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Chapter Text

“Exactly which part of ‘the princess does not want to see you’ is unclear?” Sir Cullen’s voice was easy to make out, even through the office door. Drawn from her thoughts, and her work, the crown princess of the Sun Grove sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

It had been six months to the day since Josephine had canceled their wedding, and yet Adorno refused to get the message. With poetry, flowers, gifts, and flattery her former fiance attempted again and again to win back her affections. The gifts returned unopened, the flowers often burned, and any bard sent to serenade were received with all politeness, but would leave after a murmured conversation with the princess’ “secretary” and a gold coin pressed into their hands for the trouble.

“C’mon Cap, you know better than to get in the middle of a little lover’s quarrel,” her sharpened ears could just make out the voice of one Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto. “Just a quick little visit to my sweetheart. That’s all I’m asking.”

“No.”

Josephine fruitlessly looked down at some of the paperwork on her desk. Tax records, letters from their ambassadors in the Summer Court, reports on infrastructure in brownie territory, just to name a few. Dozens of more important things that should have her attention, rather than the man on the other side of the door. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, the fairy was endlessly grateful that Cullen Rutherford was the captain of her personal guard. He had little patience for the wheeling and dealing of court politics in general and none for Adorno in particular. 

Then, there was a knock. The knock to let her know there was actually something important. The door opened a crack, and one of her handmaidens, a small yellow pixie named Daffodil, flew inside, a rolled up bit of paper in hand. “A message from Lady Cassandra,” Cullen informed. Josephine could just make out Adorno fruitlessly trying to wedge himself past her knight.

Daffodil placed the letter on Josephine’s desk, then settled down on the stuffed silk chair nearby. Peony and Juniper, the princess’ other handmaidens, had been sent off with important messages less than an hour ago, and had yet to return.

“Buttercup,” she could hear through the now open door. “Maybe you could clear up this lil misunderstanding we’re having?”

Rather than look up, Josephine instead signed off on a proposed crop survey she’d only half read. “There is no misunderstanding. Sir Cullen is doing as I requested.”

Despite not looking at him, she could already guess at his expression. A fruitless pout “How long is this little temper tantrum of yours gonna last? It’s bad enough you left me at the altar, but the cold shoulder with no explanation? I never took you for cruel, Josephine.”

There was a small ‘snap’ as the quill broke apart in Josephine’s hand, a bit of ink spilling over her fingers. “Fine. Let him in.” The door opened again. She glanced up at Cullen who, with a small raised eyebrow, allowed Adorno to step inside.

That smug grin on the fairy’s face made the princess want to break something. Preferably his face. “Well that’s more like it, anyhows–”

“Lord Otranto,” she interrupted, folding her hands and glancing up at him over her clipboard. “As a knight you have sworn an oath of loyalty to the throne of the Sun Grove, are you not?”

“You were there, buttercup, in the prettiest little dress, too.”

Her smile tightened, but she ignored the attempt to change the topic. “Then we both know you are sworn to obey orders and requests from the crown.”

The knight’s smile faltered, just a bit. “Yes?”

“And am I not, as Crown Princess, a representative of the throne’s authority?”

“Well, ah, sure ya are darlin’ but—“

“So then, Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto, are you intent on disobeying a direct request, given with the authority of the throne of Sun Grove?”

A light snort from Cullen, who quickly tried to hide it as a cough. “I, uh, that is–”

“I believe it was my grandfather who said any knight who disobeys their lord deserves to lose a hand.” The look on his face was one the princess would savor for years. “Lucky for you, I am willing to overlook such a…misunderstanding.” She smiled. “So long as it does not happen again.”

The wannabe king could not leave her office fast enough. Josephine relished the clanks of his plate armor as her former paramor made a swift retreat.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Cullen crossed his arms and glared at Adorno’s retreating back. “He was being unusually persistent today.”

“It doesn't matter,” Josephine sighed, and grabbed Cassandra’s note. Reading it over, she sighed, wiped the ink off of her hand, and stepped away from her desk. “It seems my sister has slipped away from her music lessons. Cassandra hopes we can find her before my father hears of it.”

Cullen hummed. “I’m assuming we aren’t telling the king so he doesn’t panic."

“Indeed.”

“You think she’s with that elf friend of hers, Minaeve?"

“I know she’s with Minaeve,” she sighed. “They're probably at that dried-up creek by the border. Daffodil, if anyone asks we’ve gone to stretch our wings.” The yellow pixie made a little salute–a gesture she’d picked up from the knights–and Josephine leapt from the open window, Cullen close behind. 

I found him with another woman. Six words. Easy enough to say individually, but trying to string them together seemed almost impossible.

Perhaps it’s pride, Josephine wondered as she soared across the streams and fields of her kingdom Cullen gliding alongside her. For so long, the heir of the Sun Grove had prided herself on her ability to read people, to be able to see the poisoned daggers in courtly smiles. The day of her wedding,she had woken up as a happy, bestottled bride to be and had gone to bed a weeping, heartbroken fool.

Shaking off her thoughts, the princess eyed the tall, shadowed trees as they approached closer and closer to the border. She noticed how Cullen’s hand drifted towards his sword, his eyes flickering back and forth between her and the treeline. Normally, Josephine would tell him to relax, but as this was the time of year when primroses were in full bloom, all eyes were on the border. There was a sharp twack of steel against cellulose, and the fairies looked down to see two more flowers falling to the ground and dragged towards the shadowed woods.

In the Dark Forest, there was a shadowed, foggy ravine. Across this ravine was a bridge, and at the end of that bridge was a skull. Polished white, with its jaw propped open and teeth sharpened to fine points, this skull served as the doorway to Hollow Palace, the traditional seat of power in the Dark Forest. It was not built, as its seelie counterpart was, but instead carved out of the stump of a dead tree. Never let it be said that unseelie weren’t the crafty types.

Inside the Hollow Palace was, of course, the royal chambers which naturally included a bedroom. In that bedroom, a bed, and in that bed, the Shrike Queen. 

The sole ruler of the Dark Forest began her days as she always did, snuggled up underneath the furs and desperately wishing she didn’t have to get out of bed. 

“Whenever you wake up, you long to dream again,” a smooth, mellow voice spoke just above a whisper. “But dreams hurt you too. Why do you long for something that can hurt you?”

Beside her bed was the half-formed shape of someone who looked like a fairy, except they were missing their wings. Also, they were wearing a wide-brimmed hat that tended to obstruct the face. Most people focused on the hat.

“Cole,” Elsa grunted at the familiar will-o-wisp, joints clicking as she stretched her arms and all four of her wings. “What did I say about waking me up before noon today?” The different species that populated the Dark Forrest had circadian rhythms that ranged from nocturnal, to crepuscular, to cathemeral to outright diurnal. To try and accommodate her various subjects, the Shrike Queen’s sleep schedule could only be described as ‘flexible’.

“That something important has to happen, but only the kind that’s important to you,” Cole dutifully repeated.

“Okay, and that would be…?”

“More primroses. I know you like to burn them yourself.”

“Ah, yes, thank you Cole,” Getting out of bed, Elsa Trev Elyan rose to her full height. Tall and thin, her body was covered in an armor-like exoskeleton that resembled decaying leaves and bark. A rarity amongst goblins, she had hair, silvery white in color. She quickly brushed it out with her fingers, and bound it together in her usual braid. Feeling a little fancy today, she grabbed the small bone carved into the shape of a bird’s skull, and slipped it onto the hair tie.

Grabbing her kohl, Elsa dared to look in the mirror. Her face was the one part of her not covered in armor, and the scars proved it. The slashes across her cheek were a badge of honor, and one of her few attractive features. With practiced ease, the goblin drew dark lines around her eyes, and tried not to look at the hideous burn at the base of her horns.

Beside the bed was her staff that served as badge of office. The Shrike Queen grabbed it and flew outside to the courtyard. As Cole had said, a new batch of primrose heads were waiting for her, laid out far enough away from the Hollow Palace that the stump was at no risk of catching spark. A group of goblins was gathered around it, eager for what they knew came next. 

When she landed, the largest of the goblins, the Iron Bull, stepped forward, a lit torch already in hand. “You wanna do the honors, boss?”

Thin lips curled into a snarl-like grin, revealing the twin rose of sharp white teeth, designed for tearing flesh from bone. Taking the torch, the Shrike Queen threw it into the decapitated primrose petals. The fire sparked, flared for a moment, but began to smolder. 

“Aw nuts,” one goblin hissed.

“I told you they needed more time to dry.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“No you shut–”

“ Quiet, ” the Shrike Queen hissed, and all obeyed. Instead of waiting for another torch, the queen twirled her staff. Goblins cheered, hooped and hollered in delight as she sent out a surge of flame. Elsa smiled as the flowers burned.

Chapter Text

Then…

The first and only time Yves had seen the Shrike Queen face to face, he was struck by how much she looked like her mother. The young monarch’s horns were shorter, her hair longer, and her carapace more of a light gray to the Bone Queen’s sharp white, but the resemblance was uncanny. 

As her sister, the (former) Crown Princess Ophelia finished the introduction, the fairy king realized he’d been staring. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” he greeted, trying very hard not to look at the scars that darkened the goblin’s face.

The Queen nodded. “Honor to your clan, Yves, blood of Montilyet. A shame it has to be under such circumstances.” While rough in the way all goblin voices were, it was unmistakably young. Dear Titania, the girl couldn’t be much older than Josephine!  

“Now, to get straight to it,” she continued, unaware or uncaring of the king's thoughts, “you are denying any responsibility for the actions of General Stannard?

“No, no,” the King hastened to correct. “While Meredith was not acting on my orders, I am not blameless in this. I had full confidence in my ministers to keep a handle on things as my family and I—“ a sudden constriction of the throat; and the king’s eyes itched with tears. He forced the feeling away. “As we mourned the death of my wife and queen. Clearly, that confidence was misplaced.”

“Clearly.”

“As such, I take full responsibility for the atrocities committed against your people.”

Relations between the Sun Grove and the Dark Forest were frosty at the best of times. Once, wars and border raids had been common, as tales of goblin savagery were still told around campfires or to scare little ones into their beds. In recent years things were, if not friendly, then at least stable. While there were still problems—unseelie sneaking across the border to steal flowers and livestock, seelie sneaking across to cut down branches or forage for mushrooms—these were always the actions of individuals, rather than governments. Yves couldn’t claim any particular fondness for their neighbors, but war had been the last thing he wanted.

Unfortunately for everyone, the High General disagreed. Meredith had always been…vocal in her dislike of the Dark Forest, but he’d always thought it stemmed from a genuine concern and a desire to protect their people. Taking advantage of his absence, General Stannard had seized command of the regency council and had an army gathered on the Dark Forest’s border within the week.

‘Toadstools tortured for information. Farms and villages burned for not bending the knee. She would even brand the Sunburst Sigil onto prisoners of war’, Meredith’s squire, had reported to him; the shame and guilt radiating from the boy’s eyes. With her loyalists at the private villa controlling the royal family’s correspondence, it was Cullen Rutherford who brought him news there even was a war. If the squire hadn’t decided to go AWOL and speak to the king directly, Yves was sure he wouldn’t have found out about Meredith’s actions until it was far too late.

“While I do not begrudge you taking the time to step back and mourn,” the Shrike Queen’s long, clawed fingers tapped against the metal of her staff. “I you must understand that I cannot simply forgive and forget what has happened. My people are calling on me for revenge. To answer blood with blood.” Yves froze as the Shrike Queen stared him down. “It will take time for tempers to cool and wounds to heal.”

“Of course.”

Four dragonfly wings twitched. “Make no mistake, we both know Stannard wasn’t acting alone, and I would… encourage you to root out her toadies among your court. If and when any trials are to be had, I would send ambassadors to observe. As a gesture of good will.”

Yves swallowed. It had been a point of pride that his aunt’s reign had come and gone without a single execution. He’d been trying to continue that streak. But as she said, the goblins would not be satisfied until they saw blood. “Naturally. I have already asked the Seekers of Truth to investigate. They—“ he swallowed. “They wish to speak with your people, to interview survivors and witnesses.”

The Queen considered this. “I have heard of these Seekers. They are a special contingent of your royal guard, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must refuse. I cannot allow agents of your court—even those with peaceful intentions—free reign in the Dark Forest. Besides,” her wings twitched. “Given the circumstances, I could make no guarantees of their safety.” Yves wasn’t sure if that was a threat from her, personally, or merely another indication of the animosity felt by the unseelie. “But as we assess the damage, care for our wounded, and count the dead, we will send copies of the reports back to your Seekers.”

“That seems…more than reasonable.”

“Which reminds me, Your Majesty,” the Queen rose to her full height. Despite her youth, she was still head and shoulders taller than him. “How was my gift received by the Court?”

The King of the Sun Grove felt the color drain from his face as he remembered.

“A gift from the Fourthborn of Bone, our Shrike Queen,” one had snarled, placing Meredith’s bloodied and broken wings at the foot of his throne. “ Who welcomes the chance to speak with Your Majesty face to face.”

His expression must have been answer enough. The Queen smirked, and changed the subject. “No matter, we have more important things to discuss. For example, those damn primroses on the border…”

Now…

“It’s such a shame they have to be cut down every year,” Princess Yvette sighed as she gazed at the primroses that stretched across the border. “They’re so pretty.”

Walking beside her was her dearest friend and companion, Minaeve.

(In the court of the Sun Grove, there was no position more sought after than that of official royal playmate. As all Montilyets had the privilege of marrying for love instead of alliance, and there was no better chance for families to gain a match than through a childhood romance. Even if young love did not bloom, it still helped to cement strong ties to the royal family.

Which is why it had shocked the court when Queen Juana had selected the ward of a foreign countess for Josephine; then, scandal of scandals, the child of a mere elven seamstress for Yvette. While Leliana had grown to be respected and feared at court, Minaeve was at best grudgingly accepted.

The Infantes had been nothing but kind and friendly, although the elf strongly suspected that the Queen had liked her far more than the King did. Still, Minaeve could deal with the dirty looks and the hushed whispers, so long as she could stand beside Yvette.

Such as when the princess wanted to blow off her music lessons. To hang out with her.)

The second princess plucked a petal. She could still remember the dresses and boutineers Mama used to make from just a few of these. Bringing it close, she took a long whiff of its scent.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Great. Just great. The anti-fun patrol, swooping in as they always did. Her sister, Josephine, and Cullen Rutherford. The latter quite possibly the only other person at court who cared about rules and procedure even more than the Crown Princess.

“Think about what?” The princess kept her tone light. Her sister wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Taking a primrose petal. It would be a gross violation of our treaty with the Dark Forest.” Yvette pouted, and rubbed the petal between her fingers.

“Come now, Josephine, surely the goblins wouldn’t miss one petal from one flower.”

“Perhaps not,” the Crown Princess acknowledged. “But our subjects would, and many would follow in your example. That, I am sure, the Shrike Queen will notice.”

Yvette froze. Shrikes were one of the greatest threats to fey on either side of the border, the monstrous avian creatures impaling their prey on thorn branches before ripping them to shreds. It was rumored the Shrike Queen executed criminals and trespassers the same way, leaving the bodies to rot on the branches nearest the border. (Sure she’d never actually seen them but she’d heard other people talk about it. Or, well, how they’d heard other people talk about it.)

“Come along sister, Father will worry if we tarry for too long.”

With a defeated sigh, Yvette dropped the petal, watching the swatch of pale pink fall delicately to the ground. She turned to the elf. They’d barely had a chance to talk and now…“Sorry, Minaeve. See you at the party later?”

“Of course!” The elf smiled at her, eyes understanding. Sometimes it seemed Minaeve was the only person she could still talk to.

Eyes scanning the trees, Minaeve carefully grabbed the petal Yvette had plucked, and hid it underneath some underbrush. There, no harm done. The elf took off in a sprint after the princesses, praying that little violation had gone unnoticed.

It did not.

“Oi, did that fairy just try to take a petal?”

“ Wishing and wanting, the heart full to bursting as it ties at the tongue .”

“Balls, Screech ain’t gonna like that.”

“News from the border, your high-and-mightiness,” Sera informed, not even bowing. Beside her, Cole hovered in the air a bit, distracted by a nearby mouse skull. “An elf and three of those posh tits was sniffin’ round those buds.”

“The primroses?” The Shrike Queen snarled.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, innit? Anyway one of ‘em looked like she wanted to pinch it. Didn’t though—to be clear.”

“I hate this time of year. Spring” the goblin spat out, her wings twitching. “Send more goblins to cut down every primrose. No primroses, no potion.” She started to pace at the foot of her throne. “No potion, no love. Because love is dangerous. It weakens, it rots. It destroys order and without order what is left? Chaos.” The Shrike Queen slammed down her staff. “Send word to the Chargers. I’ll double, no triple their pay if they can destroy every primrose by the end of the week.”

“More fire,” Sera cackled. “Bull’ll love that, boss.”

“And you!” The Shrike Queen pointed to another nearby servant. “I want double the usual guard patrols. If the Fairy King won’t do anything on his side, we’ll make damn sure no one comes through to ours.”

Cole could hear the hurt before he heard her.

If that little maggot had never been born things would have been fine, Mother snarls, deep into her cups. Elsa loses two baby teeth just by asking for a snack. A princess protects the weak. If Ophelia was better– If she was smarter, stronger. If–If–If–

“ Her happy ending rotten to the core, and the last one a reminder of all she’d burned —“ 

“What?” 

“Burning, breaking, the queen left bloody and twitching on the floor of the throne room. Mother’s heart calcified to Bone. Was it the Shrike that ate her sister?”

The tangle resisted his touch, too deep and too stubborn, and the wisp returned to now. He wasn’t able to help, so he makes her forget. Just the last few seconds though.

Ophelia Trev Elyan. Her worry radiated from her like warmth from a sunning rock. “You’re Cole, right?”

“That is my name.”

Purpose settles onto her. “Well, you know how your boss, my sister, has been making everyone miserable with this whole ban on love nonsense?”

Cole tilted his head. “She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but the seeing hurts her. Empty eyes or a cruel gaze. If this is love I want no part of it. No. So long as she doesn’t see, it’s okay.”

“Look, what I’m trying to say—“

Someone else’s hurt called out to him, in need of his help. So Cole left.

Ophelia suppressed a sigh. Will-o-wisps were hard to pin down by nature, something about not being strictly corporeal making them all act a bit touched in the head.

This was an important conversation. One that the Shrike Queen–one Elsa needed to have and it would be easier if Ophelia had some backup. But Arno had chickened out, Ingrid was suddenly too busy, and she couldn’t even get any of Elsa’s friends to help either.

Not even the great Iron Lady, and Vivienne was the one she knew agreed with her her, at the very least. Fine.Fine! If she had to do this on her own, she would.

So, the former Crown Princess and current Archduchess marched into the throne room–etiquette dictated she walk to approach the Monarch, rather than fly–and cleared her throat.

“Ah, sister,” the Shrike Queen welcomed. “How can I help you today?”

“Well you could start by hearing me out. As I have a matter of some import to discuss and it would help if you didn’t try to fly off halfway through.”

Realization and resignation crossed the monarch’s face in quick succession. “Can we not?”

“But we must.”

“We really don’t…oh Oberon’s balls, you have a speech prepared, don’t you?”

“Ten years,” Ophelia began. “It has been ten years since you took the throne.”

“And here we go,” Elsa scoffed, settling back on the throne.

“For ten years, you have ruled well and justly. But there is one responsibility you have more than neglected, it is my duty to you as my sister and my queen to speak up. As a Monarch, you have a responsibility to the realm. To marry, to cement alliances, but more than that…you need to find lo–”

Elsa slammed the end of the staff against the ground. Ophelia didn’t flinch. The Shrike Queen glared, her eyes the sharp, icy blue of her magic.

“I can…recognize the point you’re trying to make. But you’re forgetting one thing, Archduchess—three things, really.”

“And those would be?”

“Yourself, Arno, and Ingrid. Three heirs of the blood, all of marriageable age if an alliance ever becomes necessary. Once one of you has a kid, I’ll name them my heir.” Elsa’s face split into a shit-eating grin. “Problem solved.”

Ophelia flexed her shoulderplates in annoyance. “Despite your efforts to the contrary, sister, I won’t let you die sad and alone.”