In the Northern Kingdom, where endless meetings, discussions, and arguments seemed to stretch on forever, Celistine's companions busied themselves over their next strategy. The majority clamoured for war, yet there were those who quietly opposed it. Celistine herself did not wish to shed blood; she knew all too well that to do so would shatter countless families, leaving grief in its wake.
"If we do not act, the Western Empire will surely seize the Portekwero!" one council member exclaimed, leaning slightly forward across the table.
"We are not going to spill blood! I know there must be another way!" Celistine interjected, her voice firm yet tinged with weary determination.
"But Your Highness! This is already a war! Blood is the only solution!" another protested, resting his elbows on the table, fingers steepled in frustration.
"We will find another way to threaten them," Celistine insisted, pressing her fingertips to her temples, trying to massage away the tension that throbbed behind her eyes.
"But Your Grace… the Western Empire has already made their move. What do you propose we do?" a different voice pressed, leaning slightly on the edge of the table, eyebrows knitted.
"Your Grace, I beg your pardon…" Lord Herbert of Renia spoke from his seat, unable to hold back any longer. "Is there any news of my daughter? It's been a month and a half." His hands fidgeted nervously on the polished wood, knuckles tight, anxiety etched deeply across his face.
"Yes, sister? Anything you command?" Carlo added, leaning back slightly in his chair, voice cutting through the tension and adding yet another weight upon Celistine's already burdened mind. She did not know which matter to tackle first: the siege of the Western armies on the Portekwero, the loss of her companion Johannes, comforting Grace, who spent her days locked in her chamber mourning her father, or the fate of Barron and Rehena on their journey through the Eastern Kingdom.
She sank into her seat at the long, heavy table, pressing her fingers to her temples, massaging the throbbing ache as her companions continued their heated arguments.
"You should go, Carlo. Send reinforcements to them," Celistine said finally, her tone strained, each word threaded with exhaustion.
"But Your Highness, if the Crown Prince leaves, who will escort the Portekwero?" another voice interjected sharply, leaning over the table slightly in urgency.
"Your Highness, we need him here," yet another pressed, and with each new interruption, Celistine's head throbbed harder, a dull drum of stress pounding at her temples.
"But—" Carlo began, only to be cut off.
"No. Your Highness."
~~~~
STAMP!
"WILL ALL OF YOU STOP AND LET ME THINK!"
The hall froze instantly. Conversation died mid-word, the echo of her sudden shout hanging like a storm cloud. Celistine's patience had frayed completely. She slammed both palms onto the table with a force that resonated through the wood, rising abruptly in her chair as though trying to shake the tension from the room. The council fell utterly silent, shock painted across every face. They could scarcely believe that the usually calm, measured Celistine had erupted so violently.
Her chest heaved, and for a heartbeat, the sharpness of her voice softened into something quieter, almost fragile. "I… I am sorry," she murmured, shoulders sagging slightly, as though carrying the weight of the entire kingdom. "Let us end this meeting. Allow me time to think further."
With that, she rose fully from her seat and left the hall, leaving the council behind in stunned silence. Celistine walked slowly, mind a whirlwind of unspoken fears and possibilities, her steps heavy with indecision. She felt almost as though she were floating outside herself, lost in the uncertainty of what she could do next.
The afternoon light spilled gently across the palace corridors as Celistine paced along the marble floor, her steps unhurried yet restless. Her mind wandered in circles, tangled in thoughts she could neither organise nor quiet. A faint crease settled between her brows as she tried to decide what must be done first, yet every choice felt distant, unreachable—her focus slipping away each time she grasped for it.
Cilist could not assist her; her younger sister remained occupied at their father's side. King Henry of the North had grown weak, his strength fading with each passing day, and it was Cilist—the youngest—who devoted herself to tending to him. His condition had worsened, and the weight of it lingered heavily within the palace walls.
Celistine's fingertips brushed lightly against the cold stone as she walked, her movements slow, almost absent-minded… until—
Boink!
"Ow—"
She halted abruptly, startled back to her senses. Her breath caught as she lifted her head, her eyes widening the moment they met a familiar figure standing before her.
Leon.
For a fleeting second, confusion flickered across her face, as though she could not understand how she had failed to notice him. He stood composed, clad in a white sleeveless tunic trimmed with gold, a deep purple sash embroidered with intricate patterns resting against his waist. Loose beige trousers fell effortlessly along his frame, while several necklaces and bracelets adorned him, each set with gleaming violet stones. A jewelled belt caught the fading light, and his dark hair framed his face, his golden eyes striking—sharp, almost lion-like.
"Oh… you are here. I did not notice. I am sorry," Celistine murmured, her voice soft, almost hesitant. She turned her gaze away, avoiding his eyes as though they unsettled her more than she wished to admit.
Leon's brows drew together slightly, confusion crossing his expression as he studied her. Something was off—something unfamiliar.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his tone carrying a quiet note of concern. "It seems as though you are elsewhere entirely."
"It is nothing for you to mind," she replied, still refusing to meet his gaze, her attention fixed stubbornly in another direction.
That only troubled him further.
"Are you certain?" Leon pressed gently.
"Oh, come on, Leon… not this time," she muttered, brushing past him.
Impatience flickered across his features. Before she could take another step, he reached out—swift and decisive—grasping her wrist and pulling her back towards him.
Celistine barely had time to react before she felt herself lifted from the ground.
Her eyes widened in shock.
"Hey—! Put me down! Everyone might see us!" she protested, struggling lightly against his hold. Her hands pressed against his shoulders as she attempted to free herself, but Leon did not so much as loosen his grip. His arms remained firm, steady—unyielding.
"Then let them look elsewhere," he replied coolly. "We are going somewhere else."
There was no arguing with him.
Her resistance slowly faltered, her movements softening as she realized the futility of struggling. With a quiet exhale, she allowed herself to relax, her head eventually resting against his shoulder. The tension in her body eased, if only slightly, as she surrendered to the moment.
Leon carried her through the palace grounds, his pace unhurried as he made his way towards the gardens beyond. There, before the northern palace, lay a vast lake—its surface calm, reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun. It had always been their place… a quiet refuge where the world felt distant.
As they approached, Celistine felt something shift within her chest. Her heart did not race wildly, nor did it pound with urgency, yet there was a warmth—gentle, steady, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. It felt… safe.
Without realizing it, she allowed herself to lean closer, resting more fully against him. In that moment of quiet distress, she understood exactly what she needed.
Leon.
When they reached their secluded spot, hidden from the eyes of others, Leon finally lowered her gently onto the grass. The two of them settled side by side, facing the tranquil lake as the sky softened into shades of amber and rose.
"You may rest your head here," Leon said, patting his thigh lightly, a subtle invitation.
Celistine hesitated only for a brief moment before giving in. With a small sigh, she lay down, placing her head upon his lap. She no longer cared whether her neatly arranged hair would loosen from its modest bun, nor whether her white formal dress would crease beneath her. None of it mattered.
All she wanted… was to rest.
"I heard what happened to your companion. My condolences," Leon said, his voice calm, almost detached—yet beneath it lay a sincerity that did not go unnoticed.
"Thank you… though it is difficult," Celistine replied softly, closing her eyes as a gentle breeze brushed against her skin. "Losing someone dear… and seeing my closest friend lose her father…" Her words trailed off, her expression tightening faintly.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips.
"Ah… I feel rather overwhelmed today. There is far too much to discuss," she added, a hint of weariness in her tone.
A faint smirk tugged at Leon's lips as he tilted his head back, his gaze drifting towards the sky where birds glided freely.
"Have you considered what to do first?" he asked. "I have heard the Western Empire has already begun to make its move."
"They seem quite eager to bring the North down before turning their attention to us," he continued.
"They wish to conquer us… so they may use us against you," Celistine replied calmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of tension.
"And you do not intend to act?" Leon asked.
At once, Celistine pushed herself upright, her head lifting from his lap. Her brows furrowed, irritation flashing across her face as she turned towards him, both hands pressing against the grass for support.
"How am I supposed to act?" she demanded, frustration rising. "I do not want bloodshed!"
Her voice trembled slightly as it grew louder. "The West continues to provoke us—they push and push, hoping we will retaliate. I am afraid…"
She paused, her words faltering as her thoughts tangled together. "It is just that I am afraid that… that—"
"You are afraid your people will suffer?" Leon interjected, his tone steady, serious. "Or perhaps… you fear that not only your people, but innocent lives from other kingdoms will be caught in the same fate?"
Celistine fell silent.
"…Yes," she admitted quietly. "I do not want bloodshed. I want peace. Is it truly so difficult for the Western Empire to understand?" She gestured sharply, her frustration evident before her gaze drifted back towards the lake.
Leon exhaled softly.
"A good leader thinks for everyone," he said. "A wise one… thinks of survival."
Celistine glanced at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"A weak leader concerns themselves solely with safety," Leon continued, his voice measured. "A strong leader considers how to win. In this world, Celistine, you cannot lead if you refuse to take risks. A knight is not called mighty unless they can both fight… and endure."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"So I must kill to be strong?" she asked, her tone edged with sarcasm. "Is that how you rule your people, Leon?"
His gaze met hers, unwavering.
"A war cannot exist without death," he replied. "Threats are no longer enough. If you truly care for your people—especially those dear to you—then you must act. It is time you rule as a true sovereign."
Celistine's shoulders tensed as she turned away, drawing her knees closer and resting her head against her arms.
"I am afraid… I might become a monster," she whispered.
"You no longer wish to kill?" Leon asked quietly. "And yet, that very method is what allowed the North to stand as it does now."
She said nothing.
Her eyes remained fixed upon the lake, where butterflies drifted lazily and birds sang in the fading light.
"…Then what am I meant to do, Leon?" she asked at last, turning to him once more. "What if we lose this war?"
Leon smiled faintly.
At last… this was the moment he had been waiting for.
"Continue the royal exchange," he said. "The Blackthreads will stand as your ally."
Celistine's eyes widened in sudden realization, her posture straightening as memory struck her.
"How can I be certain you are not using us?" she asked cautiously.
"Using?" Leon repeated, a slow grin forming. "Why not say we use one another?"
"The North may benefit from the Blackthreads… and we, in turn, will use the North to claim the head of that woman." His expression darkened slightly. "Does that not serve both our interests? The North gains strength… while the Blackthreads seek only the end of a sinful mistress."
Celistine stilled, absorbing his words.
There was logic in what he said—unsettling, yet undeniable. And deep within, she knew… Leon held no hidden deceit. Somehow, without noticing, she had come to trust him.
"…Why are you doing this for me?" she asked softly. "Do you truly find me trustworthy… leader of the Blackthreads? Are you not afraid I might betray you?"
Leon chuckled under his breath, stepping closer.
"Let me tell you something, Your Highness," he said, his voice lowering slightly. "If such beauty were to betray me… then I would consider myself fortunate to have fallen so easily."
A playful smile touched his lips.
Celistine felt warmth rise to her cheeks, though she quickly looked away, uncertain whether he jested or spoke in earnest. With Leon, it was often impossible to tell.
Yet despite everything weighing upon her… her heart felt lighter.
A small, genuine smile appeared on her lips.
"Thank you, Leon…" she said softly. "I do not know what I would do if you were not here."
For a brief moment, Leon's expression shifted—surprise flickering across his eyes.
"So… you agree?" he asked.
Celistine looked at him once more.
And she smiled.