Anton cleared his throat softly, a rare flicker of hesitation crossing his usually resolute face. "Your Highness…" he began, his voice careful, knowing full well the storm he might summon. "I believe Lady Marlene would be the most suitable candidate for this investigation."
The words dropped into the room like a stone into still water. Silence followed, heavy and oppressive. Anton, Elzar, and even Jeremy exchanged wary glances, each well aware of how Flavian regarded Leesa and what her absence from his side would mean. Sending her away, especially so soon after her recovery, was bound to court disaster.
Flavian's gaze turned slowly to Anton's, his expression one of incredulous outrage, as though the very suggestion bordered on treason. His eyes alone seemed to say, Are you entirely out of your mind?
It was no secret to those close to him that Flavian cherished Leesa dearly. Now that fate had granted him a chance with her, she had instead buried herself in training, giving him no room to advance his unspoken feelings. And just when he thought he might steal a quiet moment, perhaps take her somewhere pleasant and confess… this. He said nothing, yet the weight of his displeasure filled the room.
Leesa, meanwhile, sat in thoughtful silence, her mind rifling through pages of memory histories, maps, and obscure records searching for any mention of settlements within the forest bordering the Empire. Across from her, Greig fidgeted uncomfortably, utterly oblivious to the unspoken tensions, his eyes darting from face to face as though hoping for context.
It was Leesa who finally broke the stillness. "I think," she said, her tone measured, "I should visit the library first, to refresh my knowledge. After that, I will accept Sir Anton's proposal."
Anton exhaled in quiet relief. If Leesa herself had agreed, not even Flavian could countermand her without cause.
"You will go?" Flavian asked, the words slipping out in surprise.
"Yes. Is there a problem, Sire?" she replied, her tone politely innocent.
"A problem? No… only your health," he said, his voice tightening. "You have only just recovered."
"That is no cause for worry," she countered lightly. "Commander Elzar can attest to that."
Elzar inclined his head. "She is as fit as a fiddle, Your Highness," he affirmed. Though the moment the words left him, he caught the sharp look Flavian sent his way and lowered his gaze, regretting the unnecessary confirmation.
"I see…" Flavian murmured. The resignation in his tone barely masks his displeasure. "Then you should go."
And so it was settled. Greig would remain and join Leesa in a few days, while Jeremy would return to his duties at the tower without delay.
The following morning, found Leesa ensconced in the grand library of Berly Palace, her slender fingers turning pages with swift precision as she sifted through a veritable fortress of books. Stacks of leather-bound histories and ancient chronicles surrounded her, their gilded titles catching the morning light streaming through the tall mullioned windows.
Beside her, entirely too comfortable for someone who had no intention of assisting, sat Flavian, his gaze fixed not upon the words of any book, but upon her.
"Sire," Leesa said sharply, snapping one volume shut with such force that it landed upon the table with a resounding thud. "If you have no intention of aiding my search, then pray return to your office and attend to your work."
"But you are going away," Flavian replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his voice low and playful, "and Heaven only knows when you will return. Permit me, at least, to look upon you until I have my fill for the month."
Her brows furrowed. "Leo, you..."
"Yes, my El-e-boone," he interrupted, drawing out the syllables with theatrical pride.
The accursed pet name sent an involuntary shiver racing down her spine. Mortifying as it was to hear such a saccharine endearment, it was made worse by the fact that Flavian uttered it as though it were some badge of honour.
"Argh! Speak that name again and I swear I shall be the death of you," she warned, though her tone lacked the true edge of malice.
"You are already the death of me," he murmured, his voice losing its jest. "Leaving me alone." He rose slowly from his chair, closing the distance between them with deliberate steps. "I love you, Leesa. I have always loved you. And yet, you are ever the master of restraint, trying my patience to its very limits. You know I have none where you are concerned."
He paused before her, his gaze unwavering. "I know you love me, though you are… tragically unskilled at the art of expressing it. I do not fault you for that, and I never will. But I ask you this: look at me. Speak to me about your days, tell me whom you met, what you thought, the small things lovers share. Do not hold yourself apart. You are so near and yet so far, and if this distance remains, I fear I shall go quite insane."
His voice faltered as the emotion swelled. "And if I lose my reason, I know not what I might do. That terrifies me, my Lady. I would never wish to wound you. I wish only to keep you safe, to guard you, to honour you... and to adore you. I… ah, perhaps I have already gone mad."
Leesa's gaze locked upon Flavian's. In his words, she heard the truth; she had never truly known how to lay her heart bare before another, least of all to someone so dangerously close to it. At last, in a voice as steady as it was gentle, she answered the tide of his worries. "Sire," she said, her tone both polite and unyielding, "I am yours, you know."
For Flavian, that was enough. Those few words from her lips carried more weight than any long confession. In two steps, he was before her, bending down until he loomed over the chair in which she sat. One hand braced upon its armrest, the other rose to her cheek, cradling it with tender reverence.
Leesa trembled not from fear, but from a shyness she could not suppress. She had but one weakness, and it was Flavian's touch. His hand upon her skin could make her blush, still her breath, and send her heart into an erratic dance. Beside him, she felt safest; their bond seemed woven from something not of this world.