Chapter Text
If you had a choice, you would rather be anything but a princess. It was not what you wanted. Hundreds of children would die for the opportunity to be a royal, but you? You knew that it was far from what you wanted. As a princess, you had no freedom of your own. At least, no freedom when you lived under your father’s watchful eye. Ever since you were born, he’d kept a close eye on you. Nothing you did was right to him. No matter how much you studied every subject until your head felt like it would explode with the knowledge, memorized the laws of the kingdom to the point you could recite them forwards and backwards and sideways, and oh so carefully walked the line of being a normal twenty-something woman and being a working royal, it was never enough for your dear, old dad.
You weren’t a particularly rebellious person. At least, not in the way you would see in the Hollywood movies. You didn’t drink heavily, do drugs, go out to wild parties. You didn’t have questionable friends with even more questionable morals. You didn’t stay out late, didn’t disappear for days on end. No, you still fit the mold of a perfect, little goody-goody. You loved wandering the gardens, helping the gardener with tending to the beautiful flowers. Your favorite spot in the palace was the library, often getting lost in the vast expanse of shelves. None of these pastimes, however, were worthy of a princess, as your father would say.
But, even when you were performing official royal duties, your father would find reason to complain. Princesses don’t kneel down to talk to children. Princesses don’t offer their arm to help the elderly walk. Princesses don’t help grab boxes from tall shelves. Princesses don’t provide commentaries and critiques to visiting foreign dignitaries. And, most of all, princesses don’t speak unless spoken to. He would much rather you fade into the background, be a pretty thing to look at, than be your own person.
Which, you supposed, was why you found yourself in his office, seated across his desk from him, his advisor Arthur Harrow standing behind him, a twisted smirk on his face.
You said nothing, waiting for your father— His Royal Highness, Benjamin—or Harrow to speak. You were already in trouble, it seemed. There was no reason to make matters worse for you.
Benjamin stared at you in silence for several minutes, waiting for you to squirm. But you kept your back straight, hands clasped firmly in your lap, maintaining eye contact until he finally sighed, and said, “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”
You bit your tongue, knowing that he wanted to protest. If you protested, whatever he had planned would be worse. It was better to keep silent than to poke the bear.
He hummed. Whether it was in approval or disapproval, you couldn’t tell. It was always hard to tell with him. “I’ve decided that it’s time to make you someone else’s problem.”
“It’s a little late to be sending me to finishing school.” Damn it. There goes the whole don’t-speak-until-he-indicates-for-you-to plan.
“You’re smarter than that, Your Highness,” Harrow said. He said your highness almost like it was a curse, like he chewed on it, was disgusted by its bitter taste, then spat it back out at you. “You are not going to finishing school.”
Before you could even consider asking what was happening then, you were distracted by Benjamin opening a drawer, fishing out a small, velvet box, setting it in front of you. He waved his hand at it, indicating for you to take it. You picked up the box, opening it to see a shiny lapis lazuli ring. One that you recognized your mother frequently wearing.
“That was your mother’s ring. Not her engagement ring, mind you. That will go to your brother when he finds a bride of his own,” Benjamin said. “I thought, however, this ring would be best suited for you. The lapis lazuli, it looks like the night sky, does it not? Almost poetic to use that ring as a symbol of your engagement to one of my Moon Knights.”
The Moon Knights were the royal guard, a collection of knights tasked with protecting the crown. You never understood the point of the silly name, but you weren’t in a position to question it, much less change it to something much more simple. You know, like actually calling the royal guard the royal guard. Moon Knights just…They sounded like something that belonged in a middle-grade fantasy book, or perhaps a comic book. It wasn’t a name that struck fear in the hearts of people. If you were the sort of person who intended to harm the royal family, if you heard the name “Moon Knight”, you would assume that the family had no real protection. Though, perhaps it was some sort of irony thing…
Your stomach dropped. “Engagement?” you repeated.
“Yes. I have decided that it is time for you to wed. A husband would do you well, make you reign in this rebellious nature, yes? And who would be better up for the task than my best Moon Knight?” Benjamin smiled, as if he was proud of his announcement. You supposed he was. “His name is Marc Spector. You will meet him when he make our official announcement at the end of the week.”
“Should I not meet him before?”
“There is no need. Both of you will be thoroughly briefed on what to say should the press throw any questions your way.” He gestured at the ring again. “Go ahead. Try it on. I went ahead and had it sized, but if it’s still not a perfect fit, I need to know now before the press sees it.”
You took the ring out of the box, sliding it on your left ring finger. You held your hand out to Benjamin, showing him how he fit. He hummed—this time in approval. Or at least, that’s what you hoped.
“That is all. You’re dismissed,” Benjamin said. “I’ll have Harrow drop off Spector’s file. Have it memorized by Friday morning. We’ll make the official announcement that afternoon.”
You glanced between Benjamin and Harrow and, upon realizing that nothing you said would change their mind, you rose to your feet, gave a curt nod to Benjamin, turned, and left. When you stepped out of the office, you saw your personal bodyguard, Layla, standing by the door, waiting for you.
She took one look at the look on your face, and asked, “Would you like to go to the bookstore, dove?”
You could only shake your head, twisting the ring around your finger. “I think I need to go lie down.”
“Are you sure, dove? The bookstore always cheers you up.”
You turned your head, glancing back at the shut door. “He’s finally done it. He finally got sick of me. I always knew this day would come, but I thought he would be doling out medieval punishments not used in hundreds of years. Though, I suppose this is perhaps medieval in its own right. No one in this family has been forced into an arranged marriage in over a century. Be sure to add this to the ever-growing list of why I’m the family fuck-up.”
And before Layla could say anything more, you walked away, heading to your room, ready to just collapse in your bed and mourn the life you once had.
Friday came sooner than you thought. Though, you supposed time flew when, for the entire week, you hid away in your room, reading over your fiancé’s file as if it were the gospel. While it painted an interesting picture of the man you were to marry and the backstory that Benjamin and Harrow had cooked up, it still left you with many questions. What kind of man was your fiancé? Was he kind? Was he mild-mannered? Was he the kind of man who liked to read? Did he frequent museums?
You knew you couldn’t ask Benjamin these questions, but there was one person that you could ask. One person who would tell you the truth. One person who wouldn’t hide things from you, unless it was necessary.
“What do you know of my fiancé?” you asked Layla as one of your stylist fixed your hair for your first official outing with the man who would become your husband. “I’ve only ever heard his name, read the little fact file Harrow brought me. Nothing about him, who he is outside of his job. I don’t even know what he looks like—they didn’t include a picture of him in his file. I want…I need to know what I’m getting into today.”
“Marc is…” Layla paused, choosing her words carefully, “complicated. He’s rough around the edges. The sort of person who you want to throttle just as much as the sort of person you’d like to share a drink with.”
“How do you know him?” you asked. Then you paused. Perhaps that was too demanding, especially when Layla was the only person you knew who could provide you a perspective on your fiancé. But there was something she wasn’t telling you, something she was hiding. You knew her well enough to know when she wasn’t being totally honest. You added, “If you don’t mind my asking?”
“You know I don’t mind, dove. He and I, we were trained together when coming to work for the palace. We became, well, not exactly friends…Marc never seemed the type to be friends with people. He was always the lone wolf type. But I was one of the few people he would talk to, and vice versa.” She hesitated, searching your face in the reflection of your mirror, as if she was unsure if she would say what she should say next. “If I may be honest…”
“You know you can be. I trust you with my life, both in the literal I-trust-you-to-save-me way and in the I-would-tell-you-my-deepest-darkest-secrets way. I hope you see me in that same light,” you said.
“You won’t be sacrificing yourself for me on my watch, dove. That’s my job, remember?” Layla said. Her tone indicated jest, but the raise of her brow, the thin line of her lips told you that if you ever thought of taking a bullet for her, she would come back as a ghost to haunt you til your dying days. “But, as I was saying, I had always thought Marc and I might become…something more. But as we got closer, the more he pushed me away. We slept together once, and that was the nail in the coffin. He never spoke to me again.” She sighed, before continuing, “I don’t say this to hurt you. What happened between him and I is the past, and I never intended to revisit it, nor will I. I only say this because, while I’m sure you would be able to win him over, I don’t want you to be hurt if and when he decides that you’re better apart than together.”
“I’m a big girl, Layla. I…am not stupid. Not about this arrangement. Even if my fiancé does not love me like I’ve always hoped the man I’d marry would, that does not mean I will show him any less kindness.” You looked down at your hands, at the ring that Benjamin had given you to wear. It was, for all intents and purposes, an engagement ring. There had been no official engagement photos released to the public yet—those would come later. First, you had to announce the engagement. Then, you stage the photos to make the engagement seem more legitimate. You felt it was a bit backwards, but what you thought didn’t matter. You were a doll that he was stringing along, posing perfectly in the little doll house, fully subjected to his every whim. “What happened with you and him is the past. I don’t judge you for it, nor do I distrust you because of it. Thank you for telling me. I would rather go into this as fully informed as I can be than be blind-sided down the line.”
Though, if you were being honest, you knew that that secret was not the one she was hiding. There was something bigger. Something more important than her sleeping with the man who would become your fiancé. But you weren’t sure if you should pry. On the one hand, you were marrying this man. You would live with him. You might have to have children with him. If there was something you should know, something you should expect, you would like to know. You would want to be prepared. But, on the other hand, Layla would never hide something from you that would get you hurt. If she was hiding something, it was because it wasn’t something you needed to know.
The stylist finished with your hair, crossing the room to grab your dress for the event. She pulled a dress from the rack, presenting to you. It was a . You loved it—and you knew your father would hate it. If it was up to him, he would have you look like Kate Middleton, have a coat dress in every color of the rainbow. But the battle of the wardrobe was one of the few fronts that Benjamin had accepted defeat of. You still dressed rather modestly, just not as modestly as he would have liked. Though, you wondered if he would find more to critique if you did wear coat dresses. Just another impossibly high standard that you would never be able to reach, you supposed.
As you got dressed, Layla gave you a small smile and said, “You look beautiful, dove.”
“I feel beautiful.” You looked in the full-length mirror, twirling around to examine yourself. “I hope…If there’s anything I can hope to feel on my wedding day, it’s that I at least feel beautiful.”
Layla sighed, stepping closer to you. Something was weighing heavily on her. “I didn’t mean to mislead you, about Marc. He’s a good man. He keeps people at arm’s length, but he would never mistreat you.”
“But he’ll never love me. Not the way I would want my husband to,” you said. “And that’s fine. I don’t expect him to. I imagine he was just as forced into this as I was. Even if my father presented it as a choice…Everyone knows that you don’t deny the king.”
Before Layla could push back any further—
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
She crossed the room, opening the door slightly, using her body as a shield to keep any on-lookers in the hall from peering in at you. “Can I help you, Harrow?” she asked.
“Everyone is ready. Will the princess be down soon?”
“She needs to put on her shoes and she’ll be ready. We’ll meet you downstairs.”
As Layla spoke, you were already sliding your on, giving yourself a final glance in the mirror to ensure that not even a single thread was out of place. Content, you walked to the door, grabbing the door knob, and pulling the door more open. “There is no need. I am ready now,” you said. “Father doesn’t like to wait.”
You left the room, Layla pausing for a moment to stare at Harrow, before catching up to you. She didn’t trust Harrow. She had told you as much when she was first assigned as your guard, back when you were trying to get her to open up to you. (“If this is gonna work well, we need to trust each other,” you’d said. “Tell me something you’ve noticed since being assigned to me, and I’ll tell you about what you need to watch out for.”) To be frank, you agreed with her. There was something shifty in his gaze, something sinister lying in his smirk. His words were careful, calculated, like there was always a double entendre that only he—and your father, it seemed—understood.
You paused, though, as you reached the end of the hall. Who was that, standing at the top of the stairs? You looked back at Layla and she whispered, “That’s Marc. He was supposed to be waiting with your father. He is as impatient as you are, dove.”
“I was going to meet him sooner or later. Better now than in front of my father, when he would be scrutinizing my every action.” You straightened your back and continued to walk towards him, your heels clacking on the marble floors.
When he turned, you almost stopped again. He was your fiancé? Perhaps…Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.
Years ago—it must have been early in his service to the Moon Knights—you had seen him. Every year, on your father’s birthday, a celebration was held. A parade through the capital was part of the festivities. You, Kieran, and Benjamin all sat in the same open carriage (a modern version of one used centuries ago, in the early days of the kingdom), escorted on all sides by the Moon Knights. It was the first year without your mother, and you had tried to convince Benjamin to let you skip the celebrations, tell the people that you were sick. But he made you go anyways. Appearances mattered, and your absence would send the media in a frenzy.
So, begrudgingly, you went to the parade. You put on a happy face for the crowd, smiling and waving as you passed them by. It was all going well. Benjamin wasn’t chastising you, Kieran wasn’t looking at you as if you were the scum on the bottom of his perfectly polished shoes. Seeing the people’s happy faces was a nice distraction from your persistent grief. But then—an accident almost happened.
As the carriage passed a family, a little girl broke away from her parents, running up to the carriage, arms reaching out for you. A Moon Knight broke rank, pulling the girl back just before one of the horses could have been spooked. The parade came to an immediate stop and, before Benjamin or Kieran could attempt to stop you, you climbed out of the carriage, walking over to the Moon Knight and child.
“There’s the princess,” the Moon Knight said in an accent you couldn’t quite place, pointing to you as you walked over. “Say hello!”
“Hi, princess!” the child said. “You look very pretty today!”
“You look very pretty today, too! I almost mistook you for a princess yourself. ” You knelt down in front of her, opening your arms for a hug. She immediately launched herself into your embrace, hugging you tight around the neck. “Let’s take you back to your parents, okay? I know my mother always worried when I was gone too long, and I would hate to put your parents through that same pain.”
By the evening, all the newspapers and broadcasts could talk about was how you and the Moon Knight took the little girl back to her parents, spending some time talking to them before you returned to your carriage and the parade returned to its normal course. Benjamin was outraged, as he often was at your actions, but for once you didn’t feel bad about it. All you could think of was how that Moon Knight was, perhaps, one of the kindest you’d ever met.
Perhaps this marriage, you mused, taking in Marc’s dark curls, warm brown eyes, and well-tailored grey suit, would not be as bad as you thought.
“I apologize for your wait,” you said when you reached him.
He rolled his eyes, turning to begin his descent down the stairs. “Let’s make this quick.”
He sounded different than you remembered. But, then again, it had been years. Perhaps you were misremembering. Instead of focusing on that, you said, “…it’s an hour-long interview. That’s the antithesis of quick.”
“Well, let’s not make this any longer than it needs to be.”
You pursed your lips, choosing to bite your tongue instead of retaliating, as you now were in front of Benjamin. Your father looked you over, spinning his finger, indicating for you to spin so he could take in your entire outfit.
“That wasn’t the dress we approved of,” Benjamin said.
“You haven’t approved of my clothes in years, Father,” you said, stopping your twirling when you faced him again. “Everything else will go according to plan.”
“Don’t embarrass me.”
“Yes Father.”
He looked at Marc, scanning his outfit before giving a curt nod, allowing you, Marc, and Layla walk out to the car. It was rare that Benjamin let you go to public announcements without him. But, you supposed, dear old dad looking over your shoulder as you announced your engagement was less than ideal. It wouldn’t look good for your public image, he’d say. He was probably right. He knew a lot about public perception of royals.
The car ride was quiet, but thankfully short. You weren’t sure if you could stand Marc’s unnerving stare any longer. At least when the two of you were in front of the camera, you could focus on other things, like making sure you remembered the story.
When the car stopped in front of the news station, you reached out, grabbing Marc’s hand before he could get out of the car. “Please,” you said, “I know this isn’t ideal, but I can’t mess this up. We have to act like a happy couple during this. Be upset about this later, when there’s no cameras, and I’ll do the same. I…I just can’t let my father down.”
Marc said nothing, but held onto your hand as he got out of the car, helping you out. Paparazzi lined the walkway into the station, and you were quick to paint on your signature smile, waving at the cameras as they flashed, saying hello to the photographers. Marc, surprisingly, fell into his role easily, letting go of your hand so he could place it on your back, leading you into the station.
Soon, you and Marc were sitting on a loveseat on the soundstage, the interviewer—a lovely woman named Karen—sat in an armchair across from you. You had done a few interviews with her before, and you’d always enjoyed talking to her. She always asked interesting questions, made you feel more like you were having a conversation than being interviewed.
When the cameras started rolling, she smiled at the camera facing her, saying, “Good morning! We have a very special treat for you today. Our very own Princess Y/N is here with us today, joined by a special someone. A very handsome special someone, I might add. Rumor has it, they have an announcement to make. Your Highness?”
She looked to you, and a camera zoomed in your face. You smiled wide, flashing your pearly white teeth. Not quite sure how to say the words most naturally, in a way that sounded like you, you chose to raise your left hand, the ring facing the camera. “Surprise! A wedding will soon be in our midst!”
“She means to say we’re engaged,” Marc said, His voice didn’t hold the same bitterness as before. He almost sounded more like the man you remembered at the parade. Strange…Had his accent changed? “We’re not here to just show off some beautiful jewelry.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Karen said. “I don’t think anyone even knew you were seeing anyone, Your Highness?”
“You know you can call me Y/N, Karen,” you said. You looked at Marc, then back at her, trying to remember the details of the story your father had given you. “We wanted to keep it…Well, not secret, but—”
“I already share so much of her with the wonderful citizens of this kingdom,” Marc jumped in, seeing your struggle. Hm. You didn’t know him well, but the man you met on the stop of the stairs seemed like he’d rather watch you drown than throw you a lifeline. “Call me selfish, but there were somethings I wanted to be just the two of us.”
“We do love stealing her every chance we get,” Karen laughed. “Tell me, if you don’t mind, how did you two meet?”
You paused, remembering the story Benjamin had given you. Something about meeting at your mother’s funeral, how he had given you a shoulder to cry on. But…Well, the funeral was highly documented. It would be too easy for anyone to see that was false, if they dug back into your history far enough. Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself saying, “It was at my father’s birthday parade a few years ago. The first one after my mother…”
Marc reached over, taking your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. Was he really this good of an actor? Or did he have a heart? His brows were knitted together, likely confused at your switch-up, but he played it off well as concern for you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
“It was the first one after my mother passed,” you finally managed to say, keeping any tears at bay. “It was hard, being there without her. Even now, I think about how much I want her by my side, guiding me through life. But, that day…It felt like she was still there.”
“How do you mean?” Karen asked.
“I’m sure everyone remembers the story, how that little girl ran out to our carriage and a Moon Knight stopped her before she could get hurt by one of the horses,” you said. You looked over at Marc, smiling softly. “Marc was the only one who stepped in, who realized what was happening. I just remember getting out of the carriage, and, rather than just taking her back to her parents or yelling at her like other Moon Knights would have, he was making sure she was okay. And, I just thought: Wow. I didn’t think men still acted like prince charmings. I don’t know, it just felt like my mother was there, pointing me to him, showing me to still look for the good in people.”
Marc smiled at you. It seemed genuine. Could it be? “You never told me that story. Here I was, thinking that you met me when I was told to escort you to a meeting with your father.”
“Well, I suppose that was when I was technically introduced to you,” you said.
And so, the interview continued, you and Marc weaving your own narrative, abandoning the careful path laid for you. And, for once, you didn’t quite care about the consequences.
That is, not until the next day, when your father slammed a stack of magazines and newspapers print-outs of headlines in front of you. “What is this?” he asked, his nostrils flared wide.
“…time wasted?” you guessed. “I think the print-outs were a bit overkill.”
Seated beside you, your brother Kieran rolled his eyes. “Be serious for once, sister.”
“You are a disgrace to this family,” Benjamin said. “All you had to do was stick to the script, stick to the story. But, no. You had to be a little rebel. You had to march to the beat of your own drum. You’re a princess, for god’s sake, Y/N! When are you going to start acting like one!?”
“The story had holes in it, Father. I worried that someone would go looking and everything would be exposed—”
“—and worst of all, you dragged Marc down with you. Did you even think about him? Did you even consider what an embarrassment this would be to him?”
“—he seemed fine!”
“That is because he’s a better actor than you, Y/N! You would think he was the royal by blood rather than you,” Benjamin said, spitting the words out like they were acid.
“I don’t even see what the issue is!” you said, looking at the headlines. They were all so kind, talking about how you and Marc looked so in love, a true fairytale come to life. Was this not good press? Was there something you were missing? “Everyone’s so happy about the news! Isn’t this good for the family?”
“You’ve made a mockery for us,” Benjamin said.
“The press is treating a royal wedding like it’s some circus event,” Kieran added. “Did you even consider how this might affect my own future engagement?”
“Well, no, but you aren’t even seeing anyone—”
“These things last forever!” Kieran snapped. He grabbed a stack of magazines, crumpling them in his hand as he waved them in your face. “I’m going to have to act like a fucking circus monkey when I do get engaged!”
“I didn’t mean to—” you tried saying, flinching as he threw the magazines at you. “I’m sorry!”
There was a knock on the door frame of Benjamin’s office. You turned, your heart dropping as you realized the door hadn’t been shut this entire time. Who knew who had heard what was said? Who knew what the staff would think of you, knowing now that you were the family fuck-up? Everyone probably suspected it, you thought, but now…Now they knew.
And worse yet, your fiancé knew.
“The photographer is all set up in the garden,” he said.
“You’re dismissed,” Benjamin said to you. “Try not to ruin this.”
You swallowed hard, turning your gaze to the floor. Was there a point in arguing? In trying to defend yourself? “Yes, Father.”
You rose from your seat, the crumpled up magazines falling to the floor. You paused, grabbing them, smoothing over the covers. They had beautiful photos of you and Marc. If you weren’t privy to the information, you would have thought the two of you were actually a happy and in-love couple. You set them on your father’s desk, keeping your gaze to the floor, before walking to where Marc stood.
You walked past him, heading down the hallway, when you realized that he was still in the doorway. When you turned, you realized he was saying something.
“She’s trying her best.”
And you were so genuinely touched that you didn’t even notice that his accent was different when he spoke. What had changed? The man you saw on the top of the stairs was so different than the one in front of you now. And, oddly still, he was different from the man at the parade and the man in the interview. It was almost like he was three entirely different people.
“She should be doing her best,” your father said. “A princess doesn’t try. She only succeeds.”
Before Marc could push back any further, you said, “We should be going. We shouldn’t waste the photographer’s time.”
Marc nodded, walking over to you. He placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you out to the garden. When you looked up at him, his face was more relaxed, less tense. His eyes were wider as he gazed down at you. He was a far cry from the man you saw the day before. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice just barely a whisper.
And you so desperately wanted to be okay. Perhaps, one day. But, you supposed, you never would be, not when you were still a princess.