POV Maria
At last, the day had come for us to return to our new home.
The months I spent under Elise's roof were, in many ways, pleasant—days that could never be described as miserable. Yet all that time, I carried within me the bitter sense of overstaying her goodwill.
There was something in Elise that, quietly, always reminded me of guilt. In her restrained gestures, in her long silences, I saw the shadow of a woman who blamed herself for the day Arthur died. How many times did I have to remind her it wasn't her fault? That the only one to blame was Baron Hoffmann—that cursed man who insists on returning like a shadow, determined to ruin what little I still hold dear.
Just the thought of seeing his face again today made my stomach coil, as if I had swallowed poison.
"Mother, I've finished packing everything," Anthony said, stepping into the room with a small bag slung across his shoulder.
Since our last visit to his father's grave months ago, Anthony had grown distant—most of all from Elian. I tried to tell myself it was only a phase, but every time I asked what was wrong, his answer never changed: I'm fine, mother. I'm only helping Elise with the plants.
I wanted to believe him. But deep down, I knew there was more. Something in him had closed off, and I feared he was drifting toward the same abyss I once stumbled into myself.
"Thank you, my son," I replied, forcing a warm smile for him even as unease gnawed at me beneath the surface.
While speaking to Anthony, I heard the sound of steps descending the stairs. Elian and Emanuelle appeared, each carrying their own bags filled with the few possessions we had left.
"All packed?" I asked.
"Yes, mother," they answered together, in unison—a sound that for a brief moment warmed my chest.
My eyes settled on Elian. He was already dressed in the formal garb of the Dark Throne. Not his ceremonial robe, but something far more sober: a tailored black suit, its lines sharp, precise. Over his chest, stitched in vivid red, gleamed the triangle ensnared by roots—the symbol of the order that now claimed him as disciple. The shirt beneath was blood-red, a silent proclamation of allegiance. His trousers, dark and firm, ended in black boots laced tight, like roots gripping the earth itself.
I studied his face. Those golden eyes—bright as polished metal—always reminded me of Arthur, a living reflection of the man I had lost. His hair, copper-red like mine, now reached his shoulders, tied into a small, careless tail. I had asked days ago if he wanted it cut. His only reply was no.
I gazed at him in silence, my heart caught between pride and grief. Looking at Elian was like seeing Arthur again, and yet also something more—something foreign, as if my son were both familiar and slipping further away at once.
The truth was not that he was drifting away, but growing. In his face I saw Arthur's eyes; in his hair, my own fire. A reminder that he was ours, irrevocably. No matter what future awaited him, he would always be my child. I would never abandon him. None of them.
Beside him stood Emanuelle, clad in the crimson dress with blue trim Elian had given her before leaving for Askov. The fabric fell just below her knees, edged with gold frills that caught the morning light. Her fiery hair, unbound, spilled in waves to her shoulders, a living flame kissed by the sun. Her eyes—serene, ocean-blue—were my own, reflecting not just their color but the calm I so often lacked.
The dress suited her perfectly, carrying both her vibrancy and her softness. I could almost imagine her as a young lady of the court, living out her own tales of grandeur. The memory tightened my chest—on Elian's fifth birthday, she had once told me she wanted to be just that.
Elise had wanted her to wear a garment marking her future as a member of the Tower of Wisdom. But Manu refused, choosing instead to wear the gift from her brother. Childish selfishness? Perhaps. But it was the innocent selfishness of an eight-year-old, who would soon be parted from the sibling she clung to most. Elise had not pressed her further.
As I looked at her, I thought of time. In mere days, she would turn nine. Only fifteen days later, Elian would reach six. They walked side by side into whatever fate awaited them, and all I could do was watch, powerless.
Anthony already waited, dressed in a deep navy suit with a white shirt beneath. His trousers matched, giving him a sober, formal air. Unlike Elian's boots, he wore sturdier shoes, polished and plain. His black hair mirrored Arthur's, but his eyes—blue, like mine—remained heavy, strange. Not sadness, not joy. Only weariness, which frightened me more than any grief he could have shown.
As for myself, I wore a wine-colored dress, delicate golden trim along its ruffled edges. My hair was loose, carefully arranged to fall down my back. In my ears, small earrings shaped like suns glimmered in the morning light. A gift from my three children—something they had worked for together, saving coins while we lived under Elise's roof, to give me on my twenty-seventh birthday. I would never forget the moment they placed them in my hands. It was as though the sun itself had been entrusted to me.
I watched my children then, standing side by side—three fragments of my heart, each carrying a piece of Arthur within them.
Soft footsteps sounded in the hall. Iolanda entered, her presence quiet but steeped in authority, filling the room like an inevitable shadow.
"Shall we?" she asked, her amber eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.
Before answering, I glanced at Elise, who lingered at the far end of the room, silent, her gaze holding a shadow of farewell.
"Yes. Let's go," I said, bidding her a brief but meaningful goodbye.
Elise chose not to come with us. She claimed she had matters to tend to, but promised she would visit the new house and attend the ceremony at the chapter's foundation.
Iolanda, unlike the stern soldier I had grown accustomed to, looked transformed today. She wore a gown of deep crimson, the fabric heavy, fitting her like ceremonial armor rather than a noble's attire. Long sleeves ended in gloves of the same shade, merging seamlessly into the whole. The neckline dipped into a V, revealing the curve of her chest—a detail so at odds with her usual austerity it left me momentarily unsettled.
Yet nothing in her seemed vulgar. Embroidered in gold thread across the fabric gleamed the sigil of the Dark Throne, radiant under the sunlight spilling through the windows. Her black hair, loosed to her shoulders, shone with faint blue undertones, like steel at dawn. Silver pentagram earrings glittered against her ears, and at her throat rested a diamond necklace, sharpening the gravity of her presence.
It felt strange, seeing her this way—less the hardened warrior, more a priestess cloaked in hidden power.
★★★
Outside, a carriage awaited us. At first, I thought it the same that had brought Elian and Elise back from Askov, but soon I saw I was wrong. This one was finer still. Its wheels were banded in polished iron, the dark wood carved with entwined vine patterns. Velvet curtains of deep crimson stirred in the breeze, and golden crests upon the doors flared like embers in the midday light.
It was nearly noon when we set off, bound for the new house that waited little more than an hour away.