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Her Royal Highness Princess Marinette Mei-lin Coccinella Dupain-Cheng of Brunoy rarely got down on her knees for a man.
When she did, it usually didn’t involve prayer beads and begging for God to save the aforementioned man’s life until her knees turned blue from the church’s hard wooden floor. (She’d have to be incredibly horny to risk defiling Father Damocles’ church like that.)
It was clear that these were unusual circumstances within unusual circumstances, but what else could lead to Marinette’s sudden rededication to her religious beliefs?
Extenuating circumstances, that was the best way to put it.
A nice, neat way to package it up that didn’t make it seem like Marinette was praying for her lover’s life.
She could hear Lady Alya’s voice reprimanding her, telling her that this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t got involved with her bodyguard in the first place.
To which, Marinette would shoot down with the reminder that Sir Adrien didn’t even want to be her bodyguard in the first place, but everything happens for a reason.
Adrien came into her life for a reason, and he couldn’t walk out of it with such little fanfare. She simply forbid it.
They were meant to be together for much longer than the time they’d got so far, and Marinette wasn’t about to be cheated.
Before they’d even met, she’d known they were meant to cross paths. It sounded silly and like superficial nonsense she’d made up to satisfy herself, but Marinette had always remembered paying extra attention to stories about Sir Adrien du Ivry-sur-Seine.
They’d called him le chat noir, because every knight that crossed him became cursed with bad luck and eventually died in a battle against him.
The story was greatly exaggerated, but when Marinette’s parents heard it, they insisted on “chat noir” as their daughter’s bodyguard and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Adrien had been so angry those first few months.
Not at her, never at her, but he’d wanted to be out there, fighting for his king and county, not guarding the princess because her enemies kept finding new and inventive ways to try and assassinate her every day.
They’d come so far, farther than Marinette had ever thought they would when she first laid eyes on him and had the passing thought oh fuck, he’s hot.
Well, passing thought, saying it out loud to Lady Alya… same difference. What was having a best friend for if not sharing one’s secrets with?
Still, even in his most emotional states, Adrien had never faltered like he had yesterday.
He was cocky, and overly performative, sure, but he’d earned the right to that with his impressive record of accomplishment. (And she was convinced it made him fight better. A fake it till you make it kind of thing.)
Adrien had been about to fend off their attackers, when Marinette had cried out, and that brief distraction, of needing to know she was okay, was all it had taken.
There had been so much blood from that one chink in his armour that the sword had cut into, discolouring his black breastplate in a sickening manner, and all Marinette could think was of his initial resistance before their illicit love had progressed to that stage.
His warning to her that he didn’t know if he could do his job justice if it became too personal.
Conflict of interest, he’d said.
We’ll take the risk, she’d replied.
She had thought the risk would be with her own safety, not his.
Adrien hadn’t gone down, though, not at first.
He’d continued fighting like it meant nothing to him, and Master Fu, the court physician, said that his stubbornness had made it worse.
(How ironic was that?)
That was the last thing Fu had said to her before setting himself to work and shutting out all visitors, only allowing her one fleeting glance at Adrien’s immobile form.
Marinette didn’t want to think of him pale and limp, his golden hair sticking to his forehead with sweat in the way it had been in that brief moment.
She wanted her grinning, devil-may-care knight back, the one who called her “princess” like it was more than just a title and knew how to unlace her corset one-handed.
She missed the man beneath the helmet, too: the one who patiently listened to every gushing young boy who came up to him after a successful tourney and rubbed at the back of his neck when he felt awkward.
Marinette sobbed into her hands. She couldn’t be strong without Adrien, and the worst part was that, publicly, she couldn’t show anything more than calm indifference towards him.
If everything happened for a reason, Marinette had to hope that God would hear her prayers and see them as reason enough to keep him alive, for the young princess who found herself unable to live without him if nothing else.
Until she heard news, Marinette would remain here, kneeling at the altar for her beloved knight.