Belle was angry with herself. It had been coming on gradually throughout the day and now she was sitting in one of her private rooms, ostensibly looking over a selection of gown designs Armoira De La Grande Bouche had prepared for her wardrobe for the new season, but inwardly fuming. If she had felt this way about anyone else, she would have tracked them down and had it out with them, but she could hardly do verbal battle with herself, so all there was to do was to sit on an immense chaise longue and stew.

How could she have been so – she looked for a princessy word for it – indelicate? That scene with Lumière – well, alright, she was exaggerating, it wasn't a scene. But she shouldn't have let her feelings show like that. It had been a temporary lapse, a silly, transient feeling. So her every little wish hadn't come true. How spoiled had she become in these two years as a princess? The instant gratification was going to her head. Everyone had fantasies, everyone had some dream that remained unfulfilled. Look at the servants. Was that all they had wanted from their lives? To serve a royal couple? Had Armoira prepared these designs for her because designing dresses for a princess had been her life's ambition? Or did she do it because she loved rich embroidery and layered skirts but had neither the means nor the occasion to wear them herself? She couldn't tell. And what about Lumière, Mrs Potts and Cogsworth? Had they, as children, lain awake at night tracing images of household objects in the stars, dreaming of the day they would help to run someone else's household, and be the undeserving victims of a curse to boot? Unlikely. And what about...

What about all the little girls who dreamed of being princesses? What about the shining faces that had lined the streets for their wedding procession, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of her, to drink in the idea that a peasant girl like her could become a princess if only she were good enough. Well, she had a thing or two she could tell them. Who would want this, knowing what it really was? If they only knew about the long, empty days, the tedium of having everything you wanted at a moment's notice and... oh, she was spoiled! It wasn't fair! She had never wanted this! She wanted adventure! She wanted to see the world, not listen in quietly to meetings about ruling it! She wanted to saddle a fast horse, pack up all the supplies she could carry and ride away into the distance. She wanted to meet people, to discover how little she knew about the world and then remedy it, one dangerous, thrilling, wonderful adventure at a time! And she wanted him to go with her.

And that was the problem. That was why she couldn't have the life she dreamed of and that was why she was furious with herself for still dreaming of it. She loved him, as much as she had when the curse broke and more. She couldn't imagine feeling happiness without him by her side and she knew he felt the same. But he was a prince and she was a selfish, ungrateful princess and there was an end to it.

He faced the mirror like a man. He stared himself proudly in the eyes, blue and firm, taking in his pale, smooth skin and long, sleek hair. This was who he was. He smiled.

It occurred to him then that, in addition to helping him on with his jacket for dinner, Lumière was speaking to him.

"What was that?"

Lumière cringed. It had been a delicate piece of phrasing and he didn't like to start again. He almost lost his nerve, but the thought of Belle's sad resignation earlier spurred him on.

"I just said that I would like to talk to you about the princess, Master. If that is alright."

He frowned slightly, twisting to admire his outfit. "What about her?"

Neither of them had noticed Cogsworth enter the room, but when he began to speak, Lumière made a mental note not to antagonise him for at least an hour after this conversation was over. He deserved it.

"What Lumière was alluding to, if you will forgive the intrusion, Master –" He eased his way cautiously into the conversation "—Is that, and we hope you will understand that this is said with the deepest of respect-"

The prince's eyes narrowed. "Yes, Cogsworth?"

"Well... it's just that... circumstances being what they are and so on..."

"Cogsworth."

"She's... not happy, sire."

The prince turned abruptly to face his head of household. "What do you mean?" He could feel the dangerous tone enter his voice, a certain depth that seemed to reach into the past and find a bit of Beast. He didn't regret the tone, though – it suited the way he felt, sometimes.

Lumière decided to return the favour by interceding. "Ah, Master – what he means is that, although the princess has said nothing herself, some of us suspect that the princess is feeling a little... out of sorts."

Muscles in the prince's body were beginning to tense. "Some of you?"

"Oui, Mrs Potts, Cogsworth and myself. We were just saying that perhaps she feels a little lonely, since you are always so busy, and that maybe—"

"Maybe I neglect my wife?"

"Sire—" Cogsworth tried to interject but it was too late. Something inside the prince had been smouldering, and now the fire had become unstoppable.

"Come with me," he growled, and swept out of the room. Cogsworth and Lumière hurried after him, exchanging unmistakeably nervous glances.

As he pounded his way down the corridors and staircases, the prince fumed. How dare they talk about him that way? How dare they come to him and tell him Belle was unhappy? He loved Belle and her happiness meant more to him than anything else ever had or would – certainly more than any of them. And they came to him and told him she was unhappy? As though he wouldn't know? As though he was some heartless— He aimed a kick at a statue as he passed, stubbed his toe and tried to disguise his subsequent limp —Beast. Was that what they thought of him? Well, to hell with the lot of them. He had changed – Belle had changed him – and he owed his very life to her. He would not be accused of neglect.

As they neared the heavy double doors that led to the dining room, he stopped in his tracks and span round. Lumière and Cogsworth, who had been close to jogging to keep up, fairly skidded to a halt in front of him.

"If you're wrong," he hissed in harsh tones, "I will have you removed from this castle and only your role in breaking the curse will save you from exile, understand?"

They nodded. They knew this was meaningless, a throwback to earlier days, but neither of them had seen this strength of feeling for some time. They had hit a nerve.

Belle was waiting for him in the dining room, resplendent in an emerald gown, reclining in her chair with a book propped up on the table. She straightened as he entered and laid the book aside. She opened her mouth to wish him a good evening, then saw his expression and changed it to "Is everything alright?"

The prince paused, struck by the concern in her eyes. He crossed to her and took her by the hand. She stood up.

"Belle, you... you would tell me if you were unhappy, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, but then she looked down.

He gently lifted her chin. "What is it?"

Belle's gaze drifted to Lumière and Cogsworth, who instantly began falling over one another to make a quick exit. When they had gone, she put her arms around her husband's waist, pressing her face into his chest for a few moments before she spoke again. The prince reflected that, once again, he owed his servants an apology.

Belle looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's nothing. Just a silly feeling."

"Hey." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "What feeling?"

She sighed. She couldn't keep secrets from him, she didn't want to. But she didn't want him to think she was unhappy with him when he was the most wonderful, beautiful thing that she had ever known. "It's just that... sometimes I still think about adventure, about seeing the world. And I know it's selfish, and my life here is perfect, a dream, and I know how lucky I am but..." She moved away. "I'm sorry."

He pulled her close again, his thoughts swirling. Was he still keeping her prisoner? Had Belle made his dreams come true at the expense of her own? The thought took hold of him instantly, squeezing at his internal organs. "It's not selfish," he said, quietly. He pulled himself together. "Let's make it happen."

Belle frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll have Cogsworth clear some time as soon as possible. It'll have to be after Illyria, I'm afraid, but we'll go away, take two of our finest horses and ride in any direction you want. Just you and me."

"Really?" Belle tried to suppress some of her excitement but it radiated from her in waves.

He took his princess by the hand again. "I promise."

"I've got a plan," said Gaston.

"Oh, great!" said Lefou. What he meant was: "I really wish you hadn't dragged me to this empty tavern extremely early in the morning with a plan that's probably got a lot in common with the one that nearly got you killed and by the way you're looking extra crazy today, did you do something with your hair?" but what Lefou said and what Lefou meant hadn't been within sight of one another for a very long time.

Gaston threw him into a chair and sat down opposite him. "That guy – Tom or whatever his name was – told me everything. Seems that what everyone's been missing here again is magic." The scary glint in his eye was back.

"Magic?" Lefou made to respond in disbelief, but something stopped him. Memories of that night began to seep into his consciousness, memories that usually remained hidden. They were being attacked by kitchenware and furniture. Something had wanted them out of that castle, something other than the Beast. "The things were under a spell?"

Gaston snorted. "Never mind the things. I'm talking about the Beast."

"What about him?"

Gaston grinned. Lefou didn't like it.

Apologies to everyone whose reviews I haven't replied to – I've been busy and confused! I really do appreciate that so many people are reading and reviewing this fic, I'm just a bit nervous that it won't live up to expectations! Let me know what you think of this chapter.