For the next few days, Belle passed the time by wandering the castle idly with a feather duster in hand, using it every once and while to sweep away the grime caked upon Rumpelstiltskin's shelves of artifacts. Even the duster somehow managed to be extravagant, composed of azure peacock feathers. The gown, at least, Belle had toned down, much to Rumpelstiltskin's chagrin, by using her sword to saw the skirt at her knees. Although the new style left her calves bare, she was simply grateful to walk about unimpeded.

The hallways and doors felt endless, repetitive. Belle could never tell if she had "cleaned" the same room twice-although none of them were identical, neither were any of the chambers interesting, either. In most, seemingly random junk was packed in shelves or scattered across the floor, and in all, the windows were smothered in nailed-down curtains of black velvet, as the one in Belle's new bedroom was. Even when the candles lit themselves at Belle's entrance, they all felt dark, haunted with ghosts that she could not fathom. Her father's seat of power-now Gaston's-was spare and cold, too, though empty of these creeping phantoms that made Belle's skin prickle. A little natural light, she considered, would help to scare them off. Just that morning, she had given up on attempting to pull the curtain off in her own bedchamber, and resorted to slicing a hole in it, instead. But these darkened windows, in these rooms that Belle hoped to stay mostly out of after cleaning them, she let them be for now.

The chameleon-skinned master of the castle-his color seemed always changing, never quite settled on one shade or another-tended to stay out of her way, after that first, china-breaking evening. Rumpelstiltskin passed time at his spinning wheel, and sometimes in a smaller side chamber, brewing potions made of fearsome ingredients from little glass vials. The only time Belle had made the mistake of entering, Rumpelstiltskin had been crouched over a large pewter cauldron, carefully measuring out a silvery substance to add to a sweet-smelling concoction while he murmured a recipe under his breath. Three drops of unicorn blood, Belle heard him say, though with the creak of the door he turned to her. They exchanged glares, and Belle shrugged before leaving.

One less room to clean, she had muttered under her breath.

Occasionally she served him tea, although never when he was at work with the potion-brewing, or poring over a book at the dining table-only at the spinning wheel, when she would not be interrupting some spell-weaving of vital importance. In a little plot she had created for herself, Belle always made sure to give him the chipped cup, in the hope that he would cut a lip or finger; she was sorely disappointed every day that he did not. Belle also made two meals a day, which hadn't yet begun to improve, as Rumpelstiltskin never failed to note. But she was used to soldier's rations, and didn't mind her own flavorless porridge, coarse brown bread, or slightly-overcooked poultry. In fact, since it irritated Rumpelstiltskin, she even got some measure of enjoyment from it. They took their meals in the same room, at the same time, although not together, never together, aside from their brief exchange of barbs.

And in between the monotonous housework and the lack of company, Belle felt herself grow bored within the confines of the sorcerer's castle, and her muscles tightened every day with disuse. Much to Belle's surprise-the last thing she'd expected to suffer at Rumpelstiltskin's hands after she accepted his deal was tedium.

But when Belle stumbled upon the master's chamber, far across the castle from where she lived-and the only other room that seemed to be livable, complete with bed and wardrobe-she felt her curiosity finally pique. Every surface was coated in a thick layer of dust, disguising whatever color this room had been decorated with as a dull gray, a far cry from the clean, vibrant greens of the chamber she could barely take ownership of yet. But Rumpelstiltskin's room seemed utterly un-lived in-even the bedcovers were stiff with what could have been years of accumulated grime. At least the rest of his estate seemed somewhat taken-care-of.

With some hesitation, Belle pulled open the wardrobe door, and squinted her eyes against the onslaught of dust that attacked her. But when the cloud cleared, it revealed pristine piles of clothing, magically protected from the wasting of time. He ought to do this to the whole room, Belle thought, reaching for a pair of trousers, hoping to find something she could fit into, even if it belonged to him. As she unfolded them, she realized that their size-very small, as if for a child-was too small even for her build. She rifled through the wardrobe, but all of the clothes were like that, apparently tailor-made for a young boy. Towards the back, the clothes tended somewhat larger, for an adolescent, but they were still too small for Belle.

"Where are the clothes he wears as a grown-up?" Belle said with a sigh, having gotten her hopes up at the prospect of attire alternative. But then that was a new quest, wasn't it, to occupy her mind and body with more than cleaning and cooking. A small quest, albeit, but something to do all the same.

...

A mundane, easy quest, as it turned out, but certainly not fruitless. After prowling through a few more rooms, Belle returned to the kitchen for a bit of leftover bread to snack on. And lo and behold, in a corner beside the cast-iron stove sat a basket, full of laundry that Belle was presumably meant to wash. But Belle snickered, and after closing the kitchen door and bracing a small table against it, unlaced the already-loose ties of her gown and pushed it off her body, and quickly slipped into the items she'd picked out of the basket.

Already she felt lighter, like she could breathe easier, although still bare somehow without a suit of mail.

Despite Rumpelstiltskin's own slight frame, his shirt of crimson satin managed to hang loose on Belle. The leather trousers, however, clung to her despite their size, the constrictive fabric sticking to her thighs like a second skin, and Belle slid her boots on over them.

She strode back to the dining hall, the new shirt billowing out behind her, hefting her sword in her hand. Its weight felt especially satisfying in comparison to the feather duster she had been forced to use the past few days. The feather duster she left abandoned in the kitchen.

Waist-high pillars jutted out from the floor here and there around the room, each showing off some artifact-objects precious enough to show off to any unlikely visitors, but not precious enough to hide away entirely. One held a ruby-studded goblet of gold, heavier than Belle's sword. Careful not to break the goblet, Belle moved it from its pedestal and set it on the dining table instead.

She searched over her shoulder, to make sure Rumpelstiltskin wasn't lurking somewhere behind her, watching. But Belle was alone, so she set her teeth, raised her sword, and took a fighting stance facing the empty pedestal. A short opponent, yes, but it would do. Her knees were bent, balancing her weight upon the balls of her feet.

One-two-three.

And Belle pounced, swinging her sword at the immobile enemy, striking it over and over again in different places, feet flying beneath her. Every time the sword hit stone, a jagged ringing pierced Belle's ears. She paid it no mind, though, paying closer attention to the thrill in her blood at the movement, the very action of striking an opponent-even a fake one.

And then, the distinct clearing of a throat behind her.

"Dearie, I don't believe any of your duties involved cross-dressing or beating the furniture." An already-all-too-familiar chuckle followed Rumpelstiltskin's pronouncement.

Belle spun, sword poised to strike. And there he was, lurking and watching just as she had dreaded.

"Need a sparring partner?" A blade appeared in his hand, glittering with fresh magic.

A feral smile spread across Belle's face, monster or no, because yes, of course she needed a sparring partner, and even the Dark One would do. She feinted toward his left, and when he moved to block her, sprang upon his right instead. Their swords met with a resounding clang, and Belle's grin grew wider at the realization that her foe had some knowledge of swordplay. Something in her mind clicked, and he was no longer the Dark One, and she was no longer his captive. But he was an enemy, and she needed nothing more than to feel her sword pressing into him. Her sword became an extension of her arm, a fourth limb, as she blocked out everything else.

They danced across the room, rather evenly matched as they each managed to parry each other's blows, always keeping the other's blade away from any life-threatening organs. He drove Belle back toward a wall, and for those moments she let him have the upper hand, acting as though she could barely parry his attacks, let alone begin an offense. It was always useful to allow one's opponent to grow arrogant, particularly when they thought themselves up against the so-called weaker sex.

"Come dearie, I'm not even using any magic," he taunted, as Belle took another step back.

But when she was nearly cornered, Belle's movements doubled in speed, and it was her turn to push Rumpelstiltskin backwards, while he struggled-or at least that's how he appeared, Belle reminded herself, refusing to fall for one of her own tricks-to fend off her blows.

Although Rumpelstiltskin did not slow in speed or intensity, Belle could feel herself overpowering him-she could feel his sword-arm shake harder every time their weapons connected.

The next time it trembled, Belle quickly withdrew her sword where it had crossed his, and slammed the flat of it into his forearm as hard as she could.

And even Rumpelstiltskin had not been expecting that, and he watched the magical sword fall from his weakened grasp, and evaporate into the air before it could hit the floor. When he looked up at his opponent, his eyes flashing with pleasant surprise, he felt the tip of Belle's blade press against his throat, threatening to tear through skin and draw blood.

And Belle was all warrior, all Anglian princess who needed to be on a battlefield fighting ogres, not trapped in a dusty castle rummaging through a demon's dirty laundry for a simple pair of trousers. She could almost taste his blood on her sword and she needed it.

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" she asked him in a hiss, gripping her hilt even harder, though a hint of uncertainty plagued her tone.

Despite his predicament, Rumpelstiltskin smirked. "Honor and promises and deals and all that, I suppose." He waved a hand flamboyantly. "But I don't break my deals, dearie, whether you like it or not." And suddenly he was gone, and Belle's sword cut through only air.

"Besides." There was a purr in her ear, and Rumpelstiltskin's arm snaked around her waist, hot against her skin through the thin, borrowed shirt. "It takes a little more than a mortal blade to kill me, dearie." Belle began to twist out of his grasp, her elbow raised to slam into his groin, as Rumpelstiltskin easily plucked her sword from her hand. Having attained his prize, he released her.

As she turned to face him, panting and red-faced, he waved the sword at her as though she was a naughty child. "Now, now, I think I'll be taking this from you. Remember our agreement to be civil? Still..." He ran a long-nailed fingertip along the length of the blade. "You're a better swordswoman than I expected. The Anglians tend to exaggerate their fighting prowess, but you've managed to surprise me."

Belle ignored the compliment, raised her chin defiantly. "What are you going to do to me?"

His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "Do to you? For holding your little toy against my neck? You're good with a blade, but you wouldn't have been able to kill me with one. Rest easy, dearie. I won't lose any sleep over your silly little game, and nor should you." His gaze traveled from Belle to her sword, and back again. "I'll offer you your trinket back as a peace offering, perhaps, if you manage to get some real cleaning done." A moment of consideration, and Rumpelstiltskin added, "And you could learn how to cook, though I am near-certain that is an impossibility."

"And you'll be my sparring partner?" Belle folded her arms. "There's no point in getting my sword back if I have to resort to fighting the furniture again."

"Deal." And when he held out his hand, ready to seal the deal as though they were equals, as though Belle was a person, and not just a prize, Belle shook it firmly. As the deal was sealed, Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows. "So, you're a bloodthirsty little princess, aren't you?"

Aware she was under his intense scrutiny, Belle let him wait for his answer. She sauntered to the dining table and took her perch there. "You profess to know so much about Anglia. Don't you know that the women are sometimes more bloodthirsty than the men?" She pursed her lips. "We don't take well to having our lands invaded by ogres."

Rumpelstiltskin continued to seem intrigued, and this made him look more man than beast, Belle thought. He possessed a sharp intelligence, she realized, that revealed itself in the way he steepled his fingers as he thought over her words. Finally, he said, "And why not make a deal to magic them all away?" Underneath the question, Belle knew, was a different one.

Why save the heir and give away your kingdom to become the captive of a demon?

But, content to ignore that question for now, Belle answered him, "There's no honor in using magic to defend my lands. If a king or a commander cannot save his lands with the strengths of his leadership and his people, then he is no king or commander at all. Had we made a different deal, one to destroy the ogres, there are those who would have seen it as weakness, as an inability to save ourselves. And your magic would not have saved us twice."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, conceded her point. And while he found himself wishing to learn more about the finally-reconcilable housekeeper, he knew better than to interrogate all at once. Belle, on the other hand, seemed to take no interest in him besides testing what little freedom she could earn.

Ah, but that was for the best, he concluded.