Chapter Text
"Princess Marinette, your bath has been drawn."
Marinette started, but concealed it gracefully; years of masking her emotions in court led to her more-or-less mastery over disguising her thoughts. "Ah, thank you. You're dismissed."
The man wearing the Dupain Court emblem on his chest left with a curt bow, leaving Marinette alone with only her thoughts. That, and the stone memorial she had quickly scrambled to cover up. No one could discover her beloved secret— not even members of her own court.
"Marinette?" Someone called, and the princess sighed in relief as she realized it was only Alya searching for her in the gardens. "I thought I'd find you here."
Princess Marinette looked away bashfully, no longer making an effort to hide. "It's the ten year anniversary," she scoffed. "Of course I'd be here."
"That's not a bad thing," Alya said lightly. "It's just... You know you have your obligations today, Mari... I'd hate for you to be too caught up in things to see the future."
Marinette bit her tongue out of habit, holding back the few choice words she'd like to tell Alya right now— and everyone else that told her that. What do they know? She demanded impishly to herself, as she covered back up her childhood friend, Adrien's, tiny memorial. From the outside, no one could see the inscription— not unless they stood directly on top of it, and fancied themselves getting caught in the rose bushes Marinette had surrounded it with.
But to her, the engraved words RIP Adrien Agreste were as clear as day.
"Alya, it's fine, I've had a bath drawn and everything—"
"But you're still a mess," her lady-in-waiting insisted, tugging the knots out of the princess's hair vehemently. She shook the dirt out of Marinette's dress while the other grumbled all the way through the palace gardens.
"Really, Marinette. What would the court guests say if they saw you covered in dirt?"
"They're not here yet," Mari replied petulantly, even though she knew that some had, in fact, arrived. Merchants, knights, lords and ladies of the lands— even Lady Chloé of the Noir Kingdom and her handmaid, Sabrina, were waiting in the central hall and dining areas. Those of the lower classes had arrived early out of respect. But the main event wouldn't arrive until at dusk, when the symbolic handing off ceremony would commence.
For exactly one month ago, Princess Marinette of the Dupain Court turned 18, and she was of age to be wed off, as promised, to the prince of the Noir Kingdom. Not that she knew anything about him, of course, except that he was two years her senior and went by the name Chat Noir. Black Cat. She rolled her eyes, forcing back a scowl at his strange and clearly fake moniker.
Of course she'd be handed-off to her betrothed on the anniversary of her one true love's death. Of course. The fates seemed to hate her.
Alya was babbling mindlessly as Marinette largely ignored her, focused as she was at appearing welcoming to her guests as she passed them on the way to her bedchambers.
Marinette let out a sigh of relief as she was finally free of prying eyes. She took the long way to her room, choosing instead to cut through the servants' quarters and kitchen to take a secret staircase that lead to a hidden passageway. It was through this passage and a series of service bells that the staff could quickly serve their masters without disturbance. The whole affair was ridiculous— Alya told her so, as Marinette caught her dress on an upturned nail. But Marinette didn't care. She refused to meet anyone, lest she be forced to make small talk. Not today.
Her bedchambers were as spacious and regal as one would expect a princess's quarters. Wall-to-wall French windows lay adjacent to her lavish four-postered bed, the silky white drapings embroidered in gold that matched the curtains. Windowseats and low bookshelves lined the footspace in front of the windows. In one corner were dresses and mannequins— the area where she did her work. The other side of her room had three doors: one to her washroom, one to her walk-in closet, and one to her outdoor patio, where she painted and gardened on sunny days. On not-so-nice days, she liked to read, or work on her fashion designs. Her dresses were the rave of the kingdom, after all. Little did anyone know that she made them all herself.
She peeled herself from the dress she had made for tonight (she may be miserable, but she was going to look good) and went into the washroom, where a servant had dutifully filled her tub with hot water. Marinette was happy to strip off her dress and soak in the water, feeling all the dirt and grime peel off her skin. Alya combed through her hair (properly, this time) and cleansed it with fresh water, rubbing flowery perfumes and oils into her ends.
By the time she had finished up with a hard scrub, her skin was pink with irritation but smooth, and smelled faintly of flowers and summer grass.
Sometime after that, Alya disappeared to clean herself up, too, leaving Marinette alone with nothing to do but stare at her reflection. Having nothing better planned, she decided to flip through the letter she'd gotten a few months ago— the first of many, frankly. Chat Noir was... persistent.
My princess,
I cannot wait to see you soon. The people of my court cannot stop gossiping about how beautiful and sweet you are— and honestly, it's driving me mad. I've not properly seen you, even though you're betrothed to me. Oh, the misery I've had to endure! I need to put a face to my love.
Marinette's face flushed for what felt like the thousandth time. "God, he's so cheesy," she groaned aloud, almost too embarrassed to continue. Her chest felt weird and fluttery, like a butterfly had gotten caught up in it. It made her anxious. She didn't want to believe that this— this Chat— was her fiancé, whether she liked it or not.
The rest of the letter was just more mushy sentiments and requests for a speedy response (though admittedly, Marinette never sent him back anything). All typical of him, until the end:
Princess, I hope that, despite the uncomfortable arrangement... Please love I hope that you will grow to like me. I want our union to be fruitful for many years to come.
Much adoration,
Chat
"Marinette! What are you doing, sitting around reading letters like that?! You have to be ready in less than an hour from now!" Marinette's mother, Sabine Cheng, cried. "Goodness gracious... where's Alya to yell at you?"
"Getting ready herself," Marinette replied, rising to her feet and shoving the letters back under a pillow on her window seat. "Don't worry, Maman! My dress is all ready. I just need to do my makeup and hair."
Queen Sabine noticeably relaxed, though her eyes still swam with anxiety. "Mari, darling, please... Please don't be difficult. I know tonight is hard. But I promise you, it gets easier."
"I know, I know. You eventually fell in love with dad."
"Not only that, but—"
"It's for the good of the kingdom," Marinette finished, having heard it all before.
Queen Sabine's face was a mix of emotions— her pride and happiness for her daughter was threatened by tears, glimmering in the corners of her eyes. She rushed forward to hug her daughter instead. "I forget. You're all grown up now. You're a proper lady, yet I talk to you like you're a little girl."
"I'm still little," Marinette protested, making her mother laugh.
"Yes, and you'll be that way to me forever and always, my dear. Now come on. Let me do your makeup and hair."
True to her word, the Queen sent away the servants and applied her daughter's makeup herself. She lightly dusted Marinette's cheekbones with rouge, before shading in her eyelids with a dark color, making her eyes bluer than ever. Her lips were moisturized and shimmered with a simple gloss— a sweet and flirtatious contrast to her mature eye makeup.
"You're too youthful for lipstick," her mother insisted, and Marinette didn't argue. By contrast to her extensive knowledge about fashion, she honestly didn't know much about makeup, and usually let her mother and Alya handle these things.
Her hair was pinned up into a tight bun at the top of her head, though her bangs were allowed free, along with a few curled pieces that framed her face. Finally, a plain silver circlet rested on her head; it had the family crest in the middle, coupled with a pearl on both sides.
"Thank you, mother," Marinette said softly. "I look nice."
"You look beautiful," Sabine corrected, kissing Marinette on her temple. "Now hurry and change into your dress. I've got to find your father before this event, so I trust you to be okay?"
"Yes, Maman—"
"Oh! And I forgot to mention. The ball's themed as a masquerade, honoring their kingdom's... familiars. Don't forget the mask I've left you by the door."
Marinette nodded and repeated more reassurances, though she was a little sad to see her mother go. Queen Sabine was a calming presence. While Marinette was used to having servants help her into her dresses, it would've been special if her mom did on this night.
But her mood quickly lifted when she saw Alya waiting for her on her bed. Her hair was all loose curls, some gently pulled back by a blue hairpiece, one that matched the baby blue gown Marinette made for her. The intricate lace lining her bosom and down her sides made the otherwise plain dress pop, and Marinette's chest swelled with happiness at how well her friend filled out the dress.
"You like what you see?" Alya teased, fanning herself with her elbow-length gloved hands. "I'm flattered, but I must reject you now. I'm already engaged to be wed ~"
"Shut up Alya, and help me get this dress on." Alya laughed, but did as asked. She tightened Marinette's underpinnings and spun her around, leaving just enough room for her friend to breathe.
Meanwhile, Marinette stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked... foreign. Older. I don't know this girl, she thought, melancholy. Who is she? She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
She wondered if she'd still be smiling and spinning around like a child in 24 hours.
"Are you ready, Ladybug?" Alya asked, a faint smile gracing her lips.
"You haven't called me that in years," Marinette said, surprised to hear her old childhood nickname. Adrien used to call her that because of how lucky she was. He'd always say you're my lucky charm, Ladybug! The name made her nostalgic, now.
"You've got this," Alya said, while squeezing her hand. Marinette smiled. I believe you. Adrien promised to keep me safe— he's looking out for me tonight, I'm sure.
Marinette took one last look at herself in the mirrors in the upstairs hall. Her crimson ballgown was strapless and tight to her form, the material curling around her waist into a rose at her hip, before spilling out into a loose, bulb-shaped bottom. Black lace embroidered her gown and patterned it with more roses around her hip, down her side, and around the bottom of her dress, each with a little pearl dotting the middle. She'd spent many weeks working on this one. Now, if only she could pretend that they were all here to see her dress, and not to see her get hitched to a foreign land...
But then the doors opened, and all thoughts were cleared from her mind.
At first, when Marinette descended the alabaster staircase, she couldn't focus on anything. Hundreds of people stared at her, and she didn't notice anyone in particular. But then she zeroed on someone— whose bright, green eyes held her gaze, and seemed to dig right into her soul. The degree rose tenfold in the room.
She then realized she probably noticed him because he was walking towards her, and people were parting to make a path for him.
She was surprised to see him wearing a black mask. He looked like a cat, which she told him so,
dumbly, followed by: "Why?"
"It's a masquerade, my princess— didn't you hear?"
"W-what," she stuttered. It was only then that she realized everyone except her were wearing masks. Her mother's warning about the theme came back to haunt her. "Since WHEN?"
"Since... a while," he finished lamely, laughing off his embarrassment. "It's alright. I actually have a mask for you."
He held out a red mask with black dots. "A ladybug mask for my lucky charm," he finished, holding it up to her face as if asking for permission. She nodded numbly, and he put it on her; the court music started up again, and people resumed talking, no longer staring at her. Yet still, she felt as if she was on fire. This can't be happening. She looked up at him nervously. Who is he? How does he know about my nickname?
"Should I know you?" Marinette snapped. She didn't like him— not one bit. He put her on edge, yet every time he came close something in her chest stirred, like bubbles rising to the top of a glass of champagne.
"Oh, I'm hurt," he cried— though his cheshire grin made her think otherwise. "Perhaps you would, if you'd have answered my letters."
"Chat?"
"Marinette?" He parroted, and Marinette swore that she had never met anyone more annoying in her life. But then his face morphed into a genuine smile. "Do me the honor of dancing the first dance with me, princess."
She couldn't refuse. He was her fiancé, after all, and dancing the first dance with him was customary. She didn't know why he bothered asking. "Alright, kitty. Show me your moves."
As he guided her to the middle of the dance floor, she couldn't help but feel spiteful. He had completely shattered her facade of sweet, kind princess in 5 seconds flat. Now here she was, teasing him, as if she'd known him all her life. He irritated her so much, him and that smug grin.
She suddenly found herself wishing they were alone.
The music stopped and started again, and she felt everyone's eyes on her once more. Chat had swept her up into his arms gracefully, and she followed his lead, many years of dance lessons allowing her to mindlessly swing to the music. He was unexpectedly good at dancing— he responded directly to her, leading her comfortably and whispering commands in her ear when he was going to do something new, or unexpected. She felt herself smiling at the awed look he gave her as he lifted her in the air momentarily, spinning her in a way that left her feeling like she was flying. The crowd cheered, and she felt herself cheering on the inside, too.
"You're ridiculous," she whispered back, in between a twirl and a dip that left her inches from the floor.
His eyes sparkled mischievously. "You asked for me to show you my moves, did you not?"
"Yes. No. Well, I suppose," she finished, feeling herself flush at his grin. "I was making small talk."
"Small talk," he repeated. "Small talk is asking about the weather, and reserved for people you don't like. It's not asking your very lovely and handsome fiancé to dance with you."
"Firstly, I never said I didn't dislike you. Secondly, I very clearly recall you asking me to dance, and not the other way around!"
"I don't think you dislike me," he mused, pulling her tighter to his chest as he stepped closer and then back, spinning her as he held her hand. The crowd's sound of excitement faded like white noise in comparison to his voice, teasing, lilting. "I think you like me very much."
"That makes me want to dislike you," Marinette replied. Momentarily, she saw his face flicker— self-doubt dulled his eyes, and make his lips curve downwards. But then his eyes narrowed, cat-like, and his predatory smile was back.
"But how can you dislike such a charming feline? I've been nothing but pleasant to you, haven't I?"
"I suppose," she admitted, grudgingly. "I suppose you could be worse."
Chat opened his mouth to respond, but then the music drew to a close. Before they knew it, the first dance was over. The crowd cheered happily for the couple, as the two were obviously the stars of the night.
"How happy I am for this wonderful union," a booming voice proclaimed, which she recognized as her father's. An amused clamor rippled throughout the room as the guests quickly agreed. She felt Chat suddenly freeze in her grip, however; Marinette was concerned. She followed his gaze towards a tall, commanding man— one with salt-and-pepper hair brushed back with dignity, and expensive lapels pinned to his chest. He was talking to her father.
"Yes. I, too, am pleased with this peace treaty." Her father laughed again, resting his large grip on the man's shoulder with camaraderie.
"Good, I'm glad. Now let us continue this night so the two lovebirds can dance more, yes?"
A second song started as all the other couples stopped standing around and instead joined them on the floor.
Chat was more focused now, carefully leading her around the others. His hand rested firmly on her shoulder and on the small of her back, and she swore it burned a hole through her dress. Every look he sent her made sparks flutter in her stomach, and she started to worry something was wrong with her. How did someone so irritating have such an effect on her?
But as electrified as he made her feel, she couldn't help but feel like Chat was unusually tense now. He was moving beside her with practiced care— but his eyes were dulled compared to his former jovial look, and his moves were more systematic— planned.
Songs started blending into one another before Marinette realized they'd been dancing together for a while now. She was surprised to find that she had lost track of time. She was starting to get tired out, exhausting herself by over-analyzing her partner's every move. Way to go, Marinette. You need to calm down...
Incredibly, Chat seemed to have read her mind. "Is there someplace we can go to get a breath of fresh air?"
Marinette sighed in relief. "Of course. Follow me, kitty." She smiled as she took him up the stairwell, out onto a balcony on the second story— one of her favorite places to go. It had a beautiful view of the gardens in the moonlight. Thankfully, it wasn't cold. It was one of the wonderfully summery nights, where the breeze was light and the air comfortable, peaceful aside from the crickets chirping. She, almost reluctantly, dropped his hand when they leaned against the railing.
"It's beautiful. Your kingdom, that is," Chat clarified, upon seeing the confusion on her face. But truthfully, Marinette was more confused by his existence than his observation.
"Chat, answer me honestly."
His eyes narrowed seriously, but they twinkled with a playful amusement. "I always will, my lady."
"What... happened out there?" She asked vaguely, gesturing back out the doorway. "You— changed, halfway through."
Chat looked reluctant to answer. He rubbed the back of his head nervously, looking awfully distracted with looking at his surroundings all of a sudden. That was, all of them but Marinette. "Chat?"
"It's just— ah, what the hell. I'm going to have to trust you, right?"
Marinette frowned. "What are you trying to say?"
"Not many people know a lot about me. I'm not used to sharing, but..." He laughed. "I was looking at my father. That's why I seemed tense, I mean. He has... high expectations."
Marinette felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Though she hardly knew him, she could feel his pain and frustration at falling short of expectations. In the moonlight, he looked especially troubled— the lighting pulling dramatic shadows over his face, making half his face hidden in darkness. She wanted to reach out and smooth the worry lines between his eyebrows.
... Wait, no. What was she saying?
"I guess that's not very relateable for you, though, huh?" Chat said, bitterly. "Your family loves you."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't understand," she whispered, softly. Before she knew it, her hand rested on his cheek, comforting him. Chat looked up in surprise. "I'm not exactly a perfect princess."
Chat cupped her hand with his and Marinette suddenly realized the intimacy of the situation, blushing deeply. She moved to pull away, but Chat wouldn't let her, his hand on her hip holding firm. "Marinette," he breathed, and oh Gods was he close oh God oh God— he exhaled, and Marinette could feel his breath on her cheek. He was so close. "Marinette, you're perfect to me."
She squeaked, stunned. That killed the mood. His broad grin from before was back, poking fun at the unexpected noise she just made. "S-stop it! Chat Noir, I swear, if you don't back off—"
"That's Prince Chat Noir to you, missy," he teased, to which she responded by poking him between the eyes.
"You're too annoying to be a prince," she cried, though it was without any real bite.
"Probably."
"Chat!" Marinette groaned, feigning irritation— but by now, she was smiling. He makes me feel like a kid again. Chat smiled, too.
"I'm pleased to have made your acquaintance, my lady."