III.

THE early morning light crept slowly into the castle, the sun barely making a dent in the thick walls that seemed to hold on to the darkness like a stubborn secret. Belle woke to the gentle creak of her door, surprised to find Mrs. Potts already bustling about with a candle in one hand.

"Rise and shine, dear," she said, her voice soft yet urgent. "You've got a busy day ahead of you."

Belle rubbed her eyes, the events of yesterday rushing back in a whirl of confusion and nerves. "I'm ready," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure that was true. She quickly dressed in the kitchen uniform and tied her hair back into a low ponytail, her fingers trembling just a little. The castle's ominous secrets loomed in her mind, but for now, she pushed them aside. She had duties to attend to. As soon as Belle stepped into the kitchen, the warmth and bustle of the morning greeted her.

The air was rich with the smell of bacon sizzling and brewing coffee. Mrs. Potts directed Belle toward one of the tables, where a young woman about Belle's age with short, cropped blonde hair was expertly kneading dough for a loaf of bread.

She had bright blue eyes that sparkled with curiosity and a ready smile that made Belle instantly feel at ease. Dressed in a simple white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and a dark green skirt, she looked both practical and elegant.

"Belle, I'd like you to meet Marie," Mrs. Potts said with a fond smile. "She's been with us for a year now and knows this kitchen like the back of her hand."

"Hi, Belle!" Marie said brightly, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron before offering a hand to Belle. "It's nice to meet you. I heard we were getting a new girl, and I was hoping it'd be someone around my age."

Belle blinked, taken aback by Marie's friendly demeanor. Back in her village, girls her age had only given her disdainful looks, thinking her odd for preferring books over the attention of boys, especially Gaston, the town's self-proclaimed hero. She was used to being seen as different, even strange, and she wasn't sure how to respond to someone being genuinely kind to her.

"H-Hello," Belle stammered, hesitantly reaching out to shake Marie's hand. Her grip was gentle, almost uncertain. "It's nice to meet you too."

Marie's smile widened, seemingly undeterred by Belle's awkwardness. "You seem a bit shy," she observed with a soft laugh, letting her hand drop. "Don't worry, the castle can be overwhelming at first. It took me weeks to figure out where everything was."

Belle forced a small smile, her eyes darting away. "Yes, it's...quite different from where I came from."

Marie tilted her head, studying Belle curiously. "Where did you come from? You have that look...like you've been somewhere quieter, where everyone knows everyone."

Belle hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her apron. "A small village, yes. Not many people...well, not many people took to me." She glanced down, remembering the whispers behind her back, the way the village girls dismissed her as odd.

Marie's eyes softened, and she gave Belle a gentle nudge with her shoulder. "Well, I think you'll find things are different here. We're all a bit...unusual ourselves." She leaned in closer, whispering with a conspiratorial grin, "I mean, who else would willingly stay in this spooky castle?"

Belle couldn't help but smile, even if it was a small, hesitant one. There was a warmth in Marie's tone that made her want to believe her. It felt strange, almost unreal, to have someone her own age treating her like a friend.

"Now," Marie said with a clap of her hands, "let's get you to work before Chef Thierry comes over and roars at us."

Belle nodded, her hands still trembling slightly. "What should I do?"

"Here," Marie said, handing Belle a knife and directing her to a pile of vegetables. "Chop these for the soup. I'll be working on the dough for the morning's bread."

As they worked side by side, Marie chatted easily, filling the silence with stories about the castle's quirks and the funny habits of the other staff. Belle listened, nodding occasionally, but mostly kept her eyes down on the task at hand. She couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment, Marie might turn on her, just as the village girls had. It was better not to get too comfortable.

But Marie's kindness seemed genuine, and over time, Belle found herself relaxing just a bit. Maybe...just maybe, things would be different here.

"Good job, Belle," Marie said, glancing at the neat pile of chopped vegetables. "I knew you'd catch on quickly."

Belle's cheeks flushed with pleasure. Praise was something she wasn't used to hearing. "Thank you," she mumbled, avoiding Marie's bright blue eyes.

Before Belle could gather the courage to ask Marie about her past, the kitchen door flew open with a bang. Lumière swept in, looking as dashing as ever in his well-tailored coat. "Ah, the beauties of the kitchen!" he declared with a grand gesture. "I knew I smelled something delicious…and I don't mean the food."

"Lumière, must you flirt with every woman you meet?" Marie said with a roll of her eyes, though she was clearly amused.

"Ah, mademoiselle Marie, I cannot help it if my heart is enchanted by every fair face I see," Lumière replied with a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart. Then he turned to Belle, giving her a warm smile. "And Belle, how are you settling in, ma chère? The castle can be quite...overwhelming, no?"

"It's...different," Belle admitted. "But I'm getting used to it."

"Good, good! Remember, if you ever find yourself hungry, just come here," Lumière said, waving his hand toward the laden tables. "Help yourself to anything you fancy. Chef Thierry can't possibly eat it all." He leaned in closer to Belle, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But do try the éclairs—Marie here makes the best in all of France."

Before Belle could respond, Chef Thierry's growl cut through their conversation. "Lumière! Stop distracting my workers! The Prince's breakfast should have been delivered ten minutes ago."

"Oui, Chef! I am but a humble servant," Lumière said with an exaggerated bow, grabbing the silver tray that Marie had just finished loading. He winked at Belle and Marie before dashing out of the kitchen with a jaunty whistle.

"Don't mind him," Marie said with a laugh, turning back to her work. "He may be a bit much, but he's harmless. Though he does have a knack for getting himself into trouble."

Belle smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest that she hadn't expected to find in this cold, imposing castle. But just as she was beginning to feel at ease, a sudden, ear-splitting crash echoed through the castle, making everyone in the kitchen freeze. The sound reverberated through the walls, shaking pots and pans on their hooks.

Marie's eyes widened in fear, and even Chef Thierry paused mid-carve, his knife hovering above the roast. The kitchen fell into an uneasy silence, the cheerful atmosphere vanishing in an instant.

"What was that?" Belle whispered, her heart pounding.

Mrs. Potts, who had been stirring a pot by the hearth, quickly set down her ladle. Her face was tight with worry, her eyes darting toward the door. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, dear," she said, her voice unusually brisk.

Belle glanced around, sensing that whatever had happened was anything but "nothing." The once-bustling kitchen had fallen still, with each of the staff exchanging wary, knowing glances. Mrs. Potts' tight smile did little to mask her unease, and even Marie's cheerful brightness seemed to dim as her nervous gaze flicked toward the door. Chef Thierry cleared his throat and resumed slicing the roast, though his movements were slower, more deliberate, as though his mind was elsewhere.

"Back to work," he muttered, his tone sharp, as if trying to will the tension out of the room. "We've got mouths to feed, and that roast isn't going to carve itself."

Belle nodded and turned back to her chopping, though her hands shook as she picked up the knife. She wanted to ask more, to know what had caused the crash and why everyone seemed so afraid, but she swallowed her questions, afraid of drawing any more attention to herself.

Marie gave her a small, reassuring smile, though her own hands were trembling as she returned to kneading the dough. "Just the old castle making its noises," she said softly, more for Belle's comfort than her own. "Sometimes things echo around here...it's an odd place, but you get used to it."

Belle managed a small nod, but her heart still pounded as she resumed her task, her mind racing with unanswered questions. Why did everyone seem so reluctant to talk about the castle's mysteries, and what was it they all feared so much? She was certain that whatever had made that sound was more than just a structural quirk.

Hours passed in tense silence, with everyone focused intently on their work until the morning bustle eventually restored some of the kitchen's usual warmth. Belle found herself absorbed in her tasks, the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and fetching ingredients gradually easing her nerves. By the time they served the midday meal, the morning's tension had begun to fade, and Belle almost convinced herself that the crash was just a coincidence.

As she carried a tray of sliced bread to the table, she noticed Lumière returning to the kitchen, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. He gave a quick nod to Chef Thierry and glanced over at Belle with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She tried to catch his gaze, hoping for some unspoken reassurance, but Lumière quickly looked away, heading straight toward a shadowed corner where Mrs. Potts was busy with the afternoon's preparations.

As Lumière leaned in to speak to her, Mrs. Potts' face grew tight, her brow furrowing with concern. She nodded, glancing back at Belle and Marie before ushering Lumière into the storeroom, where their conversation turned into hushed whispers.

Marie caught Belle's eye, her expression uncertain. "It isn't our place to pry," she murmured, more to herself than to Belle. But despite her words, Belle could tell she was just as curious—and just as unsettled.

After a few moments, Mrs. Potts and Lumière returned, both of their faces carefully neutral. Mrs. Potts clapped her hands, signaling it was time for everyone to return to their tasks. "Now then," she said, her usual warmth returning as she gave a slight smile to the room, "enough chatter. Supper won't make itself."

For the rest of the day, Belle continued her work in silence, but a gnawing sense of unease lingered in her chest. Whatever secrets this castle held, they were beginning to feel far more real, like shadows lurking just beyond her sight.

And even as she tried to push the troubling thoughts away, Belle knew one thing for certain—this place, for all its warmth and charm, was hiding something. And sooner or later, she would have to face it.

As the afternoon stretched on and the kitchen began to wind down from its hectic pace, Marie sidled up to Belle, her blue eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "You've been working hard today, Belle," she said, nudging her lightly with an elbow. "How about we take a break before the dinner rush? It's quiet enough now. You must be starving."

Belle wiped her hands on her apron, the scent of baking bread and simmering stew making her stomach growl in response. "I suppose I could use a bite," she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. She was unused to the idea of eating in the company of others—back home, it had usually been just her and Papa, sharing quiet meals together.

Marie flashed her a grin. "Great! You can't keep up with Thierry's pace on an empty stomach." She grabbed a loaf of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, and a small wedge of cheese from the larder. "Come on, let's eat here by the fire. It's cozier."

Belle hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she was allowed to simply stop and eat like this. But Mrs. Potts caught her eye from across the room and gave her an approving nod. "Go on, dear. You've earned it," she said kindly before turning back to her own work.

Belle followed Marie to a small wooden table tucked in a corner of the kitchen, away from the hustle and bustle. The kitchen's warm, golden light and the crackle of the fire made it feel almost...safe, like a world apart from the dark, intimidating castle above. For a moment, Belle could almost forget where she was.

Marie broke off a piece of the bread and handed it to Belle along with a knife for the cheese. "So, tell me," Marie said, her tone light but curious, "how does a girl like you end up in a place like this? You seem...well, not like the rest of us."

Belle hesitated, not sure how much she should reveal. But there was something about Marie's open, friendly demeanor that made it hard to keep her guard up. "My father...he got into some trouble," Belle began, choosing her words carefully. "There was a debt, and I—well, I made a choice."

Marie's eyes widened with a flash of understanding, and she nodded slowly. "Ah, so you're here because of...well, because of him?" She didn't need to say the name; Belle could hear the capital "H" in the way Marie's voice dropped, reverent and fearful.

Belle nodded. "Yes, though I haven't...met him yet." She dropped her gaze to the cheese she was slicing, her hands steadying as she focused on the task.

Marie leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if they were sharing a secret. "Consider yourself lucky, Belle. Most of us don't see him, not often anyway. And trust me, it's better that way."

Belle looked up, her heart quickening. "What do you mean?"

Marie glanced around the kitchen to make sure no one was listening, then leaned even closer. "The Prince...he's not like other men," she whispered. "There's something...different about him. The staff here, we don't talk about it much, but everyone knows to keep their distance."

"Different?" Belle repeated, her curiosity piqued despite the chill that crept down her spine. "In what way?"

Marie hesitated, as if she were weighing whether to say more, then shrugged. "It's not my place to say. But...you'll find out soon enough." She offered a quick, apologetic smile and took a bite of her bread as if that settled the matter.

Belle's mind buzzed with questions, but she knew better than to press. Instead, she took a bite of the bread, savoring the comforting warmth of the food. The silence between them grew companionable, the sounds of the kitchen fading into the background as they shared their simple meal. After a few moments, Marie seemed to relax again.

"You know," she said, her tone lighter, "I've been here a year, and I still don't understand half of what goes on in this place. But the people here—Mrs. Potts, Lumière, Chef Thierry—they're good folk. We look out for each other."

Belle nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. "It's...different than I expected," she admitted. "I was afraid...well, I didn't know what to expect."

Marie's expression softened. "I get it. This place can be terrifying at first. But it's not all bad. You'll find your way, just like the rest of us did." She paused, then added with a grin, "And if you're ever looking for a bit of mischief, just find me. I promise I'm excellent at sneaking an extra éclair or two from the pantry."

Belle couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even herself. It felt good to laugh, to have someone her own age to talk to—even if everything else in the castle was shrouded in shadow.

As they finished the last of the bread and cheese, the warm, comforting atmosphere of the kitchen began to fade into the chill of approaching evening. Marie pushed her chair back and stood, brushing crumbs from her apron. "Well, we should get you back to your room before the evening shift picks up. It gets chaotic in here around supper."

Belle nodded, but as she stood, she couldn't help but feel a reluctant tug in her heart. The idea of returning to her quiet, lonely room in the maze-like corridors of the castle sent a shiver down her spine. Marie must have noticed, because she offered Belle a sympathetic smile.

"I'll walk you back," Marie said. "This castle is confusing at night, even for those of us who've been here a while."

Belle returned the smile, grateful for the company. "Thank you, Marie. I'm still getting used to... well, everything."

Marie laughed softly as she led the way, her footsteps light on the worn stone floors. "Oh, you'll get used to it in no time. Just be careful not to wander too far. There are places in this castle that even I haven't dared to explore."

Belle bit her lip but couldn't resist asking, "Why is that? What are people so afraid of?"

Marie's face grew serious, her previous lightheartedness vanishing. "You've heard the stories," she said in a low voice. "The Prince... well, he's not exactly... welcoming. Best to stay clear of his wing of the castle."

Belle's curiosity only grew at the mention of the Prince, but she kept her questions to herself as they walked down a dim corridor. The flickering candle sconces cast wavering shadows, making the old stone walls seem to move and shift. The air grew cooler, and the scent of damp stone and old wood replaced the comforting aroma of the kitchen.

When they reached Belle's door, Marie gave her a friendly smile, though there was a hint of worry in her eyes. "Goodnight, Belle. And remember—keep your door locked. It's... safer that way."

Belle's brow furrowed, but she nodded. "Goodnight, Marie. Thank you for everything today."

Marie gave her a quick hug before hurrying down the corridor, her footsteps echoing softly until they faded into silence. Belle stood there for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob. But something inside her resisted turning it.

She should go to bed, lock the door, and follow the advice she had been given. But the unanswered questions gnawed at her. Why was everyone so afraid of the Prince? What could he possibly be hiding?

Belle took a deep breath, casting a glance back down the hallway where Marie had disappeared. It would be so easy to slip inside her room and pretend she wasn't curious, but she had never been the type to ignore a mystery. She needed to understand this place, to understand the man who held her fate in his hands.

Before she could second-guess herself, Belle turned away from her door and headed back down the corridor, her steps soft and careful. She didn't know exactly where she was going, but she followed a faint pull in her chest, a sense that something was waiting to be discovered if she could just find it.

The castle seemed to breathe around her, each step echoing like a heartbeat in the labyrinthine corridors. The warmth of the kitchen was far behind her now, replaced by a cold that seeped through the walls, chilling her to the bone. Belle hugged herself as she walked deeper into the dimly lit halls, her curiosity battling against the rising sense of unease.

She didn't know exactly where she was headed, only that the urge to keep going pulled her forward. The shadows flickered, dancing along the walls as if whispering secrets she couldn't quite catch. Belle rounded a corner and found herself in a long, narrow hallway lined with dusty portraits. The eyes in the paintings seemed to follow her as she passed, adding to the uneasy feeling she had that she was being watched.

As she turned another corner, she spotted a door slightly ajar at the end of a narrow passage. A soft glow spilled out from within, flickering like candlelight. Belle hesitated, remembering Marie's warning not to wander. But something about the soft, warm light called to her, a welcome change from the cold, dark shadows that filled the entire castle.

Just a quick peek, she told herself. If someone's inside, I'll just apologize and leave.

The door creaked open as she pushed it open further, stepping into a room that seemed entirely different from the rest of the castle, at least, what little of it she had seen so far. The space was richly decorated, with dark wood paneling and heavy velvet curtains that blocked out the growing dusk outside. The air was thick with the scent of old books and leather, mingled with something darker—something that made Belle's skin prickle.

A large fireplace crackled softly on the far side of the room, casting flickering shadows over the walls. The glow illuminated shelves lined with dusty tomes and ornate furniture that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. But it was the object on the wall across from her that caught Belle's eye and made her breath catch in her throat.

An oil portrait, large and imposing, dominated the room. It depicted an older man with graying hair and piercing, stern grey eyes and a cruel twist to his lips. His expression was hard and unyielding as if he were judging anyone who dared look upon him. Belle could feel the chill of those painted eyes, scrutinizing her every move.

Beneath the portrait, a small brass plaque was engraved with the name: The Duke of Val de Chardon, Keeper of the Iron Law.

Belle's thin eyebrows furrowed into a frown. She had heard whispers back home from some of the villagers about the late Duke, but they had always been careful never to speak too plainly about him.

She knew enough to understand that from what she knew of him, the Duke had not been a kind man, and that his death had left the castle and the lands around it in a state of turmoil. But why would the Prince, who now ruled this castle and had inherited his father's lands, keep a portrait of him hidden away in his seemingly private quarters?

Her eyes roamed the room, landing on a worn, open journal on a nearby desk. The pages were filled with angry, scrawled handwriting as if the writer had been in the throes of a heated rage.

She couldn't resist stepping closer, her curiosity getting the better of her. Belle's fingers ghosted across the journal's surface, the leather warm and alive beneath her touch, as if it held secrets desperate to escape. The sudden silence hit her first—that peculiar, suffocating quiet she had read about in her books that always fell just before a monster struck.

Suddenly, iron fingers locked around her wrist, and the world spun in a blur of shadows and candlelight. Her back struck stone, the hard impact forcing a soft "oh" from her lips, more surprised than frightened.

Then she looked up, and fear bloomed like frost across her skin, and she felt the color drain from her face.

The man who held her wrist in a vice was beautiful in the way that winter storms were beautiful—terrible and fierce and utterly without mercy. Candlelight caught in his long auburn hair and carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, but it was his eyes that held her captive and rooted to her spot, unable to move: blue as midwinter ice, and just as cold.

Everything about the man spoke of nobility—the rich fabric of his shirt, the proud set of his jaw, even the graceful way he held the candle near her face. Everything except the violence and anger that radiated from him like heat from a forge.

"What are you doing in here?" he growled, though the man's voice was as soft as silk drawn over a blade. "I wasn't aware my private chambers had become a tourist attraction for curious little maids." His grip on her wrist tightened, and Belle felt her bones grind together, delicate as bird wings in his tight grasp.

She should have been terrified. Any sane person would have been. But something else stirred beneath her—a wild, reckless need to understand. To know why his anger felt like a living, breathing thing between them, why his other hand shook slightly as he held the candle, and why something about the man's winter-blue eyes made Belle's instincts scream of danger. They seemed to shift in the candlelight, like water rippling over ice.

"I-I-I..." Belle's voice trapped itself in her throat as his grip tightened. She watched, transfixed, as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the chamber's chill.

"I—" Belle started to say, but the words died in her throat as his eyes snapped back to hers.

"Wonderful. A stutterer." Belle noticed his breathing had grown ragged, almost labored. His expensive cologne mingled with something sharper – like winter air and iron and something wild she couldn't name. A muscle twitched violently in his jaw, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to flash amber in the candlelight. "I don't recall permitting anyone to enter my private rooms. So you're either lost, or you're stealing. Neither option ends well for you, girl."

"I-I work h-here," Belle managed, her voice barely a whisper. "In the kitchen…"

The Prince's face darkened further if that was possible. He released her wrist with a disgusted grunt, running his other hand through his disheveled hair. And Belle could have sworn she heard a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

"For God's sake, another one?" His voice dropped an octave deeper than should have been possible. "Does Cogsworth think this is an inn now, hiring every stray that wanders in?"

He released her wrist to run a trembling hand through his hair, and Belle noticed his fingers seemed to spasm, the tendons standing out like cords beneath his skin. His eyes raked over her like she was something he'd found stuck to his boot, but they couldn't seem to focus properly – the pupils contracting and expanding in a way that made her stomach turn.

"Let me guess – Potts took you in?" The words came out rough, almost guttural. "That woman collects broken things like others collect—" He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, turning slightly toward the window where twilight gathered like spilled ink. Belle watched in horrified fascination as the veins in his neck darkened, pulsing beneath his skin.

"Get. Out." The command was barely human, his voice a deep, rasping thing that made the candlelight flicker. When Belle didn't move immediately, paralyzed by the sight of his eyes now definitely glowing amber, he whirled back to her with such violence that she stumbled backward. "NOW!"

Belle fled, her legs carrying her through darkening corridors. Behind her, she heard something that started as a crash and ended as a roar, followed by the distinct sound of ripping fabric.

Only when she reached her chamber, chest heaving, did she examine her wrist – the perfect imprint of his fingers already darkening to a bruise.

But what made her blood run cold was the realization that the marks seemed larger, deeper at the tips, as if his fingers had been lengthening when he released her.

Outside, the sun finally slipped below the horizon. From somewhere deep in the castle came a sound caught between a scream and a howl – a sound that asked questions Belle wasn't sure she wanted answered.