୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧
"I hope you understand why i hesitate to share more information, in recent times I have struggled quite a bit,’ prince explained vaguely, and Belle felt the unspoken question deep within her. The desire to ask ‘how so?’ pulsated in her heart and mind, yet she restrained herself, cognizant of his expressed unease. It was not yet time to ask and Belle knew better than to ask, the calculated time was not now. Thus, She merely nodded as he continued, narrating an excellent morning. Belle was about to tell him, that she was glad his morning went well, compared to her’s when his lips began to move again, and she paused, as he divulged that the cause of his joy lay in conversing with his favorite English friend. Belle knew what he was trying to say, understanding he was referring to her and the sentiment behind his words, English was not his native tongue, just like english was not her’s, a linguistic nuance they both navigated, and at times when one is multilingual, words tend to get mixed up and expressing self becomes harder. Yet, Belle could not help but to play with him a little as she said, 'Ton ami anglais préféré ? Mon Prince, vous savez bien que je suis une Française, n’est-ce pas ? ’ Favorite english friend? My Prince you do know I am a french woman don’t you?’ She knew that he could not speak French or at least fluently, so she knew that he had not understood her words, but she hoped he at least knew that she was speaking french, and if he asked her to tell him what she was talking about, then Belle shall tell him. But for now, those were the only words she said with a small curve of the lips.
“Je suis heureux d’être une raison pour votre bonheur, mon prince, j’espère que vous ne vous mettrez jamais à me haïr.” Belle added, then in English she had said, “I am pleased to be a reason of your morning happiness, as I least know our friendship is mutual,” She told him, tucking a strand of her back. She could not help but to wonder about many things, as Belle often did, her thoughts were all over the place, but one main thought right now was the fact that she was glad her father had asked her to pen pal the Prince of Spain. She remembered the day- she was entering boarding school and reaching puberty, and her father was building numerous connections across nations. Making more allies outside France and England, he allied himself with numerous prominent and powerful Portugese nobles, German nobles, nobles from Russia, Italy, Montenegro and Spain, her father always so skillfull in getting people to like him and ally with him, had somehow won over the friendship of the Spanish king and had sent letters to the king, and had been delighted in provided military aid from the fleur army to help in wars- going as far as to state that if needed, he could send Thomas, Belle’s brother, to help fight in which Thomas upon hearing that had choked on water.
After a while, Belle was to enter boarding school soon. Her father had pulled her side and ask her if she would want a pen pal, Belle knowing that it was not simply an innocent request, and it perhaps had to do a lot with politics-which she turned out to be right about, as her father had told her he would like for her to write to the Prince of Spain, calling it a great ‘learning’ experience for her, as he was a skilled warrior, having fought in many wars and a very noble human being, that would satisfy Belle’s curiosity. Belle had agreed and because she had agreed, she had met him. He was standing right in front her currently, painting a perfect portrait of the gentlemen she had read in the fictional books that Josephine always seemed to love and implored Belle to read too. She was glad that he was the exact same way he had portrayed himself to be in their letters- just as king, just as intelligent and just as humorous.
As she opened the gifts, gift by gifts, thanking him for each gift and especially for the battle sword he had given her, that from its tip to its hand, one could tell the sword held many stories to it. It was amazing to put it in simple terms, even though it shall likely remain more of an accessory to Belle than an actual tool, she was pleased at the gift he had given her. She had turned to ask him whether he had thought of her in battle, and his answer warmed her heart.What he had said was, ‘i thought of you in every battle, lady fleur’ and began to explain it.
His thoughts of her held no romantic inclinations, a blessing in disguise for Belle. Navigating the waters of love was not her forte; and she additionally faltered in offering solace to hearts entangled in romantic turmoil. Moreover, the prospect of others harboring romantic sentiments toward her proved irksome, triggering a cascade of awkward recollections from bygone entanglements. She also feared something if that was the case- but it was not and thus she shall not ponder on that fear. As he went on to continue in his speech, pulling metaphors and comparisons with his battles and Belle being in a dance with a man that does not interest you. Belle could not help but to think, ‘Throughout yesterday, that was all that seemed to be happening’
The prince continued, saying that throughout those hard situations, there were moments in your mind that kept one entertained from those situations even though the situation was not enjoyable. When he had said that ‘she knew that her parents had sent her to dance not for them to torture her but to secure a good life for her and help her find a husband,’ Belle felt herself internally frowning at that comparison, on the outside though her face was blank. If that was her parents way of securing a good life for her, there was absolutely no need for that. Belle could forge her own good life for herself without a husband, in fact a husband had no place in the life she wished to build for herself. Her dreams and imaginations spoke words of prosperity, of finally achieving relaxation and of freedom- freedom being a thing a woman cannot achieve if she is tied down to the chains of marriage.
Most marriages that Belle witnessed had a familiar tale to them- a tale of discontent and societal expectations woven into the fabric of countless unions. The men, unable to fathom the intricacies of a woman’s world, would vent their frustrations to comrades, casting shadows on their wives’ struggles, making mockery a shared sentiment. It was a script Belle had witnessed too often—an unhappy ending etched in the wrinkles of time. As husbands complain about their wives and wives complain about their husbands. Many husbands tended to complain about the body changes of their wives after giving birth and how disgusted they were now in her, ridiculing her often and many wives complained about how harsh their husbands have gotten now that the wives lost their youth, and how they often see them preying and given lustly glances at younger women.
Observing this repetitive narrative, Belle pondered the intricate dance of matrimony. Why so shall anyone ever truly wish for marriage? She had witnessed the tragedy of couples whose stories ended in discontent, an unhappy epilogue etched in societal norms and unspoken grievances. Yet, amid this sea of discontent, her parents stood as a testament to an alternative script. Their partnership was marked by mutual admiration, shared responsibilities, and a profound connection that transcended societal expectations. Her father, enamored, and her mother, an advisor and equal partner in the dance of life.
As for Josephine, Marquise Antoine Blanc remained an enigma, their marital tale hidden behind veils of privacy. Belle, ever the observer, could only hope that Josephine’s story unfolded with the grace notes of contentment, mirroring the harmonious duet of her parents’ union. The fear of an unsatisfied demise lingered in Belle’s thoughts, steering her away from the traditional aspirations of marriage. Her dreams soared higher, seeking the freedom of the skies, the solace of books, and the embrace of a life unencumbered by the chains of societal expectations. In her narrative, happiness would be the final chapter, and the only vows she’d take were whispered in the rustling leaves of freedom. But she could understand the words of the prince, after all the reason that she danced at all during the dance and kept up with those ‘thing’ was because she knew that if she did it she shall achieve sastification at the end from her aunt. It was just another stealthy step in achieving her goals and that kept her going.
“I am glad, my prince, that I was a driving force for you,” She told him, her cold eyes looking warmer. 'Truly, the fact I had been a motivation for you to not lament on your battles pleases me, as I did not know you held me to the same regard I held you" At times, when Belle wondered why she never just ran away, lived a life far away with Louisa as soon as she came back from boarding school, she thought about Prince Emmanuel. She thought that if she ran away, leaving everything behind just like that- she would never get the chance to meet the Prince in person and he shall be disappointed in that and Belle to shall be disappointed. She often thought of the prince- how he might look, if he would look like the paintings of him and if he shall act like the way he presented himself in his writings. In her journal, one time when she was bored- she had written little notes about the Prince. Describing him detail for detail on how he might look, she had compared his height to her’s, imagining how tall he shall be standing in front of her. She had compared his knowledge on things that Belle was unsure about to her’s and she had written notes in her journal of how much of n amazing person he was. Truly a fictional man brought to life.
Amidst the undulating fields, Belle’s retinue handed them the tools of archery. With a flourish, she took the lead, her arrows unerring as they met the bullseye with poetic precision. A symphony of success unfolded, each arrow finding its mark, prompting an impromptu smile to dance on Belle’s lips. “Impressive, Lady Fleur,” the prince remarked, inviting a playful curtsy from Belle in response.
As the stage shifted to Emmanuel, Belle gracefully stepped aside, an attentive spectator to the ballet of arrows. His shots found their mark, striking the bullseye with military precision. Applause rippled through the guards, but Belle, ever the wordsmith, approached him with a witty observation. “You’re a virtuoso of skills, dear prince. Is there a realm where your prowess does not reign supreme? Your keen eyesight truly befits a military leader,” she remarked, a twinkle of admiration in her eyes. “Your skills truly remain supreme and lead one to be jealous. You know I heard there was a hunting contest in England soon about to happen, do you plan to join it? It shall be fun, a great way to show your skills that you should pride yourself on and a good way to find a lady that catches your interest to become the queen of Spain. If you are comfortable, do you mind telling me if you had already found a lady you are interested in?” She asked curious for the future of spain and new spain, and if she shall be expecting a lady to be introduced to and learn about. Speaking of learning about, Belle still curious of how the war Emmanuel was in before he came here went, dryly Emmanuel had answered, ‘it went well,’ meaning it obviously did not go well.
“It is easier said than done, but do not beat yourself too much over it,” Belle murmured as she shoot an arrow and missed bullset, making her bite her lip as she tried again- this time with success. “This was your first lose was it not? And as seen with me failing to hit bullseyes like I tend do, humans are humans and make mistakes. You cannot always expect to win my prince but what matters is that you tried your best,” Belle said albiet a little awkwardly, not being the best in comforting people. Back when she was young, she tended to comfort people through remarks that were seen as ‘rude’ or ‘insulting’ accidentally as back then Belle was more brutally honest than now and social clues tended to escape her mind when it kept to interacting with people- that was probably why her and Louisa were best of friends. She shifted her arrow away from the shooting range and towards a tree wanting to get an apple to fall down, pulling at the strings, she released the arrow and it pieced through the apple falling to the ground and as Belle walked to pick it up, the guards quickly went in front of her picking it for her and Belle blinked, thanking them none of the less. “Shall we see who can bring down the most fruits?”