Chapter 2: The Queen's Gambit
The portal spit them out like a secret.
Seelie dusk kissed Jada's skin as she stepped onto faerie soil—moss-slick, root-tangled, thrumming with magic that didn't pretend to be polite.
The revel was in full swing. Fey danced in flickering circles of light and shadow, music winding like smoke, laughter too sharp to be human. Gold dust clung to the air like pollen. Wine dripped from crystal goblets and mouths too full of teeth.
And Jada waded in like she belonged.
Her patched leather jacket stuck out like blood on marble. Wild black curls framed her face like a storm crown. Her eyes caught the light like obsidian. She wasn't fey. She wasn't welcome.
But the Court didn't stop her.
They didn't dare.
Atreus sauntered in behind her, every wrong answer whispered sweetly. Shadows coiled at his boots like loyal pets. He smiled, sharp and lazy.
The music faltered as he passed.
A banshee tripped mid-spin.
The Unseelie twins stiffened by the drink table—recognition, fear.
Atreus winked. "Don't worry, darlings. I'm only here as emotional support."
He patted Jada's head with mock affection. "Go on, peanut. Go get kissed by a queen or cursed or kidnapped or whatever it is you children do for fun."
"You're annoying," she muttered.
"I'm your guardian angel," he said, already drifting toward the drinks. "Emphasis on the guardian. Less so on the angel."
She rolled her eyes and vanished into the revel.
She didn't walk.
She danced.
Each step was fluid, irreverent, defiant. The music found her hips. The heat loosened her limbs. Her seraph blade was hidden in her boot, but otherwise, she carried nothing. Not even a plan.
A dryad spun her mid-step, laughing. A satyr offered her a drink she didn't take. Someone whispered her name like a dare. But no one touched.
Not really.
The Court liked Jada the way a child liked a knife—curious, dazzled, careful of the edge.
She had been ten the first time she stepped into this place. Her father had brought her—always under diplomatic pretense: medical aid, treaty talks. He treated fey poison like puzzles. She'd memorized the glow of Seelie leaves before she wore her first Rune.
The first time Solana truly saw her, Jada was seventeen—barefoot, grief-drunk, spinning in the grass like she could outpace her sorrow.
She had buried her parents two days earlier.
The revel had burned around her like a fever dream. Fey music, faerie wine, too many teeth. She moved through it all with a hollow in her chest and blood still drying beneath her nails.
Solana's gaze had dragged down her like a hand. Like hunger.
She had never stopped looking.
And Jada had never truly escaped her stare.
She found the Queen now at the edge of her throne dais, lounging like a flame caught mid-flicker.
Barefoot. Crowned in ivy and thorns. A gown of starlight and shadow. A smile carved from heat and danger.
"My dear little shadow," Solana said, like the name was a favorite song. "Come closer."
"You sent an urgent summons," Jada replied, dry. "I assumed crisis or foreplay. Hopefully both. With liquor."
Solana laughed.
A flick of her fingers conjured a goblet—brimming with golden mead, sticky with honey and lemon and something darker underneath.
Jada raised an eyebrow.
"It's safe. For you," Solana purred.
A beat.
Jada drank.
Too sweet. Too smooth. Too perfect. Like the first lie you choose to believe.
Solana stepped closer—closer than necessary.
Jada could smell her: earth and heat and forest fire.
The kiss landed just beneath her jaw. A claim.
"Welcome back, my love," the Queen whispered.
Jada's throat burned.
"You didn't bring me here for this," she said, low.
"No," Solana murmured. "But it's always part of the fun."
She stepped back.
Something in her eyes shifted—the air went still.
"Valentine Morgenstern is alive."
Everything stopped.
The revel. The music. The wine on her tongue.
Inside her, something cracked. Not fresh. An old wound, rebroken by a name.
"Say that again," Jada breathed.
Solana's emerald eyes gleamed like blade edges.
"Valentine Morgenstern. Alive. Scheming. Moving."
Jada laughed—a sound scraped raw from her ribs.
"That's not possible. The Clave said—"
"The Clave says many things," Solana said, voice almost kind. "But you knew better. Didn't you?"
She circled closer.
Jada couldn't breathe.
Images slammed into her: Blood. Her father. The apartment. The Clave tearing through drawers before the bodies cooled.
Find Valentine, her father had rasped. He has the cure.
Even then, she'd known the name. Everyone did.
Valentine Morgenstern wasn't just history. He was a curse.
Jada met Solana's gaze.
"If this is a lie—"
"I can't lie. You know that."
"But you can mislead."
Solana smiled. "Then consider me leading you somewhere useful."
Jada's knuckles whitened around the goblet.
The liquid glowed faintly—like it was listening.
"Why now?"
Solana didn't answer. She turned, glided to a basin, dipped her hand into its waters.
They shimmered, then bloomed.
A clearing. Two werewolf packs—Brocelind and Hawthorne—already at war. Blood on leaves. The bodies cooling.
Jada's fists shook.
She needed air. A blade. A way out.
"What do you want?"
Solana gestured. The revel parted.
She led Jada to another basin, nestled in ivy. The surface shimmered.
More blood. Torn limbs. Shadowhunters riding in, too late.
"They think they're riding into war," Solana murmured. "The Circle meant to raid the Brocelind camp—but someone beat them to it. The wolves are already dead."
Jada stared.
"What do you want from me?"
"Intercept their riders. Infiltrate the Circle from the inside. And bring Valentine Morgenstern to me—alive."
"Why me?"
Solana smiled.
"Because you're reckless enough to infiltrate. And sharp enough to survive."
She wasn't wrong.
But Jada didn't say yes.
"What do I get?"
"One thing. Any thing. A favor. A truth. A gift. Ask it, and it's yours."
It was too much.
She could ask for Theo. The Rossis. A new name. A clean record.
She could ask to forget.
But she didn't trust Solana's kindness.
She didn't trust anyone's.
So she said nothing.
And that, too, was a choice.
Solana reached out. Traced Jada's jaw.
Gentle. Claiming. Curious.
She always touched Jada like she might break. Or like she wanted to be the one who did it.
The kiss came like a secret. Soft. Sweet. Rotting underneath.
Jada kissed her back.
Not because it meant anything. Because it was easier than deciding.
"You deserve closure," Solana whispered. "For your brother. For your father. Don't you want the truth?"
Jada swallowed.
The wine had turned bitter.
She said nothing.
Just nodded.
Then turned.
She didn't look back.
Solana didn't stop her.
But the Seelie Queen watched her go like a god watching a prayer she already meant to deny.
💌 Love Notes from Fishie
We danced. We drank. We kissed someone we absolutely should not have.
And then she dropped the name that breaks kingdoms.
Valentine Morgenstern is alive. And Jada? She's about to do something reckless.
️ Solana has her secrets. Jada has her grief. And the Circle is on the move.
How are we feeling about Solana, hmm?
Is she hot and terrifying? (Yes.)
Should Jada run in the opposite direction? (Also yes.)
Did she kiss her anyway? (Absolutely.)
Next time: old wounds, new enemies, and men Jada should definitely stab. (Spoiler: she doesn't. Yet.)
Comments and kudos keep the fairy mead flowing and the angst delicious.
To the ones who kiss the knife,
Love, Fishie 🐟