Kaelen and his father wait as our carriage rolls to a stop. I accept Kaelen's hand politely, the servants already bustling with our luggage.
"It's good to see you again, Lady Liriel," he says, smile carefully measured. "Was the journey pleasant?"
"It was comfortable, thank you. Have you been well since we last came?"
"Yes—father's had me learning more of the fief." His gaze flicks toward the estate before returning. "We've tried a new crop, but… it hasn't gone as smoothly as we hoped." He hesitates, then brightens. "Ah, I nearly forgot." He produces a small vial, pressing it into my hand. "A merchant passed through—this oil is all the rage in the capital."
The glass is cool against my fingers. I recognize it instantly; Mother used it years ago, before better blends replaced it. "You're thoughtful," I say, slipping it away before my expression betrays me. "I'll speak with my parents about sending someone to advise your farmers." My smile is polite, practiced.
For just a heartbeat his eyes shone with pride, before he tucked it neatly back into courtesy.
Baron Elenvar approaches, cloak trailing dust from the courtyard stones. "Liriel, it's wonderful to see you again. I still remember your very first visit—you were just a child then, barely reaching my knee. Hard to believe that was fifty years ago. And now here you are, ready to lead the ritual yourself. I know you've watched your mother perform it, but Captain Carver will walk you through the rehearsal before dinner."
Baron Elenvar leads us into his estate, its heavy stone walls still bearing the blunt angles of human builders. Arched windows and carved vines tried to soften the lines, while plaster and mismatched marble columns reached awkwardly for the capital's elegance.
As a child I hadn't noticed the oddity—if anything, I found it charming. Once I even asked the Baron why his windows looked "crooked compared to the capital." He laughed, though I remember the flicker of embarrassment. Now, seeing it again, I find the seams less awkward than earnest, and the effort carries a quiet dignity.
Captain Carver waited in the hallway, his hair now streaked with grey. He looked much as I remembered him—stern, cold, the kind of soldier who never lets warmth slip through. I never liked him much, though I told myself it was only his discipline. Still, he had done his duty faithfully with my mother, and I knew he would do the same with me.
"Captain, it's a relief to see you still head of the guard here. I hope we can work together as well as you did with my mother," I said, keeping my tone measured, the way I had been taught.
"Indeed, Lady Liriel. I expect we'll only work together once or twice before I retire. Still, it's an honor to be here at the start of the next generation." His voice was clipped, efficient, already shifting into command.
He moved quickly into the details of the ceremony—troop positioning, choke points, fallback routes in case of attack. The briefing was meant to grant me authority, to let me overrule him if I wished. But I understood this was his domain. As he and Captain Thaelen discussed the arrangements, my fingers tightened against the folds of my gown, nails pressing crescents into the fabric. I forced them still, hoping no one noticed. Before, the nerves had been a flutter I could ignore. Now they pressed sharp against my ribs, threatening to spill into panic. I would be the one leading the ceremony, responsible for every role, every word, and most importantly for ensuring the seal remained intact for another ten years.
After the briefing we begin a rehearsal. At the third rite my voice caught, the gesture slipping just short of completion.
Carver's breath hissed. "Again," he said, curt and clipped, as if correcting a soldier's drill. No anger, just command.
I forced myself to restart, but the words tangled faster this time. A gesture dropped, a line forgotten, priests left waiting for direction. By the third attempt my hands trembled, my throat tight.
Carver's jaw flexed. "You claim to have studied, yet you stumble at every turn. This ritual demands precision, not excuses. If you falter like this tomorrow, the seal will fail—and none of us will survive."
The words struck harder than the tone. Cruel, but not wrong. My face burned, shame pressing against my ribs until I could barely breathe.
He turned to my mother. "My Lady, she isn't ready. You should lead the ceremony this year."
Mother's eyes narrowed, her voice cool. "You forget your place, Captain. You command soldiers, not houses. Do not mistake discipline for authority."
Carver's silence lingered, heavy as stone.
Mother touched my arm, her tone softening. "Liriel, take a walk. Clear your head. Have faith in yourself. You are ready."
I nodded, grateful to leave, my face still hot as I exited.
The halls were quiet as I wandered, my thoughts circling the ritual. As much as I hated to admit it, Captain Carver wasn't entirely wrong. This ritual isn't a game, and though I studied, standing here now the words felt brittle, ready to crumble in my mouth. For the first time, I wondered if I should ask Mother to lead it this year. To yield would be to prove him right, and that I could not bear—but if I failed, the cost would be far worse than shame.
Ahead, one of the guards crouched near the wall, chalk in hand, sketching a small mark into the stone.
He straightened quickly when he saw me, rubbing at the line as though to hide it. His face was a mix of panic and embarrassment, and I found it a little cute, like catching a soldier's secret he hadn't meant to show.
"Don't worry, I won't tell Captain Carver," I said kindly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with enjoying art, even if you are a soldier." I smiled.
He gave me an odd look before returning the smile. "Thank you, my Lady. I appreciate your discretion. It's… not something I can easily share with others."
"I can only imagine, I've heard the soldiers in the capital ribbing each other for less," I said.
"Indeed, and you've seen for yourself what kind of man the Captain is. Don't let him get to you though, everyone knows he is a man who only knows how to bark. We all believe in you." His words slipped easily into the spaces Captain Carver had left raw.
"That…" I paused, the warmth of his words catching me off guard. For a moment I wanted to say how much I needed to hear them, but I remembered myself—he had spoken too freely, and I had encouraged it. I smoothed my tone back into courtesy. "Thank you. It means a great deal to know the guard has such faith."
I leave him to his drawings and return to my walk, before making my way back to rehearse the ceremony again. It goes better this time, seeing the guard in the room gives me another source of courage and finally the night comes to a close. I enter my room, opening the window to let the cool night air drift in. The chain pressed harder against my collarbone, as though my nerves had given it weight. I shift, but it clings stubbornly, a burden I cannot set aside—a constant reminder of tomorrow.