Chapter Text
Luxanna Crownguard was, quite simply put, bored out of her mind.
There was little to do after she had been brought back to the Crownguard estate by her parents (“Keeping you safe!” they claimed it was, what with a potential mage loose and all), except sharpen her battle skills. Yet Garen was still off on duty, chasing down that stubborn mage, leaving her with little more than wooden dummies and the dull repetition of drills. There were only so many times one could carve the same arc through the air before even the keenest blade dulled with monotony.
So for a moon long, Lux fought and trained until the calluses on her hands rivaled even the most seasoned professionals.
Between practice sessions Lux busied herself in the kitchen—only to find her apparent “womanly talents” were frankly lost on her as they promptly went on vacation anytime she remotely tried to get near the stove. Her mother insisted that with time her ineptitude would fade—especially considering she was of marrying age already and meant to take a husband sooner rather than later—but Lux feared that her future husband would find her quite lacking in the kitchenry department.
She tried rice—burned the bottom of the pot to an acrid crisp. So she tried even simpler and boiled noodles—except then she got distracted by a peafowl running amok in the gardens, letting the pot boil over and completely smothering the flame of the gas burner.
She had to shamefully fetch long matches to restart it, and by the time she located them the pot of water had long since gone cold.
No matter! A woman frankly could not be expected to master every art, nor should any man presume she must.
Except Lux shrunk under her mother’s judgemental gaze every time they spoke of her progress over breakfast, so she put some work in to taking up other “womanly duties” she was expected to know.
She found a great deal of joy in knitting—the task was repetitive, complex enough to require brainpower, and extremely fun. Crochet eluded her entirely, her fingers proving too clumsy for its intricate loops, but sewing? That, at least, came naturally—the calluses upon her hands shielding her from the sting of novice errors.
Oh, but her real joy was in riding. Starlight, her beloved mare, had been her pride since girlhood. For years, while she resided with Garen in Demacia City, she had been forced to endure their separation, but now reunited, their bond remained unshaken. Starlight suffered no other rider, her temperament as fierce and untamed as Lux’s own spirit. It was in the saddle, wind rushing past her, laughter spilling from her lips as she raced across the open fields beyond the estate, that she felt truly free.
Her mother, of course, disapproved. Riding was for soldiers, hunters, and those of lesser birth. A noblewoman had no business astride a steed save in the most perfunctory manner. So even her greatest joy was taken, monitored and restricted, as had nearly every aspect of her short life.
Some nights, as Luxanna Crownguard retired to her bedchamber, she would sit by candlelight, poring over volumes on poise and etiquette, and wonder what, precisely, was wrong with her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a proper lady, or she didn’t enjoy the crafts of feminine things or found it dull—but she simply found joy in such a variety of things that subscribing to only things befitting of her status felt… constraining. As if she was being shoved into a box she simply could not fit.
But, as a loyal Crownguard, it was her duty. Demacia above all.
Especially considering all she had to atone for, in regards to her curse.
Trapped to the house for another day, barred from helping in the Illuminators daily tasks around the city, forbidden from going near anything to do with her sword or horse, Lux found herself instead desperately trying to entertain her wandering mind by attempting—once again—to repair a strange knickknack her father had procured from a voyage through Noxus years ago.
It was a curious device, shaped as a box with a large horn-like protrusion on the top. There was a little spindle in the center with a pinprick sharp needle extended from it. She recalled the day her father first presented it to her, his voice rich with triumph as he regaled her with bold promises: that this strange artifact, forged by no magic but rather some foreign ingenuity, could summon music from thin air.
She had been twelve then, and in the boundless wonder of youth, she had spent months tinkering with the thing—adjusting the arm, peering into the horn, placing all manner of objects within it in a futile attempt to coax it to life. At best, she had managed to make it spin, but even that success was short-lived before the mechanism fell dormant once more.
Now, she regarded the contraption with a contemplative frown. Once, it had been the greatest of disappointments—back when her greatest sorrows revolved around missing Garen or puzzling over the odd treasures her father brought home. Before she had discovered the terrible truth about herself.
As a child, she had imagined its song in a hundred different ways—perhaps the great horn would bellow like a great mountain ram, its metal twisting and shaping itself into music. Or perhaps the spindle served a purpose yet unknown, something beyond mere rotation. She had never quite been able to picture it fully, and despite the years, she had never entirely given up on the mystery.
“Mother,” Lux called as she descended the grand stairway—rather more hastily than was ladylike, her arms full with the device. The maids, well accustomed to her ways, parted swiftly to make way for her. “Did you hear? A new machinist has set up shop near the docks.”
Augatha Crownguard glanced over the rim of her reading aids, her expression impassive but assessing. In one hand, she held her book; the other rested elegantly upon the armrest of the great fauteuil. She gave a sharp sniff—an old habit, one she had never quite outgrown—before placing her novel down, page-first, to mark her place.
“Are you still toying with that thing, Luxanna?” she sighed. “We ought to have disposed of it moons ago. Why are you not in your study, tending to your assignments?”
Ah, yes… her assignments.
Her at-home tutor meant elocution courses—in essence, a homebound finishing school. Her books were chalk full of nonsensical manners that Lux had memorized ages ago, but for the life of her rarely remembered to hold in actual conversation. Augatha had brought in the tutor after Lux had once again made herself into a fool before another potential sutor at an evening soirée, and Lux despised the foolish lessons those women tried to drill into her mind.
But Lux was meant to be shaped into the perfect Crownguard woman, so she bit her tongue nicely and studied well.
She was not studying today.
“I know, it’s just—” Lux cut herself off as she leaned off-kilter to the side, arms swaying as she attempted to keep the great horn attached to the contraption aloft. She couldn’t see her mother’s face as she regained her balance, but she could hear her great sigh.
Balance regained, Lux dropped the machine onto the side table with a great clank and dusted her hands in front of herself. She turned back to her mother, who was now fixing her with a disapproving glare. “I always wanted to see this in action. Now might be the only chance to get it properly repaired, since the man may be leaving shortly.”
Augatha lifted a single eyebrow. Lux felt a small part of her heart shrivel up at the judgement in her gaze, but forced herself to remain standing tall. First lesson of etiquette, right? Posture.
“...and what were your plans for the day if you were to not to go on this little… excursion?”
Lux shifted from foot to foot and let her eyes wander. “I suppose… I am due to try my kitchenry skills once more.”
It was a lie. But the way Augatha jumped at the mere mention of Lux’s abominable skills in cooking meant she was right where Lux wanted her.
Her mother did a fair job at attempting to hide her mounting fear. She waved a hand dismissively, the other returning to the spine of her novel. “Be quick. I expect you back before sundown.”
Lux grinned, feeling her eyes crinkle around the corners. Augatha didn’t bother glancing back up as she returned to her book. “Thank you, mother. I’ll be home before supper.”
The dockside was still warm and pleasant against the fall air, but it carried a bitter wind from the coast that spelled a meaner winter than usual. Starfire, the ever loyal steed, pulled up beside where she had heard rumors of a strange machinist living.
He was supposedly a bit of a hermit—having landed in High Silvermere less than a moon ago—and was already making quite a name for himself.
Lux dismounted her horse, swinging her leg around and thanking the high heavens her mother had not yet seen it fit to force her to wear the most ladylike skirts available. She reached to withdraw her treasure from Starfire’s hindquarters. The mare’s skin rippled under her gentle touch, so Lux ensured she gave her a few firm pets along the neck before she hitched her properly by the post.
Hesitantly, Lux walked up to the strange warehouse she had been directed to by a kindly stranger.
“Excuse me!” Lux called out, knocking along a wooden door as best she could. It looked as if it had seen better days—paint marring its surface in strange, bright pops of life, but even that failed to hide the sheer ricketyness of it.
A beat went by. Lux shifted the contraption’s weight onto her left hand and knocked a bit firmer, using her leg to help balance the box better.
“Pardon me, but I am looking for the machinist!”
A man walked by on the dockside, sparing her a slightly concerned and curious glance. He didn’t pause, however, and continued on his way towards an older shrimping vessel.
Another few moments went by. Starfire whinied from her post.
Lux sighed. It seemed—
The lookout slit she had failed to notice slid open. Two bright, saccharine pink eyes stared out.
Lux jumped, barely managing to keep hold of her contraption before she toppled to the floor in shock.
“What’s it to ya’?” came a raspy voice from the slit. Lux blinked in surprise, stumbling over her words briefly before she managed to regain her confidence.
“Oh, hello! I just—uh—”
It was fascinating. Those eyes practically glowed pink. The tales of the foreign machinist man must not be a lie—nobody in Demacia had eyes like that.
Lux shook her head to knock herself out of her musings. “I was wondering if you might know something about this?” she said weakly, lifting the contraption.
The eyes widened a smidge, before the lookout slit slammed shut. Lux let herself feel disappointed for all of a heartbeat before the sound of several locks undoing themselves graced her ears, and suddenly the door swung open.
The man was of an extremely mild stature, and that was putting it politely. He had short blue hair, cropped nearly to the skull, with a single long fringe that danced around his chin. He wore what she would expect a machinist to wear—rough and baggy overalls, a button-up shirt that was partially dirtied and the collar done askew, one sleeve rolled up while the other fell to his wrist.
His face was partially covered by a cloth mask, the type one used when they fell ill, but it did little to hide the strange blend of masculine and feminine features he held. A small smattering of freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and sprinkled onto his cheeks, like stars spilling across a pale evening sky.
Lux found her eyes bouncing impossibly over this—quite frankly—charmingly boyish figure in front of her, while her mouth went dry.
“Where did you find that?” the man asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Lux opened her mouth. Closed it. Glanced back down at the machine in her hands.
“Oh!” she said, as if remembering what brought her here in the first place. The rugged man raised a blue eyebrow, and Lux realized as her eyes trailed down that he had matching blue cloud-like markings along the entire right side of his neck and arms.
Her face went hot.
“Oh!” she repeated dumbly, feeling more than half of a fool. “My father brought it to me as a gift years before. When I heard there was a machinist in town now, I thought…”
She trailed off, suddenly aware of how absurd she must sound. The machinist moved to the side and gestured for her to follow in.
She hesitated, every ounce of her etiquette training clamoring in her mind to be proper, to maintain composure—but all her restraint crumbled in the face of what lay beyond the door. She stepped inside, and her breath caught in her throat. The space before her was nothing like she had ever imagined, nor anything she could have anticipated.
The warehouse was transformed on the inside, and she knew that the space she currently was in was only a quaint portion of what truly lay behind the doors. But it was undoubtedly foreign, and extremely charming.
The walls were stacked with displays that held strange, circular disks, with more displays placed through the middle displaying even more of these disks. Lux’s gaze wandered, her wonderment growing. More disks were suspended within frames that hung from the ceiling, and they turned in slow, hypnotic circles. They seemed almost alive, twirling and glinting as though they could dance.
The wall on the far side, close to what she assumed to be the register, held…
“That’s it!” Lux couldn’t help but cry. “Those are just like my machine!”
The machinist chuckled—a warm, raspy sound that made her heart flutter unexpectedly. Her face flushed even deeper, and she quickly averted her gaze, flustered by the way her emotions seemed to betray her. She had never felt this way about anyone before, and the overwhelming rush of feelings only made her feel more foolish.
She cleared her throat and coughed into her hand, hoping to regain some semblance of composure.
“It’s called a gramophone,” he explained, taking the machine from Lux. Lux felt her eyes dance over the pantherine muscles that flexed as he held the machine easily, and she suddenly found that she couldn’t look away. “They play music.”
“My father said it should play music,” Lux said faintly, feeling as though she were hundreds of miles away from her own body. “But I never got it to work.”
The man furrowed his thin eyebrows, flipping the machine over and gazing at its underbelly. He gave a small winder a few twists, then flipped it back onto its legs to watch as the central portion spun gently.
“Crank works just fine,” he murmured, lifting the little arm to inspect the needle. “Ah, I see what it is.”
“Yes?” Lux squeaked.
The machinist lifted his pink gaze, locking with hers.
Suddenly it felt as though they were the only two in the room. The oil lamps could’ve exploded for all Lux would have cared and she would still be right there, trapped in that sweet gaze of his with her breath stolen from her throat.
He lifted a hand, gently brushing away the strands of hair that had slipped loose from her headband and now fluttered dangerously close to the spinning compartment. His fingers grazed her temple as he tucked the errant strands behind her ear, the warmth of his touch lingering just a little too long. Lux’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening as she became lost in the depth of his eyes—those soft, curious eyes framed by a constellation of freckles.
It was as if the air around them had thickened, and in that moment, everything seemed to narrow down to just the two of them. His proximity felt overwhelming. Her mind screamed abort, but it was as if her body had betrayed her, caught in the gravitational pull of him. All she could do was stand there, frozen, as the moment stretched on.
“Needle’s busted,” he murmured.
“Uh huh?” Lux said dumbly, face on fire.
The moment ended abruptly.
They were back in the quaint little shop, the air suddenly rushing back into her lungs. The machinist turned his attention back to the contraption, his lithe hands moving with practiced ease. He flipped a lever on the arm, and with a soft click, a needle popped out. Without so much as a glance, he turned his back to her, rummaging through his tools in search of what must have been a fresh needle.
Lux placed her cool palms to her flushed cheeks, trying to steady herself. Her skin felt on fire, a heat spreading rapidly through her face. What in the world was making her act this way? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside her had snapped. For a man beneath her class, no less! The disgrace this would bring her family if she ever spoke of such an encounter! This man—this foreigner, a working-class gentleman, dirtied from his labor—should have been nothing more than a passing encounter. Yet here she was, unable to stop her heart from racing. His features were so different from hers, so alien—yet in that moment, everything about him felt strangely familiar.
He certainly looked familiar in a strange way she simply couldn’t place.
The machinist turned back to face her, his expression unreadable under that mask covering his mouth. Lux quickly schooled her features into what she hoped looked like normalcy, pulling her hands away from her cheeks, though she could still feel the warmth of her skin burning beneath her fingertips.
His eyes flickered over her, and for a brief moment, there was something undeniably mischievous in his gaze. Lux swallowed hard, hoping he hadn’t noticed how thoroughly rattled she was.
He popped a little needle in and bounced the arm once or twice.
“There,” he said, shifting the horn slightly so it fit more snugly. “Should be playin’ records perfectly.”
“Records?” Lux echoed hesitantly.
The machinist nodded his head, the blue fringe bouncing delightfully and curling around his high cheekbones. “Sure. Shall we test it?”
This man knew how to work the machine. But what he didn’t realize, she realized with a jolt, was that she had no idea what kind of machine she had stumbled upon. She had ventured into town to find someone to repair a trinket, and by pure luck, had crossed paths with the one machinist in possibly all of Demacia who specialized in exactly what she had been curious about.
It felt like fate.
"Alright," Lux said, her voice steadier than she felt. The machinist flashed her a charming smile, visible around his eyes despite the dark face covering that obscured most of his expression. His long eyelashes and darkened eyelids stood out even more as the pink glow of his eyes was slightly obscured, before he slipped under the counter and to retrieve something.
“From my personal collection,” he declared, brandishing a circular dark object. With a smooth motion, he slipped it under the arm of the machine and raised the legs up once more to twist the crank more times than she could count. Then he let the contraption fall once more against the counter, dipped the needle, and from the great horn, at last, music began to play.
It was no song she had ever heard before. In fact, most of the instruments were nearly impossible to place—a violin hummed the main notes, a drumbeat in the background, something like a guitar yet a thousand times crisper cut through the melody.
Lux felt as though the heavens had descended from above and settled in this very moment.
A man’s voice crooned from the horn, natural with cracks but beautiful in a way that felt rawly human. As the chorus swelled, Lux found herself unable to look away from the mysterious machinist. He leaned against the counter, one hand resting on its surface while the other sprawled across his face, fingers adorned with long, black-painted nails. His sleeve slipped back slightly, revealing more of those blue, clouded markings curling along his forearm, tracing the contours of thin, corded muscle.
Never before in her life had Lux felt this way. She had never found much interest in men, never found romance particularly compelling as a narrative or driving force to shape her destiny. But as the song continued to echo through the little shop, the mysterious man letting his eyes slip shut as he swayed to the beat, Lux felt as though an aspect of life she had been blinded to found itself slipping around her heart and brain and lodging itself firmly in the space between.
She suddenly wished more than ever before to have been blessed with natural womanly talent, just so she may charm the gentleman in front of her half as much as he had charmed her.
If one could choose a moment to relive a thousand times before they died, Luxanna was certain she could choose this one right here.
The song faded, the needle reaching its final destination of the center of the record and spitting out static. The machinist glanced up with a mischievous twinkle to his eyes and Lux realized she had been, quite unabashedly, staring.
“Did you like it?” he asked, voice warm as honey.
“Indeed,” Lux breathed. “I never heard a song quite like it in my entire life.” She looked at the strange disk that the needle had spun on. “How does it work?”
He blinked up at her, eyes so wide and doe-like that it made Lux feel dizzy. “Well… it's reading the inscriptions in the record, see?”
Lux blinked. “Reading? How so?”
His gaze flickered between Lux herself and the gramophone. Without warning, he reached forward, taking her hand in his—fingers rough, but warm and surprisingly slender. Lux felt a jolt of surprise as he guided her hand to his throat, his skin pale and smooth beneath her touch.
“Do you feel it?” he rasped. The vibrations jolted through her fingertips, practically buzzing all the way up to her brain until all her focus in life was on the warmth seeping between her hand and his neck. “That buzzing?”
Lux nodded, her tongue too heavy that she feared speaking might betray her. Her focus had narrowed to the heat building between their hands.
“It simulates that vibration,” he continued. Oh, she still felt each and every word as it vibrated through his throat. “Not so hard once you figure it out. You can have it record anything you want.”
He dropped her hand gently, his touch lingering just long enough to leave her skin tingling. Lux blinked at him, speechless, her mouth working in vain as her mind tried to catch up. She opened her lips, but the words were lost.
The machinist took pity on her, an electric spark lighting in his eyes, his presence shifting with an almost intimidating aura that practically rippled off him. “Do you want to try some more?” he asked slyly, his voice raspy as he spun the record off and slid it back into its compartment below. “Behind you is the whole selection, if you’re interested in buying something new.”
Lux’s gaze followed the motion of his hand, and she turned to face the shelves behind her, where rows of records lined the walls. Above them, in rough Demacian script, words like POP, PUNK, and ROCK were scrawled in bold letters. The terms were completely foreign to her, their meaning in relation to music totally lost, yet they stirred something unexpected inside her—a fire that she had never felt before, a sudden pull to understand this alien world the machinist was introducing her to.
Turning her gaze back upon the gentleman who was introducing her to such a wonder, Lux suddenly found herself pinned by those coying eyes as he leaned in and playfully said, “Or we can always listen here. I would never say no to letting such a beautiful lady hang around and listen to some records with me.”
Lux felt her face spasm as it tried to land on a single emotion to express, her thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate scramble to settle on one coherent reaction. Instead of anything else, she landed on becoming so embarrassingly hot that she had to spin around and press her cool fingers to her cheeks again.
“I’ll check out the other records!” she blurted, her voice almost louder than she intended as she darted away from him, quickly hiding behind one of the shelves. She could hear a light chuckle escape him, and though it was playful, it made her feel even more flustered.
The sound of him shuffling around in the back of the shop followed her, but Lux wasn’t sure whether it was his movements or her racing thoughts that made the space around her feel impossibly small. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart, but all she could focus on was the warmth that lingered on her face and the strange pull of his presence.
What was wrong with her? Was she really behaving in such an uncouth way? Lux fought bitterly to keep her blush under control. It felt as though she might combust!
Apparently, the man was fetching another record, for a new song with a far more upbeat start suddenly filled the little shop. He turned it on louder, letting it echo and reverberate throughout the room, before turning back to the register to organize something or another.
Lux felt as though she was in heaven.
When she finally left, markedly too close to sundown to return without causing a bit of a ruckus, Lux carried not only her gramophone, freshly repaired, but several bags full of new records for her to discover.
The grand dining hall buzzed with the lively hum of laughter and animated conversation, the clink of silverware blending with the boisterous tales shared by the guests gathered for the evening feast. Garen had returned that night, home from his tour of Noxus for what was meant to be a long month of respite. To mark his return, the entire Crownguard family had hosted a lavish celebration, inviting several prominent upper-class friends to join in the festivities.
Lux sat at the edge of the long, polished table, her fork absentmindedly pushing food around her plate. She could barely taste the rich flavors, her mind still tangled with thoughts of the machinist that she had encountered earlier that day. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, but it seemed distant, as though she were only half-present. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the strange contraption, the mysterious person, and the lingering pull of his presence.
Beside her sat her mother, smiling and engaging with the guests, while the chair usually occupied by her father remained empty. On her other side sat Garen, as stiff and unyielding as ever, his posture straight as a rod.
Augatha clinked the edge of her knife against the glass of her cup. The din of the room paused, softening just enough to make out whatever announcement her mother had.
Lux blinked, snapping her gaze back to reality. Her mother was beaming with delight, eyes sweeping over the guests as she gestured grandly. “Bring forth our jester!” she called, her voice ringing with authority.
A hush fell over the table as a figure stepped forward from the shadows near the doorway. Lux leaned forward, a tad bit curious. She had seen jesters at these kinds of affairs before—prancing and tumbling with exaggerated expressions, but she never truly saw the appeal in a man making a righteous fool of himself in front of the nobles. It felt… humiliating, in a strange way.
The jester was unexpected to say the least. The figure was slim and agile, dressed in vibrant purples and pinks that gleamed beneath the chandelier lights. Lux’s gaze flickered over the figure’s blue hair, sticking out from under her hat, noting how it shone like a river under moonlight. She didn’t think much of it, though she found that the color was striking, and the jester’s movements were fluid and graceful.
The blue-haired girl—a jester?—began her performance with a series of exaggerated bows, blowing raspberries at the group closest to her before she burst into somersaults, spinning through the room with an infectious energy that had the guests laughing and clapping. Her movements were impressive, but Lux couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She watched absentmindedly the jester twirled, saddled up with the rich and told raunchy jokes, her laughter ringing through the hall.
Sadly, despite the admittedly well put together performance, all it served to remind Lux of was how utterly disinterested she felt.
The jester’s act seemed endless, new tricks, the new exaggerated gestures, but Lux's mind kept drifting back to the conversation with the machinist just hours before. What was it about him that had thrown her off? She felt irritated at herself for not being more focused on the dinner, on the people around her. Her brother had returned from moons abroad and she barely found it in herself to celebrate with him.
And then, as if sensing that her audience’s attention was slipping, the jester pulled a small bundle of what looked like scrap wire and metal from her belt. With a flourish, she threw it to the ground and a puff of smoke erupted with a loud pop, swirling around the room.
The guests gasped in surprise, and the smoke thickened, rising in dramatic clouds. Augatha clapped politely and even Garen smiled. Lux couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It was a unique jester trick, but even that was something she had seen a hundred times before. She didn’t even flinch at the spectacle. She glanced around the room, noticing how everyone visiting the Crownguard estate was oohing and aahing.
She watched as the jester puffed out another cloud of smoke, trying to keep the crowd entertained, but the trick continued to fall flat for Lux. The girl continued to dance and spin in time with the live performance, but Lux noticed interestingly that she grimaced when she was facing just far enough away that her mother couldn’t spot it.
Another jester forced into the career against her will, perhaps?
Without her permission, Lux felt her thoughts wander back to the record shop. Something inside her was restless. But dinner was far from over, and her brother’s voice brought her back to the present.
“You’re hardly paying attention, Lux,” Garen whispered, leaning closer and raising an eyebrow with a subtle but knowing glance. “What’s on your mind?”
Lux stiffened in her seat, quickly masking the discomfort with a forced smile. “Ahh… I just…” She trailed off, trying to regain her composure, but her mind was far from the feast in front of her.
The jester’s performance stretched on in the background, her exaggerated gestures and antics amusing the rest of the guests, but Lux’s attention was elsewhere. The rest of the family remained thoroughly distracted by the spectacle, but Garen’s quiet presence beside her made him the only person she could confide in.
Leaning slightly toward her brother, Lux lowered her voice, speaking just loud enough for him to hear. “I met someone today…”
Garen’s eyes flickered with interest, his usually steely demeanor momentarily softening. “You did?” His voice dropped even lower, and he bowed his head as though to shield their conversation from prying ears.
Lux smiled faintly at his reaction. She could always count on Garen to listen without judgment. “Yes,” she murmured, her tone a mix of excitement and uncertainty. “A machinist. He... he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. His contraptions were unlike anything I’ve seen. And there was something about him—” She cut herself off, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she hesitated. “It’s silly, I know. He’s beneath our station.”
Garen’s brow furrowed in the dim light, his protective instincts kicking in. “Beneath our station?” he echoed quietly. “Lux, you’re not considering—”
“No, no,” she quickly interrupted, shaking her head, her cheeks flushed. “I mean, I know better. I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.”
The jester continued her energetic dance between the guests, bobbing and weaving between them and even joking with a few. Yet her focus was on the conversation with Garen, sharing every detail she could about the mysterious machinist she found herself practically obsessed with. She was certain Garen wouldn’t judge her for the growing feelings she had for someone of lesser rank. He had always been her confidant, and that hadn’t changed despite the moons apart.
Garen, on the other hand, was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, though the light in his eyes never dimmed. “Just be safe, Lux,” he murmured, though there was a trace of fondness in his voice. “Don’t let your heart lead you into trouble.”
Lux smiled faintly, a mixture of gratitude and guilt filling her chest. She didn’t need to be told twice, but hearing Garen’s quiet concern made her feel a little better.
“I just think he was so cool for helping me for free like that,” came the stupid Crownguard princess’ voice, hushed but still clear enough for her mountainous brother to hear.
Jinx nearly fumbled mid-backflip. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from yelping as she twisted, barely managing to land between the siblings with a flourish, arms spread wide like she’d planned it all along.
“He’s just so dreamy! And I don’t even know his name!”
Jinx’s muscles locked up. Dreamy? Oh, this was rich.
“He could be toying with your emotions,” the big brother, all broad shoulders and deep suspicion, replied. “I would be careful, Lux. You never know with men… especially these days.”
Jinx swallowed as sweat trickled down her chin. Playing the court jester to rob these self-important nobles blind had been a stroke of genius, but this? This was a whole new level of absurd.
Lux had met her at the shop earlier today, back when Jinx had been in her work clothes, face mask covering her mouth and grease on her hands. And somehow—somehow—the prim and proper Crownguard girl had convinced herself that Jinx, the wiry little jester currently capering around before her, was actually some charming, rugged, handsome mystery man.
I have gotten myself mixed up in something crazy!
Jinx fought the urge to cackle then and there. Instead, she threw herself into another cartwheel to burn off the sudden energy snapping in her bones.
This was bound to be hilarious!