Royals and Rule-breakers

Seamstresses and Surprises

"Didn't expect to see you here." Y/N glanced at Klaus in the reflection of the large mirror in front of her. "I am afraid both your seamstress and I are preoccupied at the moment your Highness."

Klaus blushed a bit as he made his way to his friend, who continued to gaze at the mirror while the seamstress steadily continued pinning the fabric of her dress to fit her body.

"I didn't expect to see you here either, admittedly." Klaus grinned, trying to suppress his grateful excitement. "I assume this means we shall see you Saturday evening then?"

The painter rolled her eyes and incoherently grumbled something under her breath before sighing and nodding. "Congratulations your Highness, you have convinced the most reclusive of artists to attend a party."

"You don't have to go if you-"

"It's alright." Y/N smirked, echoing his words from over a month ago- "As if I would say no to your ridiculous little requests anyways."

Klaus went red and chuckled, shaking his head before adding, "But really, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Y/N shrugged a bit, continuing to scrutinize herself in the looking glass. "I've never been to a ball before- D'Angelo has never let me attend one. I suppose it would be fun to attend, just this once, just to see."

"Well then, this is for you, Ms. L/N." With a dramatic flourish, Klaus pulled a wax sealed envelope out from the inside of his blazer and presented it to Y/N. "I know I already invited you, and since you are staying here you don't need it to get in, but I wanted to write an invitation for you anyways."

Laughing and shaking her head, Y/N took the delicate cream-colored envelope and carefully broke the seal. "Fancy aren't you?" She smiled as she unfolded the parchment and gazed at Klaus' neat cursive scrawled on it:

The Master of the Household has received His Majesty's commands to invite Y/N L/N to a ball at the Palais des Citrons on Saturday the 19th of July, followed by Klaus' signature. "I feel like this is just a tad unnecessary." Y/N chuckled, trying not to blush as her eyes repeatedly traced over her name in the prince's handwriting.

"Ah, perhaps." Klaus confessed, going scarlet again as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I am not actually the one who writes the invitations, I only wrote yours; and I wasn't supposed to sign it either- a-and since you're here there was no need to mention a master of the house, but I just wanted to make it as official as possible-"

"Thank you, Klaus Baudelaire." Y/N smiled, taking one last look at the letter before gently folding it and slipping it back into its envelope. "You are most thoughtful- truly," her eyes began to sparkle mischievously as she added, "your Majesty."

"Oh, for God's sake." Klaus huffed sarcastically, smiling. "Perhaps the formality was a mistake. I do not need another nickname."

Y/N laughed again, disrupting the seamstress as she snorted and doubled over. "They are merely terms of endearment, my friend." She mused before apologizing to the seamstress, who nodded awkwardly and continued to lace up a corset.

"I cannot imagine tolerating anyone's jesting other than yours." Klaus said, affectionately rolling his eyes.

"Good, I take pride in knowing you allow me to poke fun at you, your Majesty." Y/N giggled, and Klaus shook his head and blushed yet again.

"Your dress looks quite nice already." He noted, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes." Y/N smiled a little as she ran her fingers along the fabric. "It really is pretty, isn't it? It feels odd, to have something made for me. I shall have to enjoy it while I can."

"What do you mean?"

"D'Angelo would never let me take this with me, with all its hoops and ruffled layers. It is much too fancy for his liking anyways."

Klaus' face fell a bit, but he nodded in understanding before smiling knowingly. "Well, perhaps he would let you take something a bit smaller..."

Y/N raised her eyebrow. "Hm?"

Klaus addressed the seamstress, grinning wider. "Could you have her try it on once the dress is done for today?"

"What? Try what on? Really Klaus, you must stop with the surprises."

"Oh, just one more- er, no promises." Klaus chuckled, taking her hands in his. "But you will love it, I promise you that."

Once the seamstress had finished fitting the painter's dress and she had changed back into her usual attire, the seamstress pulled something new from the rack of clothing behind her.

"Klaus..." Y/N's eyes widened as the seamstress slipped the tweed jacket onto her and began to adjust it to fit her.

"You seemed to like mine, so I figured you would like one of your own." Klaus smiled shyly, averting his gaze.

"I am being spoiled rotten." Y/N whispered, trying to repress the emotion rising in her voice.

"Oh, I, erm... is that alright...?" Klaus creased his brow in concern, unsure of how to read his friend's facial expression. "I just thought that- I mean, I- if you you don't like it-"

"No, no, I love it." Y/N assured him, voice still quiet as she inspected her new blazer. "It just feels... odd." She finally looked at the prince. "I am not sure if you are too fond of me or if I am just not used to having people be fond of me at all. And in such an outright way as well."

"Does it matter?" Klaus smiled and took her hands once more. "As long as you are alright with it, of course. But please, the jacket is the least we can do for you."

"Klaus, you don't owe me anything."

Klaus just smiled wider and shook his head before gesturing to mirror. "What do you think?"

A smile tugged at Y/N's own lips as she thought for a moment. "I look good."

"Yeah, you do." Klaus agreed before he could stop himself, and Y/N went scarlet as she stared at her shoes.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

***

Y/N gazed at the invitation in her hands as she lay in bed, the moonlight washing over it, running her fingertips along Klaus' signature.

She did not just feel cared for, for once, no, she felt something else... a very different sort of affection, the kind that kept her up at night furiously sketching the same face over and over again, rereading Lord Byron's work with the voice of another in mind- staring at nothing but someone else's handwriting, thinking about his blushing face and stuttered words.

Why did it make her as happy as it did?

The painter finally set the parchment down on her nightstand before turning to the window. So much for her lunar lover; perhaps she had found someone more tangible.

What a mistake, she thought, yet smiled.

What a delightful mistake.