Song vibe: Black Swan – BTS

  __________

  NOCTURNE

  Lord's Study, Firestone Castle

  In Nocturne’s study, the soft glow of the hearth met him, shadows reaching across ledgers and reports Valentino had neatly stacked. Beyond the window, storm clouds gathered over Sunfire Mountain, dark against the pale daylight.

  The Merchants Guild’s ale still fogged Nocturne's head—another deal sealed with a flagon or three. He blinked slowly, steadying himself. This fief needs more economic opportunities—another deal, another drop in a pond. The dark storm light spilled through the window, blue and grey, making the shadows beneath his eyes darker. A sword belongs in my hands. Not a quill.

  When he closed his eyes, that harrowing look in August’s eyes lingered, refusing to be shaken.

  I did the best I could, Nox. August had reported just hours earlier, But what’s in her head…I’ve never seen anything like it. I cut her ties, but I didn’t touch—whatever it is—not without further study.

  Nocturne cursed under his breath. King Spawnrotting Edwin picked the worst time to summon me. I should be here, protecting her. Protecting Firestone.

  He sat, elbows on the desk, head in his hands. The silence pressed against him, but not the kind he longed for—not the stillness of Firestone Chapel, not the solace of Thelonius’s steady counsel. One of the few people who truly saw the weight I carry. There remained in him only the weight of absence—for the friends lost, for his son. You’re both by the Almighty’s side now. Both innocent lives lost because of me.

  Nocturne picked up his quill. For now, there were shortages to reckon with, repairs to tally, letters to sign. He forced his mind into the ink-stained pages until a polite, urgent knock broke through.

  “Enter.”

  Quintus rushed in, trying to catch his breath.

  “My Lord…”

  Nocturne turned, his glare sharp on the aging Castellan. He disliked the man, yet could not deny his competence—Felix’s uncle, brother to Warden Selwyn. A relic of another time, but one who kept Firestone steady in my absences. Nocturne gave a curt nod for him to shut the door.

  “I come to offer my resignation,” Quintus said at last, eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. “You arrived in the night, holding the enemy’s daughter, with no word to me or the staff.” He set the keys on Nocturne’s desk. “I cannot serve where I do not trust the Lady of Firestone.”

  “That’s not cause enough.” Nocturne’s glare iced as he saw the look of guilt on the old man's face. "What did you do?"

  “I read one of Crassus’ letters,” Quintus went on, chin held high. “Then I gave it to Lady Saphira.”

  He disobeyed me—knowingly. A crack split Nocturne’s composure. Offering a resignation is the least he could do. Nocturne said nothing, tongue pressed hard against his teeth.

  “With all due respect.” Quintus paused, a rasp rattling in his chest. “But lineage shapes more than we admit. I needed to judge her loyalties for myself.”

  Nocturne leaned forward, eyes burning. His words came soft, too soft. “Tell—what did the letter say?”

  “The usual,” Quintus said with a wheeze. “Jibes. Insults. Rumours.” He hesitated. “She asked me not to tell you, my Lord. She seemed… afraid. Perhaps I misjudged Crassus' daughter. Perhaps she is all that she seems. I—" he let out another wheeze "—I do not know for certain."

  His grip tightened on the desk, though his face betrayed nothing. A test, you call it. No—it’s mockery.

  "Do what you must, my Lord." Quintus pushed the keys towards Nocturne, pale eyes ablaze with conviction. "Only know this—all I've done has been for Firestone's sake."

  Firestone needs a castellan while I’m away, not more chaos. Nocturne exhaled. Were he not Selwyn’s brother—and vouched for by Edwin—he’d be gone.

  When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly calm. “You overstepped, Quintus. Once more, and you’ll be nothing but a memory. You hold this office because I permit it. Do not mistake your necessity for power.”

  Above: Quintus gives his resignation.

  “Yes, my Lord.” Quintus slid the keys back into his grasp, a crinkle coming from his left pocket, then a slight turning of his body to protect the side. “I… don’t deserve your mercy.”

  Nocturne extended his hand, palm open, demanding, “Give it to me. Whatever you have in your pocket.”

  Quintus hesitated, shielding his side. Then, with a reluctant hand, he produced a scrap of paper. “Left anonymously in my study. I held it back until I could verify the sender. The accusation… if true, is troubling."

  As Nocturne read through the note, his stomach twisted. He stood from his desk, bracing against the open window, the storm now raging over the neighbouring Sunfire Mountain.

  She told me today that she wants to stay here, with me. He scrunched the note up in his fist. I believe her.

  “You may not trust her—but I do. That is enough for Firestone." He turned to face Quintus. "Anything else?”

  Quintus inclined his head, unreadable as he backed away. At the door, he paused. “It’s coming to war, isn’t it?”

  Nocturne studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. “Prepare for every possibility.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “I read your treasury report. Edwin bleeds this fief dry.”

  “I’ve been frugal, my Lord. Tried to—”

  Nocturne cut in. “Direct funds to the defences. Use the reserves if you must. Crassus will be forced to pay our contract. Aaliyah will settle her debt in Lux—gold will not be our worry again.” He held Quintus’s gaze. “While I’m gone, Saphira has full access to the treasury. Anything she wants."

  Quintus bowed smoothly. “As you wish. Shall I summon the Mountain Knights to the War Room?”

  Nocturne gave a curt nod, already turning back to the storm.

  Alone again, Nocturne sank into the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. His shirt hung open at the collar, half-unfastened. The desk before him was a battlefield of ink-stained reports—nightspawn sightings, road repairs, tribute disputes.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He dragged a hand across his face, trying to will some clarity into a head clouded by too many sleepless nights. Saphira… how do I find the time to be the husband I swore to be?

  As Nocturne stewed in his thoughts, a firm knock rang out on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Felix burst in, brown hair tousled, grinning. “It’s a girl! Just after midnight!”

  Rising to his feet, Nocturne crossed the room, the corners of his mouth lifting in a rare smile. He pulled Felix into a tight embrace, feeling the familiar strength of his friend.

  Felix’s face softened with pride, still fragile in the pale gold of his eyes. “Marigold named her Charmaine,” he said quietly, touching the fresh piercing on his lobe—a white pearl, symbolising a child. “She’s perfect.”

  Grief and joy collided, tearing Nocturne open. For one breath, he could not master it, the memory of his son’s tiny weight surging back, the silence that had followed. His throat burned.

  Turning toward the hidden cabinet beneath his desk, he exhaled through his teeth. This isn’t about your grief, Nox. Push it down. He poured two glasses of rakia.

  “It’s a smuggler tradition,” he said, voice low as he handed one over. "Val's bringing the cigars for later."

  Felix accepted it with a breath. “Before you leave—I want to ask: will you be her godfather?”

  Nocturne blinked. “Me?”

  “I trust you more than anyone,” Felix said firmly. “If anything happens—”

  “Nothing will.”

  Felix chuckled again, softly. “You can’t promise that, Nox.” He turned to him fully. “But you can promise to be there for her.”

  Above: Felix asks Nocturne to be the godfather.

  Felix smiled faintly, continuing, “Then hear this, too. I can’t manage Firestone while you're away. Not now. Not with Marigold, not with the baby. I’ve missed too much already.” He paused. "After...Golgog. My mind, it needs time to—"

  "I'll ask Lye," Nocturne cut in smoothly. "He's a Sunfire, too. Keep the folk here in line." Nocturne paused. "I’ve...always asked too much of you."

  “Never more than I wanted to give." Silence stretched, then Felix studied him closely. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what more to do." Nocturne’s mask slipped. "I want to keep her close—but not smother her. I thought I’d never be this… foolish.”

  “Not foolish,” Felix chuckled softly. “Just hopeless when it comes to women—and money.”

  Nocturne frowned, but Felix pressed on, gentler now. “You can’t win her with logic or control. Show her the side no one else sees. Be her rock—and she’ll make this place a home worth coming back to.”

  Nocturne’s gaze drifted where Felix’s lingered: the cracked walls, the faded tapestries of Edwin’s glories. He swallowed the guilt. It really has degraded since we left. A Duke’s daughter, in these ruins? He took a slow sip of rakia. If she asked, I’d pave the corridors with gold. And maybe—if I had the time—we could make this place hers.

  Felix gave him a sharp nod. “Build the trust naturally. Let her heal and grieve together. You’ll figure the rest out as it comes. I should go, get this meeting started."

  “I'll come in a moment,” Nocturne said, waving his friend away.

  As the door clicked shut behind Felix, Nocturne rubbed a hand over his beard, thoughts still circling. Voices carried in from the corridor—Valentino and Lucian, their tones animated as they argued over the narrative of The Battle of Magnar the Great.

  I met Magnar, long ago. The King of the Giants versus the Ashen Knight. Now that’s a tale worth telling. A small smile tugged at his mouth. I’d like to see Saphira’s reaction—not too scary, save for the part where…

  He cut the thought short and drew himself up. The war would not wait... not for him, not for grief.

  The heavy doors of the war room groaned as he pushed them open. The chamber stretched wide and long, its stone walls hung with faded clan banners, the air thick with cigar smoke. A massive oak table dominated the centre, scarred with years of use, its surface crowded with maps, scrolls, and weighted markers.

  Valentino stood near the head, a stack of reports in hand, polished as though he belonged in a court rather than a crumbling keep. He glanced up. “How did the honey-cakes taste? We should bring back a proper chef from Lux. Teaching Orson to whisk custard was… excruciating. There’s no hope for a cook who thinks a pinch of pepper makes soup ‘too spicy’.”

  From the far wall, Lucian leaned back, arms crossed, teal eyes cool above a faint smirk. “A pastry chef? Val, we barely have furniture.”

  “Speaking of furniture,” Valentino countered smoothly, “you do realise Firestone is a dilapidated piece of shit?”

  Lysander, perched on the edge of the table with a glass of wine, threw his blonde braid back and laughed. “Fye, Val. We all know that.”

  Beside him, Aurelian sprawled in a chair, wide-eyed with laughter, a second cigar already burning between his fingers. His recovering leg—which Golgog had almost severed—rested on a chair with a pillow. Nocturne had noticed it often did after a long day.

  In the corner, August bent over a glass of rakia and a scroll. His quill scratched readily, his expression as closed as ever. Beside him, Felix sat with his usual warmth, talking animatedly about swaddling cloths and baby names, his words tumbling over each other in excitement.

  Nocturne smiled. Nice to have us all in one room.

  "Cigar?" Valentino offered, holding open a small cedar box.

  Nocturne shook his head. "Later."

  "Your loss." Valentino handed Nocturne a pile of documents, catching Nocturne on the shoulder as he did. “Have you thought about letting Saphira help you, Nox?" He said, low into his ear. "She’s your wife… but she’s also the Lady of Firestone, too. This place is as much a reflection on her as it is on you. I think she’d like that…a project to bring to life while you’re gone.”

  Nocturne opened his mouth to argue, but the thought died on his lips. “I’ll tell Quintus. Whatever she needs.”

  “She’s used to comfort—clothes, jewels, maids," August spoke up, mid-way through cutting his cigar. He created a tongue of flame from the end of his finger and toasted the tip of the cigar. "Everything you didn’t grow up with. Everything Firestone doesn’t have. You'd better step up."

  “Start small,” Felix advised, coughing as he inhaled his cigar's smoke by accident. He laughed, “Make it count.”

  “Well,” Nocturne muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I got her a belt knife. She’ll be a real mountain woman. Good steel, too.”

  “I’m sure she’ll swoon over the craftsmanship. Gush at the balance." Valentino took a Lusitierran cigar from the box with a sly smile. "Just remember to dodge when she throws it at your face."

  “I’ll wager she lands it point-first." Rell pitched in, blowing out a mouthful of smoke, "five gold.”

  Nocturne levelled him with a flat look. “Keep your coin. We’ve wasted enough time.” He pressed in, Quintus’ report in hand. “I’ve been given a false account. Crassus’ fingers are all over it. Between this—” he held up the crumpled merchant’s note “—and the incident at Hawthorne’s Rest, we need to be on our guard more than ever. Someone is trying to fracture us."

  “The Mountain folk love you, Nox,” Lysander declared, running his finger over the rim of his wine glass. “You freed us from Vandel. You’ve bled for the clans. They’ll love Saphira too, in time. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Then help me win the people over, Lye."

  Lysander nodded.

  Nocturne’s gaze swept the table, hard and deliberate. “But someone is trying to sow discord among us. So hear me now—” he met each of their eyes in turn “—I trust all of you. With my life. Nothing I hear will shake my faith in your loyalty."

  “Aye, brother. We’d sooner cut off our sword-hands than turn against you,” Felix said.

  A silence followed, broken at last by August’s dry voice. “And we’ll need that trust. If I were to break us, I’d do it from within—turn us against one another. Go after the weak points.”

  “Then we don’t give them cracks to slip through,” Valentino said evenly. “We guard each other—and the ones who matter to us.”

  Nocturne nodded and rolled the map out onto the war table.

  The afternoon slipped by in the familiar rhythm of planning—maps spread, arguments sharpened, compromises struck. As the sun bled low over the mountains, Nocturne closed his ledger with finality.

  “We’re done.”

  Valentino leaned forward. “We haven’t touched Duke Wouter’s reports—”

  “We’ll read them on the road.” Nocturne’s tone brooked no argument. He paused, sensing the moment needed more. “You each know your part, and I trust you to see it through. Val and Luce, you’ve got my back in Lux.” His gaze moved from one knight to the next. “Lysander—keep Firestone steady. Shore up the defences. Felix will help, but...he deserves to savour this moment.”

  Lysander inclined his head, subdued for once.

  “August—keep our enemies out. Hyland, Renatus, their syndicates… they’ll be looking for cracks.”

  At last, his eyes fell on Aurelian. His voice softened, weight pressing every word. “Rell. You have the most important charge. Protect her. With your life.” He paused. “If she’s threatened—show no mercy.”

  The boy only nodded—no quips, no grin, just wide eyes and a vow unspoken.

  “Good,” Nocturne said. He straightened, the room quiet under his command—save for the scurrying of rats in the walls. “Now I’ll spend what time I have left with my wife. Even if Valdislav himself lays siege, I am not to be disturbed.”

  He left them then, thoughts already drifting from war maps and ledgers to her—her laugh, her smile, the light in her eyes when she forgot her grief for a moment. Tonight, he would make it count—he would give her something worth remembering. Not strategy; not orders. Just closeness—her warmth against him, the comfort of her presence, the reminder that he was still hers.