Chapter Text
It was cold as death in the royal bedcha
It was cold as death in the royal bedchambers, the ancient windows thrown open to let in the crisp morning air. A haggard handmaiden moved silently around Jude, dusting her sun-kissed skin with powder as if preparing a corpse for burial. With the hush that had settled over the room, the morning's preparations might as well have been for a funeral. Servants drifted in and out, bearing sweet-smelling gels to sculpt the princess's hair, or fresh pots of colorful stains for her cheeks and eyelids. But none dared utter a word. Even Taryn–who diligently toiled over Jude’s hair after endless begging to assist with the preparations–had not a word of her usual optimism to offer. It was as if doom hung over Madoc’s castle in anticipation of what was to become of the princess–a fate worse than death itself: marriage.
"You look stunning, sister," said Taryn, pinning another coil of silken hair atop Jude’s head. Her deft fingers smoothed her twin’s hair over her shoulders, a nervous tremor in her hands. "I’ve never seen you look so beautiful."
But even Taryn's gentle voice couldn't hide the worry in her eyes. Jude had learned to spot that look in the months leading up to her wedding–pity, just beneath the surface of every smile and polite murmur of congratulations. Some hadn't bothered to hide it at all. They told her outright what a service she was doing for the kingdom, lauding her bravery. No one before her had dared breathe the same air as the Fae, let alone marry one of them–for peace, politics, or duty.
Jude could almost laugh at how misplaced their pity was.
A century ago, when the world shattered in the aftermath of the Great War, its two people splintered along the lines of blood and race, each retreating behind their own walls. No one spoke of reconciliation. The wounds were too deep, too raw. Some said that once, long ago, there had been only one kingdom, where humans and Fae had lived side by side in uneasy harmony. But no one Jude asked could tell her when that fragile unity broke. Only that it did, and no one had dared to put the pieces back together since.
So instead, the borders grew thicker. Walls rose high enough that hatred took root, deep and bitter. The Fae of Faerie and humans of Umanum severed all ties, even going so far as to forbid their subjects from consorting with anyone from the opposing kingdom.
Now, it seemed to Jude that her subjects believed her marriage to Cardan Greenbriar, king of Faerie, was a gesture of hope and friendship. That by offering up one of their beloved princesses, they could mend what war and pride had broken. That peace could be bought with batted eyelashes and sultry smiles.
Fools.
They saw her pretty face and mistook it for softness. Mistook her silence for submission. Perhaps another girl–some docile, dreamy princess like Taryn–might have stepped willingly into the jaws of the beast, hoping to tame him with beauty and virtue. But Jude knew better. She had no illusions about love, or diplomacy, or the cost of playing games with monsters.
Jude would not go into this marriage only to come out empty-handed. She would not beg her new husband to share his kingdom's riches with Umanum like some helpless girl playing house. No–she would take them. Jude had studied Cardan’s court, his council, and every noble house tied to his bloodline. She would embed herself within their ranks, find their weaknesses, and make allies of his enemies. She would gather secrets like weapons, use her beauty like a blade, and earn the trust of those too arrogant to suspect her. And when the time came, she would twist the dagger. She would unravel his alliances, turn his court into chaos, and bleed Faerie from within until its power crumbled into the sea. She would be his queen, his undoing–and the hand that rebuilt her people's future from the ashes of his failure.
She would not go into this marriage to survive it. She would go in to end it from the inside.
"I know you’re tired of hearing this, Jude," Taryn murmured, voice low and trembling as she secured another pin in Jude’s hair, "but you don’t have to go through with this. Tell Madoc you don't want to go to Elfhame, and he’ll find some other way to carry out his plans."
Jude resisted the urge to snap at her sister’s naivety. Did she truly think that years of grueling training and exhaustive planning could be abandoned so easily? As much as Jude loved Taryn, she could not deny the way her twin sister’s meek nature vexed her. Taryn may have been content to take the Fae’s abuse lying down, but Jude most certainly wasn’t.
"I'm well aware of your concerns, Taryn," Jude said, her voice flat and polished smooth like a blade. "And you shouldn't worry. I know exactly what I'm doing."
Taryn paused, clearly unsatisfied, but said nothing. Jude continued, voice laced with a practiced detachment: "He's a king. I've dealt with kings before. This one happens to be Fae, but he's still just a man. And I've never feared those."
"That's because you’re too stubborn to see how dangerous this is!" Taryn snapped, more sharply than Jude expected from her. A crease settled deep between her brows as she reached for another pin, those worried eyes levelling Jude with a look of disapproval. "You've spent all your nineteen years shut up in this castle. What do you know of their kind, apart from what Madoc feeds you in briefings and war reports? You truly believe you can hold your own against the Fae when you haven’t even witnessed their depravity with your own eyes?"
Jude didn’t respond right away. Taryn had a point, perhaps, but pride kept her silent. She'd been preparing for this her entire life, after all. Madoc had seen to that.
“And what do you know of the Fae, Taryn? There’s a reason Madoc chose me to carry out his plan. I think it best if you remember your place.”
If Taryn flinched at the vitriol in her sister’s voice, Jude pretended not to notice. It had been years since she possessed the softness that Taryn still had–too long for Jude to even miss it or realize she’d lost it at all.
Before Jude could even read, she was learning to wield a dagger. While other children played with dolls, she studied war tactics and poisons. While Taryn memorized lullabies and fairytales, Jude recited the bloodlines of the Fae courts and learned their weaknesses.
Madoc had raised her not as a daughter, but as a weapon. And Jude had sharpened herself accordingly. A part of her envied the fact that Taryn’s gentle nature rendered her exempt from their father’s harsh teachings, but Jude knew this was how it had to be. Umanum needed a lioness to restore its former glory, not a weak little lamb.
Marriage was simply the final stage of Jude’s metamorphosis into a creature of destruction. The closing move of a decades-long game. Umanum needed Faerie’s land, its magic, its secrets–and Jude would tear it from their gilded hands, piece by piece. She didn't fear the king. She didn't fear his court.
Let the Fair Folk believe they were clever. They'd never met someone like her.
Jude was ready. She had bled, broken, and killed to be. Only her father and her master-at-arms knew the extent of her training–the pain, the discipline, the horrors she'd endured. And though she'd once resented what Madoc made her become, she'd never questioned the need for it. She wasn't walking into a fairytale. She was walking into enemy territory. Her mission was to live among them, learn their secrets, and bring their kingdom to its knees from within.
And if she had to spill Fae blood along the way, she'd do it gladly. Maybe even with a smile.
When Taryn finally stepped back from her work, Jude turned to the mirror and saw a stranger. A delicate stranger. With chestnut curls coiled into place, flushed cheeks, and wide, kohl-lined eyes, she looked like a perfect princess. Innocent. Obedient. Harmless.
Let them think as much.
She was a sword in a gown. And now, she looked the part.
"Well, then…. Since you’re certain about this, Vi and I wanted to give you something before you go,” Taryn said, gliding to the vanity, its surface littered with all sorts of things meant to turn Jude into a pretty offering. Pots of rouge, jewelled pins shaped like butterflies and flowers, strands of pearls, gaudy earrings–all designed to make her look like a gift for the Fae king. Taryn sifted through the mess and pulled free a thin black cord, threaded with a tiny iron ring. "Take this with you, Jude. It'd give Vi and I peace of mind, knowing you had something to protect you."
Jude opened her mouth to decline–she didn't believe in luck, and she certainly didn't need trinkets–but Taryn was faster. Soft fingers snatched her wrist, winding the cord tight and tucking it beneath the sleeve of her wedding gown.
"There. May the gods take pity on you, Jude," she murmured, already turning her back to begin cleaning the table.
Jude stared at the iron ring–no bigger than a pea. She didn't know what her sisters thought it could possibly do against a creature like the Fae king, but she didn't remove it. Not out of belief, but pity. She didn't need charms or gods. She had herself, and she was far more powerful than either of those things.
A knock rapped on the door–sharp, perfunctory. Jude didn't need to look to know who it was. King Madoc rarely knocked, but when he did, it was quick and impatient, more a warning than a request. After all, what was the point of asking permission when the whole kingdom already belonged to him?
"Why is it freezing in here, Jude? You're a bride, not a cadaver. If you keep the windows open like that, you'll catch cold before your wedding," Madoc chided as he stepped inside without bothering to wait for permission, his sharp eyes sweeping the room and noting the disarray. When his gaze caught on a handmaiden milling about the room–who moved as silently as possible in hopes of avoiding Madoc’s ire–the King’s voice grew more venomous. “Shut that window, you useless oaf. We can’t afford the princess falling ill.”
The handmaiden stammered an apology and hurried to obey, struggling with the warped hinges. Jude almost protested–this might be the last time she'd breathe untainted air, free of the stink of Fae–but Madoc’s hard expression and cold glare convinced her otherwise.
No one defied King Madoc. Especially not his daughter.
When her father finally turned to her, Jude felt that familiar appraisal–cold, detached. The look wasn't paternal; it was evaluative, as though assessing a prize mare at auction or a portrait hung too low on the wall.
"You look like a doll," Madoc commented. His face revealed nothing, and Jude couldn't tell whether it was meant as praise or derision. Likely both. Compliments were rare from the King.
"I look like a bride," Jude muttered, her lip curling around the word like it was something rotten. Because to her, it was.
"Don't insult yourself, Jude. You're not just a bride. You're a weapon. And if you play your cards right, you'll be Umanum’s saviour."
He took Jude by the elbow and lifted her from the chair, smoothing the skirt of her gown with mechanical precision. No affection, just clinical assessment of his most powerful weapon to date.
"This will do. Yes, this will do just fine."
"You can stop fussing over me, Father. If the king suspects treachery, it won't be over a loose thread."
"Nevertheless, Jude, you should still take some pride in your appearance. Seeing as you won't be allowed your weaponry in House Greenbriar, your beauty is the next best tool you have. Wield it as you would any sword." Madoc turned his golden-brown eyes to Taryn, then, and Jude chose to ignore the way they softened at the sight of the gentler twin. Madoc never looked at Jude that way. She refused to wonder why that fact made her feel so bitter. “Just look at your sister, so pretty and poised. Learn to harness your beauty the way Tayrn does so effortlessly, and Cardan will be utterly at your mercy.”
Jude couldn't argue. Besides, she longed as much as anyone did to be beautiful–though not like a bride. No, Jude aspired towards a beauty that was cold and lethal, like the gleam of a dagger under moonlight. Sharp, captivating, dangerous. The kind that brought kings to their knees, equal parts fear and admiration.
Because, at her very core, what Jude wanted was to be powerful.
"Are we leaving now? Isn't it a bit early for Faerie? The wedding doesn't begin until nightfall."
Elfhame was located several hours east of Umanum, and Jude hated the thought of hours trapped in her corset, being jostled around in the back of a rickety carriage. As per an alleged security protocol at House Greenbriar, outsiders were not allowed in the castle under any circumstances, which meant Jude would not be let in until after she was officially married to King Cardan. Of course, without access to the castle and its amenities, this also meant that she'd have to get ready for the wedding hours ahead of time, and try not to ruin Taryn’s handiwork as she sat in that carriage and prayed she wouldn’t perish from a lethal combination of boredom and dread.
"Whining is unbecoming of a princess," Madoc replied. "Better to be early than leave a poor impression. Besides... the sooner the wedding is over, the sooner you can begin the thrilling work of tearing Faerie apart."
And sure enough, footmen were already filing into Jude’s bedchambers, hoisting her trunks of belongings under their arms to be loaded onto the carriage. Her entire life was packed away in those cases, her once-grand room now reduced to an empty husk. At her father’s insistence, she was bringing everything–the suggestion being that the king might grow suspicious if his bride arrived with little more than the clothes on her back, like a guest instead of a wife. One of the trunks, innocuous among the others, was double-locked and lined with iron. Inside, neatly arranged beneath a false bottom, were dozens of glass vials: venoms, paralytics, narcotics, powders that burned through glamour like acid. Just in case. Jude had no intention of spending an eternity in Faerie. She would stay only long enough to bring the kingdom to its knees. Until then, she would have to leave behind the only home she'd ever known–and try to make herself comfortable in the belly of her enemy.
She'd likely have an easier time getting cozy in a snake pit.
"Can you blame me for being less than excited, Father, when you know better than anyone how depraved their kind is? Human men are bad enough; having to marry a Fae man is my worst nightmare come to life."
Her father tutted at Jude’s complaints, not an ounce of sympathy in his eyes as he tucked a few fallen strands of hair back into the braid crowning her head. King Madoc was clinical, his emotions scarcely getting in the way of his decision-making. He simply saw what needed to be done and did it, regardless of how it made him feel. Jude sometimes wondered if her father felt anything at all, and rather than being repelled by that, she found herself striving to be the same way.
"This is not about you, Jude. This is about Umanum–and the future of our people. Have you not seen the way we humans suffer because of them, even a century after the Great War? They're monsters. They bully us into submission, hoard away valuable resources that our subjects need, and still have the nerve to try and steal our land. The only way they'll be stopped, child, is if we remind them of the natural order of the world and put them back in their place. Below us, where they belong."
It was a speech like countless others Jude had heard before, but she knew Madoc was right. Though she hadn't yet been born when the Great War unfolded, King Madoc had heard stories from his grandfather, who had fought on the frontlines and defended his people–stories that had been shared with Jude for as long as she could remember. Since then, Madoc had encountered and fought against Fae while leading Umanum’s armies in defense against various raids, all initiated by Faerie’s forces. With her father’s firsthand accounts of the horrors that lived beyond the dividing line between Umanum and Faerie, Jude knew without a doubt that her new life among the Fair Folk would be more challenging than even her training had prepared her for. She was thirsty for revenge, yes, but she was also afraid to come face-to-face with the creatures she'd been warned about her entire life.
Please hold me, Father, she wanted to say. I'm scared. Her fingers inched towards her father’s hand as if she might reach for it, but Jude withdrew almost a second later. She would sooner die than show that level of weakness to her father.
"I know, Father. I've not forgotten all you taught me. I'll make you proud–I swear it."
Madoc made a vaguely pleased sound but offered no words of reassurance to ease the tension and wariness that had taken hold of his daughter. He seemed more concerned with nitpicking every last detail of Jude’s appearance–or, rather, her facade–than with providing any comfort.
"Let us be on our way, then. We have a long journey ahead of us. Come on, child." When her father turned on his heels and made for the door, Jude knew there was no room for arguing.
Jude lingered a moment before making any move to follow, taking a final survey of her mostly bare bedchamber, where she'd spent nearly the entirety of her nineteen. When she wasn't training with her master-at-arms, she was here, waiting for this very day to come. Afraid as she was to meet the infamous Fair Folk, she also knew without a doubt that this was what she was meant to do.
And then, of course, there was Taryn, who stood by the now-closed windows with an anxious frown upon her rosy lips. Despite all their differences and disagreements, seeing her twin sister holding back tears now made an uncomfortable ache settle in Jude’s chest–a feeling that only intensified when a quiet “I love you, Jude,” slipped free of Taryn’s trembling lips. “Make sure you come home. Make sure you make them pay.”
What a silly demand to make. Jude had waited her whole life for the chance to forge her legacy as Unamus’ savior. Now that her time had finally come, she’d sooner die than let it slip away. And yet, she knew that Taryn wasn’t hoping for revenge, but for Jude’s safe return.
And if Jude pondered that for too long–the fact that someone wanted her home regardless of whether she succeeded or not–it’d make it even harder to leave.
With a final glance at Taryn, Jude straightened her shoulders and gave a solemn wave as she forced her feet towards the door. Taryn dipped her head in return, but didn't speak. She simply stared out the glass with a faraway look in her misty eyes, as if, were she to look hard enough, she might see all the way to Faerie.
Without another word, Jude turned and strode out the door, leaving her tomb of a room behind as she readied herself for the new life she was about to begin.