Dawn's mist lingered as the walls of Rahlian glowed in the pale golden skylight. Evelyn and Lucien had already donned light armor, stepping from the royal study toward the "Morning Drill Ground" outside the East Gate—where Silver Oath Knights and the Universal Guard awaited their daily training. Today, they would receive the newly decreed "Justice Training"—a ceremonial drill fusing legal order with the will of faith.
The queen halted before the ranks, her gaze sweeping the orderly formation. Raising her scepter, her voice rang clear: "Today's drills will center on the 'Holy Light Footwork' and 'Justice Etiquette,' reminding every guardian that we defend not just walls, but hearts and convictions. After training, I will read today's frontline intelligence." Her subordinates acknowledged solemnly, as the rustle of wind, clatter of armor, and beating hearts merged into a new morning anthem.
After drills, in the council pavilion beside the square, Evelyn personally read the latest reports from three border counties: merchant caravans in North Mountain Pass were harassed by bandits, requiring immediate Silver Oath reinforcements; southern floods had receded, and relief teams must distribute new grain; funds for Lein City's church reconstruction also needed urgent allocation. Each resolution was seconded and discussed by civilian representatives, keeping governance transparent in the light.
In the afternoon, the Fountain Pavilion in the royal garden became their brief haven. Holding a teacup, Evelyn gazed at the clear, rippling water and softly asked Lucien: "After days of ,are you at peace?"
Lucien removed his war helmet, resting its edge on a flower trellis. Brushing her hair, he smiled: "By your side, how can I not be? But both governance and war demand vigilance—I'd rather unarm for you alone in the night."
Evelyn sighed, touching the emblem on his chest: "Without you as my shield, how could I stay whole under the spotlight of stars?"
At dusk, in the "Hanlight Hall" of the palace's west wing, Evelyn convened governors of nine provinces and abbey ritual elders to discuss the "West Ridge Development Plan." After debate, she adopted suggestions from all sides, deciding to establish a "West Ridge Protectorate Camp" co-governed by soldiers, elected representatives, and Holy See observers for mineral and grain storage. All praised the new model as a pilot template for other regions.
Just then, Censor Cyril produced a freshly inked confidential letter inscribed with coordinate numbers and a note: "North Pit Green Abyss—undercurrents reignite." It was a bandit stronghold yet to be cleared. Evelyn's expression hardened: "This concerns West Ridge commoners' safety—no delay. Lucien, lead cavalry tonight to investigate thoroughly."
Lucien clasped his hands in salute: "Ten riders will accompany me; we shall not fail."
Deep in the night, the garden's cold moon lingered with the fountain's echo. Lucien returned in haste, half-wet cloak billowing, raindrops still on his brow. He rushed to brew hot tea in a pavilion corner as Evelyn leaned on the railing, gazing at the moon and sensing his hurried return. She approached, tearing off his cloak to reveal shoulders trembling from exertion and a slightly bruised collarbone.
"Are you unhurt?" Evelyn asked gravely.
Handing her hot tea, Lucien smiled: "Rode through wind and rain, but my resolve to protect you never wavered." He pressed the teacup to her palm, its warmth reddening her fingers reassuringly. Bowing his head, smile on his lips, he couldn't help leaning to her neck, leaving a warm kiss. Evelyn closed her eyes, trembling softly as she whispered: "Without you, neither royal power nor holy light could ease my mind."
He held her close, undoing the last clasp of her cape to reveal a snow-smooth waist. Candlelight glowed on her skin like morning dew. Lucien's heart stirred as his fingers brushed her holy light token, circling to her waist to pull her tighter. He kissed her deeply, trailing from neck to collarbone, then to the royal blood mark on her chest—each gentle touch writing an eternal vow.
Evelyn's gasps turned to murmurs, her fingertips tracing circles on his back as she felt his steady pulse. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and they sank onto the brocade couch, where candlelight and moonlight wove their eager desire and tenderness into a silent oath.
Passion and affection spread in the night, every interlace of lips, tongue, and fingertips a testament to their deepest love and trust. As the night wore on, heartbeats quickened until they settled together in the quiet of embrace.
When dawn knocked again, both slept lightly in each other's arms, inwardly vowing: no matter how west ridge undercurrents rose, they would defend the capital side by side and never let go of each other's hands.