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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Fifteen

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Marinette did not sleep that night. Even as tired as she was, she spent the night staring up at her ceiling. Though she could not see the artwork for Prince Adrien and Prince Félix’s clothing in the darkness, she still knew they were there. But it wasn’t the princes who were on her mind. It was Chat Noir.

“Tikki, can you break curses?” she asked.

Her fay friend curled up on her pillow beside Marinette’s head. She hummed sleepily. “I’ve never been good at breaking things.”

“But the Lucky Charm… it undoes Hawk Moth’s curse, doesn’t it?”

“It creates a blessing.”

Marinette was quiet for a long time. “Do you think if I could break Chat Noir’s curse, he would stay?”

But Tikki did not answer, either because she was fast asleep or because she did not know.

She still could not believe that he had asked Ladybug to marry him. She remembered what he had said to her that night that he had stolen Lila’s pendant. When she had offered to help him, he had said, I don’t know that you would. And she had just proven him right by turning down his proposal.

“What sort of curse does he need a wedding to get out of?” Marinette asked aloud, and again, Tikki was quiet.

The sky turned gray as dawn crept ever closer. Marinette threw her arm over her face in an attempt to block out the encroaching light, but her mind would not settle into sleep.

She had turned Chat Noir down because he was her best friend. She didn’t love him the way that he loved her, and they both knew that. She also knew that he would have no interest in who she was beneath her mask. He might be curious, but once he knew her, he would move on, and she didn’t want that for either of them.

But Chat Noir had kissed Marinette. And she had loved it.

She was fairly certain that he had enjoyed it, too.

Marinette dragged her hands over her face and wailed in pure agony. She was an idiot. Chat Noir had proposed to Ladybug and kissed Marinette and was already talking about marrying someone else! How could she trust any one of his affections?

But was she any better, kissing Luka and then Chat Noir just moments later?

“Tikki, what do I do?” she cried.

“You should sleep, Marinette,” Tikki said.

But dawn broke, and Marinette still did not sleep. Cold winter light poured through her attic windows as dawn became day, and still, she did not sleep. She stared up at her ceiling, at the pinned artwork of Prince Félix and Prince Adrien, and could not help but wonder if her designs for Prince Félix had drawn any inspiration from Chat Noir, who wore black like it was a game rather than a burden.

The smells rising from the bakery finally dragged Marinette out of bed, as they had ever since she was a little girl.

Her mother fussed over the bags under her eyes and her father worried over her haggard appearance. He shoved half of a baguette into her hands and her mother plied her with warm eggs. Marinette ate dutifully, though she did not taste the breakfast. Exhaustion and concern had sapped all pleasure from her morning.

Nino and Alya teased her for her half-awake stare as she helped them box the last of the baked goods for the palace. But when she did not react with either protest or fluster, their teasing died down.

“Marinette, are you all right?” Alya asked as she took a box of cookies out of Marinette’s hands.

“Just tired.”

“You promised me that you wouldn’t work yourself to death,” Nino said.

“I’m not dead yet,” she managed, and tried for a smile. Judging by the panicked look that Alya and Nino exchanged, Marinette did not think her smile was especially successful.

Sabine held the door open for Marinette, Nino, and Alya. She touched Nino briefly on the wrist. “Keep an eye on Marinette, please?”

“Of course,” he promised.

“I mean it. Bring her straight home and we’ll put her to bed.”

Nino nodded solemnly. He took his responsibility as guardian of his friends seriously. Marinette and Alya were his charges and he would protect them. Alya might have her own special protection now—he glanced at her chest, but the orange pendant was tucked underneath her chemise—but Marinette seemed especially out of sorts. He would not let her far from his sight today.

“When did you get home last night?” Alya asked as Marinette stifled another yawn.

Marinette struggled to remember the details of her night beyond two very distinct kisses. It occurred to her that she had almost fallen to her death at some point in the evening, and even that experience was hardly more than a footnote when she considered the evening as a whole.

“Around three?” she said. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“But you were so tired yesterday,” said Nino.

Marinette shrugged.

But Alya was far shrewder than that. “What happened?” she asked.

Marinette searched desperately for a lie and found none that would reasonably explain why sleep had eluded her. She wondered just how much she had to tell Alya and Nino before they were satisfied.

She picked the thing that might least offend her friends. “I kissed Luka last night.”

But this did not seem to placate them. In fact, Alya frowned. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

Wasn’t she?

Marinette didn’t know anymore. Happiness felt like a distant friend, separated from her by an ocean of exhaustion. She recalled its flare in her kiss with Chat Noir, and she knew it had to have been in her kiss with Luka. She hadn’t been unhappy to kiss him, at least.

It was hard to know anything for certain, tired as she was.

“It was nice,” she said.

“Nice enough to keep you awake all night?” Nino asked, and it was the sort of thing that should have been a joke, that he should have asked with a grin and Marinette should have blushed and protested, but instead his voice was colored with concern and Marinette only chewed on her bottom lip anxiously.

“Yes?”

Alya and Nino looked as doubtful as Marinette felt. She did her best to ignore them and searched her pockets for the key to Master Fu’s shop.

“You could hold her so she can’t run,” Alya suggested to Nino, “and I’ll interrogate her until we get the truth.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Nino smiled.

Though their hands were full of boxes of sweets and they had no way to truly force Marinette to tell the truth, they were determined to try.

Marinette unlocked the door to Master Fu’s shop. In her exhaustion, her thoughts felt frenetic, scurrying out of her grasp just as she caught sight of them, like kittens diving for cover. She knew that she needed to wrap the princes’ outfits, but as she was considering where she had left the wrappings yesterday, she remembered Luka’s easy smile. But before she could quite bring to mind the steady happiness she felt around Luka, she recalled Chat Noir’s wild, teasing grin. But before she could enjoy the memory of her friend at his happiest, she remembered the heartbreak in his eyes after he had kissed her. But before she could quite feel guilty or upset, she remembered Prince Adrien’s heartbreak as he had caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and then she remembered that she was supposed to be getting the princes’ outfits packed up to take to the palace, and where were those boxes?

The shop door jingled as she shoved it open, and Marinette thought the bell absurdly loud. It seemed to split her head in two and she winced. Two nights of little-to-no sleep was worse than the one night she, Alya, and Nino had, in celebration of the start of her seventh year in her apprenticeship, burned through four bottles of wine.

The shop had been cleaned since Marinette had left last night. The scraps of fabric, thread, and cording left behind by Juleka and Marinette’s midnight work had been sorted and put away. Master Fu was seated at the low tea table in the entrance, a freshly brewed pot of tea at his elbow. He looked up at Marinette and her friends with a warm smile and stroked his thin, pointed beard.

“Good morning, Marinette. I would ask how you slept, but it is written all over your face.”

She mumbled a greeting and disappeared into her workroom. She had to find those boxes.

“Marinette,” Master Fu called, “come and sit.”

She pulled aside a pile of linen from a project she had abandoned once the ball had been announced. “I have to pack the princes’ things!” she shouted back.

“I have already done it. Come and sit.”

Marinette had never been able to argue with Master Fu when her wits were at their peak, something that was certainly untrue today. Reluctantly, she returned to the shop’s foyer and collapsed onto the floor beside the table.

“Please, sit as well.” Master Fu gestured to Nino and Alya.

Carefully, they set their boxes on the window ledge and joined Marinette and Master Fu.

He poured three more cups of warm, fresh green tea and slid them across the table.

“Drink, Marinette. You will feel better.”

He did not command Nino and Alya to drink, but they did anyway. The warm brew was a pleasant balm after the winter’s chill, and it did settle Marinette’s nerves. Her thoughts felt less like darting kittens and more like stubborn fish fighting the river’s current. Still difficult to catch, but steadier and a bit more reliable.

“Juleka tells me you both worked very late last night,” Master Fu said.

“Er—yes. I should have been back sooner, but things took longer at the palace than they should have.”

“Hawk Moth attacked,” Nino supplied. “We all got separated and—”

Master Fu held up his hand and Nino obediently stopped talking.

“I am not trying to scold you. I would like to apologize.”

Marinette blinked at her master. “For what?”

“I should not have left you to this project so unsupervised. It was too much, and I didn’t realize the stress that it had put on you. I know that you are still not finished with the princes’ outfits for tomorrow, so I would like you to stay and work on them while I fit the princes.”

“No—I can do it!”

“I know that you can, Marinette,” he said, voice soft and kind, “but I do not want to see you wear yourself down to nothing. It is easy for an artist to be swept away by the pressures of a powerful client. I would be doing your education a disservice if I did not impart this lesson to you as well: allow those who love you to help you when you are stressed.”

Marinette rubbed her eyes. “I know I’m tired, and I know there’s more work to do, but I have to be the one to go to the palace. Princess Kagami’s attendant is ill, and I’m supposed to help get her ready, too.”

“I have helped many a princess of many nations prepare for a ball,” Master Fu said.

“But she—she’s shy and I promised that I would help her today.”

Master Fu considered Marinette, both her obvious exhaustion and her desperate plea, as he twisted the thin jade bangle around his wrist. It was the only piece of finery that he wore, despite the high status of many of his clients. He had never been prone to opulence; the profits of his labors went right back into his art. He was a craftsman, and his craft was his passion. But this bracelet was more than a beautiful, stately piece of jewelry. It was his only remnant of home.

“Very well,” he said. “You may finish your work at the palace today, but you will not come back here to finish the prince’s clothing for tomorrow. I will take care of it, and I will see you tomorrow morning after a good night’s rest.”

“But Master Fu—”

“I insist.”

Though gratitude was not the first emotion Marinette felt—indignation and frustration were first in her heart, for she knew that she was capable of doing everything that needed to be done and it was unfair of her master to take her work from her—she bowed her head and said, “Thank you, Master.”

“You will feel better after a good night’s rest,” he said.

Her face turned hot. Perhaps her disingenuity was not as hidden as she had hoped.

In an effort to hide her embarrassment, Marinette finished her tea and stood. “We should get going. Where are the princes’ clothes?”

“I would ask one more thing, Marinette.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. It occurred to her that she had no interest in opening her eyes again, and maybe she ought to be a bit more receptive to Master Fu’s help.

“Whatever burden you carry,” he said, “share it with your friends.”

She wrinkled her nose before she could think to stop herself. Alya and Nino burst into laughter.

At least her friends could remain good-natured despite her own exhaustion and irritability.

Marinette bowed to her master and asked again where he had put the princes’ clothes for the ball.

When she left the shop, she was as burdened by boxes as her friends, and it occurred to her that sharing her emotional burdens with her friends was as silly as them swapping boxes. They all had things they had to carry, and her friends could not carry her worries for her. She could not tell them that she was Ladybug, and she hoped, even though she knew the truth of Rena Rouge, Alya felt a similar hesitation to share such a secret.

Alya was in fact hesitant to share her story of becoming Rena Rouge with Marinette, but it was only because Marinette looked so tired. It was a secret that could wait until after the ball and after Marinette had gotten a good night’s sleep. It was a secret she wanted Marinette to enjoy properly.

“Do I need to duel Luka?” Nino finally blurted out when they were halfway to the palace.

Marinette stared at him, bewildered. “What? No.”

“He didn’t… do anything he shouldn’t have?”

“No! He was a perfect gentleman, who walked me home from Master Fu’s shop, and asked if he could… well, he didn’t say court, he just asked if he could visit more often. And then we kissed goodnight.”

Alya’s eyebrows shot up. “Luka asked to court you?”

“He didn’t!”

“Has he talked to your parents?” Nino asked, voice still thick with suspicion. Sabine’s orders were still heavy in his heart, and he would protect Marinette’s honor as surely as if she were his own blood.

“No! It’s nothing like that.”

“But what did you say?” Alya asked. “Did you say yes?”

“I just asked him to wait. You know, until after the ball. After all the work was done.”

“And what did he say?” Alya pressed.

“He was perfectly polite and said he would happily wait.”

“Hm… so what will you tell Chat Noir tomorrow night?”

Marinette, despite all her best efforts, panicked and went sprawling in the street. The boxes full of the princes’ clothes bounced on the cobblestones, but thanks to Master Fu’s careful packing, they did not open. Still, though disaster had been averted and her scrapes beneath her dress were already healing, Marinette wanted to cry.

Maybe Master Fu had a point. Maybe she really did need to get some rest.

Nino and Alya adjusted their burdens to help Marinette to her feet. A kind, middle-aged man who had been hurrying down the street stopped, turned around, and scooped up the boxes for her.

“Careful, mademoiselle,” he said, handed them back to her, then resumed his rushed pace.

“That was my fault,” Alya apologized. “I should’ve known better than to tease you like that.”

Marinette inspected the boxes. The corners were scuffed and one was dented, but surely the insides were unharmed. She was not exactly handling anything fragile, which was the nice part of being a seamstress rather than a baker.

“No harm done,” Marinette sighed. “Just my ego, as usual.”

“But you are going to break off your dance with Chat Noir tomorrow, aren’t you?” Nino asked.

Marinette’s ego recovered with aplomb and she snapped, “Why should I?”

“Well… with Luka…”

“Chat Noir and I are well aware of the fact that we both have other commitments. Just as I’m well aware that you have another commitment, but I’ve agreed to dance with you.”

Nino looked helplessly to Alya, but Alya just shrugged. Marinette, for all her kindness and grace—sentimental grace, not physical grace—could be exceptionally stubborn.

They would just have to try again when she was better rested and perhaps in a more reasonable mood.

When the group of friends arrived at the palace, they checked in with the same woman that they had met yesterday. She looked no happier today than she had yesterday, though she did not ask for their names this time.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, please see to Princess Kagami first. The princes are not ready for you just yet,” she said.

Marinette blinked at her. “Oh I—”

But a young servant was already taking the boxes from her hands. She had no choice but to curtsy quickly and agree.

“Wait, Marinette—” Nino remembered Sabine’s warning. He knew he could not follow Marinette into Princess Kagami’s chambers, certainly, but he still was not keen on letting her go far. “Just—let’s all make sure to meet back here before we leave?”

“Yes,” Marinette answered readily. She, too, had no desire to be separated from Nino and Alya like they had been yesterday. And as long as no one else proposed to her today, she should remember to meet with her friends before leaving the palace.

Once Marinette and the boxes of the princes’ clothes had both disappeared into the palace walls, Nathalie motioned for two more servants to come and take the pastries from Nino and Alya.

“Oh, we’re happy to help set them up,” Alya said.

“The display design is in the Dupain-Chengs’ contract,” Nino added. “They wannt to make sure everything is the way that they would want it.”

“You may verify the display when you are finished meeting with King Gabriel,” Nathalie said.

Nino and Alya stared at her. “What?” they asked in unison.

Two guards in stiff red and white uniforms approached.

“You’re to be escorted to the throne room.” Nathalie was already waving them off to the guards and moving on to the next person at the gates who needed access to the palace in order to prepare for the ball.

Alya took Nino’s hand as they followed the guard. He squeezed it tightly, unsure if he was offering encouragement or seeking it. Perhaps it was both.

While Nino could not be sure what King Gabriel wanted to see a pair of boulangerie employees about, he had a guess it had something to do with a little song he had played yesterday for Ladybug and Chat Noir.

In the moment, it had seemed like a good idea. Chat Noir had asked Ladybug to dance, and he had thought that his offer was helpful. It even seemed nice to give Ladybug and Chat Noir something fun, a small token of gratitude for the number of times they had saved the kingdom, and even Nino himself on more than one occasion, from Hawk Moth’s curse.

But now it felt absolutely foolish. What had he been thinking? He’d been dressed in the bright pink apron of the boulangerie and patisserie, and of course the guards would recognize it. King Gabriel would want to question him about Chat Noir’s identity, and, though Nino was suspicious of Chat Noir and his intentions with Marinette, Nino was no snitch. Loyalty was his strength as much as his bane.

Nino and Alya were taken to the throne room. If Nino had been awed by the high windows, painted ceilings, and gilt crown molding of the ballroom, he was utterly astonished at the grandeur of the throne room.

It was blindingly bright, made entirely of white marble, and he and Alya were marched down the red carpet that cut through its center. Guards stood in straight lines, parallel to the columns that supported the high ceilings, their red jerkins stark against the pale floors. The brilliant, round window behind the throne let in the winter’s cold afternoon sun, casting both a halo behind and a harsh shadow before King Gabriel’s throne.

King Gabriel was seated in the tall chair, draped in shadow and dressed in a crisp white jerkin and a bloodred doublet. Gold braiding decorated the shoulders, and equally brilliant embroidery cut through the red on his chest. The white ruff of his chemise draped over his neck and a brooch made from a colorless gem rested at the hollow of his throat. His hand covered his mouth, and his heavy brow was furrowed in a harsh glare as Nino and Alya were brought before him.

The guard stopped just before the dais. Nino bowed, Alya curtsied, and both of them struggled to stay calm in the king’s presence.

Nino held his bow, waiting for permission to stand properly. It did not come. He glanced at Alya and found that she was still bent in a low curtsy. She looked at him and he could see the same question on his lips reflected in her amber eyes. What had they done to upset the king so much?

“You may stand,” King Gabriel finally said, and though Nino was grateful to straighten his spine, he did not feel any ounce of relief. His stomach still churned with anxiety.

“My guards tell me that you helped Ladybug and Chat Noir yesterday, when the palace was under attack from one of Hawk Moth’s curses.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Nino and Alya said in unison.

“Nino more than me, though,” Alya added, but King Gabriel held up his hand and she bit down on her tongue.

“Yes or no will do,” he said. “Should I need you to embellish, I will ask.”

Nino swallowed hard and he felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck. He had heard rumors that King Gabriel was a harsh man, made more so by the loss of his wife, but this was much worse than he had expected, and certainly not what he would have hoped for.

“Do you know the identities of either Ladybug or Chat Noir?” King Gabriel asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” they replied.

King Gabriel searched his subjects for evidence of a lie, but it was hard to be certain. He did not know these two beyond what Nathalie had told him: they worked in a bakery, had a string of failed plays between the two of them, and had recently begun a venture as investigators that, while still in its infancy, was growing steadily.

“Young man, I’m told that you were present in the ballroom when the guards arrived and that Chat Noir carried you off.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Nino said, knowing there was no sense in trying to lie about something a dozen guards had seen.

“Yet you claim not to know him.”

“No, Your Majesty—er, may I… embellish?”

Gabriel’s nostrils flared, but he waved his hand in acquiescence.

“I know Chat Noir and Ladybug no more than other citizens of the kingdom who have been rescued from Hawk Moth’s curses. They’ve saved our lives many times over in the last year. Helping them protect the castle seemed like the least we could do to say thank you.”

King Gabriel’s cold eyes shifted from Nino to Alya. “And you, young lady, how did you assist the hero and the thief? Please, feel free to embellish.”

Alya licked her lips nervously. “Er—Nino and I ran to help. We herded the monsters into the ballroom and barricaded the doors. I guarded the doors that lead back into the palace, and Nino guarded the ones that led to the gardens.”

“But you were not there when the guards arrived.”

“The monsters turned out to be my younger sisters. When I saw the fox hero carry them off, I ran after her.”

Nino trusted that Alya would never lie to him, but he had always been wary of how good she was at it. In this moment, however, he was nothing but grateful for her skill. He really ought to encourage her to make the transition from writing plays to starring in them.

King Gabriel, however, did not look quite so convinced.

“Search her,” he said.

A pair of guards held Alya in place while another began to search the folds of her dress, but for what, Nino had no idea.

“You have no right,” Alya shrieked, as Nino pried his way between her and the guard.

“Don’t touch her!” But one of the guard’s fists collided with Nino’s stomach. He doubled over and another struck him in the back of his neck. He had less appreciation for the marble floor as his chin hit the white stone and split open. A foot pressed into his back, holding him down. That did not stop Nino from doing his best to get free.

“Let go of me!” Alya shouted. She was not surprised as the guards pulled her hair aside to check her ears, pierced with gold, dangling earrings that had once belonged to her great-grandmother, one of her family’s last heirlooms of their ancestral home. She was surprised when the guards removed these. “Those are mine!” she shouted.

But they ignored her, even as she kicked furiously and tried to pull her arms free.

Next they checked her hands, and removed the plain gold band that Nino had bought for her after saving up over their five-year courtship.

“Stop it!”

But the guards did not stop there. Hands probed her bodice, trailed her arms and legs, lifted her skirts, combed through her hair, and finally closed around the pendant that hung around her neck. Another guard found Trixx, asleep in one of her dress’s pockets.

As the guard pulled him out, Trixx woke. He wriggled out from the guard’s hands but another guard grabbed him. This time Trixx transformed into a fox and ducked as another guard tried to pounce on him. He darted for the doors.

“After him!” King Gabriel commanded, but the fox was little more than an orange blur scampering out of their reach and leapt at the palace doors. The fox collided with the doors in a crash, magic failing to provide an escape. Trixx tumbled backwards and shrunk into his smaller form just in time for one of the guards to shove him into a small iron cage.

“Let him go!”

But Alya’s protest was in vain. The guard brought the trapped fay to King Gabriel, and though the King’s face did not change, his pale blue eyes glittered with interest.

“These palace walls are laced with iron to prevent fay like you from getting in uninvited,” King Gabriel, “but it seems those iron bars have served a double purpose.”

The chatty Fay of Illusion and Trickery said nothing, but his large, bushy orange tail flicked angrily.

King Gabriel turned from the fay to the trinkets that his guards had collected from the girl. The gold that the girl wore was surprisingly fine for a peasant, but it was not what he was interested in. A quick glance at the earrings and ring told him that they were not the ruby earrings and emerald-studded ring that he sought so desperately.

The necklace though—that was an interesting find.

“How did you come by this pendant?” Gabriel asked.

Alya yanked against the guards holding her arms but she achieved nothing more than a strained shoulder. “I made a deal with that fay. Give him back.”

“The Fay of Illusion and Trickery does not make deals.”

“He made one with me! Two, in fact, so let him go!”

“I will not return him,” Gabriel said, and he saw rage burn in her eyes. That was good; he could use rage. “It is for your own good, child. You cannot make a deal with a trickster. It will always end badly for you.”

“You have no right!”

She was furious, indignant, and terrified. Gabriel relished it, and knew he ought to use it before time could dull its sharper edges.

He pocketed the pendant. “Search the boy for good measure.”

Tears rolled down Alya’s cheeks, hot and furious as the guards forced Nino through the same indignities she had just suffered. Though she knew it was useless, she fought for some scrap of freedom. She wished that she had called on Trixx the moment the guards had held her down, but she had been too afraid of what that might mean for Nino or their families. To use the power of the fay against the king and his guards… It was a line of treason she had not wanted to cross.

But she would cross it now without a second thought.

The guards took the promise ring that Alya had given to Nino, a band identical to hers, that King Gabriel examined then dismissed.

“You may have your trinkets back,” he said. “Return to your business. The crown is grateful for your service.”

Alya snarled out a flurry of every curse she knew, in her own language and her grandmother’s and even a few she had picked up from Sabine Cheng after a month of working in the bakery.

The guards dragged her from the throne room, but Alya kept her eyes trained on the king, trained on the cage that trapped Trixx. She watched as King Gabriel stood, walked behind his throne, and disappeared.

Then she and Nino were thrown out of the throne room.

Nino scrambled to her side. “Alya, are you all right?”

She gritted her teeth and barely restrained a vicious snarl. “Of course not! Nino, he took Trixx!”

“We’ll get him back.”

“How? He’s the king!”

Her fury and indignation swelled as Gabriel closed the door to his private office. He let his grief hold him fast to his purpose, like an anchor against the tide, as he looked up at Emilie’s portrait.

“This time,” he promised. The girl’s rage was greater than any anger he had seen in a long time.

He pulled aside the enormous painting and ran his fingers against the wall behind it until he found the hidden catch. The wall swung aside, revealing a small safe and another hidden door. He put his ornate golden key into the safe first and deposited the fay and the orange fox-tail pendant beside a blue brooch in the shape of a peacock’s tail.

Next, he locked the safe and unlocked the door. It guarded a tight spiral staircase that lead up one of the two spires attached to either side of the throne room. Gabriel tucked the Fay of Illusion under his arm and climbed the stairs eagerly.

The small room at the top was plain, illuminated by a much smaller version of the circular window that decorated the throne room. And in this room, the center pane of the geometric glass design had been removed. A flutter of pale white butterflies flitted through the room, feeding on the clusters of equally white lilies that grew in the corners. Despite the winter weather, this room was as warm as spring, but that warmth never seemed to reach Gabriel.

Gabriel touched the gray brooch at his throat and said, “Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

The small, pale fay with its butterfly-like wings and antennae obediently flitted from its perch amongst the lilies and vanished into the now amethyst, winged brooch at Gabriel’s throat. His white and red clothes disappeared, replaced by regal purple silk lined with thick, soft mink furs. Hawk Moth was a king in his own right, and he had every intention of gaining control of the world of the fay as surely as Gabriel controlled his own kingdom.

The scepter that appeared in his hand was tipped with purple glass. He held it under his arm and extended his hands to one of the pristine white butterflies. As he caged the creature between his fingers, he whispered the incantation for his power.

Violet magic darkened the creature’s wings and it flitted out of the room, honing in easily on the strongest emotion in the palace: the fury that filled a young woman who had just been betrayed by her king.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #gabriel makes a big mistakes

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter One

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter One The Flour Girl

Crown Prince Adrien Agreste stumbled backwards as the blade struck his chest. He hit the pommel horse and grunted as it knocked the wind out of him. With a deep breath, he lifted his helmet in surrender.

“I can only take so much of a beating from you, Félix,” Adrien laughed. He ran his fingers through his hair to restore its natural bounce after hours of being buried beneath his practice helm.

On the other side of the mat, Félix sheathed the dull practice sword and also removed his helmet. He shrugged off his cousin’s compliment and began to divest his practice gear.

The princes were not twins, though many presumed so when meeting them for the first time. They shared the same shimmering blonde hair, were of identically fit builds, and had hit their growth spurt at the same time after their sixteenth birthdays—which coincidentally fell on the same day. It was hard for anyone, even their parents to tell them apart, but those who knew them well learned that Adrien’s smile came easier, and Félix's steely gray eyes were often a few degrees colder than Adrien’s gentle green ones.

Though Adrien and Félix were not twins, their mothers had been twins, which was why the two boys looked so very alike. Neither of them took after their fathers.

A sharp, efficient knock echoed in the gym, and the door opened for Nathalie Sancouer.

It may not have been appropriate for a woman of the palace staff to see Adrien and Félix as they were, divested of the padding that protected them during sword play with their chests covered only by thin chemise, but Nathalie Sancouer had permissions in the palace that most staff did not.

Nathalie had served in the palace since the princes were children, and nearly one year ago, when Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and Duchess Amelie had been too consumed with the loss of her husband to manage the palace in Emilie’s place, Nathalie had stepped into the role with ease. She met King Gabriel’s high standards and was unmoved even in the face of the heavy gloom that had descended over the palace with the loss of both Queen Emilie and her brother-in-law.

Nathalie wore her dark hair in a tight bun, and she carried at least three scrolls under her arms. She was dressed in a red and white gown, as most of the palace staff were, along with the dark ribbons indicating their lengthy mourning for Queen Emilie. She also had golden thread embroidered along the edges of her dress and her bodice, even though such decoration was traditionally reserved for the royal family.

She held out a folded parchment sealed in bright red wax. “A message for His Royal Highness, Prince Adrien,” she announced.

Adrien hurried across the room to take the letter from Nathalie. She had not said it was urgent, but something about Nathalie’s efficiency made everything seem urgent.

“Thank you, Nathalie.”

She did not reciprocate his manners. Nathalie was a patient woman, but she did not waste time on platitudes. “Don’t forget, you’re both expected at dinner this evening.”

“With my father?” Adrien asked, hardly daring to hope.

“He has said that he’ll be there.” And with that, she was gone.

There were times that Adrien found Nathalie’s unflappable nature comforting; she was steady and dependable, and he appreciated that. There were other times, however, that Adrien found her cold and unsympathetic. She could be practical to the point of injury, and though he knew that she was only trying to protect him, it was easy to feel unheard—much like interacting with his father.

Adrien swallowed down the ache in his chest. Nathalie had a job to do—several jobs to do, in fact—and he could not linger on his hurt just because she and his father alike were not as sensitive as he wanted them to be, not as sensitive as he remembered his mother.

“Who’s writing to you?” Félix asked as he took a glass of water from one of the servants.

“It must be Chloé Bourgeois. We don’t really have any other friends.” Adrien, despite his heartache, laughed as if it were a funny joke, but Félix did not so much as smile.

Undeterred by his cousin’s solemnity, Adrien handed off his sword and examined the bright red wax stamp.

The Bourgeois family had two daughters, but one served across the Southern Sea as an ambassador, and Adrien and Félix had never even met her. Chloé was the eldest daughter, and in line to inherit her father’s lordship. She had been promised to Adrien since birth and had always been close with them as boys—well, as close as anyone ever got to the princes.

But the Bourgeois family’s crest was marked by the honeysuckle plant, and Adrien was fairly certain that the detailed swirls in this wax stamp were not petals of a flower but rather the scales and claws of a dragon.

“I don’t recognize this seal.”

Félix strode across the gymnasium to peer over his cousin’s shoulder. “It looks like it’s the Tsurugi crest. You remember them—from the Bright Islands of the East. They were at the twenty-five-year celebration of your father’s reign.”

Adrien scrunched up his nose as he tried to picture the Tsurugis. “Mother and daughter?” he asked Félix. “I hardly remember them. I’m not sure the daughter said a word the whole time she was here.”

Félix, who made a point of remembering all important contacts to the royal family and made it his business to keep up on all the gossip of not just their palace, but the palaces of other nations, said, “I’ve heard she’s incredibly, painfully awkward. The Tsurugis hardly ever leave their castle.”

Adrien laughed. “That doesn’t mean much. We don’t leave our castle either.” He broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out a letter written in impeccable penmanship. It was clear and easy to read. Adrien, who appreciated fine attention to detail, was impressed.

“What do the Tsurugis want?” Félix asked impatiently.

“Hold on, I’m still reading—” Adrien stopped, unsure that he had read the letter correctly. “Oh.” He reread it just to be sure. His stomach twisted uncomfortably and he found his mouth dry. Unable to give voice to the contents of the letter, he passed the note to Félix.

Félix raised his eyebrows. He, too, found the penmanship impressive, but the audacity moreso. “Kagami Tsurugi knows that you’re promised to Chloé, and she’s still sending you her intentions?”

“It doesn’t matter. Father’s too close to the Bourgeois to accept Kagami’s offer.” Adrien tried not to sound bitter and angry, but now that his twenty-first birthday was approaching, his impending marriage to Chloé was also becoming a much more pressing entity.

Félix folded the letter and returned it to Adrien. “A formalized relationship with the Bright Island of the East would be good for our kingdom. If anything, your father will suggest that I marry Kagami instead. Or perhaps he’ll offer me as an appeasement for Chloé, and he’ll accept the Tsurugis’ offer for your hand.”

Adrien grimaced. He was not fond of discussing his upcoming marriage, and certainly not in the irreverent and informal way that Félix did. He had never had any choice in his engagement, and if Adrien had his way, he would only marry for love. But whenever he mentioned this to his father, he was told that there was no reason he couldn’t fall in love with Chloé Bourgeois. Except there was a reason—a fairly large one. Adrien was already in love with someone else.

“Aunt Amelie has kept you out of an arranged marriage for years,” Adrien said. “I don’t think she’ll let you into one now just because my father thinks the Tsurugi family might be a better match for the kingdom.”

Félix shrugged. “There’s certainly a limit on how many favors your father will extend to my mother.” But if there was a limit, they had not seen it yet.

There had been countless offers for Félix’s hand. Chloé’s younger sister had been the first, a princess of the Northern Country of Ice had been the second, a lady of the Southern Coast had been the third, and the list went on and on. Amelie Graham de Vanily had turned down every offer for her son’s hand in marriage, even when King Gabriel had advised her to accept them.

But that small freedom had never made Félix feel any more free than Adrien. They were, both of them, confined to a strict schedule of physical training, tutorship, and preparation for royal leadership. They were never allowed out of the palace grounds, not even on the king’s annual hunting trips into the Forest of the Fay. They were as much prisoners as they were princes, and both chafed under that restraint.

One of the servants cleared his throat to get the princes’ attention.

“Your Highnesses,” he said in a low voice. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing man, dressed in the black and red uniform of a guard. Though he had been a guard for the princes all their lives, they had never actually learned his name. Félix and Adrien—when they thought no one was listening—referred to him as “The Gorilla.” They didn’t know that the serving staff had also picked up on the nickname, so much so that there were actually very few staff left in the palace who remembered the man’s real name.

The Gorilla inclined his head slightly. “Excuse the interruption, but if you do not dress hastily, the king shall wonder why you are late for dinner.”

Adrien held still as a servant fastened the inky black closures that ran down his chest, while another laced the ebony silk ribbons on the sleeves. There was no color in the braiding across his breast nor in the chemise beneath his doublet. He and Félix alike dressed in pure black: Adrien in mourning for his mother who had fallen asleep and never woken up, and Félix for his father who had disappeared that same night and never returned.

The year anniversary was approaching, tragically timed to the princes’ shared birthday. Adrien was not sure how, in just one month’s time, he would be expected to doff his mourning attire, enter adulthood, and marry a girl of his father’s choosing. It was too much, and Adrien longed to slip away from the palace, even for a few hours, just to forget about the weight of what loomed ahead of him. His hand instinctively went to the silver band around his right ring finger and he twisted it anxiously.

Félix’s gaze followed Adrien’s fidgeting fingers.

The ring had appeared on Adrien’s finger the day after services had been held for Félix’s father. That entire week had been a whirlwind of grief for both boys. Félix had spent most of it consoling his mother, and was only distantly aware that Adrien had disappeared for a day and returned. When Félix had suggested to his uncle that perhaps his father might return just as Adrien had, King Gabriel had rather coldly told him that it was impossible, and had pressed forward with the memorial service.

It had been the morning after services, when Félix had finally recovered enough wits to actually look at his family again, that he had noticed the ring on Adrien’s finger.

His throat had been sore from nights crying and his voice uncharacteristically uneven, but he had managed to ask, “Where did you get that?”

And Adrien had nervously answered, “Er—it was my mother’s.”

But the ring on Adrien’s finger was not his mother’s. Adrien had actually found the ring that he wore now not long after his mother had fallen asleep. Or rather, it would be more appropriate to say that the ring had found him.

Adrien had never truly believed his father when Gabriel had told him that his mother had been ill and the illness had put her into a sleep so deep that she could not be woken. Adrien had read enough fairy stories to believe that his mother had been cursed, and if you wanted to break a curse, you went into the Forest of Fay for help. It was also an easy place to suffer a curse, but Adrien had been so desperate to help his mother that he had ignored the warnings of the stories and had only cared about the hope that they had offered.

But despite that hope, he had not found a cure for his mother, and instead had simply gotten lost. As the sun had begun to set and Adrien had begun to regret his reckless quest, a black cat had approached him. It had leapt from tree branch to tree branch and paused, looking back over its shoulder for Adrien to follow.

Adrien had thought it unnatural, the way it jumped and slipped between branches, almost like it could change its shape as it moved through the shadows. So when they finally reached the edge of the forest, and the castle loomed across the river, its walls high and imposing but a welcome sight after a day full of towering trees, Adrien had not been surprised to see the cat transform into a small, flying creature. It had retained cat-like features—the eyes, the ears, the tail—but its body was far too small for its head, and its paws folded more like a rabbit’s than a cat’s.

“Are you one of the fay?” Adrien had asked.

It had grinned wickedly, revealing two pointed fangs, and its large, green cat-like eyes had glittered in the setting sun.

Though Adrien’s heart pounded in his chest, he had asked, “Why did you help me?”

The creature had tilted its head. “Did you want to go back?” it had asked in a high, but rough voice.

Adrien had hesitated. Did he really want to go back into the palace? Did he want to spend another night at his mother’s bedside, praying for her to wake? Did he want to eat another cold, silent meal with his father? Did he want to listen to his cousin’s screams in the room next to his as he was plagued with nightmares about his father?

“Not really,” Adrien had answered.

“Then I suppose I haven’t helped you yet.”

“But where else am I supposed to go?”

“What is it that you really want?”

Adrien had bitten his lip so hard that he had drawn blood, but it was minor compared to the scratches and bruises he had suffered in his fruitless trek through the forest. “I want you to break the curse that put my mother to sleep.”

The creature had wrinkled its tiny, cat-like nose. “I can’t really undo curses. I’m better at making them. Do you have anyone that you want cursed?”

Adrien had always felt like everyone he knew was cursed in some way; he wouldn’t wish more suffering on any of them. If his mother was truly cursed, and even this creature couldn’t find a way to save her, it was hard to imagine there was much hope for him. “I guess we aren’t well-matched, then,” Adrien had said.

But despite Adrien’s claim, the creature had placed a cold, silver ring in Adrien’s palm. Five tiny, glittering emeralds were set into the band in the shape of a cat’s paw. “When you’re ready to escape, put on the ring, and I’ll find you.”

Adrien had vowed never to put the ring on, afraid of what could happen if he made a deal with such a dark creature, but he also knew it was rude to refuse a gift. The fay were sticklers for manners, so he had thanked the creature, and returned to the palace.

Of course his father had been furious, angry that Adrien had gone and angrier still that he had returned as battered as he was. Adrien’s guard was doubled, and he was forbidden from his mother’s bedside and even from leaving his rooms. It had only taken three days of confinement for Adrien to break his private vow. After a brief trip from his bedroom to his uncle’s memorial service, then right back up to his rooms, he had slid the ring onto his right ring finger and wished for some sort of freedom.

The creature had reappeared as promised and granted his wish for the small price of some cheese.

Félix had never truly believed that the ring on Adrien’s finger had belonged to Emilie Agreste, but he hadn’t had the wherewithal to press Adrien at the time. He only knew enough to think that it could not be one of the Graham de Vanily rings, as those had been gifts from Emilie and Amelie to their husbands on their respective wedding days. He also knew that it could not be the ring that signified her holdings as the Duchess Graham de Vanily, since she had passed her titles to her sister when she had married a prince. Possibly it was the wedding band that Gabriel had gifted Emilie on her wedding day, but it seemed a bit plainer than Félix remembered her wedding band, and would have been an odd piece of sentiment for Adrien to wear. Then again, Félix had never been quite as sentimental as his cousin, at least not where anyone could bear witness.

A pair of servants opened the door to the dining hall for Félix and Adrien. The princes bowed to King Gabriel, seated at the head of the table, and waited until he gave them his permission to sit. Adrien did not mind the waiting and the formalities if it meant getting a dinner with his father, who often had meals sent to his offices instead.

Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily, Félix’s mother, sat at Gabriel’s left hand. Adrien sat at Gabriel’s right, and Félix sat by his mother. The lengthy and empty dining room table stretched far beyond them. But if the royal family took their meals together, they took them here, as if all dinners were a formal banquet that every guest had declined to attend.

“It’s too much, Gabriel,” Amelie said, reinstigating an oft-held argument as Félix took his seat beside her. “There are only four of us here, and the kitchens are much warmer this time of year. What does it matter if we give the grand dining hall and all these manners a break for one evening?”

King Gabriel, dressed in a clean, stiff black jerkin glared at Amelie with cold blue eyes. “Formality matters. We must perform to our station, including using our proper titles, Your Grace.”

Amelie sniffed, but did not complain any further. She had made her point, and the king had made his. Instead, she turned to Félix and asked how his practice with Adrien had gone.

“It went well, Mother. Thank you for asking.”

In the absence of any elaboration from Félix, Adrien excitedly recounted how Félix had beaten him in a duel, and praised how much Félix’s skill in swordsmanship had grown in the past year.

“You’ll have to do better to keep up, then, Adrien,” Gabriel said coldly.

Adrien felt his excitement and joy for his cousin’s success deflate. “Er, yes, Father. Of course.” He swallowed hard and joylessly pushed the cold vegetables around his plate. Adrien could no longer remember a time when he had ever satisfied his father’s expectations.

It was hard to say, though, if his father had always been this way. Gabriel had always been strict, of course. He was the king, and he had to ensure that his heir was safe and prepared to take over the kingdom. But he had grown colder since Emilie had fallen asleep, and some days Adrien felt like he hardly knew his father anymore.

All desire to inquire about his father’s thoughts on the Tsurugi family’s proposal left him. Gabriel would not want to hear what Adrien thought of the proposal, and Adrien would simply do whatever his father asked.

Félix, however, had not yet learned such resignation. He readily asked, “Your Majesty, what do you think of the Tsurugis’ offer? Have you decided how you will respond?”

It was not correct to say that Gabriel sneered at Félix, but something in his glare was sharper as he turned to Félix.

“So Princess Tsurugi’s letter reached Adrien, did it?”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien said softly. “I received it a little over an hour ago.”

“Empress Tomoe Tsurugi wrote to me just last week and mentioned that her daughter would be sending a formal declaration of intent. It would certainly be a good match for the kingdom,” Gabriel said.

Amelie took a sip of her wine. “It will also deeply offend André Bourgeois.”

“I’m sure he would be appeased by an arrangement between Chloé and Félix.”

It was as Félix had predicted. And Adrien had correctly predicted Amelie’s response:

“Absolutely not,” Amelie said. “I have told you time and again, Félix is not your pawn, he’s my son. He’ll choose who he is to marry when he’s ready, and whether it’s a stablehand, a noble, or a foreign royal it will be his choice.”

“You are too naïve,” Gabriel said. “You and Félix both have a duty to this kingdom.”

“If you want an alliance with the Tsurugis so badly, marry the princess yourself,” Amelie sniffed. “Or her mother—she’s widowed, too, isn’t she?”

Gabriel’s left hand tightened into a fist, and the silver wedding band glinted in the flickering light of the chandelier above them. The ring was, at first glance, a plain silver band, but on closer inspection it was embedded with intertwining white-gold vines. Its twin had disappeared with Félix’s father.

“As princes to our kingdom,” Gabriel said in a cold voice, “the two of you have a duty to carry on your family names, to raise leaders to follow in your footsteps, and to keep peace and stability within the kingdom. That means making wise decisions about who will be your partner.”

“But you’re not letting them make any decisions,” Amelie protested. “Let alone a wise or foolish one. You’re simply telling them what to do. They’ll be twenty-one in just over a month. Allow them to choose what they want for once. You know Emilie would agree with me.”

A cold silence filled the dining hall as Amelie and Gabriel stared each other down. It was an inappropriate blow, but Amelie was not wrong. Adrien kept his eyes on his plate, unable to face the fury that must be in his father’s eyes. Félix, however, waited with a measure of anticipation for Gabriel’s outburst.

But Gabriel’s anger and grief were alike cut short by the announcement of dessert.

“And what are we having this evening?” Gabriel asked in a tone of voice that sounded more like he was inquiring about a bad smell rather than a pleasant treat.

“The Duchess has ordered a strawberry-filled marzipan roll from a local boulangerie and patisserie for your enjoyment, Your Majesty,” the servant said with a deep bow.

“Very well,” Gabriel said, almost begrudgingly.

The girl who entered bearing four plates—two on each arm—was not dressed in the livery of the palace. She wore a pink apron, stitched with a gold “T & S” in a loopy, overlapping script and framed by a pair of gilded laurels. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face into two short tails and her smile looked nervous as she approached the dining table.

Adrien was just beginning to wonder what she was so nervous about when she tripped and the plates of dessert crashed to the floor.

Gabriel got to his feet in indignation and Félix stood, too, knowing that it was improper to remain seated while the king stood. Amelie stubbornly stayed seated, but Adrien rushed to help the girl stand.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh,” she squeaked, her soft blue eyes wide with terror. “Your Fineness—I mean, Your Highness, yes, I’m fine—I’m all right.” She scrambled to her feet and dusted some of the flour off of her apron, but she did not notice the streak across her cheek or the strawberry jam that had gotten into her hair. “I brought more,” she said, “just in case! One moment.” She curtsied hastily and hurried out of the room.

“She’s charming,” Amelie said with a smile.

Félix sniffed, unimpressed.

As the castle staff cleared away the debris of the girl’s tumble, she returned, this time bearing only one plate, and she set it down in front of Gabriel with a low curtsy.

“Does it please Your Majesty?” she asked, voice still high and nervous.

Gabriel surveyed the thick almond pastry rolled around a syrupy strawberry filling. “It will do,” he said coldly.

Gabriel took his seat once more and Félix sat back down. Adrien hesitated. “Will you need any help, mademoiselle?” he asked.

The girl’s face turned scarlet. “No-thank-you-I’ll-have-the-rest-out-immediately,” she said in a single breath, and hurried back into the kitchen.

Adrien reluctantly took his seat and did not meet his father’s icy gaze.

“What are you thinking,” Gabriel started in a low voice, “asking a girl like that if she needs your assistance.”

“I was just being polite, Father,” he said meekly. “You taught me to be polite.”

“Acting with decorum and lowering yourself to help a servant are two vastly different things.”

“She clearly doesn’t work here. She’s just a girl, and I wanted to be kind.”

“I think,” Amelie said as the baker-girl returned with a new plate—the girl had decided to take them one at a time to avoid another incident like the first—“that this is a perfect time to hold a ball.”

Gabriel blinked at Amelie and the abrupt change in conversation. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it,” Amelie continued, then paused to thank the girl as she set the dessert in front of her. “Emilie hosted balls all the time. We haven’t had a party since she… since she fell asleep. In one month, the princes turn twenty-one and the formal mourning period for Emilie and Michel ends. It's a perfect opportunity.”

“It sounds frivolous and foolish.”

The young girl returned with a third plate and nervously approached Adrien.

“You, baker girl,” Amelie said.

The young girl squeaked and the plate flew out of her hands, propelled by nothing except the girl’s sudden panic.

Adrien hastily caught it before it could hit the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s all right. No harm done, see?” Adrien held up the undamaged plate and set the dessert down on the table. “Thank you, mademoiselle.”

“Before you run off,” Amelie called, because the girl certainly did look like she was going to sprint back into the kitchen, “tell me, can you remember the last time the palace hosted a ball?”

The girl blinked. “Er—perhaps a year or more, Your Grace.”

“Do you remember if the people enjoyed the ball?”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded and her strawberry-sticky pigtails bounced as she did. “My family often prepared the desserts for Queen Emilie’s parties. And there was always work for the tailor’s guild which I am appre—er—I mean, everyone loves when there’s a large party. It’s fun, and it brings everyone good business, Your Grace,” and she quickly curtsied, though it was unnecessary. Adrien stifled a smile.

“You see?” Amelie said, turning to Gabriel. “It’s not frivolous; it’s important to the kingdom. And besides, I think it could solve another problem.”

Gabriel simply stared at Amelie, waiting for her to explain.

“Adrien’s marriage. Invite each eligible maiden in the city and allow Adrien to choose a bride. Perhaps he’ll fall in love with Kagami Tsurugi if he spends some time with her, or perhaps he’ll find an even more worthy woman. And if you write to the Bourgeois family and tell them you’re putting Adrien’s best interests first and letting Adrien decide for himself, they can hardly be upset with you. It still gives Chloé a fighting chance to marry him anyway, as the girl he knows best. They’ll be unhappy, but they’ll be hopeful. No one would be angry with you for acting in Adrien’s best interest.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened, but he considered her words. He took a small bite of the marzipan and chewed thoughtfully. It was hard to ignore the irony that even though Amelie said she was acting in Adrien’s best interests, she was only interested in protecting Félix. Still, he could see the possibilities unfolding before him.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We shall throw a ball in honor of the princes’ birthdays, and at the end of it, Adrien will be married. And I expect to see Félix engaged before it’s over.”

Félix pressed his lips together in a tight line, but Amelie clapped her hands together.

“You won’t regret this, Gabriel; I promise.” She turned to the girl in the pink apron, still standing uncomfortably in the dining hall, waiting to be dismissed. “Mademoiselle, let your bakery know I’ll be sending an order for dessert for three evenings—”

“Three evenings?” Gabriel spluttered.

“It’s their twenty-first birthday,” Amelie said, without even turning to look at Gabriel. “Will you be able to fill orders that large on such short notice? It’ll be one month from now.”

The bakery girl’s eyes were wide. Flour fell from her lashes as she blinked in surprise. “Y-yes, Your Grace.” She curtsied again. “We can manage a few hundred—er—what did you want?”

Amelie waved her hand. “Surprise us. We’re always happy with your family’s work. I’ll approve the menu tomorrow. And whatever number you’re thinking, double it. It’s not every day that my son turns twenty-one.”

“Oh—of course, Your Grace.” The young girl curtsied for the seventh time that evening and Adrien looked down at his plate to hide his laughter.

“Mother,” Félix protested.

“Oh, yes,” Amelie said, “please bring Félix his dessert before you return home.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Félix protested, but the girl was already hurrying back to the kitchen.

Gabriel stared at the large pink bow on the back of the girl’s apron as she hurried back to the kitchen to fetch the fourth plate of dessert. His instinct had been to banish her from the palace when she had dropped the first set of plates, but now he was glad that he had refrained. He did like the dessert. It was not too sweet, as he had feared. Gabriel was not particularly fond of sweet. And at least the girl had been prepared to make a mistake, which, while not a sign of perfection, was still better than failure.

While Gabriel had his reservations about opening the palace up to the people and the dangers that could bring, he had to admit that overall the idea of a ball had potential. Gabriel could make sure that Adrien and Félix were arranged into proper marriages that benefited the kingdom, regardless of who they met over the ball’s three nights. Gabriel’s authority was absolute, and the princes would heed it.

But that aside, the ball had potential for him in another way, a way Amelie could not know about. A ball where the heart of the prince and the crown of his kingdom hung in the balance would be ripe for heartbreak, and Gabriel could always use heartbreak to his advantage

#miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #adrinette #felix fathom #ml fic #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella - Chapter Two

Table of Contents beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer, and @aubsenroute

Chapter Two Ladybug

The small golden bell on the door of the bakery jingled its high-pitched, pleasant song. Its job was to alert the Dupain-Cheng family to a customer, but it was not a customer who rushed into the shop, panting as if she had just run a circle around the entire city.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng set her bag down on the small bench by the window of the shop and hurried into the kitchen. “Maman! Papa!” she called. “Maman!”

She found her parents where she expected them: cleaning up from a long day and preparing the ingredients for tomorrow’s breads and pastries.

“How did the delivery go?” Sabine Cheng asked with a raised eyebrow. It had been Marinette’s first delivery to the palace, and she was nervous for her daughter. Marinette was not especially light on her feet, but they had Marinette doing the deliveries more and more these days. She needed the income to pay for her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild if she truly wanted to leave the bakery.

“Oh—er I did trip and lose a whole set,” Marinette said sheepishly, and tugged at one of her pigtails. She frowned and looked down at her hand, now sticky with strawberry filling. Tentatively, she licked it. “But it’s fine, I had the backup batch ready to go,” she added quickly when she saw her parents’ worried faces.

“We’re glad you’re all right,” Tom Dupain said. He was a tall man, nearly twice as tall as his wife and daughter, with broad shoulders built from a lifetime of lifting sacks of flour and kneading lumps of dough. “But you should be more careful. If you had spilled a set in front of King Gabriel, he could have had you banned from the palace for life.”

Marinette decided not to tell her father that she had in fact spilled all the desserts in front of the king and instead skipped to the more important news. “The duchess asked me to tell you—er I mean, she told the king—or, I mean she asked the king and she asked me—” Marinette noticed the worried looks in her parents’ eyes and she hastily said, “The duchess is throwing a ball and she wants us to provide the desserts.”

“Oh my,” Sabine said. “A ball. We haven’t had a ball… well, I suppose it’s been since Queen Emilie hosted one. She always ordered with us. It’s nice of the duchess to ask for our help again. When is the ball, Marinette?”

“Er—in one month.”

Tom spluttered and his large, bushy mustache spilled out a cloud of flour as he did. “One month? That’s about how long it will take to fill a supply order and we won’t have much time to prepare… Is this a small ball, perhaps, just for the royal family?”

Marinette bit down on her lip. “Oh… no. In fact, everyone in the city is invited. Or at least the Duchess said, ‘all the eligible maidens,’ are invited.”

Sabine sat down on a barrel of molasses with a hard bump. “My goodness. That’s a lot of dessert.”

Tom scanned the supplies they had on hand. “Did she tell you what she wants us to make?”

“She said to surprise her, and she can approve the menu first thing tomorrow.”

“Well,” Sabine began slowly, “I suppose we had better start planning. We can place an order first thing in the morning. We’ll of course need to establish a quote—Oh, Marinette, will you be able to handle all of this?”

“Sure,” Marinette agreed readily. “I can help. Just tell me what to do!”

“The tailor’s guild will be swamped,” Tom said. “You’ll be burning the candle at both ends, Marinette. We know how unraveled you can get when you’re stressed.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Sabine wiped her hands on her apron and eyed Marinette, who was still streaked with flour from her fall. “Perhaps we ought to hire an extra hand to help out. Is Alya still looking for work?”

Marinette pursed her lips, trying to remember the last conversation she had had with Alya about work. Alya had written a play for a local acting troupe, but it had not done well. Alya had said it was too “avant-garde” for the masses, but would be popular in about twenty to thirty years. Marinette had politely agreed.

“I think she’s available. It’s not too late; I’ll just go ask her.”

“Please do,” Sabine said. “Oh, let’s put a basket together for her family before you go.”

“And Marinette,” Tom said with a warning in his voice, “be careful. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“Of course not!” Marinette promised.

Her father sighed heavily. He did not think Marinette was a liar in any way, but he rarely believed her anymore when she promised to be on time or available to help. In this last year, she had grown increasingly scatter-brained. She had always been clumsy, but now she was constantly getting lost in the very city she had grown up in. He did not think the problem was with her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild—she had been doing that for several years now, and was nearly a journeyman—but something had changed in the last year. He often wondered if it had something to do with a boy, but he had not seen any boys hanging around the shop vying for Marinette’s time and attention, and he could not imagine Marinette would keep such a secret from them, or that she was capable of keeping such a secret. Marinette had never been a particularly adept liar.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Tom could do to help Marinette except to keep a close eye on her. He put a half-dozen biscuits in the basket Sabine handed to him, and Sabine added a set of cookies. Tom carefully wrapped the pink napkin around the warm, fresh pastries and handed it to Marinette to give to the Césaire family.

“I’ll be back soon!” Marinette promised.

She hurried out the door before remembering her bag. She rushed back inside, dropped a cookie into her bag, then grabbed it and headed back out into the night.

Her father’s worries about Marinette were well-founded, unfortunately. Not about a suitor, but it was true that Marinette had become more and more absentminded in the past year, forgetting appointments and deadlines in ways she had not before. Still, she was not quite as scatter-brained as her parents feared. And she never truly got lost.

Marinette knew this city as no one else did. She had run its streets since she was a little girl, first helping her parents deliver pastries, then delivering finished fabrics, dresses, and suits for the tailor’s guild. And now, in the last year, she had begun to learn the city from a new angle—its rooftops.

Marinette, however, did not take any rooftops on her way to Alya’s. It was not far, and it was not terribly late yet. Shop windows were still lit and a few people waved to Marinette as she passed. If people did not know her for her parents’ bakery, they knew her for her kindness. She often stopped to help a cart caught on a loose stone, or a child whose cat had gotten stuck on a rooftop. Yes, Marinette was clumsy, scatter-brained, and forgetful, but she was also kind to everyone who came across her path.

She arrived at the Césaire’s home just a few moments later and knocked on the door before walking straight in. She was always welcome in Alya’s home, and knocking was just a show of courtesy.

“Hello!” she called. “It’s Marinette!”

She was greeted by a loud chorus from the apartment above the restaurant. The deep voice of Alya’s father, the singsong voice of Alya’s mother, the high-pitched squeals of Alya’s younger twin sisters, the low melody of Alya’s older sister, and of course Alya herself were all familiar tones to Marinette.

There was a new tone in the chorused greeting, however; it was not exactly unfamiliar, but it did not belong to one of the Césaire’s. As Marinette reached the apartment above, she found Nino Lahiffe seated at the table with the Césaire family.

Before she could ask how the family was doing, the twins swarmed Marinette and wrapped their arms around her knees.

“Oh! She brought food!” one of them shouted.

“Sweets!” the other echoed, reaching up for Marinette’s basket.

Marinette lifted the basket up out of their reach and handed it to their mother, Marlena Césaire. Marlena greeted Marinette with a kiss on her cheek.

“Welcome, Marinette. We have just finished eating. Shall I get something for you? There’s plenty more.”

Marinette’s stomach grumbled, and she realized she had not eaten anything since before her trip to the palace. She had walked—and run—quite a bit since then. “Yes, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Soon, Marinette was seated at the table with her best friend eating what she believed to be the best food in the city. Marlena’s cooking was hard to compete with. The only reason she was not the palace chef—she had been asked several times—was because she wanted to stay close to her family. She had no desire to be at the beck and call of someone else’s family when her own daughters demanded so much of her attention.

“What brings you here tonight, Marinette?” asked Otis, Alya’s father.

“Oh,” Marinette hastily swallowed the stew Marlena had given her, “well, Maman and Papa were wondering if Alya wanted to help out at the bakery for the next month or so. They just got a big order for the palace, and they’ll need some extra hands, especially since I’ll be busy working for the guild, and—”

“What’s going on at the palace?” interrupted Nora, the oldest of the four sisters. She worked as a palace guard, and was usually the first to know if something was going on in the city, since the palace was often the hotbed of local gossip. “I haven’t heard anything from the other guards.”

“Oh, Duchess Amelie decided this while I was there serving dessert because—”

“You served dessert at the palace?” Alya asked in shock. “Did you actually serve the duchess?”

“Yes, the duchess and the king and the princes too and—”

“You met the princes?” Nino interrupted. “What are they like?”

“Oh, um Prince Adrien was very nice…” Marinette’s face grew hot, and she knew she was turning red. “And Prince Félix—well, he didn’t say much. I don’t know.”

A wicked sort of grin split Alya’s face. “Prince Adrien was nice, was he?”

“I want to meet the princes!” Ella and Etta, the youngest twins, chorused at once.

“Why don’t we let Marinette finish her story?” Marlena suggested. “What is it you were saying about an order from the palace?”

“Oh, right. Duchess Amelie wants to throw a ball.”

“No way,” said Nora. “If there was a ball, I would know about it.”

“She sort of decided it right then and there,” said Marinette. “She was talking about marriage and convinced King Gabriel to hold a ball so that Prince Adrien could find a bride.”

Alya pursed her lips. “Hasn’t Prince Adrien been engaged to Chloé Bourgeois since like, before he was born?”

Nino grinned and elbowed her. “You always know everything that’s going on with the royals.”

“I don’t like secrets.” Alya tossed her head and her reddish-brown hair cascaded down her back. “I make it my business to know everyone’s business.”

Marinette, for once, had more knowledge than Alya, and she was eager to share it. “Duchess Amelie said that Adrien should choose his wife, and that was the whole reason for the ball, so that Adrien could pick from any eligible girl in the kingdom.”

The entire family stared at her.

“Any girl?” Nino squeaked.

Alya rolled her eyes. “Babe, I’m not going to go to some prince’s ball so he can line up all the pretty girls and pick out the cutest one.” She took Nino’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Besides, I’m not eligible anymore. I’m promised.”

Nino blushed and a very silly grin split his face. He kissed Alya on the cheek.

“Ew!” protested the twins.

“Oh?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gross?” She made a show of very sloppy kissing noises, all pressed against Nino’s cheek.

Ella and Etta shrieked and hid under the table.

Marinette stuck her head down and grinned at them. “I thought you two said you wanted to meet the princes. What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

“I would say ‘No, thank you,’” said Etta.

“I would tell him that’s gross!” said Ella.

“That’s right, girls,” Nora said, and pulled her younger sisters out from under the table. “No prince kissing for you.”

Marinette hit her head against the table as she struggled to sit back up. She rubbed the bump ruefully.

“What about you, Marinette?” Alya asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

Marinette laughed too high and too quickly. “What are you talking about, Alya? I wouldn’t—they wouldn’t—”

“You said Adrien’s nice,” Nino prompted. “What makes him so nice?”

Marinette buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Don’t embarrass her,” Otis scolded. “You know how shy Marinette can be around boys. Remember how she was with you, Nino?”

“She was only half as bad as Nino was,” Alya laughed. “You two were the weirdest couple when we were kids. You stared at each other’s hands like they were going to bite.”

None of this helped Marinette’s embarrassment. And, honestly, none of it mattered. Marinette would never see the princes again—she certainly wouldn’t be serving any more dishes at the palace herself after that royal embarrassment. And there was no way she was going to the ball. She would be busy hemming dresses or baking treats or running along the city’s rooftops, making sure everyone was safe.

“Oh, we’re just teasing, Marinette.” Alya nudged her in the ribs. “Anyway, you were saying your parents wanted me to help out at the bakery?”

“Yeah.” Marinette pulled her hands away from her face, setting aside her embarrassment. “If you’re not doing anything, that is.”

Alya hummed and looked at Nino. “What do you think? It might take us a while to get our new thing off the ground.”

“We’ll need clients first,” Nino agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Marinette asked.

“Nino and I are going to start up an investigation business. People pay us to find their stuff, or anything they’re missing, or even people they’re missing. Nino has a lot of connections, and we’re both good at getting information out of people. We thought we could put it to good use. But it’ll take us a while to get going. Do you think there’s work for both of us at the bakery? We could both work there for a bit, and let people know about what we’re doing, too.”

“Oh, maybe,” Marinette said. “I’m sure my parents would love to have Nino, if they can afford it.”

“I don’t like this job plan of yours,” Nora said in a warning voice. “It sounds like you could run into some dangerous people.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Alya rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’ll have Nino to protect me.”

Nora looked disdainfully at Nino’s thin frame, buried in a blue tunic that was just a little too big for him. “Just leave the helping people stuff to Ladybug, little sis. She’s the real hero.”

Alya did not take her sister’s criticism to heart. She merely rolled her eyes, and Nino jutted his chin out, but he did not argue with Nora. She was easily twice his size and had put him in a chokehold too many times to count.

“I actually thought we might work with Ladybug,” Alya said. “She could help us if we needed it, and we could get her information she might not have otherwise. It’d be a good partnership.”

“We just don’t exactly know how to ask her,” Nino said. “She’s hard to find, since no one knows who she really is.”

“Er—no one can, right?” Marinette said. “It’s important that her identity stay secret so that she can keep protecting the city from Hawk Moth’s curses. If Hawk Moth knew who she was, he could target people that she cared about.”

“I could take down Hawk Moth,” Nora said, slamming one fist on the table. “If he ever showed his face, I’d have him pinned in an instant.”

“I’m sure you would, sweetheart,” Marlena said, and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

“I certainly would not mind a chance to tear him apart myself,” Otis grunted.

“If anyone is going to stop Hawk Moth for good, it’ll be Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya said confidently. She, Nora, Nino, and her father all had, like many others in the city, been victims of Hawk Moth’s curses before. And, like many others in the city, they had been rescued by Ladybug. Her magic was more powerful than his, Alya was convinced, and she trusted her city’s hero to save them every time.

“Chat Noir is a wanted criminal,” Nora said. “If I saw him on the street, I’d arrest him and collect the bounty.”

Nino, though he did not like to challenge Alya’s much-older-and-much-bigger sister, managed, “Really? I’d buy him a drink. He’s a hero just like Ladybug. It’ll be both of them together that take down Hawk Moth.”

“He’s a thief—”

“He’s never stolen from us,” Alya pointed out. “He only has that bounty because the wealthy like to complain when they misplace a brooch or a painting.”

Perhaps sensing that a conversation about the ethics of thievery and vigilantism was not the best evening conversation for toddlers, Marlena announced, “Bed time for the little ones.” And though the young twins protested, Marlena and Otis each picked one up and took them to bed.

“I should probably go, too,” Marinette said, and got to her feet. “Thank you for the meal Monsieur et Madame Césaire,” she called after Alya’s parents.

“Nino and I will walk you down,” Alya said hastily and Marinette groaned. She knew that Alya only wanted to press her for each and every detail of her trip to the palace.

About thirty minutes later, Marinette was still standing in the doorway and Alya was laughing so hard that she had to lean against the wall for support. Nino, at least, had the courtesy to look stricken.

“You could have been banished from the palace forever,” he said.

“I know,” Marinette said into her hands. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Alya wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What did you call Prince Adrien? His Royal Fineness?”

“Something like that,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya broke out into another fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Alya gasped between giggles, “I love you so much, girl, but you’re really bad when you like a boy.”

“I don’t like Prince Adrien—”

“You have a crush on His Royal Fineness!” Alya protested. “Admit it.”

“How can I? I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t always work like that,” Nino said sympathetically. “Sometimes you just fall for someone.”

“It’s like destiny,” Alya said. “It just happens.”

Marinette shook her head. She might have a destiny, but it certainly did not involve marrying a prince.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” she said, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Bright and early,” Nino promised.

“Dark and early,” Marinette corrected. “The baking mostly happens before the sun comes up.”

Nino frowned at this news, but Alya grinned. “We’ll be there,” she said, and kissed Marinette’s cheek. “Have a safe walk home!”

“I will,” Marinette promised, but that wasn’t entirely truthful. Marinette would not be walking home, and she might not be safe, either.

As soon as she was out of sight of the Césaire’s home, Marinette ducked into an alleyway and opened up her satchel.

The cookie she had dropped inside had been reduced to mere crumbs and a small ladybug crawled up the side of the bag and into Marinette’s hand.

“Hi, Tikki,” Marinette whispered. “Ready to work?”

The ladybug grew in size until it was large enough to cover Marinette’s palm, and its shape changed, too. Its head became twice the size of its body, and its wings extended out from their shell. The black of the ladybug disappeared into the red, and soon Tikki was staring at Marinette with bright purple eyes and a warm smile.

“I’m always ready, Marinette,” she chirped in a high voice.

Marinette grinned back. “Tikki, spots on!”

Marinette had found Tikki in the Forest of Fay just over a year ago, or, more accurately, Tikki had found her.

When Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and the Duchess’ husband had disappeared, Marinette’s master had said that he needed a very specific flower to create a unique dye for the Duchess’ mourning attire, and he had sent Marinette out to get it. The flower was not grown by florists nor herbalists, for it could not survive in captivity. How the flower knew the difference between a pot, a garden, and a wide, uncultivated space was beyond Marinette’s scope of knowledge. She knew flour, not flowers. So when her master had told her that the flower only grew in the Forest of the Fay, Marinette had valiantly fought off her fears of curses and sought the flower out.

But Marinette had not learned the paths of the forest as she had learned the roads of the city and she had soon gotten lost. It was just days after the winter solstice, and the shadows had grown long and dark quickly. She had found a few blossoms, deep violet, and she expected they would make for a rich color suitable for a royal gown, but that would mean nothing if she could not find her way back. Perhaps her Master had been wrong to send her; perhaps she had been wrong to go.

Just as she was beginning to despair that she would never find her way home, a ladybug had landed on the back of her hand. It had flitted off to a tree, then returned to Marinette, then flown back to the tree. It had taken a few more tries for Marinette to understand that, for some bizarre reason, this ladybug was asking her to follow it. Nervously, Marinette had followed the bug as it flitted from tree to tree until they had reached the edge of the woods, where the ladybug had begun to shift into a strange red creature with small wings and a large head. Marinette had shrieked and tried to climb the nearest tree to get away.

“Careful!” the creature had said in its high voice. “You’ll fall!”

And Marinette had fallen, right out of the tree and onto the ground, landing on her arm. She heard the crack and she had one moment to wonder if that crack had been her bone before the pain set in.

“Oh! Ow!” She had shrieked and curled in on herself, clutching her broken arm to her chest. It hurt, but she had been glad it was not her hands. If she had lost the use of her fingers, she would never have been able to sew again.

“Oh, this is my fault,” the strange creature had said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I forget how easily frightened some humans can be.”

Marinette had hardly heard her through the pain, but she managed to squeak, “I’ll be okay.”

“I can help,” the creature had promised. “Let me help, please. I promise I won’t ask for much—just some sugar, perhaps?”

And Marinette had agreed.

Pain and sickness were no longer things that Marinette worried about. She had been given the gifts of creation and luck in a pair of earrings in exchange for sweets.

Ladybug soared over the rooftops of the city. Marinette had been serving as Ladybug for over a year—named for the favored form of the fay who had chosen her and for the red and black spots that decorated her dress. Well, it was not a dress, exactly, at least not a complete one.

A red mask marked in black spots covered her eyes to hide her identity, and long red ribbons trailed from her dark, curled pigtails. Her chemise was black, tied tight at the collar, and covered by a red dress detailed in gold and red ribbons. The sleeves were slashed at the shoulder and elbow, revealing the black chemise underneath.

The fabric and ribbons were far finer than any she might have owned as a baker’s daughter, and it glittered with the magic that had woven it. It might have been appropriate for a ball if her legs were not entirely exposed. The chemise covered hardly half of her thighs, and the dress over it split at the waist into a back shaped like the wings of beetle she was styled after. But her legs and the red tights that cloaked them were left visible to the night. It was not especially appropriate for a woman, but it allowed her to move easily across the rooftops and, should the situation call for it, move quickly in a fight.

Ladybug hoped that there would not be a fight tonight, but as she ran, she caught a flicker of light reflecting off of something quick and silver. She hopped from one tiled rooftop to the next, in search of the silver flash.

She found it—or rather him—dropping down from the rooftops of the closely-knit city shops and apartments and approaching the gates of one of the manors on the edge of town.

“Naughty Chat Noir,” she chided as he scaled the manor’s gates.

He froze, hands still around the gates’ iron bars but feet only halfway up. He finished his climb with a quick scramble and, once safely perched on the edge of the wall, turned to look at Ladybug.

Like Ladybug, Chat Noir wore a mask. He also wore a black jerkin and tights, styled with silver ribbons rather than gold, and at his waist he carried a silver baton, fastened to a long leather belt that dangled like a cat’s tail. His hands and feet, too, were tipped in silver, pointed in the shape of a cat’s claws, which made it far too easy for him to scale sheer walls and slip into the homes of the city’s wealthiest.

He leaned back and lounged lazily on the manor wall. His reflective green cat eyes glittered in the moonlight, and his blonde hair was tousled from his run across the rooftops. But his black cat’s ears were unruffled, perched perfectly on top of his head. He had let Ladybug feel them once, and they felt no different from the leather of his belt—decorative, really—but she was certain that she had seen them twitch towards sound on more than one occasion, like a real cat’s ears.

“Looks like you caught me, my lady.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you’ll just have to take me in.”

“Have you stolen anything yet?” she asked.

Chat Noir sighed. “No, but Lady Rossi has a lot of lovely pendants. I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice if I borrowed just one. And really, it’s her fault for leaving her house empty nine months out of the year.”

“Give it up and get over here,” she smiled. “We have work to do, you know.”

Chat Noir stood, but he hesitated. His long belt swished behind him and though Ladybug knew it was just the wind, it was easy to imagine he was like a real cat, swishing his tail before he pounced.

Then he jumped—into the yard of the manor.

Ladybug sighed. She and Chat Noir were heroes of the city, defenders against Hawk Moth’s curses and protectors of the vulnerable. They were supposed to wield their magic not for their own gain, but on behalf of the people. Her trickster partner, however, often forgot that.

Before Ladybug could jump down and go after him, however, a series of loud barks filled the night, and suddenly Chat Noir was back up on the wall and leaping for the safety of Ladybug’s rooftop. He misjudged the jump and the edge of the roof caught him in the stomach. With a loud wheeze, he pulled himself up to stand beside her.

“Why are the Rossis’ hunting dogs here?” he asked ruefully, and examined the edge of his lengthy leather belt. “They nearly got my tail.”

Ladybug tipped her head and listened to the dog barks. It was odd; the Rossis rarely spent the winter in the city. They traveled often, and usually only returned for the king’s annual summer hunt in the Forest of the Fay. She wondered what had called the family back to the city in the beginning of winter.

“If you keep using your gift to be a thief,” Ladybug said, “you’ll just have to suffer the consequences.”

“What about you, my lady?”

“What about me?”

“You’re a thief, too.”

Ladybug spluttered and her face grew hot with indignation. “I am not a thief!”

“But you’ve stolen my heart.”

He grinned a wide Cheshire grin and Ladybug could not help but laugh.

She hid her joy, though, by leaping onto a neighboring rooftop, following her familiar patrol around the edge of the palace, and Chat Noir followed.

“You’re particularly out of sorts tonight, buginette,” he said.

“Buginette?” she quirked an eyebrow. “You’re the one in rare form, chaton.”

“I’m not quite at the top of my game,” he agreed, careful to time this as he leapt on top of a chimney before jumping back down to keep pace with her. “I should have seen the dogs.”

“And what would we have done if you had been bitten and one of Hawk Moth’s monsters had shown up?”

“My lady, I would defend you to my last breath, bites and breaks be damned.”

Ladybug skidded to a stop just before reaching the palace wall. Chat Noir perched beside her.

As irritating and inconvenient as his thievery could be, he was as loyal as any friend that Marinette had. He had stood with Ladybug, bites and breaks be damned, and helped her defend the city from Hawk Moth’s monsters. She would have died several times over this past year without him at her side.

But she was off tonight, as he had pointed out. With the ball just a month away, it would be hard for her to make time to be Ladybug, to make time for Chat Noir. She was afraid to tell him, afraid of how it might hurt both of them.

Chat Noir’s playful green eyes softened as he took in Ladybug’s slumped shoulders and the pensive curve of her red lips. He twisted his silver ring, studded with green stones in the shape of a cat’s paw, once around his black-gloved finger. She wondered what it was that had him out of sorts tonight.

“Did you know that we’ve nearly reached the one-year anniversary of our partnership?” he asked.

“Er—I hadn’t realized. I’m not sure if it feels longer or shorter.” She searched for the answer that would encourage him best. “Part of me feels like we’ve always been doing this.”

He smiled, but his usual humor was lacking, as if he perhaps already knew what she was going to tell him, that their nights like this would be limited for a while. “It feels like it’s been forever,” he agreed, and pushed himself to his feet. “If you’d like a bouquet to celebrate, I know the castle gardens have a lovely bloom of hellebore every winter.”

“Do not steal from the castle gardens,” she laughed. “I can’t help you if the king takes your head.”

“The king would never. You and I are heroes.”

“Most of the time.”

“I cannot speak to what you do without your mask on,” Chat Noir shrugged. “What must you get up to when I’m not here to keep you in line?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed and he grinned with pride.

Chat Noir loved Ladybug. He had said it a thousand different ways in word and deed, but none of it seemed to matter to her. She simply did not love him back, and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not think he had fallen in love with her at first sight—not the very first sight, at least, when she had caught him slipping out of the Bourgeois manor with a pair of wedding rings.

It wasn’t that Chat Noir needed to steal. When he took off his mask, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Really, he simply needed to prove to himself that he could. He needed to know that he truly had the freedom to move in and out of someone else’s house undisturbed. He had told this to Ladybug, but she had rolled her eyes and simply demanded he return the pair of rings he had lifted from the Bourgeois family. He had done so, but he had known it didn’t matter. André and Audrey Bourgeois never wore their wedding rings anyway.

He had never told Ladybug the second reason he liked slipping in and out of homes, partly because it was embarrassing but partly because he did not think she would believe him. One of Chat Noir’s favorite things to do when casing a home or slipping into it unseen was to simply observe the way people lived. He did not want to know where they kept their valuables, not really. He wanted to know what they valued and what their routines were and how they lived their lives.

But more than anything else, more than thieving or heroing, he liked sitting on a rooftop with Ladybug, listening to the sounds of the city around them and watching people go about their day. He liked observing people. It allowed him to imagine that one day, maybe, he could be a part of it. Maybe even be a part of it with Ladybug.

Someday he might tell Ladybug about that dream, but he was afraid it was too close to the truth of who he was, and she had made him promise never to tell her his real identity, just as she had sworn never to tell him her identity. It was necessary to keep their loved ones safe from Hawk Moth. Chat Noir did not think Hawk Moth could hurt his family, but he had agreed all the same. He would agree to anything that Ladybug asked of him.

Well, almost anything. It really was hard to stop stealing. He had an impulse for chaos that was not entirely his own, and it had to be fed somehow.

He wondered how she would take the news that just one month from now, he would have to give up his contract with his fay, that this past year was all he had to give her. He meant it when he had said bites and breaks be damned, but he did not see how he could keep up this life and the future that loomed before him.

As Ladybug and Chat Noir sat on a rooftop, taking in the lights of the palace, they did not know that in the center of the city, a heart was breaking.

But Hawk Moth knew. When he stood in the hidden loft he had built to avoid prying eyes and activated the magic of his own fay companion, he could sift through the emotions of each person within the city.

It sounded like the sort of power that might overwhelm a lesser man, but he had no trouble wading through the feelings of thousands. It was not much different from the weight of bearing a kingdom. For the most part, the people’s emotions were mundane, nothing more than a gentle river in the height of summer and easy to navigate. But every so often there was a tug, a dramatic pull to something all-consuming, a surge in the river’s flow. Hawk Moth was careful not to let that current pull him under. He held fast to his own grief as an anchor and watched the currents, waiting for the right one.

His gift of transmission allowed him to grant magical abilities to those in heightened states of emotions. When he had first found the creature, it had spoken of courageous soldiers turned to heroes and of panicked parents granted the strength they needed to rescue their children, but Hawk Moth had found a more effective use for this creature and its gift. He could turn agony and anger into abominations.

So he waded past currents of courage and jolts of joy in search of swells of sorrow to manipulate for his own mission.

His fingers tapped the lavender butterfly broach at his throat as he felt agony rise from a familiar place.

Xavier Ramier was a man prone to strong emotions, though it was not always sorrow that swelled from him. Monsieur Ramier took pride in his pigeons, felt extreme joy when a new chick hatched and nearly burst with courage when he entered his birds into competitions each summer. But he was also easily overcome with heartbreak when a bird passed on, or a snide judge critiqued the sheen of his new brood, or, as it happened tonight, a few rowdy teenagers got it in their heads to throw rotten eggs at his coop.

With the power of his fay, Hawk Moth cupped an ivory butterfly in his hands and whispered his dark incantation. The creature, now filled with his power and colored in deep violet, took off through the open window of the loft in search of the indignation that it could add its strength to.

#ml fairy tale au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ladynoir #fun fact i wanted to write ladynoir more like PV ladynoir and the first draft of it she was a little more antagonistic towards him #but then when the drama starts the emotional gut punches were hard to make land when she had been so rude to him at first #so i had to soften their relationship #i literally went through the same process the creators had to go through

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Five

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter Five The Crown Prince

Marinette ran into her mother quite literally on one of the palace’s many staircases. She nearly toppled back down, but her mother caught her and pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, Marinette, I’m so glad you’re all right! What happened? Where were you?”

“Um—” Marinette stumbled over her lie, as she often did. “Prince Félix sent me to get help, so I did. Did Ladybug take care of everything?”

“Well, I am no longer gold, so I think she must have. You’re sure you’re all right, Marinette? You look flushed.”

“Just… running around looking for you, Maman!”

“Let’s get down to the kitchens and get you something to cool you down.”

Marinette followed her mother obediently, though she knew that running was only part of the reason she was flushed. She really had not expected Prince Adrien to ask her personally to the ball. Well, he had asked Ladybug, which really wasn’t the same thing as asking Marinette.

Tikki was safely tucked away in her apron pocket, and Marinette did not dare talk to her in front of her mother, but she had an idea of what Tikki would say. Using the miraculous gift to attend a ball was an abuse of her abilities. That’s not what the gift was for. It was for helping people, and it was not a party trick.

Besides, Marinette did not have time to attend the ball. She would be working on dresses for half of the kingdom by the end of the day, and that work would take up all of her time. There would be no time for a dress for herself, and surely she’d be up all night working on repairs for nobility during the ball itself. She was unsure that she would even have time to patrol the city as Ladybug in the evenings like she had gotten into the habit of doing, let alone get all of her work done.

But the idea of going to a ball did sound nice...

Her mother led her down into the kitchens and sat her down with a glass of water. “I’m so glad that monster didn’t hurt you.”

“She’s not a monster, Maman, she was just cursed. It could happen to anyone.”

Sabine Cheng looked skeptical. “Lady Bourgeois is not the kindest person I’ve ever met. I’m surprised it took this long for something to irritate her to the point of being cursed.”

Marinette responded with a noncommittal murmur as she took a sip of water. “Did you get everything taken care of with the Duchess for the pastry order?” she asked.

“Mostly.” Sabine picked up the suggested menu she and Duchess Amelie had been discussing before Audrey Bourgeois’ attack had interrupted them. “Did you finish getting the princes’ measurements?”

“I finished measuring Prince Félix, but I didn’t get a chance to see Prince Adrien.”

“It certainly is kind of your master to let you handle an order of this magnitude. He must trust you a good deal to let you work with the royal family.”

“It’s just measurements, Maman. Master Fu will do all the design work and detail himself, like he always does for our bigger clients. But I’m sure I’ll get to make plenty of dresses for all the girls who want to attend.”

“What about your own dress?”

Marinette laughed. “There’s no way I’ll have time for that. I won’t be going, but I’ll get a lot of work out of it. And I can use all of those contacts when I start up my own shop this spring.”

“Surely you could go for one night.” Sabine loved that her daughter worked hard, but she knew that fun was equally important for Marinette’s health. “Your father and I have agreed to let Alya and Nino off for the last night so that they can go.”

“Is Nino invited?”

Sabine pursed her lips. “I’m not sure if boys are invited. It seems rude to invite only girls, but I suppose he could just put on a wig.”

Marinette and Sabine broke into laughter, and they were still laughing when Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily arrived.

She looked no worse for wear from her time spent as a golden statue. Her black dress still hung evenly and unwrinkled, and and her rouge still looked freshly applied. Even the dark lines around her eyes were neat and thin. Her smile, however, was a bit strained as she approached Sabine and Marinette.

“I’m terribly sorry that our discussion was interrupted,” she said. “Everything is in order now. I’m glad to see that you and your daughter are unhurt.”

Sabine dipped her head. “Thank you, Your Grace. And you and the princes are all right?”

“Quite,” Amelie replied. She turned her thin smile on Marinette. “Prince Félix told me how you saved him, at least briefly. We appreciate your kindness.”

Marinette hurriedly dropped into a curtsey. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more, Your Grace.”

Amelie’s smile faded, and her deep green eyes slid towards the stairs. There was something weighing down her shoulders, but Marinette could not identify it.

“I’m afraid I will have to cut both of your works short. Madame Cheng, you have enough to place your order and begin your work, do you not?”

“Oh, yes. Is everything all right?”

“We had a… development in the throne room after Ladybug saved us. I don’t believe Lady Bourgeois is in anymore danger, but she is certainly displeased with Mademoiselle Rossi. Until King Gabriel makes his appearance, Prince Adrien and I shall have to deal with them. So I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. And Mademoiselle—er—” She tipped her head as she looked at Marinette. “Mademoiselle Cheng?”

Marinette curtsied. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, Your Grace.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, we will have the princes’ measurements sent over later today. I’m afraid Prince Adrien will be occupied for some time.”

“As it pleases you,” Marinette curtsied again. “I did already finish with Prince Félix, if that helps, though he said I ought to consult with you about the style and scheme.”

Amelie waved her hand and turned to go. “Whatever Félix said is fine. Thank you again for your assistance, both of you.”

And with that, Marinette and her mother were dismissed from the palace.

“Well,” Sabine said as she opened the umbrella to shield her and Marinette from the downpour of the storm, “look at you, visiting the palace twice in a week. And a personal thank you from the Duchess, no less.”

Marinette could not help a smile. She loved that her parents were proud of her, and she was so grateful to them for supporting her work. It would have been so much easier for her parents to insist that she follow in their footsteps and run the bakery just as they had and just as her grandfather and his father had, but instead they had seen a passion for design and had supported her in that. They had helped her find her apprenticeship, and while she knew that her work doing deliveries for the bakery paid for some of her apprenticeship, it did not pay for all of it.

She leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, both to avoid the worst of the rain and to show her gratitude. She loved her parents, and it was hard to lie to them about her secret life as a hero. It helped, at least, that she was confident that they would support her as they always had.

Her master’s shop was closer to the palace than the boulangerie, so Sabine stopped to let Marinette out from under the umbrella.

“You’ll be home for supper?” Sabine asked.

“Yes, Maman,” Marinette promised. She hoped that since Hawk Moth had struck that morning, he would not bother to attack again that evening.

Sabine kissed her cheek and continued onto the boulangerie, and Marinette opened the door to the shop. The bell above the door rang to announce her entrance, and she found her master already seated at the low tea table.

Master Fu was an elderly man who had trained in his craft around the world before finally settling down in the city and opening his own shop. His back was stooped from years spent bent over fabric, and now he was hardly half of Marinette’s height, but despite his elderly age, his eyes were still keen and could pick out any mistakes in Marinette’s stitches from across the room.

He was not an unkind master; he was patient with Marinette and had taught her well. He often trusted her with work for his wealthiest customers, and had allowed her to begin using her own designs and patterns with some of their clients.

She hovered in the doorway, unsure why he had poured tea for two. It was odd, she thought, for him to take a break in the middle of the day when they were surely already overwhelmed with work for the ball. “Is everything all right, Master?” Marinette asked.

“Everything is quite well, Marinette. Please, sit.” He gestured to the silk pillow set on the floor beside the low table.

When Marinette had first met Master Fu at the age of thirteen, she had thought that his low table and floor-seating had to do with his compressed stature. It wasn’t until she was older and had been exposed to much of the wider world through stories of her master’s travels and her mother’s family that she had understood this was simply what tables were like elsewhere in the world.

As Marinette reluctantly shuffled towards the table, she tripped over the rug. Her Master, however, was quite used to Marinette’s unending war with gravity, and waited patiently for her to seat herself comfortably. Once she was settled, he handed her a cup of green tea.

Though Marinette had been ignorant about many things when she had first arrived at Master Fu’s shop to begin her apprenticeship, green tea was not one of them. It was her favorite part of these quiet, serious chats because the earthy smell reminded her of her mother.

“It is quite a storm out there,” Master Fu said, his dark eyes turned towards the shop windows.

Outside, rain still pelted the windows. The thunder and lightning had subsided, but there was an occasional flash overhead. The air still felt charged with the storm’s energy, and Marinette’s ruby earrings felt unusually warm and heavy.

“And after the storm, there will be a unique sort of beauty.” Master Fu took a small sip of his tea. “Something new is always created in the wake of chaos and destruction. It is a beautiful relationship, is it not?”

“Er—yes, it is.” Marinette was not entirely sure where Master Fu was going with this. She wondered if she had made some sort of mistake and Master Fu was going to show her how to fix it. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to remember if she had double-checked the measurements on Monsieur Stone’s waistcoat or if perhaps she had taken it in too tightly.

But when she searched Master Fu for clues, she found none. He continued his serene gaze out the window. The red and white linen tunic he wore was comfortable and casual, no different from his normal work attire. He had not brought any new work out into the front of the shop to show her. She did notice a small stack of papers on the table beside him, but Marinette was used to order forms constantly at Master Fu’s elbow, especially with how overwhelmed they must be today.

There was nothing Marinette could do but wait for her master to be ready.

Finally, he lifted one of the papers from the table and passed it to her. “This arrived for you today, shortly after you left to take the princes’ measurements.”

It was identical to the invitation that Audrey Bourgeois had been cursed with. Marinette stared at it blankly. “I—I knew I would get one, but Master—surely I can’t attend.”

Master Fu raised an eyebrow. “Surely?”

“I mean… we have so much work to do.”

“And what is the point of working so hard if we do not take the time to have fun?”

Marinette chewed on her lower lip. “I won’t have time to work on my own dress.”

“Then allow me.”

“I couldn’t—”

Master Fu raised a hand to silence her. “It is tradition for a master to give a gift of craftsmanship to his apprentice when they are ready to strike out on their own. Allow this to be my gift to you.”

“I—I suppose Maman said she was going to let Alya off for the third night. It might be fun to go with Alya…”

Master Fu smiled. “Then it is settled. You will attend the third night, and I will have a dress ready for you.”

Marinette ran her thumb along the invitation. She traced Prince Adrien’s name. He had invited her personally—no, he had invited Ladybug. Prince Adrien only knew her as the girl who had tripped and nearly spilled his dessert right into his lap.

“Thank you, Master.” She set the invitation aside. “Was there anything else?”

“There is one other thing.” Master Fu lifted a small stack of papers and presented it to her. “These are the notes I have gathered for the orders for the princes. I would like you to manage it.”

“Me?”

Master Fu nodded. “You, Marinette. Consider it your commencement piece.”

“That’s six outfits! From scratch! Six designs and patterns and—and for the royal family—”

“I have full confidence in you. Do not worry; I shall manage all the gowns and tailoring that come through, and I think I will need to hire an assistant to take care of small stitches and modifications, but I will allow you to devote all of your time and attention to these six suits for the princes.”

Marinette scoured her brain for another protest, an argument, anything to counter her master’s insistence, but he looked as calm and confident as he ever did. He trusted her, and she was determined not to let him down.

“Thank you, Master Fu,” she finally said. “It is a great honor.”

“I am sure you will meet it spectacularly.” There was a twinkle in his dark eyes as he smiled at her. “Now, I think you ought to get started, no?”

Marinette stood, stumbled only once, and disappeared into the attached storage room that had slowly been converted into her private workspace.

She spent the rest of the day in that room, poring over the notes her master had on the royal family. There had been orders from balls in the past, when the princes were younger. Years ago, Master Fu had prepared Emilie and Amelie’s dresses before Emilie had become Queen, and had even done several of Amelie’s dresses for Queen Emilie’s many balls. He had also helped the royal tailor with the entire mourning wardrobe for the royal family after Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and Amelie’s husband had disappeared.

Marinette had helped with that order, too. She had not worked closely with the royal family as her master had, but after hunting down the flower to dye the fabric with, she had stitched each gem and ribbon into place, and she had thought of how hard it must have been for those boys to lose so much family in a single night.

She remembered Prince Félix’s comment, that he would prefer to wear mourning attire to his own birthday celebration. She supposed a year would not be enough to get over the loss of her father. She wondered if Prince Adrien felt similarly. He certainly hadn’t appeared to have any reservations about the ball when he had invited Ladybug.

She may not have had Prince Adrien’s measurements yet, but she had plenty to help her get started on new designs.

Marinette was about thirty sketches deep before she heard a knock on her door. She stretched her surprisingly stiff shoulders and opened the door of her workroom for Master Fu.

“Is it lunch time already?” she asked.

“You worked through lunch,” he said, only a hint of chastisement in his voice. “It’s very nearly supper time.”

“Oh!” Surprise quickly turned to worry. “Oh no, I promised Maman—”

“There is someone here to see you.”

Marinette frowned and stared over Master Fu’s head to the shop doorway. The storm still raged outside, but between the dark, gloomy windows, she saw the silhouette of a person. It didn’t look like Nino or Alya, and as she squinted, her visitor stepped into the light of the foyer.

“I hope it’s not too late to have my measurements taken?”

He had golden hair and bright eyes, but it was his fine, deep black mourning attire that truly gave him away. Though she did not know how to tell Prince Adrien and Prince Félix apart, she could at least guess by the question that this one was Prince Adrien.

“Oh—I just—I wasn’t expecting—” Marinette stared, unsure what exactly she was supposed to say. She dropped into a curtsy.

“You don’t have to…” Prince Adrien bit down on his lip and glanced over his shoulder. In a flash of lightning, Marinette could see the gilded carriage outside their shop and the shape of a burly bodyguard positioned at the door.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Prince Adrien said, turning back to Marinette. “And I don’t get out of the palace often, or at all really, but I managed to convince my father that it would be too much to ask you to come back to the palace in the storm, and the best thing would be for me to come to you.”

Adrien had bartered hard for this small glimpse of freedom. He needed out of the palace, away from the demands of Lady Bourgeois and the smug smile of Lila Rossi. If he had been able to just slip away from his duties altogether, he would have turned into Chat Noir and braved the storm, but he was forced to sit at his father’s side and listen to two women whom he did not love make passioned pleas for his hand in marriage. And, once it was finally over—with no real resolution other than placating promises that he would reserve a dance for each of them on each night at the ball—he had been told that he had to wait before retiring, that his father would send for the tailor right away.

If Adrien had been forced to sit in that palace for another minute, he was afraid he might lose his mind. So he had exchanged his precious, few free hours in the evenings—time that Chat Noir might have spent patrolling with Ladybug—to his father, extra hours going over reports from advisors or practicing harpsichord or fencing, whatever his father deemed a fitting use of his time. It seemed worth it for one, free breath of fresh air outside the palace as Adrien Agreste.

Well, he was still Crown Prince Adrien Agreste, but if the seamstress would stop curtsying, maybe he could forget that for a moment.

“Is it… all right that I’m here?” Adrien asked.

“We are more than happy to have you,” Master Fu bowed. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng has been hard at work on the designs for you and your cousin, as well. Perhaps, if you have enough time, you can review them with her once she has finished with your measurements.”

Adrien blinked in surprise. “Oh, really? My aunt said you were the one who did all of her dresses when she was a girl.”

Master Fu smiled. “I assure you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is up to the task. Please,” and he gestured to Marinette’s workroom door.

Marinette hastily cleared away papers from the center of the room and kicked aside a stool so that there was room for Adrien to stand in the middle.

“I’m sorry for the stress—I mean—the mess.”

Adrien’s smile was soft, gentle, and a little bit sad as he surveyed the designs tacked to the wall haphazardly, the work desk piled in disorganized notes and sketches, and the mirror with more sketches pinned to it and fabric draped over it. “My uncle was an artist, too. I seem to recall the same sort of organized chaos in his work.”

Marinette swallowed hard as she took in Adrien’s melancholy smile. She remembered Felix’s grief too, though it had seemed harder on the edges. The princes looked alike, certainly, but they carried their burdens differently.

“Um, Your Highness, would you like your guard in here, since, well, you’ll need to, er, undress?”

Prince Adrien shrugged and glanced at the open door. “Your master isn’t far, is he?”

“No, I suppose not.” And Marinette wondered why her face was so hot as she helped Adrien out of his outerwear. She had not been nearly so embarrassed with Prince Félix. In fact, he had complimented her professionalism, so why was it so different all of a sudden?

She swallowed down her embarrassment and reached for her measuring tape.

“My cousin said you’ve been doing this for a while now.”

Marinette scribbled down the measurements for Adrien’s arm-length and his wrist. “Yes. I’ll be finished with my apprenticeship by the end of the year.”

“That explains why your master trusts you so much, then.”

“He’s trained me well.” As Marinette measured the breadth of Prince Adrien’s shoulders, she searched for a professional line of conversation. “Have you thought about what exactly you want to wear to the ball?”

Adrien glanced at his clothes that she had neatly folded and placed on her stool. They were the only orderly thing about this place.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I’ve been wearing black for so long. It’s definitely what I’m most comfortable in. But…”

“But?”

“My father won’t approve.”

Marinette stuck her pencil in her mouth as she measured Adrien’s inseam. “Dubess Amewie said bat Pwince Féwix could poose his owm oubfibs.”

Adrien tried and failed to hide a smile. “Duchess Amelie is a lot less demanding than my father. I expect he’ll want me in red and gold, just like him.”

“I did a few designs in the royal colors,” she said as she scribbled down her notes. There was something unsettling about Prince Adrien’s measurements… She finished his chest and height measurements hurriedly, then flipped through her notes to her measurements of Prince Félix earlier that day. The measurements were identical. She supposed they were cousins, and it wasn’t that odd… But when she flipped back through her master’s notes on the royal family, she found that the prince’s measurements were identical there, as well. Every single measurement, every single time they had been taken, matched perfectly. Even their mothers, who were identical twins, had subtle variations, but not the princes.

But before Marinette could make sense of this oddity, Prince Adrien said, rather abruptly, “I don’t really feel ready.”

She looked up from her notes and noticed that Prince Adrien’s eyes weren’t the same steely gray-blue as his cousin’s. They were a brilliant green. She wondered if it was the same green that Master Fu had described in his notes on Emilie from her time as a Duchess.

“‘Ready?’” she repeated.

“To… to switch out of mourning attire.”

But it sounded like a half-truth. Marinette could not imagine what the rest of it would be. She wondered if perhaps the burdens of being a prince were not unlike the burdens of being a hero.

“I think,” she managed, “that if I lost my mother, I’d never quite feel ready.”

He smiled, but it was still sad. It seemed like all of Prince Adrien’s smiles were sad, and she could understand why.

Marinette yanked a few of her sketches out of the disorganized pile. “You know, there are three nights of the ball. I had some ideas—well, it’s your choice, but what do you think about these?”

Adrien took the sketches from her hand, careful not to smudge the charcoal. Some of them were even still damp with paint. He was amazed that she had done all of this in just the time since she had left the palace. He was more amazed by the care she had shown in the designs before she had even spoken to him.

The first one she handed him was, as she had said, in the colors of the royal palace. Red tights, a white and gold doublet, braiding appropriate for a prince, all things his father would approve of. There were others in blacks and dark blues, likely designed with Félix’s request for mourning attire in mind, but there was no way King Gabriel would let Adrien wear something like that.

But the sketch that made Adrien pause was of a white doublet, paired with a jerkin decorated in pale greens and white lilies. Adrien did not know how this young seamstress could have known his mother so well, but there she was. It was her style, as certainly as if Emilie Agreste had commissioned it herself. He brushed the sketch and his fingertips turned green from the still-drying paints, but he did not care.

“How did you…?”

“Master Fu used to design your mother’s dresses before she became queen and had a royal tailor. He gave me all the notes for your mother and your aunt. When Prince Félix told me that he wasn’t ready to give up his mourning attire, I had thought that maybe you would feel similarly. Or that maybe you might want a bit of your mother in your outfit.”

Adrien swallowed hard, surprised by the way tears welled up in his throat. He had cried plenty of nights alone in his room, but he had not come this close to tears in front of another person in a long time.

He returned the sketches to the table without looking through the rest. “It’s not really up to me. You can have your designs sent to my father, and he’ll let you know what he thinks.”

“Oh. Well, I can do that, but I’d also like to know what you think. You’re the one who has to wear it, after all.”

“I’ll do whatever my father thinks is best. Thank you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, for all your help. I’m sure what you put together will be perfect.”

Somehow, Prince Adrien’s eyes did not seem so green anymore as Marinette helped him back into his clothes. She searched for a smile, even if it was his sad one, but she found no trace of it.

“Do you—” she bit down on her lip, surprised the question had even dared to breach her lips. “Er—never mind.”

Prince Adrien tipped his head to one side. “What is it?”

Marinette scrambled for a lie, for some other question she could ask, but she came up empty. Despite having lied about moonlighting as a hero for the past year, she had never quite mastered the art of deceit. “I just thought, well, my parents run one of the best bakeries in the city, and I didn’t know if you had eaten, and my mother said she’s making supper, and… Sorry. It was silly, and I shouldn’t have asked it.” But he had just looked so terribly sad, and she wanted to offer something to help.

At least he smiled now. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, truly, but I ought to return to the palace before my father sends the entire guard to fetch me.”

Marinette gathered up her notes and sketches so that she could continue her work at home and walked Prince Adrien to the door. She called a brief good night to Master Fu and the shop bell jingled over hers and Prince Adrien’s heads as they stepped out into the storm.

The large, burly guard had an umbrella ready for the prince and held it over his and Marinette’s head to hold off the worst of the storm. Marinette remembered belatedly that she had not brought an umbrella. She had walked to the palace with her mother that morning, and had not thought to bring her own. She tucked the sketches into her coat and prayed to Tikki for a bit of luck getting it home safely.

Adrien scanned her empty hands. “Why don’t you come with me in the carriage? We’d be happy to drop you at your home so you don’t have to brave the storm.”

Marinette’s mind reeled from the very idea of her, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, bakery girl and tailor’s apprentice, riding in the royal carriage with Crown Prince Adrien Agreste. “I—I couldn’t—”

“I can’t let you walk home in the rain alone.”

“The bakery is in the opposite direction—I—you said that your father would worry. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Adrien glanced back in the direction of the palace. She was right, of course; his father would worry. The curtain had fallen on his brief playact at freedom. “Then at least take the umbrella, to keep you and your sketches dry.”

Prince Adrien took the umbrella from his bodyguard’s hands and placed it in Marinette’s. As her fingers brushed his, her cheeks grew hot and a strange spark seemed to travel up her arm, not unlike the magic that filled her when she was Ladybug.

Words clamored up her throat, all a mess, jumbled, fighting for freedom and in the end, she could not even stammer out a thank you.

As the bodyguard opened the carriage door for Prince Adrien and he stepped out into the rain, the umbrella collapsed on top of Marinette. She yelped in surprise and Prince Adrien gasped—and then he burst out into laughter.

It was unexpected on both his part and his bodyguard’s part, and Adrien wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. Well, Chat Noir got to laugh, and Prince Adrien laughed politely, but Adrien could not recall the last time he had truly laughed in earnest. It felt… good.

Marinette pushed the umbrella back up into its proper position and could not help but smile shyly. Prince Adrien’s green eyes were bright again and he looked genuinely happy. Even though the laughter faded and she could still see sadness in his smile, she was certain that there was the tiniest bit more joy in it. Something new burned in her chest that she could not describe.

“Thank you again,” Prince Adrien said, unbothered by the rain that still pelted him as he hovered between the shelter of the umbrella and the cover of the carriage. “I look forward to seeing what you create.”

Marinette could only nod, utterly dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

Adrien climbed into the carriage, uncaring that he soaked the white linen cushions and their gold embroidery as he sat down. The moment that the door closed, Plagg flew out from under the seats and nestled onto Adrien’s shoulder.

“Hey, what happened in there?” Plagg demanded. “Did I just hear you laugh? Like really laugh?”

Adrien rubbed his jaw, like even he could not quite believe his own smile. “I guess I did. Sorry that I couldn’t bring you with me. There’s not exactly anywhere for you to hide while a seamstress is taking measurements.”

“What did she say to you, though?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just… it was funny.” Adrien shrugged. “She was kind.”

As the carriage rolled away, Marinette could only stare after it, still stunned. Once it was out of sight, her wits slowly returned to her, but the burning in her chest did not fade. Unsure what to do with the energy that swelled in her, she ran home.

It was a cold winter storm, but she hardly noticed the biting wind. Everything in her felt hot, and her breath came fast and desperate as she ran. When she reached the boulangerie, she hardly heard her parents greet her and tell her supper was nearly ready. She ran up the three flights of stairs to her attic bedroom and dropped her sketches onto her bed.

They were perfectly dry, thanks to Prince Adrien’s umbrella. Even the green thumbprint that Prince Adrien had left behind on her designs was unsmudged.

She stared at them, unsure what to do with the giddy feeling that was climbing from her stomach and into her throat. It burst out of her in a silly, girlish giggle and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

Tikki slipped out of Marinette’s cloak pocket and hovered in front of her at eye level. “Marinette, is this a crush?”

Marinette shook her head desperately, but she knew that she was lying. She swallowed hard and reached for the notes she had just finished on Prince Adrien’s measurements. Her cheeks felt hot as she looked over them.

“I can’t, Tikki! He’s a prince. I can’t have a crush on a prince!”

Tikki’s smile was both kind and mischievous. “I don’t know that you get to choose, Marinette.”

Marinette fell back into her chair with a groan, unable to take her eyes off of her sketches. As the storm finally lifted, and raindrops stopped pelting the windows of Marinette’s attic bedroom, she was forced to admit that not only did she definitely have a crush on Prince Adrien, she was going to spend the next month thinking about nothing except his body and how to dress it. She supposed she would have to make time to patrol as Ladybug, or she would go absolutely mad obsessing over a prince.

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #fairy tale au #ml fairy tale au

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 3

Table of Contents Read on Ao3

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter Three Monsieur Pigeon

Ladybug was not entirely sure how she and Chat Noir would be able to successfully free Monsieur Ramier from Hawk Moth’s control. When Monsieur Ramier had been transformed by Hawk Moth in the past, he was given the power to control pigeons. Tonight, however, Hawk Moth had granted him an ability to get revenge on those teenagers who had harassed his pigeons by transforming them into the very pigeons they had come for. Now no one in the city was safe; merely the brush of a cursed pigeon’s wing would transform them into another bird in Monsieur Pigeon’s flock.

Ladybug and Chat Noir ducked behind a chimney and pressed themselves flat against the wall, hoping to hide from Monsieur Ramier—or, rather, they ought to call him Monsieur Pigeon while Hawk Moth had control of him.

“My lady—” Chat Noir pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. In a nasally whisper, he continued, “I think he’s got us pinioned down.”

She ignored the terrible pun. This was hardly the time. “This power of his is new…” She tried not to sound too doubtful as she unclipped her magical bandalore from her waist, but she couldn’t see a solution yet. “How can we possibly get close enough to find the cursed object?”

“I can distract him,” Chat Noir suggested. “My sneezes will make it easy for him to find me, and you can find the object Hawk Moth has cursed.”

“He doesn’t need to find us. Any of his pigeons can touch us and that’s it…”

“Hawk Moth won’t want our miraculous gifts to transform with us,” Chat Noir pointed out. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage—”

He stopped as a flash of orange on a nearby rooftop caught his eye. It stood out strangely in the dark night, especially when most of the movement in the sky was made of gray and black pigeon feathers. But before he could mention it to Ladybug, Chat Noir sneezed.

A nearby pigeon called in response, and Ladybug and Chat Noir ran. He pulled Ladybug in the direction of the orange blur, unsure where else they ought to go. He hoped that, just maybe, it was a stroke of luck, the sort that Ladybug could turn into a victory.

Ladybug and Chat Noir slid over a roof top and down to the street level, just in time to see something orange and white slip into one of the many tunnels that ran under the city. Underground certainly seemed safer than the skies, so they both followed.

Chat Noir dropped down beside her and rubbed his nose. “It might smell down here,” he said, “but it’s easier to breathe than among all those feathers.”

“What was that orange… thing?” she asked.

Chat Noir glanced around, but he saw no sign of the orange blur that had led them here. “I hope it’s help.”

Ladybug cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello?” she called, and her voice echoed down the tunnel walls. She hoped that the birds would not have bothered to explore the tight, underground maze that ran beneath the city. Of course, they would eventually get to her and Chat Noir, but she should have enough time to make a plan.

“Ladybug?” a soft, feminine voice called back. “Is that really you?”

“Who’s asking?” Chat Noir’s voice echoed in the tunnel. He leaned casually against his baton, but his senses were fully alert. His ears twitched with the magic that pulsed through his veins and his green, cat-like eyes shimmered in the dim light of the underground sewers as they searched for movement.

A girl stepped out from an alcove, and Chat Noir’s shoulders twitched with the urge to pounce. She had long, dark hair with a reddish tint to it. In the front, her hair had been pulled into two red tails with white tips, reminiscent of a fox. She wore white trousers tucked into black boots, and a bright, orange sash wrapped around her waist and trailed off into a sort of tail, white-tipped like her hair. She wore a tight orange bodice edged with black lace and black gloves that ran the length of her arms. Her shoulders and neck were bare, decked only in a gold chain from which hung a curved orange pendant. A pair of tall orange ears sat on her head, not unlike Chat Noir’s own leather cat ears, and her face was covered by a mask in the shape of a fox’s head.

The part of her that drew Chat Noir’s attention, however, was the large bamboo stick in her hand. He kept his brilliant green eyes trained on it, waiting for her to lift it into an attack position.

“Ladybug, I was so hoping I would find you,” the girl said effusively. “Those pigeons—they attacked my family.”

“I think we’re safe here for the moment,” Ladybug said, but Chat Noir was still hesitant to relax his guard.

“How did you get away from the pigeons?” he asked.

The girl touched the pendant at her neck. “This is the gift of illusion. I was able to hide myself. It did not last for long, though…”

“You’re all right now,” Ladybug promised. She held out her hand to the girl. “We’ll help you, and we’ll save your family.”

“Thank you! I know if anyone can help, you can, Ladybug.” She took Ladybug’s hand and squeezed it.

Chat Noir eyed Ladybug and decided he ought to trust her judgment. They were a partnership, but they were not exactly equals. She was the captain and he was more like her first mate who supported her decisions. If she thought they ought to help this girl, he would go along with her plan.

He re-clipped his baton to his belt and gave their new friend a dramatic, sweeping bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your cat-quaintance.”

Ladybug and this new friend were equally unimpressed with his chivalry and humor.

“You said you had the magic of illusion?” Ladybug asked, as if Chat Noir had done no more than clear his throat.

The girl nodded.

Ladybug smiled. “Illusion just might be the distraction we need without risking turning Chat Noir into a pigeon.”

Ladybug tossed her bandalore into the air and called for her Lucky Charm. There was a bright rose-colored light from her bandalore. Her spots flashed and the magic of creation flowed from the bandalore until it had finished constructing the lucky item that she needed. The object that fell out of the light and into her hands was warm and buzzed with magic. She examined the curved reed, red and decked in black spots like her dress. She pursed her lips, unsure exactly what she needed to do with it.

“Do you think you're supposed to hit Monsieur Pigeon with it?” Chat Noir asked.

Ladybug glanced over at their new friend and the bamboo reed in her hand. “Can you make both sound and images with your gift?”

The girl nodded, and Ladybug laid out their plan.

Chat Noir didn’t like it, but Ladybug was in charge, and so he did as Ladybug asked. He stood on the fifth bridge from the palace and stared at the dark water below. It looked cold. At least his allergies would probably be unaffected while he was in the water.

With a sigh, Chat Noir put the hooked end of the reed in his mouth and jumped into the river.

He could not see well in the water, but the dark itself was not much of a problem for him. The city was well-lit at night, which left her alleyways and the depths of her river dim to the average person, but for Chat Noir it was easy for his cat-like eyes to adjust. He stayed below the surface, careful to keep the top of the reed above the water so that he could breathe, and waited for Ladybug’s signal.

It was not long before he saw what he was waiting for. Ladybug and Chat Noir approached the river bank, pursued by a flock of dark pigeons, whose wings reflected iridescent purple in the city’s many lights.

The illusions of Ladybug and Chat Noir hesitated at the water’s edge, apparently cornered. Monsieur Pigeon, in his dark pink and purple suit approached.

“Which will it be?” the man asked with dark glee in his voice. “Join my pigeon army or hand over your miraculous gifts?”

Chat Noir watched Monsieur Pigeon closely in search of the object Hawk Moth had infected in order to amplify Monsieur Ramier’s anger. In the past, it had been Monsieur Ramier’s pigeon call whistle, but Ladybug had warned Chat Noir to be careful and sure before he made his move. They would not get two attempts with Ladybug’s magic of creation, nor Chat Noir’s magic of destruction.

Monsieur Pigeon lifted the whistle to his lips. It was as black as ink, and Chat Noir was certain that he was using it to control the monstrous pigeons. It must be the object they needed. Around the reed in his mouth, Chat Noir muttered, “Cataclysm.”

His ring burned and dark energy gathered in his palm. It may not have hurt, but it required a lot of focus to hold onto.

The first time Chat Noir had summoned his power, he had hastily grabbed a lamp post to keep from losing control and shattering a building; the lamp post had crumbled to dust beneath his hand. After that first night testing his new powers, his fay had warned him that the stronger his emotions, the stronger his Cataclysm would be. In those early days of grieving his mother, it had been almost impossible for him to use it effectively.

But he had learned to control it, and the freedom of being Chat Noir combined with working alongside Ladybug had given him hope in a future again. His Cataclysm had become manageable from not only use and practice, but thanks to a quelling of his grief.

Now, it was a tool he could manage as easily as Ladybug used her Lucky Charm. It cracked and popped in his hand, eager to destroy the first thing it touched, but he held back and waited. He watched as the illusions of Ladybug and Chat Noir removed their illusory miraculous gifts and dropped them into the river.

Chat Noir’s mouth quirked into a small smile. Their new friend had no idea what he and Ladybug looked like underneath their masks, and he thought the tall, plain looking man that took Chat Noir’s place an odd choice. Whoever that man was, though, Chat Noir figured his life was probably easier than Chat Noir’s true identity.

Monsieur Pigeon, as Ladybug had predicted, dove into the river after the miraculous gifts. Chat Noir made his move.

He shot forward in the water and grabbed the whistle out of Monsieur Pigeon’s hand. It crumbled to dust in his grasp. Like ink dripping off of a quill, the suit Monsieur Pigeon had been wearing fell away, and Monsieur Ramier reappeared. He swam up to the surface hastily for air. Chat Noir did the same, careful not to lose sight of the dark iridescent butterfly that flitted through the water.

As Chat Noir broke the surface, Ladybug extended a hand to help him up. Chat Noir reached for her hand and was shocked as his hand passed through hers. Ladybug vanished, and nearby, their new fox-like friend laughed.

Chat Noir climbed out of the river and turned to help Monsieur Ramier. “Ladybug?” he called, annoyed with both himself and their new friend. Carefully, he shook the water from his arms. He hated the way it clung to him. It made him feel sticky, unable to slip easily and invisibly through the night.

Ladybug—the real Ladybug—hurried across the bridge. The large pigeons that had surrounded the illusions returned to their normal size and color, and Ladybug no longer had to avoid them as she chased down the dark butterfly that was struggling to fly away with wings weighed down by water. She unleashed her bandalore on it. The circular clay on the end of the string slid open and captured the butterfly within it. There was a flash of white light as the butterfly was sealed inside, and the bandalore returned to Ladybug’s hand.

Once she had whispered the incantation to purify the cursed creature, Ladybug opened her bandalore and released the butterfly. The butterfly, now as white as snow, flitted off into the night. Ladybug wished it well on its journey, as she always did. And as he watched, Chat Noir’s heart fluttered as it always did; he loved her for her confidence, determination and intelligence, but her kindness, more than anything else, left him full of adoration. His love never waned, no matter how many times he watched her wish a future of hope onto a creature that had been turned into an agent of destruction.

Their new fox-like friend stepped out of the shadows beside Chat Noir and watched as Ladybug threw her bandalore into the air and her Lucky Charm undid all the damage to the city and its citizens that Hawk Moth had wrought through Monsieur Pigeon. There was a sweep of red, flitting ladybugs that swarmed the pigeons, the streets, and then hurried down the alley, finishing their work throughout the city.

All was as it had been when Ladybug and Chat Noir had first transformed and slipped off into the night, except for the whistle. Ladybug’s magic was powerful, but the object that Hawk Moth infected with his curse remained damaged in whatever way Ladybug and Chat Noir chose to free the curse. It was the one thing Ladybug did not have the magic to fix.

But Monsieur Ramier had grown quite used to replacing his pigeon call whistles in the past year.

“Are you all right, Monsieur Ramier?” Ladybug asked.

Monsieur Ramier wrung out his dripping cap. “Did it happen again, Ladybug?”

“I’m afraid so,” she smiled. “But everything’s been set right.”

“I am so sorry,” he said. “But thank you for saving me. I know I can count on you each time.”

“Of course you can,” Ladybug promised. “And Chat Noir and our new friend, of course.” She gestured to Chat Noir and the girl in orange.

The girl in orange grinned and rested her flute-like reed over her shoulder. “You can call me Volpina,” she said.

“You have my gratitude,” Monsieur Ramier said with a bow.

Chat Noir wrinkled his nose in an attempt to stall a sneeze, but he was unable to stop himself. The group of pigeons lifted into the air in surprise, then followed Monsieur Ramier along the river’s edge, back towards his home.

“We really couldn’t have done this without you, Volpina,” Ladybug said, and held out her hand to the girl in orange. “I hope we’ll have your help in the future.”

Volpina took Ladybug’s hand and even managed a small curtsy. “Any time, Ladybug. I think I’ll be in the city for a while longer.”

“You’re not from here?” Chat Noir asked curiously.

Volpina’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile. “I thought you heroes liked secret identities.”

“We do,” Ladybug said quickly, “but it is surprising that you just showed up suddenly.”

The smile on Volpina’s face faded. Though her eyes were hidden behind an orange and black mask, complete with the snout of a fox, she looked sad. “My grandmother passed away recently. This pendant was hers. I didn’t know it was a miraculous gift until I put it on. I was afraid to use it, unsure that I could uphold the legacy she left behind, but when my family was hurt in Monsieur Pigeon’s attack, I called upon the power of illusion to escape and find you.”

All of Chat Noir’s wariness melted away in an instant. He knew grief. It cloaked him as thoroughly as the masks he put on for each of his identities.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. “You were a great help today.”

The green emeralds on his ring flickered and the magic in one of the stones of the cat’s paw dimmed.

Volpina eyed it curiously, then said, “I think I need to take my leave.”

“Of course,” Ladybug said.

And as Volpina disappeared into the night, Ladybug’s earrings flickered.

“We ought to go too, chaton,” she said with a smile.

But he was loathe to leave his lady after their time together had been so brief. He looked down at the five glowing green emeralds set into his ring. Only one had flickered out. “I have a bit longer.”

Ladybug shook her head, but she was smiling. “It’s a good thing we met Volpina tonight.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Her smile faded ever so slightly. “Well… I might not be around very much over the next month. It’ll be good to know there’s someone else here to help the city.”

Chat Noir’s heart sank. But he swallowed down his own hurt and focused on her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, but Chat Noir did not believe her. Ladybug was many things, but chiefly she was a hero, and a hero did not show her weak spots, not even to her partner.

“It’s just…” She struggled to find the words then finally managed, “In my other identity, I’m about to be very busy. I have a lot of people that I’m responsible to, and they’re all going to need my attention. I’ll still be around, and if Hawk Moth attacks I’ll be there, but these nights where we patrol… I don’t know how many of those we’ll have for a while.”

“Oh,” he said. He did not know how to put words to his heartbreak. Nights with Ladybug were the best part of his life. He wasn’t sure what he would do without them, and he wasn’t sure how to tell her about his own looming deadline.

Her earrings flickered again. Another emerald on his ring went out.

“Promise me something?” she asked.

“Anything,” he said readily.

“Try not to steal anything, please? I don’t want to come after you because Audrey Bourgeois can’t find her pearls.”

Chat Noir flicked at the silver bell that rested at his collar. It jingled softly. “I wear this bell for you,” he grinned. “Can’t get past any hunting dogs with this on.”

It was not entirely true. Chat Noir was good at sneaking around even with the bell around his neck, but it symbolized his loyalty to Ladybug more than anything. It had become an addition to his outfit only after he had fallen for her.

It had not taken him long. The very same night that she had first dragged him from the Bourgeois's manor only to send him right back in to return the rings he had taken, one of Hawk Moth’s monsters had attacked.

Chat Noir had readily run to help, and though he would never know it, it was his confidence that had encouraged Ladybug to join him. She might never have dared to use her magic to face the monster if he had never asked her to help protect the city.

Together, they had learned that they could defeat the monsters in a way that the castle’s soldiers could not, and that the gifts they bore from the Forest of Fay were gifts that could be used not simply for their own benefit, but to help and protect the kingdom. And, more than that, Ladybug could undo in a moment whatever damage had been wrought by Hawk Moth’s attack.

It was during that first fight that Ladybug had learned that Chat Noir was a better friend than he was thief, and it was during that first fight that Chat Noir had fallen in love.

So he had worn a bell, ever since that first fight. A faux-deterrent from stealing, because his lady had asked him to.

“Thank you, chaton,” she said, and smiled.

Chat Noir cherished her smiles as much as he cherished her laughter, but he could not bring himself to match her smile.

“I also have some bad news,” he said. The third emerald on his ring flickered out as her earrings flashed.

Ladybug’s smile faded and she tipped her head. “What’s wrong?”

He liked that she had echoed his question. He wished that he could, like she had, assure her that it was nothing.

“After this month, I don’t know that I’ll still be around.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I have one more month before… well, before I assume some new responsibilities in my other life. I think they’ll make it harder to spend my evenings with you, Ladybug.”

It was not often that Chat Noir used her name properly. Ladybug knew that he was being serious, and not just trying to tease her or make her feel guilty for leaving him alone for a month.

She wanted to press him for details, but it would not be appropriate. She was the one who had set the boundaries between their daily lives and their lives as heroes, and it had been for a good reason. She was protecting him and his loved ones as much as she was protecting herself.

“Are you… sure?” she asked, unsure herself what she ought to say.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

It struck them both that from now on, then, any moment might be their last night together. And though it broke Ladybug’s heart to know there was a chance she might lose her best friend for good, she said, “You should go.”

The fourth emerald on his ring flickered out, and her earrings flashed.

“What if I didn’t?” he asked.

“Chaton…”

“Just kidding, of course.” But he had not been kidding, and he and Ladybug both knew it.

She kissed his cheek, then said, “This isn’t good-bye yet.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, and disappeared the way Volpina had gone, but whoever she was, she had already vanished

The final emerald on Chat Noir’s ring flashed and flickered out as Chat Noir murmured, “Plagg, claws in,” and his dark disguise vanished. The black suit fell from him and gathered in his ring, revealing a set of clothing that was just as dark but of much finer and more delicate cloth. The black wisps emerged from his ring and solidified into the form of the tiny black creature he had found in the forest almost a year earlier.

Prince Adrien Agreste leaned against the brick wall that formed half of the alley way and looked up at the sliver of stars visible above the close rooftops while the black cat-like fay dug through a nearby pile of garbage for some discarded cheese. They would need Chat Noir’s disguise to return home, but first the fay creature Plagg would need an offering of cheese to complete their initial bargain before he could give Adrien another turn with the magic of chaos and destruction.

Adrien considered, not for the first time, what might happen if he simply strolled up to the palace gates, and how his father might punish him for sneaking away. On his darker days, Adrien almost dared to do it. What was left for his father to take away from him? He had no control over whom he spoke to nor how he spent his time. Did he even really have control over whom he would marry, or would he just accept whatever his father asked of him? Shy of locking him in a dungeon, there were few ways for his father to restrict his freedoms much further.

But those were only on Adrien’s dark days. He knew that his father only wanted to protect him. He could not imagine how even his aunt might react, knowing the crown prince put himself in the path of danger almost nightly to protect the palace and the city from Hawk Moth’s attacks. He didn’t think she’d be any happier about it than his father. His mother might have understood, though. She’d have been upset, he thought, and worry, but he liked to think that she’d have understood.

“We need to do something about our new fox friend,” Plagg said as he dug through the piles of garbage.

Adrien tore his eyes away from the stars. “What’s wrong with Volpina?” She had helped them, despite his initial suspicions, and her grief had seemed genuine.

“Weren’t you listening?” Plagg disappeared into an old wooden box and re-emerged with a wedge of pungent, mold-covered cheese. “It’s not camembert, but it’s aged alright.”

Adrien wrinkled his nose in disgust as Plagg swallowed the cheese whole. He was not sure how Plagg managed it, considering the wedge itself was about twice Plagg’s size, but the fay creature seemed to stretch around the cheese, then compress back into his fay form.

“What do you mean about Volpina?” Adrien asked, when it was clear that Plagg was too interested in digesting his meal to return the conversation on his own.

“Did you notice how her pendant didn’t flicker with magic after she used her gift? That’s not a normal bargain. That’s a lifetime debt. Those trades don’t come cheap. Sounds like she may have stolen it from her grandmother.”

“Weren’t you listening? Her grandmother died. Surely Volpina just wanted something to remember her grandmother by.”

Plagg, however, was concerned for Trixx, who was his best friend in as far as fay creatures had best friends. Trickery and chaos went hand in hand. But he paused his concern for Trixx and took a moment to gauge the grief in Adrien’s eyes.

Plagg was not a sensitive creature by definition. He was born of chaos and destruction. His power was a curse, meant to inflict harm on others. And even then, it was mostly targeted at those who would hurt Tikki and her bondsman—or bondswoman, as was more often the case.

As a rule, Plagg did not express fondness for his bondsmen—or bondswomen, as it had been on several occasions—but Adrien was an exception. Plagg had observed many things in his year at the palace, but he had observed very little fondness. Adrien deserved a bit of care.

So Plagg shifted into his preferred form, a scrawny black cat, and threaded himself around Adrien’s feet. He nuzzled his whiskers and cheeks against Adrien’s ankles in a rare show of affection. It earned him a small smile from Adrien. It was still a sad smile, but most of Adrien’s smiles were sad. Someday Plagg would get a real smile from this boy. Something absolutely feral. It was what the boy deserved, especially after all he had been through, and especially given what was to come.

Plagg could not see the future—that was a different fay’s gift—but Plagg knew a few things about what went on in the palace that Adrien did not know. He chose to keep them to himself for now. Adrien would find out in time, and hopefully he would be ready to face those secrets when they eventually unraveled, as secrets always did.

Adrien knelt beside Plagg and stroked his spine. “We can’t do much more to investigate Volpina tonight. I suppose we ought to go home.”

Plagg tilted his head. “I bet we could still snag one of those pendants you were thinking about. Ladybug doesn’t have to know.”

The sad smile twitched ever so slightly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Something smaller then,” Plagg wheedled. “Something that really won’t be missed. Oh, we could stop by that boulangerie! It isn’t far. They’re the only place I’ve seen in this half of the continent that sells those fluffy cheese-filled pastries.”

“I can just order a bunch to be delivered to the palace,” Adrien said, but they both knew it would not be the same. There was something thrilling about slipping in and out of somewhere unseen, of having power and control over one little thing in his life when he was denied that power in so many other places.

When Plagg made no additional argument except to stare up at Adrien with pleading green eyes, the prince sighed. “Plagg, that’s a business, and the shop owners are very kind. I don’t want to steal from them.”

“Take the old stuff. It tastes just as good. We can leave something in exchange. Please,” he drew out his plea with a long whine. “We haven’t stolen anything in over a week, and you just promised Ladybug that we’d be good for another month. Can’t we have one last teeny-tiny hurrah?”

Plagg was Adrien’s closest friend and confidant while simultaneously being Adrien’s worst influence.

“Plagg, claws out,” he whispered, and the black cat at his feet stretched around him, spreading out from his ring, and cloaking him once more in the disguise of Chat Noir.

So when Marinette Dupain-Cheng finally returned home, well after her parents had retreated upstairs to bed, she found that three of their popular deep-fried, cheese-filled pastries were missing, and in place of the pastries, someone had left behind a small bouquet of budding hellebore.

#ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ladynoir

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Fourteen

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Félix didn’t know what Lila had done to garner Adrien’s attention, beyond faking a fainting spell in the first dance, but whatever it was had worked too well. Félix spent his evening trying to arrange a way for Adrien to spend at least some time with Kagami. He felt convinced that if he could just get them a chance to talk, they would figure out the rest.

Princess Kagami had been a patient student as he helped her through the dances, but once she had realized that Adrien was otherwise occupied, she had abandoned her studies. That left Félix to listen to Chloé whine and moan about Lila all evening, since she clung to his arm once it was clear she was not making any progress with Adrien. He didn’t know what he would have to do to get Adrien away from Lila, but whatever it was, he would do it if it meant that he would not have to marry just yet, if it meant he might get at least a bit of his own freedom.

It was nearly three in the morning when the doors finally closed behind the last of the guests, and Félix wandered upstairs. He was utterly exhausted, worn down by a night of socializing with people that he was neither used to nor fond of, but he knew that he could not retire without first saying good night to his mother.

Her drawing room was empty, but there was a light on in the dressing room. He knocked on the door frame to announce himself.

“Félix, is that you?” she called.

Félix pushed gently on the ajar door. “I just wanted to say good night.”

“Oh, please, darling, tell me everything about your evening. I feel like I hardly saw you.”

Félix leaned against the door frame. “I’m not sure what to say. I spent most of the evening with Chloé.”

“What about—” Amelie paused as her attendant pulled her shift over her head. “What about that girl in pink? She seemed sweet. You danced with her once, didn’t you?”

Félix tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The girl had been bubbly and outgoing and had given him a headache. She’d spent the whole night talking about her friends who were working and wouldn’t be able to join the ball until the last night. Félix had simply nodded politely as she had babbled. “She was fine, I suppose.”

“You danced with Kagami,” Amelie said, and helped her attendant unfasten each layer of her skirts.

“She’s dull, and she’s only interested in Adrien.” He couldn’t blame Kagami, not really. Empress Tomoe was a strict woman and had high expectations for her daughter. That was something Félix could understand, but it did sting just a bit that he was not good enough for Kagami. Not that he wanted to marry her—it would just be nice to know that he was a first choice for someone.

“You spent a lot of time with Chloé, didn’t you?”

“Only to listen to her whine about Adrien all night.”

“We’ll find you someone.”

Félix could not help the sneer that crossed his face, even as he thought that it must make him look like his uncle. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Amelie stepped out of her skirts and pulled on her silk robe. She finally opened the door for Félix and gestured for him to take a seat by her dressing table. “I can try to talk your uncle out of it,” she said as she took a seat in front of her mirror, “but he’s been rather stubborn.”

Félix was not entirely sure that his mother would approve of the deal he had made with Gabriel, so he simply shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

Amelie laughed. “The day that Gabriel changes his mind on anything—” She paused as her attendant took a cloth to her face to wipe off her makeup. “—though I suppose he did agree to this ball. You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you, Félix?”

He remembered what she had said a week ago as they had sat in her window. Do you know what I want more than anything in the world? For you to be happy.

“I am,” he promised, because what he wanted was for her to be happy.

Neither of them had yet brought up that the one-year anniversary of Michel’s disappearance was in just two days, but Félix felt it like a stone in his chest. It seemed to grow with each passing hour, and he wondered if, by the time King Gabriel announced the wedding at the end of the ball, he would be full of nothing but grief.

“Maman?” he asked, voice soft.

Amelie’s hands stilled in her hair, fingers still wrapped around one of her hair pins. Her attendant continued digging pins out as if nothing had happened, but she found herself unable to move. She could not remember the last time Félix had sounded so affectionate. Probably not since he had begun speaking in full sentences.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Do you know what happened to Papa’s ring?”

Slowly, Amelie brought her hands back down to her lap. Her lips turned numb even as they trembled in the mirror. “Why do you ask?” Her throat felt tight and her heart pounded in her chest. She wondered how much of her anxiety Félix could hear in her voice. He had always been intuitive about such things.

“I’ve just… been thinking about him.”

Félix was an excellent liar, but Amelie had raised him since infancy. She knew him better than anyone and had watched him craft the mask he wore for Gabriel and for Adrien and even, when he felt that the occasion called for it, for her.

She drummed her fingers against her vanity, deliberating the crossroads before her. It was a conversation that she had, for most of Félix’s life, dreaded, and once Michel had disappeared, she had felt the faintest relief that she might never have to tell Félix the truth.

And yet he had come seeking it anyway.

She made eye contact with her attendant through the looking glass and said, “Leave us, please.”

Though only a few curls draped loosely against her neck and the rest of her hair was still piled on top of her head, tucked into combs and jewels, the attendant bowed obediently and left.

She said nothing until she heard the click of the door, and even then, she waited a few more moments until she was certain that no one was listening.

“Did Gabriel say something to you?” she asked.

Félix tipped his head and genuine suspicion bloomed in his eyes. This was what she had always feared about this moment: her own beloved son mistrusting her.

“Does Gabriel know something about it?” he asked.

She swallowed. Félix was too much like his uncle, too much like her, and not enough like his father—well, his father who had never truly been his father.

Amelie pulled her robe tighter around her and stood. “Let’s sit in the window, and I promise that I’ll tell you everything.” She wanted to hold him one last time because after she crossed this threshold, she might never get the chance again.

Félix followed his mother back to her drawing room warily. He had never seen her like this before. This was not the grief that he was so familiar with; she was terrified. Was it of his uncle?

But he joined her in the window because she had asked. Because he would always do as she asked.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back against her. She took a moment, a single deep breath, before saying, “We had planned to tell you the truth when you turned twenty. But then your father disappeared, I thought that perhaps it no longer mattered. The ring vanished with him, so that must be the end of it.”

Félix’s fingers found the ring in his pocket and he tightened his hand around it. “The end of what?”

He could feel her swallow as her entire body moved with the anxious habit. “I’m not entirely sure where to begin. I…” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was thin and watery. “I can’t have children.”

Félix blinked. He pulled himself out of her embrace and turned to face her. His heart pounded with a frantic possibility unspooling out before him. He could see it clearly: A queen with twins, turning the younger into a cousin to prevent competition for the crown, which meant that Gabriel…

“Mother, what are you saying?”

“Please, Félix, let me finish.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Neither myself nor my sister can have children. Whatever accident of our birth caused it, it’s shared.”

He frowned as the answer he had grasped turned to dust in his hand. “Then who… who am I?”

“You’re still my son,” she said as fiercely as she could manage. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t change that I raised you, that I have loved you, and that I still love you.” She kept one hand tight around his and clung to his face with the other. “Do you understand that, Félix? You are my son and I love you more than anything.”

“I do,” he agreed readily, unsure if he was more eager to see her happy or more eager for her answers.

Amelie bit down on her lip, searching for some sign in Félix’s face that he would truly still trust her when this was over. She couldn’t be sure, but she had to hope. If she lost Félix’s love tonight, she would have nothing left in this world.

She took a deep breath and began. “When Emilie and I each married, we had no idea that we… that we wouldn’t be able to fulfill all of a noble wife’s proper duties. I was sad, and Michel was sad, but we had each other. If the title of Duke or Duchess passed to a cousin or distant relative, I cared not. But for Emilie and Gabriel, an heir meant everything.

“The Graham de Vanilys, like a handful of noble families, have a miraculous gift from the fay. Though my sister granted her title to me when she married Gabriel, she kept the other part of her birthright for herself. I never thought she would truly use the miraculous gift but…”

She paused, and Félix waited as the tears slipped down her cheeks. It was hard not to beg her to continue. His entire world hinged on her words.

“I don’t know what she traded,” Amelie finally managed, though she had to fight gasping sobs to get it out, “but I would not be surprised if it was that trade that cursed her into sleep, if she was so desperate for an heir that she would have traded her own life.” She choked on another sob. “You see, the fay of our family is the Fay of Emotion; it can bring feeling to life.”

“Like Hawk Moth?”

“It’s similar, but the gift of emotion will literally give life and form to all of someone’s rage or hope or grief or…” Amelie dropped her hand from Félix’s face to wipe her eyes dry. She took in a deep breath, only just managing to compose herself. “Emilie used her desperation to create not just an heir for herself, but an heir for me as well.”

“I’m…” But Félix let the sentence wither away on his tongue, unable to find the words.

“When something—or someone—is created,” Emilie continued, “it is created with a tether, much like Hawk Moth’s curses. Something links the magic to life. Emilie bound the two lives that she created to our family’s rings, which I suppose is a sort of a family tradition. Your great-great-great grandmother used the gift to create a husband for herself. She bound his life to one of the rings and gave him the other as a wedding band. It’s said that they were a happy couple, but it’s hard to know for sure when the object that the creation is bound to controls the creation fully.”

The silver felt cold and heavy against Félix’s palm. “So Father’s ring…?”

“Emilie used the ring that she had given Gabriel for her son; she used Michel’s for you. But that ring was lost when your father disappeared, and so I don’t think you have any cause to worry.”

Félix’s chest constricted around his heart, tightening with two pressing questions: Was anything he had ever done truly of his own volition, and why had Gabriel taken this ring?

It was so tempting to show his mother the ring. She was still his mother, and he loved her, and he wanted to tell her that, but he hesitated. How was he supposed to know if his love was real?

Amelie saw the doubt in his eyes and her heart ached. As Félix had grown, so had her fear of this moment. He had become such a quiet, calculating boy who prepared for monsters around each corner because he saw monsters around each corner. She hated the idea that he might see her as one, when she had done nothing but love him since the day Emilie had placed him into her arms.

“Your father and I never used the ring to control you,” she promised. “I made him swear not to, and I think he understood. Emile made Gabriel swear the same. No matter what I’ve said tonight, you are still your own person, Félix. You always have been.”

Félix hardly heard her. What did it truly mean, for Gabriel to have had this ring? Had he taken it from his brother-in-law? Had he felt like he needed insurance that Félix would never challenge Adrien for the throne? Adrien was no more his cousin than Gabriel was his uncle. In fact, if everything that his mother said was true, then Félix had as much claim to the throne as Adrien did, which was, depending on the point of view, equally full right or no claim at all.

Félix pulled away and ran his hand over his face. If he had taken a second to look at his mother, he might have seen how badly this gesture broke her.

Amelie managed to stifle her sob, but tears spilled regardless. “Félix, I love you, more than anything. Do you believe that?”

Her hand rubbed his shoulder, but his mind was buried in his pocket with the ring. He didn’t know who he was—or even what he was. Maybe he could trust in the memory of his father, but how long had Gabriel been wearing this ring?

It was absurd, he told himself. He would know if he was not his own person. He would be able to tell the difference. Right?

“Félix?” Amelie asked again, and this time, he heard her.

Félix pushed himself up onto his feet, but his mother refused to let go of his hand.

“Félix, you are my son,” she said again. “Nothing will change that.”

He nodded, but could not find any words. He leaned on his manners, engraved in him as certainly as his mother’s name on the inside of her ring. “Good night, Maman.”

That sliver of affection was enough for Amelie. She kissed the back of his hand and let him go. Her son needed time to think. She didn’t understand it, but she knew him. She could give him space after a bombshell like this, and she would be here if he was willing to talk about it.

Once he was outside of his mother’s chambers, Félix slid the ring onto his finger. He felt no different wearing it. If it really was some magical object bound to him and he to it, he couldn’t feel a change in himself brought on by wearing it. But he could see no reason for his mother to have lied to him. She had every reason to keep this secret from him, especially if she believed that the ring was truly lost with his father.

Félix took his time walking to his room. He detoured once more past his father’s portrait of King Gabriel, Queen Emilie, and Adrien. His mother’s story seemed quite obvious somehow, now that he knew the truth. Gabriel’s hand on Adrien’s shoulder, decorated with his wedding band, stood out to Félix like a beacon. The way none of Gabriel’s features were visible in Adrien seemed too obvious, and Félix wondered if anyone had ever thought the same thing of him and his father.

Of course he and Adrien looked like their mothers. They had only ever belonged to Emilie.

He might have had more room for self-pity or introspection if this revelation was not wrapped up in the mystery of how his father’s ring had fallen into Gabriel’s hands. He had tried to come up with a number of practical, innocent explanations, but now that he knew what the ring truly was, he could see nothing innocent about Gabriel. Gabriel had done something to his father or to make his father leave and Félix was determined to find out the truth.

His heart felt heavy as he finally turned down the hall to his bedroom, but not only with grief. Desperation dug its teeth into his chest just as strongly. He was not simply sad that he could no longer speak with his father or his aunt; he longed to pry answers out of them and it hurt to know that he would never get that chance.

What had Emilie been thinking when she had made him and Adrien? How had his father felt to know that he could have no children with the woman that he loved, but instead his sister-in-law had hand-crafted him an heir? Was all of Félix’s own drive and ambition simply the product of a queen who wanted to please her husband and protect her kingdom? And what of Adrien?

If Félix had not been so wrapped up inside his own head, he might have paid more attention to the guards outside his bedroom door. Instead, he wrote them off as Gabriel’s increased security since the little red monsters’ attack on the palace that evening, and it was not until his door was latched behind him that it occurred to him that there had been no guards posted in front of Adrien’s door.

“Félix,” Gabriel’s cold voice cut through the dimly lit room, “you’ve certainly taken your time.”

Instinctively, Félix slipped his hands behind his back and he bowed. “I didn’t realize you would be waiting for me, Your Majesty.”

His heart pounded in his chest but he did his best to keep his head cool. Gabriel sat by the fireplace, and its harsh shadows flickered eerily. Nathalie stood at his side, so this could not be about the rings, could it? Surely Gabriel would not want the staff knowing that the crown prince and his cousin were nothing more than conjurations controllable by a trinket.

But the guards had been stationed outside, rather than inside, where they could not hear what Gabriel was about to confront Félix with. Gabriel was as fine a strategist as Félix; he would not have risked tipping Félix off to this ambush without cause.

So did Nathalie already know?

Carefully, Félix slipped the ring off of his finger. “Is everything all right?”

“It is not, in fact.” Gabriel stood and, very slowly, pulled off the white gloves that he had worn to the ball. He tugged on them, finger by finger, inch by inch.

Félix took the opportunity of the dramatic pause to drop the ring behind his back. It made no sound as it hit the rug and he surreptitiously moved his foot to stand on it.

“Have I done something to upset you? If you’re worried that Adrien will be charmed by Lila Rossi, I’m working on—”

“This is not about Adrien; this is about the thief living under my roof.”

Félix was not sure that he had an especially innocent face—something he had always envied about Adrien—but he did his best to look confused. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Nathalie was tidying up in your rooms while we were at the ball, and she found something interesting.”

Félix’s eyes flicked over Nathalie, who had not tidied a room in decades. She managed the household staff; she did not do household work. Gabriel must have asked her to hunt for the ring, but of course she hadn’t found it. So what did they think that they had found?

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” Félix said.

Gabriel gestured to Nathalie and she held up a pair of dancing shoes, decorated in topaz stones and embroidered with gold thread. “She found these in your room.”

“I’ve never seen them before.” It was true enough, but Félix could imagine how foolish the denial sounded to Gabriel. He racked his brain for something, anything to say that might convince Gabriel of the truth.

“Chloé Bourgeois said that Chat Noir stole these very shoes from her this evening, making her late for the ball. Did you think that perhaps if you delayed Chloé, it would give Princess Kagami a better chance?”

Félix’s heart pounded in his chest. How had Chat Noir’s stolen goods ended up in his bedroom? Was this some sort of trap to convince Félix to give up his father’s ring willingly, perhaps to prove that he was not Chat Noir?

Félix had far too many questions and no answers. “What do you want?” he asked.

Gabriel’s frown deepened. “It’s always so to the point with you. You’re worse than your mother.”

In light of the knowledge that Félix was no more his mother’s son than Adrien was Gabriel’s, Félix took that as a point of pride.

“Your Majesty,” he tried for the most civil tone he could manage, “I swear that I’ve never seen those shoes before. If you truly did find them in my rooms, then you’re right—there must be a thief under your roof. But it isn’t me.”

Gabriel stood, finally, in a single swift movement and crossed the room to Félix. He towered over Félix, and his face was dark with shadow as the fire flickered at his back. “So you did not take Chloé’s shoes from her home? Just as you did not steal my wedding band off of my hand? ”

Félix was only too pleased to reply, “I’ve stolen nothing. Isn’t your wedding band on Queen Emilie’s hand? I thought I saw—”

Félix didn’t know what he had said wrong or done wrong, but the room filled with a deafening crack and pain bloomed on his cheek. The taste of blood pooled on his tongue, but though he stumbled, he stayed on his feet, hoping the ring was still buried beneath his heel.

And then Gabriel’s hands were on him, digging through his clothes and turning out the pockets beneath his jerkin.

“Get off of me,” Félix snarled, struggling to hold his ground and keep the ring hidden, but he also wanted Gabriel to search him. He wanted Gabriel to search and find nothing at all.

“Where is it?” Gabriel hissed. “Where is your miraculous gift?”

“Stop—Nathalie! Call a guard! His Majesty’s mad—”

Nathalie hurried forward, but she did not intervene as Félix had hoped. Instead she gripped each of his arms and pulled them back.

“Let go!”

But Félix could do little more than wriggle uselessly as Gabriel searched beneath his doublet and felt along each of Félix’s fingers, as if there was a chance Félix could turn the ring invisible.

And when that yielded nothing, Gabriel yanked off Félix’s shoes. Though there was no ring tucked into them, the silver ring buried in the threads of the plush carpet glinted in the firelight and Gabriel snatched it up.

Félix’s heart sank. He had not worn it for more than an hour and he had already lost it. What would his mother say? Did he dare tell her?

And Gabriel, as he examined the ring in the firelight, had the audacity to look disappointed.

“Where is your miraculous gift?” he growled.

Félix tried and failed to get free of Nathalie’s grip. “I don’t have one!”

Gabriel stood and slipped the wedding band on his finger. His fury faded slowly, like a fire flickering in a cold wind. In a cool, even voice he asked, “Are you Chat Noir?”

And before Félix could answer, he twisted the ring on his finger. “Tell the truth.”

Félix had no desire to lie. “Of course not! That’s my father’s ring. Give it back.”

“Do you know who Chat Noir is?” Gabriel kept his thumb and forefinger tight around the ring. “Be honest.”

Félix had no desire to lie. “How would I? Tell me how you ended up with my father’s ring. Did you take it from him? Are you the reason that he left?”

“Do you know what this ring does?” Gabriel twisted the ring once more. “Do not lie to me.”

Félix had no desire to lie. “My mother told me everything.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Why hadn’t he thought to lie? He knew that secrets and surprise were his only advantage against his uncle, so why had he just told the truth?

“I see,” Gabriel said. “Nathalie, you may let him go.”

Nathalie released him, but Félix did not feel any more free. Putting on the ring had not made him feel empowered in any way that he might have hoped for, but losing it felt like losing a lung.

“What do you want?” Félix asked again, and he wished he did not sound so desperate.

“The same thing I have always wanted,” Gabriel answered in a low voice. “For Adrien to be happy.”

Félix swallowed down a mouthful of blood. “So why do you…” He paused, and replayed Gabriel’s desperation as he had searched Félix’s pockets. He had not been looking for the Graham de Vanily ring. He had been so certain that he would find Chat Noir’s miraculous gift, and he had wanted it badly enough to ambush Félix in his own chambers, to risk Amelie’s ire.

Gabriel turned again, and Félix watched intently as Gabriel adjusted the collar that Félix had mussed in their tussle. A hidden gray brooch glinted briefly in the firelight before disappearing once more into the folds of fabric.

Félix’s feet felt rooted to the ground as Gabriel collected Chloé’s shoes and joined Nathalie at the door. “Have a good night, Félix,” which was perhaps the most polite thing Gabriel had ever said to him.

Then Gabriel touched the wedding band with his thumb, twisting it once more. “You will say nothing of this conversation to your mother—nor anyone else. You will tell no one how you earned that bruise.” Then he and Nathalie were gone.

Félix was left with no desire to tell anyone the truth of what had just happened, and no fight left in him at all. Though he did have some quibble with the word, “earned.”

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #ml #ml fic #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #this is one of my favorite of the chapters #its a big turning point #shit is going down and its a lot

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 13

Table of Contents

Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Marinette felt dizzy and unsteady on her feet as she stumbled up the street to Master Fu’s shop. Distantly, she was aware that she had work to do, but at the forefront of her thoughts, looming larger than her upcoming deadlines, was Chat Noir’s proposal.

Chat Noir had not simply teased her or flirted with her; he had actually asked her to marry him and though she had tried to laugh it off as a joke, she had seen the desperation in his eyes. He had been so earnest in his request.

And she had turned him down.

Of course she had turned him down! She couldn’t marry a thief. He was her friend, and nothing more. And besides, he didn’t know who she was behind the mask. Honestly, Chat Noir would probably think that she was boring. She was an apprentice, obsessed with her work, who helped out at her parents’ bakery when she found the time. There was no adventure to her, no intrigue. That was all Tikki’s magic.

Perhaps he ought to have simply proposed to Tikki.

“Marinette!” someone shouted at her.

She was so startled that she tripped and went sprawling onto the cobblestone. She winced as pain spread through her knees and wrists, the parts of her body that always took the worst of her falls. But it was brief; even tucked away in Marinette’s pocket, Tikki still worked her magic. The pain receded as a hand shot into Marinette’s line of sight.

“Marinette—I’m so sorry—”

She took the hand gratefully and let Nino pull her back up to her feet.

“My fault,” she sighed and dusted herself off.

“I’m glad you made it out of the palace. Alya and I were worried.”

“Oh!” Perhaps it made her a bad friend, but in the wake of Chat Noir’s proposal and her panic to escape the guards before her transformation, she had forgotten about Alya and Nino entirely.

“Er—where is Alya?” she asked.

“Resting at home.” Nino pursed his lips and wondered if he ought to tell Marinette about Rena Rouge. He supposed Alya would kill him, not for sharing the secret but for denying her the opportunity to share it herself. “Do you want to go see her?”

Marinette did want to go see Alya. She wanted to tell Alya and Nino everything. She wanted to tell them that she was Ladybug. She wanted to tell them that Chat Noir had proposed. She wanted to ask them what she was supposed to do, and if she really had just lost one of her best friends for good.

“I have to get to Master Fu’s shop,” Marinette yawned. “The fastenings on the doublets aren’t done yet, and I still need to add ribbons to the sleeves, and…” she sighed. She was too tired and had too much to do. Chat Noir and his proposal would just have to be set aside for a night.

Nino furrowed his brow suspiciously. “You promise that you won’t work yourself to death?”

“I promise.”

“In that case,” Nino offered her his arm, and, with an indulgent smile, Marinette accepted his offer of escort.

As they walked together, Marinette said, “I’m glad that you made it out of the palace all right. I was worried when you and Alya went towards the ballroom.” Truthfully, she felt guilty for abandoning Nino and Chat Noir to the guards, but she had been about to lose the magical cloaking that protected her identity. If she had pulled Nino away, he might have found out her secret. And if Nino were to find out before Alya, she’d never hear the end of it.

“I hitched a ride from Chat Noir,” Nino said, with no more concern than he might have if he were to comment on a partly cloudy day.

“What was that like?” she laughed.

“Terrifying at first,” he grinned, “then thrilling. I’d never seen the city like that before.” The excitement in his eyes faded a bit. “Do you really know Chat Noir all that well?”

“No—I mean—He just…” He just proposed to me, she thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud. “He showed up at the bakery last night and I fed him. Don’t tell Papa! We just talked and he asked me to find him at the ball.” She wondered if he was going to keep his promise to her of a dance on the third night. “That’s it, really.” Marinette tried and failed to read the expression on Nino’s face. “Why do you ask?”

Nino hesitated before finally saying, “I don’t know what he intended by asking you to find him at the ball, but I’m not sure you should trust him. I think he’s hiding something.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. What had Chat Noir told Nino? She wished she could to transform into Ladybug then and there to interrogate Nino. Instead, she was only Marinette, who asked in an unusually high-pitched voice, “Oh? Like what?”

“I don’t know… I’m just worried for you. And maybe a bit for him. Something seemed off about him today.”

Marinette privately agreed. Chat Noir had not been himself since the fight with Volpina. Even the week before that, after she had told him that she would be busy preparing for the ball… Was this dramatic change in Chat Noir her fault?

She bit down on her lip. “I trust Chat Noir, thief or not.” Marinette knew she must sound naïve to Nino, but she couldn’t explain to him that she had spent the last year working alongside Chat Noir, that he had protected her as many times as she had protected him, and that she would trust him with her life without hesitation.

“Well,” Nino sighed, “I trust you, Marinette. But you tend to be more optimistic than you ought to be. Just know that Alya and I will be there, too, so if anything happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” she assured him. Not to Marinette, anyway. Chat Noir wasn’t in love with Marinette. And that was fine, because she wasn’t in love with Chat Noir.

As they approached Master Fu’s shop, she wondered if she ought to attend the ball as Ladybug on the third night. If it really was going to be her last chance to see Chat Noir, shouldn’t she take it? Didn’t they at least deserve a proper goodbye?

“Get some rest, Marinette, please?” Nino asked.

“As soon as the work is done,” she said, and kissed his cheek before pushing open the shop door.

Juleka was sitting at the tea table, embroidery thread in hand and white and gold fabric laid out in her lap.

“Oh, thank you for starting, Juleka,” Marinette sighed. “You’re a life-saver.”

Juleka mumbled something in reply as Marinette pulled Félix’s doublet down from the mannequin to finish the closures.

Marinette liked working with Juleka—the girl had a wonderful eye for detail and quick, delicate hands—but she was nearly impossible to understand, and she kept her long dark hair hanging in her face, making it hard to interpret her expression. She could not be more different from her friendly, easy-going twin brother.

“Is Master Fu still working?” Marinette asked. “He’s using the gold cording, isn’t he?” And she started to knock on his workroom door.

“No!” Juleka was on her feet and between Marinette and the door in a moment. “He retired for the evening,” she mumbled, “and he said you couldn’t go in.”

Marinette sighed. “Juleka, I’m going to see it in just two days anyway.”

It was, again, hard to make out Juleka’s mumble, but Marinette was fairly certain she heard the shape of the word, “surprise.”

“Fine,” Marinette sighed. She could wait until the third day to find out what her ballgown would look like. But that was not going to give her much time to personalize it.

Marinette sat down to stitch in the fasteners, while Juleka hurried into Master Fu’s rooms to get the gold cording they needed for the edges of Adrien’s jerkin. When she returned, she hesitated warily between Marinette and the door.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to rush the door, Juleka.”

Juleka hummed a note of disbelief.

Well, perhaps if she were not so tired and stressed, she might have the energy to obsess over the dress that Master Fu had promised her. Part of her wished she had taken at least a little bit of time to talk about the design with him in its early stages, but instead she had thrown herself into the princes’ clothes, and she’d hardly pulled her head out of shot silk for much more than a bite to eat in the last month.

She thought about the designs she had pinned to her wall and Chat Noir’s curiosity about them. Did she want him to see her that way? Did she want to let Chat Noir get to know Marinette the way that he knew Ladybug? And did she want to know him that way?

Did they even have the time for that, or had she already lost him for good?

His proposal left her unsettled even still. All his dramatic confessions of love over the past year had seemed silly and cute. She had never taken him seriously, and now she wondered if that was why she was going to lose him. It would be wrong to let him go without at least telling him just how much she valued him.

Marinette did not know where the rest of her evening went. She only knew that one moment, she was stitching silver cording onto a black doublet and the next, someone was shaking her shoulder.

She scrambled to her feet so quickly that her head spun. “I’m awake! I—” She swayed and fell right into someone very, very solid.

Luka laughed softly. “Is everything all right, Marinette?” He was dressed in what must be his finest clothes, and though the doublet was a lovely shade of forest green, it had clearly been through its fair share of eventful evenings. Marinette knew enough about repairing clothes to know that the cape attached to the jerkin must have been as much for style as it was for hiding worn seams. Something about Luka’s attempt to present the very best of something that was already worn down made Marinette’s heart skip a beat.

“I’m fine. I…” Marinette looked across the room to Juleka, who was dozing over the embroidery in Prince Adrien’s jerkin. Then she glanced down at the unfinished doublet. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “I really need to get this done tonight.”

“You and Juleka have both been doing too much,” Luka said. “How can I help?”

“Can you thread a needle?”

“Is it anything like stringing a lute?”

Marinette did not dare let Luka stitch anything into the princes’ garments, but she let him talk to keep her and Juleka awake. He told them about the ball, and how everyone was already whispering that Prince Adrien had chosen Lila Rossi. The prince had hardly left her side all night, except for a brief dance with Chloé.

Marinette gave a derisive snort at that news. Luka tipped his head with a curious smile, but he made no comment. Instead, he told them that Félix had danced with a young girl named Rose, and it was obvious, even behind her curtain of dark hair, that Juleka was blushing.

Juleka mumbled something that Marinette didn’t catch, but Luka laughed.

“Rose had a great time. She was sorry that she couldn’t come back here with me, so she asked me to give you something.” And Luka gave his sister a quick kiss on the cheek.

Juleka’s blush spread to her ears, and she quickly turned back to her work.

Marinette finished off the last of the ribbons and fastenings, Juleka tied off the final stitch of embroidery, and finally, they packed the princes’ clothes into a new box for the second night of the ball.

“Do you have a lot to do for the third night?” Luka asked as Marinette locked up the shop.

“Just some gold braiding,” she yawned, “for both princes.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy,” Luka assured her. “Your care for your clients really shines in your work… Oh, Juleka…”

Juleka stifled a yawn and sat down on the shop steps. She mumbled something into her hand and Luka shook his head.

“You’re spoiled,” he teased, but he unslung his viol from his shoulder and knelt down beside her.

With a smile, Juleka climbed onto her brother’s back and locked her arms beneath his chin. She buried her head into his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

He may not have been the oldest by very much, but Luka liked being the older brother that Juleka could lean on. Neither of them had ever known their father, so Luka took on as much of father and brother as he could.

And he could not help but selfishly think that if Juleka slept through the walk home, he would more or less have Marinette to himself.

“I can carry that,” Marinette said, reaching for his viol.

“Only if you let me walk you home.”

“Are you sure? Isn’t Juleka a bit heavy?”

“I’m used to it,” Luka smiled. “Besides, I’m not the one who has to be up early to fit the princes. I won’t need to be at the palace until just before the guests arrive. That’s plenty of time to sleep.”

Reluctantly, Marinette agreed to let Luka walk with her. He set a slow pace, and she could not help but think she might have gotten to bed faster if she had been able to transform into Ladybug. But still, it was nice to walk with him, and she was grateful to have had his support as she and Juleka had finished the princes’ outfits. The least she could do to say thank you was give him some of her time.

As they walked, the clock tower struck three in the morning. Marinette groaned inwardly. In just a few short hours, her parents would be waking up to stock the bakery. She would be lucky if she got to crawl into her bed at all.

“Marinette?” Luka asked once the chimes had died down.

“Hm?”

Luka glanced up, as if he were searching for the words he needed in the stars. “I know you’ve got a lot to do right now, but I was wondering, well, when the ball is over, would it be all right if I stopped by more often?”

It was hardly a marriage proposal, but Marinette’s heart pounded as loudly as it had when Chat Noir had asked his question just hours earlier. “Oh… I…” She stumbled on the sidewalk, and caught herself through sheer force of will before she crushed Luka’s viol beneath her.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, voice high and strained. “You just… surprised me.”

“No, I’m sorry, Marinette. I know that I should wait until the ball is over and you aren’t overwhelmed with work, but I’m just worried someone else is going to come along and see how wonderful you are, and I don’t want to miss out.”

Marinette’s cheeks flared with heat. She wanted to thank him, to say yes, to encourage him. It was on the tip of her tongue. Her parents would like him. He was soft-spoken, even-keeled, and kind. Her father might worry because Luka was an artist who would have trouble making consistent money, but Alya had already given her approval. And Marinette enjoyed his company and conversation. He was intelligent and creative; he was compassionate and considerate.

So why, in this moment, could she only think of Chat Noir’s desperate proposal?

She swallowed hard and stopped as they reached the bakery. “Er… I have a friend,” she began, unsure entirely what she wanted to say.

“Oh—forgive me,” Luka apologized hastily, “I didn’t realize that you were spoken for—I thought—”

“No, I’m not! Just a friend, really,” Marinette insisted. “He’s only a friend.” She smiled, but Luka still looked doubtful.

“It’s only that he’s a very good friend,” she said, “and I’m worried for him. And I think… I think he’s trying to figure out how to say goodbye. Could I figure that out with him first, and then…?”

Marinette didn’t know what “then” entailed, but she thought it sounded nice. It was hard for her to envision anything beyond the third day of the ball. It was harder still for her to imagine that Chat Noir might leave her in just two days, but maybe if she knew that Luka was waiting on the other side, she could bear it.

She met his eyes and even in the dark she could see they sparkled with a beautiful blue-green, like the waters of the river that cut through the city. He looked hopeful. It made Marinette feel brave.

“Until then,” he agreed with a small smile. His hand closed around hers as he took his viol back from her. Her heart stuttered in her chest—then he leaned down and kissed her.

And Marinette kissed him back.

It was a brief kiss, but it was nice. Surely he couldn’t be comfortable with his sister still draped over his shoulders, but it felt comfortable, like sinking into warm water. Though there was nothing charged in it like the desperation in Chat Noir’s voice and the intimate tug on her hair ribbon, Marinette was still left dizzy and fumbling for the key to the shop.

“Er—good night,” she managed, before closing the door in his face.

She hardly had a moment to worry that the shop bell might have woken her parents. She felt positively giddy, the way she had the first time she had heard Prince Adrien laugh.

Marinette dashed upstairs, stumbling over the steps only twice, until she finally reached her room. She hurried up to her rooftop, wondering if she could catch a glimpse of Luka before he was lost in the city’s tight buildings—and then she stopped quite suddenly, halfway up the ladder.

Chat Noir was perched on her roof.

He turned and flashed a mischievous smile. “Shall I see to it your beau gets home safely?”

Her cheeks flared red and she very nearly slammed the attic door shut on him. “He’s not my…” But she supposed she had more or less accepted Luka’s offer. She’d only asked that he wait.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Are you begging for food again?”

His smile was all its usual charm and smarm that she had missed, as he asked, “Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to feed strays?” But his eyes were still sad. She felt the slightest twinge of guilt. How much of that sadness was her fault?

“Are you a stray kitty?” she asked. “Or does that bell around your neck mean that you belong to someone?”

He sighed and leaned against the railing of her roof. “Well, I was hoping I might catch my lady tonight,” he said.

“O-oh.” Marinette wasn’t quite sure that she was ready to face him as Ladybug. If she made an excuse and disappeared, only to return as Ladybug, would he give her a proper goodbye? That was the very thing she had just told Luka she needed from Chat Noir and yet… if she didn’t, could she hold onto him for just a little longer?

Marinette climbed up onto the roof and leaned against the railing beside Chat Noir’s perch. “Is it… about how she rejected you today?”

Chat Noir winced. “Is everyone in the city talking about it?”

“No! Not all, just—Nino’s one of my good friends.”

Chat Noir leaned back so that he was dangling upside down from Marinette’s balcony, feet hooked into the railing.

“C-careful…” She leaned over to get a better look at him.

His scruffy blonde hair stretched towards the street below and his glittering green eyes scanned the rooftops.

“I shouldn’t have asked her so suddenly like that,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s avoiding me. It wasn’t exactly fair.”

“Did you mean it?” Marinette asked, though she was afraid that she already knew the answer.

“With all my heart.” He grinned and pulled himself upright. He clung to the railing from the wrong side, as if keeping the barrier between him and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng might protect him from his heartbreak.

“Do you have work left to do?” he asked.

“No, I was just going to—”

He held his hands out to her. The silver claw tips glittered in the city’s lights. “Come with me.”

Her hand moved towards his before she quite realized what she was doing. Hastily, Marinette pulled it back. “I shouldn’t…”

He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a sharp, crooked smile. “Will your beau get jealous?”

“He’s not…” She sighed. It was a terrible idea, as terrible an idea as it had been to dance with Chat Noir in the ballroom that evening. But once again, she found it hard to say no to him.

She took his hands and he pulled her off the roof.

They fell, and it took all of her will power not to call Tikki and transform before they hit the ground. His staff collided with the stones in the street with a loud clang and then they were flying up into the night.

She felt weightless and free. It was like being Ladybug, but with none of the pressures of a hero. She did not need to hurry and make sure no one was hurt. She did not need to hunt for danger. She was just Marinette, an apprentice out far later than she ought to be; she was just a girl sneaking out with the city’s most wanted thief.

It was not far from the bakery to the edge of the city. Chat Noir carried Marinette onto the high wall and set her down carefully and safely in the center of the towering stonework.

She did not know why he had brought her out here, but they stared beyond the city into the forest that grew along its borders, lit only by a pale thin crescent moon.

“Have you been into the Forest of Fay before?” he asked.

She followed his gaze out into the dimly lit trees and wondered what he saw in the darkness.

“Once,” she said. “My master sent me to get a flower.”

“Were you a florist before you were a seamstress? Was that before or after you were a baker?”

He smiled, sharp canines glinting despite the dark night, but there was nothing comfortable or carefree about this smile. She was not sure what to do with it, so she simply accepted it as she might if she had been wearing her spots.

“Very funny,” she rolled her eyes and playfully nudged him with her elbow. “No, it was a rare flower for a special dye. He said he needed it for the royal family’s mourning attire after the queen fell asleep.”

Chat Noir’s smile vanished as suddenly as a candle snuffed out by a breeze. The bell at his throat rattled softly as he swallowed. It was difficult to read his expression behind his mask, but she thought he was trying to fight tears.

“I wanted to ask Ladybug about her gift,” he finally said, voice thin. “It had nothing to do with my proposal today, but I suppose she probably wouldn’t believe me.”

Marinette’s hand twitched with the urge to touch her earrings, but she didn’t dare. “What do you mean?”

Chat Noir searched the dark treeline.

Finally he said, “I visited the Forest of Fay a year ago because I wanted to break a curse. Instead, I gained a curse of my own.” He tightened his hand into a fist and glanced down at his ring. “I started to think that what I wanted was impossible, but tonight someone offered me a way to break that curse, but the price will be steep. I wanted to ask Ladybug if she knew of any other way.”

Chat Noir twisted his hand so that the emeralds caught the moonlight. The pawprint danced across his and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng’s face as he did. He considered, just as he had last night, what it might mean to take the ring off and hand it to her. Or, perhaps it was time to simply toss it back into the Forest of Fay.

He had spent his entire night at Lila’s side, practically begging her to explain what she meant when she had said that she could bring back his mother. He hated that he believed her, but what choice did he have?

She had only told him that it was a family secret, and she could not divulge it to him unless she was his family.

He wanted to ask Ladybug what he ought to do. She knew Lila at least as well as he did, and she could help him assess the risk.

“What’s the price?” Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng asked, and Chat Noir thought she sounded strangely breathless. Perhaps he should have asked if she was afraid of heights before dropping her onto a wall on the edge of a forest. In his defense, she did have a rooftop balcony that she frequented.

He took her hand and pulled her a half-step away from the edge. “I would have to marry someone that I don’t love.”

Her bright blue eyes were pained as she stared up at him. “Is the curse you want to break really worth that?”

It was no question. He could suffer an unhappy marriage if he only had back his mother. But if Lila was lying? If this was merely her attempt to win the crown, and once she had it, she’d go back on her word? That was the risk he was wary of.

“It’s worth everything to me.”

He didn’t know if it was because of Plagg’s magic or if the bakery girl’s heart was truly pounding that hard, but he could feel the pulse of her wrist thrumming staccato notes against his fingers.

“Have you asked for Ladybug’s help?” Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng asked. “Her magic can undo curses, can’t it?”

Chat Noir dropped his gaze. He had thought about it. A dozen times he had wondered and thought to ask, on the nights that hope glimmered like a cold and distant star. “It would mean telling her who I am,” he said. “And if I did that, I would lose her. I…” He laughed, but it was weak and mournful. “I guess I lied. Maybe it isn't worth everything. Maybe it isn't worth losing her.”

Marinette swallowed hard and pulled away from Chat Noir. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and his desperate proposal still echoed in her head.

Would you marry me? Not “will” but would. Would she so much as entertain the possibility of loving him and knowing him and maybe, just maybe, breaking whatever curse hung so heavy over his heart?

“Mademoi—” but Chat Noir’s warning was too slow. Marinette took another step backwards and fell right off of the wall.

Chat Noir lunged forward. His hand closed around her wrist, and he fell, too. His head slammed against the granite slab and his vision went white, but he managed to dig the claws of his other hand into the stone, halting their descent. He did not know what his claws were made of—magic, he supposed—but they dug easily into the granite slab and held him and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng in place.

Marinette stared up at him. His golden hair looked almost silver in the thin moonlight. His eyes were screwed tightly closed and she could see a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Chat Noir!”

He grunted, heaved, and with a sharp hiss of pain and determination, pulled them both back up onto the wall.

She fell on top of him, and neither dared move, lest they tumble back into the forest below. His clawed fingertips brushed against her hip and she shivered.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

She stared down at him, gauging the worry in his eyes and the heartbreak beneath it. His cheek was already beginning to purple and swell where it had struck the wall. Apparently his magic didn’t heal him the way hers did. Her heart stuck in her throat as she recalled every time Chat Noir had dove in front of a hit to protect Ladybug, fully trusting that her Lucky Charm would set him right when it was done. She wouldn’t be able to set him right tonight.

“Mademoiselle?” He cupped her cheek.

“I’m all right,” she whispered back, unsure why they had both decided to speak softly. Though his sharp claws were at her throat, she was not afraid. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She felt more safe here in Chat Noir’s arms than she did curled up in her own bed. Her fingers danced lightly against his bruised cheek. “Are you?”

The bell at his throat jingled softly. “I…” His lips twitched in another grin, but it still lacked the confidence his usual teasing did. “Maybe it’s just the relief that you didn’t die, or perhaps I hit my head terribly hard, but I sort of want to kiss you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng.”

“But you love Ladybug.” She meant it as a protest, but it came out more like a challenge.

“And you have someone else.”

Someone that she had asked to wait because she wanted things sorted with Chat Noir first. Though it did not feel much like getting things sorted—in fact it was rather the opposite of getting things sorted—Marinette leaned towards him.

He met her halfway in a warm, needy kiss. It was nothing like Luka. Luka was steady and firm; Chat Noir was nothing but want. Her heart pounded less like a nervous drummer and more like a full parade. She tasted the blood of his injury. Electricity bloomed where his claws brushed against her waist and cheek, and where her hand clung to his face as she held him against her. She felt it in her earrings like when she was Ladybug, like when her hand had brushed Prince Adrien’s during the thunderstorm.

She pulled away.

How unfair she was, to think of Chat Noir while kissing Luka and to think of Prince Adrien while kissing Chat Noir. Had it even been an hour since her kiss with Luka?

“I’m sorry,” he said, but Marinette was already apologizing, too.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I shouldn’t have…” He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

But Chat Noir knew exactly what he had been thinking. He wanted to know what it would be to kiss a woman he didn’t love and who loved someone else; he wanted to convince himself that maybe he could marry Lila.

Instead, it had been everything he had ever dreamed. His ring still burned, and he was certain he could hear it humming with energy. It was hard to say where Plagg ended and Chat Noir began, but it was clear that both of them had enjoyed kissing Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng far more than they had expected.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to face her tomorrow as she helped him get dressed for the ball.

“I should take you home,” Chat Noir said. “You have work to do tomorrow, don’t you?”

Marinette swallowed. “Yeah, I—I suppose I do.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and turned her face down, away from his, as his arm closed around her waist. Her cheeks were hot and she did not want to know just how red she was.

As he leapt off of the wall and they fell towards the street below, she risked a glance up at him. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, eyes tight with focus on moving without dropping her. But they still glimmered in the city lights with a shine beyond their supernatural cat-like glare. He looked utterly devastated.

Tears pricked the corners of her own eyes and she buried her face in his chest once more. He smelled like worn leather and moss. The decay of a forest floor clung to him as tightly as his mask. It was not unpleasant, but she knew it was not true to who he was. This was his magic, the magic of destruction and chaos. And beneath that… well, she would never know.

She thought back over the last month and how many times he had tried to tell Ladybug what he needed. He had threatened to reveal himself the night Lila had arrived, the very first night he had told her that he had a deadline. He had tried to tell her after their fight with Volpina that he was done for good. And tonight, he had practically begged Ladybug to marry him.

She had kept him at arm’s length, as she always had, because she needed to protect them both. If Hawk Moth got to either of them…

Was it possible, she wondered, to take down Hawk Moth before the end of the ball?

She didn’t see how, but she was determined to try.

Chat Noir set her back down on her own rooftop. Marinette had never been so unhappy to touch solid ground.

“Do I still have a dance with you for the third night of the ball?” he asked, and she could hear the fear on the edge of his voice.

How many times had she rejected him as Ladybug and turned aside his affection? It was no wonder he was so nervous.

“Yes,” she said with as warm a smile as she could manage. She wanted to add, “Just promise not to kiss me again,” but she couldn’t quite bring it to her lips. In fact, she would not be terribly upset if he kissed her good night right now.

He lingered, as if he, too, was still considering their kiss, even though they had both apologized for it.

“Good night, Mademoiselle,” he finally managed, and leapt off of her balcony.

She watched him go as long as she could, until he disappeared into the darkness of the night. It occurred to her that he was headed in the direction of the palace, and she hoped that he wasn’t going to steal from the royal family.

#ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #mirac #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #marichat

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aidanchaser · 1 year

Text

Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 10

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Marinette was quite glad that she was not attending the ball tonight. She was looking forward to getting a little bit of sleep. There was still a bit of detail left to be added to the prince’s outfits for tomorrow, but hopefully Juleka could help her with that this evening and she would not have to worry about staying up all night again.

She did wonder, though, if perhaps Chat Noir would come by again. Maybe she ought to leave her rooftop door open for him.

She stifled a yawn and leaned against the window of the boulangerie, wondering if it would be possible to get just a few minutes of sleep before—

“Ready, Marinette?” Alya asked.

Marinette jumped to her feet, nearly dropping the boxes she had so carefully stored the princes’ outfits in. “Yes! Sorry!”

“You’ve got a bit of—” Nino motioned to the corner of her mouth and Marinette hastily used her shoulder to wipe the bit of drool from her chin.

Marinette’s hands were full with the clothing she would be delivering, and Alya’s hands were equally full with the order for the palace. Nino, too, was carrying several boxes of dessert, but he nudged the door open with his foot and held it for Alya and Marinette.

Together they started down the street towards the palace.

“So,” Nino said, “you’re not going to ask about the detective business?”

Marinette did not dare take her eyes off of her feet. “Hm?”

Alya sighed. “Every day for the last three weeks you have asked Nino and me about our side hustle and suddenly, today, you seem to have forgotten that we have one.”

Marinette was fully focused on her balancing act. She was not about to let four weeks of work and pounds of fine cloth go sprawling into the street. “Sorry. Are you two getting a lot of work?”

“The sign your parents let us put up helps,” Nino said. “We did get to track down a missing pair of cufflinks the other day, which was a nice upgrade from missing cats.”

“You know,” Alya added, “you learn a lot helping people get their bread for the day. It’s amazing how fast people forget you’re standing there and that you can still hear every word of their conversation—oh, hold on a moment. My mom wanted me to bring some food to Nora. My house is right here.”

Marinette followed Alya and Nino inside and carefully set her boxes down by the door. She stifled another yawn as she rubbed her shoulders. She considered the risks of just closing her eyes where she was standing when an ear-splitting shriek sent her heart into overdrive. Suddenly she was tackled by two small gremlins with their hair done up in fine silk ribbons, and she was no longer concerned about falling asleep on her feet.

“Hi Ella, hi Etta,” she said, trying to free her legs from their grips.

“Marinette!” Ella shouted. “We want to go to the ball!”

“Alya said no.” Etta looked up at Marinette with big pleading eyes. “Can we go?”

“What did your mother say?” Marinette asked.

“Maman said no,” Alya said as she emerged from the kitchen with a new bag in her hands, in addition to the pastry boxes. “No one is going to the ball tonight. Not me, not Nino, not Nora, and not even Marinette. So stop asking.”

Ella and Etta looked up at their big sister with large, pleading eyes. Alya did not even flinch.

“I’m not taking you to the ball tonight. I’ve got work to do.”

“But we did our hair,” Ella whined.

“Isn’t it so pretty for the ball?” Etta twirled so that the long ribbons trailed out in a circle, nearly hitting her sister in the face.

Alya pointed to the kitchen. “Take those out before they catch on something and rip all of your hair out, then go help Maman in the kitchen.”

Defeated, Ella and Etta returned upstairs.

“Noël was pretty unhappy, too,” Nino said as he shouldered the door open for the girls. “But he’s way too young for something like this.

“Well, hopefully there will be other balls in the future,” Marinette said. “Maybe whoever gets to be queen will like to throw parties like Queen Emilie did.”

“Any predictions?” Nino asked Alya. “You’re always the most in touch with the local gossip.”

“I have no idea what Prince Adrien thinks,” Alya said, “but I do know Lila Rossi is the most popular choice—”

Marinette could not hold back a derisive snort.

“—but from a political position, Princess Kagami is probably the smart choice. But who knows? Maybe Prince Adrien has a fondness for bakery girls who drop their dessert in his lap.”

“I did not drop my dessert in his lap!” Marinette protested for what must have been the hundredth time. “And I don’t…” she sighed. It was no use denying her crush on Prince Adrien, certainly not to her best friends. “Well, it will please you to know that I actually have two dances already reserved for the final night.”

Alya and Nino alike raised their eyebrows.

“Two?” Alya said. “Who on earth with?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Marinette,” there was warning in Alya’s low voice, “who are you dancing with? Who do you even know outside of your work? Is it Master Fu?”

“No! It—Well, one is Luka, who I did meet through work.”

“Oh, Luka Couffaine? He’s come into the bakery a few times. He seems all right.”

“And your other one?” Nino pressed, just as determined as Alya.

“It’s nobody.”

“Come on, Marinette,” Nino nudged her shoulder and she stumbled, just barely catching herself and her precious cargo before she went sprawling.

“I mean, I don’t even know if he’ll show up,” she said, readjusting her grip on the boxes.

“Who is it?” Alya asked.

“He—I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“What’s there to explain? Who asked you for a dance?”

“Um, Chat Noir.”

Nino stopped in the middle of the crowded street and might have stayed there for the rest of the day if an elderly woman had not shoved him and told him to keep walking. Alya merely hummed thoughtfully and said, “Oh, that makes sense.”

Marinette appreciated Nino’s shock more than Alya’s airy understanding.

“What do you mean it makes sense?” she snapped.

“You kept asking Nino and I about missing stuff. You wanted to know if Chat Noir has been stealing things. You have a crush on Chat Noir.”

“I do not!”

“You have a crush on the prince and the most wanted thief in the city. You sure know how to pick them, Marinette.”

“I don’t!”

Alya laughed, but Marinette did not see what was so funny. She had been worried for Chat Noir, yes, but that didn’t mean she had a crush on him. And maybe she was excited that she might get to dance with him because he was her friend and she liked his company.

“Nino?” she asked. “Will you save a dance for me on the third night?”

“Hey!” Alya shouted.

Nino grinned. “Sure thing, Marinette. No one’s asked me yet, so I’d be happy to save a spot for you.”

“Nino!” Alya adjusted her grip on the boxes so she could get a proper glare in at her intended. “You are spoken for.”

“Alya, will you save a dance for me?” he asked with a cheeky grin. “Maybe two or three?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffed. “I might be all booked up. You know, I think I have one spot open, but I was saving it for Marinette.”

“You’d better act fast,” said Nino, “before Chat Noir whisk-ers her away.”

Marinette was the only one not laughing as they reached the palace gates. Her face was bright red and she regretted ever making friends with Nino and Alya.

“You guys aren’t… worried?” she asked, once their laughter had died down.

Alya shrugged. “Girl, you know I trust you. I don’t know how you ended up in a place where Chat Noir asked you to dance, but at least at the ball you’ll be around a lot of people—Nino and myself included. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

“And him,” Nino added, “assuming we can figure out who he is.”

“Do you really think he would show up in his mask?” Alya asked.

“Only if he wants to be arrested on sight.”

They followed a small crowd of people around the courtyard to the servants’ entrance of the palace where a woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun was directing everyone from florists to chefs to musicians. Marinette stood on her tiptoes, but she did not see Luka among the pair with instruments. She wondered if he was already here or if he would arrive later.

“Name?” the woman asked when Marinette and her friends reached the door.

“Alya Césaire and Nino Lahiffe, with Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie and Patisserie,” Alya said.

The woman noted their pink aprons and the boxes marked with the T and S wrapped in laurels. She then looked over one of her three scrolls, nodded and said, “Kitchens, just on your left. You’re looking for Jean-Pierre, who’s handling food setup.”

“Thank you.” Alya did her best at a small curtsy despite her burden and headed inside with Nino on her heels.

“Um, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette said. “I’m supposed to get the princes into their clothes.”

The woman did not bother to check her scroll as she looked Marinette over. “Yes, I remember you. The palace has an additional request for you.”

“Oh?” Marinette could not fathom what they still needed. She was so sure that she had thought of everything.

“Princess Kagami’s handmaiden has fallen ill after such a long trip. Once you have finished with Prince Adrien and Prince Félix, we would like you to assist her as she gets ready. Duchess Amelie said you trained under a master who was familiar with the fashions of the eastern countries?”

“Er, yes—I can do my best, but I’m not sure—”

“Excellent. We’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time. Do you remember where the princes’ fitting room is?” Before Marinette could answer, the woman turned to a line of young servants, dressed in plain red tunics. “Paul, run upstairs to Prince Adrien. I believe he’s in his father’s receiving room. Let him know the seamstress has arrived. Jordan, find Félix. I think he is helping his mother with the florals.” The two young men hurried into the palace at a full sprint to deliver their messages, and Nathalie turned back to Marinette. “They’ll be there as soon as they’re ready.”

“Oh—all right. Thank you.”

Marinette, too, did her best at a curtsy, and nearly dropped all the boxes onto the floor. Nathalie caught them, and though her expression remained unchanged as she put the boxes back into Marinette’s arms, Marinette could not help but feel like she was displeased.

When Marinette had visited the palace a month ago, it had felt empty. There were grand halls, looming tapestries and portraits, and faded carpets, but hardly any people. Now, she could not go more than a few steps without bumping into a servant delivering messages or rolling a fresh carpet down the hall or polishing a portrait frame. It was a nice change, she thought. It made the place feel alive.

While there were a few close calls, Marinette did manage to make it all the way to the fitting room without dropping the boxes. She had hardly set them down when Prince Félix announced himself with a polite, “Excuse me.”

She curtsied. “Your Highness. Are you ready?”

One of his servants helped him undress and assisted Marinette as she fastened the silver knots down the center of the black doublet. Then they pulled the silver jerkin on over the doublet and Marinette strung the gems across his chest. She tried very hard to hide her proud smile, but she was certain that Prince Félix looked impressed.

“You remembered what I said.” He ran his hands over the black silk that covered his chest. The stones sparkled in the midday sunlight as his fingers brushed against them.

“I know you said to ask your mother, but she said to do whatever you wanted. I hope it’s everything that you hoped for. I do need—sorry, just the hem here, do you want it to the knee or a bit higher? Everyone’s been asking my master for higher hems lately…”

Marinette pulled a stool over and set about adjusting the hem of the jerkin. She was nearly finished when Prince Adrien finally arrived. He smiled politely, but there was something tight in the edges of his eyes.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” he said. “I see you’ve managed to make my cousin look like he’s going to a party after all.”

She stood hurriedly and curtsied, ignorant of the spool of thread that tumbled out of her lap and onto the floor.

Prince Adrien knelt down and picked it up. He carefully wound the thread back around the spool. “If you’re not ready for me I can come back —”

“No, Prince Félix and I are just about finished.” She turned back to the hem, hoping to hide her blush, and said quickly, “There is an overcoat as well. It’s floor length, since I thought your mother would appreciate something more traditional, so I don’t know that you’ll want to dance in it, but it might be nice for any walks around the gardens.”

“You seem to have thought of everything,” Prince Félix said.

“I have a good teacher.”

Felix took a moment to examine the silver and black that decorated the sleeves as she returned her thread and needles to her apron pockets.

“It’s well done.” He stepped down from the stool so that Adrien could take his place. Félix settled into a chair, curious to see what she had prepared for Adrien. “I wonder how you’ll outdo yourself tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that…” Marinette busied herself with unwrapping Prince Adrien’s outfit while the servant undressed him. She tried hard to swallow down her nerves but she was so warm that she was fairly certain she was about to break out into a heat rash.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng?” Adrien asked.

“Yes! Of course,” though she was not exactly sure what he had asked.

Félix watched as she fumbled with the fastenings on the white doublet. It was as if the competent woman who had just helped him had become an entirely different person in his cousin’s presence. The work, however, was just as impressive.

Where Félix’s doublet was black, Adrien’s was white. Instead of silver clasps, his were gold, and Félix could not be sure from where he sat, but he thought that there was an additional, much more subtle, gold stitching on the chest in the shape of lilies. The jerkin that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng and the servant pulled on next was pale green, and brought out Adrien’s eyes. White lilies decorated the hem and a golden belt fastened around his waist. It was a lovely complement to the silver that Félix wore.

She had not just designed with each of them in mind, but she had designed them to look well together. It was no wonder his mother had insisted on the same tailor who had dressed her and Emilie when they were girls. He had a gift, and he had cultivated that same gift within this girl.

Adrien was less impressed than his cousin as he took in his reflection. He had tried to prepare himself for this moment, but there was nothing he could truly have done to be ready to see himself wearing color for the first time in a year, especially not <i>her</i> color. He felt tears brimming in the corner of his eyes and he tried desperately to swallow them down.

“Um—”

Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng’s soft voice broke through his mixture of grief and self-pity. He glanced down at her, finding the top of her head far easier to look at than his own reflection.

“I know you didn’t really want something like this—”

“It’s all right, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. You’ve done a wonderful job, and I’m sure my father—”

“I just mean…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I wanted you to know—” She fumbled with the fastenings on the doublet and opened it up just enough to turn out the fabric. “I know it isn’t the same, but I did line everything in black. I thought it might, I—I don’t know, I just thought it might make the transition a bit easier.”

Adrien could not help it any longer. He cried.

It was nothing like the poorly restrained sobs he had spent that first night at his mother’s bedside, nor the agonized wails he had spilled in the Forest of Fay a year ago. It was a small gasp and a few tears, but it was more than he had shed in a long time.

And, more surprising than the tears was the realization that it was not his grief that had overcome him. He was sad, utterly heartbroken, but what had pushed him here was that this girl had cared. She had noticed and listened and cared.

He stepped off the stool and tried to bury his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she apologized at the same time.

“I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“Please, don’t,” he begged. He heard Félix stand and start to approach him, but Adrien held a hand out to stop him. If he had to endure one more ounce of kindness he would never recover. “I’m all right,” he said, though it was so obviously untrue. “I just… I wasn’t expecting…” He took in a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes dry. “Thank you,” he managed to say into his hands, but he still could not quite bring himself to look at her. He felt like he was fumbling in the dark for some sort of support, but all the usual things he leaned on were gone.

“Um—” Marinette swallowed, unsure if she had done the right thing or ruined it all entirely. “You’re welcome. Why don’t—I mean—I have to help Princess Kagami get ready. I can do that and then come back to finish your hem and any other adjustments when you’re ready?”

“Please,” Adrien and Félix said at once.

Marinette curtsied, though neither of the princes were looking at her, and hurried out of the room, only to stop immediately because she had no idea where she was going.

Fortunately, it was not hard to find a passing servant to point her in the right direction.

Marinette had taken Luka’s advice about grief being private and lined Prince Adrien’s outfits in black. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was preparing for another night without sleep. She would be up all night ripping the black lining out of tomorrow’s outfit and stitching in white. Maybe she could get away with putting white over the black. It would be harder, technically speaking, but it might take less time than taking apart and reassembling everything.

She rubbed her face in an attempt to both scrub out her embarrassment and to try to keep herself awake.

Marinette was fairly certain that she was in the right place, but she double-checked with another servant before knocking on the door to Princess Kagami’s rooms.

An attendant answered and Marinette curtsied readily, though it occurred to her that maybe she did not have to curtsy to the people who worked in the palace.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I was asked to help Princess Kagami get ready.”

The older woman led Marinette through the receiving room and into the bedroom where she announced her to Princess Kagami, seated at a vanity table and wearing a thin white robe. Her face was as pale as her dress, and Marinette guessed by the white on her fingertips that the princess had been applying her own makeup.

“Your Highness,” Marinette curtsied. “I was asked to help you dress for the ball.”

Princess Kagami did not so much as glance at her in the mirror as she dabbed her white powder under her eyes. “I am not convinced that anyone in this palace is knowledgeable enough to help me. I apologize for wasting your time.”

“Oh…” Marinette considered the walk back to the princes’ fitting room and decided it was not quite long enough. She was not ready to face Prince Adrien just yet. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Marinette glanced at the bed, which was covered in a half-dozen robes, all different brightly colored silks. Some were even hand-painted. “I suppose you’re right. My master made sure I had experience with fashion styles from all around the world—he traveled a lot when he was young—and he told me that ko skirts were the final layer in the dresses from the Bright Islands but I don’t see one here.”

Princess Kagami paused, fingers a hair’s breadth from her eyes and she finally glanced up at Marinette’s reflection. “My mother will probably wear one, but they are not exactly fashionable anymore.”

“I see. Maybe I ought to help your mother get ready instead.”

“She has her own attendants. She won’t need you.” Princess Kagami checked each side of her face in the mirror to ensure her makeup was spread evenly. “Are you familiar with applying eye paint?”

Marinette smiled and pulled a chair over to Princess Kagami’s vanity to help her finish her makeup.

Makeup was not something Marinette applied often, and certainly not on another person, but she did not tell Princess Kagami that. She knew enough to keep her lines even and straight, and she had learned from her master’s training that women from the Bright Islands liked to smudge rouge in the corners of the eyes. Or at least, she had learned with rouge. Princess Kagami had proper paints and powders that she had brought from home.

Marinette dipped a thin brush into the red lip paint. “Girls here tend to do a thicker lower lip, but I think I learned that thin lips are more fashionable where you’re from? Is that still true?”

“Yes,” Kagami said. But she hesitated. She was intent on a perfect appearance to impress her mother, but her mother was not actually going to see her. The person she truly had to impress was Prince Adrien—or rather just Adrien, as he preferred.

“Will you do what you think is best?” Kagami asked.

Marinette smiled and carefully dragged the brush across Princess Kagami’s mouth. Princess Kagami did not so much as flinch.

“Do you want rouge on your cheeks?” Marinette asked.

“What for?”

“Well, it’s what most of the women will probably be wearing.”

Kagami examined her reflection in the mirror. The broad lower lip was a bit much as it was. “I think this is acceptable.”

“I’ll be back to fit the princes again tomorrow,” Marinette said, “so if you see anything you like tonight, just let me know and I’ll find a way to help you.”

“That’s… very kind of you.”

“I’m sure it’s hard to be all the way across the continent and feel like you don’t have anyone who can help you. Speaking of help, you are going to have to help me figure out which order these layers go in. Studying a style isn’t quite the same as mastering it.”

Between the two of them, they were able to dress Princess Kagami fairly efficiently. The layers of bright greens, pinks, and purples became stripes against Princess Kagami’s collar and the way they shifted and shimmered as she moved gave the impression of a field of flowers in spring. The last layer of her dress was a deep violet silk painted in tiny white flowers that reminded Marinette of the bouquet of hellebore that had been left at the bakery a month ago. She tied the dress off with a thin pink sash and, finally, there was an overcoat that hung off the shoulders made of pale pink silk and a pattern of white circles that nestled against each other to create the outline of flower petals.

“You look quite lovely,” Marinette said.

Kagami surveyed herself in the mirror. “I hope Prince Adrien thinks so.”

Marinette swallowed hard and tried not to think about how lovely his pale green jerkin and gold lilies would compliment her pink dress, like the first bloom of spring at the end of winter.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Princess Kagami?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then I’ll take my leave—”

“One thing.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Will you be there tonight?”

“Oh… no. I have to work on the princes’ outfits for tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“I see.” Princess Kagami did not look disappointed, but Marinette could hear it in her voice. “It would have been nice to have a familiar face.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Marinette promised. “And I’ll be able to attend on the third night.” When Princess Kagami said nothing else, she asked, “Will that be all, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette curtsied before taking her leave.

She walked back to the princes’ fitting room slowly. She was not eager to face Prince Adrien again. She had scripted seventeen different apologies before she finally arrived at the fitting room and knocked.

“It’s Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” she called through the door. “Are you—are you ready for me?”

Prince Félix opened the door for her. The staff who had been in here to help had been sent away and it was only the two princes left. Marinette thought briefly that it was highly inappropriate for her to be in here without an escort, but as she turned to face Prince Adrien, that thought vanished and her seventeen apologies all vied for exit from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I really didn’t want—I only thought—and you had said that—so I wasn’t sure—and I was just thinking—”

“Please don’t apologize.” Prince Adrien stood from his chair and she dropped into a curtsy. “And please—you don’t need to curtsy every time I move or every time you speak.”

Marinette did not dare break her curtsy, but she did lift her head and look at him.

His eyes were bright and rimmed red, and he looked almost as tired as she felt, like he, too, had been up all night. But he was smiling. It was as sad as any of Prince Adrien’s smiles, but it was still a smile.

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he said. “I was caught off-guard, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Really?” Félix said, almost too soft for them to hear. “Because I recall you retiring early last night.”

Adrien pressed his lips together. “I said I wasn’t feeling well. That doesn’t mean that I slept well.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I apologize for my cousin. He’s been rather rude this week. And please, don’t be upset, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. You did everything right. Your kindness was just… more than I was prepared for.”

Félix sank back into his chair as Adrien stood so that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng could fix the hem of his jerkin. He took in Adrien’s exhaustion and the remnants of his brief cry. Félix had understood the tears, certainly. He knew what it was to be unheard, unnoticed as well as Adrien did. But Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng had noticed the both of them. He could understand why that would throw Adrien off balance.

Once again his eyes drifted to the ring on Adrien’s right hand. It was plain silver, hardly even polished. How he had ever believed it might have been one of the Graham de Vanily bands was absurd. The ring on Adrien’s finger was a cheap token. He was beginning to believe it had something to do with this mysterious, unnamed girl that Adrien was in love with.

Félix reached for the neatly folded clothes he had been wearing when he arrived in the fitting room and pulled his father's ring from one of the pockets. He had not yet told anyone, not even his mother, about the ring. Surely Gabriel had noticed that his ring had gone missing by now, but he had said nothing about it. He had not even replaced it with Emilie’s ring, which made Félix wonder if the ring he had seen on the sleeping queen was real or a replica.

It was entirely possible that Félix was worrying for nothing. Perhaps the rings had been switched some time before his father had disappeared, and it was Emilie’s ring that had disappeared with Michel while Amelie’s had stayed with Gabriel.

But the fact that Félix could not explain, with any confidence, how his father’s ring had ended up on Gabriel’s finger was cause to worry. He slid the ring into a pocket of his new doublet, hidden beneath the jerkin, and decided that he would bring it up to his mother tonight. She might have an answer. It might not be an answer that he wanted to hear, but she was his best source for information, and the only one that he knew he could trust.

“Finished,” Marinette said, and tucked her needle and thread back into her pockets.

Félix stood as Adrien stepped down from the stool.

“Thank you again, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” Adrien said, “for everything.”

“Of course! So… you’re really all right with the lining? And if your outfit tomorrow is also lined in black…”

“Then I think it will be perfect.”

She smiled and blushed, and Félix was suddenly grateful that this seamstress was not a noblewoman. The last thing he needed was another girl competing for Adrien’s hand.

“I’m sure my mother is wondering what’s been keeping us,” Félix said. “But we’ll see you tomorrow.” And he ushered Adrien out of the room.

Marinette was startled by their sudden exit, but she supposed, judging by the orange sunset outside, that the ball was due to start soon. So she gathered up her now empty boxes. She felt drained, as if she was the one who had broken down in the middle of a fitting. She was quite ready to go home and sleep—well, finish her work, then sleep.

Before heading home, though, she headed to the kitchens. She was not sure if Alya and Nino would still be here after everything she had needed to take care of, but she ought to at least check.

Her friends were not the sort to leave her behind. Alya and Nino had finished their work and had found a corner of the kitchen that was out of the way of the chaos to wait for Marinette. It was an unusual sort of privacy, to be unseen amongst a crowd, and they were happy to take the opportunity of a few stolen kisses where parents and chaperones would not bother them.

“Should we find Marinette?” Nino asked. “I didn’t think she’d be this long.”

“She is cutting it a bit close,” Alya said but she leaned in for another quick kiss. “Guests will be arriving soon. At this rate, we might as well just go to the ball.”

“I’m not sure we’re dressed for it.” Nino plucked at Alya’s bright pink apron that matched his own.

“I bet we could find some servants’ garb to slip into.” Alya bit down on her lip as she looked up at Nino, and they both considered the in-between stage of changing into new clothes.

“Alya! Nino!”

Neither turned to look at Marinette.

“We could try again tomorrow?” Nino asked hopefully.

“Maybe.” Alya pressed another kiss to his cheek before finally turning to Marinette, who was squeezing her way through a group of servants trying to carry a roasted pig up to the ballroom.

She waved at Marinette. “Did it all go well?” she asked.

“Er—as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Marinette said. “Everything went well for you?”

“No problems here,” Nino said. “Wouldn’t have minded staying a bit longer.”

Alya elbowed him gently. “Marinette’s tired. Let’s get her home to sleep.”

“Oh, no, I still have some work to—”

But Marinette was cut off by a loud scream from inside the palace, followed by several more.

A servant burst into the kitchen, running for his life and shouting, “Demons! Demons in the ballroom!”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #adrientte #fairy tale au #ml fairy tale au #not exaggerating this is one of the moments of the au im most proud of

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 9

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

The palace doors were as tall as three men, laid with gold and glass that glittered in the lights that illuminated the city in the evening. Should the need arise, they could be barred from the inside with three large iron beams so heavy that it took four men to heft one. Right now, they were unbarred, and the princes stood just beyond them, waiting on the castle steps.

King Gabriel stood in the center, and Duchess Amelie stood on Félix’s left. Nathalie Sancouer stood one step below, posture as perfect as the guards who stood on either side of the doors and along the stairway.

As the white carriage with red dragons painted onto either side approached, drawn by four dark horses, King Gabriel cleared his throat.

Adrien, though he did not know if his father was even looking at him, straightened his spine in response as surely as if it had been a verbal command.

The carriage came to a stop and a footman in dark robes patterned with swirling clouds hurried to open the door for Empress Tomoe Tsurugi.

She was not a tall woman, but that was easy to forget. She carried her head high and though she had a cane, she did not lean on it. Her robes were white, a stark contrast to her servants’, and a red serpentine dragon, like those on the carriage, curled around the hem and climbed up her shoulders. Its jaws opened along her waist in a vicious snarl.

Behind her came her daughter who stood with a posture as stiff as Adrien’s. Princess Kagami Tsurugi, too, wore white, like her mother, but instead of a dragon, brilliant red flowers with long, thin black leaves bloomed in the fabric.

As she and her mother approached the palace, Princess Kagami touched her mother’s elbow gently, just before they reached the steps. Empress Tomoe stopped and, in unison, she and her daughter bowed.

“We thank you, King Gabriel, for your hospitality,” Empress Tomoe said.

King Gabriel bowed in return, a sign of respect Adrien could not ever remember his father bestowing.

“It is an honor to have the Empress of the Bright Islands of the East in residence in our humble city. Please, allow me to escort you.” King Gabriel stepped down to Tomoe and took her arm.

Adrien watched in surprise as his father led the woman inside. He had never seen his father behave so personably before. He was careful to keep his expression neutral as they passed him, but he could not help but glance down at his father’s hand on the Empress’ arm and notice that King Gabriel was no longer wearing his wedding band.

A dozen thoughts crashed through Adrien’s head, the loudest among them his memory of his aunt saying over dinner, “If you want an alliance with the Tsurugis so badly, marry the princess yourself. Or her mother—she’s widowed, too, isn’t she?”

Adrien might have stood on the palace steps for hours more, turning over the single moment of his father’s politeness and the glaring lack of a wedding band if an insistent cough at his elbow had not startled him back into the moment.

He realized that Princess Kagami was standing beside him, and he wondered how long she had been waiting. It was probably far longer than it ought to have been, if Félix’s quizzical stare was anything to judge by.

“Princess,” he said, and, with the distant idea that his words and his body belonged to someone else entirely, he held out his hand to her. “Allow me.”

She said nothing, but she took his hand and allowed him to lead her inside.

It was hard to say what thoughts, exactly, consumed Adrien as he led the princess to the rooms in the east wing of the castle that she and her mother would be staying in while they were here. Perhaps because the logical conclusion of King Gabriel’s unusual deference combined with the lack of a wedding band was too absurd for Adrien to even consider so he simply considered nothing at all.

For Kagami’s part, she was unused to making conversation in the best of circumstances. This made for a perfectly silent walk up the staircase and to the adjoined rooms that had been prepared for Kagami and her mother. She knew she ought to say something—she was here to try to convince Adrien to choose her as his bride, after all—but she did not know where to begin. Kagami had learned and mastered many things in her education as a princess, from flower arranging to the art of war, but she had never quite mastered conversation.

As King Gabriel showed Empress Tomoe the attached office where she might have the privacy to manage international affairs during her stay, Kagami had a brief moment alone with Prince Adrien in the receiving room. Knowing that her mother expected her to draw Adrien into a marriage, she started with the most intimate question she could think of.

“Do you prefer to be addressed by your whole title?” she asked.

Adrien, whose entire focus had been on the door that had just closed behind his father and the empress, jumped. He reluctantly turned to Kagami and stared as if he were just seeing her for the first time. “I’m sorry?”

“Should I call you Crown Prince Adrien Agreste of the City of Lights or do you have a different title that you prefer?”

“Just Adrien is fine. Maybe Prince Adrien if my father’s nearby.”

His smile was bewildered, but at least it was a smile. Kagami counted it as a private victory.

“You may call me Kagami. Though in the company of my mother, ‘Princess’ will do.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

There was another long pause of silence between them. Adrien searched for something to say, but his attention kept wandering back to that closed office door and his father’s wedding band-less hand.

“Princess—er, Kagami, is your mother…” but he wasn’t sure how to phrase the question on his mind in a polite way. Instead he managed, “We probably shouldn’t be alone without a chaperone.”

Princess Kagami glanced over his shoulder to the doorway, where Félix stood, half-caught in the orange light of the setting sun that cast a golden glow over the plush red carpets of the guest quarters.

“Is your cousin insufficient?”

Félix shrugged one shoulder. “I could be persuaded to give you two some privacy.”

“A handmaiden or lady-in-waiting would be more appropriate,” Adrien said quickly, and wondered if his father and the Empress needed a chaperone. Wasn’t it just as inappropriate for two widowed adults to be cloistered alone as it was for two young royals who had the question of betrothal between them?

“I’m afraid my handmaiden took ill on the long journey,” Kagami said.

“Adrien would be happy to help you settle in,” Félix offered, much to Adrien’s chagrin.

Adrien wasn’t sure what decorum dictated here. Did he apologize for his cousin’s forwardness? But surely he couldn’t leave the princess unaided.

“I’d be happy to send for a servant to assist you,” he offered, and hoped it was the appropriate middle ground.

Princess Kagami dipped her head in a slight bow. “That would be appreciated, Your Highness.”

“Then we’ll leave you to recover from your long journey,” Adrien said, “and see you tomorrow evening.”

“Unless you’re in want of company tonight,” Félix said, which made Adrien’s face so hot, he was certain it must be as red as a cherry.

He hurriedly cleared his throat and turned to face his cousin, so the princess would not see his embarrassment. “I think tomorrow will be a long day for all of us, and perhaps it is best that we retire.”

Félix, for his part, was unfazed and simply shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Whatever you think is best.”

“That seems wise,” Princess Kagami said. “I will see you both tomorrow evening.”

As Adrien and Félix wished Kagami good night, Adrien’s eyes drifted once more to the closed office door. It was probably just politics, he told himself. They were probably just discussing taxes or trade routes. Maybe they were comparing budgets. It was probably nothing.

But why wasn’t his father wearing his wedding ring?

“You look absolutely vacant,” Félix said, once they were well away from the Tsurugi’s rooms.

“Sorry. My mind’s just elsewhere tonight.”

“Out with it, then,” Félix said. “Is it about the princess?”

“What? No, I…” Adrien shook his head. “Why were you so rude, anyway?”

“I wasn’t rude.”

“You were rude.”

Félix shrugged. “I was forward. You never say what you’re actually thinking. I thought I would do you a favor and give you a bit of an advantage. She was clearly trying to woo you.”

“Kagami wasn’t wooing me.”

“She said more words to you tonight than she ever did at the state dinner when we were children. She’s doing her best. Anyway, she seems nice.”

“She’s polite, at least. Something you certainly weren’t with her.”

“I don’t see why you aren’t more interested in her. She’s the best offer you’ve received.”

Adrien didn’t mean to sound offended, but he couldn’t help the indignation that crept into his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chloé’s… well, Chloé. I know you think of her as a friend, but she’s really only interested in power and status. And Lila… can you really trust someone like her? But Princess Tsurugi is a good choice not just for the kingdom, but for you. She’s polite, well-mannered, and you two could go on in silence for the next twenty years and probably be quite fine with it. I can’t think of any reason you’d say no.”

“Isn’t love a good reason to say no?”

Félix raised an eyebrow, and though he kept his eyes on Adrien’s, he was well aware of the plain silver band on Adrien’s finger. “Are you in love?”

Adrien did not care for how pointed the question was. He folded his hands behind his back and fidgeted with his ring. “Who else would I even know well enough to be in love with them?”

Félix considered asking Adrien outright about the ring. Was it possible that Adrien knew anything about how Amelie’s band had ended up with Gabriel? He didn’t see how, exactly, and he was afraid to ask, afraid to tip his own hand, even to Adrien. Adrien had claimed the ring on his hand belonged to his mother, but it was too plain to be the matching band to the ring tucked in Félix’s pocket. Was it some trinket from a lover?

“Adrien, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t help you.” Though Félix was aware of the hypocrisy in his own words, it did not move him to be honest. He had one pathway out of this palace, and he was not going to let affection for his cousin deter him from it.

Adrien shook his head. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”

“Why are you lying? I thought we told each other everything.”

“You’re saying you’ve never kept a secret from me?”

“Never.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped and he turned his gaze to the floor. “Fine. Yes, I have someone else in mind.”

“Who is she?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Adrien, you can tell me anything.”

“It doesn’t matter. Father would never approve.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he wants me to marry someone like Kagami or Chloé. Someone with influence.”

“Is she a commoner?”

“She—I don’t know.”

Félix wasn’t sure if he ought to be frustrated by Adrien’s uncharacteristic reticence or amused by the fact that Adrien could have an interest in someone yet have no idea what her social standing was.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know who she is,” Félix offered.

Adrien bit down on his lip. It was one thing to tell Ladybug that he loved her. It was another thing to confess to his cousin that he was in love with a hero that, as far as Félix knew, he had never actually met outside of that brief moment a month ago when she had saved them from an eternity encased in golden statues.

And, all of that aside, he had just, for better or worse, ended the secret friendship that he did have with Ladybug a few weeks ago.

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want me.”

“Adrien—”

“Sorry, Félix, but I’m not feeling well. Have a good night.”

Adrien hurried to his own rooms and it took all his self-restraint not to slam the door behind him. It was not anger that urged him on, but a chaotic drive that he usually attributed to Plagg. He was both exhausted and trapped; it built up a frenzy in his chest.

If this was to be Adrien’s last night of freedom before three nights of dancing and a set of lifetime vows, he was going to make sure he spent it the way he wanted to.

“Plagg—claws out.”

Chat Noir slipped out of the window and scurried across the palace rooftops, over the wall, and out into the city beyond. He had no goal, no plan. He simply wanted out.

He scampered across the rooftops of the city, breathing in the crisp night air. The cold burned his lungs, but the magic in his clothes kept him warm against the wintery night. His heart raced as he moved, alive with power. It was hard not to howl with excitement. He had missed this so much.

He used his staff to launch himself clear across the river and tumbled onto a rooftop on the other side before springing back into a run without slowing at all. The weeks of exhaustion that had built up in his chest seemed to loosen with every breath. He did not stop until he had reached the edge of the city and he had to make a choice: turn back around or head into the Forest of Fay.

He hesitated, scanning the dark trees. It was hard to make out much of anything in the pitch black of the moonless night. Even his cat-like eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness after his run through the notoriously well-lit city.

If he did give Plagg up after his twenty-first birthday, if he fully committed to wife and kingdom and abandoned his night time escapades, would Plagg return to the forest? Or would Plagg find someone else to help him face Hawk Moth? How easy would it be for Plagg to replace Adrien?

He twisted the ring; its normally dull surface now glistened like starlight. The emeralds in the shape of a cat’s paw glowed brightly with the same magic that illuminated the rubies pierced through Ladybug’s ears.

Not for the first time, he wondered who she was behind her mask. When her earrings went dark and her mask vanished, what sort of a life did she return to? Was she a commoner? Did she have enough to eat? Did she have people who loved her? Did she have someone that she loved…

He unclipped his staff from his belt and glanced down at the flashing green paw in its center. He was afraid to listen to what she had to say, afraid to hear her scold him for what had happened with Lila, or worse, tell him about a new partner she had found.

But he missed her voice.

Against his better judgment, he pressed his thumb against the flashing paw.

There were several messages, none with any of the scolding he had expected, but it was the last message that nearly broke him.

“I’m worried about you.”

Why did it have to hurt so much to know that she did care, that she did love him, just not in the way that he needed?

He considered sending her a message in reply, but there was nothing more for him to say. All the levity that had billowed him in his sprint across the rooftops had dissipated and his heart ached once more. He leapt back into the city, trying to shake the gloom that had settled over him. Despite the protective warmth of his magical glamour, he felt heavy and cold.

Though the streets were still lit, most of the windows of the city had darkened as the citizens had headed to bed, ready to rest before the beginning of a three-day festival. Chat Noir tried to think of things that he could steal, perhaps something he had always wanted to snatch but had never quite followed through on, or something that had always seemed too risky. If there was ever a night to get caught, it was tonight.

But far from the palace, high up in an attic, there was still one light burning. Its glow caught Chat Noir’s attention, and he leapt from balcony to chimney to rooftop to get a better look.

It would not be the worst thing in the world for his final crime to be a delicious pastry from the city’s best bakery. It might even be worth his time to pre-taste some of the desserts for the ball.

He double-checked that all of the boulangerie and patisserie’s windows were dark except for the attic. As long as he was quiet—and he excelled at quiet—he shouldn’t disturb whoever was still awake on the top floor.

The front door was locked, as he expected it would be. Even if he picked it, there was likely to be a bell on the inside of the shop door. He slipped around to the alley and found a window one floor up that did not look locked. It was an easy enough climb with the magical claws that decorated his hands and feet. He slid a metal-tipped finger into the catch, hefted the window, and tumbled inside.

Someone was snoring loudly. Chat Noir could make out two lumps buried under heavy covers, one significantly larger than the other. A woman’s voice murmured something about the cold and shifted under the blankets. He hastily closed the window and slipped across the room to the door, then down the stairs.

He moved slowly, ears intent on the bedroom, listening for any signs that the bakery owners might be on their way downstairs suddenly. He was so focused on sounds coming from upstairs that he did not hear the footsteps below until a tray crashed to the floor.

Chat Noir pressed himself flat against the wall and stayed perfectly still as a man’s sleepy voice called from upstairs, “Who’s that?”

“Sorry, Papa!” a girl’s voice called back. “Just a midnight snack.”

“Mind the meringues,” a woman said sleepily.

“Yes, Maman!”

Before Chat Noir could decide on the safest exit strategy, the girl was already on the stairs, a plate of biscuits and cookies in hand. He stayed frozen, wondering if the shadows were enough to hide him. She had her head down. Maybe he wasn’t entirely ruined.

Marinette’s eyes were focused entirely on her feet; she was very intent on not tripping and waking her parents again, but something green and glowing caught her eye. She glanced to her left and, yes, that was Chat Noir’s ring. There was no mistaking it. She looked up to his face and yes, that was Chat Noir. But why was he here, in her—

Before she could quite finish her thought, her foot caught on the edge of the stair and she plummeted backwards.

Chat Noir caught her with one hand and with his other, snatched her plate before it could clatter against the stairs.

“Please don’t scream,” he whispered.

“Why would I…” and it occurred to her that Chat Noir did not know her, not the way that she knew him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I… was hungry.”

Marinette, simply pleased to know that he was all right and unable to tell him why that knowledge was so precious to her, said, “Wait right there.”

Chat Noir half-expected the girl to go for her parents, but she went back downstairs to the pantry. He waited obediently, still holding her plate of pastries, until she came back with a tray piled high with food, pressed it into his other hand, then put a finger to her lips and motioned for him to follow her upstairs.

So he followed, unsure why she was feeding the notorious thief who had broken into her family’s shop, but grateful for it all the same.

When they reached the light of the attic, Chat Noir could see that the girl was dusted in flour from her tumble that had woken her parents. He wondered how this shy, stuttering girl could be so calm in the face of one of the most wanted criminals in the city. Not that Chat Noir had nor wanted a dangerous reputation, but he thought folks ought to have some fear of him showing up at a place of business in the dead of night.

She motioned for him to follow her through the attic and out onto the rooftop balcony. Though Chat Noir had never been in the attic, it felt familiar. The sketches pinned to the wall and the scraps of fabric littering the floor reminded him of the seamstress’s work room.

“Do you have a sister?” he asked.

She turned back with a raised eyebrow, pressed a finger to her lips, and shook her head.

So the flour-coated bakery girl and the scatter-brained seamstress were the same person after all.

When they finally reached the roof and Marinette closed the trapdoor behind her, she let out a breath of relief.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I think my parents would pack me up and send me to a convent if they knew I was feeding the most wanted thief in the city.”

Chat Noir could not help but grin at her. “Why are you feeding the most wanted thief in the city?”

“You said you were hungry, and I don’t know what else you would have come in here to steal.”

Chat Noir leaned against the railing of her balcony, if only for the reminder that he could still leave if he really wanted to. “That looked like some pretty expensive fabric back there.” But he regretted it as soon as he saw the panic that filled her bright blue eyes.

“Oh, please don’t—”

“Sorry, I’m teasing, honest. It looked irreplaceable, and I don’t really go for that.”

Marinette relaxed. Maybe someone else might not have believed Chat Noir, but she knew him better than anyone, and she had never known him to lie.

“That’s what the midnight snack was for,” she said. “I’m going to be up all night finishing the princes’ outfits for tomorrow.”

His metal-tipped fingers clinked softly against the balcony railing, twitching with anticipation and anxiety. Curiosity was hard to ignore, and harder still when Plagg’s chaotic brand of magic coursed through his veins.

Though he was as afraid to know, he asked, “Can I see?”

Marinette pursed her lips doubtfully. “Maybe. First, eat. Then tell me why no one’s seen you in weeks.”

“I’m a thief. No one seeing me is part of the job.”

“You haven’t stolen anything.”

“How do you know? Are you checking up on me?”

“I’m a big fan of crime statistics,” she said with a smile, and Chat Noir could not help but laugh.

He sat down beside her and gratefully pulled open a biscuit. It was not warm, like it must have been this morning, but it was still airy and even its faint aroma left his mouth watering.

“One of Hawk Moth’s curses was unleashed last week,” she said, and Chat Noir did not like how heavy her voice sounded. “Lord Roth got in trouble for taking bets on who the princes were going to marry and King Gabriel fined him a lot of money. Hawk Moth turned him into a giant, golden safe. Ladybug took care of him alone, but I bet she could have used your help.”

Chat Noir fidgeted with the ring on his finger. “Ladybug needs to find a new partner.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got other things to do. Are you interested in the position?” He held his hand out to her and wiggled his ring. The emeralds cast an unnatural green glow across her cheeks. “Go on, take it. See what sort of a deal my fay might make with you. Though I should warn you, he’s a bit of a brat.”

Marinette stared at Chat Noir, unsure what to make of him. She was not afraid of him, never had been, but tonight, something about him felt dangerous.

She self-consciously pulled her pigtails loose and refastened them. “Sorry, but I’ve got enough on my plate as it is between helping my parents and finishing my apprenticeship.”

“Speaking of,” Chat Noir gestured to the trapdoor beneath her feet, “care to show me your work?”

“I don’t think so, chaton.” She shook her head. “You’ve only eaten half of a biscuit and haven’t answered my question at all. Where have you been?”

The nickname stung only a little. The way she said it was so casual and sweet that it felt more like an offer of safety than a reminder of what he was giving up. It still served as both.

“I’ve been busy,” he shrugged. “Everyone has, right?”

“Are you saying you have a day job?”

“Of a sort.”

“Then why are you a thief?”

Chat Noir stuffed the end of the biscuit into his mouth and leaned back on his hands. He had a dozen answers, some more true than others. Some Ladybug knew, some she didn’t.

“For fun,” he finally said, which was perhaps the most honest answer he could give to a strange girl who had fed him purely because she was kind.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You risk your life—your freedom—for a bit of fun?”

Chat Noir reached for a cookie to stall while he searched for an appropriate joke. It seemed like too much to tell her that this was his only chance at freedom, that without this, he did not have much of a life at all.

“Well, I’ve never been caught before,” he said around the cookie, “so I don’t see what the risk is, really.”

“I caught you.”

He laughed. “You tripped and fell on the stairs and I could have bolted out the front door if I wanted.”

“But you didn’t. Instead you caught me.”

He shrugged and got to his feet. “Thank you for the pastries, Mademoiselle…”

“Dupain-Cheng,” she said with a small smile.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, but I believe I am keeping you from your work. So unless you want to show me…”

She sighed and stood. “I suppose you’ve earned it. Come on, chaton.”

It stung a little less the second time.

Chat Noir followed her into the attic bedroom and took it in properly. It was far smaller than the grand bedrooms he was used to. There was a desk covered in sketches and fabric, a rather small bed, and a single mirror. She had a mannequin in the center of her room, dressed in a fine, silvery jerkin that glistened like moonlight. The doublet beneath it was solid black, but across the chest glittered a chain of gems, their colors brilliant in the glow of lamplight.

Chat Noir gave a low whistle. “I promise not to steal from you, tailor’s apprentice, but I might have to sneak into the ball and lift those gems off of one of the princes. Which one did you say this is for?”

“I didn’t, and I won’t if you’re going to behave like that.”

Chat Noir sighed and collapsed into the chair at her desk. “I’ll be good if you insist. It looks finished to me.”

Marinette pulled a stool out from beneath her bed and sat down beside the mannequin. She reached across to her desk and fumbled through a drawer for a needle. “I have a few more gemstones to sew in since the jeweler only finished the order this morning, and this hem isn’t quite done. I’ll probably have to adjust it once it’s on Prince Félix anyway, but I don’t want to show up tomorrow with it looking unfinished. And there’s the overcoat that still needs its lining.” She pointed to the fur and satin draped over her mirror.

“So this one’s for Prince Félix, then?”

Marinette frowned, but said nothing. She pulled the end of the thread between her lips and concentrated on threading her needle.

“Bit somber for a party. The gems are a nice touch, though.”

Marinette had to devote most of her focus to her stitches. It was just loose tacking before she did the final touches tomorrow morning, but it did mean that she ended up with several pins in her mouth.

“Printh Féthix thaid it wath what he wanted,” she said, keeping her teeth tight on the pins as she spoke. “The Dutheth thaid it wath fine.”

Chat Noir picked up a spool and wound the loose end of red thread around his finger. “So can I see what you did for Prince Adrien?”

“I finithed it yetherday.” She gestured to a bundle of paper lying on her desk. “You can look, but be careful.”

Hesitantly, Chat Noir pulled back the heavy brown paper. He recognized the color right away. It was almost identical to the pale green Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng had shown him in her original sketches. So she had gone with the green and the lilies after all.

He folded the paper back up, uncertain that he was ready to see it in full. At least he knew what he had to face tomorrow. But that was tomorrow. Tonight, he did not have to be Prince Adrien.

“I am rather fond of green,” he said, and flashed his ring at her. “Master thief that I am, do you think I could lift this outfit from Prince Adrien while he’s wearing it?”

“I’d love to thee you try,” she laughed.

Her laughter, like the unexpected nickname, both stung and comforted him.

He stood and looked around her room, still fidgeting with the thread in his hands. It had gotten so tangled in his fingers that he was not sure how to undo it, and he was afraid to mention it and risk upsetting a girl who had been so kind to him.

Her room was, like any dedicated designer, filled with sketches and notes. Some he recognized from what she had shown to Prince Adrien at her workshop, but most were for gowns and accessories and they did not have client names attached to them.

“Do you design your own clothes often?”

She hummed noncommittally. “Juth for fun.”

“So which of these are you wearing to the ball?” He gestured to a cluster of gown designs pinned up near her window. His favorite was one done in a style similar to Ladybug’s, where the skirts were short enough to show off the model’s legs. It was the sort of thing that might make his father faint, but Chat Noir enjoyed it.

Marinette pulled the pins out of her mouth and looked up. “Oh, goodness, I have far too much to do to design and make my own dress for the ball. I’ve still got details to finish on the princes’ outfits for the second and third nights of the ball.”

“But you are going?” It was hard to keep the hope out of his voice.

“On the last night, once all the work is done.”

“I’ll save you a dance.”

“You’re really going?” she laughed again, and this time her laughter hurt more.

“Should I not?”

“You’re the most wanted thief in the city. King Gabriel will have your head.”

“He won’t know it’s me.” Chat Noir felt a bit reckless as he turned to face her, but reckless was part of a thief’s job description. He took her hand, ignoring the needle pinched between her fingers and kissed the back of it. “Find me, and I’ll be able to thank you for the food tonight.”

Marinette blinked up at him, surprised by this sudden show of affection. She was used to buffeting his advances as Ladybug, but she was not used to this Chat Noir who seemed so much more fragile than the young man who had been her partner for the last year.

“How will I know it’s you?”

“I’ll be wearing my ring.”

“Lots of people will be wearing rings.”

“I’ll make sure that you know.”

“O-oh.”

“Good night, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. And good luck with the work.”

And then Chat Noir climbed up onto the roof. Marinette scrambled to her feet and ran after him, but he was gone, as quickly as he had left Ladybug weeks ago. All that was left in his wake was a spool of red thread.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fic #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #marichat

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 8

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Amelie Graham de Vanily had only ever loved three people: her sister, her husband, and her son. Now, she had only one of those people left in her life, and she would give everything in the world to see him happy.

In turn, Félix wanted nothing more than to please his mother.

She did not look very happy now, as she sat by the window reading a book of music. Her dressing gown, made of blue silk and painted with pink flowers, was the only color Félix had seen her wear since his father’s passing. Félix privately enjoyed that he got to spend his evenings with her, when she doffed her mourning attire and he caught a glimpse of the vibrant woman his mother had been before his father’s disappearance.

It was her drawing room, attached to her quarters on the top floor of the palace, but Félix spent most of his evenings here in her company. He sat on one of her small, red-cushioned chairs, embroidered with lilies, and sketched her pair of green and blue songbirds. He carefully marked the darker feathers around their cheeks and brushed his pencil lightly against the shadow of their beaks, working hard to catch the way the flickering firelight caught the texture of their feathers.

Though everything about his pencil work was technically accurate, he was still dissatisfied with the sketches. The texture he sought was there, but there was something lifeless about the birds, as if he had been sketching stuffed parrots rather than living, fluttering songbirds.

He flipped back to the sketch he had done last night, when he had managed to slip away just after dinner and visit the forbidden mausoleum that his aunt was kept in.

King Gabriel had been spending his evenings instructing Adrien, an arrangement that Félix didn’t quite understand. He didn’t see how one brief outing to the seamstress was worth a month of extra tutelage with the king, but maybe to Adrien it had been worth it if the price was only more time with his father, however cold and empty that time might be.

Félix supposed he, too, would give anything for more time with his father.

With King Gabriel occupied, Félix had a rare opportunity of time when it was guaranteed that his aunt’s glass coffin would be unattended. But t had not been grief that had driven him there. Rather, it was curiosity that carried his footsteps upstairs to the tower that his aunt was kept in.

He had sketched her, and now he glanced between his mother sitting in her window and the sketch of his aunt. He could not tell the two apart. If he mentioned this failure to his mother, she would assure him that very few people had ever been able to tell Emilie and Amelie apart, and he should not be worried about it. But Félix’s father had always been able to tell them apart, and his paintings reflected a distinction between the twin sisters in a way that Félix’s sketches never had.

If his father had been here sketching the songbirds, it wouldn’t matter that the charcoals were only in grayscale. It would have been obvious which one was green and which one was blue.

“Félix,” Amelie said in a soft tone that always made Félix’s heart break. It was laced with disappointment, and he hated disappointing her.

Féilx bit back the childish instinct to apologize and set aside his charcoal pencils. He wiped his hands with a damp rag to stall as he swallowed down the burst of need that filled his chest.

Sometimes his mother was simply sad. That was how grief worked; he was not responsible for making it go away. He knew that logically, but his heart still beat with the urge to make her happy.

“What’s wrong, Mother?” he asked.

She closed the music book and stared out the window into the clear night. The lights along the castle wall made the stars hard to see, but she sought them out anyway.

“What do you want for your birthday?” she asked.

“It may be a bit late for that, Mother. My birthday is in less than a week.” Guests for the ball would begin arriving tomorrow. How she expected to find something in time was beyond him, but he supposed anyone would bend over backwards to meet a Duchess’s demands. Except perhaps the king.

“You could perhaps give me the gift of not having to marry,” he offered.

Amelie smiled her sad smile. Her dark green eyes glittered with unspilt tears and she held her hands out to him.

Félix left his warm seat by the fire, his pencils and his sketchbook, and joined his mother by the window. It was much colder here, but she was still warm as she pulled him against her chest.

When Félix had been younger, too young to really remember, he had spent many nights curled up in his mother’s arms. He only knew about this childish habit because there were innumerous sketches left behind by his father of Amelie holding her baby boy. As Félix had grown and taken on more of his role as second in line for the crown behind, there had been less time for sitting together and, as his father took on more formal portraiture work for the royal family, less time for intimate sketches.

Amelie made more time for sitting together now, since Michel had gone, and they both relished these small, quiet moments.

“What do you really want?” she repeated.

Félix took a moment to consider her question. If she had asked it twice, it must be important to her.

“I just want you to be happy,” he finally said.

Something caught in Amelie’s throat and Felix twisted to look at her. She had turned away from the window and was now staring at the gilded cage containing her songbirds. Her pale lower lip trembled slightly, but Amelie had not cried since the day her husband had gone and her sister had fallen asleep, and she was not about to start now.

“Did you know that I was never supposed to be a Duchess?” she asked.

Félix tipped his head to one side. “Because your sister was the older twin?”

She nodded. “When Gabriel proposed to Emilie—he was just a prince then—she told him that she would only accept if she could give her title to me. She thought it was only fair that if she got to be Queen, then I could at least continue to live in the comfort that we had grown up in.”

Félix knew that his father had never had a title; it was why he bore his mother’s maiden name. His father had merely been an artist who had taken his wife’s name when he had married.

“When your father and I fell in love,” Amelie continued, “I wasn’t a duchess. I had no plans for my future beyond being with him, and since I was a younger daughter, I was free to marry whomever I wished. When my sister offered me her title, I accepted, thinking only of how I could care for my husband. I did not think of what the pressure of court might do to someone like your father, an artist who had little interest in politics and formalities.” She sighed and pressed her hands against Félix’s.

They were soft, like his, and nearly identical in size. The only real difference was that her nails were longer than his, and, despite cleaning his hands moments ago, charcoal still stained his fingertips. She wore a wedding band, plain sterling silver, far below that of her station, but it had been all that a poor artist had been able to offer the woman that he loved, and she had accepted it just as she had accepted all of him.

“Do you know what I want, more than anything in the world?” she asked.

Félix shook his head.

“For you to be happy. I think this palace killed your father and my sister and I won’t let it kill you, too. No matter what Gabriel says, I want you to find your own happiness. If that means staying at Adrien’s side, I’ll help you do that, but if you want to leave, if you want out of this life, I’ll help you do that, too.”

Félix bit down on his tongue as he considered his mother’s offer. He had fantasized about leaving, time and again, but he had just as often fantasized about being the one to fill Gabriel’s shoes. To speak either fantasy out loud felt like treason.

“I don’t know any other life outside of this one,” he said, in as steady a voice as he could manage.

Amelie sighed. “I didn’t either, until I met your father. Perhaps you’ll find someone at the ball who will show you a world of new possibilities—or perhaps not, and I’ll just have to spirit you away from the palace for a season before Gabriel can tie you down.”

Amelie brushed her hand through his combed-back hair, mussing it so it fell across his brow in a spray of pale gold. She kissed his cheek. “Get some rest,” she said. “Tomorrow you can help me set out the tapestry arrangements for the ballroom.”

Félix collected his sketches and pencils and wished his mother good night. It was not a long trek down to his rooms beside Adrien’s, but he took a detour. His conversation with his mother had prompted a longing in his chest that he had learned often accompanied grief. It was the same longing that he saw on his uncle and cousin’s faces, when they thought no one was watching. They were a rather sad family, the four of them.

Félix’s detour took him to a portrait that stretched from floor to ceiling. It was not a portrait of him, nor his mother, though someone who had only a passing knowledge of the royal family would be hard-pressed to tell just by a glance.

The portrait was of King Gabriel, who stood, dressed in his white, red, and gold formal attire. Seated beside him was Queen Emilie, in a pale green dress that brought out her eyes, and standing between them was Prince Adrien, dressed in the same colors as his mother.

If Félix ignored Gabriel’s imposing figure, he could almost pretend that the painting was of his mother and himself—almost.

There was something about Adrien’s eyes and the soft smile hidden inside them that did not suit Félix, and there was something about the curve of Emilie’s mouth that was wholly unlike her twin sister, though they had been almost impossible to tell apart while Emilie was alive.

The differences, Félix knew, were because his father had been a master painter who had captured something of the essence of his subject each time he painted. Whatever it was that his father had had, Félix did not. He had sketched hundreds of portraits, often of himself and Adrien, and even he could not always tell the difference. He had studied his father’s work intently, and had watched his father work a hundred times before. In the last year, his mother had even arranged for master painters to visit and attempt to train Félix in his father’s craft, though painting was not an especially prestigious hobby for a prince. But whatever it was that his father had seen in the world, Félix could not find it. He sometimes felt like there was a glass wall separating him from his father, or at least separating him from the world in the way that his father had seen it.

Félix reconsidered his mother’s offer of leaving the palace. Perhaps leaving this place would give him the connection to his father he had so desperately searched for.

While he had examined his aunt’s sleeping form for the thing that made her unlike his mother, for the thing that his father had so easily distinguished in art, he had noticed the wedding band Queen Emilie wore: a gleaming golden band studded in diamonds. Beneath that had been a simpler band, studded in no gems, but certainly pale gold and of fine quality. It had been hard to tell beneath the glittering diamonds of her wedding band, but it had looked like the same white-gold leaves that decorated King Gabriel’s wedding band.

Félix had been able to conjure three possibilities. The first was the simplest: King Gabriel had placed his own wedding ring onto his wife’s finger before sealing her in glass. Except Félix knew that King Gabriel still wore a wedding ring, so was his own a copy? The second was possible but unusual: King Gabriel had had a replica of his wedding band made for his wife, perhaps to remind her of her family title and the home she had come from. The third option was terrifying, and Félix did not know what to make of its implications: somehow, his father’s wedding band had ended up on Queen Emilie’s finger before he had disappeared.

“Prince Félix,” a hard, cold voice said from behind him.

Félix did not need to turn around to know who was addressing him. He took a deep breath, turned, and bowed. “Good evening, King Gabriel.”

If Gabriel appreciated the formalities, it was not evident in his voice, which was constantly laced with displeasure. “What are you doing roaming the palace at this hour?”

Félix straightened, and did his best not to look embarrassed or apologetic. Gabriel was always unhappy; it was not his job to set it right.

“I was merely admiring my father’s work,” Félix explained. “I was on my way to bed after visiting with my mother and could not help but stop.”

Something in the hard lines of Gabriel’s face softened. It was a softening Félix had only ever seen in one other place: when Gabriel listened to Adrien play the harpsichord.

“Michel was a master at his craft.” Gabriel eyed the painting with a critical gaze, not unlike the way he watched Adrien recite his lessons. Then he asked, “Have you ever seen my favorite of your father’s paintings?”

Félix swallowed down his shock. He did not think Gabriel had ever had much interest in his father’s art, apart from the need to display portraits of the royal family throughout the palace.

“No, Your Majesty, I do not believe I have. Or if I have, I did not know it.”

Gabriel took a moment to look Félix over, then motioned for Félix to follow.

Félix hurried after his uncle with some trepidation, but his heart pounded with excitement. He wondered if this painting could somehow give him the understanding of his father that he longed for, or, at the very least, it might give him some insight to his uncle, who was always so hard to understand.

Gabriel led Félix back down the hall, past Amelie’s rooms, past the stairs that led up to the servants’ quarters, and past the stairs that led down to Félix and Adrien’s rooms. Gabriel took him, instead, through a hidden passage that Félix knew existed, but had never used, because it led directly to the throne room.

Félix tried to spend as little time as he could in the throne room. It would never be his, and besides, it was so vast that it left him feeling empty inside.

During the day, the white marble floors reflected the sunlight that streamed through the wide, round window, and filled the throne room with a beautiful golden light. But now, in the dead of night, the window was pitch dark, and the white marble floors and columns reflected just enough silver moonlight for Gabriel and Félix to cross the throne room to a small door, set behind the throne, where Gabriel could retire if he needed to step away from the throne for any reason.

Félix had never been in this room before, and he did not think Adrien had, either. Whenever either of them had worked with King Gabriel on the management of the kingdom, it had been in the king’s receiving room, a much wider space with enough room for the harpsichord. That room, where advisors and accountants assisted the king with the management of his kingdom, was some sort of mixture between an office and a parlor. This was a much more intimate room, with plush red carpet, dark paneled wood, and a single seat at a desk piled with papers and scrolls—some sealed, some halfway unfurled. He recognized several decorated with the Rossi family seal and others with the Bourgeois family seal, no doubt both filled with impassioned pleas for Adrien’s hand.

But the most obvious—and beautiful—object in the room was, by far, the golden portrait of Emilie Agreste.

Her piercing green eyes were well above eye level, staring out over the room. Her golden dress hung off of her shoulders and was decorated with teardrops in black, white, and blue splashed onto the gold. Red bled into the background in a vibrant contrast. Félix’s heart caught in his throat and he knew instantly why this was Gabriel’s favorite piece, why he kept it hidden away from everyone else. In this portrait, Emilie looked alive.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” Gabriel asked.

“Exquisite,” Félix breathed. He did not dare ask if Adrien had seen it. He was too afraid of the answer.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up at the portrait, in complete silence. When faced with this portrait, it was hard to ignore that both Emilie and Michel had been very much alive. Her glittering green eyes and the brush strokes that had made them each belonged to real people who had lived and breathed and loved, and those people would never stand here again. Félix thought he might break from the weight of that reality, and he wondered how his uncle ever managed to run a kingdom with this grief constantly hanging over him.

Félix pulled his eyes away from the painting for just a moment to examine Gabriel’s hands. The ring on his finger was indeed identical to the wedding band Emilie had given to him and identical to the one Amelie had given to Félix’s father: silver, inlaid with white-gold leaves. Had Gabriel truly had a copy made? Did the real ring rest on Emilie’s hand? Was any of it connected to the ring Adrien had begun to wear after Michel’s memorial service? Félix’s fingers twitched, eager for answers.

“You should probably return to your rooms,” Gabriel said suddenly. His voice was hard, as usual, but strangely heavy.

Félix, however, was not done with Gabriel. He looked back at the portrait of Emilie. How was he going to continue about his life, knowing this remnant of his father was here, hidden away?

“Does my mother have a portrait like this?” he asked.

“If she does, I have not seen it.”

Félix swallowed hard. He wondered if he could recreate this for her somehow. He wondered if it would make her happy or if it would break her.

Once again, he thought about his mother’s offer of leaving. Perhaps both of them would have a chance to flourish if they could escape the grief that permeated this castle. But Gabriel would never let them leave. Amelie may have said they could be gone before he knew, but Félix could not envision a reality where that was possible.

“Your Majesty, do you really need me to be engaged by my twenty-first birthday?” Félix asked.

If Gabriel was surprised by the question, he did not show it. “Yes,” he answered readily. “It’s important that Adrien and his new queen have your support, and you’ll need a partner as well. It’s a business arrangement, Félix, and it is essential to having a stable kingdom.”

Félix bit down the swell of indignation that threatened to burst out of him. Gabriel had married a woman that he had been in love with, and he had even let her give up her title just so he could have her. His mother had married for love, too, so why should he be denied that choice?

“Do you really want Adrien to marry Princess Tsurugi?” Félix asked.

Gabriel considered his answer, and Félix braced himself for a lie, determined to uncover the truth hidden within it.

“It would be good for the kingdom,” Gabriel finally said, as neutral an answer as he could give. “I had hoped Lila Rossi might prove herself, but now that circumstances have changed…”

Félix frowned, unsure what Gabriel was getting at. Had something happened between Lila and Adrien that he did not know about? That was unlikely. Félix knew all the gossip in the palace. He made a point of it. He did know that there were rumors about Lila’s brief illness. She had spent two days in her home, refusing all visitors. She had recovered fully, but Félix still had questions. Notably, he wanted to know why no one had seen Volpina nor Chat Noir in the city since rumors of a fight between them had sprung up among the castle guards, but Félix did not see how any of that was related to who Adrien ought to marry.

“Lila Rossi’s family has plenty of international connections,” Félix said. “She is certainly comparable to Princess Tsurugi.”

“Quite so,” Gabriel agreed.

“Are you worried about Adrien marrying a hero connected to the fay?”

Gabriel’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Lila is no hero.”

“If you tell me what you want,” Félix offered, “I can make sure that Adrien chooses the bride you would have picked for him by the end of the ball.”

Gabriel looked away from the painting and examined Félix with his cold, piercing blue eyes. Félix stood his ground, though his skin crawled uncomfortably. Gabriel seemed to truly be seeing him for the first time, and Gabriel understood what Félix’s offer truly was: a deal, not a favor.

“What are you asking for in exchange?”

“That I be allowed not to marry, and that my mother and I take a trip away from the palace this summer.”

Gabriel’s upper lip curled, and Félix was unsure if it was a smile or a sneer. “That is a bold request,” he said. “Especially when I can simply order Adrien and you to marry whomever I choose, and you will both do it.”

“You could,” Félix said, “but you haven’t. You let my mother convince you to have a ball. You let her give Adrien and I the illusion of choice, at least, so you must care what Adrien thinks. I can arrange it so that he never knows it was your choice and thinks it was his.”

Gabriel was definitely smiling now. “You really are nothing like your father.”

Félix ignored how much that statement stung and held Gabriel’s gaze without flinching.

“Fine,” Gabriel agreed. “If you convince Adrien to choose Princess Tsurugi as his partner, I will allow you to go another year without finding a wife of your own. And yes, you and your mother may take a summer trip together, if you must. But if Adrien does not choose Princess Tsurugi of his own will, I will consider our deal void.”

Félix was desperate to secure any freedom for himself and for his mother. He would do anything to keep the little bit that Gabriel promised him, even if it meant stripping Adrien of his freedom. “Of course, sir.” Félix held out his hand to close their deal.

Gabriel shook his hand.

With his heart pounding, Félix pulled the silver and gold wedding band from Gabriel’s finger and slipped it into his pocket. He just needed to know if it was Emilie’s ring or a copy, because if it was truly Emilie’s ring, that meant the ring around his sleeping aunt’s finger just might be his father’s.

He would drop it somewhere once he had his answer, somewhere Gabriel might think it had simply fallen off. It was not the most clever of Félix’s plans, but it would suffice.

With a low bow, Félix left the small room, and returned to the throne room. He did not dare hesitate here. He hurried through the vast room and up to the floor he shared with Adrien. He slipped silently into his own room, and, finally alone, he pulled the ring from his pocket.

The band was what he expected, what he thought he had seen glinting on Gabriel’s finger—the familiar silver with gold leaf inlay, all the markings of a Graham de Vanily ring—but it was the engraving on the inside of the band that made Félix’s heart stop.

The ring was not Emilie’s, and it was not a copy of Emilie’s. Instead, inscribed into the smooth silver, in a formal, flowing script, worn down from years pressed against skin but still legible, Félix read A. Graham de Vanily.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fic #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Seven

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Marinette stared at the upside down mannequin from her bed. Well, it wasn’t upside down, she was.

She let her head dangle off of the edge of her bed in an attempt to get a new perspective of her work, but it wasn’t having the desired effect. The doublet and jerkin she had started on for Prince Félix still weren’t working for her. At least Duchess Amelie had given her free reign to follow Prince Félix’s desires, so she could blend the mourning attire with something celebratory. It was only a slightly easier problem than Prince Adrien’s challenge: design an outfit that would meet King Gabriel’s standards but still respect Prince Adrien’s grief.

Marinette groaned and sat back up, only to flop back down onto her pillow. She knew it was not really the princes’ outfits that were causing her trouble. It was two other troublesome things: Chat Noir’s strange melancholy and Prince Adrien’s inevitable wedding.

Tikki took up her usual space beside Marinette’s ear and patted her hair softly. “You’ll figure it out.”

Marinette rolled over to stare up at her ceiling, but the designs for the princes stared back at her, as they had all week. That perspective hadn’t helped either.

“I know I’ll figure out their outfits,” she sighed. “But tell me why I have a stupid crush on someone who not only has been engaged his entire life, but is set to be married in just two weeks!”

“Well, he wasn’t engaged anymore when you fell for him,” Tikki offered unhelpfully.

Marinette groaned again and scrubbed her face with her hands. She did not have the time to be pulled in this many directions. She had work to do. But even as she sat up, committed to packing up her fabric and taking her work to Master Fu for help, she changed her mind.

“Tikki, spots on.”

If Tikki was startled by the sudden command, there was no sign of it. She disappeared into Marinette’s earrings, and with a flash of light, Marinette’s nightgown transformed into Ladybug’s red and black gown. She climbed up to her small rooftop balcony and surveyed the expanse of the city.

She did not really think that Chat Noir would be out this morning. He so rarely made appearances during the day as it was, and when she had made time to patrol in the evenings, she had not seen him. She had even begun bothering Alya and Nino about their investigative business, but the few clients who had come into the bakery to ask for Alya and Nino’s help were hunting down missing pets or the occasional misplaced boot. Pet thievery and left-shoe stealing wasn’t exactly Chat Noir’s style.

She reached for her bandalore and opened it, but she had no new messages from Chat Noir. Just the old one. She played it back, though she was not sure that she would learn anything new.

“Hawk Moth has cursed Lila Rossi into the form of Volpina and it is technically my fault but I had good reason, I promise, and I could really use your help.”

Ladybug reached into her bandalore and pulled out the fox-tail pendant. Tikki had not given her a lot of new details about what Chat Noir had told her that night, but she had at least confirmed it was all true. Yes, Hawk Moth had used human sacrifice to try to capture Tikki and Plagg but had ended up with Nooroo instead. Yes, Tikki and Plagg had chosen partners so quickly after Nooroo’s capture with the intent to rescue him. She could not confirm that Lila had done the same ritual with Trixx that Hawk Moth had used to gain Nooroo, but if Plagg thought so, then Tikki was inclined to believe him.

But even Tikki did not have answers about why Chat Noir believed that his time moonlighting as both thief and hero was limited.

Ladybug returned the fox-pendant to her bandalore and pressed the end of her magical tool to record her fifth message to Chat Noir in as many days.

“I’ll be on the third bridge from the palace tonight at midnight,” she said into her bandalore. “I think it's the last night that I can spare. Please come talk to me. I… I’m worried about you.”

She hadn’t told him that last part yet. She hoped it would finally persuade him.

But if he had given up being Chat Noir completely, he would never even hear her message. She wondered, if Chat Noir had fully rejected Plagg, would Plagg come and tell her? It seemed like the sort of thing Tikki ought to know, but she wasn’t sure that even Plagg knew who she was beneath her mask.

“Spots off,” she sighed, and her red gown fell away.

Tikki, who maintained some awareness even when her magic was merged with Marinette, said nothing. But she did curl up on Marinette’s shoulder and nuzzle her cheek affectionately.

Eventually, the smells drifting up from the bakery convinced Marinette to get dressed. She bundled up her work to take with her to Master Fu’s and headed downstairs.

The boulangerie was full of food and customers. Alya and Nino were running back and forth between the ovens and the patrons, making sure that everyone had what they needed, while Tom and Sabine worked to keep the shelves stocked. When there was a lull, they would work on the timetable for prepping for the ball, a schedule that would go into full effect in just a few days’ time.

But there were not many lulls at the most popular boulangerie and patisserie in the city. Marinette managed to squeeze between her father and a bag of sugar with more grace than usual only to stumble right into her mother and fall onto a sack of flour.

“Careful, Marinette.” Her mother pulled her to her feet, kissed her cheek, and slid right back into the rhythm of the kitchen, ducking around her husband to grab a fresh sheet of biscuits. She stopped only to drop one in Marinette’s hands. “Don’t forget to eat properly before you go. There’s a bag ready for you.”

Marinette thanked her mother and managed to get out of the kitchen without further incident. She was glad she had taken the time to wrap her project for Prince Félix, because the flour that now dusted her would have been glaring on the expensive black silk.

“Good morning, Marinette!” Alya and Nino both called to her as she stopped by the counter to grab the breakfast her mother had prepared for her.

“Any new clients?” she asked.

Alya dropped a half-dozen rolls and a pair of loaves into a customer’s basket and carefully counted out the change while Nino greeted another.

“Nope,” Alya said. “Why are you so interested lately?”

“Just wondering how much stuff has gone missing in the city, that’s all!”

“You’re a terrible liar. What are you looking for?”

“Nothing! I’ll see you both tonight for deliveries!”

Nino shouted after her, “Marinette, you’re still covered in—”

But Marinette was already out the door.

She hurried to Master Fu’s, stopping only to read the public notice board at the main street crossroads. She had a vague idea that if Chat Noir moonlighted as a thief, he might also be a criminal by day, and one possible explanation for his impending deadline was perhaps jail time or even banishment from the city. She couldn’t explain how he would know about those things a month in advance, but she checked the news anyway, just in case she saw something about a blond, green-eyed thief facing the consequences of his crimes.

But she never did.

With a heavy heart, Marinette trudged down the street to Master Fu’s shop. Her eyes were on her feet, careful not to trip over any of the uneven cobblestones, but that meant she was not paying attention to what was ahead of her.

She walked straight into a very solid wall and went sprawling. Before Marinette could ask why someone had added a wall in front of Master Fu’s shop, she saw that the wall was, in truth, a very solid young man.

“Sorry,” he said, and knelt down to pick up her now scuffed bag of breakfast and the package of fabric that she had dropped.

“It’s my fault,” Marinette said, and ruefully rubbed the elbow that had taken the brunt of her fall. She blinked up at the not-wall, expecting to see one of Master Fu’s clients, but if he was, she did not recognize him.

He looked about her age, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. His ears were pierced like hers, which was unusual for a boy, and his clothes, too, were not especially traditional. He wore a tunic, sinched at the waist, but his surcote was full-length, hooded, and laced in the front more like the bodice of a dress. He carried something on his back, but he still managed to pick up her things in addition to his own. Then he tucked her package under his arm and adjusted his grip to hold both his bag and hers in the same hand so that he had a spare hand to pull her to her feet.

“Are you the bakery girl who’s also a seamstress?” he asked.

She stared at him as he pulled her up with surprising ease. “I—yes? How did you—”

“You’re, uh, well…” He reached his hand out and mussed her hair. White flour dusted the street below. “My sister’s talked about you. Juleka?”

“Oh!” Of course. “I didn’t know Juleka had a brother,” Marinette said.

“I didn’t think she would mention me. She doesn’t mention much. I’m Luka.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

There was an awkward pause where Marinette waited for Luka to either step aside to let her into the shop or hand back her things, but he did neither, and instead seemed to be waiting for something from her.

Finally, he said, “So do I keep calling you bakery girl, or…?”

“Er—Marinette. Sorry.”

He grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marinette.” And despite his very full hands, he pushed the door to Master Fu’s shop open for her.

“I had picked up a treat for Juleka and was just bringing it by.” He held up his hand which now held two identical satchels of food, wrapped in the same pink cloth that Marinette’s family boulangerie used for all of their orders. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten which is which.”

“We can figure it out,” Marinette said, and thanked him for holding the door for her. A quick glance around the empty shop front and the closed door to Master Fu’s work area suggested that he was working on something with Juleka.

“It’s just me,” she called, so that they would not think that the bell on the door had rung because of a client.

Luka set the bags and the package on the table and carefully opened them to determine which was his surprise for his sister and which was Marinette’s breakfast.

“Looks like this one’s yours,” he said, and passed one of the bags off to her.

She took it and the package of fabric from him. “Thanks.” She shouldered open the door to her own workroom and dropped the fabric she had been working with onto her stool and set the package of food in a corner, away from her fabric and sketches. She was far too accident-prone to risk a mistake like food anywhere near her work.

But food was not the first thing on her mind right now. She unwrapped the fabric she had brought from home and pulled it onto her new mannequin. It was not exactly finished. She hadn’t even cut it properly yet, just draped it in the general shape she wanted to work with. She bit down on her thumb and examined the dark fabric. It needed levity, but could she give it levity without breaking from what Prince Félix wanted?

“Is that one of the princes’ outfits?”

Marinette turned, startled to see Luka standing in her doorway. She had already forgotten about him.

“Er—yes. Or it’s supposed to be. I take it that Juleka mentioned that, too?”

“She said you had a lot of great ideas. But she didn’t mention you were thinking about black for a ball. It’s not exactly traditional, but I like it.”

“It’s just… proving to be a challenge, that’s all.”

“What’s your process like?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, your creative process. Where do you start?”

Marinette blinked at Luka. She had never really talked to anyone about this before. Not even Master Fu. So rarely in their line of work were they given full creative freedom. Everything was about meeting the needs and desires of the client. She supposed that she had a good deal more creative range with this project than past projects, and perhaps that was part of the problem, but who was this boy to identify it so quickly?

“Well, I start with what the client asks for. And in this case, the request was… complicated.” She wondered if she was divulging too many personal details about the princes by sharing her work with a complete stranger, but it wasn’t as if the princes’ grief was a secret.

“It’s only been a year since Queen Emilie fell asleep,” Marinette said, “and since Prince Félix’s father disappeared, so I know the princes are still grieving. I’m having trouble honoring their grief and designing outfits appropriate for a party and a wedding celebration.”

“That does sound like a challenge,” but instead of sounding disheartened or sympathetic to her plight, Luka sounded excited. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Marinette sighed. “I can’t wait either.”

“Do you mind if I see what you’ve done?”

She hesitated. How many times had she tried talking through this with Juleka, only to be met with barely intelligible muttered commentary? How many times had she tried talking to Alya and Nino about it only for them to offer unhelpful solutions like, “Can’t you just make what they asked for? They can’t complain about that, right?”

Maybe Luka was the conversation partner and the fresh eyes that her design needed. She handed him some of her sketches and the notes she had received back from the Duchess and the King.

She explained to Luka her sources of inspiration: the Duchesses’ dresses from their time before they had joined the royal family, the palace colors, and the mourning garb the princes still wore. She told him what Félix and Adrien had both told her: they were not ready to leave their mourning garb behind, but that King Gabriel wanted their outfits to meet the expectations of a ball. His notes—or more likely an assistant’s notes—suggested that the princes should be in red and gold, though he had not said no to the greens and blues. His notes did not mention Adrien at all.

In contrast, the Duchess’s notes repeatedly made comments like “Félix prefers this color,” or “I think this one would bring out Félix’s eyes.” And while Marinette was happy to accommodate the Duchess and Prince Félix, the ones the Duchess liked were almost entirely black. While it wasn’t Marinette’s job to mediate between the Duchess and the King, she knew that she couldn’t let her commencement piece reflect any disgrace on King Gabriel, or she would never work in the kingdom again.

This all left Marinette unsure how to meet everyone’s needs. It occurred to her that this problem was a recurring struggle in her life, as she was pulled between the tailors’ guild, her parents bakery, and her responsibilities as Ladybug—though she did not share that thought with Luka.

“You know,” he said, almost absentmindedly as he looked through her sketches, “mourning is something we display to others, but grief, real grief, tends to be something we keep to ourselves, for better or worse.”

Marinette thought of the way Chat Noir had refused to meet Ladybug’s eyes that night he had handed her the fox pendant. She wondered what his private grief was, and if she would ever be able to help him with it.

“What are you grieving?” she asked, before she quite knew she had said it. She didn’t know if the question was really meant for Luka, who had made his comment with such understanding that he had to have been speaking personally, or if it was meant for Chat Noir, who was not here and probably would not answer her even if he was.

Luka smiled and set her sketches down. “Enough things. Mostly things that will never come to pass rather than things I’ve had and lost. What about you, Marinette?”

“Nothing, really.” But she thought of what Luka had said about grieving things that would never come to pass. Was she grieving a silly crush on Prince Adrien, knowing that relationship would never be what she dreamed it could be? Or perhaps she had lost something. Perhaps she was grieving her relationship with Chat Noir and the partnership that seemed to be coming to an end.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Luka said, and she did not know if he meant the outfits or her other, more private worries.

Juleka joined them then, and together, they shared a small breakfast before Marinette went back to her sketches and Luka went to practice with his troupe.

But he came back the next day. And the day after that.

Just as Marinette was getting used to seeing him in the mornings, he started to visit the shop in the evenings, too. As the deadline of the ball approached, Juleka, Marinette, and Master Fu worked longer and longer hours, and as the winter solstice approached, daylight grew shorter and shorter.

He played his viol in the evening sometimes, working through new melodies and practicing old ones. His notes became the background of her work as she cut patterns and stitched silk lining together. And just as she was getting used to his music filling her workspace like the warmth of a hearth, Luka started walking her home in the evenings.

“The bakery is out of your way,” Marinette protested. Juleka and Luka lived on the other side of the river, back towards the palace.

“We don’t mind,” Luka smiled and Juleka mumbled something that had to be agreement.

And Marinette didn’t mind either. She liked Luka’s company. He was soft-spoken, easy to talk with, and always eager to talk about art. She’d talked him through sets of notes as often as he’d talked her through different embroidery patterns. She knew that her decision to pull away from the traditional geometric patterns and instead use natural, fluid shapes was as much a creative choice on her part as it was the influence of his music in the evenings, as if her stitches were following his notes.

But even though her mind was constantly on her work, her eyes were on the rooftops as she walked, wondering if she might catch a swish of a black tail or a glint of silver. She never did.

“Do you have much to do tonight?” Luka asked her one evening as they walked.

Marinette pulled her eyes from the sky and glanced down at the bundle of fabric in her arms. She had started bringing her work home with her in the evenings. There was just too much to do before the ball to get it all done at Master Fu’s shop.

“Plenty to do,” she sighed, “but I’ll just work until I fall asleep.”

“That sounds unhealthy.”

Her cheeks flushed with indignation. “You take your work home.”

“I set practice hours.”

Marinette considered this. “I promise I’ll only stitch in the lining tonight.”

“Good. Juleka, check her work in the morning. Make sure she only does the one bit tonight.”

Juleka mumbled something that Marinette did not catch, but Luka had spent years interpreting his sister’s mumbles.

“What do you mean stitching the lining in is another fifteen hours of work? Marinette, you’re mad. You can’t do all of that in a night.”

Marinette laughed. “It’s six outfits, Luka. Of course it will take time. But I’ll manage.”

He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue any further. Instead, he reached for her hand.

Marinette bit down on her lip nervously, but she did not pull her hand away. Her heart stuttered through its usual rhythm and she bit down on her lip.

“Promise me you’ll make the time to take care of yourself,” Luka said.

“Of course I will.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically, but said nothing. After a moment, he finally said, “You’re going to the ball, aren’t you?”

Heat pricked on the back of her neck. “Er—I think so. My friend Alya and I are planning to go on the last night, and I think she’s bringing her intended with her.” Marinette’s mouth went dry as it occurred to her that Luka might see her implication that she was attending without a partner as an invitation.

“I’ll look for you,” he said. “We’re performing, my band and I, so if you have any dance in particular to request, let me know.”

“I-I will.” She didn’t know why she was stammering all of a sudden.

“And… if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to save at least one of the dances I get to have for you?”

“S-sure.”

They’d stopped walking but Marinette didn’t notice until Luka leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Get some sleep, Marinette, all right?”

Marinette swallowed and tore her eyes away from Luka to look at where they had stopped, only to find that she was already home. The urge to get back to her work and work through the night had faded. She didn’t want to go inside, not yet.

She glanced up at her rooftop balcony. It was empty. Not that she had expected anyone to be there, not really.

She looked back at Luka and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, and wished him good night.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fic #ml fanfic #fairy tale au #ml fairy tale au

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Six

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter Six Volpina

The rhythm of the harpsichord piece still thrummed through his fingers, even as Adrien returned to his room. He was exhausted; it felt like his father was running him ragged purely as revenge for his brief outing to the seamstress last week.

There were lunches with the Bourgeois family, dinners with the Rossi family, teas with nobles and ambassadors and their daughters, and his evenings were spent cloistered in his father’s receiving room, either reviewing work with his father or practicing the harpsichord while King Gabriel multitasked between reading reports on his own and critiquing Adrien’s performance.

He appreciated the time with his father, certainly, butt even with this change in schedule it was still obvious the work was first. Adrien was second. He never thought he would miss the strict tutorial schedule he had once kept, but as he collapsed onto his bed fully clothed, he could think of nothing he wanted to do more than just have one hour fencing with his cousin again.

Well, there was one other thing he could think of, but he wasn’t sure that he had the energy for Chat Noir.

“Please?” Plagg needled, as if he could read Adrien’s thoughts. “You haven’t been out in a week.”

“The city hasn’t needed me in a week. Everyone’s so excited about a ball, I guess Hawk Moth’s been out of work.”

“We don’t need a curse or a monster to have a little fun.”

“Ladybug said she was too busy to patrol this month, so what’s the point?”

“We could steal something,” Plagg offered.

It was tempting. “We promised Ladybug that we’d behave.”

“You promised Ladybug.”

“All right, so I can’t steal. You’re welcome to go off on your own if you like.”

“What if it’s not really stealing?”

Adrien knew he was about to get an absurd spin on thievery that was closer to a flat-out lie than any true loophole.

“Is this about Lila again?”

“It’s not really her pendant, so we can’t actually steal it from her.”

“It’s the same thing.”

Plagg, who had far more energy than Adrien could even fathom, jumped on Adrien’s chest, and used each bounce to punctuate his points. “One—Lila said she inherited the necklace from her grandmother. You can’t inherit a fay gift. Two—her magic doesn’t seem to runout which means she made a lifetime bargain and those are dangerous. Three—she revealed her identity to the royal family, and now the whole kingdom knows who Volpina is. That’s a bad thing!”

Adrien closed his eyes. Plagg did not lecture very often, but it made for a decent lullaby. “Why is that bad?” he asked with a yawn.

“For one, anyone could steal her gift.”

“Like you want to do?”

“For another, Hawk Moth could target her. You think his normal curses are bad? Imagine if he cursed someone with a magical gift. Think about if he knew who Ladybug was, and he cursed her. Or even you! How would Ladybug face a cursed version of you?”

Adrien had considered, on occasion, what he might do if Ladybug fell victim to one of Hawk Moth’s curses. But it was not a very fun thought exercise, so he didn’t dwell on it.

“Come on,” Plagg whined with another jump. “You know if you take Lila’s pendant, your father won’t ask you to marry her.”

Adrien ignored this point. He knew that his father had only entertained Lila Rossi’s proposal because she bore a gift from a fay, and it was one of the reasons he did not want to go after Lila. He was not interested in stealing from her precisely because it benefited him. That broke Chat Noir’s vaguely ethical code of thievery.

“What does it really matter?” Adrien sighed. “Father will just ask me to marry Chloé or Princess Kagami instead. I can’t imagine he’ll be too thrilled if I tell him I want to marry Ladybug.” Though if his father was tempted by Lila’s fay gift, why not Ladybug’s?

Adrien twisted the ring around his finger and considered it. Not knowing who she was under her mask made it a hard pitch. At least Lila was from a noble family who had a relationship with the royal family. But if there was a chance Adrien could have Ladybug, maybe he could get married without have to give up being Chat Noir.

“What will you do when I get married?” Adrien asked.

Plagg’s growl was low and guttural, as if he were announcing just how feral and ancient he truly was. He felt displeased by the change in topic, but played along for a moment, for Adrien’s sake. “Do you want me to be the ring bearer or something?”

“No, I just mean, you know, I’ll have other… nightly duties to attend to. I won’t be able to be Chat Noir anymore.”

Plagg laughed. “Your wife won’t need more than fifteen minutes of your time. An hour if you want to be nice about it.”

Adrien ran his hand over his face in an attempt to hide the red in his cheeks. “Maybe I want to be very nice about it. It just… seems unfair to disappear if my evenings aren’t entirely my own anymore.” His parents had not kept separate chambers, and he had expected to follow suit. But he supposed his chance of marrying for love was slim. Maybe Plagg had a point…

Plagg jumped on Adrien’s chest again and this time landed in the shape of a scrawny cat, putting proper weight into Adrien’s diaphragm, and even a bit of claw.

Adrien yelped and sat up. “That was rude.” He rubbed his stomach ruefully.

Plagg returned to his fay form and hovered so that he was level with Adrien’s eyes. “Look, I don’t actually care about Lila getting cursed or whatever, but I do really think she stole this pendant with an ancient, forbidden ritual. Just like Hawk Moth stole his brooch.”

Adrien frowned. “How do you know that Hawk Moth stole his brooch?”

“I just mean Hawk Moth probably stole his brooch. The whole curse thing isn’t Nooroo’s style.”

Adrien had been with Plagg for nearly a year now, and he knew when his fay was hiding something. “Plagg, tell me the truth. Maybe it can help Ladybug and I catch Hawk Moth.”

But Plagg had no intention of telling Adrien the truth, not yet. He had chosen Adrien in the forest nearly a year ago because he had seen a desperate young man who needed a bit of hope and freedom. He saw someone who would benefit from some chaos. But Plagg had also seen someone who might lose himself in that chaos. For Plagg, that was the best sort of partner. He enjoyed walking along the knife’s edge of destruction.

But it took some care to stay on the right edge of that knife, and Plagg was not interested in pushing Adrien over. He did not know what might happen if he told Adrien all of the truth: King Gabriel had gone into the forest the night that his wife had fallen asleep and used a terrible curse to capture a fay creature. Maybe the truth would help Ladybug catch Hawk Moth, but the truth might also break Adrien Agreste.

So Plagg shared as much of the truth as he thought he could get away with. “The truth is that I know Nooroo was taken against his will because I saw it happen.” He sank down onto the bedspread and looked up at Adrien, hoping his green eyes looked earnest. “There’s a… a really dark ritual that a human can use to call a fay to them. Hawk Moth came to the forest looking for Tikki and me, but he couldn’t find us. He tried using this old ritual to capture us, but Nooroo used his magic of transmission to give Tikki the strength to resist the call. And the price was that he took her place. Tikki and I agreed to save Nooroo, but we couldn’t risk Hawk Moth capturing us, so we decided to make deals with humans that we could trust. I chose you and Tikki chose Ladybug.”

Adrien frowned. He couldn’t believe that Plagg had been keeping this from him for nearly a year. It seemed like the sort of thing that should have been brought up at the forest’s edge when they had first met, or at least after their first fight with Hawk Moth. Had Plagg really chosen him because he was the first human to wander into the forest after Hawk Moth? “You promised me freedom in exchange for cheese. You never said you wanted Nooroo back, too.”

“I’d never ask you to make a promise that you couldn’t keep.”

“You think I can’t do it?”

“I don’t make a habit of binding my humans to promises outside their power to grant. Our deal has been met. You can give me up any time you want. I wanted to give you freedom, not limit it. But I also picked you because I believed you would help.”

Adrien bit down on his lip. He knew from the fairy tales that he had read as a boy that uneven deals were a large part of fay lore. It was common for a fay to ask for anything from a mountain of gold to a first born child in exchange for their power. But Plagg had asked for nothing but cheese in exchange for each night of freedom. Ladybug had once told him that Tikki had asked for sugar in exchange for luck. They were small gifts, ones Adrien and Ladybug could easily meet. It had never occurred to Adrien that small gifts were a fay’s version of kindness.

It still hurt to know that Plagg had kept all of this from him for so long. Adrien didn’t have much in the way of companionship outside of his family, other than Plagg.

“You think Hawk Moth and Lila could really use Nooroo and Trixx’s powers without making a proper deal?”

“If they knew the ritual, yes.”

Adrien rolled out of bed and stretched his arms behind his head. “Well, what Ladybug doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

And with a whisper of, “Plagg, claws out,” Chat Noir was free to run off into the night.

He headed straight for the Rossi family manor. He was prepared for the dogs this time and crept along the wall until he found a tree that looked climbable. He chose a branch sturdy enough and long enough to get him close to the rooftop. With a bit of trepidation and a small amount of hope, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Ladybug was there to stop him.

Chat Noir was alone.

He leapt onto the roof and slipped down to the nearest dark window. It took a bit of heft to slide it open, but soon he was inside.

Chat Noir had never snuck into the Rossi manor before. It was usually empty, and there wasn’t a lot of appeal to infiltrating an empty house, either because it lacked the recklessness that Plagg desired or the intimacy that Adrien craved.

The Rossi family traveled the world, working as ambassadors for King Gabriel, but they returned every summer solstice for the annual hunt in the Forest of Fay. Last summer had been the only exception that Chat Noir could recall, and he had assumed it was because King Gabriel had forgone the hunt in his grief.

Chat Noir had been surprised by the dogs the other night, since they were six months from the summer solstice, but now that he knew Lila Rossi had inherited the miraculous gift of trickery and illusion from her grandmother, he guessed that the family had come back for her grandmother’s funeral service.

He also had learned, after Lila had made her grand declaration of her intention to wed Prince Adrien, that one of the reasons she had come back to the city was to challenge Chloé Bourgeois for his hand. Adrien had tried to explain to her and Chloé that he would make his own decision on the twenty-second, but that had not stopped Chloé and Lila from doing their best to explain to King Gabriel why they were each more suited for Prince Adrien. Even they didn’t think Adrien would truly be the one with the final say on whom he married.

Chat Noir slipped out of the dark attic storage room and into an empty hallway. He pressed his ears against each door, listening for sounds of slow, steady breathing or, preferably, loud snoring.

He did not care that marrying into the Bourgeois family would give the royal family more money and influence; he did not care that the Rossi family had international connections around the world and ancestral connections to the Forest of Fay that could benefit the kingdom. All he cared about was having someone at his side that he trusted, that he knew would support him, and someone that he could support as well.

He already had a partner that met those qualifications.

Chat Noir pushed open a bedroom door and cast his cat-like eyes around the dimly lit room. A couple was asleep in the bed, so he closed the door softly and continued his search for Lila’s room. He finally found it at the end of the hall.

The mess surprised him. Pieces of her dresses were scattered on the floor. Her jewelry hung haphazardly on the mirror. Chat Noir looked for her pendant among the mess but he did not see it. He had a feeling it was around her neck. It wasn’t as if he took off his ring when he went to sleep, and he did not think Ladybug took her earrings off each night either.

Still, he searched the drawers of her vanity, just in case. With clawed fingertips, he picked at a locked drawer and was surprised to find nothing of value inside. He hadn’t really expected the pendant, but perhaps a family ring or a diary might be worth protecting behind a lock. Instead, it was filled with ribbons.

Ever curious, Chat Noir ran his hands along the edges of the drawer and there he found it, a catch hidden beneath the scraps of fabric. It opened up a side panel on the inside of her vanity and Chat found a collection of papers with ragged edges, like they had been torn out of a book.

His first thought was that these were pages of Lila’s diary, and he had no interest in prying, but before he could put the pages back, he saw a fairly detailed drawing of Plagg in the corner of one of the notes. Chat frowned and flipped through the pages. He could see well-enough in the dark, but reading was a bit more challenging.

He slipped closer to the window where a bit of silver moonlight could aid his night vision. As he turned through the pages, his mouth went dry.

Plagg had been right about everything that he had suspected about Lila, but Plagg had left out some key details of the ritual. Maybe to spare Adrien from the horror or maybe to keep the ritual secret. For whatever reason, Plagg had failed to mention that the ritual to summon and control a fay creature’s gift in a lifetime bargain required a different sort of price: the life of another human.

It certainly put what Lila had said about her grandmother’s passing into a new light.

Chat Noir folded the papers and tucked them into his belt. He had to tell Ladybug somehow. It might mean a lot of sleepless nights hoping she found the time for him, but this was more important.

He stepped across the floor to Lila’s bedside without a sound. As he had expected, her fox-tail pendant gleamed around her neck. Chat carefully pulled aside her hair to reach the clasp at her neck. He moved slowly, concerned about waking her. As much as he wanted to confront Lila about what she had done, he was not interested in a fight with Volpina, particularly not in these cramped quarters.

But as his hand closed around the fox pendant, Lila’s hand closed around his wrist. Her dark eyes were furious as she glared at him.

“Trixx, let’s—”

But Chat Noir yanked his hand and the pendant away before she could finish her summon. He backed towards the window.

“Sorry, Lila. I don’t think this actually belongs to you.”

Lila climbed out of bed and gripped the heavy brass candlestick from her bedside table. She seemed unbothered by a strange boy in her bedroom, even though she was dressed only in a thin nightgown. Her eyes were filled with nothing but fury, a fury that reached Hawk Moth instantly.

“Give it back, chaton,” she hissed.

“I’m afraid you don’t get to call me that.”

Her eyes drifted from the pendant in his hand to the notes at his waist, and suddenly, her anger melted as if it had never been.

“Chat Noir,” she said softly, in a pleading voice, “do you really think I stole a fay? I could never do something like that.”

“You’re the one who told Ladybug and I that your grandmother just passed away.”

She stepped closer, and though the heavy candlestick was no longer brandished like a weapon, her grip on it was still tight. “I’m not a bad person,” she said. “Will you let me explain?”

Her voice trembled like she was on the verge of tears. Chat Noir put his hand on the windowsill, but he did not run, not yet.

“My grandmother gave me that pendant, just like I said.” Lila took another step closer. “You made a trade for your gift, right? I made a trade, too.”

“You traded your grandmother’s life!”

“Because she told me to!”

Chat Noir shook his head and threw the window open. The cold night air rushed in.

“Please,” Lila begged and fell against Chat before he could slip out the window. Her hand brushed against the bell at his neck. “She gave me those pages. She gave me the pendant. She told me to do this so I could help my family. You have to believe me.”

“Lila, I’m sorry, but —”

He saw the brass candlestick move just in time.

“Cataclysm!”

Her candlestick collided with his burning palm and it crumbled to dust. All her fury returned in full force as she reached for the pendant with her now empty hands.

“It’s mine!” she snarled, struggling to open his other fist, still closed tightly around the pendant.

Chat Noir tumbled backwards out of the open window and landed gracefully on his feet two floors below. But he looked up and saw his worst fears confirmed: a dark violet butterfly flitting through the moonlight and towards Lila. It landed on a small bundle of papers clutched in Lila’s hands and Chat Noir hastily checked his waist. His belt was empty.

He looked back up to see that Lila was no longer herself. Instead, Volpina stood in the window. She tucked the papers into the sash at her waist and glared down at him.

“Come here, chaton,” she called to him with a vicious grin.

Chat Noir’s emerald ring flickered. He gritted his teeth then turned and ran.

He had exactly one way to contact Ladybug. The trouble was that Ladybug would only know that he was trying to reach her if she was already transformed. He clutched the baton clipped to his belt and pressed on the green paw in its middle.

His emerald ring flickered again, so he made his story brief. “Hawk Moth has cursed Lila Rossi into the form of Volpina and it is technically my fault but I had good reason, I promise, and I could really use your help.”

Chat Noir avoided his usual rooftop route in hopes that he could hide from Volpina by taking to the streets. He felt like there were enough tight corners and wide roofs, but her voice was still so close as she called, “Chat Noir,” in a sing-song voice. “Come out and play, chaton. I just want my miraculous gift—and yours.”

His ring flickered again and he pressed himself into the doorway of a darkened shop. He bit down on his lip and waited until the sound of Volpina’s footsteps moved off. He could only pray it was truly a sign of her leaving and not another illusion designed to trick him.

“Plagg, claws in,” he hissed, and the cloak of Chat Noir fell away.

Plagg’s panicked face did not do anything to help Adrien’s nerves. “That wasn’t how I thought that would go at all.”

Adrien searched his pockets for cheese. “If you had just told me that the ritual involved human sacrifice, I might not have wasted time looking around her room.”

“I said it was a dark ritual!”

“That could have meant anything!” Adrien sighed as his pockets came up empty. “This is the last time we go out unprepared for a refresh.”

Plagg sniffed the air and followed the most pungent smell he could find. “You would think you might have learned to keep some on hand after a year.”

“Sorry I don’t want to smell like rotting cheese every day. I do still have appearances to keep up.” He followed Plagg down the alleyway as quietly as he could. He might know that Lila Rossi was Volpina, but she had no idea who Chat Noir really was. It was unlikely for her to realize the truth even if she managed to get eyes on him, but he also didn’t want her asking any questions about why Prince Adrien was out of the palace in the middle of the night.

Adrien held up the pendant he had stolen from Lila. “What do I do with this?”

Plagg shrugged his tiny shoulders and sniffed the air. “You could put it on and call Trixx.”

“Are you allowed to make a deal with a second fay creature?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind going mad.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Adrien shoved the pendant into his pocket. When he realized Plagg had stopped, he looked up at the building Plagg had chosen.

“Isn’t this that boulangerie?”

“They must have thrown out some old cheese.” Plagg disappeared into the garbage. “Glad we’re here to rescue it.”

Adrien stared up at the light visible in the top room of the building. He wondered if the family was getting prepared to start baking or if they were going to bed after a long night. Not that it mattered, really, he just liked knowing how other people lived. He thought about the seamstress girl who had invited him to eat with her family that owned this boulangerie—Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. He wondered if she was related to the flour-covered girl who had spilled pastries in the palace. Félix had suggested that they might be twins or sisters, one incredibly nervous and clumsy, the other confident and artistic. The bakery owners must be kind people, to have raised two girls like that.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who was both the clumsy baker and confident seamstress that Adrien wondered about, was hard at work on her fifteenth redesign of Prince Félix’s outfit for the first night of the ball. Everything she came up with looked appropriate for a funeral, and none for a celebration. She wanted to honor his mourning of his father, just as she wanted to honor Adrien’s mourning of his mother, but how did she respect the princes’ grief and dress them for their birthday celebration that was supposed to turn into a wedding celebration?

To help with the enormous workload of dresses and modifications that the shop was swamped with, Master Fu had taken on a new assistant, a quiet girl by the name of Juleka. She wasn’t an apprentice proper, but she was skilled enough to put together pattern pieces, hem dresses and jerkins, and stitch buttons and lace down where they were needed. She’d been an exceptional help this last week, and though she did not talk much, she was very sweet, and had even helped Marinette through a couple of small crises of self-doubt about her commencement project. Juleka had also found some lovely black and silver shot silk just yesterday that Marinette was trying to make work, but it needed something more and she could not decide what that something was.

Marinette pinned her artwork to the ceiling in hopes of getting a second perspective, but a crash from outside distracted her. She stuck her head out of the attic window and looked down. It was hard to see in the darkness, but she thought that she heard someone burp.

Plagg finished off the cheese and burped rather loudly for someone who was supposed to be hiding from Volpina. “You know,” he said, “we don’t really have to get back to it. We could just hide until Ladybug takes care of it.”

“She’ll need our help.”

“She didn’t with the Gilded Queen.”

Adrien swallowed. He wondered if Plagg knew how much that fact hurt him. He hated that he had been unable to help Ladybug in the throne room last week. But he set aside his small heartbreak. “She had Volpina’s help then. She won’t have it now.”

“Fine,” Plagg sighed. “If you insist.”

“Claws out,” Adrien said, and once again donned the guise of Chat Noir.

Marinette had difficulty hearing more than murmurs of the conversation below as it echoed up to her bedroom. She thought the cadence of the voices sounded familiar, but just as she was about to give up on placing them, she caught a glimpse of silver flashing in the moonlight and the flick of a black cat’s tail disappearing around a chimney.

Hastily, she slammed the window closed and yanked a curtain over it. “Tikki! Spots on!”

The pink light flashed as her night clothes disappeared, replaced by her bright red dress, spotted in black and decorated with gold ribbons. She climbed up the attic trapdoor to her rooftop balcony and pulled her bandalore from her waist. The spots on it flashed, and as she searched the rooftops for a sign of where Chat Noir might have gone, she played his message.

“Hawk Moth has cursed Lila Rossi into the form of Volpina and it is technically my fault but I had good reason, I promise, and I could really use your help.”

“Oh, chaton,” she sighed, “what have you got yourself into now?”

Chat Noir had no desire to engage Volpina directly, but he wanted an idea of where she had gone. His reflective green eyes scanned the city skyline, but he could find no trace of her.

With a bit of hope in his heart, he reached for his baton, but saw no message from Ladybug. He wondered if it would be worth it to leave another message, but as he pressed his finger to the button, he heard movement behind him.

He turned, staff ready, but it was not Volpina. It was Ladybug.

“You got my message?” he asked.

She must have, because she looked displeased with him. “I know what you did, Chat Noir.”

“I’m sorry—”

“We both knew your thievery would get you into real trouble someday.” She held her hand out. “I think it’s time you give up your miraculous gift.”

Chat Noir blinked at her. “Wh… Buginette, I made a mistake—but I had to. Lila, she—”

“I already know what Lila did. You think she didn’t tell me after we first met? She’s always been honest with me, unlike you, Chat Noir.”

Chat Noir took a step away from Ladybug, as if distance might spare him some of this heartbreak. “I know I made a promise, but I…” He tried and failed to find the words to explain what he had done. “I’m your partner,” he finished helplessly.

“I can clean up your messes without you. I’ll find someone else to make a deal with your fay.”

He swallowed. If he handed his ring to Ladybug, he wasn’t just giving up her, he was giving up the only chance he had at freedom. But if Ladybug didn’t want him anymore, was his freedom really worth this heartbreak?

He clipped his baton to his belt and reached for his ring, but he did not remove it. “Please don’t ask this of me. I need this.” For however long he had left until his wedding night, he desperately needed freedom.

Ladybug’s face was unsympathetic. “Hand it over.”

Chat Noir’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Hadn’t he said that he would do anything his lady asked? Even this…

“Chat Noir, don’t!”

Chat Noir turned, surprised to see Ladybug behind him. She threw her bandalore at the Ladybug before him. The cord surrounded her, but as it closed in, the first Ladybug vanished.

Chat Noir blinked. “She wasn’t… real?”

Ladybug pulled her bandalore back into her hand and leapt across the gap between roofs to land at Chat Noir’s side. “Are you afraid to face us, Volpina?” Ladybug called out to the empty rooftops.

She was answered with a laugh from somewhere in the night.

Chat Noir drew his baton again. His voice was still unsteady as he said, “She can’t be far. She would need to be nearby to grab my miraculous gift.”

“How cute,” Volpina’s voice called, “that chaton thinks he can be helpful.” She stepped out from behind a chimney with her reed resting comfortably on her bare shoulder. “You’re never going to catch me. You might as well give up. I’m more powerful now than I ever was as a hero.”

Volpina pressed her reed to her lips and the night was filled with a haunting melody. There was no longer anything playful about her music. A dozen mirages of Volpina appeared surrounding Chat Noir and Ladybug.

“Hand over your miraculous gifts,” they said in unison.

“One of them has to be real,” Chat Noir said.

But Ladybug had seen Volpina’s fight with the Gilded Queen and she knew that it was just as possible that none of them were real. If they were going to find the real Volpina, they would need a bit of luck.

She gritted her teeth. Ladybug didn’t like to use her power before she knew where the curse was located, since its help could be limited, but she felt like they did not have much choice. She tossed her bandalore into the air and called on her Lucky Charm.

A bright light flared in the night sky and into Ladybug’s hands fell a small red sphere, decorated in black spots just like her dress.

“What is it?” Chat Noir asked, unwilling to take his eyes from the skulk of fox-like women that was closing in around them, reeds at the ready.

There was nothing unique about the sphere to indicate what exactly it was, but Ladybug was able to identify the object immediately, the way one could identify someone in a dream, regardless of the appearance.

“It’s a smoke bomb.”

“Are we running?”

It would not be the first time that her Lucky Charm told her to retreat and regroup, but she did not think that was the case this time. She scanned the encroaching pack.

“Hold your breath, chaton!” she said, and threw the smoke bomb to the ground.

The cloud rose instantly from their feet and, moved by the cold night air, spilled out into the illusions. Ladybug covered her nose, but the illusions did not react, as she had expected. They had no need to breathe, and the smoke would not irritate their illusory lungs.

“I guess Volpina isn’t here.” Chat Noir’s voice was muffled by his elbow, and Ladybug shushed him.

She heard it from behind another chimney—the sound of coughing.

Without warning, she threw her bandalore in the direction of the noise, wrapping it around the brick. She heard a yelp as the real Volpina was pinned to the chimney, and the illusions around her and Chat Noir vanished.

Chat Noir hurried across the rooftops, following the line of Ladybug’s bandalore. He found Volpina struggling to get free on the other side. He was not going to give her that chance.

“Cataclysm,” he hissed, and touched his hand to the notes at her waist. The inky black papers detailing the horrid ritual crumbled to dust. Ladybug’s magic would restore everything when all was said and done, but the object of Hawk Moth’s curse would remain broken in whatever way he and Ladybug managed to destroy it. While Chat Noir wished he had been able to save some sort of proof of Lila’s ritual, perhaps it was for the best that such terrible magic would be nothing more than dust.

As the black butterfly flitted upward into the night, Ladybug withdrew her bandalore from Volpina and swung it up to catch the butterfly. She pulled it back into her hand and when she reopened the two halves of her bandalore, the butterfly that flitted out of her hands was pure white. She wished it luck on its journey and tossed the remnants of the smoke bomb up into the air, shouting the incantation for her restorative magic.

There was not much damage for the magical ladybugs to undo. A cracked chimney and restoring Lila to herself were the most that they could fix. The rest of the damage Volpina had done was not the sort of damage the ladybugs could fix.

Chat Noir helped a disoriented Lila to her feet. She shivered in her nightgown and looked around. When she realized where she was and, more exactly, who was holding her, she yanked away, leaning up against the chimney. “Get away from me, Chat Noir!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Let me help you home—”

“Give me my miraculous gift back.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Ladybug came around the chimney and pushed her way between them as Lila lunged at him. “Chat Noir, is that what this is about? You stole her miraculous gift?”

“My fay creature asked me to rescue it,” Chat Noir said.

“It’s mine!” Lila said, and lunged for Chat Noir.

Ladybug barely managed to hold Lila off, digging her elbow into Lila’s stomach and bracing herself against Chat Noir’s chest on her other side. “Chat Noir, you promised me you wouldn’t steal.”

“It wasn’t hers,” Chat Noir insisted. He placed his hand over Ladybug’s, even as his ring began flickering out. “My fay believed she stole it, and when I went after it, I found evidence that he was right. That she may have even killed someone for it.”

“Liar!” Lila shrieked. Her hands scrabbled against Ladybug, pulling at the magical dress in an effort to reach Chat Noir. “You have no proof!”

Ladybug found herself grateful that Lila could not tear the magical fabric her dress, but she did not care for the scratches Lila was leaving beneath the fabric and winced, even as Tikki’s magic healed over the scrapes. “Chat Noir, where’s the evidence?”

“I destroyed it to free the curse.”

“See?” Lila snarled. “He has nothing! He’s a liar.”

Ladybug took Lila’s wrists in her hands to stop the desperate scratches. “Lila, I’m sorry, but I trust my partner. I’ll help you home and—”

Lila yanked her hands away. “You two think you’re heroes? Just wait—I’ll be a queen soon, and you can see what it’s like when everyone turns on you.”

“Mademoiselle Rossi—” Ladybug reached her hand out in an effort to comfort or calm her, but Lila jerked away.

“I don’t want your help. I can make my own way home.”

And, true to her word, she stalked to the nearest ladder and climbed down to the street below.

“I don’t think we should let her walk home alone,” Ladybug said, but her earrings flickered, letting her know that she would not be much of an escort for Lila.

“She’ll be all right,” Chat Noir said. “I just wish I had a way to prove what she did.”

“You don’t have to, chaton. I really do trust you. And even if I didn’t, I’m sure my fay will be able to confirm everything that your fay said.”

A small, unhappy smile worked its way across Chat Noir’s face. It was so uncharacteristic that Ladybug almost took a step back.

“If you want to confirm stories,” he said “you should ask your fay to tell you how she picked you.”

She tilted her head, unsure why he was suddenly so displeased. “She already has. She saw my creativity. Why did Plagg pick you?”

“Necessity.” Chat Noir hoped his voice did not sound as bitter as he felt. “To stop Hawk Moth after he did the same thing that Lila did.”

She rested a hand on his arm, delicately, afraid he might break if she pushed too hard. “No, chaton, that can’t be the only reason.”

“You and I made our deals nearly a year ago. Our first night together—it was the same night that Hawk Moth first attacked. Did you always think that was just a coincidence?”

Ladybug had wondered about the timing, yes, but she had not thought that the timing was a bad thing, nor a sign that Tikki had picked her foolishly. She struggled to find the words to help Chat Noir through his self-doubt. “You are my partner, Chat Noir. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Though Ladybug’s magic had undone the physical damage from Volpina’s attack, the illusory Ladybug’s words still stung. He had nearly given up his miraculous gift tonight. That, coupled with the new knowledge that Plagg had chosen him simply because he had been nearby, that Plagg did not even think he was capable of defeating Hawk Moth left him feeling unwanted and useless.

And, despite Plagg’s cold-hearted ideas about marriage, he had to confront the reality that in just a few weeks’ time, his nights would no longer be his own in a far more complete way than the rigorous schedule his father had recently imposed. He would have to give Ladybug up eventually, and while he wasn’t ready for that, he would have to be.

Chat Noir pulled the fox-tail necklace from his pocket and held it out to her, but still refused to meet her eyes. “I told you I won’t be around in a month, so you’ll need a new partner eventually.”

Ladybug could not understand which part of her words had been the wrong choice. “Chat—”

“Take it.” One of the emeralds embedded into his ring flashed another warning.

Reluctantly, she took the pendant from him. “Chaton, you told me you’d always be there.”

“I can’t get out of what’s coming. I might as well accept it.”

“Can you tell me what it is? Maybe I can help.”

He smiled, but it was as dark and bitter as his destructive gift. “I don’t know that you would.”

“What do you mean?” Her earrings flickered, but she ignored them. “Chat Noir, tell me what you mean.”

“Come to the ball,” he said suddenly, and finally he looked at her. His green eyes that were usually so playful were now desperate and wild. A new brand of chaos surged in Chat Noir, one Ladybug was not quite as familiar with. “One night, just give me one night with you.”

She smiled indulgently, but shook her head. “I think if you showed up to the ball, King Gabriel would arrest you on the spot. You’re a hero, but you’re also a wanted criminal.”

Chat Noir searched desperately for a way to match Ladybug’s gentle teasing. He was the expert at teasing, but he could not conjure up even a scrap of his usual good humor.

His ring flashed. He turned to go, but she reached for his hand.

“Chaton,” and his heart burned to hear her use the nickname so gently, “can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

He hesitated, afraid to hope. “Not without telling you who I am.”

“You know that we can’t—”

He could endure no more. “Goodbye, Ladybug.”

And he disappeared into the night.

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #fairy tale au #ml fairytale au

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aidanchaser · 1 year

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU- Chapter Four

Table of Contents Read on Ao3

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter Four Gilded Queen

A storm rolled in early the next morning. It thundered loudly outside the palace windows and Plagg flew circles in front of the glass panes, cheering loudly at each bolt that cracked across the sky.

Adrien, with his hands curled around a warm cup of tea, watched Plagg from the safety of his large, four-poster bed. He was not afraid of storms, but he did not care much for them. He did, however, enjoy the way Plagg enjoyed them. And he supposed there was something wonderful about the way lightning flashed in the clouds, unbound and uncontrolled. The thunder that followed was intimidating, but at least Adrien could share in a part of Plagg’s joy.

“I do wish storms weren’t so wet,” Adrien said.

“Yeah,” Plagg agreed with a wistful sigh, “but you can’t fault them for that. They are what they are.”

“I hate to break up your fun, but I need to get dressed.”

“Why?” Plagg whined. “Let’s take a sick day.”

“But I feel fine.”

Plagg abandoned the window and curled up against Adrien’s shoulder. “Are you sure that you feel fine? Are you sure maybe you don’t have a headache and maybe you should just take a day off for once?”

Adrien sighed, nearly ready to give into Plagg’s needling. He couldn’t remember ever being sick before, but he wouldn’t mind a break.

There was a sudden knock on Adrien’s door, so perfectly efficient—just enough force to be heard, brief enough just to be noticed—that it could only belong to one person.

“Nathalie, I haven’t dressed yet,” Adrien called through the door and scrambled for his robe. He pulled it on just as she pushed the door open and Plagg disappeared into his nightstand.

Even the Duchess did not have permission to push her way into the princes’ rooms whenever she wished, but Nathalie Sancouer was not limited by such formalities. She glanced at Adrien with a pinched expression, but he could not see how his state of dress would bother her.

“Is something the matter, Nathalie?” Adrien asked, hoping that he did not sound as worried as he felt.

“Lady Bourgeois and her daughter are on her way. Your father has asked that you receive them. I’m surprised that you’re still in bed. Are you feeling well?”

Nathalie adjusted the scrolls under her arm and crossed the room to place a hand on Adrien’s forehead. It was a glimpse of the tender woman Nathalie could be, but as much as Adrien craved that small gesture of kindness, he pulled away.

“I was just enjoying the storm. I’m all right.” He hoped he was just imagining the whine of complaint that came from his nightstand.

She paused, as if waiting for him to confess that he really was unwell. She was not usually one to hesitate, and she could not recall a time either of the princes had developed so much as a head cold, but the possibility of one of her charges developing a fever unsettled her. Nathalie had lost enough to fever that she was not keen to see it happen again. However, as she held her hand to his forehead, she found his temperature satisfactory.

“The Duchess has sent for a tailor to dress you and Félix,” she said as she pulled his curtains closed against the storm.

“I don’t need anymore clothes—”

“You’ll need three outfits at least for the ball.”

“I have plenty of nice clothes. The royal tailor can simply adjust—”

“Your father and aunt have insisted. The tailor will start with Félix, and as soon as you’re done with Lady Bourgeois, he’ll work with you. Be ready quickly. I’ll have servants sent up with breakfast and to see you dressed.”

“Yes, Nathalie.”

And then Nathalie was gone, hurrying off to her next task. Adrien wasn’t entirely sure how he felt being one more thing that Nathalie managed for his father, but at least someone looked out for him.

Nathalie’s efficiency was remarkable as ever; within minutes, some of the palace staff had arrived to help him into his clothing for the day, and a tray of breakfast was not far behind.

As soon as he was fed and presentable, he was escorted downstairs. There had been no chance for Plagg to slip into Adrien’s pocket without servants seeing. Adrien glanced over his shoulder, in search of the fay creature. He could just make out Plagg’s bright green eyes peeking out from his nightstand before the door closed behind him.

Adrien twisted the ring on his finger anxiously. He had grown used to having the unusual creature at his side for the last year and suddenly felt more alone than he had felt since the morning that Nathalie had come to his room and told him that his mother had fallen asleep and could not be woken.

He wondered what he would do when he was married in just a month’s time. Would he really be able to give Plagg up and devote his attention fully to wife and kingdom? Today felt like a test; he would face his princely duties for the first time in a year without the comfort of the magical and unnatural tucked away in his pocket.

When Adrien stepped into his receiving room, he was surprised to see Chloé Bourgeois already there and more surprised to see that she was alone.

“Chloé, I—”

“Adrikins!” she squealed excitedly and stood from the stool she had perched on. She moved quickly, despite the burden of heavy skirts, expensive lace, and silk ribbons embroidered with gold. Gold was traditionally reserved for the royal family, but the Bourgeois family had always seen themselves as practically royal—Chloé was arranged to be queen, after all—and her pale yellow bodice hugged her form tightly, not unlike Volpina’s, Adrien thought, but he saw no pendant on Chloé’s bare collar.

Not that Adrien really thought that Chloé could truly be Volpina or Ladybug. Chloé was many things, but she did not share Ladybug’s kindness. Determined, stubborn, ambitious, and maybe even heroic—all things Adrien could admire—but not kind the way that Ladybug was.

Chloé greeted Adrien by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard enough to smear bright red paint across his cheek.

Adrien slipped out of her grasp with the ease and fluidity of a cat. “Chloé—where is your escort? Your mother or Mademoiselle Raincomprix—”

Chloé stuck her lower lip out in a pout and grabbed Adrien’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “But we’re going to be married, so what does it matter?” She pulled him close and slipped her fingers under the knot of ribbons that tied his black doublet closed. “What could we possibly do that we won’t be doing in just another month, anyway?”

Adrien had not expected that he would have to be the one to tell her that their engagement had been called off, and he struggled to find the words. Carefully, Adrien took Chloé’s hands in his and pulled them away from his chest. “Chloé, I—”

But she did not let him finish. Instead, she collapsed onto the chaise lounge rather dramatically. “Isn’t this weather just awful?” She leaned against the armrest and tipped her head back in what Adrien thought was supposed to be something alluring. He bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing.

“I just can’t do anything with my hair in this rain,” she complained, “and oh, Adrikins, I’m just so frightened of the thunder.”

But as lightning flashed outside her window, she did not even twitch. As the thunder followed, the best Chloé could manage was, “Oh, please, Adrien, I’m so terrified. Will you hold me?”

Adrien seated himself on the sofa beside her but he did not dare touch her, not without anyone else in the room to chaperone them.

“Nathalie told me that your mother was coming, too.”

“Nathalie? Is that one of your servants? You mean you actually know their names?”

Nathalie was a bit more than a servant, but Adrien also didn’t think it was odd that he knew the names of the staff who worked in the palace. He didn’t exactly have a wide social circle.

“What are you really doing here, Chloé?”

She pouted again and batted her eyelashes at him. When he did not so much as flinch beneath her icy blue eyes, she sighed again and tipped her head back, turning her bare neck and collar into a long elegant line. “Yes, Mother’s coming. She’s trying to get an audience with the king, but I decided to wait for you.”

“She’s here to see my father?”

“Of course! The invitation for the ball arrived this morning and she’s furious. Utterly furious. One of the servants told her that King Gabriel had no time for her in his schedule today, but you know my mother. She always gets what she wants.” Chloé felt no shame in this, nor even mild embarrassment. Chloé was wholly proud of the demanding, confident woman that her mother was. She had every intent to be a queen in this palace just like her mother ruled their home.

“And you’re… not upset?”

Chloé laughed, a sound that sounded less like companionable joy and far more like piercing daggers. “Adrikins, why would I be upset? It’s sweet of your father to tell the kingdom you’re going to choose who you marry, but we both know it will be me. Who else would you pick?”

Adrien swallowed hard. She did not like the way that he hesitated, and so she hurried on.

“You don’t even know any other girls. Unless you were to pick, what, Sabrina?” Despite the fact that Sabrina Raincomprix was the closest thing Chloé had to a best friend, Chloé said her name with disgust, as if she were as low as—or perhaps even lower than—servants and staff. “Just ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

Adrien had to admit that Chloé was right. Adrien only really knew Chloé; he had met a few other girls at the occasional state dinner, such as Princess Kagami Tsurugi or Mademoiselle Lila Rossi, and there was the baker girl from last night, but he didn’t really know any other girls—at least he did not know any girls as Crown Prince Adrien Agreste.

But when he said nothing to Chloé’s well-made point, she sat up straight and really looked at him. Adrien was often sad, but he looked particularly lonely now, and she regretted her sharp-edged words. Loneliness was something she and Adrien shared. They both missed their mothers in different ways and for different reasons, but Chloé liked to think it was just another way they would be a fitting pair for each other. No one understood Adrien the way that she did.

“I’m sure it will be hard for you to have a ball on your birthday,” she said, “but your birthday only comes once a year. You can celebrate it; in fact you really should, Adrien.”

“It’s not that—I mean, yes.” He ran his hand through his hair and his golden curls fell messily back over his forehead. Chloé reached out and brushed his hair back into place.

“Yes, it’s a little bit that,” he admitted, unflinching as she fussed over his appearance. “It’s my first birthday without her and…” he sighed. He was trying so hard not to think about the fact that this would be the first ball at the palace in his memory that was not hosted by his mother. This was the first of his birthdays that she would miss—last year didn’t count. Adrien had spent that birthday at her bedside waiting for her to wake up. Last year Adrien had still had hope that he could save her.

He did not know how to tell Chloé any of that, however. She was at once the girl who knew him best, who had known him for his entire life, and she was also the girl who understood him least.

Even if Ladybug were here, would he be able to tell her what he was thinking? It was so hard to know how much of himself was too much to share with her. Was it too close to his identity, to tell her about this grief he carried?

And Chloé, who did know his grief, could never understand Chat Noir, would never understand the urgency that burned just beneath his skin. She could not fathom his uncontrollable desire to get away from the palace, certainly not when her whole life was centered around getting into the palace and becoming queen at his side.

Adrien was truly alone.

He looked down at his hands and twisted the ring on his finger. “Chloé, do you really think you’re ready to be married?”

He did not realize how close she had gotten to him until she whispered, “Yes,” and he felt her warm breath spread across his cheek.

Adrien leaned away. His face felt hot and he hoped the flush wasn’t too noticeable. “I just thought—”

The doors of the receiving room burst open and Audrey Bourgeois, dressed in a fine golden gown, resplendent with matching gloves and fine blonde curls piled on her head, entered with the force of the storm outside right on her heels. If she was concerned about the proximity between her daughter and her daughter’s intended, she did not show it. She only had one thought on her mind: “Where is King Gabriel?” she shouted.

Gabriel Agreste was not present in the castle at that moment. Instead, Hawk Moth stood in his private loft above the throne room. He found it challenging to hold onto himself as Lady Bourgeois’s rage swept through him, but his grief was always stronger than their pain. He had expected her outrage and was even eager for it. Gently, he whispered to the white butterfly clutched in his hands until it grew dark with his violet magic, and he sent it out through the open window and into the storm.

The butterfly did not have far to travel, but the violent storm made its path difficult. It struck out against the rain and flitted from the throne room to the west end of the palace. It, like its master, could sense the overwhelming fury of Audrey Bourgeois and was instinctively drawn to it. Of course the windows were shut tight against the storm, but the butterfly was paper-thin and managed to squeeze between the window and its frame to enter Adrien Agreste’s sitting room.

“Lady Bourgeois, please calm down,” Adrien tried. “I’m sure that my father is nearby. He has a lot to do for—”

“What is the meaning of this?” Audrey Bourgeois shook the invitation in Adrien’s face. The fine paper that poor scribes had slaved over all night to meet the demands of Amelie’s impulsive invitation had been reduced to a crumpled mess in Audrey’s fist. “This is a disgrace to the Bourgeois family. Who does the king think he is to renege on a promise made over twenty years ago?”

Chloé and Adrien did not see the butterfly until it was too late. It landed on the invitation, turning the paper inky black.

Pain flared in Audrey’s hand as the invitation turned to ice. Her skin burned as the ink spread over the paper, and she no longer heard Adrien’s pitiful, placating pleas nor Chloé’s cries for help. She only heard a deep voice echo in her head.

“Audrey Bourgeois,” the low, smooth voice said, “you’ve been woefully mistreated by King Gabriel. He promised that your daughter would become a queen and he has broken that promise. I can grant you the power for revenge that you crave. I can make you a queen in your own right—but I’ll need a favor from you in return. Bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous gifts in exchange for my power.”

“With pleasure,” Audrey answered.

There was nothing Adrien nor Chloé could do except watch as the ink-like darkness that had consumed the invitation now consumed Audrey in full. It seeped into her dress and her skin until she no longer wore a fashionable gown of white and gold. Her dress was instead fully gilded, as if the fabric were woven of the metal itself, and a crown of golden spikes erupted from her pile of blonde curls. She wielded a matching scepter with an end spiked like a mace might be. There was nothing left of Audrey inside; instead she was fully her anger and fully the Gilded Queen.

Adrien took Chloé’s hand and backed away from the woman who towered over them. Their only hope was escaping through the servants’ passage. He was just wondering how he could get Chloé to safety and leave her so he could become Chat Noir, when he remembered that Plagg was not with him today. The fay creature was tucked upstairs in a drawer, or more likely, hunting for cheese in the kitchens.

“Where is King Gabriel?” the Gilded Queen demanded, pointing her scepter at Adrien.

“I’m sure he’s in the palace,” Adrien offered, unsure how else to help her. He pressed his hand against the wall, searching for the catch in the wainscotting that would open up the passage.

“I was promised that we would be royalty. I was promised that my daughter would become a queen. I will hold King Gabriel to that promise.”

Adrien’s fingers found the latch. The wall clicked as the fastener sprung loose.

“But if King Gabriel is not here…”

“Chloé, go!” Adrien pried the wall open just enough to shove Chloé through.

“... then I will settle for his son.”

Before Adrien could follow he was struck from behind. His body seized up, frozen, and he felt nothing more.

Chloé screamed as Prince Adrien transformed into a solid gold statue. She did not know where she was supposed to go, but she knew that she needed to get away from her mother before she became a gold statue as well.

She might wish that her mother would not harm her, but Chloé—from some personal experience suffering under Hawk Moth’s curses—knew that her mother would not be fully in control of her actions, and might turn her anger even on her own daughter.

So she fled.

The servants’ passages were dark and cramped, and her wide skirts caught on unfinished wood. She tugged on them regardless and tried very hard not to cry. The last thing she needed on top of torn lace and ribbons was streaked makeup. She was, however, not entirely successful in this venture.

With blurred vision, Chloé stumbled down a flight of stairs and finally saw light ahead of her. She came spilling out into the kitchens. The bustling staff froze suddenly and stared at the young lady in her damaged dress and tear-streaked powder.

Chloé took one look at the crowd around her and her eyes landed on Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily, who had been in the middle of a conversation with a small, dark-haired woman dressed in a pink apron.

All that Chloé could manage was a single, poorly restrained sob and a wail of agony. “Adrien!”

Plagg, who had never had any interest in Chloé Bourgeois, torn dress and tears or no, had politely ignored her entrance while pawing through the cupboards of the kitchen for crumbs of cheese. At her plaintive cry, however, his cat-like ears perked up.

It took a good deal of soothing words from the Duchess, but Chloé managed to get out the story of how Hawk Moth had cursed her mother and the Gilded Queen was now hunting for King Gabriel.

The Duchess did not look especially concerned until Chloé told her that the Gilded Queen had turned Adrien into a statue of gold.

“Where is Félix?” Amelie demanded, green eyes roving the servants as if they might have an answer.

None of them did. It was Sabine Cheng whose dark eyes widened with panic. “He’s with my daughter, getting his measurements taken.”

As Sabine and Amelie rushed to find their children, Plagg hesitated. His bondsman was, if Chloé was to be believed, a statue of gold. That meant that the ring was also solid gold, leaving Plagg unable to confer his power on anyone, let alone Adrien. He could, in theory, use his power of destruction without the help of his bondsman, but he would likely reduce the entire palace to rubble and kill everyone inside. Well, maybe Adrien would be fine, as long as his gold statue didn’t break. But Plagg knew enough about his bondsman and Tikki to think that they’d all be rather displeased with that course of events. Even if Tikki’s gift of luck and creation could restore a ruined palace, it would not undo any deaths that occurred because of Plagg’s destruction.

For the first time in Plagg’s long life, he felt rather helpless.

Chloé was in the middle of a similar crisis of helplessness. She’d never been able to stand against her mother’s anger under perfectly natural circumstances. To see her mother furious like this and empowered by such an overwhelming otherworldly force created a new, much deeper fear within her. Chloé had been cursed by Hawk Moth a few times before, but Ladybug had always saved her. If anyone was going to save her mother and Adrien, it would be Ladybug, and Chloé was determined to help.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, pulled her shredded skirts into her fists, and hurried back upstairs in search of her mother.

Plagg, reluctantly, shifted into the form of a scrawny black cat and followed.

Upstairs, Marinette was busy pulling her measuring ribbon around Prince Félix’s wrist and did not notice the loud crash that echoed through the palace as the Gilded Queen carried on her rampage in search of King Gabriel. She was entirely focused on writing down the prince’s measurements as exactly as possible so that her master could craft a well-fitted series of outfits for the ball, and attributed the loud sounds to the thunderstorm.

Félix, however, glanced at the door. He did not feel nervous very often, but he did find the noise unsettling.

“Please don’t move, Your Highness,” Marinette said, and adjusted his shoulders so they were properly straight and she could get an appropriate measure of them.

Félix had been surprised to see the same girl who had dropped four desserts last night arrive to take his measurements, but she was no longer wearing the pink apron from the boulangerie. Instead, she wore a heavy, plain black apron with several pockets, stuffed with pins, scissors, measuring tape, and other supplies that Félix could only guess at. She also did not appear nearly as nervous as the girl from last night. She was polite and deferential, certainly, but she hadn’t tripped over the rug and gone sprawling to the floor nor blushed profusely when he had stripped to his undergarments like Félix might have expected. And the way she had no trouble moving his body as she needed to—from lifting his arms to pressing her tape against his legs—suggested that she was not the same bumbling girl from last night. Félix wondered if perhaps the girl was a twin or sibling of the flour-coated girl from last night.

When another crash came from inside the castle, Félix turned to one of the servants, who was waiting nearby to redress him once the tailor’s apprentice was finished, and said, “Would you find out what that is?”

The servant bowed and set Félix’s black garments onto a chair before hurrying out of the room.

“Your Highness, please,” Marinette sighed, a bit exasperated.

Félix obediently lifted his chin so she could wrap the measuring tape around his neck.

“You seem quite comfortable with your profession,” he noted as she scribbled down the numbers onto a small notepad that she tucked into her apron. The pencil went between her teeth, rendering her reply nearly unintelligible.

“I’b bim boing bis for almof seben years mow.” She took the pencil out of her mouth and wrote down the circumference of his chest.

Félix raised his eyebrows. He had looked into taking on an apprenticeship to a painter several years ago. This was before his father had disappeared and before Gabriel had insisted his tutorship follow Adrien’s, but he had at least an idea of how long an apprenticeship ought to last.

“So you’re nearly finished then.”

She consulted her notes. “Just a few left, then we’ll be done.”

The wry smile that worked its way across Félix’s lips was unexpected, and he quickly schooled his features to their traditional neutrality. “I meant with your apprenticeship.”

She placed the ribbon against his shoulder and ran her thumb down the length of the satin until it reached his waist. “Oh! Yeb,” she said around her pencil. She checked the measurement to his waist, hip, knee, and ankle, then scribbled all the numbers down onto her notepad. “I’ll be a journeyman soon, and able to have my own shop.” She tucked her notepad and pencil away and handed him his clothes. “My master has said I can take on some of his clients, though. He’s getting a bit too old to keep up with the work, and often sends me out to do fittings and measurements. Which reminds me, what exactly do you want to wear to the ball? If you have any requests for my master—”

“You’ll have to ask my mother.” Félix fumbled with the laces that fastened the sleeves along his arms. “If I had my way, I’d still be wearing mourning attire.”

Marinette glanced around for the servant who had helped Félix undress and was surprised to find that they were suddenly alone. A blush crept into her cheeks, but she helped tie the ribbons on Félix’s sleeves.

“I didn’t realize—your servant—”

“I sent him to see what the commotion was. He should be back—”

The doors burst open, but it was not the servant returning with news. Instead, the Gilded Queen stood in the doorway.

Marinette screamed, but it was more from surprise than fear—though fear did begin to creep in as she took in the tall, golden woman with a threatening crown and deadly scepter.

The Gilded Queen pointed her scepter at Félix. “Where is King Gabriel?”

Félix took a step away from her scepter. “I have no idea.”

“How disappointing.” The Gilded Queen raised her scepter and Marinette, who had much more experience with Hawk Moth’s curses than the average prince might, shoved Félix to the ground.

“Your Highness, look out!”

The golden light that burst from the Gilded Queen’s scepter arced over Marinette and Félix’s heads and struck the mirror. It bounced off of the mirror and collided with the armchair, turning it from plush velvet into solid gold.

“Perhaps if I have both princes trapped in solid gold, the king can be persuaded to keep his promises.”

The growing fear in Marinette’s chest took full form. “Prince Adrien…?”

Félix pushed Marinette off of him and stood. He searched for as much princely pride as he could muster with his half-fastened, disheveled doublet. “If you think I’m any sort of bargaining chip for Gabriel Agreste, you are quite mistaken. But I’d be happy to escort you to the throne room myself.”

“I know my way around a castle, child.”

“Prince Félix—” but Marinette’s warning came too late, and this time she did trip over the rug and faceplant into the floor as the Gilded Queen waved her scepter.

Félix stepped aside, but the light bounced off of the mirror once more, and this time, struck him in his shoulder.

The prince’s untied ribbons stiffened as they turned from black to gold. The metallic color spread across his chest and through his extremities until Prince Félix was made entirely of solid gold, face frozen in a mask of displeasure, as if this turn of events were little more an unfortunate inconvenience for him.

The Gilded Queen pointed her scepter at Marinette. Marinette searched desperately for a way out of this room. If she were turned to gold, then there would be no one to save the palace.

But as far as Marinette could see, there was only one door out, and the Gilded Queen was standing in it.

As the cursed woman drew back her spiked scepter and its orb began to glow white-hot, Marinette dove behind the mirror. In a flash, the floor where Marinette had been was left coated in a puddle of solid gold.

The Gilded Queen’s upper lip curled in a snarl as she surveyed the room in search of the missing girl. “You cannot hide forever.”

Marinette considered transforming then and there, but a scream from the hallway froze the very blood in her veins. She even felt Tikki go still in her pocket.

“Félix!” Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily cried at the top of her lungs. Sabine Cheng was right on her heels, searching desperately for her daughter.

But there was another flash and the Duchess, too, was turned to solid gold.

“What have you done with Marinette?” Sabine demanded.

The Gilded Queen cast her scepter in a wide arc, catching Sabine even as she tried to move out of the way.

Marinette pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a cry. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she told herself it was all right, she could do this, she just needed to become Ladybug. She just needed the Gilded Queen to leave…

The Gilded Queen surveyed her recent acquisitions. “It seems I have the entire royal family except for the one I seek.”

Hawk Moth’s impatient voice replied in her mind, “You still owe me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous gifts.”

“They are no more here than King Gabriel.” She slammed the end of the scepter against the floor. It echoed dully around the small room and the mirror that shielded Marinette vibrated with the sound. “I was sure that the king would arrive to help his precious son, as you were certain that Ladybug and Chat Noir would arrive to help the people.” She stalked around the small room, eyes still in search of the missing seamstress. When her search came up empty, she tapped the edge of her staff against Félix’s leg. The metal clanged against metal with an almost musical sound. “It seems we were both mistaken.”

Footsteps hurried up the corridor and the Gilded Queen turned quickly, pointing her scepter at the doorway.

Chloé ran into the dressing room, gown torn, makeup a mess, and hands held up in surrender. Her blue eyes flitted about the room, taking in both Prince Félix and Duchess Amelie’s statues. Her lips trembled nervously, but she said, “Wait, please, I—I’ve come to help you, Mo—er—My Queen.”

The Gilded Queen pursed her lips. “And how could you help?”

“Well…” Chloé licked her lips. “You want King Gabriel, right? You ought to move the duchess and the princes to the throne room to get his attention.” She made an admirable effort to lift Amelie’s statue, but it was too heavy for Chloé to budge.

The Gilded Queen laughed. “Very well. I will give you a chance to assist me, but do not worry about moving the royal family. I have it well in hand.”

She lifted her staff once more and this time, when she brought the end down on the floor, the Gilded Queen and her statues alike turned into shimmering molten gold that moved through the air. Chloé, too, was swept up in the gold and she, the Gilded Queen, Amelie, and Félix vanished. Only Sabine’s statue was left behind and Marinette, still tucked away behind the mirror, let out a soft sigh.

“I’ll fix this, Maman,” she promised, and pulled the small red fay from one of her apron’s many pockets. “Tikki, spots on!”

With a brilliant flash, Tikki vanished into the rubies that pierced Marinette’s ears. The light spilled over her, just as the dark ink from Hawk Moth’s curse had spilled over Audrey Bourgeois, and in its wake, Ladybug appeared.

Now fully dressed in her red and black gown, complete with her matching mask, Ladybug reached for the bandalore at her waist and sprinted after the Gilded Queen. “I hope Chat Noir isn’t too far—” but the sentence was hardly out of her mouth when she nearly ran into a sleek black cat sitting patiently on the floor.

With more grace than Marinette ever had, Ladybug pirouetted around the small creature. “Er… Chat?” she asked warily.

Plagg cast his large green eyes around the hallway once to make sure no one else was around before shifting into his much rounder fay form. Ladybug yelped in surprise.

“I have bad news about Chat Noir,” Plagg said in his high, rough voice as he rose in the air to be at eye-level with Ladybug.

“You’re his fay?” Ladybug asked.

Plagg nodded. “He, uh, lost his miraculous gift.”

“What?”

“I can try to help you, but—”

“No! Tikki’s told me there are always terrible side effects if you use your powers without the help of a bondsman—I can’t imagine—Oh, Chat,” Ladybug sighed and ran her hand over her face. “I suppose I’m on my own… unless our new friend shows up.”

“I’ll stay close,” Plagg promised as he returned to the shape of a cat and hurried down the corridor on Ladybug’s heels. He would never let anything happen to Tikki or her bondswoman. “I swear to only use Cataclysm in case of an emergency.”

That did not put Ladybug at ease. “Just for some… perspective… what sort of destruction would we be talking about?”

“Easily the whole palace,” he answered cheerily. “Probably a few of the bridges along the river. I doubt it would be bigger than the city though.”

“Wonderful, thanks.”

“I did destroy a whole city once, but I’d had a lot to eat that day.”

“Emergency only, please,” Ladybug begged.

Most of the palace was in chaos. Servants had fled, and those who were too slow were statues, frozen in fear and mid-flight. The storm raged outside and thunder rolled through the castle, rattling the windows. Even though Chat Noir’s fay followed on Ladybug’s heels, she kept hoping to see her trusted partner around each corner.

What was it he had said last night? Bites and breaks be damned? Apparently that didn’t mean much at all if he could simply misplace his miraculous gift.

She set aside the disappointment that filled her chest and focused on her end goal—defeat the Gilded Queen and save her mother, the royal family, and the rest of the city.

“Do you know where the throne room is?” she asked Plagg.

“Yeah, it’s not hard to find. I’ll show you.”

Ladybug could not help but find it odd that the Fay of Destruction moved around the palace so confidently. “What were you doing here anyway?”

“The kitchens here have the best cheese in the city,” Plagg said. “Whenever my bondsman is busy, I like to make myself comfortable in the pantries.”

Ladybug wrinkled her nose. “So Chat Noir does get his thieving habits from you. I’m pretty sure it’s treason to steal from the king.”

“Fay don’t have a king,” Plagg said airily. “Besides, I’d love to see King Gabriel try and catch me.” There was something rather violent in Plagg’s fang-tipped grin as he led the way through the palace.

Ladybug remembered Tikki’s warnings about Plagg. He was Tikki’s oldest friend, yes, and he often chose his bondsman around the same time that Tikki chose hers. Tikki valued him as a partner but she did not always trust him. She had impressed on Ladybug the same wariness. It made Ladybug wonder what sort of person would make a deal with a fay like this.

Did Chat Noir also have the same violence inside of him?

Chat Noir was apparently reckless enough to lose his miraculous gift, and it was just her luck that it was when she had to face a villain as dangerous as the Gilded Queen.

Plagg led her around another corner and, finally, at the end of a long hallway lined with guards—all transformed into gold statues, courtesy of the Gilded Queen—were two enormous, looming golden doors that Marinette could only guess led to a room as grand as the throne room.

She continued her sprint down the corridor and came to a stop only when a woman clad in black and orange stepped out from behind one of the golden guards.

Ladybug skidded on the fine red carpet. “Volpina? Where did you come from?”

The fox-like girl grinned at Ladybug. “I’ve been waiting for you. I saw that woman take the princes and the duchess into the throne room and figured you would have to show eventually. What took you so long?”

“I—I wasn’t exactly in the area,” Ladybug lied. “How did you get here so fast?”

Volpina tossed her hair, and the fox tail-like tufts swished along her bare neck and shoulders. “I was already here to see Prince Adrien and King Gabriel.”

Ladybug wondered what sort of person Volpina was behind her mask to have an audience with the king and the crown prince, but she set her curiosity aside. It was best not to pry into personal identities. “Do you know where King Gabriel is? The Gilded Queen is looking for him.”

“No idea. I was told to wait in the receiving room until he was ready. I expect he’s already been ushered to some sort of safe room. What’s this thing?” Volpina pointed her reed at Plagg.

“This is Chat Noir’s fay,” Ladybug explained. “We won’t have Chat’s help today.”

“Just us girls, then,” Volpina smirked.

Ladybug wished she felt as confident as Volpina sounded. “We’ll need a plan.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I can take her easily. I’ll just use my Mirage to distract her.”

“We don’t even know what object the curse was placed in. We can’t just go running in there—”

But Volpina was already sprinting towards the throne room.

With a hefty shove, Volpina threw open the doors of the throne room and strode in as if she were King Gabriel himself. She adjusted the long black gloves that covered her arms and surveyed the scene. It was about as she had expected.

The red carpet extended along white marble floors and on either side, matching columns supported the high ceiling. Gold leaf coated the Corinthian-style capitals, reflecting the sunlight that filled the room. Behind the throne was a large, round window that stretched from floor to ceiling. It provided a view of the gardens beyond the throne and back-light for the red velvet seat, with its gold backing engraved with a winged crown. Seated on the throne was the Gilded Queen, and at her side stood Chloé Bourgeois. At the foot of the throne’s dais lay three golden statues in repose: Crown Prince Adrien, Prince Félix, and Duchess Amelie. Volpina was determined to save them.

Yes, she needed Ladybug’s help to undo Hawk Moth’s curse, but she was going to take care of the Gilded Queen herself and reap the rewards that came with it.

The Gilded Queen rose to her feet. “Who are you?” she asked in distaste.

Volpina grinned and for an answer, pressed her reed to her lips. “Mirage,” she whispered, and her playful yet haunting melody echoed in the vast throne room.

Several copies of Volpina filled the room and all of them charged the Gilded Queen.

Ladybug did not join the fray immediately. She wished Volpina had taken a moment to plan this with her. They could have done mirages of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Volpina, and make Hawk Moth think he was closer to getting what he needed. Or perhaps create an illusion of King Gabriel to lure the Gilded Queen into a trap. Going toe-to-toe against that staff was not what she had in mind.

At least she could use Volpina as a distraction while she figured out how to save the Gilded Queen from Hawk Moth’s curse.

While the pack of fox-heroes dodged the Gilded Queen’s flashes of gold light, often just missing her golden spark or, on occasion, vanishing in the brilliant glow, Ladybug ducked from column to column until she reached the dais.

The Gilded Queen was quick, despite her metallic coating. She moved her scepter easily and cast her light in a sweeping arc, catching as many as three of Volpina’s illusions at a time. Ladybug wished once again that she had Chat’s help. If he could Cataclysm the staff, her job would be much easier.

Plagg hovered at her shoulder with the same idea. “I could—”

“No. You’d probably kill Audrey Bourgeois, and the royal family, and maybe even Volpina.”

Plagg shrugged, as if it were not so terrible a price to pay.

“Ladybug? Is that you?” a wary voice asked.

Chloé Bourgeois had cowered behind the throne when Volpina and the Gilded Queen’s battle had begun, but she peeked her head out now in search of Ladybug.

Ladybug remembered Chloé’s offer to help the Gilded Queen and wondered if she could trust her. It had been a distraction that had saved Marinette, but who had Chloé really intended to help?

“Ladybug, please, I came here with my mother to help you because I knew you’d be here! You have to stop her and save Prince Adrien.”

Ladybug glanced at the Gilded Queen. She was still focused on the three remaining mirages—or was it two, and one was the real Volpina?

Either way, Ladybug did not have much more time to form a plan. She hurried across the dais to Chloé’s side. “Mademoiselle Bourgeois, I can get you out of here if you need—”

“You have to save Adrien!” Chloé repeated and grasped Ladybug’s hands. “You’re the only one who can.”

Though Ladybug did not have much fondness for Chloé, after having to save her from several of Hawk Moth’s curses, she understood Chloé’s desperate plea. “I will, I promise. Can you tell me where the curse is located?”

But before Chloé could answer, the Gilded Queen laughed triumphantly as another of Volpina’s mirages faded.

“Did you really think that you stood a chance against me?” the Gilded Queen asked as she raised her scepter and pointed it at the final remaining Volpina.

Volpina only grinned. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The bright white flash from the Gilded Queen’s scepter struck Volpina and she vanished, just another mirage. Volpina’s playful laughter echoed in the throne room as the Gilded Queen furiously struck a column, turning the white marble to solid gold.

“You cannot hide from me!”

She aimed her scepter at another of the columns and it, too, turned to solid gold. It would not be long before she noticed Ladybug and Chloé behind the throne.

“Quickly Chloé,” Ladybug hissed, “where is the curse hidden?”

“It was the invitation to the ball,” Chloé whispered back, panic now coating her breathless reply. “She had it in her hand. I—I can buy you some time.” Chloé bit down on her lip, unsure of what she was about to do, but she stepped out from behind the throne and stood beside Adrien’s gilded statue. She put her hand on his for courage. The metal was cool beneath her touch and she swallowed hard, hoping that did not mean the worst for Adrien.

“Mothe—er—My Queen?” she said.

The Gilded Queen whirled on Chloé, scepter raised. “Are you going to make yourself useful, assistant?” the Gilded Queen sneered.

Chloé swallowed hard. “Ladybug is hiding behind that column.” And she pointed across the throne room, away from the throne itself.

The Gilded Queen was quick, disappearing in the blink of an eye into her molten form. She moved like water around the throne room, circling each of the columns in a flash until she returned to the center of the throne room, dragging a startled Volpina along in her fluid shape.

She threw Volpina to the ground and resolidified. “Hawk Moth has no need of your gift, child,” and she pressed the scepter to Volpina’s chest.

“No—” but Volpina’s desperate cry was lost as she transformed into a statue like the others.

“And as for you,” the Gilded Queen extended her scepter towards Chloé, “I think you’ve proven to be a rather poor assistant.”

“Please, Mother, don’t do this!” Chloé begged.

As Chloé pleaded and the Gilded Queen used her weapon on her daughter, Ladybug threw her bandalore into the air.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug shouted, and with a burst of bright light, a warm mirror compact appeared in her hand, decorated in red and black to match her dress.

Often, Ladybug had to work to puzzle out how her Lucky Charm would be useful, but this time, she knew exactly what to do with the mirror. She examined the freshly gilded columns of the throne room and knew that she would need to be quite lucky for it to work, but luck was something she carried in excess thanks to Tikki.

She strode forward, even as the Gilded Queen turned her scepter from the freshly gilded statue of Chloé to Ladybug.

“Hand over your miraculous gift,” the Gilded Queen demanded, “and while you’re at it, you can tell me where Chat Noir is.”

Plagg had resumed his cat-like shape and seated himself just behind the throne, waiting for his power of destruction to be worth the risk. He was entirely unconcerned. Tikki—or rather, Ladybug—had this well in hand.

“You’re angry,” Ladybug said, “and you have every right to be. But this won’t solve your problem.”

The Gilded Queen laughed. “Once I have your miraculous gifts and King Gabriel, we’ll see just how many problems I can solve.”

In the Gilded Queen’s mind, Hawk Moth’s voice snarled, “Just take them from her!” and with his voice her rage swelled, too. She aimed her brilliant scepter at Ladybug. The gold flashed but it struck the compact mirror in Ladybug’s hand. The glowing light bounced away from the mirror and the Gilded Queen laughed.

“You can’t keep that up forever!”

But Ladybug did not have to. The light bounced away from the mirror and onto one of the gilded columns, then across the throne room, off of another gilded column, and right into the Gilded Queen’s back, turning her into a statue as solid as as her victims.

Ladybug stepped around Chloé’s statue, the royal family, and Volpina’s prone, golden form to reach the Gilded Queen. She avoided touching the scepter, but from the Gilded Queen’s other hand, she tugged out the invitation. Even cursed, its script was legible, shimmering gold against the inky black paper:

You are invited to

King Gabriel Agreste’s Royal Ball

hosted by Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily

in honor of his Royal Highness Crown Prince Adrien Agreste

and his Royal Highness Prince Félix Graham de Vanily

on the evenings of the December twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second.

On the twenty-second of December the princes shall each choose their brides from among the eligible ladies in attendance and a wedding celebration shall follow.

She was unsurprised that this was the object that Hawk Moth had cursed, the very object that had fueled Audrey Bourgeois’s anger. Ladybug tore it in two and from the invitation flew an inky black butterfly. She captured it readily in her bandalore and filled it with all of the magic of luck and creation that Tikki had given to her. When she reopened her bandalore, the butterfly, now as white as the palace marble, flapped its wings and flew away. She wished it well on its journey and threw her compact mirror into the air.

A blinding light filled with streaks of white, pink, and red filled the palace. Within that light, ladybugs worked their magic, turning all of the gold that the Gilded Queen had left behind into its original form. It worked on the Gilded Queen herself as well, and all of the victims. Soon, there was no evidence of the Gilded Queen’s destruction and no sign of Hawk Moth’s curse, save for a torn invitation, a disoriented Audrey Bourgeois standing in the throne room, and the royal family lying on the cold marble.

“What… what happened?” Audrey Bourgeois looked around the throne room and pressed a white-gloved hand to her face. “I came to see King Gabriel and—”

“Mother!” Chloé shouted and hurried to her mother. She threw her arms around her in a brief hug, then seemed to remember herself and pulled away. “Er—I mean,” she dipped into a light curtsy, “I’m glad you’re better, mother.”

Audrey eyed her daughter. “Chloé, whatever happened to your face? What have you done?”

Chloé scrubbed at her cheeks, but did little more than smudge her rouge and powder on her hands. It could not undo her tears that were still falling, but at least Ladybug’s magic had repaired her torn dress. “Mother, Ladybug saved you from Hawk Moth’s curse.”

Prince Adrien, who had blinked at the bright white marble around him in an effort to figure out where he was, suddenly scrambled to his feet. He was only vaguely aware of his aunt and cousin at his side and he hardly noticed Volpina, who was still getting to her feet; instead, his eyes were only for Ladybug.

He hurried across the throne room to her side. “My lady…”

Ladybug took a step away in surprise and dropped into her best, deepest curtsy. “Your Highness, just Ladybug, please. I have no title—”

But he did not seem to hear her. Prince Adrien took her hands in his and pulled her upright. “Ladybug, if it pleases you, I’d like to formally invite you to the ball at the end of the month. I don’t know how the kingdom can ever repay what you’ve done, but I would like to have you there, as my personal guest of honor.”

Ladybug stared at Prince Adrien in surprise. She had known that the royal family was aware of what she and Chat Noir did to protect the city as much as they were aware of Chat Noir’s thievery, but she had never thought that the princes truly cared about her heroics.

Chloé, too, stared, and her jaw dropped. She had just told Prince Adrien that he had no one else to choose as his bride except for her. She had never considered that she might be in competition with Ladybug.

Ladybug’s earrings flickered insistently. She pulled away from Prince Adrien. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” and she curtsied again, “but duty calls.”

And she ran from the throne room.

Adrien watched her go, heart heavy. If his father really was going to let him choose whom he would marry, Adrien knew what choice he wanted to make. He wondered who she really was under that mask, and if she was the sort of girl that he could make happy as a prince, even if he couldn’t make her happy as a thief.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Adrien turned to see Volpina. Though he did not feel especially trusting of this new hero, given Plagg’s suspicions, he inclined his head gratefully.

“Thank you, as well, for all that you did.”

“It was my pleasure, Your Highness,” and Volpina curtsied, though there was none of the humility in it that Ladybug had shown. Despite the deferential gesture, something about it appeared haughty.

“I, of course, extend the invitation to you as well,” Adrien said. “The palace would be honored to have you in attendance, er—I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Volpina,” she said. “However—Trixx, let’s rest.”

A flash of light passed over Volpina’s body and her tight orange corset and dark gloves transformed into a much more modest dress with a white bodice and red sleeves.

Félix and Amelie both gasped, and Adrien could not contain a shocked and breathless, “Mademoiselle Rossi?”

“You may call me Lila,” she curtsied again, “if it pleases you, Your Highness, for I have come to declare my intentions for your hand in marriage.”

#ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fic #ladrien #miraculous ladybug fanfic

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