Song vibe: Mikrokosmos – BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  The Lord’s Wing, Firestone

  By the end of the week, Saphira had learned the small, unremarkable truths of living with Nocturne.

  He drank his gin slowly now—never more than a single glass in the evenings, always by the fire. He read his reports standing if they frustrated him, seated if they did not. If he picked up a book, he always set it down without thinking, and somehow always knew exactly which pile he had left it in and what page he was up to.

  When he was done for the evening, he leaned back, exhaled, and closed his eyes. If he was restless, he would read, cold plunge, and then draw Saphira against him to sleep. If he was not, he would go to the hot springs—and welcome her company without needing to ask.

  With Nocturne home, the keep had begun to breathe again. Decisions were made instead of deferred. There were fewer arguments among the senior servants. Even the washerwomen seemed to gossip less and laugh more.

  A week after his return, Saphira finished the last of her report. She wrote down everything she could remember about her mother, everything concerning Renatus and her father. She spared no detail.

  She gathered her papers into a neat stack and crossed through the castle. She wore another of Marigold's old gowns, a dress of soft green cotton. Livia had taken in the bodice and added decorative buttons—and just as something old was slowly becoming hers, so was Firestone transforming.

  As she walked, she took in the halls with new eyes. Where once she had seen only a hundred problems waiting to be fixed, now she saw possibility. Empty rooms washed clean and waiting for purpose. Bare walls ready for colour. Timber, iron, and stone—patient, expectant, asking to be shaped into something beautiful and enduring.

  “Need some company?” a bright voice called from behind her.

  Saphira turned to find Lysander approaching, silk shirt catching the light, silver thread braided through his hair. A red ledger was tucked under one arm, a freshly cut quill balanced between his fingers.

  Above: Saphira and Lysander walk the halls together.

  “Ah. That look,” he said gravely. “The one that precedes architectural disruption, excessive cleaning, and emergency staffing changes.”

  “That’s a mild way to describe betrayal, poisoning, and execution,” she replied dryly, though her fingers tightened briefly on her papers. “I bet few sleep well after the Sowing Festival.”

  “They know it’s finished now,” Lysander said. “And everyone feels safer for it. Something’s felt wrong about Firestone for years—we just didn’t know why.” He shook the thought away and tipped the ledger toward her. “Look. The gold’s back in the treasury.”

  “That’s how much was there?” Her brows shot up. “Almighty, that’s so much—”

  “No,” he laughed. “That’s how much I’ve budgeted for you to spend on the keep.” He tapped a second figure. “And that’s your personal fund. Nocturne insisted.”

  “I wouldn’t spend that much if I dressed everyone in Eastern silk!”

  “We’ve all learned not to argue with Nox when he’s decided something,” Lysander said cheerfully. “You’d have better luck reasoning with a wall.” His gaze drifted toward the window. “I’ll help you with Dusty for now. But once Valentino settles into his new role, I’ll be travelling more—roads, fortifications, infrastructure.”

  “So, Dusty becomes a lap cat,” she laughed.

  “Not remotely.” His eyes sparked. “You’ll train with her every day. If you commit to that, I’ll make sure she’s the pride of Firestone. You’ll even ride her.” He offered his hand. “Deal?”

  Saphira hesitated only a moment before clasping it. “Deal.”

  She studied him as they resumed walking. The brightness was still there—the mischief, the quick humour—but steadied now by something anchored and deliberate.

  “You brought a future back to this place,” she said, adding with a fragile breath, “I was terrified that Nocturne would return to spawnslaying to save the treasury.”

  "That's behind us." His mouth twitched. “But I'll try not to let that praise go to my head.”

  “You’re failing.” They walked a while longer, then, she said quietly, “Nocturne trusts you.”

  “He always has,” Lysander said, meeting her gaze. “But now he knows where I fit. Not drifting. Just… here. Paying attention.”

  They reached the junction where the corridor split. He bowed lightly. “Try not to sign any contracts without me. They’ll see your marriage piercing and charge you double.”

  “No promises,” Saphira said, watching him go. As his laughter echoed away down the corridor, she thought, Another piece of Firestone easing into its proper place.

  Then she turned and continued on her way, papers tucked close. At Nocturne’s study, she knocked once, waited for his leave, and entered.

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  The room had changed.

  Where Lysander’s tenure had left the space layered with ledgers, half-finished schemes, and neat stacks of creative clutter, the surfaces were now cleared back to their bones. The great oak desk was bare save for stacked correspondence, a weighted map, and a single inkwell. The windows stood uncurtained, admitting fresh spring air.

  His brow was furrowed as he leaned over the papers.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, I’ll go if—”

  He looked up, and the tension drained from his face as soon as he saw her. He leaned back in his chair, umber eyes darkening with an intense heat. “Come here.”

  She crossed to his side and laid the papers on the desk. “Here. Everything I can remember about my mother.” Her fingers brushed his shoulder. “When I’m strong enough, I’ll make another charm for you, just in case—”

  “No,” Nocturne said evenly, his hand settling on her waist. “Protecting me isn’t your task. You need to rest.”

  She nodded, though the unease lingered beneath her compliance. Firestone can’t run on one person’s endurance.

  "Your hair..." His hand moved from her waist to her back, brushing his hand through the loose lavender locks hanging down. "I like it most when it's down."

  “I’m still getting used to it,” she admitted softly. "There's so much I can do in Firestone that wasn't allowed in Renatus."

  He gathered a loose strand between his fingers, smoothing it back behind her ear. His hand lingered there for a heartbeat, then he drew her a fraction closer—

  A soft knock cut through the quiet. For the briefest moment, neither of them moved.

  Nocturne’s hand eased from her waist, the warmth of it lingering even as space returned between them. His expression settled back into composed neutrality before he spoke.

  “Enter.”

  August stepped inside without ceremony, pale hair catching the lamplight, his expression arranged in its usual restrained calm. His eyes flicked once—quick, assessing—taking in their proximity, the faint disruption of stillness in the room. If he registered anything beyond the obvious, he gave no sign.

  He inclined his head—first to Nocturne, then to Saphira. “You sent for me.”

  “Yes,” Nocturne said. “Sit.”

  August took the chair opposite the desk with precise economy. His gaze flicked briefly to Saphira’s handwritten stack of parchment; his hands were already reaching.

  Saphira instinctively edged back toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Nocturne caught her wrist.

  “I was only leaving you both to your work,” she said lightly.

  “If I require privacy, I’ll ask,” he replied. “Otherwise, assume you’re staying.”

  Her mouth curved despite herself as she remained standing by his side. He wants me here. Not just as a wife, but his Lady as well.

  Above: Nocturne asks Saphira to stay.

  “Hm.” August had already begun scanning the pages, pale eyes moving rapidly. “This is… thorough.”

  “Thorough?” Nocturne allowed himself a brief huff of amusement. “High praise, coming from you. Approval, even.”

  “She’s worn me down,” August muttered, turning the page. “Renovating the Asterism helped.”

  “Bribery,” Saphira said. “The way to crack that cold heart. Have the syndicate settled in?”

  “Some,” August replied mildly, eyes flicking between the parchment and her.

  Nocturne cleared his throat—not sharply, but pointedly.

  August paused. He set the pages aside and turned his full attention to Saphira. “The Mountain Folk will never be entirely comfortable with so-called foreign magic,” he said, his voice monotone. “But Gorda’s excess forced much of the unease into the open. They are more pragmatic than we anticipated—and more tolerant. Misha and I would prefer the lodge, but Coral and Bako seem content enough with the bustle.”

  “So, you’ll stay? In Firestone?”

  August hesitated—a fractional hesitation, but unmistakable.

  “Don’t have much choice,” he said at last, eyes flicking briefly to Nocturne before returning to the papers. “I have this to study too, now. Then there's also the matter of recruiting a competent healing mage for the apothecary to help Verity—” He caught himself and corrected briskly. “—the point is, Firestone remains… academically interesting.”

  Nocturne’s mouth curved faintly.

  Then, horns sounded in the courtyard.

  Saphira crossed to the window at once and looked down. “It’s Valentino and Lucian—they’re back from Lux!”

  “A hell of a ride,” Nocturne said, a faint shake of disbelief in his voice.

  “Says the man who made the same journey in two weeks,” she laughed. “What… do we do?”

  "You are my Countess." He reached for his sword without hesitation. “We greet them. Together."

  They descended together.

  At the foot of Firestone’s steps, Saphira took her place comfortably beside him as the two Mountain Knights rode in at the head of their party, dust still clinging to their cloaks and horses steaming faintly from the cold. They reined in at the base of the stairs, waiting until the last of their escort had entered the courtyard before dismounting in unison.

  Valentino and Lucian knelt.

  “My Lord,” Valentino said, bowing his head to Nocturne. Then he turned toward Saphira, he bowed with princely grace. “My Lady. We have returned.”

  “Rise,” Nocturne said. “Place your weapons at my hearth and rest for I vow before the Almighty that you are under the protection of my hospitality. And tonight—we feast.”

  Lucian completed the last half of the ritual, "We accept your protection and offer our blessing on..." He smiled, wry, "...fye, it's good to be home, Nox."

  Relief rippled visibly through the gathered knights as they surged forward, laughter breaking loose, arms clasping shoulders, voices overlapping in familiar chaos.

  Saphira eased back a step, letting the reunion belong to them.

  “It’s always a good day when all seven are together,” Marigold said beside her, eyes warm as she watched Felix disappear into the tangle of embraces. She held Charmaine in one arm, rocking the two-month-old gently. “You and I will have to guard these moments for them. Men forget. They rush. Life pulls them apart.”

  Before Saphira could reply, Marigold caught Isais by the collar with her free hand. “Daddy is busy,” she reminded him.

  “Not Daddy,” Isias grinned, pointing to the knights, “I want Uncle Val. He’ll throw me!”

  “Just wait,” Marigold reminded with motherly patience. “Give them all a moment.”

  Saphira smiled faintly. “Livia said you’re packing up your wing.” She offered her finger to Charmaine, who promptly wrapped both tiny hands around it and attempted to gum it with fierce determination.

  “Aye. Brightwood’s packed as well. Everything’s being sent to Sunfire.” Marigold’s gaze drifted, softened by memory. “I always knew Felix would step into this life. Still… it feels sooner than the heart expects.” She turned back to Saphira. “Promise you’ll visit. For my sake—and so Nocturne remembers he has godchildren. They fully intend to climb him like a mountain.”

  “I didn’t know they were his godchildren.” Saphira blinked slowly. “I feel like I hardly know him at all.”

  “You will." Marigold’s smile gentled. "But not by forcing doors open. Men like Nocturne close when pressed.” Her hand brushed Saphira’s forearm, light but sure. “Give him time. Let him unfold. Change takes patience—and trust.”

  Saphira held the words quietly as the laughter behind them swelled again, sunlight glinting off armour and familiar faces.

  This feels less like an ending and more like a ‘passing of the torch’. I'll miss Marigold’s steady company. I need more ladies—more friends—like her around me.

  She smoothed Charmaine's hair down. There will be plenty of time to get to know Nocturne.

  But tonight, let us all enjoy the feast.