Maurice had been livid when he returned home to find Belle had been told about their areangement with Vadim. Despite that, he comforted his child, ensuring her that it wouldn't be such a bad life, that her mother and he would visit often, and reminding Belle that they still had four years together before then. That helped a little- four years was one third of her life, so far- an awful lot for a child of twelve.

The year passed, Belle slowly coming to terms with the idea of going to live with a man she didn't know yet. She hoped to change that the next time they met, however, for she had no intention of marrying a stranger. She was smart, and beautiful, and kind. She could have had any man she wanted, really. That she would be stuck with the foreign prince... Well. She'd just have to make the best of it all.

Spring turned to summer, turned to fall, and Belle helped her parents with the garden and the harvest, taking part despite her female status. When your country was just beginning to heal from war, everyone had to pitch in where they could. Winter rolled around finally, blanketing the land in white. Belle disliked winter, mostly for the fact she was stuck either inside or bundled up in thick coats and itchy woolen dresses and socks. When the thaw finally began early, arriving at the end of February, she gleefully ditched the heavy clothing, rather preferring two layers of cotton over one of wool.

She'd nearly managed to forget about Vadim's coming visit, until her mother-that dreadful woman who'd let her father sell her, if even for her own good- reminded her the day before with a gift of a new dress, fancier than any she'd worn before. While it was beautiful, a deep blue which would only draw out her delicate complexion, it broke her heart to think of what it symbolized.