Naomi sat at the end of a long mahogany table in Calypsa's grand library. Maps, trade agreements and treaties were strewn across the surface, her hand cramping at the endless stretch of work before her. Only the scratch of her quickened quill disturbed the late silence, the rest of the dignitaries having left hours before. Her fingers fiddled with the delicate pearl token that Cassien had fashioned for her, smiling tiredly at the thought of him. 'Songbird' and 'brute' had become somewhat of an ironic nickname between them.

So cute, She thought, recalling at the shyness that he had tried to hide when he gifted it to her.

A soft groan echoed as the heavy oaken door swung open before her, her eyes peering up from her work to see Alistair's tall silhouette slipping in. He wore a deep red doublet with high bronzed collars rather than his original leathered-steel wraps - Seraphine had insisted there was no need to have "fleshy displays of the male chest" at court in a rather annoyed tone - his dirty brown-blonde hair swept back in a loose wave. Alistair closed the door behind him with a wide smile, prominent canines on display.

"Duchess Rosenthorn," he said, voice low and smooth as velvet. "I'm glad to find you here."

Naomi set her quill aside, the top of her hand covering the charm. "Your Highness," she greeted, masking surprise with polite calm. "I didn't expect anyone to come at this hour."

Alistair moved toward her table. "Forgive me for intruding on your work," he said, voice rich with concern. "But out of respect, I felt it was right to come to you directly."

She looked at him questioningly. "What is it?"

He folded his arms. "I cannot say how certain I am," he began, "but I was leaving the northern wings when I overheard Duke Rivain negotiating with Monroe merchants behind your back. They were discussing timber routes that could be run through the mountain path to avoid the main road levies."

Naomi's brows furrowed. "That… can't be true. That agreement is something he and I have already drafted."

"Doubt is wise," Alistair said, stepping closer. "Perhaps I am mistaken. But you know how rumors flourish in these halls."

"And do you have anything else to back your claims?"

Alistair's dark green eyes narrowed. "Well.. it would explain why my advisor spotted the new Marquis - Hendric, was it? - in a private room with Rivain." He paused, letting the implication hang between them. "The same day, one of the Marquis's couriers departed for Monroe with an emergent missive."

Naomi pressed her lips together, mind racing as the pieces of Alistair's words formed into a half-finished puzzle. The thought that Cassien might be playing both sides felt like ice against her heart. It was true that Cassien had mentioned Henric Seldaryn by name a few times, but it was always as a passing name and Naomi never thought to pry further.

He held up his palms in surrender. "But, of course, I came to you under goodwill. After all, this involves your duchy's future. A man of his caliber is but an inkling of your grace."

Naomi's chest tightened as Alistair's words settled in the stillness. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the table, voice low as she stood. "Please do not discredit the Duke's honor without complete certainty, Your Highness. I have never known him to act in bad faith."

Alistair's eyes flickered down her body, offering a sympathetic smile as he leaned forward on the table, the wood groaning under their combined weight. "I apologize if it offends you. But you and I both know how easily corruption becomes entangled with ambition. I simply don't wish to see you being taken advantage of."

"You won't. Thank you for taking the time to warn me," Naomi said, her cold tone silently dismissing him. But behind her fierce defense, a small, familiar pang of uncertainty stirred - her mother's warnings echoing like a hiss in her mind.

"Of course." He pulled back, bowing deeply before stopping at the door. "Remember, Your Grace: protecting both your heart and your realm is a delicate balance. Good night."

Alone again, Naomi pressed trembling fingers to her lips. The chamber felt suddenly colder, and the seed of doubt that had been rooted deeply within her, her entire life, began to sprout.

Neither the Seravethian King nor Cassien had done anything yet to warrant her suspicions, and it was obvious she'd be more inclined to be on Cassien's side. But what exactly did Alistair gain from lying at this point? Since his arrival, he had followed all of Tudor's rules to a tee, and even some of the other aristocrats were becoming more open to Seraveth attending future Accords.

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If Alistair had any personal motives, why would he give up the most powerful item in existence to Calypsa? Her mind was blank - either because she knew too little of the shard's mysterious properties, or simply because there was no explanation that could make sense.

She wanted to believe that Cassien would do right by her, but her mother's hollow words seeped into her mind. He was a Northerner. She was a silly, naive, gullible little southern woman that didn't understand the intricacies of their family's rivalry with Rivain. Of course she'd go for the guy who paid her any attention at all, even if he was supposed to be the last one she should've ever gone for.

The rosy glass of their all too new, maybe even all too rushed infatuation cracked.

**

Cassien was alone in the castle's indoor training hall, sweat beading at his temples as he practiced a relentless flurry of thrusts and slashes against a wooden training dummy. Each strike was precise, frost magic flickering along the blade's edge with every clean cut. At the final strike, the wood burst straight down the middle, dropping to the ground with a thud. He let out a deep exhale as he grabbed wooden pieces, tossing it into an ever growing pile of fractured dolls, crystalized with frost. He made a mental note to have replacements purchased for the Imperial army.

The echo of approaching footsteps drew his attention, head whipping behind him as his sword scraped against the ground. King Alistair emerged from the shadows, his posture casual, green eyes glinting with interest. The duke bowed his head once in greeting.

"Your Highness," Cassien acknowledged warily. "I wasn't expecting an audience."

"Please continue," Alistair said, stepping into the light. "I didn't mean to interrupt your session. In the short time I've been here, I've heard much of the renowned talent of Duke Rivain and his ice magic. I wanted to see it for myself, and I must say: I'm impressed."

"Skill-" Cassien corrected as he gripped the blade of his sword with a gloved hand, scraping off frosty residue in a single motion. "-not talent. Don't dismiss a lifetime of dedication simply as innate luck. It's insulting."

The king walked towards a rack of weapons, sliding a finger against the handle of a battleaxe much like his own. "...Of course. But if you ask a dying warrior whether he was bested by mastery or natural gift - do you really think it matters?"

Cassien's hand tightened on his sword's hilt. "Is that a challenge?"

"It's whatever you'd like to call it," Alistair said, his expression twisting as he pulled the heavy axe from its stand. "May I test my own skill against yours?"

Cassien's eyes darkened. "With pleasure, Your Highness."

In a blur, the Seravethian king lunged forward with alarming speed, swinging first with the force of a battering ram. Cassien's body reacted instinctively, twisting to the side as he intercepted the axe with the flat of his blade, countering the savagery strike with a measured block. Despite his stature, the king was much faster than expected. Steel rang through the training hall in a clash of powerful thrusts against controlled parries; brute force against calculated strength. Alistair's heavy cleave found the air more often than the blade, while Cassien's counterattacks pushed him back deeper with less effort. Despite the onslaught, Alistair evaded any real strikes against his flesh with unexpected dexterity.

No use fighting this with strength, Cassien thought. Use a brute's own power against him.

He knew what to do. With a single fluid motion, he caught the underside where the axe blade met the handle with the base of his sword, gripping the end of his blade with a gloved hand. He twisted his body, leveraging Alistair's own momentum to force him off balance, the hulking king clamoring to the floor as the axe fell from his hands. With a thud, his back slammed against the stone walls. The tip of Cassien's blade was pointed downward at Alistair's throat, not a single crystal of frost found on the gleaming metal; an masterful example of swordsmanship skill.

Alistair froze, chest heaving, green eyes wide but not pleading. At Cassien's steady gaze, the king bowed his head in tacit defeat. Cassien eased his blade back, allowing Alistair to stand, rubbing his throat at the non-existent injury. The bronzed man gave him a grudging nod of respect and a wry half-smile.

"I yield," he said. "You've made your point, Duke. For your victory… a token of my respect."

Wiping sweat from his brow, he reached into his pocket and flicked from his hand a small white charm, its surface catching the light. Cassien caught it, eyes seeing red as his jaw clenched at the recognition of a delicate bird's carving. His golden eyes flared as he burst forward in a stream of cold, forearm slamming the king against the wall once more in a thud, pinning his throat. Despite being a hand shorter than the towering monarch, his strength easily rivaled Alistair's when he wanted it to.

"How did you get this?" Cassien's voice was guttural, fury palpable.

"I would think you know," he answered with a blood chilling calm, unbothered by his violent contact. "Though perhaps not… nothing more than a token of a certain Duchess's… affection."

A thousand thoughts raced through Cassien's mind as the king's eyes gleamed with implication. "A bird's song can lull even the most vigilant hunter into a trap. You saw how I fell for it too at the docks, at the first sight of her. Like a moonlit land nymph."

Cassien's arm pushed further down on his throat. "She's nothing like that."

"How well do you know her?"

"Sure as hell more than you."

Alistair smiled mockingly. "Believe what you will, Duke. And if you think this token was simply misplaced - if she's as innocent as you declare, see if she comes to you first. Consider this as friendly advice, man to man."

With a final heave, he pushed himself free of Cassien's grasp, leaving the duke alone in the chilling silence.

His chest heaved with heartbreak and rage as he clutched the token in his hand - and a single, poisonous doubt pulsing where the pearl bird had once rested. Thom's warning wrapped around him like iron chains.

Southerner. Songbird.

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