Colorful banners flutter on Eastridge's city walls as the canals and granaries reconstructed over months of arduous effort finally come into use. The town square overflows with sumptuous food and wine for the "Reconstruction Celebration." Morning sunlight filters through mist, refracting rainbow halos on the fountain's droplets. Dressed in a light gold embroidered robe with a silver emblem at her waist, Evelynn steps onto the platform beside Lucian as cheers surge from the crowd below.
She addresses Eastridge's garrison, townsfolk, and representatives: "Eastridge's rebirth today stems from your toil and trust. Every decree of the new policies must be tested by your practice. Henceforth, all reconstruction and revitalization efforts will be safeguarded by local councils, the Silver Oath Patrol, and the royal family—never again will old doubts resurface." Thunderous applause erupts as even the formerly dissenting Earl of Eastridge and southern merchant delegates bow in approval.
During a lull in the celebration, Lucian leads Evelynn to a side hall. "Tonight, allow me to host the most sumptuous banquet in honor of this land's rebirth," he murmurs. Evelynn smiles and nods. "Beyond the celebration, I'd rather share the moonlight with you, casting aside all decrees for this moment of peace."
As night deepens, the side hall glows with lantern light. Beside the velvet chairs beneath embroidered drapes, the table displays Eastridge's osmanthus wine and honey pastries. Lucian pours her a cup of osmanthus wine, the rim clinking crisply as he brings it to her lips. In that moment, candlelight reflects gentle depth in her gaze. Evelynn sips slowly, the wine's aroma mingling with night dew. "Mellow as the present calm, yet lingering with aftertaste."
Lucian smiles, drawing her into his embrace. His fingertips brush the faint scent at her neck. "The celebration ends, and we return to the capital tomorrow. Will you let me kindle a private flame for you—no talk of politics, only our future?" Leaning against him, Evelynn replies, "Only you deserve to light such tender fire beyond royal duties." Accompanied by the rustle of rain outside the curtains, they forget the world in the soft carpet and candlelight, wrapped in intimacy.
Yet in the shadows beyond the city walls, a company of black-clad archers silently musters. From a forgotten border village, their arrowheads drip with poison as they await the new policies' slackening. In the damp night wind, they vow in low voices: "Eastridge's festive facade masks no peace. When you return to the capital, undercurrents will surge again."
Candlelight and rain cannot drown the storm's omen. Behind Evelynn and Lucian's sweetness, new trials draw near.