Don introduced Keyla to the servants of the mansion as their young Mistress. Her new room was in the east wing of the sprawling estate, a suite so grand it could fit half a dozen children comfortably, though she would occupy it alone. Four maids and a small detachment of guards were assigned to her, ready to serve her every need.
The bath had been prepared in advance. It was a shallow, circular well of water almost the size of her bedroom, with rose petals floating across the surface. The warm steam rose like gentle mist, carrying the scent of lavender and sandalwood. Keyla undressed and stepped in, letting the warmth envelop her. The maids moved with quiet grace, washing her and massaging her muscles, careful not to cause discomfort.
When it came to dressing her, they hesitated for a moment. Her clothes were mostly male garments, simple trousers, tunics, and boots, far removed from the gowns they were accustomed to. Yet, with patience, they arranged her attire neatly. They wove her hair into three braids on each side, intertwining them into a single braid that fell to her waist. A single strand looped around her head like a crown, softening the warrior in her image.
Once dressed, she began exploring the mansion, moving through high-ceilinged halls and ornate staircases. Every corner spoke of wealth and care, from polished marble floors to tapestries embroidered with the Aragon crest. Eventually, she found Don, who was inspecting some documents in his study.
"Good morning, little lad," he greeted, smiling softly.
"Good morning, Papa," Keyla replied, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of being home yet excited for the day ahead.
They discussed daily routines and upcoming tasks. Don called two of her sisters from the group home to join them. The reunion was filled with laughter, hugs, and stories from their years apart. Memories of training, minor mischiefs, and hardships were exchanged, their voices mingling like music through the mansion.
That evening, they visited Madam Neller at the group home. Keyla marveled at the changes—the house was cleaner, brighter, and filled with laughter again. She introduced Don as her father, which drew smiles and respectful nods from the older women. They shared a sumptuous meal, roasted meats, and fine wine, much of it brewed by Keyla herself during her forest years. She also met the wives of her brothers and their children—some newborns barely old enough to walk, all of whom gawked at her in awe, whispering among themselves about the legendary girl of the forest.
Later that night, returning to the mansion, Keyla saw Don off to his room. As she turned toward her door, he called out softly:
"Keyla dear, tomorrow we visit the Imperial Palace. I'll also resume my full duties as general."
"Are you abandoning the forge?" she asked, feigning surprise.
"Oh, I will never, dear. After you left, I trained one of your brothers. The shop is in good hands now," he said.
"Hmm, wonder how that skipped our conversation at the reunion," she teased. "Well, then, old man, make sure to ask for a wife tomorrow."
"Could you stop reminding me already? I'm exhausted just thinking about it," he chuckled.
"You think? Fine then, don't ask—I'll handle it myself," she replied, laughing. She gave a small wave and headed to her room.
Her room was massive, a bed so large it could accommodate five people comfortably. She collapsed onto it, letting the memories of the forest and her years of training wash over her. Sleep came easily that night.
The next morning, one of her maids gently shook her awake.
"Miss, young Miss, it is time. The general said you should get ready. You leave in an hour."
"Mmm, alright, thank you. You may leave now," she murmured.
"No, my lady. We are here to dress you and accompany you," the maid insisted.
"Very well. Prepare my bath first and get yourself ready. I'll manage the rest," Keyla said.
The bath was warm and comforting. She dressed herself in a sleek set of purple leather trousers with layered straps to her knees, perfect for holding daggers. A fitted leather coat hugged her figure, extending to her knees, emphasizing her lean, powerful physique. She secured her sword across her chest and walked to the carriage waiting outside.
"Did you sleep well, my dear?" Don asked as he joined her.
"Yes, Papa. And how are your old bones?" she teased.
"You brat! I'm not even fifty yet," he laughed. "Well, get in. Let's be on our way."
As the carriage moved through the city streets, Keyla's curiosity could not be contained.
"Father, tell me about the royal family. What are they like?"
Don leaned back, a knowing smile crossing his face. "Ah, the Royal Family. Well, they're a long line of Emperors, far grander than the kings of the south. Presently, our Emperor has two wives and six concubines."
Keyla's eyes widened. "And they all… coexist peacefully?"
"Not always, but the rules are strict. Succession is determined at a certain age. The competition for the crown prince is fierce, but the family respects it," Don explained.
He began describing the Emperor's children: Sage, the first son at twenty-two, followed by Damis at twenty, then Eric, the crown prince, aged nineteen like Keyla, Lahan at eighteen, and the twins Kahrl and Elec at seventeen. The princesses were younger, Asia at fifteen, Amber at fourteen, Lucia at twelve, and Cara at eleven and a half.
Keyla listened intently, processing the size and complexity of the family. "And the Emperor himself?"
"Albeit Aragon," Don replied simply, "a capable ruler, fair but formidable. His court is intricate, but the structure ensures order."
She smiled at the thought of meeting him, imagining the grandeur and the lives of the royal children.
"You're quite familiar with them, aren't you?" she asked.
"Of course. Stop distracting me now; there's still much you need to know about palace life," Don said, chuckling.
The carriage rolled closer to the Imperial Palace, the gates towering over the city streets. Keyla adjusted her sword belt and breathed deeply, the weight of the journey ahead mingling with excitement and anticipation.
As the palace loomed, she could feel the pulse of history around it—the centuries of Aragon leadership, the whispers of strategy and power embedded in the stones, and the lives of the many generations that had walked its halls. She glanced at her father, noting the resolute calm in his gaze.
"Ready, little lad?" Don asked.
"I'm ready, Papa," she replied, gripping the hilt of her sword, eyes shining with determination. "Let's meet the Emperor."