"Don't move that arm," Belle said, automatically, as the Beast approached her.

"Right," he said, though he hadn't been planning to do any such thing. It hurt like hell even when held still. He looked at her. "Are you, uh, all right?"

"Yes," said Belle, before making the mistake of taking a step towards him. She grimaced.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my feet." She lifted a leg, gingerly, bending it back to survey the damage. It wasn't pretty. The sole was a patchwork of blisters that had risen only to be slashed with a criss-cross pattern of cuts left by the shards of glass. Blood mixed with ash and dust. "Eurgh," she said, feelingly.

"Could be worse," he said, absently. "Could be claws."

Belle gave him a genuine smile. It wasn't that she found him charming – for which she was thankful, since any charm would be completely untrustworthy – but it was the first time that the curse had been alluded to with anything resembling humour. It was refreshing after so much melancholy. "If you say so."

He was just thinking of something else to say when Lumière appeared – much to the surprise of Babette and Cogsworth, who had entered the ballroom after watching him leave.

"Master, I need to speak to you. And you, too, mademoiselle," he added.

The Beast gave him an irritable look, frustrated at the interruption of the first decent conversation he had ever had with Belle. Belle, however, caught the urgency in his expression and dropped to her knees in front of him – a welcome relief for her feet, as it happened.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I... have a confession to make," he sighed. "I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies, I – I did not mean for things to go as they did. It was a foolish venture with but a dim hope of success – yet a hope I felt I had to grasp, and with a prize that desperation drove me to strive for..."

"Lumière," said Belle, gently but firmly. "What did you do?"

Lumière took a deep breath, turning to the Beast. "Master... ishtartedzfire."

Belle and the Beast looked at each other for a moment, confused.

"What?" asked the Beast, eventually.

"I... started the fire."

In a calmer situation, Belle might have been impressed with the Beast's reaction timing. He had roared his ear-splitting response before she had even processed the information.

"WHAT?!"

"Allow me to explain. Relations between you and the mademoiselle were not proceeding at an appropriate rate and it seemed that things would not be changing any time soon, so I thought that perhaps a little drama, a chance to show one another your true characters – I thought it might perhaps open the doors of communication a little wider, help you to get to know one another..."

Most – if not all – of this went completely over the Beast's head.

"You did this? We could have been killed!" The exclamation was calmer than he felt, but spoken through gritted teeth and heavily laced with a growl even so.

"I wanted to help, Master!"

"Help? You've destroyed the ballroom and -" He turned to Belle. "Show him your feet."

Belle twisted, uncomfortably. "It's nothing, really. They'll heal in no time."

The Beast bared his teeth. "Show him!"

Reluctantly, Belle let herself fall backwards so that she was sitting on the floor with her legs free. She gave Lumière a brief glimpse of her feet.

He winced. "Cherie, I..."

"It's nothing," Belle repeated. "Really."

"Do you see what you've done?" the Beast snarled.

"Master..."

"Go away, Lumière," he snapped. "I never want to see you again, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Lumière replied, miserably. He turned and hopped for the door. Perhaps he would find somewhere to hide. If some miraculous stroke of luck fell his way, perhaps the Master would break the curse in time and he would be free to find work. Perhaps not. Where would a talking candlestick find employment? A thorny problem. He certainly couldn't take Babette with him – she shouldn't suffer for his foolishness. He would miss her, though.

"Wait, Lumière," said Belle.

He turned around, slowly. He said nothing.

"You don't have to go anywhere," she said. "Stay right where you are."

The Beast fixed her with a look that would have sent Cogsworth running for cover – and did. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was that of a clock beating a hasty retreat across the entrance hall to the parlour.

"I am Master here," the Beast said. His tone was calm – it was Belle, after all – but Lumière could see his clenched fists shaking with rage. The young woman had to be fighting a losing battle. No one won when the Master was like this. Still, she had spirit Lumière hadn't seen since he had first been introduced to a young maid called Babette. He might almost have been tempted himself...

"Yes," said Belle, getting slowly to her feet. "You've mentioned that once or twice."

"Belle," he said. A warning.

"You have no right to do this," she said. "I made a bargain with you – I'm your prisoner but treated as a guest. What about your servants? What about all they've suffered because of you? What gives you the right to treat them as prisoners? They're all good to you, though you don't deserve anything from them, and what do they get as a reward?" She paused for breath. All work had ceased around her. The servants were staring, open-mouthed. She decided to take the final step. "In fact, unless you apologise to him this instant, I'm leaving with him. Promise or no promise."

A collective gasp went round the room.

The Beast gaped at her. If he had been furious before, by now he ought to be incandescent with rage. Yet instead he felt... different. This was a sensation he had never felt before. Belle was standing before him... defying him. Telling him how wrong she thought he was. An idea he would have dismissed as stupidity or attempted suicide, whether as a young prince who held power like ordinary children held toys or a Beast who could destroy furniture as soon as look at it. He should have been breaking things. But instead, he just stood and stared at her. There was fire in her expression and somehow it made her even more beautiful.

Not that 'beautiful' was a word he should be using to describe something like this. Or anything, really. 'Beautiful' wasn't a good concept for him. But still...

He looked down at Lumière. Like it or not, the manservant had Belle on his side. And if this was what he thought it was, the candlestick was going to be worth significantly more than his weight in gold very shortly.

"All right," he said. "Lumière, I'm sorry."

You could have cut the shock in the room with a knife. Fortunately, the cutlery was still in the kitchen, dealing themselves into another game of cards. The fire had passed them by completely.