Nathalie brushed her fingertips over the delicate clockwork mechanism, silencing the shrill screech and restoring its pleasant ticking rhythm. A marvelous automaton created by skilled craftsmen, perhaps the only one of its kind in the entire realm. A gift to the king by a foreign ambassador, and then a gift to her, the only luxury in her sparse quarters.

At once, she swung her legs off the bed, walking briskly to the chair on which she'd meticulously laid out her clothes for the day. The tight undergarment flattened her chest, while the loose overcoat concealed what remained. Never breaking her stride, she moved through her morning routine by rote, and within ten minutes on the dot, she was ready to face the day's duties.

Yet as she strode toward her Lord's chamber, an unease pricked at the back of mind, a nagging awareness that there was something she'd forgotten.

Mentally reviewing her duties for the day, she–

A dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight making the shadows dance on the walls. Somber words spoken in private, for her ears only, the physician dabbing sweat from his brow as he delivered the grave news.

Her steps stuttered to a halt.

Then she turned on her heels, mouth pressed together in a thin line as her heart ached.

How could she have forgotten the newest addition to her routine?

It was hard to look at what the ravage of time had done to Gabriel, so much so that she sometimes liked to pretend it wasn't happening. But she could not allow such foolish sentimentality to get in the way of carrying out her duties to the best of her considerable abilities.

The doctor's orders had been clear.

Gabriel's body had grown too frail to withstand withdrawal. He needed his medicine.

Marinette woke to an awareness of being watched.

She blinked, dazed, dreams of a dark forest and bright green eyes crumbling away. Mere moments later, her view of the ceiling was obscured by a wild mane and a broad grin.

"You're awake!" Lady Alya was vibrating in excitement, her long locks cascading over her shoulder as gravity pulled at them, the tips tickling Marinette's throat. "Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like the dead?"

"Many, many times," Marinette grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut against the far too bright sunlight filling the room.

Wait.

Bright sunlight. In winter. When the nights were long and the days short, and Marinette had to get up far earlier than the first light of dawn to attend to her chores.

She jerked up, only Lady Alya's fast reflexes saving the both of them from a head collision.

"Why didn't you wake… me… oh." Taking in the opulent suite and Lady Alya's bemused look, Marinette trailed off, her tired brain only belatedly making sense of her surroundings.

Would she ever grow used to facing a day filled with nothing but leisure time?

Well, that, and the fight against otherworldly monsters.

"I won't lie, I was tempted to throw a pillow at your head to get your attention," Lady Alya said with a soft laugh, and it was only then that Marinette noticed she was sitting at the foot of Marinette's bed. "But if anyone's earned the right to rest after last night, it's you. My curiosity can wait."

Marinette peered at the almost voracious expression in her friend's hazel eyes, then dropped her gaze to the worn leather-bound book lying open in Lady Alya's lap. The once-blank pages where filled with elegant yet compact handwriting, dozens of clues, theories and stray observations squeezed into as small of a space as possible.

"…I'm about to be interrogated, aren't I?"

"Only a little." Flashing a grin, Lady Alya held up her hand and started counting down her fingers. "I merely need a blow-by-blow retelling of how you defeated the fae, a description of all your new powers including their limitations and–" Her smile grew sly as she waggled her eyebrows in a most unladylike manner. "–a thorough account of what you and the prince were up to last night, considering how late the hour of your return was."

"L-Lady Alya!" Marinette buried her face in her hands to muffle the squeal. "Don't make it sound like that!"

"Like what?"

The eyebrow waggling intensified, and Marinette's head hit the pillow. Circumventing her attempt to hide under the blankets, the noblewoman pulled the soft sheets away in one swift motion, prompting a whine.

"Oh, I'm just teasing." While her grin was as wide as before, Lady Alya smoothed her tone into a serious one. "I truly do need to know what you make of him, now that you've had more opportunity to observe."

Green eyes shone with interest, their corners crinkling with a smile so kind she knew in her heart it could not be fake.

"He's just like what I'd imagined he'd grow up to be," she whispered, the pillow swallowing the sound. A little sillier and more playful than one might expect a crown prince to be, but… him.

Lady Alya answered with a thoughtful hum, and a moment later Marinette heard the sound of something scraping against paper. Peering at her through the corner of her eyes, Marinette watched Alya as she added more notes to her book, using a plain black quill that never needed to be dipped in ink. It had taken all of Marinette's self-control to not grow green with envy the first time she'd seen this particular fae trinket.

Although now she had magical quills of her own.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Marinette said, "You must have a theory of what's going on by now."

"Only guesses. Guesses based on far too little information."

"Well, we saw the fae dancing with him – that confirms he's of interest to them, right?"

Lady Alya sighed. "And that he's being watched. Which will make it rather difficult to interrogate him."

"If we can corner him alone…"

Red curls bounced on her shoulders as Lady Alya shook her head. "We don't know what's been done to him. And until we do, it's not safe to tell him what we know. Alerting the fae to our presence could be our death."

Marinette sat up straight. "You think he would betray us?" Even as she said them, the words tasted bitter, the idea unthinkable. Adrien was not malicious, she felt that in the depth of her bones.

"It's not betrayal if he can't help it. For all we know, they might be inside his head, knowing what he knows, seeing what he sees." Lady Alya absently underlined a few words in her notes. "I think it's fair to assume that his imprisonment was their doing, and that he is a victim in this. But once someone's caught by fae – their chances of escape are slim. Unless they are allowed to flee. One way or another, he might be a pawn."

Marinette worried her bottom lip as she absorbed that information, and nodded. "Then we help him make a true escape."

"Easier said than done." Lady Alya hesitated for a long moment, her voice softening. "I know you want to protect him, Marinette. But… just prepare for the possibility that it cannot be done. If he was forced to bargain for his freedom, then–"

"Then we find the loophole." Marinette raised her chin in determination. She'd been studying the book Lady Alya had provided her in an effort to be of more help – an abbreviated compendium on fae and their many different species. She hadn't gotten far yet, the information too dense and her ability to read too slow, but she'd gathered this much. "There's always a loophole, isn't there?"

"There is," Lady Alya said at length, wearing a pensive expression as she studied Marinette. "What do you think we should do next, then?"

"Me?" Taken aback, Marinette blinked. "You're the experienced hunter, not I, Lady Alya."

"And yet, if it wasn't for you, I'd be dead twice over by now." Lady Alya laughed, but there was a raw edge to it. "I mean, I really – for a few moments last night, it looked like – I really thought this is it. If you hadn't been there…"

She trailed off.

"Marinette. I have a confession. I'm not – I fear I've abused your trust in me."

"Lady Alya…?"

"Just Alya. Please." Exhaling a sharp breath, she curled her fingers around her throat, fingertips tracing the wounds that were no more. "Yes, I'm a hunter. I've prepared for this all my life, until my bones cracked and my knuckles bled, studying the fae and their histories. But I am woefully, woefully lacking in experience."

Her pin gleamed with an ethereal glow, calling a white butterfly into existence. Hazel eyes followed its movements, until Lady Alya crooked her finger to call her creation to her.

"You know… this weapon of mine. It's somewhat of a pity prize. At first, I thought its unpopularity was due to lack of personal glory. The butterfly's power is shared, giving its wielder only a fraction of the power of the other weapons at my family's disposal."

Marinette raised one hand to her ear, fingertips ghosting over the precious stone housing the butterfly Lady Alya had shared with her. Last night, her body had been overflowing with power. Even now she shivered to recall the certainty that creation itself was little more than clay to be reshaped as she saw fit. "Your family holds weapon more powerful than this?"

"Held. Once. The vaults are likely lost now. But – no. When I read up on the butterfly's history, I realized that wasn't true. Its full potential is quite potent." Alya leaned forward, intense gaze seeking Marinette's. "But it needs the right partner. The right person. Few people can stand to know what lurks inside them.

"But you – you. You were amazing." A shaky laugh burst forth. "That's why I'm asking your opinion. Because you've proven yourself more than capable. You and I – I want us to be partners. Because I…" She trailed off, as did the last of her laugher. "I don't know if I can do this on my own."

"Oh," Marinette said softly just as Alya hid away the fleeting expression of vulnerability, burying it beneath a lopsided grin.

Of course.

I should have seen this.

From the moment Marinette had first laid eyes on the huntress, fierce and awe-inspiring and driven by an indomitable will, she hadn't hesitated to follow. Shining so bright she seemed larger than life, Alya had always been there to provide comfort and guidance when Marinette's courage was close to faltering.

How could she have failed to consider that Alya had to have fears of her own?

Alya was not a goddess, no matter how well she could play at being one. She, too, was only human, and scarcely older than Marinette besides. A girl alone in the world, faced with an impossible task.

On impulse, Marinette reached for Alya's hands, squeezing as she entwined them.

"I'm with you. Alya."

The answering smile was shy, almost painfully so, before it widened to become smooth and self-assured, Alya's armor sliding back in place. "Then let's hear your opinion on how we should handle Prince Adrien."

With a nod and a purse of her lips, Marinette cast down her gaze as her brows drew together in a frown. She knew, at once, what she wanted to do. Not only did Adrien likely hold answers to some of their questions, she was eager to cast off the false name, doing away with the lies and uncertainties. She wanted to be called Marinette, and see his face lit up with recognition.

And if he truly had been imprisoned by fae, then she wasn't the only one burdened with the weight of lies.

Just as with Lady Alya, it had been hidden beneath bravado, but she'd sensed it all the same. Glimpses of melancholy and echoes of loneliness lasting no more than a heartbeat.

Marinette knew how it had tilted her world, to know there were monsters lurking in the shadows. And unlike her, Adrien had no one, unable to speak of what he'd been through without being thought mad.

But.

She could not let her personal feelings lure her down the wrong path. The stakes were far too high for that.

"It's as you said. We need more information," Marinette said haltingly. "If he's being used, then revealing ourselves without knowing how and by whom is too risky. We've already encountered two fae shadowing him – surely there will be another one we can capture and interrogate?"

"Most likely," Alya said, nodding.

Struck by a thought, Marinette tilted her head in curiosity. "But maybe – he might open up to his best friend without arousing suspicion. How did things go with Lord Lahiffe last night?"

"He was quiet and in shock, so I only told him the bare necessities." Alya's cheeks darkened with a blush, a sheepish expression on her face. "I might have… fallen asleep in the carriage. A little. And woken up here."

Marinette's eyebrows shot up, just as Alya quickly pressed on.

"He'll come back when he's ready. Lord Lahiffe does not strike me as the kind of man who would run away."

"Oh, doesn't he?" Marinette could not help but add a teasing note. "I'm starting to get a clearer picture of why you proposed a false courtship with him."

A pillow hit her in the face, and Marinette fell back on the bed, laughing.

"It was the most prudent strategy to get close to the prince," Alya declared, her refined accent somehow reaching new heights of frosty propriety, even as her lips quivered, on the verge of a grin. "I think he'd make a fine ally, that's all. My judgement when it comes to someone's character is impeccable – is what I would say, if I hadn't just been so heinously stabbed in the back by someone I thought I could trust."

Marinette could do naught but dissolve into helpless giggles, earning her another whack of the pillow. A moment later, Alya joined in, flopping down beside her on the bed.

As they both calmed down, comfortable silence settled over them, eventually broken by Marinette's soft murmur.

"I'm glad you took a chance on me, Alya."

"So am I." Alya's smile was soft, filled with affection. "I knew you were bursting with potential, Marinette. Even if my butterflies hadn't whispered it, you picking a fight with a Changeling with nothing but a rusty sword was a rather compelling piece of evidence. Speaking of!"

Alya wiggled her fingers, the soft smile giving way to an eager grin. Marinette's right earring grew warm, a murmur of magic pulsing through her veins.

"Let's take a look at just what this potential of yours is capable of."

"You're late."

Chat's gaze skittered away, unable to meet the glassy-eyed stare as he sat down at the bedside.

"You were asleep when I came by this morning." A half-truth that somehow sat more ill than all the many lies he'd been telling. He'd eagerly taken up Nino's offer of training, then dawdled by sending an invitation to Lady Mariposa, all to prolong the moment he would have to deal with this. By the time he'd made it to the king's chambers, it had been far past the normal time of his daily visits – and father had been unresponsive.

He knew the Changeling had taken it upon herself to see to the laudanum, but he would have to have a word with her about the dosage.

The king responded with nothing but a hum that was so uncomfortably close to a growl that the sparse golden fur on Adrien's arms stood on end.

"My recovery appears to be taking longer than expected. This morning Nath– Noel." His father grimaced at the slip-up, then shook his head as if to center himself. "Noel briefed me on last night."

The gaunt jaw tightened in displeasure.

"You were drunk."

"Only a little. It was a celebration."

Chat squirmed in his seat as the accusatory silence stretched on a beat too long.

"A celebration is no excuse to be indulging in such vices. Mind-altering substances are not worth the–" A shadow passed over the king's face, and he trailed off with slumped shoulders.

"Father…?"

Pale blue eyes blinked, dilated pupils struggling to focus. "No matter," he bit out. "You know my opinion on liquor, so I'll spare us both the lecture, Adrien." After a brief pause, he stiffly added, "Noel tells me you did well."

While Chat was taken aback by the unexpected praise, a small measure of satisfaction warmed him. "I did?"

"You took over as gracefully as could be expected, given the short notice." The king closed his eyes and exhaled a long, tired breath. "I had hoped for more time for you, but given my current… circumstances… it's likely you will have to take over my duties again in the near future. And I do not want them to catch you unprepared again."

"Father," Adrien whispered, fingertips reaching for his hand and stopping just short of providing comfort. "You're going to be fine."

"Well, I intend to be," the king drawled with a quirk of his eyebrow. "But only a fool fails to prepare for the worst–"

"–in vain hope for the best," Chat said without quite consciously willing it, then blinked and softly added, "I remember."

"Aye." For the first time a faint smile touched his lips. "From now on, you will attend the daily council meetings. Your task is to learn and listen. Noel will bring you my correspondence, and you will familiarize yourself with all the geopolitical changes of the last year. You know the major players on the stage, but now you will learn the minor ones – their motives, their alliances, their strengths and most of all–" A glimmer of steel shone in cloudy eyes. "–their weaknesses."

Chat groaned as his head hit the desk, the thump cushioned by an absurdly high stack of letters. Resting his forehead against the paper, he squeezed his aching eyes shut just as Lady Meowgana let out an affronted chirp at having her nap on his desk interrupted.

Human scribblings were so infernally small, the wide loops and flourishes distracting him from symbols that were far too similar. The pronunciation followed neither rhyme nor reason, leaving him to mouth the letters over and over in different ways until the sound transformed into a real word and the meaning sank in.

Even a single paragraph of the densely written letter was an ordeal to slog through.

He cracked open one eye, gaze sliding to his nightstand.

To the mirror he knew was lying within.

Adrien had been able to read much faster than this, the mirror had shown Chat that much. His claws itched with the urge to wrap around its handle, his heart beating faster at the prospect of curling up on the bed and diving into the sea of memories.

And yet, it was that very excitement that gave him pause. The mirror was a tool, a means to an end, only to be used for bare necessities. He shouldn't be so eager to gorge himself on Adrien's thoughts, had already drunk too deep from that cup.

Well, he was a curious creature, always had been. Was it so bad to enjoy the process of learning? There was skill here, free for the taking…

A skill likely learned under the tutelage of the king. Between a legion of faceless tutors, there was the guiding hand of Adrien's father, taking the time to review his son's progress and to offer advice.

Chat straightened his back and shook his mane, narrowing his eyes at the letter like it could be made up to give up its contents through the sheer force of his scowl.

No, he'd had his fill of memories like those. They were doing him no good, would teach him nothing new and only make it harder to look away from the old man on the bed. The one who was not his father, and for whom he shouldn't be sparing this much sympathy.

The foundation for his masquerade was laid. From now on, the mirror would stay dormant.

Chat knew these symbols and what they meant, now all he needed was to practice until the words flowed as easily as they did for Adrien. No, better. He was a future fae Lord, while the prince had been only human.

Only human.

Fun toys to pass the time with, but he really shouldn't be crying over them when they inevitably broke.

No.

When he broke them.

Wiping the back of his hand over his tired eyes, Chat tried to concentrate on the symbols before him – only to grow still at the tell-tale sound of claws skittering on his window sill.

The scent of nightmare grew thick.

Ink spilled as Lady Meowgana sprang to her feet, dashing away in a flurry of loose letters. Chat, similarly startled by the sudden movement, barely had the presence of mind to snatch the ink pot from its free fall, frowning at the little creature as it scurried under the bed.

Wonderful. More of her.

…he supposed dealing with the Changeling was better than reading about the tedious business of tax disputes. Swiveling around in his seat, he watched the Changeling slink in through the window.

In the form of a small black cat with vibrant green eyes.

"Is that form meant to mock me?"

The black tail's tip flicked with irritation, and yet when the fae spoke, it was in a bored drawl. "Cub, I've had this form long before you came to be."

Chat grew rigid, nostrils flaring. "You're not Lila." Their scent tasted similar, both with that unmistakably tart signature of Changeling, but this one had a hint of something more… pungent to it, something he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Very observant. Perhaps my predecessor was wrong and you're not entirely hopeless yet."

Chat's frown deepened just as the not-cat's lips broke into an impossible grin, too wide for a cat's muzzle and the teeth far too numerous.

"Don't look so glum. I'll be taking over as your guardian from here on out. Now. First things first. I'm starving."

Ears perking, the Changeling leaned forward, eagerness written all over his feline features.

"You got any cheese?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Exam season is upon me, so I'm taking a short break from this fic to give my fried brain cells a rest. While I've plotted this fic from start to finish, keeping track of said plot while I'm writing requires more brainpower than I currently have to spare. Some of you might have noticed I've posted a new story in the meantime - this is a fluffy side project that doesn't require as much focus. I still like to write something to deal with stress, and to not fall out of the habit of writing daily.

Iron Kissed will return from its short hiatus in March :)