallen on the Marchlands." Maurice was staring at him in horror. "But, you knew, didn't you? When Belle came to you for help, you knew she had a husband still living, even if you might have thought he was a more ordinary sort of spinner." Rumplestiltskin looked fondly at Belle. "My lady wife never needed pretension, and a simple life in a village suited us both at the time."
"The simple life?" David-Charming-James said. "You?"
"I don't prefer it now," Rumplestiltskin said. "Now, I prefer a life with as many impenetrable walls as I can put between what I love and the rest of the world. But, I liked it then." He beamed at Belle. "The company made it worthwhile." He turned back to Maurice. "Instead of sending me word—which would have earned my undying gratitude—you let Belle believe I was dead. In fact, I understand you talked about marrying her off to the same man who gave her those scars. When Belle refused and your wife supported her, you tried to make a match between her and Gaston. When I finally broke through the curse around your land, you were only too glad to get rid of what you thought was a mere peasant's—what was the word you used? Oh, yes-grub."
He looked at Maurice coldly. "You have abused my wife. You have betrayed your daughter. You have tried to murder our son." He turned his attention back to the royals. "I ask your judgment. Prince James, you've seen the sleeping curse. My lady believed her son had been murdered by a man she might not have counted as a friend but who she didn't think of as an enemy. He did it when he was a guest under her roof. He was armed. She wasn't. She managed to get his dagger away from him and stab him, but he was still armed with a sword. Tell me if that was murder.
"Then, tell me what you rule against Lord Maurice. I . . . will not kill him for this. Though he deserves it. Not if he leaves me and mine in peace. And if he steps down as lord of the Marchlands. If he will acknowledge Belle and our son, Baelfire, as his heirs and step down in Bae's favor, he can live in quiet retirement—perhaps in some simple village—and I'll let him live out the rest of his days in peace."
"And if not?" the prince asked.
Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "Nothing. My deal with the Marchlands is done. The food, the protection I've given them, that's over. And I may let some of their neighbors know I have no interest in protecting them. If an enemy asks for my help . . . well, I do have a living to earn. And a family to support. I'm sure you'd understand a man working his trade."
Princess Ariel looked at him curiously. "Excuse me, but you'd settle down and help your wife rule the Marchlands? No offense, but I don't think you'd be good at it."
Rumplestiltskin bowed. "We are in complete agreement, your highness. That's why I was hoping whichever one of you becomes the monarch of this little glen could appoint a regent till my son comes of age. Or longer. He won't have to rule the place if he doesn't want to."
"Wait," Maurice said, looking up. "The boy—the boy isn't dead?"
Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. "Haven't you been listening? The apple was poisoned with the sleeping curse. If there's one thing you can bet on when it comes to curses is that I know how to lift them. Despite your best attempts, he's fine. And, so help me, I can think of no better revenge than to have the weaver's brat inherit everything you have and be lord in your place. But, not if the child doesn't want it. You aren't important enough to make the boy miserable just to get back at you." He turned his attention back to the royals. "Well, will you sit in judgment? Convene your court, ask your questions? I will abide by your ruling."
Snow White and David-James-Charming looked skeptical at that. Ariel asked, "Excuse me, maybe this was supposed to be obvious to everyone, but was the Captain Jones your wife was sold to the same Captain Jones you're supposed to have helped Ursula capture?"
"The same, your highness."
Ariel looked at Maurice. "You would have made your daughter marry him? When I wanted to marry Eric, every mermaid in the seas reminded me what happened the last time one of us fell for a human. When I was little, I had nightmares from the stories my big sisters told me about him. He had the most terrible death of any human who's ever upset a sea witch, and there are still merfolk who say he got off too easy. And you wanted him in the family?" She turned to Rumplestiltskin. "I think you'd be a lot better than him."
Rumplestiltskin bowed again. "A gentleman never argues with a lady."
There was a skeptical snort from Queen Snow.
"Outlaw princesses are another matter. Well, what do you say? Shall we get on with this?"
Maurice's skin had a gray, almost dead cast. He looked at his guests, royals, nobles, and commoners. Then, he looked at Belle. "It's unnecessary," he said. "The Marchlands need the Dark One's support. Belle, I name you as my heir. My titles I pass onto your son, Baelfire. May he rule in wisdom." For a moment, he looked like he might say more. Instead, he walked down from the dais where the high table stood and walked out of the hall. He did not look back. No one followed him.
Belle watched him go, stricken. She expected Rumplestiltskin to giggle and make a joke, getting in the last word. Instead, he put his arms around her, holding her close.