Belle never had any doubts. Not from the moment the newly-transformed prince turned around and their eyes met—she knew, then. They were still his eyes, a vivid, astonishing shade of pale blue. They still watched her with the same earnest yet hesitant expression.

Belle, it's me. Not the deep rumbling voice of the Beast she had come to love, but it had the same gentleness in its tone.

It is you, she'd said, and she meant it. She may not have recognized his face, but she knew him just the same. This was her Beast, very much alive and in her arms, and all of her burning questions could wait a while longer, because it felt like these months at the castle had been building to this and she couldn't hold back another moment. She kissed him.

It wasn't until the initial shock and awe had worn off that they sat down for a lengthy conversation. The servants were still celebrating their regained human forms, but Belle and the prince had a lot to discuss, so they slunk away to the relative quiet and privacy of the library. Dawn was beginning to stream through the windows, but Belle didn't even feel tired.

"I…I'm not even sure where to begin," he admitted. He winced and touched his throat, seeming disconcerted. "Is that really my voice? That's…going to take some getting used to."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "I can't even imagine how odd this must be for you."

"For you too, I'm sure."

She couldn't argue with that. She took his hand and her gaze wandered to the scars on his arm, visible through the gashes in his now-very-oversized shirt. Even though she had cleaned the wounds and patched him up as best she could, the wolves' claw marks left a series of red slashes across his forearm. For some reason, she felt relieved to see they were still there.

"Why don't you start by telling me your name?" she asked finally. "Do you remember it now?"

"Oh—yes." His ears turned bright red. "I'm sorry. It's Adam."

They both laughed nervously. It was surreal, all they had been through together and she was only now learning his name.

"Adam." She tried the name on her tongue, and liked the way it sounded. "Pleased to finally meet you, sort of."

He kissed her hand, teasingly formal.

And then he told her everything, from the very beginning. The witch, the rose, the curse.

After the eventful night they'd had, Belle didn't think anything could much surprise her anymore, not even magic spells broken by love. But it did occur to her, in the back of her mind, that he had let her go, knowing that he was giving up his only chance to be human again. He had given up on his own dreams, his own salvation, to do what was right for her. It almost made her want to cry.

There were no more secrets between them. Belle, in turn, told him why the mob had come after him—how Gaston had deduced that she'd fallen in love with the Beast, before even she had known, and had planned to kill him to avenge his wounded pride. How she had escaped the cellar, run back here to warn him, praying that she wouldn't be too late.

One thing still seemed to trouble Adam.

"Belle? You do…you do recognize me, don't you?"

He bit his lip in the moment of silence that followed. All throughout their conversation, he had studied his fair, slender hands as if they were alien appendages—as if he wasn't at all sure he recognized himself.

"You used to do that—before," she said.

"Do what?"

"Scratch behind your ear like that when you're nervous or upset," she said. It was such a small thing, but the familiar mannerism made her heart feel light and giddy.

He stopped when she pointed it out, looking sheepish. "I guess that answers that question."

In retrospect, the days and weeks that followed were almost a blur. Now that the prince's self-imposed exile was ended, it was time for them to reenter society as gracefully as possible. The servants seemed eager to be around other people again—to track down their long-lost friends from the outside world and offer some excuse for their ten-year absence.

Adam, on the other hand, was skittish around company unless Belle was at his side to reassure him, as if he were merely wearing a disguise that his noble guests would see through at any moment, and would grab their torches and pitchforks once they knew. Belle, it seemed, was the only human he was comfortable around. Even kindly Maurice—who Adam had invited to live with them, in an attempt to make amends—seemed to make him tongue-tied.

They held a party to announce their engagement, which doubled as an opportunity to familiarize themselves with the other nobility in the land. Belle could see panic on Adam's face when they were forced to part for a moment, try though he might to conceal it—he'd never been a very good liar.

But when he reappeared at her elbow minutes later, he was smiling. "May I—may I have this dance?"

If she hadn't been sure of his identity before, she would have known by the way he swept her away on the dance floor.

"You're still just as light on your feet," she remarked, grinning.

The pleasure on his face was short-lived. "At least I can still do something right," he grumbled. "Unlike walking down a flight of stairs…"

He had already twisted his ankle twice, trying to bound down the castle steps the way he had been accustomed to as a beast, forgetting that his strides were much smaller now. Belle tried not to laugh about it, really she did, but every time it happened, his frustrated scowl was so damn familiar that she couldn't help it. Only now, because he was no longer covered in fur, she could see him flush bright magenta when he was chagrined.

"Give yourself a little credit, Adam. Ten years is a long time to get used to something."

He smiled ruefully. "You've been so patient with me."

The song they were dancing to ended, and the next tune that the orchestra struck up was a waltz that Belle recognized with a jolt.

"I requested that song—our song," he explained. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" she laughed, shaking her head. She guided his hand to her waist, just as she had the first time they danced—and she could feel him trembling, just as he had then.

"I'll never forget that night," she assured him in a low voice. "Not when we're eighty and surrounded by dozens of great-grandchildren. I don't want to forget anything that's past, good or bad."

"Me neither," he confessed. "It's not that I don't have regrets. But everything that's happened led us to where we are now, so—I don't think I'd change anything. Even if I could go back and give that witch at my door a different answer, I'm not sure I would."

Companionable silence fell between them for a moment. It was like all the other couples in the ballroom had melted away, and they were alone. Belle rested her cheek against his chest—he was still quite a bit taller than her, though the difference was no longer as extreme—and listened to his heart knocking against his ribcage. Maybe she was imagining it, but she rather thought he smelled the same: like lavender soap, like that leather armchair of his in the study, like the pines deep in the forest. She couldn't suppress a smile.

"That's a nice thought," he said suddenly.

"What is?"

"Growing old with you."

This was something new, something Belle didn't quite recognize, and yet she didn't mind: Adam was happy. True, unreserved, childlike happiness, like she had seen a physical burden lifted from him since becoming human.

And just like that—without regard to the dozens of aristocrats watching them, who might be scandalized by outward displays of affection—as if he couldn't contain his joy a second more—he kissed her.