“You’re allowing the complete subjugation of a people because two boys fought over a girl?” Rosalind demanded. “A woman is dead because of this insanity, this…prejudice! An innocent woman who never hurt anyone…who wasn’t even there when the fights broke out. What has a midwife ever done besides keep young mothers healthy and deliver babies into the world? Her death is on your hands!”
The king shrugged.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Such things do not concern us. We have other, more important affairs to attend do. The business of running a kingdom. Business of the state. The reemergence of what looks very much like the plague in countries far too close to us. We need to consider shutting down our borders.”
“So if one or two…of the more…odd…residents of the land disappear, and thus keep the others in line in this time of trouble and possible quarantine, c’est bon, n’est-ce pas?”
The queen made a little kissy noise at her son.
The princeling babbled incoherently back.
Rosalind regarded the scene with disgust, hate, and rage. She wanted to turn away, leaving with some juicy retort, like you will regret this, and become a golden ball of light and explode out of there.
But the way things appeared to be going, maybe it wouldn’t have been a good idea to make such a display.
So she turned and stalked out like a…
…like a human.
Like a failure.
Belle wept on the floor of the cell.
A surprisingly large part of her thought that maybe if she just closed her eyes and cried hard enough, it would all disappear. Everything was so unlikely anyway—the castle, the monster, her imprisonment…It could easily be a nightmare she was having after falling asleep reading one of those horror stories her father warned her about.
But the floor was ice-cold under her knees and wet from her tears.
There was no denying reality.
Any dream she had of escaping the boring little village she grew up in to go on adventures was gone forever; she would spend the rest of her days chained in a dark room, lost and forgotten. She wondered, briefly, if Gaston would look for her…if he would mount a search party even after the whole wedding business.
I’ll never see Papa again.
Belle leapt up and dashed to the one tiny window, pressing her face against the cold stone frame. In the courtyard below what looked very much like a dusty, wheel-less old carriage crept along on its axles like a giant bug. Belle gasped at the strange thing. Her father was inside, desperately trying to open the door; she could just see his anxious face. Then the gates swung open of their own accord and the carriage scuttled away, carrying its passenger into the woods.
Belle could feel rather than see the silent presence of the Beast. He was terrifying, to be sure, but far less immediate than the waves of despair engulfing her.
“You didn’t even let me say good-bye,” she sobbed, not looking away from the window. “I’ll never see him again.”
There was a strange whispering noise—as if the Beast was shuffling his feet.
“I’ll—” He paused, coughing. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Belle swallowed her tears in surprise. Did she hear him right?
“My room?” she asked, looking up. She glanced around the cell. “But I thought…”
“You want to stay in the tower?” the Beast growled impatiently.
“No, of course not, but—”
“Then follow me!”
With a movement that was graceful and powerful the Beast spun to leave, the candelabrum in one hand. Seamlessly he switched from two legs to four, then to two again, depending on what the terrain required: fitting through the door, gamboling down the stairs, holding the candles high to light the way. His movements were unnatural and strange, like a poodle walking on its hind legs.
Seeing no other choice and utterly exhausted, Belle followed. They walked in silence for a few moments, the only noise her own feet on the floor.
“I—” The Beast coughed again. “I hope you like it here.”
What?
He hoped she liked it here? Like a guest? What an odd thing to say to a prisoner. This monster was conversing with her almost like a human. A human that could be reasoned with. Hope began to rear its shining head.
“Excuse me?” she asked politely.
“The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere. Except the West Wing.”
“What’s in the West Wing?”
But apparently she had grown too hopeful, too expectant, too quickly.
The Beast turned on her and bared his fangs in her face.
“IT IS FORBIDDEN!”
Belle shrank back against the wall. His hot breath engulfed her the way she imagined a lion’s would have right before it ate a Christian in ancient Rome. With a final, barely audible growl in the back of his throat, the Beast withdrew from her and continued down the stairs.
Belle reluctantly followed him. What choice did she have?
Mention of the West Wing ended all conversation on the long walk through the dark castle. She tried to look around, get her bearings, and pretend she wasn’t being led to what was essentially just a nicer prison cell—by a creature that could devour her in two gulps.
Eventually the Beast stopped in a long hall of apartments and opened a door, beckoning her to step in.
Belle was surprised at the grandeur of the room. In the center was a beautiful canopied bed that looked like it had just been made up that morning, not abandoned years ago. Thick velvet curtains hung in front of delicate oriel windows and enclosed a comfortable-looking tuffet for watching the world outside. A gilt wardrobe the size of her pantry back home stood at attention next to the bed. Fancy paint and plaster medallions graced the walls. The room was ringed by golden-mirrored sconces, which the Beast lit from his own candelabrum. Soon it was a merry and cozy place indeed.
The Beast swept out into the hall again silently and stood for a moment in the doorway as if unsure what to say.
Belle was unsure, too. Thank you didn’t seem appropriate. Not to her jailer.
“If, um, there’s anything you need…” the Beast growled uncomfortably, “my servants will attend you.”
Servants? What servants? Except for the Beast and Belle and her father, there was no sign of any other life in the castle. What if, on top of being monstrous, her captor was insane as well?
“YOU WILL JOIN ME FOR DINNER!” he suddenly roared. “This is not a request.”
And with that, he swooped out of the room and disappeared into the shadows, slamming the door behind him.
As much as she tried to resist, this sent Belle into another fit of weeping. Her confused, exhausted brain labored under the painfully strange duality of “little girl being punished in her room” and “terrified prisoner of a beast.”
In between her sobs she heard the faintest tap at the door.
It didn’t sound right. Too bony to be a normal human knuckle. Too small to be even the eldest, weakest hand. Almost fragile sounding. Delicate. A claw maybe?
What other horrors and mysteries did this night hold?
Belle took a deep breath and forced herself to rise.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Mrs. Potts, dear. The housekeeper.”
Ah, so there are other people here. Feeling another surge of hope, Belle patted down her hair and tried to make herself look presentable. She opened the door. Maybe she would find some solace in…