First off, let me preface this by saying that I know this is a rewrite of my old story, Midnight Rose, on here and on Ao3 as well. I had lost my original story and then the story documents timed out and I was no longer able to add new chapters or fix the old ones after not being happy with it, so I decided to re-write, scrap it, and start fresh from the beginning.

Midnight Rose has been on my mind lately, and I wanted to go back and re-tell the story. I just never found the time until now. I had to delete the old story because you shouldn't have two of them posted on FFN and I didn't feel the need to clutter up and confuse my story page with basically separate universe versions of the same story.

Midnight Rose

By HeadintheCloudsForever

CHAPTER 1

COGSWORTH eyed the young mademoiselle that came up to the gates, escorted by a guard on either side of her. This strange material of beauty, she who was the daughter of an inventor and painter in the small village of Villeneuve, just on the outskirts of the Prince's estate.

The day was untreated with light, the skies above their heads dull and grievous as he and his colleague, Monsieur Lumiere, stood to receive the young woman. The greyness of the skies above made everything seem almost sleepless.

Cogsworth himself felt sleepless, as evident by the crinkling of his skin underneath his eyes, and the much darker shade beneath both of them. His lined and weathered face, hard from the skin to his stubble along his jawline, met the young mademoiselle with critical interest.

Once word had reached Cogsworth that a nobleman passing through the village on his way en route to Paris, that this beauty in front of them had spoken ill of the Prince and his methods, it had been Cogsworth's sworn duty to inform the young master, in the event the Prince wished to do something about the village.

There were rumors afloat that this young mademoiselle was something of a troublemaker and was quite opinionated, and not necessarily in a good way.

Cogsworth and Lumiere collectively had begun to hear stories of this beauty but a funny girl. How she was, once upon a time, the apple and eye of the affections of the late Gaston Dupont and the master's former friend in childhood growing up, though Gaston's family had long since fallen from grace, and had conspired to rue the man's reputation by continuously spurning his proposal of marriage and rejecting the man.

She was said to have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and was perhaps one of two women in her entire provincial village who knew her letters and could write and read.

The villagers called her a beauty but a funny girl, some called her a witch, unholy, not natural at all. She had become a girl of many stories, but stories were for the gullible, and Monsieur Cogsworth considered himself a man who was beneath stupid peasant lies.

Though such 'lies' as it so happened, had been more than enough to intrigue the Prince.

So much, in fact, that instead of merely dismissing these whispers of the girl, that he insisted the young woman in question and her father, be accompanied to the castle via an escort, having taken an interest in the concept and very notion that a young woman, no less, could dare to speak out against his methods.

Her figure, Cogsworth could tell, with a somewhat appreciative stare as he peered at her over the rims of his spectacles, was eye-catching even when covered in a thick blue traveling cape. The Prince's new fascination and request for the young woman to serve as his personal hearth keep and servant upon learning of her transgressions of speaking out against him was brunette from root to tip.

It showed, too. Her eyes were rich dark chocolate, which you could see the closer she approached the gates of the castle, nervously clinging onto her father's arm. She was clutching onto her father as though the frail old man were her lifeforce, and the man was.

Her hair, currently tied back with a neat blue ribbon, was luscious, thick, and wavy, cascading to just past her breasts in waves, or well, it would, if the girl had worn it free and loose. Her dark hair against the skin so pale, it looked as though she were cut from the finest of pearls, was a striking contrast.

The young mademoiselle drew in a frigid breath of cold air that pained her lungs and sent her ribcage spiraling for relief as she momentarily lifted her gaze and lost herself in Cogsworth's eyes as the daughter and father were led up the stone walkway of the entrance by the guards.

Cogsworth heard the girl gasp in surprise as she briefly met the Prince's pale blue eyes before immediately looking away, her thin dark eyebrows rising in surprise and alarm, though Cogsworth and Lumiere exchanged a dark glower, knowing that the damage was done. She had already gotten a look at the master of the castle, the Prince of these lands.

Prince Adam's blue eyes glistened brilliantly, cold, almost metallic, rivaling the most excellently polished suit of a knight's armor.

The sclerae that surrounded them were pristine, untouched by red. The Prince's blue eyes were pale. Cold. And beautiful, yes.

Cogsworth felt Lumiere give a light little nudge, and this gesture startled the older gentleman out of his musings of the Prince's new hearth keep for a moment. He shot his companion somewhat of a withering glower and turned his head to the side to cough, as much as to clear his throat as to give him time to sort through his thoughts. He extended an arm to the young mademoiselle by way of greeting, relieved to see that she smiled a bit.

"My dear young lady," Cogsworth went on, somewhat nervously as he clasped his fingers in front of his slightly protruding middle, not as young or as fit as he once was. He hoped his voice sounded kind and welcoming enough. "Welcome, welcome. I do hope that Louis and Pascal here were not too rough with you or your father here during your journey to this castle?" he questioned, quirking a brow the guards' way. Both guards noticed, and shook their heads, lowering them in reverence at him, not giving the woman a chance to speak.

"No, monsieur," they answered, almost in unison, speaking as though they were one person instead of two. Cogsworth had to stifle a chuckle as the young woman's thin eyebrows shot so far up onto her forehead that they almost disappeared into her hairline.

She was clearly taken aback by the synchronization and looking quite flustered.

Though before the young mademoiselle could so much as part her slightly cracked lips to speak, Monsieur Lumiere stepped forward, jostling Cogsworth slightly in the elbow as he did so. As a result, in his haste to reach the young brunette, he very nearly barreled over the oldest Head of House, though Lumiere completely missed the withering look of daggers both the Prince and Cogsworth shot.

"If you will kindly follow me, mademoiselle, both you and your father, your quarters have been prepared for you. I trust that while you are here under our Prince's employment, that you and your father will be quite comfortable…" Here, Lumiere let his voice trail off slightly as he cautiously peeked over his shoulder to better gauge the young Prince's reaction now. "May I introduce the master of this castle, Prince Adam du Barreau?" he asked, as he stepped aside to make way to allow the Prince a better look at his newest hearth keep. Lumiere instinctively stiffened as he waited for Prince Adam to immediately knock past him to take the girl by the face to kiss her. Their Prince and master was known to be something of a ladies' man, a womanizer, and a man of ill repute.

Which made his sudden and inexplicable interest in this village woman, a lowborn mere peasant that much more unnerving, Lumiere and Cogsworth thought as they shared a look.

Cogsworth stiffened as he felt the young woman shy away in hesitation as the Prince approached, all the while she played with her pinkish-tipped fingers to keep them warm. But then the girl looked at him with what Lumiere and Cogsworth could only perceive as venom in those dark eyes of rich chocolate, labeling the master of the castle as a monster.

And why wouldn't she, Lumiere thought, albeit a little bit sad. The Prince had more or less forcefully removed this French rose from her home, and her father too, besides, all because he thought it some sick sadistic form of punishment, and a fitting one, to enslave her as his personal hearth keep as punishment for daring to speak out against his taxation methods and the way that he governed the land and continued to increase taxes in her village. Lumiere half expected the woman to grow fangs and dig them into the Prince's neck if judging by the hostile look she shot him was any indication.

Suddenly, her face changed, as if by a magic spell, and she bent her right knee and sank into a curtsy at the Prince.

"Your Highness," she murmured, hardly daring to look the Prince in the eyes, instead of keeping her dark eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. "I—I cannot…please…allow my father to return home to Villeneuve, he has done nothing wrong, I beg of you, take me, keep me, have me, do what you will to me, but let my Papa go. He is old and sick, monsieur, he cannot go on like this, please, I beg you, to show him an ounce of mercy, monsieur," she pleaded, looking to the ground in reverence.

"Be quiet," barked the Prince in a hoarse, rough voice that caused all parties present except for him to flinch, the fine hairs on the backs of their necks rising at the sound of his voice that was the embodiment of the grave.

The young woman immediately clamped her lips shut, though a terrified little squeak escaped past her lips and she saw no other choice but to comply. Though she did, however, exchange a brief look with her father, who nodded as the cool breeze blew his thick tuft of white hair off his forehead.

She looked as though she wanted to say more but thought better of it. Smart little dove, the Prince thought to himself, his lips curling up.

He was, by rights, someone his new hearth keep could not fully trust just yet. After all, the Prince had the power with just one snap of his fingers to have the girl's father forcefully removed from the castle grounds and for the girl to be sent to the gallows and hung for daring to speak out against the crown as she had. Finally, Prince Adam found his voice.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, mademoiselle, that I am a merciful man, and am giving you this opportunity to rectify your mistake. While you are in this castle, you will be comfortable, of that, I can ensure you, but you will do as I say if you value keeping this position, or it's to the gallows with both of you. I could easily have your tongue ripped out, little dove, for the way you spoke against me. Your tongue must be hung in the middle so that it can wag at both ends, mademoiselle."

"Young master!" spluttered Cogsworth, who was sounding utterly aghast at the manner in which the Prince was addressing the woman.

Lumiere furrowed his brows and tried a more tactful approach with the young Prince.

"Ah, Master, forgive me for speaking out—"

Though Lumiere was immediately silenced by the Prince letting out a low, deep, almost wolfish growl from the confines of his chest.

It was enough to silence the men as the Prince slowly swiveled his gaze back to the girl, his blue eyes glistening with an intrigue that had not previously been there before as his eyes made a quick scan of her appearance. The girl continued to keep her head bowed in submission, and when she talked, her voice was so faint and shy that even the Prince had to lean forward in order to hear the girl better.

"Your Highness, it truly is an honor to be here in…" the girl paused, craning her neck up and swallowing a lump in her throat as she looked over the Prince's shoulder at the towering buttresses and parapets of the castle that gave the foundation a truly formidable air. "Your home," she finished, somewhat lamely, as she gulped again. "I—I will not fail you, Your Majesty, you have my word, monsieur. For I do not deserve your unfailing kindness, nor a second chance to rectify my mistake, but you have gifted me even that, Your Highness," she continued nervously, though she straightened her posture from her curtsy and looked at anywhere but the Prince. "I will do as you ask, all that I request is that you allow my father to return home," she said, steadily lifting her chin and jutting out a bit.

There was a hardened look in her eyes, a strong, determined resolve that almost made Cogsworth's heart stop.

The old gentleman wearily closed his eyes, clutching his heart. Oh, Good Lord Above in Heaven, help him. Cogsworth had been warned of the noblewoman who'd written to him overhearing of the girl's verbal transgression against the Prince that she was opinionated.

But for her to be making a demand of the Prince when she herself was in a precarious position was not exactly what Cogsworth had expected. Cogsworth kept his eyes closed as he heard the Prince speak, his voice quiet.

"You say that to me as though you seem to think that you have a choice in this matter, darling, need I remind you, darling, that you do not," he murmured smoothly in a languid voice as he folded his hands neatly behind his back. As his eyes made a quick scan of his newest hearth keep, he could not help but notice that this strange material of beauty was quite stunning. A far cry more attractive than past women who had come to work as maids in his castle.

She was very pale-skinned, almost ivory, and had the most beautiful, luscious dark hair, like that of dark chocolate, almost. Long, past her shoulders, to her breasts. Her eyes were huge, almond-shaped, doe-like, and seemed to be the exact same shade of brown as her hair color, from what Adam could tell.

What unusual dark eyes and hair color for a French woman, the Prince thought to himself.

His newest hearth keep was not a blonde or a redhead like the young women in court he usually tended to fawn after. She was very petite and delicate in stature. I wonder where they found her, he briefly wondered, taking in her unique features. The Prince had not bothered to learn the name of the village this woman had come from, nor did he particularly care to know. All that mattered was that she deserved to be punished, and this was the most appropriate form he thought of.

As the young mademoiselle slowly lifted her gaze and met his, Prince Adam held his breath briefly. Her eyes seemed an even more piercing dark brown than he originally thought, like the boughs of the tall dark oak trees swaying in the wind that lined the border of his property. She held his gaze another minute or two, biting down on her bottom lip.

Staring at him as the world were devoid of men and he was the only one left. Beside him, the Prince was unaware of Lumiere's lips curling up in a slight smirk as he nudged at his colleague and discreetly pointed at their Prince, who seemed mesmerized by the brunette-haired beauty standing now in front of him.

Cogsworth found it difficult not to huff in annoyance at the younger man's inappropriate behavior as he turned away. The older Head of House steeled himself for another of their master's outbursts, which would undoubtedly follow the denial of her request to send her aging, frail father, home.

Though what the Prince said next, not even Cogsworth or Lumiere could have predicted.

"I am…a merciful Prince, little dove, let it be known to yourself and those wretched villagers you're so fond of that I'm not what they think me to be," he pondered, turning to look critically at the girl's father, stooped over and withered in this weather. He looked as though one good strong wind would blow him over, and he'd not get back up again once the old coot tumbled to the ground. Adam almost laughed at the mental image that filled his mind's eye but managed to restrain himself. "Perhaps…I could entertain the idea of letting your father crawl back to whatever wretched hole he spawned out of. Your precious villagers back home could not say that I was not a merciful Prince, wouldn't you say, girl?" he spat cruelly, before reverting his gaze back to the woman in front of him. She parted her lips to speak, though before she could so much as utter the first syllable, the Prince raised a hand and cut her off from whatever she'd been about to say next. "No need to speak. You are mine now, pretty little thing." He smirked as he noticed the briefest flickering of outrage darting across her pale features at being addressed what she believed to be odious terms. "That means you will never be able to leave my service in exchange for me sparing your father's life today and sending him home. If you agree to the terms and conditions of this little…arrangement, you're bound by your word to remain here in this castle forever."

The girl paused, appearing to be thinking over his words. "So, I could never see my father again?" she murmured, her voice softening a bit as she mulled it over in her mind, biting down on her bottom lip in a fit.

The Prince felt his lips curl upwards into a smirk, though the young woman currently didn't so much as spare him a second glance, seeming instead to only have eyes for her father. The older man's face paled at a rapidly alarming pace as it drained of what little color was left.

"Belle, no! I'm old, and I've lived my life! I'm not going to let you do this, love!"

So, this one's name is Belle, the Prince thought wildly, biting the inside of his cheek. He almost had to stop himself from smiling. "Of course, it is," he murmured, his smirk widening a bit. Lumiere and Cogsworth exchanged worried glances behind their master's back, though they said nothing.

The young brunette mademoiselle, whom the Prince now learned her name was Belle, did not pay the master of the castle any heed. She merely turned in the direction of her father's rough voice, almost grating from the years taking its toll on his body and his voice.

He'd been silent so far, listening to what the men in front of him had to say. Except this, Prince, or no Prince, was taking it too far.

"Papa," Belle murmured, grasping onto one of her father's hands, flinching. "Your hands are like ice," she whispered, bringing her father's hand to her lips, and kissing it with as much tenderness as she could muster. "This is the only way. I will be just fine, Papa. Trust me?" she asked, biting down on her lip.

"No!" protested her father, the tips of Maurice's beard twitching without prompting as he looked at his daughter in alarming fear and growing outrage as his gaze flitted between that of his only child, and this monstrous, beastly, predatory bastard Prince. "Belle, I'm not going to let you throw away your life for me. I am an old man, Belle…"

"I love you, Papa," whispered Belle, smiling at him, though her face quickly fell, crestfallen, as she relinquished her grip on her father's hand. "But this is my choice, Papa. No one decides my fate but me." Here, Belle shot the Prince of the castle a withering look that Prince Adam did not react to before turning back to look towards her father once more. "It will not be forever. I promise I'll come home."

Belle then turned away from Maurice before her father could protest, steeling herself and blew out a long, slow exhale in the hopes of calming herself before addressing her new master. Slowly, she steadily lifted her gaze and summoned enough strength on her throat to speak to the Prince directly, and look the man in his cobalt, crystalline blue, lackluster eyes.

"You will release my father. You will let him go and ensure me of my father's freedom, that no harm will come to him, and he is seen safely returned to our home in the village."

The Prince scoffed and rolled his eyes at the young woman's boldness. He could not help but shoot his new hearth keep an incredulous look of disbelief.

Who in the bloody hell did this peasant woman think that she was to him? An angel? A saint? Yet, as his blue eyes searched this Belle's face, this beauty, the Prince found nothing within her eyes but strength. Strength and a steadfast determination. He admired it within the girl.

Perhaps it was this one quality alone that compelled Prince Adam to agree to her request. "Very well," Prince Adam barked gruffly in a hoarse voice that rivaled that of sandpaper, keeping his hands behind his back. "Your father is free to leave to go back to the wretched hovel you dare to call a house that my guards found you both in when they called upon your disgusting town to investigate. But make no mistake, woman, if you should attempt to flee from me, or try to trick me into letting you go, your father and any other familial relations you might have will suffer, and you'll be forced to watch, darling, because of your sheer stupidity."

Here, the Prince found himself leaning in so that the tip of his nose was almost touching her cute slender nose. The girl flinched at the sudden unexpected closeness but did not shirk away, nor did she revert her gaze out of shyness like most were prone to do so of fear.

Instead, this beauty, this Belle, narrowed her eyes at him. Belle swallowed down hard past a lump in her throat as her eyes made a quick scan of the master of the castle and these lands. She did not mistake the steel in the Prince's gravelly voice. He did not want any tricks from her or sudden acts of deception.

"Please don't make me say it a second time," the Prince whisper-hissed through gritted teeth. "I really hate saying things a second time, little dove..."

"You—you have my word," Belle replied steadily, before turning away from the Prince, just in time to see the two guards who had escorted her and her father here, seize Maurice by his armpits and drag him back down the dirt path from whence they came, back towards the formidable-looking black iron-wrought contraption that had felt more like a cage than a carriage during the journey.

She swallowed and blinked back an onset of salty tears as her breaths caught in her throat.

Belle had hoped and thought that the Prince, her new master, would have granted her the opportunity to say goodbye to her father, even just once, but that didn't seem to be the case. She tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid as tears blurred the edges of her vision as she watched the pair of guards drag a kicking and screaming Maurice down the path.

His voice faded the further they walked, and once her father was forcefully shoved into the carriage and the driver had taken off and spurred the horses into motion, only then did Belle let her tears flow freely down her cheeks.

"Forgive me, Papa," Belle whispered in a choked voice as she numbly turned on her heels and to face the two gentlemen, an older one and a younger. Both were staring at her with sympathetic looks etched on their faces.

But she did not want their sympathy, nor their pity. Belle did not even have time to react as her new master was not hesitant in taking his latest prize: her. She felt the man's strong, if not slightly calloused hand grip onto her arm and almost violently yank her forward, dragging her up to the castle, to do what only God knew, and Belle wasn't sure she wanted to know. Belle squeezed her eyes tightly shut as her stomach swooped and churned painfully, a coil in her gut twisting.

All she knew as she dutifully walked forward, with the gentleman trailing closely behind at her heels, was that she was not about to spare her new 'master' so much as a second glance.

This man, this so-called Prince, little more than a monstrous beast in her eyes who'd ripped her apart from her family. Only one thought kept running through Belle's mind as she continued to keep her eyes closed, never once looking at the Prince, instead, keeping her gaze fixed at the path beneath her feet.

What have I done…?