"The Blackthreads want a peace talk with the North for what purpose?"
Mr. Mandawe asked, voice tight with unease. A tremor of worry threaded through him; he wondered what fresh scheme the Blackthreads might be plotting against the North. Celistine's companions fell silent, their faces drawn — the Blackthreads had already begun to move, and what made it worse was their choice of target: the North, not the Three Kingdoms, as their stepping-stone. Yet Celistine could not shake the line in the letter that spoke of an offer of parley. Could the Blackthreads really mean peace?
"Still, we don't know their true motive," Carlo said, elbow resting on the table, fingers curled against his lips. He spoke with a measured seriousness; each word weighed as if he could steady the room with them. "They might be setting an ambush against us."
Celistine herself stood uncertain, caught between instinct and hope. What was she to do if the Blackthreads truly sought parley? Could she trust the words laid on parchment?
"Any sign of Blackthreads troops near our border?" King Henry asked, turning to Johannes, commander of the North. His voice kept calm, but his eyes searched for certainty.
"I have seen nothing unfamiliar, Your Majesty," Johannes replied, firm and considered. He measured every phrase before he spoke, careful to offer only what he could confirm. "Perhaps the Blackthreads are sincere in this invitation."
"If they wish to talk peace, I shall accept their offer," Celistine said, her face steady and grave. Each syllable came out deliberate, controlled. "But we must station our elite troops, in case this is a ruse."
Her decision rippled through the hall like a sudden draft. Her companions were taken aback by the swift resolve — Carlo, especially, looked uneasy at his eldest sister's sudden determination.
"Are you sure about this, sister? I will escort you," Carlo said, eagerness and protectiveness mingling in his tone. Even King Henry seemed unsettled, frowning slightly as he considered his daughter's plan. Perhaps Celistine had some new stratagem none of them knew; perhaps she believed the Blackthreads were earnest.
Before Celistine could speak further, urgent news burst into the room. Jacon hurried forward, breathless.
"Your Majesty — urgent news!" he announced, bowing his head to the assembled council.
"Jacon, what is it?" Carlo asked; his friend's flustered face told him something grave had occurred.
"There is a message from Portekwero. The Western Empire intends to station troops there — preparing for war against the Blackthreads," Jacon said.
"What?!" Carlo stared, stunned, struggling to take it in. The hall filled with stunned whispers; even Celistine's expression shifted from concern to a cold recognition. She had feared that Zerefia might mass forces in Portekwero, turning the North back into a battlefield. Portekwero had been colonised by the North; it was part of Norenian territory — no power had the right to quarter troops there without consent. For them, this news could mean a serious confrontation.
"I don't think the North can be used to hit two birds with one stone," Criston said, stepping forward to stand beside Celistine. "We have twelve thousand soldiers; the Western forces number ten thousand, and the Blackthreads are said to have ten thousand abroad — we do not truly know how many Blackthreads troops there are to face." His voice betrayed the worry they all felt: how could they confront simultaneous threats?
Murmurs swelled and arguments began again in the hall. Celistine's mind churned — which should come first: the peace talk with the Blackthreads, or the defence of Portekwero? Carlo, inexperienced in the finer points of strategy, found himself at a disadvantage; this was precisely the knowledge he needed to acquire.
As plans and counsels swirled, Cilist entered the meeting hall. She walked slowly, wearing a plain dress, her golden hair loose in soft curls. She took her place at Celistine's side — her expression unreadable, poker-faced.
"Listen, everyone!" Cilist's voice rose, and the chamber fell suddenly silent. No one had expected her to present herself so bluntly; even Celistine and Carlo looked startled. King Henry's smile was thin but almost knowing, as though he anticipated the words to come.
"I beg your pardon, Princess Cilist — why are you here?" Carlo asked, baffled by her abrupt arrival.
"Shut your mouth, and listen," Cilist said coldly. Carlo stepped back at once; the room had learned to heed Cilist when she was like this. Even the king's features hardened with a hint of anger at her bluntness. Cilist had always carried an edge — sharper than Carlo's or Celistine's — and today it showed.
"If the Westerners intend to place troops in Portekwero and use the North as their battlefield, they want to make it appear that the North declared war first," Cilist explained, jabbing an accusing finger at the map of Portekwero spread before them.
"So you mean the Westerners wish to use the North as a battlefield?" Mr. Mandawe asked, curiosity and dread twisting his face.
"In my view — yes. One hundred percent," Cilist said without hesitation. "The Western Empire plans to crush the Blackthreads by using the North. I believe the Three Kingdoms are still unaware of how matters stand in the North; we cut off their shadows moving about the region."
"Are you saying this is our opportunity to show the Three Kingdoms we are independent?" the king challenged, testing her knowledge.
"Not exactly. Our priority must be to secure Portekwero so the Westerners cannot seize it, whether they discover the North's role or not," Cilist said. She spoke with crisp clarity. "We will not declare war. We will posture and threaten."
"And how do you propose we do that?" Celistine asked, eyes burning with fierce interest; she fixed Cilist with a bold, searching look. Cilist did not flinch.
"We can fight the Three Kingdoms with our soldiers — we have late veterans among us. I am confident the Westerners will not attack recklessly; their forces are sufficient to face the Blackthreads, and the North will claim neutrality," Cilist continued. "So: you, sister, will hold the peace parleys with the Blackthreads' leader. Meanwhile, Carlo and Johannes will confront the Western troops in Portekwero."
Each word fell measured and sure from Cilist's lips. Even the king, surprised by her strategic acumen, recognized the depth of her understanding. He had long suspected Cilist possessed military insight that might one day rival Celistine's own; yet Cilist did not want to overshadow her sister — she remained the nonchalant princess at heart.
"Criston will only escort Her majesty? There should be more than Criston to guard Celistine," Mr. Mandawe objected, worry creasing his face. Celistine, silent, felt the point he raised: none could be left vulnerable should a greater tragedy be coming.
Cilist smiled with a small, knowing smirk.
"Release the man who was once an undefeatable knight of the Western Empire," she said.
***
Days passed. When Grace heard the news that her lover was to be released, her heart leapt and trembled all at once. Why would the King suddenly declare Barron's freedom? she wondered, confusion and fear tangled in her thoughts. Was he to be punished—or sent back to the Western lands?
Driven by anxiety, Grace hurried to the Northern mansion, her steps quick and unsteady. She wore a formal brown gown, simple yet graceful, and her dark hair was tied into a loose, messy bun that framed her worried face.
When she entered Celistine's office, she froze for a moment—her father was already there, standing silently by Celistine's side.
"Greetings, Your Majesty… and Father," Grace said softly, bowing her head to both.
Celistine raised her eyes from the papers on her desk. She had already noticed the worry clouding her friend's face, and she knew well what Grace had come for.
"I believe I already know why you're here," Celistine murmured, letting out a quiet sigh as she set her quill aside.
Grace's cheeks flushed; still, she couldn't contain the question burning within her. Her chest tightened as she looked at her friend, fighting the fear that Barron might soon be taken away from her again.
"Would you mind telling me, Your Majesty… why have you decided to release Barron? For what reason?" Grace's voice trembled, almost pleading.
Sir Johanes, her father, lowered his gaze, a faint sadness in his eyes. He could see how deeply his daughter loved that man.
Celistine drew a deep breath before speaking again, her tone calm yet commanding.
"The only one who can match Sir Johanes and Sir Criston in protecting me is Barron himself. Even you, Grace… cannot match him. His skill in combat is beyond comparison."
Her words struck like cold steel. Grace's green eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this true, Father? Am I not dreaming?" she whispered, seeking her father's assurance.
"Yes, my daughter," Sir Johanes replied gently. "You and Barron shall serve as the knights to protect Lady Celistine while Sir Criston and I march to war."
Grace's breath hitched. She knew of the Blackthreads… and the Western troops approaching Portekwero. Though she struggled to believe what she'd heard, a small part of her heart felt relief—finally, the people of the North were beginning to trust Barron's sincerity.
Yet Celistine's gaze sharpened. Inside, she wished to test Grace—to see just how much she truly trusted the man she loved.
"Grace," Celistine said coldly.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Grace replied, standing firm though her pulse thundered in her chest.
"Will you take full responsibility if Barron ever betrays us?"
The words struck deep. Grace's heart ached; she had thought Celistine already trusted Barron—but clearly, doubt still lingered. She glanced at her father. He said nothing, only gave her a slow, knowing nod, as if to tell her that he and Celistine had already spoken of what might come if Barron turned against them.
Her palms grew cold, her chest tight. What if he truly betrays me? she thought. But then, with courage rising within her, she whispered in her mind, No… I believe he never will.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Grace said aloud, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath. "I will take full responsibility for Barron."
Celistine's lips curved faintly, almost proud. "Then see for yourself," she replied.
Suddenly, the door opened. Grace turned—and her breath caught.
There he was.
A tall man with silver hair and striking grey eyes stepped into the room, wearing a black military-style jacket with silver trimmings and a red sash bearing the emblem of the North. A crimson cape draped across one shoulder, his gloved hands at his sides as he bowed deeply before the Queen.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," said the familiar voice that made Grace's heart stop.
Celistine's tone remained cool. "Then, Barron… are you ready for tomorrow?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I shall guard you with all my life," Barron answered, placing a hand to his chest and bowing once more before lifting his head.
Grace stood frozen, her eyes glistening. She could hardly believe what she saw—Barron, at last, serving the North beside her. The dream they both had long wished for… had finally come true.