A new Sister.
The laughter in the room had just started to die down when the three won on either side of Leon’s bed and the two who stood at the foot of the bed turned their gazes toward the mysterious figure still hidden under the blankets. Her face was largely concealed by a rumpled fringe of heavy black hair, but the golden glow of morning caught the shape of her slender form as she automatically drew the blanket up higher.
Leon perched at the end of the bed, a hand raking through his riotous hair with a sigh, looking over at the form next to him with a sigh stuck between—half amazed, half resigned. He could already see... this was not going to be a peaceful morning.
Syra was the first to break the silence, a wicked glint in her golden eyes.
"Ah, ah, ah," she said, leaning on one hip. "Care to account for the mystery guest in your bed, sweetheart?"
Aria arched a brow, folding her arms as a smile curled on her mouth.
"More to the point... where in the world did you find her?
Cynthia’s gaze did not waver from the sleeping woman. Her tone was icy and calm, but there was a razors edge underneath.
"She’s not soone we’ve seen before. And judging by how tightly you’re wrapped around her..." She tilted her head slightly. "I’m guessing this isn’t just a recent acquaintance, is it?"
Kyra, ever the quiet observer, nodded once. Her eyes was calm, but her curiosity was unmistakable.
"She doesn’t feel like a stranger. Not to you, anyway."
Leon winced—not from guilt, but from the weight of realization.
Then stepped forward Rias, raising an eyebrow with overdone patience.
"Daddy," she spoke, her voice perilously sweet as she tapped her foot on the marble floor, "as we’re all here now, don’t you think it’s ti you properly introduced your very cozy new bedside companion to us all?
Leon blinked, the question falling lightly against his mind. Right. He hadn’t even formally introduced her—not to them, to anyone. It had all occurred so fast—the escape, the battle, the night at the market, her decision to remain.
He was going to tell them today. But now... things had changed in a way he could never have anticipated.
His brow creased ever so slightly, eyes wandering to the woman still wrapped under the blankets. Most of all, what confounded him was this: none of them had known her.
That shouldn’t have been possible.
If they’d have looked at her properly, they would’ve recognized her instantly. Nova wasn’t any woman—she was a myth.
But now, Leon realized why.
Her face was half-concealed by a tumble of long, soft black hair. Her hands grasped the blanket, her eyes cast down to her lap, the shadow shrouding her face like a veil. Fate had given her a thin veil of protection, it seed. Whether she liked it or not.
Leon’s eyes softened. Naturally. That was why they hadn’t seen.
The world recognized Duchess Nova of Moonstone as a brilliant, spotless figure in gleaming armor—chin raised, voice slicing through silence like tal. But this? This wasn’t the battlefield lioness.
This was a woman knotted in linen and vulnerability. Actual. Unarmored. Unplanned.
A weak smile pulled at his lips. He was still trying to get used to it himself. Nova—the tough commander whose na had kings think twice before acting—was sleeping beside him like a secret told in the dark.
He spun back to his friends, the spark in his eyes morphing into sothing mischievous.
"Then, I suppose," Leon said, his tone silky and taunting, "since you’re all on the verge of dying of curiosity... why not co find out for yourselves?"
The won looked at each other uncertainly, a wave of doubt flicking among them.
Leon shifted a little, his eyes smiling down at the woman who remained lying beside him. His voice fell to a soft whisper—soft and seductive.
"My love," he whispered, running a thumb gently over the top of her hand, "would you please lift that lovely hair of yours? I think the room is ready to et you."
There was no order in his tone, rely playful affection. Nova shifted, her eyes slowly fluttering open as sleep clung to her eyelashes. A soft blush spread across her cheeks. Wordless still, she nodded and raised her hands, her fingers weaving through the knotted locks of midnight-black hair.
She pushed them behind her ears—intentionally, at her own pace.
And in that mont, the room froze.
Sunlight stread through the window, cascading across her face like liquid gold.
High cheekbones. Smooth, ivory-colored skin that glowed with an inner radiance. Long, delicate lashes curled over piercing green eyes—acute, intelligent, unflinching. Her lips, full and soft, bore the slightest trace of cherry. And her rumpled hair, wild from sleep, crowned her like a queen—untidy but regal.
The five won stopped where they were. The atmosphere thickened—thick, quiet.
No one stirred.
Rias stood frozen, lips apart, breath trapped in her throat.
Aria blinked, the shock dancing behind her placid mask.
Cynthia’s brows shot up just an inch, a very unusual display of surprise.
Kyra’s arms, once so confidently crossed, fell to her sides in numb rigidity.
And Syra... Syra, the master of innuendo, forgot to breathe.
Their brains didn’t rely note her loveliness—it clicked into place, like a sword sliding into its sheath.
They knew her.
Of course they did.
This wasn’t so stranger.
Those regal features. That unmistakable face—engraved in mory, immortalized in paintings, ntioned in countless war reports.
Duchess Nova of the Moonstone Kingdom.
The fierce gem of Moonstone. One of her greatest commanders. A tactician so great that even hostile kingdoms said her na with respect—and terror. The genius behind a score of wins. The lady who by re ntion unsettled battle-hardened generals. A na not spoken in scandal, but in reverence.
And now?
Here she was.
In their Daling’s bed.
They had no idea what shocked them more—that Leon recognized her... or that they spent the night wrapped up together like lovers.
There was a silence after. Thick. Charged.
Leon, observing their stunned faces, couldn’t help but grin. A bit smug. A bit self-satisfied. But largely radiant with warmth. Their expressions were downright priceless.
Nova, sitting under the blanket anwhile, stayed composed. Back ramrod straight, face serene—though a blush ward her cheeks. Her smile was small, calculated.
Inside, though? she was turmoil.
A whirlwind of nerves coiled inside her—Not of battle or politics—those she could manage. She’d fought traitors. Lived through assassins. Commanded armies without blinking. But this?
Sitting there, in front of Leon’s closest won—not as a Duchess, rely as the woman sitting next to him—unwound sothing inside. Sothing tender. Sothing frightening.
She was. shy. Like that little girl again.
Not fearful. Simply apprehensive. A long-forgotten feeling. Not on the battlefield, not in the courts. But here, with these five won so closely bound up in Leon, she hesitated.
Not from fear of rejection or judgnt.
But because—perhaps—just perhaps—for the first ti in years—she did hope to be accepted.
The silence hung. Not cold, but weighted. Almost brittle.
Then Leon coughed softly, with a pointed politeness. "Ahem.
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