Dix-Sept.

He hated to admit it. Oh, how he loathed to admit it.

But Belle was right.

His pride was sore and his nerves rankled that his wife had once again outwitted him with her cleverness. Prince Vincent now regretted making such an impulsive decision.

Simply going out and 'finding' the twins was not going to work, the Prince had soon discovered. What good was a search party when those searching did neither know what to look for nor where to look?

With faithful Cogsworth and Lumiere by his side in the village square, Vincent had proclaimed the dreadful news that the royal twins were missing…stolen…snatched from their family's embrace...and that he would do anything in his power to get them back. A wave of shock possessed the good townsfolk. A kidnapping of royal children? Sacrebleu, such a thing was unheard of! Perhaps such things happened in England…but certainly not in France!

Confident that he had roused the villagers' goodwill, Prince Vincent was soon barraged with a flood of inevitable questions. Townsfolk great and small crowded the trio from the castle, having the Prince's skittish Valiant prance nervously.

When were they last seen?

Who was last with them?

Why were they taken?

What did they look like…?

What did they look like? The question came up again and again as Vincent shared an anxious glance with Lumiere and Cogsworth. What could he say? Belle's words came back to haunt him:

"What exactly will you say when looking for the twins? 'Oh, excuse-moi monsieur, but have you seen two babies covered in fur? With ears and paws to match?' They would think you are crazy! They would not believe you!"

Unfortunately for Vincent, she had been right. The twins' secret must be kept…for their safety and for the reputation of the castle. Announcing that the children he had fathered had more in common with animals than humans would cause more of a stir than needed…or would simply not be believed!

Despite dodging every question relating to their appearance, the village still worked itself up into a searching frenzy. The news of the royal disappearance spread far and wide:

"Bonjour Monsieur! Have you seen…?"

"Malheureusement, I have not."

"Such a horrid thing to have happened!"

"The royal babies, of all children!"

"Someone is out for revenge, I say…"

"Or a bribe!"

Orphanages were ransacked, midwives questioned in great detail. Fishmongers and bakers rummaged through their produce in case a stray babe had been placed there. Some women dissolved into hysterics, carried away by the thought that, mon Dieu, what if it had been their children? Every single hiding place a baby could be- haystacks, carts of cabbages, tailor's drawers, barrels of pig scraps- were rifled through in great detail.

Just when Vincent thought the pointless searching could get any worse, a much more opportunistic side of the villagers began to show through.

"I've found one! I've found one!" came a screech from a peasant woman in rags.

The entire village stopped and held its breath. The haggard woman bustled up to the Prince atop his towering steed, clutching a swaddled bundle.

"I've found your baby, You're Highness!"

Vincent looked down at what was in her arms. His expression hardened. A normal baby. A baby with soft, fair skin, strawberry blonde hair and big blue eyes stared up in wonderment at the imposing Prince. A baby without fur, without fangs, without the royal curse.

"That is not my child," Prince Vincent spoke coolly to the peasant woman.

"Oh! But it is!" the hag implored, "Why look, You're Highness! He has your hair! He has your eyes…such a likeness!"

"That is not my child!" Vincent barked, his glare sending the woman scuttling.

The villagers, some armed with their own children to offer, shrank back. Vincent fumed. What incompetence! What sheer deceit! A familiar resentment towards the village bubbled up within the Prince, a kind of bitterness he had not experienced since his youth before the curse, where he considered everyone who was not bestowed with a royal title a complete and utter fool.

"If you are here to offer your own child to me, then consider yourself a disgrace!" Vincent growled at his people, his temper livid and barely under control.

The villagers' eyes dipped in shame, their cheeks burning. By the tavern, and quite ignorant to the scene before him, Aubert, the baker's idiot son, yanked a cat from where it was cowering behind a barrel.

"Baby!" he exclaimed simply, holding up the feline and caressing it, yelping as soon as it yowled and swiped him across the nose.

Vincent had to admit, Aubert's find was the closest likeness to his own children the villagers had found all day.

"Come on Cogsworth…" Vincent sighed tersely, turning Valiant back in the direction of the castle, "This is nothing more than useless."

Silently Lumiere and Cogsworth followed the Prince. A heaviness weighed in the pit of the stomachs as to what a futile day it had been.

Meanwhile, confined to the castle, Princess Belle gazed emptily out of the window her children had been snatched from. Not a single item in the bedroom had been touched. The window, despite the autumn chill, remained open from the actions of the intruder, the bassinets were undisturbed. Mrs. Potts, still in a state of devastated shock, had sent Babette up with Belle's morning tea on a trolley, but the young woman neither had the heart, nor stomach, to touch a morsel or take a sip.

Her arms felt leaden, her head fuzzy with tears, and, although she tried to fight it, the creeping fingers of defeat touched her mind. Still in her crumpled white nightdress at midday, with a fringed shawl idly wrapped around her by her father, Belle silently gazed out on the vast expanse of kingdom when her children had been taken. They could be anywhere.

Sighing, Belle tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and fought back tears. What good was weeping when her children were missing? Léon and Sybille were out there somewhere, waiting to be found, and what could she do? Those who were brave enough to come up to the grieving Princess' room told her to rest, eat up and that her babies would be found soon. Considered far too fragile, both emotionally and physically, Belle was forbidden from joining the search. All she was required to do was sit and wait…and it hurt her incredibly to do so.

Tearing her gaze from the scene beyond her bedroom, Belle blinked as she noticed her father cautiously enter the room. Her gave her a ginger, lopsided smile, sorrow written all over his features for his daughter, but hoping that his smile might brightened her mood a little. It did not.

"They will be found soon, my Belle. I know it," he spoke tenderly, taking his daughter by the hands.

Belle smiled sadly and shook her head.

"I know you are just saying that, Papa. That is what everyone is saying."

Maurice opened his mouth and closed it, his moustache twitching a little. He was now lost for words.

"Oh, my poor Belle…" he whispered, taking his daughter into his arms.

The pair stood there for a good while. Not a word was said, for at this moment, words were useless.

The herald of a royal trumpet had Belle's eyes suddenly fly open. They were home! Rushing to the window, the Princess leaned out, seeing three mounts and their riders approach the castle. Her heart thumped wildly. Had the children been found? Was Vincent's mission a success? But as the riders came closer into view, the disappointed expressions on her husband's, Cogsworth's and Lumiere's faces said it all. The twins had not been found.

"Oh Belle…" Maurice patted his daughter tenderly on the shoulder.

Belle stiffened and sniffed, holding back a fresh wave of tears.

"Please Papa," she managed in a broken whisper, "I think I need some time alone."

Maurice, with a heavy heart, did as his daughter wished, creeping away and letting the door to her bedroom softly close behind him. Clenching the windowsill and letting a tear fall, Belle cursed the unfairness of it all. What had she done to deserve her children cursed, then stolen? About to turn from the window and crawl into bed with her misery, a fluttering piece of fabric caught the Princess' eye.

A little way down from the window, caught on a thorn on the trellis, was a piece of cloth. How odd, Belle thought, that had certainly not been there before…

Leaning down and catching the fabric, Belle brought it up for a closer view. That had definitely not been there before! The unmistakable weave of a man's breeches, Belle scrutinised the piece, her brown eyes flicking from the cloth to the bassinets where her children were last seen.

Perhaps…?

Belle, her mind a-whir, suddenly wished that sundown would hasten its step.

Night fell and the crickets announced their rickety songs. The air was still and the moon slightly clouded as Princess Belle brought the hood of her dark blue cape over her brown waves and silently stole out of the castle. Dressed in the familiar blue frock she had worn in her days before her title of a princess with a white blouse underneath, Belle winced as her navy pumps sank into the mud that lead from the back entrance of the castle to the stables. Pulling her foot free of the brown goop, the Princess steeled herself and continued trudging on to the cedar door that opened onto the castle stables.

The smell of horses and hay hit her nostrils as she slipped in under the cover of darkness, the faint moonlight her only guide trickling along the cobblestones. Tiptoeing stealthily, Belle froze as Valiant, Vincent's mount, gave a soft whinny of recognition towards his mistress. The other horses awoke from their sleep, poking their heads over the stable doors to give the young woman encouraging snorts in hope of a treat she always brought. Belle fingered the sugar cubes she had pilfered from Mrs. Potts' tea set, putting her finger to her lips and hushing the royal horses with a sugary present.

The horses munching and satisfied, Belle made her way to the stall at the furthest end of the stable.

"Psst!" Belle leaned over the door where a horse presented his generous behind to her, "Philippe!"

Philippe, Belle and Maurice's trusty old mount, looked behind him and raised an eyebrow at his mistress. Much too tired and disinterested, he soon dropped his head and continued to doze. Belle rolled her eyes. Typical Philippe!

"I've got treats…" Belle beckoned, the rest of the sugar cubes out flat on her palm.

At this, Philippe's ears perked up as he trotted around in his stall with a soft, anticipating neigh. Gobbling up his treat, Philippe nuzzled Belle's hand and gave a loud snort for more.

"Shhh!" Belle looked over her shoulder cautiously, grasping at the horse's halter, "We need to be quiet now Philippe."

The shaggy horse gave a quieter rumble of acknowledgement. Satisfied that she had captured Philippe's interest, Belle hesitated as she drew something out of her pocket. Holding the piece of fabric she had found earlier aloft, she wondered if she was about to embark upon a very foolish thing. Horses weren't hounds! Did they even have such a keen sense of smell as to trace the scent upon this stray piece of breeches? Shrugging her shoulders, Belle supposed it might as well be worth a try and held out the fabric for Philippe to sniff. Snuffling around at the strange thing in front of him, Philippe's expression was at first confused, then his ears perked up, a sign that Belle hoped would mean he would recognise someone…or something.

"Philippe," she whispered to the horse, "Will you help me find whoever owns this fabric?"

With a confident neigh and what looked like a nod of his head, Philippe was ready to burst out of his stall and help his mistress in her adventure.

"Calm down Philippe!" Belle laughed, quickly fetching a bridle and unlatching the stall.

Shaking his mane and determined to get going, Philippe pranced as Belle deftly mounted his bare back. Nuzzling into his mane and holding the reins tight, Belle stroked the shaggy steed.

"Quiet now Philippe, until we get past the castle…"

With a gentle nudge of her heels, her mount trotted off, the pair slinking past the great royal castle they called home, rooms still illuminated by candles, until they reached far enough to launch into a gallop that would take them into the blackness of the night…

Author's Note: A final chapter before I make my departure abroad, so I will take the opportunity now to wish everyone reading a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Thank you, once again, to everyone who has kindly reviewed, to those who have alerted and favourited this story and to all those simply following along and reading.

A few more clarifications before I leave (one would think by Chapter Seventeen most things will be clarified!): some of you have noted 'oddities' in my spelling, which to me, as an Australian, are not oddities at all. We, like the British, use s's instead of z's in words such as 'organised' and 'realised', and spell 'harbour' and other such words with a 'u' instead of just an '-or.' So it's not incorrect, just a different manner of spelling.

Furthermore, regarding the dialogue of my characters, I have tried to be as faithful to the original film as possible. By juggling 'older fashioned' English with bits of French, I have tried to retain the 18th century Disney-fied world of The Beauty and the Beast. But, you may note upon careful inspection of the script, that the film does use contemporaneous words such as 'hey' and 'guys' that would not be common until the 20th and 21st centuries as a method to connect to an audience of our times. I noticed that this slang is used particularly amongst the villains, if you take a look at LeFou's verses in the song 'Gaston.'

Anymore questions I'll be happy to answer them (and hopefully try not to let the history/English student in me ramble on with another thesis...).

As for that, I will bid you adieu for five weeks. I know that you will probably be all frustrated at the cliffhanger I have left you on, but with a little bit of patience I will be back in February and updating as usual!

Happy reading and jive on down to the button below!

Fancy Friday