Chapter Text
She was eight years old when she gained her first Wayne as a personal guard.
His name was Richard and Marinette remembers the bright smiles he always gave her when on duty. All the other guards tasked to her were so formal and grim, but Richard was always friendly and treated her with a simple sort of kindness, something she was rarely privy to from those outside her family.
The whole castle knew Richard was Marinette’s favorite, for she rarely made any effort to hide her affection.
When she was nearing thirteen, the aging D'Argencourt was transferred to the teaching of knights and Sir Jason Wayne was appointed to replace him. He was far more familiar with her than was proper, but Marinette delighted in his gentle teasing and ridiculous nicknames. Whenever he could, he taught her commoner’s tricks and told her stories about the lower town and living on the streets.
(It had been the first time she’d been faced with the privilege of her birth so blatantly. Jason had only told her stories of humor and levity, but she was clever for her age and could hear all the things he wasn’t saying.
She was melancholic for a whole week following the revelation, guilty about her ignorance and unearned luck of birth. When she emerges from the end, she swears to protect her kingdom from such hardship as best she can. She may not always succeed, but she will try, and sometimes, that is enough.)
By the time Tim is added the month after her sixteenth birthday, Marinette is starting to think this is all something of a tradition. (Or at least, with the way the siblings talk, a competition of sorts.)
She’s practically expecting the day Cassandra is sworn in, pledging her sword to the protection of the throne. And when Duke follows behind not even a month later, well. There are more than a few whispers of favoritism floating about the castle halls.
(There is, after all, not a single knight on her detail that isn't a Wayne at this point.)
The proper number for a royal escort is five during times of peace, so Marinette does not expect any new additions until Richard decides he wants to retire or finally take her father up on the offer of joining the Justice League, those privileged knights in charge of protecting the King and Queen themselves.
Of course, they all overlooked one important detail.
Damian.
***
They are attending Court. Her parents are sat in their thrones, crowns atop their heads and looking regal and kind as they see to the many needs of their people. Farmers and merchants and families bring to them their problems, and they solve them as best they can.
Her mother sits to the right of her father, and Marinette stands at his left and just a step behind.
They are a united front to the people of their kingdom and this is not an accident.
So, of course, when Damian strides up to the dais, he promptly throws it out the window.
He bows first to the King and Queen, deep and textbook perfect, but when he turns to her, instead of the slightly shallower bow that is afforded to her, he drops to his knees.
The Court gasps and Marinette’s hands twitch where they are clasped in front of her.
The hall has fallen deadly silent and all eyes have turned on her and the knight at her feet.
He is only a few summers older than her and a well-known prodigy on the dueling grounds, easily rivaling the skill of knights twice his size and age.
Marinette has known him nearly as long as she has known Richard, and up until this very moment, she had believed him to be indifferent to her in the highest regard.
Oh, how wrong she had been.
“I, Damian Wayne, pledge my sword and skill to the service of her Royal Highness, Princess Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Should she accept this humble knight, I shall be the obedient weapon that which she wields. This vow I take, for as long as I breathe.”
For a long moment, Marinette does nothing.
He has offered the pledge to her and her only, which means it should be her choice alone to accept or deny it. But that is not how being Princess works and Marinette has responsibilities to more than just herself.
Damian has chosen to make this public, has chosen to cause a spectacle, and Marinette cannot afford to play along if it will place the people she has sworn to protect in danger.
Her mother eyes him with the critical shrewdness that had made her such an excellent spymaster before she married and was crowned Queen. After a long, drawn-out moment, Marinette watches the look melt off her face and the barely-there nod of approval makes the air rush from her lungs.
Should her mother have found that this action would cause more problems than they could handle, Marinette would have turned him away. She must, even if it would break her heart.
(Royalty must be united. There can be no lines drawn in the sand between them and Marinette cannot go against them without undermining the power she herself will one day hold as Queen.
She has responsibility to more than just herself.)
But Damian is lucky. Lucky he is young, lucky that the castle is already rife with rumors of where, exactly, the Waynes’ loyalties lie, lucky that he is a prodigy too valuable to scorn.
And perhaps, most of all, he is lucky that her parents are kinder people than rulers should be.
(How else could one explain his continued existence when he has so blatantly committed treason by pledging to serve an individual rather than the crown?
Marinette would laugh at his bravery if she did not think him an utter fool.)
Her mother has given her blessing, but Marinette does not yet reach for the sword Damian holds out for her to take. She has been privy to enough of the trials of Court and whispers of the castle to know this must be nipped in the bud.
Damian has made this a public affair, and so now Marinette will twist that to her advantage.
“To serve me is to serve Miraculi,” she says, voice clear and firm so that none may misunderstand her. “On behalf of the citizens I protect, and whom you shall as well, I shall accept if only you swear to them as well.”
There is not even a moment of hesitation. “I swear, Your Highness.”
She would smile had it been in any form appropriate.
“Then let your vow be accepted.” Finally, she takes the sword from him and taps the blade against either shoulder. “Rise, Sir Wayne. May you live long and fight well.”
Once on his feet, he bows to her once more and catches her hand as she returns his sword to him. Then, in front of her parents and all the Court, he presses a kiss against her knuckles and smiles.
Distantly, Marinette comes to the realization that she may have misjudged precisely how much of a handful her new knight shall prove to be.