Laurent wandered the gardens for a few more hours, pausing to weave the purloined roses into a flower crown and wearing that for the rest of the day. He returned before dark, finding the note and frowning as he mulled over the implications of it. The Beast knew what he'd done. It was entirely possible that the Beast knew everything he did here. Either the whole place reported back to him, or he had a way to keep an eye on Laurent. Either way was unnerving. He had no privacy. He was a pawn for the Beast's entertainment. A butterfly under glass.

There was no change of clothes or specific order, but Laurent went downstairs anyway for dinner, taking his place at the grand table and expecting to be joined, or at least to be served.