How To Love Your Archnemesis [Romance/Drama/Fantasy - Completed]

Deft fingers worked through thick, silver-blonde locks, twisting into a familiar half-do secured with cream coloured ribbon clasped at the back. Stray hairs were smoothed down with a smudge of bees' wax before Cressida gently tilted her lady's chin up to assess for last finishing details, her face in utter concentration.

The maid's face broke out in a smile as she stepped back, moving to the back of Naomi's chair. "All finished, my lady!"

Naomi blinked indifferently at her appearance in the mirror. "Thank you, Cressida."

Age had embraced Naomi's features beautifully as she matured into a young woman; the supple roundness of her cheeks had smoothed out to prominent cheekbones and a sharp jaw, her soft brown freckles still attributing to her delicate face. Her maid did a wonderful job as always to prepare her best look, but it did little to settle her nerves this time. Today was the first time Naomi would be allowed to spectate at the council table for political alliances involving every major House in the nation. 'Nervous' would be an understatement for the standards she would have to hold herself to, especially with the reputation of the Rosenthorn house at stake. Not to mention, mother would most definitely begin her scrutinization as soon as they were in private. Naomi rose to her feet elegantly, with the red-haired maid smoothing down the embroidered skirt of her sage gown. Delicate gold thread shimmered in the shape of laurels along the hem.

"How do I look?" she asked, voice cool and calm, though the question wasn't meant for approval.

"Like the sun itself shaped you," Cressida said warmly as she adjusted her bow. She leaned in closely. "Do I still have to distract the duchess tonight?"

Naomi turned only her head. "Yes."

Cressida let out an exhale of dread as she threw her head back. "She's going to kill the both of us if she finds out. Well, actually, she'll kill me first, then banish you to the North."

She let out a genuine giggle. "That's why you are my handmaid. Sacrificial bravery and loyalty."

Cressida straightened Naomi's collar with a little more force than necessary. "Remind me to ask for hazard pay."

"I do believe I doubled your allowance last month."

"Fine, fine," Cressida waved her hand in surrender. "Are you sure you don't want to wait until nightfall, at least? She could ask for you at any time while the sun's up."

Naomi shook her head. "The lanterns get released when the sun is down. I want to be holding mine in the middle of the square when that happens."

Her eyes flitted towards the wardrobe where a plain cotton dress and hooded cloak was stashed. The plan was simple in principle, but fragile as porcelain: once the evening council recessed, she would allow her mother to babble on about everything Naomi inevitably did wrong. Then, she would excuse herself under the pretense of fatigue, retreat to her assigned quarters, and change. If the Duchess came looking for her after, Cressida would intercept her mother with a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, Naomi would be exiting through the servants' staircase in the linen wing, which connected all the way down to the old ash chute that emptied near the gardens that was rarely guarded. From there, it was a straight shot down the hill, across the stone bridge, and through the narrow south alley into the square.

Being ignored and left to her own devices at the Accord each year certainly provided a magnificent opportunity to scheme.

Still, the risk of being caught was high. Naomi didn't care much if she had to suffer the consequences, but she worried if Cressida was caught participating in her plan. In a way, she felt guilty for involving her despite the fact that they were friends - also in spite of their master-slash-servant dynamic - but Naomi had run out of patience. This was already her fourth Accord, and each time she had spent the entire ten-day summit wandering in silence and obedience. She wanted to hold her own paper lantern and whisper in a secret wish, to bask in the golden glow with thousands of others. Her vision was set on finally attending a lantern event.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not even register her parents knocking at the door before Cressida welcomed them in. They were immaculately preened as always.

"Shoulders straight, Naomi," her mother reminded coolly. "We are walking to the lions' den now."

**

The grand council chamber of Calypsa Castle was nothing short of theatrical and regal. Vaulted ceilings arched high overhead, etched with silver inlays that mirrored the symbolic constellation of the goddess Lunare. The afternoon light fractured through massive stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic colours across marble floors. Every surface was polished and gleaming, with not even a whisper of dust despite the constant churn of aristocrats throughout the palace.

The chamber was already beginning to fill with the rustle of silk and murmured courtesies, the air thick with the scent of perfume and ambition. As the room filled to capacity, the hum of conversation reached a crescendo. Groups of nobles clustered together, their animated gestures and hushed tones suggesting a multitude of private discussions and political maneuverings. Personal servants darted through the crowd, carrying trays of refreshments and messages between the various factions.

In the centre of the room was a massive mahogany table, stretching so long it would easily seat thirty nobles. On the sides of the room were tiers pews for the children of lords to observe wordlessly, unless granted permission by their superiors. Naomi sat among them, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the proceedings with a keen eye. Though she wanted nothing more than for the council to end so she could enact her plan, she was also determined to learn as much as she could, knowing that one day she would be expected to take her place among them. She pretended not to notice the golden eyed heir of the north sitting in the pew across from her past the table.

As the council meeting began, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to face the head of the table where King Ulric sat, his blonde hair glinting in the light from the windows. Wisdom lined his face, his distinctive and sharp features reflected on his two children that sat to his left and right side; Prince Aryn and Princess Seraphine. Their unique silver eyes were framed with long, white lashes that matched their sleek hair. The princess wore a long, flowing dress of a brilliant shade of red trimmed with gold with a golden circlet above her flowing locks. The prince was equally as beautiful, his features almost feminine but handsome at the same time, dressed in a matching style to his sister. They sat wordlessly but at total attention as King Ulric spoke with authority and conviction, his words ringing out through the chamber as he addressed the gathered nobles.

The council session crawled as it allowed each House their chance to speak of any remaining matters, and already Naomi felt the weight of boredom pressing in by the second hour. The Lords spoke in veiled barbs and half-answers, each syllable dipped in honeyed caution. Land disputes, trade re-negotiations, concerns over border unrest - all of it delivered in such excruciating politeness it made Naomi's toes curl.

She studied each person quietly from her seat as she tried to recognize each noble, placing names to faces using the history books that mother had forced her to study: the way Lord Merilas tapped his ring against the table with every silence, the way Countess Ellenthorne pursed her lips whenever her counterpart from the West interrupted, and especially the way Marquis Paldarin tried to discreetly scratch an itch. Perhaps being a silent spectator was not so boring after all.

"Lady Naomi Rosenthorn," her father's voice rang clearly, a firm interruption that cut through the usual drone like a sword drawn mid-speech. The room quieted as heads turned slowly to her. Naomi blinked, pulse hitching, her thoughts shattered.

"I would like to invite my daughter to share her thoughts," he continued. "On the proposal regarding Southern waterways."

She forced her body to unfreeze as she stood, feeling every eye on her as she descended from her seat, steps even, head high. Her heart thundered, but her face - with a lifetime of practice - betrayed none of it. Though she had every eye on her in the room, she felt as if Cassien's was burning a hole through her with judgement. She had only just reached the outer ring of the council floor when a voice, sharp and thin with self-importance, cut across the silence.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"With all due respect, Duke Rosenthorn," interjected Marquis Theral of the West as he leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk, "the girl is not even of adult age. Surely we aren't entertaining commentary from someone who would weep because her dress was stained?"

A few of the older northern nobles chuckled politely before covering with a cough, while others exchanged glances of sympathy and distaste. Naomi could practically see the steam billowing from her mother's ears at the sight of her daughter being disgraced - though she couldn't tell if it was out of parental concern or involving the family reputation more. She figured likely the latter. Regardless, this was her chance to handle things on her own. Naomi stopped at the edge of the table to address the participants, turning her gaze on Theral with a cold stare.

"I assure you, my lord," she said, voice smooth as velvet, "At seventeen, I've long since outgrown weeping. Though I suppose it's different for those who project their own habits."

A brief silence as Theral's face burst into a bright shade of red as he shot up from his chair. Then - an audible breath of laughter from King Ulric. Even her mother's lip twitched as the tension visibly snapped like a tethered cord.

"Marquis Theral," the king said, "you may recall your last three proposals were outvoted for lacking the very foresight this council demands. Lady Rosenthorn is heir to one of our founding duchies. Her voice will be heard, and she will be addressed with the respect owed to her station. Please, sit down."

"But-"

"Must I repeat myself?" His words were as cold as ice. The very thought of talking back against the King was a death sentence.

"...No. My apologies, Your Highness," Marquis reluctantly sat down with his teeth gritted, though clearly his apology was not meant for Naomi.

Naomi curtsied in the silence that followed. "Thank you, Your Royal Highness. May I proceed?"

The King waved for her to continue as though the Marquis had been nothing more than a pest.

"The debate has circled around trade blockages and levies for nearly an hour," she began, her tone intentional. "But no one has addressed the simplest route to easing tensions."

A few brows raised. Duke Velbrand of the East leaned forward, curiosity piqued.

"The river crossings between the Southern and Eastern coasts remain underutilized," she continued. "They bypass most toll-heavy roads, cut transport time in half, and offer a neutral route that neither side would need to surrender control over. With proper escort regulation, it would minimize ambush risks and reduce the need for further military posturing."

She paused. "It would also remove the need to station so many battalions at the border. All that would be needed is a security checkpoint."

A beat of silence passed, and then the murmuring began, full of interest, speculation, and most of all, approval. Her father nodded once. Her mother said nothing, but Naomi felt the barest glance of approval. Cassien leaned back in his seat, careful not to react outwardly as the remaining nobles pitched in their thoughts of the girl's suggestion.

No, the young lady's. She was not a juvenile child. She had the grace and wit of a woman.

He watched as her father resumed his place at the table, and Naomi returned to her pew, her expression unreadable. There was no smugness in her posture even as the younger crowd that sat beside her congratulated her accepted proposal. The lords continued on, voices raised again in debate over grain yields, soldier allocations, and ship rights. All the same, Cassien found his gaze wandering, uncharacteristically unfocused.

She had made a point no one else had, not even his father. Not to mention, she had openly challenged a man thrice her senior in a room where decorum was currency, in a chamber full of aristocrats that would surely spread such a remark like wildfire. He looked at her once more, and this time, their eyes locked; but neither looked away.

Several more hours passed until it reached late evening, the light outside beginning to shine a muted orange through the windows. The council reached its end as the grand doors began to groan open, and nobles rose from their seats in rustling brocades and stretched figures. Naomi remained still, fingers lightly folded in her lap as she waited for her chance to leave. The Marquis she'd put in his place left without another word, though she pretended not to see the dirty look he shot her.

The room began to empty, her patience wearing thin in the dimming sun. As if on cue, her mother's voice rang out as the Duchess approached her.

"Naomi."

She turned, heart suddenly tight in her throat as she stood from the pews to properly greet them. Her mother, Duchess Rosenthorn, stood tall and stately, her sun-gold mantle cascading down her shoulders in shimmering folds. Beside her, Duke Rosenthorn gave a rare nod of approval.

The duchess' gaze lingered on her daughter for a moment before she spoke. "You spoke wisely today."

Naomi blinked at the compliment.

"Your idea is an excellent suggestion for the waterways," her father added. "And necessary. Sometimes it takes a fresh mind in a room full of ancients to have a new perspective."

"Most importantly, you stood your ground appropriately in front of a full council," her mother interrupted. "That was well handled."

Naomi nodded stiffly, the weight of her parents' words still sinking in. Her heart thudded louder with every passing second. It was rare enough to be acknowledged, and rarer still to be told she'd done well. She had no idea how to react.

She offered a shallow curtsy, her mind dizzying. "Thank you, father… mother… If you'll excuse me, I… I'm quite tired. I'll excuse myself."

Neither parent stopped her. She left quickly and made her way down the long corridor, heels clicking on polished stone. Her hands were clammy as her ears rang with their praise over and over. Her mind reeled at the exquisite feeling of praise directed from them for the first time in her life.

They acknowledged me. I did well. They never say that. They've never…

She reached the eastern hall and slipped around a column, pressing her back against the cool stone. Her chest rose and fell with quiet urgency.

Breathe. Just breathe.

With a quick inhale, Naomi rounded the corner in her hurry and collided hard into a towering figure, hard muscle knocking the breath from her. A firm grip caught her arm before she stumbled back, steadying her as she looked up into the golden eyes of Cassien Rivain. He blinked once, surprised but unruffled, still holding her steady by the elbow. He wore a tailored navy suit, the buttons filigreed with silver in a style so distinctly Northern it almost glinted with cold. Naomi's mouth popped open like a fish before snapping it close, unable to find words. She was too flustered, too caught off guard - not by the impact, or even her parents anymore, but by him. She barely reached his thick shoulders, and she was not a short person by any means. His pale face was devastatingly handsome with striking features, and honey eyes that were so golden that it reminded her of her own radiant magic.

Her first instinct was to speak, to offer some flippant remark to smooth over the sudden intimacy and her blundering misstep. But she couldn't remember how to speak, her tongue a useless weight. Cassien's gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long out of irresistible curiosity. She was even more delicately beautiful up close as her pale blue eyes peered upwards at him through thick, blonde lashes. He wondered if her freckles would taste like sugar. He snapped out of it at the absurd thought. Then, at last, he released her.

"My apologies. Please forgive my unwanted touch," he nodded, voice quiet.

Naomi cleared her throat, realizing too late that her hand was still curled into the front of his jacket where she'd braced herself. She dropped it at once.

"I-it was my fault, I should've looked to see where I was going… Thank you for catching me," she breathed out at last.

His eyes scanned her expression. "Do you require any help in navigating the castle?"

Naomi's thoughts flashed back to the memory of his private escort with Ysonna several years back, and her face flushed at the thought of blundering in front of him. "N-No. Thank you. I'm in a bit of a hurry to return to my quarters."

"I see," he responded, his voice still low and steady. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you."

He stepped aside, allowing Naomi to pass by him. He couldn't help but wonder what had flustered the usually composed Southern heir so much. His mother had shared tall-tales of the southerners who could charm scales off a snake with a single smile. But the lady he had just encountered was different - vulnerable, maybe even a little scared. Perhaps this was simply a downfall of his naivety towards her. Once again, she had unintentionally piqued his curiosity of which he had seemingly had little willpower to control his indulgences whenever she was involved. Cassien lingered a moment longer in the corridor after Naomi disappeared down the hall. He hadn't meant to watch her go, but something about the way her shoulders tensed, the way she moved with such restless energy, made him pause.

He told himself it was nothing. She was probably overwhelmed after the council, as anyone would be - especially after a show of bravery in standing up to the Marquis in a chamber of half-sneering nobles. But his gut tugged at him again as he began to leave. He'd seen enough masks in his time to recognize one slipping.