Captain Aldric gave a brief nod to our fathers and immediately struck up a conversation as we all walked. Introductions followed naturally, names, brief pleasantries, the sort exchanged when strangers were trying to place one another without stepping on any invisible lines.

  Arthur’s father introduced Arthur. Trayn’s father did the same for Trayn, each gesture carrying a mix of pride and lingering awkwardness from the morning’s events.

  Then my father turned slightly and gestured toward me.

  “This is my son,” he said.

  “Uhm, hello,” I said, bowing a little out of habit. “My name is, William Seijiro.”

  Captain Aldric acknowledged the bow with an easy nod, his expression open, assessing but not unfriendly.

  “My other son is still, unfortunately, asleep,” my father added, a hint of a crease forming between his brows.

  He always sounded like that when he mentioned my older brother, half irritation, half resignation—as if he’d long since accepted that no amount of disappointment would ever fully stick on him.

  I said nothing. Some explanations were better left unspoken, especially in a castle full of knights who were already far too curious. Privately, I think it’s rather impressive.

  While Captain Aldric continued speaking with our fathers, the other knight, Captain Godwin had drifted closer to Celestia.

  “That was close, you almost didn’t push through,” he said lightly, though his tone was teasing. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t pull it off. But hey, you proved me wrong.”

  Despite the cloth covering her face, I could tell lady Celestia bristled. Her posture stiffened, and the way her eyes narrowed made her irritation unmistakable.

  Godwin walked a few steps ahead, then slowed, glancing back at the rest of us before turning fully toward Celestia again. A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

  “Well,” he said, raising his voice just enough for all of us to hear, “they’re a bit young. But hey—play your dice right, and you might just catch a good fish.”

  Then he laughed.

  The sound echoed down the corridor, catching everyone off guard.

  What happened next was even more surprising.

  Lady Celestia surged forward, her earlier frailty forgotten in a sudden burst of fury. She grabbed Godwin’s arm and drove her knee upward with a sharp clang as it struck metal plate.

  We all froze.

  Godwin staggered back a step, more startled than hurt, his armor had done its job. Celestia, on the other hand, hissed sharply and immediately clutched her knee, the effort clearly taking its toll on her weakened body.

  Her two maids rushed to her side at once, voices rising as they rounded on the knight-captain, berating him in rapid succession.

  Godwin blinked, stunned into silence, he raised his hands slightly in defeat for the first time since we’d met him.

  The corridor, moments ago filled with easy conversation, now felt painfully quiet—charged with embarrassment and possibly tension. Those and the realization that lady Celestia, sick or not, was not someone to be casually teased.

  “Might I offer a piece of advice?” Captain Aldric said, glancing at Godwin with a knowing smirk. “Titles and armor don’t stop people from being idiots.”

  Arthur’s father chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah… that seems pretty universal.”

  Aldric raised an eyebrow at the reply, holding his gaze for a moment. From the looks of it, he was more surprised at the statement than how candid the response was. Then, a low, amused chuckle escaped him, breaking the tension.

  Even Godwin couldn’t help but crack a sheepish grin.

  “Uhm… Knight-Captain Aldric?” Arthur asked, a smile tugging at his lips despite the atmosphere. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was that about?”

  “Please, just call me Aldric,” he replied easily, good-natured as ever. He glanced briefly in Godwin’s direction, who was currently being scolded by two very angry maids, before turning back to us.

  “My colleague made a remark that was meant to be humorous,” Captain Aldric said, choosing his words carefully, but he too had a slight smile tugging at his lips. “However, it was also… rather crass.”

  He lowered his voice, just enough to keep the explanation contained. “Catching a good fish, especially when said to a lady, is a vulgar turn of phrase. It refers to catching someone’s—attention—in a way that is… inappropriate—simply because, the fish in that statement—well it refers to a man’s—privates.”

  Arthur blinked. Trayn made a small sound of understanding. I felt my mouth curl up. So did the other boys. The girls however, looked absolutely scandalized. The knight captain saw the look on our faces and he nodded.

  He straightened again, his tone returning to normal. “In short, it was a joke he should have kept to himself.”

  From a short distance away, Captain Godwin finally raised his hands in surrender as the maids finished their tirade.

  “Alright, alright, sorry,” he muttered. “I deserved that one.” Celestia, still clutching her knee, shot him a glare.

  For a moment, our group laughed quietly, the corridor echoing with soft, human warmth amid the grandeur and formality of the castle. Even the guards escorting us joined in, all except the butler who looked composed.

  It was a small reprieve—a fleeting reminder that, even in this unfamiliar world of magic and royalty, some things never really changed.

  After that we moved again, but at the next crossroads, lady Celestia slowed slightly, and her maids adjusted with practiced ease. Before long, we reached a point where the corridor split—one path leading deeper into the castle, the other curving back towards what could be the residential wing.

  “Everyone, this is where I leave you,” Celestia said, pausing. She looked tired, but there was something steady in her eyes. “I’ll see you all again soon. After I’ve rested.”

  “We’ll be waiting,” the princess replied, offering her a small, sincere smile.

  We all offered our own “get well soons,” our voices soft but sincere.

  Celestia nodded in acknowledgment, a faint smile visible even beneath the cloth covering her face. Her maids gently guided her along, moving at a careful, measured pace.

  We all watched her retreating figure, shrinking around the corner until she was nearly out of sight. After that, our group resumed walking, our footsteps echoing softly through the corridor, but the conversation didn’t stop.

  “For someone who looked so… young and fragile,” Trayn’s father said thoughtfully, “she carried an astonishing amount of weight on her shoulders just with summoning all of us.” He paused as a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

  By now, the full implication of that responsibility had only just sunk in for all of us.

  “Yes, indeed,” Captain Aldric agreed. “Lady Celestia conducted the summoning under intense scrutiny—not only from other mages and the lords of the kingdom, but also from neighboring countries.”

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  “And don’t forget the Church,” Captain Godwin added from beside me. “They’ve been breathing down her neck for who knows how long. Always saying she’s too young, or that she’s desperately trying to live up to a legacy she can’t compete.” He snorted softly. “But she proved them wrong.”

  Aldric nodded. “She did.”

  Then his gaze shifted to us. There was something lighter in his expression now—relief, maybe.

  “And now,” he said quietly, “I’m just glad that burden has finally been lifted.”

  We let his words sink in as we continued on. We’d been summoned here, hailed as heroes. But listening to them talk about lady Celestia, we realized something uncomfortable. Before any of us had taken a single step in this world, she’d already borne the weight of it alone.

  “Which is precisely why making crass jokes—or even merely implying that she does not have our trust,” the princess said, her voice calm but firm, “is not only in poor taste, but also deeply disrespectful.”

  All eyes turned to Captain Godwin.

  He stiffened under the collective scrutiny, most of it coming from the women among us. Even a few of the guards looked away in visible discomfort. Godwin cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders as if bracing himself.

  “Your Highness,” he said carefully, “I intended that joke in good faith.”

  The princess stopped walking.

  “And I would very much like for you to explain then,” she replied, turning to face him fully, “how that could possibly be so.”

  Her tone was polite. The kind of polite that left no room to retreat.

  Godwin hesitated. For the first time since we met him, he seemed unsure of himself. When he finally spoke again, his words came slower, chosen with obvious care.

  “Well… we all know of her—circumstances,” he said. “I merely meant that if they”—he gestured vaguely toward us, his hand lingering a fraction longer on the boys—“are unable to help her, then her situation becomes all but hopeless.”

  I didn’t fully understand what he meant—but I understood enough to feel the weight of it. Whatever Celestia’s “circumstances” were, they weren’t simple gossip. They weren’t a punchline. And judging by the way the princess’s jaw tightened, they certainly weren’t something to be spoken of so lightly.

  Captain Aldric exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “Godwin,” he said quietly, “that is exactly the kind of implication Her Highness is referring to.”

  The princess didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

  “Lady Celestia does not need jokes made at her expense,” she said. “Nor does she need speculation dressed up as concern. What she deserves—what she has earned—is respect.”

  Godwin bowed his head, the embarrassment finally giving way to something closer to shame.

  “…Understood, Your Highness,” he said.

  We began walking again, but the mood had shifted. The air felt heavier, more solemn. Realization dawned on us that Lady Celestia’s battle had never been about magic alone.

  “If you think there’s anything we can do to help,” Arthur said, raising a hand slightly as if in class, “please don’t hesitate to ask us.”

  His voice was earnest—no bravado, no expectation of praise. Just an offer.

  “Yes, well—” Arthur’s father began, glancing between the two knight captains before continuing, clearly unsure how to phrase it. “We were also wondering if there might be some way for us to help Lady Celestia. To make amends.”

  “To be blunt,” Trayn’s father added, scratching the back of his head at the puzzled expressions forming across the knights’ faces, “when we first arrived… we sort of blew our top at her.”

  “I beg your pardon, lord,” Captain Aldric said politely, brow furrowing. “But what exactly do you mean by ‘blew our top’?”

  “Oh—uh,” my father said quickly, waving a hand. “We got angry. Took our fear and confusion out on her. Now that we know what condition she was in before we arrived—” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. “It doesn’t sit right with us. It was unfair of us to do so.”

  For a moment, neither knight spoke. Then both captains exchanged a glance—and smiled. Even the princess’s expression softened, a hint of relief passing through her eyes.

  “Please do not trouble yourselves over that,” Captain Aldric said, lifting a hand dismissively, though his tone was warm. “Reactions such as yours were fully anticipated.”

  “If anything,” Captain Godwin added with a shrug, “it would have been stranger for all of you to not be angry.” He chuckled lightly. “In your case, especially without warning, I’d imagine that it would do that to people.”

  “What matters is the end result,” Captain Aldric continued, “Lady Celestia succeeded. For her, I am sure, that alone outweighs any harsh words you have spoken in the moment.”

  Captain Godwin suddenly jabbed a thumb toward his colleague. “Still, they want to help.” Then he turned toward the princess with a sly grin. “I’ll leave the explanation to you, young highness. This matter is well and far above my station.”

  The princess visibly stiffened.

  Captain Aldric, meanwhile, rolled his eyes. “Like you could talk.”

  Captain Godwin scoffed. “My circumstances,” he said through clenched teeth, “don’t involve inheriting land, a city, a castle, and a title that grants control over a quarter of the kingdom.”

  The words landed heavily.

  I felt it immediately, for all of us, not just curiosity, but a sharp alignment of interest and intent spread through our group. Whatever the princess was about to explain or choose to, it wasn’t exactly small.

  But before the princess could say another word, the butler we had been following came to an abrupt halt before a tall, double-latticed door. Much like everything here, it was ornately decorated with vines. He straightened, lifted his gloved hand, and knocked—three precise, measured raps that echoed faintly down the corridor.

  A moment later, the door opened inward and the king himself stepped out.

  Conversation died instantly as his gaze swept over our gathered group—lingering on the fathers, the students, then finally settling on the two knight captains, who immediately snapped their fists to their chests in salute.

  “Oh. Good,” the king said, a hint of surprise coloring his voice. “I see you have already met our guests.”

  He turned slightly toward the butler. “You may call them in.”

  The butler bowed deeply, not a word spoken, then pivoted on his heel and strode down the corridor with brisk efficiency, disappearing around the corner as though he had never been there at all.

  The king’s attention returned to us.

  “What were you all discussing?” he asked calmly, though his eyes were keen. “You looked on the verge of saying something important.”

  A stillness followed as almost instinctively, everyone’s gaze shifted toward the princess.

  She flinched—just slightly—but before she could gather herself, Knight Captain Godwin stepped forward.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, voice respectful but steady, though a hint of another smile was on his lips, “we were discussing Lady Celestia’s circumstances.”

  The king’s brow raised a bit.

  “And,” Captain Godwin continued, choosing his words carefully, “of how our honored guests might be able to assist.”

  The king’s eyes widened—not dramatically, but enough to be unmistakable. His gaze flicked from Godwin to Aldric, then to his daughter, and finally across all of us, as though pieces that had been scattered were suddenly snapping into place.

  For a heartbeat, he said nothing.

  Then—slowly—his expression shifted.

  Not anger. Not relief. Realization.

  “…I see,” the king said quietly as a hand went to his chin.

  Before speaking again, the king lifted a hand and gestured toward the open doorway.

  “Everyone, please,” he said. “We should not linger in the corridor.”

  We followed him into the room.

  It was similar to the one we had been given—wide and spacious, meant to host parties rather than comfort. Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, illuminating polished floors and simple but well-crafted furnishings. The door closed behind us with a soft, final sound.

  “Princess, Your Highness,” Arthur’s father said carefully, breaking the silence. “If there is any way we can assist Lady Celestia, please let us know.”

  The king let out a slow breath, then turned towards his daughter.

  “The servants are still in the adjacent room,” he said as a wry smile spread on his face. “So, my daughter, now is the best time to explain.”

  That alone was enough to get everyone’s attention. Our curiosity, already simmering, rose another notch as, once again, all eyes turned toward the princess.

  As we settled in, a thought tugged at the back of my mind. I think I might already have a guess at what the problem was. As I was thinking that, the princess straightened, folding her hands neatly in front of her, and nodded.

  “Well,” she began, her voice calm, “Everyone, remember my earlier explanation regarding names. And you may have noticed that Celes’ name… differs from the norm.”

  Several of us nodded, others murmured in agreement. She continued, sounding as though she were recalling something she memorized, like a lesson.

  “Our kingdom is divided into four great dukedoms,” she said. “Castellmere, the Heartlands. Vollmere, the Right Arm. Kingsfen, the Northern Shield. And Lindenfell, the Southern Wall.”

  As she spoke, the names seemed to settle into the room, heavy with history.

  “These four dukedoms form the backbone of the realm,” she went on. “Each is governed by an ancient house, bound by blood, land, and duty to the crown.”

  She paused briefly—just long enough for us to sense that what came next mattered.

  “And Celes,” the princess said softly, “stands at the crossroads of those obligations. Celes is the heir of Lindenfell. But that was not always the case.”

  She drew a slow breath, as if choosing her words with care.

  “She has an older brother, five cycles her senior, who should have inherited the dukedom. Lord Andrian.”

  At that, the king spoke, his voice steady, practiced, as though reciting a law he had lived with his entire life.

  “There is a decree within our kingdom,” he said, “that mandates the existence of four dukedoms at all times. No more. No less. The same decree prevents any single individual from holding multiple dukedoms simultaneously. The law is absolute, and it has stood since the founding of our country nearly eight hundred cycles ago.”

  The princess nodded and continued seamlessly.

  “Lord Andrian chose to marry into another ducal house. By doing so, he forfeited his right to inherit Lindenfell and the succession passed, by law, to the next viable heir.”

  Her gaze softened. “That heir was Celes.”

  “Her claim is just, no one disputes that,” she added. “But before all of that, before titles and laws and obligations closed around her… Celes was simply a mage first.”

  We could almost picture it—the younger Celestia, hunched over dusty tomes and books, chasing mastery rather than authority.

  “She was trying to live up to her grandfather’s legacy,” the princess said. “Not preparing to rule. Not thinking about succession. Those matters never interested her.”

  She hesitated, then went on.

  “And because of conflicts of interest—political, familial—certain things were never officially decided. Chief among them is, who her partner would be.”

  That word lingered in the air.

  “The ‘de’ in her name denotes an heir who is unwed,” the princess explained, then the same wry smile her father had, spread across the princess’s face. “In the simplest of terms, she is still single.”