Author stuff: Coming live from just getting my COVID-19 vaccination!

Our favorite thief returns in this chapter. Which means, y'all get more puns!

I… don't think I ever said anything, and they were just briefly mentioned, but villeins. They were basically serfs. They had more legal rights than slaves, but were under different legal restrictions than freemen. They typically rented their home and land.

Chapitre sept

Always Black

Marinette snuggled under her blankets in an attempt to warm herself up. Autumn was rapidly approaching – she could taste it in the air. It wouldn't be long, now, before the leaves started to turn.

She sighed, her breath warming her hands, and she closed her eyes. There was a pressure in her bladder, but it wasn't persistent enough to make her worry too much on it quite yet.

She still wasn't sure of what to make of the duke, Felix Agreste. His eyes had mostly been on her mother during the entire exchange. He wasn't too bad, she supposed, all things considered. He was much better than Chloé Bourgeois – though, his fiancée did seem to be cut from the same cloth.

But perhaps he was just as bad?

No, how one treats another upon their first impression – especially those of a lower station – can reveal a great deal about their character. The duke was a decent enough person. He had the potential to be good to the people of Rochers.

She wasn't quite sure if she had dozed off or not, but the sudden knocking on her window woke her from whatever daze she had been in. She lifted her head – it felt much heavier than it normally did – and looked at the moonlight filtering in through the gaps of her shutters.

She carefully shuffled to the window, wondering who could be out there. It didn't even register that her room was on the third floor. There was no way up, not even a nearby tree.

She gently pushed open the shutters and looked out. There was nothing except the blackness of the night and the waning moon bathing the surrounding walls of homes just beyond their yard in silver light.

It was all peaceful, until a voice interrupted it.

"Hello, Princess," a voice from below her window said - making her jump. She looked down to see Chat Noir clinging to the wall. How was he even doing that? "Meow are you?"

"Chat?" she said, her voice a hiss. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't a knight visit his sweet princess every now and again?"

"Not in the middle of the night, when everyone is sleeping."

"Well then, when?"

He… kind of had a point. He couldn't very well visit her in the daytime, when he would be easily spotted amongst the crowd.

She gave him a noncommittal shrug and let him continue on.

He pulled him up, perching on her windowsill – not quite in her room to be invading her personal space but not far enough out to fall to the ground below.

"I heard that a certain duke finally returned home from war today."

"You heard correctly."

"I also heard that he visited a certain boulangerie."

She winced. Alya must have told him. While she hadn't been able to relay that information to her friend, there had been plenty of people out and about when that carriage pulled up. She could have easily overheard it during dinner by some gossips.

"Princess," he said when she didn't deny it, "for your safety, I urge you to stay as far away from him as you possibly can."

"What?" she said. "Why? He's done nothing wrong."

"No, but as I am the enemy of the law, and him being a part of the law… Well, if someone were to find out your association with me, things won't end well for you. Being too close to the law can get you burned."

"I'm hearing more reasons to stay away from you than I am for him."

Chat winced. He knew she was right.

"He's like all Agreste men who came before him, a danger to everyone around him. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you."

"I know his type, Princess. And I know his family. Listen you me, Princess – Marinette, stay far away from him."

"You can't tell me what to do," she said, her voice as snappish as the brisk night air. She tried not to wince. Her words sounded rather bratty. She was starting to sound like Chloe.

Still, he sighed and turned away. She could have sworn she saw fear and pain in his eyes before he did, however.

"You're right. I can't. It wouldn't be fair to you to lock you away like some princess in a tower. Just… please, heed my warning. I promised your father that nothing bad would happen to you."

"My father? You've talked to my father? Is he alright? Are they feeding him?"

"I haven't personally, no. My friends won't let me take that risk. But they report that he is well, and say that you shouldn't worry too much. He'll be home soon."

"Does this mean you'll help him?" she said.

"For you, Princess, I would retrieve your paw-ther from the deepest, darkest depths of Hell. But I only ask for one thing as payment."

"What?"

"A kiss."

She froze. A kiss? Really, no man should ever ask a woman for a kiss unless he was a member of her family or her betrothed. It wasn't right. But it was just one kiss, and no one was awake to see them…

"Alright," she said. She closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and leaned forward. She half expected him to lean in, but – instead – she felt a finger on her forehead. He gently pushed her back inside.

"Not here," he said. "I never collect my payment until after I complete the task I enrolled myself in."

Oh.

He bid her a good night and shimmied down the wall. She watched him carefully place his hands and feet until he reached the bottom. He bowed to her and slipped away in the night, becoming one with the shadows as he made his way back to camp.

"That's kind of him," she said to herself, thinking about how he didn't want to take something without being able to complete the task given to him. It seemed… oddly appropriate. He had never not been gentlemanly to her in their few conversations.

She settled back into her bed, ready to finally sleep, when it hit her: He was probably going to kiss her in public.

To say that she was tired the following day would have been an understatement. She was sure that she fell asleep – standing up and working – on more than four occasions. They weren't even halfway through the morning rush when her mother sent her back upstairs.

"Go get some sleep," Sabine said, shooing her away. "You look dead on your feet, and you're getting in the way. You'll be more helpful away from us."

And so she did – even with the sky growing brighter and brighter. She managed several good hours, her shutters doing a decent job of keeping out the light. When she woke, golden beams of afternoon sun filtered through the cracks, dust swirling.

She thumped down to the boulangerie, stretching and yawning loudly. Her mother was alone and finishing the last of the bread for the evening. The woman looked up when she entered, wiping her brow and leaving a trail of flour across it.

"I was just about to go up and wake you," Sabine said. "I don't know what kept you up all night, but try to refrain from it again. I need all the hands I can get down here. You know that."

"I'm sorry, Maman," Marinette said, ducking her head. "I was just… I was trying to think of a way to help Papa."

Sabine's features softened and she pat her daughter's cheek affectionately. A white flour handprint was left on Marinette's skin. It made Sabine crack a smile.

"Dear, you don't have to do anything. It will all be taken care of. I promise you."

Marinette took over, shaping the last of the loaves and watching them turn golden in the oven. Her mother seemed relieved when she took over her normal duties.

By the time she finished, it was almost evening. The villeins would be coming in from the fields soon.

Her mind turned to Tricheure – who hadn't been milked the day before. Whoops. The goat looked none too pleased to see her, but the milk laden udders looked swollen and painful.

"Hey, Tricheure," she said quietly. She held up the milk bucket as a peace offering. The goat huffed and leaned against her fence, waiting to be relieved.

Marinette knelt down and easily reached through and got to work. It took a few moments for Tricheure to get comfortable, but once she did the milking became easier.

She didn't notice the men approaching her or hear their footsteps until they were right next to her and a burlap sack was over her head.

The canvas of the sack smelled of dirt and sweat and mildew – though it felt and looked clean, from what she could tell. Which wasn't really much, in all honesty.

The light candle or five flickered and swayed in the breeze coming in through a window – she only knew it was a window because she had watched, and despaired, as the sky grew dark through the weave of the canvas. She assumed she was inside, but that could only be confirmed when the sack was removed.

The entire way to the location, she fought – using her sharp nails as weapons against her assailants. They ended up binding her wrists together before they reached the room. They had shoved her onto a stool, almost making her fall off it before she could properly comprehend what she was supposed to do. And they held her there with their heavy hands.

She thought that she looked a little tousled, but she knew that they looked worse. She had drawn blood. It had since dried, but she remembered how sticky and hot it felt on her fingers.

Eventually, a door opened and closed. Footsteps drew near her and stopped. She expected the sack to be roughly pulled off her head, but the ties around her neck keeping it in place were delicately undone. Slowly, the sack followed after.

She blinked rapidly and looked around.

She was in a rather nice room – made of light quarry stone and thick tapestries hanging on the walls. In front of her was a beautiful wood desk – it was ornately carved into a forest scene. Gilded swans and bears danced through the trees and underbrush. There were two men – guards, she realized – on either side of her. Across the room was a large window – open to the night – and behind the desk was a cabinet, tucked into a corner. Beyond that, the room felt empty, impersonable.

A tall, blond man walked from behind her, the burlap sack in his hands. Felix Agreste, she realized. Something twisted sharply in her stomach.

She watched as he dropped the sack into an open drawer and sat down. He waited until he was settled before addressing her.

"I apologize for any rough handling you underwent," he said, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands. "My men aren't exactly known for treating anyone too kindly."

"It's…" she said, wetting her lips. "It's fine. My lord. They weren't too bad."

She bit the inside of her cheek. She almost forgot how to properly address him. She didn't want to think of the consequences for improperly conversing with the duke.

"Still, I feel like I should apologize on their behalf."

"As I said, it's fine, my lord. Um…" She hesitated. She didn't quite know if it was proper or not, but… "May I ask you a question?"

"Didn't you just?"

She blinked at him. Was he trying to be funny? Was that his idea of a joke? He rolled his eyes and huffed, gesturing for her to continue.

"Why am I here exactly? If… If that's not too improper, my lord."

"Someone saw a stray cat outside your window last night, damoiselle."

She bit back a gasp. Someone had been awake and watching her? Not good. She quickly thought of a response – though it was much less formal than it should have been.

"Oh?" she said. "And did they tell you that the stray cat was keeping me from my sleep?"

That got a response out of him – he actually smiled. Well, sort of. The corners of his lips ticked upwards just a smidge.

"I have a proposition for you, Mademoiselle Marinette," he said. The duke opened a drawer, shuffled through some things, and pulled out a piece of paper. He slid it across the desk, face down, toward her. "I need your help capturing this man."

She flipped over the paper as best she could with her still bound hands and frowned. It was a crude drawing – a wanted poster – of Chat Noir. She wasn't exactly sure of all the specifics, but she remembered a few words from the minimal lessons she received from the kind Brother Fu all those years ago. There was a promise of a big reward for his capture.

"What makes you think he trusts me?" she said, challenging him. "What makes you think that I'd even help you?"

He smiled wider and watched her with flat eyes as she slid the paper back at him. He seemed pleased with himself.

"If you help me," he said, "I'll pardon your father of all his crimes, and he'll be a free man once again."

Author stuff cont'd.: Who saw that coming?

I did. I saw it coming. But only because I plotted everything out.

Anyway, y'all make me wish I had it in me to update every day. I can't explain how happy seeing my reader count go up almost every day makes me. I've only shown a few people in my life how many of you are reading this across several different platforms, and they're all happy for me. (I may have cried a little bit.) Honestly, thank you all so, so, so, so, so, so much! It means a lot to me to see so many people interested in this old af fic and to see a lot of you coming back.

So, from the bottom of this frozen heart, many, many thanks and lots of love.