(A/N: This is basically "Not So Arranged Feelings" but like an alternative. Who's to say? I guess I just love arranged marriages and royalty AUs)
Pacifica curls her toes in her stiff dancing shoes. They're new, the leather specially dyed to match the color of her dress, despite it being a floor-length gown that will only show her feet when she dances. Which she really doesn't want to do. Not with – she swallows the bile rising in her throat – Prince Loam, who smells of squishy onions and has a smile that looks the same.
She sits beside her mother in the front of the room on an uncomfortable wooden chair. Princess Pacifica picks at her fingernails.
"Stop that," Queen Priscilla hisses from the corner of her mouth.
Pacifica stops. Just two dances from now, she'll have to dance with her sweaty suitor who's been boring his crusty eyes into her since the ball started. Conveniently, he's smashed against the wall (because who would want to willingly dance with him), and Pacifica's blue eyes gaze blankly at the swirling couples on the shimmery floor.
The dance ends, the couples bow, and Pacifica jiggles her knee. Just one more dance and then she has to smile and pretend and be in love and make small talk with this stupid Prince from some stupid faraway land who will make her have lots of children and never talk to her. She shivers despite the stuffiness of the room and the tightness of her collar. Maybe she can sneak out to get some air.
Sending a sideways glance to her parents, Pacifica slides out of her seat, dancing shoes tapping quietly down the steps of the stage. Sure, people in the crowd have seen her, but her parents haven't and that's the most important thing. Hopefully people will just think she's off to scout her suitor. Now she just has to avoid—
"Princess Pacifica!" Prince Dirt himself pumps out his flimsy chest and takes her hand with his greasy fingers. He's probably had too much cheese and not enough lessons on etiquette. "Are you here to escort me to the dance floor?" His 'gentlemen'-in-waiting snicker behind their hands.
Pulling out a practiced smile, Pacifica shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid I must… powder my nose before our eagerly-awaited dance." Did he catch the sarcasm? Oh, she hopes he caught the sarcasm.
"Let me escort you there."
"No, I think I—"
"I insist, Princess." He holds out his arm expectantly.
Not bothering to hide her grimace, she tries to touch him as little as possible when she links their arms together. She doesn't succeed when he cups his hand over her knuckles. Gosh, she wants to hurl.
Prince Dirt takes his sweet time walking her in the direction of the Ladies' Room, soaking up every stare they get. His parents and her parents probably love this just as much as he does, but Pacifica wants to shrivel up like a slug after being mercilessly attacked with salt. Unfortunately, the Ladies' Room is nowhere near the exit, so Pacifica will have to improvise.
"Thanks," she dismisses him, wriggling her arm from his clammy grasp. She ducks past the heavy red curtain covering the doorway.
Immediately it's cooler in there than in the stifling-hot ballroom of moving bodies. Pacifica takes a breath. Now… how can she escape? Normally she doesn't mind a good ball, but that's before she started getting told she had to marry someone. Someone she couldn't even choose. Dances were no fun after that.
She stares at herself in the mirror. Ugh, when did she start getting frown lines? Pacifica pats down her hairsprayed hair and sits on one of the cushy red chairs. She can't stay here all evening, she'll die of hunger before then. The Princess lasts about one minute before rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh. In her dramatic eye-roll she spots it: her savior.
A window.
Rekindled with energy, she stands on the chair, her heels plunging into the fabric and she almost loses her balance. She prays no one comes in as she uses the springs of the chair to hoist her up, and then her torso is hanging out into the cool air.
Hm.
Maybe she should have concocted her plan a little more thoroughly before going through with it. She doesn't remember her hips being this big…
Pacifica swears under her breath, flattening herself against the stone wall. Why didn't she think about the guards!? One circles the back courtyard, hands clasped behind him. He's whistling a tune she knows…
Oh, praise be.
"Dipper!" Pacifica hisses through clenched teeth, wriggling her hips. Just one little push and she should be free—
"Princess Pacifica?" Looking over his astonishingly-broad shoulders, the soldier jogs across the courtyard to her. She wishes he'd call her only by her name. This stupid title thing is so burdensome. "What are you doing?"
"Help me down, doofus."
The soldier's lips twitch upwards as he extends his arms. "Anything for you, Princess."
Normally words like that would make her swoon. Especially from him. "Don't laugh! Pull me out." With her hands on his shoulders and her poufy dress jammed in the small window, one glance would give Dipper an eyeful of… "don't look!"
Blushing, the soldier stares at his feet. So he was looking! "Where can I look, m'lady?"
She takes the energy to slap his shoulder and he snickers. It's loosening now, yes, she's past her hips so it should be smooth sailing from here on— and then she's falling and screeching and Dipper is grunting and there's a loud, obnoxious THUNK.
She can't draw a breath for a long, panicky moment, but when the air fills her lungs she coughs.
Dipper is no better underneath her. Underneath her. "M'lady…" his dying words? A hateful phrase? A wish to never see her again? "You should lay off the cream puffs."
The relief lasts only for a second. Does she laugh or yell at him? She opts for the latter. "I could have you hanged for that comment."
Finally opening his eyes, Dipper stares at her, actually looks at her for the first time in… what is it... months? His brown eyes glitter in the moonlight. The hands gripping her bare arms burn. "You wouldn't."
He's right. He's always right. She scrambles off his muscular body. The soldiers are dressed in a deep red for the ball with gold embroidery today. After the uniting between Gravity Falls and Westwood – or the uniting that will be after Pacifica marries Prince Dirt – the tension between the soldiers are laxed. Armor is shed, there's supposedly more joy in the kingdom. Supposedly. Like her advisors would ever let her peek over the palace walls. Pacifica is stressed as ever. 'Sacrifices must be made for the kingdom', is what her parents tell her. When have they ever had to make sacrifices?
"So, why exactly were you climbing through a window anyways?"
"None of your beeswax."
He snorts. "'Beeswax'? What are we, twelve?"
"I'm avoiding someone."
Dipper sobers almost immediately. "Who? Are you in danger?" His palm returns to cup her elbow in… concern.
She rolls her eyes. "The loser I'm supposed to get married to is chasing after me."
Like she's on fire, the soldier takes a large step back. "I'm afraid I cannot help you."
"Ugh, yes you can! You have to!" He glares at her. "I order you to help me, Dipper."
His mouth is set in a hard line, but he nods reluctantly at her request. "Fine." Without warning, he moves towards the soldiers' stairs, tight and spiral and ascends them, taking two steps at a time, almost like he's leaving the Princess behind on purpose.
When she finally makes it to the top of the stairs, he's leaning against the wall, arms crossed and tapping his foot. A grin creeps up his cheeks. "It's about time."
Pacifica huffs. "This dress isn't exactly a breeze to hoist up three flights."
He shoots her another smile. Together they walk to the curtained mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. Pacifica pushes back the thick red velvet and rests her elbows on the marble railing. Couples glide in meticulous pattern and rhythm, like a whirling kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.
"Do you wish you were on the dance floor?" Dipper matches her stance, their elbows almost touching.
"Eh," she shrugs in an unladylike manner. "I could take it or leave it. I guess it depends on what I'm wearing and who my partner would be."
"If you could choose then," his voice grows soft, "who would be your ideal partner?"
She turns to face him and he's looking at her, intense gaze unwavering. The way he's looking at her, the implication of his question… Pacifica's cheeks burn. She stares at the dizzying pattern of dancers in a feeble attempt to not overanalyze his question.
In the way Dipper's body jolts Pacifica knows she's not the only one who hears footsteps coming up the stairs.
"Get back," Dipper hisses, wrapping his fingers around her bare upper arms and pushing her into a dark corner.
He crowds over her, torsos nearly pressed together, neck craning over his shoulder to keep an eye on the intruder of their space.
"A soldier." He whispers, breath fanning over her forehead before he twists his neck to the side again.
Pacifica nods, knowing it's ineffective because he isn't looking at her anyway. Her gaze is locked on his Adam's apple, bobbing as he swallows in nervousness. It's… tantalizing. She looks at her shoes- their shoes, toe to toe.
Dipper exhales, long and slow. She doesn't dare look at him.
"Pacifica," He breathes.
She finally looks up at him, nose a millimeter from his chin. "Yes?"
In this proximity, she notes how his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his dark eyebrows draw together in concentration. His fingers burn against her skin.
Hours seem to pass. Unspoken emotion ripples between them.
"We should get moving." His voice pierces the silence.
"Good plan," Pacifica croaks, mouth suddenly dry.
Taking her hand in his, Dipper pulls her from the alcove. "How long does this stupid ball last, anyways?" He mutters under his breath.
It's only a her problem, and she knows it is, but sometimes being a princess is so humiliating. She used to love being frivolous, wearing the newest and biggest and pinkest dresses and throwing parties that were renowned for being obnoxious and exclusive. Now, small tea parties with… who with? Pacifica chased her friends away with her snooty attitude when she was younger. Even thinking about this huge ball, thrown in this time of tension, how necessary is it? It's so embarrassing to think that while royalty and dukes and duchesses snack on delicate finger foods and drink bubbly alcohol, soldiers on the front lines wait in anxiety for a call from either side, townspeople close their shops in fear.
The future of the kingdom depends on this marriage.
Ugh, being a princess sucks.
"What are you thinking?" Dipper glances over his shoulder for only a moment. His fingers are still wrapped around hers, burning hot.
"Just having an existential crisis, you know how it is."
He scoffs, but says nothing else.
Maybe it's better that way.
They turn around the corner to Pacifica's favorite hallway, stone walls lined with art dating back to two centuries ago, potted plants fill the gaps, large, open windows flood the space with moonlight. It's tranquil. If only they could stay here forever.
They slow, taking in the space. Perfection.
Then footsteps, followed by Prince Dirt's whistly breathing. "You have to hide me." Pacifica fists Dipper's tunic.
"What? Why?"
"He's coming. I can tell by the way he breathes." Her heartrate rivals that of when she fell on top of the soldier as she was attempting escape, when they were almost caught by the other guard.
"You can tell by the way he breathes?"
She jabs a finger in his face. "Don't argue with me, Mason. Hide me."
His nose scrunches, but tugs her down the hallway, "Ew, don't call me that. There's nowhere really to hide over here."
"You have to do something!" Prince Loam is getting closer now, she can hear his echoing footsteps.
Dipper stops, tonguing his cheek. His dark eyes meet hers. It'd be romantic if she wasn't concerned with other matters. "Do you trust me?"
They don't have time for games! "Yes, of course I trust you! Just get him away from me!"
Hands on her shoulders, Dipper pushes her against the wall behind a tall plant. "Forgive me, Princess."
It all happens so fast.
His arm slides around her waist, Dipper's forearm leans on the wall beside her head, boxing her in, and his mouth lands on hers.
Pacifica's first instinct is to shove him away. That's her first instinct, but it isn't her strongest.
Her eyes flutter closed, willing Prince Loam to disappear while she herself disappears at the feeling of Dipper's mouth. They have to make this convincing. She needs more.
Lips parting, Pacifica leans into him. Her palms snake up his torso to tangle in his fluffy brown hair. He huffs through his nose, the air hot on her cheek. Dipper reciprocates.
Pacifica doesn't know what she was expecting, but only six seconds into this kiss she realizes that Dipper isn't the little boy she used to play with. She's not a little girl either, anymore.
"Oh- forgive me—" Prince Loam stutters awkwardly from behind the plant. Can he see her?
Dipper moans a little exaggeratedly into Pacifica's mouth. It's an act, she knows it is, but she flushes nonetheless.
"I'll—uh, get going now. Sorry to disturb." Prince Dirt hurriedly scuffs down the echoey hall.
The soldier doesn't pull away immediately, but one hand loosens its grip on her waist while the other cups her cheek. His lips move softly, not as aggressive, he's slowing down. The mood feels a little different now.
When he does step back, regrettably, Pacifica is out of breath and he's the same, eyes dark, chest heaving.
"That… worked…"
"Yeah," he swallows, wiping his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, "it did." His gaze burns into hers.
The soldier checks over his shoulders, then grabs her hand to drag her away from the wall. No way will Pacifica ever look at that wall the same.
Her fingers linger over her mouth which still tingles from his kiss. She's weightless, floating down the hallway behind him, heart somewhere in the clouds. How she wishes she could feel his soft mouth again, run her palms over his broad shoulders. The princess's face feels like it's on fire, and she's sure it resembles one in color.
It's betrayal, she realizes, heart plummeting from the sky. She can't deny what she feels for him, but the image of the suffering townspeople, ridicule from her parents, another war…
It settles over her, the sickening complacency. It's time to stop being a brat and own up to her future.
"Dipper-"
"I'll escort you back to your room."
Pacifica sighs. Of course they're not going to talk about it.
Shortly they're in front of her door. She doesn't go inside just yet. She can't, not when the bubbling pot of tension has boiled over and is still going strong.
She looks at him, really looks at him, sees the battle he's fighting in his eyes. His hand clenches hers. The emotion has changed between them. The burning passion and tension that was as thick as her layers of petticoats before has evaporated. The air is cool, weak, hopeless.
They embrace. The soldier's lips press against her forehead. They separate, simple as that.
"If only-" He starts.
"You know I have to." She says.
"But-"
"For the people, Dipper."
End
(A/N: Wow that took a dark turn lol)