Chapter 10: CHAPTER TEN - THE ARRIVAL

The grand council room had looked exactly the same as Naomi remembered during her first participation years before; the same towering stained glass windows casting fractured rainbows across the same mahogany table, the constellations marked on the ceiling gleaming brighter than ever. She could even recall the feeling of smugness when she had told off the Marquis as she strode to her newly anointed seat. She sat, poised and silent, as the room began to fill. Naomi could instantly feel the presence of which Cassien emitted the moment he stepped into the room, and it took everything in her not to look at him. Her lips tingled at the thought of him - but the two had agreed it would be best to keep things under low profile, at least for now. She could feel his eyes burning through her as he sat across from her. It was harrowing how different everything became in a few short years, not to mention every decision she made from this point on would be at her discretion - the grand legacy of the Rosenthorns’ was completely at her mercy.

Prince Aryn and Princess Seraphine rose at the head of the table, the twins looking like haloed angels with the bask of the sun bursting behind them. The throne of the late Emperor had been replaced with two equally grand seats side-by-side, and both stood with equal grace and dignity. The assembled nobles and their accompanied audience fell into immediate silence, their postures straightening as if pulled by invisible strings.

Prince Aryn began first.

“Esteemed guests, on behalf of the nation, Princess Seraphine and myself, I thank you for assembling for the one hundred twenty-sixth Accord. The tragedy our empire has suffered will never be forgotten, but our actions in the coming times will allow us to bind the fractured land one more. Because of this, my dearest sister and I will continue to rule the nation jointly until further notice.”

“Before we begin, we would like to informally recognize three new titles: Duchess Naomi Rosenthorn of Southern Monroe. Duke Cassien Rivain of the Northern Territories. And Marquis Henric Seldaryn of Southern Monroe, under the rule of the newly anointed duchess.”

“May your leadership and grace guide your people into a golden era.” Princess Seraphine added faintly.

A round of acknowledgement was made as the three stood, bowing. Naomi hid a broad smile as her eyes met Cassien’s, a glimmer of mischief in his expression; she turned away quickly before anyone noticed. She assessed her new Marquis - Hendric Seldaryn - a blond haired boy who barely reached Naomi’s shoulders, his shoulders carrying far too much pressure for his young age. But despite the amount of authority figures in the room, his gaze was unfazed and ready. With announcements and several more formal lines spoken, the council officially roared into session with rapid-fire discussion; three years of silence had culminated to this point, and everyone had a piece to both say and listen. Even Naomi found herself objecting and debating with as much assertion as possible; for all the awful ways her mother made her feel, it was bittersweet that it prepared her so well.

The chamber crackled with energy as the council table quickly accumulated with scrolls and charts, the sky outside bursting with orange, signaling the early evening. Prince Aryn waved his hand to quiet the audience before addressing the next order of business. Naomi resisted the need to rub her tired eyes.

“Now, there is a record of twenty-four pri-”

His voice was cut off by the sound of a bellowing horn in a low, long pull. Then - five quick successions, rolling through the castle like distant thunder. The Prince and Princess exchanged a quick glance before they stood from their seats as uneasy murmurs and uneasy glances exchanged throughout the room, thoroughly awakened from their fatigue. Naomi’s eyes shot to Cassien’s - her utter look of confusion meeting his guarded expression, brows furrowed as he also stood. He was no stranger to warning calls.

Aryn raised his hand, voice steady but urgent: “Please, remain calm. The-”

A royal messenger burst through the double doors at that exact moment, eyes wide as he scurried to the Imperial twins. He bowed low to both siblings, then leaned forward to whisper in between their ears. Seraphine’s eyes darkened as Aryn’s expression twisted into uncharacteristic coldness. Princess Seraphine left the room with the messenger as the silver-haired prince squared his shoulders, addressing the room.

“An unidentified fleet of ships has been spotted along the eastern horizon, with no response to our signal horns. As a precaution, all persons in Tudor are instructed to remain in their rooms until further notice.” Prince Aryn declared.

As a crowd of nobles burst from their seats with a million words on their lips, the prince held up his hand in a silencing motion. “A patrol vessel launched immediately to investigate and - if necessary - intercept.”

As if on cue, knights in polished plate and cloaked tabards of their land’s insignia strode through the doors, sweeping the room for their liege. Ser Finneus was among them - along with Cressida who squeaked by like a mouse at his side - broad-shouldered and armor gleaming with Monroe’s official symbol. Without hesitation, he stepped beside Naomi, sweeping her hand in a firm grip and guiding her back toward the exit.

“Your Grace,” he instructed, voice low and unwavering, “this way, please.”

Her head swiveled back, eyes scanning the rushing room for Cassien. She tugged back in a slight protest. “Wait, I need to-”

“We cannot delay. An unresponsive ship has a great potential for danger,” he urged, voice calm but insistent.

Naomi’s heart hammered as she held her ground, searching. At last, she caught his golden eyes meeting hers just as the rushing crowd swallowed him from her vision. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, finally allowing the knight to lead her through the doors.

Cassien watched Naomi’s form disappear into the blur of bodies with a silver-plated body escorting her. He readied to chase after her just as Prince Aryn’s hand touched his shoulder.

“Cassien,” Aryn said. An informal title from the usual kindly prince meant serious business. “Please, come with me. I could use your strategy - and your sword - should this threat prove hostile. ”

Cassien gave one last glance in Naomi’s direction, though she was long swept away before turning back. He nodded as he followed the prince out of the chamber. The halls were fraught with anxiety, people rushing towards their assigned quarters while the outside of the castle rumbled with the march of foot soldiers towards the harbour. Even the city bells began to toll, signalizing for its citizens to remain sheltered until otherwise cleared.

Seraphine approached them rapidly with two royal knights and an advisor stuck behind her. Her usual stoic expression had a semblance of urgency Cassien hadn’t seen before. “Brother, three patrol ships have departed to meet it midway. They still haven’t responded to our horn, but there has been no hostile action either.”

“Any flags?” Cassien said as they continued through the halls towards a side exit. The remaining light outside gleamed inwards as they approached.

“The watchtower can’t make it out, there’s not enough light in the sky.” Princess Seraphine answered, her dress fluttering in their haste. “The General is waiting at the harbour in case things turn south.”

”The watchtower is observing the patrol ships, Your Highness,” the advisor, a dark skinned balding man in warm garbs spoke up. “They will know immediately if they are attacked.”

”The General dispatched three minor patrol ships to greet several large vessels?” Cassien’s words cut through with judgement. “You might as well have signed them for death.”

The advisor’s face paled as Princess Seraphine interrupted. “No need to think so grimly, Your Grace. As equal a chance that they may be unfriendly, they may simply be in distress as well.”

Grey eyes locked with gold, unwavering. Cassien recalled the cryptic warning Seraphine had said to him last night about not trusting everything with only eyes - and he backed off.

”Now is not the time for arguments,” Aryn cut in as he signaled to one of the knights. “Secure the armory. Have rangers at the ready and load the cannons - and pray we do not need them. Sera, return to your room.”

“No.”

“Sera-”

“I will not leave you alone.”

Aryn reached out, grabbing his sister’s wrist as the three halted. “We don’t know what we are facing. I can’t risk your safety.”

“And the same goes for you,” she retorted. “I am the Princess of Calypsa, and I have every right to be there with you.”

“I’m not debating your authority, Sera,” Aryn said, his voice low and stern. “The empire cannot risk losing their Seer. And I cannot lose the last member of my family. Please, do not make me ask again.”

“And you think I can?” Seraphine’s jaw clenched as she whipped around, beginning her stride once again.

Her hand reached for the handle of the exit; Arya’s eyes glowed so brightly that the whole of his eyes appeared white. “Seraphine. Return to your room.”

Her movement halted suddenly, hand frozen on the handle. Seraphine’s shoulders slumped, her resistance melting from her face as her lashes drifted downward. She blinked once, depression flitting across her expression before it smoothed into compliance. “Yes, brother.”

It felt as wrong as it was necessary. He turned to a knight. “Escort her. Do not let her leave. And protect my sister with your life.”

Cassien watched as a knight gently swept the staggered princess, carrying her along with the dissipating crowd down the halls, along with the advisor. One knight remained, ready at attention. The two mens’ eyes met, and Cassien could see the guilt that twisted beneath his silvery depths.

”Didn’t think you could control people’s minds,” Cassien said warily.

Aryn let out a heavy breath. “I don’t.” A sudden boom interrupted the men.

Cassien steeled his gaze. “We need to hurry.”

The prince could only nod.

**

Naomi could not sit still.

Her fingers twisted the fabric of her dress with anxiety as Cressida brushed her hair back, attempting to soothe her nerves. The maid merely thought she was wracked with fear for the unknown threat, but the truth was she was worried about Cassien.

Not that she didn’t think he couldn’t handle himself. She knew well he had the ability to turn the tide of a skirmish with a single gesture of frost, but they didn’t know yet the severity of the situation. It could be as harmless as a captain who simply fell asleep at the steer, or a fleet of invaders. Regardless - she couldn't help but think she should be at his side. At the very least, two magic-wielders stood a better chance than one, yet she knew she risked more than her own safety - she risked becoming a burden amid the clash of steel. He could not save her from everything, nor should she assume to just because they had kissed once.

But she couldn’t just sit here.

Naomi stood abruptly. “Cressida, please remain in the room. That is an order.”

“My lady, what-”

Naomi stormed out the room, swinging the doors open as Ser Finneus turned.

“Your Grace, you cannot go out during the alarm.”

“I was not asking your permission,” she answered, turning away. She felt a grip on her wrist, small and warm.

“My lady, we don’t know what is happening out there. The prince has ordered us all to stay back for a reason,” Cressida pleaded, her knees trembling. “You could be killed!”

Naomi’s expression softened at her friend. “I will be careful.”

Finneus planted himself in front of her, his massive stature towering. “I cannot in good conscience allow-”

“Then do not allow me,” Naomi’s chin tilted up as she invoked every bit of authority in her tone, her eyes never breaking contact. “Obey me. Stand down.”

It took every fibre of her being not to tremble at the very action of intimidating her own personal guard, but she held her ground. She held his gaze unwaveringly, long enough to seal her command, as he stepped aside.

”…Very well, but I must escort you. It is my oath to protect the Lady of the House.” His words were solemn, bowing his head deeply as warm brown waves swooped against his forehead. The sigil of Monroe on his armor flashed a silent oath.

She nodded quickly before he could change his mind. Naomi turned her head to a terrified Cressida with a silent Stay! mouthed from her lips, as if she were a pup. Naomi rushed down the hall with Finneus before she could respond, racing down the stairs and eventually bursting through an exit.

Naomi panted as she and Ser Finneus raced down the castle hill on foot, struggling to keep up with his athletic strides. Her eyes darted ahead, scanning the city’s line before her. Imperial soldiers marched from the castle barracks outwards into the city. Beyond the inner keep, the city of Tudor writhed in muted alarm. Shop shutters clanged down as merchants hurried to bolt doors; families yanked curtains closed, wide eyes of children peering through the cracks of curtained windows.

They crossed the massive stone bridge that connected Calypsa Castle to the outer rings of Tudor itself; a feat she failed years back to attend a simple festival, but now instead charging into a potential battle. Truly, how the tides have turned since. After several minutes at full speed, her lungs were gasping for air, her legs tiring. She felt a sudden cramp in her thigh, staggering her movement as her foot caught against a loose stone. She flailed forwards, a sharp pain ripping through her ankle as she tumbled. Finneus halted, rushing towards her with a concerned look.

”Your Grace! Are you hurt?’

Naomi gritted her teeth, forcing her weight up as her right ankle wobbled, heat flaring in her bones. “I’m fine.”

Finneus turned, crouching low and offering his back to her. “Bravado will only make things worse. Please, allow me.”

She hesitated before making the split decision to climb atop his back, her face red at the close contact as her legs wrapped around his waist even with the barrier of metal armor between them. Relief flooded her as the weight of her body released from her injured part.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Please hold on tightly, Your Grace,” he murmured as he rose to his full height, bursting forward once more.

He rounded a bend in the road, and spotted a lone horse grazing beside a small stable house, a single thin length of rope tied to a post. He led them towards it, the horse unbothered by their approach.

“Quickly,” Finneus instructed as he vaulted onto the mare’s back. Without pausing, he reached down and gripped her waist, hosting Naomi onto the saddle before she could object.

She let out a gasp at both the casual contact and audacity, though the knight didn’t pay any mind as he snapped the rope in two with ease. “We can’t just steal a horse!”

”With all due respect, Your Grace,” Finneus said as he lifted the reins, leading the horse forward. “You have already left the bounds of the castle and risk your life with the unknown. And now, you cannot walk. Even I cannot manage carrying the two of us by foot all the way down to the harbours.”

She realized the absurdity of her words; she had commanded him to let her go, putting himself at peril by following his loyalty to the House, and already got herself hurt. She was only adding to his burden - a feeling she was well acquainted with.

”Sorry, you’re right,” she exhaled as she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tightly, eyes closed. “Let’s go. Towards the harbor.”

Ser Finneus slapped the reins against the horse’s sides, sending into a full gallop as it thundered down the footpaths towards the inner city, leading it to the dockside. In the sunlight, his skin was bronzed and smooth, with the flutter of the pale haired Duchess’s dress behind them, the two looked like they came out of a fairytale. They roared past abandoned market stalls stocked full of produce and goods, with children’s toys still scattered along the stone paths.

Finneus’s voice broke over the rush of the wind. “Your Grace, what is your plan once we reach the docks?”

She hesitated to share her truth. Not everyone would take kindly to the affair of the long-opposed North and South, perhaps seeing it as a betrayal due to the past - but she felt it was silly to admit it was all because of a crush. She thought carefully but quickly before the knight could catch on.

”It would be wrong for me to stay back,” she replied. “After all, Calypsa is my nation. As ruler of the South, I have a duty to back the Imperial kingdom whether in battle or as a voice.”

He grunted. “The Lords may not be accepting of a woman amidst the fever of conflict.” His words were not unkind, but a sad truth of the world.

“Let them behave however they wish,” Naomi said firmly, her eyes glowing faintly with radiant magic. “I know my strengths.”

**

Near the harbour, soldiers assembled wooden pike barriers and sandbags walls, some carrying black metal balls to be loaded into canons. Beyond the edge of the docks, four enormous vessels lurked in the distance, dwarfing the small patrol boats sent by Tudor. Cassien and Prince Aryn stood beside General Thaddeus, a bulky man with a thick red beard, a polished glaive at his side. Behind him, his troops formed a semicircle, imperial capes softly billowing in the wind - ready for a single command of action. Lookouts perched above a brown bricked beacon peering through spyglass, observing the horizon and relaying every action through a bullhorn that announced every movement to the awaiting troops.

“General! We’ve spotted a flag!”

”The lead ship - it bears the brown cobra of Seraveth!”

Hatred and unrest crackled through the ranks; over a century of resentment towards the Seravethians who had been the original violators of the goddess Lunare, the sole reason for the Conquest.

”Seraveth?” Arya’s voice was disbelieving. “There was no missive sent notifying of their arrival.”

The muscle in Cassien’s jaw twitched. “What else?”

One of the lookouts did a double take. “They’re…not attacking. …The patrol ships are returning with them.”

The troops shifted uneasily but stayed their ground, disbelieving of the relay. Even Cassien had trouble believing that they were potentially arriving in peace - and what in the world for? Who?

“Maintain your positions,” General Thaddeus barked, hand hovering near his glaive’s hilt, adding under his breath. “They’ll pay dearly if this is a ruse.”

Where stone paths shifted to sturdy wooden docks and cobbled quay, Naomi and Finneus halted to a stop. She slipped to the side, pain flaring as she clumsily tried to swing a leg down.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Finneus dismounted with ease. “Allow me to carry you.”

Naomi pressed her good foot against his armored calf and hauled herself onto his shoulders, too sore to object. Her injured ankle throbbed, but the shift onto his back eased the pain. Around them, guards paused their preparations, surprise rippling through the ranks at the sight of the southern Duchess carried by the knight that shone like honey and silver. Most watched with skepticism except for the forces of the south, the men bowing deeply with respect to their new Duchess. Murmurs followed the two as they pushed forward along the water’s edge, ignoring the stares. Naomi held on tightly as her eyes scanned the harbours, heart pounding.

There, at the edge of the wharf with sword drawn and ready, stood Cassien with his sword drawn in a virtuous stance. Her breath caught in her throat, captivated by the masculinity and steadiness that he emitted against the glow of the setting sun. Even in the warmth and humidity of the tropical Tudor island, he still wore a black fur lined cloak atop his dark armor, but not a single bead of sweat broke from his handsome face.

Cassien turned his head towards the minor commotion from behind him, his face freezing at the sight of the pale blonde haired beauty cradled atop a knight’s back. Her delicate face was flush with exertion, her eyes meeting his.

“Naomi?” His voice was full of disbelief and a semblance of fear.

He flung his readied sword without a second thought, metal clattering against the stone as he closed the distance between them urgently. She reached her hand out towards him - Cassien ignoring the knight entirely - as he pulled her towards him, crushing her in an embrace. The world around them ceased to exist, while all watched in utter shock as the two rivals collided in the golden light. Too soon, he pulled away, checking Naomi’s face all over for any marks before gently settling her to the ground.

She wobbled slightly then, wincing as her injured ankle gave way. His grip tightened, brows furrowing as he scooped her into his arms, carrying her towards a crate. “Why- what are you doing here? Why are you hurt?”

He placed her seating on the wooden box, her face flushed as she pressed a hand against her right ankle. “I.. I twisted it on my way here,” She said, suddenly aware of the audience that watched silently. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

He knelt beside her, uncaring of watchful eyes as he lifted her leg slightly, pressing a gauntleted hand against the swollen joint. “You’re impossibly reckless,” he breathed.

His golden eyes softened as frost curled across his fingers, pooling into a smooth, cool band around her ankle. The pain seemed to melt beneath his touch - it was exactly as refreshing and cooling as Naomi had imagined it to be, years ago. Except this time, solely for her, his touch was full of tenderness and something else altogether.

“Better?” He asked quietly, voice full of concern.

It is now. Naomi smiled, brighter than the sun. “Yes. Thank you.”

Before he could even register it, she leaned forward, planting a soft kiss of appreciation against his cheek.

Cassien’s cheeks flushed as Naomi’s lips warmed his skin. He blinked, momentarily stunned, as his frost magic suddenly was negated beneath the warmth of her touch.

“Naomi-” he nearly choked, before realizing every soldier, lord - even nosy eyes of citizens peering from their windows - was watching them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I… I’m glad you’re alright.”

She could only give him a playful smile, her silky hair framing her face like a mischievous angel.

His eyes darted to the assembled ranks where murmurs of surprise rippled through the lines. Prince Aryn, with an amused and knowing look, grinned at Cassien with a thumbs up.

Soldiers, including Ser Finneus, in every region’s group exchanged baffled glances, with the same questioning look: What just happened?

Cassien stood as he pulled Naomi up, using his body as support for her to lean against before retrieving his sword. “Enough gawking,” he growled loudly, though the tips of his ears were still beet red. “Stand at attention.”

The brief light mood dissipated as the first Seravethian vessel loomed into view, dark timber and bronze rushing through the sea. Behind it, three more sliced through the water in formation, the figurehead of the ship carved into a coiling cobra. Up close, the sails of their nation’s brown serpent was unmistakable.

The Calypsans stiffened as they braced their weapons, standing at full attention at the approaching fleet. Loud horns blared through the air from the brown beacon, though both Naomi and Cassien noticed that no sound emitted back from the vessels, though their own peoples watched steadily from the deck. A hush fell over the harbor as the lead vessel grounded against the docks, thudding. Four heavy splashes pierced through the water as anchors dropped, planks clattered down as a bridge from water to land.

Prince Aryn stepped forward, voice full of authority. “By what right do you sail into Calypsa’s borders without notice?” His tone was firm, unbreakable yet tempered with diplomatic courtesy. Behind him, Cassien and the Imperial army and accompanied forces straightened, ready to back any slight with force if needed.

Figures emerged in loose formations onto the decks: tall, broad-shouldered warriors whose olive eyes gleamed like polished agate. Their skin was bronze-kissed by sun and sea; their dark hair braided back and adorned with copper pieces. Their armor was unlike Calypsa’s gleaming plates of silver - it was leather‐reinforced steel, trimmed with runes, exposing much of their muscle. To their bodies were strapped weapons; massive warhammers, curved swords, javelins tipped like serpent’s fangs. Some were even barehanded, with only heavy bandages wrapped around brutish fists.

A tall, hulking man strode into view, his armor more regal than the rest among him, a dark green cape pinned across his chest. His hair was a dirty brown, skin olive and marred with scars against his muscles, eyes a deep shade of green. The glimpse of a weapon gleamed behind his stature.

The man announced in a deep, smooth voice with an accent that was unfamiliar. “It is a great honor to meet you. I am King Alistair Seraveth.”

Prince Aryn’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as his voice darkened. “I am Prince Aryn of Calypsa. I ask again: why do you approach our nation without notice?”

Behind, the Imperial army raised and stamped their weapon in synchronization against the stone, crackling the air with intimidation.

Alistair held his palms up at chest level as if surrendering, though his expression was at ease. “I understand your caution, it was not my intention to cause…” his eyes flickered across the hundreds of assembled soldiers at the ready. “...any trouble.”

“Any trouble?!” The General bellowed, beard bristling as he slammed the butt of his glaive against the ground. “Your ships blew past the harbor watch without so much as an incoming call! No white flag, no response to our horns. Your approaching silence had been interpreted as a possible invasion! And still may be!”

Behind him, the Imperial line shifted to match the aura of their general, weapons readied and stances wide. Across the docks, the Seravethian warriors mirrored their stance, though their faces plastered with sharp grins.

The King raised a large, calloused hand. “Allow me to explain.”

Aryn’s stormy gaze hardened, arms crossed. “Enlighten us,” he said, every syllable laced with curiosity and caution.

“Before we set sail, we dispatched our royal courier with sealed letters announcing our voyage towards Tudor. Every one of my predecessors always thought the Accord would be a waste of time for our nation. But I feel differently. I want my people to blossom with new cultures, reconnect long lost trades and history with the kingdom that we had once been a part of,” Alistair explained. Cassien could feel the dramatic eye roll that came from the General beside him.

“Due to the passage of time that it takes to get from our capital, Redgorn, to Tudor, we were supposed to meet up with the couriers at a half-way point of which we would’ve received a response by then. What we found though was an abandoned ship - everything had been ransacked, and our men were murdered,” His fists clenched at the retelling, jaw clenched.

“We felt it only right to continue on. After all - I did not wish to wait another year before reuniting at the next Accord,” Alistair smiled then, though Naomi felt a creep of unease at his expression. It was almost smarmy, and reminded her of predatory salesmen at markets that would hound any shopper that eyed their wares longer than a fraction of a second.

She glanced at Cassien then, and could tell from his stoic expression that he too, held his doubts.

“Also,” He pointed towards the tops of their ships. “Seravethian ships do not use horns for signals. It simply has not been a part of our structures, regrettably. That is why nothing answered your calls.”

A murmur ran through the Calypsan lines at the tale. The General’s hand tightened on his glaive, stamping it once more. “Still, that does not excuse-”

“General,” Prince Aryn’s voice cut in, calm but edged with steel. The commander’s lips snapped shut. Aryn took a slow step forward, his expression still guarded. “The Accord is a summit of peace, and we have a strict neutrality law in place. How do we know this is not simply a ruse to enter our grounds?”

“Because,” Alistair said, voice rich and unwavering, “we risked everything to bring you this.”

He nodded behind him, where two towering warriors disappeared into the ship’s lower decks. The crowd waited with tense breath as the thudding of footsteps slowly returned. In their shared burden, a heavy chest carved with a cobra’s head came into view, thudding against the crates as they placed it. A thick padlocked lock was wrung around the chest tightly. King Alistair reached behind his back and pulled out a bronzed battleaxe, nearly as tall as himself. Nearby soldiers instinctively clenched their weapons, ready to strike at the uncertainty of his intentions. Prince Aryn and Cassien remained as still pillars, unfazed by the display of weaponry - though Cassien slid a fraction closer to Naomi, weaving himself between her and the King. A hush fell as King Alistair hefted the bronzed battle-axe high above his head. In one fluid motion, he brought it down on the metal lock, shattering like brittle glass under the blow. Metal scattered like in hundreds of pieces across the ground, the reverberating echo ringing clear. Sheathing his weapon once more, he lifted the chest’s lid, and a soft, silvery glow spilled forth - as if he captured the moon itself.

“Behold the Moonshard,” he proclaimed, lifting the fragment aloft. It was flat, smooth, in the shape of a semi-circle the size of two hands, pale as the moon. Its lilac light pulsed gently, bathing both armies in its ethereal glow. “The last remaining fragment of Lunare’s eye.”

A stunned silence fell over the gathered for a single moment - before it burst into a thousand reactions. Everything ranging from sheer disbelief, to cries of heresy, fervent reverence, and utter shock flooded throughout the Calypsans. Even Prince Aryn was shocked, stepping forward, eyes blazing.

“Where did you find this? Why give it to us? Why not hide it in Redgard forever, for your own use?” Aryn questioned aggressively. Alistair’s gaze met Aryn’s without flinching.

“As I said,” he replied evenly, “I wish to unite our kingdoms. Truth be told, it had been in my family’s vault for decades now. My father, and his father, and his father before that, tried their entire lives to shatter it. But as you can see,” Alistair picked up the shard so casually it caused a few to cry out in fear of breaking it. “Not a single scratch. So it has no use to us beyond a beautiful trinket. I see it now as the greatest offering I could bring: reparations for what has happened between our kingdoms.”

Aryn’s face was set in a mask of deep thought before turning his head to Cassien and Naomi. “Duke Rivain, Duchess Rosenthorn - I would like to hear your thoughts.”

Cassien turned his head slightly to Naomi, as if silently asking if she wanted to speak first. She could not find the words to say just yet, shaking her head - though it mattered to her that he asked. His golden eyes narrowed towards the King. “I think everything you’ve said thus far should be taken with less than a grain of salt.”

Naomi’s jaw dropped as Cassien continued, holding up his hand. “However, if that truly is the Moonshard, then it must be protected with utmost measures.”

King Alistair threw back his head and laughed, a low, rumbling sound that echoed across the water. “Bold words, Duke!” he howled, wiping a hand across his mouth. “I’ve always appreciated honesty, and I respect your caution.”

He dipped his head in Cassien’s direction, respect flickering in his deep green eyes. Then, his gaze shot towards Naomi who raised her chin high at his attention, blue eyes wide and unwavering. Alistair’s smile sharpened into something more calculating.

“And you, Duchess Rosenthorn…?” he almost purred, voice deceptively soft. She felt as if his eyes were staring into her soul. “Forgive me for staring, my lady. Beauty is quite a rare thing, and you are exquisite.”

“King Alistair,” Cassien interrupted, voice cool but crackling with quiet fury, “we are here to discuss peace, not pleasantries.”

“Of course,” Alistair murmured, contact unbreaking with hers. “Duchess, your thoughts…?”

Naomi drew a steady breath, folding her hands before her as she stepped forward, grateful her ankle did not wobble with the help of Cassien’s magic. She tried her best to channel herself exactly as Mother would have: unshakable.

Naomi allowed a knowing smile to graze her lips, fluttering her lashes softly. With a tilt of her head and a gentle brush of her hair, she spoke. “You flatter me too well, Your Majesty, but if you wish to prove Seraveth’s good faith - perhaps you can prove that the shard is unbreakable.”

A moment later, then two - then, Alistair laughed again, a rich, rolling sound that heaved his chest. He bowed slightly, one hand drifting to rest on his heart.

“Exquisite and astute,” he praised, eyes glittering as he regarded Naomi. “You wish to test if it’s a fake with your own eyes - how could I deny such a reasonable request?”

He nodded to one of his warriors, who brought forward a heavy iron mallet. The crowd leaned in, murmurs rising like a tide as he carelessly tossed the shard onto the ground. Cassien’s golden gaze flicked to Naomi, a silent question lingering in the curve of his brow, but he said nothing. Prince Aryn merely watched, full confidence in his subjects. The bronzed man raised the mallet, massive biceps bulging as he swung the mallet down in a colossal feat of strength; sparks of silver burst in an arc that caused a ripple of shouts. When the light cleared, the Moonshard sat, shining and unmarred. Naomi’s blue eyes glinted as the echo of the mallet strike faded.

“Your Majesty,” she said, inclining her head, “your strength is truly impressive - but may I?”

She held her palm out towards him as she took another step closer. Cassien visibly tensed, frost flickering from his fingertips, but held his ground as Alistair smirked. He strode forward to meet her, grabbing Naomi’s hand as he pressed a kiss atop her fingertips, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Who am I to deny such an astonishing creature?” he murmured, scooping the shard as he placed it on her outstretched palm.

She felt the cool weight of the Moonshard as it settled onto her palm, its pale glow spilling over her skin. It felt warm to the touch, vibrating as quickly as the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings. Around them, the tension crackled like static as every spectator watched with bated breath. She raised the shard, her eyes bursting with golden light as energy unfurled from her palms. Light bloomed around her in rippling rings, her dress billowing up and around her as her hair whipped around like silken threads. Every face in the crowd, both Calypsan and Seravethian, were bathed in a yellow glow, their expressions shifting from awe to wonder as the shard hummed against her power. As the light receded and the energy of the area died down, the shard sat once more, unblemished.

Naomi let the silence stretch, savoring the awe between the King, Cassien and all the wide-eyes of the crowd, before she turned to Prince Aryn with a sly smile.

“Your Highness,” she announced. “I believe I am holding Lunare’s eye.”