Chapter Text
Caitlyn
The palace was quiet in the early morning, the kind of stillness that only came before duty swept through like a storm. Caitlyn stood by the window of her chambers, half-dressed in court-appropriate silks, watching the city below wake. She already felt the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders like a second crown.
The knock came, perfectly on cue. Polite. Precise.
"Come in," Caitlyn said without turning.
The door opened, and Queen Cassandra Kiramman stepped inside, dressed in her usual muted tones, understated, elegant, calculated. Her posture was perfect. Her voice was warm yet distant.
"You’re up early."
"I’m always up early," Caitlyn replied, reaching for the clasp of her cloak. "There’s work to do."
A small, approving nod. "Good. The court expects consistency."
They expect perfection, Caitlyn thought. And if I’m lucky, they’ll accept adequacy wrapped in the right dress and title.
Cassandra crossed the room slowly, eyes moving over her daughter as if assessing a painting. “You’ll be attending the tournament today. It’s important the people see you.”
“I know.”
"And tonight, there’s a private dinner. Lord Nolan and his daughter will be present."
Caitlyn’s expression didn’t flicker. There it is. The real reason for the conversation.
“Don’t tell me I’m getting a proposal,” she said, voice lilting with mock delight.
A provocation, nothing more.
Because everyone knew the truth. The match had been decided long before she could ride a horse or speak her own mind. The dinner was just another polite courtly display—another silent promise that her life was not her own.
Cassandra didn’t rise to the bait. Her gaze sharpened. “I see we’re having one of your moods. House Nolan keeps the seaside in line. And you’ve known Maddie since you were girls. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am pleased,” Caitlyn lied smoothly, smoothing a fold of her sleeve. “Ecstatic, really.”
Her mother didn’t smile. She never did, not when it came to this.
“She’s a good woman. Loyal. Clever.” Cassandra said.
And completely wrong for me. In every way that matters. Not that it ever mattered. Caitlyn told herself.
A pause stretched between them until the door opened again. Tobias Kiramman stepped in, carrying a steaming cup and a rare softness to his expression. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his gait easy. A man who had survived war and politics, but still found ways to smile.
"Two queens in one room," he said. "And yet peace still holds. Remarkable."
Caitlyn let out a quiet breath. Cassandra’s shoulders lowered—barely noticeable, but real.
"Father," Caitlyn said, stepping forward to take the cup. "You’re my favorite person today."
"I live for these small victories."
Cassandra gave him a long look. “She knows her duty.”
Tobias nodded. But not before breakfast and something hot to drink."
Caitlyn leaned into his side just for a second, grateful for her father's way of cheering her up—just long enough to find her inner peace again.
Outside, the first trumpet sounded. The tournament had begun.
Vi
Zaun always smelled like rust, rain, and possibility. Vi inhaled it deep as she tightened the strap on her gauntlet, the leather stiff against calloused fingers. The forge behind her was still hot from the morning’s repairs. Her armor wasn’t new, but it was hers—earned, not gifted.
“You nervous?” Mylo asked, leaning against a crate, chewing something that looked like it’d been through a fight.
Vi grinned. “You know me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking.”
From the rafters above, Jinx swung down like a cat, landing with a clatter and a wild spark in her eyes.
“I made you something,” she announced proudly, holding up a badge made of copper and glass gears. It spun slightly in the breeze. “It’s lucky. Probably.”
Vi crouched to her sister’s level. “Thanks, Powder. You’re my secret weapon.”
“I could rig your lance with an explosive tip,” Jinx offered cheerfully.
“I’ll pass,” Vi said, standing and ruffling her hair.
Claggor entered next, helmet under one arm, already armored but clearly not competing today. He clapped a hand on Vi’s shoulder.
“They’re calling you the Crimson Gauntlet now,” he said. “You know that?”
Vi rolled her eyes. “People talk too much.”
“They talk because you win,” Mylo added. “And because half the Guard is still recovering from the last idiot who challenged you.”
“Guess I make an impression.”
The tavern door opened. A massive figure stepped inside.
Vander. Barrel-chested, with a voice like gravel and hands that had once crushed bone. But his eyes were kind. Always had been.
“You ready?” he asked.
Vi nodded. “More than.”
He stepped closer. “Your parents would be proud, you know.”
Vi stiffened, just slightly.
“I hope so,” she said quietly. “I’ll make sure they stay proud.”
Vander put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t just fight to win, Vi. Fight for something.”
“I am.”
She stepped out into the light, her siblings watching. The tournament grounds rose in the distance, banners high and shimmering.
This is it, Vi thought. One more step. One more fight. And they’ll have to see me, not as a girl from the Undercity… but as a knight who belongs.
She mounted her horse, armor gleaming dully in the morning light. Her heartbeat steady in her chest.
And somewhere far above—beyond wealth, power, and politics, a princess was being told who to marry.
While Vi was just trying to survive.
But fate?
Fate was already pulling them towards each other.