Two days after the official Senate inquiry collapsed—and three days after the triumphant grain delivery—Riven declared a moratorium on maps and memos. They had earned a pause.
The team gathered not in the stiff Imperial Palace war room, which always smelled faintly of old parchment and cold iron, but in a small, intimate, sun-drenched private conservatory attached to Riven's suite. It was a space built for reprieve, filled with thriving green plants, the sharp, bright scent of lemon and orange blossoms, and a humidity that felt like a warm embrace against the Imperial chill. The only paper present was a stack of ornate Imperial dessert menus, their purpose purely decorative.
Riven, dressed in soft, casual linen that felt like a whisper against his skin, was leaning back in a wicker chair that groaned comfortably under his weight, nursing a cup of spiced tea. He watched the steam curl from the mug, feeling the knot of political tension finally dissolve from his shoulders. This—this easy, unearned peace—was the real victory. Barron, having traded his heavy ceremonial armor for a simple, loose tunic, was actually nodding off in the corner, his breathing deep and even, a picture of absolute exhaustion. Willow, Mira Lune, and Anya were sharing a small mahogany table, arguing softly but intensely over a deck of cards.
"The best decision of the week, Riven. I love being out in the field but I love doing nothing more." Willow murmured, smacking a card down on the table with authority. "My mind was a nightmare of Imperial bureaucracy. It felt like ledgers—dry, dusty, and full of unnecessary thread counts."
"Only because you insisted on making Torvin's document six pages," Riven teased, a grin spreading. "You caused your own trauma."
"I believe Barron is suffering from exhaustion from too much speed-riding," Anya observed, eyeing the Knight-Captain with professional concern. "He hasn't moved in ten minutes. That has to be a record for a guy whose resting heart rate usually suggests he's being actively chased."
Mira Lune looked up from the cards, her expression serene, bathed in the golden light filtering through the glass. "He is simply appreciating the quiet. The last three nights he spent sleeping next to sacks of grain, listening for bandits. He deserves rest."
Suddenly, Barron jolted awake, blinking widely, his hand reflexively flying toward where his sword should have been. "Bandits? Did someone say bandits? Riven, the south roads are secure, I assure you."
The whole table erupted in quiet, affectionate laughter, the sound muffled nicely by the thick leaves.
"Relax, Barron," Riven chuckled, lifting his tea in a mock toast. "The only thing threatening us right now is Willow's terrible card playing."
"My card playing is strategically sound!" Willow protested, shoving the deck at Anya. "You wouldn't know strategy if it wore a banner and rode a charger! You just can't appreciate the long game."
Anya calmly took the deck. "The long game is useless if you miss the obvious threat, Willow. Like Riven missing the fact that the Duke of Moriah sent him three crates of scented bath oils yesterday."
Riven groaned, running a hand over his face. "Oh, the depths of my despair." "Did he really? I told my guard to hide things from me or Vaelorian. I'm an Imperial Knight, not some escort."
"Ah, but you could be both," Mira Lune said with a mischievous, knowing smile. "That is your strength, you know. You're very good to look at. Besides, Duke Moriah wants to impress the future Consort of the Empire. He is simply leveraging your vanity, just as you leveraged Torvin's. It's a compliment."
"I think it's a security risk," Barron mumbled, fully awake now, the soldier resurfacing instantly. "What if the oils are poisoned? Or worse, what if Prince Vaelorian thinks you have interest in Duke Moriah?"
Riven shook his head. "Torvin's gate needed a strong Knight, Barron. Moriah's scented oils need a strong stomach. That's all. Vaelorian wouldn't concern himself with things like that unless he wants to use the oils. That's what I'm afraid of." he finished with a visible shiver, his mind conjuring images of Vaelorian demanding to have sex in a rose-scented bubble bath.
His friends burst out laughing and he smiled at them, feeling the easy, comforting rhythm of their banter settle deep in his chest. They were so different and yet so alike—the pragmatic soldier, the diplomatic scholar, the cynical mind, and the compassionate healer—yet they fit together perfectly, bound by shared risk and a common goal. This easy familiarity was their true strength, the thing no one could touch.
"So," Riven asked, setting his empty teacup aside. "The Breadbasket project is still going strong. The Senate is still grumbling about that loss because Vaelorian is still torturing them with budget cuts. All those things I know and honestly, they are all so excruciatingly boring! So I'm dropping a challenge: for one hour, tell me something interesting that is not about Imperial reform, and you'll win a huge amount of money."
Anya thought for a moment, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. "I heard that the new Imperial stable master is breeding a line of small, fluffy horses for children that look suspiciously like giant rabbits. Apparently, they're called 'cloud ponies.'"
Willow scoffed. "I heard he's actually trying to cross a pony with a squirrel for extra speed. They're meant for clandestine messenger work."
Barron's brow furrowed, instantly losing the challenge. "That is biologically unsound. And highly impractical for a charge formation."
Riven burst out laughing, hitting the wicker arm of his chair. "See? Barron loses! He can't go a minute without talking about his duties! I miss hanging out like this and talking with you guys. Thank you, all of you. Now, Willow, if you continue to cheat at cards, I'll assign you to organizing those scented bath oils I got."
Willow instantly snatched her cards back, her eyes wide with horror. "Not the oils! I would never cheat! Let's play another round!"
The lightness, the simple, genuine laughter, felt like a powerful tonic after the weeks of intense pressure. They were ready for whatever came their way, but first, they were simply friends enjoying a much-deserved break.