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“Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
As the crown prince of England, Felix Fathom, eyed the scullery maid with filthy knees, all he could think of was how his mother could ever approve of allowing such a gauche creature in his presence.
 
She had no sense of propriety; her every move seemed calculated to drive a burr under his skin. Most maids did their duties quietly, but not her. No, she had a sense of panache, flamboyantly flaunting her tiny ladybug earrings that were certainly

not

part of the palace dress code. Even though it was the summer of 2022, the garb maids were s

upposed

to wear hadn’t changed, and Felix was incensed at her defiance.
 
“This scouring of my floor is unacceptable.” To her credit, she didn’t flinch at his scathing review. He’d wanted her to; he was used to maids and butlers and whatever else the servants called themselves flinching like startled dormice. 
 
She wasn’t afraid of him. 
 
This would not do.
 
“I want you on your knees, nose-deep in a soap bucket for the rest of the day.” Felix tilted his chin up so she could get the full effect of his contempt: surely looking into his nostrils would aggravate her. “Have I made myself clear?"
 
Stony silence met him, her gorgeous bluebell eyes flashing defiantly. He raised a brow, looking her in the eye. No way would he acknowledge her as an equal. She was beneath him and should know her place.
 
“Well?”
 
He didn’t even give her the honor of his repeating her name.
 
Felix saw a flash of white teeth as she spoke between them; gritted as they were, she must have been suffering an awful headache. Good.
 
“Yes,” she deigned to speak, “Your Royal Highness.”
 
Felix narrowed his eyes at her. The way she thrust his title into his face made him feel like slime for even having it. How dare she?

“Good,” he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides. “I wouldn’t want you to get a swollen head.”
 
"

Like yours?"

her eyes screamed, but Felix pushed past her, his shoulder brushing hers and nearly knocking her over. As he expected, she stood her ground.
 
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
 
***
 
There were bubbles in his coffee. 
 
His floor had sparkled for weeks now, but there were bubbles in his coffee. 
 
Felix took his coffee black - the darker the roast, the better. And black coffee should not have had bubbles. At all.
 
Taking a disdainful sniff of the stuff, he wondered who had had the audacity – the audacity! – to spit in the coffee of the Crown Prince.
 
Setting his coffee down on the breakfast table in front of him, Felix considered his list of enemies. 
 
No, no good. He had too many.
 
Had there been anyone in particular that he’d put in their place in the past week? Too many. Felix couldn’t even remember half the names of the servants; they were ubiquitous, flitting in and out of his peripheral vision, skulking around doing whatever it was that servants do. 
 
He

knew

the culprit had to be a servant, though - they were the only people who would have access to his breakfast.
 
The rest of his breakfast… Felix stared at his scrambled eggs, ham slices, and fresh fruit. Would he find a hair there? Was one of the cooks out to give him the runs?
 
Who could have possibly -
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng strolled into the room, her hips hypnotically swaying in the frilly black skirt every maid wore. She looked entirely too full of herself, smugness radiating off of her like nuclear waste and just as destructive.
 
She caught his glaring eye and offered him a pert nod. It was all the confirmation he needed. Of course she was the one. If he wanted coffee, he’d have to swap spit with her.
 
Hatred rose up his throat in the form of bile, strangling him even as his vision flooded scarlet. His nails bit into his soft palms under the table. 
 
Busy seething at the impudence of this worthless girl, Felix jumped when someone touched his hand. For a moment, he thought how soft Miss Dupain-Cheng’s hand was, but how did she cross the distance between them so quickly?
 
Then he locked eyes with his mother, who wore a concerned, knowing expression. “Are you alright, my darling?”
 
Jolted out of his sudden surge of anger, Felix drew a shuddering breath. He smoothed a hand over his hair, trying to regain his composure. The stray thought that he shouldn’t have lost control of his temper because of a

servant

, of all things, hit him rather violently, but he stuffed it.
 
Said servant approached the table and dipped into the lowest and most professional curtsy he’d ever seen.

"Oh,"

Felix thought, lowering his brows to glower at the insolent girl who’d captured his attention.

"You're good."

"Your Majesty," Miss Dupain-Cheng murmured, her eyes demurely lowered. "Your lady's maid found the earrings."
 
Felix's gaze was instantly drawn to the ladybug earrings Miss Dupain-Cheng wore in her own beautiful ears, flanked by her glossy locks. Were those onyx stones? Who could have given her something like that?
 
Queen Amelie flashed an acidic smile, her skin pale against her black mourning dress. "One moment, please," she said, sounding like a bird had pooped on her cape. "I'm conversing with my son." 
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng curtsyed and stepped back, folding her hands in front of her. They were small and delicate, certainly not a pianist's fingers like Felix's cousin, Adrien's, the son of the President of France. 
 
Amelie drew Felix's attention with a soft cough. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, though how the spiders of his mind had spun cobwebs quite so quickly after his burning rage, he didn't know. 
 
"I'm fine." Even knowing his mother didn't believe him, Felix had no desire to satisfy Miss Dupain-

Cheng

with the knowledge that she'd discombobulated him. Amelie's skeptical look could strip paint. Felix spoke slowly, staring at the upstart servant as if his eyes alone could bore holes into her stupid skull. "Truly, Mother, I'm fine. Just fine."
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng's lips twitched in the facsimile of a smile. What he wouldn't give to wring her neck!
 
"We shall see," Amelie murmured, with all the foreboding of a mother intent on ferreting out her son's lies. 
 
Felix knew her ambush would come when he least expected it. Preparing himself would be futile. 
 
In the meantime, he had a servant to knock down a peg. 
 
Felix sneered at her, curling his lip back to bare his teeth. Clearly, his displeasure was evident in every line of his body. She'd be an idiot to miss it, and he didn't think she was an idiot. "Miss Dupain-Cheng." 
 
She stiffened minutely. Still not a flinch. He'd make her flinch somehow or other; he was planning on it, so it must be done. Felix thought about adding a repeating task to his to-do list app but dismissed the idea out of hand as absurd. Miss Dupain-Cheng

certainly

didn’t earn a spot on his to-do list.
 
“I insist that you retrieve me another coffee,” Felix instructed, speaking as if to an unruly five-year-old girl. “One

without

bubbles.”
 
Her beautiful eyes lit up with unmitigated hatred, and Felix found himself strangely torn. On the one hand, he enjoyed tormenting her – and she certainly had painted a target on her own back with her defiance. But on the other hand, when her eyes had flashed with disappointment for the briefest of moments before entering their current state, Felix felt like a heel.
 
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” As Miss Dupain-Cheng curtsyed as if she’d been born to do so, Felix’s heart twisted and he didn’t know why. “Right away.”
 
She left, her steps oddly loud on the tile floor and her hips swaying hypnotically again. Deciding to bury these contradictory feelings and never, ever unearth them, Felix waited with bated breath for his coffee.
 
“Darling.” Amelie, whom he’d completely forgotten about in his exchange with the worthless servant, startled him once again. “Who is that girl to you?”
 
“She’s…” Felix swallowed hard, finding his throat strangely dry. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips; should he have had Miss Dupain-Cheng fetch him some chapstick? 
 
Felix finally turned to his mother, giving her his full attention. There was an odd, calculating gleam in her eye, and he wondered what had brought that on. Navigating conversation with the Queen of England was a minefield, even for her own beloved son, and he knew that his answer would determine a whole host of consequences that he couldn’t possibly foresee at present.
 
He thought of Miss Dupain-Cheng and how she’d effortlessly wormed her way into his obsessive thoughts. He’d made plans to make her flinch and had gone out of his way to verbally assault her with expectations – that she’d shockingly met.
 
His floor was the cleanest he’d ever seen. And he couldn’t wait for her to retrieve his coffee. 
 
Obviously, the solution to her meeting those expectations was to test her by giving her more work. Felix’s brain envisioned a hundred demeaning tasks around the palace; she wasn’t his personal maid, but he’d make her his.
 
“She’s no one.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Don’t be lazy now, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  You really must put your back into it.” The sound of her name said in that particular voice made Marinette’s hand tighten around the scrub brush. She was down on her knees once more, scrubbing a deep red stain out of the Prince’s Turkish carpet.  The cause of said stain was lounging idly in a leather armchair, reading a newspaper, and toying with a glass of pomegranate juice as he watched her practically kneel at his feet.She didn’t so much as twitch.  Felix may have been her employer, the world’s most handsome royal – at least according to Time Magazine – and have a list of titles as long as her arm, but that didn’t stop him from being a prat! She reminded herself that his being a bullying jerk did not give her a reason to be less than professional. However, the fact that he had probably never done a day’s honest work in his entire life and he was calling her lazy made it extremely difficult to hold her tongue.“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” she murmured demurely, all the while fantasizing about taking her coarse scrub brush to his perfectly coiffed head. “Yeah!  I can see the headlines now! ‘Prince Perfect Boggles With Bedhead!’ He wouldn’t dare poke his nose out of the palace for weeks!” Marinette smiled at the image that conjured up as she scrubbed and blotted up the juice stain.“I will be attending classes tomorrow,” he said casually. “Make sure my laptop and cell phone are properly charged and have my gray suit pressed and starched for me by nine p.m. tonight.” He might as well have been ordering the air to serve him for all the attention he paid to her.“Yes, Sir. Which gray suit would you prefer, the dove or heather gray?” Not that she expected him to know the difference, but she would be less than professional if she didn’t ask. “Besides, almost all of his suits are gray. I know the family is in mourning, but doesn’t the man understand the importance of color?” He swirled the juice around in his glass, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed as if he had just bitten into a lemon.  Then he raised an eyebrow at her. “The dove gray linen, of course, and lay out the appropriate accessories for my approval.”“Yes, Sir.” Having finally gotten the stubborn stain out of the antique carpet, Marinette rose and rolled her shoulders - it would be considered unseemly to stretch in the Prince’s presence.  She moved her work tools to the side of the door, then retreated to the office of his suite and made sure his computer and phone would be ready for the next day. “Oh, plugging in your own computer is such a menial task! Let a servant handle it for you, Your Royal Highness,” she thought, irritated by his highhanded attitude toward everyone other than his mother. “I wonder if he has always been this stuck up. Imagine, little baby Felix sitting in the middle of the carpet and dictating foreign policy from behind a pacifier!” She snorted at that mental image and hurriedly turned it into a cough. There was no telling how the Prince would respond to a snort of laughter.Marinette doubted he even knew how to smile.She entered his bedroom, which looked like no one lived there, and into the closet which was as large as her and Alya’s apartment. Thankful she knew linen by touch, she ran her hands along the line of nearly identical gray suits until she felt the familiar woven texture. She carefully examined each seam, each square inch of the fabric of the jacket, vest, and trousers for stains, tears, or worn patches. Even a stray thread would be enough for him to criticize her over and Marinette was determined to beat him by being so good at her job that he could find nothing to complain about.Having completed her inspection, she draped the suit over her arm and rang the bell for one of her fellow servants to come and help her carry everything.As she stepped back into the sitting room that was attached to the suite, she bobbed a curtsy and made her way to the door. A soft knock sounded and she was just about to open the door when the Prince pointedly cleared his throat.“Miss Dupain-Cheng.”  It was not a question or a request. The tone of command flicked across her frayed nerves, but she refused to flinch. She turned slowly, hiding her balled fist under the drape of his coat.  “Yes, Sir?”Marinette had been wrong. Felix did know how to smile, but the one that crossed his face was small, withered, and closer kin to a sneer.“You missed a spot,” he said, slowly pouring the nearly full glass of juice onto the spot she had so recently slaved over. “Let this be a lesson to you never to skimp on your work, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”The only response she allowed herself was a narrowing of her eyes and the biting of her nails into the palm hidden by his suit.“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” she murmured, as softly as a mother singing lullabies, all the while imagining tying the arrogant, little jerk up in his own stained rug and leaving him for the trash men to collect.***Her father had a saying: "When it rains, it pours!” He usually used it to describe when someone had a string of unexpected or inexplicable bad luck. Marinette was sure her father never meant for it to involve a pompous know-it-all whose head was too big for his crown, but that was exactly what was happening.  How she had ended up being assigned to Prince Felix exclusively, she had no idea, but she considered it a cruel twist of fate.  Marinette had never worked so hard in her life, but she was determined to outfox Prince Felix by being her best self. She scrubbed his floors until the Royal Hospital could perform surgery on them; she personally made his coffee and tea to the highest possible standard; she even memorized his schedule and the weird, practically mathematically precise positions of everything in his quarters – but all to no avail.  They were at a stalemate. She couldn’t beat him with her professionalism and he couldn’t beat her with his snobbery and cruel assignments.But when her phone rang at two in the morning, all bets were off.“Hello,” she gasped, having barely managed to find her phone after knocking it off the bedside table in her panic.“Miss Dupain-Cheng, I require your presence immediately,” said that unwelcome but familiar voice.“Your… Highness?” She struggled to get her heart rate under control once more. It was just her boss – her stupid, annoying, stuck-up boss who called her up for some who-knows-what reason before dawn. It wasn’t an emergency. She could breathe and she could ease her death grip on her phone before she cracked the case. At least, that is what she told herself. “What is it, Your Royal Highness? Is it some sort of emergency?”“Isn’t it enough for me to say you are required? Report to my office at once.”“But, Sir, it’s-” She was interrupted by a sudden click as the call disconnected. “Great. Just great.”Groaning, she hauled herself out of her cozy bed and fumbled for the first set of clean clothes she could find that would pass muster.“What’s up, girl?” Alya asked, leaning in her desk chair to peer at her through her bedroom door. “Better yet, why are you up?”“Call from work. Emergency. Gotta go.”“What kind of royal emergency requires a particular chambermaid at two in the morning?”Marinette groaned as she scraped her hair into a high ponytail. “No idea, but I’m ‘required’ apparently.” She made sarcastic air quotes with her fingers before going to the kitchenette to brew herself a cup of coffee before she left. “Get some sleep, Alya,” she called as she headed out the door.“Deadlines, girl.  I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”After two different bus rides – as the Underground was closed before five a.m. – and a fifteen-minute walk that was eerie in the dark, empty hours of the morning, she made it to the palace’s servants’ entrance in about forty-five minutes.When she reached the Prince’s suite, she straightened her outfit, ran a hand over her hair, and knocked briskly on the door.“Come.” How could anyone sound so awake and imperious at this hour?She opened the door to be confronted with a disdainful Felix.“You’re late,” he declared. “I called you over fifty-seven minutes ago. If this is what you call punctuality, then I’m surprised you haven’t been dismissed yet.”Marinette glowered at him. “Your Royal Highness, I live across town. The Underground doesn’t start service until five, so I had to take two buses, one of which was late, then walk for fifteen minutes alone at night in the largest city in Europe. Clearly, I got here as quickly as I could.”He blinked at her for a moment, as if her blunt explanation of the facts caught him off guard. "You… you don’t live in the servants’ quarters?”She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her frustration. “No, Sir. Only the senior staff on permanent retainer are required to live on site.”“Well, you should consider yourself at my disposal at any time, day or night,” he replied emphatically.“So, what do you require of me this evening, Sir?”He pulled himself up to his full height and tugged on the lapels of his dressing gown.  “I require your assistance in locating my lost slipper.”She stared at him blankly. Then she looked at him more closely. Marinette realized her previous assumption that the Prince didn’t know about the importance of color was confirmed, but not in the way she had expected. Felix wore a pair of blue and white pinstripe pajamas, over which was wrapped a gold satin dressing gown with red velvet cuffs and lapels, and there, on his foot, staring back at her with all the sweetness of childhood forgotten, was a single bunny slipper.Not just any bunny slipper. A bunny slipper made of the softest, fluffiest material known to mankind. A bunny slipper with large ears that stood up to the Prince’s shin before flopping down in a cutesy droop. A bunny slipper in the most cloying color of pastel green that looked like a seriously ill Easter bunny had thrown up on the poor thing.Marinette couldn’t help it. It was barely three a.m. and here she was staring at a prince who was demanding she help him find his lost bunny slipper.She gave a tiny snort before bursting out into a slightly hysterical laugh.“ That’s your emergency?” she exclaimed as laugh-tears started streaming from her eyes.  “Your missing bunny slipper?”Prince Felix was not amused. He crossed his arms and scowled ferociously. “It is no laughing matter, Miss Dupain-Cheng. These were a gift from my mother and I always wear them in the evening out of fond feelings towards her. Now, are you going to do your job, or do I need to have security escort you out?”Marinette wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I hear and obey, oh Prince,” she declared with a mocking bow as she tried to get her laughter under control.She began searching under the furniture in the sitting room, behind throw pillows and curtains. She really didn’t have to search that hard, though.  Something that green would stand out like a sore thumb.“It isn’t here. I already checked,” Felix said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. He loomed over her, his expression bored but his eyes tracked her every movement.“Where do you normally keep them?”“In the closet with my other footwear,” he replied.“Then why don’t we check there?” she asked, trying to keep her tone civil and polite, despite her mounting irritation.“Very well.” He walked ahead of her into his bedroom, but it was the sight of him and his absurd ensemble outlined against the bed that gave her pause.It was three in the morning, the Prince was in his pajamas – flashy dressing gown and forlorn bunny slipper notwithstanding – and she was being asked into his bedroom.
“Nope! Clearly, that is not what is going on here! He hates me, loathes me with every fiber of his being from all accounts! There is absolutely no way he would be trying to trick me into anything like… like that!”
She shook herself and continued the search, the Prince trailing after her with all the patience of a child promised candy.The closet, bathroom, and dressing room were bunny-free, but those green eyes merely followed her every move so she kept on looking.“You forget under the bed,” he said rather archly.She sighed and bent down on her hands and knees to look under the tall, canopied bed. Something tapped on the floor behind her and she glanced back this time to see the prince’s bare foot tapping on the oriental rug.  It suddenly struck her as odd… and a little unnerving if she was being honest. Here she was, in the early hours of the morning, kneeling beside this man’s bed and she was staring at his bare foot. She supposed it was a nice foot as such things went, but it just felt … weird, like she was suddenly faced with some strangely intimate moment that she shouldn’t be witnessing. “People just don’t go around barefoot,” she thought, her mind running in tired, frantic circles. “I mean, people wear sandals and things, but to just go around barefoot is… weird, right? I mean, I live with Alya and the only time I see her barefoot is when she has just come out of the shower!” She gave herself a stern mental shake. “No!  Ignore Fidget Foot there and find that slipper so you can go back to sleep for a few hours!” She turned back the dust ruffle only to find a lot of stuff crammed under there. A battered, leather briefcase with a busted handle, a stack of well-thumbed textbooks, a travel chess set – and a single, smiling, green bunny slipper.  Marinette gave the thing a death glare. Not only was this ridiculous thing the cause of her being called out at an hour that should be theoretical instead of actual but it was placed perfectly in the center of the floor under the big bed. So perfect, in fact, that it was squared up to both the sides of the bed frame and the other items under the bed.One could even say it had been placed with mathematical precision.Clenching her jaw, she wriggled further under the bed until she could reach the slipper, before scooting backward once more. She sat up and held the slipper out to him.“Here you are, Sir. One green bunny slipper.”  When she looked up at his face, she saw his cheeks flush red and his wide eyes staring fixedly at her. No… staring at her legs.She looked down at the white blouse and black pencil skirt she had thrown on in a hurry and saw that the skirt had ridden up about three inches above her knees when she had come out from under the bed.  It was three in the morning, she was called out of her nice, warm bed by a pampered, arrogant peacock in order to find the slipper he clearly stuck under his bed for her to look for, and now he was ogling her?That was the last straw.Cheeks burning with shame and anger, Marinette scrambled to her feet, feeling ready to chew iron and spit nails as she thrust the cute, furry abomination into the middle of his chest.“Here is your slipper, Your Royal Highness,” she said with a deadly calm in her voice, shaking out her skirt to ensure it returned to where it should be. “And next time you lose your little friend here, call Arthur.  Not me.  It's his job to look after your person, not mine.  I just curtsy, fetch and carry, and clean up your mess.  Now, if you don’t mind, I am going home and back to bed.  This is me informing you I will be coming in late this morning due to unforeseen circumstances.”Felix just goggled at her as she stalked towards the door, only regaining his voice when she reached the sitting room door.“You have not been dismissed, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”She whirled around and stared pointedly at him.  “Oh, believe me.  I know when I’ve been dismissed, Your Royal Highness.”Marinette saw his lips twitch, his bunny-clad foot tapping in disapproval.  Immediately, the movement drew her eye to that bouncing bunny and she worked hard to swallow a derisive laugh. Giving him a taste of his own medicine, she slowly eyed him up and down from the collar of his pajama shirt that peeked over the top of his dressing gown all the way to that one bare foot whose toes scrunched the rug under them. She stared at him until he winced and looked away first. “Oh, it’s on now,” she thought, grinning widely all the way home.  “You’re not the only one who can tease and play pranks, little Prince!  And I’ve always got your little bunny slippers from mumsy to hold over your head if you go too far.” Alya was still at her keyboard when Marinette dragged herself back through their door.“So, what was the royal emergency,” she asked as Marinette tossed her purse onto her bed.“More like a royal pain,” she grumbled.  “Your readers wouldn’t believe what happened even if I were allowed to tell you.”“Mr Etc’s giving you a hard time in your off-hours now?”“Yeah, but not for long.”Alya’s eyes sparkled with mischief behind her glasses.  “Out for a little revenge, girl?”Marinette yawned and leaned against the doorway.  “You know it.”“Any way I can help?  No one bullies my bestie!”The smile that spread across her face was unbelievably wide.  “Yeah.  Do you happen to know where I can get a large bullfrog on short notice?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“

She ogled me.”

As Felix perused the online catalog of works he was supposed to be reading for his English 404 class, his fingers twitched on the desktop mouse button.

He was calm. He was rational. He was

not

utterly consumed by thoughts of Miss Dupain-Cheng sizing him up a scant four hours earlier like a piece of meat draining on a hook.

It was… weird, that she’d done that.

Ogled him, that is.

Felix knew he was good-looking, as such things went.  It wasn’t only his title and wealth that caused those women to vote him Most Eligible Bachelor or whatever it was for that magazine.  He had even had to hire an additional secretary for his public offices to handle the endless reams of senseless fan mail that poured in every week.  Objectively, he was tall, leanly muscled, and possessed greater than average symmetry to his facial features.  More importantly, he was well educated, knowledgeable on a vast array of subjects, spoke seven languages, and was wealthy in his own right.

What troubled him the most was why Miss Dupain-Cheng, of all women, who treated him as her inferior despite a mountain of evidence to the contrary, would look him up and down and then turn away in disgust?

It remained beyond him, even though he'd tossed and turned with loathsome thoughts about the disdain in her eyes. The look that had left him feeling weighed, measured, and found hopelessly wanting.

Yes. Her eyes.  Her eyes were what had captivated him.

And certainly not her shapely legs, the seeing of which was

not

part of the plan.

He'd meant for her to crawl on her knees in front of him like the filthy rat she was. He'd meant to put a presumptuous servant girl in her place. He'd meant for her to grovel and acknowledge him as her better, as was the natural order of things.

He'd meant…

He'd meant for

not that.

Click.

Felix shoved the thoughts of a slight expanse of the pale thigh, the back of an attractive woman's knee, and the tiny mole he hadn't meant to see from his mind.

Click. Click. Click click.

The arrhythmic clicking of his mouse drove him bonkers, even though he was in full control of it. Felix rolled his tight shoulders, wondering exactly why he was so tense.

A yawn escaped him despite his best efforts; he hadn't slept well since his father died, so he thought he'd be used to how everything went dim after a poor time in bed.  Arthur, his valet, kept suggesting he speak with his doctor about it, but Felix always brusquely dismissed him and the subject whenever it came up.

“As if a few disturbing dreams and lack of sleep are worth mentioning,

” he thought, rubbing his forehead to stave off the beginning of a headache.
But as the morning light filtered through the office's floor-to-ceiling windows, making dust particles sparkle in the air, Felix shot up ramrod straight in his ergonomic chair.
"

Dust? In my office?"

Scowling at the motes as if they'd personally offended him — which they had! – Felix pushed his way back from his mahogany desk and scrambled to his feet. "

Don't these stupid maids know I have allergies?"

There

was

one maid who'd had the gall to comment on his allergies once, and not with sympathy.

The one maid he both loathed and wanted to see, which was strange in and of itself.

Felix strode over to the pull rope hidden by a tasteful curtain, his hard-soled shoes clacking with purpose on the elaborately patterned tile floor.

Thrusting the curtain aside, he jerked on the rope to summon his personal maid, Miss Dupain-Cheng, the person who he’d personally take umbrage for

daring

to leave

dust

in his office.

As he stared at the curtain, an idea sparked in his brain. To date, he’d been toying with her by forcing her to do demeaning tasks for him – putting her in her place, naturally – and he could certainly take it up a notch.

The curtain hiding the pull rope was too small to hide behind, but the drapes at the window…

Yes. That would do nicely.

Felix scuttled over to the black curtains framing the window near his desk and shimmied behind them, taking care to press himself up against the cool glass so he wouldn’t leave a discernable lump.

That would give the game away. He wanted her to search for him, so he could jump out and scare the skirts off her.

Felix’s muffled giggles cut off abruptly. He

wasn’t

going to scare the skirts off her, not literally. He’d already seen enough of her legs, thank you

very

much.

The heat of embarrassment crawled up his chest and skittered over his throat, leaving fingers of warmth to choke him. His literal fingers fidgeted with the velvet corner of the drapes, twisting the hemmed edge between the pads of them.

It’s not like… he’d

meant

to look at the backs of her thighs. They were just

there

and her skirt had ridden up when he’d made her crawl under his bed. They were in front of him, not a temptation as such, but more like… abstract art framed by a pencil skirt.

He’d been stunned stupid, which still surprised him.

It wasn’t like she was that attractive, anyway. The skirt-riding-up situation had just been… well, frankly, embarrassing for him.

And maybe for her.

As she entered the room, her soft steps padding toward the desk, she called out his title, the one he liked to hear only from her rosy lips. “Your Royal Highness? Are you here?”

“

I’m here!”

Felix instantly wanted her to find him, but not for the reasons he’d first thought. He wanted her to acknowledge his presence, his superiority, his power, anything to make those jewel-bright eyes look at him with anything except disdain. What angered him the most was that he didn't even know why he craved her subservience more than he had ever wanted anything - if he could be said to have ever wanted anything in his life.

That was weird, so Felix set the desire aside like a precious jewel he’d examine all the facets of later. Right then, he’d had the plan to make her jump ten feet and then laugh his head off.

He peeked at her.

He couldn’t help it; she was too cute. Felix instantly noticed that she’d chosen to wear tights that day, which were certainly against regulations. A cherry blossom motif twined up her shin, trailing over her knee, and surely bloomed against her unseen thigh, where nothing should touch.

“

Now that’s indecent,”

Felix thought, glaring at those tights with more fervor than he’d glared at the dust motes. “

It’s almost like she wants people to look at her legs!”

No one

should look at her legs, Felix decided.

Not even him.

Realizing he’d been staring at her for the past five minutes and that she’d gotten alarmingly close to finding him, Felix stifled a laugh.

He didn’t stifle it too well, because her gaze snapped to his hiding spot. She stalked closer, hips swaying, and tension coiled in Felix’s legs.

Once she was within touching distance, Felix leaped out from behind the curtain and yelled, “I have you n–!”

Felix expected the scream. He did

not

expect the impressive right hook.

Pain exploded in his nose, his legs crumpling out from under him until his back struck the floor. Stars exploded in his eyes, going supernova as his vision blackened around the edges. Heat exploded on his cheeks, certainly staining them red.

And his temper exploded all over her.

“How

dare

you?” he tried to say from his spot on the floor, though it came out as a bloodstained, “Hob rare ewe?”

Blood... so much blood.  It blossomed from his nose and sheeted down his face, staining his gray cashmere suit as decidedly as it ruined the antique rug under him.  It slid down the back of his throat, bathing his tongue with a coppery tang and settling nauseatingly into his stomach.

Tears watered in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He

would not cry

in front of Miss Dupain-Cheng.

“I’m so sorry!” Her contrite, crestfallen expression was the only thing that saved her. She dropped to her – pretty – knees beside him, her hands fluttering around him like panicked butterflies caught in a net. “Your Highness, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I mean I did, but not to you! I really didn't! Are you okay?"

“Of course, I’m not okay!” Felix snapped, trying to sniff, but oh,

ow

, that was a terrible idea. “Do I

look

like I’m okay?”

He struggled to sit up, and Miss Dupain-Cheng grasped his shoulders to help him. “I should have you hanged,” he growled, and the wide-eyed terror on her face was enough to stab an icicle of guilt straight through his heart. For some reason, he noticed how warm her hands were even through the many layers of his suit, but that wasn’t nearly as surprising as the fact that they were trembling.

She worked her mouth for a moment and then dropped him. He hit the floor again, his head rattling. Parting his lips to yell at her again, Felix watched, dumbfounded, as she fled the scene.

***

“Your CT scan was clear, Your Royal Highness,” Felix’s personal physician informed him as the prince’s mattress sagged beneath him, his nostrils packed with gauze. “The reduction we’ve done here should fix the crookedness. But if you need plastic surgery to adjust that, you will need to wait seven to fourteen days for the swelling to go down so a complete assessment can be made.”

Doctor speak. Whatever. Felix’s mind was buzzing with what he’d said to Miss Dupain-Cheng. How wide her eyes had grown… how warm her hands had felt through the shoulders of his suit… how they had trembled… how she’d turned tail and run like a baby deer fleeing a fire. For some reason, it left a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach.

No!

He

didn’t hurt

her.

So her running was… unseemly.

Yes. That was what it was.

And to add figurative insult to literal injury, he hadn’t seen her in the hours since he’d picked himself off the floor and summoned the doctor. She’d gone into hiding, burrowing her way into – likely – the servants’ quarters, and he doubted anyone would give her up.

Servants tended to stick together. That had always been a problem.

The physician threw a cold stone into his hot pond of thought, rippling out despair. “I’d also like to run a cancer screening, Sir.”

Felix’s breath hitched.

“After all,” the physician continued unawares, “with what happened to the late King, your father–”

“I’m well aware of how my father died,” Felix snapped, silencing the man with a cutting gesture.

He’d been running from the cancer screening ever since his father, Colt, had been diagnosed. Rather than seeking out medical attention and screenings, Felix hadn’t wanted to confirm potential cancer in himself.

A slow, lingering death was not one Felix would wish on anyone.

Even Miss Dupain-Cheng, who had yet to show herself and take responsibility for her actions, the cocky, little peasant.

How dare she? How dare she lay a hand on the Crown Prince?

Admittedly, he did set out to scare her. And he did, in more ways than just jumping out from behind a curtain.

But if she thought this was

his

fault–

“What,” the physician drawled, interrupting his racing thoughts, “do you want to do about your attacker, Sir?”

“Attacker?” Felix’s brain abruptly went sluggish, as if she’d dragged him through tar.

The physician was infinitely patient with him, which was usually welcome, but this time annoyed Felix. “Yes. The person who assaulted you should go to prison, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Felix relished the thought as his mind conjured up the image of a tearful and abjectly apologetic Miss Dupain-Cheng begging for mercy while being dragged away in chains.

A realization struck him, then. His mother would stop at nothing to extract justice from Miss Dupain-Cheng.

Nausea burned at the back of his throat, pain spreading across his face anew as he accidentally wrinkled his nose. His mother would not be kind to anyone who’d hurt her precious son. He was the only person she’d ever valued, save his father.

And Amelie wouldn’t stop at mere justice, Felix knew. As scheming and mercurial as she was, the queen would be out for vengeance.

She’d

hurt

Miss Dupain-Cheng and that prospect was not one to be considered.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“No one attacked me. I walked into a wall.”

The doctor stared at him as if he’d just eaten a live toad with chutney. “Hard enough to break your nose?”

“Did I stutter?”

Felix stared down the man, bringing the full weight of his authority to bear upon him. If someone wanted to hurt Miss Dupain-Cheng, they’d have to go through the Crown Prince first.

Damage control. He’d been trained by the world’s best public relations firms, so he’d have to concoct a story reporters would buy or not go outside without a mask for weeks.

And he’d have to tell his mother a version of what happened. A scary thought.

But those were problems for future Felix. For now, he had a physician to cow.

The doctor gave a full-body shudder. “No, Sir.”

Felix gave the smuggest smile he could with the swollen ache taking up residence on his face. “Good.”

***

He should have known better than to skip lunch with his mother.

Queen Amelie swept into Felix's quarters unannounced at half past noon with three maids behind her carrying trays.

And one of those maids wore cherry blossom tights and a shamefaced expression.

Felix glared at her, but Miss Dupain-Cheng never raised her eyes from the floor.  She merely carried her tray bearing the silver tea service to his desk.

“Havisham, Patel, you are excused,” his mother said in her normally soft voice, though her eyes never left his face and both eyebrows rose so far they were hidden in the golden sweep of her hair.  “Dupain-Cheng, please stay.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the maid said, meekly bobbing a curtsy while Felix could only stare at her in annoyance.  It wasn’t the tights, those ridiculous ladybug earrings, nor even the fact that she had hauled off and punched him after being so arrogant as to size him up in the wee hours of the morning.

No, what annoyed him was her meekness. The very thing he had been trying to drill into her stubborn skull and, now that he saw it, he suddenly found it distasteful.  With all the fire and zest gone from her actions, she might as well be as plebeian and uninteresting as the other faceless, nameless people who roamed these hallowed halls in acts of service to the monarchy.

“What’s wrong with the girl?"

he thought in exasperation.

“I’m the one who is suffering here!  What has she to be so pitiful for?”

“What happened, darling,” his mother asked, curiosity and, strangely, amusement rippling through her otherwise cool voice.  “You didn’t come down to lunch.”

“I was pacing and turned suddenly, leaving me to walk into a wall,” he replied, keeping his own voice steady and nonchalant.  “Nothing to worry over, Mother.”

He thought he heard a tiny, startled squeak and his gaze went immediately to Miss Dupain-Cheng.  From where she was standing behind his mother, he had a clear view of her shocked, blushing face and wide blue eyes. Her hand came up to cover her lips in such an eloquent gesture of surprise that Felix found himself restraining a pleased smile.

“Yes. You owe me now, don’t you,”

he thought triumphantly.

“And I always collect on my debts.”

His mother cleared her throat pointedly and he refocused his attention on her.

“It is a mother’s job to worry, my dear,” she said as if nothing unusual had occurred.  She sat down in the chair opposite his desk, grace and elegance personified.  “You may serve lunch now, Dupain-Cheng.”

Felix watched as she dipped into another curtsy before approaching the desk, her delicate hands reaching out to take the silver teapot.  He had a momentary recollection of those dainty fingers pressing against his shoulders as she helped him sit up and how warm they had felt through his jacket.

He swallowed hard as he watched the rich, brown liquid pour into the royal blue and gold china teacups. Miss Dupain-Cheng turned the simple act of milk and sugar into a performance as elegant as a ballet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and, when her own eyes were drawn to look up through those thick lashes at him and her face flushed rosy, it was all he could do to not dash from the room to dunk his face in a basin of cold water.

“You must be more careful, Fe.” His mother’s voice came to him as if from far away and he struggled to haul himself back from realms of mindless fancy.

“I will, Mother,” he said, then paused as his current distraction struck again in the form of handing him his teacup. Her hand held out the cup and saucer for him, barely leaving a ripple on the surface of the tea.

“But her hands trembled this morning.”

He frowned in confusion and took the cup. His fingers just barely brushed hers and he felt a shock arc between them. Setting the cup down on the desk, he carefully examined his hand under the table.  No sign of anything unusual. He huffed in annoyance.

“She must go around scuffing her feet on the carpets, the uncouth little minx!"

Said minx took the cloches from the various dishes and spirited them away before returning to stand demurely against the wall, silently waiting to be summoned. Felix frowned, wondering how he could contrive to get her to liven up once more. The game was no fun if she refused to play, after all.

“Not that I should be playing that particular game in front of Mother,”

he thought grimly, glancing at the woman across from him. Queen Amelie was looking at him expectantly as if waiting for an answer to some question.

Had she asked him a question? Why hadn’t he heard her? He had been lost woolgathering again! Most unacceptable!

“I’m sorry, Mother. My mind must have wandered. Could you repeat the question?”

“I said that the reception for the American ambassador is coming up next week and asked if you had procured an appropriate companion.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Mother, you know how much I hate these things. It is just meaningless elbow rubbing with the press and hangers-on. There is hardly anyone there with whom it is worthwhile to initiate a conversation and the women who want to go to such events have more aspirations than common sense. Dancing attendance on such a woman would be a waste of time and good shoe leather.”

His mother chuckled. “I must admit you have a point, dear. I remember how embarrassed your father was when he introduced you to the Prime Minister of Germany when you were twelve and she praised how handsome you were only for you to tell her it was a pity you couldn’t do the same. In flawless German, no less.” Amelie hid a further chuckle behind her napkin. “Still, your coronation will be in little over a year. You need to be ready for such responsibilities.”

He closed his eyelids to hide the rolling of his eyes. “I

am

ready, Mother. You and Father trained me well. I just don’t wish to waste the limited time I have remaining in pointless politicking. It’s not like I’m stumping for votes.”

His mother took a dainty bite of her lobster salad, intentionally letting him stew over the situation as she did so, no doubt. When she finished, she carefully dabbed her lips with her napkin before speaking.

“Have you considered that an appropriate companion would help stave off boredom and provide an excellent excuse to leave conversation groups before your acerbic wit could get you into trouble? Again?” She leaned back into her chair, her long, delicate fingers steepled in front of her nose. “Or is this another instance of you avoiding your name getting paired with another young lady?”

“Katherine Yates was a mistake and you know it. I only took her out at your suggestion because she was the daughter of the Earl.”

He heard a faint sniff from the corner, surprised he had almost forgotten Miss Dupain-Cheng was present. Was he really that easy to distract? Or perhaps the punch to the nose had caused more brain damage than he’d thought. He glanced over at her to see a knowing smirk cross her face coupled with an obvious roll of the eyes. She shifted her weight to one side so one hip stuck out slightly and, if she hadn’t been serving ‘at table' as it were, then she would have undoubtedly crossed her arms and given a gusty sigh.

Instead, his mother did it for her. “And I got you out of it just as quickly when she tried to bait you onto that boat. Honestly, what films had that girl been watching to make her think she could shanghai the Crown Prince into a romantic boat ride in broad daylight with that much luggage?”

“Like I said, more aspirations than common sense.” He took a sip of his tea, trying to look out of the corner of his eye casually to see what a certain maid thought of that particular information. Not that he cared, but who was she to think she could judge him on past mistakes? Surely she had been in relationships before that didn’t work out! With legs like those-

“No! Not legs!”

he thought, grimacing slightly which caused his nose to stab painfully. He hissed through his teeth drawing both maid and mother’s attention to him abruptly.

“Are sure you’re alright, darling,” his mother asked, leaning towards him once more, her hand reaching out for his.

He waved her away. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, please get me the bottle of medicine from my cupboard in the bathroom.”

He saw her wince before the customary, “Yes, Your Royal Highness,” and curtsy were given. She practically scurried out of the room. Felix couldn’t blame her. This conversation was awkward enough for him and he was involved. Under any other circumstances, he would scuttle off too.

“Dear, you really must take better care of yourself,” his mother said sternly. “Must I have a word with Arthur about your schedule? Make more time for meditation or personal study? Your grades are well enough, I know, but if you aren’t sleeping well or are feeling stressed-”

“Stop being such a mother hen,” he growled under his breath. “I’m just hurting and I don’t like to be forced into picking a girl for a state function. It is hazardous at the best of times. Besides, haven’t you considered that I am not ‘boyfriend material’?”

She gave him a stern look. “Utter nonsense! No son of mine is going to waste brains, looks, and talent being a wallflower.”

“Mother, please. Only girls are wallflowers.”

“And with good reason! Finding a good man is always harder than finding a good woman.”

“Except when the fellow looking is a Prince and every girl in the Western world wants to be a Princess,” he grumbled. “Can’t I just go stag and forget about it?”

Then she gave him the look. The look that had been known to silence screaming matches on the floor of the House of Lords. A look that could level an entire district and it was aimed at him.

“Felix Richard William David Fathom, first of that name, you will go to this reception, you will represent our house with all the pomp and ceremony to which it is due, and you will have an appropriate companion to accompany you or I will find her for you.”

Felix felt his shoulders tense. It wasn’t often he heard his full name, but the few times he had, it had led to serious consequences if ignored. “Is that an order, Your Majesty?”

The look intensified and he fought the urge to flinch and look away because that would show weakness.

“No, sweetling. It’s a promise.”

At that moment, Miss Dupain-Cheng returned with his bottle of paracetamol. She dipped into a curtsy as she handed it to him and crossed to the sideboard to pour him a glass of water.

His eyes caught hers once more and he noticed how nervous she really was. And… was that a hint of… what? Concern? Guilt? Pity?

She broke their shared gaze first and swept back to her station of invisibility in the corner.

“Do you understand the necessity of your appearance, Felix?”

He sighed and swallowed the tablets, ignoring the bitter aftertaste. “Yes, Mother. It will be taken care of.”

“Good,” she declared briskly, with the air of a job well done. The Queen Regent stood then, stepped around the table, and stroked his hair back with a loving gesture. “I know you won’t disappoint me.”

She was on her way out the door when she suddenly stopped. “And I will never hear you use such a vulgar phrase as ‘going stag’ again, shall I?”

He swallowed hard. “No, Mother.”

“Excellent.” She swept off and away, the perfect blend of grace, beauty, and hurricane power.

Felix let out a relieved sigh, looking down at his half-eaten lunch with dislike. He’d forgotten to take his medicine on time earlier, and his nose chose then to remind him – after a slight wrinkle – that

someone

had broken it. The deep, abiding ache and stuffiness of his injury radiated throughout his head, making nausea punch him in the throat.

Lunch, he deemed, was unnecessary.

What was necessary was finding a suitable companion to accompany him to this stupid reception, as his mother had threatened. And it was a threat. Felix was no fool and knew his mother, and she ruled the country with an iron fist while he was finishing up graduate school.

While he appreciated her ruling in his place for now, he very much disliked when she tried to rule

him.

But that was beside the point. The point was–

Miss Dupain-Cheng tried to sneak off toward the door, but the movement caught his attention.

Ah. Yes. Miss Dupain-Cheng.

“And just where do you think

you’re

going?”

If Felix sounded imperious, well. It was his mother’s fault.

Miss Dupain-Cheng turned and bobbed another curtsy. Even when nervous, she had perfect posture.

“I was going to call the servants to help clear lunch away,” she said. As he watched her face, he could tell some sort of internal battle was warring within her mind.

As her expressions flitted across her delicate features, he stared, fascinated. Clearly, she was experiencing some amount of emotion, and could he say that was from him? He didn’t know that he’d had that effect on her.

He kind of liked it.

“Hmph,” he huffed, folding his arms petulantly. “You don’t need any help to clear the lunch away. You can do it yourself. But not yet.”

She gave him a wary look. “Then… what else do you require, Sir?”

Felix had no idea what he required. He just wanted her in the same room. Under his eye. For now.

Why he thought that he had no idea, except…

Miss Dupain-Cheng would certainly cause a scandal. He could use her to get back at his mother and those silly reporters who liked to dog his every step.

Yes. This would do quite nicely.

“You,” he demanded in a tone that brooked no argument, pointing a finger at her in what he considered a kingly gesture, “are to accompany me to the reception.”

Without waiting for her reaction, he soldiered on with his list of requirements that she couldn’t possibly hope to meet. “You must have an appropriate dress. If not, one can be provided. Jewels as well. Hair styling should be formal and elegant.” He looked her up and down, doubtfully. “

If

that can be managed. Accessories should be stately and of

muted

colors.”

He squinted at her, hating those cherry blossom tights. If she wore those under her dress…

Well, he wouldn’t know if she did.

He

certainly wouldn’t be peeking under a girl’s skirt, especially not a common girl he loathed.

Sitting back and steepling his fingers, he decided she’d had enough time to process the request. “Well?”

She stared at him as if he had grown another head. “I… beg your pardon?”

“Good,” he replied promptly. “As it should be.”

That wide-eyed stare instantly turned into a scowl. “What makes you think I would possibly want to go anywhere with you,

Your Royal Highness

?” The way she flung his title at him put his teeth on edge.

He stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner, knowing it made him look intellectual and sophisticated. “You struck the Crown Prince with harmful intent, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  Surely you knew there would be a penalty for such incivility.”

Eyes flashing as hard as diamonds, she opened her mouth, then shut it again with a loud click of teeth. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” The way those words ground out from between her clenched lips made him feel better about this whole day.

“Denied,” he answered, dismissing even the thought of such liberty with a wave of his hand.  “I covered for you. I, a man of sterling integrity and strong moral fiber, told lies twice today to spare you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Otherwise, you would have been out on the street tonight with a warrant out for your arrest before dawn tomorrow. You owe me for my protection. Is that not so?”

The look she gave him could have rivaled his mother’s for intensity, but she bit her bottom lip to keep silent. Pity.

He stood and strode around his desk, hands behind his back, giving her a calculating look. “I am required to go to the reception for the American ambassador in six days. I am required to bring a companion to pacify the Queen Regent and keep her off my back, with the added benefit of confusing the hordes of reporters who always hound nobles at such occasions. It also prevents me from being turned into an arm ornament by overly determined ladies of status. You,” and he leaned towards her, his finger tipping her chin up so he could counter her glare for glare, “owe me for covering for you and your attendance on me at this function shall be my payment.”

“But–”

“Unless you would rather I explain to the Queen Regent of the United Kingdom why you punched her only child and heir?” The questioning tone rubbed salt in the wound and he knew it.  His smile was wide and anger burned in those blue eyes.

“You scared me on purpose! I reacted in self-defense after not enough sleep,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I said I was sorry and I meant it!  What more can you possibly want from me?”

For some unknown reason, his heart flipped absurdly in his chest instead of staying firmly rooted within his ribcage as hearts should. She hadn’t used his title! He had her now!

He chuckled nastily. “You poor, naive girl! How simple the world must be for you! Everything for you must be a matter of love or hate, black or white. Have you never heard of revenge? They say it is a dish best served cold, but why waste such a fitting opportunity?”

Miss Dupain-Cheng closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Felix felt her chest rise and slightly press against him and he jerked his face and hand back instantly, unaware that he had gotten so close. What was the matter with him today?

“Fine,” she snapped, her eyes opening once more with a fierce glitter. “If you can make it to Saturday without calling this madness off, then I’ll go.”

“Appropriately clad, shod, and done up,” he insisted.

She gave him a look that clearly said,

“What do you take me for?”

Eyes blazing with determination, she held out her hand to him. “Then shake on it.”

He was taken aback, glancing from her face to her hand and back again. “I am a man of my word, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Surely a gentleman’s agreement is enough.”

Her eyes narrowed at him and he felt an icy trickle of sweat ooze down his spine.

“I’m no gentleman and the man who can’t look me in the eye and shake my hand honestly won’t be taking me anywhere.”

He fought the urge to swallow.

“I can’t show any weakness,”

he thought and held out his hand.

They shook on it, leaving him wondering at the softness of the hands he had personally assigned to scrub his floors.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette waited with bated breath for the Prince to arrive for the dinner party.  
 
These were fairly common occurrences at the palace, with foreign dignitaries, famous intellectuals, or wealthy philanthropists swanning about the parlors and dining rooms with the restrained excitement that hid the giddiness of adults longing to play castles or princesses. Tonight’s dinner was in recognition of some scientific achievement or other regarding… was it coastal erosion?  
 
No, that was last week. This one was celebrating five years of the Queen Regent’s sustainability initiative and anyone with connections in Britain and beyond had begged, borrowed, or downright lied to get invitations.

“If only they knew how dreadfully boring and difficult these things are to set up,”

she thought, smiling her professional smile as she passed through the glittering crowd of guests with her tray of champagne flutes.

“They only see the end result. No wonder Maman and Papa always got so nervous about society orders!”

The thought of her parents brought a lump to her throat and a prickle to the corners of her eyes. She had been gone for four months now. Four months away from home for the first time in a different country with a different language, mores, rules, and ideas. Sure, it had been exciting at first, giving her so much inspiration for her designs that she had filled an entire sketchbook!
 
But then the news came. She had fallen apart, despairing as she couldn’t take time away from her new job to make the trip home for more than a weekend. And now her only consolation was that Alya had decided to take a job at

The Guardian

especially so she wouldn’t be alone. Marinette didn’t know what she would have done without her best friend beside her.
 
She swallowed back the worry and focused on the task at hand.

“The task and the reward,”

she thought smugly.  
 
She had especially signed up to work this dinner party so she could show that arrogant popinjay it was no use forcing her to go to his stupid reception. She had planned a little surprise for Prince Felix, one he should not be able to ignore but would have to deal with silently lest he alert his mother and her guests.
 
The sound of a crystal bell rang out over the rumble of voices in the parlor.
 
“Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, dinner is served,” Mr Winthrope announced in his most stentorian manner.  
 
Marinette dipped a curtsy to the senior servant, keeping her eyes down and her face neutral so as not to draw his attention. Mr Winthrope, the chief butler and Queen’s head of staff, had been decidedly irked at her “promotion” to Felix’s personal chambermaid and had taken every opportunity to reprimand her on everything from her appearance to the state of the prince’s shoes. She didn’t want to draw his attention or his ire tonight.
 
She adjusted the weight of the tray on her hand as several of the guests placed their half-empty or empty glasses back down before heading into the dining hall. She slipped to the edge of the crowd and made her way through the servants’ doors to where Sarah was waiting with the cart for dirty dishes.
 
“Are you going to be okay, Marinette?" she asked, making sure all the trays and their contents were appropriately balanced before returning them to the dumbwaiter.
 
“Psh, I’m fine! You should see the bags of flour I would help Papa carry in on delivery day.” Marinette flexed her arm with a haughty expression and Sarah laughed.
 
“Just make sure not to spill anything. Especially not on Eugenia Perkins. She has a tongue as sharp as knives, I’m telling you! She nearly took Charles’ head off last year when he clanged her glass with his pitcher while serving.”
 
“Don’t mention spills, please! You’ll make my inner klutz come out of hiding!”
 
The maid gave her a broad smile and a pat on the arm. “No worries, love. You’ll be just fine. Just keep your head high and your voice low.”
 
Marinette threw her a wink before returning to the serving line in the dining room.  
 
As was customary, the Queen Regent was escorted in on the Prince’s arm. Marinette had to admit that he certainly looked handsome in his tuxedo.

“Even if he is a jerk.”

She gave a soft sigh, remembering the times she had seen Adrien dressed up so nicely for formal occasions, though he preferred his hair ruffled to hang loose around his face when his father would let him get away with it. It had always been so heartwarming to see him, her golden boy, sparkling under the lights of the parties he used to sneak her into. 
 
He had been the first person to inspire her dreams of becoming a fashion designer and had done everything he could to expose her to the highest couture and finer things in life. He believed in her dream, but… dreams fade, friendships change over time, and she had been left behind.
 
Marinette took a deep breath, hoping to clear her mental fog.

“It’s no good crying over spilt milk,

” she thought determinedly.

“I just need to take care of what’s in front of me and I have the added bonus of seeing that no-good, childish bore get what’s coming to him!”

Prince Felix had held the chair for Her Majesty and bowed before moving to his own at the far end of the table. Marinette struggled to hide a grin.

“Any second now!”

As he sat, all the guests sat as well, the noise and soft chatter covering his undignified squeak that she could just barely hear from where she was standing.  She watched as the Prince shifted this way and that in his seat, his cheeks tinged pink and his lips tightly pursed so no further sound emerged.

“He just found out there are two of them,”

she thought, turning her back on her show and accepting the platter of roast beef that was handed to her.
 
As dictated by custom, each dish was presented to the Queen first, then to the Prince, and, finally, to their guests. When she made her way to the Prince’s side, she gave a little bob and offered the platter to him.
 
“Roast beef, Your Royal Highness?" she asked, all sweetness and professional decorum.  His eyes jerked up at the sound of her voice and narrowed instantly.
 
“How dare you?” he hissed between gritted teeth.
 
She just smiled serenely. “This is quite a fine rump roast, Your Royal Highness, and it has been tenderized using a special method. Do try some.”
 
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Mr Wemberly, Felix's valet, giving her a knowing look. She was about to return that with a smile, but the Prince drew her attention first.
 
Without taking his eyes from her face, he stabbed his fork into the top slice and twitched it onto his plate with enough force to knock over his water glass. Several footmen as well as Mr Winthrope approached to tidy the mess away and she delightfully scuttled off to serve the ‘tenderized roast’ to the other guests.
 
***
 
It had been two days since he’d been the victim – no, never the victim, the… Felix couldn’t come up with an appropriate word – of a poorly placed pair of thumbtacks, and Felix was still seething.
 
As he readied for his bath, he inspected the twin holes in the mirror. They were angry and red, and he wondered if he should summon his personal physician to head off infection, but he would rather die than admit she’d one-upped him.
 
His bathing suite was larger than a third-world country, and he owned mirrors to match. They were floor-to-ceiling and angled just so he could get a perfect view of the marks she’d made on him.
 
“

How dare she? How

dare

she?”

ran through his mind on repeat like a Spotify playlist gone wrong. “

She injured the Crown Prince – and on purpose.”

Gently, he probed the tiny puncture wounds. He’d had to wear silk boxers rather than his usual cotton to avoid aggravating them, so he’d been uncomfortably reminded of her personal branding all day.
 
Rump roast, indeed.
 
Hearing his bathtub fill across the room, something he’d personally had her do before angrily demanding she leave him to inspect his lacerations, Felix thought he heard a strange croaking noise, but brushed it off as the old pipes rattling.
 
“

Honestly,

” he thought, rubbing his fingers over his sore bum before letting his robe drop to hide the scandalous scrapes.

“What on earth did I ever do to her?”

Padding his way over to his curtained tub, Felix discarded his pastel green bunny slippers – which still reminded him of a pretty expanse of thigh he’d rather

not

think about – and hung his robe on a nearby hook. 
 
He lifted his foot to step into the tub and drew back the curtain, every movement paining him. He was just about to stew over ways to retaliate when he saw what was waiting for him and screamed like a five-year-old girl.
 
Leaping back but unbalanced because of his raised foot, Felix landed hard on his tailbone, slamming his wounds down onto the mosaic tiles.
 
Sitting in his tub without a care in the world was the biggest, ugliest,

wartiest

bullfrog he’d ever had the misfortune to look upon. It was leaving a disgusting slime trail throughout his bath water.
 
The frog opened its wide mouth to croak, exposing its revolting tongue. It tensed its legs, and Felix tried to skitter backward on his hands, scooting across the tile, but then the frog leaped, sailing across the distance between them…
 
And landing in his naked lap.
 
Felix shrieked again. 
 
Unfortunately for him, the high-pitched sound caused the bullfrog to release a stream of hot, pungent urine all over his nethers. The disgusting heat of the slimy liquid spreading over his sensitive bits made the back of his throat burn with stomach acid.
 
“Get off of me!” Felix screamed, seizing his hairbrush from the nearby vanity and attempting to smack the frog off of himself. 
 
The frog, clearly perturbed but not as much as him, leapt upwards onto his chest and eventually onto his face, releasing another stream directly into his mouth.
 
Felix choked. He didn’t think his day could get any worse…
 
Until he heard her giggling.
 
That tore it!
 
“DUPAIN-CHENG!” he roared. “How dare you!” Or, at least, that is what he meant to say. The vile, repulsive fluid that had invaded his mouth caused him to gargle. Spluttering and choking, he managed to cry, “GET IN HERE!” clearly enough that she responded.
 
The door opened a crack, enough for a vibrantly blue eye, bright with mischief, to peek through.
 
“Yes, Your Royal Highness?”
 
“GET IT OFF ME!”
 
With a gasp, the door was thrown open and she dashed in to pull the abhorrent amphibian off his poor face.
 
“Don’t worry, Sir. It’s just a harmless bullfrog. They’re not-” Then she stopped, clutched the horrid thing to her chest, and shrieked even higher than he had before scurrying out of the room!
 
“What on earth is wrong with you, woman?!” he yelled, his blood pressure reaching the boiling point. He hauled himself to his feet, rage clenching his jaw and making his eye twitch.
 
“Don’t,” she squeaked from the other room.
 
“If you think I’m going to let this slide, then you-”
 
“Clothes first!” she cried.
 
Felix glanced down. “Oh, great Scott!”
 
Slipping and sliding on his fouled tiled floor, he managed to snatch his bathrobe from the hook and wrap it around himself in some semblance of propriety. He would never live this down! To be seen in the altogether by a servant! 
 
No! Not just a servant! Miss Ruddy Dupain-Cheng!
 
Desperately wrapping his robe around his middle and cinching it tight with one hand after fumbling with the tie, Felix stomped over to his suite doors and threw them open.
 
“And another thing–” he started…
 
Only to find the room devoid of girl, frog, and dignity, save only a puddle on the floor.
 
***
 
Marinette was exhausted. She had started at dawn and had been scrubbing the Prince’s bathroom over and over again until every trace of her little prank had been obliterated.

“It was only a bullfrog,”

she thought wearily, stretching and rolling her shoulders to get the kinks out.

“It wasn’t like it was poisonous or hostile. To think, a grown man screaming like a little girl over a garden-variety frog!”

True, Alya had come through with the granddaddy of all bullfrogs and Marinette hadn’t been pleased either when it had peed on her as she tried to hustle it out of the palace in a mop bucket, but she knew it wouldn’t hurt her. What kind of sheltered life did these Royals live anyway?
 
Then again, she might have done the same thing if Big Daddy had jumped on her when she was naked. Instead, she’d had to rescue the prince from a frog worse than death only to run from the room frightened by the sight of bare loins.

“Nope! No way! Not thinking about that. No, sir!”

She forced her mind towards dinner and home as she made her way through the kitchen and into the staff locker room.  She couldn’t wait to get out of the kitten heels her outfit required and change back into her ballet flats that she used for the trips to and from her apartment. More than anything, she wanted a hot bath and some Italian takeaway with Alya over a rom-com.
 
“Long day, Marinette?” Robert, one of the footmen, asked from the small table where he was working on the never-ending job of polishing silver.
 
“When is it not?” she groaned, letting her shoulders slump in the sanctuary of the palace kitchens.
 
“His Highness still giving you a hard time?”
 
She rolled her eyes. “No more than usual, I suppose.”
 
“He can be a tough nut to crack, alright,” James, the sous chef, said, handing her a mug of hot tea. “You looked like you could use it.”
 
“Oh, Sir, I could kiss you if it wasn’t against regulations!” She tossed him a grateful wink and a smirk before taking a sip of the hot tea with a sigh.
 
Both men chuckled.
 
“Well, there’s a perk I hadn’t considered when I signed on,” James quipped, the faintest hint of pink darkening the tips of his ears outside his toque. He was good-looking, tall, with dark, wavy brown hair that looked almost black, and kind, gray eyes that often danced in the light of the stove flames. “But your work has been of the highest caliber, Marinette. Keep at it and His Highness will give up soon enough. With such a high turnover, I would hate to lose you.”
 
“Hear, hear!”  Robert raised his water bottle to her. “We can’t lose the lady who makes the best coffee in the world, now can we?”
 
James gave a crooked smile. “Only if we want to drink your swill, Bob.”
 
Several of the kitchen staff groaned theatrically and Marinette smiled. This place, though the words were spoken in a different language, still had the feel of home. The warmth of the stoves and ovens, the sound of coffee percolating or kettles whistling on the hob, and the clangs, clinks, laughter, and shouts of a working kitchen were the same everywhere. It reminded her of home.
 
Marinette swallowed the rest of her tea in one gulp, hoping to dispel the tightness in her chest.
 
“Thanks, guys, but I really need to head home. It’s been a long day and who knows what His Royal Highness will have for me tomorrow.”
 
Several of the other kitchen staff called their goodnights and goodbyes with waves or smiles. James, it seemed, was intent on walking her to the locker room.
 
“If things get too rough for you, Marinette, please let me know. Or you can talk to Hayley in the staffing department. I’m sure they can arrange a transfer to another-”
 
“I’m fine, Sir. Really.” She smiled up at him and patted him on the shoulder.
 
“You can call me James when you’re not on duty, you know,” he murmured. “I’m just a cook, Marinette. I’m not a Royal who needs a title dropped every other sentence.”
 
“Oh…uh… okay.” Her cheeks warmed at the serious tone in his voice. Wait. Why was she blushing? “It’s just that… I grew up in a bakery.  My father and mother are artists at what they do and so are you. You have worked hard to earn your title. That is why I respect it and use it with you.”
 
His smile never wavered. Why were her shoulders so tense? Why did her stomach feel all squirmy? How could his smile affect her like this?  
 
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I respect you too, Marinette. I hope we can be good friends and, if you ever need my help, you have only to ask. Alright?”
 
“Ehem.”  
 
The soft clearing of the throat was all that was needed to make her jump. 
 
Standing in the doorway to the locker room was Arthur Wemberly, Prince Felix’s valet. He was a very unassuming man of middle years, impeccably dressed in a suit that undoubtedly cost more than Marinette’s entire wardrobe, with short, salt-and-pepper hair and keen gray eyes that didn’t miss a thing - be it a spoon poorly polished, a hair out of place, or a speck on a freshly scrubbed floor.  
 
He had been in the palace for the last twenty years, or so the stories said, serving His Royal Highness for most of that time. The man never complained and did his best to soothe the ruffled tempers the prince tended to leave in his wake. 
 
Considering how often such soothing was needed, the man either had the patience of a saint or was remarkably good at holding his liquor and possessed a miraculous hangover cure.
 
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I wished to have a word with Miss Dupain-Cheng. That is, if you are not in a hurry to be somewhere?” The subtle inflections in his gentle voice gave nothing away.
 
She swallowed and moved back a half step. “O-of course. Thank you… James. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
 
The chef’s smile widened at the use of his name. “Right then. I should head back up and make sure those slackers are still on task. See you tomorrow?”
 
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
 
He turned and made his way out of the empty locker room, leaving Marinette to face someone who she had only met the once, when she was first transferred into the prince’s household.
 
“Yes, Mr Wemberly?" she asked, slightly nervous at this unexpected conversation.
 
The valet smiled and she felt herself relax marginally.  “Please, do not worry, Miss Dupain-Cheng. This is more of a private matter than me merely passing on orders from our master. Considering your recent interactions with our employer, I felt it best that you be informed about certain details… how do you young people say it? On the down low?”
 
She couldn’t help but giggle as the older man tried to use modern slang with his crisp, upper-crust voice. His smile widened, making his kind gray eyes crinkle at the corners.
 
“Of course, sir,” she said.  “What can I help you with?”
 
The laughter faded from the man’s face as he gestured for them to sit on a bench along the far wall.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, as I am sure you are aware, I have been lucky enough to be employed at the palace for some time. First as a footman under His Late Majesty then as the personal valet to His Royal Highness. I feel it is important that you should know. Prince Felix has not always been as you see him now.”
 
Marinette bit back a sarcastic response. This man did not deserve her quick temper or her bitter tones.
 
“I’m sure you’re right, sir,” she replied cautiously.
 
The valet sighed sadly. “Despite his privileged upbringing and obvious physical advantages, things have not been easy for His Royal Highness. While it is true that Prince Felix is extremely intelligent, he has always found it difficult to connect with others socially.
 
“I know that, in the official pecking order, I outrank you. However I feel that, in regards to our service to the Prince, you are playing just as critical a role as myself. I trust that we can share these responsibilities as equals, knowing that my respect for you is genuine.”
 
Marinette squirmed uncomfortably on her seat. “I appreciate you showing me such respect, Mr Wemberly, but I haven’t done much to deserve it.” She couldn’t help thinking of the bullfrog and a handful of other surprises His Royal Pratness would discover in a few days' time.
 
Mr Wemberly chuckled. “Yes, well, if I may say so, unofficially, I think a spunky, attractive young woman who is ready to give as good as she’s got is exactly what the doctor ordered for the Young Master. I haven’t seen him so motivated in years.”
 
He patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t let him discourage you and don’t let him run you off. You are the prod in the posterior he needs to get back into living. Let me  know if he goes too far and I’ll drop a hint or two he won’t be able to ignore.”
 
Mind swirling with this new, and definitely unexpected information,  Marinette merely nodded.  
 
“Good.” The man gave her a fatherly smile and a final pat before rising to his feet. “Fight the good fight, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Then he left, making his way out of the locker room as silently as he had entered it.
 
She watched him go, then slapped her face into her palms and groaned.  She really didn’t need any more complications in her life at the moment than she already had!  So why had two separate men who she had never had more than passing conversations with suddenly decide that she was important?  
 
Especially Mr Wemberly saying that she was just what the prince needed to pull himself back together?

“No!”

she told herself sternly.

“No, Marinette! You are not responsible for fixing everyone else’s messes! Certain not those of an arrogant, pigheaded, childish jerk like Prince Felix!”

Giving herself one final mental shake for good measure, she stood and and opened her locker.
 
Out poured piles of magazines, postcards, posters, keychains, books, and every other type of Prince Felix fan drek that had been devised by the advertising department of the palace gift shops. 
 
Balloons with his austere visage printed on mylar burst upwards towards the ceiling faster than she could grab them. Commemorative buttons by the bucketful poured out on the floor to pool at her feet. 
 
Finally, as the last of the mess spilled out around her, a large poster unrolled to fill her locker from top to bottom bearing a life-sized photograph of Prince Felix in his usual gray suit.  He stood with arms crossed and legs spread in a defiant stance, smirking at the camera with one eyebrow raised as if daring her to keep looking.
 
Worse yet it was signed. In immaculate handwriting, complete with serifs, were the words:

To my biggest pain, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Don’t forget about Saturday! XOXO

Marinette groaned. She wasn’t heading home now after all.
 
“James,” she yelled down the hallway, her voice edged with frustration. “Where can I find a shovel?!”

***
 
Amelie leaned back in her armchair, finally allowing herself to relax now that no one was around to see it. It had been a long, dull day, but thankfully it had been enlivened by her dear boy and that maid he had become obsessed with of late.
 
She chuckled before taking a sip of hot cocoa, one of the guilty pleasures she allowed herself when no one was looking. Gabriel Agreste had been right to send the Dupain-Cheng girl to her. If this was the effect she was having on Felix, who knows what havoc she had been wreaking with Adrien who was much more sentimental than her own darling boy.
 
Granted, the two were dancing around each other with all the wariness of feral cats, but at least their pranks and the subsequent attempts to hide them were amusing.  Amelie replayed the footage from the staff locker room once more on her tablet, smiling as the girl opened her locker to the floods of merchandising oddments Felix had left for her. The frustration on the girl’s face was priceless!

“Really, though, Fe. A personalized, life-sized poster? Signed with a hug and a kiss? Could you be any more obvious?”

Amelie knew there was something on the moment the girl had walked into the breakfast parlor and her boy had been glaring at her as if she had personally offended him. The fact that he had chosen to have her reassigned to his personal service and torment her with petty, demeaning tasks was nothing more than the act of a repressed schoolboy who had never had the opportunity to pull a girl’s pigtails.
 
Amelie grinned as she took another sip of her cocoa, pleased that Dupain-Cheng was holding her own and proving herself confident and utterly professional, as any red-blooded woman of the modern era should. She was pleased the girl could give as well as take. The bullfrog was a touch of genius as were the thumbtacks in the Prince’s seat at the dinner party.

“Rump roast, indeed!”

She couldn’t help but wonder who would come out the victor in this particular battle of wills. Of course, whether it would lead to World War Three or wedding bells was yet to be seen.  
 
Amelie indulged herself in another chuckle. Felix could be stubborn and oblivious when it came to women, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an absolute gem. 
 
One Amelie intended to add to her collection.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The only reason Felix was going to this reception was to enact revenge.
 
Revenge for the thumbtacks. Revenge for the bullfrog. Revenge for the Union Jack boxers hung outside his window, revenge for the live crickets strategically placed in his cars’ air conditioning, revenge for the rigged, tear-away sleeves and pant legs on his suits that had humiliated him at state functions.
 
He wanted revenge.
 
He’d carefully checked the sleeves and pant legs of this particular suit: a blue velvet suit coat with satin lapels and dark pants. As he waited in the limo outside Buckingham Palace – oddly enough, Miss Dupain-Cheng refused to let him pick her up outside her apartment, which he thought funny because he could easily look up her address – he adjusted his waistcoat and reached for a glass of water.
 
A slight breeze filtered in from his open window; what Felix wouldn’t give to have the heavens open up on Miss Dupain-Cheng and spoil her outfit.

“She’s going to make me look terrible,”

he thought, sighing to himself as he sipped his water. The blue velvet jewelry box burned a hole in his pocket, matching his suit.

“There’s no way she’ll dress to match.”

It’s not like he was curious about what her outfit would be. Certainly not.
 
“

Revenge. Revenge. Revenge

,” he mentally chanted, trying to reorient himself. He didn’t have a particular prank planned – his mother would have his head if he’d upset someone at a state function, even Miss Dupain-Cheng – but he could make her night horrible just by being with her.
 
Waiting was so boring. How long did it take a girl to fix her hair? Honestly. Even if she did have help from a friend in the servants’ quarters, there was no way she’d look–
 
The clicking of heels announced that Miss Dupain-Cheng deigned to make her entrance, and Felix’s jaw dropped.
 
All thoughts of revenge flew from his head as he took in her stunning appearance: her inky tresses were pinned into an updo that left a few delicate curls to trail in the air by her face; her makeup was flawless, highlighting a subtle blush on her cheeks and accentuating her beautiful bluebell eyes; and the dress…
 
It was an icy blue silk V-neck with adorable ties on the shoulders, showing off the daintiest collarbones the world had ever seen, the shimmering stuff draping over her form in an elegant sweep of fabric that outlined a delicate figure and the delicious curve of her tiny waist before spilling like a waterfall around her feet. 
 
Felix’s water glass slipped from his hand and rolled across the floor of the limo, splashing his shoes. She was gorgeous… ethereal… breathtaking….

“It's just the dress. It has to be. Who is the designer?”

Felix wondered, picking his jaw up off the floor.

“I must know.”

“Are you going to let me in or what?” 
 
Her acerbic voice, coupled with a shapely raised brow, reminded him of what he was about.
 
Felix scrambled to open the door, stepping in the water. He crawled out of the limo and hastily adjusted his waistcoat, trying to smooth himself back into the one in control.
 
“You… You look…” he began, horrible things coming to the forefront of his mind that were clearly untrue. He could tell her she looked terrible, that she was a disgrace, that she would never match him in any way, shape, or form.
 
“Beautiful,” he said instead, offering his hand. 
 
Her cheeks pinked attractively, and heat burned in his when she accepted his offer, resting her delicate fingers on his. He curled his hand around hers on instinct, bringing her knuckles to his lips to brush a gentlemanly kiss there.
 
Her skin smelled sweetly of some light, floral fragrance he couldn’t readily identify, but found enchanting nonetheless. It vaguely reminded him of hazy summer days spent by a pond in his youth somewhere in the country. He had expected something overpowering and overapplied, not teasingly ladylike, and only realized then that the kiss to her fingers had lasted longer than the gesture required.
 
Her eyes widened in surprise – or was that pleasure? Felix couldn’t tell and ached to know for sure.  
 
The soft warmth of her hand was almost too much. His insides already felt hot and squirmy. The summer night wasn’t overly warm, but it did leave Felix awfully uncomfortable in his tuxedo due to the thick fabric and now the flames on the sides of his face.  
 
How could a pretty dress, collarbones, and some face paint reduce him to a sweating teenager – because it certainly wasn’t her.

She

wasn’t that pretty, even if her dark, smoky eyes drew him in, and his hand could fit perfectly in that curve at her waist, and –
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng pulled her hand away, a look of confusion and distrust replacing the surprise on her face. That pulled Felix out of his reverie as abruptly as a dunking in cold water.
 
“This way, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said gruffly, escorting her to the water-free side of the limo and holding the door for her. Shockingly, she knew how to enter a limousine properly, never turning her back to him, but rather sliding into the seat in as ladylike a form as his mother herself would use, even ending with her hands folded neatly over her clutch purse.
 
Everything about her – her gown, the way her hair swept up to display the elegant column of her neck, the little curls, like afterthoughts, that framed her face – was so intentional yet effortless.
 
Felix wished he could catch a hint of her scent again.
 
“Take a picture. It will last you longer,” she quipped in a sarcastic tone that drew his ire out from where his admiration had stuffed it. He could feel the flush on his cheeks darken and his fingers clenched into a fist at his side.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, this is Buckingham Palace and I am the Prince of Wales. If I so wished, I would have your form commemorated in marble and title it, 'The Taming of the Shrew!'”  
 
With that, he slammed the door, irritated with himself for letting her get to him. He strode back to his side of the limousine, his left shoe squelching every other step and his nose hurting abominably as he struggled to not frown.
 
Throwing dignity to the wind, Felix slunk into his seat and shut his door, pointedly turning away from her, his good mood spoiled. The limo pulled out of the driveway smoothly. Angry as he was, Felix would have rather it lurched to a start, but his chauffeur was too professional for that kind of nonsense.
 
Buildings flashed by the window, staid and sure and completely unaware – dare he say uncaring? – of the turmoil inside him. How dare she? How dare she taunt him with her appearance, only to throw her nasty personality in his face?

“It’s like she calculated the best way to spite me.”

He turned away from the window, ready to lay into her for her deception when she thrust two pills under his nose.
 
“Here,” she said, refusing to look at him. “Painkillers, Your Royal Highness.”
 
It looked like a peace offering, which made no sense. “What?” he said, furrowing his brow. His nose chose then to ache, reminding him that he was still, in fact, injured, and it was

her fault.

“Why?”
 
“Your nose looks terrible,” she said by way of explanation, which also made no sense. Why did she care about his nose? She huffed, slanting an annoyed look his way. “Just take the medicine. I’m not offering this to you for

my

health,

Sir

.”
 
Realizing that it was, truly, a peace offering, Felix swiped the meds and downed them, also taking the glass of water she offered. 
 
“I don’t like the way you use my royal titles.” His confession dropped into the space like a boulder hurled into a small, still pond. As long as he was being vulnerable… "Drop them when we’re alone.”
 
She squinted at him, and he felt strangely unnerved. “Alright,” she acquiesced after a few tense, silent moments. 
 
Felix’s heart flipped in his chest. She’d listened to him?
 
“And here.” He thrust the blue, velvet jewelry box at her in as offhand a manner as he could. “I figured you wouldn’t have anything that would match a fine dress, so I brought something for you to borrow.”
 
Truth be told, it was Arthur, his valet, who had suggested the necklace. Felix obviously had chosen which one, but Arthur had put the idea into his head with a few well-chosen words.

"You don't want the young maid to be embarrassed by a lack of jewelry at the reception,"

Arthur had said, and Felix had seen the logic in it only after the man had continued.

"Her being embarrassed would embarrass you, and you'd never hear the end of it from the Queen Regent, Young Master."

Well, now Felix had done his part. He found the necklace and matching earrings and had some silly servant polish them. 
 
Now all Miss Dupain-Cheng had to do was accept.
 
She stared at him, wide-eyed and suspicious as if she was waiting for a trap to be sprung.
 
“You… are giving me jewelry?”
 
Felix poked her in the side with the box.  “Just take it before I change my mind.”
 
Hesitantly, she took the box, her delicate fingers opening it with a little click of the hinge. She gasped and closed it once more.
 
“I… I can’t!” she said hurriedly, thrusting the box back at him.
 
“Whyever not? I certainly can’t wear it.”
 
“Because that is Princess Elaine’s wedding choker! That–” and she waved the box around unnecessarily – “is the Bluebell of Asia, the third largest untreated sapphire in the world! You can’t just–”
 
“I can and I have. Just wear the stupid thing!” he grumbled, taking the box from her hand. “My aunt left it to me when she died and I have no use for it. It would be just another thing you’d have to polish for me and it might as well see the light of day for a change.” He set the glass of water in its cup holder. “Besides, I was lucky enough to have it complement your dress and it goes well with your eyes.”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng gave him a look full of brewing emotions as he took the strands of pearls with the pendant sapphire out of the box. He motioned for her to turn around, and to his delight, she did, shifting gracefully in her seat.
 
Satisfied, Felix looped the strings of pearls around her slender throat, the tips of his fingers brushing against her pale skin, moving strands of her beautiful hair out of the way. As he leaned in, that amazing floral scent he’d caught earlier filtered up to his nose, not cloying like so many of the other women’s perfumes he’d smelled. It seemed to be uniquely Miss Dupain-Cheng.
 
Felix did up the clasp of the necklace with expert fingers – he was no rube – but regretted fastening the necklace so quickly, as he had no longer had an excuse to touch her.  
 
Giving into temptation, he trailed the backs of his knuckles down the upper part of her spine, feeling the softness of her nape for himself. She shuddered minutely as if his featherlight touch had tickled her, and Felix drew away before giving in to the further temptation to press a kiss on the delicious expanse of bare skin at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.
 
Picking up one of the wayward curls that hung at the back of her neck, he wrapped the silky strand around his finger. It was cool against his skin and he almost wished he could rub it against his hot cheeks to soothe the heat that lingered there. Instead, he watched it bounce back when he released it, transfixed by the way the dim light bounced off the curl in tints of sapphire.
 
She turned hurriedly, giving him a scandalized look.
 
The necklace suited her, he thought. It set off her eyes, as he’d said, and in some strange sense, it branded her as

his.

It was

his

jewelry, and in allowing it to grace her neck, she might as well be wearing a sign saying she belonged to him.
 
He owned her, just for that night.
 
Felix

liked

that. For some absurd reason, it appealed to him on a level he had never really thought about.
 
“I can’t wear this,” she insisted, shattering his brief flight of fancy. “Princess Elaine was beloved the world over–”
 
“Which is why it’s ironic, isn’t it, that I’m giving it to you?” A sneer twisted Felix’s features. Oh, how he loved putting her in her place!
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng turned away with a wounded gaze that stabbed him straight through the heart. Guiltily, he realized it was time for a peace offering like she had offered unprompted to him.
 
“This dress is… well-crafted,” he settled for, which wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he wasn’t about to tell her how pretty she looked. “Who’s the designer?”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng straightened her shoulders, staring him in the eye with pride he felt was misplaced until she spoke. “I made it myself.”
 
Felix’s brows rose unbidden. “Really?” 
 
He wanted to tell her that her skills in design and handicraft were impressive, that he hadn’t seen a dress of this caliber in years, that he wouldn’t mind if she’d designed some clothes for him…
 
But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
 
His nose twinged; even though the swelling had gone down immensely, he still had trouble breathing. And it was

her fault

he was so inconvenienced.
 
Felix recalled the fact that she’d agreed not to use his titles when they were alone, but he wanted… something more from her. Something more he couldn’t identify until he realized he’d opened his mouth and was already speaking.
 
“Call me by my name,” he demanded, bouncing his fist off his knee. “I want you to call me by my name.”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng gave him a sideways look that spoke volumes of her distaste, Felix felt stripped bare under that assessing gaze. 
 
“Alright,” she agreed eventually, and he waited for the use of his name. She didn’t give it, so he was left wondering – and angry – at the fact that she didn’t appear to agree at all.
 
“And tell me your name.”
 
He was on a roll with his list of demands, so what was one more?
 
Unfortunately for him, she refused to play. A wicked smile curled her rosy lips.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
“No,” he hissed, his shoulders ratcheting up around his ears. “Your

first

name.”
 “No.” The refusal was so simple, so direct, that Felix was taken aback. Then she followed up with an entirely unnecessary explanation that put his hackles up. “We are not, and will never be, on a first-name basis. There’s no reason for me to give mine to someone like you.” 
The venomous way she spat the word flung her loathing of him directly in his face. Incensed, Felix felt hot fingers of shame crawl up his throat.
 
“I

order

you to tell me your name,” he choked out, hating how desperate he sounded. She would not win! “As the Crown Prince of the United Kingdom and heir to the throne.”
 
“Is this one of your childish games?” she murmured, her features twisted into a scowl. “Why do you want to know?”
 
At such an honest, point-blank question, Felix was at a loss. He fell back on the only thing that had always worked for him: his authority. “That’s an order, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
Her gorgeous bluebell eyes flashed defiantly, and Felix found himself sputtering. “That’s a stupid order,” she declared in a tone more imperious than he ever could. “I’m not following it.”
 
“I could look it up,” he whispered nastily, leaning into her space. He slammed his hands on the window around her, caging her in with his arms. “You can’t keep it from me.”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng thrust her nose up toward his, her skin barely brushing his. He could smell the raspberries and cream on her breath, clearly the last delicious thing she’d eaten. She was so small and delicate framed by his arms, her tiny chest rising and falling in angry breaths.
 
Her full, plump, kissable lips were twisted into a raging frown, and Felix stared at  them until she hissed, “Go ahead. I don’t care

what

you do.”
 
Her eyes were so raw and so,

so

defiant. Felix couldn’t stand it. He yearned to cover her mouth with his own and steal her breath so that she wouldn’t have the ability to throw his own powerlessness back in his face.
 
This was still about winning, he told himself. If he couldn’t dominate her mentally or psychologically – she met him at every turn as his equal, which he

hated

more than anything – he could certainly kiss her to shut her up.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he breathed, his gaze dropping once again to her lips. “I –”
 
“We’re here, Sir,” crackled over the speaker.
 
The limo drew to a stop, and Felix leapt away from her as if her touch scalded him. He hunched his shoulders, leaning his forehead against the cool window and covering his traitorous mouth.
 
Had he really been going to kiss Miss Dupain-Cheng?
 
***
 
Marinette took a deep breath and waited as Felix all but scrambled out of the limo and made his way around to open her door.  
 
What had just happened? He brought her a world-famous necklace for her to wear and refused to let her return it, instead putting it around her neck with such a gentle touch that it made her shiver. He had stroked his knuckles along her spine as if he couldn’t bear to let her go, but then the moment was lost and his bad attitude had reared its ugly head once more.
 
She reached up to touch the large, cold stone at her throat. A stone that was worth more than her parents had ever made… a stone that could buy their services, their bakery, and their home and still have enough change left over to buy Greenland! She couldn’t catch her breath; her heart was pounding like a racehorse.

“And he trapped me against the window and… did he want to kiss me?”

The thought made her shiver.

“I just… don’t understand him at all!  What can he possibly want from me?!”

Her door opened and a hand reached in for hers. She stared at it, dumbfounded for a long moment, until he said, “Ugh! Don’t you know anything? Change out your earrings!  Quick!”
 
“My… what?”
 
“Get those dratted ladybugs out of your ears and wear the ones that match the choker. Hurry!”
 
She reached her hands up to cover her ears.  “But-”
 
“Do it or I’ll tear them from your ears myself,” he growled.
 
Without thinking further, she scrambled for the jewelry box he had left on the seat between them. As fast as she could, she changed out her precious ladybug earrings for the sapphire drops surrounded by diamonds. They felt wrong. Too heavy for her ears and the ladybug posts felt oddly small in the hollow of her hand. They hadn’t left her earlobes for the last four years.
 
That imperious hand reached in and pulled her wrist towards the opening. She batted it away and stepped out on her own, quickly hiding her own earrings in the inside pocket of her purse. Only then did she deign to place her hand lightly on the top of his without closing around it. She flashed Felix a look that clearly said she was not happy to be manhandled like this before softening her expression to one of polite blandness.
 
The first thing that Marinette noticed, aside from her companion’s fierce glare, was that there was a red carpet. An honest-to-goodness red carpet leading from the limo all the way to the doors of the Ritz Carlton Hotel where the reception was taking place.
 
She had never walked a literal red carpet before. Memories of childhood dreams of high fashion and jet-setting to Milan or New York for Fashion Week briefly reappeared before her mind’s eye only to be disrupted by the flashing of camera bulbs going off in her face.
 
“Prince Felix!”
 
“Over here, Your Royal Highness!”
 
“A quick word for

The Guardian

, Sir?” That voice was all too familiar. Marinette’s head whipped around to see Alya kitted out in her ‘knock-‘em-dead’ dress, holding out her phone toward them. Her best friend locked eyes with her and Alya’s jaw fell open.
 
The Prince sighed deeply. “Fine, for

The Guardian

, Miss-”
 
“Alya Cesaire,” her friend called out, elbowing her way to the front of the crowd of reporters loitering on the pavement. Neither shock nor outrage could keep that journalist from her scoop. “Who is with you tonight?”
 
To his credit, Felix tried to smile - though it looked like it was a bitter pill to swallow - and gestured towards her with his free hand. “This is Miss Dupain-Cheng. She is an acquaintance of mine who agreed to keep me company at this evening’s event.”
 
The crowd pressed forward, seeking new blood, and Marinette unconsciously shrank back against the Prince’s shoulder.
 
“Where are you from, Miss?”
 
“How do you spell your last name?”
 
“Whose gown are you wearing?”
 
That was when she experienced the next in the long line of surprises that evening.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” and Felix pronounced it slowly so they could suss out the spelling, “is a talented amateur designer. The dress is one of her own designs.”
 
The noise of the crowd swelled at that.
 
“Is Miss Dupain-Cheng your girlfriend, Your Highness?”
 
“Is that Princess Elaine’s wedding choker she’s wearing? Is this a sign of your engagement to Miss Dupain-Cheng?”
 
“Has the Queen set the date for the wedding yet?”
 
“Utter rot,” Felix grumbled under his breath. “Stay close.”
 
She felt him take a deep breath and, wrapping his arm around her shoulders protectively, he bellowed, “No speculation and no further comment!” He hustled her through the crowd and into the hotel, where, thankfully, security services were standing by to keep the journalists at bay.
 
Marinette was trembling. She had never been hounded like that in her entire life, not even when Chloe decided to follow her everywhere she went with that bullhorn screeching that she was a lowly baker girl who smelled like sourdough bread!
 
“Are you alright?" Felix asked, looking down at her, and Marinette thought there was genuine concern in his eyes.

“Nah! Can’t be! That’s just the nerves talking!”

Then she realized that she was still clinging to the deep blue velvet of his sleeve.
 
She stepped back hurriedly, releasing his coat, and pretended to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt.
 
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m fine. And you?”
 
He made a soft, scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve been running this gauntlet since I was ten. They don’t scare me anymore.”
 
“No wonder he called them gossip piranhas.”
 
“What? Who did?”
 
She froze. It had never been her intention to let the Prince know she was friends with his cousin.
 
“Nothing. Just something a friend of mine would call the paparazzi when they would go after a new target.”

“Well, your friend has the right of it.”
 
A moment passed between Marinette and Felix, then. Not a spark but not an awkward silence either. It was almost… companionable.
 
She peered into his piercing green eyes, wondering at the hidden depths there. The sounds of the crowded lobby faded away, the low murmurs of conversation becoming so much background noise.
 
Could there be more to Prince Felix than she'd originally thought?
 
"

Of course not."

Marinette scoffed at herself. "

He's a shallow, egotistical prat, nothing more."

Then he offered his arm to her, his golden brow raised in an expectant look.
 
"

Do you want to be with me or not?"

he seemed to be asking, and for once in their tumultuous relationship, Marinette found herself unsure.
 
His protection of her from the reporters made her see him in a new light, and Marinette wasn't sure if she liked that. 
 
Felix fit into a specific box in her head: cantankerous, prissy, annoying oaf. That he had a genuine human heart beating inside that princely ribcage threw her for a loop. 
 
She didn’t

want

him to leave his little box. He took up enough space in her head as it was.
 
“Are you going to keep standing there, admiring my pretty face,” Felix quipped, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile that was only handsome because it, too, was genuine, “or are you going to take the arm I’ve offered you? You’ve been staring for five minutes.”

“Oh, no.”

Marinette slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow, which he patted, his smile gentle and disarming.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Curse her predilection for green-eyed blondes!

The lid was off the box.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It turned out that a political reception involved a full, three-course meal. As her nerves had left her picking at her food for the last twenty-four hours, Marinette found herself starving, but she knew the Prince was watching her closely from the corner of his eye.  
 
So what if he had perfect table manners?  She had been Adrien’s friend since they were six years old and she was the only reason he had stuck with those long, dull lessons on etiquette and decorum, let alone study for them. She made sure to keep her back straight, head up, elbows tucked in, and took the smallest of bites, never talking with her mouth full or using the wrong fork.  
 
But, apparently, one of the things the tutor had failed to mention was that it was considered unusual for anyone to clean their plate at a high-society dinner. Just as she popped the last bite into her mouth, Prince Felix leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What? Finished so soon or are you going to squirrel away a roll in your purse for later?”
 
Marinette felt her cheeks flush under the criticism, but she refused to give him an inch. Not with him raising the lid off his box to take a dig at her like that.
 
She finished chewing, swallowed, and took a sip of water to give herself a moment to control herself. She glanced at him and smirked, giving the Prince a one-sided shrug.
 
“I’ve had better bread,” she murmured as casually as possible.
 
She couldn’t be sure without looking at him, but she thought his lips might have twitched.
 
One thing she hadn’t accounted for was dancing after dinner, which made all the blood drain from her face. Sure, Adrien had dragged her clumsy, teenage self to his dancing lessons, insisting that it would make her more graceful and it would be a good way to spend time together that his father couldn’t object to. She had learned all the steps taught to them, but she hadn’t used them since they had graduated and she had only ever danced with Adrien.
 
Would she make a fool of herself? Would she step on the Prince’s feet or make them bump into one of the other couples? He would never let her live it down!
 
Her anxieties led them to stand awkwardly on the sidelines as others danced, swishing her full skirt back and forth in time to the music  Finally, Prince Felix huffed and held out his hand to her as the string quintet started up a waltz.
 
“Dance with me,” he commanded, though his voice was soft.
 
“Why? So you can make fun of me again?”
 
“To make full payment, of course,” he murmured down at her, his eyes never leaving hers. “The second reason I invited you was to keep me from being latched onto by some conniving society girl and, at present, there are three such lampreys circling. Dance with me.”
 
Marinette sighed and rolled her eyes, placing her hand in his. “Fine. But don’t blame me if I step on your toes.”
 
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he murmured as he escorted her out onto the dance floor.
 
That was when the whispers started.  She could just barely hear the susurrus over the music. She felt like everyone was staring at her and, indeed, there were at least three young women who were glaring at her with various levels of anger or discontent.
 
Too busy watching those watching her, she really did step on the Prince’s foot, making her stumble and blush profusely. “Sorry,” she mumbled, refusing to look at him.
 
He chuckled under his breath. “What? You didn’t do it on purpose?”
 
“No! I’m just nervous. That’s all. There are a lot of people waiting around for me to make a fool of myself.”
 
Prince Felix snorted softly, raising their clasped hands and curling the other around to press against her shoulder blades before leading them off into the dance. “Well, I already think you’re a fool, so you have little to worry about. Just keep your eyes on me. I’ll lead you through it. You’re more worried about their opinions than mine?”
 
She glowered at him. “Why not?

You’re

more worried about their opinions than

mine

."
 
“That’s different,” he replied, pressing his fingers gently against her spine and guiding her closer to him. “You are in my employ and have made it very clear what you think of me. But them…” He swung her around and pointed with his chin towards the glittering crowd of politicos and hangers-on. “By next fall, I’m going to be their king. They have to see me in the best light at all times, otherwise, they will lose their trust in the government… the system… our history.”
 
He gave a soft sigh. “And even if they hate me, they could never tell me so. Protocol forbids it.” He looked down at her with a crooked smile. “Believe it or not, Miss Dupain-Cheng, your hostility has been a breath of fresh air. At least it is honest.”

For a moment, she felt a pang of pity for this man. To live his whole life surrounded by people who fawned over him in the hopes of currying favor had left him bitter and cynical. Is that why he was so nasty to others, in the hope of sparking some sort of unscripted, honest reaction?
 
“Do you want me to be honest with you, Your Royal Highness?" she asked, looking determinedly up into his sharp green eyes. 
 
His lips definitely twitched this time into a smirk. “Could I do anything to stop you?”
 
She grinned. “You could always try.”
 
“Go ahead. Be your brutally honest self.”
 She drew closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring his ears nearer to her lips so she could keep her voice low. His hands slid down to her waist, almost encircling it; she felt his long, slender fingers resting near her spine and shivered. The close position had nothing to do with feelings. She had something to say to him, and she was sure he wouldn’t like it being overheard. “I think I feel sorry for you.” 
He blinked, startled by her words. “What? Why?!”
 
“You live in a palace, you have wealth beyond measure, you have the world and all its wonder and beauty at your fingertips,, and yet you can find no joy in it.” He just stared at her in silence, so she continued. “Aside from your mother, do you care about anyone? Is there nothing you enjoy? Nothing you love? You stalk through life with a permanent chip on your shoulder and a thundercloud over your head. Why should someone as blessed as you not find contentment in something? Do some good in the world instead of just polishing the throne with your bum for the next fifty or sixty years.”
 
Prince Felix broke eye contact, staring into space over her head, his lips pressed into a grim line. “What makes you think I haven’t tried?”
 
Now it was her turn to be taken aback.  Was she really so blind that she couldn’t see past her own preconceived ideas of this man? 
 
True, he could be a pompous blowhard at times and seemed to take a perverse pleasure in belittling and demeaning her, but he had covered for her with his mother and presumably the doctor over his broken nose. He had tried to be nice in the limo on the ride over, bringing her the amazing necklace currently around her throat so she wouldn’t feel out of place. He had complimented her dress or tried to and he had protected her and got her safely into the hotel when she became overwhelmed by the paparazzi.
 
The least she could do in return was to keep him company. She scrambled for something, anything, to fill the silence.
 
"What do you think of poetry?"
 
Felix blinked at her again, his expression blank and stupid, if she said so herself. "Pardon?"
 
"Poetry," she repeated slowly and with emphasis on every syllable. "What do you think of it?"
 
He led them in a turn, his fingers flexing on her waist, and harrumphed. "On the whole, I find it dreadfully trite and dull. Poets think they can capture some grand truths; they're really just playing with pretty words."
 
Marinette stared at him, aghast. How could he not like poetry? She'd always known intellectually that there were people out there that hated poetry, but she'd never had the misfortune to meet one.
 
Until now.
 
"You're the dull one."
 
The Prince's eyes narrowed a fraction. It was almost like he was sizing her up, but he'd already done that, so she didn't understand the need.
 
"Say that again."
 
***
 
"Say that again."
 
Felix couldn't believe his ears. Here she was, telling him that she pitied him and then calling him dull? He hadn't expected any night with Miss Dupain-Cheng to go smoothly, but he'd figured that he would be the one doing the insulting.
 
It didn't help that she fit perfectly in his hands. She was so tiny, shielded from the onlookers by his tall, lean frame, and of course, she was ungrateful for his protection even then. 
 
"You," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, mussing up the gelled strands, "are the dull one, Prince."
 
Felix hated that the touch felt wonderful. He'd so rarely been caressed even as a child. One of his greatest secrets was how much he loved having his hair played with, even though he kept it slicked back and out of his eyes. Not that it happened except when he was having his hair cut, but it was a guilty pleasure nonetheless.
 
She was still stroking his neck, her warm fingers both making him melt and driving him absolutely batty. They were still making turns around the room with her following his lead, and wasn't he disgustingly proud of that?
 
His eyes fluttered closed. He tried to bring a displeased twist to his lips, but the petting felt so lovely that he just couldn't. She was surely messing up his hair to humiliate him, not playing with it to make him feel good, so he wasn't sure why he couldn't express his anger with Miss Dupain-Cheng.
 
Anger that he was sure he should feel but strangely didn't.
 
The petting stopped, and Felix opened his eyes to see Miss Dupain-Cheng staring up at him with what he could only describe as a breathless concern. Her lips – naturally red and beautiful even without makeup – were parted slightly and pink softly tinged her cheeks. 
 
"Are you alright," she started and his heart swelled to think that her concern was genuine, "Your Royal Highness?"
 
And there it was. She'd thrown his title into his face and had reminded him of the stark differences between them. 
 
His heart plummeted to his belly like a stone, splashing acid all over his throat. The back of his mouth burned with it.
 
He had to engage her in conversation about topics other than himself. "I'm fine," he insisted, bitterness leaking through his tone despite his best efforts. "Tell me why you like poetry so much."
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng brightened, her eyes glimmering with delight.
 
Delight that he'd caused, and it felt perverse. She wasn't supposed to respond to

anything

he said with happiness; that was against the natural order of things. 
 
"Alright," she murmured, her traitorous fingers finding the back of his neck again. "I'll try."
 
What was even weirder than her being happy in his presence was how her enjoyment made him feel. She was passionate about poetry, and it radiated out of her like a light in a darkened room. Her intelligence shone through her words, delighting and surprising him in turns.
 
As she stunned him with Shakespeare, wowed him with Walden, and
bowled him over with Blake,
opening his eyes to the wonders of the written word better than any schoolmarm ever could, the rest of the room faded away.
 
“Though that is a pity because most people know Blake for either his art or his poetry, but not both,” she gushed, dazzling him with her enjoyment of the topic. “I think my favorite of his has to be ‘Auguries of Innocence.’ Talk about epic! I think it could all be summed up in the first few lines:  
 
“‘To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.’”
 
She sighed. “How amazing would life be if we could just learn to see the world with those kinds of eyes!”
 
Felix drank her in like a man parched. His attention narrowed to the feel of her in his arms; the delicious scent of her in his nose; the sight of her bluebell eyes shedding light and color in a dark, dull world; the way her words spilled out of her as if she couldn't control the flow, a pleasant sound to his ears; and her tingling touch at the back of his neck. It left him wondering what she tasted like.
 
He filled his senses with

her, her, her–

"Miss Dupain-Cheng!" 
 
The American ambassador strode up to her in all his round-bellied glory, and as she stuttered to a stop in Felix's arms, he tripped and nearly bowled her over. 
 
Her grip on him tightened, her eyes flying open wide and terrified surely because he was going to fall on her. Had he done that? Had he scared her out of her reverie, interrupting the flow of her thoughts?
 
With her help, Felix recovered his footing and turned to glare at the man who'd so rudely stunned her into silence. "Mr Ambassador."
 
Reginald Fitzwilliam dipped into a customary bow. "Your Royal Highness!" His cheeks glowed cherry red with drink, explaining the impropriety of him laying a hand on Felix's shoulder. "Allow me to cut in, if you would. I want to speak to your delightful companion whose acquaintance I have already had the utmost pleasure of making."
 
Felix's eyes darted to Miss Dupain-Cheng's, seeking confirmation that she knew this boorish oaf and welcomed his attention. Absolutely stunning him, she tore herself out of his arms and offered bisous to the ambassador, who gladly returned them.
 
"Mr Ambassador!" she cried, her face the very picture of happiness. "It's so good to see you again!"
 
Putting aside the itchy question of how on earth Miss Dupain-Cheng could have possibly known the old goat, Felix felt a murderous urge rise up in him, obscuring his vision with red.
 
She'd kissed the ambassador! Her precious lips had touched the man's cheeks!

Felix

certainly hadn't earned a polite cheek kiss, even as much as he'd delighted her this evening.

Feli

x would have enjoyed a cheek kiss from her very much. But

Felix

wouldn't get one, and the knowledge of the lack and how she'd deprived him burned within him like the lamp that set fire to Rome.
 
Reginald continued on, oblivious or uncaring to his mounting irritation that was swiftly morphing into rage.
 
"You are quite the lucky man to have this lovely young lady accompanying you, Sir." Reginald looped a companionable arm around Miss Dupain-Cheng's shoulders and offered her a squeeze. Rather than looking distressed by the touch, Miss Dupain-Cheng patted his arm with a fond smile. 
 
If only she looked uncomfortable! Felix would have swooped in to rescue her in a heartbeat. Hauling off to punch the man would be utterly satisfying as well.
 
"You seemed quite enthralled, Your Royal Highness. She has quite the conversational tongue, doesn’t she?" Reginald praised. Miss Dupain-Cheng laughed with a beautiful sound that Felix jealously tucked away in his memories as one he hadn't caused but would treasure forever.
 
"I agree." If Felix hadn't heard her expound upon poetry so eloquently with his own two ears, he would be disinclined to believe the man. Still, he hated to admit that he was right. "She was in the middle of explaining her love for poetry to me. Something we'd very much like to get back to…"
 
Felix made a grab for her hand, but Reginald steered her away. "Nonsense; I simply

must

have a dance with her tonight. If that's alright with the fine lady in question?"
 
Both men zeroed in on Miss Dupain-Cheng's face, which pinked prettily. "Of course, Mr Ambassador. As you will."
 
Felix had no choice but to step aside and watch as

his

dance partner was swept away by a man old enough to be her grandfather. Felix couldn’t help the sneer that pulled at his lips. One dance. That was all he would allow. Then he would not let her leave his side for the rest of the evening.
 
Scowling in frustration, Felix made his way to the refreshment table, debating the extreme impropriety of overturning the champagne fountain in a fit of pique.  Grabbing a glass, he downed it in one go.
 
A rich alto voice chuckled behind him. “I never thought to see the Prince of Wales sulking over a chambermaid dancing with an old man with a handlebar mustache.”
 
He turned to see a bronze-skinned young woman with ombre hair in a well-fitted black velvet dress that outlined an hourglass figure. A pair of hazel eyes looked at him knowingly over the top of her glasses.
 
“Excuse me,” he said with bitter curiosity. “But have we met?”
 
“Not officially,” she said and held out a hand. “Alya Cesaire from

The Guardian

. You answered my question outside.”
 
“Ah,” he said in nearly a groan. “A journalist.” Then what she had said a moment before finally registered. He lowered his voice and held up his hand to hide his mouth from the rest of the room. “How - how did you know she was a chambermaid?”
 
“I have my ways. The question is why are you sulking over her dancing with the ambassador?”
 
“Princes do not sulk, Miss Cesaire. I was merely pondering.”
 
“And what were you pondering that was so frustrating that you were grinding your teeth?”
 
Felix huffed in annoyance. “I believe that is no one’s business but my own if you don’t mind.”
 
“Oh, you’re no fun. At least let me hazard a guess.” She crossed her arms, cocking her hips in a confident stance. “You were thinking it wasn’t fair that your little dance partner should choose to dance with a fat old man reeking of whiskey instead of your elegant self. That she seems to prefer his company to yours, even though you are her date.”
 
Felix felt a flush burn up his neck to his ears. “I don’t see how that is at all relevant.”
 
“Ah, but you didn’t say I was wrong, Mr Etcetera,” she quipped, the knowing grin spreading further across her face.  “Does the Prince have a crush?”
 
He scoffed and turned to watch Miss Dupain-Cheng and the fat, old geezer plod through the steps of the dance. “Ridiculous. Utter Nonsense.”
 
“Suit yourself, but don’t blame me when she slips away.”
 
***
 
“So, my dear, what brings you to London?” the ambassador asked in lightly accented French as he took her hand to lead her into another dance. “Is young Mister Agreste here with you or have you found a new light of love?”
 
Marinette giggled at the wriggle of his bushy eyebrows, even as his words pricked at her heart. “No and no, Mr Ambassador. You could say I owed His Royal Highness a favor and as for Adrien…”
 
She gave a one-sided shrug and the man chuckled lightly. “Ah, poor boy. Adrien always had a bit of bad luck. I can’t imagine him letting you go if he’d had a choice.”
 
She sighed. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way we hope, does it, Sir?”
 
“Pffft! Sir! You’ve been in the palace too long, Miss Marinette. I remember a time when you and Adrien called me Uncle Fitzwillie!”
 
“We were eight!”
 
“But it is not every eight-year-old who could fix the tear in my suit coat five minutes before the summit meeting, nor any young woman who would sneak into the Grand Palais to bring a doddering old man his favorite eclairs, now is it?”  
 
It was her turn to scoff. "You’re hardly doddering,

Uncle!

”
 
“Ah, but I am still old, am I not? I’ve earned that title honestly enough.” He cast a glance around the room, then surprised her by switching to Chinese.  “I hope you don’t mind, but there are quite a few listening ears who understand French and I wanted to have a word with you.”
 
She raised an eyebrow at him speculatively. “What about, Uncle?” she replied in kind.
 
“I saw the way the young lord was looking at you just now and how he responded when I took you away. You'll want to be careful, little one.”
 
Her eyes flicked around the room before settling back on his red face.
 
“Why do I need to be careful?”
 
“The Prince, for starters. He has never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month and all of them were set up by his mother. He is petty, capricious, and could ruin your future faster than you can blink," Uncle Reginald continued, oblivious to her growing horror. "And even if things work out between you, there is society to think about.”
 
Marinette breathed in wrong, choking and spluttering at what he was implying.
 
“But… I’m not… No way!” she gasped out, reverting to French in her shock. “He hates me!” Remembering the ambassador's words, she hurriedly switched back to Chinese. “And I have never met a more pompous, pig-headed jerk than him in my entire life! No way, Uncle! You’re way off-base on this one!”
 
The old man tutted and shook his head.
 
“Okay, okay. Truce!” He sighed and shot her a worried look. "You know your own heart best. But, even so, you still should be cautious when out with him. People will always have their eye on him and you too, from now on. He will be crowned next year, m’girl.  For the media, for the world, he is a free-for-all. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
 
Feeling Felix's eyes trained on her without seeing him, Marinette straightened her shoulders. She absolutely would not let him rule over her, her personally, even though he was heir apparent. She was French, not English, and no cruel, conniving cad could control her – or make her cower.
 
"Trust me, Uncle," Marinette declared, her fingers tightening on her old friend's. She set her jaw, incensed with the very thought of Felix interfering in her life. He wouldn't know what hit him! "

I'm

not the one you have to worry about."
 
***
 
"No, thank you," Felix insisted, for the fourth time that evening, but the high-society brat had thus far refused to leave him alone despite his objections. "I don't need a drink, a dance…"
 "...or a dunking in your perfume," he followed up mentally, wishing he could truly lay into the floozy with at least a verbal flogging. 
He'd been watching her, even though he didn't know her name. She'd flitted from date to date, moving up the ladder of importance throughout the night. 
 
Felix was only surprised she didn't approach him first, though he supposed he had Miss Dupain-Cheng to thank for keeping him safe from this woman's abhorrent advances up until now.
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng– wait. Where

was

Miss Dupain-Cheng? 
 
As he searched for his wayward companion, cursing himself for losing track of her, Miss Floozy positioned herself right in front of his face, giving him an eyeful of her low-cut bodice.  
 
“Oh, but Your Royal Highness,” she purred, dropping down to her heels once more and cocking her hip such that it bumped his. “You haven’t danced with anyone but that strumpet tonight. You

owe

the other women dances, don’t you think?”
 Her words relit the anger in his chest, churning like a cluster of asps eager to bite. Miss Dupain-Cheng had always been the model of modesty and decorum, in both dress and behavior - well, barring her little pranks, of course. Why, she had even reacted with maidenly modesty when she had caught him naked because of the frog. The fact that this harpy was claiming otherwise about a woman she had undoubtedly never met was cruel and impolite in the extreme. The fact that she was doing so about his woman was inexcusable. “I will dance with whom I desire to dance, Madam, and Miss Dupain-Cheng is the furthest thing from a strumpet in my experience,” he responded coldly. No one talked down to her except for him! The woman - he wouldn’t even think of her as a lady - smirked and raised an eyebrow at him ironically. “Well, then the Prince doesn’t have much experience with women. I could help with that.” In contrast to his pale blue companion with bluebell eyes, Miss Floozy was overwhelmingly red. Her dress was a bright scarlet, marking her as much as any Hawthorne letter would. Her lipstick was a pretentious blood-red color that had a grainy texture that Felix couldn’t ever imagine placing his mouth on. And her red stilettos and teased, obviously dyed, crimson hair made the normally shorter woman seem larger than life. He supposed she had been going for sultry at best or imposing at worst, but instead caused him to believe a puff of air would overbalance her. 
The woman was wider than he was, with a heaving bosom clad in a decolletage that put her on full display. Her cloying, musky perfume tickled his nose, making him want to both sneeze and rear back. Sequins struck a garish pattern on her shoulders, catching the light and glittering almost as maliciously as her heavily made-up eyes. 
 Rolling his eyes, Felix decided to ignore her, leaning to one side to peer around her hair at the crowd for a head of inky tresses and delicate collarbones.  
But Miss Floozy was not to be taken so lightly. She pressed herself up against his chest, splaying her fingers across his shoulder. Shocked out of his search, Felix blinked at her and tried to regain his footing before she toppled them both over.
 
“My prince,” she murmured, her smoky eyes assessing him like a prized fish she’d reeled in, “you

do

want to dance with me, don’t you?”
 
Her perfume was nauseating at this range. It made his nose burn and his vision swim. Disgust rolled off of him in waves, but even as much as he wanted to express his displeasure in the harshest words possible, his voice dried up in his throat.
 
Felix froze, at her mercy, unable to squirm out of her grip or push her away. He was not only bound by the laws of society to not strike a woman, but his station dictated that unless given a valid excuse, he was expected to accommodate her. 
 
As she traced little circles on his shoulder, Miss Floozy’s other hand came up to cup his cheek. Icy sweat trickled down his back, pooling at the base of his spine. 
 
“That’s better,” she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Now–”
 
“Unhand him.” 
 
The animalistic snarl scared Felix out of his wits at first, but when he saw to whom the voice belonged, he drew a deep, relieved breath – that got him a noseful of sick-making perfume.
 The woman turned to face Miss Dupain-Cheng’s spitfire glare. Her red, red lips twisted in a moue of distaste as if she’d bitten into a lemon and spat it out at her feet. “I beg your pardon?”  
Miss Dupain-Cheng drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much. But she may as well have been ten feet tall to Felix with how imposing her stare was. He had no idea why Miss Floozy wasn’t running in fright with her skirt hitched up; if he weren’t frozen and were facing down Miss Dupain-Cheng himself, he’d beat a hasty retreat.
 
“Good,” Miss Dupain-Cheng growled, stalking up to his side and taking his arm. “As it should be.” 
 
That she copied him only endeared her to him further, though Felix didn’t have time to react to that. Miss Floozy wrapped her fingers tightly around his other arm and tugged. 
 
“Again, who are

you

to think you can take him from me?” she hissed, her nails digging into his inner elbow. “The Prince owes me a dance.”
 
Felix finally found his voice, though when it came out of his mouth, it was a broken, feeble thing. “Ladies, please–”
 “I,” Miss Dupain-Cheng declared in a low, guttural voice that made Felix’s hair stand on end, “am his date and he owes you nothing.” 
Miss Floozy’s lips twisted down again, but she released his arm. Felix barely had time to breathe before she leaned into his face again to whisper, “I recommend leashing your pet, Your Royal Highness. Who knows the damage she could cause to your reputation.”
 “I assure you, Madam,” Felix said coldly, Miss Dupain-Cheng’s gentle touch on his arm giving him renewed strength, “that she would sully my reputation far less than you would.” 
Eyes widening with hurt and surprise, Miss Floozy gasped. She turned away from him – yes, hitching up her skirt – and threw a scowl at the pair over her shoulder as she left. “Fine. You don’t know what you’re missing,

Sir.”

“Thankfully,” Miss Dupain-Cheng murmured as the woman took her undignified leave, “he won’t have to find out.”

Felix stared at the she-wolf in awe. He’d always known she had a temper, though he never imagined she would come to his defense with it. 
 
He’d embrace her if she would let him.
 
Letting loose a gusty sigh, Felix turned to Miss Dupain-Cheng in an effort to clear his nose of the woman’s awful odor and replace it with his companion’s fresh, clean scent. 
 
As Miss Dupain-Cheng smiled tentatively up at him, the room exploded into motion. The collectively held breath released, and all around them, the gossip mill churned.
 
Felix caught snippets of condemnation for Miss Floozy – whom he found out was named Olivia Connor, though that wasn’t important – saying that she had done everything deplorable under the sun and then discovered a few new ones.
 
Reginald waddled over to them, slapping a hand down on his shoulder. Felix flinched under the touch, unable to escape the man’s familiarity or his booming voice. “Your Royal Highness,” Reginald exclaimed in abject horror, “please allow me to apologize for my guest! I see Miss Dupain-Cheng has chastised her on my behalf.”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng shrank at his side, the she-wolf turning into a puppy once more. Being engaged by Reginald, Felix couldn’t spare her more than a glance, and what he saw of her lowered gaze and shamefaced expression disappointed him.
 
Did she regret swooping in to rescue him? What had happened to the fire that had been Miss Dupain-Cheng?
 
Felix turned back to Reginald, shrugging the man off. “You have nothing to worry about, Mr Ambassador. I am well aware that party hosts are rarely the cause of their guests’ actions.”
 
“Still,” Reginald groveled, and Felix felt nausea bubble up from his stomach in the form of an acid burp. Would this be what it was like when he was king? People scraping their knees bloody to pay him deference? “Please accept my most sincere apologies, Sir.”
 
“Your apology is accepted,” Felix tossed out, if only to get the man to stop bathing him in the proper respect. 
 
“Sir,” Miss Dupain-Cheng whispered at his side, tugging lightly on his sleeve. Felix whipped his head down to peer at her, alarmed at how broken she sounded. She swayed on her feet and he hurriedly guided her to the nearest chair.  “Can we…” Her gaze flicked to the doors and then back to him, at which point Felix caught her meaning.
 
The fact that she needed him galvanized him into action. “Mr Ambassador,” Felix said, with a bob of his head in lieu of a bow, “please excuse me. My companion and I must retire for the evening; it has been rather tumultuous, as you are well aware, and I need some fresh air to enliven my spirits.”
 
“Of course, of course,” the ambassador intoned, his ruddy face paling with the gravity of the situation. Then he leaned toward Felix, whispering with pungent alcohol on his breath, “And do take care of the young lady. Her face is white enough to make me believe she’s likely to faint.”
 
Felix turned his head to look at her so quickly, heat bloomed in his neck from the pulled muscle. Miss Dupain-Cheng’s face was, indeed, sheet-white, which made klaxons sound in Felix’s head.
 
He knelt before her to the gasps of his onlookers, taking her hands in his. “Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he murmured for her ears only, peering into her beautiful blue eyes. “Are you quite alright?”
 
“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled, peering down at him with a fluttering of her long lashes. “Let’s just go.”
 Felix stood immediately, placing a protective arm around her shoulders and sweeping from the room. He burst through the double doors, taking care to shield her from the flashing camera bulbs. Catching a glimpse of an obviously concerned Miss Cesaire on the way out, Felix jerked the door of his waiting limo open and ushered Miss Dupain-Cheng inside. 
“Your Royal Highness–” a reporter cut in, trying valiantly to get his attention.
 
“No comment!”
 
***
 
Marinette was trembling. One minute Uncle Fitzwillie had been warning her about being seen with the prince, how he could ruin her future by being capricious, and then next she was staring down the scariest, most overly sexualized woman she had ever seen. She had happened to glance across the room and saw that vile hussy all but sexually assaulting Prince Felix.
 
She had grinned, waiting for him to let loose a flood of verbal put-downs that would send the floozy running away in tears.
 
But the prince just stood there, frozen with a look that spoke more of nausea than desire. His normally pale face was even turning vaguely green.
 
Maybe it was her years of being bullied by Chloe and her cliquish friends, but Marinette had seen red. She couldn’t stand anyone being bullied, even another bully.
 
But as soon as the confrontation was over, she felt all the strength drain away, leaving her weak and anxious. The ambassador making such a big deal about it, bowing and scraping over the prince’s state made everything ten times worse.  
 
She had made a fool of herself! The prince was more than capable of taking care of himself – as he constantly reminded her – but even if he hadn’t been, she was certainly in no position to barge in as she had.  
 
She had offended him. No doubt about it. 
 
And now her name was going to be attached to this incident and she’ll be in the papers and on the news sites and her dream of being Royal Wardrobe Mistress would go up in a puff of smoke. She was a scandal and if there was one thing the Royals would never tolerate, it was a scandal!
 
Suddenly, a warm velvet coat was draped around her shoulders.
 
Marinette glanced up to see Prince Felix looking at her with concern. 
 
The streetlights outside the tinted windows flashed, shadowing his features. She couldn’t tell if he hated her or not – but of course, he did!
 
“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone soft and gentle, belying the storm in his eyes. 
 
She nodded, feeling her cheeks burn under his scrutiny. She had just proved herself to be a common nuisance. A peasant, beneath his notice and just as insignificant as he had claimed her to be. She sniffled and turned her head away to hide her eyes.
 
Abruptly, she found a handkerchief thrust under her nose. She glanced back at him in shock; though his expression was unreadable, the lines of his body were stiff, with condemnation singing in his tight, outstretched fist clenched around the embroidered cloth.
 
“Here,” he said gruffly, looking very much like even the offer of comfort pained him.
 
She grabbed the handkerchief and blotted her eyes hurriedly.

“Isn’t it bad enough I made a fool of myself in front of all those high-society people without him having to rub it in?

” she thought, her anxiety starting to give way to the brewing irritation once more.
 
“Thanks,” she muttered, unable to help the slightly bitter tone in her voice. “Sorry for ruining your evening.”
 
Felix’s grass-green eyes blew wide. “W-What?” he stammered, which she thought was rather uncharacteristic of him, but she’d been surprised before. “What are you

talking

about?”
 
Before she could answer, Felix’s lips twisted into the deep, abiding scowl she’d recognize on him from fifty feet away. Her thoughts drifted to whether he’d have the wrong wrinkles – no smile lines, just a furrowing of the brow – when he grew older, but that was before he exploded on her.
 
“

You

didn’t ruin my evening. It was that harridan!” Felix threw his hands in the cramped space above his head in the limo, his fingers brushing the roof. He looked entirely too exasperated for Marinette, and despite his words, his tone screamed that she was at fault. “I should be thanking you! Certainly not blaming you!”
 
She was about to snap back at him when she caught sight of a blood-red smear of lipstick on his temple. Her lips twitched at the way it streaked the hair in front of his ear and she fought to smother a giggle.
 
His eyes snapped back onto her face. “And precisely what is so funny about me being … being…

woman-handled

in such a distasteful and undignified fashion in front of so many witnesses?”
 
Marinette let the smile out and shook her head.  “You’ve got a little something.  Right there.” She gestured at her temple.
 
Raising an eyebrow at her as if trying to find the trick, Prince Felix rubbed at his cheek and then looked at his fingers.
 
She shook her head. “No, right there.” She pointed again, but he missed it again.
 
Rolling her eyes, Marinette slid over on the seat and gently took his chin in her hand. “Sometimes, Your Royal Highness, I'm not sure what you would do without me.” 
 
Turning his head, she used his handkerchief to wipe the lipstick off his temple and out of his hair.
 
Felix's eyes fluttered closed. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and opened them again to look at her, his eyes shining with… what was it? Pity? Concern? Certainly not gratitude.
 
"Thank you," he murmured, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear with a featherlight touch, "for saving me. You were remarkable."
 
Why was she still trembling? Why did his eyes seem to be asking her something? Why was he suddenly being so… soft with her?
 
She cast her gaze to her lap. “I didn’t do much. Really.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, afraid if she said anything else she would just make it worse.
 
"You're kidding, right?" Just as she'd done to him, Felix placed his fingers on her chin and gently guided her gaze up to meet his. He was staring at her with wonder as if she really had been immortalized in marble and he was doing the unveiling. "When she… touched me, I froze. I couldn't do

anything

to protect myself. And then you come barreling in like a battle-axe–"
 
"Battle-axe?"
 
"Let me finish." He harrumphed, scooting closer. He was so close, she could smell the faint hints of champagne on his breath. "My

point

is, I was useless. And you… were not.

I

am in

your

debt now."
 
“But I made a scene in public!  The very thing you were trying to avoid!”
 
"Better a scandal," Felix whispered bitterly, dredging up years' worth of hidden baggage, "than being treated like that."  The tone in his voice felt like it dropped an ice cube into her stomach.
 
“Are you okay?" she asked, glancing up at his face, her concern growing deeper.
 
Prince Felix sighed and, in an uncharacteristic gesture, ran his hand through his gelled hair.  “I have to be.  I’m the Prince.”
 
Not knowing what else to do, Marinette placed her hand on his forearm in the hope that she could offer him some small comfort.  “But… isn’t the Prince a person too?”
 
Felix dragged his eyes to her, an action that appeared to take immense effort. It was as if he'd been dunked underwater, and was having difficulty moving his head. 
 
Then his mouth quirked up in the softest smile she'd ever seen, on him or anyone. 
 
"Yeah."
 
“Then it's okay not to be okay.”
 
Felix sucked a quiet breath over his teeth. When he next spoke, his voice was gentle, tinged with wonder, and low enough to make her knees weak.
 
"You are…" he started, his fingers hovering over her cheek as if she was some priceless treasure he was afraid to touch. "... The only person who's ever said that to me." He swallowed hard, and she watched, fascinated, as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Do you mean it?"
 
She took a deep breath, wondering if what she was about to say would shatter this strange alternate reality they seemed to have fallen into. But no. Beneath all the arrogance, the snobbery, the imperiousness, the titles, and expectations was a man who just needed to be told things were going to be fine, that he was fine just the way he was. No matter what he had said or done to her, she couldn’t find it in herself to not respond to the longing in his voice.
 
“Yes, Felix,” she murmured, blue eyes staring into green. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to let others dictate what you should want or what you don’t. You can say no when something bothers you. You can find time to be yourself and that is okay.”
 
Tears sheened in his eyes, though if she pointed that out, he would no doubt deny them.
 
"Miss Dupain-Cheng, I –"
 
"We're here, Sir," the speaker crackled to life, breaking the bubble they'd wrapped themselves up in like so much safety glass. 
 
Felix jerked away from her, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. As he adjusted his bowtie, Marinette watched him transform from a soft, vulnerable man into the cocksure Crown Prince she knew.
 
"Thank you," Felix said, staring straight ahead. It was as if he couldn't bear to look at her while thanking her; that would be a blow to his pride he just couldn't take. "For repaying your debt."
 
His response was like a slap in the face, worse for being unexpected this time.

“What?  But I-”
 
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Dupain-Cheng." The limo pulled to a stop and he opened the door, exiting with haste. “Take her wherever she needs to go.”
 
As the door closed, Marinette frowned in confusion.
 
If she didn't know him better, she'd think he was running.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The summer sun shone brightly, the sky was a picturesque blue, and Felix was stuck inside, listening to Queen Amelie's – and soon to be his – council droning on about initiatives to fight global warming.

The councilor presented reams of scientific evidence that this was a good and valued initiative that would only require increasing taxes a smidge, just a trifle, really –

Felix knew in his heart of hearts that this was a good thing. That he should care about climate change and do everything in his considerable power to help combat it.

But he couldn't bring himself to focus on the councilor's words, instead finding himself drawn to the tempting clouds drifting outside the hall's windows.

Cradling his cheek in his hand as he sat next to Amelie, Felix couldn't help but sigh, drawing the Queen Regent's attention. She offered him a knowing smile, and then, turning to the counselor, clapped her hands.

"Gentlemen," she intoned regally, as she did all things. "I do believe it is time for an intermission. I suggest we reconvene at a later time, say, in an hour?"

The day suddenly seemed so much brighter. Throwing a grateful smile to his mother, Felix slipped from his seat and made a beeline for the door.

He was just about to round the corner to the sumptuous main foyer with its inlaid tile pattern when he heard a very familiar voice.

“I know, Als.” Felix heard Miss Dupain-Cheng sigh and skittered to a stop before he was spotted. He ducked behind the nearby corner and peeked out at her. She held her phone to her face in a video chat while wearing her stupid frilly maid’s outfit. No cherry blossom tights in sight, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or perturbed. “We just have to find the right one.”

“

The right what?

” Curiosity ate at him; whatever she was talking about with this mysterious ‘Als’ – Her roommate? A man? Or just someone she knew? They sounded close – destroyed his normal resistance to eavesdropping on private conversations.

“I know,” Als said on the other end of the line as Felix ducked back out of sight. “Have you considered Mayhew in the Trenmar Gardens?”

Als’s voice was a woman’s, which reassured Felix more than he cared to admit.

It’s not that he wanted Miss Dupain-Cheng to have

no

relationships with men other than him. He just didn’t want her to enter A Relationship with one.

“Yeah,” Miss Dupain-Cheng said, and she sounded so wistful, Felix leaned his head out from behind the corner to watch her again. He couldn’t help it; Miss Dupain-Cheng was a creature of exquisite emotions, and whatever was affecting her so affected him in that he’d have to listen to her complain about it, he was sure. “I’ve considered Mayhew. We can’t afford a rescue group, so a shelter will have to do.”

“A shelter?”

Alarm bells blared in Felix’s head. Was Miss Dupain-Cheng in trouble? Was she trying to find a place to live?

He wouldn’t stand for that. If she

was

in trouble, surely there was something he could do to help!

Her needing a shelter felt wrong, though. Felix had figured she was more resourceful than that.

“Maybe I overestimated her. Still, she’s not paid much as a servant and London is expensive.”

“Sure, M,” Als said, and Felix’s attention was piqued. M? Was that a hint to her name? Did it start with M or was that a nickname? He burned at the fact that she’d refused to tell him her name, but he would get it from her somehow, by hook or by crook! “We can get a shelter cat.”

“

A cat?

” Felix thought, furrowing his brow.

“Is that what this is about?”

Miss Dupain-Cheng wasn’t in trouble after all, and that was all to the good. Still, Felix felt… oddly disappointed that he didn’t have a chance to swoop in and rescue her like she’d done for him at the reception.

It had left him feeling unbalanced ever since. He had never owed anyone. Owing her for such a personal thing was uncomfortable and to be cleared as soon as possible.

But even if he did get her a cat, it wouldn’t clear him. He’d have to do it in secret, as she would never expect nor accept such a gift from him.

Nor should she. Him giving her gifts was against the natural order of things.

No. Better to do this… quietly.

***

“Mari,” Alya said at breakfast, hauling a box wrapped in gauche Christmas paper inside. It was July; Christmas wasn’t for another five months, so this was a surprise, indeed. Or a prank. “It’s not your birthday, is it?”

Marinette blinked, confused.  This was Alya and Alya never forgot details.

“You know my birthday isn’t until October,” she answered shrewdly. “Did you overcompensate for me paying for takeout last week?”

“Girl, if I could spoil you, you know I would,” her friend replied with a smile. “You totally deserve it, but this isn’t my doing. I just found it on the steps outside.”

She placed the large box in Marinette’s lap.

“And you’re sure this isn’t from Nino?”

Alya’s smile softened fondly. “You know my guy. Starving artist and all that, at least until he gets a full-time gig at a club. Besides, my name isn’t ‘Ms Dupain-Cheng.’ See?  It says so on the label.”

Sure enough, the preprinted stick-on label had her name on it. Where could it have come from? There was no shipping label or return address, no barcode for tracking, or any other identifying marks. Who could have left this for her?

“Open it before I die of curiosity,” Alya urged.

Giving in to her own curiosity, Marinette tore off the paper. The box underneath was a little worse for wear and had a few holes in the side.

Then, the most unexpected thing happened.

Something inside the box moved.

Her eyes snapped to her best friend’s, both wide with surprise. Setting the box carefully on their tiny table, Marinette just as carefully cut the string securing the flaps of the box shut. She winced nervously as she opened the top.

Inside, curled up on a towel, was a small, positively adorable kitten. Black as soot with peridot eyes, it blinked and stretched its tiny paws toward her.

“Oh, it’s precious,” Alya cooed, leaning over her shoulder and peering at their tiny guest. "But who else knows you wanted a cat, M?”

“Papa, maybe some of the kitchen staff at work; I don’t know,” Marinette said softly, unhooking the needle-like claws of the kitten from its towel so she could pick it up. She peeked between its legs. “Hey, little guy! Where did you come from, hmm?”

The kitten leaned into her face to sniff her nose before rubbing his head against her chin. A raspy little purr rumbled out of his throat, his brilliant eyes closed in instant bliss.

“Aww, it seems he knows who his mommy is, don’t you little guy?” Alya said, stroking a finger along the cat’s back. “What are you going to name him?”

“Name him?" Marinette asked, surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be more concerned about where he came from?  Journalistic incredulity or whatever we normal people call being nosy?”

Alya gave an exaggerated eye roll, hands going to her generous hips. “Look, girl, either you have a fairy godmother, a good friend in the palace, or a secret admirer, but whichever one it is, they made your wish come true. Now you have someone soft, sweet, and snuggly to come home to!”

Her eyes danced with mischief and Marinette would have shoved her in the shoulder had it not been for her little burden. “Als, you know it isn’t like that. I don’t have anyone like that in my life, not since Adrien. I’m too busy trying to focus on keeping one step ahead of Prince Felix to have time for dating.”

Her friend’s smile slipped into a knowing grin. “Oh, and what about that reception last weekend? That sure looked like a date to me.”

Marinette sighed in exasperation. “For the thousandth time, he had me cornered, Alya! I tried everything I could to get him to change his mind, but the man is as stubborn as a mule.”

Alya snorted. “Good looking mule,” she muttered and Marinette scowled at her. “I don’t know what goes on between you two inside the palace, but from what I saw last Saturday, you two certainly have chemistry.”

“Seriously, Alya? The only chemistry we’re likely to have is the kind that blows things up!”

Her friend rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Ooh, the best kind! It would be the most delicious scoop! Just make sure the explosion happens in public, ‘kay? That way I can write about it?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Glad to see my constant source of frustration at work is keeping someone amused.”

Alya’s teasing expression softened into one of worry. “What’s really bothering you, M? I thought you said things were better after Saturday?”

Marinette sighed, relaxing as the kitten continued rubbing her cheek. “I thought so too. The pranks have stopped and so have the nasty comments, for the most part, but now he just stares at me. Scowling, really! And the ride home was so weird, like he was angry at me, but was trying not to be and then he went all soft and open and…”

She shook her head, earning her a pitiful mew from her new friend.

Alya placed a hand on her shoulder. “We both know you have a thing about guys being vulnerable.”

“Yeah, but this - hey! Now wait a minute! I never said-”

“N-n-n-now wait just a second! I just thought of the perfect name for our little man here,” Alya said, waving her hands to ward Marinette off the warpath. “Why don’t you name him 'Prince Felix'?”

That brought her up short. "You have to be joking." She fixed her friend with a thousand-yard stare. "I can't name our sweet little cat after my tormentor!"

"But that's the beauty, M." Alya's grin was almost scarily amused. Her eyes sparkled above her glasses, and Marinette knew she was done for. "You can tell him 'no' and spray him with water when he misbehaves."

Marinette snorted. The kitten in her lap started in surprise, flexing his claws. "I'm starting to see the appeal."

"And you can gossip about him too." Alya's lips twisted in a vicious smirk. "'Prince Felix peed on my clothes this morning. That'll teach me to leave my tights on the floor.'"

Marinette dissolved into helpless, ugly laughter. She laughed so long and hard, 'Prince Felix' bounced off her lap and began padding around their apartment, sniffing things and generally exploring the place he now owned.

Eventually, Marinette's explosive reaction petered off. She wiped a tear from her eye, her cheeks aching from smiling too much.

"Oh," she murmured, peering at her present with a devilish smile. "This is going to be

fun.

"

***

Amelie sat at the antique desk in her office reviewing the paperwork for the next day’s meetings. It was a massive thing, more like an elaborately carved coffin than a desk, but that had been the fashion when Queen Victoria had commissioned it. The nice thing about it was the sheer number of little secret compartments and hidden pigeon holes. Amelie was not the first Monarch to need such places to hide her secrets.

She finally signed off on the last document and sighed in relief.  It had been a long day and she was looking forward to a hot bath and a good book before bed when a knock sounded at her door.

“Come,” she called, putting the papers in her out-going box and her various minutiae away.

In came Arthur Wemberley, Felix’s valet, with all the stealth of the the professional butler who made it his business to know when to not be seen or heard.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he murmured, bowing deeply before her desk.

“Good evening, Wemberley. Anything interesting to report?”

The man smiled fondly. “Prince Felix procured Miss Dupain-Cheng a kitten, Your Majesty.”

She blinked in surprise, but otherwise didn’t change her facial expression.  “A kitten.”

“Indeed, Marm. I hand-delivered the kitten myself. It is my opinion that he is doing this due to his desire to clear himself of Miss Dupain-Cheng’s debt after the incident with Olivia Connor at the reception for the ambassador.”

Amelie rubbed the bridge of her nose in weary frustration. “Please, don’t remind me. That little excrescence has actually filed a lawsuit against Felix, the conniving little-”

“I believe that the matter is already well in hand with Your Majesty’s legal department,” Wemberly interrupted smoothly. “It seems Prince Felix wanted to give the young maid a token of his appreciation for rescuing him from Connor’s clutches.”

It sounded like he cleared his throat, but Amelie had known him for long enough to know he was using it to hide a chuckle. “From what I’ve heard, Miss Dupain-Cheng told the woman off quite smartly, though the Prince’s driver informed me that the young lady nearly fainted on their way out to the car.”

“Hmmm, yes. Strong when needed and breaks down later. A decent response to stress for such a young woman. And Felix?”

Wemberley’s smile widened. “It seems our young Prince is falling into infatuation even faster than you anticipated, Marm.  He has started muttering to himself and her name comes up fairly often.”

Amelie smiled.  “Good. It’s about time. Keep an eye on the pair of them, Wemberley. I promised HIs Majesty I would do everything I could to help Felix be a good king. He needs someone to support him against the world and everything it can throw at him.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You have chosen well. Miss Dupain-Cheng has a good head on her shoulders and all the staff speak well of her.”

“Keep me informed then,” Amelie said, her tone and a nod all she needed to let the man know he was dismissed. Wemberley bowed once more and left as silently as he had come.

Amelie sighed in satisfaction. She may be the Queen Regent, but she was a mother first and if she wasn’t above plotting for the welfare of her people, then she was certainly able to scheme for her son’s future happiness.

And if she had fun in the meantime… well, that was no one’s business but her own.

***

"And did you hear?" Felix heard the maid furtively whisper as he rounded the corner to his suite at Buckingham Palace. She was down the hall, so he ducked behind a curtain so as not to be seen. "Prince Felix sharpened his claws on her duvet just this morning!"

Felix was stunned stupid. "

Are they… gossiping about me?

" He was no stranger to gossip, especially from servants, but it still stung every time he was made aware of its presence.

"Is that a euphemism?"

'Sharpening his claws' could imply that he'd given someone who deserved it a dressing-down. But on a woman's duvet? He certainly hadn't been inside

any

bedroom belonging to the gentler sex recently. Or ever, truth be told.

Well, except his mother’s. Felix wouldn’t be caught dead in a woman’s bedroom other than hers.

Imagine the scandal! He shook himself free of such distasteful thoughts.

"He's a twit, isn't he?" a man's voice followed. The maid responded with a giggle, and Felix leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

"Little Prince Felix tries to rule the roost," the maid replied, "but he doesn't realize how little power he actually has."

He'd heard enough. His eyes snapping open, Felix swept back the curtain and stalked toward the pair of servants. "Don't you have anything better to do than to fill the air with vile filth?"

The maid jumped. She almost dropped the tray she was holding; the odor of silver polish bathed the air. "We're sorry, Your Royal Highness!" She squeaked. "We'll get back to work right away!"

"Right away, Your Royal Highness," the butler cried, and scrambled away to do whatever it was that servants did.

On the way to his suite, Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. Pain from a tension headache was blooming, and Felix felt as if a tight band had cinched around his temples.

Once he reached his sitting room, Felix turned the lights off, closed the curtains, and collapsed into his favorite chair. It was a particularly ugly, particularly green chair bequeathed to him by his father that his mother had always hated.

Felix liked it because it was comfortable, that was all.

Not that he needed comfort.

Felix massaged his forehead, replaying the servants' words in his head and valiantly trying not to.

"'A twit,' he’d said,"

Felix thought sourly, pursing his lips.

"Balderdash."

He sat in the dark feeling sorry for himself until the door cracked open, spilling light and life into the room.

"Your Royal Highness?" the sweetest voice he'd ever heard called. Miss Dupain-Cheng stepped into the sitting room, bearing a tray with his evening tea service. "Are you here?"

"I'm here."

Pained as he was, Felix couldn't keep the growl from his tone. As expected, she jumped. Unexpectedly, the fact that he'd scared her wasn't in the least bit satisfying.

She reoriented herself to his position and crossed to him. In the dim light from the door, he could tell that an expression of worry marred her delicate features.

"Are you alright, Sir?" she asked, setting the tray with tea and biscuits down on the coffee table near his chair. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Headache." Felix had fully intended to ground that out over clenched teeth, but his voice betrayed him with a whimper. He desperately tried to salvage the situation with a scowl at the impudent woman who had interrupted his sulk… no,

pondering.

"What are you doing here, Miss Dupain-Cheng?"

She gestured to the tea service with a dismissive hand. From her cocked hip, Felix had a distinct impression that she would have screamed, "

Isn't that obvious

?" if propriety hadn't prevented her from yelling at the Crown Prince.

"I'm here to ensure that you eat something, Sir." She slanted him a knowing glance. "Your mother has noticed you've lost weight. Is there something on your mind?"

Was there something on his mind?

Aside from the constant backbiting of servants, his coronation was in less than a year. Olivia Connor had filed a lawsuit, saying he'd slandered her at the reception, leaving the lawyers for the Crown to scurry around trying to silence the brat. He thought he’d spotted her at the dedication ceremony this morning, but it could have been another woman with dyed red hair.

And he couldn't focus on any of his responsibilities, instead choosing to moon over how he'd rather be anywhere but in the council hall whenever he was forced to sit in on initiatives.

Lunch had been a passing fancy for a while. With his stomach always in knots, eating had been so far from his mind, he may as well have never had the thought.

Was there something on his mind?

"No," he declared. "Nothing."

Miss Dupain-Cheng hummed and turned to the tray. She poured him a cup of tea and pressed it into his hands despite his objections. Then she stood in front of him, waiting for… what?

As if reading his mind, Miss Dupain-Cheng opened her pretty mouth. "I'm here if you want to talk, Felix."

The use of his name struck him dumb. He'd almost forgotten that he'd commanded her to use it, and in doing so, had inadvertently given her a weapon to soften his heart.

He hated that it worked.

Vision swimming from the headache – because that's

certainly

the only reason his vision would be swimming – Felix scowled down at his teacup.

Deciding he had nothing to lose – their pranks hadn't included poisoned foods, after all – he took an experimental sip.

Ginger and cloves burst on his tongue. The tea was not his usual Earl Grey with extra bergamot, but a heavily spiced chai with milk.

"Who told you that you could mess with my tea?" He leveled his best glare at the likely culprit. As he expected, she did not flinch. "This isn't my normal tea!"

Rather than scurrying away like a frightened dormouse, Miss Dupain-Cheng lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "You haven't touched your 'normal tea' in weeks. I thought you might be bored of it and a change might help."

Instead of yelling at her as he should, Felix took another sip, cradling the warm cup in both his hands. The drink was earthy, with a tantalizing flavor profile. It warmed him from the inside out and soothed his headache the slightest bit.

The novelty was nice, but he'd never admit she was right.

Miss Dupain-Cheng just stood there, patiently attending to him. She didn’t want anything from him – in fact, she

actively

didn’t want anything from him – and he realized with a start that splashed his tea that she was the only one who didn’t.

All she wanted was… Well, what

did

she want?

Felix had no idea. Out of all the times he’d thought of her, they were largely negative, and never before had he considered her a person with her own wants and dreams outside of service to the monarchy.

And to him.

The thought that she could have a life outside his own – one that now included the kitten he’d gotten her – was unnerving.

And yet, here she was, in front of him, willing and able to just… let him talk.

Felix polished off his tea and reached for a biscuit on the tray she held. She raised it to him for easier access, and he plucked one of the small cookies off the silver surface, intending to nibble on it while she refilled his cup with more of that wonderful tea.

As he bit down on the biscuit, a startingly delicious almond-pistachio flavor flooded his mouth. The texture was satisfyingly crunchy with a wonderful mouthfeel. Felix let the hard pieces melt on his tongue and was rewarded with a subtle hint of vanilla.

“Mmm,” he moaned involuntarily, finishing off this cookie and reaching for another one, which Miss Dupain-Cheng facilitated.

Weirdly enough, Miss Dupain-Cheng looked pleased as punch – or, well, as much as he could tell in the dark with only the light from the other room illuminating her from the back.

His head pounded as he peered into her eyes, trying to discern the color. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten so quickly.

“Do you like it?” she asked, and she seemed not to be searching for validation so much as a confirmation.

“Do I like it?” Felix mumbled around a mouthful of cookies. He crammed the second one down his gullet and reached for a third. “I do. I do very much.”

Miss Dupain-Cheng

preened,

and Felix had no idea why. “I thought you might.”

Felix took a more sedate bite of the third cookie. She was hiding something, and he didn’t like it. “Where did you buy them?”

“I didn’t,” she said, and that made no sense at all until she followed up with, “I made them.”

Felix’s jaw dropped, spilling biscuit crumbs on his ascot. “What? Really?”

Miss Dupain-Cheng tossed her head. “My parents are bakers, and they taught me everything they know.”

There it was again. The fact that she had parents, friends, an entire life outside of him, and her service to him.

He shifted, uncomfortable in his seat as he never had been before, and downed the third biscuit as well as a bracing cup of tea. Miss Dupain-Cheng filled it again for him with a knowing gleam in her shadowed eyes, and he felt…

Indigestion from his earlier encounter. Yes. That was what it was. He certainly had the headache to contend with, and it was everything he could do to not cry about

that

.

Felix sat, staring at the refilled cup of tea he was cradling in his lap.

“Okay,

” he thought, gnawing on the puzzle that was Miss Dupain-Cheng. “

She has a life outside of me. What does that mean?”

It meant… After some deep, intense thought where she waited patiently for him to finish thinking, Felix realized that it could mean she had a perspective he didn’t, and that listening to her would be wise.

“Have you…” he began and waited for her to hold her breath, or show some other sign that she was hanging on his every word.

Felix couldn’t sense any anticipation from her, which disappointed him. He wanted his words to be important to her, so important that she would wait with bated breath for him to speak.

But all he was, he realized soon after his first realization, was her employer.

An employer who had made her do demeaning things… and that was far more depressing a thought than he’d ever imagined.

“Never mind.” Felix turned his face away, unable to bear looking at the reminder that he was, indeed, a terrible person. “I don’t need anything from you.”

But much to his surprise, Miss Dupain-Cheng did not leave despite the clear dismissal.

“‘Have you…?’” she gently prodded as she set the tray down on the coffee table with barely a clink.

She deftly collected the teacup from him without spilling a drop, placing it on the tray as well, and then took his fingers in her own.

“What are you–”

“Ssh,” she shushed him and then performed domestic sorcery: dragging her thumbs across his palm and digging deep into the knots there with little circles, Miss Dupain-Cheng massaged his hand.

A groan of delight slipping from his throat, Felix dropped his head back against the armchair. His eyes fluttered closed. Deprived of his sight, his attention narrowed down to the way she tweaked his fingers, rubbed his knuckles, and coaxed life back into his palm.

Her warm hands on his certainly weren’t trembling now. The tension in his head eased; never before had he been so comforted.

Felix had no idea what he’d done to deserve such special treatment. She didn’t speak until she switched to the other hand, and he’d almost forgotten she could.

"‘Have you?’” she asked, just as Felix let loose another soft, unbidden moan, one that made his cheeks flare with heat. “Have I what?”

“Have you ever dealt with gossip?” burst from him involuntarily, his defenses completely dismantled just as she’d probably planned. “I mean, um… There were some servants earlier, and…”

He opened his eyes to see her kneeling before his chair, her pink tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on massaging his hand.

When she noticed him looking at her, she flushed darkly and released his fingers, drawing back in exactly the manner he’d hoped she wouldn’t.

“Yes,” she said eventually, holding his gaze with a doe-eyed look. He didn’t think he deserved such a soft, understanding tone, but he took it. “I have dealt with gossip.”

That someone could gossip about a kind person like Miss Dupain-Cheng made his hackles raise. He gritted his teeth. “Who–”
“No one in the palace,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Just some bullies from school that I’ve outgrown.”
“Oh,” The anger in Felix deserted him like air from a popped balloon. It flowed out of him, washing over everything in the room and settling in the dark corners, leaving his limbs heavy and his face numb. “Oh.”

She sighed. “One’s name was Chloe Bourgeois and she was more than just a bully. She was the daughter of the Mayor back home and she would lord it over anyone and everyone, but especially me. She used to say the most horrible things.”

Miss Dupain-Cheng shuddered at the memory. “She used to make me ask permission to go to school every week. She would push me down or tear my clothes or dump things on me to humiliate me. One time she left red paint in my seat so that it looked like…”

She paused, clearly too embarrassed by the memories to continue. “Anyway, that would have been bad enough, but then there was someone else and her specialty was lies. Between the two, I was pretty lonely and miserable up through lycee.”

The thought of anyone being cruel to his girl made him scowl, which triggered his headache once more and left him hissing in pain.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he muttered, anger churning in his chest as his head throbbed.

Tentatively, Miss Dupain-Cheng reached towards his face and, when he didn’t do anything but stare at her, she trailed the back of her knuckles down his cheek and across the shell of his ear, a featherlight touch that both tickled him and thrilled him.

Unlike Olivia Connor, her touch was entirely welcome, though strange. Miss Dupain-Cheng was warm and sympathetic, two things he had very little experience with. Her touch was soft and uncomplicated with no strings attached and that soft flower scent that lingered on her skin ghosted around her like a golden mist.

Miss Dupain-Cheng bucked half the rules, brought him homemade cookies, wore cherry blossom tights, left frogs in his bathtub, defended him from that vile woman, broke his nose, and was the only person aside from his mother who seemed to consider him as more than just a face or a figurehead. She was a mass of contradictions that should have frustrated him even further and, yet, her presence seemed to be filling a void inside him he hadn’t even known he had.

She caressed his cheek once more. She’d become bolder, and when on earth did that happen?

When had he let her?

… Would she do it again?

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with gossip. It hurts.”

Yes. Yes, it did hurt. It hurt more than he’d care to admit.

Felix worked his mouth, trying to figure out something to say that wouldn’t implicate him as weak. He wanted her to keep touching him, but he

didn’t

want her to keep touching him.

So he stayed perfectly still, the Ice Prince, frozen in place and cold where his teacup and his cookies and

she, she, she

was warm.

Miss Dupain-Cheng misinterpreted his lack of movement and drew away. She picked up the tray without a word and sauntered off, heeding his earlier dismissal.

“Wait,” he called, finding his voice just as she reached the door. “I… um…”

“Yes, Felix?”

Felix’s heart pounded in his chest, a caged bird thrashing against his ribs. This was his moment. This was his chance to apologize for everything he’d ever done to her.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words. His headache was back in full force. “For the tea.”

“For everything.”

She curtsyed in response, leaving him to a whirlwind of thoughts.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It had been two weeks since the reception and Marinette was slowly going insane!Prince Felix, the man, not the cat, kept flipping back and forth more often than a light switch, but with less clarity behind it. One day, he would be cold and austere, either rude and disdainful or ignoring her completely as his fancy dictated. Other days he would talk to her about this and that, maybe hinting at what was bothering him but couching it in such vague terms that she was left guessing at what was really on his mind. The worst days were when he would summon her without rhyme or reason and just sit silently, scowling into the middle distance as if she were an inconvenient yet necessary piece of furniture. “If only the man could make up his mind,” she thought irritatedly as she cleaned the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office. At least it was a sunny day and the sunlight streaming in through the panes was everything summer should be, thick, warm, and as golden as honey. “I suppose he is better than he was, at least temper-wise, but I wish he would just blurt out whatever is bothering him. Maybe then I could help… somehow.” Ever since the night of the reception, Marinette had realized that the Prince was not just her boss, not just a figurehead, or a label, but a human being with feelings and memories… and burdens. His words on the dance floor echoed through her head and heart, leaving her worried and anxious.
“By next fall, I’m going to be their king. They have to see me in the best light at all times, otherwise, they will lose their trust in the government… the system… our history. And even if they hate me, they could never tell me so.”
Somehow, without realizing it, she had thought that the Royals were anachronisms, just pretty hangovers from a bygone era. She had inadvertently thought of them as living mannequins that got dressed up in fancy clothes and were trotted around for the benefit of tourists and politicians. But she had learned the Prince’s schedule and the man barely had time to breathe. Council meetings, speeches, ribbon cuttings, planning lunches, formal dinners, interviews, outreach events in aid of refugees and the homeless, and meetings with Parliament every few days! Throw his coursework into that and she doubted he slept much.And worst of all, he had no one who would be honest with him… no one he called a friend.
“Believe it or not, Miss Dupain-Cheng, your hostility has been a breath of fresh air. At least it is honest.”
“If there’s no one who is honest with him, then that means there’s no one he really trusts either,” she thought. The weight of that knowledge pulled at her throat, making her swallow down the pity she experienced.  Ugh! Why did she have to be so moved by guys who were vulnerable?  It had been the same with Adrien. They had been friends for so long that he could be open and honest with her and, when he let down his defenses, trusting her with the pain in his heart over his mother’s death, all her walls came crashing down as well.Now here she was again – just with a different man with more walls than his castle and more thorns than his rose gardens.  Marinette had meant what she’d said that night as well. She did feel sorry for him. She had yet to confide in him about her life outside his service - for crying out loud she hadn’t even told him her first name - but… she didn’t like to see anyone suffering in solitude if she could help them.  Even if that someone was a jerk. “Even if that jerk is a handsome Prince?”  She winced at the thought. She wasn’t sure why her inner voice had started sounding like Alya, but she knew she didn’t like it. Her friend already had too much insight into her mind and heart for Marinette to get away with lying to her often, but she had an even harder time lying to herself.She growled under her breath, frustrated by her wandering thoughts. She climbed higher on the rolling ladder, stretching to reach the highest point of the window.“If the window has committed some offense, I would happily have it drawn and quartered to stop your growling,” came an amused voice from the doorway.  The Prince stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He stared up at her, wide-eyed, but the amused smirk that had started on his face slid into an astonished blush. He wandered over to the base of the ladder, his grass-green eyes never leaving her.Concerned, she glanced down at herself, wondering if she had spilled something on her frilly maid’s uniform. Seeing nothing, she glowered at him from the top of the ladder.“While I appreciate you offering to avenge me on these windows, can you tell me what you are staring at? If I have a stain on my uniform, just tell me!”The blush deepened across his cheeks. In the tiniest, most Alya-sounding part of her mind she had to admit: He was awfully cute when he looked like that.He cleared his throat hastily. “Ehem… uh… I just… when you were standing against the windows like that, you…”Gazing up at her, his eyes suddenly widened even further and he fell into a coughing fit.“Oh, for goodness sake,” she exclaimed, throwing down her cleaning rag like a gauntlet. Turning to face him fully, she stomped her foot on the ladder step.She realized her mistake when the ladder swayed underneath her and she tumbled forward off the steps.***Felix had been drawn to his office by the sounds of soft growling. He knew Miss Dupain-Cheng was there cleaning and he wondered what could have aroused her wrath more than himself.Leaning against the doorframe, he watched in amusement as she climbed his library ladder, trying to reach the highest part of the floor-to-ceiling windows.  “If the window has committed some offense, I would happily have it drawn and quartered to stop your growling,” he drawled, but then she turned to glare at him and all words were lost. The morning sunlight streamed through the sparkling windows, bending around her lithe form and outlining her in brilliance. Felix’s throat went dry as he stared up at her, finding himself at the foot of the ladder without consciously meaning to cross the room.Miss Dupain-Cheng blinked at him in confusion, then stared over her shoulder at the back of her skirt. Her expressive lips twitched into an annoyed expression.“While I appreciate you offering to avenge me on these windows, can you tell me what you are staring at? If I have a stain on my uniform, just tell me!”He cleared his throat hastily. “Ehem… uh… I just… when you were standing against the windows like that, you…”His words trailed off, making the moment both a pleasant and an awkward one as her position on the ladder compared to his on the ground meant he had a perfect view of the backs of her thighs. She wore silk stockings today, which were allowed under the more archaic forms of the dress code, but that black seam that ran up the backs of her legs with the precision of a military formation drew his eyes farther than he was ready for.Eyes widening until he was sure they would fall out of his head, Felix tried to remind himself to breathe only to end up in a coughing fit. At least that forced him to close his eyes.He should close his eyes! He was a gentleman, by George, and a gentleman was never tempted to look up a lady’s skirt!And especially not have his insides do somersaults over the sight of a specific heart-shaped mole on the back of her right thigh!“Oh, for goodness sake,” Miss Dupain-Cheng exclaimed, throwing down her cleaning rag like a gauntlet. Turning to face him fully, she stomped her foot on the ladder step.The ladder swayed and swiveled under her, causing her to fall……right into Felix’s arms.For a moment, his higher brain functions stuttered to a halt, leaving only a primitive awareness of the warm, sweet armful he now held. Details slowly started filtering back: the feeling of her slight weight in his arms, that teasing floral sweetness that clung to her skin, the soft warmth of her stockinged legs resting on his arm and tantalizing his hand, the sapphire shine of the sunlight off her raven hair, the depth of her eyes - like the clearest of skies in autumn - and the faint shimmer of lip gloss on her lips accompanied by the vague scent of cherries and coffee.Startled by the fall and the suddenness of her rescue, Miss Dupain-Cheng merely stared at him, wide-eyed. Her hands had latched around his neck to catch herself, clutching firmly into his hair in a way that made his stomach tie itself in hot, pleasant knots. Those soft, rosy lips were parted and she panted slightly, her breath washing over his face and leaving him breathless and blushing.Felix felt… alive. Alive for the first time in a long while, perhaps from even before his father had passed. The lady in his arms was a miracle, a beautiful catalyst who caused unexpected reactions to go off inside him with increasing regularity. Having her in his arms like this… felt… good. It felt right, like a piece of himself that he had been born without had found its way home.With his gaze fixed on her face, he found himself memorizing the way the light played along the slope of her nose and threw her plump lips into sharp relief. He was just inches from her, closer than he had ever been to anyone, and his lips practically ached to touch hers, his throat convulsing to taste her, breathe her in.Miss Dupain-Cheng swallowed hard and he felt his own throat respond in kind.“S-sorry,” she stammered. Between her wide-eyed stare and the uncharacteristic, nervous stuttering, she looked very small and vulnerable in his arms. Felix had a strange urge to claim her and, like some knight of old, declare himself her champion to fight off any of the unworthy masses to keep them from sullying the ground she walked upon. “I d-didn’t mean to,” she went on, concern now darkening her autumnal eyes and those dainty fingers stroking the back of his head. “A-are you alright?”Felix smiled. Not a smirk, not a sneer, not a determined pursing of the lips nor an intimidating show of teeth, but an honest, genuine smile. It felt good.“You should be more careful, little fool,” he murmured softly before he set her back on her feet. “That could have been a nasty fall.”“What did you call me?” The fire was back in her voice, leaving him with emotional whiplash.“You said you had made a fool of yourself at the reception - a point with which I still adamantly disagree, I should add - and since you have so far refused to tell me your name, I decided that ‘little fool’ would work just as well as any other handle.”Her face went from pink to red, but not in a good way and her eyes flashed like a sudden storm. “‘Little fool’? Handles? I’m a person, not a jug! Why? What made you think– UGH!” She was so angry she stomped her foot, pointing a finger in his face.  “Who died and made you lord of the universe? Huh?”Felix shrugged and looked at her in mild confusion. “My father?”That brought her up short so abruptly Felix thought she might actually pull a vacuum on his office. She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like a landed trout as she tried to sort out something. Finally, she let out a resigned chuckle.“You really have no idea what I’m upset about, do you?”He looked from one side of the room to the other, wondering if he was going to survive this unscathed or if he needed a quick escape route. When no answers presented themselves, he shook his head.  The chuckle turned into a soft, musical laugh. “Figures,” she murmured, wryly.“You could always tell me your real name,” he grumbled, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a mile to land on hopeful.Miss Dupain-Cheng smirked at him and his mouth went dry. He had never thought of a smirk as a good thing unless he was wearing it, but this smirk on her face was one that teased and tempted, leaving him to wonder if those pink lips were as soft as they looked.  She tsked at him, waving her finger in a negative response. “What makes you think I’ll make it easy for you, Your Royal Highness ?” Her emphasis on his title was intentional and left him feeling disappointed. He scowled at her, his irritation rising once more.“I thought I ordered you to call me by my name when we are alone?”The smirk widened into a smug grin. “But we’re not alone, Sir. ”He glanced around quickly as if afraid he had overlooked some bemused footman hiding ‘neath his desk. He raised an eyebrow at her and jutted his jaw in frustration.“What are you blathering on about? Of course we’re alone!”“I’m sorry to correct you, Sir. ” Miss Dupain-Cheng leaned into his space then, placing a delicate finger on the knot of his tie and causing his breath to get lodged in his throat. “There’s you…”She moved her finger to tap the button of her collar. “...and me…”Then, suddenly, she tapped him in the center of his forehead. “And the little fool!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Did you hear what Prince Felix did to her yesterday?”
 
The gossip stopped Felix in his tracks. He had been on his way to board the car to a ribbon-cutting ceremony, but on his way outside, the rumor mill had been churning.
 
It seemed the sous chef – Jim? Jerome? What was his name? – and some other cook were on their way out the door, too. 
 
Felix drew up behind them far enough away that he likely wouldn’t be detected but close enough to hear their vicious words decrying his person.
 
“No!” the cook said, leaning in closer to the other man.. “What did he do to her, James?”
 
Ah, yes. James. That was his name.
 
“Well,” James started, clearly enjoying the attention paid to him while he spun his story, “he knocked her flower vase off her desk.”

"What?"

Felix’s pace slowed to a crawl. Chewing on those words, he stopped walking, furrowing his brow and trying to puzzle out why these stupid servants would accuse him of such a thing.
 
The cook laughed, tossing his last condemnation of Felix over his shoulder to James as they headed outside. “What a moron…”
 
Who was this mysterious “her” that he was supposed to have done these things to?
 
It’s not like they could be talking about that social climbing nuisance, Olivia Connor. He shuddered at the mere thought. He’d never done anything to her, though she had taken to following him around and showing up at random at ribbon-cutting ceremonies and the like. Not that he

wanted

to do anything to the woman in question - unless it had to do with ten foot poles.
 
The only woman he ever did anything to was Miss Dupain-Cheng, but he’d

never

knocked a vase off her desk. He didn’t even know where she lived, and she didn’t own a desk here as far as he knew.
 
It’s not like he wasn’t getting ideas for his next prank. Knocking her vase over – not breaking it, just spilling the water on the floor for her to clean up – would make an excellent trick to play on her, and he didn’t even have to do so in front of her.
 
But it was so weird that the servants had already thought he’d done so.
 
“I heard he was so scared of her that he was climbing the walls! Took her an hour to coax the poor boy down!”
 
What vile rumors would they come up with next?!
 
Felix scrubbed a hand over his face. He had to get to the bottom of this before more rumors spread. He couldn’t have his mother hearing about what he’d supposedly done to this mysterious “her.”
 
Who was probably Miss Dupain-Cheng.
 
He wouldn’t put it past her to make up nasty things about him and tell all the servants. Gossip spread like wildfire throughout Buckingham Palace - fast, hot, and deadly - and it wouldn’t be the first time if one of the staff sold out his masters for a quick buck and fifteen minutes of fame.
 
"

Miss Dupain-Cheng

," Felix thought, picking up his pace to make the ribbon-cutting ceremony on time. "

There will be a reckoning, oh, yes.

"And you will be unprepared."

***
 
“Oh, hey!” James, that blasted sous chef, brightened as he saw Miss Dupain-Cheng walk into the room holding a set of towels. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, M.”
 
Hovering in the doorway, out of sight and presumably her notice, Felix found himself gritting his teeth. “

Everyone knows her name but me? Even this sous chef?”

Felix had stalked – no, followed; he’d never do something as crude and as dangerous as stalking – her throughout the hall, and as she had entered the kitchen, he remained just outside the doorway to listen in on whatever rumors she would start.
 
So far, he hadn’t caught her spreading any gossip – true or false – about him that day. 
 
And he’d also learned that her normal day, if this was a good example of such, was soul-crushingly

dull.

She’d polished nightstands, tables, and fixtures in royal guest rooms, as well as changed the bed linens; dusted irreplaceable paintings and vases; and vacuumed

everything.

“

No wonder she likes messing with me,”

Felix had thought while she’d replaced the candlesticks on a candelabra he’d never seen before.

“It must lighten her dreadfully boring existence.”

All throughout the day, he’d tailed her in secret, watching her interactions with the other servants closely for any sign of misdeeds. 
 
There were none. There was no dawdling between tasks, no daydreaming when she should have been working, no stopping for idle chat as she worked in the vicinity of others. She was perfectly polite, perfectly professional, perfectly… perfect, and it rankled his mortal soul!
 
“

Why can’t she be that polite to me?”

Felix thought sourly as she set the towels down on the counter to beam at James and give him her full attention.
 
“Really? I’ve been meaning to talk to you too!” she said in a way that Felix thought entirely too eager. Watching her high ponytail sway from the back, he could imagine her brilliant, bluebell eyes dancing as they focused on the idiotic sous chef. “I’ve wanted to thank you.”
 
James looked pleased and surprised. “Thank me? Whatever for?”
 
“You know.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially until Felix could barely hear her, but the cheeky nudge she gave the man was enough to make him bite back a snarl. “For the kitten. He’s a darling little scamp and wonderful to cuddle with! But how did you know I wanted a cat?”
 
Felix was torn. He felt incredibly smug that he had succeeded in making her happy but was disappointed and bitter that another man was getting thanked for Felix’s gift.
 
The sous chef took his toque off and ran a hand through his short dark hair, the textbook picture of confusion. “Gee, M, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I had heard you had gotten a kitten, but I wasn’t the one who gave it to you. Sorry.”
 
“Oh? I thought for sure it was you, especially after what you said about wanting to be there for me if I needed anything, but I couldn't figure out how you knew.”
 
The man winced and Felix grinned at his disappointment. “A family member, maybe? Or a secret admirer?”
 
She shook her head, sending her ponytail swinging back and forth tantalizingly. “Most of my family are in France or China and they couldn’t have easily arranged it. I do have an aunt here in London, but she’s never gotten along with my dad and things are awkward. And I don’t have any admirers.”
 
A smile that was far too confident for Felix’s liking spread across James’ face. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. How is Prince Felix anyway?”
 
How dare the insolent man inquire of him from a servant?  How dare he imply that Felix was interested in a chambermaid?
 
“Oh, the little scamp is quite a daredevil! Squeezing in behind the bed at three in the morning is his latest trick!”
 
James chuckled at that and Felix sneered. He had caught her at last! Spreading lies about his activities to the staff? Oh, he would have her exiled this time!
 
“And climbing the curtains, I heard,” James replied with a smile.  “Who would have thought a kitten would be so much trouble?”
 
As quick as a flash, Felix’s heart began a gymnastic routine he was quite unprepared for, sending his anger and certainty freefalling into his stomach.
 
The kitten. The rumors… the gossip… it wasn’t about him. It was about the kitten… because she had named it after

him

! Just as quickly his heart soared feather-light, leaving him to place his hand over his heart to check his pulse.
 
Should he go see a doctor about that?
 
“Why did you name him that anyway?”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng chuckled.  “It was my roommate’s idea.  She said if he misbehaved, I could spray him with water or lock him in the bathroom, unlike the real thing.”
 
So much for that boost to his ego.
 
James looked at her awkwardly. “Look, M.  About what I said before…”
 
“It doesn’t really matter anyway,” she said, her voice sounding slightly disappointed.  “You said you wanted to talk to me?  What about?”
 
James, Felix thought, had no idea whom he was dealing with. Miss Dupain-Cheng was crafty, intelligent, professional, and a consummate prankster. Whoever this James fellow was, he didn’t deserve the regard of one Miss Dupain-Cheng.  
 
“Yeah.” From Felix’s vantage point, James’s eyes softened on Miss Dupain-Cheng’s face. He looked at her as if she was something precious. Rather than scoffing and blowing this look off like Felix expected himself to, anger thrummed behind his breastbone, swelling in his eyes in the form of heat. 
 
Heat that was justified by James’s next words. 
 
“So, um,” James started, shifting from foot to foot. He seemed nervous to be in her presence. 
 
“

Good,”

Felix thought, already condemning James to a lifetime of scrubbing duty. 
 
“I was wondering… if you had plans for Friday?”
 
White-hot anger flooded Felix’s mouth as he bit down on his own tongue and nearly swallowed it. How

dare

this impudent servant ask out Miss Dupain-Cheng? She had no use for him.
 
Felix couldn’t see her face, but the slumping of her shoulders and her change of stance to rub her opposite arm rekindled hope in his breast.
 
“I…” She hesitated, and never before had Felix had cause to praise her loss of words. “I can’t. I’m sorry, James.”
 
James’s eyes tightened around the corners and his smile faded briefly before returning with a sad cast. “May I ask why?”
 
“I guess you could say… I’m in mourning for a relationship,” she offered tentatively, her toe scuffing the tile floor in nervous circles.
 
Felix’s chest tightened at her words.

“In mourning… for a relationship?”

What happened? She was a little young to get married, let alone widowed, and she never wore a ring that he remembered.
 
Furrows appeared on the chef’s brow, his mouth drawn down even further into a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. May I ask what happened?”
 
She sniffled, just a little, and shrugged.  “Some love stories are supposed to end, right? Especially when his father doesn’t approve of the girl.”

“What?!”

Felix thought, only for his thought to be echoed by the man who, unfortunately, had her complete attention.
 
“What?!”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng held up her hands in a defensive position, though whether she was defending herself or the cad who had disapproved of her, Felix had no idea.

“What kind of gentleman - no!  What kind of man worth the name would allow his father to hurt the woman he loved?”

Felix’s hands clenched into fists at his side as the two continued on.
 
“Hey, it’s fine…” Miss Dupain-Cheng hedged, though the more she protested, the less fine it sounded to Felix. “I mean it only makes sense, right? Even though we were childhood friends–”

“Childhood friends?”

“ – he was totally out of my league. Despite living in a more egalitarian world, we can never underestimate the power of class differences.” She pulled her ponytail around her shoulder, letting the inky tresses slide through her fists over and over, as if trying to grasp the wind. “I just… wasn’t good enough, that’s all.”
 
Felix turned away from the pair, leaning his head on the door trim. Not good enough? Is that what she thought of herself?
 
Clearly, because she’d said it in those words. 
 Felix was angry. Angry at the horrible person who had dared to instill such low feelings of self-worth in his little fool. Felix was even angry at her for taking such baseless words to heart.  
He wanted to barge in there and shake her, yelling at her in a way that would surely convince her that she deserved the world and more. Felix wanted to smack James for bringing this conversation up.
 
More than that, he wanted to thrash the ignorant cretin who had let her heart be broken so cruelly.
 
Felix wanted…
 
He didn’t know

what

he wanted.  
 
Suddenly he felt overwhelmed.  He had always been a rather simple man, seeing the world in black and white and living in monotone himself. But now, he had conflicting emotions charging through him with the inevitability of lightning striking a rod. Anger, sadness, and a hollow aching concern were at war inside his chest. Historical battles he could discuss, but he had no experience battling such internal warfare.
 
He was brought back to a sense of his surroundings when Miss Dupain-Cheng  squeaked.
 
“M,” James murmured, his voice pitched low and entirely too familiar for Felix’s liking. He peeked around the door frame to see James wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest and cradling her head. “You are

wonderful.

”
 
As she sniffled and smoothed her hands over James’s shoulder blades, returning the passionate embrace, Felix

burned

. 
 
His fingernails bit into his palms; heat flooded all of his senses. His hands were hot, his chest was hot, his face was unbearably hot.
 
His jaw ached, which was a curious thing, as his jaw rarely if ever ached before he’d met Miss Dupain-Cheng. It was only after he felt the pain radiating up to his ears that he realized he was still clenching his teeth.
 
And as James leaned down to inhale the tantalizing floral scent that clung to her skin much like Felix wanted to smell her, he exploded with incandescent rage.
 
Felix reached into his pocket for something, anything, to distract them, and found his keys. He flung them into the drying rack, unbalancing pots and pans and knocking them to the floor.
 
James and Miss Dupain-Cheng leapt back from each other as if scalded. He gave her a sheepish smile and a shrug. “I must have stacked those wrong, sorry.”
 
“It’s alright, James,” Miss Dupain-Cheng murmured, crouching down to pick up some of the discarded dishes. Felix nearly crowed from triumph until she said her next words, star-bright with misplaced happiness. “We can wash them together.”
 
James and Miss Dupain-Cheng leaned forward to pick up the same pan, and their fingers brushed. The man gave her a soft smile, and opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke first. “James… About Friday…”
 
No, no good. Felix had to think of something else to break them apart. Now!
 
With no thought in his mind other than breaking up the pleasant camaraderie between them, and maybe of dragging Miss Dupain-Cheng off with him, Felix strode confidently into the kitchen.
 
Gasps came from all around and the sound of glass breaking on the opposite side of the room resounded like a gong in the sudden quiet.
 
“Good afternoon,” Felix declared coolly, eyes never leaving his quarry.
 
“Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness.” The staff all bowed their heads and dipped into curtsys or bows, the ones left sitting at a small table scurrying to their feet and knocking their chairs over first. James moved to stand ever so slightly in front of Miss Dupain-Cheng as if protecting her from Felix. 
 
That would not do at all. Felix knew how to protect his own people.
 
“So sorry to interrupt,” he lied, “but I needed a word with Miss Dupain-Cheng.” 
 
She bobbed another curtsy.  “Yes, Sir.”
 
Casting a superior smile at the lowly sous chef, Felix gestured to the doorway. “After you?”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised and her shoulders tense as she left the kitchen. He shot a final glance at the chef, who was now frowning in consternation.

“That’s right, hash-slinger! Leave my little fool alone!”

Felix thought nastily.

“She doesn’t need you playing with her.”

He jerked his vest down before turning to follow her out. That was when he realized that he couldn’t just take her to one side here. Servants and staff were constantly coming to and fro through this corridor and he was trying to avoid gossip, after all.  
 
Felix checked his watch. Yes, the Rose Walk should be clear about now after his mother’s afternoon walk. That would be perfect. No one to see or overhear them.
 
“You wanted to speak to me, Sir?" she asked pointedly.
 
“Not here,” he muttered. “Come with me.”
 
He led her through the back rooms and corridors of the servants’ quarters and out into the kitchen gardens. Passing the rows of summer vegetables, they went out into the garden proper, and, after a short, brisk walk they reached the Rose Walk.
 
As he turned to look at her, he was too stunned to speak. Miss Dupain-Cheng was transfixed, staring in wonder at the rows of standing roses in every color imaginable, a veritable sunset sky of silken and velvet petals spread out before them. 
 
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice reverent as she trailed her delicate fingers along the blooms.
 
As her soft, admiring tone washed over him, Felix suppressed a full-body shudder. There was an empty feeling, a hollow ache inside that longed for that raw, soft, honesty to be directed at him – though why on earth would he want

that

? 
 
She was his enemy. No. That wasn’t right.
 
She was his nemesis, the moon to his sun, each ever chasing in the hopes of defeating the other.
 
Right?
 
“Yes, it is,” he said, watching the way the sunlight streamed down to illuminate her face.
 
Sunlight that soon faded, however, as dark clouds passed over the source. Felix paid them no mind; he had something to demand of Miss Dupain-Cheng, and he always got his way.
 
“Mother is worrying me silly over my losing weight,” he said, watching Miss Dupain-Cheng crouch to sniff one of the flowers with an intensity bordering on obsession. He’d come up with this excuse seconds before he stormed into the kitchen to break her away from James, and it was a good one if he said so himself. 
 
Which he did.
 
“As a result,” he continued, finding his brows rising as Miss Dupain-Cheng gently cupped one of the tulip heads, “she wishes for me to rest. I will be taking a brief sabbatical at my personal estate in Norfolk, and

you,

Miss Dupain-Cheng, will be coming with me.”
 
Her head snapped to him with a satisfying speed, her gaze narrowing on him in a suspicious way that made him giddy. 
 
“I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness?” As he expected, when speaking to him, her voice had lost all sense of worship. It was flat, disbelieving, as if he’d spat in her food and she couldn’t comprehend that he’d do such a thing. Her nose wrinkled in the

cutest

and most gratifying way. “I can’t go–”
 
“You can and you will.” Felix thumped his chest with a closed fist. He felt the first stirrings of rain, just a few drops, land on the crown of his head but ignored them. “I command it.”
 
He heard the sharp clack of her teeth slamming together and grinned. If he’d reduced her to an apoplectic silence, then he’d done his job. 
 
She drew her hand away from the tulip and clenched her fists at her side, shaking with repressed emotion. From how her eyes slowly closed and her small chest rose and fell with deep, cleansing breaths, Felix knew he’d had the exact effect he wanted: making her mad.
 
Then why did it leave him feeling so hollow?
 
“Of course,

Sir

.” Opening her eyes, which flashed with heat aimed over his left shoulder and not at him, Miss Dupain-Cheng dipped into the lowest, most professional curtsy he’d ever seen. “I am at your disposal.”
 
“Felix. Call me Felix.”
 
“Yes,

Sir

. Whatever you like.”
 
Abruptly, Felix found himself scrambling to make things right between them. He’d messed up,

he’d messed up,

and he had no idea how to fix this thorny issue.
 
Which was strange because none of the roses here had thorns.
 
“You… can pack your things by tomorrow, right? I mean, we’ll provide everything you need, so… there’s really no need to pack much aside from some clothes.” Why was he rambling? “You’ll have the finest foods my chefs there can make. You’ll want for nothing. And you and I can spend plenty of time together. That’ll be entertaining… right?”
 
Felix wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince: her or himself.
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng opened her mouth but a thunderclap came out. More appropriately, thunder roared and stole her words, stole her breath, and stole Felix’s attention.
 
Much like he’d wished for in the car the night of the reception, the heavens uncharacteristically opened up, spilling a torrent of water down upon their heads. Miss Dupain-Cheng ducked, shielding her head from the rain and squinting up at him.
 As she blinked rain away from her long lashes, Felix glanced around for shelter. Spotting a summer house, he seized her hand – her touch tingling all the way up his arm – and practically dragged her to the white portico. 
Miss Dupain-Cheng hitched up her skirts and came willingly, which made Felix’s heart flip in his chest. They reached the porch and climbed the steps with haste to get out of the rain. 
 
Then… nothing. Felix and Miss Dupain-Cheng stood near each other, close enough to touch but there might as well have been a gulf between them. 
 
Felix turned to her, taking her in. She was as wet and bedraggled as a homeless kitten, with some of the raven strands of her hair sticking to her cheek in appealing curls.
 
The rain had chased away her heady scent – not that he could smell it much with the flowers around them – and Felix highly regretted that he couldn’t breathe her in like he wanted to.
 
He still hadn’t identified exactly what aroma she used as a perfume, just that it was floral. It drove him crazy that he couldn’t tell what it was, so much so that he itched to ask her.
 
But his words dried up in his throat when she looked at him.
 
Her large bluebell eyes alighted on him with a ferocity that almost scared him. Her cheeks were flushed red with anger, and she drew her bottom lip deliberately between her teeth as if desperately trying to silence her own outburst. Rain streamed down her cheeks, making her look almost like she’d been crying due to her red-hot rage. 
 
She was, in a word, beautiful.
 
But she may as well have been screaming from the rooftops that she hated him.
 
***
 
Marinette stood in the small shelter – soaked to the skin, hair clinging to her face and neck, clothes sopping wet and hanging off her body in a cold, heavy way – and glowered at the prince.
 
He had just demanded that she go with him on his stupid, rich-boy road trip. 
 
Demanded. No asking her opinion, no asking about her plans, just a cold, brusque order given without any thought to her needs or desires at all. She had just been getting used to their new dynamic – minor pranks, some teasing, that stupid nickname he refused to give up on - only for him to pull this imperious nonsense again! That would teach her to get comfortable and complacent!
 
Felix, that stiff-necked, stuffed-shirted so-and-so, was just standing there, staring back at her, his shoulders slowly creeping up to his flushed ears.

“Good,”

she thought vindictively.

“Let him be embarrassed. He deserves it! Slapping his chest like some sort of Neanderthal!”

Marinette took several deep breaths to cool her anger before she spoke. It didn’t help that he was looking at her with the air of a golden retriever puppy left out in the rain. How could she be angry at a man who could go from arrogant to kicked puppy in less than a minute?
 
The air, full of the scents of a summer squall and thousands of flowers, brought her a small scrap of space to think, and with that clarity came a memory.

“And even if they hate me, they could never tell me so. Protocol forbids it.” A crooked, but genuine smile on that handsome face so often marred by sneers. “Believe it or not, Miss Dupain-Cheng, your hostility has been a breath of fresh air. At least it is honest.”

“He’s lonely,”

she thought, swallowing down her anger with a chaser of guilt.
 
“Sir, do you still want me to be honest with you?”
 
His eyes lighting up gave her all the answers she needed. He nodded a little too eagerly and then seemed to catch himself, glancing away in shame. 
 
Her heart hurt.
 
"Yes," he whispered so quietly she could barely hear him over the rain, but she couldn't mistake the hunger – the sheer longing

–

in his voice. "More than anything."
 
Marinette sighed and sat on the elegantly carved wooden bench in the back of their shelter. She paused just a moment before patting the space next to her, indicating he could join her. He sat down gingerly next to her, lips quirked to one side in confusion.
 
“Look, Felix, I can’t go this weekend. I have something really important I need to do.  This has nothing to do with our little…” She waved her hand between them, not sure what to call their rivalry.  “...this… us… whatever this is. This is an important family thing and I have been saving up for months to go home and visit.” Greatly daring, she placed her hand softly over his own on the seat. “Please understand.”
 
The blush she saw tinting the tips of his ears and the look in his eyes confirmed her suspicions. If he hadn’t been a Prince, she was sure his shoulders would have slumped, the whole man deflating with disappointment. As it was his eyes grew darker, his pupils dilating until they nearly filled the iris. She felt his fingers twitch under hers.  
 
“I… see.”  That was all he said, making the moment tense just by the lack of his usual arrogant dominance of the conversation. As much as she hated his more superior moments, his blithe assumption that he knew best for everyone and wasn’t afraid to let the world know it, this silent, morose version just felt wrong.
 
And no matter what, Marinette’s conscience wouldn’t let her leave him like this.
 
She patted his hand and his eyes locked onto it with a strange, glittering stare. “How about this? I’ll make a deal with you. I’ve already put in for the proper leave and have been approved. I’ll go visit my parents this weekend and be back Sunday evening. Then I’ll be here first thing Monday morning and I’ll go with you on your vacation. No browbeating required.  Does that sound fair?”
 
His eyes never left her hand where it rested atop his.  
 
“Do I have your word?" he asked, his words nearly lost in the heavy drumming of the rain against the roof.
 
Marinette had a sudden sense that, despite his wealth, surroundings, and list of titles as long as her arm, that far too many promises had been made to him and summarily broken. Her lips curved in a sympathetic smile as she held out her right hand to seal their deal.
 
“As far as I am able to give it, yes. You have my word that I will go with you.”
 
Felix’s eyes slowly rose to meet hers. He took her offered hand, but instead of shaking it, he squeezed it between both of his own.
 
“I accept,” he said, his voice soft and slightly raspy.
 
“Good.”  
 
They sat for a while listening as the rain hit the roof, the steam of summer’s heat releasing from the paving stones in a warm, misty haze that drifted through the roses.
 
“It truly is lovely here,” Marinette murmured after a while, breathing in deeply the scents of rich, damp earth and flowers.
 
“This is one of my mother’s favorite spots,” Prince Felix conceded, staring out at the scene before them. “When I was young, we used to have lunches down here in good weather. Nothing fancy, just sandwiches and crisps, maybe some fruit from the orchard, but it felt like such an adventure. The garden felt as big as the whole world back then. My father would-” He stopped abruptly, his hand spasming around her own, reminding her of the contact. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It… doesn’t matter.”
 
They sat in silence and Marinette watched his face. It was like his mask of cold indifference was starting to slip around her, giving her glimpses of the real person within.
 
“It all seems a bit too magical, doesn’t it?” She watched him from the corner of her eye as she spoke. She waved her free hand out at the roses and their misty veil.  “Like something out of a dream or a fairy tale.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“The roses. They don’t even have thorns.”
 
Felix sniffed, a hint of the usual arrogance showing once more. “Of course not. The gardeners are specifically instructed to slice them off. Thorns are wicked little things!  People could get hurt. Clothes torn…”
 
She shook her head, laughing lightly.  “But thorns are part of the rose. Without them, it’s too much of a good thing, don’t you see?”
 
The look he gave her was similar to that he’d had at the reception when she had told him what she loved about poetry. As if he was marveling at something strange and alien that she was offering him.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, how is it possible for there to be too much of a good thing?" he asked sardonically, one eyebrow raised.
 
“That’s where the fairy tale bit comes in,” she replied earnestly. She nodded her head towards the garden beyond. “In a dream or a fairy tale, perfection is normal. Even the unusual or the downright bizarre seems normal in a dream. Like knights on white horses or roses without thorns.” She sighed, leaning her head back against the white-washed wall behind them. “Like wishing on stars or going on adventures.”
 
“Is that what you dream about?" he asked, suddenly soft, his hand squeezing hers gently. “Wishes… adventure… knights?”
 
She looked over at him, confused by why he would care… about why there was this sudden soft openness between them. For a moment, she felt the same as when she’d been with… Adrien. The realization made her chest ache over something lost.
 
“Well, I learned a while back that knights aren’t always as shining as they seem to be and adventures are nice, but the good ones only happen to someone else, and as for wishes…” 
 
Her mind drifted back to her parents, to Adrien, to the wishes she’d had in the past and how so many of them had failed to come true. “I guess when we grow up we have to make our own magic.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Uggggh, Felix was bored.

The boredom started innocuously enough. He’d suffered through a council meeting – boring – had mindlessly consumed a chicken salad for lunch before a budget meeting – boring – and now he was slumped in his favorite green chair, staring at his teacup as if it had personally offended him.

Boring, boring, boring.

Why had he never noticed how soul-crushing his days were?

There was a hole in his semi-charmed life and nothing could fill it.

It wasn’t like he had a

bad

life. Indeed, if he wanted his servants to stand on their heads in front of him and recite the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution, all he’d have to do was snap his fingers and bark the order.

He wanted for nothing. He wasn’t starving, wasn’t abused, wasn’t overpoweringly

poor

like so many of his subjects.

(Something he should probably fix.)

In any case, servants waited on him hand and foot, and everything was wrong.

He was bored.

His mother had insisted that his schedule allowed for a fifteen-minute break every four hours so he could breathe, and he’d wasted six minutes on useless introspection.

His tea service was wrong. The biscuits were bland with a texture of wet cardboard. The tea was his usual Earl Grey with extra bergamot, but it, too, appealed to him less than sticking his hand into a box full of venomous spiders.

The brown tea rested in the royal blue cup in his hand, offending him. Even the gold rim of the cup displeased him; it was a reminder of all the wealth he possessed, and yet he was still unhappy.

Felix was tempted to run a hand through his hair, mussing up the strands, but he had another meeting in seven minutes and must at least appear respectable. He’d never encountered that particular temptation before, and ghostly fingers toying with the scruff at the back of his neck were surely the cause.

His mother had demanded that he stop losing weight. Felix plucked a biscuit from the tray, dipped it into his tea, and bit into it as he knew he should.

The biscuit sopped in his mouth like a wet paper towel, bathing his tongue in revolting brown leaf juice, and he immediately reached for a napkin to spit it out.

“Bleh.”

Felix tossed his crumpled napkin onto the tray of the rest of the unappealing biscuits.

“Disgusting.”

Despite his sneer and angry thoughts, Felix couldn’t muster up the energy to care whether he ate or not. Everything he did was useless.

He was useless.

There was no following servants around, no bullfrogs in his bathtub, no itching powder in his shorts – he’d checked. Nothing exciting happened in his life. Nothing unexpected.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,”

Felix thought bitterly.

“Right away, Your Royal Highness. Let us bend over backward to serve you, Your Royal Highness, with all the politeness and deference your position requires.”

That was just the problem, wasn’t it? Everyone was polite in the plastic world.

Three minutes left. He only had three minutes before he had to gird up his strength and return to that world of overly polite backstabbing and initiatives that made him want to slump his shoulders.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng’s biscuits are better.”

There. He said it.

He’d mentioned her name.

He couldn’t openly bring himself to admit he missed her while she was visiting her parents. No, that would grant her too much power over him.

But he was

so

bored.

Two minutes left, and Felix wanted to cry.

He couldn’t go back to meeting after meeting. He just couldn’t.

Miss Dupain-Cheng had left, and she had taken his light and breath and ability to engage in his life with her.

He never thought he could miss someone so much.

“Good riddance.”

Felix took another sip of the tea, horrible as it wasn’t prepared by her hand.

“I don’t need her to ruin my life.”

With her, his life was ruined.

But without her, his life was boring.

“What will happen when she gets back?”

That was something Felix had never considered in all his moping, and it rekindled something akin to hope in his breast.

“When she gets back,”

Felix thought, the sudden excitement thrumming through his veins spurring him to leap to his feet,

“we’ll go to the country house in Norfolk. And I can prank her!”

A plethora of pranks filled his mind – slathering peanut butter on a painting for her to clean up, filling her bathtub with toothpaste, hiding her suitcase when it was time to leave – and he found his spirits renewed once more.

With the thoughts of how he was going to utterly destroy her in Norfolk subsuming everything else, the next few meetings weren’t so bad.

***

As Marinette watched her mother remove her wig with a smile, she thanked God for chemo.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Sabine set the bundle of hair aside on her nightstand, and Marinette helped pull the bedcovers over her thin thighs. Blue veins pulsed under the papery skin of her hand, and though her smile was as beautiful as ever, her face was pale and bloodless. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

In the place of her usually vibrant mother lay a frail woman racked with pain. Tears struck Marinette then, tears she swallowed for fear of making her mother as sad as she was. “Nothing much, Mom. Just thinking about how things change.”

Sabine folded her hands - always affected by tremors – in her lap. Marinette knew her father was downstairs, though she was unsure whether he was still avoiding seeing her mother in such a state.

Tom, bless his huge heart, had been hit harder by Sabine’s slow decline than she had been. While Sabine accepted everything with grace and gratitude, Tom often called Marinette in the middle of the night to pour his fears out – and let her know when her mother had ended up in the ED.

Thus she had come to dread the ringing of her phone after dark. She lived in constant fear that something would happen and it would be too late for her to say goodbye.

“Well–” Sabine started but was interrupted by a sudden gagging. Marinette rushed to thrust the barf bowl into her mother’s hands, and Sabine availed herself of it, losing what little lunch she had been able to eat.

“Maman…”

Marinette thought in despair, patting her mother’s back as Sabine choked.

“Oh, Maman.”

Sabine raised her head and Marinette took the bowl, intending to clean it out. “Wait,” Sabine said, her face vaguely green, and Marinette was sure hers matched. “Please, wait.”

Marinette set the bowl aside on the nightstand alongside the various pill bottles and other accouterments Sabine needed to keep on an even keel. “Yes, Maman?”

Sabine held out a hand, and Marinette closed both of hers around it, reminding her of the scents of flowers drizzled in rainwater.

“Please, tell me about your life in England?” Maman said, her eyes twinkling in a sharp reminder of the woman she had once been. “You’re always so tight-lipped about that Crown Prince!”

Marinette scoffed for her mother’s benefit, but she was secretly overjoyed to see Sabine’s vitality return, even if the promise of it was as brief as a breath.

This was a blessing. Marinette decided she could honor that by opening up and maybe extending her mother’s own joy.

“He’s a prat,” Marinette said flatly and was rewarded by a soft laugh. Eagerly, she pressed on, hoping to engender more laughter from a sick woman. “He continually plays pranks on me, orders me around, forces me to crawl under his bed–”

“His bed?” Sabine’s eyebrows rose, and Marinette found herself flushing with shame.

She couldn’t even imagine telling her about him staring at her legs.

She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Yeah, he apparently ‘lost’ his bunny slipper.”

Another soft laugh. Marinette reveled in it. “The Crown Prince of England wears bunny slippers?”

“

Green

bunny slippers.”

Sabine snorted with laughter, leading to another fit of coughs and dry heaves.  “Go on,” she whispered, pleading with her eyes.

“You have no idea how ridiculous he is, Maman.” Marinette sat on the side of the bed, stroking her mother’s thin knuckles with her thumbs. “He’s a mass of contradictions. One moment, he’s dumping pomegranate juice on an antique carpet – he’s so spoiled, he has no respect for his things or people who wait on him – and in the next…”

Marinette trailed off, her eyes unfocusing as she recalled how close he’d been to her in the limo after the reception. He’d been close enough to kiss, and if Marinette had been remotely attracted to him, she may have gone for it.

She remembered the delicate feel of the shell of his ear as she’d trailed her fingers over it, the softness of his hair even despite the massive amounts of gel, and the way his eyes had searched her out and stripped her bare.

If only…

“Hmm.” Sabine’s humming drew Marinette’s attention back to her. She wore a knowing look, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “In the next?”

“He’s lonely, Maman,” Marinette blurted despite herself. She had intended to bash the prince completely, not explain his issues. But she soldiered on. “There’s no one in the palace who treats him as a person.”

“Except you, honey?”

Marinette hesitated. She was giving her mom a lot of information about her boss, and she wasn’t sure she liked where this conversation was going. “Except me,” she admitted, wondering if she was conceding defeat. “We… have a weird relationship.”

“I’ll say.” Sabine patted her hand, and Marinette relished the feel of it. “Marinette, you’re a wonderful person, kind and compassionate. But remember your boundaries, dear. You are not solely responsible for his loneliness.”

“I have to do

something

, Maman.”

Sabine leaned forward, and, knowing how much effort it took her to move her body, Marinette met her halfway only to receive a kiss on her cheek. “I know, baobei. I know.”

***

Felix was running.

Running, stumbling, sprawling across stone and tile and parquet floors, scuttling like an animal on all fours until he could drag himself to his feet to run once more.

He was in the palace, but one he didn’t immediately recognize, with no memory of how he had gotten into the mess he was in. He could hear the sounds of his pursuers; the twitters, braying, laughing, squealing, and cruel panting coupled with the pounding of many many feet became like the baying of hellhounds and chilled his blood worse than any of Doyle’s fanciful creations.

He was running, panic-blind, through some guest wing lined with suites and felt himself foundering. How long had he been running? Where were the guards? Where was his mother or the servants? Where was everyone? Why was he alone, pursued by this ravening mob?

“He went this way!” he heard far too close behind him for his liking. Scurrying into one of the rooms, he threw the bolt and scanned frantically for a place to hide.

There! A wardrobe!

He threw the doors wide and buried himself among the old suits, elegant evening gowns, and fur coats before shutting the doors behind him. He stood, panting heavily in the closed darkness, fear and adrenaline coursing through him and making him tremble in a muck sweat.

His clothes were ravaged by the many hands that had grabbed at him, tearing the fabric away from his flesh in savage delight. He huddled in the wardrobe nearly naked now, the tattered remains of his trousers the only thing left protecting his dignity.

The heavy, cloying scent of musk permeated the scent of mothballs, dust, and stale perfume, forcing him to swallow back the bile that rose in response.

“I know you’re here, my Prince,” purred a familiar and unwelcome voice from the room behind. “Are we playing hide and seek? If I find you, it’s for keeps, you know! What a prize!”

Felix froze in terror, knowing that voice, the blood-red lips that spoke those words, and the intent of the woman behind them.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Olivia Connor called again and he could hear her ripping the room apart beyond the walls of his hiding place. “Won’t you come out and play with me, my Prince? I promise it will be so much fun and the others will be so jealous!”

He did his best to stay silent, though his body fought him as it started to choke and wretch from fear and the smell of her perfume. Surely his heart was pounding loud enough for her to hear through the thick wood!

Suddenly, light flooded his vision, causing him to blink and squint as his eyes adjusted from the dark. The doors of the wardrobe were torn off their hinges and Felix was dragged from his hiding place by the vile woman.

But woman no longer! Her hands with their long, manicured nails were crooked into claws. Her absurdly crimson hair bristled like a ruff around her neck and shoulders as her nose and jaw stretched and distorted into more of a muzzle as yellow fangs emerged to snarl at him.

The snarl became real, reverberating through him like thunder. The door to the hallway splintered into fragments as creature after creature poured in. Blonde ponytails, brown curls, fine gowns, and couture purses blended nauseatingly as women turned into monsters before his eyes. His throat closed around his tongue, strangling him into a terrified whimper as he was jerked back and forth between the creatures like a rag doll.

A dozen pairs of eyes bored into him, green, gray, brown, and hazel, burning with a hunger that could not be denied. Somehow, in the midst of this twisted, perverted horror, he had gone from being an object of desire to being prey…

… or maybe he had been lying to himself and he had been prey all along.

Without warning, a hand - a real, human hand – clasped around his wrist and pulled him from the circle of predators. With strength and speed that was at odds with the tiny hand that held him, the person dragged him down halls and through doors, helping him up when he fell, and supporting his weight on a slim shoulder when his knees finally gave out.

The final door slammed behind them and they stopped, panting from their escape. Collapsing to the floor, Felix shuddered as the feeling of dread swept over him like a tidal wave.

“Shhh, it’s all right, Felix,” a gentle voice said and equally gentle hands caressed his face and smoothed his hair. The hands pulled him against a petit, soft body that was warm and sweet-smelling after the rank stench of fear and bile.

Sweet and lightly floral.

Dainty fingers lifted his chin and Felix looked at the face of his savior:

Miss Dupain-Cheng.

Relief and gratitude swelled in his chest like a hot air balloon, lifting him higher than he thought possible. He wanted to speak - he needed to speak - to thank her, to tell her how dark and dull his life was without her, but he was still frozen in the rictus of terror. His tongue was swollen in his throat and his jaw clenched tight, but his hands were slowly coming back to life.

He reached for her face – desperately lunged, really – and pulled her into his arms. He clung to her, shivering uncontrollably and wishing more than anything that he had a name he could call her… to whisper, sigh, breathe, growl, sing, groan. Anything to attempt to express the inexpressible feelings burgeoning in his chest like weeds.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s over now. You’re safe,” she said far more kindly than he deserved. His breath hitched twice as the sting of tears prevented him from inhaling through his nose and breathing in that luscious scent.

Felix never cried. He’d never had that option, even at his father’s funeral.

The Crown Prince of England never cried.

But he was crying now, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving trails of fire and tear dust in their wake. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a grimace that he buried into Miss Dupain-Cheng’s shoulder.

Felix’s limbs, though feeling deadened and heavy, trembled uncontrollably in her hold. It was a full-body shaking, and his heart fluttered in his chest like a jackrabbit’s. She shushed him and petted his hair as he sobbed his troubles away.

He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t–

“Stop!” he screamed, waking up with a horrified gasp on a soft, warm pillow.

The pillow inhaled, and Felix scrambled away from it, bumping his head on something hard. Frantically, he smoothed his palms over himself, glancing down to check that he was still, indeed, clothed.

Only after relief at his dignity being intact flooded his mouth and made his face numb did he look around to where he was. The space around him was dark, cramped, and moving, and it was only after the sleep cleared from his eyes that he realized he was sitting in the backseat of a limo.

A wide-eyed Miss Dupain-Cheng was staring at him as if he’d just lost his mind and ordered her to be whipped. They were traveling to Amner Hall, the country house in Norfolk, and he'd apparently fallen asleep.

“A nightmare,

” he deduced finally, his rapidly-beating heart taking up residence in his throat and pounding in his mouth. His eyes ached, and only after he touched his face did he realize that his cheeks were wet.

“Was I… crying?”

"You had a nightmare,” she supplied, reminding him who he was with and who had just acted as his pillow.

How embarrassing.

Felix bristled. “Well, I can see that,” he shot back. Breathing was difficult; his chest heaved as he struggled to gulp down enough precious oxygen. “What were you doing to me while I was asleep?”

Miss Dupain-Cheng’s eyes narrowed a fraction at the accusation, and Felix braced himself for a fiery tongue-lashing that would reset the world back to the way it was supposed to be.

It didn’t come.

Her eyes softened again, and she turned away from him only to procure a glass of water. Holding it out as an undeserved peace offering, she pressed her rosy lips together in a thin line.

“You were whimpering in your sleep,” she explained, which wasn’t an explanation at all. “And… you’ve lost water. You need to replenish it. Here.”

Without waiting for his answer, she took his hand in hers and set the glass of water on his palm, curling his fingers around it.

He had ‘lost water.’ A sheen of cold sweat bathed his forehead and soaked his underarms. Felix was sure he smelled bad but that wasn’t important.

No, what was important was that Miss Dupain-Cheng had had the perfect opportunity to destroy what remained of his dignity, and she hadn’t availed herself.

That made no sense.

She was still looking at him strangely; he couldn’t interpret her gaze, but when her eyes flicked to the glass and back to his face again, her thoughts were clearly readable.

“Well?”

she seemed to be asking him in that soft, expectant way of hers.

The oddness about Miss Dupain-Cheng was that she never wanted anything from him – except for him to take care of himself. Unlike everyone else in his life, even his mother, Miss Dupain-Cheng didn’t expect him to hold up the world on his shoulders.

She only wanted him to eat her biscuits, sip her tea, and drink this accursed glass of water. She only wanted him to play. She only wanted him to rest.

But could she want more?

Abruptly realizing these thoughts were unproductive, Felix tore his gaze away from hers and cast it about the limo, trying to focus on anything else. Feeling the condensation dripping from the cool, smooth glass onto his hand, Felix reluctantly sipped the water she’d given him.

And found himself parched.

He sucked down the water greedily as if he’d never had water before and was like to never have any again. The glass was empty too soon, but Miss Dupain-Cheng hastened to lift the pitcher and fill it.

After the third cup, Felix handed the empty glass to her and sat back. Liquid sloshed in his belly, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable and bloated.

“Was this what Miss Dupain-Cheng had in mind when she offered me the glass of water?”

Felix’s thoughts took a turn toward nasty as he looked at her, sitting prettily and unassuming on the other side of the car.

“What a wretch. Even her gestures of comfort backfire.”

Why she’d offered the glass was a mystery to him, except that he’d just named it: a gesture of comfort. She was trying to help him.

Wasn’t she?

Feeling his gaze on her, she peeked at him from under her long lashes and then faced forward again. It was like she was ready for him to bark an order at any time, but she’d only fulfill it in a way that was uniquely her.

Felix recognized then that she

was

trying to comfort him, and it was only through his own folly that the kindness ended up upsetting him.

“

I’m the wretch.”

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Felix saw that she was fidgeting slightly. Her hands were folded in her lap and her thumb was brushing over the other one. If he hadn’t been looking for signs of discomfort, signs of awkwardness, signs of not wanting to be with him, he wouldn’t have spotted that one.

Felix sighed. He knew she didn’t want to go on this trip. Indeed, she was incensed when he’d asked her to go.

Was it really so bad, spending time with him?

“Thank you,” Felix tried, reaching out an olive branch. Miss Dupain-Cheng turned her head to him, her assessing gaze flaying him alive. “For…”

For putting up with him. For not quitting when she was well within her rights. For continuing to comfort him with her steadfast presence.

For encouraging him to play for the first time in years.

“... For the water.”

“You’re welcome,” she tossed back into his face, a casual dismissal that sounded almost automatic.

It was as if she’d recognized that he’d wanted to say more than just that, and rather than waiting for him to say it or even wanting him to, she’d decided she’d rather not hear the explanation of his sorry state.

And whose fault was it that he drank too much water, really?

“I drank too much,” Felix ventured into the void, watching her carefully for any reaction out of the corner of his eye, lest she face him directly and stripped him barer than the monstrous women from his nightmare.

But Miss Dupain-Cheng was nothing like them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her hands stilling. “Had I known, I would have stopped filling your glass after the second cup.”

“It’s not your fault,” Felix offered, surprising himself. “I’m the one who should know my own limits.”

Miss Dupain-Cheng’s sly gaze slid to him, and his heart thundered against his rib cage. She glanced his way and then back to the dark window at the front of the limo again.

They were playing a strange game of cat-and-mouse, with neither wanting to look at the other too long. Felix couldn’t stand it.

He scooted closer, barreling into her space like he deserved to be there. His fingers itched to gently take her chin in his hand and turn her eyes to him, him, him; to focus her delightful attention all on Felix.

Not the Crown Prince.

Just Felix. Just the man.

She did turn to him then but not in the way he wanted. “What are you doing?” she asked, leaning away from him so quickly her shoulder brushed the window.

“I…”

Felix didn’t have an answer. Not twenty minutes ago, she’d been cradling him against her chest and soothing his nightmares, and now she could barely stand to look at him.

“I don’t know.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Amner Hall wasn’t just old. Marinette felt she could breathe in its age.
 
As the limo approached the country house in the gathering gloom of dusk, Marinette spied what looked like ruins nestled in the hollows between the rolling hills. Ancient evergreens and patriarchal oaks stood sentinel in clustered groves along the winding road, leaving her to imagine dark little things with bright eyes to be dancing in the shadows beneath them.
 
The trees opened up for a moment and the lights shone from the large mullioned window at the front of the house, spilling a golden radiance out into the twilight air.  Marinette could only stare at it.  
 
Sure, the palace was old, but it was old in the way of commonplace monuments. She grew up in Paris, after all, and her own apartment building was over a hundred years old, leaving their older neighbors to scoff at its “newness."
 
But this building was not the usual cobbled-together style of official structures that had been around for a long time, all dust and rules and measured silence. 
 
This house was a home. Its brick-facing was sturdy and homey; the ruddy roof looked warm and snugly inviting in the last drops of sunset. Marinette could almost see the ghosts of long-grown children playing in the twilit garden, maids bringing in the laundry, and the sweep of fine gowns and the creak of stiff collars across the green velvet of the lawn.
 
This was a place that could inspire her flagging creativity. She could already feel her fingers itching for her pencils and paper.
 
“Are you just going to stare at it or are you going to get out?” The irritated voice of her employer grated on the magic of this moment, sending her crashing back into reality with an unpleasant jolt.
 
She looked over, but the prince was no longer in his seat. Confused, she turned to find he had opened her door and was waiting for her to step out of the car just like he had the night of the reception.
 
As if she was a guest or a friend, not a servant.
 
She mentally shook herself.

“Of course not! He is just trying to force me to get a move on. That’s all.”

Sliding out of the limo, she felt the overwhelming urge to stretch. Sitting for hours always had that effect on her. Her arms moved of their own accord, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders and spine, her arms unfurling above her head. She gave a jaw-popping yawn as her arms came down once more, leaving her staring into the eyes of an awkward, flushing Prince.
 
He hurriedly looked away and Marinette glanced down at herself to make sure her blouse hadn’t ridden up. It hadn’t, so what had caused his flushed cheeks and his Adam’s apple to bob several times?
 
“I should… help with the bags,” she said, abruptly feeling awkward herself.
 
“Come along,” he said gruffly. “Arthur and the driver will bring in the luggage.”
 
“But I thought-”
 
“Do you really want to be a servant all your life?”
 
His intensity startled her. She probably looked very silly, standing there staring at him with her mouth slightly open, but she couldn’t muster the concern at the moment. The words he had spoken to her were… strange coming from him.
 
Didn’t he want her to bow and scrape before him? Didn’t he take a childlike glee in giving her demeaning tasks or forcing her to pick up after him? And now he was asking, practically demanding, to know if she wanted to do the very job he took so much perverse pleasure in making more difficult for her?
 
Marinette didn’t know how to feel about that.  
 
She didn’t know how to feel about any of it.  
 
A firm hand wrapped around her wrist and gently pulled her towards the house.  ”Come along, little fool,” he said with a sigh that could almost be described as relieved. “Dinner should be waiting for us.”
 
To add to the list of strange behaviors, Felix insisted she join him for dinner. Not to serve but to dine with him. According to Felix, the family usually ate in the glass-lined garden room. But tonight, he’d brought her to the official dining room, saying it was too late to appreciate the flowers.
 
The table was lushly laid with fine linen, his own Royal china, and a meal that smelled absolutely delicious to someone who hadn’t eaten since a light lunch.
 
He held the chair for her, just as he did for his mother at formal functions, his fingers lingering for just a moment on the arm of her chair before he dismissed the servants and sat down himself.
 
Marinette couldn’t help but wonder if this was all some elaborate prank or a hidden camera show where she would come out the fool he called her to be. That might explain why he barely tasted his food but spent the entire meal either staring at her or trying not to stare. She resisted the urge to check her blouse for stains.
 
Finally, she couldn’t take the intense silence anymore.
 
“Sir, what-”
 
“Felix,” he said bluntly. “We’re alone. Call me by my name.”
 
She swallowed, scanning the room for any sign of eavesdroppers. “Felix… what exactly are my duties going to be while you’re here?”
 
She saw him wince at the word ‘duties’ before he returned to toying with his food once more.
 
He cleared his throat. “To attend me, of course. On outings, around the house and grounds, to the village, whatever the day holds. To make my tea for me and to accompany me during meals. Other than that, you may do as you please. You have my permission to explore if you so wish.”
 
“That’s all?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Must be the time difference,”

she thought.

“But can you even have jet lag if you don’t fly?”

He raised a curious eyebrow at her. “What? Is that not enough for you? I’m sure Arthur or Mrs McTavish could find something that needs cleaning if you–”

“No! No,” she exclaimed, waving her hands in front of her hurriedly. “I just… I didn’t…”
 
He gave a resigned sigh, dabbing at his lips with his napkin before placing it on the table and leaning toward her. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, since you already know I value your honesty and frankness, I will do you the courtesy of offering the same. I am here to rest, to restore some measure of health before I must return to London and another, frankly, boring round of overwhelming duties and responsibilities. Much to my confusion, your absence over the weekend made my stressful condition worse rather than better. Since you seem to be an integral part of my being able to unwind, I require your presence as much as you are willing to give me. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
 
What on earth were you supposed to say when your stuffy, arrogant boss just said he needed you around so he can relax?!
 
“Why?" she asked, feeling her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. She started twisting her napkin in her lap in order to relieve some of the nervous energy building inside her. “Why me?”
 
“It is a very indefinite concept, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, steepling his fingers together and peering at her intently over them. “But the best explanation I can offer is that you are… an enigma.”
 
“An enigma…”
 
“Yes. An enigma means a puzzle.” She bristled. She knew that, but he continued. “You are a puzzle to me, little fool, a fascinating and complicated diversion that I need to understand.”
 
She frowned at him suspiciously. “And… figuring me out is going to help you relax?”
 
“That is my intention, yes.”
 
Marinette shook her head. “Then I pity you, Felix.”
 
His lips twitched and he reached for his wine glass. “So you’ve said. What about this time?”
 
She gave a derisive little chuckle. “I just wonder how you intend to understand me when I don’t even understand myself.”
 
The intense look on his face deepened. Setting his glass down, he reached over and pulled her hand from her lap to hold it tightly in his.
 
“I don’t want to hear more of such talk,” he said sternly. “No one should make you feel inferior, including you. Such talk is…” He paused, breaking eye contact and releasing her hand. In a more subdued tone, he said, “Such talk is unproductive.”
 
Marinette boggled at him, staring as if he'd just ordered her to eat her own foot. This new, confusing Felix seemed to come out of nowhere. 
 
He had done nothing

but

treat her as his inferior. He'd lorded over her, forcing her to do the most demeaning tasks. For goodness' sake, he had once demanded that she crouch under his bed to find his stupid ‘lost’ slipper!
 
And now he was telling her that

no one

should make her feel inferior?
 
It made Marinette laugh so hard that she cried.
 
Prince Felix looked at her in clear consternation. “What on earth is the matter?” he demanded, eyes wide and voice sounding slightly strangled.
 
She wiped her streaming eyes on her napkin, completely aware that both laughter and tears were bordering on hysteria due to her confusion, stress, and recent lack of sleep, but she couldn’t help being amused by the bitter irony.
 
“You do realize you have spent the last several months in some sort of medieval attempt to force me into a meek little servant girl? That you have tried time and again to beat me with your snobbery? That you have insulted me, demeaned me, embarrassed me, and attempted to jerk me around like a puppet on a string? And now? Now you are telling me that I shouldn’t let myself feel inferior due to someone else, even myself? Surely someone as intelligent as you pride yourself on being can appreciate the irony of this situation.”
 
Marinette was tired, so tired in fact that she didn’t particularly care that her tone was soft but with a bitter edge to it. Nor did she notice that, while the laughter had stopped, the tears were still flowing.
 
Prince Felix stared at her for a long moment, then slid from his chair to kneel at her feet. He took his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, lifted her chin, and dried her eyes. His touch was incredibly gentle and his eyes…
 
She had never thought he held so much in check, but it was all there in those vibrant, verdant eyes. If only she knew how to read them.
 
Still holding her chin, he gave it the tiniest of shakes. “Allow me to rephrase,” he murmured, trailing a featherlike caress down her cheek with his knuckle that sent hot prickles down her spine. “No one is allowed to talk down to my little fool but me.”

“... because he doesn’t really mean it,”

she thought, the words echoing in her mind so loudly it was only drowned out by the sudden increase in her heart rate.
 
“I… I don’t… understand,” she stammered, not knowing how they had come to speak in whispers, but afraid to break the silence. “What changed?”
 
He blinked rapidly as if suddenly coming out of a trance and jerked his hand away.
 
“Changed?” He scoffed as he rose to his feet as cold and as rigid as cast iron. “Whatever do you mean?”
 
It was all Marinette could do to get through the rest of the meal and scurry off to her room so she could scream her frustrations into a pillow.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Seeing Prince Felix – the ruddy Crown Prince of England! – in a tailored suit was one thing. Seeing him wet and shirtless was something else entirely. "Are you sure you don't want to come in?" he said from the middle of the secret swimming pool at Amner Hall, his tone mockingly sly. If she didn't know him better, she'd expect to see his eyebrows waggling. "The water's fine." The prat! Seated near the privacy hedge in a lounge chair, Marinette was trying very, very hard not to look at him. And he absolutely knew it too. He’d favored the backstroke, so he could watch her carefully not ogling him.  Then he’d favored the breaststroke, and he’d cut through the water as smoothly as any shark, doing laps until he tired himself out, and then he’d watched her reactions.  Now, he was treading water, smiling at her in the most infuriating way, knowing she was flustered by the huge expanse of bare skin on his lithe, leanly muscled body. She wouldn't be surprised if he tried to flex his pecs or something equally ridiculous. Marinette sniffed, tossing her head like any high-born lady who cared not a whit for his shenanigans. “I don’t have a swimsuit and you know it.”  “I told you we could provide one–” “No!” Marinette’s gaze snapped to his face, only to get an eyeful of water dripping off his strong chin. “I’m not going to wear another woman’s swimsuit.” Felix tapped that chin in thought. “But if I were to buy you one–” “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing me in it.” He snorted, turning over onto his back again and paddling away as if he was done talking with her. But she knew he wasn’t by the way she felt his eyes on her. Marinette fanned herself with the book she’d brought. Even her broad-brimmed hat – courtesy of the Royal Family – didn’t keep the summer sun from beating down upon her. Hot sweat coalesced on her brow, eventually streaming down her cheeks as if she’d been crying. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, wishing more than anything that she had, in fact, brought a swimsuit. She still wouldn’t swim in front of Felix, but she could come out in the middle of the searingly warm nights to have a dip in the pool. He was still being ridiculous, doing the backstroke and thoroughly enjoying himself, so Marinette decided that she could enjoy herself too.  Marinette peeled herself off the plastic lounge chair and untied her work shoes. Felix’s attention was laser focused on her while she removed her black Klemans and set them aside. Ignoring him to the best of her ability, she stripped her socks and stretched her toes. She had toe jam. How embarrassing. Deciding to pursue this avenue of action regardless, Marinette rolled up her leggings and padded over to the edge of the pool.  Felix apparently couldn’t hold his curiosity back a moment longer. “What on earth are you doing?” Whether his face was red from the sun or from embarrassment, she didn’t care to sort it out. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Marinette huffed. He could be so dense. “I’m putting my feet in the pool.” Felix’s brows rose, and he immediately cut through the pool toward her as she sat down on the textured beige concrete. She could only hope that her legs wouldn’t be sweaty enough to stick to that. Slipping her feet into the water, Marinette let loose a soft sigh of pleasure. The water was the perfect temperature to cool her down, and while sweat still gathered at the small of her back, the rest of her was quickly approaching a healthy, non-sun-beleaguered feeling again. She was almost comfortable… until she saw what the Prince was doing. Holding himself on the edge of the pool by his fingers, Felix stared at her feet with open fascination. His lips were slightly parted, and with his blond hair plastered to his face, he looked rather childish. It was the first time Marinette had seen him without his hair swept back from his high forehead and she had to admit that it softened the austere look that seemed to be bred into his DNA. He was handsome, blast him. “Pity about his personality.”  The longer he watched her toes bob in the water, the more awkward the situation grew. After a stupidly long three minutes, the tension was so thick, Marinette could taste it. She shifted her feet away from him, and he broke the stare with a jolt as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d been doing wrong. “They’re just feet.”  More than telling Felix that, Marinette told herself. Surely there wasn’t anything intimate about him staring at her feet!  She pointedly refused to remember that she had stared at his own bare foot the night of the ‘slipper incident.’ But she was lying to herself. There was a certain amount of intimacy about it; Marinette never showed her feet to anyone. She had no cause to take her shoes off anywhere there were people – not at home, not at work, and especially not in front of the Prince of Wales. “Yes,” Felix said slowly, stealing a peek at her feet again, “but you’ve painted your toenails.” Yes, she’d painted her toenails. Red with black spots to match her earrings. But Felix was treating her as if she’d done something weird. Marinette was about to give him a snarky response, but he shook his head and continued with words that shocked her down to her core.  “I didn’t know people did that.” Marinette was aghast. “Have you never seen painted toenails?” Felix shrugged casually, but she knew him now and recognized the deeply wounded look. She’d offended him on some profound level. Did his baggage know no end? “I’ve never seen anyone’s feet just bare like that.” If Marinette thought she was aghast before, that was nothing compared to what she felt now. “Not even your mother’s?” “No,” Felix murmured, turning his glance aside. “Not even my mother’s.” Marinette made a snap decision. Drawing her foot out of the water, she held it closer to his face to let him inspect the nail polish. Turning back to her, Felix raised his brows, seeking confirmation. Marinette nodded, and he inched closer. Treating it as if it were something precious, he gently took her foot in both of his hands and turned it this way and that, repeatedly running his thumb over her big toe as if to feel the hardness of the polish or the texture of the spots. The intense way he stared at her foot, examining every facet of it with wonder, reminded Marinette of a curious housecat. No. Not a housecat. A panther, sleek and imposing and focused, ready to devour his prey. She shivered at the image. Unsettled, she took her foot back and lowered it into the water again, which made Felix raise a brow at her that she ignored. For some reason, the water wasn’t cooling her as much as before. No! No more thinking about human panthers with lithe, muscled shoulders dripping with water! She was thinking of Prince Felix.  Not the man, but her Bombay kitten. He was black as night with gorgeous green eyes that could light up the jungle.   Her little panther.  One that was safe. What was he doing at this very moment? Was he sleeping? Eating? Playing with Alya?  She could almost picture him asleep on her lap, his tiny belly swollen from eating lunch moving in and out with his peaceful breaths. If she were home, she’d run her fingers over his soft head and scratch behind his ears. She gave a gusty sigh. She missed her kitten. “What are you thinking of?” Felix’s question came out of nowhere for her; she’d forgotten the Prince was there.  He was closer to her now, almost pressing against her legs where they dangled idly in the water.  When had he gotten so close? And why did it make her feel slightly lightheaded? “My kitten,” she answered honestly and if her voice came out as a coo, there was nothing for it. “I miss him.” Felix startled her by barking out a laugh. It was long and boyish, throwing his head back and exposing the strong column of his throat and his Adam’s apple. He laughed like no one was watching, and the unguarded moment caught her by surprise and made her cheeks warm. Normally, she’d be attracted by such a laugh. Any man who could let his defenses down and give into a guffaw was beloved by her. But this was Felix, the Prince of Wales, and the thought of her being attracted to him or his laugh was anathema. Besides, it was weird . He’d never laughed before in her presence; in fact, he’d barely begun to smile. So this was yet another unprecedented strangeness. Deciding to be offended, Marinette thrust her fists into her hips. “Why are you laughing?” Felix’s mirth died down at her question, but his eyes shone with amusement. He shifted away slightly until he was beside her and hauled himself up onto the edge of the pool to sit next to her. “I’m not going to tell you.”  “And that just makes whatever it is funnier to you.” “It absolutely does.” “Hmph.” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. “I’ll have you know, I don’t like being laughed at.” “I’m not laughing at you, I’m–” Felix cut himself off, his shoulders ratcheting up around his wet ears. “I’m laughing at myself.” “The Crown Prince, laughing at himself? Are you ill?” Marinette asked sarcastically, but the look in his eyes forced her to stop. For the first time since he had declared he was going swimming, she looked at him. Really looked at him. His face wasn’t just austere. It was bordering on gaunt. His chest and shoulders were nicely sculpted, but there was more than just a hint of his ribs showing against his sides. Sitting this close, she could see the lines left by the deep grooves carved every day into his forehead by his usual scowl. His collarbones protruded starkly from under his pale skin and his eyes were wide and bloodshot over his flushed cheeks. She knew the Queen Regent had been worried about him losing weight, but this? Could… could Felix be sick? Fear dropped like icy lead into Marinette's stomach, poisoning her with worry. Without thinking, she grasped him around the back of his head and pulled him down to her level. Checking his temperature, Marinette pressed an instinctive, motherly kiss to his forehead. Felix froze, his eyes blowing wide.  “Felix,” she whispered, her worry bleeding through her words despite her best efforts. “ Are you ill? Should I call your mother? A doctor?” Felix instantly relaxed, dissolving into helpless laughter once again. Marinette harrumphed. “And that, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Felix said, reaching up to boop her nose with a freezing-cold, dripping-wet finger, “is why I keep you around.” *** After his evening shower, Felix was feeling pretty darn great. He'd swam in the pool attended by Miss Dupain-Cheng for most of the day, working his muscles and cooling himself off.  He was sore but in a good and honest way of doing a hard day of play. Which he hadn't had in years.  And he had Miss Dupain-Cheng to thank for it. Arthur, his valet, stood silently by his drawers, holding a nightshirt. Felix was wearing his sleep pants and his bunny slippers but had yet to complete dressing for bed. "Penny for your thoughts, Arthur?" Felix asked, knowing from the shrewd look in the man's eyes that his mind was turning. Arthur’s brows rose. Apparently, he hadn’t expected Felix to ask for his thoughts. Felix had to admit that he didn’t do that often, but Arthur always had good insights, so he really should. “I was thinking about how relaxed you are, Your Royal Highness.”  A slow smile spread across Felix’s face despite himself. “Yes,” he said, realizing the words were true even as he spoke them. “I am relaxed.” “That’s all to the good,” Arthur opined, which was strange, as Arthur didn’t usually offer his opinions. But Felix did suppose he had asked for them. “Is it because of the young maid? She looked awfully worried about you at dinner.” Thoughts of Miss Dupain-Cheng warmed Felix’s heart at first, but the fact that Arthur thought that she had been worried was like a splash of cold water. “Worried?” Felix asked, blinking at Arthur. Felix didn’t doubt the man had read the situation correctly, but the fact that Felix himself had missed her concern was bothersome like a burr under his fingernails. He had thought the dinner, held in the glass-lined garden room, was pleasant for all parties. “Whatever do you mean?” “You barely ate,” Arthur pointed out succinctly, and Felix had to acknowledge that that, at least, was true.  Recently, for the past few months or so – Felix had honestly lost track of the amount of time this had lasted – eating had become onerous and required more concentration than Felix was willing to give it.  Felix opened his mouth to defend himself, but Arthur continued, his words dropping a stone into Felix’s belly. “She seemed distressed while trying to get you to eat and you didn’t do it.” Guilt stabbed at Felix like an ice pick in his lungs. He’d caused her distress?  Felix shifted on his feet by the four-poster bed, distinctly uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. Rather than feeling warm from the shower, he shivered, which had nothing to do with the outside temperature. “What should I do, Arthur?” This, also, was unprecedented. It’s not like Felix had never asked Arthur for advice, but he was a servant and Felix was, well, the Prince of Wales. He didn’t need advice from servants. Usually.  If Arthur had noticed that Miss Dupain-Cheng was troubled and Felix hadn’t, clearly he had a read on the situation that Felix lacked, and maybe as a result, Arthur would be able to solve the problem. “I think,” Arthur started slowly, impressing his upper-crust sensibilities on every syllable, “that you should try to eat, Sir.” The corners of Felix’s lips tugged down. Even while sitting in the sumptuous glass-lined garden room, surrounded by beautiful flowers and attended by a beautiful woman, eating had never appealed to him less. It’s not like the food wasn’t to his taste. Someone – probably Arthur, now that Felix thought about it – had instructed the chef here to make all his favorites. Shepherd’s pie, spaghetti bolognese, even grilled salmon – all meticulously prepared and spiced just the way he liked them. Well. Used to like them. “I don’t know why,” Felix started, crossing to Arthur to be helped into his nightshirt, “but I don’t feel like eating much lately.” Arthur expertly slipped the sleeves of the nightshirt over Felix’s skinny arms. “You have been losing weight, Sir.” “My mother has already pointed that out,” Felix snapped and instantly drew back, guilt flooding his mouth with a bitter taste. “I’m… I’m sorry, Arthur. I don’t know why I’m so irritable.”  “Probably because you’re not eating,” Felix chastised himself, though he heard it in Miss Dupain-Cheng’s sarcastic voice. “No offense taken, Sir.” Arthur’s patience with him never knew an end, and Felix, for once in his life, was absurdly grateful. “Do you need a new pillow?” “Pardon?” Stupefied by the abrupt change in topic, Felix blinked once again. He stared up into Arthur’s impassive face, feeling very much like the young boy he had been, wanting to be picked up by the man and soothed when he’d scraped his knee. “Your pillow, sir. The young maid put gelatin under it.” Felix’s heart warmed again as did his cheeks. That Miss Dupain-Cheng cared enough about him to prank him even here made him glad he’d brought her along. His admiration for her came out as a dismissive scoff. “Yes, please, Arthur. A new pillow and some new sheets will do.” *** Marinette stared up at the large, unperturbed face before her.     “At least one of us is calm,” she thought nervously, swallowing hard and wondering how on earth she was supposed to mount a horse. “Please don’t tell me I’m just supposed to jump on it!”  “What’s the problem?” She knew that smug voice all too well. “Is Freya not to your liking?” She looked over to see Felix lead a tall, white stallion out into the stable yard.   “Of course it’s white,” she grumbled, glaring at him as he stroked his mount’s nose. “What was that?” he asked, his smug smile widening into a full-blown smirk.  He knew exactly what she had said. He was just rubbing it in. With her hands on her hips, Marinette narrowed her eyes at him. “Your horse. It’s white.” He rolled his eyes at her. Another first. “Oh, well spotted!” She huffed in annoyance. “Why must you insist on being a living stereotype? A Prince on a white horse? Seriously?” Her own horse, a docile-looking mare with beige hair and a golden mane, snorted and waggled her head as if she shared her annoyance. Felix quirked an eyebrow at her. “I believe the trope in question is ‘a knight on a white horse,’ not a Prince. Besides, you said you wanted an adventure.” As graceful as a Prince out of a fairytale, he leapt into the saddle. Marinette groaned. Freya stomped a hoof and Marinette jumped backward, so nervous she didn’t even wince as she tripped over a wooden stool and landed hard in the dirt. In an instant, the Prince was off his horse and kneeling at her side. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She shook her head, rubbing the small of her back that had taken the shock to her tailbone and objected. The brown horse stepped forwards and lowered her nose towards Marinette, who couldn’t help but squeak and flinch. Felix looked from her to the horse and back again, realization dawning on his face. “Are… are you afraid of horses?” he asked, curiosity in his voice but concern in his vivid green eyes. She couldn’t help the blush of shame that spread across her cheeks. Ooh, how she hated to lose face in front of this man! “N-no. Not exactly.” He cocked his head ever so slightly to one side, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then what, exactly ?” She gulped and plunged ahead. “I’ve never been around a real one, okay?” Prince Felix made a soft noise that might have been a chuckle. “So… what?  You’ve only ridden ponies?” he drawled, clearly trying to keep a straight face and utterly failing. “Not everyone rides on real horses, Felix,” she groaned, her hands creeping up to hide her red cheeks. “With me, it’s more like the metal ones in front of shopping malls.” This time, he let the laugh ring out and if she hadn’t been so irritated with him, she would have acknowledged that it warmed her heart… a little. “So,” he said cheerfully after his laughter had subsided. “What has my little fool so nervous?” She knew she was a pitiful sight, half-lying in the dirt, red-faced and nervously wide-eyed. That she had completely lost her composure, and in front of His Royal Pratness at that, was more than she could handle at the moment. Marinette pulled herself upright, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.  This visible sign of vulnerability had the same effect on Felix as her fall had done. He reached out and placed a hand on her hair, stroking it gently with a crooked smile on his face. His eyes clearly wanted her to tell him what was wrong. She had always been a sucker for blond men with green eyes. “Horses are so big,” she murmured, trying to hide her mouth behind her arms. “It is so far off the ground and… I’ve spent most of my life with bruises from being clumsy. Heights are bad enough, but heights that move?”   She shuddered. His warm hand slid down to the back of her head, giving it a gentle shake. “What if you ride in front of me?” he offered softly, so softly that it felt like her heart was being squeezed. “That way we can have our adventure and I can keep you safe.” Then he lifted an eyebrow at her.  “Unless you still object to princes on white horses? You are more than welcome to wait until a knight rides by, but knights in shining armor are rather hard to come by these days.” That little poke at her pride was all she needed. “Fine,” she snapped, “but if you let me fall and I die falling from your white death trap over there, then you will never get rid of me, Felix Fathom. I’ll haunt you until you either give up in despair or finally turn into a halfway-decent human being!” “Then we have a deal.” He offered her his hand and she stared at it suspiciously. “I believe your words were, ‘the man who can’t look me in the eye and shake my hand honestly won’t be taking me anywhere’?”  His eyes sparkled - no. It was just the sunlight bouncing off the stable windows behind him. Yeah, that was it. “You see,” Felix continued, drawing her ire. “I can listen, even to a little fool like you.” She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet, leaving her to marvel at how strong he was despite his seemingly poor health. The thought sent a trickle of ice into the pit of her stomach.  “Is he really sick?” she thought worriedly as he wordlessly helped her up onto the horse before mounting himself. “I know he hasn’t been eating well for months now, losing weight, looking paler than he used to, more tired…”  Her heart felt squeezed in an entirely different way. “No! No! Not Felix too!”  She slammed her eyes shut tight to banish the tears that sprang instantly to the corners. Could she end up with more late-night phone calls from hospitals? More waiting at bedsides and in empty halls, hoping for good news that never seemed to come? Suddenly, she felt strong arms bracing her in, the warmth of his chest pressing against her back, and the warm stirring of air as he bent his head down to whisper in her ear. “Relax, Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you are too tense, you’ll worry Agamemnon.”  She shivered, but not from the height, the feel of the horse between her thighs, or the warmth of him surrounding her. When… When had she started to care about Prince Felix? *** Oh, how good she smelled. Sweet, floral, and delicate, and if Felix hadn’t had his chin resting on her hair, he would have missed the delicious scent of her among all the vegetation. Oh, and the horse, too. Horses had an earthy, animalistic smell all their own that most people hated, but Felix loved. Having her pressed up against his chest, his hand splayed across her taut belly, was strange. And thrilling. But mostly strange. He was stunned that she’d gone along with his idea, and to be frank, more than a little smug.  Felix could protect his little fool if only she would let him, and she had.
As Agamemnon walked through the underbrush of the forest, moving further and further away from Amner Hall to a destination only Felix knew, he couldn’t be happier.  Miss Dupain-Cheng was warm and she smelled good and she trusted him. That was the most thrilling part of it, truly. He’d offered to let her do something she didn’t usually do and didn’t really want to do, but she chose to do it anyway… To be with him. Felix was, in a word, giddy.  And now he was going to take her to his favorite place in the world: a pond from his childhood nestled deep in the forests of Norfolk. He’d had so much fun skinny dipping with Adrien in the crystal clear water, playing with lilypads, and catching fireflies. Honeysuckle had grown all around the pond, sheltering it from the elements.  Honeysuckle that, on second thought, reminded him of her scent. Had he identified it at last? He and Adrien had spent years plucking the flowers from their stems and sucking on the sweet savor. If he could recapture that feeling of childhood whimsy with her… Well, then he’d truly be relaxed again. Agamemnon knickered, and Miss Dupain-Cheng jerked in his hold, apparently spooked. He tightened his arm around her and pulled on the reins, drawing the horse to a stop.  He didn’t want her frightened. Not with him. Never with him. “Are you alright?” he murmured, leaning forward to get a look at her wide, terrified eyes, and also consequently inhale a great whiff of her scent.  The warmth of her increased as she shoved her back up against his chest, her hands coming to cover his on her stomach and press it even further into her. “Don’t drop me,” she begged, and Felix was tempted to press a kiss to the top of her head. Instead of that tender gesture – where was the desire coming from? – he scoffed and resumed the horse’s trot. Slower this time, though, to put her mind at ease. “As if I would.”  After a bit of riding – which was ever so much fun with her in front of him – Felix noticed her shoulders still hadn’t loosened. Felix tightened his hold on her, hoping to calm the bristly lines of tension in her body.  Surely, with her ensconced in his arms, warm and safe, she wouldn’t be so worried? But it was to no avail. She kept glancing up at him with concern and what looked like fright in her eyes as if checking that he was still there and wouldn’t suddenly disappear, leaving her to fend for herself atop Agamemnon.  “Surely she’ll realize I’m not going anywhere,” he thought with a huff, racking his brains to see what he could do to help. Felix leaned his cheek against hers, delighting in the warmth of it. “Can you see where we’re going through the trees?” “No…” Miss Dupain-Cheng still appeared to be a shrinking violet, not the fiery, headstrong girl he knew. This would not do. “A pond.” Felix felt more than heard the rumbling of his chest, his heart certainly betraying him as it pounded against her back. “I used to spend my childhood summers there.” “Oh…” Casting about for some sort of hook to draw her into a conversation, Felix recalled the prank she’d played on him in the bathtub. “My cousin and I used to swim there and catch frogs,” he said, beaming at both memories. “But none as big as the wretched monster you used on me.” “Okay…” No, no good. She still wasn’t engaged. There was something on her mind, and Felix was intent on ferreting it out. “My father used to skinny dip with us before he died.”  Miss Dupain-Cheng jolted against him, almost unbalancing herself. Felix clung tightly to her, preventing her from falling.  Aha. Now she was engaged. “Your father,” she whispered, her voice coming out as a strangled squeak as if she were choking on her own tongue, “went skinny dipping with you and your cousin?” “Um. Yes?” “Your father,” she continued, and only when her tone remained scandalized did Felix realize he’d made a grievous error, “ the King of England, went swimming naked as the day he was born?” “I don’t see what the problem is,” Felix replied gruffly, unsettled. Miss Dupain-Cheng burst into laughter as clear as sunlight. It dappled her freckled face with cheer, illuminating the beautiful column of her throat as she threw her head back against his collarbones, thumping him lightly in her amusement. As she chortled, Felix stared down at her, finding a grin coming to his face unbidden. He’d done that. He’d had that effect on her. And her giggles were adorable.  Her mirth eventually died down, and Felix had to concede the point. “I guess if you didn’t really know him, you wouldn’t expect ‘The King of England’ to go skinny dipping.” That sobered her immediately, and Felix wondered at her sudden change in demeanor. One moment, she was laughing with the most gorgeous sound he’d ever heard, and the next, her hands gripped his as if afraid she’d fall off the horse. “What’s wrong?”  Felix had to know. He must. She needed to tell him what was bothering her or he would gnaw his own leg off in frustration. “Your father…” Miss Dupain-Cheng started, drawing a shuddering breath that made her tremble in his hold. “Didn’t he die of… cancer?” Shattered glass took up residence in Felix’s chest where his heart used to be. “... Yes,” he finally admitted, his eyes tightening around the corners for reasons unknown to him. “Yes, he died of cancer.” Miss Dupain-Cheng sniffled. He pressed his cheek to hers again, seeking her warmth, and jerked away when he felt her tears roll down his face. Pulling the horse to an immediate stop, Felix looped the reins around a tree branch and leaned as far around her as he could, turning Miss Dupain-Cheng’s face to him so he could get a better look. “Are you crying ?” he asked, his shattered-glass heart suddenly thrashing in its death throes. “Why?” Miss Dupain-Cheng’s breath hitched twice as she tried to compose herself. She took her hands off his and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms.  “It’s nothing.” “No,” Felix shot back, his hackles raised. “It’s something. It’s important to you. It’s something I’ve done, and you’re not telling me what it is. How can I possibly fix this problem if I don’t know what it is?” She turned her face away, her cheeks flushed with what he presumed was shame. Overcoming his instincts, Felix gently took her chin in his hand and guided her eyes back to his. “Please.” He’d thought he was above begging. Apparently not. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, if I’ve offended you, please –” “You haven’t offended me, Felix,” she whispered, tears still streaming freely down her contradictory face. “Let’s just go.” Felix was baffled. More than baffled, he was annoyed. There was clearly something buried here, something he’d inadvertently unearthed, and whatever it was haunted her so much that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him? That hurt. *** Marinette couldn’t sleep. She sat in a rocking chair on the veranda, sipping a cup of chamomile tea and listening to the crickets sing. She couldn’t resist rubbing her cheek against the Chinese silk dressing gown she had found in her room. It was a delicate pink embroidered with sakura blossoms outlined in gold. It was the softest thing she had ever touched, like flowing water made dry, but even that could only distract her momentarily from the thoughts that had weighed her down all afternoon. Felix was sick. He had so many of the symptoms that her mother had shown in those early months of her diagnosis. His father had died of cancer just the year before. He didn’t eat and from the look in his eyes, she doubted he was sleeping well either. And she just realized that, somehow, he had become her friend without her noticing.  “I can’t go through this again,” she thought, scrubbing at her eyes with the side of her wrist and wishing this was all just a bad dream. “I just can’t! I’m barely hanging on now, what with Papa calling me up in the middle of the night and Maman looking so pale and drawn every time I see her on the screen! Now Felix? Anything but that! I’ll bow and scrape and do whatever it takes, but I can’t lose anyone else!”  It was no use wiping them away. The tears were coming thick and fast now with no end in sight. “Ehem,” came a soft, clearing of the throat that was very familiar. “Mr Wemberly,” she murmured, turning away hurriedly so he wouldn’t see her tears. “What are you doing up so late?” “I could say the same of you.” A neatly folded handkerchief appeared in her line of sight. She took it and wiped the tears away. “Master was up late again. I came down to make him a cup of herbal tea and saw someone had beaten me to it.” He stepped past her, moving to the rail surrounding the porch and looking out over the fields and woodlands. “I wanted to thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said without looking at her. “Thank me? For what?” “This place holds so many memories for the Master, yet he hasn’t been here in several years. He buries himself in his duties with all the diligence and professionalism that could possibly be desired, but he has become a shadow of himself. It took sparring with you to get him to come back here. Here, he can breathe again and it is all thanks to you.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I can take any credit, Mr Wemberly. He was the one who suggested it and demanded I come along.” These last words were heavy with sarcasm, but her tone softened almost at once. “But I’m very glad he did.” “Miss Dupain-Cheng, do you know why Prince Felix asked you to come with him?" Mr Wemberly asked kindly but to the point. She shook her head. “No. I just assumed it was because he was acting domineering again.” The valet chuckled. “Yes, well, he does do that quite a bit these days. He is very complex in his thinking – straight as an arrow in some things, but as twisty as the Gordian Knot in others and just as impossible to untie.” The man tugged at his collar, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable. “I hope you won’t let on to anyone what I am about to tell you. It is really not a violation of trust as such and I do believe it would be beneficial for my master’s ultimate health and–” At the word health, Marinette gasped. Dropping her teacup with a chinking of broken china, she leapt forward to grasp his arm in a fearful hold. “Mr Wemberly, what is wrong with Felix? He’s sick, isn't he? Have the doctors done anything? They must have! He’s the Crown Prince!” Mr Wemberley’s face softened kindly at her worry and he patted the hand that clutched his. “While it is true he has been putting off certain medical screenings, I believe the root of his problem lies not in his cells, but in his heart.” That brought her worry train to a crashing, confusing halt. “I don’t think I…” “The Master brought you here because he saw that another young man was upsetting you by talking about your past. I believe,” and here his lips turned up in a small, tidy grin, “that Prince Felix experienced a pang of jealousy over you, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” She goggled at him, her mouth popping open like a landed fish gasping for oxygen in the wrong environment. Then she giggled. “Pfft, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” she asked. The thought of the Prince feeling jealous of… who would that have been, James?... well, that was just silly. Mr Wemberly shook his head, his smile never wavering. “I am quite serious in this matter, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I never had any children of my own, but I have been caring for His Royal Highness for most of his life. He is like a son to me and I want nothing more than for him to be happy and healthy.”   The valet gave the hand that still gripped his sleeve a gentle squeeze. “And I have seen that you make him happier than I think he has been since his childhood. You push him to his limits. You encourage him to play. You make him think, look beyond his duties, and remind him that he is still a man.” Marinette released his arm then, stepping back to let his words sink in. She knew her cheeks were burning and hoped he couldn’t see it in the dark, but she wasn’t holding her breath about it. Had this man seen her own change of feelings before she had, from animosity to friendship – or whatever it was between them? “I’m very worried about him,” she murmured, “but he makes it so hard to help.” “Yes,” Mr Wemberley sighed. “But you haven’t been an easy nut to crack yourself, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” “True. What would you suggest I do to help him?” Mr Wemberly placed his hand on her shoulder just as her own father would have – at least he would have before her mother’s illness had torn his heart in two. “You may not believe this, but he is thrilled every time you prank him. He sees it as you paying him attention – Felix the man, not Felix the prince. He doesn’t have much in the way of family that he gets along with well and there are only two people, apart from his mother, whom he asks to call him by his name.” “M-Me?” He nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently. “As cliche as it may sound, Miss Dupain-Cheng, following your heart is exactly what you should do for him. It has already made a world of difference.” He released her then and bent to tidy up the shards of broken china from the cup she had dropped. “Oh, no!  Let me do that, Sir. Please!  It was my fault,” she babbled, bending down to do it herself, but he held out his empty hand to stop her. “No, Miss. Master would be very angry at me if I were to allow you to handle broken glass with your bare hands. Besides, it is getting late and you should get some sleep.” Marinette rose, her cheek brushing against the collar of the beautiful dressing gown once more. “I should thank you too,” she said, gratefully. “You have been taking such good care of His Royal Highness, despite his moods, and now you are helping me. You even got me this beautiful robe to wear. It is the softest, loveliest thing I’ve ever worn – even if it is only for a week.” Mr Wemberly smiled up at her, his eyes full of knowledge contained. “For my small part, you’re most welcome, Miss Dupain-Cheng. However, the robe is yours to keep. Master thought it suited you and had it purchased specially.” The heat in her cheeks made it very hard to fall asleep that night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette lay on a blanket, trailing her fingers through the cool water of the pond, moonlight reflecting off her wet fingers and scattering like diamonds across the silvered surface.

She felt at peace, truly happy for the first time in months as the cool earth leached the heat of the day from her muscles. The water was inviting and the air around her was full of the scents of flowers, green, growing things, and rich soil while fireflies danced lazily amongst the grasses.

Suddenly, the water frothed and churned as if boiling, though she found the sight strangely exciting rather than frightening. Out of the disturbance burst a human form, pale as the moonlight he swam in.

For male, he undoubtedly was, lithe and leanly muscled with strong angles of shoulders and jaw. His light hair hung loosely around his face and, for just a moment, Marinette thought it was Adrien.

But a strong hand came up and swept the hair out of his eyes, eyes she just barely recognized as they didn’t stare back at her with arrogance or intensity.

Felix.

His eyes nearly glowed in the silver light and she suddenly felt very exposed.

She tried to scramble up from where she was lying on her stomach by the water’s edge, but a hand reached out and grasped her ankle, just as he had done in the pool the other day.

“Please, Marinette,” Felix asked so softly it was almost something felt rather than heard. “Don’t leave. Come swim with me.”

She had never told him her first name, a fact that still irked him while becoming something of a joke between them. It should have been strange, but the way her name fell from his lips was enough to make her tipsy. Her throat closed around all the words she wanted to say, leaving her to nod at him shyly.

He pulled himself out of the water to take her hand and lead her back into the pool, her white nightgown billowing around her like sea foam. Step by step the water rose until she could no longer touch the soft sand of the bottom and had to tread water to stay afloat. Felix seemed to glide through the water as if he was one with it.

The smile on his face was a complete transformation. The lines of life and sorrow still creased his forehead and marked the corners of his eyes, but his smile was wider and brighter than she had ever thought it could be. A burden seemed to have been lifted from him, strengthening him and filling him with a contentment that matched her own.

“Felix?” she asked. “How did you know my name?”

A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, merriment dancing in his eyes. He tapped her on the nose gently before gliding around her in the silken water.

“I want to know everything about you, my sweet little fool. I want to know your hopes, dreams, and desires so I can help you fulfill them. I want to know your fears so I can protect you from them. I want to know your burdens so I can share them and carry them for you when you’re too tired to do it anymore.” He shrugged, that soft, knowing smile teasing her again. “I had to start somewhere.”

She shook her head in amusement. “I take it you did some digging to find my name. I suppose it wasn’t too hard. Did that give you a good starting point?”

He hummed in the affirmative.

“So what else did you find out about me?” she asked teasingly.

“Mmm, that you like cats, you love Italian food, and…” He stopped in front of her once more and leaned in. “I found out you are just tall enough for me to… do this!”

With a gleeful shout, he popped up and used his weight to push her under the water.  She bobbed right back up again, sputtering and coughing, but not angry. “Oh, you come back here, Felix Fathom! We’ll see how you like it!”

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

She chased him around the pond, never quite able to catch him as he would wait until the last possible moment before gliding away. Laughing at his antics, she cupped her hands and sent a cascade of water into his face, startling him.

“It’s on now, Marinette,” he called laughingly, and then it was his turn to chase her.

She didn’t make it far, even though it was clear he was letting her pull away just to keep the game going. She made it only halfway across the pond before he caught her by the hand and whirled her into his arms.

Laughing and panting, she looked up into his eyes and was struck dumb. The laughter died in her throat, replaced by an intense shyness threatening to strangle her. She could feel her hands trembling against his shoulders - so smooth, firm, and cool under her fingers.

Felix was breathing in short, shallow pants, his pulse fluttering like a butterfly in the veins in his neck. Hers matched time with his. The moonlight, the water, and the scent of green and something spicy combined to make her feel drunk, but not with wine.

Marinette felt drunk on his smile, his presence, the spicy scent of his aftershave, and something… more.

Felix’s hands slid up her arms to cradle her neck, his forehead pressing against hers as they floated together in the water.

“I’ve been trapped for so long, Marinette,” he breathed, his warm breath playing over her lips, making the air hitch in her chest. “My world has been dull and gray and lifeless for so long I’ve been forgetting who I am. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, silly,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck to press her cheek against his. “I want you to be happy and healthy again.”

He shivered at her words, his lips brushing the join of her neck and shoulder in a touch that sent sparks zinging all the way to her toes. She gasped involuntarily, squeezing him tighter.

He pulled away ever so slightly, just enough to see her face, for his gaze to linger on her lips. “Would you stay if I were to do this?”

Pulling her to him, he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. She felt like she was being melted down and reformed a thousand times at that moment, the residual heat pooling in the pit of her stomach and throwing off sparks. The strength of his hands at the small of her back and cradling her head were the only things keeping her steady in the midst of the flood.

Something silky and cool wrapped around her legs then, startling her back to awareness. Looking down, she saw a glow under the surface - a brilliant golden green, like the height of summer radiance dappling through the leaves.

“What is that?” she marveled.

“Do you trust me, Marinette?” Felix’s voice was so open, so vulnerable, yet so kind that she nodded without thinking twice. He let her go and drifted backward, allowing a large frilled fin to rise from the water, shedding that beautiful light in iridescent rainbows across the clearing.

She stared at Felix, the man who she very well knew had legs and other human male elements, trying very hard to forget the incident with the bullfrog, but what she was seeing now? It made no sense! It defied… everything she knew.

“Felix, what is… how… what…”

She flushed at her inability to construct anything other than fragments, boggling at the … merman? in front of her.

Felix chuckled. “You trusted me, Marinette. Otherwise, you would never have found out.”

“You can’t be! It's not possible!”

He lowered his tail and drifted over to her, cradling her face once more. “Of course not, silly little fool. But… I need you to find me. The real me. Before I get lost again.”

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead that made her feel weak all over. “Can you find me, Marinette? Will you try?”

“No! You can’t go! I’ve only just found you! I won’t let you get lost again! I promise!”

She tried to cling to him once more, but he melted away like moonlight.

“Find the real me, Marinette.”

“Felix! No!

Don’t go!”
 
Marinette bolted up in the dark, colliding with a warm, firm body in the process. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders and it was only then that Marinette realized she was trembling, though whether from fear or a reaction, she didn’t know.
 
“It’s alright now,” said the voice from her dream awkwardly but trying to soothe her nonetheless. “I’ve got you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
 
“F-F-Felix,” she stammered, breathing heavily and her heart galloping like a racehorse in her chest. “You’re okay? You’re not–” She hurriedly threw the covers off her and clutched at his shadowy form in the darkness.  
 
Even though she couldn’t see him, she took comfort in the soft cotton of his pajama shirt, the warmth of his chest against her cheek, the slightly accelerated heartbeat she could hear under her ear, and the scent of… allspice?
 
“M-Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder as if he wasn’t sure where it was safe to put his hands. “I’m… s-sorry to intrude into your rooms so late at night, but you cried out. You must have been having a nightmare.”
 
“Not exactly,” she murmured, clutching his shirt and willing her heart to stop running for the roses. “The first part was… very good, but then you… it was you but not you… and something was wrong and you disappeared and I didn’t know how to find the real you! I was so scared!”
 
“Y-You dreamed about me?” His voice, though pitched higher than usual, was the same soft, vulnerable voice he had spoken in her dream. “You were worried about me?”
 
“Of course I am, you big idiot,” she growled, thumping his thin chest lightly with her fist to make the point. “You don’t eat enough. Arthur says you aren’t getting enough sleep and you have a schedule that would drive any lesser man insane and it will only get worse because you’re the ruddy Crown Prince of England!”  
 
Her voice had been rising higher and higher until she was yelling, tears of worry and anger burning their way out of her eyes. Her hands fisted in his nightshirt and she shook him.  
 
“But I don’t care about any of that. The stupid crown and the stupid Cabinet meetings and the stupid official nonsense can all go hang! Do you hear me, Felix?! I can’t lose anyone else! You are going to start taking better care of yourself or so help me–”
 
One hand cupped the back of her head and buried her face into his thin chest, her protests muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 
 
Marinette didn’t know why all of this had come tumbling out of her then. Maybe it had been the sweetness of the dream and how Felix had just faded away from her. Maybe the constant worry about her mother’s health, her father’s sanity, and now Felix’s obvious illness as well was too much to cope with! 
 
All she knew for sure was that he was there, holding her tightly as no one else had in months and she allowed herself this moment of weakness.
 
So she cried, sobs tearing through her as he held her and stroked her hair, humming some old song in a low rumble that was almost like a purr.  
 
When finally the sobs faded away to exhausted silence and she was nearly asleep in his arms, he carefully tried to lay her back down on her pillows.
 
“No,” she moaned, clutching his shirt tightly as her weary mind clung to the only thing she could remember about the dream. “You can’t go. If you leave, I won’t be able to find you again.”
 
With amazing gentleness, he plucked her hands off his nightshirt and tucked the blankets in around her.
 
“Don’t worry, my little fool,” he murmured, stroking her hair soothingly. “I’ll be here as soon as you wake up in the morning.”
 
“P-pro…mise?” she asked with a yawn.
 
Her eyelids were too heavy to try to pick out his expression in the dark, but a cool hand swept her hair off her forehead and a hesitant kiss was placed there.  
 
“I promise, little fool. Now get some sleep.”
 
She nodded against her pillows, sleep dragging her down.  “Remember… you… promised.”
 
Marinette never heard his reply.
 
***
 
Felix crept out of Miss Dupain-Cheng’s bedroom and eased the door shut behind him.  He leaned against the wall, weariness weighing down every joint in his body and a few more that seemed to be extradimensional, but he couldn’t care less.
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng’s words echoed through the chambers of his heart like a full-on brass band.
 
She had dreamed of him. She worried about him. She had called out for him in her sleep!  
 
His cheeks flushed hotly at the memory of her sweet, soft form curled up against him, as helpless as a child and just as vulnerable.
 
She had needed him. Not Felix the Prince. Not Felix - the future King. Not Felix the icon or figurehead. Not Felix the future world leader.
 
She had needed Felix… the man. Somehow, she had grown fond of him. More than that, she had even grown to trust him…
 
…trust him enough to give vent to the storm of tears that had turned his little fool into a trembling wreck… trust him enough to nearly fall asleep in his arms.
 
He could feel the heat travel up from his chest and down into his feet, a rise in temperature that accompanied the feelings that chose that moment to open their dark, closed petals to reveal themselves as golden-hearted roses.
 
But he had hurt her, tormented her, insulted her professionalism and her intelligence, and generally lorded his status over her as if she was of no consequence.
 
Yet she still cared about him anyway.
 
Roses with thorns.

“But thorns are part of the rose. Without them, it’s too much of a good thing, don’t you see?”

Felix swallowed, finally understanding, at least in some small part, what she had meant that day.

“In a dream or a fairy tale, perfection is normal. Even the unusual or the downright bizarre seems normal in a dream. Like knights on white horses or roses without thorns. Like wishing on stars or going on adventures.”

And that was when Felix knew.
 
It wasn’t about winning any longer.
 
It wasn’t about dominance or servant versus master. It was about searching the thousands of lonely moments, full of thorns, for the one perfect person worth changing the world for.
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng was his rose with thorns.
 
“Sir, is everything alright?” asked Arthur, appearing like magic from the shadows in a dressing gown and holding a torch low to the ground. “Is Miss Dupain-Cheng ill?”
 
“She had a bad dream. I was passing by on my way to get some more tea… she cried out my name, Arthur.”
 
Felix’s hand rubbed his chest where her sweet-scented head had so recently lain, where her fingers had clutched the fabric with fear and desperation, begging him not to leave her.
 
“I take it she has fallen back asleep, Sir,” the valet commented, a look of concern pulling his brows together into a frown.
 
“What? Oh, yes yes. She’s fine now.”
 
“Very good, sir.” The man started to turn away.
 
“Wait a moment, Arthur.”
 
“Yes, Sir?”
 
Felix ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Is it a common symptom of stress for someone to be comforted by a familiar touch or scent? Or, perhaps, to have difficulty leaving another person’s presence?”
 
“Not of stress, no, sir.  Not that I know of.”
 
“Ah.” Felix was disappointed. He had hoped he could just chalk up these strange sweet feelings to the stress he had slowly been easing over the last few days. 
 
But no such luck.
 
“However, I am aware of a common diagnosis for such symptoms,” Arthur replied, and Felix could just see the corner of the man’s mouth twitch.
 
“Really? And what would that be?”
 
For the first time since Felix had come of age, Arthur placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder with a firm grasp.
 
“Love, Sir." Felix's breath hitched. Could it be? "It happens all the time when one is in love.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix's head swam. He'd asked Arthur the night before about possible reasons for his own confusing feelings, but upon further reflection, he realized that the way he'd phrased the questions could also apply to Miss Dupain-Cheng.As he stared at her over his oatmeal, ignoring the way the rain pitter-pattered like children stomping just outside the glass of the garden room, Felix tried to puzzle out precisely what she meant to him…And what he meant to her.“Is it a common symptom of stress for someone to be comforted by a familiar touch or scent?" He'd comforted Miss Dupain-Cheng after her nightmare, and he presumed that he was only able to do so because he was familiar to her.
"Or, perhaps, to have difficulty leaving another person’s presence?”
That was what her dream was about, right? While he couldn't tell a whole lot about it through her panicked garble, he had gotten the impression that she'd lost him in some way.And she certainly hadn't wanted him to leave.The object of his fascination spoke, and he realized only after her lush lips stopped moving that he'd missed it."Pardon?""I said," she teased, her mouth quirking up at the corner in such an appealing way, "‘Have I grown a new head?’ You've been staring at me as if you'd never seen me before."Felix hadn't seen her before. At least not in this light. He ducked, letting a sheepish smile overtake his features. "I am being rather rude, aren't I? My apologies."From the corner of his eye, he spotted her brows shooting up into her hairline. "The Crown Prince, apologizing?" she mused without any real rancor. "Maybe it's you who's grown a new head!"Felix sighed. Why couldn't she be as honest as she'd been while half-asleep? She'd called him an idiot for worrying her and that was refreshing."Felix," she called softly, drawing his attention so quickly, heat bloomed from the muscle pulled in his neck. How lovely it was to hear his name from her lips!"Yes, little fool?"The nickname was more an endearment than anything now. One he hadn't expected to grow so fond of. Unfortunately, she did not share his fondness."Hmph!"She puffed her cheeks like a chipmunk's, exhaling slowly through pursed lips. Her eyes narrowed on him, but only for a fraction of a second before she looked away and began buttering her toast.He only had one more day with her. Today was the last they’d spend at Anmer Hall. Tomorrow, they’d be on their way back to London, where the bubble of informality and casual interaction would burst. He couldn’t bear it. The thought of rubbing elbows with politicians and people who wanted, wanted, wanted things from him ratcheted his shoulders up around his ears. No matter how much he wanted to stay in that bubble with her, Felix couldn’t. He only had this one last chance to make things right. Desperate to put them back on an even footing, Felix reached out and covered the hand holding her butter knife with his own."I'm sorry," he murmured, drinking in the way her eyes widened in shock. "What were you going to say?"Her gaze flicked down to their conjoined hands and back to his face. "I was going to say, 'You haven't touched your oatmeal' but what's gotten into you? You're not acting like yourself."Realizing that he was pushing her too much, he withdrew his hand and picked up his spoon to poke at the melting brown sugar. "I… just have a lot on my mind, is all."Maybe she didn’t know what her feelings were. Maybe she didn't love him. Maybe she was just his employee and didn't care for him at all.Felix's heart sank. Maybe he was deluding himself. He'd forgotten how to love - if, indeed, he'd ever known in the first place. What chance did he have, really? Who could love their tormentor?Her gaze on him softened, and she set her knife down and took his hand in both her own. "What's wrong, dear heart?"Felix inhaled sharply, a smile coming to his lips unbidden. "'Dear heart'?"Miss Dupain-Cheng flushed prettily and dropped his hand. She windmilled hers, slipping into an adorable ramble. "It's just something my Maman used to call me when I was upset! Of c-course you wouldn't like that. I didn't mean to – augh, you're not a 'dear heart,' you're the Prince of Wales!"Resignation stabbed at Felix's eyes. She didn't see Felix the man. She was looking at Felix the Crown Prince. Ice crystallized in his heart, slowing its beating to a sluggish crawl.If she wanted the Crown Prince, then Crown Prince he would be.Even as much as it hurt.Miss Dupain-Cheng seemed to realize she’d made a mistake and backpedaled as if she were on the edge of a cliff. “So… what are our plans for the day?”“I don’t care.” Felix set his spoon aside on his napkin. He had been planning to eat the oatmeal, as she’d requested, but now… there was no point. “Go explore. Go clean something. Do whatever it is maids do.”Appearing stunned by his words and imperious tone, Miss Dupain-Cheng jolted. “What? You don’t care–”“I don’t.” Felix stood, his shoulders heavy with fatalism. “Just… Just enjoy your meal and have a good day without me, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”Miss Dupain-Cheng sprang to her feet and seized his sleeve. “Felix, wait!”But her protests were too late. Tearing his arm out of her grip, he strode out of the room.***He’d left her.
He’d left her.
Felix had walked out of breakfast without so much as a goodbye, leaving Marinette too stunned to react. What had changed? What was he thinking? What kind of bad mood had infected him?What had she done?Marinette sank into her chair, cradling her head in her hands. Was it something she’d said? He’d been so tender the night before, cradling her against his chest and allowing her to express her fears of losing him. She’d even called him an idiot.Was that what he was upset about? Had she gone too far, asked for too much, pushed too much?All she wanted was for him to take care of himself. Sitting up, Marinette harrumphed, folding her arms. If that was pushing… Then her shoulders slumped. Marinette was tired. So very, very tired of the weird push-and-pull dance between them. He was so frustrating! If he could only be honest…And now what was she supposed to do? Cramming her toast in her mouth, Marinette made a snap decision.He’d said to go explore. So explore she would.She slammed her palm on the table, trapping her knife beneath. “I’ll go explore, Your Royal Highness,” she shouted up after him, too little, too late, “and I’ll have such a fun time, you’ll regret leaving!”Crushing silence met her. Marinette ignored that. Finishing breakfast in a hurry – and ignoring his untouched oatmeal, too – Marinette strode from the room just as royally as he had, her head held high and her shoulders thrown back.And promptly found herself without any idea of which room to start with. She knew her room, so no. She’d seen the pool – and in fact, had planned on visiting it that evening, if the sweltering rain let up. And she’d just come from the glass-lined garden room, where Felix was supposed to have eaten his oatmeal.Felix’s room was out. There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of making her chase after him. 
“Maybe, I can start from the top of the building and work my way down. There has to be an attic in a house this big.”
Decision made, Marinette headed to the stairs and started poking around, looking for an attic. She passed Felix’s room on the way, stationed by Arthur who greeted her congenially.“Can’t stop to chat, Mr Wemberly, sorry,” Marinette apologized, trying to edge away from Felix’s room without letting him know she was in the area. “See you later!”Arthur gave her a knowing smile. “Take care, Miss. I’ll ring you for lunch.”“Thank you, Mr Wemberly.”After that, finding the attic wasn’t difficult. There was a door on the far side of the house on the second floor and from the dust on the step it hadn’t been opened in a long time. Inside was a short flight of wooden stairs, covered in dust and made of the same dark timber of the beams over her head. Like everything else at Anmer Hall, the stairs were old enough to have breathed a history of their very own.Clinging to the railing and taking one step at a time, Marinette found herself in a dusty treasure trove of interesting antiquities. A window across the way let enough light in for her to see the dust motes sparkling in the solitary sunbeam that somehow threaded its way through the rain.Furniture that probably cost more than her parents’ bakery rested under sheets, so Marinette started there. She peeked under the white coverings, finding resplendent pieces of wood expertly carved in delightful shapes. Fabrics of many colors and elegant patterns inspired her, and her fingers itched for her sketchbook.Next up was a travel trunk covered in international stickers. Kneeling before it and opening the clasps, Marinette lifted the lid and gasped in pleasure.Inside was a veritable dragon’s hoard of trinkets the tabloids would gut a man for. Black-and-white photos of people long gone, dust-covered vinyl records, and homemade Christmas ornaments haphazardly glued together by children met her eyes and hands.As Marinette gently picked up a painted, glitter-encrusted popsicle stick construction, she wondered whether His Royal Pratness had ever been young enough to use a bottle of craft glue in earnest.She wasn’t entirely sure what this particular ornament was supposed to be, but the fact that Felix could have made it almost brought tears to her eyes.“What happened to him?” Marinette wondered, knowing that the ornaments had been relegated to the dustbin like most of the trappings of his childhood. “He used to skinny dip and ride horses and make Christmas ornaments, and now…”Now he spent his time with men who were dusty in their own ways and who’d sucked the life out of him.Marinette set the ornament down in its place in the travel trunk as gently as she’d picked it up. She couldn’t wipe her eyes; her fingers were covered in glitter.So she soldiered on, shutting the trunk and opening a banker’s box. Inside, screaming, ‘Wear me!’ was the most gorgeous dress Marinette had ever laid eyes upon.Scads of beige tulle formed the skirt, dotted with cleverly-embroidered flowers of many cheerful shapes, sizes, and colors. The skirt pooled around Marinette, flooding the ground with light, airy fabric. The neckline was high to preserve her modesty, and the sleeves were long, soft, and billowy. Marinette danced with the dress, pretending she was a Princess at a debutante ball. “How do you do, Mr Roberts? Yes, I see. I am new here, too.”She curtsied with the dress, her posture perfect from long practice. “Why, the Prince? Yes, I know him. Between you and me, he’s a prat.”Marinette giggled to herself, carefully replacing the dress in the banker’s box. “Felix would die if I showed up in a dress like that!”Setting the box aside, a battered briefcase almost identical to the one she’d seen under Felix’s bed caught her eye next. “Oh?” Marinette made her way to the briefcase immediately, knowing it was Felix’s. “And what sort of secrets are you keeping, I wonder?”Thankfully, the briefcase was unlocked. Marinette snapped open the clasps and opened the lid, eager to gather dirt.But what she found was not what she expected.The briefcase was full of pictures of old buildings from various angles in various stages of lighting. They were quite good shots, if a bit amateur, Marinette thought. In the top photo, the camera had captured the verdant green of a mossy stone roof that looked halfway to crumbling. The next was much the same; apparently, the photographer had made a study of an ancient cathedral, and several shots included stained glass windows sparkling with sunlight. The photographer had been technically precise. Careful. But the subjects and angles he’d chosen were full of whimsy, absolutely delighting Marinette.She shifted the top layer of pictures carefully, entranced by what she saw. What first looked like a series of odd little hillocks in a clearing became the remains of ancient earthworks as the angle changed from photograph to photograph and the stone ruins came into view.  Then a black and white of a thatched cottage, an old woman with a deeply wrinkled face sitting in a rocking chair just outside the door holding a marmalade cat in her lap.  Then a section of decorative wrought iron railing standing starkly against the sunset sky.“Is this you, Felix?” Marinette mused, allowing a contented sigh to pass through her lips. “Did you have fun with these?”Fun. That was what he lacked in his life. And why he could be such an awful person.He lacked fun.And she needed to share this with him.Marinette searched for the camera, finding it cautiously wrapped in a handkerchief with his initials embroidered in black. That only confirmed who the photographer had been. She rewrapped the camera – which wasn’t quite as old as everything else in the house – and shut the briefcase, scurrying down the stairs with it.“Mr Wemberly!” she called once she reached Felix’s room, breathless in her haste. “Have you seen Prince Felix?”Arthur’s brows rose. “No, Miss. I believe he’s here in his room.”The briefcase felt hot and heavy in her hand. “In his room?”“I believe,” Arthur said, his eyes sparkling, “he’s moping.”Marinette couldn’t have that.“Step aside, please,” she said to Arthur, who did as he was asked. Marinette raised a fist and slammed it on the door, pounding loud enough to wake the dead. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know you’re in there, Prince Felix!”There was no answer.She pounded again. “If you don’t open this door, then I’m coming in to get you myself, ready or not!”“You wouldn’t dare,” Feix shouted from the other side of the door.“Oh, wouldn’t I?”  She heard grumbling and the door jerked open, revealing a very grumpy Felix, looking as sour as if he had sucked on a lemon. His hair was strangely mussed and sticking up on one side, giving her the impression that she’d woken him up from a nap. Though knowing him, he had likely been just moping.“You would dare,” he snapped. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, you have the most unmitigated gall of anyone I have ever met.”Just to rub it in, she dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Why, thank you for noticing!”Before he could do more than splutter, she brushed past him into his room. If she needed more confirmation that the briefcase and its contents were his, she got it.She had never been in his quarters here before – there had been no reason to – but hanging on the walls were more amazing photographs.An abandoned farm building crumbling to ruin in a field of tall grass.An old, Victorian stairwell with large windows covered in graffiti with the afternoon sun turning the street art into stained glass.A weathered pier stretching out into a silvery lake shrouded in misty fog.A lovely young woman in black and white feeding pigeons on a park bench, her golden blonde hair the only spot of color in the otherwise dull scene.Marinette’s chest hurt and she realized she had been holding her breath since she had entered the room.She felt the briefcase being pulled roughly out of her hands.“Where did you get this?” Felix snarled, thrusting ice into her belly.She turned to look at him, eyes still wide from the beautiful pictures that lined the walls. “The attic.”His brows furrowed in anger. “Who told you to go poking around in things that weren’t your business?” he growled.This strange reversal of behavior from his soft, warm gentleness the night before sparked her own anger.She glared at him, stabbing a finger into his chest.  “You did!”He scoffed at her. “I did no-”“You said you didn’t care what I did,” she snapped, irritation clawing at her throat. He was so, so close, she could breathe in his heady scents of bergamot, allspice, and dust. “Go explore, you said. Go clean something, you said. Do whatever it is maids do.”“Maids,” Felix spat, his eyes flashing with impotent rage, “usually have respect for their masters’ privacy!”“Oh, is that how it is?” Marinette dropped her voice to a dangerous whisper. His face was close enough to have their lips brushing, so there was no way he could have missed what she’d hissed at him. “You’re my master now?”“Uh.” That brought Felix up short. Sputtering back to life, he waved the briefcase. “Technically, yes? I am your employer and the ruler of the free world, and…”Marinette threw her hands in the air in utter exasperation. She was so done. “That’s beside the point! I mean, yes, sure, you are my employer and all of that, the Young Master, whose privacy must be respected, and on that, at least, I agree, because everyone’s privacy should be respected – it’s kind of a human right – and yes, you are the ruler of the free world or whatever even though if most normal people said that, they’d be fooling themselves and delusional to everyone else, because yes, you’re the ruddy Prince of Wales, the idiotic Crown Prince, but who cares because that’s not important right now! What you said at breakfast–”Felix broke down into snorting laughter, and Marinette felt her anger spike to apoplectic levels. She clenched her fists and beat on his chest – lightly, she didn’t actually want to hurt him – like some sort of reverse gorilla.“Stop laughing at me!” Though she tried for a bark, it came out more as a whine. “Why are you laughing!?”Still giggly, Felix seized her hand in his free one, stunning her into silence. He set the briefcase down, pinning it between his feet so she wouldn’t take it back, and gently pried her fingers open. “You,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her fingertips, prompting a gasp, “are the only person in my entire life to call me an idiot to my face.”The way he stared at her, as if she were the only other person in the world worth knowing, blasted electric shocks through her body. “You like being called an idiot? T-That’s weird!” she stammered, his intense gaze burning her, scalding her, dunking her in boiling lava. She didn't even know what she was saying anymore. If she'd stopped to think, she'd regret it, but now she was going full-bore. “You’re weird!”Felix’s chest brushed hers with his sharply inhaled breath, and though Marinette wanted to scamper away, his gaze held her pinned like a moth to a forest fire, all-consuming and entirely too hot.Moving slowly as if not to spook her like a skittish horse, he splayed his hand across the small of her back, pressing her against him. She relished the hold, his strong arms encircling her in some sort of formal partnered dance. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, I–”“Excuse me, Sir, Miss Dupain-Cheng, but-” Mr Wemberly’s voice intoning from the doorway caused Felix to break away from her, the briefcase skittering across the floor in his haste. “Go away, Arthur,” Felix snapped so ferociously that Marinette’s heart leapt into her throat. The panther was back, and he was feral. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”“Yes, Sir,” Mr Wemberly replied with enviable calm, eyes fixed pointedly on the ceiling. “But I thought you should be aware that the door was still open.”Felix’s face flushed red like it was filling up with boiling water. He covered his mouth, his eyes wide, and Marinette fared no better.She panted, her breaths coming thick and fast as if hot tar were clogging up her airways. Slamming a hand on her chest revealed a heart as rapid as machine gun fire and just as deadly. “Th-Thank y-you, Mr Wemberly,” Marinette stammered, her own face smoldering like a sunburn. “I’ll j-just close it on m-my way out, then, shall I?”  She made a dash for the door, ready to leave the room, the men’s stares, and all these strange, overwhelming feelings behind her, but Felix snatched her wrist.“That will be all, Arthur,” he said firmly, his gaze freezing her in place.“Of course, Sir.”  She telegraphed a nervous glance at the valet, who shot her a solemn wink before closing the door behind him.Now she was trapped - well, not trapped exactly, but she definitely had a new understanding of the term ‘deer in the headlights.’ Trapped with this panther of a man whose touch and stare were doing uncomfortable things to her composure and ability to breathe.They both stood there staring at each other. The only sounds were Felix’s deep breaths and her tiny pants echoing in the quiet room.“Now, where were we?” he murmured, his voice deep and soft, sending hot prickles out from her chest.She couldn’t remember the words. She knew she had been arguing with him, then the softest of kisses to her fingertips and the strength of his hand at the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, had caused her mind to backfire. But he was looking at her with expectant eyes and she scrambled for something, anything, to say.“You’re an idiot,” she whispered, trying for fierce and ending up sounding breathless. What was he doing to her?The look he gave her was fond and a crooked smile played about his mouth. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at her temple and cheek. She gasped slightly at the gentle touch following such a heated argument, biting her bottom lip to keep from saying anything that might shatter this moment like glass, because - whatever was happening at this moment in time was good and shattered glass… well, it hurt.“What has my little fool been doing to end up with glitter on her face?” Silenced by his eyes, she suddenly heard the difference in his tone. ‘Little fool’ was more a term of endearment than an insult and the possessive ‘my’ at the beginning made her shiver slightly.“Or-Ornaments, up in the attic,” she mumbled, forcing her eyes away from him.Tucking the handkerchief away, Felix brushed the tips of his fingers against her face, tracing the contours of her forehead, temple, cheekbone, and jaw, leaving tingles in their wake. Confusion reigned in her mind while her body was frozen and overwhelmed.“Why?” The single word slipped out without her permission, sounding breathless and maybe frightened.“Why what?” he asked, his fingers idly toying with one of the curls of hair she always styled in front of her ears.“Why do you call me that?”He paused, indecision clear in his normally resolute face. Then his hand slid down her arm to take her hand in his.“Come. I’ve something to show you.”He led her from the room and through the house’s many corridors until they reached a long chamber lined floor to ceiling with paintings. Some were landscapes, some portraits, some classical or impressionist, some she had never seen, but some she knew well enough to stare at in awe that she was in the presence of such masterworks. Finally, Felix stopped in front of a long painting featuring seven people, the most obvious of whom was…“Is that…?”“Henry VIII,” he finished for her.She nodded, leaning in close to examine the near-invisible brushstrokes on the detailed painting. “Is this some sort of family portrait?”He chuckled. “Yes, pictures tend to run in my family.  Only the medium changes over time.”She snorted. “That and the clothes.”“Of course, you’d mention the wardrobe,” he muttered fondly. “I’ll have you know the King or Queen always sets the fashion.”Marinette couldn’t help but giggle. “True, but I can’t see you opening the House of Lords wearing gold embroidered puffed sleeves and white tights.”“For one thing, they’re deucedly uncomfortable, and for another, Mother would kill me.” Felix cleared his throat. “The child you see to his left is his son and heir, Prince Edward. The young woman to his right would have been Jane Seymore, but this was most likely painted after her death. The other lady in the hall is Princess Elizabeth. And do you see the two people in the archways?”“Yes. Is that red thing a monkey?”Felix huffed slightly. “Yes, it is, but please direct your attention to the final figure.”  He pointed to a woman in a gown with a red and white striped petticoat and a hat that covered her head snugly. “That was Jane Foole.”Marinette turned to look at him, eyebrow raised.“She was the court fool for three separate Queens, so there is a precedent for female fools. Aside from that, she was what was termed a ‘natural fool’ or someone with learning disabilities that made her unable to understand the class system of her day.  It is said that she would speak her mind to the Queens, the court, and even to Henry himself. And she was well rewarded for her frank honesty.”  He brought Marinette’s fingers to his lips once more. “A fool, Miss Dupain-Cheng, was the only person at court who could tell the Monarch the unvarnished truth. No currying favor, no endless vain flatteries. In this, you are, indeed, my little fool and I thank you for it.”Looking into his verdant eyes, Marinette felt her world shift under her, tipping her over the edge of a cliff and sending her into freefall. It was all the thrill of a roller coaster and the terror of falling into the unknown. Only his next words caught her and held her steady in the tumult.“Will you spend the day with me?” Felix asked, vulnerability singing in his voice and his lips hovering over her hand. “Please?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Will you spend the day with me?” Felix practically begged her, this precious lady, even though not ten minutes prior, he’d rather do anything else. Miss Dupain-Cheng helped heal him in ways that no one else had. She was a trabecula, a “spongy” supporting structure of plates and rods within his bones, holding his very marrow and keeping him upright.  She’d somehow wormed her way into his mind and breath and soul so firmly that he couldn’t see how he might have the ability to stand and face the world without her. She still hadn’t given her answer, being transfixed by something that he hoped was him and his question. “Please?”  Felix couldn’t read her thoughts. Which was strange to him; with councilors, he could predict the very words that were next to come out of their dusty mouths. But with her… Miss Dupain-Cheng was a wildcard, an enigma, a rose that bloomed when put under pressure. She had a strange hold over him, one he hadn’t expected and had no idea how she’d managed it. She had a hold on him that was akin to a bulldog sinking her teeth into his leg… No, that was the wrong image. Her hold was more like a caress, a welcome respite, rather than a vise grip. It was as if she were an oasis in a desert full of stalkers and mad politicking – an oasis he would prefer to live in forever. A place of rest in a world bent on conforming him to their contradictory – and frankly, rather boring – ideals. So he waited for her answer with bated breath. He had been an absolute jerk to her, demanding that she leave him alone – which she had done – and go explore – which she had done as well – and then yelled at her for doing exactly what he’d told her to do. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve the honor of her time, but oh! how he yearned for it. So when she melted into a large, genuine smile, her ears an alarmingly attractive shade of rose pink, his heart stuttered to life in his chest.  “Of course,” she said, and it was all he could do to not leap into the air and whoop. “What did you have in mind?” Felix brightened. “I was thinking… During my… pondering in my room, I was reading Much Ado About Nothing. Would you like to reenact the play with me?” “Shakespeare?”  “If you read the play with me,” Felix started, wondering what he was getting into, “I’ll eat lunch.”  He could see Miss Dupain-Cheng’s wheels turning. Afraid that she was going to shoot the suggestion down immediately, Felix braced himself. But once again, she surprised him.  “Ha! Done. This will be easy.” Miss Dupain-Cheng closed her fingers around his, the warmth in her touch and her words making the roses in his heart unfurl as if being exposed to sunlight. “How long is that play?” “Two hours and forty minutes including a fifteen-minute intermission,” Felix reported automatically, having memorized the play as a youth. “Do you mind reading Benedick’s lines while I read Beatrice?”  Ado had been close to his heart since he’d first heard it and had connected to the passionate banter of the two characters. Why, they even argued about them being in love! He couldn’t let on to how eager he was to have Miss Dupain-Cheng read scene one of act four.  “Sure,” Miss Dupain-Cheng said, visibly confused, “but why would you want to play a woman’s part?” “In Shakespeare’s day, all the parts were played by men, even the female roles,” Felix hedged, hoping she wouldn’t be able to sense his real reason. “It’s just…” Her gaze softening on him like that would be his undoing. Felix’s heart fluttered in his chest, causing his breath to hitch. It got caught in his throat, giving him a floaty sense of lightheadedness. “Whatever your real reason, I get it.”  Apparently, he hadn’t concealed his true motives well enough. She could read him like no one else could, which dunked him in a bath of ice water while still warming his heart.  “Don’t worry,” she said as gently as a summer breeze. Miss Dupain-Cheng smoothed his hair down, returning the strands to their former un-mussed state. Felix leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in utter bliss. “I’ll read Benedick’s part.” Felix opened his eyes to stare into her brilliant blue ones. “Thank you.” *** “Lady Beatrice,” Miss Dupain-Cheng murmured, her concern splashing over Felix’s senses like a honey bath, “have you wept all this while?” “Yea,” Felix responded quickly, turning away from the window he’d been leaning on to meet her gaze from the doorway of the sitting room. Felix wasn’t crying as the tears refused to come, but his chest shuddered as he gazed over at Miss Dupain-Cheng, valiantly in character as Benedick.  The play moved him, stirring something deep within his core. As he and Miss Dupain-Cheng traded verbal blows, bantering with all the wit and verve that Shakespeare infused into his characters, the play became entirely familiar for reasons beyond memorization. He was no Shakespeare, but Benedick and Beatrice’s squabbling mirrored the strange relationship he’d hated-enjoyed-loved with Miss Dupain-Cheng. Rushing back to being in character after his thoughts had wandered, Felix’s breath hitched of its own accord. “And I will weep a while longer.” Miss Dupain-Cheng strode to him, the tied sword at her side swinging with every step. They’d found a real sword in the attic and, after ensuring it was safe to keep in the sheath, had armed Miss Dupain-Cheng with it. She had taken to it with a fit of gleeful laughter.  Seeing her imposing figure armed and wrathful on his behalf, Felix started trembling and couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how she managed to embody the character of Benedick so well. She was fiery, whip-smart, and excited to be there with Felix, which meant the world to him. He’d had to explain some of the phrases to her – despite being a consummate poetry lover, she hadn’t studied Shakespeare since lycee and was rusty – but exegeting the text for her had brought them even closer. Miss Dupain-Cheng reached him in her approach, being so bold as to cradle his chin in her free hand with the other clutching the copy of the play. “I will not desire that,” she whispered for his ears only, leaning in so he could taste the toast on her breath.  “You have no reason,” Felix murmured, shaking like a leaf in her hold. “I do it freely.” ‘Beatrice’ had been weeping for the sake of her cousin, Hero, who had been left at the altar after being falsely accused of infidelity. Ado was Shakespeare’s clap against the double standard that men were allowed to be cheeky, chatty, funny – and able to sleep around – but if a woman did those things, she was branded a harlot. Felix had always taken it as an encouragement of equality in propriety, but it still left a squirming feeling in his gut. While forced to swallow his emotions in public for his entire life, Felix identified with Beatrice far more than he ever identified with Benedick’s swagger. But that wasn’t the real reason he wanted to read Beatrice’s lines. Miss Dupain-Cheng glanced down at her script, breaking character for only a moment. “Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wrong’d.” “Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!” Felix cried, tearing his chin out of her grasp and fleeing her side, placing his wrist against his forehead. “Psst, Felix,” Miss Dupain-Cheng whispered, her hand cupped around her mouth. “What does that mean?” “She means that she would give anything to any man who helped her cousin and made things right,” he whispered back, drawing nearer to her. “She wants him to save her cousin’s honor.” Miss Dupain-Cheng took a moment to process that but soon nodded. “Is there any way to show such friendship?”

“Is there any way I can be the one to make this right?” Felix translated in his head automatically. “A very even way but no such friend.” Felix found himself sniffling, full of indignant rage on behalf of ‘his’ cousin, also played by him earlier. At Miss Dupain-Cheng’s baffled look, Felix translated for her. “A very clear way, but there’s no friend to do it.” “May a man do it?” “It is a man’s office but not yours,” Felix replied, pacing about the room, and then followed up with, “It is a man’s job but not a job for you.” Miss Dupain-Cheng followed him around the room, eventually grasping his shoulder from behind to keep him from running away from her. Felix whirled to face her, his eyes blowing wide. This was it. The climactic line that Felix had been waiting for the entire play. The one he had been waiting for her to say ever since he remembered reading Ado as a youth. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” Miss Dupain-Cheng spoke under her breath, reverent and soft. She turned him, pressing her chest against his back and encircling him in unexpectedly strong arms long belied by her slight frame. Standing on her tiptoes, she pulled him against her, leaving her warm breath to tickle his ear and probably made them turn red. “Is that not strange?” Felix’s breath came shallowly in her hold. Benedick knew he loved Beatrice and had just confessed to her. Felix had been questioning if Miss Dupain-Cheng truly loved him, so he was searching for the truth in her acted words.  “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” she’d murmured to him, for him, about him – and Felix found himself soaring on the wings of seagulls high above the oceans of her regard. She loved him. She loved him! Tears struck his eyes. Much like Beatrice, Felix had never been given the opportunity to simply fall in love with a person of his choosing. His raw emotions had been seen as a weakness, not a strength, and his desires were thought of as a mark of inconsistency. But with Miss Dupain-Cheng… He leaned into her hold, relishing the feeling of being protected in his vulnerability. He could drop his guard with her, could even ask her to call him by his name, and she would respond in such a way that made him feel safe. It was a heady feeling, sending out tender shoots of rose bushes in his heart. Oh, right, the play. “As strange as the thing I know not,” he babbled, feeling very much like Miss Dupain-Cheng herself when she engaged in those adorable rambles. “It were as possible for me to say I lov’d nothing so well as you, but believe me not; and yet I lie not. I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I… I am sorry for my cousin.”  Being smaller than him, Miss Dupain-Cheng stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear again, sending tingles throughout his body. “And what does that mean?” “She’s…” Felix swallowed hard. Having heard Miss Dupain-Cheng’s confession, his own was threatening to burst from his chest. But the play… He had to finish the play.  “She’s saying it’s possible for her to say that there’s nothing she loves as much as him but also that he shouldn’t believe her when she says it. But she’s also not lying? She’s basically prattling on in an effort to hide her own feelings.” “Ohh,” Miss Dupain-Cheng crossed around to his front, her fingers leaving burning trails along his shoulders and chest. Her eyes gaze up at him with so much wonder and admiration that it made his knees weak. “Now I get it.” Did she hear the way his heart pounded in his chest, betraying him under her fingertips? Did she know the effect she had on him by simply existing? Did she understand that he would do foolish things – stupid things, idiotic things, irrational things – just because she asked?  In that moment, he would tear his kingdom to shreds and abdicate the throne if she so desired. Miss Dupain-Cheng booped his nose. While not technically in the script, he understood the playful sentiment. “By my sword, Beatrice,” she said cheerfully, a wide smile breaking out on her lips, “thou lovest me!” And Felix did.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Much Ado About Nothing had always been Felix’s favorite play, but to act it out with her in the drawing room of his own home had somehow brought it to life.   He had seen Benedick and Beatrice badger and banter their way across half a dozen stages since he had first read of them but then it had been all about performance and interpretation. Now he finally understood why they called it a ‘play.’ Today had been… fun! Felix couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so alive, unrestrained, invigorated even! It wasn’t just playing opposite Miss Dupain-Cheng, it was the life she imbued into everything she did.  Like when he had taken on the role of the dimwitted constable. The mixed-up words made very little sense at the best of times, but he had decided to play off the utter nonsense with an oafish ego that had caused her to collapse to her knees in a fit of giggles. Arthur summoned them for lunch shortly before the final act and Felix was more than willing to accompany Miss Dupain-Cheng. He was a man of his word, after all, and he could even say he was feeling hungry for the first time in a long while. The lunch was delicious, though Felix found he could only eat half of what he was used to. Instead, he filled up on her delight in the meal, the play, and the paintings in the gallery. Everything was a source of joy and contentment for her and she was his wellspring. The thought of leaving Anmer Hall the next day, of returning to the endless, plodding drudgery was almost more than he could bear.  Would she pull away when they returned to their normal routine? Would he be able to sustain this feeling when he had cameras and courtiers, politicians and the press, and marriage-minded mamas hounding him everywhere he went? “I know I said I would spend the day with you, especially since this is our last day here,” Miss Dupain-Cheng said softly, her hand reaching out to cover his on the lunch table. “But I want to plan a little surprise for you and I need some time to put it together.  Is… that alright?” Felix was torn between elation and dejection. On the one hand, she wanted to plan a surprise for him. She was doing it unprompted, entirely from her own desire to do so, and what’s more, she was asking his permission!  His heart leapt over the moon only to crash down again when he realized that meant he couldn’t spend all the remaining time with her while she was doing it or it would ruin her good intentions. Resigned, he nodded. “Of course, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  Though may I be so bold as to make a deal of my own?” She smiled and his heart flipped over in his chest. “That depends on what it is.” “Since you were so kind as to read through my play with me, might I prevail upon you to read me some of your favorite poems this evening? It seems only right that I should partake of your hobby with as much grace as you did of mine.” Her eyes softened. “What? You’re not afraid I’ll just be playing with pretty words?” “Even if you did, I could only find it charming.” A blush mantled across her cheeks, but her lips twitched in amusement. “I’d be happy to if you promise me you’ll eat dinner with me.” He frowned slightly, spreading his free arm to indicate the remains of their meal. “Aren’t we already dining together?” “Not tired of the company of a silly maid yet?” He turned his hand over to twine his fingers with hers. “You are not, nor have you ever been a silly maid,” Felix declared firmly, squeezing her hand for emphasis. Then he lowered his voice. “I’m sorry if what I said this morning upset you. I am not looking at returning to London with any fondness and I was a bit on edge. You said… never mind. No matter the reason, I should not have focused my anger on you. You were not to blame.” Her thumb drew patterns across his knuckles and he felt his neck heat up. “You’re human, Felix. It is okay to have bad days from time to time. More than that it is okay to feel whatever you feel! The reasons behind your feelings may not be valid, but the way you feel always is.” “I’ll try to remember that.” For the first time in his adult life, his heart was likely to burst. He reached across the corner of the table and tucked the tantalizing curl of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me the frank truth, my little fool.” He watched in delight as her cheeks took on an ever-darkening rosy hue.   “Does that mean you agree?” Rolling his eyes to the ceiling in an overly dramatic pose, he clasped her hands between his own and brought them to his lips. “‘I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes, and moreover’… I will be glad to have dinner with you!” Recognizing the line from the play, Miss Duapin-Cheng giggled and his insides felt full of anxious, fluttering butterflies. “Look, since I need some time to prepare your surprise, why don’t you go play with your camera? You clearly have a talent for photography and it has stopped raining now. See?”  She gestured out the windows of the garden room at the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds in golden streams, leaving the last raindrops on the glass to sparkle. “Perhaps I shall,” he said kindly even as something in his chest began to ache at the thought of her leaving his side. “We can always finish the play another time.” Assuming there was a later time…  “Besides, it means we don’t have to go through the final scene,” he thought with a guilty flush as he left the lunch table.  In that scene, Benedict and Beatrice are trapped into confessing their love to each other by their friends slipping love notes into their hands during an argument. At that point, it was clear to all that the two loved each other, but was it clear between himself and Miss Dupain-Cheng?   
“
True, she said the lines with appropriate emotion, but what if they were only lines to her?”
 Felix’s steps down the hall slowed to a crawl. He clutched his vest at his sternum, trying to ward off the unbearable ache blooming there. The fabric bunched under his fingers and did nothing to ease the sharp pains stabbing at his heart. As Felix thought about how Miss Dupain-Cheng had likely only played her parts because of his promise to eat, the corners of his eyes prickled. 
“
I do love nothing in the world so well as you.” 
 He’d thought he had heard the truth under the words, then, the truth only his little fool could tell him.  But Benedick’s confession meant nothing. She’d been playing a bit, entertaining him because he’d made a devil’s deal with her.  His shoulders ratcheted up around his ears, hunching around his chest in an effort to squeeze the throbbing there.  She’d told him to play with his camera. He should. He should play with his camera, but… All he wanted to do was take pictures of her, and wasn’t that the crux of it? Felix plodded through the hall, forcing his steps toward his room, where the briefcase waited. He’d been so wrapped up in her, her, her at Anmer Hall that he hadn’t given thought to anything else. Olivia Connor’s lawsuit was bearing down upon him. And right before they’d left for Anmer Hall, he had spotted her skulking around the grounds at Buckingham Palace and had had her escorted away.  That woman kept following him, haunting him like a monster straight out of his nightmare.  He couldn’t face her again. He couldn’t face the politicians, the magnates, and his mother demanding that he prepare for his coronation. He had taken a week off of school, but that meant he’d have to catch up on his classwork in addition to all the other things he must do. Felix’s steps faltered. He dropped to one knee, slapping his free hand onto the wall in order to steady himself. Leaning his cheek against the wall, he panted, tears pricking his eyes. He would not cry. He was the Crown Prince of England and the Crown Prince of England never cried. The Crown Prince of England had better things to do than shed tears over his fate. He must take care of the country. They were all depending on him to save them, fix their problems, cut their ribbons, listen to their initiatives – and act as their figurehead. Drawing his professionalism up around him like a mask, Felix forced himself to his feet and hobbled to his room. He collapsed on his bed, curling in on himself, and, overcome with sudden exhaustion, slipped into a restless sleep. *** “Wemberly,” Amelie greeted, watching his dimples deepen when she picked up the phone to get a better look at him. “Where the devil are you?” “In the car at a farmer’s market, Your Majesty,” he replied, turning the phone to face the windows. Indeed, there were stalls out and about with people milling about them. Amelie blinked, nonplussed. “What on earth are you doing at a farmer’s market? Did Felix ask you to go?” “No, Marm.” Wemberly chuckled softly, shaking his head. Amelie wished he would let her in on the joke. Thankfully, he seemed to sense from her wrinkled nose that she was displeased and filled her in. “Miss Dupain-Cheng asked me to pick up some ingredients for a surprise for the Young Master.” Amelie’s brows rose. “She’s surprising him now?” “Constantly,” Wemberly replied with a pleased smirk that was quite unlike him. Miss Dupain-Cheng must have had an effect on Wemberly as well as Felix, Amelie surmised. Interesting “This time, she’s making him dinner.”  “Dinner.”  As she processed that, turning the possibilities over and over in her head, Amelie realized what a golden opportunity that was for her plan. “Give me a report in the morning. I want to know everything – what she cooked, how he received it, whether he actually ate.” “Of course, Marm.” “The boy hasn’t eaten well for months, so if he eats her food, I may have to alter her plans to become the Wardrobe Assistant and stick her in the kitchen.” “Ma’am,” Wemberly started, but then thought the better of it, ducking his head. Amelie pursed her lips. Wemberly’s opinions were useful, but… “Speak, Wemberly.” “Is… Is that fair to the young maid, Your Majesty?” Wemberly ventured, seeming to know he was on thin ice. “Did you not promise that she would have the chance to work with the Royal wardrobe team?” Musing on how Miss Dupain-Cheng had not only her son wrapped around her finger but also his valet, Amelie smirked at the joke in her own head. “I did, indeed. But her desires are not as important as Felix eating.” She would not have the Prince of Wales expire because he didn’t like his food. Wasting away because of a fit of emotion made no sense to Amelie. “However...” Amelie could admit when she was wrong. Sometimes. “She’s a strong-willed girl. She may convince me otherwise.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix was going to love her surprise. Marinette knew it. Making him a dinner using her favorite recipe she’d learned from her Nonna, Marinette certainly didn’t have any motives aside from feeding him up and putting meat on those long bones of his. She blushed at the thought, causing her to take her hormones by the scruff of the neck and give them a firm shake. No. Certainly not. No ulterior motives at all. Mr Wemberly had gladly taken the rest of the evening off along with the rest of the staff after procuring her ingredients from the farmer’s market down the street. There was something cathartic about cooking from scratch. The satin elasticity of bread dough, the scent of herbs and tang of spices, the crumbly texture of the breading, and the hiss and crackle of the oil as the chicken was set to cook in what would become Nonna’s Chicken Parmesan. She had started with the noodles, knowing they would need about an hour or two to hang and dry before cooking. The sauce came next – a medley of crushed tomatoes, onions, peppers, oregano, marjoram, and lots and lots of garlic.   While that was simmering, she started on a loaf of crusty Parmesan Pepper bread, the freshly ground black peppercorns stinging her nose and making her sneeze, which made her laugh. Noodles hanging, sauce simmering, bread proofing, and chicken frying, she sat on a convenient stool and let her arms rest. She was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. Not the kind of tired she was used to while drudging for Felix six days a week.  Instead, this felt good. “How long has it been since I made something for someone else?” she thought, the pleasant feeling of giving leaving her with a sense of satisfaction. “Probably not since I made that-”   She paused on that memory, swallowing down the lump that rose in her throat. The last time she’d cooked, it had been for Adrien.  Adrien, who had the very next day told her that they were walking different paths, that his father would not allow their relationship to continue, and that he had duties to fulfill without her. “ Thanks for the dinner, Marinette. Hope to see you soon.” She’d left for England within the week, having been given a financial offer from the Queen Regent herself that Marinette couldn’t refuse. Adrien had been the only real reason to stay and with him no longer ‘part of her journey,’ she was free to pursue her dream… in a place where, hopefully, she could forget. Surely this dinner wouldn’t be a mirror of the other dinner she’d made for a blond, green-eyed young man. Surely her Felix wouldn’t treat her like Adrien had. ‘Her’ Felix? Nuh-uh! Bad hormones! The stool was no longer comfortable to sit on. Marinette sprang to her feet, intent on turning the chicken over in the pan before it burned. As she flipped the pounded chicken breasts, the egged breadcrumbs popped in the bubbling olive oil, bringing a smile unbidden to her face. Humming La Mer quietly as she filled a pan with water to boil for the noodles, Marinette put Adrien out of her mind and threw herself into cooking. For Felix. He needed to eat, and the only thing she’d seen him enjoy eating – ever – was her homemade pistachio biscuits.  The Crown Prince had the best chefs in the world at his disposal, but even that didn’t inspire him to eat. So as she salted the pasta water and turned the burner under the pan to high, she wondered if her food would be good enough. Focusing on the feeling of warm tap water running over her hands as she scrubbed them pink, Marinette sighed. Felix was such a conundrum. He was clearly sick and needed someone to take care of him. “Isn’t that funny?” she thought, a wry smile finding its way to her lips. “The Prince of Wales, with hundreds of servants at his beck and call, needs someone to take care of him?” She didn’t think she could be that person. Not yet. Not with Adrien still popping up in her thoughts the way he did.  Maybe, if she worked at it, she could be. But for now she could make Felix a nice meal. *** Felix’s eyes ached when he opened them, grogginess tearing down his usual defenses.  Crusty tear tracks stained his cheeks, clogging up his ducts, and as he rubbed the ick out of his eyes, he sat up, trying to figure out what time it was. The sun had almost set, casting a dim glow across his room. His vest was wrinkled and his heavy, deadened limbs ached as if he’d been thrashing in his sleep.  Rolling his shoulders to stretch his neck, Felix wandered over to the attached bathroom to get a good look at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. He looked wonderful. He looked the uniquely awful, pale way of someone who had just woken up after a misplaced nap, but he had actual smile lines at the corners of his eyes. His face was a patchwork quilt of deep, abiding worries and recent happiness, and that confused him greatly. Yawning, Felix scrubbed at his cheeks, using his fingertips to finish wiping the crust out of his eyes.  “ I need…”  Felix didn’t know what he needed. He needed his shoulders to release some of their tension. He needed to be relieved of his crushing duties. He needed to sleep like the dead. He needed Miss Dupain-Cheng. But first, he needed a shower. He couldn’t see her with his hair mussed like that. Plucking a folded towel off the bathroom shelf, Felix shed his clothes like a second skin. Scrubbing the sleep off in the shower revitalized him, and he scoured his skin under the hot water until his arms and legs turned pink. Letting the heat soothe the crick in his neck, Felix stood under the spray, water dripping off his nose.  Today was the last day he’d have with her.  And he’d spent the afternoon asleep. Cursing his lack of foresight, Felix shut off the shower and dried himself off. Leaving his dirty clothes in the hamper, he changed into something fitting for a formal dinner – he’d promised Miss Dupain-Cheng he would dine with her, and as promised, he would be there with bells on. Despite not having the time to do so, he took an inordinate amount of care with his hair. Massaging gel into the strands, he slicked it back in a way that would surely impress her. “Arthur?” Felix called, poking his head out of the room once he decided he was fitly dressed for dinner. “Arthur?” “Where is he?” Felix thought, wandering the halls to find no sign of the man – or anyone else. The house felt strangely empty; usually, there would be maids giggling or footmen standing at service, and now… There was no one. Even the lights had been turned out, and as Felix had always had servants to turn them on and off at the beginning of the day and the end of the night, he didn’t know where the switches were located. He wandered the shadowy halls bathed only in moonlight. The walls were silent, the long-dead subjects of paintings judging his every step, looking down on him from their perches in an imperious way that put his hackles up. It was…  Eerie. It was just like the beginning of his nightmare where he’d been chased by Olivia Connor and the wolf-women who’d torn his clothes to shreds. Felix quickened his step, his heart rate jacking up and pounding in his palate. He didn’t know where anyone was, and if Miss Dupain-Cheng was hurt– When he reached the glass-lined garden room, seeing the place settings at the table shining in candlelight, he heard a quiet humming from the kitchen that instantly put his mind at ease. She was here. She was safe. She was his. Felix crept over to the double doors of the kitchen, swinging one in quietly so as not to disturb her.  She was dressed in a pink apron that read, “Kiss the Cook” in playful red letters, accompanied by the smack of a red lip print. Her hair had been piled haphazardly on her head in a messy bun he found endearing. As she drew a delicious, yeasty-smelling bread out of the oven, her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth in such an adorable way, Felix’s breath caught in his throat. She was concentrating. On… making dinner? “Good evening,” he said, and she gasped, whirling around with the bread pan. “No, no, no!” Placing the loaf down on the granite counter, Miss Dupain-Cheng gestured with her oven mitt. “Out!” Felix beamed at her, quirking a brow in his amusement. “Are you trying to point at me? Through an oven mitt?” She sputtered indignantly, her face flaming redder than the oven, and tore off the mitt to point at him. “Out! Dinner’s not ready yet!” Stunned stupid, Felix pointed at his chest. “You… made dinner? For me?” Miss Dupain-Cheng scoffed. “Of course I did! I didn’t cook for my health! Now, out!” At her brusque command, Felix skedaddled out of the room, finding himself in a candlelit garden room. Now that he wasn’t being kicked out of the kitchen, he inhaled through his nose, trying to discern what, exactly, she had cooked. Garlic. Oregano. Basil. And some spices he couldn’t identify. So, tomato sauce of some kind.  “Italian?” Felix thought, standing behind his chair at the table rather than sitting. “I thought she was French?” Abruptly realizing how stupid he was being – “A French woman can cook an Italian meal, idiot.” – Felix gleefully waited for dinner to be ready, ignoring how inordinately excited he was to eat a meal prepared by her hands. A meal cooked specifically for him. The thought warmed him from head to toe; no one, not even his mother, had ever made him a meal outside of being paid to do it. The only food that had come close was… Miss Dupain-Cheng's pistachio biscuits. Felix wondered what it was about him, exactly, that had possessed her to cook.  No. It had nothing to do with him and who he was; the credit rested solely on her slim shoulders. This was her surprise, given to him because of what a wonderful person she was, not anything he’d inspired in her. Still. He would enjoy it. Fortunately for him and his inability to stand boredom, Felix didn’t have to wait too long for her to start bringing out the dinner dishes. “Can I help?” he offered instinctively, though he’d never had such an instinct in his life. Miss Dupain-Cheng barked out a laugh. “No, silly. Just sit and wait.” Felix harrumphed. “I will have you know, Miss Dupain-Cheng, that a true gentleman never sits until all ladies present are seated first as a sign of respect.” She had the gall to laugh at him again, though it didn’t trigger the tension in his shoulders like he’d thought it would. Instead, her laugh relaxed him better than the shower had. Setting down a deep dish redolent of Italian herbs and garlic, she tucked the towels she had been using to carry the hot dish into the tie of her apron and peered up at him with a look of sweet impudence that nearly did him in right there. “First I was a maid, then a little fool, and now I’m a lady? However did I manage that?” Feeling bolder, he curled his finger under her chin and lifted her head so he could better see her eyes. “Being a lady is like being a gentleman. It has more to do with the heart of the person and how they treat others than with titles or wealth or status.” He sighed. “I haven’t behaved much like a gentleman with you, have I?” Miss Dupain-Cheng took his hand in both of hers, her palms radiating more heat than usual from the hot dishes she had been carrying. “Did Benedick behave like a gentleman to Beatrice?” “No,” he replied sadly. “He did not.” “And did she hate him for it?” That took him aback. “No. She didn’t!” “So, in the end, did it matter if he acted like a gentleman or she acted like a lady? Or was it just that their relationship didn’t have the traditional origins? They had fallen in love, then out, and then realized that they had been right the first time, but needed to…” She paused, blinking rapidly as her eyes sparkled wetly in the candlelight - probably holding back tears. “No,” he murmured, reaching up automatically to caress her cheek as he pressed the hands wrapped ’round his own firmly against his chest. “Whatever sad thoughts are churning in your head should not be such a burden to you. If they are, then let me bear them with you.” She nuzzled her cheek ever so slightly against his hand, the soft, innocent gesture thrilling him. “Benendick needed to grow up and both needed to let go of their pride,” he whispered, his thumb brushing softly against her blushing cheek. “That is not easy to do, little fool. They needed to grow so they could be ready when the time was right.” “I wasn’t much of a lady, was I?” she asked, her tone sad and wistful. Just as she had done to him during the play, Felix booped her on the nose. “No lady I know of has quite so good a right hook as you do!” Miss Dupain-Cheng scoffed in mock outrage, but her bewitching smile was back. She grabbed her towels and swatted him playfully with them. “Watch it, you, or you won’t get a bite of the delicious supper I made for you!”“Perish the thought!” Still holding on to her hands, Felix dramatically slapped the back of his other wrist against his forehead, sighing like any good and proper damsel in distress. “I would be remiss to not avail myself of the opportunity to consume your vittles–” Miss Dupain-Cheng wheezed in her laughter. “‘Vittles’!?” Felix blinked, genuinely confused. “Does ‘vittles’ not mean food and drink?” “It does.” Miss Dupain-Cheng stared up at him with her amusement making her eyes glow. “But sometimes I think you try to sound high-brow on purpose when really, that’s just how you naturally talk.” Rather than bristling, as Felix expected himself to, he shook his head. Her fingers were warm against his chest, his heart beating steadily under them. “It’s how I was raised.” “I know.” Standing on her tiptoes, Miss Dupain-Cheng utterly surprised him with a fond peck on the cheek. She pulled away, leaving a burning Felix in her wake. “It’s sweet.” Felix found himself at a loss. She could utterly reduce him to cinder and ashes with a word, and he’d be okay with that. She was entrancing, having spellbound him to be her thrall with a simple brush of the lips that may as well have been magic. “Anyway,” she said, pulling away from him. He missed her warmth already. “What are we doing? I need to get dinner on the table!” “Oh. Right.” Wrapped up in her, her, her, Felix had completely forgotten about dinner. He inhaled a great whiff of the dish she’d set on the table and found his mouth watering. The tomato flavor promised to dance on his tongue and an intense curiosity for how the dish would taste plagued his senses. Miss Dupain-Cheng scurried to the kitchen and back, carting in various dishes: a bowl of cooked noodles, a sliced loaf of bread along with pats of butter, and a spinach salad with feta cheese that she placed on the table with all the pomp and circumstance of a state function. When she brought out a Chianti Classico, marked as eighty percent Sangiovese by the black rooster on the neck of the bottle, Felix’s brows rose.  “Where did you get that?”  Miss Dupain-Cheng shyly tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Mr Wemberly picked it up for me. He picked up all the ingredients, actually, at my request, and when I asked for a drink pairing for chicken parmesan, suggested this one.” “I’ll have to thank him.” Felix had rarely felt so grateful to the man who had practically raised him. His mind spun with something he could do for Arthur for the first time in his life.  “Wait,” Felix said, blinking at the realization. “Did you say, ‘chicken parmesan’?” She smiled up at him, looking so adorable in her “Kiss the Cook” apron that Felix was tempted to pick her up and swing her around. “Surprise! It’s my Nonna’s recipe.” “Nonna?” “My grandmother is Italian.” “And an excellent cook, no doubt.” Felix stared at the spread before them, eager to settle into his chair and tuck into the meal that promised to be delicious.  The first meal he’d been excited to eat in he didn’t know how long. He crossed to Miss Dupain-Cheng’s chair and pulled it out for her as a gentleman should. She seemed to read his mind as she took off her apron and hung it just inside the kitchen doors on a hook before settling into her seat.  Spreading her cloth napkin on her lap, she nodded at him, granting him permission to seat himself – which he gladly took.  Uncorking the wine, he poured a generous fingerful into each of their glasses, which Miss Dupain-Cheng nodded gratefully at. He swirled the glass, hovering over the reddish-purple liquid to sample its bouquet. Cherry, plum, and smoke met his nose, delighting him, though he was more focused on the food than the wine at the moment. As a gentleman should, Felix offered to serve Miss Dupain-Cheng first, loading up her plate with probably too much food, but he was so greedy to fill up his own that he gave her as much as he wanted to eat. Not very gentlemanly of him, he realized by the time he was scooping up the noodles, so he slowed his pace. Miss Dupain-Cheng took her plate with grace. “Thank you, Felix,” she murmured, her eyes alighting on him with respect befitting her high regard for him. An opinion he certainly didn’t deserve but tried not to dwell on at that moment.  She’d slaved in a hot kitchen all afternoon and had made him dinner herself. He was going to enjoy it. Felix dove into the salad first, spearing the spinach leaves on his fork. Placing them into his mouth, he let loose a grunt of approval; she had made a clever dressing with oil and herbs he couldn’t quite identify, but they worked well in concert.  The feta was soft and tangy, meeting his tongue with sharp bursts of flavor and the pecans offered a crack of crunchy texture that Felix adored. He made short work of the salad, tempted for the first time in his life to lick his salad fork to capture the rest of the dressing. He didn’t, merely placing it into his mouth to let the drops fall on his tongue. Next came the chicken. His teeth cut through the tenderest meat he’d ever had the pleasure to eat, prompting an involuntary moan from him that had his dinner companion giggling.  The wine, perfectly paired, enhanced the taste explosion, melding the flavors of the breading, mozzarella cheese, basil, and mouthwatering sauce while allowing the flavor of the chicken to sing above them all. And the sauce! Felix had mindlessly eaten many a marinara but this one – this one! – outshone them all. The crushed tomatoes were perfectly spiced and simmered, with herbs that blended well with the kick of garlic and red pepper. It was a slightly spicy, savory, succulent sauce with a natural sweetness wafting in from the tomatoes. The noodles were satiny smooth with a delicate mouthfeel and hints of basil and lemon. And the bread? There were no words to describe the rich, tender bread! He was tempted to sop up the remains of his sauce with the crusty end of the loaf, despite his years of table etiquette lessons, but he decided that he had probably had more than was good for him already. Felix devoured the meal between sips of wine, refilling his glass and Miss Dupain-Cheng’s twice over. By the time he’d demolished a second plate, he found himself full and content, with the special sleepiness that came from tucking away a good meal. His limbs were loose and heavy, and Felix sat back in his chair, patting his swollen belly. He closed his eyes, noting that he could fall asleep right then and there, but knowing to do so would be unbearably rude. Miss Dupain-Cheng’s musical laughter filled his ears, and he opened his eyes to smile at her. She beamed at him, placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands in a rather unladylike way, but Felix was so comfortable - and she was so adorable - he couldn’t care less about her manners.  “I take it you liked the surprise?”  “My sincerest compliments to the chef.” Her cheeks pinked, but her eyes were filled with so much smug satisfaction, Felix knew his praise was well-placed. She lifted her glass, so he refilled it, but confusion reigned supreme in him when she fixed him with a playful look. “Never have I ever been seen naked by a maid.” “What?” Felix goggled at her, his jaw dropping. He was uncomfortably reminded of the night she’d sicced the granddaddy of all frogs on him and he’d accidentally flashed her his bare loins. “What on earth are you talking about?” “It’s a game. One person declares a potential experience and if the other person has done it, then they take a sip.”  She waggled her glass at him with a teasing smirk.  “Care to play?” Her first statement made too much sense. Felix narrowed his eyes at her. “Ooh, that’s low. You’re playing dirty already.” As he had, in fact, been seen naked by a maid – And never did he think she would take a sadistic pleasure in reminding him of that fact! Did she think about him naked often? Oh, how his cheeks must be burning! – he took a sip. “My turn?” She nodded, her lips twitching in an amused smirk. “Only if you’re brave enough… Your Royal Highness.” The way she dangled his title in front of him made him irked, determined not to let her get away with… whatever this was. Felix glared at her, musing over experiences he had never had while she clearly did. “Never have I ever dumped a frog in a Royal’s bathtub.” “Aha! So now the gentleman shows he can play dirty too, is that it?  I thought you Royals were too important to get your own hands dirty…” Felix set his jaw, tipping his head up to look down his nose at her in an imperious way that was sure to get under her skin. It had all the other times. “A gentleman may have several experiences with getting his hands dirty that a lady never should.” Miss Dupain-Cheng merely rolled her eyes and took a sip.  She swirled the wine around in her mouth before swallowing, making his eyes narrow as they focused on the way her slender throat received the liquid. He was so caught up in watching her that her words came echoing back to him like an afterthought. “Never have I ever eaten a pizza.” Felix let loose a startled hiss. “How did you know that?” Irrationally annoyed, he downed his glass, closing his clawed fingers around the neck of the wine bottle to refill his glass. She tapped her temple and threw him a wink that might have been considered saucy.  “I have my ways, Felix.” “Bribing my butler for information should not be one of them.” She threw her head back and laughed, the peals echoing off the glass walls like fairy bells. “As if he would ever tell me. Loyal, that one. Your turn.” His mind blurring around the edges thanks to the wine, Felix scrambled for something… anything… “Never have I ever … been on a Ferris wheel,” he blurted out, a little loudly. She smirked at him before pointedly not taking a sip from her glass. “What?” She gave her cute one-sided shrug.  “Either I never had the right time or I never could go with the right person. Ferris wheels aren’t meant to be ridden solo, you know, Felix.” She eyed him speculatively. “Never have I ever gone camping!” He took another sip, frustrated. The only thing that punctured Felix’s annoyance at losing the game at the outset was that she used his real name, just like he’d asked her to do. It was mollifying when it shouldn’t have been, but he’d long accepted that she had power over him that no one else did. Well, maybe not accepted, but had grown accustomed to at any rate. Still. He would not let her win… Whatever the prize was, he was going to win it! “Never have I ever served at table.” She scoffed at him. “Now that’s a low blow. When would you have ever–” “Drink up, little fool,” Felix imparted a bit too gleefully. “You started playing cutthroat, remember? So I’ll play too.” She gave him an intense glare and took a sip. “Never have I ever had a relationship work out,” she snapped, taking another sip before the echo of her words had died. Felix’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He’d apparently pushed her too far – but more than that, by the rules of the game, she’d also never had a relationship work out, and that made him sad for her. But he was also sad for himself – also by the rules of the game, he’d have to imbibe.  “Well, Mister Fancy Pants, drink up. I know you’re just as hopeless as I am,” she grumbled bitterly, swirling her wine around in her glass. “The ambassador was worried about me. He warned me off ‘dating’ you because you couldn’t keep a relationship past a month.” “Ouch,” Felix whispered, surprised at the way the blows kept coming. On one hand, he was angry at the ambassador – Fitzwilliam? He was the one she’d been close to, right? – for sabotaging his chances. On another, he was angry at her for bringing it up in a move calculated to hurt him. But on yet another hand… He was angry at himself for the truth in her words. She might be hopeless, but he definitely was.  Felix released the stem of his glass, but he was unsure of what to do with his hands. He let them flutter around for a moment, tempted to take her hands in his own but eventually allowed them to drop into his lap. “I feel I must clear my name,” he started, his chest shuddering with repressed breaths. He didn’t know why he felt so breathless, except that her words were a vice-grip around his ribs, pressing in on his heart. “The… dating thing was my mother’s idea. She set me up with scads of women who were… either not suited to me or were simply throne-climbers.” As she watched him, waiting for him to continue exonerating himself, Felix glanced away, unable to meet her gaze. He’d never admitted this to anyone before, and it seemed a sacrilege. “I… sunk those relationships on purpose. Once I found out what each of those women was like.” Miss Dupain-Cheng’s face crumpled, her hand reaching out to grasp his gently, her thumb dancing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. “I’m so sorry, Felix. I didn’t really think you had been that bad, but… I didn’t believe him, not really. To have people think you’re some kind of… kind of playboy when you were really just protecting yourself?” Tears started welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should never have brought it up.” Touched by her humility and concern, Felix caught her tears on the backs of his fingers. Using his thumb and a gentle touch, he wiped them away as they started streaming down her cheeks. “It’s alright, Miss Dupain-Cheng. And now, I think I owe you a drink.” Removing his hand from her face was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He lifted his glass, well aware of her hand encircling his, and sampled his wine. It tasted bitter. She chuckled wetly. “Always the gentleman, huh?” He raised his glass to her. “Only with you, it seems.” She winced. “If that’s the case, I might start to feel sorry for the poor dears. Was it really that bad?’ He nodded. “Olivia Connor is just the most persistent… and pervasive.” He shuddered. Felix was shocked to hear Miss Dupain-Cheng's teeth grinding. “Oooh, that overdone, overripe, sleazy piece of jailbait,” she growled, sending a tingling thrill right up his spine. “If I ever see her again it will be too soon.” He sighed. “Agreed. Unfortunately, she has now turned to the courts to try to force me into the same room with her.” Miss Dupain-Cheng’s hand tightened around his and she frowned.  “What do you mean?” He shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. “She has filed a suit claiming that I molested her and slandered her at the reception.” “She did what?!” Miss Dupain-Cheng launched out of her chair like a rocket, practically vibrating with repressed rage. “She is threatening you? Don’t let her get away with this, Felix! I was there and saw how she was treating you and so did the ambassador. I don’t care what she says! I’m not going to let her… her… ruin your reputation like this!” Felix was stunned! That she would have such a reaction to this news was a revelation. Was it the wine inflaming her sense of justice? No, it couldn’t be! She hadn’t even had so much as a sip of wine at the reception and she had still been very… protective of him. The thought sent a corruscating wave of heat washing outward from his heart. Carefully, he rose and guided her back to her seat, her breath coming in little pants. He knelt by her chair, cradling both her hands in his as if they were a baby bird. “It’s quite alright, little fool. You don’t need to fight for my honor or anything,” he said soothingly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The legal department will pressure her to settle out of court, she’ll be given some sort of payoff, and then the matter will be closed.” Or so he hoped… fervently. Miss Dupain-Cheng tore her hands out of his and bent down to clasp his face, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare give her a payout for assaulting you! Do you hear me? Don’t. You. Dare.”   Her voice was as intense as her stare and sent shivers through him. She was so close her nose brushed the tip of his and her breath played over his face. Felix couldn't care less about garlic as he felt like a pot about to boil over.   He was frozen on his knees before her, but not with fear. His heart was pounding madly and his senses were awash in her, tinted with the rosy hue of wine which stained her cheeks. Her hands, half buried in his hair, shook him ever so gently. “Don’t let her or anyone treat you like an object! Underneath all your titles, your bank accounts, your fame, your face, and yes, even your pompous attitude, you are a good person, Felix Fathom! You’ve just gotten too good at hiding it. Even from yourself! So stop hiding. Take up your sword, Sir Knight, and fight for yourself because You. Are. Worth. It!” Felix just stared at her, his heart beating out a samba in his chest. The next thing he knew, he was on his feet. Grabbing his wine glass he downed the rest of its contents in one go. He slammed it back down and pulled her to her feet. “Never,” he whispered, hands, knees, and voice trembling as he stroked his favorite curl behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the process, “have I ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss you right now.” Miss Dupain-Cheng gave a startled squeak and Felix briefly wondered if it was possible for her to blush into the ultraviolet spectrum. “Please, my little fool. Put me out of my misery! I think my heart might just–” She grabbed him by his tie and pulled him into a rough kiss.

Miss Dupain-Cheng was a thousand explosions detonating inside him! She was volcanic, a force of nature that burned away all thought except her and left every nerve ending on fire. He pulled her flush against him, one hand holding the back of her neck while the other splayed across the small of her back, his fingers kneading into the muscles there. She groaned against his lips, the sound positively indecent, and he felt her roll up on her toes to reach him better. Her hands slid up until they circled his neck, fingers tangling in his hair and nearly making him swoon. When they parted, both breathless, he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - and saw her sink back down to her heels once more, her lashes fluttering and her cheeks and ears delightfully rosy.  One hand slid down from around his neck to touch her swollen lips, urging him to do the most ungentlemanly thing he had ever done and dive for them once more. It was only through immense personal restraint - and the fact that he might pass out if he didn’t inhale some much-needed oxygen - that he kept it to a kiss on the forehead. “I-I promised t-to read to you,” she stammered softly, her voice soft and her eyes wide. “P-poetry?” “Little fool, you are the only poetry I require.” He smiled at her, though there was no way such a small thing as a smile could convey the wealth of sweet richness that rippled through him still. “I have a better idea,” he murmured, stroking her hair tenderly. “Why don’t I help you tidy up and I’ll walk you to your door?” He stepped back and held out his hand for hers. To his delight ever afterward, she took it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette awoke the morning after her surprise for Felix with a heavy heart, a pounding headache, and a mouth that tasted of a pack of Q-tips dipped in battery acid. Of all the symptoms of her latent hangover, regret was the worst. She'd kissed Felix. She’d kissed Felix! And what a kiss! As she lay in her bed with the covers pulled over her head to block out the accursed sun, she replayed the kiss over and over in her head.  The way his lips had teased hers, playful but completely in control; the way he’d kneaded her back, sending shivers of pleasure up and down her spine; the way his platinum hair was ever so soft under the ridiculous gel he’d covered the strands with. He'd begged her to put him out of his misery, and such openness was overwhelming. She had surged to meet him, standing on her tiptoes to approximate his height. And to think, all she had to do to get him begging was to tell him he was worthwhile as a person. A strangled sob built up in her throat and choked her. She’d kissed him, and he’d kissed her. But did he mean it, or was it just the wine?  It had to be the wine… right? To tell the truth, Marinette felt heartsore and confused. She had been in love with Adrien for so long that when he had broken up with her, she had felt like she’d lost herself - that so much of her life was wrapped up in who she was and how she felt when she was with him that she had trouble coping.  It had only been the need for the money the Queen offered that had pulled her out of her shock and forced her to face the world before she was truly ready. “That’s probably why I was willing to work so hard to prove myself to Felix in the first place,” she thought, anger and heartbreak battling inside her like clashing storms. “He looks like Adrien and yet he doesn’t. The same eyes, the same chin, but Felix’s nose is stronger and his hair is lighter. His expressions are so much more… volatile too.  It was too… easy to dislike him for those similarities.” She groaned, hiding her face in her pillow. Marinette wasn’t the type to kiss and run.  To her, kisses were a sign of devotion and love, not something to be thrown around and given to just anyone. She felt ashamed of herself, ashamed of her forwardness in kissing him, uncertain as to his meaning in drinking before he said those fateful words. 
“Never have I ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss you right now.”
 She did have feelings for Felix, that much was certain, but she still held Adrien in her heart to some degree. Did that make her the same as all those other women Felix’s mother had sicced on him? Using him as a means of healing her broken heart? Maybe she really was no better than they were. The thought made her curl into a fetal position under her coverlet, dismay and heartache making the nastiness in her throat burn. “But if I’m just using him, then why does the thought hurt so much,” she wondered, brushing her lips with the tips of her fingers. Last night’s kiss haunted her. Adrien's kiss had been a teenage thrill; Felix's kiss was one of a virile man in his prime, hot and passionate. Felix had made her feel like a grown woman; strong, independent, and desirable, his cunning banter and acerbic wit tempered by a secret sincerity that had left her unable to ignore those heavily laden words. 
“Please, my little fool. Put me out of my misery! I think my heart might just–”
 Marinette shivered, remembering the overwhelming sense of longing that had swept through her… how his lips had eagerly taken possession of hers once she had pulled him in… how his scent of bergamot and allspice washed over her only to be drowned out by the aroma of tomates, garlic, basil… And the wine… His cheeks had been unnaturally flushed, so she knew he'd been at least as tipsy as she'd been…  It had to be the wine.  She groaned once more.  She had set herself up for another heartbreak.  If Adrien was out of her league, how much more was his cousin, a literal prince due to be crowned king next year? There was no way his affection for her was real and… if it was… The Queen would surely never allow it. Burying her face deeper into her pillow, Marinette cried for the fear and the pain of it, the situation bearing down upon her fragile heart. It wasn’t until she was in the shower later, weeping under the spray, that she realized that Felix had drunk before he’d made his declaration. This meant that either he didn’t understand the rules of the game, or – the more likely scenario – he had wanted to kiss someone as badly as he’d wanted to kiss her that night. The shower water may as well have been cold for all the warmth Marinette felt after that. Her head pounded fiercely; her eyes ached, swollen with tears. No.  She needed to face the day.  It was far too easy to feel sorry for herself in the dark. The sunlight would hurt her eyes, but it would force her to wake from this crazy dream they had been living for the last week - a dream that now included that amazing kiss. She could only hope Felix was faring better. *** Felix rolled over in bed, wrapping his pillow around his head in an effort to stave off the throbbing there. “If the sun were a person,” Felix thought, groaning at the way the light streamed – mockingly, cheerfully, annoyingly – straight into his eyes, "I'd have him executed." As bad as his head was, though, his stomach had treated him worse last night. Eating so much food after months of avoiding it had given him a wicked stomachache, and the hangover made nausea bathe his teeth. Being hungover was absolutely worth it, though. Felix had kissed Miss Dupain-Cheng. He’d kissed Miss Dupain-Cheng! Whose given name he still did not know, which haunted him more than he’d expected. Especially after that kiss. Felix had never kissed a woman before by his own choosing, let alone one whose name he didn’t know, but Miss Dupain-Cheng was unique in every way.  He had wanted her name so badly last night, craving it like a man dying of thirst craves the sweet water of the oasis. He wanted to whisper her name in her ear before kissing her cheek. He wanted to breathe it out like a benediction before he fell asleep at night. He wanted to announce to the world that he had - no! That the most amazing woman in the world had kissed him! She had pulled him down by his tie and kissed him, roughly, determinedly, and with a hint of longing that had made lightning dance inside him! Then her hands had crept up into his hair and he was sure he had swayed on his feet as they both poured what they were feeling into that kiss. It was all he could do to stay upright, clinging to her with a desperation that was entirely new in his experience. New, but so very, very right. Despite the military formation currently doing drills across his temples, he giggled. Even their rapid entrenchment - and the stab of pain that came with it - couldn’t sway him from the warm happiness blossoming inside him like a sunrise. Thrusting his pillow to one side and kicking off his covers, Felix climbed cautiously out of bed. For all that he wanted to run to Miss Dupain-Cheng and kiss her good morning, he was familiar enough with overindulging to know he would be unsteady on his feet. His only regret was that they were leaving Anmer Hall that day, which felt like a bucket of ice water dumped down his spine. Would she still want to be around him when they returned to London? Would they still play Never Have I Ever? Would they take one step forward and two steps back in their relationship? Would she ever kiss him again? The thoughts plagued his steps as he entered the shower, and if he scrubbed himself a little too roughly, he could hardly be blamed. Felix didn't want to go back to the way things were when she was his nemesis. He wanted a different kind of relationship with her, one where they met each other as equals.  Which… wasn't possible, he realized with a sinking heart. She was his employee. 
"I could always just fire her." 
 As Felix conditioned his hair, he realized what a stupid idea that was. If he fired Miss Dupain-Cheng, she'd leave Buckingham Palace and return to Paris and that cad who'd broken her heart and Felix… His heart clenched and he slammed his fist into the wall of the shower. Felix would never see her again. “No,” he grumbled, the deep rasp to his voice surprising him. “I can’t lose her! I need her!” “What was that, sir?” called a male voice from beyond the open bathroom door. Arthur. Of course. The thought of his valet suddenly lit a spark in his brain. Shutting off the now lukewarm water, Felix hurriedly toweling off and wrapped himself in a dressing gown before striding anxiously out of the bathroom. “Arthur,” he snapped, “I need you to find out why Miss Dupain-Cheng came to work at the Palace. I don’t care how you have to do it! Beg, borrow, steal, even hack Mother’s personal computer, I don’t care. I need that information!” Slightly taken aback, the valet stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before composing himself once more. “That will not be necessary, Sir. I already possess the information you require.” That caught Felix flat-footed. “Really? I say, well done, Arthur!” A tiny smirk tugged at the man’s mouth.  “Thank you, sir, though I am not a mindreader nor a psychic. When you ordered her to be brought into your household, I did my usual background check and interview. Miss Dupain-Cheng has long cherished the desire to work in fashion, especially for high-profile social and political events. Certain, shall we say, individuals scuppered her plans for work in Paris and certain family affairs meant that she no longer had money for fashion school. Now her ambition is to work as part of the Wardrobe department designing for yourself and Her Majesty.” “Hmmm,” Felix growled more than hummed under his breath, taking to pacing around his quarters with his hands clasped behind his back, rage simmering under his breastbone. “That would have been the father. She never told that sous chef that the cad’s father had sunk her future as well as her relationship. But why would she settle for a job as a chambermaid when she obviously has the talent to succeed as part of Wardrobe right now?” Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “I believe, sir, that it might be more prudent to speak with Her Majesty about–” Felix leveled a glare at the man that was so powerful he almost believed he could smell scorched ozone. “Arthur Wemberly, how long have you been in my service?” The valet straightened his already ramrod straight back. “Twenty-two years, Your Royal Highness.” “And you have always done your best for me and treated me almost like a son, am I right?” “I have done so to the best of my abilities and to the degree in which our relationship allows,” he replied, eyes focused on a middle distance and a bead of sweat formed on his forehead. “Then why must I go crawling to my mother and her continuous, overbearing expectations when I can just ask you?”  He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave him a crooked smile. “And I am asking, Arthur. I won’t order you to tell me and, if you are not comfortable doing so, then I will go ask my mother myself, though I suspect that any answer she gives me, right or wrong, will undoubtedly have strings attached.” The older man sighed. “As you wish, Sir.  Miss Dupain-Cheng was… given to Her Majesty as a–” “What?!” Felix had never felt more outraged in his life. “This is not medieval China! This is Great Britain of the twenty-first century! You can’t just give a person as a gift!” His fists clenched so tight the knuckles popped and cracked under the pressure. “And why, by all that is good, would my mother - of all people - accept another woman as a gift?!” Arthur held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I understand your justifiable concern, Sir, but if you will give me a moment I will happily explain.” Felix nodded, trying to rein his temper back under control. “It seems that Miss Dupain-Cheng had a friend, someone she had known since childhood, whom she had been dating for several years - happy years, by all accounts. It wasn’t until the young man’s father found out how serious the relationship was trending that the trouble started.   “The father forced his son to cut all ties with Miss Dupain-Cheng, having set up in advance with Her Majesty for an opportunity to arise for the post of chambermaid with an eye towards Wardrobe in five years. In exchange, Miss Dupain-Cheng would be given a stipend well above what the position normally pays in order for her to pursue her education. As her family had a crisis develop in the meantime, the funds were no longer available and since her relationship was forcibly ended by her young man, she had very little reason to not accept. Considering her bank balance at the time you requested her transfer, I suspect that the family crisis is ongoing and she is using the stipend to send home funds to help alleviate some of the financial burden.” Felix absorbed this information the same way he would study for an exam at university. Pieces clicked together in his head, presenting him with a rather pitiful picture indeed. His sweet little fool had been suffering and he hadn’t even noticed.   In fact, he had been so busy adding to her torment that he had never questioned before why someone so talented could have ended up serving him tea and scrubbing his floors. All the time Miss Dupain-Cheng had been dealing with his - what had she called it? Oh yes.  His pompous attitude! - and his pranks and his childishness and, aside from a few minor pranks in return, she had dealt with it all with the patience of a saint while suffering from a broken heart, concern for her family, as well as the stress of living in a strange city and missing her loved ones. The picture this painted of their interactions in his mind was shameful and sore, leaving only one conclusion. He didn’t deserve her. “You really checked her bank balance as part of your background check?” he asked skeptically. “One can never be too careful with who works for the Royals, Sir.” Felix ground his teeth in frustration. “You do realize there is only one man on earth with the gall to insist my mother do anything, right?” Arthur nodded solemnly.  “Yes, Sir.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette shrank away from Felix, though given the cramped space of the limo, she couldn't get far enough away from him. He glared out his window, muttering to himself as he had been doing for the past hour ride back to London. Marinette had seen him apoplectic before, had even been roared at in his rage, but this… this sulking, brooding, angry Felix… She couldn't make heads or tails of this. He'd greeted her curtly at breakfast, his mind clearly on other things, and had barely touched his eggs Benedict. Marinette had tried to start a conversation about anything but what happened the night before, but Felix shut her down, preoccupied with whatever was bothering him. Now, as he clenched and unclenched his fists on his side of the limo, Marinette's anxiety had begun to choke her.   "Was it something I did?" Her mind spun in circles, ruminating on every action of hers from the night before. "It was me, wasn't it? I… I kissed him. And now he's angry."  Maybe she'd kissed him too roughly. Maybe he'd realized the differences between their stations would be a PR nightmare. Maybe going back to London had weighed heavily on his mind because he couldn't wait to get back there and put her in her place. He was her employer. More than that, he was the Prince of Wales.  There was no possibility of approaching this situation as his equal. The power difference between them was too stark. 
"I was a mistake." 
 Tears welled in her eyes, and Marinette turned her face away from him to hide them. Resting her forehead on the cool glass of the window was no respite to her overheated face.  
"I was a mistake. That's all there is to it."
 The thoughts plagued her, circling like vultures to pick shreds off the carcass of her dignity. The wheels of the limo glided smoothly over the streets, but for Marinette, the ride couldn't be bumpier.  She tried to focus on the outside – on anything that could distract her from the horrible thoughts of mistakes and misplaced feelings.  The British countryside whooshed by in a blur of greens and browns. After a bit of Marinette's mindless watching, the limo slowed just enough to show the surface streets respect. She saw stately brick buildings presiding over a tiny hamlet.  All the buildings reminded her of was Anmer Hall and the stolen week she'd spent with… with him.  She tried so, so hard not to think of Anmer Hall. Of the time they’d spent getting to know each other, of the ridiculous time in the pool, the way he had encouraged and protected her with his arm wrapped around her as they rode his horse through the woods, of the dramatic acting out of the best of Shakespeare, of the fateful Never Have I Ever game and… and the kiss. Always, her thoughts revolved around the kiss, spinning about it like a star being sucked into a black hole. The manic, desperate light in his eyes as he'd begged her, the tender way he cradled the back of her neck, the passionate warmth of his lips caressing hers… All of it – and the fact that such a kiss was a mistake and would never happen again –  was enough to make the tears stream down her face. She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. The noise apparently drew Felix’s attention, because she suddenly found herself being gently turned by the shoulders only to stare up into his concerned green eyes.  “No…” she thought, despair coursing through her veins. “He can’t be concerned. He can’t. My heart can’t take it.”  “Are you crying, little fool?” he murmured, reaching out for her with his large hands – likely to cradle her face with them and wipe her tears away with his thumbs. Marinette shied away as best as she could, pressing her back up against the cold window. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the first stirrings of rain. “I’m fine,” she blatantly and obviously lied. “Just…” Felix’s eyes widened before taking on a wounded cast. “Are you sure?” “Just leave me be, Felix,” she whimpered, uncaring that using his name like that was a low blow. He usually did whatever she wanted when she attached his name to the request. “I’ll be okay." "No," he murmured, his voice as soft and mournful as any dove's. "We won't be." Marinette's breath hitched. She grasped her elbow, yearning for the world to make sense. "W-What do you mean by that?" "You're lying to me," Felix pointed out. "Whatever I've done to scare you–" "You haven't scared me!" In response, Felix reached for her hand only for her to jerk away. "But you are afraid." "No! Yes! I don't know…" "Little fool." Felix's broken whisper raked her heart over the coals. "You're shaking like a leaf." Indeed, Marinette was trembling and she hadn't noticed. Panting, she felt her heart thundering against her ribs. Her lip quivered and the corners wrinkled around her grimace.  Moving slowly so as not to spook her like a skittish animal, Felix offered her his handkerchief. The peace offering was as clear as a neon sign blaring in the dark.  He didn't seem angry anymore, just concerned and worried for her. She was clearly bothering him; another mistake. "Why did you have to be so wonderful?" she cried, snatching the handkerchief and blowing her nose in it – yet another way she was an annoyance. Felix offered her a wicked smirk that turned her insides topsy-turvy. "Words I never expected to hear from the woman who tenderized my rump roast." Marinette barked out a wet laugh and scooted closer to him to gently slug him in the shoulder. "Hush, you." "I will not hush. I had tiny little puncture wounds for days." Felix sniffed dramatically. " Days , I tell you." "Yes, well, your trick with the locker made me get a literal shovel to scoop up all the button pins." Felix gave her a strange look, one she couldn't decipher until he spoke. "Did you keep any of them?" Marinette had already learned that lying to him was not in her best interests. So she tossed her head, smacking him in the face with her ponytail, making him splutter. "Not a single one." "Well, good." Felix preened. If she didn't know him any better, she'd expect him to flex his arms and kiss his muscles. "The merchandise never did capture my good side." The comeback was too easy. "You have a good side?" "Ooh," Felix hissed, sticking his lower lip out in the most adorable pout. Not that she would tell him that. "I'll have you know that some magazine or other voted me 'Sexiest Man Alive.' Or something." "Or something," Marinette agreed, scrubbing the tear dust away from her aching eyes. Bantering with Felix was fun, and she didn't want him to be reminded that she'd been crying. "How much did your mother bribe or threaten the editors?" Felix blinked, appearing nonplussed. "You know? I have no idea." "Trust me when I say I do not plan to acquire a copy." Felix stunned her by flopping over into her lap, lacing his fingers behind his head. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so she let them twist the handkerchief. He fixed her with the most impudent smirk she'd ever seen in her life. "You don't need a copy," he purred, making her stomach drop. "Pictures are a poor imitation of the real thing." Marinette squeaked. "I-Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." "Relying on cliches are we?" Apparently emboldened by her flustered reaction, Felix reached up and dragged his thumb across her lower lip, his gaze burning her alive. "I thought you were smarter than that, but I have been wrong before." Marinette couldn't stand him. He was so annoying! Folding her arms, she turned her head to stick her nose up in the air. "Hmph! If I'm so stupid, then clearly you don't want to listen to anything I say, so why talk to you ?" "Because if you ignore me…" Marinette slanted him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Yes?" "I'll do this!" Ripping his hands out from under his head, Felix seized her sides and began tickling her. Completely at his mercy, she laughed and laughed, squirming to try to get away. His fingers danced over her waist, promoting tingling sensations to riot all over her middle. Finally, when she could stand no more, she gasped out, "Stop!" He stopped immediately, allowing her to catch her breath. Marinette reached down to pinch his nose and waggle his head back and forth. "Ooh, I'll get you back for that! You're lucky I like being tickled! Most people don't." "I wouldn't know." Felix shrugged casually as she released his nose. "I've never been tickled." "Never?" "No?" Settling back onto her lap like he owned it, Felix regarded her with a surprised look. "Is that… weird?" "No, but most kids get tickled by their parents or caregivers at least once."  "Oh." Felix glanced away, his forehead puckering. "I was a serial nanny user. Most of them couldn't stand me, so they wouldn't have done things like tickling. Arthur was the only constant." Marinette felt torn; torn between her fear of being rejected again and a longing to make things right for this man who had everything in the world except tenderness, companionship, love… Suddenly, a huge, gentle hand cupped her head as a thumb smoothed away the tension from her forehead. Her eyes snapped back to his face. “Don’t fret so much, my sweet little fool,” he murmured, settling himself down in her lap like a panther pretending to be a house cat. “Everything will be alright. You have my word on it.” 
“Don’t worry so much, Marinette. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see. It’s you and me against the world, my lady!”
 Marinette squeezed her eyes shut at the memory. She and Adrien had been sitting on the edge of the canal and she was worrying about her future… their future.  He had wrapped his arm around her in a supportive hug, declaring that they could take on the world together… …a month before he’d told her they were walking different paths… that he had responsibilities that he needed to focus on… a future he had to work towards… … one that didn’t include her. So much for taking on the world. “You’re thinking too hard again,” Felix said, the ironic tone in his voice punctuated by a gentle flick to her forehead. She opened her eyes and his were so soft and concerned that any resolve she had managed to scrape together against those burgeoning feelings melted on the spot. It was happening again… and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “Sorry,” she whispered, color rising to her cheeks at being found out so easily. Tenderly, she rested her hand on his hair and smoothed the swept back strands away from his high forehead. Those verdant eyes rolled up in their sockets as they closed in pleasure.

She couldn’t help but smile. Was she the only one whom he had trusted like this? To let his guard down around enough to reveal the hidden playfulness long tucked away like the camera in the attic? A sweet warmth glowed in her heart for this ridiculous contradiction of a man - all ego and starch on the outside, but capable of so much tenderness and passion if he only had the chance to let it out more.   But it was a bittersweet realization… because Marinette knew what had started between them couldn’t last forever. “Felix,” she whispered, “I know this can’t last. Your mother will find out and send me away and I’ll get left behind again, but would it be wrong for me to try to enjoy it while it lasts? It would be so nice to be loved again.” Looking down, she saw that his face, normally filled with anxiety, boredom, or frustration, was completely relaxed, his mouth slightly ajar, and the faintest of rumbling snores issued from his lips… reminding her of little Prince Felix and his kittenish purr. She sighed and stroked his hair. “Let him sleep,” she thought, content to live in the moment for just a little while longer. “He needs to be rested for his duties when he gets back.”  And if she happened to fall asleep as well, then she could use the rest too.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix had the limo drop Marinette off at her apartment tower, saying she could have the rest of the day off and the next as well. He had pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before she got out of the car.
 
“Get some rest, little fool. I’m not sure how I will get through tomorrow without you, but you deserve so much for putting up with me and my childishness. The least I can do is give you a day off from it.”
 
Her cheeks flushed hot and she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth nervously.  “You weren’t

that

bad.”
 
Felix rolled his eyes. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, haven’t you learned yet not to contradict a Royal?” He tweaked her chin and put on his most lofty air, but now she could see it for the mask it was. “If I say I was a grade-A prime prat of the first water, then you do not have the right to correct me.”
 
She giggled and patted him on the cheek. “You do realize that is never going to work on me again, right? Now that I know what a big softie you are inside.” She poked him in the chest, causing him to dramatically place his wrist to his forehead and swoon back in the bench seat of the limo, nearly clouting his head on the door handle.
 
Marinette snorted. “You are such a drama king,” she grumbled, with no heat and some affection.
 
He shocked her by wriggling his eyebrows at her playfully. “You could say I was born for it.”
 
She swatted him on the leg, but couldn’t help the smile at his wordplay.
 
“Try not to stress out your first day back, alright?” she asked, worry creeping into her thoughts once more.
 
“I’ll be fine for a day, my little fool. You need to rest yourself.”
 
He shifted to the opposite side of the limo and opened the door for her. She cast him a nervous smile as she exited.
 
Mr Wemberly had retrieved her rollaway bag from the trunk and offered the handle to her.
 
“Do you need any assistance with your bag, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” he asked, both eyebrows lifting in surprise as he saw her face fall. “Is everything alright?”
 
She managed to still her trembling lips and give him a grateful smile. “I will be. It’s just been a long week.”
 
The valet frowned at her dissembling. Slipping two fingers into the breast pocket of his suit coat, he pulled out a business card and offered it to her. “I know we are merely colleagues, Miss Dupain-Cheng, but as our Young Master is interested in changing his relationship with you into a more personal one, I have no doubt he would deem it appropriate for you to contact me if you need someone to talk to.”
 
He bowed with one hand over his heart. “I am at your service, my lady.”
 
She flinched at his words, sending another stab at her worried heart. “Please, Mr Wemberly, don’t call me that again. It brings back some unpleasant memories for me and…” She sighed. “We both know I’m no lady.”
 
He patted her on the shoulder comfortingly and nodded toward the waiting limo. “We both know I would not be the only one to disagree.”
 
“Thank you, Sir,” Marinette hedged, taking the business card before ducking around him to enter the apartment’s glass double doors. She didn’t need to invite further comparisons of past loves to potential future ones.

“Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back,”

Marinette chanted in her head. 
 
If she looked back, all was lost. She’d see him, and she’d have to acknowledge her feelings were stronger than she was giving them credit for.
 
But what if this was the last time she would see him? What if he got into a fiery accident and perished by the time the sun set?
 
She looked back.
 
Felix was sitting on his side of the limo, his tinted window rolled completely down. He offered her a shy smile and a tentative wave, and Marinette found herself raising her hand to wave back before she could stop herself.
 
He was adorable that way, with his head half-cocked to the side and his kissable lips curved in a smile just for her.

“Oh,”

she thought, her heart jackhammering her ribs.

“Oh, no.”

Marinette spun on her heel, dragging her rollaway bag to the elevators. Stabbing the call button with her thumb repeatedly, Marinette fidgeted until the elevator arrived. Dashing inside, she jammed the button to close the doors, waiting just until they shut to lean on the back rail.
 
A strangled sob escaped her, a noise so desperate and heartbroken, she didn’t even recognize it coming from her at first. By the time she’d arrived at her and Alya’s apartment, slumping against the door to open it, Marinette was well and truly crying. 
 
“Girl!” Alya greeted her from the living room couch with alarm, dropping her spoonful of what looked like baked ziti. The tomato scent reminded Marinette of that fateful dinner and what had happened afterward, and she wobbled on her jelly-like knees.
 
Alya rushed over, taking her bag from her and offering her a chair from the attached dining room. “What happened? That creep! He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
 
“N-No, Alya,” Marinette whimpered, sinking down into the chair with a cushion she’d sewn herself. “I did this to myself.”
 
She sniffled, and when Alya searched for and found Felix’s handkerchief stowed away in a pocket of her bag, Marinette only cried harder. 
 
Alya looked at the embroidered initials with horror and tossed the offending cloth over her shoulder. It fluttered to the floor and landed in an unassuming heap, not knowing or caring how much trouble it had caused. “Well, we’re going to get some rocky road ice cream delivered – my treat! – and have a little chat. It’s time for some girl talk.”
 
Good old Alya. Always looking out for Marinette in that exasperated, motherly way of hers. Bowled over by Alya’s concern, all Marinette could do was nod.
 
“You go unpack, maybe have a shower, and I’ll order the ice cream. We’ll meet up after and talk it out.” Alya held up a fist, clearly intending for Marinette to bump it. “Deal?”
 
Marinette touched her knuckles to Alya’s lightly, thinking of the way she had slugged Felix in the limo with those same knuckles. “Deal.”
 
Prince Felix twined his way under her chair, mewling pitifully. Marinette bent down to pick him up and stroke behind his tiny ears. “I missed you, Little Felix,” Marinette murmured, her heart being stabbed with every pet. “Did you miss me too?”
 
“He’s a beast,” Alya complained goodnaturedly. “Breaking vases, clawing the couch, drinking from the toilet… Why, he’s almost as bad as the real thing!”

“Don’t cry,”

Marinette demanded of herself.

“You’ve cried enough over him.”

But nuzzling her kitten and plagued by painful feelings, she couldn’t help starting the waterworks again.
 
Alya whistled low. “Wow, Marinette. You’ve got it

bad.

”
 
It took a hot shower, a quart of rocky road ice cream, and a blasting rendition of what Alya called, “The best 'I hate men' song ever written” – which caused their neighbors all around to pound on the adjoining walls – before Marinette managed to get herself under control. It was a flimsy, tissue paper sort of control, but it was all she could muster.
 
“Do you feel like you can talk about it now, girl?” Alya said worriedly, cradling her against her shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Or will that just make it worse?”
 
“Why am I like this, Als?” Marinette croaked, her throat dry and her eyes sore from round after round of tears.
 
“That depends on what

this

is. Why are you the best friend in the world? Why do you have more talent in your little finger than anyone else I know? Why did you luck out and be born to parents who make the best macarons ever?”
 
Marinette chuckled weakly. “No. None of that.”
 
Alya gave her a sideways hug.  “Then tell me what it is, M.”
 
Marinette let out a long, shuddering breath. “Why do I always catch feelings for guys that will never work out?”
 
“What, is it that hot chef from the palace?”
 
“What?! No! How did you even know about James anyway?”
 
“We ran into him briefly at that street fair at Picadilly last month. Remember?” Alya asked.
 
Marinette shook her head. Last month had been the aftermath of the pranks and reception, leaving everything else to be blotted out.
 
“Okay. So if it isn’t the chef, then who?  I thought you said

His Royal Pratness

only traveled with you, a driver, and a valet.”
 
“Mr Wemberly is old enough to be my father,” she replied, “And the driver is happily married with three kids.”
 
“Then wh-” Alya’s eyes widened so far her glasses nearly slid off the end of her nose.  “Marinette, you can’t mean…”
 
Marinette whimpered and buried her blushes and heartache in her best friend’s t-shirt.
 
“GIRL!”
 
“I know! I know! It’s stupid to think about, but… you should have seen the way he has been acting this week, Als. He’s been almost hovering, wanting me to spend time with him at the pool, taking me horseback riding–”
 
“Okay, that’s romantic. Five points to Slytherin.”
 
“But I was too scared to even get on the horse!” she wailed, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them. “He pulled me up to ride in front of him and took me to his favorite place - a pond in the middle of the woods surrounded by honeysuckle - and we read through a Shakespeare play and he wanted me to read the man’s part.”
 
“M, this is starting to sound like a rom-com. You

have

heard of enemies to lovers, right?”
 
“Yeah,” Marinette sniffled, “I just never expected to live it with my ex’s cousin who just happens to be the ruddy Prince of Wales!”
 
She pulled her hair, which Alya had braided for her, over her shoulder and started threading it through her hands. “The Prince of Wales, Alya! How is this going to end any better than what happened with…"
 
Marinette couldn't even bring herself to say his name, but thankfully, Alya knew.
 
“Aw, girl, I didn’t mean it that way.” Alya sighed and adjusted her glasses back on her nose. “You really have feelings for the prince? Even after everything he’s done to you?”
 
“He’s lonely, Alya,” she whispered. “He said he has never had anyone just be honest with him. He even said my obvious dislike was a breath of fresh air. And he’s sick too! He hasn’t been eating much in the last few months and he’s lost a lot of weight. I know he’s not sleeping well, has headaches…”

“Marinette, do you think your feelings aren’t those of love, but… pity? Concern?”
 
She shook her head. “No, Alya. Sure, that is part of it, but along the way, we became friends and never noticed. Then last night, I made him dinner and–”
 
“Whoa, whoa! Time out! You made him dinner? Girl, you haven’t cooked more than paninis or a batch of cookies since we got here! Since–”
 
“Since the night before Adrien broke up with me,” she snapped. “I know, Als! But I did it! I made Nonna’s chicken parmesan recipe with homemade noodles and there was candlelight and wine and we were teasing back and forth and we started playing Never Have I Ever and suddenly he was saying that he had never wanted to kiss someone as badly as he wanted to kiss me!”
 
Alya held up her hands in surrender. "Who's the real target of your anger, Marinette? Because it certainly isn't me."
 
Marinette blanched. She didn't realize she'd been yelling at Alya, her friend who had been nothing but supportive since she'd arrived home. 
 
Tears welled in her eyes once more. These weren't of sadness but of shame. 
 
"I'm so sorry, Alya." Marinette's whisper sounded so haunted, so broken, that she was amazed that it had come from her mouth. "I… don't know who I'm angry with."
 
Alya steepled her fingers together. The overhead light glared off her glasses, making her look like some bad anime villain.
 
"There are three people in this scenario–"
 
"Three?"
 
"Let me finish!" Alya huffed, shaking Marinette's shoulder. She began counting off on her fingers. "There's you. That's a given. There's the Prince. And…?"
 
Marinette was flummoxed. "And?"
 
"And Adrien, fool!"
 
Alya's sweet nickname did nothing but remind her of Felix's endearment for her and how she'd misunderstood his intentions all this time.
 
But that wasn't all that made her heart sink. "Adrien is a part of this? He's not even here!"
 
"You know how sometimes in a story the city can be said to be a character?”
 
“No…?”
 
Alya made a gesture of impatience that made her look like a frustrated mafia boss straight out of

The Godfather.

“Work with me, Marinette!”
 
Marinette tried to give her friend all of her attention, but Little Felix was batting at her ankles. She picked him up and gave him a cuddle, heartsore and heartsick whenever she thought of the human Prince in her lap. “I’ll try, Alya, but–”

“See, the point is,” Alya soldiered on, with the air of trying to impart some very important information indeed, “Adrien isn’t present, no, but he’s a character in your story just as much as if he were. He’s the ghost that haunts your every step.”
 
Now that, Marinette understood. “I see. What do I do?”
 
“Not so fast!” Alya held up a hand. Her eyes took on the manic gleam of a reporter smelling a juicy scoop. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that His Royal Pratness wanted to kiss you. Did you kiss him?”

“Please, my little fool,”

he’d cried, tugging at her heartstrings even in memory. “

Put me out of my misery!”

Marinette buried her face in Little Felix’s fur, her cheeks scalding hot. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, and Alya whooped.
 
“Girl! Talk about burying the lede!” Alya smacked her own forehead, showing Marinette just how much she’d antagonized her friend. “How was it?”
 
Marinette set Little Felix down specifically so she could fidget with her fingers. “It… It was amazing, Alya. It was tender and passionate and just this side of rough. I kissed him, not the other way around, though he did kiss me back pretty quickly. He clutched me, like he was afraid to let me go, and he did this… thing at the small of my back…” She shivered as she remembered his strong fingers pressing deep into her muscles, sending excited ripples up her spine along with a release of tension. “He acted desperate, Alya… desperate for me! Only for me! Like the kiss was more than he had ever dreamed of and he would have been content to just … hold me.
 
Marinette drew a deep breath. “It was

nothing

like my kisses with…”
 
“Yeah, I get it. And I hate to be your therapist because I’m not,” Alya said quickly but continued on in the same vein anyway, “but I’ve gotta know: how did that kiss make you

feel

?”
 
Vividly remembering the way he’d claimed her mouth, teasing and seeking and taking as well as giving, Marinette stared off into the middle distance. Her heart rate spiked as she relived the kiss, and it wasn’t until she recalled his shy, tentative smile at her apartment door that she was able to calm down.
 
“Like he would fight battles for me,” she murmured as images of his wicked smirks, overly dramatic swoons, and possessive gaze filled her mind. “Like he’d protect me wherever I go. Like I was more than enough. Like I…”
 
Marinette nearly choked out her next words around the lump in her throat. “L-Like I was the only beautiful thing in the world.”
 
“Remind me,” Alya said, dragging Marinette’s awareness back to her friend, “to tell Nino to up his game.”
 
Marinette snorted. “As if! You guys have been ‘marriage goals’ since highschool. You’ve been joined at the lips for what? Ten years now?”
 
Alya blushed darkly, a goofy grin spreading across her face.  “Yeah, but… we’re not talking about me and Nino.  We are talking about you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and a certain royal with whom you have spent an intimate week at his country estate.”  She slapped herself lightly on the cheeks.  “Goodness, girl, your life is turning into a Jane Austen adaptation!”
 
Marinette groaned. “He even talks like it too!” She gave a heavy sigh and leaned back against her friend’s shoulder. “What am I going to do, Als? I know I have feelings for him and he does for me, unless he was more than tipsy last night and didn’t mean it. But say he does love me for real and this isn’t a long running prank he’s pulling. It can never work out!  I can’t marry a prince! I’m a chambermaid who wants to design clothes for the Royals! How does that qualify me to help him rule a country?!”
 
Now it was Alya’s turn to snort. “Are you kidding? Royals marry commoners all the time in this day and age. Have for the last fifty years or so. One, folks know now that it's a bad idea to always swim in the same gene pool.”
 
The image of Felix with no shirt, examining her toenail polish dropped before her mind's eye like a piece of theater scenery falling and Marinette's cheeks warmed. Alya smirked knowingly.
 
“And we will talk about that face later, but two, there isn’t enough royalty to go around these days.  British royalty have had their dollar princesses for quite a while now.”
 
“Dollar princesses?”
 
Her friend’s smirk widened and she rubbed her fingers together to indicate money. “Cash can take the place of blue blood - or something like that. The point is, girl, that if your Prince really loves you and he really feels the way you described, then he will get what he wants in the end.  Didn’t you tell me yourself that he was spoiled and as stubborn as a mule?”
 
Marinette sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, but that was before he let down his guard around me.”
 
“Ah, he played the vulnerable card,” Alya said sympathetically. “Your one true kryptonite.”
 
“I know,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide in frustration, startling Little Felix into a yowl of discontent. “But it isn’t just that. He can be bossy and rude, self-centered and a complete pain in the neck, but he can also be sensitive and tender, thoughtful and charming…”
 
Her words faded as her voice grew softer, her hands returning to stroke the cat’s fur and release his purr once more.
 
“Doesn’t help the man is blond, green-eyed, and looks amazing in a suit,” Alya murmured, nudging her gently in the shoulder. “At least we know you have a type.”
 
“But what if I’m just deluding myself? And even if not, what’s to keep things from turning out just like they did with A-Adrien?”  
 
Marinette hated that she still stumbled over his name, like prodding a mouth ulcer to see if it still hurt. She buried her face in the kitten’s soft fur again, causing his ears to flick spasmodically as her hair brushed against them. “I’m not sure I can take another hit like that one, Alya.”
 
There was a dry popping sound and Marinette looked up abruptly to see her best friend squeezing her fists so tight that the knuckles cracked and showed palely through her caramel-colored skin.
 
“You know I would have decked golden boy if you hadn’t told me not to, right?”
 
“Yeah. I know, but he–”
 
“No! I’m tired of you defending him, Marinette! He doesn’t deserve it. Even if he really had decided to break up with you, he could have done it a million other ways that would have been more decent and caring! The fact that he did it just because his father told him to–”
 
“We don’t know that for sure,” Marinette interjected sadly, fiercely wiping away another round of tears. “Maybe he was just tired of me. Maybe I wasn’t enough for him. After all, he is the son of the country; everyone loves him! He could have anyone! Why settle for the childhood friend when you have the whole world to choose from?”
 
Alya pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead in the process. “Okay, Marinette. I get it. But this is the question you should be asking yourself: If you had the chance to be with Adrien again, for him to love you as you deserve and treat you right, would you still choose him or would you choose Felix?”
 
“I… I don’t… know,” she finally admitted around the large lump in her throat.
 
Her friend sighed. “Well, if I was your therapist, then I would probably say that is a good start. Of course, Felix is here now and Adrien, thank goodness, is still in France, otherwise I would readily and happily kick his scrawny butt! Maybe you should give Felix a chance, right? If he is everything you say he is?”
 
Marinette looked down and her eyes caught sight of Felix’s handkerchief that Alya had dropped on the floor earlier. Reaching down, she caught it with the tips of her fingers and brought it to her face.
 
Bergamot and allspice and just a hint of dust wafted to her nose, the embroidered double ‘F’ silky under her fingertips.
 
A small furry head butted her chin.
 
“Meh,” Little Felix meowed, blinking up at her with his baby panther eyes.
 
Marinette giggled and pressed a kiss on the top of his soft head. “You want me to give your namesake a chance too?”
 
Alya wrapped both her and the kitten in a tight embrace. “If it means anything, my vote’s with the cat,” she said, chuckling as Felix yowled and squirmed to escape the group hug.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Meeting after meeting after meeting.
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng would be displeased with him for skipping lunch, Felix knew, but he barely had time to choke down water, much less eat.
 
Besides, the food – whatever it was – was no Nonna's Chicken Parmesan.
 
As Felix sat in the council room, listening intently to the next month's budget planning, he reflected on how Miss Dupain-Cheng made him want to be a better person.
 
Despite the headache blooming above his right eye, Felix was totally engaged in the planning. He took in the information presented and even offered some of his own comments, surprising his mother.
 
He wanted to rule his country right. He wanted to help his people. He wanted to be a better king.
 
For her.
 
Soon, the meeting concluded with most people in it being satisfied by what was discussed. There were always some councilors with pet projects that wouldn't get funded.
 
After the councilors filed out, Felix rose to leave, ready to listen to the next initiative, but Amelie pinned him with a skeptical look from her chair.
 
"You were lively today, Fe," she commented, squinting at him in an effort to figure him out. "I've never seen you take an interest in budget planning."
 
"Yes, I know." Felix fought the blush of embarrassment. How long had he been out of touch? "My apologies."
 
Amelie waved a dismissive hand. "There's no need for apologies. What you need to do is tell me what changed."
 
"I…" Thinking over his answer, Felix swallowed hard. "I found something to rule for."
 
"Something?" Amelie's eyes skewered him. "Or some

one

?"
 
"Would you look at the time?" Felix exclaimed, trying to skitter away. "The Baron needs to speak with me."
 
"Which Baron? And about what?"
 
"You know Barons," Felix hedged in an effort to get away despite Amelie's baleful stare. "They're always wanting something."
 
Amelie pursed her lips. It was a dangerous look, to be sure; it meant she'd come to some sort of conclusion that he wasn't privy to.
 
"Keep your secrets then," she murmured, finally dismissing him. He turned to head to the next meeting but her words stopped him. "And Fe?"
 
Felix paused in his haste, listening to the demanding tone under her words. "Yes, Mother?"
 
"Don't think I haven't noticed your little fling with the chambermaid."
 
Felix's heart dropped through his stomach like a brick thrown through a window.
 
Realizing he had but one chance to defend his relationship with Miss Dupain-Cheng, he straightened his shoulders, facing the Queen Regent head-on.  
 
He drew up his cold, professional demeanor like armor, his tone soft but clipped. "Does Her Majesty disapprove?"
 
Amelie's lips twitched into a half-smile, shocking him. "No," she said. "But if she breaks your heart, hell hath no fury like a Queen whose son has been scorned."
 
Felix bristled. For one, he was upset at the insinuation that he'd given his whole heart to Miss Dupain-Cheng.
 
He had – but that was besides the point!
 
For two… "I can take care of myself, Mother."
 
"I'm sure you can, Fe." Amelie tried for soothing but missed the mark by a mile to land on calculating. "Alright, then. I won't fight your battles for you. Whether you end up with a broken heart is entirely on your shoulders."
 
Felix offered her a deep bow that he'd intended to be grateful, but came off as mocking because he was so incensed. "Farewell, Your Majesty. I have councilors to attend."
 
Felix turned away to sweep out of the room but his mother's soft, pleading tone stopped him once again.
 
"Fe…"
 
His brows raising, he glanced over his shoulder only to watch her face crumple. His headache pounded in time with his heart as he tried to figure out this new, confusing Amelie. He couldn't figure out her angle, and the Queen Regent always had an angle. 
 
"Yes, Mother?" 
 
A peace offering, which Amelie took.
 
"Just be careful. Alright?"
 
Felix drew himself up to his full height. "Of course," he said, and then thought the better of the way he'd treated his mother. "Mum."
 
Amelie's eyes widened but immediately softened. She offered him a regal nod, which he returned, and he realized he'd finally been let go. 
 
He had to run to make it to the next meeting on time, but he figured that since he'd been having a conversation with the Queen Regent, they'd forgive him for being late.
 
Still, he looked forward to his afternoon tea with Miss Dupain-Cheng for the rest of the day.
 
He'd given her the past two days off, and to both his delight and consternation, she'd taken the offer. Having Patel bring him his afternoon tea felt wrong on multiple levels.
 
As the time neared for his fifteen-minute break, the wait became agonizing. Felix kept his eyes glued to the clock, his fingers drumming on his desk instead of reviewing the initiative about… whatever it was about.
 
Finally, the large hand moved to twelve, so Felix was released to run to his favorite green chair and…
 
And her.
 
Felix's steps were buoyed by a happiness he hadn't felt in he didn't know how long. Despite his thundering headache, he was overjoyed to burst into his quarters and find her already there, pouring tea into his cup.
 
"Miss Dupain-Cheng!" Felix immediately pulled up beside her, searching her face for a smile – that she rewarded him with. "Are you well? I missed you."
 
Felix wondered if he was being too forward, but when she giggled at him, he knew all was well. 
 
"It's only been two days, silly." She pushed him back by his nose, and only then did he realize he was hovering. "You can't have missed me that much!"
 
“Oh, yes I did! It was torture! Torture most cruel!”
 
"I can see that two days is two too many for His Royal Highness," Miss Dupain-Cheng said cheekily, offering him his teacup. He noted with delight that she had made him more of those delectable biscuits and the warm sweet and savory aroma of chai tea wafted under his nose like the best perfume in the world.
 
“Far too many,” he said, stealing a quick kiss on her cheek before taking the cup from her hand. 
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng leaned into the touch, her gorgeous eyes fluttering closed briefly over rosy cheeks before opening again to give him a sly look. "If you miss me this much and it's only been two days, I'll have to deprive you of my company for far longer and see what happens. For the sake of science, you see."
 
“Oh, of course.” He cast a sideways glance at her as he dipped one of those delicious treats into his tea before popping it into his mouth. Her soft pink lips quirked up into a pleased smirk. 
 
“There are some people who’d call that sacrilege,” she murmured, nodding as he eagerly dipped another biscuit.
 
“To the tea or to the biscuit?” This time he savored all the flavors and textures as it practically melted on his tongue.
 
“Both. My mother, for one, would faint if she ever saw this. She is serious about her tea and Papa is just as opinionated about pastries.”
 
“I’ll put on my best company manners when I meet them, you have my word,” he said fondly, settling into his green armchair with a soft groan.
 
Felix stared as, first, her face lit up like a sunbeam, then fell into shadows and drawn lines around her eyes and mouth.
 
He patted the arm of his chair, a mute plea for her to sit with him. Taking the plate of biscuits from the tray, she perched next to him and he wrapped his arm around her waist in a gentle embrace. Her closeness was thrilling, but the look of sorrow on her face was enough to dampen his excitement.
 
“What has made my little fool so sad?”
 
“What? Oh, nothing.” Her smile was back. “How about you? Long day?”
 
He sighed heavily before taking a long swallow of the excellent tea she had made for him. “Long and dull, but, I am pleased to say, not entirely unprofitable.”
 
“Really? What happened?” She held out the plate of biscuits to him, clearly encouraging him to take another. Which he did – happily.
 
“I get to see you, for starters.”
 
As he expected, her cheeks pinked prettily. He loved that look on her – and he loved that he'd caused it.
 
Sensing his softened gaze on her, she puffed out her cheeks and blew a raspberry. “Flatterer.”
 
“Flattery will get me everywhere, little fool."
 
"Hmph!" She jerked her face away from him and turned her nose up in the air. "Not with me. I don't put much stock in empty words. I want a real man."
 
He cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly. “And what exactly are the qualifications?”
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng straightened his collar as she pursed her lips in thought, giving his heart a pleasant uptick. “I want someone honest, kind… someone who is open and willing to be a true partner…”
 
Her shoulders slumped slightly and, despite being so close to her, Felix barely heard the words she breathed. “Someone who thinks I’m worth fighting for.”
 
Felix perked up. He could be that man. He could be that man, indeed. 
 
Setting the biscuit plate and his teacup aside on the table, he turned towards her and caressed her cheek.
 
“You’ve always been worth fighting for, little fool,” he said softly, lifting her chin with a finger. He gave her a crooked grin and shifted the subject to a less painful path. “But if flattery doesn’t work, I may have to change my strategy. Any suggestions? Inquiring minds want to know."
 
A smile tugged at her lips despite her best efforts. "You really want to know

my

secrets?"
 
Felix's attention narrowed down to her lips. He wet his, his mouth having suddenly gone dry.
 
Here was a chance to learn more about the lovely young lady who'd captured his attention. He couldn't pass up the opportunity.
 
Clasping her soft hands, he stared deeply into her eyes and murmured, "More than anything."
 
"Well," she whispered, leaning in so close that he could taste the coffee on her breath, "my secrets are–"
 
A knock on the door made her break away from him as if burned by a flame she'd unwittingly drawn too close to, darting away from his chair. Her cheeks were stained with red and she couldn't meet his eyes.
 
Felix cursed the bad timing of the knocker. "Yes?" he snapped a little too harshly, annoyed at being thwarted and impatient to get through the interruption.
 
"Ehem, Your Royal Highness," Arthur said as he opened the door. "Your cousin is here to see you."
 
Felix wracked his brains. He couldn't remember anything on his schedule about a visiting relative. "Which cousin?"
 
The valet looked distinctly uncomfortable and his eyes flicked over to Miss Dupain-Cheng. "One… Adrien Agreste, Sir."
 
Felix's gaze immediately tracked Miss Dupain-Cheng's face. She paled, her lips parting in surprise and… horror?
 
Arthur cleared his throat again. "Should I show him in, Sir?"
 
"N–"
 
"Felix!" Adrien bounced into the room, looking very much like an overeager puppy. He'd always been as energetic as a golden retriever, and he had messy blond hair and an open-mouthed smile to match. "Marinette, you're here too?!"
 
"Marinette?" Upon hearing confirmation of her name, Felix whipped his head to face a grimacing Miss Dupain-Cheng – rather, Marinette. 
 
After so long of not knowing her name, of yearning to hear it from her lips, to learn of it from

Adrien

of all people was a betrayal of the highest order.
 
"Hello, A-Adrien," she stammered, her face as white as a ghost. "H-How are you?"
 
"It's so good to see you!" Oblivious to the effect he had on her, Adrien bolted over to her and threw his arms around her. She stiffened in his hold, making Felix's vision swim red with rage on her behalf. 
 
He was about to interfere and yell at his cousin for his impropriety, but then she relaxed into the embrace, donning a lovesick smile that smashed Felix's heart into itty, bitty pieces.
 
Adrien picked her up and swung her around, making her laugh the musical laugh that Felix had thought she'd reserved just for him.
 
Felix could stand no more. 
 
"As much as I

hate

to interrupt such a

happy

reunion," he drawled, his anger washing over him in a cold wave as he stood from his chair, "why are you here, Adrien?"
 
Adrien glanced over at Felix, reluctantly breaking away from Miss Dupain-Cheng but still twining his fingers with hers. "You didn't know? Father is in London on official business and he let me tag along!" 
 
Before Felix could upbraid him for licking his father's boots, Adrien lifted Miss Dupain-Cheng's knuckles to his lips and brushed a kiss there. "And of course, I wanted to see you, my Lady."
 
"A-Adrien, I…" Miss Dupain-Cheng's lower lip quivered, the corners of her eyes tightening in a gesture that looked like it pained her. She tried to gently pull her hand away, but Adrien wouldn’t release it.  Where was the strength she had shown when she had broken Felix’s nose?!
 
To spare her feelings – and his own – Felix barked out an order. "You're dismissed, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Go… go clean something."
 
Adrien stared at Felix, wide-eyed, but conceded the point when Miss Dupain-Cheng scurried away, keeping her head down.
 
Felix watched her leave out of the corner of his eye and then rounded on Adrien. "How

dare

you?"
 
Adrien blanched, his eyes growing even wider. "How dare I

what

? What did I do, Fe?"
 
"Don't call me that," Felix snapped, clenching his fists. "How dare you toy with her feelings like that?"
 
Adrien flinched but then squinted at Felix as if trying to puzzle out why he was so affronted. "Who is she to you?"
 
Felix sucked a breath over his teeth. "She's…"
 
There was no adequate answer. She wasn't his fiancee or girlfriend, nor was she just his friend. She was his everything and his nothing.
 
Nothing official… nothing binding.
 
"She's…" Felix offered feebly, grasping his opposite elbow. He hated to show weakness to anyone, and to do so to Adrien was especially galling. Felix straightened his shoulders, trying to reclaim the last vestiges of his dignity. "She's my employee, and she's under

my

protection."
 
"Oh, so she's no one to you then!" Adrien surmised wrongly – but the words that came out of his mouth next were even more wrong. "So I can still pursue her!"
 
"What part of 'under my protection' did you not understand?" Felix roared, putting his hackles up. Just the thought of this weak, foolish boy chasing Marinette like the dog he resembled made his hands tremble with anger. "You absolutely can

not

pursue Miss Dupain-Cheng. I forbid it."
 
"Why?" Furrowing his brow, Adrien appeared as wounded as if Felix had physically slapped him. "You said yourself that she's your employee. You can't just–"
 
"I can and I will," Felix declared even though he had no idea what he was arguing against. "Leave her be, Adrien."

"She's mine!"

Felix snarled in his head, picturing Miss Dupain-Cheng's pained look and preparing to throttle Adrien if he took a step out of line. 
 
Felix saw Arthur hovering anxiously near the door, eyes wide and worried. He jerked his head to indicate the direction Mis - no,

Marinette

- had gone. Arthur nodded and scurried off, for the first time knocking over a console table in his haste.
 
Felix strode over to the door and slammed it shut before turning on his idiotic cousin, his eyes hot with rage and his headache exploding into stabbing pains across his skull. The room was too bright and his breath rasping in and out of his lungs was too loud, but he wouldn’t back down. Not now.
 
All he could see was that stupid vacuous face - a face too similar to his own for comfort - and loathed everything about this whole situation. Striding over to his cousin, Felix jerked him forward by the collar, only realizing then that he still had a few inches on Adrien and he used them for all they were worth.
 
“Now you listen to me Adrien Michel Emile Lucien Athanase Agreste,” he said, growling out each name as if it was an epithet. “Don’t think for one second that I don’t know what you did to that girl. You built her up for years,

Adrien

. A person starts building hopes and dreams after that long. But one word from your father and you drop her like she’s

nothing

. Well, she’s not. She has been working extremely hard to build a new life here and I will

not

let you rip it away from her because you decide you want your little plaything back! I won’t allow it! Do you hear me?”
 
Adrien’s mouth fell open in a pathetically unattractive way. All he would have needed was to loll his tongue out to complete the image of the awkward puppy. When he managed to pull himself together, he spoke in a much-subdued voice, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.
 
“M-Marinette told you everything?”
 
Felix didn’t bother to resist the sneer that curled his lip. His cousin was lucky it wasn’t a snarl. 
 
“She didn’t have to. Arthur has always been meticulous and there is only one man on earth who would both have

you

wrapped around his little finger and the gall to send

that,

” he stabbed his finger at the closed door, “young woman as a

gift

to Mother.” 
 
Adrien gasped. "What are you

talking about?

Father would never–"
 
"Oh, but he did," Felix hissed, his knuckles going white as they fisted in Adrien's collar. "He sent her here to get her away from

you.

And you

let him.

"
 
Adrien's breath came in rapid pants. "If my father truly sent her as a gift," he started slowly as if the sand in the hourglass of his brain had finally finished dropping to the bottom, "then didn't your mother accept that gift?"
 
"Don't you

dare

bring my mother into–"
 
"I'm not!" Adrien yelped, sounding just that side of hysterical. "I'm just – I never meant to hurt her, Fe!"
 
Spitting mad, Felix shook Adrien, whose head bobbled back and forth on his neck. "But you did! You hurt her

so much

!"
 
Tears welled in Adrien's eyes, stunning Felix into an abrupt, awkward silence. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was another man's tears.
 
He thrust Adrien away from him and turned aside, running a rough hand through his hair in exasperation.
 
When Adrien spoke next, it was small, a child's voice. "Why do you care so much anyway?" He sniffled, wiping snot on the back of his wrist. "Isn't she just your employee?"
 
Felix paused to consider his options. Adrien could make life very difficult for him, so he had to tread carefully. 
 
"Yes, she is." Felix pinned Adrien with a vicious glare. "And don't you forget it."
 
***
 
Marinette ran.
 
She'd been curtly dismissed, but she recognized the dismissal for what it was…
 
An escape route.
 
Felix had offered her a way out of the potentially awful conversation with Adrien, and like a coward, she'd taken the opportunity to get away rather than face him again.
 
So she ran blindly through the halls of Buckingham Palace, her vision blurred by tears and her feet clumsy and stumbling, tripping her up.
 
She had no idea where she was going – and even bumped into another maid in the way, scattering a load of towels with a hasty apology – but she ended up in a place reminiscent of home:
 
The kitchen.
 
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" As she burst through the double doors, a man caught her by the shoulders. "Where's the fire?"
 
Not understanding his intentions, she fought and scratched like a wild animal until he released her, backing off with his hands raised. 
 
"Marinette," he murmured gently, and it wasn't until that moment that her vision cleared and she recognized that the person trying to help her was James. "What's happening? Are you okay?"
 
"James," Marinette blubbered, her panicked breaths coming thick and fast. Seeing the oozing scratch near his eye, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "I hurt you! I'm sorry; I'm so sorry!"
 
"It's okay," he said so softly, it only made her start bawling in earnest. "Oh, Marinette…"
 
James started wrapping his arms around her, but he was stopped in his tracks by a windblown, "Ehem."
 
Marinette glanced up in shock to see Mr Wemberly leaning over his knees, clutching his chest, and desperately trying to catch his breath. The sight stabbed her in the chest with guilt. "Mr Wemberly! Sir, what–"
 
"You're dismissed, James," Mr Wemberly got out between breaths in a tone no one could argue with.
 
James glanced from him to Marinette and back again. The sous chef bowed with his hand over his heart and left without another word.
 
Marinette bolted over to the staff table and fetched a chair for Mr Wemberly to sink into, which he did, his shoulders sagging. "Sir," she began, her hands fluttering around her face, "can I get you a glass of water?"
 
The man nodded and Marinette rushed off to get a glass of water. When she brought it back, he was wiping his face and neck with his handkerchief. He downed the water hurriedly, then stood, still slightly out of breath.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, if you will follow me, please?  This is not the appropriate place for such a discussion.”
 
He gestured for her to leave the kitchen and she did, following him with a heavy weight in her heart and anxiety churning like live snakes in the pit of her stomach.
 
Mr Wemberly led her to the servants’ quarters and to a cozy, comfortable parlor. True it wasn't as grand as the ones the royal family and their guests used upstairs, but it was comfortable, and with fewer items one had to be nervous about breaking.
 
The valet motioned her to take a seat on a small sofa and sat down next to her. His mouth twitched and he swallowed convulsively as if he was just as nervous as she was. Finally, he stood up to pace, hands behind his back just as Felix did.
 
The connection brought tears to her eyes once more and caused her throat to tighten and ache.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Mr Wemberly began, clenching and unclenching his hands as he paced back and forth across the red carpet. “I hope you know that I would never have let young Mr Agreste into the room, but he just–”
 
“Bounded past you,” she finished thickly. “Yeah. He has a bad habit of doing that.”
 
She fumbled in the pocket of her apron for a handkerchief or tissue to wipe her eyes and nose – surely she was a mess by now – and pulled it out to see the double ‘F’ swimming before her eyes.
 
A small whine keened in the back of her throat as she buried her face in the fabric, tears streaming once more.
 
She felt, more than saw or heard, Mr Wemberly come to stand over her, an awkward hand patting her on the shoulder. 
 
“Miss Marinette,” he said softly, “I should inform you that I know the gist of what transpired between you and young Mr Agreste before your arrival in London. I am also aware of the most unusual deal between you and Her Majesty regarding your pay plus funds with which you are to pay tuition at design school.”
 
“So you know,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes on the increasingly damp handkerchief. “You know about me and A-Adrien? How he just… dropped me? How my mother has cancer and I’m using the funds to help pay the bills instead of using it the way Her Majesty intended?”
 
She looked up, not knowing what to expect from this kind, but stoic, man who was like a father to the man she had grown to care for. Her chest shuddered as she tried and failed to suck down a breath. “You know I’ve been…”
 
“Miss Marinette, I know it has been a struggle.” A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his pale lips making a stark contrast against the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. “Leaving your home and a seriously ill loved one behind to try to start a new life after a devastating heartbreak would be difficult for anyone. But for a woman so young to be thrust into this situation? It doesn’t quite seem fair, does it?”
 
She shook her head. “But life isn’t fair and we all have to pick ourselves up and move forward,” she said dully, repeating the advice she had heard over and over again from well-meaning friends and relatives until she had learned the litany by heart.
 
Mr Wemberly sat down next to her, doing his little ritual of giving the knees of his trousers a little twitch just before he sat down. Her world may be in turmoil, but at least some things were constant.
 
“But there are some of us who have an opportunity to make changes in the world, if not to make it more fair, then at least make it more just, safe, and peaceful. I believe you are one of those people, Miss Marinette.”
 
She let out a slow shaky breath. “But I’m not, Mr Wemberly. I appreciate your attention and support, but if His Royal Highness wants me to leave, you should just tell me and be done with it. Maybe Her Majesty will allow me to transfer to her household or maybe she’ll just cancel the deal altogether! I don’t know, but I can’t just go on not knowing! So, please, just get it over with!”
 
Her voice had started rising and taking on a hysterical edge. Hurriedly, she slapped her hand over her mouth to shush herself and hopefully keep the hysterics she could feel bubbling inside her from boiling over. 
 
The man stared at her in open astonishment, his dark eyebrows racing up his forehead to meet his hairline.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, the Prince has no intention of sacking you.”
 
“But… I saw his face. He looked so hurt – betrayed – when A-Adrien hugged me and I laughed. It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to and I didn’t want to, but–”
 
Mr Wemberly nodded. “You are seeing things from your perspective and experience, Miss Marinette. “However, I have known the Prince far longer and I know for a fact that, while he may feel disgruntled, angry, or even betrayed, the majority of those emotions will not be laid to your account.”
 
“But how can it not? I mean, if it was me…”
 
“But it is not you. The Prince is used to keeping his feelings concealed deeply; it helps him maintain control, but it leaves the impression that he has none. The fact that you came along and shattered the walls he had built proves that you are a force to be reckoned with, Miss Marinette.”
 
“But how can I help him if I am such a mess?” she cried, wringing the handkerchief into tight twists in her hands. “He knows I dated his cousin now! He knows that his cousin dumped me and that I ran away! He knows that his own uncle tried to ship me off just to get rid of me since I am ‘not worthy of the name Agreste’ as if he was the king instead of just a sneaky, back-door politician who leveraged his fashion empire into a political office that is about as crooked as a zigzag stitch! Why would Felix, of all people, even want to see me again after learning all that?”
 
The man’s firm grip on her shoulder startled Marinette out of her emotional spiral.
 
Mr Wemberly’s voice was as firm as his grasp. “The Prince may be indecisive at times and occasionally mercurial in his moods, but he isn’t like young Mr Agreste. Prince Felix is stubborn, loyal, and consistent, and values your frankness and lauds your compassionate spirit. And right now that young man is worried that you are going to go back to the craven deserter who abandoned you at only a word from his father without regard for your feelings.”
 
She could only stare at him, wordless and wrung dry of everything save the fear of being brushed aside again.
 
“Miss Marinette, I know you will undoubtedly have trouble believing this, coming from me, but I assure you that the Prince already knew. He has known since the morning we left Anmer Hall. For all his cold exterior and social discomfort, Prince Felix is a keen observer of human nature. He knows you have been struggling. He knew you were lonely and wanted to adopt a cat, so he procured one for you personally after doing considerable research to find what he hoped would be the most compatible for you.”
 
Marinette wondered if she had ever blushed so hard. Her hand came up to partially cover her mouth. “He did that… for me?”
 
“Indeed he did. I delivered the kitten myself.”
 
She covered her eyes and whimpered. “And I named him Prince Felix so I could spray him with water and yell at him when he did something bad!”
 
Mr Wemberly chuckled softly. “Yes. That left quite an impression on the Young Master. He spent days hiding behind doors listening to the servants gossip and then even more following you around trying to catch you lying about him.”
 
Marinette let out a small giggle that sounded more like a hiccough. 
 
“In the process of doing so, he overheard a discussion between yourself and the sous chef regarding a possible date and he saw how uncomfortable you were – as well as suffering from no small amount of jealousy – and devised a way to give you a bit of a holiday.”
 
Marinette swallowed hard. “H-He did all of that… for me? I thought…”
 
“Oh, he did it just as much for himself, but, at heart, he will give anything to see you happy. He would not have bothered to schedule a holiday for himself alone. Far too much trouble only for him to sit around and read in a different building.”
 
She sighed, her head, eyes, and throat aching from crying and her heart full of shame. “I don’t doubt you, Mr Wemberly, but even if that is true, how is someone as proud and stubborn as Felix going to let it go that I didn’t tell him about A-Adrien?”
 
Mr Wemberly’s smile widened a little. “The fact that you can’t say the young man’s name without stammering will be suggestive enough for the Prince. Tell him what you’ve told me. He values your honesty, remember?”
 
She nodded, guilt and anxiety grappling in her chest and clawing at her throat. “But he’ll be back in meetings by now, won’t he?”
 
“Only briefly. If the French President has arrived unannounced, then the Prince will have to meet with him to show him hospitality.” The man’s lips twitched once more, this time in amusement. “I can’t imagine that going well for President Agreste.”
 
Marinette giggled, the thought of Felix staring down Gabriel Agreste, panther eyes ablaze and tongue ready to slash him to ribbons easing the tension somewhat. 
 
“I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” she laughed, covering her mouth with one hand.
 
“You and me both.” For the first time in all the months she had been working at the palace, Marinette saw Mr Wemberly wink. The world must be shaking in its foundations! “You should have seen him tear into Young Mister Agreste after you left. I have seen the young master in many moods, but I would not want to be the object of such wrath. Not for all the gold in the Tower.”
 
The laughter slowly died away, taking the worst of the fear with it, but leaving her still feeling worried, anxious, and empty.
 
“Now,” Mr Wemberly said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You need to go upstairs at once, Miss Dupain-Cheng, and tell the Prince the truth from your side.”
 
“I’ll try, sir. Would you do me a favor, though?”
 
The man stood and gave her a final pat on the shoulder.
 
“Of course, if I can.”
 
“Could you go and make sure A-Adrien isn’t there when I come up?”
 
Mr Wemberly chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I will be happy to, though if he is as dense as he seems I imagine he is still very confused.”
 
She stood, straightened her uniform, and dabbed her eyes one last time, embarrassed by the dark mascara staining the white fabric. “He isn’t dense, not really. He is just naive and isolated. I don’t think he realized how much he hurt me and, despite everything he put me through, he isn’t a bad person.” She rubbed her opposite arm and shrugged. “That makes me sound like a sucker, doesn’t it?”
 
He shook his head. “No, my dear Miss Marinette. It means you have a kind heart, far kinder than that rapscallion deserves. Now, go wash your face. By the time you are back upstairs, I will have spirited Mr Agreste away.”
 
With a little bow of the head, Mr Wemberly left the servant’s parlor, leaving Marinette to follow his suggestion before having to face the panther in its den.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Adrien had left a residue, a miasma, in Felix's room that he wanted to be scrubbed out…
 
By anyone but Marinette.
 
He wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't make her clean up the unpleasant balsam and citrus scent of his cousin's cologne, an odor she'd no doubt had burned into her brain.
 
When she'd dated him.
 
Collapsed into his favorite green chair, miserable sitting in the dark, Felix rested his elbow on the arm and his forehead on his fingers. His headache had blown into a full-bore migraine throbbing behind his right eye, and his residual anger with Adrien and the man's stench made nausea boil his stomach.

"Marinette…

"
 
Her name was Marinette. Felix had heard it, she'd confirmed the name by blanching, and Adrien – curse him! – had revealed her secret before either she or Felix were ready.
 
It had been the last straw. It had taken all his restraint to not just punch his hapless cousin’s lights out – he had taken boxing at Oxford, after all! Felix growled to himself, already regretting the opportunity.
 
Even more, he regretted the entire scene and how it had played out.

“To just drop her because his father said to and then to try to come swanning back into her life as if she must have missed him as much as he had her! What an ego! What hubris!”

A lance of pain arced through his skull and he had to force himself not to clench his teeth. His head already hurt abominably and he had just barely managed to close his curtains to block out the light. Trying to vent the room had been beyond him in this state.
 
He looked at the outline of the abandoned plate of biscuits on the coffee table.
 
She…

Marinette

… had used her time off to make him biscuits. The thought warmed his heart and just as quickly stabbed it with ice. He only knew to call her Marinette because of his idiotic, spineless coward of a cousin who couldn’t even stand up to his father for the woman he liked!
 
Marinette… ‘the lady from the sea’... the woman who refused to let him get her a bathing suit or swim in front of him.
 
Marinette … ‘she who rises’ with eyes like a clear sky on a perfect autumn day.
 
Marinette, who had made him the most delicious food he had ever eaten, treated him like a man and not a prince, and whose mouth was both his delight and, occasionally, his annoyance.
 
Marinette, who had delighted in wearing a sword and stomping around trying to walk like a man.
 
Marinette with the golden laugh that gave him so much fulfillment that he felt like he could do anything if she were with him… be anything… be a better king… be a better man.
 
Marinette, who had made the most nauseatingly sappy face and laughed with seeming joy as the man who had treated her heart like roadkill held her and swung her around the room.
 
Whether the unpleasant convulsions of his stomach were due to hunger, the headache, or the memory, Felix didn’t know, but he swallowed down the burning bitterness that bubbled up in his throat.
 
Did… she still love the ignoramus even after everything he did to her? Even though his uncle had Adrien so tightly wrapped around his little finger that the poor boy didn’t know not to let go of the best thing he had ever luckily stumbled on to?
 
More to the point, and the thought made the pain stab through his head once more, was she really ready to move on or… was she just using him, Felix? Was he a rebound from her broken heart?
 
Just then, someone turned the light on, and he hissed like a feral cat, jamming his eyes shut against the searing intrusion stabbing them. A throbbing ache like a peal of thunder echoed in his skull and shot lightning bolts of pain down his neck and into his back, making him bite his lip to keep from crying out.
 
“What do you want?” he growled, only to open his eyes to see Marinette shrinking back against the door frame and fumbling for the light switch. Felix leapt to his feet, only tripping once in his haste to cross the room to get to her. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”
 
He thought he caught the sound of a trembling breath in the dark. And were her eyes puffy? He couldn’t tell now, but they’d looked swollen until she’d turned the light off again. Now he was night blind, only seeing her as a paler shadow where none should be.
 
“F-Felix,” she whispered as if she’d gained a second wind and then lost it, her shoulders stiff and tight with her spine compressed against the door frame. “I… I…”
 
“Ssh.” Despite the ache shooting across his forehead, Felix drew nearer to her, cradling her face in his hands in a clumsy attempt at comfort. He only missed once, fumbling for her cheeks in the dark. His hands had bounced against her shoulders, but then he managed to hit his target, trailing his hands up the perfect column of her throat and along her jawline in a gesture that made her shiver.
 
She let him, which was a good sign, but he’d clearly scared her and that would not do. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, I need to apologize for my cousin’s encroachment on our conversation. Had I known he had come, I would have barred his entry.”
 
She shook her head, and he was stunned to feel hot tears spilling down his fingertips. “It wasn’t your fault, Felix. He just… surprised me.”
 
Which didn’t tell Felix anything he wanted to know. 
 
"Why are you crying?" 
 
It was a stupid question, he knew, one he already knew the answer to. 
 
Or thought he did, anyway. Upon reflection, he realized he

didn't

know the answer, that she could say one of a million things and they could all be different to what he'd been thinking, which was that she'd been reminded of Adrien's treatment of her.
 
Marinette drew a shuddering breath, a sharp inhale that made his heart ache as much as his head. "I-I'm a bit overwhelmed."
 
Felix had to do something. He couldn't let her just –
 
"How do I fix this?" he demanded, only afterward realizing from her sudden jolt in his hands that the imperious Prince act wasn't what she needed. 
 
"Sorry, sorry," he whispered like a benediction, kissing her tears away. She probably didn't need that either, but Felix couldn't help himself. "I'm no good at this… comforting thing. Please, tell me what you need and I'll move heaven and earth to fight for it."
 
That only made her cry harder, her mouth dropping open under his hands in what he assumed was a pained grimace. Her breath came in sharp little pants, and Felix threw his arms around her, cupping the back of her head and burying her face in his shoulder.
 
She stiffened in his hold – much like she had done with Adrien – which made Felix's stomach lurch up into his throat. 
 
He was about to release her when she relaxed against him, her soft, strangled sobs shattering his heart. Even as he relished the feeling of her body conforming to his, meeting the hard lines of him with her own gentle curves, he realized she was trying her best to stop crying.
 
"Stop," he gasped out, clutching her tighter. "Just… just let it all out. Okay?"
 
Released from her burden to stop, she obliged him, bawling into his shoulder and staining his dove gray linen suit.
 
Oh, how Felix hated tears. 
 
It wasn't just Adrien's tears that he couldn't stand. Miss Dupain-Cheng's shows of intense emotion pained and confused him.
 
Felix never cried himself, so he had a hard time trying to figure out why other people needed to cry so much – especially her.

"She should never need to cry,"

Felix thought, trying to counsel patience for himself when all he wanted to do was quietly bury Adrien alive.
 
When she started trembling in his hold, Felix felt a sting high in his nose. His eyes swelled, and he passed it off as pain from his migraine. 
 
The salty smell of her tears commingling with the scents of espresso and the teasing one of honeysuckle were sick-making. 
 
Normally he loved breathing her in, cataloging where she'd been and what she had eaten that day.
 
But the salt was wrong on so many levels, Felix couldn't articulate how angry it made him. He held himself stiffly, the tension in his shoulders growing worse and refusing to ease.
 
Finally, despite her breath hitching and his soaked shoulder, Marinette spoke. "A-Are you mad at m-me?"
 
Felix jerked against her, slapping his hand up on the door frame above her head to keep himself from toppling over and knocking them both to the floor. 
 
Her voice was so fearful, it sounded to him as bad as if he'd physically struck her – or threatened to.
 
It reached deep down into his gut and pulled, his rage escaping in a primal hiss. 
 
"No!" Felix found himself yelling and instantly regretted it. "Ugh! I'm sorry!"
 
How many times would he apologize today? 
 
And worse, she thought he was angry at

her?

Felix's knees went out from under him. Sagging against the door frame, he covered his mouth, speaking through his fingertips.
 
"I'm not–"

"Deep breath. Try again."

"–angry with

you

."
 
Strong arms encircled around his waist as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "But you

are

angry."
 
"I'm considering putting my cousin in an early grave, yes."
 
Her answering giggle was everything he could have hoped for. Hearing it was like having a bone broken and healed in the space of a breath.
 
"I never answered your question."
 
Miss Dupain-Cheng – no,

Marinette

– seemed a bit calmer, and that was all to the good. Felix's chest ached as he released the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"What question?" He didn't mean to sound gruff, but he'd done a lot of yelling in the past hour and his throat was sore. His voice rasped across his tongue despite his best efforts. "It's been a long day and I have no idea what you're referring to, I'm sorry."
 
Apologizing was almost a reflex at this point. Felix reluctantly decided to just let it go.
 
"You asked me why I was crying."
 
Thinking back on the past eternity – or was it ten minutes? Felix couldn't tell – was harder than he expected. He'd ridden an emotional rollercoaster and still hadn't disembarked. His memory had gaps, and that irritated him.
 
Then, like a sun break, the answer came to him. "Yes, you did," he said, trying to no avail to search her face in the dark. "You said you were overwhelmed."
 
"That wasn't the whole truth." She sniffled, and he wasn't ready for her to start bawling again.

"Please, no

," he begged her in the privacy of his own head.

"My heart can't take it."

"The truth is…" she continued, and Felix waited with bated breath. "... is that I was afraid you were mad at me."
 
"

That's

why you were crying?"
 
Oh, Felix felt like a heel. Not only did she think he was angry at her, but he also marched right on being angry while he held her.
 
"

That's why she sounded so fearful,"

Felix thought, his heart as squeezed as if she'd reached inside his ribs and crushed it with her fingers herself.

"I scared her."

Felix let loose a choked-off sob. His hand flew to his mouth to keep the tears from coming, but they flowed down his cheeks anyway.
 
The Crown Prince

never

cried.
 
But Felix apparently did.
 
Marinette gasped. "Why are

you

crying?" 
 
She sounded as scandalized as if she'd expected the same emotional constipation he'd expected of himself.
 
"I s-scared you!" he stammered, his headache bursting behind his eyes like a star going supernova. "How could I–"
 
"Felix!" Pressing herself against him, her hands came up to cup his cheeks. "It's okay."
 
Leaning into her hands, Felix forced his pitiful sniveling to stop, stuffing the disgusting impulse to cry deep down into his chest. Recovering his composure was a necessary good. "You're much better at the comforting thing."
 
He'd expected a laugh. He didn't expect her to sound so grim.
 "Felix, I have something to say." She drew a deep, shaky breath, all vestiges of tears – hers, at least – gone. "Will you listen to my explanation?" 
Through the ringing in his head, Felix’s heart heard the death knell of his hopes. What elements of him that weren’t awash in pain felt dread rising like a dark tide in his chest and he was chained to the rock watching it lick at his knees, ready to drown him.
 
He desperately wanted to lean his head against her shoulder as everything swam around him, both within and without, but the “I have something to say” held him back. He hurt, he was tired, worried, and seemed to be having trouble getting enough air to breathe. He was feeling sick to his stomach and his head felt like someone was trying to pry it open with a crowbar.
 
Everything in his life was cold, hard, or fake. The impossible illusion he had to always represent, the way women saw him as more of an ideal or a fairytale hero than a real person, even the life he lived – one of comfort, true – was a pretty facade, like the carved cornices and gilded cherubs in old theaters, meant for the house to see while the actors were stuck with dust and the ghosts of old stories.
 
But Miss –

Marinette!

– was softness, warmth, and unfailing honesty. It was her honesty that had first made him think of her at all, that she didn’t hide what she thought of him, letting it be read in her eyes if not heard from her lips.
 
Her words from before the disaster struck with a sickening truth.

“I want someone honest, kind… someone who is open and willing to be a true partner… someone who thinks I’m worth fighting for.”

“Felix,” she asked again. “Are you okay?”
 
If he wanted to be worthy of her someday, he had to start now.
 
“Yes… of course,” he replied slowly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. He felt like his tongue was swollen and slightly numb, making it hard to form the words. “I’m sorry for my outburst and for needing to leave the lights off. I’m afraid I came back from the meeting with a bad headache and the altercation with my cousin only made it worse. So, if you don’t mind, we could sit together on the sofa for a while. I’ll do my best to listen as long as you're honest with me.”
 
“

No matter how much it will hurt

,” he thought, sorrowfully. He knew he was borrowing trouble, that he really had no idea what burden of truth she was about to share, but he was so tired and it took too much energy to hope.
 
“Alright,” she said and he could hear the softness in her voice that meant she'd smiled.
 
Without asking, she helped him to his feet and over to the sofa, but instead of joining him as he thought she would given how grim she had sounded before, she bustled about making him as comfortable as possible. 
 
After a few minutes, Felix found himself wrapped in a blanket with a mug of chamomile tea with honey that she had rung for and prepared personally. She'd also brought him some paracetamol, which he took numbly. Arthur had been notified that Felix needed the meetings canceled for the rest of the day because he was unwell and an appointment should be scheduled for him to see the doctor.  
 
Then, and only then, did she settle down beside him.
 
Felix could only stare at her. This woman was a force of nature: she was a warm, comforting whirlwind that could put his own mother to shame as she swept in, organizing his day and his care with such authority that he couldn’t find it in himself to object to anything she did.
 
It was only when Marinette was seated beside him that her assurance seemed to drain away - like someone had pulled her plug. She gave a sad sigh and started fidgeting with her fingers, rubbing the frilly edge of her apron between them as if she was trying to distract herself from something unpleasant.
 
Without thinking, he reached out and covered her hands with one of his, giving them a gentle squeeze. He noticed that, for the first time, her hands were cold. It was such a contrast to the normal, comforting warmth that always radiated from her like summer itself that he set his mug on the coffee table and wrapped both his hands around hers to warm them.
 
“Alright, he said softly, both for his sake and for hers. “You’ve taken care of me. Now it’s time to take care of you.”
 
Her sudden inhalation startled him and her hands began to tremble in his. His eyes were adjusting to the dim light of the shrouded room and he could see her clench her lips together in a firm line as if she was bracing herself for a blow.
 
“I’ll s-start at the beginning, i-if that’s alright with you.”
 
He nodded, taking one hand and wrapping it around her shoulders to pull her close. “Is it okay if I hold you like this?" he asked tentatively. “I just think neither of us should feel alone right now.”
 
“Y-Yeah.” She nodded to confirm her words and leaned her head against his shoulder, clutching the blanket she had tucked around his shoulders like a lifeline - like

he

was her lifeline.
 
“A-Adrien and I went to school together. I’ve known him… all my life, I guess. We played knights and princesses as kids and were best friends. Then, one day, the girl I told you about, Chloe? Anyway, she pushed me down the steps and tore my skirt. I twisted my ankle pretty badly and I couldn't get up.”
 
Her voice had taken on a faraway tone as if what she was saying had happened to someone else in ages past and not to her own younger self. Felix felt the tension building in her shoulders and wished he knew how to put her at ease.
 
“I was sitting there by myself and it was starting to rain. Then he showed up. He tied his jacket around my waist to hide my skirt and gave me his umbrella to hold while he carried me home. It was just across the street from the school, but it felt like the kind of thing that happens in fairy tales.
 
“Things changed after that. A-Adrien and I grew closer, he asked me out, and it seemed the perfect fairy tale romance. But we graduated and then his father was elected President. I knew Mr Agreste noticed how close we were getting. I had managed to impress him a time or two with my designs and, since he hadn’t said anything, I figured he was fine with us as a couple.”  
 
She shook her head against Felix's shoulder and he could feel her fingers tugging on the blanket as they clenched and unclenched. 
 
Felix should have felt upset, hurt, and angry at her for describing her relationship with his cousin, and a tiny, bitter part of himself did, he had to admit. But larger and louder was the worry for her, what she must have gone through to have the man who betrayed her heart and feelings just sweep in assuming she would take him back. He rubbed her shoulder in as comforting a motion as he could muster. 
 
He wished wholeheartedly that he could be as soothing for her heartache as her voice was being for his headache.
 
“It was the day after our a-anniversary, which he’d missed,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible in the silent room. “I made him dinner – all his favorites; I even made him a gift – and then he just sighed and said that we were traveling different paths and he had responsibilities that required a lot of his time, that his father needed him, and that he knew I would understand.”
 
She sniffled and pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes. Felix was irrationally pleased to see his monogram embroidered in the corner, even if the cloth had seen hard use.
 
“I had received the invitation to apply for a job here. It was unusual. Your mother had heard of me and wanted me to join the Royal Wardrobe team as a designer as long as I could stick it out as a chambermaid for five years. I had planned on talking to A-A- him about it that evening, but…”
 
“It gave you an escape,” Felix whispered hoarsely.
 
She nodded and shifted a little so she could tuck her feet up on the sofa.
 
Felix sighed. “I always thought Aunt Emelie was too protective of him. The worst kind of helicopter parent. I remember being surprised when they let him go to a public school. He never really learned about the consequences of his actions, did he?”
 
“He’s not a bad person,” she objected weakly, but Felix scoffed at that.
 
“He wronged you, Marinette,” Felix insisted, then twitched as he realized that was the first time he had spoken her name.  “Marinette… it truly is a lovely name.”
 
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face darken and he watched her scrunch in on herself slightly. She needed to talk through this – that was clear to him now – and he was distracting her.
 
“So, you made a deal with the devil?" he asked, giving her a tiny nudge with his shoulder to let her know he was joking.
 
Marinette snorted, the cutest, most unladylike sound he had ever heard and it made him smile.
 
“Yeah. Your mother offered to pay me a stipend so I could attend design school, but… something came up with my family and money was tight, so I have been sending it home to help pay the bills.” She shivered and cuddled deeper into his side like a frightened animal. “It’s been… hard, being away from home for the first time, out on my own, in a new country, trying to start a new life and move on from the heartbreak. I thought I was doing well and then there was this prince I met who was starting to turn my head.”
 
Felix's cheeks burned as she nudged him in return.
 
“But then A-Adrien just appeared out of nowhere and acted as if nothing had ever happened and I lost myself for a moment. He has been picking me up and swinging like that since we were little and it always makes me laugh, but I saw your face and you were so angry and–”
 
“Shhh,” he soothed. “I wasn’t angry at you, little fool. I was angry

for

you! Adrien shouldn’t have treated you like that no matter what had occurred in the past.”
 
“But now you know. Now you know that I dated your cousin and that he dumped me! That your uncle undoubtedly was behind it and was trying to ship me off since I’m ‘not worthy of the Agreste name.’” She made adorable air quotes against his other shoulder. “Why would you even want to be seen with someone who was dumped by your cousin?  Besides, if your uncle thought I wasn’t good enough for Adrien, then there was no way I would be good enough for you.”
 
“Uncle Gabriel has always been a snob.  Sure his side had money and connections, but it was the fact that he married Aunt Emelie that gave him the real power,” Felix growled, wrapping both arms around Marinette and holding her against his heart where she already reigned. “I’m sorry you went through all that. You didn’t deserve it in the slightest. And I’m sorry for how we started out. You deserved better.  You still do.”
 
She released the blanket at his shoulder and slid her hands across his collarbone to toy with the buttons at his collar. “I wasn’t much better.” Then her voice changed to something more mischievous. “Though I wasn’t the one who put soap in your coffee. But I’m not the only servant who you’ve rubbed the wrong way.”
 
“But you are unique, little fool. You are the only servant whose locker I ever filled with drek self-merchandise or the only one I’ve blackmailed into keeping me company at a reception, let alone to see me naked.”
 
She squeaked, then giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had heard all day, healing the soreness left behind by the rude interruption of his cousin. Felix noticed that she couldn’t even say the man’s name with stammering and that also put him at ease. There was only one burden left that pained him.
 
“Marinette,” and her name was as sweet as honey to his lips, even if the question he was about to ask was bitter. “Do you still love him?”
 
Her fingers stilled at his collar as the rest of her stiffened. When she spoke, her words were barely a whisper. “I… I don’t think so.”
 
He leaned away slightly and looked down to see her properly. He tapped her nose and he smiled to see it twitch. “Are you being your brash, honest self, little fool? I’d rather have an uncomfortable truth than an easy lie.”
 
She nodded shyly. “I mean, I don’t want him hurt or anything and I’m not sure we can be friends right away right now, even if that is what he wants, but I don’t think I can trust him – not with my heart at any rate. There is still too much hurt there.”
 
“And do you want to be with me?” he asked, also in a whisper, and his heart started doing somersaults in his chest.
 
Then she paused and Felix thought it would stop. 
 
“I think so, but things have happened so fast and…”
 
“You’re feeling overwhelmed,” he finished for her, swallowing down the pain her words caused.
 
She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder once more. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be brave, like Beatrice, and just declare what I feel, but it is hard when my feelings are so confused.”
 
Felix held her close for as long as he could. He may have been inexperienced with women, he may be a selfish prat, but he wanted to take care of her, since no one else could, and he knew what that meant.
 
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her soft, sweet-scented hair.  “Maybe we are moving too fast, little fool. If you are not ready, if you are unsure, then we can step back for a little while until you are. I know what it is like to be buried under the needs and desires of others, having to put on a false face to greet every day, but it would tear me apart if I felt you had to do that with me.”
 
She looked up at him, her tempting lips parting to say something, but he stopped her by gently pressing a finger to them. 
 
“No, please listen. Beatrice wasn’t half as brave as you are. She retreated like a coward behind her pain, treating her temper and wit as a shield against her own feelings. You have been trying to move forward, building a new life here, and you deserve to be happy, Marinette. I may just be an unbearable, selfish twit, but this twit wants you happy and if there is anything a Prince has to learn early on it is to be patient.”
 
Marinette giggled. “Even if you don’t want to be?”
 
“

Especially

when I don’t want to be.”
 
She sat up and turned so she could take his face in her hands. “How’s your headache?”
 
“Better. How are you?”
 
“Better, too, but what does this mean? What are we?”
 
Felix felt his heart make a splashdown in his stomach, burning and aching and longing all at once. He must finish as he had begun and maybe, just maybe, he would have time to become a better man – a man who deserved her.
 
He swallowed hard and, slowly, held out his hand to her. “Friends for now?"
 
She smiled as she took it in hers, but it was a bittersweet one. “Yeah. Good friends.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She never should have said yes to lunch.
 
As tears filled Adrien’s eyes across the cafe’s table, Marinette’s heart sank like the Titanic. She’d hit the iceberg of his naivete and was now paying for it.
 
“So you’re sure, then?” he murmured, a single tear breaking free from the confines of the corner of his eye and spilling gracefully down his cheek. “You’re not coming back to France with me?”
 
“Yes, A-Adrien,” she murmured back, meeting his puppy-dog gaze even though it hurt. “I’m sure.”
 
Her nail in the coffin thudded against his chest like a physical blow; had he been standing, he would have staggered. As it was, his chest shuddered with a sharply inhaled breath.
 
“I just thought…” Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs there, Adrien shrank in on himself, his shoulders hunching around his ears. “Marinette… I know now that I hurt you, and I’m sorry. We can’t try again?”
 
Marinette closed her eyes, shutting him out. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take no for an answer – Adrien had always been respectful of her boundaries before. It was just that he couldn’t conceive of a world where he didn’t get what he wanted if he asked politely enough.
 
“

Sort of like a Prince I know,”

she thought wryly, a secret smile turning up the corners of her lips.

“Though he doesn’t ask, he demands.”

She and Adrien could still be friends. In fact, she wanted that. Craved his friendship.
 
Just… not right now.
 
Opening her eyes to face him, she took in the sad state of her golden boy. 
 
For that’s what he was: a boy, a sheltered child who hadn't known how much he had hurt her.

"To be fair to Adrien,"

she thought, cradling her chin in her hand and mindlessly stirring sugar into her iced tea,

"I didn't even know the extent that he'd hurt me until Felix teased it out."

Being on first-name basis with the Prince of Wales was still weird, but Marinette found herself with the opposite problem: she was seeing him as a man so much, she'd begun forgetting that he held so many titles.
 
"What are you thinking? You're smiling." 
 
Adrien barreled into her attention as strongly as if he were on a runaway horse about to trample her.
 
Whatever smile she'd apparently had faded quickly.
 
"I… I was thinking of whether to tell you the truth," she hedged, "about why I'm not interested in coming back to France."
 
Adrien sat up straighter, the early-fall sun glinting off his golden hair with the movement. His hair was soft and feathered, and Marinette found herself missing gel that snapped like hard candy under her fingers.
 
"Yes, please," he gushed, eager with his ever-optimistic hope. She wondered if he wanted to know just so he could 'fix' the problem. "I would like to know, Marinette."
 
Marinette took a long drink of her tea. It was too sweet, which she hadn't realized was a problem until now. Setting the glass down on the table, she wiped the condensation that had dripped onto her hand on her napkin.
 
"Have you ever heard of love languages?"
 
Adrien nodded happily but then seemed to think better of it and slowly shook his head. "Can't say I have."
 
Marinette really didn't want to take the time to educate him – that wasn't her job! – but she did anyway. 
 
“Well,” she began, slowly as she felt her way through her own feelings of the past and present like she was fumbling in the dark. Only there was no set of strong hands to steady her this time. “You know how I did special little things for you all the time?”
 
His eyes brightened eagerly. “Yeah. I still have everything you gave me!  Remember that little black cat toy you won at the–”
 
She waved off the rest of his explanation. Adrien at his happiest had always been a distraction for her and she couldn’t afford it now.
 
“Yes, I do. But the way

I

show love is by making and giving gifts to the people I care about. I enjoy doing it, sure, but my greatest joy is seeing someone enjoy and use what I’ve made for them. I’m also a hugger, so physical touch is probably important too.”
 
Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed as he stirred the spoon around aimlessly in his coffee cup. “Oookay, but what does this have to do with you not wanting to give us another chance?”  
 
The hurt in his tone thrust a lump into her throat, tried to stuff more guilt into her heart, but she swallowed it down. She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and she had to stand up for herself.
 
And Felix was right. She had been wronged and deserved better.
 
“Adrien those are just the ways I

show

love, not necessarily how I

need

to be loved.”
 
Those green eyes widened in shock… so similar to Felix’s - no. The shape was the same, but the color was lighter.  Felix’s eyes were a darker green. But these were paler and glittered with more tears.
 
“Marinette, are you saying I… that you think I didn’t love you?” He all but threw himself across the table, grasping her hands tightly in his and pressing a fervent kiss there. “I have always loved you, my Lady! Ever since we were children you have always held a special place in my heart and when Father made me break things off with you… it nearly

broke

me! These months away from you have been the worst time of my life! You’re my everything! I… I need you, Marinette!”
 
Wincing as her heart twinged at his words, she pulled her hands out of his as gently as she could and placed them on the table with a little pat.
 
“But that’s the thing, Adrien. You breaking up with me

nearly

broke you. It

did

break me. It was weeks before I could think clearly without crying. I came here to get away because everything was reminding me of you and I couldn’t cope!”
 
“But I love you, my Lady! I need you!”
 
“I know you do, Adrien, but have you ever thought about what I need?”
 
His mouth fell open in hurt surprise. “Of course, I did! I had our future all planned out! We would get married after I finished university and I would work with Father while you finished design school. We would get a large house and we’d have three or four kids. Oh, and that hamster you always said you wanted! Then we’d-”
 
“But don’t you see, Adrien?” she snapped, frustrated that he was missing the point. “You never talked to me about any of this! You just picked up ideas from casual conversations over fifteen years! You never asked me what I wanted out of life after design school! You never paid enough attention to me to learn what I wanted and needed! You’re talking as if all of this was planned out by both of us in advance and it wasn’t! It never was!”
 
“Of course, we talked about these things,” he said softly, but hurt and disappointment rang loudly beneath the words. “Remember when we went on that camping trip to Loire Valley with Nino, Alya, and her family? We sat out late at night to watch the meteor shower and I told you I wanted to stay with you forever. That you were my star wish and you agreed with me.”
 
Marinette sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache she could feel growing in her forehead and behind her eyes. “But don’t you see how much of that was

you

?

About

you?

You

had our future planned.

You

would finish university and

you

would work with

your

father. I was

your

star wish and I agreed – with

you

.”
 
“But, Marinette–”
 
The shock in his tone was a blow to her gut, but she had to follow through. “And when were we going to have time to get married and have those three kids and a hamster, hmmm? We were already missing half our dates together because your father needed you for some last-minute thing, which should have been a clue right there. Between work and classes, we were barely seeing each other as it was. I had to plan for our anniversary dinner a month in advance and you still missed it!” 
 
Her voice was becoming louder and shriller. Marinette realized she had to get herself under control if she didn’t want to attract more attention to them. She fisted her hands into her skirt and clenched her jaw tight to keep from shouting at him.
 
“You broke up with me on

the day after our anniversary

. Did you realize that? Or did you forget –

again

?”
 
Adrien just stared at her, tears rolling down his face in an overflow of anguish in his eyes. His lower lip trembled. Marinette felt like a heel. She knew how he hated for anyone around him to be angry, especially angry at him. Adrien was a peacemaker at heart, always trying to encourage and see the best in others. It was something she had long admired about him and she still did, but he had chosen his father over her and that had hurt.
 
It hurt far more than she had even been aware of.
 
She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. The darkness behind her eyelids brought forth its own memories.
 
The way Felix had clung to her like she was his storm anchor, the way he needed someone to take care of him, the way he had kissed the tears from her cheeks, his righteous anger at how she had been treated.

"I'm no good at this… comforting thing. Please, tell me what you need and I'll move heaven and earth to fight for it."

“The truth of it is, Adrien,” she said sadly, realizing that she hadn’t stammered over his name for the last half hour. “I need someone who pays attention to me, who puts time and effort into me because I am worth it. I need someone who chooses to fight at my side, to fight for me but also as my partner. And, as of right now, that someone… isn’t you. I’m sorry.”
 
Adrien sat back, his jaw dropping open again. After a few moments of staring, he snapped it shut like a steel trap, and Marinette wondered at the sudden change. He buried his face in his hands, drawing a deep breath to compose himself. 
 
When he finally removed his hands to face her again, his eyes were puffy and red. 
 
“Marinette, I’m sorry. I didn’t think that… a break up would mean that things were broken.” He gave a little wet laugh. “I should have. It’s in the very word ‘break.’ I didn’t consider your feelings and I marched on thinking I knew what was best for you when… I really didn’t.”
 
Tears welled in Marinette’s eyes in turn, and she didn’t even know she was crying until Adrien caught one of them with his fingers as he continued speaking. “Felix was right,” Adrien murmured hoarsely, his eyes losing their luster. “He said I had hurt you so very much. He said I hadn’t treated you fairly and treated you like you were nothing. That I acted like you were a plaything instead of a person and I needed to let you build your new life here without me messing it up.”
 
She twitched at the mention of Felix and she was pretty sure she blushed a little. “Fe– he said that? About me?”
 
He nodded glumly, his head low. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. I really am! I know I was a lousy boyfriend and I didn’t stick up for you the way I should have with Father. I know I don’t deserve to have you in my life at all, but…” He gave her such a pitiful look from beneath his long golden lashes that she had to close her eyes and steel her heart against it. “I promise I will always be there for you if you need me, Marinette. Always.  That is… if you still want to be friends?”
 
She sighed in relief, the tension starting to ease from her shoulders as a small smile tugged at her mouth. “I would like that very much, but… I still need some time, Adrien. I need to learn to let go and move on. Can… you respect that?”
 
He sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose on his napkin. “Yeah. I will give you all the time and space you need, Marinette. Just, please, don’t shut me out again, okay? Let me know how you’re doing? Your parents, too, alright?”
 
She nodded as she pulled out her wallet, but he leaned over and stopped her with his hand.
 
“Please. Allow me?” Then he blushed darkly. “For old time’s sake? A treat from… a friend?”
 
Marinette nodded and patted his hand. He placed his other one over hers, locking it in.
 
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready to talk again, right?” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar gesture stabbing her chest with sharp pain. “I’ll give you as much space as you need. But… you will let me know?”
 
Her heart sank like a stone once more as the tension danced like lightning across her shoulder blades.
 No. She never should have agreed to lunch. 
***
 
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready to talk again, right?” Adrien declared in Amelie's earpiece, causing her nose to wrinkle. “I’ll give you as much space as you need. But… you will let me know?”
 
Arthur had tailed the two at Felix's request, and Amelie eagerly joined the stakeout, prepared to listen to some delicious gossip.
 
One of her royal bodyguards, dressed in plain clothes, was recording and transmitting the conversation between Dupain-Cheng and Amelie's nephew to a surveillance van parked one block from the cafe.
 
"Ugh," she whispered to Arthur, who sat beside her in the van. "This is not how I had expected this conversation to go."
 
The corners of Arthur's lips ticked upward. If Amelie didn't know him better, she'd think he was laughing at her. "Oh?"
 
“Believe me, Marinette,” Adrien gushed, taking her hand in the grainy video feed, “If you need space, I’m good with that.”
 
Amelie rolled her eyes and scoffed. “That.” She pointed at the screen in a huff. “I knew my nephew was overly emotional. No surprise considering how Emilie spoiled that boy. Still, I didn’t realize just how much.”
 
“He’s not a bad person, at least according to Miss Dupain-Cheng herself.” Arthur motioned to the visibly uncomfortable girl sitting across from Adrien. “I believe the ignorance of his effect on other people is born from naivete.”
 
Wemberly let Amelie stew in that for a moment before continuing. “Just like a certain Crown Prince I know.”
 
Amelie’s eyes snapped to the valet’s, seeking confirmation that she’d in fact heard exactly what she thought she’d heard. “What’s

that

supposed to mean, Wemberly?

Do

tell.”
 
Arthur cleared his throat, as he was wont to do when he was nervous about discussing something. Good. Amelie wanted her servants nervous when she was pinning them with a fearsome look. Even someone like Arthur who was otherwise fearless, what with him being retired SAS.
 
“Ehem. What I mean is, before the intervention of Miss Dupain-Cheng, our own Prince Felix was indolent, arrogant, and uncaring of the effect he had on others. Indeed, he delighted in antagonizing his nannies and servants for years, but now…”
 
As Adrien happily chattered about French state secrets he clearly wasn’t supposed to know, something Amelie would absolutely be closely dissecting later, she mulled over the possibilities of Felix changing.
 
She

had

noticed that Felix had begun taking his responsibilities seriously, which frankly, was about time. And just as Arthur had pointed out, the change correlated with his burgeoning interest in Dupain-Cheng.
 
Amelie had even called him on it, and wasn’t his being flustered adorable?
 
“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know that!” the girl in question shouted to Adrien in a scandalized tone, covering his mouth with her fingers. He pressed a kiss there, and she hurriedly pulled away. 
 
“It’s not like my father has a mistress or anything,” Adrien chirped in Amelie’s earpiece. “But I am glad he and Nathalie are getting along so well. He’s been alone too long after Mother died.”
 
“Wemberly, find out who Nathalie is,” Amelie demanded absentmindedly. She was still puzzling over how far she should push Felix into accepting his duties as Crown Prince.
 
She didn’t bother acknowledging Wemberly’s acknowledgment of her order. Amelie’s mind spun, considering the possibilities of a fully engaged Crown Prince. 
 
Engaged… in more than one way. He did have heirs to think about, after all.
 
She glanced at Wemberly, curious. “You really think Dupain-Cheng is the ‘someone’ Felix avoided mentioning? The reason he’s finally getting ready to rule as a proper King?”
 
“I do, indeed.” Wemberly shifted in his seat but not from nerves; even Amelie had to admit that they were uncomfortable. “Because of her, the Young Master has begun to embrace life again.”
 
“That sounds suspiciously like he was depressed, Wemberly.”
 
Wemberly went silent for a few moments, irritating Amelie. Wasn’t he supposed to just

know

that sort of thing about his charge?
 
“As I am merely a valet and not a doctor, Ma’am,” Wemberly started out carefully, bowing his head, “I cannot make a clinical diagnosis of depression–”
 
“Cut to the point, Wemberly.” Conversation between the servant and her nephew forgotten, Amelie narrowed her eyes at the man Felix looked up to as a father figure. “I don’t have all day.”
 
Amelie did, in fact, have all day. She’d canceled all of her meetings that afternoon. But she’d found it was easier to light a fire under servants if she expressed her impatience.
 
Wemberly tugged at the knees of his trousers, the little twitch indicating to her that he was about to say something he was marginally uncomfortable about because it was so important to all parties. 
 
“Then, yes,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on Dupain-Cheng, the apparent cause of Felix’s utter shift in attitude. “I do believe he’s depressed.”
 
That stunned Amelie, though she supposed it shouldn’t have. Had she been so wrapped up in ruling the country after Colt’s death that she’d missed the signs of a debilitating mental health condition in her son?
 
“But why?” she found herself saying despite herself. “He wants for nothing.”
 
Wemberly drew a deep breath in through his nose, obviously preparing to speak his truth. A truth Amelie was very curious to know. 
 
“There are several reasons, Ma’am.” Each new word was a needle digging into Amelie’s heart. “He’s overworked, to the point that he suffers frequent migraines. He’s studying to rule a country, and isn’t that a frightening amount of responsibility for any young man? He finds himself either unable to sleep or suffering nightmares. He hasn’t been allowed or allowed himself to

play

for years. He’s so scared of getting sick, he hasn’t allowed the doctor to conduct a cancer screening. He’s also scared of being left alone to do an impossible job in a world that he doesn’t understand. And his father passed recently, so he’s grieving on top of it all. That last was just the final straw, but I believe he has been depressed for some time.” 
 
Wemberly slanted a pitying look at her, but Amelie didn’t need it. After an appropriate two-day period of sobbing uselessly in her rooms, she'd been coping just fine.
 
Those had been an awful two days. Amelie never spoke of them for a good reason.
 
“I believe,” Wemberly soldiered on as Amelie digested the burdens she’d inadvertently placed on her son, “that it was Miss Dupain-Cheng who said he has ‘the world and all its beauty and wonder’ at his fingertips and yet found no joy in it.”
 
“When did she say that?”
 
“I am not positive, but as I caught the Prince muttering it under his breath two days after the Ambassador’s reception…”
 
Amelie frowned, disturbed in mind and heart. “She saw this before I did?”
 
That hurt. Amelie was supposed to be the expert in everything, especially her son. And Felix had never told her any of this. That hurt too. If he couldn’t turn to her with his burdens, who could he trust?
 
“And it’s a good thing too,” Wemberly said kindly. Gently, as if knowing that each word ached like a physical blow. “Because with her unorthodox ways, Miss Dupain-Cheng has taught him how to play again.”

“With bullfrogs and thumbtacks; antagonizing professionalism and the nerve to look him in the eye,”

she thought.
 
Amelie turned her gaze back to the woman on the screen. What did Felix see in her anyhow? As far as she was concerned, the girl was bland, unassuming, with no great beauty - at least by the standards of their family. Talented, true, but barely educated; certainly not classically trained.
 
Amelie had always wondered what had first captivated him… what had kept them circling each other the way they had been the last few months.
 
“She cares about him, doesn’t she?” Amelie mused, watching the girl pack up and finally take her leave from the conversation with all the grace of a Queen.
 
"Oh, yes," Wemberly said almost reverently. "And she's honest."
 
"Honest?" 
 
Amelie had never been honest with Felix. Even now, she was going behind his back to spy on the woman who'd captured his attention. In a surveillance van, no less.
 
She wondered if the uncomfortable sensation in her stomach was shame. If so, it had been so long since she had experienced it that she had forgotten how to blush.
 
Wemberly took his earpiece out of his ear, seeing as it was no longer needed. "He told her that her open hostility was a breath of fresh air."
 
"If all it took was open hostility to focus on his duties as Crown Prince," Amelie said in a joking tone, though the words were anything but, "I would have tried that

ages

ago."
 
Wemberly chuckled. "Yes, and he's performing one of those duties right now."
 
Amelie's attention sharpened like steel on strop on the valet. "Which one?"
 
"Why, greeting visiting foreign dignitaries, of course. President Agreste is in town."
 
"What!? Gabriel, here?"
 
Amelie was Queen Regent and Queens never shrieked. If anyone present said she did, they would find themselves buried alive in a Union Jack.
 
Wemberly looked horrified. "You didn't know, Your Majesty?"

"Wemberly," she barked in full Queen Regent mode. Time to leave the concerned mother behind. "Sack whomever neglected to inform me that

that man

dared to show his face in London, and get me back to the palace! Now

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Ah, Prince Felix. How good it is to see you again, Your Royal Highness.”  Gabriel’s greeting was perfect. Each word was perfectly modulated, perfectly phrased, and perfectly fake. The fact that he made no effort to hide this from Felix was just rubbing salt in the wound.  It had been bad enough when he and Adrien had been children and the man paraded his cousin around like some sort of animated doll to model his plebeian fashion designs. If Felix’s late father hadn’t made a point of inviting Adrien over for a few weeks every summer, the fellow would probably have ended up even more sheltered and ignorant than he already was. But now that they were grown, Gabriel had somehow wormed his way into the Presidency, and Adrien was as trapped as ever. The fact that both Agrestes had dragged Marinette through this mess was galling to Felix, burning under his breastbone like acid.  And he couldn’t let any of that show on his face. Taking a deep breath to cleanse the bitterness from his mouth, if not his thoughts, Felix constructed a smile. A subtle lifting of the corners of his mouth, a deliberate squinting of the eyes to impersonate the smile reaching them, the barest tip of his head to the right to indicate attention. It was just as perfect as Gabriel’s… and just as fake. “Good afternoon, Mr President,” Felix said blandly, bowing ever so slightly at the waist, relieving his irritation by adding an impudent click of the heels. Nothing his uncle or mother could take him to task for, but enough to cause Gabriel’s eye to twitch. “I take it you had a pleasant journey?” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Yes. Quite pleasant. Thank you.” Felix hated the expected back and forth of nothings these events required, especially with someone both as educated and underhanded at it as his uncle was.  “You came so unexpectedly, Sir. If we had received word of your visit in advance we could have done more for you than this minor reception.”  "Meaning if you had called in advance you wouldn’t have caught us scrambling, but that is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it, Uncle?” “Ah, but one is never without the utmost courtesies at Buckingham Palace,” Gabriel replied, his smile showing just the tiniest essence of smirk in the corners. “How have you been, Nephew? Sorry again about your father. Poor man. It was a pity the funeral came at such an inconvenient time.” Felix had to fight to not grind his teeth. “I believe that is an essential element of death, Sir. It is never convenient.” Gabriel chuckled. “Since when have you become a philosopher?” “It is not philosophy, Uncle. I was merely reminded of the lines of one of our American cousins’ best poets, Emily Dickenson. I believe it runs, ‘Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me. The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.’ The good lady seems to have been suggesting that we may not focus on our leaving this earth, but Death catches us all in time. Do you not think that Father and Aunt Emilie understand this better now than we do, Sir?” Felix wanted desperately to punch the air when he saw Gabriel’s face spasm in a nervous tic.  “I seem to recall you had a distinct dislike of poetry from your boyhood, young Felix,” the man said, the slight twitching of his nose the only indication of his momentary loss of composure. “I believe you said it was the pastime of wordy fools who had no competence at true literature. What caused you to change your mind?” Felix’s shoulders stiffened and, if he had been a cat, his hackles would have risen. “One could say,” he replied coldly, reaching out to take a stemmed glass of orange juice from a servant with a tray. “That I have grown to appreciate certain things which my former inexperience had caused me to disdain in my ignorance.” Gabriel took a glass of champagne and sipped it gently, his pewter eyes never leaving Felix’s face. “It is always interesting how cultivating new interests can change a person… for better or for worse?”  The questioning lilt and the raised eyebrow spoke volumes and Felix felt a trickle of sweat at the small of his back sticking his dress shirt to his skin. He took a swallow of orange juice before answering. “I can not imagine what you are alluding to, Uncle.” A knowing smile spread like oil on water across Gabriel’s face and Felix felt the jaws of a trap closing around him. Whatever snare he had just fallen into, Gabriel couldn’t be allowed to wallow in his victory. “Oh, nothing.” The innocent tone was coupled with an idle spinning of Gabriel’s champagne flute in his fingers, letting the golden liquid flash and sparkle in the crystal. “I just happened to see an interesting article about you attending old Fitzwilliam’s reception with the most… unusual woman on your arm.”   He shot Felix a look over his glasses, his eyes glittering with malice. “You do know, of course, that I had to send Miss Dupain-Cheng away from Paris because she was trying to ensnare Adrien? She is a cunning little she-devil, I’ll give her that, and no mean talent at design, but she really isn’t what you would call a ‘quality’ woman. I’m surprised the Queen Regent approved of her accompanying you, but… maybe she is slipping. Grief does take women so intensely, does it not?” Felix saw red. His head was throbbing, fit to burst, and rage sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. Uncle or not, he wanted to thrash Gabriel’s face until he couldn’t smile anymore and he had to take his meals through a straw! 
“
How dare he impugn Mother like that! Claiming Father
’
s death was
‘
inconvenient
’
? And he is blatantly slandering Marinette
’
s virtue and reputation! Why, the rude, unfeeling, egotistical, power-hungry old blowhard!”
 Felix didn’t care that it would cause an international incident. Title or no title, family or no family, duty or no duty, he wanted nothing more than to strangle Gabriel with his own white ascot! He wanted to throw a Dupain-Cheng style right hook into this lying pig’s face! He wanted to… to… challenge the man to a duel to fight for the honor of his family… his chosen lady… The sudden shattering of glass and a sharp sting in his palm brought him out of his battle rage. Looking down, he realized that he had gripped the stem of his glass so hard that it had broken, slicing his hand and sending the rest of the crystal and its contents crashing to the parqueted floor. “Ooh, stings doesn’t it?” Gabriel murmured as the servants began rushing around to clean up the mess. But before Felix could deliver the blow he could feel building like pressure in his arm, the doors of the Grand Parlor were thrown wide. “Her Royal Majesty, Amelie Regina, Queen Regent of–” “Yes, yes. Enough with that. They know who I am.”  Felix saw his mother striding down the length of the room, a smile firmly in place but anyone with sense was looking for a place to hide. There were three main rules in the Palace. There were lists and lists of all the minor ones, but these three were unwritten… Unwritten because they were engraved on the minds of every man jack of the staff, inside and out, old or young, male or female:Thou Shalt Perform thy duties promptly, professionally, and with the utmost respect.Thou Shalt Not show disrespect to the Family in Residence at any time in word, thought, or deed.And:Whosoever draws the Queen Regent’s ire is better off dead. That final rule was final and strictly adhered to by all, Felix included. And right now, his mother was bearing down on Gabriel like the wrath of all womankind, like a hurricane in heels, with a smile that belied the anger that radiated off her in waves. A smile that whispered ‘run’ because Death was stopping for you in just a few moments and she was wearing a black pantsuit and pearls. Gabriel regarded her with a smile that slithered across his lips like a snake in the grass. His head was cocked slightly to the side and his eyes danced with amusement as if he’d possibly been interrupted while doing the morning’s crossword puzzle to watch a literal train wreck – a loss of life and grievous property damage that only he would find funny. Only the trickle of sweat that Felix saw tripping over his Uncle’s Adam’s apple gave away how nervous he really was. “President Agreste!” Amelie trilled, seating herself in a chair hastily provided by a servant while the men remained standing. The servant had barely set the chair legs down on the floor with a loud clack when she gracefully dropped into it.  Queen Regent Amelie Regina crossed her legs at the ankles and rested her elbows on the arms, steepling her fingers. “I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable in my home and have been… entertained by my son.” The silence was so long and pregnant, it gave birth to another one. As a physician’s aid tended to his hand – which hurt! Curse Gabriel! – Felix watched, fascinated, as the man remained perfectly still and yet looked like he was squirming. “Yes,” Gabriel said slowly, his voice raspy and higher in pitch. He cleared his throat, recovering himself by coughing into his fist. He slanted a look at Felix as if to say, “We’re not done.”  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Gabriel said, turning his attention back to her with a bland, poisonous smile. “Your English champagne disagrees with me.” “You’re forgiven,” Amelie tossed out, waving a hand dismissively. Having been built up and knocked down in the same offhand sentence, Gabriel’s neck flushed. “Many pardons for the lack of appropriate beverages. I have no doubt that your current state is due to your inability to hold your liquor. Otherwise, you would not have looked upon the Crown Prince of the United Kingdom and heir apparent with such disdain.” “Madam,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth. “I assure you that, unlike you, I have never been inebriated in my entire life.” Felix kept his lips clamped together to prevent himself from letting loose a feral hiss. As it was, he grunted when the physician’s aid applied a stinging antiseptic. “No?” Amelie’s gaze leisurely traveled to Felix’s and then back to Gabriel, as if to say, “Can you believe this guy?” She had clearly dismissed Gabriel; by considering him less than a credible threat worthy of her attention, she’d stripped him of his power to affect her. Felix couldn’t suppress a genuine smile. “No carousing at celebrations? No tippling during tête-à-têtes? No inhaling the champagne just now with my son?” Gabriel set his champagne down on a tray proffered by a servant with an ill-tempered clink of glass on silver. “You forget yourself, Ma’am. Is your memory going?” Faux concern filled Gabriel’s eyes, making Felix want to spit at his feet. The physician’s assistant finished bandaging his hand and he thanked her absently while watching for Gabriel’s next volley. “Have you ever seen me drink more than one glass?” Amelie sighed, pointedly accepting a glass of orange juice and taking a ladylike sip. “We all indulge sometimes, Gabriel. You can’t tell me you don’t.”  “I assure you,” Gabriel growled, “I do not.” Amelie’s smile dripped venom. “Not even during your late-night rendezvous with Nathalie?” Gabriel’s eyes flicked to his ever-present, stoic personal assistant with the red stripe in her hair. As with most servants, Felix hadn’t even known she was there. She didn’t react; Nathalie had always had the impassive face of an impenetrable brick wall. Amelie tsked. “Shall I have someone procure you a better champagne, Gabriel? Clearly, this one isn’t sitting well with you, as you said while staring at my son.”  Realizing he’d made a serious misstep in identifying who Nathalie was by his hasty glance, Gabriel blanched. “Oh, I know Felix is beautiful to look at,” Amelie continued, offering Felix a soft, real smile before turning her brittle eyes back on Gabriel. “Why, he could even be a model! Thankfully, we of the Royal Family have no need to parade our sons around like trained monkeys for ill-gotten, filthy lucre.” As Gabriel clenched his fists so hard, the knuckles whitened, Amelie spoke again without even taking a breath. “You did know your nephew – my son! – will be crowned as King soon, correct? I am so proud of all the hard work he’s put into taking responsibility for the country.” Felix’s heart fluttered in his chest. He so rarely received compliments from his mother, and the last bit seemed as if she were not only cutting her brother-in-law down on Felix’s behalf, she was praising him in truth. Felix wanted to wrap himself up in that moment like a warm blanket and live there forever. Until Gabriel spoke. “Yes, which is why I thought it so very odd to see him cavorting about with a certain gold-digging chambermaid.” Gabriel sniffed politely. “I tried warning him, but as you well know, the Crown Prince is hardheaded and chose to ‘scupper’ my good intentions, as you Brits say.”  Sighing, Gabriel retrieved a handkerchief and brought it to his nose, wrinkling it as if he’d smelled hot, rotten meat in the climate-controlled reception room. “You shouldn’t indulge him so, Your Majesty. I fear you’ve spoiled him.” Biting back a roar, Felix clutched the fingers of his injured hand, making the wound spark like fire. If he concentrated on the ache in his palm, perhaps he would remember not to close it into a fist. Amelie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. To Felix, it seemed as if she were no longer playing and her claws were coming out. The Queen laughed softly, a tinkling sound like the singing of icicles in the wind before they break. “I am well aware of who she is. After all, it was based on your official recommendation of her sterling reputation that I took her into my employ. I still have that letter you sent advocating for her. Shall I have a servant bring it out?” Gabriel’s lips twisted in a moue of distaste. “That won’t be necessary–” “Nonsense!” Amelie clapped her hands once. Felix, too, felt like applauding. “Patel, be a dear and fetch Miss Dupain-Cheng’s recommendation letter from President Agreste.” “Yes, Your Majesty!” Patel skittered off as fast as if she’d been threatened to be burned at the stake. “Right away!” The room waited in abject silence. Felix was a little too giddy and eager to see what Gabriel had written, and Amelie was pinning Gabriel to his spot with a baleful stare, daring him to contradict her. Palpable tension flooded the air, making it hard to breathe even for Felix. Gabriel’s chest rose and fell in slow, measured inhalations that screamed cold, controlled fury. Amelie’s breath wasn’t even heard from Felix’s vantage point; she appeared completely comfortable and in her element. But Felix’s breath came in tiny pants, which he was ashamed of but couldn’t quite control. He was excited! Patel bolted through the double doors and skidded to a stop in front of Amelie, presenting a folded piece of cream paper on a tray. “Ah, yes,” Amelie said, plucking the letter off the tray, thrilling Felix. “Here we are.” The Queen private scan of the contents took entirely too long for Felix’s liking. He was chomping at the bit to see what Gabriel had been forced to say. “‘May it please Your Majesty,’” Amelie read, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s very good, isn’t it?” Confused, Felix couldn’t help but intervene. “That is the traditional address, isn’t it, Your Majesty?”  “Oh, I know, dear,” Amelie replied, offering him a tiny nod. “But I chose to give credit to your lovely uncle for using the traditional address. We all know the man clearly does not get the credit he deserves.” “Which is none at all,” Felix happily translated, looking at said uncle. Gabriel was livid with rage, his eyes bulging and sweat beading at his temples. “Yes, please, do go on.” “‘With my humble duty, I recommend to Your Majesty a young person of exceptional character, Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is intelligent, respectable, tidy, dedicated, and possesses a rare talent in the area of fashion design.’” Amelie peered at her brother-in-law over the edge of the paper with an air of a huntress patiently waiting for the prey to fall into her trap.  “I can’t help but wonder, Gabriel, what could have caused you to change your regard for a young woman who hasn’t even been in your country for the last six months for more than a weekend?” Before the man had a chance to reply, the Queen continued reading. “‘Ever since she was a child, a playmate of my son, Adrien, she has cherished the ambition to create designs for the elite of society. With the proper training, I believe that such a talented young woman would be of great service to Your Majesty’s household.’  Considering that you have known her character much longer than I have, Gabriel, I admit to being concerned that you wrote this letter to recommend this young woman to me and now have the audacity to say she is…”  That was when his mother looked at Felix, one eyebrow raised as if offering him right of way. Felix could recognize an opportunity when it was offered to him. “I believe the terms used were ‘unusual, ensnaring, cunning little she-devil, and not a quality woman’,” Felix recited quickly, gleeful at being able to strike some small blow for the pride and dignity of his precious little fool. “I see,” Amelie replied, her eyes now firmly fixed on Gabriel once more. “How interesting that you would allow such an unsuitable young lady to keep company with your son, Gabriel, let alone recommend her to my notice.” Felix straightened and caught his mother’s eye, giving the slightest questioning tip of his head. The nod he received was so subtle he only caught it because he was looking for it. 
“
Right. Let
’
s see how you like this, Uncle.”
 “More to the point, Your Majesty, I spoke with Adrien yesterday and he had nothing but praise for Miss Dupain-Cheng’s character. And in my experience, she has been nothing but professional, kind-hearted, and honest to a fault. She has earned my respect as well as that of her colleagues. I believe,” and he paused to level a glare at his uncle that made several others in the room flinch, “that the French President has been woefully misinformed.” “Well, then,” the Queen said, carefully refolding the letter and placing it back on Patel’s waiting tray with deafening finality. “I think that clears up this little misunderstanding, Mr President.” “Yes. I see I cannot dare to compete with such personal experience,” Gabriel said stiffly, his eyes narrowed. “The girl is pretty enough and seems to have her ways of … impressing the right people.” Amelie rose from her seat, not launching upward in an unseemly fashion, but rather slowly unfurling herself like an avenging angel ready for battle. You could have heard a pin drop. Even Felix held his breath. “We do not like your tone, Mr President,” she said softly. She spoke calmly with absolutely no inflection, no emotion, and yet the power in it wrapped around her like royal regalia and rippled out to fill the silence with awe. “Change it if you wish to maintain good relations with Us.” Felix sucked air through his teeth in shock. His mother only ever used the royal third person at the most formal of occasions. For her to be using it now meant that she wasn’t speaking as Amelie, Gabriel’s sister-in-law. She wasn’t even speaking as the Queen Regent.  She was speaking as the Crown. Not St Edmund’s Crown, locked up securely behind ancient stone walls and the latest in modern security, but the royal line itself, the kingdom it represented, and the thousands of years of bloodsoaked history that stood sentinel in the bloodline… ghosts in every gem. Felix stared at her and, for the first time since his mother had entered the room, he felt a trickle of fear slide like ice into his stomach. She was playing a dangerous game. The Queen was playing her most powerful card and Gabriel knew this. If his uncle defied her in any way, there would be consequences for both their families and their countries moving forward. And she was doing it for Felix… for his strange, budding, in-between relationship with Marinette… because she cared about him. For a moment, his heart swelled hotly and he felt his eyes burn, reminding him of his growing headache. But he couldn’t show any of that right now. Surely Gabriel had realized what Amelie was doing, right? Surely he was not mad enough to challenge the Queen Regent of England in her own Palace at a reception given in his honor? Not over a chambermaid. No. The man might be a cruel, unfeeling, selfish pig, but he was no fool. Gabriel stared at Amelie, ramrod straight, his face expressionless, but he slid his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the fact he was clenching them into fists. Taking a deep breath, the President of France bowed to the Queen Regent.  “Yes, Your Majesty. Would you allow your humble servant to withdraw? I have business to attend to while I am in London and I do not wish to trespass on your time or patience more than necessary.” Amelie nodded. “Rise, Mr President. You are no servant or subject of mine. You have my leave to go.” Gabriel straightened once more, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room, leaving the silence and tension to melt like a spring thaw as the doors closed behind him. A chorus of whispers sprang up around the room and servants and guests alike started comparing notes. “Mum, are you alright?” Felix murmured, moving to stand by her side, partly to support her if necessary and partly so they wouldn’t be overheard. She eased herself gracefully back into her chair with a soft sigh. “I know it isn’t polite for me to say so, but I loathe that man.” Felix snorted. “You’re not the only one. But why did you come? Greeting foreign dignitaries falls under my duties to give you time to handle other, more important  things.” She patted his hand fondly. “This was important or would you rather have to explain to the Prime Minister why we suddenly have a war with France on our hands?” “I wouldn’t have gone that far, but a punch in his smug face would have been very satisfying.” “Ah, my son, have I taught you nothing?” Felix looked down at her abruptly at the wistful tone in her voice, but her smirk prepared him for her next words. “A blow to the pride always lasts far longer.” Felix chuckled. “True, Your Majesty. I will remember that in future.” “See that you do.” “I do have a request though.” “And that would be?” He grinned and bent low to whisper to her. “Teach me how to do that power intimidation thing you did?” A true laugh rang out from her then and Felix felt himself relax a little more. “I will. Now go and rest. There is your hand to consider and Arthur has told me about your headaches. You need to take better care of yourself, Fe.” “I will, Mother.” He bowed and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. But as he turned to go, she said “And Felix?” He looked back at her. “Yes, Your Majesty?” She gestured for him to return to her side. When he did, she whispered, “This girl of yours had better be worth it.” “Don’t worry, Mother,” Felix replied, his heart feather-light. “She is.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

As Felix strode to his rooms after Amelie’s sound whopping of Gabriel, he cradled his injured hand against his chest and looked forward to regaling Marinette with the tale.
 
He burst through the double doors to his sitting room to find…
 
Nothing. She wasn’t there.

“Where is she?”

he wondered, searching for any trace of her. Usually, she’d be there preparing him a cup of chai and one of those delectable biscuits. Instead, his tea service had been brought and left, and upon further examination, the tea was a disappointing Earl Grey.
 
Felix dropped gracelessly into his chair, his hand and his head and his heart throbbing.
 
He racked his brains as to what had happened to his personal chambermaid and stress relief, and soon realized…

"Oh. I gave her the day off… to go to lunch with Adrien."

The thought of Marinette being exposed to his cousin brought bile into Felix's mouth. He popped to his feet and strode to the pull cord for Arthur. 
 
Ringing for his valet, Felix's vision swam from his headache. He staggered to the sofa and flopped down onto the cushions, resting his head on the arm and throwing his own over his eyes to block out the light.
 
He was feeling nauseous from the tension and the headache and he was so tired he felt he might cry. Funny how so many emotions were slipping past his control these days. He would have blamed Marinette as the author of all, but it had given him a chance to learn to care for her and he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her for what made him happy.
 
Felix sighed. All he wanted was to see Marinette and fall asleep. At this point, neither was likely.
 
***
 
Felix must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he jolted awake in an icy sweat from some forgotten nightmare.
 
Ephemeral wisps of memory floated before his eyes, taunting him with their intangibility. Regardless of the dream not being real, his heart drummed a rapid, staccato beat in his throat.
 
A vise tightened around his chest. He couldn't

breathe.

"Ehem."
 
Felix whipped his head to the source of the sound, seeing his summoned valet waiting patiently for the cobwebs to clear from Felix's mind.
 
Arthur stood at service by the couch, his gray eyes concerned and a glass of water and paracetamol in his hands.
 Felix's headache chose then to viciously reassert itself, nearly blinding him with the pain. He dragged himself upright and fumbled for the painkillers, downing them and the water in desperate swallows. 
"Arthur," Felix whined as Arthur set aside the glass on the end table. "How is she?"
 
"More to the point, Your Royal Highness, how are

you

?"
 
Felix didn't think that was the point. He didn't think that was the point at all.
 
"

Miserable

," he thought, his face suffused with the heat of shame. Admitting to any kind of illness was showing weakness, and he couldn't do that, even to his valet who had raised him. 
 
"I'm fine." Felix stared down at his shaky hands. He had bled through the bandage and the scarlet color branded him as a liar. "How is she?"
 
"She's well, Sir." Arthur took a seat in the chair kitty-corner to the sofa, tugging on his trousers before speaking, his nervous tic. "Your cousin apologized for the hurt he'd caused her and promised to give her space."
 
"She needs space?"
 
The question was a stupid one, Felix knew. Of course she needed space. She'd told him as much.
 
And he'd said he'd give it to her, even as hard as that would be.
 
But the fact that she had said the same to Adrien… who had broken her heart and sent her running to another country to escape the memories?
 
That hurt.
 
“I should point out, Sir, that she also told young Mister Agreste that she needs someone who pays attention to her needs and puts time and effort into her because she is worth it. She concluded this line of reasoning by telling him that, as of this moment, that person was not him.”
 
“Of course it’s not him,” Felix nearly snarled, his tone entirely too bitter for his liking. “And she

is

worth the time and attention paid to her. The only reason she can’t see that is because my

useless

cousin–” 
 
Felix cut himself off, leaping to his feet. He clenched his fists at his sides, vibrating in repressed fury, despite the sting of his injured hand. “Ugh! He mistreated her, Arthur! It makes me so mad, I want to punch something!”
 
Arthur’s eyes glittered with no small amount of amusement. “Aren’t you curious, Sir?”
 
That brought Felix up short. “Curious?” He blinked rapidly at Arthur, trying to figure out what he’d missed. “About what?”
 
Arthur probably hadn’t intended that effect, but Felix was now intensely curious. He was like a Bombay kitten batting at a string, just

sure

if he pulled at the right one, the whole tangled ball of yarn would unravel. 
 
Arthur chuckled but didn’t say anything. It was as if he expected Felix to figure out what he was supposed to be thinking.
 
Felix took him by the arm and gave it a little shake. “Come now, man! Don’t leave me in suspense! What do you mean, ‘Aren’t you curious?’”
 
Arthur patted Felix’s hand, infinitely patient. “Think about what I said, Sir. I merely remarked about how Miss Dupain-Cheng had told your cousin that the man she wanted wasn’t him.”
 
Felix furrowed his brow, squinting in both an effort to figure Arthur out and to block out the light stabbing his eyeballs. The paracemetol hadn’t touched his headache; it rarely did.
 
“You were saying…” Felix started slowly, wondering what Arthur would find curious about his own words. “... That my cousin wasn’t the man for her?”
 
Then the penny dropped.
 
“You think I should be curious about who is?” Felix’s eyes widened and his heart quickened. His grip on Arthur’s sleeve became hard and desperate, as if clinging to the edge of a cliff. Felix certainly felt as if he were standing on the edge. “Who is it, Arthur? Who’s captured her heart? Whom do I have to fight for her hand?”
 
Arthur smiled, gently disengaging from Felix’s grasp by plucking his fingers off his coat sleeve. “She did not say, Sir.”
 
Felix’s heart plummeted through the floor. “Then it could be anyone. There’s nine million people in London, and it could be any one of them.”
 
Arthur barked out a laugh, then drew back, his eyes abashed. 
 
“What’s so funny, Arthur?”
 
To his credit, Arthur met his gaze with a soft smile that confused Felix. “I was just thinking, Sir, about how good it is that you have started expressing your emotions.”
 
Felix’s eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back. “

What

? When did I do

that?

” 
 
“You said, and I quote, you were ‘so mad’ you could ‘punch something.’”
 
Arthur didn’t make the air quotes with his fingers, but he didn’t have to – Felix could hear them all the same. 
 
This was new information, and Felix didn’t know how he felt about it until Arthur continued.
 
“I do believe the credit lies at the feet of Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
Felix had to concede the point. “When do you think I’ll see her again, Arthur? She needs space.”
 
Arthur’s smile softened even further, which Felix didn’t think was possible. “You, Sir, shall see her tomorrow.”
 
Brightening, Felix let out a whoop. “Really?”
 
“Of course, Sir.” Arthur patted his shoulder. “She works tomorrow.”
 
"Oh." That was less good. If she needed space… "Should I just… give her a lot of days off? Until she's ready to talk to me again?"
 
Squinting at Arthur again, Felix frowned. His headache wasn't as bad as his heartache. He rubbed at his sternum – at first with his injured hand, then winced at the sharp pain when he touched his chest and gave it up as a bad job.
 
"I don't think that will be necessary, Sir," Arthur replied, and Felix heaved a great, relieved sigh. If he couldn't see her for weeks, Felix didn't know what he'd do. "You can still give her space when she's talking to you. Just don't smother her."
 
Smothering sounded entirely too uncomfortable. Felix pursed his lips. "And how do I avoid that?"
 
"Well…" Arthur stood, crossing to the restroom and indicating that Felix should follow, which he did. "First of all, you need to discuss the terms. Find out how much space she needs, whether it's a few weeks of minimal talking or a few months of light-hearted conversation, bringing up nothing upsetting."
 
"A few months!" Finding his knees no longer supporting him, Felix sagged against the wall. "Surely she won't need a few months of space."
 
"You don't know what she needs," Arthur said kindly, taking the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet. "Which is why you need to ask, Sir."
 
Arthur donned latex gloves and took Felix's hand in his larger ones, expertly stripping the stained bandage. His gentle touch reminded Felix of his coming to the man in tears when he'd skinned his knees as a child.

"Some things never change. My mother hates Gabriel, Arthur tends my wounds, and Marinette…"

That wasn't right. Marinette was change incarnate; she was always encouraging him to think better, do better,

be better.

The very reason he'd greeted Gabriel was because she had helped Felix realize he needed to take his head out of his bum and meet the responsibilities he'd been avoiding head-on.
 
And now she wanted space.
 
Arthur dabbed a cotton ball soaked in a stinging antiseptic onto Felix's open wound, making him hiss and yearn to pull away. To distract himself, he asked Arthur to elaborate on how to give a woman space.
 
"Avoid bombarding her with questions," Arthur answered, wrapping Felix's palm in tender tape. "Respect her wishes. And above all, don't take her need for space to heart, Sir. This is not a failing of yours."
 
Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Felix gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "But what if it is? What if she can't stand me?"
 
Arthur took his time answering, cleaning up the soiled bandage and medical accouterments. The longer he waited, the more Felix found his hackles raised.

"My dear boy," Arthur finally said, taking Felix by the shoulders. It was the first time in many years that the man had addressed him without a formal title. If Felix didn't know any better, he'd think Arthur was planning to hug him. "I don't think you have

anything

to worry about."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Girl! Why are you only telling me this now?” Alya demanded, flinging her arms around so wildly that she sent her glasses flying off her face.
 
Marinette rolled her eyes and retrieved her friend’s eyewear from where it had fallen under the coffee table. “Because I knew having lunch with Adrien would be hard enough without you grinding your teeth and glaring at him like you were ready to commit assault and battery.”
 
She deftly popped the glasses back onto Alya’s nose. Alya gave her a defiant look, hands slamming into her hips. “You bet your button stash I would! No one treats my bestie as an afterthought. Not when I’m around!”
 
Marinette sagged onto the sofa, weariness in every atom of her being. “Yeah, I know, Als, and I appreciate it. I really do, but things have been moving so fast it’s left my head spinning.”
 
Alya plopped down next to her and spread her arms wide. “Come here, M.”
 
The hug was more than welcome. It gave Marinette a landing place, even if only for a moment. The fact that Alya would fight for her and would stick by her no matter what meant the world to her, but… today had felt like a goodbye.
 
Marinette hated goodbyes. She knew that running away, which is what she had done in coming to London, really didn’t solve the problems of a broken heart. Only time could do that, but it meant she didn’t have to face Adrien and that had been the only thing she could think about at the time.
 
“Time, time. How long have we been here, Alya?” she murmured, letting the tears fall.
 
“What? Oh, about six months, I think. Why?”
 
Marinette shook her head and sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I’m just having trouble coming to grips with how many things have changed. I thought, when I left home, that I would never love again. That I would spend the rest of my life as… as…”
 
“An old spinster?” Alya scoffed. “Not you, girl. You’ve got too much going for you not to end up with your own happily ever after – whatever it ends up looking like.” Removing one hand around her friend’s shoulders, she held it out before them like she was putting the lights on a marquee. “You could have a successful career in fashion design, taking the fashion world by storm until no one will even remember Coco Chanel! You’d catch yourself a gorgeous model and probably end up owning an island somewhere teaching all your kids and hamsters how to scuba dive and do a double-dead stitch!”
 
Marinette burst out laughing. “It’s a double-blind stitch. Not a double-dead stitch!  How would that even work anyway?”
 
Alya poked her in the ribs. “How should I know? You’re the expert!"
 
Marinette squeaked at the touch to her sensitive side which launched the greatest tickle war London had ever seen. They rolled off the couch, going for sides, the backs of knees, and under the chin in their quest to get their opponent to yield first. When her attack on Alya’s vulnerable midsection failed due to the clever maneuver of dodging down the hallway, Marinette swept up a throw pillow and soon it was a pillow fight.
 
Finally, exhausted from running, swinging, and laughing, they both collapsed on the living room floor, panting for breath.
 
“Feeling better now, girl?”
 
“Yeah, some.”
 
A sweaty elbow poked her in the side. “Do you need another round? I’m sure I’ve got some feathers around here somewhere.”
 
“No! No, I’m good. Honest! I’m just… confused.”
 
Alya rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand so she could see her face. “What about?”
 
“Adrien… his father… Felix…”
 
“Why do I get the feeling this confusion is more about you than the model, the magnate, and His Majesty?”
 
Marinette pushed her over with the swift application of her finger to the center of Alya’s forehead, making her friend laugh once more. “You’ve already been a journalist too long! You’re starting to think in headlines!”
 
“Occupational disease. But am I right?”
 
Marinette sighed. “Probably. I told Adrien today that I wanted someone who would be willing to invest in me, to spend time and energy on or for me because they think I’m worth it. That I want a partner, someone to fight for me and beside me, and that right now that person isn’t him.”
 
“Do we know for a fact that it really was his father’s fault?” Alya asked gently.
 
“Yeah. Adrien admitted as much to me this afternoon. He wants us to give it another try, but I have just managed to carve out some space for myself again.”
 
Her friend snorted. “Only for it to be filled by a cocky prat of a prince.”
 
She only hummed in response.
 
They lay there on the floor side by side, staring at nothing and, Marinette at least, trying not to think about everything.
 
Suddenly, Alya rolled up into a sitting position.
 
“Do you still love Adrien?”
 
Marinette thought about that, about all the giddy feelings she used to have whenever she locked eyes with Adrien, how he made her feel like the luckiest girl alive, and how meeting him this afternoon hadn’t left her giddy as much as sick. He was a gentle soul, never meant to hurt anyone, and hated for anyone around him to be unhappy. But he was also unwittingly selfish. Everything he had said today as reasons for them to get back together, how great their future would be, they were all about him. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the fact that he couldn’t see or even bother to ask about her needs or wants or desires had been the greater part of the hurt she had suffered at their breakup. 
 
She had grown up. Adrien had not.
 
“No,” she answered softly, feeling ashamed. “I don’t. Not that way. Not anymore.”
 
“Marinette, if nothing else mattered except what you wanted this very minute, what would you choose?”
 
The thought shocked and thrilled her as much as it frightened her. “B-but I can’t just do that, Als! I need plans. I need to be prepared for things in advance. I need to wait and see how things go before I–”
 
Her friend grabbed her by the shoulders. “Girl! You’ve always had plans, plans within plans to the point they’ve made me dizzy, and see what it’s got you!” She gestured around their tiny apartment. “M, I love you like family, but you need to live a little. You’ve already made the first step. You came here on impulse to get away from your memories of Adrien and you are thriving. You only have the vaguest of plans and you have dealt with every little bizarre thing that’s come up! You aren’t that girl anymore, M! You are a grown woman. You know what you want. So, no plans, no preparations, no waiting to see how things go. What do you really want?”
 
Marinette’s breath caught in her chest. Only one thing dominated her mind and heart right then. Her face flushed hot and she covered it with her hands, knowing nothing could hide from Alya’s keen perception.
 
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alya said smugly. “Prince Felix.”
 
Felix put thought, effort, and some of his precious little free time into her – even if most of it was in planning and executing stupid, capricious pranks at first. He valued her frankness and honesty. He was willing to fight for her happiness and, when she said she needed time, he was willing to step back and give it to her.
 
“Yeah,” she whispered into her hands like a wish. “I want

him

.”
 
***
 
But, as things normally went with her, it wasn’t that easy.
 
Marinette went back to work the next day, excited and giddy to see Felix again now that she felt her head and heart were set straight, only to find her Prince nervous in her presence. She had never seen this side of him before. 
 
Just like he had done before the reception, Felix seemed to be finding excuses to keep her nearby, but every time she got within touching distance he would start as if brought out of a reverie and move away with a blush. He rapidly developed a need to cough or clear his throat whenever she entered the room. When she did manage to get him to talk to her, he didn’t call her his ‘little fool’ and always swallowed before uttering a word.
 
After three weeks of this behavior, Marinette started to wonder if she had ruined things between them by asking for time.

“Does he regret kissing me now?”

she thought as she rubbed leather conditioner into his favorite green chair.

“Did I hurt his feelings somehow? But he was the one who suggested we back off for a while! He said we would be friends first, but if this is friendship, I’d rather go back to the pranks. At least then he was paying attention to me.”

She knew that wasn’t fair and that knowledge settled like more guilty stones in her stomach.
 
Marinette sighed wistfully and put more of the leather cream onto the cloth so she could work around the arms of the chair. Maybe, if he saw how much effort she had spent on cleaning and conditioning his favorite chair then he would be touched… maybe even give her a hug…
 
She turned her mind away from even the thought of another kiss with him. She was distracted enough as it is.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” came Athur’s voice from the doorway. “How are you getting along?”
 
Marinette stood and stretched, relieving the strain in her back. “I’m doing alright, Mr Wemberly. I just realized that it had been a long time since this chair had any real attention, so I gave it a good cleaning and now I am conditioning the leather to help preserve it.”
 
The look in the valet’s eyes was unreadable, but the barest corner of his lips twitched. “I see. And the fact that that is the Young Master’s favorite chair has nothing to do with your choice of work.”
 
She suppressed the giggle but kept the smile. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
 
Arthur closed his eyes and let out a fast breath that would, from any less sophisticated person, immediately be called a huff. “As you wish, but I should warn you that a certain obliviousness tends to run in the family. It would be far better if you were to tell the Prince what you are thinking and feeling instead of giving unexplained gestures and leaving him guessing. It will only do more harm than good.”
 
“But he has been avoiding me, Mr Wemberly,” she replied, hurt and confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
 
Arthur set down the bundle of linens he had been holding and came over to clasp her shoulders. His smile was fatherly and his eyes caring.
 
“No, my dear, but I think some clarification is in order between you. The Prince seems to think you required space – a distance between relationships, as it were – and he has been trying his best to give it to you. The attempt has been having an impact on him. You might not have noticed, but he only really eats when you are the one to prepare the food for him. And he has redoubled his efforts to take his duties seriously because you encouraged him to do so.” Arthur paused for a moment, letting his words sink in while he looked her straight in the eye. “He wants to be a better King for you.”
 
Marinette’s jaw dropped. “But doesn’t that mean that he’ll continually stress out? And have more headaches?”
 
“Got it in one,” Arthur said kindly, squeezing her shoulders. “The Prince hasn’t been sleeping well lately, either. Toward the rest of us, he’s returned to his former self of the irritable, snappish Royal.” Arthur’s lips twisted into a soft frown. “Please keep that in mind when you try to talk to him.”
 
“You say that as if it’s a foregone conclusion.”
 
Arthur’s eyes twinkled as he smiled broadly. His hands felt warm on her shoulders, but not smothering; rather, he was holding her upright as the news of Felix’s suffering made her knees weak. “Knowing you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Arthur said, giving her a final squeeze, “I would expect no less.”
 
***
 
Felix cracked his eyes open and felt stabbed by the autumn afternoon sunlight filtering in through his room’s windows. 
 
He’d fallen asleep on the couch during his afternoon break again, curled up on his side to face the cushions, and his neck bent at an unnatural angle with his head resting on the arm. 
 
What was strange about this particular break was that someone had taken the time to cover him with a thin blanket. Felix groped for the edge of the white cotton fabric, feeling the smooth texture of the silken trim in his fingers.

“Who could have–”

“Ah, you’re awake.”
 
Felix jerked, bringing the blanket up to his chin as if to preserve his modesty. Someone had been watching him sleep? But whom?
 
He rolled over, feeling lightheaded and achy even as he lay, and found himself face to face with the woman he’d been studiously avoiding for the past month. 
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng…” he croaked, squinting up at her as she sat in the chair kitty-corner to the couch that Arthur had occupied a few weeks ago during his lecture. Felix’s mouth tasted terrible; he licked his teeth and found them fuzzy. “How long was I out?”
 
She set her embroidery in her lap, sliding the needle into the white square of cloth that looked like a handkerchief and resting the hoop on her knee. “A couple of hours.”
 
“A couple of hours!” Felix sat up immediately, ignoring the dizziness flooding him. He pushed through it to stand. Staggering away from the couch, he was caught by Miss Dupain-Cheng, who’d rocketed to her feet just as he did. “My meetings–”
 
“I had Arthur cancel them.” Her grip on his shoulders was firm and steadying, keeping him upright. “Sit, Felix.”
 
Felix found himself gently pushed into the couch, and he couldn’t help but obey her command. He stared up at her as if he’d never seen her before, his avenging angel limned in sunlight, the rays dancing off her inky updo and casting glints of sapphire in his eyes. 
 
Satisfied that he was seated, Miss Dupain-Cheng once again took to her chair, scooping up the embroidery project from the floor where it had fallen. “I’ve petitioned the Queen Regent to give you a day of rest per week. She’s agreed to Thursdays, as that’s when your presence is needed the least for kingdom work.”
 
Felix’s lips parted in surprise. Marinette had petitioned his mother… for him? Everyone knew that the Queen Regent hadn't been feeling well for a day or two. He wondered if Marinette had intentionally petitioned for him during a time when his mother was at her weakest. His heart warmed over his clever little fool.
 
Then Felix's brain caught up with him regarding the contents of the petition. “But

today

is Thursday.”
 
“I know.” Deftly, Marinette added a few tiny stitches with red thread to her fabric. Felix found himself intensely curious about the project and craned his sore neck to get a better look, but she pressed the hoop to her chest with a smile. “Ah, ah. Not for you.”
 
Disappointment washed over him in waves until he caught the glitter in her eyes that said,

“Not yet.”

Marinette folded the ends of the cloth over the no-doubt-skillful embroidery and set the hoop aside on the end table. She stood, crossing to him only to tug the blanket around his shoulders and press a motherly kiss to his forehead. 
 
“No fever,” she murmured. “That’s good. Her Majesty’s physician was coming out as I was called in and I heard him telling his assistant she most likely had a viral flu. They are waiting for the test results to confirm, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t showing any signs.”
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng–”
 
“Marinette.”
 
Felix hesitated. He’d been avoiding her for so long, he didn’t know they were still on a first-name basis. Didn’t she need space? Didn’t she not want to be with him?
 
“Felix,” she said, crouching beside the couch to cup his cheeks. He shied away, and she let him go immediately with a sad cast to her beautiful blue eyes. “We need to talk.”
 
“What about?” he asked before he could stop himself. Kicking himself for being dense, he waited for her reply with bated breath.
 She sat on the floor next to him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”  
The statement of fact lacked judgment, lacked any attached emotion; it was as if she was simply reporting as a journalist would. ‘Crown Prince Avoids Chambermaid,’ the headline of his life screamed. ‘Crown Prince a Coward?’
 
The answer to that question, as the article would undoubtedly unfold, was a resounding yes.
 
“But didn’t you want space?” he blurted, squinting at her as a throbbing started behind his right eye, the usual spot. “You asked for time and I wanted–”
 
“I did ask for

time

.” Marinette’s voice was so soft and sad, he forgave her instantly for the interruption. “But not space.”
 
Well, now Felix felt foolish. “What’s the difference?”
 
“The difference is, silly,” Marinette murmured, rising to perch on the edge of the sofa next to him, tapping his nose with a smile, “is that I needed time to think, to order my words and thoughts, not to have you leave me alone. I needed to think without you trying to influence me. I didn’t want you to stop talking to me entirely.”
 
“Oh.” Felix’s heart sank, dropping painfully into his belly. “I haven’t been very fair to you, have I?”
 
“How about this, I’ll forgive you if you forgive me?” 
 
He blinked, confused. “But… why? You did nothing wrong.”
 
She shook her head. “Not everything is your fault or responsibility, Felix. I should have talked to you sooner about what I needed and how you can help. That was my fault and I’m sorry.” She blushed beautifully. “I hope you can forgive me.”
 
“I don’t think there is anything for you to need forgiveness for,” he said, his voice suddenly raspy, and he swallowed hard. He didn’t want to ruin this moment of reunion as tenuous as it was. “But I forgive you nonetheless.”
 
She smiled briefly and it brought out the stars in her eyes.
 
Relieved, Felix’s head dropped back onto the arm of the sofa. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been during this conversation, and now with her absolution that he didn't know he’d needed, he was able to finally relax.
 
Tears stung his eyes, starting as an ache high in his nose. Ugh. He was a mess.
 
“So, Felix.” Marinette straightened the blanket around his shoulders again, a little twitch of her fingers to let him know she cared. “You’re not sleeping and you have headaches. You seem to be crushed by your burdens. What are you going to

do

?”
 
Raising his head, he offered her a weak smile. “Hole up in my room, take paracetamol, and hope?”
 
Marinette slammed her fists on her hips, surprising him with her vehemence. “That isn’t a solution. That is hiding!”
 
Gasping, Felix held up his hands as if to defend the indefensible. “It’s a tactical retreat!” 
 
“No!” Marinette shouted, and he winced. She covered her mouth with one hand and whispered, “Sorry. I forgot.”
 
She sat there, biting her lip and stewing with her thoughts for so long Felix poked her.
 
“You might as well spit it out, you know,” he said fondly. “It’s no good both of us having headaches.”
 
“Hiding isn’t a tactical retreat,” she blurted out determinedly but softly. “It is a rout! Utterly and completely. You are letting your fears control you! If you don't take charge of your circumstances, then they will take charge of you.”
 
Felix’s throat closed in, cutting off his supply of precious oxygen. His vision swam; he didn’t know what horrible thing he’d done to earn her ire, but he wanted nothing more than to make things right between them.
 
“... What do you suggest I do, Marinette?” he said, spreading his hands helplessly. “I'm always going to have the country to rule. This stress isn't going away.”
 
“There are three solutions I can think of. You could abdicate with no real plan for what you are going to do afterward, but then you have to live with the consequences of that choice.”
 
“I don't…”
 
“You could figure out what you want to do with your life before abdicating, so at least you have somewhere to run to instead of just something to run away from.”
 
Felix considered that option. Not for the first time, abdication called to him as a tempting proposition. But… he had a responsibility to his people to rule them as properly as a King should.
 
But he wasn’t ruling for himself. Just for people outside himself, and that drove his answer.
 
“That wouldn't be fair to Mother,” he offered, wincing at how utterly worthless the reply was. “She's worked so hard to prepare me.”
 
“Fine,” Marinette snapped, making him want to recoil, but he held fast. Marinette wouldn’t hurt him; she wanted the best for him! “Then let’s figure out a plan to ease the stress. Ask for help, Felix. It's not a weakness! The greatest leaders in history have always known their own limits.”
 
She grabbed him fiercely by the chin. Felix was spellbound by her power, letting his jaw go slack. “You have it in you to do amazing things!” she whispered fiercely. “You have a platform from which you can change the world for the better! Don't waste this opportunity because of fear.”

“Give me a lever and a place to stand and I can move the world, Plato said,”

Felix couldn’t help but think.
 He trembled in her hold, his lower lip quivering. “I’m… I’m so scared I can’t be what they want me to be.” Pulling away, he lowered his gaze to the floor, unable to meet the eyes of the woman who believed in him the most. “I’m sick. I may be dying. I have all the symptoms my father had before he died.” 
Nauseated, he looked up at her from under his lashes and offered her a queasy smile. “That’s one way to abdicate.”
 
Her eyes opened wider than he’d ever seen, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks in panic. He heard her breath catch in her chest and he could see her bottom lip trembling.
 
Felix had never seen her in such a state, even after his spineless cousin had swept in unexpectedly. Her face was white and it was all he could do to keep himself from pulling her into a hug to comfort her.
 
“Marinette,” he whispered, reaching out to cup her cheek.
 
But she extricated herself and he watched her inner strength take hold once more.
 
She shook her head determinedly.
 
"Your symptoms are common to several different problems, Felix, most of which are not life-threatening. Headaches, migraines, nausea, insomnia, nightmares. All of this could be stress. For crying out loud, a lot has happened to you in the last year! No one would blame you for being stressed

and

depressed!"
 
Felix sucked a breath over his teeth, her words sinking in.
 
“I… I’m not sure I can do it, Marinette. What if I’m right? What if it is…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word of his doom.

“That is another reason I was avoiding you. I can’t love you only to leave you alone.”

Marinette swallowed and lifted her chin defiantly.
 
“If you are that scared, then go see a doctor. If something is wrong, then they can start looking for answers. If nothing is wrong with you, then they can put your mind at ease.”
 
She grabbed the sides of his face and forced him to meet her eyes, his heart flipping over several times in rapid succession. The fire in her eyes was overwhelming and he swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to take that fire into himself to burn out the fear.
 
“And I refuse to let you go through this alone. Do you hear me? I want you in my life and I'm not going to let anything stop me from getting what I want. You taught me that, Felix, and I’m twice as stubborn as you. So you might as well get used to it.”
 
Felix jerked forward as if he was a puppet whose strings had finally been cut. He wrapped her up in a firm embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. "I don't know what I would do without you."
 
"You'd still be sulking, that's what."
 
She hugged him back, relaxing in his hold as if she had come home. The thought filled him to the brim with warmth and love even as it made him blush.
 
He let loose a wet, bitter laugh and pulled away to look her in the eye. "You're right about that. So... This doctor's appointment? Will you go with me?"
 
She reached up to wipe away his tears with gentle fingers. "Of course, silly. That’s what friends are for. All you had to do was ask."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"That did not go at all like I'd expected."
 
Felix's comment on the other side of the limo jerked Marinette out of her own spiraling thoughts. 
 
They'd just come from his personal physician and psychiatrist appointments, where he'd met with the best medical professionals London could offer.
 
Marinette turned her gaze to him, watching him stare down at his hands with the most lost, bewildered expression she'd ever seen on him.
 
Scooting closer, she took his hand in hers and massaged some life back into it. He had so many knots in his palm, it was ridiculous.
 
He tipped his head back, letting loose a soft whine of pleasure. 
 
"What didn't go as expected?" Marinette gently prodded him. "Did you not expect the cancer screening to take so long to get the results to you?"
 
As Marinette had watched Felix's blood fill the fateful vial, she had frozen. Her heart had slammed in her palate and her breathing had quickened to a point where Felix had noticed. He'd given her a weak but reassuring smile and clasped her hand, and she had held on tight, digging the nails of her other hand into her palm so as to not alert him of how deep the river of her anxiety coursed through her.
 
She couldn't go through that again. Not again.
 
And not with him.
 
Plus there had been the red-headed woman in the vibrantly pink pants and oversized sunglasses that seemed to be hanging around the doors of the building when they left the appointment. Marinette couldn’t place her, but something about the woman’s exaggerated figure and prowling walk had left her feeling uncomfortable. Both events had left her feeling off kilter, on edge, and worried.
 
"Yeah," Felix said, his eyes being unfocused in the limo oddly drawing her back to the present moment. "That, and a dual diagnosis of anxiety and depression? It doesn't seem real."
 
Marinette swallowed down her burgeoning fear. It kept threatening to strangle her, boiling her belly and making nausea punch her in the throat. 
 
"They're just labels, Felix." She tried for self-assured, but her voice came out bordering a breathless sob. "A diagnosis is just a label that helps doctors know which treatment to give you."
 
Which treatments he'd need if the cancer screening came back positive flashed before her eyes. Thoughts of reading medicine bottle labels, watching his hair fall out, and seeing his cheeks drained of their color and life made her vision swim.
 
But she had to be strong. She couldn't conflate her mother's illness with Felix's. 
 
He couldn't have cancer. He

couldn't.

Not yet. Not until the report came back positive.
 
"But…" Felix tried, his voice sounding so meek and hollow that Marinette's heart went out to him. "Doesn't being depressed make me… weak?"
 
"Absolutely not!" 
 
He shrank away, and Marinette regretted her vehemence. She tried another tack.
 
“It means you’re human, silly boy! Weren’t you the one who told me that kind of talk is unproductive?”
 
He stared at her for a long moment before the surprise was replaced by a small smirk.
 
"Careful, little fool. I haven’t been a ‘boy’ in a while and I have absolutely no compunction against tickling you until you retract that particular nickname.”
 
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, watching the fingers of his free hand start wiggling in her direction. She tried to back away, but she failed to see the trap he laid for her.
 
As she tried to slide out of his reach, he grasped her wrist and pulled her roughly in his direction. At just that moment, the limo took a turn and she landed across his lap on her stomach. Completely at his mercy, she found herself shrieking in the confined space as those long, thin fingers played Rachmaninoff on the sides of her ribs.
 
She winced at the noise and tried to push herself off, but he only redoubled his efforts to torture her with tickles.
 
“S-s-stop,” she gasped finally, out of breath, chest aching pleasantly, and flushed from toes to crown.
 
He gave another tickle. “Do you yield?”
 
“Ho-ow am I s’posed t-to yield when I’m s-stuck on your lap?”
 
The tickling paused. “Hmmm, good point. Then you must pay a forfeit.”
 
“Fine, I won’t call you a boy anymore.”
 
“Not enough. I want a favor I can keep in reserve.”
 
“What?” She had no idea why he could possibly want her to do him a favor when she already worked for him and he bossed her around on a daily basis.
 
Felix ambushed her again, wiggling his fingers up and down her sides until she couldn't breathe from laughing.
 
“Fine,” she cried at last. “I yield! I’ll pay the forfeit! Just stop, please!”
 
He lifted his hands away from her sides and she noticed his smile was brighter as she righted herself. She hadn’t seen him so happy in… well, since their trip to Norfolk.
 
“Thanks,” she panted, trying to straighten her hair, which was starting to pull free of its bun. “I needed that.”
 
“If I may ask, why did you seem so stressed?” He rolled his eyes. “Surely it wasn’t over my poor self.”
 
She pushed him lightly on the shoulder and he swayed dramatically under her touch.
 
“And what if I was? No need to get a big head about it.”
 
Felix chuckled and waved his hands. “Oh, no! I know exactly what my little fool does to puncture inflated egos. I would rather not tangle with another bullfrog.”
 
The thought of her pulling the frog off his face made her laugh, but the thought of his bare chest – and everything else – made the laugh die in her throat and her cheeks flare with heat. 
 
Felix's attention narrowed in on her like a kitten trying to catch a laser. "Oho? What's this? What has my little fool so discombobulated?"
 
"Nothing!" she shrieked, slapping her cheeks to try to stop the burning from giving her away. "Nothing at all!"
 
Felix snagged her hands and tugged them away from her face, a rakish grin making him look devilishly handsome. "Don't lie to me! You're flushed!"
 As he pulled her to him, splaying his hand across the small of her back to keep her there, Marinette whined like a dog, wriggling against the chest she could too easily picture as bare between them. 
"Why are you so distressed?" Felix teased, his smile wide and his eyes dancing. "You won't tell me?"
 
She shook her head, desperately trying to hold onto the last vestiges of her dignity. "No!"
 
"Aha!" Felix laughed wickedly. "It must be something embarrassing, indeed! That's it, I'm calling in the favor you owe me. Tell me what's got you so worked up!"
 
"No way! You can't do that!"
 
Felix's answering grin was too much for her heart to take. He waggled his blond brows. "Oh? Can't I? You did agree to pay the forfeit price!"
 
Marinette pushed against his chest, but he held her fast, his hands threatening to tickle her again. She was trapped.
 
Finally giving up, she leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "I was thinking of pulling the bullfrog off your face."
 
Felix shivered at her breath on his ear. "Just that? I don't see why that of all things – oh.

Oh.

"
 
She felt the heat rise in his skin and his Adam's apple bob against her cheek. "Why did you want to know so badly?"
 
"In my defense," Felix teased, and she could hear the laughter in his voice, "your being embarrassed is really,

really

cute."
 
Marinette rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and let out a tremulous breath, sure her cheeks were as red as poppies.
 
“You know,” he mused, stroking the small of her back through her blouse, making her shiver and recall a kiss in a candlelit glass room. “In the old days, if a man saw a woman sans attire he would have been forced to take responsibility for her as, otherwise, her reputation was ruined. Since we live in a far more egalitarian age, I might just insist you take responsibility for me.”
 
She gasped only to end up coughing and choking over his sly tone and knowing grin.  He did that just to tease her, she knew, but the thought both riled her up and made her chest ache in a way she’d thought lost to her. He merely patted her on the back, enjoying her discomfort.
 
“Why bother?” she finally rasped, trying desperately to reclaim some small scraps of her composure. “I already clean your rooms, press your clothes, make you tea, and generally tidy up after you. What more could I do?”
 
Felix somehow managed to blush furiously and look so impossibly smug. He gently tapped her on the end of the nose. “I’ll tell you later, little fool.” 
 
She glared at him. “You’ll tell me now,

Felix.

”
 
“No.” He turned to face the front of the limo, clearly leaving her hanging. “Are you hungry? I find myself famished. Would you like some lunch?”
 
“You’d better tell me what you meant by that, Felix Fathom, or I’ll–”
 
He whipped back around to face her, leaning into her space, fingers prepared for another attack. “Or you’ll what, little fool?”
 
“I’ll… I’ll…” She stammered, trying to find something big enough to force him to tell her his stupid little secret when he silenced her with a finger to her lips.
 
“Careful, Marinette,” he murmured, eyes dancing. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”
 
Stunned, she said nothing as he pressed the intercom button.
 
“Henry, take us to The Dorchester, please.”
 
“Aye, Sir.”
 
***
 
Alain-Ducasse-at-The-Dorchester held three Michelin Stars and for good reason. The cuisine was French, light, seasonal, and modern, expertly prepared and elegantly plated. Even more than that, the atmosphere was second to none and Felix reveled in Marinette’s awe as the maître d' led them to ‘la table Lumiere,' the most desired seat in the house and the center of the restaurant.
 
As they were seated at the round table set for two with the finest of china, crystal, and silver, Marinette gasped as the shimmering silver curtain dropped dramatically, cocooning them in a luminescent chrysalis designed to allow those privileged few to enjoy the hum and ambiance of the restaurant while being nearly screened from view. 
 
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, awed by the dramatic atmosphere and the richness of the table. “It’s like the gowns from Eve-Couture!”

“You’re beautiful,”

he thought, longing to take her hand or stroke her cheek. But she had only said she wanted him in her life. Not that she wanted

him

. She said they were friends. Felix once more stiffened his resolve to give her the support she needed…
 
… no matter how much he wished it were otherwise.
 
Leaning towards him, she held up her hand to hide her words from three men who stood nearby, waiting to approach. “Felix, why did you choose this place?” she hissed nervously. “I’m seriously underdressed! I’ll embarrass you!”
 
He patted her hand and gave her a small smirk. “You’re fine just the way you are, little fool. Besides, you’re far from underdressed.” He lowered his voice even further and leaned forward so far that his lips nearly brushed her ear. “You could be wearing nothing but a frog.”
 
Pushing him away from her, Marinette’s face turned beet red as she let out a most undignified squawk. Felix doubled over with laughter as she spluttered inarticulately until, completely overcome, she covered her face in embarrassment.
 
Pulling himself back under control, Felix gently pulled her hands away from her face. “I couldn’t resist, little fool, but you are too adorable for words when you blush and get all flustered. I won’t tease you anymore today, but you don’t want to miss this next part.”
 
She looked up at him, her blue eyes bright, curious, and a little wary. “Can I really trust you?”
 
Her tone was light and teasing, but Felix was looking for the undercurrent now and could hear the faint thread of melancholy she was trying to hide.
 
He reached over and took her hand, not caring about friendships or who could see them.
 
“I greatly wish that you would,” he murmured, his sincerity obvious even to himself.
 
She gave his hand a squeeze. “I do too.”
 
Her words and the gentle warmth of her fairy hand in his sent skyrockets launching in his chest, leaving him breathless and excited. Turning to look at the wine steward, Felix nodded once and the lights came up in a dazzling array of diamond light. Thousands of shimmering optical fibers were woven through the curtain surrounding la table Lumiere giving it its name and the recognition as one of the most prestigious dining experiences in London. Felix had marveled at it himself the first time he had dined here, but now he was entranced not by the shimmering, sparkling lights but by their reflection in the bluest of eyes – sapphires set in the face of his own Pandora.
 
“Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness, Madam,” the man said, bustling forward and bowing swiftly, but respectfully. “My name is Jean-Claude, I am the house wine steward. These are Oliver and Liam and they will be taking care of you today.”
 
Felix nodded cordially and he smiled as Marinette brightened considerably at their selection. They both decided on no wine – not with him starting his antidepressants that day – but lemon water and the tasting menu was tempting enough for both of them. He truly was hungry and, while the portions were small as befitted Nuevo Cuisine, the seven small courses filled his aching stomach nicely. 
 
What filled him with joy rather than food was the enthusiasm with which his companion tasted everything. She was a born connoisseur and exclaimed about the textures of this dish or the balance of that one and it wasn’t long before Felix gave up asking her to elaborate and just basked in her presence and enjoyment of the meal.
 
It was when the fifth course was presented - Veal from Corrèze, crapaudine beetroot, rhubarb and Kampot pepper - that the chef himself came out to their table. Dressed in the traditional white chef’s coat and black trousers, Jean-Baptise Garnier was of average height with nearly black hair going silver in wide swaths at the temples. The man was an artist with food and known far and wide as one of the best in the business.
 
“Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness,” Garnier said, bowing slightly with his hand placed over his heart. “We are honored to have you and your guest with us today.”
 
Felix saw Marinette’s eyes widen in delight. She leapt to her feet and stuck out her hand to the chef. 
 
“No, sir, I assure you. It is our honor to sample your artistry,” she said in French.
 
“Ah,” Garnier replied, his smile widening to something more personal as he took her proffered hand. “A lady of my own soil! I am doubly honored, Mademoiselle–”
 
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she replied eagerly, shaking his hand with both of her own. 
 
Felix couldn’t help but feel proud of his little fool.

“And she always worries that she will embarrass me wherever we go,”

he thought fondly, shaking his head.

“She may not be trained in all the formalities, but she is good with people, which is even more important.”

“I can’t tell you, Chef, how greatly I’ve enjoyed the dishes today! It reminds me of the best parts of my home! The bread has been the best I’ve eaten since I left France!”
 
“Really! I am most flattered! Which one did you prefer?”
 
“Oh, the brioche! The flavor was perfect and the crumb was tight and moist - almost like cake! Just like my papa makes at our bakery.”
 
The chef blinked in surprise while Felix could only watch the exchange with confused fascination.
 
“Bakery… Are you, perchance, related to Tom Dupain of Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie in Paris?”
 
She gave that silvery laugh that always warmed Felix to his core and left him slightly jealous that it wasn’t directed at him.
 
“Of course! That's my papa and maman!”
 
“Oh, little one!” The chef wrapped her in a sudden embrace and gave her la bise. “I went to culinary school with Tom. He was like a brother to me! That makes us family!”
 
He guided her back to her seat with gentle insistence. “I will go back and prepare a lovely dessert for you and your Prince! Only something exceptional is worthy of Tom Dupain’s daughter.”
 
Garnier bustled off with a broad grin on his face, leaving Felix to stare at Marinette in wonder.
 
She turned back to her meal with admiration, only to stop after her first bite when she saw him staring.  
 
“What is it?”  
 
She shrunk in on herself again and the difference was so alarming to him that he reached for her hand once more.
 
“Nothing, I was just wondering how you manage to make people so happy without compromising yourself.”
 
She blinked at him, furrowing her brow as if trying to puzzle him out. "It's… not hard?"
 
A laugh bubbled up from Felix's lips before he could stop himself. "Not hard? It is to me! You only say that because you have practice." He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, relishing the contact. "Tell me your secrets."
 
Marinette drew her hand out of his – which created a pang of disappointment in his chest – to let them flutter about her face. 
 
"I don't know," she said, worry flickering in her eyes. "I've never thought about how I do that."
 
"Then I'll just have to learn through observation."
 
She slanted a look at him out of the corner of her eye. "You want to observe me?"
 
"All the time," he quipped without thinking. "I'd rather look at nothing else."
 
He was rewarded with a pretty pink color spreading across her cheeks. "Since when are you a romantic?"
 
Felix chuckled, taking a sip of his lemon water. "A little fool taught me to enjoy poetry, so since then, I suppose."
 
The way her eyes lit up was absolutely beautiful. "You enjoy poetry now?"
 
"I've dabbled." Unable to help himself, Felix stole her hand again. This time, she allowed their hands to remain entwined as she leaned into his space. "I find I favor Emily Dickinson."
 
"Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —"
 
Marinette recited from memory, her smile broad and her eyes focused entirely on him. His heart twittered in his chest, doing as many flips as a trapeze artist. 
 
The shimmering silver curtain around them granted them privacy, creating a certain kind of intimacy Felix had never felt with anyone except her. Felix was so taken by the cadence of her voice, so enthralled by the poem she'd chosen and the hidden depths of her mind, that he leaned in, his gaze flicking to her rosy lips. 
 
Her pink tongue darted out, wetting her lower lip, and it looked so plump and luscious that he yearned to cover her mouth with his. 
 
Drawing his eyes up to hers, seeking permission, Felix delighted in the way she inched closer to him, tilting her head up slightly with a hooded look. 
 
Cupping her cheek and stroking the bone with his thumb, Felix moved close enough to give her the barest brush of lip to lip–
 
And was then interrupted by an exuberant chef presenting them dessert. 
 
"Only the best for you, Prince Felix and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng!" Jean-Baptise called, his fellow servers laying out two dishes of what looked like a small pie crust mounded with swirls of rich dark chocolate mousse, plated with a dollop of whipped cream, fresh mint leaves, and… was that a hint of oranges? It certainly looked delicious, but did the man have to bring it

now

?
 
Marinette's eyes widened, and she broke away from Felix to give a quick smile to the ecstatic chef. "It looks lovely, Monsieur!"
 
The moment spoiled, Felix crossed his arms over his chest and watched the woman he was about to kiss chatter enthusiastically about how many times one could reroll sablé dough and how best to keep it from getting soggy.
 
Dessert was bitter to Felix, and even more bitter afterward was the news he had to break to her.
 
After racking his brains to figure out how to explain himself, Felix decided to take the plunge over coffee. 
 
"I'm going away," he dropped into the space without a preamble like boulders heaved into a still, small pond. This thought was accentuated by the sound of Marinette’s spoon falling against her saucer with a loud clatter.
 
She certainly looked splashed. "You're… what?"
 
Felix winced at the wounded look in her eyes. "As soon as my antidepressants are sorted, Mother is sending me on a goodwill tour to improve relations with other countries."
 
Sitting up straight, Marinette desperately grasped for his hand. "I could come with you–"
 
"No." Declining her request was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But it was necessary, something Felix could barely swallow. "I don’t want to go myself, but Mother is sick and has asked me to go. I know you've noticed that she has the flu."
 
Marinette sank into her chair, her shoulders slumping. "Yes? But what does that have to do with me?"
 
"Little fool," Felix whispered, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I need to ask a grave favor of you." When she nodded, Felix let loose the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I need you to stay here and watch over her for me. There's no one I trust more with her care." 
 
“For how long?” Marinette asked quietly.
 
“A month. Maybe two.” Even saying the words churned his stomach, weighing him down like lead in his veins. He didn’t want to leave her for that long. Not with his mother watching her like a hawk and Adrien just a train ride away – drat him!
 
Blinking away tears that shattered his heart, Marinette nodded again. "Okay. I will. But it’s not an easy task, you know.” She gave Felix a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She’s even fussier than you. In return, you need to call me every night, Felix Fathom."
 
Warmth bloomed in his cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears. "You have my word."
 
Marinette held out her hand. "Shake on it."
 
Reminded with fondness about where their relationship had started, Felix gladly shook her hand.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette was so tired that she collapsed on the couch the minute she got back to the apartment. It wasn’t so much a physical weariness as it was an emotional one.
 
The day had been unbearably long. Felix had left the night before on his ‘grand peregrination,' as he called it, leaving her with the daunting task of tending to his mother while she was suffering from the flu. When Marinette had entered the Queen Regent’s chambers, the woman had been lying in bed, looking pale and washed out in the great white bed.
 
“What are you doing here?" she rasped, making Marinette’s throat ache in sympathy.
 
Even though Marinette was wearing a mask, she’d tried to smile at the eyes and bobbed a curtsy.
 
“I’m here to take care of you, Your Majesty.”
 
“Not ruddy likely,” came the snarled reply. “Just leave me to my work in peace.” And, sure enough, there had been a stack of folders, a laptop computer, and a clipboard lying beside her.
 
After that had been the most grueling four hours of Marinette’s life! She had changed the sheets, helped the Queen to the bathroom, cleaned up after a particularly bad bout of nausea, organized the papers, and was generally kept running back and forth fetching this and carrying that until she felt ready to drop. Not even Felix at his worst was this punishing. Add to that the Queen’s notorious glare that could filet a man at fifty paces, or so it was said in the kitchens, and Marinette was ready to call it a day.
 
But the Queen had stared at her intently, her eyes narrowed in concentration. 
 
“If you can’t perform adequately,” she'd whispered, her voice having all but failed her in that last half hour, “you might as well hand in your papers. We don’t need those who can't pull their own weight.”
 
Marinette stiffened at the unnecessary rebuke. “Excuse me for saying so, Your Majesty, but your son never found any fault in my work. Could you–"
 
“That’s because my son is a sulky man-child who has no motivation for serving his kingdom or his people.”
 
Marinette growled low in her throat.
 
“What was that?" Amelie whispered harshly. “I didn’t quite hear you!”
 
“Have you ever given him an appropriate motivation?” Marinette demanded angrily. “Have you ever asked him how he was really doing or was it you who taught him how to hide behind a mask and never let his feelings out because it would make him weak?”
 
Amelie sat stiffly upright in bed glaring at her through narrowed eyes. “How dare you question me! Get out of here! You won’t work for this family ever again!”
 
Marinette merely crossed her arms and turned her own glare up as high as it would go. 
 
“You can’t sack me.”
 
“I certainly can,” the queen had croaked menacingly. “I’m the Queen and I can do whatever suits me in my own home.”
 
Marinette just shook her head. “No, I meant you can’t sack Felix's personal chambermaid when he is not here. It would be considered very high-handed, very impolite, especially to the common folk like myself.”
 
For a long moment, they had each stared down the other, then the Queen made a rough, barking cough that seemed to be the closest she could get to a laugh at the moment.
 
“I can see why my son likes you, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
That had given Marinette a warm glow, but it was small and did little to ease the weariness in her bones.
 
Just then, the door unlocked and Alya came into the apartment carrying a reusable tote bag full of groceries.
 
“Hey,” Marinette mumbled, waving idly at her.
 
“Long day?” Alya asked without preamble. She set her laptop bag and groceries down on the table but hung on to a bright pink shopping bag that Marinette hadn’t seen in the bundle.
 
“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she replied dully. “Felix is away on his goodwill tour and he asked me to stay here and take care of his mother for him.”
 
“But… that’s good, isn’t it? It means he trusts you with what matters most to him, right?”
 
Marinette groaned and shook her head. “It would be except that his mother is the Queen Regent of Great Britain and has as much ego as Felix and none of his good points. Plus,” and she shuddered, “she has this look like she’s peeling you down to your bones one layer at a time.”
 
Alya sighed. “Well, girl, your day’s about to get longer.”
 
Marinette looked over at her best friend quizzically. “What do you mean?”
 
“Here,” she said, tossing the pink bag into Marinette’s lap. “I picked this up for you on the way home.”
 
Marinette looked from her friend to the bag before opening it. Inside was a long brown wig, a pair of sunglasses, and a supersized pack of bobby pins.
 
“I don’t think this is my color, Alya,” Marinette said, looking at the wig with distaste.
 
“It's going to have to be, M. The press has gotten hold of your scent and is on your trail. You’re going to have to lie low for a while.”
 
Marinette leaped to her feet, aching knees and back notwithstanding. “What? How? Why?”
 
Alya chuckled grimly. “Add who, when, and where to that list, and you’ll have enough for an article.” She perched on the edge of the couch and patted the cushion beside her. “From what I heard today, someone caught a picture of you and the Prince outside The Dorchester. One of the busboys is rumored to have said you guys had the best table in the house and were getting very cozy. Between the picture and your name printed after the Ambassador’s reception…” She shrugged.
 
Marinette all but collapsed against her friend’s side. “Alya, can you do something to head this off? Anything to keep me out of this?”
 
She shook her head. “Sorry, Marinette, but the Prince is big news and his love life-”
 
“Potential love life,” Marinette grumbled, hugging herself to stave off her misery.
 
Alya rolled her eyes. “Potential love life, then. Regardless of your status, you are now the number one topic of discussion in every newsroom in the country!”
 
Marinette groaned, now not only exhausted but also overwhelmed. Felix was traveling, his mother was demanding and critical, Marinette was still feeling torn over whether to tell Felix how she felt about him, they still didn’t know how his cancer screening was going to turn out, and now the press was going to be hunting for her.
 
“Ugh! Could this day get any worse?”
 
Alya leaned over and gave her a hug. “I don’t see how, but I did pick up some rocky road to soften the blow. Want some now?”
 
Marinette nodded sadly. “Two scoops, please.”
 
And while she appreciated the ice cream, she did not appreciate the irony.
 
***
 
“And then, when she wouldn’t leave her desk and get back in bed, I threatened to drag her there myself and sit on her!” Marinette declared triumphantly as she watched Felix’s face over the screen on her phone go through a series of remarkable contortions ranging from shock through fear and well on into concern before he burst out laughing.
 
Marinette loved his laugh. Felix’s voice was a baritone, warm and rich when he wasn’t using it like a weapon. When he laughed, truly laughed, it rumbled out of him, sounding off in the fullness of his range from a high falsetto to velvet baritone that made a shiver of pleasure zing down her spine.
 
“And how many times does this make it that she has threatened to sack you?" he asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
 
“I would say about seventeen, though we both know she doesn’t mean it.”
 
On the first day of Felix’s goodwill tour, when she had reported to the Queen’s chambers, Amelie had nearly dismissed her for impudence then and there. But when Marinette had stated, firmly, that Felix had ordered her to stay behind and personally tend to Her Majesty on his behalf? 
 
Well, that had tipped the scales in her favor… somewhat. The Queen Regent pushed back here and there, trying similar pranks to those Felix had tried early on, but to no avail. Now, four days in, Amelie was left with nothing but the empty threat of firing her.
 
“Mother can be a handful,” Felix said, smiling at Marinette with pride. “Don’t let her bully you.”
 
“Oh, I won’t,” Marinette replied with a sneaky grin. “I know where I set Big Daddy free.”
 
Felix coughed and sputtered so hard she had to laugh, delighting as his face turned red.
 
“I don't want to picture you seeing my mother in the altogether!" he whined, though if Marinette ever confronted him about it, she was sure he'd deny that he was whining.
 
Marinette ugly laughed. "I don't plan to do that, no."
 
Then he blinked at her, looking at her strangely as if seeing her for the first time. His cheeks flashed a brilliant pink, and he looked away, unable or unwilling to meet her eyes.
 
Marinette knew – she knew! – that his next words would be odd, but she still didn’t expect them.
 
“How often do you, uh, picture

me

in the, erm, altogether?”
 
She let loose a sound reminiscent of the tea kettle she used to boil his chai. “Only as often as I’m reminded?”
 
And he'd reminded her! So while she was trying to focus on his face on the screen – strong jaw, bold nose, and evergreen eyes – she couldn't help but look down at the bare expanse of his throat and Adam's apple. Beyond that was his chest, and beyond that…
 
She didn't want to even think about it!
 
He slanted her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Are you reminded often?”
 
“

Felix

!” Marinette cried, absolutely scandalized. “I can’t believe you!”
 
“

What

?” he cried back. “Can’t a man be curious about something regarding his, um, manhood?”
 
Face? Meet palm.
 
Marinette slammed her hands over her mouth and screamed into them. They were no pillows, but they would do.
 
“This,” she hissed, peeking through her fingers at a shyly smiling Felix, “is not an appropriate conversation, let alone for the

Crown Prince

and

his chambermaid

.”
 
Rather than appearing chastened, Felix sat up straighter, a boyish smile widening his lips. “

My

chambermaid?”
 
Marinette wished more than anything that she could touch him. She'd wipe that smile off his face with her mouth! “I am in your employ, yes.”
 
“I don’t think that’s what you meant.” Felix was back to the unrepentant grinning he’d been doing earlier. Marinette was glad to see him happy, but not at her expense! “I think you meant to say you were

mine

.”
 
“Can we

please

stop talking about this?” Marinette huffed. She was having enough trouble avoiding the press as it was without his making declarations that she was his. Donning the wig properly took much longer than she’d planned, so she was waking up earlier to get to work and leaving the locker room to get home later. 
 
Fortunately, no one had spotted her wearing it except for James, who had expressed his guarded sympathy. James had appeared to back off from any sort of relationship, which Marinette was torn about – on the one hand, she’d never entertained entering a relationship with him but on the other, she was sad that he was unhappy with whatever she and Felix had.
 
And whatever she and Felix had made the press hunt her down like bloodhounds. Alya had promised not to interview her and had somehow managed to keep their address out of the hands of the

Guardian’s

newsroom, but it was only a matter of time until the paparazzi – who frequently took pictures of everyone entering and leaving the Palace – would catch on to her scent.
 
The articles written about her had ranged from curious to tawdry. Everyone was interested in speculating about the Prince’s love life, and therefore her own. He wasn’t England’s ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ for nothing.
 
And the internet comments were a cesspool. Marinette had peeked one day and found herself sick from how many were bashing her as a person, claiming she was a throne climber and sleeping with him to get him to give her whatever she wanted.

“I should tell him. I should.”

Marinette swallowed hard.

“He’d want to know, and maybe he can do something.”

"Do you have your snack?" Marinette asked Felix instead of burdening him with her worries. 
 
"Don't think for a second that I'm going to let that go," Felix said and then immediately let it go. "Yes, I have my snack. Do you have yours?"
 
“Of course,” Marinette replied, angling her phone to show him a plate of cheese and crackers. “The proof’s in the pudding. Where’s yours?”
 
He held up a little plate with a meat pastry that Arthur had likely acquired. "A sausage roll," Felix explained to Marinette's delight.
 
She beamed at him, trying to convey exactly how happy she was with his choice. In the past few days that he’d been in Australia, Felix had chosen Shapes – snack crackers that came in various flavors – Tim Tam chocolate cream cookies, and lamingtons, sponge cakes coated in chocolate sauce and coconut. 
 
She hadn’t expected Felix to have such a sweet tooth, thinking he’d favor the bitter notes of dark chocolate and coffee, but no – he much preferred sugary foods and drinks. Even his tea was doused in sugar.
 
"I'm proud of you for eating something with protein!" 
 
Felix snorted. “You don’t have to be proud of me. It’s just eating.”

“Which you’ve had a lot of trouble with in the past six months.”

Marinette wisely kept that thought to herself as Felix took the first bite. 
 
“Hmm,” he hummed, peering at the sausage roll. “It’s good, but it’s no Nonna’s Chicken Parmesan.”
 
Marinette chuckled, shaking her head fondly. She chose a cracker, topped it with a square of Swiss, and popped it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before answering. “That’s what you say about everything you try.”
 
Felix smiled warmly around his next bite, doing funny things to her composure. “And it’s the truth every time.”
 
Heat suffused her cheeks, crawling up her throat from her chest. Felix’s adoration for her cooking triggered something deep in her, something that yearned to be free and run away with her.
 
She shook her head again, this time to clear it. “How’s Australia been? You never told me about the welcoming ceremony.”
 
Shrugging, Felix chewed and swallowed, making her happier than she’d been in a long time. He still hadn’t received his cancer screening results, and the thought of him being sick had kept her up every night that he’d been gone, tossing and turning in the fear she’d get a phone call in the middle of the night.
 
Marinette was sure she had bags under her eyes and her face was sallow, but Felix was either too polite or too oblivious to comment on her sleepless state.
 
As he started telling her about Australia’s ceremonial welcome, she figured with both a sinking heart and a glad one that it was the latter.
 
“The Governor-General hosted me at Government House in Canberra,” he began, and Marinette settled in to listen to his story. The cadence of his voice was enough to almost lull her to sleep. He could be talking about the most boring thing ever – and Australia’s welcome ceremony was close – and yet she’d relax to it like a treasured audiobook.
 
“The ADF – Australian Defence Force – full guard of honor includes one hundred persons, who played the national anthems and gave me a twenty-one gun salute.” 
 
Felix polished off his sausage roll and wiped his hands on his napkin. Marinette was entranced; even the simplest actions he took could thrill her.
 
Then he gave her

that smile

. The one that bordered on a smirk and made his eyes dance with mischief. It was a good thing she wasn’t standing because

that smile

made her knees weak. It was a promise of his playful nature, the one he reserved just for her.
 
“Truth be told, I almost fell asleep halfway through the anthem, so when they fired the guns, I shot awake faster than a damsel in a horror movie.”
 
Marinette threw her head back and cackled. “Why on earth were you so tired?”
 
“Jet lag is a powerful force, I’ll have you know,” Felix replied snarkily, his smile taking on a cheeky cast. “If you were here with me, you’d know that yourself.”
 
Marinette rolled her eyes to disguise the way her heart pitter-pattered at the longing in his voice. “I’m familiar with jet lag.”
 
Sniffing theatrically, Felix slapped the back of his wrist onto his forehead. “Woe is me! The lady shows me no quarter!”
 
“If it’s mercy, you want,” Marinette said, her threatening tone entirely too playful to be real, “get home safely and I’ll give you all the pity you’re entitled to.”
 
“Which is none at all, I hope.”
 
“I don’t know.” Marinette winked at him, selecting one of her crackers. “You cut a pretty pitiful figure with those tear-away pantlegs at the meeting with Parliament.” 
 
Wrinkling his nose – which she’d broken! – Felix pointed at the camera. “Come now, Marinette. Whose fault was that? Besides, I wasn’t as pitiful as you were when you were crawling under my bed!”
 
“Which I never would have done had you not ‘lost’ your bunny slipper!” Marinette shot back, holding back her giggles. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d one-upped her. “You should know better than to ogle your chambermaids, Prince!”
 
“I… er… um…”
 
Felix glancing away from the screen gave her an excellent view of his red cheeks. “I am sorry about that, Marinette. O-Ogling you wasn’t my intention at all. I… I didn’t mean to look at your, uh, thighs.”
 
Marinette hesitated. She had no witty comeback to a genuine apology. And she didn’t know if she’d forgiven him yet; that was a night that started with panic and ended in abject humiliation.
 
He certainly seemed remorseful if his blush was any indication. But he’d been blushing that night too. 
 
An honest, vulnerable, genuinely contrite Felix seemed against the natural order of things. Marinette wasn’t quite sure what to make of this new aspect of Felix and wondered if this shy, unguarded person was the one hiding under his Ice Prince persona the entire time.
 
“I forgive you,” she said despite herself. But she meant it. His apology seemed real enough and he clearly wanted to move on from that night to something more… egalitarian, if not friendly.
 
Why did that thought hurt so much?
 
Felix let loose a breath of air he’d apparently been holding, his shoulders sagging around his chest. 
 
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes shining with relief.
 
“Y-You’re welcome,” she squeaked out, fiddling with the hem of her apron. Despite being fully dressed in her uniform and in the privacy of Felix’s office, she suddenly felt exposed, as if her heart had been laid bare before him, revealing all she wished to still keep hidden.  The conversation hadn’t felt intimate until that moment, but now…
 
“Anyway,” Felix said, coming to her rescue, “it’s getting late here. I’ve a big day tomorrow. I’m meeting with the Head of Non-Standard Education to discuss policies regarding the trend for parents to homeschool their children and then in the afternoon I’m meeting the Aboriginal Ambassador and the tribal elders before attending their rhythms ceremony.”
 
Marinette sighed. “Lucky. I have to attend your mother as she consults with the Ministry of Public Safety.”
 
“It can’t be that bad. Boring, mostly likely, but not terrible.”
 
She glared at the screen in mock irritation. “Not for you! You get to sit. I have to stand in the corner and wait until I am called for like a child in time out! At least you are doing something important with your time.”
 
“Tsk.” Felix tutted at her like a mother hen. “No need to defame the Queen, little fool. I’m not

that

important.”
 
“Excuse you.” Narrowing her eyes at him, Marinette chomped down on a cracker to show him her annoyance. “You are the Crown Prince of the United Kingdom, going on a tour to improve relationships with countries around the world. I’d say that’s pretty important.”
 
She did not expect him to visibly sag with disappointment. “Yeah,” he said, bereft of any emotion at all. It was as if the Ice Prince had reasserted himself. “I guess.”
 
Marinette scrambled to rectify her mistake. “You are also important to me, Felix. Not the Prince, but the man.”
 
She didn’t think it was possible for him to brighten as much as he did. His boyish smile was back, lighting up his eyes with unmitigated pleasure.
 
“Thank you, little fool,” he murmured. “You’re important to me too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix bustled about his hotel suite, humming happily to himself as he arranged his purchases. “Sir, don’t you think you have been a little excessive in your shopping today?” Arthur asked politely. “I never thought of you as the acquisitive sort, but…” The valet spread his arms wide indicating the dozen bags and the small lacquered table Felix had bought that afternoon. “I have always enjoyed the Chinese aesthetic, Arthur,” Felix pointed out, too pleased to take umbrage at the man’s raised eyebrow and arch tone. “And the meetings yesterday were awful and I needed something to boost my spirits. Besides, most of these are gifts.” “For Miss Dupain-Cheng.” It wasn’t a question. “Have you considered her circumstances, Sir? She comes from a humble background and such… opulence might make her feel uncomfortably indebted to you.” “Not all of these are for Marinette. Some are Christmas gifts for Mother.” His valet let out a resigned sigh.  “Look, Arthur, I can tell you disapprove,” Felix said, clapping him on the shoulder jovially. “You don’t have to put on the long-suffering servant bit. I don’t intend on going overboard at every stop, but Marinette is half-Chinese and speaks fondly of her Great Uncle’s cooking and the stories her mother told her. Being able to help her experience her heritage vicariously is part of the gift. That’s why I took so many pictures.” “I understand your enthusiasm, Sir, but perhaps you should show a bit more restraint in the future?” The man held up two fingers an inch apart. Felix only smiled and clapped him on the shoulder once more. “You’re not going to spoil my fun, are you, Arthur?” The valet swallowed and stiffened imperceptibly. “I believe that is my main job requirement, Your Royal Highness.” Felix chuckled. “So it is, good man, but nothing is going to stop me from spoiling my little fool like she deserves.” “Even her,” he thought, grinning at how flustered and adorable Marinette would look seeing present after present all purchased with her in mind. Not all of them were grand or expensive, but each was something he thought she would enjoy, find useful, or would just make her smile. His mind had wandered into a lovely dream where he returned to London to find her anxiously waiting for him. Catching his eye off the embarkation ramp, she would give him that beautiful, starry smile and throw herself into his arms, laughing in delight. He would twirl her around before pulling her into a kiss and she would gasp against his lips before threading her fingers through his hair and– “Sir,” Arthur said, not knowing the fantasy he had just cut short. “It is just about four p.m. London time. Miss Dupain-Cheng should be in your quarters, per your instructions, and I have ordered your snack from room service. You should make your call soon.” Felix yawned and stretched. “Yes, you’re right, Arthur. I can’t keep her waiting.”  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number, wishing, not for the first time, that he had a good picture of her to use as his wallpaper. “Um, Sir,” Arthur interjected with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I know it is not my place to comment, but if you wish your gifts to remain a surprise, you might want to not sit with them in full view.” Felix jerked around so fast it made his neck pop loudly, taking in the line of bags that framed the back of the sofa. He would ever deny that he had given a squeak of dismay before scurrying into the suite’s master bedroom. He closed the door behind him just in time for she picked up on the second ring. “Felix!” Her face was bright and happy to see him, her smile seeming almost too big for her sweet face. “How are you doing today?” “Better now that I get to speak with you,” he said honestly, his shoulders relaxing now that he heard her voice. He had known he would miss her dreadfully, but being this far apart made him feel like he had left half of his soul behind. “I had a day free so I did some shopping and sightseeing.” “That sounds fun!” She propped her phone against something, from the background of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves it was clear she was sitting at his desk, and then leaned in to prop her face in her hands in rapt attention. “Where did you go?” “We went to the Peak this morning before the crowds got too thick,” he began, sitting down on the bed and leaning back against the teak wood headboard. “There’s this air tram that takes you straight up to the highest point on the island and it gives you the most incredible view.” “I hope you took pictures.” “I certainly did and Arthur is now having to carry two backup memory cards so I don’t run out of storage again!” Marinette giggled and he relaxed even further. Oh, how he missed her! “From the top, it felt like you could see to the ends of the earth,” he said, wistfully. “It was… peaceful.” “I wish you had been here to see it with me,” went unspoken, though it pounded through his heart like a war drum. “What else?” she asked softly. It might have been wistful thinking, but Felix thought her voice held a trace of longing too. “Well, we visited the Pearl Market. You would have loved it! They had some of everything, most of it absolute garbage!  The most massive boot sale in the world! But they also had true vendor booths positively dripping with strands of pearls, jade, brocades, and the like.” “Ooh! Sounds like fun!” To be honest, it had given him a mild panic attack and his security team a serious case of the horrors due to all the people crammed in the warehouse-style building, but he had pulled himself together and focused on taking pictures and finding small gifts for Marinette and his mother. “Then we stopped for lunch and I had some delicious wonton noodles and–" “With or without pork?” Her tone was firm like a teacher demanding to hear a perfect recitation. “With pork, my little fool,” he answered smugly with a roll of his eyes. “I remembered your lessons well. I also tried the stir-fried mud crabs.” He sighed, his mouth watering at the memory. She grinned. “Pity you aren’t staying in Shanghai. Great Uncle Cheng would be happy to host any friend of mine and he would treat you to the best meal you’ve ever had!” Felix couldn’t tell her, but he would find a way to bring her with him next time. He wanted to show her how he was growing thanks to her influence, how he was no longer taking the world for granted and was enjoying the beauty that each moment afforded him. The beauty on the screen in front of him sighed. “I was worried about you. Yesterday was stressful, what with the meetings with the government officials who still want to rub their independence in Great Britain’s face and all. You were so stressed you couldn’t eat much. I know Arthur takes good care of you, but…” Felix allowed himself the luxury of slouching down in the bed, tucking one arm behind his head as he smiled at her. “Arthur just takes care of my person. You,” he said, drinking in the blush that pinked her creamy cheeks, “take care of me.” He watched her swallow, eyes flickering with emotions, as her rosy bottom lip was gently teased by her white teeth. “I miss you, Marinette,” he murmured, his heart swelling hotly and his eyes stinging at the corners. “I-” There was a knock on the door. Felix shot upright as if he had just been paddled, jerking his vest straight with one hand as he clutched his phone protectively. From the tiny window that showed him his reflection, he looked wide-eyed, nervous, and uncannily like a teenage boy who had just been caught with a girl in his bedroom. “Yes?” he called, wincing that his voice sounded somewhat higher than he liked. The door opened. “Excuse me, Sir, Miss Dupain-Cheng, but your evening snack just arrived.” Arthur calmly swept into the room with a covered tray, set it on the desk, poured a glass of water from the crystal decanter in an alcove set into one side of the room, then left, as professionally unaware of his master’s embarrassment as if he had been blind and deaf. Felix let out a blustery sigh of relief only to hear it echo over the phone. He glanced at Marinette’s face on the screen, realizing they were both equally red and burst out laughing. She joined him and, while the intensity of the previous moment eased somewhat, the emotional undercurrent was strong and could easily sweep him away. “Um… what did you get? It’s pretty late over there, isn’t it?” she asked, her cheeks still pink. “It’s about half past eleven,” he replied, checking his watch. “I ordered something called ‘guotie.'" “Oooh! Potstickers! Those are delicious!” He smiled shyly as he sat up and moved to the desk, removing the cloche before sitting down. On the plate sat small six dumplings on their sides, their frond-shaped edges lying down to expose the golden-brown underside. They were drizzled in a dark brown sauce that smelled strongly of garlic, ginger, and honey with the tang of soy sauce throughout. It smelled divine. “Take a look,” he said, turning the camera around so she could see the plating. “Sure, they look pretty,” she said skeptically, “but the proof is in the filling.” Felix chuckled. “I thought the proof was in the pudding?” Her smiling lips slid into a teasing smirk. “Only if we are playing Clue in my parents’ bakery. Just try them and see how they taste.” He snorted and stabbed his fork into one of the dumplings. They were only two bites each, but the sweet and savory sausage combined with the tang of the sauce and the browning of the noodle was mouthwatering. Without pausing to comment, he popped the rest into his mouth and readied another one. Marinette giggled. “Good?” He nodded, his mouth too busy with the delicious dumplings to be distracted with words. Her smile was wide and infectious. “See? I’ll turn you into a foodie yet.” “I’m already putty in your hands, sweet little fool,” he thought, relishing the flavors and texture of the dumplings and, even more, the warmth of her happiness. “You might not be ready for it yet, but when you are, I’m going to sweep you off your feet and happily tell the world I’m yours.” *** She was in Felix ’ s arms and they were dancing. A shimmering curtain of light surrounded them, keeping them safe from the prying, hungry eyes outside. It was formal, yet intimate in a way that made her lightheaded and her heart flutter in her chest. “ What is my little fool thinking?” Felix asked, stroking her back as an excuse to pull her closer. “ I ’ m just glad to be here with you.” Marinette leaned against his chest and sighed contentedly. “ You make me feel safe and loved.” “ You are loved, Marinette,” he murmured into her hair. “ I just wished you loved me too.” She pulled away, shocked by the sadness in his tone. “ But I do love you, Felix!” He shook his head. “ You still love Adrien, otherwise we wouldn ’ t be dancing around each other pretending to just be friends.” He sighed and tried to gently push them apart. “ I am never what you wanted.” “ No!” She clung to him fiercely as the soft whispers from outside the curtain grew louder. “ I do want you, Felix! I really do!” Just then the curtain was torn down, revealing a dark crowd around them punctuated by piercing flashes of white light. Shouts of “ Over here” and “ Your Royal Highness” blared all around them like angry trumpets and she slapped her hands to her ears in fright. An all too familiar figure stood at the front of the crowd. Teased red hair, blood-red lips, and a bitter smile. 
It was the woman from the reception. What had her name been? Connor?
 “ Who do you think you are? You ’ re nothing but a bakery girl and a servant! What makes you think Felix could ever be happy with someone like you?” 
Felix shoved her behind him, protecting her from greedy voices and angry eyes with his own body, but the light seemed to hurt him. Marinette could see he was going white and started to sweat. From where she cowered behind him, she could see the smooth shape of his hand shrink and wither away, leaving thin, papery flesh stretched over the skeletal frame of his long fingers.
 The shouts grew louder until they blended into a chaotic storm of sound that rang in her ears. Marinette clutched Felix ’ s withered hand, pulling him down beside her and shielding him with her own body, but his hand faded away under her fingers as the flashing lights pierced him through and the Connor woman cackled in cruel delight. “No!” Marinette jerked upright in bed, her face sheathed in a cold sweat and shaking like a leaf. Her throat hurt as if she had been shouting and she clutched the coverlet so hard she bent her fingernails. Little Felix, as she had started calling her kitten, mewed pitifully from somewhere near her headboard and she automatically found his head and stroked between his ears. “M,” Alya mumbled sleepily, backlit in the light from the doorway. She swayed slightly, rubbing one eye with her fist, her glasses missing, and her hair a snarled mess. “You alright, girl? Your phone’s been going off for a few minutes.” That brought Marinette to full and panicked alertness.  Fumbling for her phone, she fell out of bed barely managing to avoid the lamp that came down with her. She stabbed the accept button and winced as a bright light filled the room - reminding her all too much of her nightmare. “Marinette!” Felix’s voice called excitedly over the speakers. “Marinette, the test came back negative! Marinette! Marinette?” Blinking against the bright light of day that shredded the darkness before dawn, Marinette brought the phone up so he could see her face. “That’s wonderful, Felix,” she said between yawns. “But why did they s…send you the results in the middle of the night?” “Middle of the – what?” She heard some fumbling on his end, then, “Blast! I forgot the time difference! What time is it there?” “One of the ruddy clock,” Alya growled. “Look, Mr Etcetera, next time you want to call up my bestie to flirt, do it on normal people time, please! Some of us have to work in the morning!” Marinette’s eyes were finally starting to adjust and she caught a startlingly green and angry eye staring closely at his screen. “Who is there with you?” “Oh, that’s my flatmate and best friend, Alya. Don’t worry, she’s mostly harmless until she’s had her coffee and finds her glasses.” “Watch it, girl! I know where you sleep. Or else I can tell Prince Charming there that he woke you up from a nightmare that had you crying.” Marinette reached behind her, grabbed her pillow from the bed, and threw it at her best friend. “Just go back to bed, Alya.” “Fine, but you had better give me details in the morning, Marinette. G’night, Felix.” “Um, goodnight…?” Alya scoffed. “I wasn’t talking to you, Your Royal Highness. I was talking to the cat.” Two strides from the doorway and Marinette heard the other door close and the only light left was from her phone. “Don’t worry,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know the rules. I don’t tell her anything I shouldn’t.” “I wouldn’t presume to question your integrity,” he replied, concern layered thickly on every word. “Did you really have a nightmare?” She shrugged. “Yeah. It’s no big deal. It happens a lot these days.” “But… your friend… Alya? She said it made you cry.” “Well, I don’t know about you,” Marinette mumbled, “but I can’t control what I dream.” “Are… are you lying on the floor?” She snorted. “I fell out of bed trying to get to the phone. I’m not always graceful first thing in the morning.” He looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I really should have remembered the time difference. I was just so relieved and you said you wanted to know right away.” “Yeah.” She yawned again. “I’m glad you called.” There was a pause that hung expectantly over the ether between them. Then, “Will you tell me what dream was so frightening it made my little fool cry?” he asked softly, tenderly, like he was offering her his hand to help her up, but didn’t want to offend her. Marinette’s heart clenched and her breath caught in her chest. The bright white light from the phone screen was so similar to the dangerous lights in her nightmare and the image of his pale face and shriveled hand made her swallow back the fear that crowded at the back of her throat. It tasted bitter. “I… I don’t think I want to talk about it,” she said carefully. “It’s still too fresh, you know?” “Hmmm. Then may I talk to you while you go back to sleep?” he asked, his disappointment and hope evident in his face and tone. She smiled. “I’d like that.” Felix chuckled softly. “Then get back in bed, little fool. You’ll catch a cold sleeping on the floor and I'm not there to tuck you in.” Despite the weariness hanging like weights from her eyelids, she was pretty sure she blushed. She retrieved her pillow and climbed back into bed, propping her phone up against her old cat body pillow. Little Felix mewed and padded over to rub his face against her chin before jumping off the bed, bent on whatever mischief cats do at one in the morning.

“Alright. All tucked back in.” Marinette cuddled down under her blankets.  “What does your day look like?” “I’m meeting with the local governors regarding trade with England and our current sanction against some of China’s trading partners. Then this afternoon our hosts are taking us to an opera festival.” “Th…at sounds nice,” she yawned, her eyes drifting closed and her muscles relaxed at the sound of his voice. “Not really,” he scoffed. “Have you ever heard Chinese Opera? It is not always pleasant to Western ears.” “How… so?” His rich, baritone voice was soft and soothing, like a velvet pillow by the fire on a cold winter night. It wrapped around her tired mind like a blanket, talking about tonal qualities, patriarchal tradition, and Western dissonance until she could barely focus any longer. “Marinette, are you asleep?” Felix asked softly. She moaned softly. “Just… about,” she mumbled against her pillow. “I should let you get some rest.” Was she already dreaming? His tone sounded so regretful. “I wish you were here, Felix,” she said, voice slurred. “I miss you. Please… come home safe.” Through the fog of falling sleep, she heard a soft sigh. “I miss you, too, my sweet little fool,” he whispered or, maybe, she dreamed. “I’ll always come home to you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix was summoned from sleep by the sound of his phone ringing. Groaning, he rolled over to see who was calling.

Marinette.

Marinette was calling him at… two in the morning?

He scrambled to push the accept button and pull the phone over at the same time as her sweet, worried face came up on the screen.

“Marinette?” he rasped, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand to clear the blur of sleep from his vision. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, her eyes wide and face drawn. “It’s just… Adrien called.”

That woke him up.

Felix shot upright in bed, fumbling for the button that controlled the bedside lamp and burning his eyes when it did come on.

“What did he say? Why are you so upset? If he hurt you again, I’ll go find him and dangle him off the Eiffel Tower by those plebeian orange trainers of his!”

“Felix, calm down!” Marinette exclaimed, bringing her phone closer to her face. “He wasn’t calling to hurt me. He… he was calling because he was worried about me.”

“But he is supposed to be giving you space,” he growled, his fist clenching in his lap. “I may be a complete novice regarding relationships, but even I know you give the other party the opening move in these circumstances!”

“Perhaps, Sir,” said an annoyed drawl from the doorway, “if you were to lower your voice and allow Miss Marinette to explain? We might all get to sleep at a reasonable hour then. Good evening, Miss.”

“Um, good evening, Mr Wemberly,” Marinette said contritely. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

The valet only tutted at them. “Not at all, Miss. I’m glad you felt you could confide in His Royal Highness about these things. I am at your service also, should it be required.”

“Thank you, Mr Wemberly. I appreciate it.”

“Any time, Miss Marinette. Shall I go and make you a cup of hot chocolate, Sir?”

“No, Arthur. I’m fine. You go on back to bed. Sorry I disturbed your sleep.”

“No problem, Sir. Goodnight to you both.”

Felix nodded, Marinette murmured a soft goodnight, and then they were alone once more.

“What happened tonight, Marinette?” Felix asked worriedly. “What got you so upset?”

She sighed and leaned back against the wall behind her. “Adrien called because he was worried about me. He asked some strange questions. I guess it’s left me feeling uneasy.”

He leaned back against the massive, carved teak headboard and propped his knee up so he could hold the phone steady against it. “What kind of questions? Were… they… about us?”

She shook her head, then brushed the loose strands that hung around her face behind her ears.

“No. He was asking about some designs I had done a while back. Since he is a model and Mr Agreste knew we were friends, Adrien had offered to show some of them to his father.”

“Wait a minute. When was this?”

She tapped her chin. “About a year  before I came to London, I guess. It was long before the breakup.”

The fact that she no longer stammered through his cousin’s name or the mention of the incident that had broken her felt like a victory to Felix. Was it too much to hope he had borne some small part in her recovery? Oh, he hoped so.

“What did Adrien ask you, Marinette?” He tried to keep his voice soft and low, but he could feel the tension in his throat and knew she could hear it.

“He wanted to know if I remembered them or ever did anything with them. He knows I keep my finished designs in a scrapbook to keep them safe and intact. He wanted to know if I still had them.”

“Why?” Felix asked, scratching his head. “What about a year-old design could have set him off? Or caused him to call you up and ruin your evening?”

“I’ll admit it was extremely awkward, but–” She stopped, mid-sentence, staring at him as if he had grown another head! Then her face turned a deep scarlet and her bottom lip was being worried between her teeth again.

“What is it, little fool,” he asked, concerned. “Why do you look so-“

“Y-y-you… sh-sh-sh-shirtl-less!” she said, managing to both squeak and stammer at the same time.

He should have found it adorable if her words hadn’t made him twitch and jerk the sheet up to his neck. Felix felt so hot about the ears that he wouldn’t have been surprised if they were actually burning!

“Sorry! Sorry! You called… I just… sorry!” The words got all scrambled on the way out of his mouth. Maybe his tongue was burning too.

“N-no!” she gasped, keeping her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “It’s n-not your f-fault. I called at a bad time and–”

“No! I’m always happy to see you, Marinette! I miss you and wish you were here with me!” Oh, horse feathers! How could he reassure her when he was just as much of a mess as she was?

Felix glanced down at the screen, taking in her deep blush, the biting of her lip, and the slight vibrations of the phone.

“She isn’t upset,”

he thought as the light dawned.

“She’s trying not to see me! It’s me making her nervous. Me without a shirt!”

The thought tickled his fancy to no end and he could feel the smirk rising at the corners of his mouth.

Moving slowly, so slowly he hopefully wouldn’t alert her to what he’d planned to do, he lowered a corner of the sheet. Just a touch, a trifle really - just enough to expose the top of his rather nice-looking pectoral muscle that was sure to have her gorgeous blush rising to apoplectic levels.

“So,” he purred, mentally patting himself on the back for sounding so seductive, “you didn’t expect to see me shirtless?”

“N-no! I th-thought you always slept in that pajama set you wore the night you lost your b-b-bunny slipper.”

A little lowering of the sheet here, a little sneak peek there… Felix was feeling less exposed and more like he was parading his peacock feathers on display. “Oh? You’ve seen me shirtless before, right? At Anmer Hall, in the pool?” Felix waggled his brows. “I recall no loss of composure then.”

“That was because I was still upset at you,” she moaned, covering her crimson cheeks while still looking at him. “Upset and worried.”

If he was reminding her about a time she was upset, this would turn out in a way he didn’t like. He had to do something drastic.

Making sure her eyes were fixed on him, Felix flung the sheet down, revealing himself down to the navel. “My hand slipped,” he explained without a hint of remorse, favoring her with a naughty grin. “Oops!”

With a nervous squeak, Marinette’s phone went flying only to land face down on something dark pink. There was a gasp and a frantic rustle of fabric, then Felix heard muffled screams - squeals? - in the background.

Feeling inordinately pleased with himself, Felix couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I don’t know what she’s so twitchy about?”

he thought.

“Half the women in Europe are willing to pay top dollar for what I am giving her for free. Besides, it could be worse.”

And his grin spread so wide it hurt.

“I could be naked.”

He waited patiently for the squealing to stop before speaking once more.

“Are you okay, Marinette?”

The screen lit up again as she picked it up. Her face had passed beyond rose red and had entered a state nearing violet. She was pinching the bridge of her nose and gave a long-suffering sigh.  When she did speak, her voice was tired.

“I have said it before and I will say it again: You are going to be the death of me, Felix.”

A pang of guilt struck him, leading him to realize exactly how inappropriate his actions had been. Seeing it through her eyes – the woman who had asked for time to heal from her broken heart, time to adjust to the thought of dating him and all the insanity that would entail – this was just like the pranks he had pulled on her in the past. He was being too forward, too presumptuous. He was nothing but an overeager, egotistical exhibitionist. He was just a silly boy trying to catch the eye of his crush.

Marinette had been right to call him so.

He sighed as well. He wanted her to take him seriously - to trust him to stand by her side and support her in life - and here he was teasing her when she was trying to confide in him.

Laying down in the bed, Felix pulled both the sheet and the coverlet up to his chin. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I was just teasing. I guess I still need to work on my timing,” he said dolefully. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I won’t let it happen again. Can… you forgive me?”

She cast a tentative glance at the screen and visibly relaxed, even enough to give him a nervous smile.

“Of course, I forgive you.” She looked like she had more to say, but she bit her lip, refusing to let the words out.

“So,” Felix said after a pregnant pause, “What was it about these year-old designs that got Adrien so worried he had to call you?”

“That’s the problem,” she replied. “He didn’t say. He just asked me if I still had them.”

“Was there something special or unique about the designs?”

Marinette moved her free hand in a seesaw motion. “Sort of. There were three of them – all very different styles - -but they each had a distinguishing feature.”

“What would that be?”

“It's a little hard to explain. Do you remember several years ago one of the women’s Olympic swim teams had a bit of a scandal when their white lycra swimsuits became transparent when they got wet?”

Felix frowned. “I remember hearing something about it. But what does this have to do with your designs?”

“Well, I did some experimenting and found that by using only a single layer of ultra-fine lycra I could create an iridescent rainbow effect in a layered outfit. I found that it also worked with dark gray lycra as well. The three designs used this technique and included my notes on the layering required.”

He blinked in surprise. “Do you mean… you created a color change fabric?”

She shook her head. “No. It may sound and look like it from the outside, but it really is all in the layering. If done in large enough panels, it can, theoretically, even look like it is moving on its own.”

“That…” Felix swallowed hard, marveling at his amazing little fool. “That sounds almost magical, Marinette!”

Her shoulders started creeping up to her ears. “Thanks,” she breathed before continuing. “The problem is I don’t have those designs. I mean, I still have my rough notes on how to achieve the effect, but not the finished designs themselves.”

“And you checked your scrapbooks?”

“Yeah. I have the other designs I was working on around that time, but those three are missing. That leaves me with only two possibilities: either I lost them somehow or…”

“Or Gabriel still has them,” Felix growled.

“Felix, please,” she pleaded. “Please don’t be mad at Adrien. From the way he talked, it sounded like he was very worried about something. I don’t think he would knowingly try to hurt me or my future. Honest.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Uncle Gabriel, though,”

he thought angrily, unpleasant possibilities bubbling to the surface.

“Especially not if the outcome is as amazing as she describes.”

“Felix?”

“I don’t think you need to be worried about this too much tonight, little fool,” he said, dialing back his anger and a protectiveness that still surprised him with its intensity. “You probably know more about Adrien than I do. He has always been impulsive. He might have jumped to a weird conclusion and fell down a rabbit hole.”

“Yeah, you could be right. But he was working himself up and that worried me. You know Adrien likes things to go smoothly - no fights or confrontations. He is likely to wind himself up so tight he has panic attacks!”

“Hmmmm.”

Felix had always thought that the peace-making knack of Adrien’s had evolved from dealing with one parent that constantly criticized and the other who constantly spoiled. However, due to his own recent mental health issues, he now guessed that his cousin’s problems went far deeper than that.

Gabriel could be exceptionally charming when he wanted to be – Aunt Emelie, too, for that matter – but when the charming masks dropped…

From what his mother had told him, the de Vanilys did not approve of Gabriel marrying Aunt Emilie. They had even gone so far as to forbid the match, fearing Gabriel was a bad influence, but Emelie had been headstrong and the two had eloped. The sisters hadn’t seen each other for ten years until Felix’s father thought it would be a good thing for the cousins to spend the summers together.

Felix vaguely remembered a family get-together of sorts, where his mother and his aunt had argued over… oh, something or other, and Gabriel had sided with his wife.  The masks had dropped that day and it had led to a storm of toxicity the likes of which young Felix had never seen – which was saying something considering his extended royal family wasn’t populated with saints themselves.
 
Young Adrien, who had been at the center of the argument, had fled from the room crying, his hands over his ears to block out the yelling. Felix remembered the tortured look on his cousin’s face and the bitter rage that filled his aunt’s.

“Look what you’ve gone and done! You’ve upset him! It will be hours before he calms down again!”

Felix shook his head at the memory. How could he have forgotten? No wonder Adrien didn’t like confrontations. Against Gabriel and his mother, the poor boy would have found them painful and useless.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You’re right, little fool. How about this? You go get some rest and I will call Adrien to make sure he is alright. You can leave it to me. You have enough on your plate at present.”
 
She scoffed. “And you don’t, Mr Jetsetter?”

He shrugged against the pillows and gave her a lopsided grin. “Kind of comes with the blue blood. You know, good looks…” He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned when she giggled. “... miles of meaningless accolades, and enough stress to drown the Spanish Armada. Oh, and the occasional stalker. Can’t forget about that little gem, can we?”

He was trying to sound sarcastic, but all he seemed to manage was tired.

Marinette frowned and her eyes looked worried once more. “I know, but I never want to add to your burden, Felix.”

“No, no! You don’t, Marinette! Having you in my life, no matter how, is helping me to get better in so many ways. You don’t add to my stress, little fool. You lighten it just by being yourself.”

“Just be nice when you talk to Adrien, okay?” she asked softly. “And, please, take good care of yourself. You’re important to me too.”

“I promise,” he said, giving her a genuine smile.  She really could make the world better one person at a time. He was so lucky to have her in his life. “Sleep well, Marinette.”

“You too.”

“Goodnight.”

He waited a few minutes, letting the peace and happiness that her presence radiated soak into his body and soul before he looked up Adrien’s contact info.

“Hey, Fe, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until Christmas,” Adrien said when the video call connected. It looked like his phone was propped against something and Adrien was digging through a large banker’s box.

“Yeah, well, this is kind of urgent,” Felix grumbled.

His cousin stopped digging and looked up at him, eyes wide. “Urgent? What could be so urgent that you would break your routine and–”  He stopped, swallowing hard. “Marinette. Is… she okay?”

“She’s fine, no thanks to you. Why did you call her tonight?” Felix demanded, struggling to quell the anger swelling in him like a rising tide. “You and I both know she asked you for space – time to get over the way you treated her. Calling her up at random is not giving her either, Adrien.”

Adrien sighed, blowing his bangs around in a mournful sort of way. Taking a second look, Felix realized his cousin was not looking good. Hair limp, dark circles under his eyes, his mouth curved down in a sorrow Felix hadn’t seen on his face since Aunt Emelie had died.

“What’s going on, Ri?” he asked softly, using the childhood nickname he hadn’t used with Adrien in over a decade. “You look awful.”

“I lost the love of my life, Felix, through nothing but my own self-centeredness and stupidity! Of course, I look awful.” 
 
His words weren’t hysterical; they weren’t even emotional. It was just a flat statement of pure fact and it made guilt bubble inside Felix’s chest.

“But why did you call her tonight?”

“Is that why you called?” he asked, dully. “I didn’t know you were so close to your

servants

that you let them call you whenever they needed a listening ear.”

“Stop being sarcastic,” Felix snapped, irritated. “It doesn’t suit you. What is this about her missing designs?”

Adrien groaned, rubbing his face with his large hands.

“I don’t know, Felix. That’s the problem! You know I still model for Father, right?”

“Who could miss it?” Felix grumbled.

Both cousins rolled their eyes.

“I know. It’s ridiculous, but it keeps him happy. It’s just–”

“If you were more concerned about Marinette than keeping your father happy, then she would be there instead of London,” Felix commented nastily.

“She’d still be blissfully happy with you… and barely know I exist except as a figure on the news.”

Just the thought made him feel ill.

“Do you want to hear about the designs or not?” Adrien snapped back, causing Felix to realize his cousin and friend was close to the breaking point. He needed to back down.

“Sorry, Ri. I didn’t mean to get your dander up. Marinette is special to me, that’s all. I don’t want to see her get hurt like that again.”

“Neither do I! That’s why this worries me so much!” Adrien sighed and ran distracted hands through his hair. “Marinette has always had trouble believing in herself, her talent, I would even say her genius, when it comes to creativity. Everything she makes is of the highest quality and she pours so much love into her work that you can feel it when you hold something she has made. As much as I love my father, everything he designs is cold, sterile, and … loveless, you know.”

Felix nodded. Having seen his uncle’s designs his whole life and the love Marinette poured into everything, he couldn’t have agreed more.

“Well, about a year and a half ago, she came up with something new. Something amazing, Felix. Something that will take the fashion world by storm!”

“The moving, iridescent layering effect,” he said, nodding for Adrien to continue.

“Yes. Precisely! She called it ‘living fabric’ and designed a jacket, a sundress, and a wedding gown. Some of the best work I have ever seen! She used to show me her designs when…”

“When you were still together,” Felix interjected, hoping to prod them past that particular painful subject.

“Yeah. I was impressed and offered to show them to Father. She was so happy!” He blushed. “She kissed me.”

Felix swallowed the growl that started deep in his throat, but not quick enough for his cousin not to notice. He was staring at him with a quizzical look.

“Skip to the important part,” Felix snapped. “What happened to her designs?”

“That’s just the thing. I don’t know! I called her tonight to ask her if she still had them. She doesn’t. I’ve been going through my Marinette box just in case they ended up in there, but I can’t find them either.”

“So, what’s the big deal, Adrien?” Felix demanded. “Quit beating around the bush and answer the question!”

“Father’s winter line has two items similar to her designs,” Adrien blurted out, glaring at Felix through his phone screen. “That’s the big deal. That is why I am so worried about this – about her! The fashion world is extremely cutthroat! If one of Father’s competitors finds out where he got these designs from…”

“Think, Adrien! If your father is producing items based on her designs and Marinette doesn’t know about it, what does that mean?”

“I… I didn’t want to consider that option,” Adrien replied guiltily. “Not after everything I…

we

put her through.”

“You and I both know it is the most likely answer.”

“I know.” Adrien’s visage slumped in his desk chair, swinging it back and forth idly, his face miserable. “What should I do, Felix?”

Felix groaned, rubbing his forehead to ward off another headache.

“First of all, Adrien, how can you possibly remember design sketches from over a year ago? I can barely remember the paperwork from yesterday!”

“I was planning on marrying her, Fe. I remember everything about her.”

That easy confession, the simple matter-of-fact tone made his heart and stomach clench. Felix gritted his teeth.

“Saying what he feels may be easy for him, but he still hurt Marinette. My little fool deserves better.”

“Sure,” he scoffed, “like how to listen to her?

“That’s not fair and you know it, Fe!”

“Adrien, from where I’m sitting, you broke her heart because you chose your father over her and now you say you think he stole her designs? Make up your mind like a man! Who is more important to you? Your father or Marinette?

Adrien’s mouth, which had been falling open during Felix’s little tirade, snapped shut with an audible click. Then his green eyes narrowed in a look that, on anyone else’s face, Felix would have called ‘suspicious.’

“Felix,” Adrien offered as tentatively as if he was prodding the ground in front of his words for hidden explosives. “Do you… have feelings for Marinette?”

Felix felt his throat close around another growl, leaving him only able to grunt as an answer.

“Felix?”

“So what if I do? It’s no concern of yours!”

“Felix! You’re my cousin and she is my girl– ex-girlfriend! Of course, this concerns me!”

“Then you should have thought of that before you treated her the way you did!” Felix shouted, his heart pumping fire through his blood. “You broke her, Adrien! She spent months putting up such a strong front that I didn’t even know who she really was! She was tough and determined and gave me no quarter. She forced me to face her like an equal and when I finally did, when she finally started letting her guard down a little, how could I help but develop feelings for her?”

They both stared at each other in a charged silence only broken by Felix’s sharp, angry panting.

Finally, Adrien murmured, “Are you… in love with her?”

“Irrevocably, but I have learned to ask what she needs,” he said through gritted teeth. “She said she needed time and I have been doing my best to give it to her. I am a selfish, miserable excuse for a human being, Adrien, but I would give anything to make her happy. And I will fight for her, even against Mother or Uncle Gabriel or you. She deserves nothing less!”

Adrien gasped and his eyes were suddenly so wide, Felix flinched at their protrusion.

“It’s you, then,” he whispered, swallowing repeatedly as if the words he had just spoken were bitter.

"What's me?" Felix growled. With his hackles raised, he noticed his bare shoulders inching up around his ears. "You're not making any sense,

cousin

."
 
"Wait a minute!" Adrien's face zoomed in on the camera as he brought it close to his face. "You talked to Marinette right before you called me?"
 
Felix ran a hand through his hair, vaguely aware of the ungelled strands sticking up. "Uh, yes? She called me, worried about you being worried."
 
Adrien gave an unnecessarily dramatic groan and covered his face. "And you weren't wearing a shirt?"
 
Felix rolled his eyes.
 
"I'm in Hong Kong and it is currently two a.m. local time," he growled. "What am I supposed to wear? A three-piece suit?!"
 
"Haven't you figured out how skittish she can be?" Adrien demanded. "Just... put a shirt on next time, you animal!"
 
"I..." Felix was taken aback, floundering for words, a stark contrast to the growly, confident,

angry

person he'd been before Adrien had called him out. He wasn't about to admit that he'd teased Marinette -- and had been called out for that too. "Uh. You are right of course. Quite right. But this is a distraction from the matter at hand. You said, 'It's you.' What's me?"
 
Adrien blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, clear signs of diversionary tactics. "Just something she said when I was there last time. I... think it's best if you ask her about it though. If she can tell you what she needs and you ask, then she will let you know. Marinette is very open like that."
 
Felix squinted at Adrien. He was right, of course -- if Felix asked Marinette, she'd undoubtedly tell him. But the fact that Adrien himself

didn't

want to tell Felix was irritating at best, and no amount of badgering would get the kid to open up. 
 
"Fine. Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Adrien." Sighing, Felix cradled his forehead in his hand for a moment. He was starting to develop a headache from this. Glancing up revealed his cousin was still antsy, and Felix hadn't done much to put him at ease, something Felix kicked himself for. "I'm sorry, Adrien." 
 
The apology stung. Felix wanted to do nothing less. But it was deserved and he knew it. 
 
"Thank you for calling Marinette." Felix could say that at least. "I appreciate that you reached out to her when something was wrong rather than bottling it."

Felix realized he really hated that wide-eyed look on his cousin.
 
“Who are you and what have you done with Felix?" Adrien asked, a tiny smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth. "The

real

Felix never apologizes."
 
Blustering, Felix hung up.
 
He had more important things to do than to be insulted by his cousin!
 
Like calling his mother and letting her know about a certain snake in the grass.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was the middle of the night and Felix couldn’t sleep. 
 
Arthur and his security team had long gone to bed, but the solitude Felix used to crave was suffocating him. He sat at the desk in the hotel suite, twiddling his fountain pen between his fingers and allowing the stillness of the night to lower his defenses.
 
He had taken to writing letters to Marinette in the evenings, the only time he knew he was unlikely to be interrupted, and he appreciated the activity as a way to pour out his heart to the woman he loved without threatening his resolve to give her the time she required. 
 
After all, he wasn’t mailing them to her. When he finished a letter, he sealed it in an envelope and tucked it into his suitcase. Maybe, someday, she would read them and know how much he loved her even now, but until then…

‘My Dearest Marinette,

‘It has passed midnight and I can’t sleep for thinking of you.

‘You, my love, are half a world away and every day without you is a burden to my aching heart. Everything I see reminds me of you. Tonight, the night sky brings to mind your raven hair. Funny. It just occurred to me that I’ve never seen it down. But I would love to have you release it from its ties and pins to let me play with it, to run my fingers through its strands as I lean in to kiss you.

‘But that is a far-off dream. I have resolved to let time heal the wounds of your heart before trying to woo you for myself. I am not a patient man, as my little fool knows all too well, but for you, I would endure anything - even the joyful pain of being your friend while my heart longs for more. How I long for you, Marinette!

‘Thus I am reduced to pouring out my heart on heartless paper instead of into your ear - sealing it with wax instead of with a kiss. I am ashamed to say it is easier than trying to find the words that become so easily lost in your presence. There have been so many things I have wanted to say to you before, but the habits of a lifetime too often get in the way of saying what I truly think and feel. You have helped me feel life and joy again, my sweet little fool! I had become dead and cold inside, but you forced spring back into my mind and heart. If not for you, I would be a very different man and a far worse King.’

Felix paused for a moment and took a shuddering breath. His heart was too full. He ached for Marinette, ached to take her in his arms, to taste her lips, to breathe her in, and never let her go. His eyes were dry with weariness and he wanted nothing more than for her to be with him, for him to lay his head in her lap and for her to rub his temples, pet his hair, or just curl up beside him on the sofa and fall asleep with her head on his shoulder.
 
His longing had conjured her so thoroughly that a tear fell, splashing onto the hand that held his pen and rolling onto his letter.
 
Hurriedly, he leaned back and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. He watched as the moisture blurred some of the letters. It was too late to start over, but if he did not address the obvious tear mark then she would worry when she read it… whenever that would be.

‘Silly, isn’t it, to think of the Ice Prince crying over writing a letter? But here you have proof of it, Marinette. Proof of my change, proof of your power and influence over me, proof of my love. As much as I may want you to be mine forever, I am willing to wait until the day you are ready for such a declaration.

‘Until then, little fool, I am irrevocably

‘Yours,

‘Felix’

***
 
The Hong Kong governors were certainly spirited, Felix had to give them that. 
 
They were passionate about their country, which was only matched by his renewed passion for his. 
 
As the debate surged on England’s sanctions on China’s trade partners, Felix found his mind fixating on two things.
 
First, he had very little power here. His attendance was mostly ceremonial, and he would pass the information he’d gleaned – more like the presentations and classified documents he’d been given – onto the members of Parliament back home. The people who made the

real

decisions about how to govern the United Kingdom, not just a figurehead like him.
 
Secondly, even though he logically knew he couldn’t have taken her there, his little fool would have been a welcomed presence. To him, at least. He missed seeing her in the corner of his eye at meetings, standing at service; he missed the way she’d tidy up around him; he missed running back to his rooms to be given afternoon tea by her.
 
Most importantly, though, he just missed

her.

Felix missed Marinette’s laugh. He missed the way her tongue would poke out the corner of her mouth when she concentrated on something like embroidery. He missed her steadying, warm presence and her ability to calm him no matter his state.
 
As he fielded questions from the governor with the lines he’d been fed – as well as some improvisation of his own that would no doubt be frowned upon – Felix wondered if she would be proud of him for engaging in the meeting to the best of his ability.
 
He was doing this… for her.
 
“And that’s why I think,” the interpreter translated from one of the governors, “that England should–”
 
Felix’s phone rang, startling everyone and thoroughly embarrassing him. 
 
But he knew that ringtone. Realizing who had called him, Felix hastily ducked out of his meeting and picked up on the third ring.
 
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he whispered, noting her pinched face and downturned lips.
 
Felix knew that look. He was in trouble – he’d done something awful or had failed to do something good – and Amelie had called his personal phone with her own personal phone in the early hours of the morning to inform him herself.
 
She was dwarfed by her massive desk, seated in her office with all the neat hidden compartments that desk boasted. The light from his phone was the only illumination in the room, casting dramatic shadows on her face and lighting her hair in a spectral way.
 
With her pale face and drawn shadowed features, Amelie looked very much like a ghost, one that reminded him too much of his father.
 
“What?” he said, his voice cracking an octave higher when Amelie still didn’t speak. “What’s wrong?”
 
“It’s your ‘little fool.’”
 
Felix’s heart dropped to his feet. He clutched the phone desperately in both hands, horrible scenarios running through his mind. She could be hurt. She could be dying. He never should have gone on this tour! Maybe he could have helped her, saved her somehow –
 
Echoes of his predawn call with Adrien ran through his mind.

“That is why I am so worried about this – about her! The fashion world is extremely cutthroat! If one of Father’s competitors finds out where he got these designs from…”

Felix let loose a strangled sob and bit his knuckles, speaking around the mouthful of flesh. “W-What happened?”
 
Amelie seemed to realize that she’d freaked him out, so she pinched the bridge of her nose. “She’s fine, Felix.” 
 Her recognition that he needed to know more than anything that his little fool was safe loosened his chest enough for him to breathe again.  
Until Amelie spoke again.
 
“But she’s being hounded by the press.” With a baleful stare, Amelie pinned him like a bug in a collection. “What were you

thinking

, taking her to lunch at The Dorchester?”
 
All Felix could think about when hearing ‘The Dorchester’ was his almost-kiss with Marinette. How she had tilted her head toward him, presenting her lips as an offering.
 
Then his brain caught up with his ears. 
 
"

What?

" Felix snapped, his hackles raising. "How dare they hound her? What's going on? What have they done to her?"
 
"She's smart." Amelie's praise was entirely unexpected for both of them; the way she said it was grudging but tinged with admiration. Felix's heart swelled with pride on behalf of his little fool. "She's been wearing a wig and taking a different route to the Palace each day. But someone ratted her out and the paparazzi have been baying for her blood."
 
The animalistic snarl that erupted from his lips surprised even him. "I trust whoever it was has been summarily sacked?"
 
Amelie waved a hand. "It was someone outside the palace. I bet it was that roommate of hers. Did you know she works for the

Guardian

?"
 Felix dismissed the idea out of hand. "Alya wouldn't betray her like that. She’s too protective of Marinette." 
"You know about her roommate and that rat, Gabriel, stealing her designs, but not what's been going on?" The Queen Regent fixed him with the look, but Felix was immune. He was too riled up about Marinette. "How can you not have known?"
 
"I haven't been keeping up with the news back home." Heat suffused his cheeks at the admission, but his next words stung more. “And she hasn’t told me, Mum.”
 
Amelie’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second before sharpening again. Felix would have missed the look of sympathy had he not been looking for it.
 
“

Fix that

, Felix,” the Queen Regent snapped. “If you’re even

remotely

entertaining the idea of a relationship with her, there can be no secrets on her part.”
 
Felix noted with a grim smile that Her Majesty hadn’t said there couldn’t be any secrets between him and Marinette, just that she couldn’t have any of her own. He recognized the unfairness of that immediately but knew better than to argue with the Queen Regent when she was on a tear.
 
“Yes, Mum.”
 
“Also, I’ve been having the MI6 look into proof for your accusations against Gabriel.”
 
Now Felix’s attention was laser-focused on every word pouring from Amelie’s mouth. “Have they found anything?”
 
“Not yet. If this is true, Felix, Marinette’s certainly won’t be the first designs he’s pilfered, and if

that

is true, we can destroy him. The press will eat him alive.”
 
Felix sat back with satisfaction, knowing that his mother would take care of everything, and not just for his sake, but for the opportunity to utterly wreck Gabriel Agreste.
 
A noble cause to be sure.
 
Still, Felix’s curiosity was piqued. “I heard she’s been… attending you lately.”
 
Amelie would never do anything as uncouth as snorting, but the raised brow she gave him stripped him bare. “You ‘heard’ that, did you? Don’t pretend like you didn’t sic her on me when I was weak and defenseless.”
 
Felix did snort when Amelie wouldn’t, earning another severe look. “Even at your worst, you’re hardly defenseless, Mum.”
 
“While I appreciate your high opinion,” Amelie said dryly from his phone’s screen, “why bring that up?”
 
Felix hesitated. Normally he wouldn’t worry about being honest, but this was his mother, Her Majesty, the Queen Regent of Great Britain. She was the one who taught him how to perform for the press like a trained monkey – a courtesy, he noted, that she wasn’t extending to Marinette.
 
Honesty wasn’t always the best policy with Amelie. But she wouldn’t tell Felix what he wanted to know unless he asked.
 
So he bit the bullet, swallowed his pride, and opened his mouth.
 
“What do you think of her?”
 
Amelie blinked twice. It was a disconcerting look for her; the Queen was so rarely surprised. But then she offered him a slow smile. 
 
“I can see why you like her.”
 
Warmth swelled in Felix’s breast. That was high praise from his mother, and if she saw why he liked her… it may as well have been a ringing endorsement of their relationship.
 
But he was hungry for more of her good opinion about his sweet little fool. "And?"
 
"I do not disapprove."
 
"Seriously, Mum?"
 
She smirked at him and he was suddenly aware of the dark shadows under her eyes and the weariness in her expression. "Don't push me, Fe."
 
Amelie hung up abruptly, which Felix wasn’t surprised about. He smiled down at his phone, overjoyed by the fact that his mother liked Marinette in her own, Amelie-esque way. 
 
Everyone liked Marinette, except possibly Gabriel. 
 
And naturally, Felix liked her too.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette hated her black outfit.  At first, she didn’t mind wearing it. The black leggings and black T-shirt with the black, black jacket slimmed her down – not that she needed it – and made her blend in. That was the point. Pulling on her black leggings, Marinette sighed, knowing that dressing in the same outfit day after day was a necessary evil.  The bus and underground were no longer safe for her. She'd been taking a cab lately, bemoaning the cost, because the paparazzi had swarmed around her like so many angry bees, snapping pictures of her from any angle they could… including an attempt to look under her skirt. Based on Alya's suggestion, Marinette had begun wearing the same boring black outfit everywhere and changing into her frilly maid's uniform in the bathroom at work. The idea was to not give the paparazzi the ability to take pictures that differed from day to day. Without something new that showed the passage of time around Marinette, the photos would be useless to them as they could have been taken at any time. So as Marinette stepped into her tennis shoes, she dreaded going outside. She knew the reporters were still camped outside her apartment, desperate for her to give them something to make their all-night vigils worthwhile.  The press had had a field day when they found out that she was a chambermaid. Thankfully, they hadn't cottoned on to whose personal maid she was, though it was only a matter of time. Marinette was determined not to give them any cause to embarrass Felix. Marinette hesitated before turning the door handle out of her bedroom. She’d had to invest in blackout curtains because the paparazzi would try peeking into her bedroom while she was asleep, which made the room unbearably dark. The artificial light was terrible for sewing, but given that the sunlight had started to weaken due to the seasonal change to winter, she was required to adjust to that too.  She sighed and braced herself for the day. She moved to the bathroom and started the laborious process of putting on her wig. She had to wear a stocking cap to hold her abundant hair still under the wig and viciously pin the brown hair in place. She hated the wig almost as much as she hated the black outfit. The brown just barely worked with her skin tone, but it made her look sallow and sick - or was that just the whole situation? She slipped her tote bag over her shoulder, pulled the hat low over her eyes, and slipped her sunglasses on. Heading into the living room, Marinette spotted Alya hastily applying lipstick in the mirror hung on their front door. “Hey, M!” Alya called in the middle of her stroke, leaving her bottom lip half-colored. “Out to face the hoard?” “Yeah.” Marinette adjusted her bag that held her frilly uniform. The paparazzi hadn’t touched her physically yet, but she wouldn’t be surprised if one of them tried to unzip her bag to get a peek inside. “What’s your scoop today, Alya?” “Paparazzi car chase of one of the Royal Family that ended in several near-collisions.” Marinette’s heart shot to her throat. “Which royal?” “Not Felix, girl, don’t worry.” Alya finished artfully painting her lips with the ‘killer’ shade of reddish-brown she liked. “Just one of his distant cousins.”  Alya capped her lipstick and turned to her with a wink. “He’d let you know if he was back in town, right?” Marinette found swallowing incredibly difficult; if the paparazzi were bold enough to chase one of the Royal’s cars around, then she, too, could be put at risk, even taking a cab. “I’m sure he would.” Alya clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll be alright, Marinette. Your lover boy will come back and fix this mess.” Closing her eyes, Marinette nodded. When she opened them again, Alya was giving her a sympathetic, almost pitying look. Marinette hated it.  Marinette noticed her shoulders sagging but then forced them straight. She was a Dupain-Cheng, and she would make her family proud. She would make Felix proud. “Yeah. I’ll be fine, with or without him.” “That’s my girl!” Alya cheered, slipping her lipstick into her purse. She placed her hand on the front door’s handle but paused to glance over her shoulder at Marinette first. “Are you ready?” Marinette fixed the door with a steely look. She was a Dupain-Cheng, and she would exit this apartment with poise and face the flashing cameras that threatened to wither her away. “Yes. I’m ready.” Preparing herself to face the cameras was one thing. Facing them was entirely another. Alya opened the door, and immediately they were bombarded with reporters thrusting mics in their faces.  “Marinette! Marinette! Please, a comment for the Times !” “Marinette! What do you think of the Prince’s discussions about homeschooling in Australia? Will you homeschool your children?” “Alya! Alya! Have you given any thought to–”  “No comment!” Alya shouted, sheltering Marinette with her arm as dozens of flashbulbs went off at once. The two women pushed their way through the crowd to the waiting cab that Marinette had called for before getting dressed – adding to her bill but another necessary evil. Marinette’s heart thump-thump-thump-thump-thumped in her chest like a jackrabbit’s. She tried to give the reporters a frosty, disdainful look, but she was near-blinded by the lights of what felt like a hundred cameras going off at once. Between the retina-searing flashes, Marinette caught an expression of sneering anger amidst the crowd of faces. She saw teased red hair and ruby red lips framed by a leopard print coat for just a moment. A ball of ice fell into her stomach, chilling her to her marrow. Was that… the Connor woman? The one who had been all over Felix at the reception? Alya slipped Marinette into the cab and entered on the other side, huffing as she fastened her seatbelt. Dropped back into the present situation, Marinette fastened her own with shaky hands, clutching her tote bag in her lap. “Marinette! Marinette!” “Go!” Alya slapped the cab’s clear divider, though the driver didn’t need to be told twice. He shot off like a rocket, peeling into the road at breakneck speed, leaving the members of the press behind – save Alya. Breathing was too hard. Marinette found her chest encased by an iron band, steadily squeezing her ribs inward with more and more pressure. She panted, digging her fingers into the canvas fabric of her bag to help her keep her grip on reality. “ This is just my life now,” she realized as Alya patted her shoulder. “Ducking the press. And… I can’t tell Felix. If I’m this stressed by this, how much of a burden will that add to his plate?”  Alya ran her hands through her hair with another agitated huff, scooping up the thick, curly stands and securing them in a hair tie she’d grabbed off her wrist. “Bloodsucking monsters.” Marinette cracked an uneasy smile. “Aren’t you a member of the press, Alya?” “Girl!” Alya placed a hand over her heart, shooting Marinette a mock-irritated look. “You wound me! My bloodsucking is at least classy!” Laughing was supposed to feel like freedom but the uncomfortable, hysterical titter that escaped Marinette’s lips was anything but free. Alya’s words of ‘wounds’ reminded her far too much of Felix for her comfort, and Marinette didn’t want to think of Felix at just that moment when she was continuing to keep her problems with the press secret from him. Alya gave her a sideways hug. “Are you going to be okay, M?” Marinette smiled half-heartedly and shrugged. “I don’t have much choice, do I?” “There is always a choice,” Alya said, nudging her shoulder. “You could have gone back to France with Adrien. You still could for that matter.” Blinking away tears, Marinette hated that the proposition was so tempting. She didn’t want to leave London and leave Felix behind, and she definitely didn’t want to go crawling back to Adrien, especially after she’d already set her cap towards another green-eyed blond. His cousin, no less! Marinette buried her face in her hands. “This is a mess, Alya!” “Yeah.” Giving her a reassuring squeeze, Alya kissed her temple. “But is he worth it?” “Absolutely,” Marinette shot back immediately, knowing that if she had to face the cameras every day for the rest of her life, a relationship with Felix would be worth it. She just wished she didn’t have to do so alone. *** Attending the Queen Regent was no joke. After her cab ride with Alya – who thankfully split the bills with her – Marinette had arrived at work early that morning. She’d stood in the corner during the Queen's various meetings, her ear half-cocked towards potential orders.  Her mind had begun wandering hours ago, and the center of its meandering journey was what Felix was up to. He couldn't call her the night before because he was en route to the U.S.A., and she'd missed his talking to her until she fell asleep. His voice was a soothing cadence; his concern was a balm to her lonely heart.  But despite his obvious care for her, Marinette couldn’t tell him anything. Managing his stress levels was paramount; he didn’t have cancer, thank goodness, but he’d lost so much weight and had frequent headaches because of stress. He was even clinically diagnosed with depression and anxiety! The meds appeared to be working, as he was engaged in life again, and Marinette was thankful for that.  But he never should have had to deal with a soul-crushing depressive episode in the first place. Shrouded in the corner by shadows, Marinette fiddled with the hem of her frilly skirt. She had yet to dust Felix’s rooms, a task that she’d taken on daily and had refused to allow anyone else to do. His rooms were her domain; her work, a safe place. By the time the Queen would release Marinette from attending her, it would be late into the night. Marinette never minded.  The lack of hustle and bustle about the palace as she tidied Felix's room was calming, even meditative.  True, she wasn't getting much sleep, and she took Felix's calls at work in her frilly uniform, but putting off facing the masses of cameras was always a good idea. Marinette had to admit she'd been jumpier lately, and only knowing that Felix was safe and happy calmed her.  "Felix… " Oh, how she missed him! She did her best to preserve his rooms exactly as he liked them and to his high standards.  Meeting those standards used to grate on her, but now… Now it was her pleasure to ensure he was comfortable and at peace as much as she could make him so. She missed his playful smile. She missed his cheeky claims that she had wounded him with her words. She missed the way his eyes would light up when she entered the room as if she were the only thing in the world worth looking at. And she even missed his pranks. 
Brring!
 While she was deep in the throes of missing Felix, her phone chimed with a special notification: a text from him! And now she had a dilemma. She could stay engaged at her job, listening for Queen Amelie's orders and faithfully attending to her. Or Marinette could check her phone. According to regulations, she shouldn't even have her phone on her. She was supposed to stow it in her locker. But she wasn't about to miss a call from Felix; he called at odd times because her evening was usually the crack of dawn his time. And unlike her, he needed his sleep. Caving to temptation, Marinette slipped her hand into the hidden pocket she'd sewn into her skirt – also against regulations, probably – and leaned the phone screen out just enough for her to tap the code to open it. She'd turned the brightness all the way down, but as she was in a dark corner, the wakened screen cast an ethereal glow on the side of her skirt. There, in her texts, was a single picture. Felix stared up at her under a ridiculously huge cowboy hat, his dour expression the most serious she'd ever seen him wear.

Marinette found the juxtaposition of his comically large hat and his sour face so hilarious, she had to bury her face in her apron to muffle her giggles. Before long, she found herself wheezing in an effort not to burst out laughing, which indeed felt like freedom. "Dupain-Cheng!" Amelie snapped, making her quite literally jump out of her reverie. "Attend me." Hastily slipping her phone back into her secret pocket, Marinette scurried over to the Queen Regent, her cheeks aflame. As she approached the Queen, Marinette dipped into a low curtsy. "Yes, Your Majesty? How can I be of service?" 
Brring! 
 Her phone chimed again, and Amelie's gaze snapped to the part of her skirt that held her phone. "If you're quite done messing around," Amelie said icily, "the Cuban ambassador needs his tea refreshed."  "Yes, Ma'am! Right away, Ma'am!" Grabbing the mostly full teacup from the bewildered ambassador, Marinette fled the room, keeping her head low. She shouldn't have taken the cup from him, she belatedly realized, but the picture of Felix's cowboy boots and his acerbic commentary about them being "authentic" with sarcastic triple quotation marks was too funny for her to care about decorum.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Felix was dreading this call.
 
On the one hand, he missed Marinette and would love to see her again. 
 
On the other, she’d been keeping her pain from him and that hurt.

“If Marinette can’t be honest with me,”

Felix thought, toying with his phone in his hotel room at his lunch break,

“then I must have done something terrible for her to lose trust in me.”

Of course, Felix was keeping secrets from her too: how much he worried about her; worried that Adrien was going to try to steal her back to Paris while he was halfway across the world; and how he, Adrien, and his Mother were trying to find more information to rescue her designs from Gabriel’s greedy hands.
 
The morning in San Fransisco had been a whirlwind, and not just because his schedule had been jam-packed. He’d barely had time to shoot off those texts to her about his “authentic” place-specific clothing, but above all, Felix had been distracted by thoughts of why his little fool was so secretive.

“Why won’t you let me help you out in the open?”

Felix thought as he pressed the green video button on his international chat app. He waited impatiently as the phone dialed once, twice, three times–
 
And then Marinette’s gorgeous face came streaming into view. She looked a bit mussed as if she’d just run from a room to answer his call.
 
Now that he knew she’d been hiding her stress from him, the signs were obvious. Despite her brilliant smile, her eyes were tight at the corners, slightly red and puffy as if she’d been crying. Her face was pale and drawn, and not because of the shadows in the darkened room – his room, he noted absently. And her glorious hair had lost its sheen. 
 
That, in addition to the bags under her eyes so deep she looked like a raccoon, was cause for great alarm.
 
“Hello, Felix,” she said, her voice a soft, lilting sound that should have made his heart sing, not clenched his gut in anxiety.
 
“How are you?” he asked breathlessly, desperate to know the answer and how he could help. “Please, Marinette, tell me how you are.”
 
Marinette’s eyes flicked away from the screen and back again. “I don’t have a snack tonight, sorry. Do you have yours?”
 
Felix’s stomach churned and nausea boiled at the back of his throat. If she wouldn’t even tell him how she was…
 
“Yes, I have my snack.” Gripping his phone in a painfully clawed hand, Felix worried his lower lip. “How are things? How’s… How’s Alya?”

“Maybe

,” Felix thought, his heart drumming a battle song in his chest,

“she’ll open up if I try a different tack.”

Marinette’s blinking just drew his attention to how sleep-deprived she looked. And had she lost weight? Her face seemed thinner around the cheeks and her normally rosy lips were bloodless.
 
"Alya's fine," Marinette said, raising a skeptical brow. Then her face relaxed into a playful smile that hurt because of how easily she could lie to him with a look. "You know reporters. Always looking for that new scoop!"
 
"I

do

know reporters," Felix snapped despite himself, causing her to jerk back away from the screen in surprise. 
 
Felix ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. Being angry with her wouldn't help the situation, he knew logically, but with the way his belly was cramping, twisting, and turning in on itself, logic had been put aside.
 
"Felix," she breathed, her eyes far too wounded for his liking. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with me is that you're not telling me what's wrong with you!"

Felix wanted her to come to him. He wanted her to rely on him, to unburden herself. To let him fight for her and protect her. If she wouldn't tell him what the problem was, he couldn't help her fix it. 
 
At his stony silence, Marinette smiled queasily. "What snacks does the U.S. have to offer?"
 
Holding up a little red and blue bag to the screen, Felix motioned to his prize that Arthur had acquired. "Sunflower seeds. I've never tried them, but they were selling them at the park today and I thought I would get some.”
 
"Oooh." Marinette's eyes widened. She sounded intrigued by the possibilities the seeds offered. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and try some, and let me know what you think!"
 
The normalcy of it felt terrible. She was clearly exhausted and her usual rose leaf complexion faded to an unhealthy pallor in the light from her screen. Felix felt his throat tighten.
 
Is this how she had felt when he had been refusing meals? This constant gnawing worry that did somersaults in his stomach, making his mouth as dry as dust and his eyes narrow in a scrutiny so intense it hurt?
 
“How about I make you a deal?” he said, trying a smirk on for size and finding it awkward. “For every question you answer, I’ll eat a handful of the sunflower seeds.”
 
The seeming return of their banter caused the tension to ease around her eyes and jaw as a stuttering breath slipped out of her like a soft laugh.
 
“Sure. I’ve missed you since we couldn’t talk last night.”

“She missed me,”

he thought, his shoulders relaxing a trifle as he became more and more confused.

“But if she missed me, why hasn’t she told me about the paparazzi chasing her every day?”

“I missed you too, little fool.” He tore open the top of the package, spilling a few seeds in the process. Pouring some into his hand, he held them up so she could see. “Here we are. Are you ready?”
 
She grinned and nodded, causing his heart to flip over, the first time he had felt that lightness, that freedom, since his mother had called him. But did he dare to broach the subject in the form of a game?
 
“What did you do today?” That was safe enough, wasn’t it?
 
“You mean aside from embarrassing myself in front of your mother and the Cuban ambassador because of your text message?” She laughed and he believed it was genuine. “Just so you know I currently have you in your Ice Cowboy face as my phone wallpaper. Not the lock screen though, just in case.”
 
He felt his tension slide down a few more notches and popped the handful of seeds in his mouth. They were buttery and lightly salted with a rich, earthy flavor.
 
“Well?” she asked eagerly, the weariness in her eyes evident despite her enthusiasm.
 
He nodded as he chewed and swallowed. “Pretty good. Better than peanuts, in my opinion.”
 
She smiled and almost everything was right with his world. “Hmmm, do you think they make sunflower seed butter?”
 
“Probably. The Americans seem to try to make everything. I wouldn’t put it past them to try making sunflower seed butter. Ready for another question?”
 
“Sure.” She set her phone against something so it would stand upright, then propped her chin in her hand. “Ready when you are.”
 
He poured another handful, skimping a bit this time so he would have at least two more questions after this one. “Why do you look so tired, Marinette? Are you not sleeping well?”
 
She blinked and flushed, her cheeks darkening more than normal in her pale face. She really did look ill.
 
“I … guess you could say that,” she said, her eyes darting away from the camera - away from him.
 
“More nightmares?”
 
Her shoulders tightened and began a torturous progression up toward her ears. He knew that feeling all too well.
 
Marinette was nervous.
 
“I’ve had more nightmares than usual, yes,” she replied cautiously. She was phrasing things so carefully, as if she was calculating the risks of every word being misconstrued. 
 
What happened to her? What had happened to make her stop telling him the unvarnished truth, whether in like or dislike? Where was the fire that had thawed his icy heart - not to mention broke his nose?
 
Felix suddenly missed his little fool so much it hurt.
 
“Are you going to eat those?” she asked teasingly, but her tone sounded flat and tired, not her usual playful banter, but a mask of the familiar to hide… what? The fact that the press was hounding her? That she was having nightmares? That she was ill?
 
He dumped the seeds into his mouth and chewed them mechanically. They might as well have been dust for all he could taste them now.
 
“Felix, may I ask you a question?” Her voice was timid. Yet another stab at his heart.
 
“Alright.”
 
“Is something bothering you?” She frowned and his heart twisted painfully. “Are you feeling okay? The medicine isn’t causing any side effects, is it?”
 
She was worried about him. She was being pursued like a fox in a hunt from dawn until dusk. The rest of the time she spent slaving for his mother who was, no doubt, giving her the run around and expecting perfection without lifting a hand to help her with her other problems. His little fool was tired, so tired he wanted to take her in his arms and rock her until she fell asleep, then guard her door from anyone who wanted to disturb her.
 
Yet she was worried about

him

! 
 
No! No matter how frustrated, angry, or heartbroken he felt over her not confiding in him about her troubles, he wouldn’t press her. He didn’t wish to add that extra burden of stress to her already full plate.
 
And if what Adrien suggested about his father was true… 
 
“No, Marinette,” he lied. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long few days. I’m still dealing with jetlag and…” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I miss you. Well, you and your pistachio biscuits."
 
She chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as usual, and his heart was torn between thrilling at her happiness and dreading the return of the sadness he saw underneath it. She even poked her finger at the camera as if she was booping his nose.
 
“Well, then don’t be an idiot! You'll just have to come home,” she said, smiling softly. “I miss you. You miss me. Sounds like a perfect excuse to come winging back. For the biscuits, of course.”
 
He chuckled, the tightness in his chest pinching his lungs like iron bands. “Of course.”

“Oh, Marinette. If I had to I would grow wings and fly to your side here and now. I would wrap you in my arms and protect you from every dark or unhappy thing in the world. If only you would let me!”

“When will you come home?” Marinette asked, a pleading edge in her voice.
 
Felix sighed. “Not anytime soon, I'm afraid.”

“Ask me to come home to you, please! Nothing would stop me if you asked!”

“I have five more days here on the West Coast, then New York for a week, a three day layover in Boston, Massachusetts before heading to Washington D.C. for a week. Then It’s Canada for another week and Belize, Jamaica and the Bahamas for three days each.”
 
“Then you’ll be home?”
 
Home. Even without her saying it, he knew she meant back with her and that should have made his heart sing, but knowing she had deflected his questions about her state of mind, heart, and body stole the sparkle from the moment.
 
“Yes. And then I’ll be home.”

“Please, little fool! Just ask and I will come now. This very minute! Nothing could keep me away!”

“Well,” she sighed dejectedly. “I guess I will just have to be patient.”
 
“You have the patience of a saint, Marinette. Dealing with me has to have tested it to no end.”
 
Marinete’s eyes widened and he thought he saw her lips tremble. Was that a glitter of tears or merely the light from her screen?
 
“I really don’t, Felix,” she murmured, tapping her fingers against her cheek in a random fidget. “I… I was trying to find myself again… after… well, the breakup. You look a lot like your cousin, but you acted so coldly, that it was easy to think of you as a challenge – a game I had to win at all costs. Does… that make sense?”
 
He clutched his phone, nervous sweat beading on his forehead. Did she start having feelings for him because he looked like Adrien but acted differently? Was this a confession of her seeing him as a fantasy – not as a man in his own right who loved her to absolute distraction?
 
Had it all been a lie… for both of them?
 
The jolts of pain across his heart made him frown. “Are you saying you were using me as a way to take out your aggression towards my cousin?”
 
She winced at the harshness of his voice and shrank in on herself. “No!” she squeaked. “That wasn’t what I meant, but… maybe? It may have started like that at the beginning, but–”
 
Felix huffed, frustration churning like gravel in his gut. He slapped the plastic package down on his desk, sending an explosion of sunflower seeds spraying out all over the room.
 
“I understand, Marinette,” he answered tersely. “You don’t need to explain further.”
 
“Felix, I–”
 
“I really need to be going,” he interrupted, taking a perverse pleasure in cutting off her stream of anxious words. “I have an appointment early in the morning. Good night, Marinette.”
 
“Oh, o-okay. But, Felix, please don’t misunderstand–"
 
“Hang up now, Miss Dupain-Cheng!” he snapped, hurt, anger, and worry filling him up with a red haze.
 
She blanched, her face turning gray as she fumbled for her phone, knocking it over in the process. The call ended, but not before he heard a heart-rending sob as the line went dead.
 
Felix was overwhelmed! He was angry! He had wanted nothing more than to urge her to confide in him and, instead, he had abused Marinette’s confidence in him by shutting her down when she told him something that he didn’t want to hear.
 
What was wrong with him? What was wrong with her?
 
“Blast it all! I love her! I’m not Adrien! I’m nothing like him! Why can’t the little fool get that through her thick skull?”
 
Jerking himself to his feet, he threw his phone against the far wall.
 
Arthur came scrambling through the door a few moments later, eyes wide and worried. “Sir, what happened? I thought you were talking to Miss Dupain-Cheng?”
 
“Arthur, you and I both know that girl is being mobbed by the press everywhere she goes and most likely bullied by my mother at work, and she won’t even talk to me about it!”
 
“Sir, may I take it that you and Miss Dupain-Cheng had an argument of some sort?” the man asked, moving into the room like someone warily approaching a dangerous animal.
 
“Oh, no!” he growled, slamming his fist onto the desk. “It's only an argument if both people are fighting! She wouldn’t admit to what is bothering her, but she did admit that she has essentially been using me to get over my cousin like some sort of… of…”  He waved his hands around in the air as the appropriate word refused to come.
 
“Rebound relationship,” Arthur offered, eyebrows raised nearly into his thinning hairline. “Sir, with all due respect, is it possible you misheard what she said?”
 
“I heard her just fine, Arthur!”
 
Felix was so furious he wanted to hit something or someone. He wanted to pound his cousin into pulp for ruining his chances with Marinette before he had even desired them. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her into submission - to force her to take care of herself, to tell him the truth, to let him protect her when she couldn’t protect herself.
 
Arthur sighed. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”
 
“Yes, yes. Fine.”
 
His valet retrieved Felix’s phone and examined it closely.  “I believe, from what you have just said, that she loves you and did tell you the truth, just not the one you wanted to hear.”
 
Felix could only stare, slack-jawed, as Arthur continued.
 
“Knowing you both as I do, Sir, you were both hemming and hawing and doing everything you could to get around saying what you really meant. She was, in her own way, opening up to you and, from what I heard from the other room, you shut her down.
 
“She is already having difficulties and you being on this tour has added to them significantly. Miss Marinette finds comfort in your presence, unlike that of your cousin, young Mister Agreste. She worries about you to an unhealthy degree and is likely now fretting over why you became angry enough over a phone call to shout at her.”
 
The image of his little fool cringing in on herself at his harsh replies branded itself onto the back of his eyelids, sure to haunt him when he tried to sleep.
 
“I shouted at her?” he asked, ashamed, all the anger draining away like water from a broken pitcher.
 
Arthur nodded. “I’m afraid you did, Sir.”
 
Felix groaned, grabbing his hair and pulling it in defeat and frustration, making the dried gel crackle in his grip. “I’ve royally messed this up, haven’t I?”
 
The sound that emitted from his valet was enough to haul him up short. It clearly started as a derisive snort, shifted to a chuckle, and then finally settled into a weak cough as a vain attempt to cover it up. Felix boggled at him.
 
“Excuse me, Sir,” Arthur replied, trying desperately to suppress a smile. “May I just say, if that is the case, then it is a good thing you are a Prince. Is it not?”
 
Felix groaned again. How was he ever going to fix this?!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“He said

what

?!”
 
Amelie knew she had a reputation for cold, calculating anger and a glare that could strike someone dumb at fifty paces, but she had always prided herself on keeping her tones poised and cultivated, even when she wanted nothing more than to just tear into someone like a wild animal.
 
The fact that her own son could bring out such a reaction in her was beyond absurd.
 
The fact that he could do it over his infatuation with a chambermaid, no matter how honest and sweet, was unthinkable.
 
“As I said, Ma’am,” Wemberly repeated, face carefully empty of any emotion in the face of her turbulent anger. “Prince Felix said, and I quote, ‘Blast it all! I love her! I’m not Adrien! I’m nothing like him! Why can’t the little fool get that through her thick skull?’”
 
“And this was after the call?”
 
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m under the impression that Miss Dupain-Cheng had mentioned something about young Mr Agreste in regards to her relationship, such as it is, with His Royal Highness, leaving him to believe she had been using him as a rebound.”
 
As stoic as she usually was regarding matters of the heart, Amelie winced. “Drat the girl! Is it possible he misunderstood her?”
 
“In the state of mind he has been in since your call, Ma’am, it is more than likely. However, when I broached the subject he became frustrated."
 
Amelie sighed. Felix being frustrated was nothing new, but he at least had the dignity to hide it most of the time. Dupain-Cheng brought out the best in him but also the worst.
 
“What did you tell him?” Ameile asked Arthur, gripping her phone tightly as if by doing so, she could strangle Dupain-Cheng. The Queen refused to even think that she was hanging on the edge of her throne, on tenterhooks for updates about this whirlwind romance her son had found himself in.
 
What could she do to help?
 
Arthur drew a breath through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth. Amelie recognized the gesture as him steeling himself before speaking, something he did often. “I said, ‘I believe, from what you have just said, that she loves you and did tell you the truth, just not the one you wanted to hear.’”
 
Tapping her chin, Amelie took a moment to absorb this new information. She considered Arthur wise; it was a good thing Felix had his valet to help him, because heaven knows her son wouldn’t listen to her even as much as her opinion was germane to the situation.
 
It was times like this that Amelie wondered what Colt would have thought of this whole state of affairs, a thought that she quickly stuffed. Thinking about her late husband did her no favors.
 
“And how did he respond?”
 
“He didn’t at first.” Arthur shifted on the screen, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his hotel room. Did he expect Felix to overhear through the thin walls? “I told him he’d shouted at Miss Dupain-Cheng, and he appeared ashamed. He unintentionally claimed he’d ‘royally’ messed things up.”
 
Amelie chuckled wryly. Count on Felix to make a pun in these dark times, however accidental. Her son’s sense of humor was a wicked thing, as evidenced by the pranks he’d foisted on Dupain-Cheng at the beginning of their relationship.
 
And what a strange relationship it was!
 
“So he’s contrite.” Amelie huffed, twisting her lips. “That’s good at least.”
 
“Oh, yes, Ma’am.” Eyes twinkling, Arthur half-smiled. “

Very

contrite.”
 
A brain wave happened upon Amelie. There was an easy solution to this, a way she could help Felix with his boneheaded screw up.
 
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Arthur?”
 
“No, Ma’am?” Arthur looked nonplussed, a state she didn’t often catch him in. “What are you thinking?”
 
“I’m thinking it’s time for a woman-to-woman talk.”
 
***
 
Amelie’s smile was a dangerous thing, a deadly thing. Despite her blonde hair and green eyes, she looked to Marinette very much like the Queen of Hearts from Disney’s

Alice in Wonderland.

Standing alone in the Queen’s presence, Marinette found her hand creeping up towards her own neck as if she were indeed going to lose her head.
 
“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” Dipping into a low curtsy, Marinette kept her gaze submissively bowed to the floor. If the Queen was going to eat her alive, she didn't want to see the jaws coming.
 
Amelie thrust her pointer finger toward a chair that was placed awkwardly in the middle of the throne room. "Sit, Dupain-Cheng."
 
Blinking twice, Marinette crossed to the chair and perched on the edge like a gargoyle clinging to the edge of a crumbling Notre Dame roof.
 
"I bet you're wondering why I've summoned you here," Amelie began, and Marinette thought uncharitably that yes, she had

just

asked that. "Well, I wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk."
 
While she wanted to be close to Felix's heart, Marinette didn't want to be anywhere near his mother's. Just the thought of a 'heart-to-heart' with the Queen Regent of England made icy sweat pool at the base of her spine.
 
When Marinette didn't say anything, Amelie let loose her opening salvo. "What are your designs on Prince Felix?"
 
"D-Designs, Ma'am?"
 
"Yes, silly girl." The Queen's brow rose imperiously as if talking to Marinette was beneath her. It wasn't personal, Marinette knew; that was just how the Queen treated everyone. "What are your intentions for my son?"
 
"Your Majesty, I…" Marinette's heart slammed in her palate. Felix shouting at her three nights ago – and not calling since – had left her crying into her pillow at night, her gut twisting and folding in on itself. And now, to have to declare to his mother – the ruddy Queen of England! – her

intentions

with him? It was too much to bear.
 
Marinette sank into her chair, curling inward, as if by making herself smaller she could appear and feel less vulnerable. "I don't know," she whispered as meekly as a newborn kitten.
 
The comparison only invited memories of Felix being panther-like, prowling around as if he owned her. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, she wanted to be owned. The thought was enough to bring scalding hot tears to her eyes.
 
And the Queen gave her no mercy. "You don't

know

?" Amelie scoffed. "My girl, what on earth have you been

doing

with him, then?"
 
"I-I don't know!" Marinette cried, everything in her screaming in panic.
 
“My girl, I already know about you being followed by the paparazzi. I know about the reception, the trip to Norfolk, the special dinner you made for him there. The lunch at the Dorchester, the nightly calls, the secret texts. I know everything about your little tête-à-têtes.” She tapped her fingernail three times on the throne’s arm, the impacts sounding like a judge’s gavel that pronounced Marinette guilty. “The only thing I don’t know is

why

.”
 
“Why?”
 
The Queen Regent rolled her eyes in disgust. “Yes, you fool, why! You don’t have the attitude of a throne climber, though I have been wrong once or twice in my life.” Her tone of voice implied that she was just being falsely humble and any evidence offered to prove her wrong would have resulted in imprisonment at best and a hanging at worst.
 
Marinette, tears burning tracks in her cheeks now, glared up at the woman on the throne, teeth bared and hands fisted into her frilly apron. The use of Felix’s nickname for her was more than she could bear.
 
“Permission to speak freely, Madam,” she forced out through gritted teeth.
 
The Queen waved airily, as if it was no concern of hers. Just the attitude alone was enough to make her blood boil. That heat gave her false courage. She had been running away from everything for weeks. Alya was doing her best, but Marinette was feeling like a trapped animal, wary and desperate enough to strike back, but she had kept it contained, kept it under wraps. Until now.
 
Marinette was done running.
 
Launching herself to her feet, Marinette stormed towards the Queen with all the passion of a woman roused. “If I was only a throne climber, would I have tolerated his pranks, his bad attitude, his smug superiority for this long? If I was just in it for the money, where are all the gifts he has given me? The fact is, the only physical gifts he has given me are a kitten and a dressing gown. It was only by means of Mr Wemberly telling me that Felix had purchased them for me that I knew they were from him at all!”
 
Rage and heartsickness battled with the bone-crushing weariness inside her breast and skull. Marinette almost felt detached, like it wasn’t her shouting those words, it wasn’t her striding towards the Queen Regent of England with pain in every step, every heartbeat, every breath. 
 
Felix wasn’t there. He was on the other side of the world, angry with her, and now he wasn’t speaking to her at all. Three days! Three days of loneliness, heartache, and anxiety chewing at her stomach like parasites. Three days of having to trust Alya for news about the man she… loved.

"What are your intentions for my son?"

She took a deep breath to steady herself, pulling her rage and frustration back inside her heart and locking them as tightly as the Queen did herself.
 
“I have

no

designs on Felix,” she said softly and with an intensity that caused the Monarch’s eyes to widen slightly. “My only

intention

is to help take care of him as long as he will let me. Make sure he eats well and gets good rest and has some fun more often than not. In case you were not aware, he was killing himself with stress, depression, and anxiety, Your Majesty. For some reason, whatever that may be, he decided to open up to me. I will not let him down. 
 
“And, not that it is any of your business, I happen to love him very much, despite knowing it is impossible. I know this is the real world and princes don’t marry peasants outside of fairy tales.”
 
Queen Amelie watched her the whole time, not saying a word, but giving her that glare that reminded Marinette forcibly of her mother peeling onions.
 
“Are you quite finished?" she asked calmly, a hint of amusement in her voice, but her expression was neutral.
 
Marinette stopped in her tracks, realizing how far she had come – in more ways than one. She was standing on the second of five steps that led up to the dais… and had been shouting at the Queen, Felix’s mother, and her boss!
 
“Uh… yes. Your Majesty.” The words came out more of a squeak and Marinette hated the nerves that left her shaking all over.
 
“Good. Thank you for your time. You may go now.”
 
Marinette blinked, feeling as disoriented as if she had missed a step going downstairs.
 
“That is it? There is nothing else you need?”

“Please don’t let her change her mind! I need to get out of here and give myself a right chewing out for chewing out Her Majesty like I did! Oh, Felix is going to kill me… if Alya doesn’t get to me first.”

The Queen’s face softened fractionally, but it was enough to deal another blow to Marinette’s courage. It popped the hot bubble of rage she had been floating in, dropping her back down on the ground with a confusing thump.
 
Was she in trouble? Or not?
 
“No. That was all I needed for now. Thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You are dismissed to attend to your regular duties.”
 
Marinette must have been hallucinating the whole thing because she found herself back in Felix’s rooms with a dusting cloth in her hands, completely unaware of how she’d gotten back there.
 
Had she really just bled her heart out all over the Queen?
 
***
 
"How did the talk go, Your Majesty?" Arthur asked inquisitively over her screen. 
 
"It went… well." Amelie gave a tight smile and Wemberly’s eyes widened imperceptibly. 
 
So he should. The girl had defied so many protocols that Amelie would have been well within her rights to have the girl arrested, and yet the conversation had been surprisingly illuminating.
 
“Your Majesty,” Arthur began, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “As someone who has a vested interest in the Young Master’s happiness, and as a friend to Miss Dupain-Cheng, may I ask what you mean?”
 
Amelie shook her head in amusement. “Wemberly, how is it possible that you, I, and His Late Majesty managed to raise such a foolish young man?”
 
Arthur blinked and swallowed before answering. “I’m afraid I can not answer that, Ma’am. Prince Felix is a confident, refined, well-educated, and well informed young man–”
 
“Whose depth of emotional knowledge is less than a teaspoon,” she interrupted flatly. “How did he manage to attract the interest of someone as rational and determined as Dupain-Cheng? For all her doting on my nephew for years, she doesn’t seem the type to be swayed by money or a pretty face. She even said she knows princes don’t marry commoners outside of fairy tales. She’s even thinking of marriage with Felix! What could she see in him, Wemberly?  Surely she is clever enough to overlook sultry good looks when the man has the brains of a hamster!”
 
The man’s face on her screen disappeared suddenly as the man choked on her words. She waited patiently as he pulled himself under control and retrieved his phone.
 
“Are you asking for my opinion, Ma’am?” he inquired, his voice hoarse from the coughing and his face rather red.
 
“I suppose I am. What do you think, Wemberly?”
 
“I believe Miss Dupain-Cheng is the type to feel drawn to those who need her. From what I’ve been able to ascertain about her previous relationship with young Mister Agreste, they first became friends when Adrien started attending her school. It was the loss of his mother, the Lady Emilie, that seemed to have driven him into Miss Dupain-Cheng’s arms. I surmise that she feels drawn to help those she senses are hurting and her heart will follow.”
 
“Hmmm, interesting. May I ask, Wemberly, exactly when you had time to take a psychology degree?”
 
The man’s lips twitched. “If I may be so bold as to say it, Ma’am, I needed it to keep up with your son.”
 
Amelie barked out a laugh. “So, it took his depression and grief to do what otherwise would have taken miracles? I tell you, Wemberly, watch out for that girl.  She stared me down in my own throne room over Felix. She is the type to go where angels fear to tread.”
 
“And she happens to be very protective of the Young Master,” Arthur added with a small smile. “Yes, Your Majesty. I will keep both of them under my eye.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Stand back, fair maiden!” After effortlessly slicing through Princess Marinette’s chains with his sword, Knight Felix leaped into action, shielding both her and himself from the fire-breath of the vicious dragon with his tower shield. “Have at thee!”

The battle was quick and decisive – Felix lunged at the dragon’s snout, brandishing his weapon and leaving a gash in her neck. The red monster, Olivia, roared, throwing her head back and letting loose a great gout of flame, creating dancing sparks in the air like so many ethereal fireflies.

Felix pressed his advantage, slashing through scarlet scales that fell like so many raindrops, leaving burning cinders on the earth below. Olivia backed up and up towards the edge of the cliff they were on, blowing flames at him – which he blocked – and snapping at him with her massive jaws of razor-sharp teeth.

Marinette screamed, and Felix whipped his head around to glance at her over his shoulder.

That was a mistake. The dragon raked her claws down his chest, puncturing his armor and causing pain to bleed out everywhere. Felix spat bloody sputum and hurled his sword forward with one last effort, plunging it deep into Olivia’s heart.

She roared her last battle cry, falling backward over the cliff with a final spurt of fire.

Felix doggedly strode toward the scantily clad princess. He spread his hand over the small of her back and dipped her low, kissing her soundly.

Marinette caressed his suddenly whole, suddenly bare chest, shooting secret thrills through Felix the Hero. When he let her up for air, she was smiling her gentle, playful smile that told him all was right with his world.

“Brrring,” she said coyly. “Brrring.”

“What?” Felix blinked at her, wondering how on earth her mortal tongue could sound like a ringtone. Were there ringtones in this world?

“Brrring,” Marinette said again, cupping his cheek and leaning in to whisper against his lips. “Brrring.”

Felix awoke with a start, sweat flying every which way in the dark as he scrambled to sit up. 
 
“Brrring!” his phone rang cheerfully, alerting him to the reason he’d been jerked out of what was promising to be a pleasant dream at who-knew-when in the morning.
 
Just before he answered his mother’s call, he saw that the time was, indeed, just after four a.m.
 
“Yes,” he slurred, his tongue thick with sleep, “Your Maj–”
 
“You’re a boneheaded idiot.”
 
Felix blinked, finding himself at a loss in the face of Amelie’s condemning stare. Amelie was rarely so crude; he must have done something terrible this time. 
 
What

had

he done? 
 
“Hello to you, too, Mum.” Felix winced, chomping down on his bottom lip at the way her expression never wavered. The glow from the screen hurt his eyes, but his mother’s anger hurt his heart. “What did I do?”
 
“You don’t

know

?”
 
Felix sighed. He wasn’t awake enough to play Amelie’s usual games. “Please,” he begged, which he’d thought he was above doing. Once again, apparently not. “Please, just tell me where I’ve messed up, Mum. I’m tired and can’t think right now.”
 
“You should be thinking,” Amelie snapped, and Felix flinched back from her glare. His mother had rarely treated him so harshly; while he had been subject to her disapproval from time to time, he’d never seen her so passionate about…
 
Well…

Anything.

“That girl loves you,” Amelie continued, and Felix felt as if he’d been dunked in cold water. He was suddenly more awake, but still not quite ready to trade verbal blows with the mother who’d been attacking him. “And you

messed it up.

”
 
“What girl?” he asked grumpily. Felix’s mind was still fogbound, straining to get back into the dream where the only girl he cared about was waiting for him in an enticingly sheer gown with a kiss at the ready.
 
“

Your

girl, Fe!” Amelie growled, her glare scorching enough to blister paint half a world away. “Your silly. Little. Fool!”
 
Felix’s heart squeezed as painfully as if Amelie had pried his chest open and held the beating organ aloft as her prize. He felt less and less like Felix the Hero and more and more like Felix the Failure.
 
“What?! She does? How–" Felix stammered, but then thought better of it. “How do you know that and since when are

you

messing about in

my

love life?”
 
“Oh, I asked her, of course,” Amelie scoffed. “And, come now, Fe. I am your mother. Mucking about in her son’s love life is a mother’s prerogative.”
 
Felix would have to address that later. For now, he had Marinette to think about. 
 
“You asked her? What… what did she tell you?”
 “She’s crazy about you.” Amelie was back to glaring, but Felix had no idea why. “She said she wants to take care of you, to the point she is willing to accept whatever you give her, Fe. You at your most pernicious, most annoying, most diabolical and she still wants you to be healthy and happy! And you yelled at her!” 
The thought of Marinette coming to his mother in tears, telling Amelie that he’d yelled at her clinched his heart in a vise grip. While he’d rather not have Amelie involved at all – and he knew she was going to stick her oar in regardless of what he said, as she always had – he also knew that if Marinette had gone to his mother, then things were dire, indeed.
 
“You need to talk things out with her,” Amelie commanded – and it

was

a command. There was no mistaking that he wasn’t just talking to his mother, Orchestrator of Love Lives, he was talking to a meddling Queen Regent, Employer of His Little Fool. “She deserves better than to be left on tenterhooks while you wallow in shame.”
 
That stung because it was true. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He was no knight saving his Princess; he was one of the people adding to her burden.
 
“Alright, Mum.” Felix staggered to his feet, pawing around in the darkness of his New York hotel room for the light switch. The flash of the lights coming on punctured his skull with a searing headache, and he mentally noted that he hadn’t had one of those in quite a while. Marinette’s doing, most likely. “I’ll talk to her.”
 
Amelie abruptly ended the call, leaving a sinking feeling in Felix’s belly. He’d messed up, he’d

messed up,

and by hiding himself away from Marinette over the past week, he’d created an even bigger complication to an already awkward situation.
 
More than that… he had given her his word that he would call her every night and he hadn’t kept it.
 
His mother had the right of it. He’d just been too ashamed to face Marinette.
 
Felix stumbled over to his desk, dropping his phone onto the hard, unforgiving surface and  not caring if the screen cracked again. 
 
He could always get another phone. He could never get another Marinette.
 
He didn’t want to.
 
Collapsing into the desk chair, Felix pulled a piece of paper out of the drawer and located his fountain pen. He needed to figure out what he wanted to say ahead of time, before he called Marinette, so he didn’t colossally mess up again.

‘Dear Marinette,’

Felix wrote, and then stared at that address for a long while before crossing it off.

‘My dearest Marinette,

How are you?’

No, no good. Felix knew how she was – she’d gone to his mother when he wouldn’t come to her. He crumpled up the sheet, tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder.

“These words have to come from the heart,

” Felix realized, his own dropping to the floor.

“I have to be honest with her. Genuine. Vulnerable.”

And not vulnerable in the way he suspected she liked, not solely for the purpose of catching her attention but vulnerable in the way of a confession.
 
He had to tell her

why

he’d grown so upset, even if she wouldn’t be reading this particular letter. He had to reveal his true feelings. All of it, and leave nothing back.
 
Felix found himself shaking. The thought of baring his soul like that scared him more than he cared to admit.
 
But he had to. 
 
She didn’t have to read this letter. He didn’t want her to. But he had to tell her in some way or another.
 
‘

My dearest Marinette,

‘Not for the first time do I find myself the fool in our relationship – and not the honest kind. I hurt you with my frustration, with my prevaricating, and what amounts to a very curt dismissal. I didn’t mean to take it out on you and for that you have my most abject and profound apologies.'

“Yes,”

he thought.

“Apologies first. Then I can explain. If she lets me.”

'I hope you will bear with me as I explain my actions as I should have done the last time we talked.

'I was angry, Marinette. My mother had called and told me you were being hounded by the press. I know what that is like, and I remember your reaction to the reporters at the ambassador’s reception. It hurt to know you didn’t come to me with this, that I had to hear it from my mother instead of from the woman I love more than anything.

‘I know I haven’t told you that in person yet, but it is true. I love you, Marinette, and when I found that my sweet, little fool hadn’t been her open, honest self with me, I felt… betrayed, confused, and scared. I know you objected to this statement, but you are incredibly patient with me, Marinette. More so than I have ever merited and infinitely more than I deserve.

Felix paused, looking over what he had already written. Should he really tell her how much he loved her in a letter? It would be easier than trying to say it to those wide, ocean eyes that were ready to drown him like a siren song, but it didn’t feel … honest enough.
 
No. Such confessions should be done in person, not through the intermediary of heartless paper.
 
He scratched out the last paragraph and started over.

“When I found that my sweet, little fool hadn’t been her open, honest self with me, I felt betrayed, confused, and scared. That day, when I last called you, you looked so tired and unwell that it frightened me. I suddenly understood what you meant when you told me you worried about my health. I found myself consumed with anxiety for you. Combined with jetlag, the endless meetings, the infinite ache of missing you, and now the worry over your health and the press hounding you incessantly, I was a wreck, but you were smiling and laughing, covering it all up as if it didn’t matter.

‘But it does matter, little fool. You are important to me!

‘But I was a ‘boneheaded idiot’ – Mother’s words, not mine – and I became angry that you were lying to me. The heart of the matter, Marinette, is that I have never had someone I cared about enough to worry if they told me the truth or not. You are my truthsayer, my honest fool, my oracle in a world I’ve barely experienced and never understood. Losing you would be heartbreaking and knowing you weren’t telling me the truth felt like losing you.

‘Please, Marinette, forgive me. Forgive my arrogance, my stubbornness, my childish ways. Forgive my selfish attitude and my possessiveness. You are amazing on your own and have no need of me to come charging in, on a white horse or otherwise, to rescue you when you have been the one to save my poor self time after time. You have been more patient with me than I deserve and I can think of no way to pay the immeasurable debt I owe other than to remain forever

‘Your most humble servant,

‘Felix’

Felix stared at his own name as well as the letter’s closing remark, swallowing hard. He had signed it in the formal style, the kind in which letters were addressed to himself and his mother. But the fact that he had signed off that way in a letter to a chambermaid would be considered scandalous. If the press ever got a hold of this, Marinette would be hunted down forever! Except…

“She said she wants to take care of you, to the point she is willing to accept whatever you give her, Fe. You at your most pernicious, most annoying, most diabolical and she still wants you to be healthy and happy! And you yelled at her!”

He needed her. He needed her to trust him, to rely on him as her strong right arm, to let him be her knight and champion even though she was more than capable of defending herself.  He wanted her to need him the way he needed her, to be her strength when she had none, her shelter in times of storms.

“That girl loves you,”

his mother had said. Felix had never known his mother to lie to him intentionally, but he knew how easily she would prevaricate. After all, she was the one who’d taught him. If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t put it past his mother to lie in order to get him to do what she wanted. To her it wasn’t cruelly or hurtfully done. It was merely the most expedient.
 
But, to him, it would be painful nevertheless. Especially if it involved Marinette.
 
He groaned, rubbing his eyes as fatigue pulled at them like heavy weights. The golden light of dawn hit the smog outside and turned the world into the heart of amber. He had to solve this. He had to apologize to Marinette, whether she really loved him or not. She deserved that much.

“Maybe the rest can wait until I get home and can explain it to her properly,”

he thought wistfully.

“That is, if she gives me the chance.”

Picking up his phone, he thumbed through the short list of contacts. He hated that all he had of Marinette was her words and the letters ‘MDC’ emblazoned at the top of her contact page. It seemed to taunt him with how little she had let him into her life.
 
Still, if he hoped to know her better someday, he had to right the wrongs he had inflicted on her.
 
Opening the message app, he typed the following:
 
Felix: I’m sorry, little fool. I was a jerk the last time we talked and then I was so embarrassed that I’ve been in a sulk for a while. I didn’t realize until today that I hadn’t kept my word and called you every night. Can you possibly forgive my utterly reprehensible behavior?
 
He hesitated for a brief moment before biting the bullet and hitting send.
 
It wasn't until three hours later, in the middle of a meeting with an inner-city children’s literacy program, that he felt his phone vibrate briefly in his pocket. As soon as he could politely do so, he excused himself and all but ran to the nearest empty room.
 
On opening his phone, he was blessed with the sweetest words he had ever read.
 Marinette: Call me when you can. Your little fool misses you, Felix. 
With relief spreading like wildfires in his chest, he let out a loud ‘whoop!’ and punched the air.
 
“I take it Miss Dupain-Cheng forgave you, Sir?” Arthur’s voice asked from out in the hall.
 
Felix, his face as red as a tomato, hurriedly straightened his suit and tie before running a shaking hand over his hair.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.
 
“Erm… uh, yes. Yes, you could say that.”
 
Arthur peeked around the door, a knowing smirk on his face. “And should I assume that the fair maiden has been won over or that the status quo has merely been reinstated?”
 
Felix had a sudden flashback to his dream the night before, ruby lips, warm porcelain skin under a diaphanous gown, longing in bluebell eyes. His whole face hurt, leaving him wondering if he could possibly blush himself out of the visible spectrum.
 
“Arthur,” Felix said, trying to growl but it turned out a breathless grumble instead.
 
“Yes, Sir?”
 
“Mind your own ruddy business!”
 
As he strode down the hallway with a new spring in his step, Felix just barely heard the smothered chuckle of his valet behind him, but he ignored it. Marinette was talking to him again!  She missed him! And Arthur… well…
 
Arthur could suck a lemon.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was a lonely Christmas.
 
Marinette had promised Felix she'd watch out for Amelie, so she didn't dare go home that December. And Felix wasn't back from his trip yet.
 
He'd texted and called her a few times since he yelled at her, but was otherwise incommunicado. There was something distant about his texts, something buried, and she hoped beyond hope that it wasn't resentment and their relationship wasn’t over before it had started.
 
Which is all why Marinette signed up to work the Royal's Christmas party. 
 
"Yes, sir," she murmured, offering drinks to a stuffy old gentleman who was constantly blowing his nose in a handkerchief. It reminded her of the present she'd made Felix, which she kept in her hidden pocket. "Right away."
 
Marinette threaded her way through the throng, watching keenly as her supply of champagne glasses were taken and ceremonially drained. She collected empty glasses from tables, window ledges, the bottom of the stairs – basically anywhere that had a flat surface where the glitterati had discarded their flutes for her and the other Invisibles to pick up.
 
The party wasn't bad, all things considered, except for the pair of eyes following her around. "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" and other songs filtered in soothingly from overhead speakers in the ballroom, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to allow for furtive conversation.
 
Deals were being struck, money was changing hands, contracts were discussed – and Marinette was privy to it all. She wondered how often spies would take on the drudge work of being a servant just to absorb the gossip.
 
Marinette only had to work a few more years as a maid, and then she could start applying for an internship with the Wardrobe department. She wondered if she could last.
 
Amelie presided over it all, standing on a dais at the head of the room, wearing a sleek black number with slight red accents that certainly looked like something a mother of a panther would wear. Her hair was tastefully pinned in an updo that must have taken hours to prepare but also looked effortless.
 
Marinette missed Felix at the Queen's side. He'd be wearing a spiteful, sour look, she just

knew

, being forced to rub elbows with the gentry. She'd flit around him, teasing him with winks and bitten bottom lips. 
 
But Felix wasn't there. He'd asked her to stay and still hadn't come home.
 
Just as Marinette was surreptitiously checking in on the Queen – who looked to be in her element – fingers ran up Marinette's spine, a touch too intentional to be an accident.
 
Marinette's eyes snapped to the owner of the hand. A man with silver at his temples leered back at her, his lips twisted in smug satisfaction. She recognized him as a diplomat from France and as well as the man whose eyes had been locked on her since she arrived.
 
"Excuse me," she said in French, as frostily as she could while still remaining demure. She started to cut past him, but he blocked her way.
 
"What's a fine woman like you doing in a place like thish?" he slurred, his cheeks flushed with one too many flutes of champagne. "Here now. Come here and let me have a look at you."
 
"Pardon me,

sir,

" Marinette replied, quickly searching for an escape route. She didn't want to turn her back on him to be touched again or even grabbed. 
 
Glancing over her shoulder to see no one in her path, Marinette skipped backward, but he danced forward, corralling her into a corner.
 
With her back pressed against a wall, Marinette began panting, her breaths coming thick and fast and her vision blackening at the edges. He leaned in so closely, she could smell the alcohol on his putrid breath.
 
"That'sh better," he hissed into her ear, bathing her with foul heat from his mouth. Placing his forearm against the wall above her head, the intruder inched closer, so she could feel the whisper of his chest against hers. 
 
"Now," he murmured, seizing her chin in his hand in a none-too-gentle grip, his fingers leaving trails of bruises in their wake. "How about you give me a little kissh?"

"Oh, oh, no!"

Her mind screamed at her to

flee, flee, flee,

but there was nowhere to escape to. Marinette was as trapped by palace custom as she was by her assailant and if she defended herself it would cause a scene.

"Someone, please save me!"

Her savior came forth in the form of an animalistic snarl. 
 
"

Unhand her,

you spineless excuse of a man!"
 
***
 
The Christmas party was crowded – expected but unwelcome, given how many people tried to brush up against him and talk shop.
 
As if he had the power to personally fund their pet projects!

"Go lobby Parliament,"

Felix thought sourly at one particular politician whose name he couldn't recall. The portly man had taken up most of Felix's time at the party, preventing him from seeking out his target: Marinette.
 
He'd seen her effortlessly weaving in and out of the guests' paths, serving champagne with a smile and generally being treated as a tray floating around without anyone to hold it up.
 
Felix had briefly wondered how anyone could overlook such a fiery and vivacious woman but then recalled with shame how he also used to treat servants as invisible. And Marinette and Arthur were the only ones he had truly acknowledged.
 
Regardless, Felix was at the Christmas party in a tasteful mask because he wanted to surprise her by coming home a few days earlier than expected. He'd wrapped up negotiations in the Bahamas, Jamaica, and Belize in one day each rather than three, and had sped home to England, pushing the pilots of his private jet to fly all night to get there on time. 
 
The night before, he was so excited to see Marinette that he couldn't sleep. Felix spent the night composing love letters. He was no poet, but they were from the heart and that was what mattered.
 
Now he was jet-lagged, exhausted, starving and parched, and sorely in need of a long bath rather than the shower he'd grabbed before running to the party. And this lobbyist was wasting his time!
 
The man kept blathering about some humanitarian project, and meanwhile, Felix had lost sight of Marinette. He rolled up to his tiptoes to try to spot her over the bore’s head but couldn’t see where she’d run off to.

“Where is she?”

Felix thought, wondering if she’d gone to the back to deposit the empty champagne glasses she’d collected. 
 
That seemed reasonable at least; Marinette was a responsible woman devoted to her job, and if she’d signed up to work the Christmas party as his mother had informed him, Marinette would work the Christmas party.

“She can’t have run far.”

Scanning the glittering crowds, Felix found no sign of his quarry and sank back to his heels, disappointed. 
 
“So you see, Sir, I believe the Royal Family’s support would be a great boon to the arts,” the politician blathered, begging for him to throw his hat into the ring for something or other.
 
“Mmhm, yes,” Felix mindlessly placated, scanning the periphery of the room for any sign of Marinette. 
 
A glitter of light in one of the more shadowed corners caught his attention. The overhead lights had caught the edge of a champagne flute and had thrown off a brilliant shine as it moved on its tray.
 That sparkle drew his attention and relief surged through him as he saw the lovely young woman holding it… who was being forced against the wall?! 
The world around Felix went red. Rage unlike anything he’d felt before rushed to his face in the form of suffocating heat. He would rend that foul excrescence limb from limb!
 
“Excuse me,” Felix growled, cutting off the lobbyist with a powerful stride towards where his sweet little fool cowered in the corner in the grips of an assailant. The man held her chin in a grasp that looked intended to bruise. 
 
Felix shoved through the crowd, breaking out into a run. By the time he reached his little fool, he could see her eyes were wide and terrified. 
 
How dare he! How dare this man presume to lay hands on a woman, any woman, in

Felix's

palace! How dare he restrain

her

!

Marinette was his.

“

Unhand her

, you spineless excuse of a man!”
 
Felix grabbed the man, some foreign diplomat from his suit and flashy lapel pins, by the back of his suit coat and lifted him bodily, rage amplifying his strength. He didn’t have time to think of how he had done it, his only thoughts being of wrath at the

creature

who had set his lascivious sights on

his

Marinette! 
 
The man was clearly the worse for drink and the sudden change in position caused him to scramble, scratching at Marinette’s face and making the champagne flutes fall off the silver tray she held with all the fanfare of breaking crystal. Felix watched as the red mark faded into being on Marinette’s porcelain cheek. The woman herself stood frozen like a deer in headlights, her wide ocean eyes locked on him and her face as white as if she had seen a ghost. A knot of white-hot rage bloomed under his breast bone and he shook the vile fiend who had caused it.
 
Unlucky for the politico, the alcohol had not only robbed him of his sense of decency – if he had ever possessed one – but it robbed him of his tact as well. Nothing else could explain the words the idiot uttered next.
 
“Come on, old man! No need for the rough shtuff. After all, if she washn’t looking, she wouldn’t be wearing that cute little black number, right?”
 
The drunk’s words echoed in the suddenly silent ballroom like the flexing of glass before it shattered. Felix turned so he stood between the heathen and his precious fool, dropping the man with a distaste so intense he took out his handkerchief and visibly wiped his hands of the man.
 
“Hey, wha-sh you think you’re doing?" the drunk slurred hotly, straightening his collar with offended dignity. “Don’t you know who I am?”
 
Then he looked up and Felix wished he could have captured the moment on instant replay forever. The look of utter terror and stupefaction on the man’s face was priceless. 
 
“I think,” Felix declared, slowly removing his mask, “that the more important question is don’t you know who

I

am?”
 
The man swallowed as his red, watery eyes bugged out of his head. “Y-Your Royal Highness! I beg your pardon,” he all but whined, suddenly stone-cold sober. “It’s just that she’s been teasing me all evening, ignoring me, and–”
 
Felix heard Marinette give an inarticulate sound of disgust behind him with which he was in perfect agreement.
 
His eyes narrowed.
 
“How dare you?” he said softly, yet with an intensity that gathered in the silence and shook it. He may have changed, grown, and softened many of his rough edges in the last year, but there was no softness in him now. Now he was the Ice Prince Ascendant, the fire within perfectly matched to the ice without, both fierce and both deadly.
 
Felix felt the attention in the room and the power that came with it shifting to revolve around him – and he used it.
 
“Just because a person works in service does not make them inferior. Neither does that make them

toys

.” Felix gestured to Marinette behind him whose small hand clutched the back of his tuxedo jacket. “This young woman is in uniform and is here making sure that everyone has an enjoyable evening. Doing her job is neither flirting nor ignoring anyone. She could be with her family or friends, enjoying the delights of the season, but instead, she is working and you had the unmitigated gall to touch her so inappropriately? How dare you lay hands on a woman – any woman – without her permission! Let alone in Our palace and in the presence of Her Majesty.”
 
Felix found himself breathing deeply, every fiber of his being ready to thrash the man, to take up one of the ancient swords over the fireplace and remove the greedy hands that had attempted the unthinkable towards his Marinette.
 
The diplomat looked from Felix, then over his shoulder to Marinette, then back to Felix again. A knowing smirk flitted across the man’s revolting face, pride and ego obviously bolstered by drink.
 
“Ah, I see,” he murmured, clearly thinking he was whispering, but unaware that his obnoxious voice was now the center of everyone’s attention. “His Highness doesn’t like others playing with

his

toys.”
 
The next few moments were a blur, but Felix took in the gasps of several ladies, Marinette calling out his name, and the sudden lance of pain across his knuckles as they made solid contact with the man’s jaw.
 
The man fell backward, his eyes rolling back in his head, only to be caught by two security guards with severe expressions.  Felix cradled his throbbing hand and glared at the fiend with distaste. If this had been the 1600s, he would have had the man’s head mounted over Traitor’s Gate by midnight. Instead, he did what any civilized, modern Royal did with those who deserved a fate worse than death.
 
“Escort him out. Make sure they have his picture at the gate. I never want to see his face again.”
 
There was surprisingly little fanfare as the man was dragged out. Felix turned to check on Marinette, who was still wide-eyed and looking slightly green, but they were interrupted – as usual. Several of the older men came over to slap Felix's back and congratulate him. A cluster of ladies, some of whom were uncomfortably old enough to be his mother, stood fluttering and cooing at him in a way that made him swallow down bile.
 
The Queen approached and the crowds dispersed as far as they could while still being able to claim they’d heard something.
 
“How’s your hand, Fe?” she asked without preamble.
 
“It hurts, but I’ll live,” he grumbled. “You should be more worried about Marinette.”
 
Amelie patted him on the shoulder. “I am, son.” Turning him so they both faced the woman in question, she held out her hand. “You must be shaken, my dear. Did he hurt you?”
 
His little fool’s eyes never left the floor as she gave her perfect curtsy. “No, Ma’am.”
 
Amelie’s eyes narrowed as she gently lifted the girl’s chin, setting the scratch and red imprints of impious fingers clearly on display. Felix had to restrain himself from going after the cretin for a second round while his mother tutted in disapproval. “I do not appreciate being lied to, Miss Dupain-Cheng, though I understand your reasoning. You will need rest and something to soothe jangled nerves. Any expenses will be sent to me personally.”
 
His mother turned to him then and Felix was pleased to see a glint of… pride?... in her eyes.
 
“As the Queen, I can not sanction brawling in Buckingham Palace for any reason save outright mutiny. Prince Felix, I am disappointed in your appalling lack of decorum. As your mother, however,” her voice lowered and her lips twitched slightly, “aim for the nose next time. It will do more damage to him and less to you. I haven’t seen such a sweet punch in years!” 
 
For Amelie, she looked almost giddy before returning to her usual cool, unflappable self.
 
“Prince Felix, please escort Miss Dupain-Cheng to a quiet place and make sure she is well tended to. You have my permission to withdraw at her leisure.”
 
Felix, coming down from the adrenaline and a wave of protective anger that had taken him by surprise, nodded and bowed shakily. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
 
How had she known that all he wanted to do was sweep Marinette away since the moment he’d entered the room? Surely she couldn’t read minds, no matter what she tried to get others to believe.
 
Shaking his head to clear it of woolgathering, Felix turned to look at Marinette.
 
She was still very pale and wide-eyed, her hands clutching the empty drink tray in front of her like a shield with such force that her knuckles showed white through the skin. The possessive side of him that had been triggered by her danger was screaming at him, demanding he scoop her up in his arms and run off with her to his rooms – or better yet to Anmer Hall – possibly even barricading them in there for the next several years. But she was clearly trembling like a leaf and he was afraid that any sudden movements might be too much for her.
 
Knowing they were the focus of far too many speculating eyes, he bowed to his little fool and offered her his arm.
 
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, please allow me to escort you somewhere quieter so we can have a physician attend to you.”
 
Her eyes, which never seemed to have left him this whole time, were full of churning emotions and dilated until they looked almost black. Tentatively, he took the tray from her hands and offered it to Arthur, who was suddenly beside him with the most closed expression Felix had ever seen on the man. Felix gently took Marinette’s delicate hand and tucked it safely into his elbow.
 
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered urgently, but waited for her to respond before moving so much as a step.
 
She shivered all over, from her head all the way down to her feet, and Felix gave her hand an encouraging squeeze, but she bit her lip and nodded.
 
Felix had never been happier to leave a party in his life.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette was still trembling several minutes later when she found herself in Felix’s chambers. Several large suitcases, two trunks, a handful of shoulder bags, and a few crates were piled around the corners of the sitting room, leaving her feeling like one more awkward obstacle in Felix’s way.
 
Felix guided them both around the trunks toward the sofa, his hand firmly and protectively wrapped around her shoulder, his fingers digging into her forearm in a way that was decidedly unpleasant. It was as if he were afraid she’d poof into yellow smoke the second he released her.
 
Unable to bear it any longer, Marinette jerked her arm out of his grasp. “That hurts! Don’t!”
 
Felix blinked at her, his eyes widening from their narrowed, angry stare. He looked like he’d been caught flat-footed as if he didn’t expect the damsel in distress to speak up for herself. “I– I’m sorry, Marinette. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just–”
 
“Well, don’t just,” she snapped back, interrupting him and shivering violently. She knew Felix meant her no harm – he had saved her from the creep back at the party, after all – but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched right then… not until she had had a hot shower to scrub the stink of the man’s breath off her skin and the feeling of his fingers on her face. Maybe have a good cry too. “Just don’t, please.”
 Felix held up his hands in surrender. “I’ve got to do something! I’m just not sure what you want me – or even don’t want me – to do.” 
Wrapping her arms around herself defensively, Marinette glared at him. “Oh, sure! Prince Felix, with all the titles and the awards and girls falling all over themselves over your handsome face! Of course you don’t know what it is like to not want to be pawed over!”
 
The narrow-eyed stare was back, accompanying a furrowed brow. “Now you’re being unreasonable. Of course, I know what it’s like to be assaulted – you saved me from that yourself if you don’t happen to recall!”
 
Her voice grew louder as his stare turned hard. “Unreasonable?! Unreasonable! I’ve been dealing with all sorts of crazy messes since you left and I’m being unreasonable?!”
 
Felix jutted his jaw out. “Oh, and

now

she deigns to tell me her troubles! Now, and not earlier, when I could have helped her!” He thrust a finger under her nose, shaking it like an ill-tempered parent would do while scolding their errant child. “I had to find out about this from

Mother.

Do you know how humiliating it was to admit that you hadn’t told me you’d been hounded by the press?”
 
“I did that for you, you big idiot,” she snarled, slamming a finger of her own into his sternum. “You’ve been starving yourself, having migraines, and generally driving yourself into an early grave for at least the past year! You already had this stupid tour to worry about. I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate! I was trying to protect you while you were half the world away and then you stopped talking to me!”
 
Felix’s hands fluttered around her shoulders as if he wanted to seize them and shake her like a bobblehead figurine, but he seemed to restrain himself from touching her, just as she’d ordered him to do, out of respect. “And why, might I ask, is it okay for

you

to protect

me

– which I never asked for, by the way! – but not okay for

me

to protect

you

?”
 
Marinette glowered at him, all the frustration, loneliness, and longing she had experienced without him swelling like a storm surge in her breast. She rolled up on her toes and got in his face, staring him down despite their difference in height. “You may be a prince on a great,

ruddy white horse

, Felix, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need rescuing too! Haven’t I helped you? Haven’t I done everything I can to do a good job for you? To take care of you, your mother, everything I could to be there for you?! Or does that not mean anything to the mighty Prince of Wales, huh? What? Has this all been yet another joke at my expense? Sure! I bet you and Adrien have called each other up to compare notes on how to mess me over!”
 
“How dare you?” Chest shuddering with repressed emotion and eyes flashing with hurt, Felix appeared as if she’d run him through with her words. His lower lip trembled, but Marinette refused to acknowledge what the quivering meant, or what the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes meant either. “Of

course,

you’ve done a good job. The best! But even though I’ve pranked you in the past, I would

never

toy with your feelings like that, and I would especially never use my

harebrained cousin

to do it!”
 
“Adrien is not harebrained,” she said through clenched teeth, stabbing her finger into his chest with extra strength. “You’re the one who's gone ‘round the twist! All that hair gel must have finally soaked into your brain!”
 
“What,” Felix whispered venomously, his breath fanning over her lips, “on earth did I ever do to deserve you? You throw my titles into my face whenever you’re looking for a convenient way to hurt me, even at that accursed Fitzwilliam’s reception where all I wanted to do was hold you. You insult me to my face and claim I corroborated with someone who crushed your spirits to do the same. And you refuse to tell me what is really bothering you! You’ve done that since I’ve known you, hiding away as if pretending that I wouldn’t care!”
 
“Well, can you blame me?” she yelled, giving full vent to the emotions before they tore her up any further. “You look like the man who broke my heart, you tease me, prank me, call me names, insult me, order me about like I’m nothing but a peasant, and–”
 
“Excuse me, Sir, Miss,” Arthur called rather loudly from the doorway.
 
“GO AWAY, ARTHUR!” they both shouted at the same time.
 
There was a faint huffing sound and the door, which they had never closed behind them, shut with a deafening snick.
 
“Now, where was I?” Marinette demanded, mentally scrambling through the ruins of composure her emotions had left behind.
 
Felix sneered, inching forward so he spoke almost against her lips. “What, can't you even remember your own insults? You were saying that I treated you like a peasant.”
 
She wasn’t sure why, but those words hurt far more than she expected. Her chest ached and her eyes burned with unshed tears as the world went watery at the edges. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry now. Maybe it was because he’d misunderstood her. Maybe it was because he hadn’t pushed when he should have, or maybe it was because she was just mad at herself, but either way, she was going to take this jerk down a peg or twelve.
 
Either that or punch him in the nose again.
 
“You are nothing but a spoiled, arrogant, entitled prat who thinks the world is hanging on his every word. You close yourself off and away and then act as if everyone should either pity you or ignore you. Well, what if I

don’t

give up on you, Felix Fathom? Huh? You say I’m the only person aside from Arthur who puts up with you! What if you can’t drive me away? Would that finally knock you off that pedestal you perch on like a toilet and knock some sense into your thick, Royal skull?” The last three words she punctuated with stabs at his chest, staring into those angry verdant eyes with determination.
 
His eyes blew wide and his brows snapped upwards towards his hair. “You – wha–

what?!

”
 
“You heard me,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly. “

You

say it if you need to hear it again!”
 
If she hadn’t been fuming, Marinette might have laughed at the strange parade of expressions that marched across his face. She might even have ruffled his hair, given him a hug, and – no! No, she was mad at him! Yes, she was as mad as a wet hen at Felix and she was going to stand her ground. She had grown up, she knew what she wanted, and no stuffed shirt, sneering Ice Prince was going to chase her away from the life she had been making for herself!
 
And if he tried he would be seeing out of one less eye and hang the consequences!
 
“You’re… not leaving?” he fumbled, staring at her with a look so familiar and powerful it turned her legs to jelly.
 
Marinette took a step back, reaching behind trying to find the wall, a table, anything to support her save for the man who was leaning into her space. Instead, her foot caught the bottom of one of the trunks and she lost her balance, tipping over backward. The world inverted and she braced for the crash…
 
…that never came.
 
Suddenly, strong arms grabbed at her, one at her shoulders and one around her waist. Felix held her in midair, his nose brushing hers and his scent of bergamot and allspice overwhelming her senses. And, oh, his eyes… that look of intense longing filled her horizon until she couldn’t breathe. What little air she managed to draw in came out in tiny, nervous pants that played across his face and brought a flush to his cheeks.
 
“You… you can’t leave,” he said, his voice now soft and husky with want. “I won’t let you.”
 
Marinette was lightheaded from the angle, to say nothing of the gallons of hormones being pumped through her veins by her traitorous heart, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let him win this time.
 
She made a soft scoffing noise in her throat. “And how do you intend to stop me if I did?”
 
The look he gave melted her down to her molecules, so intense was the heat of yearning in his eyes, and his voice, when he spoke, set every fiber alive with lightning. “Then you’ll just have to take me with you.”
 
Something inside her, something long restrained and hurt and tender, snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Grabbing his face in her hands, she pulled him into a kiss.
 
And that was when she lost control of the situation. Felix dove for her lips, almost growling in his eagerness to devour her. As Felix’s mouth moved fiercely against hers, seeking to consume her utterly, Marinette matched him passion for passion. 
 
Her hands snaked up to his hair, tugging on those blond strands made ridiculous only by how much gel they bore. His fingers flexed on her waist, grasping her maid’s uniform in a tight grip, bunching the fabric. 
 
Marinette breathed his air into her lungs, giving and giving and

giving

as he took and took and

took.

It was as if all their pent-up desire, all their covetous craving for each other had built up to this moment and released itself in an explosion of two eagerly meeting mouths.
 
By the time Felix pulled away, his hot breath fanning over her lips, Marinette was beyond lightheaded – she was actually dizzy. She almost swooned in his arms, her fingers clutching his neck in an effort to stabilize herself and keep from bringing them both to the floor.
 
“Don’t drop me,” she murmured, staring up into eyes so full of hunger, they hurt. 
 
Felix scoffed, rolling those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. “As if I would. ‘Peace!’” he breathed against her. “‘I will stop your mouth.’”
 
The quote from

Ado

made Marinette’s blood sing but not as much as his next kiss. He took his time, dragging his fingers lightly up and down her spine ever so slowly before massaging the tense muscles at the small of her back, sending sparks through her all the while. When she tried to speed up the rate of his kisses, chasing him down, she felt him smirk against her mouth and pull away. 
 
“Now, now, little fool…” Felix pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “We can’t cause a scandal."
 
She rolled her eyes at his nonsense and gave him a smirk of her own, twirling one of the strands of hair at the back of his neck around her finger with little tugs that made his eyelids flicker with each turn. “Oh, I think you already did that.”
 
A rumble came up from his chest, a low growl that she felt rather than heard. "Then there's no reason to

stop

being scandalous, now is there?"
 
She laughed, or tried to – it was probably more of a gasp, really – and daringly ran a finger down the center of his lips. They were very pink and kiss-bruised.

“I did that,”

she thought, part of her marveling at her boldness and the rest incredibly pleased at her effect on him.

“But who am I kidding; he has me wrapped around his little finger and I couldn't care less.”

“Haven’t we scandalized everyone enough already?” she asked softly, running her finger down his chin and tracing the underside of his jaw. He really did have a glorious jawline. “A chambermaid in love with a prince?”
 
Felix sucked a breath over his teeth. His eyes searched hers as if he could unlock all her secrets just by staring. 
 
"She told me you loved me," he murmured, gently trailing the backs of his knuckles over Marinette's unscratched cheek, "but I didn't believe it."
 
For a moment, her mind blanked as she sorted through all the ‘she’s that could have told Felix she loved him. Could Alya…
 
Marinette must have had question marks written all over her face for he grinned softly at her. “Mother. She called me and -”
 
Just then, to Marinette's intense embarrassment, her stomach gave a loud rumbling growl that was clearly audible to her, Felix, and probably the diligent Arthur who was still undoubtedly standing watch outside.
 
Felix blinked, seemingly brought out of the tender moment with all the elegance of being born. "Are you hungry, little fool?"
 
Biting her lip as her cheeks burned, she nodded. “I was helping finalize things for the party and then your Mother sent me for the gifts for the Rajah’s household, and –”
 
“– and you forgot to take care of yourself,” he finished, shaking his head.
 
Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the couch, settling her there as gently as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
 
Smoothing her bangs off of her forehead, Felix brushed his lips against her skin there and drew back to look at her, easily cupping her cheeks in both his large hands. "Let

me

take care of you. I'm here now."
 
Marinette turned her face into his hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Shouldn’t I be–”
 
He gave her a stern look.
 
“Don’t deprive me of the thrill of taking care of my little fool,” he said fiercely, though his eyes were smiling. “Besides, Mother said I was to make sure you were okay.

I

get to decide what that means. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
 
Knowing how stubborn he could be, Marinette gave in to his desire to care for her, but she had to be certain he would come back. He'd left her for so long and had stopped talking to her, and she still didn't know what she'd done to deserve that. 
 
"Promise?"

Felix opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he held out his hand.
 
“Shake on it?”
 
She blushed, remembering her telling him his word wasn’t good enough but took the offered hand gently in her own.
 
After a single pump in agreement, Felix snuck a kiss on her knuckles before he strode confidently out of the room, leaving her mind a whirlwind.
 
"

Did that just happen

?" Marinette thought, her fingers creeping up to caress her kiss-swollen lips. "

Did I really just make out with Felix? And… did I really tell him that I love him?"

Her gaze traveled to his suitcases, wondering with a twisting gut why he hadn't told her that he loved her back.
 
The realization dropped into her belly like a stone, a sinking feeling that caused her eyes to prickle at the corners.
 
"

No."

Marinette dashed at the tears in her eyes before they'd fully formed. "

No feeling sorry for myself. Maybe he doesn't feel the same, but that doesn't mean I can't still be useful to him."

Resolve set, Marinette stood from the couch, steadfastly ignoring the pretzel-like knots in her stomach. She moved to his messenger bag – which was haphazardly propped up against one of the suitcases – intending to help him unpack. 
 
That was one thing she could do for him, and she'd have to do it eventually anyway. "

May as well get a headstart now."

For all Felix’s obsession with near mathematical neatness, his bag was a jumbled mess. Marinette tutted as she carried the bag to the coffee table and started pulling items out, organizing them into piles to put away.

“Passport, cell phone, pens - how many fountain pens does a person need anyway? - day planner, phrasebooks in three different languages…”

More and more items came out of the bag like something out of Mary Poppins. Marinette fully expected to pull a palm tree or a Chinese dragon statue out at any moment, but she did not expect to see her name staring up at her from the depths of the bag.
 
She stilled, holding her breath as she pulled the creamy envelope out and stared at it in confusion. There was her name, written in a spidery script complete with needle-like serifs and underlined twice.
 
Suddenly, her heart was beating viciously, lodging itself in her throat and leaving her breathless. She knew she shouldn’t open it. Just because it was addressed to her didn’t mean she could open it without permission, right?
 
She rubbed the envelope between her fingers, marveling at the weight and texture - Felix and Amelie never did things by halves - and found that the back flap wasn’t gummed down.
 
She turned it over and the several pages were out and in her hands before she had given it a second thought.

'My dearest Marinette,'

Oh! Seeing him address her as his dearest was the sweetest Christmas gift!

‘Not for the first time do I find myself the fool in our relationship – and not the honest kind. I hurt you with my frustration, with my prevaricating, and what amounts to a very curt dismissal. I didn’t mean to take it out on you and for that, you have my most abject and profound apologies.'

'I hope you will bear with me as I explain my actions as I should have done the last time we talked.'

There was almost a page-long paragraph that had been heavily crossed out and no amount of peering at it under or against the light could make it clear. Frustrated, Marinette continued.

“When I found that my sweet, little fool hadn’t been her open, honest self with me, I felt betrayed, confused, and scared. That day, when I last called you, you looked so tired and unwell that it frightened me. I suddenly understood what you meant when you told me you worried about my health. I found myself consumed with anxiety for you. Combined with jet lag, the endless meetings, the infinite ache of missing you, and now the worry over your health and the press hounding you incessantly, I was a wreck, but you were smiling and laughing, covering it all up as if it didn’t matter.

‘But it does matter, little fool. You are important to me!’

Tears welled up in her eyes. He really had been worried about her, fretting over her, and all her protection had done was make it worse, not better. She sniffled and scrubbed at her eyes with her frilly apron. She couldn’t read the letter if she was tear blinded and there was no way she was going to let her tears blur the precious words.

‘The heart of the matter, Marinette, is that I have never had someone I cared about enough to worry if they told me the truth or not. You are my truth sayer, my honest fool, my oracle in a world I’ve barely experienced and never understood. Losing you would be heartbreaking and knowing you weren’t telling me the truth felt like losing you.’

“Oh,” she gasped, startling herself that she spoke it aloud. One hand crept to her mouth where their lips had so recently met. “Oh, Felix…”

‘Please, Marinette, forgive me… You have been more patient with me than I deserve and I can think of no way to pay the immeasurable debt I owe other than to remain forever

‘Your most humble servant,

‘Felix’

She felt the tears start to fall and hurriedly pressed the treasured letter to her chest to protect it. Without his tortured words blocking her view, Marinette saw her name written over and over and over again in spidery script, stacks of creamy envelopes filling the bottom of the bag.
 
Unable to stand any longer under the guilt and the pain of hurting him, Marinette collapsed back on the couch and wept, clutching the letter to her heart.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Would she like this?"

Felix thought, perusing the selection at the Christmas party's buffet table. He'd promised to take care of Marinette, and he'd agonized over what food to get her ever since. "

That is the question."

Felix knew he'd been gone too long. He'd worried too much over what sorts of hors d'oeuvres she'd like and had been paralyzed by too many options.  
Caviar, miniature Cornish pasties, beef Wellington – all sumptuously prepared, he was sure. But as he clutched the china plate in his uninjured hand – having been reminded of the punch he'd given when he'd picked up the plate in the wrong hand absentmindedly – Felix was at a loss. 
 
“I’m sure, Your Royal Highness,” Arthur intoned from behind him, making Felix jump three feet into the air, “that she’d like anything you bring her.”
 
“Arthur!” Felix pressed his hand against his rapidly beating heart. Once his breathing evened out to an acceptable level, Felix straightened his tuxedo jacket and peered at the man. “You think so?”
 
Felix didn’t even question how Arthur knew what he was up to. The man had a sixth sense, surely, and knew everything.
 
“Yes, Sir.” Arthur pulled up beside him and started loading a plate. “I’m sure she’d enjoy the pasties. She seemed to like them at Anmer Hall during your luncheon there.”
 
Felix thought back, trying to recall what they had eaten – or, rather, what she had eaten and he had foolishly refused to eat. Anmer Hall was a blur of good memories and the only meal that had lodged in his brain with any ability to remember it was Nonna’s Chicken Parmesan.
 
He glanced at Arthur, curious for another reason. The man had carefully curated the buffet table, selecting a scrumptious-looking selection of bruschetta, beef Wellington bites, spinach artichoke pastries, stuffed mushrooms, and one of the miniature pasties with a glass of pumpkin and eggnog trifle in his other hand. “Who’s that plate for?”
 
“Why, it’s for you, Sir.”
 
Felix’s jaw dropped, but he shut it with a snap. “Very good, Arthur. You’re right. She wouldn’t want me to go without.”
 
“Especially since…” Arthur’s eyes seemed to glitter, though not with malice. With something else. Amusement? “... His Royal Highness hasn’t eaten since Jamaica.”
 
His visit to Jamaica was two days ago, and Felix couldn’t even remember what he’d eaten there. Something small, certainly.
 
Deciding he’d wasted enough of Marinette’s time with indecision, Felix mirrored Arthur’s plate for him, choosing the same foods and loading them up in similar quantities.

“Surely she’ll pick which ones she likes from all of them and just eat those.”

When they stepped into the hallway, mercifully unhampered by hangers-on, Arthur summoned a cart from somewhere and arranged both the plates and desserts on it. There was also a pot of tea and a plate of gingerbread cookies, their little icing smiles charming enough to even bring a smile out of Felix’s worried mood.
 
Seeming satisfied for reasons unknown to Felix, Arthur tipped his head as if waiting for Felix to lead the way back to his chambers.
 
So Felix did, taking her plate at the door, which was mercifully shut, giving Marinette her privacy. His injured hand twinging with the weight of the plate, Felix only waited long enough for Arthur to turn the door handle before nudging the door open with his shoulder.
 
“I’m ba–”
 
Marinette was seated on the couch, her back to him so he couldn’t get a good look at her face. What he could see, however, was that she was surrounded by sheet after sheet of creamy paper on the sofa back, table, and floor. His shoulder bag sagged open and empty on the coffee table, with organized piles of his belongings laid out - presumably to be put away.
 
His sharp intake of breath violently sucked all the moisture out of the room. There was only one way all that paper could have come out of his bag. 
 
Marinette had found the letters.
 
The letters he had never intended for her to read.
 
Felix flushed all the way up his neck over his cheeks and into his hair. She had read all his foolish gushing! All the tender, loverly thoughts of her that had crowded his head in the midnight hours, soothing his loneliness and depriving him of sleep.

The letter written after he found out she hadn’t been sharing her troubles with him sprang to mind with a sudden stab of fear.
 
She must surely be repulsed by such weakness, such unmanly phrasing that was as far from her beloved poetry as she was above the common throng. Would she laugh? Would she -
 
But Marinette’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a broken sob that just about shattered his heart, which made the decision of what to do for him. 
 
Abandoning the plate on the cart, Felix rushed to kneel by her side.
 
“Don’t cry, little fool,” he murmured sadly, pulling his handkerchief from his breast pocket and drying her cheeks. Her cheeks and nose were flushed and her eyes were so wide and wet he thought he might drown in them. “I’m sorry you found those. I… I never meant for you to -”
 
She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing and mumbling into his shoulder. Stunned, Felix wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady against the flood. What else could he do?
 
He was utterly hopeless.

He

was the fool! Even now he was at war within himself. With her lithe arms circling his neck and her slight, soft form shaking in his hold, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her cheeks, caress her neck and shoulders and hands, coax that smile to life once more, and spark the embers in her eyes he wanted to only burn for him. And yet his heart was wrenched with the sound of her sobs, the scent of her tears stinging his nose, and the rictus of her sorrow worrying him.
 
How could he take care of her if he didn’t even understand why she was crying?
 
She mumbled into his tuxedo jacket, her hot breath penetrating the layers of fabric as her tears could not.
 
“What is it, Marinette?" Felix murmured softly, hopefully. He stroked her bangs back from her forehead with all the tenderness of his aching heart. “Please, tell me what it is. I’ll find a way to help. I promise.”
 
She sniffled and rested her cheek against his collarbone. “I don’t deserve you,” she said with a tremulous sigh. “I was trying to protect you, help you, and all I did was hurt you. Maybe I’m just a jinx. Maybe I –”
 
Felix huffed, both annoyed and touched by her worry. “And Beatrice went out of her way to taunt and torment Benedict, but he still loved her, did he not?”
 
Marinette nodded weakly.
 
He moved to sit on the sofa beside her, pulling her into his side and settling his arms more comfortably around her. “Yes, I was frustrated, maybe even a little angry that you didn’t tell me you were in trouble with the press or that Mother was being a Nosy Nettie, but I was more worried

for you

.” 
 
He pressed a firm kiss to Marinette's hair, breathing in her scent of honeysuckle with all the reverence and pleasure due to the finest incense. 
 
“You really mean it?" she asked timidly, causing him to pull her closer.
 
“Of course I was worried!'" he exclaimed. “You're

my

little fool! I want to always be there to take care of you, to protect you, to lo–"  Felix nearly choked as the words lodged in his throat in sudden panic.

“Can I say them now?"

he thought, heart racing.

“If I tell her now, will… she accept them? … Accept me?”

She leaned away ever so slightly to look at his face. There, right between her delicate eyebrows was a worried line that hadn’t been there before he left.  Without thinking, he reached up and smoothed it away with his thumb before pressing a tender kiss to the spot.
 
“F-Felix,” she stammered, face flushed dark and eyes wide.
 
“I love you."
 
Bracing for her reaction – or hiding from it – Felix jammed his eyes shut. His heart slammed in his palate; Felix had been unprepared for those words to leave his mouth. They caught him unawares just as – he was sure – they caught her.
 
He'd finally told her the truth, and it was in the heat of the moment after an argument and some deliriously good kissing. If he'd been thinking properly and not flushing up a storm, Felix would have bemoaned his lack of foresight.
 
If he had

planned

to tell her that he loved her, he would have taken her to a special place like Anmer Hall and recreated the romantic atmosphere she had made just for him. He would have said it when the moment was right, not blurted the confession out like the world's biggest idiot.
 
And now… now he was waiting for her to react with his eyes shut and his heart drumming an arrhythmic beat in his chest, and the waiting was agony.
 
He felt a brief, soft brush of her lips on his temple. She placed her cheek against his and whispered, "I know."
 
Felix's eyes fluttered open in surprise. He drew back to look at her, search her face, unearth her mysteries. 
 
"You

know

?"
 
It was a stupid question to be sure. She had just told him that she knew, and it's not like he didn't trust her to know her own feelings. She was undoubtedly better at this emotional intelligence stuff than he was.
 
But Felix couldn't help but seek confirmation and even validation. He needed her to acknowledge his feelings for her as they were so overwhelming, he didn't fully understand their depth.
 
Marinette smiled and in it was a world full of promise, beauty, light – and life. It was part of what had drawn him to her like a moth to the inescapable flame: her passion, her verve, her zest for life, and all the wonders it offered.
 
She had single-handedly brought him out of a dull, damp cave, removing the crushing weight of boredom. She had thrown true, bright light into his life, banishing the shadows he had thought were reality. Felix marveled at the fact that she was still there with him, and hadn't run off screaming at his foolish declaration.
 
Her smile morphed into a smirk so maddeningly endearing, Felix wanted to kiss it off. She tapped his nose. "You told me, silly."
 
When he just looked at her blankly, she gestured to the letters that surrounded them in drifts of cream-colored paper.  Felix swallowed hard, scrambling frantically to remember anything in his letters aside from ridiculous gushing and rebuking her for not being open with him.
 
“I did?”
 
Her smirk softened at his confusion and she pulled his head down to kiss the bridge of his nose. “Of course you did! Every page just breathes it. This is the most beautiful prose I’ve ever read, Felix! You have such talent and I was… am… just so overwhelmed by it all.”
 
Felix had read of people crying with happiness, but he had always assumed that was needless hyperbole. Now, as the tears fell from her sparkling, happy eyes, he felt a warm cascade bubble up inside him like a geyser.

“This must be what joy feels like,”

he thought as he pulled her in for another kiss, the letters and dinner forgotten in the warmth of her lips.
 
***
 
"Yes, Your Majesty," Arthur said, wearing the smuggest smile Amelie had ever seen on him. "That's exactly how it went. He comforted her and then they began kissing."
 
The dry recitation of the results of all her plans coming together almost made Amelie snort. 
 
Almost. She would

never.

But Arthur was so very dry, with a flat delivery that befitted the calmest and most unruffled middle managers among them.
 
She'd told him to "Skip to the good stuff," and Arthur had, but the way he told the story was a snoozefest. 
 
Still. Amelie couldn't argue with the results.
 
The Queen wanted to rub her hands together in delight, but she was on display at a public Christmas party, where the Crown Prince had just begun a scandal and possibly an international incident.
 
Now the rumor mill was churning – frothing, really, like the Shrieking Eels of Goldman fame – ready to devour anyone who foolishly set foot in their midst.
 
In a way, Amelie was glad Fe was ensconced away with the object of his fascination, safe from the vicious gossip mongers flitting from person to person at the party.
 
A few had even been so bold as to congratulate

The Queen

for Felix's defense of "that helpless servant," as if Amelie had had anything to do with it.
 
She did, of course, but that was beside the point.
 
Amelie gave Arthur a broad, scarily genuine smile. "Finally. I was wondering when they'd get to the lip locking."
 
"Oh, yes, they were…" Arthur paused for a moment as if searching for the right words not to implicate her son and the chambermaid. Amelie had never seen him look so awkward, which for Arthur, was saying a lot. "... Impatient."
 
Amelie smirked. Count on Arthur to understate the obvious. "I think you mean eager."
 
Arthur straightened his collar, blustering about for a moment and making Amelie laugh.
 
"Are you satisfied with the way things are going, Ma'am?" Arthur asked as if trying to change the topic but also dwell on it. "I know you've had your doubts that they would ever get to this point."
 
"I have a French diplomat to destroy in the morning," Amelie said as if she didn't relish the fact. "This girl of his had better be worth it, Arthur."
 
The man had the audacity to chuckle. "You know as well as I do that she is, Ma'am."
 
Amelie gave him a calculating look. The man was droll, but far too invested in their little scheme. “And if either of them hears a word of this, Wemberly, then I’ll know who to blame.”
 
“I’m not above scheming for His Royal Highness’ happiness, but I don’t tattle, Your Majesty,” he said with a hurtful tone. With a stiff bow and click of his heels, he turned to go.
 
“Oh, and Wemberly,” Amelie said, casually and quietly so that no one nearby could hear.
 
“Ma’am?”
 
She examined her French manicure without looking at him. “How are the numbers running?”
 
Arthur’s scalp shone pink through his thinning hairline. “Fifty-fifty that they get together, but three to one that one of them is going to haul off and punch the other. Miss Dupain-Cheng is the current favorite.”
 
“Kindly place a thousand on Felix for me,” she commented and she smiled when the man spluttered.
 
“I have to support the home team, but…” she paused, letting him sweat a little. “Place two thousand on Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
“Ma’am, may I ask why?”
 
“I like hedging my bets, Arthur, but I also happen to think that my son has met his match. She made that boy grow a spine in less than six months and screwed his head back on his shoulders. As far as I’m concerned, she’s an absolute miracle worker and shouldn’t be underestimated.”

“And neither should I,”

she thought as the man bowed once more and left her presence.
 
She had set her mind on those two getting together and when she set her mind to something, it happened.
 
She wondered… What would Felix think of a June wedding?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next day, after the party and their tumultuous reunion, was Christmas. Felix refused to let Marinette leave the Palace, instead having Arthur set her up in one of the guest suites for the next several days. So as the love of his life lay curled asleep on the sofa in his chambers, Buckingham Palace was set on its ear on behalf of the Crown Prince’s chambermaid.
 
Arthur bustled here and there, placing orders with various departments and stores, offering rewards and other incentives to make sure everything was just right. The valet had never worn a smile so wide in Felix’s memory.

“The man has never looked happier,”

Felix thought as he fired off rapid orders for everything he thought his little fool would need or want  - or anything he happened to want to slip under her nose before she could complain about it - over the holidays. If he had his way, Marinette would never want to leave.
 
Even though he was exhausted, Felix poured himself into the preparation with gusto.

“Now that we both know where we stand, I’m going to woo my little fool properly

!

I'm going to woo her as no woman has ever been wooed in the history of wooing."

There was undoubtedly something wrong with that sentence structure but the thought made Felix feel positively giddy. It was certainly an odd sensation, like rosy champagne bubbles rising inside him, but then again, he had never been in love before.
 
The thought brought him up short. Was he overdoing it? After all, he had only had his mother, a series of short-term nannies in his childhood, and the classics on which to base his knowledge of what women would admire or like.

“Balderdash,”

Felix thought, watching as the different servants in his employ dashed about the halls outside his open door, setting up various decorations for Marinette’s pleasure. One of them came inside, offering to have him look over a menu for Christmas dinner.

“I’ll just… do my best to spoil her, and if she doesn’t like it, she’ll tell me, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Felix said to the servant, quietly so as not to wake Marinette. “She does like Cornish pasties, so we should definitely have those. And maybe something French?”

“A croquembouche would probably be too much at this point…”

Felix wondered whether she’d like the traditional French wedding pastry and whether her father had ever taught her to make it. He didn’t often think of her parents, but as of late, Felix had been more and more curious about the pair of bakers who had had a large part in making Marinette into who she was.
 
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” the servant said, taking the menu and backing away, bowing obsequiously as his station dictated. “Right away.”
 
Everything was falling into place. His chambers were still packed full of trunk after trunk of gifts for her that he’d picked up during his travels, and he had planned on giving her all of them over breakfast. 
 
Felix didn’t want her to help him unpack – he certainly didn’t want her

working

during the Christmas holiday. Not while he was there and ready to spoil her. But he did want her to receive the presents he’d had so much fun buying for her.  
 
Crossing to one of the crates, Felix opened it with a budding joy only to see the unwrapped gifts staring up at him from among the mess of bubble wrap.

“Oops. I should probably have someone wrap those.”

Summoning Arthur via pull cord, Felix impatiently waited for his valet to arrive, tapping his foot and trying to ignore the way his mind was spinning. Surely Marinette wouldn’t like any of the presents he’d bought her if they were unwrapped!
 
Arthur took his sweet time to arrive, which was unlike the man, and by the time he got to Felix’s chambers, Felix had practically worn a groove in the floor with pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. 
 
“Arthur!” Felix hissed quietly. “Where have you been? I have an emergency!”
 
“My apologies, Your Royal Highness,” Arthur whispered breathlessly, sketching a quick bow that mollified Felix the slightest amount. “I was making arrangements for the lady. She will be settled in the Rose Suite and I have procured several brand-new articles of clothing for her to choose from, considering her rejection of previously worn apparel. Her Majesty has been informed of the arrangements.”
 
“Very good, Arthur.”
 
The man nodded, staring at the crate of exposed gifts. “Sir, might I inquire as to how you intend to give your gifts to Miss Dupain-Cheng?”
 
Felix sighed and rolled his eyes. “I was just going to ask for your help with that.”
 
Strangely, that satisfied grin spread across Arthur’s face again. “Then you are in luck, sir. He gestured towards the sofa where Marinette was sound asleep. “If you would be so kind as to carry Miss Marinette to the Rose Suite, I will take care of the rest.”
 
“Really?” Felix asked, stunned as the blunt question fell out of his mouth. He usually had more tact than this.
 
“Trust me, sir,” Arthur said, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “You are not the only one within these walls who cares about Miss Marinette. Once they found out who all of this was for, many individuals have been asking what they can do to help. Your lady is quite special.”
 
Felix’s heart warmed; it was still a strange sensation and one only Marinette had caused in him before. However, knowing she was cared for here, in a country not her own, that she had earned the friendship of those around her with her kindness and gentleness filled him with pride and a softness only his little fool could bring out of him.
 
“Alright. Can you make sure the halls are clear for us? I don’t want any unnecessary noise or anyone gossiping seeing me carry her.”
 
“Of course, Sir.”
 
Felix tiptoed over to the sofa and stared down at the woman he adored. With a tenderness that surprised him at its intensity, he slowly eased her into his arms. She moaned in her sleep, shifting ever so slightly against him before nuzzling against his chest like a sleepy kitten. Heat spread out from her touch, flushing his face and pooling in the pit of his stomach. He had wanted to hold her like this for so long that this moment felt more like a dream than reality. 
 
Or maybe that was just the jetlag talking.
 
All he knew was he wanted nothing more than to hold her while she slept, to watch over her rest with jealousy lest anyone wake his sleeping beauty.
 
He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, breathing in her scent of honeysuckle to settle the whirling of his tired mind. When he opened them once more, Arthur was tapping away on his phone, clearly sending orders and messages.
 
“Ready when you are, Arthur,” Felix murmured, cradling his warm, sweet armful to his chest.
 
With a brisk nod, his valet led the way, opening doors and guiding him to the Rose Suite which Felix only vaguely remembered from his rebellious exploration when he was a child. It was smaller than his own quarters, with only three rooms: bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room, but the ceilings were vaulted with simple gilt decor and the walls were papered in some warm, rosy velvet stuff, giving the room its name. 
 
While gilt was much in evidence in picture frames and around the large mirror over a fireplace adorned with a tasteful garland, the rest of the room seemed decorated around antiquated elegance. The furniture was a rich hodgepodge of mahogany and painted French tables from the late 1700s. An absolutely enormous light fixture suspended from the ceiling all dark bronze, beading, and tiny lamp shades, while a handsome built-in canopy over the bed softened it with champagne-colored satin upholstery embroidered with roses to match the duvet beneath.
 
“This is perfect, Arthur,” Felix whispered. “I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”
 
“Thank you, Sir.” Moving as silently as a cat across the rose patterned carpet, the valet pulled back the covers of the large bed. “If you lay her down, then I can remove her shoes.”
 
Felix gently lay her on the bed in the pool of golden light from the bedside lamp - the only source of light in the room. He couldn’t help smiling as her brow creased and her lips pursed in a pout in her sleep. She wanted him to hold her, too, even in her sleep, and the thought sent warm, tingling waves down to his fingertips.
 
“No,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’ll take care of her.”
 
There was an awkward clearing of the throat behind him and Felix turned around to glare at the man.
 
“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” Arthur said softly, looking nervous. “But I am required to remind you of your new status. There are rules governing the interaction between courting couples in the Royal Family, namely –”
 
“Chaperones,” Felix said, his voice a mix between a growl and a whisper, an annoyed sneer tugging at his lips. “Arthur, I’m old enough to control myself without outside assistance and do you really think I would dare to do so much as kiss her without her permission let alone…” He waved his hand about in the air as if he could shoo the correct word at the man without having to say it. “That?”
 
Marinette stirred in her sleep, her frown deepening. Both men froze, barely breathing until she seemed to relax once more. Felix glared at Arthur in irritation.
 
The valet’s face flushed and he fiddled with his cuffs. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I really must insist. I’ll just stand by the door, shall I?”
 
Felix sighed wearily and nodded. 
 
He knew about all the ridiculous rules of his family – everything about chaperones, etiquette, security, and presentation with everything so open and public it was a wonder any Royal offshoot had time to fall in love at all - but Marinette? She didn’t know yet. It hadn’t been something he’d wanted to tell her earlier. Who would want to start a relationship with a set of one-sided rules that stripped one of privacy, freedom of movement, and peace of mind? She had had a taste of that already and he didn’t want to risk losing her because he dropped a bomb like that too early.
 
Still, it was better to keep everything above board – especially for her sake – and if that meant he couldn't stay the rest of the night watching her sleep, then so be it. The least he could do is make her more comfortable before he left.
 
Felix slowly pulled the hair band and pins out of Marinette’s raven hair, releasing the silky strands to lay like a pool of shadows across the pillow. He allowed himself the luxury of stroking the cool tresses before removing her shoes and placing them at the foot of the bed. Propriety forbade him from reaching underneath her to untie the frilly apron still around her waist, so there was nothing else he could do save pulling the covers over her and pressing a light kiss to her hair before sneaking out of the room.
 
He barely made it to the hallway before a mighty yawn overtook him.
 
“You should get to bed, too, Sir,” Arthur said, guiding him back to his quarters. Why were these hallways so long? “New relationships can be challenging at the best of times, let alone with jetlag, lack of sleep, or holiday stress. Respectfully, Sir, you are in the middle of all four.”
 
Felix shook his head, a negative, but also to clear his head of exhaustion’s fog. It didn’t help much. “I can’t. Too much to do.”
 
“Knowing Miss Dupain-Cheng the way I have come to, Sir, she would rather not have Christmas at all than for you to ruin your health trying to please her.”
 
He wanted to see to every detail, make everything perfect for his most precious of people, but his limbs were beginning to feel heavy and his head ached with weariness. His eyes were having trouble focusing and felt dry and gritty besides.
 
“You’re right, Arthur,” he said, unable to stifle the next yawn. “She wouldn't want me to lose sleep for her, would she?”
 
“No, Sir. I can guarantee she would not.” Arthur grabbed his elbow as he swayed and steered him the last few feet to his rooms.
 
There was a noisy crowd gathered in his sitting room, busily wrapping presents, hanging lighted garlands, and decorating a massive Christmas tree.
 
“What are you all doing here?” Felix barked, summoning instant silence. He winced at the group of servants, hostlers, cooks, and maids that seemed to be creating an explosion of misplaced holiday spirit in his personal quarters.
 
One of the men stood up, dressed in a white chef’s coat. The sous chef, Felix recalled, was the one who was interested in his Marinette. Felix felt his heart rate kick into second gear at the man’s presence.
 
“Your Royal Highness,” James began, nervously rotating a roll of Cello tape in his hands. “I … we … Mr Wemberly told us that you wanted all of this,” and he gestured to the decorations and mounds of wrapping paper and bows, “for Marinette.”
 
Felix nodded curtly.
 
James stared steadily at him and Felix stared back, feeling the challenge for what it was.
 
“She couldn’t go home to visit her parents and her best friend went home to visit her relatives,” James continued. “And Marinette deserves a happy Christmas.”
 
The others agreed, some with nods, some with murmurs of assent, while a middle-aged woman in a more utilitarian apron and a young man in the uniform of a footman called out “Hear, hear!” with ringing enthusiasm.
 
Felix glanced around at them all and he felt an unaccustomed warmth in his chest. He knew Marinette was the warmth and light that brought him out of the dark, but these people - normal, everyday,

extraordinary

people - had felt it too and wanted to pour back into the one who brightened their lives.
 
He blinked fiercely, fighting to keep the tears at bay, and gave them a genuine smile.
 
“Thank you. This means more than you will ever know and I am sure Miss Dupain-Cheng will thank each and every one of you herself when she is able.”
 
James shifted on his feet, gripping the roll of Cello tape. "Given what's going on with her mother…"
 
Felix glanced up, narrowing his eyes. It sounded like James was privy to a great deal of information that Felix was not, information Felix was sure the man hadn't meant to bring up. "What

about

her mother?"
 
James sucked a breath over his teeth in shock. 
 
Felix's tone had erupted a bit sharper than he'd intended, so, realizing his mistake, he drew back. "I'm sorry, James. Do continue."
 
The sous chef nibbled on his lower lip, the picture of nervous anticipation that he was going to get smacked down. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. 
 
"Well, Sir, she wouldn't want me to say–" And how that hurt. "–but her mother's on death's door from cancer."
 
Cancer.
 
Cancer.

Cancer

.
 
James' words echoed in Felix's mind, making his stomach bottom out even as his heart did the same. Feeling the blood drain from his face, Felix could barely hold back the tears of betrayal prickling the corners of his eyes.

"Why didn't she tell me?"

Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, Felix jammed his eyes shut. Memories of his father skinny dipping with him and Adrien during their childhood summers flooded his mind. Thoughts of how hale and healthy his father had been before his diagnosis made Felix’s heart twinge in his chest.
 
And of course, the inevitable slow decline and systematic destruction of Colt’s body – and, eventually, hope – racked Felix’s brain, stringing out his nerves. 
 
Felix swayed on his feet, torn between wanting to comfort Marinette as she was going through the same pain he’d so recently been through, and wanting to run away and hide from her mother’s illness and never speak of it again.
 
“Mr Wemberly,” called the outspoken footman. “It's not my place to tell His Royal Highness to get his bum in bed, but it is yours, sir. The fellow’s about to drop!”
 
There was a nervous pause in which everyone didn’t know what was going to happen – Prince Felix was known to be extremely testy before the arrival of a certain raven-haired beauty – but Felix opened his eyes and gave what, for him, was a hearty chuckle even though his heart wasn't in it. Everyone soon joined him, relief and good humor blending together as one.
 
“Quite right, good man. Quite right,” Felix said with a tight smile. "Then I will leave this undertaking in your capable hands. Goodnight, all.”
 
There was a cheerful chorus of, “G’night, Sir”s as Arthur helped him into his room.
 
The convivial chatter was kept at a minimum as he finished his evening routine and dragged himself into bed.
 
“Don’t forget to wake me as soon as Marinette is up, Arthur,” he slurred, grabbing the other pillow and wrapping himself around it.
 
“Of course, Sir. But, as it is a quarter past three in the morning, I rather doubt either of you will want to get up at all early.”
 
Still disquieted by Marinette's lack of trust in him, Felix reached out to Arthur. "Why wouldn't she tell me about her mother?"
 
"I'm sure she just didn't want to remind you, Sir. You were avoiding any mentions of illness and your screenings. She wouldn't want to bring up a potentially painful subject." Arthur cleared his throat. "Then of course, you had to leave on the tour right after you had the tests run. When would she have found a good time?"
 
Overcome with exhaustion, Felix gave into a yawn. "I… There must be

something

I can do."
 
"Of course, Sir." Arthur turned the light off with a soft click. "You'll think of something."
 
“Arthur,” Felix mumbled against the pillow.
 
“Yes, Your Royal Highness?”
 
“Thank you… for… everything.”
 
Felix was asleep before he could hear his answer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette woke slowly, warm and comfortable in the way only a long sleep can accomplish. Her mind drifted in and out of wakefulness for some time before the sense of something being off consolidated itself enough for her to notice.
 
Her bed was never this soft, for one, nor did she have anything satin on it – that is if this wasn’t just some very lucid dream. Eyes still closed, she ran her fingers over the blanket that was covering her.

“Yup. Satin with silk embroidery. Definitely dreaming,”

she thought, rolling over with the determination to make this dream last as long as possible.
 
That is when she felt an uncomfortable pressure against the side and back of her neck. What’s worse, it was accompanied by a scratchy, tickling sensation that was all too familiar. She reached up to pull the offending object free only to find her head and neck jerked along behind.
 
Wincing, Marinette opened her eyes.
 
She squeaked in surprise and scrambled backward on the bed until she hit an upholstered headboard. Hanging above the foot of the massive, sumptuous bed was the most hideous light fixture she had ever seen. With aged bronze arms, dozens of strings of quartz beads, and electric candle sconces each bearing a miniature lampshade, it looked like a torture device disguised as a lamp! Why, if it wasn't held up by that thick metal chain, she would be crushed under its weight!
 
Once out of the proverbial ‘splash zone,’ she had a chance to admire the rest of the room and its furnishings. Aside from the intimidating ceiling light, the room was gorgeous! Every detail seemed designed to be just to her liking. A balance of soft and warm with cool and firm brought the whole space together – reminding her of Beauty’s room from a version of Beauty and the Beast her Papa had read to her as a child.
 
There was only one problem: she didn’t know where she was.
 
Also, why had she fallen asleep in her work clothes? The shoulder strap of her frilly apron had been what was digging into her neck and the lace edging had been the cause of the scratchy feeling.
 
Then she remembered.

Kissing Felix, him refusing to let her go home alone late at night after that creep molested her, her falling asleep on the sofa in his quarters…

Marinette felt her face burn.
 
Well, she had cleaned every inch of Felix’s rooms and knew that this was not part of it. It was lovely, feminine, and far too flowery, not to mention pink, for Felix’s taste. Arthur must have arranged this for her, even down to the lovely Christmas garland swagged across the fireplace.
 
Christmas.
 
It was Christmas Day and she had woken up in a bed fit for a princess in Buckingham Palace after

kissing

the Prince! For once, Marinette gave in to temptation and swooned back onto the soft bed.

“So this is what Cinderella felt like after the prince put the glass slipper back on her foot,

” she thought, giggling giddily into the pillows.

“Is this feeling of happy unreality what the end of the fairy tale is like or is it just going to burst like a bubble if I leave this bed?”

A gentle knock was heard at the door.
 
“Uh, come in?” 
 
Betty, one of the general maids, came into the room with a tray bearing a pot of tea, a small plate of scones, and two jars containing clotted cream and lingonberry preserves. The girl was medium height and build with that sweet, wholesome prettiness the British called “fresh-faced.” Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled back into a braided bun and adorable dimples peeked out when she smiled.
 
“Good mornin’, Miss,” she said, grinning cheekily as she bobbed a curtsy. 
 
“Betty, you know me! Don’t start calling me ‘Miss’ as if we weren’t scrubbing pots together last week,” Marinette scolded, her grin wide and sheepish.
 
“Ah, but then you were but ‘Marinette’ the chambermaid,” she said with false solemnity. “But now you are Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng, if you please, guest of ‘is Royal ‘ighness for the entirety of the ‘olidays.”
 
“The – what?! How did– The whole–" Marinette was flabbergasted. She hadn’t been this tongue-tied since Adrien had first asked her out.

“Strange how that thought doesn’t hurt as much as it used to,”

pondered the small,  rational part of her mind that wasn’t either overwhelmed with the royal treatment or completely freaking out.
 
Betty giggled. “Come on, Marinette! You, of all people, should know that what the Prince wants ‘e gets and what ‘e wants is you.” She swished her hips and rolled her eyes in a wiggle dance, her face looking far too smug. “You should have seen what ‘e did last night – almost makes me wish I’d been the one to catch ‘is eye. Oh nevermind! – Well, you will see later I expect. Did he really break the French Ambassador’s jaw ‘cause he was pawing you?”
 
“Oh dear! What has he done?” Marinette exclaimed, all the blood draining from her face as a whole slew of horrible possibilities ran, naked and screaming, through her head. Slapping her face into her hands, she groaned.
 
“You mean, you didn’t know?” Betty cried, eyes wide. “But Sarah said you were there and Andy and Hank ‘auled him down to the gate – took his picture and all!”
 
“No,” Marinette moaned. “It’s a disaster! I– I– I’m a scandal! Her Majesty will never let me stay! I’ll be thrown out and I’ll never–”
 
A look of determination crossed Betty’s normally sweet face. 
 
She harrumphed dramatically – so loudly, in fact, that Marinette twitched in fright at the bizarre noise. Betty tutted at her, her lips suddenly pursed shrewdly, giving her the appearance of someone’s sternest aunt.
 
“Now you listen ‘ere, Missy. ‘is ‘ighness worked ‘imself so ‘ard for you last night that Mr Wemberly practically ‘ad to carry 'im to bed, poor lamb. We’ve all ‘elped, one way or t’other, and if ‘er Majesty tries anything just ‘cause you thawed her ice boy’s ‘eart – why, she’ll ‘ave another think coming! That’s what!”
 
Forget stern aunt! Betty was like a stern grandmother defending her favorite grandchild. The comparison between the nineteen-year-old wanna-be nurse and an old Irish grandmum out of central casting was enough to spark a giggle from Marinette.
 
With a definitive nod, Betty dropped the old woman airs and placed the tray across Marinette’s lap, spreading the napkin and pouring the tea with practiced care.  “There now. Eat up quickly, else 'is ‘ighness will fret when he gets going. Don’t load up though. James is downstairs sweating bullets over a proper Christmas feast for you. This is just for nibbles.”
 
Marinette picked up a scone, split it with the knife – not that it didn’t nearly fall apart on its own with the most delicate crumb – and spread it with cream and preserves. The blending of flavors was perfect and just as good as anything her father had made.
 
Betty nodded again and bustled about, opening the doors on the other side of the room and there was the sound of cupboards being rummaged through.
 
That was when Marinette saw the carriage clock on the console table. Ten a.m.?!
 
As worried as she was about having made a scene the night before and about whether the Queen blamed her for the whole mess, or maybe for ensnaring her son, Marinette was anxious to see Felix again. After almost a two-month absence, she found that even several hours together had not been enough to fill the aching void his traveling had left in her.
 
But he was home. He was with her and wanted her – passionately if that kiss had been any indication.
 
Just the thought made her feel hot and nervous all over, leading her to choke on a cranberry from her scone.
 
“Are you alright?” Betty called, stepping back into the room with a burgundy colored dress in one hand and a pair of cute black ankle boots in the other.
 
“Y-Yes,” she coughed, “But who are those for?”
 
“They’re for you, silly. Mr Wemberly ‘ad them ordered last night just for you on the Prince’s command. Oh, and Mr Wemberly asked that you give ‘im the key to your flat, that way ‘e can arrange for your personals to be brought ‘ere, what with your flatmate goin’ visitin’ and all.”
 
Marinette’s head was swimming. So many conflicting emotions were darting around in her head she didn’t know up from down or forward from backward anymore. Felix had been gone for so long and he had been angry at her, then he was back, suddenly and without warning, just in time to defend her from that creepy scumbag last night. The argument, those beautiful, beautiful letters, her falling asleep in his arms as she had been aching to do for so long that she had forgotten when the ache had begun.
 
Now to find herself being treated like a princess to his prince, a fellow maid bringing her breakfast in bed and picking out clothes bought especially for her which, if she knew Felix and Arthur at all, would be worth a small fortune and that didn’t include the boots!
 
It was all so much to take in, so much to wrap her poor muddled head around that she felt a lump rise in her throat. She fumbled for the teacup and gulped down the steaming liquid fragrant with citrus and bergamot, making the ache in her chest that much stronger for the reminder of Felix.
 
“Betty,” Marinette asked, her hands shaking on her cup. “Is the Queen still in residence?”
 
The girl nodded. “Oh yes. ‘er Majesty doesn’t leave until four p.m. after the Christmas Day broadcast, remember?”
 
“Right,” Marinette mumbled, stuffing the last of the scone into her mouth and scrambling out of bed. She hurried over to the small secretary desk and started jotting down a note and a list on the provided paper. “Betty, can you ask Mr Wemberly if he can arrange to have these items brought from my flat? Especially the presents… and make sure to get the box wrapped in silver paper with the dark blue bow on my desk? It’s very important.”
 
“Sure thing. Now, you get dressed and I will take this down to him personally,” the maid replied, a little officiously, Marinette thought, but she could see the sparkle in Betty’s eye as she pressed her keyring into the maid’s hand. 
 
She was dressed and ready in twenty minutes, a record for her since she didn’t need to worry about the wig or the press hounding her yet again. The dress Betty had laid out for her was both simply and elegantly designed: a silk burgundy a-line with a square neckline and long puffed sleeves gathered at the wrists with ruching that matched the bodice. Soft, elegant, yet comfortable enough to be worn for a day in and played down by the trim black ankle boots. A quick shower and towel dry had left her hair a mass of long, loose curls trailing down her back. She dithered far too long before deciding to leave it down. 
 
She had undoubtedly kept Felix waiting long enough.
 
Casting a final, nervous glance into the mirror over the fireplace, Marinette hurried out of the room and through the various halls back to Felix’s chambers.
 
It was a strange feeling, scurrying towards Felix’s room without it being to clean or deliver something. It felt more dreamlike by the moment, like she really

was

Beauty wandering through the dying castle in search of her beast. The halls were nearly deserted due to it being Christmas and the unfamiliar dress she wore, as lovely as it was, left her feeling exposed, adding to the eerie sensation. 
 
Marinette would admit to anyone that she had scurried the last few hundred feet to Felix’s door, her new boots nearly sliding to a halt on the parquet floors. Her heart pounding, she tried to take several deep breaths to steady herself before she attempted to knock.
 
“Pssst,” hissed a soft voice from down the hall. “Psst! Marinette!”
 
She jumped around like a heroine out of a cheesy horror movie, only to find Betty staring at her wide-eyed and hands over her mouth in surprise. Marinette, heart struggling to wind down from the sudden successful attempt to defy gravity, scuttled down the hall to the next intersection.
 
“Sorry, Marinette,” Betty whispered apologetically. “Didn’a mean to give you a fright.”
 
“What is it, Betty?" she hissed, waving her arms around wildly. “I’m already a nervous wreck! Do you want to give me a heart attack too?”
 
The stern Irish grandmum was back. “I said I was sorry and I meant it. I only called you to bring you this. Happy Christmas.” She pulled her hands from behind her back revealing a gold fabric headband with a cute little bow. “Go ahead! Put it on! It will go perfectly with your dress and make it more festive-like. As if you were a gift of the season too!”
 
“Do… do you think so?”  Marinette knew that gold and burgundy worked well together and the headband, while eye-catching, was not overdone. Betty had fine taste.
 
The girl scoffed. “Of course!” Then she gave such a mischievous smile that Marinette was forcibly reminded of Alya. “And I bet ‘is ‘ighness will think you're ‘is present, right enough!”
 
“Betty!” Marinette blushed as red as her dress for sure.
 
“Come now. Just put it on!”
 
Marinette rushed to take the headband and slide it over her hair and into place on her head. She'd kept Felix waiting, and if a headband was the only thing preventing her from enjoying her first Christmas with him, then she'd just slap the silly thing on and hope for the best.
 
"Thanks, Betty," Marinette mumbled, her cheeks warming from both her friend's concern and her own approach to Felix as a present. 
 
"There," Betty said, her eyes shining with pride. "Now you're all dolled up, lass. Now get in there and win your Prince over!" Betty gently slugged Marinette in the shoulder. "'e won't know what ‘it 'im!"
 
Feeling decidedly more awkward than before donning the gifted gift-making hair style, Marinette crept her way back to Felix's door. 
 
Raising her hand to knock, Marinette fidgeted slightly. Was Felix awake by ten-thirty a.m.? Hadn't Betty just told her that he'd stayed up late preparing for the holidays?
 
The holidays that she was going to spend with him. Giddiness overtook her at the thought of Christmas with Felix. She couldn't go home this year at his request, and she hadn't expected to see him until New Year's. Marinette had expected to spend the holidays with Prince Felix – her cat.
 
Suddenly reminded that she did in fact have a pet at home, Marinette gasped. Her kitten would be fine for a day – he had plenty of food and water and she'd cleaned his litter box before she'd left to work the Christmas party. But if she was spending the entire holiday season with the human Felix…
 
Marinette raised her hand to knock and found herself punching Felix in the chest when he opened the door. He grunted but then favored her with a soft smile.
 
"I missed you too," he teased groggily, as Marinette gasped again, her hands flying to her face. He was dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas that looked unfairly good on him, and his platinum hair was tousled with only the muted shine that told her she was seeing it in its natural state for the first time. It fell in a natural part down the middle and hung down around his face, curling slightly at the ends and flipping untidily in every direction. 
 
She felt her mouth slide open in surprise and the heat that had been raging in her cheeks spread outward to encompass her neck and ears as well as blossoming like a phoenix in her stomach. It was all she could do to not start running her fingers through his hair right then to see if she could get him to groan again.

“No! First things first. Priorities, Marinette!”

In the end, it was only the sight of his green bunny slippers that allowed her to maintain anything close to composure.
 
"Felix! I'm s-so sorry! I didn't m-mean to hit you – I need to g-get Felix!"
 
Felix blinked at her in stupefaction. "I'm right here. You have me if you want me."
 
Marinette was sure she had never blushed so much in less than an hour. Wanting him, indeed! “N-N-No! I… I m-meant my cat? Little Felix?”
 
Felix gave a tired sigh, closing his eyes as if he struggled too with priorities, then wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace.
 
“It will all be taken care of, Marinette. You have my word.” She all but melted into his warm assurance as he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Or do you want to shake on it?”
 
“You’re never going to let me live that down, will you?” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against the collar of his pajama shirt, reveling in the cool of the silk underscored by the warmth of his skin beneath.
 
“That depends. Have you forgiven me for the late night call yet?” His tone was still rough with sleep, but so soft it was like fur or velvet to her ears. She wanted nothing more than to nuzzle deeper into his embrace and just live there forever.
 
“Do you forgive me for punching you in the nose?" she asked, her voice just as soft, even if it trembled a little.
 
“I forgave you for everything when you kissed me at Anmer Hall,” he said, then stiffened as a soft giggle echoed down the hall. “Come inside. I don’t want anyone else bullying you because of me.”
 
Wrapping his arm protectively around her shoulders, Felix guided her into his rooms and immediately closed the doors behind them. 
 
Someone, Arthur undoubtedly and perhaps the other maids from what Betty had mentioned, had turned Felix’s mathematically tidy sitting room into something out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. A large scotch pine stood by the tall windows, decorated tastefully in green, blue, white and silver, its skirt almost invisible under the small mountain range of presents. Popcorn strands and garlands hung everywhere along with twinkling fairy lights and the ceiling was festooned with kissing balls and what looked like half an acre of mistletoe.
 
“I love what Arthur’s done with the place,” she murmured, following the line of lights back to the door and Felix.
 
He turned to her then and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes traveled from her boots all the way up to her hair that was pulled away from her face instead of hiding her blushes.
 
No! She shouldn’t hide. Not from Felix! Not after kissing him last night and not when he really

was

what she wanted.
 
But he was ogling her and she intended to make the most of it.
 
A smirk tugging at her lips, she shifted her weight into a more provocative stance with her arms spread wide as if inviting him to look. Her heart gave a hiccough or three when his Adam’s apple bobbed frantically.
 
He coughed into his fist, his cheeks flushing delicately. “Erm, um, yourhairlooksnicedown.”
 
Her smirk widened. She took a step closer, tucking her hands coquettishly behind her back. “You think so?”
 
As if in a trance, Felix reached up and threaded his fingers through the strands of her hair, only pausing momentarily to tuck a few behind her ear. “Yes,” he breathed as if it was the first time he’d drawn breath.
 
She stood very close, leaning in and rising on her toes as if she was going to kiss him. His eyes rolled closed, his head already tipping to one side…
 
… when she moved ever so slightly and gave him a tiny little peck on the end of his nose.
 
Felix’s eyes snapped open in surprise, then his face settled into a put-out expression.
 
“That wasn’t very nice,” he said pointedly, crossing his arms and looking decidedly grumpy. “I never knew you could be such a tease.”
 
Her smirk widened in genuine delight. “Neither did I.” She tried very hard to keep the giggle building inside her from escaping. “Only with you, I guess.”
 
The annoyance fled from his face, leaving a shy smile behind. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. “You are so beautiful, Marinette. I don’t think there are enough words to express how much I missed you while I was away.”
 
She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled into his chest to hide her pleased blush. “I think that kiss last night said everything.”
 
Felix smoothed a hand over her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “I have plans for us today. Would you like to hear them?”
 
She found herself biting her lip to keep happy tears at bay. Nodding slightly, she held him just a little tighter, afraid to say anything lest the waterworks start for real.
 
Felix smiled down at her, his verdant eyes shining with affection. “First, we can have the brunch the cooks are working their fingers to the bone for. Then, you can open your presents–”
 
“M-My presents?!”
 
Marinette whipped around, the small mountain of wrapped gifts staring at her from under the Christmas tree, each one perfect, pristine, and undoubtedly expensive.
 
“Don’t tell me they’re all for me?”
 
Felix booped her nose playfully, his grin widening. “Well, mostly for you. A few are for my mother. There are even a few in there for Arthur, assuming he didn’t find them already.”
 
Her knees buckled. If Felix hadn’t been holding her up, Marinette would have sunk to the floor in shock.
 
“I… I can’t… Felix! Why?!” Her voice was almost a pitiful whine and her hands came up to cover her face. How was he going to react to her small gift? She knew it wasn’t a contest, but… 
 
In response, Felix gave her the sweetest thing: an Eskimo kiss, where he rubbed his nose lightly against hers and shook his head back and forth. “You’re worth it, Marinette. No amount of money or jewels could approach your value.”
 
She swallowed hard, a single tear escaping the corner of her eye and leaving a burning trail down her cheek, which Felix caught with his thumb. “I just… I don’t see why you would do all of this for me. Especially after what happened last night. And there are going to be all those people who think I’m only after you for your money and-”
 
Felix took a knee, clasping one of her hands in both of his, stunning her into silence. “Marinette, listen to me: I’m a fool in love. I’d do

anything

for you – anything within my considerable amount of power. And that’s because…”
 
He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips before he continued. “You… just have that effect on me. You drew me out of a deep, dark place, one which I had no hope of surviving by myself. You’ve helped me thrive, Marinette, when I thought all was lost. As for everyone else, I don’t care what they think. I will shout it from the dome of St Paul’s that you are the most wonderful woman who ever lived and if anyone so much as raises an eyebrow at you, they will learn not to question the heart of a prince.”
 
She gave a wet giggle, and fell next to him on the floor.  “Have you forgotten?” she whispered, pulling his hands up to her lips and pressing a kiss there. “My Felix bows to no one.”
 
“No one,” he whispered back, giving her a hooded look, “except his Princess.”
 
Marinette sucked air through her teeth in surprise. Did he mean what she thought he meant or was he just being sweet?
 
She cast her eyes down, too nervous to say what she needed to while looking at those longing eyes. “Felix, I … you didn’t need to get me so many gifts. I don’t need them. I’m happy just having you home and knowing you aren’t mad at me.”
 
"I know I didn't have to, my love." Felix gently tipped her chin up with a finger, so she was left staring into his deep green eyes that shone with admiration. "But I

wanted

to."
 
“But… why?  Why me? I’m just … I’m nobody special, Felix. Honest. And while I love you so much it hurts, I'm not sure I will ever measure up.”
 
Felix tsked. "Such talk is unproductive. You are special

because

you're honest."
 
“But I didn’t tell you about the press and the people camped out at my flat. And before that I was being honest, but was doing it in a harsh way to… to…”
 
Felix's gaze turned murderous. "There are people camped out at your flat?"
 
She nodded, clinging to him now, afraid that the honesty he seemed to value so much would lead her to another broken heart. “Yeah. Mostly press, but some are just people. You know, hangers-on?”
 
The sound of his teeth grinding was awful. "I think it's time to get the police involved, Marinette. This behavior from the press and the public is unacceptable." His eyes on her softened, his lips turning down at the corners. "You must have suffered so much in silence."
 
She shrugged, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “It’s not worth mentioning. I was just trying to make things easier for you… maybe make you proud of me or something.”
 
Felix sighed and kissed her cheek. "I am already proud of you, my sweet little fool. And to the man who made you doubt yourself, I'd like to string him up by his ankles from Tower Bridge in the next thunderstorm until he takes it all back."
 
“You don’t know, but I've always been like this. I worry about the people I love and I want to protect them as best I can. I backburner myself every time and I'm not used to someone else wanting to take care of me. I mean, aside from my parents and Alya, but now that–" 
 
She stopped, unwilling to bring up the subject of her mother’s cancer at such a time. Things had been stressful enough. It could wait another day.
 
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I just don’t feel very confident in myself most of the time.”
 
Felix regarded her for a moment, his eyes churning with repressed emotion. "Your strength is also your weakness. Where is the fire I saw in you when you broke my nose or when you took on that society brat at the reception?"
 
He didn't let her answer, only cupped her cheeks in his huge, warm hands. "Will you, little fool? Will you let me take care of you?"
 
There were so many ‘but's swirling in her mind that the tears started to rise again. Throwing her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his black silk shoulder.
 
“Only if you let me take care of you too,” she whispered fiercely, her breath shuddering and the scents of bergamot, allspice, and dust burning into her mind and heart like a brand.
 
"Your loving me is enough, Marinette," he murmured, his hot breath washing over her ear with the quiet promise. "It will always be enough."
 
Her heart full, Marinette pulled back just far enough to see his face. The weak, winter sunlight poured in through the tall windows, spilling across his hair and cheekbones and lighting up the love she saw in his eyes. She leaned in, her chest aching and lips tingling to kiss him again–
 
A knock sounded at the door. Of course.
 
The growl that sounded from deep in his throat was enough to tell her exactly how much Felix had been wanting to kiss her too. She was certainly glad she was not the person on the other side of the door!
 
"Yes?" Felix all but snarled, but then recovered his sense of civility, speaking in a calmer, more refined voice. "Who is it?"
 
The door opened a fraction, just enough for Mr Wemberly to stick his head in. “It’s me, Your Royal Highness. May I come in?”
 
Felix sighed in frustration. “Yes, come on in, Arthur,” he grumbled. “I would rather you inform my little fool about the change in status quo anyway. I want to kiss her too much to find such a conversation palatable.”
 
“Ehem.” Arthur, red all over and slightly flustered, closed the door behind him and fiddled with his cuffs. “In that case, Sir, if you would retire to the bedroom and dress, I can ‘fill her in’ as they say.”
 
“Alright,” Felix said, rolling his eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth with a look that could melt the polar ice caps and made her blush.  “Be back soon, love.”
 
Marinette couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across her face and warmed her heart.
 
“And, Sir, you should be aware that Her Majesty intends to join you both here for brunch in about forty five minutes.”
 
That got Felix scrambling to his feet with a look of wide eyed surprise. “Mother’s coming?”
 
“Yes, though I believe she said something about not wanting to arrive empty-handed?”
 
“Oh, botheration!” With that last exclamation, Felix all but sprinted to his room, slamming the door behind him.
 
Marinette giggled. “I know I should be nervous about having brunch with Her Majesty,” she murmured to the valet. “But the sight of Felix scampering off like a boy about to be sent to the Headmaster's office is rather funny, don’t you think?”
 
The man chuckled at her imagery. “Quite an apt description, Miss Marinette. As the young master asked, I need to inform you of your change in status. But first let me extend to you the joys of the season.”
 
She blinked up at him, confused, but that seemed to be the state of things this morning. “Thank you, but what status, Mr Wemberly? I’m a chambermaid. I have no status.”
 
“Firstly, Miss, may I ask the extreme favor of you dropping the formalities and calling me Arthur from now on?” he asked calmly.
 
“Alright, but what has that to do with–"
 
“Pardon the interruption, Miss Marinette, but I assure you it does pertain closely to the matter at hand,” Arthur said hurriedly. “I say this because it will help cement the impression that you and His Royal Highness are, indeed, dating.”
 
She blushed. “But I’m not sure… we haven’t really talked about it.”
 
“Yes, but there are some things you must know before you are

seen

as dating the prince. You must never be seen doing more than holding his arm in public. Protocol restricts other public displays of affection. You and the prince will be accompanied at all times by his security team who will also act as chaperones so as to prove nothing untoward happens between the two of you.”
 
Unable to help herself, she groaned. “Even here? But, Mr Wem- Arthur – Felix and I have been alone many times and no one has assumed anything ‘untoward’ happened then.”

“Not that we were thinking about that when I pulled the frog off his face or when he was swimming at Anmer Hall,”

she thought, swallowing back the embarrassment she felt just then.
 
“The occasional private moments can be arranged, but at the time you were both still under the guise of employer and employee prior to this point,” Arthur explained. “No matter what His Royal Highness’ feelings for you were at the time, there was still that connection to fall back on. However, now you have been seen in public together several times: the Fitzwilliam reception, at The Dorchester, and last night at the party. The press is aware of your connection and speculation is rampant. Now you must be careful when in public to show the noble, kind, respectable young woman we know you to be.”
 
Marinette felt her heart sink like a stone into her stomach.
 
“Does that mean we shouldn’t spend time together,” she asked sadly, her shoulders slumping in distress “That he shouldn’t be seen with me or that we can’t even go out on a real date?”
 
Arthur puffed slightly as he squatted next to her on the carpet. “Of course not, Miss Marinette. In fact, you should spend as much time with him in public as you can. You can become involved in the Royals’ charity work, which will give you something to do together and set a favorable tone for the press. There are so many events that you can attend with His Royal Highness, both formal and more casual, and I am sure an appropriate wardrobe will be provided…”
 
Her head was swimming, her thoughts feeling tight and cramped as if she had been studying for a final exam. Arthur continued with a list of ever more obscure rules that she really didn’t hear while she couldn’t help but wonder if Felix really thought she was worth all this trouble and expense. Would her love really be enough in the face of these added restrictions and stress?
 
Arthur’s voice droned on. “And then there is the rule about not taking selfies with the Family, for security reasons mainly, but it also dates to His Royal Highness’ grandmother who despised cell phones. Oh, and if you have any fondness for the game, I’m afraid you’ll have to give up playing Monopoly.”
 
She just stared at him in bewilderment.
 
“What was that last one,” she asked stupidly, her brain too overwhelmed to keep up.
 
“We can’t play Monopoly,” Felix said from the doorway, dressed in one of his more casual blazers in a dark ivy green over a black turtleneck and black slacks, his hair slicked back as usual. Leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, he watched her with a pleased smile. “Dear Grandmum thought it made us too competitive and I can’t blame her, really. Adrien once got in such a snit over me claiming Boardwalk that he overturned the little game table in the White Parlor and broke a Ming vase. Ever since, the game has been banned from the family.”
 
“That might be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said in humorous surprise. “But I think it gets trumped by the thought of Adrien throwing a fit over a board game! I never knew he had it in him!”
 
“Don’t be too hard on my cousin in this case, though I will admit he deserves it for others. He was only eight at the time.”
 
Felix strode across the room and held out his hand to help her rise. “And just wait, my little fool. If Mother said she wasn’t coming empty-handed, then we are going to have to face those rules sooner than I thought.”
 
She cringed, shrinking in against him at the very thought of confronting the Queen Regent in her only son’s chambers. It sounded like a plot to a bad play and she didn’t want to be thrown out a window before the first act was over.
 
“You’re willing to go through all that to be with me?" she whispered nervously. “'Cause I would completely understand if-”
 
“Arthur, turn around,” Felix commanded before pulling her into a fierce kiss.
 
“Yes, Sir. I think I’ll take some of this mistletoe down. The maids really went too far…”
 
But Felix’s lips were too busy making her toes curl for her to notice what the valet was saying.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Why, Arthur, I never knew you had it in you!" Armed with a scroll case, Amelie swanned into Felix's chambers as if she owned them, bypassing a flustered valet with his arms full of mistletoe – by placing a kiss on his cheek. Felix's hand flew to his mouth in surprise, his smile broadening at the way Arthur's face nearly turned purple. 
"Mother always did know how to make an entrance."
 Marinette, who had just smoothed her hair back down from Felix's thoroughly enjoyable playing with it, offered a deep curtsy. "Your Majesty." The Queen favored her with a genuine smile that Felix mirrored. "Dupain-Cheng."  Patel entered the room after Amelie, carrying what looked like presents. She curtsied with her arms full in an awkward move reminiscent of a baby duck trying to waddle for the first time. "Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness," Patel verbally addressed the two royals in the room and offered a wink to Marinette, who flushed prettily. "Where would you like me to set your gifts, Ma'am?" Amelie waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, wherever you please, Patel. Can't you see I'm busy?" "Be nice," Felix mouthed at his contrary mother, who arched a brow in response.  "Happy Christmas, Patel," Amelie said grudgingly, keeping her gaze locked on Felix.  The three servants in the room gaped at her while Felix could only give her a proud, beaming grin.  "What?" Amelie said sourly. "I have a heart, you know!"  As Marinette spluttered at his side, Felix barked out a laugh. "Of course you do, Your Majesty," Arthur said, depositing his armful of greenery on the coffee table and pulling up in front of her. He took a knee, splaying his fingers across his chest and slightly bowing his head. "We all admire your stalwart heart." Felix's brows rose at the declaration and shot even higher when he caught sight of Amelie's cheeks tinged with pink. "Arthur… and my mother?" Felix thought, his gaze leaping between them and the just-as-curious Marinette, who seemed to have come to the same realization. "Who knew?" "Should we, uh," Felix started, giving into the desire to tease but also feeling awkward about it, which made him hesitant, "leave you two alone?" Amelie's eyes flashed with panic, alighting on Felix. "No!" she cried, causing Arthur to flinch. Her gaze flew back to the kneeling valet and, like any sensible modern woman, she cleared her throat and took charge of the situation. "What I mean is…  Patel!" Patel stiffened in shock, going rigid in place while still holding onto the presents. "Yes, Ma'am?" "Put those down and scurry along now. Have a good Christmas and I shall see you later." Amelie's eyes locked with Arthur's again, one eyebrow raised in speculation, and her lips twitched. "Much later." Patel did as she was told and beat a hasty retreat. Felix looped an arm around Marinette's shoulders and grinned as Amelie extended a hand to help Arthur up, which he hastily took. "What do you see, love?" Felix murmured under his breath to Marinette, eager to hear her reaction to her fellow servant's good fortune. "Roses with thorns," Marinette whispered back, delighting Felix as much as Amelie's fingers lingering just a little too long on Arthur's. “Does… that bother you?” Felix followed the pull until his hand slipped into hers. “I think Mother’s been in black for long enough, don’t you?” "Well," Amelie said with a note of finality once a blushing Arthur took his place next to and slightly behind her. "Let's eat brunch! I have that address at four and it's half past eleven now, so I don't have all day."  "The cooks should be almost done by now," Felix said smoothly, meeting Marinette's smile with one of his own. Marinette started moving, but Felix snagged her wrist, curious as to where she was going. "Should I go help bring in the br–" "No!" Felix insisted. "You are our guest and shouldn't have to fulfill scullery duties." "Indeed," Amelie said, offering her a piercing look that made Marinette shiver. “My son was so very insistent on having you that I could hardly ask you to curtsy and tug forelock, now can I?” Felix caught the not-so-subtle gleam in his mother’s eye and frowned. He wrapped an arm around his girl protectively. “Mother,” he warned sternly. “Play nice.” Amelie laughed, not her cold, political laugh, but rather a softer, more genuine one that reminded him of happier days. A sharply inhaled breath at her side snapped Felix's gaze to Arthur. Felix wondered if Arthur had ever heard his mother laugh like that. Undoubtedly he had – the man had been part of the family for over twenty years – but the awed look he was giving her made Felix realize how truly rare it was for Amelie to be open with anyone. “Fe, I’m always nice,” his mother replied, eyebrow raised as if challenging him to deny this fact. "Of course, Your Majesty," Felix sighed, beleaguered, but brightened when he felt Marinette's shoulders shaking under his arm in silent laughter.  Ooh, if she was laughing at him, he'd get her back for that! Maybe peanut butter in her boots… She cast a look up at him through her lashes and rolled her eyes as if asking him to join in the joke. While slightly disappointed at not having a reason to prank her just yet, he felt so… alive with her heart beating so close to his! A knock sounded at the door and Arthur, as ready as ever, opened it and started directing the servants to lay out the food buffet fashion on a long side table. Two carts containing many trays covered in cloches were emptied and taken away as two more were wheeled in holding a full tea service, a crystal pitcher full of eggnog, and an urn of what smelled like mulled cider. Everything smelled delicious, surprising Felix to no end, but then, with his little fool by his side, all was right with his world. Just then, a footman in a black greatcoat came in carrying a pet carrier while two more carried two large cardboard boxes. “Little Felix,” Marinette cooed, rushing to take the carrier as Felix blushed furiously. “Little Felix?” Amelie asked rather archly and he knew he would never live this down. Even the footmen and maids cast surreptitious glances at each other, biting lips or clenching jaws to keep from laughing at their master. Marinette, taking the young cat out of its carrier to cuddle in her arms, seemed oblivious to it all. Arthur, bless the man, happened to bump Marinette on his way past her to hold the door open for the retreating help. Felix didn’t know what passed between them, but she locked eyes with him and gave an apologetic shrug. In an obvious attempt to ease the tension, she looked at Amelie with a bright smile. “Felix gave me this cute little guy as a gift, so I named it after him.” “I see.” Both Amelie’s eyebrows raised at that and Felix wondered if she really hadn’t known about the cat. “I’m sure that won’t cause any inconvenience or confusion.” When she chose to employ sarcasm, it was like the cracking of a whip. Felix almost found himself flinching in response. Almost. “True,” Marinette sighed, stroking the animal between the ears until his eyes closed in pleasure and a soft rumble could be heard in the now-quiet room. “Maybe I should call you Prince. How is that?” She looked over at Felix, smiling softly with a loving and understanding look in her eyes. She knew how much he hated it when she used his titles, so naming the cat ‘Prince’ was both her way of clearing up that misunderstanding as well as declaring who came first. Felix had never felt more pleased and if his chest inflated anymore he might just float off the ground. “I think it’s perfect,” he said softly. Amelie set her scroll case down at her feet and clapped her hands, dropping them back down out of their little moment. “Right then. Now that His Furry Highness has been newly christened and the important affairs of state have been handled, let’s eat.” *** Sure enough, the tension eased as they enjoyed the sumptuous brunch the kitchens had prepared. Amelie seemed to relax a trifle and Marinette had even dared to lean against his shoulder on his sitting room couch while chatting with Arthur. For the first time since his father died, Felix felt a sense of family. At least he hoped that was what the warm, contented glow in his chest was. It didn’t hurt enough to be indigestion. Arthur cleared his throat, drawing Felix’s attention to the tree. The newly dubbed Prince was rolling on his back, batting at a blue ribbon tied in a bow around a present. Felix grinned and nudged Marinette. “I think he’s giving us the signal to open presents. What do you think?” She flushed and ducked her head. “I’m… embarrassed, Felix,” she murmured, clearly hoping the others wouldn’t hear her over their own conversation about classical music. “My gifts are so small and nothing fancy. What will your mother think of me?” His little fool hid her rosy cheeks in her hands. He gently peeled her hands away, taking them in his own larger ones and giving them a loving squeeze. “Knowing you, I’m sure they are more than appropriate and well thought out, even if they aren’t expensive,” he whispered. “Besides, my mother couldn’t care less about the expense as long as she likes the giver and you’re already in her good books, Marinette.” “But I-” “My son is quite correct, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Amelie said, once more cutting through their conversation like a knife. She had set her scroll case at her feet near her chair, and Felix was curious as to what she felt she had to bring with her to brunch. “When you have all the money you could wish for, expense means very little. Considering your talents, I am assuming you made most of your gifts?” Marinette nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. He returned the pressure, hoping to share what strength he had with her. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “Then I don’t see anything for you to worry about,” the Queen replied brusquely. “If you are so concerned about my opinion, then why don’t I go first so you can get the worst out of the way and enjoy the rest of the day?” Felix could feel Marinette’s hand twitch spasmodically in his own.  “Oh, no! Your Majesty, I never meant you were at all the worst, just that I-” Amelie leveled a glare at her that could have silenced the guns of war, let alone one nervous young woman. Felix could hear Marinette swallow her words with a little whine that was only audible to him and that was because he was sitting right next to her. “My dear young lady,” Amelie began sternly, but not unkindly, Felix noticed. “I know very well what I am. I know that I’m the worst and no flattering words or apologies will change that fact. I have survived in politics this long by making others nervous and cultivating the illusion of omnipotence and omnipresence. I am not a woman who lets her walls down for anyone but my closest family. Since my only son has found you and brought you into his life the way he has, you are now part of my precious few. The only reason you would have to fear me is if you were to break his heart.”  Her eyes narrowed and the fist of iron shone through the velvet glove. “If that were to happen, I assure you, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I would have your head mounted on Traitor’s Gate before you had a chance to regret it.” Felix choked on his eggnog, leading Marinette to hastily pound on his back as he coughed and sputtered.  
"I should have known that drinking while Mother was talking was a bad idea!"
 “Your Majesty, I don’t plan on ever breaking Felix’s heart,” Marinette said determinedly, gently rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder blades and causing him to hold his breath. “Besides, I’ve already lost my head and heart over him. I’m not up for round two any time soon.” Felix wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it with his own two ears. Marinette just returned a particularly harsh Amelie bomb right back at his mother and had the temerity to wrap it in a pun first! Amelie burst out with a hearty laugh. “I knew I liked you, Du- Marinette. And I would like to start the presents by giving mine to you.” Felix swallowed nervously. This unplanned family Christmas morning had been going remarkably well and his mother was acting… well, this wasn’t normal for her in the slightest, but she was trying and that was the key here. “Yes, but where is the catch?” he wondered, hoping whatever traps his mother had set wouldn’t snap shut on his little fool. “When will the other shoe drop?” Amelie had never been predictable, per se. But she did have certain patterns of behavior, and those included lulling people into a false sense of security before she closed her jaws around their jugulars. Even growing up with her and knowing her better than most, Felix himself had fallen victim to her ploys. Amelie was a force of nature and his agreeing to be set up with other women was all part of weathering her hurricane power. Marinette was the first woman he had any real say in dating. And Amelie seemed to approve of her, which was wonderful. Felix’s shoulders were still tense but much less than they would have been had he needed to openly defend his sweet little fool from his mother’s clutches.  He didn’t realize just how much he yearned for Amelie’s approval of the woman he loved, not only as the Queen Regent but also – and possibly more importantly – as his mother. Arthur surreptitiously placed a gift in Amelie’s hands – presumably Marinette’s. Amelie thanked him non-verbally with a brief inclination of her head before offering the present to Marinette. “For you, my dear.” “My dear?”  Marinette accepted the present graciously, setting her mulled cider down to hold the tiny, blue-wrapped-and-silver-bow-topped box in her delicate hands. It felt like a passing of a torch to Felix, which was odd because Amelie would never willingly give up power but would rather have it dragged from her cold, dead fingers. As Marinette carefully undid the bow, Felix found his mouth unbearably dry. His mother wouldn’t give Marinette something that would physically hurt her – at least, Felix didn’t think so – but emotional harm was still on the table, and he had no idea what was waiting for his lady love in that unassuming box. Marinette reached inside, and while Felix kept one eye on her, part of his attention was drawn to watching Amelie’s reaction. She was drinking her eggnog in such a way that looked to most outside observers that she didn’t remotely care, but she couldn’t hide the eager look in her eyes from Felix. A sharp inhalation of breath at his side jerked his gaze to Marinette, and he was stunned to see tears welling in her eyes. Instantly, he was on the warpath. What had his mother done? “It’s beautiful,” Marinette choked out, her fingers closed around the little gift. “But are you sure, Your Majesty?” “Of course,” Amelie replied confidently, not even looking up from her glass of eggnog. “My main reason for tying you to a five-year trial period was to see if you could cut it in palace life and politics. Not everyone is capable of that, you know.” Felix goggled at his mother as his brain overloaded. “She just called Marinette capable? Am I dreaming? She hasn’t ever called me capable! I think the only person we know whom she totally approves of is Arthur!” That by itself might explain a few things about their interaction earlier, but his mother continued before things could make sense. “You are incredibly gifted, Marinette, and you deserve to be promoted to Wardrobe. I need you on the team heading up the regalia for Felix’s coronation, especially since I believe you are the only person he would be willing to work with.”  His mother shot a teasing smirk at him before she let it go. “The thimble is just a pretty bauble from my collection. Nothing too fancy. I’m very pleased you like it.”  Felix couldn’t have been more stunned if someone had hit him in the head with a cricket bat. His mother? Parting with one of her miniatures? For Marinette? And telling her she could move to the Wardrobe team? Marinette would be the one to make his regalia?   Felix tugged at his collar uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too warm as his heart raced. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Marinette exclaimed, hugging her clasped hands to her chest. “I’ll cherish it!” His darling fool was pink-cheeked and smiling, her eyes shining brighter than any Christmas lights the world could conjure. Felix wished he could bottle this moment up, to take a picture of how beautiful she looked in that moment and treasure it forever. “Well, Fe, what are you waiting for?” Amelie demanded, ruining the moment. She nudged her scroll case with her foot. “Aren’t you going to play Father Christmas and hand out the gifts? You always used to insist on that when you were little.” “Mother,” he grumbled, flushing hotly. “Oh, come now, Fe. It’s not like I mentioned you in rompers or nappies. Get a hold of yourself.” His mother scoffed, rising to fill her own glass and dismissing a hovering Arthur with a gentle wave. “You were always such a touchy, officious little thing.” Felix ground his teeth together in embarrassed frustration, but Marinette wove her fingers through his.  “You know she doesn’t mean it,” she whispered in his ear, her warm breath playing across his neck and making him blush for entirely different reasons. “And you can be touchy sometimes. Remember the necklace? I thought you were going to lay into the reporters at the reception for making all those crazy speculations.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and let out a sigh. “You’re right, my love. I’m glad you are getting along with Mother. I just didn’t want our day to be interrupted like this.” The small, cheeky smile she gave him made his heart do somersaults. “Well, it’s best to give her what she wants and then she will leave after her address, right?” Glancing up to see if they were being observed, he leaned in and gave her a swift peck on the cheek. “Save my place for me, little fool,” he murmured and grinned widely at the blush spreading across her cheeks like a sunrise. He stood and crossed over to the tree, picking out three gifts. One for each of the participants of their informal family Christmas morning – aside from himself, of course. In a flight of fancy, Felix wished he’d remembered to bring out a fluffy red Santa hat like he used to wear when he was little. Strangely enough, Felix hadn’t recalled passing out gifts as a child, much less insisting on doing so until his mother had mentioned it. “It’s funny what we forget,” he thought, handing Arthur his present last.  The valet’s brows rose as he took the gift, pointing to his chest with his free hand. “For me, Your Royal Highness? I don’t deserve–” “None of that now, Arthur,” Felix said gruffly, clapping a hand on the servant’s shoulder. “Of all of us, you deserve the most for putting up with me for all these years.” Felix almost added, “and Mother too,” but he figured that Arthur had “put up with” Amelie for reasons entirely unlike the ones he’d tolerated Felix for. Arthur ducked his head, his mouth working. He appeared overcome by an emotion Felix couldn’t read. “I don’t know what to say, Sir.” Felix was tempted to fold his arms, but he didn’t as he figured that would be too much. He crossed to Marinette’s side on the couch and settled in. “Say you’ll accept the gift and be done with it, Arthur; Mother doesn’t have all day for you to waffle.” Sitting down, her gift in hand, Amelie clicked her tongue. “Don’t bring me into this until you pass out my gift to him.” “Y-Your Majesty!” Arthur gasped, his fingers shaking around Felix’s modest present. “You shouldn’t have!” “Why not?” Amelie took a sip of her eggnog just as casually as it was calculated. “You got one for me.” “Yes, but–” “Don’t torture the poor man,” Marinette said quietly, gently nudging Felix in the side with her elbow. “Were I in his position, I would feel the same.” “That’s because you have a heart,” Amelie said, grinning crookedly, “unlike myself and the Ice Prince.” Before Felix could react, Marinette laid a hand on his arm. He was drawn to her smile, a soft, consoling gesture that soothed his ruffled feathers. “You’d be surprised,” Marinette murmured, her eyes shining with love for him and him alone, “how quickly the Ice Prince thawed.” Now it was Felix’s turn to duck, abashed, his cheeks burning. “Well, now, I do believe it’s time to open gifts.” “Oh, go get one of your own, Felix,” the Queen commanded, and Felix leaped up to do as he was bid. It was a strange feeling watching Marinette open the gifts he had picked for her during his world travels. Strange and exciting and nerve-wracking all at once. But seeing his love wipe away tears of joy and overwhelm over the sapphire silk hanfu embroidered with peonies or hearing her laugh with delight as she spun around his sitting room with a length of bright red batik flying behind her like a hero’s cape made him feel full with more than just the excellent brunch. For the first time he could fully remember, Felix was filled with love. Filled to the brim and overflowing, pouring out in broad smiles that hurt his cheeks and laughter that left him gasping in pained delight. True, his enjoyment of Marinette’s joy was dimmed somewhat by her nervousness over the gifts she had for them. He was probably as nervous as she was when Amelie opened her gift from Marinette, revealing a collection of sachets embroidered with jewel-bright flowers and filling the room with the scent of lavender.  “They’re lovely, dear,” Amelie said, a genuine smile sweetening her normally shrewd face. “They smell wonderful! French lavender, I suppose?” When Marinette nodded shyly, Amelie started turning the little packets over in her hands. “Oh, how clever! You put the lavender in separate bags? Yes, I see. That way the scents can be changed out in the future.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” Marinette replied softly, pink in the face from the praise. “Does she not get enough compliments?” Felix wondered worriedly. “Doesn’t she know how remarkable she really is? Is that the fault of Agreste tearing her down like he did or is it deeper than that?” He felt a cold icicle of guilt stabbing his stomach. “Then again, I haven’t exactly been very complimentary, have I? Oh, bother! Some gentleman I am.” Arthur would never gush - it wasn’t in his nature - but he did thank Marinette several times for the new bowties she had made for him, especially the deep crimson one with little crowns. “For the prince of valets and the valet of our Prince,” she quipped with a wide smile, making Arthur blush profusely. “Stuff and nonsense,” he scoffed, but his eyes were smiling. “Fe, you haven’t opened any of yours yet,” his mother said imperiously. “I was just enjoying everyone opening theirs.” “Ehem, now who’s waffling, Sir?” Arthur muttered, barely suppressing a chuckle by turning it into a cough. Felix rolled his eyes and scanned the small pile of packages that lay at his feet. Strange. Knowing how thoughtful and meticulous Marinette always was about everything, it surprised him that none of the gift tags bore her name. Slightly disappointed, he reached for the first present that came to hand. It was a medium-sized box from his mother, but it was so heavy for its size that he had trouble lifting it. Carefully slitting the tape, he unwrapped the present and opened the box. Inside, individually bound in calfskin leather and their titles gleaming in the sunlight, were fourteen books. A matched set of Shakespeare’s comedies. No wonder Patel had waddled when she carried in the gifts! Felix ran his fingers lightly over the gilt lettering with a smile.  “Thank you, Mother. This is… such a wonderful gift!” “I know you’ve wanted all the comedies individually bound for several years,” she said in an offhand way, but her eyes were bright and happier than he had seen them in a long while. “I had to find a specialist publisher for these. I hope you enjoy them.” He lifted his favorite, Much Ado About Nothing, from the box and cradled it in his hands. How could she know what this meant to him? He let the book fall open in his hands, its new spine stiff and creaking ever so slightly. Marinette, curious, leaned over his arm to see what book it was and blushed a deep crimson. The page had fallen to the last scene they had played out at Anmer Hall. Felix’s eyes met hers for a moment. 
“I love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?”
 “By my sword, Beatrice,” Marinette murmured for his ears only, surprising him by placing a quick peck on his cheek, “thou lovest me!” “Do not swear and eat it,” he mumbled back, his hand flying to his scalding hot cheek.  “I will swear by it that you love me,” Marinette declared, her passion threading its way through her breathy voice and rousing his own, “and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.” Marinette’s words lit a fire in his breast, stirring him to abandon the books and reach for her. He was just about to claim her lips for his own when he heard a flustered, “Ehem.” Felix was violently transported back to the present moment. They weren’t safely ensconced in Anmer Hall, scampering through Shakespeare’s finest and pseudo-declaring their love for each other.  They were in his chambers, being steadily watched by Arthur and Amelie, who both wore expressions so devastatingly amused, Felix flushed from his chest to his roots.  But he refused to break away from Marinette; his hands still clutched her at the small of her back, pressing her small chest against his so he could feel the fluttering of her heart beneath her breastbone. “I take it you like the books,” Amelie drawled so dryly, her throat may as well have been a desert. She wriggled her shoulders slightly up and down, looking like a cat about to pounce, and Felix scrambled to perform damage control before she embarrassed him further. “They are… a-acceptable,” he stammered, his fingers flexing on Marinette’s dress. Her back was hot beneath his fingers, and he didn’t have to look at her face to know she was blushing just as badly as he was. “Quite. An excellent gift, Mother; thank you for thinking of me. During this time. Of the Christmas holidays. Which we are enjoying.” “Thoroughly.” Amelie drew out the vowels in the word, causing Arthur to snort. The man tried to cover it up with a cough into his fist, but it was no good; everyone had heard it, and if the way Amelie’s lips quirked was any indication, she at least approved. The day his mother snorted, Felix would absolutely die. Marinette extricated herself from his grip, picking up one of her gifts. “Where did this one come from, Felix?” Amelie clapped her hands like a child, a profoundly disturbing gesture to Felix. “Oh, yes, tell us the story. I want to hear all about your world tour as I’m sure Marinette does.” Felix absently noticed that Amelie had used Marinette’s name for the second time, and this time was much more natural. Was his mother genuinely warming up to her? Then he noticed which gift she was holding: a section of batik fabric with a hibiscus pattern. The flowers were a brilliant red color that looked like someone had taken a brush loaded with watercolors and impressed them upon the cloth – made by an Indonesian dyeing technique. “Ah, yes, that one.” Felix settled into his seat on the couch, patting the cushion next to him to have her join him. He was thrilled when she did, spreading the fabric across her lap. “I picked that one up at a little street stall in the Bahamas run by the tiniest old woman I’d ever seen. She had clearly dyed it herself, and this piece was the most beautiful of them.  “I only had a day to spend in the country, so I hadn’t slept in over thirty hours.” Marinette’s affronted gasp nearly stopped him in his tracks, but Felix had a story to tell, so he continued. “Everything, including the fabric, looked a bit blurry to me when my eyes were weighed down by sand, but when I examined it after a nap, I realized I’d gotten it for a steal.” “Felix!” Marinette sounded as scandalized as if he’d stolen the fabric. “You didn’t sleep for thirty hours?!” Releasing the fabric, she seized his shoulder and shook him. “I thought you were taking care of yourself on your tour!” “I-I was!” he protested, following up with a mutter he didn’t intend for her to hear. “It just got harder after I’d stopped talking to you.” "Then you shouldn't have stopped talking to me!" Marinette cried, shaking him again. "You stopped talking to her?" Amelie asked shrewdly, but Felix ignored her. "He did, Ma'am," Arthur said. Felix ignored him too. What Felix hadn’t told Marinette was that he was so excited to see her, the night of Christmas Eve was the most he’d slept at a stretch for a week. He hadn’t slept a full night before he’d returned home and knew she was safe from the press. He’d been awake a lot longer than thirty hours while on his tour, but Felix wondered if telling her – and Amelie and Arthur – that was the right or wrong move. “I’m fit as a fiddle now!” he claimed, flexing his arm despite her tight grip on his sleeve. "After all, I slept five whole hours last night! … Maybe four…" "Felix…" Marinette groaned, holding her head. "What am I going to do with you?" Amelie raised an inquiring brow, clearly wanting to say something but thinking better of it. Felix mentally thanked her for keeping a lid on whatever it was. "I believe, Miss," Arthur said gently, his voice carrying his smile for him, "that you should take care of him." Marinette looked up sharply, then focused her attention on Felix so intensely, he found himself shivering. “Oh, yes. I absolutely will.” At a loss for words in the face of her piercing stare, Felix mumbled, “Um, thank you, little fool.” He couldn’t tell her how much he wanted her to take care of him. And that she had his back thrilled him, but he wanted her to allow him to take care of her too. She stared up at him with a pleading look, her hands clasped in front of her. "At least tell me you've been taking your antidepressants." Felix's heart went out to her. After all, she'd tried so hard to support him, to bring him out of the dark and help him succeed… … and he'd ruined it.  “He did, Miss,” Arthur smoothly intervened. “I made sure of it.” Heat crawled up from Felix’s chest to rest on his cheeks. He couldn’t even remember to take his own medicines by himself. What a useless man he was! “Yes, he did,” Felix said, swallowing his self-deprecating comments.  Glancing at the valet revealed a doting father figure whose eyes shone with pride for his charge. Felix’s throat closed; Arthur was proud of him? Why?  “You’re very good to me, Arthur,” Felix continued. That, at least, was sincere. “Thank you.” “Just doing my duty, Sir.” “What’s that one?” Amelie interjected, pointing to another of Marinette’s gifts on the coffee table, a brown bottle labeled ‘root tonic.’ Marinette picked up the bottle and examined it this way and that. “Yes, what is this?” Felix relaxed into a beaming grin. “That’s Jamaican root tonic. I picked it up at the insistence of a snake oil salesman with a traveling cart parked just outside my hotel. The salesman insisted that the ‘tonic’ improves strength, vitality, and–” As Felix remembered the last bit the salesman had stressed, he choked on his own tongue. He remembered being amused at the time with the way the salesman had waggled his brows and had intended the tonic to be a private gag gift for Marinette, but Felix had made the mistake of having Arthur wrap it with her other presents, which she’d opened in front of his mother. At Marinette’s curious look and Amelie’s expectant one, Felix could feel his face purpling.  “Oh?” his mother said, leaning forward with an eager, almost hungry determination. “What did the salesman say, Fe?” “The salesman said… said nothing!” Felix insisted, knowing he was only digging himself deeper by lying.  “Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool,” Felix instructed himself, tugging on his collar to release some of the steam building beneath his skin. “They’ll leave you alone if you don’t make a big deal out of it.” Marinette’s innocent, doe-eyed expression was too much for him to bear. “Why don’t you want to tell us, Felix?” Spluttering, Felix windmilled his hands in a desperate gesture to put space between them. “I can’t tell you because I shouldn’t!”“Oh, now I insist you do.” Amelie’s smile was more wolf-like than a woman's. She had her claws out, and Felix was ready to be shredded. “Surely nothing you got Marinette would be that embarrassing?” “Mother,” Felix squeaked, feeling his soul leave his body. “Please.” Arthur stepped in, coming to Felix’s rescue. “If the boy–” “Boy?” “–doesn’t want to tell us, he shouldn’t have to.” Felix gave him a nakedly grateful look, mouthing a thank you to the man.  “I agree,” Marinette said, but the way she shyly tapped her fingers together betrayed her thoughts. “I am curious about the story behind the tonic because it’s my present, and I already know which shelf I’ll be putting it on, but you shouldn’t have to–”“It increases sex drive.” The words were out of Felix’s mouth before he could stop himself. Only at the sound of the stunned silence – a sharp, collective intake of breath and then nothing – made him truly aware of just how inappropriate the present was. How could he possibly think that was a good present for Marinette? In what universe did she deserve such a joke at her expense? What kind of a man was he to insult her in such a way? Amelie’s laughter burst out of her until she covered her mouth with her hand and accidentally kicked her scroll case over. The strangled chortle that filled the air hurt Felix’s ears; if his mother was amused enough to laugh, she should just laugh! Arthur fared no better; the muffled wheezes escaping his clenched lips were akin to an asthmatic kitten. “Felix!” Marinette called, dissolving into helpless giggles beside him. Her face was a stunning shade of scarlet, almost as red as the batik fabric. Gently slugging him on the shoulder, she bit her bottom lip to keep from cackling at him. “How could you possibly–” “I knooooow,” Felix groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He was… a… very good salesman?” That only brought on another round of throttled guffaws from all three of them. Felix was ready to crawl inside his waistcoat and expire. Stick a fork in him; he was done, as the servants often said. “Surely,” Marinette said, saving him once again as the angel she was, “none of the other gifts are quite that mortifying.” “Certainly not.” Felix sniffed, lowering his hands to his lap. “The sandalwood oil from Hong Kong is probably more to your tastes. And I simply had to buy the opal earrings in Australia; the country is known for its gold and high-quality opals as well as sheep farming – I hope the sheepskin slippers fit your feet. And the Canadian maple candy is amazing; first, it’s slightly crispy and then it dissolves on your tongue!” Beaming up at him, Marinette trailed her delicate knuckles along his cheek. “And what did you do in America? You spent time there the longest, right? You’ve told me about the gifts, but not really what you did on your world tour.” “America.” Felix thought back to the insanely long and boring rounds of United Nations meetings, press conferences about future U.S. and British relations, and his dinner with the American president at the White House. He decided that Marinette wasn’t asking about any of that. “I ate a hot dog for the first time in New York,” he murmured, smiling at the memory of the way the salty sausage had blended with the sweet ketchup and tangy mustard in his mouth. “I saw Niagara Falls. It was beautiful, Marinette. So grand and exciting – the water was so very blue, and the falls themselves… I wish I could have taken you there.” Before he had met Marinette, Felix would have brushed off the beauty of the falls as something overhyped. But now, he was enraptured with the blessings of the world, be they in nature or something human-created. She had opened his eyes to the inherent charm in everything. Just from knowing her, he had enjoyed himself much more on the tour than he would have if he had not. Marinette beamed at him, leaning her head on his shoulder. His attention narrowed down to him and her; nothing and no one else in the room mattered. “What else did you do?” “I visited MIT’s artificial intelligence lab in Boston.” Felix’s eyes glazed over as he recalled the various projects he’d been presented with. “The leaps and bounds they’re making… Incredible. They’re trying to build robots that are easy to program to pick up groceries.” “That’s interesting,” Amelie said but her voice sounded far away to Felix. He vaguely noticed she had set the scroll case back up again. “Didn’t you toss out the first pitch at the World Series there?” At Marinette’s gasp, Felix looped an arm around her shoulders. “I did. I also ate a lot of clam chowder – delicious stuff.” “What about Washington D.C.?” Marinette asked, clearly letting her curiosity get the better of her. “Did you visit any monuments?” “I did, indeed.” Felix found his smile broadening. “Several of them. And then I went to the Smithsonian museum and saw a giant hairball in the shape of a stomach.” “What?” Marinette jerked her head up so quickly, she almost bonked him in the nose. “What’s the story behind that?” “It’s actually a sad one,” Felix said, guiding Marinette’s head back to his shoulder. She didn’t resist, which thrilled him. “A little girl had pica, that disorder where she craved things other than food. She craved her own hair. So she chewed on the strands and swallowed them for years. As the human body can’t digest hair, it filled up her stomach and she expired.” “On that rather morbid note,” Amelie said, shaking her head, “it’s almost time for my address.” Felix glanced at his watch. The hands were pointing to just past three p.m.; while the address was at four, he knew his mother needed time to get camera-ready.  “Excellent,” Felix thought. “Now I can spend some time alone with Marinette!” Amelie stood and Arthur straightened his suit coat. He seemed torn as to whether to stay and attend to Felix and Marinette or follow his Queen. “I should–” “Take the rest of the day off, Arthur,” Felix said, tipping his head at the man as if giving him the chance to pursue the desires of his heart. Arthur opened his mouth, likely to object, but Felix didn’t give him the chance. “I insist.” The valet favored him with a smile and a deep bow but said no more. Marinette also stood, curtsying to the Queen Regent. “Best of luck with your address, Ma’am.” “Thanks, Dupain-Cheng.” Amelie offered her a quick nod; clearly, the Queen’s mind was already preparing for her Christmas speech to the nation. She turned to leave but stopped at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Felix. Come with me for a moment.” Blinking, Felix scrambled his way over to his mother, with Arthur following close behind, Amelie's scroll case in hand. Felix didn’t want to leave Marinette by herself, but he figured that since this should only take a moment, she would be fine. “Yes, Mother?” Amelie’s gaze whipped to where he had come, and Felix looked back to see Marinette clearing the dishes from their brunch.  "I wish she didn't feel the need to work today," Felix thought, sighing. Arthur seemed to read his thoughts and shrugged. “You do love her, don’t you?”  Amelie’s murmured question was enough to spill goosebumps down Felix's arms and legs. He knew that tone of voice. She asked him not as Amelie, his mother, but as the Queen Regent with all the power and status granted to her by the Crown. Felix’s spine uncurled to a ramrod-straight position as he faced the Queen, spreading his shoulders wide. “I do, Your Majesty. More than anything.” Amelie motioned to Arthur, who opened the scroll case for her. She reached inside and drew out a scroll made of vellum, which she pressed into Felix's palm and curled his fingers around. “Take care of her, Felix.” Felix blinked, waiting until she and Arthur left to unfurl the scroll. Illustrated by a panel of scrivener artists and screaming up at him with all the pomp and circumstance of the Crown Office was an Instrument of Consent. “NOW KNOW YE,” the official document bellowed in meticulous, handwritten letters, “that We have consented and do by these Presents signify Our Consent to the contracting of Matrimony between Our Most Dearly Beloved Son and Heir Felix Richard William David Fathom of Wales K.G. and Our Trusty and Well-beloved Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Felix’s stomach bottomed out. This was Amelie’s true gift to him; the bound plays meant nothing in comparison. The Instrument of Consent was written evidence that the Queen Regent of England approved of Marinette being Queen Consort before his coronation. Tears flooded his eyes, and he hurriedly rolled up the scroll so he didn’t stain it with something as foolish as salt water from his eyes. Vellum was only used for the most important and official state documents; the Instrument of Consent was real and legally binding, and he wanted to keep it that way. On the one hand, this was mortally embarrassing. Amelie had correctly assumed he’d be thinking about marrying Marinette before he'd thought about it, and even Arthur knew. On the other hand, knowing that his mother formally approved of Marinette as his wife and future Queen Consort warmed Felix's heart thrice over. Glancing over to the path Amelie had taken, Felix kissed the scroll. “Thank you, Mother.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette felt a sigh of relief escape her when the Queen Regent and Arthur left the room. While Christmas morning hadn’t been nearly as stressful as she had assumed it would be with the Queen present, it had left Marinette feeling like she was on display like a mildly amusing fish in an aquarium. As Felix escorted his mother out, Marinette found herself so jittery that she couldn’t sit still any longer. She gathered up the plates, glasses, and the other high-class detritus of a casual breakfast with the Royals. Not that Arthur had left her much to do, but it was useful and kept her hands busy in the absence of sewing or embroidery. She had caught Felix scanning the small pile of gifts for something - his name? Hers? - and the look of disappointment that followed. Her stomach was a tense ball of anxiety already, but now that it was just likely to be the two of them for the rest of the day, she felt both relieved and terrified. “What if he doesn’t like my gift?" she thought, resisting the urge to bite her nails - something she hadn’t done in years. “What if they are too sentimental? Or too simple? For crying out loud, he’s an actual, bonafide Prince with a capital ‘P’! What does he even see in me anyway?” A strong pair of arms gently wrapped around her from behind. “You’re thinking too hard again, aren’t you?” Felix murmured in her ear, making her shiver. “H-How did you know?” One large hand retreated to tap the join between her neck and shoulders before looping around her waist once more. “Your neck and shoulders get very tense.” “How did you learn to read me so well?" she asked, trying for huffy and coming out sounding breathless instead. “A certain little fool encouraged me to find joy in the wonder and beauties of the world and I heeded her advice.” She frowned. “But what has that to do with knowing I’m tense?” He tenderly swept her hair aside and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, making heat rise in her cheeks. “I am learning to be a connoisseur and if I just happen to find most of my joy in contemplating your beauty, then all the better.” He turned his head to press a kiss right under her ear. “Someday, I will be known as the foremost expert on the illustrious Marinette!” She gave a soft scoffing noise mingled with a gasp. “Now who’s being the fool?” “Love makes fools of us all. Why not me?” Marinette turned in his arms so she could see him. “Felix?” “Yes, my love?” “What… I mean… what are we?”  She couldn’t help the nervous tone in her voice or the way her fingers fiddled with the dark green of his lapels that brought out his eyes so well. "You're a Prince, and I'm just a… a…" "You're not 'just' anything." Carefully, Felix turned her around so his dextrous thumbs could massage her neck, prompting a long, drawn-out groan from her. "And just because I'm a Prince doesn't mean you aren't valuable." As Felix dragged his thumbs up and down her neck, smoothing the tension away, Marinette contemplated his words. While she believed everything he had said, it was hard for her to believe those things about herself. It was only when she was angry or passionate about something that she felt empowered or valuable – one reason why she had thrown herself so aggressively into her feud with him in the first place. Turning, she looked up at him, her heart pounding in her throat. “Felix… what do you see as my value?” Felix's eyes widened momentarily, but he soon relaxed into a playful smirk. He leaned in, his breath playing over her lips. "Fishing for compliments, are we?" She shook her head. “No! Or, at least, not empty ones. A- I’ve had my fill of those. I… It’s just your trip was so long and we argued and I was so worried about you and–” Felix silenced her with a kiss. When he drew back, he cupped her cheeks in both his huge, warm hands. "Don't worry, little fool. I know you weren't. I was just teasing. Give me a moment to find my words?" She nodded, her teeth teasing her bottom lip worriedly. Felix smoothed his thumb over her lip, freeing the bruised flesh from the grip of her teeth. He tapped her nose, tutting like a mother hen. "None of that, now. My goodness, Marinette. If I had known you were this upset, I never would have teased you." Her eyes burned, but she refused to acknowledge it. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re not that type of person as long as others are open and honest with you. I just… you send me reeling, free falling, and… I have always had plans, goals, and concrete things to work from… and now… I don’t know where I stand or what you really think of…” She waved her hand through the air between them, indicating the whole of their strange push-and-pull relationship. “I love you… but I would like to have a firm place to rest if you know what I mean.” Smoothing his hand over the small of her back, Felix tugged her closer to him, encouraging her head to lean against his chest. "I know what you mean." The vibrations of his murmuring tickled her cheek, and while Marinette smiled, she didn't feel like doing so. "Marinette, listen to me. You've asked me how I feel about you, what I value in you, and I'll tell you. "You brought me back to life. Your vivacity and zest for life inspired me to look outside of myself and search for things that were more beautiful than my bleak outlook. You drew me out of my head – my doubts, my fears, my insecurities…" He sighed, stroking her hair in a hypnotic gesture. "Frankly, my dear, you make me want to be a better man. That is worth more to me than all the treasures of the world combined. You are my treasure, Marinette." The tears fell then. Burning, aching heartache and sweet relief distilled into salty drops that soothed the last of the twisted anxiety within her chest. His words, his beautiful words, were honest and solid – as solid as the chest and shoulders under her hands, as steady and steadfast as the heartbeat under her ear. She let go of the breath she was holding and breathed in the scent of him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, Marinette snuggled closer within the circle of his arms. “Thank you, Felix. I… I think I really needed to hear that.” He favored her with a brush of lips against her forehead as if testing her for a fever. "If you ever have cause to doubt yourself, please let me know. I may not always know how to express what you mean to me, but I will always try to remind you of how incredible you are – even when you have forgotten. I am learning the many strange tricks anxiety plays on our minds. I would hate for you to lose yourself as I did.” She giggled slightly against his chest. “And here I thought you had an unassailable ego, Mr Etcetera.” "Hmph." She could hear the wrinkled nose. "That's your roommate's nickname for me, isn't it?" This time the giggle was more mischievous. “Actually, it was mine. I got tired of having to refer to your titles and took a scene from The King and I where the king learns about the word ‘etcetera’ and uses it to the point of absurdity.” She shrugged before looking up at him with a smile. “It seemed to fit at the time.” "Double hmph. To be fair to you, I get tired of being referred to by my titles too, though I fail to see how a nickname used to the 'point of absurdity' is any better." She blushed then. “It was only a joke. Besides, lately, Alya has been calling you…” She faltered, nervous about blurting out the phrase. She wasn’t sure if Felix would be upset or unspeakably smug about it. "Calling me?" He didn't press so much as give her enough rope to hang herself. Hiding her face in her hands and peeking out at him through her fingers, she squeaked. “She calls you my prince.” Ohh, from the way his eyes lit up with such a wicked gleam, Marinette knew he'd chosen to be smug, unbearably so. "Well, that's just facts. Fitting for a reporter." Gasping in surprise, she swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Oh, you! That isn’t how she meant it!” Felix barked out a laugh. His eyes searched her face, burning her as badly as if she'd been standing naked before him and he was the sun. "Then, what, pray tell," he purred, his voice pitched low enough to reach into her belly and start tugging, "did she mean?" “Y-You know.” She waved her hand at him. “Like fairy tale stuff.” Pausing for a moment as if to think this over, Felix nodded somberly. "I deem this acceptable. Your friend has good taste." She sighed. “She meant you are ‘my’ prince, Felix. Mine. Not ‘a’ prince. Not ‘the’ prince, but ‘my’ prince.” "You have yet to convince me that this is a problem." She stared at him in bewilderment. “Y-you don’t mind?” His hand cradled her face, his thumb softly stroking her cheekbone with a look that was far from displeased. “Why should I?" How was she supposed to tell the former “Ice Prince” that he had melted so far as to have no problem considering himself as belonging to a commoner? Was there even a respectful way to phrase that? Felix harrumphed. "I can hear you thinking." Marinette frowned slightly and pursed her lips. “Really? Then what am I thinking?” When he wanted to be, Felix could be surprisingly astute. Marinette had forgotten that fact until he opened his mouth. "You're thinking that you don't deserve me. Which is stuff and nonsense." She folded her arms across her chest, hoping to put a little distance between them, but he refused to relinquish his hold on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him once more.  “That’s really what you are going for?” she asked, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. "I fail to see how I could go for anything else." Her temper flared. “Why you stuck-up, egotistical… I wasn’t… I was just wondering how to tell you that you have changed so much that I can hardly recognize the man who poured pomegranate juice on an antique rug just to force me to clean it or 'lost' his fluffy bunny slipper on purpose to make me crawl under his bed so he could gawk at my legs!” "You did that. You changed me." Felix puffed his chest out. "I thought you liked the change." Marinette suddenly deflated, all the fight and fire draining out of her and leaving her swaying in his arms. Tentatively, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I do, Felix. I… I am amazed at who you are becoming and I fall in love with you in new ways every single day. And you were partly right. I don’t think I deserve you and, no matter what you may think, I did not change you. I may have planted the seeds and pulled a few weeds, but you did the growing all on your own and I couldn’t be prouder. But it makes what we have even harder, don't you see? I know you would be an amazing king right now, but if you keep growing and changing for the better, then you could be more than amazing. You could change the world!” She sighed and curled into his chest once more. “How could I ever live up to that?” "You're kidding, right?" Cupping her chin, Felix guided her gaze up to meet his baffled one. "Do you truly not understand that I consider you my equal, if not my better? Iron sharpens iron, little fool. While I may have been born a prince, you have the heart of a princess and that is something no blood royal or crown could bestow.” All her uncertainties, all her fears, all her doubts about herself and her worth to the man who had taken root in her heart until there was no room for another, were suddenly warmed by the faintest ember. His words stoked it and fed it, bit by precious bit, until it bloomed and blazed to life, filling her with the warmth of his honesty, love, and respect for her. It burned in her cheeks and pooled hotly in the pit of her stomach. Oh, how she loved him! This man wanted to be hers just as, on some level that she didn’t quite understand, she wanted him to possess her. With that fire inside her, she could care less about challenges, society, or the press. She could care less about her inadequacies or her past or her baggage. She would take on the world for Felix if he asked it of her! With a smile she hoped expressed all of that without the clumsiness of words, she rolled up on her toes until their lips were almost touching. “You want to be mine?” she whispered, every fiber of her being vibrating at the true gift that he gave her. Eyes widening, Felix’s lips parted and she could feel his heart rate increase under her hand and his breath catch in his chest. “More than anything,” he answered, his pupils dilating and his hand at her waist slowly fisted in the fabric of her dress. She laughed, a full throaty chuckle that buoyed her up like a hot air balloon, and the smile that burst into being on his face was enough to send sparkling waves to her fingertips. “Good,” she murmured, her fingers caressing up his neck and into his hair, making him groan and his eyes roll back under hooded lids. “Because I was yours before you boarded that plane.” "Marinette," Felix whispered huskily against her lips. "May I kiss you?" Marinette was about to whisper, "Please," and surge up on her toes and meet his eager lips with hers, but then she heard a panicked mewl. Blinking, she glanced over Felix's shoulder to look for Prince. "Hold that thought. I think Prince is in trouble." "First Wemberly and now the cat?" Felix groused good-naturedly. "When will we not be interrupted?" Marinette flashed a regretful smile at him, but she was too focused on tracking down her wayward kitten to do too much more. "Prince!" she called. "Here, kitty! Pspsps!" “He may not respond to that name very easily, you know,” he drawled, annoyed, but clearly willing to be patient if it meant more kisses later. Marinette raised a brow over her shoulder at her wayward prince. “Would you rather I call him by your name?” “No.” Felix harrumphed. “I’m just saying that kittens don’t change very easily.” “I know someone else like that,” Marinette muttered, wondering just how much experience Felix had with cats as she wandered the room, looking for her baby. She checked the tree but no dice except for quite a few smashed ornaments. Thankfully, they all looked commercially bought and not homemade, otherwise Marinette would have felt doubly guilty for them being irreplaceable. As it was, she’d have to ask Arthur how much they were and surreptitiously slip him some euros to cover the cost of these. Praying she didn’t find Prince with ornament shards in his paws, she checked all through Felix’s suite, including under his bed, which left him blushing and making strange, strangling noises in the back of his throat. Once she crawled out from under the bed, she stood and placed her hands on her hips. “I just can’t find him.” “Hopefully he cries again,” Felix said, scrubbing a hand over his face as if to dislodge his thoughts, whatever they were. Distracted by the conundrum of her lost kitten, Marinette nodded absently. She knew she wasn’t paying much attention to Felix, especially since they had been about to kiss, but she’d just have to make it up to him later. In a last-ditch effort, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Felix! Pspsps!” He answered with a desperate set of mewls, which Marinette tracked to Felix’s office. Scanning the desk – and under it –  took Marinette a few moments to spot him. “Oh! Felix!” Felix the human pointed at himself. “Me? Or the cat?” “Him! You! Both of you!” Marinette cried, seizing Felix’s face and directing his gaze upward. There, balanced precariously on the top of the floor-to-ceiling curtain rod, was her cat. “We have to save him, Felix!” Felix nodded in her grip and tore his face free of it. “I’ll go call Arthur to bring a ladder.” Marinette was just glad her Felix didn’t wonder aloud how her cat had gotten up there – based on the minute tears in the black curtains, it looked like she’d be paying to replace those too. Marinette rushed to stand under the curtain, trying to make sure she could at least break his fall. Her heart pounded behind her eyes, fear flooding her mouth and tasting bitter. “Kitty! Please be careful!” Felix returned, but Marinette barely noticed. “Marinette, he managed to get up there by himself. Surely he isn’t going to decide he is a bird and try to fly.” Marinette’s hands, which were fluttering around her face like bats in a belfry, clutched her cheeks. She could feel the shaking of her fingers. She needed to do something! “Don’t give him any ideas!” Two strong arms wrapped around her from behind in a gentle embrace. “It’s going to be alright, little fool. That little scamp,” and here he gestured at the nervous cat, “is just being like his dear mother.” Marinette couldn’t bear to look away from Prince, rightfully termed a scamp even if she did think Felix was making light of the situation. “He’s like me? What on earth are you talking about?” “What? Are you telling me you didn’t fall off the ladder just so I could catch you?” The look he gave her was of such overdone innocence that she rolled her eyes at him. “Pfft. You think I’d put myself at risk just to fall all over you?” Felix nuzzled her neck right under her ear, sending a pleasant tingling through her despite her worry for her cat. She could feel him grinning. “No, I think I was the one who did the falling that day. You were the first woman I ever held in my arms, you know.” Based on his grin she could feel, Marinette was prepared for a snarky response she could laugh at. But Felix’s words were ever so sweet.  The problem was, he was trying his darndest to seduce her into kisses when her cat was in danger! And she was almost falling for it! “Felix,” she started, shivering as he peppered her neck with kisses, “you do realize that this isn’t the time for kissing, right?” “I refuse to be interrupted any more than we already have been,” he growled, his arms tightening around her ever so slightly. “There is a reason I call you ‘my little fool.’ The key word being ‘my’.” The way he was taking possession of her, rather than scaring her, thrilled her down to her marrow. She trembled in his hold, her hands coming up to grasp his thin wrists. She was his. And she liked that fact.  But… “As much as I like to be yours,” she said, trying for teasing and coming out anxious because of the way Prince’s whining strung her nerves out, “it is seriously inconvenient right at this moment when I am torn between my two princes. Don’t take that the wrong way! I do love you, but… he’s my baby.” Felix huffed, a soft puff of air from his breath warming her ear. “I get it. Babies come before spouses in your way of thinking.” “That’s not true at all,” Marinette grumbled, nudging his stomach with her elbow. Trapped as she was in the circle of his arms, she couldn’t do much more than that. “Spouses come before babies – except when the babies have crawled up thirty feet high!” With an exasperated sigh, Felix broke away from her. “Where the devil are those servants?” As if summoned by his frustration, two footmen entered the office, carrying a ladder between them. “Sorry, Your Royal Highness,” one of them said, bowing deeply despite his grip on the ladder. “We expected you to be in the sitting room, so it took a few minutes to find you.” Much to Marinette’s relief, Felix pointed at the cat. “Well, get a move on, then. Set up that ladder so I can climb it.” Marinette’s smile turned to a gasp. “What? Felix, you can’t possibly–” He silenced her with a raised brow and the most impudent smirk she’d ever seen on a man’s face. “Can’t I? You didn’t think I’d let our baby stay in trouble, did you?” “Our baby.”  The words had a nice ring to them, Marinette had to admit. She’d never seriously considered having children with Felix - she hadn’t allowed herself to get her hopes up long enough to do so if she was being honest with herself - the thought was as far off as being financially independent. Marinette had always wanted children, but with her supporting her ailing parents, that seemed like a faraway dream, not a set-in-stone reality. As she watched Felix climb the ladder, holding one hand out to coax the kitten down, Marinette’s heart was in her throat for a different reason than just worry. Then the penny dropped. 
“Our baby. Did Felix just… propose!?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The little furball was nervous, though whether at the height at which he found himself or the strange man who was trying to coax him down was anyone’s guess.
 
“Come on, little man,” Felix murmured, holding his fingers out for the cat to sniff. “You have your mother all worried over you. Be a good boy and come on down like a good cat.”
 
Prince sniffed warily at the outstretched hand, deciding that it was neither threat nor food, and deigned to rub his jaw against the tips of Felix’s fingers. 
 
“

He certainly is an endearing little thing,”

Felix mused as the tiny creature purred

.

“There’s a good boy,” he murmured, gently easing his hands around the paws that had a clawed death grip on his curtains. Moving slowly so as not to spook him, Felix cupped his fingers around Prince’s bottom and belly, lifting him up and away from the rod and drawing him close once he mewled pitifully. “Here, now. Let’s get you back to your mother.”
 
Cradling the kitten against his chest with one hand, shielding his eyes from the view of the floor – which looked to be further down than Felix initially thought it was – Felix descended the ladder, making sure each step was a careful one.
 
By the time the pair reached the last step, Marinette was hopping from foot to foot, her wide eyes and bitten lip betraying her anxiety. Felix had barely alighted on the floor when she rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his ribs and giving him a tight squeeze.
 
“Oof.” Felix’s breath left him in a rush as she impacted him. Prince, being squashed between them, dug his claws into Felix’s sternum, prompting him to wince. 
 
“Marinette, the cat–”
 
“Oh!” Marinette pulled away immediately, deftly setting to work releasing Prince’s needlelike claws from his skin and clothes. Felix couldn’t help but hiss at the stinging pain.
 
“Will you be needing anything else, Your Royal Highness?” the taller of the two footmen asked politely, though his comrade looked like he was trying to smother a knowing grin.
 
Felix jerked the front of his blazer to straighten it and give himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Not exactly Felix the Hero, but saving a cat from a great height is at least traditional.”

“No, I think that will be all for now, gentlemen,” he said loftily. “Thank you very much for your assistance.”
 
Both men bowed. “Of course, Sir. Happy Christmas, Sir. Miss.”
 
The shorter one, with a look that said he couldn’t contain himself any longer, said, “And congratulations, Your Royal Highness!”
 
Felix looked confused. Was the man talking about the rescue of the cat?
 
“Thank you very much,” he said vaguely, his eyes drifting to Marinette who still stood so close to him that he could smell the rose-scented shampoo Arthur had undoubtedly arranged for her to have in the guest suite. He missed the honeysuckle. “And Happy Christmas, gentlemen.”
 
Both men scurried out with the ladder, just barely waiting until they made it out into the hallway before they started whooping and hollering.
 
“Gracious,” Felix exclaimed, startled from the contemplation of his dark-haired love. “What is that all about?”
 
“Um… F-Felix,” Marinette stammered softly, causing his gaze to shift from the still-open door to her wide-eyed stare.
 
Seeing her worried look, he instinctively wrapped her in his arms. “What is it, little fool?”
 
“D-D-Did y-you … b-but you j-just… why?” She groaned in frustration at her inability to get the words out and buried her face in Prince’s fur.
 
Felix smiled fondly as he held her closer, ever mindful of the cat’s claws. His chest still stung, after all, and he didn’t want Marinette to suffer the same injury.
 
“It’s ok, my love,” he said gently, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “Take your time.”
 
She took a deep breath, but instead of releasing it slowly like she sometimes did when anxious, she blurted out, “WhatdidyoumeanwhenyousaidPrincewasourbaby?”
 
The words came out so fast they blurred together; the pink tide rising in her cheeks and the way she couldn’t meet his eyes told Felix that, somehow, he had done something inappropriate.

“Our baby. Our baby. Our baby.”

Felix’s thoughts centered on the words she’d pointed out, the words that had so clearly distressed her – and had possibly engendered the footmen’s reaction as well.

“What

did

I mean by that?”

Taking a few moments to think, Felix turned the words over and over in his head, trying to ascertain what, exactly, had scared her so much.
 
Then the penny dropped.

“Our baby. Did I just… propose!?”

“Oh,” Felix said aloud, more an exhalation of air than a true word. His cheeks felt as if someone was pan-frying them, searing them in hot oil to a reddened state. “Uh, yeah, sorry about the whole… domesticity thing.”
 
“Domesticity thing?”
 
“You know. That thing. That I did.” Still holding Marinette in his arms – though the hold was much more awkward now that he was strangled by the warmth in his face and neck – Felix kicked at imaginary dirt. He hated imaginary dirt. “Assuming domesticity.”
 
She furrowed her brow at him adorably. If Felix wasn’t already in the middle of trying to explain to her that he didn’t mean to marry her on a whim – er,

propose

, not marry; he’d like to marry her very much – he’d kiss away the wrinkles. “I don’t follow.”
 
“Ididn’tmeantoproposetoyoulikethat.” Just like Marinette’s words earlier, his own came out in a breathless rush, exiting his mouth as if fleeing from a monster under the bed. 
 
The secret was out – and if the footmen’s reaction was any indication, he’d have damage control to do before they spread the false news everywhere in the palace. The truest fact of a Royal’s life was that servants liked to gossip about it.
 
Marinette’s eyes were as big as teacups and just as white around the edges. “Oh…” 
 
“

If

I were going to propose, and that’s a big if at this point–” A clear lie. He’d been thinking about it ever since his mother gave him the Instrument of Consent. “–I’d do it properly and pull out all the stops!” 
 
Her eyes, which had been filled with alarm, were now filled with existential horror. Her hands began to shake around her kitten on her chest, prompting him to mew miserably, and Felix felt her shoulders trembling in his hold.
 
“Marinette, what’s wrong?” Felix grasped at straws, wanting to fix whatever problem he’d caused. “What did I say–”
 
“I– Please don’t propose in public!”
 
Her desperate plea caught him by surprise, punching him in the middle. Thoughts of the press hounding her – and how much worse they would be to both of them after a public proposal – made his blood boil. “I… Of course not, Marinette. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
 
“B-But you… and P-Prince… the ladder… you–”
 
He took her face between his hands and met her frantic gaze, forcing her to look at him instead of her head whipping from side to side in her panic.
 
“Marinette, I would never expose you to public embarrassment like that. Ever.” He added a kiss to her forehead in reassurance. “I was just trying to tease and misspoke earlier, that’s all. I’ve been gone for a long time and I have missed you, little fool. Desperately. The only things that got me through that trip were thoughts of you. But for all my flights of fancy then, I misspoke today. I’m sorry. 
 
“You are the center of my world, Marinette, and I won’t deny wondering what a life married to you would be like. I like the idea of being domestic with you. It is something I have never known and didn’t know how much I wanted until I met you. But even my foolish self wouldn’t submit you to the public mess such a proposal would create. Do you understand?”
 
She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks such a crimson hue that she seemed to match the Christmas decorations. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Felix just stood there, holding her face, scared to move lest he destroy this moment, and their relationship, past all chance of recovery.
 
“Please, my little fool. Put me out of m-” he began, but her finger covered his lips to stop him.
 
“If you finish that sentence, then I might just collapse,” she whispered fervently, her eyes bright and warm again with loving smiles.
 
He felt lightheaded himself as he stared at her in confusion. “Eh, what?” he asked around her finger, but not before pressing a teasing kiss to it.
 
“The last time you said those words, I kissed you for the first time. That was all wine and bravado, but right now I have neither and I feel weak at the knees this time too.”
 
Felix couldn’t help the swell of pride that shot through him at her words and, sure enough, he felt her trembling slightly in his arms.

He’d

done that. He made the strongest woman he knew weak and trembling with his honest words alone. He had never felt more proud and powerful, and yet humbled at the same time… except when she had told him she was

his.

“If I have your permission, I would very much like to kiss you now,” he murmured huskily, delighting in her shiver.
 
Shifting her finger from his lips to a grip on his shoulder, Marinette leaned sideways to deposit Prince on the floor. “Go play, sweet kitty.” She stood once more and wrapped her arms around Felix’s neck. “I think Daddy needs some kisses.”
 
“Gwahk,” he choked out in shock at her words, being the most incomprehensible noise that had ever emerged from his mouth. His cheeks felt like a tea kettle about to scream! He would not have been surprised if his face, clothes, and hair burst into flames with his embarrassment!
 
Marinette, however, showed him no quarter – giggling, the little prankster pressed her mouth to his, seeking to claim her prize. Tugging him down to her level by his lapels, she glided her lips against his, moving his face into the angle she delightfully chose.
 
He could

feel

her laughing at him through the press of their mouths!
 
Felix, while completely at her mercy, was not to be outdone. Growling against her mouth, he smoothed one hand up to cup her head, fisting his fingers in her dress at the small of her back to balance her as he dipped her low.
 
She gasped against him, and he could feel her hitched breath against his lips. Smiling in triumph, Felix went on the offensive in their kiss, so that it turned from a soft, tender moment into a battle of wills between two rascals.
 
Marinette, in her returning salvo, couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d tripped him. Continuing to grasp his lapel in one hand, she ran the other one through his hair, messing up the strands despite the care he’d taken to gel it properly. 
 
She’d never liked the gel, he realized then, but the slicked-back hair was such a part of his signature look, he was loath to get rid of it. But the way she was teasing him with her fingers, gently scratching his scalp in circles with her blunt nails, made his eyes roll back into his head and demand that he reconsider his life choices.

“Forget life choices! She is my choice!”

As Felix’s mouth went slack against hers in mindless pleasure from the way she stroked the small hairs at the back of his neck, he belatedly realized she’d won this contest. She’d reduced him to a Felix puddle; he was completely useless against her, and despite being the one to hold her up and in his arms, he couldn’t do much more to tease her like she deserved to be teased.
 
And he couldn’t be happier about this!
 
It wasn’t until several minutes, or minor eternities, had passed that they separated, only by inches as they both trembled and clung to each other for support.
 
Marinette sighed through her nose, giving such a contented hum that he felt heat flood through him once more. This woman was everything and if he ever had the chance to go back in time he would gladly throttle his younger self for tormenting her when he could have been kissing her like this.

“Then there would be a temporal paradox, but who cares? Her kisses could probably mend time too.”

“I love you, Marinette,” he whispered, his voice huskier than ever.
 
She slid her arms down to wrap around his waist and cuddled into his embrace. “I love you too, Felix. Sorry, I freaked out.”
 
He stroked her hair for a minute, enjoying the cool silkiness beneath his fingers before answering. “I understand, little fool. We are in a strange in-between place right now. Neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring. It’s like we know each other very well on one level, but hardly at all for everything else.” He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers and breathing her in. “I want to know everything about you, Marinette. I want to know your likes and dislikes, all your favorite things in the world so I can share them with you. I want to know whether you like thunderstorms and your favorite place to hide when you were a kid. I want to know your parents and call them by their first names once I get up the nerve. I want them to show me the cute, embarrassing pictures from when you were little–”
 
“Don’t you dare,” she whined into his chest, making him chuckle.
 
“Oh, but I would dare,” he growled, leaning back enough to tip her chin up and see her eyes. “I would dare anything for you, little fool.”
 
Her eyes, still blown wide from their passionate exchange of kisses, widened further, then crinkled at the corners and a playful smirk danced across her lips. Ah, those lips of hers would be the end of him!

“But what a way to go!”

“

Anything

is awfully large,” she said, one finger tracing the outer edge of his lips. “But all I want right now is to curl up with you on the sofa and give you your present.”
 
“Present?”
 
For some reason, it had temporarily escaped him that she hadn’t given him a present with the rest of them. He had kind of expected it once she gave gifts to Arthur and his mother, elegant handmade presents that she had clearly slaved over. He had even looked in the pile of presents Arthur and the maids had arranged under the tree for his name in unfamiliar handwriting but had found nothing.
 
He didn’t even know her handwriting! As insignificant a thing as it was, it still dealt him a blow to the heart. 
 
He stared down at her in surprise. “You got me a present?”
 
She smiled. “No. Of course not.”
 
He knew she had to be teasing him and that he shouldn’t take it to heart, but he barely controlled the urge to pout. He couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his chest.
 
“Oh.”
 
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t

get

you a present. I

made

you one,” she said, tapping his nose.
 
Felix, his emotions rising like a yoyo at her words, laughed and scooped her up in his arms to carry her to the couch.
 
“Felix!” she exclaimed, laughter and surprise in her voice.  “Put me down!”
 
“Not on your life!” he grumbled, holding her tightly in his arms as he intentionally fell sideways onto the sofa with her in his lap. “Holding you like this is the only gift I’ve truly wanted in a long time and I’m not going to let it pass me by.”
 
She blushed and ducked her head down. “You’re being silly again.”
 
He kissed the end of her nose, grinning as it wrinkled and twitched. “Only for you, my love. Only for you.”
 
She kissed his cheek in reply, then tapped his chest right over his heart. “And I for you. Now let me up so I can get your present!”
 
He groaned and played at refusing to let her go, even tickling her into submission for more cuddles until she gave him a look that said clearly that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
 
Sighing dramatically, he let her go only for her to reach over the far end of the sofa and reveal a small, square box only slightly larger than a man’s wallet. She took his hand and placed the gift in his upturned palm.
 
Felix looked from her to the parcel neatly wrapped in green paper and tied with a gold ribbon. It was small, far smaller than the box his mother’s sachets had been wrapped in, but, as the maker herself proved, beauty and value can come in the smallest packages.
 
“Don’t just sit there staring, Felix! I’m nervous enough already! Just open it!”
 
Taking his time wasn't an option. Felix tore into the package, untying the ribbon and discarding it on the couch next to him. Unwrapping the paper, he hurriedly opened the box to reveal a square of white cloth cleverly embroidered with a grinning green frog.
 
His breath caught in his throat. Drawing out the handkerchief to clutch it to his chest, he noticed another treasure in the little box: another square of cloth, this time embroidered with a colorful yellow-and-green jester's hat.
 
Handkerchief after handkerchief emerged from the box: frog, jester's hat, sword – and a lip print, a red kiss mark that left his fingers tingling and tears welling in his eyes.
 
She had sewn their story.
 
The frog was a given – it represented the granddaddy of all frogs, the time she'd pranked him and had caught him quite literally with his pants down.
 
The jester's hat, smartly done with bells he could swear he heard tinkle, obviously meant she had accepted and embraced his nickname for her.
 
The sword – ah, the sword! – encapsulated their time at Anmer Hall, when she'd armed herself and declared, "Thou lovest me!"
 
And the lip print was her leaving her mark on him, a promise of more kisses to come after that first fateful, wine-soaked one.
 
Pressing the set – four in all, and

such

a lovely gift – to his chest, Felix used the frog to dab at his teary eyes.
 
"T-Thank you, little fool," he stammered when he had finally found his voice. "This means more than you know."
 
“Does that mean you like them?" she whispered, suddenly shy once more. 
 
She was always changing and the constant shifting of her inner confidence fascinated him almost as much as it made him hate those responsible for sowing the seeds of doubt.
 
"Like them?" Felix delicately cradled her chin in the fingers of his free hand. He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back to look her in the eyes. "I love them."
 
“I know they are nothing fancy,” she said, hastily, waving a hand at the box full of presents he, his mother, and Arthur had given her. “Nothing like what you’ve given me, but I wanted to let you know and–”
 
Felix surged forward and captured her lips with his, stealing her words and breathing them into his lungs. By the time he separated from her, her cheeks had grown rosy and her eyes glistened with tears.
 
“Marinette, no one has ever given me a gift quite like this. I’ve never had

anyone

make me something before, and certainly not something so cleverly done with such care.” Lacing his fingers with hers, he brought her knuckles to his lips to brush a soft kiss there. “You put more thought and effort into these than I did with the whole of your gifts, much less any of them individually.”
 
She frowned and shook her head. “I might have put in more personal effort, but it is clear you thought of me and what I would like when you got these gifts for me.”
 
Then she leaned over him to whisper in his ear, “Though I would have liked one of your photographs to hang in my room.”
 
Felix’s breath hitched in his chest. He felt lightheaded as if all the oxygen in his brain had been replaced with champagne bubbles. She wanted one of his photographs? One of his prized possessions from a hobby that he’d thought long dead but was always yearning to revive?
 
“I…” Felix wasn’t sure what to say to that, except: “I think that can be arranged.”
 
Her smile was brighter than Christmas itself. “You didn’t need to get me all of these things, but I appreciate you thinking of me so much and wanting a way to show it.”
 
“I… I just…” Felix found himself adrift, floundering for words. Unless he had a pen in his hand and a paper before him, he was no good at expressing these sentiments. He wanted to; he

needed

to tell her how she filled his life with so much beauty and light and love that he was happily drowning in her influence, that being separated from her had been like a sword had pierced his soul, splitting him apart and leaving half of himself behind. 
 
He craved to tell her these things like a man craves water after a long sojourn in the desert. Yes. His life had been a painful, lonely desert, but Marinette was his oasis of life-giving water.
 
Still, for all the words poured from his mind in waves of bittersweet longing, they merely piled up behind his teeth and his traitorous lips refused to do anything but stammer.
 
Finally, he swallowed down the loving words he wished he could share with her and gave her a soft smile. “The next time I have to leave, will you accompany me, little fool?”
 
Her smile in return was wide and tender. Gently, she took the frog handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks, wiping away the traces of tears he hadn’t even known he was still shedding. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Felix. I missed you so much it hurt.”
 
With a sigh of contentment so deep it seemed to come from his very marrow, Felix leaned back against the arm of the sofa, pulling her with him as she curled against his chest. She fit so perfectly against him, her head tucking between his jaw and his collarbone and the way she traced the stitches on the edge of his lapel made his face burn.
 
“Tell me something I don’t know about you?" he asked, desperate to know everything she was willing to tell him. He hated that Adrien had ruined the chance they’d had for her to tell him her name herself, but there was still an entire undiscovered world behind his little fool that he wanted to understand.
 
Marinette lifted her head to smile at him again. “Only if you tell me something too.”
 
He caught a wayward curl and wrapped it gently around his finger before bringing it to his lips to kiss. “Anything you like,” he murmured.
 
So they talked as the weak, winter sunlight waned. Felix laughed at the tales she told of her younger self, how she was clumsy and constantly spraining her ankle or twisting her wrist, and ground his teeth when she told him about how she had been lonely and bullied in school. She showed him pictures of her mother and father and the bakery that was her home, of her and Alya holding a tray of macarons – each face smeared with chocolate filling – and of the clothes she had designed over the years.
 
“You really are quite talented, Marinette,” he said, admiring a picture of a red satin dress with a black lace overlay that had a timeless quality to it. ”I’m not surprised Mother moved up your timeline for working in Wardrobe. This one is so elegant – like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn in her films!”
 
“Yeah. It’s one of my favorites. Your turn.”
 
With his arm wrapped around her shoulders to keep her close, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “What do you want to know, little fool?”
 
She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye and grinned coyly. “‘For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?’”
 
He chuckled at her reference to their play. “Who is asking? Benedick or Marinette?”
 
She tapped his nose. “Marinette, silly.”
 
Felix cast his mind back. It hadn’t been quite a year since he’d noticed that his mother had a new chambermaid, yet he felt like he had known Marinette forever; it was as if she had been part of the background of his life, but had only recently taken up her rightful place at his side. Then he recalled the day he had found bubbles in his morning coffee.
 
“Your hips,” he answered honestly. 
 
She gasped in surprise, bumping his chest with her shoulder. “Felix! Why on earth–”
 
He silenced her with a quick kiss. “Yes, I think it was your hips and your eyes.” Cheeks warming, he leaned closer to whisper in her ear despite there being no one else in the room. “You have a delightful set of curves, love. And your eyes always speak the truth, even when your lips cannot. Your beauty drew my eyes, but it was your honesty that made me fall - over and over again.”
 
She blushed and hid her face in his chest. If she was any more adorable, Felix didn’t think his heart could take it.
 
Sliding his hand down her arm to her waist, he gave her a tickle, interrupting the blush fest and their conversation for a while as tickles turned to kisses until both were left panting.
 
Brushing her hair behind her ear, Felix smiled gently. “‘And for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?’”
 
Marinette snorted and mussed his hair. “‘Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.’”
 
“My little fool has been practicing.”
 
A delicate finger traced along his jaw and he closed his eyes.
 
“I fell in love with your vulnerability first,” she murmured as he relished the sensation of her fingers against his face. She chuckled. “You were an

enigma

, Felix Fathom. You would be considerate and sweet one minute and then capricious and arrogant the next. I thought you hated me and I know I disliked you more than anyone else I had ever known.”
 
Okay. That hurt. “Then when did that change?”
 
“Hmmm, I saw glimpses of it now and then. That is what kept me curious, you see. Then, on the way to Anmer Hall, you fell asleep in the limo, and… you cried out for me in your sleep.”
 
Felix blinked, tilting his head at an awkward angle so he could see her face. “I did?”
 
She nodded shyly, but her eyes were gentle and full of love. “You were crying, obviously having some sort of nightmare, but you were so tired. So… I tried to soothe you. I hugged you and you collapsed against me, so I held you for a bit, then the nightmare seemed to get worse and you woke up.”
 
He remembered that nightmare, the crazed wolf-women chasing him through opulent corridors, Olivia Connor at the head of the baying pack - out for his blood. He remembered waking up in Marinette’s arms, cradled against her bosom, and returning her remarkable kindness with anger over his embarrassment.
 
“But I was such an antagonistic boar to you about that,” he protested. “How could you have possibly fallen in love with me then?”
 
She shook her head, her lovely face focused on memory. “I don’t think it was a single moment, really. That week you showed me a different side of you, one that was vulnerable, honest, and lonely, but also kind and thoughtful.” She laughed a little. “Then you would flip a switch and the old Felix was back with a vengeance! I thought I was going crazy. But then you showed me Jane Foole’s portrait in the gallery and we played at

Much Ado

and… that is when I realized something.”
 
Felix found himself holding his breath and letting it out slowly. He could feel sweat starting to prickle against his scalp and if his hands weren’t holding her so tightly they probably would have been shaking. He swallowed, his mouth dry from sudden nerves.
 
“And what was that?”
 
“It was that line of Benedick’s – the one where Beatrice is weeping for Hero after Claudio left her at the altar – where he says–"
 
“‘
I do love nothing in the world so well as you,’” he whispered ardently, remembering the Instrument of Consent lying in its case on his bedside table. He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “‘Is not that strange?’”
 
Marinette stretched up to kiss him lightly on the lips, its sweetness still spinning cords of fire in his chest.
 
“Very strange,” she whispered against his mouth. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The rest of the holidays were a whirlwind for Marinette. While the official reason for her staying in the Palace over the holidays was for her to get a jump start on his coronation regalia design, most of the Palace staff knew that it was so she and Felix could have some time alone.
 
They ate breakfast together every morning, with Felix planning the most wonderful dates for them during the afternoon and evening. He took her for a picnic in the Royal Botanical Gardens to enjoy the warm greenhouses full of bright tropical flowers even this late in the year. He took her for a romantic ride on the London Eye in a private pod, overlooking the lights of the city while enjoying mulled cider and a selection of chocolates. He took her to what he called, 'the best-kept secrets in London:' the ruins of an ancient Roman bath house and a gigantic amphitheater, both underground. 
 
On a snowy day, he took her to Kyoto Garden, a Japanese-inspired garden full of elegant stone bridges and lanterns, the terraced trees creating a mysterious fairyland of snow and shadow. He even arranged for them to have a catered dinner one night in the Tower of London, complete with private tours of the grounds, exhibits, and Crown Jewels by one of the famous Yeoman Warders. 
 
Marinette had been overwhelmed, not only by Felix’s generosity, but by the wealth of history she had been living in and never noticed. Sure, Paris had palaces, museums, and famous architecture, but that had been her hometown. Now she was walking in the footsteps of kings and Roman soldiers, seeing the lights of the largest city in Europe from the top of the world, and catching snowflakes on her tongue in a winter wonderland.
 
She was thrilled when he’d brought his new camera, reclaiming his passion with an enthusiasm that amazed her. He snapped pictures everywhere and of everything; the sun setting along an old Roman wall, children playing in a park, lovers throwing coins in a fountain, a beautiful Victorian entrance whose delicately carved molding was still intact, and a grimy white while the brick townhouse that belonged to it was all broken windows, graffiti, and caution signs.
 
“Why did you take a picture of that house?” she’d asked, turning her head this way and that, trying to figure out what he saw in the rundown building.
 
“I like old buildings,” he’d replied, squatting down to get a shot from a lower angle. “It’s interesting to think about all the generations that lived in a building, what made it home for them, why it got left behind. It is a pity these houses are just left here to fall into decay when there are so many uses that they could be put to.”
 
Marinette contemplated his answer for a few moments, watching him hold his camera up to his face. “Have you ever thought about leveraging your position to embrace your love of old buildings?”
 
Felix glanced at her over his shoulder, blinking at her. “What do you mean?”
 
“I mean,” Marinette started, wondering how to best phrase the suggestion, for that’s all it was, “the Crown Prince of England is expected to support charities and be the head of organizations all around London. Have you ever considered joining or starting a charity that restores old buildings like that one?” 
 
She swallowed, windmilling her hands. “I mean, I

mean

– they don’t just have to be pretty. The historical buildings could even be used as low-income housing, preschools, elder-care facilities, halfway houses…” Examining the old brick house, Marinette began to envision a new purpose for it. She could almost see preschoolers running around, squealing in happiness. “That way, the restoration of them does twice as much good. The buildings and their history stay intact while refurbished and put to a new use that helps the community.”
 
Felix, who had been frowning slightly as she reminded him of his duties, parted his lips in surprise and wonder. “Little fool,” he whispered, his voice breathless and awe-touched, “that’s

brilliant

.”
 
Marinette cast her gaze to her feet, her cheeks melting the snowfall that fell upon them with her embarrassment. “Oh, no, it’s not, it’s just – just a suggestion, Felix.”
 
Abandoning his shot and letting his camera hang on its lanyard around his neck, Felix strode to her, taking her hands in his own. She could feel the chill of his bare fingers through her gloves, but his face looked warm and rosy, lit up by a boyish smile.
 
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her flushed cheek. “Thank you for encouraging me to marry my position and my loves. It’s a fabulous suggestion.” Drawing back to look her in the eyes, Felix winked, leaving her reeling with his next words. “You’d make a great Queen Consort, Marinette.”
 
A gasp erupted from Marinette’s mouth, stealing her breath. That Felix was even

thinking

about making her a Queen… Amelie had done a wonderful job as Queen Regent after the King’s death and Felix himself had been preparing for ages – probably since birth – for his coronation and all the duties that entailed. 
 
How could she ever hope to live up to

that

?
 
The question plagued her for the rest of the afternoon, dinner, and during their night in sitting in front of a crackling fire and sipping hot chocolate. Felix hadn’t mentioned anything close to, “I want to make you my Queen” during their remaining time taking pictures that day.
 
Marinette had tagged along while Felix gallivanted about the city, listening to his bubbly gushing about which buildings he’d restore first and for what purposes. The suggestion of starting his own charity appealed to him so much, he was showing passion on a level that Marinette would have thought impossible a mere few months ago.
 
But Felix was always surprising her.
 
Curled up next to him on the couch, ensconced in the comfortable warmth of the fire and his protective arm about her shoulders, Marinette could barely keep her eyes open.
 
Just before she thought she was going to drop off to sleep, she caught a glance of Felix staring intently at the flames, his brow slightly puckered and his lips pressed in a thin, white line.
 
Instantly awake, Marinette sat up. She set her nearly empty mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, cupping his cheek and drawing his gaze to hers. “What are you thinking, love?”
 
Felix’s eyes took a second or two to focus on her, but when they did, he dropped into a sheepish smile. “I was thinking… We should probably go public with our relationship and give your roommate an exclusive before the tabloids can speculate further about our day out today.”
 
She felt the instinct to shrink in on herself and fought it. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Do we have to?" she asked worriedly. “Can’t we just… keep a low profile?”
 
He smirked and turned his head so his profile was gilded by the firelight. “Keeping this profile low won’t exactly work, little fool. If it could I would, I assure you.” 
 
She giggled and snuggled in closer. “I just don’t want people speculating about our relationship. It’s been rocky enough without people gossiping and placing bets on us.”
 
He played idly with her fingers. “I know, Marinette, but I want everything to be official and aboveboard. That way people will speculate based on the right information. We can’t stop it entirely, but if we go public, then I can have you included in the security protocols.”
 
“What security protocols?”
 
Felix sighed and held her close. He held up one finger. “First, there’s the Royalty and Specialist Protection team, or RaSP for short. Their job is to protect the Royal Family and high-placed politicians. If we make an official announcement that we are courting, you can be included in the protection detail.”
 
He held up a second finger. “Next comes the Fixated Threat Assessment Centre or FTAC. They monitor risks to Royals, politicians, visiting dignitaries, and other prominent figures. If we are officially courting, then your safety is linked to mine. That way they can track down the people who have been camped out at your flat and see if there is any credible threat to you, Alya, or the Royal Family. I know it would mean less privacy for you, but it would mean you are safer and it would put my mind at ease.”
 
He kissed her temple and the warmth of his lips against her skin was electrifying.
 
“May I ask you something, little fool?”
 
His voice sounded different, slightly strained, and Marinette sat back to better see his face.
 
“Of course.”
 
He looked down at their hands and wove his fingers through her own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… how did you handle the publicity when you were dating… my cousin?”
 
The thought of Adrien was still a little painful, but it didn’t open the yawning void in her middle anymore. She was too full of love for Felix. She liked feeling full to the brim again. Felix could read her far better than anyone could except for her mother and Alya. He poured into her so much love and attention and careful thought that it brought her to tears more often than not. 
 
And he had just asked her about Adrien? 
 
“

That strained tone of voice must be him worrying,”

she thought.
 
She gave his hand a squeeze of her own, caressing the side of his hand with her thumb. “We were young… and stupid, mainly. It was one of those things you don’t really think about, but Adrien always treated it either like a nuisance or a game. I don’t know how many times we ended up running down alleys or ducking into the back of theaters or busy stores to lose a tail.” She chuckled sheepishly. “He always called them ‘gossip piranhas’, but he had a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings of us running away from the press. I think he was proud of thwarting them.”
 
Felix let out a long slow breath, the relief palpable everywhere he pressed against her. She reached up to lightly scratch the back of his neck under his hair, knowing he liked to have it played with.
 
“My cousin is an idiot,” he grumbled, those verdant eyes staring down at her possessively. “And I refuse to make the same mistakes as he. Let me protect you, Marinette. Please.”
 
Heart melting at his determination to protect her, she pulled his head down for a kiss that soon turned passionate. “Whatever you feel is best,” she said, tracing lightly down the bridge of his nose.
 
He shook his head. “No. We are together now. I’m not just going to make arbitrary decisions about our relationship. I want

you

, love, and I want you to have an equal say in what we do.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Alright?”
 
She nodded. “Then… may I ask you a question?”
 
“Of course! I’m your open book, little fool.”
 
She smiled and rested her head against his chest once more. “When we were at Anmer Hall when I made you dinner and we played Never Have I Ever? You drank

before

you said you wanted to kiss me. Why?”
 
She hated how small and insecure she sounded, but that moment still haunted her, leaving questions only he could answer.
 
Felix chuckled nervously. “Liquid courage, love. Even if I messed up your game, what I said that night was true. I had never wanted to kiss anyone before,

had

never kissed anyone before, but I wanted to kiss you so much then it hurt.”
 
“But… why?”
 
He turned and cupped her face, staring at her with such intensity that he reminded her yet again of a panther eyeing its prey. “Because you humor me and worry about my well-being. You don’t put up with my selfishness or pander to my ego. You are my honest little fool. And you were so beautiful that night and the candlelight made you glow and you told me that I was worth fighting for. No one had ever said that to me before, Marinette. You gave me hope and all I could think about was wanting to kiss you, to hold you close and let you know how much you meant to me.” 
 
He brushed a curl behind her ear, threading his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head, pulling her in. His kiss made her see stars and her toes curl inside her new sheepskin slippers. She was lost for a long while, reveling in the warm sensuality of his arms around her, and the scent of bergamot and allspice mixed with woodsmoke was intoxicating.
 
They broke apart, lips almost touching, neither wanting to move further away. Even though her eyes were closed, Marinette could feel Felix wince.
 
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, opening her eyes to look at him.
 
“I… I can’t help but wonder – worry, I guess – that… it’s not really me you want,” he murmured, turning his head away.
 
Stunned, she grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. “Felix, do you think my feelings for you aren’t real?”
 
His face was twisted into a look she had never seen there before. “No, not exactly.”
 
“Then what is it?”
 
“I’m… not a very good person, Marinette. I’m trying to be better, I really am, but I’m not always soft and vulnerable. I have a temper and an overblown sense of pride. I can be snappish, insulting, and insensitive. I’ve already been all these things to you. I just don’t see why you would trust me with your heart when Adrien is still clearly in love with you.”
 
She was taken aback. “How did you know that?”
 
He shrugged dispiritedly. “Arthur. I asked him to follow you the day you had lunch with Adrien. I was worried… and jealous.”
 
She sighed.
 
“I’m sorry, Marinette. I shouldn’t have violated your trust like that.”
 
“No, you shouldn’t have," she said wearily. “But I can understand why you did.” She caressed his cheek with gentle fingers. “Felix, I’ve known Adrien my whole life, and not once, in all that time, did we ever have an argument. Even when we were dating, we never argued, but it wasn’t because we were magically in sync or something. It was because Adrien is a peacemaker by necessity - he doesn’t function well when people around him are unhappy or fighting – and I… I’m a coward.”
 
A frown jumped onto his face like a child jumping into a swimming pool. “You are not a coward. You are the strongest person I know.”
 
She shook her head. “Felix, the people we see as the strongest in our lives are often the ones who have suffered the worst. And being strong doesn’t automatically make one brave. I should have pushed back more and stood up for what I wanted instead of just following Adrien’s dream. I realized that day when I met him for lunch that, as much as I loved him, he never really grew up. I was broken by a boy who didn’t know any better and, while it hurt…” 
 
Marinette took Felix’s hand and rubbed her cheek against it. “The heartache, the brokenness, they brought me to you. If I hadn’t still been hurting, I probably would have been scared to death of you. I wouldn’t have been your little fool; I would just have been another shrinking violet from the servants’ quarters. Don’t you see?”
 
Felix’s brow furrowed as if the truths she’d been imparting to him settled in the ocean floor of his mind like sediment. She watched with bated breath as he worked his jaw, setting it and releasing it with a

pop

of clenching teeth.

“Is he angry?”

Marinette thought, wondering whether the Ice Prince was back.
 
“I…” Felix’s broken whisper was more than she could bear. “Is it wrong to be happy, then, that you were hurting? I wouldn’t have wanted you to be any other than who you were to me – my nemesis, the moon to my sun, my rose with thorns – and yet… I want to smear Adrien across the pavement for daring to dim the spirits of such a firecracker.” 
 
She chuckled under her breath as tears welled in her eyes.
 
“And you think you can’t say beautiful things,” she said, letting the moment sink in. Then she took his face and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to his lips. “I love you, Felix Fathom, and it doesn’t matter how we got here or what happened before. You don’t have to go overboard trying to impress me and you don’t have to be perfect. I just want to make you happy and see you smile every day. As long as you’re honest with me and love me too, then I’ll always stand by your side.”
 
He pulled her into a tight hug.
 
“I love you, too, little fool,” he whispered hoarsely.
 
Silence reigned as they held each other in the glow of the embers for a long time.
 
Finally, Felix broke the silence.
 
“So, you’re okay with letting the world know we’re courting?” For all he was tired, his voice still held an edge of uncertainty and eagerness. “You’ll agree to the interview and the protection? Because I would never want anything to happen to you if it is in my power to prevent it.”
 
His eyes were worried, but the way the firelight flickered off them gave her that feeling of being protected by a panther.
 
Marinette reached out and gently tweaked his chin. “Of course. How could I argue with my Bagheera?”
 
His head tilted ever so slightly in confusion, making her giggle. “Your what?”
 
“My Bagheera. He was the panther in

The Jungle Book.

He was the protector and friend of Mowgli. My father read me the book when I was young.”

Felix’s lips twitched in amusement. “And why would you bestow such a nickname on my unworthy self?”
 
“Because you sometimes get this look that reminds me of a panther. It is very intense and it used to get me all riled up before you took me to Anmer Hall.” 
 
She shifted in his arms, nuzzling her head under his chin, and yawned. “But then I started to understand you better. When you explained why you call me your fool, I realized I wasn’t your prey, but rather you were trying to protect me. That made you my friendly panther. My Bagheera.”
 
She leaned against him, listening to the pounding of his heart and the steady rush of his breath until she was struggling to stay awake. It was when she was at the threshold of sleep when his words found her once more.
 
“I like being your panther, Marinette. I hope I will always be your Bagheera.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ensconced alone in his room after a long day of meetings, schoolwork, and a brief lunch with his favorite person, Felix clutched his phone in his hand and stared at the green video call button.
 
He had never been more terrified in his life. 
 
Felix knew that sneaking Marinette’s parents’ number out of her phone was being underhanded, but how else was he going to talk to them face-to-face without her knowing? Calling Marinette's parents to ask them for their permission to date their daughter was the traditional thing to do. The right thing to do.
 
It was just… scary. What if they said no? What if he wasn't good enough for them? Why would they allow their precious daughter to date

anyone

like

him

?
 
Icy sweat trickled down his spine, pooling at the small of his back and staining his bunched dress shirt.
 
But Felix had another reason to make this call, an arguably more important reason as it dealt with saving a woman's life, impacting all the people she loved, including Marinette. 
 
He had to do this. He

must.

Jamming his eyes shut, Felix slammed his finger into the green button. The ringing sound met him, its deceptively cheerful chirping contrasting with the way his hand shook around the phone.
 
Someone picked up. "Bonjour?" a man's deep voice answered, and Felix opened his eyes to come face-to-face with Tom Dupain.
 
Felix instantly dropped into formal French, his words leaving him in a panicked, stuttery rush. "H-Hello, Monsieur Dupain. I apologize for calling so late, but I wanted to ensure that we were not interrupted for this p-phone call."
 
Mr Dupain furrowed his massive brow. "Look, son, whatever you're selling, we can't afford it. How did you even have my number to video call?"
 
Felix was taken aback. He was so used to being recognized that the thought that someone wouldn't know who he was stunned and discomfited him. 
 
Realizing he only had a few precious minutes to get Mr Dupain to trust him, Felix found himself babbling much like Marinette would when she engaged in one of her adorable rambles.
 
"Oh, no, sir, you see, I'm Felix Fathom, the Crown Prince of England, and I wanted to ask–"
 
"Just because I fell for that Nigerian prince scam–"
 
“No, sir. I - look, I’m a friend of your daughter Marinette.”
 
One bushy eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Sure, you and half the press in Europe. What makes you think you can go around stalking an innocent young woman when all she did was do the Prince a favor?”
 
“I can prove it!” Felix shouted, frantic to make this man understand he wasn’t lying. “Marinette learned to bake pistachio biscuits from you. She’s afraid of horses. You think dipping cookies in tea is an affront to the cookie while your wife thinks tea should be respected and drunk alone. Marinette knows how to make her Nonna’s chicken parmesan, she designs amazing clothes, embroiders like a dream, and used to date my cousin.”
 
That last bit came out on a growl that he bit off, hoping Mr Dupain wouldn’t take it personally.
 
“Your cousin?”  Both eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re Adrien’s cousin?”
 
Felix swallowed. “Y-Yes, sir, but please don’t hold that against me. When I found out what he did to her, I gave him a right chewing out, you can believe me.”
 
Mr Dupain sighed heavily. “Sorry I was so harsh with you, son. Things have been rough since he pulled the rug out from under her like that. Not something a true man would do. No offense meant.”
 
Felix relaxed a trifle as the panic eased its stranglehold on his throat. “I wholeheartedly agree, sir, and no offense taken. In fact, I was calling to ask…”
 
That was when the words dried up in his mouth. How could he ask this man to permit his only child, a young woman so unique and precious, to be seen with someone who could only drag her through the insanity of the press following them around, bodyguards having to be present almost all the time, and dealing with the power plays that was being a Royal?
 
“What is it?” Then there was a gasp. “Marinette is okay, isn’t she?”
 
“Oh, yes. Yes, she is fine.” He had to get this out before his anxiety choked him completely. “IwantedtoaskyouifIcoulddateyourdaughtersir!”
 
A weak chuckle sounded from the speakers and the big man shook his head. “You definitely know my daughter. You’re starting to sound like her. Care to try that again, young man? I don’t bite.”
 
Felix took a shaky breath. “I would like to ask your permission to date your daughter, sir. Please.”
 
He knew he sounded like a coward and, in a hypothetical future, he doubted he would give a young man such as himself his permission to date

his

daughter – that is if he ever had one. The fact that he had kissed Marinette several times in the heat of an intimate moment or five lay heavy on his conscience as he now faced her father.
 
Mr Dupain's brows rose again. First one, and then the other. "Huh."
 
That grunt was all the noise he made for a few moments, causing Felix's shoulders to coil with tension. The longer Mr Dupain drew out the speculative silence, the higher Felix's shoulders rose around his ears. 
 
He was being assessed… and found wanting. 
 
He just knew it. There was no other conclusion; he wasn’t good enough for Marinette. He had known it from the beginning, of course, but to know that he, a pampered prince from a different country, was found wanting by a man who made things to sell, building a life for his family with his own two hands and raising Marinette to be sweet and strong and to nurture her dreams? What could he possibly offer her that wasn’t meaningless vanity?

“I love you, Felix Fathom,”

Marinette had urged the night before,

“and it doesn’t matter how we got here or what happened before. You don’t have to go overboard trying to impress me and you don’t have to be perfect. I just want to make you happy and see you smile every day. As long as you’re honest with me and love me too, then I’ll always stand by your side.”

Felix sighed. “Mr Dupain, I know that I am unworthy to pursue your daughter. She is sweet and spunky and has a heart of gold. She is talented and wise. She makes me want to be a better man: for her, myself, and for others. More than anyone, I know that being a prince means little in today’s world, a king even less so, but she has taught me that anyone can make a difference, whether a chambermaid or a king. She has been there for me when I was a miserable excuse of a human being, wrapped up in guilt and fear and depression, and she pulled me out, dusted me off, and set my feet on the right path. You may not believe this, sir, but I love her. I love her so much it hurts and I want to love and cherish her for the rest of our lives.
 
“But I know she loves you and your wife, thinks the world of you, and I would not have her forced to choose between you and me. So I ask, most humbly, for your permission to court Marinette properly, to woo her as she deserves, and show everyone what they are missing out on and how blessed I am to bask in her good opinion.”
 
A hearty sniff greeted Felix.
 
“If I had any doubts before, young man, I don’t now,” Mr Dupain said thickly, roughly brushing away tears before they could soak into his mustache. “From what she’s told us, you have already been taking care of her. I can’t thank you enough for that. Knowing that she has Alya, and now you, have made this whole thing easier to bear. For all of us.”
 
“So, may I have your permission to–”
 
“Pfft! Of course, son, of course,” the man said, waving away his formality. “As if I would deny my girl anything that would make her truly happy and, from all appearances, you do.” Then the frown returned briefly, but with serious intent, and Felix got the feeling that no security detail in the world could protect him from the ire of Thomas Dupain once roused. “Just make sure you keep it that way.”
 
“Yes, sir! Yes!” Felix could have sworn that his voice spiked higher just then. He swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to will his heart rate to slow once more. “Um, in an attempt to do that, Sir–”
 
“If you are going to be dating my daughter, Felix, you need to call me Papa. Or Tom, if the informality bothers you.”
 
“I don’t think I would ever be so bold, sir,” Felix replied, earning a snort from Marinette’s father. “But I know that your wife has cancer and that Marinette has been sending the money earmarked for her to go to design school to you to help cover expenses. I’m sure I don’t know how you have managed to keep your bakery running through all of this, but I would like to help.”
 
Mr Dupain blushed and his mustache bristled. “No offense, son, but I can’t see the Prince of England wearing an apron and rolling out the dough for croissants.”
 
Felix chuckled weakly. “Hehe, yes. You are quite right to say so, Mr Dupain. I meant that I have a plan that will hopefully prove beneficial for you, your wife, and Marinette.”
 
Both bushy eyebrows shot up until they nearly met the man’s hairline. “Oh? Why didn’t you mention this before?”
 
Felix flushed and coughed nervously. “I did not want you to think I was bribing you, sir. I genuinely care for Marinette, but I would never dishonor her or you that way. I know, more than most, that money can’t buy true happiness, but it can help supply the trimmings.”
 
The sudden, boisterous laugh that boomed from the phone’s speakers startled him and Felix nearly dropped it.
 
“I like you, my boy! I think you will be good for my Cupcake too! Now, what is this plan of yours?”
 
***
 
Marinette rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache that was looming. There was so much to remember and she had only had a week’s crash course in dealing with the press. Arthur had been extremely thorough and had drilled her extensively over the remaining holidays, but she was infinitely grateful to know that this first interview would be with Alya. Her best friend may have been born to be an investigative reporter, but she also had enough common sense to know when to push and when a softer touch was needed.
 
Felix pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, right above her fingertips. “Are you alright, Marinette? We can still put this off for another few weeks if you don’t–"
 
She jerked her hands down into her lap and shook her head hurriedly, making the headache worse.

“Never back out of an interview with the press unless it is a matter of utmost urgency,”

Arthur had told her.

“It puts you on an unsteady footing with having to explain yourself and leads to unnecessary speculation.”

“No. No. I’m fine,” she replied, giving a reassuring smile she didn’t feel. “You’re right. The sooner we do this, then the sooner it will stop being news. Hopefully, they will start losing interest in me and things can go back to normal.”
 
“As you wish. Just know I will support you no matter what you decide.”
 
He brushed a curl back behind her ear. He seemed fascinated by her hair, often stroking it or coiling a strand around his finger and then letting it go to watch it bounce. She often wondered if it was because she allowed him such familiarity or if it was connected to his pleasure when she tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. She blushed at the memory of the last time they had kissed, how his eyes had rolled back under hooded lids when she had threaded her hands into his hair, and the growling hum of pleasure that her gentle tugging had drawn from him.
 
He leaned in and his warm breath across her ear made her shiver and her cheeks burn even more.
 
Felix chuckled. “Watch the rouge there, little fool. Or were you thinking about ‘Big Daddy’ again?”
 
Marinette dissolved into a stuttering mess then and there, torn between covering her face in embarrassment and swatting at him as his chuckle turned into a laugh. “Why you… you…

you

you!”
 
“What?” He looked surprised and more than a trifle smug. “Were you actually thinking about–”
 
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, finally managing to pull herself together enough to swat him playfully on the shoulder. “Unless you want my face to look like a tomato for the interview.”
 
He snuck a kiss to her cheek before she could swat him away. “Never a tomato, love. You’re more of a rose, but you are just too adorable when you're flustered.”
 
“Alright, you two,” Alya said as she came into the room Arthur had arranged at the Palace for their first interview. “Are you ready? Good, though I should point out, Your Royal Highness, that if you keep whispering sweet nothings into her ear, she is going to pass out of the visible spectrum.”
 
"Perish the thought," Felix said seriously but with a smirk so wicked, Marinette almost smacked him again.
 
"Aren't you supposed to be

helping

me through this interview?" Marinette tried to hiss but her words came out as more of a whine. She didn't think she could get any more embarrassed, and the interview hadn't even started!
 
Alya snickered at the pair of them. "Oh, yes. Yes, this is the perfect relationship to put on display for your adoring fans."
 
"We have fans?" Marinette squeaked.
 
"Not yet, but you will." Alya adjusted her camera phone on the stand and lit the space with the appropriate lighting. "I'm going to make London love you."
 
"That won't be hard," Felix said, his tone halfway between dry and adoring. "Marinette is easy to love."
 
"You are too–"
 
Alya snorted before Marinette could finish her sentence. Marinette's eyes flew to her best friend in shock, who shrugged. "No offense meant to the Ice Prince–"
 
"None… taken?"
 
"–but you only think he's easy to love because you love him, Marinette." Alya sat down in the armchair across from the pair on the black sofa, straightening her skirt that cut off at her knees. She crossed her legs, picking up her notepad and pen. "But that's precisely the kind of lovesick nonsense that the public will eat with cherries on top."
 
"Alya!" Marinette stared in horror at her friend who'd given such a scathing review of Felix – and their relationship. "How could you?"
 
Glancing at Felix revealed that he appeared entirely unconcerned and not remotely offended.
 
Noticing her scandalized look, Felix shrugged. "It's alright, Marinette. She's just parroting the opinions of the press that have been instilled in her as a requirement to keep her job."
 
"Got it in one." Grinning, Alya tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder. She picked up the remote that ostensibly controlled the camera. "

Now

are you ready for the interview?"
 
Marinette gulped. But at a squeeze from Felix, she nodded.
 
Alya pressed the button and beamed. "I'm Alya Cesaire at the

Guardian

with Felix Fathom, Crown Prince of England, and the girl

everyone's

been talking about, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Your Royal Highness, the public is dying to know: Is the Sexiest Man Alive officially off the market?"
 
Marinette nearly choked but managed to swallow it. 
 
“Well, Miss Cesaire,” Felix said smoothly, and Marinette swore he was mugging for the camera, showing off the cheekbones that netted him the Sexiest Man Alive moniker, “I never really considered myself

on

the market, but if Marinette is buying, then I am happy to be off the shelf.”
 
As she prepared for Alya’s first question to be directed to her, Arthur’s lessons came to mind.

“Consider your reporter’s target audience and play to them while remaining above reproach.”

“And Marinette,” Alya started, smiling widely. “Can I call you Marinette?”
 
“Of course!” Marinette felt she agreed a bit too quickly, but she was eager to start this interview so it could be over. Plus, the sham of pretending Alya wasn’t her friend and roommate was ridiculous. “Yes, please, call me by my name.”
 
“Did you know she wouldn’t tell me her name for months?” Felix interjected, waggling his brows. “I knew her as Miss Dupain-Cheng and only that. It drove me batty! There’s nothing more attractive than a bit of mystery – at least at first.”
 
Alya turned to him with a knowing grin that bordered on sharklike. Marinette wondered if Alya was displeased with Felix hijacking the interview, but she seemed to like this new direction better. “And now you know all each other’s secrets?”
 
“Well, no.” Felix chuckled, wrapping a protective arm around Marinette. “Since the press doesn’t respect her privacy, allowing her to choose when to impart information to me is the least I can do.”
 
Marinette’s jaw dropped, but she shut it with a clack that was loud to her ears. Alya didn’t even bat an eyelash at Felix’s dig at her profession, and while Marinette marveled at that, she also wondered how often Alya must have suffered such open critiques of her and her job.
 
“Indeed, Sir,” Alya conceded with a brief bow of her head. “Marinette, you’ve been a bit quiet. Let’s open you up. How did you meet the Prince?”
 
Marinette would have preferred to remain sealed and not opened like a tuna can to put all her bits on display. But Arthur had stressed that she was doing this interview to give the hounds baying for her blood just enough to leave off her but not enough to crucify her – and more importantly, Felix.

“You are to never speak of your relationship publicly. Speak of charitable works and work-related projects, but never love.”

At the time, the adages Arthur had stressed had seemed silly to Marinette, but now she saw the wisdom in it; even if Felix himself didn’t follow that rule, he was a Royal and she was the outsider. And from France, no less – not to mention a chambermaid!
 
“We met through work,” Marinette hedged, deliberately deciding not to go into the details of said work. “Recently, when Felix and I were on a tour of London, he was photographing abandoned buildings, and we jointly decided he should start a charity dedicated to refurbishing the buildings and putting them to use for public works.”
 
“That charity is up and running, and the first building is slated to open as a preschool in the Tower Hamlets borough in April. It was all Marinette’s idea,” Felix said, nudging her gently. “Give yourself some credit, love.”
 
As Marinette’s cheeks flared with heat, Alya nodded thoughtfully. “According to the Child Poverty Briefing, Tower Hamlets has a child poverty rate of fifty-eight percent, the highest in London. That’s a good place to put a Royally-funded preschool.”
 
Marinette had no idea how Alya could have called that statistic to mind, but it was just like her journalist of a friend to be able to summon up such a fact when needed. 
 
Equally surprising was that Felix’s charity had already begun breaking ground. He’d raved over how the charity had hired the ‘best of the best’ from other non-profit groups, but Marinette hadn’t known that New Dreams for Old, or Felix’s CIC, had already acquired several buildings and started renovating them.
 
Alya adjusted her glasses. “It’s a wonderful idea, Marinette. You must be proud, Sir.”
 
“Yes, Marinette is brilliant,” he gushed, causing Marinette to cast her gaze to the floor to hide her scalding hot cheeks. “Did you know she’s been promoted by my mother herself to work in the wardrobe department? Marinette will be making my coronation regalia. Even her outfit today is one she made herself.”
 
Marinette wore a pastel blue skirt suit she’d designed specifically for this interview. The notch-collar jacket with three front buttons was a seventies throwback that inspired an air of sophistication and traditional values, two things she’d need when going public, according to Arthur.
 
“Is it true, Marinette?” Alya asked giddily, seeming eager to throw her friend a bone even though she’d already seen the outfit when Marinette was sewing it. “Is that suit a Dupain-Cheng original?”
 
Pulling herself back under control, Marinette straightened and smiled. 
 
“Yes! I was inspired by some old family pictures Felix let me go through and I found a suit similar to this one worn by Lady Penelope. She had such good taste that it only made sense for me to modify the look slightly for a modern twist.”
 
“Very chic, if I may say so,” Alya said with a wide smile. “I wouldn’t mind one of those myself.”
 
Felix tutted. “I’m afraid Marinette has her hands full with the coronation.” He took her hand with his free one and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I am sure she will be able to accommodate you afterward, Miss Cesaire.”
 
Marinette sighed.

“That is assuming Mr Charming here gives me the time to work on them.”

However, what she said aloud was, “There is a lot of work that goes into coronation regalia and I know Felix and I both share the desire for everything to go as smoothly as possible for the coronation.”
 
“I’m sure. Any sneak peeks or hints you can share with us, Marinette? Your Royal Highness?”
 
Marinette and Felix locked eyes. She saw the barely repressed smirk tugging at his lips. So, she wasn’t the only one having trouble staying composed for this! Good!
 
She turned back to Alya. “There are so many traditional pieces to choose from, most with familial or historical significance that it can be hard to say what new pieces there will be, but I can tell you I am planning something green.”
 
“I can tell you I will be wearing my father, His Late Majesty’s crown,” Felix added, taking the baton once more, much to Marinette's relief. “His memory is very special to me and I want to use the crown so it feels like he is a part of this major transition in my life.”
 
Alya's eyes shone with admiration. "That's a lovely sentiment, Sir. Prince Felix, you used to have a reputation as a slothful Ice Prince.

Everyone

has noticed how you've taken an interest in charitable works and have started participating in cabinet meetings. What brought on the change?"
 
Felix's eyes flicked to Marinette, and she had the sudden sense that he was about to say something mortally embarrassing.
 
"I owe it all to the lovely lady sitting beside me," he began, causing her cheeks to explode into flames. Still holding her hand, he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. "Marinette is my rock, my anchor, a force for change in my life."
 
Marinette didn't think she could blush anymore. She was tempted to cover her cheeks, to hide, but Felix's grip on her hand and shoulder kept her securely in place.
 
But Felix wasn't done. Eyes dancing, he leaned forward as if he were about to impart a secret to Alya, who leaned toward him in return, excited for her scoop.
 
“She saved my life, you know.”
 
“What!?” Both Alya and Marinette cried, confused. 
 
“She saved your life? How romantic!” Alya cooed.
 
“But I didn’t - I mean that’s not–"
 
“Marinette is very modest, but she really did save my life.” Felix pulled his arm out from behind her shoulders so he could wrap both hands around the one of hers that he held. “You see, after my father died, I wasn’t doing well. I just kind of dropped out of everything. I slogged through my schoolwork and duties, I gave up hobbies, and I started shutting myself away. Aside from my valet and good friend, Arthur Wemberly, I don’t think anyone really guessed how far I had spiraled. Apparently, I was gaining a reputation for being completely unreasonable – so much so that the Palace staff started calling me the ‘Ice Prince.'"
 
He chuckled a little at that and, sitting as close as she was, Marinette saw the slight red tint to the back of his neck and the sweat beading behind his ear.
 
Felix continued. “It wasn’t until Marinette came to work at the palace that I started to notice things again. Her earrings, her professionalism, and the way she managed to do everything asked of her with an openness and honesty that is pretty rare in my experience. She was perfect and it drove me crazy!”
 
Alya chuckled this time. “Is that when you started having feelings for her?”
 
He shrugged. “Possibly, though I was ankle-deep and head down in denial at that point, so I had convinced myself that she was annoying. I used to play the meanest pranks on her to try to get her riled up.” 
 
The embarrassed smile on his face was for the camera, but Marinette knew he was being honest too. That helped ease the queasiness in her stomach and the tightness in her shoulders.
 
“And Marinette, what did you think of all this?” Alya asked.
 
Felix had just praised her for her honesty, so Marinette had no choice but to say, "I thought he was a prat."
 
Felix barked out a laugh and even Alya chuckled. "That's very…" she said, her trailing off making Marinette feel that she'd misspoken, "

human

of you. And we're glad you're feeling better, Prince Felix."
 
"Don't get me wrong, Marinette drew me out of my shell," Felix said, beaming at her, "but it wasn't until she encouraged me to go to a psychiatrist, and they gave me an official dual diagnosis of depression and anxiety that I got the help I needed, including taking medication and going to therapy."
 
Alya's brows shot high. Even Marinette was stunned at the admission, which painted him as someone in need of psychiatric help, not an image that any Royal liked to cultivate.
 
"Mental health is a controversial subject," Alya said delicately. "There's a lot of stigma around seeking help for problems of these kinds."
 
"Which is why it's so important to normalize these things." Felix looked straight at the camera. "If you –

any

of you – are struggling, there's no shame in getting the help you need. Depression is treatable, and there's no reason for anyone to suffer like I did."
 
Then Felix smirked, a sight that was devastating to Marinette’s composure. “I’m happy to say that the Ice Prince has thawed.”
 
Marinette's heart pounded beneath her ribs in a staccato rhythm. Felix amazed her; his openness when he used to be such a closed book was her Kryptonite.
 "I want to kiss you senseless right now," Marinette blurted out before she could stop herself, making both Alya and Felix laugh.  
Felix waggled his brows. "That can be arranged."
 
"Off the record," Alya said, her grin self-effacing, "I'll probably cut both of those lines."
 
Marinette felt like she would burn alive, starting with her face. "Thank you, Alya."
 
"They're going to love you, Marinette." Alya's smile was gentle and proud. "I'll call you the 'Sweetheart of London,' and you can watch it catch on."
 
Sputtering, Marinette windmilled her hands. "Oh, you don't have to do that, Alya!" 
 
"Yes, she does," Felix said, offering her another supportive squeeze. "The point of this interview is to introduce you to the public. They know me. Now they need to know you – and the effect you have on me."
 
No stranger to blushing, Marinette still couldn’t help but wince when she blushed so hard it hurt.
 
“What about the effect you’re having on

me

, Felix?” she whined, her hands trapped in his so she couldn’t hide her painful cheeks. “I feel like my face’s about to explode!”
 
Her Bagheera gave her such a look of wide-eyed innocence that she nearly melted, that is if Alya hadn’t started snickering.
 
Shooting her best friend a glare, Marinette sat ramrod straight, unable to straighten her suit jacket because her hands were currently being held for ransom.  “Can we please just get this over with?”
 
Alya cleared her throat, turning it into a not-so-subtle cough before turning on her professional smile once more.
 
“There have been some rumors about the two of you circulating for a while now and you’ve been seen together a time or two in public: Ambassador Fitzwilliam’s reception last summer, lunching at The Dorchester last October, even an altercation at the Royal Christmas Ball. If I may ask, what took the two of you so long before making your courtship official?”
 
“As I am sure you and your viewers can understand, Miss Cesaire, being part of the Royal Family can make some ordinary things somewhat difficult – like asking out a beautiful young lady,” Felix explained sheepishly. “I was taught multiple languages, I can fence, ride horses, and pursue diplomatic negotiations on behalf of the United Kingdom, but how to woo a woman was never included in my coursework.”
 
They all laughed and Marinette felt the tension ease once more.
 
“So, Marinette, did that make him asking you out a little awkward?”
 
“Remember, I was still dealing with the, ehem, ‘Ice Prince’,” she answered with a grin to accompany her air quotes. “At first… well, let’s just say there was a bet and I lost, but for the rest, it was probably both of us being awkward. I was nervous because I’m just a baker’s daughter and Felix is, well, Felix! That was pretty intimidating.”
 
Felix nodded. “True, but you have always had a heart of gold while I was, indeed, acting like a prat.”
 
“Ooh, don’t let him fool you, Alya. He can be very romantic when he wants to be.”
 
Her best friend’s eyes lit up like all the lights of Christmas.
 
“Ooh! What is the most romantic thing he has done for you?”
 
Now it was Marinette’s turn to set Felix blushing.
 
Arthur had said to give the press just enough details to pique interest, but not enough to have them begging for more.

“Guess we will have to see how I can walk the line.”

“As I’m sure you know, Felix went on a goodwill tour last fall. When he got back, it turns out he had written me the most beautiful love letters. They are the most touching and romantic things I have ever read.” She glanced at Felix to see his head bowed, cheeks flushed, and his bottom lip pulled firmly under his top teeth. “I’ll treasure them always.”
 
Felix looked up at her through his unfairly thick lashes and freed one of her hands to draw it to his lips with a gentle kiss. “No more than I treasure you.”
 
“Awwwwe, you two are so precious together!” Alya cooed, her mouth wide in a smile. “And there you have it, folks. England’s very own Prince Felix has found the Sweetheart of London in Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Thank you very much for joining us, Sir, Marinette.”
 
“Thank you, Alya,” Felix replied, his eyes never leaving Marinette’s face.
 
“Yes, thank you,” Marinette echoed.
 
“Annnnnd we’re done,” Alya said, rising from her seat and turning off her camera. “You did great. They’ll be lapping it up within two hours, trust me.”
 
“I just hope it gets the press and the weirdos off my back,” Marinette muttered, rubbing her upper arms with her hands as if warding off a chill. “How do you keep it all straight, Felix?”
 
“Keep what straight?”
 
“Telling the truth but with a twist?”
 
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about the double standard. It is unfair that you can’t be as open about our relationship as I can, but…” He shrugged.
 
“I know. Arthur explained.” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just don’t know how to draw the line between telling the truth and not being personal.”
 
Felix smoothed a hand over her hair. “The ability to strike that balance will come with practice, and… you’ll have plenty of it if you stay with me.”
 Even though his voice didn’t lilt up at the end of his sentence, his hesitance was a question. Would you stay with me? Do you want to stay forever? 
Marinette knew what her answer was and what she had to do.
 
Giving him a smile she hoped was reassuring, she took his hands and pressed his fingertips to her lips, one by one. “Of course, Felix,” she said, answering his unasked question in the best way she knew how. “Of course.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

This was

entirely

unfair.
 
Felix stood clad in nothing but his boxers and a white cotton undershirt, but the coolness of the room wasn’t what worried him.
 
He wasn’t worried about getting lost in the piles of fabric that surrounded him.
 
He wasn’t worried about servants walking in on him.
 
He wasn’t even worried about being seen in his knickers. Not entirely.
 
What he

was

worried about was the way Marinette kept brushing up against him, nodding thoughtfully to herself as if he’d passed some kind of bizarre test. Even though her fingers were warm on his bare skin, he always ended up with goosebumps when she wrapped her measuring tape around parts of his body.
 
It didn’t help that she was dressed in a beautiful black pantsuit - clearly, her own creation if the pink cherry blossoms down the legs’ outer seams were anything to go by - and it clung to her in all the right places without being a bit immodest or suggestive. The glimpse of a silver shirt under the jacket was just enough to draw his gaze upward to her face, sparkling in her eyes and matching …
 
… the silver frames of the opal earrings he had got her in Australia.
 
Felix felt ready to fall apart right there. She was wearing

his

gift to her instead of the ladybugs that had originally drawn his ire. She was there, proclaiming herself as

his

in front of her colleagues and he wasn’t allowed to touch her. If he wasn’t so wound up by her measuring him, and if there hadn’t been others in the room, he would have pounced on her. 
 
But no! They had an audience. He couldn’t pull her hair free of its bun and run his fingers through it. He couldn’t kiss her and see how long it took for him to run out of air. He couldn’t tease her by peppering her sweet face with kisses until she flushed and pulled him in for a more serious kiss.
 
And she, unintentional temptress that she was, was so accursedly professional about it all!
 
"Stretch out your arms, please," she said with all the clinical detachment of a dentist. "I need to get your bicep measurement."
 
Bicep. Okay. He could do this.
 
With hands that wouldn't stop shaking, Felix assumed a T-pose. 
 
She wrapped the yellow tape around his bicep, cinching it firmly and humming to herself. “Now flex.”
 
She wanted him to

flex?!

For her? Wasn’t that… showing off? Why would she need that measurement anyway? Was she just using this as a way to prank him in front of others where he couldn’t retaliate? True, if they were alone he would merely turn it around on her and seduce her until her whole face was that glorious shade of fuschia – to be honest, he had half a mind to do it anyway – but with a maid, two footmen, and four junior members of the Wardrobe team in attendance, he didn’t quite dare to go that far, even if Marinette was his girlfriend.
 
She cleared her throat softly and his eyes snapped back to her face, his cheeks hot and tight with nerves. “Fe- uh… Your Royal Highness?”
 
His heart lurched in his chest. She wanted to use his name but the forms and status quo got in the way once more. His name coming from anyone else had always been a title, an epithet, or something as impersonal as a name tag at a convention – one he wasn’t even allowed to decorate. 
 
But coming from her lips, it was a laugh, a song, a growl, a taunt, a tease, a kiss, a breath… She made his very name a blessing and he ached that she was forced by archaic rules to set it aside when they were no longer alone.
 
This time, she clearly wanted to call him by his name, and that made him want to do something crazy. He finally understood why people in musical theater productions burst into elaborate song and dance numbers when they fell in love. He wanted to shout it aloud from the top of the world.
 
A sharp pinch jerked him uncomfortably from his pleasant musings.
 
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, dropping the pose and rubbing one hand against his upper arm. “What was that for?”
 
Marinette gave a little sigh and shook her head at him. “Relax, you big baby! Just be thankful it wasn’t a sewing pin. You got lost again. Now flex your bicep, please, so I can get your measurements."
 
Felix dutifully flexed his bicep and Marinette moved in to wrap the measuring tape around it.
 
“Do you really need this measurement or are you just pranking me where I can’t get back at you?” he asked under his breath so the maid, who was busy writing down the measurements, couldn’t hear him.
 
Marinette quirked an eyebrow at him. “How is this pranking, exactly?”
 
He had always been on the lean side, but what a lot of people didn’t realize was that what flesh he had was all muscle. Marinette had only ever seen him once with his shirt off – not counting the incident with the frog – and he hadn’t been in the best of shape that time. He had been putting on weight since then and, thanks to her consistent treats and his normal exercise program, he had added a little more muscle.
 
Felix curled his fist closer to his shoulder, making the bicep bulge a little more. 
 
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t find this…” And he flexed tighter. “... interesting in the slightest?”
 
Marinette didn’t say a word until she had wrapped his muscle with her tape and told the maid the new measurements.
 
“It’s a very nice arm, Sir. I’m glad you're putting some of the weight back on.”
 
He wanted to groan. How could this woman, who threw herself into his arms with eagerness whenever they had been apart for more than a few hours, act so completely indifferent to him now? Not to mention his state of not exactly tasteful undress. Marinette must have taken a shot of ice to her veins that morning before work, because she was merely the cool professional as she measured his neck, chest waist, and, oh, when she measured his shoulders?
 
That was when it hit him.
 
She wasn’t trying to prank him.
 
Marinette was trying to torture him!
 
She dragged the tape slowly across the width of his shoulders, pressing it smoothly against his shirt, and giving her an excellent view of how red his neck and ears were getting. Her fingers fidgeted and adjusted more than could possibly be necessary and the worst part was

he couldn’t see her

! 
 
But before his control broke entirely and he turned to pull her into a kiss no matter who was watching, she stepped away, calling out the numbers as she left.
 
The loss of her touch left him feeling cold… and still shaky.
 
Even this discomfort didn’t spare him long for then he realized the worst was yet to come. She came around to the front once more, measuring his ankles, calves, knees, and outer seam with an almost clinical detachment while Felix stood stock still, afraid to move lest he interrupted her work and the process would start all over again.
 
He wasn’t sure his self-control could take it if that happened.
 
But when she started to measure his inseam, he leaped backward. He moved so abruptly that he tripped over the edge of the rug and landed on his rear end. Ugh! And the sound emerging from his mouth was a tortured mix between a groan and a squeal - leaving him sounding more like a pig than a prince.
 
Marinette offered him a hand up, her face concerned.
 
“Are you alright, Sir?” she asked worriedly.
 
“Fine,” he growled, brushing himself off, trying hard not to hear the smothered giggle and snorts coming from the others. “Leave us. I desire a private word with Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
 
There were bobbed curtseys and quick bows before the servants and wardrobe staff scurried out of the room like mice being dismissed by a hungry cat.
 
When the door closed behind them, Marinette’s formal expression and rigid stance eased.
 
Felix, on the other hand, breathed a full sigh of relief.
 
“What’s wrong, Bagheera?" Marinette asked, caressing his cheek. She really did sound worried. “Is this all getting to be a bit too much? Do we need to finish this tomorrow?”
 
He leaned into her touch, letting his racing heart still for a moment as he took several slow deep breaths.  Finally, he found the voice to speak.
 
“No. No. I’m … okay.” She didn’t glare at him. She didn’t have to. All she had to do was widen her eyes slightly and he caved.
 
“You’re not okay,” she said softly.
 
“Fine! I’ll admit it. I’m a mess!”
 
Linking her arm through his, she guided him over to the couch and sat them both down.
 
“Okay. Then tell me about it.”
 
“Doesn't this…” He waved his hand at the piles of fabric lying around the room looking like fashion disasters waiting for somewhere to happen. "You know, make you uncomfortable?”
 
Marinette followed the movement of his hand, taking in the chaos in his normally ordered space. “No. Why should it?”
 
“Uhhh…” Oh, bother! He was incredibly articulate today!
 
Marinette looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are

you

uncomfortable?”
 
He looked her up and down: the black pantsuit, her elegant bun, practical shoes, and her ankles neatly crossed. While he sat next to her looking like a total slob in his underwear.
 
Felix had never felt smaller in his life.
 
“No!” he squeaked, his voice breaking for the first time in nearly a decade. “No, no, of course not. Because why would I be uncomfortable with my beautiful girlfriend running a line up the inside of my leg?”
 
He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded strange even to him. Felix had asked the question genuinely, but the way his voice went high-pitched at the end, cracking up an octave, made him sound sarcastic. 
 
Which wasn't his intention at all. 
 
Marinette stared at him, holding his eyes with a laser-like focus that seemed to bore into his innermost being. Then she sat back and sighed.
 
“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, Felix. Please know I never meant to. This is just part of the job for me and I assumed you were familiar with such a procedure. I should have checked with you first. I made too many assumptions based on our relationship and I shouldn’t have. I hope you can forgive me.”
 
Taken aback by the outpouring of sympathy, Felix tried to brush off her concern. "There's nothing to forgive–"
 
“But there is!" she exclaimed. “I knew you’d been placed in uncomfortable physical situations in the past, with women touching you without permission. I knew how that affects you, so I should have been taking extra measures to ensure your comfort throughout this process. I should have been checking with you every step of the way and I didn’t!”
 
"Marinette…" Felix took her by the shoulders, offering her a squeeze that he hoped was reassuring. "We're both new to this, in a sense. I've been measured before, but not by my girlfriend." 
 
He gave her a lopsided smirk. "And I highly doubt you've made coronation regalia for Adrien."
 
She gave that cute, unladylike snort that made him chuckle. “Pfft! Seriously? Why are you bringing him up in this?”
 
Felix sniffed delicately, pretending what he was about to say didn't matter to him in the slightest. "Because," he said, drawing out the vowels, "you're mine and not his. I'd consider that a win.
 
"Also," he continued in a sing-song kind of voice, "you're making

my

clothes and not his. Another win."
 
Her face scrunched together in a half-frown, half-pout. “Is that all this is to you? Is it really all about winning, with me as some sort of prize?”
 
Alarm bells went off in his head, shrieking like sirens to a ship. "Of course not," he blurted out hastily, windmilling his hands. "You're not a prize to be won. I'm just being petty because I'm uncomfortable, and rubbing Adrien's nose in something is a bad habit."
 
“I see,” she mused. “Any other little bad habits I should know about or are you going to tell me the real reason why you threw my team out of here?”
 
Felix placed a hand over his heart and raised the other one in a solemn promise that fit the occasion. He pitched his voice gravely low, serious, and for her ears only.
 
"The only other bad habits I know of are the ones that naughty nuns wear."
 
She raised both eyebrows this time, but not in surprise at his joke. “Fe-lix,” she said, drawing out his name to drive home her point. “If you don’t tell me what is wrong, how can I help you fix it?”

"Tough crowd,"

Felix thought, rebuffed.

"I thought for sure that she'd laugh."

Smoothing a hand over his perfectly straight hair, Felix sighed, his chest shuddering. "I told you what was wrong, Marinette. And you apologized, and I forgave you, and you can bring your team back in if you want and I'll just… deal with it."
 
Now she frowned for real. She blinked her eyes several times but her gaze was off in the middle distance, as if she was running through their conversation again.
 
“So… you weren’t being snarky about being uncomfortable with me touching you to get your measurements?” Her voice sounded low and small. “Can you tell me the specifics so I know not to do that again?”
 
Now Felix began to truly panic. His heart thudded beneath his breastbone. He knew what she wanted from him, but he didn't know what to say – it was as if she'd provided him with a test, but not the study guide.
 
He spoke slowly, trying to work out his thoughts even as he brought the words into being. 
 
"It's… You were so detached. Professional. Which is to your credit – if you had been any other wardrobe tailor, I'd want you to be that way. But… since you're my girlfriend, it was… awkward being touched in places and being seen in my underwear without… passion."
 
He held up his hands. "Which is not to say that I want you to try to seduce me when you're taking my measurements! Nor do I want anyone else to work on the regalia. You've earned pride of place. But… do you get what I mean?"
 
Before she could answer, Felix swallowed hard. "And, um. It felt good. To be touched by you. And because of who you are and who I am, I was… getting… turned on?"
 
He winced, knowing how inappropriate that was, and braced for impact.
 
The smallest squeak alerted him that all was not right with his little fool. He looked at her to see her lovely face going through every shade and tint from pink to red, hitting every color in between, almost edging out into blotches of purple before she slapped her face into her palms.
 
Muffled sounds he was pretty sure were words came from behind those hands.
 
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t… I was just trying to…"
 
Felix tugged her hands away from her face and kissed her fingers. "I know. You were just doing your job. I can't hold that against you."
 
She glanced up at him with nervous eyes. “I was trying so hard not to let on that I was having trouble too. I… didn’t want to embarrass you and I hurt you instead.”
 
Felix was so relieved, he almost laughed, but he knew that that, too, was inappropriate for the situation.
 
"Honestly? Knowing it was hard for you, too, makes me feel loads better. It was the detachment that hurt."
 
He waggled his brows. "I do hope you noticed me showing off."
 
She giggled and swatted him lightly on the shoulder. “I did, though that wasn’t what was giving me so many problems.”
 
"Oh?" Felix scooted closer to her, leaning in as if willing to listen to her most lurid secrets. "Do tell. Inquiring minds want to know."
 
She shook her head. “Not unless you tell me what had you so… ehem… ‘turned on.’"
 
Heat exploded in his cheeks, crawling down his neck to strangle him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're kidding, right? A beautiful woman that I love and would like to kiss completely senseless measuring my

inseam

?"
 
She gave him a sheepish look, her bottom lip rolling up between her teeth and her head inching lower between her shoulders. 
 
Ugh! Her biting her lip just made him want to chase down her mouth and cover it with his even more!
 
Even so, Felix counseled patience and waited for what she was about to say. He was a better man than that. Not by much, but better.
 
“It… was your shoulders,” she squeaked, her eyes going wider than Felix had ever seen them. “A-a-and…” 
 
She didn’t seem to be able to get the words out. Blast it all!
 
Still willing to tease her despite himself, Felix straightened his shoulders for her inspection. "My shoulders, hmm?"
 
Marinette nodded slowly, squinting her eyes so she could probably still see him, but not be distracted by his showing off.
 
Chuckling, he lifted her chin with a finger and gave her a truly naughty grin. “And?”
 
She swallowed. “I-I c-can’t say it i-if you’re l-looking at me,” she stammered, making his heart beat double time.
 
“Fine, I’ll close my eyes, if that will make you more comfortable.” He willingly closed his eyes, hoping giddily she would find the words and nerve to tell him. Not that he needed an ego boost, but knowing what got her hot and bothered would mean more opportunities to tease her – and, maybe, one day…
 
He felt her stand up and move away from him. He heard her footsteps cross the rug and her jacket brush his bare arm on the way by. Felix thought she must be somewhere behind him now, but he wasn’t sure. What was she doing? Was she pranking him this time since he had brought it up? Was he about to get a cup of cold water over his hair or–
 
A warmth descended on him as two hands rested on either side of his neck, giving his shoulders a little squeeze even as her thumbs stroked the bare skin above his collar.
 
A warm puff of air tickled his ear and his breathing quickened just from that alone.
 
“You smell amazing.”
 
A thrill of pleasure spread through Felix like a tidal wave. Never before had someone cared about him in every sense, every way, with every word and every thought – all of him. That something as personal as his smell, something that was just him and not crafted or imagined, was enough to drive her to distraction filled him with such happiness that he wanted to shout it out loud for all the world to hear.
 
And best of all, it was

Marinette

who loved him. 
 
With an unrestrained laugh, Felix leaped from the couch to grab her for a kiss. It took him an extra ten minutes to get all the lipstick off, as his mother had so helpfully – and acidly – pointed out to him when he arrived late for his budget meeting.
 
Totally worth it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Alya had been right. Marinette went from being an object of curiosity to celebrity status in just a week. Gossip still abounded, but it was mostly about how sweet she seemed and how cute she and Felix looked together. It wasn’t ideal – she would have preferred less attention being paid to their relationship – but this had got a lot of the press off her back and she felt safer than she had in months. She was finally gaining her sea legs in Wardrobe and had gone over all the details with both Felix and Amelie so many times she found herself dreaming of ermine collars, dark emerald velvet, and golden thread. What she had said during the interview was true. Most of the Royal Regalia for coronations was predetermined: everything from jewelry to undergarments all had special meanings and each article needed to be considered before any decisions could be made. Even with those restrictions, the dreams that filled her head night after night sent her mind into overdrive by day, working herself to near exhaustion on the finest details thread and needle could contrive. All for Felix… All for the man Marinette loved… all for the future king. She loved Felix with an intensity that frightened her whenever the concept impinged on her awareness, so she turned that intensity outward – spinning it like a benevolent spider into the most glorious things she had ever made. If there was a custom-tailored paradise for her on earth, then Marinette had found it.  She had her dream job and a great salary, and she was dating the man she loved who treated her like she was more royalty than he was and had the approval of those closest to him. She couldn’t be happier. The sunlight was slanting down through the large windows of the Wardrobe studio when Marinette’s phone blared with Alya’s alert tone: Gonzo the Muppet yelling “Stop the Presses” from one of the older films. She rolled her eyes. Considering that it took late-breaking, earth-shattering news for a paper of any level to call for the presses to be stopped, let alone a professional journal like The Guardian, Marinette thought the sound bite was both hilarious and fitting. 
Mama Bear<3: M, are you planning on coming home tonight or are you going to climb the twenty mattresses to try to find the pea?
 Marinette chuckled as she typed her response. 
Marinette: I
’
m planning on it. Wow! Didn
’
t realize it was so late!
 
Mama Bear<3: Got caught up in the embroidery again, didn
’
t you?
 
Marinette: Guilty as charged. I
’
ll try to finish up in five. Want to meet at The Golden Dragon for some potstickers and dim sum? My treat!
 
Mama Bear<3: As great as that sounds, we have a small crisis here that I
’
m taking care of. How about I call you when it
’
s safe to come back?
 
Marinette: ?!?!?!?!
 
Mama Bear<3: *sigh* Some jerk sprayed paint all over our apartment door. Not even the fun, street art kind either.
 
Marinette: Now you have me worried. I
’
m coming home now. You don
’
t need to be there alone.
 
Mama Bear<3: I
’
m fine, M. It wasn
’
t aimed at me. That
’
s why I don
’
t want you to come home right away. I
’
ve called the bobbies and the landlord. He has some guys scrubbing right now. Anything they can
’
t get off, they
’
ll paint over.
 
Marinette: Are you sure? 
 
Mama Bear<3: Positive. This makes me mad enough to spit! I don
’
t want you going through it too.
 
Marinette: It
’
s that bad?
 
Mama Bear<3: Some people have no sense of grammar, let alone appropriate language… or punctuation.
 
Marinette: Okay, Als, but I yield under great persuasion.
 
Mama Bear<3: Get your prince charming to take you out on the town. Let me deal with the haters.
 Pursing her lips, Marinette shot off a reassuring text to Alya and set about putting her tools and materials away. This was the second time this week that something strange had come up.  The first time, she had been waiting for a taxi outside the tube station near her apartment when a gang of teenage boys, all wearing black leather and some of them significantly larger than her, came running down the street throwing things. She had shielded herself with her messenger bag, worried about stones, knives, or maybe even cherry bombs. Her security team materialized out of nowhere and smoothly extricated her from the crowd of panicked pedestrians while sirens and the whistles and shouts of police officers could be heard all around. When her heart had stopped racing and her team had given the all-clear, she relaxed enough to let other thoughts reemerge from fight, flight, or freeze.  “Ugh! Wha id dat awful sbell?” she’d exclaimed, plugging her nose and hoping the sick-making smell was temporary. “Sorry, Miss,” Charles, the head of her security detail, had said. “I thought we had moved fast enough, guess we needed to pick up the pace, but we knew they weren’t throwing explosives or knives.” “How?” “Spotters on the rooftops. Two of them. Former snipers. Best eyes in the business,” he had replied, looking her up and down and turning her from side to side. “Are you hurt, Miss?” “No, ith just dat sbell is making… making–” Bile had risen in her throat at the noxious smell and she’d wretched, glad for the first time in a long time that she had missed breakfast that morning. Charles had reached up and pulled what looked like a broken eggshell out of her hair and one of the ladies on her team of six, Amanda, she thought, brushed similar fragments out of the folds of her skirt. Taking a sniff, Charles had winced. “Rotten eggs, I’m afraid, Miss. Do you want to return to your apartment to clean up or head to the Palace first?” Marinette had sighed. “The Palace I guess, as long as you guys can get me in and out without too much fuss?” The security chief had nodded tersely and started speaking rapidly into his Bluetooth headset to someone at Buckingham, preparing for their discreet arrival. “Ugh!” Marinette shuddered at the memory. “It took three showers to get the stink off.” Without warning, Felix rushed into the studio, his eyes frantically scanning the room until they landed on her. “Oh,” he breathed, placing a hand on his chest, where Marinette realized his heart must be rapidly beating. He clutched his phone in his other hand, waving it at her. “I received a worrisome text from Alya. I’m so glad you’re here. Safe.” She gave a weary chuckle and tapped her pocket. “Clearly my best friend doesn’t trust me to let you know what is going on in my life, Bagheera.” Felix furrowed his brow, looking more like a confused kitten being denied a treat than a panther, though just as protective. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Marinette walked over and wrapped her arms around him, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Someone’s been playing some nasty pranks lately. That’s all. Remember I was late getting here on Monday?” Nodding, Felix leaned into her touch, nearly closing his eyes in bliss. “You never did tell me what that was about.” “Oh, I was so busy trying to get caught up. I just assumed Charles had told you.” “They’re your security detail. Not mine. They only report to me under certain circumstances.” “Well, I was waiting for a taxi outside the underground nearest to the flat, and these boys, big blokes all in leather, came roaring down the street throwing things. Turns out, they were throwing rotten eggs. Charles arranged a ride for me and got me here without the press catching wind of it. Then, today, someone spray-painted something nasty on our door.” She waved her hands nervously at the intensity of his frown. “They didn’t break in, nothing else was damaged, and Alya is there taking care of it. She just… doesn’t want me to go back until it is gone.” Felix dropped his phone – tossed it, more like – over his shoulder to take both her shoulders in his hands. “You can stay here. I’ll have the Rose room made up for you again.” She gave him a reassuring smile and took his face in her hands, her fingers rubbing circles into his sideburns. “It’s alright, Felix. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” “You shouldn’t have to deal with–” “Once, a tabloid reporter found out where I lived and a mob of Adrien’s rabid fangirls threw bricks and garbage through the bakery’s front window. I knew this was going to happen when we made our relationship public and, while I would rather not have rotten eggs thrown at me or crude profanities inscribed on my apartment door, I wouldn’t trade you for my anonymity.” Huffing, Felix hunched his shoulders. “Still. There must be something I–we can do.” She just shook her head and sighed. “You may be the Prince, even more, the King in just a few months’ time, but even you can’t force people to like me, nor should you.” Felix’s jaw was set too tightly. She could hear his molars grinding and winced at the sound. “I know. I know! But… treating you like this… is wrong…” He trailed off at the end, his righteous fury sputtering out like an enfeebled fuse without an explosion. Marinette’s heart went out to him, her protective Bagheera. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. “I know, love, and the fact that you are so protective means the world to me. Knowing I am not fighting this alone is so important to me. If I didn’t have that… I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with it all.” Marinette gestured around the large, sunlit studio at the neat arrangements of fabric bolts, the locked safes for jewels, gold and silver thread, and the precious cloth of gold that she was still in awe about being asked to work with. “Don’t get me wrong. I love this. It’s been my dream since childhood, but with everything else… with us…” She pulled him down for a hug, letting him know she was seeking comfort and not adding him to her list of worries. “It can be a bit of a rollercoaster.” Clinging to her like a limpet, Felix buried his nose in her hair and drew a big whiff. Surely he was just breathing in her scent, cataloging it. Surely he wasn’t sniffling! “I know and I’m sorry,” he muttered against her head, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “That you’re willing to ride it with me… I don’t have the words.” She pulled back just enough to see his eyes. They really were a dark green, a perfect match for the velvet cloak she was crafting for him, among other articles. So many people described green eyes as ‘emeralds’ when they were anything but.  Felix was the real deal… in everything. The very thought filled her up like a champagne fountain – all light, sweet, and sparkling. “Alya suggested that you whisk me away for a night on the town while she browbeats the painters into cleaning up the mess.”  She ran a finger along the length of his tie, a pale blue silk with little white diamonds. Funny. She remembered a time when he would never be seen outside his quarters in anything brighter than gray. “Funny how things can change.” The way Felix’s eyes lit up with eagerness but then shifted into a smug, naughtier gaze almost immediately made Marinette’s heart give a jolt. He took her hand in his own, placing his other hand on her waist and spinning her around, waltzing to music only he could hear. “I can do that,” he proclaimed, devouring her with his eyes enough to make heat explode on her cheeks. “We can go dancing. I know this spot on the East Bank that has excellent shrimp and a dance floor. Does that sound acceptable to you, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Marinette hummed and tapped his tie clip before walking her fingers up to grab his chin. “I’m really in the mood for potstickers. Could we go half and half? I love dancing!” She pressed the lightest, most teasing of kisses to the corner of his mouth, making him suck a breath over his teeth in surprise. “I’ve only ever danced with you the once, you know.” Felix craned his neck to ambush hers with kisses, trailing them along the underside of her jaw. “I think–” A kiss. “–that–” Another kiss. “–sounds–” A third, placed right below her ear, which he nuzzled, making her gasp. “–divine.” “Didn’t your mother teach you to not eat dessert first?” she asked, her voice breathy after his attentions. “My mother didn’t teach me anything except policy and how to deal with the press,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead but then pulling back with a pout. “But if you insist.” She didn’t let him go far, drawing him back in for a long, lingering kiss. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, Bagheera. You won’t have anything to unlearn and we can learn together.” Smoothing his hands down to her hips, Felix rubbed his nose on hers. “Little fool, I can’t help but be besotted with you. Have mercy on an idiot in love.” “I’ll tell you a secret.” She pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “Even fools are made fools when in love,” she murmured, and pressed a ghost of a kiss to his ear, making him shiver. Felix pulled her tightly against him, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “If you keep this up, Marinette, we’re never going to leave this room.” She chuckled softly. “Who said I wanted to, love?” He groaned dramatically and swung her around, lifting her bodily until he set her down on a large bolt of blue velvet laying on the cutting table. “You are making it very difficult to be a gentleman, little fool.” Marinette sighed and straightened his lapels, smoothing them with teasing little jerks. “We should go. I’m ravenous and, as much as I love your undivided attention…” The smug smile that tugged at his lips was more than she could resist and she gave him a chaste peck. “I know how much you hate being interrupted and I’m pretty sure my stomach is going to start complaining soon.” “In that case…” His eyes sparkling and eager, Felix stepped back and bowed low to her, offering her his hand. “Would my sweet princess allow this unworthy knight to escort her to dinner?” Her smile as wide as her heart was full, Marinette took his hand and rose to her feet. “Only if my prince saves me a dance.” With a sudden twist, Felix scooped her up in a bridal hold, making her scramble for a hold around his neck. He had the cheek to dip her until her hair brushed the floor and the blood started rushing to her head. “Marinette, my dance card will only have your name in it from now on,” he purred seductively. He pulled her up ever so slightly, leaning in for a kiss. Marinette closed her eyes, her heart racing in anticipation as his warm breath played across her face.  When she felt his lips brush her neck she thrilled at his touch, tilting her head just so until … … he blew a long, ticklish raspberry against her throat, the loud buzzing so close to her ear it nearly made her wince. With a groan mixed with a helpless giggle, Marinette pushed him off her as he set her back on her feet. “Come on, you,” she said with a tone both fond and exasperated. “Let’s go before Arthur shows up to tell us what we shouldn’t do!” Felix’s smirk knew no bounds. “Come on! We’ll take the back stairs!” With that he grabbed her hand and tugged her, laughing, out of the studio.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Yes, the construction of the mental health center is coming along swimmingly,” Felix said, shaking hands with a prominent donor of New Dreams for Old. He and Marinette were cutting the ribbon of Hillsbrook Preschool, the first building the charity had restored for community use. “We are so grateful for your support, sir.”
 
His little fool snapped a picture of him on her phone, probably a candid shot he’d have to ask to see later. As a photographer himself, he was always curious about the pictures she took. She never took very many and the photos weren’t technically great, but quite a few featured him in happy, unguarded moments, and he always marveled at the effect she had on his laugh lines.
 
The donor walked off, and just then he heard her phone buzz softly. She glanced down and Felix saw her face blanch.
 
“Is everything okay?” he murmured worriedly. “Are you feeling ill?”
 
She shook her head, throwing on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but she let him see her concern. “It’s my papa. I need to take this. Do you mind if…” 
 
She tipped her head subtly towards the limo that was parked on the far edge of the greensward across from the new school.
 
He gave her a half smile and nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”
 
“No. I’ll be okay. You just be you and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
 
Marinette brushed his finger with her pinky, her reminder that she loved him when they weren’t supposed to show too much affection in public. It warmed him and made him smile. How clever his sweet Marinette was and how kind!
 
Another donor approached Felix, so he turned to shake her hand, keeping the corner of his eye trained on Marinette. One of the teachers for the new preschool joined the donor, and, spotting a reporter eager to talk to him, Felix prepared himself to answer questions for the rest of the afternoon.
 
“The charity’s name?” Felix repeated, confirming that he’d heard the question correctly. At the nod, he launched into his explanation. “Have you ever read the old version of the legend of

Aladdin

? No?”
 
Unlike every other political function he’d ever attended, Felix was excited to answer questions for his charity. Even his thesis, which he’d been preparing to defend, was focused on New Dreams for Old’s impact on lower-income London residents.
 
“Well, Aladdin’s wife gets tricked by the villain when he is dressed as a peddler calling out in the street ‘New Lamps for Old,’” Felix continued. “I liked the concept of ‘trading up’ restoration, and as a result, I decided…”
 
Like the charity name, Felix had dreams. Big dreams, dreams where his reach would spread throughout the whole of the United Kingdom as more than just their king but as a helper and compassionate advocate.
 
And he had Marinette to thank for that. 
 
Smiling, he turned his attention away from the throng for a moment to check on her–but it was a moment too late.
 
He knew she had gone back to the limo, hoping for some quiet and privacy for her call with her father, but the woman he saw next to the limo couldn’t have been less like Marinette if she had tried.
 
Felix swallowed hard. He would know that teased red hair anywhere.
 
Olivia Connor, the disgustingly personal and incredibly vulgar young society brat who had made such a scene about him rejecting her advances at the Fitzwilliam reception, approached mere feet away from the car door before Felix could do more than register his alarm.
 
What was

she

doing here?!
 
Before his mind could formulate a theory, she had crossed to the door, jerked it open, and he watched in horror as she emerged with a fistful of raven hair.

MARINETTE!

A piercing scream galvanized his legs into action. But he was too far away and there were too many people to push through, preventing him from reaching his distressed little fool, who thrashed in Olivia’s grip. 
 
He could hear Olivia’s snarl from here. “I’ll teach you a lesson, wretch!”
 
Hoisting Marinette to her feet by her hair, Olivia started slapping her, causing bile to flood Felix’s mouth just as scarlet flooded his vision. 
 
“Excuse me, excuse me,

get out of my way!

” he called, shoving through the quickly panicking crowd. 
 
A particularly tall donor had blocked his vision for just a brief, heartrending moment that lasted less than a second, but when he caught sight of Marinette again, she had planted her feet and drawn her fist back.
 
Olivia never saw the punch coming but the whole square heard it land.

Pow!

Marinette rammed her knuckles into Olivia’s nose, tossing her head back with a snap. Blood gushed in an arc as Olivia fell back, landing on her back with her fingers still gripping a patch of Marinette’s hair.
 
Panting, Marinette glared down at her unconscious assailant. A chunk of her hair was missing, her face scratched, and her lip was as bloodied as her scalp, but Felix thought his little fool had never looked more appealing.

“I know exactly how much that hurts,”

he thought, his heart racing as he took her in his arms in relief.

“But I don’t think I have ever seen anything so… desirable in my entire life!”

“Are you alright, Marinette?” he asked, his hands clutching her cardigan in a desperate need to feel she wasn’t hurt worse.
 
“I’ll be fine,” she said, rubbing one eye that was starting to purple. “Someone should teach her that slap fights are for girls.”
 
Felix snorted in disbelief. “But you

are

a girl!”
 
She glanced up at him from out of her swollen eye. “No, Felix,” she retorted cheekily. “I’m a

woman

.”
 
He felt his jaw fall open at her words as two sets of security teams kept the crowds at bay as they hustled them into the car. 
 
Casting a look over his shoulder at the still unconscious Connor woman, Felix felt anger boil up inside him as the fear faded.
 
“Arrest her!” he growled. “I want her jailed with every charge that will stick! There are plenty of witnesses.”
 
“Aye, Sir.”
 
That thread snipped, Felix turned his entire focus on Marinette: getting some ice out of the minifridge and wrapping it in a towel for her to put against her eye. Then he pulled out the first aid kit from under the seat and started cleaning her scalp wound.
 
Marinette hissed as Felix applied a stinging antiseptic to the tender, bloodstained skin, and he winced. “I know it hurts, love, and I’m sorry. I just need to clean everything off and stop the bleeding, you know?”
 
“Yeah. I know. Why do most girls always go for the hair?”
 
The implications of that were something Felix did not want to explore, as he was already infuriated by what the Connor woman had done. If he started cataloging Marinette’s past hurts, his vision would never clear from red, and she needed him to be calm.
 
He didn’t want to further hurt her by cleaning her wound too roughly.
 
Forcing himself to draw a deep breath, Felix dabbed at Marinette’s scalp with a cotton ball as gently as he could in his angered state. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if you weren’t an excellent boxer.”
 
Marinette chuckled. “Nothing so formal, Bagheera. I grew up in Paris and ran deliveries for my family business. Do you think my parents would let me out of their sight if I didn’t know how to take care of myself?” She winced and hissed as he wiped at a stubborn knot of hair that was snarled with a clot of blood. “Maman is from China and she taught me some self-defense and how to use a bo staff. I’ll never be as good as she is… was, but I can certainly take care of jumped-up brats like

her

!”
 
Felix did not miss the pause at ‘was,’ but as Marinette hadn’t decided to tell him the truth about her mother, he decided not to push it. “To be frank,” he said, wondering how deeply in trouble he was about to get, “when I saw you standing triumphantly over her, your chest heaving and your fist as bloodied as the rest of you, I thought, ‘What a woman!’ I had never seen someone so desirable in my entire life.”
 
She blushed furiously and was about to press her face into his shoulder to hide her reddening cheeks when she seemed to remember her current state of disarray and retreated.
 
“You’re such a

weirdo,

Felix Fathom.”
 
Her fond, crooked smile took the sting out of her words, and for a moment, it was just like they were riding in the limo back from Anmer Hall. Felix couldn’t help but smile at his little fool, ready to play just as she was.
 
“Watch who you’re calling ‘weirdo’, little fool. I’ll have you know I am descended from a long line of medieval warrior kings who spent their winters carousing and their summers trying to slaughter each other over scraps of marshland.”
 
“

They

never met my right hook, though.”
 
“True, love. All too true!”
 
***
 
“What do you

mean,

” Felix snarled, “someone

paid her bail

?”
 
Arthur sniffed, passing Felix the papers he’d retrieved from the courthouse – papers that Felix had no idea how he’d retrieved, as they certainly didn’t

look

like public records.
 
“An anonymous benefactor, Sir.” 
 
Felix had known Arthur almost his entire life and he had only ever heard that particular tone once or twice before – only when something had happened that ‘His Royal Highness’ needn’t be troubled about. But knowing his valet as he did, Felix knew that Arthur was as angry as he ever got over anything.
 
Felix couldn’t blame him. He cared about Marinette too.
 
“Track them down.” Felix slapped the papers down onto his desk. “Whoever they are, I want them destroyed.”
 
A twinkle glowed in Arthur’s eye. “You sound more like your mother every day.”
 
“This is no time for games, Arthur. That wretched excuse of a human being went after Marinette

in my presence.

She committed assault and grievous bodily harm and deserves to be held accountable! For someone to just swoop in and free that disgusting, repulsive…”
 
Felix waved his hands around in the air, frustrated by the fact that his extensive vocabulary was failing him.
 
“Might I suggest the appellation ‘vile, despicable hag,’ Sir?”
 
Felix pointed at him triumphantly. “Yes. Perfect!” He pounded his fist on the desk until it hurt. “Vile, despicable hags deserve to rot. In. Jail!”
 
“You will receive no arguments from me, Sir,” Arthur replied sternly. “It is a good thing that Miss Marinette knows how to take care of herself. Otherwise, the situation could have turned nasty.”
 
Felix leveled a harsh glare at his oldest friend. “And her having her hair torn out by the roots and requiring seven stitches

isn’t

nasty enough for you?”
 
“To be perfectly frank, Sir,” Arthur intoned gravely, reaching his hand out and drawing back before touching Felix, “it could have been far nastier for Miss Marinette than it was.”
 
Faced with the implication that something worse could still happen to Marinette, Felix scattered the papers, tossing them off his desk and onto the floor. Ignoring Arthur’s raised brows, Felix stomped around his desk and let loose a ragged scream, throwing his head back and raising his fists into the air, flailing about.
 
Panting, Felix realized that giving vent to his emotions wasn’t helping him feel any better. Maybe his mother had the right of it after all, and he should just bottle everything again.
 
Burying his face in his hands, Felix turned back to Arthur and peeked through his fingers. “Jail her. I don’t care what it takes. Find her, arrest her, and don’t let her out. I refuse to have Marinette threatened or harmed. By

anyone.

”
 
Arthur bowed without a word, taking his leave. 
 
Dropping into his desk chair, Felix realized that he had a thesis to defend, policy meetings to attend, and a charity to run. Now that he’d started taking an interest in supporting organizations outside himself – Marinette’s influence – he was busier than ever before.
 
As much as he’d like to personally track down that odious shrew and wring her neck, he couldn’t afford to fall apart. His little fool had been put in danger, and there was absolutely nothing he, Felix, the man, could do to protect her.
 
His helplessness disgusted him.
 
Flipping his laptop open hard enough to crack the hinge, Felix pulled up his thesis document and began jabbing the keys, making his fingertips sore.
 
It was all he could do. For now.
 
***
 
Marinette didn’t

need

to spend a week in the hospital. She’d had stitches in her head, not extensive or dangerous surgery.
 
Frankly, she was bored, even though Felix had come by every chance he could and had sent Arthur to deliver grapes, flowers, and game consoles. 
 
All of them new on the market.
 
There weren’t enough inputs in the fifty-three-inch flat-screen TV that her Prince had installed in her room to even hook up all the game consoles, and Marinette was so spoiled for choice with her selection of video games, she rarely played any of them due to mental paralysis. As to how Felix had found out about her love of video games, her only clue was he had contacted Alya and gotten her to spill some of her secrets.
 
Even though her head still hurt, all Marinette wanted to do was leave, but Felix wouldn’t let her return to her job until he knew she was safe. Marinette understood his protective nature – he was her Bagheera, after all – but this was excessive.
 
“Miss?” Charles called from outside her room, peeking in. Sitting in bed, Marinette had been considering calling up Ultimate Mecha Strike III on one of her handheld consoles, but whatever Charles wanted was much more welcome. “You’ve received a call. Do you want to take it?”
 
“Oh!” Scrambling out of bed, thankful that she was fully dressed, Marinette tossed her game console on the mattress and crossed to Charles with no trouble. “Sure, I can take a call. It’s on my phone, right?”
 
“Indeed it is, Miss.” Charles passed her her phone, which showed up with a number with a Paris area code: the Saint-Louis Hospital. Marinette felt the color drain from her face. “Would you like your privacy?”
 
With a shaking hand, Marinette took the cell, pressing it against her chest. “Yes, please.”
 
Her voice sounded hollow and empty to her ears, a painful croak that rasped against her throat. Charles left, so Marinette placed the phone against her ear. “H-Hello?”
 
“Is this Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”
 
The woman sounded cold. Clinical. Detached, as only a doctor who had seen too many patients die could be.
 
Marinette’s stomach dropped.
 
“Yes? Who is this?”
 
“I’m Dr. Alarie at Saint-Louis. Your mother is here and… I’m sorry, Miss, but her condition has progressed such that…”
 
Marinette didn’t even hear the rest of the words. She spiraled deep into herself, her grief washing over her like too many ocean waves, filling her lungs with cold lead and drowning her. It was a burden so heavy, she sank to the floor, her tears hitting it first and then her knees.
 
The doctor’s voice faded back in at just the wrong moment.
 
“... and if you want to see her before she dies, you need to come right away.”
 
Gut tightening, Marinette forced herself to her feet. Her mind was spinning; she felt as raw as her headwound, but she would need more than seven stitches to put herself back together. “How long do I have?”
 
Dr. Alarie gave her no sympathy. Her tone was flat. Aloof. Indifferent. “Hours.”
 
Marinette hung up. She slipped her phone into her pocket and bolted out the door, only to be snagged by the wrist by Charles. “Miss! Where are you going?”
 
“M-My mother’s

dying

,” Marinette blubbered, tears pricking her eyes. “She’s at a hospital in Paris. Please, I–I have to go.”
 
“I can’t…”
 
“

Please,

” Marinette whimpered. “She

needs

me.”
 
The truth was, Marinette needed her. Marinette had needed her mother ever since cancer had stolen her life from her, killing her even as she drew breath. 
 
Never before had Marinette’s need to be held by her maman been so great.
 
Charles’s gaze softened. “I understand, Miss. I’ll notify your driver.”
 
Bowing her head, Marinette opened her mouth in a silent cry and allowed herself to give into the powerful ache coursing through her.
 
Her mother had hours.
 
***
 
By the time Charles had arranged the car, Marinette had stopped crying. She’d washed her face mechanically, opened the door mechanically, slipped inside and buckled her seatbelt mechanically.
 
She was numb, her entire body tingling like a waking limb.
 
“Are you ready, Miss?”
 
Something penetrated the fog in Marinette’s mind. A flicker that something… something wasn’t quite right.
 
No. Something was decidedly wrong, but Marinette couldn’t possibly identify what it was.
 
“Yes, I’m ready.” She peered at him through the backseat. “Hey… Where’s Harry?”
 
That’s what was wrong. Her driver had been replaced.
 
“He’s on bereavement leave, Miss.” The driver doffed his hat and then skewered her alive. “His mother died.”

Marinette’s heart thudded against her chest, painfully sore. “Oh.”
 
“Just try to get some rest, Miss.” The new driver pulled the car out of the lot and started down the road, his maneuvering of the limo smooth and unbroken. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
 The driver rolled up the window and a weird smell filtered into Marinette’s nose. “Probably just someone’s bad petrol,” she thought, sighing. 
Shooting off a brief text to Alya, Marinette leaned her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. 
 
***
 
“What do you mean she’s not here?” Felix stared down Robert, the head of his security detail, outside Marinette’s room at St Thomas’ Hospital, his heart rate growing increasingly rapid. A headache spiked behind his right eye. “How could she not be here?”
 
“I don’t know, Sir,” Robert said. “I’ve spoken with Charles, and Miss Dupain-Cheng left after fifteen hundred hours yesterday.”
 
Felix did the mental math. Fifteen hundred hours meant around three o’clock, so he would have been in a board meeting for New Dreams for Old.
 
An ache twinged in Felix’s heart. She hadn’t told him where she’d hared off to. She hadn’t even told him

why.

This was unlike her. 
 
How could he protect her if she didn’t stay where he’d put her?
 
“Did she say where she was going?”
 
“Right before she left, she received a private call from Saint-Louis Hospital.” Robert shifted on his feet, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. “Charles said she’d reported that her mother is dying.”
 
“That doesn’t make sense.” Clenching his fist around the bouquet of a dozen roses netted him a prick on his palm from the thorns. Nausea bore down on him in full force, turning his dull, throbbing headache into a threatened migraine. “Her mother’s at Pitié-Salpêtrière and her condition’s stable. If she were dying or had even been transferred, I would have heard.”
 
“

From Tom if no one else,

” Felix thought, shifting the bouquet to the other hand and watching the blood well up from the puncture wound in his palm. “

Sabine has been improving in leaps and bounds since I paid for that experimental treatment. He would have told me if she were in trouble. What is Marinette doing at Saint-Louis?

”
 
An icy trickle of doubt oozed through Felix’s mind, poisoning him. “Robert,” Felix snapped. “Where is Charles?” 
 
“Saint-Louis, Sir.”
 
Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong, and fear crept up Felix’s throat like a strangling vine, licking the back of his brain like some kind of monster, leaving him cold and shivering.
 
“Robert,” Felix breathed, his voice thready and bordering on a sob. “Where is Marinette?”
 
“That,” Robert said, his terrified gaze screaming all that Felix needed to know, “we don’t know.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette awoke with the taste of blood and something cloying in her mouth and her neck bent at an unnatural angle. Something cold and heavy was wrapped around her wrists and ankles, and only after she opened her eyes in shock did she see she was in a near-pitch black room manacled to a pair of pipes. Her head throbbed and her eyelids felt almost too heavy to stay open. The vague memory of a strange smell in the back of the limo drifted back to her. She had been drugged! 
“Maman? Am I too late? No. That bogus driver said that Harry was on bereavement leave and that his mother had died. That is too much of a coincidence. So if that was a lie, then the call must have been a ruse to get me out in the open where I would be vulnerable.”
 Her head was swimming and Marinette wished she could spit out the foul taste in her mouth, but a strip of heavy tape trapped it behind her lips. She almost gave out a moan of frustration, but she heard a voice speaking from somewhere behind her and to her right. No. Several voices and the only light in the place was coming from the same direction. “The girl is going to wake up soon,” a gruff male voice said. “We need to be ready to move out if we’re going to make the drop-off on time.” There were some murmurs of agreement.  “Right then, ‘ere’s the assignments and stick to them. No switching around like that last bit of business. Not with this much money riding on it. Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, you are vans one, two, and three. Epsilon, you’re with me in van four with the girl. Zeta, Eta, Theta, you are in vans five through seven. Iota and Kappa, you’re driving the getaway car and dumping the driver. Remember, three ‘ours out from the city edge. No less.” “Boss, this is bigger than our usual jobs,” came a thin, reedy voice with a slight nasal tone. “This isn’t just one of the Harpy’s debtors that’s run too long ‘tween payments.” “Course not,” the ‘boss’ grumbled and Marinette heard the dull slapping sound of fist striking flesh. “Why do you think the pay is so much ‘igher? That’s not ‘alf Drunk Bob clapped in irons in there, you know.” “Just the Sweetheart of ruddy London,” a deep voice chimed in darkly. “Do you know what this means if we get caught, Ambrose? Attacking ‘er is as bad as going after the Royals. Tha’ could mean life or even a death sentence.” There was a heavy, dull thud and a groan that made Marinette’s heart rate spike in fear. “No names on the job, you idiot!” Ambrose growled. “That girl out there is worth ‘alf a million pounds spirited quietly out of the city with no one the wiser. Do you think anyone with that much cash to blow couldn’t set us up with the Yard if we made a hash of it? “That’s why this has to go off perfectly,” Ambrose added pointedly. “No slip-ups, no mistakes, no going soft over a pretty girl. Got it? Stick to the plan and it will be smooth sailing.” There was another chorus of mutters. “But if she’s the Prince’s girlfriend, won’t we land in trouble anyway?” The thin nasal voice sounded nervous. “Just stuff it, Epsilon, before I stuff it for ya. You all have your jobs. Let’s get to it. We roll out in ten. The scrubbers will be here in fifteen. Remember, masks on from this point on. No exceptions.” “Aye, boss.” Marinette closed her eyes and pretended to still be unconscious. Maybe she could take them unawares when they came to get her? They would have to unlock the handcuffs to get her into the van… In the meantime, she listened. If she did manage to get away, she needed as much information as she could get. 
“Let's see… heavy boots… car doors opening and closing… grunting…it’s raining outside… on a metal roof… is this some sort of warehouse or factory? It echoes like one. But there is a lot of grit on the floor. Is it abandoned?”
 There was the sound of car engines starting up, the grinding cycling of some sort of large machine, and two sets of heavy footsteps drawing nearer. Marinette felt the smooth tackiness of nitrile gloves against her wrists and felt the handcuffs open. She sensed a presence leaning over her. She caught a whiff of the same cloying smell she had been gassed with in the limo and held her breath, waiting for her captors to unchain her feet.  But a damp cloth descended on her face, bathing her in the foul sweetness, and she didn’t have a choice. Launching to her feet, Marinette tucked her head down and butted the man hard in the stomach, forcing all the air from his lungs and making pain lance across her head wound. The cloth fell away and she gulped in a deep breath, hoping to clear her head of the dizziness that seemed to set the world on tilt. Grabbing the chain that had bound her wrists to the pipes, she swung it round, hoping to clip the other kidnapper she had heard approaching and keep him at bay while she regained her balance.  But her aim was off due to the drug and the pain while the man was quicker than any thug his size had a right to be. He grabbed the whirling chain out of the air and jerked it hard, sending Marinette crashing to her knees and then face-first onto the concrete pad. He twisted and knelt on her back, all but grinding her into the warehouse floor with a knee between her shoulder blades.  She struggled to draw breath, but he was crushing the air from her lungs. The dust and filth on the floor filled her nose so much that she gagged, which only made it harder for her to draw in enough oxygen. The brute twisted her arms behind her back once more, nearly pulling them from their sockets as he bound her tight enough for the cuffs to bite into her wrists. “There,” he grunted, panting under his mask. “That should ‘old ya tight for a sec. Oy, Ep. Bring the jab over ‘ere. The little minx decided to make a big entrance.” The other man, still nursing a sore abdomen, pulled himself to his feet and wandered off before returning with a capped syringe full of a clear liquid and a small first aid kit. When Marinette saw it out of the corner of her eye, she tried twisting this way and that, anything to stay away from whatever cocktail they had in that needle. The boss, Ambrose, just rolled his weight forward until she couldn’t so much as flinch - her lungs screaming, her muscles burning, and a fresh trail of blood trickling from the head wound that throbbed painfully with every beat of her heart. She must have torn her stitches. “Tsk tsk tsk,” Ambrose chided calmly as if he tortured young women every day. Marinette suppressed a shudder at the thought. Maybe he did. “You must love doing things the ‘ard way, girlie. You could ‘ave made this so much easier for yourself. But, as long as we get you safely there – alive and in one piece – we’ll be, ahem, out of your ‘air.” Both men chuckled before Ambrose forced her sleeve up over her shoulder. “Now, don’t you worry, little lady,” the other kidnapper cooed as Marinette felt the chill of an alcohol swab brush against her bicep. “The boss is a dab hand with a needle. Just be a good lamb. One stick and it’s off to dreamland!” “No!” she yelled against the tape covering her mouth, but it was too late. “Ep, what did I tell you about going all soft over the girl?" Ambrose growled as he stuck her with the needle. A cold rush ran up and down her arm and after a few seconds she tasted scallions and the world started to blur around the edges.  “What was in that syringe?” she thought, her panic fighting the drug, but also pushing it further into her system with every beat of her heart. “They said alive and in one piece, right? Whoever hired them… doesn’t want me dead. But if someone hired them… why kidnap me?”  Her thoughts began skating in ever-slowing circles with only more questions per revolution until she could no longer keep her eyes open. The last thing she heard before the darkness claimed her was the boss’ voice. “Good. Right on schedule. Help me get her into the van.” *** Felix was trapped in the eye of the storm.  Within an hour of him finding out Marinette was missing, the parlor down the hall from his quarters had been turned into an operations center with so many people rushing in and out that even if he had been able to sleep he wouldn’t have been given the peace to do so. The Royalty and Specialist Protection teams for both himself and Marinette, as well as their director, Markus Jones, were there along with the top agents for the Fixated Threat Assessment Centre and the three top Detective Chief Inspectors from the Metropolitan Police. There were a dozen Detective Inspectors reviewing CCTV footage, going through phone records and reports, interviewing the servants, and running background checks, while an entire squad of assistants was constantly in and out fetching whatever files, reports, cords, or various meaningless paraphernalia the officers seemed to need. Servants were in and out as well, bringing in sandwiches, bottled water, and coffee by the tankerful, then making themselves invisible in the corners or out in the hall, whispering in worried tones with nervous looks exchanged all around. To Felix, it was all a blur. He had given his statement three separate times to three separate officers who seemed torn between awe at their surroundings and trying to maintain the cold, distant mask of their calling. It took hours and probably would have gone on for even longer if an attractive woman with dark curly hair and black-rimmed glasses hadn’t swept in like a man-o-war under full sail and slapped a stack of printouts and three thumb drives down onto the Detective Chief Inspector’s impromptu desk with all the dignity and fire of a knight throwing down the gauntlet. “Alya Cesaire, of The Guardian,” she said sternly. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng is my best friend and flatmate. I have already been interviewed and I have been sent by my editor-in-chief to inform you that you will have our complete cooperation.” She paused for a moment to let her words sink in before she continued. “What you have there is all the information we have on anyone who has been seen in Marinette’s vicinity or has interacted with her in any way beyond the norm for the last six months: pictures, footage, eyewitness accounts, everything. Including the threatening letters she received and photos of the vandalism committed at our flat a few weeks ago. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to have a private word with His Royal Highness.” With that, she all but hoisted him out of the folding chair he’d been sitting in and marched him across the room to the door. One of the servants, a middle-aged woman named Sarah, if he recalled rightly, opened the door for them with a tearful expression, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Alya let him go once they were in a quieter stretch of corridor.  “Miss Cesaire,” he rasped desperately. “Any… any news?” He fell into a fit of dry coughing then, the paroxysm causing the dull headache to spike beneath his temples. The woman shook her head and pulled a water bottle from her messenger bag, offering it to him, end first. “Drink first,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. Her hazel eyes were steely behind her glasses and her jaw was set at an angry angle. “You look like death warmed over.” Marinette was right. Alya Cesaire was not a woman to be trifled with. “Like I said,” she continued as he guzzled the liquid down without thinking about it. “Everything I, my newsroom mates, and my sources know I gave to them.” She jerked her head towards the parlor that was now more of a war room. “But do you know anything?And what was this about threatening letters?” he demanded, wiping his mouth roughly on his blazer’s sleeve. Right now, he didn’t care about manners or image. All he cared about was finding Marinette and bringing her home safe and sound. 
“And never letting her leave my sight again.”
 “I pick up our mail and Marinette started receiving regular hate mail after the interview. I looked through them and decided to keep them from her which is why she didn’t tell you. She never knew about them. As for what I know right now, there are a lot of miscellaneous threads and few clear-cut leads. However, knowing Marinette like I do, I took the liberty of making a few phone calls. Two of them are waiting for you in your rooms.” The opportunity to help rescue Marinette was like a shot of adrenaline straight to Felix’s heart. Grabbing Alya's wrist, he broke into a run, knocking past the blur of faces and full arms in the hallway with heedless abandon. The doorknob nearly broke off in his hand as he slammed through the door into his quarters, an equally intense Alya in tow. He skidded to a halt at seeing the small gathering in his sitting room. The tableaux of Arthur, a maid with a tray of drinks and sandwiches, and Tom Dupain hunched over between them would have been enough to give him pause under any other circumstances. But a red rage descended on Felix and all he saw was the all-too-familiar blond hair and green eyes of the last person he wanted to see right now. “You!” he roared, releasing Alya and grabbing his cousin by the collar, hauling Adrien roughly to his feet with every intent to pulverize his pathetic model face. “What did you do to Marinette?!” The room exploded, so many voices shouting at once that he could barely make sense of them all. Felix let the chaos wash over him and watched the fear in Adrien’s face turn to anger. “Son, don’t!” Tom cried, reaching out a massive hand to stop him. “What are you doing, Felix?” Alya yelled, grabbing his wrist as she tried to free Adrien from Felix’s vise-like grip. “What makes you think I would ever do anything to harm My Lady?” Adrien demanded loudly, his hands clenching Felix’s wrist at his throat with equal force as his face flushed with anger. Hearing this… boy … declare that Marinette was his after everything he had put her through was too much for Felix.  Rearing back, he aimed his other fist to crash into Adrien’s face. The satisfaction of striking a blow for his little fool, his precious Princess, for her inner strength and her crippling doubts, against the craven rogue who had broken her so completely was as sweet as the thought of beating her whereabouts out of his idiotic cousin. The pain would be worth it, he knew. But his satisfaction was delayed. The blow was intercepted and redirected faster than the eye could see, twisting his arm behind his back and sweeping his legs out from under him in one fluid movement, causing Felix to release Adrien and Alya to step between them, with arms spread wide to defend the fiend. Twisting his head around, Felix saw that Arthur – Arthur! – was the one who had him pinned like a butterfly to a card. The sight of his valet and oldest friend, a man closer to fifty than forty, forcing him to the floor with the sternest expression Felix had ever seen gave him pause. “I apologize, Sir,” Arthur said softly, “but I had to stop you before you did something you would regret.” “Jeeves there is right, Felix,” Alya said determinedly. “You aren’t the only one in the room who thinks Adrien deserves a solid thrashing for what happened between him and Marinette. Papa Tom and I are first in line, but even I don’t think Adrien would ever have Marinette kidnapped. I called him here because he has some information that might help.” Felix stilled, allowing his body to relax so Arthur would know to release him. The valet read him instantly, helping him to his feet and brushing him off. “And when did you plan on telling me you could do that?” Felix muttered sotto voce. Arthur leaned forward and adjusted his coat collar. “Do you think Her Majesty would allow just anyone to take care of you, Your Royal Highness?” Adrien rolled his head on his neck, straightening his collar in a clear attempt to preserve his dignity – not that he deserved to have any left. Felix glowered, pointing a threatening finger at his cousin. “You have three minutes to tell me everything before I hand you over to the authorities, Adrien.” Adrien huffed, his face still red with anger. “Father has been stealing Marinette’s designs.” “What?!” The cry went up from everyone in the room, including Felix – not because he hadn’t known that Gabriel was up to no good, but because Adrien sounded so certain.   “Cousin,” Felix breathed, knowing he was on the cusp of something big, something that could hurt Gabriel like he’d wanted to do for so long. “Do you have proof?” Adrien rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Of course, I have proof. Do you think I would come here for no reason?” “If the shoe fits,” Alya muttered, then blushed in shame when Adrien caught her eye. “Look, I know I messed up! I hurt Marinette and myself and all our friends when I broke up with her and I will regret that decision for the rest of my life, but I am here because I love her and want to help make things right if I can.” Reaching his hand into his pants pocket, he pulled out a thumb drive on a keyring, a little black cat dangling from the chain. “Everything you need to prove Father has stolen Marinette’s designs,” Adrien said, all the fire and anger he had been displaying drained away with his words. “And a lot more besides.” Felix opened his mouth to ask, ‘Like what?’ but Tom stepped in instead. “I know how hard it was for you to come forward with this, Adrien,” the big man said, placing a firm hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “So let me be the first to thank you for helping my daughter when you could.” “I should have done a lot more before this, sir,” Adrien said with a sniff and a swipe at his eyes. “If I hadn’t-” “What you could have done before doesn’t matter,” Felix said gruffly, his instincts to reassure Adrien before his cousin cried screaming at him. Felix couldn’t stand tears, and Adrien’s, a grown man’s, were especially distressing for reasons he had yet to explore. “What you’ve done now is what’s crucial, hey? Yes, you hurt Marinette. But she’s grown past it, and more importantly, so have you. Focus on helping her now.” Adrien gave a final sniff and stood straighter under Tom’s massive hand. “Yeah. You’re right, Fe.” Then with a gusty sigh, “So, what can I do to help?” With a glance at Felix, Alya stepped forward, taking the USB drive. “I can get this to the Guardian and write a crushing expose of Gabriel, but I’m not sure I’m the one who needs this first.” “No,” Amelie said, sweeping into the room with all the regal majesty of a panther on the prowl. “ I am.” The breaking of china filled the sudden silence as Mr Dupain flushed a dark red over his dropped teacup and saucer. At the same time, Alya gave a half-smothered squeal, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet like a little birthday girl who got her pony. Adrien’s eyes met Felix’s with an amused roll before he bowed respectfully to his aunt, the Queen Regent. Amelie slanted a look at everyone in the room, lingering for a moment on Arthur. Felix did not miss the subtle tick of her head indicating that she wished to talk to his valet privately, and Felix wondered what that was about.  Plucking the USB drive from Alya’s outstretched hand, Amelie examined it for a moment before nodding thoughtfully. She reached out and patted Adrien on the head and then glided out of the room without another word, Arthur trailing behind her. “Well,” Felix said, glancing at the ecstatic Alya, who had watched Amelie’s exit with stars in her eyes, “that was certainly a thing.” Adrien snorted before bursting out into a slightly hysterical laugh. “Aunt Amelie always knew how to make an entrance.” “She certainly does,” Tom murmured, rubbing his opposite elbow. He bent to start picking up the broken china, but Felix stopped him with a hand on his arm, summoning a servant with a gesture with his free hand.  “Please, sir.” Felix guided the big man to his favorite green chair, heedless of its creaking protests. “Tell me about Madam Sabine.” As much as he wanted to ask about her childhood, he did not say, ‘Tell me about Marinette,’ as the very thought of her being unsafe strangled his words. “Well,” Tom started wearily, running a thick-fingered hand through his coarse brown hair. “She is doing better ever since you had us move her to Pitié-Salpêtrière. She has better color and is even able to walk on her own for short distances now that the dizziness is getting better. She still has more bad days than good ones, but the doctors are pleased with her progress.” “Wait just a tic,” Alya said, pinching the bridge of her nose over her glasses. “Since when do you know Marinette’s parents, Felix?” Felix opened his mouth, but Tom waved a hand to silence him and ended with it landing lightly on his shoulder. The man was much bigger in person, but he exuded such a kind, fatherly presence that Felix didn’t feel the least bit nervous. “Calm down, Alya. His Highness here offered to help with the costs of Sabine’s medical care. He figured things were tight and I was having a lot of problems trying to cope with the bakery by myself and caring for Sabine at the same time.” “But how-” Tom gave Felix’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He called and asked for my permission to date Marinette, of course. It was a very gentlemanly thing to do, I must say, and something I didn’t expect. I guess I should have, considering…” He nodded towards Adrien. “Anyway, the point is Sabine is getting better and she urged me to come to England with Adrien when he called.” Felix looked at his cousin with many thoughts, both kind and not, circling in his head at that moment. Adrien still loved Marinette. He was still on good terms with her parents, despite what had happened, and he had slipped from his father’s cage and come to Felix – probably knowing his welcome wouldn’t be warm – in the hopes of helping. 
“You said, 'It's you.' What's me?"
 
"I... think it's best if you ask her. If she can tell you what she needs and you ask, then she will let you know. Marinette is very open like that."
 Adrien had been uncomfortable about his knee-jerk response that time and Felix had never thought to bring it up with Marinette. First they had been tense and at odds over several misunderstandings, then he had been too happy to want to dive into uncomfortable topics when he had much rather been kissing his little fool and treating her like the princess she already was to him. And now he might never get the chance. The thought of never seeing his little fool again, never caressing her cheek or holding her in his arms, of hearing her sweet voice chiding him to eat– Felix buried his eyes in his hand, feeling hot tears leak out onto his palm despite himself. He was wrung out, stretched to his breaking point, and the migraine that had started as a dull ache when he first learned that Marinette had left for Saint-Louis was bearing down on him with full force. He had to keep silent in his grief. If the people around him knew he was struggling, they’d lose confidence in the monarchy.  Still, he swayed on his feet, the sharp throbbing behind his right eye reaching into his gut and pulling the bile up from his stomach into his mouth. His breath hitched twice as he tried to compose himself, unable to fully give himself over to the sorrow and rage intermingling in his chest like stitches in his ribs. Someone caught his shoulders. Someone warm, standing at his back and pressing their solid chest there. Felix tore his hand away from his face to peer into the concerned eyes of Arthur, his oldest friend. He had never heard the man reenter the room. “The Young Master is ill,” Arthur explained tersely, steering Felix away from the group and toward his bedroom. “Excuse us.” Felix couldn’t protest. He couldn’t even move his feet properly; he stumbled and tripped, held aloft by Arthur’s firm grip on his shoulders.  After shutting the bedroom door behind them, Arthur strong-armed Felix into sitting on his bed, then knelt and began to take off his shoes. Such a kind act, something Marinette would have done for him, made Felix’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. By the time Arthur retrieved his green bunny slippers and placed them on his feet, Felix burst into tears. Real tears streamed down his face, covering him in heat and salt. HIding his face again, he threw himself down onto his pillows and cried for the fear and the pain of it, cried for all he was worth… crying for all his relationship with Marinette was worth. *** The tea was stale. Amelie sipped at her great-great grandmother’s china teacup, which was royal blue with a gold rim as befit any Queen. It was a cup laden with history; with every sip, Amelie felt closer to the women in power who had come before her, the women who had paved the way for her future. To Marinette’s future. With a resounding crash, Amelie hurled her teacup into the fire.  Panting in rage, her hair askew and her fingers shaped into claws, Amelie surveyed what she had done and instantly regretted it. She lunged for the shards, nearly burning her fingers, when Arthur stayed her hands. “Your Majesty, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself,” he said softly, his voice tense with strain and worry. It was the worry that nearly undid her. Amelie prided herself for her self-control, and yet she had never felt so close to breaking. Over the past three days, she had watched her son’s grip on sanity falter; Felix had stopped showering, stopped eating, stopped sleeping , and all he could focus on was whether there was any news. Amelie didn’t know what to do, and when she heard Arthur’s solemn tone reminding her of just how far she had fallen, she nearly wept aloud. “I broke it,” she whimpered. “I broke it.” Arthur paused and she could feel him take a deep breath as if bracing himself for a blow. Then he helped her to her feet, turned her in his arms, and held her tight.

“Amelie,” he whispered. “You don’t always have to be so strong. Others want to help you too.” She did weep then, tears cascading down her cheeks, but she had no idea they had come from her eyes until they burned. Leaning into Arthur’s firm hold, Amelie centered herself, straightening her shoulders in his arms.  “Felix… He’s hurting so much.” “I know.” His hand rubbed comforting circles on her back, the other supporting her head as she laid it against his shoulder. “Felix loves her and he feels helpless. Of course it hurts when a man can’t help the woman he loves.” Amelie knew there was a deeper meaning to those words, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to tease it out. “Arthur,” she murmured, fixing her eyes over his shoulder at the flames licking the shards of her grandmother’s shattered history, “when I first brought you into Felix’s life, you made a promise to me. Do you remember?” “I remember everything … Your Majesty.” Arthur slowly released her and stepped away, tucking his hands behind his back and taking up his servant’s stance. Amelie’s limbs, despite feeling so deadened and heavy, trembled with renewed rage. “You promised me that you would do everything in your power to ensure Felix’s health, happiness, and hope. You promised me that you would neutralize any threat and ensure that he lived a life worth living. Do you remember?” Arthur took a knee before her, head bowed, like a knight of old. “I stand by my oath, my Queen. What would you have me do?” Amelie looked at Arthur, her vassal and champion, and for the first time since Colt had placed the crown of the Consort on her head, she felt the anger, power, and pride of every monarch before her.  “Find her. Find Marinette Dupain-Cheng and bring her home!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Everything was dark.
 
There was the dark stuffiness with a sense of movement.
 
There was the dark with people muttering in terse voices somewhere over her head.
 
Then there was the stale darkness. This darkness smelt of dust, paint, and cut wood. 
 
It took Marinette a long time to realize that she really

could

see. There was just no light where she was.
 
How long she had been there, fading in and out of consciousness, she had no idea. All she knew was that her wrists and ankles felt raw and her bones ached from being pulled behind her for so long. Her stomach squirmed and growled, but whether with hunger or nausea, she wasn’t able to tell. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was desperately thirsty - her tongue even clung to the roof of her mouth. If her lips hadn’t been covered in that blasted piece of tape, she probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything anyway.
 
The drifting in and out of consciousness came to an abrupt end as light stabbed her eyeballs with a vengeance. Pain split her head open; her eyes burned, and as she blinked away the spots, she saw a woman with teased red hair she could recognize in her sleep.
 
“Oh, poor baby,” Olivia Connor cooed, seizing Marinette’s hair and jerking her head up, forcing her to look her in the eyes. “You look

terrible

, Marinette!”
 
Marinette scowled, the sudden, sharp pain in her head making her thoughts crystal clear.

“Ha! I wasn’t aware we were on first-name terms.”

After twisting her fingers into her hair and tearing some of the strands out, Olivia dropped Marinette’s head abruptly, leaving it lolling at an unnatural angle. Forcing her head to raise on her sore neck took all Marinette had, but she wouldn’t let this

woman

look down on her for anything. 
 
She looked like a raccoon with deep bruises around her eyes where the blood had drained from her still-broken nose – and no amount of concealer could hide them. It gave Marinette some momentary satisfaction that she caused that harpy to look so awful.
 
Olivia circled around her like a hungry predator, her black heels clicking on the hardwood floor like the advancement of a giant beetle. “Oh, oh, oh, I bet he’s going just

bonkers

without you. But he’ll get over you soon enough.” She tittered, the sound harsh and grating on Marinette’s sore ears. “Then I’ll swoop in and rescue him! My Prince!”
 
Marinette managed a growl past the tape, a deep, angry sound that should have been a warning to any creature with the sense that God had given little green apples.

“Don’t you dare, you inflated, self-centered pig!”

Olivia frowned down at her. “Feisty, aren’t you?” She waved a manicured hand. “No matter. I’ll deliver you to

that man…

or maybe I won’t. Either way you’ll be out of my Prince’s life soon enough. You’re useless, you see.” 
 
Having heard such words for most of her formative years from bullies of all sorts, Marinette just snorted and rolled her eyes. “

You think you can scare me? I’ve dealt with bigger egos than yours. You’re no Chloe and Felix or Amelie could run circles around you. You’ve got nothing!”

A stinging hurt bloomed across her face as Olivia slapped her. And again. And again. Three times, each one harder than the last, the rings on her fingers cutting into Marinette’s skin with each blow. “You little freak. I don’t know what

that man

sees in you. You couldn’t design your way out of a paper bag!”
 
Marinette took a deep breath, trying to smother the moan the blows had given rise to.
 
Olivia smirked at the sound as she took a silk handkerchief from a black clutch purse and wiped her hands vigorously before pitching it over her shoulder.
 
“That’s a bit better, now isn’t it?” she purred. “Some payback for what happened last time. You broke my nose in three places, you know. The doctors say I’ll need cosmetic surgery to fix it, but that’s not too bad. They can fix the bump in my nose at the same time, and I'm taking it out of your hide anyway. Right,

sweetie

?”

“Just take this tape off and we’ll see if we can’t give them an excuse to construct you a new one.”

Marinette twisted and jerked, tearing the skin on her wrists and making her shoulders burn, but all to no avail.
 
Olivia gave her a nasty grin, opening her mouth to make some retort, but her phone

deet-deet-deetled

before she could say anything. She huffed, searching her clutch purse for the cell before picking up the call.
 
"Yes? Yes. She's alive." Olivia examined her nails, frowning as if Marinette's blood was inconvenient. "No, not unharmed, but I had to have my fun somewhere, right?"
 
Marinette strained to hear the voice on the other end. It was male and clearly irate.
 
Olivia jerked into a straighter position. "But–!" Her lips twisted into a moue of disappointment. "Okay,

fine

. Yes, Mr President. … Well, what am I

supposed

to call you? Mr Agreste?"
 
Marinette gasped beneath her tape. Mr Agreste… was part of this? Adrien’s father… Felix’s uncle… the man she had known as a harsh, grueling taskmaster for her friend and first love, the man who was the cause of the worst time in her life?
 
How? Did Adrien…
 
“

No. Adrien is too sweet and innocent to plan something like this,”

she thought, her mind churning with the possibilities. 
 
Then she recalled the Connor woman’s words.

“You little freak! I don’t know what that man sees in you. You couldn’t design your way out of a paper bag!”

“And Adrien called last fall and asked if I still had the designs for the living fabric pieces. Oh, snap! This is bigger than I thought! Why on earth would Gabriel make a big deal about me being unharmed? Because he could be charged as an accessory?”

“Ugh, such a boring man,” Olivia said in mild distaste as she hung up the phone to Gabriel’s yelling. “Still, I’ve found that even the most boring, pedantic, workaholic drones can have their uses.” She sighed and a dreamy look came into her dark eyes. “Now, Felix. There is nothing boring or humdrum about him. A real Prince in this dull, modern world! I was simply born out of time, you see. I should have been born a princess! Then all the best men would be fighting over me, not these loser pretty boys after my money. And Prince Felix is the best of them all!”
 
She leaned against the half-installed counter, clearly lost in a world of her own twisted making.
 
“He would come riding up on a white horse and punish all those naughty boys who hurt me. Then he would sweep me off to his palace and we would be married. Everything would be perfect.”
 
Olivia seemed to pull herself out of her daydream and glared at Marinette with eyes that glittered with hatred. “It would have been perfect! Except you had to seduce him and lure him away from me!”
 
Marinette’s heart started beating triple time. 
 
Her captor pulled herself upright and sauntered over to where Marinette was bound to a chair. Grabbing a fistful of her hair once more, Olivia pulled with almost enough force to shift her – chair and all.
 
Marinette screamed into her gag and tears burned in her eyes as pain tore across the top of her head like tissue paper. Her scalp, her neck muscles, and every nerve in her upper body shrieked in agony at the abuse.
 
“Ah, you’re starting to see now, aren’t you?” Olivia said, her voice and eyes no longer sane. “Felix is mine. He can’t fight destiny and, hehe, as long as you are out of the way… well, all’s fair in love and war, right?”
 
She gave Marinette’s hair one last savage shake before she dropped her, leaving her head to fall against the back of the chair.
 
As the room went gray around the edges, Marinette heard Olivia laugh.
 
“Now, if you will excuse me, my Prince is waiting,” she said.
 
Then the world was black once more.
 
***
 
The past week had been the longest days of Felix’s life.
 
At least, he thought it had been a week since Marinette had gone missing; he tended to lose track of time these days, zoning out in the war room where he spent all of his time. 
 
And not just waking hours; Felix often found himself jolting awake in his folding chair that now had a permanent dent from his accidentally sleeping in it. No one bothered him anymore. The detectives and servants had stopped talking to him when they realized he wouldn’t respond except to demand they leave him be, treating him more like a piece of furniture they had to scoot around than a living, breathing human being, much less the Crown Prince.
 
Felix couldn’t bring himself to be offended. He was too sad.
 
Three days ago – or was it two? One? – Harry, Marinette’s driver, had finally contacted the police. He’d been kidnapped, drugged, and dumped in a warehouse several hours’ drive away from London with no idea where he was or what had happened. 
 
Using CCTV footage, the special forces had tracked the limo to a warehouse but had found it scrubbed of evidence. Seven separate unmarked cars had taken off in seven separate directions, confusing the police and letting the trail go dead.
 
There was no ransom note, no demands, no contact from the kidnappers. 
 
There was

nothing.

The police hadn’t found a body yet. That was the only thing keeping Felix going.
 
Felix’s head hurt. It hadn’t stopped hurting for the duration, and he was beginning to think he’d never be free of his headaches again. Only Marinette had been able to soothe them, and if she were gon–
 
He didn’t even want to think it.
 
His stomach turned over, digesting itself. His face was at times drenched, at times dried out with tear dust, making his eyes burn and the skin around them pucker.
 
Felix stared ahead at nothing, wondering what there was left to focus on. A cold trail; no body; seven separate cars; his heart bound up tight like lips around a whimper; Marinette, gone–
 
A sudden movement jostled him. Felix blinked, finding himself pressed against a warm, hard chest dressed in a camouflage jacket. He craned his neck, glancing up at who had dared pick him up, only to meet the steely gaze of Arthur, his valet and oldest friend, completely changed from the soft, doddering father figure he had been all of Felix’s life. 
 
As he carried Felix to only heaven knew where Arthur wore a cypress green beret and a frighteningly determined expression. Felix hardly recognized the man. He looked like he was about to go to war.
 
Faced with such a monumental shift in the status quo, Felix started trembling in Arthur’s hold and couldn’t stop.
 
The valet carted him to his room, shutting the door behind them with his foot and laying Felix out on the bed like a sickly child. He certainly felt fragile, faced with the hard lines of Arthur’s downturned mouth.
 
Tears welled in Felix’s eyes. He was so sick of crying. So sick of being useless, helpless, feeble in a way he never had been, his heart having been ripped from his body and driven away in seven separate cars.
 
“She’s g…” Felix croaked, his mouth impossibly dry. He couldn’t finish the sentence, not only because it meant facing the impossible, but because Arthur gently shushed him. Felix buried his face in his hands, hiding from the one man who had always seen him. 
 
The mattress sagged as Arthur sat down onto it, and Felix felt his father figure’s hand stroking his hair in a move so tender, he couldn’t bear it when he stopped.
 
“I will bring her back, Felix,” Arthur promised without preamble and without follow-up.
 
Felix choked around his sobs, trying to tamp them down. Arthur had never called him by his given name before, so this was important. This was a true promise.
 
Hope burned like an ember in Felix’s chest, but he knew that it could soon be extinguished. The longer Marinette was missing, the colder the trail became, but Arthur sounded so confident, so much in charge, that Felix let him promise that and believed it.
 
***
 
After a while – days? – she'd stopped wetting herself. 
 
Marinette didn't have any water in her system left. Her throat stuck together and her lips cracked and bled. She sucked her tongue and scraped it across her teeth to try to generate saliva, but nothing she tried worked, even as desperate as she was for life-giving water.
 
And food, too. The tape hadn't left her lips and no one had brought her food, so the back of her throat was a yawning, burning emptiness.
 
More than anything, she wanted to be able to swallow. Never before had she prized the twin feelings of food sliding down her throat and her belly being full. She'd taken the fact that she'd always been able to eat for granted.
 
Marinette existed in a half-conscious state most of the time. When she was awake, her body trembled and ached, and she couldn't do anything about the searing pain in her head and shoulders.
 
Despair coursed through her veins, threatening to overtake her, until she had a single thought:

"She can't have him."

The rage that flooded her mouth – she bit down on her own tongue and tasted the copper tang of blood – overwhelmed her at first.
 
But anger was good. Anger gave her a

purpose.

Anger made her

think.

Marinette had examined her situation and determined that there was a way out: destroy the chair.
 
So, every time she was awake for more than a few minutes, she tugged on her handcuffs, using the chain to whittle away at the wood she was bound to.
 
Olivia appeared to have abandoned her to die, which was just

fine

with Marinette; it fueled her ire and gave her yet another reason to escape. 
 
Now, as she scraped the chain against the wood, hearing it creak and rasp beneath her, she drove herself forward with abject hatred.

"If she even gets close to him, I'll stop her!"

The wood squealed as she picked up the pace – but only for a few moments, as she found herself jerking awake again, disoriented for a minute or so. She felt lightheaded sitting down.

"I must have fainted. That's okay. I'll work at it."

The wood was stubborn, but so was Marinette. She kept going, even when her shoulders screamed for her to quit and her wrists became slippery with blood.

"I have to protect him. Save him! She can't sink her claws into him! No! Not while I'm ali–"

With a momentous

crack

, the wood splintered, leaving Marinette to fall forward onto her chin and scrape it across the dirty floor.

"Stand up. Stand up!

"
 
Rolling over onto her back took all the effort she thought she had, but she kept going. She pushed herself up to her feet through willpower alone, determined to get to Felix before Olivia could. As it was, it took almost everything she had to free herself from the wreckage of the chair and remove the tape from her mouth.
 
Staggering towards what she thought was the living room of an unfinished apartment, her vision fading in and out, Marinette put one foot in front of the other, making it to the doorway of the kitchen. A pitiful whine tore at her throat when the chrome faucet produced no water, the disappointment nearly sending her to the floor in her weakened state.
 
She leaned heavily against the counter, panting with exertion as the world blurred and the gray fog at the edge of her vision started creeping towards the center once more. 
 
Then she spotted what looked like a front door, and her heart soared. Finally, she could escape!
 
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and a dent the size of a soccer ball appeared in the door. Another impact and another, each rattling the hinges and splintering the frame around the door. Marinette's heart jumped into her scratchy throat. 
 
Was it Ambrose, come to drug her again? Did Olivia come back? Or was it someone else that Gabriel Agreste had sent to claim her?
 
As the possibilities ran rampant through Marinette's mind, she sank to her knees, her tears refusing to come even though her eyes burned.
 
The door burst from its hinges and the first thing she saw was the barrel of a gun.
 
But behind it, through the door, stepped a friend.
 
"Miss Marinette?" 
 
Surrounded by a halo of dust motes sparkling in the sunlight, Arthur Wemberly approached dressed in combat fatigues.
 
He caught her as she fell, relief flooding her every pore. Soldiers filtered in around him, all about as old as he was.
 
"It's alright, Miss Marinette," Arthur promised, cradling her against his chest. "You're safe."
 
That was all she heard before darkness claimed her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"She's safe." Felix nearly dropped the phone at those words, his heart thundering against his sternum.  Arthur had called him personally before alerting anyone else, and even in his anxious, just-woken-up state, Felix recognized that as a deliberate choice. The detectives around his folding chair were still reviewing footage, ordering servants around, or talking on phones themselves. Felix stood, lightheaded, and began nonchalantly walking out of the war room, even though all he wanted to do was leap and holler for joy. He rounded the corner in the hall, deciding the deserted area was quiet enough for him to whisper, “Where is she?” As he waited for Arthur to deliberate over his response, Felix’s steps quickened, one foot after the other in a pounding rhythm toward his quarters until he broke out into a run.  “She’s in hospital.”Felix’s breath hitched twice of its own accord, but because of worry, not his run. He slowed, resting his hand on the wall. “Why? Why is she in hospital if she is safe? Did they… hurt her?” “She’s safe.” That was all Arthur said for a few moments, leaving Felix’s mind to spiral on what, exactly, had happened to his little fool. But when Arthur next spoke, it was all Felix could do to not scream. “But yes. They hurt her.” 
Crack.
 The phone screen fractured in his hand, a thin line splitting the screen protector down the middle. Fury the likes of which Felix had never felt before exploded all over his body, making his jaw ache with the way he crushed his teeth together. “I’m coming to her now,” he snarled. “Which hospital?” Arthur’s response was deliberate and clearly premeditated. “Respectfully, I’m not going to tell you that, Your Royal Highness.” Now Felix couldn’t hold back his rage. He knew Arthur wasn’t at fault for hurting her – indeed, the man had saved Marinette – but he dared to keep her from him? “What do you mean you’re not going to tell me?!" Felix roared, tempted to rip the phone away from his ear and hurl it through the wall. “So help me, Arthur Wemberly–” “Have you eaten, Sir?” The question was even. Measured. Asked by an unflappable man. And the calm civility of it in the face of his outburst brought Felix up short. “N-No?” he stammered, taken aback. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Go eat, Sir. And take a shower.” They weren’t suggestions; they were orders, and Felix couldn’t help but want to obey. “Once you have taken care of yourself, I will invite you to come see her.” A burning, righteous indignation flared to life in Felix’s chest. Yes, he needed to eat. Yes, he needed a shower. He stank; he had patchy stubble all over his jaw; he was greasy and gross. But Arthur had no right! “So help me, Arthur, if you ever try this again, I will have you drawn and quartered for treason!” Felix growled, hanging up. Rather than hurling it at the floor, he pocketed his phone so he could call Arthur back immediately after he attended to this foolish business of looking after himself. Felix bolted to his quarters as if the hounds of hell were hot on his trail. He burst through the door to see Adrien seated on the sofa with his head buried in his hands. “She’s safe,” flew from Felix’s mouth before he could stop to think about the consequences of letting someone else know. But his cousin loved Marinette; he deserved to know.  Adrien’s head jerked up, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. “She’s safe?” “Yes.” Felix nodded like a bobblehead. “But she’s in hospital. They hurt her.”  Springing to his feet with his white knuckles popping, Adrien hissed like a feral cat. Felix had never seen him so angry. “They hurt her? Where is she?” “Arthur won’t tell me until I take a shower.” Adrien stared at Felix for a split-second before bursting into laughter tainted with a hysterical edge. “You’re kidding!” “It’s not funny!” Feeling like a chastised schoolboy, Felix reared back, wanting nothing more than to wipe that stupid grin off his stupid cousin’s stupid face. “Stop laughing!” Adrien not only didn’t stop laughing, he laughed himself to tears, collapsing back on the couch like a crumpled piece of tissue paper. He curled in on himself, covering his face again and breathing heavily. He radiated anger and hurt, and for a moment, Felix thought to comfort him… but that would take time Felix might not have. A brisk rat-tat-tat on the door – far too cheerful for the gloom that had fallen over the palace in the last few days – was followed quickly by the entrance of the last person Felix wanted to see. “Ah, Adrien. I thought I would find you here,” Gabriel said, his smile far too wide and pleased for Felix’s liking. “I just came to express my condolences to my dear nephew on the disappearance of his chambermaid . I know how much you treasure your servants , Felix.” Felix could feel his nails biting into the soft skin of his palms. His uncle looked far too smug, his tone too condescending, for his appearance to be a coincidence and his words were carefully chosen to twist the knife.  “There’s no way on earth he isn’t involved,” Felix thought. “Excuse me, Mr President, but this is not a convenient time for socializing,” Felix growled from between gritted teeth. “Why so formal, Felix?” Gabriel asked, one eyebrow raised and a smirk flitting around the corners of his mouth. “It’s at times like these that family must stick together, is it not?” “You go too far, Father,” Adrien declared, pulling himself together and moving to stand beside Felix. “Marinette has gone missing and even a blind man can observe that this is a bad time for a visit, let alone… this.” He waved his hand about in the air, indicating the man’s cheerful tone and behavior. “Tut tut,” Gabriel replied with a roll of his eyes. “So much fuss over the most common of girls. Little fools like her don’t deserve such attention.”  “How dare you?” Both Adrien and Felix cried with a single voice, equal in rage and purpose. “Marinette is hardly common,” Felix snarled. “You know very well that she is no such thing, Father,” Adrien growled. “Even you have been impressed with her time and again.” “True, she has some minor talent–” While Gabriel meandered on in that superior tone of his, Felix caught the glance his cousin cast him and it was like the years and disagreements had never happened between them. Adrien tilted his head ever so slightly and Felix nodded. As one, they stepped forward and each threw a punch straight into Gabriel’s face. The double assault sent the man’s eyes rolling back in his head and he dropped to the floor like a lead weight – heavy, useless, and just as poisonous – with blood dripping from his broken nose.

Felix grinned and shook his hand out, but Adrien hissed in pain and clutched his hand to his chest. Felix chuckled for the first time since Marinette had disappeared. “You hit the jaw, didn’t you?” Adrien whimpered and nodded, his knuckles already bruised and swelling. Felix nudged him with his shoulder and gave him a crooked grin. “Aim for the nose next time. It does more damage to him than it does to you.” “F-Fe, I just… and he said… I hit Father!” “And about ruddy time, if I may say so,” Felix said proudly, clapping his cousin on the back. “How did it feel?”

Adrien blinked and looked up at him in confusion. “What am I supposed to say, Fe? That it felt good to punch my father because he had hurt my ex-girlfriend and forced me to choose between him and her?” The pride and humor drained from Felix as quickly as they had come. “No, I guess not, Ri. I know how much you hate confrontations and this…” He gestured at the man now lying crumpled on the floor. “This was a confrontation of the worst kind.” To Felix's surprise, Adrien snorted. “For you, maybe. For me, this was just a ‘domestic disturbance’, but for you it’s now an international incident.” “Ugh! Don’t remind me, you little brat!” Felix tousled his cousin’s hair in fond exasperation. “Come on, Ri. Let’s go find Mother and see what she wants to do with this cretin.” *** A persistent beeping sound tugged at Marinette’s consciousness. It wasn’t loud enough to be her wake up alarm and its high pitch stabbed through her aching head like an ice pick. Groaning, she tried to raise her hand to rub her head and felt a tug and a stinging pinch in her arm. “Marinette, don't struggle, sweetheart," a booming male voice gently commanded her, and Marinette was so overwhelmed, she couldn't help but obey. "You'll pull out your IV, and you need those fluids. You're dehydrated." She knew that voice. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't recognize him as her father until she opened her eyes and peered into his blotchy, concerned face. "Papa," Marinette croaked, her throat mercifully wetter than it had been but still dry enough to make her voice rasp. She reached for him, and he immediately took her hand, his large fingers warm and his shoulders hunched as he tried to crowd next to a hospital bed that was too small for him. "Girl!" Alya cried, leaping out of her chair on the other side of Marinette. "It's so good to see you awake!" Marinette wondered for a brief moment how long she was out but then decided she didn't want to know. "You… too."  Marinette glanced around the room, looking for someone. She couldn't quite remember whom she missed so badly; her brain was foggy and having a hard time grasping facts as if she were trying to hold rough granules of sand in her fist. "He'll be here soon," Tom said sympathetically, and the thought of who it was slammed into her heart with all the intensity of a freight train. 
"Felix!" 
 Memories came crashing back into place in her mind, making her gasp and the heart monitor to start beeping frantically. 
Pain… that horrible thirst… the empty ache in her stomach that burned her throat…
 
“Ah, you’re starting to see now, aren’t you?” Those eyes weren’t sane as they tore into her like the hands tore her hair from her scalp. “Felix is mine. He can’t fight destiny and, hehe, as long as you are out of the way… well, all’s fair in love and war, right?”
 
She could hear the sound of people moving around her, machines blaring warnings, and a babble of voices, but she couldn’t seem to break free to understand them. She was too weak, her wrists hurt, the chair wouldn’t break, and she was so very, very thirsty!
 
Darkness, blood, and pain all coalesced to form the black pearl of fear that Olivia would get to Felix first.
 
Felix! Was he okay? Had that nasty woman got to him?
 “Marinette!” called a loud voice, stabbing a lance of pain through her skull. “I need you to breathe. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you here, but I need you to breathe!” She struggled to draw air into her lungs, but it caught in her dry throat and started her coughing and gagging. Just breathing hurt and she couldn’t stay here – wherever here was. She had to find Felix before Olivia did! “Breathe, girl!” Alya exclaimed, her voice quivering with anxiety. “I promise you that nothing and no one will hurt you as long as we’re here! Breathe before you pass out again!” Marinette had never heard Alya so scared and that knowledge seemed to flip a switch inside her. She forced a breath in and then out slowly. Then again. Every breath stung her nose and throat and left a painful stitch in her ribs, but it cleared the graying edges of the world and let faces swim slowly back into focus. “Water,” she whispered desperately, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten while every breath seemed to drive her further into the mattress. “Not right away,” a nurse said sternly. Marinette hadn't even known she was there. “You’ve suffered extreme dehydration as well as a lack of proper nourishment. I know you’re thirsty, but if you take in too much at once, you’ll just throw it up again.” She glanced over at Alya. “You can feed her ice chips and just two or three at a time. If she keeps those down and keeps responding to the fluids, then she can have water in a few hours.” “Sure, sure,” Alya said gratefully, already reaching for the pitcher of ice on the nearby table. "Here you are, Marinette." Marinette had never tasted something so cold and refreshing as the ice chip Alya pressed into her mouth. She sucked on the melting ice, wishing it would do more to soothe her parched throat. But for now, it was enough. Tom stroked her hand as Alya fed her a few more. If Marinette had had the tears to cry, she would have cried then, but she was so sick of sobbing. She didn't want her friends and family to see her that weak, especially Felix. Felix… Was he alright? Marinette didn't know it was possible to worry about someone so much. If she didn't see him soon, she was going to go mad – The door burst open, rocking back on its squealing hinges. The crash of the doorknob slamming into the jamb echoed in Marinette's ears, but she forgave all instances of noise when she saw who'd entered. "Felix," she rasped, and suddenly, all was right with the world. His green eyes were wide and frantic, and his blond hair was wet and plastered to his head. Water dripped off his nose and strands of his hair as if he'd leapt into the shower and leapt out without drying off. Eyes landing on her, Felix drew a shuddering breath, and Marinette knew that until that moment, breathing had been just as difficult for him as it had been for her. Something inside her chest loosened at seeing the way his shoulders dropped, tension flowing out of him like water. He strode forward, eating up the few feet between them with his long, powerful steps, and sank into the chair Alya offered him before taking her free hand in both of his. Behind him, Adrien dashed in, looking just as frantic. His presence shocked Marinette to her core, but she couldn’t deal with that now! She only had eyes for Felix. “Hey,” she rasped, smiling for the first time in days. The smile pulled at muscles that had been doing the opposite for far too long and the movement hurt to the point it caused a spasm in her cheek. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just swallowed convulsively as he took in every inch of her and made her aware of a thousand aches and stings she hadn’t noticed before. “I didn’t… I thought…”  He swallowed again, his dark green eyes welling with tears of pain and relief. Marinette could feel him trembling against her hand and she knew it was all he could do not to just scoop her up in his arms and fall apart entirely.  She knew that Felix was close to the breaking point. The fact that he was being so open about it in front of other people was a clear sign of his continued state of anxiety – especially in front of Adrien who was skulking near the door with Alya as a nagging presence in the corner of Marinette's eye. She had to address why he was there sometime, but Felix was the only person she wanted to see and he needed her to be strong for him right now. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, ignoring the stinging stab of pain, and leaned her head towards him, about all the movement she was capable of at the moment. “I know,” she whispered. “Me too.” Felix gave a loud sniffle, then looked up at the nurse who had been changing out the bags of IV fluid. “Is she okay? What did they do to her? When can I take her home?” The nurse, a matronly middle-aged woman with strands of white mixing in with her red hair, shook her head. “She is severely dehydrated and malnourished, Sir. That was the critical care that we are addressing with fluids. She also has had a previous injury to her scalp that has reopened and been aggravated, resulting in a minor infection which we are treating with antibiotics, and most likely a sprained shoulder. Lots of scrapes, cuts, and bruises, but most of them look worse than they are. As for her wrists–" Felix jerked his hands away from hers, leaving it empty and aching. For the first time, Marinette noticed that her wrists were wrapped in light gauze, dried blood staining it brown while a bright red hue indicated that the scabs hadn’t formed yet. Tom sucked a breath over his teeth. The nurse tutted and set about gathering her supplies to change the dressing. “Her wrists received some pretty serious trauma. The handcuffs rubbed the skin clear off them. If it had kept going, she could have lost the use of her hands. As it is, there may have been some nerve damage." The thought that she may have lost her ability to create, to design, to express herself through the things she made brought bile rushing into her mouth. Marinette retched, and the nurse was quick to hold out a bedpan, and Felix himself looked green around the gills. Adrien let loose a string of foul French proverbs Marinette didn't quite catch, and Alya punched the wall. Tom, for his part, collapsed into the nearby chair and wept. Felix reached for her hand again, only to stop himself and fist his trembling hand in the blanket that covered her. “When can I take her home?” he said softly, though his voice was deeper and a chesty growl supported it as his eyes flashed with anger. “She needs another few days of fluids and we are bringing in a specialist to see if grafts are needed, but we want to keep her here for observation anyway because of the head wound. The doctors will be able to give you a better idea when they make their rounds again.” Felix nodded curtly and let the nurse finish her work, but he didn’t move from the chair at Marinette’s side nor did he stop fidgeting until she had left the room. “I’m afraid to touch you,” he murmured, his voice strained. “It seems like you are hurt everywhere and I can’t even hold you!” His voice grew higher, as if his vocal chords were being stretched to the point of snapping and Marinette was physically unable to comfort him. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Bagheera.” Oh, how she wished she could do more than just whisper! Adrien stepped forward, clasping Felix on the shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Felix,” he said. “Arthur found her in time. She’s safe and Father is being held on suspicion of stealing Marinette’s designs. Everything is going to be okay.” Marinette gasped, which shifted to a coughing spasm again. Alya, ever watchful, handed the pitcher of ice and the spoon to Felix, gesturing for him to give some to Marinette. The ice felt good melting on her tongue and trickling down her throat, but she had more important things to worry about. “Your… father?!” she croaked in alarm, staring wide eyed at Adrien. “She… talked to him… on the phone! I heard her say… his name!” Every head in the room jerked up and every pair of eyes was focused on her. “Who?” Felix growled, his hands fisting once more in her blanket. “C-Connor,” she managed, the hard consonant scraping her throat raw once more. A snapping, cracking sound ricocheted across the room, and Marinette only belatedly realized it was Felix clenching his fists. Setting the pitcher on her bedside table, he sprang from his seat, pacing with his whitening knuckles clenched at his sides. The purpling of his cheeks was awful, and his eyes… Marinette had never seen him so angry and the intensity of his rage was terrifying. Then Adrien, bless him, opened his big mouth. "Who's Connor?" "Felix's stalker," Alya snapped, crossing to Marinette's bed with cocked hips and folded arms. She picked up the pitcher and began spooning ice into Marinette's mouth, who was glad to focus on anything but the storm cloud darkening the corner of the room. "Wasn't that the woman who'd pulled you from the car?" Tom wondered aloud, drawing closer to Marinette and then spiraling away. He looked like he wanted to give her a hug but also didn't want to touch her. Either option seemed to pain him. "I read about it in the Guardian when I got here." "That was my report," Alya said and while Marinette expected to find pride in her friend's voice, she only heard weary resignation. Listening to her friends talk about what had happened to her felt surreal. "If only there was something more I could have done…" Then Felix jerked the door Adrien had closed behind him open with such violent force that the hinges screamed.  "Arthur." The Ice Prince's voice was unrecognizable. It was a cold, animalistic snarl that sent chills spilling down Marinette's spine. The occupants of the room stilled, a pregnant pause giving birth to a terrible silence. Still in his military uniform, Arthur popped his head into the doorway. "Yes, Your Royal Highness?" "Find the Connor woman." Felix's fingers bit into the door trim, looking as if they might break with how unnaturally they'd bent. Marinette's jaw dropped as she watched the love of her life transform before her eyes, his heavy breaths shaking his lithe frame. "Throw her in jail and swallow the key. I want her to rot. " She remembered Felix descending on the scumbag that molested her at the Christmas Ball, his rage held in tight check even as he struck the man in the jaw. How angry he had been when Adrien had appeared unannounced and had treated her as if nothing had ever happened between them. 
“I’ll have you know I am descended from a long line of medieval warrior kings who spent their winters carousing and their summers trying to slaughter each other over scraps of marshland.”
 For all their joking about white horses and fairy tales, it struck her clearly through the fog of painkillers that this wasn’t Felix the Prince, nor Felix the man… This was Felix the King. And not just any old king out of legend or storybook. This was a king who represented something more than crown and wealth. All the various symbolic elements she’d had to go through prior to crafting his regalia rose up before her mind’s eye, wrapping around him as he stood angrily in the doorway. This anger was not something to be feared by the weak, the poor, or the good. This was the righteous wrath of a king who fought for those who could not fight for themselves… … and the one who delivered justice to the oppressor and the wicked. "Yes, Sir." Arthur saluted crisply. "Er… by the way, there are two delivery men here, trying to figure out how to fit half a greenhouse's worth of flowers into Miss Marinette's room." In the space of a breath, Felix shifted into a man again – a rumpled, sheepish one that looked a bit discombobulated to boot. He ran a hand over his head, making his drying hair stick up in odd places. "Oh, um…" He turned back to Marinette, meeting her eyes with a look that was positively weak with embarrassment. "I forgot I ordered those." Alya snorted, Adrien chuckled, and Tom boomed with laughter. The tension popped like a soap bubble, leaving Marinette dizzy with the emotional whiplash. "I love you," she burst out, needing Felix to hear it before he heard anything else. All eyes focused on her as her voice scraped around the room. Felix rushed back to her side, holding out his hands as if he wanted to embrace her, but didn’t know if he should. Despite the burning stab in her wrists that matched her pulse, Marinette held out her hand for his. Tentatively, he placed his large hand in hers and she brought it to her lips for a kiss before nuzzling against it with her cheek. Felix blushed darkly, but he didn’t resist when Adrien pushed him back down in the chair. “Okay, boys. Let’s give these two lovebirds some time alone,” Alya declared, making sure the pitcher of half melted ice chips was at hand and gestured Tom and Adrien out of the room. When they had stepped out, Arthur escorted in the two very awed delivery men with what looked like fountain sprays of pink and red roses, white daisies, purple irises, and large sunflowers. Both men bowed and left, wide-eyed and speechless at the large tip Arthur handed each of them. After securing the door behind the two men, Arthur came over to the other side of the bed.  “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner, Miss,” he murmured roughly, taking off his cypress green tent beret and spinning it around in his hands. “No. You did beautifully, Arthur,” Marinette croaked. “Thank you.” She sighed. Her throat felt tight and raw. Even what little voice she had was fading fast. She had so much to say and she doubted she would get out half of it before her voice gave out entirely, with no telling when she would get it back. Felix caressed her cheek tenderly. “Don’t talk, my love. Just rest. Arthur, can you please arrange a small whiteboard and pens?” “Of course, Sir,” Arthur replied. “And just so you both know, the men stationed outside the door are mine. I know and trust each and every one of them. If anyone tries anything…” The valet cleared his throat intentionally, leaving the sentence hanging, but left the impression that the bodies of such perpetrators would never be found. He saluted smartly and left the two of them alone at last. Marinette watched as Felix’s face sagged, then his head, then his shoulders until he was weeping riotously into her blanket, hands fisted in impotent fury. She should have felt relieved that he was safe, that he was with her and everything was going to be alright. But to see her Bagheera broken, anguished, and weeping completely unrestrained was more than she could handle just then. Slowly, she placed her hand gently on his hair, feeling the softness of it and the slight dampness of the strands underneath. She smiled. He had forgotten to gel his hair in his rush to see her. Somehow, that lifted some of the burden she felt at his moment of purging emotions, even as it made her eyes burn in the absence of much-needed tears. “It’s okay, Bagheera,” she whispered, what was left of her voice crackling at the edges. “I’m here… we’ll get through…” Felix sat up and gave her a strange look, one third relief, one third stern, and one third annoyed.He leaned over her and pressed the slightest of kisses on her lips. “When will you learn to listen to your Prince, little fool?” he said with a playful roll of his eyes. “Besides, it is well past time I started taking care of you .”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

LONDON AP – Former President of France Gabriel Agreste was convicted today of conspiracy to commit kidnapping connected to the abduction and torture of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the beloved Sweetheart of London and girlfriend of the Prince of Wales.

Agreste allegedly hired a professional gang of kidnappers to seize Dupain-Cheng, involving her erstwhile stalker, Olivia Connor, who has also been convicted of similar charges among others.

Agreste was charged with and convicted of conspiracy to commit kidnapping, conspiracy to commit abduction, inciting grievous bodily harm, extortion, and committing slander against several members of the Royal Family.

Based on these charges, Agreste will be serving the maximum sentence of life in prison at HMP Belmarsh with visitation rights granted to no one but his son, Adrien Agreste.

“What he did was just terrible,” the younger Agreste, who once dated Dupain-Cheng, said. “I don’t condone any of my father’s actions and he deserves to rot in jail for what he did to Marinette.”

During her four days of capture. Dupain-Cheng allegedly suffered injuries that resulted in permanent damage to her hands. With an eye for fashion, she has sparked a popular trend of wearing lace gloves and is more adored by the public than ever.

“Oh, she’s just lovely,” Elaine Kilter, a prominent London fashion designer who expressed a desire to work with Dupain-Cheng, said. “What happened to her was awful. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Gabriel Agreste was also convicted of intellectual property theft for stealing Dupain-Cheng’s designs, a possible motive for the kidnapping.

The Royal Family declined to comment on the situation, but issued a formal statement condemning the elder Agreste and Connor. When Gabriel Agreste fled to France, the Queen Regent urged the Prime Minister to arrest him, prompting a vote of no confidence by the French Parliament and his extradition to London.

While being escorted out of the court in irons, the former president declined to comment.

“Miss Cesaire is certainly a good writer,” Felix commented, folding the newspaper with satisfaction and placing it on his coffee table. “Her report was succinct yet detailed without being lurid or gossipy.”
 
“I’ll make sure to tell her you approve.” Marinette leaned against his shoulder as she stretched out on the sofa in his sitting room, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Are you sure I can’t-”
 
“No embroidery!” he declared firmly. “You heard what the doctor said, Marinette. No heavy lifting for another month and nothing more strenuous for your hands than writing for five minutes. You and I both know you hunch over your sewing when you’re concentrating, which isn’t good for your shoulder, and the motions for embroidery aren’t safe for your wrists yet.”
 
She gave a blustery sigh. “I know,” she replied with a pout that Felix found adorable. “I just feel so useless! I can’t work on your regalia and there is still so much to be done that I feel guilty for leaving Carlotta in charge of it all!”
 
Felix shifted so he could wrap his arm around her in comfort and support. He would never get tired of holding her and, if he was being honest with himself, he was still terrified to have her out of his sight. It was something he probably needed to bring up with his therapist, but it still felt too raw – too personal – for him to talk about just yet. The memory of Marinette lying in that hospital bed, her eyes dull, dark hollows in her gray face still made him sick to his stomach and her delicate hands wrapped in gauze, the blood soaking through the white layers, either kept him awake at night or gave him terrifying nightmares that woke him screaming in a cold sweat.
 
Marinette turned under his arm to place a hand on his chest, right over his heart. Her eyes were once more bright and dynamic when she looked up at him before tears welled up in his own to obscure them.
 
“You're shaking,” she murmured lovingly, her fingers playing with the buttons on his polo shirt - his concession to the casual nature of their time together that day. “What’s wrong, Bagheera? Talk to me. Please?”
 
He pulled her against him as tightly as he could, fighting to subdue the sobs  threatening to break out even as the tremors passed through. A sharp sting burned high in his nose and he buried his face in her loose hair, breathing in honeysuckle as a soothing balm.
 
“It’s okay, love. I’m here. I’m safe. Everything–”
 
“Don’t tell me everything is going to be alright,” he growled angrily, his hands fisting into the fabric of her blouse. “How can it be alright when I can’t even protect the woman I love from my uncle and a crazed lunatic who is facing life in Broadmoor Hospital for the Criminally Insane? You keep saying you feel useless because you can’t work.

I

spiraled into near catatonia when you went missing!

I’m

the one that is useless!”
 
“Don’t say that,” she said sternly, pulling out of his hold just enough to grab his face between her hands. The lace of her fingerless gloves felt rough against his face - a painful reminder of her injuries. “It wasn’t your fault, Felix.

I

fell for their scheme.

I

wasn’t thinking clearly. It was Gabriel’s fault and Olivia’s fault. Never yours! You’ve always taken good care of me.” She chuckled weakly. “Even when neither of us realized it at the time.”
 
Felix sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I know, but I would have done anything to get you back and I couldn’t do anything! I’m just a worthless figurehead–”
 
She pressed a quick kiss on his lips to silence him. “No. You’re not just a figurehead and you are hardly worthless. That day… in the hospital? I saw you – the real you – King Felix. You may not be an absolute monarch like your ancestors, but I am willing to bet all income from my living fabric designs that you will be much more beloved than they were. You care about people, you care about your history, and you want to build a better future for those who can’t do it for themselves. That isn't a weakness. That is an amazing strength and I am so proud of how far you have come.”
 
Felix’s cheeks burned, embarrassed and ashamed at her praise which he felt was undeserved. “I wouldn’t be any of those things if it hadn’t been for you, little fool.” 
 
She pursed her lips in frustration. Taking her hands away from his face, Marinette removed her lace gloves and held her bare hands up at eye level. “Tell me. What do you see?”
 
She had been wearing the gloves for two straight weeks now, as soon as the bandages had been removed, and he had almost forgotten what her bare hands looked like. It was almost like her undressing in front of him and his cheeks darkened even as the sight of the red, puckered scars made him feel like he had swallowed an icicle.
 
“What do you see, Felix?” she repeated softly, tenderly, and without any hint of pain or blame.  She knew he held enough of that for both of them.
 
“Pain…” His voice broke over the word. “Suffering…betrayal… hurt… failure.”
 
She turned her wrist to look at it herself as if she was considering his words. Then she shook her head. “That’s not what I see.”
 
Her voice was gentle, but her expression was strong, as determined and spirited as the day she had broken his nose… the night she had kissed him for the first time… the night they had argued after his trip. For all his self-deprecation, he couldn’t help but marvel at her resilience and wonder what she saw in the marks of her torture.
 
She traced the lines of reddened, swollen flesh with all the intensity she would pay to the seams of his coronation cloak. “I see pain, yes. I can’t deny that. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget what happened to me, but these scars are not from anyone hurting me.”
 
“What?” Felix cried, perplexed. The thought threw his mind into chaos. The gears wouldn’t mesh and he felt sick to his stomach once more. “But I saw… those weren’t there before!”
 
“You’re right. They weren’t,” she replied, far too easily for his state of mind and heart. Then Marinette took his face in her bare hands, the tips of her fingers tickling his sideburns. “These scars are signs of my love and concern for you. You see, my Bagheera, before Olivia left she told me that she was going after

you

. I knew I had to get out of there so I could warn you – protect you! I love you, Felix Fathom, and I refuse to let you blame yourself for injuries I gave myself trying to escape. Didn’t Arthur tell you how he found me?”
 
Felix shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me and… I was so relieved to have you back, safe and sound, that I didn’t think to ask. In fact–” And here he blushed in embarrassment. “–He wouldn’t even tell me what hospital you were in until I had showered and eaten.”
 
Marinette’s grin quickly encompassed her whole face and her giggle was infectious. “Good for him! I knew I could count on him to take care of you.”
 
“Hmmmph! If he tries it again, I will have him drawn and quartered for treason,” Felix grumbled, sullenly. "I don't think you know how frantic I was to get to you."
 
She gently wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Felix. I really am. But the point is, I was just as frantic to get back to

you

. Felix, my Bagheera, who loves Shakespearean comedies and taking pictures and who hates parties as much as he hates the thought of being King. The weirdo who thinks I look hot when punching someone, the man who called me a fool because I told him the truth… the man I was falling in love with long before I realized that I didn’t hate you!”
 
She shifted slightly and pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips and he couldn’t help feeling some of the tension he was carrying flow away like water from a broken jug. “Because I do love you, my Prince, and I'm the one who decides what I am willing to give to be with you.”
 
She held out her hands to him once more. “These scars are a small price to pay.”
 
Felix blinked hard, willing his tears away. Gently taking one of her hands in his, he traced the jagged, red lines of her skin grafts with a feather-light touch and kissed her palm. 
 
"There are so many things I admire about you, my little fool. Your resilience, your determination, your ability to never stop fighting for what you want is at the top of the list. Please,

please

allow your humble servant to fight alongside you."
 
Her face turned scarlet and her bottom lip crept up between her teeth. She looked down hurriedly, clearly nervous about him meeting her eyes.
 
Felix tipped her chin up with a finger. "What's wrong, dear heart?"
 
“Adrien was there when I woke up, wasn’t he?” she asked, her voice smaller and less confident than before.
 
He couldn’t blame her after what had come to light at the trial. It turns out that Gabriel had shot himself in the foot when he had told Adrien to break up with Marinette. He had been piggybacking off her designs for years and, when she left, he lost one of his brand’s greatest secret assets. His goal in assisting the Connor woman in Marinette’s kidnapping was to have Adrien rescue her and whisk her back to France and family where he would magnanimously apologize for breaking up the two and allow Marinette and Adrien to marry. He hadn’t counted on Connor’s particular brand of obsession, Adrien discovering the files pertaining to Gabriel’s illicit activities, and the love between Felix and Marinette. It was the major reason Felix and Adrien had both refused to attend the trial except when they were called as witnesses. Neither cousin was confident enough in their self control to keep from punching the man – publicity or no publicity.
 
Heart twisting in his chest, Felix cupped her cheeks in his hands. "He was, love. He was the one who'd brought us proof that Gabriel had stolen your designs, among other incriminating things. Adrien was just as frantic as I was to see you. I know that he wasn't the best person to see when you woke up, but I didn't have the heart to deny him when he'd been so useful."
 
“I know you had Arthur follow us when we went to lunch last time, but–”
 
"Eeeh, I am sorry about that, little fool. I am a paranoid sort but that's no excuse."
 
“No! No. I just… what did Arthur tell you about that meeting?”
 
Felix winced. 
 
What had Arthur said? He cast his mind back like a fishing rod, searching for the correct words.
 
"Arthur didn't tell me much. He said you'd wanted someone to fight for you and beside you and that person wasn't Adrien." Felix chuckled at the memory, abashed. "I was beside myself! I had no idea which lucky man had caught your eye and it took me ages to figure it out."
 
She snorted and shook her head with a wry smile. “Silly boy. I’m not the kind of girl who just kisses anyone for the fun of it. Kisses are special and are only for the people I love.” She draped her hands back around his neck so she could play with the back of his hair. “I was afraid after our kiss at Anmer Hall that you thought it was a mistake. That is why I retreated the way I did. I love you, Felix, and you have been fighting for me all this time. You saw my loneliness and gave me Prince. You tried to give me a holiday and helped me overcome my fears of horses – or at least ride one. You have been protecting me all this while. Please don’t underestimate how much you have already done for me and how much I love and admire you for it.”
 
Sniffling, Felix kissed both her rosy cheeks. "I don't know how to top that. You win the compliment war."
 
“Oh! Were we at war?” Her eyes danced with mischief and Felix swallowed hard. “I wasn’t aware of that little fact. Hmmm, as the victor, what is my prize?”
 
Screwing up his face as though he was thinking hard, Felix divulged the plans he had already made for the day.
 
"I believe James has been instructed to provide us with a picnic lunch involving lemon tarts and apple cider. Fancy a picnic in the gazebo at the Rose Walk where you'd put me in my place in the rain?"
 
“Only if you don’t mind there being one rose in the garden with thorns.”
 
Stroking her scars, Felix kissed her fingertips. "I would like nothing more."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next several weeks were just a blur for Marinette. The doctor finally cleared her for light sewing, but only for two hours a day and she threw herself into those two hours like a woman possessed. The entire Wardrobe Team had daily meetings, but regalia central was the settee in the Rose Suite where Marinette would lock herself away for two hours a day, losing herself in the wonder of velvet, silk, and gold thread.

“I have to get this done soon,”

she thought as she embroidered the silk lining of Felix’s coronation robe.

“Felix defends his thesis this week and after that it is only two weeks until the coronation.”

She had been forced to let Carlotta and Edmund, the two senior members of her team, finish Felix’s suit, vestal garment, sash, and regimental uniform. Even the cloak itself, meticulously designed by her with Felix’s comfort and dignity in mind, had been taken out of her hands - quite literally - and while the work was flawless, she still wanted to add her own special touch.
 
Marinette had planned a special surprise for his coronation, something just between them that no one else could see or try to misinterpret. The damage to her wrists had halted her progress, but now she was working as quickly as she dared. Felix would never forgive himself if she reinjured her hands on his account.

“Besides, he is so jittery right now,”

she thought as she rethreaded her needle with red silk.

“Only two days left for him to prepare for presenting his thesis to the doctoral committee. After everything that has been going on, I don’t know how Felix is holding it together so well. Good thing Arthur suggested I take him for a long weekend at Anmer Hall when this is over. I think we need it.”

Her hands were starting to ache from the cramped position and the tight hold on the needle. With a sigh, Marinette laid the length of silk lining with its precious images aside. She knew she needed to rest before the ache became stabbing pain, but she begrudged even this limitation to her work. She finally had what she had always dreamed of. She was creating the Royal coronation regalia of the King of England and-
 
Arms wrapped around her from behind, and Marinette acted on instinct. Ignoring the sharp jolt of pain in her wrists, she seized the assailant by the forearms and flipped them over her shoulder and the settee. She was standing and had her foot pressed against their throat before she realized…
 
Felix! 
 
His hair was mussed and she could see the whites of his eyes. He was staring up at her with a mixture of horror and absolute wonder. 
 
“Well,” he choked once she hastily removed her foot, “I guess surprise entrances are out!”
 
“Felix, oh! I am so so sorry! I didn’t – I mean, I wouldn’t– you–”
 
“No, my love,” he murmured as she helped him to his feet, making her hands shockingly sore, but she knew it was worth the pain. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been thinking… You were just…”
 
His eyes flicked down to her hands and shrugged helplessly. “I came in to make sure you were resting.”
 
“What? After the way you fussed at me last time?” She gave him a nervous smile and his fingers a gentle squeeze, trying to suppress a hiss of pain. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
 
Something in her expression must have given her away because Felix’s gaze darkened. He pressed gentle kisses to each of her fingertips, one by one.
 
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “that I’ve made your aches worse.” He didn’t let her respond before giving her an uneasy smile and saying, “But I was wondering… Did you want to have lunch with me and Arthur?”
 
“Of course! I’m starved and Maman always says that good food is almost as good as medicine.”
 
“And there’s nothing so good as Nonna’s chicken parmesan,” Felix joked, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “Are you looking forward to going to Anmer Hall for a rest after this kerfuffle is over?”
 
Marinette sighed and leaned against his chest, wrapping him up in a hug. “Yes. You have no idea how much. It would be nice to be able to walk outside without being mobbed. I’m getting used to it, but I could really use some quiet time alone with my Bagheera.” She tapped him on the nose. “Lately, I have been sharing you with your laptop more days than not.”
 
Felix ducked, a sheepish grin overtaking his entire face and making her laugh. “Yeah, about that… I’m almost prepared to defend my thesis. I think.”
 
She gave him a reassuring smile. It was amazing that just over a year ago, this man had been called the Ice Prince and was known to terrorize servants for the fun of it. “Well, I

know

you’re ready. You put in the book work and research and you are even putting your theories into practical tests. They can’t ask for better.”
 
Felix flushed, his cheeks blooming with color like a rose with thorns. “You always know how to make me strong. One of these days, I’ll return the favor!” He tucked her hand in his elbow and began escorting her out. “But for now, lunch.”
 
***
 
Defending his thesis was just as stressful as he’d feared, hitching his shoulders up and creating an ache in the muscles at the top of his spine. Felix held his head high and answered the general and specific questions related to his work as best as he was able, but he still sweated bullets while facing the live-streaming cameras.
 
“As you can see, sirs, madam, the poorest areas of a major metropolis like London also have the highest concentration of abandoned or condemned buildings, many of a historical nature.” Felix gestured behind him at the slide with the relevant correlated data. “It is a well-known fact that upward mobility needs a strong community foundation in order to have the greatest impact. Converting these otherwise useless buildings into community-based support centers is beneficial for everyone involved.” 
 
Taking a deep breath, Felix resisted the urge to run a hand over his hair and launched into his concluding remarks. “By providing jobs for the refurbishment, an influx to local businesses, and on-the-job training as well as the resources the centers provide, these projects help lift more of our neighbors out of poverty and encourage greater community involvement and support for the next generations. Thank you. Are there any further questions?”
 
The applause that met him in lieu of further questioning eased his frantic mind a bit, but Felix wasn’t able to relax until he banged the door open to his quarters where Marinette was waiting with ginger biscuits and tea.
 
Marinette leaped into his arms with a happy squeal. “Oh, Felix! I’m so proud of you! You were amazing! I bet they were completely gobsmacked!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist to steady herself.
 
She was too much. Heat exploded in his chest, rushing up to his face and out his mouth in a hot declaration of, “I love you,” before he captured her lips with his.
 
Marinette returned his passion with her own, grasping his face and pulling him forward. She maneuvered his head exactly where she wanted it: a better angle for her to access his lips while he held her aloft. 
 
Felix’s knees trembled, weak from the love that Marinette was pouring into him. It felt like a culmination of everything they’d been through together: pranks, understanding, sadness, abject terror, and adoration. She was kissing him

down,

held up above him by his own hands and the ever-tightening grip of her legs around his waist. It was all Felix could do to keep his grasp on her.
 
The new angle was thrilling, but Felix soon had to stagger back to the couch to take a seat lest he fall over entirely and drop them both. The effect of dropping into the cushions broke the kiss, and both of them collapsed into a heap of awkward giggles.
 
“S-Sorry,” she managed through her laughter, eyes bright with happy tears and her hair coming all undone from her messy bun. “I shouldn’t have-”
 
“No!” Felix burst out, unable to resist the temptation to run his fingers through her hair and free the strands entirely from their tie. Dropping it unceremoniously on the floor by the couch, he threaded his long fingers through her hair and used the pads of his fingers to massage gentle circles into her scalp. “No, don’t apologize. I liked it; I was just… overwhelmed.”
 
He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t as strong as he had been – Felix was positively weak for her in every sense of the word. She was his lighthouse, his storm anchor, his lodestone. She was his greatest treasure and his greatest weakness. He never wanted to let her out of his sight again and every time he had to be parted from her left him with the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat while his heart rate crept higher the longer they were apart. His therapist had told him this was normal, natural, and that it would fade in time, but for now, he didn’t mind showing her how much she affected him.
 
Marinette leaned into his touch, closing her eyes with an expression of bliss. If she were a kitten, she’d be butting her head against his hand in an implicit demand for comfort and purring. The comparison made her Bagheera smile. 
 
“The Ice Prince overwhelmed by kisses?” she teased, making him melt all over again. “Who would have thought!”
 
“Hey, now.” Grinning, he placed a brief kiss on her nose, which made her wrinkle it, prompting a laugh from him. “Your kisses are hot enough to destroy glaciers.”
 
Marinette chuckled, opening her eyes and rubbing her nose on his. “I’d rather not ‘destroy’ anything.”
 
“Not even the walls around my heart?”
 
Color overtook her cheeks, painting them rosy. “Oh, well, I figured…”
 
“Don’t worry, my love.” Felix smoothed his hands over her cheeks to feel them burn against his fingertips. “You’ve already done that.”
 
Marinette hummed softly, the noise vibrating her face under his palms. “Are you looking forward to our trip to Anmer Hall?”
 
“More than anything,” Felix answered immediately. He’d planned a special surprise for her there; he was the one who’d told Arthur to suggest a brief vacation to Marinette, and to Felix’s delight, she’d jumped at the opportunity. 
 
“It might still be too cool for swimming,” she said with a tiny smirk as she loosened his tie. “Though I will admit I’ve designed myself a new swimsuit.”
 
Even as the tips of his ears burned with the thought of seeing her in one of her own creations made to show a little skin, a laugh burst forth from him. “The lady reluctant to let me see her in a swimsuit has now designed one for herself? How far we’ve come!”
 
She pursed her lips and gently flicked him on the forehead. “Says the gentleman who seemed to be smothering a foot fetish the last time we were there.”
 
Now the heat from his ears exploded in his cheeks instead. “In my defense,” Felix said dryly but then found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t actually have a defense. My brain is soup; too much defending of my thesis.”
 
Marinette chuckled and shifted in his lap to rub his temples gently. “Never mind, Bagheera. I was only teasing. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve time to relax and I hope that is what Arthur and I can give you with this long weekend.”
 
“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided. “You aren’t to do

anything

. This is a vacation for you, too, you know. Rest and recuperation as ordered by your doctor and I, your humble servant, must comply.”
 
“As long as you don’t run off sulking again,” she said sternly and Felix couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips.
 
“I am never going to live that down, am I?”
 
“Oh, I don’t know. When is the next blue moon?” 
 
Felix stuck his tongue out at her. “Blue moons are overrated. Rather like kisses from frogs!”
 
She groaned and leaned her forehead against his. “You’re never going to let me live

that

down, are you?”

“No.” Laughing, Felix wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tugged her close to him in a firm embrace. Cupping the back of her head and rubbing her back with his other hand, he reveled in the thought that she was here, she was safe, and she was

his.

“Never.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

That ride to Anmer Hall was significantly less stressful than the first one. Felix surprised her at her apartment with flowers and chocolates, the former of which she placed in a vase for Alya to water and the latter of which she brought into the limo with her.
 
Unwrapping the chocolates one by one, Marinette alternated between eating them and feeding them to Felix, who had settled on her lap like the overgrown housecat he was.
 
By the time the ride was over, they’d shared laughter and love, naps and nuzzling, and sweet chocolate and sweeter comradery.
 
Everything was perfect until they’d arrived and Felix had a single question for her as he escorted her inside.
 
“Will you teach me to make Nonna’s chicken parmesan?” he’d asked, his innocence a jagged shard of ice in her heart.
 
“I…” Glancing down at her hands, one of which was intertwined with Felix’s in its scratchy, fingerless lace glove, Marinette’s stomach dropped. Had he forgotten how useless she was with her still-healing skin grafts? She hadn’t been able to lift more than a needle or a pen since the kidnapping. “I don’t think I can…”
 
Felix stopped walking toward her room, immediately dropping to one knee. “My dear Marinette,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand that she was sure scratched his lips, “please allow me to be as I am: your humble servant. I know your limitations; I’ve been to every doctor’s appointment and I am fully aware of the… restrictions they’ve prescribed. But…”
 
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Marinette sniffed, watching his eyes glaze over with tears she didn’t bother to hold back in her own eyes.
 
“Please,” he murmured, his eyes shining up at her. “Please direct me in what to do. I know being unable to cook, one of your passions, has taken a toll on you. Please let me be your hands, so I can bless you with the meal you once blessed me with.”
 
Marinette’s breath hitched. She nodded around the lump in her throat. “Alright.”
 
Apparently, Felix had planned on her saying yes; after she’d taken a nap in her rooms, he’d come to drag her off to the kitchens, where Arthur had already procured ingredients for Nonna’s chicken parmesan and matching “Kiss the Cook” aprons for each of them in their sizes.
 
Felix turned out to not be too difficult to direct; he clearly wanted to please her, so though he was unskilled at cooking, he made up for it in eagerness. As she perched on the counter – he’d lifted her there by her waist – and sipped her lemon water that he’d kept generously refilling, she’d given him targeted cooking lessons. With her guidance, he had ensured the bread dough was just the right satiny texture, the sauces had been spiced correctly, and he had avoided getting burned by the hissing, crackling oil as he set the breaded chicken to cook in the pan.
 
They had started with the noodles, knowing they would need about an hour or so to dry before cooking. Felix had been shocked at how much effort went into a home-cooked meal; all the while, he praised her for her knowledge of the process and her dedication to her craft, never making her feel

entirely

disabled.

This meal tastes bittersweet,

Marinette thought as she finished off her plate at supper. The chicken tasted perfect – not a hint of bitterness, though the tomatoes in the sauce boasted a natural sweetness set off by the tang of basil and other herbs. 
 
She watched Felix devour his second helping of chicken, pleased that he’d finally grown some muscle on his lithe frame. She’d set out to do exactly what she’d wanted to do: put some meat on those bones. But she hadn’t realized how much she’d miss the ability to cook for him, if not with him; hands-on teaching was more her style, and that afternoon certainly wasn’t that. 
 
Unlike the last dinner they’d shared at Anmer Hall, Felix had insisted there be no wine, a proposition that Marinette wholeheartedly supported. They didn’t need another disastrous game of Never Have I Ever, nor did Felix need to compromise his antidepressants with alcohol.
 
Marinette swirled her glass of grape juice – their mutual compromise to a wine-less night – pensively, staring down at the deep purple liquid as it whirled in the bottom of the champagne flute. 
 
She hadn’t noticed that Felix had finished his supper until he’d plucked the glass out of her hand and set it aside. “What–”
 
“Marinette,” he murmured, taking her hands and letting his thumbs trail over the ruffled edge of her fingerless gloves. “I know you’re lost in thought, but I have another favor to ask.”
 
“Anything,” Marinette answered immediately, glad to be dragged out of her own head. “Anything you want, Felix.”
 
He smiled, then, and there was a world of promise in that smile. In it, he was promising to dwell with her, to protect her, to help her no matter what the cost. It was a smile that made her knees feel weak even while she sat; if he was planning to ask her to stand, she wasn’t sure she could. 
 
Felix’s eyes glowed with secrets that looked to be nothing but fun. “We never finished the play.”
 
Marinette smiled, pushing her feelings of worthlessness into the back of her mind once more. She was struggling with them and she knew they would come back, but all she wanted was this time, this night with Felix now that the air was clear between them and there was nothing to darken the moment.
 
Pulling her to her feet, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, his expression possessive and pleased as he gave her hand a little squeeze. He then escorted her to the sitting room where they had done the play originally. 
 
Candlelight sparkled all around the room and a deep red curtain had been strung across the large mullioned windows that looked out on the front garden and the road. There were pedestals of flowers in two rows down the center like a country lane or the aisle of a church. Marinette was staring at these obvious props and scenery in such wonder that she missed Felix slipping away to one side. Turning to find him when she felt the cool night air seep into the space he had left, she saw him returning with the sword and belt she had worn the last time they had trod these boards.
 
“Am I to play Benedick again?” she asked with a fond smile, reaching for the sword only to blink in confusion when he pulled it out of her reach.
 
Felix shook his head. “No, my little fool. Tonight, knowing you as I now do and with everything you have given me over the last year, I am able to play the role I should have taken then.”
 
Marinette watched, wide-eyed, as he stripped off his vest and Cartier watch before slinging the belt around his own waist. The itch of apprehension started between her shoulder blades. She had never asked him why he had wanted so badly to take Beatrice’s part that day, but she had assumed that tonight…
 
The sight of Felix armed with a sword, sleeves rolled up, and striding about the room to get used to the swing and pull of the weapon at his side was enough to make her mouth go dry and her heart stutter before starting to race for real. He was strong, caring, silly, brilliant, clever, handsome, and

hers.

Just the thought sent sparks speeding along her nerves and made her hands shake.
 
Hurriedly, she scanned the room for anything to take her mind off this sudden revelation and her eye caught the copy of

Much Ado

on a nearby console table. She swept it up and buried her nose in its pages, hoping he wouldn’t notice her burning cheeks.
 
There was a soft chuckle and she peered up at him over the book. “What?”
 
His lips twitched in that way that made her want to kiss it off him as he leaned close to her face. Marinette could feel how he made her knees as weak as water and her heart pounded like a caged bird against her ribcage. She closed her eyes, almost stretching beyond her skin for his touch which she found herself craving…
 
…only for the book to be plucked from her hands.
 
“Distracted, my love?” he asked, a smug amusement plain in his voice.
 
Her eyes snapped open. “Why would you say that?”
 
He leaned in again – oh, how easily her heart reached for him like a flower to the sun! – but again the kiss never came.  Instead, his breath played across her cheek and ear as he said, “You were holding it upside down.”
 
Marinette gave a gusty sigh and snatched the book back from his hands. “Are we doing this or are you just going to tease me all evening?”
 
His smile softened as he took her free hand in his and pressed a kiss fervently against her fingers, palm, and finally wrist, where the scars were sensitive enough to make the gesture fill her from toe to crown with the overwhelming sensation.
 
“Maybe next time, little fool, but for now…” He tapped the book in her other hand. “Act five, scene four, please?”
 
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one distracted. Felix was completely different as they worked their way through the final act of the play. He rushed through the men’s lines, though he did linger over the angry lines of Hero’s father and uncle to the young Count Claudio. It was only when Marinette took up Hero’s lines that Felix seemed to narrow in with a laser-like focus.
 
“And when I lived, I was your other wife,” she said, lifting a corner of the silk scarf she was using as a veil so she could ‘unmask’ as the stage directions indicated. “And when you loved, you were my other husband.”
 
Felix, who had taken her hand as he played through Claudio’s lines, gasped sharply and she could feel his hand spasm in hers.
 
“Felix,” she asked worriedly. “Are you–”
 
“A-Another Hero!” His voice was trembling and his hand wrapped tightly around her own. She no longer knew whether this was the play or something else, some strange spell of words from years long past compelling them with Anmer’s memories and dust. All she could do was keep following the play, but seeing his eyes widen, hearing his breathing quicken, and feeling his hand shake in hers was almost more than she could bear.
 
But before she could continue with Hero’s lines, Felix skipped ahead in the text without warning, as if whatever he was rushing towards was drawing him there faster.
 
“Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?”
 
Marinette scrambled for a moment, scanning the page in her right hand. Then, pulling off her veil, she cleared her throat nervously. “I-I answer to that name. What is your will?”
 
Felix’s breath hitched. “Do not you love me?” he whispered, his eyes locked onto hers. It was as if he were pleading with her to answer correctly, though what was right, Marinette didn’t know. Before speaking, she translated the line in her head: “

Do

you love me?”
 
Of course, she loved Felix, but Marinette wasn’t supposed to be Marinette with Felix right now. Now, she was Beatrice who had just been called out in front of her entire family and friends by the man she had been at odds with for years. 
 
How should Beatrice respond to this?
 
She widened her eyes in surprise and blinked rapidly. “Why, no; no more than

reason

.”
 
Felix gave a gusty sigh and broke away from her, stomping about the room as if being rebuffed was more than he could take at that moment. “Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio–” Gesturing to the empty air around them, Felix almost brought the three men of Beatrice’s circle to life. “–have been deceived; they swore you did!”

“Ah! Now I know what he’s doing,”

she thought. She jammed her fists against her hips and pinned him with an imperious glare.
 
“Do not

you

love

me

?”
 
“Troth,

no

,” Felix shot back immediately, his voice rising as if he was fully giving himself over to the argument. Beatrice and Benedick, after all, argued over everything – and it was just like Felix to remind Marinette of the times past in their own relationship. An awful smirk curved his lips; he truly embodied a cocksure Benedick at that moment, which aggravated Marinette to no end. “No more than

reason

.”
 
Marinette felt her own ire begin to rise to meet his. “Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula are much deceived; for they did swear you did.”
 
Felix rounded on her, striding up to her with his trembling hand resting on his sword hilt. He got all up in her space, leering down at her with a sneer, puffing his chest out so that it barely brushed hers. “They swore that you were almost

sick

for me.”
 
“Hah!” She stood on her toes to glare into his face, her heart racing even more and she had no idea if it was from his closeness or the emotions they were conjuring in this dark, candlelit space. “They swore that you were well-nigh

dead

for me!”
 
Scoffing, Felix ripped his hand from his sword hilt and waved it between them, dismissing her argument with a curt gesture. “‘Tis no such matter.” As he dared to cup her cheek, his voice dropped to a gentle, imploring supplication. “Then… you do

not

love me?”
 
Marinette, stunned by his sudden shift, dropped back to her heels with a soft thump against the carpet. “N-No,” she squeaked, then, more boldly, “T-Truly, but in… friendly recompense.”
 
They just stood there, staring at each other, emotions both new and old passing between them like static during a lightning storm.
 
“Ehem,” said an all too familiar voice from the doorway. “Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.”
 
Both Felix and Marinette jumped, startled, as Arthur smoothly made his way into the room and deposited a frosted pitcher of lemonade and two glasses before bowing solemnly and leaving the room.
 
Blinking rapidly as if to clear his head, Felix moved his shoulders into the position he often adopted when he was playing Claudio. Marinette recognized the shift in character immediately, once again wondering where he was going with this.
 
“And I’ll be sworn upon’t that he loves her; for here’s a paper written in his hand,” Felix declared in a mad rush, slipping his hand into his pocket and removing a crumpled piece of paper. “A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, fashion’d to Beatrice.”
 
Thrusting the paper out in front of him, clearly for her to take, Felix turned his head aside and closed his eyes. His chest shuddered with repressed emotion, and Marinette recognized at that moment that he was afraid.
 
But afraid of what?
 
Setting the book down on a nearby end table, Marinette plucked the note out of Felix’s hands and brought it closer to her face to examine it. Forgetting the lines, the play, and everything except that nervous stillness in his face and the ball of paper in her hand, Marinette looked down anxiously. Carefully, she pulled and tweaked the crumpled ball until it began to smooth out, to unfold, to reveal…
 
… the glitter of gold and diamonds, and the glimmering flash of a stone so dark as to seem black in the candlelight. She gasped and fumbled with the ring, clutching it to her chest to keep from dropping it in her shock. 
 
It was a ring… Felix… had given her a ring!
 
Four sparkling stones framed in carved gold surrounded a smooth dark gem that made the light from the dozens of candles appear like trapped fireflies beneath its surface. It was simple, elegant, and exactly her style, but… 
 
Felix gave it to her while they were playing other lovers… lovers who were proposing to each other, and lovers who had fewer expectations of them than did Felix Fathom and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Did this really mean what she thought it meant or–
 
A tap on her nose made her blink. “I can

hear

you thinking,” Felix murmured, his eyes shining in the warm glow of the dozens of tiny fires around them. “Yes, it means what you think it means.”
 
She looked down at the ring once more. “You knew I was worried… wondering if it was part of the play or–”
 
“You forget, little fool,” Felix whispered, his voice soft but full of longing as he stepped forward and splayed his fingers across her lower back, tugging her chest against his, “that I’ve been off-book for this play since I was eleven or so. I have studied and written about it, analyzing every element and interpretation. There is, and never has been, a ring in Beatrice and Benedick’s story. But I’m hoping this ring can be in ours?”
 
Marinette swallowed as tears welled up in her eyes. “You… you really want to… to…” Her throat closed over any other words she could say and she hoped he could still read her as well as he had moments before.
 
“Peace!” Felix’s answering rumble vibrated their chests with the beat of his heart, which she could feel thumping between them. “I will stop your mouth.”
 
He pulled her into a kiss that sent thunder through her heart and fire through her veins. She could feel one hand slide up to cup her head as the other grasped the fabric of her dress so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t tear under the passionate force. For all of that, for all the longing and hunger she could feel in him, he was gentle, waiting for her to set the pace and thrilling her when he matched everything she could give him. The world shrank to primal things: heat, breath, skin, touch, and a fire within that only Felix could set and only Felix could soothe. 
 
And from the way he clutched her tightly to him, they were equals in this, too - as in all things.
 
When they finally parted, she was breathless, trembling, and so weak for him that it was all she could do to stay upright. From the dazed, half-drunk smile he had on his face, it seemed Felix felt the same way she did.
 
With a grin spreading across her face, she wrapped her arms more firmly around his neck and placed a kiss on his chin. “How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?”
 
Felix threw his head back in answering laughter, by turns relieved and ever so warm. His Adam's apple bobbed, fascinating Marinette until he drew his fiery gaze back to her face. 
 
"I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"
 
She pulled back just far enough to slip the hand holding the ring between them. When he looked confused, she murmured, “Will you put it on for me?”
 It was as if his entire being lit up from the inside out. With tears welling up in his eyes and the largest smile she had ever seen on his face, Felix took her hand in his and ever-so-gently teased the glove off. He slipped the ring onto her ring finger and kissed it fiercely. His eyes caught hers over the top of her hand and they twinkled with mischief before he turned it palm up and began kissing her wrist. She gasped at the sensation and he pulled away swiftly. 
“Did I–”
 
“No, no,” she hurriedly assured him. “It’s just…”  She pulled the sleeves of her light cardigan down to hide the ugly scars. “They’re not nice to look at and all they do is remind you, and me, of what happened. I don’t understand why you would want to look at them, let alone kiss them.”
 
A gentle finger lifted her chin so she would see his eyes once more. “Marinette, my love, you are beautiful inside and out. Scars aren’t going to change that, nor do they detract one jot from how attractive and alluring you are to me. These scars…” And he took her hand and pushed back the light gray knit to reveal the red lines that were already starting to fade a little. "...These are a greater sign of love than any jewelry my wealth could bestow. You told me these were the price you were willing to pay for being with me. How could I not treasure them, touch them…” And here he smirked wickedly. “... and lavish them with kisses?”
 
For three heartbeats, Marinette stared at him, completely scandalized and blushing from her toes all the way to her roots – and probably reaching previously undiscovered colors of red in the process. Then, that wicked smirk of his flicked a switch inside her. She couldn’t let her Prince get a big head just because she had agreed to marry him, after all!
 
“Oh, you!” She scoffed, swatting him playfully on the shoulder. “Watch it, Bagheera; I know where you sleep.”
 
“Oh, is that a threat or a promise, little fool?”
 
“Do you hear that?”
 
Felix blinked, tilting his head as if attempting to listen to some phantom noise. His demeanor had shifted to entirely serious; he was taking her at her word, and he seemed a bit confused as to what sound she'd proposed that he hear.
 
"No… should I?"
 
“I would think you’d know what a bullfrog sounds like by now, silly.” She tweaked his nose and the half-strangled scoffing noise of outrage he made sent her into peals of giggles.
 
"Anything but another encounter with Big Daddy, my dear one. Leave your poor Prince's dignity intact."
 
She sighed and began tracing the buttons down the front of his shirt. “If I must,” she said with mock resignation. Then she looked up at him. “All joking aside, Felix? Thank you… for everything. For loving me, for being there for me in ways I didn’t even know I needed, for saving me. I don’t know where or even who I would be if I had never met you. I just know I wouldn’t be nearly as happy as I am right this minute.”
 
Felix paused for a moment. It wasn't a hesitation, more like the gears in his head were turning, mulling over her words. Threading his fingers between hers, he tilted his head and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her wrist, holding her gaze the entire time. His eyes burned through her, stripping her bare and making chills spill down her spine.
 
"It has been my sublime pleasure, Marinette," he murmured against her wrist, making her skin tingle with the movements of his lips. "Were I to do it all again, I wouldn't change a thing. And honestly?

You

saved

me

first, and how could I do anything else but return the favor?"
 
“Felix… I know your mother accepts me, more or less, but does she know about… this?” Her eyes stared down at the ring that glittered like a small dark star on her hand. “I mean, I know there have been ‘Dollar Princesses’ before, but–”
 
“Have you ever heard of an Instrument of Consent?” Lacing his fingers through hers, Felix brought her knuckles to rest over his heart. His chest was warm, and she could feel the vibrations of the beats beneath the back of her hand. “It’s a formal document proclaiming the ruling monarch’s approval of a marriage of their child. My mother gave me one as a Christmas gift – she was thinking of a proposal even before I was!”
 
Marinette’s mouth fell open as her face burned hot with embarrassment. “Th-Th-The Qu-Queen…. Your mother? Gave you…?” She squeezed her eyes tight and whimpered softly in frustration at her nervous stammering. “She’s… okay with this? With me?”
 
“Of course she is, love,” Felix murmured, looping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, if she weren’t, she would have sabotaged the relationship and had your head mounted on Traitor’s Gate already.”
 
She pursed her lips, pulling one hand out of his to swat him on the shoulder. “You and I both know she couldn’t do that without serious repercussions. Neither could my Prince, for that matter.”
 
Felix’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Oh, no, certainly not, but you know she would try anyway.”
 
Marinette chuckled and rolled her eyes. “And would my ‘humble servant’ defend his little fool or would I be left to suffer uncomforted?”
 
“Mmm.” Coming around to her back, Felix rubbed her shoulders, using his thumbs to stroke comforting circles into her deltoids. “What do

you

think?”
 
Tipping her head back until she could see his eyes, she smiled. One hand drifted upward to caress his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “I think that I must be the luckiest girl in the world.”
 
“Pfft!” Felix leaned over and blew a raspberry into the side of her neck, making her squeak. “Luck has nothing to do with it. That was all you.”
 
She leaned back against his chest until he wrapped his arms around her with such tenderness that tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “You did your share, Bagheera, love,” she said around a yawn, shifting to curl against him.
 
Moving slowly so as not to spook her, Felix scooped her up into a bridal carry. “Then allow this Prince to carry his fiancee over the threshold – of her rooms, that is. You must be exhausted.”
 
She grunted, pouting and blinking up at him pitifully. “But I don’t want you to go.”
 
Felix left the sitting room, taking her toward hers as he’d promised. He shrugged while holding her, and once again, she was struck by how strong he’d become. His strength felt like her little secret; she was probably the only woman Felix had ever picked up and held in his arms just like this.
 
“Then I’ll sit on your bed and you can fall asleep in my lap, and I’ll take my leave without waking you up.”
 
Marinette sighed. She would give anything to fall asleep next to him, to wake being cradled in his arms and feeling his warmth wrapping around her like summer itself, but she knew this was better.
 
“Okay,” she agreed softly, patting his chest, “but someday… You won’t have to leave anymore, right?”
 
Felix pressed a soft kiss to her temple, and Marinette could feel the smile that curved his lips. “My sweet little fool, very soon there will come a day when, if I am forced to leave, then I intend to take you with me.”
 
***
 
“Yes, indeed, Ma’am,” Arthur said, his eyes bright, his smile as proud as if Felix was his son and not hers. “His Royal Highness used the play to propose. It was almost like witnessing their relationship in microcosm.”
 
“He used the

play

?” Amelie’s suspension of disbelief in this conversation had hit an all-time high, but when she thought about it, that sounded exactly like something Felix would pull off. “What a lovely ending.”
 
“It is lovely, Your Majesty, but you and I both know this isn’t an ending.”
 
Amelie tapped her chin in thought. “Quite right. But where do they go from here, Arthur?”
 
He looked at her blankly for a moment, the tips of his ears and the little bit of scalp one could see through his thinning hair turning a blotchy red. Then he cleared his throat. “Presumably the altar, Ma’am.”
 
“Truth be told,” Amelie mused unthinkingly, distracted by thoughts of wedding bells and the eventual pitter-patter of little feet, “I’m a bit jealous of them.”
 
A slight frown appeared on Arthur’s face. “If I may be so bold as to inquire, Your Majesty, why is that?”
 
Such a baldfaced question – which wasn’t baldfaced at all, just direct, if gentle – made heat explode on Amelie’s cheeks. Her hand flew to her cheekbone, feeling the burn of the skin beneath, and her embarrassment grew triple-fold. 
 
This was quite unlike her; a Queen never blushed if she could help it. 
 
“Oh, um…” 
 
Was she

stammering

now? What was

wrong

with her?
 
Amelie swallowed hard, trying to stuff these confusing feelings back into their box where they belonged. She cleared her own throat, just as Arthur had. “Y-You know. Being young and in love. Having their happily ever after and their whole lives before them.” 
 
She waved her hand dismissively as if the things she said were really of no consequence at all instead of feeling like stones weighing her down.

“A Queen doesn’t cry,”

she thought fiercely, stopping the tears where they dared to bead at the corners of her eyes.

“A Queen cannot afford weakness.”

Arthur merely gazed at her with that strong, penetrating stare of his that cut straight to the heart of things far too often for her to be unaware of its power.
 
“My lady,” he said gently, making her wish he was in the room with her instead of on a screen in front of her. “There are those who would not have you retire to your estates when you relinquish the crown to His Royal Highness. There are those who want to see you and know you are well.”
 
She watched as he swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in her own throat as well.
 
“There is one who hopes you will not wear black for too much longer.”
 
“And,” Amelie whispered, her heart jack-knifing into her throat to start slamming against her windpipe, “is that one in front of me right now?”
 
“Your Majesty, haven’t I always been with you… from the day you chose me to attend His Royal Highness? Why would that change now that he is grown? That is, unless you wish to dismiss–”
 
“No!” burst forth from Amelie in a heated declaration. Reassured of his loyalty to the crown, Amelie’s shoulders dropped into a more relaxed position without her permission. “No. I do not wish to dismiss you, Arthur.”
 
He took a deep breath through his nose, a breath that shuddered at the edges with ragged wings. “Then, what would you have of me, my Queen?”
 
Ah, now this Amelie could handle. She always felt better giving orders.
 
“Stay with Felix and Marinette for now. Ensure their safety and happiness, and report back if there is news,” Amelie barked out, and all was right with the world. 
 
But… Then she gave a different order, one that slipped past her defenses without her entirely meaning to, but once it did, it felt right.
 
“And then come home to me.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Marinette bustled about Felix, nervously twitching this seam or that layer to lie perfectly smooth before helping him into the next layer of his regalia. Everything from the plain, homespun tunic and trews he wore against his skin for the anointing ceremony to the sapphire blue suit and the crisp white shirt to the gold sash across his chest that bore the medal of the Order of the British Empire had been designed by herself and crafted by her team. 
 
She should have been proud; she had made it to the big time. This had been her dream since she first learned to sew, and yet she was as anxious as a cat in a doghouse.
 
“Does everything feel alright?” she asked again, staring intensely at his lapels that seemed crooked no matter what she did to them.
 
Felix grabbed her hand in both of his and pressed a lingering kiss to it. “Everything is wonderful, Marinette. Stop worrying. I’m the one who's going to have the eyes of the world on me for the next eight hours. What has you so nervous?”
 
She blushed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I just don’t want to let you down. This is your special day and I want everything to be perfect and easy for you. Or as much as I can manage.”
 
Felix sighed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I know, my love, and I appreciate it to no end, but unless you rigged tear-away pants in this suit I’m sure everything will be fine.”
 
Marinette couldn’t suppress the squawk of indignation. “What?! You think I– Ooooh, Felix!”
 
He chuckled and held her tightly to keep her from swatting him with her hands. “Come now, little fool, this would have been the perfect day for pranks. I know I wouldn’t be able to resist if our situations were reversed.”
 
“Well, then it is a good thing you’re the one being crowned and I’m just your glorified tailor,” she grumbled, wriggling to escape his embrace.
 
He snatched her left hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing the engagement ring he had given her with a warm, possessive smile. “You do realize, don’t you, that next year you and I will be married and you will be crowned Queen Consort, right?”
 
Heart suddenly thrashing against her insides, Marinette froze like a deer in the headlights with just one thought running through her mind.

“Queen Consort? ME?!?!?”

Her shock must have been as easy to read as a neon light for Felix nearly bent in half around her with his laughter.
 
“What?! You can’t – I mean, I’m not – Felix, stop laughing this instant and answer me!”
 
“Which question do you want first, love?” he asked with a pleased smirk. “You started three, you know.”
 
She growled in frustration. “How did I go from being a chambermaid to being made

Queen Consort?!

” Oooh, if she didn’t love him so much she would undoubtedly have taken a pop at his face which looked so smug it was positively indecent.
 
“Well,” he chuckled, counting off on fingers as he went, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes…”
 
“Watch it! I’ve got a seam ripper and I know how to use it!”
 
“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness, Miss Marinette, but the Royal Procession starts in little over an hour.” Arthur – ever present, ever dependable Arthur – came into the room looking sharp in his military dress uniform with the medals pinned proudly to his chest. 
 
“I’m glad to see I’m not the only one forced into a monkey suit,” Felix said, grinning widely, and he released her to shake his valet’s hand.
 
Marinette scoffed at him before stepping over to kiss Arthur on the cheek. “This from the man who wouldn’t know casual wear if it mugged him in broad daylight. Good morning, Arthur. You look especially handsome in your uniform.”
 
She was surprised to see a flush creep up the man’s neck. “Ah, ehem, thank you Miss Marinette. Your sartorial praise is much appreciated, but I see I need to remind you about your own dressing? I will assist His Royal Highness from here and we will meet you at the Carriage Walk ten minutes before the hour.”
 
“You’re right, of course,” she said, her shoulders tensing up at all she had to do to get ready to be in Felix’s reflected spotlight for the day. She glanced over at her fiance and glowered playfully. “And don’t think I’m just going to drop this. We are not done with this conversation.”
 
Felix merely raised an eyebrow at her and tilted his head ever so slightly, the intensity of his gaze sending sparks up and down her spine. Drat the man! He knew she had trouble resisting that look and the late spring sunlight shining on his hair and gilding his jaw like that was enough to set her cheeks burning.
 
“Hmmph,” Marinette grunted, before striding confidently out of the room. She forced herself to keep to a leisurely pace until she turned the corner then bolted down the corridor as if her life depended on it.
 
“Girl!” Alya exclaimed as she barged through the door to her suite. “I need to hang a bell around your neck or something! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
 
Her best friend was sitting on the settee in a wine red dress and a black lace jacket. Fitted at the waist and billowing out down to her knees to show off her generous curves, it was one of the most beautiful dresses Marinette had designed. Paired with a black silk choker with gold medallions hanging from it and large gold hoop earrings, Alya was going to catch eyes in the media crowd for sure.
 
“Sorry, Als,” Marinette panted, fanning her cheeks as Felix’s suggestive expression taunted her from behind her eyelids. Would she ever get used to how he openly let her know how much he wanted her? Whether for hugs, kisses, cuddling on the sofa, or just drinking her in, Felix would let her know with words or look that she was beautiful and exactly how much he needed her. Then again, did she ever really want to get used to this melting, free-falling sensation in her middle or the way he could make her blush with just a glance?
 
“Was Felix being cheeky again?” Alya asked, eyebrows raised speculatively. “Do I need to go have a little chat with Mr Etcetera? Almost king or not, he’s not allowed to–”
 
“No! No!” Marinette squeaked. “I like it when he’s playful, but I have to get dressed and I don’t have a lot of time. Help? Please?”
 
Alya’s grin grew so wide that she looked almost gleeful.
 
“No worries, M. We’ve got this.”
 
“We?”
 
Just then there was a rap on the door. The person on the other side didn’t give Marinette any time to answer as they burst into the room in a dither of excitement.
 
“Sarah? Betty? What are you-”
 
“No time, Marinette, love,” Sarah said, her smile so wide it made her eyes crinkle at the corners as she bounced on her toes with delight. “The Queen Regent is sending her stylists up here in twenty minutes. We are to be your fairy godmothers and help you get ready for the ball!”
 
“Aye,” Betty chirped up with a smug expression, grinning patiently at the older maid with all the dignity of the ancient. “There’s enough to do and not enough time to do it in, so let’s get cracking!”
 
With the three women buzzing around her, Marinette felt like Aurora from Disney’s

Sleeping Beauty

.

“As long as they don’t change my dress pink,”

she thought, amused at their excited twittering.

“This one is supposed to be blue.”

She had managed to find the time to design a dress for herself, though with her hands only just healed, she hadn’t been able to sew it. Thankfully, Carlotta, Edmund, and the rest of the Wardrobe team had been more than willing to help her get it done on time. It made her tear up a bit to know she had made so many friends in the year she had been there.

“I really should do something special for all of them once this is over,”

she mused, blinking her eyes against the tears.
 
“Marinette, if you start crying and ruin all my hard work on your beautiful makeup, then I will drop you in the moat,” Alya fussed, jerking Marinette’s chin up with firm fingers as the brush skimmed over her cheeks.
 
“Sorry, Als,” Marinette replied through squished lips, trying not to wince. She hadn’t gotten this dressed up since… the Fitzwilliam reception. Was it really that long ago? Alya had done her makeup then, too, and the girl had a grip that could make a grown man cry if applied properly.
 
Betty tutted in disapproval. “Buckingham Palace doesn’t have a moat, m’girl,” she said, helping Marinette into a pair of silvery heeled sandals.
 
Alya stopped and turned to stare at the young maid. “Seriously?! How can it be a castle and not have a moat?”
 
Sarah gave a huff as she pinned the wing sleeves in place with the silver brooches Felix had given Marinette. “It's never been a castle, dearie. Castles were for defense. Palaces are for the Royals to impress and live fancy. They never needed a moat here.”
 
Alya, for all her hardened journalistic professionalism, gaped like a landed trout. Marinette snorted. Her best friend had reported on everything from garden shows to terrorist attacks with the same level of stoicism and a nearly obsessive attention to detail.

“But tell her that Buckingham Palace doesn’t have a moat and her brain train jumps the track!”

Marinette wanted to giggle so badly at her friend’s stupefaction, but the firm grip on her jaw didn’t loosen one iota and she finally tapped Alya’s wrist.
 
“Sorry to interrupt, but my jaw is starting to hurt,” she mumbled and Alya let her go so quickly, she nearly fell over backward.
 
A brisk knock on the suite’s door alerted the ladies of the arrival of the hair stylist and Marinette tried desperately to push the butterflies of anxiety back down into her stomach instead of letting them thrash frantically about in her throat.
 
As she was suddenly surrounded by a stylist and several assistants, all Marinette could think about was getting through all these frivolous rituals and festivities so she could tuck herself out of the limelight, preferably curled up with her Bagheera.
 
***
 
Standing outside the place with Betty, where she was supposed to be picked up, Marinette fussed with her lavender clutch, wondering if her heels would be killing her by the end of the day. There’d be a lot of standing at the coronation, she knew.
 
Even though she had a place of honor in the front seats, she’d have to stand for the entire procession of Felix, his mother, his attendants, the band, and who-knew-who-else.
 
Her dress was of a pale lavender, ever so slightly more blue than purple. It wouldn’t have been anything special compared to the designer dresses she knew would be worn today, but it fit her perfectly and the three-quarter cape in matching silk pinned at her shoulders with the ornate silver brooches Felix had brought her from his trip made her feel like a princess. Alya had done such wonders with her makeup that the stylists Queen Amelie had sent had deemed her picture worthy without so much as lifting a blush. They had pulled her hair up into a small knot with a cascade of curls flowing down behind, a small cluster of white roses – sent by Felix – tucked into her hair along with a tiny scrap or white dotted veil. If Marinette hadn’t been so nervous about today, she would have been thrilled at how pretty the whole thing had turned out.
 
Instead, she felt slightly sick.
 
Marinette fiddled with her veil, fretting about whether it was draped on her head at an angle that was sideways enough to be attractive to Felix but not sideways enough to be cheeky. This was his show, his coronation, and she didn’t want to steal

any

of his thunder with scandalously placed headgear.
 
Betty swatted her hand away from her head. “Don’t you dare,” she said with mock severity. “If you fuss and fidget too much it will all come down and then those high and mighty barbers will go into conniptions, meaning you will be late for your Prince’s coronation.”
 
For all her stomach was full of twisting nerves, Marinette had to giggle at Betty’s down-to-earth practicality.
 
Betty’s eyes sparkled with humor. “There’s the smile His Royal Highness wants to see, I’m sure of it.”
 
Marinette sighed and looked down at her engagement ring, turning it this way and that as it sparkled in the sun. “I’m just nervous, Betty. I mean, I love him and he loves me, but… Queen Consort? What if… I can’t cut it?”
 
Betty grasped her hand to keep it still. “Now you listen here, Miss Marinette. Do you think any of this nonsense matters to the young master? Every man jack of us can see how much the man adores you! He could care less about protocol or status or royal dignity as long as he has you. So donna worry so much. It’ll give you wrinkles.”
 
She released Marinette’s hand to pat it gently. “Besides,” and here she dropped the grandmotherly manner and grinned, nudging her in the shoulder, “I won a hundred pounds on you in the servants’ pool.”
 
Before Marinette could respond in any way other than her mouth falling open in shock, the limo pulled up to the drive rather than the coronation carriage she’d been expecting.
 
The front windows rolled down to reveal a smiling Arthur. “Hello, Miss Marinette. Felix sent me to pick you up.”
 
Swallowing her disappointment that she wouldn’t get to ride with Felix, Marinette forced a smile to her face and nodded. “Thanks, Arthur. I trust we’ll get there safely with you at the wheel.”
 
He beamed and rolled up the windows, which was her cue to hop in the back. "Goodbye, Betty." Marinette turned to give her young friend a hug. "Thank you for everything."
 
Betty gave her a firm squeeze, but when she pulled away, she was wiping away tears. "You're welcome, luv. Now, go knock 'em dead!"
 
Marinette smiled. But when she opened the door to the backseat, a shocking sight met her.
 
“Hello, baobei,” her mother said, her cheeks rosy and her wig perfectly placed. She sat next to a tuxedoed Tom, her dress a bright red swath of fabric that fit her frame perfectly. Marinette had designed it for her back in lycee, and she never thought that Sabine would wear it again, much less be able to get out of bed. The fact that she was out in public, well enough to travel to another country…
 
Tears sprung to Marinette's eyes. She launched herself into the backseat of the car, clinging to Sabine and burying her face in her mother's neck. She'd gained weight, Marinette instantly noticed once she had her arms around her, which was amazing considering how emaciated she'd been throughout the course of her illness.
 
A choked sob left Marinette's lips as Sabine scooted over, leaving Tom to shift to the other seats and close the door behind them. Too overwhelmed to do more than blubber, Marinette barely noticed the limo pulling out of the drive.
 
Her breath hitched twice as she tried to compose herself, and eventually, while Sabine stroked her back and hummed comforting songs from her childhood, Marinette was able to pull herself together.
 
Sitting up to wipe her tears, Marinette searched her mother’s smiling face for traces of cancer. There were none; Sabine had color to her cheeks, fat deposits, and an overall sense of energy and vitality that Marinette hadn’t seen in her in

years

.

“Y-You look so

h-healthy

,” Marinette whimpered, causing Sabine to take her hands and give them the gentlest of squeezes. Her mother’s ease almost started Marinette bawling again, but she sniffed and exhaled heavily rather than shedding more tears.
 
“I’m fully in remission.” The news made Marinette cover her mouth in shock. “It’s all your young man’s doing.” 
 
Sabine’s eyes glittered with amusement at the way Marinette’s jaw dropped. “W-What?” Marinette said, feeling like the limo had been pulled out from under her. “

Felix

did this?”
 
Tom jumped in, grinning. “He called me and offered to pay for the best care available. We didn’t want to tell you she was trying experimental treatments unless they worked.”
 
“No wonder you transferred hospitals,” Marinette mused, still feeling dazed. If Sabine had been taking experimental treatment, that meant… “He must have set this up

months

ago!”
 
Her parents exchanged a knowing look before both of them nodded. “He called to check on us at least once a week,” Tom said, his smile fond. “I got to know him fairly well. It came out in one of those conversations that he was planning to propose. Did he?”
 
Heat bloomed on Marinette’s cheeks, and she hurriedly tried to tamp it down. She’d already ruined her makeup by crying; if she arrived at the coronation blotchy and red, she’d never forgive herself. 
 
Fortunately, she had her kit with her in her clutch. “Maman, can you please help me fix my makeup? In the meantime, I’ll tell you exactly how he gave me this ring.”
 
***
 
The sun beat down on the golden coronation carriage as it pulled up in front of Westminster Abbey, the majestic rumble of the organ barely audible over the sound of the crowd.
 
Felix tugged at the collar of his suit, fully aware that he was sweating like a pig and wishing that his forebears had had the foresight to install air conditioning in this flashy old anachronism. It was only going to get hotter, he realized, when he saw the crowd of bishops, minsters, and lords - each with their proper ornamentation and carrying various historical artifacts required to acknowledge the power of the monarchy - not to mention a host of military personnel from every branch of the British Military Forces dressed in full formal array from the traditional red coats to the short tuxedo jackets with full pleated kilts and all bristling with medals and brave with ribbons. There was also a small army of pages, all boys dressed in very severe uniforms and trying to act grownup, but poking each other with elbows whenever the Master of Ceremonies wasn’t looking. Felix sympathized with that lot of youngsters sweating in their starched velvet tabards. After all, wasn’t he doing the exact same thing? Sweating in layers of tradition and hoping he looked grown up enough for this when anyone was looking at him?
 
Oh, to be back in his rooms at the Palace with Marinette curled beside him, feeding him biscuits and lemonade, with nothing to worry about save how he was going to spoil her for the rest of the day!
 
Arthur came forward and saluted before opening the door.
 
“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing low, but not so low as to hide the proud smile trying to hide behind his practiced, bland exterior.
 
“Did Marinette-”
 
“Ensconced in her seat between her parents on the front row, Sir.”
 
Felix let out a sigh of relief.
 
“Thank you for being here for me, Arthur,” he said as he stepped out of the carriage. “Through everything.”
 
“Sir… Felix… it has been my honor and my pleasure,” his valet said, eyes bright. “And may I say, Sir, that I have never been prouder.”
 
Felix blushed under Arthur’s praise and grasped his shoulder firmly, hoping a strong grip would express what he dared not say in that moment. The soon to be King of England crying on the shoulder of his valet in front of a worldwide audience was not how he wanted to go down in the history books.
 
As ever, Arthur seemed to know what he meant and nodded before giving the signal to the Master of Ceremonies.  As that poor fellow gave last minute instructions to far too many people, Arthur motioned a page forward. The lad held a large folded rectangle of dark green velvet embroidered in gold.
 
Arthur took the great white ermine collar and the boy still held the bottom of the fabric. They stepped apart, unfolding the great coronation cloak with the air of someone unrolling a tapestry. The fifteen foot long expanse was a magnificent display of embroidery. Lions were picked out in gold thread in every position possible: roaring, attacking, staring regally, even one that curled around itself at the very bottom, clearly fast asleep. This tableaux was surrounded by a frame of twisting tudor roses, each bearing the tiny spikes of thorns amongst its leaves and blooms.
 
Felix stood in awe at Marinette’s work, for it was as plain to him as the sun overhead that she had designed all the embroidery - even if her injuries had prevented her from crafting them herself. He swallowed, knowing how much love his little fool had poured into each and every image.
 
Arthur coughed politely, bringing him out of his reverie. Nodding, Felix straightened as his life long friend and protector placed the royal cloak over his shoulders and secured it with the Chain of State.
 
“If I may be so bold, Sir, Miss Marinette told me to inform you that she left a gift for you over your heart,” he murmured in Felix's ear before pulling away.
 
Fully aware of the millions of people watching and waiting for his next move, Felix pulled the cloak open. There, embroidered right over his heart, was a sight that made him grin.
 
A green bunny slipper…

… a jester’s hat…

… and a very confused looking frog.
 
Beneath it were the words, “Now and Always”.
 
Felix couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease at the thought of Marinette sewing these just for him. She had put them close to his heart. She had reminded him not only of their story, but of how loved he was. His mother’s bunny slippers, his little fool, even that ridiculous frog held a special place in his memory now.
 
But most of all, they reminded him that he was no longer facing the world alone. He had Marinette, his darling little fool, who was pledging herself to him on the day he pledged himself to the kingdom, in her own words, ‘Now and Always.’
 
Felix let the cloak fall back around his shoulder and sniffed, only for Arthur to hand him a handkerchief. It too had a familiar frog on it and Felix chuckled thickly.
 
“Come on,” he said, straightening his spine under the comforting weight of velvet and Marinette’s love. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
 
As if his words had been a battle cry, the assembled procession started to move forward with all the dignity of the ancient nobility and the speed of a Friday afternoon traffic jam. The crowd, spying movement at last, cheered so loudly it left Felix’s ears ringing. It took about ten minutes for his section of the procession to get to the doors of the abbey all the while leaving Felix to sweat bullets under his cloak.

Handel’s coronation anthem poured through the open doors, a wave of glorious sound trapped, reflected, and amplified by the host of monuments within the stone walls. As Felix stepped into the abbey, the world became a blur of faces as the sound of the crowd outside was overwhelmed by the organ, the orchestra, and the choir.
 
The aisle was the only space in the building that wasn’t crammed full of people - all standing and bowing as he passed. There were lords, ladies, several barons of the “always wanting something” variety, several ambassadors, including Fitzwilliam, the rich and the beautiful, the worthy and the schemers lining up to see history made. Most of the people staring at him were subjects and strangers - a few of the faces were familiar to him, but no one he could call a friend. Felix swallowed uncomfortably, keeping his mask of stoic dignity firmly in place lest his anxiety show on his face. His only real comfort came from knowing that faithful Arthur was at his back, as always, and his mother, his cousin, the Dupain-Chengs, and Marinette waited for him at the end of this, the longest walk of his life.
 
The music swelled around him, vibrating in his bones, and the cloak that Marinette had made was starting to feel heavy. Felix tried to think of it as a strong hug from his little fool and kept pace with the bishops on either side of him. As he approached the nave, the crowd was smaller but no less cramped, except for the dais to his right. His small army of attendants blocked his view of the seats as they filed into their traditional places in the post-processional pecking order, but through the forest of faces and elaborate hats and out of the corner of his eye he just barely caught a glimpse of ocean eyes full of love and pride. Heat bloomed in his chest as he felt himself buoyed up like a hot air balloon just from that sight alone. 
 
Marinette believed in him.
 
Marinette loved him. She had agreed to marry him.
 
Everything was going to be fine… because he had her.
 
The Archbishop called for the attention of those assembled and Felix turned back to the task at hand, confident in the knowledge of Marinette’s soothing presence.
 
***

Marinette tried not to gawp at her surroundings, pinned in place as she was by the creme de la creme of English high society and their elaborate designer clothing. Why, the hats alone would inspire her for a year. She hoped Alya could get her the video so she could peruse the sea of fashion at her leisure.
 
Her clutch fell off her lap, then, but before Marinette could bend down to retrieve it a soft hand rested over hers.
 
“It might be best to leave it under your seat, dear heart,” Sabine commented lovingly. “You’re fidgeting so much I don’t think it would stay put even if you tried.”
 
A large, gentle hand gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re fine, Marinette,” Adrien murmured softly. She glanced over her shoulder at him and, while he smiled, there was a certain melancholy look in his grass green eyes that made a touch of guilt join the nerves that roiled her stomach.
 
“They are quite right, my girl,” Amelie said from her other side, not even looking at Marinette as the Queen Mother shifted slightly to brush the purse under the chair with her own foot. “No one will notice it anyway.”
 
For the first time since Marinette had come to work at the palace, the Queen Regent - now the Queen Mother by the fastest Act of Parliament to ever be passed in Great Britain - had cast aside her mourning garb for this, the day of her son’s coronation. Instead of her usual black pantsuits and pearls, Queen Amelie wore a stunning gown of dark sapphire silk with a long train in matching velvet, embroidered with white swans in flight and studded with white jewels that flashed in the rainbow of colors from the stained glass windows. She was absolutely breathtaking and, from the slight blush on her cheeks, she knew it. Marinette had a sneaking suspicion that the Queen Mother was waiting to catch the eye of a certain gentleman’s gentleman in the processional. Nothing much could startle Arthur, but if things were trending the way she thought they were then the poor man would be a lost cause as soon as he saw her.
 
The line of notables proceeded down the aisle, each carrying a sword, a crown, a plate, or some other article of treasure deemed appropriate to honor on this day. She and her parents surely looked like tourists, especially her Papa who stared at the jewels and gold with his mouth hanging open in shock and only shut it when his wife closed his mouth with a gentle finger.
 
Marinette couldn’t help but lean and stretch her neck a little, hoping to see Felix amidst the crowd. Where was he? How long did this procession thing take anyway? Why did all of these other people get to go first when her Bagheera was probably getting a headache right now from the light, noise, and the heat of that cloak? She had made it as lightweight as she could, but there is only so much you can do with velvet and ermine in late spring.
 
There! Through the sea of faces Marinette caught sight of Felix, regal and elegant in his jewels and finery, and her mind went blank in surprise.
 
This Felix wasn’t just handsome, just as he was no longer a prince. This Felix belonged to history… to his kingdom and his people. He had found his place and was claiming it so he could strive to change the world for the better.
 
… And she – Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a baker’s daughter and chambermaid – had played her small part in helping him get there. He was wearing the clothes she had designed for him; the king’s cloak that set him apart with their story and their love hidden over his heart.

“Felix,”

she thought, tears welling up in her eyes and her heart ready to burst with pride in him.

“I love you, Bagheera! I don’t care about titles or anything else! I will stand by you and we can help people together. We will take care of them… just like you have taken care of me. I promise, my love. Now and always.”

Amelie sniffed, hurriedly dabbing her eyes so as not to be seen crying and Marinette looked for the other look of pride in the room. Arthur stood behind Felix at rigid attention and for all he faced forward, she could see his eyes fixed firmly on their group. The man’s face was red and Marinette couldn't help but grin.
 
With a gentle tap of her finger on the Queen’s white gloved hand, Marinette indicated Arthur with a subtle tilt of her head. There was a sudden flurry of hands as Amelie quickly finished with her handkerchief and tucked it back into her own clutch, her cheeks a bright pink and a nervous cough seemed to tickle her throat.
 
Sabine squeezed Marinette’s hand. “He’s very handsome, your Felix,” she whispered. You must be very proud of him.”
 
“Yes,” both Marinette and Amelie said at once, leading both to smile in genuine good humor that somewhat eased the tension that had only grown with the music.
 
Just as the anthem reached the final crescendo, she saw Felix lock eyes with her from across the room. The intensity of his gaze was like lightning arcing through her, leaving a pleasant heat in her cheeks and the pit of her stomach.

“I’m here, my love,”

she thought, sending it out to him.

“I am so proud of you. You will be an amazing king. I just know it!”

***
 
Felix could barely contain his excitement. During the entire rest of the processional and the ceremony that followed, he had plotted and schemed, and now his plans were coming to fruition. 
 
Finally wearing the crown he’d come for, he turned to face the only people he really knew in the crowd of those bowing before him in waves. He may still be bound by the pomp and circumstance of being King, but at this moment no one would dare to confront him if he dared to cross a line.
 
And cross he did as he stepped over to Marinette and offered her his hand.
 
Her eyes widened, her pupils shrinking to pin-pricks in her shock before she, his mother, and those with them sank into deep bows and curtseys.
 
“Felix,” Marinette hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
 
“What does it

look

like I’m doing?” He favored her with a saucy grin befitting a King who, for the first time, got to do whatever he wanted. “Practicing for our wedding, of course.” 
 
Her cheeks blushed like a rose garden and she swallowed nervously as she stood. “It looks like you are trying to make a spectacle of me.”
 
“Refusing a King on his crowning day? How bold,” Felix teased, but then dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, love. I’m giving you pride of place. No one will think to question you as Queen Consort after this.”
 
“He’s right, dear,” Amelie chimed in, her smile just as naughty as Felix’s. “Besides, if you’re going to marry this son of mine, you’ll need to get used to being looked at… As well as his impudence.”
 
Felix winked at the Queen Mother. “Learned from the best, Mum.”
 
Amelie snorted, and all Felix could do was gape in shock. His mother?

Snorting?

Was the sky falling just outside the abbey?
 
Shaking his head to clear it of cobwebs, he turned all his attention back to his true Queen, once again offering his hand. “Please?”
 
Marinette hesitated, but Adrien squeezed her shoulder. “I know my opinion doesn’t matter much,” he said quietly, tipping his head at Felix, “but you should go with him.”
 
She swallowed hard and her ocean eyes met Felix’s own, wide and nervous, as she fumbled for his hand. She clearly wanted to say something of the emotions that brewed in her stare, but she was looking to him for… what? Comfort, reassurance, solidarity?
 
“Thank you, Adrien,” Felix murmured, keeping his gaze on Marinette. He didn’t need his cousin’s blessing, but it was possible that Marinette did, and he wanted to ensure that Adrien knew that Felix appreciated how difficult that must have been for him.
 
“I’m… sorry, Adrien,” Marinette whispered, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “I never wanted to–”
 
“You don’t have to apologize,” said both men at the same time, each emphasizing different words. Adrien emphasized

apologize;

Felix emphasized

you,

but both were adamant.
 
Felix locked eyes with his cousin, seeing the guilt and pain he was clearly trying to hide behind that model veneer Gabriel had drilled into him from such a young age. Adrien narrowed his eyes and raised one eyebrow at him. Felix could read him loud and clear:

“She loves you and I won’t stand in your way, but you better take care of her.”

Felix gave a subtle nod and Adrien relaxed a little. 
 
“It’s okay, Marinette,” Adrien said. “We both know that you’re where you belong.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder before gently pushing her into Felix’s arms.
 
Felix caught her gladly, splaying his fingers across her lower back out of instinct. He offered Adrien a grateful smile and then tucked Marinette’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “Shall we, my love?”
 
Drawing a deep breath, she nodded, accepting a clutch purse from his mother who looked as pleased as the cat who got her cream. 
 
“Carry on, you two,” Amelie ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. “If you are going to scandalize the press this early in your reign, Fe, you might as well do it properly!”
 
Felix barked out a cackle before whispering to his little fool, “Let’s give Alya a conniption.”
 
Marinette threw back her head and laughed loud enough to echo like some forgotten angel’s instrument in the resounding orchestra that was starting up around them. “Yes! Let’s!”
 
With Marinette’s cooperation, the walk after that was a breeze. Felix took her hand and practically

ran

the last few steps, bursting through the ornate doors into the spring sunlight streaming down from the clouds that was immediately drowned out by flashing camera bulbs.
 
Even above the crowd noise, the two could clearly hear what sounded like a tea kettle screaming and a cry of “GIRL!” over the bedlam nearly made them collapse with giggles.
 
“Think she’ll forgive us for not telling her in advance?” Marinette whispered in his ear.
 
“No, never,” Felix called back, dropping the royal robe that Marinette had worked so hard on at the front of the church. He loved it, but he never wanted to wear the hot, heavy garment again. Starting to bolt, he glanced over his shoulder to see the sea of reporters closing in on them from the back. “Less talking, more running!”
 
“And do you have an escape plan, Bagheera, or do I need to start looking for back doors into movie theaters and shops?”
 
Felix felt a wild grin take over his face at the callback. “Our chariot awaits.” He pointed with his other hand at the gold-plated monstrosity, where Arthur waited by the open door, flanked by guards of his own choosing in military dress.
 
Finally noticing how Marinette was struggling in her cute kitten heels, Felix scooped her up in a bridal carry and dove for the carriage doors.
 
As soon as they hit the seat, Marinette lunged over his shoulder and pulled the door closed. Outside on the driver’s bench, Arthur shouted to the driver and the guards surrounding them. With the crack of a whip, the carriage rocked forward as the horses jerked them into motion.
 
Breathless and giggling, Felix straightened himself out, noting with pleasure that Marinette was still spread across his thighs. “Well, that was fun! Let’s never do it again.”
 
“Silly, we won’t ever need to.” She panted, trying to rise, but he casually leaned on her, effectively pinning her in his lap.
 
“I won’t, dear heart, but you will,” he all but purred in amusement. “Part and parcel of being my bride, you know.”
 
Marinette gave him a scandalized, apoplectic look that had Felix nearly rolling with laughter as she moved to her seat. He hadn’t planned on the beginning of his reign being hilarious, but it suited him just fine.
 
“Besides, don’t you

want

to attend all those boring meetings as Queen Conso–”
 
“Peace.” The sudden grip of her dainty hand on his chin, the lace gloves tickling his skin, struck him dumb. Her eyes were full of such longing it made his insides burn with it, with just a hint of mischief in the shadows. “I will stop

your

mouth.”
 
Felix barely had time to react before she stole a peck from his lips that was far too brief for his liking. He growled under his breath, fully intending to crash his mouth into hers, but then she pointed to the sides of the carriage: fully transparent bulletproof glass.
 
“You might want to wait, my Bagheera.” Now it was her turn to purr and it was driving him crazy! “Unless you want it on the news by this afternoon. Then Alya really will have a fit!”
 
“You’re right, of course,” Felix grumbled, folding his arms in a fit of pique. Apparently, even the King of England didn’t get to do just

anything

he wanted.
 
Marinette curled her hand into the crook of his arm once more, cuddling against him in a way that soothed his ruffled temper. “Don’t worry, Felix. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t be going anywhere unless it is with you.”
 
Mollified, Felix delicately cupped her cheek and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “What do you say we give the press something to scream about?” 
 
Before she could answer, he pressed his lips to hers, a chaste kiss that was no less passionate than any of their heavier ones. Their lips glided against each other’s, and despite the innocent, pure movements, Felix poured all his devotion, all his adoration, all his love into the kiss.
 
He felt her breath catch in her chest just as he felt her hand drift up his arm to his neck where her fingertips drew tiny circles on his skin that made him shiver.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he murmured imperiously against her mouth, bringing them back to where it all started before his voice softened with reverence, “my

Queen.

”