Inside the inner hall of the City Lord's mansion, the firewood in the hearth crackled and spat, its orange glow chasing away the faint chill of an early spring evening.
The banquet Vasha had prepared was the finest the City of Hill could currently offer — yet because the land had only just been tilled and trade had barely taken its first steps, the dishes on the table were mostly dried vegetables and smoked meats, the kind that kept well.
Vasha looked at the modest spread before her, hands folded in her lap, fingers twisting together with barely-concealed anxiety. Her heart was full of guilt at being unable to give Her Majesty a truly worthy welcome feast.
"Your Majesty, the City of Hill has so much yet to rebuild, and our supplies are still scarce. This minister truly..."
"There is no need for self-reproach, Vasha."
Sophia raised a hand slightly, cutting off her distress.
She then turned her head toward the violet-haired girl who had been standing quietly at her side.
"Willow — bring out some of the seafood we brought back from Avalon and have the kitchen prepare it.
Tonight, let us have a taste of the ocean as well."
Before long, the dull, familiar scent of grain was replaced by something entirely alive — a rich, briny fragrance that practically leaped off the air.
Willow moved with extraordinary speed, setting aside the complex formalities of palace cuisine in favor of preserving the wild, primal character of Avalon's ingredients. She dressed them with nothing more than Mason's own butter and fine salt.
Garlic-baked red prawns: half the size of a palm, the shells turned a tempting coral-red under the heat, fat sizzling and spitting from the cracks.
Steamed silver fish sashimi: the finest silver-scaled fish, gleaming like white jade, laid over the City of Hill's own crisp, tender root vegetables, their clean sweetness coiling straight up into the nose.
Charcoal-grilled scallops with smoked meat: the chewiness of the dried scallop and the savory salt of the smoked meat coaxed together by licking flames until they became a single, unified flavor.
In the room at that moment were only Sophia, Vasha, Daphne, Irene, Delilah, and Willow.
The absolute privacy of that intimate family dinner allowed Vasha — whose nerves had been wound tight all evening — to finally, gradually, let out a breath in the warmth of all that fragrance.
"Avalon..."
Vasha took a small, careful bite of the prawn meat she had never tasted before. The firm, springy texture made her eyes go slightly wide in quiet surprise.
"So this is what the ocean tastes like?"
Orr had maintained contact with Avalon in the old days, it was true — but always through the most secretive of dealings, and any rare goods that found their way back were never made public. A nation, however loyal it might appear, was always fertile ground for ambitious hearts. It was precisely the old King of Orr's caution that had kept Avalon undiscovered for so long.
Sophia lifted the glass cup holding the clear coconut water and gazed into the dancing firelight, her expression deep and deliberate.
"Indeed. A pocket kingdom of just two thousand one hundred souls," Sophia said, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she were describing a modest estate she had just acquired.
"No great walls. No labyrinthine hierarchy. The people there genuinely believed that crossing the mountains meant being swallowed alive by the earth."
Vasha listened, transfixed, her silver fork drifting to a halt somewhere in midair.
Two thousand one hundred people... when I was still a princess, that was barely enough to fill a single festival square.
Yet in Her Majesty's mouth, that stretch of ocean — which Father and his ministers treated as a barren, forbidden wasteland — turns out to contain inexhaustible treasure.
She not only conquered it. She brought back strategic resources of every kind.
Listening to those warm, uncomplicated people... I suddenly understand just how arrogant, how narrow, the old Kingdom of Orr truly was.
Her Majesty is not simply expanding territory. She is piecing this shattered world back together.
And I — how fortunate am I to be even one piece of her puzzle.
"The seafood from that place is the real treasure!" Irene announced, peeling prawns with cheerful vigor.
"When I get back to the Royal City, I'm going to combine that Blue Gold with the pearls — there are so many things I could make! Vasha, you have no idea — the way those Avalonians looked at us was like we were witches who could conjure monsters. Heh."
Delilah had not sat down. She took a piece of smoked meat and settled quietly beside Sophia, her perfectly upright high ponytail not shifting by so much as a fraction. Her gaze passed over Vasha's face at intervals.
Of everyone except Sophia, Delilah was the one who had the most dealings with Vasha — and the two of them had never managed to see eye to eye. Their exchanges were few.
"City Lord Vasha," Delilah said, her voice cool, carrying the faint quality of a warning. "Since Her Majesty values Avalon's development, the City of Hill will become the single most important transit point connecting sea and land. You will guard this gate — and you will ensure that not a single shipment of sea salt or grain passes through your territory with so much as a hair out of place."
"That's right," Sophia said, setting down the coconut water and looking toward Vasha. "Once trade circulation picks up, merchant caravans passing through the City of Hill will multiply considerably. When that time comes, keep strict watch — inspect every carriage that crosses your threshold."
Vasha rose quickly and offered a deep, formal bow to both Delilah and Sophia. "This minister understands. This minister will give everything she has."
Hailey had already finished eating and was now sprawled behind a folding screen in the corner of the inner hall, scribbling furiously by the light of a flickering candle:
Private banquet at the City of Hill's City Lord mansion.
I see the blending of two colors.
One is the deep blue of the ocean. The other is the deep violet of the land.
Vasha-jiejie looks so much more captivating now than she ever did as a princess — because her eyes no longer hold hollow vanity. They hold the same anticipation as the rest of us.
Her Majesty doesn't need everyone to become extraordinary. She only needs each person to fulfill their role. Avalon's people fish. The City of Hill's people farm. And we... we guard Her Majesty.
Willow-jiejie's fish is so incredibly fresh. I think Vasha-jiejie is about to cry from how delicious it is.
---
The City of Hill, deep in the night.
Only a few faint glass lanterns swayed in the corridors of the City Lord's mansion.
Inside Sophia's chamber, the colored glass lamp that Irene had ground smooth with her own hands cast a soft, warm amber glow — intimate and quietly luminous.
Sophia had not gone to bed early. Draped in a thin black velvet sleep robe, she reclined against the soft pillows, her fingertips slowly turning through the scroll of Avalon's household registry.
The soft rustle of those pages was the only sound in the still room.
Knock. Knock.
An extraordinarily light, almost trembling knock.
"Your Majesty... this minister Vasha has an urgent matter she wishes to raise with you privately. I hope I am not disturbing your rest?"
Sophia's fingertips paused at the edge of the scroll. Those pale golden pupils deepened in the lamplight like still water over an abyss.
"Come in."
The door swung open and fell shut again. Vasha had changed out of her elaborate ceremonial gown and stood now in a well-fitted purple silk sleep robe — its neckline carrying just a deliberate hint of design.
She did not make for the chair across the room. She came directly to Sophia's bedside.
With complete, wordless compliance, Vasha knelt on the soft wool carpet, hands folded over her knees.
She had knelt so close that Sophia could faintly catch the rich, gentle fragrance of dried flowers that rose from her skin — the result of careful grooming, pleasant and not at all sharp.
Vasha tilted her head slightly upward. Those eyes — eyes that had once carried the arrogance of the Royal House of Orr — were now brimming with a devotion as tender and small as starlight.
Now. It has to be now.
If I don't say it tonight, tomorrow she will leave with that invincible convoy and take everything with her.
Watching those scrolls in her hands, I know — her heart beats across the entire map of this world.
Avalon is already hers. Next it might be the desolate south, or the island chains of the far east.
Every place she conquers will produce women like that Marlena — wild, bursting with life — or nobles more docile, more beautiful than me.
When that day comes, in the shadow of this Black Rose, where will there still be a place for Vasha?
"Your Majesty..." Vasha opened her mouth. Her voice carried a faint, controlled rasp.
"Today, when this minister looked at the sea salt Avalon sent — when this minister watched the near-frenzied awe in Pierre's eyes — the only thought in my heart was: the decision I made that day on the ice plain, to follow you, was the most correct choice of my entire life."
She gathered her courage and reached out, fingertips brushing with the softest touch against the corner of Sophia's sleep robe where it draped over the edge of the bed. Her voice shifted suddenly, turning urgent.
"The truth is... this minister has harbored such feelings — humble and full of longing — for Your Majesty since long ago. I had meant to keep them buried, not wanting to add to Your Majesty's troubles during such a demanding time of rebuilding.
But I am afraid."
Vasha's eyes grew faintly red at the rims, her gaze lifting to that cool, frost-pale face.
"Your Majesty's territory grows ever larger. Mason's Order is reshaping the entire world. The people at your side will only multiply — and in the future, there will inevitably be more women like me... or women who surpass me entirely, offering you their loyalty and their devotion.
This minister is afraid that when that day comes, beneath this crowded throne, there will truly be no place left for Vasha at all."
Sophia set down the scroll in her hand.
She did not flush. She did not look startled by the sudden confession. With quiet composure, she leaned forward slightly, and reached out with that hand that still carried a trace of coolness — fingertip lifting Vasha's chin with a gentle, unhurried hook.
The firelight danced in Sophia's eyes like a silent conflagration.
"Vasha."
Sophia's voice was still cool — but in the quiet of that late-night room it had gained a texture that made something tremble.
"Do you believe that as the number of those who rally to me increases... my discernment grows clouded?"
Vasha's body gave a faint shudder beneath the touch of those fingertips — a reaction born of equal parts fear and fascination.
She was afraid. And she was jealous.
Good.
Loyalty born only of duty will eventually be shaken by self-interest. Only this kind of devotion — the kind laced with possessive longing — will drive her to guard this City of Hill for Sophia with the single-minded tenacity of someone half-mad.
Since she wants a place, give her a place — and let that place be the shackle called privilege.
"Remember your station, Vasha.
You are the City Lord This Queen raised up with her own hand. And you are the first person who planted hope in the ruins for me."
Sophia's fingertip pressed, once, lightly against Vasha's lips.
"As long as this butterfly does not fly away — on This Queen's shoulder, there will always be a place for you to rest."
Vasha held the kneeling position, feeling the soft press of the wool carpet beneath her forehead.
Yet in the shadow where Sophia could not see — this woman who had once been First Princess of Orr and was now City Lord of the City of Hill — her inner world was being torn apart by something that felt like a tidal surge crashing through a narrow strait.
Gods above... Her Majesty just cupped my chin.
She even... she even touched my lips!
Her fingertips were cool — but where they landed on me, it was like a flame that could reduce a soul to ashes.
She called me a butterfly. She said her shoulder would always have a place for me to rest.
This is not simply the encouragement of a sovereign to a subject. It cannot be.
What ruler goes to a vassal lord's chamber in the dead of night and makes a gesture this close to flirtation?
She must harbor those feelings for me as well — she must. My devotion has moved that ice-sealed imperial heart.
Vasha, you have won. In the shadow of this Black Rose, you have finally advanced one step further than that wooden post Delilah.
But before that dopamine-soaked fantasy could hold for even three full seconds, another voice rose in Vasha's mind.
The voice of the old Royal House of Orr — cold, rational, merciless — came crashing down like a bucket of deep-sea water packed with ice shards.
Don't be a fool, Vasha. Wake up.
Do you know who is sitting in front of you?
That is Her Majesty Sophia — the woman who personally buried the Kingdom of Orr and rebuilt Mason's Order within a single year.
Is her every glance, her every gesture, not entirely in service of her rule?
What she just did was pacify you. She used the cheapest yet most masterful of methods to purchase the absolute, die-hard service of her City Lord.
Was there a single spark of desire in the way she looked at you?
No.
Those golden pupils are clearer than glass — and colder than glass.
She simply saw through your jealousy and casually handed you a poison pill wrapped in sweetness — to keep you farming and fighting for her on this desolate frontier.
This 'privilege' she speaks of — she may have given the very same thing to that Marlena of Avalon. Or to Daphne, who clings to her every single day.
Or — perhaps Her Majesty has already entered into that kind of relationship with Irene and Delilah.
Vasha's fingernails pressed deep into the carpet. Her breathing came in ragged, broken intervals as her emotions lurched violently back and forth.
If Her Majesty truly has feelings for me... why does her tone still sound like the issuing of a decree, without even a whisper of a lover's murmur?
But if she is only using me...
Why did she brush my loose hair aside with her own hand?
That kind of closeness — the kind reserved only for those most near to her — can it truly be nothing more than political calculation?
No... perhaps this is simply how Her Majesty loves.
She stands above the clouds, a Queen above all queens. Her love was always going to be this — a benevolence suffused with the divine, a grace granted from on high.
She has no need to speak the words ordinary people speak. She only needs to guide me. To command me.
Even if this truly is a form of using me — to be chosen by a god of this magnitude as a useful piece on the board, is that not itself the rarest and most absolute of honors?
Stop guessing, Vasha. As long as she still needs this butterfly, you must dance the most perfect dance you are capable of.
In the span of that single short minute, Vasha's eyes had passed through bewilderment, self-doubt, and finally arrived at the reckless resolve of someone who has burned their boats.
She clenched a fistful of carpet in her palm, her nails sinking deep into the fibers.
On that day — had I not moved first, had I not climbed into Her Majesty's carriage — I would be nothing but a ghost trampled under the iron hooves of that chaos.
Her Majesty's grace has never descended without cause.
She is a god — and gods answer only those who claw their way upward with everything they have.
If I want to leave my name in her territory — if I want even a small place beside her — then I must fight for it, seize it, and make myself irreplaceable.
That ambition and adoration, so intense they were nearly tangible, set Vasha's every breath burning hot.
But just as she prepared to speak again — just as the treasonous impulse rose to grab Sophia's hand and press it against her own heart — a voice, clear and cool as moonlight, struck with surgical precision and shattered every last ember of her frenzy.
"Vasha. Put those unnecessary thoughts of yours away."
Sophia had not looked up. She was still turning the scroll in her hands — yet those flat, even words were like an ice pick, driving straight through every layer of Vasha's performance.
"Do you think Mason is powerful right now?"
Sophia gave a faint, self-deprecating pull at the corner of her mouth. Something passed through those golden pupils — a heaviness that Vasha could not quite read.
"We pacified Orr. We took Avalon. On the surface, our territory spans sea and land. But in truth... this is nothing but a hollow shell built on ruins."
Vasha went still. She stared blankly up at this Queen who, in her eyes, was capable of anything.
"We have no mature industrial chain. Agriculture has barely begun. Our population cannot even sustain two large-scale defensive wars."
Sophia closed the scroll and turned her gaze to the pitch-black night sky beyond the window.
"In this world, there are many nations ten times the size of Orr.
The moment any one of those hungry Empires fixes its eyes on us — Mason right now is nothing but a rose by the roadside. Slightly more striking than the rest, perhaps. But a single snap, and it breaks."
"Every morning when This Queen wakes, what greets her is not prosperity. It is an abyss that could swallow everything at any moment."
She turned back, fixing a cool, dispassionate gaze on Vasha — who had gone pale and was trembling faintly under the weight of those words.
"In times like these — do you truly believe This Queen has the luxury of indulging in something called 'devotion'?"
Vasha felt the immensity and brutality of that truth pressing down on her until she could barely breathe.
A feeling she had never experienced before swept over her — profound, crushing defeat.
Fierce shame and an aching tenderness for Sophia surged through her at once. Vasha's eyes burned. Two quiet tears traced their way down her bronze cheeks without a sound.
She curled beside Sophia's bed, like a small cat drenched by heavy rain, her slender shoulders trembling faintly.
Looking at this girl — pear blossoms in the rain, ambition and vulnerability written unguarded across her face — Sophia felt the permafrost that lived in her eyes finally crack, just barely, along a single impossibly fine line.
She let out a quiet breath. Those long, pale fingers descended slowly and, with no weight of ceremony whatsoever, lightly grazed Vasha's damp cheek.
It was the lightest of touches. The fingertips carried a faint coolness — yet where they landed, it was as though lightning had been called down.
"Do your work, Vasha. Be the City Lord you are meant to be."
Sophia's voice dropped a degree, carrying the faintest trace of something — not quite stern, not quite soft. The quiet compassion of someone looking down from a great height.
"Do not distract This Queen.
If you can hold this gate — on the day Mason truly stands immovable... This Queen will give you the answer you are looking for."
Vasha went rigid. She sat perfectly still, feeling the path that finger had traced across her face, her mind going completely blank in that single instant.
Her Majesty... she touched my face.
Her Majesty did not refuse me.
She is only bearing the weight of an entire world on her shoulders.
She thinks Mason is not yet safe enough — and so she restrains herself. She restrains her feelings for me.
Yes — that heaviness in her eyes. That is the vulnerability a person only shows in front of those they hold closest.
She told me about Mason's crisis. She is treating me as a true inner minister — she is entrusting her back to me.
Vasha, how dare you ask for her affection at a time like this?
You should be her sword. You should be her shield.
Once I turn the City of Hill into Mason's most unyielding fortress — once I have helped her conquer every barren wasteland in the south — this Black Rose will have no choice but to bloom for me alone.
Standing guard outside the door, Willow could catch only the occasional faint sound of Vasha's muffled weeping. She lowered her head and regarded the tips of her own shoes, her expression unreadable.
---
The following morning.
A thin mist still drifted through the City of Hill's stone-paved streets.
By the time the first sliver of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the great walls and fell across the Black Rose banner snapping in the wind, Sophia's convoy was already formed up and ready to depart.
Old Pierre and his people had been waiting at their positions since early morning.
Watching the Mason soldiers in their neat black uniforms, black muskets across their backs, briskly checking the horse tackle, Old Pierre gripped his pipe with white knuckles. The awe he felt toward Sophia — already swollen beyond measure after last night's soul-shaking dinner — had now reached its absolute peak.
"Vasha."
Sophia stood beside the carriage. Her cool voice drifted through the open streets with quiet authority.
Vasha rushed forward at once, uncaring of the morning dew, and bowed her head low before that dignified silhouette.
"Your Majesty, this minister is here."
"These seafood stores — I have had Willow set aside a small portion for you. Enough to see you through for some time. The rest, This Queen is bringing back to the Royal City."
Sophia looked toward the sealed wooden crates being loaded behind the stone fortress, her tone calm and untroubled.
"Mason's inland still needs this kind of flavor to awaken people's palates — but I also want you to be able to taste it, which is why I left some behind for you.
Eat it soon. Without purpose-built cold storage or Alchemy preservation, these things will spoil quickly."
Vasha looked at those tightly sealed crates — faintly fragrant with salt — and a flash of fierce, grateful understanding lit in her eyes.
Her Majesty is teaching me... that the distribution of power cannot be driven by personal desire.
Even though I am the lord of this city — even though I hold some weight in Her Majesty's heart — I can only receive the portion allotted to me.
What she takes away is not just seafood. She is locking 'scarcity' itself firmly in her own hands.
With the supply from that ocean, those old-faction nobles who still showed a flicker of wavering will likely become the most loyal dogs imaginable, and immediately.
And the portion she left behind — that is Her Majesty's private commendation for this stretch of time I have spent governing the City of Hill.
Every bite of that red prawn is her acknowledgment of me.
I must eat it down to the last morsel — and then grow more grain for her.
With the sharp crack of a whip, the heavy carriages began to roll.
Old Pierre's small merchant caravan fell in tight alongside Sophia's convoy.
His wagon was loaded with the finest sea salt and shells Avalon had to offer — the bricks with which he intended to knock on the door of Mason's Royal City.
Nina sat up on the driver's board, waving vigorously at the reluctant Vasha, her small face radiant with longing for the grander, more magnificent Royal City that lay somewhere ahead.
Sophia settled back into the carriage and drew aside the thin dark-teal curtain.
She looked out at the ordinary people of the City of Hill stepping out of their homes to head to the fields. Their clothes were still coarse and plain — but the deadened look in their eyes from the Orr era was gone, replaced by something alive: the anticipation of the Black Rose flagship store's next restock, and a vision of the days yet to come.
Delilah rode alongside the carriage window, her heavy sword knocking against the saddlebow with a low, steady metallic toll.
Her high ponytail stood upright as a pine in the morning wind, those crimson eyes fixed with absolute focus on the road ahead.
Last night, she had heard everything.
____
________________________________________
🌸 Help Love Bloom!
Our girls need a little push... and you can help!
💖 Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 50 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter to warm your hearts.
🚀 Community Reward: If we reach 20 supporting members, we'll have a +5 chapter marathon across all stories! The romance won't stop.
👻 Come to our secret corner: Search for GirlsLove on (P). You know that's where the magic happens... 😉