Supreme Spouse System.
Chapter 248: Family, War, and Secrets

Chapter 248: Family, War, and Secrets

Family, War, and Secrets

The great salon of Nova’s mansion was nothing less than magnificent. _{f\r(e)ewe.b no\vel.com}

Drenched in green shadings of softness and ivory white, the room exuded an elegant warmth—peaceful, calm, and imbued with a soft nobility that was reminiscent of its mistress. Emerald velvet drapes flowed from floor to ceiling, framing high arched windows that towered like silent sentinels. Silver moonlight filtered through the glass, slipping in like a liquid river, to form soft ribbons of light across the floor. Above, a chandelier fashioned from silver vines and glinting crystal droplets hung at the center of the room, sprinkling a tender constellation across the highly polished marble walls.

Those very walls were not left unadorned. Intricate floral patterns had been carved into the stone, their curling vines and flowers speaking of artistry and tradition. The sweet, calming scent of jasmine clung to the air, as if the room itself desired to soothe its occupant into peace—however brief.

In the center of the room stood a large bed, the oakwood frame weathered and intricately carved with antique skill. Sheer silks draped over its pillars, swaying ever so slightly with the breeze that circulated in through the tall windows. The bedding—stacks of cream and sage—appeared spun from clouds, untouched and waiting.

Alongside, standing beside one of the tall windows, was a white plush sofa whose sides were lined with potted ferns whose delicate leaves drooped softly. Lanterns burned softly in ornate stands, their shadows cast on the walls. The low center table in front of the sofa had perched upon it a single delicate teacup, its porcelain edge kissed with gold, the steam curling from within like a ribbon dancing about in the quiet air.

Nova sat there, perfectly poised but entirely still.

She wore no finery tonight. Instead, a cream-colored linen shirt hung loosely over her frame, the sleeves pushed slightly above her wrists. The soft green trousers paired with it matched the quiet grace of the chamber, yet could not hide the strength of the body they adorned. Despite the comfort of her clothing, there was no mistaking who she was. Even in repose, Nova bore the silent authority of a duchess—a woman tempered not by so much courtly elegance but by battles endured.

Her black hair cascaded freely down her back, uncomb and shining as night water in moonlight. It set around a face that reflected no smile or frown—only peaceful determination and the burden of thought. Her emerald eyes, usually as sharp as a blade drawn, were now distant. They gazed out the window as if seeking to see something that lay beyond the horizon.

Her tea in front of her had not been touched. Its vapor rose, heating the chilly air, but her mind was a thousand miles away.

She did not think the war would arrive so quickly.

The pain in her chest was not fear, but preparation—gears shifting and duty piling up minute by minute. Memories welled up from conflicts past, each one trailed by ghosts behind them. Names of soldiers. Lost towns. Vows made and nearly fulfilled. She blinked, slowly, the haze in her eyes increasing.

Moonstone was not prepared. Nor was she. Not for this.

And yet, preparedness was no longer an issue.

Her lips touched the edge of the teacup, but no drink was offered. The heat of the china anchored her, barely. The silence of the room taunted the tempest building beyond its walls. The choices to be made were numerous, and each would be paid in one way or another. But over a sense of duty to her nation, Nova felt the pressure of something more sensitive bearing down on her—something that was unexpected.

The delicate start of a family.

She had never meant to. Had never believed her closed heart would ever again open to such bonds. And yet, now it had, gradually, hesitantly. And so came a new fear altogether—not of losing fights, but losing individuals.

She did not stir. Not yet.

The ideas in her head stormed like waves at high tide, one after another, noisier, clearer—until her chest ached to breathe. Her eyes were still on the window, the night outside it quiet and still. The moon rode high, casting pale silvery light across the floor, silencing the green-and-white theme of the room in dull shadow.

And then—

Thud!

The sudden slam of a heavy object on the ground broke the silence. Nova jumped, her heart jolting. Her hand automatically went to her waist, though she had nothing there to draw. She spun around.

There stood a figure beneath the high arched window, as if he’d leapt from the heavens themselves.

Tall, lean, unselfconsciously self-assured. Tousled black hair cascaded over his brow, reflecting the flash of moonlight. His rich-blue duke’s cloak draped around him in a shroud of authority, rumpled from movement, the hem powdered with dust from the ledge. But the eyes stole her breath—those unmistakable golden eyes, shining and untamed even in the dim light.

Leon.

He stood with his back to the open window, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a rakish smile fighting its way up from his lips. The wind rustled his robe, the soft creak of fabric against stone.

"Hey," he said, voice light, laughing, still a bit breathless from the drop. His arms were wide as if to display that he came in peace. "It’s just me. Relax."

Nova blinked. "Leon! You... entered through the window? Again?" Her voice was one of exasperation and incredulity.

He grinned even wider, completely unrepentant. "Yes, again."

"Are you insane?" she snapped, advancing on him. "Someone could’ve seen—"

"Likely," he interrupted smoothly, still lounging against the window frame as if it were the most natural spot in the universe. "But if I am mad, it’s only for you.

Her eyes narrowed at that. A flush touched her cheeks, not just from his words, but from the ridiculous charm he wore like a second skin. Her lips tugged upward, despite her best efforts to remain annoyed.

"You’re incorrigible."

Leon brushed off his coat with a series of languid strokes, not bothering in the least. "You’re the one who instructed me to sneak inside," he said, adopting an air of innocence. "So I took a path that was both stealthy and... let’s just say, theatrically successful."

Nova crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed even more. "Theatrical? You almost killed me."

He gave a slight bow, mockingly gallant. "Then I’m glad to know your heart is still functioning."

Her glare deepened, but it couldn’t hide the twitch of a smile at the edge of her lips. She turned away briefly, only to hide how close she was to laughing. Leon always had that effect on her—chaos wrapped in charm, trouble with a crown.

He descended from the window sill and shut the window quietly behind him. The great room, faintly illuminated by suspended crystal lamps, lapsed into stillness once more. His eyes roved over her—the loose shirt hanging off one shoulder, the casual trousers, her arms crossed protectively but not hostilely.

"I followed your instructions," he said, a little softer now, smile still lingering but eyes warmer. "Just maybe... not in the most conventional way."

Nova shook her head slowly, finally letting out a soft chuckle. "You’re impossible."

Leon approached, each step measured but easy, like he already knew she wouldn’t stop him. The silk of his robe whispered as he moved, the faintest scent of wind and night clinging to him.

"Is it a crime," he breathed, voice lower now, "for a duke to be unconventional?" He stopped just in front of her. His head tilted slightly, lips curving in amusement. "Your duke, that is."

The words were more forceful than she had anticipated.

His eyes held hers—stable, teasing, warm.

Nova’s own breathing caught again, but this time for another reason altogether. Earlier warmth had not dissipated. It lingered in the air, in the intimacy of his tone, in the manner in which he regarded her as though nothing else existed in the universe.

"So," Leon drawled, his hands resting idly on his hips, "can I sit? Or are you going to arrest me for window crimes now?"

Nova didn’t even glance at him straight on. She huffed in faint annoyance, though the edges of her lips curled. "Sit. Idiot."

Leon’s smile grew wider as if insult from her was a treasure. He didn’t hesitate to go sit down on the rich, forest-green velvet couch next to her. He left no gap between them. He slouched in his posture—legs sprawled out, back relaxed as if the room were his.

So," he said again, his voice gentler now as his eyes fixed on her face. Quietly tenderly, he picked up a stray lock of her hair, black and silky between his fingers. "Why did you call me, my love?

Nova didn’t respond immediately. She stood there, hesitating, as if balancing something intangible in the air. Eventually, she moved forward and permitted herself to sit next to him, her steps slow, as if the burden on her shoulders required assistance in coming down.

Leon moved closer, his knee lightly grazing against hers in a wordless intimacy. A pale gloaming settled over the room, the sort that preceded dawn. Outside the heavy curtains, the first brushstrokes of light started seeping in—soft, golden, and subtle.

"You look... lost," he spoke softly, his eyes taking in the sight of her with a still concern.

"I’ve been thinking about the war," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the tick of the clock on the mantel. "About the people at the borders. About what’s coming. And..." Her voice faltered for a second. "About the safety of our family."

That term—family—fell between them like a rock dropped into quiet water. Leon leaned forward a fraction, intrigued. There was something out of the ordinary in the tone of her saying it. Few would anticipate a woman who was renowned on the battlefield to mention family first.

He lifted an eyebrow, half-astounded. "The dreaded war councilor is considering family first?" His voice was sarcastic, but kind.

Nova smiled faintly, the sort that glided by too fast to thaw the air. "That’s precisely why I needed to speak. Privately. Without nosy lords eavesdropping or the king’s sword hanging over our backs."

Leon nodded, comprehending at once. There was always something holy about a moment free of politics.

But before he could reply again, her mood shifted. She shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing on him—not angry, but keen, more intense.

"Leon..." she said in a low but sharp voice, "did you know Vellore was planning this quickly?"

The bite in her voice was not ignored. His smile stuttered, not lost, but softened like a candle flame against a gust of wind.

"Yes," he admitted.

Nova’s brow creased. "And why didn’t you tell me?"

Leon exhaled slowly, one hand rising in a silent gesture of capitulation. "In my defense... Natasha said it at the mid-banquet. I left early, recall? I was going to let you know, but things became... complicated."

"Complicated?" she repeated, her tone growing dry and pointed. "Yes, I recall. You disappeared mid-banquet, Leon."