In the evening, Celistine sat in her chamber with Leon and Criston around a circular table, already set with their evening meal. Candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the spread of food. Celistine wore the same dress she had donned when she and Leon strolled through the Western territories earlier, a delicate fabric that caught the light with each movement. Leon, too, remained in his earlier attire, while Criston sat upright in his red-and-black Northern military uniform, posture rigid and alert as always.
"Have you heard any news from the North, my lady?" Criston asked, slicing a piece of meat with measured precision, his eyes briefly flicking toward Celistine as she sipped her wine.
"Yes… still the same," Celistine replied, her voice calm yet measured, "the lands continue as they always have, untouched, running smoothly." She paused, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "But Criston… have you heard anything about Barron's journey? Surely your reports would reach us by now."
Criston swallowed the last bite of his meal, setting down his fork with a subtle clink before he began. "I am afraid there is nothing to report, Your Highness. I believe the Eastern Empire might have already noticed our plan to gather their herbalists." His voice carried an edge of worry, the slightest tremor betraying his composed façade. Barron, his adopted nephew, had been silent for nearly three weeks, and Criston could not help but fret for the young man's safety, especially knowing that Rehena, fiancée of Carlo, accompanied him.
Celistine's fingers tightened around her wine goblet as a shadow of concern crossed her face. What could have happened to them? she wondered inwardly, a quiet tension knitting her brows. Leon, observing her subtle distress, reached out, brushing a hand over hers in a gentle attempt to dispel the worry.
"Shall I assist you with this matter as well, Celistine?" Leon asked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained sharp and attentive.
Celistine shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. "I do not wish to burden you, Leon. This is our concern alone." Her voice carried the weight of responsibility, edged with worry.
Criston, however, blinked twice, caught off guard. The eldest daughter of the Northern King, the leader of the Blackthreads, had never spoken with such directness—or such intimacy—without proper address. His eyes darted between the two, confusion and mild shock warring on his features.
Celistine suddenly became aware of Criston's stare, her cheeks flushing a delicate crimson. She had not realized he was watching them so closely.
"I-it's not what you think…" she stammered, voice slightly trembling, eyes avoiding his gaze.
"M-my lady, I said nothing," Criston replied hastily, waving both hands in an attempt to dispel any misunderstanding, forcing a tight smile as he tried to appear unbothered. Meanwhile, Leon leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, a shadow of amusement flickering in his dark eyes as if he were a cat observing the room with detached curiosity.
Celistine cleared her throat, regaining her composure with a delicate elegance. "Anyway, back to our discussion," she said, smoothing the folds of her dress. "Criston, what news do we have from the Duchy of Valendridge?"
Criston wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin, setting it aside. "The Duke of Valendridge is curious as to what offer Your Grace intends to present in response to our request," he reported, eyes alert and respectful.
Leon waved a hand lazily, brow arched in mild scepticism. "Do we really need to negotiate a passage treaty with that duchy?"
"Yes, absolutely," Celistine replied, her tone calm but firm. "The duchy lies on the quickest route between Portekwero and Lagandorf. Should any crisis arise in either territory, this is the only viable path for swift reinforcement. Some of the army barracks we've established are far from both Portekwero and Lagandorf; without Valendridge's cooperation, reinforcements would take far too long to arrive, especially given the size of the fortifications along the main passages." She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the strategic implications.
Leon's gaze sharpened, curiosity and concern mingling. "And you truly believe Valendridge will agree to such terms?"
Celistine's lips curved into a cunning smile, the light from the candles reflecting in her eyes. "We shall see… tomorrow, when we arrive." There was a calculating gleam in her expression, a quiet anticipation. The Duchy of Valendridge hungered for power, eager to expand its territory, yet lacked sufficient soldiers to act on its ambitions. Celistine intended to exploit that weakness, turning their desire for expansion into an advantage for the North.
*******
In the palace of the Eastern Empire, the king sat at his desk, meticulously going over papers and documents that would allow him to complete his tasks swiftly. The quiet of the room was broken by a sudden knock at the door. Distracted but composed, he waved his servant in. The butler entered, carrying a scroll carefully rolled in his hands, and approached the king.
"What is this?" Malvorn asked, irritation flickering across his brow.
"It is a message from the Empress Dowager, Your Grace," the butler replied, bowing slightly. "It was sent by one of Her spies in the North."
Malvorn raised a single eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he took the scroll. He broke the seal and unrolled it, reading each line with meticulous attention. As he absorbed the contents, his expression darkened, and his eyes widened in shock and fury.
"That scumbag!" he bellowed, slamming his palm onto the desk so forcefully that papers scattered in all directions. He rose to his full height, every muscle taut with rage. The butler trembled, unsure how to react to the king's sudden fury.
"Take me to that bastard's mother's village!" Malvorn roared, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. Without a moment's hesitation, he stormed from the room, barking orders to his guards.
******
By mid-morning, Celistine and her companions were already on the final stretch of their escape, drawing closer to the Duchy of Valendrige—the place where her negotiations would finally begin. Inside the carriage, Leon sat opposite her as he always did, his arms folded across his chest, his posture steady and unyielding. His gaze remained fixed on the window seat, watching the passing land with unreadable calm.
Celistine, meanwhile, leaned back against the cushioned wall, her eyes slowly closing as she drew in a measured breath. She waited in silence, allowing the gentle sway of the carriage to lull her thoughts while anticipating the moment of their arrival. Her expression remained composed, yet beneath that stillness lay a mind already preparing for what was to come.
Before long, the carriage slowed, wheels grinding softly against the stone road. They had reached the main border gate of the duchy. As the horses came to a halt, a guard stepped forward to meet them. One of Valendrige's men approached Criston, who had been leading the journey, his movements precise and formal.
"Greetings. I am Maloc of Valendrige," the guard announced with a respectful bow. "I have been assigned to escort Her Highness to the Duke's mansion."
Criston responded with a brief nod, acknowledging the order without delay. Soon after, the procession resumed, horses and carriage moving in unison as they were guided deeper into the duchy, toward the Duke's manor.
Not long after, the carriage finally stopped before the grand entrance of the Duke's mansion. Celistine stepped down, her boots touching the stone floor with quiet resolve. She was dressed in a long grey velvet gown, its square neckline adorned with delicate silver embroidery that traced the bodice and flowed down to the hem. A matching hooded cape rested over her shoulders, lending her an air of restrained authority. Her hair was gathered in a deliberately loose arrangement—messy yet elegant—decorated sparingly, as if to make a statement through simplicity rather than excess.
Leon stood at her side, dressed in a black tunic-style robe trimmed with gold embroidery along the collar and shoulders. The long sleeves draped smoothly over his arms, the garment cinched at the waist by a wide, jewel-set belt. A deep green lining flashed subtly with each movement he made. His piercing golden eyes scanned the surroundings, sharp and alert, while his hair hung freely, unchanged as ever.
As they entered the mansion, hushed voices followed them like shadows. Servants and nobles alike whispered among themselves, rumours spreading freely through the halls—that the North had aligned itself with the Blackthreads. Celistine caught fragments of their murmurs, the weight of them settling briefly in her chest.
'So Harold has begun spreading his poison once more,' she thought, a faint smirk curving her lips. Leon remained entirely unmoved, his expression betraying neither concern nor irritation as if such gossip held no power over him.
Eventually, they were led into the Duke's guest chamber.
"Greetings to the eldest daughter of the King of the North," Duke Valendrige announced. He was a man whose brown hair had been touched by age, his green eyes remaining sharp despite the lines etched across his face. His pale complexion lent him a composed, almost calculating air. He was dressed in a light green suit, paired with a matching cape and brown boots, completing his dignified appearance.
"Greetings, Duke Valendrige. Thank you for accepting my invitation," Celistine replied. She placed a hand over her chest and bowed with measured grace, her movements calm yet deliberate.
The Duke's gaze shifted subtly before he spoke again. "May I ask who this tall young man beside you might be?" He gestured lightly toward Leon, a sly glint flickering in his eyes. Celistine immediately sensed it—the rumours had already reached him.
"Of course," she said smoothly. "This is Leon Wiegn Driftmoor, leader of the Blackthreads from another tribe."
The Duke widened his eyes and clapped his hands together, feigning surprise. "Goodness, I did not expect the very leader of our enemy to appear here in person."
Though his tone sounded playful, something in his gestures felt carefully rehearsed. Leon noticed it too—a subtle unease stirring beneath his calm exterior, a sense that the Duke's behavior masked something far less innocent.
"Come, my lord, my lady," the Duke continued, motioning toward the seating area. "Please, sit. Let us begin our conversation, shall we?"
Celistine and Leon took their seats upon a beige-coloured couch, positioned opposite a table where tea had already been prepared and served. As Celistine settled into place, her posture remained dignified, her expression attentive. Leon leaned back slightly, his presence quiet yet commanding.
The negotiation had begun—though every instinct told them this meeting would be far from simple.
"I believe it took you quite some time to reply my letters, my lord," Celistine said calmly, her tone smooth yet edged with quiet authority. She lifted her teacup, taking an unhurried sip before continuing. "Did you truly find my words so difficult to answer?"
The Duke inclined his head slightly, arranging his features into an expression of apology that felt carefully practiced. "I offer my apologies, Your Grace. I have been occupied of late and found little time to respond to such correspondence."
"Such?" Celistine echoed softly. She set her cup down with deliberate care. "Very well. Shall we begin our discussion, my lord?"
"Of course, my lady," the Duke replied, a faint grin tugging at his lips as his green eyes darkened with interest. "How may I assist you, and what offer do you intend to place before me?"
"Well…" Celistine began, her fingers resting lightly against the porcelain. She lowered her hand as she spoke, her posture poised and composed. "I seek a passage treaty, my lord—one that will allow my troops to cross your land without obstruction. At present, there is little choice left for my armies once war inevitably breaks."
She explained her terms with measured clarity, though the Duke merely shrugged, his indifference thinly veiled.
"The armies of the Zerefia Empire have already stationed themselves at Portekwero," Celistine continued, her voice steady yet laced with urgency. "There is no way to know whether they intend to strike first."
The Duke leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Do you intend to colonies us, my lady? To place my duchy beneath the authority of the Northern Kingdom?"
Celistine met his stare without hesitation. Her expression remained composed, each word chosen with precision. "No—unless both of us fail to remain neutral, my lord."
A slow smile crept across the Duke's face. "And what, precisely, do you intend to offer us in return?"
"If you allow the North's forces safe passage through your territory," Celistine said evenly, "the North will support your political ambitions. Should you wish to expand your lands, we will stand behind you—though you will not claim what already belongs to the North."
"Oh, really?" the Duke replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"Is the Duchy of Valendrige not ambitious when it comes to expansion?" Celistine added, lifting her hand slightly in emphasis, her gaze unwavering.
The Duke released a heavy sigh before speaking again. "You are correct," he admitted. "Yet the duchy desires something far greater, my lady."
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, sending a quiet chill through Celistine. Unease stirred within her—she sensed the direction their conversation was taking.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice controlled despite the tightening in her chest.
"The duchy has already chosen a side."
Before she could respond, another voice cut through the air—one unmistakably familiar.
"The duchy has chosen to side with me."
Celistine's breath caught as the Emperor of the Western Empire stepped into the room, accompanied by his assistant, Max. She had never anticipated such a turn, not here, not now. The shock registered plainly on her face as Emperor Harold's sudden presence shattered the fragile balance of the negotiation.
Beside her, Leon allowed himself a faint smirk. Though surprised by the Emperor's bold entrance, he quickly understood the trap that had been set. Even he had not expected Harold to outmaneuver Celistine so thoroughly.
The Duke's grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He had known all along.