Chapter Text
Once upon a time in a land far more different than our own, there lived a King and a Queen. The King and Queen’s marriage was different from most royals, for they didn’t marry for political purposes, but out of love. A love match, as it were.
King Achilles, back when he was Crown Prince Achilles, fell in love with a lesser noblewoman, Carmela Kentwell. He first saw her at a Viscount’s ball and fell in love at first sight. Took her a couple of days of courting, but she wasn’t far behind.
The Crown Prince’s family was furious that he proposed to a lesser noble, but they were desperate for the Prince to marry. For his mother, the Queen, was sick and she wouldn’t have much longer to live. She ruled the kingdom with her husband, Prince Atticus, at her side. But once she was gone, the throne would go to her one and only child, Achilles. Her dying wish was to see her son take a wife.
Prince Achilles and Miss Carmela were married a month later, with the Queen present. They had a blissful month to honeymoon and make house, but the Prince got the news that his father had unexpectedly passed away.
Queen Tigris was so distraught at her husband’s funeral that it took both her only son and her cousin, Coriolanus, to hold her up as she sobbed. She died a week later from heartache.
It was a month later when the Crown Prince was to be crowned King, with his new bride becoming Queen. At the young age of only six-and-twenty, Prince Achilles was unsure of his ability to lead the Kingdom of Panem. Luckily, his mother’s cousin was ever eager to be helpful.
“It is a great burden to rule the land at such a young age,” Prince Snow told the future King.
“I’m not sure if I’m equipped for it,” Prince Achilles admitted. “I am still learning how to be a good husband, how will I know how to be a good King?” Prince Coriolanus looked at the younger men with such hatred and contempt, but Prince Achilles was never the best at social cues or reading facial features; he would have had no idea what his second-cousin thought of him. Or of what he was planning.
“Well, I will always be here,” Coriolanus weakly comforted. “Sincerely,” he lied. “Your mother and I did not grow up together like cousins, but as brother and sister. And since I do not have any children of my own, I have always thought of you as the closest thing I will ever have to a son.”
Coriolanus sweet lies fooled Achilles. He glowed in appreciation and formed a close connection with his uncle. He trusted him to advise him on running the kingdom. Believed him when he said that the taxes should be raised and how to distribute them, even though people were dying of hunger.
His wife, though, the now Queen Carmela, was no fool. As a woman, she was shielded from the politics of the Kingdom for a long time. But she soon learned what was being done. She knew her husband valued his relationship with his uncle, so instead of telling him of her suspicions, she began whispering in his ear about other alternatives.
With the Queen advising him, King Achilles made the kingdom much more prosperous and better for all citizens, without Coriolanus learning of the Queen’s role until years later.
Years went by, and the King and Queen had children. A boy, Mace. Then, seven years later, a girl they named Clove. Both children inherited their mother’s dark hair and freckles. But Mace looked like an exact copy of his father with his square-jawed and chiselled facial features and blue eyes that were consistent with the Snow family. Clove, however, was a carbon copy of her mother, with a small face and gentle features, and vivid dark green eyes. Both siblings had an abnormally pale complexion.
The Queen raised her children, unlike most women in her social class. She was actively a part of their lives. She was the one to teach them to read and write, nursed them herself when they were brand new, and most importantly, she was the one who taught them to fight. Her father, a Captain in the armed forces, was a single father after his wife died in birthing Carmela. And he taught his daughter how to wield a sword, throw a knife, and land a punch square in the face. A lesson that Carmela taught her children.
“You can never fully depend on anyone to take care of you,” she once told her son and daughter. “It is unrealistic to believe your guard and the palace soldiers will always protect you. That anyone will always be there to protect you. Not because they don’t care, but because you never know what will happen. Your guard can be killed or injured, and you will be vulnerable. So if worst comes to worse you must know how to protect and take care of yourself.”
Mace and Clove grew up intelligent and strong. And incredibly close despite their age gap. Always sharing inside jokes and playing matches of chess and cards. Mace would even stand still with an apple balanced on the top of his head so Clove could practice hitting it off.
It was a fairytale life.
Until Clove was ten.