Weiss pored over the books in front of her. She had always felt at peace in the library, where it was quiet, where she could look through the old books of history and magic and learn about the world she once came from, the world that felt so infinitely far away. But it wouldn't be far away forever—her age was double digits now, and that meant, soon, she'd be old enough to go to Remnant! Eleven was pretty much already there to 18, after all. But she had to be prepared, had to study, had to learn everything. She was a voracious reader, always eager to learn more. One day, when she was grown up, she and her siblings would-

"Here," she heard a whisper behind her.

Turning, Weiss saw her sister Blake, dressed head to toe in black, with only a thin slit of her face visible, showing her unnaturally chalk-white skin and amber eyes. Two black kitty ears poked out from her mask, twitching attentively. Outside of those ears, and having black hair instead of white, the two of them were the most alike of any of Salem's daughters, and they'd always been very, very close.

Which was amusing, considering that their original parents were mortal enemies who almost certainly would have raised them to hate each other. Which was silly. Blake was her sister, and easily Weiss's favorite.

Well, favorite sister. Jaune was her favorite sibling. But he was also Blake's. And Emerald's and Pyrrha's. And it wasn't a surprise—Jaune was the best. He took care of them and mediated fights and he was their Prince and he didn't have cooties, even if he was a boy. They'd been very definitive in their agreement on this, ever since Tyrian explained the concept of cooties to them. Tyrian had cooties, per their unanimous decision.

But back to Blake, who, in her hands, held a book, an old grimoire that Weiss had been after for a very long time. Blake slipped it to Weiss, who gasped as she held it in her hands, feeling how it almost thrummed with mystical power. "Thanks, Blake," she murmured, still focused on the tome she was holding.

"I didn't do this for thanks," Blake corrected, making Weiss grin. She knew that Blake would have done it just because her favorite sister asked her to, but she had promised payment because she knew Blake really wanted to get to pretend to be a real ninja.

Gesturing towards the bookshelves, she whispered back, "Fourth row, second level, you'll be able to find it because I hid it next to the books on ninjas."

Dropping all pretense of being a serious ninja, Blake eagerly leapt away to get her bounty of chocolate that Weiss had promised in exchange for the book. Good chocolates, the kind she managed to wheedle Arthur into bringing her in exchange for telling mom that she really, really liked Arthur.

In Weiss's mind, it was a poor trade—it wasn't like he had any way to make her hold up her end of the bargain. But Weiss got chocolate out of it so she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and had told Mom that Arthur was "an adequate servant" and took her chocolates as due payment. And besides, it was good to keep Arthur strung along on promises, the man was arrogant enough to be easy to wheedle, so long as they kept plying him. The hard part was portioning out some of it to use as currency with her sisters instead of just eating it all herself, but the challenge had been worth it.

Breaking open the grimoire, she gazed at the inscrutable text inside. This was a true book of magic, not just the magic that had been granted to Weiss by her submersion in the Pool of Darkness. Those powers were great, but this… this was Mom's magic. Magic from ancient history, from the time of the gods. This was real power, and only an agent as stealthy as Blake could have gotten her hands on it.

Feeling the power radiate off the pages as Weiss opened the book, she looked at the runes imprinted upon them. This wasn't language, not like the written word—it was power itself, a spell trapped within vellum… but Weiss knew how to disentangle it. How to master it. Yes, the Darkness rose up around her as she wrestled with the spell, adding its arcane power to her own. And all through it, Weiss had one driving thought:

Mom is going to be so impressed!

Tyrian Callows considered himself a man of many talents.

Well, really one talent spread in a couple different ways. Like, could he consider himself good at "terrorism" and "extortion" if it was really just using his ability to cause mayhem and destruction with different ends in mind? And if he wasn't good at the negotiating part of extortion and wasn't the best at publicizing his acts of terror, could he say he was really that good at either of them?

Weighty thoughts. Weighty thoughts for a time where a preteen girl had smashed his face into the floor hard enough to leave a dent.

"O-okay..." he slurred as he struggled to stumble back up on his feet, feeling aura fix up his concussion more slowly than he'd liked, "We're gonna- gonna call that a win and… Unky Tyrian's gonna… gonna take a nap, k?"

"Okay," Pyrrha dutifully said, then walked off to sit down on a bench on the side of the floor. Then just… stared at him.

Not wanting to ask, Tyrian found himself asking, "Is there… is there a reason you're sitting there instead of… going off and playing?"

"When you're done with your nap," she explained, "I wanna fight again."

"Oh."

Somehow, that made all his bruised bones just feel that much more bruised as he pulled himself up. He was- he was probably at his limit for fighting today, but these kids… Hoo, he never thought his religious beliefs would involve so much… getting beat up by preteens.

"Can I ask," he asked, his lungs screaming as he felt his cracked rib knit itself back together, "why you… you don't want to go play?"

"Mr. Rainart said a true warrior never stops fighting," she dutifully recited, then smiled, "So I'm not going to ever stop fighting!" She said this as casually as though she was explaining why she wore shoes.

Ah, yes, Hazel had been instructing the young princess. What a shame that a girl as talented, as blessed as she, was learning how to be so dull as dishwater. And even if his body ached from the pummeling he had received at her divine hands, Tyrian knew he had a duty to educate his Goddess's most worthy children.

With a groan, Tyrian got back on his feet and staggered his way over to where Pyrrha was sitting on the bench, her legs, too short to reach the ground, swinging back and forth. Her little bony plates sticking out of her shoulders, the very picture of how adorable a Grimm could be. Not that many people other than Tyrian had the vision to appreciate the adorableness of a Grimm. But to see her sacrificing her childhood to become as dry and tedious as Hazel Rainart? It broke Tyrian's poor little heart.

"Pyrrha," he began in his most paternal voice, "your ol' Uncle Tyrian's been around for a very long time, and while I might not have the most formal education or know my social graces, I've learned a common wisdom that can't be found in any books or-"

"Dr. Watts says you can't read."

Tyrian took a moment to not let the insult sting so much. He knew what Arthur was saying about him, of course, but that the kids were repeating it? Especially Pyrrha? Oh, that stung. "He… is just trying to say mean things. But sweetheart, there's more to life than just fighting! You've got to have a reason to enjoy it, some cause that motivates you to throw back your head and laugh as you bring our Goddess, your mother's, wrath down upon the fools who know not what true power is!"

Pyrrha nodded, her feet still swinging in the air. "Okay. Like what?"

Like- like what? How was he supposed to answer that? Tyrian scratched his head, feeling some of the dried blood from his skull's earlier introduction to the floor. "Well… what makes you happy? What sort of things make you feel like you're proud to punch me in the face?"

"I dunno…" she said, tilting her head from one side to the other. "I like Jaune. Does that count?"

Jaune? The young Master? That would be a fine- hold on one moment! Did- did the young princess have… feelings for the young Master? Ooooooh, how adorable! What juicy gossip this was and-

Wait, how old were these kids? Nine? That seemed right. Was this the cute kind of boy-girl crush or was this the "send them to take a cold shower" kind of crush? At their age? Pyrrha was his favorite, but Jaune was the Goddess's favorite, so… it was probably all okayed!

"That's a reason!" he said, shooting her a thumbs up, "The young Master is an excellent choice to give your fighting the joie de vivre you need to keep fighting from losing its luster and becoming a boring dork like Hazel! Let him be your inspiration to make battle fun and commit to the joy of fighting!"

"Okay!" she said cheerfully, leaping to her feet. "Then I'm gonna fight you now. For Jaune!"

"Wait, wha-"

He wasn't able to finish speaking before the fist of a Grimm Princess met his jaw with the force of a truck.

Emerald was bored.

B-O-A-R- wait, no, that was the other one. Or was it? She bit her lip. Weiss would know, but Weiss could be a total meanie when Emerald had questions. She could ask Jaune, but Jaune was playing with Blake right now and Emerald knew Blake would get jealous if she tried to join them.

Sometimes, Emerald just felt like she didn't have a place in her family. She didn't look like them, not when Blake and Weiss's skin was so white in comparison to hers, way more like Mom's. And they were so pretty, too! And Pyrrha was better at fighting than she was, and all she could do was look like other people or make her body change. But Weiss said her powers were "gross," and Emerald… Emerald felt like she was gross.

With a pout, she sat down in the corner of a hallway, feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't "becoming of a princess," but sometimes… sometimes Emerald didn't feel like she really was a princess. All her sisters were so cool and graceful and she was just… Emerald. With her gross goopy body powers and being awkward all the time. Maybe if she was just… more like them, then Jaune would like her more. He said he liked her, but he said he liked all of his sisters, and maybe he was just feeling sorry for her because she was-

"Emerald, sweetie? What are you doing here?"

It was Mom. Emerald knew her mom didn't find her weird and would make her feel better, but… she didn't want to feel better. She wanted to pout. "Just sitting," she said, "Wanna be alone."

"Oh, honey," she swooped down to pull Emerald into a hug. "Whatever's wrong, it's okay. You can always tell Mommy if you're upset."

"Mooooooom," she whined in protest, "I'm not a baby, I just..."

"Emerald," she said, her voice queenly and forceful… like Weiss or Pyrrha's, not like Emerald ever knew how to do that. "I'm your mother and I can tell when you're not telling me something. Out with it. What's wrong, honey?"

Emerald looked down, biting her lip. "I don't..." she tried to brush her mom's interest off, but she wouldn't let her. She looked back to her mother, and the concern and compassion on her face just broke through all her defenses. "I don't fit in!" she wailed.

"Emerald… who's saying you don't fit in? Is it your sisters?"

"No… I just," she sighed, "I'm just not… like them. I don't look like them, I don't have cool powers like them, and I don't..." her voice grew soft, "When we conquer the world, I'm not gonna be as useful as they are..."

As her voice trailed off, Mom pulled her into a crushing hug that… it felt really nice, actually. And Emerald hugged her back.

"Oh honey, you are my daughter, as much as any one of your siblings. You're all precious to me, but Emerald… I'm always so proud of you, so impressed with how hard you train and how talented you are. And… you're my daughter, Emerald. Mommy's always going to love you, and you'll always have a place here."

"You… you really mean it?" she asked, hopefully.

"Of course," she said, reassuringly. "Now, Mommy has a meeting, dear, so I do have to get going, but… well," she gave Emerald a playful smile, "this was supposed to be a surprise, but what if I told you that Mommy was getting a new helper and she might just be your brand new tutor?"

A… A tutor? Just for her?

"Wh-what kind of tutor?" Emerald asked, trying to hide her excitement.

Her mom leaned back down, whispering her top-secret information that only Emerald got to know. "She's going to teach you infiltration, and sabotage, and espionage, and… assassination!"

A- assassination? She was- was going to learn how to be an assassin? That was- that was-

That was so cool!

Ruffling her hair, her mother stood back up. "Now, Mommy has to get to her meeting but remember," she gave her a wink and put a finger to her lips, "It's supposed to be a big surprise, so don't let anyone know I told you!"

Emerald held her hand up. "I promise."

"That's my girl," she said, before pulling Emerald into another hug.

"Oh gods she's adopted another one."

Cinder glanced up to see a rather ridiculous looking man with an idiotic mustache had entered the room. But she'd done her homework, well enough to place a name to his punchable face: Arthur Watts. Disgraced Atlesian scientist and likely perpetrator of dozens of crimes. Dangerous, but then again, anyone who worked for the Queen of the Grimm was dangerous.

Not that Cinder would show him any respect for it. "Sorry to disappoint," she replied, briskly, "but I'm the new hire. Cinder Fall, I look… forward to working with you."

"Dr. Arthur Watt, MD, PhD," he arrogantly informed her.

"No time to get the JD to round it out?"

He scowled. "Well, at least I was hired to be more than a glorified babysitter."

"Tutor to the Royal Children," she smirked, pleased to have already gotten under his skin, "Though I'm sure you can tell me all about my future charges."

Now it was his turn to smirk. Cinder was hoping for that—let him give her the horror stories, try to scare her off, and, in doing so, telling her what she needed to know. She knew this kind of man, arrogant and superior, unable to believe a teenage girl could outwit him. She had encountered many. None of them still lived.

And yet… this was the domain of Queen Salem. This wasn't human gangsters and corrupt businessmen. This was a castle of monsters and Cinder needed to know everything she could to stay one step ahead of being fed to those monsters. She was a survivor, and a survivor she would remain.

He took his seat, his face radiating smug certitude. "Imagine five children raised by the Queen of the Grimm."

Even though she'd baited this very topic out of him, Cinder still shuddered to think of it. It was instinct and reflex, not something she could control. What remorseless cruelty and diabolical aims must lurk in the mind of the Grimm Queen to-

"Oh, I forget, you don't know her yet. No," he sighed, "you're about to find out exactly what sort of woman the Queen of the Grimm is. And what sort of children would result from her as a mother."

She didn't know what to make of that. "Motherhood" was not a virtue Cinder was familiar with, but any followup questions were cut off as more entered the conference room. She recognized these ones: the massive, hulking frame of Hazel Rainart and the wicked, curved tail of Tyrian Callows gave away their identities. They took their seats only for a moment before the three men rose, Cinder knowing to follow their lead as…

As the Queen entered.

She was regal in bearing. Her every motion was deliberate and powerful, even as she simply walked across the room. She was unnaturally pale, her skin crossed by lines of black, Grimm corruption—a look that triggered something primal in Cinder's mind that told her to be afraid. This was the Queen of the Grimm, her eyes red and filled with an alien malevolence that made Cinder wonder what exactly she had sworn herself to. As she took her seat at the table, Cinder struggled to keep a tremble out of her legs.

"Council," she said, her voice severe and unyielding, and everyone took their seat. "We have much to discuss regarding our plans to acquire the Relic of Destruction, however, I wish to table all discussion of that indefinitely, as we have a much more pressing matter facing us."

Cinder braced herself. Her instinctual fear of this woman, on top of the fact she was in a meeting with some of the most villainous figures in Remnant, pushed her well past even the worst she'd faced in her hard life. To see her bypass acquiring a Relic told her-

"As you know, my son's birthday is approaching and I expect it to be no less than the Crown Prince of the Grimm deserves!"

Or… or what Arthur had been saying earlier now had some crucial context...

"Tyrian, go… kidnap a child's entertainer, a… a clown or something."

"Best mission ~ever~" the mad terrorist sang with a fist pump.

"Hazel, in my day, a Prince was celebrated with tribute. Demand that the Kingdoms of Remnant deliver gold to him."

"If that is your will," he answered with a nod.

"And- and- and..." it seemed that her bracing authority suddenly dissipated as her mask of total control slipped away and a much… smaller woman was suddenly seated at the table, asking, "Does… does anyone know what to get for a 12 year old boy?"

Cinder blinked. All of this had come too fast and too sudden for her to process, and then the sheer absurdity of what she was hearing… did the rest for her. "You're about to find out exactly what sort of woman the Queen of the Grimm is. And what sort of children would result from her as a mother," Watts had told her. And now the man was looking at her with a bemused expression, waiting for her to speak up… or quail in uncertainty, losing this obvious opportunity to demonstrate her value to the organization.

Her value in… party planning. But nevertheless, she had to seize the opportunity.

"My Queen," she said, trying to mask her utter terror as she spoke to the Queen of the Grimm, "I know I am new to this organization, but if I may suggest it… have you asked this child what he wants for his birthday?"

There was a pause.

"He..." she began, her uncertainty seeming still as strange and alien on her face, "I don't know," she admitted. "Gold? Or… concubines? Is he of that age? Should I have-"

"I think," Watts smoothly stepped in to interrupt whatever horrible thing the Queen of the Grimm was about to suggest, "our Queen has shown such incredibly foresight in bringing young Ms. Fall into our organization just in time where she would be most useful."

He nodded towards Cinder, and she couldn't deny the feeling she had that she was about to severely lose no matter what she did at this moment. But with all eyes upon her, she had to graciously accept the task of asking a twelve year old boy—a kidnapped twelve year old boy—what he wanted for his birthday. She was given instruction on where to find him and with that, her role in this meeting was adjourned… with Watts smirking all the while.

"Can I still kidnap a clown?" she heard Tyrian ask as she exited the conference room.

So...

Cinder had possibly made some mistakes in pursuing this career. Walking down the stone corridors of the most terrifying structure in all of Remnant, she had to wonder exactly how she was about to get screwed. Eaten by Grimm or, and then she really shuddered as she thought about the Queen's statement about… concubines. She wouldn't have hired a seductress for...

Well, no use dwelling on what might happen when there was nothing that could be changed about what would happen. The door was here, and behind it lay her destiny. Whatever that destiny was, she would meet it bravely and without delay. And so she opened the door with deliberate poise and saw...

It was a study, a large and homey room in the castle, the walls covered in bookshelves and a cheerful, enchanted blaze crackled merrily in the fireplace. But at the center of the room was a large wooden table and at that table was… he was a boy. An eleven year old, blond, Valean boy, quietly and studiously reading a book, who turned and-

Holy hell, eyes as red as any Grimm's, betraying no hint of humanity behind them, just the ruthless, all-consuming rapacity of Grimm monstrosity! Cinder, even prepared by the sight of his "mother," found that it taxed the very limits of her ability not to react as she saw the eyes of the Grimm Prince for the first time.

But those eyes popped wide and his jaw hung open as though he was liable to start catching flies.

Oh hell.

Cinder immediately realized what was going on. She was a teenage girl who, to the eyes of a preteen boy, one raised mostly in isolation from humanity, was the most sophisticated and worldly person he had ever met, even before considering that Cinder was an expert in using her body as a weapon. And was dressed to kill. The sudden shyness, the wide eyes, the open mouth… there was one explanation for it.

A babysitter crush.

But… there was power in that. Considerable advantage. To have the favor of the Prince of the Grimm, to, perhaps, one day be Princess Consort, his most influential advisor as he ruled over the single greatest power in all Remnant. Cinder was no stranger to doing desperate things for power, and there was no power in the world that compared to his. All she had to do was encourage his little crush, play it until it became infatuation, guide him as he became a teenager, let hormones do the rest...

But… what would his insane mom think if she thought she had an interest in her son? She seemed to dote on him quite a bit and the mention of concubines did-

Oh, hell, what would his insane mom do if she approved of such an interest?

Wisely opting not to encourage this, Cinder took a professional approach. "My Prince," she began with a gracious bow, "I am your humble servant, Cinder Fall, tasked as Royal Tutor to you and your sisters. Your mother has requested I introduce myself, and also, to inquire as to what you might desire for your upcoming birthday."

Her tone with quick and professional—no trace of curtness even as she kept it as clipped as possible to not allow the young man to think she was something he "might desire" for his birthday. He closed his mouth as her tone reminded him that she was someone to be treated with respect, rather than youthful awe.

"J-just… no clowns," he said, his voice quaking with legitimate fear.

"No clowns?" Cinder asked, her head tilting in surprise.

"T-Tyrian dressed up as a clown for Weiss's birthday," he shuddered, "It was… it was very scary. No clowns."

In that last sentence, his voice seemed to pulse with authority to the point that Cinder nearly fell over. Her heart nearly stopped beating until she accepted that there would be no clowns at the birthday party. But Cinder hadn't survived this long to not have learned to compose herself even when under the most inexplicable assault. So instead she coolly nodded her assent and said, "I shall carry out your will, my Prince."

"Um..." he blushed, a bright red color that made his hellish eyes seem almost normal on his face, "Y-you can call me Jaune... Just Jaune, um, ma'am."

Well, it seemed like she hadn't quite quashed his little crush. But... it would be advantageous if he spoke well of her to Queen Salem and... he really was adorable with his blushing and stammering.

"Of course, my- Of course, Jaune," she said, "Then you can call me Cinder."

She didn't miss the way he almost squeaked at that. Teasing him was, of course, the fast way to an early grave, but Cinder was in high spirits, giddy on discovering an angle that would let her get ahead even in the most dangerous place in the world. "And with clowns out of the question, what would you like for your birthday, Jaune?"

His blush suddenly made Cinder reassess if she was out of the woods yet, but then he said, in a small, timorous voice, "I'd like to learn how to fight."

Cinder nodded, relieved to hear it wasn't "a kiss" or anything like that, and graciously told the Prince that she'd talk with his mother. It wasn't a bad end to her first meeting with the first of her new charges. As she left the room, the halls felt warmer, less nightmarish, even, as she-

Hold on a second.

Cinder trusted her reflexes—it was the only way she'd survived this long—and she knew what it meant when she felt someone was watching her. Someone she couldn't see. Careful not to give away that she knew she was being observed, she hurried down the hall in her most controlled, purposeful stride. The feeling of being watched was a reminder that she wasn't safe here, in a monster's castle, even if this monster had more maternal instinct than Cinder was used to in mothers. But she wasn't going to bow down to fear. Not any longer, not ever again. She was a born survivor; she would survive this, no matter how dire it seemed, as another pair of eyes seemed to join the first in burning a hole in the back of her neck. Then a third. And a fourth. She didn't know who it was, Watts, Tyrian, some unimaginable beast... but Cinder would survive it.

She always came out ahead.

Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!

Now that we've jumped ahead six years in the future, I might be making use of flashbacks and other loose timeline shenanigans if I get struck with any ideas for adorable six year old Grimm Weiss trying to sneak in to Salem's room so she can watch her taunt the leaders of the world and learn how she can one day be an evil queen, just like Mommy! Ah, but now we have Cinder in the mix, only a few years older than the kids and finding herself in that dangerous position where Jaune's starting to notice girls and while not horrible mistreated, his sisters are still learning to express love through acts of violence. Could be a rough few years for her, but she's a born survivor who knows how to stay ahead of things, whether they're professional assassins or murderous twelve year old girls.