The moon was shining too much tonight, way too much. It hung heavy in the sky, glowing obnoxiously pink, like it was showing off.
Cessalie leaned against the window frame, staring up at it with narrowed eyes. Was it reflecting what happened today? Was the whole sky gossiping now?
They kissed. She kissed someone for the first time.
And her damn face had been sore all day from smiling about it.
She couldn't stop. Every time she thought of his lips on hers, the warmth of his hand curling at her back, the soft rasp of his voice... there it was again. That stupid grin sneaking back onto her face like it owned her.
And sleep? Forget it.
She was wide awake, restless, the whole night. Pacing her room, hugging her pillow, replaying the moment on an endless loop until it didn't even feel real anymore.
But now, the smile faded, replaced by something serious. Their next meeting was tomorrow.
They needed to draw Tiberius out of his hole. And that wasn't going to happen with patience or honesty. It would take carefully crafted lies, quiet whispers in the right ears, and playing every piece on the board until he revealed himself.
Cessalie's fingers tightened around the window ledge, her eyes still on that loud, ridiculous pink moon.
The moon was strange. It always had been. It shone at the wrong hours and shifted colors when it should not have. No one questioned it, because the temples always claimed to have answers. People believed there were beings up there, watching from above.
Cessalie never cared much for those stories. But she remembered one thing, the moon shone royal blue when new kings were crowned... But pink, it was very rare.
The following morning, Cessalie stood by her wardrobe, dressed in her usual maroon, long sleeves, tight-fitted fabric hugging her waist, gold buttons running neat and clean down the front.
Her eyes drifted over to the other dresses. The ones shoved to the side for years now.
They were thin straps and tight corsets, half-sleeved silks in bright colors, the kind that made heads turn. The kind she no longer wore.
"Maybe…" she tapped her finger to her chin, eyeing them properly for the first time. "Should I try them now?"
She wondered, Would Davian like it?
Of course he would. Every man did. When Meliora wore those dresses, she seemed to light up the entire room, like a flower in full bloom. No one ever looked away.
And for the first time in years, Cessalie really looked at herself.
There had once been a time when the sudden changes in her body made her feel insecure. When she asked her mother about them, she received no comfort and no guidance.
Eventually, she came to acceptance that this was her and no matter what she did she could not look like Meliora.
Her frame was delicate, yet marked by the natural curves of womanhood, softened by a natural fullness at her bodice.
Cessalie straightened, her hand brushing along her waist, lingering for a second.
"Yes… maybe it's time," she mumbled to herself.
Cessalie's fingers hovered over the row of dresses before finally settling on one she had not touched in years. It was a mustard-colored gown with half sleeves and a beautifully stitched corset built into the bodice.
It wasn't loud, but it was bright enough to scare her a little. Mustard, yellow, and a faint green mixed into the fabric like summer melting into early autumn.
It had a sweetheart neckline too, the kind that curved around the collarbones and made everything feel a little softer… a little more delicate.
"I won't look good in this," she muttered under her breath, half to herself, half to the wardrobe. But still, she pulled it out. Still, she tried.
The maids worked quietly around her, pulling the laces tighter with professional hands. The corset drew in at her waist and pushed her up, making her stand straighter without trying. The fabric settled firmly across her chest, lifting it higher and holding it close. It was not something she was used to seeing on herself anymore, for years.
They fixed the sleeves and adjusted the neckline, though their eyes kept slipping toward her reflection. They tried to hide it, but the surprise showed.
They gave her a quick look, paused for a moment, and then showed something that looked like approval.
It didn't stop there.
Cessalie even let them curl the front strands of her hair, soft, loose curls framing her face, while the rest of her hair, long, straight, almost reaching her hips, fell behind her in clean, sleek waves. It was cut in a neat U-shape at the bottom, the ends spreading slightly as they fanned out down her back.
For the first time in forever, she wore a small pendant around her neck, a delicate little thing that rested right above the dip of her collarbone, and earrings that dangled softly when she moved.
By the time they finished, even Cessalie barely recognised herself.
Stepping out of her chambers felt strange. Her hand hesitated on the door, and when she finally walked through, the reaction was instant.
The maids she passed? They had their eyes widened, jaw dropped. Even the guards near the hallway tried to act professional, but their glances said it all.
Cessalie's cheeks warmed, and for a second, she felt stupid for even wearing it. But Davian was coming soon, and she wasn't about to run back to change now.
So, she walked to the garden. Their usual sitting place.
She poured the tea into both their cups herself, arranged the little cakes and snacks neatly on the table, smoothed her hands down her dress and… smiled.
The sound of footsteps brushing through the grass pulled Cessalie's attention. It wasn't loud, but she didn't need it to be. Her heart had already leapt into her throat the second she sensed him approaching.
Davian.
Her pulse shot up so fast it made her dizzy, and it was strange for her that she was… panicking.
Her hands trembled softly at her sides. She looked… gorgeous. She knew it. The maids knew it. Even the damn guards had practically frozen earlier. But it didn't matter unless he saw it, unless he approved.
She smoothed her palms down her corset again, swallowed hard, and tried to look casual, but her stomach had already tied itself into knots.
Then, he appeared.
She stood up immediately, almost too fast, the legs of her chair scraping the stone. He walked towards her. His expression, as always, was unreadable at first.
But then…
It shifted.
His eyes met hers. His mouth twitched, a small smile pulling at the corner. His gaze swept down slowly, taking in everything. The mustard corset, the fitted sleeves, the sweetheart neckline, the way her waist pulled in tight before the gown flowed out around her.
The corset lifted her chest and pressed her in at the middle, giving her body a more defined shape. Her hips looked fuller under the gown, the curves standing out more than they usually did. The fabric clung where it needed to and flowed where it didn't. She looked like she belonged in paintings.
And then… the smile vanished.
A faint frown tugged at his brow as he came to a stop in front of her.
"You look… different today," he remarked, voice low but clear.
She nodded, the smallest, nervous smile tugging at her lips, unable to hide it even if she tried. "Yes… I thought I'd try the old—"
But Davian cut her off.
His voice came quick, careless. "Oh, but—oh, you're gorgeous," he said. And for a heartbeat, her chest fluttered again, until the next words landed.
"But… I really like your original self."
The smile died on her lips. Completely.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her mind spun in confusion. Original self? What did that even mean?
"Original self? What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.
"The long sleeves you wear… the dark colours suit you," he said.
The long, plain dresses? The muted shades that faded into the walls? The full sleeves and high necklines that hid her from head to toe? The hair always pulled back into a simple bun, or just left to hang, unnoticed?
That… was her original self?
She felt enraged. He thought that was a compliment.
The whole "I love your original self, natural
But to her… it didn't land like that.
She hadn't pulled out the corset and gown just for fun. She had chosen it carefully, thinking about the color, the neckline, and the way it shaped her waist. She had looked in the mirror and adjusted her hair twice to make sure it was right.
She hadn't dressed like this in years. Not since... since before the stiff sleeves and quiet stares and keeping her head down.
She wore it today because something had changed, because he had changed it.
She thought that maybe she could be that girl again, the one who smiled first, the one who didn't always brace for impact, the one who could feel fragile again under the care of someone who could protect her.
But here he was… crushing that moment under the boot of well-meaning words.
She stayed silent for several seconds, standing with her lips pressed together and her hands lightly curling against her skirt. Her eyes fell to her arms, where faint, barely noticeable scars marked her skin, but she lifted them again and met his gaze.
A sharp, knowing smile pulled at her mouth now. It wasn't why and sweet anymore.
"Of course," she said softly, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. "A woman tries something different… and suddenly, she's not herself."
Davian opened his mouth, but nothing came. His frown deepened, clearly unsure how to respond.
Cessalie tilted her head slightly, that same dangerous smile lingering, then calmly turned and sat back down at the table.
The tea was still warm, cakes untouched.
But the atmosphere was different now.
Cessalie cursed under her breath. Of course. Who was I even fooling?
How did I let myself fall for it again?
How did I soften again?
How did I even think it was okay to wear something that made me look bold like I couldn't be controlled?
What was I thinking?
She took a breathe and shook it off literalyly. She straightened her shoulders, forced the tension from her jaw, and gave a soft laugh like his words didn't slice something inside her just moments ago.
There was no point holding onto it. He wouldn't even understand the problem if she explained it.
Davian's expression softened again. He leaned a little closer, his hand brushing along the back of her chair as he sat beside her, eyes scanning her face once more. "You look beautiful," he said simply.
He did not mention the pendant she'd nervously chosen as she was nervous the orange gem would look hideous, no comment on the delicate pearl earrings that the maids had fussed over, no recognition of the faint pink blush dusting her cheeks, or the soft tint on her lips she'd reapplied twice, just to make sure it wasn't smudged.
Just… plain beautiful like she woke up and it happened by accident. It wasn't offensive, but it wasn't satisfying either.
After that, the conversation melted into background noise. He talked, probably about the council, maybe border patrols or merchants, but her brain had tuned out completely. She nodded when she had to, smiled faintly, but the sparkle of excitement she'd walked out here with was already fading.
Until—
"Tiberius," Davian said, the name cutting through the fog in her head.
Her spine straightened. "What about him?"
Davian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes darkened slightly, voice dropping low. "How do we bring him out of hiding?"
Now, finally, her pulse picked back up. The nerves, the stupid flutters from earlier? Gone.
Cessalie's lips curled into a sharper, more familiar smile.
"Oh, don't worry," she said, tapping her fingers lightly against the rim of her teacup. "I've been thinking about that all night."