Three days before, Celestine had engaged in a long, weighty conversation with Melody's parents, Ana and Gilbert. Every word hung in the air, measured and deliberate, the kind that could shift the delicate balance of trust with the slightest misstep. Celestine's eyes flicked from Gilbert to Ana, noting the faint lines of worry etched on their faces, and she kept her expression calm, though her heart beat faster with each passing second. Then Gilbert spoke—and the words struck her with an almost electric thrill.
"Your Grace… I will help you."
A small, cautious smile lifted Celestine's lips, though her chest tightened with quiet elation. Relief and excitement mingled inside her, a storm she carefully contained behind poised eyes. "Are you sure about that?" she asked softly, almost whispering the need for reassurance.
"Yes," Gilbert replied, his voice steady and firm, eyes unwavering. "My wife and I have already spoken about it. Just give me the instructions, and I will be ready."
A warmth spread through Celestine, a fleeting rush of triumph and hope. Destiny, it seemed, had finally tilted in her favor. Finally, the path to delivering her message to the North without the Emperor noticing had opened—but it was fraught with peril. Every step must be precise, every gesture deliberate.
"Wait for my instructions, and be careful," she said, her gaze piercing theirs, a subtle edge in her voice. "There are too many shadows watching, too many eyes from the Emperor. One misstep and all could be lost."
Ana and Gilbert nodded, solemn, their faces reflecting both the gravity of her words and a quiet determination. Celestine's chest swelled slightly; their loyalty and understanding were the threads she would weave her plan around.
When the discussion ended, she guided them toward the main exit, waving them off with a radiant, almost serene smile that belied the whirlwind of thoughts racing in her mind. The Empress's guards flanked them, escorting them safely to their carriage, their armor clinking softly in the quiet courtyard. Celestine watched until the dust from the wheels faded from sight, a flicker of worry tinged with satisfaction pressing against her calm exterior.
Once the courtyard fell silent, Celestine walked slowly through the mansion gardens, Grace at her side. The garden's paths stretched before them, dappled with soft sunlight that seemed almost incongruous against the tension in Celestine's mind. She considered each step of her plan—the journey of the letter from the Western Empire to Renia, and onward to the North. Gilbert could not serve as the courier; any movement on his part would be noticed. Only Grace could traverse the secret passages unnoticed, her knowledge of the hidden paths indispensable. And yet, even Grace needed a convincing reason for her journey, one that would not arouse suspicion.
Their footsteps carried them to the pavilion where Medeya was hosting a small, genteel tea gathering. A chestnut-haired girl knelt respectfully before her, and Celestine's curiosity was piqued. This was the first time she would meet Rehana, the Lady of Renia.
"Are you certain, Your Grace?" Rehana asked, her voice a delicate mix of confusion and shock at the sudden decree. Celestine sipped her tea, calm and deliberate, letting the silence stretch just long enough to emphasize the weight of her authority.
"Yes," she replied, her tone measured, deliberate, leaving no room for argument.
"Why?" Rehana pressed, eyes wide, leaning forward slightly as if the very air carried the answer.
"It is the Empress's duty to ensure peace," Celestine said simply. Her words carried a quiet, unshakable strength. Rehana's eyes shimmered with awe and gratitude, trembling as if the revelation itself had touched her deeply.
But Celestine's gaze sharpened, her demeanor shifting, a hint of steel threading through her calm. "There is one condition," she said, voice low, controlled, and unwavering.
Rehena's curiosity flared, her chest tightening with anticipation. Grace stepped forward, silently handing over a sheet of paper depicting unfamiliar berries. Rehana frowned, confusion knitting her brow, then recognition sparked in her eyes as she studied the delicate illustration.
"These are the poisonous black berries, Your Majesty—they resemble grapes," she murmured, a note of caution threading her voice.
"Yes. And they grow only in Renia, correct?" Celestine asked, her gaze sharp, probing for confirmation, every movement calculated.
"Exactly. We always burn them, yet they persist. The people of Renia know of them; only newcomers—guests or visitors—might be unaware of the danger. That's why signs warn them not to touch the berries on the roads," Rehana explained, nibbling on a cookie, her curiosity growing with each word. Her eyes flicked subtly to Celestine, puzzled at how the Empress could know of the berries without ever stepping foot in Renia.
"May I ask how you discovered the berries, Your Grace?" Rehena inquired, her voice soft, almost reverent.
"One of my people, a commoner who buys wheat from your city, was poisoned by them," Celestine explained, her calm tone barely masking the urgency beneath.
"Poor man… he must have missed the warning," Rehana murmured, sympathy softening her features. "By the way, Your Majesty, what is the condition you asked for?" Curiosity and concern battled within her, pride tempered by a fierce desire to protect her people.
"You must burn all the black berries in your town—leave no trace," Celestine said. Rehana's eyes widened in shock, disbelief mingling with tension. "That's all?" she thought, her mind racing to grasp the simplicity and the danger of the Empress's command.
"After I send you a letter confirming whether the Emperor will approve my decision to aid Renia with the Empress's knights, then you may act," Celestine added, her calm masking the tension coiled tightly within her.
"What if I burn them immediately upon returning to Renia, Your Majesty? I will see my father at once," Rehana said, urgency creeping into her voice.
"No!" Celestine's interjection startled her, sharp and commanding. She quickly softened her tone, steadying the moment. "You will only report to your father that we spoke about the aid by the Empress's knights, but not our entire plan. Wait for my signal. Do not burn the berries until my letter arrives. Understand?"
Rehana nodded carefully, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes wide and attentive, absorbing each word like precious instruction.
"Two letters will reach you," Celestine continued, her voice lowered, deliberate. "One from the Emperor's messenger, and one from a stranger—my agent. Grace will deliver the instructions for where to meet him. Ensure no one sees you; no shadow of the Emperor must be near. Are you clear?"
"I swear by the heavenly gods that I will not reveal your instructions and will follow them faithfully, without anyone noticing," Rehana vowed, her voice steady, eyes glistening with determination.
Celestine studied her intently, allowing a small flicker of satisfaction to cross her face. Only then did she release her hold on the conversation, letting Rehena rush to her father at the inn, heart pounding with purpose and responsibility. Meanwhile, Celestine turned to Grace, their eyes meeting briefly—a silent understanding passing between them. The plan was delicate, the pieces fragile, but each one was in place, hidden, and ready to move when the moment came.
Celestine and her trusted maid, Grace, stood in the Empress's bedchamber, their minds weighed with plans yet unspoken. The quiet of the room seemed almost heavy with expectation, as if the walls themselves knew the secrets soon to be shared.
"So, what's the plan, Your Majesty?" Grace asked, her tone gentle but curious. Her eyes followed every movement of Celestine's hands, noting the careful precision with which she arranged her papers.
Celestine's lips curved into a small smile, the faintest light of determination glinting in her eyes. "Here is my plan," she said, and began to explain, her voice measured, each word deliberate.
First, she recounted how she had petitioned the Emperor, alongside the Grand Ministers, to allow her to aid the City of Renia. The initial meeting had been heated, voices clashing sharply against the grandeur of the hall. Yet, with patience and subtle maneuvering—helped in part by Medeya's unexpected influence—Celestine had steered the Emperor to agreement, just as she had foreseen.
Once the Emperor's reluctant consent was secured, she wasted no time. She dispatched a letter to Renia through the Empire's trusted messenger. It was more than a message; it was a lure, intended to draw Barron into motion without arousing suspicion. Simultaneously, she instructed Grace to visit the greenery shop, under the innocent pretext of purchasing sweets and pastries. On the surface, it was a simple errand—but beneath it lay strategy. The Emperor's shadow, carried out by Barron, would be misled, distracted by the harmless errands of the Empress.
Grace had begun her journey in an ordinary carriage, the rhythmic jolt of wheels over cobblestones marking each step. Then, disaster struck—the carriage wheel splintered, sending the vehicle into a sudden halt. Grace's irritation flared; she hopped down, boots clattering against the stones.
"Is there no way to repair this quickly?" she asked sharply, frustration flickering across her face.
"Forgive me, milady," the coachman replied, bowing low, his voice strained. "It shall take five hours to mend."
"Five hours?" Grace exclaimed in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. With a sigh, she abandoned the carriage. There was no time to waste; the letter from Empress Celestine must reach Gilbert without delay. Determined, she set off on foot, the letter carefully secured at her side.
Hours later, having made her way through the winding paths, Grace paused to rest briefly in the Fifth Division. It was then she noticed a shadow moving in front of her. Turning sharply, her eyes met Barron, mounted atop his great white horse, his expression as impassive as ever. Grace arched an eyebrow in silent challenge.
"What are you doing here?" Barron asked, curiosity in his low, measured tone.
Grace's mind raced. Was he following her? Yet, her gaze fell on a brown stain upon his pristine white tunic—perhaps chocolate. A quiet exhalation escaped her; he was not pursuing her with ill intent, only observing.
"I was on my way to the greenery shop," she explained carefully, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart, "riding in the ordinary carriage from the palace. Unfortunately, the wheel broke, and I had no choice but to continue on foot."
Barron listened silently, a faint tilt of his head betraying nothing of his thoughts. Grace expected no assistance; she knew Barron well enough to understand that closeness was a luxury they did not share. Nevertheless, she pressed onward, walking briskly toward the Third Division, resigned to a long evening before returning to the mansion.
To her shock, Barron fell into step beside her, the subtle sound of his horse's hooves matching her pace.
"Hop on," he said abruptly, the coldness of his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will take you there."
Grace froze, incredulous. "No! No, sir, I can manage on my own. I do not wish to trouble you," she protested, yet before she could step aside, Barron's long, sure hands grasped her waist. In a fluid motion, he lifted her onto the saddle before him. Grace found herself sitting before him, stunned into silence. Townsfolk paused to watch, some whispering, others unable to hide their astonishment at the audacity of his gesture.
"Hold closer," Barron murmured into her ear, his voice a low, commanding whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. Grace's fingers instinctively tightened around him, the warmth of his presence both startling and oddly reassuring.
With a subtle nudge of his legs, Barron set the white horse into motion once more, carrying them swiftly toward the greenery shop, the air crisp around them, the carriage of secrecy and purpose driving each galloping stride.
***
At the stroke of midnight, in the shadowed lanes of Renia, two figures met in a narrow alley, hidden from prying eyes. The hush of the city wrapped around them, leaving only the faint whisper of their movements. A man, solemn and discreet, handed over a letter to a woman draped in a brown cloak, flanked by her two loyal knights.
"This is it?" the woman asked, her voice low but tense, betraying a flicker of anticipation beneath the calm.
"Yes," the man replied, bowing his head slightly. "Her Grace commanded me to deliver this, as Her Majesty instructed."
A brief, hushed conversation passed between them—words careful, measured, meant only for their ears. When it concluded, they parted silently, shadows melding into the darkness. The woman in the brown cloak turned, her steps swift yet measured, until she reached the sanctuary of her mansion.
Once inside, she closed the heavy door behind her, drawing the curtains to shut out the moonlight. The letter rested in her hands, its weight both literal and figurative. She inhaled deeply, feeling the gravity of the task placed upon her by the Empress herself.
"Ah… I suppose this is what I must do," Lady Rehena murmured, her fingers tracing the edges of the parchment. Her gaze hardened with resolve, and a subtle tremor of anticipation ran through her as she began to set her plans into motion—plans meticulously laid by Her Majesty, Empress Celestine.
The quiet of the chamber seemed to press in around her, the ticking of a distant clock the only reminder of time's relentless march. Yet within that solitude, a fire sparked in her chest. Every movement, every decision from this moment forth, would carry the weight of the Empress's command—and the fate of Renia itself rested in her careful hands.