Chapter 2

SONG VIBE: Fake Love - BTS

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SAPHIRA

The War Room, Castle Renatus

Alone, they both removed thier veils. Saphira stepped forward, gathering Celestine's hands in hers. Their fingers were nearly identical—long, slender—yet Celestine's were decorated with rings of white gold, diamonds, and sapphires, and her nails were painted a vibrant shade of lavender.

Saphira said, "Congratulations. Lord Nocturne? You must be so excited. Even I've heard the stories." She pulled her sister into a firm embrace, but Celestine remained stiff in her arms. When Saphira pulled back, she searched her sister's face. "Why don't you seem happy?"

Celestine exhaled slowly, tucking a loose wisp of violet hair behind her ear. Her hair gleamed like silk, starkly contrasting with Saphira's own, which refused to grow as long and smooth no matter how many oils Ginny applied.

"On the way here, I saw the devastation. Villages burned to nothing. Survivors too afraid to speak. Golgog is..." Celestine finished with a shake of her head.

"I've heard the bards' songs. If anyone can kill a spawnlord, it's Lord Nocturne and the Ashen Blades."

Celestine's fingers drifted to the crystalith pendant resting against her collarbone. The gem caught the candlelight, scattering soft prisms across her ivory skin. "I just pray his company returns alive."

Saphira folded her arms. "You speak as though others have tried."

"Many have," Celestine murmured. "None have come back."

Saphira forced a smile. "He will succeed. Everyone knows the stories. He's never failed."

"I can't dwell on it. I've already shed enough tears." Celestine inhaled, then straightened, her face smoothing into a mask of indifference. "Have you no curiosity about Lux? Duke Lorenzo visited Court and hosted a grand ball for my nineteenth birthday." She paused. "Crassus forgot, of course."

"I'm sorry, I got caught up in all the excitement of your news," Saphira breathed, gasping her sister's hand. "Tell me, did you receive my letter? Helena agreed to send it, only if I let her read it first." The disappointment and confusion in Celestine's delicate purple eyes gave Saphira the answer she sought. Saphira sighed, "Perhaps I should send you blocks of dung. I'd love to see father's face when he confiscates that package."

Celestine gave a laugh, light but hollow. Her painted fingernails tapped absently against the carved armrest of a nearby chair, her gaze flicking toward the door. "I'm not surprised he has tightened your reins. I heard about your little stunt. Three weeks locked away for a potion?"

"It was a tincture." Saphira's jaw clenched. "Ginny's sister was coughing blood. I couldn't stand by and do nothing." She sighed. "She's in Lux now, receiving real treatment—they said it could the Whispering Curse."

Celestine shook her head, amusement tinged with pity. "How many times must I tell you? You either play his games or you get nothing. Do your embroidery. Play harp. Sing. Paint his beloved calligraphy. And then, when his back is turned, do as you please." A flicker of mischief passed over her ethereal features. "The Blade's wine was excellent, by the way."

Saphira gasped. "Celeste, that's dangerous!"

Celestine gave an elegant shrug. "I was surrounded by the best nightspawn slayers in the realm."

"I meant Father. What if he—?"

"Oh, please. He didn't accompany us to the camp. Lord Reed chaperoned—he was drooling over Lord Nocturne." Celestine ran her fingers over her veil, still cast aside. "Besides, you once told me, 'I could grow a beard under this, and no one would know'." She smirked. "My maid is the same height and build as me. When she puts it on, you can't tell the difference—especially not Lord Reed. Besides, Crassus doesn't care what I do so long as I don't embarrass him. You, however—he disciplines because he loves you."

Saphira let out an incredulous laugh. "If that's true, then I wish he'd stop loving me so much."

Celestine tilted her head, voice dipping into something softer. "I mean it, Saph. He values you. You're his heir. I'm just an asset to be bartered away. Now, he gets rid of me and of Golgog."

"That's not true," Saphira counselled. "Golgog must be a huge threat. He wouldn't give your hand away without good cause." She touched Celestine's sleeve, lowering her voice. "What is Lord Nocturne like? Will he be a good husband to you?"

"He's cold, Saph," Celestine sighed. "He doesn't let anyone in. Brooding, calculating...and charming when he needs to be." She turned away from Saphira, smoothing the fabric of her gown with slow, deliberate movements. "They say he doesn't need a truthstone to know if someone is lying."

Saphira frowned. "This isn't love. You sound afraid of him."

Without responding, Celestine turned away, crossing the room with effortless grace. She settled onto the cushioned bench beneath the window, drawing her knees up slightly. The morning light caught in her deep purple hair, crowning her with a golden halo.

Saphira rose, hesitating before sitting beside her. "Would you rather it be someone else?"

A flicker of something crossed Celestine's face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, smoothed over like a crease in fine silk. She painted a courtly mask on her expression as she said with a convincing pout, "What woman wouldn't love Lord Nocturne? I can hardly believe my good fortune."

Saphira shook her head. Countless men have offered Celestine the world after a single glance, and yet, she has turned every person down. Why? The realisation hit Saphira, as she admitted, She had already given her heart to another man.

Why? The realisation hit Saphira, as she admitted, She had already given her heart to another man [https://img.wattpad.com/584e2fb5afd0501980722eb2b7eeaf72e0364c47/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f565a4f6d417332453377507135773d3d2d313535303233393933342e313834393236663162366331376566313132303238343737373132322e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

A silence fell between them. Saphira swallowed against the bitterness rising in her throat. "You will be free in Firestone."

Celestine's smile was slow, empty. "Do you think you'll marry soon?"

"Marry?" Saphira laughed coldly. "Not while I'm still useful. When he has a legitimate son, then he'll toss me aside. But until then? No."

Celestine squeezed her arm. "Don't give up hope. Maybe Crassus is leveraging your status—as high as it can go. You could marry the King, even." She winked. "Rumour has it Edwin is looking for a wife."

Saphira nearly choked. "King Edwin?"

Celestine gave a small, knowing smirk, but her violet eyes darkened to appear almost deep blue. "Why not? Our grandfather lost the throne. A marriage could unite Renatus and Lux for good. No more feuding."

Saphira scoffed. "Father would rather lick the walls of a spawnpit than give King Edwin anything. If he were to marry me off, I imagine it would be to someone like Friedrich of Himmelburg. Or Duke Diego, he lost his wife last spring." A sad smile tugged at Saphira's lips, These are good men, she thought, I could do far worse. She shivered as she recalled meeting Duke Lorenzo's heir, Rafael, who turned up drunk and reeking of a brothel.

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Celestine remained silent, her fingers absently adjusting her rings. "Perhaps," she murmured, "You would marry Duke Vladislav."

A chill passed between them. Saphira stiffened. "No. Father wouldn't provoke the King like that. Where did you get that idea?"

Celestine shrugged.

A shiver traced down Saphira's spine. "I've never met him. I don't think I want to." She shuddered as she whispered, "Don't...repeat that to anyone, okay?"

The inner door swung open with a sharp crack, sending a gust of icy air whipping through the chamber. Duke Crassus entered with a precise, confident stride, every step measured and deliberate. He had not aged a day since Saphira could remember. His light blonde hair, neatly combed back, showed no signs of white, gleaming like a crown beneath the dim light. His pale skin was smooth and flawless, almost unnervingly so, as though time itself had bent to his will.

His attire was a masterful display of wealth and authority—satin, damask, and silver plate intricately woven with metallic threads. The ensemble shimmered in the signature Renatii purple, accented with burnt gold and crimson. He does not feel the heat...or the cold, Saphira thought, I doubt he feels anything at all.

The Duke's piercing steel blue eyes swept across the room, sharp as a hawk's, narrowing slightly at the sight of Saphira. His expression softened only when Celestine stepped forward, her movements a mastery in poise.

"Your Grace," Celestine greeted, her voice smooth and honeyed as she bent to kiss the crystalith signet ring on his hand. "I overheard the Ashen Blades say they've never seen such fine fortifications—not even Castellum Luminaris compares. Having just been at court, I must agree that our home is unparalleled."

The Duke's lips curved into a faint smile, his deep baritone carrying an edge of pride. "Well said, my dove. You look radiant."

Saphira stuttered, "Father—"

Crassus extended the hand bearing his ring toward her, his tone curt. "Have you learned your lesson, child? No potions."

"It wasn't a—" Saphira hesitated, only for Celestine to stomp on her toe. Stifling a yelp, she quickly bent and kissed the ring. "Yes, Your Grace. No... potions."

The Duke's nostrils flared, his gaze sweeping over her with thinly veiled distaste. "The stench of magic still lingers on you." His voice was smooth, but edged with something colder. "A man does not want a corrupted woman."

He turned away, striding toward the grand table where a map of the continent lay unfurled, its parchment worn and inked with years of triumph and bloodshed. Lifting his eldenwood cane—a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its tip a gleaming dragon's claw—he let it hover just above the map.

Saphira shivered. They said Father had killed men with that cane—one, an assassin who had posed as a Hyland ambassador. She held her hands in tight fists. A weapon in want of blood.

Crassus traced the air above the map, the claw's shadow sweeping over Renatus' vast borders, his ducal ring gleaming from his ring finger [https://img.wattpad.com/ddc296e2f8435f0f96e2e37da7a62d3ed3e0cfdc/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f416e5655427859565542307264413d3d2d313535303233393933342e3138343933303539633265333136363836343034323935343030312e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

Crassus traced the air above the map, the claw's shadow sweeping over Renatus' vast borders, his ducal ring gleaming from his ring finger. "Tell me," he said, his tone measured yet expectant, "what do you see?"

Celestine leaned closer, her voice lilting. "So much purple, Your Grace. Our forces outnumber all others."

"Indeed," he replied, his tone approving. His gaze flicked to Saphira, sharp and expectant.

She glanced at the map and muttered, "The patrol in Horrocks Pass will be flanked by nightspawn. They will be overrun."

"Is that so?" Crassus mused, twisting his ducal signet ring around his finger with a sly smile. "And what would my heir suggest?"

Saphira murmured, "Move the garrison from Flaxen Pass in to reinforce. It should only be a day's journey—Renatii men are in danger."

With a calculated air, Crassus tapped his cane against the map and moved the purple piece representing the garrison. "And if Hyland decides to send troops through Flaxen Pass, who will intercept them?"

"They would have to cross through Firestone territory first."

"And who rules the Firestone fief? He and his company camp outside the field of our city." He raised his eyebrow and said, "A woman's mind clings to emotions, not logic, nor strategy." With his cane, he swept the purple piece back over the board and said, "The men at Horrocks are with Sir Finley. If King Edwin wants his cousin safe, he should make sure he is adequately resourced."

"But you vowed to Sir Finley—"

"I vowed to Edwin I would make his cousin into a knight; knights are meant for battle, and if he falls, another will take his place." He indicated to his coronet, waiting for him on the cushion by his desk. Celestine placed the coronet upon Crassus' head, the polished crystalith catching the candlelight in shimmering hues of violet and silver.

Crassus continued, without missing a beat. "A Duke must not get emotional about the loss of a single person—everyone is replaceable. Put on your veils and come, Celestine, you take my left hand. Saphira, take my cane. The so-called 'Mountain Knights' await us."

Celestine put on her veil and stepped forward. She took his arm, while passing the eldenwood cane to Saphira without hesitation.

Escorting his daughter, Crassus strode forward and Saphira scuttled behind, trying hard not to step on the train of her sister's dress. With their mother long dead, it was their responsibility to stand by their father.

Everyone thought father would remarry straight away, Saphira thought, her heart aching, but it has been twelve years—and each year my memory of her fades.

Trumpets blared. Drums pounded. As if open by unseen hands, the double doors leading into the Grand Hall swung wide, hitting them with a wave of hot air. They entered The Grand Hall of the Ancients, where there were two dias.

Below, on the lesser dais, the Duke's bastards sat in a neat row. Three empty chairs marked those fostered out, married, or fighting in wars, while six remained occupied. One by one, they rose, ascended the steps, and bent to kiss the heavy signet ring on their father's hand before filing past Saphira and her sister to offer their respects.

Unbidden, her heart raced as she imagined Lord Nocturne, and she bit her lower lip. Will he be as handsome and brave as the stories? I shouldn't dare to imagine him. This isn't my story. This is for Celestine.

"Lady Saphira, it is good to see you."

Cedar's voice was smooth, touched with the effortless charm he wielded so well. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the gesture polished but fleeting. His smile was half-formed, the kind that never quite reached the same steely eyes he shared with the Duke.

Saphira had always liked Cedar. He was the eldest of the Duke's bastards, born to a scullery maid when Crassus was little more than a reckless boy. By all accounts, Cedar should have been insignificant—a stain to be scrubbed from the Duke's legacy. Instead, he had carved out a place for himself with cleverness and restraint.

They say he is by far the cleverest of Crassus's sons, Saphira thought, but unlike the others, he did not beg scraps from our father.

Cedar kept his distance as he greeted the sisters.

"You look well, Cedar," she said, searching his face. "I heard of your success in Hanover."

"The city is safe...for now." His tone was neutral, but something in his eyes hinted at a deeper weariness as he glanced up at Crassus.

The full-blooded brothers, Sage and Birch came next. Aged twenty-one and twenty respectively, they were the closest in age to Saphira. No one knew the identity of their mother—many suspected a woman of noble birth.

Sage greeted Saphira with a chilly indifference, but Birch playfully murmured, "Care to make me a potion?"

Saphira murmured back, "Only if you shoot father with a fireball."

Birch grinned, but neither of them laughed.

Heath toddled up to Saphira with all the dignity a six-year-old could muster and kissed her hand. I remember rocking you to sleep when you were born, Saphira thought. Poor Lady Peony, she was so pretty and kind. If she had not died in childbirth, Father would have married her and you would have been legitimised as heir instead of me.

Lastly, eighteen-year-old Daisy and her fraternal twin, Primrose, sashayed past. With large breasts, plump lips, and high cheekbones, the twins had inherited all the famous looks of their courtesan mother. Where Primrose's gaze was vacant, empty of thought, Daisy's snake-like eyes gleamed with something sharper, something scheming. Father's eyes.

Both wore bandeau veils, thin as gossamer, barely obscuring their features. Their silk draped just past their noses, shorter than Saphira's own, a subtle signal that their rank was beneath hers. A small consolation.

Primrose curtsied first, tilting her head with a saccharine smile. "Did they have time to dust the cobwebs off you?" She let out a sarcastic laugh. "I'm so glad to see you, dear Sister."

"There's a first time for everything," Saphira shot back.

Beside her, Celestine pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh.

Daisy, however, did not find it amusing. With a sharp sneer, she sank into a mocking curtsy, though she remained silent. But when she turned to Celestine, her voice was a viper's whisper.

"You're about to be sold like an ox, and nobody pays full price for damaged goods."

Celestine stiffened. Behind her veil, colour bloomed across her cheeks.

Daisy straightened, throwing Saphira one last glance before murmuring, "...expired goods."

Saphira's fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, but she did not speak. She's right. I'm 20 years old; I should have been married in my teen years. She looked to Celestine, thinking, At least Celestine will be saved from their whispers.

The bastard children filed away, descending the dais, and Saphira gently took Celestine's arm, guiding her toward their seats—cast aside to the left of their father's.

Then, Duke Crassus sat, and the hall moved as one, chairs scraping against the stone as the gathered nobility followed suit.

A flick of his wrist, and the trumpets blared

The giant doors slammed open, and a blast of hot summer air rushed into the hall. Saphira shivered as the draft slipped beneath her veil, and she quickly adjusted it back into place.

The Ashen Knight and his six companions entered.