Song vibe: Singularity – BTS

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  NOCTURNE

  Castellum Luminaris, Lux

  The oak table gleamed like wet iron under the light of the chandeliers. Candles hissed softly in their holders, a hundred flames burning down in quiet witness.

  Edwin sat at its head, back straight, crown gleaming faintly in the light. Around him, the gathered dukes murmured like distant waves—voices low, civil, dangerous.

  A chair leg scraped faintly against the stone—someone adjusting, or retreating. The sound cut through the murmurs like a blade being drawn.

  Nocturne stood alone.

  Above: Nocturne stands alone.

  He had no papers before him, no allies flanking his chair. Only the memory of Saphira’s letter—her words folded against his chest as a fragile paper armour.

  King Edwin’s voice broke the silence, speaking in King's Common language. “Let the Conclave record that we are convened under the authority of Lux and the Pact of the Nine Dukedoms. The matter before us—the legitimacy of the marriage between Lord Nocturne, Count of Firestone and Lady Saphira.”

  A ripple passed through the room.

  “I speak for the defence,” Edwin continued. “Lord Nocturne’s claim is supported by documentation and witness accounts, including the Lady’s own letter, attesting to her consent.”

  “And the claimant?” Brielle adjusted her glasses, quill poised.

  “I bring the claims before the conclave.” Crassus folded his hands, the crystalith rings gleaming from his fingers. “My Dukes and Duchesses, let me speak only the truth to you.”

  Nocturne’s throat tightened. You wouldn’t recognise the truth if it strangled you.

  Crassus rose slowly, one hand resting on his dragon’s claw cane, the other smoothing the front of his purple coat.

  “For slaying Golgog, Lord Nocturne was promised the hand of the woman he took to his bed. My daughter, Daisy—a celebrated beauty—loved him, foolishly and fiercely, since the moment she first laid eyes on him.” His voice softened. “Daisy begged her half-sister to switch places on the wedding night. Saphira, always gentle, agreed. I was told nothing. But Nocturne knew. The veil came off. He saw that the girl in his bed was not the one he made vows to. And still, he lay with her. Perhaps he thought he could have both daughters.”

  He let the accusation hang.

  Above: Crassus argues his case.

  “Daisy now carries his child, due any day. And yet rather than honour her, he kidnapped my heir, Saphira, declaring her his wife. Claiming that—by some miracle—Saphira also carries his child. My friends, if rank excuses such debauchery, what law protects your daughters?”

  Diego flinched.

  Crassus turned slightly, as if sharing a quiet confidence with the table.

  “There are whispers, I know. That I harmed Saphira. That I pushed her from a wall. Lies. The truth?" Crassus gestured at Nocturne. "His mage pulled her off the wall.” Then, with perfect control, he straightened. “Then, Lord Nocturne kidnapped her. Violated her.”

  Nocturne bit back his growl.

  Crassus’ eyebrows knit together in concern. “This is not just a family matter. It is a matter of order. Lord Nocturne’s actions threaten the very fabric of our noble houses. He’s made a mockery of every oath that binds this realm. I ask only for what is just: return my daughter, and restore to Daisy the dignity he’s taken.”

  Nocturne smothered the sneer on his lips.

  Wax bled down the tall candles, pooling into small golden lakes. Brielle dipped her quill again, ink trembling at its tip, her eyes never leaving the men.

  Crassus’s gaze slid to him, pale and cutting. “The goal is clear: to rule Renatus in her name."

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  He glanced toward Nocturne, then away, as if he were too disappointed to sustain the look.

  “I've no interest in power—and she's forsaken Renatus,” Nocturne cut in evenly. “She chose me willingly.”

  A murmur rippled through the chamber.

  Vladislav’s voice broke the silence. “Show us proof—if there is any.” His thick Hyland accent, harsh and unfamiliar with the foreign language, turned the words to steel. “Why is she not here?”

  Nocturne’s jaw locked.

  “The Lady is presently under protection.” Wouter shifted in his seat, quill tapping softly. “Her condition makes travel unwise.”

  Crassus’s brow lifted. “Condition? Yes, I've heard the rumours. Even if it's true, pregnancy does not prevent travel. Or do you wish to stop her from speaking the truth?”

  “You’ve made your claim, Crassus,” Edwin interjected smoothly, glancing at Nocturne. “Now speak in defence.”

  Heat rose in Nocturne’s chest—he pushed it back down. He forced his voice to sound calm, clipped, and unornamented. “I killed Golgog. Crassus promised me his eldest daughter and gold. I received neither in full—our lawful contract violated.”

  Aaliyah shifted in her seat—a contract more sacred than religion in Arteaga.

  “On my wedding night, Crassus arranged for a veiled stranger to wait in the consummation chamber. I expected this level of deceit from him. I countered: Sir Valentino took my place so I could be blameless.” His words hung in the air, simple and damning. “It is impossible for the child Daisy carries to be mine or Valentino’s—we didn’t touch her. I have no theory to offer you as to who the father is. That is Crassus’ house to clean.”

  He looked at Crassus—just once, like a soldier identifying a target. “Later, I found Saphira locked away in the upper tower. She came to me willingly. We conceived that night. She was to be a mother.” A pause. The next words were harder to contain, coming sharper, faster. “Crassus found out. He threw her from the castle wall—my mage saved her.”

  “Was?” Luther asked, ever-perceptive. “What happened to the child?”

  Nocturne took a moment to swallow the lump in his throat. He finished quietly, “He did not survive.”

  “Convenient,” Crassus said.

  You lying pit viper. One day, you’ll choke on your own tongue.

  Nocturne hissed, “I could’ve paraded her here, bleeding and broken, to prove myself. She did not wish it. I did not.”

  Diego nodded quietly; Aaliyah shrugged sceptically at Lorenzo.

  After a pause, Vladislav spoke, his voice like velvet over broken glass. “How clever. You’ve tucked your bride out of sight—beyond questions, beyond doubt.”

  “Valdislav,” Edwin warned. “If you have a question, ask.”

  Lorenzo was the first to break the lingering silence, reclining slightly in his chair as if the weight of the chamber amused him more than burdened him. “My friends,” he said, his voice like well-aged wine. “Truth is overvalued—stability is priceless. The outcome that keeps borders calm and trade steady is the one that matters. Don't you agree?”

  “No, Lorenzo.” Brielle looked over her half-moon glasses with quiet severity. “Truth is the matter—and I see that Crassus lost control over his daughters."

  "Such are girls..." Lorenzo chuckled. “Under those Renatii veils, who can tell? And Valentino was my ward—his resemblance to Nocturne is no trick.” He gave a light shrug, half amused. “In a dim room, anyone might be anyone—so let's not question their honour."

  Nocturne exhaled quietly. A flicker of relief passed through him. But his eyes found Vladislav, still as stone, his fingers steepled, watching the room like a puppeteer considering which strings to pull.

  “Such a strange word,” Valdislav murmured, almost amused. "Look at the Count as he wilts away from the word 'honour'. He stole my archmage's heir. There is little honour—"

  "Silence," Edwin commanded with quiet authority. "Keep to the matter at hand."

  Valdislav leaned back in his chair a cold smile on his lips.

  Above: Duke Vladislav speaks.

  Aaliyah leaned forward, fingers draped languidly over the armrest, and the other fiddled with the emeralds gleaming at her neck. Her voice was honey, edged with steel. “Tell me, Count—what drives a man to climb a tower for a woman not yet his own?”

  Nocturne met her gaze. Aaliyah can smell a lie; I can’t deceive her.

  "She was my bride," Nocturne said, watching as his answer did nothing to soften the hardness in Aaliyah's expression.

  I'm going to lose her. She knows I'd never get sentimental about a bride—that I'd have a reason for being in that tower.

  “I visited her in that tower... to remind Duke Crassus that I don’t answer to him,” he confessed. "Everything else that happened was... unplanned."

  From the corner of his eye, Nocturne saw Edwin flinch.

  “So..." Luther’s forehead furrowed. "You saw the girl and decided not to hurt her, but to take her flower, out of what—revenge?”

  The air thickened.

  Are you on our side, Luther? Nocturne felt the weight of every eye, every presumption. Fye, I gotta give an answer that won't distance you.

  “No, I wasn’t there to hurt her,” he defended, jaw tight. “She—”

  “Did you think about it from her perspective?" Aaliyah’s voice came low and lethal. "A man—a stranger—appearing in her bedchamber. That duty had already been passed on to her half-sister. Was she willing, or did you force her?”

  Brielle’s voice struck cold through the heat. “Lady Saphira made a vow before the Almighty. A husband’s conjugal right is protected. Willing or not is irrelevant.”

  “It matters to me,” Aaliyah snapped back, fingers brushing the place on her belt where her dagger should have been. “Answer me plainly, Count—did she choose you willingly?”

  The details of our night…it’s just for us. Nocturne’s voice dropped to a reverent hush. But Aaliyah’s support is what could swing the vote in our favour.

  “Yes,” he said simply, though the confession was forced from his lips out of necessity. “And I’d want nothing less than willing.”

  “Willing?” Crassus gave a sharp, contemptuous snort. “As if she even knew what that meant.”

  Aaliyah reclined slowly in her chair, folding her arms. “And does she stay with you by choice?”

  “She does.”

  Crassus’s lip curled. “Because you’ve left her no other choice.”

  The chamber fell still. No one else dared to speak.

  Something in Nocturne cracked—not visibly, but deep. He dares imply it—she fears me. He gritted his teeth together. If only I could defend myself with the sword, not words.

  “Enough." Edwin’s voice struck like a hammer. "Stick to what you both can prove, not accusations."

  “If I may.” Luther leaned forward, stroking his beard. “Perhaps we should read Lady Saphira’s letter—hear it in her own words.”

  All eyes turned to Edwin. He hesitated, then drew the folded parchment from his sleeve—the seal unbroken, wax glinting in the light.