**Chapter 22**
The next morning, as the sun rose and painted the sky in brilliant shades of gold and pink, I was definitively proven right about the view. It was absolutely breathtaking—almost unreal in its beauty, like something pulled from a dream or a painting. A winding branch of the mighty Aresina River curved its way directly beneath the towering cliff where we stood, the powerful current rushing forward with clear purpose and determination, as if it were carrying urgent messages to some distant, unknown place that patiently awaited its arrival. As the early morning sun touched the water's surface with its golden light, the river shimmered magnificently, breaking the light into countless soft fragments of color that danced and played across the water like scattered rainbows, creating an ever-shifting display.
Beyond the river stretched the dense, seemingly endless expanse of the Great Forest, the ancient trees spreading as far as the eye could see in every direction, their crowns merging together into what looked like an infinite ocean of deep green. Every so often, large flocks of birds burst suddenly from the treetops in coordinated movements, scattering in shifting, flowing formations that looked like careful brushstrokes painted on a living canvas by an invisible artist. The whole scene felt as though it had been deliberately painted by a god—too perfect, too serene, too impossibly beautiful to be merely natural. It was utterly mesmerizing in a way that momentarily made me forget everything else—my worries, my responsibilities, even the dragon that slept within me.
Katherine approached quietly from behind, her footsteps soft, and handed me a steaming cup of tea without a word.
"His Majesty made it specially for you," she informed me gently, her voice respectful.
I glanced back over my shoulder toward the camp. The mentioned tea-maker—my husband—stood among his soldiers at a distance, speaking to them with an ease and natural warmth that didn't match the heavy weight of his imperial crown or his fearsome reputation. He helped them pack up the camp personally, laughed genuinely with them at their jokes, exchanged words like an equal rather than an emperor high above. His men flocked eagerly around him like moths to flame, animated and earnest in their interactions, the deep admiration plainly visible in their faces impossible to miss. Their loyalty to him ran deep and true; it radiated clearly from the way they watched him with devoted eyes, spoke to him with respect mixed with affection, listened attentively to his every word as if it were sacred.
He was remarkably popular with his troops—far more than I had initially accounted for or expected. His young age, in comparison to other rulers, felt merely like an insignificant footnote to his powerful presence and natural authority.
"I see," I replied softly, accepting the warm cup gratefully and wrapping my cold fingers around it.
The tea was a noticeably different blend this time—distinctly nutty with subtle fruity notes in a delicate way, warm and soothing in a deeply comforting way. The unexpected taste surprised me pleasantly, drawing a small widening of my eyes that I hadn't consciously intended to reveal.
"It's a special brew from the southern provinces," Katherine explained, noticing my reaction. "Made with carefully dried citrus fruit and high-quality black tea leaves."
I took another appreciative sip, savoring the complex flavors. He hadn't lied or exaggerated—there really were seemingly endless varieties of tea in the south.
Even after I had taken a few more slow sips, Katherine remained steadily by my side rather than moving away, her hands clasped formally behind her back. Her presence felt steady and solid, almost expectant, as if she were waiting for something specific. The question that had been lingering persistently at the back of my mind for days now surfaced once again, nudging me insistently until I could no longer ignore it or push it away.
So I finally asked it aloud.
"Do you think I'm unfit to be queen?" I asked, letting the potentially dangerous words slip out casually, as though I were merely inquiring about the weather or the quality of the tea.
Katherine didn't answer immediately or rush to reassure me. Her gaze fixed on me directly, serious and unwavering, studying my face.
"May I speak bluntly and honestly?" she asked carefully, her voice calm yet cautious.
"When have you ever not been blunt with me? Go ahead and speak freely," I said, genuinely amused despite the uncomfortable tension curling tightly in my stomach.
She took a visible breath, preparing herself. "I didn't think you were a good queen—nor did I believe you made wise or good decisions for your people. Maybe my father's strong opinions shaped and influenced mine unfairly, but I grew up constantly hearing from him and others that you were incompetent. That your judgment was cowardly and weak. And I admit freely, I formed my own harsh prejudice based on those words. When you humiliated and punished my father publicly, I thought you were needlessly cruel as well."
She spoke eloquently and without noticeable hesitation, her words flowing smoothly. Her raw honesty should not have surprised me given what I knew of her character, yet it struck deeper than I wanted to admit or show. It hurt—embarrassingly so, more than I had expected—but I kept my expression carefully composed and neutral, refusing to let the pain show.
"But in the last few days we've spent together," she continued, her tone shifting, "I realized I may have been completely wrong about you. You didn't fear the Ashers when everyone else cowered—you spoke their sacred sign language fluently when none of us had even thought of learning it. And that night during the summoning ritual… you stood against an ancient, terrifying being without faltering or backing down. Not many people possess that particular kind of courage."
She shifted her gaze away from me to look at the spectacular view spread before us. "I realized through watching you that you were simply doing what you believed was absolutely necessary. For your people. For their survival and safety. Of course you have flaws and make mistakes, but we all do. At the end of the day, we are only human, fallible and imperfect."
Her voice softened noticeably, becoming almost tender. "I am going to choose to believe in you now, my queen. And respect you genuinely. I sincerely hope the future you create for us—for all of us—will be a prosperous and peaceful one."
A dreamy, genuine hopefulness glowed warmly in her blue eyes as she spoke.
Then she bowed deeply and formally, holding the position. "I also apologize sincerely for my disrespectful actions and words in the beginning. I was wrong."
I had absolutely no reason to chastise or punish her for her honesty. People had the fundamental right to form their own opinions—especially when those opinions were shaped by personal grief or fierce loyalty to their loved ones. She wasn't afraid to voice those opinions either, which I found refreshing. She was a rare personality—strong-willed, sharp-minded, and unyieldingly honest even when it might cost her. I deeply respected that quality.
"There's nothing to apologize for," I said firmly. "You didn't truly offend me."
I finished the last warming sip of the excellent tea and handed her the empty cup.
"Thank you, my queen," she replied, her voice carrying genuine emotion. "I promise to serve you faithfully to the very best of my abilities. I won't disappoint you or fail you."
She left with an oddly determined stride, her back straight and purposeful. Determined people were always a handful to manage, and I had just gained one more to add to my collection. It felt genuinely good to earn her hard-won respect—but along with it came the heavy weight of responsibility, the pressure of not disappointing her or betraying that trust in the future.
I didn't dream of being a great, legendary queen whose name would echo through history. Just a good, competent, average one. One who didn't ruin everything she touched. I hoped earnestly that the gods would have mercy on me and help me along the difficult way ahead.
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We resumed our journey a few hours later, after the camp had been completely packed and the fires extinguished. The forest path ahead of us wound through the thickest, densest part of the woods, where ancient trees blocked out much of the sunlight. By nightfall, according to the scouts and their maps, we were expected to finally exit the oppressive Forest completely and reach the Gorei Plains—the expansive lands of Gorei, a prosperous region belonging to the Selon Empire. The plains themselves stretched across gently rolling mild hills and wide open grasslands, holding a completely different kind of beauty compared to the north's mountains and forests.
Gorei belonged to one of the three major, powerful dukedoms of Selon. The current Duke of Gorei was a direct descendant of the emperor from two generations before Arvid's reign. After he had participated valiantly in the war and personally conquered the region through military might, he was officially appointed Duke exactly sixty years ago as a reward. Gorei had originally belonged to Draga, part of our ancestral homeland, but after we lost the devastating battle that decided everything, we were pushed back forcibly to the Aresina River. A new border was established by treaty, dividing not just land but families and creating old scars that still remained visible across the map.
Katherine relayed all this historical information to me, though I had read about it before in dusty books. Somehow, the way she explained it—with her naturally eloquent cadence and engaging storytelling flair—made me absorb and understand it far more clearly than any dry, academic text ever had.
"The Duke of Gorei is quite close personally to the Emperor of Selon," she continued her explanation. "They've always maintained strong relations and loyalty. The previous emperor visited Gorei years ago on a diplomatic journey—he was even protected and saved by the Duke during a sudden assassination attack. And when His Majesty rose to the throne after the violence, the Duke was the very first noble to publicly support him and pledge loyalty."
I wondered briefly how she had gathered so much detailed information in such a short time but didn't actually need to ask. She had brought the perfect source with her.
The "resource" in question sat quietly beside her—a frail-looking boy with soft brown hair and gentle, intelligent blue eyes. He looked painfully shy, his thin fingers fidgeting nervously and constantly in his lap. When his father, the master craftsman Dulga, had asked which of his many sons wished to volunteer to go south, this boy had raised his hand without hesitation, volunteering himself without being prompted or pressured.
He had since befriended a surprisingly talkative southern soldier who, remarkably, spoke our northern language fluently. Through that unlikely friendship, he regularly brought us interesting bits and pieces of news and information—small details and observations that often slipped unnoticed between the lines of official documents.
He was clearly introverted and quiet by nature but also observant and intelligent, and I genuinely wanted to know him better, to understand him. So I had insisted firmly that he ride with us in the carriage rather than walking. He had only reluctantly agreed because Katherine had insisted as well, adding her voice to mine.
Yet frustratingly, he wouldn't look directly at me. Not once since entering. He stared determinedly at the floor, the passing window, the opposite door—literally anywhere except at me.
"Am I really that scary?" I finally asked, somewhat amused and exasperated.
"Ah—no, no, my queen! Not at all!" he stuttered immediately, clearly mortified by the suggestion. At last, he dared to glance up briefly, meeting my eyes.
"I thought it would be disrespectful to stare at you directly, Your Majesty," he explained shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"There's no offense in simply looking at me like a normal person. Real disrespect would be refusing to answer me at all or ignoring my questions," I said, attempting a light joke—but perhaps he didn't hear or recognize the humor in my tone.
His eyes immediately filled with tears that threatened to spill over, and his entire posture froze in panic.
"Forgive me, my queen! I meant no disrespect!" he trembled visibly.
I panicked at his extreme reaction. "I was joking! Truly, I meant nothing by it."
Katherine had to step in and help calm him down, speaking softly and reassuringly. It took considerably longer than I had expected. I wondered, not for the first time, how this sensitive boy actually planned to survive the harsh south.
When he had finally steadied himself and stopped shaking, I asked gently, "Why did you decide to go to the south? What made you volunteer?"
For the first time, genuine determination replaced the nervousness in his expressive eyes.
"I'm the youngest of all my siblings," he explained, his voice gaining strength. "My older brothers are all extremely talented craftsmen, masters of their trades. I love stone carving too, deeply, but when you grow up in a village entirely full of craftsmen, it's incredibly hard to stand out or be noticed. No matter what you create, someone always makes something better, more impressive. When the emperor of Selon personally visited our village and asked for one of us to accompany him, I saw an opportunity. A rare chance for my work to truly shine. And to share our northern craft with others who have never seen it."
His thin fist clenched tightly as though physically sealing a vow. "I want people everywhere to see the beauty of northern stone carving. I want them to appreciate and understand it."
His earnest words made me smile warmly without realizing it. His determined spirit reminded me strongly of the north itself—quiet but enduring, gentle but unbreakable.
Then I heard Katherine mutter under her breath, "Oh boy… here we go."
I turned to her, puzzled by the comment. She was looking out the carriage window with an expression of resigned amusement. I followed her gaze curiously.
Arvid rode beside our carriage on his powerful horse, keeping pace. His brows were drawn tightly together, frowning deeply as he deliberately peeked inside, studying the scene. The moment our eyes met directly, he looked away abruptly and sharply pushed his horse ahead, moving out of view entirely.
"That's exactly why," Katherine said dryly, turning back to me, "I told you this was a bad idea from the start."