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“You cannot be serious.”
Silco’s expression suggests that he is, in fact, serious. Dead serious. Mourner-at-the-funeral serious. Serious as the grave. Jinx decides she hates that expression.
“You’re pimping me off to some backwards military-brat breeding cow?!”
“I’d bend backwards into my own coffin before I or anyone foolish enough to try likened my daughter to a common whore,” Silco snaps, “and it would behoove you to do the same. I am asking you to secure an invaluable alliance for our kingdom.”
“A marriage?!”
Of all the reasons she could have named for Silco calling her to the royal chancellery that morning, this is the last on Jinx’s list. She can’t even spell ‘Demacia’ and he wants her to shack up with one of its pedigree pooches? Some prim, plump princess who probably still has the silver spoon she’d been fed with rammed up her butt crack?
“Think of it as merely another form of contract,” the king fields placatingly, “one less easily dissolved than a simple defense pact or trade agreement, longer-lasting, and harder to ignore. It is the most ironclad coalition a nation can enter into, especially one as… traditional as Demacia. You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it weren’t serious.”
“But why me? And don’t tell me because I’m the only age-appropriate option.” The Demacians or whoever probably hock their daughters off to wizened old geezers anyway; why not one of the Barons?
She expects him to give her a speech about how she is his heir, a symbol of the might of Zaun, together they will bring all others into their fold or to their knees and blah, blah, blah. Instead he replies, “because you are the only one I trust.”
She pauses to turn that over in her brain while he stands and moves to the window. His features remain neutral, hands folded neatly behind his back, but Jinx can read him like no one else. He has that darkened aura surrounding him that only manifests when the stakes grow high enough to put even him on edge. A blade-thin edge.
“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
He finally lets a grim sigh escape him. “How many times in history has anyone accomplished what we did? We threw off the fetters of our oppressors, rose up from squalor to challenge one of the world’s unequaled powers - and we won.” And theeeere’s the righteous speech. “But people are sharks, Jinx. Our neighbors smell the blood shed in the war, and now they are circling to see how we measure up. We intrigue them for what we did - perhaps they even fear us. But they do not respect us.”
Now Jinx’s blood boils for a different reason. Will they always be nothing more than fissure peasants, even after they made those fissures run red with Piltie blood? Even after everything they lost? Everything she… why should they have to shackle themselves to some other high and mighty despot? And no, she can’t point to Demacia on a map yet, but at the moment she doesn’t feel much better about it than she does Piltover itself.
“So let’s remind them what we can do! Y’know, if they’ve forgotten so quick,” she snaps.
“I more than most understand the base violence necessary for change,” Silco responds, “but there does come a point where war is no longer economic. Expansion is not an option. We can barely afford the resources for defense as we stand.”
It rankles because it’s true. Piltover’s defeat was a miracle won through small victory after small victory, well-placed explosives here and there, and in no small part Piltover underestimating them. They paid for it in Zaunite lives and scraps of tech and coin scraped up from the dregs of their loosely united fiefs. Silco can impose all the taxes he wants, charge topside however much he wants for what irreplaceable trade goods they so begrudgingly eked out from the treaty, but it will still take years to build up stable revenue no matter how much they leverage it (and they leverage it. Serves the fuckers right).
Jinx sort of hates knowing that. She misses the days when she could solve all her problems with a gun.
Still she grinds out, “we don’t need their protection.”
“Ironically, they are the ones negotiating arms from us. Protection is not the point - we are trying to avoid requiring such measures. It’s about image. Piltover expected violence from us, if not victory, and other kingdoms expect us - barbarians that we are - to crack under the pressure. We’re going to show them that we are capable not only of standing on our own two feet, but of standing with an ancient, mighty power. We’ll show them,” he finishes. “We will show them all.”
It settles on Jinx exactly what he’s asking of her, and she begins to pace a groove into the carpet. She will show them. That is what he’s saying. If they go through with this, it’s her the world will be watching. No more behind-the-scenes dirty work. No more triggers in the dark or slipping behind enemy lines or the anonymity of chaos. She will cease to be merely Silco’s assassin, or even his princess. She will, as far as he and everyone else is concerned, stand for Zaun itself.
And that isn’t even the scariest part.
She’ll be doing it with a girl. Head-splitting politics aside, marriage is marriage, and if Jinx can say one thing about herself with absolute confidence, it’s that she is not marriage material.
A hand on her shoulder brings her frenetic pacing to a halt. “The choice is yours, Jinx.” Silco isn’t using his king voice anymore. He only ever speaks that gently to her. “Say the word, and I’ll call off the negotiations.”
He will, Jinx knows that full well, no matter how badly they need it. Yet that is what makes up her mind. Really, there’s no difference between this and squeezing through a suffocating, muddy tunnel to plant a fuse beneath the walls of a Piltovan fortress, because he asked it of her, and she can’t let him down.
“No. I’ll do it.”
A smile pulls at his mouth, and Jinx can tell he’s relieved. This isn’t as important to him as her - nothing ever will be - but it’s still important. Jinx is glad to know she made the right choice.
“I knew I could count on you,” he says, and pulls her into a hug.
“Yeah yeah,” she mumbles. “So… care to tell me who the lucky bride is?”
The door slams shut, and Luxanna Crownguard, youngest of her name, scion of a valorous House of gallant warriors, Demacia’s fairest lady, face plants onto her bed and shrieks into the pillows.
When all the air drains from her lungs, she lifts her fist and lets it flop down again limply. “Shit.”
She hits the pillow again, and again, and again, harder each time until she’s beating it like the goose that died to make it personally insulted her. “Shit shit shit shit shit!”
Then, with a monumental groan, she rolls onto her back. “Look on the bright side,” she tells the ceiling, “at least she’s a woman.” Though she has no doubt in her mind that were Jinx the prince of Zaun it would make no difference to her family, her own preferences be damned. Actually, she’s rather shocked they’re allowing the union at all.
But it doesn’t matter. It’s still a huge problem.
“I do not have time for this,” she mutters, and gets to her feet.
As she’s digging through her desk for paper and a stylus, a knock sounds on the door. Lux fumbles a pot of ink and curses again as a little splashes onto her hand. “Luxanna?” a familiar voice calls - one she was heatedly arguing with not five minutes ago. “Please, may we speak?”
She seriously considers not answering - or better yet, telling her off. But if she does, her mother is just going to invite herself in anyway. So, hand still stained black, she storms to the door and flings it open. “What do you want, Mother?”
The woman in question answers by looking her up and down, then pulling out a handkerchief. Lux takes it and wipes her hand with the air of a petulant child while she steps into the room.
“Perhaps it was unfair of us to drop the news on you so suddenly,” Augatha Crownguard says. She sets to straightening the bedclothes, smoothing over the evidence of Lux’s little fit. “I know that you have always been rather… recalcitrant when it comes to the topic of betrothal.” She gives a small shake of her head. “Would you believe that I was the same way when I was your age?”
“Not for a moment,” Lux mutters in reply.
“Well, it’s true. But even your Aunt Tianna, the High Marshall, knew her responsibility as a daughter of House Crownguard, so who was I to shirk mine? And your father is such a fine man, how could I not grow to love him dearly?” She walks back to Lux and places her hands on her shoulders. “And he gave me you and your brother, my two greatest joys. My happiness now vastly outshines my immature foolishness.”
Lux shrugs her mother off. Honestly, can she at least try to be subtle? “I’m not you, Mother. I’m an emissary of the Illuminators! Protecting the king and our country! I can’t contort myself into the life of a housewife! And I will certainly never have children.”
Her mother can’t suppress a wince. It is surely burning her up inside, the knowledge that her precious daughter will never stand side-by-side with a good Demacian man, and that she’ll never get to see her belly swollen with child. But of course Augatha, with her features of Demacian steel, composes herself through it. Likewise Lux keeps the vindication she feels at the same thoughts to herself.
“It is true that it will fall to Garen to continue the line. But your role is no less important, Luxanna. A treaty with Zaun means we will have an ally against Noxus to the south without - "
“‘Without affiliating with those sorcerers in Piltover,’ yes, I know.”
What Lux knows with equal conviction is that it’s not merely Noxus Demacia is fortifying against. She hasn’t been blind to the negotiations, even if her role in them was kept from her, nor to the king’s interest in Zaun’s chemical technology. What no courtier has dared to voice aloud is that it shows his quiet desperation, the fact that he would look anywhere beyond Demacia’s own strength to quell the rebellion within its borders. It’s a tacit acknowledgment of the rumors working their way through the populace: that the mage threat is perhaps not as contained as it is made out to be.
This marriage, under the glamour and the propaganda, is a concession of fear.
A scowl twists her mother’s face, telling Lux she had better check her tone if she doesn’t want a repeat of earlier. She takes a breath and, using a more diplomatic approach, says, “it’s just… I don’t want this marriage to interfere with with my duty to Demacia.”
“This is your duty,” her mother snaps, any trace of warmth gone from her tone.
“But Mother - "
“Enough.” Lux’s jaw clicks shut. “I won’t hear any more of this. The date is set for one month hence.”
She moves to the door, but pauses before leaving. “And Lux… your father and I have discussed it, and we believe it is best if the Zaunites remain ignorant of your affliction. For now.”
Right. They’re already settling for the daughter of a gutter-born, barely-inaugurated king for her. Why should she disgrace them any further?
“Yes,” Lux bites out, swallowing everything else she wants to say. “For now.”
When her mother is gone, Lux raises her fist and allows the slightest inkling of her power to shine through. White rays of light cut through the gaps between her fingers and bounce off the walls, and after a moment, extinguish. Sucking in a deep breath, she returns to her desk and the letter she’d been about to write. Mopping up a bit of spilled ink, she places the tip of the stylus to the paper and begins.
We have a problem.
She sends it off with her personal messenger hawk. Leaning against the sill as she watches it fly off, she again whispers to herself, “I so do not have time for this.”
Jinx squirms as she studies herself in the mirror, tugging at the collar of her doublet. Damn these stupid clothes. Typically Silco doesn’t care what she wears, no matter that she’s technically royalty now. But today is the day the Demacians - and her future wife - arrive, so she has to look the part or something. She’s going to hate every second of it. She doesn’t look like herself in such nice clothes.
Jinx drops her hand and groans quietly, trying to suppress the churning in her stomach. This is so - so asinine. She fought in a war, for Janna’s sake. Some foreign girl and her family of blue bloods are not that scary. Get over yourself, she tells her scowling reflection.
Although, she imagines she’d be feeling a lot less cranky if not for this damn itchy costume. Maybe she can talk Silco down to a tunic or a -
The window rattles.
Jinx freezes, perking her ears instinctively. Her room is two stories up in the central tower of the keep, deep inside the castle walls, past copious amounts of traps and patrols. It’s the wind. Just the wind.
Except it isn’t. The shutters wobble again, and this time Jinx sees the latch jiggle from the outside.
Finally, something she can kill.
She reaches into her jacket and fluidly unsheathes the knife in its inner pocket, in the same motion gliding soundlessly across the floor. She tucks herself against the wall beside the window as the latch twitches again, then a third time before giving way with a slight pop.
The shutter swings open, and Jinx strikes.
The intruder yelps as she snatches them by the shirt, and next thing they know she has them pinned to the floor, boot on their chest and knife to their throat.
Then they cry, “Powder, no!” and all the air flees from Jinx’s lungs.
“Vi?”
Her older sister grins up at her sheepishly. “Hey, Pow-Pow. Sorry, I would’ve warned you, but… well.”
Jinx jerks back, letting Vi stand and rub her throat. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demands.
“Nice to see you too,” Vi replies. “How… uh… how are you?”
“How’s exile?” Jinx flings back.
Vi winces, but lets the taunt slide. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
“Then why the fuck are you?” Jinx wants her to get to the point. She wants her to get to the point and leave. Wants to rush over, hug her, cry on her shoulder and never let her go -
Vi answers, “word travels fast in this kingdom. You’re getting - fuck, I don’t even know how to say it - married?”
Jinx smirks wickedly. “Jealous?” she sings.
“What - no, I - be serious! You aren’t actually going to let Silco make you do this, are you?”
The smirk twists into a snarl. Vi hasn’t changed a bit, apparently. “This might sound crazy to you, but he’s making me do exactly jack shit. He gave me a choice, just like, oh I dunno, every single thing he’s ever asked me to do.”
“This is different!” Vi insists. “He’s sending you away! You can’t do this!”
Jinx’s heart sinks briefly. It’s the best they were able to negotiate: six months of the year the Demacian girl will stay in Zaun, the other half Jinx will live there… and the Crownguards insisted Jinx go first. Half a year away from everything she’s ever known, away from her father, surrounded by people uncomfortably similar to the ones she dedicated her adolescent life to freeing Zaun from.
So maybe she’s being a little hard on herself trying to believe that isn’t sort of intimidating.
Still, she hardens her features. “You know what?” she snaps. “I think you are jealous. You’re jealous because your weak baby sister is suddenly the important one, and jealous that Silco wants my help!”
“That’s not true!” Vi yells, then cringes and glances towards the door. Jinx does too. She isn’t entirely sure what the king will do if Vi is discovered here, but it won’t be a warm family welcome. He doesn’t trust her, and doesn’t want Jinx to trust her either.
And yet, she listens.
“I’m trying to look out for you,” Vi goes on, quieter. “Whoever these people are, they’re not like us. How do you know you can trust them?”
“Says the one sleeping with a Piltie,” Jinx sneers.
Now that gets a rise out of her. “Caitlyn’s on our side, you know that damn well!”
“Whose side?” Jinx shoots back. “Because in case you hadn’t noticed, we are not on the same side!” She lets out a sharp exhale. “And you chose the wrong one.”
Vi’s face falls. She takes a step towards her and reaches out a hand as she opens her mouth to speak, but whatever she planned to say dies in her throat when Jinx steps back.
“Leave.”
Her sister’s eyes widen, and Jinx violently forces down a sudden pang of guilt. “But - "
“Just go, Violet.”
Ignoring the hurt in her sister’s gaze, Jinx marches to the door and opens it. “There’s a drainage tunnel three flights down. It’s how I sneak out. Don’t get caught, or you’ll be lucky if a vacation in the dungeon is all you get.”
Vi’s steps are slow and heavy, and the entire time Jinx refuses to meet her eyes. When Vi reaches the door, she pauses and says, “I’ll tell the others you said hi, yeah? We miss you.”
Lies, Jinx’s brain hisses. They don’t care about you. Silco does.
Vi hangs back another long moment, either waiting for her to respond or loathe to leave her there, though it’s probably both. When the silence stretches a minute too long, she ducks her head and finally leaves.
The door barely closes behind her before the knife in Jinx’s hand clatters to the floor and tears surge into her eyes. She gasps and blinks them away as ferociously as she can. A couple of deep breaths stop the shaking. Then she stoops, retrieves her blade, and returns it to its pocket.
Jinx turns back to the mirror and straightens her collar. She has a wedding to attend.
Lux’s stomach is tying itself in knots, and it’s not because of seasickness. On the contrary, it worsens as she steps off of the ship and into the carriage waiting to ferry them to King Silco’s estate. Yet somehow, despite the bumpy ride over roughshod roads and the ever-closing distance between her and her fate, Lux forgets about it when she lays eyes on Zaun for the first time.
Demacia is a land of sunrises glinting off of white stone, beating down on farmers by midday. Zaun likely hasn’t seen a sunrise since it sank into the serrated fissures, yet it glows ethereally in the light of oil lamps. Where Demacia’s beating heart is the rhythmic stamp of marching soldiers, Zaun clamors as if it runs on the hundreds of thousands of voices fighting to be recognized. Where Demacia sprawls, Zaun soars.
And throughout it all is an ethereal sound serving as a backdrop to the scenery and voices alike. Eventually, Lux identifies it as wind chimes.
By the halfway point of the ride, she’s practically leaning out the window, her neck craned upward. The structures don’t tower so much as slot together in the way that the bones of a human skeleton do, molding with the harsh terrain until the two are indistinguishable. Their carriage - a funny contraption pulled not by horses but by a whirring, steaming gyroscope steered by a human pilot - weaves through lanes and passageways that seem to materialize where none logically should be. If anything shows the adaptability and tenacity of the Zaunites, it’s their architecture.
That, and the people who conceived it.
In Demacia, a crier would have gone ahead of them to clear the streets; the commoners would have stood to the side and respectfully halted their activities until they passed. Here, the Zaunites part like a river before them, yet no one heralds their passage. They become simply another spoke in the city’s wheel.
They do, however, garner curious looks and excited chatters. A few children hurry alongside the carriage as far as they can, the littlest tripping over themselves to keep up. Lux grins and gives them a wave. She wonders if all outsiders warrant this level of attention in Zaun, or if they’re just eager to catch a glimpse of the woman who is to become their second princess.
The thought sobers her once more. She sits back and watches the faces go by until her brother’s voice interrupts her thoughts.
“Are you nervous?”
He sits next to her, watching her intensely. The question draws the attention of their parents across from them as well. Lux hesitates before answering. The things she’s heard about Princess Jinx range from bizarre conjecture to tales so tall as to put the most gobstopping tavern hearsay to shame. The princess’ own father didn’t even attempt to bring the rumors down to earth. Thus they’re left with a somewhat clear picture of Jinx, the girl who became a symbol to the Zaunite people in the later years of the revolution, but only a vague idea of Jinx the person.
To Lux, it’s more frustrating than frightening. To not know what sort of element she will be introducing into her designs goes against all of her training and instincts. She might as well be carrying a torch into a powder magazine blindfolded.
Not to mention the underlying matter of being married: integrating another person into the life she so carefully, painstakingly assembled, forging yet another mask for her generous collection, and adding the responsibilities of a wife to her overflowing pile.
Spending her life with someone. Sharing her bed. Being expected to know her better than anybody else, and be known in return.
No shit she’s nervous.
“I’m fine, Garen,” she answers, because of course she does. “There’s a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“That is to be expected.” Their mother gives her a smile which probably isn’t meant to be as patronizing as it feels. “Every bride feels that way about her engagement. Why, you remember what a mess of nerves I was, don’t you Pieter?”
“Nonsense,” her husband replies with a doting grin, “you were the picture of beauty and elegance.”
Lux and Garen meet each others’ eyes and simultaneously roll them.
King Silco’s castle is about as far from the Royal Palace or even the Crownguard manor as it gets. It’s more fortress than home, barred from the rest of the city by a moat and a story-high wall. The drawbridge is lowered and the portcullis raised in anticipation of their arrival; once through they enter a small courtyard and at last exit the carriage. The keep looms above them, constructed of obsidian and iron, bracketed by three crenelated towers in the rear and a smaller, blocky gatehouse in the front from which a set of stairs descend. At the bottom of those stairs, their hosts await them.
King Silco is not, at first glance, an intimidating figure. He is slimly built and of average height, with a head of graying hair. However, the scar bisecting his face, the bronze circlet resting atop his head, and rightfully regal posture more than give the impression of a man who is not to be trifled with. Yet Lux’s gaze skims right past him and lands on the person at his side.
A pair of intelligent blue eyes immediately meets her own, eyes that match her impressively long hair and are set into a pale, heart-shaped face. The collar of her doublet is crooked, and unlike her father she slouches nonchalantly. Nonetheless there’s a hawkishness to her stance and a glint in her gaze that somehow exudes more danger than the honor guard of soldiers standing at attention behind her.
At first glance, Lux can already tell that Princess Jinx is sure to live up to the rumors.
That’s two points in favor of this marriage, she finds herself thinking. A woman, and a cute one.
A second carriage, bearing a small contingent of Crownguard sentries, had rolled in behind them, and Lux is startled away from the princess when they fall into formation and hammer the butts of their spears into the flagstones. The captain assigned to accompany them, Cithria of Cloudfield, announces in a booming voice, “Your Majesty! Lord Pieter and Lady Augatha Crownguard, Garen Crownguard, First-Shield of the Dauntless Vanguard, and Lady Luxanna Crownguard!”
The four of them step forth and bow respectfully. King Silco returns the gesture - then, Lux notices, glances to his daughter. Jinx is still staring at Lux as if trying to deconstruct and study her like a gadget, but she shakes herself and gives a hasty bow upon catching Silco’s stern look.
“Greetings,” the king says, “and welcome to Zaun. We are honored by your presence at Lanes Keep.”
“We were honored to accept your invitation,” Pieter answers. Is Lux imagining it, or does Jinx roll her eyes? “May I present my daughter, Luxanna.”
He gives her an encouraging smile as she comes forward, wondering if this is how goods at an auction feel. King Silco walks up to her and Lux has to fight off the sudden, irrational urge to skitter backwards, away from his piercing gaze. All he does is incline his head, say, “a pleasure to finally meet you,” and nod for Jinx to step up. “This is my daughter, Jinx, princess of Zaun.”
And then, at long last, Lux’s soon-to-be bride is before her. They hold each others’ gazes for a moment before Lux makes the first move, curtseying ever so slightly and offering a respectful but neutral, “Your Highness.” She lifts her eyes to assess Jinx’s response.
“Hey.”
… That’s what she’s giving Lux to work with?
She fumbles for a proper reply, but before she finds one Jinx’s face cracks into a wide grin. “No need to be so stiff, geez! We’re getting hitched, yanno.”
“Of - of course.”
This is the person Lux is tying herself to. Someone who, with barely two sentences, took all of Lux’s careful preparation, wrapped it up into a neat little bundle, and tossed it out the window with a smile on her face.
Blissfully unaware of the disaster unfolding behind Lux’s eyes, Jinx saunters back towards the keep. “Now come on! There’s gonna be food!”
There is food, as promised. The Crownguards’ welcome banquet is sparse by their standards, and the local cuisine is… interesting to their palette. Spicy interesting. Lux can tell, however, that the austerity is due to the fact that Zaunites stand on pomp and ceremony far less than her people, for which she is grateful. Had it taken place in Demacia, every step of the wedding would have been elevated to a level of superfluousness that would make the already painful process nearly overwhelming.
Here, the most painful part is trying to get a read on Princess Jinx.
Lux had expected a certain lack of decorum, knowing that she and the king grew up as commoners, but Jinx acts as if she doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. She speaks loudly and interrupts frequently. When she isn’t slouching she’s fidgeting like her chair is lined with hot coals.
And she won’t. Stop. Staring.
Her eyes bore into Lux like she’s a fascinating specimen Jinx found in a cave, the expression intensifying whenever Lux contributes to the conversation. Occasionally she looks away to analyze Lux’s family in much the same manner, but never to the same degree. Banal dinner parties and political raillery are as familiar to Lux as the sea to a fish, but never has she encountered someone quite like Jinx. Usually Lux can learn the steps of the dance and take the lead with relative ease, but she feels like Jinx is not only two steps ahead, but dancing to a completely different tune.
When the Crownguards depart to be shown to their quarters at the end of the night, Lux finally does the only thing she can think to do: she meets Jinx’s eyes behind their parents’ backs in what she hopes is an equally piercing stare. In return, the princess flashes her a knife-sharp grin as if she told a private joke.
Lux comes no closer to cracking her betrothed in the week leading up to the wedding. Granted, they’re separated often, swept up in the whirlwind of preparations. There are fittings to be attended, last-minute negotiations to be hammered out. Lux’s parents immediately take issue with the Zaunites’ spartan customs and attempt to wrangle control of the ceremony, causing Lux to spend far more time than she wants (which was none) playing devil’s advocate to both sides of a petty, bouquet-laden tug of war.
But when they aren't needed for meetings or public appearances, it’s insisted that the young brides spend as much time in each other’s company as they can. While Lux leaps at the opportunity to get to know Jinx better, the Zaunite heiress takes to the task with greater reluctance. Granted, the boisterousness she displayed during their first meeting never fades, and she’s happy to tell Lux all she wants about Zaun or its fight for freedom, but any effort Lux makes to steer their conversations towards more personal matters is nipped in the bud by crass jokes or blunt changes of subject.
Not that Lux has room to talk.
So it happens that the day of the wedding arrives faster than a blink. A sense of surreality descends on Lux, making her feel almost as if it’s all happening to somebody else. It is a dutiful, elegant bride whose hands are clothed in white gloves and whose hair is done up in a mountain of curls, not Lux. It is an obedient daughter who stares back at her from the mirror, a gorgeous white dress accentuating her graceful figure. She barely recognizes herself.
The last ribbons on her corset are being tied when a knock sounds on the door. Per the norm, the knock is just a formality, and a second later Augatha Crownguard lets herself into the room. A hand comes to rest on her bosom as she takes in the sight of her daughter. “Oh, Luxanna,” she gushes, “my beautiful girl.”
She crosses the room to clasp Lux’s gloved hands in her own. The handmaidens curtsy and excuse themselves, their duties complete, to let the mother and daughter have their moment. Although Lux suspects Augatha is having a much different moment than her.
She certainly does not expect the next thing her mother says to be, “forgive me, Luxanna.”
Lux blinks. Her mother never apologizes to anyone, least of all her own children. “For what?”
“All I have ever wanted is the best for you,” she replies. “I have done everything I could to bring today to the standards you deserve. I am sorry that this is what we had to settle for. If it were up to me, I would have given you so much better. You deserve the world, my precious child.”
Lux swallows resentment like bile. She wonders if it’s possible to tell her mother that she couldn’t care less whether Jinx is from a noble lineage. She could still be a pauper for all Lux cares. That was never what mattered.
You could have done better by me by letting me live my life. I didn’t need the world, I just needed you to listen to me.
The smile is not Lux’s, but a loyal Demacian’s. “It is as you said, Mother. Who am I to shirk my duty as a Crownguard?”
Her mother smiles back and cups Lux’s cheeks in her palms, but her little speech evidently drained her reserves of sentiment, because all she says was, “come. The ceremony will begin shortly.”
They are brought by carriage to the Temple of Janna in the center of the city. It’s one of the few structures in Zaun constructed of freestanding stone, rather than carved from the rockface or fused with metal. It is also one of the oldest - built after the collapse of the isthmus that created Zaun’s fissures by Janna’s faithful as tribute to their savior. In preparation for the ceremony, the Crownguards were familiarized with Zaun’s patron goddess: a fey spirit of the wind, bringer of fresh air and guardian of the downcast. The wind chimes Lux has been hearing every since she arrived are one of her sacred totems. According to her priests, Janna is the master of not just the air in a literal sense, but of the winds of change. With that knowledge, it’s no wonder they’re conducting a marriage of two nations under her watchful eye.
The chimes ring in a chaotic symphony as the Crownguards ascend the steps to the portico, where King Silco and Princess Jinx await them. Zaun’s monarch wastes no time. “Shall we begin, then?”
“Let us indeed,” replies Lux’s father.
Lux’s family disappears into the sanctuary, but Silco pauses to whisper something in his daughter’s ear. His hand rests softly on her shoulder: a gesture from a man whose ruthlessness Lux has been cautioned of many times, more tender than any touch her own parents have ever given her. Jinx offers a small smile in return and Lux averts her gaze, suddenly feeling like she’s intruding on an intimate moment.
Fortunately the king follows her family and she is left alone with her betrothed. Jinx’s wicked smirk splits her face once more, and she extends her arm to Lux exaggeratedly. “M’lady.”
Lux takes her arm and sends up a silent prayer to Zaun’s goddess that the winds of change won’t blow her off course.
The wind chimes hail their march down the aisle and ring throughout the ceremony as if the goddess herself is there to bear witness. It’s nicer than wedding bells, Lux decides.
The ceremony itself is short and quick. On one side of the open-aired nave, the Demacian embassy stands in gleaming ceremonial armor at full parade rest. On the other, the Barons of Zaun had been called to witness the union, an eclectic contrast to the visiting nation. A temple cleric oversees the nuptials, and a priest of Kayle had accompanied the Crownguards to ensure the Demacian rites are satisfied. He keeps looking around skittishly as if expecting to be struck by lightning for merely setting foot at the shrine of another deity.
The result is a somewhat awkward amalgamation of both their customs, though it concludes in a tradition familiar to them both. Jinx slides a silver band onto Lux’s finger, then extends her hand for Lux to do the same. Their wrists are bound together with white cloth, and finally the cleric announces, “let all those gathered today before the gods bear witness that these two shall hence be known as lawfully wedded wives. The brides may kiss.”
Jinx flashes Lux a quick smirk and they lean in for the briefest, most awkward brush of lips Lux has ever shared (not that she has much to compare it to). And yet…when Jinx pulls away Lux thinks she sees her shoulders relax minutely, and she decides that the gentle pressure of her mouth on Lux’s is easily the most bearable part of the evening. Perhaps even likable.
The congregation applauds politely and from there they rapidly vacate the temple - after all, there are revelries to partake in, debauchery to be had.
The newly wedded couple is seated together at the high table in the grand hall of Lanes Keep. Jesters and musicians crowd every inch of the dinner hall that isn’t occupied by guests as the food and drink begin to flow. By the second course Lux’s mouth is already on fire, but Jinx hasn’t broken a sweat… although, that might be due to the fact that she mostly picks at her food and touches no drink. She barely says a word to Lux throughout the night and doesn’t speak much more to Silco. She grins and laughs as uproariously as ever, cracking jokes about the entertainers, but Lux is well-versed in reading even strangers. She can’t help but notice how the frivolousness slips when Jinx thinks no one is looking and she stares into the crowd with a shuttered expression, as if searching for a face that isn’t there.
How curious.
The musicians keep up upbeat tunes over the course of the whole night, playing refrains Lux is sure are familiar to the Zaunites but sound alien to her ears. Traditional wedding songs, perhaps, or folk music. She finds herself listening closer the longer they go on, however: she feels as if she can hear the kingdom itself embodied in their psalteries, lutes, and drums. Though the music is quick-paced and revelrous, there’s an ethereal quality to it. Many of the melodies are downright haunting. It makes Lux think back to her first observation of Zaun’s citizens, how they clamour for all the world to hear. For so long, their voice was their only power. It stands to reason that they channel that power - their very essence - into their music. If the whole of Zaun is as rich as their music, Lux wouldn’t mind living there at all… what a shame that it’s just a dream.
And naturally, whenever there’s a break in the band’s chorus, the song of wind chimes fills the empty space.
Those chimes also eventually signal the end of the night - at least, the end for Jinx and Lux. The musicians quietly cede their stage and the guests fall silent, allowing the soft tintinnabulation to fill the hall. Silco nods to the princess and she stands, offering her hand to Lux. Lux takes a deep breath and accepts it… though not before catching the icy stare the king levels at her.
With nary a backward glance, they walk from the hall together. The song of Zaun’s goddess heralding their steps is interrupted only by a wolf-whistle from the back of the room.
There is one last tradition they have to fulfill to truly finalize their marriage.
Lux takes a deep breath as they enter Jinx’s bedroom.
Jinx had long since released her hand, so Lux fidgets with her gloves awkwardly while the other girl strolls leisurely inside. The feeling of surreality has descended upon her once more. She still can’t believe she’s about to do this with a stranger, even though she’s known since she was a child that her day - or night, rather - would eventually come. Her heart is racing… although, if she is being truly honest with herself, it isn’t entirely from nerves. Something about the knowledge that Jinx, out of everyone, is going to be her first is strangely exciting.
But it’s a feeling she’ll have to pack away and examine later, because Jinx simply shucks off her overcoat and groans, “gods, I am beat!” She flops onto the bed and begins removing her shoes in a similar manner - namely, one that suggests she has no intention of fulfilling any more traditions tonight.
When she notices Lux waiting, she quirks an eyebrow. “Something the matter, blondie?”
Lux frowns. “Aren’t we going to…?”
Jinx chuckles low. “Hate to disappoint you, but I’m not like most people. I can’t jump into bed with just anyone and get down to it. Nothing against you. You’re pretty good-looking, and I don’t say that about just any old sap.”
Lux preens internally at the comment but elects to ignore it, instead half-heartedly arguing, “it’s just, there are certain expectations I am supposed to meet…”
“Ever heard the phrase let’s not and say we did?”
Lux can’t argue with that. “Well,” she sighs, “I don’t suppose you could still help me out of this dress?”
Jinx shrugs and hops up. Lux turns around and she begins unlacing her corset with surprising precision. Jinx has nimble hands that Lux would have expected of a craftsperson - a seamstress or perhaps a fletcher - rather than a fighter. It reminds her that she doesn’t really know anything about her newly wedded wife, has hardly glimpsed whatever lies beneath Jinx’s devil-may-care exterior. She imagines her mother would tell her not to fret about it; they have their whole lives to get to know one another.
But what Lux knows is that isn’t the case at all.
So as the corset slips off and Jinx respectfully turns her back while they change into the nightclothes that had been laid out for them, she wracks her brain for a conversation starter. If she’s going to work her plans around Jinx, she needs to figure her out sooner rather than later.
She opens with, “I don’t think your father likes me.”
Jinx dismisses the notion with a psshh of her lips. “The guy doesn’t like anybody.”
While Lux doesn’t doubt that, she knows she hasn’t been imagining him watch her like an eagle sighting prey all week. He’d been as courteous as a king ought to be, yet in a way that spoke to harsh repercussions should she step one toe out of line. The only reason Lux hasn’t cracked under the pressure is because she’s used to such high standards. Surely he isn’t like that with everyone?
She voices the thought to Jinx, and again she laughs it off. “You better believe it, sunshine.”
She pauses, then adds, “well, okay, he sort of has it out for you, but don’t take it too personally. He’s still getting used to having to share me.”
Ah. An overly protective father, then. Lux probably shouldn’t find that as oddly sweet as she does. “My parents can’t seem to get rid of me fast enough,” she mutters in reply.
Jinx frowns. “What gives ya that idea? They convinced Silco to ship me off with you, and trust me, that’s no easy feat. They could’ve just dumped you on our doorstep and called it a day.”
“They also suffered for me to marry a foreign woman, which - trust me - screams of desperation.”
“Yeah, but that woulda been true for anybody who got stuck with me,” Jinx says with a grin.
“Nonsense,” Lux says, “you’re a princess. That’s more than even I can say.”
Jinx shakes her head. “It’s just a word, Luxie. Silco, now there’s a guy who earned the title. I’m just the basketcase who blew my way through a war and somehow landed on a throne. Your folks should be questioning all of your life choices right now.”
“Theirs, you mean?”
Jinx had flopped back onto the bed and is wrestling the pillows into a comfortable position, but she halts to shoot Lux an odd look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Confused at her confusion, Lux tries to explain, “they were the ones who arranged this, so…”
A crease forms in Jinx’s brow and her eyes narrow. “You didn’t… get a choice?”
A bitter feeling swells in Lux’s chest at the reminder, as well as the implication that Jinx did get to choose. Up until now, any ill will she harbored was solely for her parents - resentment at their refusal to even tell her until it was too late to protest. Now, she can’t help a spark of jealousy that Jinx, of all people, had a greater say in her destiny than she did.
But she buries all of that beneath her stoic Demacian veneer. Only the faintest twinge of bitterness pervades her response: “I was informed of this arrangement two fortnights ago.”
A number of expressions cross the princess’ face in a very short amount of time and finally settle into something dark. “Wow,” she eventually says, “I feel really gross now.”
“Don’t,” Lux quickly responds, out of habit more than anything. “This is my duty to my kingdom. I am honored to fulfill it.”
Jinx’s face clearly reads that is the biggest horseshit I have ever heard. Lux gets the sense that if she’s going to win her over, she needs something a little more honest.
So she quietly offers, “I’m glad it was you and not some nobleman. You’re a fascinating person, Princess Jinx.”
She still doesn’t look happy about the whole thing, but a faint smirk tugs at her lips. “If by fascinating you mean an international incident waiting to happen, then sure.”
Lux’s return smile disguises growing concern. She keeps saying things like that. “Don’t exaggerate. I’m sure Demacia will love you.”
She’s not expecting Jinx to laugh aloud at that: a full-blown, body-wracking, manic guffaw. When it subsides, she says, “you don’t know anything about me.”
Lux’s patience has been strained since her conversation with her mother earlier that day. Since this ordeal started, really. That is the end of it.
“Of course I don’t,” she explodes, “because you won’t tell me!”
This obviously isn’t working. Giving up, Lux rounds the side of the bed to loom over the princess (which isn’t hard; it was something she does even when they’re both standing). “Alright. Since you and I entered this marriage on different footing, we’re going to have to set some ground rules.”
Jinx opens her mouth, but Lux doesn't let her get any farther. “Your nation is providing mine with chemical weapons and technology. Ours is bolstering your international relations. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the success of this alliance is completely dependent on us. If you want to be cryptic, or act like this is a joke, then fine. But do it privately. As far as our kingdoms are concerned, we are a happy couple proud to be serving our people. Apart from that you can go about your life, but in return you will not interfere in mine. I can’t say how much of what I’ve heard about you is true, but I have worked too hard to let anyone - and I mean anyone - stand in my way now. Are we clear?”
Jinx stares up at her for a long moment before the smallest laugh escapes her. “Yup. Crystal clear,” she replies.
Getting into bed is an awkward affair after that, but they manage it. They blow out the candles and settle down to sleep, but just before they do, Jinx gets one last word in.
“And, Lux? Everything you’ve heard about me is true.”
A singular question plagues Lux’s mind until she falls asleep: what secrets is her new wife hiding?
Little does she know, across the bed, Jinx has the exact same question.