GASTON STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. He had been rejected. Coldly, flatly, completely rejected. As he sat in his favorite chair in his favorite spot in the town tavern—right below the wall featuring all the antlers and trophies he had won—Gaston could not shake the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even LeFou, sitting by his side, telling him how fantastic he was, could not break through the sorrow he felt.
“Picture it, LeFou,” Gaston said, taking a big swallow from his drink. He waved his hand in front of him. “A rustic cabin. My latest kill roasting on the fire. Adorable children running around us while my love rubs my tired feet.”
“Ooh! What’s roasting on the fire?” LeFou said, ever the captive and willing audience. “It’s the minor details that really paint the picture.”
Gaston shot the smaller man a look for interrupting his monologue. “But what does Belle say?” he asked, the picture painted clearly enough in his own mind. “‘I will never marry you, Gaston.’” He slammed down his drink in anger.
“There are other girls,” LeFou pointed out. He nodded over his shoulder at a group of such girls. Gaston barely gave them a glance, but it was enough to send them into fits of giggles.
LeFou was right. Gaston could have the pick of any of the girls in the village—or the next village. Or any village, for that matter. But that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want any of those girls. “A great hunter doesn’t waste his time on rabbits,” he finally said. His words echoed through the tavern, causing the girls’ flirtatious smiles to fade on their faces.
Slumping down in his chair, Gaston absently played with a piece of string hanging from the fraying cushion. Vaguely, he heard LeFou trying to cheer him up, but he barely paid attention. LeFou’s arguments—that he was the bravest, strongest, most admired man in the village—were tired. Gaston had heard them all before. And, of course, he knew they were all true. He was exceptional. He was the town hero, the best hunter there was; he was even good at decoration—antlers made a room, in his opinion—and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind he was the largest and most handsome of men.
But what does it matter whether all those things are true, Gaston thought, if Belle doesn’t believe it?
Just then, the door to the tavern flew open. Maurice stood in the doorway. His eyes were wild and his clothing was torn. He grabbed on to the doorjamb as a cough racked his body. “Help!” he said when the coughing had subsided. “Somebody help me! We have to go…not a minute to lose…”
As he spoke, Maurice moved into the tavern, seeking out the warmth of the fire that roared in the hearth. Seeing how disheveled the man was, the tavern keeper tried to calm him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “Slow down, Maurice.”
Maurice shook his head. “He’s got Belle…locked in a dungeon!”
Gaston sat up straighter, his interest piqued.
“Who’s got her?” the tavern keeper asked.
“A beast!” Maurice answered. “A horrible, monstrous beast!”
Shocked by the man’s words, the whole inn went silent—for a moment. And then Jean the potter held up his mug and smiled. “What are you putting in this stuff?” he asked, breaking the silence.
The tavern keeper shook his head. “Don’t look at me,” he retorted. “He just got here.”
Down at the other end of the counter, a vagrant who hadn’t just gotten there looked up. The man was even more disheveled than Maurice and his eyes were cloudy, his cheeks weathered. He glanced at Maurice and nodded, as though he and Maurice were in on it together. “What they don’t tell you is there used to be a castle and we don’t remember any of it!” he said.
Instantly, the tavern filled with laughter.
“No!” Maurice protested. “He could be right! My daughter’s life is in danger, why do you laugh? This isn’t a joke! His castle is hidden in the woods. It’s already winter there!”
“Winter in June?” Jean said, laughing. “Crazy old Maurice.”
“Please listen!” Maurice begged, looking around the room at the dispassionate faces. “The Beast is real. Will no one help me?”
Sitting in his chair, Gaston stayed silent. Belle’s father was an odd man. He always had been. But as the man continued to beg, an idea began to form in the back of Gaston’s mind. An idea that could get him exactly what he wanted and make him look like the hero—again.
Quickly, Gaston got to his feet. “I’ll help you, Maurice,” he said grandly.
“You will?” LeFou asked, confused by his friend’s sudden generosity.
Gaston turned and winked at LeFou and mouthed, Just watch. Then he addressed the room. “Everyone! Stop making fun of this man at once!” Instantly, the laughter died. He nodded. He really was the most respected man in town.
Maurice rushed over and fell to his knees. “Thank you, Captain,” he said gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Maurice,” Gaston said, pulling the old man to his feet. “Lead us to the Beast.”
Still mumbling his thanks, Maurice headed out of the tavern. Gaston and LeFou exchanged looks as they followed him. The other patrons, seeing their beloved Gaston on a mission, followed, as well. Soon there was a parade making its way through the village. The commotion woke still others, who eagerly joined in, despite not knowing what was going on.
“I see what you’re doing,” LeFou said in a whisper as they walked.
Gaston nodded. He had known LeFou would figure out his plan. He always did. Now Gaston just had to make sure Maurice didn’t figure it out before it could all unfold. If Gaston was right—and he usually was—he had just found a way to make Belle marry him after all….
Inside the Beast’s castle, things were a bit calmer than they were back in the village…but not by much. Ever since Belle’s arrival, the staff had been in a full-blown tizzy. It wasn’t very often they had a guest in the castle. In fact, they hadn’t had a guest in the castle since that fateful night. Determined to make Belle feel at home—in the hopes that perhaps one day the castle could be her home—every member of the household was doing some part to make everything perfect, starting with dinner.
The kitchen staff hurried about excitedly. Headed by Mrs. Potts—a no-nonsense teapot with a heart of gold—they were putting together an elaborate meal for Belle and their master.
Sitting atop her tea service trolley, Mrs. Potts watched with pleasure as plates and serving ware that had long since gone unused came out of their drawers and cupboards. Beside her, her son, Chip, hopped up and down with excitement. “Mama,” the little teacup said, “there’s a girl in the castle!”
“Yes, Chip,” Mrs. Potts said gently. “We know.”
“Is she pretty? Is she nice?” Chip asked, jumping on his saucer and using it to zip around his mother. “What kind of tea does she like? Herbal? Oolong? Chamomile?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Mrs. Potts said. “Now slow down before you break your handle!”
At that moment, Lumiere and Cogsworth entered. The candelabrum quickly made his way over to Cuisinier, the large stove—complete with cooktop, range, vent hood, and ovens—in the middle of the kitchen. “This is your night,” Lumiere said seriously. “We are counting on you, Monsieur Cuisinier.”
The stove puffed up proudly. “Finally!” he said. His voice sounded rusty, as though it had not been used in quite some time. “A chance to cook again. Do you know what it’s been like pleasing a beast’s palate? ‘Stag tartare with the antlers on’ every single day! Who eats chicken for dessert, I ask you? Who?” As he stopped to take a breath, Cuisinier’s sides heaved with indignation.
Knowing it was best to appease the rather temperamental stove, Lumiere nodded sympathetically. “Tonight, you make a soufflé!”
“LUMIERE!”
The Beast’s roar echoed in the kitchen—it seemed the master was on his way. Instantly, Lumiere’s flames dimmed. Cogsworth shook. They both knew the Beast was not pleased.
“Just…let me do the talking,” Lumiere said to the majordomo. While
Cogsworth was very good at running a household—and telling time—he was terrible at knowing the right thing to say. He had been known, on more than one occasion, to try to escape blame at any cost. It would be best for all those involved if Lumiere was the one to deal with the Beast. At least, he hoped it would be.
A moment later, the doors to the kitchen burst open and the Beast appeared. His chest was heaving and his blue eyes were stormy as he took in the assembled staff. He sniffed the air, which was filled with the delicious smells of cooking, and his eyes grew even stormier. “You are making her dinner?” he growled.
“We thought you might appreciate the company,” Lumiere replied in his most politic voice. He opened his mouth to explain the benefits of dining with another when Cogsworth jumped in. Lumiere shot him a look, begging him to stay silent, but the clock would not be stopped.
“Master,” Cogsworth said, trying to cover his own wheels and pins, “I can assure you that I had no part in this hopeless plan. Preparing a dinner, designing a gown for her, giving her a suite in the East Wing—”
“You gave her a bedroom?” The Beast’s shout had enough force to blow out Lumiere’s candles.
Cogsworth backpedaled. “I…I…well,” he stammered. “You said…um…that the whole castle was a prison, so what difference would a bed make…”
Seeing his friend struggle, Lumiere jumped in. “That is true, master,” he pointed out. “And if the girl is the one who can break the spell, maybe you can start by using dinner to charm her.” He turned and threw his friend a bone. “Good plan, Cogsworth.”
The Beast narrowed his eyes. Then he began to pace back and forth. Finally, he looked at Lumiere and Cogsworth. “The idea is ridiculous,” he said. “Charm the prisoner?”
“You must try, master,” Lumiere said. He took a deep breath. He knew that what he was about to say was not something the master wanted to hear. But nevertheless, it needed to be said. “With every passing day, we become less human.”
Behind him, the staff piped up, adding their own encouragement. He heard someone say “You can do it,” and another member of the staff added, “Please.” In their voices, Lumiere heard the same desperation he felt. Their master’s fate was their fate—yet only the Beast could change it.
“She’s the daughter of a common thief,” the Beast pointed out, his staff’s pleas falling on deaf ears. “What kind of person do you think that makes her?”
Mrs. Potts, who had been silent up until that point, finally spoke up. “Oh, you can’t judge people by who their father is, now can you?”
She didn’t need to say more; her loaded statement was clear enough. All around her, the staff cringed, prepared for the master to retaliate. But to their surprise, he didn’t. He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on Mrs. Potts. She knew, more than many, just how deep a wound the master’s father had left on him.
Finally, with a resigned grunt, the Beast turned and left the kitchen. Lumiere, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts exchanged glances. And then they rushed after him, knowing he couldn’t be left to his own devices to ask the girl to dinner.
THE BEAST STOOD IN FRONT of the door to the bedroom that now, against his wishes, belonged to Belle. Beside him, his key staff waited, ready to help if necessary. He glared at them, and then, raising one big paw, he knocked. Twice.
“You will join me for dinner!” he said, not waiting for a response from Belle. “That’s not a request!”
On her serving trolley, Mrs. Potts gave a small cough. “Gently, master,” she advised. “Remember, the girl lost her father and her freedom in one day.”
“Yes,” Lumiere agreed. “The poor thing is probably in there scared to death.”
The Beast sighed. He was getting rather tired of the sudden onslaught of advice. Still, he knocked again.
This time, there came an answer. “Just a minute.” Belle’s voice was muffled through the thick door.
“You see!” Lumiere said happily. “There she is! Now, master, remember, be gentle…”
“Kind…” added Mrs. Potts.
“Charming!” Plumette chirped.
“And when she opens the door,” Lumiere finished, “give her a dashing, debonair smile. Come, come—show me the smile.”
Show him the smile? the Beast repeated to himself. Had Lumiere lost his mind? He hadn’t smiled in years. There had been no reason to. He started to point that out, but a look from Mrs. Potts stopped him. Reluctantly, he tensed the muscles in his face, pulling his lips back over his teeth.
In unison, his staff took a horrified step back.
“Eh, less teeth,” Lumiere suggested.
The Beast didn’t need a mirror to know that his first attempt at a smile had resulted in the most hideous grin anyone had ever seen. He tried again.
“More teeth?” Plumette said.
The Beast sighed. Still hideous, he supposed. Once more, he adjusted his smile.
“Different teeth?” Cogsworth advised.
“How about no teeth?” Mrs. Potts added.
The Beast flashed a warning look. He had had enough. The staff wanted him to ask Belle to dinner. He would ask her to dinner. He would not, however, spend any more time trying to smile. Knocking once more, he tried again: “Will you join me for dinner?”
This time, Belle’s response was much swifter. “You’ve taken me prisoner and now you’re asking me to dine with you?” Her voice sounded closer now, as though she were right on the other side of the door. “Are you mad?”
As Belle’s words registered with the Beast, his expression grew dark. His paws clenched at his sides and his lips pulled up in a snarl.
“Calm yourself, master,” Mrs. Potts said in her most reassuring tone. She knew the Beast was only moments away from losing his temper.
“But she is infuriating,” the Beast replied through clenched teeth. “Difficult.”
Mrs. Potts tried not to smile at the irony of her master’s calling Belle difficult. She attempted to reason with him instead. “So, you be easy,” she said.
Taking a deep breath, the Beast prepared to try once more. His body shook with the effort and his jaw clenched fiercely, but he managed to speak in a tone that was mostly nice. “It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner.”
Belle’s response was immediate. “It would give me great pleasure,” she said through the door, “if you would go away.”
That was the final straw. The Beast’s eyebrows twitched. His tail thrashed. His claws flashed, and then, as the staff backed away, he lifted his paw and banged on the door with all his strength. The hallway shook.
“I told you to come to dinner!” he snarled, all nicety gone.
Belle did not back down. She banged on the other side of the door. “And I told you no! I’d starve before I ever ate a meal with you!”
“Be my guest,” the Beast shouted back. “Go ahead and starve!” Turning, he glared at his staff. They were the ones who had gotten him into this mess in the first place. “If she doesn’t eat with me, then she doesn’t eat at all!”
“Master, no!” Lumiere protested. “Show her the real you.”
“This is the real me,” the Beast said. Without another word, he whipped around and headed toward his rooms. Behind him, he could hear the staff muttering to themselves, their voices disappointed. But he didn’t care. What had they expected to happen? For Belle to swoon at the idea of eating dinner with him? A beast? They were fools if they thought that would happen. And he had been a fool to try.
Pushing open the door to the West Wing, he stalked over to a small table by the window. On top of it were a hand mirror and a glass jar, which held a single red rose that hung, enchanted, in its center. Picking up the mirror, the Beast gave a single command. “Show me the girl!”
Magic whirled and the mirror’s glass slowly shifted and swirled until it revealed Belle. She sat, her back against the door of her room and a look of dread on her face.
Slowly, he put the mirror down. Belle was scared because of
him, because of the beast he was—the beast he might very well always be. His eyes locked on the enchanted rose and he sighed, watching as another petal fell to the table. It was only a matter of time now before the last petal fell, and when that happened…The Beast shuddered and lowered his head. When that happened, all hope would be lost. And if Belle’s reaction was any indication, he had just blown one of his few chances to put an end to the curse.
I have to get out of here, Belle thought as she pushed herself to her feet. The Beast was a monster. His behavior just then had proven that beyond a doubt. If she didn’t get away now, she would most likely be stuck with him forever. She shuddered at the horrifying thought.
Walking over to the window, she looked out. After she had been left alone with a narcoleptic wardrobe as her only guardian, she had wasted no time in putting an escape plan into action. Ripping apart the hideous dress Garderobe had made her, she had used the fabric to create a makeshift rope. It now hung out the window, the end dangling about twenty feet from the ground. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
She had just taken a deep breath and picked up the rope when…Knock! Knock! Knock!
“I told you to go away!” she shouted over her shoulder.
To her surprise, it was not the Beast’s deep and grumbling voice that answered. Instead, the voice that replied was gentle, kind, and polished. “Don’t worry, dear,” it said. “It’s not the master. It’s Mrs. Potts.” A moment later, the door swung open and a serving trolley rolled inside. Placed on top were a beautifully painted teapot and a teacup with the same design on its side. The pot, Belle had to assume, was Mrs. Potts.
Quickly, Belle tried to block the rope that hung behind her. But Mrs. Potts had spotted the escape route the moment she had entered the room. It hadn’t surprised her. Belle seemed like a clever girl, and the master had given her no reason to feel welcome. Still, Mrs. Potts wasn’t going to let the girl just leave—not if she could help it. And having lived with a stubborn individual for quite some time, she knew that sometimes the best way to make people do what they didn’t want to do was to give them the chance to do it on their own terms.
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