Chapter Text
**Adrien**
I looked out the window; it was a long ride to Paris from London, and I really do not feel like speaking to my father or his driver. I'd much rather listen to my music.
I was doing just fine at my small private school, until I got kicked out. My mother just recently died from leukemia, a type of cancer that literally kills you from the inside out. I was devastated, and not only did my grades suffer, but my mental state did too. A kid in my class decided to mess with me on the wrong day, so I beat his ass.
Unfortunately, his parents went on social media and told the press that Gabriel Agreste's son was 'out of control.' My father took no hesitation with making the apology video, confirming that I'd be sent away to the world's most prestigious boarding school, Collège Françoise Dupont, a school reserved for royalty, prodigies, and the heirs of the world’s richest families.
Gabriel Agreste is mostly known as the King of England, but I know him as my father. He is a strict and powerful man, with high expectations for his only child. Despite his reputation, he has always been distant and cold towards me and will only express affection when on camera or making public appearances. His actions have worsened since my mother died. I often wonder if he truly cares about me or if I am just a pawn in his game of power and control. His decision to send me away only solidifies my belief that I am nothing more than a burden to him.
As we pull into the school, I see a crowd of people waiting to greet me, as well as a camera crew. My father steps out of the car and puts on his best smile for the cameras, but I can see the emptiness in his eyes. It's clear that our relationship will never be more than a facade for the public eye.
I follow behind him until I see my older cousin Felix, who I haven’t seen since the funeral. He’s standing a few steps away from the crowd, his posture perfect and his expression unreadable like always. The last time I saw him, we were both wearing black and trying not to cry. Now, he’s dressed in the school’s sharp uniform, looking every bit the perfect model student.
“Adrien,” Felix says coolly as I approach, his voice clipped and deliberate, like he’s been rehearsing. “Welcome to Collège Françoise Dupont.”
“Felix.” I nod at him, unsure if I should hug him or just shake his hand. He saves me the trouble by giving me a curt pat on the shoulder, his version of affection.
“You’ll get used to it here,” he says with a faint smirk. “Or you’ll hate it. Either way, no one cares.”
“Comforting,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my bag.
Before I can ask him anything else, my father calls me over with a sharp motion of his hand. The camera crew is already filming, and the press are barking out questions like hungry dogs.
“Prince Adrien! How are you feeling about your move to Collège Françoise Dupont?”
“Will you be participating in the royal programs offered here?”
“Do you have any plans to continue your mother’s charity work?”
I stand next to my father, the weight of every lens focused on me. His smile is frozen, his arm brushing against my back in a way that probably looks affectionate on camera but feels like a command to stand still.
“I’m…looking forward to my studies,” I answer stiffly, my voice flat even as the flashbulbs go off. “I think it’ll be…a new experience.”
“Adrien will be an exemplary student,” my father cuts in smoothly, speaking directly to the cameras. “We are confident Collège Françoise Dupont will offer him the discipline and education appropriate for his position.”
After a few more canned questions and polite non-answers, Gabriel finally signals for the interviews to end. The cameras click one last time, capturing the perfect image of a devoted father and his obedient son. The second we’re out of earshot, his smile drops like a curtain.
“Do not embarrass me here, Adrien,” he says quietly, the words sharp enough to cut. “This is your chance to repair our reputation.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even look at him. Instead, I glance over at Felix, who’s watching me with an expression that could be pity or amusement.
“Come on,” Felix says after a moment. “I’ll show you your room.”
We leave my father behind with his handlers, his voice already rising as he gives instructions to someone else. Inside the dormitory building, the air smells faintly of polished wood and expensive cologne. Every hallway looks like it belongs in a castle, not a school.
When we reach my assigned room, Felix pushes open the door to reveal a decent-sized space. High ceilings, antique furniture, and a window that stretches from floor to ceiling, overlooking the manicured lawns below.
“Guess being a royal still has its perks,” Felix mutters, dropping my suitcase onto the plush carpet. “They gave you one of the Crown Suites. Must be nice.”
I walk to the window and rest my hand against the cool glass. Outside, students are moving between buildings, their uniforms crisp, their voices echoing faintly up to me. They all look so sure of themselves, so at home in this world.
I don’t feel at home. I don’t feel anything but the ache in my chest and the hum of anger just beneath my skin.
Behind me, Felix leans against the doorframe. “You’ll get used to it. Just… Try not to punch anyone this time." He shrugs.
I smirk faintly but don’t turn around. “No promises.”
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring out at the pristine lawns, the fancy gates, and the endless sky beyond them. This place is supposed to fix me. Straighten me out. Make me into someone my father can display without shame.
But all I can think is how much I already hate it.
I drop my bag on the bed, its embroidered logo practically screaming my status to anyone who walked in. The room is flawless, with every detail screaming wealth. The polished mahogany desk, velvet curtains, and shelves already lined with leather-bound books I’d never touch. It feels less like a bedroom and more like a display, as if even here I’m supposed to perform for an audience.
I start unpacking anyway, just to have something to do. My headphones, a few worn notebooks, and my mother’s scarf. The only thing that still smells like her perfume. I drape it carefully across the back of a chair, a small piece of her in this foreign palace of a school.
The rest is just clothes. Uniforms folded neatly by the staff, shoes polished to an unnatural shine. I line them up in the wardrobe, and by the time I’m done, the silence is starting to suffocate me. I sink onto the bed, staring up at the ornate crown molding, when a knock sounds at the door.
It’s Felix. He’s leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, as if he owns the place. “You done nesting, cousin?”
“Barely,” I mutter, swinging my legs off the bed. "What's up?”
He smirks. “As House Father, it’s technically my job to make sure all the new arrivals know their way around. And since you’re not just any student, I figured I’d better get it over with before you get lost and embarrass the family name.”
“House Father?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
“Head of the dormitory,” he explains with a mock bow. “Which means I keep order, settle disputes, and make sure no one burns the place down. In short, I’m everyone’s older brother. Lucky me.”
I roll my eyes, but a tiny part of me is relieved. At least Felix isn’t treating me like some fragile royal doll.
“Fine,” I say, grabbing my jacket. “Show me around. Let’s get this over with.”
We step back into the corridor, our footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Felix leads me through the dormitory first, lavish common rooms with leather sofas and the nicest pool tables I've ever seen, and study halls lined with portraits of long-dead sponsors. Every space feels too perfect, like it belongs in a museum, not a school.
Students glance up as we pass. Some whisper. Some stare openly. I catch fragments of their voices—“That’s him… the Prince… the one who…” followed by hushed giggles or pointed looks.
“Get used to that,” Felix mutters without looking back. “Half of them will want to be your friend because of your title. The other half will hate you for the exact same reason. Don’t let it get to you.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say dryly.
Felix ignores the sarcasm and pushes open a pair of heavy double doors, revealing a sweeping courtyard. Students lounge on stone benches, others cluster around the fountain at the center, laughing like they’ve known each other forever. The sky above is a piercing blue, the sun catching on the ornate spires of the school buildings.
“This is the heart of Collège Dupont, we call it the quad,” Felix says, gesturing to the scene. “Boy dorms on the east, girl dorms on the south, classrooms on the west. Dining hall’s that way. Library’s bigger than most palaces, you’ll have to live in it if you want to survive the academics here.”
I take it all in, the beauty overwhelming me. Every corner of this place screams expectation. Excellence. Perfection.
“You’ll learn the rules fast,” Felix continues, his voice lowering slightly. “There’s a hierarchy here. Seniors at the top, juniors next, then sophomores, then freshmen. Luckily you're a junior… We eat those freshmen alive.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, staring at the students who already look like they belong. I wonder if I ever will.
"Cheer up, emo boy." Felix claps me on the back, a smirk playing on his lips. "You'll be fine. Let's go eat." I follow him, and he continues, "Breakfast is at 7, lunch is at 12 and dinner is at 5. Don't be late or you'll have the 'scraps,' as they call it."
The cafeteria is massive, bigger than any hall I’ve ever seen. Golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling, the marble floor polished so clean it almost reflects my face. It smells like fresh bread, spices, and something roasted. Honestly, it looks more like a royal banquet than a school lunch.
But what catches my attention most is the way everything is divided. Two separate lines, marked clearly by gold signs: Messieurs on the left, Mesdemoiselles on the right. Boys and girls keep to their respective sides, each line staffed by chefs in starched whites, serving portions like they’re dishing meals at a five-star restaurant.
“You can sit wherever after the line,” Felix mutters, noticing the way I pause. “It’s just tradition. Been that way since the school was founded. Some outdated idea about etiquette, but no one questions it.”
I glance at the two lines again. The boys’ side moves a little faster, plates stacked with roasted chicken, buttery potatoes, and what looks like fresh fruit tarts for dessert. On the girls’ side, it’s almost identical, except I notice the chefs give slightly smaller portions, plated with extra flourishes, like presentation matters more than the actual food.
“Ridiculous,” I mumble under my breath, stepping into the boys’ line behind Felix.
I grab a tray, the porcelain plate heavy compared to the plastic ones I’m used to. The chef serves me roasted duck, a side of vegetables arranged like art, and a small loaf of warm bread that steams when I tear it apart. This is… school food?
By the time Felix and I clear the line, I can feel eyes on me again. Whispers trail like smoke as we walk past tables filled with royals and heirs. Some students tilt their heads curiously, others smirk like they’re already judging me. I keep my gaze forward, following Felix’s lead.
We pass a group of boys in perfectly pressed uniforms, their signet rings flashing as they lean back in their seats like they own the place. Their conversation pauses as I walk by, and one of them raises his glass in mock salute.
But then, just as I’m about to tune it all out, my eyes catch on a figure sitting further down, away from the noise, away from the spotlight. A short girl in the same sharp uniform, her dark hair pulled into neat pigtails. She’s laughing with a boy with bright teal hair, but her laugh doesn’t sound forced. It’s real. Light. Easy.
Felix nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t stare too long. That’s the American princess.. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You’ll hear her name a lot around here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “American princess? Since when does America have royalty?”
“They don’t,” Felix says with a shrug. “Her family’s… complicated. Wealth, politics, global connections... The world loves her. I'm surprised you haven't seen edits of her online. She’s treated like royalty, so for our purposes, she is. And she knows it.”
"That's bullshit." I chuckle, sitting down in my chair.
"You'll see for yourself soon enough."