The dining hall, though enormous, was so quiet that one could hear the ticking of the clocks punctuating each second. The servants, not oblivious to the tension, hurried from the table to the kitchens, doing their best to avoid eye contact with both their masters and each other. Adam and his father ate in silence, the dauphin's eyes searing into his son as Adam did his best to drink his tea nonchalantly and pretend not to feel the heat of his father's gaze. Adam had thought, apparently incorrectly, that his father would have left for his hunting trip by now. Seeing his father glowering at him over the breakfast table when he at last stumbled out of the west wing was nearly as painful as the hangover he was nursing from that peasant's swill.

"You have no intention of explaining yourself?" his father demanded at last, his tone a whetstone on which he sharpened his words.

"I continue to carry out your orders," the prince responded casually, smirking at his father. His father eyed him, unamused, and then brought his fist hammering down on the table with such force that it shook all the china and caused even the prince to flinch.

"My orders were to act as an emissary to these peasants and to display charity that would help quell the anti-royal sentiment that is spreading like a plague that, I promise you, will wipe us all out if we do not take preventative measures. And what do you do? You practice diplomacy by humiliating the town hero and kidnapping the most beautiful woman in town. Wars have been started for less, you idiot boy," his father shouted, anger and disgust rising from his voice to shake the chandeliers. The prince nearly felt ashamed, but was more committed to preserving his pride than admitting to his wrongdoings.

"I haven't kidnapped anyone. You make it sound like I'm Paris and I have abducted Helen of Troy. I merely gave the mademoiselle an opportunity to serve me better, an opportunity she agreed to," the prince said, taking a sip of tea both in an effort to appear unruffled by his father's anger and to better avoid his father's gaze.

" 'Come with me or I will imprison your father,' sounds distinctly more like a threat than an opportunity," his father retorted, "Do you take me for a fool? You had no one's interests in mind save your own, as always."

"She gets to leave the disgusting shanty she calls a home and live in a castle!" Adam exclaimed, spreading his arms at his sides to indicate his largess, "I would argue I saved her!"

"My God, who have I raised?" his father muttered, shaking his head in revulsion and disbelief.

"No one," Adam snapped, "It was the servants who raised me while you hunted and whored your way around Europe."

In a flash Adam's father pushed his seat back and stood with such force that the heavy chair fell, clamoring loudly against the marble floor. He swept to Adam's side, glowering over him, face red, body shaking. This man was a tall, distinguished, fils de France, and was even less accustomed to being challenged than his unruly son. Adam at first ignored his father by continuing to drink from his tea cup. His father's gaze, however, was intense and unflinching and won the silent standoff between the two men. Adam set his cup down decisively in its saucer and turned in his seat to look up at his father, defiance set in his flashing blue eyes like jewels in a crown.

The elder man all at once swung his arm back and unleashed his full fury by striking his son with considerable force in his eye and cheekbone. His father wore heavy gold and silver rings with several large precious gems, so the punch felt to Adam like being hit in the face with a rock hurled by someone with an exceptionally good arm. Adam reeled to the side and reflexively brought his hand to his face to nurse his wound. He looked down, furious and humiliated, attempting to blink tears of pain and shock out of his eyes.

"I loved your mother," his father said, breathing heavily, "And I have let that influence how I treat you. I have never told you no, given you everything you've wanted, installed you in a castle that is nearly as grand as the palace at Versailles, provided you with a lavish allowance even as you contribute nothing to your family or the country. You would think you would be grateful given your position."

Adam did not respond, glaring down into his lap, hating his father, wishing he could bring himself to hit him back. He could feel his father watching him, looking over what was probably the beginning of a significant bruise now coloring his face.

"You will fix this matter. By the time your wedding comes on your 21st birthday you will have completed your charity project and won over the entire town. I want to hear peasants singing your praises in the street. You will demonstrate responsibility and philanthropy and show me that you are not a completely lost cause," his father proclaimed.

"Oh, is it time for me to learn a lesson father?"Adam scoffed, "And what if I don't care for your lesson? What will you do? Strike me again? Imprison me? You are an old man who his losing his grip on power. Over me, over this country. You're in no position to teach me a lesson, you're a joke."

His father's skin flushed with rage, and for a moment Adam thought he would strike him again. Adam raised his face to look him in the eye, silently daring him. In that moment he thought of Belle, of her restrained defiance and felt a kinship with her that rushed through him before it was quelled by the coldness in his father's fathomless stare.

"You will do this," his father answered, "Or I will revoke the legitimacy your mother begged me to bestow upon you on her death bed. You forget yourself, Adam. You are nothing more than a bastard from your father's favorite consort. I legitimized you for your mother, not for you. And I will take it back should you continue to disobey me. You will have no title, no allowance, no inheritance. I will cast you out as a commoner from the house of Bourbon and even your own brothers will no longer acknowledge you."

Adam's expression fell from defiance to panic, and he searched his father's face in an attempt to discern how serious he was about this threat. His father's steely grey eyes told him he was deadly serious.

"No, you-you can't!" Adam exclaimed, "Please father, please be reasonable."

Adam clutched the hem of his father's jacket, beseeching him, never before so vulnerable or so threatened. He raised his face to look into his father's, begging him with his gaze, silently tugging at their bonds of kinship as he clutched the man's garment. His father's countenance remained impenetrable, his brow furrowed.

"Mercy father," Adam begged, "I beg you, father, please. I will obey you, I will be a good son, I promise. I swear it to you father."

"You will be granted mercy when you display some yourself," his father snapped, pulling himself away from Adam's grasp, looking down at his son with disdain, "My orders stand. I must prepare for my journey. Get out of my sight."

Adam blinked, dazed even more by the impact of his father's words than he was by his fist. He absentmindedly brought his hand up to his face, his eyes resting on his unfinished breakfast, his mind attempting to grasp what had just transpired. He looked once more at his father, whose posture remained resolute. His father tilted his head slightly to the side as if to ask Adam if he again needed another punch to understand that he had been dismissed. Adam hesitated, then set his expression to a scowl and turned on his heel to storm out of the dining hall to the west wing, where he could sulk and lick his wounds.


Belle hurried to conceal her presence as the prince stormed past, curling herself into the small space between a suit of armor and the marble wall. The prince, however, was far too preoccupied to notice his newest charge hiding beside the entrance to the dining room. Belle craned around the the wide shoulders of the armor to watch the prince storm away. She had originally dressed and made her way to the dining hall (which hadn't exactly been easy to find in the cavernous castle) to confront the prince, to demand what it was exactly he intended to do with her. Or at the very least, she had planned to make him uncomfortable with her presence. But the sound of the agitated royals' voices had caused her pause, and she thought it best not to reveal herself in the midst of their argument. She had, of course, heard everything. Belle was pleased to know that the prince, in fact, needed her approval even more than she needed his. As someone who appreciated the power of information, Belle resolved to use this knowledge to her advantage as it significantly improved her position.

"Are my provisions packed?" she heard a deep voice boom, causing her to hurry once more to conceal herself.

"At once sire," a voice responded, and Belle recognized the accent as belonging to Cogsworth. Servants hurried past, bustling around the castle to follow their master's orders as quickly as possible.

"Very well then. Let me be finished with this damn place," the voice rumbled. Belle held her breath as the sound of footsteps and rustling robes approached. The sound stopped very near to where Belle was, and she cringed. This was not how she wanted to introduce herself to his highness, crouched behind the décor like a stowaway in the royal household. Adam's father continued to hesitate in the entrance of the dining hall, the authority of his presence pressing down upon Belle even as she couldn't see him. Then the footsteps continued and receded into the distance. Breathing a sigh of relief, Belle relaxed.

"Mademoiselle?" a voice asked, causing Belle to tense once more. She waited, hoping that the voice was addressing someone else.

"Mademoiselle?" the voice persisted. Belle rolled her eyes at herself and reluctantly stepped out from her hiding spot. She saw a kindly looking man, middle aged but still handsome in a charming, idiosyncratic sort of way, smiling at her.

"Begging your pardon, Monsieur," Belle said with a curtsy, "I seem to have lost my way."

The man continued to eye her with interest. Certainly he did not seem angry to find her hiding in the doorway. In fact, if Belle was reading his expression correctly, he seemed amused.

"So you are even more beautiful than they say," the man said, his accent thick with a provincial French that Belle could not quite place. Belle blushed and looked away.

"Might I trouble you for some breakfast?" Belle asked, her stomach rumbling as she realized she had not had dinner the previous night and that, in fact, it had been over 24 hours since she had last eaten anything at all.

"Of course!" the man exclaimed, his expression now arranged into one of concern, "Anything you want, name it and its yours! Come ma cherie, allow me to escort you to the dining room."

"You don't need to go to any extra trouble," Belle demurred, "Just some tea and rolls would do just fine."

"Nonsense!" the man exclaimed, pulling out a chair for her at the enormous, now vacant, dining room table, "You aren't a prisoner! You are our guest! We must make you feel welcome here!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Cogsworth blustered, hurrying into the dining room from the kitchen, "We don't have approval from the master to—"

"The mademoiselle is hungry! Are we not here to serve?" the man demanded, scowling at Cogsworth.

"Fine, do as you like and I'll be the one who incurs the master's wrath while you're off canoodling with a maid behind a curtain somewhere," Cogsworth huffed, "We wouldn't want to break our routine, now would we?"

"Honestly, you don't have to go to any trouble," Belle interrupted, "The table is filled with food, I can just—"

"C'est impossible!" the man exclaimed, "Mademoiselle, I never serve leftovers, certainly not to someone as lovely as yourself."

"I don't believe I have ever properly introduced myself," the portly servant began, coming to Belle's side and bowing, "I am Cogsworth, head of the household—"

"And I am Lumiere," the other servant said, nudging Cogsworth out of the way and taking Belle's hand to kiss it fervently, "Enchante cherie. If there is anything you require during your stay here, please know I am your humble servent, ready to attend to your every—"

"Then lets get breakfast on for the poor child already!" an older woman interrupted, who exuded both warmth and authority. She approached Belle, smiling, "I'm Mrs. Potts dear."

"Nice to meet you," Belle answered, "I'm Belle."

"Well, you certainly are aptly named," Mrs. Potts replied, brushing a stray hair away from Belle's brow in a motherly gesture, "Madame Armoire will be thrilled to style outfits for you."

"She's so pretty mama!" a little boy exclaimed, running up to Belle and standing on tip toe, eager to get a closer look at her, "Is the master going to keep this one?"

"Hush Chip, back to the kitchen with you, go on," Mrs. Potts admonished the child, she then turned to Belle and patted her kindly on the arm, "I'll make sure the fires are stoked for your breakfast."

"Now," Lumiere said excitedly, a sparkle in his eyes, "We must call Fife and arrange for some entertainment for our guest!"

"Entertainment?!" Cogsworth exclaimed, "This is breakfast! And I hardly think the master would appreciate such a racket."

"Racket?!" Lumiere replied, "Monsieur, our musicians are the most talented in all the kingdom. And we have yet to display our excitement at the mademoiselle's arrival! Surely you agree, as head of household, that we must extend our hospitality to our guest?"

Cogsworth glared at Lumiere, but then looked to Belle, who met his gaze and blushed at the trouble she was causing. Cogsworth was not one to tolerate rudeness under any circumstances, and quickly became aware that he was making the young woman uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his pocketwatch, unsure of what to do.

"Very well," Cogsworth conceded, "But if the master comes down, you'll be the one to explain—"

"Of course, of course," Lumiere said, "But what would a musical ensemble be without a solo from the incredibly talented maitre d?"

"Wait a minute—" Cogsworth blustered, running after Lumiere and attempting to control the chaos that was erupting as servants poured into the dining room with plates full of food and the castle's musicians began to play lively music. Belle laughed and clapped her hands at the display, as Lumiere reveled in the attention he received from the beauty and Cogsworth's anxiety unwittingly played as a comical foil to Lumiere's bon vivant charm.