The rumble of the Douglas carriages echoed over the damp cobblestones, each impact making Emily's heart pound harder. She leaned toward the tall window of the main hall, struggling to keep her expression composed as the black banners—emblazoned with the twin wolves—fluttered before Count Carter's mansion.
A shiver ran down her spine. That elegant, imposing symbol was also a warning: many houses had fallen for defying the Douglas Duchy. Their lineage demanded not only respect but also vigilance; crossing them carried a price few could survive.
Emily drew a steadying breath and smoothed the trembling lace of her dress. She had to appear calm. A Carter never showed fear, even when her heart thundered like a war drum.
"Emily, please," her mother whispered, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Remember what is at stake."
Emily nodded, eyes fixed on the banners. "I know, Mother. Don't worry… I won't make a mistake."
The main doors opened with a resonant creak. Sophia of Mondring, Duchess of the Douglas Duchy, stepped through with measured authority. Her presence filled the hall; her smile was restrained, coldly composed. Behind her, Lusian followed—dressed plainly, yet carrying himself with the unmistakable weight of his lineage.
Emily noticed the servants instinctively lowering their gazes. The mere presence of the Douglas family created an invisible pressure, a chasm between them and every other noble house—a line no one dared cross.
Greetings were formal, almost ceremonial: gentle words, tense smiles, and calculated glances. Nothing was spontaneous; every gesture was a carefully rehearsed dance of diplomacy and survival.
Emily forced herself to breathe evenly, though every nerve was on alert. Every movement, every look from the Douglas family seemed to remind her there was no room for error—and she had to meet their expectations.
Sophia spoke in her melodic, almost maternal tone, each word deliberate. "My son has been eagerly anticipating this meeting. It is an honor to forge ties with a family of such fine reputation."
Emily responded with a slight bow, controlling the tremor in her hands. Her voice was steady, measured. "The honor is ours, Duchess. My family is grateful for the opportunity to welcome you into our home."
As the adults exchanged formalities, Emily felt the weight of Lusian's gaze upon her—while he, in turn, felt an urge to flee at the sight of his future executioner. He did not display the cold arrogance one would expect from a Douglas heir. There was something different in his demeanor: the look of someone carefully studying a poison before deciding whether to drink it.
Curious, Emily thought. He doesn't seem to enjoy this any more than I do.
Soon after, Sophia—effortlessly commanding authority she never had to enforce—suggested that the young ones take a walk in the gardens. Emily understood the unspoken message: they wanted them alone, to seal with words what would soon be a political bond rather than a chosen fate.
She drew in a steadying breath and guided Lusian toward the gardens beneath a gray sky heavy with rain. The scent of lilacs drifted through the air, delicate and almost veil-like, blending with the tense silence. Each step felt weighted—not just toward him, but toward a future she did not yet know how to face.