It's been two hours.

Two freaking hours on this damné carriage, this stupid thing that kept shaking and tossing her to the sides, ruining her hair which took an hour of sitting immobile and three servants to do.

If her father hadn't specifically asked her to be extra fancy, she would've spent the time in their château's vast garden, shooting down birds with her bow, maybe throwing a few daggers or practicing hand-to-hand combat with her mentor.

Sadly, she was practically tied down to the pink padded chair in her bedchamber, surrounded and completely out-numbered by a team of people that her father had hired just for this occasion. They turned her from an active, carefree girl, who usually only wears the bare essentials, into a dress-up doll, her face caked with powder, chest flattened into a corset that seemed like it's trying to squeeze her insides out. Her hair, dirty and tangled all over the place, turned into silky and long, dark locks that looked mesmerising, and pulled up into a neat bun with a few strands loose on her shoulders. She looked beautiful; she owed that to him at least.

But it's not like she's going to blame him for dressing her up either. After all, it's not everyday that you receive an invitation from the king, Gabriel II of France, to join his court as his advisor on all things, from politics to arts and his personal life. It's an honour, her father said in front of his followers at her celebration party, to serve as the only advisor for a king, especially considering your title is only a Marquise, while most of the previous king's' advisors were Duchess at the least, and some are even made Queen. Well, it's reassuring to know that she will definitely receive glares filled with hatred from envious nobles who'd gladly kill for her position.

But that's not the only motivational quote/advice that Thomas Dupain-Cheng, Duke of Brittany, can offer. Her father has been a wise man, after all.

Dear, he whispered quietly before she climbed on the carriage that would take her to Paris, the proud capital of France, You must be careful. You know your mission and therefore must not waver under the king's sickeningly sweet lies, and by all means, you must steer clear of that Prince's efforts to pursuit you because trust me, dear, he will try to pursuit you. Our first two spies had failed the mission because of him and his charms. Only the Prince is a sure heir to the throne and is extremely talented in military and other aspects. You'll need to eliminate him as well, otherwise the syndicate's plan shall never success. Do you understand?

He held her shoulders, his grip as strong as iron but not quite enough to hurt her, and stared deep into her eyes, determination shone in his own. She gave a small nod as to not tip off the others whom stood around them, and her father raised the back of her hand and kissed it for good luck. Then he enclosed her in a tight embrace and she could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, but she hugged him back as hard as she could, trying her best to channel her emotions into actions, a thing she has mastered a couple of years back.

"Take care, Marinette," her father said as the carriage pulled out of the Dupain Château, taking her to the city of Paris, to the Château de Fontainebleau, King Gabriel II's résidence, a place where she could die.

That sounded delightful, didn't it?

"We are arriving in five minutes, Votre Excellence," the servant girl next to her spoke up, and she startled out of her mixed thoughts. Marinette glanced out from the glassy window of her beautifully decorated coach, and the sight of the Château took her breath away.

It's huge, was her first thought, because heck, that thing was massive. The mere entrance was enough to amaze her, and the gardens around it made a square big enough for a hundred coaches and some remaining space. The polished stone double staircase led inside the Château, and God help her if it's not beautiful. Strong and tall walls fanned into two wings around the staircase, with golden lights flickering through the high glass windows. Those are the heights of luxury right here. Looking at the famous Château in person, Marinette soon understood the necessariness of Miraculeuse's plan. They needed to take Gabriel II down for the sake of the people of France.

"Your Excellency," the burly guard grunted and opened the door for her. She walked up the stairs and inside the palace. Marinette sucked in a breath. Marvellous. Simply marvellous.

"The King will be waiting for you in his study. Please visit your quarters first before meeting his Majesty," another servant said and gestured for her bodyguards to bring in her luggage, while a young, willowy boy took the horses and led them into the West Wing, where the stables should be.

Yet another girl led her to the part of the Palace that will now belong to her, the Advisor of the King of France. A position where it would be easy for her to have power and supporters in the Court of Gabriel II, and where her influence might be enough to open up a path for the syndicate to take down the monarchy.

Her mission was to kill a king. She would not fear the coming of the shadows of death. For the people of France. For Miraculeuse and Le Papillon. For her mother. Gabriel had caused enough sorrow for a lifetime.

She can do it, and she will.

After Marinette cleaned up the powdery white stuff that covered her face, rinsed off the sweat in the fancy bathtub and put on the sweet smelling perfume, the servant girl helped her into an exquisite red gown, that was apparently made specially for her. Then it's necklaces, bracelets, earrings and another layer of makeup, long dark blue hair piled up into a neat bun and covered fully by a white giant wig, strings of pearl around her collar and her family's coat of arms pinned on her chest. One last dab of a rather odd kind of sparkling powder at the back of her neck and she was ready to go meet his majesty Gabriel the Second, the man who caused the Dupain-Cheng household to mourn for months. The man who executed her mother without batting an eye. The man who was currently sitting in front of her with his luxurious suit, his golden staff and spine chilling stare. People said that he's a heartless king, with absolutely no mercy nor patient for excuses.

And they weren't mistaken, Marinette thought as she made her way inside the study, feasting her eyes on rows and rows of books that decorated the walls. The King regarded her with cold eyes, but when he noticed the gown she was wearing, his face cracked into a smile in a way that she was sure had torn several of his tissues. But no. Gabriel stepped down from his throne-like armchair and greeted her like they were old friends.

"Lady Dupain-Cheng," he said in a truly genuine voice that made her struggle to hold back a disgusted snort and remain professional, "It is a pleasure to finally have you in my Court. Please, have a seat and we can discuss your responsibilities and privileges in this position,"

So she sat down on another padded chair, this one red velvet with embroideries of floral patterns and golden armrests, carved and swirled like waves. And the King talked on, rambling about how he had seen her talents as an advisor, since she was the head member her father's counselor, and the state of Brittany had been the richest in France since she took power alongside Thomas. So of course, Gabriel stole Marinette from her people and set her by his side, an act that would ensure his horrific death. But he didn't know that, now did he?

An hour later, he released her from the hearing and told her to go back to her room and prepare; there will be a ball in her honor, to welcome and introduce her to the elite class here in Paris. Personally, Marinette did not have time nor interest in these kind of parties where there will be haters and suck-ups because of her position, but she also knew when something is absolutely vital that she simply can't skip it, even for the pleasure of running on the rooftops and shooting arrows at random targets. So she kept her words to herself and followed the same handmaiden back to her quarters to refresh the makeup she just put on less than two hours ago. But who was she to argue about these matters?

As the girl redid Marinette's hair and straightened her pearls, she zoned out, lost in her own thoughts. To be completely honest with herself, she was intensely curious about this 'Prince'. He was charming, or so she heard, and she can't help but wonder what is it about him that made Miraculeuse's previous two spies - Le Paonne and Reine des Abeilles as they were known - fail their plans to keep an eye on the King and have to retreat to the syndicate's safe houses - one in Orléans and the other in Venice, a rich and powerful Italian city. She was a bit wary of him, and she would have to be constantly on alert whenever he was around of course, but she also had what the others don't; a thirst for vengeance. Seven years of training in everything from combat to emotional containment skills since her mother passed, and she will not fall in his trap.

"Oh, my Lady, you look simply stunning!" the girl squealed in excitement then shocked back and dropped to her knees like she had been struck by an invisible lightning bolt. The girl looked up with fearful eyes and Marinette soon realized that without permission, the handmaiden is forbidden to converse with her master or mistress, and the Marquise took her hands.

"What's your name, dear?" she asked gently, and the girl stared at her in disbelief. But then gratefulness washed through her face, and she smiled a little.

"I'm Tikki, my Lady," she whispered, her voice still shaking but gone was the fear of this noblewoman standing in front of her. Marinette laughed a bit and raised Tikki from the floor.

"You have done a great job, Tikki," she praised and hugged the stunned girl. "I am new to this city, so if you can help me fit in and do my job properly, I would be very grateful."

"My Lady, please don't say that," Tikki panicked and glanced over her shoulder nervously as if a guard could somehow overhear their conversation and drag her to prison. "Serving you is my honor,"

"Formality is not needed in here, my dear. My quarters, my rules. Just call me Marinette,"

"I-How can I call you that!? Calling out a Lady's first name is punishable by death, nevermind an honorable Marquise such as you! My Lady, I truly cannot…"

"Tikki, look at me. I am just a human, just like you. There's nothing different between us. Status are just things that humans made up to degrade other humans, and I am not a supporter of that. Plus, I'll decrease your monthly pay if you keep calling me My Lady,"

"W-What? Please have mercy, my- I mean- Ma'am. I have old parents outside the palace to take care of! Please-"

"Then don't address me with all those stupid titles; I have no taste for them. If you can do it properly, I will even raise your pay,"

"Oh, thank you my- I MEAN- M-Marinette,"

"Ahh, that's much better, Tikki," She smiled warmly, "Now, can you help me loosen this corset? I swear to God almighty, this thing is trying to kill me,"

Tikki knew that this Marquise is different from all of her previous Mistresses, and she also knew that she was as lucky as a handmaiden can be in this cruel, unforgiving Château to have the opportunity to serve Marinette, and she can't be happier. With a giggle, the young girl walked over to her squealing Mistress and helped her.

As Tikki brushed the folds of Marinette's dress, the clock hit twenty bells. Both of them startled at the sounds that seemed to shock the entire palace, and the calm, relaxed look slid off of Marinette's face. She stared grimly at the door as if it's her own grave she will be stepping in, but her maid put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. Those acting lessons she took for the past three years worked their magic as her face turned cheery and excited, the completely opposite of what her true emotions were. But it doesn't matter anymore, she scolded herself as the doors opened and a short walk through the hallways took her to the Grand Ballroom.

It's show time.

A/N: The stupid summary wouldn't let me include this part, but the cover art belongs to the amazingly talented ceejles 3 I'll take it down if you won't give me permission, but honestly this entire fic was inspired by that beautiful art of yours 3