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SAPHIRA
The War Room, Castle Renatus
Saphira didn’t know what else to do—but standing there in silence felt worse. Removing her veil, she gathered Celestine’s hands. Their fingers were nearly identical—long, slender—yet Celestine’s were adorned with white gold, sapphires, and lavender-painted nails.
Then, she embraced her sister.
Celestine remained stiff, her shoulders held too straight. She exhaled quietly against Saphira’s shoulder before pulling back.
When Saphira stepped away, she searched her sister’s face. “Why don’t you seem happy?”
Celestine tucked a silky, plum-coloured lock behind her ear. “On the way from Lux, I saw the devastation. Villages burned. Survivors too afraid to speak. Golgog is...” She trailed off with a shake of her head, fingers drifting to the crystalith pendant at her collarbone. Candlelight scattered across her ivory skin. “I just pray his knights return alive.”
At the mention of Nocturne, something brushed the edge of Saphira’s awareness—faint as a thread tightening beneath her ribs—then vanished before she could name it.
“You speak as though others have tried.” Saphira forced a smile. “Everyone knows the stories. The Ashen Knight has never failed, he—”
“Stop. I don’t want to ruin my day.” Celestine straightened, her face smoothing into indifference.
Saphira clasped her sister’s hand. “Did you receive my letters? Helena had to read it first, of course."
The disappointment in Celestine’s violet eyes gave Saphira her answer.
"Perhaps I should send a block of dung. I’d love to see Father’s face when he confiscates that package."
Celestine laughed—light, but hollow. “I heard about your little stunt. Three weeks locked away for a potion?”
“It was a tincture,” Saphira sighed. “Ginny’s sister was coughing blood—I couldn’t stand by. She’s in Lux now. They said it could be the Whispering Curse.”
“How many times must I tell you?" Celestine shook her head, half amused, half pitying. "You either play his games or get nothing. Do your embroidery. Play harp. Smile. Then, when his back is turned, do as you please.” Her expression tightened for a breath. "Crassus is happy to finally get rid of me—and Golgog—at the same time.” Her violet eyes hardened. “You, however—he disciplines because he loves you.”
Saphira laughed bitterly. “If that’s love, I wish he’d stop.”
Celestine watched her for a moment, then said more quietly, “You’re the legacy, Saph. I’m merely the transaction.”
Saphira lowered her voice. “Will Lord Nocturne be a good husband?”
“He’s cold, Saph.” Celestine crossed to the window and curled onto the cushioned bench. Morning light crowned her hair in a halo of violet and gold. “Brooding. Calculating. Charming—when it suits him.” She turned, smoothing her gown with slow, deliberate strokes. “They say he doesn’t need a truthstone to know when someone’s lying.”
Saphira hesitated, then sat beside her. “Would you rather it be someone else?”
A flicker passed over Celestine’s face—quickly hidden. She donned a pout. “What woman wouldn’t fall for Lord Nocturne?”
Saphira shook her head. Countless men offered Celestine the world—and she turned them all away. Then she realised, She’s already given her heart to someone else.
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Above: Saphira and Celestine talk, wearing their matching dresses
"You'll marry soon enough." Celestine squeezed her arm. “Don’t give up. Maybe Crassus is saving you for something higher.” She winked. “Rumour says Edwin’s looking for a wife.”
Saphira snorted. “Father would rather lick a spawnpit wall than give the King anything. He’d sell me to Friedrich of Himmelburg. Or Duke Diego—his wife died last spring.”
A sad smile tugged at Saphira’s lips. These are good men, she thought. I could do far worse. She shivered, recalling Duke Lorenzo's heir, Rafael—drunk, leering, reeking of brothel smoke. Just because a man has a noble title doesn't mean he's honourable.
Celestine was quiet, adjusting her rings. “Perhaps...you’ll marry Duke Vladislav.”
“No.” Saphira stiffened. “Father wouldn’t provoke the King. Don’t go repeating that idea, please."
The door burst open with a sharp crack. Icy air rushed in.
Duke Crassus entered with a precise, confident stride, every step measured and deliberate. He had not aged a day since Saphira could remember, still looking in his mid-thirties despite being well into his forties. 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.
He doesn’t feel the heat or the cold, Saphira thought. I doubt he feels anything at all.
His hawk-like eyes swept the room, narrowing at Saphira. His expression softened—minimally—when Celestine approached and kissed his ring.
“Your Grace,” she purred. “Thank you for our dresses."
The Duke's lips curved into a faint smile. “You look radiant, my petal.”
Saphira stepped forward. “Father—”
He extended his hand. “Have you learned your lesson? No potions.”
“It wasn’t a—”
Celestine stomped on her toe.
Stifling a yelp, Saphira bent and kissed the ring. “Yes, Your Grace. No...potions.”
Above: Duke Crassus rebukes Saphira as she asks for forgiveness.
“The stench of magic still clings to you. A man doesn't want a corrupted woman." He flared his nostrils. "It reeks."
Saphira's hands stilled. I only tried a little bit of magic on Ginny. Surely it isn't that obvious?
"I'll use more rowanberry oil next time," she whispered.
"Good." He turned to the war table and raised his cane—a dragon-clawed weapon crafted from eldenwood. Crassus was rumoured to have killed a Hyland assassin with that cane.
Crassus traced the air above the map. “Tell me,” he said, “what do you see?”
“So much purple." Celestine leaned in. "Our forces are strong."
“Indeed.” He twisted his signet ring. "And what does my heir see?"
“The patrol in Horrocks Pass will be flanked," Saphira said, studying the map. “They’ll be overrun. Move the garrison from Flaxen Pass. It’s a day’s ride—Renatii men are in danger.”
"And if Hyland sends troops through Flaxen? They'll cross through Firestone territory first." He paused. "And the Count of Firestone is at our doorstep.” He shook his head. “A woman’s mind clings to emotion, not logic.”
Of course, she thought. Logic only mattered when it was his.
He tapped the cane against the map. “If Edwin wants his cousin alive, he can send him supplies.”
“But you vowed to Sir Finley—”
"A Duke must not get emotional about the loss of a single person—everyone is replaceable. What matters—" he emphasised, looking at Saphira "—is legacy. Building a kingdom to last."
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.
Saphira pulled on her veil, accepted the cane, and followed.
We must play our part in Mother's place. Saphira thought. It’s been twelve years since she died—and each year, it seems like I forget more and more pieces of her.
Trumpets blared as the doors opened. Thick summer heat flooded in as they entered the Grand Hall of the Ancients.
On the lower dais, the Duke’s bastards waited. One by one, they rose, kissed Crassus’s ring, and passed Saphira and Celestine. Cedar, the eldest, held the hand of Heath, the youngest. They both bowed low. Next came the brothers, Sage and Birch.
Birch, ever the sly one, murmured, "Care to make me a potion?"
Saphira replied, "Only if you shoot Father with a fireball."
Birch grinned, but neither of them laughed.
Daisy and her twin, Primrose. Eighteen and unmistakably courtesan-born, they wore silk band veils that barely hid their faces—shorter than Saphira’s own, a subtle reminder of rank. Daisy dipped into a mocking curtsy, then turned to Celestine, her voice a viper’s whisper. "You’re about to be sold like an ox—and no one pays full price for damaged goods."
Celestine flinched. Behind her veil, her cheeks flushed.
Daisy straightened and, as she passed Saphira, murmured, "...expired goods."
The insult slid under her skin. Saphira’s fingers curled into her gown, but she said nothing. She’s right. I’m twenty—I should have been married years ago. She glanced at her sister. At least Celestine will escape their whispers.
The bastards filed away. Saphira took Celestine’s arm and guided her toward their seats, placed off to the left of their father’s.
Saphira’s heart thudded. I'm glad Lord Nocturne is taking Celestine away. At least one of us will be free.