The room is dimly lit from a small kerosine lamp on the corner of the end table being used as a desk by Celeste. A record player in the corner plays soft rock, only the faint sound of the instruments is being heard.

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Celeste cries. Tears roll slowly down her cheeks as she scribbles feverously at the leather notebook in her hands. Her pen moves rapidly across the pages, hurriedly applying as much information as possible to the paper. 

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The room only has a window that overlooks a dark lake that has specks of moonlight in the ripples. There is a large weeping willow that remains camouflage in the night. Under it is a figure lounging with one hand on his propped knee. He is waiting. Waiting for Celeste. He looks at the window and his bright green eyes are the only color in the midnight. 

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Suddenly Celeste stops writing. She gives a sigh; her breath turns to vapor in the frigid air of the room. She carefully closes the notebook and bounds the leather covers with a gold braided rope. The same rope once used to fasten her armor….

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She kisses the front cover, leaving a deep plum lip print. She sets the book down on the table like it is a delicate flower. “For you, my love,” she whispers. 

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Her hand brushes against it as she turns towards the window and before she can look up, she is met with a thin hand pressed gently along her collarbone. 

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“Marvedi, please.” Celeste looks up and sees the emerald eyes from outside the window. “I know you are concerned. She will be in good hands.”

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“Celeste,” Marvedi’s voice is a purr; a voice Celeste once thought she would never hear again. “Celeste, you know I can’t let her go.” His hand moves to cup her cheek. 

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Celeste lets her head fall in his warm palm and raises her hand to touch the back of his. “Marvedi. You know I would never put her in harm's way.” She moves his hand away from her face and holds it by her waist. “You will be there to protect her.”

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Marvedi, who began to look defeated, perks up at this news. His eyes now gleam, perfect emeralds. “You trust me, after everything?” 

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Celeste remembers what he is referring to, though she has tried to put it out of her memory. Marvedi is a cunning creature who, despite his efforts to only do well for her family, has brought deception to Aysperia. Though that was not all his doing. Sorin, the leader of the Dezins, and once Aysperia’s most trusted ally, double crossed King Kyra, Celeste’s father, ruler of Aysperia, and overseer of Xlydia. Marvedi was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorin caused the war, not Marvedi.

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So yes, Celeste did trust Marvedi. She trusts him so much so that she gave her only daughter, her only heir to the throne to his care. She was not safe here. She had too much power she needed to grow into and Xlydia was not the safe place to do that in.

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“Yes, Marvedi. I trust you.” Celeste reaches for the notebook and replaces her hand with it in Marvedi’s grasp. “Take this. Give it to Damaria when the time is right. Watch over her. And Marvedi?” 

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He is staring at the rope tied around the leather. He hated what that symbolized.

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“Marvedi, look at me,” Celeste keeps her voice low despite the ache she felt to rush, to return to her post and help the land her father left her in his dying breath. The breath he was robbed from by Sorin.

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Marvedi meets Celeste’s gaze.

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“Marvedi, I forgive you.” Celeste gives a slight smile, the corner of her lip twitching. She is fighting the urge to cry again.

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Marvedi reaches his long arms around Celeste and squeezes her gently into an embrace. “Thank you, m’lady. Thank you.” Both of his hands were around her shoulders now. “I promise to protect our dear Damaria.”

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Despite her efforts a tear rolls down Celeste’s cheek once again. “I know you will. She will need you.” 

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Marvedi gives a wide, boyish smile. He likes the idea of Damaria needing him, because he needed her more than even Celeste knew. He nods, lets go of her, and vanishes from the room.

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Celeste turns to the window, looking out at the lake. “Goodbye, my love,” she says before she too disappears from the room.

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The music from the record slowly fades as the needle nears the center and stops with a click.