In hindsight, Ben knew that he was an idiot for not seeing the signs until it was too late. Standing here now, at the top of the stairs with Mal safely in his arms, the young king knew that he should have seen what had happened coming. The clues had always been there, but he had been too oblivious to notice, too caught up in everything to realise that Mal's shyness in front of cameras, her penchant to cling to him and allow him to answer posed questions was not out of a newly discovered sweet nature, but a sign of true discomfort.

Her fading hair, something he had not even given much thought towards, had not been a sign of the slowly but surely receding influence of her mother, and the isle on the whole he supposed, from her. Instead it had been Mal slowly but surely trying to fit the role and persona she believed was expected of her. Except that it wasn't, and somewhere along the line he should have communicated that to her, especially when things seemed to be going too perfect.

But then again, he had grown up with an expectation of what his future queen would be like, the duties and repsonsibilities she would fulfil, the care and devotion she would show to him, and Mal, almost effortlessly, once the stress of trying to do what her mother expected fitted into the role.

Except it was a lie, a complete lie that had had him lashing out at her to such an extreme that she had fled Auradon for the safety of the Isle, and even now, he was painfully aware of the irony in that last statement. He did not even know why he had been so angry at her. Well, no, he knew why. Auradon had moved into the post-magic era, and despite her numerous promises to him she had not stored the spell book away in the library. At first it had been a forgivable offence. So much had changed so swiftly for all the Isle's children, and having made such a tremendous decision to turn her back on her mother and the plans she had carved out for her life, could he really blame Mal for wanting to hold on to the remnants of her old life, something that could give her comfort? He could not, but as time passed and she still hadn't surrended it, he had grown worried, and as it turned out, rightfully so. Mal had used magic as a crutch to fix all her problems, all her issues with herself, issues he had never seen as a real problem.

He knew he had been stupid; even when he had had Jane commission the stained glass portrait of the two of them together in keeping with tradition, he had been careful to have her dressed in purple with her eyes that brilliant shade of green. That was the Mal he had fell in love with, the one who claimed she was rotten to the core and yet was so sweet and loving when it came to her friends, when it came to him. He could still remember his amusement back when he had been pretending to be under her love spell. The struggle she had faced back then had given him bouts of laughter in the privacy of his own room. Mal could go from cloyingly sweet to an irritable crab in a heartbeat, snipping at him in that wonderful in-between mix of good and evil that he truly loved. And yet, when Mal slowly seemed bent on removing that side of herself, he had done nothing. All of this would have been solved with a conversation, a private talk where he did more than caress her cheek and compliment her on how good she was doing, how far she had come, things that he only now realised had further reinforced to Mal that what she had been doing was right, that he would not accept her for who she was, as she was.

That last thought had him pulling her even tighter into his frame and lowering his head so that he could sniff at her scented hair to reassure himself that she was indeed here and safe in his arms, not lost in despair on the Isle, not lost in despair within herself standing right next to him.

"Ben?" she said inquringly, and he could hear the confusion in her tone. Of course she would be confused. She had no clue as to why he was all but crushing her to him.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, pulling back enough so that he could look down into her eyes, beautiful eyes no matter what colour they were. "I should have said something."

"There's nothing to say," she contradicted lightly, picking up on what he had been saying without him giving voice to all his thoughts. "If you blame yourself than I would have to blame myself as well. I...I could have told you what I was feeling instead of trying to be perfect."

"And I should have told you that you are perfect as you are."

"I'm not perfect Ben," she said mildly. "I think the past few days have proven that more than enough. But I will try harder."

"You don't have to try anything," he said fervently, "or do anything. I love you for who you are Mal. Whether you're purple haired and greened eyed or blonde and blue-eyed. I love you so much. I will never stop loving you."

"And I love you," she returned. "I'm sorry that I didn't realise what love was until tonight. I'm sorry for what happened, but seeing you with Uma...that showed me what I was feeling, how to label it."

"Well I did promise to teach you to love," he joked, and they both laughed.

He sighed when Mal cuddled up to him, her head burrowing beneath his chin while he raised a hand to cup the back of her head, just keeping her close to him; he never wanted her away from his side again.

He would never fail her again like he had over the past six months. He was Auradon's king yes, but he was Mal's boyfriend first and foremost, and someday he would be her husband, and she, his queen. He would pay her the most care and attention, add hours in the day if needs be, because, for as long as he lived he would ensure that Mal never had a bad or sad day again.