Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"We've made agreements with the King of the Southern United States, and he's agreed to connect you and the prince's relations."

Princess Michelle of Washington's jaw drops.

Because that is not just what her mother said, was it? No goddamn way could her mother want her to date the youngest Southern Prince or even possibly marry him.

"Michelle?" King Philip asks anxiously, and Michelle looks up to meet her father's eyes, shock shown visibly on her face.

"We know, it's horrible," her mother, Queen Madeline says, understanding etching the lines of her worried face. "We know, Michelle, and you probably think it's outrageous for such. But please. This is expected of you from the Southern Kingdom."

No no no no no! Michelle thinks furiously, her emotions twisting into anger and disbelief. No way is a beautiful, fearless warrior princess of the West who is badass and confident and trains with swords of steel and gold and rides on the back of white-maned steeds going to get forced to be in a relationship with some prince. 

"Are you kidding?" Michelle exclaims, voice in fury, and her royal parents wince at her tone. "Are you saying that you're arranging a relationship between that prince and me?"

"Young lady!" her mother says, eyebrows raised. "Excuse you, please do not use that tone on your parents."

"I don't care," Michelle says scathingly. "Isn't that illegal? We're not living in the twelfth century, Mom!"

"Michelle," her father says in warning. 

Michelle balls her hands up into fists and settles down on the silk chair again, seething. This is so unfair. This cannot be happening.

"We're sorry," Queen Madeline says, and she truly does look. Her ivory-skinned complexion is anxious and looking hurt, and Michelle feels a bit of her soften. "We feel terrible, Michelle, okay? If it doesn't work out, then you can split apart."

But Michelle knows her mother is hoping wholeheartedly for it to last, and her father is too. She knows they will be disappointed and aggravated if the relationship doesn't work. She knows that she has to do her best, no matter if she likes it or not.

But again, this is for her states.

"Fine, whatever," Michelle says with a frustrated sigh. "What about Betty?"

Betty Brant is the Duchess of Montana, Michelle's royal cousin, and the two of them have really bonded over their shared kingdom. If Michelle has to face this, there's a chance that they'll face this together.

"Eleonore has decided that Betty would be better off with her decisions," her mother admits.

"Wait, so you're saying Betty's mother is respecting her decisions? What about me?" Michelle screeches.

"The reason why were doing this," her father interjects, with a hard look to Michelle, "Is because Princess Betty is willing to get into relationships with men, Michelle. You, on the other hand..."

Michelle sucks in a breath. Her father has a point. While Betty actually likes dating and love and mushy stuff, Michelle would rather prefer a book over men. She's never had any interest, refusing to her mother's pleas. The only man she's had the smallest amount of history with is Brad Davis, a non-royal guy who she met at a bookstore in disguise. But Brad had turned out to be quite a, well, dick. Michelle had resolved her opinion on all young men were dicks, judging by all the men she's talked to at dinner parties or even in the public.

"Fine!" Michelle says hotly. 

Her mother purses her lips in concern, and her father sighs. "You will meet him next week on Sunday for the dinner party at the ball room."

Michelle nods curtly, stands up, and walks out of the sitting room, across the marble and red, royal cashmere carpet underneath diamond chandeliers to her own room.

My life is a shithole, she thinks to herself.

For the next few days, she sulks inside her room, not really bothering to get out, with her maids giving her meals on trolleys delivered to her instead of in the huge dining hall. She's furious. And she can do nothing about it.

To be honest, Michelle's angry on the fact that she has to be in a relationship with someone forced by her parents, instead of by her own liberty and will. She's a princess, for God's sake. Okay, actually, never mind. Princesses don't really have liberty.

She's lying on her king-sized bed complete with silk linen sheets and a fox-fur blanket, her curls sprawled over, lifting her phone above her head. At least she gets her own phone.

She uses an undercover account of all the social media platforms, since her official account is only used on declaring ceremonies or events, only by her parent's permission, and types @princepeter on Instagram and searches for his account. Out of curiosity, of course. At least she has to know some things about her future "boyfriend." She shudders at the thought of dating a stranger.

Of course she knows who he is. She's never met him, even thought the western and southern kingdoms have a friendly relationship. Michelle's seen his face on the news and stuff, duh. She's aware that he's fairly attractive. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be able to charm and make the Southern Americans, especially the New Yorkers, proud.

His latest post is with a gallery of pictures for Vogue featuring him in a black blazer over a dress shirt, which the top few buttons were unbuttoned, and completed the look with messy brown curls.

Michelle skims through all of his posts, and then sets her phone down. At least he's not ugly, she thinks to herself, and picks it up again to call Betty's private number.

Betty answers immediately.

"Oh my God, Chelley, I've heard the thing from my parents, and you're so lucky!" she shrieks from the other line, to Michelle's shock.

"What?" Michelle splutters. "No, no, Betty, this is so unfair, what the hell are you talking about?"

"The Prince Peter of New York!" Betty says, her voice giddy. "Like, he's the hottest royal of the South, Chelley!"

"Woah, woah, woah," Michelle says, eyes wide. "Uh, first of all, don't call me that, my friends call me MJ, not Chelley-" Betty snorts, "-and second, no, this is bad, okay? My parents are forcing me to date a guy I've never even met!"

"But he's cute, so...," Betty points out, and Michelle sighs exasperatedly.

She is totally not excited for Sunday.

Chapter Text

Peter isn't exactly that thrilled to be in a relationship with Princess Michelle of Washington.

To be honest, he thinks it's unfair. An hour ago his parents, Prince Anthony and Duchess Virginia, just told him that. But Peter doesn't really mind, really, because he's seen Princess Michelle on TV and on the news. 

He's always wanted to meet her, especially because she's known to be the smartest and most badass princess in the Western Kingdom. Plus, she's beautiful. 

Three hours before setting off to the Manresa Castle, Peter's maids help him get dressed into a crisp black, Gieves & Hawkes suit, custom tailored with gold trimmings, and his mother, who is fussing over him.

"You look amazing, Peter," she finally says, smiling proudly, when Peter's sitting on a chair while a maid is combing his curls, and another woman is dusting his cheeks with something. "Good impressions always count."

Peter hums absentmindedly, his hand fidgeting with the collar of his blazer anxiously. "It won't be any use on Princess Michelle, though."

"Of course it wouldn't be any use," says a voice behind them, and Peter knows who it is automatically. 

It's Peter's mentor and trainer, Marquess Natasha. Her red hair is in an elegant twist above her head, and she looks amazing, despite her fierce and badass reputation. 

"She's also been trained in sword fighting, did you know?" Nat muses, glancing at herself in the mirror and smoothing her dress out. "Probably even better than you, Peter."

"Yeah, she probably is," Peter admits, and stands up when he's ready. "I'm kinda intimidated, honestly."

"Royals are never intimidated, kid," Virginia chides, patting his shoulder. "Stand up straight."

Prince Peter, Duchess Virginia, Prince Anthony, Marquess Natasha, and more dukes and duchesses from the Southern States arrive at the castle in Rolls Royce limousines, and the guards usher them into the castle.

It's glorious, a little more older than the Belvedere Palace, with quartz diamond chandeliers rather than gold. The hallways are white and outlined with beautiful, intricate patterns like lace, and the ceiling is mesmerizingly detailed with a mural of silver flowers.

Queen Madeline smiles graciously they enter the spacious ballroom which is filled with royal guests, some dining or talking quietly, and some dancing gracefully on the marble floor.

"It is such a delight to meet you all again," she says warmly, with King Phillip smiling similarly behind her, and she shakes every hand. When she gets to Peter, her eyes get the smallest bit more anxious.

"Princess Michelle is sitting next to Betty, Duchess of Montana. Feel free to go over, Prince Peter," she says, pursing her lips. "She's quite angry about the whole situation, so please don't mind her attitude. I know you're a kind person, and, well, Michelle's rather... snarky."

Peter nods in understanding. "Thank you, your majesty."

Peter's parents drift off to greet other dukes from the West, so Peter's left alone. He sits at a table covered in an silk spread that is reserved for his family, and thanks a waiter who offers him a tray of shots. He takes a quick glance over his shoulder to see Michelle, and she's even more beautiful than he had thought. She's in a silk red evening gown, curly locks flowing down her shoulders. She catches his gaze, her cheeks flushing slightly, and turns her attention back to the blonde next to her.

Peter, mustering up his courage, runs a hand through his hair and walks as naturally as possible towards the table.

The blonde, Duchess Betty, Peter assumes, nudges Michelle, stifling a giggle as Michelle's posture stiffen, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Hello," he says politely. "Peter of New York. It's a delight to meet you, your Highness."

She raises her chin. "Pleasure to meet you too."

As if on cue, a slow, waltz dance plays, and he smiles slightly when he offers a hand. "May I have this dance?" he asks nonchalantly, eyes twinkling, and glances expectantly at Betty, who ushers her reluctant friend of the seat.

Michelle takes his hand, and lets him lead her to the dance floor.

Chapter Text

Michelle supposes she has to give this guy a chance. (Also, he has an absolutely irresistible charm that she's almost become infatuated with.)

The other couples spin around elegantly, smiling and talking to one another with a warmth air, but Michelle almost feels shy when she places a hand on one of his broad shoulders. 

"Have you learned how to dance before?" the prince asks, a glimmer of gold in his intense brown eyes reflected from the chandelier above them. 

"Not really," she admits, biting the inside of her cheek. "But it doesn't look that hard."

Peter places a gentle hand on her waist, making Michelle annoyed at the butterflies in her stomach, and they both clasp their hands together. "You just, uh, sway to the tune."

The music interludes, soft and peaceful, as the two dance around the floor, and he breaks the silence between them when he says, "So, uh, about this... situation..." His cheekbones are slightly dusted with a shade of pink.

"Right," she says. "What about it?"

"I'm really sorry if, um... well, you feel uncomfortable or mad. I think it's unfair, too."

She shrugs. "I was pretty mad, but it's fine. It wouldn't be too bad, would it? If thinks don't work out, we can just stop."

He nods, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

Another blanket of silence lapses over them as they glide across the floor, and he keeps on gazing at her, with those intense eyes, something like wonder or amazement, and makes Michelle's cheeks hot and wonder whether her makeup is off or something.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" she blurts out.

His eyes widen slightly and he smiles in embarrassment. "Sorry. You're just much more prettier than I imagined."

"You're a lot shorter than I imagined," she quips back, although her face feels like it's on fire. Dammit, what the hell?

To her surprise, instead of flinching away in offence or cough awkwardly, Peter laughs. He laughs as if she's just told him a joke instead of criticized him for his height.

"You're right," he says, smiling widely. "Sorry about that."

Michelle's now looking in to Peter's brown eyes, which seemed iridescent in the glow of the diamond chandelier above them and the golden shine of the intricate patterns in the walls of the ballroom, different shades of soft brown flecked with bright sparkles. 

God, this is much harder than she thought.

"So, how was it?" is Betty's first question when Michelle is the dressing room, changing into a bathrobe and combing her hair.

Michelle shrugs, twisting her lips. "It was... fine, I guess. He didn't seem too bad."

"Well, it had better be fine, since you're going to meet him again on the palace garden tomorrow," Betty says casually, in her own bathrobe and blow-drying her blonde locks. 

Michelle stop, the comb halfway in her damp curls. "Wait, what?"

"Your parents told me to tell you, since they're off to a meeting or whatever. Palace garden, two thirty, tomorrow afternoon. Nice and private little chat to get to know each other."

Michelle groans, continuing to run the comb through her hair. 

"Hey, at least he's cute, right?" Betty says unhelpfully, grinning.