N.B. Hello, dear readers! Happy LDOC! There's a lemon next chapter!
But this is a romance, not a porno!

I.

The Past

She found Street Rat outside in the lush Manor Garden, throwing knives.

She stood shivering in her white nightgown — spring morning air damp and clingy on her skin — and watched. The wet grass tickled her legs. Light mist swirled around her.

He threw one at a blue bottle balanced on the fence.

Fwip.

Pause.

A quiet swear.

Fwip.

Nothing.

Katarina hated him, so she laughed.

He whirled, eyes wide. Then he bowed low, annoyed but polite. "Miss du Couteau. A bit early to start things, don't you think?"

"Let me see them." She held her hand out.

"What?"

"Those." She jabbed a finger at the silver stars in his right hand.

"Oh, no. If I give them to you," Talon said grandly, holding the stars far above her. "Your father will slay me."

"And he'll kick you out if you don't do what I say." She'd overheard her father say that yesterday.

His jaw clenched. "Absolutely not."

She whirled on her foot to find Daddy. She was smiling, but hiding it. Street Rat had to go sometime.

Talon caught her tiny wrist, then knelt to her level, his black robes sweeping around them. His face was narrow, foxy. His eyes were a strange, deep brooding purple. Zaun blood, she heard her mother Vera whisper once, like it was a curse.

And a greasy patch of black stubble clung to Talon's chin, barely camouflaging red irritated bumps. General du Couteau's grooming lessons hadn't yet sunk in.

"And who would ignore a princess?" He laughed. "You're right. Of course you are. Here."

She didn't hear the bitter sarcasm. She was too fascinated by the three star-shaped blades in her hands. Surprisingly heavy. And cold.

"Now. May I have those back and continue doing something important?"

This is why Daddy likes him so much? Ugh. Katarina stood on one foot and closed an eye.

Talon blinked. "What — no. Stop."

Her wrist flicked. Fwip.

The first blue bottle exploded. A shard of azure glass landed by her little pale foot — a shard of fallen sky.

"Stop!" He dove for her.

She dodged and flicked her wrist.

The red bottle burst, hurled embers into the misty morning air.

Talon caught her, but not before she hurled the last. It whipped across the Manor's lawn and knocked a tray of croissants from a Willow-Dove servant-boy's hands. The blonde boy squeaked, then fell to his knees, sobbing because the tray had broken. He wasn't much older than Katarina herself.

She writhed in Talon's arms, snarling. Then she bared her teeth. "You're ugly and stupid and I hate you!"

"Fuck off, you stuck-up priggish little bitch!"

That startled her into stillness, silence. Servants didn't yell back. And especially not swears.

That didn't matter. There was Daddy.

A red-eyed, hungover General du Couteau staggered towards them, loose white pajama pants flapping. His gingery whiskers were impeccable.

Now he'll send him away, Katarina thought, triumphant. Talon didn't see Daddy. He has to leave.

So thinking, she sank her teeth into Talon's bare arm, in hopes of getting him to swear more. But Talon just roared in pain.

Then General du Couteau was upon them, snatching Katarina's arms.

"Daddy!" She hugged his leg.

But he pulled her roughly away and held her at arm's length. He smelled like that spicy, expensive alcohol he drank — Pomegranate Schnapps.

"Now, what in the name of the gods…" He looked from the shards, to his daughter, to the sobbing servant boy, to Talon. Then at the remaining brown bottle on the fence.

A look of awe dawned on General du Couteau's finely-boned face. He grabbed one of Kat's hands and surveyed the thin ruby cuts the blades had left.

In her desire to get rid of Street Rat, she hadn't noticed the wounds.

Daddy shook her hard. It didn't hurt. Then it did. She squealed.

"Stop!" Then there was Vera (Kat could never call her Mother), in a black bra and panties, hissing like a cat. "It's no excuse to come manhandle your daughter!"

General du Couteau's blazing emerald eyes were very bright, very close to Kat's. But he sounded entirely calm. "You're right. Take her to her room."

"Marcus." Vera shuddered.

"Just go. Please. And get Cass to grab Ashlin, would you?" He pointed at the weeping servant. "All on All Moon's. Never fails, I swear." He laughed, but he wasn't smiling.

Kat let herself be dragged away. She still felt smug.

Talon was cringing like a scared dog.

He has to go. Good.

II.

Except he didn't.

Katarina heard it all while she was locked in her bedroom, pulling the heads off Cass's dolls.

Cassiopeia was in the kitchens, learning how to command the servants and undoubtedly eating half the brownie batter.

All Moon's Ball — du Couteau Manor this year. A lovely excuse for some early springtide drinking, poker, kissing and gossip beneath the first white-pink full moon of spring. Noxians loved nothing more than a party.

It was part of why she wanted Street Rat gone — Daddy spent even more time with Talon than usual, now. Teaching him how to walk in a suit. Proper phrasing, speech. Drilling him on combat history.

Please do not disgrace my house. That's all I ask in return.

All while Katarina yawned away her lessons. Daddy had made the fun young man tutor leave after a stern talking to Kat only half-heard. Then Vera and Daddy yelled at one another for an hour, then Vera cried a little.

This tutor was old, very boring and dry. And ugly.

At least once a day she sat up hopefully — usually after successfully completing a drill — and said, Cannot General du Couteau teach me? Daddy's real name was a mouthful.

I'm very sorry, young madam du Couteau. He's quite busy.

Of course.

It didn't stop her from daydreaming about that one joyous month Daddy got sick and they worked through her reading primer together for hours at a time. It took the entire month — Daddy got sidetracked, talked about the King's knights and the days of yore.

In the present, her ears pricked up when she heard their voices. The ugly shifting-scale of Talon's, matched by General du Couteau's rich, warm, deep words.

"And she threw them?"

"Aye, sir."

"Just — immediately?"

"More or less."

"Hmmm."

Katarina crossed all of her fingers and her toes, holding her breath.

The door to her bedroom opened.

She sprang to her feet. "Bye, Street Rat!"

Talon made sure General du Couteau wasn't looking, then sneered.

Marcus laughed. "No, Kitty Kat. I want you to apologize."

She gaped up at him like he'd just spoken Ionian. She only apologized to Cass, and only when Vera threatened to beat her. Apology was surrendering.

"No."

"Katarina." A warning note. But his green eyes twinkled.

You never talk to me anymore, she thought. What came out was "No!"

General du Couteau took Talon's elbow and led him away. He said over his shoulder, "I'll come back tomorrow to see if you're any more reasonable." A lock click.

A pause.

Then she howled.

III.

All Moon's ball.

After Vera came and rescued Cass's dolls, Katarina watched the square of light from her window grow orange, then purple, then washed out, chalky white. Beneath her, the floorboards vibrated with laughter.

The Generals were coming in, but her bedroom window overlooked the trees and fields, not the driveway. She watched white-brown birds swoop in and out of branches, the spring night haze, snapping up mosquitoes.

She thought of throwing the blade. How good it felt.

Then she sighed.

Her head throbbed dully, from that sticky, stuffy feeling. Crying.

She wiped her nose on her arm, then pressed her eye to a crack on in the floor.

Rich red gowns, a low glimmer of diamonds. Black suits, the tickly scent of cigar. Wine glasses. A mellow six-part orchestra began playing a sweet waltz.

She scowled. She hated parties — stand still, stand up straight, no you can't go play kickball with the Generals' sons and Willow-Dove servant boys.

But there was Cassiopeia beside Vera in a pearl dress — Vera's was a moonlit shade of violet. Their silky black-brown hair was done up in matching braids. At a table with all the women. Tinkling Noxian-lady laughs, like bells.

She watched the blonde servants run to and fro, silent but smiling. The Generals' dark hair seemed thick, lush. She daydreamed of burying her nose in one of their ties…

Her swollen eyes were closing, defeated.

Then she heard General du Couteau's voice. She could pick it out, even among the deep summertide thunder of the rest of the men's.

Maybe he'd talk about her. Say My Kitty Kat is the silliest thing at times, I swear.

General White — a kindly man who always brought Kat a stick of peppermint that lasted for hours —- was looking at Street Rat with great interest.

"From the slums, you say?"

"Aye."

"Remarkable," another General added. "You'd never be able to tell." There was a round of assent. Talon stood up straighter.

Katarina bared her teeth.

Then General du Couteau said something — and Katarina snapped:

"I'm very proud. It's truly as if he's my own son."

No.

She stumbled to her feet, then ran to her armoire and flung it open and pawed through her summer gowns. There it was — red silk, trimmed with shimmering gold. Daddy's favorite.

She ripped her clothes off and tugged this dress on. Then she rooted through Cass' makeup bag, found Vera's precious Auburn Breeze lipstick and smeared it all over her mouth.

Then —

As General Marcus du Couteau would recall fondly many times over the years, until his mysterious disappearance —

Katarina snapped the lock on her door and stumbled downstairs. The Noxian Generals and their dates seemed to grow taller, taller the farther down she ran.

She tripped over the last step and fell heavily to her hands and knees, panting. Her red hair fell over her eyes.

Then she tossed it back and looked boldly into the confusing grove of black-suited legs and shining shoes.

Cassiopeia was smirking. Talon had his eyes averted.

The dressy party whirled to a halt. The Noxian orchestra continued to play, just as they had through two murders, one robbery and one assault. Orchestras in Noxus were used to this sort of thing.

General du Couteau was shoving through the crowd.

Katarina's chest heaved. "I'm just as good as him!"

Her voice echoed off from the eaves of the Manor. The women were looking at Vera, who fanned herself and coughed.

There was a low murmur.

Marcus du Couteau stared at Kat. "Good as whom, little one?"

"I can tell that's your daughter," General Leonidas chuckled. "So cranky."

"And cannot be denied," another added.

Daddy's cheeks turned pink. A General slapped him on the back.

"I'm just as good!" Kat shrilled. She tore at her throat with her fingers.

"Though Marcus doesn't use that much lipstick," a woman pointed out. The Noxian party was returning to its former phase, with a bit of extra gaiety.

"Not in public," someone said quietly, and the laughter exploded.

Daddy was helping her up. He had a look on his gingery face, something between laughter and tears.

"Lord. That deserves at least one dance." He helped her little bare feet onto his boots. She scowled up at him but was deeply pleased. Pleased, but tired. "Kitty Kat - I did lock your door, correct?"

"Just as —"

"Yes, just as good, I noticed." They were turning with the waltz. Daddy had her elbows. He looked to the men beside them. "She snapped it — the lock on her door. The philosophers didn't lie. Women are full of surprises at every age."

Deep laughter. A General patted Katarina's head. She drank it in.

"A true warrior," another General offered.

"Perhaps I can't avoid it." General Marcus du Couteau searched his daughter's face, smeared with makeup and tears. The unfamiliar lipstick burned her face. You'll have to start wearing it sometime, Vera warned continually. All ladies do. "Your mother will be terribly angry, but, lord, not even Vera du Couteau's anger can answer to yours."

That sounded nice. Spoiled, she heard a woman whisper.

"Just as good."

"Of course you are," Marcus laughed. The crowd laughed along with him. "You're my daughter."

She sought Street Rat's eyes — a sharp surge of triumph. But Talon was looking away.

Then she forgot Street Rat, how much time he took up, how the lipstick felt greasy and sweaty on her teary face. Daddy let her lean forward.

She was asleep before her cheek hit the breast of his suit jacket. Gone.