Judging that his proper place was currently anywhere other than intruding on the private – could you call it grief? He didn't see why not – of the prince and princess, Cogsworth made his way silently out into the corridor and eased the door shut with a barely-audible click.

So that was that. Another curse. Another deadline. His heart had sunk so low that he could almost feel it trying to claw its way out of his feet. He couldn't possibly begin to imagine how the Master must be feeling. And Belle, too. Did either of them have it in them to do it all again? He couldn't have sworn, hand on heart, that he did.

And that was where the creeping sense of guilt began to set in – guilt at the immense relief he found he was feeling that the spell hadn't taken anyone but the Master this time. He should have been feeling nothing but sympathy and sadness at a time like this. He had known the Master since the infant prince had spent his days screaming from his cradle, and he had grown to look on Belle as a cherished friend as well as a princess who was to be respected for consistently exceeding the high expectations of those around her. What had happened to them last night was terrible, horrible, unthinkable.

But thank goodness it hadn't happened to him.

Smothering the feeling, Cogsworth set off for the kitchen by way of the servants' passages, periodically calling out as he went "All members of staff are to finish what they're doing and convene in the ballroom in half an hour. Staff meeting in the ballroom in half an hour. Spread the word!" Unusually, Cogsworth was not looking forward to this meeting. Even organising the legion of maids, butlers and so on who made up the castle's staff wouldn't soothe his jangled nerves today. Still, someone had to tell them what was going on, before the rumours got out of control. A familiar face appeared in a doorway. "Ah, Lumière. I think we need to talk in private." And, without further warning, he steered his old friend and antagonist into a linen cupboard. Given the amount of linen handled in the castle on a daily basis, it was actually rather a spacious room, but a linen cupboard nonetheless.

Lumière raised his eyebrows. "Why, Cogsworth, I had no idea you felt this way about me."

Cogsworth frowned. "Lumière, this is neither the time or the place."

"It may not be the time," Lumière smirked, "but this is certainly the place. Only last week, Babette and I-"

"That's quite enough of that," Cogsworth snapped. Then, reasoning that he might as well dispense with the pleasantries, "The Enchantress was here."

Lumière's levity drained away like it had been sucked out by a leech. "What?"

Cogsworth shook his head slightly. "Out of the blue, but then I suppose that's their modus operandi. You'd think they'd have something better to do with all that power than turn up on people's doorsteps and ruin their lives..." He trailed off for a moment. Actually, until the previous night it had been grudgingly accepted that the prince's life had probably ended up in a far more satisfactory state than it would otherwise have been. Had things remained on the course they had looked set to follow twelve years ago, the young prince would have remained unbearable and friendless and would probably have been married off to a foreign princess by now with no guarantee they'd even speak the same language. The servants had all suffered immeasurably, of course, particularly those with family members who weren't also employed at the castle, but apparently that had been a mistake. So that was alright then.

"What happened?" Lumière demanded, impatient.

"Well, there was a knock at the door, so I answered it and there she was. I didn't know what to do at first but then I thought I'd better fetch the Master so..." He continued in this vein for some time. Eventually, Lumière was able to elicit the salient points from him.

"So the Master has another spell to break?"

Cogsworth sighed. "Well, apparently it's the same spell, because the Enchantress didn't do it properly the first time. It's disgusting, the incompetence you see in people with power these days..."

"Cogsworth..."

"What?"

Lumière smirked again. "I think you will find that, as the prince's most trusted advisors, we are people with power."

"Oh. Well, you know what I meant. Anyway, the point is – what are we going to do?"

Lumière scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Well, we will help in any way we can, of course. You say he has to learn about being kind to others, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, but that's not what I meant." Cogsworth adjusted his wig in a nervous fashion. "As you say, we'll help in any way we can but... what about the kingdom? It's not like before, the prince was only a child then and had no responsibilities to speak of, it was easy to make him disappear." Well, for a given value of easy. There had been a rather tense few weeks while LePlume, the scribe-turned-quill had tried to learn how to write with what he was used to thinking of as his feet. After that, though, Cogsworth had managed to just about salvage the situation by dictating an awful lot of letters. That wasn't going to work this time.

"Oh, I see what you mean." Realisation began to dawn. "The crown prince of Illyria visits next week!"

"Exactly. That and the multitude of other diplomatic business I have to guide His Royal Highness through every day, and something tells me that even if he was willing to be seen like that, it wouldn't be good for the kingdom's image."

"Could we not just say that he is sick?"

Cogsworth helped himself to a clean handkerchief off one of the shelves and wiped his brow. "I suppose that might work for some of the domestic matters he has to deal with – meetings with local leaders, peasants with grievances and so on. I could consult the prince and then speak to them on his behalf. But this meeting with Illyria has been arranged for months. They first approached us asking for a meeting before the spell had been broken, so of course I told them then that the prince was indisposed, but then they asked to come during the royal wedding celebrations, so I had to refuse them again, then this trade dispute broke out over there so their prince was tied up for a long time, and now they really need to speak to His Royal Highness for the sake of their country's stability and our continued friendship. Things might be a bit unstable over there but they're settling down and Illyria's military power is something to be reckoned with-"

"Slow down, Cogsworth!" interjected Lumière, not before time. "We are not going to end up at war with Illryia."

"You're sure of that, are you?" Cogsworth knew he was becoming hysterical, but he couldn't see any alternative course of action.

"No," Lumière admitted. "But there are other things we can try first. For instance – has anyone from Illyria ever seen the prince?"

Cogsworth considered this for a moment. "No," he concluded. "And his official portrait hasn't been finished yet. He was due to sit for that again tomorrow." He paused. "I suppose I'd better cancel that."

"You think?"

"Lumière, if you have nothing to offer but impertinence..."

Lumière lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax, Cogsworth. I have an idea. What if someone else were to pretend to be the prince? He could speak to the Illyrians in his place and none of them would suspect a thing."

A tiny ray of hope flickered in Cogsworth's mind. "I suppose... I suppose if this person knew what he was doing, and was given thorough instruction, and could keep the Illyrians entertained..."

Lumière grinned. "Exactly. You could do it!"

Cogsworth glared at him. "Lumière, really. I am easily thirty years the prince's senior and I think we'll have some trouble explaining my strong English accent. Besides, I shall be busy covering for the prince's other duties." He looked his friend up and down. "Why don't you do it?"

Lumière laughed, a little nervously. "Oh, now, Cogsworth, really, I do not think-"

"Well, I don't see why not. You're charming, debonair – a perfect host, in fact. And, as far as I can make out, you fill your hours around the castle with very little other than romantic interludes with Babette. You're perfect for the job."

"Cogsworth, I-"

"We'll have to do something to hide those grey hairs, of course, but with a bit of luck no one will notice the odd wrinkle here and there. We'll tell you exactly what to do and what to say – you'll be fine!"

Lumière opened his mouth to resume his protestations, but realised he'd backed himself into a corner. He was the victim of his own brilliance. And perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, pretending to be royalty. He could think of one or two advantages. "Very well," he said. "I will do it."

"Good," said Cogsworth, opening the door. "Now, go and tell everyone about this meeting in the kitchen. I'll see you there."

He was halfway down the corridor before he realised what he'd done. Lumière pretending to be the prince in front of foreign dignitaries? And that was their best option? And it was really too early for a stiff drink?

Oh dear.

There was a knock at the Enchantress's door, which struck her as slightly unusual because she'd made the house completely invisible. She needed a bit of peace and quiet after the rough morning she'd been having. She considered just ignoring it. It seemed like such a lot of effort to get up from where she was lying. And she'd have to change. She favoured a feline form for relaxing – nothing like curling up with your chin on your paws after a long, hard day. She licked herself, thoughtfully.

More knocking, more insistent this time. She sat up and mewed irritably, then closed her eyes and focused. When she opened them, she was back to her usual self.

"Alright, I'm coming!" she shouted, pulling on her discarded dress. She tugged the door open like it had personally offended her. "Yes?"

The man standing there was tall, with a muscular frame and was that – yes, that was a long, shiny black cloak. He was handsome in a technical sort of way; that is, his features were all individually perfect, but their combined effect was one of unnerving artifice that could not actually be described as attractive. He gave her a broad smile that somehow failed to convey any warmth at all. "Hello," he said.

She frowned. "Can I help you?"

Another unpleasant smile. "I doubt it. You don't recognise me, do you?"

The Enchantress was about to concede the truth of this statement, when it struck her. "You're not... Kestrel?"

"Incorrect," he said. "I am Kestrel."

"Goodbye, Kestrel," she said, and shut the door. Or tried to. His foot was in the way.

"You needn't worry," he said. "This isn't a social call. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by to let you know that I'm not going to let our past compromise my professional duty."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but she wasn't particularly interested. "Glad to hear it," she said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm very busy..."

"You haven't heard, have you?" Kestrel didn't wait for a reply. "I was elected to the Council of Magical Practitioners last year. I help decide what should be done about improper or careless use of magic. We're discussing a very interesting case at the moment. Very sloppy spell. Seems some small-time Enchantress cast a spell twelve years ago that just failed the test. But, like I said, I'll be judging the case solely on its merits, without any reference to things that might have happened. I hope that reassures you."

The Enchantress set her face firmly to expressionless. "Enormously. Thank you for letting me know."

"My pleasure." He bowed his head slightly, the horrible smile never fading. "Until we meet again."

She waited until she was sure he had gone, then caused an entire flowerbed to spontaneously combust. Kestrel Lowroad. The only person she knew with the unfailing ability to make a good day bad and a bad day worse.

Please keep the reviews coming! This looks like it might be shaping up to be quite a long fic (for me) so I really want to know what you like and what you don't!