The carriage wheels rolled over cobbled stone as the city gate of Percival Barony creaked open under the morning sun. Christina Percival stirred from her seat, the gentle rocking of the vehicle causing the soft velvet curtains to sway. She reached out and slightly pulled the curtain aside, her careful eyes narrowing at the familiar—but unexpectedly vibrant—sight.
"...This isn’t how I rember it," she muttered to herself.
The streets were alive. People bustled about with cheerful energy. Vendors shouted joyfully as they sold fruits, iron tools, and warm loaves. Children ran laughing through alleyways, and even the once grim-faced miners—their clothes soot-stained and worn—were now smiling and laughing among themselves. So even carried their pickaxes over their shoulders like heroes returning from victory.
"It’s like... soone washed away the dust and sadness," she whispered in awe.
Despite being away from her fief for more than two years, Christina always understood the value of the miners. After all, the main inco of the Percival Barony didn’t co from farming or fishing — it ca from mining and blacksmithing. Coal was their lifeblood, and soot and mud were their blessings.
Padre Osmund, seated opposite her, leaned forward with a knowing smile. "Ah, Lady Christina, the fief seems to be thriving," he remarked warmly. "I was told the Holy Church’s branch here has also seen renewed spirit. I should visit... after I see what Lady Cassandra desires, of course."
Christina gave a small nod. "It’s hard to believe. I always rembered the miners’ eyes looking... tired. Lost. It feels like I’ve stepped into a different world."
The padre chuckled. "Hope can do that, my child. Perhaps soone has finally given them reason to live and dream. Hope is our salvation!"
The conversation fell into a thoughtful silence as the carriage continued past the bustling heart of the town. It eventually wound up the familiar hill road, drawing closer and closer to a building that lood like a stoic monunt of her past—the grand gate of Percival Mansion.
As the heavy iron gate opened and the carriage passed through the courtyard, Christina inhaled deeply. The air here slled of polished stone, rosewood, and history.
"...It’s good to be back," she said quietly. But no sooner had the words left her lips, her expression twisted with a bitter undertone.
She rembered.
Baron Jamie Percival, her father, would not celebrate her return. Instead, she would be t with constant complaining. She knew that as soon as he heard about her fight with the Princess of Harlow, he would be furious — not proud of her achievent, but angry that she had sullied the Percival na by getting involved in scandals, fighting with powerful people when they were supposed to bow their heads, and ultimately getting beaten to a pulp by one.
Worse still, the letter he sent made it clear: he intended to remove her from knightly education and enroll her in a noble lady’s school.
A finishing school. To prepare her for marriage.
"To a viscount... or maybe a count’s house," she murmured bitterly. "A favor trade. Like livestock."
She looked down at her gloved hands and clenched them. "Am I... just trying to prove him wrong?" she whispered to herself. "Trying to beco a leader he’ll never acknowledge...?"
The thought stung, like iron to an open wound. Her father had always wanted a proper male heir. Soone to carry the Percival legacy. Her existence had disappointed him from birth.
"But I kept fighting anyway... only to end up humiliated, bloodied by a count’s son... and still just a pawn in soone else’s ga."
The carriage ca to a halt.
A familiar face greeted her as the door opened. An old man, hair white as snow and eyes soft with years of wisdom, bowed politely.
"Welco ho, young lady," he said with a gentle smile.
"Good to see you again, Walden," Christina said with genuine warmth. "You haven’t aged a day."
"Ah, I wish that were true," the butler chuckled. "But your complint is appreciated, Lady Christina"
Padre Osmund stepped out behind her and gave a polite nod. "I shall take my leave and wait in the guest parlor. Please inform Lady Cassandra I await her summons."
Christina turned to him. "Thank you, Padre. I’ll see you shortly."
With that, Osmund was led away, and Walden gestured for Christina to follow him into the mansion.
As they walked through the corridors, Christina took note of a curious change—her father’s portraits, once looming large in nearly every hallway, had vanished.
"When did those co down?" she asked aloud.
Walden hesitated. "They... were removed last week. Lord Jamie preferred a quieter presence."
Christina raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like her father at all.
And another strange thing—many of the servants she passed were smiling. Genuine smiles, not the forced pleasantries of those under a harsh master’s gaze.
"Strange," she thought. "Is he... changing?"
Could her father have softened? Beco the leader she always wished he’d been? Could he have beco the better father she had always wanted?
Her thoughts were interrupted as Walden ca to a halt before a door she rembered all too well.
The guest room. Not just any—the guest room. A lavish chamber usually reserved for visiting royalty or high-ranking nobility. Velvet carpeting from the Komodu Duchy, crystal chandeliers that caught light like diamonds, marble furnishings imported from the artisan valleys of Ilmara.
Christina frowned. Why is Mother in there?
Walden gave the door three firm knocks, his tone polite but clear. "Lady Cassandra, Lady Christina has arrived."
A long pause.
No footsteps. No rustling. No answer.
Just silence.
Walden exchanged a slightly puzzled look with her, about to knock again—when the door finally creaked open.
Only slightly.
Just enough for a single erald eye and a tangle of disheveled red curls to peek through. Cassandra’s face appeared, frad by the barely open door. Her cheeks were flushed a little too red, her lips a bit too glossy, and there—just there—was a streak of sothing white near the corner of her mouth.
Christina blinked. "Mother?"
"Ah!" Cassandra’s smile was too bright, too fast. "Thank you, Walden. That’ll be all. You’ve done well today."
The old butler gave a gentle bow, though his brows twitched with concern. "Of course, my lady. Shall I—?"
"No need," Cassandra cut in quickly. "We’ll manage."
Walden hesitated, then glanced at Christina with a faint, knowing wince before retreating down the hall.
The mont he was gone, Christina took a hesitant step forward. "...It’s good to see you, Mother," she said softly, trying to ignore the oddity of the situation.
"Sa here, my lovely baby!" Cassandra said with a laugh that sounded too high-pitched, too rehearsed. "You’ve grown even more beautiful... But, um—I’m just a little preoccupied at the mont. Could you wait in my chambers for a bit? I’ll join you right after a... bath."
Christina tilted her head slightly. "A bath? That’s a strong scent, though. You sll... amazing. Almost like spiced citrus and... honey? Were you sneaking so treats without again? I can see so icing on your lips."
That made Cassandra visibly flinch.
"I—yes! Yes, that’s it. Imported honey pastries! From... Yarsund County! Very rare, very sticky! Got them from that new rchant boy, actually. That’s what you sll—and, um, what’s on my lips, ha ha!"
Christina’s expression didn’t change. "Honey pastries," she repeated.
Her mother nodded too quickly. "Very sticky," she whispered, like she was convincing herself.
There was another sound.
A cough.
Low, masculine.
From inside the room.
Christina froze.
Her brows knit together. "Was that—?"
"Dust!" Cassandra blurted. "The guest room’s so dusty. I told them to clean it better, but you know how it is."
"...Right."
Christina didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on the crack in the door, as if trying to peer through the darkness behind her mother.
Then, finally, she gave a short sigh and stepped back. "Alright. I’ll be in your room. Try not to get too... sticky, I guess."
"I—I won’t!" Cassandra squeaked, already starting to close the door. "Love you!"
"Mm."
Christina turned, not missing the faint scent that wafted out with the open door—a heady mix of perfu, warm skin, sweat... and sothing else she couldn’t quite na.
She walked down the corridor slowly, her heels clicking against the marble floors, deep in thought.
A deep male voice. Disheveled hair. Honey pastries? Really? That didn’t look like frosting...
She passed a maid who gave her a cheerful bow. Christina nodded politely, but her mind was elsewhere.
That was the special guest room. Why would a rchant be allowed to use it? Unless he wasn’t just a rchant...
Her hands clenched slightly at her sides. Her pace quickened.
Don’t jump to conclusions, she told herself. Mother always did entertain interesting guests. She’s just... being diplomatic.
But another mory surfaced—her mother’s flushed face, the dazed smile, the slip of a button undone at her collar. The kind of look Christina herself had seen on girls sneaking out of the academy dorms after curfew.
She grimaced.
"Sticky pastries and dusty rooms," she muttered under her breath. "Sure, Mother."
As she reached Cassandra’s chambers, she opened the door and stepped inside. The room hadn’t changed—elegant, gentle hues of rose and ivory, filled with the warm scent of lavender oils and lilac perfu. Familiar. Comforting.
And yet...
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folding neatly over her lap as she stared at the door.
How long have I been away? she wondered. Long enough for everything to change? For miners to smile and for servants to look free? For Mother to entertain strangers in royal chambers?
A knock ca to the outer door.
A maid entered, holding a tea tray. "Lady Cassandra said you might be waiting, my lady. She requested jasmine tea."
"Thank you," Christina said politely, taking the cup in her hands.
The maid lingered for a mont. "It’s good to have you ho."
Christina smiled faintly. "It’s... good to be back."
But the warmth in her voice didn’t quite reach her eyes.
When the maid left, she leaned back in the chair near the balcony, looking out at the green hills beyond the Percival estate. Sowhere in the distance, she could hear birds, laughter, the ringing of hamrs from the mines.
Why do things feel so different?
She took a sip of tea, the warmth soothing her throat but not her thoughts.
Her mind wandered back to her arrival—to the way people looked happy, the miners laughing with each other instead of watching the ground. To Padre Osmund’s curious observation. To the absence of her father’s portraits in the corridor. And now this.
Everything’s changed... and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.
She sighed.
Nothing was the sa anymore.
Not the fief.
Not the people.
Not her father.
Not her mother.
And perhaps... not even herself.
Reviews
All reviews (0)