Across the manor, Aurora Matteo stormed into her son's study without knocking, silk skirts swishing like battle flags. She looked every inch the noblewoman—sharp-chinned, fire-eyed, terrifying. Two rings on each hand, a jeweled dagger strapped at her hip. Like Seamus, her eyes a glinting silver. Golden hair piled into an intricate updo.
"Who is she?"
Seamus didn't even glance up. His attention remained on the estate ledgers before him, mining records and troop formations.
"She's the woman I'm going to marry."
Aurora's hand slammed against his desk, shaking his tea. Her voice dropped low and furious.
"Another whore? Another scandal to drape over House Matteo like funeral cloth?"
He finally looked at her.
And smiled—not cruelly, but coolly, like a man who no longer cared what the world thought.
"You can't stop me. And you know it."
Aurora's expression flickered—motherly rage bending into something older: worry.
"You really think she's worthy?"
Seamus paused.
A memory surged through him—Elena after the tavern, bloody and defiant, pushing him against the wall, eyes alight with fury and arousal.
"I worry I'm not worthy of her," he said simply.
Aurora didn't answer right away. She stood, smoothing her skirts with calculated grace.
"I suppose I'll see for myself, then."
Elena:
Elena was adjusting her bodice in the mirror when the door burst open.
A tall, regal woman stood framed by the golden hall light, flanked by two attendants and a third woman—dark-skinned, sly-eyed, with a crown of braids.
"Good evening, darling," said Aurora Matteo.
Elena straightened.
The woman beside her stepped forward and bowed.
"This is Cheri," Aurora said. "She's your attendant now."
Cheri offered a dazzling smile. "Pardon the intrusion, Miss Rosaria. But it looked like you could use a hand."
Elena blinked, then recovered. Her tone was formal but honest.
"Thank you for your hospitality. The room is stunning. I look forward to getting to know you, Lady Aurora."
The older woman studied her, one brow arched. She gave a tight, unreadable smile.
"I'll see you at dinner."
Then she was gone—a storm wrapped in lace, her retinue flowing after her like smoke.
Elena exhaled only when the door shut again.
Silence stretched between her and Cheri.
Then the girl chuckled.
"You really dressed yourself? Finally, someone normal."
Elena surprised herself by smiling. Her fingers drifted again to her Saintess medal.
Thank you, she thought, for sending me someone kind.
She wasn't sure who she was praying to anymore.
But she was praying.