"And where are you off to now, Maurice?"

"Ah! Monsieur Gaston," Papa replied, tying the last corner of the tarp down with a grunt before brushing his hands off on his worker's apron. "I'm off to the fair. Gonna bring home first prize tomorrow, or so Belle claims," he chuckled.

Belle only folded her arms, watching the interaction from their porch with narrow eyes. If Gaston wasn't so utterly dimwitted, she'd suspect he was up to something.

"Allow me to escort you," Gaston went on, all smiles and politeness as he helped Papa up into the wagon. "I know these woods better than anyone. Wouldn't have you getting lost now, would we?"

The muscles in Belle's face relaxed a little. Papa did tend to get lost quite easily, and this was a longer journey than he was used to. If anything went wrong… Maybe she should put aside her pride and just let Gaston try to impress her with this. It's not like it could change her mind about him.

Speaking of Gaston—he was beside her now, leaning against the thick beam of their front porch and tugging on the end of her ponytail. "It wouldn't be too much to have me gone a day, now would it Belle?"

She frowned, pulling her hair away and taking a step back. "I'll manage."

"Excellent!" he said, jumping off the porch and into her cabbage patch. He was beside Papa in the wagon before Belle could even gasp at the sudden destruction of a full season's growth.

As they rode off, she stared down at her ruined garden with fingers pressed against a pulsing temple. No, this little trip definitely wasn't going to change her mind.

Just in time for supper the following day, they returned.

"Belle!" Papa cried, bursting through the door with more energy than she'd seen in him in years. "You aren't going to believe this!"

Belle looked down at his hands. They held a sack, filled so full he could barely carry it and walk at the same time. She gasped. "Did… did you…"

"Win?" he finished for her, unable to contain his grin as he shifted the sack into one arm and pulled at the drawstring. A hundred glimmering coins stared out at them. "Yes, my dear, I did!"

"I knew you would!" Belle cried, laughing and pulling him close. They held each other tight, all tears and smiles and joy, the work and dreams of years almost too real to be true.

Finally, Papa pulled back, dropping the heavy bag to the floor and holding Belle's hands in his own. "This is the start of a new life for us," he said softly. "For you, Belle."

"Exactly what I was thinking," said a deep voice.

Belle frowned, and looked up. Gaston filled their doorway, bright-eyed and head held high as he stomped into the room. He moved between them, resting a heavy hand on each of their shoulders and leaning close. "And what better way to celebrate… than a wedding?"

Belle twisted quickly out of his grip, annoyed at him for ruining the moment. "I appreciate you seeing my father home safely," she said. "But regarding this, I've already told you no."

Papa looked surprised, and Belle grimaced. She hadn't told him about that. Any other time she would have, but he'd been on such a tight schedule to finish his invention for the fair that she hadn't wanted to distract him.

Gaston laughed loudly. Uncomfortably. "Maurice… talk some sense into your daughter."

Maurice frowned now too, and looked back at him. "Belle has plenty of her own sense, Gaston. The decision is hers to make, and it seems she's made it already."

Gaston's eyes went wide, and Belle smirked. He clearly hadn't been expecting that. She looked back at her father, all the love and warmth from before returning in full. Thank you, Papa, she thought.

But then Gaston was hovering over Papa, a large finger pointing down the tip of his nose. "You only won first place because of me," he growled. "I spoke to the judges for you. I convinced them to let you win."

Slowly, the color drained from Papa's cheeks.

Gaston barked out a laugh. "Did you honestly think that ridiculous machine was worth a hundred pieces of silver?"

Papa's shoulders were slumped now, his gaze dropped in shame. Belle moved between them, trembling all over with fury. "How dare you?" she cried, jabbing a finger right back at Gaston. "Leave my father alone! He earned that award fair and square, and you know it!"

"No, he didn't." Gaston took a step closer, reaching out and caressing his fingers in the air just beyond reach of her. "And now… he owes me."

Belle blinked, mouth agape as she realized what he meant. "You—I—" she stammered, growing beat red where she stood. "I am not a prize to be won!"

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and Papa stepped forward. "No, she isn't."

Belle's father was not a tall man, and Gaston towered over them both. But the way Papa stood now and glared icy daggers up at Gaston would have made anyone question who was the more powerful man in the room. "Gaston, if you feel the winnings were truly your doing, then take the money yourself," he said coldly. "But I will not sell off my daughter for them."

Gaston grit his teeth. The muscles in his arms flexed once, then twice, and for a terrible moment Belle feared he would strike out. But he only snarled, and turned his back to them. "Keep your damn money," he spat, kicking the sack of coin out of his way as he stormed towards the door. "I'll have Belle for my wife. Make no mistake about that." And then he slammed the door behind him, sending dust raining down from the ceiling and their animals bellowing in irritation from the barn.

Belle realized she was still shaking even when the house had gone still. She forced in a breath, then turned back to Papa. "I'm sure he was lying," she said in earnest, resting both hands on his shoulders. "Your invention was wonderful. He was just trying to find another way to get me to marry him."

"That was no gift of flowers, nor an invitation to dinner," her father said. He looked up, and narrowed his eyes. "That was a threat."

Papa's demeanor hadn't changed from when he'd stood up to Gaston, all strange and dark and ominous. Belle had never seen him as such, and frankly… it frightened her.

"Pack your bag, Belle," he went on, moving across the room to pick up the spilled prize money.

Belle watched him, heart thundering, frozen where she stood. "What? …Now?" she gasped, looking slowly around the little room. Her home, the only one she could remember. "But our house. Our furniture, our things…"

Papa heaved the bag of money back into his arms. It seemed to burden him twice as much as before as he limped across the room and set it on the table. "I'll return for them. And if something happens, we still have this," he said. Then he looked back at her with that same, frightening look. "But whatever we do, we need to get you away from that man."

They left at twilight, and rode through the night. Philippe seemed in high spirits at the sudden excursion, but Belle could only wring her hands together over and over again as Papa guided the little wagon through the darkness.

"We should reach the Forêt Inn soon," Papa said after some hours. He spoke softly, but even then his voice seemed to thunder across silence of the woods. "We'll stop there and get some rest. How does that sound?"

Belle nodded. She watched the small lantern sway as they rode, the light casting dancing shadows across the path. Then she sucked in a breath, and asked the question that had been troubling her all night. "Papa… where will we go?"

"How does Paris sound?"

Belle's eyes grew wide, and she looked back at him. She caught a twinkle in his eye. "I know, I know," he said. "But it's time, I think. You should see where you were born, and the city your mother loved so much."

"Papa, I…" But she couldn't finish. She thought her heart would burst.

Papa looked very much like he was trying not to smile himself. "Well, what would you like to see first?" he asked, looking back down the path and guiding Philippe left at a fork in the road. "Notre Dame? The Champs-lyses? Or perhaps…"

He stopped, then turned around in his seat. Belle followed his gaze, and spotted a light coming upon them from the darkness. It moved quickly, and soon split into a dozen fires held aloft by a dozen horsemen, the sounds of their hooves swelling like a sudden summer storm. Papa barely had time to give her an anxious glance before the riders were upon them.

The first rode up and waved them to slow. Papa pulled them to a stop, frowning deeply. Philippe huffed at the other horses now surrounding them as the stranger came up close. He wore a simple uniform common for local authorities, though it wasn't one Belle recognized. "State your name, monsieur," the man ordered.

"Maurice Dupont," Papa said, frowning deeply as he rested a hand on Belle's arm. "What's this all about, Constable?"

Another man had climbed into the back of the wagon, pulling back the cover and digging around their things. "I found it!" he exclaimed, heaving the bag of silver over his head.

"That's him, then." The constable lifted his chin, and in an instant Papa was seized by two more guards and dragged from the wagon.

"No!" Belle tumbled to the ground after them, grabbing the closest guard's shirt. "Stop, please!" she begged him. He shoved her away without a second glance.

"Maurice Dupont," the constable said dryly. "You are under arrest for fraud and theft."

"That's a lie!" Belle cried. "I won't let you take him!"

The constable finally looked her way. "Forgive us, mademoiselle. But we've had a tip this man rigged the Northern Fair and confiscated a large sum unfairly."

"No."

Belle looked up. Papa's hand were already cuffed behind his back, yet he still managed to appear calm as he explained. "No, Constable. It was another who claimed to speak to the judges, and without my knowledge. He was trying to—"

"So you admit you knew about the bribe, Monsieur Dupont?" the Constable cut in.

"Bribe?" Papa said. His eyes grew wide, and he looked back at Belle as all calm vanished from his face. "No, I didn't… he only said he spoke to them. I knew of no bribe!"

"Really?" the Constable asked, crossing his arms. "Then why are you leaving town in the dead of night?"

"To protect me!" Belle cried out. But no one heard her over the men's rough laughter and the clattering of hooves on the cold ground. She reached for the Constable's sleeve, grabbing it so fiercely he was forced to acknowledge her. "Please," she gasped. "This is all a misunderstanding. We knew nothing of the bribe, truly." It sounded pathetic even as she said it. Belle grimaced, scrambling to make him understand. "We were only leaving town because Gaston was threatening to…"

But her words died in her throat, catching sight of the man lingering at the edge of the firelight.

"Monsieur Gaston?" the Constable asked her, then turned to offer Gaston himself a nod as he stepped towards them. "This young man's the one who came forward with the information. In fact, he claims your father offered him some of the dirty money to keep quiet." He turned back, looking down at Belle with a raised brow. "Is that not right, mademoiselle?"

Belle paled. Papa had offered Gaston the prize money, but only so he would leave her alone. "I…" she gasped. "No, it wasn't… it wasn't like that—"

She was cut off as Gaston tugged her against his side. She reached up to push away from his sweat-soaked tunic, but he held her fast. "I'm so very fond of Belle. We're in love, you see," he said, pulling her even tighter against him as if that proved the point. "And well—I'd do anything to please her father. So when he told me to talk to them, well… I really thought the invention deserved first prize, you know? Didn't even realize what I was doing when he asked me to give each judge a few livres for him. Thought it was some kind of fee. I knew he and Belle had little to spare, and I wanted to help them out." He offered a dramatic sigh, and glanced away. "Guess I've never been the brightest of the bunch…"

"No one blames you, young man," the Constable said. "Seems clear to me you were used in a scheme by the old man."

Belle heard it all in silent horror, barely able to breathe in Gaston's hold. She thought she was going to be sick.

"Stop! Let go of me!"

She whipped her head around, watching as the men forced her father into the jailer's wagon. "Papa!" she gasped, trying to run to him. Gaston held her back, impenetrable force that he was.

"Belle!" Papa shouted, reaching for her throat the wagon's thick bars.

"Papa!" she cried again. She looked around, desperate for anyone who would listen. "Please! You can't do this!"

But no one was listening to her anymore. No one had listened to her at all, had they?

Gaston gripped her hard again, and leaned down. "Belle…"

"Get away from me." She finally yanked herself from him, tearing spilling down her cheeks as she watched the carriage roll away into the darkness. "You've done this for revenge. Y-you… you just can't stand it when you don't get your way, can you?!"

"No, Belle, no," Gaston said, voice like honey. He took a careful step closer, reaching towards her slowly as though she were some rabid creature who might lash out at any moment. "I only wanted to do the right thing. I know it can be hard to accept that those you love aren't… the most honest of people, but sometimes that's the truth—"

She slapped his hand away, and stepped back. "You're insane."

A man walking past glanced over at them. "She's upset," Gaston told him. He shrugged. "Her father…"

"'Course," the man nodded. He returned to his task.

Gaston grabbed Belle's arm then, and before she could push him away he had dragged her back to Philippe and the abandoned wagon. It was dark here, for the oil in their lantern had died amid the commotion and the other men were already riding away. And as the light faded, so did Gaston's façade.

"Do you want your father back, or not?"

Belle stared up at him, wrinkling her nose. "Of course I do. But what can I possible do to…" Yet she grew quiet as a terrible grin split over his face. Her heart fell into her stomach as the realization washed over her like a freezing wave. Gaston would never settle for revenge. When there was something he wanted, he never gave up until it was his.

"You know," he said. He licked his lips, and drew close. "I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding, if…"

But before he could whisper the deal in her ear, Belle knew exactly what it would be.

"But that doesn't count!" Adam cried. He'd been trying very hard not to interrupt, but he just couldn't stay quiet any longer. This wasn't what he'd imagined at all; it was so much worse. He'd assumed Belle had been happily married in the beginning at the very least, but to know she'd been practically enslaved by this man… Something, deep inside him, told him he could have prevented it.

"I agreed to the proposal. I said the vows," Belle answered, shrugging. She sat in his chair now; he'd pulled it over to the fire as the story grew, sitting on the floor beside her and resting his elbows on the arm of the chair.

"But he coerced you," Adam insisted. He sat back suddenly, unable to contain the frustration pulsing through his limbs. "Threatened you. You didn't have a choice!"

Belle gave him a strange look. "Do you think I'm the first woman to enter a marriage she didn't want? Woman are coerced by poverty, family, powerful men every moment of every day. I am not unique." She looked away, and sighed. "In fact, I rather believe I'm in the majority."

Adam supposed he knew that. But to actually know someone who'd lived it, to hear her story like this… For the first time in his life, he realized how truly terrible it all was.

The kettle began to whistle. He turned and busied himself with their tea, grateful for a moment to hide his shame. Was he still this ignorant to the suffering of anyone but himself? After all this time… had he even changed at all? Adam swallowed, gripping two steaming cups in his paws and turning back to her. "You saved him, though," he said, sobering. "Your father."

Belle took the cup, and stared into its contents. "Not really. I thought I could find another way. Thought I could free him on my own, as though they'd actually listen to the testimony of a woman." She scoffed, shaking her head. "No, I only delayed the inevitable, and by doing so let Papa sit in prison for a fortnight. By the time I got him back…" Her fingertips grew white where she gripped her cup, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "He was gone the next spring."

Adam bit back a curse. How was that fair? To do all that, just to have him die…

Belle was staring at the fire now, eyes empty and glazed over again like they'd been when he found her. Adam's heart dropped at the sight of it. He reached out carefully, touching her fingers where they'd fallen limp in her lap. "Belle," he said quietly. Come back.

She sucked in a breath, the color returning to her cheeks. "Sorry," she said, looking back at him. Her fingers curled around his in return, leaving Adam a little weightless where he sat. "Well, anyway," she went on. "I took a season to mourn him… then tried to run."

Adam's eyes grew wide. "You did?"

She nodded. "Seven times. I did everything I could think of—taking the main roads, the forest and the mountain paths, sometimes no paths at all. Slipping into a traveling caravan. Waiting for the hunting trips he took each month, for the days he spent drunk at the tavern and the nights he wasted his coin at the brothel." She scoffed. "I even tried a sleeping powder, once—but it didn't work. Nothing worked. He always found me, every time."

Adam's heart felt swollen in his chest. He wanted so badly to ask which way she'd gone. Had she ever touched the edges of his woods? Ever crossed one of the trails he ran all those frustrating years alone? Had she ever come close enough that had he known, he could have brought her here sooner and kept her safe?

When he realized where his thoughts had gone, Adam quickly shook his head. That was dangerous thinking. The past was the past, and he'd had enough experience imagining how to fix it to know that doing so only made him feel worse.

And so he listened as Belle went on, explaining the last time she'd tried to escape—and why she'd never tried again. "He knew then that he'd broken me," she said. "That he could finally make me the wife he'd always wanted. His demands grew with each day, piling atop each other, petty and ceaseless. And whenever I failed, someone was punished."

"No one did anything?" Adam asked, his rage only barely contained beneath the surface. "To stop him?!"

"You don't understand. Our village ate because of him," she explained. "He was an incredible hunter—too good, almost. He could feed us all for a month with a single night's hunt. Many loved him for it. And well…" She looked into her lap. "No one loved me. They never did. They say I am…" She grimaced, offering the word with a stiff tilt of her head. "Odd."

What the hell was wrong with these people? "Your village sounds terrible."

Belle managed a bit of a smile at that, though it faded quickly. "Gaston may have been loved, but he was also feared. So after what happened to Leroy, after what happened whenever I upset Gaston, well… they knew it was best to keep their distance from me." She sighed. "Honestly, I don't blame them."

Adam couldn't share her sentiment. Cowards, the lot of them, he thought. Stupid, selfish, useless—

—disgusting, vile, wicked peasants, finished the prince.

Adam frowned. The ease with which that thought had come… it disturbed him. He looked up, realizing Belle had closed her eyes again. The cup trembled in her hands, threatening to spill its contents. He took it from her gently and set it aside. No, he told the prince, reaching back for her delicate fingers once more. Not all of them.

Belle's trembling grew still in his grasp. "So," she braved on. "I never read again. I never talked above a gentle voice or disagreed or refused him. I cooked his every meal and mended his clothes and kept his home and entertained his guests and—" She stopped, and Adam felt her fingers grip his hard, though she hardly seemed aware she'd done it. "I did it all. Everything he wanted, except…"

Adam waited, but she didn't finish this time. Instead, he watched while her face reddened and a hand drifted to her abdomen. And in an instant, he understood. How had he not wondered about that before?

"I'd known something was wrong after the first year," she pressed on. "But convinced him all was well for two years more. He could be clever and cunning in many ways, but so terribly dull in others." She furrowed her brows. "But when our third spring together passed and I had given him no son, no children at all… it was my turn to be punished."

"Okay, that's it." Adam stood, trembling head to toe, his fury suddenly too much to bear. "Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

"Adam… you can't…"

"I'll do it, Belle." He'd already grabbed his cloak, and was heading towards the door. "I'm damned as it is, so it's not a problem."

"But you can't," she begged him. "Because… b-because…" And then she gasped, dropping her face into her hands. "I already did."

Adam stopped in his tracks. The cloak slipped from his fingers and landed in a pool at his feet. "You…" His eyes grew wide, and he looked back. "Really?"

Belle gave nothing but a small, muffled cry in response, burying her face deeper against her palms. It had been the wrong thing to say, Adam realized, and even worse of him to leave her side. He quickly crossed the room and knelt at her feet again.

"Belle… I'm sorry. I was just surprised, and, um…" He sighed. "And I'm an idiot."

She shook her head, but couldn't speak through her tears.

"It's okay. I mean… he deserved it, right? Don't feel bad…"

She looked up slowly, cheeks stained with tears once again. "I d-didn't want to do it," she choked out, shaking her head. "I'm not that kind of… He was… It just…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "It just… happened."

When the clock over the mantle struck midnight, Belle was elbow-deep in dishwater. She cursed under her breath, scrubbing at yet another egg-crusted pan with fervor. How one man could consume so much of a single food-type would have been beyond her imaginings if she didn't have to witness it each day. She truly wondered how he hadn't turned into an egg himself by now.

That would have been incredibly convenient.

Belle continued to work at the pan, swallowing back her nausea as rain beat against the window. At least she was alone tonight. Gaston had taken to spending more nights than not at the tavern with its female occupants, and Belle welcomed it. It was on nights like these she could actually sleep without fear. It was lonely, but she preferred loneliness to the alternative.

The rain's rhythm changed, and Belle looked up. As she listened, however, she realized it hadn't been the rain at all, but heavy hoof falls in the distance. The yells of a drunkard soon followed.

There wasn't time to lament. In an instant, Belle threw the dishwater out the window and hid the rest of the dirty pans beneath the sink. She ran to the stove, dished up a heaping plate of dinner she'd kept warm, and set it at his place on the table. She stoked the fire, pulled out some mending, and sat in her chair. And then she waited, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt as well as every worried wrinkle in her face.

Her hands were still trembling, but he wouldn't notice that.

The animals had grown restless outside, braying and stamping their feet at their master's arrival. "Please," Belle prayed softly, "Please let me pass by his notice tonight. Please, please let me pass by his—"

"BELLLLLE!"

She pricked herself with the needle, and blood pooled on the tip of her finger. The prayer hadn't helped. It never did, but there was no one else left to ask.

The barn doors banged shut in the distance, his boots echoing off the path to the house. Every instinct Belle had was screaming at her to move, but she knew better. If she tried to hide, he'd simply tear the house apart until he found her. And, of course, running only meant another would meet her fate.

And so Belle closed her eyes, and waited for him to come.

The door burst open a moment later, slamming against the wall. Gaston stood in the threshold, chest heaving, soaked from head to toe as he glared at her from the shadows. His hair was undone, falling into his face like some kind of wild creature who'd just emerged from the forest.

"Belle." His words were slow, and slurred. "I'm afraid… I've been thinking."

Belle didn't respond. Trying to talk him down only made things worse—he hated when she spoke. And so she watched in silence as he stepped into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He stumbled more than once as he walked, dripping rainwater in his wake.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" he asked, towering over her where she sat. "All these years, refusing me a son."

"No, I—" Belle bit her lip hard; she hadn't meant to speak.

He leaned close, breath reeking of beer. "You what?" he hissed.

Belle looked down, and closed her eyes. "Please, Gaston, you must understand… I can't control whether—"

He moved fast, pulling her from the chair and throwing her across the room. Belle hit the table, his dinner flying to the floor as she fell beside it like a ragdoll. She gasped for breath, her vision growing dark and light again as she struggled not to black out.

He was over her again, dragging her to her feet. "Stupid… selfish whore," he spat. He had her by throat, her toes barely brushing the ground below. Belle grabbed at his hands, pulling them back just enough to breathe.

"Please," she gasped. "You can let me go…" She sucked in what little air she could. "M-marry… another, someone who can—" She gasped again. "—give you a child. We j-just need a written divorce, and—"

But before she could finish, Belle saw stars.

"How DARE you!" he roared. "You think it's so easy? I will not be shamed this way!"

Belle barely heard him. The room was spinning, the left side of her vision fading as her eye grew hot and swollen, but somehow she forced herself to stay conscious.

"There's only one way out of this, my little wife."

Belle finally registered his words, and looked back at him. He'd hit her face. He never hit her face; it was far too valuable to him. And in a moment, the pain grew numb as she realized Gaston no longer cared.

"Oh, how they'll weep for me." He was sobering now, but it made him seem even more dangerous. "The poor, handsome widower, his wife had died so young. They'll eat it right up." His eyes were bright and blazing, filled with a fire she'd only seen when he spoke of his greatest kills. His fingers grew tight around her neck again. "There are many more beautiful ones than you now. You've grown old, and useless, and I'm tired of waiting."

It had been years since she'd fought Gaston, and in that time he'd forgotten the need to protect himself. And so when Belle thrust her knee forward with all her might, it came into full, glorious contact with its goal. He dropped her, screaming and falling to his knees. Belle gasped for breath once, then twice, and pushed herself to her feet.

Except she could barely move. She looked back and saw Gaston laying on his side, glaring at her, face flush and hands pressed to the damaged place between his legs. And, beneath the heel of his boot, he'd caught the edge of her skirt. Belle grabbed her dress at the center and, with a primitive cry, yanked hard. It tore at the hem, long and ragged, before it snapped. And then she ran.

She was soaked the moment she entered the storm. Sprinting through the mud in unfastened boots, Belle clung to the cloak she'd ripped off its hook and tried to think past the terror pounding in her skull. The barn, the horses—if she could get there, take the fastest animal, maybe she had a chance too—

The barn door shattered into a hundred pieces. Belle screamed, throwing her hands to her ears, the sound of a gunshot still ringing through the damp forest around them.

"Not so fast."

She turned, eyes wide in horror as she watched Gaston hobble down the path behind her. He was fumbling to reload his shotgun, a few shells slipping from his wet fingers and disappearing into the muddy path. Belle gasped, abandoning the barn and fleeing into the trees. Behind her, the gun cocked again, and she made a sharp change of course just as the second shot missed her by inches.

Belle no longer felt her pain—she only ran. Harder than she'd ever run before, harder than she'd run all those times she'd tried to escape. It might be the last time she ran again, and she knew the only reason she wasn't dead already was because of the heavy rain and the fact that Gaston was still too drunk to hit a moving target.

Another blast rang through the trees, and a tree some feet away shattered. Belle bit back a sob, staggering through the wet darkness as the forest grew thick and overgrown. Every muscle in her body was throbbing, every pulse of her heart like a drum beating against her skull as her boots stuck in the thick mud. But she didn't stop—she couldn't, for her body wouldn't let her and her mind knew the moment she did she would be dead.

But then the growth around her gave way, and she was forced to pause in her tracks. For a step beyond was the narrow canyon that cut through the valley, a dried out riverbed deep in its depths. She ducked back within the trees, pressing her back against the closest trunk. She looked to her left, then to her right—there. The old bridge; it wasn't far. Sucking in a breath, she ran that way, keeping within the outermost trees.

Another shot rang out behind her, and Belle dared a glance back. The rain had slowed and she could just make him out, staggering along the canyon's edge, the gun propped against his shoulder. "Come out, come out! Wherever you are!" he shouted. He shot the gun again, straight up into the night sky.

Belle pressed her hand to her mouth, moving through the trees as quietly as she could. The bridge was close now, but she didn't dare step out into the open. She looked back, watching as he sent two more shots into air. On the third, the gun rang empty, and he growled, tossing the weapon into the grass and turning back the way he'd come.

Belle waited until he was out of sight, then made a run for it. The bridge was nothing more than rope and old wooden planks, half rotted from years of disuse, but she remembered them well. She raced across, the sounds of her feet far too loud without the rain-soaked earth to dampen their impact. But she made it across without incident and fled back into the cover of the forest.

And then a knife grazed her lip, and sunk itself into the closest tree.

She whipped her head back. He was there, standing on the other side of the canyon, his mad grin bright as the clouds finally began to part and let through a sliver of moonlight.

Belle spun back around, ready to flee once again—but something stopped her. The sight of the knife in the tree, perhaps, or the taste of blood as it spilled from her lip. And then everything seemed to slow, and in that time something inside her came alive and took control. With a sharp tug, she yanked the knife free and turned back to face him.

Gaston laughed long and loud as she stood there, the knife glimmering in the faint moonlight where she held it before her. "And what do you plan to do with that?!" he shouted.

Belle gripped the knife's handle with both hands, and brought it above her head.

He grinned, and crossed to the center of the bridge in three great strides. "You stupid bitch—"

And then she brought it down hard, slicing through the bridge's old, rotting anchor.

The cut was clean, and quick, the frayed rope posing little challenge to Gaston's sharpened blade. The bridge went limp in an instant, dropping into the darkness. Gaston cried out in surprise, but soon the darkness had swallowed his shouts and the man along with them.

Belle's chest was heaving, her mind finally catching up to what her hands had done. They still held the long knife, and she gasped, letting it fall to the ground. Then, slowly, she moved to the edge of the cliff, gazing into the silent canyon below. Against the opposite cliff side hung the bridge, alone and tattered. And so she let her gaze fall lower. As she did, the clouds shifted up above, a bit more moonlight shining through as though the sky itself wished to confirm what she needed to see:

His body, broken and still, skewered through by one of the jagged rocks below.

Belle's story from her youth—her father's trip to the fair, Gaston's threats, their failed escape—that had all been told from start to finish, clear and, in a way, rehearsed. She knew it well, Adam supposed, and had likely been reliving it again and again all these years. But when she tried to explain what had happened barely a week before it came in bits and pieces, interrupted by tears and tremblings.

Still, it was enough. Adam knew she was safe—she was sitting right here in his chair, her knees pulled to her chest and covered by one of his blankets—but her words still left his heart racing. It had all been too close. Had Gaston swung his punch a little too hard, had those shell fragments veered just far enough to make their mark, had Belle taken one wrong step on the old bridge… had just one thing gone a little differently, she might not be sitting here at all.

HIs only relief came when he imagined a sharp, blood-stained rock emerging from the scoundrel's chest. Gaston was definitely dead, then. Only a man cursed like Adam himself could have survived that.

"I murdered him, didn't I?" Belle asked then, eyes glassy and wide as she pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "I didn't want to… If only he'd let me go … I was just so afraid…"

"No, Belle. No," Adam said fiercely. "You were protecting yourself. He was trying to kill you!"

"I didn't have to kill him, though."

"Yes, you did."

Belle looked up, and frowned.

"He was stronger than you, armed, and trained to hunt," Adam explained. "You had nothing to use against him, nothing but that single chance. I think… I think something inside you knew that, the part that protects you and keeps you alive, and that's why you acted so quickly. It was a fight for your life, and you won." Just saying it left his chest full. She'd completely outsmarted the bastard, and in that moment Adam found himself feeling so incredibly proud of her.

"But I…" Belle played absently with the frayed ends of her skirt, before squeezing her eyes shut again. "Adam, for a moment after it happened… I felt glad."

"Of course you felt glad!" he cried. "You thought he was going to kill you, but you survived. He'd been tormenting you for years and you were finally free!" He couldn't take it. He wouldn't let her feel any more guilt for that sorry son of a bitch. Gaston had killed himself as far as he was concerned. "Listen to me, Belle," he went on in earnest. "You're a hero."

She had been drying her eyes on her sleeve, but paused. "…What?"

"You saved them. Your father, the villagers."

Belle looked at him strangely. "No I didn't. I failed every time."

Adam shook his head. "I don't think so. You got your father out, didn't you? He was able to spend the last year of his life with you, able to pass away in his own home and his own bed with the person he loved beside him instead of in a cold prison cell."

Belle blinked. "I suppose…"

"And the villagers—you protected them from Gaston all that time, and at your own expense." Not that they deserved it, he thought to himself. "He was forced to stay his hand from every single one of them because of you. Who knows how he would have abused his power all those years if he wasn't trying to keep you there."

She was staring at him now. "I… I never thought of it that way…"

"Few could have endured as much, especially for people who weren't even nice to them. You're a hero, Belle."

She stared into her lap, puzzling that over. "I… well, perhaps," she conceded, and looked up. "But how will they eat now? He practically fed them all."

Adam huffed. "Maybe they'll actually have to work for themselves? It will be good for them."

He realized this was a bit hypocritical considering his own lazy upbringing, but Belle didn't seem to notice. "And he can't hurt any of us now," she said to herself. And, at last, she started to smile. "Hm. Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right," Adam said, except it had really been the prince speaking. He flushed at the slip, but Belle only chuckled.

He could practically see the prince smirking at him. You're welcome.

Belle's amusement faded quickly, however. "But I've put you in danger," she said. "The villagers, they'll be looking for me. And if they find you, they—" She grimaced. "Well… they are not very understanding of those who are different."

"Different. That is a kind way to put it." He smiled a little. "Look, you don't need to worry about that. The snow covered my tracks the night we came back here. And regardless, this is an impossible place to reach unless you are an unnaturally talented climber." He may have flexed his arms a little where they rested. "Which I happen to be."

Belle brightened at that. "Really?"

"Yes." And they couldn't kill me anyway, he added to himself, but that was one Pandora's box he definitely didn't want to open tonight. "We're safe here, Belle," he said instead. "You're safe here."

Belle was breathless, looking as though she might cry again. But instead, she sank back into the chair, closing her eyes and breathing out a sigh of relief.

They fell quiet. The fire had grown low, but just as he considered fetching another log Belle turned her head where it rested to face him. "How do you always know?" she asked. Her expression was soft. Very soft.

He cleared his throat. "Oh, uh… know?"

"Just what to say. To make me feel better."

Adam went warm all over. It took him a moment to answer her. "I… I only spoke the truth. Anyone could have done it."

She shook her head gently. "No. Not anyone."

They were very close now, he realized, and his fingers had slipped from the armrest and grown tangled in the blanket. Her hand was near, but just as he considered holding it again the room began to lighten, and the faint sounds of morning birds drifted through the window.

"I've kept you up all night," Belle said quietly.

"Ah, well… that's all right. I'll just cancel my morning appointments."

She chuckled a little at that, though her eyelids had grown heavy. And so instead he offered his hand to help her up and back to the faux-bed beside the fire. Then he set three new logs on the fire, pulled a second blanket over her, and moved away.

"Adam."

He'd already reached the door, planning to sleep there from now on in case… well, in case. But at his name he turned and saw Belle watching him. She pursed her lips, glanced to where he'd been about to lie on the floor, then looked back up at him. "You shouldn't sleep in the cold."

"Oh, no… I mean, it's not that cold. I have a built-in blanket, after all," he said, tugging awkwardly at the fur around his neck.

She smiled. "You slept beside the fire, though. Before I took your bed."

He shrugged, though his heart rate had doubled with her words. It doubled again as Belle moved closer to the fire and patted the space beside her. And he realized as she did that he very much wished to accept the offer.

I mean, she's right. It has been cold, he reasoned within himself. And there's plenty of blankets, so there's no reason to get too close. Plus I could keep better watch over her this way. It's a practical solution.

Adam could almost feel the prince rolling his eyes. Still, he didn't let that bother him, deciding now was as good a time as ever to be practical as he moved back the way he'd come. He sat down slowly at the farthest edges of the blankets and lay on his back, paws resting on his stomach. And then he stared at the ceiling, trying to force his heart to slow down even a little bit. It was beating so damn hard he was absolutely certain she could hear it.

Eventually, he couldn't take it any longer, and dared a sideways glance. He caught her eyes immediately, and she flushed. They both laughed little awkwardly.

"You know," he said, looking back at the ceiling. "I slept outside an entire winter once, before I found this place."

Belle gasped. "You did?"

"I thought, perhaps, I could make myself hibernate—"

She was already laughing before he could finish. He grinned, and finally rolled onto his side to face her. "Yes well, as you've probably gathered, I cannot. It was a very cold… very miserable winter. I eventually took refuge in the barn of some unsuspecting old farmer."

Belle sobered. "If I had known, I would have taken you in."

"And I would have eaten your husband for you."

She snorted, pulling the blanket to her chin and closing her eyes. "Good."

Adam watched quietly as her breathing grew gentle and slow; meanwhile, his own mind drifted off, rewriting stories of the past. In one, Belle's father took them on a wrong turn en route to Paris and happened upon his castle instead. In another, Adam caught Gaston alone in the woods and tore out his throat. (There were, in truth, several variations of that one.) And in another Belle really did take him in that long, terrible winter, and then they left her equally terrible village behind, together.

In every story, things had gone differently. In every story… he had been there for her.

Afraid she might open her eyes and spot all these thoughts written across his face, Adam rolled onto his back again. He'd entered that dangerous territory, he realized, that dark and deadly sinkhole called regret that had plagued him his entire life. And so he forced the thoughts away, and returned to the now.

It was a little more pleasant here, he thought, remembering the way Belle had looked at him from his chair, the fact that he'd really managed to make her feel better. Had he ever in his life done that for anyone? Adam felt that warm feeling pulse through him all over again, but it faded fast as he remembered just why she'd felt so badly in the first place. Only hours ago she'd stood on the edge of that cliff, and he knew only too well the kind of dark and desperate feelings that had brought her there.

And suddenly he was in the past again, the real past. Except for the first time it wasn't his alone. All those days he'd spent as a prisoner in his own home… she had too. All those years he'd spent mourning those he'd failed to save… she had too. All that time he'd felt so horribly, incredibly alone…

She had too.

Adam stared up at the ceiling, faint rays of morning light beginning to creep into the room. He needed to sleep, but his chest was far too full to rest, a new kind of ache building up inside that only grew more and more uncomfortable until he finally acknowledged it.

It was a desire to be near her. And this wasn't near enough.

But of course, they'd touched already, and the memories of holding her in his arms and of her hand in his left him a little breathless where he lay. It seemed a long-standing need within had been awakened, and each touch just made him ache for more of the same.

He sucked in a breath, long and silent. Slowly, almost painfully so, he let his hand slide into the space between them. It would have to be enough, he decided, and closed his eyes.

A moment passed. Then a hand touched his in return.

And he smiled.

A/N - Thank you so much to those leaving reviews! It keeps this story going. This chapter was such a pain, and I almost threw in the towel, but fortunately my stubbornness won out :) Let me know what you think!