I made my way down the grand staircase, my hand trailing lightly along the polished banister. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dancing dust particles in golden beams. Despite the beauty of the moment, anxiety gnawed at me.
At the bottom of the stairs, I spotted Alistair peering through the curtains at the front gate, his posture unusually tense.
"What's happening, Alistair?" I asked, approaching him cautiously.
He turned with a slight start, quickly composing his features. "Good morning, Your Grace. I didn't hear you coming down."
"You seem troubled. Is something wrong?"
Alistair hesitated before drawing back the curtain slightly. "See for yourself, My Lady."
I stepped forward and peered through the gap. My stomach dropped. A small crowd had gathered outside our gates—some carried notebooks and looked like reporters, while others appeared to be ordinary townspeople, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of our residence.
