The young prince gazed into the dancing flames, the fireplace reflected in his amber eyes.

Alone in his vast library, surrounded by unread books in their jackets, gathering dust, Blaine Anderson sat, reclined, in a plush armchair.

He preferred the solitude of the library to the usual bustle of the rest of his palace. He preferred to stay alone. But even when surrounded by his doting servants, the young prince may as well have been by himself. He was attractive, and could have his choice of women, but any that he would have dared approach would have found him exceedingly vain. Intelligent and tutored from an early age, he spoke several languages, including French and German. But isolated, unapproachable, and thoroughly distant, the young royal seemed to many as though he was incapable of socializing.

He spent his nights isolated in the West Wing, refusing to let anyone disturb him. He distanced himself from the servants of his castle, and barely bothered to learn most of their names. His ill temper and cruel disposition caused them to fear him, but their devotion to his great-uncle, the king, caused them to diligently go about their jobs, though the young prince was vile to everyone.

Many wondered if his cold heart could ever love.

On this frigid night, as the prince stared forlornly into space, a knock came at the door. Few of the prince's servants would dare to disturb the man in his study, but for Nicholas Cogsworth, a trusted servant and personal confidant.

"Come in," intoned the prince, uninterested, but annoyed at being torn from his reverie. A slim young Englishman entered the room, eyes lowered and hidden by a fringe of unruly dark hair. Cogsworth approached the back of his master's chair tentatively, for angering the prince was not a sin easily atoned for. "Yes?" the prince implored, not bothering to stand and face the man behind him.

"Master," began the manservant. He cleared his throat before continuing. "There's a woman at the palace door. Cogsworth became at once very interested in the ceiling, though not much else could be seen in the dim lighting.

The prince sat up, a spark of dark anxiety crossing his chiseled features. "What?"

"A... A woman, master. She... She is looking for a place to say."

"Well, tell her she has no business here." Blaine sank back into his armchair, already done with the subject. He again became preoccupied with the flames, the only illumination in the dark study.

The butler protested. "But sir-" Blaine would not hear it.

"Send her away," he demanded. The man's tone was riddled with ice.

Cogsworth gulped and opened his mouth, aiming to further protest, but decided against it. He backed out of the chamber much in the manner he had entered it. The heavy door swung shut, thudding as it closed, leaving the anxious servant in the hallway. He closed his eyes, drew a breath to steady himself, and set toward the foyer, ashamed at what he was about to do.

~oOo~

The woman stood in the gleaming foyer, swaying slightly as her vapid eyes surveyed her posh surroundings. She looked out of place in the palace entryway, clad in a torn chemise, her limp hair hanging about her thin shoulders, around which hung a tattered shawl. It was impossible to discern the woman's age, as her look of despair and the lines that folded her narrow face shrouded any youthfulness she may have once possessed. At one time, she may have been beautiful, but the only thing of beauty to grace her tragic frame was the magnificent birdcage she clutched in her bony fingers. In it sat a yellow bird, looking less than healthy but still brilliantly plumed.

As she struggled to remain standing, she would whisper weak pleas of "shelter..." in her quiet French. The bird seemed to echo her, faintly chirping at intervals from its cage.

As the woman teetered, the air in the foyer buzzed with nervous energy. The assembled servants had sent Cogsworth to talk to the prince, as he was the least likely to be fired for impertinence. They knew the prince would not take kindly to the idea of a beggar in his palace. So they waited, unable-or perhaps unwilling-to help the poor woman.

It was all Mrs. Hudson could do to keep from reaching out to the poor maiden. The castle cook was a mother figure to all, though her only son was the stable boy, Finn. She was fiercely protective of him, as his father had been murdered before the boy was born, and refused to let her son associate with the spoiled, tyrannical prince, who was the same age. Her late husband was a friend of the young prince's father, who had, upon his friend's passing, offered his widow a job as his servant.

She cared for everyone, and seeing the distressed young woman before her nearly broke her heart.

She was just about to step towards the wraith-like figure, when footsteps sounded through he silent entryway. Cogsworth had returned.

"You," he said, indicating the woman. She stared at him, pleading with her glassy eyes. Cogsworth faltered, and then continued. "The master said you could not stay here," he said. The woman gasped.

Thud.

Mrs. Hudson threw a hand to her mouth and rushed forward to assist the woman, now slumped on the cool gray stone floor. The bird cage clattered as it rolled, positioning itself at the feet of Jeffrey Lumiere, the maître d' of the palace. He picked it up gently, cooing softly to the frantic bird.

"Yes, yes now... Ssh, there you go," he said, poking a finger through the wires to stroke the creature's wing.

Everyone else's attention was turned to the unconscious girl. Yvette, the maid, was fretting. "Oh, whatever shall we do?" she questioned, tugging her curls. "The master shall be outraged eef he finds out!"

Cogsworth was frozen. He could not simply leave the girl out in the cold, but... His conscience won out, and he knelt to help Mrs. Hudson, who was checking for a pulse. Upon finding an albeit slow one, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Get my son, Nicholas, since you're not doing anything. We need to get her upstairs." Lumiere obliged, and ran out into the night.

~oOo~

Finn Hudson was in the stable, stroking his favorite horse, Celeste. He spent most of his time there; no one else seemed to care about the creatures. He found them beautiful. He had grown up around them, and they had become his only friends. He had been the only child on the castle grounds, except, of course, for the rotten prince. Tall, handsome, and exceptionally well-mannered, Finn was the perfect antithesis to the short-tempered, self-centered young royal. Had he been given the chance to present himself to the world, he would have had hordes of ladies throwing themselves at him at every turn. Instead, the only women in his life were his mother, Yvette, and of course the horses, especially Celeste.

Finn breathed in the rich smell of Luna's silky auburn coat. He was at peace, alone but for himself and the beasts, and content. He leaned against the mare's strong neck, but was startled when he felt her tense.

"Luna, what's wrong?" he asked, laying a hand on her nose.

The horse's ears pricked, alert to the sound of approaching footsteps.

Finn heard it too.

A few moments later Lumiere burst in the door. Finn looked up, startled, as the man approached him in an air of urgency. "You need to come now," the older man panted, "to the palace." The open stable door threw slats of cold light across the stable floor, illuminating the quiet stalls. Wind filled the building as Lumiere flew in, hair mussed and cheeks flushed.

"What is it?" asked a dubious Finn. It was not like Lumiere to look so flustered. He was generally relaxed, unlike his English counterpart, Cogsworth. This change in attitude concerned Finn.

"There's a woman-" Still huffing, Lumiere approached Finn, who was still stroking Celeste. She reared, uncomfortable as the slim maître d' walked towards her. Lumiere stopped advancing and continued.

"-unconscious. In the foyer." He breathed heavily, interrupting himself. "We need your help to carry her to the guest's quarters." Finn looked down as he laid a strong hand again on Luna's neck, to calm the agitated horse, which was shaking. She was acting the way that he felt. "But," he added, timid. "The master cannot know." After a beat, Finn looked up.

"Is she all right?" He asked, gravelly voice devoid of emotion. Finn kept his eyes cast downwards, towards the rusty stable floor. His heart was racing as he wondered what was going on.

"Yes-well- We need your help! You're the only man strong enough to help us lift her." Lumiere rang his hands, eyes hopeful. If anything happened to this woman, it was bound to be his fault. He was flamboyant and absent-minded, and often became the palace scapegoat. Surely Cogsworth, though Lumiere considered him a dear friend, would find a way to pin the blame on him.

Finn bent down and whispered in his horse's ear, then stood. "I'm coming." He led Celeste back to her stall. She whinnied as Finn left the stable.

It will be okay, Celeste. He hoped so.

~oOo~

Mrs. Hudson bent low over the now-peacefully sleeping woman, dabbing a damp cloth on her forehead. She really is a pretty young thing, thought the cook as she wetted the cloth a second time. A shame she's come to this. Shaking her head, the older woman brushed a few stray blonde hairs away from the wretch's sleeping face. It was true. Beneath the layers of dirt, the beggar woman could be recognised as once a fine beauty.

Mrs. Hudson wondered what dreadful events had brought the poor girl to this shameful state. The mother in her wanted to take the girl in, save her from the life she was living in the cold night air, but common sense told her it was impossible. The master of the castle, who was barely kind enough to keep Mrs. Hudson herself employed, would never allow it. He had not been willing to let her stay for even a night.

Cold hearted scum, she thought, traitorously. The vain, conceited, boy. She sighed. There was nothing she could do, except care for the girl for one night. The servant's quarters were shoddy and drafty, illuminated only by the single flame of a dying candle. Mrs. Hudson had collected as many blankets as she could, but the poor girl still shivered in her sleep.

As she sat with the unconscious maiden, became distracted by the beautiful bird the woman had brought with her. Obviously a rare, exotic creature, the bird was further proof the beggar had fallen from grace. Occasionally it would chirp feebly from its cage, but it would not sing.

The bird kept Mrs. Hudson company for some time, with its chirping and preening, but it eventually fell silent. After a short time, Mrs. Hudson joined it in slumber.

Soon, though, her tumultuous dreams were cruelly interrupted.

"What is this?" the roaring shout came from the doorway. Mrs. Hudson shrieked as the castle's master descended upon the sleeping beggar woman, eyes full of mad fire. "I told you not to let her in here."

"But, but master-" the woman stammered, "She fainted-"

"Fainted?" the teenage noble questioned, coldly. "Those gypsies will do anything to get in. She plans to rob me blind!"

"M-master, she's ill, can't we show-"

"No!" The prince's voice rose. In the bed, the young woman's eyes were beginning to flutter open. "We can't show a tramp compassion." He spat these words, and Mrs. Hudson trembled in fright. She'd seen the spoiled royal angry, but never in a seething rage such as this. "Get out," he hissed. Mrs. Hudson clutched the rag and ran out of the room. Now fully awake, the young woman cowered, pulling the sheets around her barely covered shoulders.

Blaine glowered at her, and she squirmed. Her glassy eyes reflected fear. The bird chirped, petrified in its glistening cage.

The prince looked up. "What is this?"

"It's a bird-" the vagabond gasped. Her voice was soft and husky. "-a canary." She trailed off as Blaine studied the creature; his eyes for once alight with real interest.

Then his head snapped around. "Where did you get it? Who did you steal it from?"

The woman trembled, but managed to eke out, "I didn't steal it-it was my father's."

"LIES!" Again he roared, and the woman began sobbing. "You stole it. And now, you dare ask for shelter, when you intended to rob me blind, didn't you?" He leered at the magnificent bright bird, almost transfixed by its unlikely beauty.

"No-"

"I was kind enough to let you into my palace, but you will not be offered shelter for free. Give me the bird." Blaine seized the top of the cage. The small yellow bird shrieked and ruffled its feathers indignantly. The sole candle by the bed flickered.

"No! I'll-I'll do anything! Pavarotti!" she cried, reaching for her pet.

"He is mine now. And if you don't shut your filthy mouth, I'll have you too!" Blaine lunged toward the girl, throwing the bird's cage to the floor. With a gasp, she flung herself back on the threadbare pillows. She cowered as the muscled young man loomed over her, leering. The lone candle cast eerie lines across his face, which would be handsome were it not for the look of lustful contempt that marred his fine features.

"Please..."

Whimpering and defenseless, the woman found herself faced with no means of escape from the horrid prince. She stared up into his dark amber eyes as he grinned evilly. Casting a terrified glance around the room, she searched for something that could save her from this menace. Then she spied the candle. It seemed to burn brightly, despite its stubbiness, sympathizing with her plight. At last she knew what she had to do.

Swallowing hard, she wrenched her arm free and grasped the candle, forcing it into the face of her violator and causing him to bellow in pain. She watched, horrified, as the malicious prince's curls began to catch. He howled, clutching his face, as the flames marked his features. Batting at the quickly growing flame, he backed off. This allowed the beggar to force him off of her and make her escape. She ran, clothed still in her tattered rags, out of the servants' quarters and back out into the night. As she tore out of the castle, she could still hear the prince's cries.

Soon, the castle's servants-at least, those who were asleep to begin with-began to awaken. They fled to the room in which the prince screamed, now with most of the flames extinguished. Cogsworth ran forward to his master, taking up the bowl of water Mrs. Hudson had left by the girl's bedside. He splashed the liquid in the direction of the howling prince, and the flames that tore at the dark curls fizzed and subsided.

"Aauggghh-" The royal moaned, his hand to his face.

"Master, what happened?" The butler breathed, dumbfounded.

"Iffwasssthejsssspygrrr-" came the anguished sound of the prince's melted voice, When he turned to face his assembled servants, Yvette, who had just come running at the sound of the prince's shouts, fainted.

The entire left side of the young man's face was singed, his hair smoking. The raw flesh oozed. Mrs. Hudson gingerly stepped aside to gather the unconscious maid, as the rest of the servants gaped.

"'It was the gypsy girl,'" Lumiere translated, in his thick accent. He felt no pity for the prince; he could guess what had happened moments before, from the rumpled sheets and discarded birdcage.

The servants tittered. Cogsworth asked, ignoring them, "Master-are you-"

Thud.

For the second time that dreadful night, someone had fallen unconscious. This time, no one rushed to Blaine's aide. The cook, the maître d', the gardener, and the stable boy stood by, watching their master get what they so long had wished upon him.

The bird watched all this from his magnificent cage, not making any sound-not even the occasional chirp. Pavarotti had fallen silent.

~oOo~

The next morning, Blaine woke up, face bandaged, in his bedroom. Cogsworth and Lumiere stood over him, muttering. Their faces were blurred, and soon the prince realised that his eye was shut and he could not open it.

"FFbbbrrrr," he groaned, finding he could not use his lips well either. The entire left side of his face seemed to be frozen. This concerned him-but then he remembered the activities of the night before.

"Master?" Cogsworth asked. Lumiere left the room, throwing a contemptuous glance over his shoulder at the doting Cogsworth as he did so. "What is it?"

"Tthhbrrr..." Blaine insisted, getting angered. He sat up in bed to make his request more urgent.

"The... bird?" Cogswoth asked, understanding.

"Gddditt." The prince growled, wincing at the pain talking-or trying to-caused him.

"Right away, sir." Cogsworth left the room and went to find the bird, which had found itself in Lumiere's care after what had happened. When Lumiere was told of the prince's request, he only reluctantly removed his fingers from the holes in the bird's cage. He shot Cogsworth a look, but the butler pretended to ignore it as he returned to serve his master.

When he returned with the canary, he placed it at the table at the foot of the young prince's bed, as the prince had indicated by a wave of his hand.

"Nwwwgow," said the prince, and Cogsworth left.

He stepped into the hallway, and promptly discovered a weeping Finn. He asked what was wrong.

"It's Celeste-" he choked, wiping the tears that made tracks on his face. He continued. "The gypsy woman stole her!"

A look of concern crossed Cogsworth's features. Finn was a fragile boy, and much of the castle's staff knew that Celeste was the only living thing he could relate to. He had no idea what to tell the boy. "We can get another horse..." he said, trailing off as a wretched sob escaped the younger man's throat. "Not like Celeste…" he choked.

Cogsworth gingerly placed a hand on Finn's shoulder. "I'm sorry" he murmured. "There, there."

Finn shook away from Cogsworth's hand. "You'll never understand!" Tearing into a new set of tears, Finn took off down the hallway. Cogsworth turned and solemnly went to find Lumiere.

~oOo~

No one could understand. That beautiful girl had stolen Finn's heart—and his best friend. How could he have ever fallen for her golden tresses? The delicate curve of her jaw as she lay unconscious, her hair splayed on the cold marble. He didn't even know her..

Though, somehow, Finn had felt like he did. Though he did not know even her name, he felt as though he shared something with her. And now she was gone. Gone, with his favorite horse. Who could say if Finn would ever see either of them again?

His world had been turned upside down twice in a single night.

~oOo~

"Cogsworth, this time the master has gone too far. How can you stand by him—" Lumiere was cut off.

"Cogsworth, now is it?" Cosworth looked up from the square of floor he'd just been studying. "I remember a time you called me Nicholas."

Lumiere heaved a great sigh. "That was before you began to blindly follow the-" He spat the next word, contempt and sarcasm dripping from his intonation like congealing blood. "Prince blindly in all that he does. You're like a lapdog!" His voice rose in anger.

"A lapdog?" scoffed Cogsworth. "I am loyal to my master."

"Your master! Do you know what he tried to do to that girl?" Cogsworth fell silent for a moment.

"Are you saying that he deserved what he got?" he said after a beat.

"Maybe," sneered Lumiere, "but maybe what he really needs is a butler who will be honest with him, instead of going along with all he says and does and allowing him to ruin his own life like you!"

"Oh, don't even start, old chap. Don't tell me you actually care about someone other than yourself."

Lumiere gaped. "I-I do!"

"Who, then?" asked Cogsworth. "Oh, right. That slutty little girlfriend of yours. What's her name. The maid."

Lumiere shook his head. "Nicholas, I care about you."

Cogsworth froze. After a moment, he regained himself, but was still visibly shaken. His next words were clipped. "Well, then," he said, standing to leave the room. "I guess you haven't done a very good job of showing it."

As his best friend slammed the door behing himself. Lumiere sighed and stared at the floo

~oOo~

And so began life in the castle after "the fire," as the servants called it in whispers. Blaine refused to see anyone but his most trusted Cogsworth, and spent his days propped up in bed, staring at the bird. As he grew better and regained his vision and speech, he mandated that nobody in the castle liaison with anyone outside. The vain prince was ashamed of his looks, as the burns had scarred horribly, and was willing to close himself off from the world in order to keep them from being seen. He regarded himself a monster.

Tensions between the servants, who were unused to being in such close quarters all the time woth thsose they considered their friends. It seemed as if the prince's evil had begun to affect everyone he touched. He himself became even more cold-hearted than before.

Many whispered that only love could ever save him-but who could love a monster?