Disclaimer: I only own Marie's two sisters and the 'Angelina' part of Marie Angelina. Everything else belongs to history and Victor Hugo. We need to make a movie about what would happen if Les Amis ACTUALLY SURVIVED!!! I recommend my book "Liberté, Égalité, Felicité" as this movie. Comment here if you agree with me! :)

June 17th, 1826

Marie's POV:

"Ouch!" I cry as the seamstress accidentally stabs me with a pin.

"I'm so sorry, your royal highness," she apologizes, prostrating herself at my feet.

"You don't have to do that, madame," I say politely yet uncomfortably. That was awkward. The seamstress stands up again and begins to fix my beautiful yellow dress (A/N: live action one) for the ball my father is hosting. It's my mother's birthday, so my father deemed it fit to throw this extravagant ball only for the wealthy. The food here could feed all of the homeless in Saint Michelle for months, and it's only going to be given to select people. These people are going to gorge themselves and throw out the remains, not caring about the helpless and the poor. Unknowingly, my hand has clenched itself into a fist. I only realize it when my younger sister, Lizette, takes my clenched hand and soothes it flat once more. I sigh and shake my head.

"What is it, Marie?" Lizette asks.

"Nothing, Lizzie," I say, smiling at my younger sister. "It's nothing." Lizette's dressed in a beautiful green dress that flows down to the floor, covering every part of her body because apparently showing even the tiniest sliver of skin is a scandal. "Do you know where Renee is? She's supposed to be getting ready now."

"I think she's with Papa making sure the flowers are ready for Mama's birthday." I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that both of my sisters are alright and in the palace where they belong. But who am I to judge? I've snuck out of this exquisite place because I couldn't hear one more 'a crown princess doesn't blah blah blah' or 'you represent both your mother and me, but most importantly you represent France.' Every time I hear this I just want to scream. I can't take all of this stupid formalities within my own family! I hear footsteps rapidly approaching my chambers, knowing immediately that it's my youngest sister, Renee. If you really need to hear her middle name, it's Cecilia. The three princesses of France: Marie Angelina (that's me), Lizette Esme, and Renee Cecilia. I turn and smile fondly at Renee, who is rushing to get in her dress before the ball starts.

"I see you're running behind," I say teasingly.

"Stop it, Marie," she retorts. I giggle softly and Renee looks at me, bursting into laughter right after she does. Lizette follows our example until we're all chuckling. Then, our mother walks in, her elegant dress swishing behind her and a golden crown atop her red hair like it always is. I think she actually sleeps in that thing.

"Princesses do not laugh like maniacs," she says sternly. Queen Maria Amalia, everyone, the strictest woman I've ever met. "Princesses are ladies of the utmost importance; they should always keep quiet unless spoken to." I roll my eyes behind my mother's back and mouth her speech, mocking her to my sisters. They have to bite their tongues to keep quiet. "MARIE!! Are you listening to me?" I sigh quietly but long-sufferingly.

"Yes mother."

"Good. The ball starts promptly in five minutes. Come to the biggest ballroom and don't go down the steps through the archway until you're announced." The three of us nod our heads at our mother and she leaves, back ramrod straight because her posture is always perfect. Yeah right, perfect my ass. Oops, sorry, this is yet another thing my mother yells at me for. 'A princess does not swear." Read that in literally the most annoying voice ever and you have my mother. I turn and see that Renee has finally wrangled her dress on herself.

We grin at each other and I mentally prepare myself for a night of boring conversation with stuck-up idiots. Lizette, Renee, and I hurry to the ballroom and I inhale, preparing to step out onto the stairs of the ballroom.

"And now, may I present the Crown Princess of France, Princess Marie Angelina!!" the announcer guy (my father's advisor) shouts as I step onto the marble stairs. I descend the staircase, waving princess-like and kindly. As I walk down through the archway, I look through the crowd, my eyes landing on one young man in a red suit.

He stares up at me with a look of awe and shock as I stare back at him in wonder. His blonde hair is, oddly, curly and shines as golden as the sun. His piercing blue eyes are a wonderful shade of cerulean, compelling me to gaze into them longer. The color red complements him, drawing out the sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw this mystery man has.

As I've been staring at this mysterious young man, I've been descending the staircase. Unknowingly to me, I've reached the bottom. I pick my foot up to go down a step and set it down, feeling nothing but air. I stumble for a second but regain my composure and dignity. Who is this man? Why do I feel as if my life has scarcely begun?

Julien's POV:

A few minutes before....

I stare morosely out the window of my parents' carriage, furious that I'm being forced along to the queen's birthday ball. It's so idiotic; there are people starving yet I'm going to a ball for fun. Yeah, I wonder how much 'fun' I'll have at this particular ball what with the three stuck-up, pretty princesses and the king and queen who do nothing to help their country. I fiddle with my cravat. It's too tight, choking me. I attempt to untie it but my mother's graceful hand folds over mine, keeping it still.

"Julien, leave your cravat tied," Mother says quietly. I sigh inaudibly and nod my head.

"Julien, you are representing the house of Enjolras," Father starts his long-winding speech. I roll my eyes and resume my gaze out the window, tuning him out. I've heard this speech so many times that I'm fairly certain I can repeat it word for word. Hopefully Combeferre and Courfeyrac are there. I'd even take Pontmercy if I have to. As the carriage pulls up to the French palace that I have to admit looks extravagant, I mentally prepare myself for characterless ladies giggling and holding their stupid fans and me being forced to dance with them. As I am now twenty years old, I need to 'find a suitable wife' because I need to carry on the Enjolras line. We finally come to a stop and I get out of the carriage quickly, not able to stay in that suffocating monstrosity any longer and still stay sane. Father and Mother walk ahead of me, soaking up the attention from other rich families. Well, that's more Father. He's the most arrogant, self-serving bastard I've ever met. And I've met a lot of royalists. Mother is the one who read me stories when I was little and unable to go to sleep at night. She did 100% of the work in raising me; Father just stood there and shouted. I search the hoards of people for my two best friends, Etienne Courfeyrac and Alexandre Combeferre. I finally find them by the champagne with two others, Marius Pontmercy and Alain Joly. I fight my way through the crowds over to them and lean against a stone pillar, exhausted already.

"So how are you guys today," Marius starts a conversation, oblivious to my annoyance with this day in general because of the ball my father dragged me to.

"What do you think?" I snap harshly and sarcastically. "I'll give you a guess." Courfeyrac, already tipsy from the champagne he's been drinking, lays a hand on my arm. I shrug it off.

"Come on Enjolras, no need to be annoyed!" he says. Then, I hear some old guy announcing the princesses of France. Everyone turns towards the archway and I turn as well like Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, and Marius.

"And now, may I present the Crown Princess of France, Princess Marie Angelina!!" I roll my eyes and stare blandly at the archway, expecting some princess that has a stupid look on her face, like Marius. She's not that. Not at all.

She's a goddess. That's the only word good enough to describe her-it's not good enough at all. Her blue eyes hold a wisdom like Athena. Fuck, I've been listening to R's mythology comparisons too much. Her blonde hair cascades down her back while her yellow dress flows like water down her body. It hits me just then that I'm staring. I have to look away. With effort, I tear my eyes away from this vision and see Combeferre glancing at me with a knowing glint in his eyes. Who is this woman? Why do I feel as if my life has scarcely begun?

"You okay there, Enj?" Combeferre says quietly as if to not alert the others to my predicament.

"Yes, 'Ferre. Why wouldn't I be?" Combeferre raises his eyebrows as if he doesn't believe me. I scoff and turn away. Then I hear Courfeyrac singing this odd song that makes me think he's even more tipsy than I first imagined. Great. Now I'll have to do damage control.

Courfeyrac starts to rap, making me shake my head, pinch the bridge of my nose, and walk over to make sure that he doesn't get hurt.

"There's nothing rich folks love more
Than going downtown and slummin' it with the poor
They pull up in their carriages and gawk
At the students in the common
Just to watch them talk

Take King Louis-Phillipe, the man is loaded" I roll my eyes. Of course he is, he's the king.

"No shit," I say, deadpan. Courf glares at me for interrupting his song. Sighing, I gesture for him to continue. There's nothing else I can do to stop his singing.

Uh-oh, but little does he know that

His daughters, Marie, Lizette, Renee
Sneak into the city just to watch all the guys at-Marie!
(Work, work!)
Lizette!
And Renee! (Work, work!)
The Princess sisters!
Marie! Renee! Lizette!"

"Courf please stop embarrassing yourself," I coerce Courf down from the stage he created for himself. I drag him over to where Combeferre, Joly, and Marius are chuckling in the corner. "Make sure he doesn't get more drunk," I say to 'Ferre, the most responsible one in the group of three. I leave them and try to hide from all the people my parents would force me to dance with. I finally reach a balcony overlooking the gardens. Breathing a sigh of relief, I pull open the door to the balcony and step inside.

Marie's POV:

I whirl around, hearing the door to the balcony where I'm currently standing creak open. It's the man from before.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know someone else was here. I could leave..." he quickly apologizes, his voice smooth and rich.

"It's perfectly all right," I say back, blushing a dark pink. I've never been alone with a boy before. Mother always said 'it wasn't ladylike.' The man comes over to the balcony railing and leans his arms against it, staring out into the distance. I swallow and turn back to the gardens, trying not to stare at this godlike man.

"So why are you out here?" he asks me abruptly, glancing at me quickly and looking back at the view. "I would have thought you'd like to be celebrating your mother's birthday." I snort and shake my head.

"It's suffocating in there." He turns to me, eyebrow raised in confusion. "I hate these balls. I'm being paraded around the room, passed off from man to man, and am expected to stand there with a smile plastered on my face. I'm only twenty and I already have an arranged marriage with some random king from England that's more than twice my age." I clap my hand over my mouth, trying to hold in any word vomit. I can't believe I just said that. My arranged marriage is supposed to be kept secret until it's announced to the people and I just told this random stranger. The man stares at me in shock, eyes as wide as francs.

"My parents are forcing girls at me as well, to carry on our family line," he admits. "I'm the same age as you and already I'm supposed to be finding a 'suitable wife.'" He says the last two words with a disgusted look on his face. "You're Princess Marie Angelina, right?"

"Yes, that's me. And you are?"

"Enjolras," he says. Enjolras seems to think for a long while, as if debating in his head about something. "Julien Enjolras."

"Well it's nice to meet your acquaintance, Julien." He smiles at me and we turn back to the balcony, returning to silence. He runs his left hand through his blonde curls, making them messier than before.

"What's your favorite color?" he asks me abruptly. I stand there and think for a long while. I've only ever worn the colors that my mother forced me to, which are normally blue, white, and red.

"I've never really thought about it," I respond slowly. "Probably lavender."

"What in the world is the color 'lavender?'" he says, amused. I roll my eyes at him.

"It's a light purple, dimwit," I retort jokingly. He puts his hand over his heart as if my words really hurt him.

"Ouch, that was a gunshot right to the heart," he jokes.

"What's your favorite color, then? Astound me." He doesn't think, just says his color. I should have guessed; it's the color of his whole suit.

"Red." We stand there, each thinking about what the next question could be, until he blurts out, "What's your greatest regret?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he blushes, trying to backtrack. "You don't have to answer the ques-"

"I will anyway," I cut him off. "It's a good question. Probably, my greatest regret would be that I never stand up to my parents. Whenever they pass this crippling law, I just stand there, saying nothing in defense of the poor, of the 'abaisse' (A/N: abaisse = lowly). I see what these stupid laws have done to our society and I just want to help everyone," I say. He's staring at me in awe, as if I had just recited in verbatim the Declaration of Independence. I probably could; it's been drilled into my mind way too many times. He's still staring. "What's your greatest regret?" I say quickly, trying to get the spotlight off of me. He thinks for a long while, still shocked from what I said before.

"My greatest regret would probably be that....." he trails off, still thinking. "That I can't do more. Whenever I'm out in the streets of Paris, I see beggar upon beggar upon beggar. I give them what I can, but always feel as if it's too little. I'm trying to do something about it along with my friends, but it's slow going." He stops his last sentence suddenly, as if not wanting to divulge more information.

"What are you and your friends planning on doing?" I say, confused. His expression reminds me of a deer caught in headlights, frozen.

"It's nothing important," he says. However, when he says the words 'nothing important,' he has to force the words out as if not truly believing that it isn't important, but actually is very important to him. I nod my head at him.

"Well, monsieur, I have to go. The ball's almost over and I have to make my rounds of the people still sober." He bites back a laugh.

"Then you probably don't have to go over to my four friends," he says, voice light with humour.

"Was one of them the one who sang that song about my sisters and I?" Julien laughs and nods his head, grinning. "Were you the one who interrupted?" He nods his head again, putting his hands up.

"Guilty as charged." I burst into laughter as he stares at me uncomprehendingly.

"The whole song was hilarious, but that part was the best!" He dips into a deep bow, one that is too dramatic to be true. I try to control my laughter, finally succeeding and pushing the moment of Julien and I on this balcony deep into myself, returning to my princess image. 

"Wait!!" Julien calls. I turn back to him, confused. "Will we see each other again?" he says quietly.

"I don't know, Julien. I don't know."

"You can find me at Café Musain," he quickly responds. I file away that bite of information in my brain for later. If there is a later.

I walk towards the doors and wave goodbye quickly before entering the whirlwind of political airs, mindless jabbering, and drunk men and women.

Author's Note: Well the first chapter of Act 2 is up!! I think that they bonded pretty well, no? I hope that this chapter made people laugh and ship this couple. By the way, I need a ship name for Marie and Julien. It could be with 'Julien' or it could be with 'Enjolras.' Please comment your suggestions!! Thank you! Vive la France!!!

            -Kaylin