Song vibe: Set Me Free pt.2 — Jimin

  __________

  VALENTINO

  Fabrica Elegans, Gilded Lane, Lux

  Dawn shone through the windows of the Fabrica Elegans, catching on spools of gold thread and glass jars of pearl buttons. A strange hush filled the workshop; the usual chatter of the seamstresses was absent; the snip of scissors and the rustle of silk gave way to fragile silence.

  Inside, Valentino paced the narrow back room, the boards creaking beneath his boots. Since returning triumphant from Golgog, he had done nothing but wait—day after day—for a word from Celestine. Letters unanswered. Doors politely closed.

  I’ve fought nightspawn and men alike. He raked a hand through his hair, jaw tight. But nothing unnerves me more than silence.

  I have a steady blade, sure—but never the strongest of the Mountain Knights. He glanced at the scar on his palm, the one Celestine used to trace with her thumb. I’m the Knight that smooths things over politically—but what have I achieved in Lux? I couldn’t even get Lorenzo to commit to supporting Nocturne.

  His heart sank—Lorenzo. He always called me his ‘ward’, but I knew the truth—I’m his son, a bastard born from his favourite courtesan. Useful enough to keep around, but never enough to claim as his own.

  He touched the piercing in his ear, the one he wore when he asked Celestine to marry him. I always thought I’d gain renown with the Ashen Blades and earn my place in Lorenzo’s court. Celestine was counting on that, too. But when Lorenzo's offer came, I couldn't stomach it. The beginning of the end of us.

  Lucian clamped a hand on his shoulder, saying nothing.

  When at last the latch turned, his pulse jumped.

  “She’s ready for you,” said Eurydice softly, appearing in the doorway. Her expression carried a careful mix of sympathy and warning. “I can’t promise how long you’ll have.”

  Eurydice stepped aside, brushing Lucian’s hand as she passed. He murmured something low—something meant only for her—and the faintest smile curved her lips before they slipped into a nook in the workshop.

  Valentino stood a moment, one hand on the doorframe. The air carried the unmistakable scent of Celestine’s own making: orange blossom mingled with lilac and rosewood. Her scent brought back memories of endless nights where her perfume lingered on him for days.

  He drew a breath, squared his shoulders—that quiet, court-trained poise settling over him—and entered.

  Above: Celestine waits by the window.

  Celestine sat by the window, back straight, hands folded over a slim book of poetry left half-open on her lap. The first light of dawn touched her hair, turning the deep purple into glints of amethyst and wine.

  Fye, she’s always been so beautiful.

  For a heartbeat, he almost forgot why he had come. Then she looked up, and the illusion broke. His jaw tightened—just once—before his expression smoothed back into something unreadable.

  Her violet eyes—so bright they almost looked blue in the light—carried that same distant sheen he had seen once before, the night of Nocturne’s wedding feast.

  The silence between them stretched, fragile and vast.

  “Hello, Val,” she murmured, voice barely carrying across the room.

  “You’re getting married.”

  Celestine’s lashes flickered; she gave the smallest nod.

  Valentino’s throat tightened as he crossed to the window. Dawn spilled pale gold across the floorboards, touching the hem of her golden gown and the curve of his hand where it gripped the sill.

  “Why?”

  “I thought you’d be more… upset,” Celestine said, forcing a small smile on her pink lips. Her thumb ran over the open page in her poetry book. “I half expected you to sneak into the manor, waiting in my bedroom.”

  He turned at that—slowly, deliberately—and the look he gave her was enough to still the air.

  After everything: the unanswered letters, sick with worry that my actions caused her harm—that’s what she has to say to me? Something inside him shifted, like a splinter dislodging. All this time, I refused to see it… She’s more like her father than I ever admitted.

  “No, I’m not upset.” He lowered himself into the chair with slow, deliberate grace—posture straight, hands steady even as something inside him shifted. “ Just a fool.”

  “We were both fools. I ruined my reputation with you, Val.” Celestine’s smile softened into something almost wistful. “But now I’ve got a second chance to—”

  “Who is it?”

  “Val—”

  “Who.”

  She closed her poetry book firmly and set it aside. Then, she looked him shamelessly in the eyes and said, “Lord Rafael of Fiorenza. I’ll be Duchess of Fiorenza.”

  Lorenzo's eldest son. My half-brother.

  Valentino leaned back, the calm that came over him thin and glacial. With careful, reverent fingers, he unfastened the small silver piercing from his ear. He set it gently on the sill between them.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I wish you the best of luck, Celestine.” He stood, hand to his chest in a shallow bow. “My Lady.”

  “And that’s it?” she snapped. “You’re just going to walk out?”

  “Do you want me to plead, to beg? It won’t change your mind.” His voice cooled. “You’re getting what you always wanted—a proper title. Rafael will give you that.” He bit back the bitterness, keeping his tone even. “He’ll share your bed—and half the beds of Silk Town. Just like his father.”

  “You’re hardly any better, Val. What you did with me—”

  “Don’t lie to yourself.” He met her violet gaze, steady and unflinching. “I shouldn’t have fallen into bed with you. But I wanted to make it right—to marry you.” He exhaled. “Yes, what I did dishonoured you. But why accept my love if I could never be the type of man you wanted?”

  “I did love you—you were the man I wanted,” she whispered, a tremor running through her words. “Until you chose your brothers over me.”

  “—and you chose a title.”

  "Love doesn't protect me—a title does." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I can't trust love to save my future."

  "That's the truth of it, isn't it?" He lingered by the door, hand resting on the frame. “Tell me, Celestine—what was the price of your hand in marriage?”

  “Is that what matters to you?” Her chin lifted, the defensiveness returning. “Gold, trade routes, land across the border—”

  “You know what I mean. The Conclave.”

  “I think you already know.”

  He studied her for a long moment, searching for the woman he had once known—the one who used to pull him into quiet hallways between dances; who winked at him from across the court gardens; who made perfume and wrote poetry.

  He drew a slow breath, reached into his jacket pocket, and placed down a sealed letter. "This is from your sister. Burn it after reading." His finger lingered on the wax seal. “Did you think about how this affects Saphira?”

  “Nocturne will protect her—her future is secure.” Her shoulders stiffened as she tucked the letter into her inner pocket. “Now, so is mine. I’m Father's good graces again—and I’m also free of him. You have to understand…”

  The words did not bruise Valentino; instead, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He saw it then—the way she watched him, not unkind yet untouched by his pain—still living in a world where consequences never landed on her.

  Beautiful, so unpredictable—and so terribly young. Fye, what did I ever see in her?

  “Goodbye, Celestine.” He nodded once, almost to himself.

  “Valentino, wait—”

  He closed the door without another word, leaving behind only the faint scent of orange blossoms and the glint of silver catching the sun's rays.

  In the workshop beyond, morning light filtered through the high windows, catching on scattered threads and off-cuts of silver cloth. Lucian and Eurydice stood close—her hands on his chest, his lips brushing the curve of her neck.

  One romance fades, while another sparks. Valentino lingered at the threshold, broad shoulders framed in the doorway, expression too calm as he watched them. I hope Lucian knows what he’s playing with—if Nox wants us to keep running into spawnpits, most women can't handle that life.

  He cleared his throat.

  Lucian looked up, a lazy grin still on his mouth. He kissed Eurydice’s forehead, murmured something that made her smile. He squeezed her hand before he slipped away through the side door.

  As they stepped out into the lane, the crisp morning air cleared the last of the orange blossom scent from Valentino’s memory.

  I don’t like how it ended, he thought. But it needed to. Love can’t survive two people walking in different directions.

  “You ‘right?” Lucian glanced over as they walked up the hill, hands tucked into his coat as though the morning chill dared not touch him.

  “Clarity.” Valentino let out a slow breath; the warmth in those brown-and-gold eyes now tempered. “She liked the secrecy, the scandal... everyone saw it but me, didn’t they?”

  Lucian snorted and then refused to elaborate, remarking, “What we can’t figure out is what you saw in her.”

  “She’s marrying my half-brother,” Valentino replied coldly. "She'll be Duchess when Lorenzo dies."

  “Then, it’s over.” Lucian studied him sidelong. “A clean break, this time. From Celestine. From Lorenzo.”

  “Aye.” Valentino’s hand brushed his ear unconsciously, feeling the absence of the piercing. “I’m done with them all. Give me something honest.”

  No more sitting on the fence. Valentino exhaled. Whether I’m shielding Nocturne in battle or politics—I’m all in now.

  They walked on. The cobblestones glistened beneath their boots; distant bells marked the turn of the hour. Valentino felt the ache begin to settle—not healed, but contained, quiet and heavy behind the ribs, where a man could still breathe and speak.

  They reached the Beaumont estate as the morning frost dripped off the rooftops. He took one last breath of the morning air—clean, cold, unscented—and left the rest of her behind.

  Lucian stepped aside and left him alone, while Valentino headed straight for Nocturne’s study.

  Valentino gave his report, while Nocturne listened without a word. He stood behind the desk rather than sitting, broad frame still as stone—only the slow movement of his thumb against a cigar cutter betraying thought. He offered no sympathy, no interruptions—just the steady weight of his full attention.

  When he was done, Nocturne leaned back and wordlessly offered a cigar. Valentino cut off the tip and toasted the end over the candle flame. The small ritual steadied the pounding in Valentino’s heart.

  “The Conclave’s in three days,” Nocturne said, cutting the tip from his own cigar. “Luther finally agreed to meet Edwin. Beaumont’s fire last night opened the door to negotiation.”

  “Nine possible votes.” Valentino let out a mouthful of smoke. “Brielle, Wouter, Edwin, maybe Luther—you’ve got four, at most. Crassus bought Lorenzo’s vote with this marriage. The Western League typically follows Lorenzo—Aaliyah, Diego. Plus Vladislav, that’s five to Crassus.”

  Nocturne’s expression did not change; he toasted the tip of his cigar on the flame.

  “You sure Aaliyah won’t budge?” Valentino said.

  “Maybe,” Nocturne said. “Edwin will have to sweeten the deal—I can't give her what she wants."

  “You have to consider—” Valentino advised quietly, his words in far more comfortable territory now, “—that you might lose the conclave.”

  “Saphira’s mine.” Nocturne’s umber eyes hardened. “If they come to take her—then that’s the hill I’ll die on.”

  Smoke drifted between them, the words settling heavy in the air.

  He never surrenders, Valentino thought, clarity easing the ache in his chest. That’s what love is supposed to look like—a woman you’d live and die for.

  Nocturne broke the silence. “So, you took out Celestine's piercing?"

  Valentino met his gaze.

  “Since the day I met you, you’ve had your loyalty divided amongst different camps,” Nocturne said. “Lorenzo’s, hers.”

  Valentino bit back an objection. He’s right. I’ve kept one foot out the door, hoping I’d be good enough for Lorenzo. He tapped the ash from the cigar. But while Fiorenza never fully embraced me, Nox did.

  “I’m done with Lorenzo,” Val swore. “I’m Firestone’s now.”

  “Good.” Nocturne exhaled smoke. “Edwin sent through the records of tax collection from Firestone—it’s the hard proof I needed of Quintus’ theft.” He then placed the cigar aside. He slid a piece of parchment across the desk. “Read it.”

  Above: Valentino reads the papers.

  Valentino skimmed the parchment. “So, you’re stripping Quintus of his role and banishing him?” He set the paper down. “Here I was, thinking I’d have nothing to celebrate today.”

  “I need a new castellan. The line’s blank. If you’ll have it, I’ll write your name.” Nocturne leaned in, resting his weight on scar-lined hands braced against the desk. “I don’t ask for perfection—just loyalty.”

  “Then you’ve got it." Valentino met his eyes. "Fully."

  “We’re done with spawnpits,” Nocturne replied. “Time to build what we’ve spent years defending.”

  Val’s mouth twitched into the barest smile. He pushed the paper back. “Write it.”

  Nocturne turned to the window, the light breaking through the cigar smoke. He murmured, “My friend—to the end.”

  Valentino nodded. “To the end, my Lord.”

  Sir Valentino, Castellan of Firestone. He relaxed back into his chair, closing his eyes as he inhaled on the cigar. Feels strange, having a title that means staying still—but that’s the kind of fight I’ve been needing all along.