Belle awoke, shocked to find herself not in the darkness of a castle, but of the little cabin on the mountain. Instead of the young prince, it was Adam holding her hand as he lay deep in the throes of sleep beside her.
She'd had a dream… a dream that wasn't a nightmare. A dream that didn't startle her awake, or leave her shaky and fatigued. In fact, it had made her feel…
Well, it was a strange vision to be sure, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to it. She curled up against Adam's warm side, and closed her eyes.
The prince who lived in Adam's mind rested a hand on either side of the water basin, trying to breathe.
Belle was in the adjacent room, right around the corner, trying on an assortment of dance-appropriate footwear. This is so silly. They're just shoes, she had insisted, eyes sparkling while she slid her feet into a pair of golden heels.
She's having a good time, he realized now, shocked at the night's success. Especially since he was completely off his game. Coughing during the performance (damn this freezing night!), running into his former… engagements, then being an ass again right when she'd been looking at him with such soft eyes.
Why do you do that?
Remembering her words made him smile, which made absolutely no sense. Her brashness should have annoyed him, yet it had done nothing but mesmerize him. It was just such a strange sensation having someone actually say what they were thinking. No one in this white-powdered world was like that. No, when they weren't fawning before him they were whispering about him behind his back. Every conversation was a game; any word could hold a hidden meaning that would bite you in the derrière later on if you failed to see it.
But Belle did none of that. She was so honest, about everything, and made him feel like he could be too. He didn't have to hide around her. Didn't have to pretend.
She made him feel… safe.
He pressed his hands to his face. He'd never this way about anyone. It was amazing. He also felt like he was going to throw up.
Oh my god, what am I doing?! he thought, running his hands down his cheeks. He'd only planned to set the record straight with her when the night began. The old Beast had completely misrepresented him— which, though not exactly his fault, was still annoying as hell. The prince had been determined to do something about it, especially after that fiasco in the carriage.
Except… he'd forgotten that was the goal when he'd seen Belle from the small stage, watching him from the shadows. The way she'd been looking at him had made his stomach flip over itself, the party goers from his memories fading away as they locked eyes. He'd suspected Belle would enjoy a little Shakespeare— good Shakespeare— but he hadn't expected her to look so spellbound by it. Like she really felt something from his words.
The elation soon soured, panic crashing into him like a great wave. He'd sworn long ago not to let anyone close, and here he was getting sick to his stomach over one of… them.
"Fuck," he said under his breath, resting his hands back on the basin. Why did he think things like that? He didn't think badly of Belle for where she came from. He didn't. He didn't.
Huffing, he looked up and caught his own reflection staring at him from the mirror. In his earlier angst he'd smeared the blue paint down his face, which now appeared like two long, gaping eyes.
He looked truly monstrous.
"I've narrowed it down to two!"
The prince spun around. Belle stood in the doorway, lifting her skirts to reveal a different shoe on each foot. He saw the fullness of each ankle and quite a bit beyond, and to his horror felt himself blushing. He looked quickly away. "Um…"
"I adore the scarlet ones," she went on, still eying her feet, "but they're quite challenging to walk in. I must concede, ten hours in these sounds dreadful."
"Yeah…" What in the ever loving hell was wrong with him? It's not like he'd never seen a girl's legs before. But seeing Belle's was making him lose his mind!
"Goodness! Have you never cleaned your own face?" she asked.
He would have been beet red at this point if it weren't for the makeup. "Of course I have!"
He immediately regretted the outburst, but Belle only laughed. Her voice was so bright and alive, holding nothing back; it stood in stark contrast to the mechanical laughter of the people he was usually stuck around.
It was clear that Belle hadn't been brought up with the same rules he had, or else she chose to ignore them. She held something wild within her; something free. He wished, suddenly, for her to steal him away from here, to carry him off on horseback and show him the real world. Her world.
The warmth was spreading the rest of his body. He coughed. "So," he said. "My distress entertains you?"
"No. But teasing you does."
The prince made a great show of scowling before she skipped back to the adjoining room. As soon as she was out of sight again he broke into a crooked smile. She's flirting with me!
Renewed, he faced the basin again. He hadn't actually done this before, but it couldn't be so hard. He located a bar of soap and a hand cloth, staring at them for a long moment before sticking both in the basin and swirling them about.
His body had yet to recover from the previous encounter; in fact, the feelings seemed to grow worse the more he thought about it. And in that moment he wondered, in shock, if he'd ever truly been attracted to anyone before. Because it had never felt like this, not even close. Instead of a superficial arousal, dull and fleeting, he felt this in his chest, shooting out to the tips of his fingers and bottoms of his feet. His fucking knees actually felt weak!
And then it happened again. The panic from before, clawing at the new warmth in his heart. Don't let her close, it said. Don't ever love again. It will only hurt. It will only end.
"C-calm down," he told himself quietly, forcing in a slow breath. His chest hurt like hell tonight, and he was starting to worry that he'd have an episode. He didn't want Belle to see him like that. He was on thin ice as it was.
He sighed, and brought the cloth out of the water, shaking it about for a moment before bringing it to his face. The nice thing about dreams was this kind of thing was as easy as you wanted it to be. With a single wipe, half the makeup was gone, splitting his face perfectly in two. One half was now clean and boyish, while the other remained a powdered white, his lips too red, a bruising blue still staining his eye.
Adam stared at his reflection, wondering who he really was inside.
The Belle who was visiting Adam's mind laughed under her breath. His ears had turned so red!
Though it hurt her pride, she could admit that she'd been wrong about the prince. That there was quite a lot she liked about him. Yes, he could be impulsive and short-tempered… but it felt unfair to hold that against him, seeing as she was a bit that way herself. And beneath the callous veneer, Adam seemed to feel things very deeply. Passionately.
Belle found this wildly attractive.
They were in some kind of dressing room, where she returned to an open wardrobe stuffed with dresses and shoes of every style, many of which lay scattered about her feet. Some held beautiful gems, others with strings of creamy pearls stitched into the finest silks.
Belle felt suddenly ill, stepping back and falling onto the private parlor's sofa. How much did these shoes cost? How much of the people's labor had been wasted on such extravagance while children starved in the streets?
Belle tugged at the ends of her hair while guilt tore at her chest. She knew this wasn't just about the shoes, but about indulging in this world, a place built by the world's most heartless people. Was it wrong to take pleasure in the company of one of them?
She chewed on her lip. She liked him, she did. She longed to know more about him, and longed for a friend after all these years trapped alone in her own miserable mind.
But… the prince didn't take care of his people. He might have apologized to her, but words were not actions. And while she knew he would eventually see the error of his ways, the prince as he was now was not the kind of person she wished to be with. She'd already watched herself try to change one man in the real world, not having any other choice. She wasn't going to waste her time trying it again. No; they would have their dance, part ways, and she'd stay inside her own dreams from now on.
The thought left her feeling rather sad.
Belle looked back over the array of beautiful shoes, wishing to distract herself. She wondered how much money a pair would fetch, the number of orphanages it could feed (forgetting, momentarily, that this was just a dream). She glanced towards the washroom then, considering how many she could stuff into her skirts without Adam noticing.
"Well… here you go."
Several shoes tumbled out of her arms as the prince stepped back into the room, clean-faced. The freckles he mentioned did indeed bathe much of his skin, with a few darker spots scattered over his broad nose and cheeks, like a constellation of stars. And when he finally looked up she saw his eyes—so familiar, and so much brighter now that they weren't surrounded by that awful powder. Yes, his cheeks were a little sunken and there were shadows under his eyes, but Belle hardly noticed, thinking how very soft and kind his features seemed.
Adam looked so different from… him. She felt a wave of relief.
"I did warn you," he said, looking away and moving across the room to take a seat beside her.
He was talking about his freckles. "You didn't need to. I like them," she said.
He rolled his eyes. "You do not. But thank you, anyway."
"Excuse me, but I do too. They're so cute!"
"Oh, cute. Great."
Belle laughed lightly, and the prince didn't look so put out as he pretended to be.
"You know what," Belle said, bringing a hand to her chin. "I think I can see it."
"Not a resemblance, surely!"
She chuckled. "Mostly your eyes." And the little curve on the side of his mouth. The way he rested his legs. Even his hands— smaller, obviously, and only a few hairs spotting their backs. But shaped much the same.
"Oh," he said, relaxing. "Well, that's because she forgot to change them."
"Forgot?"
He shrugged. "Seems that way, at least."
"And your hair is kind of similar." Belle reached out to touch it, but pulled back quickly and looked into her lap.
The prince cleared his throat. "Well! You've had your look," he said, slapping his thighs and rising to his feet. "Now I need to put that blasted powder back on."
"What?" she gasped, then flushed at her slip. "I mean… why?"
He shrugged. "They always put it on me. I'm not sure anyone would recognize me without it." He glanced at the door, eyes narrowing. "Actually… that might work in my favor."
Belle was still processing her horror over the fact that someone would cover up such a great face every day. No wonder he felt the need to act like someone else. She shook her head. "Work in your favor? You mean, hiding from eager princesses and abandoned guards?"
"Exactly."
"But won't they worry? The, uh, guards, rather."
"Who cares?" he said, turning around and plopping back beside her on the sofa. "I can't stand being watched all the time. It's driving me mad. And they're not real anyway," he shrugged, glancing over. "You're the only real person I've met in his dreams."
At that, they fell silent.
He spoke first. "Do you know what we are… exactly?"
"Not really, no."
They sat quietly again, both deep in thought.
Adam looked towards the darkened window and sighed. "I know I'm a part of him, at least. But he treats me like a pest."
"Are you a pest?" she asked, ignoring the fact that she was something far worse in her own head.
"Uh… well, yes. But it's just because that's the only side of me he can remember."
Belle stilled, her heart suddenly pounding. "What do you mean?"
"He's forgotten the most important parts," he said quietly, still staring out at the dark night. "He's forgotten what I tried to do. Just because I failed doesn't mean I didn't try."
Her eyes grew wide. "Are you saying… you did try to help us?"
He huffed, looking away from the window and scowling. "What does it matter? I realized too late, and accomplished nothing."
"It still matters," Belle said softly. It matters to me. "But… he said you tormented everyone beneath you."
"He does."
A shiver ran up the prince's spine as two large, pale hands landed on his shoulders. Belle looked up to see a rather fit man with a goatee and blond hair cropped about the crown of his head. He wore heavy golden armor, blue robes, and a very important looking seal on his chest. "Your Highness. I am grateful you remain safe and well," the guard said. Then he leaned in close to Adam's ear. "You are in some seriously deep shit."
The prince stayed frozen for another heartbeat, then rose suddenly to his feet to face the man. "Phoebus! There you are!" he cried quite belatedly, holding out his arms in a welcoming gesture. "I've been searching everywhere for you guys." A pause. "Since we got separated."
"Nice try. Let's go."
"Let's not be too hasty!" Adam said, hands held up in front of him and looking more than a little desperate. "I… I promised Belle a dance."
She gave a small wave. "Bonjour!"
"Belle?" came a new, heavily accented voice. A second guard stepped into the room, a tall, slender woman with warm brown skin and a thick braid of curly red hair that fell over one shoulder. Unlike the first man, she wore a leathery kind of armor and carried bow and massive quiver of arrows strapped to her back. She tugged the latter off before falling into the nearest chair. "Aww, wee prince, is thees the gal ye were waitin'—"
"FERDINAND ADAM ALPHONSE LOUIS!"
A third person stormed into the room, an older man who was round about the middle and beet red in the face. "There were six guards on you," he gasped, stopping in front of the prince while dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Six! How in God's name did you get away this time?"
"Ah, Cogsworth," Adam said, reaching out to straighten the man's wig, which was slipping from his head. "You know me. I'm a free spirit!" he declared, stepping back and leaping theatrically atop a short table. "I cannot be contained!"
The guards chuckled, and Belle hid a smile behind her hand. He was so silly!
Cogsworth, on the other hand, sighed deeply, reaching for the nearest armrest and settling heavily into the adjoining chair. "Lumiere has had far too much influence on you," he muttered, pressing his fingers into his temples.
Belle glanced up at Adam then, smirking. "Ferdinand?"
He wilted a little. "Don't remind me."
"One of these times," Cogsworth continued, tapping his chest. "Your shenanigans are going to stop this old ticker for good. And then how will you feel, hmm?"
The light in the prince's eyes dimmed. "I'm sorry…" he said. The others were starting to fade, the furniture melting like wax all around them.
Belle reached for Adam's hand, grasping it tightly. He looked over at her, slowly, eyes empty of the mirth that had been there moments before.
"That's not what he meant," she said softly.
"And this time you've dragged this lovely young person into it," Cogsworth was saying, and when Belle turned she saw the man sitting there once again, everything back to normal. He turned, and offered her a gentle nod. "I am Cogsworth. Head of the household."
"It's, um, very nice to make your acquaintance," Belle said, giving her best ladylike curtsy but stumbling a little in her new shoes. "I'm Belle Dupont."
Cogsworth sat up a little taller. "Ah, Belle!" He turned to Adam. "Was this is the guest you were—"
The prince coughed loudly, looking sharply towards the door. The footman she'd met earlier had followed Cogsworth into the room, leaning lazily against the wall. He gave an innocent shrug, then pushed himself to his feet and made his way over. "Your Highness. We have lured the guests away from the ballroom for dinner. Perhaps now would be a good time for your dance?"
The ballroom was now beautifully, blissfully empty.
They were escorted here by the prince's guard, which Adam grumbled about more than once along the way. But his armed women and men remained by the doors as Adam showed Belle into the grand room.
The tables of sweets had been cleared away, the champagne-sticky floors now clean and sparkling in candlelight. The footman stepped forward to speak quietly with the prince, and while he did Belle moved slowly towards the center of the room, admiring the dazzling chandelier. She could appreciate the domed ceiling now, and smiled at the little cherubs painted there. She could have sworn she saw them move, playing together among the clouds. The curse hadn't happened yet, but already this castle seemed enchanted.
"You're not fond of crowds, right?" the prince said, moving beside her.
The footman must have noticed her discomfort earlier. Had she been so obvious?
"I don't want you to think… I would happily dance with you among the others," he said. "But I think we'd both prefer to avoid the den of wolves."
"I'm grateful. But… why invite them here, if you dislike them so?"
"I didn't invite them."
"Then who did?"
He sighed. "My godmother."
Godmother?
"But! Enough about that," he said quickly, before she could ask more about it. "The Beast—"
"We are not calling him that."
"—has sorely neglected you in your lessons. Maestro! Are you in here?"
A voice called back, a head of wild hair popping up from behind the harpsichord. "Oui, my prince!"
He immediately began to play, along with a stringed quartet. A middle-aged woman with a performer's presence stepped up beside him, holding a strange but darling little creature.
"Is that… a dog?" Belle asked.
The prince cracked a smile.
The woman offered the maestro a doting glance before turning to the room and bursting into song.
Belle's mouth fell open. She had never heard anything so glorious! "You have… the opera. In your house."
"I mean, not the opera," the prince said. "That's Madame de Garderobe, a famous Parisian soprano who retired early and moved here with her husband." He leaned a little closer. "They are both insane, and I'm obsessed with them."
Belle choked back a snort. She continued to watch, gawking like the peasant she was, heart near bursting at the realization that a song could be so moving.
"Would you rather sit, and listen?" Adam asked.
Belle looked back at him. His eyes had softened, and she wondered why. She shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "Let's dance."
.
Once she had the steps down, it was actually quite fun— the ease with which he spun her, the way they mirrored each other as they turned. Still, Belle struggled to mimic his gracefulness and tripped once or twice, unaccustomed to the shoes and increasingly distracted by her partner. With her previous reservations about him increasingly dimmed, she found herself quite eager to be close to him. Fortunately, she'd crafted a rather low-cut bodice, and he'd had no option but to rest his hand on the bare skin of her back each time they spun around. Belle felt a strange sense of victory about it.
"Why did Big You never mention her?" she asked him once she felt more confident in her movements.
They turned away from one another. Two steps, then back together.
"Who?"
"Your godmother."
"Oh." He spun her carefully as Belle minded not to step on his toes. "He doesn't remember her."
"Really?" They turned, back to back, circling one another. "Why has he forgotten so much?"
"I'm not entirely sure," the prince said, facing her again and taking her hands. "But I have a couple theories."
"Tell me," she said eagerly.
"Well, first… You know how the curse that made everyone forget us? I think there's a very good chance it affected our memories as well."
Belle's eyes went wide. She hadn't even considered… he lost memories of himself? "How terrible!"
"Yes, well... theory number two— and far less affecting— is that he fell on his head too many times after…" He trailed off. "Anyway. Brain damage. I know he's supposedly immortal, but the healing seems clumsy. I'm sorry to tell you, Belle, but your Beast is a rather dull creature."
Belle frowned. "He isn't dull."
"He is dull. And old. And boring. I can't believe I grow so dreadful."
"You grow dreadful? Look at what became of me!"
Adam cocked his head, a crease forming between his brows.
"She… I, gave up," Belle explained quietly. "Just completely… gave up. All I ever wanted to be was brave. But as it turns out, I'm not very brave at all."
"What are you talking about?" he said. He slowed their dance, stopping them in the far side of the room. "You stayed there all that time to protect your village. You survived something… terrifying."
"But did I?" Belle felt the old sorrow behind her eyes. "Look at how small and… and mousy I became."
Someone was moving towards them, silently dimming the candles along the wall. Adam waited until he was out of earshot. "I don't see that," he said softly. "Why would you think that?"
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You don't see it?"
"No. Not at all."
"Oh…" Belle looked away, out room's many glass doors. The skies beyond had cleared, and stars were twinkling.
Adam followed her gaze. His breathing had grown heavy, heavier even than her own. "Would you… like some air?" he asked.
She nodded.
Two footman appeared as they approached the doors, offering Belle a heavy cloak of indigo velvet. Adam pulled one of deep maroon around his own shoulders, thanked them, and led Belle out into the night.
Though the faces from his memories had blurred, these visions of the gardens, treetops, and stars were near lifelike. Adam led them to a wide ledge, helping her sit. He turned away and cleared his throat, then sat beside her and turned to face the view.
She remembered the things she had said to him in the carriage. A heaviness weighed on her chest.
"I was wrong," she said.
Adam turned back.
"You're not like… him. Not at all."
He looked into his lap.
"I'm sorry," she went on, feeling a pressure in the corners of her eyes. "I should never have said something so awful. It's just— I also say things I don't mean. Terrible things, sometimes."
"You don't have anything to be sorry for." He moved a little closer, and held out his hands.
It was too easy to take them. Felt too natural to hold them, despite how very differently he was shaped in this dream world. Even here, his touch was gentle. Even here, the space beside him felt safe and warm.
This all seemed so real. She wanted this to be real. She wanted to see what it felt like kissing him in this form. She was curious how his hands, here, would feel while he touched her.
Belle looked down, suddenly shy, and Adam let go of her hands. She felt an ache in her chest, worried she had ruined the moment.
He started playing with his rings again. No… removing them, one at a time, then dropping them unceremoniously into the nearest flower pot.
Belle raised a brow at him.
"They're rather cold against the skin," he explained. Then he took one of her hands in his again, and looked into her eyes.
An invitation. A gentle one, easily ignored if she wished.
You must be bold. Daring!
Belle blushed, and looked at her hands now folded in her lap. "These gloves," she said, forcing the words aloud, "… are doing very little to keep out the cold."
He breathed out, then laced his fingers between hers. It was indeed much warmer, and sent a new kind of heat straight to her toes, but he wasn't done; his other hand was moving too, reaching out and beneath the heavy fabric of her cloak.
A wave of anticipation brushed against her.
He grasped her satin-bound wrist and ran his hand up the length of her arm. His fingertips ventured beneath the loose sleeves of her gown, circling around her shoulder before retreating and tucking themselves beneath the edge of her long gloves.
Belle sighed softly.
He pulled her glove down, trailing his fingers along her inner arm as he did. He stopped just past her elbow, breathed in, touched its soft inside. Belle flushed, surprised at the how sensitive her skin was there, how his simple caress had created such a pleasant shiver within her.
The hand holding hers started working at her fingers, one by one, gently tugging at the fabric encasing them until he could slip the entire glove free. He folded it in half, laying it in her lap and smoothing out the places the satin had bunched. Belle's thighs relished the feeling, even through layers of petticoats.
He interlaced their fingers again. Of course, her older self loved his spellbound hands in the real world — the way they softly cradled her own, the way their size contrasted their gentleness and the feeling of his large thumb when it rubbed against her palm. But with human hands he could caress the tender insides of her fingers and press his palm flush to hers, fitting them together. It felt so intimate.
Adam lifted her hand to his lips then, and kissed its back. He looked up at her again.
Belle's cheeks grew hot, despite the chilly air. Sacre bleu! He really could pull out the charm, couldn't he? And how easily she was falling for it!
She smiled, in spite of herself. Leaned into him. She'd been trapped in a mind tormented by nightmares for years now, and welcomed the opportunity for a respite. For an adventure. Maybe Old Belle was right— maybe it wasn't too late.
You must ask him yourself.
She'd started things once before, hadn't she? Or rather… she would. Surely her older self wasn't braver than she was now. And so she spoke her thoughts aloud before she could change her mind.
"Would your reputation suffer too fiercely," she said, her heart pounding, "…if you made an exception tonight?"
He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then his eyes grew large. "Yes!" he gasped. "I-I mean, no, no! It wouldn't suffer. Or rather, I don't give a— I don't mind. I do, yes, wish to… make an exception."
Belle snorted lightly. She'd broken his charming act, it seemed, but felt warm all over regardless.
She reached out, and touched his cheek. His eyes softened again, and she drew her fingers down his jaw, her thumb coming up and running across his bottom lip. It, too, had a similar shape to that of his cursed form.
"Belle," he breathed, ducking his head and pressing their cheeks together. He turned, his mouth touching the corner of hers. She tilted her head, and with the movement their lips brushed.
Belle trembled, and thought perhaps he had too.
Adam pulled back just long enough to look at her, with those eyes that she knew, then drew close and kissed her.
She felt at once underwater, floating in a warm pool. The kiss was tender, lingering as he drew one hand up and rested it against her neck. She closed her eyes and reveled in the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his fingers, burying themselves in her hair.
When he pulled away it was too soon… too soon. He did so very slowly, like it pained him as much as it did her, but remained close enough she could feel the heat of his breath mingling with hers.
Her body was rapidly awakening, not from the dream, but into it. She closed the distance between them again, her mouth parting against his and inviting him in. He readily accepted.
Oh Lord! The way he kissed her… gently, then deeply, then gently again and away, but never fully away. She felt savored by him, adored as he brought their joined hands to his chest and squeezed her fingers between his.
Belle's head grew weak in his hand, and she felt none of the night's cold anymore.
His thumb caressed the soft underside of her jaw next, then the length of her throat, his fingers running over her cloak's tie and dipping into the hollow of her neck. Belle sighed against his mouth, and he moved to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck. She could hear her own breathing growing louder as he drew his fingertips down beneath the cover of her cloak... (* censored - full version free on AO3 *)
Belle shuddered, grabbing the front of his coat with both hands.
Someone's armor clinked across the balcony. A guard, hiding in the shadows. Belle flushed brightly, realizing they had an audience.
Adam breathed out a short, steaming breath, chilled by the midnight air. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, for the second time that night.
"Like… that?" she managed, wishing to tease him but still feeling quite breathless.
He smiled crookedly. "If you still wish it."
She glanced back towards the guard, trying to act casual. "I do…"
"Then follow me."
He stood, then to her surprise stepped up onto the balcony's wide ledge. He held out his other hand, and Belle took it, letting him hoist her up beside him. Then he stepped back, into the shadows of the enormous potted plant beside them, pulling her along with him.
"We'll stay here for a bit," he said quietly. He hesitated. "We want them to think we're… well, you know."
"Would it not be more convincing if we actually were?"
.
Five minutes later the armor clinked again, but Belle didn't hear it.
She had lost most of the strength in her legs by this point, her back pressed against the prince's chest as she clung to the arm he'd wrapped across her shoulders... (* censored - full version free on AO3 *)
She gazed up at the night sky, eyes filled with the stars above, trembling with delight. This is… the best dream… I've ever had…
Suddenly, Adam pulled his hand free and tugged her cloak more tightly around her. When she looked back at him he gave her a wink just as someone ducked their head around the side of the pot.
A young guard stood there, wide-eyed at the sight of their intimate position.
Belle, remembering their earlier objective, gasped and brought her hands to her face, doing her best to act affronted. The prince struck a very convincing scowl. "Théodore!" he barked. "What the hell?"
"M-my apologies, Your Highness! I thought, perhaps… you had…"
"Where could I possibly run off to? It's a four story drop!"
"Forgive me, your Highness," he said, backing away. "You're right, of course." He nodded nervously towards Belle. "Mademoiselle… So sorry…" Then he turned on his heel and rushed back to his post.
"I feel a little bad!" Belle whispered, trying not to laugh.
Adam waited until the armor grew quiet. Then he grinned, turned to her, and kissed her once more. "Don't be alarmed," he said, then climbed over the ledge and vanished from sight.
Belle's eyes grew wide. She leaned nervously over, expecting a large drop, but found Adam's eyes only a couple feet below. He seemed to be floating in the darkness, but when she looked closer she saw he was standing on a ledge made of black stone.
He held out his hands.
Belle bit her lip in excitement. She tried to follow his path over the edge, but realized she couldn't do so without ruining her dress and possibly endangering them both with her great bulk.
Adam cocked his head at her hesitation. She motioned to her dress, held up a finger, and proceeded to untie her skirt and one of the petticoats beneath. She folded the delicate skirt within the underlayer and left them tucked beneath his cloak. As for her heels, they seemed more trouble than they were worth, so she abandoned them as well. As a final thought she removed her other glove— with some regret, as she wished for Adam to do with it what he had the other, but figured she would need the traction of her fingertips if she were to be scaling the castle walls.
It was far easier to follow him now, and there was no dampness from the earlier rain— the result of dream magic, no doubt. Adam caught her from below, steadying her on the ledge as a gentle breeze blew through their hair.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I should have considered your gown."
"It's all right. This is fun! But… what now?"
"Well, I'm thinking we head to the orangery. It's warm, and my guards won't think to check there until they've scoured the castle." Adam pointed down. "There's a massive patch of English Ivy that will get us to the second floor, then we'll skirt along the outside of the dining hall. That ledge is a bit narrow, but you can kind of, um, balance using the tops of the garden gates…" He trailed off. "This is a rather rough journey. I wasn't thinking. We can go back—"
Belle turned away from him, locating the mentioned vines and giving them a tug. They were indeed quite tough, and she swung herself over the ledge without a second thought.
"Come on," she whispered up at him. "I don't know the way."
.
They scurried along the outer walls of the palace, Belle following in his every careful step, gripping cold stone and feeling the surrounding lake's winds brush against her cloak. This was the most exciting night she'd ever had!
Adam was surprisingly agile and silent as a hare, able to hold stone still and appear as one of the palace's many gargoyles in shadow. In fact, most of the journey had been slow, and patient— waiting until a maid finished cleaning the windows so they could scurry past it; counting until the third guard's pass before scrambling over a roof.
They grew… distracted, once or twice, slowing their process, but at other times Adam stopped them seemingly at random so he could close his eyes and rest his head against the nearest wall. Perhaps he was listening for something, but he seemed to focus only on his breathing. It was dawning on Belle that his intermittent cough stemmed from something more serious than a cold, but felt it impolite to ask. She wondered why Big Adam hadn't yet mentioned it— another forgotten part of his past?
"We're here."
He'd said it aloud, his voice back to a normal after a half hour of whispering in each other's ears. They had reached the gardens some time back, wandering its web of paths under the moonlight, hand in hand. Now a massive structure stood before them, one wall covered entirely in green-paned windows. Belle could see the dark outlines of trees inside.
Adam was breathing heavily, far more than she. He coughed, roughly, into his sleeve.
"Are you well?" Belle asked.
"Yes," he said quickly. "It's just… the cold." He glanced back at her. "I like this look too, by the way. Quite revolutionary."
Belle looked down at herself. The yellow ribboned stay of her gown was paired with two white petticoats. Her boots had reappeared on her feet at some point during their escape— as if her own mind's objects were determined to return home with her. "I would not think a prince too fond of the revolutionary," she teased.
"Ah. Well… I am not a very good prince."
That was indeed curious!
The orangery's warm air greeted her as soon as Adam pulled the door open. She stepped inside and sucked in a deep breath. It was humid in here, but not uncomfortably so, a relief from the dry winter air. He helped her remove her cloak, laying it along with his own over the nearest bench before bracing himself on its back. He coughed, gasped, and coughed again.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked
He recovered and nodded, casting his eyes into the room. "Want some?" he said roughly.
Belle looked around. They stood on a narrow path that cut between several rows of small trees. Their ripened fruit filled the air with a pleasant smell that left her stomach rumbling. "I am a little hungry."
The prince nodded, then turned away and coughed again. Sensing he desired some space, Belle left him to recover and stepped off the path, moving between the trees. She plucked small samplings of the softest fruits— bright cherries, deep red plums, and…
"Oranges! I've never had one." She'd never even seen one, and here was a small forest of them, growing in the middle of winter! It was in the place's name, she supposed. She reached out, cradling the nearest one in her palm and leaning close to smell its sweet aroma. "Are you sure I can take this?" she called back, running her fingers over its textured skin.
The prince didn't reply, though his coughing had stopped.
"Adam?" she asked, looking behind her.
He was sitting on the bench now, leaning forward and resting his arms heavily on his knees. His head hung between them.
Belle dropped her skirt, the fruit spilling into the dirt, and rushed back. "Adam, please," she said, sitting beside him and resting a hand on his back. "What's wrong?"
He glanced at her, mouth ajar, but didn't reply. The movements of his chest were labored, far than before despite the minutes spent resting. He hardly seemed to be breathing at all, managing to suck in some air but barely able to push any back out again.
"You need help," Belle gasped. "A doctor…" She stood, and rushed back out the door.
She was still in the garden, of course, facing the maze of paths they had taken to get here. She had the sudden, dreadful realization that she didn't know the way back. She tried calling for help, but the winds had grown strong, rain starting to fall again. No one would hear her, and perhaps there was no one to hear her, for the castle itself had grown totally dark.
This dream was becoming a nightmare.
Belle ran back to the greenhouse. The vines covering the outer walls had thickened, blocking the door. She tore at them and stumbled back inside, where the once delicate trees had grown large, their massive roots pushing out of the ground and cracking the beautiful stone floor. Everything was growing muddy and warped, and seemed to be fading from her vision. Her chest grew tight, afraid she would be thrust back to her own nightmares if Adam lost consciousness.
He rested his head on the wall behind him now, eyes closed, a hand pressed to his chest. Belle stepped carefully past the fast growing roots and sat beside him again, watching as his breath grew increasingly shallow and frantic.
"You're all right," she said, as if convincing herself. "This… this is only a dream, remember?"
She reached for his hand, holding it to her chest in both of her own. What was happening? Could this kill him? Belle knew so little and was suddenly awash with panic. She felt… helpless. Confused, and increasingly alone in this strange place.
He tugged at his arm then and she let it go, watching as he reached his trembling hand into his coat. From it he retrieved a small glass vial. He struggled with it for a moment, then popped the cork free. A strange, bright green smoke started leaking from its top, and he quickly brought it to his nose, breathing it in.
Medicine? She'd never seen anything like it. And how was it glowing?
Well, whatever it was, it seemed to give him some relief. He let his head fall back against the wall and the empty vial slip from his fingers. Belle caught it before it could fall to the floor.
She was tucking it back into Adam's coat pocket when he touched her face. She looked up, and watched as he pulled his hand back weakly and pointed to a spot across the room. Belle turned, spotting a large round clock against the far wall. It was melting, the numbers unreadable.
Belle frowned. A clock… time. She looked back at him. "You need time?"
He closed his eyes and nodded weakly.
"How long will it last?"
He shrugged a little. He held up three, then four fingers, before dropping his hand and letting his head fall back against the wall.
"Minutes?"
He grimaced, and shook his head.
This would last for hours? How terrible!
He lifted his hand again, pointing at himself and the floor, then at her and her head.
"Go… home," he mouthed between breaths.
Go back to her own dreams? "Don't be ridiculous," she told him. "I won't leave you."
He made a very grumpy face.
"None of that," she said, oddly relieved by his irritation. He wasn't going to die on her, it seemed.
She pulled his arm across her shoulders, looping her arm around his waist. "Come on. You can't sit on this hard bench all night. Let's find somewhere more comfortable."
With one great heave, she hoisted him to his feet. He stared down at her, wide-eyed.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "You know I wrangle a draft horse at home. Or have you really not been listening to them?"
"Phillipe," he rasped.
Belle turned away and smiled.
She dragged him slowly past the rows of trees. The roots were beginning to recede and they stepped carefully over the cracks in the floor and into another maze of rooms. He guided her with the occasional lift of his finger, eventually leading them to a small, round, east-facing room, with massive window seats and three rings of stone-lined planters.
It was a rose garden.
Beneath the moonlight, each flower smiled in perfect bloom. Much like the strange medicine, their color was far too bright for the dark space, as though emanating their own faint glow.
Adam had no doubt led them here because of her gown. Her heart grew warm. Why had she been so determined to hate him?
Belle wove them carefully around the plants, admiring the roses as they went. She lingered especially long on one of deep red, unable to look away. Beyond its pulsing, pinkish glow, a glittering substance was slowly emerging from between its thick petals. A pollen, maybe, which appeared as tiny stars floating gently in the air all around them.
Adam rested his head on hers, his shallow breathing far more rapid than earlier. He lifted his hand again.
"I'm sorry," she said, realizing she was keeping him too long on his feet. "I—"
He grabbed her wrist weakly, and guided her hand towards the flower's stem. "Hold," he said. "Careful."
Intrigued, Belle obeyed, avoiding the rose's sharp thorns. He picked up a small pair of shears left behind by the gardener, and snipped the stem at its base before dropping the tool into the dirt and letting his hand fall back against his side.
Belle took the flower tenderly, bringing it to her nose. It smelled… like something she should remember, but couldn't. Like she'd entered a dream, within this dream.
She looked up at Adam, who smiled a little.
"Are they magic?" she asked.
He nodded, then his eyes drifted towards the windows.
Belle moved them along again, reaching the closest window seat and setting him on its edge. Adam pried off his shoes then sat back and closed his eyes.
In addition to her boots, Belle's outer skirts had returned to her now too. She didn't think Adam had noticed, and took the opportunity to discard them all again. She also used the chance to cast off the dampness beneath her arms using a little dream magic.
Adam seemed to have forgotten the convenience of dreams as he now struggled to remove his coat. Belle set her rose carefully on the windowsill and reached out to help. Once she'd freed one arm he reached up to tug his collar loose. The string holding it together caught in a sharp knot, and he quickly gave up, resting his head back and closing his eyes.
Belle lay his folded coat off to the side reached out to untie it for him. "The mystery of your magical roses is going to eat me alive until you can talk again," she said.
He lifted his hand, motioning as if writing in the air. Then he glanced around the space, furrowing his brows.
Belle stood, searching the small room and the two closest. In the third she found an apothecary's desk, retrieving a quill, ink, and a leather-bound journal half-filled with plant sketches and strange figures.
"Will your gardener be too cross?" she asked once she returned.
Adam took the quill and notebook from her. She sat beside him and held the little jar of ink as he wrote:
He'll survive.
He stared at the page for a long moment.
They are my godmother's roses.
Belle waited for him to continue, but he didn't. After a moment, her eyes went wide. "You don't mean to say she's your fairy godmother!"
He shrugged, nodding.
"What? But…" Something felt wrong. "Why didn't she help you, after…"
Adam frowned. He looked down at the quill, hesitating.
I don't think you will believe me.
She knew what it felt like to not be believed. She had watched, screaming from within older Belle's head, as those who were supposed to help made her feel that all of it was her fault. Something within her caught fire.
"I'll believe you," she said. "Tell me."
Even then, he clenched his jaw hard. Two thick drops of ink had stained the page before he wrote again. He lifted the quill halfway through, biting his lip, and wrote something more before showing her.
She cursed us. Among other things.
The room tilted in Belle's vision. This didn't make any sense. And yet, somehow, it felt like a piece of a puzzle that she had finally found. "She… Hold on… What of the enchantress?"
All the Fairy Godmothers are enchantresses. It's a major qualification for the job.
"Don't make fun!" Belle cried. "This is serious!"
He smiled a little, to himself. "You—" He cleared his throat, blinked his eyes hard, and resumed writing.
You really believe me?
"Yes, and I now have about a hundred more questions."
He began to smile, then set the quill down roughly and sat back. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I'm being such a pest. Here," she said, setting down the ink alongside the rose and dragging the other materials from his lap. But he reached out one arm and motioned for her to stop, so she returned them. He leaned back again, holding them tightly in his lap.
A minute later, he started writing again.
This is kind of an 'off' day for me.
He breathed for a bit, then went on.
This doesn't normally happen.
Belle scooted a little closer, weaving her arm through his and looking up at him. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
He stared back at her for a long moment. Then he quickly looked back at his lap.
You are very curious about me, aren't you?
Belle felt a sense of déjà vu. "No," she fibbed.
"You are… too," he said, wheezing out a small laugh. He grew still for a few moments, then simply wrote:
Plague.
The Black Death. Belle remembered it, had fleeting memories of their flight from Paris to escape it. Crowds of people, pressed against them. Women screaming, men pushing. The sight of bodies being piled up on the roadside before Papa covered her eyes.
Adam was staring at the paper with glassy eyes, like he was no longer here anymore. In fact, he seemed to be fading away, his body growing transparent in the shadows.
Belle reached out and grasped his hand. "Battle scars, then," she said.
Adam perked up a little, and looked back at her.
"You fought the Black Death himself, and won," she said in earnest. "I've never met someone who survived it."
He went quiet for a moment. Then he glanced up, a mischievous look in his eye, and reached for the quill again.
You can be really nice, when you want to be.
She sighed. "And you appear to be consistently maddening."
A moment passed. "Sorry."
Belle looked up when he spoke, but he had turned away. "Oh," she said. "I was only teasing—"
He shook his head, and wrote:
I'm not what you imagined.
He gripped the quill tightly.
I understand if this changes your mind about
He paused.
everything. The Beast is so strong and I'm
Belle reached out and stopped him. "I don't care about that."
He raised a brow.
"It's true. And…" She blushed. "Oh! I can't believe you're making me say it aloud. But… I'm really very fond of you this way."
"Too?" he croaked.
She felt as red as her new rose. "I can have a variety of tastes, can't I?"
He laughed breathlessly, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked much more relaxed now, and even seemed to be breathing a little easier.
Still, he looked tired, and guilt started to tug at her chest. The cold… and the exertion, no doubt. Racing through the halls, teaching her to dance, gallivanting over the rooftops. It had caused this to happen to him, hadn't it? He must have known, for he had clearly dealt with this in times past. Why then had he done those things he knew could hurt him?
It was to spend time with her, and to show her this beautiful place. To keep kissing her, and more, as she'd asked.
Belle felt terrible. Perhaps, tonight, she'd acted too bravely. What had gotten into her? This wasn't like the other boys she'd tried things with— travelers, usually, who didn't know her reputation for being peculiar. Those had been done cautiously. Carefully. She'd kissed them, been disappointed, and thought maybe it would get better a little further along. It never did, and with each she had jumped ship before really getting herself in trouble. She was curious, but not that curious.
At least… until now.
Belle reached for his gift, twirling the rose between her fingers and admiring its strange beauty. She had so many more questions, but she also liked how it felt to just sit here, in a silence that, for once, didn't feel lonely.
She heard the rough scratching of a quill again, and looked over. But he had already finished writing, tearing the page from the journal and folding it in half. He slipped it to her, then laid back and closed his eyes.
Belle rested her head against his arm, and carefully opened the note.
I'm so glad you are here.
"Me too," she whispered.
A/N - Part 3 coming soon :)
