Song vibe: Moonchild – RM

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Lord’s Solar, Firestone

  “Come. Firestone is waiting for us,” Nocturne murmured, turning the doorknob.

  He held the door open for Saphira to enter first. She caught sight of August sitting at the table, Felix standing beside him, bent over a map. Her fingers tightened instinctively around Nocturne’s sleeve, and she tugged—just once—until he went ahead of her.

  Nocturne strode in, drew her chair out at the waiting lunch, and guided her into it with a hand at her back. He then crossed to the map as if nothing in the world had changed.

  Felix looked up, unable to hide his grin. He glanced at Saphira—took in the colour blooming in her cheeks—and winked.

  “Get much sleep?” August said dryly.

  “Some,” Nocturne replied evenly, his face expressionless. “Now—has Caelus been summoned?”

  Saphira felt the heat in her cheeks spread to her ears. She took a breath and broke her bread. She chewed slowly, the low murmur of voices washing over her as they spoke of guard rotations, repairs, and damage control. For weeks, every word like this had demanded her attention—each problem another weight she alone had been holding upright.

  Now, I’m not bracing after every word, counting the cost of every decision. She exhaled with relief. This feels nice.

  She watched her husband as he listened to Felix’s worries; where Saphira had been drawn into each concern, Nocturne stood firm. Then, when August pressed for aggressive action, Nocturne answered with calm restraint, without yielding.

  He makes it look easy. No wonder they follow him.

  The Solar doors burst open, and Lysander and Rell rolled in, shirts crumpled, dark circles under their eyes, grinning when they saw their Count.

  “You’re both late.” Nocturne said, not looking up from the map. “I gave you orders to stand guard for the night.”

  “We were there for the night,” Lysander said cheerfully, selecting a clean wine glass. “You didn’t say anything about the morning—or the afternoon.” He grinned, hazel eyes dancing. “At least we know our Count’s got stamina.”

  Saphira’s spoon hit the table as she felt the heat return to her cheeks.

  The look Nocturne gave Lysander could have felled a lesser man.

  Rell froze mid-step, glanced at Saphira, then at Nocturne—then back at her again, cheeks going red as realisation dawned. He shook his head once, firmly, as if erasing the thought from existence.

  Above: Nocturne and Saphira in the Solar.

  Nocturne crossed the room. His hand came to rest on Saphira’s shoulder—not possessive, not tight, but protective.

  The room fell silent.

  “Now we’re all here, here’s what happened in Lux,” Nocturne began.

  He laid it all out, holding nothing back—the Conclave, Crassus’s death, and the moment he saw the Duke walking again. He spoke without embellishment, letting each truth settle before moving on to the next.

  Then, he turned to Saphira. “I’d like you to tell them about your mother—and Crassus.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.” Saphira swallowed, the familiar tightness rising in her throat, threatening to turn her words into an undignified jumble. “You… please tell them.”

  As Nocturne spoke, the room went from quiet to deathly still.

  Saphira realised, with a sudden clarity, that none of them had known. In the chaos of Golgog’s spawnpit, they had fought, bled, survived—but not seen how close the invincible Ashen Knight had come to dying.

  The strange purple bracelet, gone after the battle. No one questioned it—they were all just grateful to walk out alive.

  Rell’s hand tightened on the edge of the table. Lysander reached for his wine without a word. August listened in silence, already dissecting the magic, his expression unreadable.

  Only Felix looked at her. His head tilted slightly, the warmth in his brown eyes touched with something like wonder.

  “Saphira.” Nocturne’s gaze returned to her. “I want you to write down everything you remember about your mother,” he said. “The magic. The songs. Every moment you can recall. Then, work with August’s syndicate to understand it.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  Rell leaned back in his chair, one hand drifting unconsciously to the leg he had nearly lost in Golgog’s pit. Lysander poured himself another wine without comment—but his eyes were unfocused, his thoughts far from the room.

  “This power from your mother,” August said, “explains Hyland’s withdrawal after the Conclave.” His gloved hand flexed, and he flinched in pain as the blackened skin cracked. “Vladislav is obsessed with bloodlines. Crassus’s blood is ancient—and your mother’s magic only deepens it.”

  He paused.

  “Be glad Hyland never claimed you." August tapped a finger once against the table, his pale gaze fixed on Saphira, assessing. “Vladislav would make Crassus look merciful.” His pale gaze never left Saphira. “He would have bound you. Bred you. Given you to others in exchange for more power, and then secured his invincibility once you—”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Enough.” Nocturne’s hand closed firmly on Saphira’s shoulder. “We know what’s at stake now.”

  "In my dream..." Saphira folded her hands in her lap, fingers lacing tightly together, her fingers turning white. "Crassus said my mother came from Hyland. They may know even more than Renatus does.”

  Her hand lifted without thought, finding Nocturne’s arm—still there, still solid. The one man who stands between me and that fate. Who already has. If he falls—

  She did not finish the thought.

  “I stopped it at the Conclave,” Nocturne said quietly, stepping closer. “But Edwin will have to know about Crassus’ invincibility—and Vladislav’s interest. Not the details of how it works.” His hand brushed her hair aside, his fingers lingering to touch the steel at her ear. “Only that Saphira is protected—by me.”

  Beside him, Felix nodded—approving.

  “War may come,” Nocturne murmured, almost to himself. “And we will be prepared.”

  The room stilled—not because he raised his voice, but because he spoke quietly. He continued, louder now. “First—we fix the fief. Roads. Trade. Defences.” His gaze shifted to Lysander. “You’ll take over the treasury. I trust no one more with my wealth. Work with Val to make sure Firestone runs smoothly, and our fief is ready for any possibility.”

  Lysander straightened, the levity draining from him.

  “My keep is fixed—” Nocturne’s eyes flicked briefly to Saphira, the corner of his mouth softening “—now it’s time to fix my fief.”

  He did not pause to see if they agreed.

  “Second—we keep digging into what happened with Gorda.” His attention turned to August. “Use whatever you need. A facestealer walked on Firestone soil. I want to know who sent it.”

  August inclined his head once.

  “Third—I want stronger ties with the clans. I’ve neglected them too long.” He looked to Felix. “You’ll help me reach Caelus. There’ll be bad blood between Sunfire and Yule—you’ll stand between it.”

  Felix nodded, already calculating.

  “And lastly—”

  His thumbs brushed across Saphira’s knuckles.

  “I want a Mountain wedding. Let everyone see us complete the rites in their language, their customs. Let there be no doubt about our claim.”

  Saphira blinked, feeling her expression soften. “I’ve… always wanted to plan my own wedding.”

  “Cost is no constraint,” he said. “Firestone stands because of you. Shape it as you will.”

  The table fell quiet again.

  Rell shifted in his chair, fingers tapping once against the wood before stilling. He hesitated—then lifted his gaze. “And me?” he asked quietly. “What would you have me do?”

  Nocturne paused, his attention settling fully on the young man. He studied him for a long moment until the corners of his lips almost smiled. “You’re ready to be knighted,” he said at last. “Not today. When all our brothers are present.”

  Rell bit down on his lip piercing, his dark eyes widening.

  “Until then,” Nocturne went on, his hand moving from Saphira to rest firmly on Rell’s shoulders, “you’ll find and train a squire to take your place. I’ll grant you a small holding at the foot of Hart Mountain—it will be yours. A knight with land—equal to the others.”

  Rell’s fingers brushed over his slave tattoos on his arms, his eyes glassing over.

  “But I want you to live here,” Nocturne finished. “Captain of the Guard.”

  “Captain?” Rell’s throat bobbed. “I… I won’t fail you.”

  “I know,” Nocturne said simply.

  He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t circle. Awe tightened Saphira’s chest. He decides—and the world moves with him.

  “Almighty, Nox,” Lysander muttered, sipping his wine. “I thought we’d at least get one feast, even a night smoking. Instead, you’ve put the whip to our backs.”

  “Aren’t you always telling me to rest?” Nocturne replied mildly. “And when I finally give you something to do to take the load off me, you complain?”

  “That’s not rest—that’s delegating so you can—” Lysander glanced at Saphira and chuckled into his glass, “—wake up at noon.”

  Nocturne’s hand on Saphira’s shoulder tightened. She reached up, wrapped her fingers around his.

  The tension eased from Nocturne’s grip. He look at Lysander and said with mild amusement, “As if you’ve never kept an entire war council waiting."

  Then his tone shifted, settling back into steel. “When Val and Luce return, we’ll feast. You’re all dismissed.” He extended his hand. “Saphira—walk with me.”

  She rose, smoothing her skirts, schooling herself into composure. He opened the Solar door for her and closed it firmly behind them, sealing the room—and its eyes—away.

  She walked beside him down the hall, her head spinning.

  In Renatus, affection was for other women, kept discreet and unnamed. Never for the Lady. If they see this, will they still respect me? She pulled back by barely an inch, but it was enough for him to notice.

  His gait slowed. “If you’re displeased by something I did,” he said, “you should speak.”

  “It… isn’t the closeness,” she said at last. “It’s how openly you show it.”

  He waited.

  “They see me through you." Her fingers tightened in the soft fabric of her skirts. “That I’m… desired by you.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  She nodded once. “They’ll see me as—” She paused, flinching as she said the familiar insult in clanspeak, “—a camp wife. A courtesan. Not the Lady.”

  “Listen.” He turned, his expression unreadable. “I do not hide you. I do not touch you in secret and deny you in daylight.”

  She swallowed.

  “I stand with you openly,” he went on. “You share everything I have.” His voice hardened. “Here, respect comes from proximity.” He tipped his head down the corridor—toward the keep, the guards, the servants. “They will take their cue from me. Which is why I am not subtle about what you are. I’m establishing your place.” His gaze softened, just a fraction. “You are my wife. My Lady. Desired—yes.” He lowered his voice. “But honoured and defended—in full view.”

  Only then did he step closer, forcing her back until warm stone met her back. He caught her wrist gently and pressed it to the wall. He tangled his fingers with hers.

  Above: Nocturne shows Saphira affection in public.

  “Firestone looks inviting now,” he murmured, tilting her chin and kissing her softly.

  She shivered, then pushed him back with a soft, indignant shove. “You make everything look easy.”

  A faint curve touched his mouth. “Appearances are deceptive.” He let go of her wrist. “Come. Walk the keep with me. Show me what you did while I was away.”

  “Is this an official inspection?” She arched a brow. “Should I be worried about passing?”

  A rare laugh escaped him. “Almighty, listen to you. You’ve picked up their cadence. Even the accent. Like you were born to it.”

  They moved through the corridors together, and the servants stopped what they were doing as they passed. They did not glance at Saphira as they once had, uncertain or appraising. They bowed to her as they bowed to him, low and respectful.

  Nocturne kept his hand on her waist the entire time, pausing to praise the discipline of the staff, the cleanliness of the halls, and the repairs already underway. He noticed everything—and so did they.

  By the time they reached the upper galleries, the keep felt different. The guards drilled with renewed focus. Servants worked with purpose, no longer glancing over their shoulders.

  “I’ve been gone too long,” Nocturne said at last, stopping by a window. “Far too long.”

  He looked out over the courtyard, then back to her. A distance smile flickered across his face. “I never thought I’d say this—but Firestone feels… worthy of pride.” He searched her expression. “You did all this.”

  “We... almost didn’t.”

  He went still, then nodded once in approval. “I expected many things when I married you,” he said quietly. “This was not one of them.”

  “Is that disappointment?” she asked, half-teasing.

  “No.” His hand closed over hers. “It’s respect.” He glanced down the corridor, then back to her. “This place is yours. Every stone. I mean it, Saphira.” His grip tightened briefly. “I want it ready when we stand before the clans and say our vows.”

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers.

  “And I’m looking forward to that—more than I expected.”

  Without releasing her hand, Nocturne guided her around the corner.

  A pair of maids halted mid-step when they saw them, skirts gathered instinctively as they curtsied. Their eyes flicked to their intertwined fingers. Nocturne acknowledged them with a single nod and kept walking.

  The maids blushed as they passed.

  No doubt word of what they saw will hit the kitchens before dinner is served.

  Saphira did not pull away. Instead, she stepped a fraction closer to him, their hands still linked, her pace easy and unguarded as he carried their marriage openly through the corridors of Firestone.