It was the final day of the sixth month. Celistine bid farewell to her family once more, for it was time for her to leave the North and travel towards the Western Empire for the grand meeting. She would be accompanied by Criston and a hundred men. Grace and Barron, however, could not join her. Grace, once a convict who escaped from the Western Empire, and Barron, the servant who had betrayed the Emperor—both were forbidden to set foot in the West again, no matter how much they wished to guard Celistine's side.
Now, she sat inside the carriage, forced to share the space with a man far too familiar—one who had already managed to ruin her day. Celistine was visibly irritated; her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, her brows drawn in quiet defiance. Her delicate golden hair was tied in a loose bun, a few soft strands brushing against her cheeks. She wore a gown of deep red velvet—its high collar standing proud, the fitted sleeves edged with gold embroidery. The bodice hugged her frame, laced neatly in front, and the full skirt pooled elegantly around her feet, trimmed with contrasting silken fabric.
Her eyes were half-closed, though her posture betrayed her annoyance.
"Come now, don't be cross with me—eh?" said the man, his voice playful yet low. His golden eyes gleamed like those of a lion beneath the sun. His black hair fell carelessly against his temples, his skin bronzed from travel. He wore a black, open-front shirt detailed with gold accents, and a crimson sash patterned with gold wrapped loosely around his waist.
"Do you really have to accompany me to the Western Empire, my lord?" Celistine snapped, raising an eyebrow at him. Across from her sat Leon—arms crossed as well, a teasing grin curling at his lips as though her irritation amused him.
Celistine had never planned to take Leon with her. The journey to the West was already risky enough, especially since Leon had once attacked the Western Empire during Medeya and Harold's wedding. Yet the man before her was as stubborn as fire melting steel—unyielding, immovable. Leonare Wiegn Driftmoor was a man whose will could not be bent.
He had even badgered King Henry endlessly to allow him to accompany her. The King, at first reluctant, eventually gave in—half out of amusement, half out of fondness. Leon had a strange charm: confident, persuasive, sometimes arrogant, yet capable of making anyone feel at ease. He could be as fierce as a lion one moment and utterly entertaining the next.
"I suppose," Leon said at last, shrugging nonchalantly.
Celistine's glare deepened. "You suppose? That's your answer?"
He chuckled. "You're that angry? I'm only trying to escort you, my lady." His voice carried mock innocence, like a lion pretending to be tamed after its mate bit back.
"If Harold's spies see you, do you think we won't be in trouble? The North will be accused of treachery," she replied coldly, her tone sharp as glass.
Leon's expression shifted, his golden eyes dimming slightly. "Do you still wish to cleanse the name of the North when it already holds the power to do what it must?"
"You don't understand…" Celistine murmured, her voice soft but heavy with restraint. What she truly feared was the North being branded a traitor among the four kingdoms. All she ever wanted was to keep her homeland untouched by the Western Empire's war with the Blackthreads. If only the royal treaty held no weight, there would be no need for alliances—no need for the endless game of politics and deceit. Yet Celistine had no choice; she had to discover the Blackthreads' true intentions herself.
Leon leaned forward slightly, his tone deepening. "Attending the meeting, flaunting what the North has—do you really think that if the three kingdoms win against us, you'll find peace?"
Celistine's violet eyes snapped open, sharp and cold. "What are you implying?"
"Think about it," Leon said, his gaze fixed on hers. "If siding with the Blackthreads is the wisest choice, then do it—for the sake of your people. But if you stand alone, showing the North's strength too soon, what's to stop the kingdoms from seeing you as their next conquest?"
His words struck something in her. Celistine's lips tightened, her pride flaring. "Are you underestimating the North's power, my lord?" she asked icily.
"No," Leon replied quietly, running a hand through his hair as though to gather his thoughts. "From their expected point of view, it would be advantageous to deal with the North's forces before confronting the true threat. They'll strike whichever target offers them the greatest gain first."
Celistine met his gaze with quiet defiance. "They won't dare. The North's power is not so easily broken."
Leon sighed. "My lady, I've investigated. There's no certainty the three kingdoms only have ten thousand soldiers. Just… be cautious. Study their strategies carefully. If I were the Western Empire, I'd conquer what benefits me first—before facing the true threat."
Celistine looked away, unwilling to argue further. "Just forget it. I need to rest," she muttered, closing her eyes again. To her, Leon spoke like an outsider who could never truly understand how foreign courts moved. He was a man born of the desert isles—his world followed different rules than hers.
Leon smiled faintly, leaning against the seat. "You may rest on my shoulder, my lady. It'll save you from a stiff neck."
"I don't need that," she said curtly.
He chuckled softly and fell silent. His golden eyes lingered on her face—her sharp features softened by fatigue, the faint furrow of her brow. A moment later, he turned to gaze out the carriage window, where the view stretched wide: quiet hills and peaceful mountains bathed in soft sunlight.
Hours passed in silence. As the carriage rolled steadily onward, Leon noticed Celistine's head bobbing slightly as she dozed. He couldn't help but smile at the sight.
"My lady?" he whispered gently, testing if she was awake. She didn't stir. I suppose she's fallen fast asleep, he thought with quiet amusement.
Carefully, he shifted closer and reached out, his touch light as air. He guided her head until it rested against his shoulder. Celistine's body responded instinctively, leaning into him as though her dreams had found a pillow there.
"Mmm…" she murmured faintly, her breath warm against his neck as she nestled closer.
Leon's smile deepened. For all her strength and grace, there were moments when Celistine seemed so fragile, almost tender. He let her rest there, her golden hair brushing against his jaw, her scent mingling with the velvet of her gown.
And so they travelled on—Leon silent, Celistine asleep—until the mountains faded into the misty horizon of the Western Empire.
When Sir Criston, the escort commander, decided to stop by a remote area to rest for the night, the sun had already dipped beyond the trees. The light of day had waned to gold and shadow, and the horses, weary from long hours upon the road, could barely keep their pace. Their journey to the Western Empire would still take another seven to ten days.
Inside the carriage, Celistine slowly opened her eyes. Something soft pressed against her cheek. She blinked, confused, and when she realized where she was lying, her heart skipped. Her head was resting on Leon's lap.
"What am I doing? And why is he beside me?" she thought, panic flickering in her chest. Her cheeks flushed red as the memory sank in—she had fallen asleep on Leon's lap. Leon himself was leaning against the carriage wall, his head slightly tilted, eyes closed, appearing calm and asleep.
Celistine stared at him quietly. His lashes were long, his features so composed, and even in sleep his face held a rare kind of grace. Her gaze softened as curiosity got the better of her. With a hesitant hand, trembling slightly, she reached towards his face—just to touch, just once. But before her fingers could graze his cheek, Leon's eyes snapped open.
In a swift, instinctive motion, he caught her hand. His grip was firm, and his eyes, once calm, now burned with the sharp focus of a man under attack. In a blur, Leon pushed forward, pinning Celistine back against the seat. It was as if he thought she were an assassin. The movement was quick, controlled—his body leaned over hers, one hand pressing her wrist against the cushion, the other braced on the seat beside her.
Celistine froze, her breath caught. Her other hand had instinctively gripped his shirt, clutching it tightly as her eyes widened. Their faces were only inches apart—so close she could see the flecks of gold in Leon's irises. And Leon, for a moment, seemed lost himself, staring down into Celistine's violet eyes that shimmered in the dim light.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Celistine stammered, her voice trembling.
Leon blinked, as though just realizing what he had done. He quickly turned away, retreating to the opposite side of the carriage, his face half-hidden by his hand as he tried to hide the faint blush coloring his cheeks. Celistine sat up too, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair, her heart still racing. The silence that followed was thick with awkward tension neither of them dared to break.
"I'm sorry," Leon said at last, his tone quiet but steady. "I thought someone was trying to assassinate me while I was asleep."
Assassinate? Celistine repeated in her thoughts, still trying to calm herself.
Leon exhaled softly, pushed the carriage door open, and stepped outside. The sudden stillness in the air made him realize why they had stopped. Through the carriage window, Celistine could see the sky dimming into dusk. Sir Criston must have ordered a stop to rest—their carriage was surrounded by towering trees, a quiet clearing where they could safely spend the night.
When Criston saw Leon step out, he bowed immediately.
"My lord, I apologies for the sudden stop, but I believe it would be best to rest here for the night. Our men and the horses are weary."
"Good," Leon replied, his tone clipped but calm. One hand rubbed his jaw while the other rested on his hip.
"And Her Highness?" Criston asked, noticing Celistine hadn't come out.
"Oh—she's still inside, resting," Leon answered curtly. Criston bowed again before turning to command the knights to set up camp.
Soon, the clearing came alive with movement. The air grew colder, and the knights divided into groups—some preparing dinner, others gathering firewood and building tents.
Celistine remained in the carriage for a while longer, her thoughts still tangled. Her heart hadn't yet settled. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see Leon's face so close to hers—too close. She didn't understand the strange tension that now lingered between them. They had always spoken comfortably before… so why did it suddenly feel different?
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. One of her lady servants spoke from outside, saying that dinner was ready. Celistine took a deep breath, composed herself, and stepped out of the carriage.
The night had grown deep and cool, the scent of pine and smoke filling the air. Around a bright fire, the knights were laughing softly, some already loosening their armour as they sat upon the logs they had arranged in a circle.
"Would you prefer to dine inside your carriage, Your Highness?" one of the maids asked politely.
Celistine's eyes caught the glow of the fire, and the circle of logs around it. "What is that?" she asked curiously, pointing towards the arrangement.
"Oh, that?" the maid smiled. "The knights are setting up seats around the fire for supper. They're having a small gathering, Your Highness."
Celistine's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'd like to join them," she said softly.
Both servants blinked in surprise, unsure if they had heard correctly."Are you certain, Your Highness? It might be uncomfortable for you," one of them said hesitantly.
"I'm fine. Let's go," Celistine replied, her voice calm but certain.
They hurried to prepare a seat for her near the fire. When the knights saw her approaching, they froze—some even stood awkwardly, unsure how to behave in the presence of royalty.
"Come now," Celistine said gently, smiling at them. "Let's have a peaceful dinner."
Her words eased the tension immediately. Laughter returned among the men. Even Sir Criston took a place near her side, and at her request, Leon's ten men from the Blackthreads were invited to join as well. They were hesitant at first, but Celistine's graceful demeanor soon made them comfortable. The small clearing turned warm with chatter and laughter.
And there, from a short distance away, Leon leaned against a great tree in the shadows. His arms were crossed, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight as he watched Celistine quietly. He said nothing, simply gazed at her—at the gentle smile on her face, at the way her laughter mingled with the glow of the flames.
Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to the full moon above—bright, serene, and distant.