Noblesse Oblige

Chapitre dix-neuf

Author stuff: Eleven chapters left of this fic, can you believe it? Some of y'all are probably wondering how much more there could be, there's more than I think anyone suspects. (Quite a few plot lines to wrap up, believe it or not.)

I'm going to miss seeing all y'all's love for this.

For those still interested in my research: I'm sorry that it's taking me forever and a day. I'm almost completed typing and redoing a lot of it. Past me was obnoxiously vague on some things and I had to reread a good portion of my sources. Super sorry it's taking me this long. I'm hoping to make it available soon!

Chapitre dix-neuf

Hello, Sweet Thing

Market Day in Ville sur les Rochers was never an extraordinary affair, but it was always a busy one. Marinette usually had a lot of time to herself on those days. The boulangerie was closed, her parents would get things they needed, and she had some coins saved up.

With the boulangerie being closed, no one save the servants of the Champ Vert Manor had any use of the oven today — and, really, only because of how close they were. Everyone else had to make due with the community oven.

Rothbart had vanished that morning, claiming that he had a report to do for the Guild. Theo said something about joining some other young men from the bastide at the Sanglier Bleu. And her mother had gone off to do the stores for the bakery.

Marinette found herself very much alone, and she was quite happy to be. It wasn't often that she could laze about in her sleeping chemise for a majority of the day — not since Rothbart and Theo, that is. It was wonderful — although a bit too nippy this time of year for it.

Sometime past noon, she dressed and slipped outside to check on Tricheure. The goat's kid would be due soon, and she wanted to make sure the birth passed easily. There had been a bit of trouble the year before when she and her mother had to get involved. The kid had to be turned in order for him to get out. He ended up dying not too long after. Tricheure had been miserable weeks after.

She was quite surprised to find that her goat wasn't quite so alone as she had thought.

"I believe, princess," Chat Noir said, scratching Tricheure's head, "that your goat and I are best friends."

"And you came to that conclusion how, exactly?" she said, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"She didn't try to kill me when she first saw me."

"Well, that's something unusual. She always tries to kill people — me especially."

"Really? Miss Goat, I thought better of you. How could you try to kill my sweet princess?"

Marinette felt herself flush at his question. It wasn't the 'sweet' or the 'princess' that sent butterflies coursing through her veins and made her stomach do flips. It was the bold declaration that she belonged to him — the simple but affirmative 'my'. Oh, if only he knew what he did to her poor, little heart. He would be a much bolder man, she decided.

So, she decided, to focus that fluttering feeling — the one that made her want to be close to him and as far away as possible — onto something, well someone, else.

"You have an admirer," she said, shifting uncomfortably at his wide grin aimed at her.

"Oh?" he said. "Your goat and I have only just met. I'm afraid it will never be."

She snorted, and he joined her on the other side of the fence. She wondered briefly if he was worried that anyone might see them. But, no, everyone else was away at market, and they would be until the sun went down.