The macarons were burnt again.

Trying to push down feelings of panic, Marinette brushes her gloved hands against her apron, causing bits of batter and flour to scatter onto the wooden floor. She reached into the oven, bringing out the warm tray of macarons, scrunching her nose as the scent of burnt goods entered her nose.

Mother was going to freak.

"Okay Marinette. You can do this. You just need one tray of somewhat acceptable goods..." She says under her breath whilst scraping the failed macarons into the bin.

"Besides, you're good at baking, aren't you? Just why is it that when we actually need presentable food, your arms start having a mind of their own and mess things all up?"

Grabbing a second tray, she begins to mix the almond flour and confectioner's sugar into a second bowl whilst praying that she wouldn't mess it up all over again. She needed this batch to be perfect. No, her entire family needed this batch to be perfect.

After all, as the country's only gourmet bakery, they had a reputation to uphold, and the burnt macarons that were now lying in the bin by the cabinets certainly did not fit the high standards everybody expected from her family. It certainly didn't help that in three days time was the renowned autumn ball, where high class citizens from all over the country would be travelling to the palace in their finest clothes, for the King's annual masquerade party. And it certainly didn't help that the Dupain-Cheng's baked goods would be one of the main treats that would be presented on the marble tables in the grand ballroom.

Marinettes macarons would be tasted and judged by all kinds of high class people, possibly even royalty themselves.

She shivered despite standing in the warmth basking from the stove as a thought suddenly intruded into her head.

Prince Adrien might be one of the people sampling these treats. My treats.

She shivered again.

When Mother and Father had revealed to her that it would be Marinette that would be in charge of this years ball, she was ecstatic. Hell, even ecstatic was an understatement. Literal tears had run down her pale face as she bounded up to her parents and jumped to embrace both of them, squeezing them until they were gasping for breaths. As she was a natural borne klutz, her parents had never trusted her with baking for important events. They had no problem with displaying her goods in the store for customers to admire, and yearnful whispers of her creations had begun to spread within the neighbourhood, and then throughout the entire city as more and more customers came in to taste the delights. Yet as soon as members of royalty were involved, her parents had shut her out, leaving her behind to guard the bakery as they travelled to the countless balls the King held with their croissants and pies in hand.

But Marinette was 17, almost 18 now. And after countless hours of pleading and begging and several back and forth arguments that usually ended in tears and screaming, they had finally allowed her to be in charge of baking for the ball. And not just any ball. The Autumn ball- the one she had dreamt about all her life; Where under glittery masks and layers of fabric, the higher class danced in the dim lights to the palaces finest performers.

As an aspiring stylist, she had always wanted to see the whispers of how the ball gowns fluttering in dance looked like a sea of color, how the countless fabrics and jewels of the gowns meshed together to create a living personality on cloth. As a baker, she had always wanted to glide up to the legendary marble table of treats herself, to taste the lemon tarts and apple crumbles baked to perfection by the royal chefs, to melt in ecstasy as every bite filled her with joy.

But most of all- as a girl there was only one thing she wanted to see.

Or person, should she say. She had only met him once, briefly, when they were five years younger.

When she was buying ingredients to the famous Dupain-Cheng croissants in the outdoor markets- when all of a sudden there was a crack of thunder, and rain began to pour in showers. All around her, people began to raise their umbrellas in the air, or put the hoods to their coats up, but Marinette had nothing.

With her dark hair plastering to her forehead by the rain, she had hunched over, trying to protect the ingredients she bought that were in a flimsy paper bag when all of a sudden, the rain stopped.

But it hadn't stopped. She could still hear the pitter patter of the droplets thundering against the cold ashphalt into a loud crescendo of sound, yet she could no longer feel the droplets fall against her head.

So she had looked up to see a black umbrella above her, shielding her from the onslaught of weather. As she trailed her eyes down and opened her mouth to thank whoever her saviour was, her words had died in her throat. Because her savior had been just a boy, one around her age, one who's green eyes pierced hers as they glinted humorously, matched with a gentle smile that she had since replayed in her mind countless times.

He had wordlessly given her the umbrella then disappeared soon after, and then most likely forgot about their meeting moments later, but in those few moments, Marinette's young heart had been stolen.

Hell, she didn't even know he was the prince at the time, or next in line to the throne. All she knew was from the moment their eyes met, her heart no longer belonged to her alone.

God, why must she be such a hopeless romantic?

"Focus, Marinette, Focus!" Reaching in to dip a finger into the mixture of ingredients in the bowl and reaching it to her lips for a taste, she sighs.

Daydreaming about the prince would do nothing for her in the long run. No matter how many times she replayed the umbrella scene in her mind, or daydreamed about twirling in his arms at the ball, it would change nothing in reality. The only chance she had at even reminding Adrien of her existence would be through her macarons, and to make the lasting impression she hoped to make, the macarons would be have to be pretty damn good.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at the bowl of batter on the counter as newfound ambition surged through her veins.

Oh yes. Those ingredients were going to regret not being baked into perfect macarons previously. Because she was going to beat them, fluff them, and mix them until anybody who dares put one of the macarons into their mouths would be rendered speechless as pure bliss entered their lips.

She was going to make sure those macarons were the damn best thing anybody would ever taste, and she was going to make sure that they would be all anybody could ever think about.

Her eyes glinted with determination.

All Adrien could think about.