Their Decision

Though his return to a state of humanity had rendered Adam a deal less hairy than he had once been, nevertheless Belle found that the word 'hirsute' described her husband very well. His face and neck seemed to the only parts of himself that he consented to shave - for which Belle was very grateful, she couldn't imagine what kissing a man with a beard would feel like - while his chest was as shaggy as an old throw rug.

As she lay, exhausted - another of the ways the curse had left its mark upon him was that Adam seemed to have a nigh-boundless sense of energy that frequently left her worn out of nights, though he would always stop if she asked him to; she rarely asked, since his passion was so enjoyable as to render the post facto exhaustion well worth it - with her face and naked body resting upon that hairy chest, Belle was very much glad of the fact. Outside it was cold, but between the heavy sheets above her and Adam's hairy chest beneath her Belle felt perfectly warm, even without a nightgown.

Her eyes were closed, but the light from the candles that burned upon the nightstand caused an orange glow before her eyes. She felt Adam's hand upon her cheek, and with a smile she reached up and placed her hand around his wrist, holding it there with his fingers caressing her.

He pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry, Belle."

Belle opened her eyes and looked up into his face. Adam looked as guilty as his voice had made him sound. "For what?"

"What kind of man lets his wife get pushed to the ground and doesn't say a word about it?"

"I didn't get pushed to the ground, I was caught."

"Belle-"

"The kind of man who understands that he is the prince of a very small country, and that he can't afford to upset two of the largest nations in Europe," Belle said. "The kind of man who understands that if I wanted a husband who puffed out his chest like a partridge at every insult I'd have stayed in the village and married Gaston." She reached up, and now it was her turn to stroke his face and feel his lantern jaw beneath her delicate fingers. "The kind of man who understands that I don't care about Maria Carolina or what she says or does, because she'll be gone from here soon enough."

Adam looked down at her with eyes that were uncomfortably knowing. "I wish I could believe every word of that."

Belle smiled wryly. "You see me too well," she grumbled good-naturedly. "But the first two were true." And the last was not a complete lie, either. She didn't care about the opinions of Maria Carolina, Maria Theresa or Maria Sophia for all that they were archduchesses or queens, descendants of Snow White and Frederick or that they came from a family that thought naming all its daughters Maria was a good idea. She didn't care what any of them thought, and if, as she suspected, none of them thought much about her at all then that wouldn't trouble her either. But it was a lie to say that she didn't care about what they did; it was a lie to say that being pushed around - literally! - in her own home didn't faze her, that being seated below the salt and forced to watch helpless as another woman made brazen advances upon the man she loved and while another pried into some of his most painful memories, didn't bother her. She would have needed a heart of stone or skin as thick as a rhino not to let these affect her, and Belle possessed neither.

But what could she do? What could either of them do but endure it for the brief time that it lasted? Their guests would leave, and blissful normalcy would swiftly return.

Or would it? Or would something else, something far-off and uncertain, take the place of normalcy for a time?

Adam sighed. "Do you want me to talk to Maurice?"

"No," Belle said. "He's my father, I'll speak to him." She turned her head away, and rested it once more on Adam's chest. "Although I don't know what I'm going to tell him."

"Tell him that it's for his own good. His own protection."

"I'm not sure that he'll understand," Belle said. "It's been his life since Mama died." At first, she suspected that Papa had disappeared into his workshop as a way to avoid it, busying himself with nuts and bolts and plans... but along the way he had come to love it for its own sake; even now, when he wanted for nothing and could have retired into genteel idleness here in the castle, he continued to tinker away. Taking that away from him, however good her reasons for taking it away might be, wasn't something that Belle was looking forward to.

"I wish that this was something else that we could ignore once Queen Maria Theresa leaves," Adam said. "But I'm worried that that isn't the case. If we do nothing it might not only be Maurice that she decides to punish."

Belle scowled. "And this is the woman that you're considering helping?"

"This is the woman, unfortunately, who can give us what we want," Adam replied.

What we want. It was certainly what Adam wanted, but was it what she wanted? Belle had to admit that the answer was probably yes.

She had always been an outcast. That was something that had started long before she and her father came to a small provincial village in the Franche-Comte that had forgotten that it sat on the doorstep of their prince's castle. It had started much sooner that, after her clever, bookish mother who used to say that she collected knowledge the way that magpies collected shiny objects passed away. That sounded a little unfair to Papa, who was fond and kind and clever; but his cleverness was in his hands, his dreams were of metal and artifice, and he worried a little more about her security than her fulfilment; he had loved her but he could not really understand her. No one had until fate brought her here.

She had always been an outcast, but that didn't mean that she had ever enjoyed it; it certainly didn't mean that, having found a place where she was understood and loved, she appreciated having that intermittently interrupted by reminders that no, the world beyond the gothic walls of this safe haven still had no place for a girl like her.

She did not desire a crown. To be Princess Belle meant less than nothing to her. But to be their equal, in the way that the world judged as well as the way it ought to judge and to be acknowledged as such, to be protected from their insults, to be acknowledged and admitted; for them to be forced by the same customs and protocols that they presently wielded against her to yield place to her; yes, she wanted that.

To be with him, so that not even the highest status guest would have right or power to banish her from his presence; she wanted that. She wanted it very much.

But she was concerned by what he might have to do to get it for her.

"Do you trust her to keep her word?"

"If she didn't, who would ever trust her again?" Adam said. "Who would serve her, knowing that she had no intention of rewarding them as she promised?"

That, Belle considered, was a true enough point. "I don't want you to go," she whispered.

"Neither do I," Adam said. "I want us to go."

Belle stared at him for a moment, in shocked silence. Of all the things that he might have said by way of a reply to her, she hadn't expected this. "You want... you want me to come with you to Armorique? On a diplomatic mission?"

"Yes," Adam said.

Belle frowned. "And what am I going to do there? Be shunned by an entirely different set of snobs?"

"Prince Eugene of Armorique came to our wedding," Adam said. "Do you remember him?"

Belle thought about it. There had been a lot of guests at their first, public, wedding, and she hadn't been given the opportunity to spend a lot of time with the higher ranked amongst them. She remembered the sympathetic-seeming Princess of Normandie, but that was about it as far as the royal visitors went. "I'm afraid not."

"He married a commoner... it must have been a couple of years ago now."

"Really?" Belle said. From what she knew of Armorique - it was larger, wealthier, and more populous than Adam's realm, not to mention so advanced that it made the Franche-Comte seem very backwards by comparison - she doubted that the wife of Armorique's prince was so fortunate as she in being able to avoid the judgements of a true court. Imagine having to put up with the likes of the three Marias every day. She must love him very much.

Imagine forcing a girl to put up with the likes of the three Marias every day, even if you love her.

"And not morganatically, either," Adam added. "An equal marriage, elevating her to princess."

"Really?" Belle repeated, more intrigued now.

"In the west," Adam said. "Things can be a little more enlightened than in the Empire. I'm hoping that things will be different there."

He had to mean that, since he had never suggested that she humiliate herself by accompanying him to diplomatic functions in the Empire; but even though he clearly believed it Belle could not help but be less certain. The princess of Armorique might have been a commoner once, but she was a princess now and might not have a lot of sympathy for someone who hadn't been so fortunate. Were people in the west really so much better than those in the east? Were they really superior in attitudes and manners? She was not entirely convinced.

But a part of her wanted to be proven wrong. A part of her wanted that very much.

Once upon a time Belle had dreamed of adventure, of the wide world spread out before her. This single move was not, perhaps, so great a leap and what they travelled for did not seem to promise much in the way of excitement but still, it would be something. A chance to see a place that she had never seen before, to meet people she had never met before, perhaps a chance to experience things from a new perspective.

It might be terrible. But it might, instead, actually be fun.

"Come with me," Adam said. "Let me share this with you. A taste of what will come once Queen Maria Theresa holds up her end of the bargain." He paused. "I don't want to be the kind of husband who puts his wife on the shelf and expects her to be waiting for him when he gets back."

"Trust me," Belle murmured. "That kind of husband doesn't have a shelf; he has hangings for his trophies." She smiled. "You could never be that kind of man, and if I thought you could be I would never have married you."

"So... will you come?"

"Yes," Belle said. "Let's go to Armorique, together."

Adam clasped her hand. "Together."

"Together," they said...together.

Author's Note: Writing these Belle chapters feels a little like trying to thread a needle: on the one hand she needs to be at least somewhat unhappy in order to motivate her (and Adam) to seek a change to the status quo…but on the other hand I absolutely despise stories where all the love and acceptance that Belle found with the Beast and in the castle turns out to be illusory and everybody hates her. Which is why I've tried to emphasise that it's only in the presence of outsiders that things get bad and that Adam and the servants still love and admire her.

How am I doing at that so far?