Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron in any of its incarnations, but all original characters are mine. This story is completely separate from House of Cards. This is set in the Voltron Force universe and also crosses over with William Godwin's novel St. Leon. I picture Astrid Berges-Frisbey as Juliet. Also, if you haven't seen the film The Red Shoes, I would highly recommend it, as it served for some of the inspiration for this.

Some of the songs in the playlist:

Primadonna, Marina and the Diamonds

Some Nights, Fun

Pursuit of Happiness, Lissie

Miss Atomic Bomb, The Killers

Delicate, Damien Rice

Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons

Stars, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

A Drop in the Ocean, Ron Pope

Sunday Morning Call, Oasis

La Pluie, Zaz

American, Lana del Rey

My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark, Fall Out Boy

Gods and Monsters, Lana del Rey

New York, Snow Patrol

Wake Me Up, Avicii

The Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter One

Three years previously.

It hadn't been Lance MacLain's idea of fun to get all dolled up in his dress uniform and go to the party that some Richie Rich was giving for the Alliance victory over planet Doom, but it was protocol, Keith insisted, and free food and booze besides. So Lance went, eager to half-listen to all of the conversations of the filthy rich and to answer any questions they might have, all for some high-end liquor and caviar.

For whatever reason, he'd come to like—or at least be able to get through—the functions like this on Arus, but maybe that was because those people had been through hell and back and he honestly cared about them and they honestly cared about him. Here, on Earth, he was a hero, a celebrity to be fawned over, but as soon as his fifteen minutes were up, all of the admirers would be gone.

Allura, of course, carried herself with perfect poise, as the ruler of Arus should, and Keith had reluctantly been drawn into a conversation with Space Marshal Wade. Hunk and Pidge had found some of their old friends from the Vehicles team, and Jeff waved at him to come over to their table. He grabbed the glass of vodka on the rocks he had just ordered from the open bar, tipped the bartender, and hurried across the room to join them.

He didn't expect any accidental collisions on the way.

"Careful—you just spilled your vodka all over my dress!" the young woman exclaimed indignantly, glaring. She put her glass of wine down on the nearest table and sighed over the stain, picking up a cloth napkin to try and blot at the vodka that had spilled down the front of her black dress.

"It's not like it's going to show up if you let it dry," he said to her, reaching for another cloth napkin to try and help her.

She rolled her eyes and made a noise of exasperation. "But the smell…it's the smell! I hate vodka! And it's going to leave a stain…And I just got this cleaned. Oh, if only you hadn't been so stupid and had watched where you were going!"

"You should've been watching where you were going," Lance shot back. "You bumped into me, too!"

"But I didn't spill alcohol all over your dress uniform," she objected haughtily.

"Club soda will help get it out." Ginger and Pidge had made their way across the room, and Ginger took Lance's arm. "Come on, Lance, let's get some club soda for your friend."

"I'm not his friend," the woman reminded them sharply. Ginger suppressed a laugh as they went to the bar.

"Did you hear her?" Lance asked Ginger. "She's being a real prima donna about it. I'll pay for the cleaning bill, if it's that important to her."

"Prima donna?" Ginger echoed, her blue eyes sparkling. "Lance, do you know who that is?"

"No."

"That's Juliet St. Leon. She's the Potemkin Company's newest prima ballerina. And you remember the Potemkin Company."

Of course Lance remembered. The Potemkin Company, as a gesture of Earth's good will, had been performing several well-known ballets on some of the planets newly freed from Planet Doom's stranglehold. Lotor and his fleet had attacked when the Potemkin Company had been performing, and some of the dancers had been taken as hostages. Including Miss St. Leon, whose rather wealthy uncle had been ready to pay a king's ransom for her safe return. The Prince of Doom had demanded to negotiate privately with St. Leon, and the two had spent hours talking back and forth on a private channel. The Voltron Force had arrived just in time, and Lotor's soldiers on the ground had panicked and released the dancers once Haggar's robeast had been defeated. The dancers had remained relatively unharmed, if not shaken and a little bruised from their ordeal, and it had been a clear victory for Voltron that day.

But the funny thing was, no one had bothered to ask just exactly what Lotor and the Comte de St. Leon had been discussing on that private channel.

Not even Sky Marshal Wade.

"Here," Lance said once he returned to Juliet St. Leon's side. "We got some club soda. Hopefully it'll take the stain out."

Juliet appraised him and Ginger, and then her attention turned to Pidge, who had helped himself to another glass of Dom Perignon champagne. The look of annoyance faded from her face and was replaced with one of slightly abashed realization.

"You can send me the cleaning bill," he went on. "I'm staying at Galaxy Garrison. The name is Lance…"

"Lance MacLain, pilot of the Red Lion," Juliet interrupted, sipping her wine and putting the glass down on the table. She dabbed at the front of her dress with the club soda-soaked cloth napkin. "Pidge here told me. You and your team defeated the robeast before the Doom soldiers could take us to the prince's ship." She averted her hazel eyes from Lance's, pressing her glossed lips together. "I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life instead of yelling at you about my dress."

"Like I said, I'll pick up the cleaning bill," he repeated.

"Oh, no—I can afford it! I was just a little pissed. You know, because I just got this dress cleaned…" she protested.

"Why not let him buy you dinner?" Ginger suggested, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Or drinks."

"If you'll still be in New York City," Lance amended, a little annoyed with Ginger for playing matchmaker.

"I'll still be in New York City," Juliet said. "My granduncle has an apartment in town. I'd love dinner. Or drinks. Or even coffee."

"We're going out for drinks tomorrow," Pidge piped up. "Including Lance."

She inclined her head, eyeing Lance expectantly.

"You're invited," Lance said, smiling, regaining his usual confidence with women like Juliet. "If you want to come and hang out with these jokers." He elbowed Pidge, who opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

Juliet laughed. "I'm sure I'll like hanging out with those jokers." When someone called her name, she glanced away for a moment. "If you'll excuse me," she said apologetically. "I have to go and be gracious. Apparently Sky Marshal Wade is a fan and, according to Uncle Henri, has been dying to meet me."

"Your number," Lance said quickly as he took out his mobile. "What is it?"

She quickly gave him her phone number, which Lance recorded on his own small datapad. "Great," he said. "I'll give you a call tomorrow and finalize everything."

Juliet smiled. "I'll look forward to it."

Keith and Hunk came to Lance's side just as Juliet had left. "What was that all about?" Keith asked as they watched Juliet air-kiss Sky Marshal Wade. An older gentleman in a tuxedo—presumably the Comte de St. Leon himself—put his arm around his grandniece's shoulders and joined the conversation between her and Sky Marshal Wade.

"Lance is bringing a date to our get-together tomorrow," Pidge explained.

Hunk chuckled before he took a sip from his pilsner glass of beer. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You know what's surprising, though?" Lance remarked. "Sky Marshal Wade's newfound love of ballet."

Now.

The directions had been simple.

She had gone to the bank in Geneva and had retrieved the item from the safety deposit box just as Henri had indicated.

The item was contained in a velvet-lined wooden box. In the privacy of her hotel room, she opened the box, just out of curiosity.

It was a small stone, a little smaller than her fist, transparent, and of a deep red hue.

So this was what all the fuss was about. A little stone.

This was what had caused Sky Marshal Wade to come to her performance in Gisele in New York, what had made him come backstage and ask her if she knew where her granduncle had gone.

"He's in Vienna on business," Juliet had replied, offering Wade some champagne, which he declined.

"We looked into that, Miss St. Leon," he had told her, sitting down on the beige suede chair in her dressing room. "He isn't there. He stayed in a hotel in Geneva for a few days, and that's the last anyone has ever heard of him. So the question is: Do you know where he is?"

"I'm sorry," Juliet had said, wiping the cold cream off of her face to remove the stage makeup. "But I don't. All I know is that he's supposed to be in Vienna."

Sky Marshal Wade eyed her levelly, as though he'd been trying to detect whether or not she'd been telling the truth. "Are you sure you're not lying, Miss St. Leon?" he asked her, and she averted her eyes from his piercing dark stare. "I don't like liars. Especially if they're lying about things that could be life-or-death matters."

"Excuse me?" Juliet exclaimed, whirling to face him.

"You heard what I said, Miss St. Leon. This is a life-or-death matter. So here's what I'm going to do for you. I'm going to give you a chance to be honest with me. When your great-uncle contacts you, alert me, and I promise you won't be involved in this any more than you need to be."

"You mean if," Juliet corrected, taking a large gulp of champagne to calm her nerves.

"No, Miss St. Leon," Wade said, his face still as impassive as a stone mask. "I mean when. Because he will contact you. And when he does, I want to know."

"Why? Why is that so important to you?" Juliet demanded, and here Space Marshal Wade rose, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why do you need to know?" he retorted. "It's a high-security issue, and that's all you need to worry about. The sooner we find him, the better for everyone. Especially you. Don't you want to keep dancing?"

And after that, she had left for Geneva and gone to the safety deposit box at the Swiss bank. Then she had booked a flight for Mars Colony, and from there to one of the smaller planets in the Denubian Galaxy, and from there to Arus.

She hadn't wanted to go to Arus or to Lance, but at this point, she had no options. It was well-known that the members of the original Voltron Force had defected to Arus with two cadets alongside them to fight against Wade's new reign of terror and that the Vehicle Team had dispersed itself throughout the Milky Way and Denubian Galaxies to join in.

And now there were the rumors that Prince Lotor of Doom, once thought dead, had somehow been resurrected.

She inhaled shakily to steel herself.

And made the call to the Castle of Lions and asked for Lance MacClain.

The dream was always the same.

Secrets.

"We all have our secrets, Juliet. We St. Leons are a family built on secrets and sadness," her uncle often said as they sat in the library of the Château de St. Leon in her dreams.

"But what kinds of secrets?" she asked, sipping at her cognac, the taste sweet and strong on her tongue.

"If I told you, then they wouldn't be secrets anymore," Henri replied, heaving a weary sigh and staring at her with tired eyes.

And then the cognac's taste became different, bitter and full of resentment. Prince Lotor would barge into the library with some of his guards, his yellow cat eyes set on her. Every time she would try to run, and every time his guards caught her.

"Where is it?" Lotor would demand, grabbing her and holding her fast with a bruising grip, pulling her so close that she could smell the blood and death upon him.

"I—I don't know. What exactly are you looking for?" she would ask him.

He would let go of her and backhand her, sending her world spinning and causing her to see stars, just as he had that first time. "You treacherous little bitch! Don't lie to me! You're a St. Leon—you know where it is! I don't like liars!"

And then the crone, cloaked and silent, slinking in behind him, placing her clawlike fingers on Juliet's shoulder. "No, no, Sire! Don't frighten the girl! It's clear she doesn't know where it is or even what it is. But still this little ballerina could prove useful…as a bargaining chip."

Juliet opened her eyes, the room still spinning, and the crone seated herself in the chair as Henri disappeared. And the cat jumped into her lap.

The crone smiled toothlessly. "Henri St. Leon adores his grandniece. Perhaps you could return her and the other dancers unharmed in exchange for it?"

Juliet opened her swollen mouth to say something, but the hag placed a finger against her lips and hissed, "Shhh."

Don't you know what this is?

This. What was this?

Lance, was always the whisper in her heart. Lance.

No, no. No, little one. Listen, and I will teach you. Oh, little St. Leon, how little you know!

"Who just called wanting to talk to me?" Lance demanded as he hurried down to Castle Control.

Keith glanced at Allura gravely, as though he were unsure of who ought to reply. Allura inhaled deeply, stepping toward Lance.

"It's Juliet," she said quickly. "It seems like she's in some trouble, Lance. She asked for you specifically."

"What—she couldn't talk to you, Allura, or even you, Keith? She had to ask for me?"

"If you don't want to see her, Allura and I will handle it, but depending on what it is, you may have to eventually deal with her, Lance. I'm just warning you."

Lance gritted his teeth, eyeing Keith and Allura as they waited for his answer. Juliet's breakup with him had been sudden and out of the blue, tersely delivered in a video message from Oslo, where she had been performing. He'd been expecting to join her there in a few days, and had been looking forward to the respite from his humdrum teaching gig at the academy. The message had come just as he had been packing.

She had seemed honestly upset, and tears had shimmered in her eyes, but she hadn't cried. And those last words.

I love you, Lance. I'm so sorry.

Had she been?

And did it matter now? She was in trouble, and she had come to him asking for help. But anyone who had been associated with Voltron was in trouble now, and to Lance it was really no surprise that the Sky Marshal had his eye on Juliet.

"Tell her she can come to the castle, and I'll talk to her," Lance said. "If it turns into something nasty, I'll call for backup."

Keith nodded in understanding. "We'll be there if you need it, Lance."

Lance knew that part was true. His relationship with Juliet had been intense, passionate, but as soon as they had begun to look toward the future, it had calmed down and then fallen apart. Just after the lions and the other Voltrons had been grounded. And that made him wonder.

What, if anything, had Sky Marshal Wade said to her that might have forced her to end things with him?

He had to ask her.