Song vibe: We Are Bulletproof: The Eternal – BTS

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  NOCTURNE

  Council Chamber, Castellum Luminaris

  The council chamber off the king’s solar was small, built for war councils rather than ceremony. A map of the continent stretched across the table, with coloured gems marking armies. The scent of parchment, steel, and old candle smoke hung in the air.

  Nocturne stood to the side of the room, watching those who held his fate—and the fate of Saphira—in their hands.

  King Edwin stood at the head, posture precise, one gloved hand resting on the edge of the table. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shifting between Nocturne, Duchess Brielle and Duke Wouter.

  “Luther will remain neutral,” Edwin said. “He always does—but he favours us. The Western Trade League…” he shook his head. “Crassus and Vladislav have made big promises to them—”

  “And Lorenzo’s been bought—the marriage alliance between Lady Celestine and Lord Rafael.” Duchess Brielle adjusted her spectacles, the movement sharp as her tone. “We enter the conclave from a losing position. This is not what we planned, Your Majesty."

  Above: Duchess Brielle takes note.

  “It comes down to winning the votes of Aaliyah and Diego.” Edwin looked steadily at Nocturne. “Diego is inexperienced; he’ll vote with his allies. So, we focus on Aaliyah. Use everything you have.”

  "She likes my ships well enough." Wouter leaned over his diagram, scribing a small note in the margin.

  Everyone knows your wife runs the dukedom; Duchess Fenna should be here, Nocturne thought, assessing Wouter. Keep your wits about you or stay silent.

  Wouter spoke again without looking up, his voice detached. “And if our friendship is not enough?”

  Nocturne’s hand twitched instinctively toward Shadowrend’s hilt—then remembered the royal guard had already taken every weapon away—every hidden blade and knife.

  “If we lose the vote, then Lady Saphira will be given to Vladislav—"

  "I won't hand her over."

  Edwin's gaze snapped at Nocturne—a warning. He continued, "Their alliance will be sealed. Next spring, they’ll be marching on Lux,” Edwin declared. “War, far earlier than I expected. But our armies are prepared. We'll have the numbers if Luther throws his lot in with us."

  Nocturne exhaled slowly; the tension in his shoulders tightened.

  “This is from my wife,” Nocturne said, pulling out her sealed letter. “She wrote it for you, Edwin. For the conclave. As proof that she is mine—willingly. Use it how you wish.”

  Edwin took the letter with a gracious nod and tucked it into his sleeve.

  Above: Nocturne gives Edwin the letter from Saphira.

  Nocturne touched the remaining letter, still hidden in his breast pocket. A piece of her that he carried with him. Her words—tender, unguarded—for his eyes only. Let that carry me through this pit-cursed conclave.

  Edwin looked around the room, a finality in his voice. “They’ll attack the validity of Nocturne’s marriage. They’ll dissect every word, every action. But remember—it’s not about the truth of what happened—”

  Brielle flinched, touching the three-circled symbol of the Almighty hanging from her neck.

  “—It’s about giving the dukes a good story, one that will allow them to save face when they vote for us. The key to winning is this: convince them that we’re the best option: trustworthy, powerful, rational.” Edwin’s gaze flicked to Nocturne. “You will hold your temper in that chamber. No matter what Crassus says.”

  Nocturne met his king’s eyes. “Aye.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Wouter murmured, drying the excess ink off his quill.

  “They’ll see the total unity of this room—nothing less.” Edwin straightened, voice calm but firm. For a moment, silence. The weight of the decision pressed between them. Edwin glanced once more at his count. “Then let’s begin.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Nocturne strode down the hall, a step behind Wouter and Brielle.

  As they walked, Brielle said, “I haven’t forgotten that you falsified travelling documents at my border, Count. Lies leave stains the Almighty can still see.”

  “Forgotten, not falsified,” Nocturne shot back. “Though I haven’t forgotten saving Aurindale from Amon.”

  “Then hear me—” Brielle’s expression hardened, the lines about her mouth deepening. “—I support His Grace, not you, Lord Nocturne. Even if my vote favours you, know this—the Almighty knows the truth of what you did to that poor girl.”

  “Good. Because the Almighty is the only one fit to judge me.”

  They were the first to enter. The room, adorned with tapestries of Edwin’s victories and exploits, felt far too serene for the storm brewing inside him. Nocturne took place by the window, his broad frame looming in the quiet space. My weapons are steel and magic, he thought, not lies and political games.

  His gloved hands gripped the cold wooden sill, anxiety tightening in his chest. The city sprawled below, rooftops glinting in the late morning sun, streets alive with chatter—unaware that the trajectory of the continent would soon be decided on a simple, round oak table.

  Fye, I’m sick of these battles. Give me a spawnlord to kill instead.

  A soft creak from the great hall doors drew his attention.

  Duke Luther of Himmelburg entered, moving with quiet authority. In his mid-fifties, he wore plain dark damask and furs, with only a trace of Himmelburg yellow. His heavy steps were measured, deliberate.

  A man who wields a sword and knows its cost. Nocturne greeted him with a respectful nod, returned in kind.

  Passionate chatter sounded down the hallways—a laugh, as musical and light as the seas themselves.

  In walked the Western Trade League—Lorenzo, Aaliyah, and Diego.

  Lorenzo, draped in Fiorenza’s deep-sea blue, swept in first, all charm and ease. Aaliyah followed, silver silk fluttering as she moved, the emeralds at her throat scattering the morning sunlight.

  “They say ‘Ladies first’ in Lux,” Aaliyah said, voice lilting as she waited for Lorenzo to pull her chair, “but in Arteaga, we say ‘age first.’”

  “In Fiorenza, we say ‘beauty first,’” Lorenzo replied, pulling out his companion's chair with a flourish. “But I promised my advisors I’d behave.” He dropped into the chair with effortless grace. “Good to see you again, Luther, Wouter. And I’m charmed, as always, Brielle.”

  Brielle’s lips pressed tighter.

  Aaliyah’s laugh chimed like music as she took her seat. Nocturne shifted into a soldier’s stance, feeling out of place. He made eye contact with Aaliyah. Her expression hardened as she nodded her head at him, now every bit the Duchess, ruler of the Sapphire Sea.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Diego sat beside Aaliyah. Clad entirely in black, he spared not a glance at his companions. The quiet weight of grief settled on his features; the light in his eyes dimmed. On his finger, he still wore his wedding ring.

  Nocturne bowed his head slightly in respect to the young Duke. To love so deeply you die when she does? That’s not devotion. That’s a tactical flaw.

  The scent of foreign spices lingered after them, mingling with the scent of ambition. The sound of boots hitting the marble echoed through the walls.

  The chamber had barely stilled when the doors groaned again.

  Vladislav of Hyland entered, and the very light in the hall seemed to drain. His crimson cloak, marked by the blackened hand of Hyland, billowed behind him. His gaze found Nocturne’s instantly: cold, assessing.

  Above: Duke Vladislav of Hyland enters the conclave.

  Of all the men here, he’s the one I couldn’t kill fast enough. Nocturne stared back, unflinching, though something in him braced. He’s not allowed near Saphira. I don’t even want her name on his lips.

  Not taking his eyes off Nocturne, Vladislav seated himself oposite. His hair, black as pitch, was drawn back into a single braid bound with iron thread; even his stillness felt like a threat coiled in crimson and black.

  Then, Crassus crossed the threshold at a measured pace; the dragon’s claw cane clicked on the stone with slow, deliberate rhythm. His smile was smooth, practised—meant to disarm—but Nocturne was not fooled.

  The man who had turned his own blood into collateral stood before him. His eyes were always sharp—blue and pitiless as ice on steel. Nocturne’s jaw tightened.

  Crassus paused halfway to the table—shadow cutting one side of his ageless face, sunlight gilding the other. He met Nocturne’s eyes with an unnerving calm.

  For a heartbeat, a new sensation rose in Nocturne—murderous in its intent, hot and sharp, blooming like poison under his skin. It surprised him; a beast in its purity and focus. His fingers inched toward Shadowrend, though the weapon was not at his side. Heat climbed behind his ribs, tight and dizzying.

  Above: Duke Crassus of Renatus carries his dragon's claw cane.

  Crassus. You’ll never see her again. He swallowed the contempt down hard. Control. Breathe slowly. Count back from ten. I’ll not be like Crassus—not here, not ever. They want a measured face, not a monster.

  Crassus inclined his head in a curt, measured nod—neither civility or contempt. Nocturne answered with a bow so slight it could be missed entirely.

  Nocturne forced his pulse to steady, forcing the murderous heat to ebb into a cold, hard focus.

  If he so much as breathes wrong, I’ll snap that cane—and his neck with it.

  Then the doors opened one final time.

  King Edwin strode in with the force of a man born to command. Brielle rose first, then Luther. Crassus and Vladislav stood as well—out of courtesy more than loyalty. Wouter scrambled up last, muttering as he capped his ink and set his quill aside.

  Nocturne bowed low. Edwin—the only one here who could outmanoeuvre them all. And yet, for all his wisdom, he is still fallible. He exhaled. Edwin was right. If I had followed orders—not gone to Saphira’s tower on our wedding night—then we wouldn’t be in this mess. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. Now to win this battle. For her sake.

  I've faced worse odds.

  When the king sat, the rest followed. Silver threaded the dark of his hair, but the lines at his eyes came from calculation, not age.

  Edwin’s voice cut clean through the hush. “Welcome, Your Graces. Let us begin. We are convened to hear the dispute between Lord Nocturne, Count of Firestone, and His Grace, Duke Crassus of Renatus.”

  Nocturne’s pulse thrummed beneath his gloves. And so, it begins—the fate of a kingdom, the weight of a marriage, decided by those who have never held a blade.

  Part 1 of 4, buckle up, folks!

  How do you think this will go for Nox?

  Lux. Duke Vladislav of Hyland, Duke Crassus of Renatus, Duke Lorenzo of Fiorenza, Duchess Brielle of Aurindale, Duchess Aaliyah of Arteaga, Duke Diego of Lusitierra, Duke Luther of Himmelburg, Duke Wouter of Zilverhaven