Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of France, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle. For most of his childhood, the Prince lived a happy and carefree existence. He had everything his heart desired, spending his days in the company of his devoted servants and his beloved mother, who cherished him more than life itself.

But everything changed in the Prince's twelfth year when his mother died from an unexpected illness. The young Prince barely had time to come to terms with his grief, when his father decided that his son's childhood had come to an end. He sent him to university to receive the education necessary to become king.

While the Prince looked forward to the opportunities open to him as a university student, he was also greatly confused by his new circumstances. He couldn't understand why his father had sent him away so suddenly, whereas before, he'd intended to teach him how to manage the kingdom himself. Perhaps the Prince was being punished for not living up to his father's expectations? Or maybe his father's promise to mentor his son had been an empty one, one that had no meaning to him now that his wife was gone?

Determined to prove his worth to the King, the Prince buried himself in his studies, coming top of class in many of his courses. But despite his accomplishments, his father never visited him nor wrote him any letters acknowledging his hard work. As time passed, the Prince lost interest in his academics. He grew increasingly sad and bitter, feeling that his father had abandoned him. While he did have a supporting aunt and uncle to stay with outside of school, he always thought that he was a burden to them and that their reasons for taking him in were more from charity than from wanting another son. They assured him many times that this wasn't the case, but he never believed them.

In his fifteenth year, the Prince began to spend his time with his cousin and a group of schoolmates who enjoyed frequenting the local brothels and taverns in the streets near the university. It was there, outside of his father's watchful eye, that the Prince soon became well-acquainted in the ways of drinking and debauchery. These activities became more than a sport to him; they became a refuge from the years of loneliness, hurt, rejection and loss his parents had given him.

When the King passed away unexpectedly when the Prince was seventeen, he was forced to drop out of university to take over his responsibilities. Only he had no idea where to start. His father had left him with no instructions, no words of wisdom on how to rule a kingdom. Against the advice of his uncle, closest servants, and royal advisors, the Prince chose to revert to the reckless lifestyle he'd led in university, drinking excessively with guests at his castle and taking pretty young women to bed every night. Deep down, he knew that what he was doing was wrong, but had no idea how to improve himself. He was a boy trapped in a man's body, caught in a downward spiral, one he could not escape from.

Unable to read any further, Adam closed the Enchantress's book and flung himself down on the mattress. Moments later, the doors opened in front of him.

"Oh, welcome back, Master!" said the upbeat-sounding voice of Yannick LeFou. "You came back earlier than I expected. Did you get what you wanted from Villeneuve?"

When Adam didn't answer, LeFou continued, "Just so you're aware, the Comte de Crevoisier is here to see you. But no pressure or anything. If you want to stay up here for a little longer, I'll tell him you're busy."

The Prince pressed his hands over his eyes and groaned. "I'm a fool," he muttered.

"Begging your pardon?"

"I said, I'm a fool. I'm an overgrown child with paternal issues who's spent the last ten years drinking and sleeping with women I don't give a damn about. I don't deserve the throne. I'm hardly even deserving of being a prince."

"All right, this is unexpected," LeFou remarked. "This isn't because of what your uncle said to you this morning, is it? You know you shouldn't take it personally. He's just been under a lot of pressure lately, what with dealing with you and dealing with your cousin back home. I wouldn't be too happy either if I was in his shoes."

"What difference does it make what my uncle said or not?" Adam snapped. "Anyone can see that I'm a despicable, self-absorbed aristocrat who cares nothing about the well-being of my people." If Belle had said it herself, then it must have been true.

"Oh, come on, you're not that bad," LeFou said reassuringly. "Besides... I like you."

The Prince cocked an eyebrow. "You… like me?"

"Of course!" He nodded. "I mean, I don't like like you, but as far as princes go, you're the crème de la crème. Think about it. Some princes spend all their time locked up in their offices, answering letters, talking with heads of state, overseeing regional trials. So boring. But you, you like to throw big parties with lots of music and food. You know exactly how to have fun! That, and you've got a great fashion sense." He subtly gestured to Adam's ugly purple jacket.

Adam failed to see how anything of those things made him better than a prince who actually took his job seriously. But on the bright side, at least LeFou had his attention now. "LeFou," he said as he sat up from the bed, "forgive my forgetfulness, but exactly how long have you worked as my maître d'?"

"Hmm, I'd say about seven years." LeFou counted on his fingers thoughtfully.

"And you lived in Villeneuve before?"

"Born and raised."

"Did you happen to know a Belle Gagnier when you lived there?"

"Well of course I knew Belle!" he confirmed. "Everyone did. Very pretty girl, but a bit touched in the head if you get my French. She was always walking around town with her face behind a book. Some of the villagers said she was doing it on purpose because she wanted to avoid small talk. Can't imagine why though. Sure, our town wasn't swimming with intellectuals, but it's not like we'd done anything to offend her." LeFou looked back at the Prince. "Why are you asking?"

Adam shrugged. "I heard someone mention her when I was at the village and thought she sounded like an interesting character," he lied. "But... she doesn't live there anymore. She moved away a year ago to work as a carpenter in Rabelais."

"Hmm... didn't know that," LeFou remarked with mild interest. "But then again, I haven't exactly been following the going-ons in Villeneuve since I started working here." He tilted his head inquisitively. "You aren't thinking of making her your next conquête, are you?"

"Oh no!" Adam's face flushed with embarrassment. "Nothing like that. I was just… curious."

"I see. Well then, Monsieur Curieux, do you still need some more time to brood? You know that I'm an expert at inventing cover stories if you want me to tell the Count something to buy you time."

"No, that won't be necessary." He shook his head. "Tell the Count... I'll be down soon."

"If you say so." LeFou bowed. "Oh, and Master? I may not understand why you're feeling so self-deprecating today but take my advice. If you're really unhappy with yourself, then why not find a way to change? Take me, for example." He put his hands on his hips. "One day, I decided that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life working as a meagre barman in a town no one's ever heard of. If I was going to spend the rest of my life serving people, I wanted to at least serve them in style! So then I heard there was a position open for a maître d' at your castle, went to apply, and before I knew it, I got the job! In short, if I could find a way to make myself feel better by changing one thing about myself, I'm pretty sure you can too."

Adam looked back at the Enchantress's book, wishing he shared LeFou's optimism. So far, every "change" he'd made to his past had only made things worse. He'd convinced his past self to let the Enchantress into his castle, only to find himself clinging to the shadow of his dead mother and trapped in a betrothal to a princess he didn't love. He'd tried to change his childhood so that he'd never been raised by his abusive father, only to find out that he'd grown up just as careless and unthinking as he'd been before. To top it off, he was an unconvicted murderer, and Belle hated him for it. After all the terrible things he'd done in this reality, it was a huge mystery to him why the Enchantress hadn't cursed him yet. Perhaps she thought that being an irresponsible drunkard wasn't as bad as being an overtaxing tyrant obsessed with power and physical appearances. Or perhaps she'd never discovered him in this universe and gone off to find another unfortunate soul to curse. The Prince was no expert on time travel, but he was beginning to notice that every time he changed the past, he was changing several other lives in the process. Maybe it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume that the Enchantress could have been one of them.

Adam knew what he really wanted, of course. He wanted to get Belle out of that tavern and convince her that he wasn't the beast she thought he was. But how well would that turn out? It didn't matter if he shut down her workplace or dragged her out by force. If Belle already hated him, she would only see him as a captor, not an ally.

At least she has a roof over her head, he thought, trying to reassure himself. While he still shuddered to think of Belle's current line of work, maybe her opinion of him would change if he gave her some time to consider his job offer. At least, he hoped that was the right way of solving the problem. What other options did he have?

The Comte de Crevoisier's meeting was a simple affair. The nobleman had come to ask the Prince to lend him some funds to remodel an estate they shared in Valnoir, which Adam did without hesitation. Despite the impersonal, business-like nature of their meeting, it felt good to focus on something that didn't involve Belle or wondering how he was going to fix the universe for a change. Or maybe it just felt good to exercise some of the responsibilities he'd lost from being a beast for five years.

After the Count's meeting, instead of taking the more direct path back to his room, Adam decided to detour past the servants' quarters—something he hadn't done since he was a boy, looking to pass the time on the days his parents were too busy to pay attention to him.

Upon passing through the main corridor, Adam noticed that the door to the kitchen was hanging ajar, and Mrs. Potts was talking to someone inside.

"I'm not sure what he was on exactly, but from what Babette described, he was acting very strangely," she was saying. "He fell off the bed and looked at her like he'd never seen her before. Then he called her by a different name and asked about Lumière."

"È strano," Maestro Cadenza said with shared confusion. "That might explain why he was behaving out of sorts when he met with Duca Christophe this morning too. According to LeFou, he barely flinched during his uncle's lecture, and didn't even try to argue with him when he accused him of being immature and irresponsible."

Realizing that the servants were talking about him, Adam peered through the small opening in the door to listen more closely. Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, and Maestro Cadenza were eating together at the wooden table at the center of the room, presumably on a shared lunch break.

"Perhaps he's coming down with the same sickness his father had," Cogsworth speculated. "It could well be that that particular brand of madness runs in the family."

"I have to respectfully disagree, Cogsworth," Mrs. Potts said with a disapproving shake of her head. "The Master has none of the symptoms his father had when he was ill. Besides, I don't think it's fair to diagnose someone based on the way they behaved in the course of one morning. Perhaps he's had an epiphany."

Cogsworth snorted. "If that's true then it's about time! The Master's been in dire need of an epiphany for a good eight years if you ask me. The Sorbonne may have filled his head with books and knowledge, but it did nothing to develop that moral character of his."

"Or… perhaps he's having an off day," Cadenza suggested. "Everyone has those every now and again. Heaven knows how many times I've played a passage perfectly in practice, only to sound as incompetent as a tree stump on the day of a performance. Sfortunatamente, a musician's life is never easy. Why was Lumière fired anyway? Carlotta and I were on tour in Austria when it happened."

"He made a big fool of himself, that's why," Cogsworth replied, crossing his arms resentfully. "He was lucky enough to be fired for what he did. I was almost certain he'd receive the death sentence."

"Cogsworth!" Mrs. Potts retorted. "You know you don't mean that. Lumière did a more noble thing for the Master than any of us combined, and that's the honest truth of the matter."

"And what exactly did he do?" asked Cadenza.

Mrs. Potts sighed. "I suppose, to explain it fully I'd have to go back to the year the Master's mother passed away. You remember of course when the King organized that grand dinner party after the Queen's funeral and made the Master play the harpsichord for his guests?"

"Si." Cadenza nodded. "I must have spent hours teaching him how to play the second movement from Handel's Suite in G minor for the occasion. But it was too soon for him to be performing after his mother's death. He just... wasn't ready. When he lost his confidence at the recital, his father was furious, and the boy was so ashamed of himself, he refused to touch a keyboard again."

"The King wasn't furious, he was livid," Cogsworth corrected. "Lumière and I heard him lashing out on the boy after the party, and it was positively frightening. Which was why his behaviour the next day came as a huge puzzle to all of us. It was as though he'd had a great revelation, or someone had turned a switch in him."

"All we know is that after that night, the King was dreadfully frightened of his son, to the point he refused to speak with him or be in the same room as him," Mrs. Potts elaborated. "Then, as though to distance himself further, he decided he would postpone his son's tutoring, and send him off to be educated at the Sorbonne. Naturally, we were all surprised by his decision, but not as much as the Master. The poor boy thought his father was sending him away to punish him! He'd write him letters every month, hoping for a chance at reconciliation, but the King never wrote back. He'd simply forward the letters to Lumière, saying he was too busy to read them, and he could reply in any manner he wanted."

"And did he?" Cadenza asked curiously.

"For a time," Cogsworth confirmed. "Lumière was very close with the Master, see. He considered it a great honour to support him as he transitioned to university life. But as the years passed, and Lumière realized the King had no intention of writing a letter to his son, he did the unthinkable—against my good discretion, I may add. He confronted him. Called him a coward, said that his son deserved better. And for a man as proud and self-centered as the King, you can imagine how well that turned out." He shuddered. "He was so furious, he fired Lumière right on the spot."

"And not long after Lumière left the castle, the King became dreadfully ill," Mrs. Potts finished sadly. "Not even our best physicians could find a cure. He passed away when the Master was in his last year of university, and well… the rest is history."

"The poor Master." Cadenza shook his head. "Growing up with a father like that, it's no wonder he turned out to be so... autodistruttivo. But what about Lumière? Was he able to find work after the King fired him?"

"Last we heard, he'd managed to secure a job in the Prince de Mailly-Nesle's household in Courbecour," Mrs. Potts divulged. "He used to send us letters every month, though we haven't received anything from him in quite some time now."

Adam turned away from the door, a new feeling of guilt weighing on his shoulders. Now he understood why Lumière had stopped working at the castle. It was because of him. The maître d' had tried to stand up for Adam, and his father had turned around and fired him in an instant. Oh, Lumière, why didn't you bite your tongue? he lamented. It wasn't worth losing his job because of him. He knew he wouldn't have done it if he were in Lumière's shoes. But then he remembered the way Lumière had rushed to defend his twelve-year-old self from his father's abuse to the point that Cogsworth had had to physically struggle to hold him back. After years of putting up with a tyrannical master and being powerless to stop it, perhaps it was only a matter of time before the former maître d' would snap and rebel.

The sound of a door opening at the far side of the corridor startled Adam from his speculating. He turned to see Babette emerge from a storage closet with a feather duster in hand. His cheeks burned hotly, still not over the embarrassing experience of seeing her naked a few hours earlier. At least she was fully dressed now, but he'd prefer not to have another awkward encounter with her if he could avoid it.

Thankfully, there was a statue beside the kitchens that was just large enough for him to hide behind. He squeezed himself behind it, mere seconds before Babette strolled down the corridor, humming to herself as she dusted the candelabrum on the opposite side of the hall. As Adam waited for her to leave, he had another revelation. Since Lumière had lost his job, he'd likely never known Babette as anything more than a colleague in this universe. The castle's virtuous "star-cross'd lovers" had never existed, all thanks to Adam's time meddling.

But it doesn't have to stay that way. LeFou had said that the best way for Adam to feel better about himself was to change something about his current lifestyle. He didn't know how to do that yet, but maybe he could do it for someone else. Two someones, if he was really lucky.

"Erm, Master?" said LeFou. "Remind me why you wanted to come here again?"

"To see an old friend," the Prince replied.

It had been three days since Adam had narrowly escaped his marriage to Princess Amandine and used the book to change his past again. In that time, he'd been trying his best to keep a low profile, avoiding anything that would cause his servants to raise further alarms about his "out-of-sorts behaviour." Which wasn't exactly easy to do, as Adam wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to act in this universe. He had no energy to host a party, no interest in continuing his carnal relationship with Babette, and couldn't speak rudely to any of his servants without feeling guilty. In the end, he spent most of his time holed up in the West Wing; something that was strangely normal for him to do in this reality, despite all the socializing and whoring he took part in on a regular basis.

But today was different. Today, Adam was visiting Lumière's new household, to mend the bond his father had broken all those years ago. He just hoped that the former maître d' would be willing to accept his apology, given how long it had taken Adam to discover his real reasons for leaving the castle.

The Prince de Mailly-Nesle's castle resided on the outskirts of the city of Courbecour. It was a modestly sized estate made of white brick; its exterior a mixture of late Gothic and early Renaissance architecture. Upon arriving at the front steps, Adam stepped out of the carriage with LeFou and knocked on the castle's main entrance. A man donned in a powdered wig and brightly coloured suit promptly answered them.

"Oh, good afternoon, Your Highness," he said with surprise, stooping himself down into a quick bow. "I regret to inform you that my master is away in Luxembourg until the fourteenth. If you wish to leave him a message—"

"That's quite all right, Monsieur," Adam assuaged. "I'm actually here to speak with one of your staff members. His name is Jean-Eugène Lumière."

The doorman raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Lumière was fired months ago for failing to perform his work duties. Is this an urgent manner?"

"I'm afraid so," said Adam, taken aback by this bit of unexpected news. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"Regrettably, no. But we may still have his home address written in our record books if you would like me to retrieve them for you."

"I would greatly appreciate that."

The doorman nodded and escorted the Prince and LeFou into the castle's sitting room while he went to pull up Lumière's information. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with a slip of paper bearing directions to Lumière's home address. According to their record books, Lumière lived in an apartment in town and was a mere fifteen-minute walk from the castle. Adam thanked the doorman for his time and returned to the carriage with LeFou, determined to reunite with his former maître d' once more.

Unfortunately, the apartment address only brought them to another dead end.

"We kicked him out months ago," the landlord said, after Adam had inquired about whether he had ever rented a room out to a man named Jean-Eugène Lumière. "He stopped paying his rent and made a complete mess out of his apartment. It must have taken us weeks to get rid of the smell, Mon Dieu."

"And I don't suppose you know where he went after you evicted him?" Adam asked.

"Afraid not."

The Prince left the apartment with his shoulders slouched and his fists clenched. He felt discouraged and frustrated by his lack of progress. All he'd learned from the doorman and the landlord was that Lumière had neglected to take care of his apartment, pay his rent and fulfill his work duties—qualities that didn't sound like Lumière at all. And worst of all, Adam still had no idea where to find him.

"Why don't you try a tavern?" LeFou suggested in an attempt to support his visibly disheartened master. "Bartenders are pretty good at remembering names and faces."

Adam was about to ask LeFou where they could find a good tavern in the city when he became distracted by the sound of a man singing a raspy, off-key folk song on the side of the street. His dissonant-sounding voice was accompanied by a tinny-sounding string instrument, which was also in bad need of a tune-up. Adam turned his head towards the noise, feeling a strong urge to comment on how someone with such awful musicianship skills shouldn't be allowed to perform in public, then stopped himself.

The man playing the atrocious music had to be somewhere in his mid to late thirties. He sat on the curb with his legs crossed, a battered-looking guitar in his lap, some bottles of ale on his left and a tricorn hat containing a few coins in front of him. He wore a brown, threadbare waistcoat, cotton shirt, and britches, all of which were in dire need of washing and mending. His dishwater blonde hair was long and dishevelled, and he was sporting a shaggy beard that stopped a few inches past his chin.

But the one aspect of the man's appearance that really caught Adam's attention the most was his face. For as he turned his head, Adam caught sight of a droopy nose and blue eyes that were strikingly familiar…

"Hey, Master!" LeFou shouted. "Wait for me!"

Adam strode towards the beggar, who immediately ceased his singing upon seeing the important-looking nobleman standing in front of him.

"Well good afternoon, Seigneur," he greeted, a noticeable slur in his voice. "Spare some coin for a poor soul like me?"

"Lumière," Adam replied. "It's me."

Lumière squinted his bloodshot eyes in suspicion. Then, his mouth dropped open with realization. "M-Master Adam? I-Is it really you?" His voice grew thick with emotion. "Why, you've grown so tall and handsome! What brings you to see me?"

"I've come… to take you home, of course," Adam responded.

"H-Home?" Lumière repeated with a hiccup. "But Courbecour is my home now. Besides... the King, he fired me."

"Well then, I am officially unfiring you," Adam announced. "Lumière, you stood up to my father when no one else would. You were the only one who bothered to write to me when I was away in university. I can't let you live on the streets like this; wearing rags, begging for money, playing this… music."

"And what's wrong with my music, eh?" Lumière questions, demeanour quickly changing as he tightened his grip on his guitar. "I'll have you know that if not for poor entertainers like me, rich people like you wouldn't exist! Besides, it's not all that bad, being homeless. I sing when I want, I sleep when I want, I drink when I want, I piss wherever I want. I'd much rather live outdoors and be my own man than work as a—"

His sentence was abruptly cut off, as he proceeded to vomit some bright yellow bile on to the pavement. Adam and LeFou stepped backwards in disgust.

"Master, are you sure you want to take this guy back to the castle?" LeFou asked reluctantly.

"Absolutely," Adam replied. "Now help me lift him up."

Lumière tried to keep the Prince and LeFou back with a few feeble swings of his guitar but was too sick and inebriated to do any real damage. In the end, he allowed the two men to carry him back to the carriage, muttering incomprehensible curses and protests the entire way.

By the time Adam and LeFou had returned to the castle, Lumière had thrown up at least three more times. The Prince was quite certain that his carriage's carpet and upholstery would have to be replaced, but all of that was inconsequential in the grander scheme of things. As long as he had Lumière with him, he would be one step closer to fixing this disaster of a universe he'd created. That was all that mattered.

While LeFou went to find the castle physician, Adam led the semi-conscious Lumière out of the carriage and into the atrium, ignoring the shocked stares and gasps from his servants as he did so. He guided Lumière into the closest bedchamber and waited for the doctor to arrive.

"It appears that the gentleman's sickness results from his excessive drinking," the physician declared fifteen minutes later, upon performing a physical examination on the patient. "His temperature is also quite warm. I suspect he's acquired a fever from prolonged exposure to the elements. For now, I'd suggest we give him some fluids and let him sleep off his drink."

There was a knock on the door. Adam looked up to see Babette standing at the threshold with an uneasy expression, as though she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing there.

"You wanted to see me, Master?" she said, addressing the Prince with a curtsy.

"Yes, Plu-I mean, Babette," Adam replied, beckoning her into the room. "I'd like you to meet Jean-Eugène Lumière, my old maître d'."

Babette looked down at the haggard man passed out on the bed and raised her eyebrows in concern. "He looks dreadful. What happened to him?"

"It seems that he had a bit too much to drink," Adam replied. "I found him muttering nonsense and begging for money while I was travelling through Courbecour with LeFou. He had nowhere to stay, so I brought him back here." He looked back at Babette. "Would you mind looking after him for me while he recovers?"

"Well... I suppose," she agreed, fidgeting with her hands nervously. "But I'm a bit confused. Wouldn't you want someone with more medical expertise to look after him, like Angélique or Véronique?"

"No, no. I'm sure you'll do fine." He had no idea who Angélique and Véronique were anyway.

"Well then." She bit her lip. "I would never deny a request from His Royal Highness."

"Merci, Babette. And um, one more thing." He stepped closer to her, not wanting the doctor to overhear him. "This relationship we have. Do you... enjoy it?"

She tilted her head in uncertainty. "You've lost me, Master."

"Do you like... being with me?" he elaborated. "Or do you only sleep with me because I ask you to?"

"Oh." Her face turned slightly red. "Well, I'm not sure if it's my place to answer that question, Your Highness. After all, a servant girl is not her own master."

"Right. And that's part of the problem isn't it?" He rubbed the back of his head. "Babette, I've decided that... I no longer wish to employ you as my courtesan. It's nothing personal... it's just—I can't see myself continuing this relationship with you if—when I initiated it out of force. Your wages won't change," he added reassuringly. "You'll still be given the same pay, and you'll still be responsible for all your other work duties. You may even engage in relationships with other men in my household if you so desire. But I will no longer ask you to spend the night with me, and if I do, you have every right to refuse. Do you understand?"

Babette widened her eyes, looking surprised, but at the same time, relieved by this unexpected pronouncement. "Of course, Master," she consented. "If that is your wish, then I shall gladly honour it."

"Excellent. I will leave you to your task then."

She curtsied again and drew a chair up next to the bed, beginning her reluctant watch over the poor, drunken maître d'. Adam wondered if she had any idea that her life and Lumière's were about to change for the better.