Lord Lahiffe hid the tremor of his hand by sliding it into his waist pocket.
Adrien had been back for almost a week now and not sought him out again past that one chance encounter. The few times they had seen each other since – from a distance, with Adrien surrounded by the knights guarding him at all times – the prince's gaze had rather pointedly slithered right over Nino, like he was making an effort to not acknowledge him.
And with each successive subtle yet deafening rejection, anger and trepidation had buried their way deeper into Nino.
They were supposed to be best friends. Yes, Chloe's father had played a hand in rescuing Adrien from his harrowing imprisonment, but Nino still deserved a chance to explain himself instead of being written off as a villain on Chloe's word alone.
But it was the other possibility that gnawed at Nino's gut, filling him with dread.
Adrien had been through hell, and it might be Nino's fault.
Did the prince blame Nino for luring him out of the safety of his castle that fateful night? Had only a moment of weakness led Adrien to talk to him in the chance encounter? The injury to his head had to be severe for him to get lost in his own palace. Perhaps he'd even forgotten his anger that night.
Nino's gaze drifted to the throne. King Gabriel had dragged himself out of his self-imposed exile for this celebration. The year since they'd last seen each other had been even unkinder to him than to Nino. Gone was the regal, rigid man, commanding a room with his mere presence. No, Adrien's father was slumped in his seat, seeming on the verge of falling asleep.
And Nino's searching gaze could not find the prince. Anticipation and fear were building to a crescendo that was going to have him start heaving any moment. For tonight he meant to finally confront his best friend in front of witnesses.
Nowhere to run now, Adrien. If you're going to shun me, just get it over with.
Suddenly, a woman fell into his arms.
He grunted, catching her by the shoulders.
"Oh, forgive me, my Lord," a husky voice whispered in his ear. "I tripped."
Chat Noir breathed deeply, eyes closed, taking in the scent of his home. Maybe it was a mistake to rely on Adrien's memory for comfort, but it was the best he had. There was no dark whisper of his Lady's magic to wrap around himself in this realm, no forest den to take shelter in, not even the soothing sensation of grooming his fur.
Just the faint traces of ocean being carried by the wind and a maze a young prince had liked to play in until he'd memorized all its paths.
The wind shifted and his eyes flew open, head swiveling until his gaze locked on a noblewoman. She froze under his scrutiny, and his enhanced hearing picked up a soft squeak of distress.
"I don't bite," he said softly before he was aware of even summoning the words, so strong was the impulse to set her at ease. She had dark hair and a face that struck him as familiar, though he could not say where he'd seen it. But he'd met many humans today, their far too similar features all blurring together into one.
"Your Grace," she whispered, and dropped into a curtsy. "May I ask what you're doing out here in the cold?"
He scarcely felt it, his glamor having receded just enough to fortify this weak body of his so he could have his senses back. Senses that were telling him that she had the most delicious scent in all the human realm. Chat Noir breathed deeply once more, trying to place its components. Like stolen joy and the thrill of a hunt.
Sweet.
It was just sweet, like she had distilled the essence of sugar. He should hate it, but he didn't.
And she had a most pleasing figure, with that little dip around the waist. Too bad she wore a dress. It was with great disappointment that Chat Noir had learned that female humans never wore formfitting breeches, forever hiding their best asset from view. Apparently, they were expected to cover their glory and only ever reveal it to their mate. Modesty, it was called.
An idiotic notion if there ever was one. A mate was not something to be hidden. A male who needed his mate to diminish herself for fear of drawing competitor's attention did not deserve to have one. Instead of making her small, he should become the best he could be, so she would never wish to stray.
"I was getting rather tired of being stared at, to be quite honest." Chat subtly shifted his weight, making more room for her on the bench beside him.
She hesitated, then inched closer. "Aren't you used to that, Your Grace?" It sounded more like an accusation than concern.
Yes, perhaps Adrien was used to stares, but Chat's instincts were built around ambush. Drawing so much attention to himself would have made his tail bristle and lash with displeasure, if the glamor hadn't robbed him of it.
"Imprisonment takes its toll," he said curtly, because he couldn't very well tell the truth, and it rankled to be reminded that he was falling short of the prince's duties.
"Oh." She swallowed heavily as she sat down beside him, smoothing her skirts. "I heard you were injured when you were rescued. Are you – is your wound bothering you?"
As good of an excuse as any. "I'm supposed to give a speech and I keep forgetting half the words. It's going to be terrible."
She peered at him with a mixture of curiosity and doubt. "Surely it can't be that bad?"
"It's so boring. Father made me take out the puns," he said glumly.
There was that sound of distress again, and suddenly she leaned forward, blue eyes wide with wonder. "You put puns in your speech?"
Finally, someone who appreciated wordplay. He perked up. "Yes! And they were great puns, too. I was going to praise the knights who rescued me for keeping claw and order in our fair lands."
"Adrien," she whispered. "Oh my Gods, Adrien, I can't believe you're still making cat puns at your age." Then she broke into half-crazed laughter that held a note of relief for some reason. "I mean, I know it's your house's sigil and all, but…"
Oh.
This one knew the prince. He cursed his rotten luck.
Yet she suddenly grew rigid. "Ah! Not that I'd know anything about that. I mean. I heard you were fond of jests like this, Your Grace. Not that people gossip about it. You're very – I mean – I wouldn't say you're renowned for your wit, but – the, the people think quite highly of - oh no, I'm making it worse." What had started as a frantic and far too loud rush of words ended in a despondent whisper.
Cute.
This human was cute.
For just the span of a heartbeat, Chat Noir would have liked nothing better than to find out what the amazing scent tasted like when licked from her skin.
Not that he would. He belonged to his Lady, and he did not stray.
"You have me at a disadvantage, knowing so much about me and my habits when I don't even know your name." It was a stroke of fortune that the prince, too, was fond of wordplay, and Chat had started enthusiastically leaning into the habit. For authenticity, of course. No other reason.
She peered at him from beneath heavy eyelashes, a blush spreading on her freckled cheeks. "Lady Mariposa." Then she suddenly straightened her spine, meeting his gaze with what almost seemed like a defiant challenge. "Although my friends call me Mari sometimes."
"Mari," he murmured, tasting the syllables. "Sweet Mari."
She nodded, black curls arranged in an artful bun coming loose at the ferocity of it. There was expectation in her gaze now, almost pleading.
Chat didn't know what to do with it, so he smiled and leaned forward. "It's an honor to meet you, Lady Mariposa."
Her shoulders sagged, and then she forced a smile. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He'd disappointed her somehow. That would not do. Had he messed up the way to address her? It wouldn't be the first time he'd misstepped tonight. Maidens by first names, unless they're the eldest representative of their House in attendance, then by family name. No, that couldn't be it, she'd only offered a first name. "Have we met before, my Lady? I must confess that my head injury plays tricks with my memory. You seem familiar."
Her lips formed into a little 'oh'. She shook her head, loosening yet more of her curls. On impulse, he caught one of them, twining the black ringlet around his finger.
Lady Mariposa grew utterly still, her voice little more than a breathy whisper. "No, Your Grace. We haven't met."
"Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said. "Will I be seeing more of you at court?"
She swallowed heavily. "I'm… not sure, to be quite honest. I don't think so."
"What a shame." His lips twitched, and he dropped the curl to brush his fingertips along her arm. The many jeweled bands she wore jingled as he touched them, and he glanced down in surprise. Iron did not burn him, but it left a tingle on his skin, like an unpleasant itch.
The Lady held her breath at his discovery. At once, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I won't give your secret away. Your accessories are beautiful, I truly thought they were pure silver at first glance. Nobody will notice."
It'd be a lie to say that Underhill had no currency, for fae traded in promises and favors, but this notion of money had taken Chat a while to wrap his head around. Why exactly these chunks of metal held the value stamped on them and why everyone went along with the pretense made little sense to him, but then, the human realm was baffling in many aspects.
But one thing was unchanged from the Nightmare Court – if one held no currency at all, be it in allegiance or coins, a courtier did their best keeping that secret close to their chest. Having nothing was weakness, and the Court devoured the weak.
Lady Mariposa made that little choked sound again, turning away to hide her face behind her fan.
Chat had the sinking feeling he'd just committed his most grievous breach of etiquette yet by acknowledging her dire straits out loud. Of course. He should have let her fake jewelry go unremarked.
Her eyes were doing that leaking thing. But somehow this was even worse than when father and Lord Lahiffe had done it, the need to make it stop growing unbearable.
Please stop doing that, human. The arbitrarily decided value of shiny baubles is not worth crying over.
That probably wouldn't comfort her.
"Hey," he murmured, scooting closer. "There is no shame in doing what needs to be done to survive. I've done my share of unsavory things. I'm not judging you, Lady Mariposa."
She shook her head, but it still must have been the right thing to say. Mariposa raised her tear streaked face and gifted him with the brightest smile he had ever seen.
"I'm so happy you have returned to us safe and sound, Prince Adrien."
Her smile was a thing of beauty, like the dawn breaking through the clouds. Adrien could not help returning it with one of his own. "I'm glad to be home."
It was almost not a lie. Yes, he'd have liked getting to lay at his Lady's throne best and too many things vexed him still, but he had years of infiltration ahead of him, so it was best to make himself comfortable in his new territory. Instead of resenting the things that annoyed him, he would focus on what he found pleasing.
Lady Mariposa laughed, a trilling, happy sound. The exuberance of which appeared to startle her back into shyness. "People are probably wondering where you are. We – we should head back inside."
"But I like the view here," he said softly.
Her blush deepened. "Y-you have a very boring speech to give. I heard."
Chat grimaced at the reminder. "I'd rather stay right here, thank you."
"It's pretty cold."
"I don't mind."
"Well, I do. I'm freezing."
He made a whining noise in the back of his throat. "Well, that's your fault for cloaking yourself in such thin layers. I order you to wear something more sensible next time."
"Oh, you order me, do you?"
"I am your prince. I get to order humans around when I feel like it."
Her lips twitched. "Only your countrymen, your Grace. Alas, I am an Esparian. Your words hold no sway with me."
"I'll order a conquest in the morning to rectify that, then."
That sobered her, all amusement vanishing. Chat grimaced. Of course she wouldn't like the reminder of the conflict his Lady had been subtly stirring up for years.
"That was in bad taste, my apologies."
"It's alright." She glanced around and then tugged at his hand. "Come. It's not safe for you to be out of sight of your guards, Your Grace."
"I can defend myself," he said, but stood up all the same with a heavy sigh.
Lady Mariposa peered at him. "You look like I'm dragging you to the gallows. It's just a speech. You've given, what, hundreds? I heard you're good at it, too."
"Don't like the feline of being stared at."
She was quiet, not letting go of his fingertips as she shepherded him back inside. When she glanced over her shoulder, her blush deepened once more. "Look at me, then. When you give your speech. Only me, and I promise I won't be staring back."
"Ah, but Lady Mariposa," he purred. "Your stare would not displease me at all."