Dedication: For Mary, via the squad's secret Santa. Happy Holidays, darling, and enjoy!
DaphneTheo, street magic au.
stay on the streets of this town
…
When Daphne Greengrass is sixteen years old, she falls in love. Outside the manor she is confined in like a prisoner, there is a city of smog and witchcraft, where reality blends into a sky filled with stars.
"Magic is dying," her parents and tutors tell her, but she feels it in her bones, the last call of the fey with the wildness in her bones.
At seventeen, Daphne runs. She is no queen, cannot rule her people from a manor, cannot deal with tea and games and poison poison smiles.
"You want me to be queen?" Astoria asks, one eyebrow raised, when Daphne tells her, and Daphne cannot help but smile. She'll be the kind of queen they'll talk about for centuries after, because Daphne is a child of the concrete jungle beyond the castle walls, but Astoria has all her illusions tucked into the purse of her painted lips.
"I love you, Sister," Daphne says, instead of answering, and Astoria kisses both her cheeks. Astoria's smiles are so rarely real, but there is nothing as raw as a goodbye.
…
That night, under the glow of the moon, Daphne Greengrass disappears, but an ending is only another beginning.
…
There is a world. There is a world of vines that grow in cracks of broken streets, of children playing outside broken homes, of magicians everywhere—on the streets, proud in their defiance; in basements, composing the laws of the universe and rewriting them.
Daphne is not a goddess, is no longer a queen, cannot do anything but summon the magic in her heart, but a lifetime in a palace has taught her how to cook.
"I am in need of a job," Daphne tells the woman who runs a small cafe on the outskirts of town. The woman is a elderly lady, her eyes sharp and calculating, but her smile is kind. This is the kind of people their dark world creates—broken and bursting at the seams, but steady at the hearts.
The lady purses her lips and looks Daphne up and down. She must be a sight for sore eyes, Daphne thinks, with her matted curls, smudged makeup, and royal posture.
"I have one for you," the lady says eventually. "But you will need to be strong. It is hard work, running the kitchen."
Daphne thinks every moment of her life has come to this—every gain, every fall, every decision—leading her to a kind stranger.
"Of course," Daphne says and smiles.
…
She falls into a routine. Every morning, Daphne rises with the sun, makes sure all the flour is kneading itself, that the tables are set, and that the tea is boiling.
Every morning, a boy shows up. He is a magician, in the childhood sense of the word, with a crooked smile and kind eyes, who makes confetti rain in the streets, and who paints the stars on every surface he sees.
"Are there honey buns?" he asks her every morning, his eyes lit up in excitement and Daphne feels a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"When aren't there honey buns?" Daphne teases and he grins bright enough to rival the sun before his cheeks redden a little bit.
Daphne watches him take a deep breath, trying to conceal her own smile. Her magic glimmers around her hands, sparks falling to the ground in excitement.
"I'm Theodore. Theo for short. And I was wondering… would you like to make magic with me?"
It's the way he says it—winking but not lewd, hopeful but not cocky—that makes her say yes.
…
Theo takes her to see the industrial quarters at nightfall, where he draws magic from the streetlights and illuminates their path with fake stars.
"You're talented," Daphne says quietly and she is starstruck, in awe of the sheer talent he possesses.
"Thank you," Theo says back, and offers her his hand. When she takes it, he leads her around the back stairs of a building long abandoned to the roof.
"You can see the whole world from here." His eyes shine and the weight of the world seems to crumble off his shoulders. Daphne comes closer, dropping her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her, close enough that she can feel the pumping of his heartbeat.
This is something more, Daphne feels. This—these moments, them, the way he fits perfectly against her—could become love.
In the warm summer air, while the moon illuminates the world like a promise, Daphne turns around and kisses Theodore Nott.
...
The next day, when the streets are empty except for the silent magic of the rolling winds, Daphne slips into the shop to find a surprise.
"I know who you are," the lady who gave her the job (who believed in her, who tried to help her, who was kind) says, voice flat. "I must say, Queen Daphne, I'm surprised you chose to work in a bakery. In my humble opinion, stopping your kingdom from executing every single magic user would have been a far better use of your time."
Time seems to slow. Daphne's magic curls around her, both a sword and a shield, and she balls her hands into fists. There is a war brewing in her bones and if this escalates, she will not go quietly.
"I am no queen," Daphne says breathlessly, lifting her arms to show the stains on her collar and the dust on her boots. "But my sister is. We make our own kind of magic, ma'am. Astoria is talented—she is going to save us in a way I never could have, and to do that, I needed to leave."
The lady looks at her, and Daphne wonders if she can see straight into her soul. What does she see—a runaway queen, a baker, a magician? Daphne has become so many things, but she has left behind so much too.
""I believe you, child. I don't know why, but I do," the lady says, sighing. "Do you miss your family?"
Daphne stops and it feels like the world is spinning off its hinges, like gravity has taken a break. "Not my parents. They would have killed me if they had found out I was magical. But I miss my sister—she always knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. She was always my better half."
…
Theo deserves to know, Daphne decides. She can't live like this anymore, can't pretend her past isn't a part of her. Daphne is many things, but she refuses to be a liar.
"I'm a queen," Daphne tells him as they sit on the grass of a park at night. The playground in front of them seems haunted without kids to play. "Well, not anymore. But I could have been. I almost was."
Theo listens as she tells him everything—how the grass felt when she ran away, the way Astoria kissed her cheeks, the way her parents didn't even love her enough to put up missing posters.
"Daphne," he interrupts. "It doesn't matter. Maybe to other people, but not to me. My father was a duke, did you know that? But he gambled away his fortune and left our family to rot. You're kind, Daph. Your sister's going to make a better world, but she needs people like us to lead it, and if you let me, I'll do it from by your side."
"Promise?" Daphne whispers, and feels the way he pulls her against himself like he can't let go.
"Promise."
Maybe this is it, Daphne thinks. Maybe one day Astoria will rule them all, through poison or bloodshed or blackmail, but either way, Astoria would figure it out. Maybe one day Theo and her would walk into the palace without any fear for being killed because of their magic.
But either way, Daphne knows that she isn't letting this go. She is Theo's lover and a baker and a runaway queen, but there are far worse things to be.