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Chapter Text

The hum of the private jet was deafening in its emptiness. Pacifica Northwest sat stiffly in one of the plush, cream-colored leather seats, staring out the window as the endless sky stretched before her. The world below was a blur of clouds and darkness, a perfect metaphor for the sinking feeling in her gut.

She wasn’t here by choice.

Her parents’ words echoed in her mind, cold and final.

“This is for the best, Pacifica. For you, for us, for the Northwest name.”

The Northwest name. The only thing they had ever truly cared about. Not her, not her happiness—only the legacy she carried like a shackle around her neck.

Across from her, Priscilla and Preston Northwest sat primly in their seats, sipping champagne as though they were heading to another high-society gala instead of forcibly transporting their only daughter to Austria to marry a man she had never met.

“Do try to compose yourself, Pacifica,” Priscilla chided, setting down her glass with a delicate clink. “Sulking won’t change your fate.”

Pacifica clenched her fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “This isn’t fate. It’s a business deal dressed up as a wedding.”

Preston gave a tight-lipped smile, one that never quite reached his eyes. “You always were perceptive. But I expected you to show more gratitude, considering the alternative.”

Pacifica’s jaw tightened. She knew exactly what he meant. If she refused, if she dared defy them again, they would ensure she had nothing. The Northwest name, the money, any remnants of security she might have left—they’d strip it all away, leaving her with no resources, no power. And now that she had abandoned her refuge at the Mystery Shack, where would she even go?

Dipper.

The thought of him, of his voice calling her name, of his arms wrapping around her in those quiet moments, nearly shattered her resolve. He had told her she wasn’t alone, that she had a choice. And yet here she was, thousands of feet above the earth, barreling toward a future she hadn’t chosen.

A gloved hand placed a fresh glass of champagne on the table in front of her. The flight attendant—a woman with the same blank, well-trained expression as every other servant in the Northwest household—murmured, “Miss Northwest, your drink.”

Pacifica shoved it away, nearly knocking it over. “I don’t want it.”

The flight attendant hesitated before silently retreating.

Preston sighed, rubbing his temple as though she were an inconvenience. “Really, Pacifica. You could at least pretend to have some dignity.”

Pacifica let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Oh, dignity? That’s rich, coming from the man selling his daughter like a prize horse.”

Priscilla pursed her lips. “You will watch your tone.”

“Or what?” Pacifica snapped, finally turning to face them fully. “You’ll disown me again? Cut me off again? Hate to break it to you, but I survived just fine without you. You think throwing me in a fancy jet and shipping me off to marry some prince is going to suddenly make me the perfect little Northwest daughter?”

Preston’s expression darkened. “We’re giving you an opportunity to correct your mistakes.”

Pacifica’s laugh was bitter. “Mistakes? You mean leaving?”

Her father didn’t flinch. “Yes. You’ve embarrassed us, Pacifica. Tarnished our name. But there’s still a chance to fix it. Prince Marius has been gracious enough to overlook your… indiscretions.”

Pacifica’s stomach turned at the idea of Marius—some foreign aristocrat, handpicked to make her their pawn. She’d met him before, in passing—a young prince, ambitious, wealthy, and almost completely unknown to her.

“I don’t know him,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And I don’t want to.”

Priscilla sighed, adjusting the fur draped over her shoulders. “It’s irrelevant what you want, Pacifica. The engagement has already been arranged. The papers are being finalized. You should be grateful—there are worse fates for a girl like you.”

A girl like her.

Her mother’s words cut deeper than she would ever admit.

Pacifica turned back toward the window, the weight of her situation pressing down on her chest. The sky was endless, stretching beyond her reach, and yet she had never felt more trapped.

She had fought so hard to be free, to carve out a life for herself beyond the expectations that had suffocated her for years. And now, in the span of a single night, she was being dragged back into the very world she had sworn to escape.

Would Dipper even know?

A lump formed in her throat. Of course he would—he would follow the clue in her note. But what could he do? She was halfway across the world, surrounded by her parents’ guards, locked in a deal that had already been sealed.

Pacifica swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest.

She couldn’t afford to lose herself. Not now.

Her mother’s voice pulled her back. “When we land, you will be taken to the palace to meet Marius. The engagement announcement will be made immediately.”

Pacifica’s nails dug into the armrest. “And if I say no?”

Priscilla and Preston exchanged a glance before her father’s voice dropped to something more dangerous. “Then you’ll leave us no choice but to ensure you understand what’s at stake.”

Pacifica knew that tone well. It was the same voice that had kept her in line as a child, the voice that had dictated every decision in her life. It was a threat wrapped in civility, a reminder of the power they still held over her.

But this time, she wasn’t the same scared little girl who had bowed to their every demand.

She met her father’s gaze, her blue eyes cold. “Try me.”

Preston’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t answer.

Pacifica turned back to the window, heart pounding. She knew one thing for certain—she wouldn’t let them win.

Not this time.

◬ ◬ ◬

The grand dining hall of the Fundhauser palace was bathed in golden candlelight, the flickering flames casting long, regal shadows against the ancient walls. Marble columns stretched high, their surfaces carved with the history of Austria’s noble lineage, while a chandelier adorned with a thousand crystals shimmered above. The long, mahogany table, set for three, was an extravagant display of wealth and tradition—gold-trimmed china, silverware polished to perfection, and dishes carefully arranged by the palace’s finest chefs.

But for all its grandeur, the room felt unbearably suffocating.

Marius Fundhauser, Crown Prince of Austria, sat stiffly in his chair, staring at the plate of untouched venison before him. Across the table, his mother Queen Elise and his father’s brother Frederick, who had been named King Regent after his father’s passing. They carried on with dinner as though nothing was wrong, their postures poised, their expressions calm.

Nothing was wrong, in their eyes.

For them, this was just another royal obligation.

For Marius, it was a betrayal of everything he wanted.

“Pacifica Northwest will be arriving in Vienna within the next few hours,” his mother said, carefully dabbing the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Her family has ensured a smooth transition, and the official engagement announcement is scheduled for tomorrow tonight. Your coronation is in a week, and your wedding will be around the same time.”

Marius clenched his fork, forcing himself to take a slow breath. “And I assume my opinion on the matter is, as always, irrelevant?”

His uncle, a towering man with a beard as sharp as his reputation, sighed deeply. “Marius, we’ve been over this. This marriage is not about you—it’s about Austria.” 

“It’s about the Fundhauser name,” his mother corrected, her voice gentle but firm. “As it has always been.”

Marius felt a familiar frustration bubble in his chest. He had known about the arrangement for months, had fought against it for just as long, but his protests always fell on ears too steeped in tradition to hear him.

He pushed his plate aside, no longer able to feign interest in dinner. “And what of love? What of choice?”

His uncle took a measured sip of wine before setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Love is a luxury, Marius, not a necessity. You know this.”

His mother reached across the table, her fingers resting lightly on his wrist. “Your father and I had an arranged marriage as well, my dear. It was not love at first, but respect. And with respect came companionship. It is the way of royalty.”

Marius turned his gaze away, jaw tightening. “Then perhaps I do not wish to be royalty.”

A silence fell over the room, thick and heavy. 

His uncle’s expression darkened. “That is not an option.”

“Why?” Marius challenged, his voice sharper than intended. “Because my duty is more important than my happiness?”

His mother’s face softened with understanding, but her answer remained unwavering. “Because you were born to serve this country. Just as we were.”

Marius inhaled sharply, pushing back the surge of frustration in his chest. This wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Not to him.

Not to her.

His mind drifted to Grenda, the woman who had held his heart for years. Five years. Five years of laughter, of dates, of real love.

And now, all of it was being erased with a signature on an engagement contract.

“I love someone else,” Marius finally said, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

His mother’s brows furrowed, but his uncle merely sighed, as if he had expected this.

“You mean the Gravity Falls girl,” his uncle said, his voice tinged with resignation. 

Marius looked up sharply. “You know?”

“Of course we know,” his mother said gently. “You are my son. Did you truly think I would not notice where your heart lies?”

Marius’s chest tightened. He had spent years hiding his relationship with Grenda from the public, knowing that it would never be accepted by the royal court. And yet, they had known—and they had never once mentioned it.

“Then why force this?” he demanded. “Why arrange a marriage when you know I love her?”

His uncle’s expression remained unreadable. “Because love, Marius, does not build nations. Marriages do.”

Marius shook his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “And if I refuse?”

His mother exhaled, her fingers folding neatly in her lap. “Then you risk more than your own heart.”

He met her gaze, his chest heavy. “You mean I risk Austria’s future.”

“Yes,” his uncle said plainly. “You are to be king, Marius, you are of age now. You cannot let personal desire interfere with duty.”

His mother hesitated before adding, “And do you truly think your… lover wants this for you? A life in hiding, forced to watch from the shadows as you uphold your duties? You know as well as we do that she deserves more than that.”

Marius flinched.

Because deep down, he knew they were right.

Grenda was never meant to live in secrecy. She deserved to be cherished, celebrated, free—not trapped in the quiet heartbreak of loving a man who could never truly be hers.

And yet, the thought of a life without her, of standing at the altar beside Pacifica Northwest, felt like a slow death.

The thought of giving up his future with Grenda for the sake of his country made his heart ache in a way he had never known before.

He swallowed hard, looking down at the table. “You ask me to give up everything.”

“We ask you to put your people first,” his mother corrected softly. “As a king must.”

Marius let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched meal before him.

This was the life he had been born into.

A life of duty. A life of sacrifice.

A life that was never truly his own.

◬ ◬ ◬

Dipper paced back and forth across the Mystery Shack’s living room, the letter still clutched tightly in his hands. Every part of him buzzed with restless energy—Pacifica had left them a clue, and they were wasting time sitting around.

Mabel was sprawled across the couch, while Candy and Grenda stood nearby, arms crossed.

“She left us a message,” Mabel said again, kicking her feet in the air. “That means she knew we’d come for her.”

“Yeah, but how do we know how much time we have?” Grenda asked, her voice unusually tense. “What if those rich snobs took her out of state—or worse, out of the country? Are we going to swim to find her?”

“No swimming necessary,” Dipper said, stopping mid-pace. “We’re going to find Gregor. He’s the only person who might give us real answers.”

Candy, who had been quietly analyzing the note, nodded. “Gregor is still at the Northwest estate.” She adjusted her glasses. “If he’s as loyal to Pacifica as she seems to think, he might tell us something useful.”

“Okay, so me and Dipper go shake down the butler,” Grenda said, cracking her knuckles. “I like this plan.”

Dipper shot her a look but didn’t argue. “Meanwhile, Mabel, you and Candy should follow the tire tracks we found behind the Shack. We don’t know if they lead anywhere, but if they do, it could give us more clues about where they went with Pacifica.”

Mabel grinned, hopping up from the couch. “Trailblazing? Oh, absolutely. Let me just say goodbye to Waddles!” She bounded upstairs.

Grenda clapped her hands together. “Awesome. Let’s go already—I’m getting real tired of those Northwests thinking they can do whatever they want.”

“Same here,” Dipper muttered, determination settling in his chest like iron.

Stan appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “Alright, kids, I get that you wanna go full-on spy mission, but let me remind you—these people? They play dirty.”

“So do we,” Grenda shot back.

Soos, standing beside Stan, nodded sagely. “For real, dudes, I heard rich people are like secret lizard overlords or something. Just don’t get caught.”

Mabel, coming back downstairs, waved a hand. “Pfft, please. When have we ever been caught?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a list?”

Before he could start listing, Dipper tightened his backpack straps and gave them both a firm nod. “We’ll be careful. But we have to do this.”

Stan sighed but ruffled Dipper’s hair before stepping back. “Alright, fine. Just make sure you come back in one piece.”

Mabel, Candy, Grenda, and Dipper exchanged a look.

Then, without another word, they set off.

Chapter Text

The golf cart rattled as it sped down the old dirt road, kicking up dust behind it. Mabel gripped the wheel with both hands, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Candy sat beside her, adjusting her glasses as she scanned the ground ahead. The tire tracks they were following curved away from the forest and onto the main highway, their dark imprints barely visible against the pavement.

“So,” Mabel said, squinting at the road signs as they zoomed past, “how much trouble do you think we’re gonna get in for this?”

“On a scale of one to Stan?” Candy mused. “I’d say about an ‘Oh no, the FBI is involved again.’”

Mabel let out an excited laugh. “Nice. That means we’re doing something right!”

They followed the tracks for a while longer, weaving through side roads and back highways until they reached a sign that made both of them blink.

Gravity Falls Regional Airstrip.

Mabel slammed on the brakes, sending the golf cart skidding to a dramatic stop. The dust cloud settled, and both girls leaned forward to stare at the chain-link fence stretching around the perimeter of the small airstrip.

“Well,” Candy said, adjusting her glasses, “that is… unexpected.”

Mabel tapped her chin. “Okay, so if Pacifica’s tire tracks led here, that means she didn’t just get kidnapped in a dramatic black car—she got kidnapped and then flown away in a dramatic black plane.”

Candy frowned. “That makes our job much harder. We can’t follow a plane.”

Mabel gasped. “Not with that attitude! We just need to know where it went.”

Candy eyed the airstrip skeptically. There weren’t many planes currently parked, just a few small private jets and cargo aircraft. A single control tower loomed above them, with a few buildings scattered near the runway.

“So… how do we break in?” Mabel asked, already looking for weaknesses in the fence.

“Isn’t this highly illegal?” Candy asked.

Mabel grinned. “Caaaandy, remember: morally speaking, we’re the good guys. So technically, this is reverse illegal.”

Candy sighed. “That’s not how laws work.”

“Pffft, laws are just government opinions.” Mabel waved a dismissive hand. “Now, do we sneak, or do we cause a distraction?”

Before Candy could answer, a voice from behind them made them both jump.

“You really shouldn’t be talking about breaking into an airstrip right outside the airstrip.”

They turned around slowly.

Wendy Corduroy stood leaning against the golf cart, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her face. She was wearing a uniform—a dark green work vest with the Gravity Falls Airstrip logo stitched on the side.

Mabel’s jaw dropped. “Wendy?! What are you doing here?”

“Summer job,” Wendy said lazily. “My dad knows the head of security. Pays okay, and I get to slack off near cool planes.”

Candy perked up. “Wait. If you work here… does that mean you have access to the flight records?”

Wendy’s smirk widened. “Depends. Are you asking as my friends? Or as two people about to commit federal crimes?”

Mabel put her hands together in a pleading motion. “Wendy, this is so important. Pacifica was kidnapped! We’re trying to figure out where they took her.”

Wendy blinked. “Whoa. Okay, that’s… actually a pretty legit reason.” She rubbed her chin. “I could get into the records room. But if we get caught, I’m totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Deal!” Mabel chirped.

“Wait—” Candy started, but Mabel was already pulling Wendy toward the airstrip’s side gate.

Wendy reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a keycard. “Okay, I’ll let you in through the maintenance entrance. Stay low, act like you belong, and if someone asks, you work here now.”

Mabel grinned. “Ooooh, can I have a cool nickname?”

“No,” Wendy said flatly, scanning the keycard. The lock beeped, and the gate clicked open.

Mabel and Candy ducked inside, following Wendy through a narrow hallway that led into the main building. The air smelled like jet fuel and stale coffee. The hum of distant engines vibrated through the floor.

Wendy led them past the break room, where a bored-looking employee was watching a soap opera on his phone. Then they turned down a quieter hallway lined with office doors.

“This is it,” Wendy whispered, stopping outside a room labeled FLIGHT LOGS – RESTRICTED ACCESS.

She pulled out another keycard. “Okay, I can get you in, but you have to be quick. Every flight that leaves here gets recorded. If Pacifica left last night, her plane will be in there.”

She swiped the card, and the door unlocked with a soft click.

Mabel and Candy slipped inside, hearts pounding.

The room was filled with filing cabinets and computer terminals. A large whiteboard on the far wall listed upcoming flights, but they needed past records.

“Check the files for last night,” Candy whispered, already scanning the labels on the cabinets.

Mabel hopped onto the rolling office chair and spun once before stopping. “Okay, serious mode. Where’s the ‘Private Jet to Evil Parent Prison’ folder?”

Candy laughed and continued searching. “Look for anything with ‘Northwest’ or ‘private charter.’”

Wendy stood by the door, keeping an eye on the hallway. “Hurry up, dudes. My job kind of depends on not committing crimes.”

Mabel flipped through the files, eyes scanning for anything useful. “A-ha! I found—oh wait, no, this is just a guy named Steve who keeps renting planes for skydiving.”

Candy pulled out another file. “Here’s something—wait, no, that’s cargo shipments.”

“Ugh, come on,” Mabel groaned. “Where’s the juicy billionaire secret files?”

Before they could dig any deeper, the sound of footsteps made them all freeze.

A voice grumbled from outside. “I swear I heard something…”

A security guard.

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Crap. Hide!”

The three of them scrambled.

Mabel dove under the desk, Candy flattened herself behind a filing cabinet, and Wendy—thinking fast—grabbed the nearest mop and pretended to be cleaning.

The doorknob turned.

The door creaked open.

A shadow fell across the room.

The security guard stepped inside.

And the three of them held their breath.

◬ ◬ ◬

The Northwest Mansion loomed against the night sky, its grand silhouette casting long shadows over the sprawling estate. The towering iron gates stood locked, as imposing as ever, but that wasn’t enough to stop Dipper and Grenda.

Hidden behind a row of manicured hedges, Dipper peered through his binoculars at the guards patrolling the property. “Still crawling with staff,” he muttered. “If we go through the front, we’re toast.”

Grenda cracked her knuckles. “Good thing we’re not going through the front.”

Dipper turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “You got a plan?”

Grenda smirked. “Of course I do. We climb.”

Dipper followed her gaze to the ivy-covered stone wall that lined the side of the estate. It wasn’t exactly climb-proof, but it was still very tall.

Dipper hesitated. “I don’t know, Grenda, that’s—”

Before he could finish, Grenda hoisted him up by the back of his vest and tossed him onto the ledge like a sack of potatoes.

He landed with a muffled oof before rolling onto his back, winded.

“See? Easy,” Grenda said, effortlessly scaling the wall herself and landing beside him.

Dipper groaned, rubbing his ribs. “You terrify me sometimes.”

“I know,” Grenda said proudly.

The two crouched low, moving carefully across the estate grounds. The mansion’s windows glowed warmly, sounds of servants’ chatter and clinking silverware echoing from inside. Dipper’s stomach turned at the thought of everyone continuing their lives as if nothing had happened—like Pacifica’s parents hadn’t just stolen her away.

“We need to get to Gregor,” Dipper whispered as they reached the side entrance. “He’s our only shot at figuring out where they took her.”

Grenda nodded. “Then let’s move.”

The door was locked, but a well-placed shoulder check from Grenda took care of that. The lock snapped, and the two slipped inside, closing it quickly behind them.

The interior was as opulent as ever, the grand hall lined with chandeliers and expensive paintings. The smell of polished wood and expensive cologne filled the air.

Dipper pulled out his flashlight, keeping it low. “We’ll take the servant corridors. Less foot traffic.”

Grenda nodded, and they weaved through the mansion like shadows, ducking behind statues and slipping through half-open doors whenever footsteps approached. The tension in Dipper’s chest grew with every step. Every second wasted was another second Pacifica was gone.

Finally, after navigating through a narrow hallway, they reached the butler’s quarters.

Dipper hesitated outside the door. “This is it.”

Grenda nodded. “Knock, or just bust in?”

Dipper gave her a look. “Let’s try ‘knock’ first.”

He rapped his knuckles softly against the wooden door.

Silence.

Then, after a long pause, the door cracked open—just enough for a pair of weary blue eyes to peer out.

Gregor.

The older man’s face was lined with exhaustion, his usual composure cracked under the weight of guilt. The moment he saw them, his eyes widened in relief.

“Mr. Pines,” he whispered. “Miss Grenda. Thank heavens.”

Gregor quickly pulled them inside before shutting the door behind them. The butler’s quarters were modest compared to the rest of the mansion—simple wooden furniture, books stacked neatly on a desk, a worn armchair in the corner.

Dipper wasted no time. “Where is she?”

Gregor let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temple. “I tried… I truly did. There was nothing I could do to stop them.”

Dipper’s hands clenched into fists. “You could’ve warned us.”

Gregor’s face twisted with regret. “Had I done so, they would have found out. And you would all be in far greater danger.”

Grenda folded her arms. “We can handle danger. What we need is information. Where’d they take her?”

Gregor hesitated, his jaw tightening. “They—”

But before he could answer, the sound of footsteps approached the door.

And then—

The door handle turned.

They all froze.

Dipper’s breath hitched. Gregor’s posture went rigid. Grenda’s fingers curled into fists.

The handle turned again, slower this time. Someone was about to come in.

◬ ◬ ◬

The click of Pacifica’s heels against the marble floor was the only sound that filled the massive guest chambers she’d been locked in. White walls stretched high, lined with paintings of long-dead royals. A bed fit for an empress sat untouched in the center of the room, its silk sheets untouched. A grand fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the towering windows—windows that overlooked the sprawling Austrian countryside.

It would’ve been a stunning view. If she weren’t a prisoner.

Pacifica dragged a hand through her hair, pacing in front of the fireplace. She’d spent the last hour testing every door, every possible escape route. All locked. Her parents had made sure of that.

No phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world.

They really did it this time.

She clenched her fists. This wasn’t just a forced engagement—it was a hostage situation.

And the worst part? She was stuck waiting for her fiancé—Prince Marius Fundhauser—to make his grand entrance tomorrow morning.

Pacifica scoffed. Like I’m just gonna sit here and play the good little princess.

She turned toward the windows, considering whether jumping three stories was worth the broken leg—

Then—

A click.

She spun.

The hidden door beside the fireplace cracked open, revealing a narrow, dimly-lit passageway.

Pacifica took a cautious step back, her pulse spiking.

Then, a figure slipped through.

A young man—around her age, with tousled dark hair and sharp features, dressed in a loose white button-down and slacks. He moved with the quiet grace of someone used to sneaking around. His piercing green eyes locked onto hers, and he lifted a finger to his lips.

Pacifica crossed her arms. “So. You must be the prince.”

Marius smirked. “And you must be the princess. Or the prisoner.”

Pacifica narrowed her eyes. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

Marius glanced toward the locked door, then back at her. “No guards stationed outside?”

“Not visibly. But I’m guessing if I so much as breathe in the wrong direction, someone’s watching.”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Then I’ll make this quick.”

Pacifica tensed. “What do you want?”

Marius hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. Then, finally—

“I don’t want to marry you.”

Pacifica blinked. “Well, that makes two of us.”

He exhaled, his expression serious. “This engagement—this entire thing—it’s a political move. My family needs your family’s connections, and your parents need my family’s wealth and status. It was decided before I had a choice to put an end to it.”

Pacifica huffed, folding her arms. “Wow, I feel so special.”

Marius smirked slightly. “I’m sure you’re lovely, but honestly I’m not thrilled about this arrangement.”

Pacifica arched an eyebrow. “So, what’s your real reason for sneaking in here?”

Marius ran a hand through his hair. “Because I wanted to meet you first. Before our families start parading us around like trophies.”

Something in his tone made her pause.

There was resentment in his voice. Frustration. Like someone who had been fighting against the life planned for him for a long time.

Pacifica studied him. “…You really don’t want this, do you?”

Marius let out a breath. “No. Because…” He hesitated, then looked her straight in the eye.

“Because I’m in love with someone else, her name’s Grenda, she lives in the same town as you—“

Pacifica’s stomach dropped.

No. No way.

Her eyes widened.

“You’re Grenda’s secret boyfriend?!”

Marius froze. 

“Oh my gosh,” Pacifica whispered, her voice sharp with realization. “She’s been talking about you for years! ‘Mysterious European boyfriend’—who she won’t name, won’t show us pictures of—that’s you?!”

Marius groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “She was never supposed to tell anyone.”

“She didn’t! She just… described you. And, wow, I cannot believe this.”

Pacifica clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. This entire time, she thought she was the one stuck in some royal drama—turns out Grenda had been starring in her own for five years straight.

Marius shot her a glare. “This is not funny.”

“Oh, no, it is. It definitely is.”

Marius groaned again. “Pacifica.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She took a deep breath, finally reining it in. “Okay. So, you don’t want to marry me because you love Grenda.”

Marius nodded, jaw tight.

Pacifica folded her arms. “Well, I really don’t want to marry you.”

Marius smirked slightly. “I think we just became friends.”

Pacifica returned the smirk. “Yeah. I think we did.”

It was a nice moment, but then Marius’ expression darkened. “We need to find a way out of this.”

Pacifica exhaled. “You’re telling me. My parents are willing to drag me halfway across the world to make sure this happens. And your parents? I don’t think they’ll take ‘no’ lightly either.”

Marius’s jaw tightened. “They won’t.”

Pacifica shook her head. “We need a plan.”

Marius nodded. “And we need it fast.”

Chapter Text

The door creaked open, and Mabel’s heart nearly stopped.

A uniformed security guard stepped inside, flashlight in hand. She was tall, with a sharp jawline and straight black hair, her stance radiating authority.

Candy flattened herself against the filing cabinet, barely breathing. Mabel, still wedged under the desk, stared wide-eyed as Wendy clutched her mop, pretending to be just another underpaid employee.

The guard’s piercing gaze swept the room, her brows furrowing. She stepped forward, about to reach for her radio—

And then, Wendy let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, thank god it’s you, babe.”

The security guard froze. Her flashlight swung toward Wendy, illuminating her face properly.

“…Wen?” the woman said, lowering the light slightly.

Mabel, from her spot under the desk, gasped dramatically. “Wendy has a secret girlfriend?!”

Wendy shot her a look. “Not secret, dude. I just don’t tell you guys everything.”

The security guard—who Mabel now realized was a little flustered, her tough demeanor cracking—glanced between them. “What… are you doing in the flight records office?” she asked, suspicion laced in her tone.

Wendy gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “Uh… look, this is a long story, Emma.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Emma said, crossing her arms. “Try me.”

Mabel, sensing this was their moment, shot out from under the desk and grabbed Emma’s hands dramatically. “We’re on a super important, life-or-death mission to save our friend from her evil parents, and we need to check the flight logs or else she might be lost forever! Please, please, please don’t turn us in!”

Emma blinked at her, then at Candy, who was still half-hidden behind the filing cabinet.

Candy straightened up. “To clarify, this is not a crime. It is… a morally justified act of investigation.”

Wendy sighed. “Yeah, babe. They’re telling the truth. Pacifica Northwest got kidnapped by her parents, and we’re trying to figure out where they took her.”

Emma frowned, her sharp blue eyes studying them carefully. “Wait… Northwest?” she asked, voice skeptical. 

“Yep,” Wendy confirmed.

“And you’re helping them?”

Mabel waved her arms. “She’s always been one of us!”

Emma still looked hesitant. “You know I like my job, right? And I like not getting fired for tampering with private flight records?”

Wendy gave her a small smirk, stepping closer. “C’mon, Em. It’s not technically tampering if you just… look the other way while we check one tiny little file.”

Emma exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The things I do for you.”

“I know,” Wendy said, leaning in with a teasing grin. “Just this one time.”

Emma let out a very put-upon sigh, muttering something under her breath about “your stupid cute face” before finally shaking her head.

“Alright, fine. Five minutes . But if anyone asks, I never saw you.”

Mabel let out a silent cheer as Candy quickly dove back into the filing cabinets.

Emma moved toward the door, leaning against it like a bored employee on patrol. “Hurry it up, before someone else comes in.”

Mabel saluted. “Aye, aye, captain!”

Candy’s fingers moved quickly, flipping through log entries, scanning each page. Her brow furrowed in concentration before she suddenly stiffened.

“Got it,” she whispered.

Mabel, Wendy, and Emma crowded around as Candy held up the file.

“Private charter. Last night. Departure: Gravity Falls Regional Airstrip. Destination…” Candy’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening slightly. “…Vienna, Austria.”

Mabel’s jaw dropped. “Austria?”

Wendy let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s not exactly a quick road trip.”

Emma looked over their shoulders at the file, then shot Wendy a look. “Babe. You didn’t tell me your life was this insane.”

Wendy shrugged. “Welcome to Gravity Falls.”

Mabel grabbed Candy’s shoulders. “Okay, okay, okay. Think. Why Austria? What’s in Austria?”

Candy frowned. “I don’t know. But it means they took Pacifica out of the country for a reason.”

Mabel let out a dramatic groan, slumping against the desk. “Ughhhh, this is so mysterious but also so frustrating. Why can’t they just kidnap people locally?”

Emma looked mildly concerned at that sentence, but Wendy just snorted.

Mabel quickly straightened up. “Okay. So, we know where she is. That’s step one.”

Candy nodded. “But we still don’t know why they took her there.”

“Or how you’re getting her back,” Wendy pointed out.

Mabel waved that off. “We’ll figure it out. Right now, we need to tell Dipper.”

She whipped out her phone, fingers flying over the screen as she typed.

FOUND HER! She’s in Austria!!! No idea why but we gotta move fast—call me ASAP!!

◬ ◬ ◬

The door handle turned, and Dipper and Grenda froze.

Gregor moved fast. He spun on his heel and gestured urgently toward the bed. Hide—now!

Dipper and Grenda didn’t hesitate. They dove for the floor, rolling under the butler’s bed just as the door creaked open.

From his cramped position, Dipper’s heart pounded in his ears. The scent of old books and polished wood filled his nose. The space was just big enough for the two of them, but Grenda was not built for subtlety—her elbow whacked into Dipper’s ribs as they tried to stay still.

A pair of polished heels stepped into view. “Gregor, I need to discuss the inventory changes with you.” The voice was clipped and businesslike. Probably one of the Northwest estate’s head housekeepers.

Gregor cleared his throat, his voice perfectly even. “Of course, Miss Calloway. What seems to be the issue?”

Dipper didn’t dare move, and her position beside him, Grenda barely breathed.

The woman continued speaking. “The storerooms on the east wing—there are discrepancies in the order records again. Lady Priscilla insists that we must keep stricter logs, especially now with…” She hesitated, then lowered her voice. “…with Miss Pacifica’s departure.”

Dipper tensed.

Gregor’s voice remained neutral. “I will handle the adjustments personally.”

“See that you do.”

There was a pause, then a shift in movement.

Dipper watched as the housekeeper’s polished shoes turned slightly… toward the bed. Her posture changed. Like she was considering something, and Dipper’s pulse spiked. Had she seen them?

For a moment, everything was too quiet.

Then, Miss Calloway sighed and turned away. “Good evening, Gregor.” 

She stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Dipper didn’t move until he heard her heels retreating down the hall. He exhaled sharply.

Grenda lurched out from under the bed first, dragging Dipper along like a sack of potatoes.

Gregor, looking slightly exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was… closer than I would prefer.”

“You think?!” Dipper whisper-yelled, brushing dust off his jacket.

Grenda cracked her knuckles. “I was this close to punching her shoes off if she stayed any longer.”

Gregor gave them a long, measured look. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stepped toward the door and locked it.

He turned back to them. “Alright,” he said, voice low. “You’ve come this far, you deserve the full truth.”

Dipper straightened. “Yes. Tell us everything.”

Gregor nodded. He sat down at his modest desk, clasping his hands together. “It is worse than you imagine,” he began gravely.

Dipper’s stomach tightened, and Gregor continued. “Pacifica’s parents did not simply take her back to ‘correct’ her behavior. They have arranged a marriage.”

Dipper’s brain short-circuited. “What?”

Grenda visibly stiffened beside him. Her hands curled into fists.

Gregor nodded solemnly. “Pacifica has been sent to Austria, where she is to be wed to Crown Prince Marius Fundhauser.”

Silence.

Dipper’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to process. His head spun. Pacifica. Engaged? To some prince she didn’t even know?

“She’s—she’s barely eighteen!” Dipper sputtered. “They can’t force her to marry someone—”

Gregor gave him a look. “The Northwests can, and they will. This is not about her. It is about wealth. Status. Control.”

Dipper felt sick.

All the nights he and Pacifica had sat under the stars, talking about freedom—about choice—and now she was being locked into something she had zero say in.

“But—why Austria?” he demanded. “What does this marriage even do for them?”

Gregor sighed. “The Northwest estate has been facing financial strain. Preston Northwest refuses to let the world see weakness. A royal connection—especially to Austrian nobility—will restore their status.”

Dipper clenched his fists. “And they don’t care what she wants.”

Gregor shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

Dipper gritted his teeth. “I swear, when we get her back—”

Then, suddenly, Grenda stood up so fast that her chair nearly toppled over. Her shoulders were tense. Her jaw locked.

Dipper frowned. “Grenda?”

She didn’t answer. Her hands were shaking.

Dipper’s concern deepened. “Grenda, what’s—”

Then Gregor, who had been watching her carefully, finally spoke. “Miss Grenda,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I am truly sorry—losing your friend must be hard for you.”

Dipper looked between them, confused. 

And then, something clicked. She wasn’t this upset about Pacifica. His mind raced back to what Gregor had said. Crown Prince Marius Fundhauser. The royal engagement. The forced marriage. Something Mabel had mentioned in passing to him over the years—Grenda’s secret boyfriend.

Dipper’s stomach dropped. “…Grenda,” he said slowly, realization dawning, “Marius is your—”

Grenda inhaled sharply. “He’s mine ,” she interrupted, voice tight.

Dipper’s heart plummeted. “I’m sorry, Grenda.”

Gregor sighed. “The truth is sometimes hard to hear.”

Dipper swallowed hard. “And Pacifica?” he asked, voice raw.

Gregor met his gaze. “If they succeed… she will be trapped.”

Silence filled the room again.

Dipper gritted his teeth. “Then we’re not gonna let them succeed.”

Grenda nodded, and determination replaced the initial shock. Dipper pulled out his phone, hands still shaking slightly. No matter what it took, they were getting Pacifica back.

He turned on his screen—only to see he had an unread message from Mabel.

FOUND HER! She’s in Austria!!! No idea why but we gotta move fast—call me ASAP!!

Dipper exhaled. At least they were on the same page. He quickly typed back.

We know. They took her there to force her to marry Prince Marius Fundhauser. Get ready—we’re gonna stop this.

◬ ◬ ◬

Pacifica barely slept.

The moment Marius had slipped back through the hidden door to his own chambers, she had thrown herself onto the absurdly large bed and stared at the ceiling, mind racing. They had no plan, and time was slipping away.

She had spent most of the night sitting by the window, watching the moon cast long shadows over the palace gardens. Her mind churned through every escape scenario—none of them realistic.

Even if she got past the guards, even if she somehow reached the outer walls, where would she go? She was in a foreign country, alone, without money, a phone, or a way to contact anyone back home. Her parents had made sure of that.

The thought of Preston and Priscilla Northwest made her stomach churn with disgust. She hadn't spoken a single word to them since the flight. She had no doubt they would be at breakfast, sitting there like they owned the world. They probably thought she had already given up.

But Pacifica was not giving up.

By the time morning arrived, she had barely dozed off. A knock at the door startled her upright.

“Miss Northwest,” came a formal voice from the other side. “It is time for breakfast.”

Pacifica groaned, rubbing her face. “Great. I can’t wait.”

She dragged herself up, splashed cold water on her face, and straightened her posture. If she had to sit across from her parents and pretend like she wasn’t imagining flipping the entire breakfast table onto them, she needed to look composed.

A maid opened the doors, and two guards flanked her as they escorted her down a long, opulent hallway. Everything here was dripping in gold—marble floors, massive chandeliers, paintings of stiff-faced royals who had probably been forced into marriages just like her.

She clenched her fists as they reached the dining hall. The doors swung open, and Pacifica stepped inside, her face carefully blank.

The room was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the golden morning light, illuminating the long table set with more food than any normal human could ever eat in one sitting.

At the head of the table sat Marius’s mother, Queen Elise Fundhauser and his uncle and stepfather, the King Regent Frederick, as the prince had told her in their meeting last night.

The King Regent was a broad-shouldered man, imposing but not unkind looking, with a sharp beard that made him seem sterner than he probably was. His wife, Queen Elise, had striking green eyes and a regal air, but there was a softness to her face that caught Pacifica off guard.

And of course, at their sides sat her parents.

Preston Northwest, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit, barely glanced up from his coffee. Priscilla, her usual expression of controlled disappointment in place, nodded in greeting like Pacifica was some business associate rather than her own daughter.

Pacifica didn’t even look at them. Instead, her gaze landed on Marius.

The prince sat a few seats away from his parents, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t even touched the food in front of him. His posture was straight, composed—but his hands were clasped tightly together, a silent indication that he wasn’t as calm as he looked. Pacifica wasn’t surprised.

She took a seat as far from her parents as possible, keeping her shoulders squared.

A butler poured her a glass of orange juice. She ignored it.

The King Regent was the first to speak. “Miss Northwest,” he said, his voice deep but not unfriendly. “It is good to finally meet you.”

Pacifica tilted her head slightly, schooling her expression into something polite but distant. “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

Queen Elise gave her a measured look. “I understand you must be adjusting. Traveling so far from home is never easy.”

Pacifica smiled thinly. “I didn’t exactly plan on this trip.”

A tense silence followed.

Priscilla’s eyes flickered toward her, but Pacifica still refused to acknowledge her.

King Regent Frederick cleared his throat. “Pacifica, we want to assure you that you will be treated with the utmost respect here in our home.”

Pacifica forced a neutral expression. “That’s… good to know.”

Her fingers itched to grab the nearest knife and stab it straight through the entire situation.

Queen Elise studied her. “You’ll be wed to Marius a week from now, just after his coronation,” she paused, sighing quietly. “I know this arrangement may seem sudden, but I hope we can at least come to an understanding.”

Pacifica finally met her gaze directly. “An understanding?” she repeated, voice flat.

Elise’s expression softened slightly. “I do not believe in forcing happiness, Miss Northwest.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. That was an interesting thing to say, considering her entire situation.

Frederick took a sip of coffee, glancing at his nephew. “Marius has always been a responsible young man, especially after his father passed. We know this is an unusual situation for you both.”

Marius stayed silent, and Pacifica didn’t blame him.

Preston finally spoke, his voice smooth and calculated. “Pacifica understands her duty .”

Pacifica wanted to laugh . She wanted to say, I must’ve missed the part where being your daughter meant being auctioned off to the highest bidder. 

She felt the heat rise in her chest, sharp and suffocating, but she kept her expression neutral. The sheer audacity of it all—the way her parents spoke about her life like it was a mere inconvenience to them. Like she was something to be bartered with. Like she was still theirs.

She wanted to push back, to say something cutting, something that would crack the control her parents held so tightly over this situation.

But she didn’t.

Because something about the way the King Regent looked at her—the quiet calculation in his gaze—sent a prickle of warning down her spine. She was being assessed.

She swallowed, her mind working fast. This wasn’t like arguing with her parents back home. This wasn’t throwing her credit card on a table and walking away. This wasn’t leaving the mansion forever and ending up at the Mystery Shack, where people actually cared about her.

This was dangerous. And if she wanted to survive it—if she wanted to win—she had to stop reacting.

Pacifica exhaled, smoothing her napkin onto her lap, and gave the King a polite, practiced smile. “Well yes, of course,” she said, her voice even, her expression carefully composed. “Duty is so important—I’d hate to make things… complicated.”

Something flickered in Frederick’s eyes. “Complication,” he said, setting his cup down, “is rarely a good thing in our world.”

Priscilla, who had been rigid with tension just moments ago, relaxed ever so slightly. Preston did the same, though his jaw remained tight. They bought it.

Pacifica forced herself to lift her teacup, taking a slow sip, as if she weren’t seething beneath the surface. As if she weren’t already planning her next move.

“Pacifica,” Queen Elise spoke now, her voice gentle, “I know this must feel overwhelming, but in time, you’ll come to see the benefits of this arrangement.”

Pacifica smiled—small, effortless, unreadable. The kind of smile that had once fooled high society into thinking she was perfect. “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

Marius, silent this whole time, shifted in his seat. He was watching her carefully. Pacifica didn’t look at him directly, only out of the corner of her eye. 

Good. He understood. They were still in this together.

She reached for her fork, forcing herself to take a bite of her breakfast. She had to keep up appearances now. Had to let her parents believe they had won.

Because the more they believed she was complying, the more time she had.

And time, right now, was the most valuable thing she could steal.

Chapter Text

The wheels of Soos’s old station wagon rattled against the pavement, the headlights cutting through the dimming evening light as Dipper gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. The car smelled like stale French fries and a little too much air freshener, but right now, Dipper couldn’t care less.

Beside him, Grenda sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

The only sound was the steady hum of the engine.

Dipper’s phone, wedged into the dashboard holder, buzzed.

Mabel.

He tapped the screen, putting her on speaker. “Tell me you’ve got good news.”

The roar of an engine and the erratic whooping of Mabel Pines filled the car. “Oh-ho, do I have the news, my wonderful brother. Wendy delivered. Emma delivered. Guess who has FOUR last-minute plane tickets to Austria tonight?”

Dipper let out a sharp breath of relief. “No way.”

“Way,” Mabel confirmed smugly. The background noise suggested she was also speeding down the highway in a literal golf cart, Candy probably clinging on for dear life.

Grenda barely reacted. She just kept staring out the window.

Dipper tightened his grip on the wheel. “How the heck did you manage that?”

Mabel laughed like a criminal mastermind. “Wendy sweet-talked the airline clerk, Emma got us a ‘family and employee discount’ using her connections —”

Candy’s voice cut in, “Her dad works at the airport.”

Dipper smiled. “Okay, so we have tickets. That’s huge. We threw together some luggage as we passed by the Mystery Shack. We’re on our way to the airport now. You’re coming in the golf cart?”

“Yup! Top speed!”

“We are going twenty-five miles per hour ,” Candy enunciated. 

“Top. Speed.”

Dipper exhaled sharply. “Mabel, I swear, if you two get arrested for reckless golf cart driving before we even leave the country—”

“I’m a woman of the law, Dipping Sauce. I know my rights.”

A distant siren blared in the background.

Candy’s voice was now panicked. “Mabel, that is definitely a cop.”

“GOTTA GO—” Mabel shouted, and the call cut out.

Dipper let out a slow breath, glancing at Grenda, who still hadn’t said a word. She had barely reacted to any of that, and that was saying something.

He hesitated, then softened his voice. “Grenda, we’re gonna fix this.”

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

But there was no fire in her tone. No booming voice. No cracking her knuckles or threatening to rip off Preston Northwest’s mustache with her bare hands.

Just that one, quiet syllable.

Dipper hated that. Grenda was never quiet.

He turned his eyes back to the road, speeding toward the airport. They had exactly one goal.

◬ ◬ ◬

Mabel’s grip on the golf cart’s steering wheel tightened as she swerved onto the highway’s emergency lane. Headlights flashed around them. A couple of truck drivers honked aggressively.

Candy, still holding onto the seat for dear life, yelled over the wind. “We are going to get fined!”

Mabel, eyes gleaming with determination, yelled back, “Not if we make it to the airport first.”

Behind them, the one highway patrol car that had noticed their completely illegal stunt flipped on its sirens.

Candy slapped Mabel’s arm repeatedly. “Mabel. Police.”

“I am aware. ”

Candy grabbed the radio. “Wendy! We might be in pursuit.”

Wendy’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Mabel. Please tell me you are not being chased by law enforcement.”

Mabel huffed. “‘Chased’ is a strong word. More like… ‘mildly pursued at an inconvenient time.’”

Candy threw up her hands. “It’s a chase!”

The patrol car gained on them. Mabel, full Fast & Furious mode, yanked the steering wheel and veered onto the next highway exit—the one labeled “Airport”.

Candy screamed. “MABEL—”

Tires screeched. The cart swerved into the parking lot. Mabel pulled the emergency brake and sent the golf cart into a perfect sideways drift into the airport’s “Drop-Off Zone.” 

The patrol car zoomed past them, unable to make the turn fast enough.

Candy was hyperventilating. Mabel pulled off her sunglasses dramatically.

“We’re here.”

Candy, barely alive, exhaled, “…I hate you.”

Wendy’s voice crackled on the radio. “Did you just Tokyo Drift a golf cart?”

Mabel looked smug. “Yes.” She hopped out of the cart like nothing had happened. “Okay, where’s Dipper?”

Candy shakily followed. “If I die before we even board the plane, I want a refund.”

Wendy spoke. “Emma says your flights are leaving from Gate 7. Get there fast—boarding time is soon. And good luck!”

Mabel grinned. “You are the best.”

Dipper and Grenda pulled into the airport parking lot, tires screeching slightly. As soon as they stopped, Dipper shut off the engine, and grabbed his backpack. He also grabbed the luggage and they both stepped out of the car.

Mabel waved at them wildly from the entrance. “Dipper! Grenda! LET’S GO!”

Dipper tossed his backpack over his shoulder. “This is happening.”

Grenda cracked her neck. “This is happening.”

Candy sighed, holding up their plane tickets. “God help us all.”

◬ ◬ ◬

Navigating the airport should have been stressful. But somehow, against all odds, it was… fun.

After all, it wasn’t every day that the four of them got to dash through an international terminal, passports in hand, on a mission to rescue their friend from an arranged royal marriage.

Security went smoother than expected. Dipper, ever the responsible one, had all their documents in perfect order, handing them out like a seasoned traveler. Despite the absolute chaos surrounding them, was relieved that things were moving fast. Every minute wasted was a minute Pacifica was still trapped.

Once they made it past security, the waiting began.

There was the duty-free shopping, where Mabel insisted they all buy matching sunglasses to “blend in” once they landed in Austria. Then came the food court detour, where she bought an excessive amount of fast food "for the flight"—though half of it disappeared before they even reached their gate.

Dipper and Candy sat at one of the chairs by the window, watching as their plane was being loaded up.

“Sixteen hours,” Candy said, tapping her fingers against the armrest. “That’s a lot of time to sit in one place.”

Dipper sighed. “Yeah. But it also means sixteen hours to come up with a real plan.”

Candy adjusted her glasses. “We’re about to commit international interference in royal affairs. This is either going to be a heroic adventure or a diplomatic incident.”

Dipper smirked. “You say that like we haven’t been involved in way worse.”

Candy nodded. “Fair point.”

Meanwhile, Mabel had managed to convince Grenda to at least browse the bookstore with her. They didn’t buy anything, but Mabel did insist that she could read an entire magazine for free if she just stood there long enough. Grenda barely reacted, but she went along with it, which was enough for Mabel to keep trying.

By the time they finally reached the gate, Emma was waiting for them. She handed them their boarding passes. “I got you all window seats, but you’re split up. Flight’s almost full.”

Grenda finally spoke. “Doesn’t matter. We just need to get there.”

Mabel looped her arm through Grenda’s. “And when we do, we’re throwing a giant ‘Screw You, Northwests’ party.”

Grenda let out a short breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. It was something.

Emma waved them toward the gate. “Alright, go. Plane won’t wait forever.”

They boarded.

Once inside the plane, it became clear just how long this flight was going to be.

Candy and Dipper ended up seated together a few rows ahead, while Mabel and Grenda were further back.

As soon as they settled into their seats, Mabel pulled out a sleep mask with glittery cat eyes on it. “Alright, we got sixteen hours. We can do this the smart way and sleep through it, or the fun way and binge all the Twilight movies.”

Grenda, still staring blankly at the seat in front of her, didn’t react.

Mabel frowned slightly, then nudged her shoulder. “Hey. I know this sucks.”

Grenda exhaled. “Yeah.”

Mabel tilted her head. “But we’re gonna fix it. And Marius is gonna be okay. And your relationship is gonna be okay.”

Grenda finally turned to look at her.

“I know it doesn’t feel like that now,” Mabel continued, her voice softer, “but we’re your friends. We got your back. And even if things get messy—which, let’s be real, they will—we’re gonna figure it out together.”

Grenda didn’t respond right away, but she nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Mabel grinned. “Now, do you want a snack? Because I stole so many tiny bags of pretzels from the snack cart already.”

Grenda laughed—real, genuine. “How can I say no to that?”

A few rows ahead, Dipper flicked through the old, leather-bound journal in his lap.

Great-Uncle Ford had given it to him before they left—filled with notes about Austria’s history of anomalies and strange creatures that Ford and Stan had encountered on their travels.

Dipper was halfway through an entry on the Stone Kings of Salzburg when Candy nudged him.

“Hey.”

Dipper looked up. “Yeah?”

Candy pointed at her screen. “I downloaded five horror movies before we left. Watch them with me.”

Dipper blinked. “Aren’t horror movies the worst choice for flights?”

Candy smirked. “Only if you’re a coward .”

Dipper rolled his eyes but put the journal aside. “Alright, fine. What are we watching?”

She pressed play. It was definitely the wrong choice.

Thirty minutes later, Dipper was gripping the armrest as some hideous, shadowy creature dragged a screaming hiker into the woods on screen.

Candy popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth, completely unaffected. “You okay?”

Dipper exhaled. “Yeah. Totally.”

Candy side-eyed him. “Uh-huh. Want me to pause it?”

“No.”

“Want me to turn the volume down?”

“…Maybe.”

She snickered but lowered the volume slightly.

Hours passed.

Mabel eventually dozed off, her head resting against Grenda’s shoulder. Grenda stayed awake, staring out the window at the endless stretch of sky, lost in thought.

Candy powered through three movies before finally giving in and falling asleep. Dipper went back to flipping through Ford’s notes, taking in whatever information might help them once they landed.

Sixteen hours was a long flight.

◬ ◬ ◬

Pacifica stood on the fitting pedestal, surrounded by mirrors and layers of imported lace, feeling like a mannequin in a store window.

The seamstresses bustled around her, adjusting, pinning, and whispering about alterations. The fabric of the wedding gown clung to her body like a silk cage, pristine and suffocating.

Her mother, Priscilla Northwest, sat in a plush chair nearby, scrolling through her phone with one perfectly manicured hand, occasionally glancing up to give her unsolicited opinions.

"Hmm," Priscilla hummed, eyes flicking over Pacifica’s reflection. "That bodice is passable, I suppose, but the waistline should be more structured. We don’t want you looking sloppy in the photographs."

Pacifica forced a smile, hands clasped in front of her. "Of course not, Mother."

Priscilla barely acknowledged the response. She tapped at her phone screen before speaking again.

"And for goodness’ sake, Pacifica, stand up straight. The last thing we need is you slouching like some commoner in your wedding portraits."

Pacifica adjusted her posture. She didn't let her expression change.

She had mastered this long ago—how to nod, how to agree, how to let her mother’s words roll off her back like they didn’t sink beneath her skin and take root.

One of the seamstresses knelt to adjust the hem. "We’ll need to take the waist in slightly," the woman murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Priscilla sighed, barely looking up from her phone. "Obviously. The fit is unflattering as it is. And with the way Pacifica has filled out in the past year, we can’t have any unfortunate bulging in the wrong places."

Pacifica’s stomach tightened, but she smiled like she hadn’t heard it.

Bide your time. Don’t react. You’re playing a long game now.

"Perhaps something with more structure around the midsection?" Priscilla continued, as though discussing an art piece in need of improvement. "Or should we consider a corset? A real one, not the flimsy things they try to pass off as shapewear these days."

The seamstress gave a polite nod. "We can add boning to the bodice for support, but the gown is already structured. We wouldn’t want it to become too restrictive."

Priscilla made a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense. Pacifica doesn’t mind, do you, dear?"

Pacifica smiled, the same empty, trained smile she had perfected over years of high-society events. "Of course not, Mother."

The seamstresses continued their work, tucking and pinning, murmuring about lace and satin and embellishments.

Pacifica let them fuss over her. Let her mother keep talking.

She had learned long ago that arguing with Priscilla was a waste of energy.

Instead, she let her mind work on more important things.

Like how to get out of here.

Like how much time she had left.

Like whether or not Marius had made any progress on their so-called alliance.

She wasn’t deluded enough to believe that they could just run . No, this needed to be done carefully, with precision.

Her father would ensure there were no loose ends. If she was going to escape, she needed to be smarter than him.

A knock at the door broke through the hushed murmurs of the fitting room.

A servant entered, a young woman with a crisp uniform and a carefully neutral expression. She bowed slightly before speaking. "Miss Northwest, His Highness has requested your presence in the courtyard."

Pacifica’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Marius?

Priscilla perked up, setting her phone down for the first time since the fitting began. "Oh, how lovely," she said, a rare warmth creeping into her voice. "How considerate of him to spend time with you before the official engagement dinner tonight."

Pacifica glanced at her mother through the mirror.

Considerate? More like he had something to tell her. Something important. 

Still, she smiled as though she agreed. "Yes. Lovely."

Priscilla gave her an appraising look. "You will be polite, won’t you? I won’t have you embarrassing this family in front of him. First impressions are everything, and this is your chance to make yourself invaluable to him."

Pacifica turned on the pedestal. The wedding gown, still unfinished, flowed around her feet like liquid silver.

She held her mother’s gaze and gave her sweetest, most saccharine smile.

"Of course, Mother."

Then she stepped down, allowing the seamstresses to begin the careful process of unpinning her from the dress.

She kept smiling.

◬ ◬ ◬

Pacifica walked with measured grace through the palace corridors, her every step shadowed by two attendants and a pair of discreetly armed guards. The marble halls were cool despite the summer sun filtering through the tall windows, casting golden light across the ornate tapestries and gilded archways.

As they stepped outside into the courtyard, a light breeze caught the hem of her dress. The garden was breathtaking, filled with manicured hedges, ivy-wrapped trellises, and the delicate scent of blooming roses. A grand fountain stood at the center, water cascading in perfect harmony. It was all so picturesque.

It was all so suffocating.

Marius stood near the fountain, hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed formally but not stiffly—his shirt sleeves were rolled up slightly, the first real hint of informality she had seen from him. When he saw her approach, he offered a polite, distant smile.

“Miss Northwest,” he greeted, his voice smooth and regal.

“Your Highness,” she responded, dipping into a practiced curtsy.

The attendants positioned themselves a respectful distance away, but they didn’t leave. The guards stood rigid at their posts, silent but ever watchful.

Pacifica and Marius exchanged the polite pleasantries expected of them.

“I trust your fitting was successful?” he asked.

Pacifica smiled lightly, playing her role. “As successful as one could expect.”

“I imagine preparations must be overwhelming.”

“Not the word I’d choose, but close enough.”

The conversation remained light, full of empty words meant to please the lingering ears of their watchers. They moved slowly through the courtyard, pretending to admire the garden while the weight of expectation loomed over them.

Then, after a pause, Marius turned slightly toward the guards and attendants.

“Leave us,” he said.

There was a moment of hesitation.

One of the attendants—a wiry man with an air of self-importance—cleared his throat. “Your Highness, we are under strict orders not to—”

Marius’s expression didn’t change, but there was something behind his gaze, something cool and authoritative. “Are you suggesting the future King of Austria cannot have a private moment with his future wife?”

The attendant paled slightly, suddenly unsure.

Marius raised an eyebrow. “Shall I tell my uncle that his own staff refuses to follow direct orders?”

That did it.

The attendants exchanged glances before bowing stiffly. The guards hesitated a second longer before reluctantly retreating back, out of earshot and out of sight, but still there. In case they tried to run, he guessed. 

The moment they were alone, Marius’s posture shifted. He dropped the polite, practiced demeanor and exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Finally.”

Pacifica gave him a smirk. “You really know how to make people scatter.”

“It’s a skill,” he muttered.

Then, without another word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, inconspicuous phone.

Pacifica’s eyes widened slightly. A burner phone.

Marius held it up, voice low. “Found it hidden in the east wing—one of the maids must have stashed it away for emergencies.” He glanced at her. “It has a new SIM card, no records attached. We have one shot at this before someone realizes it’s missing.”

Pacifica’s heart pounded.

“I’ll try Grenda first.”

Pacifica nodded, watching his fingers quickly typing in the number he knew by heart. He hit call and pressed the phone to his ear.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then—

The automated voice echoed: The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone. 

Marius swore under his breath and hung up. “No answer.”

Pacifica exhaled. “Can I try someone else?”

Marius nodded, handing her the small phone. Pacifica barely hesitated before typing in another number.

Dipper’s.

She had committed it to memory long ago.

Her hands were steady as she pressed call. She listened as it rang, praying he’d pick up, that she’d hear his voice, that he’d be there.

It rang.

And rang.

Then—voicemail again. 

She gritted her teeth.

Marius’s expression mirrored her frustration. “They could be in transit, and—”

“They could be busy trying to reach us,” Pacifica finished. If Dipper and Mabel had deciphered the message she left for them.

They couldn’t waste more time trying calls that wouldn’t go through.

Marius nodded toward the screen. “Text them.”

Pacifica’s fingers flew over the keypad.

She kept it short. Precise. Just enough to let them know where they were and how little time was left.

in austria

wedding six days from now

from pacifica and marius

She sent it to Dipper.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching to see if the message would go through. There was only one tick.  

Pacifica exhaled. “I guess we have to wait.”

Marius nodded grimly. 

Chapter Text

The plane touched down in Vienna with a soft jolt, the overhead lights flickering on as the cabin crew began their landing announcements. Dipper rubbed his eyes, exhausted but wired with anticipation. Sixteen hours in the air, and finally, they were here.

Mabel stretched her arms above her head, yawning dramatically. “I am never flying for that long again,” she muttered, voice thick with exhaustion.

Grenda cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders. “Same.” Her voice was lower than usual, quieter. The exhaustion on her face wasn’t just from the flight.

Candy, who had slept most of the time, merely adjusted her glasses. “We should find a hotel first. Get some rest before we figure out our next move.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get through customs, grab our bags, and then we’ll find a place near the palace.”

Navigating the airport was surprisingly easy. Despite their exhaustion, they shuffled through immigration, grabbed their luggage, and stepped into the cool Vienna night. The air smelled crisp, with hints of rain from earlier in the evening.

Dipper flagged down a cab, and the four of them piled in. He leaned forward, addressing the driver in clear, slow English. “We need a hotel close to the Fundhauser Palace. Something affordable but decent.”

The driver, an older man with a thick accent, nodded. “Ah, you are visiting the palace? Tourists?”

Mabel, already half-asleep against the window, muttered, “Something like that.”

The ride through Vienna was surreal. The streets were lined with beautiful old buildings, the architecture grand and historic. Cobblestone streets glistened under streetlights, and even at night, the city felt alive.

Dipper’s eyes flickered toward Grenda, who sat stiffly beside Candy, staring out the window. She hadn’t said much since they landed. He wanted to say something, reassure her, but he didn’t know how.

Instead, he turned back to the city outside. The towering structure of Fundhauser Palace came into view in the distance, its silhouette dark against the night sky. Dipper’s stomach tightened. Pacifica was in there, somewhere.

The cab eventually slowed in front of a charming boutique hotel, its warm lights glowing invitingly. It wasn’t a towering five-star resort, but it also wasn’t a rundown roadside motel. Elegant, clean, and close enough to the palace—exactly what they needed.

“This good?” the driver asked.

Dipper exchanged a glance with Mabel, who was blinking awake. She gave a thumbs-up.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, handing the driver a few euros. He’d managed to exchange some cash at the airport. “Thanks.”

They unloaded their luggage and stepped into the lobby. The interior was sleek but cozy—marble floors, chandeliers, and soft instrumental music playing in the background. The receptionist, a young woman with neatly tied-back hair, greeted them with a polite smile.

“Two rooms, please,” Dipper said, pulling out the emergency credit card Stan had given him. “Two beds in each.”

The receptionist tapped away at her computer, then slid two keycards across the counter. “Welcome to Vienna. Your rooms are on the third floor.”

The group shuffled into the elevator, barely keeping their eyes open. The moment they reached their rooms, Mabel let out a relieved sigh.

“Okay, tomorrow, we strategize,” she said, dropping the suitcase onto one of the beds. “Tonight, we sleep.”

Dipper nodded, placing his backpack on the floor. “Agreed.”

In the next room, Grenda and Candy unpacked in silence. Candy neatly placed some things on a desk while Grenda sat on the edge of her bed..

Candy hesitated before sitting beside her. “Grenda… It’s going to be okay.”

Grenda exhaled slowly. “I just want this to be over.”

Candy placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It will be. We’ll get them back.”

Grenda didn’t say anything, but she nodded, her resolve hardening.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Dipper flopped onto the bed, rubbing his temples. Mabel kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her own bed, face-first into the pillow.

“So tired,” she groaned.

Dipper smirked. “At least you didn’t have to sit next to a stranger who hogged the armrest for sixteen hours.”

Mabel peeked up. “Oh, please. Candy kept you entertained with horror movies. I had to listen to Grenda breathing sadly the whole flight.”

Dipper’s smile faded. He turned onto his side, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah… I don’t think she’s okay.”

Mabel sighed. “None of us are. But we’ll fix it.”

Dipper lay on his back, staring at the hotel room ceiling, phone held loosely in his hand. Mabel was already snoring softly on the other bed, her face half-buried in the pillow. Outside, Vienna’s night traffic hummed faintly in the background, the occasional car passing by on the quiet streets.

The hotel’s WiFi had been spotty when they first got in, but now that the connection had stabilized, he found himself doing what he always did—checking his phone hopelessly, refreshing his messages, waiting for something.

A message from Pacifica. A sign. Anything.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion weighing heavy on him. They had made it all the way here, but now what? The palace was massive, heavily guarded, and full of people who would do anything to keep Pacifica locked in this nightmare of an engagement. They needed a real plan.

And yet, what could they—

His phone buzzed in his hand.

Dipper nearly dropped it, his pulse spiking.

A message had been delivered. From an unknown number.

His breath caught in his throat as he opened it.

in austria

wedding six days from now

from pacifica and marius

For a second, he just stared at the screen, rereading the words over and over.

She was safe—for now.

But six days. That wasn’t much time.

He sat up abruptly, shaking off the exhaustion that had been weighing him down. Without hesitating, he clicked on the message and rushed to type a reply. 

Pacifica, I’m so glad you’re okay. 

We’re here. 

We’re in Austria. 

We’ll get you two out of this, I promise. 

The messages sent. 

Dipper exhaled sharply, then jumped out of bed. “Mabel,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Mabel, wake up.”

She groaned, half-asleep. “Mmmph… tell the royal guards I need five more minutes…”

He shook her harder. “Mabel. I heard from Pacifica.”

That got her attention. She shot up so fast that she nearly smacked her forehead against his. “WHAT?”

Dipper shushed her, glancing toward the wall that separated them from Candy and Grenda’s room. “Keep it down.”

Mabel, now fully awake, scrambled to his side and peered at his phone. Her eyes widened as she read the message. “Dipper. Dipper, this is huge.”

“Yeah,” he said, still processing it. 

Mabel launched herself off the bed and sprinted to the adjoining door, knocking rapidly. “Guys! Emergency!”

A muffled groan came from the other side. A second later, the door creaked open, revealing Candy in a sleep mask, her hair slightly disheveled. “Mabel. It is past midnight.”

Grenda appeared behind her, rubbing her eyes. “This better be important.”

Dipper held up his phone. “It is.”

That got their attention.

Candy pushed her sleep mask up onto her forehead as she and Grenda stepped into the room. Mabel shoved the phone into Grenda’s hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

Grenda’s eyes scanned the message. The moment she saw Marius’s name, her grip on the phone tightened. “He’s okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Then, more firmly, “He’s okay.”

Candy read over her shoulder, her eyes widening. “Six days.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah. Which means we need to figure out our plan—fast.”

Mabel pumped a fist. “At least now we know for sure that they’re working together. That means they’re not just waiting for rescue; they’re fighting this from the inside.”

Grenda finally exhaled, her shoulders loosening slightly for the first time since they got on the plane. “We’re getting them out of there,” she said. “No matter what.”

Dipper nodded, feeling the energy shift in the room. They had been running on exhaustion, on pure instinct to get here. Now they had something real to hold onto.

“We should sleep,” Candy said matter-of-factly. “If we’re going to break two people out of a literal royal palace, we’ll need to be at full energy tomorrow.”

Mabel stretched her arms. “I definitely agree. Sleep now, break into a castle later.”

Dipper looked down at his phone one last time, hoping—just hoping—that Pacifica would see his message.

Hold on, Pacifica. I’m coming.

With renewed determination, the group split back into their rooms, exhaustion finally giving way to the comfort of knowing they weren’t too late.

Tomorrow, the real mission would begin.

◬ ◬ ◬

The ballroom was dazzling—golden chandeliers hung from the high vaulted ceilings, their crystals reflecting the warm candlelight. The walls were adorned with elaborate moldings, frescoes depicting centuries of royal history, and deep red velvet curtains framing the towering windows that overlooked Vienna’s city lights. Every detail of the palace radiated wealth, status, and tradition.

Pacifica stood at Marius’s side, her fingers lightly curled around his arm as they moved through the crowd of nobles, dignitaries, and extended royal relatives. The engagement party was in full swing—glasses clinked, polite laughter echoed through the space, and a string quartet played a slow, elegant waltz in the background.

She forced a smile as another countess, duchess, or some kind of baroness congratulated her with an air of practiced politeness. These people didn’t care about her, not really. She was another piece in the political game, an acceptable match for the future king.

Marius played his role just as well, nodding at each guest with the grace of someone born into this world. But she could feel the tension in his arm, the stiffness in his movements. He was just as trapped in this as she was.

A servant approached, bowing slightly. “Your Highness, Lady Northwest. The dance floor awaits you.”

Pacifica’s stomach twisted. Of course. The first official dance of the engaged couple.

She turned to Marius, and he turned to her, their expressions carefully neutral. He offered his hand.

“Shall we?” he murmured.

Pacifica placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the center of the ballroom, where guests had already begun parting, forming a grand circle around them. The murmurs of anticipation grew quieter as the musicians prepared for the next song.

Marius placed one hand gently on her waist, his grip light but steady. Pacifica’s free hand rested on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke as the music started—a soft, sweeping waltz that sent them into motion.

They moved with ease, each footstep perfectly aligned, their movements effortless. They had both been trained for this since childhood—how to dance, how to perform, how to be seen.

Pacifica knew how this was supposed to feel. She had danced like this at galas before, at society events, with men who wanted nothing more than to impress the Northwest name. But tonight, her mind was miles away.

She imagined a different set of hands holding her waist.

She imagined a different pair of brown eyes meeting hers—warm, determined, full of something real.

She imagined Dipper .

If it were him, she wouldn’t be dancing just for show. There would be nervous laughter, maybe a few stumbles, a sarcastic joke about how waltzing was a ridiculous pastime for the elite. And yet, she knew he would try his best for her, even if he had two left feet.

She could almost hear his voice in her head, saying her name, letting it roll off his tongue with affection.

She could almost feel his warmth, his hands hesitant yet steady against her back, the way he would hold her like she was something more than just an obligation.

For a moment, she let herself pretend.

She wasn’t in a ballroom, wasn’t surrounded by people who saw her as nothing more than a transaction.

She was with him.

Marius, too, was lost in his own thoughts.

His grip on Pacifica’s waist remained light, his steps perfectly in sync with hers, but his mind was elsewhere.

He imagined a different partner in his arms.

He imagined a strong, familiar grip on his hand—one that had never been delicate, never been hesitant.

He imagined Grenda.

With Grenda, dancing wouldn’t be a stiff, formal performance. It would be chaotic, fun, full of laughter and impulsive spins that had no place in a royal ballroom. She’d probably lift him off his feet at some point, just to prove she could.

With Grenda, there was no game to play. No etiquette to uphold.

Just them.

But she wasn’t here.

He was spinning across the marble floor with another woman—a woman just as unwilling to be here as he was.

Their gazes met briefly, and for the first time, Pacifica recognized something familiar in Marius’s eyes.

Longing.

Not for her.

For someone else.

The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. She had known this wasn’t what he wanted, but now she understood just how much he was hurting, too.

They were both thinking of someone else.

The music swelled, their movements carrying them through the final turn of the dance. The moment the last note played, applause erupted through the ballroom.

Marius and Pacifica took a step apart, bowing slightly to each other as was expected. Their expressions remained poised, but Pacifica didn’t miss the way Marius’s shoulders tightened, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

As they turned back to face the crowd, plastering on polite smiles, Marius leaned in just enough for her to hear.

“We have our plan,” he murmured. “Five more days until the coronation.”

Pacifica, keeping her expression flawless, gave the smallest nod.

“Five more days,” she whispered back in affirmation.

They turned to the guests, allowing the applause to wash over them like a wave.

The performance had been flawless.

◬ ◬ ◬

The engagement dinner was just as extravagant as the ball. The long banquet table stretched nearly the entire length of the grand dining hall, adorned with crystal candelabras, pristine white linens, and a seemingly endless array of dishes prepared by the palace’s finest chefs. The air smelled of roasted meats, delicate spices, and aged wine, a feast fit for royalty—because, of course, it was.

Pacifica sat beside Marius, their seats positioned at the head of the table where all eyes could admire the soon-to-be-wedded couple. The conversation around them was a steady hum of polite chatter, clinking glasses, and silverware against fine china. Nobles, foreign dignitaries, and extended royal relatives filled the seats, all present to celebrate the union that neither she nor Marius wanted.

She was barely listening to the conversation. She’d tuned out most of the evening, offering nods and perfectly timed smiles whenever someone addressed her. She had mastered the art of appearing engaged while her mind was a thousand miles away.

Then, in the middle of a toast from some distant archduke she couldn’t be bothered to remember, she felt it.

A subtle vibration.

The burner phone.

Marius, sitting beside her, had gone perfectly still. His posture remained relaxed, his expression unreadable, but she noticed the slightest shift—his hand slipping under the pristine white tablecloth, fingers curling around the hidden device in his pocket.

Pacifica kept her gaze forward, pretending to take a sip of her wine as Marius glanced down, checking the message with a quick, practiced movement.

He didn’t react right away. But after a beat, he exhaled, almost imperceptibly, a hint of relief softening his otherwise stoic expression.

Pacifica’s heart sped up. It had to be them.

Marius, still the perfect picture of royal composure, reached for his fork—but as he did, his other hand slid the phone across his lap, brushing it against the side of her gown beneath the table.

She reacted instantly, her hand closing over the small device with careful precision.

Keeping her movements subtle, she brought the phone into her lap, shielding it with the fabric of her dress.

A glance down.

Her pulse jumped.

Pacifica, I’m so glad you’re okay. 

We’re here. 

We’re in Austria. 

We’ll get you two out of this, I promise. 

Dipper.

For the first time in days, real relief washed over her.

They were here.

They had come for her.

Her grip tightened around the phone, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips before she could stop it.

Pacifica barely had a second to react before Queen Elise spoke.

“You seem rather pleased, my dear,” the queen commented, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

Pacifica’s stomach flipped.

She quickly forced her expression into something more neutral, slipping the phone into the folds of her dress with one smooth motion.

“Just enjoying the evening, Your Majesty,” she said sweetly, lifting her glass.

The queen studied her for a moment, eyes searching.

Pacifica didn’t blink.

After a beat, Elise gave a small nod of approval and returned her attention to her own plate.

Pacifica released a quiet breath, her fingers tightening around the hidden phone.

They had come for her.

◬ ◬ ◬

Later that night, Pacifica sat curled up on the grand bed in her lavishly decorated chambers, the heavy silk curtains drawn closed, shielding her from the world outside. The palace was quiet now, the last remnants of the engagement celebration fading into the early hours of the morning. Even though exhaustion tugged at her limbs, sleep felt impossible.

Not after the night she’d had. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on her.

But there was one thing—one small, secret thing—that made the overwhelming pressure a little easier to bear.

She pulled the burner phone from its hiding place beneath the folds of her pillow and turned it on, the dim glow illuminating the darkness of the room.

Dipper’s message was still there, waiting for her like an anchor:

Pacifica, I’m so glad you’re okay. 

We’re here. 

We’re in Austria. 

We’ll get you two out of this, I promise. 

She read it again. And again.

He came for her.

They all had.

But it was Dipper’s name on the screen that made her chest feel lighter, like the tight grip of her circumstances had loosened just a little.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

hey pines

She hesitated, unsure where to even begin. There was so much to say, and not enough words to say it.

thank you for coming

i mean i knew you’d come 

i really need you right now

i wish you were here with me

She hesitated again.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, her thoughts unraveling in a way she wasn’t used to.

She could say it now.

I love you.

It would be so easy to type those three words. So easy to send.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

She wanted to say it in person. She wanted to see his face when she did, wanted to watch his expression change, hear his voice when he said it back.

Instead, she replaced them with something else.

be safe <3

i’ll see you soon 

The screen dimmed as she set the phone aside, still clutching it lightly in her hand. She read his message one last time before letting her eyes drift shut.

For the first time in what felt like forever, her mind wasn’t filled with the weight of her parents’ demands or the cold certainty of her future.

Instead, she thought of him.

She thought of Dipper’s hand stroking her hair, his arms around her as she pressed into his warmth, him telling her how much she meant to him. 

She finally fell asleep, with something close to peace. 

Chapter Text

The air in Vienna was crisp and electric with excitement. The Fundhauser Palace, its grand stone façade towering over the bustling city square, gleamed under the soft morning light. Banners adorned with the royal crest fluttered in the breeze, and elegant floral arrangements lined the steps leading up to the palace’s massive golden gates.

Today was the day.

The royal engagement of Prince Marius Fundhauser and Pacifica Northwest was about to be announced to the world.

Dipper stood amidst the growing crowd, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breath coming quicker than he wanted to admit. The texts Pacifica had sent just this morning had been brief, but it was all he needed to know.

engagement announcement midday

public

i’ll be out on the balcony with marius

if you’re out there

i’ll find you.

They had all set out for the palace, weaving through the streets until they found themselves among the mass of civilians, nobles, and press gathering outside the gates. The entire event was being live-streamed internationally, royal reporters already buzzing with commentary. Camera drones hovered above, capturing every angle.

But Dipper didn’t care about the cameras. He didn’t care about the nobles, the fanfare, the ceremony.

He only cared about her.

Pacifica.

He craned his neck, eyes locked on the grand balcony above the palace entrance—the very place she would be standing in a matter of minutes.

Mabel stood beside him, bouncing on her heels. “This is so cool,” she whispered, grinning. “We’re basically in the middle of a royal scandal, Dips. Do you feel the drama? Because I feel the drama.”

Candy adjusted her glasses, scanning the scene like a tactical analyst. “There are at least six security checkpoints just to enter the palace, not counting the ones guarding the private wings. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Grenda wasn’t speaking much, but her posture was rigid. She kept her arms crossed, her gaze sharp as she watched the guards stationed at every possible entrance.

Dipper barely heard any of them. His eyes remained glued to the balcony.

He clenched his fists. Come on, Pacifica. Where are you?

A hush swept through the crowd as the palace doors finally opened.

The royal family emerged first—King Regent Frederick, his posture stiff and commanding, beside the ever-graceful Queen Elise. They waved to the people with that practiced air of noble dignity. But the moment they stepped aside, the real moment began.

Pacifica stepped forward.

Dipper swore the world stopped.

She was breathtaking.

Dressed in an elegant ivory gown with delicate gold embroidery, she looked every part the future queen they wanted her to be. Her golden hair had been woven into an intricate updo, small pearl pins glinting in the sunlight. A royal sash draped across her frame, a clear declaration of her new status.

But none of that mattered to him.

All Dipper saw was her eyes.

Even from this distance, even with the cameras and the flashing lights and the sea of people between them, he knew.

She was looking for him.

Her expression remained perfectly poised—her chin lifted, her smile effortless—but her eyes scanned the crowd with something raw beneath them. Something desperate. Something searching.

Dipper’s heart pounded. Pacifica, I’m here.

Beside her, Marius stepped forward, equally dressed in regal attire. His uniform was pristine, his expression calm, but Dipper could see the tension in his shoulders.

The prince didn’t want to be there any more than Pacifica did.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, delivering a speech in both German and English, welcoming the people to this historic event. Something about uniting two powerful families. Something about securing a future for Austria’s monarchy.

Dipper barely processed any of it.

Pacifica shifted slightly, lifting a gloved hand in a delicate wave to the crowd. And in that brief movement, her gaze locked onto him.

Time slowed.

Dipper felt it—like a current running between them, something invisible and unbreakable.

She saw him.

Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes—something only he would notice. A slight exhale. A barely perceptible softening of her features.

He wanted to move. To call out. To run to her.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Marius turned slightly, subtly whispering something to her under his breath. Pacifica barely nodded, keeping her attention forward.

Dipper’s pulse thundered in his ears. They’re planning something. He had no idea what.

The speech continued. The engagement was formally announced. The crowd erupted in applause.

And Dipper?

He didn’t clap.

He just kept his eyes on her.

Pacifica, who looked so untouchable up there, so far from him—and yet, somehow, still his.

◬ ◬ ◬

The cheers from the crowd still echoed through the palace courtyard. The Queen and King Regent had begun their speeches, their voices smooth and commanding, filling the air with the weight of tradition and expectation.

Pacifica was supposed to be standing inside, just out of sight, poised and graceful, listening with a serene expression as they spoke about duty and the bright future of Austria’s monarchy.

But she wasn’t.

Beneath the heavy cloak she had thrown over her gown, Pacifica moved swiftly through the sea of people, her heart pounding in her chest.

The plan had to be executed flawlessly. She only had a few minutes before the palace staff realized she was missing.

Dipper.

She needed to get to Dipper.

Her gloved fingers tightened around the edges of her hood as she maneuvered through the gathered nobles, foreign dignitaries, and common citizens who had come to witness the engagement announcement. The further she pushed into the crowd, the safer she felt. Nobody was looking for her yet—not with all eyes still on the balcony.

Then, finally, she saw him.

Dipper stood near the front of the crowd, still staring at the spot where she had been moments ago. His face was a mix of longing and determination, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Pacifica felt her heart twist. He had come all this way for her.

She didn’t hesitate.

Slipping through the last few rows of people, she reached out—grasping his wrist, giving the lightest tug.

Dipper jolted at the touch, turning sharply, eyes wide. But the moment his gaze landed on her, everything else seemed to disappear.

“Pacifica,” he breathed, his voice barely audible over the murmuring crowd.

She pulled him aside, leading him through a gap in the gathered people, until they found a small alleyway between two old stone buildings. It was quieter here—hidden.

Dipper turned to her fully now, his hands coming up to grasp her arms gently, like he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re here. You actually—” He exhaled sharply. “Are you okay?”

Pacifica nodded. “I’m fine. But we don’t have much time.”

His fingers squeezed lightly against her arms. “Then talk to me.”

She took a deep breath. “We have a plan. Marius and I.”

Dipper’s brows furrowed. “What kind of plan?”

“The coronation,” she said quickly, keeping her voice low. “It’s in four days. Once Marius is crowned king, no one can force him to do anything—not his uncle, not his advisors, and definitely not my parents. He’s going to make an official announcement.”

Dipper’s grip tightened. “An announcement?”

Pacifica nodded, her blue eyes burning with quiet fire. “He’s going to marry Grenda. Not me.”

Dipper inhaled sharply. “Wait—you’re serious?”

“I am. The second he’s king, no one can argue with him. He’ll have full control, and this whole engagement? It’s over.”

Dipper stared at her, trying to process it. It was so… simple. Yet so perfectly executed. If Marius made a public declaration, there was no way the royal court could reverse it without causing a massive scandal.

“But that’s not all,” Pacifica continued, stepping closer, urgency in her voice. “We have three goals on coronation day. One—get Grenda into the palace. If she’s not there, this entire plan collapses.”

Dipper nodded. “Done. What else?”

“Two—we get me out before my parents can stop me. Because the second this blows up in their faces, they are going to run, and I am not letting them take me with them.”

Dipper’s stomach twisted at the thought. He could already picture Preston and Priscilla Northwest grabbing her, dragging her onto a plane, vanishing before anyone could stop them.

“They won’t get to you,” he promised, his voice firm. “I won’t let them.”

Pacifica’s lips pressed together for a moment before she nodded. “Which brings us to goal three—we make sure my parents don’t escape. If they flee Austria, they’ll still have power. Money. They’ll just try this again, somewhere else.”

Dipper exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So, what—you want them arrested?”

Her expression darkened. “Yes. And with the right people watching, we can make that happen.”

Dipper blew out a low whistle. “Okay. So we just have to infiltrate a literal palace, sneak Grenda inside, rescue you, and take down two of the most powerful people in the USA—all in one day?”

Pacifica smirked slightly. “You make it sound so difficult.”

Dipper shook his head, laughing softly despite the situation. “Pacifica…”

Her smile faded slightly, her gaze searching his. “Dipper. Can we do this?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Something in her posture relaxed, like she had been holding her breath waiting for that answer.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because we don’t have another option.”

Dipper exhaled, still holding onto her arms. “Okay. But what do we do until then? Just… wait?”

Pacifica tilted her head, considering for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she smiled.

“You should go sightseeing.”

Dipper blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice light, but with something softer underneath. “You have four days. You can’t spend all of them holed up looking at the journal I know you brought, you didn’t fly all the way to Austria just to hide in a hotel. Just take a breath. Just for a little while.”

Dipper hesitated. “But what if—?”

Pacifica reached up, pressing a gloved finger to his lips. “Dipper. I’ll be okay.”

His heart stuttered.

She was so close now—her scent, something soft and expensive, filling the air around him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the weight of everything he wanted to say was pressing against his ribs.

He could say it.

Right now.

He could tell her that he loved her. That he had loved her for a long time.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Not yet.

Instead, he swallowed hard, forcing himself to smile slightly. “Fine. But I get to take my journal with me.”

Pacifica grinned. “Okay, deal.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the noise of the city far away, like this tiny alleyway was their own little world.

Then—she moved.

Soft. Intentional.

She leaned up, her lips brushing against his in a way that sent electricity racing down his spine.

Dipper’s hands moved instinctively—one to her waist, the other cradling the side of her face, fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss. It was desperate and aching, but slow, like they had all the time in the world.

Like they were the only two people on the planet.

Pacifica was the one to pull away first, her lips lingering near his for just a second longer.

Then—she stepped back, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

Dipper nodded, his pulse still thrumming beneath his skin.

She turned, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of people just as easily as she had come.

And Dipper was left standing there, breathless, heart hammering in his chest.

Four days.

He could survive four more days.

◬ ◬ ◬

The fire crackled in the ornate fireplace, casting long shadows along the rich wooden walls of Marius’ bedroom. The room was as grand as one would expect for a future king—high ceilings, antique bookshelves, and a massive four-poster bed draped in royal blue linens. But despite all the extravagance, the space felt lived-in.

Pacifica sat in one of the armchairs near the hearth, her cloak draped over the armrest. She had discarded it the moment she slipped through the hidden passage leading from her chambers to Marius’ private quarters. No guards, no attendants. Just the two of them.

Marius leaned against the window ledge, arms crossed, his posture more relaxed than usual.

“How did it go?” Pacifica asked, tilting her head.

Marius frowned slightly. “About as well as sneaking out as the Crown Prince can go.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I haven’t seen Grenda yet,” he admitted with a sigh. “I tried, but I eventually ended up just deciding to cover for you. I didn't want to raise too many suspicions.”

Pacifica hummed thoughtfully, drawing her knees up to her chest in the chair. “Thank you for that.”

Marius nodded. “You did manage to see him?”

Pacifica smiled softly, staring into the fire. “Yeah.”

Marius caught the shift in her expression—the way her shoulders loosened, the way her lips curled just slightly, the warmth in her usually sharp blue eyes.

“So,” he said, pushing off the window and walking toward her. “Who is he to you?”

Pacifica blinked, glancing up at him. “Dipper?”

Marius smirked. “Yes, Dipper. I assume he’s not just your ‘American friend’ if you’re sneaking off during our engagement announcement.”

Pacifica bit her lip, hesitating. She hadn't really thought about labeling what they were—hadn't had time to. But after today…

“I think,” she said slowly, “he’s my boyfriend.”

Marius quirked an eyebrow. “You think?”

She exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile. “We’re not official. Not yet. But… I want us to be.”

“After this whole ordeal?”

“Yeah. After this.”

Marius studied her for a moment, then shook his head in amusement. “You are utterly smitten.”

Pacifica scoffed, throwing a cushion at him, which he easily caught. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” he teased, tossing the cushion back onto the chair. “You, Pacifica Northwest, the queen of cutting sarcasm and trust issues, actually trust someone enough to want to be with them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are we really doing this?”

Marius chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. No teasing. But for the record? I think he’s good for you.”

Pacifica’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, the fire crackling between them.

Then, Marius leaned against the mantle, crossing his arms. “So, since we’re discussing our very complicated love lives… what’s he like?”

Pacifica huffed a small laugh. “Dipper?”

Marius nodded.

Pacifica thought for a moment, staring at the flames. “He’s… kind. Not just surface-level nice, but actually kind. He listens. He notices things no one else does. He’s brave, but not reckless—except when he is, but only when it’s for someone he cares about. He makes me feel like I actually matter, as a person.”

Marius watched her carefully, her voice growing softer with each word.

Pacifica swallowed. “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel that way before.”

“Sounds like you picked the right guy.”

Pacifica smirked. “Yeah, well. You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

Marius rolled his eyes playfully. “Oh, please. I’m in love with a woman who could probably suplex a royal guard and still look cute doing it.”

Pacifica laughed at that. “Grenda’s definitely one of a kind.”

A comfortable silence settled over them again. Pacifica stretched her legs out, her body finally relaxing. For the first time in days, she felt… normal. Just a girl talking to her friend about their ridiculous lives.

But that peace was short-lived.

A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.

Marius straightened, glancing at Pacifica before quickly gesturing toward the wardrobe. “Hide.”

Pacifica didn’t hesitate. She slipped off the chair, moving fast, slipping into the wardrobe just as the door swung open.

Queen Elise stepped inside, her emerald gown trailing elegantly against the floor. Her piercing green eyes flicked around the room, immediately landing on her son.

Marius gave her a polite, disinterested look. “Mother.”

“Your Highness,” she responded smoothly.

Pacifica barely breathed, pressing herself against the back of the wardrobe, heart hammering in her chest.

Queen Elise stepped further inside, eyeing the faint remnants of a second teacup on the table. “I trust dinner was enjoyable?”

Marius shrugged. “As enjoyable as political theater can be.”

Elise hummed, stepping closer. “You’ve been spending a lot of time alone lately.”

Marius didn’t flinch. “I enjoy my solitude.”

Elise tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his words. Then, after a beat, she smirked. “Do you?”

Pacifica’s stomach dropped.

The Queen turned slightly—just enough that Pacifica knew she had been found.

Before she could react, Elise reached for the wardrobe door and pulled it open. Pacifica winced at the light spilling in. Slowly, hesitantly, she looked up to meet the Queen’s amused gaze.

For a moment, silence. Then, to Pacifica’s utter disbelief—

Elise laughed.

A soft, knowing chuckle, entirely too pleased.

Marius groaned. “Mother—”

Elise held up a hand, still chuckling. “Oh, don’t bother explaining. I knew you two would grow on each other eventually.”

Pacifica’s face burned. “That’s not—”

Elise smirked. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you were simply having a heartfelt conversation in the dead of night, alone, in his private chambers.”

Pacifica opened her mouth to argue, but Elise simply shook her head, turning toward the door. “I should let you get back to… whatever this is. Just be discreet, my dear. We wouldn’t want to scandalize the court before the wedding.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving Pacifica mortified and Marius looking like he wanted to die.

As soon as the door shut, Pacifica groaned, pressing her hands over her face.

Marius sighed, rubbing his temples. “Well. That was—”

“Mortifying,” Pacifica finished.

“She’s never going to let this go.”

“Great. Now everyone’s going to think we—”

Marius smirked, patting her shoulder. “At least she didn’t assume we were plotting treason.”

“I think I’d prefer that.”

Marius chuckled. “Come on, I’ll sneak you back to your room. You’ve suffered enough.”

Pacifica stood up, shaking her head. “Next time, we meet somewhere less obvious.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread, roasting nuts, and sweet pastries through the bustling streets of Vienna. Stalls lined the market square, each offering something unique—handmade jewelry, embroidered scarves, painted porcelain, and trinkets that gleamed under the warm afternoon sun. The distant sound of street musicians playing a lively waltz mixed with the murmur of locals and tourists alike.

Mabel was in heaven.

“Oh my gosh, look at these hats!” she gasped, snatching up a giant feathered monstrosity from a nearby stall and jamming it onto her head. She twirled dramatically. “Am I not the epitome of sophistication? ”

Candy adjusted her glasses, barely glancing up from a rack of embroidered gloves. “You look like an 18th-century peacock.”

Mabel grinned. 

Grenda, meanwhile, had discovered a stand full of medieval-style weapons and was currently testing the weight of an antique-looking battle axe. The poor vendor was sweating bullets as she gave it a few experimental swings.

“Dude,” Candy whispered to Dipper. “We should probably stop her before we get kicked out.”

Dipper nodded, but he wasn’t really paying attention to Grenda’s impending battle axe incident or Mabel’s fashion disaster. His mind was elsewhere—on something he’d read that morning.

Something big .

He had spent the entire trip so far flipping through the new journal, the one Ford had given him before they left. This one was specifically focused on Austrian anomalies, artifacts, and legends.

And that was how he had stumbled across it. 

Even now, the words burned in his mind, the passage written in Ford’s careful, precise handwriting:

Kaiserseele Crown (lit. “Emperor’s Soul Crown”)

An artifact forged centuries ago, imbued with a mystical power said to grant influence over those in its presence.

The crown’s enchantment is subtle—it does not control minds outright, but rather softens resistance , nudging those around it to accept what they hear. In the wrong hands… it could be dangerous.

Location: Lost after the fall of the Habsburg monarchy, rumored to be stored in a restricted vault beneath the Hofburg Palace.

The second he read it, he knew.

If they could get that crown…

If Marius could wear it on coronation day…

Then this entire plan would be foolproof. There would be no arguments, no resistance from the court. The nobles would accept his decision. The Northwests wouldn’t be able to fight back.

It was the perfect tool. And all they had to do was steal it.

A loud clack-clack-clack of hooves on cobblestone jolted Dipper back to reality.

“Carriage time!” Mabel announced, waving her arms excitedly.

Dipper looked up just in time to see a grand white horse-drawn carriage pulling up beside them. The driver, an old Austrian man with a very curly mustache, gave a polite nod as Mabel and Grenda practically threw themselves onto the seats.

Candy climbed in after them, far more composed.

Dipper hesitated. His mind was still running a million miles per hour. He wanted to go find the Kaiserseele Crown right now—he could be mapping out the vault entrance, studying the security patterns, figuring out how they were going to break in.

But then Mabel grabbed his arm.

“Bro-bro. Come on.”

Dipper sighed. Fine. A few more minutes of “normal” sightseeing wouldn’t kill him.

He climbed into the carriage, settling onto the cushioned seat. The horses whinnied, and with a flick of the reins, the carriage started moving through the streets.

Vienna rolled past them in a beautiful blur—ornate buildings, bustling cafés, grand statues of long-dead emperors. The sun cast a golden glow over everything, making the entire city look like something straight out of a fairytale.

The others laughed and chattered, but Dipper wasn’t really listening. His eyes were distant, mind still spinning with the Kaiserseele Crown plan.

He pulled out his phone and shot Pacifica a quick text, needing to tell someone what was on his mind: 

I found something that might help us—an anomaly—essentially, a mind-control crown. 

But how would they even get into the Hofburg Palace? How many guards were stationed there? What kind of security was in place?

Mabel poked him in the ribs.

He flinched. “Hey!”

“You’re brooding,” she said. “Brooding Pines mode activated.”

Dipper scowled. “I am not brooding.”

Candy gave him a deadpan stare. “You haven’t spoken in fifteen minutes. That is suspicious.”

Grenda crossed her arms. “Yeah, dude. Spill. What’s up?”

Dipper hesitated.

Then, he exhaled. “Not here.”

The restaurant they picked was small, cozy, and smelled absolutely incredible. Wooden tables, dim lanterns, and the sound of clinking glasses and Austrian folk music made it feel warm and alive.

They had barely sat down when Mabel pointed excitedly at the menu.

“Okay, I’m ordering, like, everything,” she declared.

Dipper barely glanced at the menu. His mind was still buzzing with thoughts of the crown.

When the food arrived—steaming platters of Wiener Schnitzel, Käsespätzle, and a whole spread of pastries—he barely noticed.

Until Grenda finally slammed her fist onto the table.

“Dude,” she said. “Enough. What’s on your mind?”

Dipper swallowed hard. He took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, leaning in, keeping his voice low. “I found something in the journal. Something that could make all of this way easier.”

The others immediately snapped to attention.

Dipper pulled out the journal from his backpack, flipping it open to the marked page. He turned it around, tapping the words Kaiserseele Crown.

Mabel frowned. “Oooh. Fancy hat.”

Candy adjusted her glasses, reading quickly. “…Mind influence?”

Grenda raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Like actual mind control?”

“Not full-on control,” Dipper explained. “It doesn’t force people to do things. It just… nudges them. Makes them accept things more easily.” He tapped the page. “If Marius wears this crown at his coronation, the court won’t fight back. They’ll just—”

“—go along with it,” Candy finished, her eyes widening in understanding.

Grenda’s grip on her fork tightened. “So, if he says he’s marrying me—”

Dipper nodded. “No one argues. Not his uncle. Not his advisors. Not the nobles.”

Mabel leaned forward. “And the Northwests?”

Dipper’s expression darkened. “If we put them near it, they’ll sit still long enough for the authorities to handle them.”

Silence.

Then—

Mabel grinned. “So, we’re stealing this thing, right?”

Dipper smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

◬ ◬ ◬

The dining hall was overwhelmingly extravagant, even by Pacifica’s standards. The massive room was draped in deep golds and rich reds, crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow over the long banquet table set with more dishes than any human being should reasonably consume. The air was thick with the aromas of roasted meats, aged cheeses, and fresh pastries, blending into a haze of indulgence.

Pacifica had expected a food tasting to be somewhat interesting—at the very least, a distraction. Instead, it was just another boring royal obligation.

A chef with an impressively curled mustache stood at the head of the table, eagerly presenting each course with an exhausting level of detail.

“This, Your Highness, is the Sachertorte , a classic—”

Pacifica barely heard the rest.

Marius, sitting beside her, nodded politely as he sliced into the breaded veal. He was doing a much better job pretending to care.

Pacifica, however, was fading fast. She could only smile and nod at so many different cheese-filled delicacies before her brain shut down entirely.

She reached for her fork, barely poking at the next dish. Her mind wandered. Then, idly, her fingers brushed against the inside of her gown.

The pocket. Her hidden burner phone. She hadn’t checked for messages since this morning.

Dipper.

Maybe he had responded. Maybe he had something new to tell her.

She needed to check.

Carefully, she slid her hand deeper into the pocket—

—and her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t there.

Pacifica’s heart stopped cold.

No. No, no, no . She never left it anywhere but inside that pocket. But now it was gone.

A flicker of panic surged up her spine.

She had to find it.

Now.

Pacifica forced her expression into neutral boredom, letting her fork clatter against the plate.

“Your Highness,” the chef was saying to Marius, “next we have—”

Pacifica cut in, schooling her tone into one of polite detachment. “I need to step out,” she said smoothly, pushing her chair back. “I feel a little unwell.”

Marius shot her a quick glance but played along. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Pacifica replied, already sliding out of her seat. “I’ll return shortly.”

The Queen’s personal attendants watched her go, but no one stopped her. She was a future queen now—she had privileges.

The second she was out of the dining hall, her pace quickened. The door to her chambers slammed shut behind her as she strode inside, her heart hammering.

Think.

Where had she hidden it last night? Maybe she had left it on the bed, or the vanity?

Pacifica tore through the room, checking every surface, pulling back the folds of her blankets, running her hands over the desk.

Nothing.

Her pulse pounded.

Her pillowcase.

She spun toward the bed—

Only to freeze. The pillows were freshly fluffed. New linens. Her stomach twisted.

The maids had changed the sheets.

If they had found it…

Pacifica swallowed hard, a sick feeling curling in her gut. She returned to the tasting far too quickly, trying not to look as shaken as she felt.

Marius took one glance at her and immediately picked up on it. He leaned slightly toward her, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear. “What happened?”

Pacifica grabbed her fork, not even looking at the next dish. She felt positively ill. “It’s gone,” she whispered.

Marius stiffened. “What?”

Pacifica barely moved her lips as she spoke. “The burner phone. I think the maids took it when they changed the sheets.”

Marius’s expression didn’t change, but his hand curled into a tight fist over the tablecloth. “That’s bad,” he muttered.

Pacifica forced herself to sip at her water, keeping her posture relaxed. “Yeah. I figured.”

They needed to move. Now.

Marius casually pushed his plate aside, feigning disinterest. “I think I’ve had enough of this for today,” he announced to the attendants, standing up.

Pacifica followed suit.

The Queen’s assistant barely had time to protest before Marius added, “We’ll retire for the evening.”

With that, they left together.

The moment they stepped into the hallway, Pacifica’s façade broke. “What do we do?” she hissed.

Marius exhaled sharply. “We go to the maid’s quarters.”

Navigating the palace without being seen was difficult, but not impossible.

Pacifica and Marius moved quickly and carefully through the servant corridors, dodging the main hallways where guards and nobles might see them.

Eventually, they reached a dimly lit back hallway leading to the staff dormitories.

Marius paused, glancing down the corridor. “We need to be quiet. If they found it and reported it, the Queen already knows.”

Pacifica swallowed hard. They were running out of time.

Together, they pushed forward. The maid’s quarters were lined with simple wooden doors, the faint glow of candlelight spilling from beneath some of them. Muffled voices murmured inside.

They had to be fast. Marius reached for the first unlocked door.

Pacifica took a deep breath—

Footsteps. Loud. Approaching.

Pacifica’s stomach turned to ice. Someone was coming.

Then—

“Lady Pacifica.”

Pacifica and Marius froze.

A royal attendant stood at the end of the hallway, back stiff, expression unreadable. “Her Majesty, Queen Elise, and your parents request your immediate presence in the royal chambers.”

Pacifica’s blood ran cold. Oh no. She forced her face into calm neutrality, but her hands curled into fists. “Did they say why?”

The attendant’s expression didn’t waver. “No, Lady Pacifica. Only that you must come immediately.”

Pacifica’s heart pounded violently against her ribs.

They knew.

They knew.

Her phone was gone, she had no way to warn Dipper, and she was about to walk into a room with the two people who would do anything to keep her under control. This was bad.

Pacifica met Marius’s gaze. He was tense, but he kept his voice calm. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Pacifica hesitated. Was Marius’ name used in any of the texts? Yes, probably. But she could say she lied. She could protect him.

She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

Marius didn’t argue. But as she turned to follow the attendant, his voice was low and urgent. “Pacifica.”

She stopped.

Marius’s green eyes were serious. “Whatever happens in there—stay in control.”

Pacifica inhaled, and without another word, she walked away.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears as the attendant led her through the halls, past grand chandeliers and intricate tapestries, past the echoes of voices she couldn’t focus on.

The door to the royal chambers loomed ahead. The attendant opened it, stepping aside.

She stepped inside and the door clicked shut behind her.

Chapter Text

The heavy doors shut behind Pacifica with a resounding finality, the air in the royal chambers thick with unspoken accusations. The room, grand and gilded with deep blue velvet drapes and towering bookshelves, should have felt stately—elegant, even. But under the weight of the Queen’s sharp gaze and the rigid posture of Pacifica’s parents, it felt more like a prison.

Queen Elise sat with an air of quiet fury, her hands clasped together as she studied Pacifica with those sharp green eyes. Across from her, Preston and Priscilla Northwest sat stiffly, their expressions carefully neutral—but Pacifica could see the tension in her father’s clenched jaw, in the way her mother’s fingers curled ever so slightly against the fine silk of her gown.

Pacifica inhaled slowly, keeping her own expression unreadable. This was a test. A battle of control, of power. If she showed even a flicker of weakness, they would crush her under it.

The Queen spoke first, her voice smooth but edged with something colder beneath.

“Pacifica,” she began, the syllables of her name stretched deliberately, “do you have anything to confess?”

Preston swung the burner phone between his thumb and forefinger, a taunt.

Pacifica’s throat was dry, but she forced a demure nod. “I do, Your Majesty.”

The Queen raised a brow, as if mildly intrigued. “Go on.”

Pacifica swallowed and carefully kept her voice steady. “I… I wasn’t honest about why I left the engagement announcement yesterday.” She lowered her gaze, letting just enough guilt seep into her tone. “I had someone waiting for me in the crowd.”

Preston and Priscilla’s expressions barely flickered, but Pacifica knew they were watching every move she made.

The Queen exhaled, not impatient, but expectant. “Who?”

Pacifica hesitated, then let her shoulders drop just slightly, as if the weight of her actions was sinking in.

“A boy from back home,” she said quietly. “Dipper Pines.”

The moment she said his name, her father’s hand twitched, his fingers tightening against his knee.

The Queen, however, barely reacted. She studied Pacifica for a long moment before speaking again.

“I see.” She sat back slightly, expression unreadable. “And tell me, Pacifica, how long has this… association been going on?”

Pacifica cast her gaze downward, giving the illusion of hesitation. “For a while,” she admitted. “Before my parents arranged this engagement.”

The Queen hummed thoughtfully, but her eyes were sharp. “So, you were already involved with this boy… and yet you still agreed to come here?”

I didn’t agree to come here, Pacifica thought, but she forced a nod. “I thought I could let him go,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “But when I saw him today, I realized how much I still—” She cut herself off, shaking her head as if ashamed. “I wasn’t thinking. I went to see him. I told him what was happening, and he… he swore he’d find a way to stop it.”

Queen Elise studied her carefully. “And what, exactly, does he intend to do?”

Pacifica hesitated—just for a second. Then, she let out a careful, rehearsed exhale. “He’s alone,” she lied. “He thinks he can stop the wedding somehow, but he doesn’t have a real plan. He’s acting on impulse.”

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Pacifica knew what she was thinking.

A single boy, no matter how determined, was no real threat to the Austrian monarchy.

But a conspiracy? A full plan? That would be dangerous.

Elise’s gaze flickered toward the Northwests, and finally, she spoke again—quieter now, more controlled.

“So you disrespected my son, my court, and our engagement by sneaking around behind our backs?” she asked coolly.

Pacifica lowered her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And worse, you allowed my son to believe this marriage could still work, all while carrying on with someone else?”

Pacifica clenched her jaw. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen inhaled deeply, then stood, smoothing out the fabric of her gown as she did so. “How very disappointing.”

Pacifica’s fingers curled against the fabric of her skirt, but she didn’t dare respond.

“You’ve taken advantage of my son’s kindness,” the Queen continued, her voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “He has been nothing but patient with you. He has accepted this arrangement with grace. And in return, you have betrayed that trust.”

Pacifica knew better than to argue.

This wasn’t a conversation. It was a sentence.

The Queen turned slightly, raising a hand toward the guards stationed at the doors. “Escort Lady Northwest back to her chambers,” she commanded. “She is not to leave until the coronation.”

Pacifica’s stomach twisted, but she simply nodded. “I understand.”

The guards stepped forward, their expressions blank as they took position on either side of her. She moved without protest, walking ahead of them as the doors opened.

◬ ◬ ◬

Priscilla spoke first—cool, assured. “Your Majesty, rest assured, we will handle the situation.”

Queen Elise remained standing, her hands folded in front of her as she turned to the Northwests. “What exactly do you mean by ‘handle the situation’?”

Preston adjusted his cufflinks, exhaling smoothly. “We expected something like this might happen. A child like her—sentiment has always been her weakness.”

Priscilla nodded, her voice even. “One message on this phone might interest you.”

At that, the Queen’s expression flickered with interest. “A message?”

Preston opened the burner phone on the texts and extended it toward her.

Elise took it, scanning the words.

I found something that might help us—an anomaly—essentially, a mind-control crown.

And then, sent later:

Pacifica? You okay?

We’re ‘borrowing’ it tomorrow. 

We’ll get you out of this soon.

Elise’s lips pursed. “The Kaiserseele Crown,” she murmured, recognition flashing in her eyes.

Preston’s smile was thin. “We suspected they would try something drastic. Now, we know exactly what they’re after.”

Priscilla tilted her head slightly. “And we know where they’ll be.”

Elise was quiet for a moment, considering. Then, finally, she exhaled.

“And what do you suggest?”

Preston’s voice was smooth, practiced. “We intercept them. Let them believe they have a chance, then take the crown first. Arrest them before they can interfere with the coronation.”

Priscilla’s voice was colder. “And once they’re caught, we dispose of them. Lock them beneath the palace, somewhere they won’t be found.”

Elise ran her fingers over the edge of the paper, then let out a quiet hum.

“…Very well.”

She glanced toward the shadows at the edge of the room, where a royal guard stood waiting for orders.

“Ensure that no one enters the Hofburg Palace vaults without direct approval. If these children attempt to steal the crown—” her gaze darkened “—they will never leave this palace again.”

The guard bowed. “As you command.”

◬ ◬ ◬

The next morning, the group gathered in the small hotel room, their energy tense and buzzing. The plan had been finalized the night before, but now, with the execution looming, Dipper could feel the weight of it settling on his shoulders.

They had one shot at this.

Candy had sketched out a blueprint of the Hofburg Palace vaults based on historical records and an old tourist map. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to give them a general layout.

Dipper pointed at the map, his finger tracing the route. “Okay. The Kaiserseele Crown is in the lowest restricted chamber. The main entrance is guarded, so we’ll be taking this maintenance tunnel—here.” He tapped a narrow corridor along the south wing. “It should lead directly to the vault.”

Candy nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Once we’re inside, security will be tight. Motion sensors, pressure plates—standard stuff. But if we move carefully, we can bypass them.”

Mabel grinned, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll be the lookout. If I see anything sketchy, I’ll signal you guys.”

Grenda smirked. “And I’ll be on distraction duty. You need a few guards removed? I got it covered.”

Dipper exhaled, nodding. “Alright. We move fast, we move quiet, and we don’t stop until we have that crown.”

Mabel shot finger guns at them. “Let’s steal a shiny brainwashing hat!”

The Hofburg Palace loomed before them, grand and imposing, its baroque architecture gleaming under the afternoon sun. The streets surrounding the palace were packed with tourists, which worked in their favor—too many people for the guards to notice four American teenagers blending in.

Mabel perched on a stone bench near the palace gates, flipping through a travel brochure, her eyes darting between the entrance and the guards.

Into her earpiece, she whispered, “Okay, guys, I see four guards at the main door. No extra patrols yet.”

“Good,” Dipper whispered back. He, Candy, and Grenda were crouched near a narrow alleyway beside the palace, hidden from view.

Grenda cracked her knuckles. “Time to cause some chaos.”

With a deep breath, she adjusted her backpack, straightened her jacket, and strode confidently toward the guards.

When she was just a few feet away, she suddenly tripped—very dramatically—sending her bag flying as she tumbled onto the cobblestone.

“Ow! Ow! Help!” she wailed, clutching her ankle.

The guards hesitated, then two of them stepped forward. “Are you alright, miss?”

Grenda groaned in fake agony. “Ughhh, I think I twisted my ankle real bad. I’m just a poor tourist! Help me, kind sir!”

The guards exchanged glances before kneeling to assist her.

Mabel, still on her bench, gave a satisfied nod. “Alright, they’re distracted. Go, go, go!”

Dipper and Candy moved quickly, slipping past the gates and into the maintenance corridor.

Inside, the tunnels beneath the palace were dimly lit, the air thick with dust. The walls were lined with ancient stone, and the floor was slightly damp, the scent of earth and age clinging to the air.

Candy pulled out a small device from her bag, clicking it on. A faint blue light blinked. “Motion sensors are up ahead.”

Dipper nodded, pulling out a small mirror. He angled it toward the ceiling, catching sight of a laser grid crisscrossing the passageway. “Alright, we’ll have to crawl under them.”

They moved carefully, staying low, their movements slow and deliberate. Candy’s gadget beeped quietly as they approached the final security lock.

“The vault door,” she whispered. “There’s a biometric scanner.”

Dipper grinned, pulling out a small rectangular pad. “Good thing I swiped a royal guard’s fingerprint off that café cup earlier.”

Candy’s eyes widened. “Wait—when did you—”

“No time,” Dipper whispered, pressing the pad to the scanner. It blinked green, and the heavy steel door groaned as it unlocked.

Inside, the vault was breathtaking.

Ancient relics, jeweled swords, and priceless artifacts lined the walls, but at the center of the room, displayed on a velvet pedestal, sat the Kaiserseele Crown.

A masterpiece of gold and deep blue gemstones, it seemed to hum with power, the air around it tingling with unseen energy.

Dipper and Candy exchanged a glance.

“We did it,” Candy whispered.

Dipper stepped forward, heart pounding. He reached out—his fingers barely grazing the edge of the crown—

And then the alarm blared.

Bright red lights flooded the vault, and the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.

Before Dipper could react, strong hands grabbed his arms, yanking him backward.

“No—!”

The next second, royal guards flooded the room, forcing them to the ground.

And then—

A slow, deliberate clapping filled the space.

Dipper twisted his head just in time to see two all-too-familiar figures stepping into the vault.

Preston and Priscilla Northwest.

Pacifica’s parents.

Dipper’s blood ran cold.

“Well, well,” Preston said smoothly, stepping forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “I must say, I expected better from the great Dipper Pines.”

Priscilla clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Stealing from royalty? Tsk, tsk. And here I thought you were raised better. Oh wait! No you weren’t.”

Dipper gritted his teeth. “You—”

“Oh, don’t strain yourself,” Preston interrupted with a smirk. “We knew you’d try something. You’re not exactly subtle, Mr. Pines.”

Candy struggled against the guards holding her back. “You can’t do this!”

“Oh, I think we can.”

Preston turned to the pedestal and, with a flourish, plucked the Kaiserseele Crown from its stand. He turned it over in his hands, admiring it.

“My, my. Quite the craftsmanship.”

Priscilla huffed, stepping up beside him. “I want to see how it looks on me.”

Dipper’s heart pounded.

“No—wait—”

But Priscilla had already placed the crown atop her head.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

Priscilla’s expression changed. Her posture straightened, her gaze sharpening with something… unnatural. She turned to Preston, eyes gleaming.

“It’s exquisite,” she murmured. “Try it.”

Preston smirked and took the crown from her, placing it on his own head. He adjusted it, smoothing back his hair with an air of pure satisfaction.

“How do I look?” he asked.

Priscilla sighed. “Like a man who should have been king.”

Dipper stared in horror. They weren’t just taking the crown. They were going to use it.

And they were going to make sure no one could stop them.

“Guards,” Preston said lazily, waving a hand. “Take these three to the lower chambers. Lock them up.”

Dipper’s blood ran ice-cold.

“No!”

The guards hauled them to their feet, dragging them toward the exit.

◬ ◬ ◬

Mabel had been casually browsing a pretzel stand when she saw it.

Guards. Lots of them.

The moment she saw Dipper, Candy, and Grenda being hauled out of the palace by royal guards—Preston and Priscilla Northwest walking calmly behind them—her stomach dropped.

They had been caught.

Her heart hammered.

She had to act fast.

With a sharp inhale, she spun on her heel and bolted.

She ducked into the crowd, weaving through the tourists and vendors, her mind racing.

Okay, okay, okay. Think, Mabel. Dipper, Candy, and Grenda are captured. Pacifica is locked in the palace. The Northwests have the crown.

She needed backup.

She needed help.

But there was only one person left—her.

Without another glance back, she ran.

◬ ◬ ◬

Pacifica sat curled up on the cushioned window seat, her arms wrapped around her knees, her vision blurred by tears. The moonlight spilled through the grand glass panes, casting a silver glow across her lavish prison. No matter how many chandeliers sparkled or how many gold-trimmed curtains framed her view, she still felt trapped.

Her parents had taken everything.

Her freedom.

Her choices.

Her hope.

She wiped angrily at her eyes, refusing to let herself cry any more. But as she gazed out over the palace courtyard, movement caught her eye—dark figures being dragged across the stone pathways by armed guards.

Pacifica’s breath hitched.

It was them.

Dipper.

Candy.

Grenda.

They were struggling against their captors, their muffled shouts reaching her through the cold night air. Dipper’s face was twisted in fury, Candy kicked wildly, and Grenda—Grenda was thrashing with all her strength, her voice roaring in defiance.

No. No, no, no.

Her pulse spiked. She had to move. Now.

Throwing off her slippers, she bolted from the window, heart hammering against her ribs. The secret passageway—she needed to get to it.

She fumbled with the hidden latch behind the fireplace, her fingers trembling. The panel groaned as it slid open, revealing the narrow stone corridor. She slipped inside, feet pounding against the dusty floor as she sprinted through the dark tunnel.

Her breath came in sharp gasps, her mind racing. Please don’t let it be too late. Please let me get to them in time.

The passage led her to one of the back hallways of the palace, opening behind an old tapestry. She stumbled out, her hair wild, her heartbeat deafening.

And then—

She ran straight into someone.

She staggered backward, looking up, and her blood turned to ice.

Her parents.

Preston and Priscilla Northwest stood before her, their expressions eerily calm, like they had been expecting this.

Pacifica’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flickered behind them, desperately searching for Dipper—

And then she saw him.

The guards were still hauling the prisoners toward the lower levels, but Dipper had turned. His brown eyes locked onto hers.

Time slowed.

“Pacifica!” he shouted, his voice raw with urgency.

She took a step forward, her lips parting—

“Dipper!”

But before she could move, before she could run to him, her father’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Pacifica.”

Her body froze.

Something was wrong.

A strange pressure settled over her, wrapping around her mind like invisible chains. A whisper brushed against the edges of her thoughts—not her own, but something else, something stronger.

Pacifica’s breath hitched.

Slowly, she turned her head—

A strane crown rested on Preston’s head, its deep blue gemstones glinting under the palace lights. The air around it seemed to hum, unseen ripples of influence radiating outward.

Preston’s gaze was sharp, his voice dangerously smooth.

“Come here, Pacifica.”

Something inside her recoiled—she wanted to fight, to run, to resist—

But her legs moved on their own.

No.

No, no, no—

Her body obeyed before her mind could scream in protest. She turned away from Dipper, her eyes glazing over, and stepped toward her parents.

Dipper’s voice rose in panic.

“Pacifica! No!”

She barely heard him.

Priscilla stepped closer, reaching out to brush a hand over Pacifica’s golden hair like she was a prized possession. “That’s a good girl.”

Pacifica’s muscles felt heavy, like she was sinking underwater. Her thoughts were slow, blurred, slipping from her grasp.

“Walk with us, dear,” Priscilla cooed.

Pacifica nodded, her movements eerily smooth.

Dipper’s voice was distant now, swallowed by the pounding in her skull.

“Pacifica, fight it!”

She wanted to.

She tried to.

But the command was too strong.

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t fight.

She simply turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

The grand dining hall of the palace was bathed in morning light, the golden rays filtering through high arched windows, casting long shadows over the polished floors. A massive crystal chandelier hung above the long table, its soft glow shimmering against the silverware and fine porcelain. The scent of freshly baked pastries, warm butter, and spiced tea lingered in the air, promising a morning of elegance and civility.

Pacifica sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders, her lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile. Across from her, Marius sat poised, his emerald eyes filled with an almost reverent admiration as he gazed at her.

Their fingers brushed.

Pacifica’s heart fluttered.

She could hardly remember why she had ever resisted. Marius was wonderful—handsome, kind, regal. This was right. This was how it was always meant to be.

Wasn’t it? A sharp, uncomfortable pressure nagged at the back of her mind, like a whisper she couldn’t quite hear. But it faded just as quickly as it had come, drowned beneath the overwhelming warmth of contentment.

At the head of the table, Queen Elise sipped delicately from her teacup, her sharp green eyes glinting with satisfaction as she observed them. Beside her, King Regent Frederick, Marius’s uncle, leaned back in his chair, his expression one of smug approval.

“This is much more fitting,” he remarked smoothly, twirling the spoon in his tea. “Pacifica, my dear, you seem... transformed.”

Pacifica blushed, ducking her gaze, her fingers instinctively tightening around Marius’s. “I suppose I was just... confused before.” Her voice was soft, almost dazed. “But now I understand. This is where I belong.”

Marius smiled warmly at her, his other hand coming to rest over hers, as if to anchor her in this newfound clarity. “I never doubted that you would come to see it,” he murmured.

Queen Elise tilted her head, watching them carefully. “A change of heart indeed.” She set her teacup down with a delicate clink , folding her hands together. “I do hope you can now recognize what a privilege this life is, Pacifica.”

Pacifica beamed. “Oh, I do, Your Majesty. More than ever.”

More than ever.

The words rang oddly in her ears, distant and strange, like a line rehearsed in a play. But wasn’t this her own voice? Her own thoughts?

Yes, of course they were.

Frederick chuckled, pleased. “Marius, you truly are lucky. Few royal engagements have ever turned so effortlessly from duty to devotion.”

Marius turned to Pacifica, his green eyes filled with something deep, something unshakable. “She is my greatest blessing.”

Pacifica’s breath caught. He was so kind, so wonderful, so perfect. She smiled again, her heart swelling with adoration.

She didn’t notice the way Queen Elise’s fingers curled ever so slightly in satisfaction.

The attendants moved in perfect silence, setting down plates of delicate pastries, golden-brown croissants, and an assortment of fine breakfast dishes before them. But Pacifica barely noticed the food. She barely noticed anything but Marius.

“You will come to love your life here,” Elise continued, her voice velvety smooth, laced with the gentle weight of something undeniable. “As our future queen, you will be adored, cherished, honored. There will be no more doubt, no more conflict. Only happiness.”

Pacifica’s heart soared at the words. She felt lighter, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was free.

Wasn’t she? A vague flicker of memory stirred somewhere deep within her, a murmur at the edges of her mind—something about fear, about being trapped. About a boy with brown eyes and a desperate voice calling her name.

No. That didn’t matter anymore.

She turned to Marius, eyes shining with devotion. “I am so grateful to be here, with you.”

Marius pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, his touch warm, steady. “And I am grateful to have you.”

The Queen exhaled in quiet satisfaction. “How fortunate that you finally understand.”

Pacifica smiled. Yes. How fortunate indeed.

◬ ◬ ◬

The dungeon smelled like damp stone and dust, the air thick with the scent of neglect and mildew. The walls were old, the bricks crumbling in places, and the only light came from a single flickering torch mounted on the far wall, its dim glow barely cutting through the darkness.

Dipper sat against the cold stone, arms crossed, his foot tapping against the uneven ground. Across from him, Candy was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling like it could hold the answers to their situation, while Grenda sat in the corner, idly scratching tally marks into the dirt with a loose rock.

“So,” Grenda finally said, her voice echoing in the empty chamber. “Do we just, like, rot here forever, or...?”

Dipper let out a sharp breath. “No. We’ll figure something out.”

Candy adjusted her glasses and frowned. “We’ve been here for a day now. No guards. No interrogations. That’s weird, right?”

Dipper chewed on his lip. It was weird. They had been dragged down here, tossed into this old cell, and then... nothing. No royal guards keeping watch, no threats, no demands. Just silence.

He didn’t like it.

“It means they don’t see us as a threat,” he muttered.

Silence stretched between them again, broken only by the occasional drip of water somewhere deep in the prison.

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, frustration gnawing at him. His mind raced through every possible escape scenario, every potential weakness in the room. The rusted bars? Still too solid. The old door? Locked from the outside. The tiny, barred window high above them? Not a chance.

He felt useless .

And worse—he had no idea what was happening to Mabel.

That thought burned the most. Was she still out there? Was she safe? Did she know they had been caught? He hated not knowing. It made his skin crawl.

Candy must have picked up on his tension because she sat up, adjusting her glasses. “Mabel’s smart,” she said firmly. “She’s out there. Probably coming up with some ridiculous plan to break us out right now.”

Grenda grinned. “Yeah! She’s probably, like, bribing a guard with glitter and promises of free hugs or something.”

Dipper let out a small, tired chuckle. “Yeah... maybe.”

But it wasn’t just Mabel he was worried about. His stomach twisted as his thoughts drifted to Pacifica. She had seen him. Right before he was dragged away. She had looked right at him, and then… 

Then she had turned and walked away.

Like he was nothing. Like she didn’t care.

The image of her blank expression, her empty eyes, gnawed at him like a slow-burning fire. That wasn’t Pacifica. Her parents had her under their control. He had to get to her. He had to snap her out of it.

If they didn’t get out of here soon, she’d be lost.

Dipper exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his body trembling with something he couldn’t quite name.

◬ ◬ ◬

Mabel Pines swirled her straw around her soda absentmindedly, staring at her untouched plate of Schnitzel like it was supposed to answer all of her problems.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

The small café outside her hotel was buzzing with energy—tourists snapping photos, locals enjoying their afternoon espresso, and street musicians filling the air with cheerful accordion music. It was the kind of scene she would normally love .

But instead of sightseeing or shopping, she was sitting alone at a little corner table, frowning at her phone while Wendy Corduroy’s voice crackled through her earbuds.

“So let me get this straight,” Wendy said, her tone both amused and skeptical. “Dipper, Grenda, and Candy got thrown in an actual dungeon. Pacifica is probably brainwashed. By the Northwests’ magic crown?”

Mabel groaned, dropping her forehead onto the table. “Uh-huh.”

“I have to come up with a plan, Wendy.” She sat up, rubbing her temples. “Dipper would have, like, seventeen contingency plans by now. I don’t even have one !”

“Well,” Wendy said, “you could break him out to help make those plans?” 

Mabel snorted. “I need a plan to break him out to make those plans.” She sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. The reality of the situation was sinking in fast. 

She was alone.

Dipper, Grenda, and Candy were trapped somewhere deep in the palace. Pacifica was almost definitely under some creepy royal mind spell. And Marius too. 

And her? She was useless out here. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She needed a way in. Something big. Something risky. Something—

Her gaze drifted down to the table, where a half-read society magazine lay open beside her plate.

The headline caught her eye first: “The Royal Wedding of the Year: Duchess Ingrid of Luxembourg Arrives for the Ceremony!”

Mabel blinked. Her eyes flicked to the photo.

A young woman stood elegantly posed at the bottom of the palace steps, wearing a flowing gown and an expensive-looking coat. She was flanked by attendants, waving politely at reporters—her blonde hair styled in soft curls, her face poised with a regal je ne sais quoi .

Mabel squinted. “…Huh.”

She tilted the magazine, studying the duchess’s face. Then she pulled out her phone, flipped the camera to selfie mode, and stared at her own reflection.

She turned her head to the left. Then to the right. Then back to the photo. Then back to herself.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh.”

Wendy’s voice crackled through the phone. “Uh. Mabel?”

Mabel’s mind was racing. This could work. This was insane, obviously. But also... maybe kinda genius?

She bit her lip. “Wendy. I have a very dumb question.”

“Oh, good. Those are my favorite.”

Mabel took a deep breath, staring down at the duchess’s picture one more time. “If I were to, say... I dunno... disguise myself as a certain European noble lady and sneak into a fancy royal event... would that be a bad idea or a brilliant idea?”

A long, slow exhale. “...Mabel.”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” Wendy said. “But that is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mabel grinned. “So you think it could work?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Mabel slapped the table, determination blazing in her eyes. “Then let’s do this.”

◬ ◬ ◬

The halls of the palace felt like a dream—soft candlelight flickering against the walls, the gentle hush of passing servants, the distant hum of the night. But Pacifica felt like she was moving through water.

Everything was strange.

The world around her had lost its sharp edges, its urgency. She should be asleep. She should be resting in her lavish bed, wrapped in silken sheets, lulled by the certainty of her place in this kingdom.

But something inside her wouldn't let her.

It was a whisper in the back of her mind, a voice she couldn't quite hear but felt, clawing its way up through the fog. It pressed against her ribs, against her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She didn’t belong here. But then why did it feel so right ?

The questions tangled inside her as she moved silently down the servant corridors, slipping past tapestries and old wooden doors, her bare feet making no sound against the cold stone.

She knew where she was going. Even though she shouldn't. Even though she didn't want to.

But her body moved anyway, drawn forward by something unknown, unseen.

It was only when she reached the dungeon doors that she hesitated. The guards weren't there. She didn’t question it.

Her fingers curled around the iron handle, pushing the door open with a slow creak. The scent of dust and damp stone hit her instantly, and she shivered.

The torches barely flickered in the heavy silence.

And then she saw them. Three figures huddled together behind the bars, their clothes dirtied, their faces worn but alert.

For a moment, Pacifica just stared .

A part of her expected to feel... nothing. But she didn’t. Something inside her twisted painfully, like a wound being pressed.

Dipper was the first to notice her.

His eyes locked onto hers instantly, and for the first time since this nightmare began, she felt awake.

“Pacifica,” he breathed. Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine.

She took a step forward, blinking, confused. “I... I don’t know why I’m here,” she murmured.

Candy and Grenda exchanged worried glances.

Dipper, however, didn’t take his eyes off her. His gaze was searching, cautious. “Yes, you do,” he said softly.

She swallowed. Her thoughts were swimming. She could feel the whisper of something else pressing against her mind, urging her to turn around, to leave, to forget. She was happy. She was where she belonged. But then why did it feel so wrong?

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

Dipper took a slow step toward the bars. His voice was calm but firm. “Yes, you do.”

◬ ◬ ◬

Dipper could see it.

For just a second. A glimpse of the real her. Pacifica’s hands trembled at her sides. Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something—something important, something real—when—

A shadow moved behind her and Dipper’s stomach dropped.

Marius.

The prince stepped into the dim light, his green eyes gleaming with something both distant and terrifyingly calm. He didn’t look angry or surprised. He looked like he had expected this. “Pacifica,” he murmured, and she startled like she had been pulled from a dream.

Her breath hitched.

Marius reached out, his fingers curling gently around her wrist. “Come now,” he said, his voice smooth, soft. “This isn’t where you belong.”

Pacifica stiffened.

Dipper saw the flicker of hesitation, the confusion, the war inside her.

Then her expression went eerily blank. The life drained from her eyes as the fog settled in again, drowning out whatever had fought its way to the surface just moments ago. The warmth, the struggle, the fight was gone.

She blinked once, then slowly turned to Marius. “Yes,” she murmured, almost mechanically. “This isn’t where I belong.”

Dipper’s fingers curled into fists, his throat tightening. Marius met his gaze. For the first time, Dipper saw the full weight of the mind control in his eyes—not the forceful kind, not the screaming, violent kind—

The gentle kind. The kind that made you want to listen. The kind that made you want to believe.

The worst kind.

“This will be the last time you see her,” Marius said, his voice smooth as silk. “It would be best to accept that.”

Dipper’s pulse pounded in his ears. “No,” he said sharply. “This isn’t her. You know this isn’t her. This isn’t you either.”

Marius tilted his head slightly, studying him with something like curiosity. “Isn’t it?” The words sent an eerie chill down Dipper’s spine.

And then Marius turned to Grenda. His voice remained soft, gentle, almost... kind. “I hope you understand, Grenda,” he said. “This is what’s best for everyone.”

Grenda’s jaw clenched. “It’s not, babe. You know it isn’t. You need to wake. Up.” 

Marius simply smiled. “Goodbye,” he said.

Pacifica turned away from the cell without another word or a glance back. Dipper watched as Marius took her hand, guiding her away with quiet, careful steps.

And then they were gone.

Chapter Text

The soft Vienna morning bathed the world in gold, but Mabel Pines wasn’t feeling particularly poetic. Not when she was standing outside the gates of the Hofburg Palace dressed like a duchess, her heart pounding like a drum solo.

She adjusted the wide-brimmed navy hat perched dramatically atop her head—its ribbon fluttering in the breeze, partially obscuring her face in elegant shadow. Her coat was a deep maroon velvet, cinched at the waist and trimmed with gold filigree, sweeping nearly to her boots. Beneath it, she wore a richly embroidered dress she had bartered for in the market only hours ago. Matching gloves, an absurdly sparkly brooch, and a pair of fake pearl earrings completed the look.

If her plan failed, at least she’d go down looking like royalty.

“Okay, Mabel,” she whispered to herself. “Channel Ingrid. You are Ingrid. You are regal. You are composed. You do not panic-sweat when people talk to you.”

The two royal guards at the entrance watched her approach with practiced disinterest, their halberds gleaming in the early light.

She slowed her steps slightly, straightening her posture and lifting her chin. When she spoke, her voice was laced with a thick, vaguely Luxembourgish accent that sounded somewhere between French and dramatic movie villain. “Guten morgen, meine friends,” she greeted smoothly. “I am Duchess Ingrid von Luxembourg. I am here for zee… ah, preparations.”

The taller of the two guards blinked. “You’re early.”

“Ah, but punctuality is next to divinity, no?” she said, waving a gloved hand like that settled it. “Zee royal schedule waits for no duchess.”

The second guard glanced at a clipboard, frowning faintly. “The Duchess isn’t scheduled until—”

“She had a change of plans,” Mabel interrupted with a delicate pout. “A surprise entrance to honor our gracious hosts.” She offered a confident smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Please. I must be shown in at once.”

The guards exchanged a look. One shrugged. The other finally stepped aside. “This way, Your Grace.”

Mabel exhaled in relief as she swept past them, her heels clicking confidently against the marble floor. As soon as the doors shut behind her, she picked up the pace, weaving past ornate vases, tapestries, and towering marble statues. The palace was labyrinthine.

She’d memorized the blueprints from as many sketches as she could that she found online. And she knew where they were likely keeping her brother. The dungeons were in the old servants’ wing—past the eastern hallway, then down two flights of stairs, then through a set of restricted double doors. If she could get there before the real Duchess showed up—or before someone got too chatty—she might actually pull this off.

Her boots tapped faster as she passed through the shadowy hallway leading away from the public reception areas, heart hammering, pulse loud in her ears—

“Ah! Duchess Ingrid.”

Mabel skidded to a halt.

Oh no.

Queen Elise stood at the end of the hallway, flanked by two attendants. She looked every inch the royal matriarch in an emerald green gown, her posture perfect, her tone smooth and cordial. “It has been some time,” Elise said, approaching with a cool smile.

Mabel forced a grin, hoping it didn’t look too much like panic. “Ah, yes! Zat it has!” she replied, her fake accent back in full swing. “It eez... so lovely to see you again, Your Majesty.”

Say nothing. Be vague. Smile. Maybe she doesn’t actually know the real Ingrid that well.

Elise tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You’ve changed your hairstyle.”

Mabel gave a dainty shrug. “Zees are fashionable times, no? One must evolve with zee seasons.”

Elise’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but her smile remained intact. “I suppose so.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched.

Mabel cleared her throat. “And how iz zee prince? So regal, so charming. I am, how you say… pleased to see him in such fine spirits.”

Elise’s lips twitched. “Yes. He is quite... focused today. As he should be.”

She stepped closer, and for a moment, Mabel thought the Queen might pierce through the disguise entirely—but then a harried-looking attendant appeared behind her.

“Your Majesty, the florists need confirmation on the altar design,” the attendant said. “And the royal stylist is waiting for final approval.”

Elise sighed, the weight of ceremony tugging at her like gravity. “Of course.” She turned back to Mabel. “I’m sure we’ll speak more at the celebration.”

“Oh, but of course!” Mabel said, fighting the urge to bolt. “We shall... clink glasses and... toast to monarchal unity!”

The Queen raised a perfectly arched brow but said nothing more. With a final glance, she turned and began walking down the hallway to the left, attendants trailing behind her.

Mabel waited three full seconds before turning the opposite direction and fast-walking toward the dungeon route—

“Duchess Ingrid,” Elise’s voice called from behind her.

Mabel flinched. “Yes?”

“The celebration preparations are this way,” Elise said over her shoulder. “Please, walk with me.”

Mabel’s smile twitched.

“Ah. Of course.”

She pivoted, retracing her steps and falling into pace beside the Queen, who moved with the quiet power of someone used to getting exactly what she wanted.

Mabel’s heart screamed at her to run. Dipper. Candy. Grenda. They were somewhere down there—alone, locked up. Every second wasted was another second her friends stayed trapped. But now she was stuck walking in the complete wrong direction with possibly the scariest woman she had ever met.

◬ ◬ ◬

The cathedral wing of Hofburg Palace had been transformed into a vision of imperial splendor. Sunlight spilled through stained-glass windows, scattering color across the polished marble floors. White lilies lined the aisles, golden banners bearing the Fundhauser crest draped from vaulted arches, and a sea of nobles filled the pews, their jewels catching the light like stars in motion.

At the front of the grand space, the royal family stood in perfect formation.

Mabel sat in the third row, her wide-brimmed hat angled strategically low. It had taken all her restraint not to bolt for the dungeons the moment she was freed from Elise’s company, but the Queen had kept a close eye on her until everyone was ushered into the cathedral. There had been no excuse to slip away—not without blowing her cover in front of half of Europe.

Now she was stuck here. Watching.

Marius stood before the altar in full ceremonial regalia, his royal blue cape trimmed with white ermine, gold embroidery trailing down his shoulders like veins of fire. His hands were steady as the High Cleric recited ancient words in German and Latin, preparing to crown him king.

Behind him stood Queen Elise, proud and cold as ice, and the King Regent, all smug smiles and polished composure.

And Pacifica. Her gown shimmered in the golden light—ivory with silver accents, a delicate crown already resting atop her head as “the future queen.” She looked breathtaking. Regal. Untouchable. But her eyes were wrong. Mabel felt it the moment they landed on her. There was no recognition. No spark. No fire. Just an eerie stillness. Like she was sleepwalking through her own life.

Mabel clenched her gloved hands in her lap. 

A trumpet fanfare burst through the cathedral, and the crowd rose to its feet. The royal crown was brought forth on a velvet cushion. 

The High Cleric lifted it in reverence, his voice echoing through the chamber as he pronounced Marius sovereign heir to the throne of Austria. Elise’s face was unreadable. The King Regent’s hands were folded. And Pacifica stood behind them all, still and silent, her expression glazed and docile.

Mabel’s stomach turned. The crown was lowered onto Marius’s head.

The crowd erupted into applause.

Mabel did not clap. She rose to her feet with everyone else, but her eyes were already scanning the room, tracking the exits. She turned to slip out the side aisle—and froze.

There, across the room, near the rear entrance, was Duchess Ingrid. The real Duchess Ingrid. Mabel had no time to admire how her outfit was way more expensive but also surprisingly similar. The woman was flanked by two attendants and waving politely to nearby nobles, still smiling as she handed off her travel cloak.

Panic shot through her. She ducked her head and bolted, slipping past an old man in military regalia and two gossiping duchesses. She didn’t stop until she reached a side corridor and pressed herself against the wall, breathing hard.

After fifteen minutes of wandering through ornate corridors, getting redirected by servants, and once accidentally stumbling into what she thought was a coatroom but turned out to be a stuffed peacock museum, Mabel was hopelessly turned around.

She marched down yet another spiral staircase. Her shoes clacked against the stone, echoing in the dim passage. Eventually, she spotted a lone guard standing near a heavily locked side door—stone walls, torchlight, the works.

Bingo.

Mabel ducked behind a pillar and waited until the guard stretched, looking bored. Then she made her move, throwing a stone.

It pinged against a distant wall. Curious, the guard moved toward the noise.

She sprang from her hiding place like a cat on espresso, snatching the heavy iron keyring from his belt and diving back into the shadows just as he cursed and stomped back to his post.

She hurried to the dungeon door, jammed the largest key into the lock, and twisted. It creaked open with the subtlety of a thunderclap, but she was already inside.

The halls were narrow, damp, and silent. Mabel tiptoed past empty cells, her steps quickening. She felt like a character in some weird medieval drama, her fancy hat now slightly askew, sweat trickling down her back despite the chill in the air.

“...Did you hear that?”

She froze. Dipper’s voice. She ran toward the sound.

And there they were. Behind thick iron bars in the last cell—Dipper, Candy, and Grenda—dusty, tired, but alive.

“Mabel?” Candy gasped, leaping to her feet.

Dipper stared at her like he was dreaming. “Mabel—how—what—why are you dressed like this?”

“I’ll explain later!” she beamed, fumbling with the keys. “Okay, okay, let’s see… oh no, please don’t be one of those times where none of these work—aha!” She twisted a thick bronze one, and the lock clicked open.

Grenda shoved the door so hard it nearly flew off the hinges. Candy tackled Mabel in a hug. Dipper just stared at her like she had descended from heaven.

Mabel flushed a little, then turned serious. “Guys—we don’t have a plan. Marius has been coronated. We’re almost out of time.”

They all looked at each other.

Dipper adjusted his vest. “Then we don’t make a plan.”

Candy raised an eyebrow. “We always make a plan.”

Dipper met her gaze, firm. “No more waiting. No more steps. No more overthinking.” He looked toward the staircase. “We’re going in blind.”

Grenda cracked her knuckles. “We’re winging it?”

Mabel nodded, hat slightly crooked, eyes blazing. “We’re absolutely winging it.”

◬ ◬ ◬

The corridors of Hofburg Palace blurred around them as the group sprinted up marble staircases and down velvet-lined hallways, their mismatched shoes echoing like thunder through the ancient halls. Grenda’s borrowed guard boots clunked heavily with every step. Candy kept adjusting the ill-fitting uniform she’d swiped from an empty dressing room. Mabel, panting as she ran, one hand holding her wide-brimmed hat, glanced toward Dipper as he straightened the collar of the crisp black uniform he had stolen.

They turned a corner—and almost crashed into a line of palace staff carrying trays of champagne and silver-plated hors d’oeuvres. The group ducked, scrambled, and rolled behind a statue of some long-dead archduke. Mabel peeked around the marble cape, her eyes locking on the grand cathedral doors up ahead.

“It’s happening,” she whispered. “They’re still in there.”

Music swelled from beyond the doors—royal trumpets in perfect harmony, backed by the low rumble of pipe organs. Cheers rang out, followed by the High Cleric’s voice echoing through the vaulted halls. Dipper’s heart pounded. We’re not too late.

He turned to them. “I’m going in.”

Mabel grabbed his arm. “Be careful, Dips.”

He offered her a tight smile. “Always.”

Grenda handed him a long ceremonial halberd she’d picked up off a wall mount. “You’ll need this to sell the act.”

Dipper adjusted the heavy helmet on his head, tightened his gloves, and strode toward the ceremony doors with steady, practiced steps. A real guard standing post gave him a bored glance, then nodded. He nodded back.

So far, so good.

He slipped inside.

The cathedral’s atmosphere had only grown more intense since the last time Mabel was in it. Now, the coronation was reaching its final phase. Queen Elise and King Regent Frederick stood behind the royal dais, both watching Marius with pleased, regal satisfaction. Pacifica was positioned a few steps back, hands folded neatly in front of her, her eyes blank but her posture immaculate.

Marius knelt before the High Cleric, the royal crown gleaming like sunlight on ice atop his head.

Dipper scanned the crowd, counting guards, noting escape routes. He saw Priscilla Northwest standing near the dais, her eyes glinting, her hands clasped with the proud stillness of a viper ready to strike. Preston was not far behind, whispering something into the ear of a nobleman with a too-wide smile.

Then, Dipper moved. He approached the altar from the side, keeping his head down, trying to mimic the guards’ formal posture. Just a few steps closer. Closer.

Now.

He turned sharply—just enough to “accidentally” bump shoulders with Priscilla Northwest as she turned.

She let out a sharp, indignant gasp—“Excuse me!”—but it was too late. The impact was subtle, but effective. The sudden motion rocked her just enough that the oversized Kaiserseele crown atop her head crashed to the ground. The moment it hit the marble floor, a piercing clink rang out like a cracked bell.

Gasps echoed through the room. The music faltered.

And then the silence hit. It was absolute.

Dipper froze. Eyes were wide. The crowd blinked as if waking from a dream.

Marius, still kneeling, blinked rapidly, his posture wobbling. He swayed like someone coming up for air after too long underwater. Behind him, Pacifica’s gaze was distant—then narrowed, sharp and real. Color flushed back into her face.

Her eyes locked onto Dipper and time seemed to hold its breath.

The Queen’s eyes went wide.

Dipper used the chaos to retreat into the line of guards. He pulled his helmet lower, backing away. The distraction had worked.

People surged forward—nobles gasping, murmuring about heat or nerves or shock. The cleric fumbled through his words, and several guards rushed to assist, only to hesitate under the confusion.

The King Regent barked something in German. Elise grabbed a nearby servant by the wrist, demanding to know what was happening. No one noticed the tall guard who picked the fallen crown up from where it had rolled against the base of the dais.

No one noticed Grenda. She cradled the Kaiserseele Crown carefully in both hands, blinking down at it. The stones gleamed as if alive, but without its wearer, the strange aura had faded. It was just an object now. Ancient. Dangerous. Powerful.

She turned slowly. Marius stood, still stunned, still dazed—but something was shifting in his eyes. A flicker of memory. Of clarity.

Grenda stepped forward. One foot at a time.

People were still on the Queen’s confused orders, on the strange shift that had fallen over the room.

Grenda stopped in front of the prince and held out the crown.

Dipper watched from behind a pillar, heart slamming in his chest. Everything—everything—came down to this.

Grenda's voice was steady. Soft. “You dropped this, Your Majesty.”

Marius looked at her. Looked at the crown. Then back to Grenda. Recognition flickered in his expression.

And he reached for it.

Chapter Text

Amid all the chaos, Marius Fundhauser stood tall.

He had not moved since the moment the crown was picked up and handed to him by a guard in royal uniform—his true love, Grenda, whose helmet was slightly askew, but whose posture was proud. For a moment, he simply looked at the ornate crown in his hands. It was beautiful. It was ancient. And it was poisoned.

He turned toward the gathering of nobles, press, and citizens. He slowly raised a hand.

Silence fell.

Even the Queen and the King Regent stood still, the confusion plain on their faces.

With deliberate care, Marius stepped forward and placed the Kaiserseele crown beside him on a small velvet-covered pedestal. His voice, when it came, was clear and steady, echoing through the massive hall.

“This crown,” he began, “is a relic of a different time. A time of fear. Of power gained through subtle manipulation. A time when rulers thought it acceptable to bend the will of their subjects instead of earning their trust.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Marius didn’t falter. His voice grew stronger. “I will not be that kind of king.”

He glanced around the room, sweeping his gaze across the stunned nobles and the hundreds of civilians watching. “I have spent my life surrounded by expectations. Tradition. Legacy. And for too long, I believed that I had no choice but to follow them. To marry a woman I do not love. To lead by compulsion rather than conviction.”

His eyes flicked briefly to Queen Elise, who stood with her chin raised, unreadable. “But I have made my choice.”

He turned toward the dais, extending a hand toward Grenda, who was now standing openly at his side in her guard disguise, her helmet tucked awkwardly under one arm, her stance wide and confident.

“This is the woman I love.”

Another ripple moved through the hall. Some gasped. Others whispered. But no one interrupted.

“Grenda is strong. Brilliant. Loyal. She has faced danger with courage, stood up for others with her whole heart, and never once has she sought power for herself. She is a warrior, a friend, and the most honest person I have ever met.”

Grenda blinked at him, visibly trying not to cry. She failed a little.

“I would be proud to call her my Queen.”

Absolute silence.

Then, a tremble in the crowd. Applause. One person—then two, then a wave—rose from the audience, clapping. The applause built, rising like a tide, sweeping through the room as the realization took hold.

Grenda was beaming now, her cheeks pink, her fists clenched at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with the sheer force of emotions inside her.

But Marius wasn’t done.

He turned his gaze, slow and steady, to where Preston and Priscilla Northwest stood frozen.

“I know,” he said, voice sharpening, “that this may come as a disappointment to some. Especially those who sought to exploit this union for their own gain.”

Priscilla’s face twisted, but Preston reached for her wrist as if to pull her back, to keep her quiet.

Marius’s voice didn’t rise, but somehow it grew colder.

“There is no place in my kingdom for those who manipulate, who scheme, who seek to control others through fear or through enchanted relics.” His gaze burned now, fixed on the Northwests.

“You have betrayed not just your daughter, but the trust of this court, and of your country.”

He raised a hand again—and this time it was not a gesture for calm.

“Guards. Arrest them.”

There was a moment of stunned stillness—then two royal guards moved swiftly toward the Northwests. Priscilla tried to take a step back, her heel catching on the hem of her gown.

“You can’t—!”

But Preston had already resigned himself. He raised his hands, carefully, calmly. “We’ll speak with our lawyer,” he muttered.

The guards seized them, firm but respectful, and began escorting them out. As Priscilla passed Pacifica—who was now standing—she spat, “You ungrateful little—”

But Pacifica stood tall, her chin high, her voice level. “I’m free now. Truly.”

That shut her up.

Marius watched them go, his face unreadable. When the doors closed behind the Northwests, he turned back to the crowd.

“Let today mark the beginning of a new monarchy,” he said, louder now. “One that leads not through force or bloodlines, but through unity, truth, and choice.”

He turned to Grenda and held out his hand. She took it, still looking like she wasn’t sure this wasn’t a dream.

“And now,” Marius declared with a smile that finally reached his eyes, “let the true celebration begin.”

The hall erupted.

Trumpets sounded from the balconies above. Streamers launched. Confetti exploded across the ceiling in gleaming gold and white. Camera drones zipped back into action, reporters shouting over one another.

Pacifica rushed forward, grabbing Dipper by the arm and pulling him into the safety of the side aisle. He looked at her, wide-eyed, still catching up. “I’m in shock. Did that—did that really just—”

Pacifica just grabbed his face and kissed him.

◬ ◬ ◬

The palace dining room had never felt quite like this before.

Gone was the cold, calculated formality that used to hover over every meal like a ghost. The long table was the same—still too big, still covered in gold-etched plates and glassware that sparkled beneath the chandeliers—but the atmosphere was different.

Laughter echoed off the walls.

Grenda was halfway through telling the story of how she once suplexed a mechanical bull at a rodeo in Oregon—complete with dramatic hand gestures and sound effects—while Mabel clutched her stomach from laughing too hard and Candy wiped her glasses, her smile fond and exasperated.

Marius was seated at the head of the table—the royal crown atop his head. He leaned back in his chair, sipping from a wine glass filled with something alcoholic and fizzy, his expression relaxed and easy in a way none of them had seen before.

Beside him, Grenda beamed like she was trying to radiate sunshine through sheer personality. She had ditched the armor from earlier and now wore an elegant burgundy dress with gold trim that Mabel had helped her pick out. 

Pacifica was seated between Dipper and Candy, but her chair might as well have been fused to Dipper’s side.

She hadn’t let go of his hand once.

Not when they sat down. Not through the appetizers. Not through Grenda’s story. Not even when dessert arrived—a tower of chocolate-dipped crepes so tall it might’ve needed structural support.

Dipper didn’t mind.

If anything, his fingers squeezed hers gently every time the conversation lulled. He’d glance over, and she’d already be looking at him—like she was checking to make sure he was still there.

He always was.

Queen Elise sat at the far end of the table. Her posture remained regal, her hands folded delicately over the silk napkin in her lap, but there was something softer in her expression now. Something less… rehearsed.

She had watched all of them for most of the meal. Listened. Really listened.

And when the plates were being cleared and the laughter finally gave way to the lull of full stomachs and fond smiles, she cleared her throat gently.

Conversation dipped instantly. All eyes turned to her. 

Elise stood, slowly, gracefully. The room quieted like the walls themselves respected her presence. Her eyes scanned the crowd. 

They settled, purposefully, on Marius and Grenda.

“I’d like to speak for a moment,” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard.

Marius’s brow lifted, but he nodded.

Pacifica sat straighter, her fingers tensing around Dipper’s. He immediately curled his other hand over hers, steady.

Elise exhaled slowly, her posture still proud—but not defensive. “I have made many decisions in my life,” she began, “as a royal, as a mother, and as a steward of this country. Some of those choices were out of duty. Some out of fear. Some… out of love.”

She glanced toward Marius now.

“And when I arranged your engagement, Marius, I truly believed I was acting out of that love. I wanted to protect you. To secure your future. To ensure that the weight of the crown wouldn’t fall on someone unworthy.”

Marius didn’t say anything. His gaze was steady, but not cold.

Elise looked toward Pacifica. “And you, Pacifica… you were chosen because I saw strength in you. Potential. But I never stopped to ask what you wanted. I never gave you space to show who you were beyond what our court expected of you.”

Pacifica blinked, visibly caught off guard. She swallowed, her grip on Dipper’s hand tightening further.

Elise gave a small, sad smile. “It wasn’t until today that I realized the truth: I was wrong.”

The silence in the room grew even deeper.

“Marius,” she said, her voice quieter now, “you were born with the strength to rule. But today, you showed us the strength to lead. Not with a crown. Not with tradition. But with conviction. And with love.”

Her gaze moved again—to Grenda, who stared wide-eyed and stunned.

“I cannot claim to understand your bond,” Elise added with a faint smile, “but I see it. I see the way you steady him. The way you ground him. And that is the kind of Queen this country needs.”

Grenda sniffled. “Oh no. Oh no I’m crying in front of royalty. This is my nightmare but also my dream.”

The Queen actually chuckled—just once. Then her gaze returned to Pacifica. “I hope one day you will forgive me,” she said gently. “For my silence. For not protecting you. For assuming your life was mine to shape.”

Pacifica stared at her, expression unreadable. Then, quietly, she nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Elise inclined her head in return, then sat back down, folding her napkin once more.

Dipper turned to Pacifica, whispering, “Hey. You okay?”

She turned to look at him—and for the first time that night, her expression cracked. Her eyes shimmered. She nodded once.

With a soft, choked laugh, Dipper whispered, “I can’t feel my hand anymore. You’ve been holding mine so hard.”

Pacifica smiled. “Don’t let go, please?”

“Never,” he whispered, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Candy lifted her glass. “To unexpected royalty,” she said, smiling at Grenda.

Grenda raised hers back, eyes still a little watery. “And to good friends.”

“To overthrowing toxic power structures!” Mabel added brightly.

Everyone clinked glasses.

◬ ◬ ◬

The palace courtyard was drenched in moonlight.

Soft silver hues bathed the marble statues and the ivy-covered columns. The air was cool and still, scented faintly with lavender and the remnants of the day’s celebrations. Somewhere in the distance, the fading hum of violins from the ballroom echoed through the gardens, muffled now, like the party was happening in another world.

Pacifica walked slowly down the path beside Dipper, her arm barely brushing his.

They hadn’t said anything at first—just let the quiet speak for them. After the chaos, the noise, the shouting, the cheers… this silence felt like a gift. A private moment that didn’t belong to the crown or their friends or the cameras or their parents.

Just them.

Pacifica took a slow breath, glancing up at the sky. “The stars are so different here.”

Dipper looked over at her, quiet. “Looking forward to getting back to the Oregon sky?”

She nodded. “Honestly, yeah.” Then she laughed. “But after all the crazy stuff that’s happened I just want to curl up on the sofa and read a book.”

Dipper’s laughed too. “All the stuff feels positively insane ,” he agreed, kicking at a stray pebble on the path. “I’ll join you on that sofa and write a book.”

Pacifica chuckled, blurting out, “I love you.”

I love you. 

Those three words. 

She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I—I didn’t—“

“I love you too.”

Pacifica slowed, looking over at him. “Pines…”

He stopped, turning to face her.

For a long moment, the moonlight painted shadows across his face, and all she could see was the boy who showed up for her. Again and again. Not because he had to. But because he wanted to. Because he cared .

Her fingers found his. He didn’t flinch.

Dipper’s breath hitched.

This was it. The moment. He had been building up to it all night, all week, maybe his whole life. His heart was thudding like an earthquake under his ribs, and he had never been more nervous, not even when battling gnomes or time travel anomalies or literal royalty.

“Pacifica, I…” He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “I’ve been meaning to ask—would you—uh…” He scratched at his hair, the words fumbling. “Do you maybe wanna—like—be my—”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” she blurted out.

He froze. “…Wait, what?”

She flushed hard, backing up a step, suddenly flustered. “I mean—I was gonna—I wasn’t trying to interrupt, but you were taking forever and I figured—”

“Yes,” he said, fast. Too fast. His eyes widened. “I mean—yes! Yes. I would love that.”

Pacifica stared at him for a moment, stunned. Then her lips pulled into a slow, radiant smile.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Cool. Great. Amazing.”

“Awesome,” he echoed, heart pounding.

They both stood there, staring at each other, slightly breathless, giddy and awkward and glowing.

Then she stepped in, and Dipper met her halfway.

Their lips found each other like gravity, like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this one moment. It started soft—careful, hesitant. But then Pacifica’s hands slid into his hair and Dipper’s arms wrapped around her waist, and everything else just…

Melted.

There was no pressure. Just the two of them, wrapped up in the heat of it—kissing like they had something to prove to the universe. Like they had been building toward this for years. Because they had.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. Pacifica’s cheeks were flushed. Dipper’s lips were kiss-swollen, his hair a little mussed.

They stared at each other for a beat.

Then Dipper whispered, “So… I guess this means we’re officially dating.”

Pacifica smirked, fingers still tangled in his collar. “I love you,” she whispered, then louder, “I love Dipper Pines! He’s mine!” 

He laughed. “And I love Pacifica Northwest! She’s also—mine!”

For a while longer, they just stood there—laughing, wrapped around each other, surrounded by moonlight and the scent of roses, the soft chirping of crickets filling the quiet.

◬ ◬ ◬

The next morning dawned bright and golden, the light streaming through the high palace windows like a blessing. The entire city of Vienna seemed to buzz with anticipation, and within the towering marble halls of the Fundhauser Palace, history prepared to turn a new page.

It was the royal wedding day.

And not just any wedding—the wedding of King Marius Fundhauser and Queen Regent Grenda Fundhauser: Austria’s new royal couple, a love story unlike anything the monarchy had ever seen.

The grand cathedral adjacent to the palace had been transformed into something straight out of a dream. Towering columns wrapped in vines and white blossoms framed every aisle. Golden drapes caught the sunlight pouring through stained glass windows, casting colored shadows over the red velvet carpet that ran from the heavy oak doors to the altar itself. A quartet of string musicians tuned their instruments at the front, while guests— nobles, officials and foreign dignitaries—filled the pews, murmuring excitedly in anticipation.

Dipper adjusted the stiff collar of his formal jacket, glancing nervously at the rows of people behind them. “So… how many people are here, exactly?”

“Like, six hundred,” Mabel whispered back, bouncing slightly on her toes in her heels. “Maybe more.”

Candy, seated beside her in an elegant powder blue dress, adjusted her hair clip and added, “The livestream already has four million viewers.”

Dipper swallowed hard. “Okay. No pressure.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

The music began—something soft and regal—and all heads turned toward the massive cathedral doors.

Grenda stood tall and glowing beneath the stone archway. 

She wore a stunning white gown trimmed with gold. Her shoulders were bare, her hair curled and swept back beneath a golden circlet studded with rubies. A long embroidered veil flowed behind her like a trail of fire and courage. And she walked like she owned the world.

Marius waited for her at the altar, dressed in his formal king’s regalia: crisp white and navy, a ceremonial sword at his side, his posture poised, his expression… awe.

He looked at her like he’d never seen sunlight before.

As Grenda walked the aisle, the guests turned to each other in murmurs of surprise and delight. This wasn’t the demure noblewoman anyone expected. 

This was a queen.

Dipper glanced over at Pacifica, seated beside him. She looked radiant in a pale rose gown, her hair braided with tiny pearls. Her hand found his under the pew, and she gave him the gentlest squeeze.

“I told you,” she whispered. “She’d stun them all.”

He smiled. “Yeah. And she hasn’t even started talking yet.”

When Grenda reached the altar, Marius stepped forward and held out his hand. She took it.

They faced the officiant — an older priest in traditional Austrian vestments — and the ceremony began in both German and English, honoring the merging of royal heritage with modern unity.

Vows were exchanged, promises spoken not just with words but with strength in their voices.

“I vow,” Marius said, clear and proud, “to lead with justice, to serve with honor, and to love you for as long as breath remains in my chest.”

Grenda looked him in the eye. “And I vow to stand beside you. To guard your heart like I would guard the gates of this kingdom. You are my partner, my love, my ride or die.”

A small, affectionate laugh ran through the audience—even the Queen chuckled, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a silk handkerchief.

“Then by the authority of the Crown, and with the blessing of Austria’s people…” the officiant said, lifting his voice, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. King and Queen Regent of Austria.”

The cathedral erupted in applause.

Marius leaned in and Grenda didn’t wait.

They kissed, long and fierce and true, and the sound of cheers echoed from the rafters. Somewhere near the front, Mabel actually whooped. Dipper grinned like an idiot. Candy clapped enthusiastically.

The couple turned to face the crowd, hands clasped, radiant and unstoppable.

The new monarchs of Austria.

◬ ◬ ◬

The reception took place in the palace’s glass ballroom—a dazzling structure with walls of gold-framed windows and a domed ceiling painted with scenes of sky and stars. Long banquet tables were arranged like spokes from a central dance floor, each set with gleaming silver, fine crystal, and massive arrangements of fresh roses and dahlias.

Food was everywhere. Towering cakes, chocolate fountains, champagne flutes filled with rosé. Cured meats and cheeses, tiny intricately frosted pastries, and enough Schnitzel to feed an army.

The music was fast, fun, a mix of classical waltzes and surprisingly modern tracks thanks to Mabel slipping the DJ a USB stick labeled Royal Bops .

Grenda and Marius were the first to dance — something slow and regal at first, but halfway through, the music abruptly changed to a loud, rhythmic beat that had Grenda literally lifting Marius into the air and spinning him.

“I’m dancing with a literal king,” she shouted gleefully, and the entire ballroom cheered.

Mabel led a conga line that included a confused duke, a bishop, and at one point, the Queen herself. Candy somehow got into an intense polka battle with a diplomat from Luxembourg. Dipper and Pacifica slow-danced near the balcony, her head resting against his shoulder as they swayed, the city glowing behind them.

Queen Elise even offered a toast — heartfelt and slightly awkward, but warm. “To love,” she said, raising her glass, “which teaches us what crowns cannot. And to the future… which belongs to those who choose it freely.”

Chapter Text

The Pines twins were finally home.

The palace in Austria, the espionage, the conspiracies, the literal royal wedding—all of it now felt like a surreal, glittering fever dream, tucked away between pages of Dipper’s newest journal, which now had an entire section on the events of the past month.

But today? Today was just about being home.

And turning eighteen.

The Mystery Shack was decorated within an inch of its life. Streamers made of glittery vines and multicolored fairy lights crisscrossed through the rafters. Banners with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIPPER & MABEL!” printed in neon filled the living room. A “Birthday Twins” cake sat proudly on the snack table—one side decorated with little plastic UFOs and tiny gummy cryptids, the other with rainbow frosting, glitter, and a small fondant Waddles wearing a crown.

Outside, the forest shimmered with late summer warmth. Inside, the Shack pulsed with music, laughter, and the comforting scent of Stan’s questionably legal barbecue.

“Okay,” Mabel declared dramatically, twirling in her bedazzled birthday sweater, which had LED lights blinking in the shape of an 18, “I need to say something important.”

Candy, perched on the arm of the couch in a fashionable tartan miniskirt and combat boots, raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Mabel held up a postcard. The image showed Marius and Grenda in royal attire standing in front of a glittering lake in the Alps, both making finger guns at the camera.

“This,” she said, slapping it on the table, “is peak couple energy . I’m obsessed.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes fondly as she sipped lemonade from a tall glass. She was curled up next to Dipper on the couch, her legs tucked under her and her hand resting on his knee like she had zero intention of letting go.

Dipper, wearing his own brand of celebration attire—a plaid shirt, black jeans, and a party hat—laughed. “You should’ve seen the back of the postcard.”

Candy reached for it. “‘Tell Dipper I still own that axe he tried to confiscate from me,’” she read aloud. “‘Also, happy birthday! Don’t let your sister eat all the cake, she did that at our wedding.’” She looked up, deadpan. “Did you?”

“I was nervous!” Mabel said defensively. “And it was a seven-tier cake. I thought I was helping.”

“They sent gifts too,” Pacifica added with a little grin, nudging a pile of packages stacked on the kitchen counter. “From the palace vaults, no less. Classy.”

Dipper nodded. “I got a first-edition copy of Occultic Relics and Royal Secrets from the private Austrian archives. With marginalia in Latin. I’ve been vibrating since I opened it.”

“And I ,” Mabel said proudly, “got an actual tiara. Like, not plastic. It came in a glass case and everything. It’s got sapphires the size of grapes.”

Candy blinked. “That’s worth more than like. All of us combined.”

Stan, passing through the kitchen with a spatula in one hand and an opened root beer in the other, grunted, “Better be insured. If not, I’m declaring it a business asset.”

“So what’s on the birthday agenda?” Pacifica asked, shifting so she was leaning fully against Dipper, looking unbothered and annoyingly stunning in a dark green sundress.

“Party, obviously,” Mabel said. “Then presents, cake, and at some point, Soos is showing us a PowerPoint he made called ‘Dipper and Mabel’s Greatest Mystery Shack Moments.’”

Candy narrowed her eyes. “Is that the one where you tried to launch Dipper into a snowy hill with a bottle rocket sled?”

“Yes,” Dipper said flatly.

“It was a scientific experiment,” Mabel added. “And he survived! With only minor frostbite!” 

Waddles snorted as he rolled in, covered in mud and wildflowers. Everything about the day felt good—the kind of easy, slow happiness that only comes when you’ve been through too much and finally, finally get a break.

Dipper smiled, stroking Pacifica’s hair.

For once, he didn’t feel haunted by what came next. No mysteries looming. No conspiracies unraveling. Just family, friends, and the weirdest little town on the planet.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

◬ ◬ ◬

The night settled over Gravity Falls like a blanket stitched with stars.

The party had faded to an afterglow of twinkling lights and half-finished cake, friends slipping home one by one as laughter gave way to yawns. Waddles was snoring under a table. Soos had passed out in a lawn chair with a party hat askew over his eyes. Even Mabel, queen of midnight mayhem, had gone quiet—curled up in a hammock and talking to Candy, both of them wrapped in blankets, whispering and giggling about something no one else would understand.

And up on the roof of the Mystery Shack, two figures sat side by side, knees pulled to their chests, feet dangling just above the porch awning.

Dipper and Pacifica.

The quiet up here was different—not the eerie kind that Gravity Falls was known for, but something gentler. Honest. The wind rustled the pines. The stars blinked overhead, steady and slow.

Dipper exhaled, his breath curling faintly in the cool air. “I missed this roof,” he said. “I think half of my teenage crisis happened right here.”

Pacifica leaned back on her hands beside him, her golden hair braided over one shoulder. “I get it,” she murmured. “I didn’t even grow up here and somehow this place still feels like… home.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled. Dipper’s fingers brushed hers, tentative. She didn’t pull away.

Eventually, he glanced over at her. “So… I’m definitely going. I’ve decided.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “To?”

“Stanford.” He smiled, sheepish but proud. “Criminology program. Starts in September.”

Her eyes widened with genuine delight. “Dipper! That’s amazing!”

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “I’m going to miss you though.”

Pacifica bumped his shoulder with hers. “It’s alright, Pines. You earned it.”

He looked up at her then, studying the way the starlight framed her face, the calm in her eyes, the certainty. It had been a long, wild summer. But somehow, even after the palaces and the crowns and the secrets, they had found their way back to something real.

She was real.

Pacifica’s smile deepened, but it wasn’t smug. It was soft. A secret waiting to be told. “I applied to UC Berkeley,” she said, voice quiet. “For the History program.”

Dipper blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I wasn’t going to at first,” she said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But… I kept thinking about it. About what I actually wanted. And you said something once—about how maybe I didn’t need to be what they tried to make me. That maybe I already knew who I was. I couldn’t stop thinking about that.”

She turned to him fully now, her eyes shining. “I got in. I’ll be starting in the fall too.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped slightly. “You—Pacifica, that’s—”

“Fifty minutes from Stanford,” she added, grinning now. “Not that I checked every route on Google Maps or anything.”

Dipper let out a short, breathless laugh. “You… you applied late. For me?”

“I applied late for me,” she corrected. “But maybe also… a little bit for us.”

For a second, the whole world stopped.

Dipper reached for her hand, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. Their fingers laced together like they'd always been meant to.

“History and criminology,” he said with a smile. “That’s a very nerdy power couple combo.”

“I know,” Pacifica said. “We’re going to be insufferable.”

He leaned closer, the air between them thin and charged.

“So,” he said, his voice low, teasing, “what you’re saying is… I get to keep you?”

Pacifica tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. You get to keep me.”

Their lips met in a kiss that was quiet and deep and sure. 

They stayed like that for a while, pressed close beneath the stars, their futures suddenly something they were excited to carry.