The night was brisk with a gentle breeze, the stars shimmering like scattered silver dust above Renia's skies. The great plaza thrummed with life, for all the people of Renia had gathered to celebrate their city's victory. Music resounded across the square, lanterns swayed with the night wind, and laughter mingled with the sound of feet upon cobblestone. At the heart of this jubilant gathering sat Empress Celestine, resplendent yet serene, flanked by Lord Herbet, Lady Rehena, and the ever-watchful Barron.
Grace, however, was absent from the revels. She lay resting in her chambers, weakened by a chill, and saving her strength for the journey that awaited them on the morrow.
Celestine, though garbed in imperial dignity, had chosen to place herself among the people. From her seat she watched as the common folk danced and sang, the plaza alive with merriment. It was her decision to hold the feast—not in gilded halls, but here, amidst the very folk who had borne the trials of war alongside her soldiers. She wished the victory to be theirs as much as hers.
"Waaahuhuhuh! Must you truly depart on the morrow, Your Majesty?" Lady Rehena's voice quavered as she clung to Celestine's arm, her face pressed tearfully against the Empress's shoulder.
Celestine closed her eyes, smiling gently at the girl's childish display. She had never imagined that Rehena, spirited as she was, could be moved so to tears. The sight touched her deeply, for it stirred memories of her brother Carlo. When she had left the North to wed into the Western Empire, Carlo had wept bitterly, unwilling to part with his sister. Rehena's tears now mirrored his, and for a moment the Empress felt as though she had been given back a fragment of home.
"Compose yourself, Rehena. You shame yourself before Her Majesty," Lord Herbet scolded, his brow furrowed in disapproval.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," he added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish gesture.
Celestine's heart, though longing to remain in Renia, knew she could not tarry. The Western Empire demanded her attention, and beyond it, the affairs of the Northern Kingdom still awaited her hand. Yet rather than burden Rehana with explanation, she simply raised her hand, patting the young lady's head in tender reassurance.
"I shall return," she murmured softly, her voice as calm as the evening breeze. "When my duties are fulfilled, I will come to see you again."
Rehena straightened, wiping her tears, and forced a brave smile. "You must, Your Majesty. I shall await you here, together with my father." Her words carried both courage and devotion.
Their attention soon shifted back to the throng of dancers, whose joy filled the air. Barron stood apart, leaning against the shadowed edge of the plaza. His silver-grey eyes scanned the merrymakers, not as a sentinel but as one detached, an observer of lives foreign to him. Revelry had never been his craft; his childhood had been forged in the stern discipline of his adoptive father—books, political lessons, endless drills of blade and strategy. Where others had danced, Barron had wielded steel in the lamplight, training until his arms burned. Thus he watched now, aloof and unmoved.
Yet in the silence of his heart one thought haunted him: Grace. He did not understand why her face lingered in his mind. Was it the incident of the day before? He shook the thought aside, only to be startled as the music ceased.
Celestine had risen, striking her wine glass with a fork so that a clear chime rang across the square. The people stilled, all eyes turning upon their Empress. With a deep breath, she lifted her voice, strong and resolute.
"To all soldiers of Renia, and to mine own who stood beside them," she began, her gaze sweeping the assembly, "to those who defended this city and shielded its people—I offer my deepest gratitude. You believed not only in me, but in yourselves. Your courage turned the tide of battle, and for that I shall honour you from the depths of my heart. And to the common folk of Renia—thank you. It is through your hands that peace shall be rebuilt in these streets!"
Her voice rose in triumph: "For the soldiers of Renia! For the people of Renia!"
Lady Rehena leapt to her feet, her young voice ringing with fervour. "Long live the Empress! Empress Celestine!"
The shout was taken up by all: "Long live the Empress! Long live Empress Celestine! Long live the People of Renia!"
Then came a chant, swelling from the crowd: "The Empress of the Commoners! The Heroine of Renia!" The words struck Celestine like a warm embrace. A new title had been born that night, one carried on the voices of the people themselves. She smiled, her heart swelling with a quiet hope—that one day, when she returned to the North, they too would hail her with pride.
"I could not have done this alone," Celestine continued, her tone softening, "without the aid of the Emperor's most esteemed assistant, Barron Glyde Hebrew. He led my knights with wisdom and resolve, and through him our path was made firm. Let us thank him together."
Reluctantly, the crowd's cheer turned to Barron, who stiffened under the sudden wave of praise. Though he gave no bow nor smile, the people shouted their thanks all the same, until the Empress's speech had ended and the revelry resumed.
As Celestine settled once more with Rehena at her side, common folk approached in steady lines, each bearing small gifts of gratitude—a loaf of bread, a handwoven cloth, tokens humble yet sincere.
"Your Majesty, please accept this small offering as you depart on the morrow," one elderly woman said, her hands trembling as she held forth a bundle.
Celestine nodded warmly and gestured for her guards to accept it. "I thank you, madam, with all my heart." She smiled, and the woman, moved to tears, bowed low before departing.
More came, each bearing what little they could, until the Empress's lap was filled with the kindness of her people.
While Empress Celestine busied herself with receiving tokens of gratitude from the common folk of Renia—simple gifts wrapped in cloth or carried in trembling hands, yet offered with heartfelt devotion—Barron Glyde slipped away quietly from the plaza. His silver eyes, cold as steel under moonlight, carried with them a stern resolve. He sought a private audience with Lord Herbet, one that could not be delayed nor overheard.
Within the Lord's chamber, the atmosphere was tense. The heavy oak door closed behind him with a low thud, and there stood Robert, Lord Herbet's most trusted knight and right hand, planted firmly at his master's side like an immovable pillar. Barron lowered himself onto a velvet couch, yet his posture remained stiff, his presence commanding. His gaze—dark, piercing silver—rested unflinchingly upon Lord Herbet, who found himself swallowing hard beneath that interrogative stare.
"Lord Herbet," Barron began in a voice as cold as winter steel, "you must already be wondering why I summoned you into private counsel, must you not?"
The words fell heavy in the room. Lord Herbet, though a seasoned noble, shifted uneasily, masking his tension with a strained composure. He already knew what subject loomed between them—the Empress.
"And what matter," Lord Herbet replied, attempting nonchalance though his voice betrayed a slight tremor, "does Lord Barron wish to discuss with me this evening?"
Barron's expression did not soften. He leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped, his silver eyes glinting sharply in the candlelight.
"Do you have any idea," Barron said, his tone icy, "why every one of my shadows, assigned under His Majesty's command to keep discreet watch upon the Empress, has suddenly vanished from their posts?"
The accusation, spoken so coldly, struck like a dagger. Lord Herbet feigned surprise, drawing in a breath as though in disbelief. His brows lifted, his eyes widened in practiced shock.
"Good heavens, my lord! I do not understand your meaning," he protested, shaking his head slightly. "Why would His Majesty, the Emperor himself, send shadows to tail Her Majesty the Empress, when she has done nothing to warrant such suspicion?"
Yet inwardly, Lord Herbet knew full well the truth of the matter. He suspected—nay, he was certain—that it was none other than his own daughter, the valiant Lady Rehena, and her two most skilled knights, who had quietly dealt with Barron's lurking shadows. Still, Herbet's loyalty to the Empress was absolute, bound by gratitude for her aid to Renia and her protection of his city. He would not betray her trust, no matter the cost. Thus, each word that passed his lips was measured, careful, restrained.
Barron's eyes narrowed further, his voice hardening as though he were interrogating a criminal.
"Do not pretend ignorance, Lord Herbet. You, and you alone, possess the influence and capability to erase my shadows from your territory. In case the Empress should make some reckless move to displease the Emperor, I must know the truth."
Before Lord Herbet could answer, Robert took a single step forward, his eyes locked unflinchingly upon Barron's own. His voice rang firm, steady, with no trace of fear.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Barron," Robert declared, "but my Lord knows nothing of what you accuse him. And if Her Majesty the Empress offers us aid, it is not at the price of subjugation. Tell me, why should we risk ourselves by siding with her, should she indeed choose the path of rebellion against His Majesty the Emperor?"
His words struck like a shield raised in defence of his Lord, an open defiance against Barron—the Emperor's puppet and enforcer.
For the first time, Barron paused, momentarily disarmed by the knight's courage. His eyes flickered, though his countenance remained grim.
"The Empress," he said at last, his tone low and unwavering, "is clever enough to turn the world upon it's head."
The statement sent a ripple of unease across the chamber. Lord Herbet and Robert exchanged the briefest of glances, their hearts quickening at the weight behind those words.
Then Lord Herbet allowed a slow smile to curl upon his lips, though his eyes remained guarded.
"Hah... We both know the truth, Lord Barron. The Empress holds the loyalty only of the North. The majority of this continent's nobles, in their fear, bow to the Emperor's wrath. None dare risk their lives or their titles for a powerless Empress—an Empress who bears the crown, yes, but holds no true authority. His Majesty the Emperor remains the single most powerful and influential man upon this land. Who, then, would dare oppose him?"
Barron's gaze did not waver. He leaned closer, his voice sharpening once more.
"Then tell me, Lord Herbet—what negotiations have you conducted with the Empress without my presence? What promises have you offered her? What reward would she dare to accept?"
Lord Herbet clasped his hands behind his back, his voice measured yet firm.
"The same, my lord, as what we have offered the Emperor himself. The Empress accepted graciously, without hesitation. You know as well as I that she is kind-hearted, merciful to those in need. Even you must have heard it said—has she not already aided countless free villages beyond our borders? Does not her compassion reach farther than duty demands?"
Barron exhaled deeply, his eyes closing for but a moment as though weighing Lord Herbet's words. At length, he rose from his seat. His silver gaze lingered on the two men, yet his suspicions seemed, at least for now, tempered.
It was true—Renia was but a small city. Its army, though loyal, was far too few to tip the scales should a war erupt between the Western Empire and the North. Should the Empress rashly declare rebellion, Renia could not possibly survive the ensuing storm. Or so Barron believed. What he did not perceive, however, was the quiet truth—that Renia's heart was already beginning to lean towards Celestine, bound by the loyalty of Lord Herbet himself.
Thus Barron departed in silence, his boots echoing heavily as he crossed the chamber floor. Robert's eyes followed him keenly, scanning the room to ensure no ears lingered near. When the door closed, Robert quietly lowered his voice and turned to his Lord.
"My Lord... it seems we must be twice as careful now."
Lord Herbet sighed heavily, his hand pressing against his brow as though weighed down by the burden of choice.
"You are right, Robert. All the more so, with the Empress's kin present within our walls. Without doubt, the Emperor's shadows shall redouble their watch upon us."
Robert's brow furrowed with unease. At last he asked, "Why, then, have you chosen to side with the Empress, my Lord?"
For a moment Lord Herbet was silent. Then, with a solemn breath, he answered, his eyes alight with quiet conviction.
"I cannot fully explain it... not merely because she spared my life, nor because she aided Renia when none else would. But I sense within her a power, a destiny yet unseen. One day, I believe, she shall rise as the most powerful and influential woman in all four kingdoms."
Robert's eyes darkened with worry. "And if, in that day, the Empress should act in haste? If she should declare rebellion against the three kingdoms, will you still stand at her side?"
The knight's voice bore the weight of his fears—for his Lord, for their city, for the common folk who would suffer should war come to their gates.
Yet Lord Herbet placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder, speaking with calm certainty.
"Fear not, Robert. I do not believe the Empress will ever place us recklessly in peril. She carries within her both wisdom and mercy. Trust in that. I know, in time, she shall aid us again—and she shall not abandon us to danger."
Robert bowed his head, still uncertain, yet he did not argue further. And so, with hearts heavy but bound in hope, Lord Herbet and his loyal knight returned to their duties, placing their faith in the Empress and the unseen path she would one day carve across the kingdoms.