It was a dim, silent night. Everyone in the mansion had already fallen into slumber. Celistine and her company were temporarily staying in a modest two-storey mansion — the guest quarters reserved for the nobility of Seawatch.
Inside her chamber, Celistine sat by the window, wrapped in her silk night robe, her hair cascading loosely over her shoulders. A faint candle flickered beside her, throwing soft light upon the pages of the book she was reading to pass the time, hoping it might lull her into sleep. They had only a few days left in Seawatch before they would depart northward, preparing for whatever outcome awaited them concerning the unsettling movements of the Blackthreads. Even Lord Herbet had already retired for the night.
Yet, deep within Celistine's heart lingered a shadow — the memory of a man she had met once at a grand party and again at the Western Port. A man with raven-dark hair, skin bronzed by the sun, and eyes gleaming gold like a lion's. He stood tall — imposing, mysterious. Something about him gnawed at her thoughts. Could he be one of the Blackthreads? And if he was… what was their true purpose for appearing so suddenly in foreign lands?
A gentle knock broke her thoughts."Your Majesty, here is your tea," said one of the maids softly as she entered, bowing slightly while setting the cup of ginger tea upon the table.
"Thank you," Celistine murmured, her voice calm but her gaze distant.
She leaned back in her chair, fingers curling lightly around the teacup as she stared out toward the wide, glowing moon that ruled the night sky. Its pale light brushed her face with silver, reflecting the quiet turmoil within her eyes. What future awaits the Four Kingdoms when the war finally descends upon them? she wondered.
While Celistine's mind wandered, elsewhere in the stillness of Seawatch, the King himself was already on the move — escorted by his loyal companion, Sir Johanes. They walked under the cloak of night outside the very same mansion, their figures barely visible beneath their brown coats.
"Your Majesty, the carriage is ready," Johanes whispered, glancing around to ensure no curious eyes were watching.
The King nodded, his jaw tense. He cast one last look around the darkened grounds before stepping into the carriage. Johanes followed close behind. Not a soul inside the mansion knew — not even Celistine herself — that her father was leaving in secret for a meeting unknown to her.
Silence blanketed the journey. Neither man spoke as the horses trotted through the cobblestone streets until the carriage halted before a small house at the edge of Seawatch town. The air was thick with salt and shadow.
The King and Johanes disembarked, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Johanes approached the door and knocked — three steady taps.
"Who's there?" came the familiar voice of a woman from within.
"It's us," the King answered in a low, guarded tone.
The door opened slowly, revealing a old woman with curled black hair, porcelain skin, and watchful dark eyes. Recognition flickered across her face, and she quickly ushered them inside. The small house was dim — only a single candle burned on the table, casting trembling light over the three figures now gathered in secret.
"Long time no see, Your Majesty," the woman said, bowing deeply.
"Long time indeed," the King replied, his voice grave. "How is he?"
"He has grown into a fine young man, Your Majesty," she answered softly, straightening from her bow.
The King drew in a slow, heavy breath at her words, his deep violet eyes glinting with something between relief and dread.
And then — from the far corner of the room, where the candlelight faltered — a tall figure emerged from the shadows. The King's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
The young man stepped forward into the light. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt fastened by a brown belt, with dark trousers and boots scuffed from travel. His golden hair shimmered faintly under the flicker of the flame; his eyes, clear as the ocean sky, met the King's gaze. His skin was pale — almost too pale — and for a moment, it was as though a spirit had risen from the grave.
King Henry froze. Then, trembling, he reached out and clasped the young man's hands with both of his.
"Su–such a fine man… How are you?" the King managed to say, his voice thick with disbelief and emotion.
"I'm fine, Uncle," the young man replied with a faint, gentle smile that carried both warmth and sorrow.
Johanes bowed deeply. "Greetings, my prince of Zerefia."
"Pacerion…" The King's tone softened as he whispered the name, his eyes glistening under the dim light. "It's been a long time."
Before him stood Pacerion, the long-lost prince of the Western Empire — a ghost from the past, returned under the shroud of night.
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the dining hall, glinting off polished silverware and warm plates of bread, roasted chicken, and seasoned meats. King Henry sat grandly at the centre of the long table, his crown slightly tilted as though he'd slept in it. To his right sat Celistine, graceful as always, sipping her tea as though nothing in the world could surprise her. To the King's left were Lord Herbet and Sir Johanes, already halfway through their breakfast.
"Where are the Crown Prince and your daughter, Lord Herbet?" the King asked, lifting his cup with mild curiosity. Both Carlo and Lady Rehena were conspicuously absent, and the King's tone carried the faintest note of suspicion.
Celistine's eyes sparkled. She already had an idea — and not an innocent one. One of her maids had whispered to her that Lady Rehena had been seen sneaking into Carlo's chamber late last night.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the grin creeping across her face. Oh, little brother… what have you done this time?
Pushing back her chair, Celistine stood.
"Where are you off to?" King Henry asked, arching a brow.
"I'm only checking on Carlo, Father," she replied smoothly, her tone far too casual to be convincing. Her smile — that knowing, dangerous smile — was the kind that could make any guilty soul sweat.
With graceful steps, she ascended the stairs, her silken gown whispering behind her. Deep down, she wasn't angry at all; she simply wanted to see Carlo's face when she caught him. After all, teasing her brother was a pleasure she rarely resisted — especially when he had just crossed a "forbidden bridge" that no unmarried couple ought to cross.
Meanwhile, in the prince's chamber, Carlo stirred awake as the morning sun pierced through the curtains, warming his bare shoulders. He blinked drowsily, realizing it was already morning — and breakfast time.
Beside him, Rehena lay fast asleep, her brown hair spread across his pillow like silk. A faint smile curved Carlo's lips. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering a little too long, then pressed a soft kiss upon her forehead.
"Mmm…" Rehena mumbled, shifting slightly, her lips curling into a sleepy pout. Her mild irritation only made Carlo chuckle under his breath. To him, she looked utterly adorable — and perhaps, just a bit tired from their long, heated intimacy last night.
With nothing but his bare skin beneath, he rose quietly and slipped into a white robe. Before leaving, he cast one last look at her sleeping form, a gentle smile touching his lips — but as he opened the door, he froze in shock to find his sister about to knock.
Standing right outside was Celistine, her hand raised mid-knock.
"Oh? You're awake, dear brother?" she said, her voice dripping with amusement as her eyes narrowed knowingly.
Carlo nearly jumped, his hand shooting out to pull the door closed — but too late. Celistine's gaze slipped past his shoulder, and there, on his bed, she caught sight of a very familiar head of brown hair tangled among his sheets.
The silence that followed could have frozen the whole kingdom. Then Celistine's grin spread, slow and wicked.
"It's… not what you think!" Carlo stammered, colour flooding his face.
"Oh, I'm sure it isn't," she replied sweetly, arching a brow with the kind of look that said I know exactly what it is.
She tapped his chest lightly with one finger before turning on her heel. "Tsk, fix yourself. Breakfast has already started, and everyone's waiting. Oh — and don't forget to bring some food for Lady Rehena, whenever she wakes."
With that, she glided away, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall, leaving Carlo red-faced, speechless, and very much aware that his secret was no longer a secret at all.
As he dressed in haste, he could already hear her teasing voice in his head — and he knew breakfast was going to feel longer than ever.
As Celistine returned to her seat at the dining table, Carlo followed soon after. He was dressed in a green, long-sleeved shirt with a laced neckline, brown trousers held by a wide leather belt, and a pair of worn lace-up boots. His hair was a hopeless mess, and he ran his fingers through it, attempting to fix it while walking towards his chair beside his sister.
The King eyed him curiously, wondering why Carlo looked as though he had been dragged from bed against his will. His face was unreadable — the sort that left others guessing whether he was still half-asleep or simply avoiding a scolding.
Carlo tried to compose himself, straightening his back and quietly sipping his tea, pretending all was well.
"Where might my daughter be?" Lord Herbet asked, frowning as he noticed one seat still empty.
He turned to signal a maid, but before he could, Celistine interrupted with her usual sharp tongue.
"Lord Rehena is still in someone's bed, my lord. She must be exhausted." Celistine's voice carried a teasing lilt, her words striking straight at Carlo, who froze mid-sip. He nearly choked, keeping his eyes fixed on his teacup to avoid his sister's mischievous grin.
"Oh? In someone's bed, you say? I beg your pardon, Your Majesty — what exactly do you mean?" Lord Herbet's eyebrows shot up, clearly unsettled by what he'd just heard.
Celistine gave an innocent shrug. "Oh, forgive me, my mistake. I meant her room, of course, Lord Herbet." She said this sweetly, though her eyes glinted with wicked amusement.
Behind her, poor Carlo was crimson with embarrassment. Though he was the Crown Prince, he still respected Lord Herbet — the very father of the woman whose virtue he had, regrettably, already taken.
It was, in every sense, a lovely breakfast. The aroma of tea filled the room; sunlight streamed warmly through the windows, and the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meats lingered in the air. Gilbert, the family's trusted cook, had prepared everything himself. Carlo had personally requested that Gilbert and his family be appointed as the mansion's head chefs — a proposal Celistine happily approved, knowing Gilbert's skill in baking sweets matched her refined taste.
"So, sister," Carlo began, setting down his cup, "now that we've secured the warship, is there anything else to do besides dividing the North among the three kingdoms?"
His tone shifted, serious now beneath his composed expression. Celistine sliced her meat neatly, her gaze steady and thoughtful. Even the King, seated at the head of the table, looked uneasy — as though fearing the young prince did not yet grasp the dangers approaching, or the uncertain allies that fate might send their way.
"Well, unfortunately, yes…" King Henry spoke before Celistine could reply. "But there's something you must know, my son."
Curiosity flickered in Carlo's eyes. "What is it, Father?"
"There are whispers," the King said gravely, "A new tribe heading towards the Western Empire. We still do not know their true intent — whether they seek to seize new territory, or to claim the head of the new Empress herself."
Celistine's tone turned cold as she added, "They could either be our salvation or our undoing."
Carlo sat back, shocked. To him, this was yet another trial for the Northern Kingdom. As Celistine and the King continued, the weight of their words began to settle in. The North had long borne its scars — abandoned by the three kingdoms when famine struck, left to starve while Zerefia, Husteia, and Mondelia turned their backs.
Now, if the Blackthreads decided to conquer all four kingdoms, the North would have no choice but to act. They could not sit idly by while others fell. For once the Blackthreads dominated one realm after another, their power would grow unstoppable. Not even the old veterans nor the Blackgems would stand a chance when the tide of war finally came.
"Then what should we do, sister?" Carlo asked earnestly. "Do we side with the three kingdoms who abandoned us — or face the Blackthreads alone?"
"Only by knowing their true intent," Celistine replied, her voice calm but cutting, "can we decide our next move."
The room fell into silence once more. They continued their meal in uneasy peace, each lost in thought — the clinking of cutlery the only sound beneath the heavy quiet that followed.