Previously-
Edward's gaze softened slightly, though the sharpness remained. "Then learn from it. You are our ruler, our king. My lord, ask us for help. We serve you. We are loyal to you."
He turned to leave but paused one last time. "And as for Alexander... please. He holds no ill will. He never has."
Thaddeus's shoulders sagged as the weight of Edward's words settled over him. "I will... I will make it right."
Edward gave him a curt nod, his gaze hardening once more. "I hope you do."
With that, Edward turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his thoughts already focused on what lay ahead. As he left the palace, the resolve within him only grew stronger. He would not let the Empire falter, not while he still drew breath. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he would see it through—no matter the cost.
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LOCATION- LEONHART MANSION, CAPITAL CITY OF DRAKENGARD
Nestled within one of the more tranquil quarters of the imperial capital, the Leonhart Mansion stood as a graceful contrast to the grandeur and pomp of noble estates that crowd the city. Unlike the gaudy excesses of other ducal homes, this mansion reflected the Leonhart family's values—refined, resilient, and quietly dignified.
Built of pale limestone and roofed with deep blue slate, the mansion's silhouette was elegant but unassuming. Ivy climbed along parts of the outer walls, encouraged to grow in gentle patterns that frame the tall windows and arched doorways. The front gardens were modest but well-tended, with soft gravel paths winding through groves of cypress and lavender, their scent greeting guests with calm familiarity.
Inside, the architecture emphasized open space and natural light. Sunlight filtered through tall windows dressed with light, gauzy curtains, filling the halls with warmth rather than shadows. Wooden beams—polished but not painted—span across the ceilings, while the floors were of smooth stone, softened by woven rugs from the duchy's heartlands. The furniture was tasteful, handcrafted by Leonhart artisans, with a focus on comfort and utility rather than opulence.
The mansion had no golden chandeliers or marbled columns, yet every room whispers of thoughtfulness: a reading nook beside the hearth, wide balconies that overlooked a private courtyard, and carved motifs of lions and windflowers—symbols of House Leonhart—subtly placed throughout. The estate served more as a sanctuary than a statement, a place for rest, reflection, and quiet dignity amid the capital's noise.
A carriage halted in front of the mansion.
STEP!
Olivia stepped out of the carriage, followed by Amelia, Sophie and the kids. Sophie gazed at the mansion; a quiet smile crept on her face.
Inside the mansion Alexander lay on a canopy bed, Henry beside him was trying to cut his third apple.
"Aah, come on!" he cried as the apple exploded in his grip.
Alexander chuckled,
"Brother-in-law, just give me a whole apple."
"Yeah." Henry tossed an apple without looking at him.
CREAK!
The doors creaked open as familiar figures stepped into the room, their presence brushing away the stillness like a passing breeze.
"Henry, what are you doing?" Olivia asked, raising a brow as she caught sight of the young count kneeling on the floor, scrubbing with a cloth in hand.
"Cleaning the floor," Henry replied without looking up, his tone entirely unbothered.
A flustered maid rushed forward, bowing her head apologetically.
"I'm terribly sorry, Madam. Count Henry insisted on cleaning everything himself. He wouldn't listen."
Olivia's expression softened. She reached out and gently brushed the maid's hair back, offering her a kind smile.
"It's alright, dear. You've done enough. Go and rest."
Her gaze then shifted, sharp as ever, to the culprit in question.
"Henry, the windowpanes are still stained. I can see smudges from here. Clean them properly."
Henry let out a dramatic sigh as he stood, stretching his back with exaggerated weariness.
"Aye aye, madam," he muttered, trudging off toward the windows with mock solemnity.
Just then, the room brightened with the arrival of more familiar faces—Orianne, Amelia, and the children: Raphael, Evangeline, and Delphine.
"Uncle Alexander, are you alright?" Raphael asked, his voice tinged with worry as he looked at the man seated on the bed, a bandage peeking beneath his loose tunic.
Alexander rose slowly with a wry smile and pinched the boy's cheek.
"Uncle is perfectly fine," he said reassuringly, then turned his attention to the twins. "My little darlings, will you not greet your Uncle Alex?"
Evangeline and Delphine exchanged glances, then broke into wide grins and rushed to him.
"Uncle, are you rweally fine?" Evangeline asked, her finger hesitantly pointing at the stained bandage wrapped around his torso.
Alexander picked her up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, sweetheart. I'll take these off tomorrow if it'll make you feel better."
Delphine, unconvinced, squinted at the wrappings. She poked one finger into a red spot that had begun to seep through.
"Ow!" Alexander flinched, more surprised than hurt.
"Uncle, why are you lying?" Delphine asked, leaning back with her tiny arms crossed, her expression dead serious.
Alexander gave a defeated chuckle.
"You caught me. I'm only a little hurt."
"That's not funny," Delphine huffed.
"She's been very protective lately," Amelia said with a gentle laugh, "Ever since the twins heard you were injured, they've been preparing 'healing spells' with flower petals and soup."
Alexander's eyes softened. "Then I should recover in no time."
Behind them, Henry bumped into the window frame with a loud thud.
"Alexander, your windows are attacking me. This house is haunted, I swear it."
"Haunted by incompetence, maybe," Olivia said, barely glancing at him.
"I'm doing my best!" Henry protested, holding up the still-dirty cloth like a white flag.
"Your best terrifies me," she replied dryly.
The room, once still and heavy, now brimmed with warmth—chaotic, familiar, and healing in its own way.
"Where is Sophie?" Alexander asked, his voice quieter now, hesitant—like the question had been sitting in his chest for too long.
Orianne cast a quick glance toward the hallway. "She's in the kitchen."
"The kitchen?" Alexander echoed, puzzled. His brows knit together. "Why would she—?"
"She's been worried about you the whole time," Olivia interrupted gently, smoothing down Raphael's tousled hair. "Didn't sleep properly either."
Alexander's gaze dropped for a moment, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes.
Meanwhile, Henry suddenly straightened as if he'd just won a war. Standing beside the freshly wiped window, he posed with all the self-importance of a soldier returning from battle.
"I, Count Henry of House Duskrane, have vanquished the stains of doom!" he declared theatrically.
Orianne didn't even blink. She pointed downward.
"Henry, there's a piece of apple stuck to your shoe."
Henry looked down sharply, only to see a small wedge clinging stubbornly to his boot.
"Where?" he asked, flicking his foot into the air with exaggerated flair. The apple chunk soared in a perfect arc—then vanished behind a curtain.
"Gone," he said triumphantly, dusting off his hands. "Disintegrated. Proof of a job well done."
"Proof of war crimes," Orianne muttered under her breath.
"You're just jealous," Henry shot back, grinning as he leaned on the windowsill like he belonged in a portrait.
Alexander smiled faintly at the antics, but his thoughts lingered on the kitchen.
"I should… probably go see her," he murmured.
Amelia nodded encouragingly. "She'll be glad you did."
Just then, Delphine tugged at his sleeve. "Uncle, can we help too?"
Alexander looked down at her eager face, then glanced toward the door again.
"Maybe not this time," he said gently. "But next time I'm wounded, you'll be my healers, alright?"
Evangeline immediately started gathering invisible herbs from the air.
"I already have my spell ready," she whispered solemnly. "You just say the word."
"Noted," Alexander said with a soft laugh.
And with that, he turned and made his way quietly down the hall—toward the kitchen, toward Sophie, and toward the words that had waited too long to be spoken.
Sophie stood in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, the scent of simmering broth and freshly chopped herbs filling the air. Leon and Elise were at her side, watching her intently.
"Let's go see Father, Mother," Leon said, gently tugging at the hem of her dress.
Sophie smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can go ahead, sweetheart."
Leon frowned and climbed back onto the wooden stool, swinging his legs. "But why aren't you going?"
Sophie didn't answer right away. She turned instead to the chef beside her, lowering her voice just slightly.
"Make sure to add the herbs a few minutes before you take it off the flame," she said.
The chef gave a respectful nod. "Of course, Duchess."
Only then did Sophie turn back to her children. "Alright," she said, giving them a gentle smile. "Let's go."
Just as she pushed open the kitchen doors, she took a single step forward—and bumped right into someone.
Strong arms caught her before she could stumble back. She blinked in surprise, looking up.
"Alexander—" she breathed, her voice caught between surprise and something deeper.
Alexander held her just a moment longer than necessary before gently letting her go. "Sorry. I was just about to—" he paused, studying her face, the softness in her expression, the weariness behind her eyes.
"You should rest," she said quickly, stepping back. "You're not—"
"I'm fine," he interrupted, though the bruising under his bandages told a different story.
They stood there, silent for a breath, the children watching curiously as if sensing something unspoken between the two.
"I was coming to find you," Alexander said finally.
"And I was… just on my way," Sophie replied, her voice quieter now.
Leon looked between them and grinned. "You both were looking for each other!"
Sophie gave a small laugh, brushing Leon's hair gently. "It seems so."
Alexander offered her a faint smile. "Shall we?"
She nodded, and together—with Leon and Elise between them—they walked down the corridor, the warmth of the kitchen lingering behind them and something tender beginning to stir ahead.
As they walked in silence, the sound of Leon's footsteps echoed lightly in the corridor, occasionally broken by Elise humming a tune to herself. Sophie walked beside Alexander, close but not touching, her expression unreadable.
She finally spoke, not looking at him.
"You went alone."
Alexander didn't respond right away.
"I had to," he said, his voice low, steady. "There wasn't time."
Sophie stopped. Leon and Elise took a few more steps before pausing and glancing back, confused.
"Take them ahead," Sophie said gently. "We'll catch up."
Leon hesitated but obeyed, taking Elise's hand as they wandered toward the sitting room.
Alexander remained where he was, the air between them taut.
"You didn't even say goodbye," Sophie said after a pause. Her voice wasn't angry—it was quiet, almost fragile.
"I didn't want you to worry," he replied, finally turning to face her. "And I knew you'd try to stop me."
"You're damn right I would've," she snapped softly, blinking fast. "You left with wounds that hadn't even closed yet. You stood against the Thaddeus, bled, and now you're pretending everything's fine—like it's just another day."
"I'm alive, Sophie."
"But that's not the point." Her voice cracked. "You keep doing this—shouldering everything alone. I am not someone you have to protect from the truth. I am your wife, Alexander."
He looked away, jaw tightening. "If I failed, I didn't want your last memory of me to be—"
"To be what?" she interrupted. "To be you, doing what you always do? Running off without letting anyone hold you back?"
His silence was answer enough.
Sophie stepped forward, placing a hand over the blood-stained edge of his bandage. "I don't care about your heroics, Alexander. I care that you come back. Whole. Alive. Not just for me, but for them too." Her eyes flicked toward where the children had gone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. It was barely audible.
She leaned her head against his chest, careful not to press against the wound. "Don't do it again, if you do, I will skewer you with a thousand thorns"
His arms wrapped around her slowly, like he didn't feel he deserved to. "I won't," he promised, whether it was a vow or a hope, neither of them knew.
But in that quiet hallway, for a moment, they let the weight of fear and love settle between them, unspoken but understood.