Once year and eight months ago, I started writing this story. It was meant to be a short, fun little romance fic, nothing more. Oops! But it's been such a wonderful journey and I think (hope) I've grown as a writer in the process. Thanks to all the encouragement I've received here, I plan to move towards writing an original work next in the hopes of being published. A long ways off yet I'm sure, but you've given me the confidence and courage to try. So thank you :)

Now, enjoy the happy ending!

EPILOGUE

Madame Professor

"Woah, slow down Maurice!" the king exclaimed. "…I'm afraid you lost me at evapotranspiration."

Maurice paused, a long metal tube held between his palms with several small holes screwed through its length. "Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty," he said, clearing his throat. "My wife has told me I tend to ramble in my excitement."

Alexandre only laughed. "No apologies. I'm just glad I'm not the only one around here who gets excited about these gardens."

Maurice hummed pleasantly, looking back at the long row of flowers. A similar metal tube to the one he held had been installed along the inner wall, a small trickle of water leaking into the soil. "I originally designed the irrigation system for our fields, though it proved a bit difficult to implement on such a scale, and I rarely had enough materials to make it work properly," he went on, falling back into his eager talk. "It's a much simpler process among the gardens."

"It's genius," Alexandre agreed. "To think these once took hours to water, but will now take mere minutes!" He paused, thinking for a moment. "In fact, I would like to see this working for our farmers. Speak with Cogsworth—he'll get you anything you need to test the invention."

Maurice brightened. "Thank you, Your Majesty! I'll start right away." He tucked the spare tube in his pocket, picking up a bag of peculiar tools and heading back towards the castle.

Alexandre watched him go for a moment, then furrowed his brows. "Maurice," he called out.

The man paused, looking back. "Yes, my lord?"

Alexandre raised a hand to his chin. "What is it your wife does, again?"

"She worked the fields, as I," Maurice said. "And beyond that, she provides our daughter's education."

Alexandre raised his brows. He knew Maurice's young daughter was literate and obviously intelligent—Adam had been tutored by the best, and he now spent hours with his new friend pouring over volumes in the library. "Belle was educated at home?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I help when I can—but I admit, Soleil is far more suited to it. I've often felt she had a gift for teaching. I thank God she does, for I don't how we could have handled Belle's need to learn so rapidly without her."

Alexandre frowned. "I know of the schoolteacher in Molyneaux," he admitted. "He is indeed breaking the law. Unfortunately, it is not an isolated problem in this kingdom. I've been investigating the issue for the past few weeks, and confirmed as much," he explained. "I was initially tempted to force the hand of those responsible, but Jacqueline feared those girls attending school would feel the backlash from the instructors forced to teach them."

Maurice hummed, a dark look in his eye. "That could very well be true."

Alexandre stepped forward, lowering his voice. "So I've been thinking that a more…passive aggressive approach may work best," he said quietly.

Maurice cocked his head, curious.

"Would you bring your wife with you tomorrow?" Alexandre asked. "I have a new experiment I would like us to try."

Two dozen boys ran out of the schoolhouse, eager to play in the sunshine that had tempted them through the shutters all day. The old schoolmaster stood at the door, swatting those who idled with the long, flat stick he kept in his belt.

He was soon striding through town himself, head held high, no little self-importance in his step as he passed the bakers and florists and mere farmers who hurried past. This town never changed, and he was the only one among them who wasn't a poor, pathetic fool. Of course, he'd taught most of them himself—but if they didn't retain his lessons, that was their fault, not his.

A violent rapping broke his focus, and he turned in irritation towards the noise. A half-built structure stood there, right at the edge of town, settled near a beautiful creek and a small, abandoned field now grown over with tall grass.

"What is this?" he asked gruffly.

The man who'd been hammering away turned then, wiping a sleeve against his brow before sliding down a tall ladder. "New school," he replied, pulling a small canteen from his waist and taking a large gulp.

The professor brightened. Perhaps this town could change for the better. "Ah! I knew it was only a matter of time before my efforts would be rewarded," he proclaimed.

"Oh…er," the man replied, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I think it be a school for the girls, sir. Heard Madame Dupont's set to teach 'em this fall."

The professor froze. Then, slowly, angry red brightened his cheeks. "Who is responsible for this?" he spat. "I was not consulted!"

"Heard it was a royal order," the man said simply, shrugging. "Don' know much. They're just payin' me to build the place."

The professor paled. A royal order?

"I took the job eagerly, to be sure," the man continued. "My own girl Michelle is set to start this fall with the others. She ain't talked of nothin' else for weeks now." He paused, brightening again and pulling the hammer back from his waist. "Better get back to it, then."

The professor watched as he climbed the ladder once more, fuming. Soleil Dupont, a teacher? "Ha!" he barked after a moment. "Like that will last. School for girls…ridiculous," he muttered, turning away and convincing himself it wouldn't last a fortnight before they turned the school over to him and sent those foolish girls back home where they belonged.

A loud cheer rang out from the new schoolhouse. The girls were split in two groups, the benches pushed away as two of them raced to the board to complete a line of arithmetic before sprinting back and passing the chalk to the next teammate in line. Belle was now at the board, quickly penning in her answer before passing the small piece of chalk to one of the triplets. They cheered for her, chattering happily with together as another student raced to the board.

Belle went to the palace several days a week with her father, both to attend lessons with the young prince and receive her own tutoring from their master artist. Soleil's lessons were far too simple for Belle by now, but she still came often enough to enjoy the company of her friends. Something had happened to Belle these last few months—she'd come out of her shell, it seemed, suddenly befriending everyone she met. Perhaps the young prince had something to do with it, the two of them playing happily with the other children in town when he came by. Soleil didn't know for sure, but she was glad for it, as strangely as the change had come about.

She continued monitoring the game, smiling quietly at her students' glee. She'd discovered quite quickly that keeping the children moving—particularly the little ones—seemed to keep their brains moving as well. And she found great joy herself as their teacher. For while teaching Belle had been more than fulfilling, this gave her so much more freedom and variety in what she could do—and who she could help.

Of course, she'd been terribly anxious when the king had first made the proposal. After all, she had no formal training herself. Shouldn't they find someone better suited to the task? But now…well, she had to admit it felt something like a calling.

The girls grew quiet then, breaking Soleil from her reverie. She turned to see what had caught their attention—and saw one of the village's littlest boys standing at the open door, shifting nervously.

He caught her eyes then, and swallowed. "P-professor?" he said timidly.

"Madame Dupont is just fine, Benjamin," Soleil smiled. "How can I help you?"

"Madame…" He paused, looking around nervously at the girls who were now whispering among themselves. Then he sucked in a breath, practically blurting out the next line. "Can I be in your class instead?"

Soleil blinked. "Oh—has your professor sent you?"

He shook his head. "No. I just…I heard your class was more fun," he admitted. "Please? I'll be real good, I promise."

"It's only for girls!" one her students proclaimed, hands on her hips.

Soleil blinked, glancing across the room. She caught Belle's eyes, remembering the day she herself had been sent home from school.

"H-he said it's—it's only for boys," Belle had said, holding back tears and grasping an injured hand.

Frowning, Soleil turned to her class. "Now, just a moment," she said carefully. "I believe that anyone who wishes to learn should be welcome here. Do we all agree?"

Her students watched her for a moment, thinking. Then, slowly, they nodded one by one in agreement.

"Let's return to our seats," she went on, then turned back to the boy. "Come along, Benjamin. You can sit beside your sister today."

He smiled wide, nodding eagerly and running over to help the others return the benches to their places. He sat happily between the others, legs swinging over the side and gaze intent as he put on his very best behavior for the rest of the day.

A week later, two more boys turned up at the schoolhouse door just as class began. However, these were accompanied by their mother.

"My daughter is already reading full sentences," their mother said adamantly. "Yet these two have been attending school for two years, and can barely spell their own names. Won't you take them, Soleil?"

And she did. In fact, by Michaelmas the new schoolhouse was already overflowing with new additions. Maurice found it all wildly amusing, beaming with pride as he spoke of Soleil's success to his neighbors and how the old professor had gotten what he deserved. Soleil herself continued her work with a quiet dedication, finally feeling like she was living the life she was meant to live.

"Belle, will you be going with Papa today?"

"Mmhmm," Belle said happily, gathering her things in her satchel before pulling on her boots. "Master Pascal is going to start teaching me oils today."

"How wonderful!" Soleil said, picking up their plates from breakfast. "Be sure to wear your frock though, dear. I'd rather you not ruin your…" She paused, a sudden nausea sweeping over her at the sight of hardened eggs on their plates. She swallowed, but the sensation only grew worse. Setting the plates down with shaky hands, she moved quickly out the front door before her own breakfast found its way back out and into the dirt.

"Maman!" Belle cried, racing down the steps after her. "Maman, what's wrong?"

Soleil couldn't reply right away, letting the sick feeling take its course before sitting back on the front steps. Belle had her hand on her arm, eyes frantic and close to tears.

"Maman please, you…y-you can't be sick," she said, voice shaking. "You can't…"

Soleil thought for a moment—then, at once, the meaning of what was happening became clear. For there had been other signs over the past fortnight. This only settled it. "Belle, don't worry," she said, turning to her. "This has happened to me before."

Belle looked even more upset at that. "I-I know," she whispered, staring to tremble.

Soleil cocked her head, wrapping an arm around her daughter's shoulder. "Belle…it happened when I was carrying you," she explained gently.

Belle froze, blinking for a moment. Then her mouth fell open, a smile pulling at her lips. "Oh! Oh, I thought you were—" She stopped again, eyes growing wide. "Maman, does this mean…?"

"Yes," Soleil smiled, an excitement growing in her own chest. "That's what it means."

"But how?" Belle breathed, hands to her cheeks as she stared across the yard.

"Um…Belle, dear, I thought I already explained this to you—"

"Why didn't it happen last time?" Belle went on, as though not hearing her. "Oh, who cares! I have to tell Adam!" She threw her arms around Soleil's neck, kissing her on the cheek before standing and hurrying down to the cellar. "Papa, hurry!" her voice rang out from below. "I'm going to be a sister!"

A loud bang came from the shop, like several precarious objects tumbling to the floor, then Maurice's own voice rang back. "You're going to—what?" he asked, voice more high-pitched than normal. "Soleil? What's going on?!"

Happy Ends

Belle and Adam sat at the long kitchen table side by side, sipping on warm herbal tea. His legs had just barely grown long enough to touch the floor, though Belle's still swung in the air beside him. Bits of snow clung to their hair, having spent the day running through the fresh blanket of white that covered the grounds.

Belle held her infant sister in her arms now while Adam made funny cooing noises. Belle giggled at him.

"What?" he asked, pouting. "Babies like that, don't they?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But I can still laugh at you for it."

His cheeks went pink, and he looked back down. "You're supposed to be the one laughing, Eloise," he joked.

At that, the babe finally smiled.

Adam grinned right back, glancing between the two of them for a moment. "She looks like you," he said at last. "You have the same dimples."

Belle blushed, smiling in spite of herself and no doubt showing off those very dimples in her cheeks.

Mrs. Potts came by then, refilling their tea. Belle reached out and took a sip of the sweet drink, humming as it warmed her head to toe. "Thank you, Mrs. Potts," she said happily.

"Oh, don't mention it, dear," the woman replied. "I'm just glad our prince has found such a lovely friend."

Belle smiled again, then glanced at Adam. He gave her a wink.

The door opened then. A man stood on the threshold, buried beneath furs and covered in fresh snow. He shook it off, stomping the slush off his boots before stepping into the warmth of the kitchen.

"Papa!"

A little boy toddled over on short legs, bright blond hair sticking out in all directions. In his clumsy haste, he ran straight into the edge of the table, knocking his head and falling flat back on his bottom.

"Jack!" Henri cried, racing over in a panic. Yet Jack merely blinked where he sat, looking up as his father approached and smiling once again. Henri let out a breath of relief, scooping up the boy and running a hand over his head to check the injury. "Gotta head a' brick, this one," he chuckled, moving back across the room. He sat at the far end of the table, sighing tiredly—though a faint smile returned when Jack wrapped two small arms around his neck.

Someone else crossed the room then, a tray of food in her hands. Sophie paused beside Henri, hesitating just a moment before setting the dishes before him. "We kept it warm," she said, smiling shyly. "Mrs. Potts said it might be a late day for you."

Henri looked at the steaming plates of food for a moment, then back at her. "Thank you, um…?"

"Sophie," she replied sweetly. "Been upstairs, just started working down here last week."

He stared at her for a long moment, before coming to himself. "Thank you, Sophie," he said softly.

She turned, and he watched her go—a moment longer than normal, perhaps—then looked quickly back at the warm supper before him. The parts of his face visible above the beard were starting to redden, a small smile flicking over his lips.

Others began to trickle into the kitchen then, returning empty platters and plates as several maids began to wash them. Others began settling along the table, the quiet chatter of evening filling the room.

"Me," Jack said then, fingers flexing in an out towards the small porcelain cup Sophie had left him.

"You want the teacup?" Henri asked. Picking it up, he downed the tea quickly, letting the cup cool another moment before handing it to his son. "Careful, now."

Jack held it with surprising gentleness for one so small, turning it in his hands before looking back at his father. "Me," he said again, holding the cup up in front of Henri's face. "Chip."

Henri furrowed his brows. "There's no…chip…" He stopped, eyes growing wide. And he wasn't the only one.

The room had grown still, every eye on the young boy. Across the room, Mrs. Potts stood in silence herself, staring at them. Then ever so slowly, she turned, picking up the nearby teapot and holding it in quaking hands. Her face had grown pale.

Belle and Adam, meanwhile, were staring at each other in shock. "Mrs. Potts?" Adam asked slowly.

Mrs. Potts swayed on her feet for a moment, gripping the counter. Adam was up on his feet in a moment, and together he and Lumiere helped her to the nearest chair. One hand still gripped the old pot, her breath nearly gone, eyes unblinking and staring ahead as though she weren't even there.

"Mrs. Potts," Adam said again, reaching for her shoulder. "Do you…remember?"

Mrs. Potts slowly raised a hand to her heart. "Oh—oh my goodness," she gasped, finally looking up at him. "I'd thought them only dreams…but it really happened, didn't it?"

Adam glanced back at Belle, then at Mrs. Potts once again. Slowly, he nodded.

And in an instant, pandemonium.

"You've dreamt it too?"

"It was all real!"

"How could we have forgotten?!"

Meanwhile, Mrs. Potts had thrown her arms around Adam and Belle, holding them tight and pecking them both with kisses.

"Mrs. Potts!" Adam grimaced, to no avail.

Amid the excitement, however, Sophie was frozen in place. She stared back at Henri, who was now watching her with wide eyes. "Henri...?" she whispered nervously.

"Soph."

He was up in a heartbeat, crossing the crowded room in three great strides and pulling her close with one arm. Jack laughed from his other, small fingers reaching for one of Sophie's short curls.

"What's going on here?"

Cogsworth stood at the foot of the steps now, red-faced and out of breath.

"Don't you remember, Cogsworth?" Sophie cried, breaking away from Henri's kisses and laughing as he planted a dozen more across her face. "All of it! How did we forget?"

"Forget what?" Cogsworth huffed irritably, looking ruffled as he stared impatiently down at his pocketwatch. "How you were all due upstairs a quarter hour ago?"

"You were a clock, mon ami!" Lumiere cried, barely containing his laughter. "A little wooden mantle clock!"

"A clock? What are you going on about? I was no such…" Cogsworth stopped suddenly, growing pale as a sheet. "O-Oh my," he finally gasped, reaching for the nearest chair.

Someone fetched him a glass of water, the merriment around swelling as more members of the staff were drawn to the noise and told the news. "I've got the champagne!" Lumiere declared, somehow having already retrieved four bottles from the wine cellar.

"That—that is for Christmas!" Cogsworth cried, recovering. Yet he was too late, three corks ricocheting off the ceiling as a dozen wine glasses were already being passed across the room.

"This is far better than Christmas, Cogsworth!" Lumiere said, slapping him on the shoulder. "We have a victory to celebrate!"

"And we're getting married!" Henri cried from across the room, Sophie beaming at his side. The cheers grew threefold, the wine flowing ever more rapidly.

Upstairs, Belle and Adam's parents moved down one of the grand halls, unaware of the merriment far below as they spoke of current matters.

"You've done wonderful work in Molyneaux already," the queen was telling Belle's mother. "That's why we asked you both here tonight. Because we wish to ask if you wouldn't help us implement more schools like yours across the province."

Soleil's eyes grew wide, surprised. She'd expected they'd been asked here for Maurice's work, not her own.

"We realize with the new addition to your family, you may need some time," Jacqueline went on quickly. "But we hope…we do hope you'll consider it, in the meantime."

"I…" Soleil started, but then stopped. She already knew her answer. "Yes. I'll help however I can, Your Majesty," she said firmly.

"Excellent," the king replied. "Now, we plan to take a similar approach in the other towns, but we need more teachers. We believe you are best suited to oversee their selection and instruction given your own success in Molyneaux."

Soleil blinked in shock. Was such a position really being offered to her?

"It may take you away from your own classes for a year or so," Jacqueline added. "But it could do wonders for this kingdom's children. And you won't be doing this alone—we'll make sure you're well staffed, and I'm determined to help you myself in any way I can."

"Th-thank you, my queen," Soleil replied, still awed at the offer.

"Wonderful! Now, Maurice," the king said. "I was thinking about your wood cutting invention the other day, and—" He stopped, voice eclipsed by raucous cheers from the floor below. "What in the world…?" he wondered.

Perplexed, the four of them made their way around the corner and down into the kitchens. As they neared the lower landing, they caught sight of what must have been every member of the household crammed into the open room, laughing and drinking and a few in the corner who had struck out their fiddles and begun to play.

Cogsworth sprinted up the final steps to meet them. "Your Majesty I—I was against this from the start," he stammered, breathless. He cast a hand down towards Lumiere, frantic. "It was all his fault! I tried to stop them, but would they listen to me? No, no—"

"Ah, the blanc de noirs? Pass it here!" Alexandre said, descending the final steps. A glass was quickly produced for him, and he took a hearty sip. "What's the occasion?" he asked belatedly.

The room grew quiet again, the laughter and the melodious strings falling still. Lumiere stepped forward, sobering before he spoke. "Our victory, Your Majesty," he said carefully, raising his glass. "Against the enchantress, your brother…and time itself."

The king stared at him for a very long moment. "…Good God," he breathed at last.

Jacqueline stepped slowly beside her husband. She looked up at him, then the others, her eyes finally falling on Adam who'd made his way to the front of the crowd. Her eyes grew wide. "Oh," she gasped, running towards him and pulling him close. "I have you back," she gasped, eyes already filling with tears. "I will get to see you grow…"

"Maman, it's all right," Adam insisted, reaching around her with still-short arms in an effort to comfort her. "Don't cry…"

Behind them, Soleil looked utterly bewildered as Maurice held her in his own teary embrace. "Maurice, my love…whatever is wrong?" she asked.

He tried to answer, but could only make a sort of teary laugh, holding her even closer. Belle was already beside them, wrapping her arms around both and smiling warmly. "Don't worry, Maman. I'll explain everything," she said happily.

Soleil wasn't the only one without the full tale—for the others were still in the dark as to the enchantress' defeat. Eventually, Belle and Adam found themselves standing atop the kitchen table relating the entire event to the household. Adam let Belle explain most of it herself—she'd always been the better storyteller, after all.

"But why did you say nothing until now, dear?" Madame de la Grande Boche asked as she finished.

Belle glanced at Adam. He pursed his lips, looking back towards the others. "We didn't know if you'd believe us," he said quietly, stepping back to the floor. "And well…a lot of bad things happened. I was worried it might hurt you all more to remember."

Someone stepped forward then. Once a small salad plate in a rain gutter, Charlotte stood with courage at the front of the crowd. The others remained quiet, though several hands rested on her shoulders and arms as she spoke. "I do remember the hurt now," she confessed, looking down at Adam. Her eyes were quaking, but she when on. "But to remember the pain makes the present so much sweeter."

Adam swallowed against a thick throat, vision blurring as she suddenly knelt before him. She reached for his hand, kissing it softly before squeezing it in earnest. "Thank you, my prince," she breathed, eyes wet. "You were able to save my life after all, it seems. I will make it count."

The night wore on, though the tears and celebrations didn't relent. Gilles leaned against a far corner of the room, watching the evening's festivities with a bemused eye.

"Gilles," someone spoke. He looked down, where Belle's young, bright eyes watched him curiously. "You already remembered…didn't you?" she asked.

"Indeed. I've recalled it all for some time now," he admitted. "One does not forget a near-death experience so easily."

Adam approached then, looking happy but relieved to escape the embraces of the staff that had encased him the last hour.

"As things turned out, I'm grateful you faced Circe without me," Gilles said seriously, turning to Adam. He looked between the two of them then, children now but at one time two very capable adults. Adults they would grow into once again, and not before long. He smiled. "It seems you two managed to give everyone the happy end they deserved."

Then, resting a hand on each of their shoulders, he nodded before moving quietly towards the back door.

Adam watched him go, thinking on those words. Everyone had truly gotten their lives back—all ten years and every person they'd lost, returned in full once again. Yet as Adam watched the commander enter the cold night air alone, he realized Circe's final spell hadn't gone back quite far enough to give everyone a happy ending.

"Belle…?"

"Shhh, hold still."

"But Belle…"

Belle ignored Adam's plea for the moment as another dozen songbirds alighted along his shoulders and arms. She'd caught sight of a bullfinch, its crimson breast even brighter than the surrounding leaves, now alighting atop his head. Her fingers moved quickly, sketching the little bird in her notebook and making a mental note of its color for later.

Meanwhile, Adam remained crouched in the clearing, obediently holding out a large handful of seed even as his expression slowly grew more and more concerned. "Belle," he said again, glancing over at her. "What if one, you know…defecates on me?" he whispered.

She grinned. "Don't worry, I'm almost done."

He swallowed, his eyes the only part of him moving as he watched the swarm of creatures jump to and fro about his limbs. The one atop his head now ducked down, staring him in the eyes.

"Hello, little prince," it chirped.

Adam yelped. His arms flailed about, sending the rest of the flock scattering in all directions and chirping madly at him. And a moment later, the little bullfinch spun in the air and transformed into a tiny old woman.

"Nai Nai!" Belle cried, dropping her notebook and running into her embrace.

"Hello child," Agathe smiled, hugging her back.

Adam was currently on his backside amid the leaves, looking dazed. Then he sighed, smiling a little sheepishly before standing and brushing himself off.

"You must forgive me, Prince Adam, but I could hardly help myself," Agathe chuckled. "And I've been tackling some new forms, you see! Must get in practice when I can."

"What have you been doing lately?" Belle asked eagerly. "And did you only just remember what happened?"

"Oh, no, I remembered some time ago," she smiled. "And I've checked in on you two now and again, but until recently I've been quite busy…tending to my gardens."

Adam cocked his head, curious, but she didn't elaborate.

"Now!" she went on. "Is there anything you need? You did free this old enchantress, after all, and I have yet to formally reward you."

"But Nai Nai," Belle said in earnest. "You already helped us defeat Circe, and—"

"Yes, yes, but that doesn't count," Agathe said, waving off the excuse. "Come now, what will it be? A trip to the Sahara? Or another enchanted mirror, perhaps?"

Belle's eyes brightened at that, but they quickly faded. These things were for them, but they already had their happy ending. Something one person still didn't have. She glanced at Adam, who seemed to be thinking just what she was.

"Actually," he said, looking back at Agathe. "There is one thing you could do."

He was falling.

Jean blinked, the blindness from his shock and pain fading and the world around coming back into view. Rushing past in a blur.

He gasped. Still falling. He looked up at the cliff above, already so far. Heard his own name like a whisper on the wind.

Gilles.

His heart thundered in his chest. He looked down, the ocean below reflecting the moonlight above like a round, silver platter. He'd miss the rocks, it seemed—not that it mattered. For water was as hard as bricks from such a height.

It was coming close now, coming far too quickly. He tried to scream, but his throat had seemed to seal shut. All he could do was stare at his own dark, approaching reflection in the waters below.

I'm going to die! he thought wildly. Oh God, I'm going to—

All went black.

And then, slowly…he opened his eyes.

"Roll him over, little prince."

Adam nodded, rolling over the man in the wet sand. He'd emerged from the waves now licking their toes—having come from the ocean's reflection from decades past.

Adam breathed out, beads of sweat against his brow. It worked.

When they'd first proposed to save Jean, Agathe had been surprisingly reluctant. "It's unwise to alter the past," she'd explained. So they'd come up with a plan to save the man from his fate while only altering the future. Agathe didn't have any qualms with that.

Adam looked back at the man who breathed shallowly beneath them. He had long, tangled grey hair streaked with bits of red, and wore an outdated military uniform. He groaned, grimacing where he lay. Then he coughed roughly, and opened his eyes.

He stared up at Adam, then over at Agathe's small form beside him, eyes growing wide. "Who are you?"

"We're friends," Adam said in earnest.

Jean furrowed his brows, then shrugged, laying back in the dirt. "I feel…terrible," he said. Then he sighed, looking back at them again. "Damn…I wound up in hell, didn't I?

Agathe chuckled. "Not quite. Only aged some forty years."

Jean stared at her now. He blinked once, looked back at Adam, then blinked again. "What?"

"You see, I've done something I wouldn't normally attempt," Agathe went on. She grinned, looking at those who approached. "But it seems your Gilles has some very convincing friends."

Jean sat up in an instant. "Gilles?"

He didn't have to look far, for Gilles soon knelt at his side. Belle moved beside him, a hand on his arm. His face was white as a sheet as he stared at the man in the sand.

"Jean, it's…you're all right," Gilles finally said, sucking in a breath before swallowing roughly. He reached out to stable the man, though he shook far more than Jean did. "Y-you're all right…"

Jean stared at him for a long minute. Then he looked down at his hands, wrinkled like the man's which now held his arms gently. He looked up into the older man's face again, eyes growing wide. "My God…" he breathed. Then, a smile. "It is you!"

"Yes," Gilles replied hollowly. "It's—"

But he couldn't finish, for Jean had pulled him into a tight embrace, laughing. "I thought I was a dead man!" he cried, pulling back and staring down at himself. "What happened? Was I in a coma? Amnesia? How long has it been?" He stopped suddenly, reaching up and pulling the shirt off his shoulder. His eyes grew wide. "I was shot, wasn't I? It's all healed up! And—"

"Yes, yes!" Agathe cried. "Now, slow down young man and let us explain."

Jean stilled at that, listening with an expression mixed with bewilderment and fascination as the old enchantress explained his situation. Gilles, on the other hand, stared at the man he'd thought dead for forty years. He turned away at times, hiding his face from the others but keeping a protective arm around Jean all the same.

When Agathe was done, she stood promptly, nodded, and guided Belle and Adam away, leaving the two older men sitting in the sand.

"Gilles…" Jean finally said, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "You've—"

"I hope—I hope you aren't—" Gilles said quickly, but then he stopped before starting again. "She couldn't save you then, only bring you here, now. I thought you'd want more time even if it meant…" He lowered his voice. "I'm old, Jean. You have no obligation to me. I just wanted you to have the chance to live, if just for—"

"I'm old too, aren't I?" Jean asked with amusement. "And sixty or twenty it's still you, isn't it? In fact—damn, Gilles," he went on, cocking his head at him. "I think you may have grown even more handsome with age."

Gilles blinked, cheeks suddenly bright as the setting sun. "Jean…"

"Come on, you've got to tell me everything that's happened!" he went on in earnest. "Did you win the border war?"

"I—yes, we did—"

"I knew you would!" Jean exclaimed. "And Cecile, did she…ever..."

He trailed off, for Gilles had moved a hand to cover his eyes. His shoulders were trembling.

And so, wrapping still-wide arms around him, Jean finally realized how long he'd really been gone.

"What's that?" he asked carefully, some minutes having passed. A necklace had slipped from Gilles' shirt, a round, faded locket hanging in the air.

Gilles reached down for it, flicking it open easily before displaying it in his palm. A lock of bright red hair—a lock Jean had cut himself what felt like a mere hour ago.

"You kept it," Jean realized in awe. "All this time…"

And finally, Gilles smiled. A hard, aged smile, the experiences of a lifetime apparent in his features. Yet something was still there, something that hadn't changed at all. "So I always had a piece of you with me," he explained, repeating Jean's own words back to him. "No matter how long we had to wait."

Growing Up

Adam raced down the dock, tugging off his shirt as he ran, hopping out of his breeches and diving into the lake in nothing but his drawers. He emerged from the water a minute later, shaking his hair from his face. "Are you coming?" he called out.

Belle stood on the shore, pink-cheeked. She blinked, shook her head, then set the small picnic basket in the grass. This—it was nothing unusual, after all. They'd come here every summer the last several years, just as the trees grew green and the water warm enough to swim in. Yet this summer, something felt…different.

She stood for another moment, pursing her lips. Then with a breath, she tugged her own summer dress up and over her head, leaving on the long slip and shift beneath. Gather her skirts, she finally let herself smile and ran down the dock after him.

The water was cooler than she'd been expecting. She emerged with a shriek, then a laugh. Yet when she looked back at Adam, he only watched her with wide eyes.

"What?" she asked, suddenly shy again.

He went beat red in an instant, and looked away. Belle glanced down, noticing one sleeve had fallen from her shoulder. She tugged the wet fabric back up then swam closer, reaching up for the edge of the dock and watching him curiously.

Adam stared pointedly at his fingers where they gripped the old wood, his blush seeping into his ears and down his neck. His wet hair clung to the skin there and along his shoulders, which Belle now noticed were quite a bit broader than they had been the summer before. Her eyes trailed down his arms, suddenly wanting them to pull her close.

"Belle," Adam rasped, breaking her from new daydreams. He was looking at her now, eyes full of that something—a something that came now and again, reminding her of their old life together. The first life.

He swallowed roughly, and finally spoke. "I…I think I'm starting to grow up again," he whispered.

The water didn't feel so cold anymore. "Me too," Belle smiled.

His chest rose and fell deeply. Then he reached his other hand for the dock, inching himself to her side. Another moment and his fingers were in her hair, pushing a wet lock away and behind one ear.

Belle's heart skipped a beat and she closed her eyes, waiting. When his lips found hers they were damp, and tasted faintly of lake water. But they were still warm, and reminded her of feelings felt long ago.

He pulled back then and, slowly, that funny little lop-sided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Belle laughed lightly at the sight of it. "You haven't smiled like that in a long time," she teased him.

He tried to tame the grin, but it only worked its way up the other side. "Well…I haven't kissed you in a long time," he admitted. Then he paused, looking thoughtful. "Can I do it again?"

"Yes, please."

Some minutes later Adam pulled himself up onto the dock with a promise she wouldn't look as he retrieved his breeches. She kept the promise—mostly—and soon he was back clothed and holding the picnic basket beneath one arm. He pulled out the blanket from within, then reached down to help her out of the lake and quickly wrapped her in its warmth. Then they settled on the dock beneath the warm sun to munch on sandwiches.

"Let's keep it a secret."

Belle barely heard him, distracted by the feeling of his arm around her, their fingers tangled together like they'd done so long ago. "Hmm?" she asked.

"This," he pressed. "Let's not…let's not tell anyone just yet."

"What?" she finally realized, sitting up further and raising her brow. "Why?"

Adam looked a little sheepish, staring at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand before finally glancing back at her. "I'd just…I'd rather not have a chaperone trailing us everywhere right away," he admitted.

Belle registered his words, grinning. She nodded.

Cogsworth shut the tiny wooden door with a careful hand, bringing the mantle clock to his ear. The tick tick of its inner workings called back to him, its gentle hum still a strange comfort to him even after all these years.

A giggle cut through the soft noise, floating down from the towering balconies above. Cogsworth frowned, placing the clock back in place above the library hearth before turning towards the sound. Another quiet laugh, followed by unintelligible whisperings. He rolled his eyes. Lumiere and Fifi at it again, no doubt, the old butler thought, huffing to himself and moving towards the stairs to put an end to such mischief.

As he reached the second balcony, the noises came to an abrupt halt, followed by the sounds of someone stumbling about and a half dozen books falling to the floor. Smirking, Cogsworth rounded the corner.

"Aha—oh," he said, stopping in his tracks. Where he'd expected to find the castle's maitre'd and one of their maids, he saw Belle. She sat on one of the long couches that scattered these upper floors, staring intently at the book open in her lap. She leaned forward in concentration, one hand reaching up to tuck several stray pieces of hair away before covering one bright red cheek.

Not two paces away stood the teenaged prince, slouching casually—too casually, almost—against the nearest bookshelves. His head was buried in another novel, held up to his face by both hands.

Cogsworth cleared his throat. "My lord," he said. "You haven't seen Lumiere about, have you?"

Adam peeked just a fraction more of his face above the book. He shook his head. "Nope."

"Mmm," Cogsworth said, puzzled. "Well, forgive my disturbance."

At the bottom of the stairs once again, he could have sworn he heard another giggle bouncing down the steps behind him.

Three weeks later, Prince Adam came bounding down the hall at full speed.

"Have they started already?" he gasped, stopping before his father's office where he'd been invited to meet with some visiting dignitaries.

"No, no, you are just in time, my prince," Cogsworth said. "Though before you go in, I must inquire about this new…trend," he said, raising a brow.

Adam frowned, cocking his head. "What do you…" He trailed off, having caught sight of his reflection in a mirror lining the wall. What looked very much like women's rouge was smudged generously over his mouth. "O-oh!" he stammered, lifting an arm and rubbing his face furiously against his sleeve. A long streak of red stained the fabric as he pulled away, but it had only served to spread the color further into his cheeks.

"Cogsworth, th-this isn't, um…" Adam faltered, looking frantic and trying again with his other sleeve. "This isn't…"

"Isn't what, Your Highness?"

"I mean, I was just…" Adam went on, giving up his attempts to clean his face. "I was just eating some, um…strawberries!" he exclaimed. "Yeah. Strawberries."

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes. "And they found their way on to your neck, my prince?"

Adam's hand flew to the spot, cheeks flushing even brighter than the "strawberries" still coating his lips. "I, uh…I'm a messy eater," he claimed.

"Indeed."

"I'll just…I'll go wash this off before I go in…" he stammered, already racing back down the hall.

"A wise choice, I believe."

Another month flew by. It had been a busy night, for the king had hosted a dozen important families in an effort to implement some new policy or another. Still, additional duties did not mean Cogsworth abandoned his usual ones, and was now making his nightly rounds, ensuring each clock wasn't a second out of time. Everyone had long since gone to bed.

Or so he thought.

Humming to himself, he reached a parlor off the North Wing that housed a tall grandfather clock. A beautiful piece, but it wasn't the clock that caught his eye. For as the light of his candle fell over the room, a head flew up from the opposite side of a long sofa.

The young prince stared at him, eyes wide and startled. Another figure emerged slowly beside him— Belle, pink-cheeked and giggling. Her hair was undone, sleeves loose around her shoulders, the prince's own jacket discarded halfway across the room.

"Aha! I knew it!" Cogsworth declared, wagging a finger at them from the doorway.

Prince Adam cursed, though Belle only giggled further, burying her face in his blouse.

"Well, you've had your fun," Cogsworth went on, determined to enforce a very strict chaperone policy the following day as he hurried them from the room. "Now it's off to bed, off to bed."

Just Deserts

Gaston stepped into the bustling barn, greeted by a gay tune and a hundred chatting villagers.

"Don't worry—I've arrived!" he announced loudly, making sure to flex his biceps as he said it.

Those nearby glanced his way, but quickly returned to their own conversations.

Gaston frowned, deeply, and a moment of confusion swept over him. Didn't everyone adore him? He brought a hand to his head. No, no that was one of his dreams wasn't it?

He could barely keep things straight anymore. And it wasn't just dreams of admiration. He'd been having nightmares—nightmares of a strange, hideous creature, holding him by the throat. Of wolves snarling and drawing near him as he fought in vain to move a muscle. Of a woman with bright red eyes, and a horrible pain.

Gaston shook his head, pushing the strange memories away. They made him feel weak, which was something Gaston was not.

Huffing in annoyance, he scowled at those ignoring him. These little people were fools if they couldn't see how great he was. He'd just have to make them see.

He pushed his way past them, searching for fresh meat. His eyes soon caught three pretty ones, sitting together in the corner. Their blond curls and well-endowed figures were hard to ignore, and he made his way over in three great strides.

"Now, ladies, you can only have me one at a time," he began, puffing out his chest and offering his best grin. "Who will be first?"

The triplets looked up at him, and for a moment their eyes grew wide and glassy. He smirked—it didn't take much for Gaston to catch a dame, after all.

Yet barely another moment passed as, one by one, their eyes slowly darkened into something strange. "We're asked for," the girl in amber replied quickly, grabbing her sisters' hands and whisking them away before Gaston could even blink.

He watched, dumbfounded, but before he could react another sight caught his eye. A brunette this time, standing alone along the wall and watching the dancers cross the floor. Something about her seemed…familiar. Well, whatever it was, she was gorgeous, and he promptly made his way to her side.

"We'll go the Canarie together," he declared, reaching for her hand.

She promptly pulled her hand away just before he could catch it. "No, thank you," she said calmly.

Gaston blinked, shocked by her bluntness. "Ah, I see," he said, recovering. "You've already been asked. I'll dance with you the next, then."

"No, thank you," she said, more firmly this time.

Gaston now scowled. Something about her definitely seemed familiar now, but he couldn't quite place it. He shook away the feeling, and persisted. "Well, I know you don't really mean—"

"I'm very sorry, Gaston," she said, though she didn't seem very sorry at all. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye. "But I will not be dancing with you. Ever."

Gaston felt his face grow red in an instant, insides burning with fury. And he remembered—remembered a girl who dared deny him, who'd looked him in the eye like this once before.

Belle.

A rough hand on his shoulder, and he snapped his head back. Another man stood beside him, younger and with the leanness of one who still growing, but with just enough height on him that Gaston found himself looking up. He scowled. That is, until he caught the younger man's fierce blue eyes.

The room went dark, the dancing couples now trees that towered all around. The young man, a hideous, snarling creature with claws at his throat. Claws that could tear him in two in a heartbeat.

Gaston started to sweat, hands quaking. Nightmares—they'd only been nightmares, hadn't they?!

The vision faded then, the light from the old barn returning. But the beast's blue eyes remained, glaring at him from the face of a stranger.

"My, my, Gaston," the young man said. His eyes narrowed, though the corner of his mouth twitched into some kind of wicked, knowing smile. "You look like you've seen a monster."

Gaston froze. How does he know? He felt a heavy bead of sweat fall down his back, and had a sudden, intense desire to be as far from the young man as possible. "I…I just…I need some air," he said roughly.

He left quickly, feeling those blue eyes trailing him all the way to the doors. Gaston stepped quickly out into the cool night air, fuming.

Damn, but that guy made him anxious. He grumbled, kicking an old bucket out of his way and as he paced the streets. This was stupid. No one scared Gaston! That guy was practically a kid—a kid, who had taken the prettiest girl in the village right from under his nose.

"Damn him," Gaston grumbled. "I could pound him right into the ground!"

"You couldn't be speaking of our prince, could you?"

Gaston started, turning towards the voice. An older man stood hidden in the shadows, leaning casually against the barn wall. He wore some kind of uniform, reddish grey hair tied against his neck.

"Prince?" Gaston asked belatedly.

"Prince Adam," another voice said. Gaston turned, another old soldier watching him from the opposite side of the alleyway. He stepped forward, thinner but taller than the other man, a gleaming golden blade at his waist. "And Mademoiselle Belle's beau," this one went on.

Gaston's jaw nearly fell to the earth. "Her what?"

"You know," the first man drawled, moving towards his other side. "It's high treason to threaten any member of the royal family."

Gaston paled. "I didn't—I wasn't—I d-didn't know it was him!" he cried.

"Ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law," the second man said seriously.

Gaston was growing nervous again—he didn't like feeling trapped between these two, whoever the hell they were. He wrinkled his nose, growing defensive. "Well, what're—what're a couple old geezers like you gonna do about it?!" he demanded, raising a fist.

He froze as soon as he did, body covered in sweat in an instant as the first man's blade slid between his legs. Between his legs and very, very close to two things Gaston took great pride in.

The old soldier leaned close, dark amusement in his eyes. "I can think of a few things we could do," he breathed. He glanced to his companion then. "But what do you say, Commander?"

Gaston paled further, barely breathing in fear that blade would slip an inch the wrong way. "C-Commander?" he practically squeaked.

"Of the king's guard? Indeed," the first man went on, now grinning wildly. "You didn't think the prince himself would attend a country dance without security, did you?"

Gaston swallowed. He shook his head.

The commander himself spoke again. "King Alexandre will not stand for abuse or violence," he said quietly. "And nor do I. Things will not be tolerated as they…once were."

Gaston was practically quaking now. "I-I won't do a thing, I swear!"

The commander leaned close then, pulling his own sword free in an instant and placing it against Gaston's neck. "No, you won't," he said darkly.

Gaston stared at him with wide eyes. From this close he could see the golden rings in the man's ears and his reflection in them, trembling like a frightened hare.

"We'll be watching you. One toe out of line, and you will regret it," the commander went on, voice even but cold. "Do you understand, young man?"

Gaston swallowed again, feeling the cool blade against his throat. He nodded earnestly.

"Good." The commander pulled away, nodding for his companion to do the same. The shorter, broader man did so, somewhat reluctantly. As soon as he was free, Gaston fled down the alleyway, forgetting all about pretty girls and the attention of the villagers in his desire to get as far away as possible from those guards. Them, and the strange prince with the eyes of beast.

As soon as he was out of sight, Jean chuckled. "Well, I think we scared him right well," he smirked. "Bet he'll be looking over his shoulder next time he takes a shit."

"Jean."

"Sorry," he said, though his smirk only widened. "Still…you have to admit that was satisfying."

Gilles watched Gaston's hulking form scamper around the distant corner. He let himself grin. "Indeed. Very satisfying."

Prince Victor sauntered through the halls of his palace. He had plenty he should be doing, but cared little for his duties. Instead he went in search of entertainment, leaving behind a half-read letter from his brother.

I've sent a representative to speak with you, Alexandre had written. I would advise, Brother, that you take great caution in their presence.

Victor huffed. What in hell's name was that supposed to mean?

A maid approached then, distracting him from his thoughts. She held a tray of used plates in careful hands, ducking her head and passing him silently. Yet didn't stop Victor from noticing her.

"You, there," he said.

She froze, holding the platter tight, then offered a deep curtsy. "Y-Your Highness," she said nervously.

He looked her up and down, slowly. "You're new," he observed, wetting his lips.

"Yes, Prince Victor."

He moved to the nearest door, pushing it open into one of the guest chambers. "Come in here," he said quietly.

She glanced towards the open door, eyes growing wide. "I'm…I'm supposed to report downstairs for supper, my lord," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"They don't need you down there," he said darkly, leaving the threshold and moving closer. He soon towered over her, staring down with hungry eyes. He cocked his head. "Besides, you wouldn't disobey an order from your prince, now would you?"

The girl stared at her feet, the tray in her arms starting to shake. Victor grinned, reaching for her wrist—

Then fell heavily to the floor.

The maid screamed, dropping her tray and fleeing down the long hall. As the sound of her heels grew faint and the clamoring silverware stilled, a quiet cackle rang out from the darkness.

"Oh ho! I'm really getting the hang of this now."

Victor tried to move, but could barely roll over, turning this way and that in search of the voice. Instead, he caught sight of the large silver platter the maid had dropped, leaning against the door frame.

From it, his reflection stared back at him—and he squealed in panic.

Agathe stepped out of the shadows then, still snickering to herself. "A swine! How fitting," she observed, staring down at the creature. "The perfect spell for a greedy, disgusting man like you."

The pig at her feet squealed again. He ran in a circle, stopped, and began snorting angrily.

"Change me back, you say?" Agathe replied, raising a brow and placing two wrinkled hands on her hips. "You better ask more nicely than that, or Chef may decide to put you on the menu."

The animal froze. Then, slowly, it ducked its head and offered a short, far more polite little snort.

Agathe smirked. "Well, perhaps I can be merciful," she decided. She crouched to his level then, staring at him with narrow eyes. "But place a threatening hand on another soul, and this spell returns in full force. Sound fair?"

Pig Victor's beady black eyes grew wide. He nodded earnestly.

With a wave of her hand, she returned Victor to his human form. He appeared in an instant as himself, crouched on his hands and knees, breathing heavily and staring up at Agathe with lingering horror.

She laughed, stepping through the platter's reflective surface and leaving Prince Victor to rethink his life.

This Time

Belle sat alone in a beautiful carriage, gazing out over the countryside lumbering along outside her window. The fields there had finally begun looking familiar again, and she was reminded of the days she herself once spent in them.

How different things were now.

She looked down at the parcels across from her, tucked safely against her feet. Not gifts nor gowns of the latest fashion filled them, but canvases filled with art. Her own.

She'd spent the summer in Florence, studying alongside other young artists and visiting the city's beautiful structures and museums. Master Pascal had insisted she visit the place herself, believing it would provide her the experience and exposure she would need like nothing else could. It had been wonderful—and she'd even received a commission from a prominent family that she was anxious to start on once she returned home.

Home.

The word meant many things to her these days. It brought thoughts of her family, of course. Maman was now teaching in Molyneaux once again—it was where she felt she could do the most good, though she continued providing instruction for many of the teachers throughout the province. Papa had been working to modify several of his more practical inventions for widespread use across the province—and just last year his wood-cutting invention had been picked up by a bordering kingdom. Still, even with their newfound prosperity her family remained in the cottage on the hill. Eloise was still young, after all, and had good friends in Molyneaux and Beaumont alike. In fact, she often followed Jack and the triplets' young sister Nicolette around as they played in the village square or visited the castle gardens.

Still, home meant something more to Belle. One person came to mind and she smiled, glancing down at the stack of letters in her hands. She skimmed through the ones on top, picking out lines here and there written in Adam's hand.

June 4th

How is it there? Are they treating you well? Have you made any friends?

June 6th

Well, I've made it ten days without you. Only eighty-six to go…oh God. I shouldn't have counted.

June 10th

Two weeks. Remind me why I stayed behind?

June 16th

Papa says I may as well have come with you with how "air-headed and useless" I've been since you left. Perhaps I should come after all?

No, no. I won't disturb your work. You're doing wonderful things!

But I do miss you so.

June 25th

You're right, I'll try to focus on things here. This will be good for me, won't it?

June 26th

It's not good for me. God, I'm useless without you.

Belle chuckled. Poor Adam, she hadn't meant to abandon him so. Though she herself had to admit three months without him had certainly sounded a lot shorter than it felt.

Suddenly, the wagon lurched to a stop. The guards outside started to shout, and a horse neighed violently. Heart racing, Belle moved to the opposite window and pulled back the curtain. The guards surrounded a bright white horse, pulling a tall, cloaked figure from the saddle and wrestling him to his knees. Gilles stepped forward, frowning deeply and pulling back the hood.

He blanched. "Prince—Prince Adam?!" he cried.

The young man looked up—broader even than Belle remembered, with a dark blond beard that hadn't been there before. "Er…bonjour, Gilles," Adam said sheepishly.

Jean started to laugh, the rest of the guard chuckling as they relaxed and helped the prince to his feet. Gilles only sighed, running a hand down his face. "Good lord, I thought you were a bandit."

"Sorry, I just…I thought I'd meet you partway," Adam explained. He looked up at Belle then, smiling wide. She pushed open the carriage door further, and he ran over to join her inside.

The party began moving once again, the carriage bumping lightly over the road. Adam looked at her for a long moment, then reached for her hand.

"Hi," he whispered, almost shyly.

"Hi."

He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, how are—"

Belle cut him off, reaching both arms over his shoulders and kissing him fiercely. Adam hummed deeply, pulling her close.

For three months really had been too long.

Shadows had already begun inching their way through the curtains when they finally pulled away, smiling at one another. "It's the beard, isn't it?" Adam smirked.

Belle grinned back, blushing, and Adam leaned in to continue. Belle, however, ducked out of the way as she reached towards the floor. "Wait!" she laughed, pulling one of the parcels into her lap. "I want to show you something. Before it grows too dark."

She undid the thin ties, carefully pulling back the leather wrap to reveal a detailed painting of Florence's famous medieval cathedral.

Adam pulled the canvas carefully into his lap, staring at it with wide eyes. "This…this was really you?"

"Mmhmm," she said, pulling another out to show him. Then a tube with rolled up sketches, and several more notebooks she'd filled in the short months.

"Belle…these are amazing," Adam said. His chest swelled, staring at a painting of the Italian countryside with a pride in his eyes. "You really do make the world more beautiful, you know that?"

Belle flushed. "Adam…"

"It's true."

He was holding her hand now, thumb brushing over the little ring he'd given her. It now fit snuggly on her pinkie finger, a reminder of a promise made years ago.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?" he asked quietly. He looked back up then, gaze strangely intent. "A…a more-than-one-spoon kind of dinner?"

Belle smiled, remembering the same question from another life.

"Yes."

It had been like reliving a dream. Excepting Adam's form, the night had been nearly identical to the one from before—same candlelit dinner, same music, same dance alone across the grand ballroom floor. She even wore the same beautiful yellow gown—given to her by Queen Jacqueline, despite Belle's efforts to stop her—and Adam had somehow been fitted in another deep blue suit like the one he'd worn in his cursed form.

"Things were kind of ruined that night," Adam had explained when proposing the idea. "So we're going to make up for it."

It was wonderful, and magical, bringing Belle back to another life yet again. Yet Adam himself seemed nervous, though perhaps that was just like the first time as well. They had been apart the last few months…perhaps that was it? Or perhaps he was worried something would go wrong once again?

"Do I still dance as well as I did then?" he asked, holding her close in the middle of the grand ballroom. The lights were dim like they had been before, that same beautiful melody drifting from the shadows.

"Mmm…almost as well," Belle teased.

He laughed, though Belle still sensed something strange about his expression as he led her to the balcony and down the old hidden steps. Olive stood waiting for them—as Belle knew she would be—though this time Adam pulled himself into the saddle behind her before they took off towards the Abel's Peak.

"You're shaking," Belle observed quietly, reaching for his hand. "She won't show up, not this time. She's gone."

Adam smiled a little against her cheek, and—like the first time—he seemed aware of something she didn't. "I know."

The stars were as beautiful as she remembered, though they now revealed the bright summer constellations instead of those of deep winter.

Still, Belle was distracted by the man beside her. Adam was fully grown once again, tall and broad and warm against her back as they settled on a blanket in the grass.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. Still trembling.

"…I love you," he whispered.

Belle leaned into him, soaking in his presence she had missed so much. "I love you too," she said easily. The words had become second nature by now, though no less meaningful.

Adam sucked in a breath, tucking himself even closer against her. "I wanted to say that then, but she stopped me."

"You were going to tell me that night?" Belle asked, surprised.

"Yes. Yes, I'd planned to say something important then," he confessed. He paused, then went on carefully. "…Much like tonight."

Belle's breath caught in her throat. For suddenly, she realized what was coming.

The forest all around was still, the only sound a stream somewhere far below. "Do you know what today is?" he asked, voice gentle in her ear.

Belle shook her head slowly. "What?" she breathed.

He smiled a little, gazing out over valley himself. "It's the day we met," he explained. He turned then, and Belle sensed him looking at her. "The first time."

He pulled away, and stood, moving before her. Taking Belle's hands, he helped her to her feet, his back to the starry forest beyond. Then, eyes not leaving hers…he fell on one knee.

"I've tried for years to put this to words. I'll no doubt fail again, but I have to try." He stopped, sucking in a breath. "Belle, you are beautiful. And the beauty I see with my eyes is only the faintest fraction of what I mean.

"Your beauty is selfless. Your beauty is kind. Your beauty is brilliant, and daring…and wonderfully defiant," he said, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Belle laughed quietly, eyes shining.

"It's loving everything and everyone you see," he went on, sobering. "Even a monster…who should have been unlovable."

"Oh, Adam…"

He only gripped her hands harder, still quaking. "That day you first came here, I'd spent the last ten years in sorrow. This time I spent them in joy, because I was with you." He stopped, voice growing to a whisper. "…Spend the rest with me, Belle?"

Belle smiled, heart bursting at the seams and loving him all the more. For even now, even after everything, he'd assumed nothing. She reached out, resting her hand on his cheek like she'd done so long ago.

"You know I will."

"We're…married."

Belle laughed lightly—Adam had probably said that a dozen times that day. "I know!" she whispered in excitement, heart full, now tangled in Adam's arms in their private carriage where they finally found themselves alone for the first time since speaking their vows. Belle grinned to herself, and went on. "And I'm a princess."

Now it was Adam's turn to laugh. "Perhaps," he said, quickly sobering as he pulled her even closer. His voice grew low. "But you're my queen."

If it weren't for the occasion his words may have aroused a snort from Belle. Yet as it was, they only aroused…other things.

Adam had felt it proper—and Belle, wise—to wait until this day before fully acting on such feelings. And so they had waited…if barely. As such, it was now highly unlikely they would last another three hour ride to their inn along the coast.

As though thinking the same thing, Adam pulled her even closer, breath hot against her lips. "We're married," he said again, as though he still couldn't quite fathom it.

"Indeed you are!" someone said suddenly. "Congratulations!"

Adam swore loudly, jumping at the sound of the voice and hitting his head on the carriage roof. For a tiny, wrinkled old woman now sat in the seat across from them.

"Nai Nai!" Belle cried in surprise, flushing violently.

"Good God, Nai Nai, we're—we're on our honeymoon," Adam said between gritted teeth, red-faced and flustered.

Agathe only laughed. "Yes, yes—but I had to deliver your wedding gift, did I not?"

"But Nai Nai, we asked for no gifts," Belle insisted.

"Really," Adam said impatiently. "No need for a gift. At all."

Agathe only chuckled. "Oh, you'll want this one. Go on, open it up!"

"Now?" Adam asked reluctantly. Belle elbowed him lightly in the side. He sighed, taking the package and holding it between them as Belle untied the string. She unfolded the paper, revealing a wide volume. Turning back the cover, she saw an intricate, hand painted map of the globe.

"An…atlas?" Adam asked.

"It's beautiful, Nai Nai," Belle said politely, though she shared Adam's confusion.

"It's more than that," Agathe said, chuckling at their perplexed expressions. "At first I considered giving you another enchanted mirror, but then I thought…simply seeing the places isn't nearly so fun as going to them, is it?"

Adam blinked. Then his eyes grew wide. He looked from Agathe to the book, to Agathe again. "Nai Nai…are you serious?" he gawked.

Agathe merely grinned. "Now, you could still journey to Picardy this evening if you wish. But there is another place waiting for you…here," she said, placing one wrinkled finger on a spot near the other grand ocean, just inland of China's coast.

Belle and Adam glanced at each other. She was smiling eagerly, and a grin swept over his own face.

Turning back to the book, Belle placed her fingers on the enchanted page. At her touch, it began to glow. Adam's hand quickly reached for her own, fingers winding together. The light grew twofold.

And, in an instant—they vanished.

Belle stood, barefoot, fingers held out and just barely brushing the silk curtains before her. Gentle evening winds flitted through them, the only barrier between the balcony beyond and their room behind her.

Their room. She looked back over the matted floors beneath her feet, at the beautiful lamps casting a violet glow over the room…towards the low bed, surrounded by a pale golden canopy, lying at the chamber's center. Belle felt her cheeks flush, her heart begin to flutter in anticipation. Suddenly anxious to step into the warm night air in nothing but a thin, shimmering chemise. Yet at the same time, wanting nothing more than to feel his warmth seep through it.

A gust pushed the curtains aside, and for a moment she saw him. Leaning against the railing, Adam stood wearing a loose linen shirt and breeches, his own feet bare against the cool tiled ground. It reminded Belle of the first time she's seen him without the curse, and she smiled as she followed his gaze into the city below. Red and orange lights dotted the landscape, some moving peacefully through the streets, others painting immobile colors in the sky. The sky from the other side of the world.

"Belle?"

She looked back, realizing he'd spotted her. Heart racing anew, Belle slipped past the curtains, stepping shyly to his side.

Adam watched her come, unblinking. He had never been one to let his gaze wander, but tonight she wished it to. And it did—his eyes falling over her form slowly, carefully…passionately.

She approached him and he reached quickly for her hands, leaning his head down to rest on her own. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, hot and deep.

Belle felt a gentle blush cross her cheeks and she stepped closer, aching for his warmth. His hands released hers and drew her against him, the fabric of her chemise doing little to stop his heat from flaring against her skin.

At the motion, however, something crinkled between them. Belle pulled back just enough to open her eyes and stare down at the corner of parchment sticking out from his shirt pocket.

Adam looked down, as if remembering it were there. He slipped it out and set it on the balcony ledge, bringing his hand back to tuck a strand of hair behind Belle's ear. "A note from Agathe," he whispered, distracted.

"What did it…say?" Belle asked, half distracted herself as he wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead.

"To watch the sky," he said, pressing his palm to her cheek and kissing the other before going on. "But I just was and didn't see—"

A flash of light, and a distant boom that shook them to the center. Belle looked up in an instant, afraid for but the moment it took to find the source. She gasped, eyes wide and filled with bright red and golden light. "Those are…"

Another wave of booms reached them, belated and dulled in the warm air. "Fireworks," Adam finished for her. He laughed quietly then, a wide smile betraying his own delight at the sight. "I can't believe she remembered…"

The lights were far off, only soft, distant rumbles like deep drums sounding from the horizon. They brightened they sky in bursts, raining over the horizon and filling Belle's heart with a kind of magic even she had never experienced.

Of course, there was another kind of magic to experience tonight.

In fact, the lights soon blurred in her vision as warm lips pressed against her neck from behind, large hands brushing across her stomach and pulling her closer. Belle leaned back against him, acutely aware of the pleasure building deep inside as he gently caressed her in ways he'd never dared to before.

The skies finally dimmed, the last sparkling lights fading against the stars. They breathed shallowly, chests rising and falling as one.

Adam lifted his lips to her ear. "I love you, Belle," he whispered, voice shaking. "I love you so much."

She turned, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. Then, raising herself on her toes, she kissed him in such a way that left no doubt she loved him back.

His fingers gathered up the thin fabric at her back, pulling her in with a sudden desperation. As her knees grew weak he crouched down, lifting her into his arms without breaking the kiss. Belle's legs encircled his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders, only vaguely aware of the thin curtains brushing past her shoulders.

Something beneath her. Soft sheets, encircling them both as Adam finally broke the kiss. And, staring at her in the dim, colored light…he smiled.

Smiling herself, Belle brought him back in earnest, thinking that this would, indeed, be quite a magical night.

Nothing Left to Fear

Belle huffed a strand of hair from her eyes, unable to reach it her current state. No less than one dozen pillows had been stuffed all around her at Mrs. Potts' insistence, propping up her back and knees and leaving her sufficiently immobilized.

Belle just managed to wiggle a couple fingers free so she could turn the page of her book, now propped against her bulging stomach. She sighed, feeling silly. Silly, and bored.

A faint click rang out from the far end of the room, breaking Belle from her thoughts. She grinned as a figure slowly approached, glancing around quickly before slipping beneath the covers. Adam wasn't supposed to see her during her confinement, after all. Which, of course, was the most ridiculous rule she could ever fathom.

And ridiculous rules were just made to be broken.

"What in the—where are you?" he whispered.

Belle laughed, managing to tug a couple pillows away so that he could reach her. As soon as he did he kissed her, deeply, leaving Belle a little breathless when he finally pulled back and nestled against her side. One large hand found her stomach a moment later, warm against the fabric.

"Any more kicking today?" he asked, eager.

Belle sighed, kneading a sore spot beneath her bulge. "Plenty, I can assure you."

He hummed, rubbing his thumb in circles over her skin. "Baby, you must be gentle on Maman," he said.

As he said it, she felt the child move inside her again. Adam perked up, spreading his fingers wide and feeling the small bump moving about beneath.

"Do you think they know I'm here?" he wondered, turning back to her.

"Mmhmm," she replied. "They're starting to know your voice, it seems."

Adam smiled wide, waiting until the movement calmed before shifting back up to his wife's side. He weaved one arm around her shoulders, pressing his cheek against her hair.

"I miss you," he breathed.

"I miss you too," she said in earnest, hugging him as tightly as she could manage. "It's barely been a week of this and I'm already bored out of my mind!"

In response, Adam pulled back, reaching into his pocket to offer up a small novel he'd brought along.

She sighed, though she took it eagerly. "This is truly ridiculous," she said, knowing she'd been whining about this for the last week but unable to stop herself. "My mother was working our fields days before I was born, and with Eloise she went into labor during her morning classes!"

"Your mother isn't a princess," Adam noted.

Belle blanched, indignant. "That shouldn't—!" She stopped quickly, noticing the smirk on Adam's face. "You're teasing me."

"Yes," he admitted, chuckling. "I'm sorry though, but Docteur Mathius is hard to argue with over such matters. I've tried…"

Belle fell back into her mountain of pillows, huffing a bit of hair from her eyes. "He underestimates me."

"Absolutely," Adam agreed.

"I mean, I admit taking Philippe for a ride last week was a little much, but I could at least walk the grounds. I would be perfectly fine."

"Of course you would."

Feeling more placated than before, Belle smiled once again. She glanced around the dark room, noting a half-dozen large canvases leaning against the walls and furniture. Most were nearly complete. "Still, I'm getting plenty done as it is," she said proudly.

Adam smiled, then asked about her progress. She answered readily, nestling closer as they spoke of their respective days and fell easily into the familiarity they'd felt all these years.

"Remember when I used to do this?" he soon asked. "Sneak into your room past midnight, back when we were teenagers?"

Belle grinned, glancing back at the hidden passage across the room. "Hush. That never happened."

He snickered, but only went on, leaning close so he could whisper. "Shall we do what we did then?"

Brightening, Belle finally gave in, turning towards him and smiling ear to ear.

"Just so you know, Docteur Mathius would murder me if he found you out here."

Belle was still smiling, staring up at the night sky above. A few clouds flitted by, but she could still make out most of the constellations from where they sat along the low-leveled rooftop just outside her bedroom. "Docteur Mathius can fight me."

Adam snorted quietly, no doubt already used to pregnancy's tendency to make his wife a little more…feisty than usual. "I think that's on his list of things you must avoid," he teased.

"I despise that list," she said, smirking. Soon, however, she sobered. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked him.

"Hmm?"

"When baby comes," she clarified. "You tend to be…you tend to worry, is all," she explained delicately.

Adam raised a brow. "You mean I overreact to everything," he deadpanned.

"That's…that's not what I said," she replied, hiding a smile.

He pffted, waving it off. "I'm past all that," he said casually, pulling her close again and staring back at the stars. "I'll be fine."

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"Mrs. Potts!"

A muffled voice called out from the other side. Prince Adam's voice, by the sound of it. Dawn was barely creeping through the shutters in the dim bedroom, and a young woman groaned in pain.

"I-I'm sorry," Belle panted a moment later, sweat painting her brow.

"You cry out all you wish," Soleil said, squeezing her hand. "All you wish, sweetheart."

Belle nodded, arms beginning to quake where they propped her up.

"Another push now," Mrs. Potts said, Sophie wringing out a cloth at her side. "I know it's hard. But just remember that beautiful babe you'll have when we're through, hmm?"

Tears pooled in the corners of Belle's eyes, but she nodded again. And, with the effort, she cried out.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"Mrs. Potts!" the prince shouted again, high and frantic. "You let me in or I'll…I'll…" He fell quiet for a moment, then—"I'LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!"

At that, Belle's three companions broke into chuckles. "Poor man," her mother said, "If he's anything like Maurice was he'll have worn a hole in the floor by now."

"Mrs.…Mrs. Potts," Belle gasped, looking up at the older woman where she stood. She panted for a moment, then went on. "Can't he…come in?"

She frowned. "I'm sorry love, but this is no place for a man."

"Please? I..." Belle stopped, grimacing against a fresh wave of pain. She made it through, swallowing as more sweat ran down her brow. "I admit, I've…been wishing…he could."

Mrs. Potts watched the poor girl for a moment. The one who'd rarely asked for a thing all these years, and now in her greatest pain only wished to have her sweetheart at her side. And she thought of her own daughter, who had been without her own in her own labors. In her final moments. Belle seemed far from such a danger herself, but Mrs. Potts now couldn't help but see a bit of Virginie in her eyes.

She sighed. "All right, love. All right."

Leaving Belle to the care of Sophie and her mother, Mrs. Potts moved with a swift step to the door of the room.

Prince Adam was pacing the hall. His hair was a mess against his shoulders, as though he'd been running a nervous hand through it all night. And he seemed to be covered in nearly as much sweat as his wife. At the click of the door, his head whipped around and he raced towards the room.

Mrs. Potts, however, held a firm hand against the door, blocking his way. "Now, my prince, you must understand one thing," she said firmly. "When you step inside this room, your title goes out the window, for I am in charge here. Do I make myself clear?"

He blinked in surprise, but quickly nodded. Then he glanced over her shoulder, nervous, eyes trying to catch sight of his young wife in the room.

"And if you cannot keep your fears in check, you can march yourself right back out these doors," Mrs. Potts continued. "It will do her no good to have you in a panic."

He looked back at her then, expression somber. "Yes, Mrs. Potts. I—I understand."

At her nod, he bolted past her and into the room. Soleil made to move away from Belle's side, but Adam only crawled across the opposite side of the bed to reach her. She reached for him with a shaky hand and he caught it quickly, reaching an arm around her in support. Belle rested her head against his chest, eyes closing with momentary relief.

"All right, love," Mrs. Potts said carefully, moving back in place. "Can you give me another push?"

Belle opened her eyes again, feeling stronger than before. "I can."

Another hour passed, and dawn now filled the room with light at the child's first cries. The infant was placed in its mother's arms while Adam cradled her in his own.

"A boy," Sophie whispered happily, turning back to help Mrs. Potts with the afterbirth.

Belle gazed down at him, all the pain from before replaced by relief and joy. Adam reached for her face, kissing her temple for a long moment before reaching down and touching his son's soft cheek. His son, whose name had been destined long ago atop a nearby peak.

"Hello, Abel."

A princess sat in bed, sinking into the soft covers as she held a novel in her lap. A warm summer's evening, her day spent juggling a toddler while trying to complete her most recent commission.

Another mural hung over the bed where she now sat, one that would never be sold. It depicted a wide valley bowl, with a shining lake at the center, and a rocky peak, where only one who knew to look might spot a great creature sitting beside a young woman as they gazed over the view.

Adam stood in the doorway, silent, watching while Belle read. It was a sight he hadn't yet tired of, nor could he imagine he ever would—not with the faint smile that would cross her lips at times or the way she would pause and press the book to her chest as she pondered a particularly poignant scene. Perhaps the only sight that proved better was watching her read to Abel, curled up together by the warmth of an evening fire.

She still hadn't noticed him there, so he moved quietly across the room. He settled on the end of the bed, cocking his head at her.

"Just…just wanted to finish this chapter before bed," Belle said, eyes not leaving the page.

The corner of Adam's mouth curled up in amusement. No, some things never changed.

Still, she only tempted him. He let the back of one finger brush up her leg. "Might I help you remove your stockings tonight, my love?" he asked casually.

She finally looked up at him then, a knowing look in her eye as she raised a brow. Still, she didn't object, so he let his finger slip beneath the top of fabric, pulling it down but an inch. Then he leaned down, brushing his lips against the skin of her inner thigh.

Belle shuddered. The book fell a fraction, hazel eyes peeking out over the top. Pulsing. "You're not going to let me finish this chapter, are you?" she whispered.

"Not if I can help it," he mumbled, tugging the thin fabric down further and kissing the inside of her knee.

Belle grinned, teeth biting the corner of her lip as her breath caught. By the time his own lips had reached her ankle and begun their journey back up, the words on the page had been quite forgotten.

"Papa, what are you doing?"

Adam froze. Then slowly, he looked up. A little boy stood there in a wrinkled nightshirt, one stocking missing and a worn, stuffed bear held tight in his arms.

"Ah—Abel!" Adam said, flustered, pulling back in an instant and patting Belle's leg awkwardly. "I was just…um…"

He looked to her for help, and quickly realized none was to be found. For Belle currently had her face pressed between the pages of the book once again, shoulders trembling in silent laughter. Traitor! he thought, looking back quickly at their young son and beginning to sweat.

But then, an idea. "Maman had an owie," Adam said, raising a finger. "And I was kissing it better."

Belle's silent amusement was now betrayed by a short, high-pitched laugh, which she only barely managed to stifle once again. The book slipped from her fingers, cheeks flushed underneath and eyes dancing with mirth as they glanced out at him.

"Oh no!" Abel said, entirely unaware of his parents' amusement. "Maman, are you better now?"

Belle's expression softened, though her eyes were still full of laughter. "Such a sweetheart," she cooed, reaching out and resting a hand against the child's cheek. "Yes, I'm all better."

Abel reached two arms out, and Belle complied, lifting him from the floor and into her lap. He curled himself against her chest, closing his eyes and smiling happily.

Adam only sighed. "Buddy," he said, moving over and resting his own head on Belle's shoulder. He reached out, ruffling Abel's already messy hair. "If you want that little sister you keep talking about, you're going to have to learn to stay in bed."

Belle smirked, glancing over at him. "You know," she whispered. "I believe there may be one on the way already."

Adam blinked. Then his eyes grew wide, flitting to her abdomen and back to her in a moment. His mouth fell open.

"I was going to give it a few more days," she went on quietly, Abel's breathing already falling into the gently rhythm of sleep. "But…I'm quite certain as it is."

"Wow," Adam breathed, still in shock. "I'm…"

"Not ready for this again?"

He smiled, then shook his head. "No. I'm just happy," he said honestly. "Really happy."

Belle appeared to release a breath she was holding, smiling back at him. He reached up, holding her face in his palm and kissing her for a long, drawn-out moment. Then he reached down and took Abel from her arms to return him to his own bed. He caught Belle reach for the book once more as he left the room, and chuckled under his breath.

Abel's room was just down the hall, and he moved carefully but swiftly, anxious to return to Belle's warmth. Reaching the small bed, Adam turned and pressed a quick kiss to the boy's cheek.

"Goodnight, Abel," he whispered. "I love you."

Yet as he leaned over the mattress to tuck the child in, Abel's grip tightened, his little face burying itself further against Adam's neck. "Papa," he said frantically, voice muffled. "Don't go. I'm scared."

Adam hesitated, then straightened again, holding Abel closer than before. "What are you scared of?" he asked quietly. He felt a bit of discomfort in his stomach, but went on. "…Monsters?"

"No," Abel said, pulling back and looking at his father with furrowed brows. "Monsters are nice. Maman told me so."

Adam couldn't help but smile at that. "Ah, I see. What, then?"

Glancing around the room, Abel leaned close to Adam's ear, covering it with one small hand as he whispered. "Papa Noël."

Adam blinked. "Papa…Noël?"

The boy nodded in earnest. "He can get inside, even when we lock the windows," he said, eyes growing wide. "It's scary."

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. The kid had a point. "Don't worry," he said instead, an idea forming in his mind that left him barely suppressing a grin. "I'll, uh, talk to Papa Noël and tell him to leave the gifts outside. Maman and I can put them out instead. Okay?"

"M'kay," Abel agreed, sighing and resting back against his shoulder.

Chuckling quietly, Adam moved towards the little balcony window, looking out over the gardens below. They were white with fresh snow, blending into the trees and hills beyond. He stared out at the scene, pondering what lie beyond. Their kingdom, peaceful and prosperous and their people, happy and free. He'd already begun to see the effort it took to make it that way, but he'd also witnessed what happened when that effort wasn't given. And that knowledge empowered him.

Feeling thoughtful, Adam turned back, repositioning Abel in his arms as his eyes moved slowly over the dark room. A small oil lamp sat atop the fireplace mantle, left burning low and casting warm orange shadows over the room. The walls were covered with friendly figures—smiling teacups, playful candlesticks, a dancing suit of armor—painted lovingly by the child's mother. Adam looked at the work of Belle's hand, at the books and soft plush animals scattered across the floor, back at the child in his arms—the small, breathing creation of their love.

It was too much. Adam felt his throat grow tight in an instant, the simple beauty of it all rushing over him like floodwaters and threatening to spill out.

A hand on his arm. "Adam?" someone asked softly. "What's wrong?"

He looked over. Belle was beside him—he hadn't even heard her enter—looking at him with concern. He must have lingered here longer than he realized.

"Nothing," he answered a bit sheepishly, lifting a shoulder to dab at wet eyes. "Just, well…being a papa has turned me into a blubbering fool, it seems."

Belle laughed softly, weaving her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder. He shifted Abel to one arm, wrapping the other around her, staring back out the window at the dark night sky.

"He can get inside, even when we lock the windows."

Abel's frightened voice, echoing in the back of his mind. Adam frowned. Perhaps Papa Noël didn't pose any threat, but he knew far too well of those who could get past locked windows and guarded doors.

And suddenly, the darkness outside seemed to creep back into his heart once more. Memories of red eyes, of fluid mirrors and a thick, swirling mist. An old, buried fear—a fear that everyone he loved would somehow be taken from him once again.

He pulled Abel closer, the arm holding Belle starting to tremble. "Can I really be happy?" he asked quietly. "Can this—all of this—can it really last?"

She looked back up at him, eyes growing soft. "It can."

"But how can you know?" he whispered, almost desperate for her answer.

"I can feel it," she said in earnest. She paused, however, looking somewhat impish. "That and, well…I may have had Agathe look ahead for me."

Adam raised his brows. "Really?"

"Mmhmm," she smiled. "She said there's nothing to fear. A few bumps in the road, of course, and more than a few surprises—but nothing left to fear."

Adam's chest swelled in relief. He pulled Belle close, kissing her softly in the darkness. A darkness that, for the first time, offered nothing but serenity and peace.

It was a tale as old as time, he supposed: a man who loved his wife with all he was, a young father overwhelmed from the joy brought by his child. For he certainly wasn't the only one. Yet at the same time, Adam couldn't imagine another soul possibly feeling the same joy he felt in this very moment. And he knew no one had come to their own happiness in the way he had.

He pulled back then, heart too full for words, gazing at the face of the woman he adored.

At the friend, who had saved him from despair.

At the beauty…who had loved a beast.

THE END

Thanks for reading. All my love, greensearcher.