"What are you reading?"

Belle glanced up from the plush chair into which she'd settled. Adam - she kept having to remind herself of that name - hovered nervously nearby. Belle studied his face, smiling a little at the scruff along his jaw.

"I'm reading Julie, or the New Heloise," Belle informed Adam. She held up the little green book, its binding in brand-new condition. Adam frowned, his brows furrowing in the same way they'd done when he'd been the Beast.

"I've never heard of that one," he said, and Belle laughed quietly.

"I'm not surprised," she said. "This is a first edition. It was immensely popular straight away, but it would have been put into your library just before… you know, before the curse was placed. And, with all respect, it doesn't seem like the sort of book you would have enjoyed back then."

"Why not?" Adam demanded, folding his arms over his crisp brown coat. His vibrant blue eyes flashed a little, and Belle couldn't help but laugh. She rose from the chair and shut the book, pushing it against Adam's chest. She still wasn't used to his shorter height or his narrower shoulders. She threaded her fingers through his with her free hand, examining the feel of his skin as she did.

"It's a novel of passion by Rousseau," Belle informed Adam. She brushed her thumb over his and added, "but it's also a political book, so much so that it was banned in many places. Rousseau stresses the ethics of authenticity, instead of conforming to expectations."

Adam smirked. "Why am I not surprised you like it?"

"I didn't say I liked it," Belle teased. She shook her head, unable to pretend. "All right. Fine. I do like it, but I'm hardly alone. When this book was released, women and men alike wrote endless letters to Rousseau about how the book made them sob, about how they were overcome by it."

Adam scowled and pulled the book from his chest. "How good can it be?" he demanded. He opened the book to a random page and read aloud, "He who pretends to look on death without fear lies. All men are afraid of dying, this is the great law of sentient beings, without which the entire human species would soon be destroyed. Hmm." He put the book back into Belle's hands and stared at her for a moment before saying, "I'll have to give it a read sometime."

"Well, not until I'm done with it," Belle said, setting the book on the chair behind her. The summer air was pleasant as it drifted in through the flung-open windows, and as Belle looked around the parlor, she realized the castle had morphed almost as much as its inhabitants.

"Are you very sure you don't want to go home?" Adam asked, and Belle sighed as she met his azure eyes.

"You're letting my father visit whenever he wants," she reminded him, "and those people - the villagers - are the ones who marched here with torches in their hands, hellbent on killing you. Why would I want to go back to them?"

Her prince quirked up half his mouth, looking almost shy as he reminded her, "When you told me you loved me, I wasn't… this. I wasn't the man who stands before you now. Everything's changed since that night."

"Changed for the better," Belle assured him. She squeezed his hand a little and admitted, "There was something very alluring, to be certain, about the very large, very strong body you inhabited when I first met you." She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as Adam looked away and rolled his blue eyes. She put her free hand to his coat, feeling his very human chest beneath it, and she insisted in a quiet voice, "There are things I wouldn't have done with you then. It would have felt wrong. It doesn't feel wrong now, though."

"Things," he repeated, shutting his eyes for a moment. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly in a way that Belle never would have noticed when he'd been the Beast. He finally opened his eyes and turned to her, shaking his head. "I'm still not used to being human again. It will take time for me to…"

He licked his lip then, releasing Belle's hand and taking a small step back. It had been two weeks now since the curse had been lifted, a week since they'd held their grand celebration. Now everything was quiet. The castle's servants were all settling back into the lives they'd been ripped from so long ago. Belle was adjusting to the new, more extravagant feel of the castle. And the Beast was gone, replaced by Prince Adam, who seemed to be finding the new way of things more difficult than anyone else.

Belle reached for his face, brushing her thumb along his jaw and whispering as gently as she could manage, "You've been chaste with me since the curse was lifted. Almost more chaste than before."

He flinched beneath her touch and shrugged. "I'm hardly comfortable walking, Belle; you expect me to… to what, exactly?"

"I just wish you would let me help you find yourself again," Belle murmured. She studied the line of the bridge of his nose; it had been far more flat when he'd been the Beast. She examined his golden hair, which had been a wild dark mane before. Then she looked at his eyes, which were precisely the same, and she informed him proudly, "I love you. The old way. The new way. All the ways. I love you."

"And I you," he promised her, covering her hand with his. He hesitated for a half second, and then he asked, "If I kissed you, would you slap me?"

"No," Belle laughed. "I would not slap you."

He tipped his head, something he'd done very often in his other form. "Would you have slapped him?"

"Gaston?" Belle's eyebrows went up and she shrugged. "Would've punched him, probably. Definitely wouldn't have given him permission. I'm giving you permission. In fact, I'm asking you. Please, will you kiss me?"

"Well, all right, then." Adam took Belle's face in his hands, his breath shaking through his nose as he lowered his face to hers. When their lips touched, Belle felt a little dizzy, and she grasped firmly onto the lapels of his coat. He was shorter, closer to her this way. But she didn't mind his humanity one bit when she tasted him, when his fingers tightened on her cheeks and his breath mingled with hers.

"Oh! Excusez-moi, Master… Mademoiselle. Hmm."

Belle tore her face from Adam's to see Lumière standing in the threshold of the parlor. The prince made an angry little sound that very closely resembled a growl, and Belle had to stifle her laughter.

"What is it, Lumière?" Adam demanded rather tersely. His hands fell from Belle's face, and Lumière said,

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. That's all! That's all I came to say, so now I will leave, and you can get back to… you know…"

"Lumière!" Belle exclaimed, feeling her cheeks go hot.

At dinner, she watched Adam eat, paying close attention to the way his fingers curled around his knife and fork.

"You are so engrossed by my hands that you've left your food entirely untouched," Adam finally noted, setting down his cutlery and staring across the table. Belle smiled a little and said,

"You're not the only one getting used to the new you."

Adam looked embarrassed, picking up his fork and stabbing it roughly into his beef. He sounded indignant as he mumbled, "Now you've got me very self-conscious, Belle."

"Well, I'm sorry," she said. "I'll just read my Rousseau while I eat, and that way nobody will be watching you."

She opened her copy of Julie and ate her food absentmindedly as she read.

Every day one loses something that was once held dear, and it cannot be replaced. And so we die a little at a time, until ultimately loving only oneself, one has ceased to feel and live before one has ceased to exist. But a sensible heart resists this premature death with all its strength; when the limbs begin to grow cold, it collects all its natural warmth around itself ; the more it loses, the more attached it becomes to what remains; and it holds to the last object, so to speak, by its ties to all the others.

Belle gulped as she finished those words, and she closed the book. It was a bit too near to reality just now, she thought.

"Something wrong?" asked the prince, and as she raised her eyes to him, she shook her head and lied,

"My eyes are tired."

He frowned, staying quiet as a few servants came in an cleared their plates. Belle thanked one, a young woman who had become a spoon for years. She got a warm smile in response. Once the dining-room was empty, Adam scratched at his hair a little and said,

"There's still quite a lot of adjusting to be done."

"Yes," Belle nodded. "There is."

He pursed his lips and stared thoughtfully at his hands. His voice was soft when he spoke, so quiet that Belle could only just hear what he'd said.

"Will you… help me find myself again?"

He was using her words from earlier. Belle felt her eyes burn with wholly unwanted tears. She tried to answer him, found herself unable, and watched as he turned his hand over and studied his palm.

"When I kissed you," he informed her carefully, "I felt more human. And, besides that, I liked it. Very much. I would like to do it again… and again and again."

Belle smiled to herself. "You can do it as much as you like."

When his icy blue eyes met hers then, they looked almost as dangerous as when he'd had horns and fangs. He tipped his head like he always did, and he instructed her, "Don't tempt me."

Belle rose from her chair, walking toward him with confident steps. Her practical, pale pink dress fluttered around her legs as she strode toward him. When she reached him, she cupped his jaw in her hand and turned his face up to hers. He was smaller in human form, but she only had to incline her head a little to kiss him, even with him seated. She kissed him far more deeply this time than he'd done in the parlour. She opened her mouth and he did the same, and she dared to venture her tongue between his lips. He groaned a little at the feel, his right arm snaking around her waist as his left hand balled into a fist on the table.

"Don't tempt me, Belle," he panted again once she'd pulled away. Belle smirked, whispering against his lips,

"Why don't you show me just what kind of a man you are?"

Adam flew up so quickly from his chair that Belle yelped in surprise. She was apparently even more surprised when he pushed her shoulders roughly, sending her crashing against the wall. His mouth was locked on hers, and so her cry of alarm came buzzing onto his lips and made him recoil. She rubbed at her shoulder, frowning as she dragged her wrist over her lips.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he found himself stammering like a fool, feeling badly for having hurt her. Sometimes this human form of his felt so weak and flimsy, and other times - like now - it seemed he'd retained some of his otherworldly strength. He hadn't meant to shove Belle so hard against the wall, but when she'd kissed him in his chair, something inside his chest had detonated. Now he braced himself against the wall with his arms and touched his lips to her forehead, murmuring again, "I'm sorry."

"No." Belle reached up and brushed her knuckles over the scruff he was growing out into a beard for her. She met his eyes and whispered, "Do it again. The kissing part, not the shoving."

He tried to be gentle this time, knowing he still moved like a brute as he put one hand on her waist and the other on her face. He kissed her warmly, deeply, tasting wine and food and something much more visceral on her swollen lips. An ember that had been burning flared up into a flame then; he felt some of his self-control slipping away as he pressed his body against hers.

"It almost hurts," he confessed, and when Belle looked confused, he specified, "How much I love you."

"I don't want to hurt you," Belle told him, gnawing on her lip. Suddenly he realized she must be able to feel the way he'd gone a bit hard for her. He was flush against her, and he himself was acutely aware of the lump that was pushing against her abdomen. But if she was frightened or disgusted, she didn't show it. Instead, she reached around his head and pulled at the ribbon that bound his hair back. She tucked the ribbon into her apron pocket as his hair fell around his face. Belle coursed her fingers through his locks, her honey-colored eyes locked on his as her hands rubbed his scalp. Adam shut his eyes and sucked in breath, wanting her very badly in all sorts of utterly inappropriate ways.

"Can I ask you something?" he heard her say timidly, and he just grunted his assent. When he opened his eyes, Belle's cheeks had gone scarlet and her voice shook. "How did you… when you were not human, did you… What I mean to say is, how did that, you know…" She trailed off, and Adam shook his head helplessly.

"I can't read your mind, Belle."

She wrenched her eyes closed, making a little sound of frustration from where she was pinned against the wall. She kept her eyes closed and asked in a quick blur of embarrassed words, "How did the most manly part of your body work when you weren't human?"

Adam nearly laughed aloud at that. Instead he just pulled back from her a little and waited until she gave him a humiliated, withered sort of look. He cocked up an eyebrow and tipped his head.

"It was very large and very hairy and went almost entirely unused. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"No! I mean… I don't know what I was asking. It was wrong of me to ask at all. I'm sorry." Belle seemed very irritated with herself, pushing off from the wall as she insisted, "You're your human self now. That's what matters."

"Oh, so you just care about that part of my anatomy when it's human." Adam was teasing her now, and Belle looked more aggrieved than ever. She touched her fingertips to her forehead, shaking her head and wincing through an awkward, rambling apology. Adam felt badly then for mocking her, and he brought her hand from her face, wrapping it in his. When she finally looked up at him, he shrugged.

"You're a curious girl, full of curious questions," he acknowledged. "I'll answer whatever ones I can. I was never with anyone, not like that, when I was in my beastly form. Did I ever attend to myself during those long, very lonely years? Of course. It would be ridiculous to pretend otherwise. I'd had my fun before the curse. But when I was inhuman, there was no fun in any of that. No real enjoyment to be had. And even once I'd fallen in love with you… it was as you said. It would have been odd and off and probably wrong. But it doesn't matter now."

The mortified crimson flush on Belle's cheeks had faded to a pale pink, and she nodded with a little smile. She pulled her hand from his and said delicately, "I think I'll go to bed early. I want to finish that Rousseau so I can pass it on to you."

"All right." Adam waited for her to go fetch her book from the dining-room table, and as she started to go, he said after her, "Goodnight, Belle."

She turned over her shoulder, flashing him a little smile and looking lovelier than ever. "Goodnight, my Prince."

'Put an end to your childhood, friend, awaken. Do not turn your entire life over to a long slumber of reason. The years flow by; you have only enough left for becoming wise. At thirty years past, it is time to give some thought to oneself. Start then to search within yourself, and be a man once before you die.'

Belle set down her copy of Julie, her eyelids growing heavy with fatigue. She blew out the candle on the table beside her and lay back against her pillows, staring up at the moonlit ceiling in her beautifully decorated room. Sometimes she still had difficulty accepting her new reality. She had long since come to grips with the validity of magic, with the fact that she was in a castle, and with the fact that her life in her tiny village was over. But the new reality, the one in which she was in love with a human prince, still felt foreign and bizarre.

She shut her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. For some reason, when she did finally doze off, she had a ghastly nightmare. Gaston was holding the Beast's head aloft, his arm dripping with blood as he shrieked in glee to the assembled mob. Gaston's gloved hands were wrapped around the Beast's horns, and he said proudly to LeFou, 'This will be mounted right above my bed. The bed where Belle will sleep.'

Belle gasped as she sat bolt upright, blinking in the darkness as her heart raced. It had started raining, she realized, pulling herself from her bed and standing in a small puddle as she shut the windows. She was very thirsty all of a sudden, feeling so horrified by her nightmare that she knew she would not find sleep again tonight.

She went to her wardrobe, scoffing a little laugh at the fact that it was just plain old furniture. She pulled out a dressing gown in lightweight, sage green silk, wrapping the garment around herself and binding it with shaking fingers. She didn't bother with slippers, reckoning that if she stepped on something, it would be her own fault. She took the candelabra - again, not a hidden human - from her dressing-table, and she made her way carefully from her room down to the kitchen. The castle was still and quiet; nearly everybody was asleep. So Belle tried to move as silently as she could, knowing she must still be making quite the clatter as she rifled through the tea supplied.

"My dear, are you quite all right?"

Belle gasped and stood up at the sound of Mrs. Potts' voice. The elder woman smiled kindly as she stepped from her own quarters off the kitchen. She set down her own candle and asked,

"Can I make you some tea, dear?"

"I… I'm just thirsty," Belle admitted. "Not necessarily for tea. I'm sorry to have awakened you."

"It's no trouble at all, dear," Mrs. Potts said, waving off Belle's concerns. She lit the stove and started putting water on to boil with the practiced ease of a longtime servant. Her movements were smooth and graceful, and Belle envied them. She wanted to help, but knew she'd just get in the way. By the time Mrs. Potts handed her a cup of tea, Belle smiled gratefully and said,

"You all kept him human, at least a little bit, during those years. I'm thankful."

"Well. We're thankful for you, dear," Mrs. Potts insisted. She brushed Belle's hair from her eyes with a motherly affection and asked, "What's got you up in the middle of the night, then?"

"A terrible dream," Belle said honestly, sipping her tea and letting the hot liquid sear her throat a bit. Mrs. Potts gave a knowing nod and suggested,

"You're nervous about the fête this week, aren't you?"

"Well I wasn't. Not until now," Belle laughed. The Prince was hosting the surrounding villagers for a summer party in the castle's gardens, having heeded Belle's advice that exposure would quell the curiosity of his newly-enraptured subjects. Belle dragged her thumb around the rim of her teacup and said very seriously,

"I'm just glad Gaston won't be able to attend the fête."

"Ah." Mrs. Potts nodded gravely, understanding coming over her face. "So it was that kind of dream." She drew her fingers over her thick braid and nodded sadly. "That was a frightening night. You may have visions of it for some time, I'm afraid. Perhaps try and think of the good that came of that night. There was quite a lot of good that I remember."

Belle shut her eyes and remembered the way Adam's enchanted body had lifted into the air, the way his human form had morphed into being as the curse gave way. She remembered the way he'd looked at her, relief and uncertainty blending in his pale blue eyes. She smiled and opened her eyes, sipping from her tea again.

"I saw your gown for the garden party," Mrs. Potts said knowingly. "Silk the color of fresh butter. You're wearing yellow to remind him of that first dance, aren't you?"

Belle smirked and sipped her tea again. "Maybe."

It had been Madame de Garderobe's idea to wear yellow, to hearken back to that night in the ballroom, but mercifully she'd let the castle's seamstresses make the gown. Belle was rather looking forward to wearing the pretty frock, and when she thought of dancing with Adam in the gardens, she found herself grinning.

"Look at the lady; she's beaming like the sun," said Mrs. Potts quietly. She patted Belle's shoulder and told her, "Try and get some sleep, my dear. Sun'll be up soon enough."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts." Belle watched the kind-eyed woman go back to her rooms, remembering how she'd looked as a teapot. When Belle finished her tea and set the empty cup on the butcher block, she stared at it for a long while, remembering the first time she'd met little Chip as a cup. She swallowed hard and made her way out of the kitchens, climbing the enormous staircase with brisk steps.

"Belle?"

She whirled around to see Adam across the landing, leaning onto the west end of the balustrade. He gave her a crooked little smile and said,

"So I'm not the only one having trouble sleeping tonight."

Belle walked toward him, examining the way his chiseled features came to life in the flickering candlelight. She stared at him for a moment and then said very honestly,

"I dreamed that Gaston took your head as a trophy. He was going to hang it above a bed where he'd make me his wife."

Adam shook his head. "You never would have let him do either of those things, Belle. It was just a nightmare. A very unrealistic one."

"Still frightening," Belle admitted. She looked away, her eyes coming to rest on the inlaid marble in the floor. She sniffed lightly and murmured, "She, much amazed, breaks ope her locked-up eyes. Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled. Imagine her as one in dead of night from forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, that thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking."

"Belle." Adam cut off her recitation of Shakespeare's terrifying ode to Lucretia with one sharp word. He held his own candelabra in one hand and threaded his fingers into Belle's hair. He shook his head and said firmly, "That was never going to happen to you. Your father would never have let that happen. You, Belle, would never have let that happen. And I would have taken a hundred of his gunshots - a thousand of them - to keep it from happening. You are safe now. He is gone."

Belle nodded up at him and admitted, "I was more disturbed my your fate in the nightmare than my own."

"But I am here," he reminded her, and suddenly she couldn't help her eyes from going to his chest, half-bared by his nightshirt, and then back up to his glittering blue eyes.

"Yes," she whispered. "You are indeed here."

He tipped his head and sighed as he asked, "May I please walk you back to your room?"

Belle just nodded, putting her hand on his arm as they made their way to the East Wing.

"Good evening. Yes. Hello. Welcome." The Prince wandered slowly through the dense crowd in his freshly revitalized gardens. He nodded in greeting, receiving curtsies and bows and whispering stares. Madame de Garderobe was singing with the small orchestra that had come for the event. Wine was flowing, tables overflowed with pastries and savory hors d'oeuvres. As the sun went down, the twinkling lights of torches and lanterns lent the place a mystical air. It was all quite a sight, but it was nothing compared to the young woman upon whom Prince Adam had locked his eyes.

She'd worn yellow. A paler, more understated yellow than the last time, but yellow just the same. Belle stood in a little group of women, looking as though she were consumed by some sort of awkward conversation. The other ladies, with their heavily painted faces and towering wigs and fluttering fans, seemed utterly artificial in comparison to Belle. She was Rousseau's dream - the picture of authenticity. Her hair was curled and tied back by a simple cream-colored ribbon. Her gown was elegant but understated. And her beautiful face was mercifully devoid of the chalk-white paint and bright pink lips the other women boasted. Adam stared for a moment, almost overcome by how very pretty she was in comparison to everyone else.

"Oh! Madeleines… I used to love eating Madeleines in Paris."

Adam turned his face at the sound of the familiar voice. Maurice, Belle's father, had appeared at a small dessert table, and if he was speaking to anyone in particular, Adam couldn't see them. He smiled a little and walked to the table, saying in a cautious tone,

"Good evening, Monsieur."

Maurice startled and looked up, a napkin with four or five Madeleines balanced carefully in his hand. Maurice grinned nodded, giving a cursory little bow.

"Quite the party, Your Highness."

Adam was more than a little uncomfortable with Maurice calling him that, but he was unsure of how to correct it. Instead he drummed his fingers on the table and said quietly, "I imagine it can't be very pleasant for you to come back to this castle. For that I apologize."

"But it isn't the same castle where I was held prisoner," Maurice insisted, looking confused. "And, in any case, this is where my daughter discovered her own true happiness. Where she fell in love. How could I be unhappy here?"

Adam gulped, feeling shame go straight to his core. He pursed his lips and admitted, "It is not difficult to see where Belle acquired her good nature."

Maurice laughed, popping a Madeleine into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full then as he chuckled, "Oh, no. Belle is quite her own person. She is who she is very much in spite of me. She's just over there, trying to make some friends." He pointed over his shoulder, and then his eyes crinkled as he said, "I promised her I'd stay out of her way. But she's always struggled with socializing. Not something she enjoys. Perhaps you could go help her."

"I'm not any better," the prince insisted, his eyes going wide with horror at the notion. But Maurice glanced at his daughter again and said,

"Perhaps you could just go be a bit awkward with her, then, so she isn't alone in doing so."

Adam scoffed and nodded. "She hardly needs help. With anything. Just the same, it would be an honor to stand beside her. It always is."

"She loves you," Maurice announced. "She told me so in a letter."

Adam nodded, suddenly unable to mask his emotion. He met Maurice's eyes and said firmly, "I don't deserve that from her, but it is… more than reciprocated."

"I'm going to eat these Madeleines," Maurice said lightly, "and I'm going to go listen to the music. Go rescue my daughters from those awful painted women, will you?"

"I'll do my best." The prince bowed to Maurice and kept moving toward where Belle stood. As he approached, the three women near her dipped into overly-deep curtsies. Adam was suddenly hurtled back to the dark days before the curse, when he'd been a selfish, hedonistic mess of a man. He'd lived for the simpering, sycophantic attentions of young women then. But he was a different man now. He ignored the quietly giggling women in their wide gowns and turned his attention to Belle. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles and locking his eyes onto hers. He didn't look away from her as he told the other women,

"I apologize for stealing her away, ladies, but I must have a dance."

Belle smirked and murmured a farewell over her shoulder as Adam guided her away. As they walked toward the parquet dance floor that had been laid out in front of the orchestra, the prince told her,

"I promised your father I'd just stand there and be awkward with you."

She snorted a little laugh and said up to him, "I'd rather dance."

"Good." He moved around her on the dance floor through a gavotte that was just fast enough to prohibit real conversation. Instead he just focused on the feel of her hand on his, on the way her skirts moved smoothly around her, the way she seemed so much more free than anyone else at the party. He looked at her lips, at her cheeks, at her eyes and her hair and her collarbone. He thought of her, the day earlier, lecturing him about the poetry of the Valois court. Finally the gavotte ended, and a slower minuet took over. Adam let his arm lace around Belle's tiny waist as she smiled up at him and slowly turned round.

"Thank you for rescuing me from those girls," she said. "They were from a village I've never been to, but it seems like many girls from small villages are alike. They just wanted to impress their future princess. Don't worry. I corrected them."

She rolled her eyes and laughed a little, and Adam frowned deeply. He gently touched her fingers and stepped out, the two of them moving like orbiting planets as he demanded,

"What do you mean, you corrected them?"

A strange look came over Belle's eyes, and suddenly Adam realized he'd never asked her to marry him. For some reason, he'd spent these last weeks assuming it would happen. After all, he was madly in love with her, and she'd said she was in love with him. She was living in his castle. Of course they would be wed. It was hardly ludicrous of the village girls to assume such a thing.

But Belle had never said she would become the prince's wife. His heart thudded as the two of them separated, drawn many steps away from one another by the conventions of the minuet. When Adam did the requisite little kick step, he nearly stumbled, still so wobbly and uncertain with movement in this human form. He stared at Belle with his hands knitting together behind his back, thinking he just might throw up all the pastries he'd eaten. When the dance finally permitted him to take her hand again, he stopped dancing entirely.

"What's the matter?" Belle asked, her own feet stopping short. The prince tightened his fingers around hers and asked in the steadiest voice he could manage,

"Please, will you marry me?"

She smiled then, lowering her eyes to the ground demurely. She nodded and finally looked back up at him. "Of course I will."

The minuet ended then, and there was a smattering of applause for the music and the singing. Adam could hear none of it. He could hear only his own breath, his own human heartbeat. He could see only Belle's lovely honey-colored eyes, her delicate features that belied the iron soul inside her. He hadn't released her hand, he realized, and he had to struggle to make himself do it. Belle curtsied, the way she had been meant to do at the end of the minuet that had long faded into silence. The prince bowed to her, more deeply than he's bowed to anyone tonight, and he murmured gently,

"Thank you."

"What do you mean, Papa?" Belle glared at her father, who shrugged as he sipped at a glass of rich Bordeaux.

"It's nothing to fret over, Belle. I've been forgetting things worse than usual. Sometimes I forget where our house is, or if I've eaten breakfast, or whether I've fed Phillippe, or -"

"You forget where our house is?" Belle repeated. She shook her head, feeling a pit of dread in her stomach. "It isn't safe for you to be on your own, Papa, if this is happening to your mind."

Maurice's eyes were very sad then, and he shook his head. "You are grown, Belle. It is not for you to take care of your absent minded old father. It is for you to find joy, and I think you have found it in this castle."

"There's more than enough room for you here!" Belle insisted, but her father covered her hand with his.

"This is your home now," he reminded her. "My home, when I can find it, is perfectly serviceable."

"If you won't come stay here, then I'm coming home to stay with you," Belle said, scowling. Maurice shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Belle. If you really and truly love your father, then live the life you have been gifted here. Leave me to my minuscule troubles; I've had far, far worse. I am fine. I promise you. I am perfectly fine."

Belle gnawed on her bottom lip and said, "Please, Papa, will you write me a letter every other day? So I know you're all right? If it goes a week and I don't hear from you, I'll come check on you. And I'm going to speak with Père Robert. If it gets any worse, I'd like him to check on you every day."

Maurice touched his daughter's face, and she covered her hand with his. "What a precious daughter I have," he said, "to worry over me so when she surely has good news to share."

Belle grinned and took a half step back. "How did you know?"

"That prince of yours seemed awfully nervous on that dance floor," Maurice noted, "and then he seemed very happy. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"He didn't ask you first?" Belle mused, and Maurice laughed as he shook his head.

"No. I think he knows better than that. You don't need my permission, and he knows that full well. So. When is the wedding?"

Belle laughed and shook her head. "No date as of yet. No plans at all. Just a question and a yes."

"As it should be," Maurice nodded. He glanced around the beautiful gardens and said warmly, "How happy I am for you, Belle, that you have found that great wide somewhere you always talked about. But I must be going; Père Robert has been kind enough to offer to take me home in his sturdy cart. And I believe he has an early Mass to say in the morning."

Belle nodded, kissing her father's cheek as she noted, "I don't have to promise you I'll escape this time."

"No," Maurice said, his eyes welling up a bit. He glanced over to where Prince Adam was speaking with a bent old man, and he turned back to Belle. "This time you're exactly where you're meant to be. Goodnight, my dear."

Author's Note: This is a re-post. I'll put up a new chapter every few days. Thanks for reading, and please do leave a review.