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Once upon a time, there was a captive princess- revered, admired, lonely- and the delicate, beautiful chains entrapping her.
Anyone that bothered to listen would be shocked to learn William’s first blood wasn’t always a bold, fearsome, not-so-young lady of ill repute. Before she was Alexis of the Solaire clan, she was Alexis l’Oiselet. Before she was a creature of the dark with fangs and shadows as her weapons, she was a sonal energetic without a voice. Before she was his “problem child”, she was just that- a child with a problem.
New Orleans in the 1970’s was a gorgeous time and place, air heavy with humidity and magic, streets rife with auras of every kind. In a buzzing metropolis of Catholicism and Vodou, unempowered and magicked, human and other, William Solaire adored the opportunity to slip into the dark or stop the show, to dazzle or hide, depending on which Decatur bar he decided to patronize. That particular watering hole was as mundane as it came, no buzzing magic in the air, just jazz. Forgoing the dramatic ebony and crimsons so popular with the local vampire enthusiasts, Will was dressed like any other man ready for a night out on the town… which made it all the more surprising when the St. Charles socialite came to him with an offering of blood and a wild-eyed, desperate request to be taken away.
Any person who spent any time in the quarter could recognize the l’Oiselet princess, the only daughter of a revered, old-money family of sonal energetics. Her imperious, comely face was often splashed across both the empowered and unempowered social pages, especially as she came of age and debuted in polite society. Will had seen her in person only once, this past Mardi Gras, paraded on the arm of a handsome water elemental, the belle of the Bacchus ball. Only now, months later, seeing her black hair coming loose from its chignon, her old-fashioned dress wrinkled without care, her fine, leather shoes splattered with mud, did William finally hear her and listen.
After all, William Solaire was not unfamiliar with imploring youths begging for the bite. As he aged, their number only grew, empowered and unempowereds alike pleading for strength, speed, immortality and promising anything his heart could desire in return. It was a proud young boy that once vowed to never take progeny, a stubborn old king that held fast to it, and a soft-hearted man who changed his mind.
The Solaire king asked many questions that night. He asked if she could bear to lose her high status. He asked if she could bear to lose the sonic core that had been a part of her all her life. He asked if she could bear to lose her family.
That night, the first of all her nights, Alexis answered him truthfully. She told him becoming a lower-class vampire was preferable to being married off as a high-class trophy wife. She told him sonal magic is only as good as the voice that wields it. She told him her family wouldn’t miss their strange, silent showpiece of a daughter- not when they have their son- and she wouldn’t miss them.
“Why this?” William asks, looking across the bank where the sun threatens to rise over the Mississippi. “What do you want that you don’t already have?” Alexis’s voice can be barely heard over the morning din, so burdened with untrained magic. The sound should ring through the leaves with the morning lark calls but instead hangs low and heavy like fog. Her words send ripples up the river, and William sees as Alexis watches them with envy.
“I don’t want money. I don’t want prestige. I don’t want my fuckin' magic.” Her sonic core spikes with her emotions, a discordant note screeching through the air and scaring away the birds. Alexis grits her teeth as she forces herself calm and quiet for what she hopes to be the last time. “I just want to be free.”
Once upon a time, there was a fierce warrior- unleashed, wild, free- and the fine, sharp weapons she learned to wield.
In the beginning, Will couldn’t help but worry for Alexis. He had wondered if a young, pampered energetic could handle the both literal and figurative blood and viscera. After all, birds born in captivity almost never survive in the wild, lacking the instincts needed to hunt and thrive.
Years later, Will looks back at his naïveté with fondness and amusement. Songbirds and hawks all look the same in cages; you don’t see their true colors till they spread their wings.
“Alexis, my heart,” Will greets gently, strolling out of the ballroom to the magnificent balcony overlooking the Solaire gardens. His progeny, her black hair and deep scarlet dress blending into the night sky, coolly nods in acknowledgment while warmly taking his outstretched hand. “Not planning on enjoying the festivities?”
“Not much to enjoy,” Alexis says with a shrug and a disdainful jerk of the chin towards the glowing windows and faint party music. Her eyes, which had once been a solemn, dull brown, shine a sharp, lethal silver in the moonlight. “You know I mostly attend these things at your request. Haven't I had enough pleasantries and cocktails and gossip for an eternal lifetime?”
“Speaking of gossip,” Will says with a razor edge steel gaze of his own. “I hear you’ve been getting into disagreements again.” Tossing her finely curled hair over her shoulder, Alexis is poised for a duel with every gesture and glance and word.
“That is a word for 'em, yes,” she parries, having mastered the fine art and dance of truthful obfuscation.
“Is another word for them “ruthless bloodbath?” he counters, having mastered the art of asking the right questions.
“Ruthlessness is subjective, and as no one was actually washing themselves while immersed in blood, I would have to be honest and say no.” She grins, drawl dripping with playful satisfaction, and William, even in his own frustration, cannot help but smile back as her mirth fizzes in his stomach. Perhaps mastery is also subjective.
“I quite like the Aguilars,” William says as he leans back against the banister and serves Alexis an admonishing look. “Mateo is a fine fellow who sent many generous gifts when you were first turned.” As ever, his progeny refuses to be chastened.
“Perhaps I’d like them too… if not for the fact their third called me a swamp whore who traded my body for the bite.” Even incandescent and indignant, Alexis’s beauty is unmatched, both the biggest target on her back and her greatest weapon. William sighs, head lolling forward in admitted defeat, wishing she didn’t have to brandish it quite so often.
“I will speak to Mateo after the ball, make sure his subordinate knows not to cross your warpath again… for his sake and yours.” William reaches out to press his palm to her cheek in a tentative, affectionate gesture that the young-ish woman accepts with a roll of the eyes. “Until then, do not start any fights, Alexis. ”
“Will, I am a lady. I don’t start fights,” she says with a petulant twist of the lips and nose at the invocation. Yet, when her maker offers her his arm, Alexis takes it with a proud, regal tilt of the chin and smirk. “I finish them.”
Once upon a time, there was an evil witch- reviled, loathed, outcast- and the towering prison of her own choosing.
“-cent’s lovely partner is taking to energetics so well. It almost reminds me of your potential all those years ago. Do you remember? Not as easily or naturally as you, of course, given the situation, but well all the same. Vincent has said they might make an exciting plus-one for him at this year’s summit. Speaking of, the theme this year is going to be Art of the In-Between , an exploration of duality and subversion. I was thinking that maybe we could bring out that áo dài I got you a few years ago? Maybe add some modern accents to it and play into the theme of “Then/Now.” That would complement the “Clothes/Not Clothes” aesthetic your brother-”
“He’s not my brother, and I’m not going to the Summit this year.”
Alexis stares coldly down at her paperwork with a grimly set mouth, and William’s body slumps ever so minutely in his chair across from her sterile, empty desk. Years ago, this workspace, Alexis’s own little throne of his Skyside empire, had been full of personality- cluttered even. It used to be littered in jewelry, trinkets, pretty things from their travels, pencil shavings made with a box-cutter because the princess sometimes found it more amusing to play a 1950s newspaper editor rather than the head of accounting she actually was. Now, her desk is clean and orderly, her work always on time and meticulously double-checked because Will can hardly ever get her away from it.
“The trends are not nearly as stiff and ornate as they were when you last went a decade ago, and the Pham’s have already sent their RSVPs,” he coaxes gently, cheerily, leaning forward and placing a hand on the wood surface inches away from her tapping fingers. Faster than even his empowered eyes can catch, she jerks back, reaching in a drawer for another pen she doesn’t need, and William despondently retreats, clasping his hands in his lap. “It could be fun this year!”
“Even more reason for me to not go and spoil it,” she says with measured, fake enthusiasm and clipped, disaffected diction. The wane, cool model smile on Alexis’s face is perfunctory, bland, and familiar, the expression he used to see in her society pictures. William didn’t realize how beautiful her unmasked, unrestrained attitude and voice had been until it was gone.
“No one’s saying you would,” he says with endless tenderness, with all the affection he hopes his dear girl knows is not lost. Not for the first time, the king wishes that the maker/progeny bond worked both ways, that his child could feel the devotion that courses through their shared blood in his veins. “We’d love to have you, my heart-” is as far as he gets when he’s interrupted by the loud crack of Alexis’s pen snapping in her grip.
“Don’t waste my time with lies, William,” she says harshly, one hand gathering papers as the other drips black ink onto the maple wood. “Vincent wants Sam to go, which he won’t if I’m attending, and I want to avoid the insufferable gawking and gossip that will inevitably follow my every step if I do. Everybody wins.”
“And if I don’t win? If I want to attend with my daughter whom I wish to see out in the world again? Whom I adore unconditionally?” Will reaches out to help, offering a monogrammed Solaire handkerchief, only for Alexis to shove a manila envelope into his hands and head to the ensuite restroom without a backwards glance.
“Then you should go find one, and deliver these forms to your happy accident on your way out.”
Now there is no princess, no warrior, no witch. There is just a woman named Alexis- growing, learning, no longer lonely- and the rare, beautiful sound of her laughter-
-accompanied by the sound of her bickering with Vincent.
“-re not accepting that bid on this property, absolutely not.”
“Come on, Alexis, it’s not like we can’t afford it.”
“We can afford it because we don’t accept lowball offers on fifty acres of prime land.”
“I’m trying to build connections, foster friendships. It’s called making friends; you should try it sometime.”
“I would consider it if I weren’t busy, I don’t know, makin' money.”
“I didn’t know you could fit that in your busy schedule of making babies cry and setting fi-” William opens the door to his study with a raised brow and pointed look, and his children lean back in their seats to feign innocence. They’re fast, supernaturally so, but he still saw Alexis lash out a high heel to kick her brother and Vincent ready a pen to throw at his sister.
“Will, Alexis is being unreasonable,” he greets, waving an accusing hand in her face and hissing when she snaps her teeth at his fingertips.
“Will.” She reaches out a hand for her maker to take, and he presses a fleeting, affectionate touch to her pulse before taking his seat. ”Would you kindly remind Vinny why you made me the accountant?”
“Because renovation disagrees with your sensory issues, and working with clients disagrees with your tempestuous temperament.” Vincent guffaws, too inelegant to be a chuckle, and leans into Alexis’s space with a shit-eating grin.
“He’s saying you’re difficult~!”
“I’m saying -“ Will emphasizes with a pointed look. “-‘that she takes well to numbers and paperwork, a sentiment that cannot be said for you. Or was the time you almost brought the unempowered IRS down on us for tax evasion part of your rebellious stage?” Vincent slumps in his chair, playfully holding a hand to his wounded heart, and the two young vampires bare their fangs while Alexis gives the other a grin and the middle finger. Their familiar banter resumes, and William’s chest warms as his core hums with love and two more join in the chorus.
Alexis is not a Princess. Sam was not the Prince Charming she’d hoped he’d be, and a vampire king is a poor substitute for a Fairy Godmother.
This is not a fairy tale.
All the same, William wishes on every star his daughter may finally get her happily ever after.