The sound of the Douglas carriages' wheels echoed across the damp cobblestone streets, each impact making her heart beat harder. Emily leaned out of the main hall window, trying to keep her expression serene as black banners bearing two wolves fluttered in front of Count Carter's mansion.
A chill ran down her spine. That elegant and majestic symbol was also a reminder: many houses had fallen for defying the Douglas Duchy. Their lineage did not only impose respect and honor—it was a constant risk.
She took a deep breath and carefully smoothed the trembling lace of her dress. She had to look calm. A Carter never showed fear, even if her heart inside was pounding like a war drum.
—Emily, please —her mother whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder—. Remember what is at stake.
Emily nodded without taking her eyes off the window.—I know, mother. Don't worry… I will not make mistakes.
The sound of the main door cut through the silence. Sophia The Mondring, Duchess of the Douglas Duchy, crossed the threshold with firm steps, her imposing posture and barely contained smile colder than warm. Behind her walked Lusian, her son, dressed with sobriety, with a composure that made the weight of his lineage evident.
Emily noticed how the servants instinctively lowered their gaze. The mere presence of the Douglases filled the room with an invisible pressure, a gulf between them and any other family—one that no one dared to cross.
The greetings were measured, cordial, almost ceremonial. Soft words, tense smiles, calculated looks. Nothing was spontaneous; everything was a carefully rehearsed choreography of diplomacy and survival.
Emily forced herself to breathe calmly, though every fiber of her body was alert. Every gesture, every movement of the Douglases seemed to tell her that there was no room for mistakes here. And she had to comply.
Sophia spoke with a melodic voice, almost maternal, each word carefully measured:—My son has been eagerly awaiting this meeting. It is an honor for us to form ties with a family of such good reputation.
Emily responded with a slight bow, controlling the trembling of her hands, letting her voice sound firm but restrained:—The honor is ours, Duchess. My family thanks you for the opportunity to receive you in our home.
While the adults exchanged formalities, Emily felt the weight of Lusian's gaze on her. It was not the cold arrogance she expected from a Douglas heir; there was something different: a mixture of doubt and distance, as if he also did not wish to be there more than necessary.
"Curious," Emily thought. "He doesn't seem to enjoy this any more than I do."
Shortly after, Sophia, with that natural authority that did not need to impose itself, proposed that the young ones go out for a walk in the gardens. Emily understood the implicit message: they wanted them to speak alone, to seal with words what would soon be a political bond rather than a chosen fate.
She took a breath and guided Lusian toward the gardens, under a gray sky that threatened rain. The scent of lilies floated around them, delicate, almost like a veil, blending fragrance with silent tension. Each step she took seemed to bring her not only closer to him, but to a future she still did not know how to face.