Lady Rehena had just reached the steps of her carriage, her thoughts tangled and heavy. The king's public proposal still echoed in her mind, refusing to let her rest. Shame pricked her chest as she recalled how she had left Carlo alone at the celebration. She placed a hand on the carriage door — but before she could climb inside, a firm grasp caught her wrist.
Startled, she turned, her eyes widening to find Carlo, breathless from running.
"Rehena… please," he managed between gulps of air. "I need to speak with you."
Her heart lurched. "If this is about the marriage, do not worry, Carlo. I will ask my father to cancel it." She tried to pull away, her voice trembling with forced resolve.
Carlo's grip only tightened. "No. Listen to me first. Don't jump to that conclusion. I have no intention of breaking our engagement."
Her eyes widened. His words struck her like thunder, shaking the foundation of her doubts.
"Come," he said firmly, intertwining his fingers with hers. His touch was warm, unyielding — as if he would never let her go. Without another word, he led her away from the noise of the court, down a quiet path draped with silver-white Spanish moss swaying like veils in the moonlight. A lake shimmered ahead, its still surface a perfect mirror of the radiant moon. For a moment, the world felt enchanted, as though they had wandered into a realm where only the two of them existed.
Carlo turned, his violet eyes glowing beneath the moon. He studied her face with such intensity that Rehena felt both exposed and cherished, as if his gaze declared she belonged only to him. Yet her doubts coiled tighter inside her chest.
"I am not worthy of you!" she burst out, her voice breaking the silence.
Carlo did not speak, only looked at her, unreadable.
"I have freckles!" she cried, her hands trembling. "I am not beautiful like others. I am not wealthy, nor fashionable. One day, when you sit on the throne, you will be surrounded by women of grace and power — women far above me. I am only the daughter of a small city." Her voice cracked, desperate, her eyes stinging with tears. "Tell me, Carlo… why me?"
He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. His embrace was strong, steady, filled with warmth she had longed for. Rehena froze, her heart pounding wildly, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could hear it — the steady, earnest beat of his heart.
"You don't need to be afraid, Rehena…" Carlo's voice was low, tender, as his hand brushed gently through her hair. His scent, his warmth, wrapped around her like a shield, and she felt her tears finally spill. He caught them with his palm, wiping them away as though they were precious jewels.
"No other woman holds a place in my heart, only you." he whispered, every word sinking deep into her.
Her lips parted in shock. Could this be real? Was this truly Carlo's heart speaking to hers?
"Rehena, when everything feels heavy, it's your smile that brings me ease. With you, I feel calm, like I finally belong somewhere. I don't want anyone else — only you."
Rehena's breath hitched. The heavy chains of doubt that bound her heart began to fall away.
"Carlo…" she whispered, tears running freely now. "Thank you… thank you."
Carlo slowly bent one knee before her, still holding her hand as if it were the most sacred thing in the world. His eyes never wavered as he spoke.
"Lady Rehena… will you walk beside me in hardship and in joy? Will you be the soul who steadies me when I am wounded, the life who shares my crown, my throne, my every tomorrow? Rehena… will you be my wife?"
Her tears became a smile, radiant and trembling. "Yes, Carlo… I will."
A smile broke across his face. He lifted her hand and kissed it with reverence, then rose to draw her into his arms. They held each other tightly, hearts racing together, their foreheads leaning close as the world stilled. Slowly, their lips neared, the air thick with unspoken promises. Rehena's body wanted to retreat out of shyness, yet her heart refused to let go.
Their eyes closed. The moment was theirs.
Until—
"Achoooo!"
The sneeze shattered the spell. Both froze, their faces still inches apart, the warmth of the moment broken. Carlo blinked, startled, while Rehena's eyes widened in embarrassment. They had nearly kissed — so close the thought alone set her heart racing. Slowly, they turned their heads toward the sound, caught between frustration and disbelief.
From behind the moss, Cilist popped out, rubbing her nose, a lobster leg still comically dangling from her hand. Beside her, Celistine raised a peace sign, grinning like a mischievous cat.
"Sorry! Please, don't mind us — you may continue," Celistine teased, her voice lilting with mischief.
Rehena flushed crimson, while Carlo covered his face with one hand, groaning. Cilist only giggled through another sneeze.
The magic of the moment was broken — yet in their hearts, nothing could undo the truth that had already been spoken.
"Sister, what are you doing here? And you, Cilist—why are you still clutching a lobster's leg?" Carlo snapped in irritation at his two sisters.
Behind him, Lady Rehena shrank in embarrassment, realising too late that Carlo's Sisters—especially Celistine—had been peeking all along. Mortified, she pressed both hands to her flushed cheeks, thinking how unbearably awkward it must have looked, most of all after that moment when she had raised her voice at Carlo.
"I was worried… I feared where you might be," Celistine murmured, her fingers tightly interlaced before her as she turned her gaze away, unwilling to meet her younger brother's stern glare.
"Truly, sister?" Carlo arched a brow, his hands planted firmly upon his hips, his tone sharp with disbelief.
"I just… I only… no, I—" Celistine stammered, words faltering as she searched helplessly for something to say.
"We only came to follow you, in case you and Lady Rehena—" Cilist began, but her words were cut short when Celistine swiftly clapped her hand across her younger sister's mouth. She forced a bright, innocent smile at Carlo as though nothing untoward had happened.
Carlo merely rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the bashful maiden behind him. His hand brushed along his leg in restless exasperation. Meanwhile, Celistine tried to smother a laugh, for despite his temper, Carlo could never truly bring himself to be angry with his most beloved sisters.
At that moment, Jacon suddenly appeared, urgency written upon his face. Bowing quickly, he addressed Celistine.
"Your Grace… your father requests your presence at once." His voice carried an edge of alarm. Carlo glanced sharply at his companion, wondering at the meaning behind Jacon's summons for Celistine. Without hesitation, Celistine gathered her composure and made her way immediately to her father.
Together with Cilist, Carlo, and Lady Rehena, she returned to the park where the evening's gathering had been held. As her eyes swept the crowd, she spotted her father standing with Lord Herbet and two other men of similar age. When Celistine drew closer, her heart gave a start—one of them was Gilbert, once her dearest companion, now accompanied by another.
She stepped forward gracefully and inclined her head.
"Greetings, my father, and Lord Herbet."
Both men acknowledged her with a respectful bow.
"Gilbert! What brings you here? How fare you?" Celistine asked, her expression brightening with genuine delight at the sight of him.
"I am well, Your Majesty," Gilbert replied with humble respect, lowering his head.
"Father, this is Gilbert—the one who once helped me deliver my message to you." Celistine spoke warmly as she introduced him. Carlo too approached, extending his hand to Gilbert in friendly recognition.
"Well met indeed. Thank you, Gilbert, for aiding my daughter. I should like to reward you for your loyalty," King Henry said with a gentle smile.
"There is no need, Your Majesty," Gilbert answered, returning the smile. "Her Grace Celistine has already gifted me more than enough treasure."
"Be that as it may," Gilbert continued, "I am here with my brother-in-law, a Port Warden from Seawatch. He wished to present something of importance."
Celistine's brow furrowed, curiosity stirring. The Seawatch port lay upon the boundary between the Eastern Empire and the Northern Kingdom. She had long assumed it belonged to the Eastern domain, famed for its bounty of food and fish.
The man stepped forward with a courteous bow. "I am Anderson Blair Washington, Port Warden of Seawatch, Your Grace—and Gilbert's brother-in-law."
Celistine's eyes widened slightly in surprise. She had not imagined Gilbert's wife bore such a noble surname, for Gilbert himself was born a commoner with no noble ancestry.
"What brings you, Anderson?" King Henry asked, his voice steady.
"My lord, I come to offer the Northern Kingdom warships, built by Seawatch Port." Anderson's words rang out with firm intent. The proposal struck both King Henry and Celistine as one of great promise.
For Celistine, the thought was strategic—if the North possessed its own warships, it would strengthen their military might beyond measure. Already the Northern knights had been trained in the use of the black gems; this would complete their defenses should war break out.
Celistine pressed her fingers lightly against her chin, her other hand resting upon her stomach as she stood deep in thought, weighing the opportunity with care.
"I think, Father, we must hold a proper council to discuss this further."
With that, Celistine directed that Anderson and Gilbert be given chambers in the guest wing, their talks to continue on the morrow—for the night had grown late, and weighty matters were best settled with clear minds at dawn.
_______
In the small valley, two thousand of the late emperor's veteran knights still lingered, clinging to the hope of aid from the new ruler, Emperor Harold—yet he had long neglected them. Once they had been three thousand Knights, but a thousand had already departed, forced to seek their own livelihood after years without the support once granted by the late Emperor Philippe. Those who remained starved in silence, powerless and abandoned.
Criston, commander of the veterans, sat within his worn tent. At forty-five, his face bore the weight of countless battles—victorious yet unrewarded. He waited with a restless heart, hoping for word from the court, for any sign of mercy, though deep within he already knew none would come. When his messenger returned, Criston lifted his weary gaze.
"Any news?" he asked, voice low, heavy with restrained hope.
The messenger shook his head, eyes downcast. "No, sir… I fear the Emperor has truly abandoned us."
A long sigh escaped Criston's lips, laden with bitterness. He turned his back, only to notice one of his trusted captains, Jacob, gathering his meagre belongings, clearly preparing to depart. Such scenes no longer surprised him; survival now meant leaving, and many had done the same.
"Commander," Jacob said firmly, "I shall take my leave."
"Where are you bound, my friend?" Criston asked, his tone steady though his heart sank.
"To the North, sir," came Jacob's reply.
Criston frowned, curiosity mingling with disbelief. "The North? The poorest of all kingdoms?"
"Not anymore, sir," Jacob answered, his voice carrying a strange conviction. The words startled Criston, and a spark of curiosity stirred within him.
"Explain yourself," he demanded.
Jacob straightened. "I have a younger brother there. He sent me a letter, saying I may return to the North and be taken once more into their ranks. Rumour speaks of the kingdom rising again, forging a strong new military base. Whether it is truth or only tale, I cannot tell—but I must see it with my own eyes."
He tightened the straps on his horse's reins, ready to depart, when Criston reached out and gripped his shoulder. The commander's eyes, once dulled by despair, now gleamed with a fragile spark of hope.
"Then take me with you," Criston said, his voice resolute. "I must seek Her Majesty Celistine. Lead me to her."
And in that moment, a faint light of salvation stirred within Criston's heart—hope not only for himself, but for the starving, forgotten knights who still clung to the memory of loyalty and honor.