After the heavy, shadowed conversation of the night before, Celistine once more found herself seated within her father's office, close by the side of King Henry.
Celistine wore a long, flowing gown, elegant in every stitch. The fabric was soft as morning mist, blending pale rose and ivory white. Its bodice was embroidered with delicate patterns, while the high neckline and trailing sleeves lent her the air of a figure carved from timeless grace. Her hair, unbound, fell in gentle curls down her back and over her shoulders, each strand catching the light like threads of gold-touched silk. She held herself straight, though her fingers lingered on the edge of the table, betraying her unease.
Across from her, at the great central desk that faced the doorway, sat King Henry. He was dressed not in royal robes, but in his military attire—a green jacket richly laced with gold, adorned with tassels and braids, the sleeves heavy with ornamental detail. White trousers and polished black boots completed his appearance, the whole carrying a stern, martial authority, though the weight of care hung upon his shoulders.
At a smaller desk beside him, Celistine bent over the parchment sheets. Father and daughter studied them together, searching for a way to grow enough wheat to sustain the North. The kingdom held fewer than fifty thousand souls, yet its lands stretched wide and wild. With five thousand soldiers, they might have seized the small cities scattered across the northern continent. But with only a thousand men under arms, bound by an empty treasury, the dream of colonisation slipped ever further from their reach.
"Father," Celistine murmured, her eyes fixed upon a map spattered with notes, "even if we sow wheat in the milder reaches of the North—lands spared the harsher snows—our harvest will not be ready for four, perhaps five months. It will not suffice."
King Henry sipped from his cup, his brow furrowing as he swallowed. "Indeed. Unless we claim and colonise fresh ground within the North, there is little chance. Yet with so few soldiers, such an undertaking is perilous."
Celistine's eyes drifted over the scattered papers, seeking some overlooked answer. At last, her gaze fell upon a folded parchment marked with a signet seal. Her breath caught, for the emblem was her father's own—Henry, King of the North. She drew it near, breaking the wax, her eyes sweeping across the lines.
It was a contract. A contract revealing that her father had purchased near sixty-five thousand sacks of wheat—almost a year's sustenance—from the Duke of Boulevard. Her chest tightened as she saw the figure inked within.
Three million moonshards? she whispered inwardly, her heart racing. That is near the entire budget of the North for a year and a half…
Memories of the war pressed upon her, the North's economy crippled, its spirit shattered beneath the cold betrayal of Harold. Her jaw set, she turned sharply to her father, her voice rising.
"Father, what is this? Did you truly purchase sixty-five thousand sacks of wheat from the Duke of Boulevard, paying three million moonshards?" Her words trembled between disbelief and outrage.
King Henry's eyes widened, caught between shame and remembrance. He leaned back, exhaling long. Two years ago—it was before Celistine's return to the North. A storm had been fast approaching, and fearing no aid would come from the Western Empire, he had journeyed to the Duchy of Boulevard. The Duke had promised him imported wheat, precious and secure, for an immense cost. Desperate to shield his people from famine, Henry had sacrificed the very funds meant to keep his armies strong. Thus it was that the North, in this hour, held but a thousand soldiers.
"My daughter," he said, his voice heavy, "two years past, the floods came swift and merciless. The Western Empire would not promise supplies, and I could not risk my people starving. I was left with no choice but to bargain with the Duke. It was forced upon me."
Celistine's eyes burned as anger welled within her. She turned sharply to her father, her voice low but cutting. "Tell me, Father—did Harold send nothing? No supplies at all to aid us in our hour of need?"
King Henry could not hold her gaze. His eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders sinking under invisible weight. "No," he whispered at last, his voice heavy with shame. "No supplies came from the West."
At those words, Celistine shot to her feet in a sudden storm of fury. Her chair scraped harshly against the stone floor as she slammed both palms upon the table.
"CURSE YOU, HAROLD!" she cried, her voice echoing through the chamber, raw with rage. The strike of her hands rattled the parchments and startled King Henry, who looked up in shock at his daughter's fierce outburst.
Breathing hard, Celistine leaned forward, her eyes sharp with both anger and a fragile thread of hope. "And did you at least receive the sacks?"
she pressed, her voice trembling as dread warred with the desperate wish to be proven wrong.
"Unfortunately, upon paying the Duke of Boulevard, he only delivered twenty-five sacks. After that, he began delaying the delivery of the remaining wheat, and when the floods struck the North, the last forty-four sacks never arrived. He always claimed they were out of stock. We tried to reclaim the remaining money, but the Duke refused, saying it had already been spent on purchasing wheat. We wanted to confront him, perhaps even wage war, but he commands one thousand five hundred soldiers. And… I have also heard that he is under Harold's influence."
Celistine's fury boiled over. With a sharp cry she struck her hands hard against the table, rising to her feet. The sound rang through the chamber.
"Damn him!" she spat, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing. "That bastard has robbed us! Father, we must confront him—now!"
King Henry, startled by her sudden outburst, stood to calm her. He laid a trembling hand upon her back, guiding her gently back to her seat. His touch sought to steady her storm.
"My child," he said quietly, "tell me—how shall we reclaim what is ours?"
Celistine's lips parted, her voice low. "I do not yet know, Father. Perhaps—"
She was cut short by the sudden creak of the chamber doors. A woman entered, her long chestnut hair gleaming like polished oak, freckles dancing across her pale skin. She wore a regal gown of deep crimson, richly textured, its golden accents shimmering. Over her shoulders flowed a cape of intricate gold and brown patterns, noble in its flourish.
"And why does my dear friend rage so?" she asked, stepping lightly across the floor.
Celistine turned, startled by the unexpected sight. "Lady Rehena? What are you doing here?"
Rehena's lips curved into a playful smile. "I came to lend my hand. To teach your farmers the proper sowing of wheat, and—if you permit it—to serve as your lady-in-waiting. Aha!" She winked with mischief.
King Henry regarded her with measured grace. "And who is this young lady, my daughter?"
Rehena bowed low, her cape flowing. "Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty. I am Rehena Judeya Renaid, daughter of the City of Renia. I am Celistine's dearest friend."
Henry's stern face softened, surprised that his daughter had such a companion.
In that same moment, Carlo entered the chamber, his shining yellow hair catching the light and dark purple eyes sharp with intent. He was clad in a black tunic with leather clasps, a wide belt bearing his sword, and brown trousers fit for service. He carried news of lands that might yet be sown with wheat. Yet upon seeing Lady Rehena, he faltered. His presence struck her like a sudden flame—she turned her gaze quickly aside, cheeks reddening, her composure faltering beneath the weight of a strange, unbidden flutter of nerves.
Celistine, noticing the flush upon her friend's cheeks and the way her eyes darted away, could not help but smirk, her lips curving with quiet amusement. I think I know the reason for her visit, she thought. It is not only for wheat that Lady Rehena has come, but perhaps… for my brother as well. Celistine felt a surge of happiness—Rehena's sudden arrival was a relief, for she already needed help.
"Greetings, Lady Rehena. What brings you here?" Carlo greeted Lady Rehena politely, as she was too shy to speak.
"I-I am here to visit his Majesty Celistine," stammered Lady Rehena, unable to meet Carlo's gaze properly.
"Just call me Carlo, anyway, hahaha," he said. Lady Rehena was taken aback—Carlo was suggesting she simply call him by his first name. She noticed his bright smile, even though Carlo was only 21 and she was 20.
"Ahem! So, what news do you bring, Carlo?" Their moment was interrupted by King Henry, who had noticed the exchange. Both Carlo and Rehena felt shy as they looked toward Celistine, who seemed to smile at them, amused. Carlo composed himself while Rehena stood beside Celistine.
"I am here to report that all the farmers in the North have begun planting wheat seeds, along with all the fruits and vegetables we can grow. I also instructed them to raise livestock like cows, chickens, and sheep so the North can have a stockpile," Carlo reported.
"Well, that's excellent. Lady Rehena is here to guide us and check whether the wheat and crops are growing properly," Celistine added.
"Yes! I can guarantee it, since I studied as an agriculturist in the Eastern Empire. It runs in our blood, and I can help with that," Lady Rehena said proudly. Indeed, she and the Ranaid family were knowledgeable in farming, which is why Renia became a rapidly growing city. Celistine was happy to hear this and felt that the North had a real chance to grow.
"And sister, I have something else to report," Carlo said seriously, looking at Celistine and King Henry.
"What is it, my brother?" Celistine asked, curious.
"Upon checking our farming hectares, there is an old man named Hector from the Snow Village in the North," Carlo said.
"Snow Village? Isn't that part of the North where the heavy winter comes?" King Henry asked, seated at his table, massaging his beard.
The Snow Village was a small settlement surrounded by towering mountains, inhabited by demons and monsters. It was not a very safe place. Parts of the North weren't hit by heavy snow, like the main capital, which only experienced mild winters. What concerned Celistine most was the villagers' purpose in coming—why were they here? The Snow Village had no nobles, as the area was too dangerous. Only independent people or commoners lived there, often because they had no other options.
"Yes, Father. After hearing that my sister arrived, they wanted to speak with the Empress of the West," Carlo explained.
"For what?" Celistine asked, curious.
"Lord Hector, a man from the Snow Village, approached me. He is their leader. Food for demons is everywhere, yet in a few months, they noticed that the numbers of demons and wolves had slowly decreased—apparently, because they discovered a snow dragon," Carlo said.
"What? Is that true?" King Henry questioned. Celistine thought that if there was a dragon in Snow Village, it would pose a major threat to the North. If the dragon's prey in Snow Village ran out, it might head toward the capital of the North in search of food.
"Yes, Father. Rumors say that inside the dragon's cave, there are gems we could use for the North," Carlo continued, piquing Celistine's interest.
"Ancient tales also mention—especially my grandmother, who was born in Snow Village—that there is a mana gem called the Black Gem, found only in the snowy caves there. Perhaps it could be inside the dragon's cave, Your Majesty," Rehena added, drawing everyone's attention to the topic. Celistine already had an idea of how to solve these two problems in a way that could benefit them in the near future.
"I think we need a proper discussion about this, Father," Celistine said. They then began preparing for a new meeting to plan their strategy for the challenges ahead.