Disclaimer: despite my wishes, I do not own PD2. Or the characters. Or really anything.

Dedication: writer's block for FORCING ME TO EDIT THIS after ignoring it for four months.

A/N: this was really random, but it popped into my head. I'm legitimately sorry for how much Nicholas I write.

Title: The Art of Lying

Summary: Two Truths and a Lie (or, in his case, Three Truths and a Lie)

X-X-X-X-X

The two sat on the floor across from each other, a bowl of buttered popcorn sitting between them. She cocked her head, narrowing her brown eyes, trying to decipher him.

"Say it again," she said.

He resisted the urge to smile at the 22-year-old queen wearing Snoopy pajama pants and one of his shirts that was far too large for her. Her hair was lazily braided to the side, and any trace of nervousness that had been with her before had left her hands. She leaned forward, taking a handful of extra-buttered popcorn, her eyes not leaving his face.

He was often struck by how young she was, how young they both were. They were old enough to govern a country – a small country, but a country nonetheless – but not so old that life weighed them down. He nodded slowly.

"Two truths," he said slowly, carefully, trying to gauge whether or not she was onto him. "And a lie." He popped his knuckles, watching as it subtly unraveled his opponent. "Number one: I have two siblings."

She licked her lips, squinting at him, twirling the simple diamond ring on her finger. She bit her top lip, carefully calculating her decision. "Truth," she answered hesitantly.

"Number two: I have never been to New York City."

The queen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, wrinkling her nose, trying desperately to read the man sitting before her. Even more hesitantly than before, she answered.

"That is a...truth?" She spoke the words slowly, trying to determine if he had given her any indication to the correct answer. When he didn't, she nodded her head twice and repeated herself. "Truth."

Maintaining eye contact, he spoke again. "Number three: I wish I had grown up in America."

Mia laughed at this, a sound that reminded him of brilliant summer skies. "I know that one," she said confidently. "That one is definitely, for sure, 100% a lie," she said, playfully shaking her head at him.

Nicholas nodded, still not revealing which answers were the truths and which was the lie. "Okay."

Mia raised her eyebrows at her fiancé. "Well?"

"You missed two of them," he said flatly.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she screeched, "What?!" loud enough to wake the castle.

At Nicholas's urgent shushing and failed attempt to conceal his amusement, Mia glanced around before hissing, "What did I miss?" at him.

"You got the first one right."

Mia was clearly shocked by this new information. "So you have been to New York?"

He smiled coolly in response.

"And you did want to grow up in America?" she said, throwing a handful of popcorn at him.

Nicholas shrugged, picking up a piece and popping it in his mouth. "I still think I would have turned out different – better, maybe – if I had grown up there. Granted, I may not have ever you, or I might have been worse, but still...America is better than what I had growing up."

Before she could say anything else, he nodded to her. "Your turn."

He watched as the queen slipped into her professional persona. Her eyes hardened in determination, her mouth was set in a straight line, her shoulders straightened, and she sat up taller.

She wasn't as good as he was, no matter how much she refused to admit it. Lies, deceit – those slipped off his tongue as easily as asking where the restrooms were; truths, enlightenment – those, again, slipped off his silvertongue as if he was answering the question of 2+2.

But he didn't discourage her.

She didn't need to learn the practice of lying; he was good enough at it for the both of them. She did need to give off the air of confidence, even if she knew very little about the subject on which she was speaking. This was merely practice.

She held eye contact with him, and he knew that he should probably answer dishonestly.

He wouldn't.

But he probably should.

"Number one," she said, her voice cool. He could hear the effort it took for her not to give away anything. He was good at this; it was his game. "I love Harry Potter."

"Truth," he responded, no hesitation in his voice.

She had gotten significantly better at concealing her surprise; he had to give her that. Truth be told, he didn't even know if he had surprised her by his quick (and probably correct) response.

"Number two," she continued, her voice just as cool and even as it had been. "I really like dogs."

This one stumped him.

He watched her body language, and he had to hand it to her – she had learned all the tricks of the trade. There were no visual indications that she was lying, but everything he had ever known about her contradicted that statement.

"Skip," he answered, equally as cool as she was.

She raised an eyebrow, not slipping out of her professional air. "Number three." She leaned forward, drilling into his soul with her eyes, now having perfected the art of psyching her opponent out. "I," she said, punctuating her words evenly, "hate candy."

He was legitimately impressed.

The simple statements had stunned him, and he was currently mulling over the possibility of his first answer being wrong.

He didn't know if she liked dogs; she seemed fine around Maurice, but that was her grandmother's dog, and therefore, she was obligated to like Maurice. He had never seen her eat candy a day in his life, so he mulled over the possibilities again.

After a two-minute period of Nicholas trying to determine Mia's thoughts, he finally had his answers. "I'm going to change my first answer," he began, holding up his hand before his fiancée could protest. "To be fair, you changed yours." At Mia's pout, he smiled. "Three times."

"Number one," he said, holding up his index finger, "is a lie."

She blinked. It was a small visual indication of surprise, but it was enough for someone of his expertise to recognize.

"Number two," he continued, holding up another finger, "is a shocking truth. I honestly didn't think you liked any dogs aside from Mo."

She just glared at him.

"Number three," he said, laughing, holding up a third finger, "is also a truth. You seem like the no-candy type. Well, except for chocolate."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed again, dodging another handful of popcorn. "Poophead."

He rocked back in laughter, throwing his head back. "Poophead?" he asked incredulously. "You seriously just called me a poophead?"

She continued to glare at him.

Nicholas, still laughing, said, "The last time someone called me a poophead was second grade."

Mia shrugged, a smile dancing on her lips. "Not that you know of."

Nicholas smiled and stretched. "I'm turning in for the night." He stood and kissed Mia's forehead. "Goodnight."

She smiled. "I love you," she said, squeezing his hand.

"Love you, too."

And it was the most truthful statement he'd ever uttered.