It had been nearly a year since Celistine achieved her long-sought goal of expanding the Northern Kingdom's territory. The North now held sway over many lands, drawing under it's banner more than ten thousand men, including soldiers of its own and nearly two thousand five hundred from Renia who had pledged their loyalty. In just six months, the North had gathered dominion over some twenty duchies, cities, and vast estates. Some lands had been won through battle, while others had surrendered willingly, trusting in the North's vision of peace rather than fearing its might.
Once broken villages of crumbling homes, filthy streets, and malnourished souls had begun to flourish. Life in the North was slowly reshaped. Even the narrow lanes and hidden corners within its borders grew brighter. Celistine herself established the Northern University, free for the common folk, where three courses were taught: the study of herbs and healing, the discipline of military arts, and the principles of politics. She ensured that every man and woman could strive to learn — women were trained in tending wounds and illnesses, while men were taught the basics of defense, should danger ever come. Celistine had prepared her people well, for she foresaw the possibility of war between the North and the Three Kingdoms. For this reason, she also declared that every man was bound by duty to serve mandatory military service — to safeguard their families if war broke out.
Her resolve was unshaken: the North would no longer bend to the Three Kingdoms. It would stand apart as an independent realm. With resources abundant enough to feed nearly the whole of the Western Empire, the North would rely on no one.
It was a bright evening when the King of the North held a celebration in the main park of the capital — a festival for the common folk. The event was modest, with no grand spectacles, for the North still chose caution, unwilling to expose too much. Yet the people gathered together, sharing food, laughter, and joy.
Lord Herbet of Renia attended alongside his daughter, Lady Rehena. She wore a gown of soft pink, adorned with floral embroidery upon the bodice and sleeves, drawn at the waist with a braided rope belt ending in tassels. Roses and sprigs of green were woven into her auburn hair, which fell in loose curls about her shoulders. Her pale skin, freckles, and gentle brown eyes gave her a delicate grace. Lord Herbet himself wore a long blue coat trimmed with silver, marked with lion emblems, and over his chest hung a silver pendant.
Seated with them was King Henry of the North, clad in his familiar black royal attire. Beside him sat his three children: Celistine, Cilist, and Carlo. Celistine shone in her evening gown, poised as ever.
They watched with delight as common folk danced before them. A smile curved upon Celistine's lips, for she remembered a celebration once held in Renia, the very night she vowed that the North too would taste such splendor. Now her promise had blossomed into reality.
Lady Rehena soon rose from her seat, wandering to the park's edges where tables of sweetmeats and cakes were laid out. As she leaned closer to inspect the desserts, Jacon approached her with an easy smile.
"Greetings, Lady Rehena. Feeling alone this evening?" he asked with a courteous bow.
She returned a faint smile. "No, I was only strolling… searching for something sweet." Her eyes lingered on the array of food, uncertain of which treat to choose.
"Then perhaps you might try this cake, my lady?" Jacon offered her a small cupcake, his hand extended. Rehena hesitated, almost reaching for it — but before she could, a gloved hand snatched it away.
Carlo stood before them, his face cold and unreadable. He wore a long black coat with golden trim, a matching belt, gloves, and boots. His hair gleamed yellow as sunlight, and his violet eyes cut straight through Jacon. Without a word, Carlo placed the cupcake in his mouth and ate it.
"I never thought you were so fond of Lady Rehena, Jacon…" Carlo said dryly, his voice laced with mockery.
Jacon bristled. "And why are you here anyway? You ought to be at Her Majesty Celistine's side." He gestured sharply toward Carlo's seat.
Carlo's brow arched. "What concern is it of yours?" he retorted, his tone sharp as steel. The two locked in a brief quarrel, sparks flashing between them.
The music began again, calling dancers to the floor. Jacon excused himself with a frustrated sigh, returning to his duties to guard the celebration. That left Lady Rehena and Carlo lingering near the food corner. Both seemed hesitant, words catching in their throats.
Rehena's thoughts tangled. Each time she found herself near Carlo, her heart raced — at times she longed for his attention, at others she fled from it. She could not name the feeling, only that it left her unsettled.
"Would you… care to dance?" Carlo asked at last, his voice unsteady. He brushed his leg awkwardly with one arm, eyes turned aside as though he could not quite bear to meet her gaze. Slowly, he held out his hand.
Rehena froze for a moment, startled by the unexpected offer. Then a small, genuine smile touched her lips. She placed her hand in his, and together they stepped into the dance.
Celistine noticed them, her eyes softening. Even King Henry and Lord Herbet could not help but see the chemistry between the two.
"I daresay, Your Highness," Lord Herbet spoke with quiet satisfaction, his eyes never leaving the pair, "it seems we need not trouble ourselves with arranging a proposal. The two are already finding their own path." His gaze lingered fondly on his daughter as she moved gracefully in Carlo's arms.
King Henry chuckled, nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "Ha! You may be right, Lord Herbet. It seems my son is no longer a boy but stepping into manhood."
Celistine, too, spoke gently, "Indeed, Father. I am glad we do not need to force them. My brother has found someone he truly wishes for." Her smile trembled, for she could not help but compare her brother's budding love to her own fate — a marriage of convenience to Emperor Harold, void of true affection. A shadow of sorrow passed over her eyes even as she smiled.
She lifted her face to the moon, its silver light spilling across the park. Her thoughts drifted — to a man with raven-dark hair, golden eyes bright as a lion's, and skin of a rare bronze hue she had never seen before, a man she had met once at the port of the Western Empire.
'Where might that man be now? Shall we ever meet again?' she wondered, her heart whispering as her gaze lingered on the boundless moon.
While Carlo and Lady Rehena danced passionately at the centre of the floor to the sweep of elegant music, his eyes never strayed from her. Rehena, however, found it difficult to meet his glittering violet gaze; each time their eyes touched, a blush crept up her cheeks.
'What is this feeling?' she thought, her heart racing, her face burning crimson.
"Are you uncomfortable, Rehena?" Carlo asked softly, his voice carrying both care and curiosity. Startled, she looked up at him, only to falter again beneath the intensity of his eyes.
"No… I am only shy," she whispered, lowering her gaze in embarrassment.
Carlo chuckled quietly, then twirled her gracefully so that she turned back to face him once more, their dance flowing on.
"You are shy dancing with me, yet you did not hesitate to stitch my wounds or press ointment upon me after the battle with the snow dragon," Carlo teased, a rare smile lighting his face.
Rehena's eyes widened, then softened into a laugh. "I suppose that is true," she replied, her voice light and happy as they continued their steps.
At that moment, King Henry rose from his seat. He struck his wine glass gently with a fork, calling for silence. The music slowed as all turned to hear his words. Carlo and Lady Rehena stopped in the middle of the floor, standing side by side, facing the King of the North.
"I wish to thank you all," King Henry began, his voice steady, "for preparing such a splendid feast and for every common hand that has helped the North achieve its great dream." Applause rippled through the crowd, even from Cilist and Celistine.
"And as for Lord Herbet of Renia," the King went on, "who stood by us through hardship and lent aid when no other dared — the North is forever bound to him. For his steadfast loyalty, and to unite Renia with the North, I hereby grant his daughter's hand in marriage to my only heir, the one who shall ascend the throne after me: my son, Carlo Sebastian Norenian."
The crowd erupted in cheers. "All hail Crown Prince Carlo! All hail the daughter of Renia!" Fireworks burst above, showering the sky with colour. The people rejoiced, the festival carrying on with greater joy.
Celistine, however, pressed a hand to her brow, shaking her head. She had not expected her father to make such a public declaration.
"What a romantic proposal," Cilist remarked flatly, her face expressionless as she continued eating. For her, food was the only comfort worth noticing.
Lady Rehena, caught beneath the starlight and the glow of fireworks, glanced shyly at Carlo. Both flushed, their eyes shining with something unspoken. Yet within Rehena, doubt stirred. I am not worthy to be Queen of the North, she thought bitterly. I am plain, with freckles upon my face. Even Cilist, Carlo's own sister, is more beautiful than I. The Norenian siblings are admired for their beauty — who am I beside them?
Carlo began softly, "Ahm… Re—"
"Thank you for the splendid dance, Carlo. I shall take my leave." Before he could finish, Rehena withdrew, her voice polite but shadowed with sorrow. Carlo was left bewildered, watching her retreat. What have I done wrong? he wondered.
Lady Rehena bowed before her father and the king. "With your permission, I wish to retire for the night," she said softly, though a trace of sadness lingered on her face, catching the attention of both men. Lord Herbet granted her request, worry clouding his features. The king, too, looked unsettled.
"Is she not pleased, Lord Herbet?" the King asked quietly.
"I do not know, Your Majesty," Lord Herbet confessed, his expression heavy with concern.
Carlo remained troubled, his thoughts restless. Only moments before, Rehena had danced with joy — now she had vanished in sadness. Does she not wish for the proposal? he asked himself.
"No, Carlo… it is not that," came a voice at his side.
He spun around sharply. "Good heavens, Cilist! Must you appear out of thin air? And what on earth is that?" His eyes fixed on the enormous platter she carried, while she, with utter nonchalance, tried to speak around the lobster leg dangling foolishly from her mouth.
The truth was simple: her plate had long been emptied, and rather than sit idly, Cilist had risen, marched to the food table, and triumphantly seized the grandest lobster she could find.
"Would you mind removing that lobster leg from your mouth?" Carlo scolded, plucking it from her grasp. Cilist only pouted in protest, her expression so childishly exaggerated it was impossible to take her seriously.
"You ought to follow her," Cilist said coldly. "The reason she walked away is simple. She doubts herself. She feels unworthy of you."
Carlo frowned. "And why would you say that?"
"Because it is plain," she replied. "You are handsome, talented, soon to be King of the North. Among nobles, Lady Rehena stands far too low to be your bride. She left not because she does not want you — but because her doubts are many."
Carlo hesitated. "Then… what should I do?"
"Go after her. Clear her doubts. If you truly like her, then pursue her. If not, cancel the proposal. It is as simple as that." Cilist shrugged, returning to her food.
Carlo's eyes hardened with resolve. He turned sharply and strode away, leaving his sister behind.
"Hey! My lobster!" Cilist shouted, realising Carlo still held the leg he had snatched. He tossed it back without looking, and she caught it in her mouth with a flourish. "Magnificent!" she exclaimed, munching happily.
Celistine, watching from afar, noticed Carlo rushing after Lady Rehena. The king and Lord Herbet exchanged knowing looks, both secretly pleased. Celistine herself, curious as a cat, rose and followed her brother quietly into the night.