Chapter 11: CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE MOONSHARD

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.

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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-blonde, 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 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 - the only remaining physical essence of pure magic.”

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 Cassient. 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 between the harbor audience as they watched in awe before she turned to Prince Aryn with a shocked expression.

“Your Highness,” Naomi said in a hushed voice. “I believe I am holding Lunare’s eye.”