Song vibe: Singularity – BTS

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  NOCTURNE

  Castellum Luminaris, Lux

  King Edwin broke the wax seal over Saphira's letter with care; a faint crack echoed through the chamber. The six dukes and two duchesses leaned forward in their seats.

  Nocturne held his breath—not out of fear but reverence. A small piece of her... now being exposed before these vultures. I wish I could shield her from this public degradation—shield her from everything.

  The silence was absolute as he read.

  “To His Majesty, King Edwin of Lux —

  I write not as a daughter nor a wife, but as a woman of my own will. I married Lord Nocturne freely, and I would do so again, even knowing the cost. What the Almighty has blessed, let no man tear apart—I have chosen my husband, and he treats me with the greatest care and honour.

  — Lady Saphira, Countess of Firestone.”

  When Edwin finished, the hall stayed quiet.

  “Strong words,” Luther murmured. “If true, they speak of devotion.”

  “And if false,” Vladislav replied softly, taking a moment to find the right word in the language, “It would not be the first time a woman was forced to write what she was told.”

  Nocturne’s pulse hammered once, twice.

  “Careful,” he warned. “I’ve been patient enough.”

  “Or what, my lord?” Crassus tilted his head. “You’ll spill blood in the king’s chamber?”

  Don't tempt me, Nocturne thought, biting back the words.

  “Duke Diego—” Edwin’s voice softened, “—you have yet to speak. Do you have any questions for either man?”

  All eyes turned.

  Nocturne watched Diego in silence, his heart pounding against his ribs.

  The young duke sat motionless, his hands folded on the table. Sunlight traced over the new lines on his youthful face, drawing shadows under his hollow eyes. Diego murmured, “I heard rumours that Lady Saphira was to marry Duke Vladislav. Is this true?”

  There was no challenge in Diego’s tone—no cunning court manoeuvring—just the heavy weight of a man burdened by loss. On his hand, a ducal ring gleamed beside another—once a wedding ring, now a widow’s band.

  Nocturne’s eyes locked on him, unmoving and sharp.

  “Well, who will answer my question?” Diego asked.

  The chamber remained utterly silent.

  “It’s true,” Nocturne said, calm but hard as steel. “She was promised to Vladislav while I fought in Golgog’s spawnpit.”

  “You speak as if I committed a great sin,” Crassus interjected smoothly. “I believed Nocturne dead and—”

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  “Thank you.” Diego’s gaze drifted out the window as he turned his wedding ring around his finger.

  “Crassus," Luther said, “Do you intend to honour your agreement with Duke Vladislav?”

  The question hung heavy in the air—the heart of the dispute. Nocturne held his breath. Will the conclave support a powerful union between Hyland and Renatus, or remain loyal to Edwin?

  Crassus glanced at Vladislav, then nodded. “I gave my word.”

  “Spawnlords multiply like flies. The shadowlands claim more land every day.” Vladislav"s gaze never left Edwin. “The match with Crassus’ daughter was to anchor Hyland’s commitment to Renatus. The girl would be kept safe in my care.”

  Nocturne cut in, “She has a protector. She doesn’t need a captor.”

  “Some protector you are,” Valdislav murmured, voice soft as smoke. “Tell me, Count—how did you protect your own child?”

  Nocturne’s hand slammed into the table, hard enough to rattle it. The echo of the blow travelled through the table’s wooden frame.

  “Say it again,” he growled. “I dare you.”

  A gasp went through the room—soft, collective, scandalised.

  “Enough,” Edwin commanded, slicing through the noise. “Gentlemen, control yourselves.”

  Tsek. Stepping back, Nocturne’s shoulders stiffened. He turned his gaze back to the king, jaw set, control iron-bound once more. I just gave them what they wanted. A monster, not a man.

  “I’m tired of this.” Wouter spat out with blunt frustration. "Nocturne is a hero. Eight spawnlords. Give him the girl he wants, and let’s get on with our business.”

  “And what of Lady Saphira’s best interests?” Diego turned to Nocturne, his gaze clear and unwavering. “A father’s love is beyond question; I would never harm my daughter. So tell me, Count—do you love her, or only claim her?”

  The room stirred with scoffs and muttered disbelief.

  Powerful men don’t speak of love—an indulgence, a fantasy for girls and poets. Nocturne saw how Diego’s gaze flicked between him and Valdislav, weighing both men up.

  Yet, the question felt like a slap. Love—I haven’t spoken that word since Angelica. Too soft, too human for a man like me. And yet Saphira—her steadiness, her stubborn faith—now the axis on which my restraint turns.

  “Men like me aren’t built for love." He swallowed, forcing the truth out through the crack in his composure. "But after all she’s endured… if love’s what she wants, it's already hers.”

  "Love?" Diego’s gaze did not waver. “Show us proof of what you claim."

  Crassus laughed, incredulous.

  How do you prove love? Nocturne frowned. What in the pits is he on about…?

  Diego leaned forward. “If your story is true—if it’s love—then she would have sent something. A lady's token. Something you’d never part with.” He hesitated. “A portrait. A handkerchief.” His eyes softened. “A letter.”

  There was a soft chuckle around the room, a scoff at the young duke.

  Yet, Nocturne felt the faint crinkle against his chest—the one thing he had kept close through every mile, every battle, every night he thought he might never see her again. He touched the hidden pocket.

  Across the table, Crassus smiled. The smile of a man certain of victory.

  Nocturne drew the letter out slowly. His fingers trembled once—barely. “Diego. For your eyes only. You’ll read it once. Never speak of it again. That’s all.”

  He crossed the floor and placed it into Diego’s hands. The parchment looked fragile against the younger man’s calloused fingers.

  Above: Nocturne gives Duke Diego Saphira's love letter.

  Diego read in silence, his eyes scanning line by line. Nocturne stood motionless, the sound of his own heartbeat filling the hall. Nocturne knew every word by memory. She yearns for me. The feel of my arms. The bed we shared. Fye…

  When Diego refolded the letter, his expression had not changed. He handed it back with care.

  “Well?” Lorenzo asked, leaning forward.

  True to his word, Diego said nothing; he leaned back into his chair.

  A wrinkle formed in Crassus’s brow—a hairline crack in his poise.

  Edwin rose to his feet. “We will decide now—before we spiral out of control.”

  Vladislav reclined, unbothered by the king’s rising fury. A faint shadow lingered beneath his eyes, not exhaustion but hunger held in check. A look passed between him and Crassus—almost a smile.

  Nocturne remained still, the letter’s warmth pressed against his heart. For the first time that day, fear stirred—not of losing his reputation, but of losing her.