It's Inevitable That You Will

This was originally going to be a longshot oneshot fic, but I am a Dumb Idiot who clearly cannot keep up the momentum long enough to write any of that, so instead I have to post one chapter as a threat to myself to write the rest of the story.

Slight tweaking to the movie timeline, because I started writing this before I rewatched the movie, but – Nicholas comes to stay at the palace before the scene where Parliament digs up the marriage rule. Why? I don't know. Just go with it. I wrote this instead of focusing on my university assignments.

This was prompted by reminding myself of the ridiculous UST between these two during the movie, and also thinking that there was a really simple solution for that – and that in canon, let's face it: they wouldn't have minded having a marriage arranged between themselves. At All.

Title from a quote in Nicola Yoon's The Sun is Also a Star.

;;;;;;;;;;

Mia wanted to scream with rage. She wanted to throw something, kick, yell, put her fist through a wall. How could they? How could they think that they deserved that much input in her life? They'd given her two weeks to make a decision to claim her birthright when she was sixteen, how dare they move the goalposts?! Mia's just given the last five years of her life dedicated to one day rule Genovia - studying and practicing, giving up any scholastic opportunities to branch out, pulling away from high school and college boys she felt chemistry with, all to be the queen Genovia needed her to be, and now, NOW, Parliament was going to cut off her life?

How dare they?

Mia could only let herself storm through the palace gardens, knowing that the hedges and walls would keep most anyone from bearing witness to her thoroughly un-princessy tantrum. Yes, she was reacting badly, yes it was immature, yes, if anyone from Parliament saw her now, they wouldn't think twice about the rule they'd enacted.

Let her have this anyway, okay?

She's twenty-one, she's not supposed to have her Grandma's dignity and grace (yet); she should be allowed to be a mess sometimes – back at Princeton, she'd had some classmates show up being full right messes – same clothes days in a row, pyjamas with shoes and a coat thrown on top, clearly haven't showered, whatever. One time a boy turned up in wearing a pair of boxer shorts, no pants, a hoodie without a shirt underneath, with a paper bowl of cereal to eat during class. It was a 3pm class.

Mia is far from the most undignified twenty-one year old, is the point. She's allowed to lose her temper.

So, she's sitting down on a garden bench, reminding herself to breathe and not scream, and – and –

And there's this ridiculous whistling coming her way. She knows that whistling. Is he following her? Seriously?

Mia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying desperately to stave off a headache. It wasn't going to work, because that was just Mia's luck, but surely hoping and dreaming could have some kind of effect, right? Right?

Lord Devereaux's handsome face came around the corner bend, and he didn't look one iota surprised to see Mia where she was. Following her. Called it.

Lord Devereaux leaned a hip against the statue next to Mia's seat. "You seem like you're having a bad day." His tone is placid, like he's commenting on the weather, but there's a tone beneath the calm – a kind of smug, I-know-what-you're-upset-about air.

Mia snorts. "Where you listening in on the Parliament session too?"

Lord Devereaux raised his eyebrows. "I was sitting in. Where were you?"

"Listening in." If he didn't know about the back pathways to eavesdrop on the Parliament room, Mia wasn't about to tell him.

"Any opinions to share about our new news?" Lord Devereaux had a polite, almost disinterested tone – but Mia could see straight through it. But she wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. She couldn't simply burst out her anger for the nonsense that Parliament had set out, because frankly, she doesn't know Devereaux at all. She doesn't trust him.

"What do you think my opinion is?" Her tone was very waspish. If Devereaux was someone likely to go running to tabloids, Mia's public persona was going to be ripped to pieces.

"Ecstatic happiness," Lord Devereaux imitated Mia's waspish tone, his words dripping sarcasm.

Mia glared at him, her brown eyes boiling with a rage that, admittedly, she was hiding rather well before she spoke.

But Mia didn't want to hide her rage, she wanted to make it explode and wash away all the horseshit that Parliament – especially that snake, Lord Mabrey – was trying to dump on her. "Are you trying to get me to order your death?"

"I'm fairly certain that isn't legal, Princess." Lord Devereaux had returned to his polite-but-mocking tone.

"I have guards. We're on the private property area of the Palace. Joe wanted to have you hung by your toes in the courtyard. He'd do it."

For some reason, that brought a smile to Devereaux's face. "How about we discuss this situation like adults, hm?"

He didn't wait for her answer, instead sitting on Mia's bench – he put a fair distance between them, almost smushing his body against the railing, and crossing his legs at the knee, like he was trying to wrap his body as tightly as possibly against himself – like he was trying to say I Know I'm Invading Some of Your Space, But Look How Little of It I'm Taking Up. "So." He said, "you need a husband to be queen. Rather archaic a rule, don't you think?"

Mia felt her anger slide away like bubbles in a boiling pot taken off the heat. "Well, yeah," she huffed out. "And should I not want to marry, then the next heir to Genovia – namely, you – takes the throne that I've spent the last six years prepping for."

"Mm." Devereaux nodded. "And me with no actual desire to take that throne." He and Mia locked gazes. His eyes were very blue. "Well, there's only one thing for it, I guess."

Mia felt a little off-kilter at Devereaux's flippant tone – as well as his quick-changing gears in this conversation. How did he do that?

"Which is?" she asked.

"You marry me, then."

Mia took a moment to try to wrap her head around what he's just said.

"What?"

"You marry me; I'm the other heir, I don't want the job, but you need to be married to have the job, which is truly ridiculous. Marry me. You fulfil the nonsense role the Parliament expects of you, I get out from under my uncle's thumb, it's a win-win situation."Devereaux . . . he spoke seriously, and his eyes read so sincere. But Mia . . . she didn't want to trust him just yet.

"You want to be King that badly, huh?"

"Prince consort. Like Prince Phillip. You run the country, I stand at your side during public functions and look pretty. Face it, Mia. Your other option is that you find someone to date and marry in the next . . . what is it, thirtydays? Look, if we end up utterly despising one another, we'll just divorce next year. You'll be queen by then, Parliament wouldn't be able to stop you."

Mia gnawed on her bottom lip. He made good points but . . . Mia didn't even want to consider it, given her mood. "Let me think about it."

;;

Mia approached his rooms, feeling her heart thump against her chest. It wasn't too late to turn around, cling to her pride but . . . she didn't want to go through the public embarrassment of having to find an arranged husband. This allowed her to save face. This would let her live her life, her crown intact. They'd be on the same page.

Devereaux was only half dressed for the day, when Mia walked in without knocking. It was her palace, she'd not-knock if she wanted to.

He was surprised to see her, clearly, what with the deer-in-headlights expression, and the dropped shirt on the floor, and the undone belt looped through his pants, and . . . okay Mia's not blind, alright? The guy is ridiculously handsome. He knows it, too, the fucker.

It takes Mia a couple seconds to recover herself, which is good, because Lord Devereaux doesn't seem to have caught up so quickly. "Lord Nicholas."

That jolts him, his eyes blinking hard like he's trying to shake a fog from them. When he opens his eyes, they immediately locking with hers. "Princess?"

"I've thought about your suggestion, and-" Mia's breath catches in her throat. Come on, get the words out. "And I would hope you would have a ring."

His face does some rather interesting things then, a weird mix of shock, bafflement, and a small – small, but there – kind of smugness that leeches away into something that Mia would call ernest happiness, if she was stupid. Which she's not, thank you.

"I'm afraid I don't have it here at the Palace with me, Princess. I'll have to go get it."

"See you do." Mia turned on her heel, striding out of the room.

She did it to look good, but also because she needed a minute to keep herself from hyperventilating.

God. GOD. She just did that. She agreed to marry the guy trying to steal her throne, to keep him from stealing her throne – even though he doesn't want it apparently?

What's wrong with her? This wasn't who she was, five years ago. Mia in San Francisco would've NEVER agreed to do what she just did! She'd wanted love – she wasn't sure she'd ever wanted to get married, her hopeless mooning over Josh Bryant aside, she'd seen how her mum spoke about her marriage to Mia's dad, and how it's been great, but then hard, but then so difficult that divorce seemed like the only option that Helen could've been happy; Mia's always thought she'd either fall in love and get married, or she'd stay single and find happiness that way.

Arranged marriages are supposed to be things from history, or her romance novels she consumed by the fistful at age fourteen – not her LIFE!

Yeah, fine whatever – she's the one arranging her own marriage out of sheer pragmatism; that doesn't mean she'd ever lost the idea of marrying for love.

Her parents did it, so even though it didn't work out, it clearly wasn't impossible. Grandma . . . okay, Grandma and Grandpa clearly didn't, if the nicest thing Grandma was ever able to say was that her husband was her dearest friend, but not her dearest lover. Mia's pretty sure their marriage was arranged, actually.

But Devereaux wasn't even her friend! He was - - he was her enemy! And yeah, sure, keep your enemies close was a theory, but keeping them so close they're in your bed? Yeah, Mia would prefer to PASS on that particular option.

Lord Nicholas Deveraux, whose paternal great uncle married Mia's great-great aunt, whose union had one child who died young, and that somehow made Nicholas Deveraux the next King of Genovia? How spread thin was the Renaldo family?

Okay, fine, Mia knew that it was because of the death of Grandpa Rupert's only unmarried, childless brother in the 50's meant that the Renaldo line was actually spread extremely thin, and Parliament passed a law stating that should the House of Renaldo result in no viable heir, then Parliament would comb back through the Renaldo family tree to find either the families the Renaldo's married into, or the next eldest family in Genovia of noble blood would inherit – which is why the Von Trokens have been giving her dirty looks since she was fifteen.

So because of her Grandpa's aunt's bad taste in men, Mia is stuck getting married to an odious man to keep him from stealing her crown!

Fine. She isn't trapped into this situation. She's trapped herself into this situation, thanks to the Parliament's stupid edicts. And sexism. Mostly Parliament's sexism – her dad had already married and divorced her mother by the time he ascended to the throne, yetPhillipe Renaldo hadn't been forced to marry someone. Oh no. Amelia Renaldo was clearly the one incapable of ruling alone, with her womanly mind and lady-body, and clearly could not be left to run her country without the help of a husband, never mind that her own grandmother has been doing an excellent job for the last eight years.

Mia, finally back in her own rooms, flopped down onto the seatee nearest to her, rubbing her temples to stave off the headache she could feel coming on.

Something told her she was going to have a headache for the next month straight, probably.

;;

Nicholas got dressed in a daze – had that actually happened? Or had the steam from his shower baked his brain to the point of hallucination?

It took two cups of tea for it to sink in – yes, that had actually happened, yes, Princess Mia had accepted his proposal, no, that wasn't a hallucination, hey, maybe at some point you should go home and get your mother's engagement ring.

Honestly, he hadn't thought there would ever be a purpose for it, for him. He hadn't ever really considered he's actually get married, or if he did, he'd just buy a ring for the girl in question, rather than pass along his mother's ring, which had been his grandmother's, and his great-grandmother's, and had been in his family back to his great-something-grandmother, who had been a cousin to the mother of the last King of the French, Louise Marie Adelaide de Bourbon-Penthievre. Nicholas had figured the ring would stay in the house vault with the rest of his mother's jewellery. It wasn't as if there was another woman in the Deveraux family who would claim it. And Uncle certainly wouldn't entertain the idea of letting any of the antique jewels do anything besides stay so close to his possession.

Kind of like Nicholas himself. Of course, over his adulthood he'd been granted his own freedom, but always with the stipulation that Nick return 'home' to his uncle, who would then look over a report of Nick's actions and pasttimes while he was away, a critical eye over whatever it had been Nick had done that didn't fit his Uncle's preferred actions that Nick could take without criticism.

Which was why Nick knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Nick told his Uncle about his arrangement with the Princess . . . Uncle hadn't been physical in years, but if there was ever a time . .

He couldn't think about that now. He had to get that ring, make sure the Princess and he were on completely the same page, and then get that ring of Princess Mia's finger. Then he'd be safe. She'd be safe.

And his Uncle would be able to bluster and shout and storm as much as he wanted, but ultimately nothing would come of it.

;;

He'd been invited to be a guest at the Palace, and – this is the important bit – guests are allowed to leave. Sure, Nick needed to requisition a car, which then came with a driver, because simply loaning out one of the Palace's own vehicles wasn't something the security was going to allow any time soon.

Coming up the driveway to his Uncle's house wasn't an odd feeling – being a passenger in the car was.

The driver hadn't said much of anything, but Nick could feel the man's eyes on him as he walked up to the front door. It was unlocked, as per normal, because Gretchen was still in residence. She wasn't paid to leave the house, really, given that Uncle never really left the house, so poor Gretchen had to tolerate the man every day.

He greeted her from the hallway, and she called back, but didn't approach. She was used to Nick and his Uncle coming and going.

Going into the room where his father's family antiques were kept did feel like he was trespassing somewhere he shouldn't.

He'd rarely gone in there, since his mother's death four years ago. Well, almost longer, actually. Since his mother left for Milan, and gave full custody of Nick to his Uncle when he was fourteen, completely removing herself from having parental rights over her son.

The sting from that abandonment had faded over the last decade, but he'd be lying to say he didn't still feel something about it all.

Nick hadn't thought about his mother since the anniversary of her death last November. Being surrounded by the remains of his parents lives felt like he was standing in a hall of ghosts.

He pushed past it all, going to the locked shelf where his grandmother's ring was kept in a ring box. Gently lifting it out, Nick opened the lid and inspected the ring. Flawless. Undamaged by time. It seemed the right size for Mia's finger, too, which was a relief. Nothing more embarrassing than proposing to a girl and not having the ring fit.

;;

"Why am I here, Nicholas?" Mia asked – no, she wasn't whining, princesses don't whine – as Lord Nicholas led her by the hand through the Palace gardens. It wasn't a maze set up – that was the decorative one on the east side, and even then it only came up to a person's knees – but it was full of twists and turns and covered on all sides by walls of roses and other flowers, like a fantasy garden from a children's story book.

"Because I need to talk to you, and I'd like privacy to do it."

"So you brought me outside, where anyone can pass by and hear our voices? Good plan." Mia's voice dripped with sarcasm. The only response she got was a huff of a breath she was pretty sure doubled as a sigh.

Finally, they stopped moving, coming to a halt in an open area in the garden, with a couple stone fountains and some benches to sit on. All very picturesque. Mia frowned. "If you're going to say something stupid, I'm pushing you into that fountain over there."

He gave a bit of a laugh, like he didn't get that Mia was being completely serious. She was. "Mia," Lord Nicholas said, "the only way what I'm about to say will be stupid is if you changed your mind."

Oh. This was about that.

"I haven't changed my mind." Her voice didn't wobble the way it did when she wasn't sure she was telling the truth. Her voice was calm and steady.

"Yeah, well. I wanted to actually discuss it all with you, seriously."

She knew it – that initial proposal was a spur of the moment one. He really hadn't thought it through that first time. "Okay," she said. She sat on the garden seat, crossing one leg over the other – yes, it's a big no-no for royal etiquette, but Mia isn't in the mood to care. She patted the space next to her. "Then sit. And we'll talk."

Lord Nicholas sat, looking for all the world like this was a normal situation to be in. Although –he deep exhale he made put the thought into Mia's head that he was nervous. He was fiddling with something small in his hands.

"Mia," He began, before faltering, "Princess Mia, I know you don't like me. You don't need to, I wouldn't think. I don't need everyone I encounter to like me. But. You have a need to get married, and I have a need to no longer rely solely on my Uncle's patronage and goodwill. So. I – I think we may be able to help each other. Parliament only requires you to be married before you ascend the throne – there's nothing in there about needing to remain married after. I checked. So – so, would you, consider marrying me. Someone who doesn't expect love, and is completely okay with being a business partner?"

Mia sat, gaping a little at the little speech. It took a mental reminder that she really shouldn't make a bitchy comment at his self-deprecation – he was clearly being completely honest with her. "That's your best proposal – let's get married like this is essentially a business merger?"

That got a bit of a smile from him. "Yeah," he chuckled, "Yeah. Princess Mia Thermopalis Renaldo, would you like to marry me, not out of love, or even like, but sheer political pragmatism?"

Mia laughed a little too – and thenDevereauxheld out the thing in his hands. It was a tiny box. Oh. Mia wasn't sure what, exactly, she was feeling, but when she saw that ring – clearly antique, clearly cared for over time, a gold band with a single oval diamond, surrounded by the tiniest pearls, with little engraved carvings spooling out from the diamond onto the band, simple and elegant and totally to Mia's tastes somehow – all she could feel was . . .

Do this. Say yes.

It wasn't affection. It was a deep, clear calm, akin to the beautiful pure blue colour of NicholasDevereaux's eyes.

Mia gave him a smile – small, a little faltering – and took the ring.

;;

Of course, since Mia hadn't mentioned any of this to her grandmother AT ALL, the reaction she got when she walked in to her grandma's office with a guy she'd professed to hate . . . raised some eyebrows.

Well. Grandma's, Charlotte's, and the rest of the staff. Joe just kind of frowned. But confusion was palpable in the whole energy in the room, with everyone being as utterly thrown as Mia had been when Parliament had made the decision. At least now everyone knew how she felt.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," Grandma began slowly, "but could you please repeat that sentence, again?"

Mia took a breath. "We don't need to worry about Parliament's rule anymore. Lord Devereaux and I are engaged."

Grandma's face stayed mostly the same, an air of surprise, watching Mia's face like she was trying to figure out the logic behind this sentence, like Mia wasn't making sense instead of speaking in clear plain English.

Grandma stood up from behind her desk, walking slowly off to the right, quietly stating, "Amelia, Lord Devereaux, would you follow me, please?"

Grandma didn't wait for an answer, instead walking out of the office and leaving the door open. Mia and Nicholas followed Clarisse to wherever she was going, leaving the confused gazes behind, Joe's stare drilling into the back of Nicholas' head like this whole situation was something he was going to hold the whole event as Nicholas' fault entirely. Then again, Nicholas and Mia were holding hands, like that was all the proof needed to provide evidence of a relationship. Well. It counts when you're thirteen.

In the room that her Grandma had – Mia didn't want to think escape, but yeah, it kinda fit – that her Grandma had escaped into, Nick shut the door behind them as they went. He looked at Mia, with a sort of would you prefer I go somewhere else? expression. Mia shook her head, and wondered when she'd gotten so good at reading his expressions.

Grandma was staring out the window, her back to Mia. She heard the Queen take a breath. "I'm trying to decide if I'd rather this be a joke."

"It's not," Mia said quietly.

Grandma spun around to face them. "Explain."

Mia sucked in her lips over her teeth, flicking a glance at Lord Nicholas.

"Mia needs to get married," Nicholas said, attracting Clarisse's gaze from where it had been pinned to Mia, "and I have a need to become independent of my Uncle." Mia wasn't sure, but it seemed like something passed between her Grandma and Lord Nicholas when he spoke of his Uncle. Mia didn't know much about the man, but she was getting that there was a lot underneath the surface. And none of it was likely to be good. "Parliament won't allow Mia to be queen without being married, and I am next in line for the throne. Personally, Your Majesty, I – I think I'd be competent at the job, but I don't actually want the job. Mia does, and it's unfair that Parliament should make such a demand of her as a prerequisite. The two of us getting married resolves the issue."

Clarisse's expression had become softer from the stony mask it had been, to the point it was tinged with some – not pride, but acceptance. Clarisse wasn't happy with Mia's choice, but she didn't hate it. She said as much. "Mia, if you're sure this is what you want-"

Mia cut in, "This will let me keep the crown, Grandma. Parliament can't fight this – we're adults. We can make these choices, and they can't railroad us on this. We checked. We want this."

Clarisse nodded. "If you're sure, I will endorse this match, as publically as it need be."

Mia the muscles in her back relax – she hadn't realised just how tense she'd been. Her Grandma asked Lord Nicholas to leave them, and when he shut the door behind him, Grandma dropped her Queen Mask entirely, striding over to wrap Mia into a tight hug. Clarisse smelled faintly of lavender and a sweet perfume.

Clarisse pulled away, holding Mia's hands, and asked, "Mia . . . I don't want you to feel pressured into this situation. I'm sure we can convince Parliament to overturn Lord Mabrey's argument – especially since his argument is based on his nephew, who, well –"

"Who's now engaged to me? Yeah, Grandma, Mabrey probably would backtrack, but – he'd try something like this again, don't you think?" Clarisse nodded. "Exactly. Besides, this way, Parliament gets what they want – I'm married, I get crowned, the whole shebang. Nicholas and I are on the same page here. This isn't desperation, Grandma – okay, it is, but . . It's calculated desperation, I guess. We know what we're doing. We're in cahoots. We're cahooting."

That got a bit of a laugh out of Clarisse, and Mia smiled at the sight, feeling some more of the tension leave her shoulders.

;;

The hallways didn't quite manage to echo; the walls were edged with portraits and tapestries and pieces of artwork – fortunately, the suits of armour were solely relegated in another wing. Sometimes looking at them just felt a little tacky, you know? A stereotype of what a palace would have as decoration.

Mia didn't rush – princesses do not rush, princesses do not show any sign of being anything other than the centre of the universe, blah blahblah; but she came to a slow and stop at her father's portrait. Grandma had told her that it had been made on the one year anniversary of her father's reign – that was the Genovian custom. Rule for one year without committing acts that cause a revolution, then you get your portrait done.

He'd been thirty three. Mia had been four, at the time. Four, in America, utterly unaware of her birthright.

She couldn't help wondering what her father would have to say about the situation she'd gotten herself into. What he would have done. Maybe he would've changed the law and prevented Parliament from ever allowing anything like this – railroading Mia into requiring a husband to rule. Mia liked to think he would've. She couldn't – didn't want to believe that her dad would ever make Mia do something like what she was.

Maybe he'd have arranged a match, maybe he would've. Maybe he would've been fine if Mia never married.

She'd never know. Her dad was dead.

Mia stared at the portrait, her father's features etched out in oil paints. He looked so different in her mum's old photos of him – in those, he was always smiling, red-cheeked, an arm around her mum. Friendly, open. Someone you could meet in a bar or a park or bookstore, and have as a friend. He looked like anyone else in those photos.

In the portrait, he didn't look like that man. He looked . . . remote. A far-off warmth cooled by the lack of familiarity. He looked like a King, as remote as one. He didn't look like a dad.

But, she could pick out her own features in her father's image. Her brown eyes, her hair, there was something in the nose and mouth . . . it made something ache inside her. She wanted to be eight years old again, her father come to visit the firehouse she grew up in, holding her tight in a hug. She wanted her dad to hold her again.

;;

Once the news broke, everything was somewhere between an excited buzz and a quiet uproar. After all, Parliament's decision about Mia's bachelorette status had only been in the news about three days – and plenty of news outlets and media were still debating about how fair that was, about how ethical it was to put something as important as the future of a country on the hairline basis of someone getting married in such a short timeframe.

Even though Mia hadn't even announced her engagement at the time, the palace staff had begun some prep for a wedding – nothing massive or immediately eye-catching, but Grandma had told her that the butlers had already scheduled for all the official silver to be cleaned and polished, that the designers Mia normally went to for formal dresses had already started drafting wedding dress designs, that the Church of St Amelie was beginning to do a severe clean of the entire building, frantically fixing whatever flaws could apparently be found in a building that was constantly being kept in pristine condition.

All for a wedding they hadn't known was coming. They were all that certain that Mia would come out on top.

So when the palace officially broke the news that the Crown Princess of Genovia and Lord Devereaux, the two main contenders for the throne, were officially engaged and intended to meet that thirty-day target – June 1st, actually, was the cut-off date – well. You could say the people were something abuzz.

According to Prime Minister Motaz, who'd been in the same wing of the palace when Nicholas had broken the news to his uncle, Lord Mabrey hadn't taken his nephew's good news very well. Or quietly.

But Nicholas seemed at ease, in all honesty. Like the anticipation for his uncle's reaction was worse for him than the ear-splitting reaction he got.

They'd staged a bit of date, the two of them. Charlotte, who acted as something of a public relations specialist – she'd done a double major at university, apparently – had recommended they do something where the public could see them. Where cameras could see them.

So they were enjoying a classic afternoon tea at one of the popular teahouses in the city – Cosette's, established 1892, five stars, yet somehow not a place you needed to be a millionaire to get into, nor book a date two years in advance, even if you weren't Crown Princess of Genovia – seated at a table behind glass windows, framed lovingly in that window by bushels of roses and an outside garden area, also by rosebushes. All very picturesque, for that photo-op that would get printed all over the place – Royal Lovebirds Enjoy TeaFor Two, that sort of thing.

Present a united front for the world, and no one goes looking for dirt. You know, dirt like, 'these two can barely stand each other, met only two weeks ago, and this is a sham for political and personal gain'.

Although Mia wasn't about to lie – Nicholas was actually pretty pleasant company.

The ease from his uncle's reaction also seemed to play a part of that, actually – Mia hadn't noticed the weird underlying tension in Nicholas until it wasn't there anymore. He wasn't on very great footing with Lord Mabrey, after all. Maybe hadn't been in a good long while.

Anyway, they had a lovely time, sipping tea, snacking on scones with jam and scream, noshing on macrons. Looking for all the world like a smitten couple enjoying finally being engaged – because that was the palace line, wasn't it? That they'd met a while ago, around last year when Mia had been between semesters at Princeton, and they'd had a flirtation happening that was intended to try at a relationship once she'd graduated, but instead became an engagement with a very strict prenuptial in place, should this budding romance-cum-marriage go south.

The prenuptial was actually Nicholas' idea – so that, when they divorced in a year or two, his uncle couldn't fight for one penny or diamond on Nicholas' behalf – or petition for Nicholas to be put back into the line of succession for the throne. That was also Nicholas' idea, having the rules of their marriage mean that Nicholas couldn't argue for the throne upon their divorce, unless it came to the point of Mia somehow dying without children, then Nicholas could be able to petition for his children to take the throne, but not for himself. Never for himself.

Mia had been a little surprised at Nicholas' savvy about the situation – it was like he'd carefully considered all the ways he could possibly get himself out of being King, but also to still use his lineage to help the line of succession, should the worst happen to Mia. It was . . . weirdly sweet? In a bizarre and mildly morbid sort of way.

But at Cosette's, nothing about their upcoming nuptials entered the conversation. Instead, Mia told him funny stories about Lilly back in San Francisco, and her Princeton silliness; Nicholas had a bunch of hysterical stories of his days at boarding school, and his time at culinary school – Mia didn't know that tomatoes could turn purple if you cooked them with specific spices, but there you go – and all in all, she actually had a fun time. Surprising, right? Turns out she gets along great with a guy trying to snake her throne when he decides he doesn't actually want to do that at all. Who knew?

It didn't hurt that Nicholas didn't exactly crack mirrors when he passed them. His eyes were still ridiculously blue, Mia honestly had to stop herself from telling him to point them somewhere else, because they were distracting as hell, Mia genuinely lost her train of thought while he was talking every once in a while; and there was no denying that his voice had a natural cadence to it that made listening to him speak something close to a delight.

It almost felt like an actual date.

;;

Mia wasn't unaware that her engagement could potentially cause some issues for the politics of Genovia – well, duh – but she really hadn't been expecting for Parliament to call a meeting to session. She's doing what they wanted! Why are they complaining?

The one upshot is that Mia isn't sitting in – Nicholas has to, and he comes back to Mia after almost every time and tells her everything that was said (which is basically nothing, apparently. Lord Mabrey was just making himself a nuisance and making life difficult for other people), and Mia spends her day with Lilly – Lilly, who Grandma had had get on a plane to come and join Mia for moral and emotional support for the month that was coming up and promised to be a giant mess.

Lilly found the whole situation Mia was in as a source of pure hilarity – when Mia had actually sat Lilly down at first, she'd been upset and angry about Mia's situation and the fiancé Lilly hadn't heard a thing about, so now she was oscillating between anger about the situation, and laughing her ass off about how Mia and Nicholas were circumventing Lord Mabrey's attempts to railroad Nicholas into the throne.

Mia wasn't afraid to admit – it was a pretty funny situation. Lord Mabrey had an impressive scowl, but she was the Crown Princess. He couldn't touch her. Joe had pointed out that trying to manipulate a situation to oust her from her own throne – because that was what it had been, what it had always been, the ruling that Mia be married within the month had been Lord Mabrey's attempt to get Nicholas on the throne, because he wanted Nicholas to be a puppet king for Mabrey's own benefit, even Nicholas knew this! – is a type of treason, and that is a fact that can definitely be held over Mabrey's head for the next . . . oh, however many years or decades that Mia wants to hold that sword aloft.

Mia had to wonder whether or not Mabrey was aware of just how precarious his situation actually was – granted, they had no evidence that Mabrey had ulterior motives besides, y'know, the word of the guy he'd been trying to put on the throne, but that should be more than enough, given the character references that Mia knew she could get just from the other members of Parliament, but it honestly didn't feel like something she needed to push.

The wedding was going through.

The church was sparkling, Mia's dress was halfway through production, her tiara had been polished to a blinding sparkle, the catering was organised, etcetera.

All that was left was for Mia and Grandma and Nicholas to get through the parade and the garden party and a week, and then Mia would be legally safe to claim her throne, and there'd be nothing Lord Mabrey would be able to do about it.

It'd be a lie to say that the thought of that didn't make her very, very happy.

;;

It wasn't even a question for Mia, inviting that little girl to join her in the parade. Inviting all those kids to join the parade – it'd probably get her a bunch of mildly insulting comments on the late-night news about trying too hard to be likable, but that honestly hadn't even touched Mia's mind in the moment. She just wanted to give that little girl, Charlotte, something to smile about.

The numerous praises she'd had presented to her, by her grandmother, by members of Parliament, by Prime Minister Motaz and reporters, she'd found it all very . . . performative. She'd just wanted to do something about the blatant bullying those boys were putting Charlotte through, and do something to make the day happier for the little girl.

Singing her praises for doing something nice really wasn't necessary, but that was the life of a princess, Mia supposed. Doing anything for any reason besides the thanks apparently was the oddity, as opposed to the norm.

Still, the day had been a success, and Mia'd resumed her royal duties without too much fuss, despite the upcoming wedding that the whole country was required to care about. Whatever.

Amazingly, her first attempt at riding side-saddle wasn't a complete bust, to the point that she'd managed to do her Review of the Guard without making an ass of herself, despite some asshole flinging a rubber snake into the gravel, freaking out her poor horse. Mia'd barely kept him from throwing her off, keeping him calm with a gentle hand to his head and a tight grip on the reigns. But god, can you imagine if she hadn't? That would've been an actual disaster.

Or at least an embarrassment.

Mia did find it kind of weird though, that Nicholas took the time to join her as she unwound in the stables. He'd done the same thing after Mia's addition to the parade, and her later pronouncement that the winter castle in the northern area would be converted into another orphanage for the children of Genovia. He'd been putting a lot of effort into selling the whole 'lovebirds' act, Mia was honestly rather impressed. She wouldn't be surprised if publications like Elsie Kentworthy or someone ran a couple stories about the Crown Princess and her lover having sweet rendezvous in private parts of the Palace, or something of that nature.

Well, at least one of them was putting in the effort. Mia couldn't exactly say she was putting in the same amount of effort to sell this. Look, she never took a drama classes for a reason! She's not a great actress – she can smile in that 'this is for the photographers' way, and she can alter her body language a bit to make someone looking at her think she's happy or whatever, but in no way is she an actual actress!

Ugh, whatever. Look, the point is, Mia's feeling mildly inadequate standing next to Nicholas when it comes to convincing the general public that she's excited to be getting married – which, like. She isn't, not really. Well . . .

Okay, fine – if it weren't for the whole 'his uncle is trying to steal her crown' thing, and the whole 'thirty days to get married' thing, Mia would be totally into Nicholas.

She would be!

He's handsome, he's charming, he's an excellent dancer and a better conversationalist – and he's got that kind of mischievous streak Mia can sense in his personality that's similar to Lilly's, so of course Mia would be into him. She's not ashamed to admit it, okay?

But it's just . . . it's all very irritating, that she doesn't get a choice in much of this. Sure, she could be looking into eligible men that she could have a political match with, and she's sure she'd find one that'd be willing to do it, but . . .

She'd wanted to marry for love.

There, she said it.

And because of Lord Mabrey, she doesn't get to. And she's having a hard time not blaming Nicholas for that, a little bit.