"GUARDS! SEIZE THEM!"
The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the meeting hall, glinting off polished swords and armour, but it did little to calm the storm brewing within. Emperor Harold of the Western Empire roared, his voice echoing like thunder as it bounced off the stone walls. His gaze locked on Celistine, standing defiantly beside Leon, the leader of the Blackthreads. In an instant, Western guards surged forward, closing in on Leon.
But Leon was not alone. His ten men moved with a synchronized precision, forming a protective shield around their lord, swords crossing in a deadly lattice. The air crackled with tension as steel gleamed, each blade poised to strike. Celistine's fingers trembled as she gripped Leon's bicep, anchoring herself against the rising fear. Beside her, Criston shifted like a shadow, every muscle taut, ready to strike if anyone dared approach her.
"How bold!" Harold hissed, advancing with lethal precision. He plucked a sword from one of his guards and pressed the cold steel against Leon's throat. Yet, Leon's smirk remained unshaken, a quiet challenge that made even Celistine's stomach knot in worry. Could they survive this?
"Celistine… is this what you've chosen for me?" Harold's voice was a low growl, his eyes dark with the sting of betrayal, though he had been the first to betray her.
"Do you understand the taste of betrayal, Harold?" Celistine shot back, her glare sharp and unwavering from behind Leon's protective frame.
"Ha! How blunt! Is this your revenge, Celistine?" Harold's cruel laugh curled like smoke from a flame. "Still jealous of Medeya, If you had just listened to me, behaved yourself, perhaps you'd still be the Empress." His hand waved theatrically, as though the hall itself belonged to him.
"I am no longer interested in being your Empress," Celistine said, her voice steady, tinged with icy fire. "Do you really think capturing us will win you the war?"
"Ha! And do you think the North and these… bastards can act freely if their clever leaders are dead?" Harold sneered, pressing the tip of his blade closer to Leon's throat. Leon's gaze never wavered, fearless, unyielding.
"Come with me, Celistine," Harold said, extending a hand, his tone silk over steel. "I will make you Empress again. Anything you desire—I can give it to you."
Every word fanned the flames of Celistine's anger, and Leon's own blood seemed to thrash through his veins. His fists clenched, tension coiling like a spring ready to snap.
Then, the hall erupted further—Medeya stormed in, knights flanking her, her luxurious dress swirling around her like a crimson tide.
"What is going on here?!" she demanded, striding forward as if the world had paused for her grand entrance. Maxon rubbed his temple, weary of his sister's incessant theatrics.
Harold's irritation simmered visibly. His Empress, so foolishly theatrical, had barged in, shattering the carefully poised scene.
"What chaos is this?" Medeya's gaze darted to Leon and Celistine. Her eyes widened at Leon's smirk—a predator's calm. Fear flared briefly—was he here to kill her? But seeing the surrounding guards, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she moved forward with a forced bravado.
"You!" she spat, pointing at Celistine. "How dare you show your face here, with a new follower!" Her hand rose, desperate to strike.
"YOU BITCH!" Medeya roared, swinging at Celistine. Time seemed to slow. Celistine closed her eyes, bracing for the impact—but it never came. Harold gripped Medeya's waist, halting her motion, while Leon intercepted her hand, shielding Celistine effortlessly.
Medeya froze, stunned by her husband's sudden intervention.
"What are you doing, Harold?!" she shrieked, straining against his hold.
"Enough, Medeya… why are you here?" Harold snapped, each word sharp with irritation.
"I came because I heard noise in the hall," she spat, eyes blazing daggers at Leon and Celistine.
"Minerva, sha'nari vel ta'suun—sa'dari vel ka'rehn."~Minerva, you haven't changed a bit, have you? Still the same shameless show-off.~
Leon's voice cut through the tension like a blade, the hall falling silent as he spoke in the language of the Blackthreads. Medeya froze, unsure whether to respond or feign ignorance. Harold, utterly baffled, waited, frowning in confusion.
"Sha'nari ven'kash myra'sen ta'shar sa'dari, vel sha'nari ta'ruun varash na'korah—sha'nari vel da'vren bal'khur. Va'ruun, my'lor—sha'reth ven'suul?"~You keep accusing my sister of shamelessness, yet you alone march in boldly, outnumbered. Tell me, my lord—are you seeking suicide?~
All eyes turned to Maxon, appearing at Harold's side with a wry, amused smile. Leon mirrored him perfectly.
"I wasn't aware the Emperor of the Western Empire found adopting a strange child from a forest so… entertaining," Leon quipped, smirking.
"Shut up, or I'll cut your throat!" Harold snapped, pressing his blade against Leon once more. Celistine's pulse hammered violently. Chaos unfurled around her, a storm of tension and peril where she had only wished for peace.
"Cut?" Leon laughed, a low, dangerous sound, his grin wicked. "Go ahead—or watch your empire crumble."
"How dare you threaten us while outnumbered!" Harold spat, his pride flaming.
"Think carefully, Harold," Celistine warned, eyes dark and blazing. "The forces you wish to seize—if you continue, the consequences will be yours."
"I, Leon, leader of the Blackthreads, have sent word to my men," Leon said, stepping closer to Harold's blade. "If we do not leave this hall within an hour, war will be declared. Prepare yourself." His calm defiance made Harold pause. Celistine's mind raced—Leon had foreseen this.
"Go ahead," Leon continued. "I spoke with the King of the North before coming here. Should anything happen to his daughter or me, the North will immediately join the Blackthreads' forces and strike the Western Empire, including the two Kingdoms. Consider wisely, Your Majesty."
Celistine's eyes widened. Leon's foresight was impeccable, even anticipating her father's involvement to protect her.
"Urgent news, my lord!" whispered one of the knight captains stationed at the city gates. He leaned close to Maxon, careful to avoid the Emperor's notice, though Harold's eyes had already caught the sudden appearance of the city watch.
Maxon inclined his ear, listening intently.
"There are two thousand soldiers boldly stationed at the Western Empire's gates," the knight reported. Maxon's eyes widened in shock, and Harold, hearing the news, mirrored his surprise. He glanced at Leon, whose grin remained unsettlingly confident. Celistine, however, remained unaware of the true scale of the situation, ignorant of Leon's careful scheme and the identity of the soldiers at the border.
"Who are they?" Maxon asked.
"From the city of Renia, Your Majesty. They demand the release of Her Highness Celistine and the leader of the Blackthreads," the knight explained. Maxon's gaze shifted to Harold, silently conveying that Leon's threat was no empty boast.
"Even two thousand soldiers from Renia are only the beginning," Leon said with a cunning smile, mocking Harold. "One signal from my men, and your empire will be in peril. Consider this your preparation for a fair war." Harold's hands twitched with the urge to strike Leon, but he knew he could do nothing.
"Do something, Harold! Kill them! You have plenty of knights!" Medeya urged, desperate to see Celistine and Leon dead. Harold hesitated, torn between obedience and caution. Maxon, however, had already taken command, stepping forward to intervene.
"Your Majesty, if you kill them now, before reinforcements from the two kingdoms arrive, we are all doomed," Maxon urged, his calculation precise. The backup forces were still far away, unprepared for sudden battle, and Harold did not yet know what these reinforcements would bring. Leon, it seemed, had anticipated this and prepared accordingly.
"What!? Are you crazy? They're already here! Let's crush them!" Medeya snapped, her irritation flaring.
"Silence, woman!" Harold barked, his words laced with rare authority. Humiliated, Medeya froze, unaccustomed to being spoken to so sharply, and burst into tears before storming out. Maxon rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath at her theatrics.
Harold did not move as he hurled his sword toward Maxon, who caught it effortlessly.
"Guards!" Maxon commanded, his gaze sharp at both Leon and Celistine. "Put down your swords and let them leave." Obediently, the guards lowered their weapons. Leon smirked, instantly grasping Celistine's trembling hand. Harold's gaze lingered, stirred by jealousy—not from desire, but from possession, as though he wanted to reclaim Celistine for himself.
"Va'rhen sha'nari ven'dor ke'lai, Mavriis… ra'shul ven'puut if vel sha'nari ta'suun."~Glad you finally made the right choice, Mavriis… stay a puppet if that's what suits you.~ Leon said, teasing Maxon, whose fists clenched in indignation.
"Celistine," Harold called softly.
"You'll pay for this," he added. Celistine did not respond. Holding her hand tightly, Leon and his ten men led her away from the meeting hall. Her right hand remained clasped in his, her left resting on her chest, still unable to process the chaos of the meeting hall. Her heart raced nervously. She stole a glance at Leon, walking seriously ahead. Unaware of his full plan, Celistine only sensed the lingering sense of safety that radiated from him. Her cheeks burned crimson at the memory of Harold nearly kissing her, and she had instinctively shouted Leon's name—just in time, he had appeared. Out of embarrassment, she hadn't realized her hand had gripped his tightly.
"Ouch…" Leon said, his teasing tone making her start. They stopped walking.
"Are you hurt?" Celistine asked, her hands scanning the palm of his hand, checking for any mark left by her grip.
"Aha… I'm just teasing, you know," Leon replied with a playful grin, fully aware of her flustered thoughts after calling his name.
He leaned closer, teasingly smiling, causing Celistine to step back slightly, cheeks burning. She knew he would never miss the chance to tease her.
"I never thought… in times of trouble, I'd be the only one you call," Leon said, still teasing.
"IDIOT!" Celistine snapped, hoping he hadn't heard. Her cheeks flushed as she pushed him away and hurried to the carriage.
"Ride ahead. I'd prefer to be alone," she commanded. Criston guided her to the carriage while Leon continued to tease, a playful spark in his eyes.
"Criston," Leon called.
"Yes, my lord," Criston bowed.
"Escort Her Highness, and then let me meet Commander Robert from Renia's knights," Leon instructed. Criston's eyes widened—Leon's words were no ordinary bluff. This was a calculated threat, carefully orchestrated with the King of the North.
"Are you sure? So… it wasn't just a joke?" Criston asked, confused.
"Do I look like I'm making up a story?" Leon smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. Criston—and even Celistine, who had thought it was fabricated—felt a sting of bruised pride. Leon rolled his eyes. One of his Blackthreads men handed him a spare horse, ready for him to communicate with Commander Robert of Renia, ensuring there would be no war at the Western Empire's gates.
Meanwhile, Celistine's heart continued to race. She kept her gaze lowered, cheeks flushed, still overwhelmed by the intensity of the meeting hall.