🛡️Lucien❄️

The wind stirred through the trees, tousling my hair as I watched the girl standing a few meters away. Her hazel green eyes were fixed on me and to the shadows ahead, wide with curiosity and a hint of defiance. From the first moment I saw her, I can sense she had potential but this fascination of hers with the old woods... it left me hesitating.

My father used to speak of this mysterious forest, always with a slight tremor in his voice, as if the words themselves could summon something dark and ancient. He would tell us stories of the days before Wintermere, when creatures prowled the land that no sane mind would want to face or lived in this realm.

There were dire wolves with eyes that gleamed like molten gold, their thick black fur blending into the night. Dragons whose vast wings could eclipse the sun and turn day to shadow. Enormous serpents that glided soundlessly through the tangled undergrowth, and Yetis lurking in the icy shrouds of the snowbound peaks. This land was theirs once, until my ancestor, Alysanne, came upon them with an iron will and arcane magic.

They say she was a seeker of secrets, binding those creatures not out of mercy, but to hold dominion over their power, drawing from their essence in ways still unknown.

It doesn't make sense to me, why would a mage as powerful as her in history stoop to such measures? What could she possibly gain that she didn't already possess?

After she defeated the Dark Lords, she went into a place, a scarred, barren ground left in their wake and breathed life into it. The dead trees sprouted fresh leaves, flowers bloomed in wild profusion, and the earth that had been poisoned turned green and rich. They say she created the place as a sanctuary, a place of healing after all the battles were over. A place even some of the great beasts were welcomed, bound to the truce that Alysanne had forged with the land, each honoring the quiet power of the one who had tamed both darkness and earth alike.

On the other hand, my father told me there was another story, one that was never told aloud. He claimed that the magic she used to transform the old woods was meant as a tribute, not just to the people she saved, but to someone she had lost during the battle of overthrowing those lords, perhaps she's only fulfilling this persons wish.

Centuries have passed. Now, the old woods don't feel like a sanctuary at all. Before the forest disappeared out of nowhere, people who tend to visit there noticed something different that made their spines tingle, They started to sense of being watched, as if something has taken root among the trees that no longer welcomes visitors. Some say the woods are guarded by the unknown entities, that a presence lingers to protect whatever lies hidden beneath the soil. Or maybe... maybe whatever Alysanne left in that place refuses to rest, as if waiting for someone to return.

According to my father, the way to find the old woods lies in a single clue: the blue rose. A rare flower that only blooms here in Aetherwood, its petals are said to mark the hidden path. No one really knows where to find it, or if it even still exists. But if this girl somehow knows where to look... she might actually have a chance.

Still, I can't let myself grow complacent about her safety. I can sense a powerful magic of terra within her. But the place she wants to find is dangerous, and whatever entities resided there in the old woods might possessed a magic that is beyond any magic she's ever known. That's a reason enough for me to be wary. And if she stumbles too far down that path... there may be no coming back.

"Very well. If you're still so persistent about this, I won't stop you." I said, my voice steady and composed.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting my response.

"Really? Your Grace?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I met her gaze, my eyes cold and unyielding.

"Just be careful out there" I said as if warning her.

She nodded quickly, taking my response as the only answer she needed. Without another word, she ran off, her golem perched on her shoulder, its small form a stark contrast to her eager strides. Soon, she disappeared into the darkness of the woods.

I raised my hand, giving a slight, almost imperceptible wave, as if calling to something unseen, lingering just beyond reach.

The air roared faintly as my two mage subordinates appeared, each enveloped in the energy of their elements. One wielded Voltaris (Lightning), with arcs of lightning flickering around him, while the other commanded Zephyr (Wind), the faint rush of wind stirring his cloak.

"Duke, what is your order?" they asked in unison, their voices respectful yet unwavering.

I cast a brief, unreadable glance in the direction the girl had disappeared, then spoke with quiet authority. "Keep an eye on that girl; take actions to protect her when needed."

The mages exchanged glances, understanding my unspoken intent. They nodded, disappearing into the night, each element leaving a subtle trace, as if nature itself was aiding in the silent watch over her.

I let out a quiet sigh, feeling their presence fade into the night as they went after her.

If the girl manages to find it, the choice will be hers to take or leave. And if she does... well, I might find myself watching over her more closely. Or perhaps even recruiting her.

But no, I can't bring a child into this. Not yet.

An uneasy thought lingered at the back of my mind—could she carry Eldren blood? Was that why the cultists hadn't hesitated to try and kill her? The timing felt too perfect to be a coincidence.

My gaze drifted toward the shadows of the woods, and a faint chill brushed my spine as a name surfaced in my mind, whispered like a forgotten curse.

Eldren Grove.

My eyes widened as the name struck me, sending a chill down my spine. The memory clung like frost. The wind blew through me as if whispering secrets that only the dead would know, brushing icy tendrils against my skin.

As I stood there, it took me a moment before I could move again, finally managing a few hesitant steps forward.

Whatever secrets that grove holds... They don't matter for now. My real battle still lies ahead. I can't afford to grow complacent, even if my vassals seem to handle things smoothly. Not when the cult's high priest is involved.

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🌸Adeline🌺

The morning sun cast a warm glow through the study's arched window as I sat at the grand desk; my icy blue hair was styled updo, and my deep high collar blue dress was wrapped in a fur-lined capelet. On my chest rested the Valenhart emblem, a silver stag with wide, noble antlers, a symbol of Wintermere's strength.

I wasn't used to wearing this sign; I'd always worn a sigil of my own house, the golden eagle. But now, I was expected to bear the Valenhart crest, though in my case, it still felt strange to me. After all, I'd only been married for weeks. Though some people might be already adapted to it but not in my case.

Across from me, Quentin's usual grin was absent, his brow furrowed as he focused on the documents spread before us.

"My apologies about this, Duchess," he said, sighing, "I didn't expect that today will involved quite so much... ink."

I chuckled, glancing at the pile before me. "It's alright. I can imagine the Duke does this every day without complaint."

Compared to this, those endless stacks of papers in the capital were even worse. Just thinking about them made my blood boil. When Lucien "allowed" me to visit Veridonia, he casually asked me to stop by his manor there, conveniently leaving out that I'd be buried in paperwork. I swear he did it on purpose, cunning bastard.

Quentin nodded, tapping his quill thoughtfully against his chin. "He makes it look easy, though he's not one to sit behind a desk for long." He pulled out another parchment and raised an eyebrow.

"Here's an interesting one, your grace. A dispute between two merchants over trading rights at the north docks. Seems they've been at each other's throats over who gets the prime spot."

It does sound intriguing.

I leaned forward as he handed me the parchment. "And they've both written complaints?"

"Several, to be precise," Quentin replied with a sigh, "each more dramatic than the last."

I rested a finger against my chin, thinking it over. Rather than making a decision on who was right, I wanted to see the bigger picture. "Do either of them contribute anything else to the town?"

Quentin flipped through the files. "One of them, Old Man Jerry, provides lumber for repairs during the harsh winters. The other, Fennel, often hires townsfolk to help unload his shipments. Fortunately he pays them fairly, too."

I nodded as my idea formed. "What if we allow them to alternate? Each could have the prime spot every other season. That way, they'd both feel valued, and it might encourage them to give back more."

Quentin's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me with a hint of admiration. "That could actually work. It keeps both of them contented and pushes them to support the town in different ways."

I felt a quiet satisfaction as I grin. "Maybe if they both feel they're contributing, their rivalry will ease, too."

"Very well, Duchess," Quentin said, giving a nod. "I'll draft the proposal based on your idea."

Feeling a surge of accomplishment, I turned to the next matter, a request from the townsfolk to repair a bridge outside Wintermere. Quentin scratched his head as he looked at the proposal. "Funds are tight this season, and yet they need that bridge for easy access to town."

I paused, then asked, "Is Wintermere not prosperous? Why are our coffers tight this season?"

"We are not truly lacking, Your Grace," Quentin reply, "but the recent investments in fortifications and irrigation have required substantial resources. With so many long-term improvements underway, the funds for smaller repairs have grown rather thin."

I went silent, deep in my thoughts as it brightened, a plan formed in my mind. "What if we take a phased approach to the repairs, focusing on the essentials first? That would make the bridge usable without straining the treasury."

Quentin considered this, nodding slowly. "That could work, Your Grace. We'd stabilize the structure without committing all our resources."

I continued, "And there may be another way to lighten the cost. Wintermere's merchants rely heavily on that bridge for trade. If we invite one of them to sponsor part of the repairs, perhaps in exchange for reduced tolls, it could be mutually beneficial."

Quentin smiled, visibly relieved. "A wise strategy. I'll speak with a few of the merchants myself later on. You can leave the rest to me duchess."

"That would be great. Thanks for your help." I nodded with satisfaction. "Oh, and before you leave, could you take the letter I'm about to draft?"

Quentin's eyes gleamed with admiration. "Good idea, Your Grace. A letter from you would add considerable weight to the request."

I dipped the quill into the inkwell and began crafting a letter that was both formal and welcoming, carefully emphasizing the importance of the bridge to Wintermere's prosperity.

To Our Esteemed Partners in Wintermere,

I extend my warmest regards and trust this letter finds you well. As you may know, our valued bridge that connects Wintermere with neighboring territories is in need of repair. Given its essential role in fostering trade and travel, it is our hope to restore it with the utmost care and quality.

We invite you to join us in this endeavor by contributing to the bridge's restoration. In recognition of your support, we are pleased to offer reduced tolls for a season, an arrangement that honors your commitment to Wintermere's future.

Your generosity would not only sustain the wellbeing of Wintermere but also strengthen the bonds of partnership between us. We eagerly await your response and hope to embark on this project together.

With deepest respect,

Adeline W- Valenhart

As I finished the last line, I handed the letter to Quentin. He bowed respectfully. "The rest of the documents just need your signature, Your Grace. Please take time to read them carefully. I'll handle the remaining matters outside."

I nodded, offering him a tired smile. "Thank you, Quentin. For all your hard work."

He returned the nod and quietly closed the door behind him. I listened to the fading sound of his footsteps in the hallway, leaving me alone in the stillness of the study.

I let out a long, weary sigh.

I wonder if those merchants will accept my proposal. If they refuse, I suppose it's completely understandable because to them, I'm still a newcomer, barely weeks into my role as duchess. I imagine many people here may not even know me yet. Still, at least I've made an effort to be useful to this duchy. I wouldn't be surprised if I made a misstep in my decisions, though... or if Lucien eventually considered ending our marriage because of it.

When I'd written the letter just now, I'd nearly signed it with my old family name, Wycliffe, instead of Valenhart. The pen had hovered over the paper, and my heart had skipped a beat. I can't seem to stop myself from clinging to that name. Have I really accepted this new life? Or am I just playing the part, pretending for everyone else's sake?

Maybe that's why Lucien was still keeping his distance. He sensed my hesitation. He must think he's in the way, holding me back somehow, and maybe he's right. A part of me still longs for the freedom I had before, that feeling of belonging to no one but myself. And yet... there's something here that pulls me back, some feeling I can't quite name that tells me I shouldn't walk away.

I slowly turn my head to the window, looking at the greenery outside of this study.

Mother, what should I do? What would you say if you were here? You said your marriage with father wasn't any easier at the start, yet somehow, you grew to love him. I'm not like you—I'm not certain I can... or that I'm strong enough to look past my own fears and open myself fully to someone else. Sure, I can be kind and empathetic toward others, but that doesn't mean I'll open myself wholeheartedly.

My lower lip trembled a little.

I suppose I haven't embraced this new world yet, not fully, not with the part of myself that matters most.

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Night had fully fallen over the manor, the deep blue sky stretching beyond the arched windows. The darkness outside was broken only by the faint glow of post lanterns and the silvery shimmer of moonlight, casting soft light across my room.

I slipped off my fur-lined capelet and let my dress fall away, its weight pooling at my feet, I slowly removed the clip holding my styled updo, letting my hair tumble in soft waves down my back.

Reaching for my nightgown, I felt its soft, flowing fabric slide over my shoulders, settling lightly along my frame. The sleeves brushed just above my wrists, and its gentle fit traced the natural curve of my waist without clinging too closely. In this quiet gown, I felt a certain ease as I prepared to retire for the night.

As I was about to lie down, a soft knock sounded at my door. "Duchess, are you there?" a young voice whispered from the other side.

I quickly reached for the door and opened it a crack, revealing Clara standing there in her dress, her small arms cradling her familiar, who was fast asleep and softly snoring.

"Clara, what brings you here?" I asked gently.

She is glancing down nervously. Though it was late, there were no maids or butlers in sight. Had she come all this way alone?

"Uncle Lucien usually sings to me before I went to sleep, but he's not here. Can you... can you sing the lullaby for me?" she murmured, her voice trembling.

Her eyes were wide with hope, and I felt a warmth growing in my chest. Smiling softly, I took her hand and led her inside, ready to bring her the comfort she sought.

Realizing this, I can't really refuse his adorable niece.

I guided Clara to my bed, where the blankets were already turned down, creating a soft nest of warmth. "Here," I said gently, lifting the covers for her, "lie down beside me."

Clara climbed into my bed, clutching her familiar close as she settled against the pillows. I tucked the blankets around her and smoothed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, noticing the way her eyes darted around, still holding traces of fear.

"Would you like me to sing the lullaby now?" I asked, and her face softened, a little smile and nod breaking through the worry.

As I began to sing, my voice soft and low, I watched Clara's breathing slow, her eyes growing heavy. My hand rested gently on her forehead, comforting her with each word until her eyelids fluttered shut, and she drifted off.

Once she was sound asleep, I lay back beside her, allowing the quiet peace to settle over me as well. Her warmth was a gentle presence, and soon, lulled by the steady rhythm of her breathing, I found myself slipping into sleep beside her. Now that I think about it, I think I might be able to see her past again. How careless of me.