୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧
“Why so?” The prince asked , and a delicate shiver of uncertainty danced through Belle, wrapping her in a veil of hesitation. She did not want to tell him or anyone about the yet to be confirmed truth, the truth that Belle was praying like a falling angel who had just re-discovered God was not true, but Belle knew she was not that lucky for such things. She was the daughter of a long line of powerful nobles with great influence in society, and that meant as a child and especially as a female ‘child’ she was a political tool, a fair game to be bargained and thrown towards hungry dogs just to get more power. But luckily for her, she was smart enough to have back up plans, and hopefully just hopefully Prince Emmanuel Nunnier can become another one of her ‘safe back up plans’ in a way that their friendship shall always remain, because Belle truly enjoyed him as a pen pal. He was everything she had imagined him to be, He stood before her, regal as a monarch, yet possessing the tender grace penned in his letters—thoughtful and intelligent. Each word he spoke was a brushstroke, painting a beautiful portrait that bloomed with the fragility of a seaside rose, carried by the whispers of a poetic ocean breeze.
And especially, that Prince Emmanuel that she had imagined- wise, smart, intelligent and caring came more to the surface when he had not pressured her to tell him the reason for a distress mind, but instead had said that he would lighten up her mood. She had smiled at that, tucking a strand of her back, “You being around is already lighten up my mood, my prince,” Belle continued, “You are exactly as I pictured, your grace, a humble and graceful man. I thought such men existed just in the imaginations of my elder sister.” Belle teased trying to lighten up their conversation a little more, but truthfully, Prince Nunnier had met and succeeded her expectations, not a lot of people, and especially men could say they were able to that.
The thing with Belle was that she tended to often keep her expectations of people low or medium, because if your expectations of someone was already not high to begin with, could you truly claim to be disappointed? It saved her from disappointment and embarrassment of having placed such expectations on someone. Most people also tended to fit right in her expectations, as Belle prized herself in being able to read people and their intentions towards her and others quite well- she was very observant after all, she loved learning about people and getting ‘into their minds’ while not letting others truly get to learn about her or get into her mind. But she had giving the Prince a piece of her mind during the millions of letters they had written back and forth to each other, even when Belle was in boarding school. She could not help herself but to share a little more about her to him than she shared with others, and he often shared a lot about himself- well, not really about himself but more about war and some of his strategies with her when she would ask all so curiously. Thus, she had raised her brow when he had said that his condition was not of importance, she was about respond to that, when he had once again shifted the conversation to talk about the gifts.
‘ask questions later’ Belle said to herself. She would ask during their time in the practice fields as they did their archery, ‘ask questions later’ Belle said to herself. The perfect moment, she mused, would present itself amidst the serene expanse of the practice fields where the resonance of their shared passion for archery might grant a more candid exchange. Perhaps the rhythmic dance of arrows in flight would coax him into a state of relaxation or, on the contrary, immerse him so deeply in the art of archery that his guarded walls would momentarily crumble for the time being. As he began to unveil the gifts, Belle cocked her head like a puppy as he brought out the first give. A rose, practical but beautiful. Delicately she took it and cradled the roses in her hands, she took a moment to savor their fragrance, her eyes sparkling with delight. Eagerly, she awaited the revelation of the promised tokens, a symphony of anticipation playing in the air between them."
He took out the second gift and it was a painting to which made Belle’s gaze go wide with admiration. It was beautiful- truly beautiful, painted in detail. Her features had somehow proved to be correct in his paintings though this was the first time they had met, her skin and her hair though were painted shades of royal purple, adding to the share elegance and beauty of the painting. Belle stared at the painting in awe, coming closer to Prince Nunnier. “Beautiful. This is very beautiful,” She whispered, “When you told me you painted, I did not know that you were truly this great of an artist. Every detail, every contrasting shade, it’s perfect.” She said in a low voice as she turned to him, giving him a small smile. She had thought that perhaps this was the last gift and she was to say that, ‘i shall cherish this for the rest of my life’ and she would, but as soon as she was about to say that he had presented another gift. It was a sword, a prized sword from battle, and Belle knew right there and then, that no other gift she would get in the present or in the future could compete with this gift.
Yes perhaps there is truth in saying that a day where Belle might need to use the sword shall never show, but still the sentiment of it all, the fact that it was used by a great warrior and the fact that it was one of his prized swords and he was giving it to her like it was nothing, warmed her cold heart. “You thought of me during your battles?” Belle asked, her eyes glued on the sword, as she lightly brushed against the tip of the sword, careful not to prick her finger. She caressed the sword and brought it close to her chest, and she smiled, and her face and chested warmed, “Thank you, my Prince, I shall cherish this forever really.” If he were Atlas or one of her brothers, perhaps Belle might have giving him a hug or a kiss on the cheek in excitement, but Belle never truly liked physical touch that much so instead, she called for the maids to take the sword and wrap it with a clothe and bring it to her bed carefully, while she took him to do archery, to show how grateful she was. She stood up, and they both walked outside, the guards bowing as soon as they saw both Belle and the prince, and giving them the bow and arrow.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow across the practice fields. The air was filled with the scent of fresh grass and the distant hum of activity from the castle. Belle led Prince Emmanuel towards the archery range. As they reached the open field, Belle could feel the excitement building within her. Archery was a shared passion, a bond they had formed through their letters. She glanced at Prince Emmanuel, his demeanor now a mix of regality and genuine interest. The archery range, surrounded by lush greenery, seemed like the perfect setting for the next chapter of their interaction.
Belle picked up a bow and quiver of arrows, her fingers dancing over the familiar contours of the weapon. She turned to Prince Emmanuel, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and said, "My prince, are you ready for a friendly competition? Let’s see who can hit the most bullseye." The guards sensing the readied themselves for the upcoming display of skill, watching in silence as their eyes held curiosity and interest in both the Prince and Belle.
As Belle raised her bow, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the gifts he had bestowed upon her. The rose, the painting, and now the sword, each holding a different essence of the prince’s personality. She was truly glad that he had visited and that she had truly gotten to see him in person, Belle’s fingers expertly gripped the bow, the smooth wood feeling like an extension of herself. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the present moment. The arrow rested against the bowstring, a silent promise poised to be released into the world.
Her gaze fixed on the target, a distant circle with a small, elusive bullseye. The air around them seemed to still, the only sound the rustling leaves and the distant murmur of the servants in the manor behind. She pulled back the bowstring, and the arrowhead quivered, catching the sunlight as it reflected a steely determination. Belle’s eyes narrowed, focusing solely on the target. Time seemed to stretch as she held her breath, the world narrowing down to the bow in her hands, the arrow, and the distant bullseye.With a release that felt almost cathartic, Belle let go of the bowstring. The arrow sliced through the air, leaving a fleeting trail of motion in its wake. It soared gracefully, finding its mark with a satisfying thud as it embedded itself into the bullseye.
“Bullseye!” Belle cheered in her head as she prepared to shoot another one, The rhythmic sounds of arrows being notched and released filled the air as they engaged in their friendly contest. With each shot, Belle felt a sense of exhilaration, a freeing of her spirit as the arrows soared through the air. Between shots, they exchanged laughter and banter, the weight of their earlier conversation lifting. And during what could be seen as the 6th or 7th arrow shot, Belle asked, “My Prince, did the battle you told me about in the letter go well?”
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@raviola- this post a mess and i didnt even process what i write but like i tried to make it make sense