Chapter Two

A Royal Invitation

Marinette quickly made her way home. When she arrived there, she swiftly headed inside the bakery, past her mother and her customers, to the back, where her father was busy baking.

"Hello, Father," Marinette said, placing the basket on the table in the corner closest to the door, far away from the bread and dough – she'd have to properly clean that if she wanted to carry bread in it again.

"Hey, Pumpkin, you're back early," her father spoke; the broad-shouldered man had his back turned to his daughter as he worked. When he turned around, his smile quickly turned into a frown. "Gee. What happened?"

Marinette briefly looked down at her dress and shrugged with a crooked smile. "Uh, Chloé," she said. "The usual."

Her father sighed. "Oh dear," he said. "Well – go get yourself cleaned up. I'll see what I can do about those orders she messed up – give me a list when you're in better shape."

Marinette nodded at her father and was about to walk off when she noticed the letter in the basket and remembered the Prince's promise.

"Oh, Father!" she said, turning back into the bakery.

"Yes, Mari?" Marinette's father turned his head toward his daughter while kneading the dough. "What's the matter, kid?"

"Well," Marinette couldn't help but blush as she spoke – it was almost unreal. "While Chloé and Sabrina were pestering me, the Prince happened to ride by. He said he'd send someone to refund the orders Chloé ruined."

Her father gasped; Marinette felt as if her father didn't quite believe her. "No way," he said. "Will he really?"

Marinette shrugged and smiled. "He said he would," she said. "So – I do certainly hope he keeps his word."

Her father smiled. "Oh, dear Marinette," he said. "If he is a man of honour, he will.

"No doubt about that."

Marinette nodded, and quickly made her way to the house to clean herself up – remembering to take the Prince's letter with her.

She untied her hair and washed it with water she'd got from the well in the backyard – it was summer, so Marinette didn't mind washing her hair in the yard. The summer temperatures in Paris weren't always pleasurable, but today, the weather was surprisingly nice.

Today in general was surprisingly nice.

After getting dressed again, Marinette decided to put warm water in the tub and wash her stained dress herself instead of letting her mother take care of it later that night – with mud, it was best not to wait. Marinette didn't have many dresses she liked as much as this one; the comment Chloé had made about it wasn't going to change that, and she certainly didn't want to lose her favourite dress to mud stains.

When she'd hung up the dress to dry (the mud had come out fairly well – some of the stains had faded enough to match the older stains of dough and paint), Marinette decided to finally take time to read the letter the Prince had left in her basket – in the privacy of her own room.

She almost felt bad for breaking the seal; the golden piece of wax was decorated with three butterflies and a lilac ribbon. But the letter contained within the envelope, was far better than the seal that hid it from sight.

"Fair lady,

If you happen to be the recipient of this invitation, then you received it from His Royal Highness Prince Adrien. He would like to invite you to the ball in honour of his eighteenth birthday - the Prince hopes you accept his invitation.

The ball commences at 9 PM, July twenty-third.

The Prince hopes to see you at the ball. Make sure not to forget to bring the invitation enclosed.

Yours Truly,

His Royal HighnessesThe King and his son, the Prince"

Marinette let out a gasp, nearly dropping the letter to the ground. The Prince had chosen her? Out of all the girls in the kingdom, the Prince had chosen to invite a commoner to the ball?

Though she couldn't help but feel honoured, the invitation had also left Marinette confused. Why would the Prince choose a commoner? After all, it wasn't as if she'd have any chance with him anyway. Was this just a joke?

Had it even been the real Prince? It was possible Chloé and Sabrina had just played a prank on Marinette. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd tried – just the first time they'd succeeded.

Even if the invitation was real – and Marinette truly hoped it was – what would Marinette wear to the ball? She loved to mend and make her own clothes – that's why her dresses lasted so long.

However, she had no money to buy silk or any other kind of luxurious fabric to make a dress out of – one that would not stand out from the expensive garments the ladies of nobility would be wearing to the ball, that is. And besides, today was July twentieth. There'd be no way Marinette would be able to work hard enough to scrape enough money for a dress together in just three days.

Marinette sighed and left the letter and the invitation on her bed as she went to report the lost orders to her father. It had been a nice gesture of the Prince, and Marinette truly felt honoured – but there was no way Marinette would make it to the ball, and thus she had no use for the invitation.

Chloé was right; Marinette was simply nothing but a commoner. And that would never change, no matter how hard Marinette tried.

The Prince had returned to the castle, only to be instantly met with disappointment – his father refused to meet him to speak about the ball.

He had spoken about his idea to his tutor, Nathalie, but he doubted she'd be able to tell his father if he wasn't able to do so. For some reason, even the King's advisors weren't available to listen to the Prince's ideas at that moment – it was as if the entire castle was deserted.

There was an upside to this, however. There was no one around, and thus, there was no one to bother the Prince. He was free to do what he wanted – at least for now.

The Prince decided to stay in his room for the remainder of the day, which he might've considered to be a long time by the end of it, but the young Prince had something on his mind.

That girl. Or, those girls. Adrien couldn't help but wonder – did Chloé and her servant always treat that baker's girl like that? She seemed so kind... what did she do to deserve being pushed into the mud?

She, Marinette, was simply doing her job, and those two other girls prevented her from doing so.

Could people truly be like that? Adrien had never been out of the castle much – the King was very hesitant to let his son out, as if he was a Princess instead of a Prince.

Sure, the Prince had been allowed to come along on business trips and hunting parties, but he'd never gone out on his own like he had today. He'd never actually got to see what everyday life was like outside the castle.

The Prince remembered his father saying 'commoners are commoners for a reason', but Adrien didn't believe this was right, either. Commoners didn't deserve to be abused by nobility like that – the Prince knew who the two girls were, because the King was very close with Governor Bourgeois – Adrien wished he could say the feeling was mutual with him and the Governor's daughter. She seemed very fond of him, but Adrien rather had her stay away from him as far as possible. And the events that occurred today only added to that; Chloé Bourgeois was considerably the least likeable person the Prince had ever met – for Adrien, even having dinner with just his father at the table was more comfortable than spending half an hour with Chloé.

The Prince let out a sigh. Suddenly, he remembered the promise he'd made to the girl he'd helped – he'd promised Marinette he'd refund the baked goods Chloé had ruined. He'd made this promise not only because he felt Mr Dupain didn't deserve to lose money because some arrogant blonde brat had ruined his hard work, but also because the young Prince felt partially responsible for Chloé's actions, since she'd clearly done it because of him. 'That peasant girl was standing in our way. We wouldn't have to greet you properly otherwise.'

Adrien let out a sigh. Why did Chloé have to be like that? Just because her father was rich? That didn't make her any better than any commoner – if anything, it made her worse. But it didn't matter... she'd never admit it.

The Prince headed for his personal vault – if he took money from the Kingdom's fault, his father would find out, and Adrien had enough personal money anyway – it was not like he spent it, anyway. His father got him everything he wanted, just in hopes of appealing to his son. The man didn't realise he'd be far more appealing for the Prince if he'd just spend time with his only son.

The amount of gold the Prince got from his vault was probably more than the bread was worth, but he didn't mind. The baker's daughter would need a dress for the ball anyway.

If she even wanted to come at all.

He sneaked to the stables while carrying the bag of gold, saddling his horse himself – for some reason, even the stable boy was nowhere to be found – and rode off to where Adrien believed the bakery was located.

Adrien found he had a bit of trouble trying to find the bakery, but he was lucky the townspeople were kind enough to give him directions when he asked – even if they only gave them because he was the Prince.

He'd arrived at just the right time; the bakery was nearly empty, and its owners were taking a short break from work. The Prince could walk right in without disturbing anyone.

"Excuse me," the Prince said as he approached the chubby, short-haired woman who was busy swiping the floor with a broom. Adrien guessed all those loafs of bread left quite the mess of crumbs on the floor every day. "Is Mr Tom Dupain here? The baker?"

The lady looked up from her sweeping work, letting out a gasp of surprise when she saw the fancily clad young man stand in the doorway of her bakery. "Oh my," she said. "Is he in trouble?"

The Prince quickly shook his head. "Oh, heavens no," he said. "Quite the contrary, actually."

The worry on the dark-haired woman's face quickly faded when she put away the broom, setting it against the wall she was standing closest to.

"Oh," she said. "You got me curious now, Sire."

As soon as the word came out of her mouth, Adrien realised what Mrs Dupain-Cheng was planning on doing next, and he quickly stopped her. "Please," he said, "there's no need to bow for me."

Mrs Dupain-Cheng was obviously put off by this; not bowing or curtsying before someone of royal stature almost felt like treason. Still, she gladly fulfilled the Prince's wish by not curtsying for him. "Alright, then," she said. "I guess you wish to see my husband, then?"

The Prince nodded briefly. "Yes, please."

The baker's wife nodded, couldn't help but dropping her shoulders in some sort of half-bow, and left to fetch her husband. As he waited, Adrien noticed something – or someone – enter his view, just in the corner of his eye.

It was the baker's daughter. Marinette. She appeared busy cleaning the wooden basket with a damp cloth; to Adrien's surprise, the girl appeared to be enjoying her work.

It was a dirty job – almost some sort of punishment, but the girl did it while humming a tune. Adrien had to focus on the words to hear what she was actually singing, but he found himself pleasurably surprised.

"...Porte bonheur, lady magique et lady chance..."

Adrien found that the girl had a fairly decent singing voice, soft and humble in tone. She didn't even seem to notice he was there; he felt too shy to approach her – though part of him felt she'd be the one to shy away from him if he approached her.

The Prince was awoken from his thoughts by a deep voice that seemed to echo through the bakery. "I'm sorry to have left you waiting, Sire."

Upon hearing the word 'Sire', both Marinette and Adrien looked up. She noticed the Prince and hurried away, just as he caught her gaze. When she was gone, he sighed and turned to speak to the baker.

"It's no problem," the Prince dismissed Mr Dupain's apology. "I know you're busy. Besides, I don't mind waiting all that much."

The baker nodded, humbled by the Prince's generosity. Adrien could understand why these people responded that way – had it been his father, he would not have been the least pleased with being left waiting.

"My daughter told me you'd be coming, Sire," Mr Dupain said. "Though at first I must admit I thought she was talking crazy." He smiled kindly, the bushy hazel brown moustache that hid most of his upper lip from view curling up as he did so. "And yet, here you are. I can't believe my eyes."

"Well, I'm here," the Prince said. "Alive and in person, Sir. I believe your daughter already informed you of the reason as to why I'm here?"

"She did," Mr Dupain nodded and sighed. "Poor kid. I just wish the Governor's daughter would leave her alone – but I guess there's nothing we can do."

Adrien's face went blank. "Hm. I'll talk to her."

Mr Dupain looked at the Prince; the baker wasn't sure if he was hearing all of this correctly. Was the Prince freely offering a couple of commoners service?

"I'll talk to the Governor's daughter," Adrien repeated. "I know her – she'll listen to me. She'll have to."

Mr Dupain was too surprised to even respond; he just nodded.

"Here," the Prince said, "the refund I – or Ms Bourgeois – owe you. I... I hope it's enough to cover your lost earnings.

"Please have a nice day, Mr Dupain." The Prince handed the baker the purple bag of gold, bowed briefly, and left.

On his way out, the Prince couldn't help but notice the baker's daughter carefully peeping around the corner. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him – or, at least, he hoped what he saw was a smile.

Luckily for Adrien's hopes, Marinette was indeed smiling at him. She was smiling at the kind Prince who cared only for personality. She hoped that how she perceived him to be was how he truly was.