The hours slipped away in a haze of ordered chaos.
Every room in the manor seemed to pulse with urgency. Servants flitted through corridors with hushed voices, bearing instructions from the steward like soldiers in a campaign. Every candle was lit and trimmed, every floor polished to a mirror's shine.
The sun, climbing toward its zenith, threw shafts of light across the great hall where finishing touches were applied.
Adrian Everhart stood at the heart of it all, calm but intent. He inspected without hovering, issued corrections without raising his voice, and yet every servant seemed to stiffen in his presence, eager to meet his quiet expectations.
The hours were long, but his thoughts made them longer still. Each time he looked toward the gates, his mind wandered back to the young woman he had once saved. Would she remember him as he did her? Would her presence today be duty alone, or something more?
By the time the sun reached its height, tension had wound itself into every corner of the manor. Conversations dipped into whispers, laughter ceased altogether.
The Everharts might be barons, but today they played host to a count's household. To falter in the smallest courtesy would be an insult that could not be taken back.
It was then the horns sounded from the watchtower.
A hush swept the estate. The cry of "Carriage approaching!" rang down the halls like a bell. Servants scrambled into their final positions, footmen snapping to attention in perfect rows, the steward smoothing his coat one last time before marching to the doors.
Adrian's gaze fixed on the gates. From the rise of dust on the road came the first glimmer of a gilded carriage, sunlight gleaming off its polished frame.
The horses were sleek, their tack shining, and behind them rode the Blackthorn escort—a handful of knights and maids in livery that spoke of wealth and rank.
And yet, the carriage was smaller than expected.
A ripple of uncertainty moved through those gathered. Was this the full Blackthorn delegation, arriving with less pomp than anticipated?
Or had one member of the family—perhaps even the younger daughter—been sent ahead?
Adrian's jaw tightened, though his expression betrayed nothing. The proper course was clear: treat the arrival as though the entire Blackthorn family were present, until the contrary revealed itself.
The steward gave the signal. Footmen swung the great doors wide, and the Everhart household spilled into formation on the steps.
Adrian stepped forward, flanked by Isabella on one side and Sophia on the other, with Rosalyn and Seraphina positioned a step behind.
Each woman embodied a facet of grace—poised, radiant, and deliberate—as much a part of the welcome as the banners and garlands.
The carriage rolled to a halt at the foot of the stairs. Knights dismounted smoothly, moving to form a protective perimeter, while one of the maids hurried to the door.
Every eye in the manor fixed upon that moment—the pause before the first Blackthorn set foot on Everhart soil.
The door opened.
A slender figure descended carefully, aided by the maid's steadying hand. She wore a gown of pale-blue silk, simple yet elegant, her hair catching the sunlight. The hem of her skirt lifted just enough to reveal slippers that touched the stone with quiet precision.
It was not the Count or Countess. Nor the formidable Lady Mira.
It was Lira Blackthorn.
A faint murmur rippled through the servants before discipline clamped it down. Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly—not with displeasure, but with sharp attention. Of all the possibilities, this was the one that set his pulse quickening.
Lira lifted her gaze at last. For an instant, uncertainty flickered across her features, but it was quickly mastered.
She descended the final step with the quiet composure of one who had been trained her whole life to walk in another's shadow, yet now dared to stand in the light.
Adrian inclined his head, a measured bow that was neither too deep nor too slight. "Lady Blackthorn," he greeted, voice carrying clearly but not coldly.
The formality hung between them, heavy with the weight of expectation. Lira curtsied in return, her movements graceful though her hands betrayed the faintest tremor.
Behind her, the Blackthorn knights waited, offering no further explanation for the absence of their masters. Whether the Count and his elder daughter would follow later—or whether this was a calculated test—remained a mystery.
But Adrian did not falter. Etiquette demanded he extend hospitality without question. He turned, gesturing with open hand toward the hall. "You honor this house with your presence. Please, be welcome."
The household moved as one. Isabella stepped forward to offer a gentle smile of reassurance, Sophia inclined her head in polished courtesy, Rosalyn's eyes glimmered with quiet warmth, and Seraphina's faint smirk softened into something almost approving.
Together, the Everharts extended not just politeness, but a declaration: whatever the Blackthorns brought to their door, they would receive it with dignity.
Lira stepped past the threshold, her attendants following close behind. The great doors closed slowly behind them, sealing the moment.
The day that had begun with breathless preparation had now shifted into history—the first step of a union that would bind two houses, and perhaps, if fate was kind, grant Lira the freedom she had long dreamed of.
The atmosphere within the hall was warm and stately, though beneath the surface lingered an air of taut curiosity.
Servants moved like shadows, bowing as Lady Lira Blackthorn was led inward, her pale-blue gown brushing softly across polished stone floors.
Her attendants kept a respectful distance, leaving her framed in composure, though Adrian noticed the way her fingers grazed the folds of her skirt, betraying nerves she did not wish to show.
The steward began to speak—protocol demanded he guide her toward the guest wing—but Lira raised a hand with quiet grace. Her voice, soft but steady, carried clearly enough to still the air around them.
"If I may… Lord Adrian himself should lead me. After all, it is his hand I am to take in the future."
The words hung suspended in the hall. A subtle ripple of surprise passed through the attendants, but Adrian inclined his head without hesitation. He gestured for her to follow.
"Very well," he said. "Allow me."