Prequel to Fairytale, based on the song "Secret Love Song" by Little Mix :)

Because Fairytale as it was wasn't angsty enough, and this is mainly inspired by some of my favorite commenters and writers, Emsee-Lynn, WeatherBug02, LastingViolet, PrincessGeekelle, Decembra1998 and Keelykelly :)

"Everytime I see you, I die a little more. Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls; it'll never be enough."

As bashful as he was, he had no problem with being the chivalrous Prince Charming his tutors always said he should be. He was raised to be as Charming as he was courteous and he had no problem with that. After all, it wasn't much; just a few kisses to the back of his fair maidens hand, and the occasional compliment alongside a congratulation on yet another mission complete and a job well done.

Sue him; he was a teenager in love. And when in love, sometimes comments such as "You look beautiful, lovely as ever." May slip out on accident in public, or even in the presence of someone. Sometimes it wasn't even the compliments, as he almost always accidentally referred to her as "My Lady." Or even "Lady Corinne." And sometimes when he visits the training grounds for an early morning converse with Treville, it's like the old man always knew that he wasn't the only one the young man enjoyed seeing within the musketeers.

But then again, it was obvious. It was obvious from the way he thought he could subtly steal a glance at his lady, but even if it wasn't caught by the others, Treville always knew. It wouldn't necessarily be in hopes that their gaze would meet, nor would it be that she was already staring at him, but he'd glance, or stare, whichever fit more in their vocabulary, in pure admiration. It was always her that could put up an oblivious front around people, but when they were together; be it miles above ground, or even alone in the hallways, her look would always soften into fondness. It made the young Kings heart flutter that that certain look; how it was reserved for him. And only him.

And then it started becoming more obvious. Even in public there would almost always be a stolen moment, whether it was a brief brush of their hands and how they locked their fingers together for a second too long, or how whenever patrol was over or when they came back from a mission, overseas or not, he would always find a way to greet her with the love he attempted to conceal, it didn't usually work as he, on several accounts, had ended up in some fantasy and in a moment of forgetfulness, he would place a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, and after a small laugh, she'd change the position so that it would look like they were shaking hands. But there would always be someone that saw.

And that was the downfall, really.

There was no kiss, nor handholding or any physical contact at all.

Just one loving, adoring, enamoured and and overall captivated stare from the King was all it took for it to go downhill.

But sue him, he was a teenager in love.

How could a simple stare be the downfall of a love? Simple. Rumors. And as adored as the female Musketeers were, they had people craning their necks at them every second of everyday trying to get a juicy story for a rumor and their privacy was beginning to be invaded. But it was nothing illegal, close, but not quite. So they had to keep their mouths shut. It vexed the blonde trapped in the midst of it all.

To make it worse, the King hadn't been as interested nor devoted to his inventive ways as he had been bent on devoting as much time as he could to spend with her. That vexed her as well. He had dreams, she remembers one balloon ride ages ago where he was in his own fantasy world, excitedly rambling on and on about the adjustments he could make on his balloon; perhaps add a door to the wicker basket, and then he went on rambling about technical work and she couldn't have remembered it if she had tried.

He had dreams and the ability to do wonderful things for the world. Yet he had discarded the time he organized to spend on it just for a few more minutes with his lady.

But sue him, he was a teenager in love.

She didn't like that.

Of course she was grateful for the time she spent with the man that had caused Stockholm syndrome for her heart after capturing it, of course she was grateful for the attention because a busy man such as him wouldn't have much time as he was juggling meetings, ruling a kingdom, keeping taxes as adequate and beneficial for both parties as he possibly could while negotiating terms of trade with different countries, and making time for his love. How could she not be grateful?

But what she wasn't grateful for was how he pushed aside things he wanted to do, things that could be great, things that he had set his heart to, just to talk to her about whatever. She loved the attention, yes. But she would have preferred if he divided his time so that he could also focus on what he loved doing, inventing.

Soon it began to bother her to her breaking point, and that's where it plunged in a downward spiral.

She decided to end it.

He pleaded to know why, and before she could tell him, he had said, or questioned, why he couldn't say that he was in love, along with a remark on how he desired to shout it from the rooftops.

"I wish we could be like that." She had sorrowfully whispered.

"Why can't we be like that?" He asked, pleading. "I'm yours."

So it broke her heart to the point where she couldn't tell him the real reason. So she did the next best thing; she lied. And it was over, but the feelings would linger. It was undoubtedly unavoidable.

But she put on a smile, and when her friends asked what happened, she lied again.

She was breaking inside, but the guarantee of her friends privacy and her former flame devoting his time to what really mattered made it worth it. Or so she tried convincing herself, even though here would be certain moments in which she wishes to go back in time and shout it from the rooftops and get it over with to avoid the things happening at the time.

But sue her, she was just a selfless teenager in love.