Yeara's face fell as she turned to her mother. Lady Persophone nodded gently at the butler.
"Send him in," she spoke, as the butler bowed deeply before leaving.
Lady Persophone turned her gaze back to Yeara. She noticed her daughter's displeasure. She knew she should have told Yeara beforehand, but she had not known when the right time would be—not until she received a letter earlier that morning from her husband.
The letter stated that Duke Larkin would be coming today. She had read it on her way to the market, yet she still had not truly thought it through, nor had she told Yeara about it.
"Mama, I do not want to get married," Yeara spoke, her tone turning serious as her hands fidgeted lightly with her gown, her eyes lowered—just as Lady Persophone opened her mouth to reply.
The door opened.
A figure entered. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his aura calm and gentle. His light brown hair was neatly swept back, and his hazel eyes moved quietly toward Lady Persophone, then to Yeara, who was not looking at him at all.
"Greetings, Lady Persophone and Lady Yeara," he spoke, a pleasant smile on his lips, before sitting.
Lady Persophone smiled back and turned to Yeara, who finally looked at Duke Larkin. It was obvious—she did not like him already. Even though this was their first meeting, it was dislike at first sight.
Just then, Yeara stood.
"Mama, I will leave you two to talk. I would not want to intrude," she spoke as she moved toward the door.
Duke Larkin immediately curved his lips into a small smile, his eyes lingering on her hair momentarily before returning to her gaze.
"No need. I came here to see you, Lady Yeara."
Yeara forced a nod, managing a tight smile before walking and sitting back down. She tried her best to maintain a calm expression, just as she had been taught—not to be rude to anyone.
"I have heard a lot of good things about you," he spoke, sitting upright. He softly tapped his foot on the marble floor, his glinting shoe catching the sunlight that peeked through the large window.
Yeara composedly observed him, then nodded again.
'At the rate you keep nodding, there's hardly any difference between you and an agama lizard,' she thought to herself, becoming aware of how constantly she nodded..but she could not just help it.
"And if I may ask, what exactly have you heard about me?" she asked, taking him by surprise.
He was taken aback by the question. Usually, the response he received from people was a nod or polite silence—never this.
Duke Larkin chuckled before responding.
"Your love for the theatres and dramas," he said with a smile, his eyes controlled as he observed her.
He noticed she was observing him as well. He could tell she was not interested, but he was sure he would make her be.
"Do you like that as well, Lord Larkin?" she asked, slowing her words as if testing the waters.
He nodded.
"Oh, Lady Persophone, what a smart daughter you have here," he said, turning back to Yeara as he nodded again.
"Of course, I watch a lot of dramas. The last one I visited was the show Quinsten's Bride."
Yeara shook her head calmly. That had been one of the worst dramas she had ever seen, and she was not surprised that this was the one he liked. Even though this was their first meeting, she already disliked Duke Larkin.
She glanced out the window and noticed the sun had begun to dip slightly. This was the best time to fetch fruit from the forest.
She stood and curtsied. Lady Persophone, who wore a pleased smile, thinking the two were getting along, did not expect Yeara's sudden movement.
"Mama, I will be leaving now to fetch some fruit," she said.
As she turned to curtsy to Duke Larkin, he stood.
"Well, I could help you fetch fruits. After all, two heads are better than one."
"Two heads are better than one only when both can see the road," she replied with a sweet smile, curtsying once more.
Lady Persophone's eyes widened in surprise.
Duke Larkin froze.
That alone said all that needed to be said.
"I will be taking my leave now. It was a pleasure talking to you," Yeara said.
With that, she left the room.
She rushed into the hallway, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a basket. She was not getting married—and that was final. She did not want to marry a man who did not even know what he wanted.
Maybe she was judging a book by its cover, but some books did not need opening to know their contents. Sometimes, even the cover spoke volumes.
She rolled her eyes irritably. That man had wasted her time—she would have already reached the forest by now. She wanted to pluck her favourite fruit, sunberries. They were deep in the forest, but not too deep.
She entered the kitchen and walked across the pavement, grabbing a basket. The cooks were preparing lunch, which meant she needed to be fast—she did not want to wait to eat.
"Good afternoon, all," she greeted the head cook and the others, waving.
They waved back, replying in unison, "Good afternoon, Lady Yeara."
Yeara smiled, basket in hand, and left. She walked straight to the exit. The sun was perfectly out—her sunberries would taste better than ever.
She would bring plenty for her brother as well. She was glad her mother had not sent a guard to follow her. This was her alone time.
She walked down the street, shaking her head side to side, singing a song she had just made up.
"Ho hoo hii haa, the cowboy sings,
Hiii hee, the cowgirl sings—"
She sang the lyrics over and over, her smile bright under the sun. After a while, her mouth grew tired.
She headed toward the other part of the forest to get the fruit, knowing that on her return she would pass the market and then take the shortcut home.
Yeara was so focused on the shortcut that she did not hear the sound of a carriage coming towards her with great speed.
Time stopped.
She turned just as the carriage, moving at great speed, slowed. The horses screeched to a halt only inches away. Dust surrounded the road as she coughed loudly. The horses reared, their front legs lifting before they finally stopped.
Yeara's heart began to pound loudly against her ribcage. Her eyes widened further in shock.
'Oh Lord.'
The horses were magnificent—neat, powerful. Even the pedals on their legs screamed wealth. The carriage itself was extravagant, decorated in gold and black to match the horses' golden pedals and smooth black fur.
She coughed again, waving away the dust, forgetting she was still standing in the middle of the road and had almost had an accident moments ago.
She had never seen a carriage like this.
The coachman stepped down and walked toward her.
Yeara tightened her grip on the basket. The coachman wore a neat white uniform. He was young, handsome—around her age. She had never seen a young coachman before; they were always old.
"They must be foreigners," she muttered to herself.
"My apologies for the negligence. Were you hurt?" he asked.
Yeara shook her head. She had read that word in an advanced book.
"Well, not physically," she said, "but it has caused me emotional distress. Perhaps there is compensation to calm me down."
She pressed her fingers to her temples dramatically. The man's eyes widened in shock.
Yeara was a book lover. She knew words that were rarely used.
To her surprise, he understood. He nodded and reached into his pocket.
He brought out a blue marble coin.
Her eyes locked onto it.
This was the highest coin of all.
She could not believe it. Something her father could not even lay his hands on, so rare—and here it was, casually sitting in the hand of a carriage driver.
Unbelievable.
She grabbed it quickly and curtsied.
"Thank you."
With that, she ran off, her hair bouncing as she went. She did not want him to change his mind.
Unbeknownst to her, inside the carriage, empty midnight-black eyes had been fixed on her all along.
Cold. Still. Watching.
As her figure retreated, the gaze followed piercingly, unblinking—sliding into the forest with her.
There was silence. Then, in an empty, dark tone, he spoke, the words slowly rolling out.
"Found you."