The Doors of a The Court

"My queens," he said with a respectful bow of his head, "this building was personally designed by His Majesty."

That single sentence immediately shifted the attention of the entire group.

Several heads turned toward Leon at the exact same moment.

"You designed this?" Mia asked, her voice full of disbelief as she looked from Leon back to the towering hall.

Leon scratched the back of his neck slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention.

"Mostly."

Natasha slowly turned her head toward him, one eyebrow rising.

"Mostly?" she repeated, clearly not buying it.

Commander Black chuckled quietly beside them.

"My king is being modest."

Leon let out a slow breath and gave the commander a tired look.

"Commander..."

But Black had already decided he was ignoring that warning.

"His Majesty oversaw every structural detail of the palace," Black continued calmly. "Vice Commander Johny assisted with the military design of the defensive corridors, and Lord Ronan provided guidance on the internal logistics and administration wings."

He gestured toward the massive complex around them.

"But the vision, the layout, the structure... those were all His Majesty’s."

Rias slowly folded her arms, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she looked Leon up and down.

"So let me get this straight," she said.

Leon already looked like he knew where this was going.

"You built a palace," Rias continued, counting on her fingers, "rebuilt the kingdom’s entire defense system... and fought a war."

She paused, raising an eyebrow.

"All in the same period of time?"

Leon shrugged casually.

"Busy week."

For a moment there was silence.

Then the women burst into laughter.

Syra nearly doubled over.

"Busy week?!" she repeated between laughs. "Who even says that after doing something like that?"

Cynthia simply shook her head slowly, a small amused smile forming on her lips as she looked at him.

"Impossible man."

Leon’s expression softened slightly.

He gave a small smile.

"Not impossible."

"Just efficient."

The words were spoken casually, but the quiet confidence behind them filled the room.

Commander Black lowered his head in a respectful bow, one hand resting over his chest.

"My king... our achievements belong to you."

Leon’s brows immediately pulled together in a faint frown.

"No."

Black blinked, lifting his head slightly, clearly caught off guard.

Leon leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest before going still. His voice remained calm, steady—but there was iron behind it.

"If there is glory, we share it."

"If there is disgrace, we share that too."

The statement hung in the air for a moment.

Commander Black looked genuinely moved. The stern commander who rarely showed emotion suddenly seemed almost human again.

He straightened slowly and bowed deeper than before.

"Yes... my king."

But inside his heart he thought differently.

Your glory is yours alone.

After all, he had seen too much—watched too many battles, too many impossible decisions. No army, no minister, no commander could truly share the weight Leon carried.

And no one could claim the brilliance behind those victories.

Leon seemed to sense the thought anyway.

His eyes narrowed just a little, like a man who could hear words that were never spoken.

He sighed softly, rubbing his temple with two fingers.

"You never listen."

Commander Black froze for half a second before letting out a quiet breath.

For a brief moment his shoulders stiffened, as if he had considered arguing back. But the tension faded almost immediately. He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried years of familiarity with the man standing before him.

Then he simply gave a faint smile—one that held both loyalty and stubborn admiration.

Black only smiled faintly.

"You say that like it’s a flaw," Black muttered under his breath, shaking his head. There was no real protest in his voice. If anything, there was a trace of amusement.

Leon heard it. Of course he did.

But he didn’t respond.

Instead, Leon turned toward his wives.

A quiet shift passed through his gold-flecked gaze, tension easing as if a breeze had slipped between words. Stillness took over where authority once stood.

"Well," he began, voice soft, "you set?"

A silence sat there, heavy. Then someone breathed. The room waited.

One by one, their eyes shifted to the huge doors of the Throne Hall. Not a sound followed - just stillness pulling everyone into place.

Ancient. Imposing. Silent.

Frozen in time, each door wore golden snakes etched deep, winding through shadowed metal as if caught mid-crawl. Light danced on every scale, sharp enough to feel alive under the flicker of wall-mounted flames.

Some stretch so high even giants could walk under without ducking.

A moment passed before anyone breathed again.

Forward moved Rias then, taking the lead without a word.

A single eyebrow rose, its arch just slightly too knowing. Behind her, red strands danced in uneven rhythms. Her arms folded tight, defiance humming beneath still skin.

"Let’s see what kind of chaos you’ve prepared."

Her voice carried a spark - bright, teasing, edged with risk.

A sliver of movement shifted her weight, just enough to tilt toward the edge. Those massive doors caught her glance, framed by a smile too sharp to be innocent.

"Oh this is definitely chaos."

A small push from her elbow landed on Nova. Quiet, but enough to get attention.

"I can already feel it."

Nova exhaled slowly.

Something in her look stayed fixed on the doors, slower than a glance, heavier than curiosity. A quiet weight shaped the pause - less wonder, more remembrance.

"This is the moment everything changes."

Though soft, her words pressed like stone.

Others noticed it as well.

A moment that meant more than small talk ever could.

A moment that meant more than people coming together.

A turning point.

Leon stepped forward.

A moment passed. His gaze landed on the doors too - still, impossible to read.

After that moment, his fingers touched the wood of the door.

Frost bit at his hand where it touched the iron. The surface held a chill that lingered, sharp and quiet.

He walked on. The women stopped speaking. Silence came like dust after footsteps.

Not even a hint of grin stayed on Syra’s face.

Then pushed.

A low creak rose as the heavy doors began to swing apart.

A low rumble rolled down the hall, as if the walls themselves were coming awake. Slowly, bit by bit, the great doors crept open. Grit floated free where metal met stone.

Faint glow stretched through the doorway ahead.

Shining like a secret. This glow spreads wide. Huge, it fills everything without asking.

Floorboards swallowed by shade when the Throne Hall stepped into view.

Leon stepped forward.

He didn’t hesitate.

Last thought? Not happening.

Quietly, he spoke the word. "Come," leaving it hanging there.

And together they walked inside.