Chapter II

Her Majesty Crown Princess Lena Cavendish-Montagu-Wellesley-Beauclerk-Chicheley the Descendant Vicomtesse de Dawn Stone

Their time was now.

Determination charged through her synapses. Time after time after time they’d fantasised about running away together and leaving behind the lives imposed on them by the misfortune of birth. But it had become far too easy to let doubt creep into those dreams. Florentine had her family to support, and she had a whole host of royal duties ruling her daily existence. She’d be sitting in a meeting discussing her upcoming itinerary and suddenly weeks or months would’ve past by in an intoxicated haze. But the misery of that existence always had its impact cushioned by the option to run away. Night after night, a couple of times per week, she and Florentine would make time for a clandestine meeting and occasionally the possibility of eloping would come up. They’d talk of cottages and room layouts, ornaments and furniture, what to grow in the vegetable patch and the pets they’d care for. Then the next morning normalcy would reassert itself, waking from a dream.

Whatever happened to that precocious child who never hesitated to sneak out when the fancy struck, and caught the fury of her parents upon being discovered? Lena struggled to point to a single instance when it all changed. It was gradual, like a virus infecting the host, wrapping its tendrils around her silently, unknowingly, until she found herself completely subservient to its whims. She remembered when her father had sat her down to tell her of her marriage to Alexander. She’d met him a couple of times at state functions, but to hear that it was decided that she’d marry him was a slap in the face. A lot of anger followed that conversation, but when it cleared, she found herself able to wiggle a toe. She’d been snapped out of her catatonic state.

Lena succeeded in sneaking back into her chamber and curling up under the covers of her obscenely large bed. Her parents had tried to block off as many of the palace’s ancient tunnels and secret passages, but the curiosity of a child was a powerful force, and Lena knew more than perhaps anyone since the original architect. Cradled in the lingering warmth of her night with Florentine, letting it protect her, she drifted off. The dream of their cottage on Sapphos played itself out with the clarity of a theatre performance. Free from the shackles of her birth, responsible only to Florentine and her own actions, saved from the stifling pressure that every decision she made would affect millions of people. She wanted to learn about the world by experiencing it on her own terms, not through books or the heavily curated itinerary of a state visit. With the wedding imminent, it could be put off no longer. Her choice was clear, and she chose that life with Florentine.

#

Lena arose a little after mid-morning. Handmaids buzzed around the room in force: opening curtains, arranging outfits, cleaning and dusting and organising, making her bed—yes, while she still wrestled with her grasp on consciousness. Her body lifted from the mattress as if possessed, the duvet and sheets fell away, and her handmaids swarmed her like flies around dung, sweeping her through to the ensuite and into the bath where they washed her down. They then shunted her back to the bed chamber and dressed her in a suffocating ensemble that forced her to walk in a laborious, dainty manner for fear that one ill-timed step could tangle her up in the masses of fabric comprising the skirt. She was halfway down to breakfast when she finally felt herself fully awake.

The ballroom seemed entirely too big without the masses of people. Last night’s warm oranges and yellows had been swapped out for cold whites and blues, and the dining table had been returned to the centre of the room with her mother and father seated at opposite ends. In the centre were Alexander and his family. They hadn’t bothered to wait for her, already enjoying their breakfast of fruit scones, teaffee, and cucumber sandwiches. In the cavernous emptiness of the dining room they all appeared comically small, the distance between them impractical and silly. But the instant someone opened their mouth the precisely tuned acoustics allowed them to talk to each other with nary a raised voice.

She scrambled to draw together some hasty defences and put on a polite face. No-one seemed to notice otherwise and polite conversation continued as if she’d been seated alongside them since the beginning. The only saving grace was Aria. A tiny bundle of boundless energy whose innate curiosity about everything and anything unrelated to politics helped distract from topics Lena and Alexander both would rather not think about. Each time conversation settled Aria jumped in with another question and carried them through until the end of breakfast, when Lena made her escape out to the Emerald Garden.

It somewhat helped calm the anxiety fizzing in the pit of her stomach. A slice of the outside world locked away within layers upon layers of city, and yet it still managed to be soiled by the obsessively unnatural perfection of its upkeep. Grass was trimmed to a specific length all year round, the flower and crystal beds arranged just so, bird boxes and trees positioned with specific intent, benches enclosed within wooden gazebos. Even the pond before her hand been dug out to resemble the three crystals on the Dawn Stone flag. And at the centre of the largest of the three a statue depicting Alwin Chicheley reaching out to the sky loomed over her. It had once been a natural crystalline formation that had been carved and whittled down into its current shape after it was decided to found the city around it. The unique property that attracted Alwin and his settlers to it was the shifting colouring. At night, it was dark enough to be almost black, and as light passed through it, the colour changed to red then the blazing orange of the dawn sky.

Lena sat on the bench overlooking that pond, back straight, one hand rested on her lap, the other holding the fragile sky blue parasol to keep the sun off her virgin white complexion, arranged like the perfect porcelain doll.

Crunch, crunch, crunching footsteps on the pebble stone path betrayed the approach of someone before their shadow stretched across the ground in front of her. “I was beginning to think breakfast would never end.” Alexander sat down beside her, cradling something on his lap. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our families are expecting to sit in on us consummating our union, just to ensure it checks all the boxes.”

Lena grimaced, then laughed. “No! No, this wedding’s already sufficiently distasteful without having that image floating about in my head.”

“His Majesty’s sitting there instructing you on how a proper lady is expected to make love and how it’s about pleasing your husband.”

“And the senator’s sitting on the other side of the room chortling and encouraging you to hold on tight and go for gold like you’re Maximus Decimus.”

He shook his head, now also laughing through a grimace. “I’ve been to enough races to have much too clear an image of that,” he said. “He’s the loudest in our section, drawing so many strange looks from the other attending senators and their families, cheering for his favoured rider. I’ve never seen him so enthralled. Imagining him yelling at me like that is downright traumatic.”

“And your mother, burning holes into my skull with her disapproval! I could perform feats of sexual impossibilities and still I’d never be good enough!” The joke audibly soured as she told it, causing the jovial mood to temper. “Uhm… I do apologise,” she said quickly.

“It’s okay. My mother can be a bit…hard to please, sometimes,” he remarked. Then added, “I hope you know my displeasure with our marriage has nothing to do with your transition.”

“I know.”

“It’s always worth reiterating.”

“There are many more legitimate reasons to be frustrated.” Lena sucked in a breath, and let it out as a dramatic sigh. “Do thank your sister for making it somewhat bearable.”

“I will do.” Alexander retrieved a loosely wrapped package from his lap, and handed it to her. “Happy late birthday.”

“You didn’t have—”

“I did. We’re going to get a lot of gifts over the next few days, and I wanted you to have one thing that’s genuine.”

Lena clutched the package in her hands, and grinned, then opened it. “Junii L’Estate’s new collection! Thank you! Thank you so much!” She threw her free arm around Alexander and heard him exhale when she squeezed. “It’s incredible! Thank you!”

He gulped in air when she finally withdrew to flick through its pages. “It’s got all of her latest paintings with annotations. And even a couple of photographs of her sculptures. Goddess! Original photographs!”

Awaiting Spring was printed in debossed gold letters in the centre of the delicate, leatherbound hardback with Junii’s name sitting beneath. Lena turned to the photography section, and her jaw hit the floor. She’d only seen one photograph in the six months since the camera had been invented, so discovering that the final third of the tome was comprised of photos alone enraptured her. Seeing Madam and Her Muse as if it was stood before her was as much a revelation now as when she’d first seen it. Printing presses were getting better every year and the accuracy with which they reproduced Junii’s famous art collection was astounding.

“She has an exhibition upcoming in the city soon…” her speech slowed until it trailed off. “I’ve been…thinking. About the wedding. Specifically about what would happen if it were to be cancelled due to a…lack of the bride.”

Alexander nodded. “I, too, have had such thoughts,” he admitted. “I’ve imagined my wedding many times, but it was Patroclus standing across the aisle from me. A fleeting fancy, I suppose.”

Lena caught herself glancing around, leaning in as if to share an intimate moment. “What if it didn’t have to be?” she whispered. “Florentine and I—”

“Florentine? Knight-Captain Roux?”

“Florentine and I have fantasised about eloping for many years. We… If not now, we will, all three of us, be trapped in lives of servitude to the system of governance intent on moulding us.”

Alexander tensed against her, she felt his heartbeat rise. “C-Could we really do such a thing?” he asked cautiously.

“What is there to stop us?”

“What about the treaty?”

“You still intend to become a senator, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then you can still seek a treaty between our two nations.”

“That may not be for another fifteen or twenty years.”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend those years with Patroclus?”

“I…” He nodded. “Yes, I would. But what a selfish act it would be.”

“I’ve spent my whole life playing the part of the good heir…” Her arm tightened around him. “I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be shipped off to Aceris to play the good wife. I don’t want to have what few threads of agency I still have stolen away from me, and I know you don’t, either.”

Alexander hugged her back, and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I don’t,” he said, then kissed her. “I will help. For both our sakes, I will help.”

“Thank you.” Lena noticed a scattering of soldiers, guards, maids, and other staff watching. Judging by their reaction, they hadn’t heard a word the couple had said, only witnesses the gifting and abundance of affectionate body language. “We’re being watched.”

“Wouldn’t do to have anything happen to the newlyweds now, would it?” Alexander slid an arm round her waist and slid her closed, gently raising her chin with his other hand. “Do you mind if I kiss you?”

Her lips sprung forth to hit him with a peck. He grinned and kissed her deeply. Pretending for the crowd was a lot easier when the feelings were genuine. What their lives could’ve been if it had all been different. Their kiss rippled through the spectators. Lena relaxed into his arms, and in turn felt him relax into hers. Alexander’s grasp was gentle, his body hard and stable, lips deliciously soft. She made a mental note to write to him. Distaste for their unwanted circumstances hadn’t stopped feelings blooming between them and she refused to let their parting part them.

#

The waterfront had always played host to the most highly sought after building space due to its proximity to the warehouse district and relative openness compared to the rest of the city. It was as close to up market as one would find in the outer city, playing host gorgeous, well maintained shopfronts and brothels and clubs and pubs. Off to Lena’s left, Madam Champaign’s Brothel, the sex workers guild, and the guild-hall-turned-museum to the infamous Knights of the Firefly adventuring group. To her right an adorable orc-run café called Tales & Teaffee and Cherry Tree Books, a cosy hole-in-the-wall book shop run by a famous gnomish poet.

Lena looked up at the humble little clothing store before her with Woodland emblazoned across the top in gold lettering and thought about how little it had changed since she’d first stumbled her way in all those years ago. Elfi had eluded the temptation to go big when fame found her, and the store retained its hidden gem quality. How things in Lena’s life had changed in comparison. She told her detachment of Royal Guard to wait outside.

In layout, Elfi’s shop remained consistent and leant a comforting familiarity to the space, like rereading a favoured novel. But the style adorning the mannequins, displays stands, and shelves had evolved into a more utilitarian practicality to accommodate working with all the wonderous new machinery brought about by the harnessing of the arcana inside crystals. Dungarees and jumpsuits, slim fit shirts and skirts with a narrower profile, heavy boots with steal caps, and hats for keeping long hair out of harm’s way. Lena took in an indulgent lungful of the lemon tart scent diffusing into the room from the candles behind the countertop. Comfortable warmth massaged the tension from her shoulders.

A whistling kettle drew her towards the back room, and she chapped on the doorframe.

“Come in.”

Lena passed through the beads to where she found Elfi pouring two cups of what she immediately recognised to be hash teaffee. Elfriede Genovese was born in Arkwoods to a dwarven father and trollish mother. She had a short, stocky build and an explosive shock of curly hair that she died orange, dark olive green skin and curved tusks. Her outfit today was somewhat less eccentric than usual: a mint green shirt with brown knee breaches and a pair white silk stockings. Topping it all off was her iconic candy floss pink shaggy slippers. She handed one of the cups to Lena, then tied her bright orange hair into a pony tail before taking her own.

Lena brought the rim of the delicate clay cup to her lips, gave a genteel blow, and closed her eyes as she took a sip. The hash hit her stomach and exploded through her nervous system as a shockwave of tingling, relaxing euphoria that made Lena feel like she’d float away if she popped up to her tip-toes too fast. Both of them stood in homely silence for several minutes, enjoying the richness of Mama Pricilla’s homegrown herb. The long minutes were a welcome separation from the mad rush held at bay behind the front door. Lena never wanted to leave their bubble of serenity.

“Bert’s coming to stay for a while,” Elfi said, cradling her own mug in her hands. “He was supposed to be here for the wedding, but various delays have pushed his arrival back indefinitely.” She scoffed. “What a pain in the ass.”

“Will he be staying long?”

“However long his show’s running.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! What’s he up to now?”

Elfi beamed. “He managed to get himself a permanent spot in one of the best opera troupe’s in Fù.”

“Simply incredible! Good for him!”

“They’re going to be touring all the major venues in Iperon. You and Alexander absolutely have to see the show!”

“Let me know when he…” Lena trailed off. Pop! “Would you, uh, care to indulge an unorthodox idea for a moment?”

Elfi perched on the countertop. “Certainly.”

“What would you say if I…planned to elope with Florentine?” And she instinctively clenched her eyes shut for a beat.

“Hmm…” Elfi took a leisurely sip. “I can only assume you want to hear my opinion as your friend, not that of the tailor hired by your parents?”

Lena nodded.

“I came here because it’s the fashion capital of the world, not because I agree with the backwards fascists you call a government,” she mused, as if she hadn’t just said it to one of the backwards fascists in question. “I find the entire idea of a ruling class utterly distasteful, and if it were up to me, I’d raze it all to the ground and have it replaced by a rotating council of citizens whose only job is to manage the distribution of resources.”

Lena had no words, cheeks flushing a deep pink. She knew Elfi held unconventional political beliefs owing to her origins in Arkwoods, but never before had she been so overtly vocal or forceful about making them known.

The tailor smirked over the rim of her mug. “I may be hesitant to share such sentiment had I been talking to a member of the government.” Then took another sip. “Luckily for me, I see no such persons here.”

A knot in Lena’s chest undid itself, and she felt light enough to fly away. “S-So you think it’s a good idea?”

“Answer me one question: will it make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then fuck it! I think it’s a good idea.”

Lena placed her cup on the countertop and scooped the tailor into a rib-crushing hug. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Elfi groaned, barely able to keep her teaffee from spilling. She put her cup down upon release. Lena’s mind erupted with flames that burned away any lingering reservations she held. Plans formed and collapsed like stars in the universe on a greatly accelerated timeline, each leaving behind raw materials enough to help bolster new methods of safe escape. She could use her arcane ability to glide down from her bedroom window, then the tunnel from the armoury to get under the first wall—she had to see Syn about that—as she’d done as a child, but that brought her out in a garrison, which posed its own problems. Unless Florentine was there to meet her. Perfect! So where to go from there?

“Your teaffee’s going to get cold,” Elfi said, recovering from her winded ailment.

“Ah, right.” Lena recovered her mug, and took a sip; the brew relaxed her anticipation a smidge.

The tailor cupped Lena’s cheeks in her hands and stared deeply into the princesses eyes. “Oh, my darling Lena,” she said. “That look in your eyes. The desires of your soul are plain to see.” She released the princess and went over to the door, peeked through the shop and out to the street where the royal guardsman were milling. When she turned back, her expression matched that of sizing someone up for an outfit. “And they thought my penchant for tailoring was unorthodox. They haven’t seen the half of it.” A notebook and pencil appeared in her hands; she begun scribbling. “I already know your measurements. Florentine’s shouldn’t be an issue. I have contacts in the armed forces.”

Lena’s heart jumped, and she placed a hand atop the notebook, regaining Elfi’s attention. “I came to ask your advice,” she said. “It would be unfair of me to implicate you in a scheme that could cost you your neck.”

“I have implicated myself, dear.”

“Please, Elfi. I’ve already enlisted the help of Alexander, for we both can survive the fallout unscathed, but you…”

“I’m more than a simple tailor, I assure you.”

Lena gulped down a mouthful of teaffee, panting through the burning heat, relaxing into the spreading warmth. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was leaving you to such a fate as a conspirator.”

“Oh, they’ll never find out,” Elfi assured her with a dismissive wave of her pencil. “Don’t you worry your little heart.” Her focus returned to the notebook. “I send and receive deliveries all the time, usually in the form of barrels full of rolls of textiles. I think I have a couple that would fit. And you can’t very well go fleeing through the countryside dressed like that, can you? I’ll get a couple of travelling outfits tailored for the both of you, a couple of backpacks.”

Lena tried to step in, but Elfi pre-empted her words, replying, “no need to pay me. Your parents have already paid me a small fortune for the wedding dresses, and my cut from their auction after the fact is more than sufficient. Hm. They might even be more valuable knowing they were never worn. There would be such a mystique surrounding them.”

The princess again stole her attention from the notebook. She grasped her old friends hands and squeezed, heart full, tears welling. It may be a long time before she ever saw the tailor again, if she ever did, so she took a moment to burn Elfi’s face into her memory, for the next time she passed through her shop, it would be in a hurried rush in the dead of night. “Thank you, Elfi. Thank you for everything.”

Elfi squeezed back, and gazed at her with loving affection. “Go out there and take your autonomy, free yourself and Alexander from the strings of your parents.”

Lena replied with a firm nod, and the pair hugged. They then finished their teaffee and got to fitting the dress for the upcoming opera put on as part of the wedding events schedule. The dress itself was a gibbet of a contraption that took four hours to put on, and rendered Lena immobile, restricted her breathing, and stood her stick straight. Elfi completed the ensemble with Lena’s crystal infused staff, handing it to her and standing by to prop her up should the additional weight topple her off balance. Lena couldn’t look down at the outfit due to the giant collar, so she requested she be pivoted towards the nearest mirror. It was an exceptional piece of craftspersonship that matched perfectly the brief sent over from the palace, designed to the age-old standard that women were to be seen as an accessory for their husbands.

#

Alexander helped her out of the carriage, and she was almost knocked over from the shockwave of cheers blasting her from both sides of the carpeted path up to the doors of the d’Aubigny Opera House & Theatre. The building towered over proceedings, a masterclass of deconstructivism dating back to the period during which her family had been overthrown. Built on the ruins of the previous Eton Conservatory by architect Cherie St. Claire and her team, it was a symbol of defiance against the rigidity of the old system, a system that would one day return and co-opt the d’Aubigny as a shallow statement of appeasement. In reality, the building remained such a strong rallying point of the people that any attempt to tear it down would’ve caused an uprising.

Alexander held firm as they made their way towards the entrance. Lena attempted to pivot from side to side to wave and make it seem natural as she had been taught, but the action was physically impossible, wearing her down until she was reduced to simply nodding humbly at the adoring masses. Journalists, brandishing pencils and notebooks, pressed against the soldier-reinforced barricade and behind them the common people clambering for better views. Banners, streamers, fireworks of physical and arcane means. Movement everywhere. Flashing lights. Shallow breaths. The explosion from a camera flash almost stopped her heart. Lena reached up to loosen her corset—trapped, her arms held firmly in place. Suffocating, sweating, darkness creeping into the corners of her vision. Louder. Closer. No air. Trapped. Help. Help!

Help!

The d’Aubigny distorted further as they got closer, its gaping maw swallowing first her parents, then Alexanders family. The upper windows of the building blinked to a hellish red, the door drew back into a lopsided, hungry grin. All around her the people became oily black silhouettes chanting in a hypnotic baritone that shook the ground. Above, the sky twisted to starless black. Alexander looked to her, mirroring the terror clawing at her chest. The d’Aubigny beckoned them closer, and when they refused, the carpet whipped out from under their feet like a tongue and wrapped itself around Alexander, thrusting him aloft. Lena tried to reach out for him, unable to sit up, unable to stand. Forced to watch it drag him into the void beyond its chomping grin. She shook her head. King Ludwig emerged from inside. He towering over her. His features had been reduced to gaunt, pale, skeletal shadows of their former selves, glowing molten metal poured from his eyes. A bony hand reached out.

“Come, Lena.” Ludwig’s jaw didn’t move, his voice omniscient in its grandeur. “You were born to fulfil a single purpose. Embrace that which you are destined.”

She tried to scream; her mouth sewen shut.

Ludwig’s finger curled, and invisible hands righted her, lifted her into the air, level with the king, and slid her forward. The heat from his eyes ate the last of her air and darkness overtook her vision until all she could see was a faint orange glow.

Lena jerked awake. A lantern hung overhead, and next to it stood Alexander. She looked around. She’d ended up in one of the powder rooms inside the d’Aubigny. Alexander took a step towards her and flinched, startled when an insistent banging shook the doors hinges.

“What’s going on in there?!” Her father’s voice boomed. “That performance out there was appalling, young lady, and now you’re hiding away in the powder room when you should be in your booth!”

The knob squeaked and rattled.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Let me in there at once!”

Alexander looked back to Lena petrified.

She managed a nod. “It’s okay.”

He took her hand, tracing a circle on the back with his thumb—the way he knew calmed her. “I’ll be nearby.”

Her father stumbled in the instant Alexander clicked open the lock, almost tumbling into an uncontrolled summersault of barely contained anger. He popped up to a stable stance, recovering some of his kingly dignity. Alexander chose that moment to slip out and was gone before the king regained himself. Lena took a breath, resigned to the encounter.

King Ludwig wore his formal uniform: a similar garment to military dress in design, but a deep royal purple and weighed down by medals and commendations earned by being somewhere close to the area near the vicinity of a particularly rowdy arrest one time. A small fraction were, she knew, earned legitimately when he was far more active in state affairs before her birth. He wore them all with an equal pride that betrayed his growing loss of touch with the modern world. His face was the picture of I’m not angry, just disappointed—an expression that exhumed Lena’s teenage rebellion. He was, in fact, both.

“You’re lucky you made it inside before passing out,” he scoffed. “As heir to the throne and a sovereign of this country, you’re expected to maintain the stature and dignity the position demands—Goddess knows fate has conspired to make that hard enough as is. I taught you to be strong, I taught you to be proud, I taught you to fight past your limitations. Have you any idea the headlines those insects at the tabloids will be reporting tomorrow morning? We’ll look like fools, and we can scarcely have that!

“Do you not appreciate the amount of work I’ve put in to compensate for your…shortcomings? What happens if some sufficiently motivated rat decides there’s more to the story of your fainting than a simple case of stress and uncovers you disability? Our reputation cannot take such a hit in such a critical time. It was hard enough to weather the controversy around your transition, but I grinned and bore it because I’m not blind to how much more eager and pliant you were afterwards.” He looked down his nose at her. “The least you can do is act like you’re of the same superior breeding as your lineage demands.

“This marriage must be successful for the sake of our kingdom, to secure peace to the south and open new trading opportunities. Failing now could be catastrophic, and extend the recovery period by decades. This wedding will not fail. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father,” she croaked.

“Good.” And he left.

Lena had heard some variation of that speech time after time since she came of age and people had started viewing her as a legitimate part of the governmental structure. Her father never missed an opportunity to berate her for her deficiency whenever she set the slightest hair wrong. But the new detail he’d added for this particular rendition was mention of her transition. Somewhere in the annals of her mind, she’d always known her father’s support of her decision wasn’t based on her happiness and mental stability, but hearing it so bluntly stated in such a throwaway manner after all this time shocked her system, like the sudden agony of breaking a bone. She was not a daughter to them, not anymore. She was nought but a homunculus designed to one day take over as the human-shaped avatar of the system. No longer did she intend to play the role forced upon her. If she wasn’t good enough for them, it was time they found a new heir.