The steps leading up to the podium creaked under the heavy thump of his boots, loud enough even for the weak hearing of nearby humans. Through pointed coughs and subtle elbow shoving, silence spread like a contagion. Expectant gazes turned to face him as Chat bared his teeth in the closest approximation of a smile he could muster.
Words. He should be saying some. They came easily these days, much easier than they used to. But his treacherous memory chose this moment to fail – instead of the speech he'd learned by rote, it only showed him the fresh image of Lord Lahiffe staring at him in bewildered hurt.
The sea of eyes followed his movements as he paced the length of the raised platform, clearing his throat to stall for time. His restless gaze darted this way and that, trying to find something, anything that might give him the moment of calm he needed to compose himself.
Look at me, whispered his memory, and so he did, seeking that bright blue.
She was huddled together close with her cousin, deep in a whispered discussion. Yet as soon as he caught sight of her, she must have sensed his scrutiny, for their gazes met.
And she smiled.
Chat exhaled, and the words he'd been grasping for suddenly flowed from his lips with ease.
"Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen – good evening. Words cannot describe what a privilege it is to be standing among you once more. I thank you all for the warm welcome I've received tonight..."
"Your speech was a travesty, Adrien."
Chat sighed and readjusted the arm slung over his shoulder. "I warned you it was boring." Even Lady Mariposa's eyes had glazed over at some point, though she'd made a valiant effort to maintain her smile. Among the polite smattering of applause, her clapping had been loudest.
Yet she hadn't been among the multitude of people seeking his company afterward.
"It was boring because you made it so. A corpse could have recited that speech with more charisma and enthusiasm than you."
"I did what you asked of me."
Dilated pupils strained to focus on him. Between the late hour and the laudanum, the king was struggling to stay upright. Chat had dismissed the guards, having decided to spare the old man's dignity by helping him to his chambers on his own.
The king was proving less than grateful, choosing the duration of their journey to discuss all of Chat Noir's many blunders of the night. At length. As if Chat wasn't aware of all the judging looks he'd drawn that evening. He'd thought he'd done well, all things considered, but his superior hearing had picked up on the whispers trailing behind him as the evening wore on.
Using the wrong fork on the first course was apparently evidence of him being driven to savagery during his long imprisonment, making him little better than a barbarian.
"You did it the way a petulant child would. I know you're a better orator than that, Adrien."
Last time I'm doing something nice for you, human.
Chat Noir bit his tongue, concentrating on half-dragging the old human back to his chambers.
"Sabotaging the task you were given won't prevent me from giving you the task again, as you well know. Do you think I like all my duties, my son? But they must be done, so you might as well do them well and take pride in the accomplishment."
"Yes, I can see how well you've done your duty lately," Chat muttered.
The king's steps faltered.
Adrien squeezed his eyes and lips shut. "I'm sorry. That was–"
"No. No, you're quite right. I've–" His father swayed. "I've let down my people. Even you. Especially you. You were alive all this time and I refused to allocate resources to your search because I was so convinced…"
"Father, stop. Please. You were grieving and ill, it's not your fault."
"But my responsibility all the same." The king's fingers dug into Chat's bicep. "Regret is a curious thing, Adrien. You never know what it is that will pain you most until it's too late to act differently. I wished so dearly to have you by my side again so I could tell you how proud I am of the man you've become, and yet here I am, berating you for your imperfections."
"…but you're right. My speech was utter shit. I did the bare minimum to get through the evening."
"And that's unlike you, so I should have been considering the reason. We'll have the physicians take another look at your head injury in the morn'."
"Yes, father," Chat said softly and nudged the older man to start walking again. "I'll do better next time, I promise."
Unseen by both men, a white butterfly fluttered high above. When the doors to the king's chambers slammed shut, it flitted back to the grand hall. Landing on the crystal chandelier, it beat its delicate wings once more before growing still, settling in to spy for its mistress.
The carriage door slammed shut and Marinette sunk into the plush seats as good as boneless.
Adrien was alive.
He had talked to her.
And he hadn't recognized her.
Perhaps it should sting, and it did, a little. But the hurt was eclipsed by relief and the faint tingle on her arm where his fingertips had brushed her skin. He was exactly like she'd always imagined he'd grow up to be, kind and mischievous and with a beautifully terrible sense of humor. The kind that made her groan and laugh all at once.
…though he had been rather sharp with Lord Lahiffe.
No. She would not let it spoil her mood. Marinette would choose to focus on the good news this eve. They'd worry about all the cracks and imperfections tomorrow.
A sharp lurch ran through the carriage, and then it began moving. The horses' hooves fell into a natural rhythm as wheels rattled on the cobblestone, taking them away from the palace to the inn Alya had found for them. Lady Alya had grimaced at the run-down lodgings, accepting only because most of the city was filled with travelers who'd come for tonight's celebration and the approaching New Year's festival.
"Marinette," Alya suddenly spoke up halfway through their journey, jolting Marinette out of her reverie. The noblewoman had been rather quiet ever since she'd ushered the two of them out of the ballroom to regroup. "I'm so sorry."
"Huh? For what?"
"I was so certain that they'd replaced the prince – that we had no time to lose…" Alya closed her eyes, exhaling. "I forced your hand with an impossible ultimatum. And now you can't go home because my mistake."
Marinette's shoulders fell at the reminder. The corpse of Lady Bourgeois's Changeling had dissolved into black mist, but now the household was missing its Mistress and her Lady's maid. At best, Marinette would be assumed dead. At worst, complicit.
"You were open to me about the implications of my decision," Marinette said gently. "Your reasoning was sound and convincing. Do you think the prince is still in danger?"
"Yes. He might not have been replaced, but – I feel it in my bones that there is some force at work here. Some larger plan the fae are working toward. It cannot be coincidence that the prince would vanish on a solstice and reappear shortly after another one, so close to a Changeling."
Marinette nodded. "Then I do not regret coming. We need to save him. Our realms, I mean. Save our realms."
Alya peered at her, hazel eyes wide. "You'll stay, then?"
A sheepish smile. "Well, they won't save themselves. And where else would I go?"
"I'll take care of you, I promise. Even after this is all over. You can be my Lady's maid, or if you wish, I'll train you to be a hunter like me. Or maybe Lady Mariposa could become real. I would not mind claiming you for a cousin."
"Let's focus on one day at a time. Please. I'd rather not have to make any more life-altering decisions anytime soon." Marinette laughed self-consciously. "Taming my nerves regarding this most recent one is hard enough. But I will tame them, and then we'll speak of this again, yes?"
Lady Alya nodded, eyes shining.
"But…" Marinette's teeth dug into her bottom lip. "There's one thing I'd like to request. I know you said I can't send them letters, but I've thought of a way I could let my parents know that I am well."
"Mirror, show me how the prince learned to give good speeches."
Adrien heaved, doubling over until his face was only inches from the bushes. Fingers raked through his hair, brushing stray strands away from his face to save them from splatter.
"It'll be fine, Adrien," Nino murmured behind him.
"No. No, I'm going to go up on that stage and the first word out of my mouth will be interrupted by my breakfast. I think those croissants resent having been devoured, they're fighting their way back up. Oh Gods, why did you make me eat them, Nino?"
"Because you're going to be fine. You know the words inside and out. I've watched you practice every gesture and inflection for three days now. Believe me when I say that you'll do great."
"You're biased." Another dry heave.
"Adrien, when have I ever hesitated to point and laugh when you fail spectacularly at swordplay? This is no different. I wouldn't lie to you on this."
True. Unlike so many others, Nino never felt the need to bow and simper to gain his favor.
"Come now, it's one brief speech. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I could faint. Faint in front of all the kingdom."
"Well. Mostly the people of the capital."
"You're not being very reassuring!"
"I'm not trying to be. You're being ridiculous. Come now, you didn't even faint when your horse threw you off and broke your leg."
"That was different." Physical strain was easy to endure, but this…
"Adrien, I've never seen you like this. What is it you're so afraid of?"
"You only get one chance to make a first impression," Adrien muttered darkly.
"Yes, and yours will be great."
No. No, it wouldn't be. He'd look ridiculous before he even stammered out a single word. Adrien straightened his back and glanced over his shoulder at his best friend. The one who'd hit his growth spurt and now towered over him.
His sixteenth nameday, about to be presented to the kingdom as their future ruler, and Adrien had the build of a twelve-year-old. A scrawny one. It wasn't fair! His father and his late uncles all had the bodies of a warrior, tall and imposing. He should have listened to his father and eaten more meat instead of sneaking sweets.
The people would take one look at him and break into laughter.
"You know, if the audience starts jeering at me," Adrien said. "Father is probably going to mount some heads on pikes as a deterrent. And that will be my fault. Those poor peasants forever on my conscience."
"Nobody's head is getting mounted on a pike, Adrien."
"How do you know?"
"First, because your father's not a madman. Second…" A firm hand grasped him by the shoulder, golden eyes shining with sincerity. "Because your speech is amazing, Your Grace, and I have absolute faith that the people will see it, too. You know my mother was not happy when we became friends?"
A frown creased the prince's brow. Lady Lahiffe was a gentle woman, radiating warmth and caring. Nino had inherited both his disposition and complexion from her. Adrien had never sensed any animosity from her.
"I know they seem like a love match now," Nino said, "but my parent's marriage did not have a happy beginning. She was all but traded as a political hostage to barter for peace, joining two lineages together to ensure their cooperation. Father and she made the best of it, but mother is loyal to her homeland still and has no love for King Gabriel. He strong-armed her family into the match. So yes, when I told her I'd befriended the prince of Franeaux, she was wary."
His best friend smiled. "Right up until she met you, that is. Trust me, Adrien – nobody will laugh or jeer at you. They will thank the Gods to have a king like you to look forward to."
Chat's claws dug into his sheets, jealousy scalding his guts.
Adrien truly had everything.
Chat had been abandoned by his sire, but the king loved his son so much he'd all but given up on life without him. Surrounded by people who respected him, a loyal and trusted friend at his side – the prince's life was the utter opposite of Chat's lonely existence.
Yes, Chat had his Lady and he had Trixx, but both only crossed paths with him as they saw fit while he was left waiting and longing.
The little fox spirit never dared come closer to the heart of the realm, too weak and young to face the courtiers. Nightmare's borderlines were so fickle and everchanging that finding each other was mostly left to chance.
His Lady was forever consumed by her duties. Yes, she always had a moment to spare to scratch Chat's ears, but that was all she did. Conversations were rare and precious. Almost all Chat knew of her and her Court, he had taught himself by observing.
His Lady was Chat's life and yet he was not hers. There were other suitors vying for her heart, and he had even heard whispers that there had once been another Lord by her side.
Chat's blunt claws traced the outlines of the mirror.
The memories it showed him were vivid yet unreal, frayed at the edges. Their viewpoint was always limited to whatever had caught the prince's attention, tinged with his emotions and sensations. Details were blurred, eroded by time, yet others stood out in sharp relief. What the prince couldn't remember was blank, like strolling through a half-finished painting.
For all that his Lady had warned him that he might mistake them for real, Chat was acutely aware that these memories were no more than echoes. Tantalizing glimpses into another man's life. Chat wanted to experience Nino's affection for himself, earn the king's respect when he was not made docile by laudanum.
They all thought him too incompetent at subterfuge to fool his father and best friend, but they were wrong. He would claim them for his own, make them care for him as they cared for Adrien. Surpass all expectations in how well he would fill the prince's role.
A sudden shiver of unease ran down his back.
Chat had not much concerned himself with the Lordling's fate, spared him no more sympathy than the pheasant they had served him for lunch this day. Eat or be eaten, that was the way of the world. But the more of the prince's memories he immersed himself in, the more a piercing sliver of guilt wormed itself into Chat's heart.
Adrien's disappearance had wreaked havoc on those who loved him.
But – Chat could fix that. He'd take their grief away, smile at them with the prince's face and drink in their adoration.
It's not for you, a venomous voice whispered in his mind. They would despise you if they knew you.
The voice sounded a lot like Prince Adrien.
Chat Noir grimaced, rolling over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Raising his hand before his eyes, he peeled back his glamor. Nails sharpened as the fine blond fur on his arm turned black, thickening and multiplying, only sparing the little pads on the inside of his palm. He curled his long fingers, admiring the curve of his unsheathed claws.
His true form was elegant, beautiful and deadly.
So why was the sight of it so unsettling?
Chat huffed and shoved the thoughts aside. Doubt was truly the most unpleasant side effect of sentience and he was done indulging in it. Letting his tongue dart out, he lost himself in the simple pleasure of grooming his fur, the voices in his head quieting. He closed his eyes, a soothing purr rumbling in his chest as his ears twitched. The night was alive with sounds, though most of them were swallowed by the heavy blankets of snow and sleep laying over the castle.
A faint scratch drew his attention, the familiar clack of claws trying to find solid footing on stone, skittering on the unforgiving surface.
It was coming closer.
Chat Noir grew still, slowly unfurling his long limbs as he turned to press his chest to the bed, hindlegs digging into the bedding, readying for a pounce. Another clack of claws, then all grew quiet.
A window swung open with a creak.
Chat leapt forward, pinning the small fox between his paws.
"When will you learn that you can't sneak up on me?"
But the fox spirit yelped, hissing and biting as they wiggled out of his hold. Chat blinked, grin faltering, and drew back. The small animal shimmered, a glamor washing over them, and suddenly he was faced with a furious woman wearing a maid's uniform.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
A confused whine rose to the back of Chat's throat. "Trixx?" But the mischievous fox spirit was never hostile like this, never let a failed ambush get to them. How'd they even make it into the human world…?
For a brief moment, the other fae mimicked his confusion, but then scowled again. Chat startled when he realized that they bore the sharp note of his Lady's court, now tinged with rage. While Trixx disguised their scent all the time, there was always a hint of wildness in it. But this one – he inhaled deeply. Nightmare, Changeling, female.
Changelings could freely impersonate anyone, male or female, but they still had a true form with a gender of their own. Trixx flowed like water from one to the other as they pleased.
"What are you doing without your glamor?" she snapped.
"It's my room," he said slowly and pushed himself to two feet, hip realigning to make the position more comfortable. But he kept his claws, for now. "Nobody will see."
"Your orders were to wear human skin at all times."
Ah, yes. Chloe's method acting. "My orders come directly from my Lady and no one else. Everything else is advice I am free to follow. Or not."
"Those were orders, not suggestions," she said, eyes narrowing. "You are here for your gift with iron, not because we rely on you to make strategic decisions. The prince is a role you play – but do not delude yourself into thinking that you are in command."
His lips curled back from his fangs. "I might not be in command, but I am not here to serve you either."
"Infiltration is our specialty, not yours. You would do well to heed us for we speak with experience and our Lady's authority."
"I don't even know who you are."
She eyed him with distaste, then shook her head. "The name is Lila Rossi. For now. There's been a complication. Our spy in the Bourgeois household was eliminated by fae hunters."