Chapter 449: Perfect Deal
As the sun crested the horizon over Ilis, painting the marble spires of the palace gold, Serah had already risen, bathed, dressed, and armed herself with purpose. Sleep had barely graced her, yet she moved with determination, her boots clicking softly against polished stone floors as she made her way deeper into the palace. Not to the throne hall, not to the training grounds—but to a tucked-away corner that smelled faintly of smoke, old parchment, and spilt liquor.
The royal family’s personal comm-rune craftswoman lived and worked there. A woman less refined than most of the palace’s staff, but indispensable.
Her name was Brenna Valeheart.
The moment Serah pushed open the carved wooden door of the workshop, she was greeted by the sight of a cluttered wonderland—half-finished rune stones glowing faintly on scattered tables, tools stacked haphazardly, and several empty bottles rolling across the floor like forgotten soldiers. The smell of wine hit Serah before Brenna even turned around.
"Well, well, if it isn’t Her Highness the Warrior Princess," Brenna’s voice rang out in a rough, amused tone. She stood at a workbench, her auburn hair tied in a lazy bun, sleeves rolled up, and a faint smudge of ash on her cheek. She turned with a grin, holding up a rune that flickered uncertainly. "Back from saving the realm again, are we? Or just dropping by to watch me drink myself into early retirement?"
Serah smirked, stepping fully inside. "Good to see you too, Brenna. And yes, the mission went well. Mostly paperwork and headaches in the end."
Brenna arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Ha! You’ve got that look. The one that says there’s more to this story but I’m not gonna tell you because I’m a tight-lipped soldier who thinks she’s mysterious." She leaned against the bench, folding her arms. "But fine, fine—I’ll let it go. Tell me something else then... have you finally found yourself a man? Or are you still letting that singleness grow moldy?"
Serah blinked, sighed, then gave her friend a dry look. "Still haven’t found anyone. Not that it’s any of your business."
"Oh, please." Brenna snorted, snatching up a bottle from the table and realizing it was empty before tossing it aside. "You’re practically the jewel of the Solara Kingdom, and yet you’re sitting around with dusty old rune-makers like me instead of wooing some poor lad into your arms. It’s tragic, really. Downright criminal."
Serah chuckled faintly and shook her head. "Or maybe I just prefer good company over nosy nobles."
Brenna’s laugh echoed off the workshop walls. "Flattery will not get you a discount, Princess."
"Good thing I’m not here for a discount," Serah replied smoothly.
Her tone shifted, her posture growing more deliberate as she reached for the bag slung at her side. She placed it on the table between them, her crimson eyes locking on Brenna’s with subtle weight. "I need you to craft me an untraceable comm-rune."
The craftswoman’s smile froze. For a moment, the air in the room stilled, save for the faint hum of unfinished runes. Brenna leaned back slowly, her grin fading into a serious stare. "Serah... you know damn well those aren’t made unless your father orders it. If anyone found out I forged one without permission, it’s not just my job on the line. It’s my head. So no, sorry, Princess. Even for you, I can’t—"
"Open the bag," Serah interrupted, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of command.
Brenna frowned, clearly irritated at being cut off, but curiosity won out. She tugged the bag open, peering inside. Her eyes widened.
"Well, I’ll be damned..." she whispered reverently. Nestled inside were two bottles of wine, their deep crimson liquid glowing faintly within glass etched with golden filigree. The crest on their seals marked them as Moonfire Reserve, the rarest vintage in all Solara. Wine reserved for royal coronations, alliances, or victories—never for casual drinking.
"Serah..." Brenna muttered, lifting one bottle with both hands as though it were a holy relic. "Do you have any idea what this is worth? I could trade this bottle alone for a mansion in the Noble District and still have enough left over to stock it with servants and cheese."
"I do know," Serah said, her lips twitching in a faint smirk. "That’s why I’m offering them. Both."
Brenna clutched the bottle to her chest dramatically, eyes glimmering. "You’re evil. You know that, right? Pure evil." She sighed, shaking her head before setting the wine back down with exaggerated care. "Fine. I’ll do it. But it won’t be quick. I’ll need time, a day at least, before anyone notices something strange. Midnight tomorrow at the earliest."
Serah leaned forward, her voice low. "I need it before midnight tonight. Three hours before, to be exact."
Brenna nearly dropped the second bottle. "What?! Do you think I just snap my fingers and runes carve themselves?! That’s impossible. No, no, I’m telling you right now, not happening. You’ll take it tomorrow or not at—"
Serah calmly reached toward the bag as if to reclaim it.
"Wait! WAIT, WAIT!" Brenna yelped, clutching the bottles like they were her children. "Fine, damn it! You win! Tonight it is. I’ll work my hands to the bone, I’ll work sober—ugh, gods forbid—but I’ll have your little secret rune ready by then."
Serah smiled faintly, pulling her bag away and leaving the bottles on the table. "That’s all I needed to hear. I knew I could count on you."
"Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me now," Brenna muttered, glaring halfheartedly as she tucked the wine safely out of sight. "You’re lucky I love wine more than I love my own life."
Serah smirked and turned toward the door. "And that’s exactly why we get along so well."
With the deal sealed, she stepped out of the cluttered workshop, her boots echoing once more through the palace corridors as she headed back to her daily duties, her mind already racing toward the night to come.
***
As the day wore on, Serah fulfilled her duties as dutifully as ever, the weight of responsibility never failing to rest on her shoulders. She spent part of her afternoon with her mother, Queen Seralyne, whose calm grace never ceased to ease Serah’s weary mind. They shared quiet conversation in the garden, the queen’s voice as soft and steady as the wind that rustled the flowering trees around them. Later, Serah accompanied her youngest brother, Tharionson, delighting him with tales and lending her ear to his endless questions.
Meanwhile, Galen had not been spared by their father. Under King Tharion’s unbending command, the white-haired menace of a brother found himself enduring training drills, sharpening both sword and skill despite his very vocal protests. Yet when Serah joined him later, her presence shifted the mood. With her guidance, she forced his focus into place, striking at his weaknesses with the same precision as her blade. Their usual banter flew like arrows between them—jabs, insults, playful challenges—but beneath it, Serah watched him grow sharper, quicker, his movements more measured as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon.
By sundown, Galen’s sweat-soaked shirt clung to him, and though he would never admit it, he had improved. Serah allowed herself a small victory smile before leaving him to grumble about their father’s relentless expectations.
When the last shades of daylight bled into twilight, Serah made her way once more to Brenna’s workshop. The familiar scent of smoldered ash and faint alcohol hung in the air. Pushing open the door, she immediately spotted the comm-rune craftswoman sprawled across her couch in the corner, already halfway through one of the bottles Serah had brought earlier. The golden seal was cracked open, the deep crimson wine catching the faint glow of runes scattered about the room.
Brenna raised her glass lazily at Serah’s entrance. "Ahh, Princess! You’re back. And here I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ me the moment you dumped treasure at my feet."
Serah folded her arms, one brow arching. "Seeing you like this, I was beginning to doubt my comm-rune was even close to finished."
A sly grin spread across Brenna’s flushed face. Without sitting up, she reached over to the table beside her, grabbed something, and tossed it toward Serah with surprising precision. "Doubt no more, Highness."
Serah caught it with ease, her eyes falling to the object in her hand. A bracelet—sleek, unadorned, with a single embedded rune that pulsed faintly with energy. Nothing ornate, nothing that screamed royalty or artistry. Just practical and subtle.
Perfect.
Relief softened Serah’s expression as she turned it over in her fingers. She could already imagine Marcus taking one look at it and not scoffing—something fancy and gilded would have been tossed back in her face without a second thought. This, however, was something he might actually wear.
Her crimson gaze lifted to Brenna, who was already pouring herself another drink with the smug ease of someone proud of their work. "You did well," Serah admitted, her tone tinged with genuine appreciation. "Thank you for this. I hope those wines make your effort worth it."
Brenna raised the glass in a mock toast, her grin wide and mischievous. "Oh, trust me, Princess, they already have. And when this second bottle’s gone, I’ll probably be praising you to the stars. Just... don’t go telling your father how I’m using his daughter’s bribes to pickle myself in style."
Serah smirked faintly, tucking the bracelet securely away. "Your secret’s safe with me."
With that, she gave Brenna one last nod, turned for the door, and left.