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Chapter 10 - The Lady Awaits

The wheels rattled endlessly against the uneven stone roads, every jolt reminding Erika of how far she was from the safety of the capital. Hours passed in muffled silence, broken only by the creak of wood and the faint clatter of the horses' hooves.

She shifted uncomfortably on the velvet seat, fingers fidgeting with the folded letter in her lap. The unfamiliar sigil gleamed faintly in the dim light, mocking her with its secrecy.

What kind of lady hides behind symbols and faceless requests? she thought bitterly.

If this is the start of some horror story, I'd like to file a complaint to Jean's workshop from the afterlife.

Just as her nerves threatened to unravel completely, the carriage slowed. Erika braced herself, peering at the door though there was nothing to see beyond the wood.

A low voice rumbled outside—Ser Roderic, speaking to someone else. The exchange was curt, guarded. Then came the sound of iron hinges groaning, as though a gate was being pulled open.

The carriage rolled forward again, smoother this time, as if crossing polished stone instead of rough dirt roads. The air grew colder, sharper.

Finally, the door opened. Ser Roderic's scarred face appeared, unreadable in the fading daylight.

"We have arrived, my lady," he said.

Erika swallowed hard, clutching her skirts as she stepped down.

What awaited her was not a grand noble mansion like she had imagined—but something stranger.

A sprawling castle built just near the side of a cliff, its pale stone walls rising tall and silent, half-hidden beneath creeping ivy. 

It looked less like a noblewoman's home and more like… a fortress.

Erika's heart skipped.

Oh Jean, what have you dragged me into?

The echo of her footsteps rang too loudly against the polished stone floors as Ser Roderic led her through an arching corridor. The ceilings soared high overhead, ribbed with dark beams, while the walls themselves were lined with nothing but cold stone.

Erika had imagined—hoped, really—for tapestries, gilded candelabras, perhaps a servant rushing forward with polite bows and refreshments. Instead, the silence pressed in on her ears.

When at last they entered what seemed to be a guest room—a wide chamber with only a few couches and a fireplace that crackled faintly in the corner—Ser Roderic stopped.

"My lady," he said evenly, bowing slightly.

"Please wait here. You will be received shortly."

Erika managed a stiff nod.

"Of course," she replied, her voice squeaking more than she intended.

The moment he turned and disappeared into the hall, she sat down on the nearest couch, gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.

Her eyes darted around the room. The walls—massive blocks of stone, cold and unyielding—felt more like a dungeon than a noble home. Not a servant in sight, not even the whisper of soft shoes across the floor.

The only souls she'd seen besides Ser Roderic were armored knights stationed at distant doors, standing like statues, their gazes fixed straight ahead.

This isn't a house, she thought, swallowing hard.

This is a fortress. A fortress where little lost tutors come in… and never come out.

Her fingers drummed nervously against her lap.

"Oh gods, Jean," she muttered under her breath, "if I vanish here, I'm coming back to haunt your ass until your grandchildren's grandchildren are sick of hearing my voice."

She pressed her palms together to stop them from shaking, but her mind refused to quiet.

Why no servants? Why the secrecy? And why in all the hells am I the only fool who said yes to this ridiculous request?

The silence stretched so long it felt like it might strangle her. Erika's leg bounced, her fingers fidgeted, her heart thudding far too loudly in her ears.

Then—

A door at the far side of the chamber groaned open. Erika nearly leapt out of her skin, hand flying to her chest as if that would keep her heart from escaping.

A figure stepped through.

Not another hulking knight. Not another scar-faced man with dead eyes.

No—this time it was a woman.

Her armor caught the light of the hearth, polished but practical, and beneath the steel spilled a mane of ginger short hair that framed her freckled face. But what struck Erika most wasn't the armor, or the freckles—it was the smile.

Warm. Genuine. Almost absurdly out of place in this grim fortress.

For a heartbeat, it seemed to banish the heavy stone walls themselves.

Erika blinked, her lips parting before she realized it.

"Gods… a woman. Finally…"

It wasn't just relief—it was something else too, something that made her chest feel oddly tight. After hours of staring at grim-faced men, seeing her was like the sun rising in the middle of the night.

The armored woman crossed the chamber with steady, unhurried steps. When she stopped before Erika, she bowed lightly, one fist over her chest.

"Lady Heather? I am Dame Amber," she said, her voice calm and clear.

"I serve under the lady of this house and have been sent to escort you."

Erika rose smoothly from her seat, offering a polite half-bow in return. Her voice came out steady, practiced.

"The pleasure is mine, Dame Amber."

Mary's smile was faint but warm, freckles softening her otherwise disciplined appearance. She gestured toward the hall.

"Please, this way."

Erika followed, her footsteps echoing across the cavernous corridor. The sheer scale of the place pressed down on her—towering stone walls, banners drooping with age, knights stationed silently in the shadows.

No servants. No chatter. Only watchful eyes and armored men.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, but she forced her shoulders straight.

On the outside.. composed lady.

 On the inside..spiraling.

Gods, what is this place? A fortress or a tomb?

Her gaze slipped—despite herself—back to Dame Amber. For a knight, the woman was… surprisingly short. Petite, even. She carried herself with confidence, but the image still jarred against Erika's expectations.

Knights were supposed to be giants with scars and booming voices. Yet here was this ginger-haired woman, smiling like a sunbeam had wandered into a dungeon.

Not that Erika minded. After hours surrounded by grim, hulking men, another woman—even one in armor—was a relief.

Dame Amber, without turning her head, spoke suddenly.

"Something on your mind, my lady?"

Erika didn't miss a beat.

"Merely admiring the halls," she replied smoothly, her face unreadable.

But inside?

Great. She noticed. Fantastic. First day here and I'm already staring at my escort like some wide-eyed tourist. Perfect.

Their footsteps ended at a massive crimson door. Dame Amber stopped in front of it, turning to Erika.

"Wait here, Lady Heather. I shall announce you," she said, her voice calm but firm. With that, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Erika's eyes flicked across the floor, the walls, and heavy drapes—anything to occupy her mind.

Huh… why is the lady in her bedchamber? Shouldn't we be in a study or some kind of sitting room?

She tugged slightly at the cuffs of her modest clothing, uneasy. The silence pressed in, only broken by faint murmurs from inside.

What is going on in there? Are those… whispers?

Then, abruptly, the door creaked open, and Dame Amber reappeared. She nodded toward Erika.

"You may enter, Lady Heather."

Erika, stepping forward with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Her eyes immediately fell upon the figure in the room.

The lady of the house… except she was shrouded by a veil, the fabric cascading from the top of the bed canopy, obscuring her form completely. Only the slightest hints of her figure could be seen beneath the draping folds.

Erika's breath caught. Her mind raced, weaving stories of who this mysterious woman might be, what her demeanor would be, and—unbidden—what secrets this private chamber might hold.

Well… this is awkward. And terrifying. And somehow, I have a sinking feeling my life just got infinitely more complicated.

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