A/N Dear Rumbellers, a quick note before you proceed with the next chapter (yes, yes, you all hate the cliffhangers so maybe I can bribe you with an early update).

Last night one of my works entitled "What possessed me to put a collar on my new wife?" was deleted from here. I am delighted that my humble PWP was treated as one with sky-high rating not suitable for this site. Now, being all childish, I suspect someone drew the administration's attention to my creations. If that's the case, I would like to thank anons who did it; raising awareness is definitely not an easy job and I deeply appreciate those efforts.

Now, should anything happen to this fic, please do not hesitate to find it on Archive of our own, where my other works are stored.

Thank you for taking time to read the story, you guys rock.

He knows it's wrong, but he cannot help it. Rumpelstiltskin watches Isabelle – will she ever be his Belle again? – through the mirror. He learns that her every day is routine and predetermined. She is awaken early by her maid who helps her dress and braids her hair. Isabelle wears mostly gowns now, but nothing as colourful and revealing as the golden dress. The look on her face when the maid laces her in a corset suggests that she doesn't like those garments even if they become her.

Rumpelstiltskin knows now that no matter what mood the girl is in, she always greets her father with a peck on the cheek before sitting down to breakfast. He guesses that her father is probably considering the new marriage and they had several arguments about this (because there had been letters she pointed at and him waving his hands in exasperation) as Isabelle does not approve of either of the suitors he suggests. Rumpelstiltskin knows he will soon have to do something; he cannot tolerate the idea of someone else touching the girl less seeing her wed to anyone.

The sorcerer doesn't like that man, Isabelle's father; he appears to be big, gracious and quick to laugh but he turns into a harsh unyielding ruler in the blink of an eye, leaving the girl on the verge of tears when she flees the room after a particularly unpleasant talk. What kind of parent would force his child to marry against her will? But then, what kind of father would want to see his daughter with an ancient morphed creature?

Rumpelstiltskin fills in on the details of her life, regretting that he never asked, he never wondered what kind of existence she carried before meeting him.

He watches her sit on council meetings; her father most likely insists she learns how to govern yet he never sees her speak her mind at those gatherings (does he prohibit her?) and Isabelle is always present when his subject come to sir Maurice with their grievances. Apart from these duties, the girl is mostly left to herself. Rumpelstiltskin is surprised that despite her being kind and smiling at everyone in the castle, from her maid to the boy who cleans the stables and being able to remember their small life troubles and offer gentle advice (he just senses she does), she doesn't have any friends. Her hobbies are narrowed down to stitching and reading and although her maid is usually sitting at her side, the woman takes very little interest in what Isabelle talks about and dozes off more often than not.

Rumpelstiltskin carries the mirror with him everywhere, taking comfort in seeing his love and knowing she is well. He feels like a pervert spying on her, but he quickly diverts his eyes when the girl needs her privacy. He wishes the mirror had been crafted better, that it could allow him to hear her, to be able to touch her and feel the warmth of her skin seep into his fingers instead of the coolness of the smooth, unfeeling glass.

Then, a week later, she does something odd and he puts the straw aside, getting up from his spinning wheel, gripping the mirror with both hands and raising it to his face. Isabelle sneaks into the gardens, glancing around like a thief to make sure no one is following her. Rumpelstiltskin thinks she may have come there to read, but the sun is setting and provides little light that would make her strain her eyes to make out the words; besides, the book remains unopened in her lap. Although the girl's hand squeezes it quite hard, he thinks she's not even aware of the thing as she stares off into space dreamily.

Isabelle must be waiting for someone, the man decides, perhaps another lover boy. He scowls at the thought as it both angers him and piques his curiosity; but she surprises him by withdrawing deeper in the gardens when she must hear steps approaching. Well, it may only mean that whoever she's looking to meet does not come from her mansion. The girl remains on the bench till the stars come out and then straightens up, smoothing out her skirt with a sigh – he thinks it's a sigh, judging by how her shoulders droop a little and how her chest moves when she exhales – and leaves the garden.

She does it the following day too and the evening after that as well. Isabelle sits there, under rustling leaves while the wind plays with her hair. Rumpelstiltskin cannot figure out why she is doing it, he wonders what the purpose of those visits are, why she needs to hide away from her maid in the dark gardens, sitting there alone and in silence – for whomever she awaits never shows himself.

On the fifth day of her peculiar sallies to the garden she looks more excited. Rumpelstiltskin can tell there is something on her mind, because there is a certain glow about her face and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks positively dreamy and her mouth is slightly ajar. Isabelle's breathing quickens and her fingers fly to her lips. She shuts her eyes as her fingertips trace the contours of her pink mouth.

Realization strikes him and he flinches. It's nearly impossible and too good to be true. Is it him she's thinking of? Is it him she expects? His stomach flutters and Rumpelstiltskin runs his hands through his hair. Oh dear gods, what does he do, he cannot just…

Isabelle decides for him, for he sees her lips move and form the words and even though he cannot hear her, the warm tingle of magic down his back prompts him and realizes she's calling for him. He bolts up immediately, feeling zealous enough to jump out of his skin. Tradition suggests he should be called upon thrice, but to hell with convenances.

He materializes soundlessly right behind her just in time to catch her faintly whispering his name. He could probably listen to her do it for centuries. Rumpelstiltskin is amazed at how his heart, beating through his chest, doesn't warn her of his presence and bends down, carefully looming over her and inhaling the scent of her hair deeply. It's different from what he remembers - summer herbs and fresh-cut grass - but underneath it's familiar, something he cannot quite put a name to, something of Belle that reminds him of lazy mornings when he used to wake up in her arms with her tangled hair spread across her shoulders and his pillow. But he shouldn't allow those thoughts; he can resort to them in private. There must be a reason she called him here and, most likely, it's not the reason he dreams of.

"You know, dearie," he whispers close enough that his lips nearly brush the shell of her ear, "one may get a wrong image when such a beautiful lady calls an old monster for an unchaperoned meeting in the privacy of her deserted gardens."

She jumps up, quickly spinning around to face the intruder, her arms thrown in front of her protectively. However, she recognizes him quickly and instead of scolding the man for startling her, Isabelle actually smiles at him. Well, she has always been one of an… unusual kind.

"Y-you came!" she stutters, lowering her hands and the book she held flops to the ground.

She fidgets, trying to make out in the dim light of dawn where it landed while Rumpelstiltskin gracefully approaches, picking up the volume and offering it to her with his outstretched arm. She thanks him clumsily and takes the book, blushing when her fingers touch his for a brief moment. He can swear she does it on purpose; she could have accepted the book without any need for contact but he's pleased, more than he should be and a corner of his mouth curls up in a knowing smirk.

"You called," he reminds her and just because he can do it, he reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, planting a dry kiss just above her knuckles. After all, manners are important. He straightens up, enjoying how the blush creeps down her neck now and he quirks an eyebrow up at her. She still hasn't pulled her hand back, regarding him with awe and he holds her small palm in a loose grip. "Milady?"

"Ah yes, sorry, I…" she babbles and then jerks her hand away and drops him a quick curtsey. He finds it incredibly endearing how timid, and yet at the same time coy she is as he seems to do his very best to suppress an enormous grin that threatens to spread across his face.

Isabelle seems to gather herself but she doesn't know how to begin a conversation. She smoothes her braided hair back and rests her hand on the side of her neck, over her rapidly beating pulse.

"You wanted something, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin prompts as the silence stretches and there is that nervous lip-licking of hers again.

"Yes, yes!" she clings to that thread of conversation gratefully and looks up at him. "I wanted to… a book. I wanted a book."

"A book?" he repeats slowly and she nods. Rumpelstiltskin looks at the volume she holds pointedly. "And how has this one offended you to have you so eager to swap it for another one?"

"There's nothing wrong with this one. I just wanted a… a particular book."

Rumpelstiltskin steeples his clawed hands under his chin and stares at the girl openly. If she minds, she doesn't let her displeasure known.

"And there is no other way you could acquire this book of yours, hm?"

"N-no," she lies.

"And you thought it would be wise to call upon the Dark One to obtain it?"

"Yes," she says firmly, and despite his best intimidating glare she doesn't even wince. He's intrigued and secretly proud of it. He loves the way she can stand up to him, even when all she knows is the childish stories about the spinner her wet nurse probably scared her with.

"So what is this book?"

There is a pause and he is tempted to catch her on making the whole thing up; it doesn't take her too long though.

"A book on beasts," Isabelle says confidently.

"Beasts? Interesting. What kind of beasts?" he enquires, a little taken aback by her choice.

"Magical creatures."

"The kind that lurk in the gardens?"

"Maybe."

"So you want to learn about their weaknesses?" Rumpelstiltskin goes on and he cannot decide whether he is appalled or fascinated. Just what exactly is the girl up to?

"Habits."

"To defeat the monster?"

"You're not a monster," she protests and he jabs a finger at her.

"Aha! I knew it! You want to find a way to slay me!"

"To get to know you," she counters softly.

"And you'd do it under the books guidance?"

"At first." Oh she's just driving him out of his mind with those little games and he needs to cut them short.

"What? Why would you want that?"

"Because you're interesting."

"A freak you mean," he says bitterly, forgetting that he should not let too much emotion show.

"Unique and mysterious," she corrects him, taking a step closer and circling his wrist to lower the finger that is still pointed at her accusingly.

"And you know it because you've seen me twice in your life," he teases but Isabelle remains defiantly serious.

"Yes," she breathes and he lacks words. Apparently, he cannot win this argument. The girl steps even closer.

"So, what about my book?"

"It's already in your room," Rumpelstiltskin replies and his frown does very little to keep her away. She is so close that if he takes a deeper breath, their chests will touch. He begins to panic; he arrived at her gardens, certain that he'd call the shots but it all spun out of his control and he thinks getting so involved was a mistake. One careless word from her and he'll be destroyed even without her knowledge.

"What about the price?" she asks and he blinks, distracted by her voice from the worrying thoughts and the pleasant feel of warmth and her scent.

"What price?"

"The price for the deal," she giggles. "There's always a price, is there not?"

Great, now she's deciding how he should make his deals. Hold on, why did she even mention it? Isabelle looks up but does nothing else. She bites her bottom lip and Rumpelstiltskin hesitates. Is she provoking him? Up close he cannot pretend those half-hooded eyes hold innocence in them; there is definitely interest and a bit of desire she doesn't quite understand yet and it would be so easy just to lower his head and kiss her while they pretend it to be a part of the deal. He wants to do it, but it's wrong. She doesn't remember him and he won't use her like that, not even when the girl believes that is what she wishes for.

"Fine," he grits his teeth as he steps aside, away from this seductress and points at the far corner of the garden. "I'll have a rose from that bush as payment."

"A rose?" she echoes, disappointed and her eyes are wide as she's drained of her confidence. She studies him for a second and then she sighs. "Alright."

Isabelle turns away with as much dignity as she can muster and plucks the rose, bringing him the flower. When she approaches him, the initial confusion is replaced by a look of mischief he knows all too well. She places the stem in his hand and before he does anything, stands on her toes to quickly press a kiss to his sharp scaled cheekbone.

"Thank you for the book," she says and blushes again while Rumpelstiltskin is frozen in place utterly speechless.

Isabelle beams at him. Now there is no mistake; the little minx is positively flirting with him and isn't quite subtle about it. So much for the highfaluting status of the lady of Avonlea their re-acquaintance began with.

"I'll see you around?" she asks but both of them know there is no question. She doesn't wait for him to reply and turns away, heading for the castle. She hums a cheery tune under her breath and Rumpelstiltskin thinks there is an added spring to her step.

He doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry. The girl clearly doesn't know what she's getting herself into but he's not sure if he even has the will or intent to stop her. After all, once she sets her mind to something, she will persist with all the stubbornness in the world. He wonders who he has to be grateful for for the second chance of her setting his mind on him.

Rumpelstiltskin enchants the rose and keeps it on the table in the grand room as a reminder of his foolish sentiments.

The problem is that whatever guides her – curiosity, taboo or the spirit of adventure – it is not love.