Reverse Turn

Disclaimer: I do not own the 2017 Beauty and the Beast nor the cruise line stage show, copyright belongs to Disney.

His earliest memory was of his mother swinging him around and around in a circle in the middle of the ballroom. He was slightly dizzy, but the exhilaration more than made up for it. If you had asked him before his mother's death, he would have pointed to that moment as the anchor in his childish certainty that he was loved. Held in another's arms, safe and protected.

Clearer memories, from when he was a little older, were of dancing lessons with her. She held his hands in both of hers and taught him how to count the time picked out by Maestro Cadenza on the spinet and how to move gracefully without tripping in high court heels. Older yet, and taller, she was his partner as he learned to confidently lead a woman around the floor. Hours they would spend in the ballroom; none of his tutors dared to interfere with the Princess's wishes even though the Young Master was supposed to be learning Latin and mathematics. It gave the dance lessons the air of something secret, exciting and forbidden. Dancing was of course an integral part of a proper young royal's education, but it was not supposed to take a backseat to other things.

"Dancing will lead you to love, my son," he remembered his mother saying fondly, ruffling his lengthening blond hair and kissing him atop his head. "You see someone's inner self on the ballroom floor, when they are too busy thinking about the dance to hide their true feelings."

And indeed, though he knew his parents were both excellent dancers, when he observed them dancing together at the few royal functions he was permitted to attend they were always stiff and formal. His mother's beautiful countenance was serene and betrayed none of the enjoyment she clearly felt dancing with her only child. His father's face, as always, was set into stern, forbidding lines, only relaxing when dancing with one of the pretty young maids making their debut. The young boy took his mother's words to heart.

His love of dance sustained him through the dark period following his mother's death. It was one of the few things he was permitted that reminded him of her. No more sneaking off to the ballroom, however: now the lessons were with yet another male tutor and part of his weekly round of studies. With time, the boy grew extremely proficient; his skill on the dance floor was one of the things that kept him from (perhaps justly) being relegated to 'the brooding scholar' in everyone's minds as his stature grew towards manhood. In the little free time he had as his duties and lessons increased he was usually to be found in the library, legs draped carelessly over the arm of a chair with his nose buried in a book and snapping at any servant who dared interrupt. His father would have liked to forbid him even this little pleasure, afraid of even the smallest frivolity corrupting his son's mind, but on this one matter all the boy's tutors united and threatened to resign if their charge were denied time to read books of his choice.

And then his father died, and he was now the Prince at barely eighteen. He lost no time in throwing off his father's onerous restrictions; he gave a lavish ball at least once a fortnight and soon there was fierce competition among the local nobility to improve their skills as it became known that only those who were the most skilled at dancing were invited to these exclusive events. The Prince rejoiced at seeing such perfection even as the treasury drained and he was forced to raise taxes again and again over the next few years to support these fêtes; dancing reminded him of happy times with his mother in a life that had otherwise become bleak and meaningless without close friends or family with whom to truly share his heart.

He kept his mother's long-ago words in mind when it came time to take a wife, the year he turned twenty-one. He threw his most lavish ball yet, with the express intention of finding a match. The ball's purpose was an open secret to the point where even the musicians had chosen their pieces especially to facilitate his search. He danced with all the eligible women but thanks to the competition for invitations his frequent balls had generated, all the prospects had become so skilled at the technical aspects of dancing that they had learned to hide their emotions and simply executed every movement with bland perfection and gently alluring smiles. He felt no spark with any of them.

It was perhaps fitting that into this empty spectacle walked the Enchantress and her curse. The newly made Beast knew finding love would be impossible in his hideous state. How could he follow his mother's cherished prophecy that dancing would lead him to love when no woman would dare to look at him, let alone touch him? Dancing itself, one of the few things in which he took genuine pleasure, was lost to him forever as long as the curse remained.

Or so he thought.

Belle surprised him at every turn. She was like no one he'd ever met before. At first, he was shocked when she sacrificed herself for her father and angrily resisted the Beast's attempts to bully her. He was forced to admit he'd grown so used to people jumping at his beck and call that when someone defied him it felt wrong. His mother would have been ashamed, would have reminded him that the best dancing leaders guide rather than force their partners to move where they want and that all aspects of dancing translated into the real world. But despite how awful he'd been to her, Belle still didn't leave him injured in the snow when she could easily have escaped. She brought him back to the castle and nursed him. This single act of selflessness made him think his mother probably would have liked Belle, if the two of them could have met. His mother had once, notoriously, ordered the royal entourage to stop so that she could give a shivering peasant girl a warm cloak. His father had raged at her for making them late to an important state dinner, but she had borne it all calmly with her head held high and uttered not a word of apology. Their young son had wished he were so brave.

Belle loved to read as much, if not more, than he did, despite her peasant background. Books had been a solace for both of them during many a lonely hour. She, too, liked to read with her legs thrown over the arm of an upholstered chair. She, too, delighted in the witty wordplay of Shakespeare, even if they did disagree about favorite works. They found more common ground in the library than the Beast would have believed possible. One night they even stayed up late discussing Guinevere and Lancelot and didn't realize it was two in the morning until a worried Cogsworth came to check on them.

He started to hope, much as he tried to quash it.

He'd been reluctant since the curse to enter the ballroom. Too many bad memories of his final naïve moments as a human man coupled with too many painful memories of happy times with his mother. However, according to the servants Belle had been delighted with the room from the moment she'd first set foot in it and had embarked on the enormous effort of restoring it, when she wasn't organizing the library to suit her exacting standards or tinkering with the wheels on the disused carriage in the stable to make them work more efficiently.

Finally curiosity overcame him. Tentatively he made his way to the ballroom when he knew Belle was there at work with Plumette and several of the other servants, being kept company by Maestro Cadenza serenading them with new arias he had been composing for his wife. There was a general air of cheerfulness to the atmosphere the Beast couldn't remember permeating any part of the castle since his mother's death. The curse hadn't even been broken and Belle had found a way to improve everything she touched.

The general noise died away as more and more of the room's occupants noticed him standing in the doorway. The Beast noted almost with relief that the mood shifted from one of merriment to curiosity at his abrupt appearance rather than fear. It was, perhaps, a first since before his voice began to change from a boy's into a man's and he'd learned how to bellow from his father. Belle, high up on a ladder with a dustcloth working at a particularly difficult corner of the room's golden gilt border, glanced down and smiled, actually smiled, to see him.

"Hello," she said, tucking the cloth into her waistband and descending the ladder. "What brings you here so unexpectedly?"

"I…came to see how you were getting on." He looked around. "You've made remarkable progress." It wasn't as painful to come in here as he had feared, and he began to feel a little silly for avoiding it. As long as he didn't look at a particular spot on the floor, where there were nearly invisible claw marks gouged into the gray-white marble, he felt fine.

Belle stumbled a little descending the second to last step. Without thinking the Beast reached out and steadied her. Belle glanced down at his paw curled around her arm, and the Beast could have sworn he saw a faint blush stain her cheeks. "Thank you," she said. Once she had her feet firmly on the floor, she twined her hands in her apron. "Would…would you like a tour?"

The Beast blinked at her, since he was likely far more familiar with the layout of the room than she even after all her work. But she wouldn't know that. He'd never come in here that she was aware of. And it was an excuse to be close to her, in any case. So he mutely nodded.

She surprised him once again (would she ever stop doing that? He was starting to doubt it) as they made a circuit of the room. She pointed out little decorative details she and the servants had discovered as they cleaned that he had never noticed before, not even in all the times he'd snuck in here with his mother or in all the balls he'd ever thrown. Whoever had designed this room had had a sense of humor given the sheer number of musical notes they had managed to cleverly disguise in every possible nook and cranny. According to Belle, they had counted two hundred thirty-eight musical notes, and yet (said in an undertone) she wasn't entirely sure they had all been located yet.

Once they were back at the ladder, they looked at each other. Belle tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. "I should get back to work."

"It looks as though you're nearly done," the Beast said, glancing around.

"Nearly."

The Beast thought of the rose upstairs, how few petals it had left. An insane idea occurred to him as his mother's long-ago words drifted through his mind. At least he was reassured that Belle wouldn't actually agree, but he could tell the servants he'd tried. "We should…we should have a dance tonight. To celebrate the restoration of the room to its former glory."

"What a wonderful idea!" Belle grinned, and his stomach dropped. "I can finally see the room as it's supposed to be. I've imagined it so many times while we've been working but…I'm certain it can't compare to the real thing. But what will I wear…?" she trailed off, a little of her excitement fading.

"I'm sure Madame de Garderobe can find something, even on short notice. Why don't you go and ask her while I…talk to Lumiere and Cogsworth about what else will need to be done?"

Belle readily agreed to this, and as she walked off with a skip in her step the Beast looked helplessly after her and called himself all kinds of fool. But there was nothing for it; he was committed now.

As the servants were putting the final touches on his appearance for the evening, he realized that he had no idea if Belle could dance. He'd begun to take for granted that she could do anything she put her mind to so it hadn't occurred to him to ask. Well, there was no helping it now. He'd just have to rely on whatever skills he had left after years of not practicing to muddle through for them both.

And then there she was, standing opposite him at the top of the stairs and oh his heart stopped at the sight. He wouldn't have thought yellow to be a color that would suit her, but she looked radiant. The dress shimmered as she moved, and as he approached her he saw it was edged all over in gold, just like his blue frock coat. They would look like two gilded figurines in a music box, perfectly matched to the atmosphere in the candlelit ballroom with all the gold moldings Belle and the servants had just finished polishing.

Belle had never been one to hide her emotions, and it was as if he could sense her every thought as they moved arm-in-arm down the rest of the stairs, across the hall and into the ballroom. She was excited, she was nervous, she was hopeful, she was anxious, all these chased each other across her face in succession. He could even feel her trying not to clutch him too hard.

They paused to regroup once they entered the ballroom, and to admire how beautiful the room was. Then the music swelled around them, and he knew the first move was his to make.

He was frozen. His mind had gone blank. All he could think was that he couldn't mess this up, not with this girl, not with her, she was just too…everything…to disappoint. The moment had come and even though he'd spent seven years under the curse waiting for love, and weeks wondering if Belle could possibly be the one, he found himself unprepared to take her hands and face it. He swallowed, and forced himself to tentatively hold out a massive paw, wondering if she'd even bridge the gap.

Of course, she surprised him by taking the offered paw without hesitation. He stared at their joined grip for a moment, then collected himself. All at once his years of lessons washed over him, and he could feel his spine straighten, as much as it was able. He was in command here, but he would only suggest with the motion of his body, and she could refuse anything he asked.

She could dance, and well. She knew how to follow his lead, and where to take initiative and add her own flourishes. But he also saw his mother's prophecy held true: she was focused enough on the steps not to guard what she was really feeling as they moved around the floor.

She was enjoying being in his arms. Whenever their eyes met, hers lit with warm affection and a little shyness. This, this was what he'd been hoping to feel with someone at that idiotic ball he'd thrown, but he had been a fool to think one dance with a perfect stranger would tell him what he would need to know. He already knew Belle, and it was because he knew her that when they danced he could see her inner self.

Was it love? He wasn't sure. It was certainly closer than anything else he'd felt in a long time. Dancing with Belle felt as if he'd come home after an exile. He never wanted this connection between them that he felt right now to fade. And what did she see when she looked at him? He knew he hadn't exactly been guarding his own emotions. His deep fondness for her felt as though it were radiating off of him like heat from a summer road.

He lost track of the time they spent whirling around the floor. The rest of the room seemed to fade into a dim blur around them. When the music finally slowed, Belle leaned forward and put her head on his chest. His heart soared. Perhaps, it might be enough…perhaps…

The music stopped, ending on one last plaintive note. Belle and the Beast were left staring at each other as the world gently came back into focus around them. Noting they were both breathing heavily, the Beast held out an arm and led Belle out to the terrace beyond the ballroom, where there were a few sheltered benches. It was chilly, but the chill felt good even through his fur.

"I haven't danced in years," he admitted once they were settled. "I'd almost forgotten the feeling."

"Well, you're quite good at it," said Belle with a sparkling smile.

"My mother taught me, when I was very small child. We'd spend hours together spinning and laughing…" his voice trailed away as the memories nearly overwhelmed him.

"You were lucky. To have been close with your mother."

"Yes." The Beast recalled that her mother had died when Belle was barely a year old. She didn't remember her at all. He at least had memories, even if most of them had grown fuzzy over the years, surrounded by a golden haze of nostalgia. He had been nine when his mother died. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday, and sometimes a million distant years ago.

"My father taught me to dance," Belle said. "He always made sure the house was filled with music, and laughter…" Like the Beast, her voice faded away and her eyes went distant.

"You must miss him." It was out before the Beast realized the faux pas. He was the one responsible for their separation, and of course he'd had to go and remind her of that fact.

Belle looked at him sadly. "Very much," she said, in half a whisper.

He couldn't stand that agonized, resigned expression. He knew what it was like to miss someone so much you thought you'd die of longing to see their face one more time. This was a pain he'd caused her, and now he'd do anything to take it back.

He thought of the mirror the Enchantress had given him, the one that could show you anything you asked. At the time, he had no idea the fateful chain of events he was tipping off; all he wanted was Belle's happiness. He'd ceased to think about his own, even if it meant he would mean he'd never dance with her, or anyone, again.

As it turned out, bowing out of this particular dance was the best choice he could have made.

-0-0-0-

Was it odd, then, that the first thing he wanted to do after he finished thoroughly kissing Belle upon transforming back into a human was to swing her around? He saw a flash of Belle's startled face but she hung on and by the time he set her back on her feet again she was laughing.

"You're really here. You came back to me," she said, stroking his cheeks with both her hands. She ran her thumbs tenderly under his eyes and he was startled to feel dampness there. He hadn't even been aware that he was crying tears of joy and relief but as he realized this a few more slid down.

"You—" he started but choked on the emotion. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "You broke the spell. At last." He reached up and took both of her hands in his, giving them a squeeze.

"I broke…? I don't understand. The servants all said I needn't worry about breaking it, but they wouldn't tell me how it could be done. I wanted so badly to help."

"I know. And I'm so sorry." He explained, expecting her to explode with fury at them keeping such an important secret from her, and at him for holding her captive with ulterior motives. She had every right.

As usual, she surprised him. She looked thoughtful instead of angry, and she didn't let go of his hands during his entire recitation and subsequent repeat of the heartfelt apology. She said, "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to get you involved tonight, and I put you and everyone here at risk. Things got out of hand so quickly, and I didn't realize how determined Gaston was to force me to marry him. I played right into his hands, and then I panicked." She described what had happened to her and her father once she got back to the village. "Perhaps it was all for the best in the end. It forced me to come back here before the last petal fell, and it forced me to face…" She trailed off. "It forced me to face the possibility of a life without you in it. I—I didn't like what I saw. And now that I understand what you were giving up by letting me go…well, who wouldn't love a man like that?"

He thought he would melt under the warmth of that smile.

"I don't deserve you." It had been a revelation, to know that he didn't deserve anything she gave him but had chosen to do so anyway.

"It could easily be argued the reverse is true, you know. Mrs. Potts always insisted inside you were a prince of a fellow. I should have realized sooner that she meant it literally," she glanced around at the restored, opulent West Wing, "but the figurative meaning applies, too. We both know there are many ways for a man to be noble."

He reverently kissed the back of her hand. "You are so wise. I never know what's going to come out of your mouth next."

"I know a few people who would count my inability to hold my tongue as a fault, but coming from you it's a compliment." She laughed.

"Shall we go down? There are people eager to see us."

"Of course!" Belle immediately turned and started for the door, one hand still in his. As they walked, she looked at him shyly. "Do you think we could—"

"Have a dance to celebrate?"

"Did the end of the curse give you mind-reading abilities as well? That's just what I was going to say."

"When it comes to dancing, I believe we are perfectly aligned, my lady."

Grinning, hand in hand, they made their way down the stairs. The Prince could almost hear his mother's musical laugh following them down, chasing away the last of the shadows.

Author's Note: I have been waiting with baited breath for someone to put footage of the Disney Cruise Line's stage version. I'm too low on the financial ladder to be able to afford an entire cruise just to see one show. Finally, someone put an almost-complete version on youtube! O happy day!

In particular I love what they did with the music at key moments. Be Our Guest is a blast, as they staged it as a fashion show with the table as the runway. The title song has been re-orchestrated so that it's actually in 3/4 time, making it a genuine waltz. The original is in 4/4 time, to the everlasting chagrin of those of us versed in music and dance because even though the characters are waltzing, the song is not a waltz. It's a small nitpick, but I was pleased to see it got fixed for this version. I also love the music during the transformation, and the finale where they mashup Beauty and the Beast and How Does a Moment Last Forever. In short, it's worth seeing and I hope against hope someday to see it in person.

Exciting announcement time! Thanks in part to my years of practice in this fandom, I am a published author! And yes, it's a Beauty and the Beast retelling, though not based on the Disney movie so I am free to publish it for real. It's called Poppies & Roses, and is available starting June 28, 2018 on Amazon as a Kindle book. There isn't a physical version of it yet, but depending on how this does as an ebook someday there may be. So many of you over the years have encouraged me and told me that I wrote things you enjoyed and that you'd always like to see more from me, and this is the direct result. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

So how do you get ahold of a copy? Simple. Go to Amazon and search for Poppies & Roses in the Kindle store, author's last name Norfolk. It's also available through Kindle Unlimited, so if you have a subscription to that you can read it for free!

I'd also like to request that if you do buy a copy and enjoy it, to leave it an honest review (even if it's only stars) on Amazon. The more people review, the more effort Amazon puts into recommending the book to others who might enjoy it. I really appreciate you taking those extra few seconds. If you've enjoyed my work over the 10+ years I've been publishing on fanfiction, then this is a tiny way you can thank me.