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Mal stares out into the garden, arms folded against the balcony edge. It’s cold against her bare arms, but it is solid and unmoving. There is no chance of it crumbling away, lost to decadent treatment and the natural wear that comes with constantly bad weather.
It should be a comfort- its sturdiness- same as the greenery down below, or the magnificence of the polished and shining castle around her. She’s surrounded by more finery and plume than she could have ever imagined back on the Isle, but the white washed stone, and the happy sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, feels more like a gilded cage than freedom.
All the interviews, and balls, and paparazzi following her around- it’s suffocating. It’s getting harder to breathe behind her plastic mask, and the edges are crumbling like everything else from the Isle.
She leans back, running her hands down the skirt of her dress. It’s as extravagant as everything else. Her hands skid down the jewels and glitter, scratchy against her skin. It’s beautiful of course; Evie made it. Evie has always made their clothes, even on the Isle. But on the Isle, it was armor. Leather tailored for movement but still fitting enough to protect soft skin, sewn in metal bits to deflect stray blades, or do the worst damage when connecting with a rival’s face. The colors of their parents to project their strength- claim their legacy- ruthlessness- insanity.
But this Auradon borne dress- it settles around her stiff and wrong. It hugs her in all the wrong places- it feels ill fitting. It’s nothing against Evie’s designs; she’s always created the exact image that they needed to keep them safe. In a way, it is armor, too. But this one- this costume- it chafes.
It seems one and the same, Auradon and Isle, because of course their clothes on the Isle were costumes as well, but it was a costume that Mal wore all her life. And when you wear a costume long enough, it starts to feel real- be real. She grew into that costume until it was no different from her skin. Until she doesn’t know the difference between her and the act- doesn’t know how to be anything else.
She doesn’t know how to be the perfect princess everyone wants her to be. She had hoped that if she played the part long enough, it would start to feel as natural as her leather, but she only feels more choked by it as the days pass. The panic attacks are becoming more frequent, and she knows it’s just a matter of time until someone catches her and exposes her for the fraud she is. Or she exposes herself by breaking down and screaming at anyone who comes near her.
The fake smiles, fake happiness, fake life- it’s a bit of a joke, but a joke that keeps her crew safe. Because no matter how comfortable Mal was in her place on the Isle, her crew would always be in danger there. From their parents, to the rival gangs, to the lack of food and insulation. Mal has always done what was necessary to keep them safe. Pretending to be good- pretending to love the king- should have been easy in comparison to what she’d done in the past.
After all, she was now living in the lap of luxury.
Mal flinches as the music momentarily gets louder with the opening of the balcony doors, and she shies farther into the shadows, hoping she’s not spotted. She’s not ready to drag the mask back on just yet, she’s still struggling to catch her breath from her latest spiral.
She only relaxes marginally when she sees that it’s Evie. The other girl's eyes bore into her from across the space, her gown reflecting all the splendor of the royal court, and Mal feels a pang of jealousy. Evie wears their new life like a glove, fit and comfortable, while Mal struggles against the seams of her own.
But this is why she keeps up the act. For Evie. For their entire crew. Auradon fits them far better than the Isle ever had. And despite her jealousy, she is equally enthralled. Proud. Saddened.
She feels worlds apart from them, now.
“Mal,” Evie says, and slowly crosses the distance. Mal’s persistent trembling grows worse at her approach, heart thudding faster. Her throat bobs, but she doesn’t let the sound escape.
“I know-” Mal chokes. “I know I need to get back out there- that they’re probably wondering where I am-”
“Stop that-” Evie cuts in, catching her vibrating hand. “Who cares about that; they can wait. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Mal says instantly.
Evie levels her a disbelieving look, and then sighs. “Mal… When are you going to realize that we are safe here? We don’t have to keep pretending to be something we’re not.”
“Easy for you to say- you are exactly who they think you are,” Mal laughs shakily.
“Am I?” Evie asks, taking a step closer and reaching up to touch Mal’s face. She feels static race across her skin, and it’s tempting to lean in- to let the princess distract her in a way that has become so familiar.
But there is only a glass door between them and a scandal that would send them straight back to the island. So Mal takes a step back, attempting to put distance between them. “What are you doing?”
Evie presses forward, cornering Mal against the wall. Her hands touch the outside of her thighs, slowly bunching Mal’s dress and dragging it up her legs. “If I’m exactly who they think I am, getting caught like this shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone at all.”
Mal should push her away. But Mal is weak when it comes to Evie. She always has been, and her breath is picking up- half in panic and half in desire. “Stop,” Mal whimpers. “This isn’t what I need right now.”
Evie pauses, hands lingering on the thighs just under Mal’s skirt. Then she steps back with a frown. Mal’s dress falls back down around her legs, as heavy around her shoulders as it always was. “No, I know,” Evie murmurs, taking another step back. “You’ll only need me after everyone goes home and you want a distraction from how much you hate it here.”
Mal’s heart aches, hitting hard against her rib cage. Evie starts to turn away, and Mal would have let her, but then Evie changes her mind and whips back around in frustration, “Do you even like him?” she snaps.
Mal sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it. She can’t afford to go back into the party with running mascara. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth!” Evie insists, stepping back toward Mal and snatching up her hands. She squeezes them tightly and stares at her pleadingly. “Mal, you know I will always stand beside you, no matter what. I have. And I know you’d do anything for us, and have… but enough is enough. You aren’t happy. You need to make a choice.”
“My choice has always been you. The crew,” Mal insists desperately, “Don’t you know that?”
Evie stares at her for a long moment, searchingly, and then rocks back on her heels. Her shoulders loosen the slightest bit. “Yeah. I do. And you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” she asks very softly. “Even this, being with Ben, is for us. Our security.”
Mal flinches at having it said out loud. “You know one mistake would mean getting sent back to the Isle. If the king loves me…”
“Yeah, if the king loves you,” Evie seems to agree, and Mal is relieved that she understands. And devastated. But then Evie is reaching for her face again, pushing back some hair. Tucking it back into its perfect place. “But what happens when he realizes it’s all a lie? Will it be after he fucks you? After your wedding? A kid?”
“He won’t find out-”
“He will,” Evie says firmly. “No one- even you- can wear a mask forever. Yours is already slipping.”
Mal is all too aware of that- the cracks going through her- the ever widening fractures stemming from the weight of expectations and obligations.
“So help me,” Mal begs, finally tugging the blue-haired girl forward. Their bodies collide, and Evie shifts, turning them so that Mal’s back digs into the stone edge of the rail, and Mal buries her nose into the princess’ neck. She inhales her apple scented perfume. “Just- can’t we keep on as is?”
“Mal,” she sighs, and panicked, Mal tilts her head back and kisses Evie fiercely. It’s not a nice kiss. Nice kisses are for Ben- gentle, sweet, the kind that makes anyone watching believe in fairytales. Mal kisses Evie with teeth and tongue and a desperate need to feel something real.
Evie responds in kind, hands in Mal’s hair, yanking it from its careful formation, and she doesn’t care. Evie’s the one who fixed it in the first place, she can do it again.
“The entire court is on the other side of those doors. Reporters- Ben,” Evie says between biting teeth, dragging Mal’s skirts back up to her waist in quick, hurried, movements. Mal aches with want, and her croak from the first touch of skin on skin is smothered by the princess dragging her into another filthy kiss. “Do you really think we can keep this up?” she pants against Mal’s lips as Mal squeezes her eyes shut and rocks hopelessly into her hand. “Do you think Ben deserves this, after all he’s done for us?”
Part of her can’t help but want to get caught- the Isle part of her that doesn’t care about who she hurts- it would be a relief to stop this- stop pretending. The heat consuming her out on that balcony, soft music and laughter just on the other side- a world away, really- feels more real that anything else has in months. It always feels that way when she’s with Evie. When she’s taken apart by Evie.
It’s why she keeps going back, it’s an aching need- to just drop the act, for a moment- to not just feel like a plastic doll before the flashing cameras.
When she throws her head back with a cry, Evie watches her and strokes her face, and the world seems bearable for a couple precious seconds.
And then the music gets louder, and Mal shoves away with a gasp, turning to the shadows to wipe at her mouth and her cheeks.
“Mal?” a voice calls out as the balcony doors once again swing shut.
“Told you,” Evie murmurs without victory, subtly wiping her fingers along her dress.
“Y-yeah?” Mal croaks, still facing the wall as she ensures her skirt is smoothed down. She scrubs at the spot on her neck Evie had paid dedicated attention to, hoping that she’s getting all the lipstick off. Despite her darker inclinations, Evie is right. Ben doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t want to hurt the kind boy who only ever wanted to give them a chance.
“Are… are you okay?”
Evie watches her for a moment, and then runs a thumb around her lips- efficiently cleaning up the edges of her own smudged lipstick. Evie turns to the doors, stepping out of the shadows and into the brilliant light spilling from the glass doors to the ballroom.
Mal wipes at her cheeks again, aghast to find that they keep becoming damp.
“Mal has been… struggling with the adjustment,” Evie murmurs to the king, touching his arm lightly. It’s the same hand that was just under Mal’s dress a moment ago. It feels like a taunt. “I think she just got a bit overwhelmed.”
Ben steps toward Mal, a concerned frown taking over his face. He immediately catches her up in his arms, hand lifting to touch her face. She ducks her head, as he runs a thumb under her eye. “Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured something out. I could make up some obligation so we have to leave early?”
Suddenly, it’s like her dress has become a corset, and the strings are tightening and tightening, squeezing her lungs. Instead of ill fitting, she feels like she is bursting out of the seams. The crown that hasn’t even been placed on her head yet is heavy and dragging her down.
Her legs buckle as a sob is wrenched out of her.
Ben catches her, of course, lowering her to the ground with strong, steady arms, but panic- numbing, hot, panic- is lancing through her. Evie stands by the doors, unsure if she should go or not, now that Mal’s boyfriend is here.
Her boyfriend with his soft worry, and gentle touch, and who could make people believe in fairytales. But Mal isn’t made for fairytales, no matter how well she wore the costume, no matter how many people she managed to convince.
And no matter how seamlessly Evie has taken to Auradon, she was Isle first, Mal’s first, crew first. And it’s hard trusting anyone outside of that to take care of something that precious. So Evie stays, as she always does.
“I- I can’t do this,” Mal gasps out, shoulders seizing. She can’t breathe- can’t function- can’t think past that she doesn’t want Ben to be the one kneeling at her side. “I’m sorry- I wanted- I wanted to be good enough- but I can’t- I’m not.”
And Ben, he shushes her and rocks her, and lifts her sweaty, mused, hair off the back of her neck. “It’s okay. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out. You’re good enough. You’ve always been good enough, and I love you. You, not this- person you think you need to be.”
“-I can’t, Ben. I-I can’t do this. Please- I can’t do this.”
“Okay. Okay, we can sneak out the back, or-”
“Evie, please,” Mal begs, squinting at the blue princess through blurry vision and a green haze. Evie goes to her, crouching down on her opposite side, and Mal clutches at her skirt.
“Ben…” Evie says softly, pity dripping from her voice.
The king flinches, fingers tightening just slightly over Mal’s arms. Then he relaxes his grip, and finally, they fall away. “She means ‘be with me.’ She can’t be with me,” he says, staring down at his hands.
“I’m sorry,” Mal pleads, digging her nails into the ghosting imprints of where his fingers just left. Evie’s hands quickly cover her own, prying them out of her skin. “I just wanted to- I didn’t want-”
“It’s okay Mal,” he soothes, even though his own voice breaks. “This life is a lot for anyone, especially with the addition of trying to adapt from growing up on the Isle.” He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. She always liked him better that way. Ruffled. Imperfect. She liked his beast better than his prince, because then she didn’t feel so guilty about hiding her own monster.
But the only time he’s been proven to be imperfect is when Mal hurts him.
His wounded eyes shine at her guiltily, as if it’s him who did something wrong and needs to seek forgiveness. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see how much you were struggling,” he says sincerely. “I’ll… I’ll contact the press tomorrow. It’s, um. It’ll be an amicable breakup. They don’t need to know any more than that, if you don’t want them to.”
The difference between them, though, is that even when Ben is imperfect, or beastly, he’s not actually a beast. He is still so purely good. And- Mal isn’t. Despite his hurt, despite hurting him, Mal only feels relief.
Because suddenly, it’s like the door to her gilded cage has flown open.