Morning light softened the room as Celistine sat alone at her small table, the scent of warm coffee curling in the air. Beside her, a wide window opened to the bustling view outside the inn—children darting through the street, merchants bickering good-naturedly, and travellers filling the main road of the Western Empire. She watched quietly, her fingers wrapped around her cup, letting the early calm settle over her.
But her solitude was broken by a sudden knock.
Celistine rose gently from her seat, smoothing the folds of her blue day dress. The high lace collar framed her throat, the sheer puffed sleeves caught the morning light, and gold embroidery traced a delicate pattern around her waist. The split skirt revealed matching blue trousers trimmed with lace at the hem. Her hair was tied in a modest bun, a few strands brushing softly against her cheeks. Small earrings glimmered by her purple eyes as she walked slowly to the door and opened it.
Her gaze met a pair of intense golden eyes.
Leon stood there—fierce, steady, unmistakably himself. He wore his usual Blackthreads desert attire: a dark collared shirt decorated with gold designs, a teal-and-gold sash over one shoulder, black trousers, and boots. His dark hair was neatly parted to the side, trimmed but unruly enough to suit him.
"Oh… did I startle you?" His deep, mellow voice softened with concern.
"No. What brings you here?" Celistine asked, eyeing him from head to toe. Something about the way he dressed told her he clearly had somewhere to go.
"I came to invite you for a stroll around the Capital—if you're willing." Leon smiled lightly, which made one of Celistine's brows rise. She still found it absurd that a man considered an enemy of the Western Empire had the nerve to go sightseeing.
"It's dangerous for us to be wandering. Harold's spies are always tailing us," she reminded him.
"Are you still thinking about that? Who cares?" Leon smirked—and before Celistine could even draw breath, her eyes widened as he caught her hand with effortless confidence and tugged her out of the room.
She stumbled after him in surprise.
The moment they stepped outside, the bright sky washed over them, sunlight spilling across the inn's wooden balcony. Birds wheeled overhead in lively spirals, their wings cutting through the morning air. The warm scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the nearby market stalls, blending with the hum of vendors and laughter echoing along the streets.
The capital looked exactly as she remembered it from her days as empress—vibrant, noisy, brimming with life.
Celistine hurried to match Leon's long strides as he guided her from the second floor down the stairs, her steps quick and breath unsteady, while he moved as if the world were his for the taking.
"You truly are an idiot," she muttered breathlessly.
"Well, forgive me for being an idiot," Leon replied with a teasing grin. Her irritation simmered—she only wanted a peaceful morning with her coffee, yet here she was being dragged outside like a child.
"Do I seriously need to escort you?" she asked, glaring at him.
"Yes. I fear losing my way, so naturally I need someone to guide me," he answered, terribly amused by her annoyance.
"Lost? Really now?" she shot back with a mocking tone.
"Yes. I'm afraid of losing your sight," he said, leaning closer as they walked. Celistine instantly stepped back, her breath catching.
"Tsk." She rolled her eyes and looked away, trying to seem unbothered. But her heart betrayed her—fluttering helplessly at the sincerity hidden beneath his tone.
I'm afraid of losing your sight. The words echoed through her chest, soft yet striking, as if they had wrapped themselves around her ribs and refused to let go. She couldn't tell whether he truly meant it or was simply teasing her again—but the effect on her was undeniable.
A warm flush rose beneath her cheeks, and she pressed a hand lightly against her chest, hoping the heat would settle before he noticed.
"Would you like to go there?" Leon asked suddenly.
She startled slightly. He pointed toward a crowd gathered in the public park—where musicians played beside a grand waterfall, and pairs swayed elegantly to the music.
"And you? Do you want to go there?" she replied, matching his question with one of her own.
"Hmmm…" Leon hesitated, then grinned. "I'm quite curious how foreigners dance. Come, let's have a look."
"Wait—no—" Her protest was cut short as Leon caught her wrist again, firm and unyielding as if he had no intention of letting her escape.
He guided her straight into the dancing crowd.
In one swift movement, Leon placed her hand on his shoulder while his other hand held her arm with a steady, warm grip. Celistine felt the world blur around her as they began moving to the music. She barely knew whether to laugh or hide—this was her first time dancing so openly in a public place. Thankfully, no one recognized her face. Who would ever imagine the former Empress dancing in the central park like an ordinary woman?
As they shifted into the rhythm, Celistine lifted her head—and found Leon's golden gaze already locked onto hers. His eyes burned with intensity, with something bold and unspoken, as if in that crowded space she was the only woman he saw.
"Is this how foreigners dance?" Leon murmured, guiding her steps effortlessly.
"Yes… and clearly you already know how it works," she teased with a faint smirk.
Leon answered with a slow grin, twirling her gracefully before pulling her back towards him. The movement drew her closer than she expected, making her breath hitch.
"How do the Blackthreads dance, my lord?" she asked, still moving with him.
"Exactly like this, here among your people," he chuckled.
Celistine's brows knitted in playful annoyance, realizing she'd fallen for his teasing again.
"So you simply wanted an excuse to dance with me?" She smirked, spinning away before clapping her hands in time with the music, then turning back toward him. The lively beat carried her hair in soft waves, each strand catching the sunlight. Leon didn't take his eyes off her, watching every movement—too focused, too intent.
They came together again, the rhythm pulling them close. Their steps aligned naturally now, almost intimate. The music softened into a deeper, slower melody that encouraged closeness—and Leon willingly followed it, drawing her nearer.
"Yes. I wanted to dance with you," he murmured, his voice rich and low, as though the words were meant only for her.
"Then your wish is granted, my lord," Celistine replied with a soft smile, her purple eyes holding his.
"I have another wish…" Leon said quietly, their steps slowing as the music swayed them.
"And what is it?" she answered, her voice cool but tinged with curiosity. Something about his tone wrapped around her heart.
"Call me by my name."
"And why should I?" she asked.
The music faded, and applause rose around them. But Leon didn't look away. He simply leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
"Because your voice sounds far too beautiful… and it makes me want to hear you say my name."
Celistine froze, flustered. What is he thinking? Her heart was hammering, traitorous and loud. A part of her—small but very real—wanted to grant his request.
"Just say it," Leon whispered with a smile.
Her cheeks burned. She looked anywhere except at him. After a deep breath, she finally whispered, "Le-Leon…"
His grin widened instantly.
"Perfect, Celistine," he laughed softly. Her eyes flew open in shock—he had said her name boldly, without any title, without distance.
Instead of feeling insulted… she felt a strange warmth. A longing, even. A part of her wanted him to call her by name—no crowns, no empires, no duties. Just the two of them.
"Idiot!" she blurted, mortified, and hurried off the dance floor. Leon followed her with that same infuriating smile tugging at his lips—because somehow, without her noticing, he had already grown closer to her.
******
Afternoon had settled over the Eastern Empire. Several days had passed, yet Rehena's mission remained unfinished. The former queen, mother of Max, had granted her only a month to study and master the methods of herbcraft so she could return to the North and teach her people what she had learned. At first, Rehena had hesitated, unsure if she could handle such a responsibility, but she had no choice but to obey the former queen's decision. She would study diligently, bringing not only knowledge but also the meticulously prepared book of herbs. The former queen, kind and thoughtful, had instructed one of her attendants to record all the herbs and their uses in detail, allowing Rehena to carry it north. It was purely for study, not exchange, as if she were merely a student at Roselia's village, mastering the secrets of herbs.
"There, Rehena. You need to mix this herb with the powder. Then, you can create a compound capable of neutralizing a poison that could paralyze," Rowena Margarette Apondelia instructed, the younger sister of Roselia. She was thirty, the same age Celistine would have been. They were in an old experimental laboratory, a quiet space where Rowena could teach, and Rehena could practice safely.
"Understood, Ma'am," Rehena replied, carefully mixing the ingredients as Rowena had demonstrated.
"Since you will be staying here for a while, I shall prepare an examination for you," Rowena said, arranging several papers neatly. "Study diligently."
"Were you ever a teacher, Ma'am?" Rehena asked curiously, pausing in her work.
Rowena smiled, a touch of pride in her expression. "Yes, indeed. I once headed the Infirmary team of the Eastern Empire, and I also held a position similar to yours—as Master of Resources." She spoke with calm authority. No wonder Rowena bore resemblance to Roselia; not only in temperament but in appearance—golden hair, pale beige eyes, and the same composed poise.
"But why did you end up here? Do you still hold your former position?" Rehena asked, her curiosity bubbling. Rowena's lips curved faintly, observing the innocent determination in the young girl before her.
"Actually, I was stripped of my position by command of the King… all due to the manipulation of the new King," Rowena said, her eyes cooling with barely restrained anger. She recounted events bluntly, leaving Rehena shocked. The young girl had not expected such honesty, and for a moment, she did not know whether it was right to know the full truth.
"B-but why?" Rehena's lips trembled, though she had no desire to press further. "Are the new Queen and your family not on good terms?" she added cautiously.
Rowena smirked faintly.
"Simply put, any ill-intentioned plan leads to strained relations," she said, her grin teasing but edged with bitterness. "The new Queen of the Eastern Empire, who should have been the King's mistress, orchestrated this. She manipulated everyone—even the officials—to remove the Apondelia family from their posts. Even my sister, who was meant to be Queen, was stripped of her position because the King's beloved mistress bore a child first." Her irritation and anger coursed visibly through her veins as she recalled Josephina's machinations, speaking boldly before Rehena, who listened in stunned silence.
"And do you know?" Rowena continued, her brow furrowing. "That woman even framed my father—a Duke of Apondelia—for corruption. He died of a heart attack, leaving my sister, me, and our family's assets vulnerable. Even Max himself became a victim of her schemes."
"What did they do to Max?" Rehena asked, alarmed.
"They framed my sister, accusing her of an affair with a butler, and claimed that Max was not the King's child. Yet, it was obvious that my beloved nephew inherited the King's red eyes and black hair," Rowena said, her voice laced with bitterness. Rehena absorbed each word, analyzing carefully, storing every detail as though it were a key to a puzzle. Perhaps this is the only way… she thought.
"Did the Apondelia's protest?" Rehena asked cautiously.
"I intended to," Rowena admitted, "but my sister feared Josephina would target me." She shrugged slightly, a subtle gesture of resignation.
"So that is why you ended up here, together with all the former Queen's disciples, who were forbidden from practicing herbs?" Rehena concluded.
"Yes… you are perceptive, Rehena." Rowena pointed both index fingers at her and waved them up and down playfully.
Rehena smiled faintly and returned to her work, though her mind churned with what Rowena had revealed—information never meant to be shared. Perhaps she is bolder than her sister, Rehena thought.
Minutes passed before Rowena excused herself, claiming she had matters to attend to in the village. Rehena's break had arrived, and Barron was absent, occupied with repairing the broken carriage. Dressed in her long, pale-blue gown with a square neckline and white lace panels, sheer sleeves flowing gracefully, Rehena walked through the hallway. Her brown hair tumbled softly over her shoulders, her brown eyes fixed on the polished marble floor. To one side lay an open field, where young men were playing ball, yet she paid them no heed.
Suddenly, a ball hurtled toward her, kicked astray by a careless boy.
"MISS! WATCH OUT!" one of the boys shouted.
"Huh?" Rehena turned in confusion, eyes widening as the ball sped toward her.
"Kyaaa!" she shrieked, raising both hands instinctively to shield herself. Her books tumbled to the ground as she braced for impact.
But then—
"Oh… sorry, Your Highness."
She heard the young man's warning and slowly lifted her eyes. Expecting the ball to strike, she froze, heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes widened at what she saw—beside her, Max had caught it effortlessly with one hand. Her breath caught at the sight: his crisp white, open-collared shirt clinging just enough to hint at the strength beneath, dark trousers neatly cinched at the waist with an ornate belt. Loose strands of his short hair fell slightly over his forehead, yet his eyes remained calm and unwavering, fixed on the ball as if it were weightless.