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lady-adventuress · 1 year ago

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@lady-adventuress ok so my gift was originally going to be a multichapter fic but it wouldn't have been finished on time

anyway, here's the first chapter

Yesterday's Innovation is Tomorrow's Tradition

The kingdom of Ever After was a paradise of progress, a haven of order, a beacon of hope and a pillar of stability. The benevolent royal family ruled with strict compassion and a firm guiding hand, a stern affection behind every action taken by the Grimms over the two centuries since they rose into power.

Destiny, the capital city as of two hundred years ago, was a marvel of technology. The pristinely white palace and the pastel mansions of nobility stretched towers and spires into the sky, a bustling market district spilled chaotically across the streets like explosions of paint, and train tracks from all over the kingdom wound their way to the city. Gardens were carefully cultivated, dirigibles hung in the sky, and halls of stained glass windows and faceted chandeliers served as meeting places during the nobility’s social season.

The slums, meanwhile, were covered in soot and choked by smoke, factories chewing up workers during the day and spitting them back out to sleep in their pitiful shacks by night. To them, coal was hacking coughs and aching lungs, steam was scalding heat and dampened air, and nuts and bolts were things to be handled with care for the gain of those richer than them, lest they be forced to cover their cost from their own wages.

Here, in Destiny, the paths and futures of different, yet oddly similar girls were about to cross, some for the first time. Unbeknownst to them, they were going to implement changes to the very shape and nature of their country. Forever.

After.

Apple White, daughter of the childless king’s only ward, led a blessed life. She woke each morning to the pleasing chimes emerging from the beaks of clockwork birds, their inner workings of springs and gears laid bare to see within their delicate wire frames. An automated table would slide smoothly into her room, halting at the end of its tracks beside her bed, bearing hot tea and warm confections. After her morning refreshments, a maid would enter with a wheeled mannequin wearing an outfit chosen in advance for the day’s events, and help the honorary princess with the tricky buckles and finicky laces of her finery after brushing her blond hair to shiny perfection.

And then, unless beholden to prior obligations, the girl was free to do as she chose.

On this particular day, as the chill of winter thawed from the air, she was called upon to meet with his majesty, King Milton, regarding the upcoming social season. She curtsied respectfully as she sashayed onto the balcony where he and her mother were waiting to speak with her over a light brunch, and awaited a spoken invitation to sit in her seat.

“Sit down, dear,” the king said, the frown lines at the corners of his lips and eyes lightening a margin. “We have matters of importance to discuss.”

“I will convey myself with the utmost dignity in front of all visiting nobility,” she assured him as she sat, anticipating a conversation regarding proper conduct.

“Do not assume to know my thoughts, child,” Milton said. “I have faith enough in your diplomacy. The matter at hand may require a differing set of skills, as you would have known had you listened to me until the completion of my statement.”

Stung, Apple dropped her eyes, but not before seeing her mother hide a crimson smirk with a tilt of her teacup.

“This year, Raven Queen is returning to Destiny at last,” the king said. “Her family has not shown its face since the imprisonment and subsequent execution of its treacherous matriarch, but the girl is sixteen as of November, and somehow has found a sponsor. She is to be presented this very year.”

Apple’s fingers twitched, and vague memories of a laughing child with inky hair and eyes so blue they were practically violet filled her mind.

“We don’t want her causing a scene,” Snow White said serenely, setting down her teacup with a clink. “And you are childhood acquaintances. It would not be remiss of you in the eyes of society to reconnect with an old, ah, ‘friend’.”

“The girl is in prime position to hurt her prospects beyond repair,” the king said. “Not to mention her chances of dragging those easily led down with her. I believe she could use a calming presence and slight monitoring to get her through the social season without mishap. Which is why you will be presented as well.”

The sun kept shining, the breeze kept blowing, the world kept turning, and Apple froze, heart like a block of ice in her chest.

“I don’t turn sixteen until May,” she said after the pause in conversation had stretched on just a little too long. “It’s not proper.”

“No one expects you to actually be married this year,” Snow said. “It is known how useful of a bargaining chip you are.”

“It is tradition for a princess to not be presented until she is eighteen,” Apple said, sudden desperation pushing her to continue the debate. “In order to ensure that a political alliance with a foreign country is not necessary before she is to be married.”

“But you have some leeway,” Milton said with warning in his voice. “As daughter of my ward, you occupy a unique position. Princess enough that any nobleman worth his gold would crave the influence of taking your hand, yet not royal enough that it would shock the senses if you were presented earlier than expected. And I do not believe our relations with our neighbors are unsteady enough to require further negotiations as of yet.”

“And if there is a courter I cannot refuse without jeopardizing the kingdom’s internal peace?” Apple asked, defeated.

“Then I suppose you will have to do your duty, my girl,” the king briefly rested his hand on Apple’s. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Apple responded immediately. “Always.”

“Then believe me when I say that you are up to this task.”

Backed into a corner, all she could do was nod.

Cerise Hood dropped the last trunk onto the floor of the entrance hall with a relieved air, signaling to the footman that he could take it, too, to the carriages. As she turned away, the daughter of her employer caught her eye.

“Thank you,” Raven said. “And thank you for coming with me.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Cerise said, adjusting the red kerchief covering her head. “I have never been to Destiny before.”

Raven grimaced, no doubt thinking of the execution of her mother, as well as the imprisonment of her double-crossing accomplice, who had been long rumored to be Cerise’s father. Or perhaps she was merely contemplating the reception she could expect to receive in the capital as the daughter of the noblewoman who had succeeded in assassinating the king’s brother.

“This trip will be fun,” Cerise said, ignoring the various elephants in the room. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll wind up getting hitched.”

Raven cringed, then blew a raspberry, causing Cerise to let out a bark of laughter.

“Raven!” the voice of the girl’s father called out.

“I have to go,” Raven said reluctantly. “It’s annoying that we can’t ride in the same carriage.”

“It is what it is,” Cerise shrugged. “Let my boss know I’ll be there in a moment.”

Inclining her head, Raven exited the country house belonging to the Queen family, leaving behind her friend, the bastard child of one of the kitchen workers.

Cerise briefly shut her eyes and took a bracing breath.

She had ensured that she would be accompanying the Queens on their trip (she would have done so anyway, for Raven’s sake) just as she had ensured she would become Raven’s maid (despite her friend’s protests), and now Giles would have further instructions awaiting her upon her arrival at Destiny. The capital was going to be a much more difficult environment in which to gather information and recruit sympathizers to the cause, and she knew she had no idea how difficult it would truly be. She just had to be ready for not being ready.

Exhaling slowly, Cerise opened her eyes and walked out into the early spring sunshine as if without a care in the world.

Raven Queen sighed, lightly brushing the skirt of her purple dress, which flared out from a low pointed waist thanks to multiple layered petticoats. Her black hair, void of the purple ribbons she was planning to weave into it for the formal occasions waiting for her later in the day, was knotted tightly at the back of her head. A lacy parasol and an equally lacy bonnet were easily accessible in preparation for a morning walk among the grounds, should the mood strike her. Forgoing footwear, she padded through the halls on stockinged feet, stone floor pleasantly warm due to a system of pipes and heated water.

The house in Destiny was both eerily familiar and comfortingly strange to Raven, who hadn’t stepped foot in it since the tender age of nine. Here, Mira Queen had planned to poison the heir to the throne. Here, she had been dragged away in chains, cursing the huntsman who’d betrayed her.

Here, Raven had seen her mother for the last time before her sentenced death.

She could still make her way to the kitchen, as it turned out, memory not failing her in that regard, but the kitchen looked all wrong compared to her recollections. The angles and the sizes of all the tables and pantries were different than she remembered, and inexplicably tears fought to leave her eyes.

“Blackbird,” the cook noticed her. “Planning on getting the worm?”

“It’s not that early, is it?” Raven asked.

“Early enough that you’re not leaving this kitchen until we get something in your stomach,” the cook said. “Breakfast isn’t for another two hours.”

And as the cook fussed over her, something in Raven unclenched, as if her bones settled into place, and she smiled, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and herbs that always pervaded the kitchen.

She was home.

Knightley adjusted his sleeves and smoothed out the lapels of his frock coat. He tucked his pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket (he was surely going to miss important information from the evening’s ball at the Beauty’s, which started in less than an hour), and he gathered himself to knock on the locked door in front of him.

A few heartbeats passed until the locking mechanism began to click.

“We’re closed,” said the man who cracked open the door, squinting at him.

“Can the musical chair change its tone,” Knightley said in a low voice, “when the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?”

The old carpenter peered at him a moment longer, before spitting on the cobblestones and turning around, leaving the door open. He followed him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. Winding their way through the shop, the man led him between displays of furniture and carvings, through the back where they weaved around blocks of wood and scattered tools while sawdust kicked up by their feet swirled at their ankles, and down a trapdoor to the basement. On their way, Knightley saw a man closely resembling the carpenter, no doubt his son, carefully whittling something in his large hands, but he had not looked up as they passed. In the basement the carpenter turned to Knightley, gesturing at a pile of crates tucked in the back behind barrels and sacks of various foodstuffs.

“My granddaughter’s about your age, mister,” the old man said. “Her name is Cedar. And she’s as good as dead if you muck this up, do you understand me?”

“Yessir,” Knightley straightened his back.

“Pah,” the carpenter said disparagingly, then marched back up the stairs without a word.

Knightley rolled his eyes, but moved aside the deceptively heavy crates without comment, revealing a round door in the wall, small and low to the ground. He crawled into the passageway it concealed, wrinkling his nose as he traversed above and beneath protruding corners of pipes full of water and steam. At the end of his crawl he hit another door. He knocked with no hesitation.

This time the words were allowed to be a bit more treasonous, as they were out of the public’s earshot.

“The king who sings with pages of sky fears too much the dawn that rises with lies,” Knightley said.

The door opened.

“So nice to meet you in person, Master Knightley,” said the man known to him only as Fenris, though he recognized Duke Badwolf from prior events.

“Likewise, y- sir,” he replied, biting down the instinctive usage of ‘your grace’.

He reached into his coat and the duke tensed, hand hovering at the hilt of his dagger, but Knightley merely retrieved a collection of notes secured in a large nondescript envelope he’d tucked away in an inner pocket.

“Information on the families you requested, sir,” he said, handing it over. “The Charmings, the O’Hairs, and several others.”

The duke didn’t acknowledge his defensive reaction, simply dropping his right hand back to his side as he accepted the envelope with his left. He skimmed through its contents, then looked up at Knightley with a grin that showed far too many teeth to be anything other than predatory.

“We already have a recruiter as her maid,” Badwolf said, “but get us what you can on Raven Queen.”

Knightley took that to mean that his work was satisfactory.

Briar Beauty, who’d turned sixteen the previous August, hung on the outskirts of the party she’d helped her parents arrange, pouting at the fact that not one gentleman had asked her to be their first dance of the night. Instead two separate crowds had formed around Apple White and Raven Queen, until the former politely made her excuses and the latter was whisked off to the dance floor.

Apple was making her way across the room to Briar, no doubt to chastise her about showing such an unbecoming face in public, but Briar opted to ignore her friend until she couldn’t anymore. She shifted her gaze to Raven instead, envy spiking through her at the attention the girl was getting, when she caught sight of a flash of dark blue fabric. Briar’s stomach twisted at the color that was becoming increasingly familiar, as its wearer’s dresses varied in design instead of in shade.

The wearer being Faybelle Thorn, daughter of the diplomat from Faerie, land of heathens, where they decried the progress of coal and steam. She danced in the arms of a young gentleman, footsteps light with a nimble grace, and sported a smug smile on her pointy face.

Briar’s mother had been kidnapped by Faerie in her youth, when the seas between the two kingdoms were still tumultuous.

In fact, the mastermind behind the ransom plot was none other than Faybelle’s very own mother.

Briar failed to notice Apple gliding into place at her side until the princess murmured in her ear for her to breathe and relax.

“I don’t understand how you get along with her,” Briar said, not taking her eyes off the infuriating girl. “You’re polar opposites.”

“We have an understanding,” Apple corrected. “We share similar ideals in many ways, but we are not friends, I can assure you of that. So stop glaring.”

“I’m not jealous of her,” Briar grumbled. “And I’m offended that you’d even insinuate such a thing.”

She shot the girl another dirty look.

“For heaven’s sake,” Apple said, “your families aren’t even feuding, so drop the vendetta.”

Just then, Faybelle caught Briar’s eye and winked, the smug vixen.

Cheeks burning, Briar jerked her head to the side, on time to see a flustered Darling Charming, who had been among those presented in the morning, arrive noticeably late.

An earl, who had previously vied for Apple’s attention, made his way over to the stunningly pretty girl, and Apple scowled.

“You have more than enough potential suitors, honey,” Briar said. “That one’s no big loss at his age. And you accuse me of being jealous.”

Apple appeared to be struggling with what to say, a confused furrow to her brow, and in the end she simply settled on a long drawn-out sigh.

“Please excuse me,” she said, sidestepping her hypocrisy completely, “I should reacquaint myself with Raven, it’s been several years since we last spoke.”

“Fine,” Briar said with a joking bitterness. “Enjoy debuting without your best friend by your side, ingrate.”

She flashed Apple a grin as she swept away in a faux-offended cloud of pink fabric.

Apple, after getting waylaid by Daring Charming, who, at nearly seventeen, was free to enjoy himself during the season with no marital pressure placed upon him, managed to make her way to Raven’s vicinity before the girl was yanked away into another dance. Raven spotted her and paled to a gaunt gray, knuckles whitening as she gripped the fabric of her skirt tightly.

“Raven!” Apple smiled. “It has been ever so long. I must say that it is wonderful to see you again.”

“It is?” Raven said, visibly startled by Apple’s welcoming attitude, but at least she unclenched her fists.

“Of course,” said Duchess Swan, a daughter of minor nobility, as she sidled up to them mid-waltz. “You’re really refreshing our memory as to why loyalty to the king pays off. Why, it’s as if you had left Destiny only yesterday.”

Apple opened her mouth to chastise her, but the graceful girl had already glided away, twirling in the arms of her dance partner.

Several seconds of silence strung along.

“Please excuse her,” Apple said. “She doesn’t speak for us all.”

“Doesn’t she?” Raven asked, eyeing the waltzing pairs subtly stealing looks at the two girls.

“Well, I, for one, am honestly pleased to see you,” Apple said. “Shall we?”

She indicated the refreshment tables with a lazy wave, in the hopes that food and drink would lower the other’s guard.

“Very well,” Raven said cautiously, starting towards the wine glasses.

They arrived by them in utter silence.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“Taking the bull by the horns,” Apple said. “I’m afraid I can no longer predict your reactions to mentions of delicate topics, and one is hanging over us quite obviously.”

Raven said nothing.

“I wish I knew you as well as I used to,” Apple whispered, her mother berating her in her mind for the truth in her words. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“My bluntness hasn’t changed,” Raven finally said, picking up a flute of champagne with her thumb and middle finger with a carelessness contradicted by her trembling hands. “So I’ll state this question simply. Do you want to reconnect even though my mother killed your, well, basically, great uncle, and tried to do the same to your mother?”

Taking the bull by the horns indeed.

“Raven, you were nine,” Apple said, dismayed. “No one, and I mean no one, should ever think you’re guilty because of blood relation.”

“I know that, don’t worry,” Raven smiled faintly, the rippling surface of the burgundy liquid in her glass smoothing. “I just wanted to get that out of the way, because you’d be shocked at how many people disagree.”

“Do you,” Apple’s voice was small. “Do you resent me for your mother’s fate?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that.

“You’re no more at fault for that than I am for the assassination attempts,” Raven touched her fingertips to Apple’s wrist. “I never once blamed you, not in all my years of isolation in the countryside.”

Apple’s lips parted, and she completely forgot her betters’ instructions not to get emotionally invested in their relationship.

“Can we start over?” she blurted out.

“And pretend we never stole oranges from the cook?” Raven asked. “Forget that we dropped a bucket of snow on Dexter Charming, or that we muddied our clothes countless times running outside in the rain?”

Her tone was melancholy as she recalled those events that had seemed so joyful when they occurred.

“Not as a blank slate,” Apple said, fumbling for the right words. “More as a renewal of our bond, a shared goal of making new memories without the past weighing them down. Like you said, I want to reconnect ‘even though’.”

Raven looked away for a moment, contemplatively quiet. She then turned to gaze decisively into Apple’s eyes, which betrayed unintentional sincerity.

“I would be honored to get to know you again,” Raven said.

Cerise, devoid of her eye-catching kerchief and with soot smudging her distinctive lock of white hair, crouched on the spindly limbs of a pomegranate tree on the edge of the Beauty estate. The threadbare branches didn’t provide much cover, but as long as her movements remained slow and steady, the night and her drab garments would be all the concealment she needed.

There was just one snag in this planned rendezvous. A man was wandering ever closer to her in his meandering path across the gardens, clearly enjoying his peaceful solitude. He soon paused to contemplate the starry sky only a few feet from Cerise’s hiding spot.

The moonlight reflected off the colorless locks in his otherwise dark brown hair as he lingered, and Cerise was giving herself a moment to lament her failed mission when he spoke.

“Hello, Redcap.”

“Fenris,” she breathed.

Damn it all, of all the rotten luck, a nobleman was her contact in the city.

How was she supposed to discreetly interact with him as a maid?

“Status?” he inquired.

“Secure,” she said, brain in turmoil.

“And that of your target?”

“My friend, you mean,” she corrected instinctively.

“Redcap,” he growled.

“Uncompromised as of yet, sir,” Cerise muttered. “I’ll have a clearer picture after tonight’s events.”

“Good,” Fenris said. “I expect a report on the corvid’s account of the evening by tomorrow night.”

“Understood,” she said. “Further instructions?”

“Pending,” he said. “But nudge her away from the fruit, they seemed to be getting along earlier, and if she befriends her we might just lose our greatest potential asset to the serpent and her gilded tongue.”

One second she was listening attentively to Apple’s tales of misadventures with Briar, the next Raven’s childhood friend stood stiff and mute, face blank but for that hated artificial smile Raven remembered from before.

Which meant that one specific person was nearby.

She reluctantly pivoted and came face-to-face with the heir to the throne.

“Raven, darling,” Snow White beamed. “It’s delightful to have a representative of the Queen family at our dear social season once more. Your presence has been sorely missed since your father’s unfortunate vanishing act.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Raven said, shoving down the anger curling in her gut.

“Tell me, my dear,” Snow said with a flash of her pearly teeth. “What prompted this return?”

“Well, Lady Charming was kind enough to recall my similarity in age to her own children,” Raven said. “She reached out about sponsoring me.”

Snow’s eyes were quite cold in contrast to the warmth of her curved lips.

“I was under the impression that you were the one to reach out initially,” she said. “It was quite generous of Lady Charming to risk her reputation in such a way. With her scant schedule, I can understand how she had the presence of mind to write to you before me, but it’s a shame that I hadn’t realized that she was your only option, not your first choice. Your return could have been facilitated as a symbol of peace between our families had I only thought things through. And I could have spared other sponsors from the controversy.”

“Queenie is handling any backlash just fine,” Raven said without blinking, as if she called marchionesses by their first name on a regular basis.

“Marvelous,” Snow said. “I do hope it remains that way.”

“I believe in her ability to handle surprise obstacles,” Raven said.

“Such confidence in your sponsor is commendable,” Snow said. “But do not let it blind you. Reality is often harsh.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Raven sipped her drink. “But one does not need the support of another to stand up for oneself.”

“Then I’ll leave you in your own capable hands,” Snow said. “I have so much catching up to do with Queenie, I haven’t checked in on her family in far too long.”

Raven watched as the woman walked away and mentally apologized to the Charmings for loosing the heir apparent on them, no matter how unintentionally.

Darling thanked the Redford boy for the dance, and he bowed gallantly over her hand, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. She took short, quick steps beneath the voluminous skirt of her gown, which translated into a flowing movement to onlookers, and went in search of water for her dry mouth, only to stop in her tracks.

Her twin brother was engaged in conversation with Snow White, and it was not going well.

“I suppose I always thought she was intriguing,” Dexter looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I can’t help but notice you’re not one of the ones asking her to dance,” Snow said. “Nervous?”

“I don’t really know her,” Dexter, bless him, looked legitimately confused. “Why would I?”

“Status,” Snow shrugged. “Scandal. Romance. There must be a reason Queenie’s sticking her neck out for an outcast.”

Dexter’s eyes darted around nervously, then landed on his sister, wordlessly begging for help.

“Dex!” Darling rushed forward to clutch his sleeve, ending up between him and Snow. “I didn’t get to talk to you today!”

She pouted up at him.

“Maybe you should get better at keeping track of time,” he said, but softened the statement with a grin.

Snow cleared her throat.

“Oh my,” Darling said, letting go of Dexter’s arm. “I didn’t notice you, I apologize.”

Snow gave herself a lightning quick once over as if to double-check that her opulent jewelry and blinding white gown remained intact, and Darling resisted the urge to grin.

“I do hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” she continued.

“Important?” Snow gave a tinkling laugh. “Not at all! I was merely saying my hellos to your brother.”

“It’s sweet of you to try and assuage my worries,” Darling said. “But I know the wellbeing of those around you is one of your top priorities, and I am deeply sorry for interrupting the way I did.

“I do care very much,” Snow said. “For those dear to me.”

Darling dropped the pretense of misunderstanding the badly hidden insults.

“Then I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from them,” she said, gesturing away from herself.

Snow narrowed her eyes, but gave her a tight smile.

“I do hope to speak to you soon, Darling,” she said in lieu of a farewell.

The siblings watched her retreating form until she was out of earshot.

“Did you have to antagonize her?” Dexter asked.

“Did she have to imply that you were worth less to her than the dirt on her soles?” Darling shot back.

“I don’t even know what she was trying to get from me,” Dexter said, wisely not pursuing that argument.

“An admission that it was your idea to have Mom sponsor Raven,” she said.

“But it wasn’t,” he said. “It would take a lot of subtle manipulation to convince Mom to do anything we thought up.”

And, oh, didn’t Darling know that all too well.

Having snuck out to the garden the night of the ball for some air, as she was wont to do after a night of overzealous wine-drinking, Briar had found that someone had been in the tree she liked to perch on. Said someone had been none too gentle, as could be seen by the snapped twigs and crushed leaves, not to mention they had left a muddy footprint on the bark. Oh, they had been relatively subtle signs, but Briar knew that tree like the palm of her hand, with all its little scars and blemishes. And she wanted answers.

Or maybe she was bored and nursing a slight headache, but that was beside the point.

Her money would have been on Darling, if not for the fact that the girl’s mother had kept an eagle eye on her daughter from the moment they stepped into the foyer, and for the fact that she’d eliminated invited guests from her list of suspects.

“Only Badwolf was in that area,” the nervous footman she’d questioned told her. “And he never even touched any tree.”

Needless to say, the trail more or less ended there.

Briar sighed despondently, hunched up in her vantage point that doubled as the scene of the crime, when her eye caught on a scrap of fabric caught on a branch, edges ragged and obviously torn.

Assessing the cloth with practiced expertise, Briar was pretty sure it originated in the Darkwood.

The Queens had sent spies to last night’s ball.

#the intrigue!#thank you so much for this lovely bonus!#ever after high #eahexchange

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