Chapter Text
Lunafreya Nox Fleuret was the crown princess of Tenebrae, and at four years old, she wasn’t all too sure about it. For one, there was her formal gown, which looked perfectly lovely on the tailor’s doll but pinched at the arms and made it hard to walk. The monarchs of Tenebrae were working queens, practical and sure of themselves, and Luna was used to running about the manor at home in loose breeches and soft kid boots. But Lucis, she was told, wanted to see a princess, so there she was, drowning in petticoats and eyeing her brother Ravus with more than a little envy. As a boy, he didn’t have to worry about being a ruler of anything. He could wear whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted, and, apparently, marry whoever he wanted as well.
Because the second thing, the worst thing, was waiting for Luna in the big, golden crib on the dais of the Lucian throne room.
“Oh, he’s lovely,” her mother said, because queens were supposed to be kind. She lay a hand on the queen of Lucis’ arm and beckoned to Luna. “Luna, come. This is Prince Noctis, your betrothed.”
Luna put on a brave face and stepped up to the crib. The baby lying in the embroidered black blankets was cute, she supposed, but she didn’t see how anything so small and soft and pink could grow up to be a husband. She reached in a hand, and Prince Noctis regarded it, wide eyes thoughtful, before bursting into hideous, screeching tears.
“What did I do?” she whispered, as Queen Aulea swept in to lift the prince into her arms. The adults around her smiled as though she’d said something amusing, not as though she’d just broken the crown prince of Lucis. Her mother sighed at King Regis, who nodded, and Ravus had to pluck at Luna’s sleeve to make sure she stepped back from the dais.
“There, darling,” Queen Aulea said, as Prince Noctis began to settle down. “I know, I know, all this fuss can’t be fun.”
Luna hadn’t thought of that. If she was bored and uncomfortable, the poor prince was probably miserable. No wonder he’d cried. She was about to ask if she could try holding him as an apology, but then the door swung open, carrying with it the scent of flowers, of mossy stones, of cool water and the sizzling sting of magic. Luna drew closer to her mother, who placed a steadying hand on her back.
The faeries came to the rolling, somber beat of a drum, like an empty log banging against a riverbank. Thud. Three wood nymphs lurched and creaked through the tall doors, their hair hanging like willow leaves over long faces. Thud. Wind sprites whistled and giggled and twisted around the nymphs and the gathered guests of the court, flipping skirts and capes, upending wigs and making the high chandeliers sway and glitter. Thud. The high faeries trooped in, golden-eyed and beautiful as a bundle of knives, all sharp edges and smiles that bordered just on the edge of cruelty. Luna heard that even the kindest of them once liked to lure people into the woods, only to turn them out a few hundred years later, wise and beautiful and changed, doomed to never belong to the world of human beings again. Luna’s family retainer was one of those humans, and Luna looked behind her to see how she was doing. Gentiana only smiled, her eyes closed as always, dark hair swinging in her face.
One of the high faeries stepped forward. He had dirty blond hair and wore a suit nearly as fine as a king’s, and he bowed to King Regis and Queen Aulea first, as his hosts, then to Luna’s mother.
“Your majesties,” he said. “The Seelie Court—“ he said it like that, pronouncing each word like a spell, like something precious— “thanks you for your hospitality, and would like to offer the usual gifts.”
A puff of wind blew past Luna’s face, and a small storm cloud coalesced at the high faerie’s side, turning into a young man with wild blond hair and lightning in his eyes. Then one of the nymphs stepped up, and Luna couldn’t help smiling. He had to be a flower fairy, not a proper tree nymph at all—flowers bloomed and budded in his hair and dropped over his broad shoulders when he bowed.
The high faerie came first, because even with the fey folk, there was an order to follow, and let his hand hover over the prince. “Prince Noctis,” he said. “To you, I give beauty.”
Luna held her tongue. Beauty didn’t seem very useful, but she supposed as king, Noctis wouldn’t do much ruling, so he had to have something. Still, she didn’t understand why Queen Aulea’s face lit up, or why King Regis looked so relieved. Maybe beauty was important in Lucis. She looked down at her dress, and wondered, vaguely, if she was beautiful enough for them, too.
By the time she looked up, the second faerie, the one with the flowers, was leaning over Prince Noctis.
“I give you grace,” he said. “Catlike, adaptive and flowing. Your feet will never stumble, and your hands will never falter.”
That was more practical, at least. Luna was scheduled to start learning the sword in a few years, and she knew she could definitely stand to use a little extra grace.
The storm faerie pattered up the steps, but he hadn’t gone more than a few feet before the doors to the great hall opened again, slamming against the stone pillars with a bang that shook the chandeliers and made the lights at the far wall go tumbling out of their sconces. Attendants scattered to put out the flames, but Luna wasn’t watching them. No, she was watching the door, from which a blackness poured out like a mist unrolling in the mountains.
Luna’s mother grabbed her by the collar of her uncomfortable dress and shoved her back, hidden behind her and Gentiana. Luna peered around Gentiana’s cloak just in time to see a figure emerge from the dark.
He had long, curled horns like one of the highland goats of Tenebrae, but there were streaks of red in them, glowing and pulsing like a heartbeat. His red hair was tied back in a braid, and his smile—gods, his smile. It didn’t stop where normal smiles were supposed to, but kept going, almost splitting his face in two, and he turned that horrible grin to the dais, spreading his arms. The faeries of the Seelie Court hissed and spat, but all it took was one glance and they were cowering with the humans, glared into silence.
“King Regis,” the strange faerie said. “Queen Aulea. How delightful it is to see you again. It’s been too long, don’t you think?”
“Ardyn,” King Regis said. His voice was short, pained.
“And is this the child?” Ardyn’s smile stretched further, and his jaw shifted to reveal sharp, curving teeth. There was something black dripping from his right eye, too, like ink spilled over a parchment. “What a fetching young creature. Odd, though. I seem to have misplaced my invitation to his name day.”
“You weren’t—“ the storm faerie began, but they were silenced by the flower faerie, who clamped a hand over his mouth. But the damage was already done.
“Weren’t what?” Ardyn said. He tilted his head. “Wanted?”
“Oh, no, your excellency,” King Regis said. “We thought this would be too humble for one of your status.”
“A nice attempt, I suppose,” Ardyn said, “but no.” He placed a foot on the first step leading up to the dais, and the guards placed along the walls drew their swords. He flicked his hand, and Gentiana whirled around, grabbing Luna’s head and pressing her face into the sleeve of her jacket.
“Don’t look up,” she whispered.
That’s when the screaming started.
It went on, and on, and on, horrible burbling screams, like someone had dunked the guards underwater only to drag them up again. Luna clung to Gentiana and wondered how she knew to turn so quickly. She wondered what Gen had seen, back when she was in the faerie court so many hundreds of years ago. She wondered if she’d ever forget.
“Please,” King Regis was saying.
“I’m afraid we’re past niceties,” Ardyn said. He was so close. Gods, he was so close. Luna could feel the dark mist curling around her ankles. “No, I must give my own blessing to the sweet boy. For you see, it is only right that a prince grow to be graceful and beautiful, beloved and kind.”
“Thank you,” Queen Aulea said.
“Do you?” asked Ardyn. Luna clenched her hands in Gentiana’s cloak. “No matter. But into all life some rain must fall. When the boy is not two decades old, he will, oh, let’s say he’ll prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel.” There was a short, bewildered silence, and Ardyn laughed. It wasn’t a very pleasant laugh, all things considered. “And die, of course.”
“You—“ the king began, but someone must have silenced him, because Luna heard no more than muffled cursing. Then there were sharp footfalls, and the darkness receded, and Gentiana slowly loosened her grip.
The doors of the great hall slammed shut.
People were sobbing. Luna could hear them close by, and she peeled away from Gentiana to find her mother holding Queen Aulea, Prince Noctis cradled between them. Queen Aulea was weeping in a way that a good queen wasn’t supposed to, and King Regis was shaking, his hand reaching for a dragon-head cane on the edge of his throne. Luna looked to Ravus, whose face was pale, and Ravus grabbed her hand.
“Um.”
Luna was the first to see the storm faerie hovering at the edge of the dais. He kept rocking forward and back, awkward and unsure, and the lightning in his eyes crawled all over his face and neck, mirroring his mood. “Um,” he said again, a little louder this time. The king looked at him, and his cheeks darkened. “I haven’t. I haven’t given my blessing yet.”
Queen Aulea turned, Prince Noctis clutched to her chest. “You can reverse this?” she cried. “You can save him?”
“I… I can’t reverse the spell,” the faerie said. “But I can make it… better. Different. I can give him a chance.”
“Please,” the queen said, holding out her son. The storm faerie swallowed thickly and held sparking hands over the boy.
“Hey,” he said. “You won’t die, kid. You’ll just. Sleep, for a while. And—and the curse’ll break with true love’s kiss,” he added, grimacing at the king and queen, “because that’s the only way a curse like this can be broken. You fight power with power. The love has to be true, because it needs to… needs to cancel out the hate that he feels.”
He stepped back, bowing his head. “That’s the best I can do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
King Regis nodded stiffly. “Thank you,” he said. “We… my dear.” He turned to his wife. “We must take steps. Our son must be kept safe—we can never let this come to pass.”
Luna wasn’t sure how well that would work—Gentiana said that all faerie curses worked eventually, no matter what you did—but she didn’t get to hear any more. She was ushered away, hurried into a back hallway where they wouldn’t pass whatever Ardyn made of the guards, where she and Ravus squeezed each other’s hands so hard their fingers were sore, and the soft sobbing of Queen Aulea disappeared in the flurry of footsteps and rustle of expensive clothes.
It would be a long, long time until she saw Prince Noctis again, and by then, it would almost be too late.