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Chapter Text

One of the classic stories one can find in every era of Noxian storytelling is that of the horrified nobles trying to get out of an arranged marriage. You know how it goes-they’re somehow caught off guard despite it being normal for their class and family, throw a number of embarrassing tantrums, and either run away or end up shackled to this boorish fool. As a noblewoman who was in their position, let me tell you, not one bit of that’s how it actually goes.

Well, yes, I was surprised, but that was more because Noxian noble status as a concept and thus my prospects had totally imploded. Also, frankly, I was a social pariah amongst my class and neither of my parents wanted me married. I had reasons, not like those fictional ninnies. Lay off.

Surprise or not, the announcement that Demacia would demand a political marriage and I would be the Noxian half wasn’t something I’d take lying down. First thing, I checked with our ambassadors that’d actually be a demand. Yep. Turned out there is-maybe was, the prime minister might’ve changed this-anyways, there was a law saying no foreign nobles could operate long-term in Demacia without being married to one of their own. I don’t remember the specifics and never knew the history. Maybe I’ll get one of those legal scholars to stick in a footnote. It was not the answer I wanted, so I laid in my bed and wailed about the cruelty of the universe.

Joking.

Instead, I got out a notebook and considered things. I was going to end up with a Demacian spouse. There was no way around it, unless I overthrew the government which seemed an overreaction. Not even Hazel was calling for that yet. So, what did I want out of that spouse? My list went like this:

- Wouldn’t let other Demacians kill me for no reason
- Wouldn’t use that the Demacian legal system would only protect them against me
- Useful to Noxus
- Good-looking (optional)

Handily, I knew someone who fit perfectly. Not so handily, I’d lied to him repeatedly and he almost certainly had figured out I murdered the king he’d sworn to protect. I drummed my fingers on my desk. With the way the laws were written, the suitors would come to Noxus. That’d be a six-week trip by boat with good weather. But first Demacia would have to openly make this demand, and Noxus would have to send back word they accepted, and then they’d have to negotiate terms… I probably had a year till my potential husbands arrived. That was plenty of time to massage Garen into agreeing to this or find someone else tolerable and get them on the ship to the Immortal Bastion.

I may not have chosen to get married, but I’d be choosing my husband.

I briefly considered asking Talon or Aunt Tammy for help. Both were cloistered in the manor with me, anxiously monitoring a recovering Briar. Best not, I thought. Talon had no training with massaging noble egos, and Aunt Tammy would have a heart attack if she heard I was getting married for the reasons I was. Etiquette would have to carry me through. He had asked me to write to him. It was only polite.

I couldn’t ask him straightaway. He’d see that as mercenary, uncouth, and say no. I had to be subtle. Hint that I’d like to keep this burgeoning alliance together. Appeal to his ego and sense of duty. The mage rebellion had proved Demacian knights would stoop to anything to serve their government; I could twist that. Over several days, I scratched out the following letter:

To Captain Crownguard,

I hope the rest of winter has been gentle to you. It certainly hasn’t in Noxus. Our storms have been as bad as ever. Alas, I’m afraid I’m not writing to complain about the weather.

Forgive me for writing so soon. I’ve just arrived back in Noxus. However, I am quite anxious to ensure our alliance holds. Every second those children remain missing is another one the Black Rose has available to use and break them. The threat they pose to Demacian and Noxian sovereignty cannot be overstated. Would you be willing to work alongside me to stomp them out?

Sincerely,
Duchess du Couteau

I sat back and assessed it. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as my mother’s would’ve been, but despite its clumsiness it seemed effective enough. A bootlicker like Garen would probably care more about the appearance of Demacia’s nobility than the missing kids. Why would you want to marry a guy like that, Katarina? You may be asking. Remember, this was the best of the bad options. Maybe we both thought the other was a horrible person, but he wouldn’t kill me and we’d make pretty kids.

With that charming thought, I sealed the envelope with blue wax and my house sigil and mailed it with express postage.

On the other side of the continent, I was stationed in a Demacian woodlands fort with a tenth of the Dauntless Vanguard. The last of winter had melted away, leaving the forest floor blanketed in petals and new growth. I was in a mood to appreciate none of it. While the younger soldiers and squires enjoyed their patrols in the fresh air, I spent my days after training behind a desk in a cramped, bare bedroom doing paperwork all day. Slow going to begin with, the bothersome task was drawn out further by the long periods of time I spent muttering oaths to strangle my superiors or praying for someone to interrupt me. The incompetence of the nobility following the mage rebellion-I had no words.

Nearly two years on from the old king’s death, a staggering number of nobles previously occupied immaculately carrying out the orders of the mageseekers found themselves unable to complete the simplest of tasks. Ungrateful pricks. We’d all been accomplices to murder. According to our principles, we ought to have all been executed, only spared for our wealth, bloodlines, and that the king had the same blood-soaked hands. We should’ve been begging for forgiveness and mercy. Instead, they pitched fits over the tiniest of reparations. When we deal with common murderers and assassins, we would purge the corruption by our blades. But when the butchers held office, when they claimed they were only following orders-

You can grasp why I spent my days in seclusion. It would’ve frightened civilians to watch a captain grind his teeth into stumps.

Every couple of days, one of our white-clad messengers would deliver letters-often from Jarvan. Friends we might’ve been, but his were my least favorite. I had to think so long to respond, to suggest the preferred course of action without showing my motives. Lux, Shyvana, and the mages were still in far too vulnerable a position, easily destroyed by a simple change of Jarvan’s mood and edict. Especially since I was half-sure Jarvan had only changed the law to lure back Shyvana. What a cruel thing to do-trapping one’s lover by his side by promising to annihilate their people if ever they dared leave. I had no idea if Shyvana recognized that and had no way to ask-as the presumed future queen, she was monitored constantly-but it still spoke poorly of my friend’s temper and character.

Early one morning when the messenger knocked, I sighed deeply in anticipation of another hour spent angrily whispering to myself. “Come in.”

The messenger, a harried-looking man by the name of Heinrich, opened the door and stuck out his arm, three letters clutched in his hand. I took them. He darted off before I could thank him. I inspected the seals. Two were the Crownguard eagle, but the third was totally unfamiliar-a dagger shoved through a skull. My mouth went dry. Noxians.

After calling in to our poisons expert to check the letter was safe, I had a long list of questions and assumptions. It had to be about the proposed alliance to purge the Black Rose from Demacia. But why would it be sent to me? That was work for Jarvan and his ambassadors-though I’d heard rumors it’d slowed to a crawl. Accepting dangerous, hostile foreigners from a brutal empire into Demacia would never be unpopular, necessary though it might’ve been. Fifty children, at least, had been stolen on our watch. They’d put that over national pride, right?

And if purging the Black Rose would eliminate the bedrock of Demacian corruption in the nobility, who was I to reject the help?

My blood chilled. Had they somehow found out and come to me for a more cooperative liaison? No, impossible. I hadn’t said a word of my plans aloud even to myself.
I read it, flipping over every word for ulterior motive and meaning. I needn’t have bothered. The meaning was plain to anyone of courtly upbringing. I buried my head in my hands and laughed bitterly. A professional murderer was scouting me, a protector of innocents and enforcer of the law, as a husband.

Would life never grow less absurd?

I already knew there’d have to be a marriage, of course. It was a standard procedure with foreign alliances. Having someone here allowed for speedier communication and translation of cultural quirks, and of course our falser allies thought things through more when their kin were within our grasp. But for Katarina to reach out so brazenly-she must’ve volunteered to carry out the Noxian half. My jaw began to ache. I forced it to relax. This was nothing to be concerned over, more an insult than anything to hope to marry a Crownguard as a mere-

How powerful was House du Couteau again?

After finishing my work, I asked Quinn, who’d studied Noxian nobility as part of her work to identify assassins. Bless her, she asked for no context. “Very powerful,” she said flatly. “They’re the strongest noble house left in Noxus. I think even Swain might be one of them, through his wife.”

Unchivalrous oaths filled my mind.

I thanked her and retreated to my room. The sun hadn’t yet set but was heading that way. I would need to write quickly to avoid wasting candles.

Dear Duchess du Couteau,

I’m pleasantly surprised to hear from you. I of course share your dedication to stamp out this evil in both our nations for the sake of our peoples. The mage children must be recovered, and their kidnapper punished. The winter was indeed gentle, and we’ve been blessed with a warm spring. Has such luck occurred in Noxus as well? I am honored and much obliged by your kind gesture of friendship and hope to continue our correspondence.

However, I simply must ask. Are you aware of the marriage required for us to bring Noxians into our nation? This perhaps more than anything risks the alliance. We must address this swiftly.

Sincerely,
Cpt. Garen Crownguard

Repugnant as the option was, better the force of an alliance so powerful went to the Crownguards, than to one of the vultures already scheming to take the throne. Better too those knives put in the back of those seeking to harm our people than her husband’s political rivals. Far from ideal, but it was best.

Garen’s response letter arrived shockingly quickly. I found it in the kitchen mail pile marked with the Crownguard sigil upon returning from guild work with Talon. I thought quickly. Aunt Tammy and Briar were off at the hospital again, so they hadn’t seen it. Was this something I could bring Talon in on? I wanted his advice almost as badly as Mother’s-but he’d only been back a few months. Despite our childhood, it was apparently considered poor judgement to trust someone who’d tried to kill you with all your secrets. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped the envelope into my jacket. Talon’s gaze tracked it, but he said nothing.

After dinner that night, I retired to my room and tore that sucker open, more than a little cross. My stomach had tossed with nerves throughout the evening. It’d spoiled my appetite and earned me a glare from Aunt Tammy, who was trying to train Briar into eating regularly rather than subsisting off cats’ blood and being confused when she fainted. How dare he do that to me with a mere letter! I was the Sinister Blade! Letters weren’t supposed to send me into an anxious tizzy.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids. Don’t be as sarcastic as Auntie Kat or even your internal monologue will start sassing you.

I lit a candle and scanned the letter. My shoulders quickly slumped in relief. Thank fuck Garen was as naturally subtle as I was. That saved us a lot of dancing around and a tree from being letter paper. He’d freed me to go for the throat.

Dear Cpt. Crownguard,

Yes, I’ve heard of the requirement. In fact, I am the Noxian offering on this matter. Would you consent to be my husband? You would have my family and I’s full support and resources in protecting Demacia and your house. As my husband you would also, naturally, have access to my wealth and Noxian contacts. I’d only ask you assist me in completing this treaty and punishing the Black Rose. Feel no pressure to answer swiftly. Treaty negotiations are a long thing. I endeavor to answer any of your questions to the fullest extent possible.

Sincerely,
Duchess du Couteau

I read it over once the next morning, to check my spelling. Then I chucked the thing into the mailbox and tried not to think about it. And I didn’t. I didn’t. Don’t listen to Talon about my overworking relapse, which was totally unrelated. Look, sometimes things get busy-

. . .

Thank the Protector, Katarina didn’t attempt to keep our communications formal. When her letters found me next, I’d switched fortresses twice and had fought off a raid from the Winter’s Claw. On top of that, Jarvan had threatened the local baron into completing their paperwork, which meant I had to resolve the backlog. Had Katarina continued with delicacy, I fear I would’ve been too weary to comprehend it. I slept on it before crafting my response. Clearly, Katarina had selected me because she thought me a wealthy fool, easily manipulated to her own ends. Fine, I decided. Let her delusions serve me. If her guard was low, then it’d be easier to manage her for Demacia. And what would a fool do? Agree without conditions and seek no counsel.

So that’s what I told her.

Dear Duchess du Couteau,

I am writing to accept your kind offer. Conditions can be negotiated at a later date. I warn you, though, I am unsure my king would take this decision favorably. My elders certainly won’t. For now I will keep my silence, so they cannot interfere, but do not anticipate a warm welcome.

Sincerely,
Cpt. Crownguard

It wasn’t untrue, strictly speaking. I wasn’t going to tell my family, not even Lux. But that was more because with Lux’s brief foray into rebellion and Aunt Tianna’s historical support of the mageseekers, Jarvan wasn’t the fondest of them at the moment. I wouldn’t risk his wrath upon their heads by getting them involved with this.

Does he think I’m stupid? I wondered, stowing away Garen’s latest letter. He clearly wasn’t dumb. I’d taught him. Why would I fall for this? Politics did not look good on him. And how tired was he when he wrote that thing? His handwriting was wobbly as hell. I didn’t reciprocate his condescension in my response.

From there on, things got quite boring. We exchanged coded messages through the Joseph system, cleverly carried by Plainsfolk methods. If you’re ever curious about that, go ask a military historian about Joseph Farron. Interesting stuff. We worked to keep our sides of the alliance from disintegrating. Garen didn’t disgrace me with any more of that playing dumb bullshit. I’d worn him if some problem was heading down the pike, and he’d warn me. Not much of that was necessary. By the end, I decided he was an asshole. Competent and patriotic, sure, but still a hypocritical, bootlicking asshole.

At least he was hot. In the words of one wise woman, can’t fault those biceps.

Chapter Text

Aunt Tammy’s sitting room had started to change in the past year. Emptier, for one. All the Plainsfolk vases, knickknacks, and plants had vanished from her shelves. With her mother’s passing last spring, she’d started moving her possessions back to the plains. The overstuffed gray couches and pink blankets and rugs meant it was still cozy. Dust had started gathering on the windowsills. The cookies displayed on the ottoman were a few days old, not fresh like they would’ve been if Aunt Tammy hadn’t moved from Swain Manor to ours.

The woman herself sat primly across me, dressed in a firmly formal dress. It was almost funny. She couldn’t be bothered to dress up for a ball of all her peers, but when the time came to see her estranged husband, she put on the ritz like it was armor.

That husband, Jericho Swain, was meeting with their sort-of daughter Briar and my brother Talon only a few rooms away, discussing…something. A mission, most likely. Whatever it was, they needed to hurry up. They’d been in there for half an hour, and there was only so much longer I could keep Tamar from insulting Jericho in his own home.

“Have you thought about what you’ll be looking for when the suitors arrive?” Tamar asked.

“Whichever choice is best for the empire,” I said. Did you hear that, Jericho? I’m not being frivolous. When I ask you to approve Garen and I, do it. His demon ravens weren’t visible, but I had no doubt he and his demon were listening somehow.

“And if they’re equal?”

“Personality and character.”

“Personality.”

“There’s no point if we marry only to end up murdering each other out of irritation.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to deal with. Pick one with a job that makes him travel a lot, one with no mind for heirs. Then you’ll only have to see each other at state dinners. Not even the most grating man in the world can drive you to homicide at that low level of exposure,” Aunt Tammy said, winking.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to marry someone not annoying?”

“They’re nobles, sweetie. They’re all irritating. It’s like they’re raw onions in human form.”

“We’re nobles.”

“But we’re related. That cancels it out.”

“Well, then. I’ll go for someone I can at least respect.”

“From Demacia?”

The tricky thing with keeping Aunt Tammy from casually talking shit was she wasn’t wrong. While Garen was unlikely to kill me, it would be hard to be married to someone who had the moral backbone of a jellyfish. The man couldn’t disobey his king even for the lives of innocents.

Frankly, she had a point with all of it. Jericho was a fun guy. I’d feel bad whenever I had to go slit his throat. Charming he may have been, but he was a neglectful husband at best who’d cheated constantly and rarely spoke with his wife unless it was to give orders and demand money. He’d paid so little attention the Black Rose had managed to kidnap her multiple times and half-drain her of blood to run their experiments with no one the wiser. His singular good points in Auntie’s eyes were that he’d never been violent and had let her decorate their space as she pleased. Otherwise, she’d spent their marriage isolated, terrified, and drugged as he imprisoned her friends and his enemies came for her head. If I were in her position and saw another young woman about to risk a similar fate, I’d warn her too.

Unfortunately, the man who’d inadvertently made the last forty years of her life the second circle of hell could do the same to me and was literally right down the hall.

I shrugged. “Maybe they’ll send a rebel. Seems like the sort of person they’d punish with a Noxian wife.”

“Meh. You’re not that lucky. What I’d go for if I were you is one that isn’t attracted to you. Then he’ll leave you alone after the wedding night.” I choked on my cookie. Aunt Tammy frowned thoughtfully. “Difficult as that might be for you.”

There were so many implications to that. So very many implications. I didn’t want my brain processing any of them, especially when I’d already picked the guy and he wasn’t that bad. I scrambled for a milder topic. “Did you hear about that riot the other day?”

“Kat, I’m serious. You don’t want them too fond of you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do know what a wedding night entails, right?”

“Well, did you lie to me when you gave me the birth control spiel when I was fourteen?”

That conversation from hell was blessedly cut off when a squeaky-hinged door creaked open. Man, Jericho had really let the manor fall apart since she moved out. Two soft voices approached.

“I’m just saying, I swear I’ve seen their faces before”-

“Shh.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

I twisted in my chair to face the doorway. Briar and Talon appeared. Briar, currently in her collar, moseyed over to the cookies. Talon leaned against the door frame. I silently thanked the gods. “How was the meeting? Anything interesting?” I asked.

“Nothing we’re to discuss,” Talon said.

“It’s super boring anyway,” Briar said between bites. Talon tracked each nibble. He was always noting that stuff with her, even now that her ribs were hidden under a healthy layer of fat. “Its only work. Work’s never interesting.”

“Leave it to you to find killing people boring,” I said. “What, is sneaking too easy for you?”

Briar plunked down next to Aunt Tammy on the couch, sitting crisscross. “Well, I guess it’s not always boring. Sometimes it’s frustrating. But it’s never, like, fun. I’m always wishing I was doing something else.”

“Try paperwork. It’ll make you long for stakeouts.”

“Sounds like you’re bad of it, Kat,” Talon said.

“Excuse me, I’m fantastic at bureaucracy. I’m a paperwork prodigy.”

“Oh? So you don’t need me to come with you this afternoon to come help at the guild?”

“Didn’t say that,” I said. Briar laughed. I slapped my knees and stood. “Are you two okay getting home on your own? Talon and I are heading to the guild.”

“Sure. I brought my pillory. You guys do your silly roof thing,” Briar said.

“it’s not a silly roof thing. It’s practical.”

“Sure, Miss I’m-Too-Good-for-Roads.”

I gave up. We left through the window.

My letters with Garen weren’t the only mailed secret I was monitoring in those days.

Six weeks later, Talon and I stood in my office in the du Couteau assassin’s guild hall. It was still largely plain, but Talon now fought back the avalanche of paperwork alongside me. Briar, meanwhile, had gifted me with an array of carefully selected house spiders to wipe out pests. My desk thus remained clean but for my signet ring, pen and ink, and the latest letter from Mother and Cassiopeia.

Talon read the letter for the third time. “Cassie wrote this,” he declared.

“It’s in Mother’s hand,” I said.

“She didn’t pick the words. Too blunt, too arrogant. Mother’s subtler.”

“Do you think it means anything?”

“Either Mother’s letting Cassie practice, or Mother’s still not…together again.”

After Tal’s dramatic break from the Black Rose, Mother and Cassiopeia had dwelled secretly in Mother’s cousin Aunt Tammy’s childhood home. Officially, they were missing, presumed dead. Unofficially, they were convalescing: Mother from her grief, and Cassie from a flare-up of her serpentine curse. They waited for Tammy’s orders. They’d gotten Noxus into this mess, Aunt Tammy had said. They’d help get it out. But while she may have been making use of them, she clearly didn’t trust them with news. Only now, nearly a year after it’d been announced I was the Noxian on auction, did they send me a letter anxiously instructing me on what to do. Cassiopeia may have dictated the wording, but Mother’s regret at not drilling me more harshly seeped from every word.

Seek a noble connection. For you, find a man no lower than an earl. Demacians prefer soft, weak women-hide your scar and arms. Remember your etiquette!

I didn’t blame her for not teaching me, though. Cassie had been the only one of us I’d ever thought would marry. She was our politician, our beauty, the one powerful parents would foolishly trust their children to. I was the great failure, the terror in the night who’d rule the guild, the heathen who played with slaves and drank with serfs. And then Talon would be beside us both, fierce but safe at last from Father and the public. I hadn’t minded the idea. I’d only had one relationship, and it’d been a fiasco. Having someone in my space, moving my stuff, critiquing me-cold, flighty, closed off-it’d lost its appeal fast. If I never had to be whined at for putting national security over a birthday again, it would be too soon.

That was one point in Garen’s favor. I couldn’t imagine him wanting me around enough to complain when I wasn’t.

And hey, he met my mother’s standards too.

“What do you think of it?” Talon asked.

“Of what?”

“The marriage.”

I hesitated on how much to say. Talon was more trustworthy than our mother and sister. He had chosen to leave the Black Rose, and nearly died trying to get me information. He and Briar had enthusiastically defended me from multiple assassinations. Even Aunt Tammy, recently unveiled as High Queen of Paranoia, trusted him.

He’d still called me sister then stabbed me in the back.

“It’s my responsibility,” I said, shrugging. “Not the shittiest thing I’ve been forced to do to fix a fuckup. It’s only a contract.”

“You didn’t fuck up.”

I laughed awkwardly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. It made him look so young. “Let’s not have this argument again,” I said. “On to new business. Do you have anything you’re doing in the next few days?”

“Working with Briar. Why?”

“We need a new lawyer for the prenuptials draft.”

“We can’t use our old one?”

I flopped into my chair, examining a report. “Oh, he died.”

“How?”

“Fell out of a tree birdwatching?”

“Wow. What bird?”

“Pigeons.”

“Pigeons?”

“Turns out they nest on cliffs. He fell three hundred feet and broke his neck on the water.”

“Gods.”

“His husband told everyone it was a murder.”

“I would too. Good grief. Two new lawyers, got it.”

I looked up. “Two?”

“One for your stupid husband, and one to make sure the birdwatcher was better with his work than his situational awareness.”

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

He nodded and left. I sighed and returned to my paperwork. There was no time to rest-Garen was coming, and I refused to be caught off guard.

Chapter Text

Securing a spot on the Demacian mission to Noxus proved more difficult than I had first thought.

Not long into my correspondence with Katarina, Jarvan recalled me to the capital. I thought he was going to announce I was being sent and thanked the Protector for my good fortune. It wasn’t so. When I arrived, he greeted me with a request for advice. He was struggling to select which nobles to send. Inexplicably, he’d chosen me for advice. Why? Not even Shyvana knew. The mage rebellion proved my political acumen deeply flawed. Naturally, I put myself forth as a candidate. I was loyal, strong, and wouldn’t be reliant on Katarina for anything. Jarvan laughed. He thanked me for volunteering as a sacrifice, but said I was too valuable to lose to such an arrangement.

In the end, three candidates were selected: Lux and two nobles I’d never met. I bit down a comment about how I was too valuable to lose, but my little sister who was the main person preventing civil war was apparently perfectly expendable. It was absurd. Jarvan did send me, but to handle security. Jarvan further gave me the power to approve of the match for him in absentia. I thanked him sincerely. He may not have sent me the way I wanted, but he gave me the tool to correct that.

Lux stormed into our home the day before we were due to leave. We were alone in the house. Neither our parents nor Aunt Tianna had come to see us. Either they had faith I’d keep Lux out of danger and unmarried, or they couldn’t be bothered to care. From the light flickering from her fists, Lux had taken the second interpretation. She vanished into her room and did not speak to me. An irrational guilt twisted in my chest. I didn’t control our parents. This wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that if they’d known I was the one going to my wedding, they’d be there.

At dusk, I finished the last of my forms and set about packing. My trunks’ contents were unremarkable-formalwear, armor, weaponry, all in Demacian colors. Between them I hid petricite and poison antidotes. Better to be prepared. I stepped back from the trunk and frowned. Should I bring it? I thought.

When I reached the vault door in the basement, it laid ajar. Lux stood inside, arms crossed, staring at an open lockbox. The very same lockbox I’d come for. I approached. Her red eyes didn’t budge to acknowledge me. I laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Do you think I should take it?” Lux rasped.

One of our family's engagement rings laid before us. It was a thin band of gold, studded with haüyne and petricite. It wasn't a particularly unique ring, one of nine, and not a stylish one either. But it was a Crownguard's ring.

“No,” I said firmly. “You won’t be getting married.”

“How can you know that?”

“Trust-believe me. You won’t.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then you still don’t need it. It shouldn’t be sullied by her hand.” Which was why I was leaving it behind, I decided.

Lux sighed. “Why is Jarvan sending me on this mission?”

“In case Katarina prefers women.”

Her head whipped around. “Seriously?”

“Indeed.”

“Why me, then?”

“That, I could not determine.”

“Gods, this is stupid.”

“Inarguably. But sometimes we must deal with nonsense. It’ll only be a few months, and then you can go back to running Terbisia as a maiden.”

“I better.”

“I promise.”

She didn’t buy it. I could see it in her eyes. But to fully assuage her fears would be to expose Katarina and I’s secret. Too risky. Jarvan couldn’t find out before the engagement was sealed, preferably not till after the marriage. Lux wouldn’t raise the alarm herself, but even her minor slips of tongue could ruin us. I kept my silence and escorted her back upstairs, locking the vault behind us.

The next morning, we rose before dawn and hauled our luggage down to the docks. We didn’t bother adorning ourselves beyond the usual. Lux insisted on hauling her bags herself. The half hour walk to the marina was silent except for her labored breathing. When we arrived at the empty docks, she dropped her bag and collapsed on top of it. I set my trunk down and scanned the docks, hand on the pommel of my sword. The docks were so clean they shone in the moonlight, lit occasionally by hand-lit lamps. No threat as visible. My vigilance remained undimmed. We’d be departing in two hours-two hours for last minute interference. Now was no time for ease.

The clouds began to lighten. Soon, others began to arrive. The crew first, then the other suitors. The first suitor appeared in a white, elaborately embroidered tunic, his ash blond hair intricately braided back. He introduced himself as Lord Theobald Castell, offering a hand. I shook it. His palm was soft and free of calluses. He didn’t wear nearly as much gold as most Castells I had met. The second was a short brunette in modest clothes, leaning on a crutch. In a guilty way, I was glad of the crutch. Without it his staunchly ordinary face and manner would have had him lost amongst the crew. His name was Dieter Schulze.

Finally, as the crew began to load provisions, Jarvan and his accompanying guards arrived. I hid my frown. What was he doing here? Would he be making last-minute changes? I prodded Lux with my foot. She looked up, then launched to her feet. As one, we bowed. The man on a crutch bowed so deeply he nearly fell off the dock. Jarvan, clad in one of his simpler suits of armor, spoke briefly to the group. He thanked us for our service and reminded us of the importance of the mission. Nothing of note. The mystery of why he was there instead of an underling remained unresolved.

The crew called for us to begin boarding. With a parting bow, the other suitors made haste up the ramp. Lux yawned and followed. I lingered. “Is all well, Jarvan?”

“Can’t a man see off his friend before a long journey?”

“A king can’t.”

“At ease. I scheduled this ahead of time. I assure you, I’m neglecting nothing.”

“I should hope not. Shyvana would fry you if you left her to manage another audience alone.”

“Would you mourn me if she did?”

“After helping her, yes.” I’d been trained to do those audiences, and they still corroded my patience and spirit like acid. Inflicting them on Shyvana was simply cruel.
Jarvan smiled tiredly. “Be careful, Garen. I can’t mourn you too.”

“I shall.”

We embraced briefly, our breastplates clanging against each other. My stomach twisted. Jarvan might not be so pleased to see me the next time we meet. But he’d understand, eventually. It was for the good of Demacia.

We parted. I joined Lux by the railing. Soon, the ship pulled away from the dock. Lux and I waved at Jarvan, then sat and stared at the white sails fluttering above us. It was the last we saw of him for nearly nine months.

The Fair Traveler was a strange space. From the docks it seemed large. Once on the ship it seemed almost small. Much of the decks below were reserved for storage, and the ceiling were so low I had to hunch over. However, the moment I wished to speak to the men allegedly vying for Katarina’s hand, the ship somehow because more spacious and labyrinthine than the thickest woods.

My first attempt was at the mess hall. The crew and passengers ate below deck together, crammed tightly onto creaking benches and cramming cheese and meat down their throats. Lux ate slowly and discreetly shoveled her leftovers onto my plate. I stayed to help clean up the dishes. Neither nobleman made an appearance. I hid my displeasure and stacked plates. As I carried them to the kitchen, I asked a sailor about them. Theobald had taken his breakfast in his room. Dieter’s whereabouts were unknown.

The pattern repeated the next two days.

On the third day, I took to patrolling the ship corridors. Surely they’d take a walk eventually. Not so. If they deigned to emerge, they didn’t do so before Lux snapped at me to go above deck and quit "that infernal pacing.” Wary of upsetting my roommate, I went up and trained.

In the end, it was an unexpected ally that saved me. Boredom. There was nothing interesting to do. Evidently nothing more interesting than watching me train. I didn’t notice at first, but sometime between push-ups and stances, they materialized onto the deck. Theobald had traded his embroidered tunic for a more sensible blue shirt and pants and watched from a perch atop a box. Meanwhile, Dieter stole only occasional glances between heaving over the railing. I finished my routine and turned to speak. They’d already vanished below deck.
They appeared the next day. And the day after that. The fourth day, Theobald asked, “May I join you?”

I paused my preparations. He didn’t seem the type to exercise for fun. Too slender and soft. Likely untrained, easy to accidentally injure. “What do you usually do?”

“Oh, only to fence and shoot an arrow,” he said lightly. “Can’t be shaming my kin at the tournaments, can I?”

“Indeed, I take it you can make your own adjustments?”

“Naturally.”

He kept up decently well. His breathing was harsher than mine, and his shirt soon stuck to him with sweat, but never once did he complain. At the end, he even asked to spar. We landed on rapiers. Not my favorite weapon, and not weighted correctly for me, but I made do. We circled each other, idly making conversation.

“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with you,” I said.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Theobald said. “Captain Crownguard, elder brother of Governor Luxanna Crownguard and hero of many charming tales.”

“And you?”

“Oh, nothing special. Eldest brother to a mess of siblings, at the age where my dear mother wants me to hunt down a wife.” He lunged forward. I dodged and parried.

Now I remembered him. This was the suitor whose house was deep in debt, looking for a wealthy heiress to bail them out. Jarvan had sent him because his desperation made him one of the only candidates willing to lower himself to marrying an assassin and motivated to see it through. I wouldn’t have allowed the match even if Katarina wasn’t my intended. That desperation was a weakness. He’d be dependent on her and Noxus, unable to hold them in check. Particularly since he didn’t have the sense to slow his extravagance despite his near empty coffers.

We continued to trade blows back and forth, parrying quickly and dancing back and forth.

“How many younger siblings?”

“Two younger brothers. Little troublemakers, both of them.”

“I wouldn’t know. I have the one.”

“You must be very proud.”

“Of course,” I said neutrally. Something loaded dwelled in that statement.
“I shan’t insult your intelligence by dancing around this. your sister would be wasted on that Noxian.”

“What are you implying?”

Unexpectedly, Theobald dashed forward. I parried sloppily. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “You’re a good man, Garen, a good brother. You know your sister doesn’t deserve this. Help me catch the assassin, and she will be safe.”

It was a well-tailored plea. Had I been younger or actually concerned Lux and Kat would marry, I would’ve been convinced. Unluckily for Theobald, Lux was not the Crownguard destined to be a du Couteau.

“I’m taking no sides in this. My duty is to procure the treaty best for Demacia, not to my own end.” With a harsh parry, I disarmed him. For a moment, Theobald seemed to teeter on the edge of his temper. Then he took a deep breath, and his crossness vanished. He bid a short goodbye and stalked down the stars. Trouble if ever I saw it.

I glanced at Dieter. At some point, Lux had joined him. They chattered along amiably, pointing occasionally to some spot on the horizon. I searched my memory for information on him. He was the youngest child of six, nothing remarkable to do. He was by all accounts loyal, competent, and content to blob away into the background. Jarvan had chosen him because he was unlikely to be twisted against us with ambition. I couldn’t imagine a less threatening competitor. Maybe he and Lux could keep each other entertained while I handled things.

With that contemplation, I went to clean myself.

The rest of the trip passed without incident. Theobald didn’t attempt to choose my mind. Dieter and Lux became closer friends, whiling away the hours playing card games on deck. We were lucky enough to avoid storms. Two days before expected, the gray towers of the Immortal Bastion rose before us.

Chapter Text

Spring grew hot and sticky. The guild hall was even warmer. We couldn’t open the windows without exposing ourselves to attack, so our winter amor quickly vanished. Some replaced it with light chainmail. I adopted loose shorts and a sleeveless top and close the curtains to every window blighting my sight. Even Talon changed into something more revealing-three quarter sleeves instead of full length ones. Briar was so dogged by the mosquitos she hid in the cellar.

The morning, at least, were cooler. Then I’d sprawl out on the courtyard chaises with Ivan and our sour old accountant and fiddle with the taxes. My blood was wholly unappetizing, so we were free from the mosquitoes. Ivan was glad of the fresh air. The Wolfgang household was only a couple blocks away, but it was stuffed into the apartments above his wife’s bakery and thus sweltering at all times of the day. We worked to the soundtrack of sparring assassin and messenger pigeons cooing sweetly in their rooftop coop.

One such morning, one of my assassins came running out of the hall, note clutched in her hand. “Guild Master! A message!”

I sat up sharply. “What’s wrong?” Was the ship struck? Another revolt? Have we been discovered?

She handed me the note. “The grand general sent word-the Demacian ship has been spotted.”

Shit. Two days early. I thought I’d have more time to clear the last of my work before this ridiculous circus descended upon me. Not for the first time, I wished that useless new king would’ve let Garen marry me outright and save us this farce. It would’ve been so easy. But, y’know, why make things simple and consensual when you could scare the hell out of some poor twentysomethings and make them waste months of their life competing for a marriage no one wants? Truly, the pinnacle of monarchical wisdom.

I set aside my papers and eased to my feet. “Did he say how long before they get here?” I asked. “Actually, don’t answer that. I can read the note. Thank you.”

The assassin nodded and retreated back inside. I glanced at the note and sighed. In three hours, the suitors would meet me at the Hemlock House. Was that enough time for everything?

“Allow me to handle this, your grace,” Ivan said.

“No, no, I can finish these up,” I said.

“Not if you want time to run home and bathe.”

“But I don’t need to”-

Ivan sniffed. Point taken.

I caught a carriage home. Briar and Aunt Tammy were waiting at the manor door. Jericho must’ve alerted them too. They ushered me into an ice-cold bath, my brigandine shirt and du Couteau blue dress hanging on the wall. Briar fetched me the capsule, paper, and a pencil. By the time I was dressed and lacing up my boots, Aunt Tammy had already hailed a carriage. I arrived twenty minutes early to Hemlock House.

Hemlock House was a curious beast. It was one of three houses in the capital owned by the Medarda family, one of the few noble houses smart enough to pay their debts and thus not lose everything to Tammy. They’d volunteered this old, oversized townhouse to shelter our Demacian visitors. It seemed strange the Trifarix would trust such a responsibility to them. Maybe they preferred it over housing them in one of Tammy’s buildings. Could be a conflict of interest.

The house itself showed little of this. It was clean and closed off, stone stained dark with years of candle smoke. Canals encircled it and an old tower shaded it, lending it a coolness the rest of the city lacked. Two members of the Trifarian Legion guarded its door, and an unkindness of six-eyed ravens stalked the roof. Unusual, but not surprising. The Trifarian Legion handled many high priority tasks, not just conquest. They let me through with a quick test of my identity. What was surprising who was already standing inside the tiered stone courtyard.

General Darius waited in his usual gray armor and red cloak by a column, acknowledging me with a simple nod. I nodded back. Lurking in the shadows behind him, easy to miss in his plain gray gear was Talon. I marched over to my brother. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Work,” he said stonily.

“Really? You’re getting paid to stalk your future brother-in-law?”

“Eh. Sort of.”

“What work would you even be doing with?”

“Can’t say.” The corners of his mouth kept twitching into a smile.

“Assassin-client privilege?”

“Yep.”

“Damn.” About what I’d expected, but still annoying. Ah well. I’d get my answer in a month or two, probably. In the meantime, there were other mysteries to investigate. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “What is he doing here?”

I didn’t have to clarify who I meant. Perhaps the only person in Noxus more conspicuous than Darius was his daughter.

“It’s national business, not private,” Talon said even more quietly. “It makes sense the Trifarix would watch this closely. They don’t want you starting a war they didn’t choose.”

Fair enough.

Our guests arrived an hour later, whisked upstairs to freshen up. Darius sighed with annoyance. He must’ve had somewhere else he wanted to be. I’d have to make this quick. Our plan relied on his approval, best not to piss him off.

At last, the four Demacian nobles wobbled down the stairs like luxury pigeons dressed in shining white shirts and blue cloaks. Only Lux and Garen were familiar. They wore sensible everyday armor protecting their torso and neck above their clothes. If it weren’t for the colors, they could’ve been Noxian. Lux’s face was fixed into polite curiosity, which I wholeheartedly returned because what the fresh hell was she doing here? Didn’t she have a territory to govern? Garen’s expression matched Darius’s for bland stoicism. Not a bad choice for hiding his investment in things. I secretly checked the capsule still hidden in my sleeve.

The other two men were easy enough to read. One had long dark blond hair and a courtier’s smile. His clothes were long, embroidered, and completely impractical for Noxus. No armor above or under his clothes, which were unfortunately tight enough I could tell. Moron. While I’d mistaken him for one of Cassie’s breed at the top of the stairs, imperious and clever, my opinion of him descended as he did the stairs. Another spoiled noble. Thrilling. I wouldn’t have married him anyway.

I hated dealing with nobles even in the best of times. Some people were suited for their labyrinthine rules and expectations, like Mother and Cassie. I’m not either of those people. I spent my time at balls contorting myself to appear the proper noblewoman, coming across as a dithering idiot too stupid to run a guild. When I gave up and went to my usual personality, they thought I was a stupid goon. There’s no winning with nobles. If you’re not exactly like them, you’re an animal. I could tolerate that from my enemies. From my husband? Absolutely not. In no universe was that guy even in the race.

The disgusted twitch at my scar didn’t help.

The final noble had the worst wobble, beyond a case of sea legs. His limp was pronounced, his court clothes draped awkwardly over him like a kid wearing hand-me-downs they hadn’t grown into yet. He had a tired, pleasant sort of face, brown-eyed with a slightly crooked nose. He might’ve been the one I would’ve chosen. Quiet, wouldn’t have wasted my money even as a kept man, never someone to love or treasure but easy to work with.

No matter.

As they lined up, one thing became very clear. Every last one of them needed a nap. Lux and the fop hid it well, but Garen and the limping one regarded me with a silent plea to get this over with.

“Welcome to Noxus,” I said with a grin. “I’m Katarina du Couteau, the…” Bride on auction was probably too blunt. “…Noxian ambassador to Demacia. Shall we make our introductions?”

Garen stepped forward. I offered my hand. He took it like it’d explode. Rude, but the handshake lasted long enough for me to slip him the message capsule. My smile brightened spitefully. “Captain Crownguard,” he said tightly.

“Charmed.”

“Governor Crownguard,” his sister said. Her handshake was genuinely friendly. “But you can call me Lux, if you like.”

Next was the fop. While the others still smelled faintly of fish and sweat, he reeked of perfume. Had he bathed in the stuff? I stamped down the urge to wrinkle my nose. “Lord Theobald Castell, your grace,” he said. Ugh. Only Ivan called me that. I pulled away before he could kiss my hand.

The final suitor stared up at me resignedly. “Dieter Schulze.” His hands were nearly as calloused as Garen’s.

I retreated, wondering what else to say. Were they normal people, I would’ve cracked a joke about hoping they’d get their land legs back before they tried the stairs again. Alas, manners. I spotted some cookie-cutter nonsense about the lovely visit I hope they’d have. I drew it out a tad to set Garen’s teeth grinding, then departed with a flourish. Darius followed. Talon and the ravens had already vanished.

Chapter Text

Once the Noxians left, I wasted no time staggering up the stairs. The ground still moved beneath my feet like though ship had, and however I smelled my nose was too used to it. And then there was the unknown object Katarina had snuck into my hand. I’d hidden it in my loosely curled fingers, careful not to toy with it. Someone might’ve noticed. What was it? Poison? It’d be strange for her to haul me out here to kill me, but an assassin’s mind was a devious thing. Best to examine and dispose of it before I forgot it and accidentally killed someone.

Earlier, we’d had enough time to change and wash under our arms, but little else. My trunks laid flung open next to the bed. No servants laid in wait. The room was smaller than my one at home, built of the same dark stone as the rest of the house. The ceilings were higher than the ship’s and was sparsely decorated. The bed, desk, and tapestry hanging on the wall were all in the brutal gray style of the Noxians. No softness to be found. The bed was wide enough for two but a smidge too short for me. It would serve my purposes, but I’d want somewhere else to spend my leisure time. After a brief check for spies or other mischief, I took one of my clean shirts and tied it over my face, they went into the bathroom. I uncurled my fingers over the empty washbasin, tense as a drawn bowstring. A little capsule laid in my palm. It didn’t explode. It looked like a little egg, spun out of dull gray metal (like seemingly all of Noxus). A small seam ran through its middle. Cautiously I unscrewed it along the seam. A slip of paper laid inside. In Katarina’s familiar script it read, We meet tonight. Leave your pauldron on your windowsill.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, bottling down my irritation. We’d have to meet eventually to discuss our strategy. While I might’ve preferred her to give me at least a night’s sleep it made sense she’d want this done quickly. Besides it wasn’t as if she’d ever indicated a concern for manners. What did I expect? With that petty thought. I removed my armor and carefully balanced my pauldron on the window. When I bathed, I put the paper into the water. The ink blurred. I tore it into illegible shreds, disposed of it in the waste bin, and resumed bathing. The bathtub was perhaps the first thing about Noxus I liked. It’d been years since a private bathtub could fit me. I stood half a foot taller than the average Demacian man. Things weren’t built for me. Jarvan had it even worse. The oldest, narrowest parts of the palace bore cracks in the door frame where his head smacked into them over the years. Noxus didn’t share this problem. Maybe their humans were taller, or maybe they built with their nonhuman citizens in mind.

After harshly scrubbing off the dirt and stench, I changed into gray linen night clothes and flopped into bed. Surely there was time for a nap. I woke to a slap in the face. I lurched up. “What? Who’s attacking?”

“No one, you hibernating grizzly,” someone hissed. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I’d slept too long. Time and I were unlatched. But that was-Katarina. Why was Katarina here? Ah, right.

“Why did you slap me?”

“Because you slept through whispering, shaking, talking, and tickling,” she said. “Don’t worry, it won’t leave a mark.”

I didn’t argue. A quick sweep of the room revealed we were alone. The curtains were closed, but no light crept in behind them. It was nighttime. It was dark except for the freshly lit candle on the desk, and the single sound was rain gently pattering on the roof. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Quarter before midnight.”

“You keep strange hours.”

“Blame my profession.”

“What, do people bleed faster at night?”

“No, but they don’t fight as much sleeping.”

My stomach curdled. She’d been in my room and I hadn’t noticed. What would’ve happened if she wasn’t trying to wake me? If instead she’d reached up and slit my unguarded throat?

“But enough about me.” She flopped backwards onto the bed, not bothering to take off her damp jacket. At least she left her feet dangling off. “What are we going to do about the engagement?”

“We’ll have to fake a courtship,” I said immediately. “My parents would never consent otherwise.”

“Your parents? What do we care what they think?”

“While your parents may be willing to sell you off like cattle, mine will take convincing,” I snapped. “And we need the consent of at least my parents for the marriage to be valid in Demacia.”

“My parents wouldn’t-wait. You have to get your parents’ permission to get married?”

“Obviously.”

“But you’re what, twenty-six?”

“Why would that change matters?”

“Wow. Unbelievable.”

I raised my brows. “Do Noxians not do that?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s…” Completely insane. What if someone makes the wrong choice? What if they shirk their duty? “…different.”

Katarina rolled to face me, prepping up her head on one arm. “That does explain some things though, if that’s how you do things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as why no one’s locked down those shoulders already,” she said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. Excellent. First I had to marry her, now she was mocking me. “We should likely begin the false courtship soon. The earlier we start, the faster I can get Lux to help and propose to you without it seeming mercenary. I’ll ward off the other suitors too.”

“Obviously. Wouldn’t want this political marriage to look too political.”

I resisted a sigh. This at least, I knew of Noxian marriages. They were almost entirely business deals, arrangements made for property and gold. Defiling marriage in this way as routine. Arrangements like ours wouldn’t bear a lick of shame for her. “Are there any concerns on your end?”

“Nope. All we need is two of the Trifarix to sign off and we’re as good as done. I’ll find some ring for you to give me at the betrothal ceremony once they sign off, then we have a quick kiss and it’s settled. Bam, time for wedding planning. Anyone else we have to get to approve?”

“No. Jarvan gave me the power to approve it in his absence. My parents will post a notice to the temple once they get word and approve, but there should be no contest.”

“I’d expect nothing less, golden boy,” she said. Was she going to be like that for the rest of our lives?”

“Now, courtship. What’s that mean?”

“Do Noxians not have it?”

“Not unless you count an audit.”

“That’s also part of it,” I said. At least she understood the importance of not marrying into debt. I thought back through my time at court, keeping watch while my bureaucratic kind danced about. I’d never courted anyone myself. My experience was limited to a few brief flings. But I knew the basics. “Generally we’ll want to appear in public together be seen to looking like we’re having fun initially. More dressed up than usual, acting in ways that communicate romantic interest.”

“Easy enough.”

“Romantic interest, not sexual. Don’t act like I’m one of your-a one-night stand.”

“I’ve had a relationship before, Garen, I know what you meant.”

“We shouldn’t start earlier than the day after tomorrow. A walk in the garden or park would be a good first step.”

“A garden.”

“Yes.”

“Uh.” She looked at my sour face and trailed off. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you. Snuff the candle on your way out.”

“Don’t you want to eat?”

“Duchess, it’s after midnight. Who’d demand that of their servants?”

She hummed thoughtfully and stood. A few moments later, the room was dark, and the window swung shut. I forced my jaw to relax. Hopefully, I’d grow used to her. She was necessary. A necessary evil, mind you, but necessary.

The thought made sleeping no easier.

Chapter Text

The next few days were a mess of parties and teas and other boring shit. I didn’t pay attention. I skirted by on half-remembered etiquette and natural good looks, leaving my brain to focus on the actual problem: the Trifarix. Jericho, I wasn’t concerned about. Nothing was off limits to root out the Black Rose. He’d ended a millennium of slavery and nobility to deal them a blow. Marrying off an assassin to a foreigner was nothing next to that. Beyond him, I needed Darius or the Faceless One to agree. More likely Darius. The Faceless One’s identity was a mystery as were their motives. How do you convince someone to help you if you don’t know a damn thing about them? Besides some level of noble status. Darius was the obvious choice.

Darius. Hmm. How to describe him? He was Noxus at its best. He went from poor Basilich orphan to the head of the whole imperial army, not through connections or tricking but pure merit. He’d earned every bit of it. He might’ve been the only one ever to do that. Even Talon had the luck, for lack of a better term, to get kidnapped by our father. Even if Darius hadn’t been six-foot-five, even if he’d been as small as Briar, that history alone would’ve had him towering over all of us. He’d worked to make sure others could follow his path, claw their way up out of pure might. He was no hypocrite either. He’d left his brother Draven to work for his own name. no handouts. I don’t know if I could be that principled. Draven didn’t seem to hold a grudge over it though. He seemed happy in his arena, fighting for a crowd.

That was where I found them a few nights later. The sun had not yet set, but rain drizzled down, leaving the city dark. The arena sands were lit by torchlight. Draven practiced alone in the arena center. The stands were nearly empty but for a handful of janitors and two hulking masses of armor sat in a VIP balcony. Darius and his guard, Captain Farron.

Farron. The name tugged on my memory, but I couldn’t place it. I’d have to ask Aunt Tammy later.

Even though we’d scheduled the meeting, I made sure not to sneak up on them. Never good to surprise someone with an axe. I hiked up the arena steps and gave them a wave. The captain returned it. When I reached the balcony, the captain held out the door for me. He was maybe the tallest human I’d ever met, taller even than Hazel Varn. I stepped in. He remained in the hall. Darius kept watching Draven.

I steadied myself. A man like that didn’t seem likely to support two random rich brats getting married.

“Hello, General.”

“Guildmaster.”

An awkward silence descended. He wasn’t one for artifice, so I could talk normally. But what about?

Best to cut to the chase.

“I’m asking you to support my choice of spouse when I present it to the Trifarix,” I said.

He barely reacted. “I’m not approving a choice you haven’t made yet.”

“I picked him already.”

“After four days?”

“Easy enough. Only one’s worth anything to Noxus.”

“Really.”

“The Crownguard. The brother, Garen, not the sister.”

“He wasn’t an offer.”

“Too bad for their king. He agreed.”

His brows raised. “Why?”

“Why did he agree? Can’t say. If I had to guess, it’s typical noble house nonsense. He doesn’t want a powerful duchy allying with a rival house.”

“And your motives?”

“It’s what’s best for Nous. It allies us with a house strong enough to actually go after the Black Rose and without ties to them. Schulze’s too weak, and the Castells too easily compromised. And Garen’s one of the king’s closest confidants. Jarvan won’t be able to ignore us. The Rose could be uprooted from Demacia.”

Darius’s face was totally unreadable. He thought for a long minute, watching his brother practice twists and flourishes on the sands below. What was he thinking? We’d never really spoken, and I had no clue what he might’ve heard of me. If he’d heard of Katarina the class traitor, the disowned du Couteau who’d clawed her way back through sheer skill, he might favor me. If he’d heard of Katarina the duchess, Tamar’s simpering hanger-on… Oof. Stressful times. I’m glad I’m past that these days.

His brows were furrowed slightly. In his daughter Invetia, that’d indicated irritation or thought. In his daughter Hazel, it meant her iron composure was starting to break and you needed to apologize before she slapped you across the face. On him? Total mystery.

I calculated the odds of getting the Faceless One and nobility to side with me and swallowed nervously. If he said no, we were fucked.

“What would happen if you married one of the others?” he asked. Not a no.

“Lux is hated by her conservative peers. Marrying me would make that worse, and it’d be a matter of time before one or both of us suffer an unfortunate tuskvore accident, blowing the alliance to bits in the process. If I married the Castell, either he’d bleed me dry of my money and then sell me out to the highest bidder, probably the Black Rose…or I’d cut him off and give him an allowance, in which case we skip right to the end of that process.”

“Counterproductive.”

“Yep. Dieter wouldn’t be terrible, admittedly, but he’s a fourth son of a minor house. If the king chose to go at a snail’s pace, then he couldn’t do anything.”

“You’re certain?”

“As sure as I can be without spies in Demacia.”

He hummed. Another long silence followed. Despite my training, my heart began to pound.

Finally, he said, “When the Trifarix votes, I’ll vote to approve.”

I stopped my shoulders from slumping in relief. “You have my thanks, general.”

“For Noxus.”

“For Noxus.”

I left shortly thereafter. Which was a good move, because the next time I saw him, Draven said that he’d have charged me good coin for that performance. Those seats were overpriced when it was a full stadium. Gods know what he’d charge me for a private show.

Chapter Text

The day I’d set out as a potential beginning of our operations started out promisingly enough. The gentle patter of the last sprinkle of morning rain against the shingle was my alarm clock. My companion’s murmured conversations trailed up the stairs to me. Content, I dozed off again. More than a little foolishly, given it was enemy territory, but even good sense cannot conquer the senses telling you that you are snuggled up on the couch at the family reunion, Lux in her cradle and matter stroking your hair.

I woke fully to find Lux setting a tray of breakfast on my desk. The door licked behind her. I rose and stretched, groaning as my joints clicked, then set about eating and dressing for the day. That day was the rest day built into the Vanguard training regime. Back home, I’d have spent it pushing through meetings and perhaps a portrait or two. The past year had been hard and busy-on top of the mess with the Black Rose, nobles were starting to bicker. Jarvan wasn’t popular yet. Plenty of houses resented the decriminalization of mages, and plenty more disliked his economic policies. With the reintroduction of magic to our inventory, the economy was slowly expanding, but little of that prosperity was going to the old families. They worried they’d lose power to merchants over time. It was a fear I was counting on for my far-sighted plans, but that made it no less wearying to deal with in the meantime. Now all that was a continent away, and I was alone with my thoughts. What was I supposed to do? Leisure had never found me well.

A knock at the door spared me this crisis. I pulled it open to find Katarina waiting for me. Her hair was braided back into low plaints. They looked…girlish. It clashed so fiercely with what I knew of her and the weapons, leathers, and armor strapped to the rest of her person that I missed what Katarina had said entirely.

“Pardon?” I said.

Katarina rolled her eyes. “Is that really what you’re wearing to our date?”

“It’s not”- I stopped. Arguing semantics got us nowhere. Instead, I examined my own dress. Practical, not flashy, but certainly nothing embarrassing for the public. “Is this insufficient?”

“Y’know, in Noxus we normally dress up for this sort of thing.”

I cast a glance at her getup. “Really?”

“Hey, now, I’m wearing my shiny pauldrons.”

Extra armor wouldn’t hurt. “Give me a moment.”

I donned a breastplate and abdominal armor. We marched off, awkward symbols of national pride. Katarina informed me as we walked that we were going to the city’s only public park. “It’s more…Noxian than you’re used to,” she said as we turned the corner. “But it’s as close as I could get to what you wanted.”

I beheld the garden. “If this is Noxian, you must not think very kindly of Noxus.”

The garden had once been a plaza, that much was clear. Its gray stone foundation held it above the warren of the rest of the city, and its defensive wells were cracked. What was also clear was hardly any effort had gone into changing its structure for plants. Dirt had been heaped upon the cobblestones and left to fallow. It was loose and thin enough to be mostly dust, too thin for roots to hang onto. Straggly weeds grew where they could, but most were dead, as were the plants unfortunate enough to inhabit the hanging baskets atop placed around the edges of the garden. Its singular tree hadn’t lived in so long it might’ve gone hollow. Three virtues graced the unlucky scrap of city: its broadness, its fine view of the capital, and the heroic statues scattered throughout. Even these were degraded by lack of care.

Katarina grimaced. “Noxus isn’t big on pretty useless stuff. Especially since the revolution,” she said. The corner of her mouth twitched. “The gardens at my family’s manor are much nicer, but I thought it might be too straightforward.

“You thought correctly,” I said stiffly. We stared at the park. There weren’t any paths, only spots where passing feet had worn away the dirt to expose concrete.

“We should probably get started,” Katarina said.

“Yes.”

We passed three laps around the park initial silence, avoiding contact both physical and eye.

“Do you come here often?” Katarina joked.

I looked at her briefly, but couldn’t handle it. This was all unfamiliar. Demacian procedure didn’t apply, and its Noxian equivalent was too foreign to conceive of. Words were slow to come to me. “Isn’t that a bit…forward?”

Katarina smiled as if I’d flirted back, but her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Not forward enough, silver boy. That’s for first meetings. We’re supposed to have a relationship.”

“Then what would be enough?”

“This.” Quick as a ferret, her fingers interlaced with mine. Years of trained self-control intervened to keep me from spooking. She grinned. “Don’t worry, lamb. I’ll take care of you.”

I flushed with embarrassment. The next words came from my soul. “Can we not?”

“No, my darling. We need to be doing something.”

“Can we do something else?”

“Do you have ideas? Want me to play the delicate damsel swept in by your noble charms? I’ll do it, but I’m not sure you could pull off your part with that bashfulness.”

“No, I meant”- The unfortunate bit was, had blood not been dripping off her hands, I would’ve been quite taken. But with it, I knew her cruel mockery of my brotherly duty for what it was. At least we kept our argument in whisper, I’m sure between Katarina’s gaze, my red face, and the way we had to lean in close to hear and rebut the other made a passable impression of lovers swapping secrets. Our cholers were soon so inflamed we ceased to pay attention to where we were walking. We trampled weeds beneath our feet, kicked up clouds of dust, and twisted to force one another than the road. This lasted until I walked off the unsecured ledge of the garden.

Katarina lunged forward after me, no doubt intending to help me from a stumble, but instead followed me into the canal. We both smacked into the water with a splash. The water closed over my head briefly, than I forced my head above it, fighting against the drag of my armor. Katarina popped up next to me a second later, sputtering miserably.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

We stared at one another and then bent over laughing at our foolishness. We were still laughing when we dragged ourselves out onto the streets and out of the way of traveling boats, until our sides hurt. I suppose our obvious foolishness overcame our enmity for the moment. The good feeling made our walk back to my lodgings a pleasant one and lasted about until I realized how much effort it would take to clean my armor.

Chapter Text

A few days after the disaster with Garen, I went to meet with Jericho. Technically, I was going to discuss my guild’s work for the empire, but I was also going to knock out asking him for approval of the marriage. It was basically a formality, since he’d obviously approve, but better to check that off the list sooner rather than later.

I met him in his ‘work house,’ the townhouse he slept in when he didn’t feel like taking the full carriage ride from the central towers to the manor he shared with Aunt Tammy. Which was almost always. It looked plain enough if you didn’t know anything about it, defended by grates and spikes and built from near black stone you could fry an egg on in the summer. If you knew… Well, let’s say it’s a little unsettling to know the town square at your back is where Swain executed eight traitor nobles on the day of his revolt and let his ravens peck at the bodies until they were bones.

Somehow the townhouse was still marginally less unsettling than the manor.

As I knocked on his door and waited to be let in, I wondered if the families ever got the remains or if passerby or rain had pushed them over the edge into the depths of the city to be trodden into dust.

A couple of ravens squawked. The door swung open. Swain’s new secretary, a tired old man seemingly selected to get back in Aunt Tammy’s good graces (and more importantly her pockets), blinked up at me. “He’s waiting in the sitting room.”

“Thanks.” I scooched inside. The sitting room was small, smaller than the du Couteau manor’s coat closet and was really more of an office without a desk. Swain read the newspaper in a large uncomfortable chair, frowning slightly. I plunked myself onto a plush armchair. “Hello, sir.”

“Katarina.” He looked up. “I’ll have to be short today.”

“That’s not a problem. I sent my report on the guild’s activities a few days ago. The gist is there’s still rouges popping up, but at a slower rate. The message is getting through.” Which was excellent, because our younger pupils were sick of hunting down half-rates.

“And your other activities?”

“No recent failures. Scheduling is trickier without Talon, but we’re making do.” I hadn’t seen much of my brother recently. He’d been busy. Probably a good thing. That way, he wouldn’t interfere with Garen and I’s Operation Ugh, You?, but it still rankled. Who was going to rag on me for my recklessness if he wasn’t around? Aunt Tammy? I didn’t tell her enough for her to chew me out.

“It’s heartening to hear at least one person in this empire retains their competence. And the spouse hunt?”

“I’ve found a willing candidate.”

“A qualified one.”

“Greedy, aren’t we?”

“It’s Garen Crownguard.”

“Ah.” Swain contemplated. “Absolutely not.”

I tried not to jerk back. “Excuse me?”

“Neither of the Crownguards, actually. Trust, I know its not your intention but it’d be a bad look.”

“How? I’m marrying a Demacian either way, on your orders.”

“For a noble house to gain the power and wealth of the Crownguards? The second strongest family of our greatest rival? I didn’t take the emperor off his throne to watch your kin install you in his place. I did it to free our people.” He leaned back. “You are loyal to our ideal and empire. Your peers are not. And they decide what position you gain.”

“But”- A thousand objections tried to jump out of my mouth. But the courtyard at my back loomed through the walls. I shut up. “Yes, general.”

“There are other candidates. Whoever you choose doesn’t have to last,” he said, which was a little funny knowing he was the husband not supposed to last-forty years later. “Good luck.”

I nodded numbly and said goodbye. Outside, I groaned into my hands. “Fuuuuck.”

Chapter Text

One morning after breakfast, Lux tapped me on the shoulder. “Garen? A moment please,” she said with a bright smile. A chill ran down my spine. We went up to Lux’s room, which was like mine except for the unmade bed. After she shut the door, she whirled on me. “What in the name of the guardian are you doing?”

“Pardon?” I said, genuinely confused. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to cross her.

“With Katarina?” My confusion only deepened. How much did she know? She threw up her hands. “In the garden?”

“The garden?” For a moment, relief graced her face, but unfortunately the recollection marring mine wiped it away.

“Garen, really? You? I was sure Theobald was lying. I never thought you’d be that sort of-of-of cad!”

Instantly I understood. She’d mistaken me for sullying Katarina’s virtue (the maidenly sort. I’m not sure even rose-eyed Lux would say an assassin had the moral kind). Shit. I didn’t want her to think I was like that. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding? She’s looking for a husband! And you were alone! Unchaperoned!”

So were you and Sylus, I thought but didn’t say. “Yes.”

“By Demacia. What you’re doing, you’re pushing her into a place where she either marries you or is ruined. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

I winced even as it came out. Lux’s jaw dropped. She was so furious she couldn’t speak. “What is wrong with you, Garen? Just because she’s a Noxian”-

“You misunderstand.”

“How?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t intend to ruin her. I intend to marry her.”

Lux stared at me. “Why?”

“It’s what’s best for our nations. This way, the Black Rose is purged from Demacia. Katarina doesn’t end up with a husband who’ll drain her coffers and irritate Noxus against us, and she’s married to me and not to someone who’ll let her run amok. Noxus keeps their assassin, but she’s not used against us.”

Lux relaxed. “That-makes sense. For you. But why does it have to be you?”

“I’m loyal to the nation and a Crownguard. We’re equals, financially and politically. We have no power over each other.”

“Why couldn’t it be me?"

“I’m not going to marry you off to a contract killer for political expediency. You’re my sister.”

“And I’m supposed to let my brother do the same?”

“We kill for our nation, both of us. We’re more alike than you would be,” I said.

Lux didn’t contest the point. She pursed her lips and blew. “Mother and Father are going to be livid.”

“Yes.”

“This might be the one thing that could be worse than when they found out I was magic.”

“Do you think Aunt Tianna will give me medication to stop allying with Noxians?”

Lux laughed. “I hope so. I hope it tastes as much like chalk as the slop they fed me.”

“Would there be a point to it after I’m married?”

She pretended to think. “Probably not. Smart of you to keep your mouth shut this long. So. What can I do to help?”

Later in the week, The Noxians took us Demacians on a tour. A sort of ‘date’ mechanism, intended to encourage Katarina’s attachment. By that time, Katarina had reported that Swain had denied his permission and that we’d now have to seek the Faceless One’s approval. Thus, I understood her sour mood immediately. She smiled as she and two members of the Trifarian Legion displayed either city, but there was a certain passive aggression to her explanations. Surely there had to be more interesting things spots than where historical nobles killed each other.

Lux stayed with Dieter as we progressed through the maze of streets, Dieter having decided there was no point in spending time around the uninterested Katarina. Theobald hadn’t learned that yet. At lunchtime, we went to a noisy Noxian market. Laying in the shadow of a battered defense tower, it was shielded from the sun. The clank of armor and aroma and spice meat and curried carried through the street. Lux, Theobald, and Dieter peeled off to find bread. I followed Katarina to her chosen stall.

“Want something?” she asked gruffly.

“Er-yes. Whatever you think is good.”

She visibly held back a remark and ordered. We stood quietly until she handed me skewers with meat and vegetables. I took a bite and tried not to choke. The texture was excellent, the flavor impeccable. But the spice? My eyes filled with tears. Katarina snickered. “Geez, it’s not even habanero. Its jalapeño.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I rasped.

“You finish eating that,” she said, taking a bite off her basilisk skewer. She chewed and swallowed. “I’ll find you some milk.” With that, she disappeared into the crowd.
I tried to, scanning the crowd to keep my mind off it. I spotted Lux and the others. They stood with the legionnaires, eating some sort of dripping bread. Theobald made a joke, laughing. Lux stiffened. A moment later, she made some excuse and joined me. I gripped the hilt of my sword. “What’s wrong?” I asked around the lingering pain in my mouth.

“Theobald’s spilled to Jarvan,” she said. “About you and the duchess in the garden.”

“That’s…not ideal,” I said, because I wasn’t raised to curse in public.

“What do you want me to do?”

Jarvan wouldn’t be pleased. He might attempt to stop it. But he also might not-perhaps he’d excuse it as me doing my work. It wasn’t necessarily a problem.

Also, if Katarina heard of another deviation from the plan, I was worried she might recreate one of those storied spousal murders she’d described earlier but before the wedding.

“Keep it quiet,” I said. “We’ll deal with it when it comes. Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.”

“Got it.” She looked at the skewer. “Can I try it?”

“Be careful, it’s”- She popped a piece in her mouth. “Spicy.”

“It’s good,” she said, not so much as flinching. She meandered back to her group. Katarina reappeared a minute later with the milk. It did not, in fact, help the spice, but her amusement at my continued suffering did lower the odds of homicide, so I wasn’t terribly upset.

Chapter Text

I dressed for the ball like I was going to war. Or more importantly, an assignment. I pulled on my dress, slit high on the sides and du Couteau blue, and stabbed the hairpin Briar got me for the winter solstice through my hair. It was slightly crooked but no one else was in the manor to correct it. I hadn’t wanted the others to know I was about to walk in the viper’s den.

I detested nobility The whole festering concept. The way they’d treated Drann, the way they talked about Talon and Briar- It was a good thing their influence was waning. But I needed that influence to sway the Faceless One. Otherwise this marriage wouldn’t go through, and while I could do without marrying a stuffy hypocrite, the Black Rose had to die. Nothing said the gods would help me find Talon before he bled out the next time.

Garen met me outside the house, dressed in the black jacket and robe I’d smuggled him. It’d been made for Decius before he’d died when Aunt Tammy had still hoped he’d apprentice in the capital. The proof of that snagged in my chest but tonight wasn’t about mourning dead childhood friends. It was for charming the pants off living asshats. Garen didn’t look quite right in Noxian colors. He’d grown too well into being a Demacian for the Noxian mold to fit him.

“Is this sufficient?” he asked.

“Its fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“What is the point of this?” he asked.

“The Faceless One votes for the nobles-generally to increase their power and status. If they think I’ll bring the profits of our marriage to them, they’ll approve.”

Going by roof wasn’t viable, not with his bulk, nor were they fashionable. I knew that much. We took a carriage I’d had Ivan arrange a few days prior. We arrived at one of the Medarda manors at the edge of town. They’d been one of the few great houses sensible enough to keep their books in order and thus escape the Swain family’s debt-buying with their homes. The villa was tall and imposing, attended by magnificent statues. Gold was inlaid into the walls. Throngs of nobles already moved inside, screeching like bats in a cave. Garen and I exited the carriage and said bye to the driver. Garen made to go on without me, but I tapped him on the shoulder. I smiled sweetly. “Remember we like each other for this.”

He offered me his arm. I took it and tried to ignore the way he leaned away almost imperceptibly. Allies. We had to be allies-nothing more. Inside, the flow of guests was naturally toward the banquet hall, where a host of lesser Medardas. The head, Mel, was nowhere to be seen. She rarely was. Her kin spoke highly of her, but she’d never concerned herself much with the public: unless you believed the admittedly plausible rumors of her being the Faceless One. But you all know how hat turned out. At the time, I remember wishing I were her: rich and happy, my family and I completely untouchable. But you know what they say: if wishes were basilisks…

I’d gone over the plan with Garen in the carriage. Split up, socialize, charm them as best we could, reveal none of our motives for the visit, and play the loving couple at dinner. Act as if Garen’s loyalty to his noble class had encouraged me to take a second look at my own. It’d likely take several rounds of these circuses, but we could play willing pawns for the Faceless One. If we couldn’t bargain directly, we’d do so indirectly.

The banquet hall we stepped into was more traditionally Noxian than I would’ve expected from a Piltovan transplant. The bones were Noxian brutalism, bedecked in verdant Medarda green and gold. Bronze worked into foxes and wolves circled the room. No war trophies, which was lucky. This wouldn’t work if Garen couldn’t contain his disgust. I split off. One of the younger Medardas greeted Garen, who adopted a small easy smile. I relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe this could work.

A round young nobleman attempted to sneakily accost me, but I looked straight at him. Surprised flashed across his face. Did you really think you could surprise an assassin, Kat? I thought but kept quiet.

“Duchess Katarina!” he said in the accent some aristocrats had. “It’s been some time. I must say I’m surprised.”

I tried to think of a way to say 'have we met?' without pissing him off. “Yes, eight years I think?”

He spared me the trouble. “My, then you mustn’t recognize me!” He offered me his hand. “Edvin.”

I shook it. “Edvin Cortain?”

He beamed. “Yes!”

I’d heard of this brat. Heir to the Cortain family. People talked about us in the same breath-wild children on poor terms with our parents. Where I’d walked, he’d run. The specifics Drann hadn’t heard, but from the smell of blood, I had a good guess. LeBlanc was one thing to noble parents. Vladimir was another. Involuntarily, my eyes flicked to Garen, like one of Edvin’s cronies was going to grab him and suck him dry.

He followed my gaze. “Is that your companion for the night?”

“He’s my guest, yes.”

“Seeking a Demacian husband, weren’t you? Fine pick,” he said. By the Wolf, this kid had no manners. “Very forgiving for a Demacian, to wed a woman who killed her father.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know?"

I tried not to slap him. “No, he doesn’t know that baseless accusation, kid.”

“Baseless?” a second later, outrage overwrote his curiosity. “Boy?”

“Yes, baseless,” I hissed. People were staring but I was running off four hours of sleep and self-control was beyond me. “Patricide is a hell of an accusation to throw”¬

A heavy bell rang, signaling us to our seats. Garen and I reunited and sat in the middle. After we started getting funny looks, I realized we’d sat totally wrong for our statuses. Gods, I wished Cassie was there to help.

“How’re things go for you?” I whispered to Garen, leaning towards him with a flirty look.

“Poorly,” he whispered. I didn’t curse. Food hadn’t come out yet. We could still salvage this.

A smear of blue flitted across the ceiling. I surreptitiously looked up as servants began to pass out bread and caught a glimpse of my brother’s dagger-ribbon cloak vanishing into a balcony. What the fuck is Talon doing here? Nothing happened to explain, and I couldn’t exactly charge after him, so I tried to focus. This was sort of difficult when you were so tired the cutlery was starting to do funny dances.

The soup, salad, and main courses passed without incident. But when dessert came out, that’s when things got hairy. Plates of eneytum were passed down the table, blood pudding jiggling alongside it. “What is that?” Garen asked between gritted teeth.

“Blood pudding.”

“I’m not eating that.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“It’s unholy. The temple” —

“Fine.” I was pretty sure Demacia’s state church didn’t have anything against eating blood but didn’t know enough to say for certain. “Don’t eat it till the end and I’ll take it.”
With that, I started cutting into my eneytum funnel cake. Ten seconds too early, because I was cursed that night. Luckily everyone else dug in pretty quickly. An old man sitting across from us smiled. “Are you Duchess du Couteau?”

“Yep-I mean, yes, that’s me. Might I ask your name?”

“Louis du Armure of the du Armure baronetcy.”

“Oh, I remember you. Weren’t you our neighbor in Shurima?”

He brightened. “Yes!”

“It’s been a while. Seventeen, eighteen years?” I barely knew what I was saying, but it seemed to be right. “How’s life been treating you?”

We blabbered emptily about how our families were doing for a good ten minutes. Easy stuff, you know, things that are easy to handle even if you’re not entirely sure what your last name is at the moment. And then Louis, poor well-meaning Louis, asked, “Now this young man, is he your paramour?”

For a normal couples, this would be easy to handle on four hours of sleep. We were not normal. So instead of ‘yes,’ what came out was, “I sure hope so!”

And then Garen, my fiancé in all but name, said nothing.

Oh, I forgot this detail. I wasn’t just on four hours of sleep. It was four hours of sleep for two days in a row. Go easy on me for what I did next. In the face of my backup totally failing, I said, “Sorry, he’s shy. I don’t think y’all have met. My lord, this is Garen Crownguard. Garen, this is Baron du Amura.”

“Charmed,” the baron said.

I kicked Garen under the table. He did probably his seventieth handshake of the evening. “It’s good to meet you.”

“We met during the opening negotiations for this island,” I said, trying to remember the beats I needed to hit. “He’s, uh…a good influence.”

“Oh my. Not too good I hope,” the baron joked. “The empire needs its best assassin.”

I might as well have been next to a block of ice for all the loving warmth radiating from Garen. Wolf bless Louis, he tried to salvage it. “After all you do such good work preventing wars. Imagine the lives that could’ve been spared if you’d been active during the Western Bloodletting.”

“The war thirty years ago?” Garen asked, face darkening. Fuck.

“Yes, I fought in it. I suppose you were too young, though.”

“My family wasn’t My mother buried two siblings in that war.”

I raised my glass to my lips to take a swig of wine and attempted to find a way this could be worse. Some spilled.

“My condolences.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your reasoning. It seems to me that war could’ve been stopped by Noxus not invading.”

“Garen,” I snapped, both my parents in my voice. We glared at each other. He shut up. I dipped my head apologetically at Louis. “Forgive us. We’re a bit tired, and our tempers are short.” Louis nodded nervously. The dinner ended without further trouble, unless you count the side-eyes and my angry chewing. We staggered into our carriage an hour later.

“My apologies,” Garen said. “That went poorly.”

I collapsed back onto my seat. “Garen? Please shut the fuck up. Now, forever, and always.” And then I fell asleep.

Chapter Text

I was halfway through my daily sword drills when Lux stepped down into the dim basement. She wrinkled her nose and lit a ball of light on her finger. “Letter’s here for you.”
I paused. “Is it urgent?”

“It’s from Jarvan.” I sheathed my sword and patted by sweaty hands dry on my pants before accepting the cream envelope from Lux. It was sealed with gold wax and the Lightshield crest. I sighed. “Oh, Light. Do you have a letter open?”

Lux dug hers out of her pocket and handed it over, an elaborately styled metal one she’d gotten for her tenth birthday. I slid it under the wax and opened the letter. Inside was a letter written in plain black ink. No sign of concealment or code, to my annoyance. Either Jarvan wasn’t writing anything of import, or he’d been absurdly reckless.

My dear friend Garen,

I hope this message finds you well. Xin Xhao assures me marriages take time to arrange, so I assume you haven’t settled the matter yet. Don’t feel badly about it. However, I heart the most absurd rumor that you were the spouse selected. A joke on the part of the author, I’m sure. It’d never come to pass.

Life goes well here, but I hope you will return to spend your good company on us again soon.

Sincerely,
Jarvan Lightshield IV

I’m sure my face was whiter than a fish’s belly when I reached the end. “He knows.”

“Will he try to stop it?”

“If he realizes the earnestness of the matter before his completion, he could revoke my authority to sign off. This needs to be settled quickly.” I blew out a long breath. “I’ll have to tell Katarina.” She wouldn’t be pleased.

Lux read the letter herself. “We still have a little time. You can’t like and say its only a rumor. He might use that as evidence of coercion later and have it invalidated, but… Hmm. Delay responding. Dieter and I will keep official confirmation from leaking over.”

“You have my thanks.”

Lux smiled anxiously and flitted off. And with that, I went to tell my future wife of a third government official trying to stop our marriage.

I caught Talon in our dining room, watching Briar run lamps around our damp gardens. It was the only exercise she could get those days. She didn’t have Darius’s approval to use military facilities, and anything public would get her a slit throat. She’d made the best of it though. A year into recovery, and she’d put on enough muscle to hide she’d ever starved. Talon was in armor, like always, scanning for intruders. I tried to muster a good mood. Tried being the operative word. Wasn’t feeling great, to be honest, what with fessing up to my failure to get a family member I didn’t initially want to bring into this to help. Garen's little surprise hadn't helped. “Having fun?”

“She’s doing better,” he said. His face barely moved but a muscle flickered in his cheek. “Pain’s not so bad she says.”

“Maybe that Shepherd magic will fix it.”

“Unlikely.”

Nothing to say to that. I steeled myself. “Tal, I need your help.”

“Is it with marrying Garen?”

I loosed a breath. “What gave us away?”

“Come on. I saw you at the banquet. You were acting like Mother when she and Father were fighting.”

“Well, that’s not great.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Sorry for not telling you.”

“It was the right call,” he said with a small smile. “Operational security.”

“Thanks.”

“So. What do you need help for?”

I explained everything we’d done up to that point. He listened with a strong face, watching Briar skip laps. When I finished, he shrugged. “I don’t know. The last time I was involved with a wedding was when I was four.”

“I have some, and it’s not helping. I thought maybe I’m missing something obvious.” I paused. “What happened when you were six?”

“I was part of the dowry.” My jaw dropped. He went on like he’d said nothing. “Have you talked to Aunt Tammy yet?”

“She’s busy. And I don’t think subverting Jericho is the sort of low-attention thing Levi wants her doing.”

“It’d look stranger if she let this be.”

I stared at our friend outside, now leaning against the fence, panting. The back of her shirt had dipped to reveal the keloids from her surgeries. “Is it worth the risk?”

“We need Crownguard’s power, and you don’t have time.”

I ran a hand over my face. No getting around it.

Aunt Tamar, Talon, Garne and I arrived exactly on time to the next party. This one was on the seaside. Musicians played party tunes. My aunt squeezed my hand. “We’re on. You two look pretty and in love, I’ll do the rest. Tal, what are you doing?”

“Doing work,” he said. “I’ll come in another way.”

Garen stiffened. We pretended not to notice. Tal ducked out of the carriage, hood pulled low over his face. I adjusted my jacket “This was more likely to fail than succeed, and there wasn’t much I could do. No use dawdling. “Showtime,” I said cheerfully.

And so we walked on stage.