The next day came with soft footsteps outside her room. Cessalie was already awake, sitting by the window, staring out into nothing like some tragic painting frozen in place.
Gini knocked twice before opening the door. "Lady Cessalie… Duke Davian is here."
Cessalie stood slowly. Her dress was already on, one of the simpler ones in rose-gray with long sleeves that hid everything. Her hair wasn't braided today, just left to fall loosely around her face like armor.
Gini helped pin a small brooch near her collarbone.. Then they walked.
And there he was, Davian standing near the room's fireplace, dressed in deep navy with gold embroidery curling up his sleeves like vines. His gloves were off. His dark hair was neat. His smile was warm.
The room wasn't bright, but he carried light with him like someone carved too carefully to be real.
"Cessalie," he greeted, dipping his head in a polite bow. "You look well."
She approached with slow steps. "You're early."
"I missed our conversations," he said, casual, like it wasn't strange at all.
She sat across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap. "You said you were busy."
"I was," Davian replied, smooth but honest. "But I made time."
She didn't know what to do with that kind of answer.
"I brought you something." He lifted a small book from beside him and slid it across the table, as sitting down.
Cessalie glanced down. It was a rare political philosophy book, the kind of old print which was not even in her father's library.
She blinked once, fingers brushing the worn spine.
"I remembered you like reading," Davian added simply. "Thought we could discuss it sometime. If you want to."
She picked up the book and traced its cover with her finger. Then, slowly, she opened it by the corner and turned the pages. She hadn't expected Davian to pay so much attention to her liking.
Her voice stayed flat. "You're making it very hard to hate you, Duke."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine. "That's not the goal."
"I'm not easy to win."
"I'm not here to win. I'm here to stay."
Cessalie kept her hand on the book, fingers curling around the edges like maybe it was a key or maybe just proof that someone, somewhere, had been listening for once.
Davian took a sip of tea, leaning back in his chair.
Then he broke the silence. "There's a royal court meeting in two days," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. "Something about the Thalassars again."
Cessalie's gaze snapped to him, sharp and curious. "Thalassars?"
He nodded. "They come from a witch bloodline. Water-bound nomads. They rarely stay in one place for long. But wherever they settle, trouble follows. Livestock disappears, floods rise without warning, and people begin falling ill."
His expression hardened slightly. "The King has grown tired of it. He is even considering the exile of all witches."
Her eyes widened, disbelief flickering across her face. "That's… extreme."
Witches had existed for over ten thousand years, long before kingdoms were built and long before people understood how to shape their own mana. They came before organized civilization, before laws and temples gave magic its structure. Over centuries, they spread across the world, their bloodlines scattering with time. Some eventually settled in Valkathra.
Witches were not simple beings, nor were they easily understood. Yet they were woven into Valkathra's history. Whether they offered their gifts openly or remained in the shadows, their presence had always been part of the land.
Davian shrugged, though tension lingered behind the motion. "They are unpredictable, scattered and powerful. The Council believes that if they refuse to settle and contribute, they are just a risk."
Cessalie studied him, surprised more by the conversation itself than the content. "You are discussing this with me? A royal matter?"
Cyrion never shared any matters with women in his family, not even with Anwen, who was very intelligent. It was surprising for cessalie.
"I like your mind," he replied simply. "And I think you would have an opinion."
He was right. She did.
She leaned in slightly, curiosity spilling forward. "I've heard of witches, but not much about their bloodlines. What are they like?"
Davian told her about the nine major witch bloodlines—each one tied to a dominant form of magic, each one distinct in both power and temperament.
The Zeranes had once controlled shadow magic, but their bloodline had been cursed generations ago. Now, they were nearly extinct, hanging on by a thread. Whatever power they had left was buried beneath centuries of misfortune.
Then came the Pyraeth. They had fire magic coursed through their veins. They could even ignite air, bend heat in weapons and ensure temperature that would kill others. .
The Luxen were masters of illusion and light. They could bent lights to recieve and reveal, craft mirages, blind enemies or reflect attacks.
The Vilyara bloodline possessed foresight. They saw fragments of what may come, visions without certainty. They read patterns, sense dangers but can't alter future.
At this point, Cessalie leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing with interest. Davian continued without pause.
The eryndors were known for nature and healing magic. Peaceful and reclusive, they avoided conflict and preferred to remain hidden.
Morrvane was one of the rarest bloodlines—spirit. They could sense spirits and emotional residues, guide lost souls and walk through dreams.
Then there were the Aeralyn. They had authority over wind, pressure and sound. They shaped wind curewnts, crushed with air pressure and shatter eardrums with air pressure.
And finally… Nyxarëal. A name people didn't speak lightly. They were obsessed with blood purity and magical strength. Power above all else. Their family lines were twisted from generations of inbreeding, and they were known to be cruel, ruthless, even to their own.
She tilted her head slightly. "It sounds like you have met all of them."
"No, only a few over the years," he admitted. "Most avoid human cities altogether. I do not blame them. But their power, if used properly… it could change the kingdom in less than a decade."
Cessalie's gaze held his for a moment. "Why would they trust us? All we do is hunt them, aetherbind them. Strip away the only thing that makes them who they are."
He blinked, visibly surprised she knew about aetherbinding. Most people avoided mentioning it. But Cessalie had listened to the maids. She had heard the stories. One of them had gone through it—aetherbinding.
"If you take someone's magic," she continued, "you take their will to live. You erase them."
Davian set his cup down slowly, studying her like she had just peeled away another layer he had not expected to find. "And what do you suggest we do instead?"
Her eyes dropped to her hands resting on her lap, tracing the faint lines of her veins beneath pale skin.
"Start with the healers," she said quietly. "The Eryndor witches. Convince them to work in temples. Let them heal the people, gain their respect. Show them we want their help, not just their power."
Davian nodded, slow and thoughtful after a beat of silence ."That… actually makes sense."
His gaze lingered, sharp and observant, as if he was seeing her differently now like something rare.
"You would make a terrifying politician," he said with quiet amusement. "In the best way."
Cessalie scoffed softly under her breath, though her fingers curled tighter around her cup. His words were meant as a compliment, but to a girl raised behind locked doors and silks, being seen always came with a price.
Still it felt good, yet dangerous too.
He leaned forward, hands clasped lightly, genuine curiosity softening his features.
"How would you do it?" he asked. "How would you persuade the Eryndor witches to work with the temples?"
Cessalie blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I don't know," she admitted. "You'd have to tell me more about them first. I can't solve a puzzle if I don't even know what the pieces look like."
A faint smile tugged at Davian's lips, a quiet appreciation for her defiance. "Fair."
He leaned back, his voice dropping a little, almost like they were sharing secrets. "Eryndors are not wanderers.. they settle in forests. They are the quietest, friendliest of the witch bloodlines. They don't build cities. They don't sit in courts or answer to kings. They live near forests, rivers, waterfalls… anywhere untouched. They're private. Most of them hate stone walls, let alone temples. But they're the best healers in the known world. Some say they can mend bones in minutes, cleanse poison with a touch."
Cessalie nodded slowly, letting the pieces fall into place. "So they live close to nature… and we expect them to come sit in marble halls, surrounded by incense and gold," she muttered. "Of course they refuse."
"Exactly." His eyes stayed on her, observing.. "They see temples as… unnatural and cold. Healing should happen where the pain started. That's what they believe."
Cessalie traced the rim of her cup, lost in thought for a moment. Then she lifted her eyes, sharp with certainty. "Then we shouldn't ask them to come to us."
Davian tilted his head slightly. "No?"
"No," she said firmly. "We build sanctuaries outside the cities. Healing centers designed the way they want them, in the wild...in nature. Let them work how they've always worked. Give them freedom, not chains. Trust doesn't grow behind locked doors."
He didn't respond right away. Just stared at her, like she'd said something far simpler, and far more revolutionary, than he expected.
"Would your father ever let you speak like this in court?" he asked after a pause, voice quieter now.
A short, dry laugh escaped her. "My father doesn't let me speak at all."
Davian's expression softened just slightly. "I would," he said. "If you ever wanted to."
Cessalie didn't answer. She had no such interest. No one told her she had any talents. And even if she had, she didnt want anyone to give her permission to move forward.
Kindness always made her wary, especially when it came dressed in such careful patience.
Davian left soon after, mentioning that he'd bring the idea to the King. He admitted that for once, structure and control wouldn't win them trust. They needed to follow the witches' ways instead of forcing their own.
And then… days passed. Weeks.
There was no sign of him.
At first, she barely noticed. But as time dragged on, the absence settled deeper than she wanted to admit.
She buried herself in books, rereading old histories she used to avoid. The words still bored her, but at least boredom didn't tighten her chest the way silence did.
Then, one afternoon, three months later, she heard whispers outside her door.
Cessalie opened the door, brows furrowing. "What's going on?"
The maids froze like startled mice. Gini, always too eager, giggled softly. "My lady, the Eryndors witches have joined the kingdom. They are the first of their kind to do so."
Cessalie's eyes widened slightly. "What?"
"They're building sanctuaries outside the capital. Letting them heal people how they want," Gini explained. "And Duke Davian… everyone's calling him a visionary."
Cessalie stood there quietly. The idea she had tossed out in a casual conversation… worked.
It worked.
And yet, the warmth that rose in her chest felt strangely hollow. She did not understand it. The alliance was her idea, and it succeeded just as she planned. She should have felt proud. Instead, the news barely stirred her at all.
If only she could stand before the court and say it was her idea. But they would call it foolish and childish ambition from a girl whose duty was meant to be marriage and children, nothing more.
The world always applauded men in fine coats and polished boots, calling them visionaries and saviors, even when their brightest ideas were borrowed from girls sitting in forgotten corners, holding tea they never finished.
Even if Davian never claimed it all as his own, he didn't have to. The world handed him credit like an offering. It was how things worked.
And Cessalie? She was just the shadow behind him. Like every woman in the Draevin house, like her mother had been, like she was expected to be.
Right after midday, when the sun poured through the palace windows, blinding and sharp, Cessalie sat curled by the window, a book open in her lap, unread. Her eyes drifted over the words, but they never stayed long enough to mean anything.
The knock at the door barely startled her.
Gini didn't wait for permission, pushing it open with a grin. "Duke Davian's here to see you, my lady."
Cessalie shut the book without marking the page. It didn't matter because nothing on those pages held her attention anymore.
Davian stepped in, dressed in charcoal and silver. His coat neat, his posture calm. He belonged in sunlight like it bent around him.
"I heard you've been busy," Cessalie remarked, her voice flat as she stayed seated.
"I have," he admitted, taking a step closer. "Though I'd argue not as clever as you, Lady Draevin."
His smile wasn't smug. It wasn't condescending, but warm and easy. The kind that disarmed people.
But everything was a trap eventually.
"You told the King," she said as she stood, eyes locked on him.
Davian tilted his head, shaking slightly. "I told the Crown Prince and the King your idea, yes. I thought you might be angry about that."
"I'm not angry." Cessalie crossed her arms, watching him closely. "Just wondering how it feels to wear someone else's crown and still get to keep your head high."
He didn't flinch. "I'll tell them it was yours."
"No, you won't."
If the court were to know that this plan was made by a girl, it would not be considered important at all and Davian's hard work would go to waste.
Then she shrugged. "It's fine. You did what you said. It worked. That's more than I expected from anyone."
"Still," Davian said, his voice softening, "you should've seen the King's face when I suggested following the witches' way instead of forcing them into ours, like I'd grown two heads."
"You think I should've been there?" Cessalie asked, raising an eyebrow. "They don't let women speak in royal courts."
Davian didn't argue. They both knew the truth.
Instead, he changed the subject entirely. "I came to ask if you'd like to come with me next time. To the capital, to see the sanctuaries being built."
The words hit her like cold water.
"You're making fun of me?"
"I'm not."
"And my father agreed to that?"
"He doesn't know I'm going to ask him yet," Davian replied casually. "But he likes me. That helps."
Cessalie studied him for a long second. The idea wasn't part of the script. It wasn't supposed to be an option.
"Don't expect me to thank you," she muttered, crossing her hands over her chest and turning her face away from him.
"I won't." His smile was small but sincere. "But I'll still keep doing it."
As she stared outside from her window, she didn't expect that day would arrive soon. Yet she felt an excitement, stepping out of palace.
The day arrived eventually.
For the first time in years, Cessalie stepped past the palace gates without guards dragging her by the arms or her father's threats trailing behind her.
There were no chains and no suffocating expectations. It was only her, cloaked in pale blue, stepping into a polished carriage trimmed with gold, lace curtains softening the sunlight as it filtered inside.
It didn't feel real.
The horses moved, the carriage rolled forward, and the markers that had once defined the edges of her world slipped past, the stone walls wrapped in ivy, bakeries with their windows open, the distant sound of children laughing as they chased each other.
The city was loud.anr dirty but alive.
It stirred something within her. It was not happiness, and not quite envy either, but something far more complicated. A quiet ache settled beneath her ribs. The thought came uninvited that this life might have belonged to her, under different circumstances. If she had been born someone else. If she had not been Cessalie Draevin.
Davian sat across from her, quiet, giving her space. He didn't stare or press. He just let her watch the world blur by, patient as ever.
"Is it what you imagined?" he asked after a while.
Cessalie's lips twitched faintly. "Less clean, but prettier."
Davian smiled, not at her, but out the window, as though he saw the same beauty tangled in the chaos.
"We'll be there soon," he promised.