Chapter 7: CHAPTER SEVEN - FIRST CONTACT

Deft fingers worked through thick, silver-blonde locks, twisting into a familiar half-do secured with cream coloured ribbon clasped at the back. Stray hairs were smoothed down with a smudge of bees’ wax before Cressida gently tilted her lady’s chin up to assess for last finishing details, her face in utter concentration.

The maid’s face broke out in a smile as she stepped back, moving to the back of Naomi’s chair. “All finished, my lady!”

Naomi blinked indifferently at her appearance in the mirror. “Thank you, Cressida.”

Age had embraced Naomi’s features beautifully as she matured into a young woman; the supple roundness of her cheeks had smoothed out to prominent cheekbones and a sharp jaw, her soft brown freckles still attributing to her delicate face. Her maid did a wonderful job as always to prepare her best look, but it did little to settle her nerves this time. Today was the first time Naomi would be allowed to spectate at the council table for political alliances involving every major House in the nation. ‘Nervous’ would be an understatement for the standards she would have to hold herself to, especially with the reputation of the Rosenthorn house at stake. Not to mention, mother would most definitely begin her scrutinization as soon as they were in private. Naomi rose to her feet elegantly, with the red-haired maid smoothing down the embroidered skirt of her sage gown. Delicate gold thread shimmered in the shape of laurels along the hem.

"How do I look?" she asked, voice cool and calm, though the question wasn't meant for approval.

“Like the sun itself shaped you,” Cressida said warmly as she adjusted her bow. She leaned in closely. “Do I still have to distract the duchess tonight?”

Naomi turned only her head. “Yes.”

Cressida let out an exhale of dread as she threw her head back. “She’s going to kill the both of us if she finds out. Well, actually, she’ll kill me first, then banish you to the North.”

She let out a genuine giggle. “That’s why you are my handmaid. Sacrificial bravery and loyalty.”

Cressida straightened Naomi’s collar with a little more force than necessary. “Remind me to ask for hazard pay.”

“I do believe I doubled your allowance last month.”

“Fine, fine,” Cressida waved her hand in surrender. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until nightfall, at least? She could ask for you at any time while the sun’s up.”

Naomi shook her head. “The lanterns get released when the sun is down. I want to be holding mine in the middle of the square when that happens.”

Her eyes flitted towards the wardrobe where a plain cotton dress and hooded cloak was stashed. The plan was simple in principle, but fragile as porcelain: once the evening council recessed, She would allow her mother to babble on about everything Naomi inevitably did wrong. Then, she would excuse herself under the pretense of fatigue, retreat to her assigned quarters, and change. If the Duchess came looking for her after, Cressida would intercept her mother with a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, Naomi would be exiting through the servants’ staircase in the linen wing, which connected all the way down to the old ash chute that emptied near the gardens that was rarely guarded. From there, it was a straight shot down the hill, across the stone bridge, and through the narrow south alley into the square.

Being ignored and left to her own devices at the Accord each year certainly provided a magnificent opportunity to scheme.

Still, the risk of being caught was high. Naomi didn’t care much if she had to suffer the consequences, but she worried if Cressida was caught participating in her plan. In a way, she felt guilty for involving her despite the fact that they were friends - also in spite of their master-slash-servant dynamic - but Naomi had run out of patience. This was already her fourth Accord, and each time she had spent the entire ten-day summit wandering in silence and obedience. She wanted to hold her own paper lantern and whisper in a secret wish, to bask in the golden glow with thousands of others. Her vision was set on finally attending a lantern event.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not even register her parents knocking at the door before Cressida welcomed them in. They were immaculately preened as always.

“Shoulders straight, Naomi,” her mother reminded coolly. “We are walking to the lions’ den now.”

**

The grand council chamber of Calypsa Castle was nothing short of theatrical and regal. Vaulted ceilings arched high overhead, etched with silver inlays that mirrored the symbolic constellation of the goddess Lunare. The afternoon light fractured through massive stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic colours across marble floors. Every surface was polished and gleaming, with not even a whisper of dust despite the constant churn of aristocrats throughout the palace.

The chamber was already beginning to fill with the rustle of silk and murmured courtesies, the air thick with the scent of perfume and ambition. As the room filled to capacity, the hum of conversation reached a crescendo. Groups of nobles clustered together, their animated gestures and hushed tones suggesting a multitude of private discussions and political maneuverings. Personal servants darted through the crowd, carrying trays of refreshments and messages between the various factions.

In the centre of the room was a massive mahogany table, stretching so long it would easily seat thirty nobles. On the sides of the room were tiers pews for the children of lords to observe wordlessly, unless granted permission by their superiors. Naomi sat among them, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the proceedings with a keen eye. Though she wanted nothing more for the council to end so she could enact her plan, she was also determined to learn as much as she could, knowing that one day she would be expected to take her place among them. She pretended not to notice the golden eyed heir of the north sitting in the pew across from her past the table.

As the council meeting began, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to face the head of the table where Emperor Ulric sat, his blonde hair glinting in the light from the windows. Wisdom lined his face, his distinctive and sharp features reflected on his two children that sat to his left and right side; Prince Aryn and Princess Seraphine. Their unique stormy eyes were framed with long, white lashes that matched their sleek hair. The princess wore a long, flowing dress of a brilliant shade of red trimmed with gold with a golden circlet above her flowing locks. The prince was equally as beautiful, his features almost feminine but handsome at the same time, dressed in a matching style to his sister. They sat wordlessly but at total attention as Emperor Ulric spoke with authority and conviction, his words ringing out through the chamber as he addressed the gathered nobles.

The council session crawled as it allowed each House their chance to speak of any remaining matters, and already Naomi felt the weight of boredom pressing in by the second hour. The Lords spoke in veiled barbs and half-answers, each syllable dipped in honeyed caution. Land disputes, trade re-negotiations, concerns over border unrest - all of it delivered in such excruciating politeness it made Naomi's toes curl.

She studied each person quietly from her seat as she tried to recognize place name to faces using her history books that mother had forced her to study: the way Lord Merilas tapped his ring against the table with every silence, the way Countess Ellenthorne pursed her lips whenever her counterpart from the West interrupted, and especially the way Marquis Paldarin tried to discreetly scratch an itch. Perhaps being a silent spectator was not so boring after all.

"Lady Naomi Rosenthorn," her father's voice rang clearly, a firm interruption that cut through the usual drone like a sword drawn mid-speech. The room quieted as heads turned slowly to her. Naomi blinked, pulse hitching, her thoughts shattered.

“I would like to invite my daughter to share her thoughts,” he continued. “On the proposal regarding Southern waterways.”

She forced her body to unfreeze as she stood, feeling every eye on her as she descended from her seat, steps even, head high. Her heart thundered, but her face - with a lifetime of practice - betrayed none of it. Though she had every eye on her in the room, she felt as if Cassien’s was burning a hole through her with judgement. She had only just reached the outer ring of the council floor when a voice, sharp and thin with self-importance, cut across the silence.

“With all due respect, Duke Rosenthorn,” interjected Marquis Theral of the West as he leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk, “the girl is not even of adult age. Surely we aren’t entertaining commentary from someone who would weep because her dress was stained?”

A few of the older northern nobles chuckled politely before covering with a cough, while others exchanged glances of sympathy and distaste. Naomi could practically see the steam billowing from her mother’s ears at the sight of her daughter being disgraced - though she couldn’t tell if it was out of parental concern or involving the family reputation more. She figured likely the latter. Regardless, this was her chance to handle things on her own. Naomi stopped at the edge of the table to address the participants, turning her gaze on Theral with a cold stare.

“I assure you, my lord,” she said, voice smooth as velvet, “At seventeen, I’ve long since outgrown weeping. Though I suppose it’s different for those who project their own habits.”

A brief silence as Theral’s face burst into a bright shade of red as he shot up from his chair. Then - an audible breath of laughter from Emperor Ulric. Even her mother’s lip twitched as the tension visibly snapped like a tethered cord.

“Marquis Theral,” The Emperor said, “you may recall your last three proposals were outvoted for lacking the very foresight this council demands. Lady Rosenthorn is heir to one of our founding duchies. Her voice will be heard, and she will be addressed with the respect owed to her station. Please, sit down.”

“But-”

“Must I repeat myself?” His words were as cold as ice. The very thought of talking back against the Emperor was a death sentence.

“...No. My apologies, Your Highness,” Marquis reluctantly sat down with his teeth gritted, though clearly his apology was not meant for Naomi.

Naomi curtsied in the silence that followed. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness. May I proceed?”

The Emperor waved for her to continue as though the Marquis had been nothing more than a pest.

“The debate has circled around trade blockages and levies for nearly an hour,” she began, her tone intentional. “But no one has addressed the simplest route to easing tensions.”

A few brows raised. Duke Velbrand of the East leaned forward, curiosity piqued.

“The river crossings between the Southern and Eastern coasts remain underutilized,” she continued. “They bypass most toll-heavy roads, cut transport time in half, and offer a neutral route that neither side would need to surrender control over. With proper escort regulation, it would minimize ambush risks and reduce the need for further military posturing.”

She paused. “It would also remove the need to station so many battalions at the border. All that would be needed is a security checkpoint.”

A beat of silence passed, and then the murmuring began, full of interest, speculation, and most of all, approval. Her father nodded once. Her mother said nothing, but Naomi felt the barest glance of approval. Cassien leaned back in his seat, careful not to react outwardly as the remaining nobles pitched in their thoughts of the girl’s suggestion.

No, the young lady’s. She was not a juvenile child. She had the grace and wit of a woman.

He watched as her father resumed his place at the table, and Naomi returned to her pew, her expression unreadable. There was no smugness in her posture even as the younger crowd that sat beside her congratulated her accepted proposal. The lords continued on, voices raised again in debate over grain yields, soldier allocations, and ship rights. All the same, Cassien found his gaze wandering, uncharacteristically unfocused.

She had made a point no one else had, not even his father. Not to mention, she had openly challenged a man thrice her senior in a room where decorum was currency, in a chamber full of aristocrats that would surely spread such a remark like wildfire. He looked at her once more, and this time, their eyes locked; but neither looked away.

Several more hours passed until it reached late evening, the light outside beginning to shine a muted orange through the windows. The council reached its end as the grand doors began to groan open, and nobles rose from their seats in rustling brocades and stretched figures. Naomi remained still, fingers lightly folded in her lap as she waited for her chance to leave. The Marquis she’d put in his place left without another word, though she pretended not to see the dirty look he shot her.

The room began to empty, her patience wearing thin in the dimming sun. As if on cue, her mother’s voice rang out as the Duchess approached her.

“Naomi.”

She turned, heart suddenly tight in her throat as she stood from the pews to properly greet them. Her mother, Duchess Rosenthorn, stood tall and stately, her sun-gold mantle cascading down her shoulders in shimmering folds. Beside her, Duke Rosenthorn gave a rare nod of approval.

The duchess’ gaze lingered on her daughter for a moment before she spoke. “You spoke wisely today.”

Naomi blinked at the compliment.

“Your idea is an excellent suggestion for the waterways,” her father added. “And necessary. Sometimes it takes a fresh mind in a room full of ancients to have a new perspective.”

“Most importantly, you stood your ground appropriately in front of a full council,” her mother interrupted. “That was well handled.”

Naomi nodded stiffly, the weight of her parents’ words still sinking in. Her heart thudded louder with every passing second. It was rare enough to be acknowledged, and rarer still to be told she’d done well. She had no idea how to react.

She offered a shallow curtsy, her mind dizzying. “Thank you, father… mother… If you’ll excuse me, I… I’m quite tired. I’ll excuse myself.”

Neither parent stopped her. She left quickly and made her way down the long corridor, heels clicking on polished stone. Her hands were clammy as her ears rang with their praise over and over. Her mind reeled at the exquisite feeling of praise directed from them for the first time in her life.

They acknowledged me. I did well.

They never say that. They’ve never…

She reached the eastern hall and slipped around a column, pressing her back against the cool stone. Her chest rose and fell with quiet urgency.

Breathe. Just breathe.

With a quick inhale, Naomi rounded the corner in her hurry and collided hard into a towering figure, hard muscle knocking the breath from her. A firm grip caught her arm before she stumbled back, steadying her as she looked up into the golden eyes of Cassien Rivain. He blinked once, surprised but unruffled, still holding her steady by the elbow. He wore a tailored navy suit, the buttons filigreed with silver in a style so distinctly Northern it almost glinted with cold. Naomi’s mouth popped open like a fish before snapping it close, unable to find words. She was too flustered, too caught off guard - not by the impact, or even her parents anymore, but by him. She barely reached his thick shoulders, and she was not a short person by any means. His pale face was devastatingly handsome with striking features, and honey eyes that were so golden that it reminded her of her own radiant magic.

Her first instinct was to speak, to offer some flippant remark to smooth over the sudden intimacy and her blundering misstep. But she couldn’t remember how to speak, her tongue a useless weight. Cassien’s gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long out of irresistible curiosity. She was even more delicately beautiful up close as her pale blue eyes peered upwards at him through thick, blonde lashes. He wondered if her freckles would taste like sugar. He snapped out of it at the absurd thought. Then, at last, he released her.

“My apologies. Please forgive my unwanted touch,” he nodded, voice quiet.

Naomi cleared her throat, realizing too late that her hand was still curled into the front of his jacket where she’d braced herself. She dropped it at once.

“I-it was my fault, I should’ve looked to see where I was going… Thank you for catching me,” she breathed out at last.

His eyes scanned her expression. “Do you require any help in navigating the castle?”

Naomi’s thoughts flashed back to the memory of his private escort with Ysonna several years back, and her face flushed at the thought of blundering in front of him. “N-No. Thank you. I’m in a bit of a hurry to return to my quarters.”

"I see," he responded, his voice still low and steady. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you."

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He stepped aside, allowing Naomi to pass by him. He couldn't help but wonder what had flustered the usually composed Southern heir so much. His mother had shared tall-tales of the southerners who could charm scales off a snake with a single smile. But the lady he had just encountered was different - vulnerable, maybe even a little scared. Perhaps this was simply a downfall of his naivety towards her. Once again, she had unintentionally piqued his curiosity of which he had seemingly had little willpower to control his indulgences whenever she was involved. Cassien lingered a moment longer in the corridor after Naomi disappeared down the hall. He hadn’t meant to watch her go, but something about the way her shoulders tensed, the way she moved with such restless energy, made him pause.

He told himself it was nothing. She was probably overwhelmed after the council, as anyone would be - especially after a show of bravery in standing up to the Marquis in a chamber of half-sneering nobles. But his gut tugged at him again as he began to leave. He’d seen enough masks in his time to recognize one slipping.

**

Naomi stormed into her chambers like a gust of wind and slammed the door with enough force to make the hinges rattle. The sharp thud echoed through the room, delicate decorations rattling against its surfaces.

Cressida, who had been holding one of Naomi’s dresses in front of her chest as she daydreamed in front of the mirror, yelped, throwing the garment in the air. “She’s not here!” she exclaimed, clutching her chest. “Naomi’s not here!”

Naomi strode directly for the dresser as Cressida turned, letting out a heave of relief. “Oh, good, it’s just you. I thought you were the mistress.”

Naomi gave her a wild, silent look.

“What? My lady, what’s wrong?” Cressida rushed to Naomi’s side, who was beginning to fumble through the wardrobe messily.

She felt stupid explaining even to kindly Cressida that she was flustered because her own parents complimented her a single time.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Naomi muttered, yanking open a drawer a little too hard.

“Nothing…?” Cressida blinked, grabbing her friend’s hands from fumbling in the dresser. “My lady… I just folded these.”

Naomi turned away, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair as she fidgeted while Cressida sought for the cloak and plain dress herself. “It’s nothing. The council ended. I was leaving. Then… my parents stopped me.”

“Oh?” Cressida tilted her head. “And?”

“They said I did well. They were proud. Well, they didn’t say proud, not exactly,” Naomi added quickly. “But it was implied.”

Silence filled the room as Cressida held the plain blue dress in front of her, her green eyes confused. “You’re flustered because your parents complimented you?”

Naomi groaned and let herself fall backwards onto the plush bed, wishing the mattress would engulf her. “I told you it was stupid.”

“No! Sorry, it’s not stupid,” Cressida said gently, as she sat beside her and rubbed Naomi’s shoulder in small circles. “Just… sweet. Like a deer learning the forest isn't full of only wolves.”

Naomi turned onto her belly, covering her face with a pillow while Cressida continued. “I guess now that I think about it, the Duke and Duchess aren’t really known for their praises. Not that I’m criticizing them!” The maid’s round face flushed at her realization that she was badmouthing her masters in front of their own daughter. Naomi hadn’t noticed in her haze, or likely even cared.

“That’s an understatement. They might as well have been born with a pen in one hand and a performance review in the other,” she replied in a muffled voice. She felt a flash of guilt for speaking so poorly of her own parents to a servant, even if they were friends.

“Well… On the bright side, at least you know they’re capable of it?” Cressida meekly offered. Naomi gave her a small smile at her attempted comfort before taking a deep breath.

She steeled herself as she sat up. “Okay. Enough pity time. I need to get going. The council took longer than expected so I have less time than expected to make it down.”

Cressida shot up at attention. “Yes, my lady!”

She changed quickly out of her classically beautiful dress into a plain blue cotton dress with the help of Cressida. Heels for loafers, jewelry for a cloak. Cressida snuck her head out of the bedroom first, scanning for passersby before she signaled for Naomi to come out. The two of them moved quickly down the hall towards the servants’ stairs with Cressisa leading, who screeched to a halt as she pushed Naomi back against a wall. One, two, three. Her friend gripped her wrist once more as they propelled forward once the guest had passed. They passed a few serfs unchecked down the stairs before exiting the quarters with relative ease, making it out to the side courtyard that connected with a descending path down the hill. Naomi felt a spark of hope.

“Okay, let’s act natural,” Naomi breathed slowly as she straightened her posture.

Cressida nodded as the two fell into step together, nonchalantly walking out the side gates that looped around the fencing. As they reached the bottom of the hill with the stone bridge in full view, Naomi briefly turned her head back at the landscape of Calypsa Castle as they walked, her heart squeezing at her first act of defiance as each step took her further from her mother’s orders. The castle's stone architecture was bathed in a warm golden light, the ancient flag of the nation flying pridefully in the air. Palm trees and vibrant bougainvillea lined the winding pathways, their colors deepening in the fading daylight. The air was filled with the gentle hum of cicadas as if they were applauding their escape.

Naomi felt a tug on her cloak as Cressida gasped. “My lady. The bridge is blocked.”

Two guards stood firm at the foot of the stone bridge, spears crossed, their armor glinting in the dying light. Between them stood a third figure - tall, unmistakable, and seething with quiet anger. Naomi tried to pull the two of them back before they were noticed, but it was as if her mother had a third eye. Immediately, their eyes locked.

The Duchess.

Naomi came to a full stop, her pulse roaring in her ears. Cressida stiffened beside her, instinctively dipping her head as if she could vanish into the ground. Naomi didn’t move.

Her mother’s voice cut through the air as she approached. “Going somewhere?”

Naomi's stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

“The lantern festival is quite a sight to see each year. You agree, do you not? Since you have asked in the past to attend.”

Her question was rhetorical, and Naomi simply braced herself for the lecture of a century. Naomi slowly shifted her body in front of the trembling Cressida, as if she could shield her from the Duchess’s rage.

“In fact, I had decided after your skillful tactic at the council room that I would grant your request tonight,” her mother continued in a cold tone. “So you could imagine my surprise when I came to your empty chambers and attire carelessly set aside.”

Naomi’s breath caught. She blinked, once.

“I…” Her voice faltered under the weight of her mother’s gaze. “You were going to let me go?”

The Duchess’s expression remained unmoved. “You had made me proud for a fraction of time in that council,” she almost hissed, each word shaped like ice. “But it seems I was a fool to consider that you would be worthy of such an emotion. Your actions shame not our family; just yourself.”

Naomi swayed slightly, as if the blow had been physical. Her throat tightened, and for a single moment, her eyes burned.

The Duchess’s gaze shifted, sharp and calculating, to the trembling handmaid. “Step forward, Cressida.”

“Mother-”

“I am not speaking to you,” her mother’s words cut through Naomi like a sword. “Do not make me repeat myself, maid.”

Naomi could not let her friend take the fall for her own want. She forced every ounce of courage left in her body to bring her hand back, stopping her. “This was my decision. Cressida was only following my orders. If you’re going to punish someone, let it be me.”

The Duchess tilted her head ever so slightly. “What makes you think I would not punish you regardless?”

Naomi said nothing. Her hand remained firmly planted in front of Cressida, her back straight and chin up. If she was going to defy her mother, she might as well do it with poise. After all, the one thing her mother could respect was not simply courage, but boldness.

For a long, chilling moment, the Duchess considered her.

“Then both of you will learn the price of disobedience,” she said at last. Her voice was calm, but final. “The maid is confined to her quarters without duty or privilege until I decree otherwise. And you, Naomi, will remain locked in your chambers for the remainder of the summit. No council. No gardens. No books. No light past sundown.”

Cressida let out a strangled sound of protest, but Naomi merely nodded, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

The Duchess gave a brief nod to the guards. “Escort them.”

The guards approached as the Duchess strode past Naomi, but not before stopping to whisper the last word. “Better luck next year.”

**

The door shut with a heavy finality, the iron bolt sliding into place like a jailor’s gavel. Naomi flopped backwards onto her bed, her body numb. She didn’t know how long she laid there, flickering through the events repeatedly.

The silence was unbearable.

Cressida had been dismissed to the servant’s quarters, her months’ pay docked for cooperating in the scheme. The windows had been latched. Her books were removed, even the ones Cressida had tucked under the pillows. Only the dim light of a single oil lamp flickered near the desk, casting mocking shadows that swayed along the walls. Outside, she could hear distant revelry - the soft boom of festival, laughter carried on the wind, the distant remnants of music crawling through stone. She buried her face in her hands and exhaled sharply, trying not to cry, because Rosenthorns did not cry.

Naomi’s fists clenched together as she sat up, pulling her face into her knees. It wasn’t fair to be punished for wanting to finally do some of her own accord for once. A quiet refusal - a desperate anger - that she normally kept so perfectly controlled under silk gloves and a neutral face, stirred deeply within her as she felt herself snap. She was an heir to a duchy. She was the sole inheritor of the powers of Light. Why should she be bound? Her punishment couldn’t get any worse than what life already was.

Naomi took a deep breath, then held her hands out in front of her. She closed her eyes, focusing on her magic with ease. The tips of her fingers began to glow, warmth spiraling through her veins. The air shimmered faintly, as if the room were holding its breath.

She turned to the balcony door.

She marched towards it, reaching for the metal latch and squeezing tightly. Almost immediately, the cold metal seared a bright orange as it bubbled and cracked under the heat of her touch. A sharp snap echoed through the room as the latch gave way with a hiss, the radiant heat leaving behind a molten trail where her fingers had pressed. The air sizzled with the scent of hot metal before quickly being blown away by the humid air that rushed inwards; she was just barely able to catch the doors swinging open before they slammed against the wall.

Naomi slipped through the balcony door and stepped onto the stone of her private terrace. The sky was beginning to darken, and she could see the distant glow of Tudor’s centre as the event was preparing. She had to hurry if she still wanted to make it. The scent of charred metal still clung faintly to her fingers as she gripped the railing with both hands and leaned forward, peering downwards and around her. The railings were curled with thick ivy that hung all the way down to the bottom. It wasn’t the smartest plan - that much she recognized - a risky move that threatened serious injury if she fell; but she had already broken one rule tonight. What was one more?

She reached down, fingers curling around the thick braid of ivy that trailed down the stone and tugged. Naomi swung one leg over the balustrade, then the other. With her hands gripping the railing for support, she gently tested her weight as she placed her feet against the knotted stems; it was gnarled enough from age and humidity that it would support her small frame if she was careful. She held her breath as she began to descend, focusing purely on her breath and grip. The hem of the cotton dress snagged awkwardly, causing small tears, and she barely noticed the small cuts that dotted along her exposed skin from touching the rough vines. She paused, her chest heaving softly as she forced her vision downwards. Halfway there before she would be on the solid surface of another terrace. Hopefully no one was home. As Naomi began to move once more, one of the braids under her left foot made a horrifying ripping sound as it weakened.

Rationality suddenly jolted her as the recklessness of her actions began to seep in, as did the panic at her predicament. Her body froze, trembling as her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. The ground still felt impossibly far, but so did returning upwards in defeat. Her fingers, scraped and raw, dug harder into the vines, her limbs shaking with the weight of hesitation. But less than several seconds later, the decision was made for her as the sound of footsteps below approached. Naomi flinched at the sudden noise of the terrace door swinging open below her. Panic flooded her chest.

No, no, no!

She twisted awkwardly as her hands fumbled upwards, her feet scrambling for any semblance of leverage. If she could just pull herself back-

The moment she shifted her weight, a terrible sound tore through the silence.

Snap.

The ivy gave way beneath her left foot. She gasped as her body dropped, her other foot losing its hold as the gnarled vines tore free in a cascade of green flora and branches.

With nothing beneath her but air and failure, Naomi fell.

Naomi braced for impact as the air rushed past her ears, hoping at least that whichever poor soul she was about to crush would not suffer severe injuries.

She hit something solid, but it was not stone.

Strong, muscular arms caught her as her front slammed into their chest, body tightening instinctively around her waist as they staggered backwards slightly from the force of her gravity. The scent of something distinctively masculine and comforting filled her nose as her hands clutched helplessly at the lapels of a navy suit. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she pulled back to take in the sight of black hair, golden eyes; the shocked look of Cassien Rivain who was mere inches away from her face.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke; just the two of them frozen in the middle of the terrace, the hiss of torn ivy drifting down around them like confetti.

“I-” Naomi choked, eyes wide as her face bloomed brighter than any rose. What could she even say to excuse how she got here? As if her family’s nemesis would even care?

His gaze moved over her reddened face like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened - of why the Southern heir was falling into his arms from the night sky like some fevered dream.

Finally, he spoke first. “Do people of the South always make such a dramatic entrance, or is that just for a Rosenthorn?”

His words snapped her back to reality, at the fact that she had blundered so horrifically in front of her region’s rival. Who knew what gossip or stories he would spread about her now?

“I didn’t know this was your terrace,” Naomi finally sputtered as she pulled back slightly. Her hands were still on his chest, and she hated that part of her noticed how warm and steady he was. “Please put me down.”

Cassien did so slowly. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he murmured. “For not letting you crack your skull open.”

Her face heated once more. No matter if it was unintentional or not, he did save her. “...Thank you.”

She smoothed her dress before quickly running fingers through her hair to remove the remnants of torn ivy that floated in her silver-blonde hair. He stood wordlessly, watching her with heavy curiosity; she looked away out of embarrassment.

Cassien crossed his arms. “So, care to explain how the southern belle ended up falling into my private quarters? Is this why you were in such a hurry earlier?”

“I didn’t know this was your terrace,” Naomi muttered, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have chosen it.”

Cassien arched a brow. “Clearly. You chose gravity instead.”

She glared at him, crossing her arms. “I’m not in the mood to be mocked.”

“That’s unfortunate. Mockery is the North’s primary language.”

“And arrogance is your dialect, I assume?”

“Fluently spoken,” He grinned, too handsome for her comfort. “Though you’re not exactly struggling to keep up. Tell me, do all Southern ladies sneak out late at night, or is that just your family’s specialty? Perhaps the South is more interesting than I originally thought.”

Naomi stepped closer, arms crossed. “Is it common for Northern men to lurk under balconies waiting to catch damsels, or is it simply a quirk of your people?”

“So you’re a damsel? Does that make me your northern knight in shining armour?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it. And you’re not denying it.”

“I was making a point.”

“You were falling. Again, you’re welcome.”

Naomi let out a shaky laugh. “Well, if I had known I’d land in the arms of a Northern duke, I would’ve thrown myself in the opposite direction.”

He smiled cockily. “And yet… here you still are.”

She bristled at his audacity, ready to rebuke once more, but then turned her head slightly - as if just noticing the horizon - and stilled the words in her throat. Across the hills and rooftops of Tudor, the first lanterns were rising into the night. Dozens, then hundreds of paper lanterns began to burst from the city, casting golden orbs in the sky. The sound of distant music carried faintly on the breeze that she didn’t have a chance to join in with. Her breath hitched without meaning to as she leaned forward against the railing. She was too late.

Cassien followed her gaze, this time his voice was softer. “Were you trying to reach the festival?”

She didn’t answer, but the silence was enough. He read it on her face, or maybe in the way her fingers clenched the railing so tightly her knuckles went white.

“You know,” he said after a beat, almost kinder. “There's a decent view from here. If you’re not in a rush to fall off any more balconies.”

“I didn’t know Northerners were so humorous,” Naomi said dryly, but she couldn’t stop the corner of her lips from curling up. Cassien turned away before she could see the faint blush that crept on his cheeks.

Naomi hesitated. She should leave. There was no reason for her to stay in the light of his balcony, when she could simply take the walk of shame back upstairs to be inevitably caught once more.

Great plan, Naomi hissed at herself.

Yet from here… the lanterns were so close. They drifted up like heavenly sighs of sunlight from the lake, glowing against the darkening sky, as if the stars had chosen tonight to float a little lower.

Cassien cleared his throat as he moved to stand beside her. “You can stay until it ends, if you want. I’ll even turn away to give you your privacy.”

“It’s… not about just watching it,” Naomi started before stopping herself short. “...Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly.

She turned to him, searching for any semblance of mockery but only finding sincerity. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she spilled, unsure why something in her was willing to share such intimate details to someone she was supposed to hate. “I just… haven’t ever been allowed out. I wanted to finally be able to do something I chose to do, rather than waiting for permission,” she exhaled quickly, her chest slightly lighter. “It’s such a beautiful sight.”

He stayed quietly beside her as the two stood in silence, watching the now thousands of lanterns billow across the dark sky. Naomi couldn’t even be bothered to look at his expression, whether or not he was mocking her words. But when he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful.

“You know…” he began, “I’m not sure why you need lanterns at all.”

She blinked at him, not understanding.

“You possess the power of sunlight, do you not?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “You could just make your own light.” It wasn’t a line. He wasn’t smirking. It didn’t even sound like a compliment. Just a simple observation of the obvious.

Naomi could not stop the warmth that bloomed suddenly in her chest as she stared at him. “...I’ve never thought about it that way.”

“Well, this is your chance.”

Naomi hesitated before she raised both hands, allowing a light to bloom in her palms. With expert control, she morphed it into a soft, flickering orb no bigger than a plum, delicate and pulsing like a heartbeat. Cassien watched, entranced, never having seen the Rosenthorn’s legacy power personally before. In the glow of her radiance, Naomi looked like a pure drop of sunlight and brilliance that took his breath away.

He watched her with intent curiosity as Naomi cradled the little orb in her hands; her pink lips parted slightly, leaning into the light with a whispered breath. She hesitated after, fingers still curled gently around the light. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she looked up at him.

“…Do you- ” she began, then stopped and made a frustrated sound in her throat. “I mean, it’s dumb. You don’t have to.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “I’m not familiar with the tradition.”

Naomi puffed out her cheeks in cherry red embarrassment before she lifted the orb toward him, holding it up just below his chin with both hands. Her arms were bent at the elbow, framing his face, and her eyes couldn’t quite meet his.

“If you want,” she mumbled almost inaudibly. “You could say something to it, too. A secret wish. That’s what they’re for.”

The orb trembled a little between them, caught in the space between two people who shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, and yet couldn’t seem to step away.

His mouth twitched in a small smile. “Is this a peace offering?”

“...Just do it before I throw it at you.”

Cassien leaned forward with a crooked smile, his voice dropping low as his breath ghosted over her fingers, making her back tingle. “Careful. It might hear you.”

He held her gaze as he whispered something into the light, quick and decisive. Part of her wanted to ask what a man of calibre could possibly wish for, but she knew that was part of the allure of the tradition. Not to mention, it was a marvelous idea, though she’d never admit it to his face. With a soft push upwards, the orb began to ascend away, its own uniqueness evening reaching the heights of the stars. For a while, they stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, watching the lanterns and their singular light drift higher into the sky. For the first time in her attendance at an Accord, Naomi felt a sense of peace and happiness.

Naomi tilted her head back, eyes reflecting the soft glow of thousands of wishes rising into the night before they disappeared into the atmosphere. Her lashes shimmered, her skin lit like sun-warmed ivory, and Cassien found himself watching her more than the sky. She caught him staring, but he didn’t look away. In that quiet moment of shared intimacy, Naomi leaned her head just slightly to the side so it rested against his arm. Neither of them said a word.

But neither of them moved away.