Chapter Text
“You know, sometimes I really do think you’re a cat.”
The knight in question grinned, his hold on the baby blue ball of yarn not relinquishing. “Oh? And why is that, Princess?”
Marinette smiled, and for a rare moment since she started knitting, she lifted her head to look at him. “Because you have somehow found amusement in a ball of yarn. God forbid an assassin bursts in the room; I would be doomed because of your cat-like antics.”
Sir Adrien placed a hand against his chest, his mouth open in a playfully hurt sort of way. “Why, Your Highness, I am appalled! I am the most accomplished swordsman in the kingdom. You are in no safer hands than mine. Do you really think I would let a lowly distraction such as yarn hinder me from protecting you?”
“Yes,” she decided without pause. Adrien laughed, and it wasn’t long after that Marinette joined in.
The Princess loved these kinds of days. To just spend time with her appointed knight without the need for keeping up royal appearances. Here, in her private sitting room, she had the freedom to express herself. Most of the time they would simply converse with each other about any sort of topic under the sun, but some days she would choose to work on a sewing project and he would sit idly by. Today was one of those days.
During those times, Adrien would keep his speaking to a minimum. The Princess politely informed him once that talking was a distraction to her, so he obliged her wishes and stayed mostly silent. Sometimes he would stare out the window or read a book. Today, he chose to fiddle around with a ball of yarn, one out of the many in her basket.
“You never did tell me what you’re making,” he mused aloud, tilting his head as he regarded the lump of blue cloth lying in her lap.
“It’s a scarf,” she informed lightly, not delving into any more of an explanation. Her fingers slowly made the needles work, care and devotion clearly placed into each stitch. The scarf has been taking several days to make and it was obvious the Princess strived for nothing but perfection in the end.
“A scarf?” he questioned, leading her to nod while she worked, not believing it necessary to look up. “Who’s it for?”
“No one of consequence,” she replied airily, smiling a little as she moved onto the next stitch.
Adrien raised an eyebrow. Marinette didn’t often keep secrets from him, especially for so little a reason as the recipient of a gift. ‘No one of consequence’, huh?
“Well, I seem to remember that you asked me what color you should use for your next project. Shouldn’t I know who will appreciate my impeccable taste?”
Marinette’s lips lifted in a grin, yet she still refused to look up. “You’ll know once I give this to the person I have in mind.”
Adrien frowned, but let the matter drop. At least, it seemed so on the outside. Mentally, he was going through a list of all the friends he knew the Princess had, all of which could be possible candidates for receiving a warm, likely to be perfectly soft, hand-knitted scarf.
It could be for Lady Alya, the Princess’s closest and most cherished friend. Since he had been assigned as Marinette’s knight, he had met the young woman a handful of times. She was nice, but more lively and outspoken compared to Marinette’s usual calm and quiet demeanor. Not that those traits were bad ones, they just made for a nice balance to his Princess.
She was getting married soon, to the Moroccan prince Nino. He only met the man once, when Marinette’s parents invited him and Lady Alya to the castle for a celebratory dinner for their engagement. He seemed nice enough. He made a point to include Adrien for a few conversations, for which the knight was both surprised and humbled by.
Nino and Marinette got along well, and by the end of the evening she extended her congratulations to the couple and gave them her blessing.
Still, Marinette hadn’t known Nino for all that long, and it wasn’t as if they became instant best friends. Acquaintances, accompanied with fondness due their relations to Alya? Yes. But would she spend days knitting a scarf for him? Likely not.
So an engagement present for Alya, then? If so, then why would she say the recipient is ‘no one of consequence’ and refuse to divulge her identity? No, if it was for Alya, Marinette would’ve enthusiastically told him so.
Marinette was casual friends with a few other men and women from the noble and royal ranks, yet none were any Adrien could think of as a definite receiver of such a lovely gift. Maybe it wasn’t for a friend, then?
His heart nearly stopped, the blood in his veins seeming to instantly freeze.
Maybe it was for an admirer? A lover?
As far as he knew, Marinette was only fond of one other man before he came in: Luka, the court trouvère. His music never failed to resonate with the Princess; she often had him with her for hours, playing song after song for her on his cittern.
That was when he first saw Marinette up close. Sure, he had seen her in passing, but up until that point he was never able to even determine what color her eyes were (the most enchanting shade of blue, if you were wondering). He had reported to his post, for he was to be relatively by her side for most of the day and walked into her private sitting room. He was greeted with the sight of Luka sitting on one of the couches, playing a song and Marinette, her eyes closed and holding a hand to her heart as she listened.
She wasn’t pleased at his interruption, to say the least. Luka was her most favored musician, and for some time there had been rumors that there was even a secret passionate affair between the two of them. Adrien would not have been surprised if the rumors proved true; he saw the blushes on her cheeks and the furtive glances stolen between them.
Before long, after Marinette got over her initial dislike of Adrien (she didn’t like having an appointed knight following her everywhere), and after they became more companionable with the other, the rumors slowly began to cease and soon enough stopped completely.
It was most likely so since Marinette gradually began to send for Luka less and less. At least, as far as he knew. What if their affair (if there was one) never stopped, and he was only their unsuspecting cover? What if Luka came to Marinette’s balcony each night, holding a bouquet of roses in one hand while holding his cittern in the other? What if he then played and sang of her beauty, and then what if they shared passionate kisses and declared their love for each other and-
“You’ve been quiet for some time.” Marinette’s voice brought him out of the horrible fantasy, and he turned with wide eyes and quickened breath to see her still knitting and a teasing smile on her lips. “Dare I believe that you’ve given up on your quest for an answer?”
“Is it for a lover?” he blurted, and it wasn’t until she snapped her head up to look at him with bewildered heavenly blue eyes that he realized just what he asked. He had directly accused the Princess of France of taking part in a scandalous affair and was making a gift for him right in front of him. Not only was it incredibly rude, but it could be considered treason if the question was asked without merit.
Meanwhile, the Princess’s cheeks had colored to a bright red rivalling that of roses. At once she ducked her head down, and slowly but surely the blush died down.
“No,” she murmured at last. This time when she smiled, it was in bitter self-deprecation. “I couldn’t be so lucky. He doesn’t think of me like that.”
It felt like she ripped his heart out his chest and tore it to pieces. She may not have a lover, but she still admired someone. Someone unknowingly (or knowingly, he had no idea) held her heart in the palm of their hands. It was probably a prince or some other noble.
Adrien frowned, choosing to look away in favor of staring at the floor. He reminded himself that he had no right to be heartbroken or disappointed. He was only her appointed knight with no other titles to speak of. In what way could he ever be worthy of her love?
Oh well, he thought with a barely-audible sigh. At least he wasn’t facing a hangman’s noose for asking his question in the first place.
Marinette stood, and for a panic-stricken moment Adrien thought she really was going to have him arrested for his question. But when she observed him with a teasing grin and sparkling eyes, he relaxed.
“I think I need a break. Would you care to indulge me with a song, Sir Knight?” she asked, already stepping past him in the direction of the harpsichord. She turned back and sent another coy smile his way, as if she knew that he could never say no to her. Knowing how clever she was, she likely did.
Adrien stood and bowed. “If my Princess so wishes,” he replied, picking his head up and smirking.
Marinette’s grin widened as she sat down on the bench. Adrien readily joined her and moved his hands into position over the keys, while Marinette watched with rapt attention. Hearing him play was pleasing enough but seeing him perform was an excitement all in itself.
He took one last, deep breath and began to play. It wasn’t a fast song or dramatic, yet it still sounded upbeat. She thought it was a good song to play on a sunny day like today.
She shifted her eyes away from his hands to his features. His focus was pinned to the keys since there was no sheet music available. A serene smile curved the corners of his mouth up as he performed the melody by memory alone, which Marinette thought was rather impressive on his end, especially since he didn’t miss a single note.
Meanwhile she couldn’t play any song without sheet music provided. Even then, she clumsily hit other keys that ended up producing sour tones for an otherwise elegant song. In a sense she both envied and admired Adrien’s prowess with the harpsichord. However, her admiration far outweighed the envy.
A knock sounded at the door, instantly causing Adrien to tense and stop. Marinette’s eyes snapped open, for they had slowly closed during the song. She couldn’t help the scowl that pursed her lips, internally cursing whoever had interrupted. Adrien playing the harpsichord didn’t happen all that often; her schedule either wouldn’t allow it or they weren’t alone at the right moment. Whoever was at the door better have a good excuse for being there.
“Princess?” A muffled voice called out, one that Adrien recognized all too well. His jaw tightened while Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She didn’t remember sending for Luka today.
“I’ll get it,” Adrien announced, already standing. Marinette refused and urged him to sit down again. In her mind since Luka had asked for her, she should be the one to answer the door. Her knight reluctantly relented and slowly sank back to the bench.
In a few strides Marinette had crossed the room and opened the door to reveal a charmingly-smiling Luka. Adrien was pleased to see that while he carried his cittern in one hand, the other was devoid of any roses.
“Luka? Did I send for you today?” Marinette asked, prompting Adrien to raise an eyebrow. If she didn’t request his presence, then what was he doing here?
“No, that’s actually the reason why I’m here,” he answered quietly. He glanced down at his cittern shyly, before looking back up at the Princess beneath his eyelashes.
Marinette remembered that there was once a time when her heartbeat would quicken whenever he gave her such a look. Now, there was nothing. A bit of nostalgia for the times before perhaps, but no romantic affection of any sort now. For some reason, she felt a bit guilty for it.
“You haven’t sent for me in a while, and I thought that you’d like a song today.”
With his free hand he gently took the Princess’s own and placed a kiss on her knuckles. His eyes darted past her, a smug gleam lighting them as a smirk curled his lips.
Having her hand kissed wasn’t unusual, it was one of the many ways of decorum that had to be followed. But what used to send a shiver up her spine, now caused a slight uncomfortable churn in her stomach. Strangely, she was worried about Adrien seeing it. Although she didn’t understand why, since he had seen plenty of nobles kiss her hand before.
Marinette turned to look back at her knight, who still sat at the harpsichord. His mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes were slightly narrowed and if she had to guess he probably had his fists clenched. His glare was trained on Luka, until she cleared her throat. His expression shifted from mild irritation to surprise while she felt her fingers being let go from the trouvère.
She turned to Luka, who seemed to preen under her gaze. He was likely expecting her approval to his indirect question.
She felt bad for what she was about to say.
“I apologize that you came all this way, but I’m afraid I have no need of your services at the present. But I do appreciate the thought and gesture. Thank you, Luka.”
Luka blinked, shocked by her answer. How could he not be; it was the first time she had ever refused his offer of a song. Against his better judgment he looked toward the knight, who was trying his hardest to conceal a grin but was failing at it quite miserably.
He returned his attention back to Marinette and bowed, acting as if his ego didn’t suffer a crushing blow. Maybe if he acted like it didn’t affect him he could walk away with his dignity intact.
“I understand, Princess. Please know that if you ever have need for a song you need only send for me. Good day, Your Highness.”
As Luka walked down the castle corridor, his ears picked up on the faint melody of the harpsichord starting again. How could a knight who only knew violence play such a fine instrument? What made the Princess suddenly favor him? He was a simple knight, not a prince or a man with any title for that matter.
Meanwhile, Marinette had her gaze fixed on Adrien’s fingers as they practically flew over the keys, creating a melody that struck her with a sense of power and the need to act on something, anything at all.
“What is this one called?” she asked, curious for the name of the song that evoked these feelings.
Adrien paused and peered down at her with a grin that bordered on devilish. “It is called ‘Victory’, my Princess. Shall I continue?”
An odd choice of song, yet she nodded nonetheless.
“Yes, please.”