A Baker (Beauty and the Beast)

The Absent King

Belle felt the pain in her head first as she came around. She opened her eyes to see the canopy above her. She struggled to remember what had happened. She had been singing at the tavern and she could have sworn that Tristan had been there.

Then the doors had been flung open. Belle's hand moved towards her neck as the sequence of events returned to her. Nothing met her fingers. They remained stone dry to her relief. She lifted her head, the images swimming around her head.

The next thing she knew she was being pressed back down to the bed by a woman. Belle let herself be pushed back although she refused the water, unsure of where she was. She was adamant that she was not going to drink a foreign substance that she didn't know the source of.

They seemed to take her denial as they looked at each other for support. Belle coughed slightly, a bowl being procured fairly quickly. She choked into the bowl, feeling better after she'd got whatever that was out of her system.

The wooden doors were pushed open, an entourage of people appearing in the doorway. The women stepped back as Tristan saw her. He darted to her bedside, moving the bowl away from her. He held her hand tightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to do this to me again," he murmured.

"I didn't agree to that," Belle croaked. Tristan's reaction was fast as he reached towards the cup on the side table. He helped her to take a sip before rearranging the pillows around her head so she could sit up slightly.

"You sounded angelic," Tristan whispered, bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

Belle smiled weakly, "Thank you."

They both fell silent, content in the company of each other. A voice at the door interrupted their silence. "Son, I pray you bade farewell to the duke." The King's voice boomed through the chamber.

Tristan pulled himself to his feet, bowing towards the King though his hand remained firmly in Belle's palm. "I apologised profousely," Tristan explained.

The King chuckled, moving towards the other side of the bed. He lifted Belle's hand, kissing it as was customary. Belle froze, not knowing what to do. The King never lowered himself to such social standards unless greeting other royalty.

"My dear, I hope you are feeling much better." The King questioned.

Belle nodded, realising that she would have to respond. "Yes thank you, your majesty."

"My son was very concerned for your health," he admitted, taking a seat on the chair that had been pulled up. Tristan took his father's cue sit down once more on her other side. "I must admit you gave us all quite a scare."

"I can imagine," Belle whispered. "Is the lute player alright?"

The King didn't appear to know, looking slightly shocked at her concern for another human. Tristan interrupted to give her an answer. "He is perfectly well. Thankfully his cut was nothing more than a graze. Unlike yours."

"I can hardly feel a mark on my neck," Belle murmured, not sure how else to reply.

"The royal physician is quite adept at his role," the King supplied. "I, for one, are extremely glad you were not more severely injured. We will see to it that the man who caused you harm is dismissed."

"You can't!" Belle exclaimed before collecting herself together. "I meant to say that you shouldn't. He did not intend to cause me harm and was only concerned for the safety of your son."

"Nevertheless your health should not have been sacrificed as a result," the King reprimanded.

Belle's head turned towards Tristan, begging for his aid. Tristan stepped in on her behalf, "Father, I believe Belle is correct. If we start dismissing those who are concerned for our wellbeing, we will soon be left with no one."