PART 1:

Chapter 4:

Story of My Life

The crackling of the fire and the chatter of crickets became a song for Marinette to base her stitching on. She moved the needle and thread to the rhythm of the sounds, and little by little, Cat Noir's wound came back together.

The thief remained unusually still as he let her work, scrunching his face a bit whenever the needle poked too hard. Aside from that, he made no attempt to speak to Marinette – no complaints, no jokes, no compliments or flattery.

Not that Marinette minded; she preferred the silence to help her concentrate. But every few minutes she would look up at Cat Noir to make sure he was still breathing. It was hard to look at him without seeing a pale, half-drowned boy in his stead, threatening to slip away from her. Marinette had to stop and rest a few times because her hands her shaking so badly.

But then the warmth of the fire pit – made better with the fresh set of clothes she got from her sack – soothed Marinette's anxiety and helped her focus on the task at hand.

Cat Noir was better too, despite the fact that he had to take his black tunic and leather vest off while Marinette stitched him up. The princess almost wanted to comment that there wasn't much skin for her to work with – the boy was as thin as a reed with barely more than a slight build – but she knew Cat Noir would add a flirtatious remark to that.

Maybe he is rubbing off on me, Marinette thought with a smirk.

"What is it?" Cat Noir asked out of the blue.

The princess stiffened and shook her head. "Ah, n-nothing," she stuttered. "Just... yeah, nothing." She felt her cheeks warm up again. It's the fire, she told herself.

Cat Noir lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. "So," he said with a sigh, "will I live?"

Marinette finished the stitch and started tying a knot at the end. Her expertise in embroidery, combined with all that training at the royal infirmary, really came in handy. If anything, she was thankful she got a chance to prove her skills outside the palace walls.

"I think you have a bit of luck on your side," the princess mused as she tilted her head. "Still, considering how you almost died, I'd say your nine lives have now dropped to eight."

Cat Noir chuckled.

"Hold still!" Marinette scolded.

"Sorry," the thief said awkwardly. "But I get your point." He snorted. "Point. See what I did there?"

Marinette shook her head, grinning. "I think you've lost a little too much blood, silly kitty," she said. She snapped the remaining thread off with her teeth and then ran her fingers over the stitch to make sure there were no holes or loose threads. "Seriously, though, you really could have been killed."

Cool fingers appeared over hers, and Marinette paused. She met Cat Noir's worried stare. Tendrils of orange firelight danced along the green.

"You could've too, Ladybug," Cat Noir said. "Not all of Hawkmoth's Akumas were innocent civilians once. Most of them take great pleasure in killing." The sharpness in his tone faded as he looked off into the distance with a smile. "And you just came right at those guys without a second thought – bow in hand, eyes on fire, limbs flailing like a ninja...!" He shook his head with a laugh. "I'm still getting shivers just thinking about it."

Marinette pulled away from him, heart thudding. "I suppose this is the part where you get to criticize me for not listening to you?" she asked sarcastically.

The thief looked back at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding? If it hadn't been for you..." He swallowed hard. "I'd be short one heart."

Once again, Marinette saw herself lying on that shore, trying to resurrect a corpse. She turned away and began closing up her sewing pouch. "You should feel fine in the morning, but I'd try not to lift anything for the next few days," she stated, trying to assure herself more than her patient.

After her clean-up was done, the princess turned back to Cat Noir, who was now slowly pulling his tunic back on. "You were pretty impressive too," Marinette commended. "I've never seen anyone fight with a staff before. I'm guessing your cat-like fighting style is part of your act?"

Cat Noir's head popped out of his shirt and he nodded. "Let's just say the bad guys don't take you seriously unless you mean business," he said. "Being Cat Noir is how I've been able to survive this long." He gazed into the fire thoughtfully. "In fact, I barely remember what it's like to be Adrien – just a playful son who would rather tend to an apple orchard with his mother than tend to his studies."

Unconsciously, Marinette thought about her parents, King Thomas and Queen Sabine, and her sister Bridgette. She could scarcely imagine not having them in her life. But isn't that what will happen once I marry Theo? Marinette would be in Bourgeois, and her family would be all the way across the realm in Dupain-Cheng. I'll be an entire world away... in a new life.

Since they didn't have any bedrolls, the companions carved fresh, flat patches of dirt next to the fire and laid their sacks as makeshift pillows. Marinette wanted nothing more than to sleep off the dangers of the day, but she couldn't stop glancing over at Cat Noir. He was sitting not far from her, legs crossed and hands in his lap as he continued staring into the mesmerizing flames.

"Cat..." Marinette spoke after a while, "Tell me about your mother."

The thief seemed to perk up at that, his eyes alit with surprise.

"I mean... Is she a lot like you?" Marinette quickly added.

Cat Noir blinked at her before smiling warmly. "I think you're the first person who's ever asked me that, my lady." He sat up straight and leaned back on his palms. "Actually, she's everything I wish I could be: kind, compassionate, protective, hopeful..." His grin shrank and his eyes lost their luster as he went on, "Whenever I needed someone, she was always there. And then, one day... she wasn't."

Marinette figured why: the day Queen Vivienne was cursed. "What about your father?" she asked, hugging her knees to her chest. "You never mentioned him earlier."

Cat Noir snorted and looked away. "There's nothing to mention," he said darkly. "He died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault – it's his."

Marinette's mouth fell open.

When Cat Noir looked at her again, his eyes bore years of hurt. "My father was a man who believed that duty was more important than anything else," he explained. "Ironically, that's what got him killed in the end; slain by the same monster who took his throne and married his wife."

Marinette frowned at him, puzzled. But didn't he say earlier...? Oh! A hand flew to her mouth. "Hawkmoth..." she breathed. "He's your stepfather?"

Cat Noir nodded. "My mother wasn't the only person he fooled," he said sullenly. "I saw someone who could be the father I never had. I trusted him, and he used that to his advantage. By the time I realized who he really was, it was too late." The thief hung his head down, his eyes closed tight. "Maybe... Maybe if I had figured it out sooner," he murmured, swallowing hard as though trying to hold back a sob. "If I hadn't been so naïve... my mother might still be here."

Before she knew it, Marinette reached over and grasped his hand. "Don't say that," she implored with a tone that reminded her of her mother – gentle as silk but hard as a chainmail.

Cat Noir inhaled sharply at her touch, his glossy eyes back on her.

"You can't blame yourself for trying to see the good in someone," the princess stated, "even if they've never had a shred of goodness in them to begin with. That doesn't mean you're naïve or weak – it means you have a strong heart." She gave him an astonished look. "You took on five bloodthirsty soldiers twice your size just to stop them from getting to me – a stranger."

Cat Noir's mouth parted, but no sound came out.

"You said you wanted to be just like your mother," Marinette said with a warm smile. "Based on what I've seen today, I think you have more of her in you than you let yourself believe."

Cat Noir smiled back at her and quickly wiped his eyes. Then he gave her hand a soft squeeze. "Thanks, my lady," he said in his casual voice again. "That... means a lot to me."

Marinette blushed and shrugged. She let go of his hand – despite how soft and strong his fingers were – and she went to lie down in her spot with her back to the flames.

She heard the sound of a body sliding along the ground, and then Cat Noir sighed from his makeshift bed, "I take back what I said earlier. That prince of yours sure is lucky to have someone like you."

Marinette felt her chest cave in on itself, and her throat bobbed.

Then why are you marrying him?

Why do you care?

The princess hadn't wanted to divulge such personal information to a boy she hardly knew. But now, after everything that happened, after everything Cat Noir told her... it felt more like talking to a friend. I could never keep a secret from a friend.

"Prince Theo's father is bankrupt," Marinette said into the darkness.

She heard a shuffling from behind her, which meant Cat Noir was still awake.

So Marinette told him: "King Andre needs the lands and wealth of Dupain-Cheng to restore Bourgeois to all its glory. And my parents need his troops to help defend our borders. So... marrying Theo is the only way to make both our kingdoms happy."

A short pause, and then Cat Noir asked her, "Do you think, given time, you could come to love him?"

Marinette just lay there on her side, thinking. Theo was handsome, and he was dutiful. So was Cat Noir's father.

"I don't know," Marinette finally answered. "My own parents are together because they fell in love – the whole union between their two kingdoms was just an added bonus." She sighed and picked up a twig she found beside her, imagining it as an arrow. "I've spent my entire life thinking I'd one day have what they have: true love. Now, I feel like I'm being bought and paid for by Bourgeois, not to mention I'm getting a wonderful sister-in-law in the package." Marinette didn't bother to hide her exaggeration.

She could feel Cat Noir's eyes on her. "Why don't you say something?" He asked her as though he believed she had a choice. "Surely your parents would take your own feelings into account."

"They do," Marinette insisted. "Believe me; they would have waited until I was thirty before marrying me off. Even my older sister kept telling me to wait until I've found the "right guy", whatever that means. It's just..." She groaned and crushed the twig between in her fingers. "There's King Andre's daughter, Chloe."

"The wonderful sister-in-law?" Cat Noir guessed.

"She has her father wrapped around her little finger," Marinette grumbled, already picturing Chloe making a haughty complaint with that diamond-white smile of hers. "She's actually the one who suggested the marriage between me and her brother. Take it from me; Chloe is not an easy person to stand up to. Bourgeois's coffers may be empty, but their soldiers are well-trained. All Chloe has to do is lift her finger, and her men will go to war for her."

Another sound of clothing scraping against dirt – this time more deliberate. Marinette finally rolled over to see Cat Noir leaning up on his elbows, gazing at her dubiously.

"Let me get this straight," the thief said, waving his hand in the air as he spoke. "You're willing to tie your hands back... just so some other princess doesn't throw a temper tantrum?" His eyebrows narrowed and he made a noise that sounded like a snore and a cough. "What kind of arrangement is that?" he asked.

Despite her initial surprise at how exasperated he was, Marinette stared impassively into the fire pit. "It's like you said: it's just a ceremonial business transaction," she replied. Then she let out a soft chuckle. "And here I am avoiding the whole thing – wandering the wilderness with a wanted thief, defying death and danger, all while trying to get a silly ring back." She glanced back over at Cat Noir. "Doesn't that sound selfish to you?"

"Hmm..." Cat Noir looked away as he hummed to himself, his brows furrowed.

Marinette moaned and she rolled onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes. Great. Now he thinks I'm shallow AND subservient.

She almost didn't hear Cat Noir say, "You could have let those Akumas cut my heart out."

Marinette lifted her arm and eyed him confusedly.

Cat Noir appeared to be smiling at the flames. "You could have left me to drown in the river," he said. "You had every logical reason not to trust me; every instinct telling you to avoid risking your own neck for a fugitive. But you know something, Ladybug?" The thief now looked directly at her, baring the most thoughtful look she had ever seen. "You saved me anyway." He retained that proud grin as he flipped onto his back and added, "I'd hardly call that selfish."

Marinette continued to stare at him in wonder. Even after she finally drifted off, Cat Noir's words echoed in her hazy dreams.

And in all that time, that hollow feeling in her heart slowly began to stitch itself together.

The mirror was toying with him again.

Lord Hawkmoth growled with displeasure, glaring at the inky blackness clogging up the glass surface.

The swirling cloud did nothing but cast the king's reflection back at him: a face concealed entirely by a mask of dark silver, eyes as hard and pale as ice, and angry lines forming at the corners of his mouth. A circlet of black amethyst sat on his head, giving his daunting face a more regal look.

The magic within the mirror showed only the truth, but for once the Sorcerer King wished that what he had just seen had not been real.

The boy had just been lying there by the fire pit, a sleepy smile on that smug little face of his, like he had no fear of being jumped and gutted in his sleep.

And that girl in the ludicrous red cloak... How in the blazes did a painted doll like that – a mere child – cut down some of his finest soldiers like a proficient assassin?

Sadly, the mirror could not give the king an answer. That was the problem with farseeing magic: it showed the who, what, when, and where... but never the why.

Hawkmoth curled his aged, talon-like fingers over the amethyst brooch at his naval, letting its vibrant powers sooth him.

If only this accursed mirror could show him what he really wanted to see: the prince's cold, un-beating heart delivered to him in a special box.

If only I didn't have to rely on my men to get the job done, the king thought cynically. Maybe then the boy would already be dead. He gazed heavenward. Curse you, Gabriel, for denying me the pleasure of ridding the world of your annoying spawn.

Metal footsteps clanged on the marble floor behind him. Someone was coming.

The king did not turn as the Akuma Guard addressed him, "My master."

"You're trembling, soldier," Hawkmoth said in a deep but raspy voice. He closed his eyes and allowed his magically-enhanced senses to expand to the man behind him. He heard the soldier's shivering breaths; felt him fidgeting with his fingers as he bent down on one knee; smelled the blood pumping rapidly through his veins.

"Is that failure I feel pulsing in your chest?" Hawkmoth asked darkly. "Have you come to take credit for your incompetence?"

"We caught the boy, my master," the Akuma blubbered. "He was at our mercy... but he had an accomplice – a girl!"

Hawkmoth twisted towards him, his long silver cloak rippling across the floor. In the grim light of the torches and the evening sky from the open balcony, the shadows on his silvery face appeared fuller and made him less human.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" the Sorcerer King spat. "You blundering fool! I ordered you to bring me Prince Adrien's heart – one puny insignificant heart – and instead, you bring me nothing but pathetic excuses!"

The man trembled in the wake of his master's fury, his knees shaking so bad the armour kept tapping on the floor.

Hawkmoth exhaled through his teeth. My mighty Akuma Guards, outwitted by two children. That reminded him. "The girl... Is she from Bourgeois?"

The Akuma shook his head. "I don't believe so, my master. She wore the garb of a huntress, but she fought the others with an unusual technique – possibly a combination of Cheng martial arts and Dupain swordsmanship."

"Where is the rest of your squad, soldier?" Hawkmoth enquired.

"They're dead, my master," the soldier replied. "The girl shot my captain and then killed the other three with a knife before escaping with the boy. I barely escaped myself."

"How unfortunate..." Hawkmoth stepped towards the guard until he towered over him like a demon. "To be the sole survivor of such a terrible attack." He beckoned him upward, and the Akuma immediately sprang to attention. The king displayed a sympathetic pout. "Doesn't it just break your heart?"

One quick thrust with his bare hand, and the soldier's heart was in his grasp, glowing bright red and beating inconsistently.

The Akuma's eyes widened as Hawkmoth lifted up the little heart and squeezed.

It cracked beneath his fingers, shrinking into his palm. All the while, the soldier doubled over in agony, clutching his chest as though trying to smother out a fire.

This used to be more entertaining, Hawkmoth thought coldly as he reduced the last pieces of the heart to ash.

The soldier jerked one last time, and then he fell upon the floor. Dead.

Wiping his hands clean, Hawkmoth called for his personal guard to take out the trash. Then he strode back to his magic mirror.

"Show me the girl again," he commanded.

The ink cloud rippled and pulled away, revealing the prince's companion asleep on her back. Other than being speckled with dirt and sweat, the skin on her face was absolutely flawless. Even in sleep, she looked fit and ready for battle; a delicate flower with several thorns ready to prick anything that threatened to pluck her.

Hawkmoth hadn't seen such beauty since... well, since Queen Vivienne, obviously. He thought about the prince's mother slumbering away in the high tower of his castle, unhindered by time thanks to his curse.

Now Hawkmoth imagined this young girl immortalized in a crystal case. Still, the ladybug cloak puzzled him. "It seems my wayward stepson isn't the only one with a taste for theatrics," the king mused with a wicked grin. "But who is she really, and what interest is the prince to her?"

Whatever the reason, he had to stop this girl before she caused any more damage. Of that, Hawkmoth was absolutely certain.