Work Text:
It was several days after that wonderful, wonderful kiss that Adrien saw Ladybug again.
He had been wandering through the kingswood when he stumbled upon her. She was looking around; searching the woods for some invisible prey. When she caught sight of him approaching, she froze.
“Ladybug!” Adrien could hear himself smiling.
“...Your Highness,” she said slowly, and he took an involuntary step back at the sound of it, all artifice and so stiff, a harsh contrast to their last time together.
“Ladybug?” he asked, lost.
She turned slowly to face him. “Yes,” Ladybug said blankly. “That is my name, Your Highness.”
“Ladybug, I—Ladybug, don’t you remember the kiss?” Perhaps a memory akuma?
Ladybug flinched. Oh. No akuma, then; she did remember. “Your Highness, I apologize for my actions several nights ago—”
“What?” Adrien frowned. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I shouldn’t have done it,” Ladybug hissed. “Your Highness,” she added belatedly.
“Adrien. It’s Adrien.” His mouth was dry. “Wait. So you’re—you regret it?”
“Yes—no—yes—”
He had meant it to be light-hearted, but at the last question, his voice cracked almost imperceptibly. It did not escape Ladybug’s notice. She furrowed her eyebrows, a frown marring her features. He winced.
“You know I—” She sighed and shut her eyes. “No, I haven’t forgotten. But—maybe I do. Regret it, that is. A little.” Ladybug rocked back on her heels. “I think—I think we would be better off forgetting it happened.”
A laugh strangled itself in Adrien’s throat. “Forget? Ladybug, do you really think I could so easily forget you?”
“Adrien”—oh, and finally there was his name, shaky and tremulous—“please, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“This wouldn’t be hard at all, Ladybug, if—”
Ladybug shook her head, backing away, and on instinct he followed. “No.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I can’t do this to you.”
“But I want this too.” Adrien took another helpless step forward. “Please, Ladybug. Can’t we try?”
She swallowed.
“Ladybug,” he said again, desperate.
Ladybug clenched her fists. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He reached for her, but she was already turning to flee.
When next they met, Ladybug was—polite. Painfully so.
Adrien knew she couldn’t afford to stay. Not in the public aftermath of an akuma attack. Not when there were eyes all around them—half fixed on their hero and the other half casting curious glances at the royals.
That didn’t mean it hurt less when she avoided his gaze and offered only a perfunctory nod in response to his thanks.
Maybe, he thought wildly, he could give her some signal. Maybe he could whisper a time and place in her ear and so he could try and convince her again. Or maybe he could even argue it out with her, right here, right now, in full view of the kingdom—
—but his father was already calling for the guards. Ladybug vanished before he could even open his mouth to call for her.
It had been some time since Adrien had been allowed to hear petitions with his father.
In his younger years, when their family had still been whole, Adrien had liked to sit by his mother as they listened to what their subjects had to say. But after his mother’s death, Father had shut himself in, grieving, and Adrien had been left alone in an empty castle, with only Nathalie and the servants for company. The last two Agrestes had drifted further apart—though not by any choice on Adrien’s part. And as the years went on, Adrien had, as pathetic as it must sound, grown used to his lonely way of living—and he had been satisfied. He had to be. Because he knew it would only hurt to long for more. But that had only lasted until Ladybug’s arrival, a bright flare of sunshine in his dreary life, and now, warmed by her, he found himself wanting more.
So Adrien had gone to his father and asked, again, if he could join him as he received petitions. Never mind that all the other times he’d asked, his father had told him no. Never mind that in the past his father had told him to go review his studies under Nathalie instead. He had tried again, in spite of all that. If not to spend time with his father, then to learn how to better serve the kingdom in the future.
And... this time, Father had acquiesced.
Which led to Adrien seated by him atop the dais, trying his best not to fidget.
“...harvest was ruined by that akuma,” the current petitioner was saying. “The weather one again, was it, Your Grace?”
Father nodded sharply. Continue, that look said.
“So, see, I don’t have enough to pay the tax, Your Grace,” the petitioner said, shuffling his feet. And perhaps he said more after that, but at the same time there was a flash of red out the nearby window, and Adrien turned on instinct, like a flower bud opening toward the sun.
Ladybug? He hardly dared to hope. But a closer look revealed—it was her. He could barely make her out in the distance, hunched over and peering at the ground. What was she doing?
Yet even as he wondered, he found that just the sight of her whole, hale, and healthy was a comfort. He had not seen her in days—had not seen her since that akuma attack and their short, painfully strained conversation. If you could even call it that.
Adrien shook himself out of his rêverie. He could not waste this opportunity—being allowed to observe his Father fulfilling his kingly duties—on daydreaming.
“...cannot pay with your crop,” Father was saying, “then you must find another way.”
“But Your Grace, I don’t—I really don’t have anything—”
Father slammed a fist on the arm of his throne, and the petitioner fell silent.
“You will find a way,” Father said coldly. “I cannot allow one person to be exempt from the law, else everyone will demand the same.”
“Y—yes, Your Grace,” the petitioner stammered.
What? Adrien, stomach churning sickly, watched as the petitioner dipped into an anxious bow and hurried out of the gilded throne room. Was this how his father dealt with things, these days? His mother—he did not remember it being like this when his mother had been around. Perhaps Mother’s death has changed things more than I realized, he thought numbly.
“Next,” Father said.
“Father?” Adrien asked, stricken.
Father shot him a look. “Not now, Adrien.”
“But—”
“Not now.”
Adrien, aghast, half-rose from his chair. “Father, you can’t be serious. That man wasn’t trying to be exempt simply for the sake of greed—you heard him! He said the last akuma wrecked his harvest!”
“It is his duty as a citizen of this kingdom to contribute,” Father said, so evenly it drove Adrien mad.
“And it is our duty to look after our subjects when they find themselves in need of assistance!”
Father sighed. “Really, Adrien,” he said, sounding almost disappointed, “there’s no need to lose your temper.”
Adrien stood, balling his hands into fists. “I’m crown prince,” he said resolutely. “I can waive his debt. Or if you won’t allow that, then I can pay for it instead.”
His father furrowed his eyebrows. “You would go that far?” he asked.
“Yes,” Adrien said. He crossed his arms. “Would you stop me, Father?”
Father frowned. “Adrien, I—”
“Would you stop me, Father?” he repeated.
Father sighed again. “Think this through, Adrien, you cannot just—”
“Watch me,” Adrien said. He whirled and strode out of the room, unheeding to his father’s displeased protest.
Catching up to the petitioner was no difficult task, seeing as he found the man slumped dejectedly against a courtyard wall.
“Hey,” Adrien said.
The man jolted. “Wha—” He looked up, and his eyes widened. “Prince Adrien!”
“Yeah,” Adrien said. “Look, I heard what you said earlier. The last akuma wrecked your harvest?”
“Yes,” the man said. He fiddled with his hands. “We’ve barely got enough to feed everyone at home, Your Highness, and ever since the king raised the half-yearly tax—”
Adrien nodded, even as he reeled internally. Father had raised the tax, even with all the akuma attacks? “I understand. Consider it taken care of this time.”
The man blinked. “I’m—I’m sorry, Your Highness?”
“Your family should be your priority,” Adrien said earnestly. “The kingdom can handle the loss of one person’s harvest.”
“Your Highness,” the man gasped. “Oh, thank you.”
Adrien shook his head. “It’s not your fault that you couldn’t pay,” he said. “I’m only doing what is right.”
“Still,” the man said, stunned. “Thank you so much, Your Highness.”
Adrien offered him a smile. Just as he’d turned to go, though, he was struck with an idea.
“Wait,” Adrien said. “Have you seen Ladybug around?”
The man frowned. “Not really, no. But sometimes she comes by to check up on everyone, Your Highness.”
Adrien knew that. After all, that was how he’d gone from only admiring Ladybug from afar, to awkward, flustered conversation, and then to late nights spent in each other’s company, chin resting on a propped up elbow as he listened to her ramble on about something that had happened earlier that day to whoever lay behind the mask.
But then they’d kissed and now she wouldn’t even look at him—
“Your Highness?”
Adrien startled. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I got lost in thought.”
The man nodded slowly. “It’s alright, Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” Adrien said. “I’m sorry for taking up your time. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“It was the least I could do, Your Highness,” the man said. He turned to leave, finally.
Well, Adrien thought, as he watched the man go, if anything, at least I was able to help someone out. He frowned. He still had to see Father about the taxes, though. He was sure there was no need to have had them raised.
He found himself looking to the kingswood again.
Adrien touched his lips. He could almost convince himself that he could still see a flash of red through the foliage; for a moment he was gripped with the urge to run in after her. Confront her.
At the same time, Adrien thought of the man who could not pay his father’s taxes. He thought of the rest of the petitioners who waited outside the throne room, most likely having suffered similar setbacks from the weather akuma. He thought of his father’s unforgiving stare.
Adrien looked away from the forest. His hand fell from his lips. He went back inside.
The next day, Adrien put Ladybug resolutely from his mind, went straight to his father and sat stubbornly in the throne room. His father sighed, but didn’t make him leave; not until Adrien argued on behalf of several petitioners who also could not pay the recently raised taxes. Father, fuming, did send him out of the room then. Once evicted, Adrien sulked—then he decided that he might as well go through all the ledgers he could get his hands on. By evenfall, he had managed to decipher several of the most recent records, and it confirmed what he already knew: there was no need for the raised taxes. In fact, according to their records, they had more than sufficient means.
The day after, Adrien went straight to his father again. Father took one look at his findings and huffed.
“Adrien,” he said. “Let the adults handle the money.”
“But—”
“I appreciate your initiative,” Father said. “But you’re not old enough to understand yet.”
Adrien had to resist the urge to stomp his foot like a child. “Then how am I supposed to rule in the future, Father, if you won’t help me understand?”
“I will. In the future. You’re still young; you should enjoy your youth while it lasts, Adrien.”
“This is me enjoying my youth,” Adrien said through gritted teeth. “I’m not asking you to—to pay back every person in the kingdom with the royal riches, or lift Ladybug’s criminal status”—which Adrien, in the past, had had several explosive fights with his father about, before his father had threatened to change the WANTED: ALIVE to include an optional DEAD— “or nix the taxes completely! I’m just asking you to return it to the previous rate.”
“No,” Father said darkly.
“What’s the point of being crown prince,” Adrien hissed, “if you won’t let me help you rule?”
“This is not helping,” Father said coldly. “This is being a nuisance. The taxes are perfectly fine. Recall, Adrien, that I am king. It is my word you should follow, as the kingdom does.”
“Maybe I should be king, then,” Adrien snapped. Immediately after the words left his mouth, he flinched.
Father, though, didn’t scold him. Instead, he huffed—almost amused. “I appreciate the initiative, Adrien,” he said. “But you are nowhere near ready to be king.”
Adrien bit back a scowl. “I will never be ready to be king if you won’t let me change anything,” he said. He pushed his carefully compiled papers closer to his father. “Please, Father. You can see here that it’s clearly not helping anyone. Except us—and we don’t even need it! Can’t you just return the taxes to normal?”
“No,” Father said. He reached for Adrien’s notes. Instead of taking them, he swept the papers into the nearby fire.
It went on like this for another week or so.
Adrien would show up, defiant, and seat himself at his father’s side when he heard out petitioners. They would argue and inevitably Adrien would be thrown out of the room. Adrien would wander off and talk with the other petitioners or the nearby guards and servants, coaxing out their troubles and thinking up ways he could help. Then he would retire to the library or his study, which had long been unused until now, and drown himself in numbers and records and decrees in his attempt to puzzle out the kingdom. True, he had been given a formal education under Nathalie and the rest, but he had not been given many opportunities to apply his lessons to real-life problems.
(Sometimes, he spied red out the window. When he did, he made himself turn away and focus on his work. If Ladybug doesn’t want to see me, he’d think, half-bitter and half-hopeless, then maybe I should help her fulfill that wish.)
He would go to his father with whatever new proposal he had in mind, and his father would say no, or you don’t understand, no, or wait ‘til you’re king, no, and Adrien—after a week of this happening Adrien had had enough of this deflection—
“Fine!” Adrien shouted. “What do I have to do to be king, then?”
“Lower your voice!” Father said harshly. “Do not yell at me, Adrien. King or no, I am still your father. And it is unseemly for a prince to lose his temper.”
Adrien bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled.
“You are not ready to be king,” Father bit out. “You are weak-hearted, hot-headed”—at that, Adrien made a noise of protest. He was not always like this, it was only because his father would not listen— “inexperienced, unwed, and lastly, you are young.” In his father’s mouth, it sounded like the worst of all sins.
“Then what can I do?” Adrien exclaimed. “I can’t change my age, and it’s not my fault I’m inexperienced—I want to help you rule, but you dismiss my concerns saying that you’re king! And weak-hearted, hot-headed—when it comes to these things, yes, but it only means that I care, Father, and the last thing, it’s not like I could just marry some girl on the spot, so I don’t know what you want me to do—”
“Adrien.” Father’s voice was like the crack of a whip. “You did not let me finish.”
Adrien shut his eyes and inhaled, then exhaled forcefully. “Yes, Father?” he said, forcefully even.
“You are not ready to be king. However—” Father breathed deeply, then fixed his stern gaze directly at Adrien. “Since you keep insisting on being given chances to rule. I will allow you free rein on certain aspects of the kingdom.”
Adrien reared back as though struck. “You—you will?”
“Yes.” Father stood. “I will. But—”
Adrien deflated. Of course there was a but. “But?”
“You were right about one thing,” Father said. “You cannot simply marry some girl.”
Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”
“Here is my offer, son. I will allow you to govern a quarter of my kingdom—”
Adrien’s mouth fell open. “And in return?”
“In return,” Father said, “you will write to King Thomas and Queen Sabine, and ask for the hand of their daughter, the princess Marinette.”
Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
That was her name. She was his age, and the only princess of the neighboring kingdom. Adrien half-remembered a slight, black-haired girl who had come to visit with her family, back when his mother had still been alive; back when his father had actually cared to cultivate his relationship with the other nearby rulers. He had the vague impression that she was nice, but other than that, he knew next to nothing about her.
Father wanted him to marry her for the sake of uniting their kingdom with the Dupain-Chengs’. “I would have preferred to have had their kingdom also under our control,” his father had said almost carelessly, “but we do not have the money nor the manpower to spare to launch an invasion. A marriage between their only heir and mine will suffice to bring them into the fold.”
He could not pass up the opportunity to govern; the chance to improve life for the kingdom’s citizens. But Ladybug—
Adrien sat abruptly.
How could he even think to pledge himself to another, when he still yearned for her? No matter that he and Ladybug had not seen each other in days. No matter that the last time they'd properly spoken, Ladybug had told him to forget the kiss and fled. No matter that whatever they were still hung between them, undefined. Adrien's heart still beat solely for her. And Marinette, whoever she was, certainly didn’t deserve that kind of husband—the kind who still had eyes for another. He didn’t think she’d tolerate being cheated on, either.
“Fuck,” Adrien said lowly.
The kingdom or his heart. The kingdom or himself.
He could not, in good conscience, choose himself.
Adrien forced himself to begin drafting a letter to King Thomas and Queen Sabine, and another to Princess Marinette.
His proposal of marriage, addressed to the king and queen, was curt and to the point. He couldn’t find it in himself to get their hopes high for a love match, as it had been with his parents. Not when he knew his traitorous mind still turned to Ladybug whenever he saw red, or looked to the balcony of his bedroom, or heard news of akumas. So a strategic arrangement it was; he only hoped they would not be insulted by his romantic disinterest in their daughter. The writing came easy. All he had to do was mimic what his lessons under Nathalie had taught him.
The letter to the princess, however; that, he struggled with. How did you inform someone that yes, I want to marry you, but purely for political reasons, and also, I’m in love with someone else and will probably be emotionally unfaithful to you for a good portion of our time together, hope you don’t take this personally in a polite way? Maybe he could just scribble out a no offense and be done with it.
Adrien sighed. Well, he thought, resigned, I might as well just try. If he kept putting it off for fear of not being able to write to her properly, he’d never get it done.
Princess Marinette, he began. He chewed on his lip, nodded to himself resolutely, and continued. Your parents may have informed you of my intention to wed you. It is an offer made in earnest, and I would be greatly honored if you accepted. However, I feel you should know that while I would happily fulfill any duties required of me as your fiancé (and perhaps in the future, as your husband) I love another, and that I make this offer from a purely strategic standpoint. Forgive me my frankness, but I think that if we’re to enter into a relationship, then you deserve the truth. Despite all this, I still have hopes that this won’t hinder a cordial working relationship—one that might even, in time, become friendship...
By sunset, Adrien had finished the letters. He sealed them carefully, and went to find a bird. It wouldn’t take long to receive a reply; not when the distance between the Dupain-Chengs’ kingdom and theirs was easily covered in a day of flight.
Two days later, Adrien was on his way to the throne room again, as had been his wont the past two weeks. He looked casually out the window and stopped short in his tracks.
Ladybug was in the kingswood again.
On a normal day, maybe he would have found the will to ignore her, again. But Adrien remembered the deal he’d made with his father, and glanced at the guards who were accompanying him.
“I’m,” he started. “Um. Could—Léo, could you please inform my father that I’ll be there in a few minutes?”
Léo—who was one of the higher-ranked guards with him—inclined his head. “Of course, my prince.” The others nodded their assent with him.
“Thank you,” Adrien said, with great feeling. And then he sprinted out of the corridor and out of the castle.
He didn’t want to miss his chance.
Ladybug whirled, quick as a hare, when Adrien burst panting into the forest clearing.
“Adr—Your Highness.”
“Ladybug,” Adrien managed, between gasping breaths. She took a step back, as if to flee, and he reached desperately for her. “No, wait, please don’t run away. I just want to talk to you.”
“I told you,” Ladybug said, so softly, “you’re better off forgetting it happened.”
Adrien shut his eyes for a split-second. “That’s—I know. I know. That’s not what I was going to... Look. I just wanted to tell you, Ladybug...”
“Yes?” Her voice was carefully even.
“...I’ve asked for someone else’s hand.” Adrien looked at his shoes. “But it’s not for—I don’t love her. I barely know her, but my father made it a condition in order for him to allow me to help him rule. And—”
Adrien looked to the side. He sighed, harsh, and ran a hand roughly through his hair.
“Ladybug,” he said. “I just wanted to say. My father may have told me to marry someone else, but... for me, it’s always been you, Ladybug.”
“Really,” Ladybug said, high-pitched. Adrien chanced a glance at her. She was red-cheeked and wide-eyed.
“Yeah.”
“You... me?”
Adrien’s hand flew to the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he offered. “I. I love you. I kinda thought that was obvious.”
Ladybug had her face in her palms. “No,” she managed. “Not really. You really...?”
Was that even in question? It was like asking if the sky was blue or if the grass was green. Adrien still remembered the day he’d first seen her with vivid, breathless clarity. She had planted her feet in the town square on the day Papillon had sent out the first akuma, scarlet armor gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, and she had declared herself protector, and Adrien—Adrien had been a goner.
Then after: chance encounters in the town, akuma attacks, and nightly visits. He learned the sound of her laugh. He learned the brightness of her smile. He learned the fierceness of her ever-bleeding heart. So, tell him this: how could he not have loved her, in all her kindness and courage?
“Of course,” he said helplessly. “I thought you knew, Ladybug.”
“I mean, I had hoped—” Ladybug stopped.
“I’ll tell you properly, then.” Adrien’s cheeks were hotter than the sun. “I love you.”
Ladybug staggered back. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You can’t say that.”
“But it’s the truth. I love you.”
Ladybug was shaking her head. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“So you don’t love me back?” Adrien asked, his voice cracking. “Okay. Well, you could have just said that.”
“No,” Ladybug said again. “I mean. Yes. No. I—ugh!” She scrubbed her face violently.
“Ladybug,” Adrien said plaintively, “just tell me, please. Do I have a chance, or—”
“No, you don’t get it!” Ladybug exploded. “It’s not a matter of whether we love each other or not! I have a duty. I’m the only thing between Papillon and the kingdom, I can’t just—”
“—can’t just be happy?” Adrien snorted. “What, so you don’t deserve to have love?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said heatedly. “But I can’t afford to be with you, as Ladybug—I can’t afford to put you in danger—”
As Ladybug. Adrien clung onto those words like it was a lifeline. “As Ladybug,” he repeated. “What about the you behind the mask—can I be with her, then?”
Ladybug let out an almost hysterical laugh. “Even if you could, I couldn’t tell you.” Her voice was half a sob. “I can’t risk telling you who I am. Especially because of stupid Papillon and his stupid spying akumas, who could very well be listening in on our conversation right now and—”
Adrien caught her by the shoulders. “Hey, hey. Ladybug,” he said. “Look at me. It’s going to be okay. We—I can—”
“It’s not!” She tore herself away from him, hugging herself. “You can’t say that. You don’t understand—”
“I don’t have to understand to want to help. I don’t have to understand to care.”
“I know!” Ladybug let out a short, frustrated scream. “I know. But—I can’t involve you, Adrien. Which,” she added, “is why we should forget that kiss ever happened. And also why we should stop meeting—we shouldn’t have been meeting in the first place.”
Adrien’s mind fixated on two words. “We should?” he asked.
Ladybug flinched. “You,” she said. “You should.”
“No, that’s not right. You said we.” Adrien tried stepping closer again. She didn’t back away; didn’t even look away. “You can’t forget the kiss either.”
Ladybug swallowed. “Can’t I?”
“I don’t know.” Adrien took another step forward and tilted his head. “Can you?”
“Maybe,” she said roughly.
“Ladybug,” he said. “I love you.”
Ladybug blinked up at him, something hopeless in her blue eyes.
“I love you,” he said again.
Ladybug blinked, again, and this time a tear slipped down her cheek. For a moment she said nothing; only looked, and looked, and looked at him. Searching for some invisible salvation.
When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling. “Just one?”
Adrien cupped her cheek. “Just one.”
Ladybug shut her eyes and kissed him. For a single, blinding moment, the world fell away, and it was only her lips against his, her body pressed close to his, and Adrien could have lived in that moment forever; finally in her embrace after weeks of waiting, weeks of not knowing—
All too soon, she pulled away.
“I love you, too,” Ladybug said, sounding wrecked.
Adrien, already dazed by her kiss, felt as if he’d been hit over the head. “Oh.”
“I really shouldn’t have,” Ladybug stammered. “I’m sorry. But—”
“Don’t.” Adrien caught her hands between his. “Don’t—run away from this again. I don’t want to spend another month chasing shadows of you.”
“Adrien...”
“You love me,” he said, and even as he did he felt light-headed all over again. “You love me, and I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
“And your new fiancée? Papillon?”
“She’s not my fiancée yet. And I’ve made it clear in my letter to her that I’m in love with someone else. As for Papillon,” he said. He turned toward the trees and raised his voice. “Fuck Papillon!”
Ladybug let out a startled, teary huff of laughter, and Adrien grinned.
“You can’t live your life in fear of him,” Adrien said. “That only gives him more power. Fuck Papillon.”
Ladybug, wiping her tears away, said, “I think I’ve got the point, Adrien.” Her lips were twitching.
Adrien shook his head. “No, no. You have to say it.”
Another surprised laugh burst from Ladybug. “Alright,” she said. “Fuck Papillon.”
“That’s my lady,” Adrien said.
Ladybug tried and failed to suppress a smile.
“I’m serious, though,” Adrien said.
Almost immediately, Ladybug sobered. “About us?”
“About us.”
“It’s dangerous,” Ladybug repeated. “For you. And for me. I—honestly, I’m doubting the merit of this all over again—”
“Ladybug,” Adrien sighed, “I told you. I know. I still want to.”
Ladybug hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Very,” Adrien said firmly.
She exhaled. “Contrary to popular belief,” she said quietly, “I am not immune to being selfish.”
Adrien waited. He slipped his fingers through hers.
“Alright,” Ladybug said. “Let’s—let’s give it a go.”
Smiling brilliantly, Adrien squeezed her hand. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”
Ladybug squeezed back. “You have,” she said softly. She pulled him closer for another kiss.