Chapter Text
Gustave really, truly hadn’t wanted it to come to this.
When they first departed Lumière, the whole affair had felt distant—ceremonial, almost unreal. A procession more than a decision. Something that might yet unravel before it reached its conclusion. But as the Kingdom of Sirène rose into view, illusion gave way to certainty.
Golden sands stretched like molten glass beneath the sun, and the colosseum loomed at the edge of the eastern sea, vast and gleaming, as though it had been carved from the horizon itself. The sight of it struck him harder than any proclamation.
The dread settled low in his stomach, heavy as lead.
He was meant to ride at the heart of the convoy—at his parents’ side, his sisters flanking him in quiet symmetry. A picture of unity, of certainty. Instead, he had fallen behind, his pace faltering the moment that blinding gold caught in his eyes and refused to let go.
He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want the crown, nor the weight that came with it. Not the measured smiles, nor the careful words, nor the endless dance of courtly expectation. Paintress knew he could barely navigate a single conversation among nobles without offending someone of importance.
That was never where he belonged.
Creation was his domain. The hum of mechanisms beneath his hands, the interplay of chroma and steel, the quiet brilliance of something built rather than performed. His arm stood as proof enough of that: a seamless marriage of pictos and engineering, of thought made tangible. There was honesty in it. Precision. Purpose.
None of which mattered in a ballroom. There, perfection was measured in posture and poise, in the subtle tilt of a head or the cadence of a laugh. And in that arena, he fell short—painfully, consistently so.
Emma never did.
His beloved twin moved through court like it was her natural element, as effortless as breath. She could command a room with nothing more than a glance, still a conversation with the slightest lift of her hand. Where he stumbled, she soared. And he loved her for it—fiercely, without resentment, even as the comparison carved quiet truths into him.
It was precisely because of that truth that he had agreed to this. To her.
Sophie de Sirène, the future queen.
A political union, cleanly drawn and neatly justified. She was kind, by all accounts. Thoughtful, dutiful and like him… hesitant. There had been a flicker of it in her eyes when they were first introduced, a shared understanding neither of them had voiced. Neither of them had chosen this path.
But choice had very little to do with it.
When kingdoms are threatened, when borders grow fragile and enemies begin to circle, sentiment becomes a luxury no one can afford. Alliances are forged not from desire, but from necessity. And so Gustave rode on toward Sirène, the weight of a future he had never wanted pressing heavier with every step.
“Say the word,” Maelle started, reining back just enough for her horse to fall into step beside his, “and I’ll make such a spectacle even Lune won’t see you slip away.”
Gustave huffed a quiet laugh, glancing over as she matched his pace with effortless ease. Of course, she would offer that. Maelle had always been a spark with no patience for containment—a wildfire disguised as a teenage girl, heedless of fences, expectations, or consequences. Not even their parents could quite manage her, no matter how they tried.
“We’re in the middle of open plains, dear sister,” he said, lifting one hand to gesture at himself. “And dressed like this—” the gold-threaded cords, the deep violet and black layers, every inch of him an announcement—“I’d be lucky if only a worm noticed me.”
Her grin sharpened.
“Then it’s plan B,” she declared, already swinging one leg over, “perform a proper dance and prayer to the Paintress. Ask her to send one of those legendary sky beasts Maman used to tell us about. You know—the kind that swoop down and carry off unfortunate princes.”
She landed lightly in the grass, her white steed—Stendhal—snorting in mild disapproval but remaining where he stood. Maelle paid him no mind, already spinning into motion, the tails of her coat flaring as she launched into a chaotic blend of courtly steps and country jigs.
“Maelle!” Gustave laughed, the sound breaking free before he could stop it. The tight coil of dread in his chest loosened, if only a little, as he watched her. “Are you trying to get me kidnapped?”
She stamped to a stop and beamed at him, wild red hair whipping around her face like living flame. “All those stories end the same way,” she said brightly. “A brave white knight arrives to save the day.”
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her rapier. The blade shimmered into existence, catching the sunlight in a flare of gold that rivaled the distant gleam of Sirène itself.
“The knight, of course,” she added, lifting her chin, “will be me.”
Gustave rolled his eyes, though the smile lingered. “Ah, yes. My fearless little sister, slaying dragons with what amounts to a glorified sewing needle. How inspiring.”
He nudged his horse a half-step closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “Now put that away before Maman sees you and decides I’m somehow responsible.”
Maelle stuck her tongue out at him with a huff, and the rapier dissolved into motes of light. In one smooth motion, she turned and vaulted back onto Stendhal, settling into the saddle as if she had never left it. “She knows better,” Maelle said with a shrug. “And besides, I think she’s far too busy imagining your wedding to notice anything else.”
Gustave exhaled slowly. He couldn’t argue with that. He would be the first of the three to marry, and the ceremony promised to be nothing short of grand. Their mother wanted the best for them—she always had. She loved them fiercely, protectively. She would not have agreed to this if she didn’t believe Sophie de Sirène was a good match.
At least… that’s what he told himself.
“But seriously, Gustave…” Maelle’s voice softened as she guided her horse closer, lowering her tone so it wouldn’t carry. “Emma and I can see it. She can feel it.”
He glanced ahead. The convoy stretched forward in disciplined lines, while behind them, at a respectful distance, rode Lucian and Tristan—close enough to guard, far enough to grant privacy. Loyal and considerate.
Maelle leaned in slightly. “Why didn’t you say no?”
The question settled heavier than the silence that followed it.
“Because I couldn’t,” he said at last, his voice quieter than he intended. “I have to do this.”
“Maman always said to marry for love,” Maelle pressed, frowning now. “That it’s the most powerful thing there is. So why?”
Gustave bit back the first answer that came to mind. Yes, their mother believed that. But she also knew—whether she said it aloud or not—that love was not always there at the beginning. His parents themselves had been a political match once, forged out of necessity rather than affection. They had simply been fortunate enough to grow into something more.
Not everyone was.
“Yes,” he said carefully, “she did. But this isn’t a story.”
His gaze drifted backwards, where the distant brilliance of Lumière felt impossibly far behind them, and Sirène waited ahead like an inevitability.
“No dragons. No enchanted endings. No sudden, perfect love.” His metal hand tightened around the reins, the faint whir of its inner mechanisms barely audible beneath the wind. “I have a duty to Lumière,” he continued. “Especially now. With the Obscur pressing at the borders again…”
The words trailed off, but the meaning did not. Some things mattered more than what he wanted.
“Promise you’ll visit?” Maelle asked, her voice quieter now—no bravado, no mischief, just something small and earnest that tugged at him far more than her theatrics ever could. Gustave’s expression softened. He leaned as far as the saddle allowed, reaching across the narrow space between them to brush a loose strand of her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it gently into place.
“Of course,” he said. A faint smile followed, touched with something more fragile beneath it. “I’m not going to be locked away forever.”
The words came easily. The certainty did not. There was a part of him, quiet, unwelcome, that suspected the truth would look far closer to a gilded cage than a distant home. But Maelle didn’t need that truth. Not now.
“I’m not gone,” he added, gentler still. “Just… farther away. And I’m sure Her Grace will be more than willing to let you visit.”
He hoped that was true. Everything he’d seen of Sophie suggested kindness rather than cruelty, an ease that felt genuine, not rehearsed. If there was any mercy in this arrangement, it would be found there. Maelle sniffed, turning her face slightly as if to hide it, though he caught the shine in her eyes all the same.
“I just don’t want to lose my brother,” she admitted. “Not to a court full of serpents.”
Gustave’s smile returned, softer this time, steadier.
“You won’t,” he said. “I promise you won’t.”
His grip shifted on the reins, the black metal of his hand catching the light as it moved. “And for what it’s worth,” he added, a hint of dry humor threading through his tone, “I’m not particularly afraid of snakes.”
He glanced at her sidelong. That earned him what he’d hoped for—a small, crooked smile tugging at her lips, fragile but real.
They rode side by side in a companionable quiet, the road stretching long and pale beneath their horses’ hooves. Ahead, Sirène drew nearer with every measured step, its distant gold softened now by the shifting light of late afternoon. The air had begun to change—subtle at first, then unmistakable—carrying with it the crisp tang of sea salt.
They passed scattered farmsteads along the way, small pockets of life tucked into the plains. Children gathered at fences and gateposts, wide-eyed at the sight of the royal convoy. Maelle, ever bright, lifted her hand in greeting, her smile easy and genuine. The younger ones waved back with delighted enthusiasm, their laughter trailing behind like a blessing.
“I wish Sciel could have come with us,” Maelle said after a while, her gaze drifting over the increasingly frequent fields. “She would have loved the ceremony.”
Gustave huffed a quiet laugh. “Sciel is also expecting her second child. If she could still ride, I have no doubt she would have forced her way into the procession anyway.”
It was easy to picture. Sciel, once a Queen’s Guard, now a farmer and teacher beside her husband Pierre, stubborn as ever despite the softness her new life had given her. Maelle brightened. “Oh! Then I’ll bring her something back—shells, maybe! Or a mobile for the baby!”
She bounced slightly in the saddle, earning a sharp snort from Stendhal as the horse tossed his mane in protest. Gustave smiled faintly, imagining the quiet, pleased look Sciel would try and fail to hide. “I think she’d like that.”
“Really? I wonder if shells would even survive the journey—” Maelle twisted in her saddle mid-thought, peering back along the road as though the answer might be written in the dust behind them. Her words faltered. Her expression shifted.
Gustave noticed it immediately.
“What is it?” He turned, following her line of sight past Lucian and Tristan. The sun hung low, bright and blinding as it dipped toward the horizon. They would reach Sirène before nightfall.
But it wasn’t the sun that held his attention.
It was the speck.
A small, dark point against the light. At first glance, it was nothing more than a bird—yet it did not move like one. It hung there, suspended, wrong. And as he watched, a shadow slipped across the plains below, gliding over the tall grasses like a passing cloud. Except there were no clouds.
Gustave’s frown deepened. The shadow grew. The speck grew.
What had been distant and indistinct began to take shape, swelling rapidly in size. Wings—vast, outstretched—unfurled against the sky.
“Merde,” Gustave breathed, the word catching in his throat. Beside him, Maelle went rigid, her blue eyes locked on the same point. Behind them, Lucian and Tristan straightened sharply in their saddles, the shift in their posture immediate and unmistakable.
“Dragon…” Maelle rasped, the word barely more than air.
“Dragon!” Gustave’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the calm.
The convoy erupted into motion. At its center, their parents wheeled their horses around in alarm, confusion flashing across their faces. Commander Alan reacted faster than the panic could take hold. “Move!” he barked. “Ride for Sirène! Now!”
Horses reared and stamped, nerves snapping under the sudden tension. Emma was already turning with the king and queen, urging them forward as the guard closed ranks.
“Go—go! Yah!” Gustave drove his heels into his steed, surging into motion. He reached across, catching Stendhal’s reins and dragging Maelle with him into a faster pace. She recovered quickly, gripping tight, adjusting, pushing her mount into a full run beside him.
Wind tore past them as the ground blurred beneath pounding hooves.
Dragons were creatures of rumor and distant sight—solitary, elusive, more myth than reality. Gustave had grown up on stories, half-believed and half-dismissed. But there was nothing uncertain about this. The creature descending upon them was vast. Unmistakable.
Real.
Maelle gasped beside him, the sound nearly lost to the rushing wind. Gustave glanced back and felt his stomach drop. Its wings stretched wide enough to swallow the light, casting a moving shadow that devoured the plains. Its form was black as night, ridged with spines and crowned with jagged horns.
It was already too close.
The downbeat of its wings struck like a storm. Wind tore across the plains, ripping grass from the earth, snapping fences, wrenching up even the stubborn, deep-rooted plants. Horses shrieked and stumbled, some collapsing outright as the force of it slammed through the convoy. Gustave’s own mount faltered beneath him, and for a terrifying second he thought he’d be thrown. Around them, the line broke. Riders went down. Guards were dragged beneath panicked horses, armor clattering, shouts swallowed by the chaos.
The dragon roared.
The sound was deafening—primal, violent, something that seemed to shake the air itself. Massive jaws lashed out, snapping around the space where riders had stood only moments before.
Instinct surged through Gustave. His hand twitched, ready to summon his pistol to fire a volley of lightning-charged chroma into the beast’s hide, but he stopped himself. It wouldn’t stop it; it would only make it worse.
“Gustave!” Her scream cut through everything.
Before he could turn, before he could even think, something collided with the dragon—hard enough to send its massive form reeling. Its wings buckled, crashing sideways, and the force of it swept through the ground below like a scythe.
Gustave and Maelle were caught in it. They went down with the shockwave, torn from their saddles as the creature’s bulk slammed into the earth. Horses screamed, kicking wildly at the scaled mass that crashed among them.
He should have stayed in formation. Should have been at the center with their parents, under heavier guard. The thought came too late. The world had already flipped. Air vanished from his lungs as he hit the ground hard, the impact tearing a gasp from him before he could even register it. He slid across dirt and grass, vision flashing white.
“Maelle!” he choked, coughing, dragging breath back into his chest. “Maelle!”
He forced himself upright only to duck as a massive limb swung past, close enough for him to feel the rush of displaced air.
It was then that he saw it. Not one, but two.
Two dragons.
The second was larger, older, its scales dulled with age and marked by scars that told of countless battles survived. It had slammed into the first, and now the two were locked in a brutal struggle that tore at the earth itself. Claws gouged into soil. Wings battered the ground. Teeth snapped and tore.
Gustave stumbled back, then forward again, trying to navigate the chaos, forced to dodge sweeping tails and jagged limbs as he searched.
“Maelle!” he shouted again, his voice thin against the thunder of snarls and the grinding crash of scale against scale. The ground trembled beneath every movement. “Maelle!”
“Foolish boy! Do you truly wish to get yourself killed?” The voice cut through the noise, deep, resonant, and unmistakably there.
His gaze snapped toward the larger dragon just as it reared back, its head lifting. For a fleeting, impossible moment, its expression twisted not with rage, but with pain. The tone struck him with a strange familiarity. His father had used it before—sharp with reprimand, edged with concern.
The moment shattered as bursts of charged chroma exploded across the creature’s face. The royal guard had regrouped, weapons firing in coordinated volleys. The older dragon roared, fury overtaking whatever had flickered there before. The younger answered with a violent surge, wrenching itself free and slamming into its opponent. The two tore apart again, claws ripping, bodies colliding in a frenzy of motion.
Gustave turned and met a pair of silver blue eyes, locked on him.
He moved—tried to run, to scramble in any direction that might take him out of its path—but it was hopeless. There was no outrunning something that could blot out the sun.
A shadow fell over him. A massive claw closed around him, crushing tight, pinning one arm against his chest, the other trapped at his side. Pain lanced through him as he struggled, a strangled cry forced from his throat.
The ground vanished.
Wind roared past as the dragon launched skyward, lifting him with it. The world dropped away in a dizzying rush. Below Maelle, a flash of fire-red hair in the grass, her face turned upward, eyes wide.
“Gustave!” He couldn’t hear her, not truly, but he knew. Behind her, the guards met a far crueler fate. The older dragon, driven past patience, unleashed a torrent of flame that swallowed armor and steel alike before it surged into the air in pursuit.
Higher and higher. Gustave’s stomach lurched as the ground became a distant smear. He had never been this high—not like this, not without control.
The older dragon closed the distance. Claws sank into the younger’s flank, piercing scale, tearing into muscle. The impact jolted through Gustave’s entire body as the creature holding him convulsed.
Its grip tightened.
His breath vanished. His ribs screamed. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision as the world spun—sky, ground, fire, scale—nothing stable, nothing certain. The dragons writhed in the air, a violent knot of wings and teeth and fury.
And then the grip vanished. For a single, suspended moment, there was nothing.
Then Gustave fell.
The air howled past him, cold and merciless, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his breath. His arms flung outward instinctively, grasping at emptiness. Above, the battle continued. The younger dragon unleashed a blast of flame, forcing the older back before striking it hard enough to send it spiraling downward. For a heartbeat, they fell together. A beast of legend and a prince, weightless.
The younger dove after him.
“Gustave!” Maelle’s voice was faint, distant, breaking.
Then everything went black.