Third person POV
Early Morning, Reinhardt Manor – The Courtyard
The dawn light was pale—soft as a whisper, cold as a promise—filtering through the thin morning fog to settle in the Manor's courtyard. Diara stood alone, her black knight armor laid upon a carved stone bench, its dark steel gleaming with a patient purpose. In her hands, she held the blank parchment—a silent testament from breakfast.
She inhaled deeply, the sharp tang of dew on grass filling her lungs, steadiering her. Twin gryphons carved into the courtyard fountain seemed to watch—unblinking, majestic—mirrors of her own resolve.
Behind her, footsteps approached. Eliana emerged, hands folded calmly at her waist. "Dia," she said quietly, voice more soft than a breeze.
Diara folded the parchment, fine lines catching in the sun. "They used a seal with real authority," she murmured. "Someone within the household, or very close. They must know me too well to use such tactics." She started pacing, long strides. "An empty threat."
Eliana nodded. "If their goal was to provoke you… they succeeded. But only for a moment."
A third figure appeared. Morgana, already wearing her red-witch visage—calm, radiant with purpose. "I've prepared the spells I have learned from the tower this past few years I have been there," she said, laying a small, rune-etched parchment onto the fountain's edge. "This seal… it speaks of ritual. Magical oversight. We should assume our adversary is no mundane."
Ashtine rounded the corner, sword strapped at her side, eyes sharp and calculating. "I spoke to the stablehand. The servant you confronted yesterday passed through the stables again—early before dawn. He exchanged words with… someone tall, cloaked. No colors visible."
Diara turned, her steel-grey eyes steady as ice. "Do we suspect the stranger is external? Or perhaps one of the Manor's own cloaked in service uniform?"
Morgana folded her page. "One way to find out." She looked at Eliana. "Would you—care to be the bait, my saintess?"
Eliana's lips curved in a practiced smile. "I can act, yes. Act gently. Wander the corridors. Ask casually. Listen."
Diara nodded. "I'll be outside, in the courtyard, waiting for the moment we unveil this rather unpleasing experience." She squared her shoulders. "It'll change the clock tonight. We'll be in position by dusk. We'll find out who delivered the letter."
The Manor hummed with activity—servants downing midday meals before resuming their duties, ladies-in-waiting gliding through corridors, busy with their respective duties and tasks. Diara moved through with formal grace, greeting guests and servants alike. Every handshake, every glance offered data; every bow was a test.
She paused before Mistress Sonya, one of her mother's ladies, stepping forward with measured politeness. "Mistress Sonya," she greeted, voice soft. "Has my father's desk order—any missives arrived from the coast guard? Any strange orders?"
Mistress Sonya faltered—her face paling. "Lady Diara… only the usual reports from the port. The captain's logs. Nothing unusual."
Diara's gaze pierced, but she smiled. "Thank you. I'll check again this evening."
As she turned to leave, a wisp of cloth brushed her hand—a piece of dark velvet. A small scrap, woven with gold threads. She let it slide down her fingertips, fingers closing on nothing. She blinked, continuing onward.
In the servants' anteroom, she paused again, listening. "Have any letters gone missing?" she asked softly. The maid stared. "No, Lady Diara. Nothing unusual."
A beat. Then Diara whispered: "Thank you." Her voice, unassuming; her mind, full of spiders' webs.
Afternoon – Quiet in the Library
The four women reconvened beneath stained-glass windows. Morgana's rune scroll was placed upon the table, its letters glowing faintly in the afternoon gloom.
"I've adjusted the wards," Morgana explained. "The enchantment will alert any unauthorized magical activity within a thirty-foot radius. Though it will require time to recharge."
Ashtine laid a dagger beside the papers. "All corridors will have one guard at each junction—rotating every hour. Only three guards at a time so as not to alarm the household."
Eliana took the parchment from Diara's hand—smooth, blank, weightless. She set it next to Morgana's scroll. "It doesn't feel exactly the same as the writing pad I keep in my study…but certainly official."
They studied their respective notes:
Enchantment, Morgana
Patrol plans, Ashtine
Acting, Eliana
Investigation, Diara
Diara closed her eyes, imagining the night ahead. "Tonight, we move."
Evening – The Countdown Begins
Candles burned low in the Great Hall. Dinner progressed—rich pheasant, warm honey cakes—but each woman wore a mask of innocence. Diara sat poised, gilded goblet in hand, her eyes unobtrusive, always scanning. Ashtine, perched at her side, allowed a fingertip to glimmer subtly over the hilt of her sword—restraint personified. Morgana's gaze drifted casually toward the servant entrances. Eliana lifted spoons of soup, raising polite toasts, eyes flicking from face to face.
From behind ornate screens, the servant passed—head bowed, bearing trays and covered platters. Diara's heartbeat rose as the same dark-cloaked figure slipped inside. The candlelight glinted off hidden runes embroidered in his cloak's hem.
The four exchanged glances—subtle, unvoiced. Tonight—but how soon?
Late Evening
The manor floor plan lay before them again in a map room lit by a single lantern. Morgana marked key crossroads with chalk. Ashtine placed small partitions (borrowed from the tapestry warehouse) at each point to offer visual screening. Eliana would pose as a lost guest—"confused," "unable to find the guest wing"—prompting servants to guide her past each checkpoint. Diara would pose just behind her, hidden by the screens.
When their target arrived, Eliana would spot him, excuse herself to "find the door"—leading him into Morgana's warded trap, with Ashtine and Diara waiting for interception.
Timeframe: ten paces per screen, arrival window 45–60 minutes. Morgana's ward radius small—must strike precisely.
Midnight's shadows pooled in candlelit corridors. All was quiet—too quiet. The four moved into position:
Morgana hovered near the ward circle, chanting soft words.
Ashtine crouched behind a tapestry screen to Diara's right, finger on the cross-guard of her dagger.
Eliana, in borrowed silk, paused as if checking her reflection in a window, deliberately rehearsing lost.
Diara waited behind another screen, hooded cloak ready.
Then, footsteps—soft, muffled. The servant, voice low, hurried along, carrying parchment. He turned the corner—directly into Morgana's ward circle.
Morgana's voice rose. Golden glyphs glowed on the flagstones—blood-red at first, then riding into fiery amber. The parchment flared—flames licking at its edges, but without smoke or harm to wood—its magic canceled.
The servant froze, eyes wide. Ashtine sprang—swift as lightning—disarmed him with a click of steel against wood. Diara emerged from shadow: armor gleaming in torchlight. Eliana stood from her place, voice soft but firm: "We've questions—for you."
The servant's shoulders slumped. He dropped the second letter, sealed but untouched. "Take it," he whispered hoarsely. "My—masters—will kill me if they know I failed again."
They led him to a small, curtained study. Candles lay dim. He knelt, shaking. Diara's voice was measured, resolute.
"Who are these masters?" she asked.
He coughed. "They... they met in the stable yard. Tall man. No sigil. Orders came whispered through runes on the seal." He leaned forward, voice urgent. "They're… watching—conspirators… outside the family."
Diara watches the servant talking. Thinking of it, she was sure those cowardly bastards that had always sent her assassins have been quite quiet lately.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're free, if you cooperate."
He looked up—relief flickering. "Thank you, Lady. They said… they said to test the Manor's defenses, before the real letters. They said the next one would name the traitors."
"As usual, I see. It is them. But they cannot be the ones planning these things. They are too cowardly and stupid for that.", Diara said out loud.
The other three ladies listened to her, intently.
Eliana, the saintess, spoke with a serious expression, "Do you think... someone is also like us? That familiar feeling since two years ago, from the battlefield, my spot when I was in hiding from the people. Those strangely familiar feelings, have any of you two felt them too?", she asked the two other ladies beside Diara.
Diara turned to them, expecting.
Ashtine glanced at them and nodded. "I have. That feeling of being watched on every corner. My every move being observed. I have let it go, thinking it was just people against me. Now, I think this is much bigger than I thought.", she told.
"I have too. Since I left my family's domain, exactly two years ago as well.", Morgana said calmly.
"As I see it, we have a pattern here. Two years ago, spying, observing our every move. I have an idea who it might be, but I am not certain yet. I shall look into it more. Once you go back to your domains, be sure to send letters to me and look into it more as well.", Diara ushered them.
"Very well. I shall ask my elder brother for some assistance. And of course my cousin.", Eliana glanced at Diara teasingly as she said the last sentence.
The other two ladies coughed and smirked.
"Dill." Diara looked at the saintess, annoyed.
"Fine. Fine. I will not tease you anymore.", the saintess said as she chuckled.
Dawn – The Aftermath
Morning broke, weak and pale, through the study's windows. The four women sat in council. The servant, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, stood quiet but awake.
Morgana folded runic scrolls. "They're assembling information—about the Manor, its defenses, and likely schedules. They're waiting to see our reaction."
Ashtine spoke next, voice grim. "We caught one courier. We can expect more—perhaps last night was practice. We need to discover their base, their identities."
Eliana sank back, exhausted. "We made them reveal plans. They referred to 'next letter.' We must be ready."
Diara rose. Her steel armor lay nearby. She polished the breastplate thoughtfully. At her feet, the servant knelt once more.
"I grant you protection," she announced. "Safe in the guard quarters. You will help us decode future seals. But your masters will retaliate. We must strike first—find them."
A soft hush fell. The Manor's walls seemed to lean in, listening.
The servant bowed. "My life is within your mercy, Lady Diara."
She nodded. "Then live. But we must live prepared."
As he was escorted away, the room felt emptier—thinner—with shadows lengthening. The women exchanged looks—each mind racing, each heart steady with purpose.
Diara took up her armor: "We must not alert the enemy. We shall act. Act like we do not know anything. Go on with our lives as usual. Let the story proceed as the original."
Her friends aligned with her—Eliana's gentle strength, Ashtine's bold daring, Morgana's arcane insight. They had unveiled but scratched the surface.
And somewhere, sealed under candle's glow, diabolical plots awaited—crafted in darkness, waiting for daylight.
But Diara Silvana Aurelia Reinhardt, the feared lady, would not let them stand. Not tonight. Not ever.