It was a radiant, sunlit morning when Medeya's heart seemed to leap from sheer joy as she burst into Max's chamber, finding him slumbering peacefully upon his bed. She perched herself lightly upon the edge, watching him with quiet amusement. Max, for his part, had his face partially concealed beneath one hand, as if shielding himself from the world even in sleep.
"Max, guess what?" Medeya exclaimed, bouncing lightly upon the mattress beside him. Max remained still, his eyes closed, listening to his sister with an air of feigned ignorance.
"Maaaax… did you do something? Did you expose Celistine?" she pressed on, gently shaking him. Max stirred only slightly, still pretending to be asleep, perhaps having already heard the news but choosing to disregard it. He did not know how to respond, for the only action he had taken was to confront Grace in a teasing manner. He could not fathom why he found himself so invested in her—or perhaps it was merely the intrigue of their first meeting at the tavern, where her beauty had caught his attention, though he stubbornly denied any feeling for her.
Irritated, Max finally rose from the bed.
"I do not know what you are prattling on about," he said, voice tinged with exasperation. "Perhaps the devil is in league with you—that is all."
Medeya frowned slightly at his response, sensing his lack of conviction and unsatisfied with his dismissal.
"Once I become Empress, we will no longer need to fear the Blackthreads if they come after us." she said calmly, still seated upon the bed, while Max, now standing, gazed out of the window, letting out a long, weary sigh.
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In the Northern Kingdom, King Henry and Carlo, Celistine's brother, were engrossed in planning the sowing of wheat seeds, carefully arranging them to ensure provisions for the coming month, should Celistine return and her case reach its conclusion.
"Where is Cilist?" King Henry inquired, his voice edged with concern.
"She is in her chamber, Father," Carlo replied, moving gracefully among the piles of documents and carefully adjusting the arrangements within the royal office. "You know her well—she has always avoided the sunlight and prefers to keep to herself, rarely speaking with anyone outside the household."
Before King Henry could respond, the quiet of the room was broken by the sudden arrival of a messenger. The door swung open with urgency, and both Carlo and the king turned sharply, their eyes widening at the unexpected sight. It was Alec, the trusted knight of Lady Rehena, striding purposefully into the room, flanked by Johanes, Grace's father, whose expression mirrored the seriousness of the moment. The atmosphere immediately thickened with tension, the air charged with anticipation of whatever news they bore.
"What brings you here?" Carlo asked, confusion evident in his eyes. Alec's urgency was plain.
"Your Grace, here is the letter your daughter sent," Alec said, handing the sealed note to King Henry. The king opened it immediately, reading its contents. A heavy silence fell upon the room. Carlo noticed his father's eyes widen in alarm and could no longer restrain his own anxiety.
"What is it, Father?" Carlo asked, a note of worry in his tone.
"I fear we have been exposed," King Henry replied gravely.
"The Emperor is already aware of Celistine's plan." A wave of sorrow swept over him as he shared this with his eldest son, leaving the room in stunned disbelief.
"What? Then what is Sister Celistine's plan, Father?" Carlo's voice trembled slightly as he contemplated rushing to the Western Empire to protect his sister, fearing what might befall her at the Emperor's hands.
"Celistine did say there is a way," King Henry murmured, exhaling deeply. "She warned that in a few days, Western guards may come here to watch us. I must depart the North for the West, carrying the Royal sealed agreement with the later Emperor." His words left the others within the office puzzled, yet the urgency of the matter was unmistakable.
"What connection does this have, Your Grace?" Johanes asked.
"The Empress will soon declare an imperial law, and this is our opportunity," King Henry explained, his tone firm and unwavering, each word carrying the weight of authority and conviction. The gathered assembly listened intently, their minds racing as they realised the brilliance and precision with which Celistine had orchestrated every element of her plan. The magnitude of her foresight left them in silent admiration and cautious anticipation.
Wasting no time, Johanes moved swiftly to prepare the carriage for an early departure, carefully ensuring that the Royal sealed document was safely secured and ready for the journey. The atmosphere in the room buzzed with urgency, each person acutely aware that even a single misstep could have dire consequences.
Just as Johanes turned to relay the instructions to his companions, a sudden figure emerged from the shadows, halting him in his tracks. A young woman with shimmering golden hair and piercing violet eyes stepped forward, her presence commanding attention despite her silent approach. It was Celist, Carlo's twin sister. Her face, as always, was a mask of composure—cold, unreadable, and utterly devoid of emotion.
She ignored Johanes entirely, her gaze fixed solely on her father. Stepping closer, she spoke in a measured, chilling tone that carried both authority and quiet reproach.
"What are you doing here My Lady?" Johanes asked, his voice laced with both surprise and concern, while King Henry observed silently, his brow furrowed in anticipation of what his daughter might do.
"Father, do you truly believe that riding in a carriage ensures the safe delivery of the letter?" Cilist said, her tone as sharp and chilling as her gaze. All present were taken aback, for Cilist rarely intervened in matters of political strategy, preferring seclusion to responsibility.
"What do you mean, my daughter?" King Henry asked, unease creeping into his voice.
"Since the plan has already been exposed and the Empress has declared the imperial law, the Emperor's allies will do everything in their power to prevent the sealed document from reaching its destination," she explained, stepping closer to her father, her hands resting firmly on the edge of the table.
"They know you will try to reach the Western guards before they arrive, and they will likely set an ambush to stop you. I have thought through every possible outcome to make sure your journey to the Western Empire is safe."
"Father, this is my plan," Cilist concluded, her voice calm and unwavering, her icy composure revealing no hint of fear.
In the Western Empire, Emperor Harold had at last discerned the true measure of Celistine's cunning. From the first inkling, he had sensed her design: she would command her father to traverse the Western lands carrying the Royal sealed document, a move that, if successful, could undo Harold's ambitions. Determined to pre-empt her, Harold set his mind on an ambush, plotting the likely route King Henry would take, anticipating every pass, every fork in the road. The late emperor, aged and infirm, could no longer enforce his decrees, leaving Harold free to manipulate events with ruthless precision. Members of the imperial council, bribed and complicit, were ready to act in Harold's favour, ensuring that Celistine's scheme would be met with peril.
"Barron, is everything in readiness?" Harold demanded, his gaze cold and unyielding, voice sharp as a blade. "The imperial council convenes on the morrow. We cannot allow Celistine's father to deliver the sealed document. See that nothing is left to chance. Do what must be done."
"Yes, Your Grace," Barron replied, inclining his head with calculated restraint. The imperial seal—the singular evidence of Northern accusations against Harold—was their prize and their key to victory. Without it reaching the West, Harold's hold on power remained unchallenged.
Barron departed swiftly, gathering his most trusted shadows—seasoned veterans versed in ambush and subterfuge. For days they moved like spectres through forested glens and narrow passes, carefully avoiding detection. They reached the location predicted for King Henry's passage: a stretch of road secluded by trees, shadowed by the encroaching night. Twenty veteran men were stationed along the path, each poised, silent, and ready, their eyes straining for the first glimpse of their quarry.
The night deepened, the sky a veil of ink with the moon hidden behind drifting clouds. Every leaf, every rustle of underbrush seemed magnified in the tense silence. Time crawled, measured only by the beat of anxious hearts. Then, as if conjured by fate, the distant sound of carriage wheels reached them. A banner of the North fluttered faintly in the darkness, announcing the approach of King Henry's convoy.
"ATTACK! SEIZE THE IMPERIAL SEAL!" the leader of Barron's shadows cried, and the men surged forward with a roar, expecting swift victory. But when the carriage doors were flung open, their anticipation was shattered. Carlo himself leapt forth, six veteran Northern knights at his side, steel glinting in the pale moonlight.
The clash of swords rang through the night. Carlo moved with the precision of a seasoned warrior, his strikes deliberate, lethal, and unyielding. Each veteran of the Emperor's shadows fell before him, their ambush turned to ruin. He ducked and pivoted, narrowly avoiding a dagger thrust, countering with a swift kick that sent one assailant sprawling. Sparks flew as blades collided, and the air was filled with the clash of metal, the grunt of exertion, and the cries of the fallen.
The shadows had expected to ambush their prey with ease; instead, they found themselves ensnared, hunted by the very man they sought to overwhelm.
"Cilist was incredibly right," Carlo thought, his chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling upon his brow. His eyes scanned the scene, noting each fallen enemy and the route that now lay clear before them.
"Make sure no one escapes!" he commanded, voice carrying authority through the chaos. His companions moved swiftly to subdue the remaining shadows, ensuring that none could flee to report the defeat. With the last of the imperial men incapacitated, the ambush—once intended for them—was decisively turned. The plan had succeeded.
Meanwhile, King Henry, Johanes, and four loyal knights rode silently through the night, cloaks drawn tight against the chill that seeped through the darkness. Their path was deliberately circuitous, a detour chosen to evade detection, the horses' hooves striking the ground with muted rhythm. To ensure greater speed and flexibility, King Henry had chosen to ride, leaving the carriage behind in favour of swifter, more controlled travel. Every sense was alert, the shadows of the night watching, waiting for any sign of pursuit.
"Your Grace, we must depart," Johanes urged, his eyes darting back toward the distant clash of steel where Carlo fought with unmatched skill. King Henry's gaze lingered, admiration and concern warring within him, as his son moved like a force of nature, cutting down the Emperor's men with uncanny precision. Drawing his cloak about his shoulders, King Henry steeled himself, gripping the reins with purposeful strength.
Thus began their journey toward the Western Emperor, yet the first and most perilous step of Cilist's design—the plan of Carlo's twin sister—had already borne fruit. The Northern victory was secured, and for the moment, the balance of power leaned unmistakably in their favour. The night pressed on, silent but heavy with the promise of further trials, yet the courage and cunning of the North shone through, undimmed by darkness or danger.