In the Western Empire, the reigning Empress of Zerefia was throwing another fit. Medeya lay sprawled across her bed, demanding to be left alone while her servants waited anxiously outside the door. Ever since Harold scolded her in front of the Four Kingdoms meeting, she had locked herself away, drowning in humiliation and rage.
Rumours drifted through every corridor of the palace like poisonous smoke:
"The Emperor no longer loves her.""She will suffer the same fate as the former Empress, Celistine."
Those whispers clung to Medeya's ears, tormenting her.
"I can't be like this!" Medeya cried, striking her pillow with both hands. She climbed off the bed, snatched another cushion, and beat it furiously against the mattress, each blow fuelled by jealousy and wounded pride.
"I cannot be rejected! I'm far more beautiful than she ever was!" she shouted, her voice cracking into madness. The thought of Celistine filled her with murderous fury. Because of that woman, Harold had dared humiliate her in front of everyone—right in the middle of the Four Kingdoms' meeting.
"Medeya…"A gentle yet cold voice came from behind her.
She froze. That voice—too familiar, too calm. Her face hardened, her eyes turning icy. She refused to look at him.
"What is it, Your Majesty?" she said sharply, her tone clipped and hostile as she remained seated on the edge of the bed.
Harold took a slow breath, stepping closer. "Are you truly still angry with me? It has been three days. You haven't left this room. Is all this because I raised my voice at you?"
He lifted a hand, trying to reach out—trying to turn their quarrel into a proper conversation. But Medeya stood abruptly, her movements sharp and full of offence. She spun to face him, her brows tightly drawn, her lips trembling with restrained fury.
"What do you expect me to do? Forgive you after what you did? When it's clear you want her back—bring her back into the palace and make her your Empress again!" Medeya's voice rose, cracking with jealousy and fear.
Harold's expression tightened. Here they were again, trapped in the same argument, circling the same wound.
"I only did that to lure Celistine—to gain her alliance with the Three Kingdoms," Harold said, lifting his own voice in frustration.
The air between them turned scorching as another argument erupted—loud, heated, and exhausting.
"Why are you so desperate for the North's power? Because of black gems and their wealth?" Medeya snapped, throwing her hand out in desperation. "Harold, you already have the three kingdoms. Even if the North sides with the Blackthreads, you're still the most powerful ruler alive!"
"This is absurd! You don't understand anything!" Harold growled, turning his back on her. He massaged his forehead, drained by her constant tantrums—by her indulgence, her vanity, her refusal to see beyond herself. He took a step toward the door, wanting to walk away from the storm of her emotions.
Medeya's eyes widened. Fear surged through her, cold and sharp.
She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"Please! Don't leave me! Please don't strip me of my title—don't cast me aside as your Empress… Harold, my love," she begged, her voice quivering as she clung to him.
Harold stiffened, startled by the sudden desperation in her grip.
Medeya sank to her knees behind him, her hands clutching at his trousers around his knee, trembling as she sobbed.
"Why? Why choose her over me? Am I not enough for you?" she wept, her voice breaking, her body shaking with each sob.
Harold's heart faltered. A faint ache tugged at him as he watched her crumble. He knelt in front of her, lifting her face gently with both hands. His dark, glittering eyes softened with pity and concern.
"Men are all the same…" Medeya whispered bitterly, tears sliding down her cheeks as Harold cupped her face.
"You will—"
Her words were cut short when Harold suddenly leaned in and kissed her—deep, urgent, and consuming. Medeya froze at first, shocked by the intensity, by the sudden warmth after days of coldness. But as she felt the security she craved, she let her guard slip and returned the kiss, eager, hungry to seize this moment—another chance to reel him back into her grasp with her beauty and cunning.
When he pulled away, Harold gazed at her quietly and murmured, "I'm sorry…"
He gathered her into his arms, holding her with a tenderness he had denied her for days. Medeya wrapped herself around him, returning the embrace with trembling hands.
But behind Harold's back, her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.
She had won again.She had him wrapped exactly where she wanted.
***
As Barron and Rehena made their way along the dusty path leading towards the nearby village—having left their carriage far behind, still fully loaded from the remote place where they had stopped—Rehena couldn't keep herself from glancing shyly at the elderly woman walking beside her. For that woman, The very woman they had rescued turned out to be none other than the former Queen of the Eastern Kingdom, Roselia Hestirea Apondelia herself.
Rehena's steps were small and hesitant, her nerves fluttering every time Roselia spoke. It still felt unbelievable to be walking side-by-side with a former queen.
"We're here at last!" Roselia announced with a bright, cheerful voice that carried across the open fields.
Rehena lifted her gaze and couldn't stop her eyes widening. A charming little village came into view a few miles from the Eastern Empire's border. It was small in population but full of life: farmers tending their fields on either side of the road, merchants calling out from makeshift stalls, and lively children racing about, their laughter bouncing from house to house.
"My lady!"
All the children came rushing forward, practically tackling Roselia with their excited hugs. Roselia laughed warmly, wrapping her arms around them in a motherly embrace. The sight made Rehena's heart soften. This place… it looked peaceful, untouched by chaos. So different from the hungry slums of the Eastern Kingdom.
"Come along, young lady," Roselia said happily, turning to Rehena. "This is our small village, where all my disciples who work with herbs live."
Before Rehena could respond, Roselia gently took her hand and guided her deeper into the village. Barron followed close behind, eyes scanning the streets out of habit.
"This place is called Gaspare Village," Roselia explained. After several more steps, they reached an old marble mansion—not too huge, not too small. There was no grand gate, only climbing vines, leaves, and hanging herbs decorating the entrance. Rehena's eyes sparkled at the sight.
Barron paused at the front door and gave Joshua his command."Find the coachwright in this village. Ask if he can repair our carriage."
Joshua nodded instantly and ran off to fulfil his task.
Inside the mansion, a young maid rushed forward the moment she spotted Roselia.
"Your Grace, the prince was terribly worried. Where have you gone?"
Roselia scratched her head and forced a smile. "Ehehehe… I went out for a little stroll. Needed some fresh air."
Rehena and Barron exchanged a knowing look. They could hear every word.
As they stepped into the cozy entrance hall, a stern figure suddenly appeared in front of them—eyebrows furrowed, cape in hand.
"Mother, where have you been?"
The Second Prince, Max, swept forward and draped his beige cape around his mother's shoulders. He looked every inch a prince: white tunic with gold embroidery, black trousers, polished boots, and jet-black hair falling neatly around his face.
Rehena stiffened. She hadn't expected him—the same prince who had rejected her—to be here in his mother's house.
"Silly boy… I told you, I was just taking a stroll," Roselia said with another forced grin, trying not to spark her son's temper.
"But Mother, your body is weakening," Max insisted. His worried gaze drifted past her—and instantly darkened when he recognized Rehena.
Annoyance flashed through his eyes as he stepped around his mother and marched right up to her.
"And you? What are you doing here? Why are you with my mother?" he demanded, pointing an accusing finger straight at her nose. Rehena froze, unsure whether to blink or breathe.
Barron stepped forward at once, blocking Max's hand like a protective shield.
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but we mean your mother no harm—we simply—"
"What? Trying to convince her again to side with the North?" Max snapped, cutting him off. "Enough of that nonsense, Sir Barron."
Barron's brows tightened, insulted by the accusation. Rehena could only stand silently, caught in the middle of the tension. But Suddenly,
BOOGSH!
"Enough, Max!"
Roselia smacked her son clean on the head.
"M-Mother! What was that for?" Max complained, clutching his poor skull.
Rehena couldn't help it—she let out a tiny, barely-there laugh.Max immediately caught it. His eyes narrowed.Rehena straightened her posture so fast she almost looked like a startled cat.
"Do not be rude to our guests, Max," Roselia warned.
"Guests? Mother, how did they even become guests? They only want to use you agai—"
BOOGSH!
Another blow landed on Max's head.
"Mother!!"
Rehena burst into a soft giggle, and Barron quickly turned away, pretending to admire the ceiling to hide his smile. Max glared at both of them, face red with irritation and embarrassment.
"You're so judgmental, my son," Roselia scolded before turning back to Rehena with a bright smile.
"Come to my study room. Let's talk about what you wish to request from us."
Rehena nodded, still shy but grateful. She glanced at Barron, who gave her a small reassuring nod before following Roselia.
Max trailed behind them like an angry cat, muttering under his breath and rubbing his aching head, yet still refusing to leave his mother's side.
Inside Roselia's study, the negotiation finally began—each of both Rehena and Barron silently praying that the former Queen would agree to the help Rehena so desperately needed.
Two deep-green emerald couches faced one another, elegant yet slightly worn at the edges, and between them sat a small carved table. Rehena and Barron settled on one couch, trying to compose themselves, while opposite them sat Roselia and her son, Max—who still looked thoroughly annoyed, his jaw clenched as if he were holding back another complaint.
A maid glided in and served tea at Roselia's request. Once the cups were placed and the door closed, the room grew still, waiting for the conversation to begin.
Roselia leaned back gracefully, a small amused smile tugging at her lips."So," she began, her tone light but edged with sharpness, "what exactly is your purpose? Why have you come to the Eastern Empire?"
Rehena straightened her posture. Max's expression practically screamed Don't you dare say something foolish. His eyes narrowed at her like a warning dagger—but Rehena refused to flinch. She lifted her chin, ignoring the young prince's glare, and began to speak.
"The North seeks help from your people, Your Grace," she said, her voice firm with determination. "Our armies are strong, yes… but when it comes to herbs and medicine, our knowledge is lacking. We need your guidance—for our people as well."
The playful curve on Roselia's lips slowly disappeared. Her eyes hardened, her voice turned cool and probing.
"And how exactly do you expect us to help you?" she asked, her tone carrying a quiet challenge.
Rehena lifted her hand slightly as she explained. "By supporting our scholars. Teaching us how to craft and cultivate herbs. The North is building new universities, and herbal studies will be one of our main courses."
Roselia raised a brow."Isn't it obvious?" she said with subtle sarcasm, "that once we help you, your so-called universities will only give you an advantage in the coming war?" She sipped her tea elegantly, though her beige eyes never left Rehena—studying every breath, every word.
Rehena opened her mouth to answer, but Barron cut in, voice low and steady."In truth—yes," he said bluntly. "Your knowledge will help us in the war. But we assure you, none of your people will be dragged into it, whether you remain neutral or support only your own kingdom."
Roselia tilted her head slightly.
"Oh?" she murmured. "And have you heard why we ended up here in the first place?" She gently placed her teacup onto the table, the soft clink echoing through the quiet room.
Barron and Rehena exchanged a confused glance."All we heard," Rehena admitted, "is that everyone connected to the former Queen was banned from entering the Eastern Kingdom. But we don't know why."
"Hmph." Max suddenly let out a smirk—sharp, childish, and very telling. Rehena's words clearly amused him. Everyone turned to look at him, even Roselia, whose glare could have set a forest on fire.
"What?" Max asked, lifting both hands dramatically as if he were the picture of innocence. "Why are you all staring at me?" His tone was so exaggeratedly confused that Barron had to clear his throat to hide a snort, and Rehena bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.
Roselia rolled her eyes so firmly it was a miracle they didn't fall out. She returned her attention to Rehena and Barron, who now leaned forward with curiosity and growing tension.
Roselia took a slow breath and finally spoke.
"It's because…" she paused, her voice steady and cold, "we were a threat to them."