Stars burned bright for the first time in forever in a gloriously cloudless night sky above the castle, as though they too rejoiced in the return of the prince to his human being. Much revelry inside and outside of the castle had gone on for hours, nay, days now, but who could blame the people for rejoicing that they were human again and were reunited with loved ones? Who could blame Plumette and Lumiere for spending quality hours behind a locked door (and unlocked doors)? Who could fault the prince for spending hours with Belle, telling her all that had happened in his life, in the comfort of her arms? Who could blame Mrs Potts for almost never letting Chip out of her sight, bestowing him with cuddles and kisses whenever she could to make up for all that lost time?

No one, not least of all, Prince Adam, could find it in themselves to blame anyone for wanting to rejoice. Yet, despite his own overwhelming relief and happiness at the curse's undoing, Prince Adam found himself desiring quiet away from the crowds. He couldn't remember a single time before the curse when he had ever desired such a thing. Once, he desperately longed to be in the centre of attention at festivities and parties, but now he found himself just as—if not more so—content being on the periphery of the crowd.

It was on one of these joyous evenings, bubbling over with song, music, and dance, that the prince quietly slipped away, leaving Belle to chat with much animation to Plumette, with whom she had become instant companions, like they had been friends all their lives. He had to smile internally when he saw just how much they were the best of friends, and a well of happiness for Belle filled him on knowing she finally found the companion she never had the chance to have for most of her life.

On this particular night, the prince wandered down candlelit hallways resonating with song from the ballroom, where Garderobe was giving it her all. Cadenza's passionate harpsichord melodies lilted and danced and twirled down on the warm, summer air that wafted through the windows of the palace. Without really thinking about it, he began humming along with the melody, letting its romantic notes fill every part of his soul with its beauty. He even found himself dancing along to it, waltzing in tandem with the melody.

After a while of wandering the halls on feather-light feet, Adam stopped before a doorway that opened out onto a quiet balcony of the castle. It had been left ajar; perhaps someone had already gone out on the balcony to catch some quiet and fresh air, maybe even gaze upon the stars stretching from horizon to horizon. Perhaps they stood out there now, hands on the ledge of the balcony, eyes closed as they inhaled the sweet scent of night-time deep into their very soul. And was that a shooting star that just streaked across the sky, so bright that it left behind an impression of itself on Adam's eyelids?

May as well go watch the stars too, Adam decided, pushing the door a little more as he stepped outside, and enjoy some peace and quiet.

The prince strolled out, his shoes tapping against the stone floor as he approached the balcony's edge. Once he reached the ledge, he leaned forward on it, eyes still gazing upon the dazzling night sky. His elbows dug into the stone still warm from the day's sunshine. His hands clasped together over the ledge, hanging out in mid-air as he listened to his own thoughts.

Curious, isn't this? Curious that I should love the quiet when once upon a time I sneered at the idea.

As he stared up at the twinkling stars coating the sky in glittering magic, he listened again to the loud, clear music in the distance–Cadenza and his wife were still playing into the night for an adoring audience. The prince was sure that the couple could play well into the next dawn if they so desired, fuelled by nothing but their passion for the art of music.

"Care to enlighten me with your thoughts?"

Adam flinched in surprise at the new voice, turning aside to see Lumiere had joined him, a tall glass of champagne in each hand. Right now, he was offering one to the prince, who accepted it with a quiet thank you.

"To happiness, mon ami," Lumiere said, raising his glass to clink it with Adam's.

"It's been a long time coming," Adam mused as he turned around to lean his back against the railings, unconsciously mimicking Lumiere's own cross-legged stance. "Where did you come from?"

"Paris?"

"I didn't see you on the balcony."

"I was here all along, my prince! You just didn't see me, that's all. Plumette's still talking with Belle, I take it?"

"Like they've been friends all their lives."

"Ahh, here, let's have another toast—to friendship."

Adam couldn't help a small grin when their glasses clinked, Lumiere taking a long gulp from his own glass, draining it.

"I'm glad for Belle that she's found such a good friend in Plumette," Adam said, "I don't think she's ever had a best friend in her whole life before she came here to this castle."

"Poor cheri, but she is happy now, non?"

"Happier than she has ever been in her whole life."

Lumiere raised his glass as though to toast again, then made a show of astonishment when he saw it was empty. He left Adam's side to quickly grab the bottle from where he'd left it on the ledge farther away before returning, glass already filled. He offered the bottle to Adam, who shook his head as he lifted his own glass, still half-full.

"A toast to our Belle," Lumiere declared, clinking his glass against Adam's again. "She has been the light of our lives since she came to the castle. And to think it all started with being clobbered by a stool."

Adam accidentally inhaled his sip of champagne at the unexpected comment, coughing and wincing as the liquid burned down his throat. Lumiere thumped him on the back until his coughing mostly subsided.

"Let's not drown our joys in champagne, Adam. Drowning your sorrows is one thing, but joy is another."

"Context. Now."

"The stool? Oh, nothing too dramatic—don't scoff!—except for Belle smacking me with a stool when I first introduced myself to her in the tower. She was lucky you weren't there."

Adam didn't have to try too hard to imagine his outrage had he been there to witness it. He always had a zero tolerance approach to anyone harming his staff—especially those he'd known his whole life long—or anybody else in his household. He might have yelled at his servants, but he would never have laid a finger on them, not like his father would have done.

"Lucky it was you she met, then," Adam said, "And not someone in a more fragile form."

A brief silence passed between them, both men trying not to imagine what could have happened had that been the case.

"She must have known," Adam said, right out of the blue, earning a confused look from Lumiere. "The Enchantress. She must have somehow known I wouldn't hurt any of you. Why else would she allow some of the household to be transformed into fragile household items?"

"You know…" Lumiere leaned his elbow on the ledge, resting the side of his head against his hand as he studied the prince in some thought. "I think she sensed there was still some goodness in you left."

Adam scoffed a second time.

"Don't scoff, my prince," Lumiere said, "Mrs Potts was discussing this with us the other day, you know. Said she always had faith in you all along, even when we…well. Let's just say some of us lost all hope."

"I probably deserved it back then. You all were unhappy."

"You think so?"

"You were serving a ruler who treated his subjects in an appalling manner. I mistreated my people," Adam's voice threatened to crack, and he stopped, trying to take a deep breath, "I should have been overthrown."

"And you weren't."

"Eventually, Lumiere, had the Enchantress not come along that night. You and I know full well."

Silence again.

"Why didn't you and the others leave with the guests?" Adam asked after a time, "It was your chance to flee from the castle."

"We couldn't just leave you, mon prince, not when you were in so much agony."

"You could have run while you had the chance."

"And we didn't, did we?"

"You wouldn't have been cursed with me."

"And you would have been all alone, and what would you have done then?"

"I—" Adam's voice caught in his throat, staring over at another part of the castle silhouetted against the night. He could see it from here, that tower that he had climbed, the highest point of the castle, that night when the hunter shot him. "I don't know."

"You know full well."

"I do?"

"Adam, how long have I known you?"

"A while."

"If by a while you mean since you were about five or six, then yes, I've known you a while. Long enough to know well what you would have done had you been completely alone."

Another few moments of quiet passed, but it wasn't uncomfortable, even if shrouded in sobriety.

"I couldn't have lived with myself had you become inanimate for good," Adam confessed, "At least you and the others made it. Belle broke the curse in time to prevent you turning inanimate forever."

The silence that followed, somehow hesitant and sombre, unsettled the prince.

"There's something you're not telling me."

It wasn't a question or accusation from the prince, but the words of a friend to another whom they knew all too well. There was something heavy in Lumiere's silence, an unspoken refutation of the prince's own assumption they never turned inanimate. A chill crept down his spine, and he opened his mouth but found he couldn't voice what he wished to ask. Fortunately, he was saved this difficult question when Lumiere confirmed it in a few words.

"We did become inanimate, at least a little while. Fortunately," Lumiere's voice lightened again, leaning back toward its more usual tones, "A certain young cheri was just in time."

"Belle…"

"Belle," Lumiere agreed, now placing a firm, confident hand on the prince's shoulder. "As for me, old friend, I am a phoenix. Burn me and I shall return, rising from the ashes."

Despite himself, Adam couldn't help a jovial laugh at Lumiere's dramatic words.

"And what would I be? The terrible troll under the bridge?"

"The Beast in the enchanted castle," Lumiere said without missing a beat, "Who awaits romance to save the day, and save the day it did."

"Not without dying first."

"Love looked the Grim Reaper dead in the eyes and thus said, you will not defeat me yet. Love then turned on its heel and walked out of Hades back to the land of the living, and voila! Here we stand, triumphant against death."

"That's…very dramatic."

Lumiere laughed, raising his glass, "To our penchant for the dramatic."

"Really?"

"My glass awaits."

Adam shook his head in amusement, but clinked his glass with Lumiere's nevertheless. Lumiere pointed at the prince.

"Your turn to come up with something to toast to next time. It can't all be on my shoulders."

"I don't know what to toast to."

"Anything. The stars, the music, the sun, anything."

"We're going to be here all night just toasting to everything if you had your way."

"I would never!"

"You'd toast to every individual guest if you could."

"Excuse me, I am the maître d' of the castle."

"Point taken."

"So, what will you toast to?"

Adam considered the question, stopping himself in time from saying an automatic "I don't know". Lumiere was right, really—there was so many things he could toast to; there were so many things he was grateful for that deserved a toast. Most certainly, he was grateful, eternally so, for Belle having coming into his life. And he was also grateful for those who had stayed loyal despite everything that had happened, even if he still wondered if he deserved such loyalty.

What was it about them? What was it that kept them going? What was it about Belle that made me feel…

That's what it was. Hope. Hope that maybe things would turn out alright in the end. And it did, it really did. Adam raised his glass, Lumiere's face breaking out into a grin.

"And? What shall we toast to, mon prince?"

"To unfailing hope that days in the sun will come shining through," Adam declared, "And to the future now full of happy promise."

"Perfect."

Clink!