#he doesn’t have glasses because i thought it’d capture the i’m not myself vine more but in hindsight it didn’t do that

[caede9]

ive been inside your mind sixer i know your secrets

fyi, huuuuuuge thanks to @triangleguy for transcribing bill's handwriting here.)

layers under the cut

bear with me, i'm ssing these off my canvas because im too lazy to save all them, so they might be very minorly diff sizes

[madokasoratsugu]

to good fortune and luck

[rod/lucette; post-canon (good end)]

summary: five blessings Lucette receives from the people dearest to her.(and the one blessing she'll never beg for.)

a/n: i really like them /chinhands/. i also really like lucette metaphorically giving the middle finger. as usual pls read on ao3 bc tumblr probs didnt catch all my italics and stuff lmao

read on ao3

1.

“Lucette, you’re with Rod, are you not?”

Lucette’s hand comes to a perfect standstill. Gently setting the teacup back down on its saucer, she forces herself to meet Ophelia’s eyes.

There is no judgement in her patient gaze, but no doubt either.

Lucette doesn’t allow herself a second breath, a second thought of denial to run through her mind.

“Yes.”

The spring breeze flips pages of a book Emelaigne left open on the picnic blanket. The owner is nowhere to be seen, having dragged her brother off to procure more baked goods.

“I see.”

Ophelia quietly smiles. It’s tinged with pain, and the expression cuts deeper into Lucette than she likes.

“Then I suppose i’ll have to dig out my wedding veil. It’ll need some work, but I hope you won’t mind. It’s always been a tradition in my family to pass down the veil as an heirloom.”

Lucette blinks. Her hand is shaking too badly to lift her teacup to her dry mouth.

“Of course not.” Lucette manages. She blinks harder, and tries to suck in a discrete breath. “Your lacework has always been lovely.”

Ophelia’s smile grows. It’s still dampened at the edges, but in Ophelia’s sudden embrace, it’s clear as day to Lucette that the grief isn’t directed at her.

Rather, it exists for her.

Not for the first time, Lucette mumbles thanks to her mother, who loved Lucette so deeply she suffered tenfold at the thought of Lucette ever, ever being hurt.

Who would support her, even if the world wouldn’t.

2.

“When you get married to Rod - .” Emelaigne stops to sigh dreamily, and Lucette secretly loves it; the way Emelaigne uses her words, the way she says ‘when’ and not ‘if’, ‘married’ and not anything less.

“When the both of you get married, I want to arrange your bouquet.” Emelaigne flops backwards onto her bed, spreading her arms out above her.

A wide grin stretches on her face. “It’s the only thing i’m better than you at, so you can’t say no!”

Lucette laughs, pressing her hands into her lap. “Why would I?”

Emelaigne pulls herself up as abruptly as she laid down. “Maybe because you already have someone else you want to do it, or someone more qualified, or - .”

“Em.”

Emelaigne pouts. “Okay, okay. That means no one, right? Then i’ve called dibs!”

She pauses, eyes dipping to one side that hints at something else.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Lucette asks gently, prodding Emelaigne’s side.

“Well….” Emelaigne flushes.

She reaches to her nightstand, opening the drawer to reveal a matte silver box.

Handing it to Lucette, she motions for the auburn to open it.

White stargazer lilies bloom outwards, surrounded by artistic sprigs of lily-of-the-valley and baby’s breath.

Lucette slowly lifts the beautifully decorated golden barrette, wide eyed.

“I know I’m jumping the gun here, but.” Emelaigne clasps her hands before her middle, smiling hopefully. “It’s an engagement gift. I noticed your old one was fraying at it’s petals.”

“It’s lovely, Em.” Lucette breathes.

Every petal was angled with dedication, faux beads of water giving life to the mini bouquet.

“It’d look nicer if Rod would just propose already, so you could wear it.”

Lucette bursts into giggles, red faced.

She’s welling with embarrassment and childish glee unbefitting a princess, but with Emelaigne laughing by her side, Lucette cannot imagine herself as anything else.

3.

“Take this.”

Fritz shoves a practice sword against Rod’s chest. He stands towering before Lucette’s door, shielding Rod from any passerby’s sight.

“Go back using the South staircase behind the kitchen. There shouldn’t be anyone using it at this time, but if there is, tell them you were having a private training session with me. If they try badgering you for any more information, just mention the name Varg.”

Rod nods once, before walking briskly away, immaculately dressed like Lucette is not.

She shuffles backwards in her nightgown, uncertain. It wouldn’t do to have her knight see her like this.

It wouldn’t do to have her knight see her secret lover sneaking out of her room either, but there’s that.

Still, all Fritz does is send her a reassuring smile. “We still have half an hour, princess. Plenty of time to get ready for breakfast.”

When Lucette next exits her room, everything is encased in silk, pressed out of sight with powder.

It takes everything in her to look at Fritz directly.

“With five minutes to spare. Let’s hurry, though.”

At the sight of Fritz’s warm grin, the coldness in her middle melts. Yet a chunk of ice remains as she stands before the dining hall doors.

A sick feeling grows in her. She doubts it’s the overpowering scent of syrup, this time.

Still, the sticky feeling of the silenced topic that hangs in the air tastes just like it, if only not as sweet.

“Princess, want to know a magic trick?”

Bewildered, Lucette turns to see Fritz drawing two strokes diagonally away from each other on his palm three times before he mimes eating it.

“I heard its a spell for confidence.”

The half-witch feels her face twitch with a smile.

“I can tell you that is not true.”

“But I can tell you that the fact that i’ll support you no matter what is.” Fritz says, knowing, understanding. “I hope at least that inspires confidence.”

Lucette stares at Fritz, at the streak of black that curls around one side of his face, the bright curve of his lips and remembers the way her silver knight had tamed his wolf just to serve by her side.

“It does.”

And Lucette pushes the doors open herself.

4.

“Are you adjusting well to the Tenebrarum?” Waltz asks, grinning wildly.

“As well as you are to your role as magical advisor to the kingdom.” Lucette immediately replies, cracking a smile at their silly inside joke.

Waltz chuckles, patting the space beside him on the wide fountain rim.

“You look tired, little star.”

“Secrets are hard things to keep.” Lucette says, shaking her head as she sits.

“You’re doing quite well, for one of this magnitude.” Waltz says, stroking her hair, and Lucette allows herself to indulge in his pampering.

“Although I do have something that might help.”

Waltz pulls out a tiny drawstring bag, and tips out from it a pair of earrings.

Attached to delicate white gold clasps, the clear blue crystals capture shooting stars within streaks of white.

Lucette cannot hold back her startled gasp.

“They’re blue kyanite. It helps with balance, communication, and fresh beginnings.” Waltz explains. “Perfect for you and Rod.”

Putting them on, Lucette delights in the way they gently reflect the starry expanse above. “Thank you.”

Still, the thought of what Waltz’s encouragement entails makes her happiness falter.

“I just wish - .” Lucette says, words trailing off, full of unfinished thoughts and endless desires.

“So do I.” Waltz hums. “We all do.”

Lucette laughs at the philosophy, and Waltz doesn’t hold back his smile.

“But you’ll do more than that, won’t you little star?”

Lucette yelps as he picks her up, spinning her around once before settling her on his arm.

“You’ll grant your wishes, because that’s what stars do, with a little help. You’ll be happy, and you’ll shine like all stars deserve to.”

Waltz looks at her with such pride and fondness that Lucette laughs aloud again, a little breathless, a little choked.

Within the arms of her closest friend who never stopped believing in her, Lucette thinks that it’s time she repaid that with some belief in herself, too.

5.

“You let your hair down.” Rod murmurs, twirling a loose lock with his forefinger.

“I am supposed to be in bed right now.” Lucette says, glancing at the high moon.

Rod smiles ruefully, in a way that implies she stay, in a manner that asks to be kissed.

So Lucette does, carefully, gently, and relishes in his returning tilt of his head.

Moving apart, Rod hesitates. His fixed stare on Lucette inspires a slight smile, a rising blush.

At that tender expression, he turns to take a plain box behind him on the window seat, resting it on his lap.

“I couldn’t get a ring.” Rod starts slowly, with eyes averted. “Not as myself. And I didn’t want anyone else to do it for me. So I….”

He opens the shoebox, and Lucette claps her hands over her mouth.

Intricate silver filigree vines twine up the heels and partway down the side of her glass slippers, with miniature stargazer lily blossoms by the counter, supported by well placed leaves.

“A silver sixpence in her shoe, right?” Rod says softly, smiling.

Trapped between a sob and a laugh, all Lucette can do is watch as Rod gets down on one knee before her, as his bandaged fingers cradle the glass heels, her hand.

The grip of their interlaced fingers hurt.

“Lucette Riella Britton, will you marry me?”

“I will.”

The words tumble out easier than she thought it would have.

Salty tears roll down her face, and she finds Rod tastes the same when he leans forward to seal the promise.

“I will.” Lucette breathes, again, pressed against the glass window as pleasantly cold as the heels on her feet.

“I took some liberties with the rhyme.” Rod confesses, running a hand through her long hair. “But I still wish I could have given you more.”

“This is plenty.” Lucette says, tilting her head up to look in Rod’s eyes. “This is more than I dreamed of. You’re more than I dreamed of.”

Rod kisses her on the jaw, just below her ear, and Lucette sighs helplessly.

“Don’t go back tonight.” Rod says aloud, this time.

Lucette thinks there isn’t any need to tell her that, not when her solace is already embracing her tight.

“I never intended to.”

And when Rod laughs, brilliant and jubilant and filled with infinite hope, Lucette feels on the verge of tears, on the verge of everything all at once.

But with his every kiss, every touch, Lucette finds herself coming back down, coming back to her tingling senses, coming back home to Rod.

Some secrets are worth keeping.

But in his embrace, Lucette thinks this is not a secret she wants to keep.

Not anymore.

0.

The throne room falls eerily silent.

Genaro stares at Lucette and Rod, and their connected hands.

Lucette’s announcement has swallowed the atmosphere whole, echoing in the whispers of the maids, in the minds of all occupants present.

“An engagement.” Genaro finally speaks, laboured and confused. “With Rod?”

Lucette doesn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“Why?”

“Why not?” Lucette says, less of a challenge and more of a statement.

In the conflict of denying his blood daughter the only thing she’s ever asked of him, Genaro turns helplessly to Ophelia standing beside.

“Listen to them.” Ophelia encourages, and Genaro’s eyes grow wide at the realisation of being the only one left in the dark.

Genaro turns towards the pair again, expression somber.

“Lucette.” He tries again, brows furrowing.

Genaro sinks deeper into his throne, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I apologise. This is all...quite a lot to take in.”

Lucette does not tell him to take his time.

At the side of the room, Emelaigne shifts from one foot to another anxiously, while Fritz keeps a steady hand on his sword’s hilt. Waltz doesn’t tell him to let up, not when the sparks of a protective barrier dance upon the fingertips of his hand behind his back.

Genaro sucks in a breath.

“I cannot approve of this union.” He says heavily. “Not for the sake of Angielle.”

“You abandoned me for it, too.”

Genaro’s eyes fly open, taken aback by Lucette’s words.

“You misunderstand me, father. I have never asked you for anything. I would not start now.”

Weathered lacework chuffs at her wrists as she raises a hand to press against her chest, hair pinned back with nearly-alive sprigs of lilies and baby’s breath fastened by gold.

Her palm burns with borrowed courage carved with nails; white stars caught in blue crystals glinting as she holds her head high.

Glass and silver making a clean, crisp sound as she takes a single step forward.

Blessings don’t just belong in magic folktales, in old wives' tales; they come in words and gifts, and love.

“This isn’t me seeking your acceptance, father.”

Rod’s grip anchors her, reminds her who it is she goes home to, who it is that taught her what it meant to be loved.

Who it was that held her during her darkest hours, who became the light of her future.

“This is a declaration.”