Author's notes:

1) I'm assuming the prince is in his late teens/early twenties here, even though – as has been calculated – if you subtract Lumiere's "ten years we've been rusting" from the narrator's "his twenty-first year" you get one eleven-year-old prince. Sometimes I go with that but it is kind of weird and didn't really work for this fic. My excuse for ignoring it is that it seems to be kind of a mistake, given that the portrait of the prince pre-curse does not look eleven.

2) Similarly, I get that it makes no sense for Facilier to be in eighteenth-century-ish France. We're just going to have to suspend disbelief on that one!

3) I was inspired to write this because Lawrence in TPATF reminds me of Cogsworth in BATB, but I felt there were some key differences between them.

4) I'm thinking of writing another crossover pairing either Naveen and Belle or Tiana and the Beast, or both, just to see how those different personalities would affect the stories. What do you think?

The young prince was going for a walk. In any ordinary life, this would have been an event not worth mentioning, unless of course the ordinary life was that of, say, a fish. However, this was no ordinary life and, as such, no ordinary walk. In fact, no sooner had he announced this intention than Cogsworth, head of the household and hoping to achieve a new personal best time in scrambling the prince's protection service, was spreading the word.

The prince, disinclined to spend the entire afternoon with an entourage, had counted on this. As soon as Cogsworth had hastened from the room, he was out of the window and making his descent from the second-floor music room with the aid of a conveniently-placed tree. His plan was simple yet, experience had taught him, effective. Cogsworth's team would be assembling even now in the entrance hall. All he had to do was hare off in the direction of the forest and he'd be out of reach before his "security" knew he'd gone.

In the past he'd used this method just to get out of the castle for a bit, take a pocket full of gold and just see what was available in terms of entertainment. His portrait had only recently been distributed, and even those who had seen a copy would be unlikely to recognise the prince's features in a young man on the street. This anonymity afforded him a delicious freedom to do as he pleased. This time, though, he had something particular in mind. The Shadow Man was in town. Normally, if he heard about some visiting entertainer or practitioner of magic passing through his kingdom, he – or, occasionally, she – would be invited to the castle to perform for his court. With the Shadow Man, though, things were a little different. The information he had been able to glean about him was vague to say the least, but one thing everyone seemed to agree on was that the Shadow Man's magic was dark. He had heard this said with anything from abject terror to an unnerving enthusiasm, but his personal attitude was one of curiosity. "Good magic", as it had been described to him by a number of the witches, conjurers and assorted magicians who had been his guests, was apparently to be used only for what they deemed to be "good" deeds. Namely, or so it appeared to him, helping poor people. He didn't set much store by this assertion. It sounded very much like a clever excuse, fashioned to explain away the illusionists' inability to produce for him a dozen fine black stallions, or a chest filled with treasure, or a beautiful woman. The Shadow Man, if he lived up to his reputation, would be different.

He was at the foot of the tree before he noticed that he had company.

"Master?" It was Cogsworth, somehow obsequious and probing in the same syllable.

The prince decided it was time to stand his ground. After all, there was only one prince here, and it wasn't the man facing him. "Cogsworth," he said, "I've decided that I will be taking my walk alone this afternoon."

Cogsworth swallowed a sigh. At this stage, this conversation was virtually scripted. It wasn't as if he liked it any better than the Master did. As far as he was concerned, life would be a lot easier all round if he could just settle down with a nice brandy while his young charge gallivanted throughout the surrounding area to his heart's content. But that just wasn't an option. "Master, your parents' instructions were very clear..."

The prince folded his arms. "So? They're not coming back. I'm in charge now."

As usual, Cogsworth was torn between duty and sympathy. The boy was having a tough time, after all. "I suggest a compromise," he said. We will dispense with the entourage—" the prince visibly brightened "—but I will accompany you."

The prince thought about it. It certainly wasn't what he'd had in mind and it was really outrageous that he, a prince, should be told what to do in this manner, but the documents left by his absent – now missing – parents gave Cogsworth and a handful of the other servants the authority to instruct and punish him as they saw fit in order to ensure his good upbringing. If he refused Cogsworth's "compromise", he'd be being dragged back to his room by a pair of burly gardeners quicker than he could blink. Cogsworth was pompous, officious and aggravating, but he wasn't stupid.

"Fine. I accept your compromise. But we are going to meet someone and I forbid you to speak unless I instruct you to. Is that clear?"

Cogsworth managed to contain his surprise that what he had still thought to be an innocuous walk had become a meeting with "someone", but it quickly occurred to him that it was far better that the young prince conduct this meeting in his silent but watchful company than alone. "Understood, Your Highness."

The Prince acknowledged his assent with a nod and turned quickly for the forest. Cogsworth hurried along in his wake.

After walking considerably further and at a much faster pace than Cogsworth had intended to agree to, they emerged at the outskirts of a town Cogsworth recognised as Duvoile. He had visited a few times to purchase items unavailable at more local markets – though, he would have been quick to point out, always on horseback.

"We'll find him here," the prince said. "Remember, you don't speak unless I tell you to."

Cogsworth nodded wordlessly, reasoning that he may as well begin as he meant to go on.

The town was quiet, disconcertingly so. The prince had been hoping to ask someone where the Shadow Man could be found, but instead his options appeared limited to wandering the streets aimlessly. After a moment or two, he decided to head for the tavern. There was a good chance that he'd be calling in there at some point, and at the very least they would be sure of finding someone who knew something about his whereabouts.

It was as they rounded a corner that the prince encountered a smile. There was a face around it, of course, dark-skinned and hollow and perched atop a long and almost impossibly thin body, but it was the smile the prince noticed first.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the smile said. "Y'all look lost."

The prince took an unconscious step back, planting his foot squarely on that of Cogsworth, who yelped, then quickly silenced himself. The prince ignored him. "Yes, we were – that is, I am – hoping to find the Shadow Man. Can you tell me where to find him?"

The figure swept off his hat and effected a bow. " Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dr Facilier, a humble practitioner of voodoo. I deal in tarot readings, charms, potions – I'm in the business of making dreams a reality." He straightened up, his smile perhaps a fraction wider than before. " And, I'd wager, a man fortunate enough to be in the company of royalty."

The prince grinned. "Cogsworth, this man has a gift!"

Cogsworth, mindful both of his agreement to stay silent and the fact that it would be rude to call a man a charlatan to his face without due provocation, did not respond. Facilier, on the other hand, seemed to notice him for the first time, peering round the prince to get a good look at him.

"Well hello, little man. Cogsworth, did he say? Enchanté, as I believe the expression is here."

The prince was eager to catch the man's attention again. "So, you're the man we're looking for? The Shadow Man?"

Facilier tipped his hat. "That's me. How y'all doin'?"

"Fine, but—"

"But fine ain't good enough for you, that right?"

The prince shrugged, smiling. "Well, I was hoping..."

"You want more, huh? Well, there ain't no shame in that." He beckoned. "Come with me, gentlemen. Reckon I can fix y'all up with exactly what you're looking for."

"I'm not—" Cogsworth began, but a sharp look from the prince silenced him quickly. As Facilier turned to lead them away, it seemed to Cogsworth that the man's shadow lingered for a moment before following him. But that was ridiculous.

The Shadow Man led them to a little room round the back of the tavern. "Here y'are, gentlemen. We won't be disturbed here." He flicked his wrist and a deck of cards appeared in his hand. He shuffled them deftly, fixing Cogsworth and the prince with a grin as he did so. "We'll get down to business soon enough but first, I figure you gentlemen might like to take a look into the future with me. Just as a matter of curiosity." He spread the cards. "Just take three."

The prince seized three of the cards. Cogsworth hesitated.

"Do it," the prince hissed. Cogsworth did as he was instructed.

Facilier pocketed the remaining cards, holding out his hands for those the prince had chosen. He glanced at them briefly, then gave the prince an almost unbelievably charismatic wink. "Ain't nothing to worry about here, your highness." He flipped the cards over. All three depicted a young man who looked very much like the young prince, smiling ear-to-ear in an unnatural way, almost like some kind of reptile. Cogsworth frowned. It was the young prince. That kind of resemblance couldn't be a coincidence. Though whoever had painted the cards had imbued him with a curiously green tint. Still, he looked happy, you couldn't deny that. Facilier pinched the cards together and slipped them into his pocket. "You're gonna get everything you want." He leaned forward. "Will you shake a poor sinner's hand?"

As the prince reached for the proffered hand, Cogsworth noted that his eyes seemed, like the cards, tinged with green. It must be the light, he thought. Then he thought, what light? The room had been plunged into darkness.

"Master?" he ventured.

He heard a match being struck, and then the Shadow Man's face was illuminated in front of him. "He ain't here right now."

Cogsworth got to his feet. "What have you done with him? He's the crown prince! Return him this instant, or—"

"Little man," said Facilier, "I don't care for that kind of disrespect. You'll get your master back just as soon as we've taken a look at your future."

There was a swift movement and Cogsworth felt the cards being snatched from his hands. Illuminated by the single flame, he noted that one depicted a man remarkably similar in appearance to himself being squashed under a giant thumb. The second was a clock.

Facilier leaned towards him. "Now I'll bet you can guess what these two mean."

Cogsworth mentally shook himself. This was no time for pictures! "Where's the prince?"

A trace of impatience flashed across Facilier's face. "Don't you worry about him. I told you, you'll be reunited soon enough. Look at the cards. This seem familiar? All your life you been controlled by people who ain't any better than you. Don't you ever wonder what's so special about them that means they get everything they want without doing a day's work while you gotta do what they ask every day of your life? Don't you ever think about time, tick-ticking away? That's your life, Mr Cogsworth. That's your life they're taking from you. Every minute you spend taking care of them's a minute you ain't taking care of yourself. That seem fair to you?"

Cogsworth swallowed. "What's the third card?"

Facilier smiled. "Oh, you're gonna like this, little man." He flipped the card over and Cogsworth saw himself again, dressed in the red velvet suit he'd always secretly imagined would make him look rather dashing. Money spilled from the pockets and beautiful young women surrounded him. Facilier gave him a moment to enjoy it, then held the three cards out to Cogsworth. "Take them," he said. "They're yours. Your life's in your hands now."

Cogsworth didn't let any emotion show as he accepted the cards. "And what do I have to do?"

"Just shake my hand. Change don't get any easier than that!"

"And the prince?"

"Who cares?" Facilier's eyes glowed with the reflection from the flame. "Ain't your concern what happens to some spoiled little rich boy."

Cogsworth took a deep breath and ripped the cards in half. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "But it is."

Facilier blew out the candle, his face a mask of rage. For a few horrible moments there was total darkness. Cogsworth felt cold – not ordinary cold, but a kind that seemed to claw at his chest. Something wanted to drag him down.

And then the light was back and so was Facilier.

"Have it your way, little man. I ain't got time for miserable creatures that got no ambition." He turned his back on Cogsworth, tossing something over his shoulder. "Take this, it's yours." And with that, he disappeared.

Cogsworth caught the object. It was slimy and green and looked very angry. And very familiar.

"Uh... Master?"