Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest grew still as death with the first snow of autumn. The Beast watched the heavy flakes fall, brushing the stuff off his head and arms every few minutes before it could melt into his greying fur. He’d known this place felt familiar, but he hadn’t realized why until it was covered in a blanket of white. Strange how the seasons had returned to his old woods, even after everything else here had died.

He grimaced, and pulled his cloak close despite not really being cold. He’d regretted coming back this way when he'd lost the buck’s trail; now he regretted it even more. 

Something rustled in the distant trees. His ears twitched in its direction, catching the sounds of snarls and scampering feet in the brush. Wolves, he realized, frowning. He’d nearly forgotten about them. He stood, deciding he’d rather not meet the pack if he could help it. He certainly had no interest in fighting them for this forest, even if it technically belonged to him.

The sounds returned, stronger this time. Close enough that he could catch heavy, earnest breathing on the wind. The Beast scowled. Perhaps they had found the buck.

His buck.

Damn it, he thought, running after them. He hadn’t come all this way just so that lot could take his kill.

He followed their trail to a small clearing, keeping hidden in the trees. Nearly a dozen of them had gathered here, and they were acting strange—snarling, darting forward, and drawing back again. Only when the snow began to lift did the Beast finally see what had drawn them there.

His heart stopped—or perhaps time did, if just for a moment. And then something inside him snapped, and he was barreling into the clearing. The first of the pack was easy enough to take down—a quick swipe of a paw with a strength that shocked him. The next two put up a better fight, but were manageable. It was the fourth that made the Beast truly angry, made him snarl and snap his teeth like the very creatures he was fighting.

But then it was over, and the others had fled. The Beast tried to catch his breath, which was loud and ugly in his ears now that nothing was howling at him. And as soon as the world stopped spinning he tried to understand what he was seeing.

A woman. After all this time…a woman in his woods. Now that it didn’t even matter.

She hadn’t moved from where he’d found her, only now she was surrounded by dead wolves instead of hungry ones. She stared at them no differently than she’d being staring at them before, her eyes empty and unmoving.

He took a single, careful step forward. “Madamois—?” He stopped, spotting the glimmer of gold on her ring finger. Of course he would notice that, even if it made no difference anymore, even in the middle of the forest surrounded by a pack of corpses. “…Madame,” he said, correcting himself.

Still, she didn’t move. He took another step, and cleared his throat. It had been so long since he’d spoken, and barely two words had left his voice dry. “Madame?”

Finally she glanced his way, though only her eyes moved. They rose slowly, gaze resting someplace behind his shoulder. The Beast’s chest grew tight under her watch, yet her eyes held no fear, no disgust, no hint of shock. Though neither was there any gratitude, or even curiosity.

Just…nothing.

When her gaze fell back to the snowy ground, the Beast wondered if she’d even seen him at all. “You’re not…afraid?” he asked, breathless.

She took a deep breath, still staring at snow. “No,” she said at last. “Not of you.” She paused, voice falling to a whisper. “I’ve known one far more frightening.”

The Beast furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did the clouds above shifted and illuminated her small form beneath the full moon. The hem of her dress was torn away, and a bleeding lip had left spots on the delicate fabric. “You’re hurt,” he gasped. “The wolves—”

“The wolves didn’t do this.”

She looked up then, truly looked up. And as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, the Beast realized his mistake. The woman’s hair, loose and tangled, was swept enough to one side to reveal a neck covered by dark bruises. And what he’d mistaken for shadows around her eye…

He didn’t know what to say.

She looked back at the ground, closing her eyes and sighing. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said. “Though in truth, I wish you’d never found me.”

He looked towards the wolves, lifeless in the snow—and finally understood. He, of all people…yes, he understood. “There are far better ways to die,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him again, for the first time a flicker of emotion crossing her face. “I…” she began. Then her breath grew quick and shallow, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The Beast caught her before she hit the forest floor, pulling her against his chest with some instinct he didn’t realize he had. For a long time he simply held her like that, crouched in the snow, paralyzed as the reality of this situation washed over him.

It was a gust of wind, ruffling her clothes, which woke him from his strange state. He stood quickly, holding her like she was made of glass as he looked westward in the direction of the village. Then he remembered her bruises, turned the opposite way, and moved into the shadows of the great forest.

Chapter Text

The Beast crouched on the roof of the tower, feeling the stones quake beneath his palms as his home heaved and trembled below him.

It was over. She—that mystery she—never came. No one did. And now everyone else was dead.

He’d tried so hard to keep them at a distance, for he’d promised himself long ago that he would never let another close to him again. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He’d cared for them regardless, and he’d lost them. Just like he knew he would the moment the curse had been cast.

And so he’d held them as they left this world, leaving nothing but the adornments of his former life cold and lifeless in his paws. He’d wept for them, every one, though not one was left alive to hear him.

And then the palace began to tremble, and break, burying the golden and wooden and porcelain corpses before he could move them to safety. He’d barely escaped to the roof without being crushed himself…though now he wondered why he’d bothered.

“Why must they die, and not me?” he asked the cold night air.

It answered with a howl, rain beginning to beat down on him as the castle crumbled into a million pieces below.

“Why?!” he cried, clenching his fists so tight his claws dug into the flesh of his palms. “Answer me!”

Whether he was shouting at the sky, or God, or Fate, he didn’t know—whoever it was, they never listened to him anyway. The anger faded at the thought, and he was left empty and cold. Letting his fingers grow limp, he stared into the wet darkness.

“...Why am I always left behind?” he whispered.

The tower only trembled again. Closing his eyes, the Beast stood and waited.

Another jolt beneath him. He fought the urge to crouch, to jump to a safer tower, to flee to the safety of the woods while he still had time. Instead he stood there, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would just end already.

It then did, with a fall and one instant of pain as his body crumpled amid the ruins below.

And the next morning, he opened his eyes.

The woman slept through the night. The Beast had set her on the mess of furs that was his bed, spreading his cloak over her before spending a sleepless night beside the fire. So deep and still was her sleep that he repeatedly found himself holding his breath just so he could listen for her own.

It began to snow again as the night grew on, building up to the edges of his single window by the time the sun slipped through its panes. He rose when it did, eating a leg of salted venison for breakfast as the storm finally ceded.

And still she slept, as though she never had before.

The Beast glanced about the space—half cave, half cabin, built into the side of a mountain no man had trespassed in at least the ten years he’d been here. And it looked as much, he realized, embarrassed by the cobwebs and the piles of odds and ends gathered in the corners. He rose at the sight of them, then stopped, not wishing to wake the woman with his movements. So again he sat in the only chair he owned, paws coming together in his lap since they had nothing else to do.

“No…”

He looked up when she spoke, but her eyes were still closed. She moved, for the first time since he’d laid her there, twisting beneath his cloak while her face twitched in distress. “No,” she said again, voice muffled with sleep. She whimpered then, body curling into a ball as she brought her arms to shield her face.

The Beast was standing now, unsure what he should do. “Madame?” he said carefully.

“No!” she screamed, eyes still closed as she let forth a stream of terrible sobs.

The Beast moved over quickly then, heart pounding, crouching and reaching out to wake her. He hesitated, however, second guessing whether it was right to touch her. “Madame,” he said instead, with greater force than before. “Madame, you must wake.”

Her sobs had grown silent, though they still wracked her frame and left tears streaming down her cheeks.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t watch this any longer. And so he reached out, barely touching the side of her arm. “Madame…”

At his touch she finally woke, gasping and staring across the room as though she still weren’t really there. The Beast pulled back quickly, standing and stepping away for fear of frightening her even more than she already was. “Forgive me,” he said. “But you…you were in distress, it seemed.”

She blinked, looking across the room before staring up at him. “Oh,” she said. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut and bringing a hand up to cover one side of her face. “I’m sorry…”

He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. He wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t sure what.

She spoke first. “You…” she began, looking back up at him for a moment longer before turning towards the sunlit window. “This is real, then?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath, then struggled to sit up. “I’m not always sure what is real anymore,” she said quietly, wiping her tears with the heel of her palm.

“I…can understand that.”

They were quiet for a long moment. The Beast felt he should look away, but he couldn’t help but stare at her bruised skin and blackened eye. He glanced back at her wedding band, and frowned.

“I have taken your bed,” she said suddenly, moving to untangle herself from the furs. As she did so she winced, grabbing her side.

“No, please,” the Beast said, anxious that she was even more hurt than he’d realized. Should he have examined her for injury last night? But the thought of how he could have done so… He shook his head. “You should rest,” he said, turning and moving to open the hatch that led to his cellar. “You must be hungry.” He’d opened the door wide when he stopped, closing it again and moving to the large water basin beside the door. “And thirsty. Sorry. Here,” he said, reaching for a ladle and cup—before realizing the latter probably wasn’t very clean. He ladled a few scoops of water in an empty pail, cleaning the cup out the best he could and hoping she wasn’t watching too carefully.

God, he had no idea what he was doing. Twenty years without seeing human flesh, ten of them without a living soul at all…he’d forgotten his manners entirely.

Yet the woman didn’t seem to mind, simply accepting the cup of water when he finally brought it over. She drank it quickly. “Thank you,” she said, turning to hand it back to him. She grimaced as she did so, grasping at her side again.

He hesitated for a moment, but felt he must offer. “I have some knowledge of healing,” he explained. “A, um, necessity, when living alone.” Among other reasons.

She only watched him, not saying a word. Her expression was impossible to read.

He swallowed, but went on. “Your side…” he said dumbly. “I mean, if you have questions, or need me to fetch something…or, um—”

“You may examine it.”

He’d been talking to his lap, but looked up when she spoke. She almost smiled, it seemed, though there was no joy in her eyes. “I do not fear you, remember?” she said. “If you were planning to hurt me…”

I would have done so already. He nodded in understanding, wondering at her brave practicality.

“May I have a moment?” she asked.

The Beast nodded again, turning and heading quickly out the door. He hurried to his small barn, found some rags and an empty pail, and filled the latter with snow with a single scoop of his paw. Then he returned to the house and paced for several minutes, wondering if she could hear his heart pounding from out here.

Some quarter hour had passed when he knocked on his own door.

“I’m ready,” came her voice from the other side. She sounded as nervous as he felt.

The Beast nodded yet again—for what reason, he didn’t know—and pushed open the door with the bucket in tow. She lay on her side facing away from him, his cloak pulled up beneath her chin. He moved over, kneeling slowly beside her.

“It seems…I’m afraid it looks worse than I thought,” she admitted, glancing back at him. Slowly, she pulled the cloak down, and beneath it her shift had been pulled away far enough to reveal the length of her back. With one arm she had pressed her crumpled dress against her front, holding it tightly in place.

And yet the Beast almost didn’t notice these things—for a very large, very dark bruise covered the length of her waist and crept up towards the center of her spine. It hurt just to look at, but he didn’t dare let his gaze linger anywhere else at the moment.

“I don’t understand,” she went on, biting her lip and glancing back once again. “I hardly felt it last night…”

“You were, um… likely in shock,” he explained.

“Oh.”

I’m likely in shock, he added internally. He gave a measured exhale, begging his brain to stop thinking about the lovely curve of her waist. “It would help to know what happened,” he managed.

She stiffened, pulling her makeshift cover closer to her chest. “I fell off a horse.”

He frowned at that, glancing towards her black eye.

She sighed. “Forgive me, I’m used to lying about such things,” she admitted. She took a shallow breath then, and her voice grew shaky. “I was…th-thrown. Against a table.”

The Beast swallowed. “I understand,” he said gently. Except he didn’t understand at all. Had he really deserved his fate while the man who had done this ran free in the world?

You were a different kind of evil, a voice inside reminded him. The kind who hurt hundreds without ever laying eyes on them. The kind who killed the people in your care with your failure.

You deserve everything you were given.

“I’m going to touch a few places now,” he continued, burying those old thoughts.

“That’s fine,” she said. She closed her eyes, and bit her lip hard.

He reached out, pressing against a single place near the bruise where her kidney should be. She flinched as he did, and he pulled away. “That hurts?”

“Only a little,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t…it wasn’t from the pain.”

She was afraid, despite her claims. Maybe not of him, specifically… but of this. The thought left a dark feeling in his heart, but also a determination to put her at ease.

“And your stomach…here?” he asked, reaching around carefully to prod her abdomen. “Does that hurt?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“And your rib cage…here?”

He’d only barely pressed his finger at a place a few inches higher when she gasped. “Yes…yes, that hurts."

He removed the pressure. “I just need to feel for abnormalities,” he said, brushing two large fingers along her lower rib cage. Her skin, even damaged and bruised, was incredibly soft. He pointedly ignored that, assessing the damage quickly before pulling the cloak over her and sitting back on his wolfish heels. “And is breathing painful?” he asked, clearing his throat.

She took in a deep breath, and winced. “Oh. Yes.”

“But you don’t feel ill?”

She shook her head. “Only tired.”

He nodded, humming. “I think your organs are safe, but you have at least a couple broken ribs,” he explained. “Maybe more, but I, um…don’t want to prod it any more than I have.”

She looked back at him, face growing pale. “I can’t see a doctor,” she said. “Not in the village...”

So that’s why she’d let him so close. He understood it now. Waiting for her was a husband so violent that she would let a monstrous stranger touch her over risking a return to her own home. That darkness swelled in his chest once again, but he buried it for later. It wouldn’t do any good here. “I’ve broken a number of ribs myself,” he said instead. Actually, he’d broken them all several times over, but he kept that to himself for now. “They are painful, and take time to heal, but usually require nothing more than rest to do so. As long as you don’t grow ill over the next few days, you should heal on your own.”

She let out a breath, closing her eyes in relief.

“Here,” he said, turning and reaching for the bucket. “The snow will numb some of the pain.”

She watched as he packed a small handful of it into one rag and tucked it against her side. “I am imposing on you,” she said, wrinkles creasing her brow.

“You’re not imposing,” he insisted. God, no. Not at all.

She fell quiet for a long moment, lying still while he placed a second bundle of cold against the injury. “How long?” she asked at last. “Will it take, I mean. For me to recover.”

“A few weeks, I’d guess. Though you should be back on your feet long before that.”

“I should not…” she began, looking back towards the bright window while settling deeper into the furs. “I really shouldn’t trouble you for so long…”

“You have somewhere to go, then?” he asked.

She bit her lip at that, and lowered her eyes. She shook her head.

“Madame,” he said, picking up the empty bucket and rising to his feet. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice. I am keeping you prisoner until you are better.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise, then—realizing he was joking—offered one short, delightful laugh at that. And winced.

“Ah,” the Beast said, trying not to smile at his success. “Laughing makes it worse, I’m afraid.”

She smiled, somewhat painfully, but still—it was a real smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, and with another breath sunk further into the blankets.

"You're welcome." He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook,” he said, moving back towards the cellar. He threw it open, climbing down the ladder to find something for her to eat. Of course, he knew all he would find was a mountain of dried meats and cheese, and he frowned at it all as he scoured the space for something less primeval. Didn’t he have anything besides...?

There. “I’ve got eggs,” he called up, tugging the small basket out from behind several large bottles of whisky before climbing back up the way he’d come. “How do you like them? I think I could—”

He stopped talking as soon as he emerged, for across the space she lay fast asleep once again. Setting the basket down, he gingerly closed the cellar door. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he looked back towards where she slept.

Her smile had been real, hadn’t it? And that laugh… perhaps she would be all right after all.

Perhaps the reason he was still alive was to make sure of it.

The thought left him with a strange, warm feeling. One he hadn’t felt since… well, long before curses and magic had ever entered his life. He moved towards the small window, resting a paw against the wall and staring out over the hills of white-topped pines. Of everywhere he could have been last night, everyone he could have come across… it had to mean something, right?

It means she has terrible luck.

He scowled. The voice was back. The only companion he’d had for a decade, and one he loathed to the core. It was an irritating voice—youthful, arrogant, and utterly condescending.

The voice of the prince he’d once been.

The Beast grit his teeth. I saved her life, he thought back.

And now you’re a hero! the prince laughed.

Shut up.

The voice only grew dark, and cold. The hero who failed his whole household.

He clenched his fist. You failed them too.

Failed an entire kingdom, if I recall, the prince went on, ignoring him. And after all that, you still think you’re the one to help her?

The Beast paused, glancing back at the woman as she slept. Yes, he told the voice. Because unlike you, I’m actually going to try.

Chapter Text

“You know, Belle… you’re nearly as beautiful undressed as I imagined you’d be.”

Belle pulled the sheets tighter around her, curled in on herself as she faced the wall. Her hands trembled as a terrible ache pulsed through the most tender parts of her. It had been worse… so much worse than she’d even imagined.

“My father,” she managed. Her throat was dry, everything spent on tears shed in the darkness when he’d finally fallen asleep. She swallowed, and went on. “You promised.”

“And I always keep my promises.” She heard his heavy boot falls come close. “Come, let’s fetch him together.”

She flinched when the bed sank beside her, and every muscle in her body stiffened as his hand reached beneath the covers and found its way to her skin. “Do try to look presentable before we leave the house,” he said, rough fingers brushing up her shoulders and pushing the hair away from her face. “I would very much like to show you off today.”

Belle said nothing. And so he leaned close, and whispered her ear. “Can you do that for me, Madame Gaston?”

The panic gripped Belle before she was fully awake. She seemed to feel it all at once, blood pounding through the veins of her neck and the ends of her fingers, breath tight and raging against her damaged ribs. Her stomach was in knots, and she could feel a bead of sweat trailing down her temple.

“Madame?”

Madame Gaston. She heard heavy footfalls, and the terror swelled in her breast until she finally opened her eyes saw who they belonged to. It was the great creature who had rescued her; that giant, gentle stranger her mind must have conjured up as a final act of desperation. Though he seemed unlike anything she would have imagined on her own.

He was kneeling beside her now, heavy brows pushed close together and ruffling the fur between them. It was mostly a chestnut brown, that fur, but for some patches of grey that had gathered along his chin and around the horns atop his head. Strange how the sight of his fur and claws only set her heart at ease. No doubt this being could ravish her, tear her limb from limb, even cook her up for dinner if he wished…

But at least it wasn’t him.

“Madame, are you well?”

Madame Gaston. Belle sucked in a careful breath, remembering her ribs. “Yes,” she said, coming back to the present. “I’m all right.”

“You’re shaking.” His hand—or paw, she supposed—was holding hers now, grip firm as one thumb pressed against her wrist. “And your pulse is high. Are you sure you’re—”

“It’s always like that.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Forgive me. It’s just I have a… weak disposition, is all.”

A weak disposition. Or in other words, how she always woke in a panic; how she couldn’t quite remember things she felt she should; how she hadn’t managed to calm her trembling fingers in years. Things a younger version of herself would have laughed at.

Weak. That girl had never been weak.

Belle felt something soft touch her forehead. She opened her eyes again, surprised to see the great beast with his own closed while he felt her brow. He held the back of his paw there for another moment, then nodded to himself and pulled away. “No fever,” he said. “But are you certain you’re well?”

“I promise, this is quite normal.”

He hummed deeply, but didn’t argue the point any further. “Well, you should eat something at least, now that you’re awake,” he said.

“Actually…” Belle trailed off, grunting as she attempted to sit up. She made it halfway and stopped, breathless as she looked up. “You wouldn’t happen to have a, um… privy, would you?”

He blinked, then his eyes went wide. “Oh! Of course, I—of course, forgive me,” he stammered. He looked even more embarrassed than she felt, hands hovering about her shoulders as though uncertain exactly what they should do.

Good lord, I wish he’d let those wolves kill me, Belle thought.

But then his expression changed, and he closed the distance. How hands so large and clawed could feel gentle was a mystery, but Belle let him steady her. And in the same moment, she realized that her vision had grown blurry. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching around to grasp at her aching side now burning like fire against her. She blinked away the foolish tears, frustrated with her weakness all over again and how she couldn’t even keep herself together in front of a stranger.

Something shifted beneath the blankets. Then, in one grand motion, he gathered her against his chest and rose to his feet. Belle should have fought this, if only to protect her own dignity, but she only grew limp against him as he made for the door. She had nearly cried from pain in front of him, and was literally being carried to the privy at this moment. Not to mention what he’d stopped her from doing last night…

Belle squeezed her eyes shut, fighting more tears and realizing she didn’t have any dignity left to save.

When he opened the door, the cold hit like a slap to the face—well, almost, Belle thought darkly—and she turned towards his chest as he plowed downhill through the fresh powder. He was wearing a shirt now, she realized. He hadn’t been before, had he? The collar was terribly worn, and there was a hole in the fabric beside her fingers. He must have sewn these giant clothes himself… but if so, then why not repair them?

Belle glanced up, and finding him focused on the trail ahead, she reached out to touch the fabric. It was impossibly soft, and must have once been very fine.

How peculiar.

“I apologize. It’s nothing much,” he was saying, and Belle turned to see a rather large—if lopsided—outhouse at the edge of the woods. He put her down gently on her feet, throwing the furs over his shoulder and quickly replacing them with his cloak. Belle reached out and pulled the thin fabric closer around her with one hand, raising the other to her head. She felt dizzy.

“Will you…” he started from behind her, and paw still on her shoulder to steady her. He cleared his throat. “I mean, do you think you can manage… on your own?”

And in that moment Belle realized she’d just discovered one last drop of dignity she could cling to. And lightheaded or not, cling to it should would—fiercely. “Yes,” she said, reaching for the door. “Yes, I can.”

He nodded, holding the door open while she hobbled inside. With it securely shut behind her, Belle turned and reached for the latrine’s wooden lid, bracing herself for a stench. Yet she found none; only the faint smell of hay and, surprisingly, something floral. She glanced into the dark pit with a wary curiosity. It must go very deep into the earth.

Once she’d relieved herself, she peeked back out the door. Her caretaker—perhaps that was how she should think of him—was gone, though she could hear someone lumbering about the small cabin up the hill. And so she shut the door again, paused, then undid the laces of her dress.

It really was bad this time. There was no mirror in this small space, and for that Belle was grateful. She touched the bruises along her waist, wincing, then felt her neck and the skin around her eye. Touching them brought back the memory, and with it the trembling in her hands and a cold terror in her heart. And then those sensations formed into words.

You deserve this, they said. You deserve this and more after what you’ve done. The beast should have let you die—

A quiet knock jolted her to the present. “Just a moment!” she gasped, pulling her shift back up and pressing it to her chest.

“Take your time,” came his voice, muffled through the door. “I’ve only brought some water and towels, should you need them.”

“Oh,” she said. Her heart was still racing. “Thank you.”

She waited until she heard his heavy footfalls pad away in the snow. Then, with a steadying breath, she cracked open the door once again. A bucket of steaming water sat there, with two spotless mahogany towels hanging over its edge. Belle reached out slowly to touch them; she knew what towels were, but she’d never actually seen one. Even the wealthiest families in the village could never afford such a luxury.

A spell? she wondered, eyes wide. Belle thought of his small house, so strangely built against the rocky cliff, with nothing within to rest on but a pile of furs and one battered armchair. She thought of his clothes, worn nearly to the point of rags. Why use magic for towels, but nothing else?

Or perhaps he’s simply a thief, she realized, but quickly put the thought out of her mind. People did worse things. And imagining him stealing from some wealthy house was far more comforting than the alternative.

Belle was pulled from her thoughts by the smell of that sweet something once again. She turned, wondering if it weren’t all magic after all, but then she saw the source of it: a small splash of purple color tucked away in the corner that she’d missed before. She reached for it, bringing back a single bar of half-used soap and lifting it to her nose. A bemused smile crossed her lips at the very clear scent of lavender.

Belle quirked a brow, and glanced back in the direction of his odd dwelling. Who was he?

Well, whoever he was, he was waiting for her when she finally emerged, ready to help her back up to the house in the same manner as before. Belle was more awake now after cleaning the grime and dried blood from her skin, and thus even more aware of her current predicament. True, his chest was warm and his arms strong and gentle beneath her, but that only served to make her feel more like a child being carted off to bed.

“I’m quite embarrassed,” she admitted.

He glanced down at her, then behind him. “Why?” he asked. “Everyone does it.”

Belle cocked her head. “Does…it?” She looked back at the outhouse, blinked once, and laughed. He chuckled himself—a deep laugh, as though it were trapped inside his throat and couldn’t quite escape.

“Ah!” she grimaced a moment later, shifting in his arms at the pain in her side. “I forgot. No laughing.”

“It was my fault.”

“Yes, it was,” she agreed, trying to contain a lingering smile. “You should have warned me you are inclined to bathroom humor.”

He grimaced—or perhaps it was a smile after all. It was difficult to read such a different sort of face. “I’m… I wouldn’t say inclined to it,” he said. “I have a wide repertoire.”

Belle let herself smile again. What was happening? Had she really laughed—twice—in a single day, when she hadn’t done so in years?

Had she really laughed… after what she’d done?

As if reading her thoughts, her caretaker had gone very quiet. She looked up, and caught him staring at her ring finger and the little glimmer of gold she’d forgotten was still there. He cleared his throat, looking back at the house. “Madame, what—”

Madame Gaston. Madame Gaston. Madame—

“Belle,” she said suddenly. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he repeated, and hummed. “That is a fitting name.”

People always said that. What else would they say—that it wasn’t? “It was more fitting when I was younger,” she said, embarrassed as she always by the subject. By the beauty that had ruined her life.

He frowned, glancing down at her briefly. “You can’t be twenty-five.”

Another nicety, of course. “You are kind. I am thirty-six this spring.”

The great being stopped short on the path, looking down at her with what seemed to be genuine surprise. “I’m also…” he began, but swallowed and looked away. “I mean, I also have a spring birthday.”

“Oh,” she said, puzzled by his reaction. And the fact that someone so mysterious and possibly magical had something as ordinary as a birthday. “You… do?”

“Mm.” He continued to walk.

Belle wondered about him for a moment, surprised to find herself increasingly curious. It was a feeling she’d once experienced over a great number of things, but hadn’t felt in a very long time. “So you live alone?” she found herself asking.

He hummed an affirmative, then stopped in place once more. “Well, not entirely. I have a cow.”

Belle brightened. “A cow? All the way up here?”

“She’s a mountain breed. I, um… I like cheese.” He shrugged.

Belle brightened further, and felt the sudden urge to laugh a third time. She recalled her ribs, however, and held back. “So,” she went on. “Just you, and a cow—”

“Bonne.”

She smiled. “You, and Bonne.”

He nodded, and seemed to brighten a bit himself. He continued up the hill, and soon they were back at the house. He had moved the bed of furs closer to the fire, and several poorly folded blankets now sat nearby.

As he laid her back down, Belle ventured on. “And who is this you?” she asked.

His eyes went wide, and he pulled back. “I…” He hesitated, bringing one giant paw to the back of his neck and glancing sideways. “I’m, um…”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t pry,” Belle said quickly, and she meant it. She looked away. “I’ve burdened you enough as it is.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s all right,” he said. Then he sucked in a sharp breath. “I was once called Adam. But he was a miserable fellow.”

Such a normal name. Belle wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. “He cannot have been so bad, I think,” she observed.

He offered a great sigh, reaching for one of the blankets and pulling it over her. “Believe me, he was.”

Belle still wasn’t sure she believed him. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe him. “What about when this Adam was a child?” she asked. “Surely he was not so miserable then.”

“I…” He trailed off, looking troubled, and stared towards the window for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said at last, looking back at her. “He wasn’t. Why do you ask?”

Belle settled beneath the warm blanket, watching the flames flicker beside them. “My papa used to tell me something,” she said. “That the child never leaves us. That when things seem hopeless, that whenever I felt lost…” She felt her throat grow tight, and the final words were nothing more than a whisper. “That I only needed to find her again.”

She should not have said it aloud. It hurt too badly. Hurt too much to speak of the only person in this world who had ever really loved her; hurt too much to know how much she had failed him. Belle turned onto her side, feeling her body curl in on itself as she tried to shut it all away.

But then there was a new warmth covering her head to toe as the great beast draped another quilt over her. “I haven’t really needed a name in years,” he said quietly. Then he paused. “Bonne doesn’t talk, you see.”

And for a moment, Belle forgot her hurt and smiled.

“But I suppose…” he went on. “I suppose it would be useful to have one now.”

She turned back. “Thank you, Monsieur Adam.”

He shook his head. “I’m no monsieur. The name alone is fine.”

“As is mine.”

At her age, the use of given names was usually reserved for intimate friends. Or husband and wife. And so something seemed to shift between them now, which is perhaps what led him to brave his own question.

“Belle.” The word was rich on his tongue, and Belle found herself fond of the way it sounded when he said it. “Why… why do you not fear me?” he asked, frowning. “Truly.”

Because I didn’t care who or what killed me, Belle realized. Not after what I’d done. “I am familiar with the tales,” she said instead. “From what they say, it is foolish to offend a magical being.”

Adam looked uncomfortable. “Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “You are much wiser than I once was.”

Belle blinked. So mysterious!

He cleared his throat. “Supper!” he announced, slapping his thighs and standing in one great motion. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Oh,” Belle said, feeling queasy. “Oh, I’m so sorry. But please, anything but eggs.”

He had already entered the cellar, but pulled himself back up at her reply. He stared at her for a moment, but only nodded. “No eggs,” he agreed. “Eh… I’d probably burn them anyway.” He furrowed his brows, and thought. “I need to go milk Bonne. Perhaps some fresh cream and… salted venison, if you can stomach it? I’m sorry, that’s all I really have.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Belle said. “Thank you, Adam.”

He was climbing back out of the floor but froze when she spoke, looking up in surprise. Then, as though remembering he’d just told her his name two minutes ago, smiled wryly to himself and continued to shut the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Belle found herself once again thinking about the way it sounded when he’d said her own name. And how she didn’t seem to hate it so much when he did.

“Belle?”

Yes, like that. Then she blinked, and looked up. Adam was halfway out the front door, glancing about the room before looking back at her. “I just… will you be all right?” he asked. “For a few minutes… alone.”

Belle knew what he meant, and was ashamed. The poor man couldn’t even step outside his own house without worrying she would hurt herself. “I will,” she promised. “I believe I’m starting to feel like myself again.”

Madame Gaston no more. No sir, not me.

He gave a short nod, and shut the door. Once she heard him scampering off down the hill, she reached beneath the covers and slipped off her wedding ring. She didn’t need it anymore.

After all, Gaston was dead.

Chapter Text

The Beast woke with a gasp, sitting straight up and sucking in several long, labored breaths. He looked around. A forest of beautiful silver firs surrounded him, though he’d chosen a lonely, half-dead black pine for the task. It had seemed appropriate at the time, and was sturdy enough. But it hadn’t been, had it? For here he was, lying on the ground, still very much alive. Frowning deeply, the Beast closed his eyes and reached for his throat.

And there it was, a rope as thick as his wrist, wound in a noose.

He looked up to where he’d secured it, a heavy branch some thirty feet up. But the rope was here now, still tight around his neck while the rest lie in a heap beside him. So it hadn’t held. Perhaps the knots weren’t tight enough; he probably did them wrong. He did everything wrong.

He reached for the noose again, yanking it hard to pull it loose. Then he lifted it over his head and held it in his enormous palm. No, he thought slowly, staring at the thick twine. It didn’t fail. He had heard his neck crack; he had felt it.

He had died.

He gripped the rope hard, then with a terrible roar threw it into the brush. It caught on a thin branch and hung in the air, mocking him. He roared again, and all went numb.

By the time he came to himself again, he had uprooted every young tree in the vicinity and scarred the rest. He stood in the middle of it all, panting, splinters sticking out from beneath his claws and leaving trails of blood in their wake. His strength was gone now, and so he knelt slowly, knees hitting the soft earth and head falling to his chest. And then, with nothing left, he started to cry.

Good god, the prince inside groaned.

The Beast sniffed, wiping his eyes on his arm in shame. Then he pulled back, staring at his damaged paws, at the blood that was already slowing… and blinked. He reached out, tugged the wooden fragments out from under his nails, and stared at his claws again. The blood had stopped now, and new skin was already filling in the wounds. His eyes grew wide. “No,” he gasped. He watched in horror as his broken claws grew back next, slowly, almost imperceptibly—but grow back they did.

“No,” he cried again, hands quaking, a new dread filling him head to toe. He stood, staring at his fingers and willing it all to stop. “No, no, NO!”

But it wouldn’t stop, and now small specks of fur were starting to grow in as well. And then, in that single moment, he recalled all the times he’d tried to leave this world, and finally… finally understood why he’d always woken up.

The Beast roared again, though his voice was so hoarse only a faint groan came out. There was nothing left to destroy around him, and so he let his new claws tear though the flesh of his own arms, his chest… his face.

The pain didn’t matter. It would all be good as new soon enough, and that was the worst punishment of all.

The Beast was crying again, but even the prince had left him alone now. He raised one set of bloodied fingers, letting their razor-sharp ends rest in the hollow beneath his jaw. He could feel the heavy pulse there, his life pumping beneath his fingertips. For while he could no longer hope for death, he could at least leave this world for a minute. For a moment.

And so the Beast snarled, closed his eyes, and sliced open his own throat.

Adam stood in a bank of snow, a shallow hole dug into the earth beneath the ice. In his hand was a large burlap sack, filled with a dozen sundry objects from his home and barn. A hunting knife, a shotgun, a hammer and ax. A tattered length of rope.

He knew them all well.

Belle had been here nearly a week now, and Adam wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before she could move about on her own again. He had few worries where her rotten husband was concerned—that would be easy enough to handle, if it came to it. It was protecting Belle from herself that had him really worried.

Except this was harder than he’d expected. Memories of his own attempts came flooding back to him as he quietly gathered up every potentially fatal tool he could find throughout the house and cellar. Memories of waking up from death to healing bones and bloodied hands and the sickness of a body that had repaired itself dozens of times. He’d given up any hope of death after some months of trying, though it had taken years after that to give up the attempts entirely.

Adam brought a hand to his head, and took a steadying breath. You’re doing this for her, he told himself. You’re doing this for Belle.

Why? asked the prince. He’d been watching silently from the back of Adam’s mind, but now he rushed forward, snarling and angry. She’s one of them! Sick, filthy peasants. Her kind took them from you!

Adam ignored him. The prince was young, hurt, and anxious for someone to blame. Someone to punish. And he never listened to reason.

And so Adam tossed the bag into the pit, and reached for the shovel to cover them up. But then he paused, stared at it for a moment, and threw it in with the rest. Looking around, he spotted a fallen tree, which he dragged over and set carefully over the hole instead.

When he returned to the house, Belle was still sleeping. He’d counted on that, waking early in the morning to complete the unpleasant task. Certainly knowing about it would only make her feel worse. It would have made him feel so, anyway. In fact, he was still feeling oddly raw, and so set a kettle on the stove with the intent of relaxing with a warm drink in his old chair. Down in the cellar he found some old tea leaves, grabbed a cup and—remembering Belle—another, and headed back up the short ladder.

He set the mismatching cups on the table: one a well-used wooden goblet, the other a porcelain mug painted a pale-ish blue. Both stolen, admittedly, but he doubted anyone had really missed them. In fact, he thieved in such a way that he hoped no one did notice what was missing. As much as he liked to think he did so with noble intentions, the truth was it was simply a lot easier to keep stealing from a house when no one knew you had been there.

Adam sprinkled the tea leaves over the two cups, thinking—not for the first time—how peculiar his situation had become. And while he did so, the prince returned.

A spot of tea! he mocked. Mrs. Potts would be so proud.

Adam’s grip tightened, cracking the handle off the mug. Don’t you dare, he thought. Don’t you fucking dare—

I don’t see why you’re so upset, the prince shrugged. You let them die, after all.

Adam stared at the broken cup, feeling sick all over again at such a physical reminder. He’d only been a child, he thought, the old sorrow filling his chest. A child who died because of me—

“Good morning.”

Adam started, turning to see his guest rising from her slumber. Belle stretched where she sat, slowly and with care due to her injury. A pleasant little hum escaped her as she interlaced her fingers above her head, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire beside her. Not until she returned her hands to her lap and looked up at him did Adam realize he hadn’t answered her. “Mm, morning,” he said dumbly.

Belle was raking her fingers through her hair now, pulling out the braid she’d slept in and letting the long waves rest over her shoulder. As she worked, a single thin streak of grey near her left temple fell loose from the sea of warm brown, curling in a way that seemed to defy the rest. When Belle spotted it, she frowned, twirling it tightly between one finger before tucking it back behind her ear. It fell loose again a moment later.

The hiss of the kettle made Adam start, and he realized to his mild horror that he’d been staring. He turned quickly and set the broken cup aside, the painful thoughts it had brought banished for the moment. “You slept well?” he asked, focusing intently on the movement of his own paws.

“Oh, yes. So very well,” Belle said. “It’s been so long since I’ve woken without…”

When she didn’t finish her thought, Adam looked back. Belle had a hand resting on the back of her neck, staring away from him and into the flames. Her hair and eyes glowed gold in the light of the fire, and a pretty swath of freckles covered her nose and cheeks. In all truth, it was becoming harder for him to ignore how very beautiful she was now that the bruises around her eye were healing. Even before, beneath spots of purple and blue, it was obvious. He wished it was just as obvious how married she was.

Adam frowned, and looked back towards her hand. Then he blinked hard, and looked again, for the ring that had been there before was gone. When had she taken it off?

He sucked in a sharp breath. That’s none of your business, he told himself. He looked away, though only a moment passed and he was wondering again. No doubt she must have hated the reminder of that violent man, he decided quietly; the pain in her side was probably enough.

Soon he helped Belle to the privy, as he’d been doing each morning and night—though she insisted she could walk today. She traipsed bravely through the snow as he followed close behind to steady her, and Adam was grateful he’d had enough foresight to shovel out the path before hiding the tool away with the rest this morning.

The journey took its toll on Belle, and so after another breakfast of strips of venison and Bonne’s milk she opted to return to the bed for a nap. The idea of tea had lost its appeal to Adam, but he brought some over to her as she settled down. “You’re certain had enough to eat?” he asked.

“Mm,” she hummed softly, blowing on the tea and wrapping her fingers around the warm cup.

He nodded, but made a mental note to go out for supplies soon. He couldn’t feed her milk and meat forever; humans needed more than that. But when to do it? Was she well enough to leave alone?

The thought tired him again, and so he set it aside for now, poured himself a large serving of milk in a glass he hadn’t yet managed to break, and settled in his large, old armchair. He’d moved it to the window so Belle could sleep with the warmth of the fire, and so stared out at the snowy landscape he’d seen a dozen times while trying not to think about the very lovely person sitting in his bed.

This was no small task, apparently, and in a desperate attempt to distract himself he reached between the arm and the seat cushion of the chair and found an alternate activity—Guinevere and Lancelot, the last book he’d been reading in this spot. He pulled out the old novel, flipping through the yellowing pages until he found the approximate place he’d last left it.

He was not two words in, however, when he caught a small gasp from across the room. He looked up, but Belle glanced away as soon as he did.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded several times in rapid succession, staring pointedly into her cup. “Yes, thank you.”

He frowned, but returned to his book. Yet he could sense a slight shift from across the room, certain her eyes were on him once again. When he looked up again, she started, eyes darting to the side. “You’re sure I can’t get you anything?” he tried.

“No! I-I mean, yes. Yes, I’m sure,” she insisted, waving away the offer while still refusing to meet his eyes.

Adam hummed deeply, looking back at the page but not truly seeing it. He waited only a minute, then looked up without warning. Finally he caught Belle staring at him, and, unable to pretend otherwise, she flushed.

Slowly, he closed the cover. “You’re very curious about me, aren’t you?”

Belle kept her eyes on the book, but bit her lip. Then she sighed, and finally looked back at him. “I am, I must admit.”

He wasn’t offended. In fact, he was amused more than anything. “And what is your guess?” he asked, tucking the novel back into the cushion and lifting his glass to his lips.

“That’s the thing,” she said, seeming to come to herself as she set her drink aside and sat tall. “I’ve heard of no mythical being quite like you, and it’s obvious you are well-raised. Which leaves me with either a highly inbred aristocrat, or some kind of undiscovered forest god.”

She’d caught him off guard. So much so, in fact, that he’d laughed without meaning too and inhaled a rather large mouthful of his drink.

“Not even close?” Belle asked, with far too much innocence.

Adam coughed roughly, and wiped his face with the fur of his arm while hoping she hadn’t noticed milk draining from his nose. “Actually, um…” he managed. He coughed again, and cleared his throat, taking a moment in his decision. “It’s true that I was a… noble. Of sorts,” he finally conceded. No need to go into specifics there. “Long ago. But what made you say it?”

She raised a brow at him, followed by a hand as she began to count off. “You place a napkin in your lap to eat,” she began, raising a finger. “You always hold my door, you knock and greet me each time you enter the house, you put a high priority on smelling nice—”

“I smell nice?”

“—and to top it all off, you have better posture than all the schoolteachers in France,” she finished, all five fingers waggling at him in the air.

He quickly hunched his shoulders forward. “Okay, but I… I have cobwebs,” he stammered, waving towards the ceiling.

Don’t point those out! cried the prince.

Belle grinned, and raised a sixth finger on her other hand. “And you don’t have a clue how to clean. Definitely high born.” She returned her hands to her lap, shrugging. “Besides, you told me so yourself: ‘I’m no Monsieur,’” She eyed him with a look so full of certainty he wondered if she were truly the same woman she’d been five minutes ago. “Isn’t that right, my lord?”

“D-don’t—” he stammered, before raising a stern finger. “Don’t call me that.”

Belle only smirked.

Damn, Adam thought. She was good… or maybe he was just more obvious that he thought. She thinks I smell nice?

“Which only leaves me more curious,” Belle continued. “For I have a very hard time believing you’ve always lived like this.”

She watched him carefully again, but his throat had suddenly gone dry. But why? What did it matter now, if she knew the tale? The spell had ended, finalized forever in broken stone and death. Except… he would have to admit what he once was. That he’d been even more of a monster than he was now. Yes, he’d implied as much, but to actually admit he’d been so bad as to earn this curse... but on the other hand, perhaps if he shared his past, he would learn more of hers. He was wildly curious, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said suddenly, looking into her lap. “I’m prying again. You needn’t—”

But she fell quiet when he stood, watching as he moved to sit on the floor beside her. Belle smiled, anticipation in her eyes as she moved over and patted the space beside her. Adam hesitated, a knee already resting on the hard floor, but accepted the offer and settled on one side the blankets.

“I was born into a very wealthy home,” he began. His heart was pounding like mad, but he sucked in a breath and went on. “Naturally, I was spoiled beyond repair, and by the time I’d grown… I had learned to neglect and torment everyone beneath me.”

It was almost the truth. Yes, he had been spoiled, but that isn’t what drove him to hate those beneath him, to hate the kind of people he’d been crowned to protect. The kind of people like Belle. No, he couldn’t share that piece of it, not with her.

He glanced up then, wondering if he’d still shared too much. But Belle only watched him, eyes alight with interest as she rested her chin atop her knees. And so he went on, explaining that night, the terrible lesson he’d been forced to learn.

“Wait—how old were you?” she asked suddenly.

“Eighteen.”

Her eyes went wide. “But that’s so young!”

Adam waved off her concern. “I was old enough to know better,” he said. “And old enough that my actions had serious consequences for others. Trust me, there is no need for pity there.”

Belle hummed. She didn’t seem convinced. “But… what about your parents?” she tried. “Surely you alone were not wholly responsible.”

“They were long gone by then.” All of them were. That was a dangerous topic, and so he shook his head and left it alone. “Everyone suffers. It’s not an excuse to make others suffer too.”

Belle stared at him for a moment, the hearth illuminating her side in an orange glow. And then, all at once, her expression softened. Adam wasn’t sure what he’d said to make it do so, but the way she was looking at him sent a warmth straight into his toes that was definitely not from the fire. Having no idea what to think of that, he looked back at his paws, clawing absently at the fur where he sat, and went on.

It wasn’t much further into the story when Belle chimed in again. “A dancing candlestick?” she asked, raising a brow. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“Belle,” he said flatly. “I’m a giant talking chimera.”

She blushed a little. “Touché. Go on.”

He did, and found himself telling her all about them, about their awful attempts to cheer him up, about the lonely nights that he’d done to himself and the hopelessness that fell over them all as the years wore on and on. He’d expected it would be difficult to voice his history aloud, yet once he’d started it was hard to stop, as though his mind had been aching for years to lay it all forth to the first person who came along and was willing to hear him.

“No one ever came?” Belle asked, visibly concerned as the story neared its close. “But that’s not fair…”

“I could have searched for her,” Adam shrugged. “Tried, actually, but every time I came close to a town I changed my mind. Truth be told…” He sighed, and looked away. “I was nothing but a great coward.”

Belle frowned. “I don’t see what you could have done in that situation anyway. Except…” She paused. “You could have stolen a maiden, I suppose.”

Adam’s brows shot up, and he looked back at her with wide eyes.

She laughed at his expression, though something lay beneath it, tainting her amusement. “I’m only kidding,” she said, then quickly changed the subject. “And what of your household?”

He’d forgotten this part was coming. The old guilt, that terrible sorrow—it gripped him all at once, and he could only shake his head. God, I should never have shared the tale at all, he realized, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard Belle whisper. And then he felt something—a hand, warm and soft, resting on his forearm and squeezing ever so gently.

Adam looked up in shock. If he thought the look she’d given him earlier had done something to him, it was nothing compared to what she was doing to him now. His skin seemed to melt beneath the fur where she touched him, and at once a hundred memories from a lifetime ago came flooding over him—every touch he’d ever received compounded into that single moment, as though it hadn’t been twenty years since he’d felt them.

Belle’s thumb brushed over his fur once, then twice. It was so tender, and so gentle, that Adam felt the sudden urge to cry. “You have had so much time to think on this,” she said softly. “Too much, I think. I am sorry you’ve had no one to share in your pain.”

That only made it harder to hold back his foolish tears. With great effort he managed, however, and recovered enough to reply. “I admit, I feel somewhat lighter having spoken it aloud.” He grimaced then, a surge of vulnerability overwhelming him. “And thoroughly embarrassed.”

Belle smiled, and shook her head. “Don’t be. I’ve always loved a story.”

Adam watched her, and wondered to himself for one long, silent moment. “And you?” he finally asked. “Could… could such help you?”

He regretted the question immediately, for she pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Mine isn’t a good story,” she said. She looked back at the fire, sucked in a breath, and managed a pained smile. “There isn’t any magic.”

“There is now,” he said, and she looked back at him with a puzzled expression. He smiled a little, and went on. “You’re housed up with a great and powerful forest god.”

Belle laughed, though Adam could tell she was retreating into herself once again. “I’ve kept you long enough,” he said, pushing himself to one knee and rising from the floor. “Rest. I won’t be far.”

Belle nodded, sinking back into the furs and closing her eyes. And so Adam left her, crossing the room and stepping out into the cold morning air before shutting the door quietly behind him. Then he reached for the side of the house, turned to lean against it, and tried desperately to breathe.

Adam had been so prepared to help Belle recover that he hadn’t once considered she might be the one to help him. He thought on that, reaching for the arm she’d touched. Belle’s hand was no longer there, yet the warmth of her fingers still remained, working its way into his hands and his feet and the dark, empty hole in his chest. Adam pulled his arm close and held it to his beating heart. It was too much—too warm and good a feeling for someone who was used to nothing but the bitter cold of his loneliness. And frankly, he had no idea how to handle it.

And so it was several long minutes before he came to himself again, blinking away the tears that had finally forced their way to the surface and feeling more than a little foolish. This wouldn’t do; he needed a task. He thought quickly, then pushed himself upright and headed around the mountainside.

A small structure appeared after the bend, which functioned as a sort of barn for Bonne and storage shed for when he needed it. Adam had come with the intention of refilling her hay and water, but frowned at the sight that greeted him. The snow, piled high on the roof, had caused it to collapse on one side, burying its contents in splintered wood and ice.

A low snort reached his ears, and the ring of a deep-toned bell. Bonne had emerged from behind the shed, looking him dead in the eyes before staring pointedly at the collapsed side of her home. Adam sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’ll get on it.”

He returned to the pit he’d dug earlier, retrieved the tools he’d need, and set about fixing the roof. Adam still dreaded such tasks, for in all truth he really didn’t know what he was doing. His home had already been there when he settled this place—an old, rundown shack at the time, half rotted away. He’d fixed it up himself, studying the old construction that was left and mimicking it the best he could. But every year something went wrong, which he never doubted was a result of his own ineptitude. Princes, of course, were taught nothing of building or woodworking. He now thought this was quite a shame.

Still, the old cabin had been an ideal place to settle. It must have once been accessible to humans, but was now surrounded on all sides by a sharp drop off that seemed to be the work of a landslide. Adam, with his cursed form, could scale the steep cliff side with little trouble, and so had found a perfectly remote location no one but himself could access. He just tried not to think too hard about what had happened to those who’d been living here when the land had—

“Ouch!” he shouted, his thumb flaring in pain. In his distraction he’d landed the hammer right on it. He grimaced, watching as the blood swelled and pooled near his nail. It would heal in moments, but it still hurt.

But then, all at once, the blood he saw wasn’t his own. It was Belle’s, dripping from her lip in a forest clearing surrounded by dead wolves.

Adam’s pain was gone then, replaced by his own imaginings. He saw Belle again, wrapped in darkness while a shadowed, faceless man loomed over her. And then, suddenly, that man was grabbing Belle, shaking her, fingers digging into her arms so roughly that she cried. Adam saw him throw her to the floor, heard her scream, watched him grab her by the throat and pull back his fist—

Snap!

Adam gasped, blinking and coming back to where he was. He looked down, realizing he’d broken the hammer’s wooden handle into two splintered ends. His paw was shaking.

When Adam first saw the bruises covering Belle’s body, he’d been upset. Of course he had. It was a terrible thing that had been done to her, a terrible thing to happen to anyone. But now he knew her, at least a little; she’d listened to him, comforted him, and in so doing worked her way into a part of his broken heart. Which meant that imagining what had been done to her did far more than upset him now—it made him want to tear apart the man responsible.

He looked back at the broken tool, mulling that thought over in his mind. He could tear him apart, if it came down to it. Quite easily.

Adam liked to think he’d overcome his temper some years ago. But now, as he found himself storming away from the shed, Bonne bellowing behind him, he wondered if he’d only been avoiding the things that set him off. How dare he?! he thought, trembling head to toe as he walked. He stopped, throwing his fist against the nearest rocky outcropping and sending a dozen bits of stone into the snow before continuing down the path. Fucking bastard! He’ll suffer everything he did to her and worse. He snarled, stopping again and narrowing his eyes. He’ll be wishing for hell by the time I’m finished with him.

He knew these thoughts were off-color, but for the moment he really didn’t care. He was furious, for the first time in a long time, and for the first time at someone besides himself. Perhaps he couldn’t force himself out of this terrible world, but he could certainly rid it of that monster.

The path he’d chosen soon ended, a steep face of the mountain now looming before him. Adam sucked in a breath, let it out, and began to climb. It was a short journey, at least for him, and it wasn’t long before he pulled himself over the ledge above. Now knee deep in snow, he stood slowly and looked up.

Before him was an ancient, blackened oak: the only tree remaining this high up, tucked at an angle into the rocking outcroppings of the mountain. Adam stared at it for a long moment, and scowled. Then, with a huff of resignation, he stepped forward, buried his paw into its gaping chest, and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in an old, worn shirt. Placing it in one palm, he pulled back the fabric with care to reveal a tiny shard of glass.

He hummed deeply, watching the blue sky above shift in a reflection no larger than his thumbnail. A dark curiosity had welled up in Adam’s heart, sending him to seek the one fragment of that magic he still had in his possession. He didn’t like to keep the mirror close—it was too mystical, too strong a reminder of all that he’d lost—yet he couldn’t find the strength to throw it away. And so, picking up the broken glass with two tips of his claws, he held it before his eyes.

“Show me who hurt Belle,” he commanded.

I thought that was none of your business, the prince muttered, moping about somewhere in the back of his mind.

Adam only focused on the glass, which did nothing for several seconds. But then that terrible green glow appeared, far too bright for such a tiny object, and faded to a dark, shifting grey that covered its surface completely.

Adam squinted at it, trying to make out the vision. For with only a piece of the mirror, he only ever had a portion of what he wished to see. He’d tried getting around this by asking for different perspectives, though he usually just wound up shaking the damn thing in irritation. None of that worked, however; it was as if that little shard of glass knew it was part of a greater whole, and refused to function as a full window on its own.

And so Adam studied what it gave him. It looked like... fur. Long, ragged fur, moving with the wind. He sighed. “No,” he told the glass, feeling like he was explaining this to a very small child. “Not the wolves. A man. Show me the man who hurt Belle.”

The vision grew fuzzy, then sharp again, then eventually faded completely. Adam stared at it for a long moment, watching as his own reflection returned. “God damn it,” he grumbled. Stupid thing was getting worse every time. I should just throw you in the river, he thought, all while wrapping the mirror’s shard carefully between the folds of the shirt and tucking it back inside the tree’s cavity.

Deciding he better get back to the barn before Bonne tried to find him herself, Adam climbed back down the icy rocks and back the way he’d come. He worked for another hour or two, then headed back towards the trees for more lumber. He moved quietly past the house, glancing through the window and towards the fireplace to check on Belle.

But no one was there.

He sucked in a sharp breath, heart in his throat as he sprinted to the door. “Belle?” he called out, pulling it open and traipsing snow into the house as he scoured the room. He stopped in an instant, for she had only moved to his chair, so small in the massive seat that he’d entirely missed her through the window.

She didn’t even acknowledge his presence, staring at the pages of Guinevere and Lancelot now spread across her lap. Tears were falling down her cheeks.

Adam blinked, and moved slowly across the room as his heart returned to its normal pace. “Belle?” he said again, softer this time. “What is it?”

She pulled the book to her chest, pages pressed to her heart and arms crossed over the cover. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, voice swollen and damp. Closing her eyes, she spoke in such a way that he wondered if she’d even seen him there. “I wondered, worried… but I remember how.”

Adam crouched beside the chair, and laid a paw on the armrest. “How?”

“To read,” she said, opening her eyes again and lowering the book back into her lap. She stared down at the old pages in her hands, fingers brushing over the words as though they were something very sacred. “He never let me… it’s been years…” She shook her head, closing the book slowly and handing it back to him.

Adam reached for the novel, but only to stop her. “I would be a beast indeed if I took that from you now.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, pulling the book back and holding it to her chest once again. Adam’s own chest burned with fury, trying to understand—on top of everything—what would possess that wretched man to deny his wife the simple pleasures of a book.

But as he stood and watched Belle open the novel once more, he felt something different. Her eyes, they danced across that page, and she looked so incredibly... alive. And so he let his temper wane at the sight and a fierce determination take its place.

If anyone tries to hurt you again, well... He turned towards the door, standing tall and crossing his arms over his chest. They'll have to find a way to kill me first.

Chapter Text

Two figures breathed side by side in a dark, silent room. The first a father, gasping for his final breaths. The second his daughter, gasping through her tears.

“This is all my fault,” Belle wept, gripping Papa’s limp fingers where she knelt beside his bed. “If only I’d gotten to you sooner…”

If only she’d agreed to Gaston’s deal the moment he offered it. If only she hadn’t delayed the inevitable in hopes of finding a better way. God above, she was a fool, letting them cart Papa away to catch his death in that terrible place.

“Maybe it's better...” Papa coughed, wet and sharp. “It's better this way…”

“Don’t talk like that,” Belle said, reaching up and dabbing the blood from his lips with a rag. Everything she’d done… had it all been for nothing? She couldn’t keep going without him. He was all she had, the only bit of light left since she’d made her deal with the devil.

“Belle, listen to me. It's all right,” Papa said. He tried to hold her hand, but it was barely more than a brushing of fingers. “When I’m gone—”

“N-no…” she sobbed.

“When I’m gone…” he repeated, gripping her hand with all the strength he had left. “Leave him.”

Belle’s cries grew still, and she looked up.

“Find a way. I know you can,” he said in earnest. And then, for the first time in days, he managed a smile.  “Go, my Belle. Have your adventure. Find your true love. Live you life.”

Belle breathed once, then twice. “But I’m…” She swallowed, and ducked her head. She hidden the worst of it from her father—he’d been burdened so much as it was—but in this moment she couldn’t bear the pain alone any longer. “Papa… I’m already ruined.”

“No one can ruin you, Belle—” His words were stopped with another fit of coughs, but he only shook his head when she tried to help. “No one,” he said again, fiercely. “Do you hear me?”

Tears began pooling in Belle’s eyes again. She nodded.

“I couldn’t stop him in this,” Papa went on. His hand grew limp in hers, so she held it in both her own. “But at least I can die and free you from him now.”

Belle didn’t argue with him anymore, much as she wished to. Instead she lifted his hand to her face, hoping to feel its warmth one last time.

“I love you, Belle,” Papa said. He closed his eyes. “Don't be afraid.”

“I love you too, Papa. I'm not afraid,” she whispered. She turned to kiss his palm, holding his hand tight as her world died beside her. “And I will escape. I promise.”

The tall, dark pines flew past as Belle raced through the forest. “Hurry, Estelle,” she panted, urging the young horse faster with a kick of her heels. The beautiful, white-coated mare obeyed, leaning forward and speeding ahead into the growing darkness.

Estelle was a gift from her husband, just one more way to show off his wealth and his young wife as they rode through the village. Still, she was a good horse, loyal to her mistress and with a gentler temperament than his other animals. And with Philippe gone, Estelle was all she had. Papa had been too sick to care for the young work horse at the end, and Gaston had refused to take on such an inelegant beast of burden in his stables. At least, that’s what he’d claimed; Belle suspected it was because Philippe tried to bite Gaston anytime he came close. So Philippe been sold, another of Belle’s loved ones lost to her forever.

Though now, in a way, she was grateful—for as loyal as Philippe had been, he could not run like Estelle. And whatever horse she took in her escape would have to be sold once she made it to Paris.

Belle’s heart leapt at the thought. Paris. She’d been born there, a lifetime ago, and finally she would return. It was the only place she could imagine where she could truly vanish from Gaston forever. She would change her name—she hated it anyway—cut her hair, perhaps work as a maid or a washerwoman or a seamstress if she could. And if worse came to worse, she could always join a convent. Anything was better than staying here.

A sound cut into her imaginings. One sharp bark, and then another, eager and excited. Belle whipped her head around, and watched as two large, grey hounds hunted them from behind. She cursed, digging her heels harder into Estelle’s sides. “Faster!” she shouted. The mare obeyed, but it was too late, for the dogs had already reached them. They snapped lightly at Estelle’s heels, slowing her to a trot as two riders drew up on either side.

Belle gripped the reigns tight, the leather digging into her trembling hands. He had caught her… again.

Estelle had stopped now, snorting and backing away nervously from the dogs. Gaston was to his feet in an instant, reaching for her reigns with a sour expression on his face. Belle yanked them away from him, trying desperately to urge the horse forward again. But he only grabbed her wrist and tugged her out of the saddle. And so Belle leaned forward and—remembering Philippe—bit him hard.

Gaston yelled. She kicked him in the shins. Finally his grip loosened, and she bolted towards the trees. But he was on her again in a moment, wrestling her to the ground.

“You know, at first this was kind of cute,” he huffed, pinning her arms to her sides. “But it’s time to stop fighting me.”

“No,” Belle snarled, staring up at him in fury. “I won't stop. For every minute of the rest of my life I will fight. I will never stop trying to get away from you!”

Behind them, LeFou sat atop a borrowed horse and stared uncomfortably into his lap. But Gaston didn’t seem to care. He only glared down at Belle as she struggled again, holding her so tight she could barely budge. “In that case, I must break you,” he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder at Estelle, who looked away from him in fear. Then he stared back down at his wife, and grinned. “My little mare. So wild and free…”

Belle spit in his face. “You’ll never break me.”

He grunted, but his smile only grew. “I did always like a challenge, you know. LeFou!”

The man started, looking up from his lap. “Y-yes?”

Gaston dragged Belle to her feet, then looked up towards the sky. The sun had nearly set now, wisps of the moon beginning to appear in the eastern sky. “Escort Belle back to the house, and keep an eye on her. I’m heading out.”

“Yes,” Lefou said, nodding quickly. “Right away, Gaston.”

The ride back was quiet, and slow. Lefou kept his eyes straight ahead, the right side of his lip a violent red where he’d been chewing on it for the last half hour. He was christened Leroy Fouch, an unfortunate name that made an easy joke—one that had yet to die since their childhood playmates invented it.

Belle eyed him as their horses walked quietly between the trees. And then she pulled on Estelle’s reigns, and stopped.

Lefou noticed a few paces ahead, pulling his own horse to a stop and turning back. “Belle, what are you—?”

“Leroy,” she said, and sucked in a breath. “You have to help me.”

He swallowed, but for a long moment he actually seemed to consider it. But then he glanced over her shoulder and into those dark, silent woods. “I… I can’t,” he whispered, and looked back at her. His eyes were trembling. “You’re not the only one afraid of him.”

“That’s not the same. You’re not married to him.”

Lefou’s eyes grew wide at that, and he flushed. The response confused Belle, but before she could puzzle it out he was shaking his head. “He… he wasn’t always like this,” he said quietly.

Belle could hardly imagine that. “Well, he’s like this now,” she replied, feeling herself growing frustrated with the spinelessness before her. “Do you have any idea what he does to me? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?”

Lefou’s expression grew pained. He couldn’t even meet her eyes. “Belle, I’m sorry. I really am. I just don’t… I don’t know what I can do.”

“I just need more time to get away,” she asked. Begged, really, for it had come to that. She’d been caught trying to flee a half dozen times now, and it was becoming abundantly clear that she couldn’t do this alone. “I’ll handle the rest myself. Please, Leroy.”

He looked up slowly. “You know… you’re the only one who still calls me that.” He bit his lip again, and this time a spot of blood began to pool there. Finally, he sighed. “Shit. Okay, look,” he said. “He’s gonna be gone for two nights this time. The skies are clear, and he wants to take advantage of the full moon for the hunt.”

Two nights. Two full days to get away from him. Belle’s heart raced as she stared back towards the trees, and if Lefou didn’t have the faster horse she’d have taken off that very moment.

“I won’t stop you,” she heard him say. She looked back, and for the first time since she’d known him he wasn’t trembling with nerves. For the first time, Leroy Fouch held himself tall. “He’ll be back Friday,” he went on. “I’ll keep to the nearby woods that morning, tell him you only barely ran off. He’ll think you close by, and it will throw off his search.”

Belle could have cried. Instead she reached over between the horses and grasped his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

He just shrugged, and looked away again. And so before he could change his mind, Belle gave a sharp hiyah! and sent Estelle galloping back into the darkness. 

She rode through the outskirts of the woods to avoid the hunter within, but far enough from town that no one would spot her. She trusted no one but Lefou, and him only barely.

Only when Estelle began to stumble and her own eyes refused to stay open did Belle stop. They’d ridden through the night and the following day, passing three villages and endless acres of golden wheat. She was too nervous to go into public, and too exhausted to search for a room regardless, so she tied Estelle to a tree in a dense grove and fell asleep in the grass.

At dawn, a gun fired.

Belle was startled awake at the sound, and beside her Estelle cried out in agony. The horse stumbled once, twice, and Belle barely managed to roll out of the way before she fell to the earth.

“Poor Estelle,” came a voice. “It seems she's been injured on your journey.”

Belle’s heart flew into her throat, and she looked up. Gaston stood before them, watching the mare shudder in pain and holding a smoking pistol in his hand.

Belle looked back at Estelle, neighing desperately while her front leg bled heavily in the grass. The sight of it numbed Belle’s despair at being caught and replaced it with a nauseating horror. “How could you?” she cried, shaking her head as he eyes filled with tears. “You’ve as good as killed her!”

“Indeed,” Gaston said, reloading the gun. “She will need to be put down.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. “No,” she gasped, stretching her arms across Estelle’s shuddering form. “Wait, please, wait—!”

He aimed for the head this time, and fired again. Estelle went still.

“It’s a shame, really,” he said, blowing the smoke from the end of the barrel before tucking it back into his belt. “Though perhaps it’s best you don’t have a beast after all.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Belle wept, running her fingers through Estelle’s coat. “She did nothing but obey…”

“Yes,” Gaston agreed, dragging Belle to her feet and glaring at her with his icy cold gaze. “A lesson you would do well to learn.”

Gaston didn't have his own horse, but rented a large horse-drawn wagon in the closest town and nearly rode the creatures to their own deaths on the journey back. Belle could do little else besides weep for the duration of it.

As they neared their village, however, her tears finally dried and she dared to speak again. “I don’t understand… how did you find me?” she asked weakly, exhausted and weary.

Gaston only smirked, and sent a whip cracking over the team. As they turned onto the main road of town, Belle supposed he’d simply tracked her using whatever unreal ability he used to hunt down all his prey. He wasn’t famous for miles around for nothing. Still, even then he would need some kind of hint about which way she’d gone, and when.

The ache of betrayal washed over her. “He told you.”

Gaston grabbed her wrist, jumping out of the seat and pulling her to the ground with him. The team of horses panted hard beside them, dangerously so. “Oh yes, Lefou told me everything,” he finally answered, dragging her towards the house. “Though he needed a little… persuasion.”

Belle frowned as he opened the door and pulled her inside. “What—?”

But the answer was waiting for her, crumpled in a heap in front of their hearth. The man lay on his side, the arm beneath bent the wrong way, an ankle dark and swollen. His face was a mess of dried blood, beaten to the point where she might not have recognized him had it not been suggested a moment before. In terror, Belle recalled Estelle’s lifeless form—but then the man took a breath, long and ragged. So he was still alive, if just barely.

Belle had cried out at the sight, but when she tried to go to him Gaston held her back. And so all she could do was stare at the form in the shadows. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Leroy, I…”

But she couldn’t say another word, too great was her shame. This was all her fault. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have been so selfish?

Gaston’s heavy hands moved to her shoulders, and he leaned down close from behind. “The townsfolk need you, Belle,” he said in her ear. “You see, when you leave… they’re hurt.”

And in instant, Belle felt cold as ice.

“Mounsier Fournier, is it? And his wife, Marie?” he went on. “Did you know they had a new oven built last week?” He hummed, rubbing his chin. “I do hope it’s sound. We certainly wouldn’t want a fire breaking out.”

Belle was feeling faint now. She forced herself to breathe.

“And little Timmy… he’s a clumsy lad. Would be a shame if he fell into the old well just ‘cause no one was around to keep an eye on him.”

“You wouldn’t!” Belle gasped, finally turning around to grasp his shirt with pleading fingers. “Gaston, please, you wouldn’t!”

He laughed, and no beast in the world could have sounded more terrible. “Oh Belle, don’t you see? What happens to them… that all depends on you.”

Belle woke with a gasp. A fire burned beside her, the place she lay warm and soft and safe.

She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly and fighting her trembling hands by grasping them together. The dream had felt so very real because it had been, once; just another memory of her past, as all her nightmares were. She’d been hoping they’d stopped, but it seems she’d only had a temporary respite from them.

You’ll hurt him too.

Belle stopped breathing. The voice—it was her own, but younger, from the days when she’d craved adventure and romance and a life beyond these hills. That girl had thought it really all possible, knew it should have been had Belle not failed so miserably to achieve any of her dreams. And so as the years passed that voice had grown cynical and cruel, bitter at all she’d never become.

Belle frowned in the darkness. What do you mean? she asked herself.

You hurt everyone you let close. And he’s next.

Belle sucked in a sharp breath, then grimaced at the pain in her side. Adam, he’s… he’s strong, she tried to reason. And we’re far away from them. 

And if they find you here? If the villagers see him? You really think he could face a hundred men alone?

Belle’s eyes shot open, staring at the dark, cave-like ceiling above her. She imagined the mountainside swarming with villagers, their torches filling the air with hot, blinding smoke. She watched as the little cabin burst into flames, as Adam fought them off until he was overwhelmed, as they crawled over him like ants and thrust their long pitchforks over and over into his heart.

The pounding in Belle’s chest was so fierce now she wondered if her own heart wouldn’t burst. Oh god, she thought in horror. What have I done?

She rolled over as slowly as she could manage, glancing across the small space. Adam was lying in the dark corner of the room, arched back rising and falling slowly with sleep. Had he carried her to bed? He must have, for she had no memory of lying down, no memory of setting his book so carefully on the blankets beside her head.

But now, as she thought, she did remember something of the night before. A light, appearing in the corner of her vision and growing stronger in the small room until it illuminated the shadowed pages. Adam, standing beside her, the handle of a glowing lantern hanging from a single finger.

“You should sleep,” he’d said softly. “The words will not vanish with the darkness.”

Belle tore her eyes away from the page. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly go to bed now. Lancelot, he’s…” She stifled a yawn. “… off to rescue Geneivieve from…” The yawn won, but she refused to give up. “… her kidnapper.”

Adam smiled then—or smirked, perhaps—and set the lantern down beside her. He glanced towards the page. “That is a good part,” he admitted.

Belle had no memory of the rest of the conversation; perhaps she’d been too tired. Perhaps that’s simply where it had ended. She certainly couldn’t recall whether Lancelot had been successful in his quest. She smiled, reaching out to touch the book's soft leather binding. How long it had been since she’d felt that, since she’d run her fingers over old inked parchment and lost herself in the worlds they created?

Having fun, were you?

Belle pulled her fingers back as though burned. No… I mean, I was only—

Reading, laughing, sleeping all day as though you hadn’t just murdered a man? How dare you.

I didn’t… Belle thought, shaking her head. He was—it all happened so fast. I didn’t want to kill him!

Didn’t you?

Of course not!

Then why were you so relieved when you did?

Belle cowered under the blankets, eyes wide in the darkness. The guilt flooded over her like a wave, the fear battering her to and fro like a terrible storm.

They’re coming for you, the voice whispered. And they’ll find him too… unless you leave.

Belle lay like that for a time—minutes or hours, she couldn’t tell. Every possible consequence of her actions played through her thoughts, and every time it ended with her trapped behind bars in the jailer’s wagon while a mob carted Adam’s corpse back to the village.

He had been through so much already. She’d seen it in his eyes, heard the pain in his voice as he related a tale that only confirmed it. Was she really so selfish that she would put his life in danger just for a book and a warm bed?

No. She was better than that.

Gritting her teeth, Belle rolled over and rose slowly to her hands and knees. Her side was flaring in pain again, and she had to stop and breathe for several long moments before she could even attempt to stand. In agony she did so, trembling all over and stepping out from the warm blankets.

And still Adam slept. No doubt he was exhausted from what she’d put him through. Holding her side and biting down on her lip, Belle slipped past him and crossed the room. She did so in perfect silence, toes before heels as she tested each floorboard for creaks. It was a skill she’d taught herself many years before, for this wasn’t the first time she’d wished a man to remain sleeping.

Reaching the door, she slipped her feet into her boots and retrieved her cloak where it hung on a nail in the wall. Yet when her fingers touched the door’s wooden latch she hesitated, glancing back at Adam’s form in the darkness. A great sorrow overtook her at the sight, an overwhelming temptation to crawl right back into bed and pretend everything was fine. This small, dusty mountain home—it was the first place she’d felt safe in so long, its owner the first person to care for her in years. And now she was leaving him.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’ll never see him again.

But of course, she couldn’t say goodbye. He was too kind, and might not accept the very real danger she was putting him in. And so before she could change her mind, Belle lifted the latch and slipped out the door.

She gasped at the sudden cold. The mountain winds were like icy fingers, crawling beneath each layer of clothing and chilling her to the bone. Her injury suffered the worst, and she grabbed it again as she stumbled down the path. She headed towards the outhouse, then past it into the trees and down the face of the mountain.  

Everything was unfamiliar now. Belle brought a hand to her head, unable to think clearly past the aches in her body and the freezing air against her skin. Where will I go? she asked herself. I don’t even know where I am.

There’s nowhere to go.

And suddenly the trees had parted and she was standing on the edge of a rocky ledge. It dove straight down towards the forest below, an empty, terrifying drop of several hundred feet that hugged the entire mountainside.

Jump.

Belle gasped, and stepped away from the ledge. No, she thought desperately, clinging to the nearest branch. Not again. I—

Do it. What choice do you have? It’s either this, or go back and face what you’ve done. They’ll hang you anyway.

Please, Belle begged the voice. I don’t want to die… not yet…

Why? You’ve amounted to nothing. Thirty-five with no children, no home, not even a friend in the world—

Belle’s fingers relaxed at that, and she looked back in the direction she’d come. I have Adam, she thought. And for the barest of moments, a bit of warmth seeped into her chest.

Yet the voice only laughed at her, and the feeling drained away. You think he’s your friend? it asked. He only feels sorry for you. Do you really think he enjoys babysitting you all day? Or letting you eat through his food? Or sleeping in a corner of the room at night while you enjoy the warmth of his fire? You’re already hurting him, just like you hurt everyone.

Belle brought a hand to her mouth, and pressed it there as she began to weep.

Just listen to yourself, the young woman scoffed. You’re pathetic. Pathetic, and broken, and utterly worthless.

Belle brought her hand to her head, fingernails digging into her hair. “S-stop,” she whispered.

Have you forgotten what Gaston did to you? young Belle went on, her voice growing louder and uglier with each word until it barely sounded like her at all. He used you up, ruined you inside and out. There’s nothing left.

Belle gasped for breath, losing her grip on the branch and slipping slowly to the earth. She sat there in the frozen snow, pressing her face into her palms as darkness crept into her heart. Those words felt so real, so true. Was it even right to fight them?

I’m… Not all of me is gone, she thought desperately. I just have to remember who I was before… I just have to find her again…

You’ll never find her, the voice said, disinterested and cold. That girl is dead.

Belle let her hands fall back to her lap, then stood slowly. She felt numb, that numbness spreading to the forest around her and dampening every sound. She blinked, and took a step forward, glancing back over the cliff. It was frightening drop, but it would be over quickly, without a jeering crowd or any number of terrible things they could do to her while she awaited her sentence in prison. And this way, they would find her body before they ever found Adam.

Maybe this is the right thing to do, she thought. She slid her foot closer, sending a scattering of pebbles over the edge. Maybe this way, I can’t hurt anyone again. She moved closer still, and the wind from the valley flew up her cloak and through her hair. Maybe—

But before she could move any further, something reached out of the darkness and yanked her back.

Belle screamed. They’ve found me! she thought in terror, pounding her fists against the stranger’s chest and kicking at the shadows with all her might. Yet despite her best efforts, the hands held her firmly, and so she cried out harder. They’re here! They’ll find him! They’ll—

“Belle!” called a voice. It was deep, and rough… and warmly familiar. “Belle… it’s me.”

Belle grew still, realizing the hands which held her were giant and soft. She sucked in a shallow breath. “Adam?”

His grip loosened, though he kept her encased from shoulders to elbows. He exhaled deeply, and Belle felt his warm breath as it parted the freezing air. He stood like that for a time, breathing roughly, holding her in two quaking paws. Belle ducked her head in shame and waited for his rebuke, for him to scold her for trying this again after all he’d done to care for her.

Yet he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached around her shoulders and silently guided her back up the path towards the house. Belle let him, overwhelmed with a guilt she couldn’t decide was because she’d almost jumped… or because she’d failed to. It was too much, and soon the trees grew blurry and her tremors returned with such force that she could barely manage to stay standing.

And so she found herself in his arms again, except this was unlike any time before. This time he held her close, intimately so, as though she might vanish in a moment. “You’re all right,” he whispered, heart thundering madly beneath his chest. He reached even further around her, cradling her head in his paw and pressing his forehead to her hair. “You’re all right.”

Belle wasn’t sure which of them he’d meant those words to comfort. But it didn’t matter—they’d comforted her, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face there. It made every terrible thought of the nighttime vanish, if only for a moment.

Only when the wind grew fierce again did Adam look up and continue back to the house, back to the bed of furs and the quiet fire. He helped her sit, set her boots to dry by the fire, pulled the blankets back over her lap. Then, with nothing left to do, he sat beside her and stared into his lap.

Belle felt cold. The blankets were nothing to Adam’s embrace, and she found herself wishing for his arms again. Instead she drew her own arms around herself and wondered what on earth she should say.

“Belle.”

She looked up, though Adam was still looking at his hands, claws trailing through the furs. “I will not pretend to know what you’ve been though,” he finally said. Then he sucked in a breath, and looked up. “But I have been on the edge of that cliff too.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide.

He reached for her arm then—much as she had the day before, Belle realized—but drew back at the sight of her yellowing bruises. His eyes fell to her hand then, pale and untouched. And so he reached for it instead, holding it gently between two giant fingers and a thumb.

Belle nearly gasped at the touch. He couldn’t have known, could he? That no one had touched her hands in years, that Gaston had seen little use for them besides letting them cook his meals and clean his home and please him in whatever ways he commanded. He certainly never held them like this.

“Things get better,” Adam went on. She looked up then, eyes trembling, and he wrapped her hand completely in his own. “It takes time… but they get better, Belle. I promise.”

And at that, she burst into tears.

Adam, the poor man, immediately went into a panic, trying desperately to apologize for saying the wrong thing. Belle wanted to explain that the exact opposite was true, but every time she tried to speak she only broke into sobs again.

Are you really crying in front of him again? Ugh, you’re so—

Be quiet, Belle thought, so tired of the voice and so very desperate to let everything out. Please, for just a moment… let me be.

Amazingly, it obeyed. And so Belle leaned into Adam’s open arms and cried until she could cry no more. It was strange, for in a way it felt so wonderful to do. How long had she been holding this in? How many times had she shed a few tears only to bury the rest inside? It was as though her chest had been filling itself with them for years and years, and now that they were free to spill out she could finally breathe again.

Adam had grown quiet, holding her close until her breathing grew regular and the tension in her limbs seeped away. Eventually, slowly, he pulled back. “I’m so sorry,” he said. His expression was pained. “I just thought… God, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Belle shook her head, lifting the corner of her dress to wipe the wet from her face. Adam stood quickly, crossing the room and digging around somewhere in the dark before returning with two bright, clean handkerchiefs. She blew her nose quickly, dried the rest of the tears from her eyes, and finally managed to answer him. “No,” she said in earnest. “No, you didn’t… you didn’t make me cry.”

Adam grew very still. He looked back at his hand, which had found hers again, and furrowed his brows. “It must have been so awful… having someone you love turn on you like that."

Belle blinked. “I never loved…” But she trailed off quickly, thinking what a simple, tender assumption he’d made. It left her feeling soft.

“Belle?”

“I owe you an explanation,” she said. “Everything you’ve done and shared with me… I’ve been unfair to you.”

Adam watched her for a moment, and she saw the curiosity in his eyes. “Only if you wish to share it,” he said slowly. “But you owe me nothing.”

“I do,” she insisted. She looked away. “For I’ve put you in danger.”

He grunted, and waved it off. “I doubt that. I'm, er, very difficult to kill. Though..." His voice grew soft again. "If it would help you feel better to explain…?”

“It would,” she said, and realized in that moment that she meant it. That not only did she trust him, but that maybe… maybe she had found someone who would really understand.

I have been on the edge of that cliff too.

“Yes, it would help,” she said again. Then she frowned. “It’s just… I don’t know where to start.”

Adam squeezed her hand gently, then let it go and rose to his feet once more. He placed two new logs on the fire, turned, and settled back beside her. “The beginning is fine by me.”

Chapter Text

“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 through 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 possibly 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. “Nine 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.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this?”

“Oh yes,” Belle said. She stood on the edge of a narrow river, clear water feeding into an eddy churning quietly against the bank. She breathed in the crisp air, then turned back to where Adam stood in the snow. “It isn’t the first time I’ve taken a winter dip.”

“But the mountain water…” He frowned deeply, eyeing the small river as though it were the Nile itself. “I’m telling you, it’s incredibly cold.”

“If I wait any longer, I’ll scare off every living creature in this forest with my stench.” Belle untied her cloak and hung it on a nearby branch. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.”

He sighed. “I know.” Then he blinked, and looked up at her with wide eyes. “I-I mean, that you’re— not that you stink! You don’t.”

Belle smirked, and took the clean towels and clothes he held in his arms. He didn’t seem to notice, however, glaring at the river once again.

Belle glanced that way, then back at him with a raised brow. “Um…”

“Hang on.” He turned around, scanning the thinly-spread trees for several long moments. At last he stepped towards them, picking out a large, fallen truck and prying it loose of the ice and moss with a single tug. Then he returned, prize in tow, and with a giant splash it landed in the water, one end resting on the opposite bank and the other in the muddy snow on their own. Adam adjusted it once, twice, then finally stood and rested his hands on his hips. “Just so you have something to hold onto,” he explained. “The rocks on the bottom are slippery.”

Had Belle been her younger, prouder self, she might have told him she was perfectly capable of taking a bath without killing herself. The thought made her pause, however, and she flushed. She hadn’t exactly given him much confidence in that, had she? “Thank you,” she said instead, the shame leaving her hot despite the cold mountain wind.

“Sure.” He brought a paw to the back of his neck. “I’ll just, um… I’ll go now.” He turned, heading back the way they’d come. Then he paused, and looked back. “I’ll stay outside, near the house. Just— just shout, if you need anything.” Then, sucking in a breath, he ducked his head and disappeared between the trees.

She’d really worried him. Of course she had. The heat persisted, seeping into her gut and leaving her nauseous. Belle glanced back at the freezing water, suddenly a very welcoming sight.

She undressed quickly, and took a quick assessment of her injuries. They were healing well, it seemed, more yellow than blue now and less tender to the touch. She couldn’t wait for them to be gone— less for the freedom from pain than the freedom from their memory.

Banishing the thought, she picked up the bar of soap tucked between the towels and stepped into the freezing water. As a girl, Belle would have abandoned all caution and leapt straight in; she could almost see that child now, running atop the old log and diving into the churning water, shrieking with glee as she emerged. Belle smiled a little at the thought, resting a hand on the tree and walking carefully into the calmest part instead. Once the water reached her waist, she gripped the tree with both hands, sucked in a breath, and pulled herself beneath the surface.

She came up quickly, resisting the urge to holler at the cold. She’d rather not have Adam rushing back only to find her soaked and naked in the middle of the clear water. She flushed again, though for a very different reason from before.

Shaking her head, Belle got to work. She washed her hair twice, then her body three times over before she was satisfied. Finally, she submerged herself once more and let the flowing water wash every last bit of filth away.

Every last bit of Gaston away.

She stayed beneath the water until her lungs ached, until she no longer felt the cold or anything at all—then finally rose back into the bright air. Now that her body had acclimated to the water, Belle realized she had no desire to leave it. So, rolling onto her back, she floated in the gentle eddy and stared up at the sky. It was a crystal blue, and with her ears half submerged all sounds of the forest were muffled and still. A few birds flitted between the trees, the branches bouncing gently in the mountain winds.

That wind brushed over the water, and she filled her lungs with it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive.

It only been a week since the darkness had pulled her to the cliff, one week that Adam had shared the space beside her. She’d already grown used to him there, to his long deep breaths that rumbled the floor beneath them and the way his fingers flexed against hers as he dreamt…

That was something she didn’t fully understand. The way their hands found one another each night, and how this was never spoken of during the day. In fact, Belle had woken each morning to an empty bed and Adam outside chopping firewood, or tending to Bonne, or simply sitting in his chair and staring out the small window with a frown. Simply an early riser, perhaps.

Still… she wondered.

Obviously, it was a peculiar situation. This place, her history… his curse. But she knew one thing— that a beautiful form mattered very little to her. After all, she’d been wed to the most handsome man in town, and he’d made her life unbearable. And her own beauty had been the cause of it all. No, beauty was nothing but a lie.

She looked back up at the trees, the birds, the gentle clouds in the sky… and frowned.

All of this— it’s a lie too.

The voice had been silent since the night on the cliff, and Belle groaned at its return.

You think this will last? it asked. You really think he wants you here, bothering him, intruding on his peace?

This again. The voice was persistent, but not very creative. He cares about me, Belle thought back. He listens to me. She smiled, watching a cloud float by that had an uncanny resemblance to a large, clawed hand. And he’s so kind, and gentle...

And you’re desperate. Really, you off your husband and just leap at the next male that talks to you?

I’m not… I don’t even know if… Belle stopped, scowling. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. And so she rolled over and swam back the short distance to shore. She dried off quickly, shivering at the now-unwelcome breeze, and reached for the pile of clean clothes. Adam had left her one of his shirts— threadbare and stiff, but clean, falling to her ankles when she put it on. There was also a robe, less worn than the shirt, which was— well, to call it enormous was almost sinfully understated. Still, a head of wet hair had left her very cold, and the shirt alone was quite indecent, so Belle bunched up the robe about her waist and wrapped it around herself nearly three times over before securing the sash with a large bow. Then she slipped her bare feet into her boots and turned to her old clothes, washing them in the river as she had herself before hanging them over the nearest branch to dry.

Then she tromped back to the house, and— despite the heavy, borrowed clothes, despite the nagging voice that hadn’t quite left— felt lighter than she had in years.

Adam was leaning against the side of the cabin, arms crossed, that perpetual scowl on his face that was always there when he didn’t realize she was watching. But at the sight of her it vanished, and he quickly pushed himself upright and approached her with an almost-spring in his step. Belle’s heart fluttered a little as he did, recalling the conversation she’d just had with herself.

“You didn’t drown,” he said, looking breathless.

“I didn’t drown.”

He smiled a little sheepishly, gaze sweeping briefly over her makeshift outfit. And while his smile remained, it changed somehow. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly, forgetting the unpleasant thoughts and remembering those few moments of peace in the water. “There’s something exhilarating about—” She was about to say, floating nude in a mountain river, but caught herself quickly. “Well… it was refreshing.”

A few extra teeth were showing along his left jaw now— a smirk?— and Belle wondered if he’d guessed at her thoughts anyway. “You are brave.”

He helped her back to the house, where she knelt beside a well-stocked fire to dry her hair. Another towel lay there, and atop it was the brush she’d seen in the outhouse now free of every strand of fur that had been there before.

So thoughtful, she thought tenderly. She reached for the brush and pulled it through her tangled hair, watching the flames dance in the hearth beside her. Could he really have been so bad as he claims?

Belle did not believe the curse itself was proof enough. From the stories she’d heard, witches and faeries were petty and senseless in their magic, and she wondered if this wasn’t just another tale like the rest.

You just don’t like the idea that Adam could have been like him, came the voice. Gaston might have turned out better too had he suffered such a curse.

Belle frowned deeply. She imagined that, watching the Gaston in her mind grow more terrifying than ever, powerful and bloodthirsty and wild. He would have truly become a monster, finally giving in to his deepest desires to roam the land and kill without ceasing.

No, she thought. No… I don’t think he would have. I don’t think they were the same at all.

She hoped not, anyway.

She glanced behind her now. Adam was focused intently on the ceiling, running a filthy rag along one of the crooked beams while dust billowed in the air around his head. Nearly all of it settled right back where it had started, the rest floating to the floor. Unaware of this, Adam stepped through it as he worked, leaving a trail of wolf-like footprints in his wake.

Suddenly, he sniffed the air, then turned abruptly to see the small oven smoking. He swore under his breath and ran over, setting the rag on the stovetop and crouching down to stare inside. But a moment passed before the rag caught fire where he’d forgotten it. He cursed again, louder this time, and threw the cloth to the floor before stomping out the flames with his foot.

Belle had to press a hand to her mouth to stop her laughter.

Adam had the window open now, fanning the air with the ruined rag and muttering a fresh string of profanities under his breath. The cold air crept across the room, but that wasn’t all. A creature with black fur and yellow, upturned eyes had followed, leaping up onto the windowsill, the back of the stove, and finally sauntering up Adam’s arm and taking a place on his shoulder.

“You have a cat!?”

Adam yelped, sending the animal on his shoulder leaping into the air before it came back down and clawed fiercely at his shirt.

Belle sat tall now, both hands on her hips as she stared at them in disbelief. “You have a cat, and you didn’t tell me!”

“He is not my cat,” Adam insisted, prying the animal from his shirt claw-by-claw. “He just comes around when he’s hungry.” He finally pulled himself free, holding the cat at arm’s length in both hands and giving it a stern look. “And bothers me.”

Belle smirked. “Sounds like he’s your cat to me.”

Adam sighed, setting the creature down on the floor and returning to the smoking oven. “He’s a little demon is what he is,” he grumbled.

The cat had wandered over towards Belle now, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment but quickly slipping into her lap. “Aw, he’s nothing but a big sweetheart,” she cooed, running a hand over his head as he purred happily.

Adam gaped at them for a moment, but quickly turned back to his task.

“So,” Belle went on, for she hadn’t had quite enough fun just yet. “I suppose if he isn’t yours, then he doesn’t have a name?”

Adam was silent for a very long moment. Then, without turning around, he offered a dramatic sigh. “It’s Cesar.”

Belle grinned, but said nothing more. Instead she looked back down at Cesar and scratched him gently behind the ears.

Adam joined them a minute later, setting out a bowl of milk which Cesar drank heartily, and left her a plate of more dried meats and a few wild berries. “I burned our dinner,” he said. His brows came together, and he closed his eyes. “Forgive me. I’m not very good at this.”

Belle glanced at the still-smoking stove; the dusty footprints along the floor; the burnt rag on the windowsill. No, perhaps he wasn’t very good at this, but it was more than anyone had done for her before. “I don’t mind,” she said softly.

He only pursed his lips, and glanced towards the window. “I sense another storm,” he said. “The winters here come early. It’s possible the pass will be buried within a fortnight.” He looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “And we will unable to leave the mountain until spring.”

“Oh.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Belle bit her lip, staring into her lap, not wanting to hear what she feared was coming. Realizing that, perhaps, the voice in her head had been right.

“I didn’t mean to trap you here,” he said quietly. “If you wish to leave, I’ll carry you down, take you… take you anywhere you wish to go.”

There was nowhere she wished to go. There was nowhere she could go. “I-I could help you,” she said quickly, gripping the robe she wore in both hands looking up. “Do the cleaning, a-and the cooking, and—”

“No.”

It was like a ton of bricks hit her all at once. Belle looked back into her lap, heart heavy and aching in her gut. So that was it, then. He’d grown tired of her, and whatever affection she’d felt growing between them must have been nothing but her own desperate imaginings.

“Belle.” His voice was gentle; no doubt to soften the blow. “I’ve lived alone for a long… long time. Just having someone here…”

It’s too much for him, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. He’s too used to living alone, and he can’t take it anymore.

He sucked in a deep breath, and went on. “Having you here with me… that would be enough.”

Belle’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked up. “What did you say?”

“It’s just… he made you do all that, all those years.” He was staring across the room, frowning deeply. “I won’t make you do it anymore. This isn’t a… I mean, I don’t want…” He grimaced, scratching the top of his head and humming deeply. “I guess, what I mean to say, is that it would be nice just to have a... companion, you know?” he asked. Finally he looked back, offering a pained smile. “Besides the damn cat.”

Belle laughed a little, but soon felt the tears tracing down her cheeks. It seemed she’d lost all control of them since she’d entered this place.

“Belle…”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, no one’s ever…” But she couldn’t finish, for her throat had grown tight. He wanted her there after all; the voice had been wrong. “I was so sure you wanted to be rid of me,” she managed at last.

Adam’s eyes grew pained at her words. “That’s the last thing I want.” He sucked in a breath, and let it out roughly. “Look,” he said. “Those people you grew up with? They’re idiots.”

“Adam…”

“They’re idiots,” he insisted. He bit his lip then, glancing down at his fingers. They flexed where they rested near hers, curling back in on themselves quickly. “Belle, you’re… you’re a really nice person to be around.”

Belle pursed her lips, feeling more tears pooling in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, patting her face dry against his robe. “And forgive me. I promise not to cry so much from here on out.”

He was staring at their hands now, so close that if either of them moved they would surely brush against each other. But they didn’t need to, for despite the bright rays of the evening sun piercing across the floor and laying all of it to bare… he reached out and took her fingers in his own. “Don’t apologize for that,” he said softly. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles once, and then again. “This is a good place to cry.”

Belle stared at him. There is no way you were ever like Gaston.

He cleared his throat then, loudly, but didn’t let go. “Anyway! The only reason I brought it up was because you can’t eat like this all winter,” he explained, nodding towards her plate. “And I suspect you would like some new clothes.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But I can’t go back for mine now…”

“Of course not. I was just, er…” His fingers twitched against hers, and he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. “You know… planning to head into one of the northern towns tonight.”

“But how will you…” Belle paused, her thoughts suddenly catching up with her. “Oh, no. No.”

“I only take from the wealthiest estates,” he said. Then he raised a heavy brow. “I can’t exactly waltz into the marketplace for what I need.”

Belle pursed her lips. “I suppose not.”

“I promise you, they won’t miss a thing.” He leaned a little closer, and smirked. “I was one of them once, remember?”

For some strange reason, Belle flushed. She nodded slowly.

“Perfect.” He finally pulled his hand away, resting both paws on his knees. “Now then. Before I go… there’s something I wanted to show you.” And before she could answer, he’d crossed the room, opened the cellar, and lowered himself inside.

Belle blinked, forgetting her dinner and following slowly. “What is it?” she asked, peeking curiously towards the dark opening.

Adam’s head popped back up from the floor. “It’s a surprise.”

Belle’s heart fluttered again. How strange he was acting! She tried to look around him, but he raised a giant finger to stop her. “None of that,” he said, and grinned. “You have to close your eyes.”

She gave him a look, though her insides were all butterflies. And so she closed them.

Waiting behind the darkness of her eyelids, Belle heard a muffled grunt, then an enormous thud that rattled the floor beneath her feet. “Can I open them?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She heard the object being dragged over toward her, scraping roughly against the old floor. “Now can I open them?” Belle whispered.

She sensed Adam move beside her. “Yes. Now.”

She opened one eye, then the other, and looked upon an enormous leather-bound wooden trunk. The latch was gold, though tarnished, and an ornate family crest had been carved into its surface. “What’s this?” she asked.

Adam didn’t answer, but instead held up a tiny key, gold like the latch, between his thumb and forefinger. Belle watched, chest brimming with excitement, as he knelt beside the trunk, slid the key into place, and turned the lock. The lid cracked open, and as it did the smell of old parchment greeted her. She knew that smell, that memory, and before he’d even forced open the lid she knew exactly what she would see inside.

“Oh,” she gasped. The tears tempted her again, but she wouldn’t let them. It would only blur the titles on each of those beautiful, glorious books. Instead she knelt slowly beside Adam, smiling and shaking her head. “This is worse than the cat…”

He chuckled. “Sorry. I wanted to save it.”

He didn’t explain what he wanted to save it for, but Belle was too distracted to care. “I’ve never seen so many books in all my life,” she said reverently.

“You haven’t?”

She ran her fingers along the covers, worn soft with time and use. “Where did they come from?” she asked. She stopped suddenly, and looked back at him with a raised brow. “Stolen?”

“Nope!” He paused, however, then furrowed his brows as he glanced back at the trunk. “Er… maybe a few. But most I uncovered from my home’s remains.”

“Really?”

He seemed to brighten, oddly enough, and leaned an elbow on the corner of the trunk while he went on. “We had a library. Best room in the place. Balconies that went eight— no, more like ten floors up,” he claimed, raising a paw above his head to illustrate. “And scads of books. Mountains of books! More books than you could read in a lifetime.”

Belle smiled wide. Surely he was exaggerating, or the passing of so much time had altered his memory. Still, it was a beautiful thing to imagine.

“Of course, I rarely used it when I had it…” Adam trailed off, looking looked a little lost for a moment before he recovered and glanced back at her. “You would have loved it, though.”

“It sounds like something from a fairy tale.”

“Maybe so…” He sucked in a breath, and as he blew it out it ruffled the fur along his brow. “Well, anyway. This is what’s left of it. It isn’t much in comparison, but…”

“It’s wonderful.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. He reached back for the key, twisting it free from the lock before turning to face her. Then he took her hand in his, turned it over, and placed the little key in her palm. “Then it’s yours.”

Belle looked wide-eyed between the key, the chest, and finally Adam. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead she watched dumbly as he folded her fingers over the key and gave them a pat. “So!” he said, not giving her a chance to argue anyway. “Which will you read first?”

Belle recovered— barely— and glanced back at the covers. She reached out with her free hand, tracing the letters along their bindings, and realized she didn’t know a single—

“Oh!” she realized, spotting a familiar name. “You have Shakespeare!”

“Naturally.” He stopped, blinked, then shook his head. “I mean… did you have a favorite play?”

“Well, I only ever got my hands on Romeo and Juliet,” she admitted. “But I did adore it.”

He groaned. “That’s the worst one! All that heartache, and pining…”

“You have Geneivieve and Lancelot,” she smirked, poking him in the chest.

The fur along his shoulders and the top of his head went up on end. “I-I… that’s different,” he stammered. “It’s got knights and men and swords and… things.”

“Yes. Things.”

He let go of her hand then, and Belle almost regretted teasing him. Almost. “For that,” he huffed, digging through the chest for a moment before pulling forth a massive tome. “You are stuck with Sir Thomas Browne’s Encyclopedia tonight.”

She laughed, and held up the key. “I have this, remember?”

“Ah! True.” He put the encyclopedia back, and pulled out a much smaller book. “Actually… try this one.”

Belle took it in both hands, and read the title. Othello. She looked up at him, and smiled. “I will.”

He smiled back, just for a moment, watching her with those strangely bright eyes. Then the room grew dark, and he turned to the window just as the sun disappeared over the edge. When he looked back at her, his smile was gone. “There’s something else.”

Belle watched as he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out an old cloth. He placed it in one palm then unfolded it carefully, revealing a shard of glass no larger than her pinky finger.

“It’s a piece of the mirror, given to me by the enchantress,” he explained, frowning down at the little object. “You remember from the story?”

Belle looked at it, confused but curious. “Yes…”

He closed his fingers carefully around the shard, then shoved his free hand into the pocket of his pants. From there he produced a folded piece of parchment, which he handed it to her. She unfolded it slowly, and read the rough letters in the center.

For Belle.

“If you start to feel, um…” He paused, pursing his lips. “In danger,” he settled on. “Or need me back for any reason at all, throw that into the fire.”

Belle looked between the parchment, and the mirror in his palm. “I don’t understand.”

“In its current state, the mirror will only show me a portion of whatever I wish to see. It’s a real pain in the—” He coughed into his fist. “… a real pain. But it also won’t show me something that doesn’t exist— which is what I’m going to exploit.”

Belle blinked. “I think I understand less than before.”

“Here, watch.” He held out the tiny mirror again, and spoke.  “Show me Belle’s name, written in my hand …” He paused, wrinkling his nose. “It’s a little awkward I suppose, but— ah, there.”

Belle gasped, for a harsh glow had filled Adam’s palm and left greenish shadows across his face. It faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the glass the very color of the parchment in her hand. As Belle leaned close, she noticed the black curve of a letter in its surface—the upper curve of the final e in her name.

“Now,” Adam went on. He took the parchment from her, strode over to the fire, and tossed it into the flames. Belle moved beside him, watching the paper dissolve into ash. As soon as it had, Adam repeated the command to the mirror once again. Except this time, the enchanted fragment did nothing at all.

“It doesn’t work if the words are gone,” Belle breathed.

“Exactly,” Adam said. “So if I give the order and the mirror doesn’t respond… I’ll know to return, no matter where I am.”

Belle was still staring at that tiny piece of glass. It seemed so ordinary now, something she’d have tossed out as rubbish had she not known better. And yet it was this object that held the power to connect them, no matter how far apart. “Adam…” she breathed. She looked up at him, eyes bright. “This is quite brilliant.”

He shrugged, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. But then it fell again as he looked around the room— towards the roaring fire, the mountain of wood in the corner, the half dozen extra furs he must have brought up earlier while she slept. “You’ll be all right, then?” he asked. “While I’m gone?”

Belle followed his gaze, setting her sights on the chest filled with her own personal treasure. And finally it made sense, why he’d chosen this night to give it to her. He was afraid— so afraid to leave her alone that he’d given her the perfect distraction from the cruel voice in her head. He’d given her another reason to stay alive.

That shame began to swell in up inside once again. She nodded slowly.  

Adam moved to the table, retrieving another piece of parchment lying there and scribbling her name in the center once again. “And you’ll burn it?” he asked, returning to her side and handing her the fresh note. “The minute… the moment you feel something’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, and nodded again. “I will.”

He took a step closer, reaching out to hold her arm in one giant paw. “Just stay where you are,” he said softly. He leaned down then, face only inches from hers, and his warmth seeped into the air all around her. “After you burn it. Stay here… and wait for me.”

Belle sucked in a shaky breath. She wouldn’t let herself stand on that cliff side again. She couldn’t. And right then, she realized that she needed this promise as much as he did. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. Then she looked up, right into those breathing blue eyes. “You have my word.”

Adam watched as the mirror’s glow faded… again. He’d already lost count of how many times he’d checked it now. He’d also underestimated the brightness of that ugly green glow, and had to keep the mirror partially wrapped in its cloth to avoid lighting up half the forest every time he spoke to it.

Except his worry was only slowing him down. And so Adam pocketed the mirror with a sigh, and stared up at the towering estate looming between the trees. He hadn’t come to this one in some years; it belonged to a single father and his daughter, and Adam far preferred the larger households. They simply had more to steal. But tonight, however, this house was the closest, and he didn’t want to venture any farther from Belle than he had to. It would have to do.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Adam frowned. The voice had been quiet for some days now, and he’d almost forgotten it was there. What do you mean? he thought back, feeling irritable. I’m getting supplies for—

Not that. With the woman.

Her name is Belle.

Ah yes, your “companion,” the prince mocked, and Adam could practically see his pale, ring-covered fingers forming the quotations mid-air.

Adam frowned deeply. What’s wrong with that? She wants to stay.

She can’t break the curse. Or did you forget?

Adam’s cheeks grew hot. “That’s— I’m not— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered aloud. He looked pointedly back at the mansion, though he found himself squeezing his fists together. Nothing’s happening. We’re just— friends. We’re friends.

The prince was silent for a long moment. My god, you’re serious, he said at last. You really are an idiot.

Adam scowled, but couldn’t stop himself from pulling out the mirror once again and muttering the words. It glowed, and he stared at the small portion of parchment it revealed for a long moment before putting it away once again. Then he gripped the straps of his empty bags and crept through the mansion’s dark gardens.

“Mother, I don't see why everybody else seems to have such nice things to wear and I always end up in these old rags!”

Adam ducked quickly into the shadows as the words pierced the air from above.

“This sash!” came another voice. “Why, I wouldn’t be seen dead in it!”

Two young women, it seemed, though they sounded far more like whining cats than human beings. Adam wrinkled his nose; the sound reminded him too much of the kinds of people he’d once surrounded himself with. Too much of that stupid, selfish prince that may never leave him alone.

“You should talk!” shouted the first voice. “These beads! I'm sick of looking at them!”

Adam heard the window upstairs creak open, and a moment later a long chain of blue beads landed not far from his feet in the darkness. He raised his brows. Yep. This place will do.

He picked up the necklace—  why not?— and waited until the voices died down, until a large carriage arrived and took the obnoxious nobles away into the night. Then he checked the mirror once more, and got to work.

He raided the cellars first— for the first time stealing things like apples and grain, pans and bowls, a small flour mill and a long wooden mixing spoon. Belle had helped him with the list— reluctantly at first, but by the end of it all she seemed to forget he was going out to steal each item rather than fetch them from the market for her.

“I’ll bake you a cheese soufflé,” she’d told him, those big, hazel eyes checking over her tidy list. Belle had beautiful penmanship; just watching her fingers sweep over the page left him mesmerized.

Adam suddenly realized he was smiling dumbly at the list while he stood in the middle of a dim hall. He quickly shook his head. He was upstairs now, and couldn’t afford to lose focus here. His victims might be gone, but their servants could still be lurking anywhere.

The thought made him pause, and he stared at the little glowing candelabra he’d picked up from a table downstairs. The sorrow swelled in his chest, but he pushed it away. Focus.

He searched the nearest three rooms before finding what he’d come for. A dressing room, twice the size of his current home and lush with elegant furnishings and half a dozen wardrobes. Most were open, their contents scattered across the room— dresses and scarves and hats that could be sold to feed a village, all left to be trampled underfoot.

The sight of it made him sick. And the memory that his own dressing chamber had been far larger, his clothes a hundred times as expensive as these… that made him even sicker.

I was such a fool.

Another thought to torture himself with later. For now, he stepped into the room, opening one of the undisturbed wardrobes and beginning his search. Belle said she could sew her own clothes— an immense relief, since he would rather not go digging too deeply among a strange woman’s intimate things.

The closet he’d chosen was full of shiny heeled shoes, so he moved to the next and finally found what he was looking for. Drawers filled with rolls of cloth, and the supplies to go with it. He found a large spool of thread without too much trouble, and the needles only after being pricked by one of the little bastards.

He paused, suddenly solemn again. It had been a long time since he’d gotten upset with household objects.

Fabric, he reminded himself. He checked the mirror again, then opened the next drawer and lifted the candelabra so he could see. He looked through the rolls of cloth inside, but was quickly disappointed. One was a deep mauve with an excessive amount of sequins, another a violent red with thick black stripes. There was even one in bright teal covered in bright orange squirrels and rabbits.

Good god, said the prince. Adam couldn’t disagree. Growling in annoyance, he yanked the offensive patterns from the drawer and tossed them across the room. It was already a mess anyway. He tossed out one hideous roll of fabric after another, not caring whether he tore the dreadful stuff while he did. No one should be wearing it anyway.

And then the drawer was empty— almost. Something had been shoved into the very back, slightly wrinkled but otherwise unharmed. He pulled it out, more curious than anything; this had to be the worst of them all. But when the light of the candles fell on it, he realized he’d been wrong. It was a simple yet elegant cloth, with a subtle floral pattern all stitched in the same color: a soft, golden yellow. It was the color of his childhood, of warm summers in the garden and shared blankets under the firelight when it snowed. A color that had left his life long before he’d ever encountered magic.

Adam realized he was gripping the fabric in a shaking paw, and quickly loosened his grip. He shook his head, looked back at the cloth, and then carefully tucked it into his bag.

In the lowest drawers he found other non-insane colors and patterns, and grabbed several more along with a large roll of soft cream cloth in case Belle needed it for her under… things. He blushed at the thought— actually blushed, as though he were a teenage boy and not approaching forty. He hurriedly tucked everything into this now-bulging sacks while the prince laughed at him.

Back in the hall, he checked the mirror again. The corridor glowed with its green light, and just as it was beginning to fade again the room across the way caught his eye. Floor to ceiling shelves, worn armchairs, and that smell…

He stepped inside. The library was empty, quiet, and filled to the brim with beautiful, expensive, untouched books. Adam hummed, moving in further. He still had time, if he hurried. He scanned the covers quickly, but found himself disappointed with the selection. Until…

He nearly laughed aloud. Romeo and Juliet stared back at him from the shelf in flashy gold letters on a bright red binding. He took a step closer, and smiled.

Don’t you— don’t you dare, gasped the prince.

Adam ignored him, grinning to himself as he plucked the book from its place and shoved it into his bag.

Oh my god.

Having now found more than what he’d come for, Adam went to the nearest window and pushed it open. Far below were the gardens, and to the north a barn, and inside…

Geese. He could smell them from here. When was the last time he’d eaten anything but deer, or those tough, scrawny little rabbits? Adam’s mouth started to water. Sometimes… well, sometimes he really was just a big, hungry beast.

Blowing out the candle, he set it on the nearest shelf, swinging over the windowsill and scurrying down the outer wall into the gardens below. He touched down quickly, then crept between the rows of the tall, manicured bushes towards the barn. He could hear them now, a strange tremor of honks upon the midnight breeze. Just outside the doors he paused, checking the mirror again. It glowed bright in his closed palm, and dimmed. And so, in perfect silence, he pulled open the door and moved inside.

Dozens of geese greeted him, perched on four nesting shelves that lined the walls and sleeping soundly. Well, all but one, which was now staring at him with beady black eyes. It opened its mouth to cry out— but Adam was faster, reaching out and encasing its long throat in his paw.

“Sorry,” he whispered, then snapped its neck.

The prince gagged. Adam rolled his eyes, grabbing three more sleeping birds in the same manner and swinging them over his shoulder before he turned back toward the door.

But then he froze. For a bright, very familiar green glow was seeping into the barn from the night air beyond.

Adam stopped breathing. Eyes not leaving the glowing doorway, he reached slowly for the shard of glass in his pocket to make sure he hadn’t dropped the object on his way inside. But no— it was still there, buried in the cloth deep inside his pocket.

The light shifted across the barn’s dusty floor. Adam forced himself forward one silent step, then another, heart hammering in his chest as he dared a glance outside.

The light that greeted him was so bright that it took his eyes a moment to adjust. More colors appeared now, golds and blues and pinks, all dancing across the gardens and the sky above. As his eyes finally grew used to it, Adam finally saw their source. A woman— older, with a cheery face, waving a stick about her head as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. And beside her was a girl— a servant, based on her ragged clothes— watching in amazement as a carriage, six horses, and several finely-dressed footman appeared from thin air beside her.

An enchantress, Adam realized, watching more sparks shooting from old woman’s wand. He gripped the edge of the door so hard it splintered beneath his fingers, wishing he could run but having no means of escape without crashing through the opposite wall of the barn.

And then enchantress waved her wand once more, and the girl herself vanished in that bright, green light. And as it grew dim once again, a beautiful, stunning young woman in a flowing white ball gown stood in her place. A different young woman, Adam realized.

He watched as she entered the carriage, as the footman took their places, as the enchantress waved them off into the night. And then, with one final wave of her wand, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal—

Adam flew back from the door. The prince inside was screaming in terror, and Adam’s own hand was pressed to his mouth lest he scream himself. If the birds had awoken at his movement, he didn’t hear them. All he could sense were the great tremors that wracked his body as the truth flooded over him like the icy mountain river.

That wasn’t just an enchantress. It was his enchantress.

The light from the doorway shifted again. Had Adam the ability to sweat in this form, he’d have been soaked in it by now; instead, the desperate urge to pant overcame him, but he didn’t even dare to breathe at the moment lest he be discovered. 

And so he watched as the light crept across the floor, fading so painfully slowly Adam thought he might pass out from lack of air. And then, finally, it vanished, and he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

And then then entire barn filled with light.

“I knew I smelled more of my magic around here.”

There she stood, exactly as he remembered her. That golden hair, floating in the air as though emerged in an invisible sea; the enormous gown, sparkling beneath a thousand emeralds stitched into its surface; that face, pale and beautiful and more terrifying than anything he’d ever known.

“Enchantress,” Adam gasped. He fell to his knees, letting the bags slide from his arms as he pressed his palms and forehead to the floor. Every inch of him was trembling.

He felt her draw close. “Remind me…” A cold hand touched his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. Adam didn’t fight her— he didn’t dare— staring in unblinking horror as she scanned his eyes. “Who were you, again? You know, before I…” She dropped his chin, waving her wand lazily in explanation.

Adam blinked. She didn’t remember? “A-Adam,” he stammered. He bowed his head once more, staring at his paws. “Prince… Prince Adam, of the Northern Realm.”

A moment passed— and then she laughed, long and loud. The remaining birds woke at the sound, honking furiously until another green glow filled the room and silenced them. “Oh my,” the enchantress gasped, voice still laced with amusement. “How could I forget that one?”

Adam only stared at the floor, face hot with shame. A goose fell to the ground beside him. It was dead.

“You never wanted to rule anyway, did you?” she asked brightly.

Adam sucked in a breath, and finally looked up. “No.”

“Well then, it looks like I did you a favor.”

A favor? growled the prince. A FAVOR?! He’d emerged from where he’d been hiding deep in Adam’s mind, now snarling with boiling hot fury. I told them, I TOLD them you’d bring nothing but death. A-and I was right! And— and you know what, I’d throw you out again. I would! You ugly, filthy HAG—

The woman was examining one long, sharp nail, unaware of the prince’s protests. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten better since I made you,” she said absently.

She didn’t elaborate. Adam swallowed roughly and then asked, “Better?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, as if that explained it. She was looking back towards the half-open door, as though already bored with him.

And suddenly, with as much as he hadn’t wanted her to find him, Adam felt he couldn’t let her leave without doing… something. “That girl—” he blurted out.

She turned back, and raised a brow.

Adam bit his lip hard, but went on. “The girl, in the garden… did you curse her too?”

“Hmm?” She glanced that way, as though she’d already forgotten about it. “Oh!” she cried at once. “Oh, no. Actually, I gave that one a lovely new face for the evening. She’s a bit of plain thing on her own, you see.”

Adam frowned. True beauty lies within, she’d told him long ago. Had he misunderstood?

“Of course, no one will believe her when she tells them what happened tomorrow. But she’ll remember.” The enchantress grinned, clapping her hands together. “Oh, what fun! I’ll have to pop into the ball myself and see who she meets there.”

Adam didn’t understand; he must have been missing something. “But how does that help her?” he asked.

“Help her?” The woman cocked her head, as though the words were foreign on her tongue. “Whatever makes you think I’m trying to do that?”

“Oi! Who’s there?!”

The enchantress glanced over her shoulder at the shouts. “Time to go!” she trilled. Then she looked back at him, and raised a brow. “I made you immortal, right?”

But before Adam could reply, she was gone, vanishing in the blink of an eye. And in the doorway just beyond stood the mansion’s gardener, angry and old and holding a long-barreled gun.

Adam was too dazed from the previous encounter to properly react to this one. He glanced around himself, slowly realizing how it must look to find a creature like himself surrounded by dozens of slaughtered birds.

The man was fumbling with the gun now, squinting hard as his aging eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. “Damn fox,” he grumbled. “How many times I gotta…” But then his words trailed off, and those eyes grew wide in horror.

Adam ignored the fact that he’d condescended to the level of an orange woodland creature as he scrambled to think of the best way out of this.

The man was still staring at him, utterly dumbstruck, and finally lifted the shotgun up with quaking arms. Sucking in a breath, Adam raised his paws and took a slow step forward. “Sir,” he said slowly. “I—”

The man screamed, and fired. Adam felt it like a blow to the chest, and a moment later he felt the wetness of his blood spilling into his fur… his lungs.

Shit.

He heard the weapon cocking again, violent shouts still piercing the air. “Stop,” Adam gasped, and the sound was wet and hollow in the air. “Please, just— just hold on a—”

The man fired again. Adam stumbled to his knees where his palms found the damp, blood-soaked ground.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There wasn’t time to think about the pain, or about the sea of blood filling his chest and spilling over his fingers. The gardener was fumbling to reload now, and Adam wasn’t about to let him fire again. And so, with the only strength he had left, he reached out and took a swipe at the man with the back of one powerful paw. The blow was hard enough to throw the old gardener off his feet and into the heavy barn door, where he crumpled in a heap.

Adam stared at the unconscious form, then coughed up blood. He gasped, but couldn’t breathe. His heart… it had stopped beating.

And just as the world began to fade, Adam forced a trembling paw to retrieve that tiny shard of mirror once again. “Show me…” he croaked.

But he died before he could finish.

Chapter Text

“Rule three: I can't bring people back from the dead. It's not a pretty picture. I don't like doing it!”

Papa’s impression of the ancient genie boomed across the grand dining hall, and Adam’s laughter flitted along after it. Papa always made him laugh; he made all his sons laugh, in fact, for he was full of wild stories that only his youngest was too naïve to realize were grand exaggerations.

Adam knelt in his chair now, leaning as far as he could from his place at the end of the table in order to catch Papa’s every word. Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells… a prince in disguise. Well, Aladdin wasn’t a real prince, Adam figured, not like him.

Though he sure had a lot of camels.

Adam’s eyes brightened then, and he leaned further over the table. “Papa!” he cried. “Can we get a camel too?”

His father roared with laughter. “Ha! But why not?” he grinned. “A camel each, for all my boys!”

The four youngest sons cheered, while the two oldest chuckled. So preoccupied were they all that they nearly missed it when the door opened and a beautiful woman stepped into the dining hall. Her red hair, so carefully set that morning, was now frizzy and dusted with snow.

“Maman!” cried the twins, Jacques and John.

“Where were you?” asked Aaron, the second youngest.

Maman opened her mouth to speak, but Papa was quicker. “Your mother,” he declared, raising his fork, “has made it her duty to tend to every dying peasant from here to the border.”

“Not every one,” Maman said quietly.

“I don’t know why you bother, my dear,” Papa went on, picking up his knife and slicing through the large leg of ham that sat before him. “Pearls before swine, I say.”

Maman pursed her lips, but said nothing more. Instead she moved to the other side of the table, and sat very slowly as one of the footman pulled out her chair. She looked sad, Adam thought, and he wondered why.

“Papa,” he said suddenly, brightening as an idea formed in his mind. “Do the genie part again, for Maman!”

The princess looked over at him, a question in her eyes.

“It will make you smile,” Adam whispered.

Her gaze softened. She reached out, and squeezed his small hand. “You already do.”

Papa had already obliged him his request, and the laughter entered the room once again. But almost as soon as he’d started another figure stepped into the hall— a tall, rotund man who didn’t break from his stiff posture as he leaned down to whisper in his master’s ear. The man pulled a small pocket watch from his vest, tapping the glass face in earnest.

“Ah! Duty calls,” Papa sighed, pushing back his heavy chair and rising from the table.

Adam watched his father leave, folding his arms and pouting. “I wish Papa wasn’t king,” he pouted. “He’s always so busy. When I grow up I’ll never work as much as he does.”

“He’s not king,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes. The second-born glanced at his older brother, David, adjusting his posture to match before looking back at Adam. “Just a ruling prince. That's why it's called a princedom, dummy."

Adam stuck out his tongue in reply.

“It’s all right, Adam. You’ll never have to worry about that,” David said, smiling at him from his place beside Papa’s empty seat. “You’ve got all of us in line before you.”

Another boy leaned forward and grinned. “Unless he decides to gut us.”

“Aaron!” Maman gasped. Jacques immediately made jabbing motions towards Jean’s belly, who was making a very believable impression of being strangled.

“I won’t gut you,” Adam told them all seriously, jabbing a thumb to his chest. “’Cause when I grow up, I’m leaving this boring place forever.”

“That’s the only reason?” David smirked.

Adam didn’t hear him, for he was too preoccupied with pushing out his heavy chair and climbing onto his seat. He stepped up onto the table with one foot, nearly tipping his dinner to the floor. “I want adventure!” he declared, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his tiny chest as far as it would go. “In the great, wide…” He blinked, thinking very hard for a moment before finally settling on: “…somewhere.”

His brothers laughed at him, but Adam only grinned. “Anywhere but here, I guess.”

“Off the table, sweetheart,” Maman chided him, though her smile had returned. “You can’t be rid of us all just yet.”

Belle woke up cold.

When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a dying fire. She frowned, rolling over slowly beneath the covers so as to preserve their warmth. On her other side, bright yellow eyes were waiting for her.

“Cesar,” she whispered. She could see her breath. “Are you cold too?”

He inched closer, whining an affirmative. Belle lifted the covers up just long enough to let him slip inside, a rush of cold air following behind him.

Belle glanced to the window. She hadn’t kept the hour for weeks— Adam had no clocks, as far as she knew— but by the amount of light coming through his west-facing window, she must have slept quite late. Which made sense, given she’d stayed up reading Othello to some unknown hour. But—

“He never came home?” she asked, running her fingers over Cesar’s soft back as he pressed against her chest. “Didn’t he said he’d be back before dawn?”

A long purr answered her. Frowning again, Belle fought between the urge to remain in what little warmth the two of them had created and the need to investigate. About a minute passed before the latter won out. Cesar whined when she stood, and so Belle quickly threw several more logs on the fire before crossing the room to pull on her cloak and boots with chattering teeth.

Two hours later, Belle was trekking back to the house with a full pail of milk. She’d followed Adam’s tracks everywhere she could manage across the mountaintop, but having been previously married to a very talkative hunter Belle had gleamed enough knowledge to determine that none of the tracks were fresh. And when she found the barn, she knew he hadn’t been there, for Bonne still needed to be milked. Belle had even checked the outhouse, pausing momentarily over the deep hole in the ground but judging the latrine to be far too small for him to fall in. She shouted down anyway, just to be sure.

Back at the house, she poured the milk into an upright barrel in the corner, then fell into Adam’s chair as Cesar licked the pail clean. Othello was waiting for her, and she picked it up tiredly, opening it to the place she’d marked with the small note Adam had left her.

Yet the words held none of the wonder they had the night before. Belle sighed, frustrated, replacing the note and shutting the book in defeat.

“If you need me back for any reason at all, throw that into the fire.”

Belle blinked, opening the pages slowly once again and staring at her name written in his rough cursive. She pulled the note out slowly, staring at it for a moment longer before letting her focus shift to the flames now roaring in the hearth beside her.

No, she thought quickly, shaking her head and tucking the parchment back between the pages. That’s foolish. If Adam was delayed somewhere, burning the note would only worry him for nothing.

Belle grit her teeth, sliding the book between the chair’s cushion as she wrapped an arm around her middle. Her old wounds were flaring from the morning’s exertion… but that was nothing to the panic now kindling in her gut.

And so Belle rose to her feet once again. She couldn’t rest, no matter how much her body now begged her to. Especially when there was still one place she hadn’t checked.

A half hour later, however, and still she hadn’t looked. She knew this was the place— she’d followed his old tracks here, to the ledge that dropped off into the forests far below. It was the same place she’d come when she had tried to—

Belle squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her cloak tight. That was only part of the reason she couldn’t force herself to look. The other was that she’d already seen one body dashed to pieces at the bottom of a cavern, and couldn’t bear to see another. Especially when this time, it was someone she actually…

Belle quickly shook her head. She didn’t know the end to that thought, and she certainly didn’t want to continue imagining all the terrible somethings she might see on the other side of that ledge. And so, with a burst of courage, she took a careful step forward and peered over.

Nothing but miles of woods, fog, and an overwhelming sense of vertigo greeted her. Belle stepped back quickly, leaning against the trunk of the nearest pine. If he had fallen on his climb… she wouldn’t be able to tell. Not from way up here.

Maybe… maybe he wanted to be rid of you after all…

Belle closed her eyes, but couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at the voice’s return. Not when it sounded so afraid. He wouldn’t abandon his house, she thought, breath hollow the freezing air as she tried to stay calm. And he wouldn’t abandon me.

The girl in her mind was wringing her hands together. Maybe he was spotted. Captured. Or—

“Hush,” Belle said. Her breath formed in the cold air, and the wind carried it into the valley below.

This was— you were so foolish to let him go alone! the voice continued, unable to leave it alone. How could you not have considered this? You’re going to starve to death, trapped and alone on this freezing mountain!

Oh, so now you want to live? Belle snapped back. She was growing afraid too. Make up your mind.

The voice went quiet for a heartbeat. He’s… changed things, somehow, she admitted. But I’ve always tried to protect you. That’s never changed.

What? Belle asked, but the girl had vanished somewhere into the depths of her mind. And so she stared back into the dark, distant forests.

It started to snow.

“Adam,” she whispered, clutching her cloak and feeling colder than she had in weeks. “Where are you?”

The first time Adam escaped death, he was still a boy.

He’d gone to bed dreaming of magic lamps and carpets. But soon they melted into a pool of quick sand, an endless desert spreading out all around him and swallowing him whole. Over and over he drowned in it, the rough sand scalding and scarring his flesh as it pulled him to the center of the earth.

An eternity must have passed before he gasped for air, waking in his own bed. Someone was singing a lullaby.

“Maman?”

The room was dark, but for a single candle quivering near the bed. He felt wet all over; sick in every limb and cavity of his body. Raspy breathing filled the air that took him several moments to realize was his own.

“Maman…” he whimpered, reaching a trembling hand into the darkness.

The singing stopped. A hand met his, but it was too rough to be hers. “Oh, my little prince,” came a gentle voice. “I thought we’d lost you too.”

Another candle sprang to life. His nurse, Mrs. Potts, watched him from the shadows, eyes red and wet. Adam stared back blankly. “Where’s Maman?” he asked. His head fell sideways, and he stared at Aaron’s empty bed across the room. “Where are my brothers?”

Mrs. Potts gripped his hand. “O-oh,” she whispered, but only shook her head.

Adam didn’t understand. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten here. He just wanted the pain to go away, and so he closed his eyes again and wished for sleep.

Somewhere nearby, a door opened. Footsteps grew close. “He survived,” someone gasped.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Potts. A cool cloth touched Adam’s brow, which felt good.

“Beatrice… th-the master, he’s—”

“Hush, Henry. Let him sleep,” she whispered.

Adam let his breath slow, but he couldn’t sleep now. And so he feigned it as best he could, and after several long minutes of silence Mrs. Potts finally spoke. “He’s gone, then,” she whispered.

Cogsworth hummed deeply. “Left us not a quarter hour ago.”

Papa left? Where did he go? Adam still didn’t understand.

“Who among us remains?” asked Cogsworth.

“That young footman you just hired, and half a dozen others. Those who aren’t dead abandoned us hours ago.”

Cogsworth swore. They fell quiet again.

“Where did it come from?” Mrs. Potts finally asked.

“The village… it’s filled with night air. The Black Death. But she went anyway.”

“Who went?”

A sigh. “The princess. It must have followed her back.”

Adam’s heart was in his throat. Maman? Black… death? He gripped the blankets hard, as his eyes began to burn. Did that mean—

“What does this mean?” Mrs. Potts asked beside him.

Adam could feel them turning towards him, and it was all he could do to hold back his tears and feign sleep once again.

“It means,” Cogsworth replied, “that our youngest prince will be taking the crown.”

Adam gasped. Alive, again, and for the first time he was relieved about it.

He couldn’t yet move, and so stared sideways at the dark, drying blood spread across the floor with nothing but his thoughts and the pain of a healing body to torment him.

It had been a long time since he’d been shot. It hurt more than he remembered.

He still held the mirror between his fingers, half-soaked in blood. “Show me… Belle’s name… written in my hand…” he rasped, once his voice finally returned. The glass glowed, turning the blood all around him into a glimmering green pool. Adam sighed in great relief. She’s safe.

Still, it wasn't a guarantee. Even if Belle wasn't a danger to herself, life on that mountain posed plenty of threats on its own. Strong winds, slippery paths, avalanches...

He forced himself to roll over then, pushing himself onto his hands and knees while he looked towards the open barn door. The old gardener was still there, breathing shallowly where he lay. Adam let out another breath, grateful he hadn’t killed yet another innocent with his foolishness. Then he glanced at the light coming into the space, soft and blue. Dawn was here.

Wanting nothing more than to lie right back down where he’d woken, Adam pushed himself to his feet. He felt himself over and found his body whole, at least on the outside. However, beneath the fresh layers of skin several bullet fragments remained, unable to find their escape before the new flesh trapped them inside.

“I’m afraid I’ve gotten better since I made you,” the enchantress had said. Whatever the hell that meant.

Adam sighed tiredly. He’d dropped his bags far enough behind him that only the edges were touched by blood— another relief, he supposed, reaching for the first and lifting it with great effort over his shoulder. It was much, much heavier than he remembered; but then, his resurrection was only half complete. He heaved the other bag across his back, and left the barn with the weight of a world on his shoulders.

He made it the woods that bordered the estate without incident, taking refuge in the forest’s deep shadows. Adam paused then, dropped his load, and emptied his stomach into the closest bush.

Just leave them, the prince said quietly.

No… Adam thought slowly, looking back at his bags. I won’t let Belle starve this winter.

You can rob another home later. You’ll never make it back like this.

Adam felt the air change then, and watched as the bare dustings of snow began to fall all around them. I may not have another chance. Then he frowned, glaring inward at the prince himself. And I’m tired of failing everyone who depends on me.

For the barest of moments, the prince looked hurt. Then he snarled, storming back into the depths of Adam’s mind and slamming some imagined door behind him.

Adam sighed. Then he turned, heaved his load back over his shoulders, and began the long trek up the mountain.

“Adam!”

She was half-running, half-plodding towards him through the snow, a lantern swinging in one hand and the other gripping her side. Belle made a path through the snow in her wake, which was already to her knees as she closed the distance between them.

“Belle,” he gasped, reaching out a hand for hers. “Thank God. You’re all right.”

“I’m all right?” she cried, gripping back hard. She stopped, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looked him over with wide eyes.

Adam looked down. Oh, right. The front of his clothes were still coated in dark, dried blood, which the snow had done little to wash away. He must look absolutely terrifying.

“What happened?” she managed, breathless, dropping her hand from her mouth to her neck.

“Some trigger-happy gardener happened,” he grumbled.

“How are you even standing?!”

But before he could explain, Belle had somehow tugged his tired, massive form back the way she’d come and into his cabin. It seemed brighter here than he remembered, he noticed absently. Warmer, even. He was sitting now, though he couldn’t remember doing so, and finally let the bags slide from his arms. His head fell back against the chair, eyes drooping shut before he could stop them.

Sleep was just starting to drag him into its peaceful darkness when the reality of all that had happened flashed through his mind like an unwelcome light.

The enchantress. I saw the enchantress.

He felt something then— Belle’s fingers, undoing the sticky buttons of his shirt. “Belle,” he gasped, opening his eyes and finding her standing between his legs, carefully peeling back the cloth and discarding the ruined pieces in the fire. “Belle…” he said again, anxious to witness her disgust at the sight of him, reaching up a tired paw to try and stop her. Belle batted him away, though barely batted an eye at the sticky, furry mess now staring her in the face. Instead, she parted the fur with her palms to investigate the skin underneath. Adam went still as stone as she did, finding himself unable to do anything but watch as she repeated the motion across every square inch of his chest.

At last she stopped, pulling back slowly and returning is gaze. “Where is your injury?” she asked slowly.

Oh, right. “The blood, er… isn’t mine?”

“There are holes in your shirt,” she said, looping her finger through his dangling breast pocket and holding it up to him. “Multiple holes. Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t your blood.”

Adam grimaced. “Um…”

She was running her fingers over him again, and whatever Adam had meant to say gave way to the growing heat in his… well, everywhere.

Finally, Belle looked back up at him. Her eyes were quaking. “You’re immortal,” she breathed.

Adam registered her words somewhat belatedly, barely coming back to his senses as he replied quite breathlessly himself. “Something, um… something like that,” he confessed. He shook his head quickly. “At least, dying ninety-two— actually, make that ninety-three times hasn’t killed me.”

He realized his mistake as soon as he said it. Belle’s face grew pale in an instant, eyes growing wide where she stood. “Why have you died ninety-three times?” she asked in horror.

Not tonight. He couldn’t do this tonight. He reached a hand for his chest, now cold without her hands there, and felt those lumps of broken bullets still trapped beneath this skin. He sighed deeply. “I’m going to need a drink.”

Belle blinked quickly, and her brows came slowly together. Adam started to stand, but she pushed him back down and made her way slowly across the small room to enter his cellar herself. A minute later she climbed back up, setting a small bottle of whisky on the floor.

Adam grimaced. “I’ll need more than that,” he admitted.

She stopped where she stood, halfway out of the floor, and frowned deeply. “You’re kidding.”

“It takes a lot to numb this body.”

Belle bristled head to toe. “And why do you need to do that?!”

Adam stared at her. He’d never seen Belle angry before. What had he—?

And then he heard it. The faint clinking of that bottle against the floor, held by trembling fingers drained of all their blood. His heart sank at the sight of it. Belle wasn’t angry; she was afraid. “Oh, Belle…” Damn it. How could he have been such an insensitive brute? “I… I should have explained. I didn’t mean… The bullet fragments, I need to cut them out. I just wanted something to dull the pain.”

Belle’s eyes went wide, and at once her demeanor softened.

“I won’t grow angry, or dangerous,” he promised. Not like him. “Only tired. But… you know what, it doesn’t matter. I can just leave the bullets alone, they’ll eventually—”

“No.” Belle looked away, squeezing her eyes shut as all the tension melted from her body. It left her looking small. “I… forgive me. I didn’t understand. I thought…” She pursed her lips, ducking back into the cellar and bringing back a second, larger jug. “Is this enough?” she asked quietly.

Adam nodded in shame.

She brought the jug and a glass over, set them on the windowsill, then poured him a drink. “Here,” she said bravely, handing it to him. “You work on that, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Adam took the drink from her, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, he watched while Belle busied herself heating a fresh kettle over the fire, watched while she filled the only bucket he owned with steaming water and started to soak up the blood from his chest with a rag she’d apparently summoned from midair.

She was so kind, so good. He didn’t deserve her.

What’s that you say? asked the prince cheekily.

Didn’t deserve to have her here, Adam amended. He looked to the window, and sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have remembered that about him.” That Gaston had been a drunkard, angry and violent, and that the more he drank the worse she’d been hurt.

Belle shook her head as she worked. “No. Don’t apologize. You hurt yourself helping me, and I only lashed out at you.”

“You had a good reason to.”

Belle paused in her motions, and closed her eyes. It was a long moment before she spoke. “I didn’t used to be like this,” she said at last. “So weak, so… afraid. I used to be…” But she didn’t finish, sighing as she turned to plunge the red-stained rag back in the water.

Adam wished he knew what to say. He wished he hadn’t been so thoughtless in the garden, hadn’t so thoughtlessly asked for a drink when he should have known how it would make her feel. He watched while she worked, and truly felt like the monster he was.

“So,” Belle said a minute later. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Adam sucked in another breath, and closed his eyes. “I saw her again,” he said quietly. “The… enchantress.”

Belle froze, eyes flashing up to meet his. “What?” she gasped.

Adam finally tossed back his drink, though its warmth barely touched the ice in his chest. “Yeah,” he said at last, sighing and setting the empty glass back on the windowsill. “I nearly wet myself.”

Belle didn’t laugh. She only stared at him as the water dripped from the forgotten rag in her hands. “What did she want?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, actually…” Something inside Adam’s stomach turned over. He looked down, staring at the water as it pooled along the floor. “She didn’t even remember me.”

The dripping water became a stream, and Adam realized Belle’s hands had formed into fists that were squeezing every last drop from the rag. He looked up, and watched her expression as she now looked towards the hearth. The fire reflected brightly in her eyes as they narrowed. “I knew it,” she said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” she said, abandoning the cloth in order to pour him a second drink twice as large as the first. When she looked back at him, that fire in her eyes only seemed fiercer as she pressed it into his hand. “So she did this to you.”

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “This was… something else. Kind of. I mean…” He sighed. “Let me start again.”

And so he did, relating the show of magic he’d witnessed, the servant girl with the new form, the meeting in the barn— and that stupid old gardener.

Belle was quiet, clearly deep in thought.

“I should have asked her to…” Asked her to what? Change him back? Adam shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know what I should have done. She was…” He wrinkled his brow. “She wasn’t what I remember. Or maybe she was. I just… I don’t know.” He couldn’t talk straight. He couldn’t think straight.

Belle reached out, and took his free hand in hers. Adam felt at little calmer as she did.

“It wasn’t how I imagined meeting her again would go,” he said quietly. “And I can’t help but feel I made a terrible mistake. Again.”

Belle frowned at that. “I’m not sure what any of this means…” She squeezed his fingers gently. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Adam looked at the drink in his other hand, at the cursed fingers that held it. He scowled. “I always do something wrong.”

Belle grew very still. She brought her other hand to his, both holding his one as though it were something very delicate. “Adam,” she said. Her voice was shallow, careful as she spoke. “What… what has killed you so many times?”

He nearly started. Indeed, he had the sudden urge to bolt out of this house and back for the woods from which he’d come.

She shouldn’t have known enough to ask it. But somehow she had, somehow she’d sensed it.

Don’t tell her, the prince said, suddenly frantic. Not this. Anything but this.

Adam pursed his lips. Maybe the prince was right. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her, not with what she’d nearly done herself. He swallowed, and met Belle’s eyes. She was watching him quietly, patiently, not pressing him but simply waiting. No, perhaps it was wrong to tell her after all she’d been through. But perhaps, at the same time… that meant she’d understand. And maybe, in a strange way, it would help her feel less alone.

And so, ignoring the prince’s pleas, Adam spoke the truth. “I have.”

The pain broke over Belle’s face in an instant. But he barely saw it before she stepped forward, letting her head rest against his chest and her fingers bury themselves into his damp fur. She trembled with sorrow, but said nothing. Because she knew.

Adam quickly set his glass on the floor so he could bring both arms around her. She buried herself deeper against him; he cradled her head in his paw. “Don’t cry, Belle. Not for me,” he said softly. He let his claws retract so he could hold her even closer. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

She shook her head where she stood, though her shoulders continued to tremble.

“It’s been many years since I last tried… if you can even call it trying. I’ve known for a long time my efforts were in vain.”

“Th-then why,” Belle whispered. “Why keep doing that to yourself?”

Don’t, begged the prince.

Adam breathed in that old, familiar darkness. It crept through the floorboards, the cracks in the walls, filling the room and the empty cavern in his heart. “Because,” he rasped, letting it consume him. “I killed them. All of them. Every man, woman… every child that was in my care.”

Stop… the prince said hollowly. He sat back in the corner of Adam’s thoughts, arms wrapped around his legs and head tucked between his knees. Please… stop.

“All dead, because I was a selfish, arrogant fool.”

The prince was weeping now, but Adam wasn’t. He only felt anger. Anger at that bastard prince, anger at himself for something he would never be able to make right. “I deserved to die for what I’d done,” he said roughly. “Over and over until I’d suffered for every death I’d caused.”

“N-no,” Belle gasped, pulling back and staring at him with wide, wet eyes. “No, you didn’t— she killed them, Adam. Don’t you see? That witch—”

“Enchantress,” he corrected quickly, glancing towards the window.

“That witch is to blame, not you,” Belle persisted. She pulled back further, wiped her eyes against her sleeve, and gave him a look so resolute he didn’t dare argue with her. “What kind of curse punishes a hundred people for the sins of one man?” she demanded. “That was no lesson to be taught— that was cruelty of a magical being acting on a whim, with no consequences for her own actions.”

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. That was sort of the impression he gotten in the garden. He shook his head. “But I was the one who—”

“Who what? Was an impulsive, self-centered teenager? What a concept,” Belle huffed, throwing her hands in the air. The movement made her grimace, so she put them back to her side and waved off his concerns as she went on. “Look. Accept whatever responsibility you will for your own fate, but I’m sorry, I will not allow you to take the blame for the rest.”

Adam had watched in speak with great amazement. “You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

“Because you should,” Belle said matter-of-factly. “I am not one to skirt the truth. I am, in fact, incredibly blunt.”

And finally, Adam smiled. “I’m starting to see that.”

She blinked, opened her mouth in surprise, then wrinkled her nose as she reached out to pinch him. Adam chuckled.

“Well, anyway,” Belle said, trying and failing not to smile. She’d come close again, hands resting lightly on his chest. Adam let one paw rest lazily on her hip. “If she ever shows up again, I won’t hesitate to give her a piece of my mind.”

He played with a loose thread at her waist, and grinned. “You’d probably come out of that conversation a lot hairier.”

She laughed, long and sweet, reaching up as she did to brush away the fur from his eyes. The motion sent a burning wave from Adam’s head to down to the tips of his wolfish toes. While she turned back to retrieve the rag, he reached for his glass and downed the second drink in a single gulp.

The darkness had vanished without him even realizing it. Hidden beneath the floorboards, perhaps, ready to return at any moment… but for now, everything seemed all right. Sure, the prince was pissed at him for what he’d shared, but the real him felt light as air.

Though that could have been the whisky.

“How do you feel?” Belle asked quietly.

She’d finished cleaning the last of the blood, and he’d nearly finished the bottle. And indeed, the room certainly wasn’t as steady as normal. “Mm, ready,” he mumbled. Pulling back, he examined his chest and let a single claw free. “All right,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “Here we go.”

“Sacrebleu!” Belle cried. “What are you doing?!”

Adam frowned. “I have to get them out.” Wasn’t that obvious?

“Not like that, you don’t.” She stood, turning and pointing to his bed. “Lie down. I’ll do it.”

Adam looked at the rug by the fire. It looked unusually cozy. “Okay.”

Belle was shaking her head at something as she helped him to the floor. “The needle, and thread,” she said. “Did you get it?”

He laid down on his back, thinking very hard about that. “Mm, no… I mean, you don’t need it,” he said at last. “Actually… my flesh will probably fight you.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly pursed her lips. She nodded, then stood and started looking through the small kitchen area. “A… a knife… do you have none?” she asked.

“I do… oh, wait.” He’d hidden them all. Except… “There’s one in my belt.”

Adam concentrated very hard on the swirling distortions in the ceiling while she found the latter.  

“All right,” Belle said, his knife in one hand and a clean rag in the other. She bit her lip hard, staring at his chest as her face lost most of its color. “Just… hold still.”

The whiskey wasn’t enough. It never was. Adam drew an arm over his eyes, and grit his teeth. “That hurts…” he moaned.

“I know,” Belle said softly. She dabbed away the fresh blood while his skin healed over, dropping a piece of metal into the bowl near her knee.

Cesar appeared from somewhere, nestling against him. “I-I changed my mind,” he gasped, digging into the blankets with his claws. “Just leave them.”

“We’re nearly done.”

Adam was panting and trembling like mad by the time the last fragment was freed. He hadn’t yelled, at least. He focused on breathing normally now, the ceiling above still fuzzy from pain and whiskey. He let his focus shift around the room in an effort to distract himself. “You… you cleaned,” he managed, finally realizing what had changed. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“I have standards, you know,” Belled teased. “And besides… I couldn’t just read all day not knowing what had happened. So it was either keep my hands busy, or pace a hole in your floor.”

Her words left him feeling tender. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I’m sorry you were hurt helping me.” Her shoulders fell as she said it, and she stared sadly at her hands while she washed them clean.

Adam, thinking little and feeling everything, lifted a paw to touch her cheek. She looked up quickly, eyes growing wide as he tucked his fingers into her hair and spoke. “I’d take a thousand bullets to have you here with me.”

Belle blushed, and her gaze grew soft. But almost at once her face fell again, and she took his paw between her hands and pulled it down into her lap. “You’ve been drinking,” she said gently. She looked away.

Had he done something wrong? He must have, but sleep pulled at his mind and aching body and soon enough he’d forgotten about it all together.

Belle gathered up the mess, and turned to stand. “Wait—” Adam gasped, a sudden, unexplainable panic rousing him from the claws of sleep. He reached out to her again. “Don’t leave.”

Belle turned back. And then, slowly, she smiled. He didn’t know why, but as she took his outstretched hand and knelt back down beside him, it didn’t seem to matter. Without letting go, she reached behind her and pulled one of the furs over him. And her.

She was tucked in the crook of his arm now, nestled against his side, their joined hands pulled to her heart. He felt the brush of her lips against his knuckles. “I promised to stay, remember?” she whispered.

Sleep took him then, and Adam let it. For he was no longer afraid of waking up alone.

Chapter Text

Adam always rose at dawn. Except for today.

Today, a snow drift had buried one side of the cabin, covering the window and blocking out the early morning light. Today, his mind was tired, despite a body good as new. And today…

Today, he woke up with Belle in his arms.

It was the first two reasons, Adam decided, that kept him from rising. And so he lay in the quiet and the snow-covered darkness, surprised by how much warmer Belle kept him than his own thick coat, and even more surprised that she had remained against him all night long.

Until now, Adam had taken great care to rise first each morning. Something shifted in the air when the sun came up— something he’d never noticed when he was human— making it easy to slip out of the house before Belle opened her eyes. Of course, he loved being near her each night. He’d look forward to it each day, waiting until they were both feigning sleep before reaching out to find her fingers in the darkness. Sometimes hers even found his first.

But to wake up beside her, in the bright light of day? And have no choice but to talk about it? He’d rather get shot by that farmer all over again—

“I’d take a thousand bullets to have you here with me.”

Adam nearly bolted upright. His own words replayed in his mind, sounding too ridiculous to be real. His palm found the center of his forehead, the slap loud enough that Belle shifted a little against him. Adam froze, every muscle on alert, but she quickly nestled closer and fell back into a peaceful sleep.

I really said that, he realized, panicking. He caught sight of the empty whiskey bottle then, and glared at it. This is your fault.

What must Belle think of him? He’d let his guard down, grown vulnerable and so stupidly honest… and she hadn’t even believed him.

Except the truth was, he’d meant it. Every word. In fact, a thousand bullets seemed too small a number now that he was sober enough to consider it. And the implication of that was nearly as bad as realizing he’d spoken it aloud.

Belle shivered against him, and he pulled his hand from his forehead to rest back over her like it had been before. Had they been this way all night? He wished he hadn’t sleep through all of it. The way he’d acted last night was all the more reason he should get out of here before she woke up… but that would meaning leaving this.

He pulled his arms a little further around her. He was a fool sober too, it seemed.

And maybe this was all in his head anyway. He already talked to one imaginary voice on an embarrassingly regular basis; perhaps his skills in the art of self-delusion had grown so strong he’d finally managed to conjure up a fully-fledged person to keep himself company.

The thought depressed him. He carefully lifted a strand of hair away from Belle’s face, noticing a crowd of tiny freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

Please be real.

He glanced towards the window, where bits of melted snow were sliding down the panes of glass. He should be out there shoveling.

He closed his eyes and pulled her closer.

Belle smelled wonderful. He knew that before now, for his sense of smell was heightened by the curse and he could easily pick out her scent from across the room. It felt a little intrusive, but he couldn’t help it, and now that she was against him he couldn’t help but breathe her in completely. She smelled of his soap, and a little of smoke from the fire, but mostly of something else entirely that didn’t have a name but was the most pleasant part of all. So pleasant that if he really had imagined her then he must have one damn good imagination.

Belle shifted again, and her breathing changed as she slowly left sleep behind. Adam’s heart leapt once in his chest, but he managed to reign it back. She’s chosen to stay, after all. With him on this mountain… all night in his arms. Maybe it was time to be brave.

“Good morning,” she said at last, words slurred with sleep.

“Morning.”

Belle blinked, looking up in awe. “You’re still here.”

“You were sleeping on my arm.”

She smiled, and didn’t move. He didn’t look away.

She finally looked down, twirling the tangled furs of their bedding between her fingers. “Last night…”

Shit. Why had he decided to be brave again? “Sorry, um, I…”

“Your wounds, I mean,” she said quickly. “How are they?”

So they weren’t going to talk about it. Thank God. “They’re healed,” he said, rubbing his chest roughly to prove it. “You did a good job. Sorry I was such a pain.”

That same look of amusement from the night before spread over her face. “It’s okay,” she said, sneaking a look across the room towards the two enormous bags he’d forgotten about. “You brought home gifts.”

Adam grinned. “Ah, so that’s how to win you over. This would have been much easier when I was rich.”

Too brave! he thought too late.

But Belle only laughed. A pretty blush bloomed in her cheeks as she did, and she quickly turned to the snowed-in window. “We’re stuck here until spring now, was that right?”

He hummed an affirmative, secretly proud of how well he was concealing his excitement. To his surprise, Belle didn’t hide hers. In fact, she looked positively tickled at the prospect.

“Your expectations might be a little high,” he said, hoping they weren’t. “It’s really boring up here.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Belle said. “I have three hundred books at my disposal; a very soft alternative to a warming pan—”

“A warming… you mean me?”

“—and I don’t have to go to Mass!”

Adam laughed, long and loud. Only after he quieted did he realize that their fingers had grown tangled beneath the covers. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d been waking up this way for ten years instead of ten days.

Well then… something was definitely happening. But if Belle wasn’t going to talk about it, then neither was he. What else was there to talk about, anyway? The curse couldn’t be broken, and so even if something was happening here, there was nowhere it could go.

… Right?

Belle rolled on her side then, stretching out an arm for a book left face-down and just out of her reach. Leaning across her, Adam reached it easily and handed it to her with the marked page open. She took it happily, smiling at him before cradling it against her chest and cozying up against him once again.

Nothing… Adam told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Nothing more can happen here…

Or could it? After all, Belle was pressed against him right this moment, letting him hold her and smell her and feel her warmth without seeming to mind one bit.

And suddenly, without any warning, his thoughts brought her closer still. Naked, breathless beneath him, tugging roughly at his fur as he tasted every last inch of her—

Oh shit.

Adam scrambled to his feet, leaving Belle lying disheveled and puzzled in his wake.

“Adam?” she asked, sitting up slowly and frowning.

Her bedhead was only making it worse. Adam turned his back to her. “I— um… Bonne. She needs to be milked,” he stammered, making a beeline for the door.

“Oh, she’s all right. I milked her yesterday afternoon.”

Adam paused in place. She had? Of course she had. She was Belle: responsible and thoughtful and soft and probably very delicious between her—

“Firewood!” he practically shouted at the door, not daring to turn around. The front of his trousers would surely betray him.

“What?”

“Chop it.” That’s it. That’s all he said.

“But we’ve hardly gone through what you left the other—”

Adam pulled open the door. He had to get out of this house. “Be right back!” he called over his shoulder, stepping into the cold and pulling the door tightly shut behind him.

Outside, the snow came up to his knees, the one valid excuse of shoveling having eluded him when he really needed it. And two steps away, an enormous pile of already-chopped firewood greeted him, half buried in snow. Adam dropped a face in one hand, heaving out hot air between his fingers and melting the snow all around him.

Was he seventeen all over again?! God damn it.

He took a few minutes to just… breathe. Then, sucking in a breath and gripping his temples one final time, he let his hand drop and started digging a fresh path through the snow. Exercise… exercise was good.

I don’t want to say I told you so.

Well, here was a mood killer if ever he needed one. Yes, you do.

You’re right, I do, the prince admitted, grinning wide. Told you so!

Adam sighed— had he always sighed so much? I thought you were mad at me.

I’m figment of your imagination. My mood changes quickly.

Adam went back to digging, and ignored him.

So, the prince went on, flopping down in some imagined chaise while Adam worked. What’s the plan?

What. Plan.

The plan! You know, to woo her. Pursue her. Good God, you haven’t forgotten how, have you?

Adam stopped digging, and sat back on his haunches. I thought you didn’t like Belle.

The prince was focused very intently on one of the many rings on his fingers. I changed my mind, he grumbled. Then he sat up suddenly. Not about those other filthy peasants! But she’s… fine.

Adam raised a brow. That was interesting. Well, nothing’s going to happen, he thought, ignoring his very strong desire that something would. It would be wrong. Unnatural? He grimaced at the word. Or just… gross, for her. I’m… well, look at me!

The prince flashed a wicked grin. Maybe she’s into that.

Adam’s eyes went wide, and every hair on his body rose up on end. He mentally grabbed the prince by the collar and chucked him into the farthest depths of his mind.

Then he sat in the freezing snow for a very long time.

When Adam finally returned, Belle was standing at the stove and covered in a light dusting of flour. “I couldn’t wait!” she said cheerfully, whisking the steaming golden liquid once more before glancing back at him.

Adam stood frozen at the door, empty-handed, covered in a hundred little balls of snow. Staring at her.

Belle brushed a loose curl from her face, feeling unsure. “I promised you a soufflé, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” he finally said, shaking his head and the rest of his body on the threshold before stepping into the room. He made his way over, looking curiously over her shoulder as she worked. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he hummed. “Oh boy.”

Belle laughed at his reaction, relieved, giving the batter another stir and sending pleasant wafts of nutmeg into the air. “Have an apple while you wait! I’ve already one.”

She looked up then, and realized Adam was now watching her instead of the simmering pot. He stepped back quickly, bumping into the table and knocking several apples from their careful arrangement. But almost as suddenly he caught them, placing a paw on the table to stop it from shaking. He appeared quite distressed.

Belle grew nervous again. “Is everything all right?”

“Yep!” He coughed into his fist, sat on the floor beside the table— where he was now at eye-level with her— and tossed the rescued apples into this mouth. “Mm!” he said forcefully, then stopped, chewing for a long moment as his eyes went wide. “Mmm,” he said again, with feeling this time, grabbing two more apples with one hand and three with the other. “Wow, I’ve really missed fruit.”

“Missed…” Belle eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me you’ve eaten nothing but meat and cheese for a decade?”

He shrugged, mouth full. “I can’t be killed, remember?”

Belle laughed again, though she failed to hide her horror. Adam only grinned, tossing three whole apples into his mouth.

Belle turned back to the stove, smiling pleasantly to herself until it came time to open the oven door. She stared inside, horrorstruck once again. “Um… Adam?”

“Mm?”

She swallowed, running her finger along the door’s inside surface and pulling back an inch-thick layer of soot. “When… forgive me, but when did you last clean your stove?”

Adam furrowed his brows, swallowing a large mouthful. He glanced at the small stove for a moment, then back at her. “You can clean that?”

Belle stared at him in disbelief, then— realizing he was serious— burst into laughter.

“Belle!” he cried in dismay. “This isn’t funny!”

She covered her mouth with one hand in an attempt to stop, but her body only shook harder.

Adam was crouched in front of the stove now, scrutinizing its filthy innards. “Good God, no wonder everything I cook tastes bad.”

The soufflé would have to wait. It took the greater part of the remaining daylight hours to restore the stove to a functioning state, and by the time they were through their arms and faces were coated in black dust. At one point, Adam breathed in a cloud of the stuff and sneezed so fiercely it blew the window wide open and sent Cesar sprinting into the cellar in terror.

Belle was genuinely surprised she hadn’t broken her ribs all over again from laughing.

The smells of baking nutmeg and cheese now permeated the house as they waited for the soufflé over warm tea. Belle sat in his chair again, for Adam refused to take it himself. Instead, he opted to sit at her feet with an elbow propped on the chair’s worn arm. “Well, it’s official. I’m helpless,” he moped.

Belle chuckled. In his defense, it would have been very hard to clean out that stove given the size of his hands. She told him as much.

He raised a brow at her. “You don’t have to make excuses for me.” He sighed deeply, plopping his cheek against a fist and staring at his tea as he swirled it about. “You know, I learned all kinds of things as a boy. Mathematics, history, a half-dozen languages. And every bit of it utterly worthless, it turns out,” he grumbled. “I wish someone had put a tool in my hand, or sent me to the kitchens for a few hours...” He looked back at her then, raising a brow. “Or made me clean something.”

But Belle was distracted. “You know other languages?” she asked, growing wide-eyed.

“Oh, um… yeah. I guess.”

“Which ones?”

Adam cocked his head. “English, Greek, Italian… some Latin, I suppose. But it’s been a long time—”

“And you know our histories?” Belle was perched on the edge of the chair now.

“Ours… and some others.”

The way he said it implied most others. Belle just stared at him.

“What?”

“What if…” Her eyes brightened, and she leaned close. “What if we made a trade?”

Adam’s brows came together for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled, lifting his tea to hers.

Their cups clinked together.

It was a brilliant idea, and Adam was certain he’d gotten the better end of the deal. For as it turned out, Belle knew much more than how to clean a stove or cook a meal – though knowing that alone would have saved him many a burnt dinners over the years. Before long, she’d taught him how to mend the barn roof, how to clean Bonne’s hooves and milk her twice as quickly, how to build a fire that burned long and smoked little.

In contrast, their evenings became a game of Belle picking his brain for every bit of his childhood lessons. Adam had thoroughly hated his tutors as a boy, but suddenly found himself very grateful they’d forced him to put so much to memory. For Belle found it all fascinating, from the tedious verb conjugations to the endless battles of the early kings. Even what simple mathematics he could recall were quickly used to ration their food for the winter. (Apparently, he needed to go easy on the apples from here on out.)

She just… absorbed everything. Anything. Like she’d been starving for knowledge her entire life.

Belle also spent many long mornings over the next fortnight beside the fire, the pile of fabric he’d stolen slowly transforming itself into several new garments. Given Adam could barely grasp one of those little needles without drawing blood, he opted to keep himself busy with other tasks.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” he said on one of these mornings. “Going to, um, bathe downstream,” he said quickly, “then tend to the barn some more.” The latter was a fib – in truth, he would climb to the mountain peak after he bathed, letting the strong winds dry him thoroughly, then spend several unpleasant hours attempting to brush every part of him he could reach. This was not something Belle needed to be privy to; he only mentioned bathing at all so she knew to steer clear of the river. He didn’t want to scar her, he after all.

“Well, take those with you,” Belle replied, motioning to a neat pile of clothes at her side. “A couple new shirts and a pair of pants, for now.”

“Oh!” he said in surprise, moving over curiously and retrieving the pile. The stitching looked as good as anything he’d worn before the curse. When had he last worn anything but rags? “Thank you. Really, you didn’t have to—”

“And some undergarments.”

Adam froze. “Some… what?”

“I used your old ones for the measurements. They should fit.”

That did not make him feel better. “Belle!”

“Oh, don’t make a thing of it,” she said lightly, still focused on her stitching. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a man’s breeches before.”

Adam covered his face with a paw. So blunt! “Um… thanks,” he managed, fleeing from the house and wishing he were dead. Had he lingered a little longer, he might have caught Belle chuckling to herself as she continued her work.

When he returned later that afternoon, she was donning something new: a pretty blue frock that matched the clear winter sky. The dress she’d come in, the one with the torn hem and blood stains, had been tossed into the fire. She was standing beside the hearth and watching it burn, and Adam moved over to join her.

“Maybe that was a waste,” Belle said once the deed was nearly done. “It could have been used for rags.”

Adam watched the flames lick up the last of the old cloth. “I don’t know. I think it made for a good fire.”

Belle finally looked up at him, smiling gratefully.

“Is that what you did with—” He stopped suddenly.

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

She frowned.

Adam pursed his lips, then slowly reached for her hand. “Your ring,” he said, brushing his thumb over the place it once was. “I thought I saw one when you first arrived.”

“O-oh,” she said. Her cheeks went red. “Well, no. Not in the fire. I mean, that’s not where I… tossed it.”

“Over the cliff side, then?”

“No…”

Adam cocked his head, curious.

Belle was very red now. “Well, if you must know, I disposed of it in the, um… the privy.”

Adam blinked once. Then twice. “You mean… I’ve been shitting on it all this time?”

A giggle bubbled up in her throat. “So have I!”

He roared with laughter, and Belle pressed both hands to bright cheeks as she realized what she’d said. “I mean… well, it seemed a fitting place for it,” she chuckled.

How easily they admitted their secrets to each other, Adam thought warmly. He loved to tease such things out of her, loved even his own frequent, embarrassing moments if it meant hearing her laugh. The prince wouldn’t have dared let anyone see so much of him… but, then again, the prince had never felt this way about anyone. Somehow, for the first time in a very, very long time… things were actually going really well.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Missed me?”

Belle opened her eyes, and saw tough, pale arms surrounding her. Human arms, and a face she’d last seen splattered with blood... of a man that should have been dead.

She screamed.

“Belle?”

Gaston grinned down at her, gripping her hard, fingers digging into her skin. She thrashed about like a wild animal, desperate for escape, scratching at the hunter’s face with claw-like nails until he caught her wrists and pinned her back down.

“Come now. Don’t struggle.”

“Belle! It’s me!”

Belle sobbed until the weight of him forced all the air from her lungs. Until he had secured her so tightly there was no hope of escape.

Cornered.

“Belle.”

Trapped.

“Please…”

Owned.

“Wake up.”

Finally, she heard the voice, and slowly Gaston faded like the morning mist as someone new took her hand.

“Wake up, Belle.”

The illusion was gone, and in its place knelt Adam. His eyes were wide, a hand raised in surrender, and along his jaw flowed a trickle of fresh blood.

Belle stared at the latter. “Adam,” she gasped, reaching towards him. “What…” But she stopped, for as soon as she did saw the blood on her nails.

She’d done that to him.

“Oh no,” she gasped, pulling back and pressing her palms to her mouth. “Oh God, I… I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head. “It’s okay—”

“No it isn’t!” she cried. “I hurt you…”

He waved it off. “Not really. It will be gone soon. Um…” He furrowed his brows. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Belle was starting to suspect that Adam made tea— or whatever task he thought of first— when he wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle her. She brought her knees to her chest and looked towards the fire, cursing quietly to herself.

“See? Already stopped bleeding.”

Belle hadn’t noticed him return. Nor had she realized she’d started to cry.

“Belle…” he said softly, realizing so himself. He reached out, then— seeming to think better of it— pulled his hands back into his lap.

Belle stared at the fire until her eyes began to burn, knowing that if she blinked more tears would fall. The flames danced wildly before her, taunting her. Mocking her.

“I’m so weak,” she whispered. The heat was consuming her now, a new fire ablaze in her chest that was surely burning her up from the inside. “He… he made me feel so weak, and helpless. And I… I… I hate him for it.” She gasped, turning and burying her face in her knees. “I HATE him!”

The fire consumed her. Belle gripped the roots of her hair, tugging hard as her heart folded in on itself over, and over, and over. “I escaped. He’s gone, but… I think it was too late.”

Adam carefully touched her hand. "It's only been a few weeks... Give yourself time."

But she didn't hear him, didn't feel him. For the fire inside had gone out, leaving nothing but darkness.

The next morning, in a reversal of their usual roles, Adam woke to the sound of Belle out behind the house, chopping wood.

He went out to offer a hand, but thought twice about it at sight of her. Red-faced, heaving out clouds of hot breath in the crisp air, Belle swung his enormous axe with such ferocity that one of the wood blocks zipped dangerously close to his head. Adam backed away slowly, not sure it was wise to get too close.

When she finally stormed back inside, Adam remained in his chair, making great effort to mind his own business. Breathing hard, Belle stomped to the kitchen area, where he heard water splashing as she ladled herself several cups of water.

A moment later, something shattered.

He looked up at the sound. Belle, staring at him with wide eyes, was nearly as pale as the pieces of porcelain now scattered across the floor.

“Belle?” he said, standing quickly and stepping carefully across the room. Was she hurt? “Are you—”

“I’m sorry!” she gasped, moving quickly to gather up as many pieces as she could at her feet. One shard drew blood, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I’ll clean it up, it— it won’t happen again, I promise. Please, I’ll—”

“Belle,” he said, reaching out to stop her.

His paw rested on her shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

He was now utterly perplexed. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s just a cup.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked up at him. “Oh… yes. Of course.” She looked back at the glass in her hands, frowning as she came back from whatever place she had been.

Except she didn’t come back completely, not for many days. She was jumpy, careful with her words, and he often noticed her hands tremble where she sat. She didn’t sew, no longer offered to help repair the barn, no longer begged him for lessons. Her current book remained on the same page night after night as she lay quietly beside the fire.

How familiar it seemed, Adam thought. The days spent half-asleep, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole, the ache inside finally eat him away. He wondered if she felt that too. He wondered how it was possible to watch someone feel that feeling you knew all too well while still having no idea how to help them.

Sure, he could take care of things quietly while she slept the daylight hours away, could make sure she was fed and warm. But he could no longer hold her during the night for fear of causing more night terrors, could no longer move too suddenly without startling her. And not even the best of his quips could make her laugh.

No, he was little help at all. And, like always, he was about to make it worse.

For the second time that week, Adam was unpleasantly awakened.

Not from a dream, either Belle’s or his own, but to the sound of cracking wood and the bitter rush of winter wind.

Belle cried out, and Adam threw off the blanket and jumped to his feet in alarm. Claws out, teeth barred, he scanned the room for the threat.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as they had he discovered the source of the noise. No intruder or nightly demons, but simply the northeastern corner of the cabin caved in.

Not that this was much better, Adam thought, cursing at the sight. Snow blew through new cracks in the wall, broken wood mingled with fresh earth now scattered across the floor. He cursed again, more loudly, stomping over and tugging at the fur on his head in frustration.

First the barn, now the house? Why couldn’t he do anything right?!

He pushed against the loose boards, attempting to stop the rushing wind as it stole away what little heat they had. But this only made it worse, and several more rotted panels grew loose and toppled to the floor.

“Fuck!” he shouted in alarm, snatching up what he could and trying to fit it back in place. It was no use, of course, and he was left gripping one of the broken panels in defeat. Adam growled deeply at it before snapping it in his fist.

Behind him came a gasp.

Adam turned around. He’d nearly forgotten Belle was here. She was standing behind his chair, gripping its back with whitened knuckles, facing away from him with her eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey,” he said, calming quickly as he stood. “It’s fine, nothing’s here. It was only…”

And with his first step towards her, she flinched.

Adam froze. His heart plummeted into his stomach. “I’m not… Belle, I’m just angry with the situation. Not with you.”

“I… I know,” she said quietly.

It wasn’t very convincing. She may as well have driven a pitchfork through his heart. “I’d never hurt you,” he said in earnest, confused and deeply hurt. “You know I’d never hurt you. When have I ever give you reason to think I would?”

“You haven’t,” she whispered. She still hadn’t looked at him.

A gust of wind ripped through the house. “Is it…” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had grown dry. “It’s because of what I am, then.”

“No!” she gasped, finally looking up at him. “No, Adam…”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said roughly. His chest felt heavy, his mind a storm of noise pounding every rational thought to dust. “It’s like I’m not allowed to get angry, like I can’t react to anything, like… like I’m walking on eggshells around you.”

Belle gasped, burying her face in her hands and sobbing.

“Shit, I didn’t mean…” Eggshells? Of anything he could have said... “I’m sorry. Belle—”

“Y-you yelled,” she gasped, choking on her tears. “You yelled, and broke that clean in two. How am I supposed to react?”

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

He stood there, frustrated and ashamed, waiting until her cries quieted. When he looked up again she was sitting on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped around herself as she stared pointedly at the floor. She shivered as another gust of wind entered the house, but made no move to warm herself.

Adam took a step closer. When she didn’t react, he took another, pulling one of the blankets from the floor around her shoulders. “I’ve been a brute,” he said quietly. “A short-tempered, thickheaded brute. For a long time, actually…” He crouched slowly to her level, reaching for her freezing hands but unable to meet her eyes. “But I’m not him. Please, Belle… please believe me.”

“I do.”

He looked up in relief.

“It’s just, seeing you like that...” She sighed, looking towards the dark window. “I go somewhere else.”

Adam looked away again, ashamed that he had sent her there this time. Surely she must wish to be alone. “I’ll… I’ll leave you,” he said, and started to stand.

Belle looked back quickly, however, gripping his hands tight so he couldn’t go far. “Don’t you dare. I’ll freeze to death.”

That was invitation enough for him. Together they buried themselves back beneath the furs— silently deciding the gaping wall would need to wait until tomorrow— and lay in silence.

A quarter hour passed, then another, but he couldn’t sleep. And by the sound of her breathing, neither could Belle.

“Um… how about a story?” Adam finally asked.

He glanced over. Even in the darkness he could see her raised brow.

“No, really,” he said, amused by her look. “I know a good one. One that isn’t in your chest.”

Belle’s eyes betrayed her interest. They always did. “Mm, all right, then,” she said casually, rolling to her side to face him and resting her head on folded hands.

Adam cleared his throat, looking towards the ceiling and forcing the adorable image out of his mind. "Once upon a time, in a faraway place where the caravan camels roam," he began, trying to recall the tale from so long ago. “An ancient sorcerer sat atop his dark horse. The desert was bare, and cold, but for two sparkling golden eyes in the nearest dune.”

Belle’s eyes were sparkling too. She found his hand.

“Suddenly, the sands themselves spoke,” he went on, smiling despite himself as he shifted his voice to its lowest timbre and leaned close. “Who disturbs my slumber?”

Belle managed to sleep after that, but Adam didn’t. Instead he lay in the freezing darkness, holding her but afraid to hold her.

He would need to be careful, since— contrary to what he’d thought— his temper obviously hadn’t gone anywhere. He couldn’t let himself get so worked up around her, couldn’t let himself get anywhere near breaking something like he was prone to do so long ago. It would terrify her. It already had.

He swallowed against the sour feeling in his throat, and grimaced at the damage to the house. Next time I get angry, I’ll take a deep breath and go somewhere else. It’s what he used to do, after all. Take an enormous breath and not let it out until he reached his quarters the West Wing. The place had received all his fury because of it, but it was the only place he could go to avoid his very fragile staff. 

Belle shifted beside him, and he was back in the present. Somewhere else, he thought again, glancing at her sleeping form. Maybe that’s what we both need.

Belle woke the next morning in Adam’s arms. She’d missed this, she realized at once, feeling like she’d just stepped out of a fog that had consumed her for days and days. She reached up slowly rub the sleep from her eyes, but despite her care the motion jostled Adam where he lay.

“Mmmsss…” he said, rolling closer and pulling her in tight.

“Hmm?” Belle asked, smiling.

“It’s… no use…” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

He was dreaming, she realized. Perhaps she was hearing something she shouldn’t… perhaps she should wake him.

She didn’t.

“Where is…?” he went on.

Belle leaned in closer. “Where is what?” she whispered back.

“…Where is she?”

Belle was keenly aware of her heart, now heavy in her chest. The young woman meant to break his curse— she’d never come. He must still regret it, the life he should have had with his meant-to-be rescuer. Instead he was stuck rescuing her.

And how did she repay him? By blaming him for one moment of frustration, when she’d done nothing but lay about in her own self-pity for days. Acting like his anger was uncalled for, when she’d stormed about just the other day in her own boiling rage.

It had been too easy to rely on him, large and strong as he was on the outside. She’d been so selfish, and unaware, and she’d… she’d hurt him. She’d seen in his eyes, those eyes she had come to trust, that calmed her when she woke in fear. Belle bit her lip hard, wishing last night had been a bad dream, and knowing it wasn’t. She closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that she was the woman he was supposed to be with.

Knowing she never would be.

Adam hit the final nail in the side of the house, sighing heavily and stepping back to see the finished project. “Oh… wow.”

“I admit, it’s a bit…” Beside him, Belle cleared her throat, rubbing a hand against the back of her neck. “It just looks a little—”

“Stupid,” he grumbled.

“Unorthodox.”

Adam snorted. Unfortunately, repairing broken walls was beyond even Belle’s expertise, so they’d done their best to mend it using hastily-chopped slabs pulled from the wood heap and whatever spare nails he could find or steal from Bonne’s shed. The result was arguably uglier than he was.

“But,” Belle went on, holding up a finger. “It’s fixed.”

“For now.” He looked at the sky, the sun about two hands’ width from the horizon. “I think, though, that this house might be telling us to get out.”

Belle cocked her head.

Adam looked towards the peak, its outline dark against a bright, clear sky. “Are you up for a hike?”

Belle, bundled up in all of her warmest layers and a few of his, clung to Adam’s shoulders and he plowed through snow that came up to his waist.

“You weren’t expecting so much snow, were you?” she guessed, breath warm against his neck.

“Forgot…” He turned, clearing a small patch of earth with several swipes of his tail before letting Belle down to her feet. She tested her footing, then turned to look at what was behind them.

It really was an incredible sight. The top of the world, or it may as well have been. Snowy peaks, piercing the land farther than any man could see, their valleys filled with thick blankets of pine and shining pools of ice. And the sky— so huge and vast and deep, enough to make you forget you even existed. The first time Adam had climbed up here, he’d stared and stared until the last light of day fled behind the farthest peaks, then laid on his back and watched each star come to life up above. In fact, it was the first cliff he hadn’t tried to—

He sucked in a deep breath, blowing out a cloud of shimmering mist. Anyway, he liked it here. Maybe Belle would too.

But as he watched her, he grew nervous. She stared silently out at those snowy peaks, bitter wind pulling several strands of hair from the strip of fabric she’d used to tie it away from her face. Still as stone.

Maybe he should have avoided cliff sides so soon. He was close enough to keep her from harm, but he reached out to steady her. Just in case.   

“There was a small hill behind my childhood house,” she said softly.

Adam crouched down, wrapping his arm fully around her. Belle let him, resting her head against his side while staring at the darkening landscape with unblinking eyes.

“I used to climb up there and imagine I was looking out at… well, something like this.”

She’d said it sadly, and Adam was at a loss for how to respond. He sucked in a breath, thinking he ought to say something anyway, when—

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been,” she said suddenly. She gripped the folds of her cloak, rushing her words. “I thought I could just— I wanted to be better, for…” She stopped, and looked away. “…for you.”

Adam’s eyes went wide, and something deep inside him broke. A dam of stone and fear, now crumbling as everything he’d been too guarded to feel flooded into his heart. And before nerves or imaginary princes could stop him, he spoke.

“I meant what I said, that night. The one I was a drunk fool.”

Belle looked up at him, wet eyes searching his. Knowing, but not sure.

Adam’s nerves were back now, but it was too late. The dam was destroyed, and there was nothing left to do but let the truth surface from its waters. “I really would take a thousand bullets… more, even, to have you here,” he admitted. And then he reached up, cradling her cheek in his paw. “Sad or not. I don’t care.”

Belle’s eyes filled with fresh tears. He brushed them away softly with the pad of his thumb. “Anyway, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he went on, those eyes drawing everything out of him. “I can’t even give you what you deserve.”

A sniffle. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” He frowned. “Your freedom, for one. Not this mountain prison.”

“But I chose to stay here.”

“And a safe home, a real home. Not some freezing edge of the world. And…” He grimaced, swallowing hard, running his fingers through the end of her hair. “You deserve a man, Belle. A real man. Not… a monster.”

A gust of wind, and her hair slipped from his touch. Belle was quiet for a long moment. “Well… I can’t argue with the freezing part,” she said quietly. “But I know what it’s like to live with a monster, Adam. This isn’t it.”

She was missing the point on purpose. Adam sighed, realizing how much he loved her for it.

Realizing how much he loved her, just as she turned away.

"What is it?" he asked, the cold rushing back to his heart.

Her back faced him, silhouette framed by the eastern sky now painted in new stars blinking awake in the twilight. "This isn't…" she began. She shook her head roughly. "It was supposed to be…" She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, growing small. "I-I'm not the one you were meant to find."

Adam was dumbfounded. "What?"

"I'm not. And now…" She looked up at the darkening sky, forcing in a sharp breath before she spoke. "No one can rewrite the stars.”

Adam only stared at her. He hadn’t even considered… couldn’t even imagine there was anyone else but her. Just the idea of it left him feeling raw.

“Belle…” he said at last. He sucked in a tempered breath. “That’s just stupid.”

She looked back at him, and blinked. “Excuse me?”

So he could have said that better. But he was feeling frustrated, not eloquent. “That’s right,” he said, defiant, tossing a paw towards the heavens. “Screw the stars, screw Fate, and screw all the rest of it. You are the one I was meant to find.”

Belle’s cheeks were blossoming. “I…” She looked away, still troubled. Still unsure, for she’d been made to feel so unloved for so very long.

Adam couldn’t bear it any longer.

He took a step forward, crouched down to her level, and encased her shoulders in both hands. “I love you,” he said deeply. “I love you, Belle.”

She stared at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Really?”

He nearly fainted. “Good God, yes!”

Belle laughed a little, palms pressed to her burning cheeks. “I… I love you too!”

Adam’s heart flooded all over again, only this time with an entire ocean’s worth of passion. He lifted her off her feet and held her tight, grinning his stupidest grin.

A muffled laugh. She’d never sounded so happy. “I thought my life was over…” she gasped, gripping him back. “This feels impossible!”

“It's not impossible,” he assured her, drunk on his bliss. “Though… we still have one problem.”

Her arms grew tighter around him. “What?”

“I’m still a freak of nature.”

And then she giggled. Giggled.

“Are you… laughing at me? Belle!” He glanced down at himself then, just to make sure he actually hadn’t changed back—

Then froze. No, he wasn’t shedding his coat and claws in a glittery pile of magic, or emerging nude from a pile of rose petals...

But here, on the top of the world, Belle was kissing him.

Well, as best she could manage, anyway. His mouth was dumb and enormous, but somehow the way she held his cheeks in her palms made him forget. He wasted plenty of time before finally regaining his senses, but as soon as he did he reached up to bury his fingers in her hair, to wrap his paw more tightly around her waist and pull her closer. To carefully, tenderly turn his head so that he could savor her completely.

It was good. He hadn’t thought it could be without breaking the curse, but… damn, it was good.

She pulled back then, the most beautiful, mischievous grin painting her face. “You know…” she said, flushed, barely able to grasp both his shoulders as she glanced down at his chest and back up. “They did call me a funny girl.”

And somewhere, still banished to the deepest parts of his mind, a prince was grinning wildly.

Told you so.

Chapter Text

“Damn these fangs.”

Belle smiled, kissing the corner of his pout. “Mmm, I don’t mind,” she hummed.

“Belle…” Adam growled. His hold on her tightened, then loosened as he exhaled sharply. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Belle grinned. She knew exactly what she was doing. “It’s quite cold… should we go home?” she asked sweetly.

Adam pulled back, looking her straight in the eyes for a long, knowing moment. Then without warning, he hoisted her into a bridal carry and took an about-face towards the path. “Yes.”

He barreled down the mountain, causing Belle to cry out in delighted fright as they slid down icy cliff sides and leapt over fallen trees.

They reached the house in far too little time by her judgment. Adam pulled open the door with a grand sweep only to find Cesar sitting on the threshold, tail brushing the floor in greeting. Adam stepped inside, picked him up with his free hand, and plopped him in the snow unceremoniously. The door swung shut behind them.

“So cruel,” Belle chided him.

“He’ll be fine.”

Cesar mewed once in protest, but gave up quickly in search of a nocturnal snack. And then, all at once, it was very quiet. And very dark.

Adam breathed out, ragged and deep, breaking the stillness. He set Belle down slowly to her feet. “So…” he began. He swallowed, paws brushing down her arms, then back up. “Were you truly just… cold?”

“No.”

Without the fire, it was just chilly enough to see his breath, billowing in streaks of moonlight. He crouched down, slowly, paws sliding down to grasp her hands. He stared at her for a long moment, his face shadowed. Could he see in the dark? She’d never asked.

“Belle.” He touched her face, more softly than should have been possible. “What I… am. You are sure?”

She reached out blindly and found him close, cheeks soft against her palms. “Quite sure.”

She could hear him breathing, feel the heat of each exhale until he kissed her again, cautiously, as though he was still learning how. She felt his claws slowly threading into her hair, his hand around hers gently beckoning her closer. Belle let it, pressing herself against his warmth. She wanted to bury herself in it, bathe in it.

Adam moved to her jaw, and she let her head fall weakly into the cradle of his giant hand. He caught her earlobe lightly between his tongue and fang, and she could barely comprehend it before he was tasting the length of her neck. Belle’s breath grew hollow as she gripped the fur at his shoulders, feeling a pleasant knot beginning to weave in and out of itself in a place that had only ever before known pain.

He reached the little hollow of her collarbone, lingering at the barrier of clothing. “Do you wish… to keep… all this on?” he said hotly, as breathless as she was.

Belle must have been wearing a half dozen layers. Perhaps that why she was suddenly felt like she was burning alive. “I do not,” she managed. Her fingers reached for the tie of her cloak, unfastening its small knot before they were trembling far too greatly to manage anything else.

“Let me help,” Adam pled from the darkness.

Belle blushed, heart beating so fast she thought it might run off without her. “All right. But I’m keeping my stockings on.”

He laughed softly, even as his own fingers trembled against her collar. “Only your stockings?” he whispered.

They chuckled together in the darkness, his nerves dancing around hers in the shadows. He helped her pull off his borrowed shirts, an impatient rumble emerging from his chest as he was thwarted by the delicate buttons of her dress. Belle took over again as he swiftly tugged off his cloak.

At last, the extra layers tumbled to the floor and he was holding her again, touching her through nothing but the thin lace of her chemise. So gently he brushed the sleeve off her shoulder, so softly he kissed her skin. His touch… she had never felt such tenderness. She had never even imagined it existed in this world. And to think he could manage it with such a form; it seemed impossible. 

Her sleeve fell to her elbow and he ventured lower, his mouth brushing once along the top of her breast. Belle gasped.

He pulled back. “Should I stop?” he asked. His eyes were so bright in the darkness.

The knot inside swelled. “No.”

He gathered her into his arms again, crossed the room in two strides, and laid her slowly on their makeshift bed. And then he stopped, a great form balanced over her.

“I love you,” he breathed, and she knew he did.

“I love…”

He found her breast again, and words became impossible. His tongue dipped low, circling beneath and above and everywhere but where she suddenly wished it to be. There were soft sounds escaping her, sounds she had never made. Adam responded with a deep rumbling of his own.

So this is what it feels like, she thought, and suddenly nothing else mattered, nothing else existed but this warm, soft, secret place.

“So beautiful…” Adam hummed. And at that, the illusion burst.

Old, ugly feelings swelled in her gut, clawing at that pleasant knot. That word… her own name.

He pulled her chemise down further. “Oh, my Belle…”

My little wife.

She froze. She tried to speak, but she was bathed in a sudden, freezing fear. Wait…

He stopped, though she hadn’t spoken. “Belle?”

She tried to swallow, failed, and tried again. “I…” she managed, feeling faint.

He moved off her quickly, tugging a blanket up to her shoulders before gripping her hand. “Are you well?”

She wasn’t, and somehow he’d known. Belle closed her eyes, feeling the softness of his blanket, the warmth of their fire. The rough pads of his fingers in her palm. Slowly, she found it easier to breathe again. 

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I didn’t... I was fine, but then…”

“I went too fast.”

He sounded heartbroken. Belle opened her eyes to see his, wide with worry. “I practically begged you too,” she said.

He frowned. “Something I did, then.”

“No.” Something you said. Something any normal woman would have loved. She felt too foolish to explain it to him now. “Just… me,” she said instead, wanting to cry. Would she never be able to have this? “I’m so sorry…”

He gripped her hand, shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But… you must want this.”

He reached for her face then, but stopped. Belle pulled his hand to her cheek to reassure him. Curse her foolish fears; already, she was driving him away.

“I… well, of course I want it,” he confessed, and a beat later he looked away. “I want to be close to you in every possible way. But not if it means…” He frowned deeply. “You will not be hurt here.”

She knew that… hadn’t she known that? Why then had she grown so afraid?

He caressed her cheek once. She closed her eyes, “But I want it too,” she moaned, that knot inside now a tangled, irritable mess. “What’s wrong with me?”

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Nothing is wrong with you. In fact, maybe you just came to your senses about… this.” He swept a dramatic hand across himself.

Belle finally smiled. “No, that’s not it,” she said, feeling her blush deepen. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She wasn’t sure what such a preference said about her, but she’d previously decided that since there was nobody here to stop her there was no need to fret about it.

Adam was rubbing the back of his neck, looking away but smiling all the same. Then he rolled over, stood, and went to retrieve some wood for the fire. Belle sat slowly herself, pulling her chemise back over her shoulders before resting folded arms atop her knees. She watched as Adam crouched before the hearth, arranging the logs in the way she had taught him. Had he really only minutes ago been…

She shivered, wanting him close again.

Adam used a claw to strike the flint, watching as the spark slowly built into flames. Then his paw was at the back of his neck again, his breathing measured and heavy. He turned back to her with a nervous smile.

She reached for his hand, and he let her pull him back down beside her.

Her fears were all but forgotten now. How easily they melted away when he held her in his arms. And how strange, too; Gaston’s strength had terrorized her, and yet here she was in the embrace of one far more powerful feeling safer than she’d ever felt before.

He’d stopped. He’d known. She hadn’t been hurt, and any fear that lingered had suddenly vanished. This was new—this place where she could hide, where the world and its cruel talons couldn’t reach her. And, oh, how gentle he had been. She’d known of course that not all men were violent, but she’d hadn’t realized just how very tender they could be.

“There’s… n-no rush,” Adam stammered suddenly. He sucked in another deep, measured breath. “And… if you finally come to your senses about me, you can change your mind then too.”

“I won’t. No,” Belle said, amused at just how far that was from her thoughts. She grew warm again, lowering her voice. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He pulled back to look at her, a strange look flashing in his eyes. But before she could make any sense of it, he’d pulled her close again. “Oh, Belle,” he said, warmth in his voice. “That was nothing.”

It would be a lie to say that Adam didn’t dream of Belle’s perfect bosom all night long.

He lay awake that morning for a solid hour trying to determine whether last night had been real. He had, embarrassingly, dreamt of her more than once before now, but it had never been so wonderfully vivid.

Surely it couldn’t have happened, he thought lazily, knowing it had.

He watched, too love-drunk to move, as Cesar struggled to squeeze himself between the window panes. The little feline finally succeeded, picking his way around the clothes strewn across the floor. That, and the fact that Belle was sleeping in nothing but her chemise, should have been enough to convince him. Still, Adam was tempted to reach out and poke her shoulder just to make sure he wasn’t still having a sleepy fantasy. But that would be very childish.

He turned and poked Cesar instead, who mewed in annoyance and escaped to Belle’s side.

Adam felt like he was going to burst. A whole winter together… a whole life together?

She’ll leave you come spring, the prince said quietly.

Adam opened his eyes. He had almost forgotten about his juvenile subconscious. I don’t think so, he thought back, feeling far too cheerful to let anything sour his mood.

Something will happen. Something will take her away.

Adam rolled to his side, smiling at Belle’s sleeping face. Bugger off.

The prince said nothing, retreating back into the shadows.

Adam’s thoughts returned to the night before—for where else could they go?—remembering every inch he’d been allowed of her perfect form, every beautiful sound from her lips, the way her heart beat quicker with arousal…

…before racing with fear.

His pleasant feelings dimmed as he thought of how still Belle had grown in that moment. He’d been able to smell the fear on her skin. But she hadn’t spoken out—did she know she could? The thought pained him. And what if he hadn’t noticed her distress?

That thought terrified him.

He sat up. I must convince her to speak freely, he decided, setting a determined fist in his palm. And he would have to be very, very careful.

They barely left the house that day. The daily chores lay neglected as they sat in their small, warm space— and talked.

Well, talked was perhaps a generous way of putting it. For this talking involved quite a lot of kissing and a nearly uninterrupted stream of caressing. How could they not as they shared the armchair for the first time, Belle curled up in his lap in her chemise, his blouse abandoned at her insistence that You’re warmer this way and besides, it’s only fair. Belle’s heart was in a constant flutter, which was only worsened by the way Adam couldn’t stop beaming at her.

The words they did speak were so soft and so free, even freer than they’d been before. For now they weren’t restricted to stories the past, but could touch that bright, new future that they would now create together. It seemed that things could now be laid bare in more ways than one.

Adam held her ankle between his fingers now, brushing feather-light circles over the skin with his thumb. It sent a heat pooling into her toes, and her thoughts to the night before. The memory filled her with great warmth… and embarrassment. She had truly spoiled something wonderful, hadn’t she? Yet she’d sensed no such feeling from Adam, who’d been brimming with nothing but smiles all morning. And though he didn’t speak of it aloud, it was quite evident from the way he watched her that he was thinking of it too.

Eventually, however, Bonne came bellowing down the mountain at them and they were forced to attend to all the daily tasks required of those dwelling in the mountains. So they dressed, laughing and blushing at their mutual reluctance to do so. And as Belle stepped out the door to head towards the outhouse she found herself lifted off her feet

“I’ve missed this,” he grinned, cradling her in his arms and plodding down the familiar path.

Belle recalled those first weeks spent here, when Adam was still her mysterious caretaker. She smiled. “If you never let me walk, my love, I may forget how.”

Adam’s step faltered at the endearment. “I-I suppose,” he said, the insides of his ears growing red. Then he stopped, and pressed his head to hers as he pulled her close. “But today… I can barely stand to be apart from you.”

The prince awoke to a pounding headache. He sat up, untangling himself from the sheets before swinging his bare legs over the side of the bed.

A ray of sun pierced through a slit in the curtains, blinding him. He squinted, rubbing his temples.

His companion stirred behind him, but didn’t wake. Adam threaded his fingers through his tangled hair, sweeping it out of his eyes and frowning at the large, ornate room.

A reflection stared back at him. The prince, sitting within a grand mirror, naked and ruffled and grimacing back at him. His face was a mess of paint, smudged into a half-grin that belied the scowl beneath.

His bed-mate stirred again, humming lightly. “Good morning, Your Grace,” flitted a gentle voice. Fingers touched his back, her hand brushing around to his stomach.

Adam stared at the prince for another moment, then reached for the hand. Her fingers were soft, manicured and untouched by toil. His memory of the night was blurred, distant, but he was fairly certain it had been enjoyable.

He felt no joy now. Only emptiness, laid bare before this stranger in more ways than one.

He considered squeezing that hand, or threading his fingers between hers. Instead he let go. “My servants will attend you,” he said, pulling on a robe without a backwards glance.

When he reached the door, he paused, guilt turning momentarily in his gut. Something more than guilt, maybe. A longing. He shook it away, leaving the room and moving quickly down the hall. He was not ignorant to their true intentions, nor they to his. They fought for a prize wrapped in royalty and power. And he accepted the escape; it was the only one he had.

He stood in his father’s office now— even after all this time, he didn’t think of it as his own. A hundred papers sat piled atop the desk, treaties and pleading requests from the local lords for something or other. He was supposed to be serving these people, but why? It was because of them he was stuck with this mess. Because of them he was alone.

Let them fend for themselves, he thought. After all, his mother had tried to help them, and look where that got her.

He pushed open the window, letting the breeze rush in. Adam closed his eyes, breathing it in, pretending for a moment he was somewhere far, far away from here. Running through dusty foreign streets, clashing with the local law... meeting someone who wasn't simply after his power.

“Well! Lady Marguerite certainly seems in good spirits. Put some of my tips to work, no?”

Adam deflated, returning to the present. Still, he gave Lumiere a small smile as he turned, to which the man laughed full-heartedly. He sauntered over, dropping casually into the chair across from Adam and leaning forward with a conspiring grin. “Shall we invite her to join you for dinner this evening, Your Grace?”

Adam’s smile faded. “No. Don’t bother.”

Lumiere cocked his head. “Not her either, my prince?” He frowned, as though personally injured by Adam’s rejection. “Has not one of these young ladies caught your eye?”

“They serve their purpose, and then they leave.” The words were filth on his tongue. “They seem pleased enough.”

“They do…” Lumiere’s frown grew deeper. He brought a hand to his chin. “But it seems you don’t, at least not for very long.”

Adam grit his teeth, turning away. God, how he hated himself.

“Perhaps you would find greater happiness if you formed an attachment?” His despair was gone at once, and sparks seemed to shine in his eyes as he went on. “My Plumette and I, ah! The way she makes me feel… the beating of my heart… the very touch of her skin and I melt, truly. I swear it on my life.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and the love we create together, sacré dieu!” he went on, quite oblivious to his audience now. “I know I should not say… but if I could say…”

Adam coughed, and raised a hand to stop him, preferring very much that he did not say. Advice was one thing—but he could certainly live without knowing the details of Lumiere’s own escapades.

Lumiere had the decency to look sheepish for a moment. Then he sobered once again, and moved around the desk to Adam’s side. “My prince, you’ve lost much. I know,” he said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps... perhaps you fear this loss will repeat itself?”

And then that feeling he’d tucked away was back, guilt and longing and loneliness ramming into him like the kick of a horse to his chest. Adam’s fingers curled tightly on arms of his chair.

“It’s risky to love, yes… but worth it, don’t you think?”

There was a stinging behind his eyes now. Adam blinked once, trembling. “I don’t need this,” he spat, breathless. He threw out an angry hand, knocking Lumiere’s arm away and rising to his feet. “Not from you.”

The man withdrew, looking at him like he was some sad, lonely child and not his goddam prince.

Adam seethed. “You’re— what are you, anyway? A footman? A fucking footman, trying to tell me what to do?” He laughed, but felt nothing but pain. “What could you possibly know about this?”

All the grandeur that made Lumiere himself was gone. He looked hurt. “Your Grace…”

The prince looked away, and snarled. “Get out of my sight.”

“Adam…”

“Get OUT!!” he roared. He snatched the closest object— an old, tarnished candelabra— and hurled it with all his might.

It smashed into the shelves to Lumiere’s right. He hadn’t really wanted to hit him anyway.

Lumiere straightened, lowering his hands where they’d gone to protect his face. He stared at Adam then, eyes wide and sad. Then he bowed, and left his prince in silence.

As the door shut, Adam’s eyes grew hot and wet. He grit his teeth, and swept everything piled atop his desk to the floor. He kicked over his chair, tore down his curtains, tore all the books from their shelves. Tasted the salt of his stupid tears.

And screamed.

“Then they flew off on the magic carpet and lived happily ever after.”

Belle listened quietly as she milked Bonne, but he didn’t continue. “What? Is that all?” she exclaimed. “Come now, what kind of ending is that?”

“Fine, fine,” Adam said. He scooped up a large handful of hay and wrapped a long strand of twine around it, the end in his teeth as he attempted a messy knot. “They, uh… honeymooned for a fortnight, had a dozen rowdy children, grew old and fat together, then lived happily ever—”

“No, no, no,” Belle said, wiping her hands on her apron and rising to her feet. “Where else did they go? They had a magic carpet, for goodness sake!”

Adam looked amused. “Do you want to finish the story instead?”

She gave him a face, and he laughed. “You know,” she said. “It would have saved a whole lot of trouble he’d just told Jasmine the truth in the first place.”

Adam froze, then slowly set down the bundle in his hands. The knot loosened, leaving a pile of hay exactly as he'd found it, but he didn't seem to notice. “He was afraid she’d think less of him,” he said quietly.

Belle cocked her head at him. “Do you think less of me because I’m common?”

“I—what? No, of course not,” he said, looking confused. He turned away, frowning deeply. “That’s not what I meant…”

“But shouldn’t he want her to love the real him?”

Adam grimaced. Then he looked towards the door, chewing roughly on the corner of his lip.

Now Belle was confused. “Adam?”

“What if it was reversed,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “What?”

“You know…” he said slowly. He looked back at her now, eyes dark and intent. “What if, instead, Aladdin really was a prince but pretended not to be? Would it have mattered that he didn’t tell her?”

Belle raised a brow. “Why in the world would he do that?”

Adam looked incredibly uncomfortable. He sucked in a long breath, grit his teeth. “Just don’t… don’t freak out,” he finally said.

Belle stood, perplexed, until the pieces started slowly falling together. She shook her head, laughing nervously. “You’re teasing me again.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“I’m not going to fall for it this time,” Belle declared, wagging a finger at him.

“Belle…” He took a step closer, and a very deep breath. “I’m serious.”

She studied his face for a very long moment, then felt the blood seep out of her own. “Oh my God… Oh my God!”

“Please don’t freak out!”

His warning came far too late. Belle’s hands were pressed to her cheeks as she stared at him, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Ah, see?” he pouted. “You do think differently of me now.”

“N-no! No,” she said, shaking her hands in front of her. Then she pulled them back, covering her cheeks once again and looking away. “Ah… a little. I’m sorry, I just hadn’t imagined…” She shook her head quickly, finally looking back at him. “You said you were a noble of sorts. I thought you were a knight or something...”

Adam grinned. “A knight? How gallant.”

“I don’t know! Not a prince! Oh, dear,” she said, flustered, pressing her fingers to her temples. “B-but this… this makes no sense. I would have known of you.”

He sobered again, and grimaced. “The, uh… spell made everyone forget us.”

Belle just stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

Adam shrugged. Belle pressed her palms to the sides of her face, staring at her feet and trying not to completely lose her mind.

She felt his hands on hers, pulling them from her face. “Belle, it’s still me,” he said, their hands linked across Bonne’s back. “Your big, hairy beau.”

She gave out a short laugh. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… ever so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been so forward with you! I’ve… we’ve…” She blushed furiously. “I simply cannot wrap my head around it.”

“Of all the things about me, this is the first to truly bother you?”

She laughed again. He had a point.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthright,” he went on. “I suppose I was embarrassed too. I always felt I was born into the wrong life.” He looked absently at the wall behind her, frowning. “I probably should have been grateful for what I had, but I only ever felt… trapped.”

Belle’s eyes grew wider. That, she could understand.

“But it doesn’t… mean anything,” he said quickly, looking back. “I hold no power or… or anything over you. Over anyone.”

Belle rested a hand on the back of her neck, feeling shy. Feeling unsure.

“I don’t. Please, I never want you to feel like you have to…” He stopped, pursed his lips, and gently squeezed her hands. “I love what we have. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Belle felt her heart flutter.

“Can’t it stay the same as it was?”

She looked back at him. He looked so terribly worried that she found herself biting back a smile. It was still Adam; of course it was. Princes, as it turned out, were real people too.

“Of course it can stay the same,” she said. He visibly relaxed, and Belle smiled. “But,” she went on, “just so we’re clear, are there any more upcoming revelations I should know about?”

“Well,” he said. He gave her a lopsided smile. “I will, unfortunately, shed in the spring time.”

It was the darkest part of the night, and Belle was awake. The fire had grown low, a red glow swelling out, then retreating. She watched it absently, feeling as though she had stumbled into someone else’s fairy tale.

Perhaps she really had lost her mind. A nobleman was one thing, but a prince? She didn't think Adam was lying, but did a quiet investigation on her own just in case he’d actually lost a little of his own mind. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t really remember who had been their ruler prior to the last decade—and the more she thought about it the fuzzier her memories grew. This certainly wasn’t comforting, but it did help to convince her. That, alongside her discovery that the family crest decorating her chest of books matched the royal symbol in one of its thickest tomes. She was a bit abashed she hadn’t put two-and-two together earlier.

Though of course… she had been a little distracted.

Belle stared at the flames again, feeling their pulse in her cheeks, her breast… that secret place so recently awakened. She closed her eyes, remembering. Her body ached for his touch, unable to rest, having brushed against its own hidden magic and now very impatient to discover the full extent. Belle herself was quite in agreement, for she trusted that Adam wouldn’t harm her. And yet… could she trust herself not to mess everything up again?

Belle sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, rolling over and pressing her face into her pillow to hide a grunt of frustration.

A warmth drew near. “Are you awake?” Adam asked softly.

Belle looked up to see his eyes, catching the fire’s gentle glow. “Mmm,” she managed.

“What are you thinking about?”

She breathed deeply. “Nothing.”

He drew closer, curling up around her and resting his head against her own. They laid quietly together, listening to the crackling fire. Belle wondered if he would try again. She considered, nervously, starting something again herself.

“Belle.”

“Yes?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer right away, but picked up the end of one lock of her hair. Rubbed it between his fingers, dropped it again. “I did something wrong the other night,” he said at last. He took a breath, and looked her in the eyes. “Won’t you tell me?”

Shame sunk its teeth into Belle’s hopes, sucking them dry. She looked away. “It was nothing. It shouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But it did,” he pressed. “Please, Belle. I don’t want to do it again.”

She closed her eyes tight, feeling so incredibly in love and yet so terribly afraid. “I…”

She stopped. He reached for her hand, and waited.

“You called me… beautiful,” she began slowly. Adam looked surprised. “He called me that all the time,” she explained. “I know, it’s silly. What kind of woman complains about being beautiful? I must sound so arrogant.”

“No. I understand.” The way he said it seemed to suggest he truly did. “What else?”

“You called me yours,” she said more softly. “He claimed me constantly. I know you don’t mean it the same way, I know, it just…”

He nodded slowly. “Anything else? Anything I shouldn’t do?”

“Maybe?” She frowned. “I’m not sure, yet.”

He hummed. Ran his fingers through the length of her hair. “You can tell me, next time. When you’re scared.”

Belle shook her head. “I can’t. I mean, I did try,” she said quickly, for he’d started to protest. “But my throat, it…” She swallowed against a phantom dryness, reaching absently to touch her neck.

Adam was very quiet. She could feel the heavy beat of his heart against her. “You could not refuse before,” he said.

Her eyes at once were full of tears. She grit her teeth, fighting it as long as she could, but it wasn’t any use. And so she shook her head roughly, clasping a hand to her mouth and burying her face in his arm. Adam surrounded her in his embrace, close but not close enough. If she could just fold in on herself tighter, just a bit tighter… maybe that deep, tugging ache inside would finally be crushed. Adam sensed this, he must have, for he held her that much closer as she buried her hands in his fur and gripped so hard she would later worry she had hurt him. But she didn’t realize that now, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of moisture spilling out of her eyes. Had she not shed enough tears over this already? Were they simply endless?

But this helps, she remembered as they slowed from a heavy deluge to a gentle stream. When she cried in this home, in his arms, she felt so much relief.

Adam didn’t speak—what could the poor man say? Yet that bitterly sweet feeling was prompting her to share more. And so she spoke of that first night of her sham of a marriage, which released new tears, his heavy hands petting her hair. And then another, the details of each erratic and blurred, tearing at her heart one second before slipping out the cracks in the walls the next and escaping into the night air. Adam never let her go, whispering things like, “You’re safe here,” or “That will never happen again.”

Or a deep and aching, “I should have been there for you.”

By the time he said it, Belle was breathing easily, feeling a strange and unexpected peace. “You’re here for me now,” she answered softly.

Adam sucked in a sharp breath, limbs trembling around her. “Always, Belle,” he whispered. “Always.”

The next morning, Adam awoke early. His head ached. His limbs were restless. He got up quietly, as he was accustomed to, and stepped into the bitter morning air.

Somewhere, a bird was chirping. He scowled, heading down one of his well-worn trails towards the western side of the mountain. The woods were thickest here, dark and isolated. Adam abandoned the main trail and found another, mostly grown over, leading into its depths.

A quarter hour passed before he reached his destination. An open patch, not made by nature’s hand but his own. After all these years his claw marks still scarred the trees, but the broken branches had since sprouted new growth and clumps of new life poked out of the heavy snow.

Adam looked at it and felt ashamed. He looked at the sky, bright blue when it really should have been stormy considering his mood, then sat down on an old log at the center of the clearing with a sigh. He came here because this was where he always used to go when he was angry. But now that he was here, he realized he didn’t actually feel like lashing out at anything.

He let his head fall forward, closing his eyes. He remembered holding Belle as close as he could, wishing he could soak up all the horror she’d experienced into himself. He’d do it in a heartbeat; he’d take it all. But it was something he’d failed to prevent and something he could never fix.

Was it my fault?

Adam saw the prince in his mind yet again, but he was younger now—truly a boy. Adam thought about what he said, unsure if the child was talking about Belle, or about his family.

No. It wasn’t your fault.

The boy grit his teeth. Tears pooled in his eyes. I’m so angry! he gasped, clenching his fists.

Adam recalled the feeling vividly, a curse of its own that had followed him all his life. But looking at the child in his mind’s eye, he wondered if either of them were truly angry at all.

That’s okay, he told his young self.

The boy blinked. His body relaxed, just a little. It is?

Why not? He’d fought his anger for so long, but that only ever made things worse. And today, when he’d come here planning to tear something apart, he could finally see what was hiding beneath it all—sorrow, deep and real, as he ached for someone dear to him.

Maybe he’d known how to love all along.

The child in his mind began to fade, tears spilling down his cheeks. They spilled down Adam’s too as he sat in that wooded clearing and cried for the woman he loved.

He was rubbing his eyes dry with the back of his arm when a low bell rung out from the trees. Adam looked up to find Bonne, staring at him where she stood while casually chewing. He sighed, sniffed, and stood with a grunt. “Well then, come on,” he told her, waving her back the way he’d come.

The trees were spotted with little birds now, their songs dancing happily over the silent snow that sparkled under the morning sun. Bonne’s bell seemed to ring in time as she plodded happily along ahead of him, and Adam sighed in defeat. It really was a beautiful day, his mood be damned. And suddenly, his mood changed too as his chest swelled with a sudden determination. Belle’s life could still be beautiful, too; her past a long, dark night finally banished for good. She need never feel hurt or scared again, he’d make sure of it. He just had to fill her life up with so much happiness that her past would feel like nothing but an old, forgotten nightmare.

Just thinking about it made him miss her, though he’d been gone but an hour. So he sprinted the last quarter mile to the house, sucked in a breath, and stepped quietly inside.

The room was bright, the furs folded carefully beside the fire, the air warm as something cooked atop the stove. Belle stood stirring it, humming to herself, a little bluebird whistling along with her as it sat perched along the windowsill.

As he shut the door behind him, she looked his way and smiled. “Good morning!”

At that, Adam crossed the room in two great strides and wrapped her in an embrace.

Belle’s laugh was muffled against him, and he hugged her for several more moments before letting her go. “What was that for?” she asked warmly.

“Nothing. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She sucked in a breath. “So much better. It’s like I’ve been dragging this great weight around for years but suddenly… it’s gone. At least, for today.”

And at last, he smiled too. “Good.”

Chapter Text

The prince who lived in Adam’s mind sometimes got lost in his memories.

Tonight, he had his forehead pressed against the muggy glass, staring through his own ghostly reflection. The street behind the window was muddy and depressing, filled with hollow-faced onlookers dressed in rags. As a child, he had watched the crowds with curiosity, eagerly returning their waves and begging Papa to let him leave the carriage so he could play with the children in the street. He never had.

The prince scowled, for the memory repulsed him. Now, all he saw when he looked out this window was Maman weaving through their ranks, their greedy hands falling all over her while taking advantage of her gentleness. Pouring their deadly breath into her.

The prince’s hands had formed fists in his lap, his jaw tight and trembling. But then the carriage went over a bump, knocking his face against the glass. He cursed, sitting up and rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I don't know why we must ride through their filth," he grumbled.

"My apologies, your Highness," Cogsworth said, sitting beside him and cleaning the face of his pocket watch with a handkerchief. “I should have prevented that landslide on the main bridge.”

The prince was too tired to acknowledge the sarcasm. Instead, he watched as one beggar broke through the crowd, running towards their carriage with outstretched hands. The prince sat up straight in his seat, wide-eyed, but his guards quickly chased the peasant away. He sat back and folded his arms against the pounding in his chest.

"The plague is long past," Cogsworth said, his voice suddenly, strangely gentle. "There's no need to—"

"I know that," the boy snapped. "I just didn't want him muddying up the carriage. Disgusting creatures."

He didn't know why he said it. He tightened his arms hard across his chest and slumped back in his seat, scowling at his own reflection.

"You shouldn't say things like that."

The prince was startled a second time, turning towards the new voice. A girl sat across from him, donning a soft yellow gown that spilled into his knees and filled all the floor space of the compartment.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded. He looked at the seat beside him, but it seemed his valet had vanished as suddenly as the girl appeared. “Where’s Cogsworth?”

She frowned, a lock of hair falling across her forehead. "He's gone. Don't you remember?"

The prince tried to stand, whacked his head on the ceiling, cussed again, and sat back down. "What are you talking about?" he said, resisting the urge to rub his scalp. He looked more closely at the stranger across from him. It was dark, only intermittent flickers of light coming from the torches carried by his guards outside, but from what he could tell she didn't seem particularly threatening. In fact, something about her felt very familiar. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Don’t you know?” she asked, cocking her head. “Haven’t you been paying any attention to them?”

She leaned in close, and the prince grew warm. She was pretty… really pretty, and for a moment he was mesmerized by the freckles dancing over her face and speckling her bare shoulders. But he’d seen plenty of attractive girls before and not one of them had soothed his loneliness.

He looked away, too tired to play this game tonight. “I’m not really interested.”

“Clearly not,” she said, sitting back and laying one ankle on her opposite knee. Beneath that glorious gown, she was wearing boots. “Look at you,” she went on. “Driving through your kingdom, ignoring those who rely on you. Have you ever shown any interest in them?”

He looked back at her face, startled. “Wait, you’re not here to…”

“Please you?” She laughed once, coldly. “Of course you would assume that. No, my prince, I’m certainly not here for any such thing. You don’t care about them, so how can you possibly care about me?”

“I didn’t mean…” Her words felt like a knife in his heart, leaving his mind muddled and his chest aching. Before he could gather his thoughts again, she had gathered up her gown in one arm, stood, and pressed hard on the door handle.

Icy wind filled the carriage. The girl hiked her skirts above her ankles and jumped out of the car, then turned back. She eyed him with a look of utter disgust. “You’re no different than him,” she said quietly.

And in that moment, Adam remembered. He sucked in a breath, cold air crawling deep into his chest. “Wait—” He stopped, coughing roughly. “Just a—”

The door slammed shut behind her. He coughed again, unable to stop as he scrambled to find the door’s handle in the darkness. When he did it felt as cold as his heart, and locked just as tight.

Adam gasped for breath, tugging hard on the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. Unable to speak and growing frantic, he kicked at the door, threw his fists at the windows. Yet his strength quickly failed and he fell back into his seat, wheezing.

Let me out, please, he thought desperately, sucking in too little air and trembling head to toe. Let me out!

Adam sat up straight from the floor, gasping for breath like he'd just risen from the dead. He oriented himself quickly, noting the orange embers in the hearth, his shadow climbing up the short wall. Belle lying beside him, curled up beneath the blankets.

“Shit,” he breathed, pressing a hand to his chest. The dream had felt so real, real enough that he sucked in long, deep breath just to remind himself he now could.

Belle, wait! I remember! I'm sorry!

The prince had followed him out of the dream. He was still breathless, resting his hands on his knees and panting as if he’d been running for miles. Where did she go? he gasped. I didn’t mean it…

Adam didn’t want to talk to him. He wanted him to go away.

It’s not true, the prince pressed. What she said about me. I care about people. I just… he trailed off, wringing his gloves anxiously in his hands.

Adam sighed. Belle didn’t really say that, he told his mind. It was just a nightmare.

But the prince couldn’t hear him. She hates me. She thinks I’m a bad person. And she’s right, he whimpered. The enchantress was right.

Adam laid back down, closing his eyes and pointedly ignoring the prince who was now pacing from one side of his mind to the other.

Do you think… The boy stopped, crossing his arms tightly over his chest once again. Do you think she would still love you if she remembered me?

Adam’s eyes opened again. Why hadn’t he considered this before? Surely Belle had known of him before the curse stole her memories. What if she had hated him then? After all, he’d failed her as a ruler too, just like he’d failed everyone else.

Adam sat up again, wringing his own hands together now. He glanced back down at where Belle slept. I told her who I was, he reasoned with himself. I told her the truth.

About everything?

Adam swallowed. It was true that he hadn’t really shared any details. Belle hadn’t asked, but was it still wrong to keep them from her? Should he come clean about the arrogant, heartless things he used to say? About each duty he’d ignored?

About all the people he’d slept with?

Adam wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach, nauseated at the memories of his past foolishness. How badly would the truth hurt her? He didn’t want to cause her any more pain. He couldn’t.

“Adam…”

He turned. “Belle! You’re—” awake, he was going to say, but stopped upon seeing her curled up tightly into herself, covering her head with both hands.

“A-Adam…” she said breathlessly. She was trembling. “Adam…”

His eyes grew wide. Another night terror. It was the third night in a row, the seventh total in the fortnight since she’d told him the details of what happened to her. “Belle, I’m here,” he said, reaching for her hands.

She flinched. “Stop!” she gasped, burying her head closer to her chest. “Stop… Adam…”

The blood drained from his face. He pulled his hand away quickly. “Belle, wake up. Wake up!” he called out, as loudly as he dared. He didn’t want to yell too loudly, given her history.

“Adam… please…”

What was she dreaming about? Was he… Adam couldn’t bear to think of it. He looked about, trying to think of a way to wake her that wouldn’t make it worse. He saw the warm fire, the pile of furs where she trembled, the dark window now completely buried in snow. It gave him an idea.

With great care, he gathered Belle into his arms along with as many furs as he could manage in order to reduce their contact. She didn’t wake, so he moved to the door, kicked open the latch, and pressed his shoulder hard against the snow already filling in the path he’d plowed out the morning before. Still she slept, so he stepped over the threshold and brought her out into the cold night air.

“Adam… A-Adam…”

An owl flew silently out of the forest, startling him. It fought the stormy air to perch on their roof, where it hooted quietly.

“Belle, please… wake up,” Adam tried again, turning back to her. He stood with his back to the wind, which rippled through his fur and pulled several strands of Belle’s hair from her braid.

“Adam…”

He dropped his head close to hers, closing his eyes. “I’m here, not there,” he spoke softly into her ear. The wind whipped harder, and he heard a tree fall somewhere in the distance. He pulled her a little closer. “I love you. I’ll never hurt you. Wake up, Belle. Come back to me.”

He heard her breathing change, and opened his eyes. Belle stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re awake,” he said in relief.

Belle glanced towards the dark woods. She seemed confused.

“We’re home,” he said, turning and ducking back into the house. He pulled the door tightly shut behind them, muffling the wind and sending small tendrils of snow along the floor.

Belle’s trembling had become a violent shaking by the time they reached the hearth. He started to quickly lay her back down when she reached for him, wordlessly. He let the furs fall to the ground and helped her climb into his arms.

“I’m sorry for bringing you into the cold,” he said, scooting them closer to the fire. “I didn’t know how else to wake you.” He was starting to wonder if he should have woken her at all. Perhaps the dream would have been forgotten if he’d let her sleep through it. He frowned, wishing he was better equipped to help her.

He started to feel moisture in his fur where Belle rested her head. Felt the tension in her body as she gasped raggedly. “Breathe,” he said deeply, filling his lungs with air and letting it out when he spoke again. “Breathe.”

She did, with difficulty at first but slowly finding his rhythm while relaxing her grip on him. The shaking soon subsided and she rested heavily against him, sniffling.

“S… sorry,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Exhausted.”

Adam swallowed. “Was… I hurting you?” he asked. He was afraid to hear her answer, but he had to know.

She hummed softly. “No, no. I was calling for you. And you came for me.” She reached up weakly, running her fingers along his jaw before letting them rest against his neck. “Thank you.”

Every muscle in his body relaxed. He kissed the top of her head. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Belle was quiet for a moment. “No,” she decided. “Not this time.”

Adam rocked gently where he sat, staring into the flames and sending murderous thoughts towards a man who was already dead. He thought Belle had fallen asleep again when she spoke.

“Adam?”

“Mm?” he said, stilling.

“I don’t understand. Why have my nightmares grown worse? I thought, after I told you…” She grimaced a little. “I mean, I felt so relieved.”

“It was still a hard thing to do. It brought up a lot for your mind to process.”

She huffed, blowing the loose hair from her eyes. “How irritating.”

“My…” He stopped, wondering if what he was going to say would actually help. He didn’t want to make this about himself, after all, especially since she had suffered far more. But Belle had already gotten that curious look in her eye, and so there was no turning back now. “Mine also got worse after everything ended, is all,” he said.

She looked surprised. “Really?”

He hummed a quiet affirmative. They watched the fire in a gentle silence.

After a time Belle shifted, looking back up at him. “How long does it take for them to go away?” she asked.

She looked so hopeful, which made him feel even worse that he didn’t have a better answer for her. “They may not completely go away,” he admitted, recalling the dream he’d just had. “And… they might get worse, before they get better. But then they’ll weaken tremendously, and return much less frequently.”

She deflated a little, but seemed to accept that. Then she reached for his hand, looking up at him with still-damp eyes. “How did you bear it alone?”

He squeezed her hand back. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But—”

“Want some tea, or are you ready to sleep?”

She pulled away and raised a brow at him, but only sighed and rested back where she’d been before. ”I’m so tired, but… I don’t think I can sleep anymore tonight.”

“I understand.”

“You can though.” She pulled away again and looked towards their bed, which he’d completely upset when trying to wake her. He let her down from his arms and she began rearranging the blankets as they preferred them. While she did he turned, adding two more logs to the fire and grabbing a chamber candlestick from the mantle. “Do you want to be alone?” he asked, lighting it in the flames.

“No,” she said quickly. Then she grimaced. “But you still need your sleep—”

“I’ll stay up with you,” he said, taking the candle with him as he headed into their little kitchen. “We can have a midnight snack.”

She chuckled, and the sound seemed to brighten the whole room. “You’re always looking for an excuse to eat.”

“Time for something sweet…” he hummed to himself, pulling out a jar of honeyed butter and a loaf of bread he’d made the night before. The outside had baked correctly this time, at least. “Moment of truth,” he announced, slicing into it. He held up the open ends in the light of the candle, facing Belle. “I can’t look. You tell me.”

She made a sound of delight. “Looks good from here.”

He brightened, checking it himself. Sure enough, it looked like bread was supposed to look, soft and fluffy, unlike his previous four attempts that had been underdone, overdone, filled with pockets of air, or just completely hollow.

A pleasant warmth filled his chest. Oddly enough, he couldn’t recall ever feeling so proud of himself. Humming happily, he cut out several thick slices, slathered them with butter, and brought them back over the fire. They munched in a pleasant silence, watching the flames crackling over the new logs.

“That was so good,” Belle finally said as she finished her slice. She eyed him. “You’re becoming quite adept around the house these days.”

He swallowed the last of his third piece. “Seems you’ve domesticated the beast,” he said, waggling his eyes at her.

“God, Adam.”

He laughed, pushing himself to his feet to get seconds. “Another course, perhaps?” he called over his shoulder.

“Oh, I shouldn’t…”

He crouched beside the cellar, glancing over the list of rations Belle had pinned up on the wall. “Berries? And… maybe we can crack open those olives?”

Belle jumped to her feet.

He chuckled. “That’s a yes?”

She shrugged, smiling a little and lacing her fingers together as she stretched them high above her head. She was wearing a winter chemise, but the fire was still bright enough to show through, outlining her form beneath.

The room blurred around the edges of Adam’s vision, his breath growing heavy in his chest. His body felt restless, aching to touch her again, to run his hands over every curve and kiss every part of her that had ever felt pain. He’d told her he loved her, but he wanted to show her, wanted to give her every pleasure she deserved but had been denied for so long.

Belle paused mid-stretch, and turned towards him. He quickly looked away, breathing out slowly and trying to ignore the growing ache in his groin. She was dealing with so much right now, was in such a vulnerable place… he needed to keep these feelings to himself until she was ready.

He heard Belle draw closer and looked up. His candle cast shadows over her, highlighting every perfect feature in a warm glow. Her sleeve was dangerously close to falling off her shoulder, and Adam was dangerously close to internal combustion.

She twisted that loose strand of hair around her finger, tucking it behind her ear and looking up at him through her lashes. “Can I borrow this?” she asked, motioning to the candlestick in his hand.

Adam nodded, unable to form a coherent reply and hoping she hadn’t noticed… it.

Belle entered the cellar, taking the light with her and giving him a chance to recover. In an attempt to distract himself, he forced himself to recite one of the Shakespearean monologues he’d memorized decades ago:

My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, while she was in her dull and sleeping hour …

Adam frowned. This wasn’t helping.

“It’s cold down here,” Belle said, probably to herself, but his ears easily picked it up and his bizarre sixth sense could tell she was shivering even from here. Adam’s brain presented him with a number of creative ways in which he might warm her up.

He shook his head quickly, and tried a different play:

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt—

God. No. That was worse.

“Where are those at, again?” Belle called up to him.

“Um…” He cleared his throat roughly. “Top right shelf, I think?”

And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip …

Adam’s eyes grew wide. Definitely not that one.

He heard Belle climbing the ladder, grunting, and his traitorous brain pictured her stretching towards the far reaches of the shelf, bent over at the waist…

Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up …

Adam grabbed at the fur of his temples. Lord above, why couldn’t he think of a normal scene?

His brain had now gone completely rogue, picturing him holding her up while her fingers grazed the olive jar, paws sliding up her soft legs, parting them, a moan escaping her as his finger slipped between—

Adam stood up quickly, breathing out a fiery hot breath and stalking towards the front door. He yanked it open, letting the freezing night air cascade over him.

O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass!

GET OUT!! Adam roared at his mind. The prince cackled, gave a dramatic bow, and vanished.

It, on the other hand, showed no sign of leaving. Time to accept defeat. “Belle?” he called down. “I need to run out for a minute.”

“That’s fine!”

Adam breathed out slowly, leaning heavily against a tree a quarter mile from the house and standing knee-deep in the snow.

Here again?

Adam sighed. Here again.

Got things taken care of?

You're a prick.

The prince smirked, holding his arms out in front of him and casually adjusting two heavily embroidered cuffs. 

Adam raised a brow. You certainly calmed down.

A servant’s hands appeared from the shadows of his consciousness, dabbing heavy costume makeup on the prince’s face. I got an idea, he said, shrugging.

Adam had absolutely no interest in learning what that meant, preferring not to confirm his own clinical insanity.

But enough about me. Why are you still hiding this? What if she's ready to try again? You haven’t even asked her, and she’s clearly coming on to you.

Adam’s eyes widened, looking back towards the house. I don’t think… Was she?

The prince raised a brow. Did you go blind, old man?

Adam was now too distracted to tell him off. He bit his lip. She isn’t used to saying no. I don’t want to accidentally pressure her into anything. Don’t you remember what Lumiere said?

The prince scowled. Of course I remember.

“Little prince… listen close.”

“I’m not that little,” Adam grumbled. He was leaning against a wall, staring over the ballroom watching dozens of couples sweeping across the floor. It was an hour into his first dance and he’d already had enough awkward interactions to last a month. He’d thought this shadowed alcove a safe enough place to escape, but Lumiere had found him regardless. The man rested on the wall right beside him, holding a tray of tiny cakes just out of Adam’s reach.

“You are getting older and this is important,” Lumiere went on quietly. “I do not know of anyone else who will explain this to you.”

Adam wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, Lumiere. I know about that.”

“Not exactly what I was talking about, although … I can offer additional, ah, information as it becomes needed.”

Adam tried not to look too curious. Lumiere, on the other hand, looked … uncomfortable. It was weird. “What?” Adam asked, standing on his toes and reaching towards the tray.

Lumiere moved it away from him, distracted. He cleared his throat. “You are a very powerful man,” he said, sounding rehearsed, “and as such, there will be many who will obey you, or seek to, ah, please you… because they fear you.”

Outwardly, Adam rolled his eyes. Inwardly, he felt uneasy.

“That’s how they see you,” Lumiere pressed. “Do you understand me?”

Adam frowned. “Sure,” he said, not really understanding at all.

Lumiere stared at him, then dropped his head into his hand. “Sacre bleu, how are you this dense?”

“I’m twelve!” Adam crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look bigger than he was. “Lumiere, do you know who you’re talking to—”

Lumiere looked at him fiercely, and it was so unlike him that Adam fell quiet again. “I do know who I’m talking to. That’s why I’m telling you this.” He sucked in a tempered breath, resting his free hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Let me be blunt. It is difficult to say no to a prince. It is especially difficult for a girl who is unsure how you might react to her rejection.”

Finally, the pieces slipped together. “I’d never… I wouldn’t…” Adam’s chest felt heavy, hurt that Lumiere would think him capable of something so awful.

The man finally relaxed again, looking more like his normal, cheerful self. “I know you wouldn’t,” he said, finally lowering the cakes to Adam’s level. “But they don’t. So be cautious, my prince. Be very cautious.”

Adam blinked, looking back at the house. The memory alone was enough to calm him. The power of a prince had been replaced by the physical strength of this strange body, and yet Belle had chosen to trust him. He’d told Belle it was her choice, done everything he could to make her feel safe with him, but after all those years of never having a say… she might still struggle to refuse if he brought it up. When… if things began to progress again, she needed to be the one to start it.

She was still in the cellar when he went back inside. “Belle?” he called out, his mind conjuring up every kind of accident she could have had just as quickly as it had thought of… other things. Adam hurried down the steps, relieved to find her standing in the far corner, wrapped in a spare blanket and reading a faded label on a bottle of wine. Several others had been pulled to the front of the shelf beside her.

She looked up, startled. “Oh! Sorry.” She looked at the bottle and back at him, grimacing. “I was just… looking…”

She trailed off as he came beside her, reaching for the wine and holding it lightly in the palms of his hands. “Ah, a 1740 amber Pineau,” he said with a touch of flamboyance. “Sweet but clean on the palate, with a delectable meeting of grape with toasted wood. Pairs perfectly with, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Berries and olives. An excellent choice.”

Belle laughed softly behind her hand.

“Confiscated from the kitchens of Sir Hubert Hongnart,” he continued, having a little too much fun. “Infamous owner of one hundred hideous hats.”

She smiled warmly. “Confiscated is what we’re calling it now?”

He nearly broke character, but managed to keep it to a smile. “Would the mademoiselle like a taste?”

“Oh, I don’t know… ” Belle took it back from him carefully, biting her lip. “Are you sure? This is such a rare thing. I… I shouldn’t, especially after making such a fuss that time…”

“Belle.” He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “If you want to relax tonight, then relax. You deserve it.”

She blushed a little, holding the Pineau against her chest. “Well… if you insist,” she said, smiling.

He grinned, then reached to one of the top shelves and pulled out a small wooden crate. He slid back the lid, presenting two fine crystal sherry glasses packaged in paper.

Belle shook her head at him, eyes sparkling brighter than the glass. “I’m not even surprised by this anymore.”

“Oh,” he said, turning back to the shelves. “If we’re having wine then we must also have cheese…”

Belle chuckled. “This is turning into a second supper.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide after her first sip. “Oh, oh my! I didn’t realize wine could taste so good.” She laughed, looking into her glass. “This could be dangerous.”

Adam smiled a little, head propped up on his elbow while he reclined beside her. He wished he could treat Belle to all the truly extravagant things he’d once enjoyed and she never had. Unlike himself, she would have actually appreciated it. Deserved it.

Still, he had no desire to return to that life, even if he could take her with him. Living out here all these years, he’d discovered a predilection for the quietness of the woods, the gentle flickering of firelight in the evenings, the focus on the practical over the fashionable. No one telling him what to wear or where to go or what to say, every moment of every day. It had come with the price of regret and loneliness, but the latter at least was gone now that Belle was here with him.

Feeling warm and happy, Adam used his claw like a toothpick to skewer another olive. He popped it in his mouth, then finished off his glass and set it aside. Belle reached out to pour him another, but he waved it off. “I’m fine. You can enjoy the rest.”

“Well,” she said, leaning back against his chest and swirling the wine in her near-empty glass. “The problem is… I’m not sure I can.”

“Oh?”

She finished her drink and set it on the floor beside his. “The room is getting… fuzzy,” she said, giggling a little.

“So fast!” he cried.

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve done this, but… yes. I suppose I don’t hold it so well. Oh, this feels quite lovely, doesn’t it?” She reached to pour herself another one, apparently forgetting she had just decided against it.

Adam whisked the bottle away from her. She pouted but he just chuckled, reaching around her to pick up their glasses in his other hand before standing and heading back to their little kitchen. He uncorked the large water barrel that rested there, filled up both cups, and returned to her side. “Both of those, before another one. Don’t want a headache tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Belle said, letting her head fall sideways against him and giving him a saccharine smile. “You’re sweet.”

He snorted softly.

“Do you want something else?” she asked, twirling his fur around one finger. “I know this isn’t enough for you.”

“It’s okay…” he said, distracted by what she was doing. He cleared his throat and looked back up at her. “I want you to feel comfortable.”

She sat up abruptly, picked up a glass in each hand, and chugged them down one after the other like she’s been stranded for a month on a desert island. Adam bit down on his lips, fighting the urge to laugh.

“I’m not worried about that anymore,” she finally said, draping herself back over his chest. 

He brought his arm around her, brushing her cheek with his knuckle. “Really?”

She nodded, eyes closing as she tucked her arms beneath her and snuggled deeper into his fur. “You were so cute and cuddly last time.”

Adam’s mouth fell open. Look who’s talking!

Belle giggled, then hiccupped. Then giggled again.

“Well,” he said. “Now I’m definitely not having anymore.”

Adam had his head in Belle’s lap, humming happily. Three empty bottles of mead sat beside their plates, which were picked nearly clean of their array of finger foods.

Belle was tracing the features of his face, intrigued by the almost imperceptible purring that rumbled from his chest when she circled his ears. His fur was so soft here, and this close she could study the different colors within it. There was far more red than she’d realized and an almost-gold that together must be what gave it that subtle amber glow on sunny days. The more obvious grays around his horns were joined by a speckling of others across his chin and the space above his lip.

She touched them with her fingertips, and Adam’s eyes opened a little.

“I love you,” he crooned.

Belle smiled warmly. “I love you too.” She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Are you feeling all right?”

“M’hm,” he mumbled, turning and nuzzling against her stomach.

“A-ha! That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he said, letting his head fall back into her lap. He looked up at her with a sleepy smile. “I love you,” he said again, then furrowed his brows. “Did I say that already?”

Belle swallowed a laugh, touching his brows. They relaxed as she did, and he was smiling again. “You did,” she said warmly. “But I don’t mind if you say it twice.”

Until that moment she had never heard a giggle at a deep timbre. Lord, he was so darling like this. How was it possible that when he drank he was the complete opposite of—

“What’s the matter, Belle?”

She was back in that house, huddling on the floor of a closet, a hand pressed to her mouth to muffle her breathing.

“Too kind and gentle to fight back?”

Belle should have fought against the memory, forced it back into the caverns of her consciousness, but her mind was still muddled from wine and her nightmares still not so distant, and so she was sucked back to her past before she could stop it.

It had been six months since she'd agreed not to run anymore, six tortuous months of bowing to Gaston like he was her lord and king. She’d barely been able to eat, too great was her nausea. She’d barely been able to sleep, for she was too afraid of leaving herself vulnerable. She was barely a shell of her former self. How had she lost so much, so quickly?

“Come on out and fight!” Gaston hollered, liquor and dark delight coloring his voice.

Belle dug her fingers into her scalp, her breathing quick and erratic. She had been alone in a far corner of the house, quietly hemming a dress, when the shouting began. Having no idea what was wrong, she'd hidden in the closet hoping he would eventually give up.

A sudden shattering of glass rang through the house. Her body started to quake. What game was he playing at? His threats were the reason she'd become so submissive in the first place. What did he want from her now? What should she do?!

She couldn't decide before the closet flew open and he dragged her out into the room.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, unsure why she was apologizing. “I’m sorry. Please… I don’t understand…”

He hauled her to her feet, fists gripping the front of her dress and pulling painfully at her skin. “Not such a smart girl after all, are you?”

“…What?” she breathed. He wasn’t making any sense. He rarely did. Maybe he was right… maybe she was growing dull.

“Come on, Belle. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

She shook her head roughly, wide-eyed and trembling in his grasp.

The fire in his eyes finally faded. “Ugh. You’re a bore,” he said, shoving her away and tromping back the way he’d come. “It’s no wonder nobody likes you.”

Belle felt like she'd taken a shot to the chest. She brought her hand there, gripping the fabric over her heart, reminded once again that she was completely alone.

Gaston stopped in the doorway with his back to her, lowering his voice. “Should’ve listened to my boys when they told me to forget about you.”

Time stopped. The dark room seemed to tilt. Belle's fear and hurt melted away as a sudden fury ignited in her chest. Had he really destroyed her life, destroyed everything she'd once been, just to toss her away after a couple years? All the pain she’d buried in her heart leapt out in an instant. “How—” she gasped, unable to stop herself. “How dare you!”

Gaston slowly turned around. He was grinning.

“Mmph, Cesar…”

Belle blinked herself back to the present, feeling the little feline forcing his way between them. He nudged his way beneath Belle’s hand where it rested on Adam’s head, demanding pets.

Adam, who had since dozed off, cracked one eye open. “I was here first,” he grunted, grabbing Cesar around the middle and depositing him in a puddle of blankets in front of the fire. Cesar mewed in defiance, but Adam had already turned his attention back to Belle. “You okay?” he asked, sobering a little and reaching for her hand. As he did, Belle realized it had been clenched in a tight fist.

She relaxed her fingers at once, forcing a smile. “Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, not wanting to spoil his pleasant mood. But it was too late, it seemed, for he looked at her with eyes crinkled with worry. “I’m just tired,” she insisted. “That’s all. Truly.”

He sat up out of her lap, and Belle felt she’d done something wrong until he lifted up the blankets beside him in invitation. She crawled inside, letting him wrap her completely in his arms and touch her face much like she’d just being doing to his. Cesar crept back towards them, weaving his way between them and curling up against Belle’s stomach.

Belle closed her eyes, soothed by Adam’s touch. She listened to Cesar’s gentle purring and the crackling fire. Felt the rhythm of Adam’s chest change as he fell back to sleep, his hand growing limp in her hair.

It was too good to be real, but it was. It was. I’m not in that house anymore, she reminded herself. I’m here now. I’m free.

Free? You've trapped yourself with another man!

Belle was wondering when the teenager dwelling within her mind would appear again. She stood there now, in a beautiful butter-yellow gown Belle had never seen before, arms folded over her chest and a scowl on her face.

I’m not trapped, Belle told her. I love Adam, and I want to be here.

But you've only known him a few months. Can you really trust him yet?

Listen to how he speaks to me. See how he cares for me.

Gaston also tried to impress you at first.

Belle frowned. That wasn’t the same at all. Gaston’s ways of impressing her were catered to his own desires with no consideration of her own. With Adam… he didn’t have ulterior motives, didn’t pressure her into anything. He simply made her happy, and enjoyed her as a person. He was her friend.

Y-you … you hardly know anything about his past. He was a prince! He didn’t care about you then, and he only cares now because he doesn’t have any other options.

Belle’s heart sank a little, but she took a measured breath. No, he really loves me. He does. He said I was the one he was supposed to find… She smiled a little, remembering that night on the mountain when the truth had come out. He’d been so raw, so real. He’d meant what he said.

Do you honestly think he would choose to be with some broken-hearted peasant if he had any other choice? You're lucky the curse can’t be broken. If it could, he’d leave you in a heartbeat.

An ugly feeling gnawed at her chest. This part of herself could be so terribly cruel. Please go away…

No one loves you. No one even likes you. Why would he be any different?

Belle wrapped her arms around herself, trying to squeeze the discomfort back into the caverns of her chest where it couldn’t bother her so much. She knew… she knew the voice was wrong. Why then was it making her feel so terrible?

With care, she shifted out of Adam’s arms, not wanting to wake him. Then she glanced at the bottle of wine sitting nearby, considering it for a long moment before reaching out and pouring the rest into her glass.

You're pathetic.

All right. That’s it, Belle thought fiercely, setting the glass down and shifting so she was sitting cross-legged before the fire. She grabbed her knees, steeling herself. First of all, you need to lay off Adam. I love him and I won’t tolerate you making baseless claims about him.

The girl grew pale. But I’m only trying to—

Second of all… Belle thought of what Adam had told her earlier that evening. I am not pathetic for taking a night to relax. I’ve been through hell, and I deserve a rest.

Relax? Rest?! the girl cried, regaining her fighting spirit and throwing out an arm. You have things to do, places to see! Time is running out!

Belle frowned. Good grief, I’m not that old…

The girl clenched her fists, her jaw. One booted foot tapped rapidly against the ground and… her eyes. They were filled with tears.

Belle’s heart softened in an instant. You’re scared, she realized at once. You’re scared… that what happened before is going to happen again.

The girl’s tension melted away. I… she began. The tears spilled out slowly at first, then quickly, thin streams flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. I have s-so many dreams, and you… you haven’t lived any of them, she said, choking on her words. What’s the point of my life if you’re not even living it?

Everything this voice had tried to convince her to do, its harsh and unrelenting criticisms… finally, it made sense. For the first time, Belle looked at her younger self and understood her. Yes, she was arrogant, stubborn, and quick to judge, but she was also bright and fearless, unafraid to be herself, brimming with hopes and dreams… dreams that had been crushed into dust. How badly that must have hurt her. How frightened she must feel having no control over her own future.

Belle imagined taking her hand. The girl looked away, squeezing her eyes shut.

I’ve had some adventures already, Belle told her gently. I… I protected our village, all alone. I survived and escaped my captor. I’ve traveled to the top of a mountain where few have stepped foot, overlooked the valleys and forests blanketed with snow, the stars glimmering in all of their splendor…

Young Belle looked at her, eyes wide. I guess that’s true…

And I've found love. Didn’t you dream of that once too?

The girl shrugged a bit reluctantly.

It’s a new love, and nothing is for certain, but… there’s so much I still have to learn about him. So much we still have to experience together. Belle brought a hand to her heart, feeling it beat beneath her chest. Not the rapid, nervous beatings that she’d grown so used to… but a strong, steady drumming that filled her with warmth and hope. Things are just beginning. I’m taking a season to heal, and the adventures are starting a little later than you wanted, but… there’s still plenty of time. And I haven’t forgotten about you.

The girl sniffed, looking away and absently rearranging her skirts.

That's a beautiful gown. Going somewhere fun?

And, for the first time in years, the girl in her mind smiled. Just a little. Well, there was this dance…

Go on, then, Belle said, squeezing her hand. I’ll be all right.

Chapter Text

The girl who lived in Belle’s mind had wandered into someone else’s dreams.

She was standing alone at the edge of a grand ballroom. Dim sconces flickered along mirrored walls filled with faceless, drifting figures. Guests spun, grasped hands, changed partners in a smooth sequence Belle struggled to follow.

She reached for her head, feeling dizzy. The air in here was thick and hot, almost as suffocating as the cacophony of chatter and music.

“Mademoiselle.”

She turned, seeing a face with more features than the others but still blurred, as though someone had brushed their fingers over half-dry paint. Still, his debonair smile was clear enough, and it put her at ease.

“It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that I welcome you tonight,” he said warmly, presenting a tray with an assortment of colorful drinks.

“O-oh! Um, thank you,” she said, taking one of the sparkling glasses and feeling completely out of her element. “But… I’m no one, really.”

He hummed deeply. “That is not what I’ve been told.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say. He must be mistaking her for someone.

“There is much to explore within the castle, if dancing does not suit you,” he offered. Then, before she could reply, he gave her a wink and disappeared within the chattering crowds.

“… and,” came a new voice, “he’ll only stand for a single dance each night.” 

Belle turned. A small group of girls had gathered close by, whispering amongst themselves. She inched a little closer, keeping within the shadows.

“Just one?” the shortest of them asked, sounding disappointed.

“I’m afraid so,” said the first, wearing an enormous, glittering wig. Like the rest, her face was too blurred to discern, but she sounded like the kind of person who wore a perpetual sneer. “However” she went on. “Sometimes His Highness will lead his partner in a private dance afterward.”

The others turned to one another, gasping. Belle rolled her eyes. Of course it was him.

“He is not inclined to produce such requests,” she continued. “But very keen on accepting them. You must ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” the shortest one said, hands pressed to her cheeks as she shook her head.

“You don't have time to be timid,” chimed the girl beside her. “You must be bold, daring!”

Her cheeks grew bright, and the rest of them giggled.

“Yes, well,” continued their ringleader. “He’s a bit sickly beneath those coats, I’ll admit, but the way he works a woman’s body… he could be Quasimodo and I wouldn’t say no!”

Sharp trills of laughter pierced the air. Belle frowned, thinking them unkind. She moved away.

Remembering the footman’s suggestion, she left the grand ballroom to wander the castle. She was watched by the eyes of ceiling-high portraits, followed by the heads of guests gathered in dark alcoves. She grit her teeth, feeling increasingly anxious. What exactly was she doing here? This wasn’t the dream she’d wished for. She’d wanted the prince from her book, not the cruel one she’d found in the carriage. And attending a dance seemed like a terrible idea in retrospect. She disliked crowds, knew no one, and clearly didn’t belong. Perhaps she’d be better off going home.

She’d decided to do just that when a voice floated down the dark hall.

“And why not death, rather than living torment?”

Belle stopped, backtracking a few steps and glancing into the large parlor she’d just passed. The door was ajar, so she pushed it open slowly and poked her head inside. A small crowd had gathered in the dim room, some reclining lazily on couches, others more attentive to what appeared to be an impromptu show. A young man stood on a small platform stage at the front of the room, illuminated in candlelight, skin powdered and eyes framed by a painted mask. His face, unlike the others, was perfectly clear.

“To die is to be banished from myself. And Sylvia…” He looked up and caught sight of Belle in the doorway. “Sylvia…” he said again, reaching a hand towards her. “…is myself.”

He watched her for another long moment, before dropping his arm and turning back to the small crowd. Belle’s heart fluttered in her chest, her face and neck growing flush. She slipped carefully into the room, taking refuge in a shadowy corner.

He continued the monologue in a baritone voice that carried over the room, strong and warm. “What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if—” He coughed, bringing his hand up quickly to cover his mouth. Belle sucked in an breath. She glanced around the room, but no one else seemed concerned. Some of them even exchanged cruel looks of amusement. Belle grit her teeth, looking back at the young man as he continued.

“…if Silvia be not by?” he managed at last.

Belle found herself inching along the wall towards the stage, wanting a closer look at him. He was tall, but not towering, his face and neck gaunt in a way that contrasted the breadth of his shoulders. His eyes were blue, but bloodshot, muting their color. They were the only part of him that seemed real beneath the heavy makeup and crisp white wig.

“She is my essence, and I leave to be.. If I be not by her fair influence… Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept…”

He stopped again, grasping his chest. Belle grew worried, more worried than she should have for this stranger. He looked like he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut, swallowing hard. Not only a physical pain, it seemed, but something deeper. Desperate. Perhaps it was part of his performance, but it seemed impossible that he was only acting.

“…kept… alive.” He looked up as he said it, catching her eyes immediately, as if he’d been following her movement. For a moment, the guests faded in her view, quieting, and they seemed to be the only two people in a room. Her stomach filled with butterflies, and her hands gripped the wall’s stucco, needing something to steady herself.

He smiled a little, then turned and finished the monologue as the crowds around them returned. Belle hung on his every word.

He responded to the scattered applause with a sweeping bow. Another took his place as he bounded off the platform and weaved his way towards her. There was a boyishness to it that belied the dramatic performance, and Belle found herself giggling nervously.

“You made it,” he said, smiling and looking a little breathless.

“Oh…” Belle’s own smile fell away and she flushed in embarrassment, realizing now why he had been watching her. “I’m sorry. I’m— so sorry. You’ve mistaken me for someone.” She turned to go, berating herself for having not done so earlier.

She felt his fingers brush her shoulder, and turned around. “But don’t you remember,” he said, pulling his hand back. “We’ve met before.”

“We… we have?”

“Once upon a dream,” he said with a dramatic flair, returning briefly to his stage persona.

“I’m sorry?”

His expression turned mischievous. “You were mean to me in my carriage,” he said, leaning a little closer. “Belle.”

She gasped. “You’re the—!”

“Shhh,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to hover over her mouth. He glanced behind him, eying the other guests. “I would prefer to go unrecognized as long as possible.”

Belle should have been irritated. Her mysterious orator nothing more that the hateful prince himself. And while she was a little perturbed, she also found herself intrigued. Why would a cruel prince give such a lovely recitation? He was suddenly a mystery, too many things at once that shouldn’t exist within the same person. And Belle loved a good mystery.

No, no, she chided herself. So what if he had a honeyed voice… and was, quite literally, a prince in disguise. He was still a selfish royal who could never truly care about her. Not without a curse, anyway. This was probably some game to him.

He turned back to her, offering an arm. I’m on to you, she thought, taking it cautiously. He smiled in an annoyingly charming way, and guided them out into the hall.

“I wasn’t mean,” she whispered. She thought back to the things she’d said in the carriage, and… well, perhaps she had been a bit harsh. But he probably deserved it.

“It’s all right. I deserved it,” he said, as though he’d read her very thoughts. He stopped walking and sucked in a shaky breath, his shoulders growing tense. “I’m… sorry,” he said, glancing at her before looking away again. “For the things I said then. I’m really sorry.”

Belle was shocked. He was… apologizing?

Suspicious.

She pulled away, folding her arms and cocking her head at him. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

The prince deflated. “You really aren’t going to let me off so easily, are you?”

“Nope.”

He sighed. “I didn’t mean to assume… I only thought…” He tugged off his gloves, wringing them in his hands. After a moment, he huffed out a breath. “Look. Almost every time I get approached by someone at one of these things it’s because they want…” He grimaced, waving a hand vaguely. “You know.” He brought the hand to the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. It was oddly endearing.

Belle shook her head, banishing the thought. “How dreadful it must be to have so many admirers,” she said.

The prince gave her an exasperated look, and Belle had to swallow a laugh. He stepped back, leaning against the wall and tucking the gloves in his coat pocket. “It’s a great burden, I’ll have you know,” he said, playing with the rings on his fingers and clearly trying not to smile.

Belle bit back her own. “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

He sighed and let his hands fall to his sides, looking away from her and into the dark hallway. “I know what they say about me,” he said quietly. “But I’m not like… that, anymore. Unfortunately, it’s a bit harder to undo a reputation than it is to make one.”

She really is a funny girl, that Belle.

“I understand,” she found herself saying.

“My prince! Is that you?”

“Damn it,” he grumbled, plastering on a strained smile and turning towards the new voice.

The gossip with the dazzling wig stood before them. Her robe à la française put Belle’s gown to shame, with its intricate embroidery and hips nearly as wide as the girl was tall. Her face was still unclear, features now shifting in and out of highly uncanny forms. “It seems they let anyone into this party,” she said, looking towards Belle with her nose in the air.

The prince’s eyes slid back to Belle. He seemed amused. “You’re right…”

So this is it, she thought, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment. I knew it. He won’t pretend to care about me with his friends around—

He looked back at the girl, cocking his head. “Just how did you get in here, Lady Margarette?”

Both girls gaped at him in shock.

“I…” Lady Margarette took a steadying breath, shaking off the embarrassment. “My prince,” she continued sweetly. “I only meant that you need not offer… charity to these…” She looked back towards Belle, sniffing once. “People.”

Belle’s face grew hot. Was it that obvious she didn’t belong here? She opened her mouth, willing herself to say something, but for some cursed reason she came up empty.

The prince shoved himself off the wall and stepped between them, glaring down at the noblewoman. “You forget your place,” he snarled.

“But my prince, they’ll only take advantage of you,” the girl went on, unperturbed, voice nasally and dripping like syrup. “Didn’t you say so yourself?”

His anger fell away, shoulders falling. He looked at the ground. “I… should never have said that.” He sucked in a breath and turned, slowly, meeting Belle’s eyes. “I should never have said any of it. I was… wrong.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be spoiled, selfish, and unkind. He’d said so himself.

“Your Highness, why so serious?” asked the noblewoman. “This isn’t like you.”

The prince’s expression grew dark. He closed his eyes. “You don’t know what I’m like.”

As if Belle weren’t even there, the girl snaked her delicate hand through his arm and rested it on his chest, standing on her toes behind him so she could whisper in his ear. He stiffened.

“Why don’t I get to know you better then, mm?” she purred.

The prince’s right brow started twitching. He took a slow, measured breath. “Lady Margarette?” he said coolly.

“Yes?”

“Would you, most kindly, fuck off?”

Belle’s mouth nearly fell to the floor. The other girl gave an indignant whimper, pulling away and pouting like a child who hadn’t gotten their way.

Belle, meanwhile, had to cover her mouth, amusement playing at her lips. What is wrong with me? she thought. He was mean, and he was coarse… and unrefined! And yet he’d been that way to defend her.

Huh.

“You okay?” he asked. His anger had vanished with Lady Margarette, and it left him looking tired.

“Yes,” Belle said. “I’m… used to it.”

His eyes turned sad, and Belle feared it was pity. “I see what you mean now,” she said quickly, wishing to change the subject. “She was quite tenacious.” Belle paused, glancing back at the girl who appeared completely unaffected by the prince’s scolding as she bat her eyes at her newest victim. “Frankly, I’m little impressed.”

A sudden laugh burst from the prince. It was genuine and bright, and Belle found it hard not to smile at the sound of it.

A slender young man in a beribboned waistcoat walked past next, slowing at the sight of them. He gave Belle an indifferent glance before aiming a cheeky look at the prince. His Highness, who’s ears had grown quite red, gave a subtle shake of his head. The other boy simply smiled, winked at him, and sauntered away.

Belle watched the interaction with great curiosity.

The prince dropped his head into his hand and heaved a great sigh before looking up at Belle through his fingers. “Do you want to get out of here?”

She raised a brow at him.

“Not like that!” he said quickly, shaking his hands in front of him. “I just… I can’t breathe in here. And I think I got paint in my eye.” He rubbed at it with the heel of his hand.

Belle was more than a little curious to see the face beneath his painted mask. She hadn’t gotten a good look in the carriage, after all. “Sure.”

He offered her his arm again, and— well, truth be told, it was nice being with a gentleman, so she took it with less hesitation than before. He walked them in the opposite direction of the party, the guests slowly thinning out around them and the chaos finally stilling in her ears. She could feel her body finally start to relax, breathing in the sounds of rain on the windows, the long shadows cast by flickering candles. They entered a large hall with cathedral-like ceilings, disappearing into the shadows above. Belle looked up at them, marveling.

“I am sorry for what I said about them,” the prince said, breaking their silence.

She tore her eyes from the room, looking back at him.

“My people, I mean,” he said. “God, sometimes I just— it’s like my brain just breaks. I turn into an absolute ass. Or rather, I turn into…” He stopped, and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t want excuses, I imagine.”

“Not particularly,” she said. “Though I am curious. Why say such things, if you don’t mean them?”

“I…” He grimaced. “It’s complicated. Tonight I’d gotten a little lost in this memory, but the truth is I still just get so… angry when I see the villagers— n-not you! Just, the others, because… um…” He trailed off and looked away, hugging his stomach with his free arm.

Belle didn’t think he seemed angry at all, certainly nothing like the mood he’d displayed with Lady Margarette. Instead, he looked rather nervous, and maybe even… sad. Belle felt a sudden, strange urge to cheer him up.

“Well,” she said, “to be honest, I don’t much like the villagers either.”

He blinked, his eyes clearing of their fog as he looked down at her. “You don’t?”

“Not the ones in my village, anyway.” She heaved out a great sigh. “They’re so boring. Every day’s like the one before, just this little town full of poor, provincial people.”

The prince’s brows flew up. “And you called me uncaring?”

“What? I’m not… I’m just…” Oh Lord, that did sound rather arrogant, didn’t it?

The prince was smirking. She took her arm back with a huff and stalked off into the dark hall. He laughed, catching up easily before turning around to walk backwards beside her. “See, Belle?” he said, hands tucked in his pockets as he leaned into her path. “We do have something in common!”

This is what she gets for being nice to him! “I’m going home,” she pouted, ducking past him.

He stopped walking. “But there’s still the last dance.”

Belle stopped a few paces ahead of him. “Well, then. You should go ask one of your admirers.”

“I’m asking you.”

She bit her lip, and turned back.

“You’re the only one I’ll dance with now,” he said softly.

Belle grew warm at the implication, intentional or not. Perhaps she should give him a chance. After all, she knew she would come to care for him— or rather, she already had…

She reached for her head. This was all very confusing.

“Are you well?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, waving off his concern. “It’s just, um… I don’t know how. To dance, that is.”

“I can teach you.” He brightened. “You’re quick. You’ll pick it up in no time. Although… we might need to find you some better shoes.”

Belle frowned, a little embarrassed by the boots hiding beneath her dress. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t afford anything better given the economic state of your kingdom—”

“It’s a princedom, first of all,” he said, raising a finger.

“Oh! You are infuriating.”

“Also, what explains the gown, then? It’s stunning.”

Belle had opened her mouth for another retort but stopped, caught off guard. “Oh. Well, I made it,” she confessed, feeling unexpectedly flattered. She’d had ample time trapped in that mind of hers, after all. “But it’s nothing compared to the others, certainly not in the latest style—”

“Hold on— you made it?” he said, eyes growing wide.

Her confidence fell a little. He must think me so far beneath him, to have to sew my own—

“That’s amazing! Wow… I can’t do anything nearly as amazing as that.”

Belle blinked, blindsided again by his response. She was about to give up on the mystery of him. It seemed impossible to solve. “Don’t you speak some ten languages?” she asked.

“Only six,” he said, as if that were any less impressive. “And once you learn one the rest become progressively easier. Besides, I only learned so many because—” He stopped himself. He seemed to do this a lot. “Well, anyway, everything I can do is so bookish. I can’t do anything interesting with my hands.”

If Lady Margarette was to be believed, that certainly wasn’t true. Belle cleared her throat. “Well. I think being bookish sounds rather delightful.”

He looked surprised, then glanced away and smiled.

“Anyway,” she went on, ignoring how stupidly adorable that was. “I’m, unfortunately, not a cobbler. So the outfit remains incomplete.”

He laughed, but not unkindly. “Boots do sound more comfortable than these dumb things,” he said, lifting one foot to show the thick-heeled dress shoes. “I bet your feet aren’t hurting at all.”

Belle made a face. “You wear shoes that make your feet hurt? Isn’t that… kind of the opposite of what they’re supposed to do?”

“You would think, wouldn’t you.”

“Why wear them, then?”

“Oh.” He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t… I don’t really get a say in that.”

“You’re a prince… but you’re not free to make your own choices?” she asked. “About shoes?”

He grimaced, and didn’t seem inclined to go on.

“Do you even want to be here?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then back towards the ballroom. “At this party? No. I’m sick of these things. They’re exhausting… Hey, don’t laugh!”

Belle covered her mouth, grinning beneath her palm. Oh, the poor prince must endure so many parties!

“They are exhausting, I’ll have you know,” he grumbled. “First of all, I have to wear these blasted shoes for ten hours straight,” he said, counting off on his fingers. “The second reason— you’ve already witnessed,” he said, glancing a little warily back the way they’d come. “And third,” he went on, turning back to her. “If I’m not being tortured by reason number two it’s because I’m stuck somewhere enduring dull, or worse, awkward conversation with a stranger somebody is trying to wed me to.”

Belle’s smile fell away. “Oh, I didn’t—”

New voices entered the hall, breaking the peaceful quiet from before. They glanced back together to see another young woman entering the hall in a gown that dwarfed even Margarette’s and a wig so tall it brushed the doorway on her way in.

“Speak of the devil,” the prince groaned. He looked around frantically, and caught sight of the giant curtained windows. “Come on,” he hissed, starting in that direction then stopping, turning back and holding out his hand.

Belle considered it for a moment. She shouldn’t take it… but she wanted to.

Oh, he was beguiling!

The voices were growing louder as the small entourage of guests moved further into the hall. And so she accepted his offer and they crept hand-in-hand towards the windows, the prince walking awkwardly on his toes to avoiding the sharp clack-clack of his heels. He drew the heavy curtains open, revealing a large windowsill with just enough room for two.

Belle couldn’t ignore the spark of excitement in her chest. Good grief, she thought, pretending she wasn’t having the time of her life as she used his hand as leverage to hop onto the windowsill. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder then stepped up beside her, tugging the curtains back and enfolding them in darkness.

It wouldn’t have been such a tight fit, but for her many petticoats. She struggled to contain them, worried about creating a bulge in the curtains and revealing their hiding place.

The prince dropped her hand, and Belle tried to ignore the way her heart fell with it. But then he bent over, hands running down her skirts, and it rose again like thunder in her chest. He gathered the bulk of her dress in his arms and pulled it between his knees, pinning it in place.

“I mean, really,” said a high-pitched voice, muffled by the curtains. “It’s no concern of mine whether they have… what was it again?”

“Um… food?” someone offered helpfully.

“Ha! They really should have thought of that before they became peasants!”

Belle bristled.

“Tonight’s pick,” the prince said quietly. “Is the Archduchess Maria Antonia of Austria. Her family tree is quite, er… festive.”

Belle’s anger was placated by the peculiar statement. And also, possibly, by their intimate proximity. “Festive?”

The party was very close now, their movement rustling the bottoms of the curtains. The prince leaned closer still, his breath warm against her cheek. “A wreath,” he whispered.

Half a laugh escaped Belle before she clasped a hand over her mouth.

The Archduchess and her party quieted for one heart-pounding moment. Then their voices rose again and slowly faded as they left the grand hall. Belle and the prince both sighed in relief, then shook with a shared laughter that rustled the curtains.

He’d gotten her to let her guard down, and Belle wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He also smelled ridiculously good, and it was making it hard for her to think straight. She gazed up at the ceiling-high window, distracting herself by watching the raindrops race down its surface. It really wasn’t helping how romantic it was under the gentle moonlight, listening to the soft sounds of rain outside.

She cleared her throat. “So,” she said, turning back to him. “Is your family tree much better, Your Highness?”

“Um, yes,” he said, feigning indignation. “My mother wasn’t even French.”

Wasn’t. Not isn’t. Belle felt a tug of familiarity. She shook the feeling away. “Where was she from?”

“Take a guess.”

She frowned. “That’s going to be a little difficult given all… this,” she said, motioning to his painted face and wig.

“Oh, yeah.” He tugged the wig off and shook his hair free. “Does that help?”

Even ruffled, his hair was glorious. Thick waves of auburn, and so shiny that resisting the urge to run her fingers through it was physically uncomfortable. In fact, it sort of reminded her of…

Belle sucked in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat, then attempted to take an objective look at him. She considered the reddish tint in his fur— hair! hair— and those deep blue eyes set in a broad face. The patch of freckles she’d seen earlier spotting the back of his hand. “Scotland?” she guessed.

He grinned a little. “Aye, lassy.”

Belle brightened. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ve never been, though. My father thought her family was…” A darkness crossed his eyes, and he huffed out a sigh. “Never mind.”

Belle frowned. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Cut yourself off. You had something else you wanted to say, didn’t you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You’re quite forthright, did you know that?”

“Yes.”

After staring at her for a long moment, he smiled in a lopsided way. Then he hopped off the windowsill and let her skirts go free again, smoothing them out with his hands. It was sweet, and almost… kind. But he wasn’t supposed to be kind!

“Hold on,” he said, his hands stilling as he squinted at her dress. He turned and tugged one curtain back, crouching down to examine her hem.

Belle flushed. “Um…”

“This is fabulous!” he said, fingertips brushing over the small designs she’d stitched into the fabric. He traced the green, swirling vines, examined the dark red roses that slowly opened and closed in sequence around her hem. “It’s so delicate. This must have taken ages.”

Belle scowled. “You’re making fun of me.”

“What? No I’m not.” He looked up, confusion tugging at his brow. “Why would you think that?”

Because everyone makes fun of me. “I don’t know.”

He returned to studying her gown, and soon a spark of interest crossed his face. Belle knew then that he’d noticed it: a small bird stitched in yellow thread that blended into the fabric, trapped among the roses. Thorns piercing its wings.

“You’ve seen far better patterns than this,” she said, wishing she hadn’t given him so long to study them. “Your own sleeves, for instance.”

“But these don’t mean anything,” he said, glancing briefly at the silver-laced leaves wrapping his cuffs before returning his gaze to her dress. He held the edge of it reverently in his hands now, like a prayer cloth.

“You think it means something?” she asked softly.

The prince was quiet for several long, heart-pounding moments. “Your roses… are they love, or romance?” he finally asked.

Belle felt a heat rush into her cheeks. “Love.”

“Then… I think they’re your love for your father, and your village. It trapped you there.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“The bird,” he continued, still studying it. “You matched the thread to your gown. It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking closely.” He reached out and touched it, softly. “You felt invisible. Like your pain went unnoticed.”

When he looked up at her, shadows from the rain dripped down his face like tears.

Belle felt real tears touch the corners of her eyes. She felt touched, but vulnerable; attracted, but confused. No one had ever seen her like this before. No one had ever understood her, and he did in mere moments without her even having to explain.

I just don't see how a boy who says such wonderful things … could be bad.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, dropping her skirt like it had burned him. He stood and glanced away, grinding his teeth together. When he looked back, it was with a sneering smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a slight turn to his lip like he was thinking of a private joke. He pulled his shoulders back too far and folded his arms over his chest, scoffing. “Still have sappy monologues on the brain,” he said. He gave a short, hollow laugh. “It’s just a dress.”

He’d become an entirely different person, and Belle didn’t like it. She wished for the other boy back.

No… she would get him back.

Placing her hands on her hips, she scowled at him from her perch. “Why do you do that?”

“Lord!” he cried. “What have I done this time?”

Belle motioned to his face. “Put on a mask.” He touched the paint around his eyes, but she shook her head. “Not that. I meant the way you pretend to be someone you’re not.”

He startled, and the mask started to melt away.

“You don’t have to hide around me,” she said, letting go of her sternness. “I liked who you were just now.”

He stared at up her, unblinking. “You did?”

“Very much so.”

Something in him changed. His shoulders relaxed. His eyes grew soft at the corners. The sneer was gone and it left him looking younger, dearer. And so unsure.

“I… I don’t know why I do it,” he said, swallowing hard. “I guess it’s because… Ah! I don’t know.”

Belle waited, hoping he would say more.

He sucked in a breath. “I just don’t want anyone to get too, um… close, is all.”

“Why?”

“Because… I don’t know,” he said again. Belle caught a panic in his eyes before he looked away.

Belle hadn’t expected this reaction at all. Something else was going on here— something he hadn’t shared with her in the real world. She wished she knew what, but felt it wrong to ask when he already seemed so anxious.

Instead, she reached out her hands. He looked surprised, then took them slowly, supporting her as she hopped off the ledge.

“How are you doing this?” he asked, staring at her.

“Doing what?”

He took a deep breath, then huffed a strand of hair out of his eyes, looking away. “Making me spill my stupid guts.”

“I’ve hardly done anything. Now, come on,” she said, dropping one hand and dragging him along by the other. “I’m dying to see that face.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Belle,” he said, following her lead despite the fact she had no idea where she was going. “But I’m relatively average, other than an overabundance of freckles.”

Belle frowned. “What’s wrong with freckles?”

“I mean, nothing generally. Yours, for instance? Adorable. Like a little fairy came and dusted you with cinnamon.”

Belle slowed her paced, surprised. She usually disliked it when people commented on her appearance, but… no one had ever said something like that. It made her smile a little imagining it.

“Me, on the other hand? Just drenched in the stuff.”

Belle chuckled. It rang off the high ceilings and echoed all around them. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, horrified to have made such a ruckus.

“It’s all right,” the prince said. He stepped away, curling both hands around his mouth and shouting a booming BONJOUR! into the great hall.

“BONJOUR! Bonjour! bonjour! boujour!” replied the buttresses.

Belle brightened. She stepped beside him and whistled her best finch call. The hall seemed to fill with songbirds.

She smiled and looked back at the prince, but he had grown somber. “Sacre dieu, that was…” He breathed in deeply. “Can you do that again?”

She did, adding the sweet song of a nightingale. The hall changed as it answered her, the long pillars turning to poplars, the buttresses their branches tangled against a starry sky.

“Is that what is sounds like?” the prince asked softly. He had closed his eyes. “Outside. In the forest.”

“It’s far lovelier than that. Have you never been?”

He sucked in his lips, and looked at her. “I was really little. I don’t remember much.”

Belle thought of the paintings she’d seen in the hall. Royal families, one after another, filling the walls. “Adam, what—” She flushed. “Your Highness, I mean…”

“Adam’s fine,” he said, voice cracking a little.

Belle grew a little warm. She stepped closer, and placed a hand on his arm. “What happened to your parents? Big You… he never talks about it.”

He was staring at her hand. “They, um…” He looked away, and shook his head. “I don’t talk about it either.”

In truth, Belle didn’t much like speaking of her own mother. “I understand.”

He looked a little surprised, then raised a brow. “Big Me? Really?”

“Well, what do you call him?”

“The Beast,” he said, brushing his hand through the air like he were announcing the scene of a play.

Belle frowned. “That’s horrible. And hardly accurate.”

His face lit up. “Ah-ha! So you do fancy him!” he cried, bursting into laughter.

“That’s not—” She started chuckling, for his laughter was far too contagious. “That’s not what I said!”

“Where’s that damn enchantress?” he cried, shaking a fist at the ceiling. “Curse me already!”

More laughter rolled out of her. “That,” she gasped, “is not funny!”

And yet neither of them could stop, hugging their aching stomachs and filling the forested hall with a chorus of giggles.

“Wait,” Adam said suddenly. He glanced behind them and grew still. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I think I hear my guards…”

Belle listened, and heard it too. Distant footfalls, and the rattling of armor.

“I ditched them in the gardens an hour ago,” he explained. He looked back up at the woodland vision of his dreams, now fading away, and sighed. “We should go.”

And so they did, fleeing down the darkest passageway hand in hand.

Chapter Text

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, stroking her chest and catching the fabric of her deep neckline. He pulled at it gently, tracing the curve of her breast.

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. His other hand had dipped beneath her bodice, cradling her breast.

Belle’s head fell back against him, her breath hollow. He leaned down and kissed the top of her shoulder, drawing his thumb up at the same time and brushing it, featherlight, over her nipple.

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.

Chapter Text

When the prince opened his eyes, he could breathe, the Beast was still dreaming, and Belle was holding his hand. She’d fallen asleep against him, her head resting on his arm. The rose lay beside her, resting between her fingers, as though she’d been holding it, too, while drifting off.

If this was real, he would have been in legitimately serious trouble for taking one of Godmother’s flowers. But it wasn’t, and that old witch was never in this memory anyway. In fact, soon the Beast would wake, and everything would vanish. Reset, as it always did.

He looked down at Belle, with a terrible thought. Would they reset too?

No… she remembered the first dream, in the carriage. Surely she would remember this one. He relaxed again, but kept his gaze on her. She had actually wanted to do… that with him last night! He couldn’t believe things had gone so far, so quickly. They had just met, after all… and yet at the same time, they hadn’t? It felt like nostalgia. He couldn’t describe it.

Adam brought a hand to his head. His brain hurt. He sighed and looked out the window. The black of night had grown to a deep blue, and he could just make out the horizon. The stars above were rapidly fading.

Belle shifted beside him, blinking her eyes open. She looked down at their joined hands. “I’m still here,” she said, then looked up at him. She reached over and rested her hand on his chest. “How are you feeling?”

His collar was still open, and her fingertips rested lightly among the hairs on his chest. “Much better,” he said, praying she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating.

Belle smirked. She definitely felt it.

She pulled her hand away and he felt a sharp twinge of disappointment. But then she plucked up her skirts, stepped across him, and sat squarely in his lap.

Belle smiled demurely and rearranged her petticoats with care, as if she was simply sitting down for brunch and not straddling him half dressed. When she was finished, she rested her hands on the back of his neck and cocked her head. “Is this all right?”

Something wild within her, indeed! He had never been so quickly aroused. “Y-yes,” he said hoarsely. God above, what was wrong with him? You’d think he’d never done this before!

And it was then that Adam considered the possibility that this Belle had.

The cruel part of him thought he shouldn’t let some wanton country girl have the upper hand on him like this. Adam promptly told that part to go to hell.

Still, it had knocked some of the sense back into him and he finally moved his lovestruck limbs and sat up. “You are not what I expected,” he murmured, pulling her against him.

“I’m just full of surprises.”

They snickered, which was so delightfully new to the prince. He had never laughed with anyone else in such circumstances before, and yet it felt completely natural to do so with Belle.

They had only started and he could tell this would be different.

She was touching his hair now, amusement still playing at the corner of her mouth.

“What?” he asked.

She looked at him with those big, inquisitive eyes. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

The Beast again! He wrinkled his nose.

Belle smiled, took his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Adam had planned to do this tenderly, like before, but Belle seemed intent on a lively dance this time. A fire had been lit and they tasted each other in turn, moving through the steps of a dance neither had been taught. While Belle clung tightly to him, Adam’s hands wouldn’t stay put, frustrated they couldn’t hold onto all of her at once. They roamed her back and the sweet curve of her waist, cradled her face and buried themselves in her hair.

This had never, ever felt so good before. It was a total bliss, filling his body and, most surprisingly, his mind.

He soon found the little ribboned bow on her back and tugged it free. Too prideful to use dream magic, he relied on skill alone to loosen the lacing along her back. When his fingers touched her skin, however, he froze.

She wasn’t wearing a chemise.

But then, maybe she couldn’t with sleeves that sat off her shoulders. “Not in the latest style indeed,” he murmured. “Far beyond it.”

He caught a little smile from her. “It would be terribly impractical in the real world, but… it’s only a dream.”

Adam felt he’d been thrown in a blazing oven. His pride was scorched along with him and he gave in, accepting the help of his dreams to pull the ribbon completely free. He drew his hand up the length of her bare back and Belle sighed. He ran his knuckles down her spine and she arched into him, gripping his blouse.

He pulled back and caught her eye. She looked back, nose pink, and shrugged her arms out of her sleeves.

Adam pulled her stay free and gazed down at her. God, she was beautiful. He wished he could tell her. 

I don't need to, he realized. I can show her.

He reached up and touched her with the tips of his fingers, circling the edges of each soft center. Belle drew in a quaking breath and closed her eyes.

Adam leaned in and kissed her again. She kissed him back, gentler than before, brushing her fingers absently across his stomach. This, Adam thought, stunned that this was really happening. This is what it's supposed to feel like.

He sensed her hesitate, briefly, before tugging his shirt free. Her hands had some of a peasant’s roughness, and the prince imagined her gripping Phillipe’s leather reigns as she raced through the forests and hills. The thought excited him, and when she lifted the blouse further he happily took over over.

He had already cast it to the floor when he remembered his body. This body, the one that was too thin for his frame and had scars on its arms from years of bloodletting, visible even in the rose garden’s faint glow. Adam looked away, not wishing to see her reaction. The barely hidden looks of disgust from the others had stung enough; seeing Belle’s disappointment would surely hurt tenfold. 

Adam didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he felt Belle touch him. He opened them and watched as she ran her hands over his shoulders and knelt up so they were eye to eye. She smiled at him, then rested her hand on the side of his neck and kissed the place it met his shoulder on the other.

He sucked in a short breath, surprised by her tenderness. She trailed kisses along his shoulder, then his collarbone, running those small, strong hands over the scars on his arms.

Adam melted back against the pillows, pulling her with him. This all seemed so real. He wanted desperately for this to be real.

He reached for her legs, touching her ankles and running his hands up the back of her calves. Belle hummed in a pretty way as her skirts rose.

“Belle,” he said, stopping as he reached her thighs. “How far do you want to…”

She looked up, and seemed surprised. Then her eyes softened again and she wove her arms back around his shoulders, nearly bringing them nose to nose. “It’s only a dream, right? I don’t see any reason for great caution.”

Dream or not, this was definitely the best day of his life!

He pulled her closer and dragged his hands up her thighs, fingertips savoring their insides and tracing soft creases beneath her backside. Belle grew heavy against him, clinging to his neck as her breathing began to quicken. He ran his hands up and over her curves and reveled in the way she moaned and followed, dipping her hips into him.

“Belle,” he groaned, head falling back. Her lips brushed his neck, her fingertips grasping weakly at his skin.

He regained himself and slid one hand back down, searching. When he brushed her hidden folds, Belle cried out softly. Not even her call of the nightingale sounded so sweet.

He did it again. She whimpered, and the sound alone had him seeing stars. He was fighting this new, burning pleasure within him, which was near impossible given the way she moved against him. With how warm and wet she was growing as he studied the shape of her.

Oh, God! He wanted to put his fingers inside of her, wanted to cast off the last of their clothes and put himself inside of her. Because despite a reputation that suggested otherwise, he had yet to experience the latter. He’d wanted to, sure, but his abhorrence to the idea of fathering a dozen bastards always prevented him.

But Belle did something to him no one else had. The thought of holding her close as he moved in and out of her, of being so connected… His head was spinning, and he forced himself to focus, taking a measured breath and reaching instead for the place he was certain would please her.

Belle made a strangled gasp. “Adam!”

He pulled away, reaching for her face with his other hand and searching it for distress. “Are you well?”

“I’m behaving… oddly,” she said, trembling. 

“You’re not. Not at all.”

“I’m not?”

“Definitely not.” He reached up, smoothing down the mess he’d made of her hair and tucking the loose strands behind one ear. “Do you need a moment?”

“No. No, please,” she whispered, closing her eyes and laying her head against his chest. “Don’t stop.”

Adam wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly for a moment. He almost didn’t want to let go, and realized that even if she wanted to stop, he would be happy simply holding her like this.

But she didn’t want to stop. And so he turned and laid her carefully beneath him, pulling her close in one arm. He reached down with the other, pulling up her top petticoat and touching her through the thin fabric of the other.

Belle looked up at him, eyes swimming with pleasure. It was the most goddamn beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The light of early morning fell over her now too, bringing out the golden sheen in her hair, the flush of her cheeks and nose. But dawn meant the old Beast was going to wake soon. The prince was running out of time.

He kissed her once more, then moved down her body. He drew up her skirts completely and drank in the sight of her red, swollen bloom.

“Oh, Belle, you’re…” He paused, remembering the words he couldn’t say. He thought quickly, then brightened. “What light is light… if Belle be not seen?” he whispered.

She laughed a little, albeit breathlessly.

He drew closer, breathing warm air against her. “What joy is joy,” he said, letting his lips brush the place he was dying to kiss, “if Belle be not—”

She gripped his arm hard. Adam looked up quickly. “Not this?” he asked.

“N-no, just…” She loosened her grip, breathing hard. “What are you doing?”

Another dance to teach her. Adam reined in his excitement, drawing himself back up and beside her so he could whisper in her ear. Quietly and simply he explained it to her, and Belle’s eyes grew wide as he did. When he pulled back to look at her, she was bright as her new rose.

“Well,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. “Go on, then.”

Adam grinned, and turned to obey. But he was blinded by a ray of sunlight, now cresting the top of the garden wall. He hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Belle asked.

“Dawn is here.” He looked back at her. “He’ll be waking soon.”

She moaned, looking as tortured as he felt.

“There’s still time,” he said, willing it to be true. But even as he said it Belle had started to vanish, the cushion beneath her showing faintly through her skin.

“You’re fading,” she said, and looked around. “Everything is. I…” She looked back at him, a desperation in her eyes. “I don’t want to go. Oh, please, can’t I stay?”

Adam felt his heart break a little. He reached for her hand. “We’ll see each other again. In another dream, right? And until then…” He took her hand, pulling it down to the place he’d been admiring. “Think of me,” he whispered, and kissed her there.

She was… perfect. So soft and warm in his mouth, her cry soft as it faded along with her. It was agony to pull away, but he did and pressed her fingers there instead.

Then he looked up, wishing for one last look at her, desperate to watch her unfold completely.

But she was already gone.

Belle woke slowly. Unwillingly. She felt so pleasantly uncomfortable, so beautifully on edge.

The sound of a soft moan pulled her completely from her dreams and she opened her eyes. She was in the little mountain house again, her hand resting between her legs, her chemise bunched up around hips beneath the blankets.

Belle froze, blood rushing to her face as she realized the voice had been her own. What was she doing? She drew her hand to her chest and sat up, scanning the room lest she had been seen.

Adam was gone. Cesar, who had been napping in the corner, turned and gave her a strange look. He stood and jumped up on the windowsill, pawing at the latch until it came loose and he could push his way outside.

With a groan, Belle sprinted to the window and shut it again, shivering against the cold. She thought for a moment, drew the curtains closed, then hurried back beneath the warm covers.

She closed her eyes, relishing the sweet, secret darkness and wishing to return to that dream. She tried, but sleep had offered too much already and refused her.

And so, after a moment of hesitation, Belle reached beneath the furs and did something she’d never consciously done before. Something she hadn’t even thought to do, until her dreams had suggested it.

Think of me.

She did. Not of the young prince, however, but of who he would be. Of her Adam, who must already be out plowing the paths for her. She warmed at the thought of him.

She caught the end of her chemise and dragged it up. The furs above settled against her, heavy and warm, and Belle imagined it was him.

She closed her eyes and brushed her fingers over herself, pretending they were the rough pads of his. They ran between her breasts, over her belly button… between her legs.

She trembled, remembering where she was. Then she fell back into the new, pleasant place she had created in her mind.

Belle, he told her there. You are everything I dreamed.

She rolled her fingers at the place her dreams had taught her, her hips pressing into them.

He dipped his head low and breathed hot air against her. I wonder what you taste like.

Mother of God! Where was this coming from? Belle could hardly believe her own mind.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs and spread them apart. Kissed the insides of her knees and down the soft skin stretched open. And then he kissed the knot, the one that had been growing inside of her for weeks.

Belle melted, pressing herself against him.

He hummed deeply. Yes, he said. He sucked on her once, slowly, and pulled away. I’ll take care of this for you.

Belle bit back a whimper, digging her nails into the furs. He dragged his tongue up her center and with it, the cry from her lips.

She was completely lost within her mind now, and her body was taking control. It moved in a strange kind of dance, pressing itself towards him and falling again, like a boat on gentle waves. With each crest he tasted her, with each trough he pulled away.

She couldn’t bear it any longer. She reached for him in her mind, grasping his horns and holding him there.

He groaned. Sucked on her. Growled against her.

I'm going to—

She wasn’t sure what he was going to say, for knot came undone. She cried out and drew a hand to her mouth lest the real Adam hear and come running to check on her. She flushed at the thought, gasping and trembling and marveling at the magic coursing through her.

She lay, wonderfully numb, as a sliver of winter sunshine broke through the curtains. The feeling, the one she’d been afraid she was too broken to feel… well, it seems she wasn’t too broken.

She couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to discover it!

Belle laughed softly. Her heart felt so full. After all those years of being owned and abused… now she was in charge. She was the master of her own body, powerful and feminine, sexual and unashamed. And suddenly, she realized something.

I can be loved, and still belong to myself.

She looked towards the window, and thought of him again. The one she had chosen, the one who, in dreams and reality, had taught her that true love felt like freedom.

Already, the knot was winding up again and she knew that next time, she wanted it with him. The real him.

And today she was going to try.

Adam whistled while he worked, hauling woody debris off the mountain trails. He’d woken from a pleasant dream, one he couldn’t really remember but had left him in an exceptionally good mood.

Oblivious, the prince muttered. Absolutely oblivious.

The boy had been pacing around the back of Adam’s mind all morning, groaning and tugging at his hair one moment then blushing and grinning like an utter fool the next.

What are you on about? Adam finally asked him.

The prince, who was now plucking the petals off one very unfortunate daisy, soured at once. I’m not talking to you.

Adam raised a brow. Why? What did I do?

The prince reached the last petal, and pouted. He tossed it aside and crossed his arms, looking away. You threw off my groove.

Chapter Text

Belle stood knee-deep in the river, shivering as she soaped herself up head to toe.

She could not stop thinking about that dream. She’d never imagined what Adam had looked like before— she was, frankly, quite attracted to him as he was now, and to imagine him as a man had always seemed too bizarre to attempt. But her subconscious mind had supplied it for her. It was so… oddly specific. Like the freckled skin, the illness in his lungs. The warm broad face and scarred arms.

It had looked like him, hadn’t it? But he’d been sick, and had never mentioned such a thing to her before. Why would she dream it?

Belle shook her head. Minds were strange, and perhaps it was best not to dwell on it. Regardless of the meaning, it had awakened something powerful within her and she wanted nothing more now than to pounce him.

But she would need to be more subtle then that, seeing as they hadn’t kissed— really kissed— in over a fortnight. Which itself confused her, because he’d been practically doting on her hand and foot. Adam had always been attentive to her needs, but the behavior had progressed to the point where there was hardly anything left for her to do. She’d woken early this morning, or so she thought, but already he was gone, a warm kettle of tea hanging beside the fire and Cesar’s bowl licked clean. Outside the walks around the house and yard were completely shoveled, the firewood stacked as high as it would go, and Bonne fed and milked.

It was so kind of him. To have a partner contribute anything, spare such a large proportion, towards the household labor was bewildering to Belle. And yet… it felt like they’d gone backwards, back to the days early in the fall when she’d been too hurt and sick to do anything but hobble to the loo and sleep beside the fire. She would have rather helped him with the chores if it meant waking each morning to the warmth of his arms and his fingers in her hair. Laying together in the hay and laughing when Bonne tried to join them.

Of course, they still slept close and held hands. He still made her laugh and clearly enjoyed being around her. He still told her he loved her. But anytime anything happened that could lead to something more, he would grow skittish. Look away. Leave the house. It puzzled her to no end.

Belle waded into a deeper section of the river and dropped below the surface, soap suds pulled away by the water’s gentle flow.

Things had changed after the night she told him everything that had been done to her. Well, not everything, but the worst of it. It was probably… a lot, all at once. Perhaps she shouldn’t have dumped all of that on him.

She sunk a little deeper into the river, only her eyes peaking out from above the surface. A toad’s eyes popped up close by, staring unblinking at her. She came out of the water a little. “What do you think?” she asked. “Did I scare him away?”

The toad turned around, kicking its feet against the surface and disappearing in its depths.

She dropped back into the water, wringing her hair in her hands and chewing her lip.

I’m too much for him.

It wasn’t her teenage self speaking this time. No, this voice was only a few years younger than her. Sadder, lonelier. Just it’s presence filled Belle with a thick, choking shame.

He must have changed his mind after seeing how broken I am.

Belle groaned beneath the water, sending a stream of bubbles to the surface. Would she never be rid of this?

I’m not worth the effort. I’m making everything so complicated because of my past.

Belle sat in the river for a long time, willing it to wash the discomfort away. Yet it refused to leave, clinging to her, digging its fingers into her heart as she climbed back up the bank to dry off.

Adam is so kind, he must be too afraid to say he’s lost interest.

Belle paused, halfway into one sleeve, feeling twice as heavy as before. She’d been feeling so good… why was she thinking this way again?

Sucking in a breath she stood a little taller. “I’m having a good day,” she demanded aloud, tugging the other sleeve on before shrugging into her stay and working to quickly cinch up the lacing cord. “I’m having a good day, and I’m… I’m a catch!”

She laughed at herself, but it did make her feel a little better. Belle glanced down at her chest, remembering her previous objective for the day. She thought for a moment, then did something else she had never done before. She looked left, then right, then undid the cords of her stay and quickly repositioned… things, in a way that better emphasized her… features. She retied the cords a bit tighter than before, and smirked.

A biting wind blew over the river, causing her to shiver violently. She grabbed a neckerchief, quickly tucking it into her shirt. Never mind…

She hurried home to dry her hair and eat breakfast, munching on toast as she began Much Ado About Nothing. She read for longer than she’d meant to, finally looking up two hours later as the noonday sun peaked through their window. Adam still hadn’t returned, and so she bundled on several more layers, filled up a lidded tankard with the rest of the tea and ventured back into the woods.

She found herself walking through a man-made valley of snow. The storms had already dumped so much on them that the trails Adam kept plowed had piles of snow taller than she was lining each side of the path. He had explained that the snow never grew much higher than this, given how hard the wind blew here. This had not had the reassuring effect he intended.

Still, there was something about this mountain that seemed to reach deep inside her and touch a place she hadn’t realized existed. It was so majestic— glittering icicles draped on each branch, clad miraculously in glass; trees so wide she could barely reach halfway around; sunset views that colored the snow-crested alps in pinks and blues. And yet despite its magnificence it still seemed to welcome her as one of it’s own. As if it had been waiting for her all this time.

A gentle breeze blew against her then, pulling that stubborn lock of hair from her scarf. You belong here, it seemed to whisper, the voices of the mountain rushing past her, the colors of the wind making the world look bright and new to her eyes. It made her wonder how she could have ever wanted to leave it.

She craned her neck towards the baby blue sky, framed by boughs of dark swiss and mountain pines. Not far, birds were singing in a disjointed harmony, their pretty, flitting notes making her smile. The woods were so alive, here. They’d been so quiet near her old home. The animals knew better than to get too close to him.

Belle was cleaning up after dinner when a little hummingbird flew into the house, hovering beside her.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she smiled.

It flitted back and forth, rushing back out the window before returning once again. It flew in front of her, blocking her from her work.

“Stop, stop!” she cried. “What are you…” She trailed off, watching it fly back to the window, then inside once again.

Belle wondered for a moment, then stepped out the door. The bird buzzed sharply and flew around towards the back of the house. She followed, gasping at the sight that met her.

“Stop!” she shouted, sprinting across the yard. “Gaston, don’t!”

He sat on the fence lining his property, holding a handful of rocks. A little ways away, three songbirds lay in the grass by the edge of the woods. One was twitching; the others were deadly still.

Belle stared at them, eyes filling with tears. “How could you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Christ, Belle. They’re just birds. You’re so damn sensitive.”

Her chest grew heavy. “Y-you… you told me no one would be hurt if I stayed here,” she said, feeling small.

He just laughed, plucking another rock from his collection and pulling his arm back for another throw. Belle’s heart flew into her throat and, in a moment of courage, she grabbed his wrist with both hands to stop him.

His eyes shot back at her, murderous. He yanked his hand away easily and turned back to the woods. “Don’t do that again,” he said.

The threat was obvious. Belle grasped her hands against her chest, watching in horror as he threw another rock into the treetops. A small flock of birds scattered into flight.

Belle looked between him and the woods once, twice, then sprinted out to its edge to retrieve the bird still breathing. She picked it up gently, cradling it in her trembling hands.

The barrage of rocks continued. Belle flinched as they landed on her, one by one, while Gaston laughed. “Ah, Belle, you’re too easy a target!”

 “Please,” she begged, turning back to him. He threw another one and it hit her hard in the shoulder. She grimaced, then went on. “What can I do to make you stop?”

He grinned, finally dumping the handful of rocks in the tall grass and striding towards her. Belle cowered before him, and she hated herself for it.

He leaned in close. “Surprise me.”

Belle heard a birdsong. She blinked, clearing her vision to see a little snow finch perched on a skinny branch beside her head. She was leaning against the tree, and hardly remembered doing it.

Lord, it had happened again.

Belle sighed. Adam had said things might feel worse before they felt better, and it seemed he was right. Like with her nightmares, the unpleasant memories were suddenly popping up with increasing frequency. She was starting to wonder if talking about the things that happened to her was a mistake after all. It was like she’d exchanged the burden of keeping everything buried deep inside for the pain of having to finally face it.

She was starting to realize just how bad it had really been. Not only the physical parts, but the things he’d said to her. Things that almost seemed too insignificant to matter but had, over years and years, slowly carved out pieces of her until she could barely remember the fearless girl she’d once been.

I was never fearless, came the young adult’s voice. She was hunched over, huddled in a closet. When faced with a monster, I gave in, cowering like a dog.

Belle buried her face in her hands. Not today, she thought desperately, resisting the pressure behind her eyes. I’m okay. I’m okay.

This was exhausting. Fighting her own mind, trying to distract herself, all day, every day. Desperately searching for a moment of peace only to have it slip too quickly through her fingers. A part of her wished to give up, to head back to the house and crawl straight into bed.

The little bird chirped again, hoping side to side on its branch. Belle pushed herself away from the tree and returned to her walk, watching as more birds appeared in the trees around her. The birds here are happy, at least, she thought. They didn’t even seem frightened of Adam, barely making an effort to hop out of his way whenever he found them in his path. Belle smiled just thinking about it. She walked a little faster, eager to find him.

She soon did, spotting him further down the trail beside a massive tree that had fallen across the path. He drew his heavy ax down hard into the frozen wood, sending splinters of it to gather in a mess that circled him. He straightened shortly before she reached him, as though he’d sensed her coming.

“Hi,” he said. He smiled warmly, lifting the giant ax over his head to tuck into the strap against his back. His front was covered in snow which he shook off almost entirely with a single shake of his body. “Sorry, I’m still… not done,” he said, attempting to catch his breath. “That storm… took out a good number of trees. It’s… going to take me days to move them off… the trails.”

He was panting quite heavily. Belle felt a pleasant spark race through her limbs.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She coughed into her fist. “Yes. I’m having a lovely morning, actually. Thank you for the scrumptious tea.”

He watched her for another moment with an expression she hadn’t quite figured out yet. His face seemed neutral except for his eyes, which were bright and staring at her intently. This time his tail was moving, catlike as it slowly swept the ground behind him. Belle had never seen it move like that, and the sight made her insides tremble with desire.

She found this a bit alarming.

“Question,” he finally said.

“Mm?”

“What are your thoughts on ‘adorable’?”

Belle raised a brow at him, but smiled.

Adam joined her on the path, and they started back the way she came. “Could I use that one?” he asked, while walking backwards beside her. He’d tucked his hands into his pockets, his head tilted to one side.

You called me beautiful, she’d told him that night. He called me that all the time. Belle felt the old shame squeezing at her heart, but the carefree way Adam asked and the gentle way he was smiling at her quickly chased the discomfort away.

She considered his question. “I’m not opposed to it.”

“Good! Because this,” he said, motioning to, well, all of her, “is insanely adorable.”

“What?” she asked, stopping on the path and looking herself over. She was nearly twice as round as normal, wrapped head to toe in clothing. “Why?”

“All bundled up,” he said warmly, patting her arms, shoulders, and finally her head, which was wrapped up in a heavy scarf. He paused, lifting that bit of hair that always escaped despite her best efforts. “Except this little curl.”

“This? But it’s always driving me crazy!”

“Especially then. And you do the little twirly thing on your finger,” he grinned, demonstrating.

“Adam!” she cried, turning away and batting at him playfully with a mittened hand. She stared at the snowy ground, smiling stupidly and growing excited this excessive flirting could finally be leading to something.

“And these!” he cried, motioning to the birds flitting about her head and the small swarm of rabbits and squirrels that were now following her on the trail. “Every furry creature on this mountaintop loves you.”

Belle looked back at him, smirking.

His eyes grew wide. “Wait—”

“Including you.”

He groaned. “God. I completely set myself up for that one.”

“You did. I couldn’t resist. Besides,” she said. “I like how fluffy you are.”

He raised a brow at her. “Fluff-y?”

“I mean…” She set her tea down on a nearby stump before bouncing the fur on his sides in her hands. “It’s quite downy, isn’t it?”

Adam clamped down his lips. His eyes were laughing.

She shrieked as he picked her up off her feet, dissolving into a fit of laughter as she was wrapped in a smothering hug and pulled down along with him into the nearest snowbank. He started to laugh, then cried out in surprise as they sank below it’s surface.

Belle giggled against his chest as he batted the snow back with his free hand and held her tight against him with the other. When blue sky was visible again, he sighed, dropping his hand to his chest. “That was much deeper than I expected.”

Belle thought of a very indecent joke, which she kept to herself. Adam’s eyes darted to hers, and she wondered if he’d realized it regardless. But then his expression changed, and he glanced back to the trail. “I shouldn’t have done that. Did I startle you?”

It used to make Belle feel uneasy seeing how carefully he treated her. But this time, she noticed, it just left her feeling soft. “No. It was fun.” Still, she wished him to think her brave. “You’re such a mother hen sometimes.”

“Actually, I’m composed entirely from the mammalian kingdom.”

“Oh really?”

“Indeed. In fact, I— oh, oh no! What’s happening?!” he cried, bursting into a horrendous imitation of a chicken that sent all the woodland critters scurrying back into the trees. Belle tried to make him stop but didn’t get very far through her own rambunctious laughter.

“You know,” she said after they settled down. “You are much less formal now than when I first came here.”

“Perhaps it is your peasant influence.”

Belle planted a large handful of snow on his head. “No, no,” she said. “You are far more impish than me.”

He shook the snow off easily. “You like that, though.”

She scooped up as much snow as she could hold in both hands and held it threateningly over her head.

He just grinned. “I could tickle you so easily right now.”

Belle quickly tucked her elbows to her sides. She placed the snow carefully back where she’d found it, patting it twice for good measure. They chuckled.

She was practically sitting on top of him now, and realized this would be an excellent opportunity to initiate something. Unfortunately, the voice in her head was not so keen.

What if he rejects me?

Belle breathed in deeply through her nose.

That would feel terrible.

It would feel terrible. But surely he wouldn’t—

Then I’d know for sure that no one in the world loves me.

Lord! Belle thought. She settled back down into the crook of Adam’s arm, leaning her head against his chest and feeling frustrated with her own spinelessness.

The silence was growing awkward, she realized. But when she glanced back at Adam, he was just watching the clouds floating lazily past, looking perfectly unburdened. After a moment, his eyes lit up. “That one looks like Cesar,” he said, pointing up.

Belle squinted at the sky. “Which one?”

He drew close, aligning his face close enough for a bit of fur to brush her cheek. “There,” he said, pointing towards the southern sky.

She saw it, and chuckled. “Aww. He’s mewing.”

“Nah, he’s hacking up a hairball.”

Cloud Cesar was expanding now. Then a strong wind came past, and it collapsed in on itself. “Looks like your first soufflé,” Belle observed.

“Ah!” he cried, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

Belle was smiling again. She’d almost forgotten her upsetting thoughts. “You make me feel so young,” she said quickly, not wanting the good feelings to slip away. She fell onto her back, arms spread wide. “And free.”

“You are young. And…” He turned towards her then. “You do feel free, right?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Oh, yeah. I just worry, sometimes, that eventually you’re going to feel… trapped.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant on this mountain, or with him. But it didn’t matter, because neither was true. “I won’t,” she said, turning towards him and reaching for his hand. She thought for a moment. “Do you feel trapped?”

He looked at her as if startled. “I…” he began, then let his head fall back as he looked at the sky once again. He brushed his thumb absently over her shoulder while he thought. “Yes… and no,” he finally said. “This mountain is less of a prison than the palace, and this body isn’t without its advantages. But…” He sighed. “I know I joke about it, but I don’t like how I’ve resorted to thieving. Even the people I’m stealing from…” He closed his eyes, brows furrowed. “I had more than all of them, before. Wealth I’d done nothing to earn. Sometimes I think I’ve always been a thief.”

Belle was surprised. She hadn’t realized it bothered him so. “Oh… but Adam, you were only a child then. And now you’re doing the best you can, given your circumstances. Your heart’s in the right place.”

“Is it?” he asked, rubbing at his chest. “I thought the curse rearranged some things in here.”

“My love…”

“All I’m saying is, it would be nice to have an honest job. A normal life. But I don’t see how that’s possible.”

Belle didn’t either. But, given time, she thought she could come up with something. She tucked the thought away for later. “Well… I’m in hiding as it is, so I guess we make a good pair.”

He smiled a little.

Belle thought more about what he’d said. She’d finally gotten him to open up a little more about his past and was eager to keep him talking. “You felt imprisoned there?” she asked. He’d said something like this before.

“Yes,” he said without hesitating. Then he grimaced. “I know how that sounds. I know I shouldn’t complain. But I just hated it,” he groaned, letting his head drop back into the snow. “The pomp and circumstance, the itchy clothes, the boring conversation, constantly being told to sit still and straighten your shoulders,” he said, flinching a little.

Belle thought of his stiff posture and, for the first time, worried about it.

“And they never let me be alone! Someone was always guarding me. Watching me. I was never allowed to make my own plans, or do anything even remotely spontaneous.” He scoffed. “They never even let me outside, except for guarded walks around the gardens.”

Belle’s mouth fell open, too shocked to reply.

“Every day they’d dress me up, powder my face, parade me around like… like a fucking doll.” He stopped, eyes growing wide as he looked down at her. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s all right.” Belle rubbed her thumb across his fingers, which had started to tremble. Whatever glamorous image Belle had held about life in a castle was now seriously diminished. “That sounds so suffocating.”

“Interesting word choice,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. He looked back at the sky. “Everything was just so… fake. No one was genuine. And appearances were everything.” He paused, thinking on that for a long moment before shaking his head. “I adamantly resisted that life as a young boy, but then… Well, eventually I accepted my fate and overindulged in everything out of spite.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I was so immature.”

“You were still growing up,” Belle said. “And doing so in a terribly repressive environment.”

“Oh… I don’t know if I’d go that far.” He hummed. “No, maybe it wasn’t all that bad. I was pretty dramatic back then,” he chuckled.

Belle only frowned. “But… you didn’t have any freedom to think for yourself. To explore your own interests. No days in the sun, climbing trees, running barefoot in the grass…”

“Well, there was a time I had that, but…” He shook his head. “Either way, I had every possession I could possibly want, so—”

“Adam,” she said, stopping him. “Children need more than physical care. They need space to play and create. Room to make their own choices.”

He furrowed his brows. “I probably had that. I must not be remembering correctly.”

Belle frowned. He’d backtracked so quickly. He didn’t seem to trust himself, his own memories.

He was scratching his chin. “Regardless,” he went on. “Everyone’s better off without me in charge. Me included. My cousin is far more suited to rule anyway.”

It took Belle a moment to process that. “Prince Charles is your cousin?” she asked, surprised. But, of course, that made sense when she thought about it. She grinned a little. “I heard he was quite charming.”

Adam wrinkled his nose, and she chuckled. Belle rolled back over so she could rest her arms on his chest and her chin on her arms, gazing up at him. “It must run in the family.”

His ears perked up, and he looked down at her. Then he looked back at the sky with a crooked smile. “You’re so full of it.”

“Am not,” she said, tracing a circle on his chest with her finger. Her mind tried to protest but she managed to shoo the worries away.

But it was Adam who interrupted her this time, gathering her back into his arms and sitting up quickly. He shivered once, freeing the snow clinging to his fur. Belle had warmed up by now, but she shivered too, full of an eager and impatient energy that had no where else to go.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Um… yes?”

“Want to take the Cozy Express back?”

Belle brightened, nodding.

He stood and began heading towards home, stopping to crouch before the stump where she’d set her tea. She reached for the tankard, shifting in his arms as she did so she was sitting in the palm of his hand.

He glanced at her briefly, keeping his hand there as he stood again and moved back down the trail.

“You love to carry me. Admit it.”

“Happily.”

“Why?” Perhaps she lacked the courage to initiate something more serious, but she could still flirt just fine.

He rubbed at her hip with his thumb, and she counted it a success even before he replied. “Well,” he said, mulling it over. “First of all, I like having you closer. My head feels like it’s in the clouds most of the time.”

Belle smiled, wrapping her arms a little tighter around his neck. He lifted her so they were almost eye to eye.

“What’s the other reason?” she asked, running her fingertips along the back of his ear.

He looked away, smiling a little. “A-ah, it’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

Belle laid her head against his shoulder, waiting. She was far too curious to let it go, and they both knew it.

Adam sighed. “Well, before…”

The curse, he meant. It was how they’d come to refer to it.

He stopped on the path, and grimaced. She felt his shoulders fall forward a little where she held them. “I wasn’t, um, particularly strong,” he said at last. “I was kind of… average? Er, maybe… maybe a little on the lean side…” He swallowed, looking away from her. “I-I mean, I hadn’t really had a chance to fill out yet, so…”

He was staring at the ground, ears drooping. She’d never seen him look so deflated. Even when telling her about the curse, it felt like a well rehearsed tale. This was much more raw, like she’d been given a glimpse back in time at a younger part of him.

“My love,” she said, reaching for his cheek. She thought for a moment. “There are all kinds of charming.”

He laughed a little, but without the usual rumble in his chest. “It wasn’t…” He stopped. “It’s because…” He frowned, grinding his teeth a little.

“Because?” she asked gently.

He breathed in roughly through his nose, then out, a cloud billowing in the cold air around them. “We were, um… visited by the plague. When I was a boy.” He looked lost for a moment, staring absently into the trees before going on. “It did something to my lungs that never went away.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. This was just like in her dream, wasn’t it? How strange…

“It wasn’t so difficult,” he said quickly, looking back at her. “Only bothered me when I tried to run, play, or otherwise exert myself for too long.” He paused, thinking. “And during thunderstorms. And on really cold days.”

“Adam,” she said gently, ignoring the strange coincidence for now so she could focus on him. “That sounds very difficult.”

He shrugged. “It was fine. They just gave me extra lessons to keep me busy.”

Belle imagined a boy, alone at a desk and staring out a window while other children played outside without him. “That must have been so isolating,” she said sadly.

She noticed him swallow, eyes focused on the path ahead. “I was alone either way.”

Belle’s heart hurt watching him. The other children vanished from her imaginings. Had he no playmates at all? That loneliness… it was a feeling she had known well, for different reasons, and it left an ache in her chest to realize he had experienced it as a child too.

Still, she was careful not to show too strong an emotion. Adam spoke very rarely of his childhood, and she didn’t want to discourage him if he was ready to open up. She sensed something long before the curse had hurt him deeply, something he still hadn’t told her, buried so far beneath his shame that any hint of sympathy sent him running in the opposite direction.

She reached gently for his hand.

“It’s fine,” he said again. “My behavior was abhorrent, so I doubt any other children cared to be around me.”

“Perhaps having no companions caused you to act that way?”

He stared into the trees with glassy eyes, jaw muscles tightening. “Maybe.”

There was definitely more to it. Perhaps the absence of his parents, but she knew none of the details. Had the plague taken them? She wasn’t sure how to ask. 

“Ah!” he huffed after a moment, looking back down at her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. We were having such a good time.”

“Adam, it’s all right if you—”

“Nope!” He shook his head roughly. “No. Today is a day of yuletide preparations. You wanted to go foraging, right?”

Belle sighed, recognizing defeat. And it was true— she did want to gather some foliage from the forest to decorate their little home for the season. She’d grown excited at the prospect, for she hadn’t done so in years. Not since Gaston had destroyed her efforts in a drunken rage two days before Christmas. He’d made her put it all up again for a holiday party at their home, all while mocking her lack of skill. She’d then spent the miserable evening waiting on twenty graceless men and watching her husband fondle several young women he’d brought along…

“Is this your maid?” one of them asked, smiling cruelly. The girl sat in Gaston’s lap, arms wrapped loosely around his neck. She looked Belle up and down, and cocked her head. “She’s kind of pretty, I suppose.”

Gaston grunted, looking Belle dead in the eyes as he ran his hand up the girl’s leg. “She used to be.”

Even though she hated him, even though she was grateful his attentions had wandered elsewhere… to be treated this way, in her own home, with no freedom to say anything about it? It was humiliating. Belle felt her cheeks grow hot, unable to stop them.

They laughed at her.

“Belle?”

“Sorry.” Stop thinking about him! she ordered herself. It was so difficult, though. He had been such a large part of her life, and every little thing seemed to remind her of it.

“We don’t have to go today,” Adam said, looking concerned. “Would you rather stay home and rest?”

Her heart sank. She’d done it again— acted oddly, gotten lost in her own irritating mind and ruined their time together. Sent him back into his care-taking role when all she wanted was for him to peel every one of these layers off of her…

“No,” she said, her determination returning. “I still want to go today.” She had a plan to enact, after all.

“Good!" he said, heading more quickly back down the path. “I packed us sandwiches.”

Belle smiled. Of course he had.