Evermore [The Beast/The Prince x Reader]

chapter fourteen

author's note:

This chapter includes a small sample of Home from the Broadway show. :-)

//

She had prepared herself emotionally to face the Beast as she made her way to the dining hall. By the sound of his loud, gruff words that could be heard through the open door, she knew he had been waiting for her.

"Sorry I am late," she said, stepping into the room. She smiled and made her way to the seat at the end of the table, where the butler-turned-coat hanger pulled her chair out. "Ah, thank you, monsieur!"

"Nice of you to join us," the Beast said, sipping on a glass of water.

"I am terribly sorry," she said, unfolding her napkin on her lap, "but time got away from me."

He huffed. "No worries," he said, and she was pleasantly surprised. "It happrns. Lumiere! More rolls, please - and bring our entrées!"

"Coming right up, your majesty!" he said.

The Beast watched her. She was solemnly picking at the roll already on her plate. Tearing off chunks at a time, she flicked them carelessly. When she knew he noticed, she pressed them into her napkin and cleared her throat.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "I'm just..."

"You can tell me," he murmured, making sure his voice was gentle and soft.

She raised her eyebrows. "Can I? I fear every sentence that comes out of my mouth will send you into a fury."

His face fell. "I... am very sorry to hear that. I didn't know you feared me. I thought you were my friend."

She shook her head. "Can't we be friends and fear one another? Certainly you don't fear me, of course..."

Lumiere wheeled out a cart. With the help of Plumette, the couple was given their bowls of stew. It smelled richly of chicken and tomatoes and other vegetables, and swam in a light brown brother. ___ dunked a fresh roll into the surface, sopping up the flavorful soup.

"That is where you are wrong, mademoiselle," he said, picking his bowl up with his paws. He glanced at the confused look she gave him. "I often find myself afraid when in the presence of a beautiful woman like yourself."

She smiled for a moment, and then it was gone. As if she realized something, she pushed herself away from the table, catching her napkin in her small hands. His eyes filled with wonder as she sniffed hard and brought her napkin to her face and hid her watering eyes.

"Excuse me!" she gasped, and she ran out.

"Mademoiselle?" he said, standing up. His heart ached as he heard her weeps. "___, wait-!"

He tried to push away his chair, only to knock it completely backwards and bump his knee against the leg of the table. He groaned and caught himself, making sure to steady the piece of furniture crashed to the marble floor.

Then, he took off, yelling out her name as if his life depended on it.

He turned down the corridor that started towards the west wing. With a start, he saw the napkin on the dusty floor. She must have run all the way to the wing itself. He quickly made his way up the steps, hearing her whispering, sing-song voice as he did so.

"Is this home?" she sang gently, her voice like a songbird on a spring morning. "Is this where I should learn to be happy? Never dreamed that a home could be dark and cold."

He turned into the corridor. Slinking in the dark, he saw that she had opened the makeshift drapes, revealing the enchanted rose in all of its glory. It lit the room in soft red. She dared not touch it, but knelt at its tableside.

"I was told," she sang, "every day in my childhood, even when we grow old - home will be where the heart is... never were words so true..."

She wept as she sang the next line, a distinct sound of hopelessness in her soft, beautiful voice. He wished she would use it for singing more than her heartache; but he knew that we was hurting just as much as he was.

"My heart's far, far away," she said, and she covered her face. "Home is too."

As she cried, the sounds coming out of her lips becoming more like whimpers and sniffles than actual words, he stepped out of the shadows. It startled her slightly, but he ignored it.

"You've seen the rose," was all he said.

She wiped her nose. "Uh, yeah. I assume it has something to do with the curse. But... it's beautiful. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be..."

"No," he said, stepping towards her. He gestured to the rose. "Stay as long as you'd like."

She settled back down. Sniffling, she looked down at her hands that rested limp in her lap. He observed her with utmost care to detail; she was broken.

"You're not happy here," he said.

"I am," she whispered, "but there are so many things that I miss."

"Things that I can't give you," he said.

She wiped her eyes. "I know why you're here, your majesty. If you think that being with me while I'm distressed will make me fall in love with you, you're wrong."

"What?"

She glared at him. "I am as lost and broken as you are, believe me. But forcing yourself to fall for me - and trying to deceive me into loving you back - that's not love."

"I-"

She stood up. "It could happen," she said, "but don't force it. It's not true love if it's forced. And I... I would be happy to love you, if that's what life wants out of us."

He took a deep breath. With a glance towards the rose, he felt a roll of uncertainty come over him. Of course, he had time; not even one of the petals had fallen yet. But still, his dream was so out of reach, yet so close.

"You are right," he said slowly. He hung his head. "I am so, so sorry, my friend. I have hurt you far worse than you would ever dream of hurting me, and now-"

She reached her hand out. He was surprised to feel her warm skin melt into the palm of his hand. She pulled herself close to him, smiling sadly. He felt her fingers run through the fur he was so repulsed by on his arms, and she leaned her head on his chest.

"I'm here for you," she whispered.