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When Marinette realizes that it's Lila who's intercepted the page whose sole duty it is to bring the Prince's wine to him at these sorts of ceremonial balls, her breath catches in her throat. Lila's dressed to impress tonight, and Marinette had wondered if seduction was her plan; after that, she gave it no more thought. For the Prince is aware of what kind of creature Lila Rossi is, after all, and Marinette knows full well that he would rather gnaw off his own arm than consort with Lady Rossi in any fashion.
But it's possible that Marinette is the only person who's at the correct angle to see Lila gliding her hand over the wine cup in the page's hand as she leans in to flirt with him – and the powder drifting down from that raised hand into that cup.
It's a miracle that she saw it at all, through the crowd that presses close around her, jostling and laughing and drinking the Prince's health at the top of their lungs. Perhaps she's the only one who did.
Marinette knows that Lila's homeland of Italy is famous for its use of poisons to arrange their affairs of state, and in pursuit of that aim, they have fashioned the most cunning sorts of rings, those with secret, hidden compartments, only accessible by pressing a knob or jewel in exactly the right way. Marinette would expect nothing less of Lila Rossi. She starts for the page, her heart in her throat, pushing through the crowd as best she can, before a thought occurs to her.
Lila wants the Prince, it's true, for she has never been shy about wanting the power that would come of marrying him; but Marinette can tell that she wants Adrien, too, from the way she's gone about it. Flattery, seduction – those are personal. And that means that Lila has no intention of killing him.
On the other hand, there are many other things she could dose him with. Wit-altering potions, powdered mushrooms, an aphrodisiac, one of the exotic poisons which need to be taken every day or he would die and he'd be forced to wed Lila, after all –
Marinette sets her teeth and forces her way through the crowd toward the page, damage to her gown be damned. Adrien needs her.
But Marinette is small, and the merriment surrounding her very, very loud; she cannot make herself heard above it, and she only manages to get halfway across the crowded room that suddenly seems to be packed full of puffy skirts and flowing sleeves before the page reaches Adrien's side.
"No!" she cries –
But Adrien is too far away, and he can't hear her.
In this crowded room, the air is stuffy and hot, and of course the Prince is thirsty. He drinks down half of the goblet before Marinette's horrified eyes, his throat bobbing as he swallows, and sighs in pleasure.
No.
Marinette forces her way through to the only clear spot in the room, the carpeted aisle down the center of the room that leads directly to the Prince's throne; once she gets there, she picks up her skirts and moves more quickly, trying to get to Adrien before –
Lila.
Kneeling before Adrien in a gorgeous flutter of skirts and delicate, beringed hands and dark, glossy curls, Lila is a tempting picture. Even Marinette can admit that. Lila Rossi is a beauty, and she works hard at keeping herself that way. With a neckline so low that her rouged nipples peek out of her dress with every breath, how could any man not want her for his own? Except Adrien, of course.
But as Marinette makes her way closer, and she notices Adrien's dilated eyes, the blush climbing up his neck, and his hand trembling as he clutches the wineglass between them like it could save him from Lila's knowing smile, she realizes that perhaps Adrien is included in that class of men, after all.
It shouldn't hurt her the way that it does. He's been drugged – Marinette knows that for a fact – and she and the Prince have had more than one conversation about Lila's duplicitous nature and how much he dislikes it. Adrien is a kind man, one who believes in the good in people, and he knows that Lila is poison. Marinette trusts him to follow his principles, not his prick.
It's only that he's never looked at Marinette in that wild and greedy way. Even though she desperately wants him to.
She sets her teeth against the pain welling in her chest and strides forward, frantically considering and discarding options. Perhaps she can still distract him somehow, or cause a scene to separate them –
Adrien passes the wine goblet back to his page and stands, his dark eyes never leaving Lila on her knees in front of him. Marinette still has no idea what she might say, but she opens her mouth anyway, hoping that something will come to her in the nick of time.
And then Adrien tears his eyes away from Lila, his restless, terrified gaze passing over the rest of the crowd, as though he's searching, searching, looking for something he needs desperately and yet cannot find –
Until his eyes land on Marinette. The relief on his face staggers her, and she stops, her hand coming to rest on her stomach as though it might help her breathe.
Instead, Adrien comes straight to her, side-stepping Lila as though she isn't there, heedless of Lila's offended gasp and her hard eyes as she watches him slip from her gasp. Marinette holds her hand out for Adrien. For her Prince. When he reaches her, Adrien takes her hand and bends over it, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath with his nose nearly on her bare skin. He's shaking, Marinette notices, concern growing inside of her.
"Are you all right?" she asks him as quietly as she can.
Adrien manages a smile for her as he stands again. "Dance with me, my lady?"
"Of course," she says softly. It doesn't require consideration or thought, even if no one else is dancing and the musicians are silent. Adrien is the Prince. If he wishes to dance with her, none will gainsay him – especially not Marinette.
The rest of the court begins to draw away from them, creating an empty space in the middle of the room, which might be something like a dance floor if not for the runner carpet leading up to the throne, which Marinette will inevitably trip on sometime soon; the musicians are scrambling to play something, anything, in the wake of Adrien's sudden decision. The song they arrive at is a slow and stately dance medley, which goes with a processional dance in which Adrien is allowed to hold her hand as they promenade.
For the first few figures, they are alone on the impromptu dance floor. Adrien holds her hand tightly, as though she might disappear if he doesn't. He won't look at her. There's sweat beading on his upper lip.
"Do you know what she did to me?" he murmurs.
"A drug, in your wine," Marinette says as quietly as she can.
Adrien lifts his head and locates Lord Nino, beckoning him to join them in their dance; Marinette gives Alya a tiny, hesitant smile, but when Alya frowns and mouths something – a question, knowing her – Marinette shakes her head. She doesn't need to know this. Preferably, no one will ever find out what Lila did; it would not look well for Adrien, no matter that he was dosed with something against his will. His detractors might say that he's lying, trying to excuse a lusty nature. No. This is a secret that will stay between them.
As more couples join them in dancing, they are forced to make two separate lines, narrowing the space available, which causes Marinette to draw closer to Adrien. They turn to promenade in the other direction, and again Adrien seizes her hand, clinging to her with all of his strength.
"Is it still – " Marinette doesn't dare name it out loud, but Adrien will know what she refers to.
"Yes," he says in a tight voice, under his breath. "I feel as though I must fuck someone in the next ten minutes or go mad."
Marinette is overcome with a hundred different emotions at once. Part of her is imagining him taking her so desperately, pouring everything that he wants from her into her mouth, his hands everywhere –
The rest of her is cold. The rest of her hates every moment of this night, and its revelations and plots, which are tearing Adrien from her side. It's at a great distance that Marinette observes herself say, "Then we should find your mistress, your highness."
Adrien's hand spasms around hers, hard; abruptly he's pulling her out of the line of dancers and into the crowd. She lets him take her where he will. Of course she does. Adrien tows her through the brightly lit entrance and into his library, slamming the doors shut behind them as they're swallowed by peace and quiet.
Marinette swallows. "Your highness?"
Keeping his back pressed to the doors, Adrien turns to her with a glare. "My name, dammit. You promised."
"Adrien," Marinette breathes. She locks her hands together in front of her to stop herself from reaching for him. He looks unwell, unhealthy; the red flush has spread from his neck to his cheeks, and his lips are pale, his eyes ringed by dark circles. "Who is she? I will fetch her for you – "
He stops her with a raised hand. "I don't have a mistress, Marinette."
Marinette frowns. "What do you mean? I've overheard some of the men talking about your lady-love. You don't have to lie to me."
Adrien's eyes flare dark and angry and he bares his teeth at her for just a moment before he covers his face with one long hand. "I'll have their names from you later, my lady," he bites out. "I... It's not my mistress they're talking about." He sighs, long and heartfelt, dropping his head back against the door. "I am in love with a lady who doesn't love me in return. I'm afraid she cannot help me."
She stares at him, her heart screaming in protest and pain, trembling with the effort of not giving in to the impulse to run so far away that no one will know who she is or the heartbreak she's feeling right now. Marinette looks away, working hard to make her voice sound as normal as possible. "No one in their right mind would turn you away," she says in a low voice, pressing her mouth together as a paroxysm of pain stabs through her at the idea. "Tell me who she is and I'll make her see reason. I can bring her here right now."
A silence falls over the room. She looks at Adrien again, only to realize that he's staring at her, his green eyes wide and surprised.
"What?" Marinette asks uneasily.
"Marinette," Adrien breathes. His gaze is growing firm, more intent, focused on her to the exclusion of all other things in the room, in the palace, in the whole world. To Marinette's shame, she likes it.
She licks her lips nervously. Adrien's eyes drop to her mouth and linger there, the darkness swallowing the green in his eyes until it's only a thin ring. "Yes, your highness?"
Marinette can read the flicker of annoyance on him as easily as she knows her own face in the mirror, but the small rebellion does its job; Adrien looks at her like he did before, like she's the only thing he wants to see. "Her name," he says with a tiny, lopsided smile. "It's Marinette."
She takes a huge, shuddering breath, her hands pressed against her stomach, the lightning surge of hope through her whole body almost too painful to bear. She can't have heard him correctly. It's not possible. He doesn't – He's never –
"Oh," Adrien murmurs. He pushes away from the door and comes to her slowly, his hands outstretched, as though she's a wild animal that might flee if he comes too close. "My lady, I have always loved you. I never imagined that you could love me in return, so I hid it all away." He laughs in astonished delight, raking his hand through his hair. "I can't believe this. I never thought I was that good of an actor. Or that you were."
He holds out his hand, and Marinette can do nothing else; she gives him her hand immediately, instantly, letting Adrien draw her closer to him inch by inch until she's standing so close to him that she can smell the faint traces of cologne left over from when he'd dressed before the ball. Marinette looks up, up, into his eyes, so fond and warm she can feel herself falling into them.
"I have loved you since we were children," she says shyly. "Since you kept saying what very good friends we all were."
Adrien looks like he's been struck in the head. "You're joking. All of these years?"
Marinette would dearly love to continue this conversation, to discover all of the things that made him fall in love with her, and to tell him of all of her attempts to tell him the truth, but Adrien is still under the effect of the drug. His pupils are dilated, and he keeps darting glances at her mouth, as though Marinette can't see him doing it.
"Adrien," she says softly, for the first time looking up at him with her whole heart in her eyes. "If I'm the lady, then why don't you ask me?"
He blinks at her for an endless moment, confusion giving way to pure lust and then to something that looks strangely like terror –
Before Adrien drops to his knees before her and looks up at her with so much love burning in his eyes that Marinette thinks she might die the happiest of women if only Adrien would consent to look at her like that for another moment. "Will you be my lady?" he asks – begs, pleads, in the most desperate voice Marinette could imagine. "Will you marry me? I love you. I will always love you. All I want is for you to be mine, and to be yours in return."
The perfect joy that sings through her makes Marinette smile wide and tear-bright. "Of course I will," she says in a voice thick with tears. "But that's not what I was expecting you to ask, you know."
Adrien's eyes go wide with shock. "What?"
She strokes her fingers down his cheek, and Adrien closes his eyes to turn his face into her hand. "It's a yes to both," Marinette says in a flirtatious tone she's never dared to use on him before. When Adrien freezes, his eyes flying open to devour her whole, she knows that he's caught her meaning, at last. "Why don't you lock those doors, my prince, so I can give you your cure?"
The haste with which Adrien leaps to his feet to do her bidding is extremely gratifying.
And if Marinette, Princess of Paris, finds that she has far more latitude in dealing with Lady Rossi than she's ever had before –
Well, call that a wedding present.