The waiting was finally over. Leon — forever the leader of the Blackthreads — now sat facing the woman he had long wished to see: Celistine. He wore that teasing half-smile she knew too well. When his gaze found her, Celistine looked away, her cheek colouring as she stared out at the passing landscape beyond the carriage window. She could feel his eyes on her, and for a moment she did not know whether to open her mouth. Every negotiation she had handled before felt suddenly distant; facing Leon made her heart stutter. 'I cannot make a mistake…' she thought. 'He is the man I saw at the party, the one who dragged me from the western harbour.'
"Excuse me — the one you requested to enter your carriage is here, not there," Leon said, breaking the silence with that same teasing lilt.
Celistine realised, with a small, inward jolt, that Leon had noticed her avoidance. She squared her shoulders and smoothed her skirts, forcing composure into her posture as she settled more firmly in her seat. Leon wore a black desert coat trimmed with gold; his eyes were molten, a burnished gold like a lion's, his hair black, his skin tanned — precisely the man she had expected.
"Since you wanted us to talk… then what should we discuss? And why have your men appeared here in our foreign land?" Celistine asked, blunt and steady.
Leon raised both hands in a mock, calming gesture and grinned. "Wow. Relax. No need to be so direct, you know?" He waved his hands in front of her as if brushing off her brusqueness. Celistine's face remained guarded; his lightness struck her as almost insolent. 'Is this how the leader of the Blackthreads behaves?' she wondered, watching him closely.
"You must think this is how I behave, yes?" Leon asked, leaning his left elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his hand, the cheerful twist in his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Something unreadable flickered there — a hidden motive that made Celistine uneasy. She could not tell what schemed behind that composed façade.
"Just get to the point, my lord," Celistine said, her voice cool.
Leon shifted, letting his hand trail along the carriage's leather strap, then crossed his arms with a lazy grin. "You must have heard of what we call the 'Sinful Mistress,' yes?"
"Yes. Who is she?" Celistine asked, tone sharpening.
"Her name is Minerva Ashatani," Leon said, and as he spoke his golden gaze darkened. "She is the so-called Sinful Mistress who fled here to seize power and shield herself from our reach."
"Why is she called the Sinful Mistress?" Celistine pressed.
"And why are you pursuing her?" she added, the two questions tumbling from her with measured fury.
Leon's expression hardened. "First she seduced our king and became his lover. Jealousy festered in her heart, and she conspired to kill the queen — my beloved eldest sister. I do not know what lies she whispered to the emperor of this foreign land, but she wormed herself into favour and became empress."
Leon shrugged as though dismissing a petty annoyance. Curiosity flared through Celistine — a cold, precise curiosity. 'What does he mean?' she thought, and her suspicion widened until it felt like a net tightening about her. The new empress of the western empire and the Sinful Mistress — they were one and the same.
"Wait—don't tell me…" Celistine began.
"Yes. She is the woman who hides under the name Medeya, is she not?" Leon said with that grin. Celistine started, stunned by the confirmation. All along, their motives were true; Medeya and the Sinful Mistress were identical. Her fingers curled around the fabric of her skirt as she thought, weighing the consequences. 'If the Blackthreads succeed in their aims, what will that mean for us?' she wondered silently.
"And why have you suddenly sought a peace talk with us?" Celistine asked, brow furrowing as she fixed Leon with a serious stare.
"I do not wish the North to be our enemy," Leon replied. "Why not form an alliance? It would benefit you to side with us. You know the North's relations with the three kingdoms are strained."
'How does he know?' Celistine thought, alarm threading her mind — had they been watched for longer than she imagined? Leon's offer unsettled her. If the North aligned with the Blackthreads, it might cast the North as a vengeful power in the eyes of the three kingdoms — an image Celistine could not allow. She did not want her people branded as traitors for reasons they could not control.
"Does your king intend to conquer the four kingdoms?" Celistine asked, blunt and unwavering.
"If the western empire obediently yields what we demand, there will be no war. We will not be forced to conquer the four kingdoms, as we have promised," Leon said, his assurance curt. Celistine felt a strange, charged aura between them, a pressure that made her breathe more cautiously.
"So — do you agree or not?" Leon asked.
Celistine drew a long breath and spoke. "I'm afraid we do not need your offer, my lord. The North can take care of itself. If we had wished revenge, we would have declared war before you ever set foot in this foreign land."
"So you say you are not threatened by us, my lady?" Leon said with a grin that edged into provocation.
Celistine's purple eyes flashed. She glared at him. "Why should we fear someone like you when we already possess the strength to meet you on the field? Or perhaps you wish to arrange this peace because the North is a threat to you."
"You… you have me there," Leon admitted, rubbing his temple with one hand in a gesture of mock exasperation.
"To be honest, yes," he continued after a pause. "But if the North is compelled to join the three kingdoms, we will have no choice."
"War?" Celistine's voice dropped to a cold whisper.
"Exactly." Leon's tone was laced with amusement and disdain. "And do not trouble yourself — the Blackthreads will not hesitate to colonise the four kingdoms." His words carried the sting of insult.
"Let me tell you, my lord," Celistine countered, each word deliberate, "I do not intend war with you, nor will I squander my soldiers alongside the three kingdoms for trivial reasons. If you choose war, you may have it — but do not dare claim our lands." Her voice was steady as steel. "And how can I be certain you will honour any peace treaty?"
"We are in the same boat," Leon said, the smirk returning, his eyes glinting. "As you asked, how may we be certain the North will keep its promises to the Blackthreads?"
"And how then?" Celistine pressed.
Leon gave no immediate answer. Instead, he leaned forward, closing the space between them by the smallest of measures, his face unreadable yet intent.
"Then we shall have a royal exchange," he said.
Celistine's eyes widened at his words, the carriage falling momentarily silent as those three simple words settled between them.
After an hour of tense discussion between Celistine and Leon inside her carriage, the air outside grew heavy with anticipation. Grace and the others waited patiently, their eyes fixed on the carriage door, uncertain of what had transpired within.
Then, without warning, the door creaked open. All the guards, including Havan, straightened at once, their posture sharp and disciplined. Leon — the formidable leader of the Blackthreads — stepped down from Celistine's carriage. A faint, unreadable smile curved his lips, leaving everyone wondering what had just been agreed upon.
Grace noticed that slight ease in his expression — perhaps a sign that the talk had ended peacefully — and hurried toward the carriage. Bowing her head, she spoke softly, "Your Highness."
From inside, Celistine's calm yet commanding voice replied, "We're returning to the North. There's an urgent matter we must discuss."
At once, Grace turned to the soldiers. "Prepare the horses!" she ordered. The guards moved swiftly, tightening reins and mounting their steeds. Within moments, the Northern envoy was ready to depart the meeting ground — the same place where Leon of the Blackthreads had held his council.
Barron and Criston each mounted their horses beside the carriage, their expressions unreadable. And though the meeting was over, the tension it left behind lingered in the air — thick, heavy, and uncertain.
***
As the Western soldiers approached the Portekwero borders, Captain David of the Western Empire froze in disbelief. Before his eyes, the banners of the North billowed proudly in the wind. Northern troops had already taken their positions, their flags raised high across every post of Portekwero — a clear declaration that the land now lay under Northern control.
David's expression hardened. To him, it was audacious — even insulting — that the North had claimed Portekwero without any formal agreement.
"Halt!" one of David's lieutenants cried, echoing his captain's raised hand. The Western army drew to a stop at the gate of Portekwero, only to find Northern soldiers blocking their passage.
"What is the meaning of this?" David shouted, his tone mocking as he glared at the men barring their way. "Do you dare block the armies of the Western Empire?"
No one answered. Then the great gate creaked open, revealing a man astride a white horse — his hair and beard both silvered with age, his green eyes sharp yet calm. The man wore the polished armour of the North, the insignia of nobility gleaming on his chest.
David straightened on his horse, his voice rigid. "And who might you be?"
The old man stopped a few paces before him and spoke with firm composure. "I am Johanes David Drusus Boulevard, the new Duke of Duchy Boulevard. I come bearing a message from His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Carlo Sebastian Norenian of the North. He commands that no forces from the Western Empire shall enter or occupy Portekwero, as it now falls under Northern protection."
David gave a sharp laugh. "A jest, surely? We are here under the direct order of Emperor Harold, to fortify this land against the threat of the Blackthreads! Or perhaps the North is too foolish to recognise the danger that approaches?"
Johanes did not flinch. His expression remained steady, unfazed by the captain's mockery.
"I advise you," Johanes said calmly, "to speak with His Royal Highness yourself — and leave your men here for now."
"Very well," David replied curtly, pulling at his reins. "Take me to this so-called Crown Prince of the North."
With that, both men rode through the gate, the echo of their horses' hooves ringing across the stone path as they went to meet Prince Carlo, heir to the Northern throne — the man who now claimed Portekwero as his own.